Captured by Orcs

Chapter Three: Long Hard Ride

 

 

The morning came quickly and before long the horde was off again.

 

Samson sat in front of Dalthu, naked under his loose robe. His bottom rubbed painfully against the hard saddle as he was held firmly against the orc’s body. 

 

He made eye contact with another one of the male prisoners. His eyes were wide and darted frantically

toward each captive. When he caught Samson’s gaze, he began blinking rapidly. Samson’s eyes widened. The

man was using a form of communication they had in the village. Whenever they were away from the village

they could still communicate by using a puff of smoke from a fire. They used short and long bursts of smoke to

create a system of the alphabet. The man was blinking in such a way that mimicked those signals.

 

I can do this.

 

He watched the man’s eyes carefully.

 

Escape . . . wait . . . watch . . . together . . .

 

Samson breathed in, then began blinking.

 

Understand . . . together . . . home . . .

 

The man’s face broke into an elated smile, and he nodded. For the first time since he’d been kidnapped,

Samson felt the urge to smile. Finally, a plan to escape. He would be free of these monsters and return to his

family soon.

 

As he was filled with thoughts of escape, Dalthu’s hand moved down Samson’s waist. It traveled lower and

lower until it rested on top of his manhood, his fingers brushing along his shaft. Samson squirmed and tried

to wriggle away from the molesting fingers.

 

“It will be a long ride,” the orc rumbled. “You should learn to enjoy this.”

 

Samson gritted his teeth and allowed the orc to continue. Dalthu’s rough, calloused fingers played with him

over the thin fabric. Against his will, he could feel his body begin to respond. His cock stiffened with each

caress of the orc’s warm hand. Behind him, Samson could feel that Dalthu’s member was also responding. It

pressed insistently against him.

 

He could do nothing except bounce in the saddle, the orc’s fingers openly fondling his dick. Dalthu played with

his body all day as they rode. Every now and then the orc would give him some food as they rode, unwilling to

stop and rest, wanting to reach their destination. Samson squirmed. His cock, teased all day, was constantly

erect. Dalthu would play with his sex, his fingers running up and down the length. He would move to the tip

and brush his rough fingers over the slit. Samson could feel himself getting wet. He felt stirrings deep in his

belly, and then the orc would stop. It was if he knew Samson was nearing orgasm. He would stop playing with

him as soon as he felt Samson nearing the edge.

 

When Samson‘s breathing calmed, the orc’s fingers would return to his tortured member and begin again,

fondling him to the point of orgasm. By the end of the day, Samson’s body was screaming for release. The tip

of his sex was red and swollen, his balls tender and throbbing. As Dalthu lifted him down from the saddle,

Samson was humiliated to see that his arousal had left a large wet mark on the leather.

 

They separated from the main camp again. Samson sat on the ground as Dalthu made a fire. Samson could

hear more cries in the night as the orcs took their pleasure from more of the captives.

 

They ate dinner in silence, and again Samson was allowed to drink from the wineskin. Then, true to his word,

Dalthu pulled his cock out and forcefully fed it to Samson. Like the night before, he choked and gagged as it

violated his mouth.

 

“You are learning well, little tiger,” Dalthu said. “Soon you will offer to suck me yourself.”

 

It was too much.

 

Samson tore his face out of the orc’s grip and shouted up at his captor,“Never! I will never do such a thing!”

 

Dalthu didn’t respond, but his expression was dangerous. In one fluid movement, he pushed Samson over

with one hand, and with the other, removed his belt. As the leather strap beat his bottom, Samson bit his lips,

not wanting to give the orc the satisfaction. However, the orc was not done. He pushed Samson’s legs apart,

allowing his balls to dangle dangerously in view. Samson only had a moment to realize the danger before the

belt slapped against his tender sack. An unholy scream ripped from his lips.

 

“That was for your insolence,” Dalthu roared back. “Now you have a choice: beg to drink my orc seed or be

punished until morning.”

 

Samson’s eyes widened in terror. The orc really meant it. Tears streamed down his face as he clumsily got to

his knees. 

 

“P–p–please . . . “ he sniffled. “Let m–me . . . dr—”

 

“Yes?” Dalthu taunted. “What is it you want, mongrel?”

 

Samson tried to steady his voice, but couldn’t stop trembling. “I w–want your . . . your . . . cock.” He only

managed to whisper the words.

 

Dalthu laughed, “What was that? You want the belt again?” He raised it up.

 

“No! No, I want your cock!” Samson shouted back, terrified.

 

“Really? I don’t believe you. You must really enjoy having your balls beaten,” the orc’s eye glinted

maliciously. “Why didn’t you tell me, little tiger?”

 

Samson threw himself forward toward Dalthu’s waist and licked the giant green cock from balls to tip. He

looked up frantically at surprised golden eyes.

 

“Please,” he begged. “This mongrel whore wants to suck your glorious orc cock. Please, use my mouth and give

me your seed. I don’t want the belt, I only want to suck you.”

 

Dalthu was silent for a moment, then inhaled sharply. 

 

“By Luthic,” he hissed, “one day I will have you mean that.” 

 

He held his swelling cock up to Samson, whose thoughts were filled with the pain he’d just experienced. He

opened his mouth as wide as he could and speared his head down onto Dalthu’s length. 

 

He had no experience sucking a man’s penis, but one of the village girls had once serviced him behind the

woodshed. It had felt amazing when she licked the rim of his head just below the tip. He tried to imitate what

she had done for him that day and was rewarded by a rumbling groan from above him. His tongue tasted the

orc’s precome leaking out and he lapped it up quickly. 

 

The orc’s hands grabbed behind his head again, but Samson did not protest. Instead, he let himself be pushed

lower down the shaft. He tried to relax his throat as much as possible, coating the back of his throat with

saliva. The huge cock moved easier and Samson allowed himself to relax against the pressure, breathing

slowly through his nose. He looked up at Dalthu and almost choked.

 

Dalthu’s eyes were locked on him, unblinking. His mouth was open, panting, and his two large tusks glinted

in the firelight. He looked possessed. Such an expression of desire and wonder. 

 

Samson looking up at him seemed to be the final straw, and with a shout, the orc spent his load into Samson’s

unsuspecting mouth. 

 

Taken by surprise, Samson choked, and strands of orc jizm spilled out of his mouth and down his chest.

Remembering the threat from the night before, Samson scooped up the escaping come and licked it from his

covered hands.

 

“I’ll get it all!” Samson cried out, as Dalthu walked away toward his knapsack. What new torture would he

bring out? Samson scrambled after him on all fours. “Please, this mongrel whore will clean itself. None of

your glorious seed will be wasted. Please!”

 

Dalthu ignored his cries and rummaged around as Samson frantically sucked his fingers of the salty liquid.

The orc turned around and Samson flinched, fearing what instrument of hell he might see. Instead, Dalthu

knelt down holding a cloth rag. He wiped Samson’s chest and neck and face, cleaning away any remains.

 

“You did well,” Dalthu rumbled at Samson’s confused expression. “Now let us sleep; the morning will be here

quickly.”

 

The next day, Dalthu again took liberties with Samson’s body as they rode. Samson became dizzy with all the

blood rushing to his groin. Dalthu was bolder today and had hiked up the robe so that he was now directly

touching Samson’s cock. Again and again, he would bring him almost to orgasm and then stop. He brought

Samson to the brink time and again, then left him dangling, never reaching release. 

 

By the time they stopped for the evening, Samson was squirming in the saddle. Mentally willing Dalthu to

keep touching him and at the same time hating himself for it. He had become a tangled web of tension, his

mind fuzzy with desire.

 

He barely tasted dinner that evening. He looked over at Dalthu, who was staring pensively into the fire. He

couldn’t imagine what must be going through the orc’s mind. Samson waited for the inevitable moment when

Dalthu would ask him to service his member. He waited. Minutes spanned without a word or movement from

the giant orc. Samson shifted nervously on the ground. Maybe he would not have to perform today. The back

of his ball sack was aching from being teased all day. Samson couldn’t take it anymore. He reached under his

robe and started fondling himself. He almost moaned the moment he touched his rod. It felt incredible. The

constant edging had made him incredibly sensitive, and even his slightest touch felt divine. It was a short-

lived joy.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dalthu growled.

 

Embarrassed at being caught, Samson huffed. “I’m a man too, you know. I need release as well.”

 

Dalthu gazed over at Samson, who shrank away from the intense gold eyes. 

 

“Oh ho, you need release do you? Then you had better ask for permission.”

 

“Permission?” Samson scoffed. “Since when do I need permission to take care of necessities?”

 

Dalthu rose to his full height and Samson tried not to cower. Had he said the wrong thing? His orc captor

stalked toward him, eyes blazing. 

 

“Every inch of your body belongs to me,” he snarled. “Now ask for permission like a good bitch.”

 

Samson’s lips trembled and he lowered his eyes.

 

Why is this happening to me? Did I offend the gods in some way? Am I being punished?

 

“P–please . . . M–Master . . .”

 

Dalthu grunted in approval at the chosen moniker.

 

“May this bitch relieve itself?”

 

“You may not.”

 

“But—” Samson leapt up, forgetting himself. He was sure he’d go insane if he couldn’t empty his balls. Dalthu

pushed him back down, leaving his heavy hand on Samson’s shoulder.

 

“You didn’t let me finish, little tiger,” he said, a small smirk creeping at his lips. “Since you spoke so prettily,

tonight we will relieve each other.”

 

Dalthu picked Samson up into a bridal carry and carried him closer to the fire. He lay him flat on the ground

and knelt at his head. He pulled his already-erect cock out of his trousers.

 

Samson paled as he realized what the orc intended. He planned to treat his mouth like a woman’s pussy. He

would thrust himself against Samson’s lips while being free to manhandle Samson’s privates.

 

Samson looked into Dalthu’s eyes pleadingly, but only saw lust in them. The head of his cock was inches from his mouth. 

 

His tongue touched the hot tip of the orc’s cock and it jerked back in response.

 

Samson grabbed the cock tightly, hearing Dalthu moan in pleasure. “Again, run your tongue over my head.”

 

Samson’s tongue moved over the head, feeling the heat of his organ. His tongue dragged over the bulging

member, feeling the thick ridge. Dalthu’s cock jumped in pleasure. He pushed his tongue into his piss slit and

tasted the come leaking from it. The orc’s member throbbed in his mouth as his tongue played over the

surface. Samson felt a strange sensation arising in the pit of his belly. Having power over the lust of someone

like Dalthu was a heady experience that he could not say he disliked.

 

He ran his hand down the shaft and cupped the orc’s heavy balls, squeezing the sack gently. Lustful groans

spilled from Dalthu’s lips.

 

“Take all of me into your mouth.”

 

Samson opened his mouth wide, presenting a gaping hole for his captor’s cock. Dalthu pushed himself into

Samson’s waiting mouth, his hips thrusting forward. His lips stretched wide to accept him.

 

Dalthu leaned over his body and pulled up the hem of Samson’s robe to expose his own rigid penis. He

wrapped his large hand around the base of it and began to pump up and down. Samson kicked like a mule at

the sudden touch. He moaned on Dalthu’s cock, pushing against his throat, as the orc’s fingers played with his

member, stroking up and down, playing with his dripping slit.

 

Dalthu continued to push with his hips, fucking Samson’s face. His balls slapped against Samson’s head as his

pace increased. Samson reached up to move them out of the way, but as he grasped them he heard a toe-

curling moan from above.

 

“It seems you are a natural,” Dalthu grunted. 

 

A strange sense of combined pride and horror filled Samson. He dropped his hands and Dalthu stopped

touching him. Samson whined at the loss.

 

“Did I say to stop, little tiger?”

 

Samson quickly returned to fondling the green balls, pulling on them like he would to milk a cow. Just as soon,

Dalthu’s hand returned to pumping Samson’s red and swollen prick.

 

“Do you like my hand on your cock, mutt?” 

 

Samson’s hips bucked as Dalthu’s hand jerked him. “MMMMHH!” he hummed in ecstasy.

 

“Gods, yes— Hnngh!” Dalthu cried out and shot his load of orc seed into Samson’s oral cavity; he gulped it

down.

 

As Samson’s mouth filled with the thick, ropey come, the huge cock jamming it back into the depth of his

mouth, his body trembled as his own orgasm ripped through him. It overtook his senses. Even the blowjob

he’d received once had never felt so amazing.

 

Dalthu’s cock softened and he pulled it from Samson’s mouth. He looked down at a dazed Samson and reached

down to pat his head.

 

“You did—”

 

His praise was cut off by a mighty roar from the main camp.

 

“WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!”

 

To Be Continued . . .