Dominic Ashen

Steel & Thunder

Art by @poppolio

Steel & Thunder

Chapter 2

Nathaniel, Corrine, and I sit silently in our cell, the tension thick in the air. No one has tried to talk me out of it though. Just an awkward silence—they want to get out of here as bad as I do. For my part, I do my best not to overthink things. The more I think about it, the more I might try to talk myself out of it, and I’m determined to get us out of here. True to Naruk’s word, the orc guard returns about an hour later.

“Captain Ironstorm accept challenge.” Well, if that isn’t an incredibly intimidating name, even in broken-sounding Common. He unlocks the door with a key, cuffing me in manacles before leading me out.

“If Adam and Liss get back here before I do, let ‘em know that I’m getting us outta here.” I do my best to make my final words to my team sound confident and not

“Good luck, David.” Corrine gives me a sad smile from her side of the bars.

“Yeah, kick his ass, man.” Nate does his best to not look quite so unconvinced.

“We’ll be out of here in no time.” I try not to think about how our freedom—and my life—is on the line.

Leading me from behind, the orc pushes me past a few more empty cells until we reach the door I assume I heard earlier. It’s heavy and made of metal, though I don’t see a lock. He presses his wrist to the door, above the handle, and a second later I hear a click. Huh? Before I have a chance to ask anything, I’m pushed through it.

As I’m led through the building, I do my best to take in my surroundings. We pass a few more doors before we end up in a larger room with a few other orcs. Some are conversing, but most are seated at desks and looking at papers. A few watch with amusement as we make our way through the room before we exit a final set of double doors to the outside.


We are definitely in a city. Buildings line the road on either side. The streets aren't packed, but there’s plenty of people—orcs—going about their business. A hand on my neck has me moving again, my warden apparently tired of my gawking. We turn right, and then right again down the next street so we are facing behind the jail, and I see where we are heading.

What looks like a large arena over two stories tall is situated just a few blocks down from us. The bottom half seems to be made of wood while the top half is stone. We’re doing this with an audience then. I suppose I did ask for that. We pass several orcs along the way, some doing a double take when they notice the metal cuffs on my wrists. A few even run off to the arena ahead of us, I guess to get a good seat.

Once we reach the open-air building, I see that the wooden walls outside are actually just panels laid over more stone. Several have been carved with intricate depictions of orcs engaged in different activities. They’re mostly battle scenes, but I also see what I think might be some kind of game or sport being played, and occasionally just some orcs standing around talking. Before I can look in more detail, I’m pushed through another series of doors, past more orcs I don’t know—who all look at me funny. The guard finally slows down when we reach what seems to be the final door, knocking when we approach.

A woman opens the door, her skin, tusks, and large pointed ears a match for my jailer, though her hair is long and black. She says something in Orcish and the guard grunts in response before pushing me to her.

“Come with me, sweetheart.” Another orc who knows her Common, and also one who is a lot less pushy; she’s content to let me follow at my own pace into the room.

It’s a large room, not at all what I expected. In one corner is a wooden bathtub, the water within hot enough for me to see the steam rising from the surface. There’s also a table filled with food, and along one wall is a large mirror situated above a shelf covered with all sorts of bottles. There’s a couch against another wall with a second female orc currently sitting on it. About the only thing in the room I do expect is the huge amount of weapons lining one of the walls.

I follow my new guard over to the mirror. I’m only just realizing I don’t think I’ve ever seen a female orc before today, not even in artwork. I mean, I guess I knew they had to exist, but I've only ever thought of orcs as male. They don’t look any different than a human woman does from a man. I just never pictured them before for some reason. I’ve seen more than a dozen in the last twenty minutes, including the two in front of me now, both dressed in simple black robes.

“Did he leave the keys?” the other orc, whose dark hair is pulled into a bun, asks.

“Damn, I forgot,” the first orc sighs.

“It’s fine. Come here sweetie.” The other orc signals for me, and I step forward. She takes a hold of my cuffs, placing her hand over the lock before muttering something to herself. The lock on my cuffs clicks, the manacles easily sliding off. “Much better.”

“Now, do you need help getting ready?” the first orc asks. Both these orcs sound a lot more natural when they speak.

“Um, no thanks. I think I’m okay.” Get ready with what exactly? It’s a fight. Are they gonna spar with me or something?

“Alright. You should have about thirty minutes. Once the ritual begins, you’ll hear a bell chime. Select your weapon from the wall—only one—and then walk through that door there.” She smiles warmly as she explains, pointing at a door set in the same wall as all the weapons.

“Feel free to use any of the oils or perfumes along the mirror. Just one more thing.” The second orc leans forward and places her hand on my lower stomach, muttering to herself again.

Oooooohhh boy. Whatever she just did, it felt weird. Kinda like I’m… I dunno…lighter or something? The hell did she do that for?

“Alright, good luck.” The second orc winks at me, both women smiling before turning and leaving the room through a separate third door.

That was weird, but at least I’m alone for a little and can think. I make an immediate beeline to the table of food. It’s simple things like fruits and cheese, but still better than anything I’ve had in a long time. I haven’t exactly been eating great since we started traveling. I’ve lost a lot of weight, almost thirty pounds, and most of it was muscle.

I used to hold my own against Adam or Liss in a one-on-one fight, but now I can’t so much as arm wrestle them. It’s not like I’m starving or anything; I just never knew how much I needed to eat to maintain my size. You don’t really fill up on meals when you spend most nights sleeping outside. Still, what I lost in strength has been gained back in agility. I move quickly, precisely, using my opponent's strength against them. I’ve even practiced picking a few pockets here and there.

Which is why I’m not too worried about my chances here. But I do need to eat something. I help myself to some of the food, stopping when I feel like my stomach is full, though not so full that it’ll hinder my movement. Then I look over the rest of the room. The mirror I really don’t see the use for, but the bath... I haven’t felt hot water in ages. I pull off my clothes and toss them on the couch. They’re nothing fancy, just a shirt, some pants, and a loincloth, all cotton.

I use the stepladder next to the large wooden tub to lower myself in slowly. Fuck does that feel good. For a few minutes, I just lay there with my eyes closed, content to mindlessly soak. Only for a few minutes though—I’ve got a death match to win after all. I spot a bar of soap and a washcloth on a small table next to the tub, and I am happy to scrub all the days of being outside off of my skin. I’m not sure how long I’m in there exactly, but the water never seems to go cold. These orcs certainly know their magic.

After a rinse and a few more minutes of soaking, I grudgingly pull myself from the tub. After weeks of nothing but cold river baths, that was heaven. I grab the towel laid out for me nearby, tossing it to the floor once I’m dry. I leave off my clothes, content to wander the room naked for now, something else I haven’t been able to do for a while.

I ponder the wall of weapons. There’s a lot: swords, staves, maces, bows, and quivers—just about any weapon I could think of and a few I don’t even know the names for. My weapon of choice used to be a broadsword, but after all the weight loss, I switched over to something smaller, usually a short sword. They're lighter, and at the moment, easier to wield. I’ve been practicing using a second one in my offhand lately so it sucks that she said I could only take one.

I reach for a sword that looks to be a good size, removing it from its perch. Steel, I think, the blade sharp and well balanced. I practice swinging it a few times before adding in a few jumps and dodges. It feels a little silly to be doing this naked, but I want to get a good feel for this thing before I head out there. I wish I could use my own sword. It’s nothing special, but I’m used to it.

I continue to practice with my weapon of choice, taking the time to warm myself up. I don’t wanna go out there totally unprepared. I’m in the middle of doing some stretches when I hear a loud bell ring coming from somewhere behind the weapon wall. I guess it’s time. I pull on my clothes, grab my sword, and head through the door.

Another hallway, though I can see the gate on the opposite end is open to the outside. The arena. I make my way toward it, suddenly feeling like I’m walking to my doom.

Which I guess I might be.

Nope, not gonna think like that. I’ll kick this orc’s ass and win us our freedom. Maybe I won’t even have to kill the guy. Maybe I can convince him to yield instead. Everyone wins!

Yeah, right.

The sun is blinding as I walk into the open air. The stands look near packed, the gathered crowd erupting in applause at my appearance. A much more positive reception than I would have expected for a human who’s about to try and kill one of their own. I’m tempted to wave, but opt to remain stoic. This isn’t exactly fun, and the more the crowd cheers, the more I realize how fucked up this all is. Did I make a mistake?

My opponent, Captain Ironstorm, is already on the field. The closer I get, the more I recognize him from the “incident.” He’s got short, cropped black hair, and if it weren’t for the green-olive complexion, he’d almost remind me of my dad. Unlike Dad though, he’s got a full beard, and well maintained at that. His tusks are at least an inch long, maybe an inch and a half, and he has deep, intense looking chocolate-brown eyes. Not sure why I added that last part.

He's not wearing much in the way of armor, at least not compared to the leathers I remember him in earlier. He's got at least half a foot of height on me, maybe a little more, and holy shit is he built. No wonder Adam had problems taking him down. Fuck, I remember how he knocked me halfway across the room. If I try to jump at him like I did last time, he'll wipe the floor with me. I leave some distance between us when I approach, matching my relaxed stance to his.

"Come here often?" Cracking jokes at inappropriate times is a nervous habit. He looks...amused? He gives me a curt nod of acknowledgment but says nothing. I nod in return, but the only thing on my face is determination. This won't be easy, and... I really don't want to hurt anyone. But I'm going to do what I have to.

The bell chimes again, and I think it's to signal the start of the fight. Ironstorm shifts into a more combative stance, though his expression is only slightly more serious. I follow suit, and as the audience shouts, the two of us begin to slowly circle each other. He chose a sword as well, but his weapon is much bigger than mine. Definitely a two-hander.

He makes the first move, leaping at me with a horizontal slash, and I move backward to dodge before jumping forward myself. My own sword is deflected easily, but it doesn't feel like we're really fighting yet. Just sizing each other up. He comes at me again, this time with a series of steady over the shoulder swipes. I don't so much deflect them as I knock them out of the way. He's got biceps the size of my head, and it's all I can do to meet his attacks head-on.

Gotta think smarter, David.

He tries to leap at me again, and this time, I not only knock his sword away but deliver a swift kick to the gut too. He's pushed back slightly, holding his free hand to his stomach for only a moment. Gonna have to use my sword if I stand a chance.

We continue to toy with each other like this for some time. I'm not sure how long, but I'm starting to get tired, and frankly, the people watching seem like they’re getting bored. Time to stop screwing around, I guess. I think back to the fight in the ruins, the way that first orc came at me but totally biffed it and hit the ground. I don't think my opponent here is quite that stupid, but maybe there's a way I can still provoke him and use his reaction to my advantage.

I switch tactics, going entirely evasive, making sure I am consistently out of his reach while doing my best to land quick kicks and jabs where I can. Nothing more than small annoyances to him, but that's the idea. I can tell he's starting to get riled up when the smirk on his face shifts to a scowl, and then to outright anger. Here we go.

He lunges at me again, much harder and faster than he has before. But instead of jumping back and using his recovery to land a punch, I twist to the side, letting him pass me entirely and putting all my strength into delivering a hard kick to the back of his knee. His leg gives out and down he goes, his sword clattering to the ground just out of reach. This is it. He's face down on the ground, his neck and back exposed. I raise my sword, ready to land the final blow, his body prone before me to take out.

But I hesitate.

And that's all it takes.

He pushes off the ground quickly and comes at me, spinning around and delivering his own kick right to my stomach. The wind is knocked out of me, and I am launched backward before hitting the ground. My sword goes flying, to where I don't know since I'm too focused on trying to breathe again. Before I have the chance to move, I feel a leather boot on my stomach again, though not pressing to hold me down.

In victory.

Once I can breathe again, I look up, seeing his muscular green form standing over me, the sun behind him, his sword pointed down at me. I'm brought back to the ruins, the last time I passed out with him above me. As sounds begin to filter back into my ears, I can hear the crowd roaring, and I can only imagine the sight we are.

Why is he drawing this out? To humiliate me? Just get it over with.

"Do it," I say once I can find my ability to speak.

"Do what?" His voice is deep, gruff even.

"Kill me." Fuck, is he going to make me beg to die?

"What? Why would I... Why would I kill you?" He lets his sword arm drop to his side, and though the sun makes it hard to read his expression, he sounds genuinely confused.

"Because that's what we’re doing? Trying to kill each other?" What the hell is happening right now?

"You were trying to kill me?" Okay, now he’s less confused and maybe a little angry.

"Y-Yes? Weren't you trying to kill me?" I get a really bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, beyond the boot-shaped bruise I have growing. "Isn't that what we were supposed to be doing?"

"NO!" he roars down at me.

"O-oh." I don't know what to say to that. I don't know what's going on right now. What was all this then? What happens now? "I don't understand. What were we supposed to be...? What are you going to do now?"

There's a beat of silence. "Why don't I show you?" I don't need to see his face to hear the venom in his voice. If he's not going to kill me, it sounds like I may wish he had.

He tosses his sword to the side, and I see it land some distance from us. When I look back up, he's pulling his shirt off next, tossing it away as well. Shit, I can't believe I actually almost beat this guy. He's a hairy motherfucker, and I'm not sure Adam, myself, or any other knight back at the academy could get a body like his, even if we hit the gym every day.

He moves down, his boot no longer on my stomach. Instead, he kneels over me, and I can finally see his face clearly. Yeah, he looks none too happy right now. I probably wouldn't be either if I found out someone was trying to kill me. But what is he doing, and why did he take off his shirt? There’s some roundness to his stomach but even that has a fuck-ton of muscle underneath it.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small pocket knife. I thought we were only allowed one weapon? I guess it doesn't really count, not like he used it. And just as I think that, he grabs my shirt in his other hand and uses the knife to rip it in half. The spectators around us cheer.

"What the hell!" That's my fucking shirt! I don't have a lot of those!

"Quiet, or I'll gag you." The order is delivered the way my old drill instructors used to give them, the kind not to be defied or questioned. He finishes tearing my shirt, removing it from me entirely before he drops the knife and grabs my wrists to position my hands above my head. Then, using the tatters of my now ruined shirt, he ties them together. Is he taking me back to jail? "Do not move these."

I make no attempt to move them. He searches my face for a moment, but all he finds is confusion. "You truly have no idea what is to happen here?"

"I told you... I thought we were supposed to be trying to kill each other." Can't say I pictured ever having to say that to someone. This is more humiliating than I could have ever imagined.

"Hmmph. Humans." He pauses before picking up his pocket knife again. "You really should learn to think before rushing to action." Then he grabs my pants by the waist and rips the knife down one of the legs.

"Would you stop that!?" I need my pants! I have even less of those than shirts! "Can you just tell me what you're doing!?"

"Taking my prize for winning." His expression changes from anger to hunger. What? He then rips through my other pant leg, the crowd erupting as he yanks the torn fabric out from under me. That leaves me lying on the floor of the arena in nothing but my loincloth, hands bound above my head. Then I notice his own pants, or at least the prominent bulge sticking out from them. Oh gods, why is he... Remember when I said this was more humiliating than I could have imagined?

I'm too scared to ask if my assumptions are right. My whole body flushes red and thanks to that fucking pocket knife, it's all on display. Everything except for the thin layer of fabric I call my underwear. Ironstorm, looking confident even when shuffling on his knees, leaves my side. When I realize it's to move between my legs, I snap them shut in a futile attempt to keep him away.

He only smirks, grabbing my ankles and swiftly removing my shoes before taking my knees in both hands and easily parting my thighs. As he moves forward, his eyes rake down my torso before stopping on the only area I still have covered, his eyebrows quirking up in amusement. "It seems you may have figured it out."

What is he...? Oh no. In my humiliation and fear-induced state, I didn't notice Little David deciding to wake up and join the party. Why here? Why now?

It's not like I'm enjoying any of this! I did not wake up today and think, “Oh boy I sure would like to get manhandled and tied up by a hot muscular half-naked orc.” I don't even like men! Even if I did just refer to him as hot. I've never been with anyone, okay? And traveling in close quarters for two months with four other people doesn't exactly give you a lot of alone time either. I'm just pent up, that's all.

"I think I will keep these as a trophy," Ironstorm jokes as he reaches for my underwear, apparently not intending to shred them. Instinctively, my bound hands shoot down in an attempt to hold onto my dignity, but they're caught before they reach their target. My captor looks none too amused with my stunt. "What did I say about moving these?" he growls before slamming my wrists back into the dirt above my head, his entire body looming over mine.

"Please." Not entirely sure what I'm asking for here. He's practically on top of me, his arm stretched over my head as he holds me down. His underarm is as hairy as the rest of him, and the scent of his musk hits me full-on. I can even feel his erection poking against mine. "I... I've never..." Aaaaaand I'm turning red again. Please don't make me say it out loud.

He looks at me curiously, but I can tell he doesn't quite believe me. "Do not move them again," he grumbles before moving back to his earlier position, kneeling between my thighs. He takes both my legs in his hands again, this time bringing them together, sticking them straight up and bending them over his left shoulder. Then, lifting me with one strong arm, he slips the loincloth off my ass and up my legs. You know, like when you diaper a baby.

Why can't he just kill me?

He lays my legs down once again, spread wide and leaving me fully exposed to him and everyone else in the audience, who are once again raucous with glee at my debasement. My hands are balled into fists as I fight every urge to cover myself, too fearful of the wrath of the giant man currently ogling my naked body. It's not like I have anything to be ashamed of. My dick is a nice seven inches when hard. It's more the being-forced-to-do-this-in-front-of-a-bunch-of-people of it all that is getting to me.

He moves forward and uses his knees to spread my thighs farther, exposing more than just my dick. He grabs my left leg and lifts it, placing it on his shoulder. He then reaches into the pocket of his leather pants, pulling out a small glass vial. I watch suspiciously as he uncorks the top and dribbles a clear liquid onto his fingers. By the time he recorks the vial and I realize what he's doing, his index finger is pushing into my ass.

I can't help but hiss and squirm, half in pain and half in surprise. I can't tell how much he's got in me, but it feels like a lot, and I know his hands are fucking huge. My eyes water as I futilely try to push him out, but he only pushes farther inside in response.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck. I've never done anything like this before. Maybe I've thought about it once or twice, but I've never actually had something in my ass before!

"Breathe."  My eyes snap open at the order, and I take a breath as requested. I didn't realize I was holding it. That's the only bit of kindness I get though, as he continues to drive his large green digit in and out of my hole. I try to focus on breathing, but it's difficult, especially after he adds finger number two. My eyes scrunch up in pain, and I turn my head to whine into my arm, earning me a small chuckle from above. It's about the only thing I can do. His free arm is wrapped around my leg, holding it tightly to his chest.

The initial entry may have been fast, but now that he’s in, he seems perfectly happy to take his time. His fingers stretch me as they slide in and out of my body, sometimes in sync, sometimes in a rhythm, and when he scissors them apart, it feels like I'm at my limit, like I might split in two. And once or twice he does this thing where he hooks his fingers upward and has me arching off the ground.

I'm not entirely sure when this switched from pain to pleasure, but now instead of fighting to push him out, I have to fight myself not to start pushing back on him. Especially when he hits that one spot. I don't even realize it's me making the noise when I start hearing the whimpering and moaning. I try to use my arm to muffle myself, but I know he's already heard me. Not to mention my dick, which wilted slightly after the first intrusion, and has stiffened back up to full hardness. Traitor.

More gently than I would have expected, Ironstorm pulls his fingers from my hole, chuckling when I whimper at their loss. It just feels weird, okay? I guess I haven't really considered the next logical step in all this, only realizing when he stands and begins undoing his pants what comes next. Panicking, I look at the entrance I came through, hoping for a chance to escape. But no, the gates have already been shut. Would I have even made it that far if they weren't?

When I look back up, he's once again towering over me, only this time he's fully naked. The sun once again blocks the details of his features, but his outline is clear. His cock is massive and as green as the rest of him. Even at my decent size, I'd probably develop a complex growing up next to that. He's got the vial out again, pouring more of the viscous liquid into his hand before discarding it with his pants. I'm mesmerized as he runs his slick hand up and down his shaft. Out of fear!

He kneels back down between my legs, and I shiver when his skin touches mine. The closer he gets, the more my anxiety grows, and when he lifts one and then the other of my legs to his shoulders, my body starts to quake. When he’s this close, I can read the desire on his face. This is really happening. He's really going to do this.

Why aren't I fighting to get away?

I feel the brush of his slick cockhead against my ass, and my breath hitches. I don't know if everyone has gone silent, or if I just can't hear anything over the pounding in my chest. Why did I agree to do this? Why did Nate have to cast that fucking fireball spell? Why did I even get on that fucking boat?

A hand on my face brings me back to myself. It's gentle, just cupping my cheek, making me look up at who it's attached to. The face looking back at me is softer than I've seen it all afternoon. The anger, or at least most of it, has faded away. In its place is...concern? I look up at him questioningly but before I can figure it out, he's leaning down to me, closer and closer, until...


I gasp a little, certainly not expecting a kiss in the middle of all this. I mean, I guess it shouldn't be entirely unexpected. People tend to kiss when they fu—aaaand his tongue is in my mouth.

I groan, mostly in surprise but also because, and I hate to admit this, he's a pretty good kisser. I've kissed my fair share of girls, but none of them were like this. I was also usually the initiator of those kisses, though I guess I can see why some girls like the guy to take the lead.

Against my better judgment, I relax into the kiss. His tongue, larger than my own, slowly maps the inside of my mouth. It’s so different from kissing a girl. His beard scratches softly against my face, his tongue thicker and more demanding. He even tastes different. I run my tongue along his, letting myself moan a little. Something about my pride is making me want to prove that I'm a good kisser too. I feel a rumble of approval in response.

And then he starts pushing his cock into my ass.

I shriek—that's really the only word for it—into Ironstorm's mouth at the sudden invasion, though I'm not sure even I hear it as the crowd explodes into cheers at the same time. Anything resembling a moan of pleasure warps into a whimper of pain. I start breathing heavily again, and I can't help but move my arms from where I'm supposed to keep them. I know I can't push him off, so I wrap them around his neck and squeeze. I just need something to hold on to.

For his part, Ironstorm continues to kiss me as he pushes into me farther, stopping before I take the whole thing, his hips still some distance from my ass. I'm struggling to stop panting as my hands scrabble feebly at his back. I'm still whimpering, unable to stop them or the rest of my body from pleading with my abuser for some comfort. The tongue in my mouth continues its gentle mapping, and I don't know if orcs purr exactly, but there's that same gentle rumble from before as if he's trying to calm me.

I should point out that during all of this I am essentially being bent in half. I've always been pretty flexible, but this is not a position I've been in before. My knees are being pushed almost to my shoulders, and I can feel the full weight of the captain on top of me. I'm actually thankful for it because it means I can just relax my limbs and let him do the work at keeping me in place. Maybe thankful isn’t the word to use there…

Eventually, somehow, most of the pain subsides, and I'm able to relax, leaving me mostly with a feeling of fullness. But no sooner do I do this than the orc currently occupying space in my guts pulls back—both his cock and his face. My arms are pulled back over my head and what greets me is some of the same softness from before, but this time with an underlying lust that is clear as day. Lust that only grows as he pushes himself forward again.

He doesn't so much force the air out of me as he does a groan, an act he repeats a number of times at a steady pace. There's a slight burning sensation each time his cock is dragged in and out of my hole, but it's not nearly as bad as the first time. I find that I have to actually concentrate on relaxing because tightening up only makes things harder. The orc's face is on mine, no less hungry but watching me closely, I hope for signs of pain.

But...the more he does it, the less pain there is. My own cock lies against my stomach, having gone completely soft when Ironstorm first speared me open, but starting to wake up again. Because of the size that my “friend” is working with, he has no problem hitting that spot inside me that he used his fingers to toy with earlier. And it's starting to feel pretty good.

The first moan is involuntary. As is the second, and the third. I try to hold them in at first, but as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, I realize I'm fighting a losing battle. I didn't notice before, but the captain has actually been ever so slightly fucking more of himself inside me with each thrust. I look down at my cock again, fattened up slightly but not by much. However, a small puddle of my own sticky juices is pooling on my stomach, each pass inside seeming to push more out.

A glance up reveals my captor grinning down, knowing without a doubt that I've begun to enjoy this. And I'll be honest with you: at this point, I don't really care anymore. After all the humiliation and pain, I'm surprised I'm able to enjoy this at all. It's a little late to start fighting again now, so I'm done.

Two green hands grab me by the backs of my knees, pushing my thighs down and once again folding me in two. Leaning his weight on his upper body, the captain starts to speed up while also changing the angle of his thrusts. The people in the stands shout at the change of pace and position, and I nearly join them, the incessant prodding making me see stars.

I look up to watch him as he works, his hairy muscular form shining as the sweat from his exertion starts to drip down his chest. Some of it falls onto me, and it's only when the cool drops hit my skin that I notice just how hot I am. Even though I've done little more than lay here, I'm sweating like crazy.

That's not the only thing happening. With each slam of his cock, I feel that little burst of bliss. But I also feel a pressure growing, somewhere in my lower regions. I can't tell where exactly, or why, but the more it grows, the harder it is to concentrate on staying relaxed.

I look down, as if that’ll give me any answers, but all I find is my still mostly soft cock leaking more than I have ever seen, even by my own hand. Thanks to my amazing flexibility, I can also watch his cock pistoning in and out of my ass. It's mesmerizing, the green skin disappearing between the pink and tan, only to be pulled back out, dragging some of the skin with it. I almost forget I'm looking at myself. But that pressure keeps building and building, and I still have no idea what it means. Only that I feel full, so very full.

"Fuck." I don't know what's happening, but my eyes roll back in my head. It feels like I'm going to explode, my eyes squeezing shut, my toes curling. Every single muscle in my body is tight, and I can't help but cry out when after one, two, three more thrusts, I suddenly let go of everything I'm holding. More than that, I can feel all my muscles pushing outward. I groan loudly as the tension is literally fucked out of me.

My head lolls back, and I struggle to catch my breath. What was that? How do I do it again? Once I can see straight, I look down, my cock still only half-hard and sitting in a pool of my precum. Did I cum? It felt like I came. Even though I’m still really fucking horny. I look up at the captain, a look of triumph on his face, his body covered in sweat from his head to his waist. Holy shit. I am absolutely going to regret and probably repress all of this later, but this is one of the hottest things I've ever experienced. The sweat-drenched fur matted to his chest, the ripple of his muscles as he moves, the look of determination on his face—hell, I don't think I've ever smelled someone like him before and been so turned on.

The pressure starts to build again, and this time I'm looking forward to what I know is on the horizon. I bite my lip as it continues, closing my eyes in anticipation before I notice that the captain's thrusts are starting to get a little...erratic. Just as the pressure reaches its apex, I open my eyes to watch him looking even more determined than before, slamming forward and burying himself completely with a growl.

After a few more short and fast thrusts, his full weight is on me again as his tongue seeks entry to my mouth. It feels like his cock is growing bigger inside me, and as he cries into my mouth, I understand what's happening. I can feel the hot jets of his cum volley into my ass, the thick pillar of meat pulsing with each shot. Ironstorm still tries to thrust himself deeper inside me, as if he isn’t already buried to the hilt.

All of this is of course more than enough to push me over my own edge, the climax rolling through my body, if that's even what it is. I let my arms once again wrap around his neck as my body releases, some deep part of me (that I will likely also repress) finding the idea that I came with his load buried inside me intoxicating. I can't exactly see it, but once again it feels like my cock hasn’t actually shot anything, but if that wasn't an orgasm, I'm not sure I know what is.

All the while our captive audience roars with applause in the background, hoots and wolf-whistles abound. Eventually, his cock stops pulsing and my body relaxes. My arms back on the ground, he raises himself on his hands, a thin line of drool connecting his tongue to mine for a moment. I almost try to follow him, but I'm spent. I'm not even sure I can walk right now.

His hand cups my cheek again, the lust in his eyes sated. I grip his wrist for a moment, fighting and losing the urge to kiss the inside of his palm. He smiles, and it's only as he pulls his hand back and very gingerly pulls himself from my surely-wrecked ass that our surroundings start coming back into focus. I hiss once he's free, blushing at the wet feeling that follows. I reflexively try to tighten my hole, cursing at the sudden sharp pain when I do so. As my legs are lowered to the ground and the passion dies down, reality rears its ugly head and the realization of what I've just done begins to weigh on me.

Captain Ironstorm, after giving me one last look, stands, turning to face our crowd of onlookers. As he roars in victory to the sky, they explode once more, yelling and cheering for their captain and his conquered. He turns back to me and bends down, at first I think to help me up. Instead, his arm goes under my waist, and I'm lifted and tossed over his shoulder, like a prize. Which I guess I am. I want to protest, to fight further indignities, but I've got nothing left in me. I'm exhausted.

Looking down, all I am met with is a hairy, muscular, green ass. I dare not look any higher unless I make eye contact with someone in crowd who just watched me nearly get the life fucked out of me. As the crowd applauds, the captain moves, taking me along with him. I still have no idea what comes next. I was expecting to either win this fight or die trying. My friends are going to sit in that jail cell for the next six months, and after the brutal fucking I just received, I'm not sure if what I ended up with is better or worse.

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