The Prince and the Orc Queen Ch. 02

"No, please!" He barely managed to plead.

His cry fell on deaf ears and he wondered if she even had heard him as she firmly took hold of his soft nut sack and squeezed it tightly till his balls bulged painfully between her fingers. He wheezed in agony as a crippling pain constricted his stomach. Just as his heart sank completely below the waters of dread a silver flash of metal smeared across his vision, sailing out from the darkness to carve a thick red line onto Mugg-Ran's face. The Orc immediately released both sensitive parts of his anatomy and stumbled away, roaring in pain and surprise. She quickly lost her footing and tumbled to her knees as she clutched the side of her face where a deep bleeding cut had appeared going down from her brow onto her cheek, narrowly avoiding her eyeball. With her hand covering one side of her head she glared furiously at her assailant, her expression only softening slightly when she recognized who it was.

Shaka stood over her captain, tightly gripping the freshly bloodied knife as she reached out and grabbed the prince before pulling him quickly behind her. Relief flushed through his system and he inhaled huge swallows of air as he leaned against the wall, watching his savior circle around Mugg-Ran like an angry shark. Left over adrenaline still surged through him causing his heart to beat in an abnormal rhythm.

"The fuck was that?" Mugg-Ran bellowed, seeming much more sober than she was even a second ago. "You could have blinded me!"

"The thought did occur to me," Shaka snarled down at her "But I decided to give you a chance to explain yourself first!"

"Oh c'mon! I wasn't gonna fuck him, I was just roughing him up a bit!" The wounded Orc complained.

Shaka took a fistful of Mugg-Ran's dreadlocks and hoisted her up, making her wince in pain as the weight of her massive body was put on her scalp. "He is not yours to rough up!" She roared in her face, brandishing the wet knife before her eyes. "You were instructed very clearly not to go near him! If it is so difficult to remember what you're told, perhaps I should carve it into your flesh as a reminder! If I see you so much as breathe on him again I'll slice off your dick and force you to eat it!!"

Fire burned from the queens eyes, sending out sparks and embers of fury to tumble down onto her subordinates grim face. Mugg-Ran looked up at her with an equally enraged expression, her fists trembling impotently at her sides. Peter was sure she was going to strike Shaka at any moment, they were both massive creatures and he was unsure which one of them would win in a fight. Shaka seemed to have the advantage due to her knife, which was good as he shuddered to think of what would happen to him if the other Orc somehow won. To his immense surprise Mugg-Ran managed to restrain her self, letting her face soften and casting her eyes to the floor.

"Yes... my queen." She muttered humbly, her body still firm and tense with anger.

Shaka kept her blade positioned next to Mugg-Ran's face for an extra moment to let her lesson sink in before releasing her hair causing her to slump down to her hands and knees. The queen took the opportunity to wipe her crimson stained dagger off on the fallen Orcs fur cloak before returning it to the sheath on her belt. She left Mugg-Ran to beat the floor and curse to herself as she went over to Peter, taking his head in her hands and running her fingers through his hair affectionately.

"Did she hurt you?" She asked in the softest voice he's heard from her yet.

Peter fought to control his heart rate as the panic drained from him. His voice had apparently run off and hid somewhere and he still couldn't find it, but managed to shake his head in answer to her question. His gaze wandered back to where his assailant was crouched on the floor, flooding his mind with horrific scenarios of what might have happened had Shaka not intervened. She had said she was only going to "rough him up" but who knows what actually would have happened had a deeply inebriated Mugg-Ran been left to her own devices. Shaka tugged his head back to facing her, shaking loose his disturbing thoughts and pulling him into her chestnut eyes. He searched her eyes and found emotions he never thought he'd see in them, something almost like care and affection swam around in her wet round pools.

"Th-thank you... my queen." He spoke when he'd finally regained the faculty to.

"Of course, my prince." She replied reassuringly, before possessively pulling him into a tight embrace.

Between coming down from the adrenaline high and feeling the warmth of her body, he couldn't help but sink deep into her soft breasts. His whole being relaxed as he breathed in her earthy scent and felt his muscles melt around his bones. For the first time since the Orcs had taken over he felt truly safe, protected within the powerful arms of his conqueror. Slowly he reached his arms around her torso to return the hug, gently squeezing her and feeling the defined muscles of her back. Feeling her back along with the firm grip of her arms, he realized just how strong she was. And for the first time that strength didn't terrify him, it made him feel secure. Secure knowing she was his defender. Even behind a platoon of a thousand men he had never felt so well guarded.

Mugg-Ran by this point had gotten back to her feet and was cradling her wounded face. Armed with a snarl she quietly slunk around them through the shadowy half of the hallway and stumbled back towards the door to the dining hall. She looked back with a disgusted grimace at the royal couple as she exited, fearing that she hadn't heard the last of this encounter. Forcefully she slammed the door, plunging the two into darkness where they stayed motionless for some time.

Early the next morning the sun clawed its way up the horizon splashing shafts of soft pink light onto the landscape, highlighting the blue birds and robins performing twirling acrobatics above the groggy castle. They sang as they danced, their music weaving itself into the falling light to join the sun in bathing the early risers in a heavenly scene. Much more people than usual were awake at this early hour, scuttling about to put everything in place for the days big event. There was an air of great importance throughout the city, a shared feeling that today's wedding must go off perfectly. It was to be the great union between man and Orc which would cement the future of their two raced together. For the Orcs it was the culmination all their work and the clicking shut of the final shackle around mans neck, and for man it was the last best hope to keep humanity alive.

Now the cakes were baked, the food prepared, and the guests all primped and proper. The tournament grounds were prepared and the knights all stood at the ready in their shiniest, most pompous armor. A path from the castle to the grand cathedral in the north district had been cleared and littered with flower petals, along side two rows of guards on either end creating a winding tunnel of soldiers through the streets of the city. The commoners of the city all gathered along the path in excitement. Even if their beloved prince was being married to a barbarous monster, a royal wedding was still the largest even they'd seen in years.

Back in the castle prince Peter was a bundle of nervousness and conflicting emotions as the servants diligently wrapped him up in the extravagant outfit that had been designed for him. The events of the previous night still rattled around in his mind and what he had felt for Shaka after she saved him left him profoundly confused. It had been more than mere gratitude, it was an admiration. He could easily respect her for her military prowess, but to actually feel some form of emotional attraction to her just seemed perverse. He was only marrying her to save his people he told himself, as he had done every day for the past week. But did he really need to be miserable to accomplish that, he asked. If he somehow did find a way to enjoy being with her, would that really constitute such a betrayal to his species? But she had made it perfectly clear that to be with her is to be owned by her. He was beginning to realize how good submission could feel, but there was more to life than hedonistic pleasure. And he knew that if he did submit to her, it would be a permanent arraignment. All these thoughts bounced around against each other inside his skull, distracting him from what his father standing in the doorway was saying to him.

"-may be difficult, but I know that you'll rise to the occasion. The entire kingdom now rests on your shoulders. It's a bit earlier than I intended, but you've been trained for this your entire life." He managed to pick out from his fathers constant talking as he zoned back in. "This... isn't how I've always pictured the day of your wedding obviously, and I doubt it's how you imagined it either. Life provides us with many difficulties and sometimes it's all we can do to make the best of a bad situation."

"I suppose it could always be worse." The prince thought aloud. "At least we're still breathing. I remember not too long ago when we were preparing for death."

The king wandered further into the room and positioned himself so that his son could face him without moving so as not to hinder the efforts of the staff dressing him. In truth he felt that death was in many ways preferable to seeing his son married off to a sadistic warlord, but he was far too proud to take that cowardly path. He had hoped that his coup would have been set into motion by now, but the rest of his counsel insisted that the time was still not right.

"Son, I...I'm sorry that I haven't been there much for you lately, I'm sure you could have used someone to talk to about these things. It's just that I've been extraordinarily busy lately. There has been much that required my attention, I'm sure you understand.

"Yes, I understand." Peter lied, as far as he could tell the Orcs had already taken over virtually all aspects of running the kingdom so he wasn't sure what business was left for his father to be doing.

His answer seemed to please the king none the less as a subtle smile graced his lips. He would never know just how much his father wished he could include the prince in his secret plans, but it was just too much of a risk. In his fathers eyes he was still young and untested, not yet trustworthy enough to be let in on a plan of this importance. Also complicating things was his close proximity to the queen, not that the king expected him to betray them voluntarily but it was always possible for the her to somehow extract the information from him if she suspected him of hiding something. The last thing he wanted was to give these barbarians a reason to further torture his son.

"Good, good" He mumbled as he walked back towards the door. "I know this is going to be hard on you, but I'm sure you'll make me proud. Just hold out for as long as you can. Very soon... things will get better, I promise."

Peter turned his head as much as he could to try and look at his father. He was about to ask him what he meant by that but he was already passing through the doorway. The way he had said it was almost conspiratorial in nature as though he expected it to mean something special to him. With a myriad of other things weighing heavy on his mind Peter pushed the thought from his head for the moment and concentrated on staying as still as possible.

By the time his outfit was properly fitted to him almost an hour had passed and the sun was standing proudly above the horizon, perfectly framed in the large tower windows and filling the room with a bright golden glow. The prince was headed to the door to make his leave for the cathedral when an approaching storm of heavy footsteps caused him to step aside just in time to narrowly avoid the opening door. Shaka stormed into his room with a displeased scowl on her face, searching the room for the prince until she turned around and found him half hidden by the opened door. In her tightly clenched hand was the crumpled up form of the extravagant wedding dress that had been so painstakingly crafted for her, now carelessly carried around like an old sack. Its many ruffles and frills dragging along the ground and sweeping up dust, which blemished the garments perfect white color.

"What is this meant to be?" She demanded, holding up the dress to him.

Peter stared at her, nailed to the ground in confusion and terror. "Why, it's your dress." He answered slowly before hastily adding, "my queen." The look on her face remained the same and he guessed that wasn't the answer she was looking for, but didn't quite understand why. "What's wrong, does it not fit? We tried to get you in for a fitting but your steward said you were busy so-"

"No it does not fit!" She interrupted sharply. "It is not fitting of a warrior of my status!" With that she threw the bundle of fabric to the ground in disdain. Not wanting it to be ruined, Peter quickly bent down to scoop it back up again and started doing his best to smooth out the wrinkles.

"Why not? I think it looks very pretty." He said as he held the dress up by the shoulders to display it to her, as if she only needed to see it again to change her mind.

Shaka threw him an indignant look before throwing her arms up in frustration. "A queen is not meant to look 'pretty'!" She lectured him. "She is meant to be fierce and strong! She must be respected at all times, how am I to command respect in that farcical get-up?"

Peter looked between his bride and the dress, unsure of how to best proceed. "But the bride must wear a dress. There's still time for the seamstresses to make a few altercations to it if you want, what exactly don't you like about it?"

"Everything!" She exclaimed. "I don't like anything about it! It is a dainty, flimsy, undignified garment and under no circumstances will I be wearing it!"

She spoke with a sharp edge of finality and Peter knew better than to try and argue with her. It was her kingdom now so he guessed she could just wear whatever she wanted, it wasn't as though the upcoming ceremony was anything other than a farce to boost the morale of the public anyway. A deep sigh escaped him as he supposed that all of the seamstresses work would now go to waste, that would surely disappoint them but there was nothing to be done for it. While he was thinking that, the queen couldn't help but notice that while he was holding the dress out in front of him as he was it looked from a certain angle almost like he were wearing it. It was clearly much too large for him, but he had said there was time to modify it. A sadistic, devious, and arousing idea slowly took shape in her mind. After all, why should she allow him to wear something dignified if the whole point of this event was to display his submission to her for all to see. Peter took notice of the impish grin she suddenly wore and began to feel very nervous and small, once more being stricken with the hot burning of shame and submission.

Shaka moved towards him and reached out to stroke his hair possessively, eliciting an adorable flinch. "You're quite a "pretty" boy, aren't you?" She cooed to him.

"Um, th-thank you?" He reflexively replied, uncertain of exactly what she meant by that.

"And I seem to recall that we established earlier which one of us was the "bride", did we not?" She continued menacingly.

Realization suddenly stuck Peter like a wayward lightning bolt and his eyes widened in fear and shock. She couldn't actually be suggesting...

"It is as you say," She laughed, tightening her grip on his hair. "The bride must wear a dress!"

Peter spent the entire carriage ride to the cathedral cowering in shame with the windows drawn shut. It had taken some time to convince the head seamstress to make the needed modifications to the dress, and for a brief moment he had some glimmer of hope that she wouldn't go through with it. But of course the queen got her way, as usual, and several hours later he found himself en route to the most embarrassing day of his life. Tears had formed in his eyes as he had been forced into the dress by a team of giggling attendants while Shaka watched with a look somewhere between smug contempt and erotic fascination. He kept trying to object or refuse but the overwhelming sensation of shame and submission left him paralyzed, and soon the built-in corset was tightly laced up and and he was trapped within his silk and satin prison.

The worst part wasn't even how much he hated it, it was the parts of him that didn't. The hot submissive spell that Shaka cast over him already left his entire body tingling and sensitive, when the soft cool fabric of the dress touched his skin it caused electricity to run though him. It was like the fabric of the dress and his submission came together to form some chemical reaction that brought him pleasure. Even his smallest movements caused the frilly garment to rub against him, sending explosions of satisfaction up his spine to melt his brain. The now flat chest of the dress in particular kept rubbing against his bare nipples, burning them so hot he was sure they'd catch fire. The only saving grace was that the layered ruffles that the dress blossomed into at the waist hid his involuntary erection.

It wasn't even a purely physical reaction, against his will he found delight not only in wearing the dress but also being forced to wear it. It was similar to how he felt when he was using the dildos before. An uncomfortable yet strangely pleasurable experience that he was only doing because she had told him to. In a way he almost felt grateful to her for showing him these new pleasures, and couldn't help but wonder what other experiences she could offer the deeper he submitted to her. She had told him that he had to learn to love submission. He was pretty sure that he wasn't loving this so far, even if the shame did feel strangely good. He tried to convince himself that he didn't want any of this, that the pleasure didn't really mean anything. It was okay for him to feel good from this because he was being forced into it, so it's not like he had a choice. If it was something he had to do then finding pleasure in it was preferable to not, right?

The carriage lurched to a halt and panic overtook him as he realized they'd arrived. They were at the cathedral and now he had to walk up the great stone steps and down the aisle dressed like this, with the entire city gathered to watch him. He wasn't sure if he could do it, nor of why the thought made him so hard. Just as he had made up his mind to stay inside for the rest of his life the coachman pulled open the small door to the carriage and he heard the crowd of peasants cheer at his arrival. The coachman, who had already seen him all dressed up when they departed and who hadn't stopped snickering yet, stuck in his hand to help the prince out.

"C'mon your majesty, no time for cold feet, eh?" He said with a hint of mockery in his voice.

Peter wished he could die. He knew that he had to go out there at some point but just couldn't bring himself to do so. Pausing to take several long slow breaths, the prince tried to convince himself that it wouldn't be as bad as he expects. Dress or no dress, he was still the prince. The clothes didn't make the man, so neither could they unmake him. The people loved him, surely they wouldn't turn on him so easily just because of what he wore he assured himself. A collective cheer of adoration flowed into the carriage from outside, giving him the strength he needed. He was still shaking as he took the rough leather clad hand that was offered to him and pulled himself out into the open air. This wouldn't be so bad, he thought.

He was wrong, immediately he knew just how wrong he was. The second he came into view the chorus of screams and shouts fell deathly silent, leaving an empty void that sucked the breath from the crowd. Peter stood burning in embarrassment, burning so hot he wished he could melt away and become a puddle on the ground. His cock burned the hottest, pulsing and dripping uncontrollably in his underwear. Eager to get this over with as fast as possible he began to make his way up the steps to the cathedral, wishing he were naked rather than suffer through this. Humiliatingly he had to daintily lift up the front skirts of the dress in order to keep from tripping over them as he climbed the stairs, creating the most emasculating image of him possible. The prince kept staring straight ahead, not daring to turn his head to face the crowds on either side. Slowly the stunned silence was broken by periodic jeers and laughter as the people recovered from the shock and started to react. Homophobic slurs and lewd suggestions were hurled at him from all sides, pelting his shaking body with scorn and contempt. Didn't these people realize he was only doing this to save their lives, he could only imagine what they would say if they knew he had a hard on.