Captured by the Orc

Chapter 22: Round Two

"I want more."

Samson's confession hung in the air, heavy with anticipation. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for an answer. He was ready. Ready to be pounced on. Ready for his orc captor to release his pent-up lust.

Dalthu gently cupped Samson's face in his hands and leaned in, pressing their foreheads together.

Here we go.

Samson braced himself against the bathtub's edge, feeling the warmth of his orc captor's breath against his skin as he prepared himself for what was to come.

The orc suddenly pulled away. "We should head back," he said, pushing a strand of wet hair out of his face.

. . . excuse me?

Samson stared at him in disbelief. "Did--did you hear what I just said?"

Dalthu's piercing gold eyes met Samson's gaze. "Yes, I heard you," he said calmly, his voice deep and resonant.

"So . . . why?!" Samson clenched his fists and rose from his seat, barely registering the ringing in his ears as he prepared for the confrontation. His vision blurred and he swayed on the spot, feeling a wave of nausea crash over him.

Dalthu was by his side in an instant. He pressed the back of his hand against Samson's cheek. "I knew it. The heat is affecting you."

Before Samson could say another word, Dalthu scooped him up in his strong arms and stepped out of the bath. Dalthu's green pebbled skin glistened with droplets of water and steam rose around them.

Samson frantically wrapped his arms around Dalthu's neck. "I've got you," he heard the orc say. A cool breeze brushed against them both, yet Samson felt warmer than before.

"But . . . but . . . what about our clothes?"

"They're wet." Dalthu bowed his head under the doorway and stepped out into the woods.

The cool night air prickled against Samson's warm skin and sent an unexpected tingle through his body. He looked up at the orc warrior's face and noticed a single drop of water glide down a black strand of Dalthu's hair. An overwhelming feeling coursed through Samson's veins, overriding any traces of doubt or fear. He nuzzled deeper into the orc warrior's embrace, no longer caring where they were going or what they might find when they got there.

Let's go home.

***

The orc hut was dark when they arrived, but Dalthu's long strides were slow and careful as he carried Samson in his arms, never once pulling away from the tight embrace. They reached the bedroom and the orc gently laid Samson on the cot, which was cold against his bare skin. He shivered.

"Are you cold?" Dalthu whispered into Samson's ear. His hot breath fell against Samson's cheek and sent another kind of shiver through his body.

"Maybe a little," Samson replied.

Dalthu wrapped his arms around Samson and pressed his face into his neck. His tusks tickled against Samson's nape.

"Better?"

Samson bit the inside of his cheek and nodded.

"Good," Dalthu whispered. "Now, where were we?"

Samson jerked as the orc's fingers brushed against his stomach. "What?"

"You said you wanted more," Dalthu purred.

"Oh, I thought—I thought we were, um, done."

Dalthu chuckled, his hot breath tickling Samson's ear again. "Is that so?"

Samson gasped as the orc's lips touched his skin. His lips were soft and warm and sent tingles of pleasure down his spine. Samson let out a low moan, his body responding to Dalthu's touch. Dalthu's hand slid up Samson's thigh, teasingly inching closer and closer to his growing arousal.

Samson's breath hitched as Dalthu's fingers closed around his length. He groaned as Dalthu began to stroke him, slowly and firmly. Samson's hips rocked against Dalthu's hand, seeking more delicious friction.

Dalthu continued to stroke Samson with his hand as he slid down the bed. Shifting himself on top, Dalthu pressed his face into the soft patch of hair between Samson's legs. His hot breath caressed Samson's skin, and Samson's legs twitched as Dalthu began to lick the length of his shaft.

Oh, dear God. I'm so close.

Samson gripped the edge of the cot as the orc warrior's tongue worked its way up his erection. His legs trembled as Dalthu slowly took the head of his cock into his mouth, swirled his tongue around the head, and then, keeping eye contact, swallowed him whole.

Fuuuuuck.

Samson moaned, the pleasure of Dalthu's warm mouth sending bolts of ecstasy through his body. Dalthu's mouth tugged gently on Samson's length as he slowly bobbed his head up and down. Samson's breath came in heavy gasps and he arched his back, pushing himself deeper into Dalthu's mouth.

"Dalthu . . . please . . ."

In reply, Dalthu's throat tightened around Samson's shaft. That was it. Samson cried out, his body shaking with pleasure as he exploded into Dalthu's mouth. He grabbed fistfuls of the orc's hair and humped into his mouth as wave after wave of orgasm washed over him.

Dalthu reached up and gripped his hips, swallowing Samson's come greedily, continuing to suckle and lick until Samson pleaded with him to stop.

Dalthu pulled him from his mouth, panting heavily. The orc warrior's cheeks were flushed and his large erection stood out from his body beneath a line of thick, black hair trailing down his stomach. He looked up and met Samson's gaze. His gold eyes were smoldering with desire — the heat coming from them was almost unbearable.

"Your hands, Samson, let me have your hands."

Samson reached out and slid his hands over the orc warrior's shaft. Dalthu groaned and his hips thrust forward, pushing his member into Samson's hands.

"Run your hands along its length, slowly. Yes, that's it. All the way down and back up again. Now, grip the base of my shaft with one hand, and rub your other palm along it slowly, very slowly. Yes, don't stop. Take hold of the tip of my cock and move your fingers in circles around it. Make sure you cover every bit of it; can you feel my precome? Spread it around the head of my cock with your fingertip. Get it nice and wet. Now part those lips and breathe onto the top of my shaft. Goddess yes, that feels so good, little tiger."

Samson listened to the instructions, running his hand up and down the orc's thick cock, feeling it twitch in his hands as he ran fingers over the dark red crown. "Am I doing it right?"

Dalthu sucked in a breath through his teeth as Samson's fingers danced over his cock. "That's it, Samson. Keep doing that, keep doing it."

Samson was getting dizzy. The feeling of power he had as he stroked the orc's cock was as addicting as any drug. Dalthu's encouragement only spurred him to greater heights of desire. Samson squeezed the orc's balls, watching Dalthu's ass jump up from the bed. The orc warrior let out a low, guttural growl. "Easy, Samson. I have a nice load of come for you but you have to tease them easy."

Grinning, Samson continued his motions, his hand moving up and down the orc's hot prick, pumping him faster and faster, until Dalthu's stiff cock jerked in his grasp.

Dalthu threw his head back, his tusks gleaming in the low light as he rasped, "I'm coming, little tiger—I'm going to come all over you—gods, Samson!"

Dalthu's body jerked forward, and a rope of come shot out, but Samson continued to milk his shaft, making it slippery. Another squeeze, and another load shot out over his fist, soaking his fingers with hot come. Samson's hands slowed and then stopped.

The orc's come dripped from his fingers. It felt hot, wet, heavy, and deliciously warm. Samson held up his glistening, wet fingers and tentatively licked them with the tip of his tongue. It tasted salty, slightly sour, and sweet all at once.

A sharp inhale made him realize Dalthu had been watching him. The orc stared at him open-mouthed. His eyes were narrowed, his breath uneven.

"That," he said in a gravelly voice, "is the sexiest thing I have ever seen."

Samson's cheeks burned and he quickly wiped the rest of the slick mess onto the bedsheets.

Dalthu chuckled. "Laundry will keep for later, little tiger. For now, come here," he said, and pulled Samson toward him, hauling him up the bed until he was cradled in the orc's burly arms. "Did you enjoy that, pet?"

Samson mumbled a half-hearted affirmative and rested his head on Dalthu's chest.

Dalthu smiled, brushing his lips against Samson's temple. "You know, I knew you were meant to be mine from the second I laid eyes on you."

"You mean the day you took me."

The orc shook his head. "Before then," he said.

Samson's ears perked up.

Wait a minute, that's right. Shakil had mentioned that Dalthu talked about me long before I was taken. And so did Rachelle. But we've never met before, so when—

"Five years ago, I had a fight with my mother and ran off in a blind rage. I was gone for days until I stumbled upon a village where I heard shouting. When I peered around a corner, there you were—defending a young husker from a group of children throwing stones. Despite being outnumbered, you stood your ground. I knew then and there that you were special, and I was going to do whatever it took to get you back here with me."

Samson looked up at him, his heart pounding in his chest. He remembered that day. Huskers were vegetable sprites. Strange-looking, but harmless. That day, a young one had innocently wandered into a villager's onion patch and a group of children had cornered it.

"They were wrong," Samson said. "The husker hadn't done anything."

"It is common for people to hate what they don't know."

Samson shook his head. "It isn't right to hate something for being different."

Dalthu smiled down at Samson, cupping his face in his hands. "That is why, ever since that moment, I have loved you more than anything else in the world."

I can't believe it. He's been thinking of me for five years?

Samson's chest tightened with emotion, but the memory of his family and his village flooded his mind. Samson felt a twinge in his chest -- he remembered the expression on his brother's face as he'd been carried off by the orcs. The image was fresh still, not dulled by time or loss. "You know, love between men isn't allowed in my village," he said, trying to pull away.

"Why?" Dalthu's grip tightened, and he pulled Samson closer.

Samson gave up the fight and buried his head in Dalthu's arms. He hadn't realized just how tired he was. "Our priests call it a sin."

"If your priests could see the way you smile, could hear the way you sigh when I kiss your neck, they would never call it that."

Samson closed his eyes. "I wish I'd met you five years ago."

"Oh?"

"Maybe then we could have . . ." Samson trailed off, succumbing to exhaustion.

"Is it too late after all?" Dalthu whispered in the dark.

Samson didn't reply, too tired to lift his head and speak. But as he drifted off to sleep, a little voice inside him whispered that he knew the answer and had known for a while.

To be continued . . .