Page 1 of Orn and the Real Girl
CHAPTER ONE
ORN
WHEN I’Dchosen this place as the location of my exile, I had made sure I was well away from any human settlements that might not take kindly to an orc settling so far away from the Fenns. There was nothing but scenic mountainside forest for leagues and leagues beyond the company I kept in my own home: my temperamental aerlanis—a long-necked wool-bearing farm animal—Gehyta, and a little jumping spider who I’d let take over one corner of my single room cabin. I wasn’t sure what sex it was, so I simply called it “little one”.
Yet I always touched myself discreetly, fervently, as if at any moment someone might barge in and see me splayed out on my bed, cock in hand and body coated in sweat. It was the sole reason I’d bothered hanging a curtain to hide my bed behind.
Everything in me ached and pleaded for release, for me to wrap my hand around the swollen knot at the base of my cock and squeeze it as hard as I could, finally allowing that release. But I didn’t want it over. Not yet.
I was just getting to the good part.
My free hand held a sheet of parchment filled with my cramped, spiky scrawl, the well-worn page trembling with all of the tension I’d built in my body. I had many romantic stories that I’d written in my years of loneliness. Even before I’d fled my clan, I’d been dogged by a feeling of not fitting in, of needing tokeep myself separate from everyone else in order to keep safe. From a young age, I’d dreamed of love and belonging and peace, and as I’d gotten older and made my way into adolescence, then adulthood, my dreams had gotten more specific, more romantic, and eventually, they’d become…this.
I stroked my thick cock slowly, squeezing the swollen bulbous tip, flushed an alarmingly deep shade of emerald, stark against the more middling olive green hue of the rest of my skin. Fat beads of precum wept copiously from the slit at the top, easing my strokes and allowing my rough palms to glide over my feverish skin. I was having trouble focusing on the page, on keeping my eyes open and focused.
I let the page fall from my fingers, using my newly freed hand to cup and tug on my sac, trying to calm the overwhelming sensation of need. Even if I hadn’t been the one to write the story in the first place, I’d read this one—read this exact scene—so many times I had it all but memorized, anyway.
The brutal orcish pirate captain Garesh had finally had enough of Corella Harrington—Duke Harrington’s only daughter and a valuable bargaining chip in gaining legal immunity for him and his crew—and her ceaseless bratty complaining. She’d just shamed him in front of his entire crew, saying he was too cowardly to give in to her advances, into her pleas for pleasure to go with the adventure of being rescued, and then captured, by orc pirates. He had no choice but to teach her a lesson about running her pretty mouth like that. He had a reputation to protect, a crew to keep in line.
He’d sent her to the brig, had her wrists manacled and hung by their connecting chain from the hooks installed into the cell’s ceiling, forcing her to stand for the long hour he’d spent preparing, deciding what to do to punish her. And as much as he’d tried to find something else, to avoid giving her whatshe wanted, he’d come back to it again and again, the thought haunting him so thoroughly that he could wait no longer.
Next, Garesh would enter her cell, broad scarred chest bared, his tight breeches doing next to nothing to hide his arousal. He’d been able to hear Corella’s whining from the deck above, the grating tone of her high human voice causing pressure to build in his head like a thundercloud. When he unlocked her cell and stepped inside, tightly shutting the door and re-locking it behind him, he'd say nothing, letting Corella yip and complain at him with all the haughtiness she could muster—as if she wasn’t bound and at the mercy of the Redding Sea’s most notorious pirate.
Eventually, she’d realize that he was quiet and she was not, demanding to know what he wanted and what he meant to do with her.
Exactly what you wanted,he’d tell her, grabbing another set of manacles from the rack beyond the cell’s bars. He’d bend to snap them around her ankles, over the surprisingly practical knee-high boots she wore beneath her expensive and impractical silk dresses. Once he was done he’d stand, towering over her. Her pale throat would have to bend far back to maintain eye contact, he’d be so close.
He’d see color creep up that delicate throat, see her pulse begin to throb faster. Challenge would light her dark eyes, even as she tried to lean closer to him. He’d grab her chin roughly, squeezing her soft skin until it was dented so deeply it flashed white.You’re going to regret all your lip,he’d tell her, and between one breath and the next he’d grab a fistful of her silk dress and rip it from her body.
She’d gasp, squawking in outrage, chest heaving against her tightly-laced corset.How dare you!she’d cry, even as she licked her lips and pressed her face into his grip, fighting to keep backthe smile he’d notice twitching at the corner of her rose petal mouth.That cost as much as you louts capture in a year—
He’d make quick work of removing her underclothes, his crew hollering and crowing as more and more of her tender flesh was exposed. Unlike Garesh, Corella had never seen an excess of sun, or hard labor, or battle, and every second of leisure was made plain by her small body. You had to look closely at her to see the fire and iron hiding behind all that fluff and nonsense. And Garesh had seen it. Had been floored by an answering hellfire in himself.
Now bare as well as chained up, Corella would fly into a ladylike rage, calling him every nasty name she could think of, her chin high and shoulders as far back as her bonds allowed. She’d make it clear she was not to be cowed, that she was no meek, blushing maiden, as was their game.
Garesh would growl, grabbing a fistful of her tawny curls.You talk too much, he’d tell her, his voice all quiet menace in counterpoint to her staccato stream of words.
He’d lift her high enough to slip her wrist manacle’s chain from the ceiling hook, causing a line to form on her smooth brow in confusion. What was he doing? she’d wonder.
Without a word he’d flip her, hooking the chain connecting her ankle restraints instead, so that she hung upside down. His men would laugh, barking suggestions in Orcish for what he might do to her. But he’d ignore it all.
He’d rip a length of satin ribbon from Corella’s destroyed finery and tie it around her mouth, gagging her. It may have stopped her from speaking, but it would do little to quiet the human woman—in fact, it may have made herlouder. Garesh would chuckle, oddly endeared by her commitment to the facade. Her cunt, now displayed for he and all others to see, revealed the truth: she was utterly dripping for him.
Garesh would take his time with her, circling her slowly while he stroked and pinched her most tender parts. He’d find all of the places that made her gasp and tremble, the touches that made the swollen bud of her clit twitch and throb from between her parted lower lips. He’d tease her mercilessly, her complaints eventually tapering off into panting and whining.
Her need would be clear. But Garesh would only have just begun.
He’d bend, grabbing the chain between her arms and hooking, that, too, to the ceiling. She’d look like a creature being readied for the spit, but no suckling pig had ever looked so eager for its fate.
He’d undo his weapons belt, handing the heavy thing through the bars to his first mate Hellor, then stalk back to his captive, unlacing his breeches as he went. By the time he made it back to her his steel-hard cock would be free, flushed and dripping and more than ready for her punishment—andhisreward.
He’d remove her gag, tossing the damp fabric aside, and cradle her head in one huge hand.You’ll take me now, lass,he’d say to her, guiding his leaking tip to her parted lips. And you’ll take me ‘til I’m done with you.
She’d nod, her face red and her eyes dazed with lust. Her pink lips would part eagerly, but Garesh would have one more thing he’d need to tell her.And if you need me to stop, to let you get some air, you clap your hands. Can you do that, lass?he’d murmur to her, the words quiet enough that his crew wouldn’t hear over their own noise. He couldn’t let them know he was soft on her, after all.
Two soft claps would sound by his ear, and he’d grin at her.Good lass,he’d purr, feeding himself into her mouth carefully. Her eyes would roll back in bliss, her small mouth stretching to its limit to be able to take him. But she’d do as she was told,the faint moans of pleasure escaping her as vibrations along his tunneling length rather than sound. He held her head steady in both hands, pressing deeper, deeper, until he felt himself hit the back of her throat. He’d consider leaving it at that, but hedidhave a show to put on. So he’d press deeper, her throat constricting around his shaft, her eyes watering and the heft of him stretching her throat from the inside. She’d take him to the knot, fighting her gag reflex and eyes streaming, but there’d be no clapping. He’d fuck her throat slowly, luxuriously, giving her just enough of a break to gulp air. Her pretty face would be deep red and covered in saliva, but he eyes would still be begging for more.
She’d wanted his knot for some time, now.
