Just a few author notes, as I prefer a potential reader to know what they're getting into before committing to a read.
This is the second work I've published on literotica, and it takes place in a different world than my first story, The Baroness and the Orc. I should mention grimdark levels, because my first story was wildly grimdark. 10/10 grimdark. This new one is not nearly as bleak. It's more like your standard gritty fantasy level of darkness. Maybe a 5/10 or 6/10. The Baroness and the Orc was depression-inducing, while this one is simply violent and rough and gritty.
So this story is about a traveling orc who roams the lands seeking greatness. Conan was a big inspiration for it. It takes place in a deserty, dry and hot steppes kind of setting, with a more ancient, pre-civilization feel to it rather than fantasy medieval.
I use the same biology for orcs as I do in my previous story. They are dual-sexed orcs. Meaning their species has one sex with both male and female genitalia. Basically, they could be viewed as futas, but more in a biologically accurate and serious light. They present as large, muscled females with breasts, and have both a vagina and penis and balls, and even a social system based around the roles a dual-sexed species would develop. They also need to cum twice a day or they get frustrated.
The kinks found in this story revolve mostly around big green muscled futa orc sex, large genitals, large breasts, monsters and monster fucking, some S&M, power-exchanges and rough sex, anal and big insertions, and just generally lots of sex. There are four main characters of the story, including the orc barbarian, a plucky little rogue, a sorceress who has a demon of lust trapped within her to use as a source of her magic, and one voluptuous whore who is addicted to sex and is very much a masochist.
***
Avara the orc was magnificent.
But she was also tired. And wary. And pent up. It had been, after all, a long day of traveling.
Warm wind blew over dry steppes that spread in every direction. She narrowed her bright green eyes at the small canyon trail ahead. A trap most assuredly lay within. But the rocky ridges surrounding the path were inaccessible, especially since she sat atop her mount, a sturdy stallion draft horse big enough for the seven foot tall stretch of green orc muscle. Greyfor would never make it over those rocks.
"Avara is afraid of no ambush," said Avara.
Such is the way of the orc.
She urged Greyfor forward, entering the canyon and leaving behind the hard sun. Her green skin got a chance to cool in the shade, slick with sweat. Most of her skin was exposed, leaving her warm and glistening. She wore sturdy sandals, and a leather and fur brassier with a single hook in the front that held her enormous breasts up, molding her them into big spheres that softly wobbled with each step of her horse. Rugged leather and fur skirts adorned her wide hips, split at the sides so her massive thighs--bulging with muscle--had room to move and spread while sitting a saddle.
The pathway went on, snaking through the ridge, and Avara rode for several minutes in peace. Her groin ached, and her mood soured. It had been a long day, and her last milking was early that morning. Two ejaculations a day may have been the norm for most orcs, but she was considering the fact that she may need to move up to three to stay healthy.
Such is the troublesome lot of being an orc.
She winced, repositioning herself on the saddle, unable to get comfortable. Reaching through her skirts, she let her large balls hang down one side of the saddle, heavy and full, and let her foot-long cock droop down the other side of the saddle. She noticed with some annoyance that she was starting to leak. Her leather skirt was wet where her cock head rested, along with her saddle where her cunt sat. A sure sign that she'd gone too long without a proper milking.
She ran her hand through her chin-length, silky black hair, and grunted.
And that's when Avara spotted several dark recesses high up on the wall.
She sighed.
Here we go.
When the attack came, it was polite. Civil, almost. She was expecting arrows, or thrown daggers. Or at least a reckless charge from a pack of screaming bandits. But it was only some words, coming from behind.
"You there," came a woman's deep voice. "You travel our road."
Avara stopped, slowing turning her head back to see a human woman leaning on a long greataxe. Black war paint adorned her face. She was tall for a human woman, and built with a respectable amount of strength--although nowhere near the magnificence of any average orc. She wore clothing similar to Avara's, with cloth skirts and a brassiere holding up full breasts.
"This is the road to Yotul, is it not?" asked Avara.
"It is," said the woman. "And it is our road."
"Then I travel on it. And you will bother me no more."
The woman smiled, and Avara heard shuffling all around her. More humans appeared, a mix of men and women, bandits all. They were all similarly armed and muscled. After they finished emerging from their hiding places, Avara counted three men and three women.
"You are orc," said the woman leader. "Your kind is rare on this pass. Why do you wish to go to Yotul? What is there for you there but death?"
Avara lifted her chin. "It is a city. Ancient and wicked. But full of opportunity. It is to this place I go. There I will do great things."
A bit of laughter scattered around her. "Yes," said the bandit. "But only after you pay our tax."
"Yeah," said another woman who approached beside the first. "You gotta pay our tax. Isn't that right, Grela?"
The bandit group must have been a charitable one, for this second young woman was tiny. Short and compact, although her little frame was admittedly taught with muscle. She wore fur skirts, yet only had a short vest on her chest worn wantonly open, revealing her toned stomach and tiny breasts. Avara squinted, and making out her flat chest and brown nipples.
This second woman flipped a dagger in her hand, and then used it to scratch at her short brown hair, cut close enough for it to stand up straight in the air.
The first woman, Grela, scowled at her. "I said not to talk, Kira. Quiet, or you eat alone again tonight."
The second woman, Kira, silently took a step back, playing with her dagger.
"What is your tax?" demanded Avara, tiring of these bandits.
Grela tilted her head, her painted eyes drinking Avara up and down. "Not much, you'll find. Just your horse. And your money. And food. And weapons. And anything else you own. Possibly we may leave you with your clothing." She smiled wide. "Although I have a mind to see you naked."
"I refuse."
An assured grin appeared on Grela's face. "Dismount. Drop your weapon. And drop to your knees. Crawl to me like a dog, and kiss my feet. Then maybe you'll get out of this alive."
Avara had known some human whores who made such demands, and she would have gladly obeyed them in the privacy of a tavern room and with a belly full of wine. But this was different. This was a bandit group brandishing weapons. "I refuse."
Grela frowned. "Hmph. Then the price is now your life."
Avara heard the twirling dagger far before it came close. She turned in her saddle, saw the spinning blade, and reached out to snatch it from the air by the handle. She flung it right back toward the man who threw it, and it sank into the center of his chest, making him scream and gurgle to his death.
All hell broke loose. The bandits charged and roared, and Greyfor reared up, shrieking and kicking. He kicked one of the other men in the face, making his body instantly go limp and fall to the ground.
Good Greyfor
, thought Avara. A mighty battle steed, but Avara never was one to fight atop a horse.
No, that wasn't the way of the orc.
She would fight on their level.
Avara gripped the handle to her massive greatsword, stepped up onto the saddle, and leaped from her horse, slamming the blade down with an incredible amount of power directly into the shoulder of the third woman. It sank into her chest, and Avara ripped it out in one smooth motion, spinning toward the third man and plunging the blade into his torso up to the hilt.
In a matter of seconds, four bandits lay in gory heaps on the canyon floor.
"Surrender and live," roared Avara, pointing at Grela with her bloody weapon.
Grela scowled and gripped her greataxe with both hands, then screamed, charging in a fit of fury.
To an orc, human fury is nothing.
They battled for a short time, Avara allowing Grela to tire herself by swinging about a weapon that was too big for her frame. Steel clanged against steel for several breaths, and then Avara struck. In one quick motion, she removed Grela's right arm, rendering the greataxe useless.
Grela screamed, and it seemed as if her rage overcame any pain or shock she felt. Avara ended it, then. She delivered two swift angled slashes, blood splattering, and then finally spun about, decapitating the bandit, leaving behind a pile of meat.
Five down. One to go.
Avara charged down the last bandit, the pathetic one who was shamed by the leader. Just as Avara reared up her greatsword for an overhead attack, Kira sank to her knees and tossed her daggers away, hands in the air.
"I surrender! I surrender!" she shouted, fear in her eyes.
"
Not good enough
," spat Avara, stopping short and pointing the tip of her greatsword against the center of Kira's sternum.
"Spare my life and it belongs to you!"
"
Swear it
."
"I swear!"
