Captured By the Orc Ch. 20

Chapter 20: Helpful Mates

A week passed by and, while waiting for Hazel's signal, Samson's days fell into a routine. As soon as the sun came up, Dalthu would drop Samson off at Shakil's hut. Samson would then spend the day exploring the village or playing with Ulam and the other orclings. In the evenings, he would return to Dalthu's hut and eat and drink with Adora and other orc mates until he fell asleep. When he opened his eyes in the morning, Dalthu would be back by his side and they would repeat the whole thing over again.

During this time Samson learned many things. He learned that every morning Dalthu would find a way to give him a present. One day, after he'd noticed that Samson's feet were blistered from his old shoes, Dalthu showed up with a pair of soft leather sandals and honey-scented ointment. On other mornings it would be flowers. Or a dressing robe with a tiger embroidered magnificently on the back. Or a decadent piece of fudge that was so rich he'd only managed a bite before giving the rest to Ulam.

Samson also learned that the orc mates were so treasured that it was considered shameful if your mate was unsatisfied. And, other than Hazel, none of the other mates seemed unsatisfied. On the contrary, Adora's friends all loved to gossip and boast about their respective mates and how they treated them. This evening was no different and Adora was crowing about the Mating Day gift that Shakil had given her.

"I'll tell you this much," she waggled her head back and forth so the pink gem earrings glistened in the candlelight. "I earned these. These last few nights it was like Shakil was trying to break my back."

"I know what you mean. Razan's favorite position requires that I stretch for at least an hour before bed."

"At least yours are only physical. I'm wearing myself out trying to come up with new scenarios for my plays with Kopitar. The last time I was an elf hunter and he was a dire boar, and I chased him around the hut while he snorted. I'm seriously running low on ideas."

"How about you, Samson?" Conroy asked. Conroy was a slender young man with curly blond hair who had recently become the mate of an orc named Vigs. "What is the fearsome Dalthu like in bed?"

Samson thought back to that night in the center of the village. "Like a beast," he said, and threw back the remnants of his cup.

One of the other mates, a young brunette woman named Cicily, squealed. "I knew it! My Arthon is the same, just a brute, you know? He says he can't help it, that he just loses all sense when he sees me, and, well, how can I stay mad when he says things like that?" Her face flushed a pretty shade of pink.

"I, ah, don't think Samson likes it as much as you do, Cici."

"Have you told him what you like?" Adora's smile was serene, but her gaze was sharp.

Samson gave a derisive laugh.

Why would an orc listen or care what I think?

"Next time he tries to mount you, Samson, just kick his balls. That'll get his attention."

"Wait, but what if he's into that?"

The mates turned to Samson expectantly.

"Um, I don't think he is. I mean," Samson shifted in his seat, "the one time we did it was violent, but not for him."

"One time?"

Samson nodded. "Yes, the one time after the Mak'gora."

The room went still.

"Hold on, you two haven't done it at all since then?"

Samson shook his head. The mates passed silent glances back and forth. "What? What is it?"

Conroy puckered his lips. "Erm, well, it's just—"

"It's just surprising, you know, because I was told that newly mated orcs are just insatiable, you know, that it has to do with the mating ritual and that it's the goddess's way of ensuring offspring. You know, my Arthon said that it feels just like blood lust."

Conroy nodded. "I used to raise goats in my village, and in the fall all the bucks would go wild. That's how Vigs was when we first mated."

"So, it's just surprising, yes, surprising that he, well Dalthu, hasn't done anything, you know? It doesn't make sense, does it?"

The room fell silent.

"Maybe he's getting it somewhere else?" Conroy muttered.

Adora slapped his arm. "Sha! Why would you say that?"

"What? He's a man, isn't he? Doesn't matter what shape his ears are."

Now that Samson thought about it, for all the teasing and touching Dalthu did to him on their way to the village, the orc didn't seem very bothered by the sudden abstinence. A sudden ache gnawed in his belly.

Conroy coughed and patted Samson on the knee. "Don't worry, Samson, I'm sure there's a very good reason he hasn't been interested."

"I'm not worried," Samson said a little too loudly.

The room went silent again.

"Maybe he's masturbating?" Cicily suggested brightly. "Like, constantly?"

An image of Dalthu sneaking off to masturbate for the entire day suddenly sprung into Samson's head. He snorted into his cup of wine and the tension in the room relaxed. The other mates joined in laughing.

"That's right, this subject is ridiculous," Adora said, taking command. "Let's talk about something else, hm?"

The rest of the mates nodded and hummed in agreement.

"Um, well, I suppose I have some news," Cicily smiled shyly. "It seems as though Arthon and I are expecting."

All the mates shouted for joy and crowded around Cicily. Adora playfully scolded her for holding back the news while the others begged to see her mark. Samson peeked over the crowd as Cicily proudly lifted the hem of her shirt. It was the mark. The same mark that Samson received that day in the Temple of the Goddess, but . . .

Hers looks different from mine.

Cicily's mark was not like the rays of the sun, but rather it was a solid oval shape. Like an egg. Samson unconsciously placed his hand over his lower belly as Cicily told them she would be expecting in the springtime.

The rest of the night passed quickly after that, and soon all the other mates had left for the evening and it was just Adora and Samson left.

"It is impressive you know," she said, pouring the last drop of wine into her cup. "That Dalthu hasn't touched you."

"I thought we decided he was off masturbating?"

Adora laughed. "Even if that were true, it's still impressive. For you as well."

"What do you mean?"

"The ritual doesn't just affect the orcs, Samson. I remember very well when I was newly marked." She gave Samson a shrewd look over the top of her cup. "How are you holding up?"

Samson's neck grew hot. It was true that his libido had been raging since the ritual. Hiding his morning erection from Dalthu had become more and more difficult.

"It's like an itch," Samson murmured, pressing his hand against the mark on his lower belly. "Every day the itch grows stronger and no matter what I do I can't reach it." He scowled at his blonde companion. "It feels like I've been cursed."

A knowing smile spread across Adora's face. "Seems I was right to bring this then." She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a round object.

An egg?

"Meet your new friend," she said, holding it up to Samson's face. Up close he saw the object was made out of finely polished wood, with a surface as smooth as glass and a curled leather tail sprouting from the tapered end.

"What's it for?"

"Scratching that itch," Adora said, proudly. "This part . . ." she shook the egg and then pointed between Samson's legs, "goes inside."

Inside? What does she—oh.

Samson's cheeks flushed and Adora giggled. "Don't act so shy, Samson. Now, where do you keep the pleasure oil?"

"Over there on the tab—wait, we're doing this now?!"

"No time like the present, Samson," Adora smirked as she drizzled some oil onto the egg.

Samson threw his hands up as the blond minx sidled her way over to him with the dripping toy. "W--wait, um, I don't—I mean, I'd rather—"

Adora shrugged and handed the toy to Samson. "As you wish," she said and sauntered to the door. Looking back over her shoulder, she tossed Samson a mischievous wink. "I will expect a report later . . . in full detail." And with that, the hurricane named Adora left the hut.

Finally alone, Samson examined the egg in his hand. Some of the oil trickled down to his fingers as torchlight danced across its slick surface like a nymph at a bacchanal.

Dalthu won't be back until late. Perhaps if I—

Samson shook his head.

What am I thinking? I should just put it away and go to bed. That's what I should do.

However, the deep itch in his core pulsed with excitement. It was as if Samson's body instinctively knew that he was holding pleasure in his hand and urged him not to put it down. Samson chewed his lower lip.

It was a gift. It would be bad manners to not use a gift.

Samson rolled over onto his stomach and reached back with his free hand to spread himself open.

I'll just try it. If I don't like it, I'll stop right away.

He brought the egg back and pushed the tapered end up against his opening.

"Ah!" Samson gasped as a sudden burst of pleasure shot through his body.

It feels good!

Samson pressed again, reveling in the stretch like a glutton until the bottom slipped inside of him. He groaned, delighting in the perverse sensation of fullness. He pulled on the tail which angled the tip of the egg upward and pushed against the secret place inside him.

"Mmmm," Samson bit his lip as he moaned into the mattress.

Almost.

It almost reached the spot. The spot that his captor had plundered, again and again, rendering him helpless. The spot that made him forget everything but Dalthu's arms. Samson gritted his teeth. He couldn't reach it himself. He ground his pelvis against the hide blanket, the friction providing a momentary respite for his frustration.

So close . . .

CLANG!

Samson spun over. Dalthu was staring, wide-eyed, at him from the doorway. The orc had dropped his shovel on the floor, knocking dirt all over the entryway. Dalthu's eyes drifted down, first to Samson's exposed dick, then to the curly tail sticking out from between his cheeks.

"Little tiger," he said, swallowing hard. "You are full of surprises. . ."

* * *

Samson whipped the blankets over his body. "What are you doing here?!"

Dalthu blinked. "This . . . this is my hut."

"Ah, right." Samson wiggled his legs. "Well, then, why are you covered in dirt—mmph," he whimpered as his insides clenched around the egg.

Dalthu's eyes darkened and he stepped toward the bed. Samson's stomach flipped. He knew that look.

Samson scrambled backward, dragging the blanket with him. "Dalthu?" His captor got down on all fours and began crawling after him. "Dalthu, stop!"

Ignoring his protests, Dalthu grabbed Samson's ankle, pulling him toward him. Samson looked down and saw the orc's erection pushing out of the loincloth. Panic gripped Samson and he lashed out violently. "I said STOP!"

CRACK!

Samson's free foot connected solidly against Dalthu's jaw and the orc's head snapped to the side. His captor froze.

Oh shit.

"I--I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

"Again."

"What?"

"Hit me again!"

Samson leaned forward and slapped Dalthu across the face. His palm stung.

"Harder."

Samson curled his hand into a fist and punched the orc square in the face. It made a satisfying sound and Dalthu grunted in surprise. Worry quickly replaced exhilaration and Samson leaned away from his orc captor. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," Dalthu said, massaging his jaw. "I promised myself that, after that night, I would never frighten you again. And here I am doing it again."

Dalthu smiled sadly, and Samson fought against a rush of sympathy for the golden-eyed warrior. "I wasn't that scared," he pouted, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "You just startled me, that's all."

Dalthu's eyebrows rose. "I could say the same, little tiger," he said, giving a pointed look toward Samson's nether region. "Is that what you've been up to this whole time I've been away?"

"Of course not," Samson sputtered.

Damn you, Adora. This is all your fault.

"Well, w--what about you? Hm? What have you been doing all this time?" Samson jutted his chin forward in challenge.

A corner of the orc's mouth twitched. "Shall I show you?" Dalthu rose and offered his hand.

Samson leaned forward to take it but was immediately reminded of why he had been in bed in the first place. A spike of pleasure shot through him and, unprepared, allowed a soft moan to slip out. Warmth flooded his cheeks.

"Ah, perhaps you'd like to finish what you started?" Dalthu asked innocently.

"Turn around . . . you—you festering pile of demon dung."

The orc chortled and obeyed, turning his back to Samson. "So," he drawled, "where did you get that fascinating object?"

"Guess." Samson fumbled under the blankets, reaching for the tail. He grabbed it and gave it a tug. Big mistake. The sound that came out of him was shockingly erotic. Samson peeked over at his captor. The muscles in Dalthu's broad shoulders stiffened, but the orc remained where he was.

"I, ah, don't suppose the culprit has blond hair?" the orc coughed.

Samson clenched his jaw and tried again, pulling more gently. His insides pulsed around the egg, resisting its departure. Samson stifled another moan. "Mhmm."

Dalthu reached up and gripped the wooden doorframe. "And, and brown eyes?" The orc's voice was high and breathy.

Brown?

"Blue actually," Samson corrected absentmindedly. The egg was nearly at the widest point. His fingers trembled as he gripped the tail. "Her eyes are blue. Mine are brown."

Dalthu gave a strangled grunt in reply.

Almost there.

Samson braced himself, took a deep breath, and pulled. The toy pushed his sphincter open and then popped out. The sudden expansion sent Samson reeling and he buried his head in the blankets, crying out in delight.

CRACK!

The wooden doorframe that Dalthu was holding had splintered. "Are you done?" The orc's voice was raspy.

"Yeah," Samson sniffed. He thought he heard Dalthu mutter "thank the goddess" before turning around. The orc's smile was forced, but his eyes were still brilliant gold.

"Can you walk?"

Samson nodded as he struggled to extricate himself from the mess of blankets. Getting to his feet, he held the linens around his privates while looking for where his tunic had ended up.

However, Dalthu's patience was at an end. In one swift movement, the orc spun the blankets around Samson like a cocoon, lifted him into his arms, and carried a now-stunned Samson out of the hut into the cool night air.

To be continued . . .