King of the Orcs Part 2
No firelight greeted Stedon when he found the orc's cave. Stedon feared the worst until he got close enough to hear the piggish snorting of Grothor's snores. That brought a smile to Stedon's face. He'd never imagined orcs snoring. Grothor would be hungry when he woke, and he would need food to recover his strength. Stedon fetched his sword from the cave and set out in search of pigs. When he returned, Grothor's massive silhouette stood at the cave entrance. Some time in the night, Grothor had removed his armor. Probably to escape the wet chill and let the fire keep him warm. The orc stood in nothing but a leather loincloth that looked as if it were fashioned from a tanned dragon's hide. The sight left Stedon breathless, rooted to the spot. In the golden light of the rising sun, Grothor looked like some bestial god. Stedon's cock ached it was so hard. Grothor was larger than Bear. Stedon could see that, now. And where Bear had been all raw bulk, Grothor's body was devoid of any unseemly fat. Grothor stood there, naked pecs rolling idly in the sunlight. Chiseled abdominals shredded his belly into ridges deep enough to have their own shadows. His thighs rippled like the hind flanks of a warhorse. And...Stedon blushed deeply to glance at it...that dragon leather loincloth only served to accentuate what it contained, like a subtle declaration of Grothor's superiority over fellow males. Grothor's mouth gaped in a ferocious yawn. He turned his head in Stedon's direction and his eyes narrowed. Stedon stepped into view. Grothor jerked back in astonishment. "You come!" "Said I would, didn't I?" Stedon chuckled. He held turned and picked up the bloody carcass of the slain pig. Grothor rushed forward. He grabbed the pig from Stedon and yanked the slit throat upward to slurp blood right from the wound. Stedon's stomach heaved a bit at that, at the blood now coating Grothor's tusks, dripping from his chin, yet the orc made sounds as if he were slurping up raw, melted butter. "Fire," Grothor said. "Let me see if I can find something dry this time," Stedor said. They hunted for firewood, Grothor carrying the pig under one massive arm as if it weighed no more than a bushel of wildflowers. With a fire blazing at their camp in the cave, Grothor took Stedon's short sword and made quick work of butchering the pig for roasting. Human and orc ate together. Stedor let Grothor have the lion's share. Grothor ate like a gorging wolf - complete with snarling and biting open the bones to slurp out the marrow. Grothor even cooked and devoured the pig's organs, despite Stedor warning him that some would make him deadly sick. "Make puny human, maybe!" Grothor snarled at him. "Orcs, no! Orcs eat ALL!" Stedor had to admire his single-minded ferocity. He let his eyes wander over that magnificent, brutish body while Grothor ate the rest of his fill. Grothor finished with a mighty burp that echoed off the trees. "How's the leg?" Stedor asked, gesturing to the bound wound. Grothor smiled and stood proudly on his feet. He gave the leg a solid slap to show it didn't hurt. Stedor gaped. "Healed?" Stedor exclaimed. Grothor's smile widened. He ripped the bandage away and turned his bulging thigh to show the small, pointed, bloody scar that remained. "Orcs heal fast. But meat better. Give strength!" Grothor flexed his arms to show his enthusiasm and Stedor could not suppress the moan that ripped from his mouth. His cock was a rod of pure agony in his pants, so hard and big there was no disguising what it was. Grothor stared at it. Stedor closed his eyes. He felt sure the orc would either kill him or start to laugh. He wanted to bury himself in the earth. Stedor tensed as he felt the huge orc approach him. "This me?" Grothor said, so close the meat-scented air from his mouth wafted to Stedor's nostrils. Stedor gasped when Grothor's finger touched the tip of the bulge in his pants. "YES!" Stedor whimpered when he felt Grothor's palm on his cheek, turning his head up to face that bestial face and those penetrating red eyes. "You like?" Stedor whimpered like a puppy. His toes curled in their cloth wraps. Pre erupted from his hidden cock in a glorious stream. Grothor was smiling at him. Not a mocking grimace or even a lewd grin. More a kind of pride, as if Stedor's acknowledgement were a great honor. "You heal me," Grothor said. He cupped both of Stedor's cheeks. "What you want, little man?" "I...I..." Stedon couldn't talk. This was a dream. It had to be. Grothor was leading Stedon back into the cave. Grothor's hands were pulling down his pants. The instant Grothor's palm touched under Stedon's balls, Stedon clung to the orc as he came. Tears of shame, of guilt, of joy flooded his eyes. Grothor shoved him away in disgust, wiping the tears off himself. Stedon stared at him, not sure what to think or feel. "All humans do when you do?" Grothor demanded, gesturing at Stedon's dripping, throbbing shaft, then pointing at his own eye to indicate Stedon's tears. "I..I'm sorry," Stedon stuttered. He was shaking. Grothor looked confused. Stedon shook his head, too embarrassed and lost to try and explain the concept of an apology. They stood there, awkward in their silence, mostly naked and so close they could feel the heat of each other. Grothor reached out. He took Stedon's hand and pushed it against the smooth leather of his loincloth. Stedon bit his lip. Grothor nodded. Grothor's cock was firming, slowly hardening. "H..how...how do we...? How do orcs...?" Stedon flailed the question. "I take. You give." "I give," Stedon agreed. Grothor undid his loincloth. Spread his bulging thighs apart, displaying his mahood for the human. It was as oversized as the rest of him. Other than the color, it looked just like any man's cock, but magnified to a truly glorious proportion. Grothor gave a soft growl as Stedon felt it. He shoved Stedon away, grabbed his shoulders, turned him to the wall. "I take. You give," he snarled in Stedon's ear. Stedon moaned. He spread his cheeks apart. "I give," he whispered. Grothor was not gentle. Stedon didn't expect him to be. First came the fingers. Two of them shoved up Stedon's ass, slick with orcish spit. Stedon yelled as though stabbed. He hiked up on his tip toes. Grothor grabbed a fist full of his hair. The orc was on top of him. The fingers were gone. Something much larger, much longer, rammed into him. Stedon screamed. Raw estasy blazed through him as Grothor's merciless dagger-sized shaft raped him raw. Grothor held him like a mountain lion pinning a ram to the earth, hands restraining the human so he couldn't move. Stedon could only writhe and shriek and buck as he tried desperately to handle the pleasure. Grothor went wild - an utter beast, crushing Stedon against him, hips bucking and thrusting, harder, harder, eyes squeezed tight and roaring out each time he exhaled. His nails dug into Stedon's chest in his passion to spear him. Stedon clung to the walls of the cave. Their cave. Filled with the sounds and the smells of man sex. Grothor's musk was twice as strong with him naked, sweating, rutting Stedon. At last, the orc came. A great, mighty thunder shook the stone. Stedon's ears rang from the sound. Hot liquid pushed its way into Stedon's depths. Stedon moaned. His own paultry cum that squirted to the cave wall was nothing to the torrent that lashed his ass and oozed down his legs. Grothor pulled out. They stood there panting in the dark. Then Stedon lunged. He needed that mouth. He needed that tongue inside of him. Grothor fought him off at first but Stedon let out a growl of his own and sank his teeth hard into one of those meaty, thick pectorals. Grothor snarled in surprise. Stedon broke from his love bite and glared pure want up into the orc's red eyes. Grothor chuckled and yanked him close. They made out there in the cave while the fire died. Stedon, lost in a feverish reverie of muscle and spit, smell and sound, gave himself to the orc. Grothor seemed to sense it, because he grabbed a fist full of Stedon's firm smooth ass like it was a prize. He broke from the kiss and growled in Stedon's face. "More. You give more." Stedon dropped to his knees and grabbed that dripping, throbbing green stud pole. He smeared his tongue around the tip, then slowly accepted it down his throat. He fought the urge to gag, managed to turn it into a powerful swallow instead, and was rewarded by Grothor's low moans. Grothor set up a slow, hard, humping rhythm down Stedon's throat. Stedon matched his sucks and swallows to its beat. He played his tongue along the underside of the cock, trailing the veins with his tongue tip. Grothor's cock tasted salty from the sweat of his anus. Underneath it was the orc's true flavor. The flavor Stedon wanted more than anything. Grothor was panting hard through his nostrils. Each thrust spurt a bitter-salty slime from his fat glans. Stedon pulled off of it to the tip and gave it a smearing lewd kiss with his lips. "I love orcs," he whispered. Grothor grabbed his own balls and let out a snarl. His cum slit pulsed. Stedon had just enough time to shut his eyes and then his face was drenched in cum, warm as fresh milk. Stedon shuddered. Grothor's big hands can down and smeared his cum across Stedon's cheeks, up around his earlobes, into his hair. "Mmmmm...my human," he breathed. Stedon nearly came a third time. He grabbed Grothor's hand and kissed his palm. Over and over. He gazed up into the orc's face, still on his knees. Grothor was leering down at him in the cave's dim light. Grothor took a step back and sank into a slow crouch. He reached out to grip Stedon's chin. "I go," he rumbled. Then he leaned closer and whispered. "But I come back. Here. You come." "When?" Stedon begged. Grothor smirked. "Soon. You will know." Then he was gone. Stedon settled slowly back onto his haunches in the orc-scented cave. Tears flooded into his eyes. He'd betrayed himself. To his family. To his people. How by the gods would he hide this? How would he explain his absence all morning long? Stedon wiped his sniffling nose. Grothor hated tears. Stedon vowed never to show his orc lover more of them. He gathered himself up and made for the river. He cried out almost at once. His ass burned. It forced Stedon to move at a crawling pace. Stedon didn't reach the river until well in the afternoon. He gave himself a thorough scrubbing. He washed his hair four times, used coarse river mud on his arms and chest. He winced as he washed his puffy ass hole. By the time Stedon was on his way back home, clothed and with the short sword at his side once more, he had a plan. Stedon was surprised to hear the sounds of conversation as he drew closer. He left the cover of the trees and rounded the corner of the house to the front porch. Ayron was home. Sweet, perfect Ayron with his flowing locks of golden hair. The elves had been kind to him, it seemed, for Ayron was dressed in a garment of deep green silk with a sparkling pendant about his throat. Stedon regarded him. He used to admire Ayron. Now there was only Grothor. Ayron stood with a beaming smile when he saw his brother. "Stedon! Look at you! I swear you've filled out even more since I left!" Ayron hugged him and thumped his back. "I hear you've been giving Mother and Father a hard time, adventuring off into the deep dark wood on noble pig-fetching quests!" Stedon did his best to smile at the jibe. He gestured for Ayron to follow him back into the house. "I found more than pigs," he said. His smile dropped. "The orcs are back." Mother gasped. Ayron whispered a curse. Father gripped Stedon's arm. "Did they see you?" Father demanded. "No. Nor smell me, for I stayed downwind. I think it's the same bunch that killed Bemont two years ago. I recognize their leader." Ayron snorted. "An orc is an orc. They're all the same. Don't let your imagination run away with you, Stedon." "Their leader had two rings in his left ear, and so did the leader of this group," Stedon insisted. "If it is the same band as before, then they know about the farm already." Ayron stood. "Father, let me take my horse out again. I'll ride to the garrison in Kingstown." "But what if they attack us while you're gone?" Mother wailed. "If that happens, Mother," Ayron said, "it wouldn't matter whether we were all here or just Stedon and Father. We're no match for a band of orcs." "How many were there?" Father asked Stedon. "Four," Stedon lied. "Big brutes, too. They didn't do much to disguise their presence. I tracked them as far as Hunter's Pass. I'd say they were on their way back over the mountains." "Go, Ayron. Fetch the garrison," Father urged. Ayron gave a curt nod and left. Stedon bit his lip with worry. If Ayron was successful, the farm would be crawling with militia within days. Grothor would walk into a trap if he returned. If not, the garrison would surely discover Stedon's lie about the orc's numbers. "He only just got here!" Stedon heard himself saying. "Let me see him off, at least." Stedon followed Ayron outside. He still had the short sword strapped to his hip. The old Stedon would have been horrified to even consider what he was about to do, but Stedon's lust had eclipsed all other considerations. Aryon threatened to destroy the monstrous dream Stedon had set in motion. Stedon followed Ayron into the horse stall. He would have to strike before Ayron mounted. He also risked Ayron crying out, or the horse spooking from the smell of blood. Stedon put his hand on his blade. He covered the sound of it's draw in the crunch of the straw. "No need to worry, so, Stedon," Ayron said as he gripped the saddle. "I should be back again by tomorrow, and I'll smell those filthy green-skins before they see me!" Now, while his hands were busy with the saddle! Stedon pictured Grothor murdering Bemont. He put one hand on Ayron's shoulder and thrust with the blade, as hard as he could. Ayron gave a gigantic gasp of agonized surprise. He stared down at the bloody sword point jutting from his chest, eyes full of incomprehension. He slumped to his knees. Stedon gripped his dying brother under the arms and gritted his teeth. He had to use all of the strength he'd built up over the last two years to power lift Ayron into the saddle. Once there, Stedon worked quickly. He found some rope to lash Ayron to his deep-chested mare. He bridled her, then led her out onto the road and almost immediately afterward off onto a forest trail. Stedon didn't dare venture far before he unbound Ayron's body and let him drop to the ground. Aryon's horse shied a bit, but she was a steady beast and quickly settled down to grazing.
Stedon pulled the sword free and dropped it beside the body. He leaned to the ear of the corpse. "Those filthy green-skins have captured my heart, dear brother. I'm sorry it had to be this way." Stedon cleaned the sword, mounted the horse, and set off for the mountains. Stedon had never killed anyone before. For hours, he trembled atop his mount. The mare sensed his anxiety and it made her skittish. Stedon resisted the urge to gallop. Ayron's horse was a simple farmer's mare. A full-out run along a narrow forest path, to say nothing of one sloping upward and broken by rocks as it climbed toward the mountain's foothills, would be a disaster for her. Stedon traveled until nightfall. This was farther than he'd ever come into the wilderness before. He was grateful that Necarean rangers maintained scouting trails. Those would run out by tomorrow, Stedon guessed. Stedon built a fire and fell asleep to the faint howling of wolves high up in the mountain passes. He woke to the feeling of cold iron at his throat.