The Orc King's Captive Read Online Free Page B

slap burned her cheek,
bringing tears to her eyes. He grabbed her by the jaw and turned her face to
his. His eyes glinted like steel in the darkness.
    "I'm not in the mood."
His voice was low, with a razor's edge.
    He forced open her mouth and
pushed it in, stretching her lips with his girth. His skin tasted like charred
meat and slid wetly over her tongue. She swallowed, preparing to gag, but he held
it shy of her throat.
    He started rocking his hips,
moving it in and out of her mouth, savoring the feel of her warm, moist lips.
    She tried not to taste him,
tried to pretend that it wasn't happening, but the feel of his hard cock in her
mouth, the scent of his skin, the darkness, and her helplessness all
contributed to a growing sense of excitement. She knew he would smell her
arousal, and hated him for it.
    He gradually forced himself
deeper, prodding her throat almost delicately, as if to test the waters and
make sure there would be no repeats of the previous day. She swallowed his
crown, feeling it stretch her gullet as it moved in and out of her. She'd had
time to prepare herself, and managed to fight back her urge to vomit.
    He held her head in both hands
as he took advantage of her mouth, his thighs trembling from the effort of
crouching at an awkward angle at the foot of the bed. She could hear his
breathing getting more rapid, the gusts of warm air caressing her forehead as
he worked himself to a pitch of excitement.
    She felt his cock twitch in her
throat, felt it throb powerfully, then suddenly he was pulling out and she felt
hot streams of cum painting her face. She screwed her eyes shut and clamped her
lips, but not before taking a taste of his bitter seed. It tasted more like
metal than anything, an acrid, salty substance with a wild, musky undercurrent.
A warrior's seed.
    It ran down her face in rivers,
dripping onto her breasts like warm rain, and slid down her belly. She recoiled
in horror as it trickled over her loins and seeped between her folds. She felt
violated and ashamed and excited all at the same time and struggled in her
chains, making them rattle.
    He crawled over top of her into
her bed and left her there, miserable, filthy, and frustrated. Less than a
quarter of an hour later, not long after his seed had cooled on her body,
leaving her chilled, he began to snore.
    ––––––––
    S he woke with a start. Someone
had doused her with cold water.
    "Wake up."
    The voice was unfamiliar, harsh
and contemptuous. She shivered, blinking the water out of her eyes, and looked
up, trying to peer through the sunlight. A particularly hideous female stood
over her, lower fangs biting up over her thin upper lip. Her dark skin was
scarred and tattooed, and the long coils of her hair hung in bunches tied with
leather thongs. She was wearing a hide skirt and a leather vest laced tight
against her breasts.
    "You're filthy," she
said, motioning to a guard. "The king won't want to bed you like
this."
    "Your king would bed a dead
sow," said Quolondra as the guard unlocked her shackles.
    The woman kicked her in the
stomach.
    Quolondra fell forward,
retching. She hadn't eaten in over a day and only a trail of spittle drooled
out.
    "Next time you insult the
king, Groma won't be so gentle."
    The guard seized her arm and
pulled her to her feet. Two more of the orcish women came forward to relieve
him, each grabbing her by an armpit. Her arms, which had been blissfully numb,
began to burn and tingle as the feeling returned.
    The three females dragged her
out a side door, down a long flight of stairs, and out to her private bath, a
grassy terrace overlooking a flower garden. The sun was shining bright
overhead, almost blinding her as they pushed her down into the cold pool. Smoke
billowed over the park in the distance where the orcs were no doubt burning
down her people's sacred trees.
    The women scrubbed her roughly,
rinsing under the collar with palmfuls of water. Quolondra considered making a
break for the railing.