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“ Strange Bedfellows" ** |Next>>

I

12th Frostfall, 38th Year of Macragge, 2346hours [Imperial Time].

As the frigid blanket of night settled over Urhgar Docks, so did an unproductive quiet.

Forges had been doused. Workers had gone home. The only sounds were a crackling of the ice that encrusted the docks, the groan of warship moorings and the occasional crunch of armoured boots in the banks of snow gathering in the dark corners.

One such set of armoured boots belonged to a shivering orc, one of very many now calling Urhgar their home since it fell out of flimsy Empire hands. The humans who took up residence back when it had been called Moorbarrow were all dead or pawned off further inland to serve as slaves.

The orc guard was one of the saps left to guard this place and its workers. Just a stone's throw from the front line where orcs clashed with humans from the Empire. But the war had not touched these shipyards for a long time. It was boring and quiet in Urhgar.

The hulking greenskin's unsteady fingers fumbled to strike his firestarter as his lips pursed over the mouthpiece of his packed tobacco-pipe. The oil lamps dotted about the docks offered only little trickles and puddles of lighting, and each time the firestarter was struck a spark that failed to catch on the tobacco lit up the orc's meaty features.

On the fourth strike, his dour aspect twisted into an approximation of a relieved smile. The hefty tusks jutting up from his lower mandible twisted his thick lips into an awkward looking pout most of the time. Yet it was obvious he was pleased as he took a long drag from the glowing pipe.

The moment of pleasure lasted only a brief second as three pairs of hands reached out of the shadows and yanked the orc to one side. Before he could call out or even cough, the orc was laid out on the ground with the sound of a blade meeting flesh dominating the air for a second. Only his legs were visible in a faint puddle of light left by a lantern low on oil just above, kicking feebly like the weakened, flickering flame. The kicking softened, and eventually the orc went limp before the carcass was dragged silently away.

Stepping out of the shadows to replace the orc came a significantly shorter, leaner figure. Clad in stealthy colours with blacked out emblems of the Imperial Army, the human's leather and mail armour fitted rather sleekly over his warrior's physique. He was tall and fit for a man wearing the blackened rank markings of a general on his shoulder. Instead of growing old and flabby like a typical officer, this man carried himself with a precision engineered kind of grace, like a machine geared towards the specific task of doling out death.

General Morlin Ward flicked the excess droplets of blood from his dagger and slid it back into the sheath on his belt. Returning his hand to the foregrip of his crossbow, Morlin gave the figures lining up behind him a brief nod to confirm the coast was clear.

Eight humans in total, their faces smeared with ash, each moving with the same kind of confident grace as their leader, pressed out of the darkness. Their uniforms and armaments were identical. Highly customised crossbows aimed out to cover multiple vectors of attack, flintlock pistols on their hips ready as backups, daggers on their belts for close encounters and longswords strung across their backs for when things became decidedly loud. Some wore stuffed knapsacks carrying long term survival supplies as this special-forces killing machine seemed adept at operating for long periods of time behind enemy lines.

Morlin and his team pressed in from the outer edges of Urhgar, delving into the heart of the orcish industrial operation. And he had to admit with an air of loathing that the docks were indeed industrious. In the most recent years of this bitter war between orcs and humans of the Empire, Urhgar Docks had been churning out low grade warships. Warships that were outmatched by the Imperial Navy in a stand-up fight. But the problem was that the orcs threw out so many ships in overwhelming numbers that the navy was starting to feel the hurt.

Thusly, King Macragge had sanctioned the use of Morlin's experimental 'special warfare' division in solving the problem.

The hand-picked operatives oriented themselves for maximum damage. The best shooters took the lead, firing their crossbows on the move as they overtook Morlin. Two orcs silently halted mid-step in their patrol route and crumpled. The only sound punctuating their deaths were the clicks of the leading crossbows being reloaded on the move.

As Morlin took up a position in the middle of their huddle he noted the three on rear guard pause to drag the bodies away. Two made sure to hide the dead orcs between a cluster of dumpsters, while the third took a knee and kept an eye out for additional orcs that might be in the area.

Shortly after, the trio using little more than a few hand-gestures to communicate doubled up to close the widening gap between them and the rest of the team.

The team halted just off one of the warehouses overlooking a moored orc vessel. In their view were several forges that made the armour and weapons for these sea-borne abominations, while the water-side buildings was where they put together simple merchant vessels the previous human inhabitants of Moorbarrow had specialised in. With more enthusiasm than skill, orcs merged their typical style of spiky armour, bladed prows and large cannons with simple merchant sailboats to make the warships currently giving the Imperial Navy hell. Morlin and his team had a simple remedy for that.

Blow all their shit up.

“Bomb up," Morlin ordered quietly, earning a nod from one of the operatives with a backpack.

He opened his bag and started handing out thick red rods topped with fuses and strike-anywhere matches taped to the sides. The demolition charges had enough yield to sink even an Imperial Navy destroyer, and eight of them were more than enough to make shit of Urhgar Docks.

The charges were handed out, one per man, Morlin included. As he slid the explosive into a belt pouch though, the point man pulled back, waving them down.

“Contact, contact!" he hissed under his breath, and as one the team huddled into the shadows, remaining stock still.

Counting slowly to three, Morlin very slightly lifted his gaze and peered across the clearing. The movement the point man had spotted came from the moored ship. Disembarking by way of the gangplank came five figures, orc bodyguards bulwarked by heavy armour a grade above what the average greenskin infantryman wore. Their tusked helmets had a fierce aspect, like their off-hand shoulder pads adorned with barbs and blades for when they charged into a melee.

Among their number was a smaller figure in much more slight armour. She had a distinctly feminine build given away by extensive gaps in her armour, but the bulwarking plates gave her a distinctly stocky, frump look.

Across her back she carried a hefty shield and a longsword as ill-kempt as the rest of her war gear. She lacked a helmet, revealing her blood red hair that was shorn to stubble about the sides, leaving a flat mohawk on top and a long braid at the back running to between her shoulder blades. Her familiar face gave the orc woman's identity away immediately.

“Ghorza," Morlin seethed bitterly at the sight of her features and the scars he himself had put there. His skin seemed to bunch up in places where he remembered his own fair share of scars she had put on his body.

Warchief Ghorza Yazgash might be easily enough mistaken for a half-orc going by her vaguely human features, but she was a pureblood orc to for sure. Her greyish green complexion against black armour was marred by a few nicks and gashes, subtle lines of darker green indicating scars crossing her mandible, another on her cheek and another subtle one across the bridge of her nose. Morlin subconsciously rubbed the bridge of his own nose where an identical scar sat.

She didn't have a pig-like face than average orcs, a button nose with full, feminine dark green lips pouting slightly about a pair of stubby tusks curling over her upper lip. There was black war paint over her face that seemed to bring out her ember coloured eyes in the poor light, with more crude symbols and handprints painting her mid-riff, bare thighs and what cleavage was visible between her chest-plates.

Her torso armour was cropped and sleeveless, leaving a pair of leather bracers about her wrists, and a steel enforced leather skirt dangled from a belt riding low over her wide hips. Her armoured boots with wedged soles ran up to just below her knees, some of the clasps and plates on her body rattling as she strutted ahead of her bodyguards with the grace of a dominant male throwing his weight about.

Ghorza didn't look like much when put beside her hulking bodyguards, but there was a reason this woman was a warchief worthy of such bruisers in close-protection detail. She'd been a high-value-target for as long as Morlin had been operating his little kill-team. She was easily the most effective leader the orcs had and wiping her off the board would leave a gaping hole in enemy leadership. Made all the more true by over a dozen failed attempts to end her ass.

If she was here, now; Morlin wasn't going to waste an opportunity to put her down.

“Perkins, take your peeps and stick to the schedule," he told his men.

The man on point glanced over his shoulder. The light caught his young features, indicating a generation gap of nearly ten years between the young soldier and the officer. “While you do what?"

The general climbed to his feet and gave Perkins a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“Killing two birds with one stone." He smiled, his white teeth standing out against the ash staining his skin. “Today is a good day to die, gentlemen."

“Kill," the team whispered back before scattering into the night.

Their targets were painted; the forges, warehouses and ship-building facilities. Seven of them would be more than enough to burn it all down.

So, with his crossbow up, Morlin took off after Ghorza and her lackeys. They didn't go far, and he could easily follow from the shadows nearly fifty metres behind. He avoided the banks of snow and puddles of light under the flickering lanterns for a period, before stopping to let the retinue gain another dozen metres head-start.

A sweeping spotlight manned by an orc with a war horn on one of the watchtowers cut across his path, and as it went on to scan the patches of ice encrusting the calm bay waters, Morlin darted forward again.

Before long Ghorza and her bodyguards climbed the steps to a pre-fab office raised on high stilts. No doubt the foreman's office, it was a spot from which the manager of the docks could keep an eye out on pretty much everything from one spot.

Morlin waited for them to get to the top and head inside before he checked the coast was clear and pursued. Climbing one careful step at a time, he kept his crossbow raised until he reached the office doorpost. Lowering the weapon he leaned over and peeked through the glass pane set in the door. Inside the familiar bulk of the orc bodyguards was impossible to mistake. And between them he made out the slighter frame of the warchief pacing with a clipboard in her hand.

Morlin couldn't make out what was being said, and he didn't know enough of the guttural orc language to read her lips, but Ghorza seemed pissed. She glared down at a smaller orc in civilian clothes. The foreman had a skinny build as opposed to the orcish warriors and seemed to be stammering as Ghorza threw aside the clipboard.

Grabbing foreman by the shoulders she forced the smaller orc to his knees. Were Morlin new to this, he would have been surprised to see what happened next. But he'd witnessed enough of Ghorza's disciplinary action to know where this was going.

Cocking a leg to one side she pulled the foreman's face under her skirt, forcing his lips against the quim waiting just below. In the same action she spat out a single order Morlin was able to translate quite easily while she wrapped her leg about the orc's neck to hold him in place.

Gripping a hand-full of the foreman's matted hair, Ghorza sighed with half-content, half-impatience as he was forced to eat her out in way of some depraved apology for whatever it was he'd done to disappoint her. Still, Ghorza seemed to garner more pleasure from holding the male down than from whatever he was doing with his tongue. She had a look of half-lidded enjoyment on her face, but still that glare of disapproval reserved for a woman disappointed in the fumbling failure of her man to please her.

Perching her ass on a nearby worktop, Ghorza kept the foreman tight between her legs and said something that made the bodyguards laugh lightly at the smaller orc's expense.

With the greenskins distracted, Morlin reached back and slid something out of a belt pouch. A long, shaped explosive packed with the same alchemical mixture as the demolition charges they'd handed out earlier, this breaching charge was specifically designed for blowing doors open. He hung it on the door handle with a loop of chord then carefully retrieved the match attached to the bomb's housing.

He struck it across a rough segment of his armour and held the flashing flame to the fuse. The moment the chord lit he dropped the match and stepped back, angling his face away and butting the stock of his crossbow to his shoulder.

Two heartbeats later the foreman's office door exploded, thrown into the room with enough force to knock the nearest orc to the ground.

Like a calm in the centre of the storm, Morlin rushed in through the fire and flame. His crossbow shouldered he let loose the first shot, right into the face of the orc standing opposite him.

As the bodyguard went down, Morlin snapped his aim downward and racked the weapon with a back and forth motion of the foregrip. Drawing it back tensed the string, while pushing it forward pushed the next bolt out of the magazine and into the breach. A heartbeat later he let loose a second shot, smoking the orc on the deck.

Racking the crossbow as it came up again he put a shot into the next orc's throat. He went down slower than the other two, still fumbling for his sword as he gagged and sank bleeding to the ground.

The last managed to clear his blade from its crude sheath and came down on Morlin's back. The general twisted out of the way and kicked the orc in the back of the knee, stroking the butt with brutal affection across the orc's face as he fell.

The blow threw the orc's helmet clear of his head and Morlin executed him gangland style; a bolt through the back of the skull at point-blank range.

In a fraction of a minute he'd bodied all four guards, but when he went to rack the next shot in place the pump-action locked, indicating the magazine was empty, and Morlin's muscle memory took over. Picking the shortest kill-chain he threw his crossbow into its sling and transitioned to his pistol. The flintlock came out of the holster with a scrape of wood and steel on leather before the crossbow sling even pulled taught.

He cocked the hammer in the same instance and took the shot.

The air was filled with the satisfyingly acrid scent of burning gunpowder. But as the flash left spots in Morlin's vision, Ghorza ducked out of the iron sights. In her place came the foreman whose head snapped back and the wrong orc collapsed to the ground.

At this point, between detonating the breaching charge and letting off a gunshot, distant alarms were being raised. War horns blown by watchmen rang out into the still night to rally Urhgar's greenskin defenders. Not that it would make a difference.

With the confidence befitting a man with more loaded pistols at his beck and call, Morlin slammed his gun into its holster and reached for his longsword. He intended for Ghorza Yazgash to be dead long before re-enforcements arrived.

Coincidentally, drawing her own shield and sword, Ghorza was thinking the same about the human infiltrator.

They went at it with the familiar steps. Ghorza rushed into a direct confrontation as Morlin expected, and Morlin ducked with a graceful deflection as Ghorza expected.

He went low as she went high, swinging just above his head as their blades met with a shower of sparks that illuminated the space between them. Ghorza quickly whirled around, throwing her superior weight and musculature into a shield-smash that caught Morlin in the side. Pushing hard she shoved him in the nearest wall, aiming her sword for his head. But Morlin's sword arm was still free and catching the blades against each other he redirected the blow into the wall beside him.

Morlin tried to shove off but Ghorza set her feet in a wide stance and held him in place with a satisfied snarl.

“No team to protect you now, little man." She glanced about and noted the lack of backup he usually rolled into battle with.

At the same time, Morlin smirked and nodded to the plethora of dead bodyguards. “Could say the same about you, pig-lady."

Flipping his sword into a reverse grip, Morlin freed his arm from her crushing grasp and slammed his fist into the side of her face. The blow threw her back enough for Morlin to tuck and roll to one side before righting his sword in a two-handed grip and commencing with swinging.

Ghorza met the blows with her own sword and shield, sparks flying between them as often as the strained groans, grunts and moans of effort. Morlin at one point threw his shoulder into Ghorza's chest and pinned her the wall with a pronounced thud, then drove his knee into her mid-riff earning a breathless gasp from her. Were it not for the sounds of clashing steel punctuating their fight, the noise might have been misconstrued as the long-time rivals fucking like frantic rabbits.

Morlin smirked at the thought, wondering how much gold an anonymous pervert would have to pay him before he would stick any of his extremities aside from a sword in the greenskin. Then he figured there wasn't enough gold in the world for that to happen.

Ghorza shoved him off and let out a cry as she pushed forward, her sword deflecting against his parries until she shield-bashed his legs out from under him. Though ever the agile operator, Morlin was able to roll out of her sword's range, smoothly finding his feet before pressing into the attack again.

“Stop dancing around and let me have it then," Ghorza goaded. “Or aren't you man enough to lay a cut on me!?"

Morlin's next stab was deflected by her shield and he had to duck under her sword before breaking off again to adjust his grip for the next flurry of attacks. “Well then, be a dear and stop squirming, would you?" he hefted his sword and added, “I'll drive the whole thing into you if you'd just let me."

Explosions brought their duel to a sudden halt. Both looked out of the window to see one of the warehouses become consumed in a fireball that lit up the sky. A second bloomed over the forges, then several more from the buildings where partially constructed warships were ready to roll out to the water.

Morlin's team had done their job. Time for this game to wrap up. But even as he thought it, pressing forward to strike, Ghorza had recovered from the surprise before he did.

She drove forward, point first and with almost intimate familiarity of how his armour interlocked – her sword found a chink in his shoulder. Breaking through the chainmail underneath through sheer force she buried nearly an inch of coarse steel into Morlin's flesh, drawing a gasp of pain from the man. He was pushed back and thrown into a nearby wall as Ghorza's bloodlust grin spread.

It didn't last long however, as Morlin dropped his weapon into his off hand and lashed out horizontally.

Ghorza felt his blade tug at her belly, then the white-hot pain of flesh parting. Tearing her sword free, she stumbled back, dropping her shield to clamp a hand over the wound. Blood seeping between her fingers and making everything slick, she glanced down to realise Morlin hadn't cut very deep, certainly not deep enough to spill her guts. She'd need stitches however, and grimaced. She hated stitches.

Looking up, Ghorza grinned with a sense of pride as Morlin struggled to hold on to his own blade and clamped his free hand over the wound that wept blood between the protective pads of his armour. He was down on one knee and was eventually forced to just drop and abandon his sword.

“Tired already, sissy?" Ghorza hissed pompously.

“Bitch, I can do this for days."

Ghorza realised too late Morlin had dropped his sword out of strategy rather than weakness. Realised too late he'd lit a demolition charge and tossed the hissing package to the ground between them.

She turned immediately throwing herself out the nearest window as Morlin bolted with a fresh bout of energy. The human burst from the office and jumped onto the railing circling the exterior walkway. Just then the explosive detonated with a deafening boom that blew out the windows and turned the foreman's office – and its contents – into a firecracker.

The shockwave tossed Morlin forward, throwing his body head over heels across the gap between him and the nearest warehouse, where he slammed into the flimsy tin roof and passed through with a squeal of worn, unkempt metal.

Below that he slammed into a tall pile of crates before tumbling mercilessly down the side of an uneven wooden pyramid. The world spinning about him and bashing him from all sides, Morlin tucked into a ball before he slammed to a halt on his side. His armour took some of the impact with the floor, but there was a thick haze of disorientation and pain.

At least he still felt pain, which meant he was alive. That being good enough for him, he gritted his teeth and climbed to his feet, hobbling with his hand still clamped over his bleeding shoulder. Some of the blood was coagulating and the flow was decidedly less. Still, he'd need stitches.

Morlin grumbled as he left the warehouse. “Man, I hate stitches," he mumbled with a quick glance to discern the coast was clear, then broke into a painful jog.

The run towards the pre-determined extraction zone was not pleasant, but at least a mercifully short one. At the edge of the piers was an icebreaker, the vessel's sails fully flared as the black clad crew worked the ropes and moorings. The familiar silhouette of Perkins threw off the last anchor line, then noticing the general quickly waved him over.

As the ship was making forward, re-enforced hull crunching through the layers of winter ice, Morlin ran forward and threw himself aboard with one last vestige of energy. He slammed into the deck and groaned painfully, just laying there for a good second as the rest of the team resumed hijacking the orc vessel.

Satisfied their escape was pretty much assured when Perkins finally ran over, Morlin allowed himself to be picked up and checked out. The team alchemist ran over next, unloading his satchel of healing reagents and, to Morlin's dismay, a suture kit.

Trying not to notice the curved needles he was threading as Perkins unbuckled the armour that was in the way of the injury, Morlin cast a final look at the burning docks.

There, framed in the flickering fires on a pier he noticed a figure. He honestly didn't know how Ghorza had survived the explosion, Morlin had barely survived himself. Yet there she was, dusted in soot, bleeding and her armour charred, standing on the edge of a pier and roaring after ship as they broke through the last few feet of ice and pulled away at full speed into open waters.

With a sly smirk he spared no effort of flipping her the bird with a blood-stained hand.

“I guess the warchief got away again?" Perkins asked, following the general's gaze.

Morlin shrugged, then winced. “Ah, whatever. We burned Urhgar to the ground. A blow like that is going to stick in orc minds for decades, no matter how small their brains are." He grinned at his laughing team. “I hope you boys weren't hoping for peace treaty with the pigs. 'Cuz it definitely ain't happening now…"

II

2nd Mistmeadow, 1st Year of Magdlein, 0813hours [Imperial Time].

Grumbling, Morlin checked himself in the mirror and was loathed to note the past eleven months of peace with the orcs had treated him more kindly than the previous decades of war.

He's shaved away the perpetual stubble that usually roughened his jaw, but there was nothing he could do about the salt and pepper silvering the hair at his temples. He was able to make himself a little more presentable in a dress uniform rather than the usual armour and combat fatigues he wore in the field. It made him seem less like a soldier out in the field doing hoodrat shit with his friends and more like an actual officer of his rank, which kind of made Morlin uncomfortable somehow.

It had been barely a year since the raid on Urhgar Docks. That had been the final offensive against the orcs, officially speaking. When they floated back to the Empire the team had been brought up to speed on a coup that had shifted the Imperial throne to another family.

Fixing his battle dress uniform, Morlin touched the dagger he carried on his hip. His new longsword hung on the wall above his bunk, and he closed the lid on his footlocker, noting with a grimace his pistol and spare shots were inside. The standing orders for human personnel on forward operating base 'New Dawn' were to remain strapped. Gods knew, the orcs on the base certainly did, soldiers and diplomats alike. But in the interest of diplomacy the general consensus had been on carrying small blades only.

“You ready son?"

Morlin turned away from the shaving mirror to note a fellow general, significantly older than him but by no means any less of a warrior. Morlin hadn't even heard Reginald Matthis enter the barracks. His own dress uniform was immaculately maintained, his station in the high command offices meaning he was used to wearing it.

“Yes, sir," Morlin nodded and followed Matthis outside.

FOB New Dawn had been set up on the Orc-Empire border early on in the conflict. Back then it had been called FOB 'Grinder' for the amount of recruits it ground into veterans with the daily action against the orc ground assaults. Now it had turned into a diplomatic camp. Imperial forces still controlled the area, but orcs were stationed within the walls and sand bags. Many of the barracks had been gutted and refitted with quarters fit for royalty, and the war-room had been converted into a conference centre.

That was where they headed for the '0830' situation update. King Magdlein himself was on the base, as well as the orc Warlord to discuss a new initiative to strengthen the peace treaty. All in all, a big deal.

“Strange, right?" Matthis drew Morlin's attention to a group of young orc warriors and human recruits who arrived on the FOB no ten days ago, throwing horse-shoes together and trading jokes. “Our generation is still ready to shiv our neighbours, but they're jerking about like we're best of buddies."

Morlin shrugged. “They haven't seen what we have. Hopefully they won't have to. Still, you're right. It's weird." They paused to show their credentials before gaining access to the conference centre, then Morlin added, “Less than a year ago we were in orc territory blowing shit up and assassinating leaders."

“A simpler time. I miss leading armies. Storming gates, or holding walls. That's where I prefer to be." Matthis gave a nostalgic sigh. “I'll take impending doom over this walking on eggshells crap."

“It's not all bad."

“Yes it is. Take your team, for example. What was it you called yourselves? 'The Shits' or something to that effect?"

Morlin chuckled with a broad grin as he remembered fondly. 'The Shits,' as they had called themselves had racked up more HVT kills and knocked more orc strongholds off the map than any of the Empire's conventional army battalions. If they'd been given another year at it, they may have achieved with just eight men what armies of thousands could not; the total crushing of orcish initiative against humanity.

A fun little comparison was to consider the orcs a cancer in the world. And you don't perform surgery with a broadsword. You use a scalpel.

The special warfare division had been entirely experimental scalpel in that respect, dreamt up by Morlin and a bunch of other generals spit balling ideas of how to break the orcs in the height of the war. And while experimental, under-staffed and only just on the cusp of reasonably funded, they were undeniably effective.

Totally defunct now, since the signing of the peace treaty. Morlin didn't like it much, his dreamchild cast to the wayside the way it had been, but it wasn't up to him. Such were the ways of shifting leadership.

New king. New opinions. New approaches to problems. After waging nearly forty years of obsessive war against the orcs, King Macragge's approval rating had plummeted into the dirt. And it got worse still when his signature appeared on a document approving questionable mission objectives and tactics taken on by 'The Shits' entered the public spectrum. It was a brave new world where the total destruction of your enemy by any means simply wasn't an acceptable outcome anymore.

So, after a quick political coup and a redistribution of power, 'The Shits' had been dissolved along with many wartime R&D projects and muscular men of tempered violence like Morlin were retired to desk-jobs. Newly crowned, King Magdlein opened up an avenue of diplomatic resolution with the pedantic orc nation. Many called it a mistake, Morlin included.

Couldn't argue with the results though. Even he had to admit that the situation had stabilised. Only eleven months in and the orcs were abiding to the peace treaty, as unsteady as it was.

There were still plenty of rogue warbands who disobeyed, but they were small and capable of being dealt with on a case-by-case basis now that the Empire's resources were not being stretched by a brutal war.

“You and your boys kicked up a storm without even realising," Matthis continued to say in a low tone as they entered the conference centre. People were still getting seated, and the duo chose seats near the back. “Some ass-hat dreamt up a chain-letter fad about orc lives mattering or something like that. Really hit it big among the noble snowflakes. Then the word of your team and their dodgy activities gets out to the public, and it's like gunpowder on a fire. Hell, the fact you had no women on your team alone was enough to get the public riled up. The coup was all but assured at that point." He waved a hand in the general direction of King Magdlein chatting animatedly with some of his honour guard and advisors. “Not that I don't like this new king. He's a bit of a nozzle most of the time, but who would have known a peace was even possible with the orcs?"

“Who would have known?" Morlin echoed as he looked Magdlein up and down.

He wouldn't have guessed a man such as Magdlein could be king. A merchant richer than the previous royal family, he'd only been allowed into his current position on account that his second cousin was of royal blood. That made him just royal enough to take the throne.

The new king was a business man to the core however. Every opinion he had, every situation he walked into was economically motivated. From announcing ludicrous plans for building a wall between the Empire and the Elf Nation, to entering talks with the Orc Warlord, who up until this point had been considered a bloodthirsty psychopath who hadn't listened to any reason for over a century.

And somehow, Magdlein had made this peace treaty work. Morlin was convinced however the king had somehow offered the Warlord a good deal. There was no discerning what that was just yet, but he had no doubt it would bite the Empire in the ass in the future.

This entire time, the king had been addressing those in attendance. Morlin had only been half paying attention to the brief on an initiative that had been on the table these past few weeks. The orcs had come forward with some traditional tripe about strengthening a peace treaty the same way peace is strengthened between warrior tribes. With a marriage.

King Magdlein was saying: “I have considered the proposal and think this is a very good step forward to strengthening our bond." He spoke with his hands a lot, like one of those hack psychics making gestures to plant ideas in your head that he could then 'read' later on. “There is no bond stronger than one forged through holy matrimony, and if our Gods will it such a joining will push us further into this new dawn of prosperity for all…"

Blah-de-fucking-blah, Morlin thought with a roll of his eyes.

“I wouldn't want to be the poor asshole roped into that stupid bullshit," he whispered to Matthis, both of them managing a little chuckle.

At the same time, King Magdlein added for the room, “With all that in mind, I believe we have the ideal candidate for this particular task. General Morlin Ward, would you join us please?"

Forgetting every bit of royal protocol that had been drilled into him since he was a bright eyed young boot looking to make a difference in the world, Morlin snapped his gaze at the ruling king of the Empire and shouted: “Wait, what!?"

III

38th Mistmeadow, 1st Year of Magdlein, 1745hours [Imperial Time]

The chapel was packed by the time he got there. Morlin wished he could blame his tardiness on getting lost, but there would be no convincing anyone. He'd been stationed in the Imperial Palace in the Empire's capitol long enough that everyone knew he was aware of how to get around.

Dressed in his military uniform, Morlin quickly paced across the red carpet to the end of the chapel. The place had been decorated to the nines for the most important wedding of the century. His wedding.

To his left the pews were packed with human dignitaries, the royal family, some military guests Morlin had insisted on inviting, and even King Magdlein himself. In his passing he noted some familiar faces and nodded with respect at the younger men of his old team. Perkins was among them, offering a casual salute that Morlin returned. General Matthis was at the very front of the pews, eying the opposite side of the chapel very carefully.

On the opposite side was a sea of green. Orcs from far across the land all seated in a surprisingly dignified fashion. All of them were armed however, to which Morlin responded by carrying his trusty pistol on is hip.

Orcs always carried weapons. It was a cultural thing, particularly at events such as these, and Morlin wouldn't want them to think of him as some kind of wuss for showing up to his own wedding unarmed.

Waiting for Morlin at the altar was a young woman, his administrator these past few weeks – the longest weeks of Morlin's life it seemed. His glorified secretary had been there to 'ease' Morlin into the idea of marriage by introducing him to orcish cultures and norms that he might be expected to obey after the wedding. She assured him his bride to be, a female whose name Morlin still hadn't bothered to remember, was undergoing the same adjustments.

“You're late," the girl snapped tersely through her false smile.

“Sorry. I had to cancel a suicide attempt to be here."

Grimacing at the poor joke, she pretended to be interested in the clipboard she was carrying. “The Orc Warlord does not respect latecomers."

“The Orc Warlord can suck my late-coming dick," he muttered back through the corner of his mouth. Spotting the mountainous orc nearby, eying him angrily, Morlin smiled and waved, a good old 'fuck you' hidden somewhere behind his teeth.

“At least I'm here, right?" he added.

That alone spoke in volumes for his loyalty to the throne. He may have had no love for King Magdlein, but the throne was more than a man. It was a symbol of freedom that had led the Empire to prosperity for centuries. And even on this rough patch he was willing to put his faith in that symbol.

“What's this broad's name again?" he asked.

The administrator sighed and checked her notes. “Groonell Yazhut."

“It was something like Grennel Yarmush yesterday."

“I don't know. Orc handwriting is awful." Closing her notes she added, “Rest assured, the team has made sure that you and the bride are perfectly compatible. Comparable histories, similar build, preferences concerning looks…"

“That last one is a lie."

The administrator grinned. “Yes, it is. Take comfort that for orcs it would be an insult to offer an undesirable woman into this arrangement. The same way it would be a grave insult if the Empire offered a useless man for this marriage… which of course begs the question why His Highness chose you for this."

He threw her a look, but the girl just grinned wider.

They were interrupted by the opening notes from the organ playing a time tempered wedding tune. The grand doors of the chapel opened, and a woman in black made the lonely walk down the aisle.

With his discreet glances, the first thing Morlin noted with a bit of suspicion was the longsword she carried. Its silvered blade was carried in two hands with the blade pointed at the ground. Sprouting from the pommel was a bouquet of black roses.

The rest of her was as well-honed as the longsword. She was tall and curvy, with an athletic hourglass figure. The tight cut of her black wedding dress drew attention to her wide birthing hips and rather nicely sized bust, plumped up to the point her emerald green cleavage was practically bursting from the plunging neckline. From the floor up to her mid-thigh was a slit, the dress falling open and revealing her right leg clad in opaque black stockings and the high heeled pumps on which she stumbled less than gracefully – as if unaccustomed to the footwear.

Still, she had a leggy kind of grace to her, hips swaying perhaps even accidentally as she moved. She didn't have the masculine stockiness Morlin had experienced in orc women thus far. At least she seemed pretty, high cheekbones and long wavy blood-red hair, shorter tresses at the sides pinned behind her pointed ears.

Morlin looked back up at the human priest who was going to be presiding over this ceremony, with the hag of an orcish shaman standing behind the uncomfortably looking man. As he considered his wife-to-be's features, he figured maybe it wasn't such a bum-deal after all. She seemed nice looking, still a greenskin though. But he was glad she wasn't as disgusting as he feared she'd be. She'd certainly offer some entertainment tonight.

The Orc Warlord insisted that the couple consummate the marriage, and that an alchemy team verify the fact. So Morlin was fully intending to break the bitch they sent him. An orc was an orc at the end of the day. They were all equally unworthy of his affection. So, it was with a morbid sense of excitement he dreamt up various ways of hatefucking the bride. He'd probably just bend her over so he wouldn't have to look at her too much. And her thankfully long hair would offer great reigns to hold on to.

Afterwards he could always pick up human women at dive bars. There was nothing in this contract that demanded he be faithful.

With a small amused grin that took the priest by surprise, Morlin toyed with the idea of showing this orcess the night of her life. Maybe make her cum so hard and so often she screamed his name involuntarily. And then once she was addicted to his dick, leave her hanging and refuse to touch her after that. Maybe even turn her into a cuckquean, bringing home ladies to fuck and force her to watch.

With a private little snigger he figured that might be too harsh, even against a greenskin.

He didn't look again until the woman stepped up onto the altar beside him. And when he did, Morlin felt sick to his stomach, realising this stunning example of orc women was disturbingly familiar. He hardly recognised her in the dress and make up. Black lipstick and eyeliner made her features pop and a skilful application of various foundations made her scars seem more vague.

The sight of her made his hand drift subconsciously to the handle of his gun. She at the same time wrung the hilt of the longsword with a creak of the leather bindings.

It was Ghorza.

“No… fucking… way," Morlin whispered slowly under the final blaring notes of the organ.

Ghorza didn't look at him as she deadpanned, “Hello, lover," with sarcasm thicker than molasses.

Reaching out, Morlin angrily snatched the paperwork from the administrator and gave the clipboard a look for himself. It only took a single read before he looked at the girl with a furious scowl.

“It says Ghorza Yazgash, you idiot!"

Her eyebrows arched as Morlin threw her back the clipboard. “Oh? You two know each other then?"

A loud clearing of a throat drew all their attention to the priest who was glancing between those on the altar. “Once everyone is about done… shall we?"

The ceremony proceeded as one might expect one to. There were no objections along the way, though Morlin felt the urge to and sensed Ghorza felt the same. Before long they'd seethed out their respective 'I do's and it came to the grossly anticipated kiss.

“You may now kiss the bride," the priest announced as Morlin and Ghorza faced one another.

Morlin didn't move; no way in hell he was going to lean over and kiss her like a beta-sub waif in front of the orc guests. And Ghorza stubbornly refused to move.

The priest awkwardly cleared his throat. “Err… you may… y'know."

Ghorza turned her gaze, but didn't look at the priest. Instead she glanced at the shaman who gave a small snarl as if telling her to get on with it.

Scowling, Ghorza seemed to swallow her pride and quite aggressively pressed forward into a deep kiss. Her eyes were shut as she draped her arms about Morlin like a fawning princess. She even bent her knee, lifting one foot off the ground like an innocent virgin getting her first fairytale smooch from prince charming.

Her eyes were shut as their lips locked together for no shorter than ten seconds, Ghorza's head tilted sharply as she pressed in tightly with feigned passion. Just as quickly, as soon as she could manage without giving away she was as against all this as Morlin was, Ghorza pulled back and returned her hands to the comforting hilt of her sword.

The witnesses rose to their feet and applauded in a new era of peace between the Empire and the orcs.

At the same time Ghorza hissed from the corner of her mouth, “If you ever remind me of this day I will poison your dinner."

Morlin wasn't totally sure what to take away from that aside from: “… you can cook?"

There was a lot less grand-standing during the reception than Morlin had expected. It was hardly pushing seven by the time dignitaries started excusing themselves. By eight Morlin and Ghorza, who had been forced to stand arm in arm with shit-eating grins throughout the reception, now found themselves in one of the palace's diplomatic quarters.

It was a nicely done up room with all the mod-cons. A few bottles of wine were on stand-by, and Morlin nearly had the urge to skull the lot before getting to the next chore. The large bed, fit for a royal and dominating most of the room, was dressed up in red silks. The doors had been shut behind them and there had been a pronounced click of the lock. They were in a high parapet of the palace, so there was no escaping out the window. They were stuck with each other, and with the alchemy team coming in the morning to verify the deed was done, there was no escaping what had to be done next.

Not much for caring about the interior design, Morlin kept his eyes on Ghorza while he fingered the hammer mechanism of his pistol. Ghorza too watched him with an air of paranoia, wringing the hilt of her longsword. She didn't have any armour on and that pesky shield of hers was no longer a factor. All Morlin needed was one clean shot…

Considering of course she made her move.

“I guess this is it then," he said blankly.

Ghroza's unreadable expression did not change. “I guess so."

She was obviously eying his hand that fidgeted with his gun and seemed unwilling to relinquish her sword. They both wanted to kill each other, that much was obvious. But they didn't want to be the idiot to provoke hostility and make all these months of peace and diplomacy count for nothing. Both were loyal enough to their nations that they were ready to follow the orders of their superiors to the letter.

And if that meant he had to fuck his rival – Morlin balled a fist with frustration – then so be it.

An awkward pause later, Morlin settled his hand on the stock of his pistol and very slowly drew it from the holster. He heard the leather bindings on her sword hilt creak and noted how Ghorza's whole body tensed.

He then tossed the weapon aside, hearing it clatter into the far corner of the room. Ghorza relaxed, though looked evidently disappointed. Morlin on the other hand managed the faintest hint of a smirk.

Your move, bitch, he thought to himself.

He was hit with a pang of disappointment next as Ghorza did the same, moving to the far end of the room and setting her sword against a wall before returning to the foot of the bed. Hands free now, she set them on her wide hips, drawing even more attention to her luscious feminine curves.

Swallowing, he tore his eyes from the sleek fit of her dress.

“Undress and come here then, woman," he ordered coarsely.

Ghorza snorted, wrinkling her nose angrily. “You undress and come over here, pitiful excuse for a man."

His eyebrows arched. “That's high 'n mighty talk coming from a dried up old hag."

“Hag!?" Morlin had insulted his fair share of high and mighty women undeserving of even an iota of respect, and to his surprise Ghorza didn't react like any of them.

Whereas a haughty noble lady's voice would raise as she put on an offended tone, Ghorza on the other hand got mad with a gruff snarl. Morlin was pretty sure he could see the heat make waves in the air between them as she threw him a daggers glare.

“I'm younger than you are, you limp old coot!" she growled fiercely. “I bet your stem has withered into a crooked little twig!"

“It was never a problem until I first laid eyes on you, Ghorza. In fact, seeing you waddle about awkwardly in that dress has given me the exact opposite of an erection. I literally have a second bellybutton just above my balls right now."

“You think I'm excited by the prospect of laying with some puny human?" Ghorza let out a haughty little laugh and added as a matter-of-factly, “I've been with warriors. Truly powerful men with mighty cocks that have ravaged my nethers into uncountable heights of orgasm. What could you possibly have to offer?"

Morlin felt a twinge in his loins as his mind wandered with that graphic description. His mind couldn't help visualize Ghorza butt-naked in the best way, flat on her back and her legs twisted behind her neck as a wide piece of dumb green flesh spread her womanhood to the point of breaking. He tried to draw the line there, but his brain turned out to be a traitor and added the nice visuals of her lips forming an O-shape as she vocalised a wet, squirting orgasm as her pussy was ravaged by a cock that should have almost been too big to fit…

He shook it off with a subtle shudder. “Maybe that's why you're incapable of pleasing a man. Aside from looking like a green-skinned farm-animal, your pussy has no doubt been stretched out into a yawning chasm after the amount of troops you've motivated on your back and knees."

“I'll have you know I'm able to please a man better than you are able to please the doe-eyed, stick-figure whorelets your species calls women."

“I'll believe it when I see it."

With a snort, Ghorza reached back and with the dexterity of a gymnast managed to tease open the buttons holding the back of her dress shut.

“What are you doing?"

“You said you had to see to believe." Her dress fell to the ground and she stepped out of the black puddle.

The orcish bridal lingerie she wore was pitch black like her dress. And the overall design must have been what the inventor of lingerie must have been thinking in his original designs; a desire to draw attention to her nakedness while dressing up the rest nicely.

Opaque stockings ran from her high heels up to just above the mid-thigh, held in place by a garter belt. She was missing her panties, leaving her bald quim unabashedly on display. Her breasts were the same, her bra more serving to plump up her rather bountiful cleavage, her dark green nipples standing hard and erect from the friction on the inside of her wedding dress.

Morlin's mouth watered curiously as he looked the woman up and down. He'd always thought she was rather thick and unattractive. But out of her armour she had a figure that was unlike anything on any woman he'd ever fucked before. And hourglass figure, curves with taught emerald green skin that just begged his hands to explore.

Her scars from a long campaign of combat against the Empire showed in faint lines of darker green. She didn't have anything particularly grotesque, and most of the lines etching her aspect Morlin recognised for he'd put them there.

As he felt an erection begin to strain his pants, Morlin's imagination jumped back to its earlier carnal trysts. His mind went back to the gutter in which he imagined ravaging that gorgeous body, bending it to his will and making her sing with ecstasy for his cock while fucking her like a wild beast.

“Your turn," Ghorza said, her voice pulling Morlin out of his trance.

His eyes snapped up to hers, hoping he hadn't given away how much he was enjoying the view. “What?"

“You're hardly going to attempt to pleasure me while dressed." A tiny smirk tugged at her lips. “Attempt being the operative word here."

Gritting his jaw and grumbling, Morlin made a meal out of unbuttoning his jacket and tossing parts of his uniform aside. He paced himself, if only to keep Ghorza waiting, hoping she felt uncomfortable and exposed every step of the way.

Unbeknownst to him, Ghorza was perfectly comfortable. In fact she could feel her nipples tense and felt a small sun of desire ignite between her legs as she saw Morlin's shirt slip away. He was exactly as she had expected all these years they'd fought toe-to-toe in armour. Ripped as a warrior ought to be, Morlin was by no means as large as an orc warrior. But that was somewhat a good thing, as he was missing all of the fatty trimmings orc men tended to have as well. His body was a precision engineered killing machine, not a shred of excess flesh where there ought not to have been any. Lean muscles, tense and bulging under his tanned flesh, he had his own fair share of scars, many much less subtle than those left on Ghorza by precision sharpened Imperial blades.

Hooked daggers and pitted longswords had done their grizzly work in places, leaving horrific spiderwebs in places that would have a particularly prissy human might turn her nose up at. One particular knot of scars formed an oval on his shoulder, the souvenir Ghorza had left him before the peace treaty had been signed.

Ghorza nearly bit her lip, then chewed on her tongue to suppress a gushing desire to climax at the sight of this canvas of battles. Her hands on her hips she ran her fingers over a few nicks on her thigh, the closest Morlin had been to touching her intimately in the past. Albeit he'd been holding a dagger at the time, for orcs bloodshed was often an intimate affair. Usually most of an orc woman's scars were those given to her by a life-long mate, and vice versa.

It was no wonder the shamans who put her forward for this initiative had expressed their desire Morlin be the one to wed her. Most of his scars had been given by her.

She just hoped his stem was as impressive as his rigid physique. Imagining it so made her slit slick in preparation to take it inside her.

His hands undoing his belt, Morlin nodded at the bed as he worked. “Go on then, you eager whore. Lay down and spread 'em."

With a furious cry, Ghorza rushed forward, and Morlin literally thought this was it. He was going to die, mauled by an orc over-eager to get in his pants.

Fortunately for the human, Ghorza wasn't going to kill him. She was going to teach him a lesson. Ordering her about? Telling her to lay down like a cheap whore without so much as offering even an iota of foreplay? How dare he!?

Ghorza collided with him and threw Morlin onto the bed. Before he could raise his hands to defend himself, she was on top of him. Swinging one leg over his head, she trapped his face between her thighs, her hands holding his down by his sides so he could barely struggle.

Practically straddling his face, the woman smirked to herself wondering how she hadn't dominated him like this in their past duels. He almost disappointed her at how easy it was. Then she felt his hot breath wash over her eager quim and shuddered with lewd anticipation.

“You need to learn your place, husband," she teased, easing her pussy lips towards Morlin's lips. “I've disciplined many males in this manner. Very few have pleased me enough to alleviate my wrath upon them. I doubt you'll do any better," she added with a slight yawn.

The smooth emerald flesh of her quim settled on Morlin's mouth before he could turn away and he was immediately overpowered with her enticing musk. There was no holding it back any longer. His erection throbbed painfully, slipping about inside his pants and revealing a full tent bobbing just inches from Ghorza's eyes.

She hummed with feigned interest and holding him down with one hand closed her digits about the rigid pole. “Hmmm. So little self-control. You'll probably spill your seed in me the moment the crown touches my lips."

Morlin grunted irritably, but made no further motions with her pussy pressed to his mouth. He wasn't moving. In fact, he barely breathed, and the inactivity was beginning to annoy Ghorza. She bucked her lips a little impatiently.

“Well? Get to work then."

Still, Morlin did nothing, smiling wickedly on the inside. He could feel her body begin to tremble a little with the anticipation for what his tongue might do. With the women he'd bedded in the past, that anticipation had often been the lynchpin to driving them wild. If Ghorza was going to insist on dominating him, Morlin was going to have his merry fucking way with her.

He felt the moisture in her cleft increase as she ground her nethers on his mouth again, glaring over her shoulder. “I said get to wo-… AAAAAAAHH~!"

Ghorza had never been very vocal when she was disciplining men beneath her. Frankly none of the males she forced between her legs had ever shown an iota of skill. But to her dismay, Morlin knew exactly what he was doing.

His powerful tongue slipped between her expectant lips and slithered wetly across the silky flesh within, lapping all the way down her slit. He lathered her clitoris, showing the nub of sensitive nerve clusters special attention before dipping the tip of his tongue into her clenching opening. The motions took Ghorza entirely by surprise and she had to bite down on her lip hard so she wouldn't cry out again.

There was no holding back the way her body flexed though. Her grip on Morlin loosened and he slipped her grasp. His hands immediately found the firm globes of her ass and kneaded them eagerly, his tongue swirling about her pussy in earnest now. Ghorza's impatient grinding turned into an uncontrollable tremble. Her hips pressed tighter to his face as if wanting to take that willing hot tongue all the way inside her.

She panted for air through her nose so she wouldn't scream with delight and desperately tried to find some sort of composure again. She clawed at his pants, trying to distract herself from the firework display of sensations rippling through her loins. Ghorza felt her toes curl in her shoes as she came to that gloriously familiar summit. She was right at the cusp of climax, dragged to the summit faster than any other man had ever managed, the steady leaking of her liquid desire threatening to turn into a full on torrent of climactic honey if Morlin was allowed to keep this up.

She squeezed her thighs about his head and lifted up slightly, her yoni leaving his lips with a wet smack, strings of saliva and her slippery juices still connecting to Morlin's tongue. At the same time she rolled onto her side and off of the human, lounging lazily with a deep sigh. Both to centre herself and pretend she was unimpressed.

“Mediocre," she said nonchalantly, earning a scoff from Morlin.

“You were about to orgasm. I could feel it," Morlin said, earning a haughty little laugh from the orcess.

“You? Make me cum? Don't be ridiculous."

Rolling his eyes, Molin slipped off the bed and crossed the room to a jug of water set on the table. As he was pouring himself a glass, Ghorza watched his back with a faint lick of her lips. The fires of desire were still crackling between her legs and dipping a finger into the slit she figured she'd never been this wet in her life. She was almost flowing free with arousal and pressed her thighs a little tighter together, as if hoping to plug the leak. For all the good it did, as she sat up she dragged a wet little trail across the silk sheets and sat at the foot of the bed.

If she played this right she could still make Morlin cum first, proving herself superior. All it would take was something she had practiced on her human slaves in the past. Crossing her legs elegantly, she planted her hands on the bed behind her and pressed her bust out a little more. She often found the little display, especially when dressed in lingerie like now, drove men wild. And the more they were wild with pent up desire, the faster they spilled their seed.

She dangled one of her shoes from her stockinged toes as Morlin made his way back to the bed.

“How about we just get this over with, eh?" As he stood before Ghorza he undid his belt and opened his pants, freeing the throbbing erection that had been stewing inside.

Ghorza swallowed a breath and she fought hard not to let her eyes widen.

It was an amazing stem to be sure. Not as thick as an orc of course, but still a hefty piece of fuck-meat and significantly longer than any orc she'd ever had inside her. Just looking at the thing made her pussy drool into the sheets, as she imagined all of the untouched depths this cock promised to caress. She almost couldn't wait to slide it in her and bit down on the urge to lay back and spread her legs for him. She still had a point to prove.

“And let you spill in two seconds flat? Come now. I have to get some enjoyment out of this." She closed one hand around his cock and pulled him closer to her so he could feel her hot breath on the crown. The heat made him jump involuntarily and Ghorza suppressed a proud chuckle. “Besides, since you're clearly inept, perhaps I should show you how foreplay should be done."

Morlin opened his mouth to retort, but the words died in his throat when Ghorza opened her mouth wider. Her tongue sticking out, and her eyes never for a second leaving his, she leaned forward and slid her mouth over his cock, swallowing it in one go.

She didn't have a gag-reflex, be it a natural feature of orc throats or through copious practice Morlin could not tell. But either way, his entire length slid over her tongue, between her wet lips and then disappeared into the tight, hot confines of her throat.

Morlin wanted to ease his head back, but he defiantly kept his stare locked on Ghorza's ember coloured eyes as she looked right back up at him, her lips puckered about his girth right at the base. And to make it even harder to maintain eye contact, those beautiful black lined eyes of hers hardly fluttered as her tongue slipped past her bottom lip and cradled his balls with supernatural dexterity.

The human gritted his teeth and uttered a soft “Fuck this," under his breath.

Reaching forward and grabbing her, one hand tangling into her hair while the other cradled her cheek almost tenderly, Morlin started rocking his hips back and forth. He pulled all the way back from her mouth until her lips were clamped about the head, then slid all the way forward again, Ghorza giving a loud throaty gulp, but showing no sign of discomfort otherwise.

After two thrusts into her gullet the gloves came off. This bitch was good at hiving head, Morlin had to give the devil her due at least. And he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to quite literally facefuck the woman who'd been the bane of his existence for a very long time during the war.

So that's what he did. He was not gentle, he did not do it slowly. Ghorza's hands had started out on his hips, but as Morlin began thrusting back and forth with the vigour normally used for slamming a cunt, they fell to her sides. Her whole body seemed to go limp. Her legs were still crossed over to one side, arms weakly down by her sides and her breasts swung gently back and forth as Morlin slammed into her throat repeatedly. Still, her eyes never stopped gazing upward with stubborn lucidity.

Let her look, Morlin thought gazing back and roughly doubling his efforts. He was losing track of time and the desire to hold back. At least those eyes are lovely… oh, Gods her mouth is amazing.

He tried to side track himself to put off the inevitable, but it was little use. There was a thick churn in his balls and he swelled in her mouth. He was close, and going by how she smiled while her lips were stretched about his pole she could feel it. Though he wanted Ghorza to choke on it, something she clearly wasn't going to do, Morlin didn't want to spend in her mouth.

No, he wanted to paint her up like the whore she was.

Pulling back, he slid his cock from her lips with a wet pop, taking Ghorza a little by surprise. And instead of face fucking her he reached down and grabbed her breasts and squeezed them about the spittle and precum glazed length. Her mouth opened as if to protest as she finally broke her gaze, looking down as Morlin fucked her chest with the same merciless pace he'd reserved for her throat.

Only she didn't say anything. Ghorza glanced up, then a faintest grin appeared on her lips. Sticking out her tongue she licked his crown every time it popped out of her cleavage, and used her hands to help Morlin press her boobs about his cock at little tighter.

“You like my titties then, do you?" she asked coyly. “Such a filthy human, unable to keep yourself from fucking every inch of this goddess. I shouldn't be surprised at how weak and helpless you are at the sight of me. I am however surprised you've lasted this lo-…"

Even as she was saying it, Morlin thrust forward one last time and erupted. The first rope of cum shot up between her lips and painted the roof of her mouth. She slammed her eyelids shut just in time as the second and third shots laid right across her face, one smeared over the bridge of her nose. The last few Morlin injected straight into her mouth as he slipped from between her tits and with a hand full of her hair pulled her mouth over his erection again. He twitched and blew the rest of his load into the back of her throat.

The taste was amazing for Ghorza. She'd taken enough orc loads in her mouth to grow accustomed to the bitter taste and dizzying musk. But in truth she often preferred the taste of her human slaves, enjoyed it as a light snack from time to time even. Unfortunately she hadn't been graced with the hot salty tang since the peace treaty forced her to relinquish all prisoners of war. In the same respect her torture methods weren't being practiced any longer either.

Rolling the thick, warm load about in her mouth for a moment, she finally gulped and gasped for a breath before tenderly wiping a pearly white trail from her right eye and blinking up at Morlin.

“You're even more pathetic than I would could have guessed. What was that? Just two minutes of my mouth on your cock and you spill like an overzealous virgin?" she laughed.

To her surprise, Morlin laughed as well.

“What's so funny?" she demanded, features twisting into a glare again.

Morlin shrugged as he stepped back. To Ghorza's surprise, despite ejaculating he was still as hard as an iron rod.

“I don't know why you're talking down to me," he said pointedly. “You're the one with jizz on your face."

“Seed that you put there after losing control and spending too early…"

“Doesn't matter. You're still the one with jizz on your face, ya dumb broad."

She snarled, quickly wiping the slimy pearls from her face before darting forward and sucker punching Morlin in the ribs. He didn't even see the attack coming, and by the time he raised his arms with a pained gasp to defend himself Ghorza had a hold of him.

Nearly tugging his shoulder out of its socket, Ghorza turned and threw Morlin like he weighed nothing, slamming him into the bed with a crack of the wooden frame and a groan of the mattress springs. In his shock the human hardly moved, allowing Ghorza to jump on top of him. However, unlike before, this time she didn't straddle his face.

Bending his knees up to his chest, Ghorza squatted down over him, her high heels digging into the matress and her legs pinning Morlin's in place. As she came down she had a hand on his shaft and directed it up to the waiting mouth of her arousal. Her labia spread apart eagerly as the soft lips were speared by his crown.

Morlin thrashed for a moment until he felt the hot bead of moisture waiting for him within those hot, velvet lips.

Lowering her ass, Ghorza eased him in, biting her lip as she did. It took severe willpower to prevent her climax from taking over immediately. She rode it out, sliding every slippery, glorious inch of that smooth, long cock into her. It wasn't as thick as orc's, but that was almost a good thing. She wasn't stretched to the point of splitting in two but filled up rather satisfactorily on every level.

Before long he touched her centre, scratching an itch that had gone unattended most of her life.

Locking Morlin in the amazon position, Ghorza pinned him by his wrists and smiled wickedly. “You're mine now," she snickered.

She started to move up and down, riding him and bucking in the same action. His cock would slip out of her to the point just the crown sat in her opening, then with a zealous assault she'd drop back down and bottom him out inside her again.

If Morlin was to be honest, it felt amazing, to be totally lodged inside her, firmly wedged up against her cervix with every downward thrust. She was talking all of his cock, and then some as she rode in a twerking motion.

And in Ghorza's earnest opinion, she feared she may have made a tactical error in holding Morlin down like this. The way he rubbed against the roof of her canal with every drop of her hips, their sweaty flesh smacking loudly to punctuate every thrust, her g-spot was set on fire. His dick brought her to the heights of climax far faster than his tongue, and unlike before, Ghorza was unable to stop herself. Even if she had wanted to, to untangle herself from him and pull his cock from her snatch would have taken too long. Aside from that, her body refused to be let down twice in a row and seemed to disobey her will.

A slave to the mind-melting might of a fast approaching orgasm, Ghorza began mewling loudly. Her mouth fell open and a long moan escaped. She dug her nails into Morlin's wrists as her wet sheath began to squeeze and shiver about his erection. The wetness increased and with one final downward thrust, Ghorza locked her hips tight against his as the hot waves of climax crashed down over her body.

Her knees shivered back and forth as she bit her tongue, suppressing a scream that boiled up in her diaphragm. She seized up, refusing to let her body buck with joy on its own accord, and clenching hard she denied herself the release that came with a gushing orgasm. She felt like she would explode. Her body protested, throwing a terrible tantrum at her desire to maintain discipline. She refused to let Morlin have any sort of power over her, to let him know he'd made her cum harder than she had ever before.

Finally the torrid sensations faded as she came down from her high, and every muscle went slack as she released the gasping breaths she had been holding.

When her eyes finally rolled back out from behind her eyelids, she looked down to catch Morlin wearing a wide smirk.

“You look like an idiot," she spat.

“Yeah, an idiot that made you cum pretty fucking hard." he chuckled, sounding quite proud of himself.

Ghorza snarled. “I did not!"

Arching an eyebrow, Morlin slipped her weakened grip. Taking advantage of her slack afterglow, he wrapped one leg about her torso and tipped her to one side. His erection slipped wetly from her, glistening with fluids as it was Morlin's turn to pin Ghorza face down into the pillows.

She had her hands planted to the bed either side of her head as Morlin held her cheek against the pillows and rubbed his erection between the globes of her ass stuck high in the air.

Leaning over her heavily, Morlin gently whispered in her ear as he nibbled the pointed end, “You're mine now."

Ghorza shuddered with pleasure, not realising how much she'd wanted to hear those words. Then she felt the pressure of his glans on her swollen lips and failed to suppress a moan.

Spearing her opening again, Morlin slid in with ease, her walls still sopping from her previous orgasm, however repressed it had been.

A long “oooooooh~!" came from the orc's lips and Morlin was shocked at how much hearing that tone come from her mouth turned him on.

Still, he focused on the objective. Sliding his hands onto the firm emerald flesh of her wide hips, Morlin straightened and started thrusting. He drew back, noting a bit of a resistance as Ghorza squeezed as if trying to hold him in. then slammed forward, harder and harder with each passing moment.

In second she was fucking her with full force. Wet slaps of flesh were the lone sounds filling the room for a moment. Then slowly Morlin started to notice Ghorza's rapid breaths. Each exhale became higher and higher, before long she rocked back on her own accord to meet his thrust with a light squeal.

Morlin stumbled, wondering what to make of that. Then Ghorza reached back and caught him by the wrist.

“Don't stop," she whispered harshly. “Don't you dare fucking stop!"

Swallowing, Morlin figured he was already balls deep – literally. There was no turning back even if he wanted to. So digging his fingers into her hips, he leaned in and kept going. Ghorza immediately started rocking again to meet his motions. It didn't take them long to find a synchronised rhythm, amplified by the erotic gyration of Ghorza's hips.

In moments they were fucking so frantically, Morlin struggled to hold back the bubbling sensations in his balls. He stiffened and Ghorza must have felt him swell because she looked over her shoulder, something unreadable in her eyes. It almost seemed like she was looking at him imploringly.

“Fuck, Ghorza, I'm going to-…" he started to say, but she wouldn't let him finish.

“No," Ghorza protested between gasps. “Wait. Not yet. Don't cum yet."

Her voice was innocent and pleading, less like the brutal warrior Morlin knew and more like a princess pining to reach her first climax. He couldn't help himself, and pulled back, slipping from her cunt and taking a few deep breaths to calm his racing pulse.

Ghorza felt him leave her, the walls of her tunnel collapsing to make her feel empty and neglected. Only for the time being, she promised herself as she whipped about on the spot.

Her cheek practically pressed against this erection she held it in her nimble hands, her slender thumb and forefinger trapping the crown and pinching lightly. She felt the member bob in her grip as Morlin was taken aback, but he didn't pull away as she was being exceptionally gentle.

“What…" he started to ask and was put off-guard by Ghorza's smile.

“This will help," she assured. “I'm close to getting what I want from you. It would be a shame if you disappointed me now."

Clearly she'd done this before, because before long Morlin felt the pounding blood in his erection recede a little. He was brought back from the cusp of ejaculation and felt rather normal again. Normal enough for his erection to soften slightly.

Ghorza must have felt it, but she had a remedy for that too. Sliding her hands from the stem she opened her mouth almost comically, sticking out her tongue and looking up at Morlin in an exaggerated display of submission to his length. Tangling his fingers in her hair he just let her have it, thrusting forward into her mouth like before. Only this time he didn't roll his hips to fuck her throat.

She fucked him with her mouth. Ghorza started rocking back and forth on her hands and knees. Her eyes fell shut and there was an expression of blissful savouring on her face. She swallowed him again and again with every forward thrust of her body, swirling her tongue all about his cock and moaning at the taste of herself. It made her feel in possession of this lovely treat she had all to herself. Her juices were all over it, marking the cock as her territory.

Morlin was hard as iron again in moments. Taking Ghorza by the face he rolled his hips backwards and slid from her mouth before shoving the orc against the headboard. A mixture of her juices and spittle dripped down her chin before she wiped it up and licked it from her fingers. The display was intensely sensual and Morlin was hard pressed to think where he'd seen such a thing before. The human women he'd been with were boring by comparison, usually just throwing themselves on their backs for him and letting him work… in retrospect they'd made him work.

And yet Ghorza, in her way while trying to dominate him, was meeting him halfway.

This was all… it was indescribably sexy, and that wasn't a word Morlin would have pegged Ghorza for. There was still a lingering instinct to hate-fuck Ghorza into submission, but additionally he couldn't help consider himself lucky he was sharing a bed with the woman.

Pressing forward he roughly pinned her against the headboard, the same kind of shove he might have given her if they were going at it with blades. Though instead of grunting in pain, Ghorza moaned and bit her lip, her smouldering eyes giving him a come-hither look.

Morlin didn't keep her waiting. His hands were on her in a second, both groping at her breasts as he pressed his lips about one of her nipples. She gasped at the contact, but ran her fingers over his head with encouragement. As Ghorza's breath quickened, so did Morlin's tongue, lapping about the areola, his teeth nibbling the meaty dark green flesh, while his hands roamed down past her ribs and over her toned mid-riff.

The scar he'd left on her last, a long line across her abdomen just above the navel was more prominent than the others. His thumb lingered on it a moment later before her breast popped from his mouth and he traced a long lick up along her sweat-slick skin to her neck. She was divine, he suddenly realised. Her musk arousing, her taste better than anything he'd had on his tongue before. Every part of her body was perfect; her curves; her sleek emerald skin; her taught, toned musculature.

His hands grabbed her inner thighs and forced her legs apart before his hips thrust forward greedily.

The head of his cock found her desire-soaked opening with ease, and with one push, her flesh yielding to his assault, he slid effortlessly up into her with a lewd squelch. Ghorza's whole body reacted in an instant, her spine flexing as he bottomed out inside her, his crown tenderly kissing her core.

She wrapped her legs about him possessively, her moans begging him to take her feel good again.

Morlin's fingers dug into the firm globes of her ass and he started fucking her in earnest. Ghorza's pants for air quickly became faster and soon enough took on a much higher pitch as she struggled to hold her voice back.

One of her shoes was missing, probably lost in the rough and tumble somewhere, and the other dangled precariously from her toes as she was slammed into the headboard, Morlin's cock hilting into her kissing her depths again and again. The whole bed rocked back and forth with the steady motions, crashing into the wall repeatedly until they lost count of how much time had passed. Morlin's pace was relentless. Ghorza's body was voracious in its appetite, not once clenching or drying up. A small waterfall of desire drooled down the globes of her ass as she begged for more with all but her voice.

Her body took him in. her tunnel quivered about his girth excitedly. She dug her heel into his back to hold him in place and her hands clawed viciously at his back, nails setting into his shoulder blades and leaving angry red rakes on his skin.

Finally, her voice broke through the wall of pride holding her back and Ghorza sang out a beautiful moan, long and loud. The sound of it almost made Morlin ejaculate on the spot. He held on though and kept up the pace, encouraged by the minstrel tune of her approval.

“I want to cum, Morlin," she almost screamed, her voice at its peak of gorgeous femininity. “Make me feel like before. I'm almost there! Fuck me! Fuck me until I'm a screaming, quivering mess!"

Morlin grunted. “That's kind of the objective here, woman."

Running her hands into his hair she pressed at the back of his head, forcing him to look her in the eye. Her expression was more beautiful than anything he'd seen before, a mask of pure bliss taking over her features.

“Are you going to cum?" she breathed, and unable to find the words Morlin just nodded. “Cum inside me then. Breed me, Morlin. Fill your dirty cum-slut with your seed."

“Gods, Ghorza," Morlin groaned, her voice alone nearly making him spill again.

She pressed in and kissed him as a full body tremor took her over. Everything was on fire as a sensation of pure joy started in her toes, vibrated up her legs and spine then settled behind her lips as she kissed Morlin deeply, her tongue wrestling against his. She tasted herself on his mouth as the musk of their mingling sweat overpowered her senses.

As they kissed she came, a gushing waterfall of girl-cum jetting between her stretched pussy and Morlin's girth, soaking the pillows beneath them. At the same time Morlin tensed. She felt him swell inside her before he thrust up into her one last time. He bottomed out, the crown kissing her cervix gently before he injected a powerful jet of his seed into her belly. It didn't just fill her, it 'irrigated' her womb as she felt it, wet, warm and sticky, filling her to the point of overflow and beyond. Some of the cream bubbled out past the underside of his cock and left a white, slimy trail down to her neglected little ass which was winking as she clenched about his erection, trying to keep it all inside her.

After having him fuck nearly every other orifice on her body, Ghorza was already formulating how she might take him in her ass the next time. But that was perhaps a hurdle for later. At the moment she was content with the way Morlin was turning her body into a playground of pleasure already.

After a few moments of panting for air through their nostrils they finally broke the kiss with a wet little smack… and a soft sense of disappointment in both of them.

“Tired already, sissy?" Ghorza asked with a breathless little smile.

Morlin smiled back, feeling his erection tense a little. He was still hard for her. “Bitch, I can do this for days."

Pressing his mouth back to where it belonged on hers, Morlin rolled his hips into a fresh bout of thrusts. In response, Ghorza moaned into the kiss, her eyes rolling as she dug her nails into his back and grabbed the headboard for support.

Lubricated by their joint orgasm, they set to work again. Tonight was far from over.

Epilogue

Kari had been General Ward's administrator for nearly a month now, so she liked to think she knew him well enough. Well enough to know she would be met that morning by one of two sights.

One, Morlin would have killed or attempted to kill Ghorza Yazgash, and they would find one or both of them dead in their reserved quarters.

Or two, Morlin would have refused to consummate the marriage and jumped out of the frying pan only to land in the fire.

It was much to the young woman's shock that she and the alchemy arrived on the morning after the wedding night to find one of the servants had opened the honeymoon suite's door. Standing outside the room were Morlin and Ghorza, speaking softly to one another as they straightened their clothes. Morlin was doing up the last few buttons of his shirt before turning to Ghorza to help her with the top few buttons on the back of her dress. They each had a bed-head and looked like neither had gotten much sleep last night.

On top of that was the fact they were talking – actually talking to one another! Kari had seen them at the reception, smiling coldly and avoiding each other's eyes. Now it seemed they were the best of friends. Or even perhaps more.

“Good morning, Kari," Morlin greeted cheerfully. That alone freaked Kari the hell out.

“Good… morning?" she glanced between them and spotted the faintest of smiles on Ghorza's lips as well. Although the orc's gaze remained on her new husband, her ember eyes smouldered with what only the most astute woman could identify as simmering lust.

“I'm off to change," Morlin said. “Then I think it's time for breakfast and tending to my duties."

Ghorza nodded. “Indeed. I have to debrief with the Warlord before his departure, and then I have a new set of duties among the orc diplomats in the palace as well."

“Good. I'll see you tonight for dinner then?"

Ghorza smile became more obvious as her face brightened eagerly. “Most certainly."

Placing a hand on her hip, Morlin leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek. She kissed him back and the two turned and went their separate ways. Reluctantly, Kari noticed.

Glancing at the alchemist forensic team, Kari shrugged. Judging by their expressions they figured the exchange must have been some ruse, perhaps a feint into convincing others they'd done the deed last night. Never the less, the team would have to check.

So they pushed into the honeymoon suite… to find it wrecked.

The sheets were a twisted mess, crusted with mystery stains nearly everywhere. Decorations they'd placed on tables were scattered across the floor as their previous homes were twisted and bent out of shape as it seemed the couple had used any and all flat surfaces in the room at least once.

Kari and the forensic team took one look and figured they didn't even have to bother opening their kit.

“ Strange Bedfellows" ** |Next>>

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