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The orc’s groan was thick and guttural behind him, the sound of shifting fabric and leather far too loud, until — Gerrard gasped — something touched him. Something hot and new and alive, seeking its way into his bared, exposed crease. Something that was already slick, swollen, dripping wet, and wait, that wasorc-seedmaking it wet like that, and what the fuck was Gerrard doing, what was he —
Pushing. Pushing back against it, onto that blunt slick tip, feeling the pain whisper and flare as that hot flesh jabbed its way inside. Only a little, but enough that Gerrard could feel it juddering, could hear the orc’s answering moan, choked and urgent in his throat.
“Ach,” the orc breathed, and that was the touch of his big hands, both of them blatantly gripping Gerrard’s arse now, pulling him wider, like the presumptuous bastard he was. And Gerrard should have been fighting it, and maybe he was, he was. By willing himself to relax, to open — and to push back further. To swallow more of that huge, prodding, throbbing flesh inside him, to wring another guttural, helpless-sounding groan from the orc behind him.
“Ach, human,” the orc moaned, his hands spasming against Gerrard’s skin. “You cannot — you cannot want — mayharmyou —”
Gerrard’s growl escaped on its own, his body shoving back harder, as more glorious burning pain blossomed around the orc’s relentless invasion. “Fuck — you,” he gasped. “I can take it. I know what I fucking want.”
It was so clearly false, based on everything else he’d said and done this past day — and the orc’s low answering laugh should have felt like an insult, especially with how his giant throbbing prick was now gouged halfway into Gerrard’s upraised arse, and still sinking deeper. But those big warm hands were rubbing up and down Gerrard’s sweaty flanks, as if in appreciation, in… approval.
“Stubborn human,” he murmured, as that pole in Gerrard’s arse swelled fuller, sank a little deeper. “This is not your first time, ach?”
Gerrard was not answering that, was not going to betray — or even recall — how much he’d once liked this kind of thing, especially with men markedly bigger and stronger than he was. But these days, there were very few such men to be had, even if Gerrard could bring himself to trust them enough to do this — and besides, he’d had more than enough submission and weakness and defeat of late to last the rest of his days. So why was he doing this, why why why —
The orc’s big hands were still stroking up and down Gerrard’s sides, almost as if to soothe him, reassure him, as that hard cock kept pushing deeper inside, slow but sure. That oozing orc-seed slicking the way with unsettling ease, so that the only remaining resistance was Gerrard’s own taut, stretched-open flesh. Now clamping reflexively against the orc’s shuddering strength, but the orc kept driving deeper, opening Gerrard wider, splitting him apart, as the pain flashed and burned. His rim so tight and strained, his body utterly pinioned, pierced, until —
Until the orc’s hips met him. Touched, pressed, flush, skin to sweaty skin. The orc was fully inside him, an orc, anorc. And Gerrard’s chanting, chattering thoughts were shouting, scrambling, not at it being an orc, but just at — at how good it felt. So damned good. So strong that there was no room for anything else, no shame or fear or despair, just this, just this —
“Fuck me,” he gasped, ordered — and that was another hoarse, helpless moan from the orc as he… obeyed. Drawing himself out a little, and then sinking in again. Driving a choked groan from Gerrard’s mouth, betraying both pain and pleasure — but oh, the orc was doing it again, and again. Moving smoother, swifter, with every stroke, until he was pumping in and out in a steady, staggering rhythm, his heavy bollocks slapping against Gerrard’s skin, while Gerrard’s moans pitched louder, higher, fuck, fuck —
His shaky, tingling hand fumbled beneath him, yanking his trousers down further, grasping himself in a tight thrusting fist — and suddenly the thudding pleasure caught, roared up into ecstasy, as he sprayed out onto the dirt. His whole body arching with it, shouting with it, clamping him over and over against the orc, against this invasion, this… relief. This brief, hanging, impossible quiver of rightness, of… ofpeace.
Behind him, the orc’s body was pitching double, his hands catching on either side of Gerrard’s on the earth — and he shouted, loud and pained and desperate in Gerrard’s ear, as he spasmed all over, and poured out his pleasure, too. Flooding Gerrard full of him, full of what seemed to be an appalling amount of seed, pumping out again and again and again. While Gerrard’s frantic, frenzied thoughts drew up the whispers, the tales, of the sheer quantity of an orc’s spend, and Gerrard had never once wondered about that, let alone imagined taking a full load inside him… right?
But he was doing it, he’d done it, and it was already over, already inside him. And the orc’s huge, heavy body had sagged down onto him, crushing him fully into the hard ground beneath him, and Gerrard should have finally found the will to resist, to fight. Especially the strange, hitching sensation of the orc’s hot sweaty face, gently nosing at his neck, easing down into the crook of his shoulder, until…
The orcbithim. Bit him, breaking the skin, flashing out pain beneath sharp slicing teeth. And too late, Gerrard spasmed and gasped, his body snapped to stillness, his eyes shocked wide —
And finally, finally, he fought. Shoving up against the orc’s overpowering weight, wrenching away from that clamp of teeth in his skin. And though he felt the skin ripping, tearing, flashing up more pain, he didn’t care, he just needed to get away awayaway—
But that meant getting away from the orc’s huge cock inside him, it meant yet more pain, and a loud, humiliating squelch as he broke free of it. And then the unmistakable, horrifying feeling of hot liquid, escaping from inside him, streaking down his thighs — and though he reflexively fought to clamp it off as he leapt up, yanked up his trousers, that meant the seed was… still there. Still there, inside him, and his trousers even felt noticeably snugger around his usually slim waist. Because — he shot a brief, mortified glance downwards — he was… bloated. Swollen. As if he’d gone off and eaten a massive damned feast.
And curse the orc, because he was looking, too. Holding his dark, greedy eyes on Gerrard’s rounded belly as he slowly rose to his feet, not even bothering to pull up his own trousers. And therefore shamelessly, blatantly showing Gerrard what had just been jammed inside him — a huge, ponderous, veined grey orc-prick, streaked with a mess of white, and still oozing more shiny, viscous seed from its blunt, glossy tip.
Gerrard stared for an instant too long, his heart slamming in his chest, his mortification jolting even higher. What the fuck, what the fuck, what thefuck—
And before the shame could swallow him whole, Gerrard whirled around, away, back toward the trees.
He needed to run.
8
Gerrard needed to run. Needed to escape. Needed to pretend for all the rest of his days like this had never fucking happened, never, never,never—
“Wait,” cut in the orc’s voice, deep and urgent, as something hard and powerful clamped around Gerrard’s forearm. “Wait, warrior!”
Gerrard jerked to a stop, hissing through his teeth, but he didn’t turn back toward the orc, didn’t otherwise acknowledge this devious cheating bastard. And he could hear the bastard’s shaky breaths, suddenly, could feel the air shuddering against the torn, painful skin of his still-exposed shoulder.
“You ought to — take this,” came the orc’s rough voice, as something hard nudged at Gerrard’s clenched fist. “Tell your brothers how — how you won it back from me.”
Gerrard’s gaze snapped downwards, toward where — oh. His sword. The sword the orc had stolen, and wielded against him. And now the orc was just — handing it back? As some sort of pity prize?
But despite the shame still crushing Gerrard all over, he snatched for the sword, gripped its hilt tight. Felt the familiar ridges of wrapped leather beneath his palm, the weight and strength of solid steel in his shaking hand.
“Tell your brothers how you hunted me, and fought me,” the orc’s low voice behind him continued. “Tell them how you brought me to my knees, and conquered me. Ach?”
Gerrard’s shame skittered sideways, pitched with bitterness, with disbelief — and against all his better instincts, he whipped back around, and glared at the orc’s watching eyes. “I don’t need your pity in this, orc,” he spat. “Or your damned fuckinglies!”
