The Prince and the Orc Queen Ch. 02

Tears were running down his face and he could no longer breathe by the time he reached the top of the staircase. He broke out into a run for the large wooden doors to escape from the cacophony of laughter and ridicule, the airy frilly skirts of the dress trailing in the air behind him as if chasing after him. One massive door slowly groaned open at his insistent pushing allowing him to slip inside, where the sounds of the crowd were dulled somewhat by the thick wood and stone. He had some privacy in the antechamber as the doors to the main chapel were closed and he took the opportunity to collapse to his knees and weep openly. The roar of the crowd still made it to his ears, weaving together with the faint organ music from the next room. He waited there until he could control his sobbing, and upon the realization that his body wasn't going to cool down any time soon, picked himself up and headed for the chapel.

The volume of the music increased tenfold as he opened the doors and crossed through, completely washing away the outside sound scape. Light streamed angelically through the large stained glass windows of the cathedral, splashing uneven colors onto the crowd of high ranking Orc soldiers and noblemen. The bourgeoisie apparently had more restraint than the common folk as, although he received many strange and outraged looks, none of them found the need to vocalize their contempt. He did get some catcalls and whistling from the Orcs however, as they seemed to find his predicament endlessly amusing. As he started down the long plush carpet that had been laid down for him he felt his embarrassment roughly stroking his erogenous zones. He hated how exciting he found this, he became trapped in a near orgasmic cycle of being aroused by his shame and ashamed of his arousal.

About halfway down the aisle he suddenly picked out a familiar face in the crowd. Delilah locked eyes with him and gave him a delicate wave, her bright cherubic face lit up in an ear to ear grin. Peter couldn't tell if she were smiling at him or to him, but he guessed it didn't really matter. Knowing that she was watching him made his cock jump violently beneath his skirts to the point where he worried someone may notice the movement. Interestingly enough though, he couldn't seem to find Mugg-Ran anywhere in attendance. She and Delilah had become practically inseparable recently so he could only assume that her actions last night had gotten her uninvited to the ceremony. He found his fathers face for only a moment before a burning volt of shame forced his stare to the ground instead. In that single instance he had seen intense shame, revulsion, and anger masking his fathers face. By the time he had gathered the strength to look again, the king was gone.

Blissfully he had only to wait a few short minutes at the altar before Shaka appeared at the other end of the aisle. She was dressed in her full battled armor except for her helmet, exposing an expression of cruel mirth as she kept close watch on her "bride" as she approached. Her heavy metal outfit was polished to a blinding brilliance, scattering the softly colored light against the walls in random patterns. A grand silk cape flowed down from her shoulders to almost scrape against the ground, lending an appropriately regal flavor to her otherwise knightly appearance. The queen was always a large figure but in her armor she seemed absolutely massive, her broad ornate pauldrons nearly taking up the space of two men standing side to side. Standing next to each other made the glaring differences between them dramatically obvious. Her imposing masculine stature towered over his meek feminine figure, displaying definitively who was dominate and who was submissive.

The priest began speaking but Peter was too wrapped up in his own world to hear him. He had instinctively retreated deep within his own mind to escape the humiliation and embarrassment, becoming a walking shell of a man. Inside he repeatedly told himself that this was all necessary for the good of the kingdom, even as another part of his laughed scornfully at the thought. The kingdom is outside laughing at you, calling you a faggot, it taunted. Whether or not they deserved it, he as a prince had a duty to his people that he must uphold he told himself. But still the other part of his brain provoked him, telling him not to accept this fate, that there was still time to escape. He could run away now and find some place to hide, it insisted. He quickly brushed those fantasies aside, even if he cold get past the queen and her loyal battalion of Orcs he would then have to make it back to the castle dressed as a woman. No, he told himself, there was no getting away from this. With all his mental effort he squashed that objecting part of his mind, eliminating it for good just as it uttered one single last thought. Did he really have no other option, or were those excuses he used to dress up the fact that he actually wanted this?

"You may now kiss the bride." The priest declared weakly, eyes flitting between the couple as if he were unsure of who he should be addressing.

The significance of those words was enough to pull Peter from his inward excursion just in time for Shaka to grab his shoulders and forcefully turn him towards her. Her eyes were alive with lust and anticipation as she pulled him in for what he suddenly realized would be their first kiss. She held him tightly against her armored body, so close that his erect penis was tantalizingly pinned between his stomach and her crotch plate. Her hot excited breath wafted across his lips as she brought her face down to meet his. Before he even had time to struggle she pressed her lips down hard against his mouth and despite himself, his whole body moaned and vibrated in response. Her large canine teeth dug into the sides of his face as she mashed their lips together, luckily they seemed quite dull and were more annoying than painful. It wasn't long before her broad tongue barged its way past his lips and teeth, stomping around like it owned the place. Her tongue it seemed was just as powerful and defined as the rest of her muscles as it practically bullied his weaker tongue. Wrapping around it and lathering it with spit, he felt like a cheap whore being felt up. It all sent shivers down his spine, reducing him to jelly in her mighty arms. Between the sensations from the kiss and the pressure from being squeezed against her armor through the arousing fabric, his penis had reached its limit. Even as every cell of his body screamed for him not to, he shuddered as he felt himself cum all over his wedding dress. Shaka finally pulled away, leaving a thick sparkling bridge of saliva stretched between their extended tongues. She gazed lustfully at the red hot face of her prize, mixed between dire embarrassment and the ecstasy of his climax. He was hers by the laws of men, and soon he would belong to her also by her own laws.

The reception and following tournament went by excruciatingly slowly for Peter. Despite his desperate begging Shaka refused to allow him to change out of his dress, simply laughing when he tried to explain to her how he had soiled it. As a result he spent the rest of the day stewing in his own cum, once again he silently thanked god for the garments many puffy skirts to hide his shame. He was also thankful that from his position on the private canopied viewing box prepared for him and the queen, he was fairly well hidden from the majority of the crowds. As surreptitiously as he could he inch by inch slid his chair further back where the walls of the box would further conceal him. Unfortunately this plan backfired, as soon as she noticed what he was doing Shaka scolded him from hiding away from the "adoring crowd" and demanded he make up for the situation by sitting on her lap. As he was drowning in shame in her lap he felt her grip him tightly and pull him against her, he breathed in her scent and tried to take himself back to the previous night when her embrace had seemed so safe and comforting. It nearly worked and his humiliation became somewhat more bearable.

The tournament lasted until dusk and seemed to be one of the only parts of human culture that really resonated well with the Orcs. They loved the calculated brutality of the joust and the chaotic frenzy of the melee, though were slightly less enthused by the more dexterity driven archery competition. Nether the less, a mixed crowd of both races all cheered together at the crashing of metal and the spectacle of glory. Naturally the Orcs ended up dominating the games, at the end of the day only a single human was among the crowned champions and that was for archery in which hardly any Orcs even entered. In both of the more combat focused events the humans never stood a chance and were quickly seeded out, being entirely eliminated within the first round of jousting and no human lasting even five minutes in the melee.

The prince however was unable to enjoy any of the days festivities, and not just because of his current state of dress. He had managed to make it through the wedding, though just barely he felt, but he hadn't forgotten about the mysterious ratheliem ceremony that Shaka had mentioned. Throughout the week he had attempted to gather information about what the strange ritual entailed but none of the Orcs were willing to speak of it, they did seem rather amused by his asking though. His imagination had demonstrated all manner of twisted macabre acts that could possibly take place that night, a swirling menagerie of horror. The dark thoughts tormented him, holding his attention prisoner throughout the games. But his fantasies got him no closer to the truth he told himself, he would simply have to wait and find out.

And wait he did, until the trailing violet cape of the sun fully followed its master past the curvature of the earth and left the land under an inky fog of darkness. The tournament crowd slowly dispersed leaving the stands and fences of the grounds barren like the bones of dead animal, recently scrubbed clean by decomposition. Only after the last of the patrons had left did Shaka allow him off her lap and began to guide him away into the night. Her knowing expression told him where they were going as she lead him silently back into the castle. Peter considered it a small blessing that whatever the dreaded ratheliem was it would at least take place in private, away from the eyes of his people. His feelings of terror and dread were not at all alleviated as rather than heading to any part of the main castle, Shaka instead led him down a narrow stone stairwell leading to the dungeons. Fear bloated up from his chest and into his throat, choking him as they descended into the dim stone tunnels. He had only ever been down here once before as a child when he was playing hide and seek, he ended up getting lost in the labyrinthine cells and passages for hours and was a sobbing mess when they finally found him. Somehow he couldn't help but feeling that may very well end up as the happier of his two experiences down here.

The darkness harassed them constantly as they moved through the dungeons, casting fearsome creatures of shadows at every turn and slipping small objects and debris in front of him causing him to trip and fall more than a few times. Strangely enough the Orc queen seemed to have little trouble navigating the tight hallways, making him theorize that she either knew the path they were taking very well or that Orcs might posses superior night vision to humans. Either way they soon came to a closed wooden door outlined in warm heavenly light squeezing between the door and its frame, making it almost look like a portal to some other dimension. From the other side of it Peter could almost make out some faint rumble of conversation, it appears his humiliation would have spectators after all. Shaka threw open the door without hesitation and immediately walked in through the blinding expanse of light. He waited until his eyes adjusted to the golden haze before walking in after her. There were indeed others waiting for them in the large stone room, which he could only guess was normally used for solitary confinement. A sizable crowd of at least 15 to 20 Orcs sat on top of crates and other improvised chairs in a circle in the center of the room. Upon the entrance of their queen they suspended their rowdy drinking and conversations to burst into a loud cheer, followed by laughter and catcalls as the prince followed her in. He now found himself alone in a dungeon full of Orcs, freely ogling his body and his patience had just about ran out.

"Sha- er, my queen?" He gathered the courage to ask. "W-what are we doing here, exactly?"

"Why the ratheliem of course, you haven't forgotten have you?" She declared with her arms spread as wide as her smile. He felt the leering eyes of the attending Orcs undressing him as they chuckled knowingly.

"Yes but. But just what is that?" He closely followed Shaka as she walked around the circle of Orcs, in case she needed to defend him again.

Shaka walked into the center of the circle, casually un-buckling her armor and handing it off to another Orc. "The ratheliem is a duel. Between two Orcs, or in this case one Orc and one human, to decide ownership." She stated simply as the last of her armor was removed, leaving her in only a simple leather shirt and cloth pants.

"Ownership ... of What?" He asked, his mind skipping over the fact that he was about to get into a fight with one of the most powerful creatures he'd ever seen.

"In this case?..." Shaka smiled smugly and simply pointed in his direction, causing him to turn and look for something behind him. Of course finding nothing he turned back to her in confusion until the realization hit him with a sickening crash.

"Me!" He cried in disbelief.

"Whomever loses the ratheliem become the permanent property of the winner, to do with as they please." The queen explained. It was the only form of slavery the Orcs abide by, a voluntary wager of ones life to prove superiority. In Orc society there were no equals, you were either above or below somebody. And if you were extraordinarily confident that you were stronger than someone else, the ratheliem was how you proved it.

The wheels in Peters head started turning and a crazy desperate hope of an idea was cranked through to him. Sure she was intimidatingly muscled but that didn't make her unbeatable, there were scarce stories of human warriors who were able to best Orc soldiers. He ignored the fact that he was no mighty warrior and she was no common soldier. The odds were obviously against him but there was always the slim possibility that he could squeeze out a victory, wasn't there?

"So, if I defeat you... then you become my property?" He thought out loud.

The queen scoffed at the suggestion. "Well, yeah... but..." She gestured up and down his body, pointing out the obvious difference in physique between the two. This triggered a wave of laughter among the spectators as well as shouts of encouragement for their ruler.

"Fuck him up!"

"Yeah, make him cry!"

"Oh! Spank him! Make sure to spank him for me!"

"Then make him squeal like a pig!"

Peter swallowed their cries as best he could, still trying to convince himself this was possible. She would be underestimating him, he could use that to his advantage. She might even find pity and go easy on him to start. He would have to take every advantage he could, go for cheap shots if he had to. Her eyes, groin, neck, and Achilles tendons should be just as vulnerable as any humans. He pumped himself up with all the muster left in his system, not much but it would have to do. He started moving to the center of the circle but was stopped by Shaka putting her hand up.

"One more thing," She said slyly as she kicked off her boots and began to un-lace her pants. "Tradition dictates we fight in the nude."

Not too long ago he would have gladly traded being naked for wearing his current outfit, but now in the close company of a room full of horny Orcs he was less sure. Even though he assumed they all knew better than to play with Shaka's toys, he couldn't shake the feeling that if they really wanted to they could easily overpower her and take him for themselves. Apparently he spent a little too long lost in thought as one of the Orcs grew impatient and jumped up and grabbed hold of him.

"Don't worry miss, I'll help you out." She chortled as she took two giant fistfuls of the fabric.

"Don't rip the dress!" Shaka cried out. "He'll be wearing it a lot for me from now on..."

Peter's heart sank even lower than it already was, at this point it felt like it had fallen out his ass and he was dragging it behind him along the ground. He hadn't thought that Shaka might make him wear the dress again after tonight, though looking back on how much she seemed to enjoy his embarrassment it did seem rather inevitable. Again he tried to turn their ridicule into fuel for the fire inside him, this was just more motivation for him to win this challenge. Then he could make her wear it!

The Orc holding him rolled her eyes as she walked around him to undo the many zigzagging laces on the back of the garment. As the strings were undone the pressure of the corset slowly let up, allowing him to take deep breaths again. The initial relief soon began to wrestle with a feeling of strange want inside him. He actually missed the tight restriction. The constant squeezing pressure had constricted his abdomen all day, and he had grown quite accustomed to it. No, more than that he had grown fond of it. The constant hug of the frilly garment had snuggled a feeling of contentment into him, he had felt safe and secure in its embrace.

As soon as the Orc had pulled the final lace she tugged off the puffy shoulders and dramatically peeled the dress down his body, quickly leaving him in just his underwear. His erection had thankfully subsided sometime during the journey through the dungeon but had left a massive wet splotch for all to see as a parting gift. They gathered crowd only had a brief window to tease him though, as the Orc behind him quickly grabbed his shorts and lowered them as well, mostly likely her position meant that she hadn't seen the spot or she would've left them on longer to laugh at him as well. He nervously stepped out of the pooled clothing on the floor and felt extremely vulnerable. A volley of leering gazes assaulted his modest penis and neatly groomed pubic hair.

"Eh, not bad for a human." One of them observed. It was the closest thing he would get to a compliment he suspected.

"You kiddin' me!" The Orc next to her protested. "I've seen bigger cocks on a baby!" What little pride he had managed to scrounge up from the previous statement shriveled to dust in his hands and blew away.

"A baby Orc?" The first one asked.

"Yeah, so?" The second replied, causing the first to throw her hands up in exasperation.

"I said for a human, didn't I? Of course he's small compared to us!"

Peter did his best to tune out the two Orcs, as well as any other comments made about his body. Instead he focused on his new wife/opponent, who had just thrown the last of her clothing into a small pile. As if to illustrate what the two Orcs had been discussing, the queens thick dick hung down almost to her knees even in its soft floppy state. After realizing that he was staring the prince ripped his eyes away from her crotch and slowly rolled them up her athletic body. The many hills of her muscles cast tiny shadows across her skin in the soft flickering light. It nearly looked as if her muscles were alive, constantly undulating and growing still stronger every moment. His gaze crept up past her alluring breast but he forced himself to ignore their siren call and keep going until he found her face. She met him with her own confident stare as he attempted not to show his fear, replacing it with what he hoped would be a convincingly fierce expression.