The Slave World Abductions Ch. 08.1

The Slave World Abductions

A Fanfiction

Part Eight: One

by The Preve

Based upon characters and concepts created by Roxy Rex.

The author wishes to express his deepest thanks to Roxy Rex for his permission in writing this story.

The Red Horde Federation: Main Camp, High Plains of Golan, Svartalfheim

Haggath Skullsplitter, acting Hetman of the Red Horde, sat in the main tent, nursing his mead. He was drunk out of his extremely thick skull, but it didn't matter.

The mead was the strongest, most toxic, vintage in a generation, distilled from the honey of Red Mountain bloodbees, but it didn't matter.

What mattered was revenge . . . and murder.

Thoughts of murder were par for the course in the Red Horde. It took a powerful leader, and an equally powerful council, to keep those thoughts from turning into action. Blood feuds were all right and good but too much of that thing interfered with unit cohesion.

The Red Horde couldn't be too disorganized a rabble. A marauding horde couldn't effectively plunder, rape, and massacre under those circumstances.

As it stood, Haggath's thoughts of revenge weren't directed towards his ax brothers and sisters in the Horde, but at the worthless shits who'd gulled them, brought them ruin, and made the Horde laughing stocks of the entire Orc race.

The irony of it all was the whole affair began as the greatest stroke of luck ever to fall into the Horde's clutches.

"If ever I see that worthless elf-loving goblin again, I'll spit roast him and feed his corpse to the hogs."

Haggath would eat the venal little "Muck Muck" but cooked goblin tasted horrible. They were good for hogfeed though.

Rathgar Bonebreaker staggered into the tent, fear and despair etched on his face. It was that bad for the Horde. That . . . that . . . thing in the pleasure tent could do what the best armies in Svartalfheim found impossible . . .

"She's . . . she's . . . asking for Bonecruncher," Rathgar gulped. "He's raiding (cowering) in the swamp fells (fifty leagues away, and probably farther). What are we going to do?"

"Send her Khargan (the Assreamer). Maybe she'll go for anal this time."

"Khargan's cock hasn't recovered from the last session, and he swore to castrate himself before dipping into that again."

Rathgar's words drove home the depth of the shit pool the Red Horde found itself wallowing. Khargan was the fiercest, rapiest, must brutal of the savage Orcs of the Plains. Now he was in a tent, cradling his limp cock, and drained balls, sobbing like a weakling elf child.

"What about the arson squad?" asked Haggath.

"They left. Rumor says they're going to offer their services to the Duchess of Felldis."

"Fenris balls!" cursed Haggath. If the Duchess was preferable to . . . to . . . The Bitchslut, as the Horde named her . . . Yeah, it was that bad.

"We're fucked. Ivar (the Spineripper, and previous acting Hetman) is still abed, Otto (Thruspike, and current Hetman) is on 'hiatus', and the other clans' still got us under quarantine."

"There's the Scourers and the Slavers," Rathgar suggested. "The Scourers were the first. They should be mostly recovered by now, and the Slaver squad . . . weren't they the ones who put us in this shit?"

Haggath thought, Yeah . . . yeah. They were in tight with Red Mountain. They were the ones who made that deal with Muck Muck. Convinced us to buy that bitch. "Yeah, go and get some boys who can still fight, then go to the slavers and give 'em an ultimatum: if they don't want a hoist on sharpened stakes at dawn, they'll service the Bitchslut. They got us into this fuck, so they have to sort this fuckfest out."

Rathgar grinned, "I'm on it. Goblin fuckers deserve what's coming."

Rathgar left, and Haggath went back to nursing his mead. He growled, frustrated. He'd appreciate the irony of the whole deal, had he been more intellectual. Buying an item that seemed a good bargain at the start, now turned into a white elephant, and all because it gave the Horde precisely what they wanted: sex, sex, and more sex.

****

"She's an exotic," Muck Muck said. "1250 gold sovereigns. Fairly cheap. A good bargain. Looks, stamina, wide pussy and bunghole, elastic; can take it deep in both ends, especially the big, thick ones, or several at once. Also able to take a large amount of punishment. She sailed through dungeon orientation and tryouts. I suspect she might have had experience on her home realm. She's a bit haughty; she'll require some breaking. The dungeons couldn't do it. Probably why she's so cheap. It's a steal."

Haggath glared at Muck Muck. The worthless little goblin wasn't lying, but he wasn't being straight either. A slave with that resume would fetch a higher price, normally. Something smells here. The Taurus cows want rid of her for a reason.

Haggath and the Slavers, and the Hetman, were in the auction and sales quarter of the Ninth. The Slavers were sold on Muck Muck's gab. The Hetman looked convinced as well, at least by the Slavers.

Haggath turned toward the slave. Yes, she was extremely comely. Short, glossy hair like darkwood, pale golden skin, almond-shaped eyes, curvy body with good breeding potential.

Exotic, he snorted, Code for closed realm. Probably why the cows want rid of her, before the Lighters come callin'.

He could see the need for breaking. She stood on the block, not cowering like so many of the light elves, or open realm humans. Her look was haughty outrage, or anger, like an insulted dark elf noble.

This one is going to take some work. Still, something, a raider's instinct maybe, told him the slave was going to be trouble.

The Hetman beckoned Haggath forward. Haggath's duty was acting treasurer. He handed the gold sack to the Hetman.

Otto opened the sack and counted out 1250. The fact he could count was one reason for his position as Hetman, albeit he counted slowly.

The money exchanged, with an extra cut for the Slavers, the orcs went to their new acquisition, to examine the goods.

The first thing Haggath noted was near shocking, even for orcs (and orcs are very rarely shocked). Bloody balls! She's staring at us!

Not just simply staring, glaring. Most Slaveworlders, slaves, and the rare, knowledgeable, visitor knew not to stare at orcs . . . not directly, and certainly not glare with a look of contempt. Such an act was an express ferryman fee to Hades, after a serious pummeling, gutting, and/or beheading.

The bitch has a death wish obviously. She's daring us to do it.

The others thought the same as Haggath. One, a Slaver, stalked to the slave and raised his fist. Otto stopped him.

"Halt Gorer," he growled, "We didn't just waste 1250 sovereigns just to break its neck. She's camp entertainment, maybe breed stock. We'll spit roast her and, when she's outlived her usefulness, spit roast her."

The Hetman approached the slave, "Your name slave, 'snort'!"

"Maria," the slave spat.

"Well, Mahreeah," responded the Hetman with his thick plains Orcish accent, "You have spunk. Not like a weakling light elf. It might make you fun for awhile. The Horde can use a little spice lately. Do your job, and maybe we don't eat you later, hey?"

The slave continued to glare at the Hetman. Haggath felt a chill along his spine for some reason. Something's really off about this.

He didn't question the purchase. He'd look back at this moment with serious regret.

The slave was loaded on the wagon with the other supplies. She was the only one purchased. The budget for that year only allowed for one slave.

"We might be able to get more on next year's campaign circuit," the Hetman said.

Haggath agreed. The recent Council War had disrupted the tax and tribute system. More plunder might be available. But I'm still not sure of this one.

The trip back to the Plains was uneventful. They stopped by some villages for a little plundering and raping, but the Hetman kept most of the cohort in check.

"Save it for the new slave," he told the men.

Haggath listened to the Slavers as they traveled. Snickers, whispers, and leers at the slave were the norm, of course.

I don't think she's going to last long, unless we're smart enough to make it so.

Orc enthusiasm in sex was legendary, and oft fatal to the weak; not that Haggath cared one way or the other. He was anxious to get some himself but . . . Should the Slavers be so cocky over this one?

One of the Slavers, Gorer, rode up and drew his boar alongside his.

"How flexible do you think the bitch will be?" he asked. "I heard they stretched her holes hard in the dungeons."

"Maybe, her pussy looks a little tight, though. Could be deceptive."

"You think she'll be a good breeder?"

"You tell me. You were the ones who pushed the purchase. I just watch the money."

Gorer leaned close, "Story's goin' round the bitch's from a closed realm, but the Taurus cows wanted to sell her cheap. You'd think the cows would up their price."

"Probably 'cause they wanted rid of her 'fore the Lighters catch on. Killing her would mean a loss on their balance sheets."

"The Horde'll take any fucking light elf scum coming 'gainst us. We'll have another bitch to sheathe our cocks if they try that."

Haggath smiled. Yes, it was possible they could take a light elf, but Magistrates were supposed to be formidable, and not all were light elves. Plus, some were powerful sorcerers and carried nightmare weaponry, so the stories went.

"Well, don't count your light elves before we fuck 'em. We have a bad year coming and we're going on a budget. We're going to need this bitch to last before we acquire more product."

Gorer snorted, as did his boar, and rode back to speak with the other Slavers.

Haggath looked at the wagon. Maybe she'll work out.

The arrival at the main camp went without incident. The slave was immediately given to the women for preparation. Very convenient timing, as the women had just returned from a raiding expedition.

It pleased Haggath to see the women had snagged a couple of male light elves. Tourists it looks like. They'll make good stand-ins if we break the other one.

The women's plunder also included bronze trinkets. Not as good as gold or silver, or pure copper, but they'll have to do for the year.

The slave scowled at the women, but seemed especially disdainful of the light elves. Snort! Dislikes Lighters. Wonder why?

The women dragged the slave away; she didn't resist. The Hetman turned to the Horde. "Dinner's at nine bells. We can take her then. Meanwhile, rest up. You all did good work this season. Extra tankards for tonight . . . and dessert after, heh!"

The Hetman dismissed the Horde and left for his tent. Haggath went to his and fell into his hammock, sparing no further thought to slaves or goblins, or Lighters.

****

Dinner that evening also went well. Hetman Otto sat at his place, head of the banquet table. A boar and a bull spit roasted on the fires. Black ale and blood honey mead flowed freely; good, robust, powerful drink suitable for orcs.

No women, with one exception, were present, of course. Not from segregation or custom; orc women just didn't like orc men. The only time orcs came together was during breeding season. They generally went their own plundering and pillaging ways, otherwise.

The slave was at the center of the tent, standing against the main pole. She wasn't chained; no need for it. No real prospect of escape. The orcs would catch her easily, and she wouldn't last long on the plains.

The woman wore nothing except a bronze collar denoting her status as a slave, and a chain link belt, also bronze. Orcs are very simple in fashion and dislike ostentation.

"She doesn't fear," Haggath thought, watching.

The woman's ("Slave.") expression, watching the loud, boisterous, raucous, violent crowd, was cold, contemptuous. Haggath thought he could detect a hint of lust on her face as well.

Is her pussy actually wet?! Nah, too much of the blood honey mead getting in my head. We'll wipe that sneer from her face soon enough.

The dinner grew more violent in typical orc fashion. A few fist fights, knife fights, ax fights, and blood feuds started, often over card cheating, drunken insults, or attempted theft of food.

Haggath watched a few dead bodies dragged away. "It's good to be home," he sighed, contented.

Bang! Bang! Bang! The sound shook him out of his reverie. The Hetman had risen and banged his plate for attention.

The Horde quieted and eyes turned towards the Hetman.

"Ahem!" he growled. "Now that I have everyone's attention, I'd like to get a few items out of the way . . . before we partake of the dessert."

A few barks and chuckles erupted among the audience.

"As you and I well know, the past few seasons have not been good for the Horde. Plunder is down. The recent war has disrupted trade and commerce."

A few growls in agreement.

The Hetman's speech was more articulate than the usual laconic orc tongue. An affectation Haggath understood was designed to project authority.

He's smart enough not to lay it on too thick, though. A good orc never puts on airs.

The Hetman continued, "However, it is my opinion that the coming season will see great improvements. With the conclusion of the Council War, the situation has stabilized. Money is starting to flow again. Good product is entering the market. I see great prospects for plunder and slaves over the next few seasons."

Some more orc growls of a positive tone.

"Now, a few points of mention. I'd like to commend Haggath Skullsplitter for his excellent handling of the Horde's finances. We've lost the least amount of gold under his tenure. Two gold sovereigns bonus this season, Skullsplitter."

"In addition to the couple I surreptitiously filched. I did good this season," Haggath thought.

"Props as well to Baltar Breakbone for his excellent work plundering and massacring the villages of the Tyrrol river this past year's campaign. Whereas he seems to have suffered a fatal accident," the Hetman nodded to Baltar's knifed body being carried out the back flap, "his bonus shall be distributed among his cohort."

A few cheers from Baltar's cohort, and chuckles from the others.

"So, now, these two items out of the way, I'd say it's time to partake of the new acquisition."

Cheers and wolf howls from the crowd.

Haggath looked towards the slave, who'd leaned back against the main pole, arms crossed. Her face was cold, but her pussy looked hot, and wet.

No fear? But wet for us?!

"Haggath!"

Haggath turned back to the Hetman.

"As a reward for your performance, along with the bonus, you get first dibs."

Haggath grinned, but tentatively. His cock plumped, yes; first fuck was an honor, but misgivings over the slave were at the fore.

Still, pussy was pussy, and he couldn't back down in front of his brothers so, in straight, direct orc fashion, he stripped his leathers and loincloth, and went for it.

The slave watched him approach, a cold and contemptuous look on her face. Such an expression was grounds for a fist to it, or a cut throat. It also offered challenge.

Break her pussy first, the break her; after the others are done.

The atmosphere in the tent was permeated with lustful anticipation. Leers, sneers, licked lips, growls, and raised cocks spread through the hall.

The slave didn't cower as he approached. Her skin looked flushed, in fact.

Bor's Balls! She is horny! Not afraid!

Her pink pussy, wide and dripping, seemed to draw his cock like a death flower to an idiot fairy.

He came to her, and slid inside easily, so wet was she. He grabbed her ass. She raised her legs and arms, and wrapped around him.

The whistles and cheers of the others barely registered. The only thing that mattered was pounding this arrogant, haughty bitch slave into oblivion.

He thrust and drilled, ramming deep and hard. His cock bulged her groin. Sliding in and out was easy; she was well-lubricated. And it looks like they stretched her pretty wide in the dungeons.

Her slick pussy, in itself, stood her apart from other slaves. Most freshies, Especially light elves, were usually dry, mostly from fear, terror, and despair, not that it mattered. The greater the fear, the sweeter the pussy. Orcs reveled in this kind of thing. You can't properly orc without the fear, plus pain.

Except this slave wasn't shrinking and weeping like most others. She actively responded, grinding and milking his cock with a whore's expertise (except whores almost never fucked orcs. No stamina, and too much damage for most, complicating matters with their pimps. Besides, they were orcs. Why pay for something you could kidnap for free?).

Still, this wasn't how it was supposed to work. The slave wasn't suppose to look him in the face, growling moans and grunts through her teeth; hissing with each smack of his groin against hers.

Her face, defiant, lustful, angered him, excited him. He wanted to break her, pound her until she bled, begged, pleaded for mercy. He drove harder, spearing his thick meatstick (an orc characteristic) deeper into her womb. A defiant, ferocious smirk, rivaling orc women on their best matings, answered him.

His thrusts slammed her repeatedly against the main pole, but she didn't seem to notice.

Someone was going to cum at some point. Haggath was the one, with a hard, "Rrrraaarrrgh!" The force of his blast shocked even him. No one, neither orc, elf, human, slave or otherwise, had made him cum this hard before.

When his body and cock settled, he stood, hard and deep inside her, sweat dripping off his body, cum running down their legs.

The only hint of exertion on her was a slightly flushed face; a face whose mouth curled into a slight sneer.

"Is that all you got?" she smirked.

A question such as that, from a mere human slave, was a sure death sentence. Haggath, by all rights, should have smashed that sneering face and snapped her neck. He wanted to wipe that smirk off first.

"Raaarrrgh! Bitch! I'll make you bleed for this!"

"As good as you want to make it," she sneered.

He pounded her hard, harder than he had done anyone, even during his most vicious raids.

She took him, with grunts, hisses, sneers, and curses. She got him with words, where any woman could gut an orc: his manhood.

He came hard, and came hard again, and again. Nothing phased her. She wrapped her legs tighter 'round him, and kept milking.

Now, one must note, this entire show was displayed before the Hetman, and the Red Horde, all of whom watched with stunned fascination, and increasing, overwhelming lust.

Nothing, in all their experience, ever prepared them for a display such as this.

The way this . . . slave, goaded Haggath was near suicidal from the Horde's perspective. It wasn't just Haggath's but the Horde's right to execute this worm for insulting an orc. Only orc women were allowed this language.

Except, every thrust, every grind, every pump, every curse excited the Horde more, collectively, with each second. A miasma of lust filled the tent. Big, thick, meaty cocks were hard across the hall. Leathers and loincloths were shed from bodies.

The Hetman, hard and nude, strode towards the couple to take his turn. More nude bodies converged on the main pole, cocks pointed like the spears of a phalanx.