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With a grunt, Oliver passed a hand on his sore arms and torso.

Luckily enough, the salve he bought from the apothecary in town had been enough to heal most scratches and little wounds he had received from the Orcs’ ambushes. Even then, it was a displeasure to feel his skin knitting back and the wounds being forcefully healed.

Not that Oliver would have preferred the wounds to that. The opposite, but he would have preferred not to be wounded at all.

The grizzled Human was still sore from being ambushed like a mere newbie. The scars covering his chest, from the burn marks to the large healed gash across his pectorals, were marks of experience. As much as the powerful muscles he had honed through the years; and the gruff look he had been cultivating ever since he could grow a stub on his face.

In those days, Oliver was not so far from looking as impressive as those mature veterans with their graying mountain-man beards, shaved heads, or intimidating gazes. No, he had all of this; he only lacked the glory and the name for himself. Not that he was bad, but in those days, there were no Demon King or “Demon General”, or any demon at all.

The most dangerous mission a man could find was to kill a few orc scouts infringing on Human lands.

Even then, even if they were relatively easy, Oliver got ambushed like a newbie. It was through walking a wooden path that he heard the rustling in the nearby bushes. For a moment, with his brown eyes scanning the distance, he assumed it was some wild beasts like a boar.

However, as soon as he heard the sound of blades pulled from their scabbards, he knew he had been ambushed. From there, it had been a brutal fight as the Orcs moved as one.

Clad in leather and beastskin, they looked like a mere bandit band… Yet, they moved with the movements of a perfectly trained army. But his eyes remained fixated on their mage in the back, “doing” nothing while cloaked.

Or so it seemed.

After a few minutes of fighting, Oliver had broken the circling formation through a few cuts… Only to be caught by a magic bolt in the stomach. From there, it had only been a mad dash for the Human to flee the Orcs, to avoid being hit and caught. Maybe it had been too easy, maybe they let him go too fast. Nevertheless, as he rested and felt the soreness from his wounds ease, Oliver passed a hand where the Mage had hit him. There, the skin was warm… Too warm. And it seemed to give an eerie glow as he glanced down, watching the pinkish dot glowing through his happy trail.

Alas, he was not wounded with his guts out. But it was… Not, it definitely was a curse he would have to handle. Something he tried to ignore as he glanced around, listening to the sound outside. No Orcs.

No doubt they were scouring the forest, searching for traces. He had taken different roads, crossed one or two rivers. It could be enough to shake the Orcs off. And Oliver had to rest.

Or so he felt as his body was drained, exhausted rather.

His eyelids were heavy, so were his thoughts as he felt drifting into the dark like usual. Maybe a little break wasn’t so hard, and dreaming about the beautiful women he’d seen in his latest brothel run might get him in a better mood.

As his breathing relaxed, he tried to focus on those girls’ curvy asses and their bountiful bodies, on their gorgeous gorge, on the plumpness of their cheeks, of their moistness when his caresses became intimate.

A wondrous image that made his pants a little tighter before he drifted off.

[I]His breathing was relaxed, his mind adrift. His fingers danced on the silky skin, on unwrapping the thin fabric covering it. Yet, the girls chuckled and stood up. He extended a hand, to grip the sisters… But they left by the very same wooden door, leaving the Human alone in the bedroom illuminated by candlelight[/I].

[I]He inhaled, feeling the perfume of roses and flowers wilt and corrupt. It became stronger, heavier, like that of a rutting horse. No, a stud who had been sweating and yearning for a touch. The extended hand was held and caressed by another, with calloused fingers going over the palm and caressing it.

Those same calloused fingers danced, stroked Oliver’s back of the hand while guiding him closer to another chest. Heavy, too, but it was fatter than what nature molded. The pectorals were pillowy, the nipples and areolas enlarged… However, as the fingers danced, they found graying hair.

Hair that formed and traced a happy trail, similar to Oliver’s, by going from a tufty cleavage to over the belly button, then to the groin. One covered with another tuft of hair, but stickier. And muskier.

The perfume was intense, and as he touched, Oliver felt the hand brushing him back. He held his breath, unable to resist the hand guiding him further down. Down to a shaft that was not fully erect, as he could feel the foreskin’s wrinkles. But engorged enough, it was starting to shape up, to point onward as his fingers continued to trace along the length. Along the veins underneath the skin.

[/I]He never had any experience with other men. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t dream of that.

[I]Yet, his fingers found the foreskin’s limit, where it gave way to the corona. Even then, the hand guided him to explore the foreskin, to feel the slightly greasy but clean folds, to sense the precum sticking to everything, forming little pockets as the foreskin was slowly peeled off, releasing a waft of masculine musk. Not human. But definitely masculine as Oliver breathed it in.

Words were uttered, although he couldn’t tell them. They were almost eldritch, whispered a language he couldn’t understand.

Yet, he felt the order and followed. His mouth approached, his nostrils tingling from the aroma that was stronger by the second. Each inch meant more of that masculine aroma to fill his lungs, to get hit by waft after waft of that stench that seemed to come from those hairy and sweat-ridden nuts.

Then… He exhaled.

He exhaled and his mouth was filled by the presence of the bulbous tip pressed against his lips, with the pisshole at his tonguetip.

The aroma was perfect, wondrous; he needed it. He needed to taste. He belonged wi-

[/I]As if nothing had happened, Oliver opened his eyes. He was still in the cave, not cold, but not comfortable. He had been sleeping with his arms crossed. But as he rubbed his eyes, he felt like what he dreamed about slipped off his mind, leaving him only with a thirst.

And a need, as he felt his pants still straining. He watched the bulge his cock formed in his pants, as much as the mark on his belly that seemed to have grown and expanded in all direction like a fungus or an infection. Pink veins seemed to stretched and throb with his heartbeat as he tried to stand up.

Whatever that mark was, he needed to find a mage and fast.

Fast as he stumbled on his feet, ignoring the displeasing rubbing in his pants while he trudged outside the cave with only his harness, pants, and boots off. It was still broad daylight, with the temperature clement. No sign of orcs running and rushing around, no cries.

Only… To see the cloaked mage. Oliver’s brows furrowed as he glanced at the bald and bearded Orc. The Mage’s hair was gray, almost like snow, forming a perfect mountain-man beard. The Mage’s eyes, gold, glowed with a sense of satisfaction as he outstretched a hand toward Oliver.

“How does it feel?” spoke the Mage, his voice calm, collected. Was he speaking human? It didn’t seem so.

“What… Feels?”

“My gift,” said the Orc, his index finger pointing to the Human’s groin before he retracted his hand in his cape. “How does it feel to enjoy the taste of another man for the first time? To appreciate what you’ve been refusing?”

“You…” said Oliver, spite forming at his lips. But stopping. Restraining. His anger snuffed out. “You did this? This curse? Why?”

The Orc chuckled but didn’t answer forthright. Rather, he had his hands outstretched from the cape, which, without any string to tie it in, dropped. Underneath? The Orc was all naked, barefoot. His body was covered with that green-gray skin, though clearer, showing his age. White hair peppered those roundish arms and those impressive moobs, forming a white coat that descended over the pudgy and large belly, almost covering it entirely, before going to the groin.

The legs spread, the Orc made no effort to hide his low-hanging genitals. He didn’t hide his heavy nuts, the tuft on them, or even the long shaft that was still covered, if engorged, and dripping on the floor. From that one, from that Orc, emanated a perfume. One so familiar, Oliver couldn’t stop raising his nose and approaching, inhaling.

“Come closer. You’ve been waiting for this.”

Again, Oliver’s recriminations died in his mouth. Even his clenched fists relaxed as he had one hand press against the Orc’s chest, finding the pectorals cushiony as he approached his head and inhaled. His nose brushed with the gray strands, finding the aroma stronger as it mixed with sweat and magical reagents. One stench Oliver couldn’t mind, wouldn’t mind, as he pressed his nose against the skin… And his hands against the Orc’s belly, rubbing it.

“Yes… Oh yes. You know how to please a male, don’t you?”

Oliver didn’t nod. But his eyes did it for him, almost pleading, as he pressed his mouth against the Orc’s chest, kissing it. Then, his hands descended, so did his lips, his mouth, driven by a need, an order to… Worship. In his descent, the Warrior made no effort to resist. He kissed, savored the salty skin by his lips, and even licked it. All the same, his hands went over the chubby Orc’s body, caressing the curves. They went over the underbelly, the waist, gripped the love handles. They passed over the fuzzy asscheeks, cupping them, feeling them. Then, they went on the thighs, exterior first, then the interior.

A long exploration with the Human’s calloused digits feeling and feeding on the Orc’s presence, feeling enraptured by the slightly leathery texture, and yet driven for more. Wishing for more as he descended, knelt, and continued to kiss. He even kissed that belly button before he had his face pressed under the belly and right by the Orc’s groin.

Those fuzzy balls were truly the center of the Orc’s stench, raw and primal. But the pubes were a trove of perfume, too, as Oliver had his nose and mouth pressed against them, the strands sometimes slipping in his nostrils and through his lips. He wasn’t even disgusted, gorging himself on the sweat sticking to them and the sheer aroma that was driving him crazy.

His erection ached, his cock was almost burning in his pants… And he was swearing, he felt like there was an inundation in his loins as he kept dripping like a prompt whore.

A whore. A bitch… A slut? A slut belonging to Orc? Abused by one? Ruined by one?

A sensation, a cold shiver ran down Oliver’s spine but vanished right away as he had his mouth pressing on the Orc’s cock, at rest. It throbbed, it started to engorge, but the Mage seemed to make an effort to restrain his erection and needs. Oliver couldn’t. He kissed it, he licked it, he even gripped the organ between two fingers to kiss the tip. But by then, the Mage’s hand reached for Oliver’s face, gripping it and lifting him.

Oliver… Followed. He abandoned the organ, abandoned the pleasure it gave him to look at the Mage in the eyes, watching the glimmering malice inside as those fingers forced Oliver to move closer… Closer… Those tusked lips split in a grin before the Mage tilted his head and… Oliver kissed him.

There, the Mage’s forceful tongue rushed inside Oliver’s mouth, forcing the lips and jaws open. There was no resistance, none Oliver could have made as his mouth was filled with that wide and powerful tongue. The Orc’s saliva was salty, the breath heavy with the scent of rotten flesh. But it didn’t matter as Oliver felt like he… Belonged there. The Mage’s hands were no longer on his face. Instead, they were on his pants, the forceful fingers ripping the clothes and leather like it was mere vellum.

And soon, as Oliver continued to have his face pressed against the Orc’s, as each inhalation was another respite between the restless kisses, he felt the breeze caress his buttcheeks.

He felt the Orc’s hands caress them, spread them, stroke the swampy and hairy crevice. Then, the tight orifice. They ran against it, brushed, prodded, tested any traces of resistance.

None. None from the Human who breathed, his lips let go as there was only one sentence he could utter.

“Impregnate me. With your child. Please.”

The tone was controlled but suppurated of need, which was slowly rooting within the Human’s soul as he wanted it. No, he desired to belong to an Orc, to be his bitch. To feel the Orc’s erection against his genitals, to feel that cock lift his balls and rub against his thighs.

But just as soon, the Mage grabbed Oliver by the thighs and forced him to turn. The still partially clothed Human faced the other Orcs that had snuck back. They were sitting and observing the scene while the Mage nibbled Oliver’s ears, whispering to them. “That’s what you are. A malewife. My malewife, belonging to me.”

And Oliver? He could only smile stupidly as he felt the blunt end of the Orc’s erection press against his back entrance. He had never been with another man, never allowed anyone even to dare to approach his posterior, to tease his asshole, and what not. But here? The Orc’s cock was quasi-slipping inside his hole, without even producing a drop of pain or dissatisfaction. Only a drumming and invading warmth that spread across the Human’s body, like veins of fire spreading in all directions, only to concentrate on his tattoo, on his belly… And his cock, still hidden by the leather, yet dripping.

The wet spot couldn’t be mistaken, as well as the whitening fluid managing to ooze through the seams and the pisspoor fabric.

Nor could be Oliver’s smile, his eyes rolling, as he leaned back against the chubby Orc behind him, feeling the raw strength the Mage could still unleash despite the fat covering those muscles. That Mage could still break and abuse Oliver. Yet, he was gently pushing forward, digging into Oliver’s orifice until the thighs met with the plushy cheeks.

“Feel it, human… Feel it, your future role. Your fate. Feel it.”

What Oliver felt was the sheer pleasure, the wondrous presence rubbing against his inner walls, the drum of the Orc’s heartbeat against his backside as well as inside him. The sheer aroma, the wondrous stench, emanating from the Orc as he kept rubbing Oliver’s chest and then… Belly.

Oliver was… Smitten, enraptured, taken. His smile continued as his tongue lolled out, dripping with fluids much like his cock.

“Yes… Yes, hubby. I feel it. I feel you. I feel your love inside me,” moaned the Human, his expression breaking apart from that sheer bliss, that sheer… Depravation.

He was the Mage’s malewife, he was a bitch, a female for that male. The Orc’s cock was bigger than his, his body smellier than his…. His seed, much stronger.

One seed that was not yet inside him, but he could somehow sense churning each time those fat testicles smacked his thighs and cheeks.

One seed he so desired as he inhaled the raw musk emanating from the Mage and the others around.

His breath a whistling sound, Oliver leaned entirely on the Orc, who pumped inside his asshole, the slurping sound of the Human’s ruined asshole wondrous. Like a music as each pull meant for that rim to suck the cock back, to grip it, to want it inside. How lewd it was for a Human to be reduced to a mere Orc’s fucktoy, to a mere malewife.

Yet, Oliver smiled as he felt the pressure and heat within his groin and belly grow with each thrust, the drumming going faster and faster.

He couldn’t resist, he couldn’t fight, he couldn’t oppose. His eyes closed, his feet stomped on the ground, his fingers clawed the void. And…. The front of his pants was suddenly a drenched mess, with a whiteish liquid oozing everywhere, much to the Orcs’ apparent mirth. They laughed, mocked, pointed fingers at Oliver’s pathetic display.

But not the Mage as he continued to pummel, hit, smack. His gruff breathing was right by Oliver’s ears, tantalizing him as another wave of pleasure hit him right as the afterglow receded. Another… Orgasm.

Another pitiful human ejaculation that was milked from Oliver. Then another, feeling his mind breaking under the assault as the Mage kept pumping and pumping, without giving a rest. Without allowing the enchant on Oliver’s belly a break as the womb tattoo grew, twisted, formed branches that twisted upon themselves to create what would be the form of… Well, a womb. Around it, twisted orcish runes were etched on the skin to ensure the Human’s fertility, the inability to be bred by anyone else, and the children’s health.

The tattoo grew, guided by the Orc’s grunting whispers as he finalized the spell tangling while pummeling his new malewife. And then, as the pleasure grew tenfold, almost unrestrained… The Mage let it go. He growled, grunted, moaned right to the Human’s ears as he let go of what his body so dearly cherished.

He came. Not a single time, but many. A manifold orgasm in which his body trembled, incapable of stopping the jets hitting Oliver’s belly from inside, participating to the sheer distension his cock imposed to the Human’s body. He came and came, feeling the Human trembling under his touch and assault, his cumshot.

Gone. Oliver was gone.

He was the Orc’s malewife, his bitch. His. One who happily stroked his rounded belly, imitated by the Orc mage at his side.

---

“Are you certain he’s here?” whispered a voice, harshly, as they trudged altogether and closer to the Orc’s village.

It should have been an easy quest, yet it seemed their Warrior got lost on a simple errand. So here it was, the whole squad sneaking through the village, looking for any traces of fight and torture. Instead, it seemed the Orcs were celebrating as drumming filled the entire village, shaking even the most seasoned adventurers to their core.

An echo that grew stronger as the party, save for the Warrior, snuck closer and closer. The air was thick with incense, but not enough to hide the smell of sex. They acted like barbarians, bred like ones.

Still, they could be a danger. Enough for the party to climb onto a stone wall and another, getting on the rooftops to see the source of such celebrations.

Around a fire, orcs were dancing and chanting. A little number was drumming and singing along, bringing the basses, while that air of festivity was almost contagious. However, as the party glanced at the Orcs, flanked by their slaves, pregnant and submissive, they couldn’t find Oliver.

“He couldn’t have been taken already?”

“Nah. He’s too headstrong for that,” growled another voice in answer, filled with spite.

However, they couldn’t find Oliver in the crowd. And as the song, the drumming came to a stop, the party was about to leave to find another spot.

Yet, there was a huzzah. And a shout: “He’s here!”

Oliver was there, with the Orcs.

However, instead of the grizzled, gruff, and sometimes outrageous human, they found someone with a servile smile. Almost demure, the Human advanced with one Orc at the arm, clothed… Clothed like a Human female about to be wed. The flowing white robe was almost pristine with a trail behind. But it had been modified to expose Oliver’s round and branded belly, no different than the other pregnant slaves. It exposed that searing pink womb tattoo and Oliver’s erection as he approached one Orc standing by the bonfire, one that was naked as the others and roundish. Chubby.

“He’s gone,” mumbled a voice, both astonished by the revelation as much as the statement. By the sight of Oliver’s arms reaching to hug the orc, those lips rushed for a kiss…

The crowd roared in delight, the drumming resuming as well as the dance.

And though the party was readying their weapons, they could not stop watching as Oliver was getting railed amidst the crowd by that bald hairy Orc.

Unaware of the Orc Mages readying their spells, ready for another flock of malewifes to join the Clan.