Mounting the Orc
There is a way to interrogate Orcs. And another to make it fun
Suggested Kinktober Day 27 (From Goonguy): Animal Play
Mounting the Orc
There is a way to interrogate Orcs. And another to make it fun
Suggested Kinktober Day 27: Animal Play
“And you tell me you put him in the old royal stables?”
“The prison is under renovation after Deathwing.”
“What about the Castle’s dungeons?”
“We’d have to kick criminals out, and the population might learn about Horde criminals living in our King’s dungeon. Did you know he was here?”
“I heard rumors.”
“Rumors but no confirmation. And it has been two weeks.”
The apes were talking, speaking, and rambling about their fears of being caught and the truth being divulged. It was always like so, someone entered the stables and was surprised. Then came the explanations, the questions, the critiques. And then the show.
Show the Orc was already dreading and craving, his breathing quickened. His teeth bit into the gag more while saliva dripped from his curled lips. And then… The faces.
Another general. Another human who wore alliance blue as if it were some grand honor. Pompous, the mustache oiled, the hair slick. The disdain was the key element of that ape’s identity.
“Are you sure that’s not a copycat?”
The prim soldier came around, smacking the Orc on the shoulder.
“You’d think he would allow a copycat among his ranks? He would slaughter anyone daring to sully his name.”
Then came the hands passing on his face, on his eyelids… Pulling on them so he would open his eyes. Then there were the lips, pulled to show the teeth biting into the soft ball. Saliva was collected, then smeared on the face and the tattooed chin, before the young Soldier stepped back and saluted.
“There is no one like him in the Horde. Even if it were the case, a copycat would have given up a while ago when we started to interrogate him.”
“That’s because your methods are inefficient,” said the mustachioed Human, huffing.
“Inefficient? No. We already broke many soldiers with it; you got our reports and the confirmation from the spies. No. He’s a tough nut to crack.”
“A tough nut. Soldier, I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“Sir. We are currently in a conflict with the Horde, in a situation that is prone to explode if we use your official methods. You want to parade him, but it’ll turn Stormwind into the perfect target for the Horde.”
“Nonsense.”
“As you see fit. You want to see our methods? Be our guest.”
A seat was provided practically right in front of the Orc, gazing back while the yellow eyes were focused and bloodshot. And growing frantic as the movements behind happened. Hooves stomping, neigh, grunts from soldiers.
“What is this?” asked the mustachioed cunt.
“It is a proven method that breaks most Orcs and Taurens. Him? Oh, he might resist, but he is always teetering on spitting the info after a session.”
“After a session? How many has he endured?”
“Fifteen? But so far, he is enduring. He will tell a few bits, but nothing more. Yet.”
“Is this- Necessary?”
Necessary, no, it wasn’t.
It certainly affected anyone glancing when the massive mount was brought from the stables. If most horses were impressive, war-horses were a whole different category, as they were practically goliaths on all fours.
They could carry someone in armor plus the caparison. Their muscles always bulge beneath their short coats, their manes growing wild… And their barrel-like chests were broad enough to accommodate the armor and saddles.
Their attitude was indolent, prompt to bite and fight back, save for the few who had been ‘picked’ by the beast.
And the Orc, below, hadn’t been picked by the Beast. Even then, it wasn’t like he had been desiring it. But being ‘picked’ would make it easy on the abuse.
And at that moment, He knew he was about to be abused again, and with no mercy from the beast.
If that wretched beast with its smell was around, there was something else to be done.
It was a cold touch, practically icy. But it was ‘necessary’ and one of the small mercies that had been given to him and his soldiers. Even then, the gloved surface and the cold jelly were something no one would have liked to feel on their skin, even less on their assholes.
Even less inside their assholes.
That grease was used solely for this, and as it was applied, the Orc shuddered. His teeth dug more into the gag while the fingers slipped in and out, without any restraint from the swollen donuthole the Orc possessed.
A donuthole acquired recently. But a donuthole that was practically sucking in the fingers while the fourth and fifth slipped in, turning the whole moment into a raw and brutal fisting.
One fisting the Orc endured by clenching his eyelids and trying to control his breathing, not to moan or blow air through his nostrils.
However, it was pointless. Pointless since the moment the fist was yanked out, he huffed and trashed. His asshole had almost been pulled away in a rosebud. And at best, he heard a chuckle from the bastard behind.
“It is a good method, and it requires little preparation. After a few attempts, they need little recovery to get back under the horse. But there’s more, though.”
“What is that?”
“Even if they escape and return to their kin, do you think Garrosh Hellscream would admit he lost his virginity to a horse?”
The satisfied chuckle that followed said it all, as most of the soldiers working in the stables laughed and guffawed. The Orcs, all bound and gagged, huffed and groaned. And at the center, Garrosh bit the gag with renewed hatred. A fire that was soon snuffed out when he felt that flare press against his asshole. Wide in many ways, just as greasy as his asshole, and wider than his arm.
Instantly, Garrosh’s eyes widened, and he tried to look over his shoulder, a reflex he had little control over. He couldn’t… He couldn’t stop trying.
Nor could he stop fearing when he saw those legs, massive like trunks, stomp around him.
The horse had its chest pressed against his back, and there was no way the Orc could feel at peace or satisfied.
Even he, Garrosh Hellscream, was fearful.
Fearful of whether that feral beast could go crazy or worse. If the Humans found another torture that could ruin his asshole more than that. Even if it sounded hard.
At the moment, the flare pressed against the entrance and forced it open, Garrosh huffed. He huffed and grunted while feeling… Relief from his asshole.
Despite having his asshole abused, fisted, ruined… It begged for more. Unused, it would burn. Untouched, it would clench. Unabused, it would be needy.
Garrosh would be needy, much like the other Orcs who’d been ruined and branded that way.
The same for the other Orcs who’d received the white hot oron on their cheeks, same as Garrosh, that displayed a horseshoe on their buttcheeks.
A mark. Or an insult. Something Garrosh would bear on him…
The same way he would bear inside that craving and addiction the Humans had been forcing upon him, step by step. Dildos by dildos, fucking by fucking… Up to that war-horse, up to that humongous beast whose chest, sweaty and grimy, pressed on the orc’s back and head.
Whose cock was already slipping inside, ramming through and breaking whatever defenses Garrosh might have had. Anything, even the barest of clenching and squeezing, was a dead sentence for the Orc’s mind.
And he bit. He bit into that gag with hate, with anger, with pleasure, with frustration, with bliss. The more that beast abused him, the more his body craved it. But he didn’t want to give in, much like the other broken soldiers.
He was above. He could endure. He wasn’t like the fel-touched Orcs. He was a Mag’har. He was-
“He is stubborn.”
“Always. It is one comment our spies and our King agree with,” commented the prim soldier. But no one can endure it endlessly. There is always a moment when the body can’t keep up with the mind and… It might be soon.”
The two were now sitting, exchanging, talking. Even drinking tea and snacking on biscuits while Garrosh’s huffs filled the room… Filled the stable. Filled the entire place with his grunts when it wasn’t the neighing war-horse. It was pulling in and back, with unfeigned lust.
Bucking followed, hump and quasi-jump shook the phantom-mare upon which was strapped Garrosh Hellscream.
The hooves kicked the floor, the head and mane were going left and right… And that cock, that equine cock, throbbed… Throbbed while it unleashed and smacked Garrosh’s hole, hitting the walls with a brutality unfeigned. And then… It stopped.
Or rather, the beast plunged the cock deep and didn’t move, except for nervous spasms.
Yet, the movements did not tell what was happening… What pressure was building inside the Orc’s belly, pumped by the Beast’s orgasm within.
But… Garrosh’s rolling eyes and wide nostrils were enough for the grinning soldiers.
“Only two more horses and he will crack. Promised, Sir.”