Art Credit: @under_taker01

 

Captured by the Orc

Chapter Four: The Blooding

 

“WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!”

 

Dalthu jumped to his feet, quickly stuffing himself back into his trousers. He scooped up Samson, still dazed from his orgasm, and dropped him into a thicket of bushes.

 

“Stay there,” he snarled, and charged toward the main campfire. 

 

Samson trembled. He could hear screams and the clashing of weapons. What had attacked them? Who was crazy enough to challenge an orc raiding party?

 

Maybe humans? Samson thought hopefully. Perhaps his village had hired mercenaries to try to save him? 

 

Hope surged through Samson. Shakily, he got to his feet, peeking over the shrubs. Something was crashing through the woods toward him. Samson ducked his head, ready to hide if whatever it was wasn’t human.

 

A man stepped into the clearing. It was the same man who had been communicating with Samson by blinking! He looked around frantically and Samson knew he must be looking for him.

 

“Here,” he hissed, and the man jerked toward the sound of his voice.

 

“There you are,” he gasped. “Quick, now is the time, we must run.”

 

Samson scrambled out from the thicket. “Is it not mercenaries?” His hopes from before crumbled at the man’s wild expression.

 

The man shook his head. “Trolls.”

 

Samson shivered. 

 

More monsters.

 

Trolls were hulking gray beasts that ate anything they could catch. Didn’t matter the size. In fact, it seemed as though they took it as a personal challenge to catch something bigger than their mouths. They preferred their food alive and wriggling.

 

The battle echoed in the woods around them. Samson pointed in a direction away from the fight. “That way, let’s hurry,” he said, and they were off.

 

The woods grew darker the further they ran, and soon they couldn’t hear anything except the sounds of their own hearts thumping.

 

Samson’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. Now that he had time to think, perhaps they had been rash in trying to escape at night. However, it may have been their only opportunity. His fellow captive was a few steps ahead. He seemed to be the same age as Samson, though his body was more slender. He was about to ask for the fellow’s name when suddenly he pulled up short.

 

Samson almost plowed into him. “What? What is it? What’s wrong?”

 

The other man held up a hand for Samson to be silent. Samson cocked his head to listen.

 

Nothing.

 

There was nothing to be heard. And that was the problem.

 

While they had been walking, Samson had heard chirps and hoots of the night-dwelling creatures, but now it was deadly silent. What could have stopped their calls?

 

They stood stock-still for what seemed like an eternity. Samson was just about to suggest pushing forward when he heard it. A low, rasping moan. No, wait, now there was another one. This one was higher. And another. Another. Gods, how many creatures were there? It sounded like the death cries of pigs before slaughter. There were high, squealing cries followed by deep, breathy gasps. They stacked on top of one another, creating a symphony of horror.

 

His companion clapped his hands over his ears and charged forward.

 

“Wait!” Samson cried.

 

The other man stopped. He turned back, sobbing. “Stop,” he said, spittle flying from his mouth. “Make it stop.”

 

Those were the last words he spoke. A huge shadow rose up behind him, and before Samson could shout a warning, a massive mouth of sharp teeth chomped down over the man’s body and bit him in two.

 

Blood poured down over the man’s lower half, which stiffened and remained stuck upright in a cruel imitation of life. It twitched and then fell over, spilling viscera out onto the path. The shadow munched on the top half of the ex-captive noisily.

 

Samson took a trembling step backward. Unfortunately, a twig announced his movement and the shadow reared up again, shrieking the dreadful noises from before. He could see it now: a giant, writhing pink mass of eyes and mouths. Each mouth was open and making a different noise, each one more horrible than the last. Sharp teeth gnashed in each gaping maw. The eyes, eyeballs really, rolled in their fleshy sockets until they locked onto Samson.

 

He turned and ran. Shouting for help from anyone, praying to the gods that he would escape. He could hear the shrieking gibberish following him. He swore he could almost feel its breath on his skin.

 

“Please! Help!” He cried, before tripping over a raised tree root and falling painfully onto his face. 

 

Get up!

 

He pushed himself to his feet and tried to run, but the moment he placed weight on his foot, a searing pain shot through him and he nearly collapsed again. He held onto the tree that had felled him and turned to look behind him. He could hear it. It was almost upon him now.

 

A dry sob racked his chest. 

 

Is this how I die?

 

The horrible cacophony of shrieks and gasps filled the air. As the sentient pile of tortured flesh came into sight, Samson took in one final gulp of air and screamed with all his might.

 

“HELP ME!”

 

A roar sounded behind him and something came crashing, pounding through the woods. A green blur sped past him and hurled itself onto the fleshy nightmare. All the mouths shrieked in alarm as Dalthu the Orc bludgeoned it with his fists. 

Samson had never seen the orc in battle. It was terrifying. Dalthu’s eyes were murderous. He struck like a viper, quickly and without mercy. The creature immediately began to retreat, but the orc refused to let it leave. Samson almost felt pity for the creature as Dalthu began to rip each of its eyes out with his hands. One of the shrieking mouths managed to bite Dalthu’s arm, and the orc bellowed in pain and rage.

 

“Dalthu!” Samson heard himself cry out.

 

If Dalthu heard him, he gave no indication. Instead, he grabbed the wiggling creature with his good arm and began to force his bitten arm deeper into the belly of the beast. It seemed to realize its mistake because it tried to clamp down hard, but Dalthu rammed his whole arm past, breaking off the teeth into his flesh.

 

“RARGHH!” Dalthu roared, and with one mighty tug, turned the creature’s insides outward. Its gibbering noises grew faint, and all that was left was an occasional gurgle as it lay splattered out on the ground.

 

Dalthu turned toward Samson, who gasped. 

 

Something was wrong. The orc’s pupils were so large that his eyes no longer appeared gold, but black. His heavy breath was visible in the cool air as he huffed in and out like a horse after a breakneck run. He stalked toward Samson, who pressed himself against his tree support until the bark dug into his skin. 

 

The forest was deadly quiet, and Samson could hear the pittering of rainfall.

 

Wait . . . it’s not rain . . .

 

He looked down and saw blood pouring out of the wounds on Dalthu’s arm where the monster’s teeth were still embedded. Bloody droplets dripped down and spattered against the woodland floor. Samson stared at the ripped flesh. 

 

“You’re hurt . . .”

 

“I told you to stay put.”

 

Samson flinched. The orc’s voice was deadly soft. Dalthu reached up and grasped Samson under the chin, forcing him to lock eyes with him.

 

“Can’t you let me go?” Samson’s voice cracked. When the orc didn’t respond, Samson asked, “What do you want from me?”

 

The orc’s obsidian eyes showed no emotion, but merely reflected Samson’s own frightened visage back at him. Samson found himself desperately missing the expressive golden eyes that he’d become accustomed to. At least with them he might know where he stood. 

 

“I want you to scream my name,” the orc replied, then sealed his promise with a punishing kiss. 

 

Samson was shocked. He tried to yell, but as soon as his mouth opened, Dalthu slipped his hot tongue into his mouth. Samson’s muffled shouts vibrated against the orc’s lips. Dalthu still held his chin between iron fingers, preventing him from breaking the brutal embrace. He flung his arms like windmills, trying ineffectively to push away from the overpowering creature. It was no use. Dalthu’s tongue slid against his own, dancing erotically in his mouth.

 

Dalthu finally broke the kiss and Samson gasped for air. The orc’s hands traveled lower, tracing down Samson’s sternum before cupping his chest. Forgetting himself, Samson slapped them away in defense. Dalthu growled and grabbed both his wrists in one of his massive hands and held them above his head. 

 

“You will be punished for that.”

 

His other hand moved unimpeded, groping Samson’s pecs and watching amusedly as Samson whimpered about being pawed at. His fingers brushed over the fabric of Samson’s flimsy garment, searching for his nipples and finding the pointed tips. He gripped them tightly and Samson’s hips bucked under the onslaught.

 

“Your nipples are hard. Are you enjoying this? Is your cock already dripping?” Dalthu’s hand reached down between Samson’s legs, his thick fingers curling up under the loose shift. Samson bit his lip. It was true. His member had already reacted to the stimulation. 

 

The orc’s hand clenched and unclenched around Samson’s sex, watching as his hips moved back to escape the teasing.

 

“Spread your legs.” 

 

Samson shook his head.

 

“Obey me,” Dalthu said, giving Samson’s prick a tight squeeze. “Or do you want me to punish this thing right here?” 

 

Trembling, Samson allowed his legs to part. 

 

“Do you know what I’m going to do to it? To put a baby in here,” the orc’s wide hand brushed over Samson’s belly, “I’m first going to put my cock in here.” 

 

Dalthu dropped his hand and slid it between Samson’s legs. The orc slipped his fingers up between his ass cheeks and pressed against Samson’s virgin hole.

 

Heat rushed to Samson’s cheeks as he realized what the orc intended. “W–wait . . .” 

 

“No more waiting, breeder,” Dalthu rasped. The pressure increased as the orc pressed his finger insistently against Samson’s tight opening, demanding entry. “I’m going to stretch you wide open and then pump you full of my orc seed.” 

 

 And, as Dalthu thrust his thick finger past the resistance, Samson did scream his name.

 

To Be Continued . . .