Chapter Five #6
Gael shook his head when he saw him looking. “We don’t show, not in the way women do. I’ve noticed my chest filling out, though my mates said my pecs won’t enlarge much.” His cheeks reddened.
Water splashed in the cleaning area outside the chamber. Andre turned, but the dark mouth of the arch hid whoever was out there. Was he getting more companions to join him in the bath?
“Well, congratulations!” Lawrence said. “Your first?”
“Yes. Usually, it doesn’t take that long to be impregnated, so my mates took me to a healer. He said my womb hadn’t formed like it was supposed to after the initial mating. He gave me a herbal infusion to help me absorb my mate’s cum better so the womb would develop.”
Wait… “We absorb our mate’s release?”
Lawrence groaned. “It’s so pleasurable, like coming all over again.” He reached underwater, giving himself a long, slow stroke. The lack of modesty was shocking. Andre reminded himself it was part of the culture. “God, I can’t wait for my mates to take me again.”
Gael hummed. “It’s like a compulsion. I crave it so much.
” He ran a hand over his chest and leaned back, head tilting toward Andre.
“It’ll be the same for you. Once Farigoth has emptied inside of you, you’ll yearn for him to do it over and over.
You won’t be able to reach climax without him near you. ”
“You’ll need his scent and warmth, or better yet, his cock.”
Andre blinked. He hadn’t known that. Well, it wouldn’t make a difference. All his life, he’d had a hard time climaxing. If Farigoth’s presence was going to be necessary, that didn’t change much. Farigoth was going to guarantee his satisfaction.
Deep, rough voices sounded in the corridor. Orcs. Andre couldn’t make out what they were saying. Most of them spoke at least broken Viridian, which they stuck to in the presence of men, but among themselves, they fell back into their native Oordoon.
“Farigoth’s going to use you like an entire horde would.” Lawrence shuddered, causing little waves and splashes, his desire for his mates tangible.
It was infectious. Gael’s head tipped back, and he squirmed and thrust, his body demanding something he couldn’t get this minute.
Andre felt it too. The warmth wasn’t helping, and neither were the images Lawrence had put in his head.
Against his will, his cock rose. He prayed that the water hid his predicament.
Heavy, slapping footsteps tore him out of his daze. Two giant orcs tore into the room, their bulging muscles glistening wet in the light of the candles.
Andre shrieked when they hauled Gael from the pool and pushed him onto the smooth tiles, cheek to the floor, ass in the air. Gael was panting, his skin red from the heat of the water. He was dripping wet, his arousal manifest between his legs.
Lawrence clasped Andre’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. They’re his mates.”
“Fuck me,” Gael breathed, pushing out his ass.
The orcs didn’t need to be asked twice. They thrust their fingers into him for a perfunctory stretch, and then the first mounted him, grunting as he shoved his thick, precum-slick cock inside.
“Y-Yessss…” Gael’s eyes were glassy and unseeing, his attention turned inward as his mate plowed into him.
“Oh fuck,” Lawrence bit out, his face pink, gaze fixed on the scene unfolding in front of them.
The orc took Gael like a savage, pounding him without mercy. Gael writhed and whined, his hands helplessly slapping the floor. It wasn’t a minute before he arched and cried out, shooting his release onto the marble.
The orc roared as he emptied in his coming hole, holding Gael’s slim hips in a death grip. He pulled out with a satisfied growl and was immediately replaced by his partner, who flipped Gael onto his front and drove in without preamble.
Andre’s world spun. He’d seen plenty of orcs take their mates, but it’d been from a distance.
Gael was less than two yards away, lying exposed on the floor, making encouraging little sounds as the orc plundered him.
Shame was a concept foreign to orcs, but this open, uninhibited, almost violent display had Andre’s eyes bulging with shock.
He forced himself to look away, trying to focus on anything other than Gael’s happy cries. It was impossible. Gael’s shout as he came echoed through the bath, the orc snarling and grunting as he, too, finished.
Andre stared at the tiles, not daring to let his eyes wander.
“You’ll get used to it,” Lawrence said quietly. “I was startled, too, the first time the orcs took us, all those writhing bodies around me, but now… it’s normal. It’s what orcs do.”
“I know.” He really did. He didn’t mind the orcs taking Gael in front of him.
That wasn’t the issue. He just felt like he wasn’t supposed to see it.
Valian modesty was rooted deeply in him.
It had kept him safe. In the land of the orcs, it was unnecessary—a cocoon Andre couldn’t wait to shed, even if it wouldn’t be easy.
When the orcs were done, they took pitchers and gently poured water over Gael’s spent form.
It washed over him and slid down the slanted floor, running into the gutter circling the wall, where it drained away.
The orcs stroked and kissed Gael, peppering him with affection.
When he’d recovered from the untamed mating, his breathing evening out, they helped him up, assuring themselves they hadn’t been too rough, that no bruise marred his creamy-white skin.
“I hope we didn’t scare you,” Gael said when they were gone, his eyes full of concern. “You look unsettled.”
“It’s fine. Your mates surprised me, that’s all.”
“I’ll let them know not to jump me when you’re around. They sometimes do when I work at the temple, more so now that I’m pregnant and need them often. It’s always a welcome diversion, but I can imagine what it looks like to someone who isn’t used to it.”
Andre cleared his throat. “I’ll adjust. I know orcs are like this. It’s normal for them.”
Gael nodded. “My mates will be back later to take you to the ceremony. Let’s get you ready.”
Andre, covering himself with a hand, climbed out of the bath and, on Gael’s instruction, lay face down on the heated tiles. Gael picked up two sponges and poured a viscous, purplish liquid onto them. The calming scent of lavender filled the air.
Gael gave one sponge to Lawrence, and together, they scrubbed Andre, first his shoulders, then his back and along his arms. When they reached the curves of his buttocks, Andre tensed.
The men didn’t rouse him, but the earlier display and all the talk of man-hungry orcs and orgasms had had its effect on him.
His cock was stiff, pressing against the warm marble, stickiness drooling out of him.
They’d see it when he got up later, and having hands near his privates, however innocent their touch, wasn’t helping.
“You can relax,” Gael said quietly. “We’re only preparing you for Farigoth. If you’re hard, you’re hard. Most men here are. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It just means you’re being good for your mate. The orcs want us needy and dripping, and if you are, you’re pleasing your mate.”
Gael was right. There was no reason to feel shy after he’d seen him ravished by his mates.
Farigoth liked Andre’s bodily reactions.
Andre’s erection meant he desired his mate, furthering Farigoth’s reputation.
This wasn’t Vale, where debauchery was frowned upon—regardless of what everyone did behind closed doors.
Andre allowed himself to relax and let those friendly, purposeful hands take care of him.
Gael and Lawrence sponged his buttocks and legs, occasionally pouring water over him, rinsing him.
They cleaned him everywhere, then rolled him over—Andre’s excitement had mercifully subsided—and scrubbed his front.
When he was pink from head to toe, they removed his body hair, leaving him as smooth as silk. They groomed his nails and washed his hair, then oiled his skin until he was glistening and drizzled him with floral perfume.
By the end of it, every inch of him was supple, glowing and fragrant. He was a treat to be offered to the chief for consumption. This was the end of his freedom. He’d be mated to Farigoth and become his property.
“Do you ever leave the city?” Andre asked Gael when they rose to their feet.
“Not often. There’s no reason for it—everything I could dream of is here.
” He regarded Andre for a moment, and his features softened.
“We’re not prisoners. We come and go as we please.
If you want to stroll through the forest, you can.
If you wish to visit your old home, it can be arranged.
You’re not having second thoughts, are you? ”
“No, no. It just seems so final.”
“It is final, more so than a wedding. You’ll be connected to Farigoth in ways not possible between humans. You will come only for him, crave him as you’ve never craved before. Becoming an orc’s mate will be the most magnificent transformation of your life.”
It was then that Gael’s mates returned to collect Andre, exerting commendable amounts of self-control as they managed with fondling Gael only a little.
The orcs flanked Andre as they escorted him through a series of corridors, keeping a watchful eye.
They descended a set of stairs that ended in a broad, torch-lit tunnel.
The smell of wet earth hit him, overpowering the sweet scent of the oils he’d been doused in.
This place was old. The stones under his feet were old, and so were the walls and the brackets for the torches.
The tunnel wasn’t only older than the orc occupation; it was older than the Turian Empire.
To the left and right, shadowy corridors branched off.
The first strike of the drums hit Andre like a thunderbolt. He stopped in his tracks. It had come from somewhere above him.
BOOM, the drums went.
Whispers rose, a low, throaty and rhythmic chant drifting out of the darkness. Andre’s skin prickled.
The torches flickered. For a second, Andre saw the orcs in the tightly-packed tunnels. There had to be hundreds of them. Thousands. Their eyes flashed in the fire glow. Every one of them would’ve loved to have a piece of him.
A shiver ran down Andre’s back. He felt naked in his loincloth, the flimsy silk exposing him. His heart hammered.
Gael’s mates urged him on.
Ahead, the tunnel ended in another set of stairs, which led them upward. The beat of the drums quickened.
If Andre had hoped for daylight at the top of the stairs, he was disappointed.
Where the temple of Rargesh had been oppressively hot and humid but filled with subtle light and white marble, this one was built of black stone.
Darkness swallowed the light of the torches.
Impossible to tell how high the ceiling was.
More corridors, more whispers, the drums louder with each step.
Andre and the orcs turned a corner. The smell of bats and decaying rock hit him. At the end of the hallway, a towering arch loomed. They stepped through, and an enormous chamber opened before Andre. Like the corridors, it was clad in black stone, and his stomach flipped when he looked down.
They had entered the chamber on its middle floor.
High above him, the black cavern narrowed to a high ceiling with slanted openings, allowing the fading daylight to slice inside.
Below, steps descended into a dark, bottomless pit.
Rows upon rows lined the pitch-black amphitheater.
Torches illuminated but the upper ranks.
Here, the entrances lay from which a dozen corridors emptied into the deserted chamber.
One of Gael’s mates took a torch out of its wall bracket, and together, they led him down the stairs. Whoever had built this place, it hadn’t been the Turians. Underneath Andre’s feet, ancient magic pulsed. Somewhere here, the orcs must’ve found the key to taming the Great River.
After they’d descended for a minute, the torchlight touched a gigantic, black throne carved from the same stone as the rest of the chamber. Even an orc would look small sitting in it—any orc other than Farigoth.
At the bottom of the pit lay a large, flat plain, empty save for one thing: an altar of black stone. Thick iron shackles glinted in the torchlight. The drums were louder here, but the shadows were too deep to tell if there was anyone hidden in the darkness.
When he looked at the orcs, he received blank stares.
But Andre knew what he had to do. Cautiously, he approached the center of the pit. With his heart in his throat, he climbed onto the altar and lay down on the dark stone, its surface smooth but uneven under his fingertips.
For the first time since he’d been given to Farigoth, Andre felt like what he was: a human sacrifice to appease the orcs and secure a fragile peace. Farigoth had demanded him. Now, he was going to claim him.
The orcs pulled his arms above his head, cold metal closing around his wrists. Next were his ankles, and the moment the shackles clicked into place, the many-voiced, rhythmic whisper grew in volume. Andre lay spreadeagle on the stone slab.
High above, on the entrance level, orcs holding torches streamed into the chamber. From all sides, they poured into the pit. Thousands of them, their footsteps thundering. A chill crept over Andre.
“Where is Farigoth?”
No one answered. Gael’s mates were gone.
Fear rolled over him. The horde swept down the ranks like a landslide. Panic struck. Andre yanked at his restraints, trying to get off the altar, every muscle straining, but the chains contained him. There was no escape.
Had something gone wrong? The orcs cascaded into the chamber, no one there to stop them.
He whimpered, trying to squeeze a hand through the manacle gripping his wrist. It was too tight.
Andre held back a scream when the first orc set foot onto the bottom of the pit.