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A gust of wind blew against Rufus' back, and the young man wrapped his arms tighter around himself to hold in a brief shiver. The seasons were turning, the warmth of summer giving way to autumn, and the growing chill was steadily settling into the young man's bones. In a way, it was comforting to feel the prickling of the skin on his bared shins and forearms. To breathe in, and feel the numbness spread through his lungs. It was a distraction from the roiling and churning of his thoughts, a welcome one at that.

And up ahead, the flickering neon of its sign acting as a beacon for Rufus' weary soul, was a distraction that would last much longer than the brief stabs of coldness through his body; all night, he hoped.

Zhan's Bar and BBQ wasn't the prettiest or most modern building in town; it had been a tavern for centuries, all the way back when Nalstrom's Drop had first been established, and still very much looked the part. Nor was it the most upkept one; the spots of decay and rot in the old wooden beams, and the rust on the ironwork railing which led up to its heavy front door, spoke loud and clear about its age. It was, however, one of the best places to spend a Friday night, drinking and watching a boxing match or five and leaving all the worries of day-to-day life behind. Sure, its proprietor—Zhan himself—was a bugbear dressing itself up in human clothing and trying to act like the more civilized races, but he also had the best damn food and drink in the area. And sure, a few other savages made their way in to stink the place up from time to time, but they could be ignored in favor of more pleasurable human or—if one was lucky—elven company.

It was where Rufus had spent every Friday since he'd been old enough to drink legally, chatting and laughing and wiling the evenings away. It was where he'd met his first girlfriend, starting up a six-year-long relationship that had far more good than bad in it. And it was where, that particular night, he was hoping to spark the start of something which would be far more lasting. Sure, he probably could've just downloaded a dating app to find someone with which to hook up, but by far he preferred actually going out and meeting with people. Talking face to face. Getting to know a girl in person; what could he say, he was old-fashioned like that.

He climbed the two or three squat stone steps to the doorway. He took a deep breath, and then made his way inside. Almost immediately he was assaulted by a cacophony of rowdy, grunting and guttural, very male voices, and his hopes were dashed right in front of his eyes.

Orcs. Half-orcs. Goblins, and hobgoblins, and more bugbears than just the one in his place serving the patrons from behind the bar. The tavern was infested with savages of every type, more than a few in their 'traditional' wear: leather straps and bracers, loincloths, and the tusked smiles on their ugly mugs. There were a few humans and dwarves, even an elf or two, but a quick scan made it clear that there weren't any chicks present. What was worse, quite a few of the guys who were drinking and wiling away the evening had moved off to the side, leaning in together a bit too close and letting their hands wander a bit too far.

Rufus grimaced, wrinkling his nose at the smell of many men in close proximity wafting through the hazy, humid air. He hesitated on the threshold, but a slurring shout to 'close the gawddamn door n' stop lettin' all the warm out' made the human draw himself up and step in. At last he dodged through the throng, flinching away when one stumbling greenskin or another brushed against him, and plopped down onto a stool at the bar. Once he'd settled himself in, he rapped the wood of the bar top with his knuckles to get Zhan's attention before making a show of looking around. “Busy night, huh?"

Even as the bugbear snorted, the heaving of his chest straining the delicate buttons of his dress shirt and waistcoat, Zhan was already grabbing a clean glass and pouring out an ale for the human. He slid it towards Rufus, almost a little too roughly, and then immediately grabbed another glass to begin polishing it. “Yeah."

A deep draught to wet his throat. A heavy sigh as the alcohol's warmth washed through him. A grunt while he gestured with his free hand. “What's the occasion, anyway? I get it's Oktoberfest and all, but this joint's usually not this full."

Another snort, and for a moment Rufus was sure the savage's costume would burst apart around him; though considering the goings-on at the fringes of the tavern, that night's patrons probably wouldn't mind their host putting on a show of his own. Zhan turned the scowl which was seemingly carved into his face upon the human, one brow perking upward; looking at Rufus like he was an idiot. The young man had to take another large gulp of his drink to swallow down a few choice phrases he'd probably regret. “It's Orctober."

“Orctober?" Rufus' own eyebrow shot upward. “The fuck is that?"

Zhan gestured with the cloth in his hand: to the four greenskins sitting around a table, gussied up in furs and leather like they'd just stepped out of a fantasy novel. To the halfie chatting up a pureblooded human, his tight tank top and shorts leaving nothing of his burly body to the imagination. To the group huddled up together against one wall, only a few leather straps and thin loincloths hiding their shame; and Rufus had to turn away, a sneer twisting his lips, when he caught sight of far too much bare green flesh to be decent. “Orctober. Celebration of orcish heritage and culture."

The human snorted. “Such as it is, I guess."

The bugbear's gaze hardened, and his next words came out in a low growl. “You won't be causing any problems, will you." It wasn't a question.

For a moment, Rufus was tempted to just finish his ale and leave; and a darker impulse—freed from its cage by the light buzzing of impending intoxication settling into the human's brain—tempted him to toss it into the bugbear's ugly face. After all, he doubted he'd be able to find any decent company, much less any romantic prospects, in the middle of the greenskins' and greenskin-lovers' sausage-fest; he took one last look around, hoping for at least a hint of a human or elven girl's presence—he didn't even care if she was a solid two at the moment, as long as there was something besides hairy, sweaty, nearly-naked savages to look at—and was once more disappointed. He could come back the day after, and hopefully find the tavern's usual clientele taking their rightful place with all the orcs, goblinoids, and other freaks and brutes gone. He could settle in, actually take time to enjoy his drink, and watch a boxing match or two while keeping an eye out for any chicks he could chat up. Maybe, just maybe, he could find someone to take home and keep the night going.

But then, his buzz began to whisper sweeter words into his ear. Why should he leave, and let all the savages take over his favorite bar for their 'celebration'? They should be the ones fucking off to leave him in peace. No, he was gonna stay right where he was, drink his ale—and another, once he finished gulping down the last of the one in his hand—and have a good evening; and like hell would the greenskins spoil it.

“Nah." He waved a hand in Zhan's vague direction. “I'll be good, sure. As long as you switch that over to some boxing or… anything else, really." He lifted his glass, tipping it in the direction of the tv over the bar. Onscreen, one orcish team was facing off against another in what presumably passed for sport for them; a bastardization of human football, by the looks of it, with a lot more grunting and bashing together in 'traditional' outfits. Zhan had probably changed the channel over to that garbage in an attempt to please his current clientele. However—from what Rufus could see, at least—they all seemed way more preoccupied with chatting each other up, guzzling down drink after drink, and generally making a savage display of their savage selves.

The bugbear grunted. He took a look around, himself. He nodded, reached under the counter for the remote, and switched the channel over to a proper human boxing match. Rufus had to hold back a sneering 'good boy' tossed Zhan's way for doing what he was told, and settled in with his drink. His night, however, remained as shitty as it already had been from the word 'go'.

Every yell, shout, and cheer from the throng of barbarians filling the tavern sent a throb of pain through the human's temples, and he had to order drink after drink to soothe the ache away. He tried to focus on the television, but then a half-orc stepped into the boxing ring to face off against the proper fighters, and Rufus dropped his gaze to his phone to wait out the halfie mutt's match. Then the channel switched back to the orcs' game, and he looked up with his mouth half open to order Zhan to change it back; he was still watching that, he just got distracted, who did the bugbear think he was putting that fucking trash that no one was even paying attention to on? But a glare from the damned barbarian in human clothing forced the words back down the young man's throat, and Rufus could do nothing but scowl and mutter to himself.

Worst of all, he seemed to have garnered some unwanted attention.

“Oi, lad!" A massive palm clapping him on the shoulder almost made Rufus choke on his drink. “What're ya doin' sulkin' all by yer lonesome. Come on n' join da fun!"

The young man coughed, and sputtered, and set his glass down before turning to look at who'd accosted him: a massive, muscular, green-skinned chest, coated in a dense pelt of salt-and-pepper hair all over and between those bare—save for a black leather harness crisscrossing that wide expanse—pectorals. The human dragged his eyes upward to look at the heavy-jawed face of the orc who'd had the balls to approach him. The pair of golden rings adorning one of the jutting tusks which framed that toothy, too-wide grin. The grey streaks in both that impressive—for a savage—beard, and the short-cropped locks atop the greenskin's head. The sharp, icy-blue eyes peering out from under that craggy brow. At last, Rufus let out a snort and jerked himself away from the brute's likely-filthy hand. “Don't fucking touch me."

“'Ey now, no need fer that." The brute was tenacious, Rufus had to give him that. As the human scooted a step down the bar, the orc followed, placing that hand on the wood next to the young man's elbow. Looming over him. Grinning down at him in what the bastard greenskin probably thought was a friendly manner. “'S Orctober, lad! 'Ere, lemme buy ya a drink or summin'. Name's Kol, by the by. “The greenskin—Kol—sat himself down on the stool next to Rufus, and the young man's hackles stood on end as the barbarian's presence stayed in close proximity. “Oi, Zhan! Bring us over a pair a'… what's yer pleasure, lad? Beer? Ale?" He chuckled, and then prodded the human's side with an elbow. “Maybe somethin' stronger?"

“I said don't fucking touch me!" With a roar of indignation, Rufus surged to his feet. He could feel eyes darting over towards him at the commotion—human, orcish, bugbear; Zhan's stone-hard gaze—but they were like water running off his back. He ignored the slight stagger in his step as his legs rebelled for a fraction of a second, and the way his tongue had to work a little harder to speak. Nothing mattered aside from the buzz in his head, furious as the clamor of a disturbed hornet's nest, and the insolent bastard greenskin that was gawping at him.

“'Ey now, jus' tryin' ta be nice." A snort. A glare in return, sober and focused. A grunt as the orc hefted himself back onto his feet to tower over the human. “The fuck's yer problem?"

“My problem is you!" The words roiled in his throat and gushed out of his mouth, and the heat of alcohol in his system fed the bellows of his bellowing. “You fucking greenskins taking over a nice, civilized tavern for your fucking 'orctober' or whatever the fuck!" He twisted the word into a mocking sneer as every ounce of vitriol and bile which had been gathering within him poured out.

That craggy brow drew downwards into a thunderous expression. Those eyes underneath stared daggers down at him. Those lips stretched around the brute's tusks twisted into a sneer of his own. “Oh, so ya got a problem wit us orcs, is dat it?"

“I got a problem with all you fuckin' savages!" The human's arm lashed out, and he could feel prickling at the back of his neck as more stares from the onlooking crowd turned cold and sharp; however, he ignored it. Those barbarians didn't matter at all. His mind was soaking in a churning sea of liquid courage, and Rufus was going to give the greenskin before him—every single piece of subhuman filth in the room—a nice big piece of it. “You come in, soil every goddamn thing you touch, and act like you've got a right to be within fifty fucking feet of us humans. I just wanted to have a peaceful fucking night, but no… You need to celebrate your 'culture'." He snorted. “Why don't you all just bash each other's brains in and leave us civilized people the fuck out of it?"

“Lad." The word was ground out between gritted teeth. “Yer gonna wanna shut the fuck up afore ya get me really pissed off. Matter a' fact, door's right there." The orc jerked his head in its direction. “If us havin' a bit a' fun showin' off our heritage gets you asspained so bad, why don't'cha fuck right off?"

“Hell no, you fuck off! You and every other greenskin savage!" The human drew himself up as tall as he could—still barely coming up to the underside of the orc's pecs—and bumped his chest against the ridges of the greenskin's abs. “Crawl back into your fucking mud huts and tents and stop stinking the place up with your goddamn filth!"

A growl from above, deep like the grumble of an approaching thunderstorm, was all the warning Rufus had before a meaty hand grabbed his shirt to haul him upward. As though the human weighed nothing at all, the orc hefted the squirming young man into the air, letting his legs dangle as he was brought face to blanching face with the snarling brute. An icy wave doused the raging fires within Rufus as he grabbed at the larger, stronger man's wrist, tugging in vain.

“The fuck are you doing?! Let me go!"

“Stinkin' up the place, are we…?" The orc's expression was murderous. His grip tightened. His arm tensed; and for a moment, Rufus was sure that he was about to be torn limb from limb by the greenskinned barbarian.

He gulped. He kicked his legs, only managing to deepen the frown on 'Kol's' face when the toe of his shoe slammed into the greenskin's gut. His eyes rolled in his head, darting around for any saving grace. “Z-Zhan! Get this asshole off me!"

Rufus finally caught sight of the bugbear; he was leaning casually against the bar top, watching the human's humiliation just like all the other patrons. Zhan snorted, glancing from the young man to the orc. “You don't plan on roughing him up too much, do you?"

“Zhan, what the hell are you-?!"

“Nah." A smirk. A glance toward the bar's proprietor. A laugh, holding none of the warmth or friendliness it had before. “I'm just gonna give da little humie a crash course on orc culture, since he don't appreciate it none."

“Alright. Just don't stain anything." Zhan nodded. He drew himself up. He began to polish a glass once more, leaving Rufus to his fate.

“You fucking…!" Rufus snarled, and kicked again, and fought with growing desperation to break out of the orc's grip. “Let me go before I…!" The young man began to tremble, and forced his face back into a scowl to hide it; he wasn't intimidated, he wasn't scared of some greenskin bastard. “Who the fuck do you think you are?!"

“Told'ja, the name's Kol. But tonight, dat's gonna be 'Daddy' to you, lad." The orc's smirk widened as his free hand rose up, and then curled into a fist in the human's hair. Rufus choked down a strangled whine when the brute released his collar, tightened the grip on his scalp, and lifted his freed arm high up into the air. “And if ya think I'm 'stinkin' up the place', why don't I give ya a whiff so's you can get used to it?"

The words didn't make sense to Rufus' ale-logged brain; at least, not until he was slammed face-first into the hairy expanse of the orc's underarm. He gasped and groaned in pain. Air gusted into his lungs. And as he breathed in, reeling, he smelled it: the orc's sweaty, heady, raunchy pit odor. There were a lot of people—a lot of large, burly, over-enthusiastic men—gathered in that not-so-sizable room. And the bar's air conditioning was old; not nearly as old as the building itself, but it probably hadn't even been looked at since it was installed. Consequently, despite the growing chill outside, the air inside was hot, stifling, and stuffy. Rufus had felt it himself while sitting and drinking at the bar, uncomfortable blooms of dampness gathering on his brow and under his clothes; and he'd only been there for an hour or so. By contrast, the orc was drenched in slick, pungent sweat, which the young man could feel smearing onto his cheeks and lips. And with it, of course, came the smell of the barbarian's large, burly, enthusiastically-bared body; his musk.

Rufus had heard the rumors, of course. The whispers. The stories shared—shamefully, in his opinion—online. Orcish musk was said to be, not only a potent aphrodisiac, but mind altering in its own right; like poppers on steroids, or so the claim went. However, he'd always dismissed it as the perverted talk of sick, greenskin-loving freaks. He had no problem with men who were attracted to other men, of course. It wasn't for him, but if they kept it out of his view, they could do whatever they wanted as far as he was concerned. Greenskin-lovers, though—people attracted to orcish barbarians, goblin or bugbear brutes, savages of every species—were another matter entirely. And the thought of someone actually liking those savages' collective stench enough to get off to it had always turned his stomach.

But there in the tavern, surrounded by jeering and grinning subhumans, with his face buried in the dank and sweaty forest under an orc's arm, Rufus got to experience that stench firsthand. Its bitter spice tingled in his nostrils, burned in his nasal passage, settled heavily into his lungs. It roiled like a dense, cloying fog in his brain, far more intoxicating than the strongest drink he'd ever had; he could feel his eyes fluttering, his head growing heavy, his limbs growing uncoordinated in their flailing before falling slack. And with every breath, warmth—far hotter than the warmth of alcohol—spread through his chest and belly.

Pulsed through his veins.

Gathered into a pulsing, throbbing, twisting knot below his belt.

“Dat's it." The orc's rumbling voice seemed to come from so far away. “You just calm down n' get a nice, big whiff of it." Rufus tried to snort and blow away that heady aroma, but it had already stained him inside and out. He couldn't escape it; and as his thoughts swam through the mire of his mind, slipping out of his grasp, he found himself not minding it too much. It wasn't all that bad. Maybe he could take just a few more sniffs.

The young man blinked. He grunted and groaned. He tried to claw his way back to sobriety, but it was so difficult. “Guh… You… fuckin'…"

“Quiet, lad." Firm. Strict. Brooking no argument. “You like Daddy's stink, don't'cha."

“Ng…" He tried to shake his head, but the vice grip on his hair kept it still. He tried to push himself away, but his arms and legs wouldn't obey. He tried to hold his breath, but that searing in his nose kept him breathing in and out. In and out. In, feeling more orcish pitstink filling him to the brim, and then out in a gusty sigh into that dense, wiry forest which surrounded him. “N-no… No…"

“Har, ya sure?"

The world shifted in a nauseous roil around him, and when he blinked again he found himself on his feet. Staggering. Swaying. Only held upright by the orc's heavy hands on his shoulders. He looked around, seeking any escape, any help from the crowd, and found only grins and smirks and the occasional sideways glance. It was like no one cared that the greenskin was—was what? Again it slipped from his mental grasp, plunged into the depths, and was lost.

“Looks like you liked it ta me." One of those hands lifted from his shoulder. Moved downward below his waist. Poked at his crotch, provoking another throb from that strange pressure in his pants. Rufus stared down at himself, barely comprehending what he was seeing; his shorts were tented with an erection.

“No…" Shaking his head. “No…" Denying what he was seeing. “I…" Gulping, swallowing hard, trying to work up the proper emotion—revilement? Disgust? Embarrassment? He reached, but just couldn't grasp it. All the young man could do was look up at the brute—Kol, he said his name was, or so the human thought—with slack lips and numb tongue.

“Looks pretty uncomfortable." He was met with lips twisted into a smirk around those tusks. Eyes shining with something he couldn't name at the moment. An orc gazing down at him like the cat who caught the canary. “Let Daddy help ya wit dat, aye?" Another poke to Rufus' crotch—a thick digit dragging up and down the length trapped behind the black fabric—and then that big, meaty paw was undoing the buckle of his belt. Popping the button and unzipping the fly. Tugging his shorts down along with his underwear, sliding them off his hips and letting them fall in a puddle around his ankles. Completely bare-assed in the middle of the bar, Rufus gazed in befuddled horror at his hard-on.

He stuttered. He looked from the firm shaft—decently long and thick, or so he liked to think, and curved slightly to the left and upward—to Kol's face and back again. His mouth opened and shut, opened and shut, like he was a stuck fish that had been yanked out of the river. At last, he said the only words that would penetrate the fog in his mind. “I'm straight…"

Laughter. Snickering from the few patrons who were still nearby, seemingly enjoying the show. A deep rumble of a chuckle from far overhead. “You sure about that, lad?" The hand which had pulled his pants down went to the orc's loincloth, and pulled it aside to bare the fat, hefty—soft, but quickly chubbing—package underneath. The full ballsack, and the uncut shaft above. The dense forest of greying hair which surrounded the orc's gargantuan manhood; even flaccid, that dick looked about as long and thick as Rufus' own at full mast, and just one of those fuzzy balls looked as big as the human's fist. The young man knew he should've been grimacing at the sight, or tearing his gaze away, but his eyes followed Kol's fingers and palm as he fondled himself. Cupped and rubbed himself. Stroked himself, pushing a fingertip into the hood covering his cocktip and swirling it all around. And then that hand rose upward, moving closer to the human's face.

Closer.

Rubbing on his burning cheeks, and under his flaring nostrils, and over his slack lips.

Body odor. Stench. Heady, cloying, pungent musk sending another wave of heat through him. Striking like lightning and sending sparks down the length of his spine. Churning the tide in his gut and groin as he breathed it in.

“Sorry to tell ya, but us orcs only come in one flavor: big, hairy, raunchy men." The words sent a shudder through Rufus' trembling body. “So when a humie like you gets all hot n' bothered huffing our stink…" They swam through his alcohol-logged brain. “Well, you know what dat means, don't'cha." They became stones which sank into his mind; into the core of his being.

He knew. He wanted to deny it, to argue against it, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate; it opened a little wider, and the orc's finger pushed inside to grind bitter-spicy-acrid flavor right onto his tongue. His limbs wouldn't cooperate; his knees knocked together, threatening to collapse out from under him, and his arms would only rise up to paw weakly at Kol's wrist. His mind wouldn't cooperate; it comprehended the greenskin's insinuations, faintly and indistinctly, but wouldn't muster up any kind of proper reaction.

“You want more." It wasn't a question.

Sucking on that musky digit, only barely held up by the orc's hand on his shoulder, reeling both in body and brain, Rufus answered. “Yesh…"

“'Yes' what?"

The orc expected something from him. That finger pulled out of his mouth, leaving his lips and tongue working against nothing. That hand gave him a little shake, and those burning eyes pinned him in place, demanding cooperation. Obedience. Submission. Rufus should have lashed out, pushed away, cursed the greenskin—Kol—and stormed out; but instead, the chastened human murmured in a weak voice. “Yes… Daddy."

“Well, yer in luck." A slamming pat on the back, which sent him staggering forward right into the massive man's stomach. Rufus caught himself, unable to pull his face away from the slick green flesh, the dense and scratchy hair, the imposing frame which loomed over him; he grunted, fingers grasping at those muscular hips, and tried to catch his breath. The smell of course, made it difficult, scattering his thoughts every time he tried to make a grab for them. And when that heavy hand settled between his shoulder blades, pinning him in place, he could only let out a tiny whimper. “Y'see, me n' da boys were just gettin' ready ta ramp up our celebration. 'Ow's about'cha join us, n' get a proper taste of our culture, hm?"

A celebration. That actually sounded fun. Better than sulking at the bar all night because—why had he been having such a bad time? Sure, he'd gotten dumped, but just drinking his sorrows away wasn't like him. Something prodded at the back of his mind, but another musk-stained breath in and out thickened the fog which filled his head. “Alright. That sounds… good."

“Good." Another pat on the back. A rock of the hips underneath him, pressing that cock—half-chubbed, and quickly stiffening—against his polo, leaving a wet smear of precum behind. A grin, wide and toothy. “Though fer humies like you, dere's a rule you gotta follow. Anythin' Daddy tells you ta do, ya do. Understand?"

There was another muffled murmur in his brain, barely discernable. Rufus' brow furrowed; the words sounded wrong somehow, and yet he couldn't figure out why. He could only cling to Kol—to Daddy—and let the sensations rock through him. The warmth in his head and chest and limbs. The steady pulsing between his legs. The throb in his chest; and upon it, spreading another bloom of sticky wet heat onto his shirt. “Yes, Daddy."

“First thing's first, then… get dem clothes off'a ya, and let Daddy get'cha ready fer the celebration."

His head bobbed up and down, making his brain slosh around in the mix of booze and musk which filled his skull, and his hands moved to unbutton his polo. His legs, meanwhile, shifted and squirmed, kicking his shoes off and stepping out of his discarded pants. Murmurs from all around sent another burst of heat through him—through his face, into his belly, and down to his crotch—but it was so distant. Coming to him through the roiling fog. Muffled and overshadowed by the presence of the orc looming over him. He could feel stares on his nude, flushed body—Kol's, the other patrons', Zhan's—and drew himself upward; he'd show them how good a human looked compared to those big, hairy, raunchy men. “This good?" The words sounded off, felt somehow wrong on his tongue, until he completed the question properly. “…Daddy?"

“Real good, lad." A tongue flicking over those stretched lips. Burning eyes peering from under that heavy brow to look him up and down. Hands running over his shoulders, his biceps, his sides and hips in open appreciation. Rufus smiled in return to his Daddy, drawing himself up and flexing for the orc. He'd always been proud of his own built, sculpted physique, despite being a tiny bit on the short side, and had always relished the chance to show it off to—who? His brows twitched as that train of thought derailed itself. Luckily, Kol was there to set it back on track. “You love showin' off fer Daddy, huh." Somehow, it didn't sound like a question.

A nod. Another bloom of warmth in his blushing cheeks. A smile, confident and sure. He might've been smaller, and not as physically intimidating, but if there was ever a chance to compare his muscles, his might, his capability to that of a hulking gree—orc—then he'd gladly take it. “Hell yeah, Daddy!"

“Good. Then yer gonna love this."

The grip of those hands on his sides tightened, becoming vices which held him in place. Again the world upended itself around him; he was hauled into the air, as easily as though he weighed nothing. Big, bulky, heavily-muscled arms wrapped around him, holding him close against that massive, hairy chest, and the human could do nothing but flop his head forward to bury his face in the cleft between those mounds. He sniffed. He sniffed again. He bucked his hips and ground his erection onto Daddy's abs, and the orc huffed out an approving laugh right in his ear.

“Dat's it. Dat's Daddy's stink-lovin' humie. You jus' relax, lad. Relax…"

Rufus nodded. He moaned. His eyes fluttered shut, and he relaxed in his Daddy's tight, firm, domineering grip. Feeling the shifting of musculature and hairy flesh beneath him. Feeling his legs being lifted to wrap around the orc's torso. Feeling groping, squeezing, kneading fingers spreading his ass; and then something hot, wet, and pulsing pressed against the ring of his hole.

Pushed.

Pulled back as he was lifted a little higher, and then tore through his rim when he was slammed down onto a thick, throbbing pillar of flesh: Kol's cock.

He froze as the world seemed to shatter around him, white-hot light flashing through his intoxicated mind. A surge of sensation, stretching and pressure and fullness, shot up deep into his guts along with that insistent shaft. As he was hilted in one rough motion, the furry sack of Kol's balls pressing against his stinging rump, his mouth dropped open into a silent scream. It should have hurt. He should have been crying and thrashing in agony. He should have been shoving himself away, trying to escape the orc's grasp and pull himself off the erection which had impaled him.

But instead, his arms slung themselves around the orc's neck. But instead, a belly-deep moan escaped his slackened jaws. But instead, it felt so.

Fucking.

Good.

Kol's words—his Daddy's order—had relaxed the tight rim of his hole, and the clamping grip of his inner walls, opening them wide to welcome the penetration. Feelings he'd never even imagined in his wildest fantasizing rocked through him with every twitch, every pulse, every throb of the monolithic member within him. Something—some tightly-wound knot of nerves—ground against the orc's cock, sparking a sweet-burning inferno in his groin and backside and belly. He couldn't think. He could barely gasp in a few musk-tinged breaths. The human could only cling to the bigger, stronger, dominant male, and let himself ride out the roiling, churning, inescapable tide.

“Fuck!" Panting. “Shit, so good." Grunting. “So goddamn tight." Bucking his hips to give the human's clinging hole a few shallow thrusts. Kol's every panted-out breath puffed against the crown of Rufus' head. “You never done this before, huh, lad. Never had a nice, fat orc-dick in yer l'il humie fuck-hole?"

The young man's burning face ground against the orc's hairy pecs, rubbing over and between the firm and sculpted peaks, as he shook his head.

“And ya took it like a champ." A rough pat against the center of his back, accompanied by a rumbling laugh that shook the human's entire body. “Natural slut fer greenskin dick, I guess."

The words stung, just as much as his twinging ring as it strained around his Daddy's girth. But in his state, reeling and shivering and lost in the roiling fog which clouded his mind, Rufus could brook no argument.

“Let's get'cha strapped in, so's you can join the celebration proper-like, aye?"

“Y-yes…" He gulped, heaving and gasping and struggling for every shallow breath. “Aye, Daddy…"

The orc reached down to his waist, wrapping a pair of straps around the human's legs and cinching them tight. Then his ankles, too, were bound with a length of leather tied into a slip knot, making sure the human would be going nowhere. Kol lifted Rufus' arms up higher, higher, baring the damp tufts in the young man's own armpits; Rufus sniffled, and huffed, and blushed as he smelled his own bitter-spicy aroma, the scent fueling the simmering heat in his own forgotten erection just as much as Kol's did. The human grunted when he felt his wrists being held together at the orc's nape, and then groaned when they were trapped in the tight grip of a leather strap as well.

He was bound. He was exposed. He was resting against Daddy's chest, impaled on Daddy's cock, turned into little more than a decorative piece for Daddy's outfit.

“There now. You comfy, lad?"

The human squirmed, settled into his place, and nodded, once more rubbing his face into the sweaty forest of Daddy's chest hair. He was.

“Good." A stroke up and down his back. Another squeeze of his rump. One tusk and then the other grinding into his mussed hair. “Let's go, den."

Rufus could feel every one of Kol's steps, bouncing him on the orc's cock and grinding those balls on his rear; with every push and rub and brush of that gargantuan shaft against his inner walls, his own erection pushed and rubbed and brushed against Daddy's firm stomach. He could imagine the stares he was receiving, the sneers, the mocking smiles; humans, halfies, orcs and goblins and bugbears enjoying the show he and Daddy were putting on. He could smell the pungent stench of orcish sweat and body odor surrounding him; with every sniff, every breath, every lungful of the heady aroma, his appreciation of Daddy's intoxicating musk deepened.

And, of course, Rufus could hear the voices—loud, brash, rumbling and grunting—of the other orcs in the tavern as Kol moved to join them.

“Nice catch, Kol!" The sound of a wide palm smacking a broad, muscular back. “Shut 'im up real quick, eh?"

“Yeah." A slight bounce as Kol nodded, pressing that button deep inside of the human all the harder. “Couple whiffs got 'im lovin' me 'stink' nice n' good."

“Fuck, 'e's really into it, ain't he?" Fingers stroking his spine as a puff of breath washed over his temple.

“Shit, keep doin' dat. 'E's squeezin' me dick like a fuckin' vice."

“Har, den let's see ow 'e likes dis…"

Rufus groaned, long and low, as pressure settled against his back. Grinding and rubbing. Sandwiching him between Daddy and some other orc's hefty, hairy, burly body. He could hear the pair grunting above him, rocking their hips; Kol against the young man's groin, and the other greenskin against the human's spread backside. And with that pressure came yet more orcish stench, a double-dose of cloying, sweaty, raunchy musk engulfing him. Searing his nose and nasal passage and lungs. Drowning out all thought but to take in more of that masculine aroma, getting drunk off his penetrated ass from it.

He whimpered, and sighed, and began to work his lips and jaws over one boulder-like pectoral. The other. Down into the humid forest between them, then over to the side; towards one swampy, sweaty, hair filled armpit. Along the way, though, his mouth brushed against a large, firm bulb, and he paused to latch onto it.

“Mmgh, really loves it. Dirty slut's suckin' me tit." Sneering.

“Wonder what else we can get 'im ta suck on." Jeering.

“Think there's room in dat hole a' his fer us both?" Jostling him with a rock of sturdy hips on his ass, and letting another length—solid, thick, and dribbling wet heat onto the small of his back—tease over his stretched rim.

Rufus whimpered. Daddy let out a snicker, grabbing onto the human's hair and giving it a tug; pulling him up enough to expose his flushed face, but not enough to get him off of Kol's nipple. The other orcs laughed, and murmured, and commented to one another about what a good lad the human was. What a dirty lad. What an eager, musk-huffing, randy little orc bitch.

“Maybe." The sound of grunting and smacking; the orc pair sharing a deep, ravenous, tongue-wrangling kiss over the young man's head. “Gotta get 'im stretched first, like a proper fuck-hole. N' while I'm doin' that, I could use another drink 'r five." The other presence moved away, and Rufus was swung around. “Oi, Zhan! 'Nother beer over here, 'n put it in a proper stein! It's Orctober, after all!"

The night continued in much the same way: Kol wandering around the tavern, talking and chatting and laughing with the other patrons, and showing off the captive affixed to his front and impaled on his cock. Every step, every jostle, every shift of the burly body beneath him bounced Rufus on that monolithic erection, making him whimper and groan and hump his Daddy's abs. The orc chugged down beer after beer, smirking at his catch on occasion and tipping the stein to dribble some onto his chest; and Rufus, obeying the silent order, would lap and slurp and suck it off of the green-skinned brute's pectorals. Out of his dense chest hair. Off of his nipples, flicking his tongue against the nubs before latching on to nurse upon them.

Meanwhile, the other patrons—humans, halfies, orcs and goblins and bugbears—would tease the bound human with hands on his back and hips. Stroking. Petting. Leaning in to catch a glimpse of his face, or the pre-soaked erection sandwiched between his stomach and Kol's. The orcs, of course, went further than any of the others, indulging in the 'tradition' of sharing captives between them from way back in their tribal days. Rufus squirmed under their affections, their fingers delving into his mouth, their faces rubbing into his pits or ass or moving in close for a smothering kiss. But with every touch, every caress, every bit of affection, he found himself craving more.

When their digits would push through his slackened lips, he'd bob and suck on them like they were the sweetest candy.

When they'd lift their arms, baring their own sweaty, swampy, pungent-smelling armpits, he'd turn his head to take a deep sniff of their stink.

When they'd lean in, grabbing his hair to pull his head backward and crushing their lips against his own, he'd open wide and let their alcohol-coated tongues delve into him as deep as they pleased.

Kisses progressed into slavering all over his sweaty face, his throat, his shoulders and nape while their tusks scraped his flushed, tender skin. Appreciative sniffs turned into deep, needy inhalations of musk from Kol's sweaty body, from his own, from any man—green-skinned or otherwise—who made the offer. Exploratory touches turned into tugging on, pulling at, merciless stretching of his hole, the demands for the slutty human cocksleeve to take their dicks as well growing more fervent. And all the while, his Daddy would smack Rufus' ass with hard, stinging, punishing blows. Would buck his hips. Would spit—both verbally and literally—in his bitch's burning face.

“Dat's right. Slutty fuckin' cocksleeve, ain't'cha?" He was.

“Wanna huff Daddy's pitstink while he uses yer humie ass da way you deserve, huh?" He did.

“Probably bend over the bar n' let every greenskin in 'ere rut'cha all night, wouldn't'cha?" He would.

At some point, it seemed to be too much for even Kol. The orc grimaced, his lips twisting and brow furrowing as Rufus' back passage clamped around his cock. Squeezed. Clenched in a vice-tight grip. His arms wrapped around the human's smaller frame, and he grabbed on tight to start thrusting in earnest.

Out, and then in. Out, and then in. Out, drawing back all the way to the tip in preparation for one last push, and then slamming in as he erupted into the human's depths.

Kol roared. Rufus screamed. The crowd around them cheered as the orc began to pump his bitch full of hot, thick, sticky seed. The young man could feel it spurting, and gushing, and shooting up into him, flooding his bowels with his Daddy's cum. He gasped and whimpered, barely registering the feeling of his own length twitching as it spat out his—much smaller, almost pathetically so—load; the deluge which was filling—overfilling—him was so much. It was too much. It began to leak out of the broken seal of his rim, a dribble and then a steady stream flowing around the orc's shaft.

“Dammit, Kol!" A familiar roar. “Told you not to stain anything!"

“Yeah, yeah. Calm yer tits, Zhan." Panting. “Someone'll probably clean it up in a bit." Grunting. “But speakin' of yer tits…" Taking a deep breath in, and then out, and then looking over with a toothy grin. “'Ow's about'cha get dem puppies out, n' see if the bitch here might want somethin' from the tap?"

And so the night continued in a raunchy, humid haze. Rufus couldn't even conceptualize his previous qualms with the orcs and their celebration; how could he, when every single thought was lost within the roiling, churning, smothering fog of orcish musk. He couldn't offer any complaint about what the greenskins, what the orcs, what his Daddy was doing to him; why would he, when it all felt so good, so right, so much better than anything he'd experienced before? All he could do was cling to the larger, stronger, hulking barbarian male, and let him do as he pleased. When he pleased. However he pleased.

---

The chilly night air broke the human out of his stupor, Rufus shivering and shuddering and pressing himself against the soft, wiry, slick warmth on his frontside. He blinked and lifted his head to look around with bleary eyes; he was outside, in the back alley behind Zhan's. Why was he out there?

The answer came when the young man heard a grunt from above, and felt massive hands giving his ass a squeeze. “Alright, lad. Let's get'cha down, yeh?"

Comprehension could barely scratch the surface of his mind as he felt leather straps being undone from around his wrists and thighs and ankles. He whined when he felt a tug on his hips, and then groaned long and low as something—Kol's still-erect cock—was drawn out of him. Slid free of his back passage. Popped out of his destroyed hole, leaving it gaping and flexing and trying to close down around the sudden emptiness. The world shifted around him—he was lifted off of the orc's chest and set down on his feet—and he collapsed to his knees in a boneless, slack-jawed heap.

“Oi." Something firm and wet slapping against his cheek, leaving a smear of sticky wet heat. “Don't'cha just sit there, bitch." Another smack, sending his head reeling backwards with the force of the blow. “Clean yer mess up already." A hand gripping his hair, giving him a shake, and tilting his head back to make him look up at the burly orc who loomed over him. At the twitching, dribbling, cum-coated shaft being pushed into his face. At his Daddy's expectant expression.

Rufus groaned. He nodded. He moved—flopped—forward into that hairy crotch, reaching up to cling to the orc's hips like they were his lifeline. The young man rubbed his face all over that cock and those balls, not caring that he was smearing his own cheeks and lips with orcish seed and smut. He sniffed slow and deep—in the orc's pubes, in the crooks of his thighs, all over his balls—and at last began to lick. To kiss. To worship the package which had ravished him all night

“Har, dat's it. Suck my balls, bitch." He did, letting out an eager moan as he took one heavy orb and then the other into his mouth.

“Lick up yer mess. Be a good lad, now." He did, dragging and swirling his tongue upon that musky shaft from the base all the way to the tip.

“Suck it." He did, latching on to start bobbing with a hungry moan. It felt so foreign on his tongue, but Rufus savored its pungent, bitter-spicy-acrid flavor. He flinched when his wriggling oral muscle delved into the raunchy folds of his Daddy's foreskin, but the young man closed his eyes and took everything the orc gave him. He couldn't push down far enough that considerable length to take it all—his throat clenched in protest when he tried, the human choking on that mouth-filling piece of orc meat—but he did what he could to suck on the gargantuan erection.

Until he'd cleaned every trace of cum off of it.

Until he'd swallowed down every bit of flavor—orcish musk and the earthier spice of his own ass—which clung to it.

Until a pair of hands gripped his head, holding him in place, and Kol roared out another orgasm which flooded his mouth. Spurted from his working lips and nose. Gushed down his throat to fill his belly with thick, sticky, satiating warmth.

“Har… Fuck, dat was good." Kol pulled back, leaving the human gasping and coughing on the ground. “Hope ya think twice afore runnin' yer mouth about us 'greenskins' again, lad." He smirked, looking over his handiwork for a long moment before turning on his heel. “Happy Orctober, humie bitch." The orc moved towards the door back into the bar, about to leave Rufus where he was; used, defiled, and trembling.

“W-wait. Daddy, please…"

“Hm?" The orc paused, and then looked over his shoulder with one brow perked upward. “Need somethin' lad?"

“Yes…" A nod. “Yes, Daddy." A gulp. “I need… I-I want more. Of you. Of… of what we were doing." A high, reedy, needy whine of desperation. “I… I'm sorry for earlier. I'll be good from now on. To you, to other orcs, to every one of you… you guys." Rufus took a deep—fresh and clean—breath in, let it out in a heavy sigh, and looked up to the orc with eyes full of wanting. “I'll do anything you say. Anything. Just… I just want to… to be..." At last the human bit his lip, trailing off, and lowered his gaze.

“Hm…" He heard footsteps approaching, sensed a presence looming over him, and then once more felt a heavy hand stroking through his hair. “Sounds ta me like you wanna keep being an orc bitch, lad. A proper one." When the human glanced upward, he saw the way the orc was looking at him; ravenous, lustful, a burning stare that reignited the inferno of arousal in the young man's gut. “You love me stink dat much?"

“I do." His own hands wrapped around the orc's thick, supple thigh, pulling himself back into that pungent crotch. He nuzzled all around. Sniffed slow and deep. Pressed lingering, loving, appreciative kisses onto that green-skinned shaft and those heavy, sweaty, hairy balls.

“In dat case, yer gonna need ta follow some rules, lad."

“Anything." Rufus nodded. “I'll do anything, Daddy."

“Well den… Rule one: anything Daddy says goes." The orc's lips twisted into a smirk around his tusks, and he batted his heavy shaft against the human's burning cheek. “You're gonna do what I say, when I say it, and I don't wanna hear a single peep a' complaint from ya. Understand?"

“Yes, Daddy."

“Rule two: unless Daddy says so, da same goes fer any other a' Daddy's orc friends." He chuckled, letting his voice drop into a husky murmur “You're a dirty slut, humie. A communal cumsock. N' Daddy expects ya to act like it. Understand?"

“Yes, Daddy."

“Rule three…" Kol paused, and Rufus swallowed hard around the knot in his throat. “You can have yer life, do what'cha need to do, keep whatever job ya got or whatever. Not gonna tie ya up n' keep ya in me dungeon." A laugh, low and rumbling like a thunderstorm overhead. “But bein' Daddy's bitch… his slave… comes first. When I contact ya, yer gonna jump up and get yerself ready fer me orders. Who knows, we might see about getting' ya moved in wit me, so's we can do things on a more permanent basis." Another pause. “Understand?"

“Yes, Daddy." For the third time, the words came out without a single moment of hesitation. Rufus stared right back up at Kol. “I want this. So bad. Please…"

“Alright, lad. Alright. You can have it." Something almost like gentle, tender warmth seeped into the orc's voice as he bent down, reaching for the straps which hung from the waist of his harness. He picked one out, wrapped it around the human's throat, and cinched it shut; tight enough to stay secure, but not tight enough to choke the young man. Only when his bitch was collared did Kol take Rufus into his arms once more, hefting the human upward. Settling him into the crook of one arm. Cradling him against his broad, hairy, green-skinned chest. “You comfy, lad?"

The young man squirmed. He jostled himself. He settled into his place, peeked up at the orc with a blush, and nodded. “Yes, Daddy."

“Good." Kol's hand closed into a fist in the young man's hair, dragging his head back and up so the orc could look his bitch in the eyes. And then he released his grip, and stroked his humie from scalp to nape. “Give Daddy a kiss, den."

Rufus moaned. He panted. He opened his mouth for a deep, tongue-wrangling kiss with Daddy Kol as the door swung shut behind them, keeping the chill out and the hot, sweaty, musky haze of the tavern in.

The night was still young, and Orctober had only just begun.