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_This is a story I intend to extend into several parts. _

_It deals primarily with the abduction of a human soldier at the hands of an Orcish commander from a matriarchal clan.

Feedback is always welcome. _

Appx. 5500 words.

_ Tempering of Gaultier _

A Call to Arms

For creatures who lived lives of such crudity, the ways of the Orcs were unknowable. Years could go by, with nary a report of a stolen sheep along the border's frontier, only then for legions of the bastards to suddenly appear and lay a whole county to waste.

Neither was there a unifying order to the various clans who inhabited the rolling foothills and deep wilderness beyond, so it was impossible to divine any unity of purpose. They all varied, one tribe from the next, in terms of movement, political motivations, even fighting tactics; so that no generation of the human or elven kingdoms ever fought the same enemy as had the one prior.

For these reasons, it was only the most resilient --or else the luckiest communities-- that could endure the force of the Orc savages once they were mobilized; and only the stars could explain the mercurial whims of their most brutish children.

It was one such period of unrest that spurred a young man named Gaultier, the son of a blacksmith, to conscript himself to the King's forces and resist Orcish threats at the country's southern borderthe blacksmith's son, Gaultier to join the king's forces and resist the Orcs at the country's southern border.

Gaultier was a large youth, strong-limbed and standing well above six feet tall. Work in his father's shop had, from an early age, given him a steady hand and a fascination with the clash of iron upon iron. Even as a child, while watching his father work, the boy fancied the white sparks that flew at the hammer's every stroke were as angels; ones who carried the souls of dying men, bleeding like fountains from their mortal wounds, thither from the field of battle.

Thus, with such pictures of glory sewn early into his child mind, when king and country called the young man to service, he did not hesitate to forge a breastplate of his own hand, and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the other men in defiance of the encroaching menace.

Soon, Gauliter was recognized for his boldness and strength after he single handedly turned the tide of battle upon cracking the skull of an Orcish captain with a single blow from his war hammer. From then on, the young man was a beloved and trusted member among the soldiers of his unit. Yet, despite his warrior capacity, Gaultier was not given to rashness nor individual feats of heroics, but was obedient as a hunting dog to the directives of his captain and to the wisdom of the veteran men. He was a soul who relished a meaningful servitude; first having served as his father's apprentice, and then committing his arts and strength in the service of his country's army. He sought no glory other than the glory of the defending army, of which he understood himself but a fractional portion.

And glorious this army was in its task of expelling the Orcish intruders. They clashed with them at the south, completely halting the enemy advance. And when the Orcs attempted to move to the east, they routed them into the White Thorn Forest, which was a territory unknown to the invader, and slaughtered the Orcish army to nearly a man.

Such a decisive victory against the perpetual aggressor was unknown in living memory, and the lovely groves of birch-- from which the forest drew its name-- were now equally striped dark crimson with non-human blood.

But the Fates have never granted any people total victory; for while the majority of the king's army was now deep within this remote forest, the message-bearing hawks, issued forth by the frontier scouts could not reach the general's camp. And so the leadership did not know that a second Orcish clan was now on the move, and now penetrating into the kingdom's undefended western flank.

It was the clan of Tu'ah Ruine, a matriarchal tribe whose soldiery was comprised exclusively of powerful she-Orcs. These women were no less formidable than their male cousins from the south, and woe be to any opposing force who underestimated them for reasons of their sex.

By the time that Gaultier's contingent returned, the Tu'ah Ruine had ravaged the unguarded countryside, burning crops wholesale and smuggling a great many livestock back into the hill country. And for Orcs, livestock often took the form of human beings, for they were notorious slavers and, in particular, had a habit of abducting young human and elven women as barter goods to trade with the males of other clans.

Much of the newest atrocities had occurred beyond the Midvale River, and as the kingdom's capital and most major townships were not thus far West, the main body of the army was not wasted in chasing out the female Orcs. But Gaultier's village and many of the rural communities were in the besieged area. And so, the blacksmith's son was among those men who continued on to meet the Tu'ah Ruine.

A handful of villages had been spared the wake of the Orcish raiding parties, but for many of the returning soldiers, there was nothing left to defend but cinder and bone.

As the desperation of the situation became more clear, the men who had traveled west began to peel off from their units, as individual soldiers sought after the specific fates of their loved ones. Gaultier had heard rumor that the village in which he was raised was no more, however, a number of persons had managed to escape farther north. This was reason enough for him to hope; and so he went north as well.

+++++++++++++++

Not far in this direction, an Orcish commander rested her weight against the hilt of a great ax. She chewed a sheep's hoof and stared into the distance. Over the plains, and into the village's center, the big church bells sounded a doleful tone, warning the citizens to either flee or take shelter.

That the alarm had been sounded did not bother the commander in the least. Unless some fleeing merchant had left behind a small horde of gold, the surrounding farms were more valuable to her forces than anything that could be found in the cluster of workshops and houses that made up the town's center. Here, the sheep and pigs would feed her people nicely in the days to come, the bones had a variety of uses, and the wool and hides were useful for tents and blankets; although not so much as material for garments, for the Orcs wore little in the way of clothing. Their physical constitution made them impervious to all but the most extreme degrees of heat and cold. The commander's large breasts were simply bound in a wide bolt of linen, but this was for the practical reasons of mobility on the battlefield as opposed to modesty or comfort; below the waist, she was completely nude. Her only other gear was a broad leather belt into which was often thrust her bearded ax, more fabric that braced her wrists in the style of a bare-knuckle boxer, and a rude collar of bone and red agate which hung about her neck and signified her status among the raiding party.

The woman had a mane of black hair that was tied back, revealing a high forehead and large, yellow eyes. Despite the ferocity of her appearance, there was now a measured stoicism to her gaze as the giant's oblong pupils never wavered from the direction of the pealing bells. She tongued an errant sliver of hoof from where it stuck in her cheek and spat it to the ground, afterwards sucking her teeth thoughtfully.

“K_artow_!" she addressed her immediate subordinate.

Another muscular she-Orc approached her side, and the commander proceeded to relay her intent in the speech of the Tu'ah Ruine; once a mere dialect of the larger region's Orcish tongue, but now so far distended from its native language as to be mutually unintelligible with it. The words were laced with high vowels and a liberal affricate slurring of sounds; a manner of articulation that would come with more difficulty from the mouths of male Orcs, with their larger tusks and less prehensile tongues.

The pair were soon joined by a third, this one a scout, and one of the few males in the unit. His longer ears and lithe physique indicated a high degree of elven heritage.

It was said that, in ancient times, much of the foothills region was inhabited by wood elves, but these populations disappeared under the tide of Orcish colonization and subsequent outbreeding, with only the occasional features, such as those displayed by the scout, as indication that the elves had there, ever existed..

The scout communicated that the able-bodied men of the village had been joined by soldiers coming from the south, and were presently mounting an attack to retake the surrounding farmland.

The commander seemed unmoved by this news. She was already under the impression that the army had gone to the forests in the east, so who were these stragglers and local men? Clearly, no real threat.

She knew also that a fight could be avoided if only the Orcs moved north and continued the path of their series of raids. That, after all, had been the plan: to move up the edge of the border between the foothills and human territory, and to pillage as much as they like while the human army was busy elsewhere. However, she thought, if this rescue force were real soldiers, maybe some of them would be well-equipped. More war prizes for the clan, if nothing else, but also promise of a more vigorous fight to keep the skills of her women sharp.

The morning passed, and by time the sun had begun to dip from its zenith, the commander spied a line of black spears moving over the ridge towards her position. She grinned and called to her fellows. The rescuers were on the move.

The commander reasoned that the sensible strategy on the part of the human soldiers would be to open with a volley of arrows, and to make use of their archers for as long as possible before engaging more intimate combat. In her experience, humans always avoided hand-to-hand combat with Orcs up until the point where there was no alternative. But fortunate for the raiders, there was an adequate defense against the human archers, and a ready supply of projectiles of their own. This came in the form of an incomplete stone wall that stood to separate the farm from the neighboring property. The waist-high wall was one of those ongoing projects, the completion of which habitually passed from father to son among the landed pastoral residents. As such, there was a great amount of loose stone, much of which had been split into heavy plates in order that they could be roughly stacked atop each other.

She ordered her second-in-command to take a dozen or so of the raiders and crouch behind the wall. They were to be plainly visible as they did this, making no attempt to hide their position from the humans now approaching. Meanwhile, the commander and the majority of the raiders would conceal themselves in a large barn, which was already serving as repose from the midday heat.

However, in the barn, it happened that one skittish horse began to whinny at the presence of so many strangers all at once. A she-Orc removed it from its paddock and sent it running across the field, away from the farm.

Gaultier espied this errant animal just as the archers were notching their first volley of arrows. But it was then that a horrible cry came from his left and blood splashed upon his cheek, as a hefty slate, thrown discus-style by one of the she-Orcs below, came careening through the air and lodged itself into the neck of the lieutenant's steed. Gaultier jumped to the side as the horse fell down, dead, and the lieutenant, who was in full-plate armor, fell heavily to the earth.

The captain shouted, and the first volley of arrows was released. Many of these splintered uselessly against the stone wall. One managed to lodge itself into the shoulder of a tall Orc, followed by a cry which arose from the men as several more stone projectiles came humming through the air. One contacted a man directly in the chest so that he was swept off his feet and spat blood. The archers retorted with a second volley.

In this way, the two sides exchanged missiles, one to the other; the human forces always taking more damage than was being doled out. After several such unprofitable exchanges, the human captain became incensed.

“There's barely a score of them, damn it! Men, m __ove FORWARD!!!"

The men on foot advanced, Gaultier with them, aided by a handful of mounted knights. These latter few were lesser nobles from the adjacent county, whose landed interests lay in the immediate area. Most were older men, who had not seen combat in many years. But whether the expressions they wore were fearful or ones of determination, Gaultier could not know, hidden as they were behind polished visors of steel.

As for himself, the young soldier was resolute in his violence: his home was no more and the fates of his loved ones, unknown. He came down the hill bent on claiming, personally, an Orcish life for every one of his family members that had been displaced; and one also for girl that he had intended to wed when he returned home; a dream that he could now, never be sure of realizing.

Inside the barn, the commander and her fellow Orcs could hear the humans move toward them, having taken the bait. They licked their lips and bristled with blood lust.

Gaultier was one of the first men to reach the enemy. The first Orc he approached seemed to jeer at him. To her, humans were a joke. She raised a dull short sword and brought it down swiftly, but not swiftly enough that Gaultier was unable to twist the butt of his hammer forward and deflect the blow to one side.

The force was enough to cause the Orc's sword hand to pass to her opposite side. The only thing she could do now was to strike with a backhanded blow from her left to right. But before she could, Gaultier stepped within where the sword could not easily strike and swiftly jabbed at her face with the barbed butt of the war hammer.

The spike went through her cheek and pierced her tongue. As the she-Orc stumbled back, tasting her own blood, the look of cocksure disregard for the human warrior was now replaced with one of fear. But Gaultier was not done, and strode towards his retreating victim with white-hot rage.

He twisted his body and swung for her unprotected ankle. The blow hit home and the she-Orc crumpled to the ground in howling pain. Once the Orc was prone, Gaultier made quick work of her, and her life's blood sank into the earth. That one was for his mother.

This unflinching show of courage stirred the hearts of some of the other men, who shortly subdued a second Orc, although they had need to outnumber her three-to-one.

By the din, it was evident to the Orcs hiding in the barn that the humans had passed the stone wall. They began to pour out of the structure and a cry of frightened surprised arose from the human fighters. A few ran, but Gaultier and a number of others were undeterred, diving fully into the fray and inspiring a cautious optimism among the men at the rear.

Out strode the Orc commander. She was not the largest among her raiding-women, but her face was painted in a crazed ferocity that froze the blood of all who beheld her.

One of the mounted knights charged her from the back. But a fellow she-Orc shouted to her leader, drawing attention to the would-be assassin. The commander jumped to the side, the knight's sword missing her neck by inches.

The knight rode on through the Bedlam, but it was not hard for the commander to keep sight of him, for he was one of the few on horseback. She roared a challenge in her native tongue, and commanded that no other raider should draw a weapon against him. For his impudence, she would slay that one before any others. And with this vow made, she began to chase after him, heavy footfalls pounding the earth and casting aside common foot soldiers like chaff before a gale.

Gaultier saw the armor of the knight glinting in the sun and the giantess howling after him like a goddess of Death. Another Orc he had just slain had been brandishing a pike. He let go of his hammer and lifted the weapon of the fallen foe. Gaultier considered the position of the running Orcish commander, and threw the pike with his entire body. The missile sailed above the battle, flying past, and missing, its intended target.

However, the shaft happened to bury into the ground in front of the she-Orc in just such a way that she ran full into it. She stumbled forward at what felt like a punch in the gut, and the distance between her and her quarry grew ever wider.

The commander ripped the pike from the ground, manically looking back and forth, searching for whoever hadthrown it. Gaultier approached her, hammer in hand, and the name of his youngest brother on his lips. The commander hurled the pike, but Gaultier evaded it, which only increased the she-Orc's wrath.

“You will not survive this!" she snarled, in heavily-accented Common.

The giantess rushed towards him and Gaultier raised his weapon. He only had the smallest moment to consider his next movement. He assumed his opponent would anticipate a downward blow, as this would take the fullest advantage of the war hammer's heft. But, as the Orc came within range, he instead brought the weapon back and executed a windmill stroke that brought the hammer beneath the she-Orc's attempted parry and up, into her lower ribs. Gaultier had to expend more of his limited strength for a weaker blow, but the gamble paid off, and as the iron made contact with her frame, there was the distinct crack of bone and the Orc fell backwards with a terrible wail.

Gaultier flipped the head of the hammer around to then strike with the puncturing end. He strode forward to where the Orc lay and brought the weapon high above his head for the finishing blow. The hammer came down heavy, guided by the force running from his feet, all the way up through his body and into his arms: a technique that utilized his entire form as a single hinge. But when the blow came, the she-Orc had raised her powerful limb and caught the hammer's shaft on her forearm.

The block fractured the bones of her arm, but stayed her death.

Gaultier stared in amazement at the Orc's ability to resist the stroke of a weapon that most of his own comrades lacked the strength to even yield effectively. The Orc, paused for no such reflection, but with her other hand, grabbed the shaft of the hammer further down the base and made to wrest it from Gaultier's grip.

Gaultier's feet upon the earth proved less sure than his death-fearing hold upon the weapon, and so, when the Orc twisted the hammer away and to the side, Gaultier went with it and was flung to the earth.

Gritting her teeth through the pain of two broken ribs, the Orc forced herself up and was soon upon her foe. Her hands found his exposed neck and squeezed his throat closed, all while the weight of her massive body forced the air from his lungs. Gaultier clawed uselessly at the powerful hands around his throat, first frantically, and then with decreasing vigor as the world became black.

+++++++++++++++

The Bound Beast

When he came to, Gaultier saw the ground moving beneath him. From past where the forest's myriad hands reached up to greet the daylight, the sun's rays cast a dappled glow that danced across the road's scattered stones. To the man's fevered mind, the sight appeared as faery-lights, and he thought, correctly, that if he was not dead, he was certainly no longer within the world of men.

As his senses began to return to him, he found that he was bent over the back of an impossible large steed, his hands bound fast behind his back. He could feel also by the air on his bare legs that he had been stripped of his gear, and was now clad only in the sweat-stained undershirt that he had worn beneath his padded armor.

He turned his head to the left and saw a cart, heavy with a formless miscellany of plunder. This was pulled on by an ox, and around it marched a number of large she-Orcs. He looked to the right and found his face inches from the muscular lower back of the horse's rider: the Orcish commander who had subdued him.

By-and-by, the rider noticed that her captive had awakened.

"Hmph," she grunted. "You are awake? Then you walk."

Without moving from where she sat, the she-Orc reached back and slapped Gaultier's bare bottom so hard that he coughed. Then she took hold of Gaultier by the large knot that bound his hands and pulled him off the horse's back so that he fell into the road.

"Get up," she ordered.

Gaultier did as he was told, and it was then that he saw that a lead was also attached to the messy knot at his hands. There was no saddle upon the horse, but the lead ran to, and wrapped around, the she-Orc's good arm.

As the horse plodded on, she shifted her hips atop its back, grunting in satisfaction whenever they hit a rough part of the road.

Gaultier looked around him. There seemed to be a few other humans besides himself in states of captivity, but all of these were too far apart for him to see their faces and determine if they were known to him.

The man did not know how long he had been unconscious, nor how long afterward he was made to march on by the team of raiders, but by the light of the following morning, the country to him was entirely unrecognizable.

There was presently some noise up ahead, which grew more prominent as the raiders continued on. Here and there, there began to appear small knots of she-Orcs that had not been part of the original party. These occurrence grew more regular, and it became apparent that they were entering upon the edge of a widely-diffused camp.

This clan of Orcs, like many others, were semi-migratory. A series of large yurt-style tents served as collective living quarters for most of the rank-and-file. Other individuals of elevated status had their own tents; generals, mystics, and of course, the chief. Fire pits were scattered throughout the camp, with a much larger, central one, around which the native vegetation had given way under the steps of many Orcish bodies.

Gaultier was still being led on by the she-Orc as he took in the sights of the camp. The raiders that had marched from his homeland began to peel off and join those already situated. Here and there, the giants could be found cajoling, haggling over the division of spoils, and taking much liquor.

When Gaultier passed these small thickets of Orc women, many eyed him curiously. None jeered, or met him with verbal abuse; treatment Gaultier would have fully expected as a prisoner in an enemy camp. And so, the man began to consider that he was being regarded less as a captive of war, and more as an exotic kind of animal, the way a tame beast of prey might be paraded before a human court.

As he wore nothing but the loose undergarment, there was no gear or costume by which his soldiering occupation was being conveyed to the onlookers, but given the context, Gaultier thought that they could easily deduce that he was an enemy combatant. The large female that held his lead had fresh bandages about her ribs where she had suffered the blow from Gaultier's hammer. So, her fellow Orcs could likely deduce that she had taken a blow in combat, but managed to capture her assailant alive. Perhaps there was sport in such an accomplishment.

They presently passed a group of Orc women loudly talking among each other. One noticed Gaultier and reached out to grab him by the shirt.

"Aha! Look at this pretty little man...!" she sang.

One of her comrades laughed, while the first put her index finger under Gaultier's chin and lifted his gaze to meet her own. Her serpentine eyes were bloodshot and the liquor was heavy on her breath.

The commander stepped over and slapped away the other Orc's hand, wincing as she did because she had done it with the injured arm.

"Hands off," she said.

The second female screwed her face into a look of bemusement and took a step back. The other females were all watching the exchange, wondering if the result would be a fight. But instead, Gaultier's captor grabbed his undershirt and ripped it down the middle in a single decisive action, leaving him completely nude.

She then pushed him against the thick trunk of a tree, doing this with such force that Gaultier's head snapped back to hit the tree and he briefly saw stars.

The Orc then lifted a leg and put her sole flat on the bark above Gaultier's shoulder. In a single motion, she hitched the slack end of the lead once around his neck, and with the other hand, pushed his head down. Gaultier's eyes passed her navel, and came to rest at the thick mound of hair that covered her pubis.

"Your mouth," she said. "Use it."

Gaultier glared up at the beast, his face a cross between disgust and defiance, but the Orcess would not be refused. She pushed his face into her mound and begin to grind against him.

From were Gaultier was fixed between the giant's thighs, he shut his eyes and grimaced.

"I said, USE it!" barked the Orc, and pulled the lead so that it tightened around Gaultier's neck.

The soldier gasped for air, and when he did, the she-Orc buried his face into her more. She rubbed her labia against his open mouth and kept pulling the rope until his protruding tongue met her clit. The she-Orc gave a grunt of approval.

How had it come to this? Earlier, Gaultier had been on the threshold of killing this creature and now, he was being made to sexually gratify her publicly; used as the medium of some dispute in the pecking order among the savages.

He tried again to pull away from her crotch, but a sudden restriction of oxygen flow as the giant again pulled on the rope caused him to desist.

It was no use. When he first set out from home, Gaultier had been prepared to die at an Orc's hand, but not in this manner; yoked up and used as a toy for this monster's vile impulses! As degrading as it would be --the thing he was being compelled to do-- Gaultier felt there would be no dignity in dying at this moment. And so, deciding that he preferred air over an intact pride, Gaultier yielded to the giant.

But the act of deference did not lessen the Orc's aggression. Instead, she began to squat down and actively force him under her. He could no longer support himself against the tree, but if he went down to his knees, the rope around his neck would tighten. Thus Gaultier was forced into an unnatural position; his knees bent and his spine arched back. The she-Orc had her feet flat on the ground and hovered in a semi-squat, so that Gaultier had to reach between her legs and hook his bound arms around one of her massive thighs in order not be knocked down backward and suffer strangulation. Every time she bobbed down, Gaultier held onto her tightly and felt the muscles move beneath her skin. The wetness of her sex was spread all over his lips and leaked into his mouth.

He began to please the Orc in earnet, reasoning that achieving climax would satisfy her show of sexual domination and thus end the public display. He pushed his tongue into her opening and roughly sucked her clit. The she-Orc began to moan, attracting the attention of a few females beyond the initial group. A small crowd of Orc women had gathered and commented to each other in leering grins.

One female, a bit younger than the crowd's average age, was caught between a look of embarrassment and enticement. An older companion casually put an elbow on her shoulder, as the younger one allowed her hand to stray towards her own sex, and gestured to the display.

"See? That's how you do it."

The commander held Gaultier by the hair and began to quicken her movements. She let loose the one hand holding the rope and now pushed the man into her with both hands, furiously humping his mouth. Gaultier held on for dear life, and grabbed hold of her ass when he felt his grip slipping. This act was enough to set the she-Orc over the edge. Her thighs quivered as she threw back her head in a bestial moan and ejaculated all over the knight.

She stood there, legs shuddering for a full minute while her vaginal fluid dripped down her captive's face and onto his chest. Then she released her grip on him, and Gaultier fell into the dirt, coughing up some of the fluid that had burst into his throat. He lay on the ground a moment, face red and panting heavily, and saw to his horror that he was fully erect.

The Orc picked him up by the scruff of the neck and licked the side of his face, tasting herself. She turned defiantly to the other Orc who had first put her hands on Gaultier.

"You see? This human is MINE!"

The other Orc slowly nodded her assent, and there was an unsure shifting of feet among her companions. The commander had, indeed, made her point. The she-Orc's vaginal fluid was all over Gaultier's front, intermingling with the sweat on his face, and clinging in droplets to his chest hair. He was now completely covered in her scent, and the sharp nose of a female Orc could easily tell that he had been claimed. To attempt and put their hands on him now would be tantamount to challenging his owner, directly.

The commander turned from the other females, disdainfully and grabbed Gaultier by his erect penis, leading him away. But as she did, she looked back at where she held him.

“Hrrmm…" she purred in a low rumble. “This is good!

Gaultier pushed her hand away, and in response the Orc slapped the top of his cock so that he bent forward in sudden discomfort as his shafted bounced into the air.

The she-Orc laughed. “It is so hard! Did you fall in love with me already? Come…"

She grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him into herself.

“If you don't stay near me, another woman might just try and take you again. And if you run?"

She brought the head of her ax into view.

“This will catch you in the back."

Gaultier considered his situation. His hands were still bound. He was naked and unarmed. But if the confrontation with the other Orc was any indication, his captor was not the top of the pack. At best, she commanded the movements of a team of fighters, but clearly had peers who could challenge her. A shifting internal hierarchy was, perhaps, a factor that would present future opportunities for him.

His eyes shifted to the left and right, examining the sparsely populated glade. He knew that some clans were dominated by female leadership, but he remarked at the fact that there were absolutely no male Orcs in sight, save a few very young children. He came to the conclusion then that this clan must operate like some species of wild cat, which drive away their male relatives once they reach sexual maturity; a natural mechanism against the pitfalls of successive inbreeding.

“You have no men," he commented aloud.

The Orc looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Of course we do, but they are not Orcs. You are a man, no?"

“I am not one of you," replied Gaultier firmly.

The she-Orc's smile split her face in two and she laughed deeply.

“Not yet. But I think you could be. You are strong… and brave!"

Gaultier did not expect such praise from the creature, and began to become confused about where exactly it was he stood in the eyes of his captors.