Ghost with an oral fixation using his mask to hide the fact that he’s been eating you out- via your portal pussy- for hours.
Briefing room lights low, projector casting shifting blue-white glow across the long table. Price stood at the front walking the team through the latest op intel. Soap was leaning forward, scribbling notes and occasionally interjecting with his usual chaotic enthusiasm. Gaz sat beside you, arms crossed, focused.
And you… you were seated directly across from Ghost, trying- fucking desperately- to remain professional.
Hands clasped tightly in your lap under the table, knuckles popping, spine ramrod straight, thighs pressed together so hard the muscles trembled. Your cunt, however, was a soaked, throbbing mess.
Because Ghost had your portal pussy strapped securely over the lower half of his face, hidden beneath the balaclava, pressed flush to his mouth. He was relaxed in his chair, gloved hands resting loosely on the surface, heavy lidded eyes fixed forward with that signature dead stare.
No one noticed the subtle, rhythmic shift of his jaw beneath the fabric.
No one saw the way his eyes fluttered half closed for a split second every few minutes.
No one could possibly guess that Simon Riley was eating your pussy like a man with a terminal oral fixation. Tongue moving in broad, flat strokes under the mask, dragging from your dripping entrance all the way up to your swollen clit.
Lapping at you lazily, savoring the taste that coated his tongue and chin, swallowing every fresh gush of slick with a quiet, satisfied hum that no one else could hear. Circling the sensitive bud, sucking it gently between his lips and sending low vibrations straight through to your cunt.
You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood when another wave of pleasure rolled through you, cunt clenching hard around nothing, leaking more arousal that Ghost eagerly drank down.
You tried to keep your breathing carefully controlled, slow inhales through your nose, but your cheeks were flushed, and you could feel sweat beading at the small of your back.
Ghost’s cock was rock hard and leaking steadily into his pants, thick length straining painfully against the zipper as his tongue pushed deeper, curling to stroke that spongy spot inside you that always made your vision spark white at the edges.
Price gestured at the screen. “Ghost? Thoughts on the exfil?”
Simon lifted his gaze lazily, voice coming out gravel rough and perfectly even from behind the mask. “Solid. No notes.”
The moment Price turned back to the slides, Ghost doubled down, sucking harder on your clit, tongue flicking rapidly, then slowed to lazy, teasing circles that had your hips twitching involuntarily in your seat. You gripped the edge of the table, forcing your face into a neutral expression while your poor, oversensitive cunt fluttered and pulsed against his mouth.
Every time your walls started spasming harder and your thighs began to shake, he’d pull back just enough to lap softly at your folds, letting the intensity fade until you were no longer right on the brink. Then he’d dive back in, tongue fucking you, sucking your clit, humming those deep vibrations that made your eyes nearly roll back.
By the third orgasm he ripped from you, your cunt was puffy, swollen, dripping down his chin beneath the mask. By the fourth, you were fighting not to whimper out loud, biting your lip bloody.
You were a wreck, legs trembling under the table, panties long since ruined, core clenching uselessly. Every slow, wet lap sent sparks up your spine. Every suck on your clit made your vision blur. You wanted to moan his name, to beg him to let you come properly, to spread your legs and let him bury his face for real.
Ghost knew it. And the bastard was enjoying every second.
When the briefing finally wrapped and the team started filing out, Soap clapped Ghost on the shoulder with a “You alright, Lt? Lookin’ a bit focused today.”
Ghost remained seated a moment longer, voice low and slightly hoarse as he replied, “Never better.”
His eyes locked onto yours across the now emptying room.
You stood on shaky legs, trying to walk normally as you gathered your notes. The portal was still pressed to his face. He still hadn’t stopped. Even as people left, his tongue continued its slow, torturous circles around your oversensitive clit, occasionally dipping inside to curl against your walls.
As the last person disappeared through the door, Ghost finally rose from his chair, and crossed the room in two slow strides until he was standing right in front of you, mask still firmly in place.
His gloved hand came up, tilting your chin so you had to meet his eyes.
“Been such a good girl fer me,” he murmured, voice rough and thick. “Sitting there all while I ate this pretty cunt. Didn’t make a sound.”
A low, hum rumble vibrated through his chest.
“But we’re not done yet. Briefing’s over… and i’m still fucking starving.”
when you get a bad grade on a test, the high grade you've been working toward is screwed. luckily, your professor offers a way to make up a few extra points on the test itself. you just...have to answer the questions you got wrong correctly for him. while spread out near naked on his desk. while he spanks your cunt with a ruler. that doesn't make it difficult to do successfully...right?
warnings: 4.4k words // nsfw - orc x fem!reader - professor/student // semi-public sex (his office), power imbalance, dom!orc, coercion, facefucking/deepthroating (reader has no gag reflex), size difference, ball licking, very very light cum eating, clit spanking with a ruler, ruler used for reprimanding the reader while going over her test (spanking her thighs, chest, and cunt with it), masturbation, clit stim, overstimulation, fingering (vaginal), 69-ing, tonguefucking (reader receiving), multiple orgasms, squirting, orc cums on the reader's chest
a/n: okay i lied--here's a bit more because i had a random idea come to me after really thinking about how a failing grade could go over between the two.
Wait, no.
You stare at the thick test packet laid out at the front of class. You’d taken it just a few days ago and he managed to get it graded already. They were laid out prior to your arrival, ready to grab before seats were to be taken, and upon plopping unceremoniously into yours….
No, no, no. This isn’t right.
An F sits circled at the top of the page. A thick, brutal strike through the printed ink you’d spent the entirety of the allotted time using to take the damn thing. 59%. Tears well before you even bring your eyes down to the first strike. A mix of multiple choice and fill-in-the-blank, and then the essay at the back that was worth 30%.
No. No, this…this can’t be right.
You studied. You..tried to study. You glance down over the strikes across the fill-in-the-blank options. The hesitation of your pencil, the indentation of words written and then hastily erased, the wrong answer written in place. You second-guessed. You feel it–that dread sinking deep in your belly. More students file in. You thumb through the packet with a shaky hand, looking at the sinking-stone of a grade that’s ruined what you’ve spent so much time trying to work up. Personally.
You studied! You really did!
You slump down, knees pressing together. Your professor stands at the front podium, a pen in hand the same color as the ink strewn across your test. He doesn’t look up; he hardly acknowledges any students beyond the beaming, excited ones that wave around their A’s like the shining stars they are.
You studied with bad notes. It rings in your ears. Reaching for your notebook just to torture yourself, you thumb through the limited pages dedicated to notes for the last few weeks. Slim. The amount matches the same as two weeks’ worth if you actually paid any attention in class. Retained the information, wrote down more than what was on the board, wrote down what he taught, and what you took away from the readings. This…this is….
Two days before the test, you were in his office lapping at his balls, his cock, kneeling underneath his gargantuan desk to blow him for an hour. Your jaw ached at the end, but he kept pulling you off before he came, dragging your mouth back down to his balls to press your mouth to, nearly suffocating yourself before choking on his cock again. He was busy. Had papers to grade and focus on, so you could only be so distracting. Hence the near-lockjaw you almost walked out of there with.
Once the hour was up, he hauled you to your feet and fucked you. Sent you on your way with cum dipping down your thighs while you wobbled on your orgasm-weakened legs. Just like that. No other comment. Had he graded the tests? Was that what he was grading then? It didn’t matter. Not really. Not when that big, cruel F was looking back at you from the front of your packet.
“I considered grading on a curve given the range of grades,” his deep voice cuts through your thoughts, and you yank your eyes up to see him looking disapprovingly over the lecture hall. “But only a handful of you received grades lower than a C-. If you study properly for the next test, you will fix any failures affecting your current grade. If you have any questions about the test, the notes, or your grades, my office hours are open. We can discuss them then. Now, take your notebooks out, we are going to begin the next lesson.”
He does not look at you when class ends. He does not acknowledge you when you’re the last to stand from your desk, the lecture hall empty. Your notebook is full, yes, but so is your head. An F. An F. You have done poorly before, but this…this was partially his fault. Distracting you. How can you possibly focus when you look at him and just think about his cock drilling into you? Or when he scratches his jaw, and you can feel that faint stubble in between your thighs as his tongue dives into you. How?
He doesn’t even look up from his briefcase when you stagger toward his desk. He continues packing up the tests from absent students, rearranging his things to make it all fit orderly. Pushes up the glasses on his nose and adjusts his belt sinking into this thick muscle on his stomach almost absentmindedly.
“You failed. Do better next time,” he says.
You’re one step away from his desk, and he says it. Plain as day.
“It….” You swallow around a small knot in your throat. “It can be hard to focus in class sometimes, but I didn’t think….” You hold out the test. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but you just look down at that F in defeat. “I thought, if anything, I didn’t fail.”
He finally looks up. Piercing eyes pin you in place, and you go still. He looks so disappointed and scrutinizing at the same time. A sort of juxtaposition that makes your thighs clench. He brings the strap of his briefcase up to his shoulder and frowns.
“Your points were half-baked and entirely incomplete at times in the essay portion. You second-guessed yourself on the fill-in-the-blank, so you know the answers, yet you lack the courage and conviction to stick to them. You managed the multiple choice with ease. You know the general gist of the material, and that is the only reason I am not ending your extra credit opportunity; you are not trying to skirt around passing my class through those means.” He steps around the desk and stares down at you. “You will come to my office hours tomorrow and we will begin making up those lost points.”
Your chest heaves. There’s a glint in his eyes that makes your thighs clench harder. You shouldn’t want this. But your grade…. And he’s already proven how badly you want it when he does fuck you. But who wouldn’t want to cum when they’re in your predicament?
You nod.
“Wear something lacey and sheer,” he states. “I intend to give those who made under a C a chance to earn at least ten points back on their tests if they come and discuss them with me. I will give you 15 if you do the same.”
You nod again. It’s all you really can do. As he leaves, you stand there staring down at the horrid grade mocking you. It’s not going to be the same as the others. Going over your test. Wear something lacey and sheer? You take a deep breath and look out at the doors he left through.
What did he have in store for you?
“Lock the door.”
The next evening, after making sure to reach out and schedule the last appointment of the day with him instead of just showing up, you’re there. In his office. Looking at how the mess of the day has washed over him. His sleeves are rolled up, his jacket hangs on a hook behind him, papers are stacked yet even more scattered than ever you’ve seen. But still, he throws you the typical acknowledgement in a quick glance to ensure that it’s you in his office, and so you lock the door behind you.
“Did you wear–”
“Yes,” you interject.
You don’t wait. All you need to do is make up the points. Whatever he wants you to do–as degrading as it feels–you’ll do it. All you have with you is the test, your notebook, a small bag that holds them, and a dress on underneath your coat. It’s a slip of a thing that’s just to pretend you have modesty and decency between the coat and the lingerie you picked out.
You shrug your coat off, turning slightly away from him so you can set everything down in a chair. His eyes find you; you can feel the burn of them whilst you strip out of your coat, your shoes, and then your dress. It slides down your thighs and thigh-high stockings that match the black lace set you have on. You fold your dress and set it with the rest, trading it for your test.
Holding your dignity in the shaking hand holding out your test, you hold your breath. What does he want you to do? After everything you’ve done together so far…? He leans back in his chair and pushes away from his desk.
“Sit,” he says. “Feet up. Legs open.”
You glance at the empty spot on the center of his desk. Okay. So it’s like the time in the classroom then? You try not to think about it whilst you move. He holds a hand out for your test, so you give it. The paper crumples a little between his fingers, but there’s just silence while you hop up onto the tall desk. You do as he’s asked–sit back on your hands, feet up, legs spread so he can see you. The sheer, lacy cups of your bra not hiding anything, and your cunt’s hidden behind a small strip of cotton in the thong.
Your pulse rips faster through you as he reaches forward. Into his desk.
He pulls out a ruler.
What…?
“I am going to readminister the questions you got wrong on the test. You have the opportunity to earn fifteen points back. If you get fifteen questions correct in a row, great. I am still going to ask you every question you’ve lost points on to ensure you know the material. Each question you get wrong again, and I will reprimand you.” He lifts the ruler. Your breath hitches. He…? “If you get through the whole test without complications, I will allow you an extra five points.”
Complications?
You suck in a slow, shaky breath, eyes glued to the ruler. The papers rustle. The cold wood of his desk presses back into your hands. The rumble of his voice is distant. He’s going to reprimand you if–
The ruler moves in a blur. A light stinging erupts over your inner right thigh, and you arch your back while sucking in a sharp breath through your teeth. Whoa, what the fuck? You look back at him, his glasses down on the bridge of his nose, the test in his hand, the ruler in the other.
“It will be helpful for you to pay attention to the questions I am asking, (Y/N).”
“I’m sorry,” you stammer. When did he…? Surely just then, but it did not even reach your ear to wiggle out the other. You nod, glancing down at where he struck you just above your thigh-high stocking. “Continue, please.”
He sits back and taps the ruler against his thick thigh, and repeats the question.
You don’t know the answer. You should. You remember seeing that erased answer you were certain was right before changing it. You should have it right on the tip of your tongue, but the way your thigh stings, seeing him sit there eyes flitting over you half-naked on his desk, it is increasingly hard to focus. And it only gets increasingly so when he strikes the ruler over your other inner thigh. Again, when he begins explaining it, setting it up for a repeat of the question and almost outright giving you the answer, but it escapes you again. He brings the ruler down on you higher. Closer to your cunt.
It makes your brain go all fuzzy.
It makes it really fucking hard to focus.
When he holds the ruler over your cunt–right above it–you manage to stammer out the correct answer. It’s a miracle it happens, but he hums in agreement, then he moves on to the next one you missed. You stammer through another answer–it’s bullshit for most of your response, but you’re stalling to get your thoughts in order. You find your way to something close to the answer, and he accepts it with a minor correction. He sets the ruler down atop you, letting just the weight of it touch your pussy.
You miss the third question.
He lifts the ruler swiftly and strikes it down over your cunt. Strikes it right over your clit, barely shielded by the cotton liner of the thong. Goddamn it. The direct sting makes your hips twitch, and you hand your head. He holds the ruler against your cunt and instructs you to try again. A looming threat pressing against you that’s just there to tangle your thoughts.
You stutter through the answer, half of it is incorrect, but he just rubs the ruler up and down, explaining slowly where your thinking strayed away from the correct answer. He makes you repeat it back to him. You manage.
You manage for a few questions, actually. Only getting a few strikes in the interim. But no such luck ever finds you for long. By the fifteenth question, your inner thighs burn with fresh strikes of the wooden ruler. Your thighs tremble as you force yourself to keep them open. The ruler presses against your cunt again and he waits patiently for the answer you don’t have to his question. It’s one you hadn’t known when you took the test, and it’s still one you don’t know.
He gives you what feels like an eternity to try and find the answer. Like it’s some courtesy, not some torment whilst you wait for the strike. But since you can’t find it….
You throw your head back with a whine. He strikes your cunt harder than before. It stings and burns, and your chest heaves with deeper, quicker breaths.
By question twenty, you cannot think. By question twenty-one, he sits back and crosses his arms, nodding at your cunt. A simple instruction sends a chill down your spine. Move it. The burn of his eyes passes through your thong, and you will your hand to move. Doing what he instructs. Balancing on a shaky hand and bringing the other to your thong. Slowly, you hook your fingers around the exceedingly damp fabric, and pull it. Baring your pussy to him. You're wet, a little swollen pussy.
“Spread yourself. Show me.”
You swallow hard, eyes glued to the ruler still, yet you do as he instructs even still. You keep your hand there and spread yourself. Your clit is visibly swollen. It simultaneously burns and aches in the best and worst ways.
He brings the ruler up without pause. You close your eyes before it lays flat over you. Cold. Wide. He reads out the next question, and any spark of hope you might’ve had dwindles instantly. You don’t know it. He knows you don’t know it based on how he moves the ruler back and forth over your clit. You lurch, willing your hips to remain still. Chasing what you want is beyond demeaning like this; you can’t…. Your clit may ache for more attention than it’s getting, but no matter how good the friction of that ruler feels, you cannot move. You cannot do more than suck in hitched breaths through your teeth.
“I don’t know,” you push out. The strain in your voice breaks out across the thick air in the office.
“A shame.” is all he says.
Then, he thwacks your clit with the ruler. It’s not soft, but the strike is lighter than you expect. It still rushes that searing stinging through you, and without anything shielding your clit, you throw your head back and bite your lip. It’s so much. Hurts yet wrings the ache of wanting more, of wanting some real friction against your clit, right out of you.
“You have earned seven points, (Y/N),” he states, rubbing the ruler over your clit while you tremble. “You are a better student than this.”
You can only whine in response.
“Next question,” is his answer to that.
He thwacks you with the ruler again. And again. And again. He turns page after page, your mind drifting further and further away from the test with every thwap he alternates around you. Thighs, cunt, your stomach a few times. He stands at some point and walks behind you, cupping your chin on one hand, your test laid out next to you, and tugs down the cups of your bra. He thwaps the ruler against your breasts. Your nipples. Down on your clit again from there, his hand still on your chin to force you to meet his gaze when your eyes open. So you can see that disappointment.
When he gets to the essay question at the back, you’re elsewhere. Covered in lingering stinging across your chest, thighs, and cunt, you’re stuck barely keeping yourself how he wants you. Upright on one hand, practically leaning back against him to stay up, and keeping your poor pussy spread. Subjected to every strike of the ruler against your clit. It doesn’t help that he occasionally stops and comments on how wet you are. How if you get the next one correctly, he will reward you by massaging the stinging out of your clit with his finger. But, alas, your critical and academic thinking is gone. It’s been gone.
He rubs his thumb over your parted, panting lips, a frown taking over his features.
“Ten points,” he states. “That is all you’ve earned.” His eyes do a quick flick over you. “And you are in no state to reattempt the essay.”
His sigh makes you relax. No more, then? You aren’t sure you could handle trying to stumble through the essay question. You know it. Hilariously, that’s the one you brushed up on the most since he’d reprimanded you for having half-baked and incomplete points. It stung. It stung as much as your body stings then.
But getting those thoughts out like that? He’s right. You’re in no state.
He pushes his thumb into your mouth, and you part your lips fully. You take him fully, brushing your tongue over the rough pad, hoping it’ll entice him not to send you on your way like that. You’re quivering pathetically. Wet and aching. And despite how your clit stings and sits overstimulated in such an unfair way, you need. You don’t want to admit it again. But he can’t be done with you, can he? Not until he fucks you, and despite that glaring fact means you want him to fuck you, it also means you’ll cum. And, goddamn it, you need to cum.
“Do you want to make those five points up?” he asks, pressing his giant thumb into your mouth deeper.
Yes. But you cannot speak the word, only nod your head. He understands despite the awkward movement.
“Lay back and open your mouth.”
Without hesitation, you do as he says. He moves, cupping the back of your head as you lay back. He continues to cup it when it hangs off the back of his desk, but he doesn’t let you readjust. He’s undoing his belt with one hand, the other still holding you.
“If you want to cum, you will touch yourself.” He frees his cock and fists it. Wait…. His balls hang heavy just in front of you. He brings his leaky tip to your mouth swiftly, pressing it past your lips and down into your throat. The position changes how deep you can take him, and you choke on him a little as he fills you. But as his balls smack you in the face, he’s at your limit, and he pulls back. “I will fuck your pretty mouth, and then I will cum on your tits.” He presses his cock back into your mouth, leaning forward. Leaning over you. Angling himself to properly fuck your face and he…he reaches for you. Your knees. Legs. Pulling them back and holding you underneath your knees. Pinning you wide open and right on his desk. “Every orgasm you give yourself, I will give you a point. If you are satisfied as you are, then I will finish quickly. If not–”
You drop your hand. There’s no delay; you need the points. Even if you cannot see anything but his cock and balls, you need not only to cum, but those goddamn points. So you choke on his cock as he fucks into your mouth, and you find your clit. Sensitive. It’s throbbing and achingly sensitive. But as you buck your hips at the mere touch of your fingers, you don’t pull away. No, no. You need to cum. You need the points.
“Finger yourself, too,” he grunts.
His balls smack your head again.
You try your best to angle yourself to reach your entrance. You work two fingers into your dripping hole before he’s pushing back into your mouth. You can’t go easy. Can’t go slow. No. You need to cum. Fuck it. You arch your back, rubbing your clit in tight, unapologetic circles. Knowing how you like it, not caring how your entire body stings. How sensitive your clit is. Everything thrums with waves of pleasure starting deep in your belly. Yes, yes, yes. You throw your head back and try to rock your hips, but you’re pinned so perfectly. Like a goddamn toy he’s using to fuck.
Your eyes flutter shut as it hits you. Much like a brick wall that you burst through with a moan that cracks out over his cock. Crumbling to cunt-fluttering pieces, you squeeze your fingers and tighten up those circles on your poor clit. Five orgasms. You mewl, gushing around yourself and pulling your fingers back from your clit as you cum. Giving yourself that moment to breathe through your nose when he stuffs himself deep in your throat.
Yes, yes, yes. That’s one.
You bring your trembling fingers back to your clit the second you think you can, rubbing it gently and working your fingers back into your cunt. Yes. You’re already there. Fuck. Fuck. Your back arches. It’s so quick. Way too quick, but chasing it after your first one is so easy.
“So quickly,” he grunts. “So eager. If only you were a fraction of that eagerness toward my tests, and then you would not be in this mess.”
You do not at all intend to cum to that. It’s crude and cruel considering the circumstances. Yet the pleasure rushes you and drags you down into the blinding depths. You whine around his cock again.
Two.
“Add another finger,” he decrees.
You cum a third time around three fingers stretching you wide. You can barely touch your clit.
“Two more,” he orders, his voice strained. He won’t last much longer, you know that. Your eyes roll back when he slows his thrusts down, cockwarming himself in your throats and freeing one leg to grope at your chest. He tweaks your nipples and rolls them more gently than you’d anticipated. But it’s still enough to make you jolt and yelp. “Are you done?”
You answer by rubbing your clit some more. Tears sneak down from the corner of your eyes.
Four.
He swats your hand away just as you cum. It still rips through you, but it does so very distractedly whilst he leans over you. All the way over you. His elbows keep your legs pinned back as they are, and he makes you really choke on his cock like that. Just like that. Pinning you down and dragging his tongue over your cunt.
Oh, sweet fuck.
He fucks into your mouth, swapping his tongue for his finger. It’s too much. It’s too much. You thrash under him, drooling around his cock, grateful for your minimal gag reflex. His balls slap your face whilst you scream. His fingers plunge into your pussy, they rub at your clit when he isn’t sucking it into his mouth. The rough of his shirt rubs over your nipples, and makes them burn after being pinched and tweaked; struck with the ruler.
But he doesn’t stop.
He doesn’t stop until you’re spasming. Arching. Humping his tongue and the wet thrust of his fingers into your cunt echoes in his office. Everyone already out and not a soul to hear the wanton sounds bouncing around in there.
He doesn’t stop until you’re at that spot. The white-hot blinding one. That tears through you and clamps down around his thick fingers. That makes your whole body simultaneously tense up in fierce pleasure and thrash about primally. That makes you squirt around him as tears spill, and you cum. Hard.
He leaves you gaping rather abruptly. Stands up swiftly, cups the back of your head, and spares you any more aches in your jaw. Pulling his cock out, he’s there. Fisting his listening length over you just a few times before hot, white cum spills over your chest. Painting you like you’re his to do with as he pleases. Isn’t that sort of the case? With low grunts filling the room, cum dribbling down your chest and toward your throat.
Until his balls are empty, surely, with how much coats you.
Until he holds the tip up to your lips, and you, tentatively, lick him clean.
“Rewrite the essay properly, and bring it to me in two days,” he grunts, heavy breaths coming between each word. He still cups your head. “And I will let you walk away with a 79% on that test.” He tucks his cock into his slacks and taps at your test hard. “If you fail that again, you will have a 74%. Do you understand?”
You nod, dazed. But you understand.
He brushes his thumb over your mouth again, smearing some of the cum you’d licked off.
“Good.” He nods. “To ensure you’re preparing properly, we will go over your rewritten essay and your notes during my next office hours. I will fuck your ass while we do, so do prepare it for me. Two birds, and all that. As I am sure you are eager to complete more extra credit for such a disappointing grade.” He pulls his thumb back and brushes it over your cheek. You merely swallow the taste of him in another hard swallow. “Wear this set again. It is cute.”
He nods. You nod in return.
“Good girl.” He moves you. Quite literally, he moves you down his desk so your head rests on the wood. “Lay there. I will clean you so you do not dirty another student’s work.”
You do as you’re told with your heart pounding.
At least it’s no longer an F.
Your pussy pulses. You feel the puddle underneath you.
At least you got to cum. Hard.
It’s hard to think of anything else beyond perfecting your essay and tracking down the plugs to stretch your ass for him. You need those goddamn points, and you’re going to get them.
And the next test…you’re not going to fail. You’re sure of it.
with an orc king in town, you're fetched to be his toy for the evening. a rough, animalistic evening ensues when the king really uses you like a toy to break.
warnings: 5.5k words // nsfw - orc!king x masc!human!reader // reader is a sex worker, giant size difference, dom!orc, spitting on reader/spit as lube, slight degradation depending on how you look at it, bondage, rope gag, blindfold, rough spanking, pain & pleasure mix, rough anal fingering, mockery & a dash of humiliation, reader referred to just as "human" and puny/small, nipple stim, nipple clamps w/bells, big focus on the size difference/being full, rim job, jerking off, oral (cock and anal), anal sex, rough anal sex, multiple orgasms, orgasm torture, "making a mess", cockwarming, overstim, reader is used like an object/sex toy, forced orgasms, somnophilia, lots of cum and spit, cum play, masturbation, no aftercare
a/n: just some masc!reader & orc filth <3
You’re his plaything for the night.
The message is sent in secrecy as if it would be some scandal that a king desires some cock to play with for the night. It’s not entirely a surprise when you receive the royal letterhead delivered by a very stoic, brute of a guard. When word came through the town that the king was passing through, you knew he’d be plucking someone up from your brothel. You just didn’t think you would be the one sent. Of all those offered, you figured he’d pick someone more…size appropriate. But apparently, the orc wished to play with a human like you were a toy he might break.
It wouldn’t be your first orc, but the burn of curiosity was low in your stomach when you climbed into the back of the unmarked carriage. No time to prep. No time to change. Only your typical to-go bag beside you with fun, games, and lube. The guard who’d delivered the message stared you down, unphased and almost with some…scrutiny? You wonder–just for a teasing second–to ask if he needs to test the goods before you’re delivered like a thing. But knowing the average ord guard’s impatience with that sort of bullshit–and the minute possibility that he could agree and fuck you sideways even before you reach his king–you keep your mouth shut beyond a smile.
You take to riding in the silence that’s expected of you. Nothing new there. You’re used to it.
When you arrive, you’re at the finest inn in town. Not unexpected at all, and certainly not the first time you’ve served a customer there. But it is the first time you’re brought in through the back entrance, up through the servants corridors, and to the very tippy-top suite that overlooks the rest of the town. Not a soul surrounding the room to hear the sin about to unfold. What debauchery will he ask of you? The guard gives you so little to work with beyond the brutal, threatening glare that joins the words you know before he even speaks.
“If word of this leaves the inn, you will not live to see another sunrise.”
Yes, yes. You know. You cross your heart and give him a plain nod. Though your heart is beating like it is trying to break out of your chest, you walk into the room casually. It’s what they expect. A toy. A thing. An ease you have to find in breaking the awkward tension that always overtakes the rooms when you arrive. Sometimes, it’s shyness. They’re new to this and feel an overwhelming embarrassment that they’ve called upon someone to please them for the night. Sometimes, it’s a vicious shame. You’re not sure if that’s what you should expect; it’s notable that the orcish king hasn’t taken a wife, but it’s far from anything horrid if he were to have a man as his partner, lover, or even spouse. Still, you enter the grand room with casual strides, your bag dangling from your fingertips.
Will he fuck you? Does he want you to fuck him? Try and fit his cock in your mouth? Bind you? Hit you? Spank you? Deny you? Piss on you?
The door clicks shut and you look upon the king seated back on a large dark brown couch. His forest green skin stands out against that and the white shirt he wears with his brown trousers. The front hangs open to reveal the rough hair poking out from his chest. His hand holds a giant mug already half empty of what you can make out to be some sort of bitter ale. He’s already erect, pitching a big tent in his trousers for you to see. Really see. He parts his knees further by your next step.
“Your Majesty,” you coo, ignoring how your heart pounds and pounds; as hard as he’s surely to pound into you before the night is over. Given his position, you walk close enough only to situate yourself between his knees. He smells like the forest and a bit of musky mud. He glistens as if he bathed before you arrived. Rich brown eyes look at you with a boredom that sends a shiver down your spine. “What can I do for you this evening?”
That boredom is the look of someone who is hardly new at this. No shyness. No shame. He brings the brim of his mug to his mouth and swallows down a large gulp. His thick fingers spell a hearty stretch awaiting you if he fingers you. It’ll be a lot to take if he does, and it’ll be much, much more if he gives you more than one. But at least his nails are trimmed low and he lacks any rings. You swallow back a shake in your voice and keep your smile seductive.
Patiently seductive.
“What is in your bag, human?” he states with a grunt, dropping his eyes to your small bag.
“Oh, well.” Normally, you would step to the customers and show them on their lap or close next to him. But with royalty, you must take more precautions. So you kneel, instead, which lends itself to a fun look with you between his knees anyhow. And you carefully pull the contents out one by one. “A change of clothes should you desire to shred what I currently wear. Rope if you wish to bind me and you do not have any. A blindfold that can fit either of us. A ring I can wear around my cock if you wish for me to wear it. Clamps to put on my nipples with bells so you can hear every time you make me squirm. And, of course, extra lube.”
You give him a sultry smile, angling yourself in such a manner to look like a snack waiting to be eaten. A little arch of your back and a half-lidded look to join your smile.
“Would you like me to use any of it now, Your Majesty?” You search those dark eyes carefully. Flirtily, but carefully. “Do you want to talk about what you want to do to me? Or what you want me to do to you?”
Another big gulp of his ale makes his throat move. His cock visibly twitches in his pants, and you feel that molten feeling in your gut. He’s going to fuck you, and he’s going to do his damnedest to fit that inside of you. Once you arrived at work, you took the tonic to ensure any customer could make you cum repeatedly, however they wished. It’s the first thing any man working takes once they essentially clock in. And while it can go either way, you sit glad you took as much of it as you did. If he puts that inside of you, you worry you might cum from the insertion alone.
“The rope, the clamps, the lube, and the blindfold,” he breathes, nodding down at you. “Strip, take them, and then lay over my lap.” He sets the mug down on a table just beside the couch. It’s empty. “I was assured there are few limits the brothel’s workers have. Is that true?”
Any other customer, and you might’ve reiterated some of your limits for the sake of it. But given that he’s a king….
You already start the show, tugging your shirt off over your head slowly. He watches. Not quite as bored as before, but he’s subtle in his interest. There’s merely a glint in his eyes.
“I am here to please you, Your Majesty. You may use me as you see fit,” you hummed, rolling onto your knees to face away, and gradually lowering your trousers. Down over the curve of your ass, and angling yourself so you can arch your back. As you bare yourself, you hear his breath hitch. It does so again once your bottoms and shoes slip off, and you roll onto your bottom on the cold floor. It’s not hard to get erect; hell, you like what you do, and the interest creeping in regarding what he could have in store for you makes your balls tighten. “So use me.”
His nostrils flare on his next breath. His eyes hone in on your cock. Good.
You pluck up what he asked, and languidly crawl up the couch. He only moves his hands so you can set them next to him before laying over him as best as you can. The size difference is enough to remind you just how puny you are in comparison. One of his thighs is practically the size of you. You have to situate yourself at a semi awkward angle to keep yourself balanced right. But it works, and the rough material of his trousers rub against your cock and your nipples as you lay down.
You feel his quick breaths against his stomach. The pressure of his cock against your stomach. The warmth of a large hand splayed over your ass with just the warning of clothing rustling and the faint movement.
It’s rough at the palm–expectly. And he groans under his next breath when he kneads your ass. Big fingers grope and–smack. You lurch forward with a shout you turn into a moan, hanging your head and letting out come out extra sensually. Again. He pushes down on your lower back and spanks you again.
A third time.
It burns. But your cock thrums in excitement. He’s holding back his strength–that much is painfully evident.
“Lift your head,” is his first command. You do as he says, and up comes the blindfold first. He ties it tight around your eyes with a knot you’re not sure you could undo yourself. “Push up onto your hands, human.” You do that, too, pushing your hands into the thick muscle of his thigh. “Open your mouth.”
Open your…mouth? Yet, you do it. And you feel the rope come up. It’s thick and rough, and it slides between your teeth. Oh, shit. He pulls it back and you bite down; he ties it, you’re sure, before it drapes over your back.
The bell on the end of one clamp rings.
The rough pad of a finger brushes over one taut nipple, and you push your shoulderblades back. So he’s going to use you, then? How very kingly. He pinches it softly, first, and your back arches genuinely. It stays as such when he adds more pressure, and pleasure turns to a pain that shoots right to your cock. You moan around the rope, and just as he releases it, he clamps it. It stings so sharply, but your cock still twitches. Leaks. Oh, fuck. He repeats exactly that with your other nipple.
“Hands back.”
Oh, fuck. Fuck. You comply. Rearrange yourself how he wants, pressing your shoulders back and keeping your chest slightly up from his thigh. It keeps the bells up, too. He uses the slack of the rope to bind your wrists tightly together. The pattern of the twisted rope is going to be left in your wrists, but it’s hard to focus on that when the bondage keeps your chin up and back, gag in your mouth, and body manipulated in a permanent arch of sorts.
It–
Spank. You lurch on his lap as more strength barrels into the strike. Pain ripples out into pleasure. The bells ring, and your eyes flutter shut. Oh, fuck, he’s kinky. You moan sincerely, hardly needing to play it up. The last orc you were with spanked you whilst holding your cock, so every strike had you fucking his fist without you having to move your hips yourself. It was one of the more humiliating ways he’d made you cum, and you still thought about it when you jerked off.
This brings you right back to that for a second.
His Majesty pulls you right out of it. Immediately.
He reaches around you and spreads you, humming lazily. You feel yourself contract and not just for show. His heartbeat quickens, but it’s far steadier than you would’ve guessed. You feel it thumping against you considerably slower than yours will be even when the night ends. So this is way further than his first time. He has a routine, maybe? A favorite set he likes to enact?
Your nipples ache under the clamps.
He leans forward and–fuck. You hear the spat before his spit hits your asshole. Thick and wet, and he’s wasting no time. The giant end of one finger rubbing it in over your asshole. Slow, rough strokes that hit every sensitive nerve ending you have there, and you want you lean forward to moan into his thigh, the couch, maybe a pillow if you had one there. But you’re stuck moaning into the rope with your head pulled back.
“Look at how your puny asshole flutters from just this,” he mutters. “You enjoy your job then.”
You don’t answer him with muffled words. Just another moan when he adds more pressure, stretching you just a tad around the very tip of his finger. It’s a lot. His spit is more than enough, but–sweet fuck–you burn at the stretch, yet still, you angle your hips back.
“Let me see your cock,” he orders, and you have no idea how you’re supposed to move and show him. But you do not need to. He reaches around and grabs you. Hoists you onto your side, your hands pressing into his stomach, body arched and angled around him. The bells jingle. Your cock is harder than stone and throbs. He hooks his arm between your legs, forcing them to stay open. He brushes his knuckles over your balls, and you twitch. “You look as if you are ready to cum.”
He runs a finger over your cock. From your balls up to the sensitive tip.
Fuck. The bells jingle.
You hear him spit again, and you find out where when he touches you again. His fingers closing around your length in a tight enough hold to make you whine. You’re practically nothing in his fist–and such size differences have made you worried before out of fear they forget how fragile you are in comparison–but he holds you just right. The curve of his fingers, his spit as just enough lube, the right strength making your hips want to buck. He pumps your cock a few times, and pleasure spatters itself behind your eyes.
You writhe. The bells are loud on your aching nipples.
“Don’t,” he states, gradually slowing the movements down to painfully slow strokes. Strokes that eventually just stop, and you’re throbbing, twitching in his unmoving fist. He presses his thumb against your tip, and you shiver. “Not yet.”
He shifts his other arm. Fingers brush over your nipples. Fuck, fuck. You squirm. The movement fucks into his fist on accident, and you fight it as much as you can. But he flicks a nipple, and it rears a pain-pleasure mix down to your aching balls.
“Fuck,” you shout behind the rope.
He scoffs, and your cock’s released.
You’re close. Too close if he really doesn’t want you to cum yet. Too close for how his hands change where they sit. Too, too, too close where he slides his hand up your legs and rubs a newly wet finger against your asshole. But you can’t tell him you’re too close. You can’t even squirm away. You just writhe on his lap as a light pressure becomes a firm pressure. A little rub of his finger over your asshole becomes a stretch. And with white-hot pleasure burning behind your eyes like the burn in your asshole, you stretch around him. His pointer finger pressing in, and in, and further in. Gradually. Another glob of spit acting as more lube as you fill up to the brim with him. Holy fuck. His finger’s huge, and his knuckle touches your ass while his finger stuffs you. Wiggles. You can’t breathe with it brushes perfectly–cruely, really–against your prostate.
You thrash. Your cock and balls pulse–or maybe that’s just the ripples of involuntary pleasure taking you in a chokehold–and you shout behind the rope.
“Tight,” he grunts, pulling his finger out a little before thrusting it back in. It slams against your prostate. Despite the darkness behind the blindfold, you see stars. You’re there. You’re already there. Shuddering as pleasure rips up to the peak. One languid thrust becomes another. And another. Faster. He spits again, making sure he’s easily fingering you and downright torturing you. “Are you going to cum like this, human? Make a mess from one finger?”
One gigantic fucking finger.
The bells ring fast and loud. Your whines are painfully sincere as your thoughts spin around you. Fuck, fuck. Fuck! Your hips buck and you have only the air to hump.
He flicks a nipple again. Then the other.
The sounds you make are akin to just mmnnnmmhmhhgggnnnn. It’s wanton and crude; cruel and torturous. You press your head back harder, the hard shake of ecstasy taking over. His finger pushes back in and stays inside of you, curling, wiggling, stretching you out and nudging your prostate with every movement.
You would’ve nodded to his previous question if you could. But it pushes you over. That does. That last little writhe of his finger. Your balls feel like they want to burst, and pleasure throbs. Nothing touches your cock except his whims making the air thick and heavy, and you hump nothing. Fuck yourself on his finger as much as rocking your hips will allow. Like he’s turned you into the degenerate with some simple teasing.
Your vision goes white. Then, dark. Then, white again. And with stars in your eyes, a sheen of sweat becoming drops down along yourself, you snap. Your hips jerk, your body jolts as he fingers you a tad harder, a tad faster, throwing you right at the orgasms that teased itself so you’d be sure and fall into it. Everything blanks out except his finger raking pleasure out of you. Making you scream behind the rope whilst shuddering, squeezing his finger with hard contractions, milking what will soon be his cock–you’re sure–and cum. Spilling onto what has to be his thigh and maybe the couch, a little, with toe-curling, hard spurts you wish you could see.
Holy.
Fuck.
Your back arches and your hips angle back as his finger still thrusts into you. It only does so a few times before you’re gaping. Empty. Squeezing nothing. Gasping around the rope and then–shove. The clamps press almost painfully against your nipples where you meet the couch. You go far. Far enough that you’re almost smothered on a side pillow at the other end. You want to say something, but hands find your thighs and pry them open; they bring your knees back and prop you up to have your ass on display.
You’re still catching your breath when you feel his. Right against you. Against your ass. The couch moves behind you and big hands spread you wide. A shiver shoots down to your already hardening cock when he blows on your asshole. The shiver expands into a full shudder when he leans forward. Light stubble on his jaw rubs up against your ass, but that’s hardly where you take notice when his tongue lolls out.
Another hnnnnggg of a sound falls out of you when he rolls it against you.
Another louder, rougher, groan of a hnnnngggggg forces out when he reaches around you and grabs your messy cock.
You’re nothing but a writhing, moaning mess when he pumps you and presses his tongue into you. Licks down over your balls and sucks on them. Laps back up to your asshole to lick, prod, and fuck with his tongue. You clench around him when he presses into you, and you feel it already. There. His hand wet with spit and your cum as he pumps your cock languidly. Like he’s trying to mock you with the orgasm already there.
He does. He does so with a grunting laugh against you, jerking you off faster. Making you cum. You try to at least pretend you can stall it, but he’s forcing you there. And his shoulders stop you from kicking a leg back when you seize up, climaxing again. Hard. Almost painfully while you spill over and into his hand. Where he doesn’t stop. Not there, not with his tongue. Working every drop out of you while tears well up and you fall to pieces.
He spanks you when he releases you. Wet from his spit and your cum, and the sharp slap rings out loudly. Again. And again. Until your knees buckle and you’re laying flat on the couch, ass stinging under his groping hands.
He spreads you again. His thumbs rub over your asshole before mimicking the same spreading motion.
“You are so sensitive and so puny,” he retorts before spitting onto you. Into you, you’re pretty damn certain. “Can you even take two of my fingers?”
The answer is proven yes. He holds your hips back, working two fingers into your asshole. He rumbles with satisfaction, pumping them faster. Faster. Faster, still, until you’re shaking. Orgasming, again. Spilling onto the couch with no fist to fuck.
And three–you test three. He sits behind you with a drizzle of your lube over yourself and his fingers, finally, which gives him the chance to really wreck you. Once you’re able to take three of his gargantuan fingers–feeling like they might break you–he fingers you roughly. Laughing when your back arches and you try to move away. It’s too much. It’s so fucking much. But he hauls you back and coos at you.
“See?” he says with you thrash, spilling in a blinding orgasm over his fist. “Look how you like it.”
You move again after that. When you think he might fuck you on the couch, he keeps his fingers inside of you and carries you elsewhere. The bed, you find, when a large expanse of softness appears under your stomach. The soft blankets press against your back, and he notably keeps himself situated off the bed with his fingers in your ass. And they stay there as he moves you until you’re right where he wants you. You only find out where when you smell his musk again. When the rope is untied and dropped from your mouth.
“Lick and suck,” he demands.
And you feel his balls at your mouth. Lick and suck. You stick your tongue out and do as you’re told. Dragging your tongue over the sensitive skin and listening to his breath start to hitch. His fingers move inside of you occasionally, but you’re most cockwarming them while you hungrily move to taste him.
Licking. Kissing. His other hand moves for his cock comes to your mouth. His fingers leave your asshole, and you feel fingers moving your chin and keeping your mouth open. He’s huge. Leaking steadily and considerably massive at your mouth. Your jaw already hurts as you open up for him, licking his tip while your head presses into the bed. Yes, yes. You hum, taking his tip into your mouth. It’s just about all you can fit, and you do your damn best to do so. He thrusts for you given the position. You just wrap your hands around his cock and moan around him while he lazily fucks your mouth. His balls smack your face with every thrust.
“Too,” he grunts, “fucking small.”
He flicks a nipple and the bell rings. Pleasure and pain intermingle.
“Roll over and show me your ass.”
Again, you listen and follow your order. You prop yourself up to be on perfect display. Even as adrenaline and nerves sink in your belly. Will he fit? You get your answer soon after the bed dips behind you. The fat head of his cock presses against your asshole without hesitation, and he’s bruising your hips when he pushes in. Oh, sweet motherfucker. He’s going to break you, you’re sure. How you stretch around him, how he fills you, how he’s already torturing your prostate and he’s not even fully inside of you.
He’s going to break you. Milk you. Milk himself on you, and ruin you in the process.
His groan erupts in the room. It bounces around and vibrates the air and yourself. More. More. More. He goes until you can’t breathe, and his balls press against you.
“Fucking tight,” he groans. A spank sends a shockwave through you. From the strike at your ass, up to your head, down to your already-curling toes. “I am going to fuck your tight asshole, human, and then you will bring your tongue to mine until I declare otherwise. Then, you will fuck me, and we will see if your puny cock can even do anything to me. After that, you will spend the rest of the night seated on my cock. While I feast, while I drink, while I sleep–you will stay upon me. I will milk you of every drop of cum you have, and you will take as much of mine as you can in such a short night. Now, we will begin.”
The darkness of the blindfold blurs over when his hips move.
He is not shy about pounding into you, and your moan screams out across the room.
He’s sincere in his words. He pins you to the mattress with a hand on the back of your head and neck, fucking you at a pace that gradually becomes relentless. Pleasure blurs into a blinding daze. And you cum. And cum. And cum three times to the wet sounds of his balls slapping against you and his hand occasionally reaching around to jerk you off. You’re in a mess of your own cum when he finally slams into you and spills inside of you in fucking heaps. You’re thoroughly ruined before then, and he ruins you more by fucking it into you, spanking you in between thrusts, and scoffing when you seize around him and cum again.
You still wear the blindfold when he pulls out of you. You still wear it when he spreads himself in front of you, bringing you to your knees, your hands finding his ass. He holds the back of your head and practically smothers you. Your tongue darting out to taste him, lick him, prod at his fluttering asshole. And his hand on his cock is wet while he jerks himself off lazily. His hips pressing back when you dare to move to take a breath. It’s overwhelming, but you’re in a blinding daze of blistering heat. Holding him open and lapping at his asshole until you feel him shudder and tense. Until he’s groaning, climaxing, locking you against his asshole until he shoves you back.
You’re allowed to take the blindfold off then to fuck him. He’s big, green, hairy, and thick with muscles. He spreads himself, angling his hips back and barking at you to fuck him before you even reorientate yourself in the room that feels too bright even with just a lantern on. And you’re lubing yourself up on autopilot, bringing your too-sensitive cock up to him and pressing in. Fuck, he’s tight. Tighter than you would’ve thought, and he moans as you slide into him easily.
You cum in him despite your best efforts not to, but he feels so fucking good. You’re not even sure you can do that. He might’ve thrown you out of the room or done something worse for it, but as you pound into him, his asshole fluttering around you, milking you of what you’re pretty sure is the last that you have, you grunt. Desperately. Shout internally at yourself to hold it, make him cum first, or at least pull out. But it’s just so sudden. You’re there. Just there. Falling over him with a grunting fuck, no, I’m sor– before you cum inside of him.
Two miracles in one–he cums as you do and that’s all he does. Spilling in thick spurts onto the bed, you’re thrown just beside it once he’s done. You’re still twitching from yours, worn to the brim of exhaustion, looking up at the dark eyes raking over you. And all he does is pull off the nipple clamps before bringing his mouth down to them. They’re so sensitive and sore, you’re pretty sure this is your punishment for climaxing inside of the king. You don’t mean to hump his chest, but you can’t help it. He laps at your nipples and tweaks them incessantly.
It blurs together. That. Getting moved. Being hauled over to the couch shortly after. Being seated on his cock again, yet he doesn’t thrust or jerk you off. He merely nestles himself in there when there’s a knock on the door, and an unphased guard brings a big tray in. A true feast. One the king eats in patient bites while you fall back against him. He brings the occasional bite to your lips, and forces your mouth open so you eat. He does the same with his ale, the bitter flavor falling down your throat and burning hot in your belly.
Again. And again. Until you’re full and drunk, heaving breaths back against his upper half, cock twitching anew while his nudges inside of you.
He makes you cum again before he hauls you between the sheets. He stays inside of you when you fall asleep. It’s less involuntary and more just sheer exhaustion taking hold and dragging you into a fully-stuffed sleep.
You wake to the sun creeping in, empty…ish.
Cum leaks out of you. Bruises line along you in spots you don’t lift the covers to check yet. You’re too achy to move and you’re too immediately aware of the wet spots around you. Cum has stickied your thighs, the bed sheets, and in front of you on the bed, the blankets, and your stomach. An amount that’s certainly more than just a little. So he fucked you whilst you slept, then, and you didn’t even stir awake. Not once.
You glance up as the king sets a mug of water on your table and drops a satisfied grin to you.
“You cum silently when you sleep, if you did not know. Even on the sixth one.” He pulls something out of his pocket. A wad of cash. A big wad of cash. He sets all of it down except for a fraction of it. That he holds up between you. “Move the blankets.”
With a shaky hand, you lift the disgusting sheets. You see the mess of the night around you, and fight the heat crawling along your entire body.
“Lift your top leg.” He taps your leg with the bills. You–aching and throbbingly–lift it back. A kick in your pulse already knows where he’s going with this. “Stuff it back in.”
You do it, reaching down and gently pushing his cum back into yourself. Sore, but, goddamn it. The way he watches you, your cock twitches. He notices. He scoffs, and nods.
“Harder,” he orders. “Faster.”
Fuck yourself is the real order. And you comply, keeping eye contact as you do so, thrusting your fingers roughly into your aching asshole and hitting your prostate without the mercy it deserves after a night like that. But your toes are curling and you…. Fuck,
You don’t wait for the order. He doesn’t refuse you when you reach for your cock. He just smiles like a king does when someone bends to his will. Especially like this. A show. A show that has you spilling over your fist with a grunt, fluttering around your fingers, and falling a little forward. It almost hurts with how good it feels.
He drops the last of the cash onto the table.
“I will be coming back through here in a fortnight.” He walks away unceremoniously. “You will tend to me again then.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” you rasp.
“Good human.”
He hauls the door open and steps out to meet his guards.
The door shuts with a click, and you reach out to chug water and hug the money close to yourself. It’s not just payment, but tip. A huge tip. He’s a generous king, at that. And you hold it close as sleep overtakes you again.
They can wake you when they come to clean the room. It won’t be the first time they’ve done that. And as sleep takes you in a dragging, drowning grasp. It’s the only option.
I would like to request a dark story. fem reader gets kidnapped by an orc chieftain and his warriors are in charge of making sure his new bride is nice and wet for his fat cock.
The Clan Needs Your Warm Holes (orc chieftain and clan x fem reader)
You are captured by an orc chieftain and his war band. His warriors are tasked with preparing every inch of your body for his massive cock...
Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, kidnapping, non-con, forced arousal, group sex, oral penetration (fingers), nipple suckling, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, double penetration, triple penetration, gangbang, forced orgasm, size kink, humiliation, dub con, implied stockholm syndrome acceptance at the end, fluids, dirty talk.
The furs beneath your back reek of musk and smoke.
The sack rips from your head and torchlight sears your vision.
Mud, leather, and male musk bodies fills your nostrils. You're on your knees, wrists bound behind you, surrounded by a circle of massive green-skinned figures whose tusks gleam yellow in the firelight. Orcs.
The chieftain sits on a throne of stacked skulls. He's broader than the others, his chest scarred and broad, one tusk chipped in battle. His eyes crawl over you, making goosebumps rise on your skin.
"You're the tribute," he says, voice a low rumble that vibrates in your ribs. "The village finally sent someone pretty."
"I'm not—" Your protest dies when he lifts one finger.
"I am Grothak. You will call me Chieftain. You will call none of my warriors by name because you don't deserve to know them yet. Right now, you're just a hole that needs stretching."
Three orcs grab you before you can scramble backward. Thick fingers close around your arms, your thighs, your waist. The binds around your wrists get sliced through with a blade, but freedom lasts half a heartbeat before they pin you flat on the fur-covered platform.
"Hold her still," Grothak commands. "Prepare her thoroughly. I want her weeping around my cock before sunrise."
You buck. "Don't—"
A thick finger presses against your lips. "Hush. You'll thank us when he splits you open."
You thrash. Your heel connects with something solid—an orc's knee—and he grunts but doesn't budge. They manipulate you to lie on your back. Another orc straddles your calves, his weight crushing your legs flat.
"Stop! Don't—"
Hands rip your linen dress from collar to hem. The fabric tears. Cool air hits your breasts, your belly, the thatch of hair between your thighs. You try to curl inward but they force your arms above your head, pinning your wrists in a double-fisted grip.
"So small," one orc remarks. He runs a calloused thumb down your sternum. "Look how her nipples are already pebbling."
"I'm cold," you spit.
The orc who spoke—the one with a jagged scar across his throat—laughs. "Cold, oh, we'll warm you up, little rabbit."
Then there are hands everywhere.
One orc cups your left breast, his palm so wide it covers the whole mound. He kneads roughly, squeezing until you gasp, then releases and watches the flesh swell back. Another orc takes your right breast between both hands and compresses, pushes the tissue together until your nipples touch.
"Soft," he grunts. "Human females are so fucking soft."
"Her areolas are so cute," observes a third, leaning over your shoulder. His breath ghosts across your cheek. "Tiny. Like little coins."
They don't stop talking. They don't stop touching.
A mouth closes over your left nipple. Not gentle, a hard sucking pull that draws the bud deep between green lips. You feel the rasp of his tongue, the scrape of a tusk against the underside of your breast. Your back arches involuntarily.
"No—"
Another mouth finds your right nipple. This orc has a wider tongue, and he licks broad strokes across the sensitive peak while the first one sucks. They establish a rhythm: pull, release, swirl, bite. Not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to make you whimper.
Your hips jerk. The orc pinning your legs shoves them apart, kneeling between your thighs to keep you spread.
"Look at this," he says, and you feel one thick finger drag through your slit. "Dry as old leather. We've got work to do."
"Kiss her neck," Scar-Throat commands. "She's a woman. They like that."
An orc you hadn't noticed—younger, his tusks barely erupted—drops his head to the curve of your throat. His lips are surprisingly soft. He mouths at your pulse point, teeth grazing, tongue tracing the tendon down to your collarbone. You hate the shiver that races down your spine.
"She's trembling," he murmurs against your skin.
"Keep going," Scar-Throat says. "Open her legs wider."
The orc between your thighs hooks his elbows behind your knees and pushes. Your knees bend toward your shoulders, exposing everything. The torchlight is on you. You feel seen in ways that make your face burn.
"Such a pretty little cunt," he says. "Look at these lips. Plump. She's going to grip the Chieftain like a fist."
"Stop describing—ah!"
Two fingers part your outer labia. Cool air hits the slick inner flesh that you know is starting to glisten despite your horror. Your body is betraying you. The mouths on your breasts, the lips on your neck, the rough handling—it's all firing wires you didn't know existed.
"Getting wet," the orc observes. He drags one finger from your entrance up to your clit, just barely grazing the hooded nub. "There she is."
"Don't—that's not—gnnn!"
Another finger joins the first, and they spread you open like a flower. You feel exposed to the bone. The orc lowers his head, and for one terrible moment you think he's going to put his mouth there, but instead he spits.
A thick glob of saliva lands directly on your clit.
You jerk. "What the—"
"Wet is wet," he says, and rubs the saliva into your flesh with the flat of his thumb. The friction sends sparks up your spine. Your hips try to close but you can't.
"She's clenching," announces the orc at your breasts. He's switched from sucking to licking, broad stripes that catch your nipple and drag it toward his tusk. "Every time I do this, her whole body twitches."
"Mine too," says Neck-Kisser. He's moved to your ear now, nibbling the lobe. "Her breath keeps catching."
"Fingers," Scar-Throat orders. "Let's see how tight she is."
The orc between your thighs—you're starting to think of him as The Breaker—slides one thick finger inside you. You clamp down instinctively. Your walls try to push him out, but he's too big, too unyielding. The knuckle stretches your entrance.
"Tight," he confirms. He pushes deeper, curls the finger slightly, and you feel the pad of it press against your front wall. "There's the sweet spot."
"No, don't—" Your protest strangles into a moan when he presses harder.
"That's it. That's the sound." He adds a second finger, and the stretch makes your eyes water. "Two already feels like four in a human. Chieftain's cock is thicker than my wrist."
"He'll split her," someone says with satisfaction.
"Good."
The Breaker's fingers pump slowly. Each thrust pushes a wet sound from your cunt—a sticky, obscene noise that echoes in the quiet of the circle. The other orcs have gone still, watching, listening.
"Her ass," Scar-Throat says. "Don't neglect her ass."
"No—I haven't—I've never—"
A new pair of hands. These ones are oiled and a slick finger circles your anus. You tense every muscle in your body.
"Relax," says the orc behind you. You can't see his face, only feel the warm oil and the pressure. "Fighting makes it hurt more."
"I don't want—"
His fingertip breaches you. Just the tip, just past the tight ring of muscle, and you whine. Not from pain exactly—though there is pain—a sweet unexpected ache. An ache from the sense of being opened in a place you'd never allowed anyone to touch. Your whole body locks up.
"She's crying," Neck-Kisser observes. He's pulled back to watch your face. Tears streak down your temples into your hair.
"She's supposed to cry," Grothak says from his throne. His voice hasn't changed pitch. He watches like a man examining livestock. "Keep going."
The finger in your ass pushes deeper. The two fingers in your cunt resume their rhythm. The mouths return to your nipples—sucking, biting, laving. The hands on your breasts squeeze and release, squeeze and release, plumping the flesh until your areolas look swollen, darker.
"She's wet enough now," The Breaker announces. He pulls his fingers from your cunt and holds them up. They glisten in the torchlight, strings of your arousal stretching between them. "Look at this. Dripping."
"Taste her," Scar-Throat commands.
The Breaker puts his fingers in his own mouth, sucks them clean with noisy relish. "Sweet. Little bit sharp. Human women always taste like copper and honey."
"Let me." An orc you haven't seen before pushes forward. He's broader than the others, with a flat, smashed nose. He doesn't ask, just lowers his head between your spread thighs and drags his tongue from your perineum to your clit.
You buck. Your hands strain against the grip holding them. "Oh—fuck—"
He laughs against your flesh, then he does it again, slower, flattening his tongue to lap at your inner lips. He dips into your entrance, gathers a mouthful of your wetness, and pulls back to show the others.
"Look. She's making soup."
The orcs around you chuckle. You want to die. You want to crawl out of your own skin. But your hips are tilting upward, seeking more of that tongue, and you hate yourself for it.
"She likes it," Neck-Kisser says. He's returned to your throat, kissing and sucking. You'll have bruises tomorrow, purple badges of our attention. "Her pulse is racing."
"No, don't want—"
"Fingers in her mouth," Scar-Throat orders. "She's still arguing too much."
You open your mouth to scream but thick fingers shove between your lips before you can form the words. Two of them. Calloused. Tasting of leather and smoke. They press down on your tongue, and you gag.
"Suck," the orc commands. His hand is attached to a thick arm, which is attached to a chest with a tattoo of a wolf skull. "Get them wet. We're going to use every hole."
You try to bite down. He pinches your nose closed with his other hand.
"Suck or breathe. Your choice."
You suck. Saliva floods your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his knuckles against your will, coating them in slickness. He withdraws them slowly, strings of spit connecting his fingers to your lower lip.
"Good little bride," he says, and smears your saliva across your cheek.
"Turn her over," Scar-Throat commands. "Let's see her from behind."
Hands roll you onto your stomach. Your breasts press into the fur, nipples dragging against coarse hair. Someone grabs your hips and lifts them, forcing you onto your hands and knees. Your cheek is pressed sideways into the pelt.
"Spread her."
Knees kick your feet wider. Your thighs separate. You feel exposed from behind—the cool air on your wet cunt, on the oil-slicked entrance to your ass.
"Much better." The Breaker has moved behind you. You feel his thumbs part your outer lips, exposing the darker color of your inner flesh. "Look at this view. Everything glistening."
"Fuck her with something bigger than fingers," someone suggests.
"Get the handled club."
"No—" You try to crawl forward. An orc grabs your hair, fisting it at the roots, and thrusts his fingers in your mouth.
"Good. We said prepare her," Scar-Throat reminds you. "Not comfort her."
The handled club turns out to be exactly that—a wooden shaft, smoothed and polished, with a rounded bulb at one end. It's smaller than a cock but larger than fingers. The orc who holds it—The Breaker again—lathers the bulb in oil.
"This will stretch your cunt open," he says, pressing the cool wood against your entrance. "Get you ready for what's coming."
He pushes.
The bulb spreads your inner lips wide. You feel the stretch in your perineum, in the ring of muscle that guards your core. The wood is nothing like flesh, and every ridge and grain scrapes your sensitive walls.
"More," Scar-Throat says.
The Breaker shoves the bulb deeper. You gag around the fingers in your mouth as your cunt clenches around the intrusion, trying to expel it, but the shape locks it in place. He twists the handle, and you feel your insides rotate around the shaft.
"Now her ass," someone says.
"Ngnnn—" you cry mutely even with your finger stuffed mouth. "Ghphhh!! Can't—Ghprrrphh!"
Another bulb. Smaller this time, but still too large. Oiled. Probing your ass. The orc behind you—a different one, with sharper tusks—doesn't wait for your permission. He pushes the bulb past the tight ring, and you scream around the fingers, then suckle them hard.
The sensation is too much. Too full. Too stretched. You have fingers in your mouth, and something in your cunt and something in your ass and they're all moving, twisting, pumping in opposite rhythms. Your whole lower body feels packed, stuffed, invaded.
"That's it," Scar-Throat says. He's stroking your hair now, almost tender. "Take it. Take all of it. The Chieftain wants you gaping."
The fingers leave your mouth, and another set joines them. You manage to grumble, "Can't—too much—grpphhh!"
"You can. You will. Keep sucking." Scar-Throat grips your jaw, turns your face toward Grothak's throne. "Look at him. He's been watching this whole time. Be a good girl for him."
The chieftain hasn't moved. His massive arms are crossed over his chest, and his cock—you see it now, jutting from between his thighs—is enormous. Thicker than your thigh. Long enough to bruise your cervix. The head is dark purple, almost black, and beads of fluid glisten at the slit.
"That's going inside you," Scar-Throat says. "Every inch. And you're going to thank him for it."
"She's not ready," The Breaker announces, pulling the club from your cunt with a wet pop. "Still too tight. She needs more preparation."
"Then give her more."
What follows has no shape, no sequence, only sensation.
Orcs take turns on your body.
One kneels in front of your face and feeds you his cock while you choke and drool around it. Another fucks your cunt with his fingers while a third tongues your ass, his rough tongue lapping at the oiled rim. Someone bites your shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, then sucks the bruise.
You lose track of who is where. Three hands on your breasts at once—one pinching your left nipple, one tugging your right, one kneading the underside of your left breast where the skin is thin. Hands plump your tits together, squeezing until the flesh bulges between green fingers.
"The nipples are darker now," observes an orc. "From all the sucking."
"Her areolas spread," agrees another. "Look how wide they are."
You glance down at your own chest and barely recognize it. Your breasts are flushed, the nipples swollen to twice their normal size, the areolas crinkled and damp. Every breath makes them ache.
"Rub her here, too," someone says, and you feel fingers close around your clit. Circling. Pulling the hood back until the exposed nub is raw against the air. You sob.
"Stop—ghhphhh!! I'll come—"
"Good. That's the point."
You come with a scream that tears your throat. Your whole body convulses—back arching, hips bucking, thighs clamping around the head between your legs. The orc doesn't stop teasing your clit through the spasms, drawing out the peak until you're weeping from overstimulation.
"One," Scar-Throat counts. "She needs three before the Chieftain."
"Can't—"
"You can."
They build you up again. An orc fucks your cunt with his tongue, dipping into your entrance, swirling, then dragging up to your clit. Another orc slides two fingers into your ass and crooks them, searching until he finds the thin wall between your channels. You feel his fingertips press against the tongue in your cunt through the membrane.
"That's it," he growls. "Feel that?"
The second orgasm rips through you while you're still trembling from the first. This one is sharper but your body doesn't care. It keeps going. Your cunt gushes around the tongue inside it, and you hear someone laugh.
"She's leaking," The Breaker says. "Like a cracked waterskin."
"One more," Scar-Throat insists. "Then the Chieftain."
"No—I have nothing left—"
They prove you wrong. An orc with a clever tongue licks slow circles around your clit while another pinches both your nipples, rolling the sensitive buds between thumb and forefinger. A third kisses you—actually kisses your mouth, tongue pushing past your lips, tasting you. The intimacy of it breaks something inside you.
You come for the third time silently. Your mouth opens but no sound comes out. Your vision whites out. When you come back, you're on your back again, legs spread, and Grothak is standing over you.
"Good work," he says to his warriors. "She's ready."
He is naked now and his cock... it's even larger up close. Twice thicker than the wooden club. The head alone looks bigger than your fist. Veins rope along the shaft and his balls hang heavy beneath, tight with need.
"Please," you whisper. You don't know if you're begging him to stop or to start.
Grothak, the chieftain kneels between your thighs. He doesn't bother with foreplay, his warriors have prepared you thoroughly so he just spits on his palm, slicks his cock, and lines the head up with your entrance.
"Look at me," he commands.
You look.
He pushes.
The head stretches your cunt wider than anything that's been inside you. Wider than orc fingers, wider than the club. You feel your inner lips flatten against the sides of his shaft, feel your perineum strain. The burning is intense, a fire that makes you claw at the furs beneath you.
"Breathe," he says, and you realize you've been holding your breath.
You exhale in a shuddering gasp. He pushes deeper. Another inch. Another. Your walls try to clamp down but there's no room—he's already filled every space, stretched every muscle.
"Halfway," he grunts. Sweat beads on his brow. "Tightest cunt I've ever had."
"I can't— too big—"
"You can. You will." He pulls back slightly, then shoves forward. The head of his cock punches past your cervix, and you scream.
The pain is white-hot. But underneath it, buried beneath the stretch and the burn, something else flickers. A fullness that borders on pleasure. A sense of being completely, utterly filled.
"There," Grothak says. "Pushing against your womb."
He begins to move. Slow thrusts at first, each one dragging his ridges against your raw inner walls. Then faster. Harder. The furs beneath you bunch and slide as he pounds into you, his balls slapping against your ass with each stroke.
"You're taking it," he growls. "Look at you. Dripping down my shaft. Soaking my balls."
You are. You can feel your own wetness coating his cock, making each thrust easier, slicker. Your hips have started moving, matching his rhythm, tilting up to meet him.
"Please," you moan, and this time you know what you're begging for.
"Please what?"
"More—harder—I don't care—just don't stop—"
He laughs, and it's the first time you've heard him laugh. It's not cruel. It's triumphant.
"Warriors," he calls. "Come join your chieftain as he claims his bride."
They don't wait. They descend like wolves.
Grothak lies back and keeps pounding your pussy while one orc kneels beside your head and feeds you his cock. You open your mouth without being told, suck without being commanded. Your tongue swirls around his shaft, traces the vein along the underside, laps at the slit.
Two orcs position themselves behind you and spread your asscheeks. They rub around where you pussy is spread wide by their boss then rub your pucker. You whimper around a mouthfool of cock when one pushes into your ass—you feel the stretch, the burn, but it's nothing compared to the cunt-stretch of the chieftain.
The other orc—where does he go? There's no room—
"Spread her cheeks wider," Scar-Throat orders.
Grothak pumps to the hilts and spreads your ass wide apart and the orc behind you slides into your ass alongside the other. Two cocks in one hole. You feel impossibly full—split open—stuffed beyond reason.
"Fuck," Grothak groans and keeps fucking your pussy. "She's magic."
The orcs in your ass begin to move, too, pumping in opposite rhythm. The orc in your mouth thrusts to the back of your throat. You're being fucked from every direction, every hole filled, every inch of your body claimed.
"Look at her taking her clan," Grothak says with satisfaction. "Not many humans can take that."
"She's not human anymore," Scar-Throat replies. "She's orc-bride now."
The orgasm that builds is different from the earlier ones. It doesn't crest, it drowns. You feel it rise from your core, spread through your belly, flood your limbs. When it breaks, you're screaming around the cock in your mouth, your whole body convulsing, your cunt and ass clamping down so hard the orcs groan.
"She's coming," Grothak says. "Again. Give her more."
They don't stop. They switch positions, swap holes, take turns. You lose count of how many cocks have been inside you. You're passed from orc to orc, each one fucking you until they spill, then the next one taking their place.
You are now on your side, Grothak stretching your throat with deep slides. You open for him, greedy now, desperate. Your lips stretch around his shaft, your tongue laves at the head.
An orc is spooning you from behind, fucking your ass and when he spurts his cum and pulls out, someone else slides in immediately—thicker this time, longer. The orc in your cunt fucks you so hard your vision blurs. Someone's fingers pinch your clit, another set on your nipples, rolling the swollen nub suntil you scream.
You're a thing of holes and need, a vessel for orc seed, a bride being broken open and remade.
At last, hours later, Grothak takes you again, but this time he's alone. The warriors have pulled back, all of them spent and satisfied, their seed dripping down your thighs, your chin, your chest. Your whole body is covered in it—sticky, hot, reeking of musk.
The chieftain lays you on your back, spreads your legs, and slides home in one thrust. You're too gaping to feel the stretch anymore. Your cunt has softened, loosened, shaped itself to orc cocks. His slides in easily, his ridges scraping against walls that have learned to accept.
"Look at you," he says, fucking you slow and deep. "Crying. Drooling. Covered in my warriors' seed. And you're still trying to fuck back on my cock."
You are. Your hips are rolling, meeting his thrusts, pulling him deeper. Your inner muscles clench around him, milking, begging.
"Please," you sob. "Please come in me. Please fill me up. I need it—I need your seed—"
He growls and picks up speed. "Take it," he snarls. "Take every drop."
His orgasm is explosive. He roars and you feel his cock pulse inside you, flooding your cunt with loads of cum. It fills you, overflows you, drips down your ass to mix with the other orcs' spend. He stays inside you, seed pumping.
When he finally pulls out, you're empty. Hollow. Your cunt gapes open, dripping orc seed, trickling down your thighs. Grothak cups your face in one massive hand. His thumb wipes tears from your cheek.
"You'll do," he says as you fall into exhausted sleep.
Youre lying on your front, hugging a pillow. Your hips are in the lap of a large, hypnotically beautiful creature, her cock slowly thrusting into your dripping hole.
It's so thick, youre so stretched and full you cant think.
You dont know its an ovipositor.
Youve been fucking her for ages now, delirious from sex you have lost your concept of time.
You dont know what she is, but she has markings along her back and arms that glow softly, she has musical tones on her breath as she groans, and she has a thick cock with a cross on the head that you kissed deeply.
You feel her cock pulsing inside you. You are raw and sensitive and tingling all over.
She grabs your hips and pulls you closer, deeper, she drags her nails along your back. Groaning happily, sort of like a panflute, she falls into a rhythm grinding her hips against you.
You are so wet, shes fucked you so thoroughly its like youve conformed to her shape, your hole has been made into her perfect cocksleeve.
You grind on her, enjoying the extra sensation of ... uh, her cock must be thicker at the base. You decide you like that. Her hands on your hips dont let you go too far. She likes to be deep inside you.
The odd sensation, and a small alarm in your mind, dont go away. As her cock gets thicker inside of you, she groans and gasps with effort that grinding shouldnt take. Horror dawns as you finally realise its an egg.
You push onto your elbows to get up, but her hand between your shoulder blades says you cant. With strength you cant match, she clutches your thigh and drags you deeper onto her like a good bitch.
You cry out with each thrust making you take the egg a milimeter more, pushing you closer to a limit - she doesnt relent.
Even when you find the limit, when she cant make you take it any more, when it feels like shes slamming a knot that just isnt going to fit - she doesnt stop.
Oh god, you cant take it. You cant. She leans down, gravity on her side as she thrusts into you, chittering softly. You are pounded by it, you feel your slick hole giving in a bit more each time.
It feels inevitable, she thrusts and grinds it but her cock is so deep already. Its going inside of you, oh god shes going to make you take it!
Her egg SLAMS inside of you, the shock makes you scream. The stretching of your lips was the worst part, but now you are full and its different. Your breathing is ragged, the pain and weight inside you is making you dizzy.
She relaxes now, pushing it deeper inside of you with no resistance. Her ovipositor does exactly what it was always going to do, you feel the egg drop inside of you.
You whine as your hole stretches once more, another egg at your entrance.
She gives you 7. You didnt count on purpose, but they took all of your attention.
The fifth and sixth were easy for her to force inside, but you screamed with the shock every time. The widest part of the egg never got easier. Those were harder for her to deposit though, she was breathing hard and each stroke jostled the rest of her brood inside you.
The seventh is the worst. It feels like the biggest - but youve thought that for each of them.
Weary, he changes the position, and pulls you on top of her. She wont let her cock leave your bruised, aching hole. You see how the egg sits in her ovipositor for the first time, her cock swollen with it, like a threat.
You feel it pressing on your sloppy hole and sob as you weakly slide down. Shes not even thrusting, its like shes taking a break. This one you will be taking yourself. Wont you, slut.
Without her pounding, its the slowest one. You feel every ridge of that damn cock as you stretch and slip slowly slowly down.
She thrusts upwards into you, she fucks you with the egg, dragging it in and out, deeper upwards each time. You groan weakly, her strong hands holding your hips tightly. Her ethereal eyes hold your gaze fast.
You cry out as you finally take it. Her good little broodmare, taking her all eggs like that. She sit up a bit and strokes your face. You shudder with pleasure as the egg is pushed upwards, and finally it joins its bretheren.
She pulls you aside and lays you on the bed next to her. You cant believe how heavy you are. Her touch is so soft and loving now.
You cant believe how empty your hole feels as her ovipositor finally falls out.
You gingerly touch your stomach, horror tightening your throat as you realise youre going to have to push all of these back out.
Request: Hi! I'd like to stick to hole stretching themed but other then that go nuts! Creative freedom all the way!
It will fit
Dragon x fem!reader || size kink, dirty talk, body worship, sex toys, (light) praise kink
“I want you to fuck me,” you announce. Your dragon boyfriend looks up from his book and stares for a second, a smirk spreading on his lips. “With your dick,” you add when you see the glint in his eye that 100% indicates he’s thinking about you flat on your back and his tongue as deep as it can go.
He sighs. You already had this conversation a couple of times, and he’s adamant about it. “I don’t think it will fit, darling. I know you want to, but I don’t want to hurt you.” Always the gentleman.
But you aren’t hearing any of that. “You won’t,” you assure him with more conviction than you feel. “It will fit, I swear.” Your pussy will be magic.
“I’m- I don’t want to risk hurting you,” he mumbles, worry written all over his face.
“I have toys as big as you.” He arches a scaled eyebrow in your direction. Your bigger toy is very big, but definitely not as big as he is. “Well, not as big, but close enough. I can use that first and then we try with you… Just trying. Please?” You are playing your best card: pouting in his direction.
He visibly melts, letting you know you already won. “You want to build up to it?”
“More like probe to you that I can take you,” you tell him, your smile nothing but cocky.
“This is not a competition, you know?” He sounded amused. You shrug. Anything can be a competition if you want it to be. “Okay. If you can fit your biggest toy, I’ll consider it,” he concedes, leaning into your personal space to give you a forehead kiss that melts your insides into liquid fire. Your panties are already wet just thinking about getting fucked by your dragon.
“Deal.” You kiss his cheek, and sit back. But not two seconds later, you are talking again, too eager to let it pass: “Can we do it now?” Your body is almost vibrating with excitement. And arousal. You are so fucking horny for your boyfriend is lowkey embarrassing.
“I was reading…” It’s your turn to look at him with skepticism, eyebrow arched and a tiny smile playing on your lips. You hope the message of ‘you really want to read, or do you want to see me fuck myself on a toy’ comes across. It does, because next thing he says is: “You’re right. Bedroom. Now.” And gets up.
You follow after him, giggling when you pass in the hallway, slapping his ass playfully and making him grunt while he chases you. You get there first, reaching for the toy box. You toss the biggest dildo you have on the bed. He stares at it for a second, taking off his sweatpants and shirt, shifting his eyes to your body with a knowing smile.
Then, to your surprise, he grabs the chair on the corner and positions it at the foot of the bed. “Are you really going to do the whole chair thing?” You let out a breathy chuckle, anticipation filling your senses.
“I want to watch,” is all he says. You don’t say a word, looking at him with a big grin on your face. He sighs, and confesses: “And if I’m too close, I might get you onto your back and eat you out until you forget about my dick.”
“I can never forget about your dick,” you rapidly assure, eyes fixated on it. It’s so big and veiny and fucking ridged… It’s going to feel so good inside of you.
“You know what I mean. You want to do this, so I’m going to be patient and wait right here,” he says, moving his tail until it wraps around his leg and he can sit comfortably. “Go ahead, put on a show,” he gestures towards you, and you smirk, taking your dress off and throwing it at his face.
He catches it mid air, smiling at you before tossing it to the floor. Your panties follow, and this time, he gets them close to his nose and inhales deeply, his eyes turning dark and a growl emanating from his chest. You shiver.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, eyes fixated on you when you fall onto your knees and position the dildo right at your entrance. “Be careful,” he mumbles.
“I’m wet enough to fuck this monster. I’m probably wet enough to fuck my monster,” you tell him with a pointed stare at his dick. He chuckles, but there’s fire burning behind his eyes.
“We’ll see about that.”
You rub the tip over your entrance, moving your hips slowly until the tip slips inside. You let out a groan and start to go down, getting it deeper. It’s too much, too soon. Your body is not used to such big dildos, you enjoy this one from time to time, but having a monster boyfriend obsessed with eating you out doesn’t give you many opportunities.
He seems to feel your struggle, because he starts talking: “Come on, darling. You can take it further, can’t you?” His voice is rough, and he looks ready to pounce. The combination of his words and the way he looks at you make your knees go a bit weak and you slip further down. “Such a good girl, taking it so deep. Go further down, darling. You are almost there…” He coaches, voice incredibly deep with desire.
“I- I don’t-” You think about it for a second. Think about what you really want to be riding right now. “Yes. Yes,” you hype yourself up. You sit a bit further down, his eyes turning even darker while he looks at the point where the monster dildo disappears inside of you.
“You are doing so good. You’re perfect. The perfect human for me. You’re going to be so full of me when I fuck you. You are going to feel me for days.” You moan sinfully at his words and slip lower. You can almost feel the base, just a bit more… “I’m gonna breed you so deep,” he mumbles, and you cry out as it slips completely inside.
You stop there for a second, trying to adjust and struggling. You can see him licking his lips, his whole body tense on the chair while he looks at where your pussy is completely stuffed. You start rocking back and forth, trying to adjust to the size of it, and he continues to pant in front of you. He’s grabbing onto the sides of the chair with such force you are pretty sure he’s about to break it.
It doesn’t take you much to accommodate the toy inside of you, bouncing shallowly until you get a good rhythm going. “Told- Told ya,” you stutter. You are bouncing on it like your life depends on it. Your legs burning already. But the way he’s looking at you only makes you wetter. “Fuck, it feels so good. So full.”
He’s staring at you like you are one of the marvels of the world, complete adoration and arousal written all over his features. His dick looks imposing between his legs, but he doesn’t reach for it, looking intently at you. The toy is so big it rubs your G-spot with each thrust, driving you insane with desperation. It feels so good… But you know you can’t get there without a little bit of help.
You stare into your dragon’s eyes, letting out a whispered: “Please.”
He gets up, crossing the distance between the two of you in one stride, climbing on the bed and stopping right in front of you, on his knees, forcing you to look up at him. His chest is raising and falling rapidly, his breath hot when he leans down to claim your mouth in the hottest kiss possible (literally and metaphorically).
His hands travel down, his claws tracing lines on your sides before he grabs your hips and starts to help you move over the dildo. The kiss breaks with the force of your groans, your lips incredibly close while you pant against each other’s mouths.
“Can you take more? Can you show me how good you are for me, darling?” He asks, and you don’t have time to wonder what he means because you feel the tip of his fingers against your pussy.
He presses inside, alongside the dildo, stretching you further, making your brain turn into mush while he moves his fingers in and out at the rhythm of your hips. He’s breathing hard, mumbling incoherences about stretching you, filling you, feeling your tightness… You can’t process any of it while he continues his attack to your senses.
It takes him a second, but he adds another finger. Your eyes roll back into your head and you whimper, but he makes soothing sounds until you stretch fully around them. And then he another, making tears build up in your eyes because of the overwhelming pressure. It feels so good. You tell him as much, and he roars.
And before you realize, you are on your back, and he’s fucking three fingers alongside the dildo. You are spread wide, you can feel him everywhere. You’ve never been so stretched, and the sensation is almost too much. But not enough at the same time.
Just as the thought crosses your mind, he grunts: “Touch yourself.” You don’t need to be told twice, your hand finding your clit and rubbing at the rhythm of his thrusts in your pussy.
You can barely think straight, your ears ringing when the orgasm hits you like a train wreck. You scream, and he fucks you through it, his hand and the toy finding the perfect rhythm to drive your orgasm higher and higher until you don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore.
It takes you a couple of minutes to recover enough to breathe properly. He stopped moving, simply staring down at you with a big smile. Your vision blacks out for a second, and you can only process one coherent thought: riding the dragon.
You look between your bodies where his dick is still hard and leaking, looking as big as a monster. “Now… your turn.” And you tackle him to his back.
you cannot stop staring at lieutenant riley's tits. (18+)
what the fuck was he thinking wearing something like that at work? a compression shirt a size too small—i mean what the fuck—how is that fair? how is that normal? what else are you supposed to do except sit at your desk outside price's office and oogle at him whenever he goes into and out of a meeting?
it wasn't really a problem, actually, until he caught you.
he was waiting for the typed transcripts from laswell's meeting. standing in front of you, arms crossed over his chest, pecs straining against the dark grey fabric he wore as he grunted out that he wanted a copy of the papers that you were holding in your very hands.
"oi!" ghost snaps. your eyes, half lidded and focused on the middle of his chest, shoot wide open at the sheer volume of his voice, and you shuffle a little on your heels as you blink up at him.
"s-sorry, lieutenant, what were you saying?"
you squeak when he grips your face in one big hand. he squeezes your cheeks, puckering your lips, and you're dragged up and onto your toes as he leans down and presses the mouth of his mask against your own. he makes your lips move like a fish, squishing them tight and loose again, and he chuckles lowly as he studies the way your skin warms under his touch. pretty, stupid thing—smartest behind that desk, stupidest when you're standing in front of him.
"look at you," he murmurs. "y'r so bloody soft. all over. just how i like."
"y-yeah?"
"yeah..."
"y-you're so hot," you whisper. he laughs, chest heaving with it, and you ache to reach out and feel how meaty and fat he is there. "o-oh—"
"not supposed to fraternize with staff 'n the like, you know tha', don't ya?"
"y-yeah," you nod, leaning up on your toes, keeping your face against his.
"y'r just naughty, tha' it, innit? naughty, pretty thing you are."
"s-super..." you lose your train of thought, giggling, "naughty."
"fuckin' useless, tha' head o' y'rs," ghost mutters. you chase his thumb that traces your mouth, aching to take it into your mouth. the world is quieter when he lets you have it; your lips close around it, and you suck with a soft whine. "bloody useless."
"sorry..."
"no matter, love. just gonna 'ave ta bend you over to empty it."
you take the only extra credit your pent up, pining, pervy professor offers.
warnings: 2.4k words // nsfw - masc!orc x fem!reader - professor x student // not quite coercion but sex = extra credit, having to keep quiet, massive size difference, talks about prof's cock not fitting, power imbalance, tonguefucking, clit stim, a clit pinch or two, light nipple play, fingering, prof's makes his cock fit, multiple orgasms (reader), cum play, unprotected vaginal sex, humiliation, degradation, holding in cum
a/n: if we want more, let me know :)
It’s pretty fucking straightforward.
It’s staring you right in your face in your professor’s office. Literally. Whilst the chair meant to accommodate both humans and orcs swallows you up, you’re face to face with the giant bulge in your professor’s slacks while he leans against the front of his desk. Right in front of you. His glasses pushed back into his thick, curly brown hair, a dark blush creeping over his green cheeks, and his massive fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. His other hand squeezes the edge of his desk, damn near splintering it in two.
The kind of strength that’d break you. The kind of cock that could be the size of your forearm squeezed into his pants and trying to break out to reach you.
You’d gone in there to talk about trying to get your grade up from a C to a B. You’re five percentage points away, and any extra credit you’ll take with open arms. Or, apparently, with open legs. He’s apparently so pent up, just you bending over his desk to take a peek at your grade sheet with him sent him into a fucking tizzy. Through grit teeth and telling you that you needed to sit on the other side of the desk, you wound up here.
Staring down the tent in his pants.
The offer on the table.
Help him out and he’ll help you out.
He’ll bump your grade up half a percentage point every time you, his words, “open your pretty legs and give me your tight cunt.”
In class, he’s also so put together and acts so professionally, it’s downright irritating. He takes points off your presentations for accidental filler words. But he stands there and says that? Twists your arm–bascially–into spreading your legs to get a better grade? It’s either that or…nothing. He’s honest in saying he doesn’t usually provide extra credit. The grade you get is the grade you get. You’re a special case with this and this alone. The second you walk out the door, the offer expires.
So he’s making it in the moment, then, you know. Looking at his bulge straining painfully. It will surely be painfully trying to fit that inside of you. And while part of you considers storming out and going right to the dean of students to file a complaint, you don’t. You don’t leave. You just stare at the C on the sheet still out on his desk. You have A’s in all your other classes. You’ve gotten straight A’s all your past three years. It’s his damn strict grading that’s ruined your streak.
So, hesitantly, you turn. You hear the rough intake of his breath when you get to your knees. Hear the edge of his desk starting to crack when you angle your hips back and reach for the skirt of your uniform. Another huffing breath sounds almost like a growl. It vibrates the air as you flash him your white underwear.
The creaking of the wooden floor sends a shiver down your spine. It comes with a stiff warmth pooling between your legs. Pooling right where one warm, thick finger rubs over your cunt. Oh. You slam your hands down in a harsh grip on the back of the chair and hold on for dear life. It’s only just started, and yet your heart is ready to pound out of your chest. Mortification drips down your drying throat and builds in a whine when the pad of his finger finds your clit way too quickly through your underwear.
“Half a percentage point for your hands,” he states. “A percentage point for your mouth and cunt each. Two points for your tight little asshole.” His finger curls around the top of your underwear, and it takes literally a mere movement to hook and pull, and then from your ass down to your cunt is bare. The elastic of your underwear digs into your side. It isn’t a negotiation, though you almost bark back that two percentage points is not nearly enough if you’re to take his cock in your ass. “I have neighbors. Do not make a sound. I’m going to taste this sweet cunt now.”
Wait.
But the floor creaks again. You aim to whip around–did this earn you anything or was it just for his gain? But there’s his breath against the backs of your thighs. His gargantuan thumbs come up and run along the back of your cunt. Slightly rough touches that make you gasp, and your eyes fall to the unlocked door. Oh, shit, wait–
His thumbs press on either side of your cunt and part you.
His hair brushes against your ass.
His nose bumps your ass, next.
Then, with one little breath as warning, he’s there. There’s a thick, warm, wet tongue prodding at your cunt. You lurch forward, but he needs nothing more than his hands to lock you back against him. He presses on, lapping at your cunt and taking his giant tongue to his advantage, fully encompassing your cunt like he owns it. Slurping loudly, groaning against you, flicking your clit with the tip and making you jolt. And then he’s back to your entrance again, shoving his tongue as deep inside of you as he can get it. Forcing it in while your cunt starts to react; fluttering involuntarily at the intrusion. But it…he….
Your eyes clamp shut. It shouldn’t feel good, but–oh, god–he laughs when your hips push back. It feels really good. His laughter comes through again in the kind of dark laugh that travels up your spine and settles like a bully mocking you right at the back of your head. But your thoughts are swimming. You’re dripping down his chin as he continues, not easing up. Moving one hand to reach around you, and there’s the rough pad of his finger on your clit. No, no. You bite down on your bottom lip, a whine rising up your throat and pushing out. Escaping just a little. You don’t like it. You don’t like it! You don’t–
He pinches your clit between his fingers, and you hang your head. When your forehead touches the back of your hands, he’s back to rubbing it quickly. Harsh motions that go right to your cunt. Right where he pistons his tongue into you again. You flutter around him, tears welling up while you force the sounds down. Don’t cum. Don’t cum. Don’t cum. Not like this. Definitely not on the first time before he even fucks you. He’s going to think you like this. Don’t do it. Don’t cum. Don’t cum. You’re shaking so hard trying to hold it back.
But alas….
He pinches your clit again, thrusting his tongue into you at the same time, and something snaps. Like a thread along your back keeping your control.. in check. That dignity you clung to that you thought you could have for at least a few meetings. But he’s shattered it all in one single go. Everything builds into a sharp, unforgiving peak. It rises up with a swift wind and crashes down with the weight of an anchor.
It takes absolutely everything you have in you not to make a sound. Everything. Shaking from head to toe, you bite down on the back of your hand and let out the softest, breathiest whine that barely makes a sound. But it’s enough to spur him on. And right as you start to cum, he’s burying his face against you and not letting up.
Stars shoot behind your eyes. Pleasure rakes down your back. You gush down his chin in visceral ecstasy.
No–fuck! You almost throw yourself off the chair because what the fuck? You weren’t supposed to do that. You weren’t!
But the floor’s creaking. Two large hands reach around you, and you hear the pops of your buttons before you realize what he did. Cold air hits your chest. Warm fingers tug your bra down and tuck the cups up underneath your breasts before you can even think to protest. He dwarfs you, really. Taking you in his hands like you’re a fucking doll. Rolling your nipples between his fingers and making your eyes flutter shut and mouth clamp tight. More sounds try to build, but you taper them down. For as long as it takes for his hands to retreat. Then, there’s a single finger smearing itself around your cunt and pressing into it. It’s practically the size of two of your fingers, maybe more. And the stretch from that alone….
Can’t keep up. Can’t keep up. Can’t keep up.
He pushes his finger in slowly, leaving you with a gaping mouth and a stretched out cunt already.
“So tight,” he grunts. “Do you think I will fit?”
A second finger already prods at your entrance. The stretch is mesmerizing and blinding at the same time. You slam a hand down against the back of the chair and can only hold back so much of the moan. Being that full with fingers that can perfectly search for your sweet spot, you’re there already. It’s wrong. It’s annoying. But as a few tears ruin your makeup, his fingers curling into you and shaking you with every thrust…you can’t do it. You rock yourself on him, trying to get a hand down to find your clit to push you over the edge, but he slaps you away.
His fingers retreat, and there’s the sound of a belt buckle. A zipper. Shuffling. His belt coming off to keep just making sound.
Adrenaline is a shiver down your spine when hands grab your waist. Sweet fuck. His cock is guided through your legs. Massive–he’s absolutely fucking massive. And he rocks himself between your folds, nudging up against your clit each time. So sensitive still, you hunch over, shaking. He’s not going to fit. There’s not a single chance in hell he’s going to. It’s not possible. He’s a damn giant.
“Let’s see how much you can take,” he grunts, fisting the base of his leaking cock.
It feels like a fucking fist at your cunt. The idea of him trying to fit there comes crashing in with him trying to fit in your ass. Pressure builds as his hips move forward, and your eyes roll back. He’s not going to fucking fit…. The stretch brings a dash of pain that thrums into such a pleasure, you can’t speak. Your mouth just hangs open with the smallest moan sneaking out.
Too big.
He pushes in more. A little more.
“A fourth of the way there.”
More and more. He’s too much. Your thighs start to quiver. You’re filled to the brim already, and the way his cock already nudges inside of you is too much. There, there, there, you’re fucking there.
“Almost, fuck. So tight. Fuck. I have been thinking of this since you walked into my classroom.”
There, there, there, there, oh, god–there!
His balls tap against your cunt, sopping wet in the silence. Your vision blurs over with tears that don’t fall. Your edge is there; right there. You’re standing on it, balancing. A gust of wind away from falling. You’re fluttering around his cock and stuck pierced on it, full and stretched and immobile. But you’re close–so close. He made himself fit. And you could feel that in every sense of it.
He reaches for you.
Your clit.
The back of your neck.
He pins you down to the chair and rubs your clit slowly. So slowly it’s agony. Pure, blissful, painful, full agony. A single tear slides down your cheek. It’s bright, white-hot stars that take over the room. There’s never been anything like it, and the sound that leaves you is quiet, yes, but nothing like you’d ever made before. It’s broken and whiny. A scream that doesn’t find the volume.
You spasm over his cock and gush down on his balls. They rub up against you when he grunts out a laugh, squeezing your neck a little tighter and not lifting his finger from your clit. No, no. Fuck. It’s so much, but you’re still there. Still falling over the edge. It hasn’t stopped yet. It lingers–drawn out bit by silent-screaming bit.
All until you’re about to really scream.
But your professor merely moves his hand back to your hip, and pulls out. Just a little.
When he ruts back in it’s filling, it’s stretching, and his balls tap wet against your cunt. You outright almost scream. One small thrust, and you’re breaking. He gives you another one–slower, softer. It’s hardly any better for your control. Then another. And another. Until he’s just fucking you nice and slow, barely pulling out, just rutting in with short, deep thrusts.
It doesn’t take long. In the span of time it takes you to realize he doesn’t have a condom on, he’s tightening his grip, grunting under his breath, and losing his rhythm. You’re hit as literally as everything has been that day by that fact when his hips slap against your ass, and he empties his balls in you. Thick, hot ropes of cum meant for someone quadruple your size. You can’t hold it in. You feel it fill you up and dribble out around him. Down your thighs, down to his chair.
Oh, fuck.
He hums. His thumb finds you and presses tentatively against your asshole.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“I will give you two-and-a-half points this first time.” He pulls out of you gingerly; you’re left absolutely fucking gaping. “Double for taking all of me on your first try. An extra half point for taking my cum.”
You’re a quivering, empty mess when he taps your ass with a light spank. Well, light for an orc. You lurch forward and your arms go past the back of the chair. You have to clench hard–sending a wave of soreness through your cunt–to keep from spilling cum down onto the chair.
“That bumps you up to a 77.5%. I have work to do. If you are satisfied with that grade, fine. Otherwise, pick a hole, and I will see you next week after class. Goodbye.”
Somehow, that leads to you stumbling off of his office chair, staggering outside with your coat buttoned up to cover your broken shirt, and clenching so you don’t dribble out too much cum on your walk back to your dorm. You walk in a daze. A burning, desperate, humiliated gaze.
It isn’t enough.
You need that A.
At least a 95%. Higher if you want an A+.
Oh, god.
At least 17.5 points to make up. And then some for the A+.
So…so that’s….
Seventeen fucks–or blowjobs–and then one handjob. Or…. Or letting him fuck your ass nine times.
Toxic John “It’s disrespectful to me for you to go out looking like that” Price who once hunted you down across a bar because your dress was short and your makeup was sultry… and now acts personally victimized when you don’t mute yourself for him.
The same bastard who used to murmur “knew you were trouble the second I saw you in that dress” against your throat is now standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, jaw grinding, demanding to know why you’re “going out lookin’ like that” when you’re already his.
“I’m not angry, I’m disappointed you’d disrespect me like this,” until you’re the one apologizing, wiping at your mascara in the mirror while he mutters about “every bloke in there staring at what’s mine.”
Toxic!Price who calls you insecure when you hesitate to change. “If you weren’t lookin’ for attention from other men, why’s it such a problem to put something else on?” Will sulk on the sofa, slam a cabinet or two, tell you he “just doesn’t want anyone else looking” when what he really means is he wants the version of you he met without the reality of other people seeing you, too.
Vs
Kyle “hype man” Garrick who sees you step out of the bedroom and whistles low, hand pressed to his chest, phone already in his hand capturing you at every angle for your IG story. Gaz who does a slow circle around you, fingers gently adjusting your necklace, smoothing your dress over your hips like he’s framing artwork, murmuring, “D’you have any idea how lucky I look standin’ next to you?” already picturing the way other people’s eyes will track you when you walk in together. The kind of man who will tuck your hand into the crook of his elbow, kiss your knuckles, and when someone stares a little too long, just smugly smiles to himself because yeah, they should be jealous… he gets to take your fine ass home after all.
Let me know if this needs more detail or is too restrictive but...
Woman allows the giant teddy bear that is the local orc blacksmith to finally let loose all that natural born power on her as a tip for a job well done rather than be the town's worst kept secret service top. Bonus if he's hesitant and needs to be reassured she can take it.
As sweet as a Muffin
[ m!orc x fem!human ]
content: very light femdom, praise kink, fingering, oral (female receiving), p in v, creampie
You expected the heavy knock on the door. After all, he promised he would deliver the oven tray to you, after he repairs it. Such a gentleman. It took all your power not to run and wide open the door - well, not before you checked yourself out and pulled your decolletage a little bit lower.
With the warmest smile, you open the door to greet the soaking wet orc, trying his best to keep the tray dry from the rain with his rather massive but insufficient palm.
"You silly..." You pull him inside. You thought he would at least be smart enough to bring an umbrella with him. "Why didn't you use the tray to cover yourself?"
He chuckles. "You know, I never thought about it."
"Let's get you dry." Just imagining this handsome hunk in front of you, undressed and wet, got you all giddy. What a treat would that be on this dull winter afternoon.
"Oh, that's so improper... but..." His teeth have already started to chatter. "Yes, I should."
You lead him into your kitchen, next to your burning cookstove, and jump to help him remove his heavy coat. While he was undoing his boots, you checked out the perfectly flat oven tray. You have a feeling he even polished it unnecessarily. "Oh dear, this is amazing! The first tray of muffins is yours."
"Oh, thank you, I love your muffins!"
You had to chuckle a little bit, truly entertained by his warm innocence. Although he's far from inexperienced - or so you heard.
You help him remove his sweater before bringing him a towel. As soon as you enter your kitchen, you are greeted with a naked orc back as wide as a barn door. He is muscular, of course, as any blacksmith would be, and slightly hairy across his shoulder blades, naturally. But - oh, makers - he is freckled! How adorable!
He notices your stare and immediately hides himself behind his shirt. "I'm so s-sorry. Even my undershirt is wet. If I can only leave it here for 10 minutes, and I can hide somewhere until it dries off a little bit."
"No no no..." You really hope your voice doesn't quiver as much as your cunt does at the sight of his muscular, freckled shoulders. "You'll stay here, undress all those wet clothes, and get all nice and warm."
There is a slight blush covering his ears. "Are you sure?"
You take a step forward, the tip of your head barely reaching his collarbone, and you boldly look him in the eyes. "I insist." Even more boldly, you hook your index finger against his pants.
He smiles. Sweetly, like honey. He is familiar with this game. He is a skilled craftsman not only when it comes to metal and fire. Many villagers enjoyed their time with him, and they all loved to brag about how divine he is with his tongue and fingers. You and your sweet neighbor blacksmith, however, only had one brief opportunity to exchange a heated kiss behind an oak during the spring festival. But it was one salacious kiss that left you breathless and craving so much more.
And you decided you won't try only his fingers and mouth. Oh no. You are taking the whole orc package tonight.
"Let me help you undress," you coax him.
He obediently raises his arms. "As you wish."
Soon he stands naked in front of you, his massive cock hanging low even though semi-hard. "You are so handsome..." You stroke his length, licking your lips. "Can't wait to ride it..."
"What?" His eyes show genuine concern. "No, don't! You might get hurt."
You chuckle and pinch his nipple. "Don't worry, big guy. I can handle you. Just give me time." You pull him lower toward you by holding him by his tusks. He moans when you bite his lower lip. "And you are not going anywhere during this downpour."
The rain is indeed heavy enough to silence your pathetic whimpers as you hold your bed frame, keeping your core stable, thanking the Makers for sending this incredible orc to your village. The aforementioned orc is meanwhile kneeling behind you and eating you out with the fervour of a starving wolf devouring a deer carcass. He is enjoying it, too, humming into your pulsating, soaking wet cunt, bringing you to the verge of your fourth orgasm.
"No!" It was hard to say this word. But you had to. His tongue and fingers did a perfect job, and you knew you were ready for the real deal. "I want you. I want your cock."
"No," he pants against your thigh. "I'm too big for humans. If you were—"
You bury your face into the pillow and spread you ass cheecks. "FUCK ME NOW!"
Even though your bratty scream was muffled by the goose's feathers, your demand was heard. There is a gruntle, sounding somewhere between protest and pleasure, as a glans spreads your lips. Your entrance stretches and stretches and stretches. Your breath is shallow, and you chuckle nervously. But you ain't no quitter!
"Are you okay?"
"Yesssssss", you moan into your pillow, and a large warm flesh presses against your behind as his hips begin moving. "Oh, yes..."
"You like it?" he whispers next to your ear, his breath quickening. He is still slow and careful, but it feels so good, and you confirm it to him. "Oh fuck yes. I've wanted to fuck you for such a long time. Since... ah... since that night... Fuck, your pussy is so tight..."
Your pussy isn't as tight as his cock is large, but you keep that to yourself. The orc blacksmith is so heavy that your body almost dived into your mattress. The badframe is shaking and squeaking as he pounds harder and harder into you. The moist squelches as your pussy satisfyingly drools from pounding are almost just as loud.
He chuckles. "It's in... Fuck, it's in... You are amazing... Is this good? Ahhh... Do you like it?"
You can barely talk at this point, but you know he deserves praise. "It's perfect... Ah!... Don't stop... Ah ah!"
"Yes, yes!" As you assumed, his excitement gives him vigour, and his groin starts working like a machine. You can barely think as your orgasm approaches you, and all you can say is "I'll— I'll—" as a powerful spasm erupts inside your cunt. You scream, and your bed squeaks, and your pussy gushes as your peak takes over your body.
The orc grabs your hips harder and slams into your core before shooting his seed into you. "Thank you... Thank you... Thank you!" he grunts happily, pumping his cock in and out. Your mixed juices drip down your trembling thighs and soak your poor mattress.
This sweet orc deserves all the muffins in the world —especially yours.
Your orc husband is sometimes too proud for his own good.
And typical to his tendency to overwork, there's lamplight glowing in the main room of your home when you wake up in the middle of the night.
You tiptoe out of the bedroom and see him at the table, poring over some papers laid on the table in front of him.
For once, he doesn't notice you sneaking up on him.
"Burning the midnight oil?" You say when you reach him, placing a hand on his back.
You feel his shoulder muscle tense in a stifled flinch, but it immediately loosens when he turns his head and realizes it's you.
He looks familiar as always; striking, hard features and slightly tousled black hair gathered loosely, as it usually is at home- but there's a metal framed set of lenses you've never seen before on the bridge of his nose.
"Oh! Glasses?"
He grunts affirmatively, reticent.
"I didn't know you needed them."
"I'm farsighted, or so Shaman has told me, so I typically don't- but after a long day hunting, the glyphs swim on the page without them."
"Makes sense." You hum in understanding, then something dawns on you; "Wait, we're married- how have I never seen you wear them before?"
"I usually wait until no one is around. And you were sleeping like the dead until a few moments ago."
"Why would you hide something like that?"
"I'm too young to need lenses." He grumbles in protest, despite currently using them to see.
"I don't think that's a thing," You laugh, wrapping your arms as close to fully around his shoulders as you can manage and hanging there. He doesn't remove you. "In fact, I'm fairly sure it isn't. I think maybe if you can't see clearly in certain conditions, then you need them."
"Out of the entire rest of the village," The orc questions, continuing to scratch Orcish glyphs into the parchment in front of him with a quill. "Who else wears them?"
"Hmm… Only a few, really. Shaman has their reading stone, and there's Granny, Lurog's Mother, the elder carpenter, and- Ah."
His only response to that is a subtly vindicated smile that forms around the edge of his tusks.
"Well, I think they make you look very handsome," You purr, stroking his beard. "Moreso than you do already."
"I suppose I can't argue with that..." He says, soaking up your blatant flirting.
"Come to bed," You try to stifle a yawn and fail, sleepiness killing any seduction you were intending your words to carry. "It's too big to keep warm by myself."
He presses a kiss into your cheek in response, and your grip on him loosens as he stands up to oblige you.
The next night, you walk into your husband's office in the main hall, intending to pull him away from work for the night, to keep him from overworking himself.
When you open the heavy oak door, you're unsurprised to see the orc chief still at his desk. But you are surprised to see his reading lenses.
You grin, and he clearly knows exactly why. His smile in return is there, even if it's subtle, as he pulls the glasses off and folds them, setting them to rest on his desk.
The main hall is usually deserted this time of night- after evening meal, everyone tends to move towards the tavern, so there's not many around to see him in them. But, a small victory is still a victory, in your book.
"Oh- come to think of it, all those orcs I mentioned before wear theirs on a beaded chain," You tease around giving him a greeting kiss. "I've always thought it looked very fashionable. Maybe you should get one, so you won't lose them..."
At that, he laughs, somewhere between a scoff and a growl.
Imagine if the Pussy Portals also did some resizing. It makes it so that a dragon's dick is merely really tight inside a fairy's pussy, and not way too big.
Yeah, there'd have to be some resizing going on if we're talking about fantasy world specifically otherwise people would die 😭
Pussy Portals excel at making everyone happy. No one is left unsatisfied!
~ I am surprised at how many people liked the first part, I really did not expect that! So here is Part 2, Enjoy!!
Also there is a mention of virginity in the beginning.
Continued from Part 1...
The pressure was immense, a blunt stretching ache which stole your breath. You could feel every ridge of the broad head of his cock as it pressed against your virgin entrance, a promise of being split wide open. Your body was screaming, torn between fear and a desperate, primal need to be filled.
"Thrall," You whimpered, your voice a thin thread of sound. His eyes were locked on yours, watching your every reaction. "Breath, my queen. Just breathe for me." You took a shuddering gasp of air, and with it he pushed forward.
A sharp pain made you cry out, your nails digging into the hard muscle of his sculpted shoulders. He stilled instantly, buried only a inch inside of you. The stretch was already unbelievable, a burning fullness that was entirely new.
"Shhh," he soothed, his voice a rough caress He lowered his head and captured your mouth in a deep, soul-stealing kiss. It was tender, patient, a stark contrast to the invasion below. His tongue explored your mouth, as you moaned into his mouth. You felt your body relax slowly, the pain receding into a dull throb in the background.
"You are so tight," he groaned against your lips. "So perfect and tight around my cock. I can feel your little cunt clutching me, trying to take me." He began to move again, a slow torturous slide deeper. You could feel every inch of him, a thick, relentless pressure stretching you open. He was burying himself inside of you, claiming you with a terrifying, exhilarating precision. Your hips shifted, a tiny involuntary movement, making him growl. The sound vibrated through his chest into yours as he lowered his body and weight onto you, "That's it, take your King. Take my fucking cock." he groaned as with one final deep thrust he was seated to the hilt deep inside of you.
You felt full in a way that you couldn't have imagined, stuffed completely, your body stretched to its limit around his massive girth. You were both still, panting, and joined in the most intimate way possible. The initial pain had melted away, and was now replaced with a throbbing overwhelming sense of fullness. You could feel his heartbeat in your cunt.
"You did it," he murmured against your hair at the top of your forehead, he brushed the hair from your face. "You took all of me, I am so proud of you my good queen." He began to move, a slow rolling rhythm that made you gasp. Each withdrawal was a sweet agony, each thrust back in a shocking pleasure that started to build deep in your core. The slide was easier now, aided by your slickness, a wet filthy sound that emphasized every movement.
He was being so careful, so agonizingly slow, stretching you with each pass, making your body accept him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper, a ragged deep moan was torn from his throat. He spoke your name like a prayer, "Fuck, your greedy little cunt is milking my cock."
His control was fraying, you could see it in the tension of his jay, and you could feel it in the tremor that ran through his powerful frame due to how tense his muscles were. His thrusts became less measured, more urgent. The bed began to rock in earnest, the heavy frame pounding a rhythm against the stone floor.
The careful, tender lover was being consumed by the primal beast. His words, once murmured praises, became guttural and raw. "I'm going to fuck you harder now, princess. I need to feel your sweet cunt grip me, and I need to feel so deeply inside of you." He drove into you, and the world dissolved into sensation. His powerful hips pistoned, slamming his cock into your depths with a force that stole your voice. Each impact jolted through you, a relentless pounding pleasure that built and built. Your cries were sharp, punched out of you with every thrust.
He was hitting a place deep inside you that sparked lightning through your veins, a frantic coiling tension that threatened to shatter you.
"Yes! Right there! Thrall!"
"Come on my cock," he demanded, his voice a savage growl. "Scream for me, let me feel your tight cunt come all over me." His command was all it took. The coil snapped, your vision went white as a climax ripped through you, violent and all consuming. You convulsed around him, a series of frantic clenching spasms that had him roaring above you. Your back arched, your body bowing off the bed as a silent scream of pleasure was on your lips as your mind was wiped clean. He didn't stop, it was raw and devastating.
His pace became brutal and animalistic as he drove into your sensitive, shuddering flesh as you came down from the peak. He was chasing his own end, his rhythm became erratic and frenzied. "I'm going to fill you," he snarled, his eyes burning with feral possession. "I'm going to breed this perfect cunt. You're going to take my seed and swell with my child."
The filthy, vulgar words sent another shock of arousal through your spent body. The promise, the risk, the sheer primal act of it had you clenching around him again.
With a final, ground-shaking roar, he slammed into you and held you there. His arms wrapped around your body, moving and holding you onto him. You felt his cock pulse deep within you pressing against your cervix, a hot flooding release that seemed to go on forever. You felt each jet of his thick cum fill you, a claiming from the inside out.
You could feel the wet, hot spill of it, the absolute fullness of him and his cum. He collapsed on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the furs. Both of you were slick with sweat, his breath hot against your neck as his body was still shuddering with the aftershocks. You could feel his cock still hard and buried inside of you.
~
After a long moment he shifted his weight to his elbows, looking down at you. His gaze was intense, possessive, but softened with something that made your heart clench. He leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was surprisingly tender amidst the carnage of your passion.
"Now," he whispered, his voice raspy and low. "I think it's time that perfect mouth of yours learned its purpose." He sat up from you, his cock leaving your heat. His weight was a comforting warmth, but the emptiness he left behind was a sudden shocking cold. You whimpered at the loss, feeling the hot wet evidence of his possession trickle from your well-used cunt onto the furs beneath you.
Your body felt boneless, utterly spent and trembling from the brutal, beautiful claiming. Thrall shifted beside you, his massive green hand splaying possessively across your lower belly. "Such a good queen," he rumbled, his voice like stones grinding deep underground. "Taking my seed so deep. Your pretty little womb is swimming in it."
His thumb stroked your sensitive skin, and you shuddered as a fresh pulse of wetness escaped you at his filthy words. The thought, the reality of what he had done should have terrified you. Instead, it made your core clench around nothing, aching on him all over again.
He leaned over you, his golden eyes intense. "But I am not finished with you," his gaze dropped to your soft lips. "That sweet mouth owes me a debt."Your heart hammered against your ribs. Before you could form a thought, his hand was behind your head gently guiding you. Not forcing, the difference was everything. He was gently leading, commanding, and your body was all too eager to obey. He pulled you up, positioning you over his lap. The thick musty scent of sex filled the air, and you saw his cock still glistening with your fluids as it hardened before your eyes. It rose like a pillar of jade granite against his stomach.
It was immense, intimidating, the head flushed a deeper green and beading with fresh moisture. The sheer, primal effect of it stole your breath. "Open." he commanded, his voice low and husky. You parted your lips, and he guided himself to you. The broad head nudged against your mouth, and you instinctively flinched at the size, your jaw protesting. "Wider, my queen," he coaxed, his thumb stroking your cheek. "Take me, just like your perfect cunt did."
You opened wider, stretching you lips around the immense crown. The taste of you and him, salty and musky and utterly primal exploded on your tongue. You hesitated for only a second before your own curiosity, your deep seated need to please him, took over. You leaned forward, taking more of him into your mouth.
A guttural groan ripped from his chest, your name being spoken through gritted teeth. "Fuck, yes."
Your mouth was not as accommodating as your cunt. The stretch was different, a strain on your jaw as you worked to take his girth. Your tongue flattened against the throbbing underside of his shaft, exploring the prominent vein that ran its length. The taste was a raw masculine flavor that was all Thrall, and it was somehow intoxicating.
"Your tongue is amazing," he praised, his voice tight with strain. "Worship my cock." You obeyed, swirling your tongue around his head, lapping at the pre-cum that freely leaked from him. Your hands came up, your small fingers wrapping around the base of his shaft. You couldn't even close your hand around him, the contrast was so obscene that it sent a new thrill of submission straight to your core.
You bobbed your head, taking him deeper, learning the rhythm he liked from the tiny involuntary thrusts that his hips gave. Your eyes watered, and drool slid down your chin but you didn't care. The sounds you made were muffled, choked gurgles around his length as each one of his fingers came to tighten in your hair.
"You look so fucking pretty like this," he growled. "My delicate princess, on her knees, choking on her king's cock. I am going to fuck this sweet mouth until you forget your own name." He began to move, setting a slow deep rhythm, fucking your face with a controlled power that left you breathless. You relaxed your throat, giving yourself over to him completely. Letting him use you for his pleasure, the feeling was one of ultimate surrender and it was the most arousing thing you had ever experienced. You could feel your own arousal dripping down your thighs, your cunt aching and clenching for attention.
He pulled back abruptly, his cock slipping from your lips with a wet pop. You gasped for air, your lips swollen and slick.
"Enough," he said, his eyes burning with renewed fire. He gripped your hips, his hands spanning your waist completely. "My turn to watch. Get on top of me, I want to see your beautiful body move. I want to watch you ride my cock."
He lay back against the furs, a mountain of powerful muscle and intent. His cock stood straight up, rigid and demanding. Your pulse thrummed with a mixture of nervousness and raw desire. the position felt...powerful.
You were to be the one moving, controlling the pace. The thought was as terrifying as it was exhilarating.
You moved to straddle his hips, your knees sinking into the soft furs on either side of his powerful thighs. You were much smaller than him, you soft body and skin a stark contrast to his hard, green body. You reached between each other, taking his thick shaft in your hand. It throbbed violently at your touch. Guiding him to your entrance, you hesitated, the memory of that first, stretching fullness still vivid.
"Do it," he commanded, his voice a low thrum. "Take my cock, and sit on it. Fucking impale yourself on me."
His vulgar command was the push you needed, and you sank down.
It was a slow, delicious torture. The broad head stretched you open, a familiar, welcome burn. You lowered yourself inch by agonizing inch, your eyes locked with his, watching the fierce pleasure darken his gaze. You could feel every ridge, every vein, as your body was forced to accommodate him all over again. When you were finally seated fully, his entire length buried deep inside of you you gasped as your head fell back. The feeling of being so utterly filled was overwhelming.
"Look at me," he ordered.
Your gaze napped back to his. His hands settled on your hips, his grip firm and guiding.
"Now move," he growled. "Grind your sweet, used cunt on my cock. I want to see you make yourself come."
You began to rock, a tentative and shy movement. But soon, instinct took over and you knew just what to do to please him. You rose up feeling him slide almost all the way out, before sinking back down taking him in deep. A broken moan escaped both of your lips, the angle was different allowing him to reach even deeper parts of you. You set a rhythm, rising and falling, each time you felt him deep inside of you a shock of pleasure hit you that made your toes curl.
His hands tightened on your hips, and he began to meet your movements, thrusting upwards as you came down, driving into you with jarring force.
"Yeah, just like that!" He grunted, panting as he bare his tusks. "Use me for your pleasure, my little queen."
You were losing yourself, your shyness burned away by the all-consuming need coiling in your belly. Your breasts bounced with the force of your hips meeting, your hips moving with a primal rhythm you didn't know you had in you.
You could feel the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies meeting.
"Touch yourself," he demanded, his voice ragged. "Play with your pretty clit, I want to watch you make yourself come all over my cock."
One of your hands left his chest and slipped between your sweat slicked bodies. Your fingers found your clit, you cried out at the contact, the sensation almost too much. You circled your sensitive nub, your movements grew more frantic as you rode him.
"I can feel you squeezing me," he snarled, his thrusts becoming punishing. You felt yourself begin to unravel and convulse. "Is that it y/n? Are you going to come for me?" You were right on the edge, your entire world narrowing to the place where you were joined together. His words, his filthy praise pushed you over.
"Thrall! I'm... I'm coming!" You screamed, your body seizing as an intense orgasm ripped through you. Your cunt clamped down on him in violent, rhythmic pulses, milking his length as wave after wave of pure ecstasy shattered your mind.
He roared beneath you, his own control snapping. His hips pistoned upward, burying himself to the hilt as another climax took him. You felt the hot, familiar flood of his release. Another thick pulse deep inside your womb, mixing with the first. He held you down, grinding you against him, ensuring every last drop was spent where it belonged.
You collapsed forward onto his chest, completely exhausted, your body trembling uncontrollably. His arms came around you, holding you tightly against him. His cock remained buried inside of you, a constant possessive presence.
After a long moment, his hand stroked your damp hair. "Again," he whispered, his voice thick with desire and promise.
~ 2,602 words
I loved writing a Part 2 to this!! Let me know if you want to see more of them!
~ This is my first time posting something I've written, but it is also practically purely smut so enjoy! Also this is only Part 1, since it got so long!
Your father the King of Direwood has always been distant and cruel to anyone other than humans, especially orcs, so when he announced to the court of your arranged marriage to Thrall the Orc King who ruled over a rival kingdom across the ocean. After your mother died you knew your father would marry you off soon, but this was so sudden. You feared for yourself and your future as you thought about the stories you had heard of orcs, they were savage and violent creatures. You would miss your home, the gardens, the nice servants who you taught to read, the books you couldn't pack with you. Despite your nerves you were eventually all packed up and on your way to his castle. When you arrived the torches along the walls were lit as night had fallen, and there were many orc guards surrounding the large castle which made you nervous as you felt their stares on you like heavy weight. You walked through the halls being led by the orc who has the King's right hand, he didn't say much and you were too nervous to care. You felt small and vulnerable around such strong creatures, and you knew the king would only be taller and stronger than all of them. You noticed the tall dark oak doors ahead of you as they swung open, revealing a dark but warm throne room. You walked in to meet your husband-to-be, you looked forward with as much strength as you could muster. That's when you saw him, his green skin exposed with only some armor on his shoulders concealing his chest slightly. His long dark black hair decorated with braids with bones as charms. His mouth held tusks that poked over his lip to touch his top lip, you eyes were stuck on his mouth intrigued by his tusks. Your eyes fluttered between his handsome face, long hair, strong body and hands, and the armor he dressed in with furs layered on his throne. Quickly your eyes met his in an intense gaze, you turned your eyes to the floor as you continued to walk forward to him.
You come to a stop in front of him, as the other orc who led you inside walks to shut the doors and you and the King are left alone. Thrall steps from his throne and in a few quick strides is in front of you close enough that you can feel his breath, but he has not touched you yet. Your eyes close as you take in the earthy warm scent of him, "Look at me." Thrall's rough voice is a low rumble which sends a vibration through you, and you look up to meet his golden eyes. Thrall loomed over you, his massive frame caging you in blocking you from the light of the torches behind him. His thumb traces over your lip, pulling it lightly before he pulled away gently. His gentleness was surprising, but not as much as the look in his eyes which made you almost dizzy because you didn't feel or see the monster you thought you should fear. Instead you saw a hunger you have never seen before. He walks to the side of you to look at you, you feel your face get warmer as heat pools in your stomach. You follow his body movements with a nervous but excited gaze, he is much more handsome than you had imagined and his actions were making you feel in ways you hadn't before. "You're such a little thing", he spoke gruffly his voice, "Such a pretty little thing." You were having a hard time standing still, you were buzzing from his intense intimate gaze like he was sizing you up. You tried to look anywhere but him, but the feeling of his eyes all over you became too much and when you saw his eyes you knew then that he was thinking unsavory things about you. You blushed, hard as your eyelids fluttered but your eyes couldn't look away from him. He walked back in front of you, you were too anxious to speak. You weren't afraid of him, no, instead you were feeling things you couldn't have imagined feeling. You had a few crushes growing up, but this moment and the tension in the air was electric, you felt it in your bones. He invaded the space in front of you again, this time his fingers grazed over your cheeks feeling your soft skin. You felt his large calloused fingers as they stroked a path along your jawline, a soft gasp and breath broke through parting your lips. "So soft. They wrapped you up in a beautiful dress like a present for me.", he groaned almost growling as if to control himself. He was close enough to smell more of his earthy, smoky, masculine musky scent, you felt his warm breath against your bare neck and side of your face, his hand now in your hair holding you close to him. He growled a low whisper in your ear, "Did they tell you to fear me? To fear the things I would do to you?" He pulled away slightly, his face hovering above yours studying your features. You gasped as you heard his words, not out of fear but something else. Something that ignited a fire in your nerves. You nodded softly, the intensity of his presence striking you to your core and his scent making you dizzy. He chuckled darkly, his lips curled and you could see his tusks more closely now and his orcish features intrigued you.
"I don't wish to break you...break this perfection," he said his warm large hand now holding your small one as he leaned back to look you up and down, "I only want to claim it." His last words were so sharp and final, a deep growl rumbling through his chest you felt it in your own chest as your heart beat like a drum. With a hand holding your gently his other hand moved your hair from your shoulder to stroke your bare neck. He traced your pulse to the base of your throat, as if he felt it thump under your skin enthusiastically. "I am going to worship you." he said his deep voice sending heat to pool in your belly again.
The events that occurred in the cold and formal throne room was hours ago now. The wedding ceremony was a blur of orcish traditions which you were unfamiliar with, and your nerves kept you quiet as you participated in guttural chanting in orcish and faced the stern orcish elders. Thrall watched you the entire time, through the entire ceremony with desire. His gaze carried a physical weight, a possessiveness that stripped away every layer of finery and pretense making you feel naked before him. He had taken your hand to seal the pact, his hand engulfed yours and your mind fluttered to the moments from before. Despite his strength his touch was warm and gentle, his nostrils flared as if he smelled the sudden thrill which shot through you at the thought of his power and size over you.
Now you were alone with him in his private chambers, that fire in your nerves had almost become unbearable. You followed him into the room and when he shut the door his hand quickly found the small of your back pressing you into him. Shocked, you gasped and as your lips parted he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. It was not what you expected, his lips were soft...yet again he wasn't what you had expected. His touch was sure but a question, a tender exploration. His lips moved with patience which concealed his brutish appearance. His rough stubble scraped at your delicate skin, the friction making you gasp in pleasure. He took this to his advantage and his tongue swept into your mouth, his tusks lightly grazing against your lips. Your tongues met in a passionate dance, his is commanding and tastes of spiced wine. I am kissing an orc. The thought should have horrified you, instead your knees went weak. A small, desperate sound vibrated in your throat as your hands, of their own volition, moved up to rest on his chest. The solid muscle was like living rock, and you could feel the powerful beat of his heart. He groaned, the sound was animalistic as his kiss changed, The tenderness had burned away, and was replaced by a raging urgency. Both of his arms now held you, one still pressed into the small of your back his large muscles caging you against him. His large hand splayed across your whole back, your body now flush against his hard one as his other hand tangles in your hair. You were melting, your shyness incinerated by the force of his desire. You were giving in, your body going limp and pliant in his strong overwhelming embrace.
He broke the kiss, only a moment both of you breathing raggedly. His golden eyes were blazing, like an eternal flame. "Do you see what you do to me, my queen? Do you feel it?" he growled, grabbing your hands and pressing it against his formidable bulge straining against his trousers. The size of him made you gasp, "This is all for you my sweet little human." Your eyes widen at his forwardness, he enjoyed your reaction growling against your ear as he kissed your neck feverishly allowing his tusks to crape against you as his chest rumbled. You moaned and gasped as you felt his need and desire in his trousers and in his kisses, he smelled you and caught whiffs of your shampoo, your perfume, and your skin. "You smell like sweet wine, I can't wait to drink you." His voice was deep, a commanding rasp as he rubbed his body against you and you felt his cock stir, this sent a shockwave of lust to your core. Your cunt clenched around nothing, aching and so wet. You could feel the slickness soaking through your thin wedding underclothes. "I am going to take you to my bed," he whispered, his lips against your ear again his hot breath making you shudder. "I am going to peel the silk from your lush body. I am going to spread your soft thigh and taste your sweet cunt." Every words was a deep low growl, making you ache for him more. "I want to hear you scream my name while my tongue fucks that tight hole." Oh, gods. He began to remove your outer layer of clothes, in haste you joined him lustfully. You were panting, your head spinning. His filthy words were like a spell, weakening your resolve and setting your blood on fire. He didn't wait for an answer, in one swift motion he lifted you as though you weighed nothing and carried you to a massive bed covered in soft furs. He laid you down with reverence, his eyes devouring you as he stood at the foot of the bed. "My beautiful queen," he said his voice thick with intent as he pulled at your final under garments. "You were made for me, made to bear my seed. I am going to fill out so deep that you are completely full of me." His declaration was so primal, unlike anything you had ever heard spoken to you before. The effects of what you were about to do was life altering, which would have filled you with dread but instead you felt more arousal at your folds. The thought of him, of being claimed thoroughly unlocked a deep part of you that you never knew existed.
He tore his armor and clothing off, revealing his chest which looked sculpted from pure power. Then his trousers were gone, and his cock sprang free. It was as formidable as the rest of him, thick and long, jutting proudly from a thatch of coarse black hair. He climbed onto the bed and crawled over you, like a predator claiming his prize. he kissed you again, a deep soul-searing kiss, as his hands found your breasts. His palms were rough and calloused, but his touch was deliberate, kneading your soft flesh, his thumbs circling your nipples until they were hard, and aching. "So perfect." he grunted against your mouth. He moved down your body, his mouth leaving a trail of fire. He took a nipple into his mouth, he sucked hard his tongue lashing at your sensitive peak. You cried out, your back arching off the bed, offering yourself to him without a second thought. He lavished your breasts with attention, biting and sucking until you were mindless with need, writhing beneath him. He continued his journey south, his rough large hands pushing your thighs apart. You were exposed, completely open to him. The cool air hit your wetness, and you flinched but his grip on your thighs was firm. "Look at me, watch me taste what is mine." His fiery golden eyes locked with yours, you couldn't look away as you watched his head lower between your thighs. His eyes never left you either, not even as his tongue licked a long and slow stripe through your soaked folds. A loud moan was pulled from deep inside of you, the sensation was too much and too intense as something you had never felt before. He gripped your hips, holding you down and still as he feasted on you. He lapped at your clit, circling it, then sucking it gently between his lips. He drove his tongue inside of you, fucking you with it, the feeling sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body. You moaned and gasped uncontrollably as he groaned and growled into you, "You taste like honey and sin." His voice was muffled against your flesh, but he growled again. "I am going to eat this cunt every fucking night." He dipped his head and tongue back down to feast on you, his tusks rubbing against your wet lips and thighs. You were babbling, pleading with him, your fingers tangled in his black hair. "Please... Thrall... please..." "Please what, my queen?" he asked, lifting his head. His chin glistening with your arousal, a teasingly playful dark look on his face. "I need... I need you inside me. Now." The coil in your stomach had tightened and tightened, it was unbearable. A savage grin spread across his face, he moved up your body and aligned his massive cock with your dripping entrance. Your hand moved up to caress his face and scratch the stubble on his jaw, your mouth agape with breathless gasps as you felt his blunt wide head pressed against you. "This is going to stretch your tiny little cunt, my sweet princess," he warned, his eyes locked on yours with intensity. "You're going to take every inch of my fucking cock. You're going to scream for me"
Rain comes down in sheets so thick the world blurs at the edges, turning the countryside into a wash of slate and green. The path you had been following—if it could even be called that—vanishes beneath mud and water. Your boots slip, your cloak is soaked through, and the cold works its way into your bones with methodical patience.
You don’t remember falling.
Only the moment before it: your breath hitching, your legs giving out, the sharp smell of wet earth. Then darkness folds in, gentle and complete.
When you wake, the first thing you notice is warmth.
Not the distant warmth of firelight across a room, but the kind that surrounds you fully—solid, close, almost too much. You are being held. Carried. The motion is steady and unhurried, as if whoever bears you has never once questioned the weight of another body in their arms.
Your eyes flutter open.
Stone arches overhead, wide and ancient, slick with rainwater that glistens as torchlight catches it. A broad chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, clad in thick leather and wool. The scent of rain gives way to something else—woodsmoke, turned soil, iron, and the faint, unmistakable musk of an orc.
You tense.
The movement is felt immediately.
A low sound rumbles through the chest beneath you—not a growl, not quite, but something close. The arms holding you tighten by a fraction, reflexive and sure.
“Easy,” a voice says.
It is deep, resonant, worn smooth by use. Not unkind.
“You’re safe,” he continues, as if stating a fact rather than offering comfort. “Don’t move yet.”
You would argue, but your body betrays you. The world tilts, nausea rolling through you in slow waves. Your fingers curl into the front of his tunic without conscious thought.
The orc huffs softly. Amused, perhaps. Or relieved.
He ducks through a wide stone doorway, rain abruptly cut off as thick oak doors slam shut behind you. The sound echoes, final and solid. The storm is reduced to a distant roar, muffled by walls that have stood for generations.
Warmth blooms properly now.
A hearth crackles nearby, firelight painting the stone interior in gold and amber. The farmhouse is larger than you expect—high ceilings supported by dark beams, shelves stacked neatly with jars, tools, folded cloth. Everything has a place. Everything looks used, cared for.
The orc carries you across the room and lowers you onto a bench near the fire with surprising gentleness. Only then do you fully see him.
He is tall, even for an orc. Broad-shouldered, built with the dense strength of someone who works land rather than wages war. His skin is a deep, weathered green, scarred here and there by old cuts and burns that have long since healed. His tusks curve modestly from his lower jaw, polished smooth from habit or thought.
Dark hair, braided back and tied with a strip of leather, falls loose as he straightens. His eyes—amber, sharp—never leave you.
“You collapsed on my land,” he says. “In a storm like this, that’s as close to a death wish as humans get.”
You manage a weak, breathless laugh. “Wasn’t intentional.”
“I believe you.” He pauses. “Doesn’t change the outcome.”
He crouches in front of you, movements careful despite his size, and reaches out. You flinch before you can stop yourself.
His hand stills in midair.
A flicker of something crosses his face—irritation, maybe, but buried beneath restraint.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, slower now. “But you’re soaked through. If I don’t get you warm, you’ll be shaking by morning. Worse.”
You swallow, nodding once.
“Alright,” you whisper.
His touch is deliberate. He peels off your cloak, heavy with rain, sets it near the fire. His fingers brush your wrist as he checks your pulse, thumb pressing lightly. He frowns.
“Fast,” he mutters. “You didn’t eat today.”
It isn’t a question.
“I meant to,” you say. “Road took longer than I thought.”
“The road doesn’t matter,” he replies. “You do.”
The words hang between you, weighty in a way he does not seem to notice—or chooses not to acknowledge.
He stands and moves with purpose then, filling a kettle, hanging it over the fire. He brings you a thick wool blanket and drapes it around your shoulders, tucking it in with a care that borders on intimate.
“You have a name?” he asks.
You give it.
He nods once. “I’m Gharrek of Stonehollow.”
The name fits him. Solid. Grounded.
He watches you sip warm broth later, seated on the bench while he leans against the counter, arms crossed. His gaze tracks every movement—the way your hands tremble less with each swallow, the color slowly returning to your face.
“You can stay the night,” he says eventually. “The storm won’t let up before dawn.”
“Thank you,” you say. “I won’t be any trouble.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “On my land, you’re already trouble.”
You’re not sure if he’s joking.
One night becomes two.
The rain does not stop. Roads wash out. The fields beyond the farmhouse turn to thick, sucking mud that would swallow a cart whole. Gharrek checks the path each morning with a farmer’s practiced eye and comes back shaking his head.
“Not safe,” he says. “Not for someone your size.”
You bristle faintly at that, but you do not argue. You’ve seen the state of the road yourself from the doorway, how it curves away into a slick, treacherous mess.
The farmhouse settles into a rhythm.
Gharrek rises before dawn, moves quietly so as not to wake you. You catch him once, watching you from the threshold of the small guest room, expression unreadable. He does not apologize when you meet his gaze.
“You were cold,” he says simply. “I wanted to be sure you were still breathing.”
You’re not sure how to respond to that.
During the day, he works the land that surrounds the house—fields bordered by stone walls, winter crops carefully tended, livestock sheltered in sturdy barns. You offer to help. He hesitates longer than necessary before agreeing.
“You stay where I can see you,” he says.
It sounds like a rule. You treat it as one.
You sit on the wide stone counter in the evenings while he cooks, legs swinging slightly as he chops vegetables with hands that could crush bone if he wished. He hands you bits to taste, watches your reactions closely, adjusting spices without comment.
When you thank him, he inclines his head like it is expected.
“You eat well here,” he says. “That will continue.”
It is not phrased as hospitality. It is a statement of intent.
At night, you sit by the fire and talk—carefully, at first. You tell him where you were going, not why. He tells you about the Stonehollow Clan, about the village not far from here with its cobbled streets and sturdy homes, its markets and festivals and elders who still think they know better than he does.
“You don’t live there?” you ask.
“I did,” he says. “I chose the land instead.”
There is more to that story. He does not offer it.
By the third night, you realize he has moved things.
Not overtly. Not in a way you could accuse him of. But your boots are placed by the door as if they have always belonged there. A spare hook has been added for your cloak. The guest room smells faintly of him now, of woodsmoke and clean linen.
When you mention leaving once the storm breaks, something darkens behind his eyes.
“We’ll see,” he says.
The storm does break. Eventually.
The sky clears, pale and washed clean, the air sharp with cold. Gharrek watches you pack from the doorway, arms crossed, jaw set.
“The roads will be passable by midday,” you say. “I should go before they fill again.”
“You should stay,” he replies. you know it is not a request.
You meet his gaze. “Gharrek—”
“You are safer here,” he cuts you off. “You have food here. Warmth. Shelter. You don’t belong on roads that swallow little things like you whole.”
“I belong where I choose,” you say quietluy.
For a long moment, he says nothing. The tension in the room coils tight, like a wire drawn too far.
Then he exhales, slow and controlled.
“You can go,” he says. “If you insist.”
The word insist carries weight.
He helps you anyway, hands steady as he tightens the straps of your pack, as he presses a small bundle of dried food into your hands.
“For the road,” he says.
You step outside. The land stretches before you, open and uncertain.
You take three steps.
Then you stop.
The silence behind you is loud. Heavy.
You turn.
Gharrek stands in the doorway of his stone house, framed by walls that have held firm against storm and time alike. He does not reach for you. He does not call your name.
But the look in his eyes is enough.
Not hunger. Not anger. Claim.
You walk back.
He does not smile when you cross the threshold again. He simply closes the door, solid and final, and sets the bar in place.
“Good,” he says.
And later, when you sit on the counter while he cooks, when he hums low and content under his breath, when his hand rests at your back just a moment too long, you do not ask whether the roads are safe anymore.
Retired!Price gets a beer belly after a while and is slightly insecure about it, but you love it. You love every squishy bit of him. You find it super sexy that you can grab and squeeze his chubby biceps, stomach and thighs while you ride him, his pecs bigger, bouncing with the force of your harsh riding.
He eats more too, but its not his fault! You keep adding too much butter and oil to your cooking! (He eats 3 plates just because he finds your cooking so delicious) and then blames you when his suit trousers dont fit anymore.
His cock somehow got thicker when he gained weight, tenting his boxers uncomfortably so he just goes commando now.
Pros of him gaining weight? Hes warm. Lets you snuggle into the crook of his arm at night, your thigh crossing over his as you listen to his bearish snores. He might be hairier too, who knows. Maybe hes too lazy to shave, or maybe you just enjoy the hair.
Mornings are your favorite, the blankets are tangled in your legs, his hairy legs pressing against your soft ones, your nails gently scratching his chest to slowly wake him up.
He stretches with a groan, looking to the side at you. "5 more minutes luv'... its Saturday." His gruff voice rang in your ears and you gave in. 5 more minutes turned into 5 hours... then 8... then 10. Until you both finally got up.
Retired!Price
Loves taking baths with you even though he takes up most of the tub and water spills everywhere. "Jus' relax sweet'eart, jus a bit of water." (Was tempted to right wota.)
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