4 comments/ 13916 views/ 15 favorites Power Game: Orc vs Elf By: justtheone Power Game: Orc vs Elf A duel of endurance ... Extended a bit in response to crit ... I'm writing this after being driven fairly mad by a silly Flash game, a kinky WOW parody that was much more difficult than I wanted it to be, and I wasted an embarrassing amount of time on it. In the end I had to cheat to get to see the good stuff. And as is usually the case with this sort of thing, the payoff wasn't as satisfying as I hoped. Wasn't bad but could have been quite a bit better. Especially 'cause they didn't make any noise. That's a thing for me—gotta hear some outcry. Oh well. This ain't really a proper WOW story, just vaguely WOWish in a self-indulgent world of my own. I confess I have little knowledge of the game's universe, and less respect. Forgive my presumption, but orcs are not from folklore. They were Tolkein's invention, and work best as symbols of dehumanizing militarism. Real hard to buy as believable race. Okay, sure—he extrapolated them from goblins, which do come from fable, figures of mischief. Orcs ain't them. It's why the guy came up with a new name. Other grubby fantasy franchises have no friggin' bizzzznatch including orcs in their shit without shoveling a good share of their profits across to Tolkein's estate, which they don't. If they wanted to come up with their own take on a similar concept, fair enough—they should have given the damn things another name. Like Jordan did in his series—shamefully derivative as he always was, at least he did that right. Anyhow, at this point it's a lost battle, and the forces of good didn't triumph over greedy evil. Same exact thing happened to Romero's zombies. Ripped off so much all over the place they're fair game for everybody nowadays. Shouldn't be, but they are. End of rant. 1. "You are very beautiful, she-elf," he said. "You are one very beautiful she-elf." "I thank you, but I fear I cannot return the compliment," she replied. He laughed. "No doubt you think me very hideous. Very monstrous." "I shall not deny it, fiend." "I am no fiend. I am no demon. I am only a simple, ordinary, plain-spoken orc." "The sight of you sickens my stomach." "Well, there's no help for that. If I were in fact some manner of devil, it would be within my power to alter my appearance. But alas, orcs have no such talents. We've little knack for enchantment. Not like you elves. Magic can only do so much, though. You killed five of my comrades, but you failed to kill me." "I intend to rectify that, at my first opportunity." "Until that moment arrives, if it ever does, perhaps you might take some small comfort in the recognition of how my loathsome ugliness serves to very much heighten the wonder and radiance of your sleek form and dainty figure, simply by the contrast between us." "I care not for that. And your manner of speech is frankly ridiculous." "A pity you find it so." "Be warned, orc. I shall punish you for subjecting me to this mockery. Release me now, and I will spare your life. If not, you shall forfeit it. This I swear." "Your spirit is admirable. But how am I to fear you? In your present condition, your threat appears ... How shall I put it? Empty. And rather childish." The orc had bound her to a stone wall. Only a ragged, narrow fragment of some nameless, long fallen castle, this chunk of wall stood alone in the dark forest like a rotting tooth, and was not much larger than the captive herself, yet such as remained was sturdy enough for his purpose. He'd looped the rope across its top and pulled it taut, to stretch her arms over her head and force her to her tiptoes. She was tied with her back to him, facing the stone and pressed to its gritty surface, but met his gaze with blistering defiance over her right shoulder. Despite the fact he had torn off all her armor and every scrap of clothing, there was no fear in her eyes, nor shame—only rage. She was magnificent. A delicious prize, to be savored. "Do not be fooled by appearances, foul brute," she proclaimed, "I am yet protected by strong and deadly enchantments." "Indeed? You fascinate me. Yet also I confess myself somewhat baffled. How strong or deadly can such enchantments be, if they have already allowed me to render you captive? And then furthermore, as I proceeded to do, to render you entirely naked ... Please clarify." "I shall, monster. The enchantments are inscribed upon my flesh itself. Intended as a last resort, for a dire situation of this very nature. They are solely defensive, by design. But efficacious, I promise you. Should you attempt to take further liberties with my person—should you try to abuse or molest my body, as I believe is your intention, your actions will immediately activate the spells. You will then be subjected to great pain, for so long as you continue to dare touching me. Terrible shall be your agony. The spell will draw upon your own strength, to fuel itself. If you persist, it will soon drain you of all force, and turn your own life-energy against you until you are slain. Heed my warning, orc. Set me loose, or this will be your last day upon this world." "I find your words only further enflame my excitement, she-elf." "Then you are a fool, as well as a villain." "It shall be a contest between us. A trial of will and of endurance. Your physique against my own. Orcs have a high tolerance for pain, you know. In fact, many of us enjoy it, a little. Sometimes more than a little. Even at its worst. Because it goads us forward. It summons our rage, and that further fuels our courage and our stubbornness. We orcs accomplish our greatest deeds, with the aid of agony and the rage it brings us." "You are courting death." "No, I am courting you, she-elf. In the orcish manner. Our ways are rough and ungentlemanly, I realize. But I shan't apologize for it. We are as we were made. You would slay me without the slightest qualm if you were capable of it. But you are not. You could not before, with your sword. Your spells will fail the same." "I am more capable than you imagine. I have pledged myself to the service of light and compassion, yet as in all creatures, there is darkness within me. You have awoken it now. You bested me once, but not a second time. You will discover that soon if you attempt to ravage me." "I shall do more than attempt it, I promise you. I am going to possess you, she-elf. To put it plain, I am going to fuck you. I am going to fuck you as you've never been fucked before." "No! Never! I shall not permit it!" "What's more, I make you a solemn promise. I'm going to take my time with this, when I penetrate you, and do it very slow and very careful. I shall make a very thorough job of it. I shall see to it that you are enjoying this experience, before its conclusion." "Never. You're disgusting. Never." "You're going to be surprised, elf. I'm going to surprise you. I'm going to change the way you look at orcs, after today. I'm going to change the way you look at yourself." "No chance. Never in a thousand years. A vile beast like you—the idea is laughable. Too absurd even to appall me." "I shall prove you wrong, or perish in the attempt. I'm not just going to take your beautiful body—that would be too easy. I'm going to take absolute control of it. I'm going to break down your resistance, step by step, and force you to climax for me." "Only in your fevered dreams and gibbering delusions, orc. My defensive magic will outlast you. I do not fear your boasts, for I know I have no need to. Soon you're going to see that for yourself. You're never even going to manage to penetrate any orifice of my body, let alone make me feel the slightest twinge of pleasure—except, I admit, for the girlish glee I'll take in seeing you defeated, when you topple dead to the ground. You may as well shove that grotesque green phallus of yours into a hornet's nest, or better yet, a blazing bonfire. Either course of action would bring you greater satisfaction than trying to shove that appendage anywhere nearer to my skin. Count on it." "Count on this. This grotesque green phallus of mine is going inside your pretty pink cunt. It's going to tunnel in there as deep as it can reach—which will be very, very deep indeed. I'm going put it in your arse, as well. And tunnel through that passage just as deep." "Try it. See what happens to you. You're the one that's going to be surprised, not I. You're the one that's going to have to change the way you look at elves, and at yourself. Not for very long, though. Because you'll die. If you're too stupid an animal not to give up and let me free." "I will let you free, if I give up. If your magic's as good as you think it is, and it undoes me. Then I will. But it shan't and I won't. So I'm not afraid to make the promise." "Fine then. I'll make you a promise, in return. Just to prove I can match the bravado of any arrogant orc berserker like you. Because my confidence is unshakeable. And my pride. If you should manage to subdue my defenses, and bring me to climax like you think you can, then I'll kneel to you of my own free will, in a pledge of fealty to you. And in proof of that pledge, I shall finish you off ... with my mouth." "I could force you to suck this, if I chose to. Look at it. Your tiny elf teeth couldn't hurt me, when I'm hard as I am right now." "But you wouldn't have to, is the point. And it wouldn't mean the same thing at all, would it?" "No, it wouldn't." "It is a question of significance." "You are right, I grant it." "And of technique. You would find it a very different experience, if I took your ghastly tool willingly between my lips, than if you forced it there. But of course an orc would likely have no knowledge of such a difference, living as you do. No female of any race in this whole world has ever coupled with you by choice—is that not so?" "You're teasing me now. But your barb strikes home—well shot. You cannot shame an orc, however. Not like that, at least." "No, I wouldn't imagine I could. But it will shame you when you lose to me." "Your shame will be greater, I believe. You will handle your defeat much less gracefully than I would handle mine, were it to happen." "It matters not, for I'll never experience that defeat. Only yours—and that I will thoroughly enjoy. Such a just and well-earned conclusion might almost make the rest of this tedious harassment worthwhile." "Well spoken. Now then. We've established the terms of our combat. Let the battle commence." "You will lose, orc. Soon I will win and go free. You will lose and be emasculated." "It is you that will surrender, beautiful she- elf. And you will learn respect for me, and for this great green phallus which now you find so foul—but that shall change. Soon you shall scream for me, and beg—but not in agony. Not from hurt. No, instead you shall be crying out simply in expression of absolute awe for my prowess, as a lover and a conqueror. You will kneel in the end, to worship me." "Never! I despise you and defy you! And my magic will utterly destroy you!" "Let us test it together and see." 2. Orcs are not natural beings, in most worlds. They are an entirely artificial race. And this is the reason they are so horrible and hateful and bloodthirsty. It is because they were manufactured that way. And it was no accident. They are just living weapons—but as disposable as they are destructive. They were designed to be terrifying monsters and nothing else at all. Orcs as a race have very little proper culture of their own. If you're one of the smarter ones, the officer class, or perhaps one of their weapons makers, you will eventually recognize how limited and shabby your existence is, and that will fill you with self-loathing and insatiable murderous rage. But then again, smart or not, almost everything makes an orc feel that way. Such rage is their principal drive. More than hunger, greed, or lust. The world hates them; they hate the world. Orcs recognize their own hideousness, and it torments them. They have no orcish concept of beauty. Orc females are few, and most of them are built the same as the males. And the males aren't much attracted to them. In general they find them as repulsive as the other races do. That isn't true for most of the other monsters, like trolls or ogres—creatures that men and elves consider dreadful and disgustingly ugly. A female troll is still beautiful to a male troll, and a female ogre is beautiful to a male ogre ... Yet orcs, instead, retain the same ideal of beauty as their bitterest enemies—the elves they used to be. They disgust themselves as much as they disgust elves and men, or perhaps more so. And they admire their enemies, and envy them—and lust for them. An orc would always choose to fuck an elf or a human female, over another orc. They were fashioned to feel that way—to drive them mad. What exquisite, brilliant, obscene, unforgivable cruelty. One can never make a lasting peace with orcs, because orcs can never make peace with themselves. Their own form. Their own feelings. They were made for nothing but war and atrocity. War is the only large thing they can do well, as a people. Atrocity is all they ever aspire to. The only outlet for their irrevocably corrupted passions. The elf priestess had lost a cousin once to the ravages of orcs ... The famed warrior princess Meyone, who at the time had been the her dearest friend. Orcs had carried the princess off with black magic and enslaved her, and though Meyone had eventually managed to escape them, at least according to rumor, she had never returned home, and wherever she had chosen to take herself instead, she never allowed any of her kin to locate her. It was believed the princess was too traumatized by her absolute dishonor. Irredeemably ashamed not only of everything that had been done to her, but the things she must have been made to do herself, in order to survive. A shocking tragedy. Worse still, the elders of their family actually approved of the exile the princess had chosen for herself. In order to preserve the dignity of the realm. Yet the priestess had another kinswoman, a great aunt, who was a powerful witch, many centuries old. And it was said she herself used to keep several orcs as personal pleasure slaves. A terrible scandal, of course, if it was true, but the witch cared nothing for others' opinions. Occasionally she would claim the practice was secretly very widespread among the elvish elite. "Orcs are quite wonderful for fucking, when properly trained. You have to know how to handle them. But once you master the method, they make far more vigorous and gratifying sex servants than any of the other races, in almost every case. It's the only thing the wretched creations are good for. Besides killing people, obviously. Surely my way is putting them to better use? Seems perfectly sensible to me." Her great aunt might only have been joking, when she spoke like that. Most others chose to take her words that way, when the old woman made such statements, or they pretended to. The priestess herself had never been able to entirely decide. And of course she couldn't help but wonder from time to time what it must be like to have a well-disciplined orc pleasure slave of one's very own, if such a thing was possible and not only a decadent fantasy. Just as she had also wondered about the details of Princess Meyone's experiences ... and how she herself would have held up in the princess's place. How far would she have been willing to go, to survive? Would she have succumbed to madness or despair? Would she have taken her own life? Many elves believed that was the wisest course, and the noblest, were you to become a captive of orcs. Embracing a clean death. No more was it matter of secret speculation. A time of testing had come upon her. A time of decision. Today in the early morning in these woods she had become separated from her party when a strange smelly fog enveloped them. Perhaps it had been an enchantment, perhaps only bad weather—ill luck. She had no idea how far away her friends had got. She had searched for them for hours, increasingly anxious. Then without warning she was attacked from all sides by half a dozen howling orcs. And not the runty goblin kind but massive muscular specimens, nearly twice her height. She'd acquitted herself very well, considering she was alone. Slew all the monsters but one. Then the blade of her magic sword had shattered beneath that last one's club. Unfortunate. The one she had failed to kill happened to be the largest of the group, but also the least armored. In fact the orc wore no armor at all, nor anything else. A berserker. Should have been the easiest to kill; she'd encountered the type before. Trusting to their dark gods to infuse them with power and make them invincible. It didn't work very well. They were ridiculous. You'd think the ghastly idiots might begin to know better eventually, yet whenever berserkers perished, it was put down to a failure of faith. The orcs' never thought to blame their gods, or consider that they might not even exist. It was almost amusing that a crazed foolish specimen such as this had ended up succeeding where all his better-protected, more sensible brethren failed. A magnificent absurdity. She had not resisted after that, when the berserker stripped her. Knowing she hadn't the strength to stop him, and also quite confident in the protection of her skin spell. She was even looking forward to its activation. What a fine surprise the orc would get, when he tried to force himself upon her. She was a little taken aback by his thoroughness, however. She thought in his eagerness he would only rip open her tunic to expose her breasts and pull her tights down out of his way to get at her sacred vale, but he took the time to pull off absolutely everything she'd been wearing, even her sandals. He wanted her as naked as he was. Then she became further aggravated when he had bound her wrists and strung her up across this remnant of a wall ... Another unexpected and unnecessary move. She had thought the brute would just shove her to the ground immediately to try to have his sport, and then that would bring this whole sorry affair to a rapid conclusion. Instead he'd tied her like this. She'd never been bound before, by anyone, to any degree. No one had ever made her prisoner before today. It was a strangely dizzying sensation. Especially in a state of nakedness ... To find herself stretched and immobilized. To pull against the ropes with all her might, and then have her efforts do absolutely no good at all. And to feel them pull back against her, entirely unyielding. It was almost funny, again, except the pose was painful, in itself, stretched up on her tiptoes against the rough jutting stones, cruelly scraping her unprotected flesh, and there was a further concern. How was she going to get loose, after her skin-spell killed the fellow? It wouldn't be easy. What if she couldn't think of a way to manage it? She imagined herself dying of exposure or starvation ... or what if hungry animals discovered her like this? The stink of the orc's corpse would draw them ... and her skin-spell would do her little good against wolves or a bear. Their particular attentions wouldn't trigger the enchantment. It was a serious dilemma. But now the orc was taking her mind off it. First things first, after all. Now wasn't the time to worry about the matter of the ropes, because the other matter of the orc himself must still be settled. She wasn't afraid. Honestly, she felt no doubt or anxiety, only anger, righteousness and fierce determination. And a great burning thirst for retribution. She couldn't wait to hear the orc scream, and to see the agony on his face when he realized he was beaten, and he was going to perish ... and the shame, even better. Best of all! Power Game: Orc vs Elf It wouldn't take long and it was going to be glorious. 3. And then he surprised her again, when he began—he startled her, with his approach. It wasn't what she expected. He didn't start doing what she'd braced herself for. The orc didn't grab her breasts. She'd been sure that would be his first move. That he'd go right for her nipples and pinch them and twist them. In a funny way, for a moment she was almost insulted that he ignored them. Didn't he like her breasts? What was wrong with them? Nothing at all, was the answer. Perhaps it was only the fact they were pressed against the wall, since she was tied this way. Not hanging loose but trapped out of sight, squished to the stone. He could still have dug his hands around in there and got at them without too much difficulty, if he'd wanted to. But the orc didn't bother. So then she thought he would start prodding at her vale right away, or her arse. Try jamming himself into one or the other holes. If he had, he would have got what was coming to him, in an instant. He was too clever for that, and too careful. Perhaps she shouldn't have warned him. Shouldn't have told him anything about her skin spell. The more she thought it over, the more she realized how damned utterly foolish that had been. Why had she done it? Why had she felt compelled to? Pride, mainly. Perhaps it had been an obligation of honor. Perhaps mere stupidity. She couldn't put up with how smug he'd been, when he started to speak to her. To make a mockery of her. Shouldn't have allowed his taunts and teasing to get to her as bad as they had. If she'd only kept quiet a few more moments, he would already be dead ... But then again, he would have died in ignorance and confusion, and she didn't want it to happen that way. It would have soured her victory. She wanted the brute to understand exactly how she'd bested him, after he believed he'd rendered her powerless. Now instead of poking or pinching or petting any part of her, he chose instead to spank her, and using his erection to do it, rather than his palm. Except the horrible green phallus was so large and thick, being stuck on the buttocks by it was more like being flogged than being spanked. It was like he was beating her bottom with a wooden club. There was a bit of flex to the shaft, but very little. She yelped, the first time. More in shock than in pain. And in fact the pain took another moment to flare. When it did, it made her gasp. She grit her teeth, to keep herself from crying out again when the next strike hit. But that didn't work for long. At the fourth or fifth hit, another yelp escaped her lips. And then a groan. It was the second yelp itself that brought on that groan, coupled with an answering chuckle from the vile orc—it was the humiliation of how pathetic and desperate she had sounded. She pressed her lips together as tight as she could, with a fresh resolution to suppress all further vocalization, no matter the cost. But what if she couldn't manage it? What if she wasn't strong enough? It didn't seem likely. "Huhh! Hgghh!" The blows hurt too much. This was so much harder to put up with than she'd anticipated. And it was a new pain for her. A new kind of pain, far more distressing than any other injury she could remember. Because it was so demeaning and humiliating. It made her feel so small and weak and dirty. This was not something she'd ever experienced before. Not even as a child, had the elven priestess ever suffered a spanking. Never in her worst nightmares could she have predicted she would be spanked as an adult—or whipped, to be more accurate. Her naked bottom whipped by a massive orc's erection. It was unimaginable, but it was happening! An unspeakable disgrace. She'd been stung by insects, upon occasion—the physical sensation was closest to that. But amplified. And no insect had ever stung her there, on her bottom. The blows from his phallus were like a hundred wasps stinging her arse all at once. One cheek or the other, back and forth. The orc kept alternating. It was dreadful. Unbearable. Yet she had no choice but to endure it. What if she couldn't? She knew she couldn't! But she must! What of her skin spell? It had activated, but not at its full capacity. Since so far he never directly attacked the vulnerable passages the magic was conjured to defend. Each time his weapon struck her flesh, the impact triggered a discharge of energy. With a thunderclap, brilliant pink flashes of lightning burst out from her spine, crackling through the air between her body and the orc's. The jagged bolts of the magic lashed and clawed across his torso and his face, while others targeted his weapon. They pulsed straight into the tip of his phallus and then surged through its shaft into his balls and belly. Each blast made the orc grunt and stagger, but that was all. He didn't stop whipping her. He didn't stop grinning as he did it. Her magic would not last indefinitely. Eventually the spell would burn out. Surely the orc's strength had its own limit. Which of them would reach it first? There was no way to predict. Yet her confidence began to waver. Her spell was hurting the orc, but not like his blows were hurting her. And he felt no disgrace or frustration yet in what the spell was doing to him, nor in everything it was keeping him from doing. The spell was failing to anger him and make him lose his patience and control. He only grunted and jerked, each time he took another shock, yet maintained his steady methodical rhythm and never tried to progress things further, while at this point she in turn could not stop shuddering even in the pauses between strikes, and each hit forced another wild yell or, worse, a pitiful whimper from her. It was indisputable, she was suffering much more than he was, which meant she would be weakening faster as well. For the first time since she was captured, she began to contemplate the possibility of failure. The orc might outlast her spell. And if he did, she had promised to submit herself to him. To perform for his pleasure. She had vowed to do it. How could she have made that vow? Well, it had been easy. She never expected to have to honor it. She'd been absolutely certain. No longer. And then finally he did something else, something new. Again, it was a small thing. Too minor to further enflame the skin-spell. He went for her pointed ears. One of them, the left. Its projecting tip. Of course like every elf she was extremely sensitive there. He put his tongue on it. Only the very end. The tip of his tongue to the tip of her ear. Where it made tiny tight circles, applied there with the lightest possible pressure. A caress, was what it was. He did not slurp and slobber all over her ear like a dog—or the one human male partner she had ventured to bed with, as an experiment (and a ghastly failure). Nor did he blow his hot stinking breath into her ear, as the idiotic human had, as if that would excite her instead of irritate. The orc only nudged and teased it. Gentle and warm upon the point as a summer breeze. An exquisite sensation. If one dared to imagine an elf's body as a musical instrument, her ears would be its strings. If not perhaps her only strings, those would be the pair that produced her highest, keenest notes. She didn't only feel the shattering shivers in her ear alone—she felt them everywhere. All down her neck and spine, her breasts and belly, her swollen nipples and equally swollen pearl ... Clear down to her straining toes, she felt them. It was horrifying. She almost screamed. Except she couldn't. The feelings had hit her so powerfully, they'd constricted her throat. Rendered her voiceless, for the moment. And now to feel these irresistible shivers and surges at the exact same time as the cruel impacts of the spanking ... the contrast was maddening. Quite clever of the orc. Her body didn't understand anymore what it was feeling. A desperate frenzy of bafflement and infuriation. The pleasure had somehow blended with and intensified her pain, as the pain intensified the unwelcome, inappropriate pleasure. While this angry confusion, above all else, served in turn to intensify her sense of helplessness, and self-conscious shame, and her stark terror. Then she tried to kick backward at him. To catch his balls from beneath with her heel. Perhaps brute physical force could accomplish what her magic was supposed to do, and wasn't. Perhaps indeed that simple donkey kick might have worked, if the blow had connected. But it did not. He was ready for her. He caught her foot, by the ankle, and then held her leg suspended like that, bent backward at the knee, with her foot upside down. And he punished it, for trying to hurt him. But he didn't punish it with pain. Instead he was subtler. He chose only to tickle the sole of her foot with the edge of his jutting thumbnail. She could not jerk the foot from his clutches, no matter how hard she tugged and twisted. She could only clench her toes and endure this new torment until he tired of the game. Except he showed no sign of tiring, and it was unendurable. Far worse than the spanking. And like when he licked her ear, it didn't trigger any flash of her skin spell. Not the smallest burst. She hadn't fashioned it with anything like this in mind. Never in a thousand years would she have guessed a potential ravisher would decide to tickle her foot. Not when there were so many other things he'd want to subject her body to ... This made her feel very foolish and naïve. There was much, much more to the whimsical possibilities of sexual play, whether foul or fair, than she'd ever allowed herself to consider. "Stop that! Stop! Please stop!" She couldn't believe she'd just said that. She'd just allowed the worst possible word to pass her lips. "Please!" He relented, though, when she said it. In place of his thumbnail, now he rubbed his phallus over her foot. That kind of rubbing didn't tickle, or hurt either, though he pressed it hard. Mashing the head of it along the arch, and then against her toes. Making her grip it with them and squeeze it. She could feel sticky goo squirting thick from the head between her toes. Oh! Oh! The stuff was scorching hot ... Had he just climaxed? Goddess of the Skies, an orc had just pleasured himself upon the bottom of her bare foot. But not to completion, it seemed. His phallus hadn't dwindled. It stood as tall and stiff as before. Only shinier now, from its spill. "I like that," he announced, with a contented sigh, "Your pretty little toes feel nice rubbing me there. Yes they do." "You're disgusting! You're ridiculous!" "Yes," he admitted, "No doubt I am." Even if she defeated him now, he'd already taken satisfaction from her. Exactly the pleasure she'd determined to deny him. He had fucked her foot. Only her foot, it was true, but he had fucked it and climaxed on it. And he'd also got her to plead with him. To beg him to stop. Killing him wouldn't take those moments away from him. Moments of victory and dominance. Did that mean the duel should end, for she was already beaten? Was it stupidity to pretend otherwise? No! She mustn't let herself think these kinds of thoughts. But she had, and now that she had, how could she stop thinking them, now that they'd appeared? She couldn't, of course. The only answer was there was no answer. Not now. "Let's try the other one," he said, "shall we?" Releasing her foot so he could lift the other in its place and massage himself upon it in the exact same ghastly fashion. "How's that feel? How do you like that?" "You are horrid," she told him. But was she missing an opportunity here? As long as he was doing that, he wasn't spanking her or tickling her. And if he brought himself off again, it must be to her advantage. Two climaxes in a row would have to be a significant drain on his potency, wouldn't they? Fucking her other foot lessened the likelihood of him fucking her properly. So she grit her teeth and when she felt the head shift against her toes, she clenched and gripped upon him without him having to make her this time, and then made her toes flex over and over, as fast as she could. "Very good," he said, "Good girl." "Can't resist it, can you? You're going to go off again, I can tell. I can feel it. You'll regret it, later on." "You hope to drain me dry like this? An interesting change of strategy. I salute the effort, but unfortunately for you, you underestimate the capacities of an aroused orc. Perhaps if you were less beautiful and spirited, I would not maintain my ardor. I might grow bored. But I do not believe you could ever bore me, she-elf, nor exhaust my zeal." The bastard dared to flatter her again! "Villain! You are a living obscenity!" "And you are making me spurt again," he answered, as he drenched and defiled the bottom of her foot with reeking white slime, just as he'd done to the other. This time, when the outgushing concluded, the phallus did hang limp. Her plan had worked! The orc was not so virile as he thought himself. But then the orc went back to licking her ear, on the opposite side now ... and then spanking her more. Again and again, harder and harder. And within three strokes, his loose floppy shaft had stiffened anew as he hammered it upon her bottom. The lightning flashes of her skin-spell seemed to contribute to its renewal. The phallus fed on the magic that was meant to cripple it. What wicked injustice! Was it her imagination, or had it become larger than it was originally? No, it couldn't be! She was just panicking. Now, with a gleeful roar as he continued, he was no longer alternating sides evenly, back there. He'd concentrate on one cheek for a few strikes, or several, then switch just as she was getting used to them on that side, or beginning to, or imagined she was. Because it wasn't something you could ever get used to, was it? Perhaps in time her buttocks would finally go completely numb. But if they would, they hadn't yet, and still showed not the faintest indication of that starting to happen. Instead they only grew more and more sensitive. More and more agonized. Also, feeling the full length of him over and over, the weight and restored rigidity against her flesh, each time it struck—the size of it, the girth of it, the unyielding power of it, indomitable despite the lightning it continued to absorb ... She could not help but be impressed, in spite of herself, by its stubborn endurance, compared to her own. (Her own lack of endurance, rather.) Nor could she help but feel frightened of those qualities. Feeling its merciless strokes again and again upon her outer surface, it begged the question—what would such strokes feel like within her, instead, should he triumph? Should she allow him to ... How much would it hurt her, to be penetrated? And then to be fucked ... He'd fucked her toes and spurted himself on them ... He had said he would take her arse as well as her sacred vale. Would it only cause her pain inside, in both those passages, or would there be other sensations? She could not help thinking back to the claims of her aunt ... If she should surrender to the weapon's stimulation ... What would it be like? How bad would it be? What if it wasn't bad at all? What if it was like his tongue upon her ear? What if somehow it turned out even better than that? These thoughts, of course, were her ultimate undoing. She was undermined by her own imagination. Her own perverse curiosity. It is a curiosity shared by most females, confronted by an enflamed phallus. Especially one as grotesque and oversized as the orc's. It is an organ of sexual stimulation. He'd already demonstrated a measure of prowess with another instrument of pleasure, his cunning tongue. Thus, would this other mighty organ do what it was shaped for? Could he wield it with equal skill? Was the thing itself as potent as it appeared, or only a pretender? A blunt selfish instrument of nothing but savage violence. Could her passages accommodate a thing like that, and master it, in turn? Or would it master her instead? And if it could, if it did, how would that be? How would that feel? She could scarcely imagine it. To be mastered ... It was terrifying, but also a fascinating idea. How would she handle such an experience? Would she lose her mind? Would it destroy her spirit or delight her? Or both those things at once? A great contradictory transcendence. She wanted to know ... These dubious, dangerous questions must be answered, now that they'd been awakened inside her mind, and inside her belly, and below. She wanted to put herself—and him—and his cock—to the fullest possible ultimate test. But she mustn't! Of course she mustn't! Never! She'd made a solemn unbreakable vow, both to herself and to him. She had promised to defeat this creature and to slay him! She must see it through! She must hold fast! She must restore her honor! She must not break! Yet she was already breaking. She had weakened too much, both in flesh and in spirit ... Her fierce warrior resolution caved in and dissolved under this new treacherous onslaught from within her being, like a wicked stormsurge of all her basest darkest animalistic urges. They flooded her entire body and her soul, swift churning currents sweeping aside her every noble instinct, and all commitments to duty and to pride ... the whole of her rational will. All her strength and resistance faded now. Evaporated, like wisps of steam. Her body was steaming, indeed. Rivers of sweat streamed down her skin, and she could feel her sacred vale moistening in turn, until it was overflowing upon the petals of her passage. A spasming sensation, as if they were both tightening and loosening themselves somehow in the same moment ... While further inside, she was beginning to itch in her deepest, warmest depths. Now there were tingles all through the channel, as it shivered and clenched upon itself, awakened to its emptiness. The eye of her sex—the precious pearl—it had unhooded itself. Swelling and stretching, straining—becoming almost as enflamed and eager as the shaft of the orc. That part of her wanted to feel the shaft press upon it, with all his strength. It wanted to press itself back upon him, with all of hers. Her legs were trembling. No, all of her was trembling. She found she couldn't catch her breath. She could hear herself gasping. Panting like a dog, in fact, with her tongue hanging out. As bad as that. She was aroused. The orc had succeeded in arousing her. Though she had done it to herself more than he had. Now that it had happened, she couldn't hide it. The orc could feel her heat beneath him, and he could feel it quickening, and now he could feel her fluid too ... for it was trickling out of her thick enough to coat the head of his weapon when he rubbed against her petals and pushed them wide. And then wider. Yes, at long last he was pushing there. The critical spot. There was a last crackle of her magic, to answer that touch—but the jolt was tiny, that time. Pathetic. Not nearly strong enough anymore to make him jerk away. He laughed and pressed himself further. Another flash, but now no accompanying crackle or jolt. Only a popping sound. She felt her shields shatter and fizzle away into nothing, every layer. Her magic had given out on her. Her skin-spell had failed. She was undone. Now she felt truly naked. Now she knew she truly was. Her final defenses had been breached, and now her body would be. "Oh no," she whimpered, "Oh no. Please no." "You are bested, she-elf," pronounced the orc, "You are beaten." "No. No. Oh no. No!" Her denials were empty and useless, of course. She could say it a thousand times, and it changed nothing. "You are mine," said the orc. And then his victorious cock pressed further forward, and began to penetrate her. Stretching her passage wider than it had ever been opened before. But even then he was not brutal with her, as she expected. He did it like he said he would when this began. He was firm and he was merciless and inexorable, but not brutal. He pushed himself in very, very slowly and very, very carefully, and only the head of it. Still, it was enough to make her cry out again. More than enough. Power Game: Orc vs Elf She could not prevent it. She could not take it back. She tried her best to hold her feelings in and absolutely failed. The gradual penetration forced first another anxious whimper to slip from her pursed lips—"Mmmrrhhnn!"—and then another groan, long and low and beseeching. "Uhhhuuhhnnn." Then a few moments following that, she was forced to scream. A piteous wail. "Naahhuuuhhrr!" It was a scream of torment and despair and shame. But there was not much pain in the penetration. That was almost the worst of it. There was spiritual agony, plenty of that—but little physical pain. Hardly any pain in her passage at all. That hurt her the most—how little it hurt. Instead there were myriad other sensations surging through her flesh. Quite familiar sensations, only a thousand-times amplified. She'd never before experienced them at this sanity-shattering level of intensity. Never even close. Never would have believed it to be possible. She was going to climax. Perhaps she was climaxing already. She couldn't tell. She couldn't think. She could only scream and scream. "You are mine," he said again. "You are conquered." And she was, she could not refute it now. Helplessly impaled on the head of his cock. Feeling both the greatest sexual pleasure of her life, and the worst unimaginable agony of humiliation in the exact same moment. "If you wish to beg for mercy for a moment or two, before we proceed further, now is the moment." "Mercy! Mercy! Please! I beg you! I can't stand anymore! No more now! I can't! I can't! Please! Have mercy on me! Mercy!" And he gave it to her. She hadn't expected that. Thought he would laugh and stuff the rest of his weapon in and continue fucking her, until she lost consciousness. Instead he relented. Pulled out of her and then tugged the knots loose from her wrists, allowing her to slump to the ground. She curled into a ball on her side, weeping in the dirt. Bare naked. Broken. Bested. "Remember your promise, she-elf," he said. "Give me a moment. Just one moment. Let me catch my breath. Please. Master." "Very good," he said. She was right to call him that, at the end. It earned her what she needed. "Take a little time. Gather your wits. When you're ready, you know what you must do. You know what I want." "Yes. I know." She must keep her word. She actually felt grateful to him, and humbled, since he allowed her this brief rest. Was it foolish to feel those things? She knew she would not have shown him any degree of mercy, if things had gone her way. And in fairness, the orc had kept to the terms of their contest in every respect; now so must she. "I will do it. I will honor my vow." She rose to her knees—still so dizzy she had to use the base of the wall to help drag herself up, even that little distance—and finally swiveled around to face him. Except she couldn't, at first. Couldn't bring herself to do it. She could only look at his feet. "Look up at me," he commanded. She managed it at last, though it was very difficult. A great weight pressing down upon her head and shoulders. Still in the end with a deep breath and a moan she forced herself to raise her eyes from his toes ... and got only so far as his phallus. She stared at it and it seemed to stare at her, twitching, as if it was laughing at her silently. The hideous thing had inflicted so much agony upon her. So much humiliation. Her arse was still stinging from its torment, both her buttocks bruised purple, yet at the same time the other ache that continued to pulse inside her sacred vale was a good ache, she could not deny it—the blissful aftermath of explosive passion. Now the head of the phallus prodded the tip of her nose, as if kissing her. It smeared goo upon her skin. She recoiled in disgust, squeezing her eyes shut and sniveling, but then she put out her tongue and gave the underside of the thing a tentative lick. It would be the first of many ... The taste wasn't too bad. It tasted no different than any other phallus, coated with a woman's oil. Only the ghastly size and green color made it different from an elf's. "Open your eyes," he said, "Don't just stare at my weapon. Look up into my eyes." She obeyed, opening her mouth wide as she did. He slid himself inside. Just the head, carefully, like before. The head alone filled her mouth completely. She made a seal around it, with her lips, and sucked upon it, as hard as she could. There was little room to move her tongue, but she moved it as much as she could, and as fast. The orc exclaimed in delight. "Ahhhahhh! Yes! Yes! Like that! Yes! Haahh!!" Was it wrong to feel pride in the pleasure she gave him? Probably it was. Yet another reason to despise herself. No, to hell with that. She was beyond shame now. Not really, of course. She only wished she was. "You are wonderful! It's just as wonderful as you promised me!" She reached up with both hands and squeezed his balls. She squeezed them as hard as she could. It didn't hurt him, or if it did, it wasn't enough. Only added to his enjoyment. "Yes! Yes! Now!" He pulled from her mouth and then ejaculated. That hadn't taken long. "Take me! Take my seed!" He covered her face with it, stream after stream. Scalding hot as they splattered her cheeks and forehead, and then her chin, and then her throat when she flinched back. "See what you do to me! See! Ahhrr! Hahhrr! Take all of me! All I have in me! Take it alllll!" She took it, all right. She took it all over. It was if he was slapping her, and like he was drowning her. She cried out again and again. "Ahuuh! Ohhooh! Nuunhh! Ahhuunnh!" Yet there was pleasure in it, of a kind. A strange sense of pride, in the hugeness of his explosion, filthy and disgraceful as it was. The boyish shrillness of his cries. Because it was for her, this whole appalling display. Her beauty, her possession. Almost as much an act of homage on his part as hers was, when she knelt before him and sucked this out of him. "You are mine," he said again, when he was finally finished, panting and swaying slightly. Wonderful if now he collapsed. "Say it! Say it for me, she-elf!" "I am yours," she said. "You lost and I won! Say it!" "I lost," she replied, "and you ... you have won." She could feel her face burning, and realized she must be blushing crimson. Only now was she blushing? Yes. "I didn't think you could. I didn't believe it would happen. I thought I would beat you fair and square. You shouldn't have been able to do this. But somehow you have. It's not right. I don't ... I just don't understand." Saying these words was harder than sucking his cock. A far greater humiliation than taking his seed all over her face. Saying this and knowing it was the truth. "Say it again! I like hearing you say it. But look in my eyes this time! You were looking at my weapon again. Look in my eyes and say it like you did before." She took a breath and did. "I lost and you won." She knew he'd want more. Before he told her she added: "I am conquered. I am yours." "I made you climax! You couldn't stop it!" "Yes. You made me. I couldn't stop it. I tried so hard ... but I couldn't." "Do you want another one? Do you want me to make you climax again?" "Yes." It was true, she realized. She wasn't only saying it. "I do. Please, Master." She had just been enslaved. She had just become the sex slave of an orc berserker. She was kneeling naked at his feet, and his thick orc seed was dribbling off her chin and her neck on to her breasts and belly. The seed she'd just sucked out of his phallus as an act of homage. Honoring her vow. She wondered how long this state of affairs would continue. She wondered if this meant she could never return to her home and her family. She wondered how she would feel about that possibility, when she could think straight again. When she had recovered a little. At the moment, all she could feel, or wanted to feel, was desire. Lust, to be more accurate. She surrendered her spirit to it as she'd surrendered her obedience to the orc. She wanted nothing else now but to be fucked. By this orc. To climax again and again. Not quite nothing else ... Mixed in there was also guilt, and there was self-loathing. She was feeling those things strong, very strong—but not strong enough to overcome her lust. The lust was much, much stronger. Somehow instead the other feelings were only adding to it. Fueling the need. "I can't believe you've done this to me," she moaned, "I can't believe it. I ca—" He had shoved himself back into her mouth "Make me hard again, she-elf. Yes! Like that! Yes!" It was limp and soft when he crammed it in, but it didn't stay that way for more than a moment, soon as she started to suck.