Dirty Deals in Azeroth

"You sit in front of me," Zahrine was instructed upon arriving at the enormous orc's feet. With a half-dazed, whole-broken look on her face, the disgraced shadow priestess watched as the orc hefted his impressive pipe by the base and began showering her with a warm, but unfamiliar liquid. It was salty, but less viscous than the glue-like orcish spunk that had been filling up her belly. It was the strong, musty aroma that gave it away; Zahrine realized that this orc was pissing on her. She, a warrior that had been honored by the king of Stormwind and a pillar of strength in her guild, was being pissed on by an orc grunt on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

And she was going to sit there and take it without complaint.

Once the soldier had finished relieving himself on her, he relieved himself of her with a wave of his hand. Zahrine turned away, and moved on her hands-and-knees towards a gaggle of orcs standing around a fire they had lit at some point as the day grew to a close. She deposited herself next to them, relaxed back onto her knees with her juicy, thick rump resting on her ankles.

"What you want, meat?" grunted the first orc to even take notice that the girl they spent the evening passing around like a dispensable pleasure object.

Zahrine didn't exactly have an answer to that question ready. Racked with ambivalence, she sat there in silence while considering the options. A part of her wanted a shower. She was sticky with a combination of bodily fluids, both her own and otherwise, and her knees were caked with dirt and mud. A part of her wanted to get on her horse - provided it hadn't left without her - and ride for Dreamer's Rest, where her guild was waiting for her. Another part of her wanted another helping of orc dick, or, rather, another steaming load of orc semen sloshed down into the growing collection of seed in her stomach. That particular 'want,' she could feel, was lust-driven and animalistic. She wanted the rush of gasping back into life with a new batch running down the back of her tongue. Even after fucking her way through every cock in the camp, however, she retained enough of herself to know her mission.

".. my horse. I- I want my horse," Zahrine whispered.

"You pay toll, meat. You get to go," snarled the orc chief with an agreeing nod, " - but you go back with gift."

Zahrine watched with a timid stare - or, what stare she could manage with her face layered in horse tackle spackle - as the overgrown mass of green muscle approached her with a devilish look on his two-fanged face.

***

A torch sparked into life in the darkness of the encampment. Then, another torch. Several more flickering firelights sprung up as the raiding party became aware of the approaching hooves. The dark stallion trotted up carefully to the men walking out to meet it.

"Brought something for us, Justice?" one of the gruff-voiced raiders spoke as he stroked the horse's muzzle. "Someone, maybe?"

The man held aloft his torch up to illuminate the nude form of Zahrine, the raidmaster who was supposed to be leading them onto the fields of battle come sunrise. Her body was littered in graffiti written in the barely-intelligible scrawlings of the orcs who left it. The writing was tapped out onto her skin in the traditional method of orcish tattooing. All in the common tongue, phrases like "meat whore," "worthless," "good for pleasure," and "orc dick slave" were inked on her flesh. A handful of orcish names, presumably for posterity, were also tattooed on Zahrine's naked body slumped over in the saddle.

"Savages did their job as instructed. Can't say that I'm not at least a bit surprised," remarked the man to another member of the detachment. "Poor cunt can't even stay conscious."

"Yeah, that 'ought to take that bitch down a couple notches, huh?" returned the other man.

"We'll have to make sure they get paid. You know how those orcs are about 'paying the toll,' especially when you're hiring them for a delicate job like this."

"That remains to be seen - we hired them to break her down. If she's under the table blowing me tomorrow morning, I say we pay them."

The two men shared in a laugh, and one of them took the reins of the stallion who ferried their 'leader' back to them. The stallion nickered quietly in the dark.