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Fel Prison

A new arrival in a prison manned by Demons, what could happen?

Cold water was splashed.

And in return, someone writhed in the agony of awakening and of a tepid icy touch. It was not the peace and calm and abandon he’d been in. He was back, awake, forced to stir as his eyes went over his brown-skinned arms, covered with ink, then upward. To the entity standing before him.

Purple-skinned, armored, with a large helmet covering his crest. Those eyes were green, fiery, as if a fire had replaced the organs themselves. The teeth gnashed naturally, the fists clenched, the lack of hair was evident.

It was glabrous, ugly.

A name came naturally. Demon. Wrathguard. Eredar. Netherspawn.

A creature living from the deepest abyss of the oblivion between world and… Summoned. Yet, it seemed to act on his own volition, that one.

The Demon huffed and growled, shaking the bucket to make sure it was empty before he threw it away… And faced the Orc, hands on his waist.

“Wake up. It’s your first day here and you’re already dallying,” said the Demon, huffing and puffing up his chest.

“First… Day? Of what?”

The chest deflated, the osseous brows were raised. And a surprise was drawn on that face.

“Uh. Another surprise shipment… Bring the oldest slut!” shouted the Demon, turning to his left.

The Orc’s eyes followed, tracing the way and admiring the striated stone walls composing the tunnel they were in, then seeing another Demon. A peer, sharing the same nature and overall appearance. But the way his armor was, less composed, he seemed to be a subordinate.

And so, the Orc’s eyes slowly returned to his interlocutor. He checked the walls, painted with Fel-corrupted ink? What was the Fel? Why was he aware of that name?

And why was he so hungry? And thirsty? His hand went to his grumbling belly, feeling the fat flesh, feeling some stretching marks… And he looked at the Wrathguard, the Overseer, who glared back.

“Useless meat sack. What’s your name?”

“I… Don’t know,” answered the Orc, his filled tusks opening and closing. His chin was fully inked in black, much like his jaw. He passed a hand over them, then checked his breath. Musky.

The scent… It was familiar, appetizing. Like…

“Lerrzzul. I will take care of that one.”

A voice. Different from the overseer.

The Orc’s eyes lit up, only to focus on another Orc. Green-skinned instead of brown. Older, wrinkled, weak. Yet, those muscles were defined under the green skin, under the tuft of gray hair sprouting all over that body.

But fat. Fat breasts. Fat belly. Fat thighs. Fat. No… Comely? It was not exactly fat. However, it seemed that way as it accumulated on the chest, causing each breast to sag. Similar to that belly, which was quite large and protruding. And those thighs were fitting for a female to bear children. Yet, that Orc was not a female. Even if his genitals were pitiful. Small.

“Small.”

The Orc commented as he saw the black metal attached to the Elder’s crotch, with green runes seared into it… Magic. Fel curse. But the metal was not relinquishing its grip on the genitals, while those testicles were round and massive, like orange-sized fruits. Hairy fruits, sure. Low-hanging fruits, yes. Massive, however. And covered with runes.

A sight strange, an exposition that suddenly reminded the Orc he was naked, too. And a reflex was to cover himself before that one.

“Remove those hands. You’re one of us,” scoffed the Elder one with an arrogance and a disdain that was hardly met before. And the Orc, frowned, feeling he should hate that guy.

Bald. Bearded. He looked like many an old orc. But those red eyes had something else. And that natural scowl.

“Who are you?”

“The local warlock,” scoffed the Elder, waving his hand with the reflex of someone holding a staff. “And you’re the new meat.”

“Meat?”

The Orc asked as he stood up, feeling that his legs were weak. They wobbled a bit under his weight. A wrong weight. He should be more fit. Those pectorals used to be smaller, he thought.

“New meat. That’ll be your name until you remember it.”

“You don’t know who I am?” asked the Orc, feeling somehow surprised by it.

“I don’t know every new slut that lives. You’re the new Meat, that’s it,” said the Elder, waving his hand and turning his head away.

“Ok. Here how it goes!” shouted the Orc.

Shouted and ran as he rushed forward, ready to tackle the Elder. But that old one turned, and so the Orc grabbed him by the shoulder. With a twist, a push… And the Elder has his back against the wall, pressed and almost choking due to the arm pressing against his throat.

“First rule. You respect me. Second rule. I am not New Meat. And third-HRMPH!”

The Orc’s voice broke into a stupid moan. A deep, heartfelt moan that wasn’t anything else. Not from pain. But from the utter pleasure as something deep within him… Suddenly jolted. And activated.

His back. His posterior. It ached. It was… Empty. It… Hurt.

And the Orc dropped to his knees, heaving. His lungs were hurting too. No, everything was hurting as he had one hand on the rough floor and another on his heart.

Even his beating heart hurt, as if he were out of shape. And hit… And making an effort. He was. He didn’t know.

“Something’s happening? A problem, New Meat?” asked a gravely voice, deeper and wrong than the other. Demon. Another Wrathguard.

“No,” answered the Elder, chuckling. “I had to explain how it works here. There will be no problem.”

The chuckle was even disgusting. And so, the Orc growled, feeling the moment pass. Feeling how that ache and need were dissipating, leaving behind a wrongness he couldn’t put his finger on as he stood up… Slowly.

Again, his legs were wobbly. But he widened his stance, anchored his feet… And felt how wet the floor was. The Orc dared not glance down as he faced the Elder, who continued to laugh as he walked forward.

“Follow me, Meat. You’ll learn,” said the Elder as they continued through the tunnel, watched over by the occasional presence of Wrathguards. So many. Somehow, the Orc knew there was something amiss. But he didn’t have the pieces.

Pieces that kept dropping and disappearing as the walls started to feel familiar. He’d been there before, as he could tell they were on the right passageway when they walked to an intersection. But he couldn’t tell the origin of such thoughts.

The striated walls were all red and black, illuminated by green sconces. It was… Like a fever dream, as they passed more intersections with wafts of pungent scent emanating from there.

“Not yet. We will find you one,” commented the Elder as he walked the Orc walk towards one of those other directions, following a mouth-watering smell.

“I… You will punish me?” asked the Orc, frowning and scowling.

“I can,” confirmed the Elder, smug… Even showing his yellowy teeth.

It was enough of a threat for the Orc to nod and follow then, as the number of Wrathguards continued to grow, and a whole different scent, just as suitable as the first, drove the Orc forward. He and the Elder as they entered a wider cavern that looked like… Well, a mess hall?

The stone walls had been replaced by spiky metal. Steel beams were used to support the entire ceiling, with aggressive arches forming the building blocks upon which dangled brasero and other luminaries. However, as the place was empty, only a distant smell lingered, reminiscent of food. Food the Orc was currently craving as he instinctively sat at one of the tables and saw the Elder joining him at the front.

There, the difference struck him: the table wasn’t a table. It was like a barrel. A trough. One that was deep enough to have someone resting inside.

Odd.

“Olex! We’ve got some fresh Meat!”

“Oh! Ohoh! A new one?” asked another deep voice, resonating, and wrong. One so powerful that it shook the Orc as he glanced at another Demon. The skin was purple, but clearer; the face was just as unappetizing. The lips were missing, the corners of the mouth desiccated. Steel clamps were inserted in the Demon’s ashen flesh but attached to nothing. His chest and frontal crest were exposed. But the name still echoed within the Orc’s mind.

“Fel Lord…”

“Uh? Talking of old times? A fellow warlock, too?” asked the massive Fel Lord, answering to the name of Olex.

And Olex… Well, as he strutted forward, he smacked his missing lips close… And smiled, showing his white teeth while walking like hindered… With an apron on him, and nothing else.

“No, old friend. He doesn’t remember anything but seems to use the knowledge of old still.”

“Hmm? He looks quite young. His generation should have been taught differently,” commented the Fel Lord, reaching for the Orc’s chin and gripping it. He held it, despite the Orc’s protest and attempt to yank free.

But then, the hand released, and the Orc narrowly backed a bit from the bench, glancing around. They were alone; nobody else was there. No guards, no other… Whatever they were.

“Feisty. He is probably a warrior.”

“I guess so,” continued the Elder, his smile mirthful as he leaned on the trough, poking at the Fel Lord’s apron. “Can we have a meal? He is a new arrival and he got nothing.”

“Oh. You are counting on him to break the rules? Aren’t you shameless?” laughed the Fel Lord, mirthful too. But blinking towards the Elder and then the Orc as he scratched his belly underneath the apron.

“More like payback. I was on duty when Lerrzul called for New Meat. I am still wondering what to do with him.”

“Let Lerrzul and the other find a purpose for him. He is not your problem.”

“He will be,” commented the Elder, waving his fingers and closing them, the tips burning green.

“I don’t see him be one of your students. And if something there is to do… It’ll be a curse.”

“… Warlocks and Demons,” grumbled the Orc while crossing his arms, noting the exchange.

“Our friendship goes way back. Even if by that time, it was a partnership,” said the Elder, his voice heavy with implications.

“More like you bound me, and I had to do your dirty work. Good old times!” announced Olex, shaking his head and his hands on his sides. “But it is never the same. You are lucky, New Meat.”

“Why is that?” asked the Orc, confused when the green and red eyes were on him.

“You are mortal. Your service to the Horde shall end one day. Never for me,” announced Olex, with a sigh. “Even if we are luckier than most.”

“Anything new about them?”

“Hmm. Nothing. Still broken. If you are looking for their help, you won’t find anything,” added Olex.

“Who are they?”

“No one,” answered the Elder and the Fel Lord in tandem, rolling their eyes. “You are New Meat. You’ll learn soon enough.”

Then, as if his head snapped back into position, the Elder went back to Olex, his fingers descending the apron in a display that was disgusting. It was… A male with another male. The Orc frowned and gurgled, though he felt… Something else. A hunger.

“Olex. Would you prepare us our meal?”

“Only because there’s New Meat. But if he misses it, it’s not my problem.”

“Sure.”

The Elder glanced at the Orc. But seemed not to care for his well-being or if the Orc was currently sitting at the table. Or ready for the meal… Or for anything.

The tension between the Elder and the Orc was palpable. But it grew odd and weird when Olex reached for his apron and pulled on it. He pulled, stomped onward with his hooves, and something fat, sticky, heavy, fleshy landed on the edge of the trough.

But the Orc couldn’t fully conceive what he was watching.

The Elder had been talking about a meal. Instead, the Orc glanced at… Someone’s genitals.

Those fat testicles were the first. So big, so wide, so heavy, they were seemingly crushed by their own weights when they landed on the table, going from perfect orbs to fat dollops. The ashen black skin formed wrinkles on them, forming folds inside which sweat and other fluids accumulated. An eerie glow emanated from them, unlike a true light. But an aura even the Orc could pick up as he observed, above those testicles, the wrinkled sheath.

Just as black as the rest, it was… An equine cock. The flare, black as charcoal, was at the center and seemingly sprouted from the Demon’s groin as green blood was pumped within. The wrinkles were smoothed. The folds pulled on. And the skin tightened, became taut, as the flesh went erect and grew… And grew… And grew.

At first, the length of a hand, then an arm… Then a leg. Then more. It kept on giving, and Olex seemed at most bored with the display while the Elder’s red eyes were focused on it.

“Next time, you’ll ask them for a snack,” scoffed the Fel Lord, keeping his apron lifted while his erection continued to extend and stretch, to push forward until it was at his length.

By then, the Orc’s eyes had widened so much, and he gawked at the monster of steaming flesh, black like coal and yet peppered with green veins possessing that sickening glow. One the Orc instantly wanted to avoid…

If not for the hunger. The gnawing, the dubious, the perfidious hunger that clawed at his guts and made him… Tremble. Salivate. And gawk.

“What is this?” he dared to ask, his voice lower than usual as if to control any potential tell.

“Our meal. That’s how we are fed, here,” said the Elder, leaning forward and passing one crooked finger on the cock’s underside, on the visibly bulging urethra… One he prodded until one fat globe of fluids, white and giving off a greenish glow.

It was as thick as paste… yet, it dripped free from the Fel Lord’s urethra only to drop in the trough, forming a little mound that soon flattened, becoming a puddle. Steam emanated from that puddle, and the stench. It would have made the Orc gag… If not for that hunger plaguing him and making him smack his lips.

“What’s… This?” he asked, again humidifying his lips.

“Our meal… Pure Cum. There is no Tauren around, so Olex is acting as one.

“Yeah… And every day, I have to stick a block of ice against my nuts. Take your meal before the others sniff it out.”

Well, the Orc was sniffing it. He inhaled, sighed, quivered as his body was shouting at him one order: he needed fat, he needed protein, he needed to eat. And that was the best, most filling, most pleasant meal he could have found in that hellish cave.

Still, he gargled and gawked… And frowned. And scoffed, before shaking his head.

“I… I won’t,” he said, proving his willpower. Before he blinked at the sight of the Elder rubbing his face against that organ, covering it with kisses.

“Too bad. I know one old bastard who’s hungry,” commented in return the Fel Lord, patting the Elder’s head.

Those green lips were at work. Kissing, sucking, licking. That fat and wide tongue didn’t wait for Olex’s permission to dance on the charcoal skin, to tug slightly on the bulging vein underneath the flesh, to poke at the urethra. Or to rub his nose against it. Or to smear that mix of precum, sweat, and other fluids against his beard.

That Elder… He was worshiping that cock, using his whole face to kiss, rub, press, massage that fat cock until no spot was left untouched… And that wrinkled was unsoiled.

Nevertheless, the Elder continued to lick, to worship, to kiss… And through it, more of that odd cum spurted free to add to the trough.

A flow that was like a cascade. No. A fountain.

If it were possible, the Orc might have doubted it before. But he watched the Fel Lord grunt and sigh, his back slightly arched and his arms dropping while he glanced at the ceiling above and smiled… Smiled stupidly. And grunted, stroking the Elder’s scalp.

“Hrmphh. You know how to make me want to fuck you.”

“As if you could,” commented the Elder, reaching for the front, licking the flared end… His tongue danced over the corona, nudged the skin bulging at the edge… Then, went for the center. There were licks, there were kisses, and there were even some prodding.

But in the end, the Elder’s tongue was happily teasing the urethra, releasing such a volume, the trough was filling up by the second. The Orc couldn’t deny his hunger or desire for more… His need to get that semen in his mouth, to feel that jelly-like liquid against his tongue… And soon, it was too much to resist. He salivated.

“Come and join, New Meat. Unless you want that old Warlock to hog it all,” said the Fel Lord, almost jovial in the way he extended his hand, grasped the Orc by the nape… And forced him nose-first against his smelly demonic cock.

And the Orc… He worshiped that cock.

He hated it. He hated that hunger as much as his weak will for giving in to that urge. But like the Elder, he offered his attention and desires. He kissed. Swallowed, slurped the precum and sweat sticking to the folding skin. And he sighed, almost at rest while his body seemed to… Relax. Even his sense of wrongness was going away, instead replaced by the droplet of pleasure and ease he had whenever he gulped something down. Sweat. Precum. Cum itself? Whatever it was, it helped him. It made him feel good. It made him feel better. It made him feel like it was his duty. His role. His purpose in life.

A purpose? To suck a dick?

The… The realization struck him as he collected some of that cum from the trough and brought it to his mouth, letting the sticky and stinky liquid drop against his tongue. The taste was different than what he expected. A bit… Less salty? But it was savory as he gulped and couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

“It’s… It’s good,” he mumbled, almost desperate. He wanted it to be a lie or false. But it was the truth.

“Yes. That’s why Olex is feeding us. Not a Tauren, though. But it is better than most demons… And most Orcs or Trolls,” said the Elder.

Olex was done. His erection had stopped, and so was the flow of cum. Even then, the Elder continued to suck, kiss, and clean. He removed whatever could cover that thick charcoal-black shaft. He left a pristine skin as the shaft shrank, was emptied of all that green blood… And finally, retreated to the sheath, the Elder continued to cover with kisses before the apron dropped and covered those nuts.

“It’s done. You won’t get another shot from me,” sighed Olex, sighing. Though he just came… Liters. Enough for the Orc to bathe in it.

Enough for him to press his mouth against the liquid and gulp it down, like he was an animal. A pig. And stopped.

Shame rushed to his face, underneath the fat cum covering and painting his traits. So he closed his mouth and wiped his mouth with his wrist… only to be compelled to lick it.

“You got enough?” asked the Elder, joining in. But more carefully picking the fluid with his joined palms and pouring it into his mouth, almost like a ritual.

“…”

“If it’s shame that gets to you, you can leave that behind. We are all prisoners here. And everyone shares the same meal.”

“… Everyone?”

“Except the guards and Olex. They feed on our magic, most of them,” commented the Elder… Sighing. “You don’t know anything at all.”

“About what?” asked the Orc, confused.

“The outside world. You know nothing about it.”

“The… Outside world?” asked the Orc, shaking his head. “I don’t even know my name. What’s outside I could know?”

“Hmm… What do you know of… The trolls?”

The Orc shook his head.

“The Draeneis?”

Still shaking.

“The Elves?”

Again, shaking… And licking a droplet descending along his cheek.

“The dark portal?”

A shrug.

“They feel familiar. I know I should know them… But I don’t.”

“Then… One day, we’ll get your memory back, New Meat. But for whatever reason, you’ve been sent here with us,” commented the Elder, taking another gulp of cum.

“You keep talking like you own the place. Who are you?”

“I was the greatest Warlock that existed. I made Demons like Olex yield. I was to corrupt other Orcs, but someone thwarted my plans before I could tempt them. But you can call me Gul’dan. Meat.”

Fel Prison 2

Prisoner with Gul’dan, our Orc has to learn how this prison works

The Orc followed Gul’dan. However, there was an unease from the Orc as he tried to remember the name. he was certain Gul’dan was an old name he was supposed to know. A warlock? A former shaman? A betrayer? Still, it didn’t make the Orc more fond of the Elder. Especially after he ate like a king and almost emptied the trough.

At that moment, the bald but bearded green Orc was massaging his round guts while he strutted as if he owned the place. And from the glances of the Wrathguards, it might as well be.

“Who are you?”

“You hurt your head? I told you my name, Fresh Meat. It’s Gul’dan.”

“No. I don’t care about that,” grumbled the Orc. “What are you doing here? The Wrathguards look at you weirdly, and they follow you with their eyes. They are afraid.”

“You noticed it that quickly? You’re good. You could be my disciple here. I could teach you,” said Gul’dan, chuckling.

“No.”

“No?”

The Orc’s words were final: that Gul’dan was dangerous, a bad sign.

“Last time someone refused to be my disciple, I burned him to death.”

The Orc remained silent, his teeth clenched and fists closing.

“I heard his screams when his flesh burst, taken by my flames. I saw the moment his eyes popped like eggs. It was amusing.”

Still the silence, the Orc frowned, noting the Wrathguards were looking away.

“I could kill you, Fresh Meat.”

Again, the steps. The striated walls were familiar, and so was the cavern. But the stench was different, and there was no steel where they were going.

“Are you not afraid? Don’t you want to beg for my mercy?”

“No.”

That time, it was Gul’dan who went silent. As if expecting an answer, as noted by his eyes glancing over his shoulders.

“I think I was used to threats before. What you say? It is a lot of hot air. I care not. Do it.”

The Warlock didn’t stop, but he watched ahead, continuing to lead the path… Before he laughed, his shoulders and chest shaking while he lifted one hand towards the Wrathguards.

“You have a spine, unlike some of my disciples. So… Unctuous,” snarled the Warlock. He walked with a lordly gait. “Some of them turned against me. Many of their disciples are using their powers to keep that prison. Those guards are the only ones used to the Fel, and if I do something that could be considered as collusion, they’ll know what will happen.”

“They are not afraid of you,” said the Orc, making sense of the unease as they stopped at an intersection.

“No. I am a prisoner here. But I am a threat. If I even gift them something, they might die.”

“Pfht. Demons cannot die as easily,” scoffed the Orc. How did he know that?

Still, they were at an intersection. And Gul’dan led the way, towards another set of tunnels that were steadily shifting, going from stone to steel. Until all the walls were black as steel and the sconces shone with a red hue instead of the typical green.

Moreover, the steel was relatively even… And lukewarm under their steps as they entered what looked like bunkers. A few more people were there. Not Wrathguards. Orcs. Trolls. Taurens?

How did he know about what they were? Still, he recognized those lanky and moss-covered individuals as trolls. The bovines covered with fur? Taurens.

And beyond, there were even those scrawny, small things called humans. And taller ones, with long ears, as elves. So different, but he could recognize them.

And they seemed to recognize someone in Gul’dan as they scowled in his direction.

Still, the Orc was led towards one set of beds in an alcove. The stench of Fel was sticking there, and so… Gul’dan pointed to the bed on the left.

“If the Overseer doesn’t assign you one, you’ll be here.”

“Smells like warlocks.”

“Yes. You’ll be sleeping with one of my disciples.”

“Not you.”

“Missing me already, Meat?”

The Orc scoffed, crossing his arms over his ample chest.

“No. I wondered how you can tell me where to go when you’re a prisoner. There’s more.”

Gul’dan didn’t answer. But he laughed, trembled… And then roared, making the Orc twitch for a second before that fit was gone… And left the place almost empty, silent. Dreary, even for the Orc.

“You will suffer here, Meat. But I am leaving. Good luck,” said Gul’dan, waving his hand and stepping away from the alcove.

“Wait, I-“

“MEAT!”

A shout stopped everything, and for a second, the Orc thought it was a ploy. Had to be, since the elder Orc was strutting away, uncaring. And the Orc was to face with the first Wrathguard he saw when he woke up. The Overseer. Luzz… erel?

So, the Orc scowled at the sight.

“What?!”

A single remark, but it was enough for the Wrathguard to grit his teeth and yank the air. At the exact moment, a translucent green chain appeared, joining the Overseer’s hand… And the Orc’s collared neck. A collar he hadn’t seen before. A summoned collar.

Before that thought went through, the Orc fell forward, unable to keep his balance from the sudden pull. And his fattened and weakened body barely resisted before he landed on his knees and hands.

“Defer to me with respect, Meat. Here, you are one of my prisoners. And you’re already shirking on your duties.”

“Du-HRGL!”

The Orc choked as the steel closed on his neck, making him wheeze and pull back on the metal.

“You will be punished for this. I’ll find something fitting, Meat. But you will follow!”

A trickle of air was what remained, as the Orc tried to inhale and breathe. Shallow breaths he was to take as he was dragged forward, pulled from one direction to another. However, contrary to what Gul’dan forced him to follow, it was a quick stroll for the Orc… Even as ashamed as he was, he was on all fours. And soon, the steel relinquished its grip on his neck, allowing him to breathe loudly… And sigh.

And massage his sore throat as he looked away, and inhaled the aroma of a… pen. No, a kennel.

He looked around; it was back to rock and steel, with many holes in the walls that were partially completed with scaffolding here and there.

Then, as the Orc recovered his composure… A hoofed foot hit him in the ass, sending him rolling forward.

He cried, shouted, and grunted. He snarled, too, as he turned to see the Overseer and the three guards at the entrance of that cave. Wherever he was, it was a maze. But worse, they all four chuckled… Especially the Overseer, who seemed to relish that.

“You’re on dog duty, Meat. Have fun,” said the Overseer, turning away and stepping forth, his tail wagging.

“Dog… Duty? The fuck is that?” asked the Orc, snarling and standing up on his feet, the teeth clenched. He glanced at the Overseer’s back, but he was not answering and his stomps were leading him away, farther…

Until there were but the three guards and one approaching, with a brush and a bucket.

“Here.”

“… What?” asked and nearly roared Garrosh as he saw that… As he saw those two sundries, he was entrusted with them. And he threw the brush away. “I AM AN ORC! NOT A SLAVE!”

He shouted. He stomped on the ground. He was throwing a tantrum. But the guard before him remained stoic, even when the bucket, too, was thrown.

“Is that so? You are not a slave?”

“FUCK YOU!”

“Perhaps the task of cleaning the pen is something you won’t do… That task is above you?”

“Yes-… WHAT?!”

But as he said yes, the Orc watched the Demon bring two fingers to his lipless mouth and yet, manage to produce a whistling sound.

“New toy for you!” shouted the Demon, and… The Orc turned towards where the Guard looked.

Small quadrupedal creatures were slipping from the holes dug in the cavern’s walls.

Covered with red scales over their legs ending with one clawed digit, they looked abhorrent. They didn’t have eyes, but stalks sprouted from their backs and pointed forward, like a plant or a parasite.

That face was mainly of one skull… And those serrated teeth were dangerous.

Yet, there were not one or two, but four of them. Grunting, growling… Purring.

“Don’t hurt him too much!”

The Wrathguard spoke, and the Orc for a moment snapped his eyes back at him. A terrible idea, as one of the creatures pounced on the Orc.

Still, he stood upright and handled the weight, as much as the pain of those claws digging in his flesh. But it was one creature. And two more joined, adding enough weight to break the Orc’s balance and send him sprawling on the ground, on the side.

He tried to kick, push, and smack the Creatures away. But they were relentless and napping at his heels whenever he tried to stand up.

“Don’t play too hard with them. They get rowdy,” said the Wrathguard, at a distance and laughing.

“Playing?!” shouted the Orc, kicking in the head but finding another of those Beasts jumping on his shoulder and back, pinning him to the ground. “Is that playing?!”

“They’re playing with their female before they breed it,” shrugged the Wrathguard.

“Wh-What?!”

But as the Orc screamed, he felt something slimy and warm press against his legs. He looked, shivering… And saw one of the creatures happily humping his legs, blocking him. However, if it was one humping… There was something else that drew cold sweats out of the Orc. That cock… One of the Creatures was going near his ass and with a wide cock, red like fire, and ending with a knot.

Such an organ was almost like the Orc’s arm. But he watched it approach his ass… And with a gulp, the Orc attempted again to shake off those netherspawns.

But it didn’t work.

He could shake, but it only seemed to rouse them.

To rouse the biggest of all that was above the Orc’s back, his erect cock poking at the Orc’s posterior.

“Get them off! I’ll clean whatever you want!” begged the Orc, spit flying from his face.

“Nah. They smelled a bitch, they won’t stop. Not now, not ever. You had your choice,” chuckled the Wrathguard as he made a sign to his fellows and the two went away.

Then… As if on cue, the Orc felt that warm and massive cock prodding his posterior. Between his cheeks. It was… Warm. It was unnatural. It was too wide. It would break him.

“Fine!” he shouted, no longer feeling the need to submit.

The Wrathguard looked at him, smirking. He wanted to punish him?

Fine, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Not even one ounce as the Orc clenched his teeth, showing a tough front to that bastard. His tusks out and raised, he was almost defying the guard.

Whatever those beasts would do, whatever pain it was, he would endure it. He would live with it, and look the Guard in the eyes without even flinching.

Or so he thought when the Creature’s cock was entirely slipping within him.

And disarmed him. Not through pain, suffering, or whatever tricks. But through the sheer pleasure, the Orc instantly fell for that fat, knotted cock pressing within his inside.

His eyes bulged. His mouth closed. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes and rolled over his cheeks. But it was… Good.

So… So… So good.

It was an explosion inside him, of renewed pleasure that had been turned off. No. It aroused a hunger that was all novel for the Orc who had been cognizant and aware of his situation only for two hours at most?

As that cock dug and delved inside his hole, it brought the same relief as one would feel from feeling sore and having ice pressed against that spot. But instead of being cold, that cock was warm like a searing sun. And its touch made the Orc’s sweat sizzle.

But far from hurting, the burning touch made the Orc… moan. Moan like a pretty whore. And finally, he broke eye contact.

His eyes rolled in the back of his head, his back arched, his toes curled, his fingers dug into the hard ground.

It was… So intense, so pleasant.

“How… Can it be?” asked the Orc, feeling those creatures… The Felhunters fuck his hole. Well, one. But one was enough to make his wits and negative emotions melt away as that cock was throbbing right against a jolting and pleasant spot.

One cock that, through its pummeling, was melting away all the tensions. Even the pain from the puncture wounds and scratches was erased, smothered, taken away by what could be considered rape. By one creature forcing its way upon another, by a feral creature raping a sentient one.

But the Orc drolled and salivated, feeling like he was having an orgasm but didn’t ejaculate. Or even went hard.

But sure as the Twisted Nether existed, he was climaxing. His body wasn’t lying, his face wasn’t lying, his clenched asshole wasn’t lying as that fat knotted cock was delving within his hole.

And… Then… Firmly lodged itself, with the knot passing through the entrance and locking it.

It didn’t even hurt. It didn’t even sting. It was like nothing had happened, but bliss.

Pure bliss.

In the distance, the Orc even heard someone speak, laugh, or babble. But it was all muffled by the growls and grunts of the Felhunters running around, snarling, fighting, snapping at one another.

The biggest of all four was evidently the Alpha. But he was fighting against the others who wanted their own turns… And through the rubbing, fighting, and pushing, it happened one of the Felhunter’s cock landed right by the Orc’s mouth.

Or so it should have been a random occurrence, if not for the fact that the Orc had his mouth wide open… And that cock was directly pointing at his throat.

The result remained the same, whether it was through luck or not. Fucked on one side, forced to suck on the other, the Orc was spitroasted and fighting not to take that knot in mouth. A vain effort ending with that knot still passing through the lips and locking the teeth in an open position, the jaw hurting from being pried open so widely.

And so… it continued. The fucking, the humping, the whining of the beasts that were trying to get an orgasm out of this situation.

And at the center, the Orc… Blissfully embraced by the decadence and sex… The thirst and hunger were there, a yearning he couldn’t deny as he was fully… Used and abused.

A moment of joy and satisfaction, shaken whenever one of the Felhunters slipped away and another took the spot, in fucking and ruining the Orc.

It was all like a valse, a danse, an exchange. And though it was only a select few, more of the Felhunters were joining and filling the room. They were forming a pile and would soon all have a turn with the Orc… Except.

“What is happening here? Where is the New Meat?!” shouted a voice in discontent. “What? You let the Felhunters have him? What did I tell you?!”

The Orc’s eyes were rolling, his numb mind stirred from that comatose state to notice, through the pile of flesh, the presence of the Overseer. Hands on his hips, furious, he was looking at more… Demons? More Wrathguards. A tiny army… All around a table.

“They are to fuck the mages! Not him! Has anyone seen that old Bastard?!”

The shouting continued… Amplified as the Guards and Felhunters alike were steadily backing away. Only those who hadn’t been satisfied, from both groups, remained… Until there was only one felhunter humping the Orc’s posterior. And six Wrathguards, excluding the Overseer.

Overseer who was still there, chuckling, laughing from having caused such a ruckus… And pointing at the Orc.

“Fifty, he is still aware.”

“Ouh. That’s a big bet. What’s your reason?”

“His history. I got something from my summoner.”

“Hoho. Something spicy, sir?”

“Something you’d better not learn,” said the Overseer, pointing at the six sitting at the table. They were all… Holding pens and cards, as if they were playing and at the same time keeping bets…

“Playing?”

The Orc’s voice broke the relative peace and harmony. It came out stronger than expected and croaking, shaky, too, from the Felhunter fucking his asshole and about to get done with his orgasm, as heard from the whimpers.

The Beast was jumping, pouncing, planting his claws within the Orc’s back, tracing more burning red lines across the brown skin than those before.

It was almost desperate to get over with… And the Orc couldn’t tell why. Merely that the Netherspawn was fucking with all the energy he could muster until, with a cry, the Beast was done… And yanked his knot away despite all the instincts telling the Felhunter not to.

The last ejaculation, the last shot, was then wasted as, without anything to hold and stop the backflow, it was pushed out of the Orc’s guts.

The asshole couldn’t hold anything at the moment, the rim entirely open and unable to clench or close, only wink. So, followed the spurting sound of air and liquid mixed, forced through an entrance that was smaller than what the flow desired… While the Orc was left scrambling and moaning, his mind was trying to recompose the pieces of what he was or what he was supposed to do.

And before him… There were the Demons. Still at the table. Even the Overseer had joined them.

“He’s cognizant to you, Sir?” asked one of the Demons, adding one stack of black coins.

“No. But he will be. Give him a few minutes,” said the Overseer, reclining on the metallic chair.

“That’s cheating if he recovers.”

“Said the one who tried to make us wait three days for that Eredar. It’s one hour. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“I don’t know why we even allow you to take bets.”

“It’s that. Or I’m stopping the bets and mandating the Warlocks to send you to the mines.”

“Cunt.”

“Insubordination?”

“No, Sir,” answered the Demon, though it might be said that compliance was completed with a grin.

But that, the Orc couldn’t see or fully get it. The Demons were speaking over his moan and groan, over his limbs clutching for something: air, ground, support, anything. And they were taking bets about whether or not he was “lost” to them.

A situation that was completed by the Fel Hunters still sniffing around and moving, though none seemed interested in fucking him anymore. Or so hoped the Orc as he landed, forehead first.

“Spirits….”

“Hey. Are you betting, too?” asked one of the Demons, laughing.

“He is still sane.”

“How much do you put on the line?”

“Nothing, I know,” commented a familiar voice. And then, calloused fingers reached for the Orc’s shoulders, gripping them… And attempting to make him roll on the side. It was easier to cough up, then, all that cum still in his mouth and clogging his pipes. It was far easier to breathe, enough for the Orc to cough and spit out a fat ball of fluids.

“Wake up, Meat. You learned to submit to orders?”

“Fu-Fuck you,” groaned the Orc, his tongue lolling out a bit;

“Still there. You lost,” said Gul’dan… Sending most of the Demons roaring, except the Overseer, who chuckled.

“Fine, boys. Get back to work!”

At that moment, the Orc wasn’t sure he could “work”.

Fel Prison 3

Strange deals happen in the prison, far from the prying eyes.

With a grumble, the Orc scratched the stone with that brush he’d been given. Each time, he dipped it back into the bucket, full of water, grime, and substances… And returned to making the red stone shine, even in the depths of the Felhunters’ den.

Luckily enough, it had been decided he wouldn’t be busy taking them each day. One thorough breeding had been enough to calm the Orc’s velleity and willingness to fight the Demon. If breeding him was the bare minimum, what else could they do?

Plus… Much to his shame, he couldn’t say he disliked the Fel Hunter. Or rather, he hated their existence like a plague put on… Azeroth? That was the name. But their constant sniffing, licking… And sometimes riding had mellowed and ruined some of the Orc’s walls. He couldn’t resist those long tongue delving inside his plump ass, making his asshole go cold and almost numb for a second…. Or for hours when they rode him on.

Such satisfaction was presumably a part to make him bend and break, to make him sure he would remain compliant. It worked, partially. The Orc complied with orders, avoiding the fuckfest… But he was fighting it as much as possible, restraining his base desires so they wouldn’t abuse it.

Or so he repeated it, as a Mantra, when that Felhunter’s tongue was dwelling within his ass, rubbing, massaging, making him almost moan when someone else squeezed himself through the den and landed by the Orc. Another Orc. One whose skin was green. But it wasn’t the elder. Still, that Orc was just as bald, but had a long beard that… Should have been braided. Or so remembered the Orc as he saw in those empty eyes.

There was still somewhat of a closeness, a likeness… Even when that Orc grunted words and offered his hand to take the Orc’s brush. He would be the one doing the work? It wasn’t his turn yet.

But already, the old graying Orc was moaning from one of the Felhunter licking and getting ready to hump his back. It was better not to fight the request and to leave before it all ended in a fuckfest.

And so… The Orc slipped away, feeling the stuffy air from the Den replaced by the dry and musty air of the cavern.

He stomped on the stone, then down the scaffoldings as he watched the Guards still around, talking while reclining against a wall. Piss-poor discipline. But it seemed they did not care. Nobody cared. The place was a prison, but it only had Demons and their prisoners. Prisoners who were dependent on the Demons for survival. The water was sourced through portals; access was provided in the same manner. Unless you were a mage or a Warlock, you couldn’t escape. Even then, most Warlocks seemed bound… Perhaps not Gul’dan. But that one was shifty.

He preferred to avoid him if possible, even during the communal meal. Even when the Orc was sucking on Olex’s cock, trying to coax a few more droplets of cum from the Fel Lord… Even when the Orc had to lick from the cum trough to get his fill for the whole day.

It was… It was preferable to avoid him, as it meant danger.

“Meat,” said a voice. Not Gul’dan. Not a Demon. But a troll. That one intercepted the Orc on his way to the mess… Making him scowl.

“What?”

“Ya be on cleaning duty wi’ me,” said the Troll. A tall one with a skull tattooed on his face. His red hair had been cut short in a mohawk, and his tusks broken. He spoke with an air of exhaustion… But there was also a glimmer in his eyes, as if he recognized the Orc while the Orc didn’t. And sometimes, it felt like they knew one another.

But never had the Orc seen a comely troll before, one whose body was muscles and fat, of curves and needs, of tits and asses… Tits that were often touched by the Guards whenever they were feeling keen on giving the Troll a pass for his duties.

Even his cockcage was gold, adorned with gems like a prized bitch. His name… it was supposed to start with a Vol.

Nevertheless, the Orc grunted but followed the Troll, nodding and walking further away from the mess and right to the entrance.

“Why am I on duty with you?” asked the Orc, snarling. He couldn’t stop; there was something that irked him about that troll. Maybe it was his apparent laziness? Or something else? He seemed not… Loyal.

“No clue, man. It’s de Ove’see’.”

Yes, the Overseer. That one was a freaky bastard of an Overseer. He could be considered a Warden, but once the Orc was told the Warden was a Warlock and not a demon. Nevertheless, the Overseer acted as one. Such as yanking them from duty to duty to avoid them getting used to comfort or security. Each duty was different, each role as displeasing as before.

But none particularly dangerous. Unless it was for sanity, or made someone question if they were a pervert.

Contrary to the name implied, the “Cleaning” duty had nothing to do with cleaning the Prison. That one, the imps handled it every week.

No… The cleaning that was to be handled appeared to be… A gaggle of stupid sluts.

Near the entrance, and where would be the Demons’ access to their quarters, one room had been modified to welcome a series of contraptions on either side. It was a long, winding corridor, filled with moans and groans from the poor fuckers who were strapped to them.

The Orc could have been one of them, if he broke under the Felhunters.

He survived. So instead, he had to take care of the dregs who didn’t. Of the shells of soldiers who, through breeding and fucking, lost their minds.

Attached, their mouth bound, their arms bound behind them, their legs spread or amputated for some, they were nothing more than meat bags the Demons used to fuck. With two holes available and two rows, it was enough to satisfy all the demons within the prison, no… The double.

Nevertheless, all those Meatbags were solely that… bags to be fucked and abused by the Demons, filled with so much spunk they never complained.

However, this was accompanied by the need to clean up their holes after usage. All that cum always dripped into channels that disappeared below ground. But what remained stuck to the hairy or stinky asses was up to the cleaner to handle.

A glance left and right… Then the Orc frowned.

“I will handle the left. You do the right,” said the Orc to the Troll, who… Merely shrugged.

“Fin’ be me.”

Still, even if he accepted, the Orc wasn’t willing to thank him. And each went on their own row.

The first of the bags was a Human, old, pathetic, head-shaven, bearded. The man was far from glabrous, but his genitals were bare of hair… Same as his ass. Which made it easier for the Orc as he observed the markings around the holes. Arrows. As long as it was arrows, he could clean the hole.

He craned his neck, and as soon as possible, the Orc pressed his lips against the hole. The smell and taste of ass was overwhelming. But bearable now as he locked his lips on the swollen rim, on the wrinkled entrance that had been vertically split through abuse.

And the Human’s answer to being rimmed was to moan weakly, his tits spraying milk and his pathetic, sterile cocklet spraying watery fluids over the Orc’s face.

But the orc continued, sucking on the rim while his tongue danced and plunged deep, in an attempt to scoop out the still warm, musky, and filling cum. Demon cum… He was getting addicted to it. Anyone mortal was… He could swear he saw some green spots on his skin, too. But it was still shameful to reveal it. To reveal that he was starting to relish the idea of sucking demons to get that nut out, or to suck it out of someone else’s hole when he was hungry.

He had even thought about it when stuck with the felthunters: he had been hungry for a “snack”. But such thoughts were abhorrent, and he crushed them…

Even when, at that instant, he was experiencing such a “snack”. He was truly sucking the spunk out of someone else, savoring the salty flavor sprayed all over his tongue… He gulped it down, listening to the Human’s pathetic moan while, through a reflex, he went to massage his own heavy chest.

And he swallowed, sucked, licked… Until he couldn’t find the fizzling presence of cum wherever he went. Near the rim, further, way further… That hole wouldn’t relinquish more cum. And so… He stopped his sucking, liberating the hole with a wet pop before he looked over his shoulders.

The Troll was at his second hole and about to finish.

The Orc? He barely finished his first… And so, he groaned, squatting and crawling to the second hole of the line. A Night Elf. An oddity, considering they were supposed to be slaves. Or so remembered the Orc. Still, there was a Night Elf whore here… one whose plump cheeks were covered with dark green hair… And whose rim was so open, it was constantly winking back.

Cum barely oozed from it… And there were arrows. Arrows. As long as they were here, it was good.

The Orc continued, pressing on the fat cheeks with his hands as if to squeeze more from the Night Elf’s guts. He swallowed, sucked, licked… And when the time came to confirm the Night Elf was truly empty, the Orc squeezed on that gut, only to be swarmed with a flood of demonic cum.

There was more… More to swallow, more to fill his guts. More to eat and feel satisfied with. A cum high… That was the term when people were so high on cum, they were cumming stupid…

He did. The Orc did as he felt his groin wet as he finished licking the Night Elf’s asshole.

But he… Had to continue, even if his cock was still dripping between his legs with the third and fourth bitch. Troll and Human, respectively, those two did not fight to give the Orc what he wanted, and soon, their holes were pristine and clean… Were perfectly ready for another Demon to use them, territorial as they could be.

The fifth, though.

It was a Draenei. Reddish skin, no legs, face stupid… That cock was too small and those balls missing. However, the issue was that the arrows were missing. Instead, there were runes marked all around it.

A sort of phrase, in Eredar, so impossible to read.

“We got one!” shouted the Orc. Behind him, he heard the shuffle of the Troll moving. And the stomps of a Demon’s hoofed steps.

Both were coming, with the Troll being the first to join.

“Da good bitch. Can move ‘em to de breeding,” said the Troll, patting the Orc’s shoulders.

“What’s this?” interjected the Demon in return, another Wrathguard.

The Orc merely pointed to the almost closed orifice, a difference from the natural gape after being taken by Demons, and the runes around it.

“We got one pregnant. I should ignore it?” asked the Orc, watching the Demon approach, scratching his chin… And then, nod.

“Go on with the next one. We will send the bitch.”

Then, the Demon strutted away, leaving the two prisoners behind to do their tasks. The Wrathguard was not afraid they could do something stupid… And for a reason: in their states, it was impossible for them to try anything against the Demons. The further the cum addiction was, the less willing they were to abuse their masters.

To the point most Prisoners were subservient and downright obsequious with the Demons who were eager for more holes to fuck.

“Da bitch is lucky”, commented the Troll, squatting behind a Tauren, licking that enormous hole as if polishing the rim.

“Why? That bitch doesn’t care. It’s braindead.”

Most were. Fucked so stupid, they were broken things that were, at best, capable of repeating the insults they received. But they were Meatbags. And some were fertile.

“Yeh. But more care. Healing. No pain or problem.”

“Is that what you want? Easiness?” growled the Orc, though he was already starting to feel sore from holding the position behind another Elf’s ass, suckling the cum out of the rim.

“No easiness. But ol’ age. Don’ wanna stay ‘e’e.”

“You prefer to be like them, popping out Demon babies?” grumbled the Orc, looking over his shoulder.

But as he looked, he saw the Troll’s posterior spread with three big fingers, exposing a rim no different than the bags… And oozing precum.

“Dat place be cursed. ‘here might be bette’.”

“Or worse.”

“Or wo’se,” confirmed the Troll.

Few prisons were as accommodating to prisoners, yet not as humiliating.

But the Orc kept quiet as he licked another hole, even as he watched a flock of four Demons approaching to detach the Draenei. One was the key holder. The others were the muscles to grip the fattened Prisoner and drag him away like a Meatbag, leaving behind a slot that would soon be filled.

or so thought the Orc as he returned to licking.

Then, at the ninth bitch, he groaned.

“You know where they’re sending him?”

“Dunno. Da place was dark before I got ‘here. It’s… ‘nother worl’. Dangerous. Cursed. Legion worl’ with Warlocks,” said the Troll, going at it with a Gnoll posterior.

“How do you know that?”

“I hear’ ‘rything,” continued the Troll, secretive.

And no amount of questioning was enough to get the Orc to have an answer. So… They continued… Licking, sucking, going from all types of asses: Horde, Alliance, others… yet, at the end of the line, the Orc was downright sucking one of his kin’s orifice. A new addition, last of the slots… or so he thought as he licked the hairy posterior, passed the fingers on the plump green cheeks he massaged.

There were no arrows. But no runes. Maybe one who hadn’t been properly marked.

And so, the Orc started to lick, kiss… And prod the entrance until he heard a moan, a grumble… And words.

“Lick it better, Meat. Get me ready for them all,” said Gul’dan, his voice heavy. And, surprisingly enough, to have the Orc yanking his head back.

“What are you doing here?” asked the Orc, snarling. He glanced over his shoulders, but the Troll was gone… Only he and Gul’dan. Not a trace of a demon guard.

“I am waiting for my break.”

“Your break? Getting railed by Demons?” asked the Orc, scoffing.

“I’m used to it. And it’s more enjoyable than going through the motions.”

“I don’t know what you mean. But I’m done,” scoffed the Orc, standing up. His back burned, his legs burned, and his face burned. Even his jaw ached, but at least he was not hungry.

“I know what you feel, Meat. The pleasure you crave, the heat in your ass, the wants when you see a Demon cock,” said Gul’dan, laughing.

“Yeah? And that’s my problem?”

“It is. You are refusing yourself… To the truth that we are but breeding holes for Demons. Slaves to our desires. Their whores.”

Many thoughts ran through the Orc’s mind… But he decided on one retort, an old one that popped in.

“Demons serve the Horde, like everything that breathes should. You are denying yourself your purpose, Gul’dan.”

“Curious.”

“Hmm? What’s this?”

“Nothing,” scoffed the old Orc, reaching between his legs, since he wasn’t bound, to touch and play with his butthole. To tease it, to caress it, to circle it.

For a moment, the Orc was mesmerized by the actions of those fingers exploring that old Man’s asshole. But then, there was a cough.

“I heard about the Horde’s laws. But I was captured by it… I never agreed to it. More than that, I planned to create my own Horde.”

“Stupid,” commented the Orc.

“No. I was supposed to win, to have won. Maybe not me… But to have brought what the demons needed for their dominion.”

“They only want to corrupt. There’s nothing more to say, Warlock,” growled the Orc, feeling his conviction about the Warlock confirmed. That and the cold resentment he was feeling, even as he watched that Elder play with his butthole, almost as an invitation. Liquid dripped from it, white, musky, steamy. Nothing like the gape endured by the other meat bags.

But it was enough proof for the Orc as he scowled.

“Nothing to say? You’re fed with their fluids, just like it could have been. You’re enjoying it. Same as watching their loincloth, watching their cocks. That’s how many Warlocks ended here. It is supposed to be a prison, but here… We live as Kings, fulfilling the role we’ve been bestowed.”

The Orc scoffed, shaking his head. And even, chuckled.

“Laughing? I could punish you,” said Gul’Dan, raising one hand, the glimmer of green visible and daunting. But not for the Orc.

“Go on. You cannot even fulfill what you were asked to do by the Legion.”

Gul’dan’s nostrils flared, his red eyes focused on the Orc as he stood up, abandoning that certainly succulent and musky hole.

“I fulfilled my duty, Meat. And you’ll do it, too.”

“You can’t even create an army for your 'demons'. Do better than those Meatbags,” said the Orc, stomping away… Stomping and rushing as he felt the heat build up in his loins, in his orifice, flaring the moment he saw a nearby Wrathguard. But he continued, hellbent on taking that victory.

Fel Prison 4

Something is happening, and our Orc will be the witness of a change in the prison

“You’ve got the lips of a succubus, bitch.”

“And the hole for it.”

The Orc gritted his teeth as he glanced to his left. Today’s duty was nothing but being trophy bitches for the Guards resting in their quarters. Yet, the Orc felt his frustration and anger flare as he felt the weight of shackles on his hands and legs.

Contrary to many, he hadn’t shown the devotion and desires many other prisoners did. So, just in case, they bound his hands together. Same as his legs.

They shoved another of those phallic toys up his ass and forced him to sit on the side, to watch the two rowdy Wrathguards play with… Their toy.

Haromm. Or so was his name, told by the collar attached around his wide neck. Told by the insults etched onto the skin, onto that flesh that was almost a canvas to the perversion the Wrathguards could do.

However, the mute and stupid Orc eagerly threw himself at their faces, kissing the Wrathguards and suckling on their tongue like it was an earth-blessed font of honey. He sucked on the oldest Wrathguard, the biggest and technically fattest of the two. One old bastard whose name the Orc had already forgotten.

But that Fatty was offering his tongue while Haromm was squeezing itself against that belly, rubbing his impotent genitals against the purple skin. At the same time, the other Wrathguard chuckled and stroked himself.

“Drink it up, bitch. It’s yours,” said the second, the Thin. He had the traits of a scoundrel, at best. In a battlefield, the Orc wouldn’t give him any authority. Especially not a demon.

But he watched as the Fatty released his grip on Haromm, stroked the Orc’s neck and posterior with his hands before he guided him… Guided Haromm to lean, to approach his mouth to Thin’s cock.

Soon, the sound of a spurting jet followed, as well as the sound of someone guzzling down what was given. Parched lips smacking together, the sighs from satisfaction, the grunts from filling one’s stomach beyond what was necessary, the moans from the pressure hitting against the cheeks.

The Orc… Somehow knew it. And his lips smacked again, too, as he watched Fatty’s deviant grin.

“Thirsty? You can beg for it, Meat.”

He wasn’t the New Meat. Haromm should have been. He was the most recent addition. Someone who, from the echoes within the corridors, had been a fervent follower of the previous Warchief.

To avoid any issues, they cut his tongue and inserted runes within his flesh to cull his power. Now, the relatively lean Shaman was nothing but a plaything. One who sometimes glanced at the Orc with a hint of shame before he returned to the Wrathguards, to worship them.

That one’s loyalty meant nothing.

“Tsch. I’d rather die of thirst,” scoffed the Orc, shaking his head but keeping his body uptight and tense. If he moved a bit of his posterior, the tottering chair would send the toy hitting his inner walls and him… Hollering.

So he stilled himself, controlled… And still almost reeled from the sensation of his bowels hit… And Fatty chuckling back, especially as he hooked another finger inside the burly Shaman, spreading those cheeks and inserting one finger within the orifice…

Not virgin, never virgin.

But one that hadn’t been trained to take the likes of the Wrathguards. And the gurgling came to a stop, then a spit… And finally to more gurgling as the Shaman’s face was shoved against Thin’s cock.

“That’s fine. He’ll have it all. And you’ll die like this.”

No, he wouldn’t. Even for the same offense as someone who would be tortured and then killed, the Orc was merely teased but released scot-free. A situation that worsened the glares and the distance between him and the other prisoners.

None had shivs; otherwise, he might have woken up with a few more holes. Or wouldn’t wake up at all.

“You won’t. If I ask for water at the death door, you’ll give it to me,” said the Orc, scratching his inked chin, then pointing a finger at Haromm, calling on their bluffs. “If you’re too lazy, it’ll be his duty.”

Fatty glared back. Then glanced at Thin, who shrugged in return. That one didn’t care. And Fatty returned to the Orc, shaking his head.

“Smartass, uh. What about this?” said the Wrathguard, raising one hand and snapping his fingers. No spell, nothing. But the Orc could feel something inside his loins. The same curse as Gul’Dan unleashed. And somehow, his loin, his asshole, his guts, burned all the same. With the heat of someone desperate of being fucked, of being abused, of being ruined.

Something he knew. He knew entirely, even though he couldn’t tell why.

But he knew… he knew as he sighed, gargled, looked up to the stone while his asshole clenched and audibly sucked on the phallic toy, spurting some natural lube all over it while his cock sprang between his legs. Pathetic. Small. Yet, spurting and squirting between his legs like a female as he was feeling the tremor of a petite mort hit him.

“That’s… All you can do?” finally stated the Orc, mustering the will to reply and glare back. He lowered his gaze, tensed his jaw… And even forced a smug smile on his face while Fatty was focused on him. “You can do better to… Punish a prisoner.”

A single twitch from Fatty’s eye. A scowl. A snarl. And another snap. The curse was undone, and the Orc could finally relax, but not too much.

“You’ll be on dog duty next week.”

“Only the Overseer can say so.”

“The Overseer can stuff himself. It’ll be your duty. He’ll accept it whether you want it or not,” grunted Fatty, back to stroking and adding a third finger inside the moaning Haromm. “You’re a plague. A pain in the ass. He’ll be happy if it silences you for a week or two.”

“It won’t break me. I won’t be a Meatbag,” grunted the Orc, shaking his shackles.

“Shut up.”

“I won’t shut up for you, Fatty.”

The Wrathguard glared back. As if he had abandoned, he ignored the Orc royally and returned to the Shaman. To that green-skinned Shaman, whose beard was no longer braided like before. The hair had started to grow gray, and the top of the head was bald. But it was a shame that a fine specimen was getting ruined and abused by Demons.

He could have been a fierce instructor, or even bred a few strong Shamans… Instead, Haromm was gargling and sucking on Thin’s cock, sucking that shaft that was so thick and wide, it must be breaking his jaw.

Something the Orc observed with a snarl, unable to peel his eyes off even if he so desired. It was akin to watching a wounded beast, to watching someone’s last breath.

But it was freedom and pride that were killed, slaughtered…

With the sounds of that slaughter being of sucking lips and clenching asshole. Four fingers in, and Haromm wasn’t crying and hollering. Maybe he had been trained for this, after all.

Perhaps he had been broken before, and he had been thrown here to be another toy for the Guards in this prison.

The result was nonetheless the same when, using their wide beds, Fatty and Thin joined together in grinding their cocks against Haromm’s face.

The poor bastard seemed unable to decide which greasy cock to pick. Fatty was wider, but Thin was longer. Their flared ends released drops after drops of precum, smearing the fluids on that bearded face and that green skin, marking it with that pungent touch.

Haromm didn’t complain. His mouth opened like a good Worg, giving a kiss to the nearest organ while the two Wrathguards were chuckling.

“Look at him. Already tamed.” “Damn. I wish I could break him. It’s funnier.”

The two Wrathguards were not looking at the Orc. They ignored his erection, the pathetic precum dripping for that tiny orcish erection, or the green patch of skin at the tip… Instead, they were all smitten by the Shaman who, on his knees, stroked his asshole while guiding Thin’s cock within his throat.

The gargle was loud and painful to hear. The poor fucker was choking on that cock already, and his pained moan confirmed his mouth suffered from the abuse. But the median ring had already slipped in, and Thin was already whistling while Fatty stroked himself, spraying that green face with cum.

“Succubus.”

“I told you. They sent the bitch here ready. Just for us all. A good reward for this semester.”

Patted shoulders and nudging elbows aside, Thin held on Haromm’s head, covering those ears, and fucked that throat.

The big, boulder-sized purple nuts smacked against the chin, delivering a spray of precum, sweat, and other foul fluids all over the Shaman’s chin, neck, torso, and belly.

One hit, and the Shaman’s fingers slipped out.

Two hits, and he tried to push against the Wrathguard’s thighs.

Three hits, and the legs trembled.

Four hits, and the poor fucker was pissing himself.

Five hits, and hands dropped.

Six hits, and the eyes rolled in their sockets, the throat bulging obscenely from the cock throbbing within.

All consecutive hits barely elicited an antagonized reaction from the Shaman, already taken, his body reacting to the Precum and Cum that had been pumped inside him. To them, to the spellcasters, Demon spunk had an effect. It wasn’t like for the Orc. It was far more insidious; it burned them from the inside out, etching that perversion in their souls.

That was… What he guessed. No, what he remembered as he watched Haromm’s cock spring to life and suddenly cum on the ground.

“Shit. He’s gone?”

“No. His lips are still sucking me. Good as news,” commented Thin, pulling back and free. Followed then the thunderous and retching cascade of cum, precum, throat slime, saliva, and tears.

‘More’ would have croaked the Shaman, if not for his mutism. Instead, as soon as he caught his breath, Haromm pounced on Fatty’s cock and endured the same treatment as before, if not worse.

The Orc watched, feeling both disgusted and excited. Midst the horror of watching his kind bending over to Demons, worshiping them, there was that sadistic glee. The joy of seeing a traitor, a prisoner, getting wrecked and fucked.

Enough, he was feeling excited… And had one hand going between his legs, rubbing and squeezing his testicles and small erection to get something out of it.

“Nice show, right? Nothing like an Orc learning his place, below us,” chortled Fatty, patting Haromm’s head. Meanwhile, the Shaman was throwing himself, body and soul, into sucking that cock.

The resonating losing fight of a hardened fighter against the lowly appetite hit the Orc’s guts, somehow.

Enough for him to snarl and try to look away. In vain.

He couldn’t as he observed the precum and cum dripping from the Shaman’s lips, the throbs shaking that throat from within, and that belly growing rounder with each thrust from Fatty.

The Wrathguard was even making a show, glancing above his shoulders, smiling, grinning, and scoffing.

“See. That’s the best you can do, Orcs. Be stuffed. See that? That’s how you should behave around us. Like a good pet,” laughed Fatty, gripping Haromm’s hair to force him closer to his groin… And that Shaman wasn’t even fighting, kicking, or hitting back. His hands dropped by his body, his cock again shooting on the floor while all the muscles relaxed. And then… Within a few seconds later, the Orc saw the Shaman yanked away, held by the hair, nape, and shoulders, to show him to the Orc.

The Shaman’s face was coated with cum. Some of it, too, was dripping from his flared nostrils, forming bubbles that popped whenever he breathed in.

That same cum was also dripping from his lips, coating his teeth and the whole inside of that mouth… His eyes were rolling back, his arms and legs limp as if he was gone… Looking just like the Orc after the Felhunters.

And the Orc scowled.

“What? You don’t like how he looks? He looks pretty sexy to me,” commented Fatty, sliding one finger into Haromm’s mouth. And Haromm was already sucking the digit, nursing on it like it was another cock.

“Say. We could also fuck his skull.”

“What? We can?”

“Yeah. Gotta ask the Elder to keep him alive and awake enough. Wanna see the result when we break in,” laughed Thin, reaching and poking at the Shaman’s ears, pinching and pulling on them. “Must be empty enough.”

“Great idea. Plus, it’s just another Meatbag for the Overseer.”

“What’s another Meatbag?”

The voice cut through the moment like a blade.

Relaxation, joy, sadism, all vanished when the voice, harsh and cold, resonated within the room, and its origin stood at the threshold.

“Muxon. Gurhair. Anything to explain?”

“Sir!” saluted Fatty first, followed by Thin, as they were still holding Haromm between them like a broken pet.

“Sir! Sorry! We were talking about using the Prisoner’s ears. He is already willing and broken, as you can see. It wouldn’t hurt if we turn him into a Meatbag, now?”

Lerrzzul sniffed and scrounged his nose and face. He looked at Fatty and Thin, both stripped of their armors. Then to Haromm, whose mouth gulped air like a fish.

He approached… And compared to anyone else, naked and exposed, Lerrzzul looked like a proper military. Even his stance was calculated, with his arms behind his back as he extended one index finger before Haromm.

But the Shaman’s eyes were not even focused, and a caress produced no reaction except a deep moan completed by… Well, another ejaculation from Haromm.

“Already broken. When I am done with the Elder, I will send him to you. Keep him in the quarters, but do not… ruin it,” said Lerrzzul, his voice stiff and stiffer was his stance when his eyes met with the Orc.

“You. Come.”

“I can’t.”

The Orc groaned back, shaking his shackles and his bound legs. He could technically try to go on his legs, but the attempt would be painful… And humiliating.

“What? Shackles are enough to keep you still, Orc?” asked the Overseer.

“No-“

“We also stuck him to the chair.”

The term chair was enough to get Lerrzzul’s expression to shift, going from disdain to a flare of anger. Before he exhaled and snapped his fingers. The shackles were gone, and the Orc was allowed to push… To stand up, and to yank the enormous demon-cock-shaped dildo out of his ass. Still, he narrowly cried when he felt the air rush to his gaping hole, touching his yearning and aching rim as it tried to close up.

“Pathetic. Follow, Meat,” said Lerrzzul, snapping his fingers and ushering the Orc deeper within the barracks.

As expected, while most Wrathguards and other demons shared their beds, all were aligned within a room whose walls were made of laminated steel; the Overseer had his private room. It was a wide door, almost “stuck” in the mix of stone and steel that were doorjambs and lintel. Nevertheless, the Wrathguard pushed the door open and ushered the Orc inside what was… On other occasions, a room befitting a warden.

Ledgers, desk, chairs, a bed on the side, shelves hefting trinkets of all sorts.

There was even a display mannequin, almost a copy of a nondescript Wrathguard, upon which Lerrzzul deposited his pauldron, then gauntlets, fitting them while presenting his back to the Orc.

The Orc who wasn’t even allowed the leisure to leave, as the door had been closed behind him. Instead, he had to make do with the green-lit sconces, the undescript pelt on the floor, the crystals wedged in alcoves. And it continued, with the imported wood that wasn’t from… Azeroth or Draenor?

The place would always strike him as odd.

But the strangest was the blades attached to the walls. They were black like night with green runes etched on them, dull, but brimming with that fel aura.

“Fel blades. Don’t even try to touch them, they’ll burn your flesh,” said Lerrzzul, down to his skirt. He strutted, his hoofed stomps lessened by the mat while he approached, passed by the Orc, and pulled one of the blades free.

He held it carefully, even as fel veins seemed to spread over his hand, wrist, and arm.

“Tsch. Corrupted metal,” answered the Orc with a click of the tongue. “What good is there in corrupted steel?”

Lerrzzul merely placed the blade flat on his palms again, the veins still extending from where the blade touched. Then, he put it back on the display.

Silence. Well, if the Overseer didn’t want to speak.

“What is it, this time? Toilet duty? Pet duty like Fatty wants to? What’s next, Overseer?” started the Orc, scoffing and smug. He knew he wouldn’t break under their torture… And he wouldn’t be killed. He was untouchable, for some reason. A power he could exercise to make their lives terrible.

“Breeding.”

“Breeding? What breeding?”

“Breeding duty,” said the Wrathguard, crossing his arms. “From now on, you’ll be the prison broodwhore.”

“Ah!” laughed the Orc, shaking his head. “I won’t bear a Demon’s spawn. If my will is strong enough, it won’t happen. And as much as you want, I won’t break.”

“You will. Because I want to,” said the Wrathguard, glancing at one of the sconces that flickered for a second, then turned off. The light within the room dimmed, but not enough for the Orc to see around him. Nor ignore the green glow emanating from the Wrathguard’s eyes.

“You want to?” asked the Orc, growling and then spitting at the Wrathguard’s feet. “It won’t happen, arrogant bastard.”

The Orc retort was cold… But as he lifted one hand to speak… Lerrzzul grabbed that wrist with a strength that could easily reduce the bones into powder. And when the Orc tried to punch with the other hand, that same hand was held. Like that, the Orc was lifted, like a child throwing a temper tantrum and kicking… Like a mere toddler who didn’t get his reward.

“Good. You got me. What then? You’ll have me fucked in that position? Good laugh,” said the Orc, still trying to give a kneecap to the Demon’s guts. But no, that guy was yanking the Orc away on every occasion.

“Go on! Try it! Bastard! You wanted it? What? You can’t do anything? To an Orc like me? Look! The moment you let me go, I’ll hit you. And I know you can’t hit me back.”

“You overestimate your value, Garrosh,” said the Wrathguard as he smiled. His lips purled, his fingers tightened on the wrist, and the smell of burnt flesh filled the room while the sensation ran along the Orc’s arm. A warm breeze also hit his back, carrying the scent of cum and piss for a second.

“ARGH! You! netherspawn!” shouted the Orc, clenching his jaw and trying another kick, this time with enough strength that his whole body swung along. But no hit, no contact.

“You are lucky the Warlocks are watching over you, by their orders. But as long as I am here and they cannot watch you, I can do whatever I want.”

Then… As if he were throwing a toy, discarding it, Lerrzzul threw the Orc on the bed. The hefty Orc bounced for a second on the filled mattress, of far better quality than the rest, then he growled, holding onto his wrists. No traces of burn, but the sensation and smell remained even as he rubbed his wrist… And faced two sights instead of one.

“Do it. Their scrutiny is driving me crazy,” said the Overseer, his voice growly as he shook his head and played with his belt.

In answer, Gul’dan approached, his hand possessing that same green glow.

That same glow that, with a flare, sent the Orc quivering and trembling… And moaning as his asshole began to wink and release a steady flow of… Juices. Of lube. Of natural lubricant directly onto the black sheets. The scent of it was musky and disgusting to the Orc. But he couldn’t resist as his hole gaped again, and his first action, his first reflex, was to tug on his buttcheeks.

“Undo your spell, Gul’dan!” shouted the Orc, saliva flying from his mouth.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been itching to do this, Garrosh. We finally get our revenge.”

That was the second time he heard it. No, he heard it before from other prisoners, though the name told the Orc nothing. But the gap in his memory was enough for him to frown, to ponder, before the Warlock’s spell flared again and the Orc gargled.

He gargled, spat, and dropped on his back as his legs kicked up and spread, answering to a primal call. Or something he’d been conditioned to do.

His asshole ached, burned, needed to be taken. It was only natural that he opened his legs to allow someone to enter. Whether it was… A Demon… or a Tauren? Or a Soldier from the Horde? Or anyone who desired it?

The Orc gargled, hit by the sensation and the need to submit. He gargled, watching as the Warlock’s fel continue to flare up, to burn, seemingly consuming the fingers while Gul’dan approached… And Lerrzzul did the same, stripped naked for once.

The Demon’s equine shaft spoke for itself, with the spikes and ridges along the corona and shaft. The flesh pulsated with life… And with each second, it felt like that shaft was growing, reaching the length and amplitude of a whole arm, from fingertips to shoulders.

A beast of flesh that was unnatural by all means, and reeking with needs, with sex, with… Fel-corrupted musk. Yet, the Orc’s mouth salivated all the same as his body flared with sensations that had been dug down.

“Is it done, Gul’dan?”

“Not at all. All those protections are hard to undo… Plus, his body is pushing against me.”

“Keep doing it. Or you won’t be able to get the message across. I want him broken and gone.”

“Hah! You want to get rid of me! But you can’t! You dirty bastard! Son of a bitch! You we-“

“Gag him.”

Just like that, the Orc felt like his mouth went dry. No, his throat was dry. Followed then the lack of sound, only a whistle, as a green hue surrounded his throat.

“Good. Keep him silent.”

“It’s hard to do both, you know?” said Gul’dan, grunting with his hand raised. His shoulders were slumped, his breath loud, and his face covered with sweat. Even his red eyes were barely focusing as he grunted. “He is fighting back.”

But what the Orc could only do was keep his legs spread, to allow the Wrathguard to glance at his asshole. Worse, even his fingers were digging closer to his butthole in a way that made him snarl.

He wasn’t fighting back. His body was entirely giving in, playing with parts of his anatomy he didn’t want to offer to the Demon or anyone else. Yet, he was bound to. He felt obligated to, he felt… Condemned to do as he had, his index fingers toying with the wrinkled rim, pushing against it, digging against the muscles until the Orc groaned and… had his entrance widened with his fingers, two then four going inside to spread and expose the rosy flesh inside.

“May the… elements take you,” grunted the Orc, unable to resist as the digits were moving around and massaging his inner walls, eliciting more grunts and another squirt of precum from his erect cock.

“I will handle that, Gul’dan,” said Lerrzzul, his voice stiff as he approached and clambered onto the bed. On his knees, the Demon approached and had his calloused fingers touching the back of the Orc’s hands… Pushing them aside, prying them from the hole until it was the Demon’s fingers that were going inside it… And digging in.

So wide, so big, so long, those digits were akin to a Human’s cock. And with their presence inside, the Orc moaned. He grunted, he huffed, he threw his head back against the mattress as his asshole clenched, as his bowels moved, and the lube produced by the oversized internal glans was sprayed on the Wrathguard’s fingers as a greasy but translucent substance. Mere fluids, mere lube that was then used to finger and stretch the Orc’s fingers, especially with two digits acting as scissors.

“HHrmph! I will… Not yield to something as… Pathetic!” roared the Orc, saliva flying from his mouth onto his generous chest.

“Do more than that!” shouted Gul’dan, his hand flaring up. And suddenly, the Orc was hit by a blissful sensation. One short moment of sheer delight at feeling the Demon’s fingers digging within his orifice.

And then, it was gone. And so returned the snarl, the anger, the rage as he tried to trash… But the result was only weak movements, weak kicks… A weak body that wasn’t answering to its owner.

“Undo that, Gul’dan! Or else! You’ll know my anger!”

The Warlock didn’t answer to the threat, but scoffed. Scoffed as he lowered the spell, and the Orc was suddenly hit with a sensation of lacking. A craving. Of going cold turkey after being hooked on one sensation or drug for far too long. Dry heaves followed, sweat poured over that glabrous body. And the tension within the Orc’s muscles heightened.

“Can you do something, or do I have to do everything myself?” growled the Warlock.

“You want me to take him?” asked Lerrzzul, visibly not sharing the same opinion as the Warlock.

“Yes! Fuck him! Break him! Anything!”

And so… The Demon huffed.

“It’ll cost you,” said the Overseer, pulling and yanking his fingers free with enough strength that it almost pulled on the rim, going from a pucker to a swollen rosebud.

But the sphincter didn’t give out… And so, the hole remained the same: crattered, agape, lubed. But with everything within… At the eve of the Wrathguard’s flared cock about to penetrate the Orc.

The flared end was so wide, so ridged. It was miles apart from any other demons, even the Fel Lord, indicating how corrupt and twisted Lerrzzul was compared to the others.

His flesh was rigid like scales along the lower side, following the urethra. But the top had little spines that were pushing back against the Orc’s rim, against his hole.

They massaged, twisted, squeezed. And through their presence, the Orc was feeling the progress as his hole was again aflame from Gul’dan’s spell.

Whatever the Warlock was casting, it made the Orc’s flesh pliable and willing. But beyond?

It burned the Orc’s belly, searing the brown and greenish skin with marks and runes only an Eredar or a Warlock could read. Curses. Curses that were twisting, turning, corrupting no different than those on the “Meatbags”. And the Orc tried to kick again, only to be bitten back when, by pulling on his cheeks, he increased the pressure on his asshole.

He narrowly cried. He narrowly teared up. He narrowly smiled as the sensation overcame him, washed over him, and left behind only bliss. Before again, his mind returned.

“He is resilient, I must admit. More than his Father would be,” scoffed Gul’dan, taking a sharp breath and raising his hand higher. The fel magic seemed to concentrate around the hand, forming like a tornado at the center of the Warlock’s palm. “Break it. Focus on it. If you break it… he will submit.”

“I… Won’t.”

“Not you,” scoffed the Wrathguard, leaving forward and gripping the Orc’s nipple with two fingers. One sudden and brutal squeeze that led the Orc’s hole to relinquish any grip and control, giving the free way for the Wrathguard to punch through… And with it, to have his cock rubbing against one spot that was nothing but pleasure to the Orc.

“It always feels good on mortals,” purred the Wrathguard, glancing at Gul’Dan. The Warlock lost his composure for one second but shook his head, maintaining his spell.

“Do it, Lerrzzul. Or I’ll have to stop it.”

The Wrathguard huffed in dissatisfaction, but he continued.

Pushing, hitting, smacking… All his actions were focused and targeted at one spot within the Orc’s body… One single spot, the Orc was feeling… Intensely and oddly. The more the Wrathguard hit it, the more it turned into pain instead of pleasure. The more the Wrathguard rammed against it, the more the Orc was aware of something wrong within him as he glanced down his bulging guts.

The more the Wrathguard brutalized his prostate, the more… The Orc knew he did not belong here at all.

Not in this prison, not in this room, not with them. Yet, he was thoroughly abused, with his body unable to lift even one finger. Not even when the Wrathguard’s thrusts were growing so intense they rocked the body and the two fellows the same.

The lipless mouth clenched. The tail smacked. The breasts lifted.

And… A final hit.

One hit so brutal, the Orc finally came. Not squirted or juiced over him. Ejaculated, through and through. With one white shot ascending through the air, raising between them… And landing on the Orc’s face.

It plastered that dumb smile in white, covered the variegated skin, coated the brows and piercings… And formed a contrast with that lolling out tongue as the orgasm kept sweeping the Orc… And left him rattled, broken… Limp. Limp as he continued to ejaculate, but his limp cock was soft… yet shooting.

And Gul’dan smiling, observing the green swirl visible on that belly.

“He’s ready,” commented the Warlock, smug as he approached.

His red eyes were on the exhausted Orc, his chest coated with juice… then on the bulging guts, though they were shrinking visibly as the Demon pulled back, revealing a cock coated with precum and lube. But no traces of cum. No traces of fluids. Yet, the Warlock was eager to suck, lick, and worship that shaft.

He pressed it inside his mouth, swallowed while massaging the boulder-sized nuts Lerrzzul possessed… And it was with the sound of gargling and grunting that the Orc slowly awoke from his torpor.

With a rough descent from a near ecstasy, the result was akin to feeling every limb and part of his being wrapped in needles. Moving a foot? A finger? A toe? Absurd. Impossible. Even moving his neck was difficult for the gulping and grunting Orc who was, much to his displeasure, capable of listening to the moans from the Wrathguards and the groans from the Warlock as they were lost in a moment of worship.

“You dared…” grunted the Orc, his voice full of ire. And then, astonishment. Fear. Horror. Disgust. Shame. Pleasure. Delight. Joy. Need. Wants. Hunger. Thirst.

“He’s awake,” said Gul’dan, approaching the Orc.

No… More than that, the pudgy Warlock crawled near the Orc and landed on his side, only a whisper away from the Orc’s face. Only a slight inclination, and this would turn into a kiss.

Which wouldn’t take much, if Lerrzzul desired. One hand on the Warlock’s legs, he spread them and had his shaft slipping inside as if it belonged here. And the Warlock groaned, his chest lifting against the Orc’s shoulders.

“How does it feel?” asked Gul’Dan, chuckling, and reaching for the Orc’s nipples, stroking those meaty nubs, then pinching them like Lerrzzul did. “To be back.”

“You…” said the Orc, flabbergasted.

Not only in the situation.

Right now, he was seeing the greatest enemy to Orckind, he’d known before, being fucked like a lowly whore with that belly bulging, imprinted the shape of that demonic cock.

But there was so much rushing into his mind as he gargled, feeling the taste of thousands of hours of use and abuse, the constant humiliation, the terrible shame that constantly plagued him when he’d been bound and betrayed.

But as he gasped, the Orc felt one tongue lick his face, his lips, forcing him into a kiss. A dubious, perverted kiss. And yet, he wasn’t refusing, too hungry for pleasure.

“You must remember it all, Garrosh. The way you betrayed each of your allies. How you managed to conquer so many continents, make so many people bend. Demons, Gods, anyone,” said Gul’dan, whispering to the gasping and gargling Orc.

Orc, who was feeling the movement of Lerrzzul imprinted into the bed, into Gul’dan, and him before that. His asshole still quivered. But now, it was practically begging the Orc to be taken and cunted once more. He couldn’t live without that sensation.

“You did so much. You killed so many. Felled your enemies. But you couldn’t stop the others from betraying you.”

A mere evening that was to celebrate another victory through the third portal. Portals, powered by all the warlocks he’d seen here before they were deemed useless. That evening, everyone had been pressing around the Orc, wanting to talk with him. Each time, they had given him more to drink, and he complied. His instincts told him to resist, but he didn’t.

And when he came back to his senses, it was in the darkness. His legs bound in his back, his legs spread, his genitals cold from something greasy rubbed on them.

“You are too dangerous to be kept around. But we cannot kill you. Do not worry, Warchief. We will protect you. The Horde will grow without you.”

The spiteful voice had been that of a parvenu. But the result had been the same when metal was fitted in the Orc’s mouth, forcing his lips open.

And then, there was the taste. Alcohol. Piss. Dicks. Asses. Balls. Cum. Anything.

His asshole was taken only one hour later.

Those memories… They were his… His as he felt Gul’dan’s swelling belly against him… Felt the tongue tangling with his. And knew… Knew as he watched the Wrathguard’s enormous cock pull free, cum-coated, he was about to be bred.

“You told me I failed, Garrosh. But I never did. I am preparing an army. And I will start with you. You were unexpected. But nobody will ignore us when you are branded like us.”

No… Nobody could ignore that Garrosh was converted to the Legion… His asshole aching for more dicks.

Fel Prison - Epilogue

What happened in the Prison?

“Disappointing… isn’t it?”

The voice had a slight accent, belonging to Trollkind. But there was enough control to it, there were no words slipping. A perfect articulation that was expected for the generals and those following the current Warchief. With a finger tapping the table, the blue-mossed troll turned to another one of his right.

A Grimtotem, a representative of the Taurens. The skull painted on that fur was unequivocal, as much as the osseous trinkets around that neck.

“Nothing to say.”

Amusing. In another situation, the Grimtotem would have been gloating about being right. Instead, he crossed his arms and looked at the rest of the assembly.

Dracthyr, Taurens, Trolls, Orcs, Goblins, Pandarens. There were no humans at the table, nor dwarfs or worgens, but they were part of the retinue. The Horde was getting more chaotic… Maybe a purge was necessary?

“It proves we cannot trust the current Warlocks,” announced a Pandaren, an heir of Ji Firepaw. Though that one was far more ventripotent.

“I beg to differ,” intervened an Orc. The skin was as green as the vision they watched; he had bone growth all over his shoulders, piercing through the fabric of his robes. However, he looked relatively young and untouched by the madness that followed the warlocks.

“And why’s that?” commented a Goblin, snickering.

“If it weren’t for the Warlocks under my service, we wouldn’t have known of this ploy. We were told never to intervene, but someone leaked the information.”

“Leak? Every prisoner was aware of who he was. I don’t know why he was sent to your prison.”

“Indeed. Neither do I. Or why someone salvaged his mind,” said the Warlock, glaring at many faces.

Many of whom had pushed to transfer the Prisoner from beneath Grommash Hold to the caverns. Many of whom had been browbeating the Warlock, who, now, held all the cards.

But only a few were dupes. Only a few didn’t notice the discrepancies in the reports on how the Warlocks handled the guards who controlled their summons.

No, further than that, how none reported the Prisoner had been cognizant.

They allowed Gul’dan to come closer to the Overseer and the other Demons. They allowed him to plan an escape.

The Warlocks' acceptance must have been a way to bait Gul’dan, sending forth one target that couldn’t have been ignored while feigning their innocence, far from their mind, far from their conscience.

Strange ploy, but the result was there… Nobody could hold the Warlocks under scrutiny after such a good action in stopping a potential demonic rebellion. And they lost what? An arrogant Warlock who was too dangerous for his own good? A corrupt Overseer? A liability who bore the Fel green?

Only a few rolled their eyes when the proposition came:

“We will keep Garrosh in our domain. Only our Warlocks or the Generals can access it. In the end, he will be a perfect breeder. Nobody can deny he will be kept the furthest from the public that way.”

And with gold rolling in the adequate pockets, promises and favors whispered, the hands were raised.

“Aye.”

“The motion is accepted. Second subject, General Jun’zin’s budget.”

-

“If we may, Sirs. Our situation comes from three individuals, and among them… The former Warchief.”

“The moment the Warlocks scrambled to action, it was not the moment Garrosh met with Gul’dan, or talked with him. Neither was it the moment Garrosh was railed by the creatures, jeered at, forced to suck on Demons. Those were expected, awaited.”

“No, the moment the Warlocks became serious and ready for action was the moment Lerrzzul locked his room and isolated it magically.”

_“Are you sure nobody noticed it?”

“Even if they did. I can explain it. What we did was improve a future broodwhore nobody knows about, no?”_

_The exchange had been caught, recorded, reported, and retransmitted. But the result was obvious and seen by all on the chains in the form of the Wrathguard reclining back on the bed, holding onto Gul’dan’s swollen guts, their lips touching and their hands playing together… Hands going over Gul’dan’s swollen belly, and Lerrzzul’s erection.

Besides the bed, much like broken furniture, Garrosh had been set… Legs spread by metal, mouth gagged, the arms bound. And the mind faltering from all the fluids plugged inside his mouth and ass._

Nevertheless, the couple were ignoring it as they kissed. As Gul’dan’s ass was again taken, his swollen guts branded again by that same pregnancy rune… Although that one was linked to another Meat, another potent “bitch” that could perfectly fit the Legion’s needs.

One brood that would be sent, ushered, conditioned, and then prepared for more.

“How many that will be?”

“Enough to get you an army.”

Another kiss. Another movement, another thrust, another ejaculation. The legs tangling, toes and hooves alike, the two fucked… And fucked… And fucked. Up until Gul’dan’s rune glimmered with red, and suddenly burnt away, erased from his pudgy green skin.

But the deed was done, and the Warlock smiled as he stroked his belly, enjoying the Demonic sludge within.

“The Warlocks scrambled to retrieve the records of what had happened. But most magical traces had been scuffed. The spell used by Gul’dan couldn’t be traced back. The remnants of it were still, however, presented on Orc when he was dragged out by the Guards to be set among the Meatbags.”

“Even kicking, crying, shouting. It should have been proof he didn’t belong there. However, the Wrathguards were not following the protocols, but rather the Overseer’s orders.”

“A detail that was reported to the higher-ups, when the Prison returned to its normal routine. The notes mention the thorough abuse the Orc endured, but nothing about his mental state afterwards.”

“In that situation, it would have only led to a cursory investigation, nothing was done.”

Nothing happened for the Orc.

On his back, the legs spread, his belly bulged with so much fluid it was indecent. Sure enough, there was no complaint from hunger, and that belly hadn’t signified its discontentment in a while. But the results followed as the Orc’s brown skin changed faster, going from the ashen hue to the typical green.

His legs were growing weaker, too, as their energy and power were drained to nourish the changes to his body. His bowels shifted and changed to accommodate the growing weight within. But the Orc’s brows continued to frown, and his scowl pushed the most pusillanimous guards away… And tempted the dastards who went in for revenge.

Such as a fattened Wrathguard who was gleefully teasing and playing with the Orc’s hole for hours before penetrating the Orc. Even then, it was to be another fastidious approach that left many other Guards waiting and frustrated that they couldn’t have a turn with the new Meatbag.

“You’re ruining it. When can I have my turn?”

“My break is almost done!”

“Why would I care you want a moment with him?”

“We recovered many recordings about the Prisoner. But most Warlocks were focused on Gul’dan, Olex, Lerrzzul, and a few demon messengers from the Breeding and Harvest facilities.”

“The reports are ample, noting whenever the Warlock seemed to disappear from the monitoring spells suddenly or when he was in contact with one of such demons… A thorough process.”

_“And you say he’s totally gone.”

“Entirely.”

With one pair of lips on the shaft, the Warlock was sucking the Demon, squatting. It wasn’t Olex this time, but an inquisitor whose cock was hardly visible underneath the robes. Instead of handling the transfer of a new impregnated meat bag, the Demon was acting like one of the Wrathguards, which made it easy for him to maintain a conversation while stroking Gul’dan’s bald head.

“When I managed to enter the facility last week, Archimonde did not respond to my calls. I told you they had something prepared. We cannot act freely.”

“You know how hard it is to handle their security? You are all lucky I work fast.”

“Then, what do we do? If we had Him earlier.”

“You have Him,” growled the Warlock, sucking on the shaft, on the elongated spire that could easily delve within his throat and make it bulge. But didn’t. “We will transfer the Meatbag soon. Try to contact Archimonde.”

“You don’t know how broken he is. Those toys. Mortals like them are making my work look like-“

“Like a child’s attempt. I know. But try. I don’t care if he’s a blabbering fool, as long as he can be on his hooves and repeat what we tell him, it’ll work.”_

“The report was noted with the utmost importance. However, there was no answer from the higher ranks. It seemed they were expecting this. However, we found a note to confirm the status of the two utmost subjects currently held in the Harvest facilities.”

“Years ago, the Legion was defeated and its two main leaders were captured. As everyone knows, we harvest their blood, flesh, and fluids as reactants for most of our enchantments. Those ‘milk cows’, as called in the reports, are still inactive.”

“Still, the Warlocks in the Harvest facilities must exercise complete caution around the two bound Generals. Whether from their Demons assistants or the Generals themselves, should they recover.”

“But it is confirmed with the interrogations that none of the officers were afraid of a potential rebellion from either Kil’Jaeden or Archimonde. As quoted ‘Those dumb cows will fight to death for a dick’. End of quote.”

“When do we get the new toys for them? We need to increase the productivity by twenty percent this week?”

“Again? Aren’t they crazy?”

“Not my circus. They’re trying to break through three more worlds today. They need as many doors as possible,” scoffed one Goblin handling the clipboard… And then, climbing onto the seat directly in front of the control panel, linked to the rest of the facility.

Security, monitoring devices, engines, emergency doors, and emergency extinguishers. However, none of those buttons were often used, and they were gathering dust. On the other hand, those in the middle, within the “Cows” section, were showing signs of wear.

Even the “Ass realignment” button was practically erased, leaving instead a single red button with a few white dots on it. A button the Goblin pressed as he gripped the expected control stick while glancing at many monitoring screens. Health, heartbeat, milk volume, precum volume, hormonal levels… Everything was before his eyes, as much as the cross-section of a body, a perfect representation of someone’s broken orifice. From the ruined prostate, seen as a swollen whiteish pocket within the flesh, to the extended rim. Everything was noticeable and noted by the Goblin as something evidently phallic appeared on the cross-section. The toy had ridges all over, like spikes. But those insides were resisting it and contracting around it, embracing the peaks and valleys as the toy slipped further and finally pressed against the swollen glans, the ruined prostate.

As soon as the touch was there, the milk and precum volume imploded, while another one “cum” was suddenly skyrocketing through the graphs.

Then, with one button, the Goblin deactivated the control and pressed another one, pressing the button ‘Vibration le-‘

_“What about Jaeden? He’s tame?”

“Same as usual. They’re not moving anymore, don’t they?”

“No. Pretty sure they’re braindead like the bags outside. Lucky us, they keep producing, but how long?”

“How long?”

“How long ‘til we can’t keep up?”_

“This is one of the most accurate reports we've got. Of course, the civil employee She’bazz is to report to his officer. Such a question was not to be asked by lowly employees, only by the proper officers with the accreditation.”

“This coincides with our investigation to confirm Archimonde and Kil’Jaeden will not fight or try anything. It has been proven that the two Generals are in a state of complete distress when not in use. This explains the lack of distress from the officers. But we pushed the investigation.”

“Is he ready?”

“Pregnant as it can be. Your men made a mess out of him.”

With a smack, Gul’Dan stroked the green belly and the runes on it. The Orc didn’t look like a Mag’har anymore, but one of the many green-skinned Orcs Mannoroth’s blood had corrupted.

His eyes were rolling in their sockets, cum escaping from every cough, shaking the poor Orc… And his hands were weakly gripping nothingness. There was nothing to be added, nothing to be made, except that the Orc kept cumming… And his asshole was so gaped, one fist could easily slip within.

Lerrzzul was around, huffing and crossing his arms while eyeing the entrance.

“And what about you?”

“I think I’ll follow him. But I might need someone to cover for me.”

_Gul’dan’s voice was suave. Almost welcoming. And welcomed Lerrzzul’s hands gripping those plump cheeks, spreading them, so his flared cock could press against the entrance… Against the orifice that sucked on them.

“I hope for you it works. Or else, they’ll come down on us,” growled the Wrathguard, his wide cock slipping easily within the Warlock’s body, stretching that rim… And making that belly bulge from all that sheer volume inside. But the Warlock didn’t fight or complain. He moaned, his mouth split in a smile as the two were fucking out in the open.

“The legion will prevail.”

As Lerrzzul was quick to impregnate Gul’dan, to stuff that belly with green cum that glistened through the skin, under the red runes flashing but remaining on Gul’dan’s body. And finally, they glanced at the green-skinned Orc, watching those tattoos and brands… And how barely anyone could recognize it unless it were pointed out._

“Strangely. This recording has never appeared on any Generals’ desk.”

“From what is gathered, the plan was to send the Prisoner to the Breeding and Harvest facility. He would have been used as a political puppet after hijacking the facilities located in the Twisting Nether.”

“A few warlocks, mainly Orcs, kept strong ties with Gul’dan and the Legion. They employed many servants, like the Fel Lord, to convey information in collusion, and their identities are present in the annexes.”

“It must have been from those colluding Warlocks that learned about the Orc’s identity and shared it with Lerrzzul. Gul’dan couldn’t know about the mindwipe, the protection spells against the Fel, or the body strengthening.”

“However, their plan hinged on the capacity of Archimonde and Kil’Jaeden to free themselves and have the latter corrupt the Orc. Fortunately for the Horde, those two were too broken to answer the calls.”

“The inquisitor messenger was intercepted and ordered to lie to Gul’dan about the Generals’ state.”

“The operation ‘Harvest hour’ was set. And when it started, 8 Warlocks were pruned from the organization.”

_“That’s it,” grunted Lerrzzul, patting Gul’dan’s Belly. As expected, the Warlock’s body had been twisted and modified, covered with runes and enchantments, to hide his identity. His belly round, his beard trimmed, his hair slightly grown over his scalp, he could have been smuggled like any other.

As for the Orc, he remained gagged and silent.

The two “Meatbags” were brought to one portal located at the far end of the facility, with the Wrathguards carrying the Orc while Gul’Dan was allowed to walk freely. None of the Wrathguards reacted to it.

None seemed to care as Gul’dan approached the portal first… But reacted when two Horde Soldiers stepped outside in robes, flanked by Doomguards.

“Lerrzzul. Follow us,” said the Horde Soldiers, making signs with their fingers. The Doomguards instantly flanked the trio, and a few more formed a wall to separate the Overseer from his people.

“What is this? What’s happening to the transfer?” scoffed the Overseer, visibly angry.

“Breach of security. We will have you for inspection along with the Meatbags.”_

_For a second, Lerrzzul seemed about to fight. His hooves stomped, his hands clenched. But then, his eyes darted to Gul’dan, and he stopped, sighing.

“I will cooperate.”_

_“_Lerrzzul’s cooperation was unexpected. However, it was appreciated when the Wrathguard was bound upon entering the Harvest Facility. Gul’dan was kept around Felhunters while the Orc was kept under watch.”

“Our investigation confirms the finding as well as the testimonies from Gul’dan and Lerrzzul. The Prisoner was not deemed necessary for the investigation, and a few Priests were sent from the Grimtotem Delegation so his mind would be erased.”

“As for Gul’dan and Lerrzzul, it was deemed too dangerous to let them go back to the Prison.”

“A new Overseer was appointed.”

“Moreover, with the presence of Lerrzzul, the Warlocks discovered why most of the Wrathguards soldiers produced by the Breeding facility were subpar, as indicated by the preliminary results. Most pregnancies were linked to Lerrzzul. Therefore, we decided to keep him as a breeding stud.”

_Lerrzzul grunted. The eyes rolling, the jaw trembling, the torso quivering, the bound Demon couldn’t fight against his bindings. Nevertheless, fight against the machine attached to the gagged and bound Human. Fat and showing signs of postpartum recovery, the Human had been selected to be another broodwhore.

Therefore, the machines were quickly lowering the Human onto the Demon’s flared cock, making sure the flared end was inside and plugging the entrance when the Wrathguard’s genitals spurted a flow of pungent cum. The equine cock throbbing, Lerrzzul moaned as his genitals were sucked by the tight orifice.

Until he came, his testicles, swollen and inflated due to the constant injections of hormonal and alchemical supplements, were covered with veins. Those testicles, so wide the demon couldn’t walk anymore, were quick to tense and be pulled by the scrotum before a sigh followed, and the Human’s belly was bloated, swollen so much he looked already pregnant for nine months._

_“_The reassignment of Lerrzzul is considered a resounding success by the Warlocks. With it, the need for a Horde army will be entirely revoked within a twenty-year estimation.”

“Beyond that, it is estimated that we will be able to explore a new world every two months and potentially restore Draenor to its former glory within the same period.”

“I must say, it was a complex investigation due to the highly confidential nature of this project. If you have questions before I shall present myself to the Grimtotem Delegation for the expected mind-wipe.”

-

_Gul’dan moaned. His jaw ached so much, so much he couldn’t even speak. But as taught, his first reaction when a cock was presented to his lips was to suck. To taste it, to sample it.

It was good. Excellent. Perfect._

The taste of cum, the rich flavor coming from it, always made his belly groan even if he was heavy and full. He wanted more; he couldn’t stop himself when he saw that enormous cock slip between his lips.

His asshole, too, yearned for more when a tip was going inside… But he didn’t fight… He didn’t fight as he felt the pump activate once and suck on his cocklet… On his sagging breasts.

His body had been pumped with concoctions, with products, with so many artificial enhancements that he didn’t look the same anymore. He was no longer Gul’dan, the cunning Warlock. He was Gul’dan, the cow.

His belly sagged down, and his testicles increased to the size of boulders. Both were supported by leather straps that chaffed against his green skin. But he couldn’t move. No… Wouldn’t move as he was happily suckling on the offered cock. His lips greedily sucked, his tongue hastily licked… And his asshole slurped all the same, the cock going inside it, even if it was a fake one.

_“I ought to thank you, Gul’dan,” scoffed a voice, as hands went on the bald scalp to squeeze it, while thumbs danced on the elongated ears, the beard, the filled cheeks.

The cock within that mouth continued to pump, with the hips thrusting and pushing further… And further than before, in an endless shock that left Gul’dan’s chin hurting.

“I only had to let them do what they wanted and keep watch over you. Nothing more, you did just like I wanted,” continued the voice. Braid beard smacked against the chest, dry lips smacked together, and a smile continued to spread across that face.

But Gul’dan was barely heading it. He was too lost, too hungry, too needy… Too needy as he needed another dose of cum. Cum… Horde cum. Mortal cum. Soldier’s cum. They were coming regularly, forming a line that would keep fucking his throat._

_They were relentless, so eager… So… Needy.

And he was like them, unable to stop himself… Even when the one inside his throat came and released that flow of cum. It was white, sticky, dense, musky, pungent, salty. A bit tart. But everything the Warlock desired as he gulped the liquid down his throat and grunted, his cum breath worse by the day. His body worsened by the day, too. He looked like… Well, only a pregnant whore. A bitch, not so different from the two Demons only a few rooms away.

“Good job, Gul’dan.”

“Who… Are you?”_

_Gul’dan’s red eyes ascended to the Warlock above, to the aging Orc slipping his genitals back behind his robe. He chuckled, showing a toothy grin.

“You must have forgotten me. But the truth is, you never cared about us,” chuckled the Orc, patting Gul’dan’s face.

“I’m Oronok. You discarded me years ago when I was no longer useful. But now… now… I handle little piglets like you,” chuckled the Orc, stepping back. “Get ready for the milking.”

With that, Oronok turned and raised one thumb, signaling to the Goblin operator to resume the milking.

And with one thrust against his ruined Prostate, Gul’dan blanked out._