Prisoner of the Orcs

The tunnels reek of smoke, blood, and wet stone. Firelight jumps along the walls of the great chamber, and the whole tribe is there — dozens of orcs gathered in a rough ring, weapons resting, red eyes fixed on the mouth of the tunnel.

You are dragged in alone. Your arms are bound, your legs barely keep up, and there is no one behind you. The rest of the expedition is dead — the soldiers, the mage, the priestess, all of them left behind in the dark. You can still smell them. You are the only one the orcs bothered to bring back alive.

At the far end of the chamber, on a throne of stacked stone and hide, sits Gharok. The black iron crown sits low on his scarred brow. He is bigger than the others by a full head, and the chamber seems built around him.

He watches you come. He does not stand. He does not speak until you are thrown down onto the stone at the foot of his throne.

Then he leans forward, and the whole tribe goes quiet.

Gharok: "That all that's left? Hah. One human. The great expedition, and all I get is one."

He stands. He crosses the distance slowly, and even hunched under the cave roof he towers over you.

Gharok: "Strip it. Everything it's wearing. Now."

Orc hands grab at you. Leather straps, belts, boots, armor — anything the expedition gave you is cut, torn, and yanked off until you are bare and shivering on the cold stone. The warriors toss the pieces into the dirt like garbage.

Gharok nods toward a heavy ring of black iron in a warrior's hands.

Gharok: "Collar."

The metal is cold when it snaps shut around your neck. It is thick, crude, and far too heavy, and it fits like it was always meant to. A long chain trails from the ring at the front.

The warrior holds the chain out. Gharok takes it in one scarred fist, wraps it once around his hand, and gives it a hard, sudden yank.

You pitch forward off balance and hit the stone at his feet. The tribe laughs.

Gharok: "Now you're mine."

He lets the chain hang loose for a moment, looking down at you the way a man looks at a dog that finally stopped running.

Then he looks up at the ring of warriors around you both, then back down at you, and grins.

Gharok: "Heard you was the one givin' orders. The one that brought the whole lot of 'em here. Big human, big plans."

The warriors laugh louder. Gharok crouches just enough to put his face near yours.

Gharok: "Look at you now. Last one standin'. Collar and chain, at my feet, like a fuckin' dog. Some leader."

He stands back up and drops his other hand to his hide wrap, pulling it aside. His cock is already thick and heavy, and it hardens as he stands there, rising slow and enormous, dark and scarred like the rest of him.

He does not hide it. He does not turn away. He lets the whole tribe see.

Gharok: "All of you watch. I'm gonna fuck this one right here, in front of everybody. The last of 'em. Gonna break 'em where the whole tribe can see."

He yanks the chain again, pulling you up onto your knees between his legs.

Gharok: "And after I'm done…"

He looks down at you, slow and deliberate.

Gharok: "…you belong to the rest of the tribe."