Tabletops and Tablebottoms Ch. 03

Hi. Happy new year. Long time no see. We venture slightly into monsterfucker territory this time around, with orcs. Still mostly human but also...not.

Tabletops and Tablebottoms, 3: Fucked by Two Fighters

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Adventurer! Beware the fighter, who spends his entire life honing his sword arm. While any common squire can pick up a weapon and swing it about, few have such proficiency as a fighter. He might not know his way around a spell, but he knows they take time to cast, and that delay is the difference between his life and your death...

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When your horse catches and breaks his ankle in a rocky crag in the middle of the last place you needed any of that to happen, you start swearing. Kicking yourself mentally. Because it meant that the stablemaster in the last city you'd been in was right.

You stare out at the mostly-barren hills before you; grey and black rock that gives way to angry mountains that claw up from the land. Hardly a tree in sight. These are orc lands. And you are a headstrong greenhorn who was on a fool's errand in these shit-blasted plains. He'd said you should have just caught the next boat. And gotten a shield. All the grains of his unwanted advice begin dancing about in your head as you look at your poor horse.

"Should your horse become lame, or injured," he had said gravely; "you must do it a favour and kill it yourself. Lest you doom it to starving, dehydration, and predation while it lives, and suffers." You gulp back the image of his stern, wrinkled face as it swelled up in your memory, as you look at the horse. It whinnies miserably, its huge eyes going even wider.

For the first time since your adventure started, you draw your sword with a shaky hand, rueing that damn stablemaster. You cannot believe you are about to use your sword for the first time on your horse. With a heavy sigh, you raise your weapon shakily above your head...and stop when you hear it. The thundering. A storm on the horizon?

You whirl your head about, not to find a darkening sky, but a gathering on the horizon of the plains that yawned below the hills where you stood. Your blood chills in your veins as you watch the column swell and come closer, and you can hear the guttural calls of orcs. Horses' hooves knocking against dead, pounded earth. Gut twisting, you see that they were headed your way. You need to hide, now, but with almost no cover in these open, yawning plans, you are out of options.

The orc platoon approaches, and you desperately search the hills behind you, your horse already forgotten about. It whinnies plaintively, its eyes wheeling around as it watches you run from it, your sword still unsheathed.

Some metres away you are able to find an outcropping of rocks that seem to collapse in around themselves. You manage to wriggle yourself in, and the sound of the orc horde is swallowed by the sound of your own heart, beating horrendously in your ears. Time inside your hiding place seems swollen, minutes stretching ever longer as you listen for their approach...and their eventual departure. Fuck. You really should not have come this way.

It was many long minutes later that you stick your head out from the crag. The platoon's horses have taken them far, far to the distance; their rumbling barely registers on your ears now. To your shock, you can still hear your horse braying, whinnying to either be freed from its broken-leg prison or just finally killed. Relief tingles in your veins like fine wine, and you begin to emerge from the rocks.

"...good idea to come back for the horse," came a harsh voice. Orcs!

"We can tie it up in the cart," came another, even deeper, even more masculine voice. "Make good eating for the women back home." There were at least two of them. Your body was sticking halfway out of your hiding place when you caught the sounds of their voices, and when your outer coat snags and yanks you back inside, you land with a thud. Your sword slides out of its scabbard and you hear it clatter against the stone with a sickening rattle sound.

You swallow, and your throat is thick with trepidation. Distantly, but so terrifyingly nearby, the orcs' conversation stops. "What the hell is--" you hear the first, brasher voice say, but the other shushes him with a grunt. The air is still. Silent. You wished you were going to die literally anywhere else but out here in the plains of the orc lands by yourself. All at once, you see a heavy leg appear by the mouth of the crag, and then you are dragged out, feet first, by both orcs. Two heavy hands grip your shoulders, and you are yanked into the harsh light. Your stomach churns as images of your death dance before your eyes.

Pinning you down to the earth, the two orcs stare with questioning eyes at you, then at each other. One of them was dressed in armour of bone and earthy leather, plates stitched together and covering everything but a bulky, well-muscled torso. He looked like your textbook orc: broad shoulders, pronounced muscles, and scrappy armour. A single braid fell over his bulging shoulder; black, like the hairs that raced up out his pants to spray out across his chest.

The other, who seemed much older, wore only a wolf-pelt cloak and simple riding leathers that did very little to hide what was under them. This one was much more hirsute than his companion, with a softer body that had seen many years of battle and toil. A grizzled silver beard made his grimace more fearsome, more ancient. It matched the mats of hair that covered his body.

Both of them were as green as forest moss, the scars of battle riddling their bodies, some painted over with dark red ochre. Perhaps a signifier of their kinship. Though the horrible swords they wore promised death to their foes--or prey--you couldn't deny the stirring in your cock as you took the sight of them in.

"A human!" exclaims the younger of the two. "They're not meant to be in these parts."

"Unless they wish to die," says the older, glowering at you. He grabs the front of your tunic and hoists you up to his face to leer directly at you. Your feet dangle in the air as he examines you with stony eyes. Your eyes watering, you try not to glance at his tusks, idly wondering just how little it would take to pierce an important artery. "He comes with us," says the orc rider finally.

"You're crazy, Gharol--we can't take him back."

"We will make our own camp away from the tribe, Thusk. We haven't done that in a while."

The younger orc's blue eyes seem to glint in joy. "D'you mean it, Gharol?!" He is met with a single nod, and you continue to dangle a full foot off the ground as though you were little more than a scrap of fabric. "I'll get the horse ready!" He scurries away; the older orc sighs just once, and he tosses you like paper back onto the ground. The back of your head meets rock, and curiously, the world spins above you, and goes black.

You come to in the shadow of a rocky outcropping, and it is hours later. Your head is swimming, your innards boiling, but you are alive. For what reason, you have yet to find out, and you realise that you dread the revelation. A small fire burns before you; the red glow lights up the silhouettes of your orc captors. The lifeless form of what was once your horse and is now most likely dinner lies just past them.

You try to wriggle to your feet, but realise--you're bound. Fuck. From somewhere to the distant right of you, your things. The younger orc--Thusk?--hears the sounds of your struggle, and comes over to you, his face glowing with delight. His tusked grin pushes the scarring and war paint up his cheeks, and his eyes dance with mischief. Drifting past his wide maw is the heady smell of liquor.

"He's awake, Gharol," slurs the younger orc, moving haphazardly with his drunkenness. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the mystifying way he moved; the way his battle-hardened body twisted in the firelight. The older orc barely turns to acknowledge the scene. "Can we...you know...?" His dizzy speech was dripping with utmost anticipation, and your mind was pulsating with implications his 'you know' carried.

"Always only thinking about one fucking thing," grunts the orc rider. You notice that by now, he had removed his cloak, and his broad back was turned to you. He spoke with much surety, and you deduce he hadn't been drinking as much as his junior. "If it isn't fighting or eating, it's mating. Fuck's sake, Thusk."

The younger orc surprises you by giggling boyishly. "Can't help it," he says, tittering. "You haven't let me cum in days--weeks, even." Your heart pounded. Were you really hearing this? You tried to will your burgeoning erection away. Maybe they meant to kill you before they fucked, as some kind of weird orcish sex ritual. You didn't know. But still, the thought of being filled with strange orc flesh...made you confusingly excited.

"Oh," says Thusk, taking stock of your appearance, as if for the first time; "should I untie you, chap?"Chap? What the fuck was going on here? He drags a dagger from one of his many sheaths, and cuts loose the bindings, with one hand. With the other, he drags it across your torso, groping you. The young orc is surprisingly tender, calloused and beaten though his hands may be.

"You feel good..." he mutters, a smile creasing his otherwise startling features. He stank. Not just of liquor, but of dust, the sun, horses...and his own musk. Your breath catches in your throat at the sensation. The waves of warm man-scent rolling off of him were thick, and drew you closer into his bleary stare. He continues to grope you, his hands worming their way past the folds of your clothes.

Distantly, you hear Gharol, the older orc, grunt dismissively. But you don't miss the way he has turned now, staring at the scene that unfolded before him with a critical, stoney eye. The curls of silver that covered his broad body seemed to catch fire, and he glowed like a god of a dying star. And you definitely don't miss the stirring in his riding pants.

"Gharol," Thusk says, almost whining, his hands trying to explore every part of your body. "I want to fuck him." The younger orc's fingers find a nipple, and tweak it. A searing twinge of pain gives way to the most delicious tingle you've felt in days. You let out a moan, and he whirls around to look at you. Desperation crossed his face, and his stare was cavernously hungry.

"Not before I do, boy." The older orc levels a hard stare to his junior; the twitching of what you can only guess is heavy orc cock makes the front of his pants dance. "Prepare him. And if you so much as put your boy's cock to his hole, I'll cut it off." Thusk gulps, but is unstoppable in his exploration of you.

Under the older orc rider's weighted stare, Thusk begins to pull your clothes off of you, quickened by his growing lust. He yanks off your cloak, then your coat, then your undershirt with little care, exposing your body to him. And he lets out a moan, his lips pulling back in undisguised desire. He examines you like one does a cut of meat at a market. Your cock throbs in your pants at his penetrating stare.

"Slower," Gharol was mumbling in appraisal. "Make him want it, Thusk. That's the first rule. Yes...." Your eyes wheel about to find the orc rider stroking his broad, furry chest. Though his features sagged with age, you felt a rustle in your cock for him nonetheless. One hand caressed his hairy body; the other stroked up and down the length of his covered orc dick. And he was not slouching in that department.

A gasp tears out of you when you feel Thusk's lips and tongue kiss your belly. Stiff hairs on his chin tickle your skin. "You smell good..." the younger orc moans, his hands drifting down towards your cock. Thusk is shockingly attentive, though you can see his hands and shoulders twitching with anticipation. Like he is fighting the urge to tear off your clothes with his teeth and have you right there. But he is gentler now as he slides your pants and underclothes off your legs.

When your stiff cock flops out of your clothes, your orc captors let out a shared sigh of approval. You blush, in spite of yourself; that these orcs find you at least attractive causes blood to rush more into your cock, and it bounces to attention. Thusk buries his wide, flat nose past your thighs and onto your balls and inhales deeply. "Does he smell good, boy?" you hear Gharol drone, his voice bleary with desire.

"Yes, sir," mutters the younger orc. "He smells so good...he wants it bad...." His tusks poke against your thighs and the sensation makes your hips jerk; your legs splay out of their own accord. Below you, Thusk giggles languorously. You feel hot, hot breath on your balls--and then the wet, warm swipe of his tongue. Your moans echo out into the plains, joined by Thusk's, followed by Gharol's chuckling.

"Human," he says; "you are lucky. Most of your kind that runs into the Black Sun Tribe are killed. Or worse...." And he begins, in his ponderous voice, to list all the horrors a human would find at the hands of orcs. All the while, the younger orc prods your hole with his fingers, working his thick, grooved digits in slowly, as he bathes your sensitive balls in his spit. Aggravatingly, he ignores your cock: your pulsating tool oozes clear strands down to decorate Thusk's face, and he stares up at you with wide, desperate eyes.

He's waiting for him, you realise, your body thrilling with your shared frustration. You really didn't want to piss Gharol off, so you sat there, listening to his oddly arousing story and let Thusk work your balls, taint, and hole. "Yes, good boy, Thusk," he interrupts himself. "You're so hungry. You want his cock. Right?" The younger orc nods feverishly, trailing spit across your nethers. "You can suck it."

Your mind is twisting with all manner of protest at their disregard for your consent, but you can't deny it--the younger orc's hot maw with all of its apparent tusk-related dangers felt amazing around your tool. Coupled with the fingers, now two, worming around in your ass. Your hips buck, and Thusk groans at the intrusion. He was palming his cock through his pants, all the while whining, nearly sobbing for some kind of release.

Gharol slips in behind his junior, and begins to peel off his armour. You hear Thusk let out a strained, "thank you, sir..." as he is stripped. It is a laborious process that makes the younger orc devolve into sobs of desperation, of lust. His hands roam about your body, groping as if he'd dissolve if he didn't hold you. Your cock throbs in his maw, pumping it slick with precum, and he gulps it down. Cool air meets your cock as Gharol pulls up Thusk, removing his pants.

"Thank you, sir," the younger orc moans as he is finally freed, and his broad, moss-coloured body is displayed before you. His bush is wild and wraps around the base of his dripping eight-inch cock; beads of precum drip helplessly onto the dirt below. The older orc molests him, and he grinds his ass into his still-covered cock. Thusk moans as Gharol licks up his shoulders and neck, planting surprisingly tender kisses onto him. Now he is the prized cut of meat, and you are the audience to the hypnotising scene.

"Did you prepare his hole, boy?" asks the older orc as he kisses his junior, to which Thusk replies with a sobbing moan into his mouth. "Good. Now you can watch." In a flash, the last of his clothes come off, leaving only a wondrously hairy orc in boots; his thick, dark ten-inch cock standing to attention. Gharol joins you on the ground, and he covers you fully; his frame easily eclipses yours as he rubs your two wet cocks together.

You wrap your arms around his chest, bracing against the sensation. I'm glad they didn't kill me, comes from the back of your mind, as waves of pleasure radiate from your cock and into the rest of you. Gharol's cock is thick, at least twice the girth of yours, and his musk was unbearably heady. You grasp fistfuls of chest hair, inhaling deeply of him while he lines his cock up with your hole.

There is barely time to think as the older orc slides slowly, but forcefully, into you. Tears sting your eyes and stars dance in your vision as you let out a long, pained moan. The orc just groans, his voice gravelly with lust, as he fucks you. Ruts you. Mates with you. Orc cock was so thick, ridged, and musky. The smell of his desire fills your senses and blocks reasoning out.

You are dimly aware of Thusk leaning over your head to grab your ankles. When his cock springs into view, your instincts take over. He groans with a ragged cry as you sink his orc dick into your hungry throat. "Sir," he moans, his voice shaky; "I won't last long if he sucks me like this." Again, the callousness to your agency. Stuffed on both ends with dripping, musky cock, you couldn't help but feel like just a toy.

"No," intones Gharol as he pummels your ass. "Stay focused, boy. We cover the human with our seed." He pulls out to just his cock head. From above you, you hear a chuckle. "We mark him. So that when he returns to his towns, he will reek--" thrust! "--of hot--" thrust! "--orc--" thrust! "--cum!" Gharol bellowed a gross laugh, the sounds of him slapping against your ass ringing out in the evening.

Thusk groans and whines at your insistent mouth; so close to orgasm he seems that he pulls out of your mouth with a crying shudder. He makes do with planting his balls on your face, and you begin to lap him up. The fullness of his balls in your mouth makes you moan, and his hips gyrate against your face. He tasted of sweat, dust, and something earthy. When your tongue reaches his puckering, hairy hole, you dive in with gusto. He screams, letting his voice fill the wood-fired air.

"Yes!" cries the older orc. "Yes, human! Pleasure my whore of a blood-brother!" He picks up his pace, slamming into your ass with the ferocity of...well...an orc.

As Thusk spreads your legs to allow his senior access to your insides, he rubs his hole against your open mouth. You have never heard an orc make such basal, desperate noises; the sounds of a man reduced to a pile of nerves in search of his orgasm. His hole, ringed in wet, sticky fur, clenched repeatedly against your devouring lips. Gharol presses you between the dirt and his body, thick with muscle and fat, as he pounds you into the earth below.

He pulls out from you, leaving your hole empty, and wanting. It causes you to pull off from Thusk's hole, his taste lingering on your swollen lips. A new sensation grips you--it's your cock swallowed whole by Gharol's ass. The clearing is filled with the rumbling roars of three men, and his hairy orc hole is filled with your human cock.

"Gharol!" Thusk whines, gripping his dripping cock, letting go of your legs. "You never let me fuck you! Now you're letting the human do it?" He could only watch helplessly, while Gharol lets out a low chuckle, sinking down onto your cock. The older orc's insides grip the length of your tool easily, seemingly having been pre-lubed. Expertly, he flexes his hole around your cock, goading you to fuck him.

"Yeah!" he growls, his knees pinning you to the insides of his thighs. "Nothing like a smooth, hard human cock!" Gharol laughs, spreading your mouth open with two thumbs. Riding you like a seasoned expert, he pushes your jaw upwards to receive Thusk's throbbing dick. You gag at the intrusion. The younger orc puts both hands behind his head, revealing his pits in a pose that makes your dick dance inside his senior's warm asshole.

"You like that orc cock in your mouth, human?!" he cackles through his growls. He gyrates his hips, bouncing his furry cheeks against your hips. "Yeah. Come on. Take it." His hands leave your mouth, gripping Thusk's sides. The younger orc groans, shaking involuntarily. "Boy. Don't you dare cum. You will only cum when I do."

"Sir...." He puts his hands over his senior's on his body. "He feels so good. I want to cum now. Please." Thusk continues to sink into your mouth. The head of his fat orc cock bumps against the back of your throat. Your mouth is full of spit and precum, and you fight back the urge to choke around him. You swallow and suck, tasting the tang of his orc cock.