Captured by Orcs

Chapter Two: Oral Initiation

 

“Sit.”

 

They had been traveling for days, and Samson’s body, unaccustomed to riding for so long, was aching. He shook his head; he wanted to stretch his legs.

 

“I said, sit. I’m going to build a fire.”

 

Samson cast a quick glance around at their surroundings. 

 

“If you try to run I will catch you, and it will be the belt again.”

 

Samson sighed and lowered himself tenderly onto the ground. He watched as Dalthu moved quickly, gathering dry kindling.

 

His great size doesn’t affect his speed.

 

Soon a roaring fire heated the chilly air, and the illumination of the flame danced and cast strange shadows on the trees around them. Dalthu handed Samson a small portion of food: some dried meat and half a loaf of bread. Samson ate them both greedily.

 

Dalthu pulled out a wineskin and, after taking a pull from it, offered it to Samson.

 

Samson eyed the flask warily. “No . . . thank you.”

 

“Drink,” Dalthu insisted.

 

“I said, no.”

 

“And I won’t tell you again, little tiger. Do what I say.” His hands strayed toward his belt.

 

Samson quickly grabbed the wineskin and put it to his lips, letting the strong liquid flow into his mouth. It burned as it went down, but it was comforting in its familiar sting. How old had he been when he’d had his first drink? He remembered his father had bought a barrel of mead from some traveling dwarves, and while his mother was distracted had poured some into Samson’s glass. They had giggled together over their shared secret. Tears stung Samson’s eyes as he recalled his family.

 

I swear I will see you again.

 

Samson held out the wineskin, but Dalthu motioned him to keep it. “One more sip. It will be cold tonight, and it will keep you warm.”

 

Samson took another gulp, a warm glow building up inside him. He and his captor had again positioned themselves a little distance away from the horde. Samson could hear the muffled voices of the rest of their party. There were another ten orcs in the group, and each had grabbed a villager. Samson didn’t know who else had been taken.

 

Samson gazed over at the other campfires. He was just starting to make out the shapes of some other humans when a cry rang out. A woman was struggling as an orc tore her clothes off. She was forced to the ground, and as the orc covered her body with his, a scream tore through the night. Samson could hear sounds of slapping flesh and moans.

 

He looked away, willing himself deaf to the awful noises.

 

“Monsters,” he whispered.

 

“It is always painful the first time,” Dalthu said.

 

He heard me.

 

“Eventually she will accept him, just like you will eventually accept me.” 

 

Rage bloomed in Samson’s chest, and, fueled by the potent liquor, he forgot himself and screamed at the orc, “Never! I will never accept you!”

 

A deadly calm settled over their campfire. Samson’s chest heaved with his passion. When Dalthu suddenly rose to his feet, Samson could not help flinching. Why had he antagonized him?!

 

Dalthu stood in front of Samson, his massive body blocking the light from the fire. He pulled at the buckle of his belt, and Samson trembled.

 

“W–wait, I . . . I’m sorry!”

 

The orc did not stop, but merely unbuckled his pants and let them slide down his thick thighs. Samson knew what a man’s member looked like. However, he had never seen an orc’s. 

 

This would explain the screams.

 

Dalthu’s cock was giant. Fully erect it was the length of Samson’s arm, but thicker. The shaft was a paler green than the rest of his body, but grew darker toward the bulbous head. The tip of the orc’s prick had just the briefest shade of pink at the slit, which was already growing slick with arousal.

 

Samson stared up helplessly into Dalthu’s lusty golden eyes; the orc was watching with delight as Samson took him all in.

 

“Each night,” he rumbled, “you will service me with your mouth, little tiger. If you do not obey, you will be punished. The belt is not the only way I know to make you fall in line.”

 

Samson shook his head. He couldn’t do this. 

 

Dalthu’s arm snaked out and grabbed a fistful of Samson’s hair, holding him still. 

 

“If you bite me, I will pull your teeth out one by one. Do you understand?”

 

Samson’s heart rammed against his chest, but he closed his eyes and whimpered, “Yes.”

 

Dalthu grunted. “Good, now hold still and open wide.”

 

The orc grasped the shaft of his thick cock and rubbed it against Samson’s lips.

 

“Your mouth is so tempting, little tiger,” he said. “Did you know? I have caught many looks in your direction from my brothers. They see what I see: a mouth built to pleasure cocks.”

 

Tears streamed down Samson’s cheeks as Dalthu’s large hand circled the back of his head, forcing him forward onto the prick.

 

The orc’s cock grew bigger, stretching his lips around it as Dalthu pushed it deeper and deeper into Samson’s warm mouth. He could feel himself filled with the hot, pulsing flesh of the orc, his hands held captive, his mouth used as a disposal for lust. 

 

Dalthu gripped Samson’s hair tightly, pulling on it painfully, his strong orc hands controlling the movement of his head. Samson was at the grunting orc’s every whim. He could taste Dalthu now, his penis sliding over Samson’s tongue. He tasted sweat from days of riding, salty and bitter. Liquid dripped from the orc’s slit, and Samson lapped at Dalthu’s arousal. His tongue was pushed aside as more of the giant organ was forced into his mouth. 

 

He felt it touch the back of his throat and looked up with pleading eyes, tears forming in them, as he choked on the head of the orc’s penis, now pushing against his tonsils. He saw lust in the orc’s eyes and a smirk on his mouth. Samson now had over half of the organ in his mouth.

 

“Deeper,” Dalthu moaned. “You are going to have to swallow my prick.”

 

Dalthu slowly forced the head of the throbbing cock down his throat. Samson choked and his throat opened up, allowing more of the massive dick to slip in. The thick head was slick with juices and slipped down further.

 

“Yes,” Dalthu hissed. “Choke on it, it will go down easier.”

 

Samson sucked in air through his nose, tears running down his face, his throat blocked by the cock being fed into it. The grunts of pleasure overshadowed his muffled protests as his tongue danced around the shaft, trying to escape the taste of the orc’s ripe prick. He only succeeded in exciting Dalthu more. 

 

Rough hands forced his head up, straightening out his throat, lining up the passage to accept more. Samson gagged again. As his throat spasmed, his mouth filled with saliva, sweat, and orc seed. It began to run from his spread mouth, his lips unable to contain it all. 

 

Dalthu’s stomach mashed against his lips, bruising them. He buried his sex completely in Samson’s mouth, the pubic hair scratchy against his chin, the odor of sweat and sex filling his senses. His mouth and throat were speared on the monstrous organ.

 

“I’m close,” Dalthu huffed. “When I give you my come, swallow it all. Any gets out and you’ll be punished, understand? Nod if you understand.”

 

Samson nodded quickly.

 

Please let it end. 

 

Dalthu pulled his cock out, dragging it from Samson’s throat. Samson managed to suck in a quick breath of air before the orc’s meat pole pushed back in. He gagged as the thick organ pressed deep into his throat. It burned. Dalthu pushed in and out again, fucking Samson’s mouth hole. And again, and again, each time with greater force.

 

The orc pumped his captive’s mouth, faster and faster, his breath quickening. Samson gagged and choked, the corners of his mouth tearing.

 

With a roar, Dalthu found his release and filled Samson’s mouth with hot jism. Samson swallowed, but it wasn’t enough. More and more orc seed was pumped into his mouth, forcing him to gulp down the hot, salty fluid. Samson felt the load slide down his throat into his stomach, filling his belly.

 

The orc pulled his cock from Samson’s mouth, smearing the last leaks of fluid around his lips like whore’s paint. 

 

“Lick it,” Dalthu commanded.

 

Whimpering in submission, Samson obeyed. His tongue flicked over his bruised and battered mouth. Dalthu watched carefully, making sure that nothing remained.

 

Samson’s captor knelt down in front of him. “As I said, a mouth built for pleasure,” he said, before pulling a surprised Samson in for a rough kiss. It lasted only a moment, then Dalthu pushed Samson over onto the ground.

 

“Get some sleep. We leave early.” Dalthu lay down next to Samson and pulled him close, his heavy hand wrapped tight over him. “Tomorrow night you will have another chance to pleasure me with your mouth.”

 

Samson sobbed himself to sleep.

 

To Be Continued . . .