Illustration by @SweetCherub_art

CAPTURED BY THE ORC

Chapter 23: The Escape Plan

 

Samson spent the next few days either unwinding in the bathhouse or coming undone in Dalthu’s embrace. 

 

It should have been paradise. After all, Dalthu was attentive, affectionate, and a hell of a cook. He also knew how to leave Samson breathless in bed. He’d expertly use his mouth, hands, and toys (courtesy of Adora) to make Samson beg for more. 

 

Except . . . just when it seemed like they were about to take the next step, Dalthu would back away. Oh sure, the big green lug would make sure Samson was satisfied. Often, the orc was so eager that Samson would have to spend a whole day in bed recuperating and feeling like he’d been drained dry. Still. Never any further. It was getting harder and harder to ignore his growing desire and the frustration of being denied.

 

“Samson? Are you in there?”

 

Samson jerked out of his thoughts, splashing water around the rim of the tub. He’d gotten used to luxuriating in the bathhouse alone. It was his sanctuary. So when Rachelle called out his name it sent him scrambling.

 

“Ah, yep. Gimme one—okay, you can come in.”

 

He stood up and hastily wound a towel around his waist as Rachelle stepped through like sunshine, warm and bright. However, her cheery smile faded when she saw Samson's naked stomach. 

 

“Still nothing,” she muttered.

 

Samson cocked his head to the side. “What was that?”

 

“I don’t understand.” Rachelle frowned, ignoring his question. “I thought . . . could it be . . . “ She grasped Samson by his bare shoulders. “You and Dalthu . . . you’ve rejoined, haven’t you?”

 

Samson's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Uhm, when you say ‘rejoined,’ do you mean—”

 

“Rejoined! Copulated!” Rachelle’s voice was shrill as she shook him. “Samson, he’s given you his seed, hasn’t he?”

 

“Um, no, not since that night, the night of the Mak'gora.”

 

“Not since—” Rachelle's eyes widened. "What’s wrong?”

 

Samson shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to answer. Rachelle grabbed his arm and pulled him up off the floor with a strength Samson didn’t expect from the older woman.

 

A knot of anxiety twisted in his gut as she dragged him out of the bathhouse and back through the gate of the village. Rachelle wordlessly led him through the market, her grip on Samson's arm never faltering. As they weaved their way around the huts and tents, Samson felt the curious gaze of the other residents of the orcish stronghold.

 

They found Dalthu outside of Vetu’s tent, haggling with the wrinkled merchant. Dalthu turned to face them with a bemused expression. 

 

“Mok’ra, what’s the matter?”

 

Rachelle got straight to the point by pulling down Samson’s towel and pointing at his belly.

 

Dalthu squawked as he threw himself in front of Samson, blocking him from prying eyes. “Mother! What are you—Vetu, a tunic! Now!”

 

The orcish merchant obliged and, once Samson was covered, Dalthu stepped back. “Now,” the orc took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself down. “Explain.”

 

Rachelle and Samson replied in chorus:

 

“The mark—”

 

“Your mother—”

 

“It hasn’t changed—”

 

“She’s worried about the mark—”

 

Dalthu put up his hands, but his mother plowed ahead.

 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, my son, you just need a little help, eh? I have recipes . . . tips! Have you tried oysters? Vetu,” Rachelle swiveled to the merchant. “Oysters. He’ll take a dozen.”

 

The old shopkeeper suddenly became very interested in a fraying edge of his tent as Dalthu’s face twisted in frustration. "Mother, there's nothing wrong—” 

 

“Then why?” Rachelle pursued doggedly. “You performed at the Mak’gora so why have you not joined together since? Unless it is because your—”

 

“Mother. Stop.”

 

“Does your blood not run hot enough?”

 

“If my blood ran any hotter I would explode.” 

 

“Then why—”

 

“It’s none of your business!" 

 

Rachelle flinched. "You’re my son," she said, evenly. “Therefore, it becomes my business.”

 

“We just need some more time, that's all."

 

“You have a duty!” 

 

Snarling, Dalthu slammed his fist down on the merchant’s table, cracking the solid wood and sending splinters flying. The marketplace went quiet.

 

"Do not presume," Dalthu growled, “to tell me my duty.”

 

There was a tense moment of silence. Rachelle pressed her lips together into a tight line. "Don't wait too long," she said, finally releasing her grip on Samson's arm. "You know what will happen if you do.” With that, she spun on her heels and marched away, head held high. 

 

The marketplace slowly returned to its cacophony of chattering and haggling. Samson cautiously approached Dalthu. The orc's cheeks glowed pink and he refused to meet Samson's gaze. He shifted slightly, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

"I . . . I’m really . . . you shouldn't have seen that," Dalthu grumbled.

 

Samson tried not to think that Dalthu was cute when he was embarrassed. He cleared his throat. “What was she talking about? What will happen if we wait too long?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Then what did she mean by saying it’s your duty?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

Samson stepped closer and placed a hand on Dalthu’s arm. “She seemed pretty upset for it to be nothing.”

 

Dalthu shrugged, still avoiding Samson’s eyes.

 

“Maybe you should go after her?”

 

“She’s wrong.”

 

Samson bit back a smile. Dalthu’s demeanor was not unlike a child’s, stubborn in their beliefs. Samson tried diplomacy. “I’m not saying she’s right,” he said, stroking the large warrior’s arm. “But you’re family. Don’t leave things unsaid.” Unbidden, an image of his own mother’s face sprung to mind. “You never know what might happen,” Samson trailed off softly.

 

Dalthu finally turned to look at Samson. Regret flickered in the orc’s bright golden eyes and he cupped Samson’s hand between his own. Dalthu opened his mouth to ask something, but then shook his head, thinking better of it. He brought Samson’s hand up to his mouth and brushed a kiss against his knuckles. “If my mate wishes it, I must obey.”

 

Samson felt a rush of heat travel up his arm as Dalthu's lips touched his skin. "Anything I wish?" He already had a couple of ideas.

 

As if reading his mind, Dalthu's lips curled into a smile. "Anything."

 

Samson swallowed hard. “Then . . . I’ll see you later?”

 

The orc chuckled, low in his throat. “Yes, but it may be late. Where most women are stubborn as rocks, my mother is a mountain.”

 

“Well, don’t be too long,” Samson lowered his gaze coyly. “I have more wishes, after all.” 

 

Dalthu sucked in a steadying breath, his pupils dilating with desire. “Wait for me,” he rumbled. It was both a question and a command.

 

Samson nodded. Dalthu grinned and, before Samson could say anything, darted in to steal a quick kiss, then hurried off, red-eared, into the bustling marketplace.

 

Stupid orc.

 

A soft cough reminded Samson that the orc merchant, Vetu, was still there. 

 

“Oh, right. Um, sorry for all the—”

 

Vetu waved a wrinkled hand. “No need.”

 

“What do I owe you for the tunic?”

 

“Dalthu will take care of it.” The wizened merchant squinted at Samson. “It’s nice to see you looking so happy.”

 

“Happy?”

 

Vetu motioned toward a mirror hanging in the corner. Samson covered his mouth.

 

How long have I been smiling like this?

 

Warmth crept into Samson’s cheeks. He excused himself from Vetu’s tent, ignoring the merchant’s amused chuckle, and made his way through the marketplace.

 

"Wait!"

 

Samson glanced over his shoulder and saw a woman running toward him. Her sharp features were unmistakable; it was Hazel.

 

She stopped in front of him, gasping for air as she handed a roll of paper to him. "Here," she said in between breaths.

 

Samson opened the roll. It was a map of the surrounding area with multiple routes marked out. Hazel nodded excitedly.

 

"Tomorrow," she said softly. "When everyone is asleep."

 

A shiver of anticipation ran up Samson’s spine. He wasn't sure if he could trust Hazel—after all, Dalthu had robbed her of her only child—but he knew this might be his only chance to escape. However, his reply was interrupted by the sound of jingling metal.

 

A familiar orc covered in sparkling baubles and trinkets approached them. He flashed Hazel an insidious smile as he spoke her name.

 

“Hazel,” he rasped, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You ran off so quickly that I thought I’d never catch up.”

 

“Ragnuk is the one—”

 

Ragnuk struck like a viper. He grabbed Hazel around the mouth and hissed, “Not so loud, sweetness.” His long fingernails dug into the soft flesh of Hazel’s jaw. “You want to give us away?”

 

Samson was alarmed. “He knows about this?” he asked Hazel, who jerked free of Ragnuk and gave a curt nod.

 

“It was necessary,” Hazel said with a tinge of regret. “He knows—”

 

Ragnuk cut her off. “Breeders really are terrible at keeping secrets,” he tutted. “Let's just say that I'm assisting in this little venture, shall we?" The orc's beady brown eyes landed on the map clutched in Samson's hand and he nodded surreptitiously. “Better put that somewhere Dalthu won’t find it. Although,” Ragnuk leered as Samson quickly tucked the map away, “I’m sure there is no place on your body he wouldn’t check.” 

 

Ignoring the provocation, Samson focused his attention on Hazel. “Where are we meeting?”

 

“There’s a dog hole near the west gate. We can meet there.” Hazel leaned in urgently, blocking the orc with her body. "Tomorrow. Be ready."

 

"I hope you are prepared for what is to come. I know I am," Ragnuk crooned. He crooked his arm out, beckoning Hazel. "Come along now Sweetness, there's still much to do."

 

A muscle spasmed in Hazel’s jaw, but she resigned herself to follow Ragnuk down the road, leaving Samson alone with a single thought:

 

Tonight is my last night with Dalthu.

 

***

 

When Samson returned to the hut he found Dalthu already inside, uncorking a dark green bottle. "A gift from Mother,” he grinned. “Or rather an apology.”

 

“She apologized?”

 

“It surprised me as well,” Dalthu said, carefully cutting the wax seal open, “but, as they say, don’t look a gift wolf in the eyes unless you want to get bit.”

 

Dalthu poured the ruby liquid into a wooden cup and Samson took a tentative sip. It was sweet and tangy, with a hint of spice that lingered on his tongue. Samson took another quaff. As he swallowed, a strange heat spread through his body.

 

Dalthu took a long swig directly from the bottle, ending with a loud lip smack. Samson giggled as Dalthu wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes glinting mischievously. "So," Dalthu grinned, "What else does my mate wish for?"

 

Samson hid his expression by taking another drink. He hummed into the cup as he considered what to ask for. 

 

If tonight is our last night together . . .

 

“Well?” Dalthu drained more of the bottle.

 

“Oh,” Samson weaved his way to their shared cot and plopped down onto the furs. “I just wish that, you know . . .” Samson went for more liquid courage but found his cup empty. He held it out to Dalthu, who obediently joined Samson on the cot and poured more of the wine. 

 

Dalthu's gaze remained locked on Samson's lips as he handed him back a refilled cup. "That what, little tiger?” he asked, his voice low and seductive.

 

Samson threw his drink back. “I w–wish you’d kiss me.”

 

Dalthu’s lips curled into a wicked grin. He dropped the bottle and pulled Samson onto his lap. Cupping Samson's cheek gently, he leaned in closely and whispered, "Your wish is my command.”  

 

Dalthu leaned in and captured Samson's lips in a fierce kiss. Samson wrapped his arms around Dalthu's neck and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. The taste of the wine mixed with the taste of Dalthu's lips, and Samson felt like he was on fire.

 

Gods, my heart is racing.

 

He moaned softly, the sound muffled by Dalthu's lips as they kissed passionately when, suddenly, Samson felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. He jerked back from Dalthu, his vision swimming.

 

Dalthu’s grip around his waist tightened. "Where do you think you're going?" the orc growled, his eyes darkening.

 

Samson tried to answer, but his tongue felt like it had turned to stone. He slipped backward, his body heavy and sluggish. Dalthu caught him before he could fall, his arms wrapping tightly around Samson's waist.

 

What . . . is this feeling . . .

 

It was like he was floating. Samson was aware of Dalthu's rough tongue licking across his ear, trailing a moist path to his neck. "W–what's happening?"

 

"It's fine," Dalthu whispered softly into Samson's ear, his hands roaming across his lower back. "It's fine.”

 

Samson looked up. Dalthu’s eyes were black.

 

Oh, shit.

 

A wave of panic washed over him as Dalthu's hands began to roam over his body. Samson tried to pull away, but the orc's grip was too strong.

 

"Dalthu, wait," he said, his voice trembling. “Something’s wrong.”

 

“I can't.” He sounded in pain. The orc's voice was so strangled that Samson barely recognized it. “I can't stop."

 

What was in that wine?! 

 

Before he could ask, Dalthu's lips were on his once again. 

 

“Mmph—wait . . .”

 

“Don’t you want me to put it in here?” Dalthu slipped his hands underneath Samson's tunic and traced a line up between his thighs.

 

Samson grabbed Dalthu's arms, trying to stop him, but the orc easily pushed his hands away.

 

“Dalthu, wait,” Samson pleaded, his voice cracking.

 

Dalthu didn't stop. He tore Samson’s tunic off and pushed him to the ground face-down, trapping Samson underneath his muscular body. Samson could feel the orc’s excitement against his back. Samson tried to squirm out from under him, but Dalthu's rough fingers were already wrapped around his cock and gently pulling at it.

 

“See? Your body is responding.”

 

Oh gods . . .

 

Samson’s alarm was quickly replaced by arousal, and, as Dalthu pressed himself against him, Samson’s body began to tremble. He covered his mouth with his hands, trying to muffle the moans. Nothing had ever felt this good before.

 

“Dalthu, please.”

 

The orc leaned down, his lips brushing against Samson's ear. “Tell me you want this.”

 

“I don't know—”

 

“Tell me,” Dalthu begged.

 

Samson swallowed. 

 

Our last night . . .

 

“Yes,” he finally whispered. “I want this.”

 

That was all the orc needed to hear. One hand pulled his loincloth off while the other arm reached underneath the cot and pulled out a small bottle. He poured the entire contents over his shaft, covering it in slick. The orc rubbed his wet dick up Samson’s thighs, sliding it between his cheeks.

 

“Can you feel that? Can you feel how big my cock is?” 

 

Samson shuddered. He’d forgotten how large the orc warrior was. His asshole, now slippery, was being spread wider and wider by the crown of Dalthu’s prick.

 

“Take a deep breath, little tiger,” Dalthu rumbled above him as he pushed against Samson’s tiny hole. 

 

Samson gasped and clawed at the ground. “I can’t—it’s too big!”

 

It’s going to break me in two!

 

Dalthu lowered himself over Samson’s body. He bared his teeth and growled into Samson’s ear, “Here it comes.”

 

The orc grabbed Samson’s waist, and with one thrust, plunged past his resistance. Samson cried out as Dalthu’s monstrous dick burrowed into him.

 

He’s . . . in too deep! So hard and big and so deep inside of me . . .

 

“I’ve waited so long,” Dalthu grabbed Samson by the hair, pulling his head back as a scream of pleasure tore out of him. “So get used to this, little tiger, because now I am going to mount you every chance I get.”

 

Samson’s stomach cramped as his insides were forced open wider than they’d ever been. He could feel every bump and vein on the orc’s massive prick as it pushed through his sphincter, pumping into his body.

 

Dalthu punched his cock into Samson’s hole in short, rapid thrusts. The orc’s stomach slapped noisily against Samson’s ass cheeks and his balls slapped against his thighs. Leaning back, Dalthu spanked Samson’s round, ripe bottom and Samson let out a shameful howl of pleasure.

 

“Do you like that?” Dalthu asked, delivering another smack. “Hm? You know, little tiger, when I come, it is going straight into your womb.”

 

“N–no . . . outside . . .”

 

“You’re saying no,” Dalthu’s voice strained, “but you’re holding on too tight for me to pull out. It’s like you’re trying to milk my cock.”

 

Dalthu was right. Samson’s muscles were clamped around the orc’s shaft and his hips were bucking against Dalthu’s pelvis. He could feel the pulse of the orc warrior’s prick delightfully stirring his insides. It felt amazing. Samson made a sound of pure joy.

 

“Are you getting used to having my cock up your ass, little tiger?” Dalthu pushed down on Samson’s back, forcing his butt to pop up into the air. The orc whistled in appreciation. “That’s a good boy. Arch your pretty, pink ass up so I can go deeper.”

 

Samson tried to catch his breath, but could only take ragged gasps. Pleasure crawled up his spine and his asshole danced around the orc’s thick member as Dalthu pushed in as deep as he could go.

 

Samson screamed. “Right there . . . ngh . . . come now . . . please . . .haah.”

 

“No, little tiger. You have to ask nicely. Say, ‘Please come in me from behind, like a dog.’”

 

“. . . from behind . . . please . . . ah!”

 

“Say it right, pet.”

 

“P–please . . . come in . . . me . . . please . . . “

 

Dalthu grabbed Samson’s hips and held them tight as he increased his pace. “I want you to come,” he growled. “With my cock deep in your guts, I want you to come for me.”

 

Dalthu . . . is in my deepest and most private place.

 

Samson trembled uncontrollably as Dalthu's body pulled him closer, the sensation of pleasure building inside him like an unstoppable force. His stomach tightened and coiled around a powerful wave of energy that surged through his veins until he was overwhelmed by the intensity of their climax, a magical feeling that threatened to consume him completely. His eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he surrendered to the power of this moment, smiling deliriously as Dalthu roared above him.

 

He . . . he’s coming inside me . . .

 

Samson’s hole expanded around Dalthu’s shaft as every inch of his insides was coated in the orc’s hot seed. Dalthu’s come filled him up so much that it felt like it was coursing into every cell in his body, and he felt himself growing fuller, as if he’d eaten a large meal. 

 

Samson relaxed his legs. Dalthu’s member was still inside him, but there was so much come that he could feel it spilling out of him. But Samson wasn’t ready to be done. Rachelle’s gift was still working through him. He wanted. Needed.

 

“Do you want me to take it out?”

 

N–no, don’t . . . Please . . .

 

Samson twisted to look back at Dalthu. “Don’t ever stop.” 

 

His orcish mate grinned wickedly. “Your wish is my command,” he growled.

 

As they fucked themselves into oblivion, a small thought occurred to Samson: There’s no going back . . . 

 

***

 

Samson was blind. Hands outstretched, he felt his way along the rock walls of a cave. Even though he couldn’t see, Samson knew where he was going, and, as he turned a corner, he finally arrived at his destination: a wide cavern.

 

The cavern was lit by a ring of braziers, and, in the center, sitting on an ornate dais, was a giantess. Guarded in her arms, a bear cub slept peacefully. Its snores echoed off the rock all around them. 

 

Samson knelt before them and the bear cub awoke. Its eyes were a shocking blue. The cub cooed at Samson, who reached out to touch the small bear, but it was too far away. The giant woman finally moved, lifting the bear cub down onto Samson’s lap.

 

Samson felt an indescribable joy wash over him. He wrapped his body protectively around the bear and pushed his face into the cub’s black fur. 

 

It smells like the deep woods. Of smoke . . . pine and smoke . . . it smells like—

 

Samson awoke with a start. Daylight was already streaming in through the windows. He’d overslept.

 

Psh. Passed out is more like it. 

 

His head was aching from the wine and his body was aching from . . . well, other things. An acrid smell in the air caught him and he coughed as he sat up in bed. Dalthu was already on his feet and slammed out of the hut. 

 

“Wait, where—”

 

Then he heard it. The sound of swords, the smell of fire, and the screams.

 

They were under attack!

 

To be continued . . .