Page 37 of Sacrificed to the Orc

The heavens above match his markings, and the orcs scream out in religious ecstasy, giving celestial confirmation that they serve a holy king, and they start to chant in unison, a deep, dark song as Askan slides his throbbing cock deeper into me. I moan as I clench my pussy against his huge shaft, my body unable to resist his rock-hard member as he impales me in front of the brutal orc warriors. He pulls back, and as he slams his cock into me, the warriors roar in unison. I moan out in a mixture of pleasure and stretching, satisfying pain, overwhelmed as he leans forward, sweat dripping from his huge body onto mine.

The eclipse ends, and the blood moon casts its reddish, bloody glow on my painted body as he ravages me, roaring out in conquering need as he claims me as his mate in front of the beasts. He grabs me, lifting me up, holding me tight against his body and pulling me up from the altar as he grips my buttocks, slamming me down and impaling me on his huge, green cock as I am bounced helplessly, each thrust sending a wave of deep pleasure through my body. He impales me, and I go limp, nestling myself in his sweat and muscles. I bury my head against his sweat-soaked chest, covered in his scent, marked as his property in front of the tribe.

I can’t stop the overwhelming orgasm that pulses through my being, rushing through every sense in my body, pure ecstasy as my pussy clenches against his massive cock, my body urging the alpha to release inside me, to fill me with his orcish cum.

Askan throws back his head and roars as he seeds me, jet after jet surging deep inside me, an endless torrent. It lasts an eternity as my own screams mix with his, losing my mind in the pleasure of being taken by the beast.

Then he presses me down against the altar, my ass against the cool stone, and runs his hands through my hair, kissing me. My body is shaking, and I couldn’t stand if I wanted to.

Two shapes come from the crack in the mountain. Two female orcs walk to either side of me, and they grab my legs tenderly under my thighs. Askan stares into my eyes, telling my wordlessly that this is normal and that everything is okay, and as he slowly pulls his cock from me, they press my thighs upwards.

The orc warriors watch as my legs are lifted up and pressed back, so that his huge load of cum drips deeper inside of me. The women rock me back and forth gently in the fertility ritual, and they sing in higher voices, the warriors quiet as they watch. Askan moves to the other side of the altar, and leans down, kissing me tenderly, running his hands over my body gently. Askan lifts his hand into a fist, and it is all the signal the troops need.

The forty orc warriors fight each other in their haste to get back to their women, their cocks fully inflamed and engorged, dripping seed as they wrestle with each other, losing all decorum as they fight to be first out of the pass. They charge out back to their mates, and I know that my union with the chieftain has brought a new dawn to his tribe, that this night alone will make many of the women of the tribe fat with heirs.

Finally, I’m left alone with Askan and the two midwives. He strokes my body, staring down at me with pure love that mixes with the gold in his aura, and they hold me there for ten or fifteen minutes, rocking me back and forth gently, Askan’s pearly white seed coating my insides, until they cluck to each other, speaking in orcish, and slowly let my legs down.

His creamy, pearly cum slowly slips out of me, brilliant against the pure black of the altar, and the two women leave, so that I am alone with my mate.

He sits on the altar and pulls me into his arms, running his hand through my hair.

“Queen Hazel,” he says, and I bury myself into his strength, letting his power wash over me as he pulls me close against his chest.

22

HAZEL

The frozen tundra stretches far to the north, where huge, ancient forests rise, across a sea of white. Wind lashes at me, making my hair flutter, the icy chill surrounding me, but I can feel Askan’s warmth at my side. Every member of the tribe is behind me, some women even holding babies tight in furs, their tiny bright green eyes staring out from the bundles.

The silence is tangible. My breath is soft, ghostly tendrils in the cold air, mixing with the quiet anticipation as I try not to let my fear and nervousness infect me. I try to think of myself as a Queen, standing by my warlord’s side at the top of the peak. It was a long journey, but I walked it by his side, not letting him carry me, fighting against the snows until every muscle in my body burned.

The last goat was killed three days ago, the last of the stew finished, and I could feel, deep in my heart, that if I sang, nothing would come out. And so I waited, until now, when Askan told me that today was the day. There’s a new depth to him, the weight of command making his stern face harder, staring out at the barren wasteland from where I must summon weight.

He does not hold my hand. He simply stands next to me, positioned exactly as his vision demanded.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t have brought vines,” I whisper, my same doubt as before. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly. He told me that in his vision, we had crowns of living plants, that the land itself recognized our rule.

I shiver, and it’s not just from cold as I wrap my furs around me. If my power doesn’t rise to this occasion, then what am I? An imposter? Could the shamans have been right, that I will only lead these people to ruin?

I look out into the snow, white death spreading out. Somewhere on the mountains, the three shamans are buried under piles of fresh snowfall, their corpses frozen.

Drawing in a deep breath, I taste the cold, feel the rhythm of nature, and everything slows as I sing the first note. It is a soft lull, but it is not long before it grows, and I feel it resonating from deep in my core.

Nothing happens, as if the barren, snowy lands are sucking up my voice, drinking it in and giving nothing back. Then the snows in front of me seem to shiver, and two green sprouts rise, thickening, vines twirling and growing, whipping to life as my melody grows to a defining anthem, and the vines wrap themselves around mine and Askan’s heads, living crowns.

I sense power beside me as Askan opens his mouth into a roar, his deep, thunderous voice mixing with my song.

The orcs, still too skinny, too lean, press in closer, striding up to the peak, staring out at the barren landscape.

Then one yells, pointing.

From the farthest reaches, in the distance, a tiny speck of an animal is moving towards us.

As it draws closer, some of the tribe break down in emotion, falling to their knees in joy.

A mammoth, huge and lumbering, making the trek to give its life to us.

23

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