5
The iron door groaned open.
Erik's head snapped up, his body jerking awake from a half-doze that had been more fever dream than sleep. The torches had burned low, their flames guttering in pools of their own wax, but the light was enough to silhouette the massive figure filling the doorway.
Krag.
The orc stepped into the chamber, and the smell of him hit Erik first—that thick, masculine musk he'd come to crave—followed by the sound of his breathing, slow and deep, and then the sight of him in full. He was carrying a clay jug in one hand, water sloshing against the rim.
Erik tried to speak, but his throat was a desert. His lips cracked when he parted them. "M-Master—"
"Quiet." Krag set the jug on the stone block where Erik had been bent over hours—a lifetime—ago. "You look like shit, little thief. Dried come on your face. Piss in your hair. Lips chapped." He crouched, his knees cracking, and tilted his head. "Thirsty?"
Erik nodded frantically, his chain rattling.
Krag cupped his hand and poured water into it from the jug.
He held it out—not to Erik's lips, but a few inches away, forcing him to lean forward, straining against the chain, to lap at the pool of water in the orc's palm.
Erik drank like a dog, his tongue splashing, water running down his chin.
It was lukewarm and faintly dusty, and it was the best thing he'd ever tasted.
"More," he gasped when Krag's hand was empty.
Krag poured another handful. This time, when Erik leaned in, Krag let the water spill through his fingers onto the floor. "Lick it up."
Erik didn't hesitate. He dropped to his belly, pressing his tongue to the wet stone, lapping up the water and the grit and the faint residue of his own dried come from earlier. Krag watched him, golden eyes gleaming.
"Look at you. Less than a day in my dungeon and you're licking water off the floor like a trained bitch." He poured more water directly onto the stone, a thin stream that Erik chased with his tongue. "Do you still want my cock, little whore? Or has a night on the cold floor cooled you off?"
Erik's head came up, water dripping from his chin.
His voice, when he found it, was raw and desperate.
"Yes. Yes, Master, please. I haven't thought about anything else.
I've been lying here all night, aching for you.
I need it. I need your cock inside me. Please, Krag—please fuck me.
I'll do anything. I'll be anything. Just please—"
Krag's grin was slow and terrible and beautiful. "That's what I wanted to hear."
He unhooked the chain from the floor ring with one sharp yank, then hauled Erik to his feet by the scruff of his neck.
Erik's legs were numb, useless, and he stumbled against the orc's massive body, his cheek pressing into the hot, scarred hide of Krag's chest. The contact sent a jolt through him, his cock—already half-hard from the water, the begging, the sheer presence of the orc—stiffening fully.
Krag dragged him across the chamber, past the stone altar, through a low archway Erik hadn't noticed before.
The room beyond was smaller, warmer, lit by a single brazier that cast dancing shadows on the walls.
And at its center was a bed—a massive pallet of furs and hides, big enough for an orc twice Krag's size, smelling of sweat and smoke and the deep, primal scent of its owner.
Krag threw him onto it.
Erik landed on his back, bouncing on the furs, his chain rattling.
He scrambled onto his elbows, looking up at Krag as the orc climbed onto the bed, his massive frame blotting out the firelight.
The orc's cock was already hard, jutting out from his groin, the foreskin pulled back to reveal the glistening, purple-green head.
Pre-come drooled from the slit in a thick, steady stream.
"You wanted this," Krag growled, positioning himself between Erik's thighs. "You begged for it. Now you're going to take it. All of it. Every fucking inch."
He grabbed Erik's legs and pushed them up, folding the human nearly in half, his knees pressed to his chest. Erik's hole was exposed, still slick from the spit and come of hours before, still slightly gaped from Krag's fingers.
The orc spat directly onto it—a thick glob that made Erik gasp—and then the blunt head of his cock was pressing against the entrance.
"Wait—" Erik's eyes went wide. Up close, the cock was even bigger than he remembered. Impossible. "Krag, it's too big, it won't—"
"It will." Krag's voice was iron. "And you're going to watch."
He pushed.
Erik screamed.
The head of Krag's cock forced its way inside him, and the stretch was beyond anything Erik had ever imagined.
His rim burned, a white-hot ring of fire, and his body tried desperately to reject the intrusion.
But Krag kept pushing, steady and relentless, and Erik felt himself opening, felt his inner walls parting to accommodate the impossible girth.
"Fuuuuck," Krag groaned, his hips inching forward. "Still so fucking tight. Your hole is strangling my cock, little thief. You feel that? You feel me splitting you open?"
Erik couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. His mouth was open in a silent scream, his eyes rolling back, his fingers clawing at the furs beneath him.
The pressure was immense—a fullness that bordered on agony—but beneath it, buried under the burn, was a pleasure so deep it made his cock twitch and leak.
"Look down," Krag commanded. "Look at your belly."
Erik forced his eyes open and looked.
And there it was. A bulge. A thick, obscene ridge pushing up against the skin of his stomach, moving as Krag inched deeper.
The outline of the orc's cock was visible through his flesh—the flare of the glans, the thick vein running along the shaft—and Erik watched, mesmerized, as it traveled higher with every inch Krag fed into him.
"Oh gods," he whimpered. "Oh gods, it's—I can see it—"
"You can feel it too." Krag grabbed Erik's hand and pressed it against his own belly, forcing him to feel the bulge from the outside. "Touch it. Feel my cock moving inside you. Feel how deep I am."
Erik's fingers traced the ridge through his skin. He could feel the heat of it, the hardness, the faint pulse of Krag's heartbeat. He pressed down, and the pressure sent a bolt of pleasure straight to his own cock, which was drooling pre-come onto his stomach.
"Nnngh—fuck—Krag—"
"That's it." Krag pulled back, the bulge retreating, then thrust forward again, deeper this time. The bulge pushed higher, nearly to Erik's navel. "Take it. Take all of it. I'm going to fuck you so deep you'll taste me in your throat."
He set a rhythm—slow at first, brutal thrusts that buried him to the hilt and made Erik's belly distend obscenely.
Each stroke forced a grunt from Erik's lips, a punched-out sound that was half pain and half ecstasy.
His body was adjusting, stretching to accommodate the impossible size, and with every thrust the burn faded a little more and the pleasure grew.
"Fuck me," Erik gasped, his voice cracking. "Harder. Please, Master, fuck me harder."
Krag's tusks gleamed. "Greedy whore."
He flipped Erik onto his stomach. The movement pulled his cock out with a wet squelch, and Erik's hole gaped for a moment, empty and aching, before Krag mounted him from behind.
The orc's weight pressed him into the furs, that massive chest against his back, those powerful thighs bracketing his own.
Krag's cock found his hole again and slammed home in one brutal thrust.
Erik screamed into the furs.
This position was deeper, more animalistic.
Krag's hips pounded against his ass with wet, meaty slaps, and Erik could feel the orc's heavy balls swinging against his own with each thrust. Krag's breath was hot on the back of his neck, his tusks grazing Erik's shoulders, and then his teeth closed on the meat of Erik's trapezius—not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to hold him in place, to claim him.
"You're mine," Krag growled around his mouthful of flesh. "This hole is mine. This body is mine. I'm going to breed you, little thief. I'm going to pump you so full of orc seed it'll be leaking out of you for days."
"Yes," Erik sobbed, his cock trapped between his belly and the furs, rubbing against the rough hide with every thrust. "Yes, breed me, fill me, make me yours—"
Krag's pace increased, a punishing rhythm that drove Erik's face into the furs.
The sounds were obscene—the wet squelch of Erik's stretched hole, the slap of skin on skin, Krag's guttural grunts and Erik's broken moans.
The orc's cock was a piston, driving deeper and deeper, and Erik could feel it in his throat, just like Krag had promised, a pressure at the back of his gag reflex.
Then Krag pulled out.
Erik whimpered at the sudden emptiness, his hole clenching around nothing, his body aching for more. But before he could protest, Krag flipped him onto his back again and straddled his chest, that massive cock hovering over his face.
"Clean it," Krag commanded. "Taste your own hole on my cock. Taste what I'm going to fuck you with."
Erik opened his mouth, and Krag fed him his own shaft.
The taste flooded his tongue—musk and pre-come and the faint, earthy tang of his own insides.
He sucked greedily, hollowing his cheeks, taking as much of the massive cock into his mouth as he could.
Which wasn't much. The girth stretched his jaw until it ached, and the head pressed against the back of his throat, triggering his gag reflex.
"Glrk—" Erik choked, spit bubbling around the shaft, but Krag didn't pull back.
"Take it deeper. I know you can."
Krag's hips thrust forward, and the cock slid into Erik's throat.
His airway closed. His vision spotted. His hands flew up to Krag's thighs, not pushing away but clinging, his nails digging into the green hide.
Krag fucked his throat in short, brutal strokes, and Erik gagged and choked and drooled, his face a mess of spit and tears and pre-come.
"Fuck, your throat is almost as tight as your hole," Krag groaned. "I could fuck your face all night. But I'm not done with your ass."
He pulled out, a thick string of saliva connecting Erik's lips to the head of his cock, and then he was moving down Erik's body, flipping him onto his side, lifting one leg, and slamming back into his hole in one fluid motion.
Erik screamed.
This angle was different—deeper somehow, Krag's cock hitting something inside him that made stars burst behind his eyes. The bulge in his belly was back, more pronounced than ever, and Krag grabbed Erik's hand again, forcing him to feel it.
"You feel that? That's my cock rearranging your guts. That's what you were made for. Not thieving. Not adventuring. This. Taking orc cock. Being a warm hole for me to fuck."
"Yes," Erik sobbed, his own cock bouncing untouched against his stomach, leaking a steady stream of pre-come. "Yes, yes, yes—"
Krag's rhythm became erratic, his thrusts harder, faster, more desperate. His breathing was ragged, his growls deepening into something primal. "Gonna fill you," he grunted. "Gonna pump you full. Gonna breed this tight little hole. Take it, whore. Take my seed."
Erik felt it—felt Krag's cock swell even larger inside him, felt the first hot pulse of come flood his insides.
The sensation pushed him over the edge. His own orgasm ripped through him, untouched, his cock erupting in thick white ropes that splattered across his chest and the bulge in his belly.
He screamed Krag's name, his body convulsing around the massive shaft, his hole milking the orc's cock as it pumped load after load of hot, thick seed into him.
Krag kept coming. And coming. Erik felt his belly distend further, the bulge growing as the orc's come filled him, as the sheer volume of it had nowhere to go.
It gushed out around Krag's cock, a thick, green-tinged flood that pooled on the furs beneath them, but Krag kept thrusting, fucking his seed deeper, growling about breeding and claiming and owning.
When it was finally over, Krag collapsed on top of him, his weight pressing Erik into the soaked furs.
His cock was still buried inside, still half-hard, still plugging the flood of come that wanted to escape.
Erik lay there, trembling, his mind a blank white void of pleasure and pain and utter, complete surrender.
"Master," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Master, I—"
"Shh." Krag's hand, rough and huge, stroked his hair. "You did good, little thief. You took all of it. You're mine now. Truly mine."
And Erik, broken and remade, believed him.