8
The great hall reeked of roasted meat and spilled ale and the thick, animal musk of two dozen orc warriors packed shoulder to shoulder.
Torches blazed in iron sconces along the walls, their flames reflected in the dark sheen of sweat on green hide.
The long table was heaped with the spoils of a successful raid—whole boars crackling on spits, wheels of hard cheese, clay jugs of fermented milk that smelled like sour earth.
The clan was in high spirits, their laughter shaking the stone, their tusked mouths tearing into meat with primal abandon.
Beneath the table, Erik crawled on his hands and knees.
The stone floor was cold and gritty, streaked with spilled grease and puddles of ale.
His collar chafed with every movement, the chain dragging behind him like a tail.
The stone plug was still inside him—Krag had refused to remove it—and every shuffle forward sent a jolt of pressure through his guts, a constant reminder of how stretched he was, how ready.
He could hear the orcs above him. Their voices were a thunderstorm of growls and grunts, their boots stamping the floor inches from his fingers.
He could smell them too—the thick, sour reek of unwashed bodies, the iron tang of blood from the raid, the heady musk of their groins.
His cock, dangling between his thighs, was already hard and leaking.
Krag's voice cut through the din. "Under the table, little whore. Serve my warriors. Show them what that mouth can do."
Erik moved toward the first pair of boots he saw.
The orc attached to them was massive—thighs like tree trunks, a belly hard with muscle, a loincloth that barely contained the bulge beneath.
He glanced down as Erik approached, his yellow eyes gleaming with interest. "Krag's pet," he rumbled, his voice like gravel.
"Heard you were trained. Let's see if it's true. "
He spread his thighs and pulled aside his loincloth.
His cock sprang free—thick, green, already half-hard, the foreskin retracting to reveal a glans slick with pre-come.
The smell hit Erik like a wave: salt and sweat and days-old piss, the raw, unfiltered scent of an orc who hadn't washed since the last raid.
Erik's mouth watered.
He leaned in and ran his tongue up the underside of the shaft, tracing the thick vein that pulsed beneath the skin. The orc grunted, his hand fisting in Erik's hair. "Fuck. That's a warm tongue for a pink-skin."
"Thank you, warrior," Erik murmured against the shaft. "May I serve you?"
"Serve me? Fucking serve me?" The orc laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Yeah, little whore. Serve me."
Erik took the cock into his mouth.
It was thicker than Krag's—not as long, but wider, stretching his jaw until it ached.
He worked it deeper, flattening his tongue, breathing through his nose the way Krag had taught him.
The head hit the back of his throat, and he swallowed, letting the muscles of his esophagus open around the intrusion.
"Glrk—" The sound was wet and obscene, but he didn't gag. He took it. All of it.
The orc groaned, his hips bucking. "Fucking hells. Krag wasn't lying. This human's throat is like a cunt."
Erik bobbed his head, fucking his own throat on the orc's cock.
Spit dripped down his chin, pooled on the stone beneath him.
Above, he could hear the other warriors laughing, could hear Krag's voice saying something he couldn't make out.
It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the cock in his mouth, the taste of orc flesh, the weight of the plug in his ass.
The orc didn't warn him. One moment Erik was sucking, the next a hot, bitter stream was flooding his mouth. Piss. The orc was pissing directly into his throat.
"Drink it, pink-skin whore. Drink every drop."
Erik swallowed. The piss was stronger than Krag's—sharper, more acidic, burning slightly as it went down. But he drank it. He gulped it down in long, desperate swallows, his throat working around the shaft, and when the stream finally tapered off, he pulled back and licked the piss-slit clean.
"Thank you, warrior," he said, his voice hoarse. "Thank you for your piss."
The orc stared at him, something like awe flickering in his yellow eyes. "Fuck me. Krag really did break you."
Erik was already moving to the next warrior. And the next.
He sucked cock after cock under that table, his jaw aching, his throat raw.
The orcs were rough—they grabbed his hair, yanked his head onto their shafts, slapped his face when he wasn't fast enough.
They called him "human cocksleeve," "pink-skin whore," "Krag's little flesh-hole.
" They pissed in his mouth without warning—some while he was sucking, some before he'd even started, aiming the stream at his open lips and laughing when he drank it down.
And Erik drank. Every time. He thanked each one, his voice growing raspier with every load of piss he swallowed. His belly was distended with it, sloshing when he moved, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. This was what he was for.
Then Krag's voice boomed above him. "Enough. Bring him up."
Hands reached under the table—rough, calloused hands—and hauled Erik into the light.
He blinked, blinded by the torches, his face slick with spit and piss and pre-come.
The orcs had cleared the center of the table, shoving aside platters and jugs to make room.
Krag stood at the head, his golden eyes blazing with pride.
"The final course," he announced, and the clan roared.
Erik was laid on his back on the table, his legs dangling over the edge. The wood was sticky with spilled ale and meat grease, and the orcs crowded around him, their massive bodies blocking out the torchlight. Krag reached between Erik's legs and grasped the base of the stone plug.
"Time to take this out. You won't need it anymore tonight."
He pulled. The plug slid out with a wet, sucking pop, and Erik's hole gaped open—a dark, wet chasm that fluttered uselessly, stretched so wide the warriors could see inside him. A trickle of the morning's grease leaked out, slicking his thighs.
"Fuck," one of the orcs breathed. "Look at that hole. You could fit a fist in there."
"You will," Krag said. "But first—who wants his throat?"
A scarred orc with a missing tusk pushed forward. "I do."
He climbed onto the table, straddling Erik's chest, and fed his cock into Erik's waiting mouth. Erik took it easily, his throat opening like a second cunt, and the orc groaned as he sank to the hilt.
Behind him, another orc was positioning himself between Erik's legs. Erik couldn't see him—his vision was filled with the scarred orc's belly, the thatch of coarse hair at the base of his cock—but he felt the blunt head press against his gaping hole.
"Ready, pink-skin?"
Erik couldn't answer. His mouth was full. But he moaned around the shaft in his throat, and the orc behind him took that as a yes.
The cock slammed into his ass in one brutal thrust.
Erik screamed—a muffled, strangled sound that vibrated around the cock in his throat.
His belly bulged instantly, the outline of the orc's shaft visible through his taut skin.
The fullness was overwhelming: a cock in his throat, a cock in his ass, his body impaled from both ends.
He was nothing but a hole. A vessel. A warm, wet place for orcs to fuck.
They found a rhythm—the scarred orc fucking his throat while the other pounded his ass.
Erik's body rocked between them, his own cock bouncing untouched against his stomach, leaking a steady stream of pre-come.
The bulge in his belly shifted with every thrust from behind, a thick, rolling ridge that the watching orcs pointed at and laughed.
"Look at that! You can see my cock moving inside him!"
"Fuck, he's stretched so wide. I want a turn."
"Get in line. I'm next for that ass."
The scarred orc in his throat came first—a hot, thick flood that Erik swallowed automatically, his throat milking the shaft.
The orc pulled out, and Erik gasped for air, strings of come and spit connecting his lips to the retreating cock.
But he didn't have time to recover. Another orc was already taking his place, this one thicker, forcing Erik's jaw even wider.
They switched. And switched again. The orc in his ass pulled out, and Erik's hole gaped, leaking a flood of come, before another cock slammed home.
At one point, two orcs tried to fit in his ass at once, their massive shafts pressing together against his stretched rim.
Erik screamed as they forced their way in, his hole tearing slightly, a thin trickle of blood mixing with the come and grease.
But even the pain was pleasure, and he begged for more.
"Please—please, more—fill me—use me—"
The orcs came on his face, in his hair, on his chest. They painted him with thick ropes of green-tinged seed until his skin was coated, until his eyes were glued shut, until he was drowning in the smell of orc come. And then they pissed on him.
It started with one warrior—a young orc with a fresh scar across his chest—who climbed onto the table and aimed his cock at Erik's come-slicked face. "Open your mouth, whore."
Erik opened his mouth. The piss hit his tongue, hot and bitter, and he swallowed.
But the orc didn't stop there. He hosed Erik down, spraying his chest, his stomach, his cock.
Another orc joined him, then another, until Erik was lying in a pool of piss and come, golden streams crisscrossing his body from a half-dozen cocks.
"Marked," Krag's voice boomed. "Marked as clan property. He belongs to all of us now."
Erik laughed. A broken, giddy sound. He was covered in filth, his body wrecked, his hole gaping and leaking, and he had never been happier in his life.
But it wasn't over.
Krag pushed through the crowd, his massive frame parting the other orcs like a ship's prow. His cock was fully erect, jutting out from his groin, the foreskin pulled back, pre-come drooling from the slit. He climbed onto the table and positioned himself between Erik's legs.
"You've been used by my whole clan," he growled, pressing the head of his cock against Erik's ruined hole. "But you're still mine. Say it."
"I'm yours, Master." Erik's voice was barely a whisper, his throat destroyed. "Yours. Always yours."
Krag slammed home.
Even after everything—after the fisting, the plug, the gang of orc cocks—Krag still stretched him.
The fullness was different: familiar, possessive, a claiming that went beyond the physical.
Erik's belly bulged one final time, the outline of Krag's shaft pressing up against his skin, and the clan cheered as Krag began to fuck him.
"Take it," Krag growled, his hips pounding. "Take my seed. Take my claim. You're mine, little thief. No matter how many cocks fill you, you're mine."
"Yes—yes—yours—"
Krag's rhythm became frantic, his thrusts harder, deeper.
Erik felt the familiar swell of the orc's cock, the pulse that preceded his release, and then Krag was coming—a massive, seemingly endless flood that filled Erik's guts and overflowed, gushing out around the shaft, pooling on the table beneath him.
The heat of it, the sheer volume, pushed Erik over the edge.
His untouched cock erupted, spraying thin, watery come across his own chest, and he screamed Krag's name until his voice gave out.
When it was over, Krag pulled out and stood back. Erik lay on the table, his body a canvas of come and piss and sweat. His hole gaped, a flood of green-tinged seed leaking out of him, puddling on the wood. His face was crusted with drying come, his hair matted, his lips swollen. And he was smiling.
The clan raised their horns in a toast. "To Krag's pet! The finest whore in Orcdom!"
Erik closed his eyes and let the roar of their voices wash over him. He was nothing. He was everything. He was exactly where he belonged.