Page 8 of Shackled to the Orc

It takes me a second to realize what all the women have in common.

They are all broad shouldered and taller than me, the shortest maybe 5’9 or 5’10, all healthy, with callused hands that speak of lives of farm work.

These are not women for this pitmaster’s harem, and they would be out of place working in his home.

The slavemaster brought them for breeding with his prize fighter.

And the orc picked me out, personally.

My breath catches as the waves of horror come over me. With the fat merchant, I might have had a chance to escape.

When that orc gets his hands on me…

I won’t survive a night.

6

MAYA

We trudge out into the wagon hub, horses whinnying in fear as they smell the orc, shying away as their owners cast foul glances at us. The cold night wind makes goosebumps rise on my skin, and I cast an envious glance at the rough cloaks wrapped loosely over the other three women. The horses of the prison wagon are used to orc’s smell and stand and wait as the red-bearded guard unlocks the back and swings open the barred doors.

The orc grunts in pain, awkwardly turning and scooting himself into the wagon while shackled, refusing all help. The red-bearded guard attaches the collar of the orc’s neck to the back prison bars, getting within a foot of the fanged mouth with no apparent fear, then shackles his right hand to the back before the pitmaster steps forward and gives him a hushed command.

He leaves the orc’s left hand free, the chain dangling from his cuff.

“You. In here,” says the red-bearded guard, but his order has an edge of respect, his gaze flickering to the orc then to me. I was chosen by the fighter, and the guard doesn’t want to insult me in front of him.

I steel myself and take the red-bearded guard’s hand as he helps me into the back of the wagon. It’s empty, except for the orc, the thick bars surrounding me. I bite my lip, standing far away from the intimidating beast. Even sitting, he’s massive, this wall of stony jade-green flesh covered in runes of power and violence. He’s chained to the back bars, but his muscles are so huge it seems like he could flex and break free and be on me in a second.

The guard shakes his head. “There,” he says, pointing right next to the orc. The orc’s legs are outstretched, covered in tattoos and scars that form a tapestry over his tree-trunk-wide limbs.

The pitmaster is watching me carefully, judging me, and I need him to see that I’m just an obedient little slave. I gather up my courage and sit down next to the huge orc, and to my horror, the guard cuffs my right wrist to the orc’s. I feel so tiny next to him, my skin touching his, sending frissons of nervous energy through me. A raw, primal scent emanates from the orc beside me, an earthy fusion of musk and the untamed wild. It’s thick in my nostrils, beastly and masculine, and it smells strangely right, almost comforting, because he is so alive.

I shiver, naked as the wind blows through the wagon hub, making my nipples harden, my skin goosebump, and my teeth chatter as the other three women are brought in. Their handcuffs are removed, and they sit across from us, as far away from the orc as possible, all while staring straight at the ground, wanting to be invisible. One casts a terrified glance upwards, but when her eyes find mine, there’s the tiniest flash of relief, and I know what she is thinking.

That at least she isn’t shackled to this brute.

We take off, the raucous sound of drunken crowds becoming distant as we pass the stone walls and onto the road. The orc’s skin against mine is smoother than I expected. He’s warm, and I’m grateful for that tiny bit of his body heat that presses against me. Clad only in his black loincloth, the cold doesn’t seem to affect him at all.

The horses carry us up the road, going north towards Corwinhold, and I know with a sickening feeling that we will pass through my village, and that I will see it for what might be the last time. I should be home by now. I hope that my mother doesn’t see me like this, that she is safe at home by the fire, praying for my return.

The wind whips at me, and I shiver uncontrollably as the women across from me pull their heavy cloaks around their bodies.

“She is freezing. Give her a blanket!” barks out the orc. The pitmaster looks back, calculating, watching us carefully, then bends down and grabs a thick blanket, which he passes through the bars. One of the women grabs it, and she bites her lip, nervous, terrified to get any closer to the orc. She kicks it over, and the orc leans forward, reaching out, so that our hands move together as he grabs the blanket and awkwardly helps put it over me. It is rough wool and smells of horseflesh, but I am grateful for it.

I watch him out of the side of my eye, trying to get a read on him, but it’s impossible. He is so huge, so beastly, his profile etched and worn. I feel like I am chained to a mountain. He’s older than me, almost twice my age, a grizzled fighter who has lived in the ring since I was a teenager with my head full of foolish thoughts.

I wiggle under the blanket, and I pull it around me, cognizant that his hand is inches from my naked flesh, that he could reach out and touch me, run his huge green fingers up my thigh, grope my body, anything he wanted, and I would be helpless to resist.

The wagon trundles along, chains rattling. I’m scared of him, but there’s a spark of hope, this whisper of the thought that maybe, just maybe, he’s not as brutal as he looks, that the power of his that made those disgusting buyers of human flesh avert their gaze from me could somehow turn into my freedom, if we could work together.

His nostrils flare, breathing in my scent, and he turns his head, staring at me. Fangs gleaming in the moonlight, his broad face so hard and strong a man would break his hand trying to punch him, I’m cowed. I can only hope he is not from the blood-crazed tribes that steal humans for meat. His emerald eyes burn with hunger, and as he licks his lips, my heart pounds in panic as his loinclothmoves,his cock thickening and pulsing as he tastes my being, and I know that this man will not be my protector.

It’s true what the rumors say of the brute species. They can smell innocence. They raid villages, taking war-brides to their mountain homes, turning them into their slaves. I’m going to be trapped with this beast, until I give him what the pitmaster wants.

An heir. Along with these other three women, used to sate the beast’s endless lusts.

Panic, pure, animal panic fills me, and I try to pull away from him, to shift as far away as possible as I can while keeping my hand next to his, scared of angering him yet needing to be away from him.

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