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The Power of Green for Estands4me by Draconicon

"So this is Azuk."

Dar'Rama shook his head as he watched the orc wander through the stronghold, the Khajiit's keen eyes able to pick him up even from this distance, in a tree. His fingers itched to reach for his bow, but despite his skills, he didn't want to set the entire stronghold on him. He couldn't outrun them all, not when they were angry and looking for revenge for their shaman. No, far better to wait him out.

"I don't know who wants you dead so badly, Azuk, but today, they'll get their wish."

The Khajiit dropped out of the tree, his dark fur letting him blend in with the shadows of the night as he made his way down the hill. He knew from his recon during the last few days that the orc stronghold only had one way out, and it was near a small field. He supposed that, during spring or summer, it was used for crops. In the winter, there was no point to it but as a gathering place, and he knew that the orc shaman loved to come out and stand under the moons. All he needed to do was find a good hiding place.

With years of experience behind him, Dar'Rama made his way to the field and found one such place. A pile of tools left out for the next day, combined with a rough cloth to keep any rain off, provided a nice block to hide behind. The Khajiit debated what weapon would be best for this kill. Bow or dagger?

He settled for the dagger. While he would prefer to keep out of range, the orc would be too close for him to dare try anything, and if it broke during the fight, he wouldn't have anything to deal with pursuers. Better to risk an up-close fight and run if he had to.

Though he was prepared to wait for three hours if needed, Dar'Rama was happy to see the orc shaman slip out of the fort only a few minutes after he'd found his hiding place. The moons were nearly dark above, leaving the fields nearly black from the lack of light. His vision could see the details, but he doubted that the orc's could.

Azuk came to a stop a few feet from the far side of the pile. The Khajiit could make out his staff, but the orc seemed otherwise unarmed. The shaman was well built, he saw. Not as strong as some of the warriors and the hunters that called the stronghold home, but definitely strong enough to pose a danger if he missed the first strike. He'd have to make sure to make every blow count.

Oddly enough, the shaman went out with nothing but a loincloth, and not the most clean of them, from what he could smell. The Khajiit rubbed his nose, trying to keep the scent of a sweaty, oversexed orc from his nose, but it didn't really work.

You might be one of the few people to smell better after they die.

Tightening his grip around his dagger, the Khajiit quickly darted around the pile of tools. He knew if he didn't make this quick, he could be seen, and if he was seen, he couldn't make the kill.

It was bad luck that screwed him over. His toe hit one of the tools, and it clattered about. The sound alerted the shaman, and the shaman's staff came up at the right time to block the dagger from sheathing itself in his rib cage. Dar'Rama hissed under his breath, rolling with the shove from the orc and coming up on his feet a few yards away.

"You are fast."

"What're you doing here? Why d'ya want me dead?"

"That is for this one's client to say. In any case, you will die."

"Not tonight!"

Dar'Rama dodged the fireball from the staff, but not the second, green tinted spell. The Khajiit groaned as it hit him, shaking his head as he ducked and rolled away from the shaman's sudden attack with his staff. As he got back to his feet, though, the orc was back where he'd started. He wasn't pushing his advantage?

Why?

Dar'Rama shook his head. If the orc wasn't going to bring the fight to him, he'd finish it now. Darting forward with a snarl, the cat leaped over the tools again and brought his dagger in low. The orc was faster, though, the staff coming down and knocking the feline to the frozen ground. The Khajiit groaned, rubbing the back of his head -

And then his eyes were caught on the orc's feet. He stared at them, almost too long as the staff came down again. He barely rolled out of the way in time, coming up panting, the orc shaman smirking back at him.

"Something wrong, pussy cat?"

"What did you do?"

"I'll never tell."

It had to have been the green spell. He'd never looked at feet like that before, never felt an urge to...do things with them. It was unnatural. Azuk must have cursed him or something. It wouldn't matter; as soon as the orc was dead, this would all be over. And then he could look at those -

NO! Don't think about it! he tried to think before he looked down, but it was too late. Despite the feet likely smelling as musky and sweaty as the rest of the orc, Dar'Rama's mind went to the things that he could do with them. To sniff them, lick them, worship them. He wanted to be under them. He wanted to see them up close. Sort of like how that foot was getting closer to his face right then.

CRACK!

The sudden kick to the face sent the assassin to the ground, nursing a sore muzzle. He wasn't able to recover before the shaman loosed a fire spell at him, though thanks to a ring of resistance he only lost his clothing. Dar'Rama sat up a bit, trying to get to his feet once more, but Azuk was already there, shoving him back down onto his back once more.

"Heh, knew you wouldn't be able to resist that for long."

"What did...what did you do to this one?"

"Simple. I brought out the real you."

"This one is real."

"I meant that part that really craves to be underfoot. All you cats have it somewhere in you; it's been bred in."

"Lies!"

"Heh, then what is making you so eager to lick my feet?"

Azuk lifted one big green foot, and the Khajiit blushed as he had to restrain himself from reaching for it. It was like his body was slipping free of his control, trying to act on its own to fulfill its own desires, rather than working with him. He shook his head, only to have his face pinned beneath the orc's sweaty toes. He swore that his fur was soaked as the toes curled around his nose, forcing the scent deep into his head.

"That's it, pussy cat. Breathe it in. Learn your place."

Dar'Rama had little choice in the matter. All he could do was lay there, pinned beneath those big green feet, and suck in the scent. The musk was like a man that had been working all day and had been having sex for the whole night, rank and potent and inescapable. He groaned, trying to turn his head, but the weight on the end of his muzzle made it impossible. He could only lay there, hissing as he fought his own urges.

And they were growing. Growing very quickly, as the spell and the musk seemed to work together to get at that 'true self' that the orc had mentioned. It was like he was losing that independent agent and assassin that he had built up, and becoming...becoming like one of those sluts he had heard of, in those imitations of the House of Earthly Delights. He even gasped for the scent, after a short time, and he couldn't stop sucking at it, pulling it deeper into his nose, deeper into his head.

"That's it, pussy cat. You're losing that old, annoying, pain in the ass self. Just let that real one out. The foot licking, obedient kitty cat."

Dar'Rama wished he could summon the energy to growl at the big green menace, but he couldn't. If anything, it took all the willpower he had to keep from purring underfoot. Worst of all was the fact that his cock was slowly rising up, getting harder and harder as he kept sniffing.

Then he took a lick, and moaned at the taste. He actually moaned at the taste of a male that hadn't showered or cleaned himself for perhaps days, and his cock throbbed more than ever. He reached up, finally grabbing the orc by the ankle, but it was so he could move it to lick more, not thrust it away.

As he licked, the taste of sweat and musk strong on his tongue, he could see that the shaman was pleasuring himself. That slow up and down motion over his cock left no mistake in the Khajiit's mind. The orc was having fun with this, and a lot more fun than the assassin would have ever wanted a captor of his to have.

Yet, he could feel his own 'fun' getting harder and harder to ignore. His body was out of control, and his mind was fading quickly, slowly replaced by the need to serve, the need to give in, the need to be the little under-foot kitty that the orc wanted him to be.

Suddenly, the foot was pulled away from his face, and it took everything in him to stifle the whimper of need that wanted to come free from his throat. He stared up at the shaman in shock, and then gasped as the foot came back down on his crotch. It smothered his cock almost immediately, the green sole so large that it completely covered his cock, and it was so slick with spit and the remains of the sweat that he didn't get that it slid along his shaft easily, grinding against him.

Dar'Rama lost any hints of self control then, his hips thrusting up in abandon against that slick sole as he gave in to the pleasure. He panted and moaned, shuddered and gasped in need as he oozed his pre all over it. It got slicker and slicker, and he could feel the orc shaman's pre raining over him as the orc got closer to orgasm as well.

"That's it...give in. Give in and cum."

There was nothing he could do. When his last attempt to stop thrusting failed, he went over the edge, his cock caught between the big and second toe as he came hard. He could feel his load collecting there, even as he heard Azuk cum as well. The orc was loud, grunting and growling as he shot his load, and it was far thicker as it landed on the tops of his feet while the Khajiit's seed collected between the toes.

It took a few minutes before the orc moved his foot, and by then, Dar'Rama was completely broken. He stared up without a thought in his head, and the orc shaman chuckled at him.

"Come, kitty. Let's show you your other masters."

The shaman patted his head, pulling him up and marching him towards the stronghold. A quickly dying cry inside was the last bit of Dar'Rama, the assassin, and the slow growing grin showed that Dar'Rama, the whore, was emerging.

The End