Chapter Seven: Trapped
Samson struggled against his abductor, kicking his legs against whatever he could. He was thrown to the ground. His arms were pulled behind him, and it felt like a giant weight was placed onto his back. His face was pushed into the dirt and he couldn't breathe.
"Stop fighting and I'll let you breathe."
Samson ignored the warning and fought harder, but soon his vision began to cloud. His lungs screamed for air as his body grew heavier and heavier. Just as the world was about to go black, the orc yanked his head up by his hair.
"DALTHAAARGHHHhhmmm—" Something foul-smelling cut off his shout as the orc stuffed it deep into his mouth. "Gggarhhgg," he gagged. It tasted worse than it smelled. He sucked air in through his nose, his chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to fill his lungs.
"How does that taste?" the orc growled into his ear. "I emptied my balls on it after your little show this morning. I've been saving it for you."
Samson fought the urge to vomit. "Mmmhhw-mwwht!" The vile rag completely muffled his protests, but the orc responded anyway.
"It's not fair," the orc whispered. "I should have a breeder as well . . ."
What is he talking about?
Samson craned his neck back to look at his attacker, who was still muttering to himself.
"It's not my fault he ran off. He would have been fine if he'd stayed." Ice gray eyes snapped up and locked onto Samson. "It's your fault he died. You stole him from me."
For a moment, Samson was at a total loss. Who died? Then it clicked.
The man from the woods. He was this orc's captive.
So that's what this was about. The orc must have seen the realization sweep over Samson. He pulled Samson's head back even further, causing Samson to whimper in pain.
"That's right, you stole my property, fucking breeder. And then you go and flaunt yourself in front of me?" the orc's voice trembled with rage. "I'll make you pay—"
Samson suddenly remembered the words of the tattooed orc from the woods: "Baronk will be displeased."
Samson spat out the soiled rag. "Baronk!" The orc froze at the sound of his name. "Baronk, I'm sorry," he panted, "but your man's death was an accident."
"An . . . accident?"
Samson nodded quickly.
"You weren't trying to escape?" Baronk asked in a low voice.
"Um, well—"
Before Samson could reply, the orc spun him around so Samson was lying underneath him. Baronk grasped Samson's neck and pulled him up until he could feel the orc's hot breath on his face.
"You didn't mean to take him from me?" Warm spittle landed on Samson's cheeks. "Stupid breeder, dead or alive, the result is the same. Either way I have been robbed, and you—you are to blame."
The orc's grip around his neck tightened. Tighter and tighter he squeezed, slowly cutting off Samson's air until his gasps sounded like whistles. He kicked, but his legs were trapped underneath the giant green orc's massive legs. Samson pulled impotently on Baronk's arms, trying to loosen his grip. His skin was burning and his heartbeat pounded in his head.
Without warning, Baronk released his hold and Samson fell back onto the ground in a fit of coughing. He squinted up and saw that Baronk had removed his belt and was pulling his tunic over his head.
Panic and terror punched Samson in the gut at once. He rolled onto his stomach and tried to crawl out from under the orc, clawing at dirt and grass. He didn't get far. A steely arm wrapped under his torso and hauled Samson up onto his knees.
"You cost me a breeder, so you will replace what I have lost," Baronk hissed. "I warn you, I am not as gentle as Dalthu."
The orc thrust a thick finger into Samson's mouth, banging painfully against his teeth. His lips were spread wide over the green skin of the orc's fingers as the finger pushed further into his mouth, making him choke as it forced its way to the back of his throat.
"Soon, it will be my cock in your mouth. You're going to suck me real good."
On cue, Samson chomped down as hard as he could on the orc's fingers. Baronk gave a startled yelp and tried to pull them out, but Samson hung on doggedly. He was pleased when the taste of blood filled his mouth.
If he thinks I'm just going to take it lying down, he's got another thing coming.
The victory was short lived, however; as Baronk ripped his hand away, it took one of Samson's teeth with it. The pain of losing a tooth was replaced quickly as the orc backhanded Samson across the face. It was like being struck by a rock. Samson spat out a mouthful of blood onto the ground, his face in agony. He glared up at Baronk, who was cradling his hand and cursing. A strange sense of pride welled up in Samson, and he became reckless.
"You're right, you're not like Dalthu," Samson chuckled. "Dalthu wouldn't cry over a little nibble like a mewling foundling—"
CRACK!
Samson's vision exploded into stars as the orc struck him again. Baronk's roar sounded like it was far off in the distance.
"I'll rip your head off and fuck what's left!" The orc's mouth was white with froth as he furiously tore at Samson's tunic.
A small noise from behind them, like a hiccup, distracted Baronk. Samson glanced over his shoulder to see what had gotten his attention and felt his blood run cold.
The little orcling, Ulam, was standing a few paces from them. His wide eyes flicked back and forth between Samson and Baronk.
"I-I got the sap," Ulam squeaked. "And the charcoal . . ." He held out an apron that was filled with the materials.
"Ulam—" Samson gasped.
"What do you want, mok?"
Ulam pointed at Samson. "That man is going to fix my sword."
"This thing is busy," Baronk sneered. "Leave now, unless you want to see the beast with two backs."
The orcling blushed, but held the older orc's gaze. "I don't think he likes what you are doing."
"What did you say, foshnu?" The dark green orc narrowed his eyes dangerously.
"I think he wants you to stop," Ulam said, setting his jaw in an obstinate line. "You should let him go."
Baronk snarled and rose to his feet, clenching his giant hands into fists. Samson saw fear flicker in Ulam's eyes.
No. This can't happen. I won't let it.
Samson reached out and grabbed Baronk's ankle. "Leave him alone!" he shouted. The large orc looked down, startled, as if he'd almost forgotten Samson's existence. Baronk looked back over at the orcling, who was watching them warily. The orc seemed to be considering something and then knelt down in front of Samson.
"Or what?" he asked. "If I let him go, will you behave?"
One look at the trembling orcling was all Samson needed to strengthen his resolve. He nodded.
"I need to hear it, breeder. Tell me you'll be good and maybe," cold gray eyes glittered evilly, "maybe, I'll let the runt leave in one piece."
"Yes," Samson said quickly, throwing pride away. "I'll be good. Just . . . please . . . don't hurt him."
Baronk crossed behind Samson and reached his hands underneath his tunic. He leaned quietly into Samson's ear. "Tell him you want this."
