Page 36 of Sacrificed to the Orc

I will leave as Queen.

Oria dips her fingers into the deepest shade of blue, and I keep completely still, the room silent except for our breathing as she brings her fingers up, hesitating, seeking my permission. I give her a reassuring nod, and coolness graces my skin as the first strokes are applied. The paint feels almost alive, tingling as Oria’s fingers dance over my arm, my chest, painting my breasts in long streaks that only accentuate the curves of my body compared to the flatness of the Orcs.

Oria concentrates intensely, her fingers moving in a practiced dance, blue stars, red streaks, golden accents.

When she is finished, I stand, walking slowly to the bathroom.

I look in the mirror, staring at myself. I look savage, covered from my ankles to my neck with stripes and patterns of paint that carry their own rhythm, each stroke working with each other to complete the tableau.

“Do you like?” Oria asks, nervous.

“It’s perfect,” I say. “Is there any other preparation?”

The low thump of war-drums answers me, a slow, steady rhythm that calls me.

“You are ready. The warriors wait.”

I take in a huge breath, smooth my hair, and leave Askan’s home.

The adult women of the tribe are all waiting outside, thirty or forty of them, and they throw flowers in the air—flowers I recognize as the ones that grew outside of Askan’s and my hidden cave in the mountains, where he first took me, where he made me his. This ritual is a formality. Between us, we are already united.

One of the orc women, in her late sixties, walks forward with great ceremony and places a crown of flowers on my head. She smiles at me with so much hope that it scares me. They were starved before I came, and now, for the first time in months, there is no gnawing pain in their stomachs.

I look up, and my heart pounds. It is not yet night, but the moons are visible, huge, lit by a strange blood-red glow. They cast their strange, magical light over the village and me.

The women of the tribe sing, their voices lower than humans, a deep rhythm that compels my feet to move forward with the beat of the drums as I go through the main road of the village. As I walk, flowers are thrown into the air, cascading around me until I stand in front of the slit in the canyon face at the back of the village.

The huge mountain peaks rise before me, but they are split perfectly, a smooth-walled passage between the rocky walls.

The thunder of the drums increases in its fury as the warriors hear the songs of the women, who stop, leaving me to go through the passage on my own.

My head high, I walk through, the passageway only big enough for a single person, running my hand over the sheer, smooth stone walls as I go towards the sound, until it opens into a clearing.

I am in a circle hollowed out in the mountain itself, rising upwards until the sky, where the three moons gleam with their red light.

There is a ring of stone structures around an obsidian altar. The orc warriors are sitting cross-legged in a huge circle around the ring. They are all naked, thick, muscled bodies and sets of hungry green eyes that stare at my painted figure. Only Askan is inside the ring of stone, standing before the altar, fully nude. My heart races as I take in the sight of Askan’s chiseled physique, his arms and chest glistening with sweat under the moonlight. The drums increase their tempo, thundering in rhythm as he beckons me closer with a crook of his finger.

This is Askan, the warlord, his visage set and stony, a mountain of green muscled flesh. His cock stirs at the sight of me, the huge, thick green weight of his cock rising.

In his right hand is a long, black knife. Head high, I undo my loincloth, never letting my eyes leave his muscled physique, and the wind changes, blowing his scent to me, inflamed with brutal lust, the dark, heady masculinity of the beastly orc as his cock throbs with every beat of his heart, dripping with seed, coating the entire thick shaft in his pearly pre-cum. A bead of sweat drips down his forehead, and his black mane is unruly, down to his shoulders.

The drums stop.

I step forward, and the warriors slam the drums at the same time. Each step, and they pound the drums, until I am standing before the warlord himself, his eyes glowing. The blood-moon tattoos is alight, waves of fiery light flowing over it.

He slides the knife across his palm, without hesitation, fresh red blood dripping, and I proffer my hand to him. He cuts it gently, the blade so sharp I feel only a quick sting, and we press our hands together. The orc warriors roar.

“We are one,” he growls, grabbing me roughly, his fingers digging into my soft flesh as he lifts me and places me on the cold altar. My body sinks into the surface of the stone itself, as if the altar itself is alive and trapping me for the alpha’s rutting.

Askan grips my thighs with his thick fingers, spreading my legs open and exposing my soaking wet slit, my lust glistening in the moonlight. His burning eyes stare up at me as he extends his hot red tongue, tasting my nectar, and I moan in front of the entire tribe in desperate lust and pleasure as his tongue laves me.

The muscled shapes of orc warriors are nothing but a blur as I focus on him, and only him, the proud conqueror feasting, running his tongue up and down, his nostrils flaring as he tastes my lust. The drums slow, heavy and even, and his tongue lashes me with every beat, and I don’t know if his tongue is matching their rhythm or the drums follow the pulse of his tongue.

Then he stands before me, my lust wetting his mouth, and presses his huge, thick dick against the lips of my soaking wet slit, and I gasp out in need, feeling so empty, craving him inside me. I’m dripping for him, starving for the painful, brutal satisfaction of being filled to the limit by the conqueror, the only thing that can sate my desperate, animal need to be bred by the alpha. His stink washes over me in a wave, deep, heavy and primal, and I can feel saliva dripping down the lips of my open mouth, my eyes fixated on the pulsing, dark red head of his cock at the entrance of my cunt which belongs to him, and him alone. Pearly white pre-cum drips from the slit of his cockhead with each throb, coating my pussy as his shaft, and he looks so huge, so massive that it’s impossible he will fit.

Askan thrusts, and his cock opens me, fighting past my resistance and spurting the alien pre-cum that lets him force that massive thing into me, and the moment he is inside of me, the moons change. I whimper in the pain of being stretched to the limit, arching my hips up for him, needing the pain of being taken as his.

I look up, in awe, past his massive bulk, staring at the moons as the eclipse covers the huge middle moon, the pure bloody red moon obscured. The moon to the left and right are nearly concealed by the shadow of the world, until only crescents remain. The orc drumming stops, as each warrior looks up in awe, then stares at Askan’s tattoos. The shapes of the forty orc warriors rise, heads up stretched to the heavens, and in the corner of my eyes I can see what the brutal ceremony has done to them, their girthy green cocks thick with blood, standing straight up, and once the ceremony is done I know they will breed their wives, that our union in front of them has inflamed the tribe to mate once more after the privation of starvation.

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