© 2019 Snekguy. All rights reserved.
This work was made possible by the generous support of my Patrons:
Disclaimer: This work of erotic fiction is intended for adults only. The story contains the following themes: Orcs, first time, muscle, femdom, age difference, size difference, sweat.
CHAPTER 1: CLASHING STEEL
“Shields at the ready men! Hold the line!”
The standard-bearer galloped down the row of Paladins, their white armor reflecting the full moon as it bathed them in its pale glow. His spear held aloft and the flag of their noble company flying proudly, he rallied the villagers behind them, the heavy hooves of his steed sinking into the wet mud. They were a disorganized rabble, impoverished farmers and woodsmen, their clothing ragged and their weapons merely repurposed farm tools. Axes, hoes, and scythes coated in rust and too blunt to pierce anything but a sack of grain. The Paladins were here to defend these people and their remote village from a band of roving Orcs who had been sighted nearby. Orcs did not congregate near human settlements without good reason, and as they had suspected, the warband had moved into position and was preparing to launch an assault.
Orcs were savage, evil creatures, hulking masses of brawn and violence who preyed on the helpless and raided defenseless towns on the outskirts of the kingdom for plunder and slaves. Paladins were sworn to protect the weak, to counter the forces of evil wherever they might be found, and so the two dozen knights steeled themselves for battle.
The rain began to pour, fat, heavy droplets clattering on their winged helmets and steel pauldrons. Bevan peered through the slot in his visor, his eyes straining to make out shapes through the darkness and the storm. He clutched at his spear, keeping it level over his heavy shield, interlocking with those of his brothers to his left and right. Together they formed an impenetrable wall, ready to skewer anything that dared to attack them from the front. Behind him, he could hear the horse snorting and its heavy footfalls as it stamped impatiently, along with the apprehensive murmuring of the villagers. They were reluctant, some far too old to fight and others too young, but those that fell on the battlefield in defense of their loved ones would be looked upon favorably by the Divines. Bevan was certain of it.
A flash of lightning illuminated the field before them, and for a moment Bevan could see the silhouetted shapes of the Orcs, lining up on the hill to meet their challenge. They were taller and wider than a man, hulking beasts, their features obscured beneath a layer of crudely hammered iron and animal pelts. There were dozens of them, a hundred maybe, too many. Bevan felt a twinge of fear rise in his belly, but he quickly banished it, murmuring a prayer of purity under his breath as the standard-bearer marshaled the troops.
“Stand your ground, give them no quarter! Auxiliaries, hold back unless the line is broken!”
“T-This is folly! We're done for!” one of the villagers cried as he dropped his rusted scythe in the mud, turning to run back towards the wooden shacks.
“There is no place in heaven for cowards!” the standard-bearer called after him as he fled into the night.
The other villagers muttered, a low chorus of frightened voices. Bevan worried that more of them might flee, not that they would have been of much use in battle anyway.
The piercing call of a horn carried over the field, loud and clear against the rain and the thunder. The Orcs were declaring a charge. The Paladins braced, driving their metal boots into the mud for leverage and calling their readiness down the line. Lightning flashed again, and the horde of Orcs rolled down the hill like a tide, a mass of tainted metal and cruel, hooked weapons. Their roar conveyed a lust for battle that shook Bevan to his bones, but he stood ready to meet them, confident in his blessed armor and his righteous purpose.
“We will hold this village,” the standard-bearer called, his voice rising over the storm. “Or we will meet on the shores of Paradise!”
The knights yelled their approval, their voices echoing through Bevan's hollow helmet and filling his heart with the warmth of courage.
The Orcs covered the ground quickly, growing in size as they approached the waiting Paladins. They had looked large in the distance, but as they drew closer, Bevan could truly appreciate their sheer mass. If they were to impact the line at full speed, throwing all of their weight into the charge, would the knights hold? Of course they would hold, for their purpose was a righteous one. Remember the scriptures Bevan, have faith.
The beasts came into range, raising their brutish weapons above their heads. They wielded swords like giant fish hooks, machetes and cleavers, war axes and maces. Tools designed to butcher, not to dispatch their enemies with any dignity or grace. Their armor was made up of heavy, thick plates of iron that was stitched together with leather straps and decorated with fur and bones. It was crude, but the sheer weight that the Orcs were capable of carrying without being overburdened made it effective.
Religious fervor overcoming his fear of mortality, Bevan angled his spear downwards, ready to intercept the charging monsters. The Orcs impacted the line of shields like a wave crashing against the rocks, pushing the Paladins back, their boots failing to find purchase in the slippery mud. Yet they held steady, their spears seeking out spaces in the Orc's thick armor and thrusting deep into their flesh. Some were felled, others were merely angered, bellowing in their guttural voices. As more Orcs piled into the fray from behind them, the line of shields began to bend under their weight. Powerful blows from hammers and machetes reverberated through Bevan's shield, and he gritted his teeth against the vibrations as they pummeled his arm. He jabbed with his spear but it glanced off their thick armor, and as he pulled it back in for another attempt it was yanked out of his hand. He fumbled for the scabbard on his belt, drawing his short sword and readying it.
They broke through down the line to his right, the swarm of enraged Orcs overcoming the knights. One Paladin fell back, knocked down by a blow to his shield from a massive war hammer wielded by an especially large specimen, who finished him off in the mud with a bone-crushing crunch as its fellows swarmed through the breach.
“Draw swords!” the standard-bearer called out, skewering an Orc from horseback with his long spear. The knights were not routed yet, and they drew back, regrouping and unsheathing their weapons. Combat was joined, their bright blades flashing in the night and biting into Orc flesh as if they wielded the very moonbeams themselves as a weapon. Bevan was high on adrenaline, seeing the world as if in slow motion as he parried a blow from a cleaver with his shield and drove his blade into the unprotected throat of his assailant. It slumped to the ground, gushing black blood.
The standard-bearer charged at the massive Orc who had broken the line, his spear level and aimed at its head. The Orc let out a terrible roar, then swung its enormous hammer into the horse's chest. Both horse and rider were knocked to the ground, the standard-bearer thrown through the air as his steed belched blood and convulsed in the dirt. Before he could rise to his feet, the honorless horde swarmed him like jackals, hacking him to pieces with their blades and picks. Seeing this, many of the villagers fled rather than face the beasts in battle, not realizing that flight was pointless. They either fought and died here, or they would be hunted like wild game, ending their lives as sport for these animals.
The knights were losing ground. For every Orc they brought down there were three more to take its place, and so they made a fighting retreat back towards the village square in hopes that the narrow streets might make the horde more manageable. Half of their company had been killed by the Orcs, and Bevan had to control his panic, muttering curses and hymns as he fought. It didn't matter if he died tonight, his corporeal form was merely a temporary vessel, playing host to his incorruptible soul. To die in service to the Gods was the fate and ultimate aspiration of all those who walked the path of Paladin. Bevan was young, he had not seen much of the world, but his immortal soul would outlive it.
One of the beasts broke ranks and charged at him, swinging a mace decorated with pointed spikes. Bevan raised his shield in order to parry the blow, but it was too powerful, the massive impact knocking the shield from his arm. It landed in the mud with a splash, its pristine surface now stained with filth. The Orc brought the mace back around for a second strike, but it was too heavy, too slow. Bevan stepped in, driving his sword into its belly below the armor that protected its chest. The monster shuddered, dropping its weapon and falling forward. He stepped out of its path as it landed face first in the mud, its weight shaking the ground beneath his feet. Bevan moved to retrieve his shield, but two more Orcs rushed at him. He had to draw back, closing ranks with the remaining knights.
One of the braver villagers made a futile attempt to engage an Orc, swinging his hoe wildly. Bevan whispered a blessing as he was cut down, barely slowing the creature as it advanced. The Paladins reached the outskirts of the small village and bunched up, using the dirt paths between the houses to funnel the Orcs. The creatures were driven by bloodlust, or maybe they were just stupid, charging headlong into the knights despite this new strategy. Even without a leader to rally them the Paladins were of a singular mind, their training and experience dictating the best course of action.
Orc bodies piled in the street, yet still they came, clambering over the fallen and sparing no pity for the dead and dying. Bevan noticed the large Orc wielding the war hammer, standing a head above the rest as it stared him down. It waved its weapon, seeming to direct the others. What were they planning? He couldn't see them, they were obscured by other Orcs and the buildings around them.
He was distracted as another one of the beasts swung at him with a machete, countering it with his steel sword, knocking the creature off balance and slicing through its thigh. He had expected it to fall to a knee so that he might cleave off its loathsome head, but it endured the pain, turning to strike him with its clenched fist. Bevan's helmet rang like a bell as he fell back into the dirt, dazed and disoriented. Through bleary eyes, he saw the Orc raise its machete over him, but it was stabbed through the ribs as a spear found the joint in its armor. His savior grasped him firmly by the hand and pulled him to his feet, thrusting his sword back into his gauntlets.
“Keep fighting! The Divines are with us!”
Bevan shook his head, trying to clear his mind as the chaos continued around him. He returned to the line, their strategy seeming to work. When their numbers were limited by the confined space, the Orcs were unable to best the Paladins. They were consistently out-fought as they stacked up, filling the street with a clamoring, clanking mob.
Suddenly he noticed movement to his right, they had gone around the building and were charging through a side street. The Paladins moved to block it, weathering the assault as the greenskins pushed against them. The Orcs poured in from the left too, the Paladins were being surrounded. The knights were being stretched too thin, and they only had one exit, the southern road behind them. If the Orcs circled all the way around the village, the Paladins would find themselves trapped. He slashed at an Orc, his blade glancing off its armor. One of the knights to his left was pulled forward and into the crowd, the horde trampling him underfoot and cutting him apart, his screams abruptly silenced.
Bevan heard clashing metal behind him, his worst fears realized as the Orcs raced down the street to their rear and into the waiting Paladins who had turned to face them. The four defensive lines were buckling, there just weren't enough of them to hold the beasts back. Another Paladin fell, and another. With only a handful left standing they were in danger of being overrun.
“Into the houses!” one of them called, and Bevan turned to see him kicking in a wooden door. Before he could break it down, the left flank caved, and Orcs swarmed into the town square. Assailed from every angle, the knights fell into chaos, swinging and thrusting in all directions. They were trapped in a brutal melee, blood mixing with the mud as their boots slipped in the wet earth. One after another they were brought down, their shining, white armor now soaked with filth and gore. Bevan warded off a blow from one of the hooked swords and met its wielder with a stab to the gut, the Orc falling screeching to the ground. He ducked under a swinging mace and drove his sword up through the chin of another. As he yanked his blade free, he noticed that the battle around him had come to a standstill. His comrades were dead or dying, and the Orcs were moving away from him, clearing a circle as if they were afraid of him. Was his faith in the Divines rewarded? Had some miracle of heaven come down to drive the beasts away and save his life?
No, they weren't afraid of him, they were afraid of the massive Orc with the hammer. It was barking at the rabble in their ugly, guttural tongue as it walked towards him, the massive weapon resting across its broad shoulders. This had to be their leader, the only thing that Orcs respected was strength and fighting prowess, and none could be stronger than this one. The crowd parted to let it pass, and it stood before him, towering over Bevan as he raised his sword in defiance. In his mind he was already long dead, his fate sealed. What mattered now was how he met his end and if it would please the Gods. The creature watched him curiously, its helmeted head cocked.
“I am Bevan, son of Henwas, and I am not afraid of you.”
The Orc chuckled, its crude armor bouncing on its massive frame. Did it understand him? It raised a hand to its helmet and pulled it loose, dropping it into the mud with a wet splash. It shook its hair free, long and as black as the night, then peered down at him with yellow eyes embedded in its dark green face. Its features were somehow less brutish than he had predicted, oddly feminine. Was it a female? As it opened its mouth Bevan's eyes were drawn to its two tusks, like those of a wild boar, protruding over its lips. It spoke his language with an odd, halting accent, the voice deep and coarse but unmistakably that of a woman.
“Well, Bevan, son of Henwas, what will ye do now?”
The other Orcs kept their distance, watching eagerly, waiting for his response.
“You might succeed in taking this town, devil, but we will be rewarded in the afterlife for standing against you. What will be your reward for the paltry spoils you take from this village? A handful of slaves, unfit for sale? Barely enough gold to feed yourselves for a day? The Paladins have cost you dearly, you shan't profit from this raid.”
“Aye, ye have cost me,” she replied as she appraised the piles of dead Orcs blocking the streets. “Quite a pain in my arse, hitting me in the wallet. Orcs win the day though, all yer friends are fucked.”
“My comrades wait for me on the shores of Paradise. I intend to join them, now have at you!”
He took a fighting stance, pointing the tip of his short sword at her.
She grinned and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, dropping the hammer heavily from her shoulders. She began to walk around the limits of the circle that the Orcs had formed, spinning the war hammer in her hands. Bevan followed suit, it seemed that her horde would not touch him for the duration of the duel. He doubted that he could best her, but it would be a glorious end. He dispelled the fear of pain and death, singing a hymn as she watched him.
“Songs won't help ye now, boy,” she laughed. He continued the song, ignoring her mockery and advancing towards her. “Yer Gods aren't here, look around ye.”
Bevan moved in and lunged, striking at her with his sword, but she parried it easily with the haft of her weapon. She knocking him off balance, then hooked the head of the mighty hammer under his foot and pulled, sending him crashing to the ground. She continued to circle, allowing him to get back on his feet and steady himself as the horde of Orcs laughed and jeered. The Orc was toying with him.
“Ye think ye got nothin' left to lose? Ye got plenty to lose, kid.”
Bevan ignored her, controlling his breathing and trying to remain calm as he prepared his next attack. He dashed forward, but it was a feint, and as she moved to parry it he ducked under her outstretched arms and aimed a thrust at her belly. Instead, her knee met him in the gut, her massive limb lifting him clear off the ground and dropping him back into the mud. He rose to his knees, his emptied lungs gasping for air. This time she did not allow him to stand again, catching his head with the hammer's long handle, the powerful swipe denting his helmet and knocking him onto his side. His ears rang, and as he tried to push himself up, he felt a boot connect with his ribs. He rolled over onto his back, his body failing him and his consciousness threatening to fizzle out.
The Orc loomed over him, crouching so that her face was mere inches above his visor.
“Ye still got somethin' left for me to take. I deny ye death, ye zealous fuck.”
Bevan blacked out.
CHAPTER 2: CAPTIVE
He awoke to vibrations, the sound of cartwheels, clanking metal and snorting horses. He raised his head gingerly and saw that he was lying down in some kind of metal cage strewn with straw. All of his armor had been removed, leaving him wearing only his gambeson and leggings. He was on a cart, and it was moving, the trees to either side of the road passing him by at a snail's pace. His head pounded, and he cradled it in his hands, shutting his eyes against the lingering pain.
He started as a metallic clang rang through the cage, jumping out of his skin. An Orc ran its machete across the bars, laughing at him as it kept pace with the cart. Where were they going? Why had they not killed him? Anger and indignation flared, why had he been denied his glorious death?
“Good mornin' sleepyhead.” The big Orc was walking alongside the cart, a smirk on her face as she looked him over. “Ye get a good night's rest?”
He scowled at her, rubbing his head.
“What do you want with me, creature?” he spat. “Trying to recoup some of your losses by selling me to pirates?”
“Nah, I got other plans in store for ye.”
She leered menacingly, and Bevan recoiled a little. Were they going to torture him? Eat him? Use his pure blood in some evil ritual? His fate uncertain, he rested his arms on his knees and stared out past the bars of his cage at the passing scenery. They had traveled a ways from the village, that much was sure, and his order would assume he had been slain along with his brothers. There was no help coming for him now. He would have to formulate his own escape plan. Orcs were stupid, that much was known to mankind. Eventually, they would make a mistake that he might take advantage of. It was just a matter of biding his time and waiting for the perfect moment.
“Well don't go all quiet on me, boy,” the Orc chided. “Keep talkin' yer Paladin shit, it'll make this walk less borin' for me.”
“Paladin shit?” he replied sarcastically.
“Aye, Paladin shit. Oh, I'm a big strong Paladin and I ain't afraid of ye! I say, 'ave at ye, en garde and so forth! Brings me no end of joy to watch ye fall over yerself, ye little idiot. How old are ye anyway? Ye don't look to be more than a boy.”
“I'm not a boy, I'm a Paladin. As soon as I turned seventeen, I joined the order to do my duty and slay monsters like you.”
“Aye, and how long ago was that then?”
“If you must know, about a year.”
“So ye are a bloody kid then?” She smirked as his face turned red and he started to fume.
“Well a kid slew at least ten of yours, so what does that say about Orcs?”
“That ye ain't as smart as ye think ye are. I had that town scoped out before ye even arrived. I knew that if I threw enough Orcs at ye, ye'd retreat into the town square. All I had to do was make sure that we killed enough of ye before that happened so that ye couldn't cover all the streets. So what happened, brave little Paladin? Ye got overrun, ye were fucked from the moment ye set out.”
That startled him, and he stared at his bare feet. Orcs were not supposed to be strategists, all of the books in the library back at the monastery described them as thoughtless beasts who roamed in hordes and attacked targets of opportunity. Rather than simply being overwhelmed by violent animals, the Paladins had been outmaneuvered. It didn't make sense.
“Don't look so glum, boy. Why dwell on the past when ye have so much to look forward to?” He shot her a dirty look, and she laughed at him, exposing her serrated tusks. “I think we're gonna have a lot of fun together, Paladin. What's yer name, anyway?”
“You may call me Paladin, or Sir Knight, Orc.”
She grinned, wiping her discolored lips with the back of her hand.
“I think I'll just keep callin' ye boy, seen as you like it so much.”
Bevan lay back in the straw and watched the clouds pass overhead, trying to ignore the Orc's taunting. He closed his eyes and started to sing a hymn, a plea of divine protection in the old tongue. The Orc listened in silence for a while, perhaps enjoying the tune as she walked, her armor clanking and rustling. The other Orcs seemed indifferent, uncommunicative, they marched in no recognizable formation and paid no attention to the conversation or the songs. After a while his captor interrupted him, breaking his meditation.
“So what does that song mean? Is it a prayer?”
“Yes, the twelfth sermon of divine mercy. It’s a call for protection against evil and a blessing of purification.”
“Ye say that as if I should be concerned. Are yer Gods going to strike me down where I walk?”
“The Gods do as they will, mortal men cannot command them, nor beg favors. I merely purify my soul in preparation for whatever their plans for me may be. I accept my fate, whatever they have chosen. Clearly, my trials are not yet over, and I have more to accomplish before I can meet my brothers in Paradise.”
The Orc glanced at him, less snark now and more...pity?
“Why are ye so quick to throw yer life away? How can ye be ready to die if ye haven't lived yet?”
“This world is fleeting, Orc, though I wouldn't expect an evil creature like you to understand the divine. Materialism is an illusion, a distraction. You cannot buy your way into heaven with the gold you steal from these poor villagers, and you cannot bribe the Gods for their favor. Your body will die one day, but your soul will live forever.”
“Aye, I'll die one day, but isn't that all the more reason to enjoy meself while I can?”
“The pleasures of this world are base and ephemeral.”
“Says the boy who hasn't spent a day outside his monastery since he came of age.”
“That's not true,” he snapped, annoyed. “I've traveled plenty, I've seen much of the kingdom, and what I haven't seen I've read of in the library.”
“Have ye ever lain with a woman? Gotten drunk in a tavern and fought yer friends? Done anythin' for yerself that yer parents or yer Paladins didn't arrange for ye?”
Bevan reddened and turned away, staring out at the withered trees as they passed by the cart.
“Aye, I thought as much. I pity ye religious types, yer Gods give ye a whole world to play in, going by yer scriptures there's nothin' here they didn't invent. Have ye considered they made loose wenches and tall mugs of frothin' mead for yer own benefit? Hell, they gave ye a cock and two hands, then told ye not to play with 'em. It's like givin' ye flint and kindling and tellin' ye not to make a fire.”
Bevan's face burned, and he began to sing another hymn in order to block out her obscenities. The Orc shrugged, her heavy boots sinking into the muddy road.
“Ye can't just block out things ye don't want to hear, kid.”
They marched for hours, their destination unknown to Bevan as the cart trundled through mud and potholes, bouncing and shuddering. The sun began to get low in the sky, and there was still no settlement in sight. They had nowhere to take shelter, nothing but empty fields and patches of woodland. At least the previous night's rain had passed them by, but it had left the earth wet and slippery, even the horse struggled through the uneven terrain.
The big Orc called out to her soldiers in their crude language, and they turned off the road and into one of the islands of forest that dotted the farmland. The canopy blotted out the waning light of the sun, casting him into darkness inside his cage. The twisted trunks of the gnarled old trees passed by the cart as they reached a clearing and came to a halt. Were they stopping here for the night? Camping out in the open air? He prayed that they wouldn't just leave him exposed to the cold wind overnight, but to expect mercy from these beasts was folly.
He watched as the Orcs unloaded heavy packs and rolls of fabric, and after maybe a half hour of activity they had erected a small village of tents, a roaring fire crackling in the center upon which metal pots and pans brewed unfamiliar stews and soups. He hoped that he would not become one of the dishes.
The big Orc walked to the back of the cart and withdrew a large, iron key from a pouch on her belt. She unlocked the door of his cage with a mechanical clunk, and Bevan scurried away to the far end. She rolled her eyes and beckoned to him, her black fingernails pointed like claws.
“Come on, boy. Ye ain't going anywhere with no shoes, and we ain't gonna eat ye.”
Bevan inched towards her warily.
“Man flesh tastes like shit anyway, I prefer pork,” she added with a toothy grin. She laughed as he recoiled. “I'm jokin' ye big baby, now come out here so I can feed ye. A dead slave is of no use to anyone.”
It didn't look like he had much of a choice. He scooted over to her, refusing to take her hand as he dropped unsteadily from the cart and into the cold, wet mud. He felt the dirt between his toes and pulled a disgusted face. The Orc laughed at him again, her hands on her wide hips.
“This way, Sir Knight. Get some stew in ye while it’s hot.”
She was right, there was no way that he could make a break for it in these conditions without any shoes, he'd be too cut and bloody to walk by the time he got out of the forest. Where was his gear? Did they intend to sell it? His stomach gurgled audibly, and suddenly the idea of stew didn't sound so bad. He followed her to the campfire and sat down gingerly, still sore and bruised from the beating that she had meted out in the village.
There were a few other Orcs milling around the fire, stirring the food as it boiled and chatting in their odd language. Most had removed their armor, and with a start, Bevan realized that they were all female. He couldn't see a single male among them.
“Where are the men?” he asked, looking up at the tall Orc. “Did we kill them all?”
She put a hand to her mouth, chuckling at his confused expression.
“Nah, we had no men. Ye think too highly of yer Paladins, boy.”
Bevan scowled and watched the flames dance in the glowing embers.
“This here is my warband. If ye think female Orcs are violent, ye ain't seen males before. Practically fuckin' feral. I don't like dealin' with 'em, except when the mood takes me, if you know what I mean.”
She laughed at his disgusted expression.
“Why am I alive?” he blurted abruptly. She was taken aback, and waited for him to elaborate. “I killed at least a dozen of yours, you killed the rest of my brothers, why spare me? Don't you hate me?”
“I don't hate ye, boy. War is business. We attacked ye, ye fought us, that's the way it goes. If we wanna take what ain't ours by right, then we gotta expect to lose a few soldiers in the process.”
“It's not business to us,” Bevan snapped, indignation in his tone. “You attack innocent people who have done you no wrong and who can't defend themselves. You kill them, steal everything they own, sell their families into slavery. You're evil, abhorrent. I hate you, and I'll kill you the first opportunity I get.”
“Now that's just impolite, do ye want to go back in yer cage?”
He shook his head, crossing his arms and seething.
“It's just business kid, it ain't personal. Not like an Orc could get honest work round these parts with yer bloody Paladins marching around tellin' all and sundry that we're demons.”
“Are you not?”
The Orc shook her head in exasperation, leaning towards the campfire in order to spoon soup into a wooden bowl, then she handed the steaming brew to him. He took it reluctantly, putting it to his mouth and sipping the hot liquid warily.
“I didn't kill ye kid, because yer brave, and ye fought me good and fair. If there's one thing Orcs respect, it's bein' a brazen little shit and trying to punch above yer weight. Yer only little, and ye weren't any real threat to me. Don't make that face, it's not an insult. Most men woulda begged, and I woulda killed 'em for it, but ye were good and ready to gut me. I guess that amused me. Orcs have children too ye know, I'm not about to kill a young man when I could just as easily take him as a slave.”
“Is that my fate then? Slavery?”
She drank deeply from her own bowl, pausing to chew a floating vegetable.
“We'll see. Dunno how much a scrawny kid like ye would be worth to pirates. Can't picture ye climbing rigging and swabbing decks. Where the fuck did ye come from anyway? Ye act like ye never seen mud and grime before.”
“A noble house, and I won't tell you which. I gave up my inheritance and my title when I joined the Paladins, so you won't get any ransom money for me. I hold no value to my family.”
“Alright, alright, point taken. Now why the fuck would a highborn like yerself give up a life of luxury and leisure to join an order of warrior monks with staves shoved so far up their arses they shit splinters?”
Bevan sipped again, the brew warming his belly and taking the edge off his anger. He allowed himself to relax a little. He was in no immediate danger, not right now. Might as well eat while there was food going, and the conversation could be worse if he looked past the Orc's vulgarity.
“I took an interest in the scripture and came to the conclusion that a comfortable, safe life would hinder my admission into heaven. I took a vow to live and die in the service of the Gods in this life so that I might enjoy their rewards in the next.”
“How noble of ye,” she said sarcastically. “Most people in this world spend their time wishin' they had a few moments of comfort and safety, but ye were born into it, and ye squandered it.”
“There's no nobility in a life of luxury,” he snapped.
“And do ye think there's nobility in war? Look where ye are, boy. Bloody kids think ye know everythin' don't ye?”
Bevan took another drink from his bowl, sulking as she lectured him.
“Ye should consider yerself lucky to be alive, lucky to have come across me and not some ugly cunt who'd kill ye for the sport of it. I didn't put ye in that battle, that was yer own doin'. Maybe yer Gods are lookin' out for ye after all.”
“You should have just killed me...”
“I could kill ye right now if that's what ye want.”
He shook his head, and picked up a twig, prodding at the orange embers as the flames crackled around the cooking pots.
“I liked ye more when ye were talkin' shit. Yer no fun when yer sulking. Only kids sulk ye know.”
“That's not true,” he mumbled.
“Oh aye, little kids.”
“I'm not a little kid, I'm a man. I've fought in battles.”
“Battles don't make ye a man, I've been in plenty of battles, and I didn't grow no fuckin' beard. Only one thing'll do that for ye, and ye ain't done it yet.”
His face reddened, and he turned to look away, a knowing smile spreading across the Orc's lips as she leaned closer to whisper in his ear.
“If ye ain't been with a woman, ye ain't no man.”
“Ridiculous, all Paladins are celibate. It's part of the vow we take in service of the Gods. There is no force on this earth more corrupting and more likely to lead a noble man astray than...that.”
“That may be, but there ain't no force on this earth more likely to change yer perspective on base, earthly matters than a good lay.”
Bevan rose to his feet, placing the bowl down on the ground.
“If you keep up this kind of talk I will indeed return to my cage.”
“Alright, sit back down you fuckin' prude.” She placed her large hand on his shoulder and forced him back to a sitting position, her strength was impressive. “Ye ain't never been curious though? Not even once? Never wondered what all the fuss was about?”
“I took a vow before the Gods, there is purity in virginity, and I will not give in to earthly temptations. To do so would dishonor me and sever my connection with the Divines.”
“So if ye get a taste of heaven in this life, ye can't go there in the next? Harsh.”
“Fornicators don't go to heaven.”
“That sounds like somethin' ye were told, not somethin' ye believe.”
“Can we please change the subject?”
“Last time I checked ye were my prisoner. I spared yer life, now let me have some conversation with me supper.” She picked up his bowl and refilled it with a ladle, spooning in chunks of vegetables and herbs, along with what might be meat or bread. Despite the offensive line of questioning, Bevan was hungry...
“Fine,” he snapped as he took the bowl from her and ate, more eagerly now. The Orc watched him with a smile as he wolfed down the stew.
“My name is Gharol, by the way.”
“Bevan,” he replied through a mouthful of soup.
“Well, there we go, Bevan. Ain't this more civilized?”
She stood and lifted up her armor, pulling the great mass of dented metal and leather up and over her head. She discarded it on the ground nearby and sat back down, her ample chest bouncing as it settled, unsupported in her sweat-stained tunic. Her bust was massive, yet it had been completely hidden by her thick armor. Bevan caught himself staring at the crack of green-tinted cleavage that peeked out from beneath her clothing, then looked away quickly. Noticing that he was looking, she stretched her arms into the air, yawning and letting her breasts fall heavily as she relaxed.
“Sorry Bevan, am I tempting ye? For a celibate yer certainly eager to cop an eyeful, ye little sneak.” He didn't reply, electing to stare into the flickering campfire as he fished for a stray piece of bread with his fingers. Gharol nudged him with her elbow, a smirk on her face. “Ye can have a look if ye ask me nice like.” He ignored her, his eyes fixed on his soup. “Oh, yer no fun. Vows this, Gods that. I'm a noble Paladin, so I 'ave to wear a potato sack and only drink rainwater.”
“I'm not wearing a potato sack.”
“I know, I undressed ye.”
Bevan coughed into his soup, and she laughed at him, slapping her armored knee with a heavy hand.
“I ain't in the habit of strippin' corpses, but yer armor should fetch a decent price. Maybe some nobleman will want it for his girly son.”
“Did you keep me alive just to mock me?”
“Aye, a little bit. I'll tell ye the truth, young Bevan. It gets mighty fuckin' boring out here. All we do is eat, sleep and fight. Once ye spend a few years with the same group of people, ye start to get tired of always hearin' the same lines of conversation. Ye impressed me with yer shit talkin', and ye got spirit, I like that. I figure ye can provide me with some entertainment until we get back to the port and I can sell all this shite.”
“Doesn't look like I have a choice...”
“Aye, ye don't.”
Gharol called to one of her Orcs, and it brought her a wooden mug filled with some kind of frothing liquid. Bevan watched her put it to her lips and take a long draw, eventually pulling away with a gasp and a grin.
“Ah! That's good mead. Ye want a sip, boy?” Bevan shook his head, nursing his bowl of soup. “Oh come on, ye take one sip of beer and yer excommunicated? What petty Gods ye have.”
She drank deeply again, licking the froth from her lips with her dark green tongue. Some of the foam spilled down her chin, the mug hindered by her impressive tusks, falling to her chest. It slipped down between her breasts, the trail of foam following the contours of her bosom, sliding between them and out of view. Bevan tracked it with his eyes, an uncomfortable and unfamiliar sensation rising in his belly. He turned back to the fire as she lowered the mug and opened her eyes again, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Ye don't know what yer missin' kid. This is life right here, not yer sermons and scriptures.”
“Why must you try to tempt me?” he asked, “is it not enough that you defeated me in battle and took me captive? You denied me my rightful death, and now you want to take away my piety too?”
“I just think ye need to live a little, did yer experience at the village not teach ye how precious life is? How fleetin'? If ye don't try new things now, then when? Ye might be dead tomorrow.”
“I don't fear death.”
“Aye, but what I'm sayin' is, ye should. Ye think yer ready for the next life because ye followed a bunch of rules from some musty old books, not because ye had yer fill of earthly life. Now tell me, are yer Gods gonna condemn yer soul to eternal torment because ye took a swig of mead?”
He thought for a moment, staring into the flames as they licked at the cooking pots and the stew bubbled, steam rising into the night air.
“That's more like it!” she laughed, thrusting the mug into his hands. He sniffed at it, the smell of honey filling his nose. He pressed the rim of the mug to his mouth and took a slow sip. It burned his tongue like fire, leaving him sputtering and hacking as Gharol took the mug back from him, the Orc doubling over as she watched the tears pour from his eyes. She composed herself as he shoveled soup into his mouth, trying to drive off the taste.
“Hey, nobody said ye'd like every new thing ye tried, but it's a start.” She patted him on the back, almost knocking him out of his seat. “Now ye can say ye tried mead, that's one thing crossed off the list.” She wrapped her massive arm around him and pulled him closer to her, pressing his face up against the side of her breast, the coarse fabric of her tunic scratching his cheek. He struggled, but she held him there, her green bicep bulging. She smelled sweaty, musky, but not unpleasant. There was something to her scent that tickled at the back of his brain, nagging at him, distracting him. “Come on kid, let's put the past behind us and be friends, eh?”
“You're...my enemy,” he grumbled, his voice muffled by her headlock.
“I ain't yer enemy kid, we just met on bad terms, that's all. Clean slate, whaddya say?”
“If I say yes...will you let me loose?”
“Probably, ye'll have to try it and find out.” She squashed him further into her bust, the surprisingly soft and pliant flesh deforming enticingly beneath the damp material. Bevan began to grow extremely uncomfortable, his face turning redder the longer she held him. Was she doing it on purpose? He tapped her arm with his hand as he tried in vain to free himself from her tight grip, her skin as smooth as silk, warm to the touch. From beneath it, her firm muscles bulged, her bicep alone was near the size of his head.
“Okay, okay, let me go,” he pleaded. She released him with a chuckle, peering down at him with her yellow eyes, A smirk curled her lips as she watched his face burn, Bevan scooting away from her and averting his gaze.
“It's ok for friends to get close, ye know. Ye probably ain't never had a real friend, have ye? Did ye even know the names of any of those Paladins ye fought with? Ever exchange a word with 'em outside of battle doctrine or scripture study?”
He opened his mouth to reply, then shut it, staring into the flames. She had him figured out, why did she know so much about him? Was he that transparent? Or was she just that much more experienced than he was? It annoyed him, and it made him feel oddly vulnerable, like she could see right through him.
“If yer wonderin' how I got ye painted, it's because I've met plenty of Paladins in my life, and killed most of 'em at that. I've been around a long time, kid.” She took another draw from her mug, her face contorting as she swallowed down the harsh beverage. “Orcs live a long time, not as long as those poncey Elves, but we're what ye'd call magical creatures. Born with a touch of the supernatural in us, keeps us going a good while.”
“Elves?” Bevan asked, curiosity overcoming his embarrassment.
“Aye, I'd wager ye ain't never seen one. Men might have forgotten all about 'em by now, ain't been any Elves round these parts for a good few hundred years.”
“What happened to them?”
“Driven off,” she said as she took another gulp, more mead spilling down her chin and wetting her ample chest as Bevan struggled to keep his eyes on her face.
“Menfolk needed farmland, so they cut down most of the forests. Elves ain't warlike, so they had no choice but to pack up and scram.”
“Just how old are you?” Bevan asked.
“A gentleman never asks a lady her age, ye little shite. But if ye must know, I'm going on three hundred and twenty.”
Bevan looked at her in awe. She must be lying, no living thing could possibly exist for that long. Not even the gnarled old oaks in his family's gardens were that old, and they had stood since the founding of his house. She didn't look old. There were no wrinkles on her face, her body was firm and strong, her muscles so defined that they might have been the product of a sculptor's chisel. If he had been asked to guess, he wouldn't have assumed that she was a day over thirty.
“Ye look like ye don't believe me, kid. Has knowledge of magic really fallen so far behind in the kingdom of men? I remember a time before those walls were put up and Paladins started patrolling, looking to slay whatever they deemed offensive to their Gods.”
“How can you be so old? You don't look it.”
She grinned and nudged him with her elbow.
“That's nice of ye kid, givin' this old Orc a compliment. Truth be told I can't believe how fast men die, ye get like sixty years at best, then yer spent. It's no wonder ye forget so much, ye don't live long enough to pass it on. What was fact a hundred years ago becomes legend, then in another hundred it's forgotten.”
She finished her mead then upended the mug, disappointed that it was empty. There was a deeper green tint to her cheeks now, perhaps the Orc equivalent of blushing.
“Ah well, it's for the best. Shouldn't get too drunk around little Bevan. Now, where were we?”
She scooted closer to him, her armored legs clanking and her heavy breasts swaying. Their hips connected with a bump and she ruffled his hair with her large, green hand. Bevan shied away, but to his surprise, the sensation was oddly pleasant. He relaxed a little as he felt her fingers massage his scalp, like he was some kind of faithful dog.
“Ye ain't gonna find any lastin' friendships among the Paladins kid, they only care about books and hymns, strictly no fun policy. Real friends get drunk with ye, then fight ye, then make up and get drunk again. They'll take a sword for ye, or bang an ugly lass so ye can woo her pretty friend. That's what friendship is, not all wearin' the same armor and standing in formation until one of ye passes out.”
“Just why are you so concerned about my future, anyway?” Bevan complained.
“I dunno kid...was kind of jarrin', seeing ye ready to die like that. So young, yet so indoctrinated, givin' your life for Gods and kings without havin' had any chance to learn its value.”
“I'm not indoctrinated,” he insisted, “these are choices that I made of my own volition.”
“Are they though? Aye, it was yer choice to join the Paladins. But once ye arrived, did they ever let ye make a decision for yerself? Or did they just tell ye what was right and wrong, what ye had to do, what values to hold and what enemies to hate?”
Bevan didn't have an answer, he stared at the ground, pushing his toes into the cool mud.
“They put ye in an environment where they had absolute control, ye weren't exposed to anythin' they didn't plan, there were no opinions going round besides theirs.”
“Fine, I get it, can we change the subject? It doesn't matter anyway, I can't be a Paladin anymore...”
“Well ye said it yerself kid, ye cost me big time back at the village, I gotta make that money back somehow. I ain't gonna just let ye go back to yer monastery.”
Bevan's shoulders slumped, and a tear rolled down his cheek. What would become of him now? He had been so sure of his convictions, so certain of his future, but it had been robbed from him in the space of a day. Now he wasn't even certain if it had been true to begin with. Why did this Orc, an enemy of the faith, seem so wise and have such arcane knowledge that he had never come across in all of his hours scouring the library?
“Aww, come on kid, it ain't all that.” He felt Gharol's firm grip on his shoulder, the Orc trying to comfort him as he sniffed loudly. “Think of it as a second chance. Who knows, maybe ye'll make enough gold to buy yer freedom in a few years time, and then ye can go back home. As long ye ain't dead ye got prospects.”
He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, embarrassed by his show of weakness.
“Have some more soup, ye'll feel better.” Gharol leaned over and refilled his bowl, pushing it into his hands. “This has gotta be better than the shit they feed ye at the monastery, right?”
Bevan nodded as he sipped. She was right, it was flavorful. The cooks knew how to make the most of the herbs that were available, and it had been a few days since he had really sat down and eaten a proper meal.
“It's a harsh world kid, some of us gotta do things we ain't exactly proud of in order to make a livin', I don't want ye thinkin' that this is fun for me.”
“Then why don't you get an honest job?” he asked, looking up from his meal. “You're as strong as a cart horse, I can think of a hundred professions for someone like you.”
“Aye, and how am I gonna do that with yer Paladins and yer church fillin' everyone's heads with horseshit about how we're demons? It's a self-fulfillin' prophecy, kid. They tell everyone we're evil, the townsfolk drive us out and then we have to become bandits in order to survive, in their eyes confirming what the church says about us being evil. I'm not mad at ye, relax, yer too young to remember life before all of this shite.”
She put her arm around him again, pulling him close to her, and this time he allowed it.
“Enough of that serious shite, how about ye sing me one of yer songs? I don't understand a fuckin' word of it, and perhaps that's for the best, but the tunes are nice.”
“You want me to sing?”
“Aye, ye got a good voice on ye, I heard you singin' in the cart on the way here.”
“I don't know if I'm the mood to sing anymore,” he grumbled, stirring his soup with his wooden spoon.
“Oh come on, I fed ye didn't I? Meals ain't free kid, let's hear a song.”
He thought for a moment, then cleared his throat and began to sing the seventeenth hymn of the holy scriptures, the meditations of the cloister. Gharol ate from her bowl, listening to the melody as a handful of other Orcs joined them around the fire, helping themselves to the stew and watching quietly as Bevan went through the verses he had committed to memory.
CHAPTER 3: RELIGIOUS FERVOR
After a while, the embers began to fade, and Bevan had run out of songs to sing. His throat was growing sore, and the pots of stew and soups had been all but emptied. The moon was high in the sky, peeking through the leaves of the forest canopy as the wind rustled the treetops. Gharol stretched her arms out, then stood, scratching her neck idly.
“Right, time to turn in I reckon. Some nice songs those were, Bevan. I don't regret carting ye out here with me.” Bevan stood too, waiting expectantly. “What, ye comin' with me are ye?”
His face began to burn again.
“N-No, I just...where do I sleep? Back in the cart?”
“Ye'll catch yer bloody death if ye sleep in that fuckin' cart Bevan, and we ain't got any spare tents for ye. Not enough Orcs to carry the gear of the ones yer Paladins killed.”
He waited, not knowing what else to do.
“Oh alright ye sod, ye can sleep in me tent. I got the biggest one, after all, bein' the leader of this here band.”
“But where will you sleep?”
She leaned down to eye level with him, and he tried to keep his gaze away from her cleavage. He could see straight down her tunic, she wasn't wearing anything underneath it.
“Bevan, I ain't sleepin' outside and ye ain't got anywhere else to go, so come along now. I promise I won't sully yer honor or whatever it is that makes Paladins swear off doin' the nasty. Not unless ye want me to,” she added with a wink. She chuckled as he looked away, his face red.
“Fuckin' hell Bevan. We won't need to start a fire next time we camp, I can use yer bloody face to heat the food, now follow me.”
She walked off into the darkness and Bevan trailed after her, jogging a little to keep up with her longer strides. The tents were set out in a circle around the campfire, towards the edges of the clearing. As they approached, he realized that Gharol's tent was indeed the largest, and it had decorations and furs sewn into the fabric. Was this how the Orcs lived their lives? Bevan couldn't imagine sleeping without being surrounded by stone walls and the security they conferred. Gharol led him forward and raised the flap to the tent, Bevan walking inside, not needing to crouch due to its size. The Orc entered behind him, fastening the flap shut and bending double in order to move about in what to her was a cramped space.
There was a large pile of pelts on the ground that obviously served as her bed, bear or wolf maybe. He ran his fingers through the material, enjoying the sensation of the silky fur on his fingertips. It was a far cry from the straw-stuffed mattresses he was accustomed to sleeping on at the monastery.
He heard clanking metal and turned to see Gharol removing the iron plating that protected her legs. Each slab of hammered metal looked to be as heavy as his shield. She piled them in the corner, now wearing only her underclothes much as he was. She had an imposing figure, and her clothing clung to her, patched and sewn in places where it had been cut or torn. Her wide hips were supported by thick, muscular legs and her weighty breasts hung in her tunic as she crouched.
“Pick a side kid, there should be room enough for the two of us.”
She shuffled over next to him and began to spread out the pelts, then lay down on her side, leaving just enough room in the tent for Bevan to squeeze in next to her. There was a chill in the air, and the ground was cold even through the layer of soft furs, but Gharol's body radiated heat. After hesitating for a moment he lay down with his back to her, feeling the warmth of her breath in his hair. She smelled vaguely of honey, probably because of the mead.
He began to tremble, partly because of the cold night air and partly because of Gharol's proximity to him. She made him feel...odd...confused. He hadn't been around any women at all really, not since he had come of age and joined the Paladins. They were very strict about that kind of thing in the order. As Gharol pulled a pelt over them to serve as a blanket and he felt her large breasts press against his back, he began to understand why. He felt an unfamiliar ache in his loins, and he closed his legs on it, trying to block out the strange agitation that was rising in his belly.
“It's fuckin' cold, but it'll warm up in a minute. Yer shiverin' like a scared dog, Bevan.”
“I'm fine, I've slept in worse places,” he muttered.
“Well that's a fine compliment, y'know a lot of Orcs would give their left nut to share a bed with Gharol for a night. Then again maybe mankind doesn't like tough girls, ye like 'em scrawny and covered in frills, ain't that so?”
“I wouldn't know.”
“Of course ye know, it's written in yer blood. No amount of hittin' yerself over the head with old books can make ye forget it. Yer body knows kid, has a mind of its own.”
Her breath tickled the back of his neck, making him shudder.
“Yer gonna catch a cold, ain't nobody gonna buy a sick slave. Come 'ere.”
Gharol wrapped one of her strong arms around Bevan's upper body and pulled him closer to her, making him sink into the cushion of her bust through the fabric of her tunic, the weight of her heaving breasts spilling onto his shoulders and cradling his head. She breathed warm air down the back of his neck, and he started to feel dizzy, oddly weak. Was she right? Was he getting sick? No, it was something else...
“Be honest Bevan,” she whispered, her lips naught but a hair from his ear. He shut his eyes tightly as if it might somehow block her out, trying to ignore the softness of her bosom as its weight leaned on him. “Are ye really ready to die without ever knowin' the touch of a woman? I could make ye feel good, I could be gentle. It wouldn't hurt.”
His heart pounded like the hooves of a galloping horse, and she must have felt it through the hand that she had placed on his chest. She could see through him, he couldn't hide anything from her. It was as if she knew everything about it him at a glance, like she knew him better than he knew himself.
Bevan didn't know what he wanted, his erection rubbed painfully against the coarse fabric of his leggings, his breathing growing heavy and ragged. He felt Gharol's hand crawl slowly down his body, brushing the growing hardness that strained against his clothing. He jumped, and she chuckled at his reaction.
“Told ye, ye body has a mind of its own. It knows what it wants, even if ye don't.”
Her hand closed around his bulge, her touch gentle despite her strength, Bevan arching his back and pushing against her warm body beneath the blanket that enclosed them.
“Sounds like an invitation to me,” she whispered.
The Orc pressed her puffy lips to his neck, and he felt her serrated tusks rake his skin as she kissed, the odd contrast of sensations making him squirm in her grasp. She caught his ear in her teeth, tugging gently, and he brought a hand to his mouth to stifle a gasp. His brain was full of fog, he couldn't think straight, the touch of her hand on his groin was overriding his senses. Gharol began to tug his pants down, and he made no move to stop her, wincing as his member bounced free of its prison and her fingers wrapped around it. Her skin was soft like velvet, and her grip was firm, the warmth of her palm permeating him to the core. He felt blood pumping through his organ, making it jump and pulse in her hand. He tried to buck, to drive his member deeper into her fist, but she held him still as if enjoying his fruitless writhing.
“Ye ever touched yerself, at least?” She waited for a reply, but he gave none, the power of coherent speech now a lost art form to him. She bit him softly on the neck, pinching his skin in her teeth, then chuckled as she felt a shiver run down his spine. “Oh, I am gonna have some fun with ye.”
She squeezed his erection in her hand, and Bevan cried out, covering his mouth in embarrassment as Gharol laughed, her heavy breasts bouncing against him with the motion. She began a slow, torturous pumping, not enough to satisfy the maddening itch that was growing inside him but just enough to keep him frustrated and wanting. He felt as if he might go crazy. Gharol knew exactly how much pressure to apply, exactly how fast she should go to avoid giving him the relief that craved. Although she was gentle and considerate of his smaller stature, her intentions were cruel and selfish, yet somehow that thought made it feel all the better. What was wrong with him? Was this what the priests had warned him about? This creeping, cloying feeling that made stars dance before his eyes and made his legs go numb?
“W-What are you doing to me?” he whispered between pained gasps, “I've never felt like this before.”
“Yeah, this is what ye priests are so afraid of. Right now, I'm yer only God.”
Blasphemy, but it did nothing to slow the feeling that was gradually rising from deep within his loins.
“How does it feel?” Gharol whispered, nibbling at his earlobe as he twitched and rolled his hips in a futile effort to get more of whatever it was she was subjecting him to.
“I...I don't...it feels...good...” He could barely form a coherent sentence, every motion of her hand sent a pulse of white light through his head that blurred his vision and dulled his mind.
“Can't believe ye never got off before, ye poor creature. No wonder yer so stuck up. Don't worry, we'll make up for lost time.”
She began to pump her hand faster now, and Bevan's hips started to move in concert. He pushed out to meet her downward thrusts as he felt something rising within him, an electricity that tingled through his muscles and forced a low moan from his lips. Gharol pulled him closer to her, snaking her other arm under his ribs and holding him in her powerful embrace as she drove him to orgasm. He convulsed and whined in her grip, waves of pleasure rolling over him, each more powerful than the last as he sprayed thick ropes of his emission into her waiting hand. She stroked slowly now, delicately, milking what was left from his sensitive member as aftershocks pierced through his brain like hot knives and sweet afterglow drowned him in its bliss.
He felt dazed, as if he were floating on a cloud as Gharol rolled him over to face her, feeling the velvet fur of the pelts on his bare skin. She wiped her hand on the top of the blanket, then gripped his hair in her fist, pulling him closer for a deep and lurid kiss. Her tusks pressed against his lips as she forced her thick, slimy tongue into his mouth, she tasted of honeyed mead and metal. He relaxed into her arms, the sensation of her roving tongue exploring him somehow draining his will to resist her. He had read about kissing in books, a symbolic act performed to cement the vows of marriage, but this was different. This was obscene, indecent, and it felt wonderful. He tried to meet her, wrestling her clumsily in his mouth and she tightened her grip on his hair as if to say let me handle it. He went limp, letting her do as she pleased with him, her erotic kiss mingling with the pulsing glow of his dwindling euphoria.
She eventually broke away, their lips parting with a wet pop, a solitary strand of their shared saliva linking her mouth to his. He gasped, breathing heavily as she pushed his face into her cleavage, now slick with her sweat. Wet skin cooled his burning cheeks, the taste of salt on his lips, her heaving bosom engulfing his head as she drew him in. They were as large and as heavy as two sacks of grain, bulging from beneath the coarse fabric of her tunic as if trying to escape its confines. He breathed in her feminine musk, delving his hands into the soft meat of her breasts, her fat spilling between his fingers as he filled his palms.
That couldn't be all there was, he needed more.
“Slow down kid, ye'll be good and hard again in a few minutes, yer young. It's my turn.”
Her turn? What did she mean? She raised her arms, pulling off her tunic, her bare breasts dropping heavily as she robbed them of their support. They bounced enticingly as they settled, her discolored nipples engorged, the two weighty globes hanging from her chest and swaying back and forth as she moved. She shuffled out of her leggings, and Bevan slid an explorative hand down her torso, her now nude body concealed by the pelt. He was greeted by two rows of chiseled abdominal muscles, tight and firm, bulging from beneath skin as smooth as polished metal and wet with beads of her sudor. He traced the contours that her abs cut into her stomach with his fingertips, passing her navel and reaching a tuft of curly hair.
“That's right...now get down there. Ye'll know what to do, it'll come natural.”
She put a hand on his head and pushed it beneath the blanket, Bevan following the curve of her hip with his hand, sinking his fingers into the supple flesh of her thigh and finding more firm muscle lurking beneath. He didn't know what to do, he couldn't think straight. All he knew was that he wanted to kiss her, to taste her skin. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against her belly and dragging his tongue across her taut six-pack, mouthing and licking as he felt her tense at his touch. How could something be so hard, and yet so soft? It was like steel sheathed in satin. Her skin was salty, slick with sweat and feverishly hot. Gharol twitched in surprise as he slid the tip of his roving tongue into her navel, crooning happily as her grip on his hair tightened.
“Yeah, that's right, I knew ye had it in ye.”
He clawed at her soft flesh, mouthing as he roamed lower, until her pubic hair tickled his chin. Gharol rolled onto her back, pulling him with her and spread her legs apart under the pelt. It was too dark for him to see anything under there, but he probed with his fingers, finding the velvet skin of her thighs, and between them a new wetness. His fingers slipped on the delicate flesh, and she shuddered happily.
“Use yer tongue, kid.”
He pressed closer to her, feeling the smooth skin of her inner thighs brush against his cheeks, and her womanly scent filled his nose. It was strong, but pleasant, his body responding to it in a way that he wasn't used to. He felt a fresh ache in his loins, an urgent need rising up inside of him that drove him on. He parted her thick lips with his fingers, feeling her slick juices coating his skin, then pressed the tip of his tongue gingerly against her burning vulva. She tasted of copper and salt, there was a sourness to her, but he didn't care. His brain was addled with excitement and a long-suppressed lust that now bubbled to the surface, out of his control.
He dragged the surface of his tongue over her tender flesh, and she closed her steely thighs around his head, keeping him there as he mouthed and kissed. Was he doing it right? She shuddered and quivered as he painted the folds of her womanhood, whatever he was doing, she seemed to like it. Emboldened, he pressed his tongue into her opening, feeling her textured walls contract around it.
“Put yer fingers in me, yeah...like that.”
He pressed a finger into the warm, textured tunnel and felt it close around him, straining to suck him deeper as her viscous nectar leaked past his hand.
“Move it in and out, slow like.”
Bevan complied, feeling the creases and bumps of her flesh drag against his skin. She was hot to the touch, almost enough to burn him. How would it feel if he put his...in there..?
“There's a hard bit at the top, lick that.”
He probed with his tongue, sliding over her exposed sex, following the lines and contours until he reached a hood of skin. His lips met a firm bud that protruded from underneath it, the massive Orc trembling like a leaf when he glanced its surface.
“Gently,” Gharol warned, a sting in her tone. “It's sensitive.”
He sucked it into his mouth gingerly, running his tongue over the stiff nub. Gharol shivered and gasped, gripping his hair in her hands as her thighs tightened around his head, grinding against his face.
“Unf, fuck, keep that up ye little...” Her voice trailed off into a low, guttural growl as he pinched her clitoris between his teeth and his tongue, squeezing it lightly. At the same time, he continued to push his finger deeper, increasing his pace as he felt her muscles wrap around it like a fist gloved in damp silk. He kept it up for a couple more minutes until his tongue began to tire and her gooey emission began to stick to his face. She released him from the crushing hold of her thighs, sensing that he was spent, and he kissed their burnished surface dotingly as her grip on his hair became a gentle stroking that sent happy shivers down his spine.
“Alright kid, now for the main event. Had to rub one out of ye first or ye'd never stand it.”
She sat up, dragging him out from under the blanket by his arms as if he were a doll, then she lay him on his back and swung a leg over him. Her swollen loins dripped strands of her warm juices onto his straining, aching cock as she straddled him, so close that he could feel the heat that she radiated on his glans. The furs slid off her naked body, exposing the Orc in all of her green, muscular glory. She positioned her wide hips over him, her thick thighs to either side of his waist, dimpled with muscle. Her hips tapered to give her an hourglass figure, her bunched abs gleaming beneath the dull moonlight that penetrated the holes in the fabric of the tent, coated in a veneer of glistening sweat. Her sumptuous breasts hung heavily, unsupported, swaying gently as her breath became ragged with anticipation.
Bevan was beside himself as she hovered over him, his masculine instincts aflame at the sight of her glorious body. He wanted to possess her, taste her, grope and penetrate her. He wanted to do things that didn't even make logical sense, his lust overpowering his higher functions.
Gharol grinned down at him, her long, dark hair falling over her face as she gripped his cock in her hand and repositioned it. She pulled back his foreskin with her fingers, letting her syrupy juices drip down his shaft as she rubbed his sensitive glans between her puffy lips. The touch of her damp, hot petals was so raw and unfiltered, setting Bevan's nerves aflame as he squirmed beneath her. Just when the teasing became too much for Bevan to take, she dropped down on him, forcing him inside her and taking his member all the way to the base. He loosed a pained gasp as the pillowy walls of her tunnel engulfed his length, cradling his member in a tunnel of writhing, slimy flesh. Her satin walls gripped him angrily as his erection plunged into her most intimate depths, her lubricating juices leaking around his shaft as her passage wrung him. Her weight pressed down on his pelvis, and she rested her large hands on his chest, irritating the bruise she had left when she had kicked him in the ribs the night before.
She groaned, rolling her hips with his stiff member still lodged deep inside her, grinding against him as she drove his throbbing shaft against her soft walls in a punishing rhythm. She lifted herself off him, the suction of her wet insides trying to drag him with her, then slammed down again. She let her weight carry her, knocking the wind out of him and forcing a cry from his lips. When she drew back again, fat globs of her excitement rolled down his shaft, her ample bosom bouncing up and down as she panted.
Bevan hid his face under his hands, the stimulation overcoming him, but Gharol did not relent. She increased the speed of her merciless pounding as he bucked and yelped, trapped beneath her. She squeezed him tightly between her thighs, wetting her lips with her green tongue as she listened to his steady chorus of gasps and cries, her eyelids drooping as she watched him with the most sultry of expressions.
“Sing for me, little Paladin.”
He peeked between his fingers, seeing her dark figure twisting and gyrating over him, the movements of her taut muscles and the swaying of her breasts almost hypnotic. His cock burned and throbbed inside her, pulsing and twitching as her contracting muscles massaged it and the cruel folds and wrinkles of her insides tormented him.
She leaned down and gripped his wrists in her strong hands, pulling his arms away from his red face and pinning them against the fluffy furs. Her fat breasts dangled an inch from his nose as she leaned over him, her sweat dripping from her body.
“I wanna see yer expression when ye come inside me, ye little darlin'.”
She hammered him in earnest now, slamming down on him relentlessly as she leered at him, enjoying the show as his face contorted and his cheeks glowed hotter. Bevan tried desperately to bury his face in the furs to avoid her piercing stare, but he could not escape her wanton gaze. His hips ached from the impacts, and his legs had been turned to jelly. He let out a low, primal groan as he felt another orgasm welling up inside him.
“Gharol, slow down, I can't...” He trailed off as she released one of his hands and gripped his face, her sharp nails digging into his cheeks as she angled his head so that she could gaze into his eyes, drinking in every pained flutter of his lashes and each involuntary gasp and sigh. There was a hunger in her eyes that surpassed his own, she was bestial, a force of nature as she crushed him under the weight of her passionate lovemaking.
It became too much for him. As her predatory, yellow eyes glared down at him with all the desire and greed of a stalking wolf, he exploded inside her. She drew his climax out of him with a cruel fervor that set his head spinning and sent almost painfully intense bursts of pleasure tearing through his body. She pressed down on him as he writhed and squirmed beneath her, trapping him deep inside her twitching reaches, savoring the feeling of his warm emission flooding her depths as her own climax rippled through her. Her powerful contractions made Bevan's ordeal all the worse, wringing him of everything that he could offer her, her muscles milking him through the barrier of her delicate tunnel in wracking waves. He lay limp on the downy pelts, totally spent as Gharol rode out the remainder of her orgasm, spasming and growling as the unspeakable mess of their combined juices leaked from their joined loins.
Gharol fell off Bevan, rolling over next to him on the fur bedding, rubbing her sopping mound with her fingers and wresting out every last shuddering aftershock that she could manage. Bevan draped his arm over her waist, nuzzling her chest as they panted together, their reconciliatory cuddling beginning as they relaxed into each other's arms. Gharol pulled the fur blanket back over them again, trapping their heat to insulate them from the chill air, then she pulled Bevan close with her strong arms as he gazed up at her with adoration in his eyes.
“Now don't go fallin' in love with me, kid. There's plenty of willin' girls of yer own kind out there, ye just gotta go find 'em.”
Bevan nodded, resting his head in her cleavage, her soft flesh cool against his cheeks.
“Thanks...for showing me this.”
“Yer gonna do alright kid, just drop that dodgy Paladin shite.”
She rested her face in his hair, and Bevan drifted off to sleep, satisfied and exhausted.
Gharol thrust the boots into his arms as Bevan stood at the side of the road, watching the procession of Orcs march past him in bemusement.
“Go on kid, on yer way.”
“You...you're letting me go? Why?”
Gharol blushed, the deep green tint coloring her cheeks as she avoided his questioning look.
“Just...on yer way kid. Don't question a lucky break. Nearest town is about twenty miles back down this road.”
He sat down in the grass, pulling on the boots as Gharol watched him, her lips curling into a smile. When he was done tying the laces, he stood and extended a hand to her.
“Gharol, I appreciate it. You didn't have to do any of these things for me. Whatever the Paladins think they know about Orcs isn't even half of the truth.”
She batted his hand away and lifted him off the ground, squeezing the wind out of him in a powerful bear hug. She lowered him gingerly, chuckling as he caught his breath.
“Go on young Bevan, before I change me mind.”
They exchanged one last glance, then he turned, walking back down the dirt trail in the opposite direction to the column of Orcs. Gharol watched him for a minute until she was sure he wasn't going to turn back, then hurried to catch up to her warband.