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The moon sat in the pitch-black sky above, the only celestial body visible in the darkened sky. Any faint trace of starlight was buried under the flickering and dancing of the bonfires that illuminated the clearing. Makeshift log walls had already been erected around the perimeter of the nascent camp, and the hulking figures moving between them were a clear warning to any outsiders to stay away. However, if one knew how to keep their footfalls soft and to use the shadows cast by torchlight to remain unseen, one could slip through the camp's defenses with ease to observe the activity at its heart.

Antony kept his body pressed against the ground, moving slow to prevent the grass he was using for cover from rustling. His heart was a drum pounding in his chest and ears, and for one moment the thought that the sound would give him away darted through his brain. But he shook it away like it was a fly buzzing in his ears, and settled in the shadow of a high log barricade to watch the creatures that had made their camp on the plain near his village.

Orcs. Massive, hulking, brutish barbarians. Green-skinned monsters that were more beast than man. He'd heard plenty of stories about the wandering tribes from others in the village. From travelers in the inn, who still smelled of sweat and road dust as they pushed him down and climbed atop him. From men he'd meet in the baths, whose nude bodies would find better relaxation under the touch of his eager hands than in any steaming, scented water. From soldiers in the barracks, whose grunting words and rough caresses would only grow more feverish and frantic the longer he spent in their bunks.

In the dark, his cheeks grew flushed. His hips shifted, grinding the hardness in his pants against the grass and soil beneath him. A clench and shift within him bloomed into a surge of pleasurable itching and burning deep within him.

Antony was, to put it bluntly, a homosexual slut. Even in his innocent youth, there was something about both the other boys and the older men in the village that drew him like a fascinated moth to a flame. Then the stirrings of his adolescence had bloomed into curiosity, and that curiosity had ripened with age into a deep-seated need; a wordless hunger gnawing not in his belly, but in the depths of his rump and dancing like flames on his tongue. His fascination had finally drawn him—whimpering and whining like a bitch in the throes of heat—into the pants and bed of any man who would accept his lustful offerings. He loved men. He loved the feeling of muscles and fat and curly hair under his wandering palms. He loved the rich, spicy scent—wafting from under lifted arms and spread thighs—of sweat and masculine musk that clung to the body after a good day of work. He loved the sight of a soft, fleshy, ample penis growing hard and erect and pulsing with virile life before him; ready to sink between his lips or fill his backside, and pump into him until the beautiful sack swinging underneath filled his belly with its hot, wet, sticky contents.

At twenty-two summers, Antony had become well-known for his wild, open, and free affections by the entire male population of his village. He was a regular sight at the baths, resting with his shaven body on display or moving like a nymph through the steamy water to offer his touch to anyone in need of help 'relaxing'; and even if his mouth was filled with an eager erection, Antony would keep his backside splayed and the winking pucker between his cheeks bared for all others present. He'd spend his evening in the main room of the inn, searching out any weary travelers in need of pleasurable company for the night; and if there were none, then the innkeeper would welcome Antony behind the counter and between his knees to get his fill of cock. But above all else, Antony loved sneaking into the town barracks to make himself useful for the soldiers.

Large, strong men, whose musculature dwarfed Antony's own litheness; hairy and burly and sweaty, their voices loud and their calloused hands rough and demanding. Men who were open—at least some of them were—to sharing an eager mouth or tight ass with their fellows, pounding Antony in turn until his entire body was a mess of masculine stink and semen. True men, who could get him feeling slutty and needy in ways that few others could. And sure, it earned him more than a few scornful looks and insults, but on his knees or back with a cock inside him was where Antony belonged.

It was while being shared among his favorites among the town guard that Antony heard of the orcs who'd made camp in the field a few furlongs from the village outskirts; as before, Antony had snuck in under the higher-ups noses to make himself useful in the bunks. While he'd bobbed on the cock of one soldier and felt the hands of another spreading his hairless cleft wide open, the word had been said by someone in the group waiting their turn with their erections in their pumping fists. Small-talk. Idle chatting to keep away the anticipation of sinking into their whore's hot depths. Antony, busy with better things, had ignored the murmurs from behind at first. But as he breathed in the rich manstink which hung in the air and fueled the itching inferno in his loins, curiosity got the better of him.

He listened to whispers of massive, mountainous bodies that weren't hidden at all by leather armor and stained loincloths. A mention of a few men who'd been taken by an orcish raiding party some years back sparked speculation of what uses the barbarians had for their captives. One man who'd caught sight of an orcish guard patrolling the new camp's defenses told of his encounter in hushed tones; the greenskin's yellow eyes catching sight of him in return, the tusked mouth below twisting into a devilish grin, and those massive paw-like hands pulling aside the orc's loincloth to bare his manhood to the human. Derisive sneers and groans answered the guard's tale, even as every man present began to pump their hardened shafts a little faster.

Hours later, when he'd finished draining the guardsmen's balls and had been sent off with a few gropes and pats on his ass, the curiosity which had bloomed into roiling, burning, lustful interest had finally drawn Antony out into the night; and so he found himself on his belly in the grass, watching the orcs as they went about their business. But all the half-disgusted murmurings from the soldiers, who swapped tales of the orcish tribes like they were stories meant to scare naughty children into behaving, could have prepared Antony for the scene playing out before him.

Orcs milled about within the camp, at least twenty or so moving among the tents on its outskirts or joining the group huddled on fallen-and-stripped logs around the bonfire in its center. A few of them wore the same armor Antony had spotted on the guards he'd passed as he moved through the shadows; leather straps crossing thick, firm chests and round guts to hold metal-and-hide plates in place. Some wore only their loincloths, thin linen—stained and leaving very little of the fleshy packages underneath to the imagination—wound between the hairy slabs of their thighs. But the majority of the hooting, raucous horde went naked, displaying their bodies to each other and the world without a care; and from the glimpses the human could get from his position, every single one had more than enough manhood to justify the prideful looks they exchanged with each other.

Movement near the bonfire drew Antony's attention; one orc was getting to his feet, scratching at his pendulous and hair-coated gut while staggering away from his fellows; the reason quickly became apparent when he took a stance leaning against one of the makeshift wooden walls—a good hundred paces away from and perpendicular to the human's hiding place, which Antony was grateful for—and took his bare shaft in one meaty paw of a hand to aim it at the grass. Another orc moved up beside the first, slung his arm over the others' shoulder, and relieved himself right next to his fellow greenskin. Antony watched as the pair murmured to each other, their yellow eyes locked onto each other's crotches, and the first orc's free hand slid down the newcomer's back to grasp at an ample asscheek. A grin shared between the two. Words whispered into a pointed ear. Rustling in the grass behind Antony as the two made their way toward the tents together.

Back at the circle around the fire, another couple caught the young man's eye. Shoulder against shoulder and side against side, arms around each other while their lips mashed together between their grinding tusks. Their massive erections pulsed on their thighs, brushed against but not grabbed by exploratory hands; at least, until a bearded mouth wrapped around and engulfed one while a tan-skinned hand began to massage the other.

Antony blinked, shifted, and huffed out a low breath. There were human men in the camp as well. Large, strong, and hairy; but the sheer masculinity oozing from every single orc in the tribe had engulfed and obscured them like a blinding fog. However, once he noticed the first one on his knees before the barbarian couple—servicing them with a fervor familiar to the homosexual slut—he began to catch sight of others here and there. One man making his way out of a tent, stretching and groaning and scratching at his nude body. Another with a larger orc in the shadows of a makeshift wall, snuffling under the greenskin's lifted arm as his cock was pumped in a massive fist. Wandering around and kneeling down wherever they were needed; sharing their eager affections with their apparent captors.

Wild. Open. Free. Unlike the raunchy visions of hell painted by the soldiers' words, life in the orcish camp seemed like paradise; where lust wasn't a sin, but something to be displayed and shared among the musclebound, shameless, handsome—even with the orcs' monstrous, bestial visages—men of the tribe.

Antony could feel the clench in his gut as his erection pulsed and soaked the crotch of his breeches; every shift of his hips against the ground sent scorching waves of heat through his lower body. He could feel the tensing of his limbs, as if they were readying themselves to fling the young man forward into the middle of the barbarous orgy in the ring of firelight before him; to put him on his knees between a pair of spread knees so he could join the other human men in worshipping the larger, stronger, far more masculine orcs of the tribe. He could feel the cool night wind of his flushed skin, wafting the scent of thick musk into his nose from behind; and the human felt a massive hand grab onto his ankle as an even-more-massive presence settled in behind him.

“Enjoyin' the show, lad?"

Antony tried to scream, but his throat closed around and strangled the sound into a quiet, breathless gasp. He tried to scramble away, but the hold on his ankle was as solid as an iron manacle. His free leg lashed out, striking something that was as solid as a boulder, and the human jerked while pain lanced up from where he'd kicked at his assailant. The world upended itself, the hard ground below slamming into his back and sending flashing stars dancing across the black sky above. When the young man's vision finally swam back into focus, a dagger of ice slid its blade up and down his bruised spine while he stared into the yellow-eyed gaze of the orcish guard looming over him.

The barbarian man was mountainous, the leather straps that strained across his muscular body creaking in protest with every movement as he examined his captive. The thick plume of hair running down his chest to disappear below his filthy loincloth was like the untamed mane of a beast; the image only made more apt by his jutting jaw and the pair of curved tusks pushing out from his lower lip. Scars marred his green skin, speaking of his experience in battle; Antony had seen scars on the bodies of the guardsmen in the barracks, but those the orc sported far outstripped those of the human men in size, quantity, and the apparent cruelty of the blades which had made them.

A scoff. A glowering glare. A meaty hand—the same one which had gripped his now-aching ankle in such a tight grip—grasping a fistful of the human's linen shirt. “I asked ya a question. Where's me answer, eh?"

“I… I-I…"

“Yuh, yuh, yuh…" The orc's voice dropped into a sniveling mockery of Antony's. “Yuh've been snoopin' 'round the camp all godsbedamned night. Knew a scrawny l'il humie like you weren't no threat, but watchin' ya hump da dirt jus' got too sad ta bear."

Shame, hot and nauseous, bloomed in Antony's cheeks and then shot like a bolt of lightning into his gut. “I just…" And then the heat in his body turned in an instant to ice; the orc had been watching him. How many of the other guards he'd seen moving about in the shadows of the camp's walls had noticed him? And now that this one had confronted him, what was going to happen? He watched the towering greenskin, eyes wide and frightened, and began to squirm under the orc's crushing grip as the larger man's free hand began to pull at the straps of his armor.

“Ye were jus' getting' hot n' horny seein' how da orcs live, is dat it?" A smirk, as wide and cruel as the scar lining one side of the orc's cheek. “Wanned ta tell all yer l'il humie friends in dat village a couple leagues from 'ere 'bout what we likes doin' at night?" The sound of the orc's armor—chest piece, shoulder guard, side plate—falling to the grassy ground. “You a snakey l'il spy, lad?"

“No!" Antony struggled; both to free himself from the orc's grip, and to keep his eyes away from the large, muscular body being revealed to them. A tiny ember in his roiling stomach began to chase away the chills running through him; were the orc human—one of the large, burly soldiers in the village barracks—Antony would have thrown himself into the other man's arms with earnest arousal; but those flat yellow eyes and bestial, hungry-looking mouth—a pale tongue darting over those stretched lips and running along the length of one of those tusks—made him afraid, even as his traitorous erection strained against the leather of his breeches.

“Wot den? You wanna join us?" Again the world upended itself as Antony was dragged to his feet. His shaking, jellified knees refused to support his weight; but tree-trunk-thick arms and a massive slab of firm flesh pressed against his back kept him upright. The orc gripped the human's chin, and dipped down to hiss into the smaller man's ear as his gaze was directed towards the bonfire once more. “Wan' me ta drag ya down there n' put'cha on yer knees wit da rest a' tha humie bitches? Let'cha taste ya some good orc dick?"

“No!" He groaned out the word, forcing every bit of the disgust he'd heard in the human soldiers' voices into his own, even as another word caught in his dry throat. To be dragged into the firelight, and see the yellow gaze of the orc behind him multiplied twenty-fold as he was stripped naked. To feel large, paw-like hands all over his smooth, lithe body; bending him over and forcing him to his knees and laying him down on his back in the dirt. To finally be shown the source of that spicy scent—thick, near-choking, unwashed musk—which tingled in his nose as he was held against his captor's much-larger body. Antony groaned; and then gasped, breathless, as the orc's palm engulfed his crotch.

“Oh? Den wot's dis, eh?" Rubbing. Stroking. Giving the pulsing flesh hidden within the human's pants a punishing squeeze. “Feels like yer cockholster's sayin' one thing, but'cher dick knows wot it wants." As Antony squirmed—and even he couldn't tell whether he was trying to break free or bucking with pleasure in the orc's oppressive embrace—the orc's meaty fingers tugged at the laces holding the human's breeches closed. And then, with an impatient grunt, the barbarian ripped the leather away from the prize he was seeking. Again, Antony took a hissing breath between clenched teeth as cool night air brushed over the hot flesh of his revealed shaft; and again, that bolt of shame slammed into his stomach like a fist when the orc began to laugh. “The hell's dat l'il wormy thing twixt'cher legs s'posed ta be?"

The human's gaze dropped downward, and he got a good view of what the orc meant. There, cupped in that massive green palm, was his package. The shaft of his erection stubby and thin, and capped with a foreskin that enclosed the hidden head in a taut embrace; so unlike the long, girthy shafts that he loved to feel in his mouth and ass. The chubby coinpurse holding his balls drawn up against his crotch; so unlike the full, heavy ballsacks that would smack against his chin and rump as he was used. The flesh of his groin hairless—shaven; many of the men he'd lain with had liked it that way, and so he'd kept his cock and balls as such for his larger, stronger, more masculine partners—and smooth; lacking the thick pubic hair of the men he loved to service. His manhood was dwarfed in every way; by the soldiers in the barracks, by the travelers in the inn and the villagers in the bathhouse, and now by his orcish captor.

“Please, let me go." Humiliation welled, hot and wet, behind the human's eyes. He fell slack in the orc's grip as he begged. “Let me go back to the village. I won't bother your tribe again, I swear."

“Think it's gonna be as easy as dat, huh?" The orc was unmoved by Antony's piteous cries. The young man was dragged over to one of the makeshift walls surrounding the camp, and let out another winded gasp as his back was slammed against the rough-hewn wood. Yellow eyes, cold and hard, stared down at the whimpering human from above a scowling, tusked mouth. “…Wot'cher name, lad?"

“What?" The gears in Antony's mind smoked and sparked as they ground to a halt. He blinked. He tried to breathe in and out against the grip of the hands holding him in place. He stared, uncomprehending, at the green-skinned barbarian looming over him.

Then the world shook and swam; no, Antony was being shaken with an impatient growl by his captor. “Name. Dat's da second question I asked dat'cher not answerin'."

“Antony!" The human's mind reeled as he was pressed against the wall once more. The back of his head and his spine ached from where they'd bounced off the rough wood, and the tears that had been pricking his eyes had left a pair of burning tracks on his flushed cheeks. As a cold fist clenched around his pattering heart, Antony peeked up at his captor.

Yellow eyes were turned upward. Tusk-stretched lips were pursed together. A hum—low and thoughtful—rumbled in the orc's chest and throat. The greenskin finally nodded, met Antony's teary gaze, and gave the human what he probably thought was a friendly grin; a shard of ice slid down the smaller man's bruised spine at the sight of that toothy scythe splitting the orc's scarred face. “Right den, Ant, ol' Gorutz 'ere's gonna give ya 'zactly wot we both know yer wantin'."

---

The orc—Gorutz, but Antony refused to give the brutish barbarian the satisfaction of hearing his name on his captive's lips—finished stripping the human down; boots, breeches, and shirt were torn aside and tossed away with disdain as Antony remained pinned against the wall. Then, as he kept his palm pressed against the human's chest, he reached down for a leather strap from the discarded pile of his armor. For a third time the world whirled around Antony as he was spun around—his cheek grinding against the rough wood of the makeshift wall—and his arms were yanked backwards and bound at the wrists. Once he was satisfied that his captive wasn't going anywhere, the orc's hands moved to Antony's slim shoulders, turned him to face the barbarian once more, and pushed the smaller man down to his knees in the grass.

Through it all, Gorutz murmured that 'affectionate' nickname—Ant—into the human's ear; and every time he heard it, another surge of indignation rocked through Antony. He'd been called many things by the men he slept with in the village—some much more demeaning than others—but that was a new one. However, as he looked up at the green-skinned man looming over him, he couldn't deny how apt it was. Underneath the orc's overwhelming presence, he was indeed little more than an ant; a small, pathetic creature, made even more so by separation from his fellows. Weak. Lesser. Smothered under the larger, stronger man's virile masculinity.

The large palms resting on Antony's shoulders in a tight—but not bruising—grip pulled him forward, and the pendulous bulge between the stony slabs of the orc's thighs pressed against his nose. “Sniff." An order, one that Antony had heard more times than he could count in that same quiet, rumbling tone.

However, the human refused as his face twisted into a scowl. He tried to turn his face away to let that rank mound grind on his flushed cheek. A whimper, bit back and made into a quiet cough, caught in the human's throat as he felt the twitching and pulsing from underneath the coarse material.

An impatient snarl. Hands sliding up from his shoulders to fist in his hair and hold him in place while those powerful hips before him bucked. That command coming again, even more firm and irresistible. “Sniff, Ant!"

Antony sniffed. He couldn't do anything else; the orc's crotchstink surrounded him on all sides, and he could either drown in it or suffocate. As his nose rubbed over the fleshy tube—the barbarian's stiffening cock—and plump, pillowy package—Gorutz' heavy ballsack—hidden beneath that loincloth, the human breathed in and out. And as he did so, the world swam away before his eyes as they hid themselves behind his fluttering eyelids. To call the orc's scent rank was a vast understatement; it was cloying, choking, indescribable. Salty brine, the acridity of stale sweat, and a fishy odor he'd come to recognize from his time in the barracks with men fresh from their guard duty all mingled together into the musky aroma of pure testosterone; pure manhood. But even as his gut roiled and his face twisted in disgust—as Antony told himself that he didn't want to be there on his knees before the orcish guard with his face buried in the barbarian's swampy crotch—he could feel the heat within him stirring. Arousal—hunger like an all-consuming flame—being stoked not in his own hardening erection, but in that place that could only be reached when he was bent over and fucked hard and deep. It felt good. It felt right. And Antony was afraid of how it felt to be in that position with his orcish captor.

“Aye, dat's it. Dat's good." Even as those husky growls from above sent sparks down Antony's spine to slam into his belly, the orc's fingers played through Antony's hair with almost-tender affection. “Dirty humie bitch loves da smell of orc cock. Gets yer little dicklet stiff n' dribbly, aye?"

The human didn't answer, but he didn't have to. His cock was indeed stiff and dribbling as it stuck out, hard and straight and shameless, from between his splayed thighs. The hands which gripped his head tilted it back; pressed Antony's mouth to that bulge, letting the spicy-sour taste tingle on his lips. And when the human opened his eyes, they met the lustful yellow gaze of the orc over the expanse of his captor's firm chest and round gut. A grin, stretched too-wide by those imposing tusks. An almost-flirtatious wink that was a mockery of the knowing looks Antony would get from the village men. A caress of the orc's thumb over the young man's brow.

“Ya wan' me ta whip it out for ya, Ant?"

Again, Antony didn't have to answer. His gaze dropped down to lock onto that gargantuan mound as it pulled back to hover inches away from his still-flaring nostrils and slack jaw. With a rumbling laugh from above, the orc gave his captive a few more tender pats on the head before reaching to undo the knot of his loincloth. To unwind the stained fabric from around his hips and between his thighs, letting the course material brush against the smaller man's face as it loosened around his crotch. To finally pull it away, and give Antony his first up-close-and-personal introduction to an orc's manhood.

To call Gorutz's package large was, again, a vast and very grave understatement. Even buried within the thick forest of curly dark hair that coated the barbarian's crotch, the shaft of his penis rose up like a fleshy monolith; and even as Antony stared at it, he could see it growing larger and firmer and thicker. Sticky precum was already overflowing from the loose hood of skin enclosing its plump head, and when the orc swung his hips to let that hefty club bat against the human's flushed cheek, it sent a spatter of liquid musk splashing over the young man's face. But with a blush and a moan of desire, the human dropped his eyes lower to examine Gorutz's balls. The seat of a man's virility. The cradle of life, where the sticky, copious seed of fatherhood was born. And the greenskin's ballsack was well-sized for the cock that was stiffening to full erection above it; about as big as Antony's two clenched fists held together, hanging low and loose between those muscular thighs like an obscene fruit.

Antony moved forward with a breathy whimper of the orc's name, drawn like a lodestone to the barbarian's testicles. Pressing against them. Rubbing his flushed cheeks on them. Giving them the affection he loved to give to every man he laid with; more than muscles or body hair or cock, Antony loved a good, full, heavy pair of balls. He could have stayed there for the rest of his life and beyond, nose pressed into the folds where that sack met the orc's crotch and lips brushing one of those gargantuan orbs in supplication while his body withered to bones and then dust. All that would remain of him—the only thing that remained in his hazy mind, flickering like the burning bonfire a stone's throw away—would be the heat in his loins; the roiling, crashing, tumultuous inferno of arousal that curled up deep inside him like a ravenous beast in its den.

A hand brushing through his hair and a quiet chuckle drew Antony back to himself. “Ya like dat? Like huffin' me boarmakers, lad?"

“Yes..." There was no point in resistance. No point in denial. Antony loved it.

“Den I know yer gonna like dis." With his free hand the orc lifted that heavy, pendulous, fleshy sack up to scrub Antony's flushed cheeks with it. “I'm gonna make sure yer smellin' of me ballstink fer tha rest a' yer life, l'il Ant." The human could indeed feel the sweaty, silky flesh smearing its stench on his face wherever it touched, marking and staining him with the orc's virile musk; until at last, those balls came to rest once more on his lips. “Kiss 'em. Thank me balls fer all the seed I'm gonna fill yer l'il cunny wit'."

And Antony did. That massive sack dwarfed his thin lips as they pressed against it, but Antony wouldn't be deterred; he pressed another kiss to the orc's balls. And another. And another. The human imagined that he could hear the sloshing of the cum within them; the choppy, restless sea of seed that Gorutz wanted to pump into him.

“Dat's right. Give 'em anudder lick, lad. Show ol' Gorutz whatta nasty l'il slut y'are."

Antony obeyed; in all honesty, the orc's demands weren't anything he hadn't heard from the human men he'd slutted himself out for. Again and again he pushed his tongue out from his slack lips to caress the barbarian's sack, brushing it through wiry hair to run along the silky, wrinkled flesh beneath. His wriggling oral muscle pushed under Gorutz's balls, cupping them upon it, and Antony felt how heavy they were; heavier than any other pair he'd done that to. And when Gorutz's hand moved to his jaw, giving it a brief squeeze at the hinge, Antony opened his mouth wider to appreciate more of the ample, virile package. His humid breath huffed out over it, drawing a groan of pleasure from far above, and—as he groaned and whimpered, and the orc sniggered in perverted delight—the human pushed his tongue into the swampy pit of the barbarian's taint while his lips wrapped around one of those firm testicles. Antony suckled. Antony worked his mouth over the loose skin, feeling how the orb within the sack danced around with every movement of his jaw. Antony's eyes fluttered closed while he breathed in slow and deep, and the orc's musk wafted straight from the source to fill his lungs like a cloud of sweet, burning fire.

And then his eyes shot open in surprise when one of Gorutz's thumbs hooked into the corner of his mouth.

He squirmed, but the orc's free hand against the back of his head kept his face buried in that raunchy crotch. Antony could only let out another whine as the digit pushing into his open maw tugged his jaw open wider. Wider. Wide enough to let one of the barbarian's massive balls pop through; for all his experience, the human just wasn't capable of taking both in to suckle on them at once.

“Fuck…" The hand on the back of Antony's head wrapped around a fistful of the human's hair and tugged. The young man's head was craned backward, and the orc looming above him followed. Gorutz stepped over Antony, forcing the human to hunch down under the weight of his groin; crushing the pathetic ant under his far-larger, far-stronger, far more masculine form. “Dat's it, Ant, suck 'em like a good slut. Might need ta keep ya after all." The larger man's enormous testicle dipped in and out of his mouth, rubbed over his stretched lips, and then was replaced with its twin. “You wannit? Wanna be me personal ballsucker?"

The words washed over Antony, swirling within the haze of lust that had filled the human's mind. He could feel the stiff length of his erection jumping between his thighs, dribbling out a puddle of precum into the grass below. He could hear the wet, rhythmic slapping of Gorutz jerking off over his face, every stroke sending hot, sticky precum splattering onto the young man's sweaty forehead and dripping into his hair. And when his head bobbed back and forth, those balls rubbing on his lips while the loose skin of the sack lay over them like a silky blanket, even Antony couldn't tell whether he was nodding in assent or just repositioning himself to get a better angle for worshipping the orc's manhood.

“Aye, dat's it." Humping. “L'il humie bitch is head o'er heels fer orc balls, aint'cha?" Bucking his hips and grinding his crotch on his captive's face. “Get 'em nice n' full so's I can fuck me load up yer l'il humie cunt." Stroking his cock and batting it against the crown of Antony's head. The orc laughed. “Ya look good wearin' me cocksnot, Ant. Stick wit me, n' I'll make sure ta soak ya wit it every day."

Antony felt good. He was indeed head over heels. The smell, and taste, and sheer masculinity of the orc's package had crushed and scattered any thin veneer of reluctance he could have drawn around himself. There, on his knees between Gorutz's spread legs with that beautiful green-skinned ballsack in his mouth, was where the human belonged.

After what felt like a raunchy eternity, Gorutz released Antony. As the orc stepped back, still pumping his hardened shaft while giving the human a burning, lustful, yellow-eyed gaze, the smaller man struggled not to collapse onto his side. Antony moaned and whined and squirmed in his bindings. “Please." He hardly recognized his own voice, husky and reedy with desire. His body barely felt like his own; it was just a vessel for the raging, ravenous fire of arousal within him. “Please… G-Gorutz…" His tongue darted over his lips, and he panted as the flavor of orc balls lingering in his used mouth was renewed by the act. “Fuck me…"

A laugh, wild and open and free. Gorutz winked to the human and shook his erection in the smaller man's face. “Har, ya really wannit, huh? Alright, l'il Ant, let's get'cha set up like a propa bitch."

Again, the orc's hands—large and strong and as impatient as before—moved to grasp Antony's far-smaller body. To push him down to the ground, with much more tender gentleness than they'd used to hoist him up and pin him against the nearby wall. To get him bent over in that familiar position, his flushed cheek grinding against the ground below him as his ass was pushed up into the air; with his hands still bound behind him, Antony couldn't push himself up—couldn't scramble away from his captor, even if he wanted to—but the helplessness of the position only stirred the roiling of arousal in his groin.

The same arousal that made his cock jump and throb between his thighs as the orc settled behind him, grabbed Antony's pert asscheeks, and spread the human's pristine cleft wide open.

“Well now, dat's a pretty l'il pussy ya got, Ant." Antony could feel it, tingling and burning and clenching; his asshole, exposed to both the cool night air and Gorutz's hot, lustful gaze. Something thick and insistent—one of the barbarian's girthy fingers—prodded against the human's rim and then ran around it to feel the sweat-slick flesh. “Let it get nice n' hairy, n' you'd have you a right propa cunt. A real man's cunt." The young man flinched and blushed at that; and then he threw his head back and moaned like the bitch he was when the orc's broad, flat nose pressed right against his pucker. Gorutz sniffed, and then huffed out a ragged breath.

Silence, broken only by the sound of Antony's breathing and a few more considering sniffs from behind. The young man's heart pounded in his ears. His toes curled with every brush—of both skin and humid air—against his hole. He gulped, let his tongue flick over his dry, musk-stained lips, and stammered out. “What? It's… it's alright, isn't it?"

“Oh, more'n alright, lad. Ya smell ripe n' fertile."

“W-wha-?!“

Antony cut himself off with a strangled yelp when the orc buried his face in the human's rump. Sniffing and huffing. Snorting and grunting like a pig in a trough. Groaning, and then sighing as his hands groped and squeezed his captive's flanks. “Yer fertile, Ant. I could prolly stick me dick in here 'n get a bouncin' l'il orc boar—or hells, a whole godsbedamned litter—up in ya by tomorrow." Again, Antony flinched; was the orc saying what he thought he meant? “Shoulda known ya fer a real humie bitch da moment I saw ya. Da kinda slut dat gets hot in the cunny sniffin' boarstink. Da kind dat loves orc dick in his mouth n' pussy. Da kind dat knows 'e was made fer pumpin' out kids fer da whole damn tribe. Aye, lad..." A rumbling chuckle; and Antony knew that, if he could see the orc's face, his captor would be giving him a wide, toothy—earnest and handsome—grin and flirtatious wink. “Yer a natural breedin' bitch."

Natural. Right. He was born to be there, on his knees with his ass up, waiting for a fat orcish cock to bury itself to the hilt within him; born to feel the seed pumped into his guts grow heavy within him as it took. The thought alone was enough to send a surge of heat rocking through his trembling body, from the hungry pit within him up his spine and into his lust-fogged brain. He could only moan in agreement and push back against the kiss—deep and passionate and full of tongue—that Gorutz pressed to his hole.

Lapping. Licking. Running around and around the human's tight anal ring, and then delving through it into the itching depths beyond; and Antony could feel his passage opening up under the orc's oral advances, as if eager to welcome Gorutz inside. And then—as he had so many times before with the men in the village—he felt the movement from behind as Gorutz wrapped his muscular arms around the smaller man, pressed his hairy chest and gut to the human's spine, and positioned his thick cockhead at Antony's entrance. “Ya ready, Ant?"

A gulp. A whimper. A bob of the human's head, up and down; Antony—Ant—was ready.

“Good lad." With those murmured words—and a gentle kiss against the crown of the human's head—Gorutz bucked forward to sink his erection into the human's pussy.

Deep. Deeper. Then deeper still; all the way to the hilt, the girthy shaft both stretching the human's inner walls and scratching the insistent, maddening itch that burned within them. And those balls—those full, heavy, fist-sized balls, still moist with the saliva he'd left on them—grinding on his flushed taint and brushing against his inner thighs. Antony hadn't ever had trouble taking a cock before; even when he first started, the largest men in the village could slam themselves home inside of him with little preparation. But Gorutz's monolithic manhood far outshone theirs in both length and girth, and he was surprised at the ease with which that gargantuan shaft slid into him. Like a key fitting into a lock.

“Har… Ant…" Large, strong hand rubbing against Antony's slim chest and stomach. Puffs of breath on his nape and shoulders as the orc's tusks ground with care against them. A buck from behind that let the human feel the barbarian's thick pubic bush and ballsack pressed against his backside; marking and claiming it as Torg's property with their overwhelming presence.

“Gor…utz…" Antony murmured the orc's name in return, his voice and breath coming in halting gasps between each thrust, as he gave his entire being—his breeding hole and the roiling heat deep within it—over to his captor.

The orc's fat cock slid in and out of the human's grasping hole, adding the sound of fervent rutting to the chorus of their moaning and panting. The schlicking of flesh on pulsing, throbbing, slickened flesh. The meaty slap of a swinging ballsack pounding against an eager ass. Faster. Harder. Working up into a slamming rhythm as the two enjoyed each other. And even when Gorutz hilted within Antony, and the spasming of his manhood heralded the first rush of sticky wet heat shooting deep into the human's bowels, the orc kept right on fucking his breeding bitch.

Another load. And another after that, making Antony tremble as his own erection spurted his cum into the grass between his knees. The orc continued to thrust as he reached to crane the smaller man's head back and murmur into his ear. “Gotta get me seed deep in ya, lad. Fuck 'it right up in yer pussy ta make sure it takes." Gorutz's free hand rubbed over Antony's belly; and as his mind swam through the tides of pleasure crashing within his skull, the human could swear that he already felt it growing larger. Rounder. Fuller; full of orcish cum, and full of large, strong, masculine—and virile in their own right—orc boars.

Again, and again, Gorutz grunted and roared out his orgasms one after the other. The pair ignored everything around them; they ignored the wind rustling the grass, the fire in the camp burning low as the tribesmen retired to their tents, and Gorutz's fellow guards passing them by on their patrol while giving the orc and human bitch the occasional lingering glance. Sometime during their rutting, Gorutz's hands moved to unbind the human's wrists. Sometime in the haze of their passion, Antony was turned around and pulled into an embrace with the orc, riding the barbarian's cock as their lips mashed together in a frantic kiss. Sometime in between his own shaft stiffening back to erection and pumping out a second orgasm of the human's own, the young man's vision darkened as he lost himself to the mindless bliss of animalistic fucklust.

The human came back to awareness like he was awakening from the best wet dream of his life. He could feel a heaving, muscular body pressed against his own, and strong arms wrapped tight around him. He could hear a deep voice murmuring with tender, post-sex affection to him. He groaned with fatigue, squirmed in Gorutz's embrace, and then lifted his face from where it was buried in the firm mounds of the orc's chest to peek up at the larger man.

“'Ey, lad." A smile, stretched wider by the tusks jutting up from the barbarian's jaw. Warm, tender yellow eyes meeting his own. A laugh, rumbling like the distant thunder of a summer storm heard from the comfort of one's bed. “Enjoy yerself?"

“Yes…" Antony blushed; the tacky wetness smeared between them and over the human's crotch was more than enough evidence of just how much he'd enjoyed himself.

“Good." Gorutz heaved himself up to his feet, arms still cradling the human while Antony pressed against him. “So, ya wanna come ta me tent n' rest afore I get me dick back in yer cunny where it belongs? Or…" The orc paused, pursing his lips together for a moment as he held the human's gaze. “…You still wan' me ta let'cha go back ta yer humie village?"

The young man didn't answer; at least, not with words. He reached to press a palm to the side of Gorutz's face, thumb tracing that scar on the barbarian's cheek. He buried his face in the crook of the orc's neck, taking a slow and deep breath of the larger man's rich, virile, masculine scent. And when it stirred the embers of arousal deep within him—in his cunny—the human pressed his stiffening manhood—as tiny and pathetic as it was—against firm, supple green skin to let his captor know exactly what they both knew he wanted.

Antony would stay with Gorutz in the orcish camp; he would become another proud adopted member of the tribe, wild and open and free. He would be shameless while displaying his nudity for his fellows, and service the larger, stronger, more masculine tribesmen; orc and human alike would delight in him pressing against them, breathing in the smell of their virility, and pleasuring their throbbing erections with his mouth and hands and ass. Then, when his body was soaked in musk and sweat and semen, Antony would return to his new home in Gorutz's tent and spend many a long, passionate night in the orc's embrace; Gorutz and his little Ant would rut like lustful animals until they collapsed, kissing and caressing and murmuring to each other, in a sated tangle of limbs together. And as his orc's seed took within his fertile cunny, he would remain in Gorutz's arms while pumping out son after strong, healthy, and virile son to join the tribe as well.

It was where he belonged.