Page 46 of The Fall of the Orc

The watching orcs murmured again, one of them even letting out a low whistle, while Olarr plunged faster, his movements jerky and frantic, his eyes wide on Gerrard’s face. Shimmering with shock, with fervour, with pure blatant devotion, and Gerrard twitched a little smile back, and slipped his hand up into Olarr’s messy hair. Guiding his head downward, down into his neck, into that scar he’d made, so many moons ago…

“Good, captain,” Gerrard breathed, his head tilting up, his eyes fluttering, as Olarr’s hungry teeth scraped against his skin. “You take your human however the hell you want. You rut me, bind me, mark me. Ruin me, for anyone but you.”

Olarr’s body was trembling and straining all over, mindlessly driving into Gerrard, worshipping him, obeying him. Those teeth seeking harder, sharper, as the furious craving whipped closer, coiling and condensing, lurching for the edge…

“Yeah, just like that,” Gerrard gasped, his eyes rolling back, again finding the light of the moon above. “Taste me, take me,loveme. Fill me with yourself, with your worship, until I’m too full to hold it all in —”

And fuck, yes, Olarr’s shout roaring into his ear, into his skin, as sharp teeth sank deep, and that cock inside Gerrard jerked, and released. Pumping out with so much force that he could feel the flood of fresh heat slamming inside, could feel the pain and the pressure, flashing bright and dazzling with the crush of teeth in his skin. It was so, so good, so perfect, so right, everything Gerrard had wanted, everything he’d asked for, such a good obedient orc, worthy of blessing, of gifts, and —

His own pleasure caught, quivered — and then capitulated, spraying out of his straining cock with fierce, aimless abandon. Painting his bare chest all over with it, and oh, Olarr had yanked back to watch, his eyes hazy and bright, his mouth streaked with red, streaming slick and messy down his chin. But it looked good on him, he was so fucking good, and Gerrard arched and moaned beneath him, let the ecstasy and the rightness wash over him, raw and rugged and pure beneath the watching light of the moon.

When the pleasure finally twined away, ebbing into trembling little shudders, Gerrard found himself sprawled wide and debauched on the altar, his belly visibly swollen, and painted all over with astonishing amounts of his own spend. While Olarr was still caught inside him, his half-hard cock still spasming as his shoulders heaved, and his greedy eyes drank up the sight of Gerrard beneath him. And as his tongue licked again and again at his red lips, as if he’d never tasted anything so glorious, except, perhaps…

Gerrard’s hand smeared against his rounded belly on its own, sliding itself into his own slick — and then he raised his hand to Olarr’s mouth. Another silent order, or maybe an offering, or both — but Olarr instantly took it, groaning harsh and guttural as his tongue snapped out, curled against Gerrard’s fingers. Licking them off with urgent, single-minded hunger, until he’d caught every drop — so Gerrard did it again. And this time, he didn’t miss the audible groans from the orcs around him, or — he glanced again toward them — the vivid, undeniable craving in their eyes.

And now that Gerrard’s own craving was mostly sated, it abruptly occurred to him that this, too, was power. This attention, this longing, this hunger.They only wish to know what it is, Olarr had said,to have a brave, powerful human warrior freely offer up such a gift. The fresh seed of a human man is the richest, sweetest, most wondrous taste in all the realm…

And Gerrard wasn’t thinking this, he wasn’t, rash, reckless,cunning, as his hand again streaked in his own copious mess, and then held itself… up. “Do you think, captain,” he whispered, his heart suddenly thrumming in his ears, “that your warriors might want a taste, too?”

There was a beat of taut, stunned silence, Olarr’s eyes shot wide and disbelieving — and then, oh, a groan. Multiple groans. Multiple glittering, hungry eyes staring at Gerrard, at Olarr, awaiting Olarr’s decision, his own gift to his clanmates. And Gerrard was bracing himself now, brittle and breathless, because what if this was some kind of horrendous error in judgement on his part, what if it was an insult, or Olarr considered it a betrayal, or…

Or wait. Wait. Because behind the shock, that look in Olarr’s eyes was… approving. Appreciative. And maybe even — awed. Just like the day Gerrard had met Kalfr’s duel, and the day he’d beaten Silfast. As if Olarr couldn’t believe his good fortune, couldn’t possibly believe a human had followed this, was doing this, offering him this.

Olarr’s nod was rapid and fervent, his hands spasming at where they’d been gripping on Gerrard’s hips — but Gerrard could see him attempting to smooth it over, to find his familiar authority again, as he glanced sideways, toward the nearest orc. The one who’d first protested Gerrard’s being Bautul, and who was now looking at his still-upraised hand with blatant longing in his eyes.

“Ach, I should be honoured to grant my warriors such a gift, human,” Olarr said, his voice only slightly wavering. “Matuk, should you wish to be first?”

The orc — Matuk — flinched all over, but then jerked a nod, and lurched forward. Standing over Gerrard now, near enough to touch — but then stilling, glancing uncertainly toward Gerrard’s upheld hand. And what was Gerrard doing, oh goddess, bringing his dripping fingers to this Matuk’s mouth, brushing them against his hot grey lips…

Matuk instantly groaned, his tongue slipping out, curling swift and slick against Gerrard’s fingers. Feeling so foreign, so strange, so similar to Olarr’s tongue, but so unlike it, too — but Gerrard’s glance at Olarr found him still watching with unmistakable approval glinting in his eyes. Or maybe even hunger, hunger that was echoed by an unmistakable swelling of his half-hard strength, still buried deep inside Gerrard’s arse.

“My mate tastes good, ach?” Olarr’s cool voice said to Matuk, tinged through with pride, maybe even triumph. “He pleases you?”

Matuk’s hazy eyes fluttered as he nodded, as he sucked Gerrard’s finger fully into his hot mouth — but at that, Olarr gave a low hiss, and plucked Gerrard’s hand away. “Enough,” he said. “Who shall be next?”

It turned out that Thorvald was next, eyeing Gerrard with something between fear and abject craving, but Gerrard half-smiled back, and slid his hand back into his mess, getting more. Not minding nearly as much as Thorvald reverently licked off his fingers, one by one, and Olarr didn’t seem to mind either, watching Thorvald with mild, indulgent eyes.

But Thorvald, too, needed to be nudged away, and then came another orc, and another. Working their way around the circle, Gerrard realized, taking turns, though Silfast only bowed his head toward Olarr when his turn came, and Kalfr visibly hesitated, glancing toward the bulky, cool-eyed orc beside him. But the orc waved him forward with an impatient hand, and soon it was Kalfr kissing at Gerrard’s fingers, his eyes fluttering, his mouth warm and gentle.

Kalfr’s companion was far less so, even allowing his teeth to scrape against Gerrard’s fingers, but somehow Olarr had caught it — perhaps in the look on Gerrard’s face — and hissed the orc away, waving the next one forward. But by now Gerrard’s rounded belly was sticky, almost dry, and Gerrard didn’t miss Olarr’s brief, seeking glance, his silent question, before he waved the orc toward Gerrard’s belly.

“You may lick my mate clean, Arne,” he said, with the air of one making a great concession. “And should he be so kind to allow this, mayhap I shall fuck out another load of his sweet seed for you.”

Olarr was already fully hard again, grinding deep inside, though his eyes were again searching Gerrard’s, again with a twinge of uncertainty, as if he was sure this would be the line too far. But Gerrard was already too deep in this now, damn it, and it certainly wasn’t a hardship to have an orc’s mouth gently licking at his belly like this, while Olarr’s jutting cock swelled even further, sent more pleasure spiralling through his groin.

“Whatever you want, captain,” Gerrard murmured, gasping as the orc’s tongue slipped into his navel, and Olarr’s grinding began hardening into smooth, steady thrusts. “I’m your mate, yeah? Yours to use however you please.”

Olarr’s growl was low and velvety, deepening as the orc’s licking tongue brushed dangerously close to Gerrard’s own rapidly swelling cock. “Careful, Thrand,” Olarr hissed. “My mate’s prick is mine alone. I only share his seed with you, ach?”

This Thrand instantly obliged, moving back to safer territory, but he didn’t stop licking, either. And soon the next orc had joined in on the other side, scattering out more spinning, staggering sensation, especially once Olarr’s hand closed around Gerrard’s swollen cock, drawing it up. Almost fully concealing it, protecting it in his slowly pumping grip, so the Bautul could keep tasting him beneath, swirling their tongues against his skin and even into his coarse hair, until he was licked entirely clean.

But wait, now there was more for them to taste, seeping out smooth and clear from Gerrard’s slit, and Olarr squeezed it out onto his rounded belly, watched with hazy eyes as it was immediately licked away. And then there was more, more, oozing out drop by drop as Olarr kept driving in, his hand steadily working, making more. And oh, the Bautul were still taking turns, but now two — three — four — at once, the fourth just kissing at Gerrard’s chest, tonguing at his nipple, because maybe he was waiting, watching, for —

Gerrard shouted as the relief consumed him again, as his body contracted all over, as the hot release sprayed from within Olarr’s fist. Spattering Gerrard’s belly all over again, and catching a few of the orcs, too — not that they seemed to mind, because they were groaning, jostling for position, seeking out more. While Olarr — somehow, even as he kept going — directed it all, ordered them to take turns, and viciously snarled when Kalfr’s friend got too close to Gerrard’s still-raw-feeling neck.

It felt like Gerrard was just swimming in the sensation of it now, rolling with the impossible giddy unreality of it. With Olarr still pumping into him, still pumping every last straining drop out of him, while hot, slippery mouths kissed and caressed him, cleaned him, bathed him, blessed him beneath the moon’s watching eye.

And when Olarr finally gasped and sprayed out again, too, plumping Gerrard’s already-full belly even fatter and rounder beneath those licking tongues, it felt even more unreal, more unimaginable. More like a frantic, far-away fever dream, like a bizarrely sweet battle-frenzy consuming Gerrard whole — especially when Olarr drew himself out, leaving hot seed bubbling and gurgling in his wake. And then his own hot mouth dropped to Gerrard’s half-hard cock, enveloping it full and safe inside, caressing its wildly sensitive head with his slick seeking tongue. The feeling too much, so much, joining the overpowering truth of all those other licking tongues, but resonating so much stronger above it all, as if staking out its claim, its conquest, its…

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