Page 22 of Alien Orc Warlord's Captive Bride

My mind clears as I sprint, muscle memory from the dozens of near misses when I was hunted by Lord Ashbourne's patrols. If they caught me, they would have taken my hand from my wrist.

This game is far more intense. If I can escape...he swore he won't touch me. I'll end this torment that we both feel, the aching needs in our bodies that cannot be sated.

But if he catches me...

He won't be gentle. I could feel his brutal, aching need. That huge thing of his will claim my mouth as his property.

"Five!" he yells, from back on the ridge, loud so I can hear him. He'll count to the full one hundred, and not cheat by quickening the count.

I sprint over the snowbanks, my gait certain, finding hard patches of ice and rocks to get away. I don't look back. There will be a trail, but a faint one, and he's faster than me. I'll have to outwit him to escape.

I sprint at full speed, turn a corner, and think. I bite my lip as I make my plan. I reach down, pulling off my loincloth. I was soaking wet when I slid his finger in my mouth. His senses are keen, and I will use them against him. I scrape the loincloth against a rock, then throw it as far as I can over the edge of the mountain and into the forests. Then I double back, taking a vantage point higher in the mountains and looking down, my heart pounding in anticipation.

Ragnar turns the corner. He's walking slowly, methodically. Fuck, but he's huge, over seven feet of powerful Orc muscle. He looks like he was carved from jade, by a sculptor who wanted to capture the pinnacle of masculine, beastly power. His fur coat is opened, his chest slick with sweat, his tangled mass of hair framing his hyper-masculine face. His green eyes glow as he pauses, looking left and right for any sign of me.

His cock is fully erect, this huge, beastly thing pointing straight forward, unable to be contained by his loincloth, and it drips like a faucet, huge, pearly globs of his alien pre-cum falling to the snow, and I remember some of the barmaids giggling about Orcs and how they wouldn't mind being a captive for a night. That huge thing is curved upwards, the artery running along the bottom of it so filled with throbbing need, the entire thing swollen and brutal, aching to sate itself past my lips.

He leans down on the snow, sniffing, and stands. From my hiding point, I can see him clearly, my heart pounding as I make myself invisible in against the rocks. The sun is setting. If can evade capture just another half hour, it will touch the peaks, and he will keep his end of the bargain. Ragnar’s nostrils flare, trying to find my scent. I’m being stalked by the Orc, and if he finds me, he’ll claim me as his.

If I elude him, I will not have to endure the torture of his aching need once more. I will not have to taste his lips, firm against mine, his tongue invading my mouth as though he owns it, his rough, calloused hands so harsh against my body...

Ragnar jolts up to his full height, inhaling my aroma where I rubbed my clothes against the rocks. He gazes over the edge of the mountain, his eyes squinted, blocking the sun with his hand as he looks down the sheer face. Fear is written on his face.

He thinks I fell over the edge.

"Aira!" He booms out my name, so loud that small birds flutter from the hardy bushes that struggle to grow in the snows. "Aira!"

I stand to tell him I'm okay, when he charges over the ridge side. He moves with fluid grace, downwards, jumping from rock to rock, searching for me, navigating the sheer mountainside like he was born to it.

Then he disappears, out of sight down the mountainside, and I am alone in the chill silence that blankets the land like the heavy snow.

The sun lingers an inch above the mountaintop, marking the imminent end of the game. My heart pounds, sickened with regret, because he will hold his end of the bargain. I will be returned to Ashbourne's castle, untouched, unharmed, never to kiss the Orc warlord again. I position my foot behind a rock the size of my head, and press forward to kick it over the edge and land below, to make enough sound that Ragnar rushes back and finds me before it's too late.

There's a growl from behind me. Low. Deep. I turn, shocked, and it's him.

My monster, my captor, the only man who's ever made me moan and whimper in need. His green eyes are dark and piercing, gleaming in their anger. His tangled black hair is wet with sweat, sticking to his broad neck. His fur coat is opened, showing off his jade green skin and his thick cords of muscles, scraped by the rockside, his skin rough in places from rushing down the mountain to find me. Ragnar's cock is brutally hard, painfully so, curved upwards and dripping his seed into the snow. At full arousal, the stony green head turns dark with blood. He's an angry bull of a man, and he's going to unleash his pent-up rage on me.

"I thought you were dead," he snarls.

"I only play dangerous games," I say back, and sprint away. His heavy bootsteps slam against the ground behind me and I feel his hand gripping me, pressing me against the stone, my huge fur coat like a blanket underneath me.

He holds me down against the stone with one hand, the other pointing to the mountain peak. The sun is a hair above it, then descends. He's caught me. The stalking beast has found his prey.

"You win," I gasp out, and he pulls my furs open. The wind bites at me, making my nipples pebble up, and I have nothing covering my pussy. My heart is pounding. I can't see anything but Ragnar, the entire world replaced by the Orc. His face is like the mountains he calls home, hard lines and brutal power. Ragnar's body reeks of musk and sweat, a pheromone-laced smell of pure testosterone from hunting me down. One huge hand wraps around my throat, encircling it fully, while his other slides over my body, as if he wants to touch every inch of me at once, his calloused fingers grazing my skin and finding my nipple. He pinches, hard, making me grind my hips upwards as he puts his huge thigh between my legs, pressing it roughly against my pussy as he mounts me. He's on top of me, pressing his weight down, and despite the fingers wrapping around my throat, my tongue licks out and he growls as I run it over his broad chest, licking the sweat off his skin.

I want to taste his cock. I want to run my tongue over the thick, dark green head, to hear him growl in pleasure, but he won't let me, not yet. He kisses me, his tongue swirling hungrily in my mouth, our lips meeting. His skin is hot, an inferno that warms me despite the howling wind, and I run my hand over his sweaty muscled chest, tracing the scar he earned saving the lives of every man, woman and child in his village. I run my hand down his body, gripping his cock. Holy fuck, but he's hard, fully engorged with blood, and I can feel the web of veins fully filled down the length of his too-huge jade member. He growls, breaking off the kiss, and our breath forms panting clouds of white in the icy air.

Ragnar grunts and moves himself up the rock, pulling his thigh from between my sopping wet pussy, and stands. I am lying back against the boulder, my head against the rock, and he stands with his tree trunk legs on either side of my head and crouches so that his massive Orc dick presses down against my face. He is standing behind me, but his dick is so big it blocks the sun, and his huge, grapefruit-size balls rest on my nostrils. The stink of his pheromones emanates from his aching balls, and I can smell his musk, his need to breed me, and it drives me wild, my hips bucking as I lick at his huge balls. I know he's getting his scent all over me, that any Orc or human that smelled me would get a noseful of his stink, as if he is marking his territory, marking me as his possession. He pulls back, resting the engorged head of his cock against my lips, and I open as he enters me. His dick spurts the pearly pre-cum of his species, salty, hot, and making me crave more, and he groans as he slides his dick forward into my mouth as my tongue swirls to please him. His huge, rough hands grip my breasts, taking them and squeezing. I reach up, grabbing the rock-hard muscles of his thighs. I can feel every vein of his cock as he slides it down my throat, his dick pumping the alien pre-cum letting him slide that too huge member into me without resistance. My head swirls as I cannot breathe, my entire world the Orc, when he leans forward. I can feel his sweaty, tangled hair against my stomach as he presses his mouth against my needy slit and laps.

He loses control. His hips drive forward and back, pumping into my throat as if he is fucking my pussy, his tongue swirling like mad as he feasts on my nectar. My entire reality is Ragnar, his smell, his growls of pleasure, his raging need to unleash, his cock so hard it must be driving him mad. His tongue laps furiously, as if he is trying to suck the juices from my body, intoxicated by my arousal. I reach up, gripping his taut, pumping ass cheeks, built for thrusting, as his huge, sweaty balls rub against my face as he thrusts into me.

He pulls back and I gasp for breath, a long strand of saliva and alien Orc seed dripping from my mouth to his cockhead, but he does not stop lapping at my pussy. "Ragnar, fuck, don't stop, don't stop," I beg, as my hips buck, and he grabs my thighs, wrapping those huge, calloused hands around my tender flesh and opening me wide as his tongue finds my clit. I am on the verge of orgasm as he forces every inch of his huge dick into my throat, his alien pre-cum soothing me so that there is no pain, only the sensation of being full as my throat bulges with his cock, his balls resting on my nostrils and making my head swirl as I orgasm.

I feel him tense, and I know he is going to find his release. I open my lips as far as I can, trying to lavish him with my tongue as he thrusts so deep into my throat and unleashes with a beastly roar. His cock shoot jets of pearly cum into my stomach, and I am unable to do anything but take every drop as it fills my mouth. His alien cum soothes me, making me crave more, wanting every drop as my muffled screams of pleasure come out only as gasps as I orgasm on his tongue, my world swirling as I forget everything but this moment. He pulls his stiff cock out of my mouth, still spewing cum, filling my mouth with his seed, and I swallow every drop, craving more, obsessed with the feeling of sating the alpha.

But he is not sated.

He growls and lies on the rock next to me, wrapping me up in his massive biceps. The musculature of his body, his flawless, smooth jade skin, the rugged handsomeness of his masculine features. He is a god of war, a protector, and I want him to be mine, I want him to be mine so desperately that tears come to my eyes as I imagine the cold bed of Lord Ashbourne.

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