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He smells her as he approaches home.
Her scent warms him, stirring his cock with interest as something pleasant unfurls in his broad, muscular chest. Soon, he’ll see her smiling face.
He grins, a curling gash across his scarred, mottled snout.
He can smell his own scent around her too, shrouding their tent as a warning to uncoupled males. His mark, piss mixed with musk, and the headier scent of his sweat and seed from when he mounts her, lingers in the air. He likes to think it still clings to her skin when he’s away, but he knows his musk has long since been washed off by her persistent bathing.
Humans are so peculiar.
He stops outside the closed tent flaps and hefts the elk he’s killed from his shoulders; its head lists on its torn neck, tongue lolling from its half-open mouth as he dumps it near the cooking pit.
She’ll be pleased.
Inside, she’s napping under layers of thick furs and soft wool throws, prizes he brings back for her from his campaigns. She’s not from the cold North; he found her well below the South Plains, where the earth is fine and white-hot, blown by the wind into great hills and valleys.
The Dry Sea, it’s called, because the earth moves in waves with the wind, like the ocean.
Hell is what he called it, snorting and snuffling through his snout in what felt like slow asphyxiation under the relentless sun. The fine sheen of sweat that covers his brindled green-brown hide dried up in the heat, and he’d cracked and blistered painfully.
But the bitches in the Dry Sea were the softest he’d ever seen, and he made sure to bring one back with him for his trouble.
She pretends not to hear his rasping breathing, or feel the vibrations of his heavy footsteps on the packed earth of their tent floor. But he sees the mound of blankets shift, and hears a muffled mewling from beneath it.
Kneeling, he peels back the layers, sniffing deeply as her scent thickens in the air. She is naked; her pale gold skin glows in the low light of the oil lamp.
She blinks, stretching out a small, plump hand to touch his muzzle, and murmurs sweetly, “Grood.”
Her approximation of his name. He smiles. “Hello, small one.”
For a human female, she is in fact not-so-small. She is short, true - the top of her head meets his third rib. Diminutive even by human standards. But her body is generous; wide-hipped and full-breasted, with a large, round belly and thighs as thick as his arms. She is beautiful, with long, soft hair and a plump mouth and round eyes that are always smiling.
They shine up at him now as she traces his tusk with a finger and smiles, “Miss Nanina?”
Nanina, she’s called. The names are softer in the South, nearer the sun. Like the bitches.
When he brought her to the North, she did not speak the common language. He teaches her what he can in the time they spend together, tossing in a few words in Orkish for the humor of hearing her speak it in her sing-song. Her people’s dialect is a pleasant, rolling one; she babbles it at him as she spasms in pleasure beneath him, or when she scolds him.
He finds he likes it in either case.
“Yes,” he tells her, unclipping his armour and peeling it off, careful to set it far away from the bed mat. She is tender, and the spikes would pierce her easily. “Did you miss Gluhd?”
“Yes,” she murmurs coyly as he crouches beside her again, hands braced wide on either side of head.
He leans down as she works herself up onto her elbows and presses soft kisses and licks to his maw. His long dark tongue laps out at her face, following the curve of her cheek and sweeping over the tender skin of her neck. She closes her eyes, tilting her head and baring her neck and shoulder to him.
He looks closely and sees the four raised scars from her latest marking. His chest swells proudly.
His bitch is a strong healer.
There’s a mewling sound again. He bends closer, sniffing deeply in the blankets by her side.
She hums a laugh, folding back the furs to reveal his two small pups to the light. One is only two-winters, still weaning, and the other pup is much smaller, barely a winter-old. The tiny one sleeps while his older brother squeals and sniffs at the air.
Scenting for him, Gluhd realizes with another puff of pride.
He moistens his tongue with froth and licks a long, wide stripe from the toes of his whelp’s feet to the downy crop of dark hair on his head. The pup yaps excitedly, using his mother’s breast to push himself up on wobbling legs and reach for his father’s tusks. He finds one, clasping on tightly and scrunching his face in a playful growl.
Gluhd rumbles back, chuckling when his whelp bares his tiny teeth. He won’t have tusks of his own for many more winters.
Nanina lays back down, head pillowed on her arm, and smiles as she watches them. Her eyes droop heavy.
Is she sick?
He tugs his tusk out of the pup’s grasp, ignoring his indignant yap at the sudden end to their game, and presses his snout to her neck. Long puffs of hot air tickle her, making her wriggle beneath him as he sniffs.
“Be still,” he warns her, nuzzling at her under-arm, where her scent is stronger. She squeaks when he licks the sensitive skin there.
Puzzled, he shifts, snorting as he scents lower, over her belly and between her thighs.
She’s slick for him - as she should be, he thinks with a smirk - and he can’t resist a lap at her sex. She parts her legs for him, knees bending slightly beneath his broad shoulders, and uses a hand to move aside her belly. With the other, she pulls the lips of her mound up and apart, offering herself for more licks.
“Be patient, small one,” he gruffs, corners of his small black eyes crinkling in amusement.
She makes an insistent sound, patting her sex as she tells him, “Here.”
He huffs a throaty laugh, then laps her again, stroking the flat of his large, rough tongue over her clit before pushing into her. He feels the walls of her cunt flex around him as she whimpers, “Good, Grood.”
He smirks, pressing deeper and curling to lap up her slick.
Her slick tastes clean and bright. It’s missing the metallic note it gets around her heat, but he’s come home the first day of it, and is perhaps early.
He knows her cycle well by now, using the moon to tell when her heat begins. Her cycle is quick, only one month long. Another human peculiarity.
He doesn’t miss her heats, because she’s too soft and coveted to leave unprotected in the encampment. His bitch is an excellent bearer, with a strong, receptive womb, wide hips for birthing, and large tits for weaning voracious Orc pups. Several uncoupled males in his ranks have shown interest, as well as a few who chose smaller, more delicate bitches not suited to bearing - willowy forest elves and slender humans from the North. Already he has defended two challenges for her.
He hears her breathy moans and mewling; her hand skims the short prickle of bristles on his shaved head, stroking him encouragingly. He rumbles darkly, cock lengthening and swelling at her helpless noises and tender touch.
He withdraws his tongue from her cunt, ignoring her disappointed keen, and laves her clit with the ridged tip as he grinds himself into the bed mat. Her breathing changes; he listens closely for the short, harsh pants that signal he’s pushing her closer to climax.
“Uh uh-huh, huh-huh…”
He lets out a low, growling purr as her thumb unconsciously rubs the crown of his head, circling faster and faster as he works her clit.
She is very close.
She jerks suddenly, nails scratching pleasantly through his stubble as she keens and whines her orgasm. Her thick thighs clamp the sides of his massive head, attempting to hold him still as she tries desperately to wriggle out from under his tongue, too sensitive for his touch.
But to the victor go the spoils.
He catches the soft, dimpled backs of her thighs in his enormous hands, careful not to squeeze too hard as he lifts and holds her legs apart, baring her fully to him. Her small pink cunt glistens with slick; he licks in long swipes along the soft folds of her mound, relishing her spasms when the ridged sides of his tongue touch her clit. He laps up her entrance, slipping down between her asscheeks to catch the slick that’s dripped there.
“Grood, Grood,” she whimpers.
His tongue sweeps over the soft insides of her thighs, spreading thick trails of his froth across her skin. His hide is hard and coarse - if her thighs are not slippery enough, he will rub them raw when he mounts her.
Satisfied she is ready for mounting, he turns his attention to the tender skin above her mound and fleshy underside of her belly, cautious of his tusks as he mouths and licks a path to her navel. His breath puffs against her in deep, short snorts. She giggles, squirming and pushing at him as he dips his tongue into her belly button.
“Grood, no!” she pleads, huffing with laughter and exertion. Her cheeks have the pretty flush of afterglow, her large dark eyes hooded and sleepy.
At her breast, his pup growls irritably, struggling to follow her nipple to nurse as she wiggles. He’s clamped her tit in his small hands; the tips of his chubby fingers press into her as he tracks his prey, eyes closed in anticipation, mouth open and working.
Gluhd smirks. Not a bad idea.
Her knees splay wide to accommodate his hips as he rises and resettles himself between her legs, careful to keep his weight off her. Beneath him, she is impossibly small - only one-half his height - and it would be nothing for him to crush her if he is not mindful.
His hard-on has escaped his loincloth; he presses it into her thigh, his cockhead butting the crease where her leg and hip meet, as he lowers his head to take her nipple in his maw.
How his pups can be nourished by something so sweet-tasting is a mystery to him.
He draws out her milk and lets it dribble over his thin black lip, between his tusks, down his chin and onto her breast, catching it with his tongue as it rolls off her areola. Eyes half-closed, she strokes his head with one hand, tickling the whelp’s chin and scratching behind his ear with the other. His pup nurses loudly, making smacking and gulping sounds between breathy snorts.
“Greedy little beggar,” Gluhd growls affectionately, his rough hand sliding over Nanina’s ample belly and hip, working under her to cup her asscheek.
“Greedy Grood,” she gasps as he draws harder on her nipple, drinking deeply. She smacks him lightly in the back of the head as she chides, “For pups.”
He snorts amicably, breath tickling the wisps of hair around her face as he rumbles, “They should learn where they are on the food chain.”
He thinks she understands him, because she frowns disapprovingly. “Small-small.”
“Yes bitch, they are very small.” He looks fondly at both his whelps before he licks her neck and the side of her face.
She smiles, squeezing her eye closed and scrunching her shoulder to her ear under his tender assault. He’s surprised when her small pink tongue darts out along his, her hand reaching up to push down on his head, signaling she wants him closer. He obliges, his throbbing cock rubbing pleasantly along the inside of her thigh as he bends closer to her. She kisses and licks his muzzle, her fingers working between his many gold hoops to rub his ear.
He gives her another deep, gravelly purr, smelling her arousal as she wiggles beneath him, trying to catch his cockhead between her folds. She wants to be mounted.
“Now who’s greedy, small one?” he rumbles, dipping his head to puff a hot breath of air in her ear.
Her lashes flutter sweetly as she whines, “Groo-ood, mount!” and presses down more insistently against his cock.
“Impatient bitch,” he smirks as he pulls his hand out from under her. He spits a large wad of froth into his palm, smearing it over the head of his cock before he lines up with her folds. Two pups may have made it easier for her to accommodate his girth, but she is still very small, and it has been almost a month since her last mount.
He presses firmly against the mouth of her cunt, feeling the tight ring of muscles at her entrance contract and resist him.
She sucks her tongue as his cockhead pushes in, whimpering, “Hot.”
“Quiet,” he pants over the now-constant rumbling in his chest. His instincts are telling him to snap forward and bury himself to the hilt inside her; the heady mix of her scent and her soft, prey-like sounds blur the edges of his thinking. He swallows, pushing forward slowly with a moan as she tips her head back on the furs and mewls.
Gods, that sound…
Her cunt stretches around him, walls contracting to pull him in deeper. She’s so tight and slick as her soft, fleshy walls pulsate around him. Her body is cooler than his; it’s soothing and intoxicating all at the same time, and he is drunk off the feeling.
She’s panting beneath him, breath stuttering each time he sinks a little deeper into her, until the head of his cock butts against her cervix, and she lets out a long, shaky sigh.
He doesn’t have to look between them to know that, at this angle, he’s less than two-thirds inside her, but he does, savoring the sight of her stretched around his huge dark cock. He feels her trembling as he catches her legs by the fleshy backs of her thighs, dragging her closer and deepening the angle as he sinks in further. Her belly and breasts shift forward; her nipple pops out of his whelp’s mouth with a wet sound.
The pup appears satiated however, crawling on top of her breast to lap clumsily at her face.
She cracks open her eyes and smiles, huffing something to him in her home language and patting the bed mat beside her. He yips, wriggling, and licks more insistently.
“Grood,” she moans as Gluhd rocks forward, scooping up the pup in an enormous hand and depositing him where his bitch had patted. The pup tries to rise, but Gluhd keeps him pinned with his fingertips pressed gently into the back of his neck. The whelp struggles, trying to turn and snap as Gluhd withdraws his cock until the thick, flared head catches on her tight outer ring. He pushes in again, losing himself in her sweet sounds as he leans in and snarls a warning at the pup. This time, his whelp lays down, shaking and whimpering.
Nanina makes a soft cooing sound, stroking the pup comfortingly along his back before she reaches up and drapes her arms over Gluhd’s massive shoulders. Her breath comes in short, gasping pants, mouth open and eyes hooded as he quickens his pace.
“Jai,” she nods frantically.
He strokes faster, watching as her breasts start to bounce in time with his thrusts. Her cunt makes slick, wet sounds as his cock pumps into her.
“Jai, jai Grood... Uhh-huhn, uhn...”
The rumbling in his chest deepens as he snorts and rasps above her, seeing her eyes squeeze shut as he puts a little more power behind his thrusts. Her thighs slip-slide back and forth around his hips, belly rippling each time he taps her cervix. He bends down to huff in her ear, “So beautiful.”
The jerking motions of the bed mat wake his youngest pup; the whelp whines pitifully for a tit.
“Grood,” she murmurs, breath catching in her throat. He nods.
Blinking the sweat out of his eyes, he raises his arm where it’s braced beside her and opens his jaws wide. Without slowing his thrusting, he works his tusks and then his bottom jaw underneath his squirming pup. Carefully, he lifts, tilting his head back and curling his tongue around the pup’s belly to keep him from wriggling out as he swivels back to Nanina.
The corners of her eyes are crinkled in a smile; she pats the breast he drew from earlier, catching it and holding it steady with one hand as she braces her other arm beneath it. “Here.”
He dips his head, timing the drop so that his pup rolls out of his jaws, into her arms as he thrusts forward, settling into the crook of her arm as her body is dragged back with his withdraw.
“Good,” she pants up at him, beaming. She’s impressed.
His chest swells, and there’s an echoing throb in his cock as he watches her slot her nipple into his small pup’s waiting mouth and stroke the wisps of downy dark hair from his eyes.
His bitch.
He laps at her face, tasting the fine sheen of sweat beading along her hairline, and tries not to jar her too much with his thrusts as she nurses. His pup suckles steadily between them, unperturbed by all the motion or the soft cries his mother makes as Gluhd pumps into her.
“Such a good bitch,” he praises, mouth close to hers. He regrets sometimes that he cannot kiss as she can - his underbite and tusks do not allow it.
It does not deter her, however, as she smoothes her hand down his cheek and kisses his leathery black lips. Her fingertips trace his scars and the thick crest of his browbone above his eye.
“Good Grood,” she murmurs back, smiling coyly. The walls of her cunt clench around him.
He hisses and growls.
Her hand wanders down his enormous barrel chest, to his side, slipping along his sweat-slicked hide as she looks for something to hold on to. At first he doesn’t understand what she’s asking, and then he feels her heels press insistently into the backs of his thighs. She wants more of him inside her.
He shakes his head. He cannot give her more at this angle without tearing her.
She nods back frantically, patting his side as she whines, “Jai, Grood. Hannai.”
His jaw clenches firmly, No. He picks up his pace instead, hoping to please her with faster thrusts.
She let’s out a high-pitched whimper, then, “Hannai, Grood. Hannai…”
“Spoiled bitch,” he growls, slowing his thrusts. He pulls out of her slowly, teeth clicking together sharply at the intensity of the friction. His cockhead pops out with a wet sound, trailing slick and spit and pre-cum.
She reaches, stretching her hand over her belly, and circles her fingers around the head. He snorts appreciatively as she squeezes him, coating her fingers. She drags them up her body; they leave a long trail from the soft swell of her belly, over her breast, to her neck.
He smirks before he follows it with the rough flat of his tongue. He lets his tusks graze the tender skin of her neck as he snorts in her ear, “Turn over.”
It takes her a few moments to work herself onto her side and around to her knees; she is not the most agile creature, and her pup worms furiously in her arms when his nursing is interrupted. Gluhd’s nostrils flare when she does, tucking his squawling whelp under her to find her tit again as she touches her shoulders to the bed mat. Her generous ass hikes high into the air as her belly rests on top of her thighs.
His large hands splay across her cheeks, pulling them apart to reveal her sopping wet cunt. Her entrance is bright red from stretching around his bulk, and he wonders not for the first time how something so small can accommodate him. His tongue lolls out to taste their mixed juices, catching thin tendrils as they drip from her. He swipes it up her seam, circling her tight pink bud, chuckling when he feels her cheeks clench reflexively beneath his hands.
He takes his cock in hand and lines himself up with her entrance. His cockhead meets less resistance this time; he watches her swallow his length with dark satisfaction. He’s nearly completely buried in her - only a third or so of his cock left - when he finds her womb. Gently, with painstaking slowness, he grinds into her slick cervix, easing her womb forward, until at last he is sheathed to the hilt inside her.
She’s moaning loudly now into the furs, one of her arms beneath her, cradling the pup as he suckles, the other stretched out to grip the edge of the mat.
“Is this what you wanted, small one?” he rumbles, folding over her as he braces his hands wide on either side. He wants to feel the slide of his chest and abs along her back as he strokes into her.
Her head bobs; he hears a high-pitched, “Jai!” from the bed mat as he withdraws halfway along his cock and rocks back in. Her womb shifts forward with every thrust, her moaning and whimpering rise to keens and wails as he pumps into her faster, harder.
His balls slap-slap against the backs of her thighs; he’s lost in the wet sounds her cunt makes as he pounds into her, her knuckles whitening on the edge of the mat, her sharp shrieking babble each time he hits hilt. The scent of her slick mixed with his musk fills the tent; he knows the Orcs in his encampment can hear her, can smell her. They know she is being mounted, and mounted well.
He doubles his efforts, ramming into her in short, quick thrusts as his gut tenses and his balls draw up. Her cunt clutches him; she shudders violently as she climaxes, keening so shrilly it startles both his pups. He grips her hips roughly, jerking her back to meet him as instinct takes hold of him and he slams into her, holding her flush to him. He presses his face into her neck as his lips curl back over his teeth, and as the first spasm of his orgasm hits him, he marks her.
She cries out, throwing her head back against his shoulder as her hand reaches around his neck, tugging. He snarls viciously, teeth still sunk into her tender flesh, and holds her down as his seed pumps into her.
“Hot,” she pants to him, sounding disoriented as the lines between pleasure and pain blur and dissolve. “Hot… hot…”
He draws his tusks out of her slowly, careful not to tear her as he rasps back, “Hot. I know, small one.”
Weight still braced on one hand, he cups the underside of her jaw in the other, tipping her head back further against his shoulder. He can see her throat working as she swallows.
“Does my bitch like the heat?” he murmurs, breathing hot air into her ear.
“Good Grood,” she sighs, closing her eyes. She sags in his grip. “Good good Grood.”
He smirks. Very well mounted.
His softening cock slips out easily; a rush of seed and slick dribbles out of her. She lays exhausted on her side beneath him, eyes still closed as she tries to catch her breath, and lets him lap her clean.
His pups yip anxiously, crawling to her to sniff and lap her fresh mark. She gathers them up in her arms; they nuzzle her breasts and each other as they settle in for another nap.
“Grood?” she calls, feeling his breath on her shoulder as he inspects her new mark proudly.
He strokes his large hand over her hair, trying not to catch the knots from their mounting on his callouses. “What?”
She pats the bed matt beside her. “Stay here.”
He snorts, smiling. Bossy little bitch.
He stands and roots through his armor, searching for the prizes he brought back for her. Finding them, he steps over her and lowers himself to the mat.
“Come,” she says tiredly, rubbing the fur closer to her. She wants his warmth.
He shifts closer to her, savoring the sleepy, relaxed expression on her face before he presents his prizes. A gold bangle, and a corded tie for her ankle with small silver bells at the ends. He jingles them both, catching the light.
She smiles, babbling something in her home language as she reaches for them. He swells with pride when she immediately slips the bangle onto her wrist, with the others, and presses a soft kiss to the anklet.
“Will you dance for me later?” he rumbles, sweeping the hair back from her face and tucking it behind her ear with a large finger.
Her smile turns shy as she nods.
“Your heat has not come yet,” he murmurs as her eyes drift close.
“Pup,” she mumbles sleepily.
“Yes, bitch - pup. You want a pup, you have to heat,” he explains patiently, not sure she’ll understand everything he’s said.
“Jai,” she says slowly, a sly look on her face. She takes his hand by a single large finger - hers is too small to touch around the circumference - and tugs. She’s not strong enough to move his hand on her own, so he follows her as she pulls him to her big, soft belly. She’s lays his hand over her navel, then strokes it with hers.
“Pup,” she repeats.
“Ahh,” he says when he understands.
She nods, “Jai.”
So that’s why she’s tired.
A wave of warmth washes through him. Another pup, strong and healthy, like the two she’s already beared him.
He’ll need to transfer to Infantry, to be closer to the encampment until the new whelp is born. He’s been present for all their birthings, biting through the cord and tonguing them clean and lapping up the afterbirth as she nursed. He looks forward to them.
Another heir. He grins.
“Why didn’t you tell me-”
She reaches out and pinches his lips closed, already nestling into the furs for sleep as she whispers, “Quiet.”
He snorts softly, laying his head down beside hers, their pups sleeping between them, and closes his eyes.