King of the Orcs, Part 9
Oltuk,
potential recruit of the Best Blades, was bored. He stood gazing out over the
towering, spiked red iron walls of Adaar'kurn at the Blood River, winding its
way through a series of small rapids before it entered the fortress.
In
another week, Zor would decide whether he had what it took to become part of
his warband. Until then, he was just on loan from the Dragonslayers, and here
he was, doing sentry duty like some Grunt.
Something
caught Oltuk's eye. Figures approached the fortress, moving along the river's
edge. Oltuk narrowed his eyes, then widened them.
"By the
dead gods!" he swore. For they were the single mightiest-looking warband Oltuk
had ever seen.
Their
leader swaggered in the front, serrated scimitar at his side, wearing a
polished leather harness across a set of enormous pectorals that cast their own
shadow and might have been breasts were it not for the permanent striations
Oltuk could see even from the fortress walls. The others in his warband were
equally endowed with brawn - twice the brawn that any orc had a right to! Oltuk
reached down and rubbed at the crotch piece of his spiked chainmail. His mouth
watered. He would do anything for the honor of being dominated by such an orc.
Down
below, Grothor strode up to the closed gates of Adaar'kurn unchallenged. He
sneered. He knew the sentries were staring at his body in awe. He would give
them something to gape at! Grothor gave a mighty ROAR and swung both arms
together in an overhead chop, crashing them into the gates. The wooden beam
that closed them shattered like a twig, and Grothor entered the fortress with
tusks bared.
The
sentries seemed to have finally remembered their duty, and yelled challenge.
"Who do
you think you are, orc?" Oltuk called.
Grothor
fixed Oltuk with such a look that Oltuk moaned under his breath and almost cummed
in his armor.
"I'm
the warrior who just punched open your puny gates! And I want to talk to Zor
the Undefeatable."
How
could Oltuk disobey such a man? He strode awkwardly from the battlements down
into the guardhouse and there he yanked open his belt and sprayed his cum
against the stone wall. He hurridly stuffed his cock back into his armor and
went to find the Best Blades.
Grothor
and his warband stood proudly back to back with each other, glaring down any
orcs who dared look them in the eye. Stedon stood in their midst, at the center
of the group, hidden behind their bulk. He rested his hands on the luscious ass
cheeks of Kreg and Blackmane while he waited.
An orc
wearing some sort of black warpaint in a tribal stripe down his brow came
toward Majok. He dropped a coin sack on the ground at his own feet. Some
minutes passed, and a thick, burly orc who's barrel chest was criss crossed
with hideous scars came forward, facing Kreg, dropping three coin sacks.
"What
are they doing?" Stedon muttered.
"Bidding
on us," Blackmane murmured, his voice hushed with disbelieving delight.
"What?"
Stedon asked.
Kreg
leaned his head slightly back. "Sometimes an orc can't declare his desire for
another openly. So he bids with sacks of coin. If the other accepts, he gets a
good fuck and some gold. I've never been offered more than two sacks before."
A
one-eyed orc, head shaved save for a long ponytail down his back and wearing
heavy armored shoulder pads decorated with a row of gilded spikes approached.
He looked Grothor up and down. Then he snapped his fingers and held out a hand.
A smaller orc who stood behind him began to hand him sacks of coin. He set down
a row of five sacks. Grothor looked from them to the orc, at a loss for words.
More sacks came - six, seven, eight, nine, a full second row making ten.
"What
do you want?" Grothor asked the strange orc.
In
response, the orc strode forward. He unclipped his armor, letting it fall
behind him and stood facing Grothor, thighs almost trembling with desire.
"Let me
bear you sons."
So this
was an orc cuntman, Stedon realized. It was impossible to tell him from a full
male.
"I do
not know you, brother," Grothor said.
The
cuntman slid his hands up Grothor's magnificent pectorals. "I will tell you
everything, my lord. Show you everything I have. Give you everything I own. I
have waited a lifetime to find one worthy of my womb. Please. Name your price.
But do not deny me!"
Grothor
wrapped a bulging, veined arm around the cuntman, drawing him to his side with
a possessive growl. The cuntman orc gave a soft, quavering moan. A moan Stedon
knew all too well.
The
cuntman caught sight of Stedon in the middle of the warband and bared his
teeth. "What is that?"
"That,"
Grothor said, shoving the cuntman back, "is no concern of yours."
"No
human has ever seen Adaar'kurn, much less set foot in..OHH!" the cuntman orc's
objection died on his lips. Grothor had one big hand shoved up under his
chainmail beechcloth, slowly stroking the orc's pussy.
"Go,"
Grothor purred to him. "And tell every cuntman in Adaar'kurn of me. I'm sure
you're not the only dam who'll want me to sire them warriors."
The
cuntman staggered off, whimpering. The ground thudded heavily as a row of fully
armored orcs marched into view. Grothor regarded them while slowly licking
droplets of cunt moisture from his fingers. The armored warriors formed up in a
perfect line. Their leader stepped forward.
He wore
a helm forged to look like a dragon's head. Piercing eyes like those of a wolf
looked out of it at Grothor's band.
"So you
are the ones being called Big Boys, eh?"
Behind
Grothor, Blackmane clapped a hand onto Kreg's shoulder and shook him. Their
warband had just been named. Their status among all orcs had been elevated. And
by the glance Blackmane gave to Stedon that became a wink, Blackmane knew who
was to thank for it.
"Where
is Zor?" Grothor demanded.
"A good
impression is not enough to disturb the ruler of Adaar'kurn," the dragon-helmed
warrior sneered.
Grothor
turned his head slightly. "Kreg?"
Kreg
left his place in the formation. He kept his steps slow and deliberate. As he
stomped closer to Zor's messanger, it became clear he stood a good half foot
taller, to say nothing of how much broader. The messanger tried to conceal his
rising apprehension as Kreg pushed naked gigantic pectorals against his armor
and gave a sound from his nostrils that Stedon could feel through his feet.
"I must
insist," Grothor said.
"But..I..."
The
gathering of orcs in the fortress square gasped as Kreg hoisted the messanger -
armor and all - off his feet with one hand and gave another brutish snarl.
"Y..yes!
Of...of course! At once!"
Kreg
dropped the orc in the dragon armor, who crashed into the stone slabs of the
square with a grunt. Kreg put a heavy bare green foot down onto him, ground it
there for a moment, then shoved him bodily halfway across the square with a
simple push.
Kreg
smirked, watching Zor's men break ranks to go rushing back to Zor's inner keep.
All around him came the soft musical sounds of coin purses dropping like apples
in autumn.
An hour
later, they stood before a pair of towering iron gates. The metal had been
tinted with impure red ore to give it a bloody luster. Each gate served as the
frame for an orc sword of exaggerated size. In moments, the gates would open and
the Big Boys would arrive in the presence of the closest thing orcs had to a
king.
"My
greater," Stedon said to Grothor, "what orders have you for me?"
Grothor
put a heavy hand on Stedon's head. Ran fingers through his freshly trimmed
mohawk. "None. You will present yourself as you are, Grunt."
"Will
that not anger Zor?"
Grothor's
eyes narrowed at the gate. "If Zor has a problem with you, he can get to you
through my corpse."
The
others grunted their assent. A boom shook the gate, and with a great clanking
of metal on metal, hidden counterweights moved on chains to pull the gates
open. Beyond lay the court of Zor the Undefeatable.
Zor's
throne room was a large chamber of black stone. A triangular vaulted ceiling
was lit by large torches. A gutter filled with burning oil back lit Zor's
throne, made of the same dark stone and made to resemble a yawning dragon's
mouth.
Zor was
an enormous orc. Stedon guessed him to be close to eight feet in height. He sat
in nothing but a leather harness and a dragonscale loincloth. Three Grunts
attended him, judging by their age. One served as cupbearer, holding a great
bone drinking horn in both hands. The other two smeared scented oil into Zor's
heavy, dropping pectorals.
Stedon
had prepared himself to meet a creature so mighty it would make Grothor seem a
weakling. The reality shocked him.
Zor
might once have been such a warrior, but no longer. His huge pecs sagged down
against his ribs, and a healthy paunch covered once-tight abdominals. Arms like
the trunks of oak trees still advertised their strength, but a layer of fat
covered them, now.
Zor
regarded the Big Boys, idly stroking his thick black beard with fingers covered
in glittering rings. He snapped his fingers. His cup bearer put the drinking
horn to his lips and tipped it for Zor to drink.
"So
you're the studs who would steal the hearts of my cuntmen, eh?" Zor asked with
a graveled voice. He laughed. "I can see why! You remind me of my own youth!"
Grothor
slammed a fist into his rock hard chest in salute.
"We are
honored to be in the presence of such a mighty warrior."
"Hm. Of
course you are," Zor said with a dismissive wave. His Grunts silently left by a
pair of side doors. Zor leaned forward to peer at Stedon.
"I
heard you had a human with you. He's got a Grunt's look."
"I am
Grunt," Stedon confirmed in a clear, bold voice.
"Ha!" Zor
clapped his hands together. "And you trained him to speak, too!" He leered at
Grothor. "I could trade you handsomely for your trained human."
Grothor
glowered at him. "Grunt is part of my warband, Zor. Are you saying you'll give
me a Best Blood for him?"
Zor
seemed to find the idea uproarious. The hall rang with his guffaws for nearly
half a minute. "I think you've been stomping around in those mountains for too
long, Grothor! What's next? A mountain goat as your shield bearer?" Zor belted
out another round of laughter.
Kreg
growled behind Grothor. Grothor held up a hand to silence him.
"We
want a shaman. A powerful one. Old and ready to die," Grothor informed Zor.
"What
for?"
"We
will make Grunt, here," Grothor rubbed Stedon's back, "a real orc! Not just in
name."
Zor
shot to his feet with surprising speed for his bulk. His paunch gave a slight
bounce from the excess momentum.
"You
WHAT?!"
"It's
been done before," Blackmane spoke up. "In ancient times."
"THOSE
were true orcs! Who put their very souls into worthy war beasts in order to
crush and rip apart our enemies! NEVER once did an orc foul himself by
transforming his body into that of a puny, tuskless HUMAN!" Zor raged. "How
dare you come into my presence and insult me with this request! Get out!"
Grothor
only had two options - obey or challenge Zor the Undefeatable. And Grothor was
no fool. He turned his hulking back and led his warband out in disgrace.