Chapter Fourteen #6
Andre wasn’t a spiteful man, but Ian had driven him from Stagfield. Had made him feel ashamed. Andre was never going to run again, and he’d never again be mocked for his desires.
He rolled his hips. That monster cock traveled through him, squashing his prostate. There was no way Ian didn’t see the rings that should’ve annihilated all chance at orgasm. It made the moment all the sweeter. Because with Farigoth, coming, for the first time in his life, was effortless.
Andre climaxed arching, head thrown back, cum shooting from his pulsing cock. He made Ian, the man who’d never managed to satisfy him, watch. It wasn’t Andre who hadn’t been good enough. It was Ian who hadn’t.
Farigoth roared, gripped Andre’s thighs and flooded him. Heat washed through Andre’s channel, and he squirmed in ecstasy as he absorbed it, hole convulsing, eyes rolling back in his head. What a sight he had to be.
Andre didn’t dignify Ian with another look, though he felt his eyes on him. He rode Farigoth like a man possessed, crying out as the next climax crashed into him, golden chains jingling. He whined through the heavenly convulsions that made him squeeze Farigoth with all his strength, milking him.
Before his aftershocks ebbed off, Farigoth smacked his thigh, sending him into his next orgasm. And into his next.
By the end of it, he was a moaning, drooling mess, humping Farigoth for the bursts of pleasure that had him close to fainting with rapture. As another bout of release shook him, and one of the men muttered, “No wonder you and Andre didn’t last. You wouldn’t have been able to give him that.”
A hushed response. Retreating footsteps.
Andre couldn’t hold himself up any longer. He would’ve collapsed, but Farigoth caught him, gently guiding him to lie on his chest.
“My brave, beautiful mate. You came many times. I’m certain you’ve fallen pregnant. Ugkor has blessed us.” He ran his big hand over Andre’s head. Several strands of hair had come free of Andre’s braid. A squashed daisy hung limply from his leather hair tie.
He must have drifted off, for when he woke, Farigoth’s cock had slipped from his fucked-sloppy hole, replaced by the familiar comfort of the plug. They were sitting under the tree, his silk loincloth gracing his hips, Farigoth’s hands roaming his body, caressing every inch of his skin.
Andre snuggled against him, soaking up his heat. He sighed happily.
“You are awake.”
“Mmh.”
“You did well. Your hole must rest until the morning. I’ve used it quite vigorously.”
Andre was too tired to protest, despite morning seeming terribly far away.
“I think we have convinced the humans.” Farigoth nodded toward the far end of the glade, his tone rich with satisfaction. “They are seeking relief in the arms of orcs.”
Andre followed his gaze to where a horde emerged from the forest, illuminated by the full moon.
A trickle of men took halting steps toward them.
The trickle thickened into a steady stream, which grew and grew until every unmated man in sight converged on the horde.
There were more orcs than Andre had expected. Thousands more.
He sat up in Farigoth’s lap, wide awake. “Where are all the orcs coming from?”
“I sent word across the Great River that we’d meet with the humans for the festival of Ugkor. I told the tribe that there’d be many men who’d want to mate, and that many more orcs had to be sent to sate them.”
“You were confident that—”
“I knew. A man cannot witness the pleasures an orc can deliver and resist.”
The surge of men descending on the orcs was proving him right.
Rustling in the treetops. At first, Andre thought it was the wind, but then a swarm of bright green lights floated out of the forest, flying toward the men.
“Oh no.”
“What is it?” Farigoth asked.
“Will-o’-wisps. The green ones are forest pixies.
They’re pleasure creatures. Known for seducing men in the woods.
They must’ve become aware of the happenings in the glade and become jealous.
Pixies pride themselves on delivering otherworldly pleasure.
They won’t like losing the interest of men to orcs. ”
“They will intercept?”
The floating dots of light descended.
Andre got to his feet. “I’m afraid so.”
The will-o’-wisps rushed toward the men like a swarm of fireflies—and flew past them. Toward the orcs.
A hundred feet from them, the lights winked out one by one as the pixies materialized as young, scantily dressed men of ravishing beauty.
Farigoth’s laughter boomed across the glade. He got up, putting a heavy hand on Andre’s shoulder. “It appears your kind has gotten competition.”
“The pixies are coming for the orcs.”
“You sound surprised. It should not shock you. Orcs are very good at pleasure too.” Farigoth glanced at Andre.
“Oh, don’t worry. There are enough of us.
I’ve brought three orcs for every unmated man in the glade.
Your kind can share with the pixies. And there are plenty of orcs across the river, and countless more in our homeland of Oordoon.
Every man who wants to be mated to an orc will be. ”
The pixies reached the orcs, mingling, finding a couple each to topple them in the grass. The men weren’t far behind, shyer than the pixies but no less eager, seeking to sate their needs after a night of watching their countrymen brought to unimaginable highs.
As the first orgy of the night ended, a second began. Andre watched from afar, Farigoth’s arms wrapped around him. An unfamiliar sensation fluttered through his abdomen, and Andre placed a protective hand on his belly.