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Stedon remembered the first time he saw an orc. A small raid had come down from the mountains two springs past. Father hid the family in the root cellar while they ransacked the farm. The orcs stole the chickens and his mother's fresh-baked bread still cooling on the window. Then came the sounds of a fight.

Stedon remembered peeking through a pair of wooden floor slats to see Boment, the big miller's son, confronting the raid leader. The orc slammed his thick olive fist into Boment's face, drew a serrated short sword and plunged it clean through Boment's body. Boment hadn't even screamed as he died. The orc yanked his sword free with a practiced casualness that reminded Stedon of his father slaughtering pigs, and swaggered off to join the rest of his band.

The sight had taught Stedon two things - first, that he lusted for men. Second, that what he had just felt would kill him if he dared speak of it. So Stedon remembered these things in secret. For he'd felt no remorse over Boment's death. Only a kind of awe at the power the orc wielded, the strength that every bulge and curve of his great masculine body displayed. And an envy at the easy way the orcs had strode off together.

Stedon remembered them now, eyes closed, hand polishing his cock fast, so close to release. He pictured the slow gyrations of the orcs' asses within their tight doeskin thongs in his mind. He bit his lip to stifle the cry of his orgasm. Only the family cow would hear.

"Stedon, where is that milk? Did Belinda swallow you with her cud?"

"Coming, Father!" Stedon called.

He wiped his hands on some clean straw and grabbed the sloshing milk pail. Father's smile was hidden in his thick black beard.

"Practicing those exercises of yours again?" Father asked.

"Yes," Stedon lied, grateful for the excuse.

Father shook his head with a sigh. "Building strength is all very well, boy, but what good will all that muscle do you if you haven't a wife? I'm not going to be head of the household forever, you know."

Stedon shrugged. "Haven't found the right girl yet, I suppose."

"Of course not! Spending all your spare time lifting the heaviest things you can find about the farm, eating twice as much as your brother, it's no wonder!"

"You were grateful enough for my muscles last winter when Belinda got stuck in that snowdrift," Stedon pointed out.

"My point is you need to think more of your future and less of your body," Father said in that tone that told Stedon not to protest any further.

Stedon took the milk to Mother for the butter churn. Mother had been more encouraging of his efforts to build his body.

"A stout man fetches a good woman," she once told Stedon with a wink. "You'll have all the ladies in town fawning over your brawny arms, and then what'll you father have to protest, eh?"

A year before the orc incident, Stedon's family took their wares to the summer fair in Kingstown. Among the spectacles was a man called Bear all the way from the captial. He'd lifted a full-grown heifer across his shoulders, his great bare chest heaving and sweating with the effort. When the show was over and Bear had dressed, Stedon bribed his secrets out of him with choice selections from his father's homebrew.

"'Tis not about lifting heavy objects, lad," Bear said between guzzles of ale. "Any man with a good frame to him can lift heavy things. The true secret lies in starting with something that's just enough of a challenge for ye, and practicing lifting it until 'tis no longer a challenge. By then, ye move on to heavier and heavier things until..." Bear indulged Stedon in a proud flex of both arms, exposing rich deep hairy armpits, grinning when the eager young man had smeared an admiring hand over the peak of his bicep.

"And that's all?" Stedon marveled.

"Ah," Bear leaned forward with a wink. He held up a sausage-like finger. "Now here's where most men grow discouraged and give up. You see, lad, what ye do with your body's not nearly as important as what ye put into it. 'Tis simple, really. What's the mightiest creature in all the forest, hm?"

"A bear?" Stedon guessed with a grin.

Bear laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "There's a smart lad! And what do bears eat, hm? Why, meat of course! Great loads of it! To be like the bear, you must do the same!"

Stedon frowned. He looked down at himself, at his slender young stomach. "I'm not sure I could eat enough for that."

"You'll find a way, if'n ye be determined enough, lad," Bear encouraged.

As it happened, Stedon had. The farm was plagued by wolves so close to the mountains. They made for stringy eating, but hunting them gave Stedon the meat he needed, and sometimes he even could catch a deer they'd dropped before it was too gorged upon. So now here he was, just past the cusp of manhood, boyish frame starting to fill out nicely, with his parents thinking about a marriage for him. And all Stedon could dream of was how he might get the chance to see an orc again.

Orcs rarely crossed the mountains, and even then never in numbers. All Stedon knew of them was that they were supposedly men who had rejected the gifts of the gods and thus been cursed to remain forever half beasts. Stedon didn't dare brave the mountain passes to go looking for them. He was no warrior. Not to mention, Father and Mother would miss him in a fortnight.

The day passed as most late spring days did on the farm. There were crops of barley and oats to tend, pigs and chickens to feed, the horse to water and groom. Ayron, Stedon's older brother, was due to return soon from bartering for elven herbs in Lethrivin Forest. The farm filled with the smell of a baking vegetable pie - Mother's welcome home gift.

Stedon was in the stable when a clap of thunder startled him. He rushed outside. Dark clouds curdled over the mountain peaks. In another hour, the storm would cover the farm. He turned back inside to soothe the horse against the thunder, then closed him into his stall.

Cold wind rushed through Stedon's hair. The storm was coming fast. Mother appeared in the doorway and called to him. Father waved her back inside, then jogged over.

"Curse those pigs!" Father puffed. "The damned thunder's sent them scattering all through the forest. I've managed to pen some, but we have to try to find as many more as we can before the storm hits!"

"I'll search the south woods. I know them the best," Stedon volunteered.

Father nodded, but grasped his shoulder when Stedon turned to leave.

"I didn't want to worry your mother, but there's been fighting in the mountain passes. Take this with you." Father held a short sword out for Stedon. "Just in case."

Stedon knew the basics of combat. Living on the edge of a thin band of wilderness that seperated human territory from orc lands, it was only prudent. Stedon took the blade and made for the woods as a flash of lightning flickered overhead.

It took a moment for Stedon's eyes to adjust to the darkness beneath the trees. Thankfully, the approaching storm rendered the normal forest chatter quiet, and Stedon could pick out the distant squeals of pigs. He pushed through the underbrush toward the sound.

The glint of metal in a flash of lightning drew his eye.

A figure lay sprawled in the hollow formed by the exposed roots of a venerable oak tree. Stedon ran toward him, but skidded to a stop when he saw the tusks in the creature's mouth - an orc warrior. A broken arrow shaft was lodged in his leg.

Stedon crept forward. His breath caught when he saw the rise and fall of the orc's bulging chest beneath studded hide armor. The orc lived! Stedon looked around himself, torn. Father would be back at the house in another hour. If Stedon didn't return within a similar time, with at least a few pigs to show for it, it would raise questions.

The orc gave a faint groan. His great body shuddered. He was at least as big as Bear had been, if not slightly larger. Much less hair, though. Stedon wondered if orcs shaved or if they were naturally less hairy than humans.

If Stedon did nothing, the orc wouldn't last the night. Blood seeped through his leg wound, soaking the bulging muscular thigh.

Stedon paced, cursing under his breath. Another thunderclap. The orc's eyes opened the tiniest crack.

It let out a bestial roar and lunged for Stedon. Stedon leapt backward, heart in his mouth, short sword out in front of him. But the orc's lunge ended in a crash onto the ground a few inches from Stedon's feet. It clutched at the forest loam in pain.

Stedon dropped to his knees beside the orc. He pushed the orc back against the tree by the shoulders. He gritted his teeth and thanked the gods for all those exercises, for the orc was heavy and in no condition to aid him.

The orc growled like a distrustful hound, head lolling side to side.

"Easy," Stedon murmured. "I'm not going to hurt you. Do you understand me?"

"Under...stand..." the orc panted in a heavy accent. It weakly nodded. "Yes."

Stedon looked up at the sound of the rain. It was coming down heavy. The trees offered little cover. He turned back to the orc.

"There's a cave not far from here. I can show you. Can you walk?"

"Not prisoner!" the orc roared.

He tried to leap to his feet again and cried out, clutching his bloody leg, and crashed back against the tree.

Stedon gripped the orc under the arms, trying to help hold him upright. He could feel the firm muscle under the studded leather. The orc was probably sweaty with shock. Stedon tried to ignore such thoughts.

The orc reached toward his throat, mistaking Stedon's act for an attack. But he was weak from his wounds and Stedon managed to shove him away.

"Stay here and die, then!" Stedon yelled above the storm.

Stedon slapped away hot tears of rage and stalked after the pigs.

"Wait!"

Stedon waited. With grunts of pain, the orc limped toward him. His scarlet eyes were incredulous.

"You help me?"

"You're hurt," Stedon said.

"Yes. Where? Where cave?"

"Follow me."

The orc tried, staggering after Stedon through the mud and the pouring rain. Stedon swore and came back toward the orc. He pushed himself up under one heavy muscular arm, felt the orc lean gratefully on his weight. Together they made it to Stedon's narrow cave.

It was little better than a badger's den. Years of rain and snow had hollowed it out larger inside. The orc grunted and fell back to the ground.

"Blood," the orc panted. "Too much blood. Want sleep. Can't."

"I understand," Stedon assured him.

If the orc slipped unconscious from his wound, he would die.

Stedon searched for anything dry to start a fire with and found none. It was time to make another dangerous choice. Magic was strictly illegal. To practice it was a death sentence. Yet, Stedon's family kept one or two small cantrips a closely guarded secret. A little rain spell here. A tiny charm against fever there. Most families who lived so close to the mountains relied on such indiscretions to survive in desperate times.

Casting a spell - even a small spell - was not undertaken lightly. Magic demanded a price for its power. Stedon would not know beforehand what the price would be.

Stedon gathered up kindling and a few branches. He formed a pile and then cupped his hands around the damp bark shavings, closing his eyes. He concentrated on feelings of fire, a desire for heat. He envisioned a small blaze in his mind. For magic to work, he had to imagine it exactly, down to the sound of the crackling flames, the smell of the smoke. Stedon focused all his mind on the image, and finally whispered his desire aloud in Speech, begging the universe itself to aid him.

Smoke rose, and then puffs of young flame. The fire was bone white. It devoured the wettest twigs first, burning the drier kindling only reluctantly and with a good deal of smoke first. The instant it came to life, Stedon felt the heat drain from his body. The magic had stolen his body's warmth to create the fire. No matter how Stedon might bundle himself up, it would do no good.

Stedon bent to feed his little mage fire, the only way he could keep from freezing to death. Stedon built it as large as he dared in the enclosed space and found a supply of soaked deadfall from outside the cave to tend it through the night.

Stedon checked his companion. The orc's eyes were rolling back into his head, but were still open. The orc was fighting hard to stay conscious, whispering words in his own harsh, guttural language. Stedon shivered at the snapping, snarling sounds of Orkish. It sounded beautiful. Aggressive and hard. Nothing like the soft soothing sounds of Stedon's own Necarean language.

"What's your name?" Stedon asked.

When the orc didn't answer, Stedon slapped him hard across the face. "Your name!"

Red eyes came back into focus. "Grothor," the orc said.

In the light of the mage fire, Stedon could appreciate more detail. Stedon guessed Grothor stood close to seven feet in height. At his size, he could engulf Stedon's head with one hand. The orc's studded hide armor clung to his body, accentuating the details of his deep, wide chest and massive arms. Dull copper-green skin shone in the firelight like the healthy coat of a stallion. In the enclosed space of the cave, there was no escaping the orc's wet, sweaty smell.

Stedon turned to the arrow wound. He wished Mother were here. She'd always taken care of the family's healing needs. Still, there was a smattering of woodsman lore to help him. Stedon tried his best to tell Grothor what he was doing before he left back into the storm to find what he needed.

The woods outside were a black chaos of tossing limbs and slashing water. Stedon's cloth-bound feet sunk into soft earth that was still too cold to make comfortable walking. Without the fire, Stedon was numb within minutes. His body did not shiver to try and warm him. He was like a walking corpse.

It took some doing, but Stedon managed to find a fallen trunk covered in the right moss for what he needed. Stedon used his short sword to scrape off a double handful, then hurried back toward the flickering light from the cave.

Stedon built the fire so he could see more clearly. Grothor's armor covered his torso but left arms and upper legs bare. Big leather boots studded with iron spikes up the front and sides rose as high as his knees. It struck Stedon as a strange design that left so much of the body vulnerable to attack.

Grothor watched him, eyes hooded with distrust. Stedon set the moss out to dry and faced his patient.

"Grothor. The arrow has to come out." He mimicked with his hands.

Grothor grunted and nodded. Without a second thought, the orc reached down, grabbed the base of the broken arrow shaft, and yanked hard.The cave filled with his bellow of pain. The bloody arrowhead burst free. Blood immediately welled out. Orc blood looked no different than human blood, Stedor thought. He grabbed his double handful of moss and pressed it to the wound with all his strength.

He could feel the thick firm muscle under his hands. Almost like the side of a great bull, yet the skin was surprisingly smooth and soft. He glanced up at Grothor and saw him grinning a bit.

"What?" Stedor asked.

"Pain feel good," Grothor hissed. "Pain make no sleep."

Stedon undid the hempen rope that served as a tie for his pants. He used it to bind the moss into place. Both men lay back beside the fire with sighs. Grothor looked at Stedon sidelong.

"Why?"

He gestured at his leg.

"The gods forbid it," Stedon said. "They will punish me if I let you die."

Grothor chuckled, a deep booming sound. "Human gods must hate human warriors, then."

"The forces of Necares have a sacred duty to defend us. The gods understand."

Grothor curled one thick lip upward. "You know how many I kill?" He drew a thick green finger slowly across his own throat.

Stedon swallowed. "Many?"

Grothor held up both huge hands, fingers out.

"Impressive," was all Stedon could think to say.

Grothor let out a laugh. "Little human think Grothor big warrior?"

Stedon guessed the orc was asking if he thought Grothor to be a skilled warrior among his people for having killed ten soldiers. But the double entendre - as inadvertent as it was - made his heart flutter.

"How many has your king slain?" Stedon asked.

"No king. Best orc slay many many," Grothor answered with a wide grin. "Mountain of enemies. Dead."

Stedon nodded. Grothor leaned forward, a touch awkward from the pain. He gestured at Stedon in what looked like a request for Stedon to give him something. Stedon hesitated, then extended his hand. Grothor took it in his mighty fist. So warm. So strong. Stedon couldn't help imagining those hands caressing his naked body.

"Thank you," Grothor said.

Stedon smiled. A flood of giddy warmth filled him. That an orc had looked him in the eyes and thanked him for something made Stedon's head whirl with pleasure. He patted the back of Grothor's hand to show he accepted.

Grothor leaned gingerly back against the earthen wall of the cave once more. He reached under his chin to undo the strap of his spiked, black helmet. With a sigh, he let it roll off. Grothor had black hair underneath, a single inky black ponytail secured at the base by a circlet of spiked black steel. The rest of his head was shaven. Visible veins decorated his temples, flowing up behind his pointed ears. One ear glittered with a pair of earrings.

Grothor let Stedon look him over, a faint smirk of amusement on his face. He pointed at Stedon.

"You not warrior."

Stedon blushed. "I'm a farmer," he said.

Grothor didn't know the word. Stedon drew a square in the dirt, a set of rows to indicate farming fields. He made a few animal noises. Grothor's eyes widened in understanding. He pointed to some imaginary place behind him, in the general direction of Stedon's home. His thick brows rose in a question.

Stedon was stunned. How could Grothor know where he lived? Grothor must have read his surprise.

"I go there. With other orcs. Many many days back."

"Gods," Stedon whispered. "That was you? I remember! Did you kill the miller's son?"

Grothor nodded. "Yes. I kill that day." He mimicked the blade thrust Stedon remembered. "You see?"

"Oh yes," Stedon said. "I saw."

Grothor gave a sort of grunting sigh.

"Now you hate. Now you think bad to help me."

"I have to go," Stedon said. He took Grothor's big hand again and looked him in the eyes. "Stay here. I'll come back at dawn. Stay! If you leave, you die. Understand?"

Grothor looked surprised, puzzled. But he nodded. Stedon explained as best he could about the fire needing wet wood, not dry. Then he sprinted for home.

"Gods, boy! Don't you ever scare us like that again!" were the first words out of Father's mouth when Stedon came, staggering, soaked, and covered in mud, through the front door of the house. Father crushed him into a hug, fingers in his hair.

"Father, I'm fine. I just got lost in the storm, that's all," Stedon tried to say, muffled against his chest.

Stedon hugged his weeping mother, who rocked him and whispered thanks to the gods.

"I never should have let you go alone," Father said. "Not in this weather. I'm sorry, my boy! I'm so sorry!"

Stedon felt a flash of irritation.

"I'm a grown man, now, Father. I can look after myself!" he said.

Father nodded. "Yes...yes I suppose you are, at that."

"I have to go back out there in the morning," Stedon told them. "I forgot the sword back in the woods."

"Oh, Stedon, let your father find the blasted thing!" Mother said. She held his cheeks, face still wet with tears. "When I think of what might have happened to you..." Mother suddenly put a palm to Stedon's forehead.

"What's the matter with you?" Mother asked.

"Nothing," Stedon said. "It's the storm. I'm just cold is all."

"No," Mother shook her head, insistent. "I can't feel any heat from you at all. Stedon, you didn't..."

Stedon hung his head. "There wasn't a stick of dry wood anywhere. If I hadn't used magic, I'd have caught my death from the chill and the damp."

"Oh, Stedon!" Mother's exclamation came out in a whisper instead of a wail.

Stedon looked at her and Father. He had never lied to them before. Stedon looked inward, searching his feelings. Grothor was the first thing he thought of, and his feelings for the massive orc were still strong - desire, burning deep and suppressed within him. Concern for the orc out there in the storm with only a small mage fire.

Mother and Father were both looking at him, worry etched in every line of their faces. Stedon tried to make light of it.

"I think, perhaps, if I slept close to the hearth, I'll be better in the morning," he said.

Mother fetched fresh straw to make a mattress for him. Father offered to make Stedon some tea, which seemed to help keep Stedon's body moving without sluggishness. Stedon wondered if this was what it was like to be a snake or a dragon, or some other cold-blooded creature.

"I'm sorry, Father," Stedon said from his makeshift bed by the fire.

"Wouldn't have given you that spell if I didn't think you could handle it," Father muttered. "There's no need to apologize to me, boy..err..Stedon."

"I don't suppose there's anything left to eat," Stedon ventured.

Father found Stedon some cold bread. Mother had saved his share of the vegetable pie, resting in the coals of the hearth where it would stay warm. Stedon devoured them both, and then collapsed into sleep.

Stedon dreamed of Grothor. Of those enormous, bulging green arms surrounding him. Mouths crushed together. Slimy monstrous tongue slurping and smearing its way around his throat, having his way with him, conquering Stedon.

Stedon woke with a groan. He looked down to find himself a sticky mess. He turned quickly to look across the house where his parents lay. In the predawn gloom he couldn't tell if they'd heard.

Stedon scrambled into the main room of the house, out the back door. He scrubbed his hands and crotch with water from the overflowing rain barrel. The air smelled of wet earth and felt as warm as his dream memory of Grothor. Today would be hot.

The spell had taken its price. Stedon's body heat had returned during the night. Stedon dressed and crept as soft as he could away from the house. He didn't want to disturb the animals and give himself away. Once he'd reached the woods, he had to get his bearings to the cave.

No firelight greeted Stedon when he found the orc's cave. Stedon feared the worst until he got close enough to hear the piggish snorting of Grothor's snores. That brought a smile to Stedon's face. He'd never imagined orcs snoring.

Grothor would be hungry when he woke, and he would need food to recover his strength. Stedon fetched his sword from the cave and set out in search of pigs. When he returned, Grothor's massive silhouette stood at the cave entrance.

Some time in the night, Grothor had removed his armor. Probably to escape the wet chill and let the fire keep him warm. The orc stood in nothing but a leather loincloth that looked as if it were fashioned from a tanned dragon's hide. The sight left Stedon breathless, rooted to the spot. In the golden light of the rising sun, Grothor looked like some bestial god. Stedon's cock ached it was so hard.

Grothor was larger than Bear. Stedon could see that, now. And where Bear had been all raw bulk, Grothor's body was devoid of any unseemly fat. Grothor stood there, naked pecs rolling idly in the sunlight. Chiseled abdominals shredded his belly into ridges deep enough to have their own shadows. His thighs rippled like the hind flanks of a warhorse. And.Stedon blushed deeply to glance at it.that dragon leather loincloth only served to accentuate what it contained, like a subtle declaration of Grothor's superiority over fellow males.

Grothor's mouth gaped in a ferocious yawn. He turned his head in Stedon's direction and his eyes narrowed. Stedon stepped into view. Grothor jerked back in astonishment.

"You come!"

"Said I would, didn't I?" Stedon chuckled. He held turned and picked up the bloody carcass of the slain pig.

Grothor rushed forward. He grabbed the pig from Stedon and yanked the slit throat upward to slurp blood right from the wound. Stedon's stomach heaved a bit at that, at the blood now coating Grothor's tusks, dripping from his chin, yet the orc made sounds as if he were slurping up raw, melted butter.

"Fire," Grothor said.

"Let me see if I can find something dry this time," Stedon said.

They hunted for firewood, Grothor carrying the pig under one massive arm as if it weighed no more than a bushel of wildflowers. With a fire blazing at their camp in the cave, Grothor took Stedon's short sword and made quick work of butchering the pig for roasting.

Human and orc ate together. Stedon let Grothor have the lion's share. Grothor ate like a gorging wolf - complete with snarling and biting open the bones to slurp out the marrow. Grothor even cooked and devoured the pig's organs, despite Stedon warning him that some would make him deadly sick.

"Make puny human, maybe!" Grothor snarled at him. "Orcs, no! Orcs eat ALL!"

Stedon had to admire his single-minded ferocity. He let his eyes wander over that magnificent, brutish body while Grothor ate the rest of his fill. Grothor finished with a mighty burp that echoed off the trees.

"How's the leg?" Stedon asked, gesturing to the bound wound.

Grothor smiled and stood proudly on his feet. He gave the leg a solid slap to show it didn't hurt. Stedon gaped.

"Healed?" Stedon exclaimed.

Grothor's smile widened. He ripped the bandage away and turned his bulging thigh to show the small, pointed, bloody scar that remained.

"Orcs heal fast. But meat better. Give strength!"

Grothor flexed his arms to show his enthusiasm and Stedon could not suppress the moan that ripped from his mouth. His cock was a rod of pure agony in his pants, so hard and big there was no disguising what it was.

Grothor stared at it. Stedon closed his eyes. He felt sure the orc would either kill him or start to laugh. He wanted to bury himself in the earth. Stedon tensed as he felt the huge orc approach him.

"This me?" Grothor said, so close the meat-scented air from his mouth wafted to Stedon's nostrils.

Stedon gasped when Grothor's finger touched the tip of the bulge in his pants. "YES!"

Stedon whimpered when he felt Grothor's palm on his cheek, turning his head up to face that bestial face and those penetrating red eyes.

"You like?"

Stedon whimpered like a puppy. His toes curled in their cloth wraps. Pre erupted from his hidden cock in a glorious stream. Grothor was smiling at him. Not a mocking grimace or even a lewd grin. More a kind of pride, as if Stedon's acknowledgement were a great honor.

"You heal me," Grothor said. He cupped both of Stedon's cheeks. "What you want, little man?"

"I...I..." Stedon couldn't talk. This was a dream. It had to be.

Grothor was leading Stedon back into the cave. Grothor's hands were pulling down his pants. The instant Grothor's palm touched under Stedon's balls, Stedon clung to the orc as he came. Tears of shame, of guilt, of joy flooded his eyes.

Grothor shoved him away in disgust, wiping the tears off himself. Stedon stared at him, not sure what to think or feel.

"All humans do when you do?" Grothor demanded, gesturing at Stedon's dripping, throbbing shaft, then pointing at his own eye to indicate Stedon's tears.

"I'm sorry," Stedon stuttered. He was shaking.

Grothor looked confused. Stedon shook his head, too embarrassed and lost to try and explain the concept of an apology. They stood there, awkward in their silence, mostly naked and so close they could feel the heat of each other.

Grothor reached out. He took Stedon's hand and pushed it against the smooth leather of his loincloth. Stedon bit his lip. Grothor nodded. Grothor's cock was firming, slowly hardening.

"H..how.how do we.? How do orcs.?" Stedon flailed the question.

"I take. You give."

"I give," Stedon agreed.

Grothor undid his loincloth. Spread his bulging thighs apart, displaying his mahood for the human. It was as oversized as the rest of him. Other than the color, it looked just like any man's cock, but magnified to a truly glorious proportion.

Grothor gave a soft growl as Stedon felt it. He shoved Stedon away, grabbed his shoulders, turned him to the wall.

"I take. You give," he snarled in Stedon's ear.

Stedon moaned. He spread his cheeks apart.

"I give," he whispered.

Grothor was not gentle. Stedon didn't expect him to be. First came the fingers. Two of them shoved up Stedon's ass, slick with orcish spit. Stedon yelled as though stabbed. He hiked up on his tip toes. Grothor grabbed a fist full of his hair. The orc was on top of him. The fingers were gone. Something much larger, much longer, rammed into him. Stedon screamed.

Raw ecstasy blazed through him as Grothor's merciless dagger-sized shaft raped him raw. Grothor held him like a mountain lion pinning a ram to the earth, hands restraining the human so he couldn't move. Stedon could only writhe and shriek and buck as he tried desperately to handle the pleasure.

Grothor went wild - an utter beast, crushing Stedon against him, hips bucking and thrusting, harder, harder, eyes squeezed tight and roaring out each time he exhaled. His nails dug into Stedon's chest in his passion to spear him.

Stedon clung to the walls of the cave. Their cave. Filled with the sounds and the smells of man sex. Grothor's musk was twice as strong with him naked, sweating, rutting Stedon.

At last, the orc came. A great, mighty thunder shook the stone. Stedon's ears rang from the sound. Hot liquid pushed its way into Stedon's depths. Stedon moaned. His own paultry cum that squirted to the cave wall was nothing to the torrent that lashed his ass and oozed down his legs.

Grothor pulled out. They stood there panting in the dark. Then Stedon lunged. He needed that mouth. He needed that tongue inside of him. Grothor fought him off at first but Stedon let out a growl of his own and sank his teeth hard into one of those meaty, thick pectorals.

Grothor snarled in surprise. Stedon broke from his love bite and glared pure want up into the orc's red eyes. Grothor chuckled and yanked him close. They made out there in the cave while the fire died. Stedon, lost in a feverish reverie of muscle and spit, smell and sound, gave himself to the orc.

Grothor seemed to sense it, because he grabbed a fist full of Stedon's firm smooth ass like it was a prize. He broke from the kiss and growled in Stedon's face.

"More. You give more."

Stedon dropped to his knees and grabbed that dripping, throbbing green stud pole. He smeared his tongue around the tip, then slowly accepted it down his throat. He fought the urge to gag, managed to turn it into a powerful swallow instead, and was rewarded by Grothor's low moans.

Grothor set up a slow, hard, humping rhythm down Stedon's throat. Stedon matched his sucks and swallows to its beat. He played his tongue along the underside of the cock, trailing the veins with his tongue tip. Grothor's cock tasted salty from the sweat of his anus. Underneath it was the orc's true flavor. The flavor Stedon wanted more than anything.

Grothor was panting hard through his nostrils. Each thrust spurt a bitter-salty slime from his fat glans. Stedon pulled off of it to the tip and gave it a smearing lewd kiss with his lips.

"I love orcs," he whispered.

Grothor grabbed his own balls and let out a snarl. His cum slit pulsed. Stedon had just enough time to shut his eyes and then his face was drenched in cum, warm as fresh milk. Stedon shuddered. Grothor's big hands can down and smeared his cum across Stedon's cheeks, up around his earlobes, into his hair.

"Mmmmm.my human," he breathed.

Stedon nearly came a third time. He grabbed Grothor's hand and kissed his palm. Over and over. He gazed up into the orc's face, still on his knees. Grothor was leering down at him in the cave's dim light.

Grothor took a step back and sank into a slow crouch. He reached out to grip Stedon's chin. "I go," he rumbled. Then he leaned closer and whispered. "But I come back. Here." Grothor pointed downwards to indicate the cave. "You come."

"When?" Stedon begged.

Grothor smirked. "Soon. You will know."

Then he was gone. Stedon settled slowly back onto his haunches in the orc-scented cave. Tears flooded into his eyes. He'd betrayed himself. To his family. To his people. How by the gods would he hide this? How would he explain his absence all morning long?

Stedon wiped his sniffling nose. Grothor hated tears. Stedon vowed never to show his orc lover more of them. He gathered himself up to make for the river. He cried out almost at once. His ass burned. It forced Stedon to move at a crawling pace.

Stedon didn't reach the river until well in the afternoon. He gave himself a thorough scrubbing. He washed his hair four times, used coarse river mud on his arms and chest. He winced as he washed his puffy ass hole.

By the time Stedon was on his way back home, clothed and with the short sword at his side once more, he had a plan. Stedon was surprised to hear the sounds of conversation as he drew closer. He left the cover of the trees and rounded the corner of the house to the front porch.

Ayron was home. Sweet, perfect Ayron with his flowing locks of golden hair. The elves had been kind to him, it seemed, for Ayron was dressed in a garment of deep green silk with a sparkling pendant about his throat. Stedon regarded him. He used to admire Ayron. Now there was only Grothor.

Ayron stood with a beaming smile when he saw his brother.

"Stedon! Look at you! I swear you've filled out even more since I left!"

Ayron hugged him and thumped his back. "I hear you've been giving Mother and Father a hard time, adventuring off into the deep dark wood on noble pig-fetching quests!"

Stedon smiled at the jibe. He gestured for Ayron to follow him back into the house.

"I found more than pigs," he said. His smile dropped. "The orcs are back."

Mother gasped. Ayron whispered a curse.

Father gripped Stedon's arm. "Did they see you?" Father demanded.

"No. Nor smell me, for I stayed downwind. I think it's the same bunch that killed Bemont two years ago. I recognize their leader."

Ayron snorted. "An orc is an orc. They're all the same. Don't let your imagination run away with you, Stedon."

"Their leader had two rings in his left ear, and so did the leader of this group," Stedon insisted. "If it is the same band as before, then they know about the farm already."

Ayron stood. "Father, let me take my horse out again. I'll ride to the garrison in Kingstown."

"But what if they attack us while you're gone?" Mother wailed.

"If that happens, Mother," Ayron said, "it wouldn't matter whether I was here or not. We're no match for a band of orcs."

"How many were there?" Father asked Stedon.

"Four," Stedon lied. "Big brutes, too. They didn't do much to disguise their presence. I tracked them as far as Hunter's Pass. I'd say they were on their way back over the mountains."

"Go, Ayron. Fetch the garrison," Father urged.

Ayron gave a curt nod and left. Stedon bit his lip with worry. If Ayron was successful, the farm would be crawling with militia within days. Grothor would walk into a trap if he returned. If not, the garrison would surely discover Stedon's lie about the orc's numbers.

"He only just got here!" Stedon heard himself saying. "Let me see him off, at least."

Stedon followed Ayron outside. He still had the short sword strapped to his hip. The old Stedon would have been horrified to even consider what he was about to do, but Stedon's lust had eclipsed all other considerations. Aryon threatened to destroy the monstrous dream Stedon had set in motion.

Stedon followed Ayron into the horse stall. He would have to strike before Ayron mounted. He also risked Ayron crying out, or the horse spooking from what he was about to do. Stedon put his hand on his blade. He covered the sound of it's draw in the crunch of the straw.

"No need to worry, so, Stedon," Ayron said as he gripped the saddle. "I should be back again by tomorrow, and I'll smell those filthy green-skins before they see me!"

Now, while his hands were busy with the saddle! Stedon pictured Grothor murdering Bemont. He put one hand on Ayron's shoulder and slammed the pommel into the top of Ayron's head as hard as he could.

Ayron gave a gigantic gasp of agonized surprise. He slumped to his knees. Stedon gripped his unconscious brother under the arms and gritted his teeth. He had to use all of the strength he'd built up over the last two years to power lift Ayron into the saddle.

Once there, Stedon worked quickly. He found some rope to lash Ayron to his deep-chested mare. He bridled her, then led her out onto the road and almost immediately afterward off onto a forest trail.

Stedon didn't dare venture far before he unbound Ayron and let him drop to the ground. Aryon's horse shied a bit, but she was a steady beast and quickly settled down to grazing.

Stedon pulled the sword free and dropped it beside Ayron. He leaned to his brother's ear.

"Those 'filthy green-skins' have captured my heart, dear brother. I'm sorry it had to be this way."

Stedon retrieved the sword, mounted the horse, and set off for the mountains. Stedon had never hurt anyone before. For hours, he trembled atop his mount. The mare sensed his anxiety and it made her skittish. Stedon resisted the urge to gallop. Ayron's horse was a simple farmer's mare. A full-out run along a narrow forest path - to say nothing of one sloping upward and broken by rocks as it climbed toward the mountain's foothills - would be a disaster for her.

Stedon traveled until nightfall. This was farther than he'd ever come into the wilderness before. He was grateful that Necarean rangers maintained scouting trails. Those would run out by tomorrow, Stedon guessed. Stedon built a fire and fell asleep to the faint howling of wolves high up in the mountain passes.

He woke to the feeling of cold iron at his throat.