How Different Monster Husbands Punish You For Being A Brat
Warnings: Sex, restraints, mentions of biting, mentions of knotting, cockwarming, edging
- Minotaur husband that punishes you by tying your hands behind your back when fucking. He knows how much you like to grab onto his horns when you fuck him and watching you struggle against your restraints pleases him greatly.
- Vampire husband that keeps you on the edge, his cock a slow drag through your wet walls. He bites gently at your neck all night but never sinks his fangs in. As dawn approaches you think he will finally grant you some relief but you are sorely mistaken when he pulls out and leaves you with nothing.
- Orc husband that stretches you out on his big cock but doesn’t let you move at all. No matter how much you cry and apologize, needing him to move, he refuses. Each time you try to move earns a smack to your ass, the skin becoming more raw and inflamed throughout the day. Anytime you finally calm down and start to doze off he gives you one hard thrust, jolting you awake and stimulating you just enough to have your cunt needy again.
- Tentacle monster husband that refuses to fill your cunt but uses his suckers to suction and overstimulate your nipples and clit until they are swollen and sore. The marks will be there for weeks as a reminder for you to behave.
- Dragon husband that hangs you from your lairs ceiling with gold chains, decorated with jewels. He keeps you suspended and at his mercy all day to play with as he pleases, a ruby ball gag keeping you quiet and obedient. His pretty little treasure.
- Werewolf husband that fucks you over and over but refuses to give you his knot. Tears stream down your face as you apologize and beg for it but he just tells you that you need to learn your lesson and brats don’t get rewards.
- Demon husband that binds you in a pentacle and makes you watch as he strokes his thick cock knowing you want nothing more that to taste and fuck it. Ignoring your cries as he releases his cum all over the ground instead of inside you where it belongs.
Expanded Story For Demon Husband Can Be found Here And On Patreon
Orc!escort knight who’s sworn to protect you but it’s not really his protection you’re interested in;
It’s his cock.
“Ah right there!!! Ohh mffgghhh just like that” you moan as you ride your dear knight, your engagement party progressing down in the ballroom.
“Goodness your highness…. be quiet or someone-“
“Don’t speak. Just fuck me” you moan “I’m so close….I need this” you move up and down, your hole stretching to its absolute limit as you take his massive cock, lost in the sensation of every throbbing vein brushing against your gummy walls.
“Goodness I would’ve gone crazy if it wasn’t for your cock” you moan and he grunts, half in embarrassment and half in arousal. He knows it’s wrong and he would be executed on the spot for sullying you, but just like you, he’s addicted to your body too; the reason why he can never deny whenever you pull him aside and pounce on him.
He grips your hips harder, fingers digging into your flesh as he struggles to maintain control. "By the gods, you're so tight..." he groans. Feels like you were made for my cock, he thinks, his eyes rolling back in bliss.
Your desperate moans are lost in his eager mouth as you clench tight around him, close to the brink.
"I can't...can't hold back anymore..." he groans.
"Then don't. Fill me with your seed...please..."
That does it; with a guttural roar, he slams deep inside you, his thick seed erupting in hot spurts as he fills you to the brim. Your own climax crashes over you, waves of ecstasy washing through your body as you milk his cock for every last drop. The sound of the melodious orchestra rings from the ballroom, loud now in the heavy silence of the aftermath of your illicit coupling as you both catch your breath.
None of you say anything as he holds you against his body, hands running down your back, cock still speared in you and bodies still tangled together.
The party rages on, unaware of the lovely Crown Prince's future spouse leaking orcish cum. Unaware that your pleasure and intimate loyalty already belongs to a monster. A beast deemed too lowly for you.
Sure you’ll do your duties as a spouse, but your knight is the one who will give you pleasure for a long, long time.
Waking up to the sound of deep grunts and resounding moans coming from your monster s/o who is feverishly feasting on your wet pussy. Pleasure warms your body, as you feel slick gushing out of your cunt, making you moan audibly. Once they realize, you've woken up, they begin to babble excuses as to why they needed to taste you.
“You were moaning in your sleep, and y-you smelled soo fucking good. I-I couldn't stand seeing you like that! Mmm- wanted to help you.”
You always been interested and curious about all that includes sex but one thing you would die for were dildos; just not the normal ones.
You, along with sex, had been fixated with monsters and wished them to be real. But, poor little thing, the only comfort you had about it was your collection of monster cocks.
Orc dildo was the first one. You fell in love at first sight! Girthy, long, greenish with a darker green tip, veins all around it made your water mouth and your pussy clench. As soon as you bought it you were excited to have it and when it arrived to your house you could feel your stomach bubbly from excitement. It was hard taking even just half of it. Dumbing on it already, eyes rolling back, pussy (or hole) fluttering around it as you felt the stretch. Gasps bounced on the room walls everytime a new inch entered you. Let's just say it took you a whole afternoon to fit it and when you did you instantly came. A weird feeling overwhelming you but putting it aside as you played with it the whole night. Too dumb to even remember to eat.
Werewolf dildo was your second. You thought since you started with the big one (or at least big to you). Poor you, the knot was a surprise. Biting your lips you meditated how you could work with it. Big breaths and, as you sat on your bed you first sucked it. It was long, not wide as the Orc's one but it left a good sensation inside your mouth, especially when you arrived to the knot. This was red, veins popping out as it reacted to the way you blow it. It was so enjoyable giving it a blow job that your hole had gotten so incredibly wet and edging yourself sure was helping. The knot gave you trouble as it was too damn big for you (you thought it couldn't be that hard fitting) but you loved how you creamed around it. It was as if a real werewolf was knotting you!
Tentacle dildo is a classing one. Maybe you should have started with this but you're a kinky one and Orcs just do it for you first. But tentacle dildo didn't dissappint ! The gummy suckers sticked to your inside. A few "aahs" and "oohs" left your mouth as it was sucking your wetness. It was a strange feeling because, you know, you never felt how it was being sucked from inside - if that makes sense. Tentacle dildo had come even with a vibrating function and united with the suckers it made you squirt for the first time. Never underestimate the power of a good tentacle!
Naga dildo was an indecisive purchase. Yes sure you had a thing for tentacles and all but a literally snake cock? Mhh it made you wonder. When you opened the packed you felt the slimy texture, unsure it was a special effect or what. Your eyebrows frown. Maybe it was a factory error or something. There was only one way to get to the bottom of this. Opening your legs, you teased your hole with his tip. The slimy liquid was as if it was lubrificating. Very good function, no? As you kept teasing yourself you could swear you were becoming more impatient and your whole body warmer than usually it was during pleasure time. Suffice to say that the slimy texture was an aphrodisiac !
Dragon dildo was your latest purchase. If the Orc was was already too big for you, you should had this coming, you should had known better. The packaged arrived at home - as per usual - and that excitement you had the first time it always turned back everytime you bought a new dildo! Your hands were trembling, lips biting the inside of your mouth as you quickly unpacked. You were shocked by the size of it; and not only that. This was completely new !! It had soft spikes !! Its vibrant colour hypnotised you and the closer furniture you had was your couch. You sat on it and good lords if that thing didn't made you nervous. You wrap your hand around it, giving it a good squeeze and feeling the soft yet hard material. You took your time with it, literally. Two days passed and on the third one you decided: today was the day you were splitting yourself on this monstrous cock ! Making sure you were all wet and prepped for the dragon dildo you sink into it. Your hole gasping around it, the air being knocked out of you lungs as your legs spread as wide as they could. Calming yourself down, when you felt you took it all, you watched the mirror near your TV. Your hole was filled with this cock, the spikes doing amazing wonders everytime you moved even just slightly your hips. Skipping to the good part, you never left your house that day, playing with yourself and your new favourite dildo. Cumming and squirting around it, making a mess on the couch and, then, falling asleep with it still inside you.
But, oh little naive doll, what you didn't know these weren't simple dildos but they were infused with magic and monsters essence.
Being a human who works at a mixed monster strip club was uncommon. However your presence there was what drew them in. To get a chance to feel your soft plush body. To the highest payers got the best part though. Taking them back to the rooms that were in the back letting them have their ways with you.
Vampires who were a bit softer towards you while they pounded into you. It would cost extra of course to drink from you but they’d pay anything to be able to. Sinking their fangs into your neck as they came deep inside of you.
Groups of Imps taking their turns with you, all your holes were being filled at once. Their cum covered your body as others took their places. Fucking you over and over. They paid well when they came in.
Werewolves seeking you out even offering you double if they could bring you home while they were in a heat. You’d be knotted at all times cum making your stomach expand.
Orcs who were taken back by how soft and fragile you were only to stuff their thick cocks in your tiny hole. They were ones that couldn’t last long with you. The way stretched around them squeezing them so tightly had them cumming to quickly.
You say you do it just cause the moneys good well that might be true, being so sought after by these creatures gave you such a confidence boost not to mention how great the sex was.
You’re a pretty little pixie-fairy unlucky enough to get snatched up by a band of roaming orcs.
They’re the crew of a traveling circus, or rather, a zoo, featuring all sorts of rarities ranging from high-elves to common fairies, as well as mermaids, harpies, nymphs, and hybrids of every and all kinds locked up in pretty gilded cages. But of course, it’s not like any old zoo. With attractions as rare and fuckable as such, it doubles as a brothel for those who come willing to pay a little extra.
And among all those sexy rarities, pixies are one of the most valued. Rumored to only be a myth, it’s rare enough to catch a glimpse of one, let alone have one on display. It’s even said that seeing one will bring good fortune for the rest of one’s life, and even more so for those who get to touch one.
So you can imagine the crowd surrounding you, each one rubbing you against their massive dick for good luck.
The chain on your ankle is heavy enough to make flying impossible, grounding you if it weren’t for the massive paw wound tightly around you, all but squeezing you free of air while demanding you, “Lick it.”
You have no choice but to protrude your tongue, even as the big brute angles you face first into his dickhole, wanting to use your little pink muscle to plug it. You very nearly drown in the pre-ooze pouring out. And when he finally blows, leaving you cum-drenched and wings soggy, you look no different from a bug someone sneezed out of their nose.
And still, the queue lining up is longer than your wee eyes can see, each one waiting for their turn. It goes on like that day in and day out for more days than you can keep track of, leaving you drunk off of cum with never a break to sober up.
Soon enough, you’re settled in—all gooey-headed and heart-eyed. Now, even able to fit a little finger inside you. Getting comfortable with it as it stretches you out, all the while sitting atop the mighty ballsack of the massive orc it belongs to. Roosting on the pillowy seat like it’s your own warm and comfy throne, butt-nude, with your thighs and legs wrapped tightly around the base, just barely able to lock your feet around the meat member, squeezing and humping it tight.
You do the same with your arms, of course, tits flush against the warm wrinkly skin as you hug the cleft of his cockhead snug. Squealing and moaning as you drink the yummy pre hot from the source, getting your womb pinky-fucked until you squeal all high-pitched while squirting, spasming like a little marionette puppet.
It doesn’t stop you from tongue-kissing his urethra, though. Bobbing your head while your limbs all strangle his cock, keeping it tight until cume comes spurting out like a fountain and showers you in heavy, blanketing blissful warmth.
You bathe in it against his bulbous abdominal muscles, playing in it, making cum-angels under the spray until he’s all finished.
can you write an imagine where the orc chieftain takes notice of fem!reader after they raided a village and he starts courting her in ways she's not familiar so she's just ignoring him. he got annoyed with the ignoring, so one night, he got so drunk and ended up at her place, he saw her, just finished taking a shower, towel wrapped on her body, he started mumbling how annoyed he is and she just stares at him. then in the middle of it, throws up and ended up sleeping at her couch. she let him, but gets uneasy knowing the chieftain is just outside her room. she approaches her in the middle of the night and starts touching his form. he wakes up, grabs her hand and kisses her. then he confesses his feeling and he ended up railing her so hard she wakes up with bruised cervix. plsss help a girl out
The Way Orcs Love: Part 1 (Orc Chieftain x f!Reader)
After orcs raid your village, the chieftain becomes obsessed with courting you. You ignore his advances because you don't understand orc customs. One night, he is frustrated and drunk, and he stumbles into your home and everything changes...
TW: chieftain/commoner, village raid, drunkenness, courting, size difference, kissing, grinding, dirty talk, emotional, primal, breast worship, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, orgasm denial, P in V, cervix bruising, pain kink, aftercare.
A/N: Hey friend! I'm so so sorry it took so much to work on this. I added extra stuff and I am planning a short, fluffy EPILOGUE too, so I hope they make it up to you!
Also, this request gave me old-time vibes, so I imagined it in a medieval-like setting! I only changed your "throwing up" idea because it was easier to get inspired and write the smut without it. So, our big dumb orc just gets gloriously drunk and emotional. Enjoyyyyy!!
---------------------------------
Three moons have passed since the orcs swept through your village.
You remember the chaos, the screaming, the clang of weapons, the way the earth shook beneath boots the size of your forearm.
But you also remember him. The chieftain. Standing a head taller than his warriors, tusks gleaming, his emerald eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you.
And then... nothing.
He took your supplies. Your livestock. A few crates of dried meat your grandmother had salted last winter. But not a single villager died. Not even old Martha, who threw a chamber pot at his head and called him a "green-skinned devil."
He left you all breathing. Bruised, terrified, but alive.
And then he started coming back.
Not with his war band. Not with weapons. Just him, alone, every few days. Appearing at the edge of your house with offerings that make absolutely no sense to you.
A perfectly smooth river stone.
An eagle feather.
A pouch of extremely expensive orcish mead.
A freshly killed rabbit.
You've accepted none of it.
Not because you're ungrateful. Not because you don't notice the way his broad shoulders slump a little more each time you shake your head and turn away. But because what is happening?
You're a weaver. A nobody. You mend shirts and spin wool and occasionally help the blacksmith's wife pull weeds from her vegetable patch. You are human, not a female orc for chieftains to leave offerings.
So you ignore him.
You ignore the way his gaze follows you when you walk to the stream to wash clothes.
You ignore the way he grumbles under his breath when you pretend not to see the wildflowers he's left on your windowsill.
You ignore the way your heart races every single time, because he's massive, terrifying and yet beautiful in that brutal way orcs are.
You ignore him so thoroughly that you've almost convinced yourself you don't care.
But tonight something is different.
You're standing in your small cottage, a threadbare towel wrapped around your body, hair still dripping from the bath you just took. The fire roars in the hearth, warming you up. You're reaching for your sleeping shift when you hear a thud.
Then a groan.
Then the unmistakable sound of someone large and clumsy attempting to navigate your doorstep.
Had you forgotten to lock? Damn!
The door swings open before you can latch it.
And there he is.
The chieftain.
Drunk.
His green skin is flushed across his cheekbones, his green eyes glassy and unfocused. He sways on his feet, one massive hand braced against the doorframe to keep himself upright. His tunic is unlaced, revealing his broad chest and the dark hair trailing down his ridged stomach.
He blinks at you.
Slowly.
Like he's trying to figure out if you're real.
"You—" He hiccups, then points a wavering finger at your face. "You."
You clutch the towel tighter, suddenly very aware that you're wearing almost nothing. "Chieftain. It's the middle of the night."
"Is it?" He squints toward the window, as if confirming this information. "Huh."
"You're drunk."
"Yes." He says it like he's proud of it.
"You should go home."
He doesn't move. His gaze drifts down from your face, lingers on the curve of your shoulder where the towel has slipped, on your damp throat, on the swell of your breasts. His throat works. His jaw tightens.
"Can't," he says.
"Can't what?"
"Can't go home." He takes a staggering step inside, and you instinctively step back. The movement makes your towel hitch higher on your thighs. His eyes track the motion. "Home doesn't have you."
Your heart hammers. "Chieftain—"
"Kolf," he says. "My name. Use it. Please. Please. I'm so tired of 'Chieftain.' I'm tired of you ignoring me. I'm tired of leaving you presents you never touch. I'm tired of smelling you on the wind and not being able—"
He breaks off, swaying again, and catches himself on your table.
A clay cup topples and rolls to the floor.
You stare at him.
Kolf. You don't want to say his name out loud. You are scared it will affect you in ways you wouldn't expect.
"Why?" you whisper.
"Why what?"
"Why are you—" You gesture at him, at the door, at the entire impossible situation. "Doing this?"
"Because you're mine."
"I'm what?"
"Mine," he says powerfully. "I saw you. During the raid. Standing in front of your grandmother. Little thing, shaking like a leaf, but you didn't run. You didn't beg. You just—" He exhales, dragging a hand through his dark hair. "Stood there. Looked at me like I was the monster everyone says I am, but you didn't flinch."
Your throat tightens. "I was terrified."
"I know." He takes another step closer, and this time, you don't move back. "But you didn't run. Do you know how rare that is? How fucking rare?"
"Kolf—" You bite your lips. Damn...now you'd done it now.
"I brought you things. Good things! Pretty things. Things orc males give females they want to court. And you... you just kept ignoring me."
You open your mouth to explain, to tell him that you didn't know, that no one ever taught you orc courting customs, that you thought he was just taunting you—
But he doesn't let you speak.
"I like you! I like the way you hum when you work. I like the way you roll your eyes at the sky when it rains. I like the way your nose crinkles when you're annoyed, and you're almost always annoyed, and I like it. I like you. And you won't even look at me."
He's standing close now. Close enough that you can smell the mead on his breath, the pine and earth of his skin, the heat radiating off his massive body. His chest rises and falls in ragged breaths. His eyes, that impossible green, are glossy.
"You need to—"
"I'm sorry," he blurts. "For the raid. For taking your things. For scaring you. I didn't.. I didn't know how else to see you. Your village. Your face. I thought if I came with my warriors, you'd—" He breaks off. "I'm not good at this. I'm not good at words. I'm good at fighting. At leading. At taking what I want. But you... you're not something you take. You're something you earn. And I don't know how to earn you—"
All of a sudden, his knees buckle.
You lurch forward, catching him—or trying to. He's three times your size, for god's sake. A mountain of muscles and your poor arms barely wrap around his torso. Your strength is not enough and he's going down, dragging you with him.
But he twists at the last second, curling his body around yours, and you land on top of his chest instead of the floor. His back hits the wooden planks with a thud. His eyes flutter.
"Kolf?"
He groans.
"Kolf!"
His breathing evens out. His massive arms, which had somehow wrapped around you, go slack.
He's asleep.
Face wrinkling, you push yourself up, staring down at the unconscious orc sprawled across your floor. His lips are parted. His tusks glint. One of his hands is still curled loosely around your ankle.
"Damn it," you whisper.
Eventually, you manage to drag him onto the couch.
It takes an embarrassingly long time. He's heavy. Every limb feels like it's filled with stone. But you push and shove and grunt and curse until his massive frame is folded onto the worn cushions, his boots hanging off one end, his head lolling against the armrest.
You stand back, breathing hard, and look at him.
The fire is low now, crackling and the dim light paints his face in warm gold. In sleep, he looks younger and softer. The hard lines of his jaw relax. His brow smooths. One of his hands twitches, reaching for something that isn't there, and settles on his chest.
He brought you gifts, you think. For three moons. And you ignored him.
Because you didn't understand.
Because no one ever taught you that an orc chieftain leaving an eagle feather on your windowsill meant I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life.
Because you're stubborn and scared and so used to being invisible that you didn't know what to do with someone seeing you.
You pull a blanket from your bed and drape it over him. He murmurs something in his sleep, a rumble you can't quite make out, and his hand catches the edge of the blanket, pulling it tighter around himself, smelling it, smiling in his sleep.
You should go to your room.
You should.
But your feet won't move.
Instead, you sink onto the floor beside the couch and you watch him.
He likes you.
The thought settles warmly into your chest. He likes you.
And you... foolish, stubborn, terrified you... might like him back.
******
Hours pass. You are in bed but you can't sleep.
You lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the occasional rumble of his breathing from the other room.
Something in you burns.
You are hot and curious.
You want to see him again.
Sighing, you slip out of bed before you can talk yourself out of it. Your feet carry you barefoot across the cold wooden floor, past the hearth where the fire has died to embers, to the couch where he lies.
He hasn't moved. One arm is thrown over his head, the other draped across his stomach. The blanket has slipped to his waist and his tunic is even more open, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the trail of dark hair that vanishes beneath the waistband of his trousers.
You kneel beside him.
And reach out.
Your fingers hover over his chest then, gently, you touch him.
Warm. He's so warm. His skin is rougher than you expected, textured with scars and raised ridges of old wounds. His chest hair is coarse, curling around your fingers as you press deeper.
He doesn't stir.
Emboldened, you trace the line of his collarbone, the strong column of his throat, the sharp jut of his jaw. His tusks feel smooth and cool.
Beautiful, you think. He's beautiful.
Your hand drifts lower, skimming over his stomach. The muscles there tense beneath your touch, even in sleep, and you feel the hard ridges of his abdomen, the V-shape that disappears beneath his trousers.
Your breath catches.
And his hand catches yours.
"Caught you," he murmurs. His eyes open, just a crack. "Been waiting. For you to touch me."
"Kolf—"
"You don't get to stop now." He sits up, and you scoot back on your heels, but he follows. His massive hand engulfs yours, pulls it back to his chest, presses your palm flat against his heart. It's pounding. Hard. "Feel that? That's what you do to me. Every time I see you. Every time I smell you."
"Smell me?"
"Like honey." He leans closer, and his free hand cups the back of your neck. His thumb strokes the sensitive skin behind your ear. "Like mine."
"Y... You're drunk—"
"Not anymore." His eyes are clear now. "Sober enough to know what I want. Sober enough to know I've wanted it for three fucking moons."
"What do you want?"
He doesn't answer with words.
He kisses you.
His mouth crashes against yours, tasting of mead and something uniquely him. His tusks graze your lower lip, careful, and you gasp against his mouth. He swallows the sound, pulls you closer, wraps both arms around you and lifts you onto his lap.
Your knees bracket his hips. Your shift—gods, you're still only wearing a thin shift—rides up your thighs. His hands settle on your waist, and his fingers dig into the soft flesh there, grip you like he's afraid you'll disappear.
"Tell me to stop," he rasps against your lips. "Tell me no, and I'll stop. I'll walk out that door and never bother you again. But if you want this—"
"I want this."
The words leave your mouth before you can think about them. Before you can talk yourself out of them. They are raw and honest, and he breaks.
"Thank the gods," he groans, and he's kissing you again, his tongue sliding against yours, his hands roaming down your back, your hips, your thighs.
"I didn't know," you manage between kisses. "The gifts. The courting. I didn't know."
He pulls back. His eyes are dark, dilated. "What do you mean, you didn't know?"
"No one told me." You press your forehead to his. "I thought you were mocking me. Taunting me. I didn't know orcs—"
"Fuck." His hands tighten on your hips. "Fuck, sweetheart. All this time. You thought I was mocking you?"
"Your people raided my village."
"We took supplies. We didn't hurt anyone. I gave orders—" He breathes out harshly. "I'm not good at this. I've never—I've never wanted anyone like this. I didn't know how to—" He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. For the raid. For scaring you. For not explaining. I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
"But I—"
"Kolf." You cup his face in your hands, feel the rough stubble on his jaw, the smooth curve of his tusks. "I'm here. I'm choosing to be here. With you. That's what matters."
He smiles. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He kisses you softly. Briefly. "Bed?" he murmurs.
"Bed."
He carries you to your bed like you're made of glass. Which is hilarious, because two seconds later, he's tearing the shift off your body and staring at you like he wants to devour you.
"Sweetheart," he rasps. "Look at you."
You're naked beneath him, spread across your thin mattress, and he's still fully clothed. Tunic unlaced, trousers straining over his obvious bulge. A very very prominent bulge. The sight makes your mouth water.
"Too many clothes," you manage.
"Agreed."
He strips without care. Tunic over his head, revealing wide shoulders, a chest carved like granite, and arms thick with muscle and crisscrossed with old scars. His trousers follow, and then his—
Oh.
His cock.
You've never been with an orc before. You've heard stories; whispered rumors in the village about what orc males keep between their legs. But stories didn't prepare you for this.
It's massive. Thick and long, veined, the head flushed a darker green, leaking profusely. His balls hang heavy beneath, drawn tight against his body.
"He's friendly," Kolf says, catching you staring. "I promise."
"He's terrifying."
"He'll behave." He crawls onto the bed, over you, caging you with his arms. His thighs bracket yours, and you feel the heat of him, the weight of him. "Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"Can't make any promises about the rest of me."
Before you can spiral, he kisses you again. His mouth claims yours, his tongue strokes against your teeth, your palate, everything. You moan into him, wrap your arms around his neck, pull him closer.
His hand slides down your body, over your collarbone, your sternum, the curve of your ribs, until he reaches your breast. He cups it, weighs it in his palm, and his thumb drags across your nipple making you gasp.
"Sensitive?" he murmurs against your throat.
"Yes."
"Good."
He bends his mouth to your breast, and you feel his hot tongue lapping at your nipple before drawing it into his mouth. He suckles gently at first, then harder, and you arch off the bed, fingers tangling in his hair.
"Kolf—"
"So pretty," he murmurs against your skin. "Wanted to do this. For months. Wanted to taste you. Touch you. Hear you."
He switches to your other breast, giving it the same attention, and you're wrecked. Your thighs clench around his hips, desperate for friction, for something.
"Please," you whimper.
"Please what?"
"I need—"
"I know what you need." He kisses down your sternum, your stomach, the jut of your hipbones. "Going to take care of you, sweetheart. Going to worship you."
He settles between your thighs, and you feel his ragged breath against your pussy.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Look at this pretty cunt."
You're soaked. You can feel it the slickness, the way your flesh aches for him.
"Kolf—"
His mouth covers you, and your thoughts dissolve.
His tongue is everywhere. Lapping at your folds, circling your clit, plunging inside you. He groans against your flesh like you're the best thing he's ever tasted, and his hands grip your thighs, holding you open and immobile for him.
"Oh—" You buck against his face, and he growls. "Ahh, ghnnn—"
"So sweet. Tastes like honey. Like mine. Could eat my mate's little cunt forever."
"Kolf, I'm going to—"
"Not yet." He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, then your mound, then lower. "Not until I say."
"Hgn... that's cruel."
Growling, he continues his attack; licking, sucking, fucking you with his tongue until you're a shaking, sobbing mess, begging him for release. And still, he denies you. Keeps you teetering on the edge, right there, right there—and then pulls back.
"Please!" you cry out. "Please, Kolf, I can't—"
"You can." He kisses his way back up your body, and you feel his cock leaking against your thigh. "You can take more. I know you can, sweetheart."
He reaches down, guides himself to your entrance, and you feel the head of him nudging at your folds.
"Ready?" he asks.
"Yes. Yes."
A little roll of his hips and he pushes inside you.
Just the head at first and you gasp at the stretch. He's so big. Bigger than anything you've ever taken.
"Breathe," he murmurs, kissing your forehead. "Breathe, sweetheart. I've got you."
You force yourself to relax, to welcome him, and he sinks deeper. An inch. Two. Three. Your body yields to him, inch by agonizing inch. It takes forever but at some point, he's finally seated to the hilt.
"Fuck," he groans, and his forehead drops to yours. "So tight. So perfect. Squeezing me like you never want me to leave."
You can't speak. Can't think. The fullness of him, the way he stretches you, the way your body clenches around him have completely taken over.
"Okay?" he asks.
"More than okay."
He laughs softly and begins to move.
His thrusts are slow at first. Each one presses a sweet spot deep inside you, making stars burst behind your eyes. You cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist.
"Look at me," he rasps.
You open your eyes, and he's watching you. Watching the way your face contorts with pleasure, the way your lips part, the way your body responds to his.
"I want to remember this," he says. "Want to remember the way you look when I'm moving inside you."
"Kolf—"
"Mine." He thrusts deeper, and you cry out. "Say it."
"Yours."
Another deep stroke. "Mine."
"Yours, I'm yours—"
He speeds up, and the bed creaks beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall. His hips piston against yours, and you feel everything—the drag of his cock, the slap of his balls against your ass, the way his breathing turns uneven and desperate.
"Going to fuck you so hard," he growls, "you feel me for days. Going to bruise that pretty little cunt. Make you remember who you belong to."
"Yes—"
"Sweetheart." He shifts his angle, and you mewl. "That's it. That's the spot. There."
He pounds into you and you feel your orgasm building—not the teasing edges he gave you before, but something enormous. Something that is about to explode.
"Come for me," he commands. "Come on your orc's cock, sweetheart. Now."
You break. Your walls clamp down on him, pulsing, milking, and you sob his name as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you. He doesn't stop. Keeps fucking you through it, keeps driving into you, and the sensation triggers little climaxes.
"One more," he says. "Give me one more."
"I can't—"
"You can."
Reaching between your bodies, he finds your clit and circles it. Torments it. Another orgasm hits before the previous has even faded. Your whole body convulses, your vision whites out.
"That's it," he groans. "That's my girl. Fuck—"
He buries himself to the hilt, and lets out a feral snarl. You feel him pulse inside you, endless ropes of his seed pouring into your pussy. He keeps thrusting through it, shallow now, drawing out every last drop, and you whimper at the overstimulation.
But he doesn't stop.
He can't.
"I'm not done with you," he drawls. "Not even close."
Pulling out slowly, he's rolling you onto your stomach, ignoring the streams of his seed trickling down your thighs. He lifts your hips and aligns himself at your entrance.
"Kolf—"
"I said I was going to bruise you." He impales you and you moan into the pillow. "I meant it."
He fucks you again. And again. And again.
He fucks you on your stomach, on your side, with your legs wrapped around his neck and your ankles crossed behind his head. He fucks you against the headboard, against the wall, on the floor when the bed groans too loudly.
He fucks you until you lose count of your orgasms, until you're nothing but a trembling, sobbing, sated mess beneath him.
And when he finally spills inside you for the last time, when he collapses beside you, pulling you against his chest, you feel it.
That ache. Deep inside you. Where his cock has been pounding for hours.
Your cervix is bruised.
And you can't stop smiling.
********
The Morning After...
Sunlight streams through the cracks in your curtains, and you wake to warmth.
Kolf is asleep behind you, one arm thrown over your waist, his face buried in your hair. He's spooning you, his breathing slow and even, his chest rising and falling against your back.
You try to move.
Ow.
Everything hurts. Your thighs are sore. Your breasts are tender. And between your legs... gods, there's an ache that goes deep. Your cervix feels bruised. And you've never been happier.
"Morning," he mumbles against your neck.
"You're awake."
"Wasn't sleeping." He presses a kiss to your shoulder. "Was enjoying you."
"You're creepy."
"You enjoy it."
You elbow him gently, and he laughs, a sound that vibrates through your entire body.
"How do you feel, sweetheart?" he asks, sitting up to look at you.
"Sore."
"Good sore or bad sore?".
"Good sore," you admit. "Really good sore."
"Good." He kisses your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. "That's what I wanted."
You turn in his arms to face him. "You wanted to bruise me."
"I wanted you to remember me." His hand slides down your stomach, between your legs, and you gasp when his fingers find your swollen, sensitive pussy. "Every time you walked today. Every time you sat down. Every time you moved."
"You're insufferable."
"You're mine," he says with a smile. His smile is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.
You pout. "You say it it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like the sun rising. Like the tide coming in."
He grins. "It is. You're mine and I'm yours."
"Yeah," you whisper. "I'm yours."
-------------------------------------
And because I am in love with them, give me a few days and I will write a short, fluffy epilogue, too!
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.
