Bragenhos Saga 3 -- Ill Tidings
By D.O. celliophonic@yahoo.com http://groups.yahoo.com/group/bestbbcstories/
This story takes place within the world of Bragenhos, a fantastical land filled with dark magics and darker religions, knights, warriors, barbarians, orcs, elves, violence, chaos and death. Please see my previous tales set in this realm, The Tavern, King's Gambit and Breed Mage.
King Kresimir stood looking at the tall, black-skinned orc chieftain dressed in scarred and burned and bloodied battle armor, before him. Although Kresimir was a tall and imposing man himself, Zhakul towered over him by half a foot, a tall male even by orc standards. His onyx skin glinted in the streams of sunlight that shown through the skylight in the relatively modest sized reception chamber at Kresimir's palace. The King and the Warchief were meeting for the first time in several months, since Zhakul's forces had soundly defeated Kresimir's badly outnumbered troops on the field in what the humans were now calling The Battle of Sorrows. River's End stood on the edge of orc lands, protecting much of the rest of humanity from the brutish orcs. Even now, the small kingdom was bearing the brunt of the surrender treaty and concessions made after the battle. Kresimir had made deals he didn't want to make, but it was all in the name of continuing to keep the orcs at bay. Zhakul was here ostensibly to check in, but Kresimir knew he was simply visiting to gloat over his victory. He hated the chieftain, hated him for the defeat, and hated him for humiliating Kresimir by taking his youngest son as his jhuu-lia, a boy wife.
Zhakul smiled his mirthless, toothy grin at the king, knowing just how much the man hated him and reveling in it. He looked so forward to rubbing the human's nose in the shit of defeat. He looked back at his entourage; they were preparing to enter the reception chamber with the very pregnant Luka at the head of the procession. How he was going to savor the look on the king's face as he realized what Zhakul had done to the boy, as he realized that further humiliation was indeed possible. "My good Kresimir. Thank you so much for your fine hospitality." He spoke the words with a cockiness that made no mistake as to his meaning. "It has been many months since I last set foot inside your castle, long since we last spoke as equals, man to man. I thought you might be interested to see your son once again......my jhuu-lia, now of course. I am certain you will.........pay attention, to say the least. Enter, my sentinels, bring......the prince before his father." He emphasized the word prince, articulating it in his heavy, gruff orcish accent.
The guard marched in, the front soldiers carrying a bed of sorts between them. Kresimir looked on in shock and disgust as his son, Prince Luka, lying flat, powerless upon it, was brought before him. The boy had clearly been crying, embarrassed beyond imagining. He was sickened as he saw how garishly his son had been made up, looking like some painted whore, wearing the flimsy silks and satins of a courtesan, pierced and tattooed...and there was something else. Did the boy look heavier? What could have happened to let things go to this point? He did not think it possible at this moment to sink any further. But he was soon to realize how wrong he was.
Zhakul stepped quickly over to the boy and without advance set-up or warning, quickly whipped away the gown covering Luka's midriff. A gasp went through the crowd, followed by an immediate hush. It was plain the unthinkable, the impossible had happened. No one in the room needed to be told the young prince was pregnant; but nobody could figure out how it could be. Kresimir was trembling as he looked upon his son's full abdomen. He felt his face beginning to turn red, his shame now approaching completion. He struggled for words. "How....h....how can.......th...this..........how can this vileness be? Tell me what you have done to my son, Zhakul! You will tell me!" He was facing the giant orc lord, fury bubbling up from a hidden well within his being. Rage was filling him. That rage began to grow hotter as Zhakul slowly ran his hand over the expectant bump, touching his son possessively, as if the prince were his property.
"Heh, heh. You should take care with how you speak to me, King. I alone hold the fortunes of you, your people and your boy, in my hands. I defeated you on the field of battle. You accepted my terms of your surrender. Your boy is now my wife, to do with as I please. I decided that I would very much like to have him bear my children. So I have impregnated your lad, your prince, with my orc seed and he will birth me a half-breed runt. Now our two nations shall share a family connection; we will be kin, of sorts." He paused to allow his words to sink in. "As to how this conception was achieved...? You call it vile.....I call it the miracle of life. Ha, ha! Well, ancient magics of the elves are a powerful thing, indeed..... See how he has even grown some little teats....?" He laughed a humorless chuckle.
Kresimir was trembling, clearly enraged over these developments. He would surely die from this shame, this degradation. "You......dare enter my dwelling to put on this......this.... demonstration of your hold over us? We have abided by the rules of your victory, surrendered lands long ours, made monetary reparations......given you slaves even. I WILL NOT SUFFER TO..." Zhakul cut him off. "You will suffer whatever I choose, oh mighty King! You will open your residence to me and my security detail. And you will thank me for not having you beheaded, as I perhaps should have done....... I will have need of a private quarter for myself and the prince. Very private....... See to it immediately." His tone suggested he was not expecting to wait. He looked back at Kresimir and smiled a snarly grin as he saw the color drain from the defeated monarch's face. He would bed his pregnant boy bride tonight, within the walls of his conquered foe, father of the bride...
For his part, Luka, although extremely humiliated could scarcely come to grips with his new body. Feelings he had never known, never intended to know, rushed through him. It was now several hours after they had arrived at the castle and he now found himself waiting almost breathlessly, dressed in his sheerest mating gown, for his husband, Zhakul, to join him in their boudoir. He was incredibly aroused; his hole was slick and ready, aching to be taken by the brawny orc brute, despite or perhaps because of the pregnancy. His tiny breasts, swollen with milk, throbbed to feel the swine's hands and lips upon them, tweaking, pinching......biting. He reached behind him and slowly slid two fingers into his steamy gash, moaning as he pushed into the pulsating warmth. Gods! Where was Zhakul? He hated the Warchief..........but still desired his touch, his hardness. His mind and emotions twisted together as he despised his own need for and servitude to the warmongering chieftain yet could not contain the primal craving for the huge orc's pitch black manhood delving deep into his guts, the muscled physique covering him in a protective cocoon. That need slithered through him like a sinful snake.
The heavy oaken door creaking open diverted his attention. As Luka looked towards the doorway, the hulking figure of Zhakul filled it up, blocking the low torchlight in the hallway. He gulped a little as his master entered the room, slamming the door behind. The orc leader looked down at his slender, white-skinned boy wife and felt lust begin to course through his veins. Even with child, the boy was beautiful and Zhakul planned to spend another night of subjugating the youngster to his iron will. He enjoyed the power he held over the lad, knowing the hatred Luka felt for him, yet all the while quivering to feel the Warchief's commanding presence and raw sexuality.
He hurriedly unstrapped his breastplate, letting it drop to the floor with a thud. "Hello, little white dove. Are you ready for your warlord? Ready to scream in passion for me?" Zhakul made no bones about the fact that he was a very sexual being, with an enormous appetite for carnal activities. He reached down and grabbed the boy by his chin, harshly twisting Luka to force him to look in his eyes. "Take me in your mouth, my dove." Luka's eyes moved downward as he realized the Warchief had already undone the strings of his leather breeches and had released his cock. The boy needed no urging, his mouth watering as Zhakul's strong scent reached his nostrils. He grabbed the steely thing in his delicate hands and began to stroke up and down the shaft. His master groaned with delight and he quickly moved to place his lips over the tip, swirling his tiny tongue around in the piss hole, now slimy with the herald of the orc's desire. Luka suckled a bit at the bulbous head, amazed as he always was by the sheer enormity of it, but knowing that he could get it all down his gullet. Zhakul had trained him well, forcing him to push past his gag reflex and simply accept the turgid meat into his throat. Now he could barely contain his longing for it, to taste the salty flesh, to breathe in the overwhelming musk of masculinity.
Zhakul looked down through slotted eyelids, moaning softly as his jhuu-lia sucked him. The boy was humming as he slurped, a certain sign of enjoyment on his part. The orc warrior threw back his head in intense ecstasy as he felt his length slide into the lad's throat and as he looked down he saw Luka's lips stretched obscenely around his swollen member, pressed into the wiry hair at the root of his prick. Fuck the boy was so good! Such a good little cocksucker! He could scarcely think as he felt those soft, ruby lips begin to travel back up his tool, gliding wetly over the rock hard flesh. If he allowed the ka-teth to continue, he would surely spill himself into that thirsty mouth. Perhaps that is what he would do, even though he had set his eyes on having some pussy this night. He just needed to nut, to unload in a hole. But his real goal was to bring his boy whore to a shattering, wailing climax, within earshot of the royals in the palace. Disgrace and humiliate them, while debasing one of their own and as a bonus, empty his balls of a massive load that had been pent up for days......
The Warchief grabbed Luka's head in his strong grasp and slowly slid that amazing mouth off his pole. He gasped a little as the boys teeth caught just slightly on the fat crown around the head of his manhood, a strand of saliva keeping them connected. Gods that felt good! But he needed to refocus on his purpose. Zhakul again twisted the boy's face upward to look at him and spoke. "I wish for you to ride me. I will lie on my back; you will face me, my dove." He rolled himself onto the ornate bed, pausing only to reach for a droplet of slicking oil from the bedside urn. He slathered it all over his cock, coating his meat with the viscous substance. He knew Luka would be wet, a natural side effect of the pregnancy, but he always knew you could never have enough grease when bedding a whore.
Luka was half crazed with willful need, coveting the orc warrior's muscled body, wanting the black-skinned brute within him. Being pregnant had turned him into a cock-seeking slut, almost. He had no idea how to turn off the feelings of desire that welled up deep inside his body and soul, practically forcing him to open up his slit to the bestial lord. All he knew was that he had to have his aching innards wrapped around Zhakul's cock very soon, lest he go mad from the wanting. "M....my lord. Please.... I...I need it.....so bad...." He was nearly begging for the big orc to take him, to make the throbbing in his hole go away. "Shhhhh, my little dove. I will give you what you need. Soon I will soak your pussy with my seed once more..." Zhakul was whispering quietly.
Luka was in position now, the heat from his hole radiating out of him and onto Zhakul's shaft. The thought of being buried in that sweet slit once more was almost overwhelming to the Warchief. He could already envision how he would twist his cock inside the boy's guts, how they would know intense bliss from the friction of each other's bodies. He quickly snapped back to the present as he felt Luka begin to back down onto the tip of his swollen cock-crown and like that, they became one again.
Zhakul gasped as several inches of his maleness was swallowed by the velvety softness in the lad's entrails. He looked into Luka's eyes and saw that they were just barely open, he was squinting through the slits as the pleasure and pain overtook his young body. He was lightly mewling, almost begging to be filled up even more. Zhakul spoke. "Yes little dove, move your pussy on my spear, make Zhakul pleased. Let the entire castle know who your Master is..." They both shrieked out a howl of delight as Luka slid all the way down, his once tiny opening now stretched obscenely around the orc's immense rod. Zhakul let out a deep bellow as he felt himself sinking deeply into hot, slippery boy flesh. The youngling was crying out as the orc cock slid all the way into his guts forcing the yielding channel to spread apart. "Ahhhhh Gods! Yes my Lord!! I'm yours!" Luka cried out brokenly.
The Warchief grasped the boy's hips and began to fuck, in the animalistic way of orcs. He gave the human male no quarter, no mercy. He made certain the bitch knew that he belonged to Warchief Zhakul and everyone nearby knew it as well. He felt as if he might slip into a stupor of rapture as he and Luka settled into a rhythm with one another, grinding, pounding, and sweating. The pair had a definite connection, despite the boy's loathing of his captor. It was still quite clear that he could simply not get enough of the black brute's vicious fuckings. He loved being a bred bitch boy.
Later as Zhakul lay with his boy-bride in his muscular arms, he smiled wickedly to himself as he thought of Luka's cries of passion as the Warchief had soaked his guts with orc seed once more. He knew that as substantial as the walls of the castle were, there could be little doubt that their union had been heard by at least a few. He knew Kresimir would at least be aware of their coupling and he knew how it would infuriate him. And that thought greatly pleased him......
Best, D.O. celliophonic@yahoo.com http://groups.yahoo.com/group/bestbbcstories/