Power Game Orc Vs Elf

Power Game: Orc vs Elf A duel of endurance ...

Extended a bit in response to crit ...

I'm writing this after being driven fairly mad by a silly Flash game, a kinky WOW parody that was much more difficult than I wanted it to be, and I wasted an embarrassing amount of time on it. In the end I had to cheat to get to see the good stuff. And as is usually the case with this sort of thing, the payoff wasn't as satisfying as I hoped. Wasn't bad but could have been quite a bit better. Especially 'cause they didn't make any noise. That's a thing for me—gotta hear some outcry. Oh well.

This ain't really a proper WOW story, just vaguely WOWish in a self-indulgent world of my own. I confess I have little knowledge of the game's universe, and less respect. Forgive my presumption, but orcs are not from folklore. They were Tolkein's invention, and work best as symbols of dehumanizing militarism. Real hard to buy as believable race. Okay, sure—he extrapolated them from goblins, which do come from fable, figures of mischief. Orcs ain't them. It's why the guy came up with a new name. Other grubby fantasy franchises have no friggin' bizzzznatch including orcs in their shit without shoveling a good share of their profits across to Tolkein's estate, which they don't. If they wanted to come up with their own take on a similar concept, fair enough—they should have given the damn things another name. Like Jordan did in his series—shamefully derivative as he always was, at least he did that right. Anyhow, at this point it's a lost battle, and the forces of good didn't triumph over greedy evil. Same exact thing happened to Romero's zombies. Ripped off so much all over the place they're fair game for everybody nowadays. Shouldn't be, but they are. End of rant.

1.

"You are very beautiful, she-elf," he said. "You are one very beautiful she-elf."

"I thank you, but I fear I cannot return the compliment," she replied.

He laughed. "No doubt you think me very hideous. Very monstrous."

"I shall not deny it, fiend."

"I am no fiend. I am no demon. I am only a simple, ordinary, plain-spoken orc."

"The sight of you sickens my stomach."

"Well, there's no help for that. If I were in fact some manner of devil, it would be within my power to alter my appearance. But alas, orcs have no such talents. We've little knack for enchantment. Not like you elves. Magic can only do so much, though. You killed five of my comrades, but you failed to kill me."

"I intend to rectify that, at my first opportunity."

"Until that moment arrives, if it ever does, perhaps you might take some small comfort in the recognition of how my loathsome ugliness serves to very much heighten the wonder and radiance of your sleek form and dainty figure, simply by the contrast between us."

"I care not for that. And your manner of speech is frankly ridiculous."

"A pity you find it so."

"Be warned, orc. I shall punish you for subjecting me to this mockery. Release me now, and I will spare your life. If not, you shall forfeit it. This I swear."

"Your spirit is admirable. But how am I to fear you? In your present condition, your threat appears ... How shall I put it? Empty. And rather childish."

The orc had bound her to a stone wall. Only a ragged, narrow fragment of some nameless, long fallen castle, this chunk of wall stood alone in the dark forest like a rotting tooth, and was not much larger than the captive herself, yet such as remained was sturdy enough for his purpose. He'd looped the rope across its top and pulled it taut, to stretch her arms over her head and force her to her tiptoes.

She was tied with her back to him, facing the stone and pressed to its gritty surface, but met his gaze with blistering defiance over her right shoulder. Despite the fact he had torn off all her armor and every scrap of clothing, there was no fear in her eyes, nor shame—only rage. She was magnificent. A delicious prize, to be savored.

"Do not be fooled by appearances, foul brute," she proclaimed, "I am yet protected by strong and deadly enchantments."

"Indeed? You fascinate me. Yet also I confess myself somewhat baffled. How strong or deadly can such enchantments be, if they have already allowed me to render you captive? And then furthermore, as I proceeded to do, to render you entirely naked ... Please clarify."

"I shall, monster. The enchantments are inscribed upon my flesh itself. Intended as a last resort, for a dire situation of this very nature. They are solely defensive, by design. But efficacious, I promise you. Should you attempt to take further liberties with my person—should you try to abuse or molest my body, as I believe is your intention, your actions will immediately activate the spells. You will then be subjected to great pain, for so long as you continue to dare touching me. Terrible shall be your agony. The spell will draw upon your own strength, to fuel itself. If you persist, it will soon drain you of all force, and turn your own life-energy against you until you are slain. Heed my warning, orc. Set me loose, or this will be your last day upon this world."

"I find your words only further enflame my excitement, she-elf."

"Then you are a fool, as well as a villain."

"It shall be a contest between us. A trial of will and of endurance. Your physique against my own. Orcs have a high tolerance for pain, you know. In fact, many of us enjoy it, a little. Sometimes more than a little. Even at its worst. Because it goads us forward. It summons our rage, and that further fuels our courage and our stubbornness. We orcs accomplish our greatest deeds, with the aid of agony and the rage it brings us."

"You are courting death."

"No, I am courting you, she-elf. In the orcish manner. Our ways are rough and ungentlemanly, I realize. But I shan't apologize for it. We are as we were made. You would slay me without the slightest qualm if you were capable of it. But you are not. You could not before, with your sword. Your spells will fail the same."

"I am more capable than you imagine. I have pledged myself to the service of light and compassion, yet as in all creatures, there is darkness within me. You have awoken it now. You bested me once, but not a second time. You will discover that soon if you attempt to ravage me."

"I shall do more than attempt it, I promise you. I am going to possess you, she-elf. To put it plain, I am going to fuck you. I am going to fuck you as you've never been fucked before."

"No! Never! I shall not permit it!"

"What's more, I make you a solemn promise. I'm going to take my time with this, when I penetrate you, and do it very slow and very careful. I shall make a very thorough job of it. I shall see to it that you are enjoying this experience, before its conclusion."

"Never. You're disgusting. Never."

"You're going to be surprised, elf. I'm going to surprise you. I'm going to change the way you look at orcs, after today. I'm going to change the way you look at yourself."

"No chance. Never in a thousand years. A vile beast like you—the idea is laughable. Too absurd even to appall me."

"I shall prove you wrong, or perish in the attempt. I'm not just going to take your beautiful body—that would be too easy. I'm going to take absolute control of it. I'm going to break down your resistance, step by step, and force you to climax for me."

"Only in your fevered dreams and gibbering delusions, orc. My defensive magic will outlast you. I do not fear your boasts, for I know I have no need to. Soon you're going to see that for yourself. You're never even going to manage to penetrate any orifice of my body, let alone make me feel the slightest twinge of pleasure—except, I admit, for the girlish glee I'll take in seeing you defeated, when you topple dead to the ground. You may as well shove that grotesque green phallus of yours into a hornet's nest, or better yet, a blazing bonfire. Either course of action would bring you greater satisfaction than trying to shove that appendage anywhere nearer to my skin. Count on it."

"Count on this. This grotesque green phallus of mine is going inside your pretty pink cunt. It's going to tunnel in there as deep as it can reach—which will be very, very deep indeed. I'm going put it in your arse, as well. And tunnel through that passage just as deep."

"Try it. See what happens to you. You're the one that's going to be surprised, not I. You're the one that's going to have to change the way you look at elves, and at yourself. Not for very long, though. Because you'll die. If you're too stupid an animal not to give up and let me free."

"I will let you free, if I give up. If your magic's as good as you think it is, and it undoes me. Then I will. But it shan't and I won't. So I'm not afraid to make the promise."

"Fine then. I'll make you a promise, in return. Just to prove I can match the bravado of any arrogant orc berserker like you. Because my confidence is unshakeable. And my pride. If you should manage to subdue my defenses, and bring me to climax like you think you can, then I'll kneel to you of my own free will, in a pledge of fealty to you. And in proof of that pledge, I shall finish you off ... with my mouth."

"I could force you to suck this, if I chose to. Look at it. Your tiny elf teeth couldn't hurt me, when I'm hard as I am right now."

"But you wouldn't have to, is the point. And it wouldn't mean the same thing at all, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't."

"It is a question of significance."

"You are right, I grant it."

"And of technique. You would find it a very different experience, if I took your ghastly tool willingly between my lips, than if you forced it there. But of course an orc would likely have no knowledge of such a difference, living as you do. No female of any race in this whole world has ever coupled with you by choice—is that not so?"

"You're teasing me now. But your barb strikes home—well shot. You cannot shame an orc, however. Not like that, at least."

"No, I wouldn't imagine I could. But it will shame you when you lose to me."

"Your shame will be greater, I believe. You will handle your defeat much less gracefully than I would handle mine, were it to happen."

"It matters not, for I'll never experience that defeat. Only yours—and that I will thoroughly enjoy. Such a just and well-earned conclusion might almost make the rest of this tedious harassment worthwhile."

"Well spoken. Now then. We've established the terms of our combat. Let the battle commence."

"You will lose, orc. Soon I will win and go free. You will lose and be emasculated."

"It is you that will surrender, beautiful she- elf. And you will learn respect for me, and for this great green phallus which now you find so foul—but that shall change. Soon you shall scream for me, and beg—but not in agony. Not from hurt. No, instead you shall be crying out simply in expression of absolute awe for my prowess, as a lover and a conqueror. You will kneel in the end, to worship me."

"Never! I despise you and defy you! And my magic will utterly destroy you!"

"Let us test it together and see."

2.

Orcs are not natural beings, in most worlds. They are an entirely artificial race. And this is the reason they are so horrible and hateful and bloodthirsty. It is because they were manufactured that way. And it was no accident. They are just living weapons—but as disposable as they are destructive. They were designed to be terrifying monsters and nothing else at all. Orcs as a race have very little proper culture of their own. If you're one of the smarter ones, the officer class, or perhaps one of their weapons makers, you will eventually recognize how limited and shabby your existence is, and that will fill you with self-loathing and insatiable murderous rage. But then again, smart or not, almost everything makes an orc feel that way. Such rage is their principal drive. More than hunger, greed, or lust. The world hates them; they hate the world.

Orcs recognize their own hideousness, and it torments them. They have no orcish concept of beauty. Orc females are few, and most of them are built the same as the males. And the males aren't much attracted to them. In general they find them as repulsive as the other races do. That isn't true for most of the other monsters, like trolls or ogres—creatures that men and elves consider dreadful and disgustingly ugly. A female troll is still beautiful to a male troll, and a female ogre is beautiful to a male ogre ... Yet orcs, instead, retain the same ideal of beauty as their bitterest enemies—the elves they used to be. They disgust themselves as much as they disgust elves and men, or perhaps more so. And they admire their enemies, and envy them—and lust for them. An orc would always choose to fuck an elf or a human female, over another orc. They were fashioned to feel that way—to drive them mad. What exquisite, brilliant, obscene, unforgivable cruelty. One can never make a lasting peace with orcs, because orcs can never make peace with themselves. Their own form. Their own feelings. They were made for nothing but war and atrocity. War is the only large thing they can do well, as a people. Atrocity is all they ever aspire to. The only outlet for their irrevocably corrupted passions.

The elf priestess had lost a cousin once to the ravages of orcs ... The famed warrior princess Meyone, who at the time had been the her dearest friend. Orcs had carried the princess off with black magic and enslaved her, and though Meyone had eventually managed to escape them, at least according to rumor, she had never returned home, and wherever she had chosen to take herself instead, she never allowed any of her kin to locate her. It was believed the princess was too traumatized by her absolute dishonor. Irredeemably ashamed not only of everything that had been done to her, but the things she must have been made to do herself, in order to survive. A shocking tragedy. Worse still, the elders of their family actually approved of the exile the princess had chosen for herself. In order to preserve the dignity of the realm.

Yet the priestess had another kinswoman, a great aunt, who was a powerful witch, many centuries old. And it was said she herself used to keep several orcs as personal pleasure slaves. A terrible scandal, of course, if it was true, but the witch cared nothing for others' opinions. Occasionally she would claim the practice was secretly very widespread among the elvish elite. "Orcs are quite wonderful for fucking, when properly trained. You have to know how to handle them. But once you master the method, they make far more vigorous and gratifying sex servants than any of the other races, in almost every case. It's the only thing the wretched creations are good for. Besides killing people, obviously. Surely my way is putting them to better use? Seems perfectly sensible to me."

Her great aunt might only have been joking, when she spoke like that. Most others chose to take her words that way, when the old woman made such statements, or they pretended to. The priestess herself had never been able to entirely decide. And of course she couldn't help but wonder from time to time what it must be like to have a well-disciplined orc pleasure slave of one's very own, if such a thing was possible and not only a decadent fantasy. Just as she had also wondered about the details of Princess Meyone's experiences ... and how she herself would have held up in the princess's place. How far would she have been willing to go, to survive? Would she have succumbed to madness or despair? Would she have taken her own life? Many elves believed that was the wisest course, and the noblest, were you to become a captive of orcs. Embracing a clean death.

No more was it matter of secret speculation. A time of testing had come upon her. A time of decision.

Today in the early morning in these woods she had become separated from her party when a strange smelly fog enveloped them. Perhaps it had been an enchantment, perhaps only bad weather—ill luck. She had no idea how far away her friends had got. She had searched for them for hours, increasingly anxious. Then without warning she was attacked from all sides by half a dozen howling orcs. And not the runty goblin kind but massive muscular specimens, nearly twice her height.

She'd acquitted herself very well, considering she was alone. Slew all the monsters but one. Then the blade of her magic sword had shattered beneath that last one's club. Unfortunate.

The one she had failed to kill happened to be the largest of the group, but also the least armored. In fact the orc wore no armor at all, nor anything else. A berserker. Should have been the easiest to kill; she'd encountered the type before. Trusting to their dark gods to infuse them with power and make them invincible. It didn't work very well. They were ridiculous. You'd think the ghastly idiots might begin to know better eventually, yet whenever berserkers perished, it was put down to a failure of faith. The orcs' never thought to blame their gods, or consider that they might not even exist.

It was almost amusing that a crazed foolish specimen such as this had ended up succeeding where all his better-protected, more sensible brethren failed. A magnificent absurdity.

She had not resisted after that, when the berserker stripped her. Knowing she hadn't the strength to stop him, and also quite confident in the protection of her skin spell. She was even looking forward to its activation. What a fine surprise the orc would get, when he tried to force himself upon her. She was a little taken aback by his thoroughness, however. She thought in his eagerness he would only rip open her tunic to expose her breasts and pull her tights down out of his way to get at her sacred vale, but he took the time to pull off absolutely everything she'd been wearing, even her sandals. He wanted her as naked as he was.

Then she became further aggravated when he had bound her wrists and strung her up across this remnant of a wall ... Another unexpected and unnecessary move. She had thought the brute would just shove her to the ground immediately to try to have his sport, and then that would bring this whole sorry affair to a rapid conclusion. Instead he'd tied her like this. She'd never been bound before, by anyone, to any degree. No one had ever made her prisoner before today. It was a strangely dizzying sensation. Especially in a state of nakedness ... To find herself stretched and immobilized. To pull against the ropes with all her might, and then have her efforts do absolutely no good at all. And to feel them pull back against her, entirely unyielding. It was almost funny, again, except the pose was painful, in itself, stretched up on her tiptoes against the rough jutting stones, cruelly scraping her unprotected flesh, and there was a further concern. How was she going to get loose, after her skin-spell killed the fellow? It wouldn't be easy. What if she couldn't think of a way to manage it? She imagined herself dying of exposure or starvation ... or what if hungry animals discovered her like this? The stink of the orc's corpse would draw them ... and her skin-spell would do her little good against wolves or a bear. Their particular attentions wouldn't trigger the enchantment.

It was a serious dilemma. But now the orc was taking her mind off it. First things first, after all. Now wasn't the time to worry about the matter of the ropes, because the other matter of the orc himself must still be settled.

She wasn't afraid. Honestly, she felt no doubt or anxiety, only anger, righteousness and fierce determination. And a great burning thirst for retribution.

She couldn't wait to hear the orc scream, and to see the agony on his face when he realized he was beaten, and he was going to perish ... and the shame, even better. Best of all!