Page 12 of Agor

“Ah, there.” I shoved a hand inside it and felt...something.

It seemed he’d stuffed a piece of firewood into his pocket. A thick, long, hard log that went on forever as I felt along it with my fingers.

“Fuck,” he groaned, bucking his hips into my grip.

The “log” jerked in my fingers, and I yanked my hand out.

“That isnotthe key,” I muttered, my cheeks flushing with heat.

“The key is there, too, sweetheart. You just have to dig deeper.”

“Why do I not believe you?” I rolled my eyes, patting another pocket on his ass instead. The bog orcs sure had a lot of pockets.

As I searched that one, trying hard not to fondle his ass again, he looked at me over his shoulder.

“I swear on the life of my dog that the key is in my right-side pocket. Take it. Do whatever you want with it, but if you touch my cock again, please don’t stop touching it.”

“Well, I believe you, but only because you seem to really like that dog.” I reached into the right pocket again. Trying to avoid touching the giant “log” that pressed against it from inside of his pants, I searched around for the key.

“Have you ever been with an orc before?” he rasped.

“No. I’ve been lucky enough to avoid being raped by your kind so far.”

“But how can I rape you if I’m tied hand and foot?”

“You can’t,” I agreed. “That’s the whole point of why I did it.” I finally found the key buried in the bottom of his pocket, all the way under the bulge of his cock. “Got it!” I yanked it out triumphantly.

Crouching down, I unlocked the manacle around my ankle and tossed it aside.

“If I can’t rape you,” he continued, “then you have no reason to be afraid.”

I shook my head, not buying his sweet talk.

“You’re not the only orc in this keep, and I can’t possibly tie all of you up. The way I see it, my best chance for survival is to get out of here right now.”

I glanced back at the platter with the meat pies. I couldn’t leave this place without having more of them. It wouldn’t hurt to grab a few for the road too. They smelled so damn good even when they were no longer piping hot. I stuffed several rolls into my pockets, then grabbed one more and bit into it.

“Mmm,” I moaned, chewing. “Whoever made these must be a wizard.”

“Violette bakes good squirrel pies,” he agreed.

“Is she the one who made these? Really? If she’s as good in bed as she is at baking, then why do you ever need me? Or anyone else, for that matter? Marry that woman, chief, before someone else does.”

He smirked. “I’m too young to get married yet.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-one.”

“Really? Me too. Only at thirty-one, they say, I’m way past the marrying age for a woman. Funny how it works, isn’t it? Anyway,” I headed past him toward the window. “I’ve got to go. You hang in there, chief.”

“If you leave now, wouldn’t you always wonder what you passed on tonight?”

I turned to say something quick and snappy, but my gaze lingered on him hanging there, suspended in chains and expectations, all wrapped up like a present for me.

His stare trapped me, keeping me in place.

“You got me right where you wanted me, little newt, didn’t you? Wouldn’t it be a shame if you got nothing out of it for your pleasure at the end?”

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