ILLUSTRATION BY Marccus @rnarccus

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CAPTURED BY THE ORC

Chapter One: Lesson Learned
 

 

Samson was in the field gathering crops when it happened. The warning bell rang from the watchtowers.

 

Orcs!

 

He threw his basket of corn aside and sprinted toward the safety of his village. Behind him, he could hear the shouts of the other workers, who were scattering. The ground began to tremble underneath his feet, and he could hear the howls of wolves growing louder.

 

Almost there!

 

Samson burst out of the field of tall crops and felt a flood of relief as he saw his family’s hut. His younger brother, Kane, was standing at the entrance. Kane spotted him and swung his arms, motioning to Samson to keep running. Then Kane’s expression transformed to terror, and he pointed wildly to just behind Samson. 

 

Samson had only a moment to register what his brother was trying to tell him before strong arms grabbed him around the waist and hefted him into the air. He kicked and punched at what had grabbed him, but it easily overpowered him and tossed him across the back of the mount. 

 

No!

 

A horn blast sounded and Samson watched helplessly as he was carried away, his village disappearing as the orc horde rode.

 

Samson had heard of these kidnappings but had never imagined it would happen to him. No one who had been taken had ever returned. The rumor was that in times of famine, wild orcs would take humans for food. If that was the case, Samson knew a grim fate awaited him.

 

He looked up at his captor. The orc was monstrous. His skin was dark green like algae, with scars that traced across him like branches of a river. The creature’s body was solid, chiseled muscle, and he wore his long, jet-black hair tied back off his shoulders.

 

The orc’s mount was a dire wolf, its massive body the only thing that could carry its rider. Samson liked dogs, but in this case, he’d make an exception.

 

“Let me go!” Samson tried to push himself forward off of the wolf, but the orc’s large hands clamped down on him, preventing movement. 

 

Trying another tactic, Samson leaned over the orc’s leg and bit down as hard as he could. The orc’s skin tasted like sweat, dirt, and leather. The bitterness filled his mouth and he was rewarded with a hiss from his captor. The victory was short-lived, however, as the orc grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled Samson’s head back painfully.

 

“Do that again and I’ll pull your teeth out,” the creature snarled.

 

“Let me go and I promise I’ll never do it again,” Samson spat back.

 

The other orc riders laughed. “Looks like you picked a wild one, Dalthu,” one of them called out.

 

Samson’s orc, Dalthu, chuckled. “A little fight is good.”

 

They rode for hours. When they finally stopped, Samson was unceremoniously dumped onto the ground. He was exhausted. He had fought the entire day. He pinched, kicked, hit, spit, never giving his captor a moment of peace. He wasn’t going to stop now.

 

“Hey!” 

 

Dalthu’s eyes blazed a fiery gold, and he glared down at Samson with such an expression of disgust that, for a moment, Samson was frozen. His captor took that opportunity to grasp Samson by his short ponytail and drag him away from the other orcs and their captives. 

 

“Let me go!” Samson kicked his feet. He didn’t know what the orc planned, but he wanted no part of it.

 

Dalthu brought him to a shaded spot where bushes had created a small cove out of view of the others. 

 

“So ferocious,” Dalthu growled. “Like a tiger cub.”

 

“I will not let you kill me without a fight,” Samson hissed. “You will have to work for your meal.”

 

The orc stared at Samson for a moment, then roared with laughter. “You think I want to eat you?”

 

“I–I heard . . . that during hard times—”

 

“That we would feast on human flesh?” Dalthu’s laughter grew and Samson didn’t know whether to feel relieved or offended.

 

“Ah, eat you,” Dalthu sniffed and flicked a tear of mirth away. “Are all humans so stupid?”

 

Samson sputtered in indignation. “Well, if you’re not planning on eating me, then why else would you take me?” 

 

The massive green creature looked thoughtful for a moment. “I suppose, in a way, it’s true I will be eating you.”

 

“W–what?!” Fear crawled up his throat. “B–but you said—”

 

“And you will be eating me,” Dalthu leered. 

 

Realization dawned on him and Samson felt the blood drain from his face.

 

“No,” he said, panic-stricken. “No, no, no, it’s impossible.”

 

“Accept your fate, my little tiger.” The orc reached down and jerked Samson to his feet.

 

“Stop it,” he cried and pulled away but was no match for the brutish orc. Samson was being manipulated like a puppet.

 

Dalthu released Samson’s arm but stood close. “Undress.”

 

The command drove home the idea of what was about to happen, and Samson felt on the verge of hysterics. Was it too late to ask to be eaten instead? 

 

“I’m a man,” Samson offered pathetically.

 

The orc shrugged. “I like what I like. You are not the first male breeder taken, and you will not be the last. Even now, Baronk has also claimed a male.”

 

Samson wondered who else had been captured with him.

 

“Now,” the giant creature stepped closer, “will you undress, or must I strip you myself?”

 

Samson’s answer was to turn and run. He wasn’t fast enough. Samson only made it two steps before Dalthu caught hold of his shirt and tugged. Samson jerked backward as the seams of his clothes parted.

 

RIP! 

 

His shirt was torn off his body. The orc smiled, eyeing Samson’s naked chest. Samson put up his hands, trying to cover himself, humiliated. How often had he worked bare-chested in the harvest fields? Yet, here he was behaving like a maiden on her wedding night. Knowing what the orc desired made him conscious of himself. The cool air prickled his skin and he felt his nipples hardening, the sensitive pink skin pebbling against his wishes.

 

“Now for the rest,” Dalthu reached toward Samson’s waist. 

 

Panicked, Samson slapped at the large green hands. “I will do it!”

 

Rather I do it than be forcibly stripped by this monster.

 

The orc stood back and crossed his arms, waiting.

 

Samson swallowed and with trembling fingers fumbled with the clasps of his breeches. He slid the leather pants down over his pale flesh. He kicked them to the side and moved his hands to cover his lower parts, thus revealing his aroused nipples.

 

“Move your hands.”

 

Samson silently pleaded for help. None came. He shakily lowered his hands, revealing what God had graced him with at birth.

 

The orc’s gaze was intense as he sized him up. A tingling sensation grew from Samson’s belly. Being watched like this was giving him strange feelings that he wished would stop. He glanced down and realized, with horror, that his member had begun to react.

 

“I—this is—it’s not what you think!” Samson cried.

 

Dalthu ignored his outburst and nodded, pleased. “Good, you will give me strong children.”

 

“I’m a man,” Samson whispered again, helplessly. 

 

Why does this monster not understand?

 

The orc ignored Samson’s objection. “Turn around.”

 

Samson hesitated.

 

“Do not make me repeat myself,” Dalthu growled as he eyed Samson’s nakedness. “Turn around now.”

 

Samson obeyed. The shame and humiliation of being exposed in front of this creature cowed him.

 

“Bend over,” the orc rumbled. “In return for your defiance, you will be flogged. Remember this: if you do not do as I say, you will be punished. Understand?”

 

Samson froze.

 

The orc pushed him over until he was bent over a tree stump, his naked ass raised up. He tried to keep his legs closed, hoping to hide his privates from the orc.

 

“You will get twenty-five lashings. Move and it will be fifty.” The orc raised his large hand and slapped Samson’s ass, turning it bright red.

 

Samson couldn’t help the squeak of pain as the giant creature gripped his ass. “Stop it!”

 

The orc chuckled, “That was only my hand. I’m going to use my belt on you. You will learn to accept your fate, little tiger.”

 

Samson heard the clink of a belt unbuckling and tensed unconsciously. 

 

“Hold still, or I will start the count over.”

 

The leather belt landed a stinging blow on Samson’s tender flesh, making it an ugly red. Tears stung his eyes. He couldn’t believe what was happening. What had he done to deserve such humiliation? He could do nothing. He was helpless against the massive orc. The belt whipped lower, onto his upper thighs. Samson clenched his legs together tightly, trying to keep his balls out of the path of the belt. The pain was relentless. 

 

“No more!” Samson cried out, raising his hand up to protect his raw buttocks.

 

“Hold still or we start all over again,” the orc ordered, whipping at Samson’s offending hand.

 

Two more and finally the count was done.

 

Samson fell to the ground, his hands protecting his ass cheeks, in shock of how much pain he was in.

 

“No more rebellion, is that understood?” The orc returned his belt around his waist, glaring down at Samson.

 

“Yes,” Samson sniffed. “I understand.”

 

The orc grunted and rummaged around in a side sack he’d brought. He pulled out a loose cotton nightshift and tossed it to Samson.

 

“What is this?”

 

“Clothes.”

 

Samson looked at his discarded pants and shirt. He shook his head, “No—”

 

“Disobeying me already?”

 

Samson’s stomach did a flip, the pain on his backside an immediate reminder of what could happen. He bowed his head and picked up the robe.

 

“T–thank you.”

 

Samson pulled the robe over his head. At least his modesty was protected in this, however . . . a stray breeze lifted the hem as a reminder of how vulnerable his body would be.

 

Dalthu moved toward Samson, who remained still and stared at the ground. Large green hands tilted his face up to meet the orc’s eyes. Those eyes. Samson couldn’t deny that they were mesmerizing.

 

“We need to continue riding,” Dalthu said, not unkindly. “Will you go willingly or do I need to tie you?” He held up a slack of rough hemp rope.

 

Samson shook his head. “I will go.”

 

Dalthu grunted and led them back to the rest of the pack. Samson tried to keep his eyes down, but couldn’t help hearing the sounds of the other captives experiencing their own forms of punishment. He heard one of the other orcs jeer that he should be made to ride the rest of the way naked, and Samson trembled.

 

Dalthu helped Samson up onto the back of his wolf and then settled in behind him. The orc’s arms held him tightly, and Samson admired how much larger his body was compared to a human’s. Dalthu’s forearm was the size of a man’s waist. 

 

Dalthu roared with the rest of the horde as they began their journey again. Samson’s bottom stung as they continued their ride. Where though, he had no idea. Samson knew he was no match for the giant orc, so he relented . . . for now. But he kept his eyes open. Samson tried to remember every bit of the forest, every potential landmark he could memorize. He would not give up. Refused to. He would use the first opportunity that came along to escape. Samson would return to his family or die trying. 

To Be Continued . . .