Page 9 of Steel & Thunder
A shadow moves overhead as Captain Ironstorm walks us inside, the roof of the arena providing cover. At least that’s what I assume because the only things in my eye line are the ground, my bound wrists, and a green orc butt. I’m too exhausted to struggle or look around for more. There’s a pause and what sounds like a door opening, the dirt floor giving away to stone as we go inside.
Once the door closes behind us, two voices begin speaking. They’re both in Orcish, so I have no idea what they’re saying or what Ironstorm’s response is. But it sounds like it could be the two women from earlier, before the match. My body flushes, seeing as they’re probably just at eye level with my ass. My ass which currently feels like a sloppy mess. I feel what I think is his cum (god, I hope it’s just his cum) start to leak out and by reflex tighten my hole, hissing at the sudden pain. Oh yeah, I’m also really fucking sore.
There’s more talking and then he’s chuckling about something and patting my ass, making me blush more. Can he just put me down so I can curl up and die somewhere, please? Thankfully there are only a few more exchanges, the two of them say something in unison that Ironstorm repeats back, and then I hear feet shuffling, a door closing, and we are alone. I hope.
Ironstorm walks farther into the room with me before I feel his arm coming across my back, holding and lifting me as he lowers himself to the ground and sets me on my own feet. My knees buckle when I try to stand, and I stumble forward, bound wrists grabbing onto his still-naked form to steady myself. Fuck, my legs are like jelly. I immediately try to correct myself only to fall again, making the orc chuckle as I cling to him.
“Easy.” His voice is soft as he puts a hand on the small of my back to steady me.
“ ’m fine,” I mumble. I’m not even sure I believed that. I mean I’m as fine as I can be after... My face heats up again as I remember what happened out in the arena.
He doesn’t respond, only helps to keep me from falling. There’s a stone ledge I can lean against, and once he sees that I can balance on my own, he leaves me and I finally have a chance to see the rest of the room. It’s dark, not pitch black, but the only lighting seems to be candles, a lot of them grouped together on a few different surfaces in the room. Other than that, though, it actually looks pretty similar to the room I was in earlier. Maybe this is where he got ready? There are a few differences. No couch, just a few chairs, and instead of a large mirror taking up one of the walls, there’s only a single standing one.
There’s also not a bath, but a shower, and the ledge I’m against divides it from the rest of the room. Well, it’s really a small indoor waterfall, but I assume it serves the same purpose. We have one at home, but it was always such a pain in the ass to heat up the water first, and it always ran out before I was done. I jump—and almost fall again—when I feel a hand on my waist. Ironstorm has finished whatever it was he was doing. It hits me again that I have no idea what’s supposed to happen next.
Following closely behind, the orc guides me to the falling stream of water, and given the state of my lower body, I have little choice but to move with him. He’s slow and careful, especially once we step onto the wet stone sunken into the floor a bit deeper than the rest. The water is warm as it splashes onto our legs. Moving in front of me, he pulls my body flush with his and turns us both directly under the water.
I struggle to hold onto him but manage not to shout in surprise, mostly because the water isn’t cold. After a few seconds, he turns us again and sets me back down. I try, very carefully, to stand on my own again, tentatively balancing on my own two feet. Ironstorm is still. I can feel his eyes on me but can’t bring myself to look at him.
After seeing that I’m steady, he leaves me again. I shiver a little in the cold air, but nearly jump again a second later when I feel his warm hand on my back holding a soapy sponge. Thinking he’s going to hand it to me, I lift my hand only to have him run the sponge along my chest himself, his other arm wrapping around my back as he steps closer to support me. That finally has me looking up at his face, and I am surprised by the warmth I find looking back at me.
In the flickering lights of the room, I watch the wet, furred outline of his muscles ripple as he slowly runs the sponge along my chest, arms, and stomach, occasionally switching to his own. He has a leg on either side of my body, his cock pressing against my lower stomach. His body feels hot, even under the warm water, and I can feel his breath against the side of my face.
He moves closer in front of me, pulling our soapy bodies together and running the sponge along my back. Our chests slide together, his coarse body hair scratching against my own. His hands move farther down until he reaches my ass, rubbing slow circles along each glute. Then, dropping the sponge on the stone ledge, he brings his still-soapy hand to my rear. His slippery digits roam up and down my ass for a moment before moving to the center, delving between my cheeks. I whimper as a finger strokes over my sore hole, hearing another chuckle and feeling a soft kiss on the top of my head.
The fingers return to my hole, gently washing away the stickiness gathered there. I bite my tongue rather than make more noises, but my cock is already betraying me. There’s no way he can’t feel me pressing against him. He bends to reach down farther, cleaning the rest of his sticky spend from the backs of my thighs, our bodies continuing to slide against each other. He runs his hands up my back slowly as he straightens himself, still keeping me pressed against him.
Grabbing the sponge again, he moves to stand behind me, wrapping an arm around my stomach. He moves down as he scrubs along my thighs and waist, slowly inching closer to but never actually touching my cock, which is more than half-hard and pointing down at an angle. His own hardening length presses against my soapy ass, and I fight the urge to grind back against him. When the sponge-filled hand finally reaches my shaft, it’s another fight not to hump forward.
He soaps up my cock almost methodically, grabbing me with his free hand and spreading the soap up and down my shaft and sack. I say nothing as my cock grows to full hardness under his touch, biting my lip when he kneads my balls slowly, taking the sponge to my inner thighs. I can feel his heartbeat when we’re pressed together like this, his breath hot against my ear.
What… What is this? I have been in a grand total of zero relationships in my life, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t how they normally start.
Why is he treating me like a lover? Is that what we are now, after...that? After he knocked me to the ground, stripped me, and... I wince again as my hole clenches in pain, remembering the violation in vivid detail. Vivid enough that my cock twitches when I recall some of the more pleasurable moments. I shut my eyes, trying to will away my erection, suddenly not sure I want him aware that I enjoyed my earlier treatment.
The sponge is gone, replaced with something I can’t quite make out in the dark. The arm around my waist moves to grab my bound hands, bringing them up to my chest. As the object is brought closer, I catch a glint of it in the candlelight—a knife. I go still, holding my breath as the blade slices through the wet cloth tying my wrists together. As it falls to the ground with a wet thud, the knife is gone, green hands already soothing my irritated skin.
I’m spun around and a hand under my chin lifts my gaze to his. Even in the dim light of the room, I can make out the soft brown of his irises. I can feel myself panting. I can feel a lot of things right now: his warmth, his muscles, his hard cock grinding into me. But not anger, or even desire really. Just that same strange tenderness peeking through. I close my eyes without thinking as he leans down and his lips touch mine, returning his gentle kiss slowly. He turns us together once more under the stream, rinsing the soap from us as the water cascades down our bodies.
One of his hands drifts down to the swell of my ass, cupping it gently before squeezing it tightly. At the same time, he deepens our kiss, his tongue swiping forward into my slightly parted mouth. I whimper and open my mouth farther, wordlessly asking for more. He doesn’t disappoint, the thick muscle of his tongue plunging into my mouth. My hands move to wrap around his neck, and I finally allow my weight to relax into him.
I lose track of time as we kiss under the water, his beard scratching against my own as my nose makes the occasional bump into his tusks. It’s a lot easier to kiss with those than I would have guessed, but he’s probably had some practice. The fur on his stomach rubs gently against mine, his hands roaming up and down my ass and back. I am openly rutting my hard cock against his. The warm water feels like it’s washing away all the soreness from my muscles.
When he finally pulls away, I actually whine, like a puppy. That earns me another chuckle and a short, chaste kiss before he moves to disentangle us. I’m steadier than I was a few minutes ago but still not sure what I should be doing. I follow him to the edge of the shower area where he grabs a very large towel from a nearby table. It looks like the rest of our clothes are there too. Well, his clothes, my underwear, and the ripped-up rags of my shirt and pants. Someone must have brought them in when we were... Well I guess I’m just letting everyone see everything today. You know, I’m not even sure I have any shame left in me.
I don’t know why I’m surprised when the orc starts to dry me rather than hand me the towel to do it myself. Once he’s done with me—and he’s very thorough—he uses the same towel to dry himself. I stand there, unsure of what to do with myself while he sits and begins to redress. There are small torches on this end of the room, and with the distance between us, I’m able to make out the various tattoos covering his body. Dark bands wrap around his upper arms while smaller symbols dot his shoulders. Across the left side of his chest is the shape of a large, solid black sword, crossing down from his shoulder, the blade jagged in the middle. He catches me staring at him, and I quickly turn away, looking for my own clothing. Seeing as I only have the one thing to wear, I reach for my underwear and—
“What are you doing?”
I freeze at the question. “Getting dressed?” Right?
“I told you—those are mine now.” He nods at the thin layer of cotton that is my underclothes.
Is he serious? “What am I supposed to wear, then?”
“Hmm. I suppose we will need to buy you some new clothes.” To replace the ones he ripped up?
“What do I wear until then?” Am I supposed to wait here while he goes shopping? “What... What is this? What’s happening right now?”
