Page 12 of Alien Orc Warlord's Captive Bride

"And I'll eat the balls," says another, to a chorus of laughs. "That's what makes me strong!" He slaps a hand against his bicep. Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say, because the other Orc with the mohawk promptly challenges him to an arm wrestling contest, which ends with a draw and spilt mead on the table.

Ragnar wraps his huge bicep around me, just under my breasts. His hardness pulsates against me, making me want to squirm. I start to shift and immediately regret it as his erection swells beneath me.

Ragnar grunts, reaches down, and rearranges his cock so that it points straight up. It's hidden by my body to the others, so that only I know he has a raging, steel-hard erection that is pressed right against my back. His cock throbs and pre-cum dribbles down my back in a torrent, and I have to fight back a moan of shameful lust.

A flash of fear, a shiver of lust as I consider what he might do to me. Orcs are primal, brutal beasts. Would he take me right there and then, pushing aside food and lifting me onto the wooden table, so that I have to look out at the sets of burning eyes of his Orc warriors as he takes my innocence? Would the brutal beast even be capable of gentleness?

That huge dick of his is pulsing with his heartbeat, and I know he would ruin me for any other man, that nothing could compare to his beastly might, the way he would stretch me open and claim me eternally. I try not to moan as I can think of nothing but that huge, hot, too-hard cock pressed against me.

There's a cacophony, Orcs rising and drawing weapons, as a soldier in Lord Ashbourne's colors is dragged in by two big Orcs with battleaxes slung over their backs. The tips of the axes glisten with flesh blood. The soldier's hacking breaths are muffled by the canvas sack that covers his head, and he's shaking as he's dragged forward.

Ragnar grunts, and flexes his legs, hard, as if to try and get the blood from his cock and into his thighs. I can hear him grit his teeth as he faces down the prisoner, his cock softening against my back as all his lust is overcome by duty.

Ragnar stands, lifting me like I am a doll and placing me on the empty chair next to his throne. The titan of an Orc looks at the pitiful captive without mercy, his jaw set, looking like a berserker, his thick, engorged cock softening as he reaches to his belt and draws the hilt of his blade. He motions, and the sack is pulled off the captive's head.

"Please," gasps the man, and I remember him.

The soldier who put the end of his rifle on my brother's neck, who laughed as he was about to kill him.

"A scouting party. They fell into one of your pit traps. This is the only one who survived," boasts one of the Orcs who brought back the captive. He clears a space on the table and dumps a huge bag. Rifles spill out, to cheers from the other Orcs. "Eight more rifles for our armies, and rations."

"Gorak. Bring the supplies to the armory," orders Ragnar.

"I'd like to see his head cut off, first," snarls Gorak, a cruel gleam in his eyes. Ragnar never stops watching the captive, his eyes fixed on the pitiful man, and with a grumble, Gorak stands from his chair. He walks, a little shakily from the drink, to the bag of rifles. When he passes by the captive soldier, he leans in and roars, drawing back his lips so his fangs show. The soldier sobs in fear.

"Please. I'll tell you everything."

Gorak hefts the bag and stalks off into the caves behind us. His hatred of humans consumes him, and he rushes to drop off the bounty so that he can hurry back and watch the execution.

"Speak," states Ragnar. There's no fury in his voice. He is cold and authoritarian, taking no pleasure in this.

"We were ten when we set out. We were sent to scout for traps. We found the six at the mountain entrance, and reported them back. We uncovered the one that we fell into, but a rockslide knocked us in. I...oh God, I saw the rest impaled," he whimpers. "Please don't kill me. I'm only doing my job."

"How did you find the traps?"

"Lord Ashbourne was given scanners from the Capital. They..." He clears his throat. He is in his thirties, his face pale, stripped of his armor, wearing only the tunic in Lord Ashbourne's dark colors with the twin eyes on his breast. "The Capital never thought of Orcs as a great threat, not until...not until..." He looks at me like he's seeing me for the first time, his eyes widening in shock as he witnesses my body painted in the fiery reds of the warrior species.

"New technology," spits out Ulric.

"Old technology," says Ragnar. "Too expensive for even a noble like Lord Ashbourne. Where are these scanners?"

The soldier gulps. "The two survivors, they were up ahead, scanning, when the rock slide hit us. They didn't fall into your trap. They managed to bring them back to the castle," he says, wincing as if he wished all ten of them had fallen.

"What does Ashbourne plan?"

The soldier shakes his head. "Please, he doesn't tell me anything."

Ragnar steps closer to him. He towers over the human, who grabs onto the table for support, and draws his blade.

From the hilt, where the blue-black gem rests, a black length of metal extends, lightning wrapping around it. He brings it closer to the terrified soldier's throat. "Speak!" Ragnar's voice booms out, echoing in the great hall, and every other Orc is silent.

"Men from the king's army are fortifying his castle. I think...I think there will be a show of force. Please, Chieftain Ragnar, I've told you all I know. Let me go."

"Yes. I believe you," states Ragnar. Then he pulls his weapon back to behead him.

"No!" I gasp out, not sure why, only that I can't see him kill a helpless man.

I stand, in front of the huge wooden table, and Orcs stare at me in shock that I would dare defy their Chieftain. Ragnar turns, fire in his eyes. "This soldier will be one more in their army if I let him go."

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