Lover of Monsters

The sun was setting over the dense forest, spreading shadows across the clearing that you and your orc coworker, Grom, had been exploring. He worked for you in the village, helping you in the business you owned, a shop that offered spices, herbs, and other medicines. You had headed out to harvest herbs during the day, like you had done numerous times before.

Only at that time had you ventured into an area of the forest that you had not previously explored. You wanted to study some uncommon flora, and despite your reservations, Grom had followed, insisting that you not go into untouched areas of the forest alone.

He was such a sweetheart. But you didn’t dare tell him that or show your attraction to him.

Truth be told, you'd always been drawn to him, ever since he walked into your shop and asked for a job. Everyone warned you against it, but something about his dark gaze and velvety voice swayed you. And why should you hire him? Humans and orcs finally coexisted; after years of war and conflict, both races had begun to accept each other. You saw no reason not to try to accept that concept and support them.

He had since become your trusted assistant and a great coworker to have around. He gladly learned from you, and despite the initial terror he instilled in the customers when he first started working, he was now relaxed. Everyone had accepted him, swayed by your kindness and generosity to him. Grom was tall and muscular, his muscles were prominent even under his clothes. His look was slightly rough, with a rugged and scarred face and large tusks protruding from his mouth. However, he was friendly and truly engaged in his work.

He was precious and you’d never risk ruining the balance of your relationship because of your romantic feelings for him.

You smiled to yourself and returned your attention to the forest, exploring the flora and listening to the birds' songs. You bent here and there, touching plants, rooting out herbs, and carefully placing them in your basket. A weird violet plant drew your attention. It was gorgeous. Bright, pure purple with white dots and a rich, sweet aroma that floated to your nostrils.

He joined you with a grumble, and at that moment, a burst of pollen exploded from the plant’s petals, creating a thick cloud that surrounded you both. You coughed and waved your hands in the air to dispel the thick pollen. Grom cursed out and grabbed your elbow, dragging you as far away as he could from the plant. His hold was powerful, his face set in a grimace, his torso taut, muscles tight beneath his thick skin.

You hardly had time to act before you felt it—a peculiar sensation, like a thousand small sparks igniting across your skin.

"What… what’s happening?" You breathed as he cursed again, his big hands brushing the yellowish pollen off your clothes.

"I don’t know. Stay still," he rumbled, his voice deep and protective, though you could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

“That plant—” You bit back a whine because the tingling grew stronger. “I thought it was a simple flower, but—”

This time, you couldn't help but whimper. Your body felt unusually hot, goosebumps rising on your skin. You rubbed your thighs together, realizing you were soaked, your pussy tingling and gushing slick. Grom was also affected; although he had stepped away, you could hear his rapid breathing. He didn't look at you, but he was sweating, and his green cheeks were flushed. His fingers rubbed his face, as if trying to understand what was happening.

A deep, rumbling groan escaped him. "Feels… strange.” He clenched his fists. "Like fire under my skin."

You felt the same way, a fact that added to the heat that had now soaked your thighs. The tingling gradually gave way to a warm sensation that extended throughout your body. Your nipples felt tight, and heat spread in your chest before moving down, making you weak in the knees. Your breathing quickened, your skin became hypersensitive, and every contact of the air against you seemed like a caress.

You wanted to take off your clothes; the mere scratch of your clothes against your flesh filled you with aching need.

"Grom…" You tried to stand up to distract yourself from the heat, but you staggered. He caught you before you could fall, his large hands wrapping around you. You sighed at the pleasant sensation of his touch.

"Something's… wrong. I feel… hot. So hot.”

"I know." His voice was tight, like he was barely holding on. "I feel it too."

For quite some time, neither of you moved. His deep green eyes fixed on yours, full of the same uncertainty and yearning that you felt. The air between you was charged, your bodies infused with the weird power of pollen. He was still holding you, but there was more—something primitive boiling beneath the surface, something you both wanted to explore.

"We should… we should leave," he said, though his voice was a whisper.

You both nodded, but didn't move.

His breath came out in thick, labored pants, and you could see his eyes darken and rake over your body. His hands massaged your back slowly, causing your frame to melt into his. He growled low and menacingly, but you were not afraid. The warmth between you increased, and the tingling intensified, until every nerve in your body screamed for relief.

"This— ahh—this… is getting stronger." You gulped hard, your heart racing in your chest. "I think it's a sex pollen plant. They're so unusual and uncommon in book history—" you swallowed as another wave of warmth pulsed through your clit. "Its effects are overwhelming. The tension and need are unbearable."

“We must go back,” he said, his voice barely more than a growl. Still, he didn’t stop stroking your back.

"Can’t… ahhha—" you whined, feeling your body betraying you, leaning toward him. “‘M sorry—”

"Those sweet sounds you make," he murmured, his breath brushing against your neck. You closed your eyes, trembling at his warmth. Then he straightened up, releasing his grip on you and rising to his feet.

"We must leave,” he snapped. “Seek treatment.”

You chuckled. When it came to sex pollen, there was only one remedy: ride it out. And he knew it as well. You wanted to resist the pull of pollen. But you couldn't deny the heat and desire—the portion that wanted nothing more than to give in. To ask him to touch you and let you feel his strength surrounding you. Allow the sex pollen to take you both.

"Can you stand up?" he asked, his back to you.

Humming at him, you tried—struggled—to stand. You lost your balance when a sharp tinkling slammed against your clit, and fell down. The fall was gentle because his powerful arms had embraced you. You bit your lip to hide the delight at his touch, and opened your eyes to meet his ardent look. His face was now inches from yours, his pupils fully dilated, the warmth of his breath mingling with your own.

Damn… he was affected. Much more than you.

"If you can't move…" His grip tightened slightly, and you noticed a flare of green fire in his eyes. "Then we have to ride it out. Together."

"Yes. Please," you replied, your heart pumping in your chest. "Together."

Your fingers tightened into his arm, squeezing tightly as another wave of tingling warmth washed over you. It wasn't just warmth; it was fire, lighting up every inch of your body in ways you'd never experienced before. Every feeling was heightened, the air on your skin causing you to shudder with need.

“Grom…” your voice cracked, “I… I can’t… Please…” The word came out in a strained whisper, scarcely audible, but that was all you could manage. Your face flushed with embarrassment, but you couldn't stop the words from coming out.

"You don't understand," he grumbled. "I'm also affected, and it's too much. "I can't... I can't think. I can't stop it. My control is slipping, and I am afraid of..."

“Please, Grom… I need… I need you."

"I know, love," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "I can feel it, too. I can smell your arousal. You smell so good, little one."

You whimpered when you heard the endearment. He never called you sweet nicknames. He was always professional and serious, but oh, how you loved the sound of "my little one" on his lips. You wanted to hear him repeat it every day.

Body on fire, you grasped him, every inch of you crying for release. More liquid warmth gathered low in your belly, soaking your panties and trousers while your legs trembled.

A rumbling growl sounded in his chest. "Fuuuck, you smell amazing. You're sure?" he asked, his composure melting. "You have to be sure, little one. I do not want to hurt you. "I'm bigger, different than you."

You nodded frantically, your nails digging into his shoulders. “‘M sure,” you whimpered, trembling against him.

“You can take my orc cock?” he drawled, thoroughly enjoying you dripping and shivering all over.

“Hmm! Can and will take it. I need you… I can’t—oh gods, I can’t hold on anymore.”

Grom’s eyes flared at your words, his hands gripping your waist tighter as if trying to ground himself. His jaw tensed and he inhaled deeply through his nose, his massive chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Finally, the last shred of his restraint snapped, and his eyes darkened with a brew of desire and resolve.

His large hands moved up to cup your face, pulling you in closer. “Then I’ll help you, my little one. I’ll make it right.”

His lips crashed down on yours with a hunger that matched your own. You moaned lewdly and hugged him, squeezing your sensitive breasts against his chest, sighing at the pleasurable friction. Careful not to hurt you with his tusks, his tongue slipped in your mouth, tasting you. Your tongue played with his, dancing in a come hither motion. The kiss was rough, needy, and moist, with his hands roaming your body, your hands tangling in his thick hair as you kissed him back with fervor.

The haze around you thickened, the warmth from the pollen seeping deeper into your bodies. You fit together like puzzle pieces, the electric spark between you growing stronger, the pollen amplifying every sensation tenfold.

Unable to withstand the layers of clothes separating you, you dragged off your clothes, impatiently tugging at them while keeping your mouths fused. He assisted, his hands ripping fabric apart until you were both naked, heated skin against heated skin. Grom groaned into your mouth, his hands roaming your body, kneading the soft flesh of your shoulders, your breasts, your soft belly and hips before sliding lower.

Sitting back on his haunches, he lifted you easily, pulling you to straddle his massive frame, your legs spreading on either side of his hard thighs. His chest was warm and solid against yours, his heartbeat thunderous, matching the wild rhythm of your own. His cock jutted up against your belly, huge and veined, leaking moisture.

You were struck at the differences in your physiques, even with him kneeling back and you riding him, you could barely reach his shoulders, and his cock was just as large and proportionate to his size, pulsating up your heaving breasts and dribbling pre-cum on your nipples. Enjoying the same sight, he cupped your asscheeks and pulled them apart, keeping his massive cock snuggled against your breasts.

You moaned when a thick finger brushed against your heat, tickling the aching that had developed since the pollen touched you. As he circled your pussy, you could hear his finger making obscene sounds, teasing your dripping folds and tracing your hole. He opened your outer labia and you gasped, your body arching under his touch, desperate for more.

“Gods,” he growled, thrusting his finger past the resistance of your body. “Fuuuck— so tight…You’re driving me wild, little one.”

“Please, Grom,” you begged again, wiggling your waist to urge him to pump that blessed finger that stayed deep in your depths. “I need you now.”

He chuckled and curled his finger inside you. “Patience, sweetheart. You are so little. Your pussy can’t take me yet.”

“I can! I can’t take you, always wanted to—” you stopped, realizing what you’d revealed.

“You always wanted me to fuck you?” He filled your sentence as he fingered you slowly, gathering your wetness and spreading it all over your cunt and clit.

You swallowed hard. “Hmm… always wanted you. I always feel so attracted to you.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” he moaned, kissing you sloppily. “I’ve wanted you every day. Wanted to rip your clothes apart, lick you from head to toe and thrust my dick in that sweet-scented pussy of yours. I’ll fuck you today— more than once, and you’ll be mine,” he whispered, his voice rough but tender.  “Mine. My mate.”

You nodded, your breath hitching when he added a second finger inside you. “I’m yours,” you whispered back, your voice trembling with need. “Please… make me feel whole again.”

With that, the world around you vanished, leaving nothing but immense pleasure that surged up your body and burst forth in a fine explosion. You rode his fingers, kissed him, and held him for dear life. You could hear your loud moans, his rough groans as he finger-fucked you, and the lewd sounds you made with all the juices pouring down your thighs. It was heaven—no, it felt better than heaven. And all you wanted to do was lose yourself in it and let him transport you both into a world of pure, unmistakable yearning.

Did you like? The next part is going to be sizzling steamyyyyy! Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated.‪‪ ❤︎‬

Three moons have passed since the orcs swept through your village.

You remember the chaos, the screaming, the clang of weapons, the way the earth shook beneath boots the size of your forearm.

But you also remember him. The chieftain. Standing a head taller than his warriors, tusks gleaming, his emerald eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you.

And then... nothing.

He took your supplies. Your livestock. A few crates of dried meat your grandmother had salted last winter. But not a single villager died. Not even old Martha, who threw a chamber pot at his head and called him a "green-skinned devil."

He left you all breathing. Bruised, terrified, but alive.

And then he started coming back.

Not with his war band. Not with weapons. Just him, alone, every few days. Appearing at the edge of your house with offerings that make absolutely no sense to you.

A perfectly smooth river stone.

An eagle feather.

A pouch of extremely expensive orcish mead.

A freshly killed rabbit.

You've accepted none of it.

Not because you're ungrateful. Not because you don't notice the way his broad shoulders slump a little more each time you shake your head and turn away. But because what is happening?

You're a weaver. A nobody. You mend shirts and spin wool and occasionally help the blacksmith's wife pull weeds from her vegetable patch. You are human, not a female orc for chieftains to leave offerings.

So you ignore him.

You ignore the way his gaze follows you when you walk to the stream to wash clothes.

You ignore the way he grumbles under his breath when you pretend not to see the wildflowers he's left on your windowsill.

You ignore the way your heart races every single time, because he's massive, terrifying and yet beautiful in that brutal way orcs are.

You ignore him so thoroughly that you've almost convinced yourself you don't care.

But tonight something is different.

You're standing in your small cottage, a threadbare towel wrapped around your body, hair still dripping from the bath you just took. The fire roars in the hearth, warming you up. You're reaching for your sleeping shift when you hear a thud.

Then a groan.

Then the unmistakable sound of someone large and clumsy attempting to navigate your doorstep.

Had you forgotten to lock? Damn!

The door swings open before you can latch it.

And there he is.

The chieftain.

Drunk.

His green skin is flushed across his cheekbones, his green eyes glassy and unfocused. He sways on his feet, one massive hand braced against the doorframe to keep himself upright. His tunic is unlaced, revealing his broad chest and the dark hair trailing down his ridged stomach.

He blinks at you.

Slowly.

Like he's trying to figure out if you're real.

"You—" He hiccups, then points a wavering finger at your face. "You."

You clutch the towel tighter, suddenly very aware that you're wearing almost nothing. "Chieftain. It's the middle of the night."

"Is it?" He squints toward the window, as if confirming this information. "Huh."

"You're drunk."

"Yes." He says it like he's proud of it.

"You should go home."

He doesn't move. His gaze drifts down from your face, lingers on the curve of your shoulder where the towel has slipped, on your damp throat, on the swell of your breasts. His throat works. His jaw tightens.

"Can't," he says.

"Can't what?"

"Can't go home." He takes a staggering step inside, and you instinctively step back. The movement makes your towel hitch higher on your thighs. His eyes track the motion. "Home doesn't have you."

Your heart hammers. "Chieftain—"

"Kolf," he says. "My name. Use it. Please. Please. I'm so tired of 'Chieftain.' I'm tired of you ignoring me. I'm tired of leaving you presents you never touch. I'm tired of smelling you on the wind and not being able—"

He breaks off, swaying again, and catches himself on your table.

A clay cup topples and rolls to the floor.

You stare at him.

Kolf. You don't want to say his name out loud. You are scared it will affect you in ways you wouldn't expect.

"Why?" you whisper.

"Why what?"

"Why are you—" You gesture at him, at the door, at the entire impossible situation. "Doing this?"

"Because you're mine."

"I'm what?"

"Mine," he says powerfully. "I saw you. During the raid. Standing in front of your grandmother. Little thing, shaking like a leaf, but you didn't run. You didn't beg. You just—" He exhales, dragging a hand through his dark hair. "Stood there. Looked at me like I was the monster everyone says I am, but you didn't flinch."

Your throat tightens. "I was terrified."

"I know." He takes another step closer, and this time, you don't move back. "But you didn't run. Do you know how rare that is? How fucking rare?"

"Kolf—" You bite your lips. Damn...now you'd done it now.

"I brought you things. Good things! Pretty things. Things orc males give females they want to court. And you... you just kept ignoring me."

You open your mouth to explain, to tell him that you didn't know, that no one ever taught you orc courting customs, that you thought he was just taunting you—

But he doesn't let you speak.

"I like you! I like the way you hum when you work. I like the way you roll your eyes at the sky when it rains. I like the way your nose crinkles when you're annoyed, and you're almost always annoyed, and I like it. I like you. And you won't even look at me."

He's standing close now. Close enough that you can smell the mead on his breath, the pine and earth of his skin, the heat radiating off his massive body. His chest rises and falls in ragged breaths. His eyes, that impossible green, are glossy.

"You need to—"

"I'm sorry," he blurts. "For the raid. For taking your things. For scaring you. I didn't.. I didn't know how else to see you. Your village. Your face. I thought if I came with my warriors, you'd—" He breaks off. "I'm not good at this. I'm not good at words. I'm good at fighting. At leading. At taking what I want. But you... you're not something you take. You're something you earn. And I don't know how to earn you—"

All of a sudden, his knees buckle.

You lurch forward, catching him—or trying to. He's three times your size, for god's sake. A mountain of muscles and your poor arms barely wrap around his torso. Your strength is not enough and he's going down, dragging you with him.

But he twists at the last second, curling his body around yours, and you land on top of his chest instead of the floor. His back hits the wooden planks with a thud. His eyes flutter.

"Kolf?"

He groans.

"Kolf!"

His breathing evens out. His massive arms, which had somehow wrapped around you, go slack.

He's asleep.

Face wrinkling, you push yourself up, staring down at the unconscious orc sprawled across your floor. His lips are parted. His tusks glint. One of his hands is still curled loosely around your ankle.

"Damn it," you whisper.

Eventually, you manage to drag him onto the couch.

It takes an embarrassingly long time. He's heavy. Every limb feels like it's filled with stone. But you push and shove and grunt and curse until his massive frame is folded onto the worn cushions, his boots hanging off one end, his head lolling against the armrest.

You stand back, breathing hard, and look at him.

The fire is low now, crackling and the dim light paints his face in warm gold. In sleep, he looks younger and softer. The hard lines of his jaw relax. His brow smooths. One of his hands twitches, reaching for something that isn't there, and settles on his chest.

He brought you gifts, you think. For three moons. And you ignored him.

Because you didn't understand.

Because no one ever taught you that an orc chieftain leaving an eagle feather on your windowsill meant I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life.

Because you're stubborn and scared and so used to being invisible that you didn't know what to do with someone seeing you.

You pull a blanket from your bed and drape it over him. He murmurs something in his sleep, a rumble you can't quite make out, and his hand catches the edge of the blanket, pulling it tighter around himself, smelling it, smiling in his sleep.

You should go to your room.

You should.

But your feet won't move.

Instead, you sink onto the floor beside the couch and you watch him.

He likes you.

The thought settles warmly into your chest. He likes you.

And you... foolish, stubborn, terrified you... might like him back.

******

Hours pass. You are in bed but you can't sleep.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the occasional rumble of his breathing from the other room.

Something in you burns.

You are hot and curious.

You want to see him again.

Sighing, you slip out of bed before you can talk yourself out of it. Your feet carry you barefoot across the cold wooden floor, past the hearth where the fire has died to embers, to the couch where he lies.

He hasn't moved. One arm is thrown over his head, the other draped across his stomach. The blanket has slipped to his waist and his tunic is even more open, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the trail of dark hair that vanishes beneath the waistband of his trousers.

You kneel beside him.

And reach out.

Your fingers hover over his chest then, gently, you touch him.

Warm. He's so warm. His skin is rougher than you expected, textured with scars and raised ridges of old wounds. His chest hair is coarse, curling around your fingers as you press deeper.

He doesn't stir.

Emboldened, you trace the line of his collarbone, the strong column of his throat, the sharp jut of his jaw. His tusks feel smooth and cool.

Beautiful, you think. He's beautiful.

Your hand drifts lower, skimming over his stomach. The muscles there tense beneath your touch, even in sleep, and you feel the hard ridges of his abdomen, the V-shape that disappears beneath his trousers.

Your breath catches.

And his hand catches yours.

"Caught you," he murmurs. His eyes open, just a crack. "Been waiting. For you to touch me."

"Kolf—"

"You don't get to stop now." He sits up, and you scoot back on your heels, but he follows. His massive hand engulfs yours, pulls it back to his chest, presses your palm flat against his heart. It's pounding. Hard. "Feel that? That's what you do to me. Every time I see you. Every time I smell you."

"Smell me?"

"Like honey." He leans closer, and his free hand cups the back of your neck. His thumb strokes the sensitive skin behind your ear. "Like mine."

"Y... You're drunk—"

"Not anymore." His eyes are clear now. "Sober enough to know what I want. Sober enough to know I've wanted it for three fucking moons."

"What do you want?"

He doesn't answer with words.

He kisses you.

His mouth crashes against yours, tasting of mead and something uniquely him. His tusks graze your lower lip, careful, and you gasp against his mouth. He swallows the sound, pulls you closer, wraps both arms around you and lifts you onto his lap.

Your knees bracket his hips. Your shift—gods, you're still only wearing a thin shift—rides up your thighs. His hands settle on your waist, and his fingers dig into the soft flesh there, grip you like he's afraid you'll disappear.

"Tell me to stop," he rasps against your lips. "Tell me no, and I'll stop. I'll walk out that door and never bother you again. But if you want this—"

"I want this."

The words leave your mouth before you can think about them. Before you can talk yourself out of them. They are raw and honest, and he breaks.

"Thank the gods," he groans, and he's kissing you again, his tongue sliding against yours, his hands roaming down your back, your hips, your thighs.

"I didn't know," you manage between kisses. "The gifts. The courting. I didn't know."

He pulls back. His eyes are dark, dilated. "What do you mean, you didn't know?"

"No one told me." You press your forehead to his. "I thought you were mocking me. Taunting me. I didn't know orcs—"

"Fuck." His hands tighten on your hips. "Fuck, sweetheart. All this time. You thought I was mocking you?"

"Your people raided my village."

"We took supplies. We didn't hurt anyone. I gave orders—" He breathes out harshly. "I'm not good at this. I've never—I've never wanted anyone like this. I didn't know how to—" He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. For the raid. For scaring you. For not explaining. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

"But I—"

"Kolf." You cup his face in your hands, feel the rough stubble on his jaw, the smooth curve of his tusks. "I'm here. I'm choosing to be here. With you. That's what matters."

He smiles. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He kisses you softly. Briefly. "Bed?" he murmurs.

"Bed."

He carries you to your bed like you're made of glass. Which is hilarious, because two seconds later, he's tearing the shift off your body and staring at you like he wants to devour you.

"Sweetheart," he rasps. "Look at you."

You're naked beneath him, spread across your thin mattress, and he's still fully clothed. Tunic unlaced, trousers straining over his obvious bulge. A very very prominent bulge. The sight makes your mouth water.

"Too many clothes," you manage.

"Agreed."

He strips without care. Tunic over his head, revealing wide shoulders, a chest carved like granite, and arms thick with muscle and crisscrossed with old scars. His trousers follow, and then his—

Oh.

His cock.

You've never been with an orc before. You've heard stories; whispered rumors in the village about what orc males keep between their legs. But stories didn't prepare you for this.

It's massive. Thick and long, veined, the head flushed a darker green, leaking profusely. His balls hang heavy beneath, drawn tight against his body.

"He's friendly," Kolf says, catching you staring. "I promise."

"He's terrifying."

"He'll behave." He crawls onto the bed, over you, caging you with his arms. His thighs bracket yours, and you feel the heat of him, the weight of him. "Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Can't make any promises about the rest of me."

Before you can spiral, he kisses you again. His mouth claims yours, his tongue strokes against your teeth, your palate, everything. You moan into him, wrap your arms around his neck, pull him closer.

His hand slides down your body, over your collarbone, your sternum, the curve of your ribs, until he reaches your breast. He cups it, weighs it in his palm, and his thumb drags across your nipple making you gasp.

"Sensitive?" he murmurs against your throat.

"Yes."

"Good."

He bends his mouth to your breast, and you feel his hot tongue lapping at your nipple before drawing it into his mouth. He suckles gently at first, then harder, and you arch off the bed, fingers tangling in his hair.

"Kolf—"

"So pretty," he murmurs against your skin. "Wanted to do this. For months. Wanted to taste you. Touch you. Hear you."

He switches to your other breast, giving it the same attention, and you're wrecked. Your thighs clench around his hips, desperate for friction, for something.

"Please," you whimper.

"Please what?"

"I need—"

"I know what you need." He kisses down your sternum, your stomach, the jut of your hipbones. "Going to take care of you, sweetheart. Going to worship you."

He settles between your thighs, and you feel his ragged breath against your pussy.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Look at this pretty cunt."

You're soaked. You can feel it the slickness, the way your flesh aches for him.

"Kolf—"

His mouth covers you, and your thoughts dissolve.

His tongue is everywhere. Lapping at your folds, circling your clit, plunging inside you. He groans against your flesh like you're the best thing he's ever tasted, and his hands grip your thighs, holding you open and immobile for him.

"Oh—" You buck against his face, and he growls. "Ahh, ghnnn—"

"So sweet. Tastes like honey. Like mine. Could eat my mate's little cunt forever."

"Kolf, I'm going to—"

"Not yet." He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, then your mound, then lower. "Not until I say."

"Hgn... that's cruel."

Growling, he continues his attack; licking, sucking, fucking you with his tongue until you're a shaking, sobbing mess, begging him for release. And still, he denies you. Keeps you teetering on the edge, right there, right there—and then pulls back.

"Please!" you cry out. "Please, Kolf, I can't—"

"You can." He kisses his way back up your body, and you feel his cock leaking against your thigh. "You can take more. I know you can, sweetheart."

He reaches down, guides himself to your entrance, and you feel the head of him nudging at your folds.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Yes. Yes."

A little roll of his hips and he pushes inside you.

Just the head at first and you gasp at the stretch. He's so big. Bigger than anything you've ever taken.

"Breathe," he murmurs, kissing your forehead. "Breathe, sweetheart. I've got you."

You force yourself to relax, to welcome him, and he sinks deeper. An inch. Two. Three. Your body yields to him, inch by agonizing inch. It takes forever but at some point, he's finally seated to the hilt.

"Fuck," he groans, and his forehead drops to yours. "So tight. So perfect. Squeezing me like you never want me to leave."

You can't speak. Can't think. The fullness of him, the way he stretches you, the way your body clenches around him have completely taken over.

"Okay?" he asks.

"More than okay."

He laughs softly and begins to move.

His thrusts are slow at first. Each one presses a sweet spot deep inside you, making stars burst behind your eyes. You cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist.

"Look at me," he rasps.

You open your eyes, and he's watching you. Watching the way your face contorts with pleasure, the way your lips part, the way your body responds to his.

"I want to remember this," he says. "Want to remember the way you look when I'm moving inside you."

"Kolf—"

"Mine." He thrusts deeper, and you cry out. "Say it."

"Yours."

Another deep stroke. "Mine."

"Yours, I'm yours—"

He speeds up, and the bed creaks beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall. His hips piston against yours, and you feel everything—the drag of his cock, the slap of his balls against your ass, the way his breathing turns uneven and desperate.

"Going to fuck you so hard," he growls, "you feel me for days. Going to bruise that pretty little cunt. Make you remember who you belong to."

"Yes—"

"Sweetheart." He shifts his angle, and you mewl. "That's it. That's the spot. There."

He pounds into you and you feel your orgasm building—not the teasing edges he gave you before, but something enormous. Something that is about to explode.

"Come for me," he commands. "Come on your orc's cock, sweetheart. Now."

You break. Your walls clamp down on him, pulsing, milking, and you sob his name as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you. He doesn't stop. Keeps fucking you through it, keeps driving into you, and the sensation triggers little climaxes.

"One more," he says. "Give me one more."

"I can't—"

"You can."

Reaching between your bodies, he finds your clit and circles it. Torments it. Another orgasm hits before the previous has even faded. Your whole body convulses, your vision whites out.

"That's it," he groans. "That's my girl. Fuck—"

He buries himself to the hilt, and lets out a feral snarl. You feel him pulse inside you, endless ropes of his seed pouring into your pussy. He keeps thrusting through it, shallow now, drawing out every last drop, and you whimper at the overstimulation.

But he doesn't stop.

He can't.

"I'm not done with you," he drawls. "Not even close."

Pulling out slowly, he's rolling you onto your stomach, ignoring the streams of his seed trickling down your thighs. He lifts your hips and aligns himself at your entrance.

"Kolf—"

"I said I was going to bruise you." He impales you and you moan into the pillow. "I meant it."

He fucks you again. And again. And again.

He fucks you on your stomach, on your side, with your legs wrapped around his neck and your ankles crossed behind his head. He fucks you against the headboard, against the wall, on the floor when the bed groans too loudly.

He fucks you until you lose count of your orgasms, until you're nothing but a trembling, sobbing, sated mess beneath him.

And when he finally spills inside you for the last time, when he collapses beside you, pulling you against his chest, you feel it.

That ache. Deep inside you. Where his cock has been pounding for hours.

Your cervix is bruised.

And you can't stop smiling.

********

The Morning After...

Sunlight streams through the cracks in your curtains, and you wake to warmth.

Kolf is asleep behind you, one arm thrown over your waist, his face buried in your hair. He's spooning you, his breathing slow and even, his chest rising and falling against your back.

You try to move.

Ow.

Everything hurts. Your thighs are sore. Your breasts are tender. And between your legs... gods, there's an ache that goes deep. Your cervix feels bruised. And you've never been happier.

"Morning," he mumbles against your neck.

"You're awake."

"Wasn't sleeping." He presses a kiss to your shoulder. "Was enjoying you."

"You're creepy."

"You enjoy it."

You elbow him gently, and he laughs, a sound that vibrates through your entire body.

"How do you feel, sweetheart?" he asks, sitting up to look at you.

"Sore."

"Good sore or bad sore?".

"Good sore," you admit. "Really good sore."

"Good." He kisses your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. "That's what I wanted."

You turn in his arms to face him. "You wanted to bruise me."

"I wanted you to remember me." His hand slides down your stomach, between your legs, and you gasp when his fingers find your swollen, sensitive pussy. "Every time you walked today. Every time you sat down. Every time you moved."

"You're insufferable."

"You're mine," he says with a smile. His smile is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

You pout. "You say it it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like the sun rising. Like the tide coming in."

He grins. "It is. You're mine and I'm yours."

"Yeah," you whisper. "I'm yours."

-------------------------------------