Chapter Six
Andre
A deafening roar boomed through the chamber.
The orc flinched back, yanking his foot from the floor as if burned.
Farigoth had arrived. He sat on the throne, legs spread wide, hands clasping the ends of the armrests. The drumbeat ceased. That throaty, whispering chant faded, leaving the cavern in silence.
Andre sagged against the stone slab, and a sense of calm took hold of him. Farigoth was there. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt him.
The orcs settled in the long rows of the amphitheater, torches illuminating their fierce expressions. They might’ve been controlled, but their gazes, fixed on Andre, blazed with insatiable hunger.
But Farigoth’s presence dispelled Andre’s fears. They called him the Ravager for a reason.
Farigoth rose, and the orcs shrank into their seats.
He descended to the bottom of the pit, his steps thundering with his weight, hitting like a sledgehammer.
As he approached, his scent thickened, enveloping Andre, who inhaled lungfuls, allowing that powerful, masculine smell to calm him.
His arousal, which had waned in that moment of fright, flared with renewed vigor.
At its core, the mating ceremony was a test of virility and submission. Farigoth would have to prove his sexual prowess. Andre had to demonstrate his obedience by coming for him. Such was the way of the orcs.
Andre wanted to be good for Farigoth. He yearned to submit and obey.
To prove his loyalty, he’d do anything. He wanted nothing but to belong to Farigoth and be filled and bred by him.
Andre was Farigoth’s to consume. He was going to be a vessel for his pleasure and seed.
Before long, he would carry the fruit of his loins.
Farigoth stepped to the foot of the altar, looming over Andre, his heat crashing into him. He closed his hands around Andre’s calves, and with one firm pull, chains rattling, he had him on the edge of the slab. Farigoth spread Andre’s legs, placing his shackled feet along the edge.
The altar, Andre realized, was the perfect height for fucking.
Farigoth brushed his knuckles over Andre’s cheek. “You’re scared.”
“Not when you’re here.”
“I will not leave until the ritual is done and you’re my mate.”
“I want to be yours.”
Farigoth made a sound close to a purr. “My sweet human. I’m going to ravish you.”
Andre throbbed. He couldn’t wait. His legs fell open further, inviting Farigoth to take what was his.
Farigoth lifted Andre’s loincloth and tucked the silk into its golden belt. Gasps filled the hall as the orcs took in Andre’s exposed, rigid cock. He was small, even for his slender build, though that had never bothered him, preferring to be on the receiving end of a strong male. Well, he was now.
“So cute.” Farigoth dragged his thumb up Andre’s length.
The touch drove the air from Andre’s lungs, forcing out a helpless whine.
It echoed through the chamber, traveling up the rows of orcs.
With shock, Andre understood what had earlier been masked by the incessant beat of the drums: the hall was constructed so that sound traveled, letting it reach the farthest corners.
Every wet slosh, every debauched moan would be carried to the last orc.
There was no hiding. The horde would witness the full extent of his depravity.
Andre had never cared much for men stroking his cock, but it was different with Farigoth. That lone digit was so big and radiated heat. Andre grew impossibly harder.
Farigoth palmed his inner thighs, making him jerk. He hummed, pleased. “Eager human.”
He reached under his leather loincloth, and slick noises rang out—Farigoth was stroking himself for precum.
He pulled his hand out, fingers drenched in a clear, viscous fluid. Andre’s legs trembled; his insides clenched in need. He bit his lower lip and forced himself to lie still, not wanting to betray how much the sight affected him.
But Farigoth saw it. His expression slid into a smirk, and his wet fingertip tapped Andre’s rim.
“Ngh!” Andre bucked and groaned, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet chamber. It was impossible to contain what Farigoth provoked in him.
Farigoth placed a hand on his chest, holding him down. Staring at him, he returned to that puckered opening. This time, he stayed. He was so big. So hot. So slick.
Andre let out a whimper. The orcs in the amphitheater leaned forward, unwilling to miss the smallest reaction.
Andre had never been more exposed. He had never been more aroused.
Farigoth circled his opening, caressing the sensitive skin. That small, tight muscle holding him closed responded, unfurling under the attention.
“Yes,” Farigoth growled, raw and throaty, “your hole is begging to be stuffed. My slutty little human.”
His words ricocheted off the walls, bouncing up the ranks. Andre’s cheeks burned. His cock twitched.
Farigoth exerted pressure, his thick finger pushing against that tiny entrance. Oh God. He was massive. No man had fingers that large. Come to think of it, human cocks were smaller too. The notion blanked Andre’s mind.
Back in Castlehill, it had taken him half an hour to open for his wooden toy. He was supposed to let Farigoth in without a struggle, displaying his obedience.
Andre bore down, his ring widened, and Farigoth pressed into the resistance. But even as Andre pushed out, he couldn’t distend enough for Farigoth to insert his finger.
Breathe, Andre told himself. Farigoth’s scent filled his lungs. It permeated him, taking over his body. As if through magic, Andre slackened, and Farigoth inched inside.
He grunted as he accepted Farigoth’s fingertip, its girth holding him open. Breathing deeply, he allowed Farigoth to take control. The orc kept still, Andre growing accustomed to the stretch that pulled his tight ring in all directions.
When his body yielded, that taut, little muscle loosening, Farigoth inserted another inch, driving in to the first knuckle.
Andre cried out, helpless against the girth taking possession of him.
His hole fluttered around Farigoth’s precum-slick digit.
It tore a moan from him. If Farigoth’s finger felt this good, what would his cock do to him?
Andre licked his lips. Farigoth’s eyes flashed.
He fed him another knuckle, forcing his big finger into Andre’s futilely tensing hole. Andre’s wanton shout told the entire hall how much he liked it.
The deeper Farigoth pressed, the wider his digit grew. The burn watered Andre’s eyes, but he welcomed it, panting through the effort of relaxing enough for Farigoth to proceed.
With a final, devastating shove, Farigoth hilted his finger.
Andre groaned, his body uselessly trying to close. It was no longer possible. Farigoth owned him.
Even in the heat of his hole, Farigoth’s finger felt warm like the summer sun. Andre molded himself around Farigoth’s every line and callus.
With his free hand, Farigoth jerked himself, then brought a precum-drenched thumb to Andre’s cock.
Andre pressed his mouth shut, but a strangled sound still made it past his lips. His length pulsed under Farigoth’s touch. His hole tightened.
Featherlight, Farigoth stroked him, spreading his hot slick.
Every up and down wound Andre tighter. The world narrowed to the place Farigoth was fondling.
It was all that mattered. Andre compressed, squeezing Farigoth’s digit.
Being touched so intimately in public should’ve felt dirty, but in the dim temple, it was sacred.
Farigoth pumped in and out, stretching him. The wet slide had Andre shivering. A smile curved Farigoth’s lips, and he pressed upward.
The touch to his prostate hit Andre like a whip. He bucked, mouth open in a silent, pleasured scream. His insides tightened; his core tensed.
Farigoth didn’t move. He didn’t rub, didn’t thrust, just exerted gentle pressure.
The sensation was overwhelming. Andre was so sensitive there. Every second Farigoth stayed, the bliss of having him jammed against that one spot intensified.
His pelvic muscles squeezed Farigoth, holding him in place. It was divine. Andre’s hole gave a lone convulsion. It was almost as good as coming.
Farigoth increased the pressure, and Andre’s legs kicked out in surprise, striking the air, chains rattling.
“Your sweet hole clenches for me,” Farigoth said, pleasure in his tone. Hungry growls rolled through the amphitheater, the orcs seething with jealousy.
The tension in Andre’s groin built. A slow contraction undulated along his straining muscles.
“There’ll be no greater joy than seeing you come undone.
” Farigoth dragged his fingertip back and forth, sliding across Andre’s quivering gland, drawing another jolt from him.
He was being unbearably tender. “So swollen. You have not come in a long time. It’s not good for you to let your release build up like that.
You must come regularly. It is important for your health.
I will ensure you spill many times a day. ”
He leisurely probed Andre, causing his insides to firm.
That had always been Andre’s problem. Whenever he experienced stimulation, his anal muscles would lock, and no amount of thrusting could get him to climax.
Letting go was difficult. The only thing that could force a release was a massive cock stuffed into his hole.
For Andre, size was more than a preference; it was a requirement.
Farigoth sped up, deftly teasing that special place. Andre went as taut as a bow.
Something was growing beyond the usual tension. It ran deeper. Urgency coiled in Andre’s core. It licked at his balls. Farigoth massaged his cock and prostate, every rub and prod taking him higher.
The orgasm snuck up on Andre. When he realized how close he was, his loins were already pulsing. He’d always struggled to let go and surrender to the joys of climax, but all it took Farigoth was one finger in his hole and another on his cock, slowly stroking him toward completion.
His insides tensed and released. His cock throbbed.