Power Game: Orc vs Elf

It wouldn't take long and it was going to be glorious.

3.

And then he surprised her again, when he began—he startled her, with his approach. It wasn't what she expected. He didn't start doing what she'd braced herself for.

The orc didn't grab her breasts. She'd been sure that would be his first move. That he'd go right for her nipples and pinch them and twist them. In a funny way, for a moment she was almost insulted that he ignored them. Didn't he like her breasts? What was wrong with them? Nothing at all, was the answer. Perhaps it was only the fact they were pressed against the wall, since she was tied this way. Not hanging loose but trapped out of sight, squished to the stone. He could still have dug his hands around in there and got at them without too much difficulty, if he'd wanted to. But the orc didn't bother.

So then she thought he would start prodding at her vale right away, or her arse. Try jamming himself into one or the other holes. If he had, he would have got what was coming to him, in an instant. He was too clever for that, and too careful. Perhaps she shouldn't have warned him. Shouldn't have told him anything about her skin spell. The more she thought it over, the more she realized how damned utterly foolish that had been. Why had she done it? Why had she felt compelled to? Pride, mainly. Perhaps it had been an obligation of honor. Perhaps mere stupidity. She couldn't put up with how smug he'd been, when he started to speak to her. To make a mockery of her. Shouldn't have allowed his taunts and teasing to get to her as bad as they had. If she'd only kept quiet a few more moments, he would already be dead ... But then again, he would have died in ignorance and confusion, and she didn't want it to happen that way. It would have soured her victory. She wanted the brute to understand exactly how she'd bested him, after he believed he'd rendered her powerless.

Now instead of poking or pinching or petting any part of her, he chose instead to spank her, and using his erection to do it, rather than his palm. Except the horrible green phallus was so large and thick, being stuck on the buttocks by it was more like being flogged than being spanked. It was like he was beating her bottom with a wooden club. There was a bit of flex to the shaft, but very little.

She yelped, the first time. More in shock than in pain. And in fact the pain took another moment to flare. When it did, it made her gasp. She grit her teeth, to keep herself from crying out again when the next strike hit. But that didn't work for long. At the fourth or fifth hit, another yelp escaped her lips. And then a groan. It was the second yelp itself that brought on that groan, coupled with an answering chuckle from the vile orc—it was the humiliation of how pathetic and desperate she had sounded. She pressed her lips together as tight as she could, with a fresh resolution to suppress all further vocalization, no matter the cost. But what if she couldn't manage it? What if she wasn't strong enough? It didn't seem likely.

"Huhh! Hgghh!"

The blows hurt too much. This was so much harder to put up with than she'd anticipated. And it was a new pain for her. A new kind of pain, far more distressing than any other injury she could remember. Because it was so demeaning and humiliating. It made her feel so small and weak and dirty. This was not something she'd ever experienced before. Not even as a child, had the elven priestess ever suffered a spanking. Never in her worst nightmares could she have predicted she would be spanked as an adult—or whipped, to be more accurate. Her naked bottom whipped by a massive orc's erection. It was unimaginable, but it was happening! An unspeakable disgrace.

She'd been stung by insects, upon occasion—the physical sensation was closest to that. But amplified. And no insect had ever stung her there, on her bottom. The blows from his phallus were like a hundred wasps stinging her arse all at once. One cheek or the other, back and forth. The orc kept alternating. It was dreadful. Unbearable. Yet she had no choice but to endure it. What if she couldn't? She knew she couldn't! But she must!

What of her skin spell? It had activated, but not at its full capacity. Since so far he never directly attacked the vulnerable passages the magic was conjured to defend. Each time his weapon struck her flesh, the impact triggered a discharge of energy. With a thunderclap, brilliant pink flashes of lightning burst out from her spine, crackling through the air between her body and the orc's. The jagged bolts of the magic lashed and clawed across his torso and his face, while others targeted his weapon. They pulsed straight into the tip of his phallus and then surged through its shaft into his balls and belly. Each blast made the orc grunt and stagger, but that was all. He didn't stop whipping her. He didn't stop grinning as he did it.

Her magic would not last indefinitely. Eventually the spell would burn out. Surely the orc's strength had its own limit. Which of them would reach it first? There was no way to predict. Yet her confidence began to waver. Her spell was hurting the orc, but not like his blows were hurting her. And he felt no disgrace or frustration yet in what the spell was doing to him, nor in everything it was keeping him from doing. The spell was failing to anger him and make him lose his patience and control. He only grunted and jerked, each time he took another shock, yet maintained his steady methodical rhythm and never tried to progress things further, while at this point she in turn could not stop shuddering even in the pauses between strikes, and each hit forced another wild yell or, worse, a pitiful whimper from her. It was indisputable, she was suffering much more than he was, which meant she would be weakening faster as well. For the first time since she was captured, she began to contemplate the possibility of failure. The orc might outlast her spell. And if he did, she had promised to submit herself to him. To perform for his pleasure. She had vowed to do it. How could she have made that vow? Well, it had been easy. She never expected to have to honor it. She'd been absolutely certain.

No longer.

And then finally he did something else, something new. Again, it was a small thing. Too minor to further enflame the skin-spell. He went for her pointed ears. One of them, the left. Its projecting tip. Of course like every elf she was extremely sensitive there. He put his tongue on it. Only the very end. The tip of his tongue to the tip of her ear. Where it made tiny tight circles, applied there with the lightest possible pressure. A caress, was what it was. He did not slurp and slobber all over her ear like a dog—or the one human male partner she had ventured to bed with, as an experiment (and a ghastly failure). Nor did he blow his hot stinking breath into her ear, as the idiotic human had, as if that would excite her instead of irritate. The orc only nudged and teased it. Gentle and warm upon the point as a summer breeze.

An exquisite sensation. If one dared to imagine an elf's body as a musical instrument, her ears would be its strings. If not perhaps her only strings, those would be the pair that produced her highest, keenest notes. She didn't only feel the shattering shivers in her ear alone—she felt them everywhere. All down her neck and spine, her breasts and belly, her swollen nipples and equally swollen pearl ... Clear down to her straining toes, she felt them. It was horrifying. She almost screamed. Except she couldn't. The feelings had hit her so powerfully, they'd constricted her throat. Rendered her voiceless, for the moment.

And now to feel these irresistible shivers and surges at the exact same time as the cruel impacts of the spanking ... the contrast was maddening. Quite clever of the orc. Her body didn't understand anymore what it was feeling. A desperate frenzy of bafflement and infuriation. The pleasure had somehow blended with and intensified her pain, as the pain intensified the unwelcome, inappropriate pleasure. While this angry confusion, above all else, served in turn to intensify her sense of helplessness, and self-conscious shame, and her stark terror.

Then she tried to kick backward at him. To catch his balls from beneath with her heel. Perhaps brute physical force could accomplish what her magic was supposed to do, and wasn't. Perhaps indeed that simple donkey kick might have worked, if the blow had connected. But it did not. He was ready for her. He caught her foot, by the ankle, and then held her leg suspended like that, bent backward at the knee, with her foot upside down.

And he punished it, for trying to hurt him. But he didn't punish it with pain. Instead he was subtler. He chose only to tickle the sole of her foot with the edge of his jutting thumbnail. She could not jerk the foot from his clutches, no matter how hard she tugged and twisted. She could only clench her toes and endure this new torment until he tired of the game. Except he showed no sign of tiring, and it was unendurable. Far worse than the spanking. And like when he licked her ear, it didn't trigger any flash of her skin spell. Not the smallest burst. She hadn't fashioned it with anything like this in mind. Never in a thousand years would she have guessed a potential ravisher would decide to tickle her foot. Not when there were so many other things he'd want to subject her body to ... This made her feel very foolish and naïve. There was much, much more to the whimsical possibilities of sexual play, whether foul or fair, than she'd ever allowed herself to consider.

"Stop that! Stop! Please stop!" She couldn't believe she'd just said that. She'd just allowed the worst possible word to pass her lips. "Please!"

He relented, though, when she said it. In place of his thumbnail, now he rubbed his phallus over her foot. That kind of rubbing didn't tickle, or hurt either, though he pressed it hard. Mashing the head of it along the arch, and then against her toes. Making her grip it with them and squeeze it. She could feel sticky goo squirting thick from the head between her toes. Oh! Oh! The stuff was scorching hot ... Had he just climaxed? Goddess of the Skies, an orc had just pleasured himself upon the bottom of her bare foot. But not to completion, it seemed. His phallus hadn't dwindled. It stood as tall and stiff as before. Only shinier now, from its spill.

"I like that," he announced, with a contented sigh, "Your pretty little toes feel nice rubbing me there. Yes they do."

"You're disgusting! You're ridiculous!"

"Yes," he admitted, "No doubt I am."

Even if she defeated him now, he'd already taken satisfaction from her. Exactly the pleasure she'd determined to deny him. He had fucked her foot. Only her foot, it was true, but he had fucked it and climaxed on it. And he'd also got her to plead with him. To beg him to stop. Killing him wouldn't take those moments away from him. Moments of victory and dominance. Did that mean the duel should end, for she was already beaten? Was it stupidity to pretend otherwise?

No! She mustn't let herself think these kinds of thoughts. But she had, and now that she had, how could she stop thinking them, now that they'd appeared? She couldn't, of course. The only answer was there was no answer. Not now.

"Let's try the other one," he said, "shall we?" Releasing her foot so he could lift the other in its place and massage himself upon it in the exact same ghastly fashion. "How's that feel? How do you like that?"

"You are horrid," she told him. But was she missing an opportunity here? As long as he was doing that, he wasn't spanking her or tickling her. And if he brought himself off again, it must be to her advantage. Two climaxes in a row would have to be a significant drain on his potency, wouldn't they? Fucking her other foot lessened the likelihood of him fucking her properly.

So she grit her teeth and when she felt the head shift against her toes, she clenched and gripped upon him without him having to make her this time, and then made her toes flex over and over, as fast as she could.

"Very good," he said, "Good girl."

"Can't resist it, can you? You're going to go off again, I can tell. I can feel it. You'll regret it, later on."

"You hope to drain me dry like this? An interesting change of strategy. I salute the effort, but unfortunately for you, you underestimate the capacities of an aroused orc. Perhaps if you were less beautiful and spirited, I would not maintain my ardor. I might grow bored. But I do not believe you could ever bore me, she-elf, nor exhaust my zeal."

The bastard dared to flatter her again! "Villain! You are a living obscenity!"

"And you are making me spurt again," he answered, as he drenched and defiled the bottom of her foot with reeking white slime, just as he'd done to the other. This time, when the outgushing concluded, the phallus did hang limp. Her plan had worked! The orc was not so virile as he thought himself.

But then the orc went back to licking her ear, on the opposite side now ... and then spanking her more. Again and again, harder and harder. And within three strokes, his loose floppy shaft had stiffened anew as he hammered it upon her bottom. The lightning flashes of her skin-spell seemed to contribute to its renewal. The phallus fed on the magic that was meant to cripple it. What wicked injustice! Was it her imagination, or had it become larger than it was originally? No, it couldn't be! She was just panicking.

Now, with a gleeful roar as he continued, he was no longer alternating sides evenly, back there. He'd concentrate on one cheek for a few strikes, or several, then switch just as she was getting used to them on that side, or beginning to, or imagined she was. Because it wasn't something you could ever get used to, was it? Perhaps in time her buttocks would finally go completely numb. But if they would, they hadn't yet, and still showed not the faintest indication of that starting to happen. Instead they only grew more and more sensitive. More and more agonized.

Also, feeling the full length of him over and over, the weight and restored rigidity against her flesh, each time it struck—the size of it, the girth of it, the unyielding power of it, indomitable despite the lightning it continued to absorb ... She could not help but be impressed, in spite of herself, by its stubborn endurance, compared to her own. (Her own lack of endurance, rather.) Nor could she help but feel frightened of those qualities.

Feeling its merciless strokes again and again upon her outer surface, it begged the question—what would such strokes feel like within her, instead, should he triumph? Should she allow him to ... How much would it hurt her, to be penetrated? And then to be fucked ... He'd fucked her toes and spurted himself on them ... He had said he would take her arse as well as her sacred vale. Would it only cause her pain inside, in both those passages, or would there be other sensations? She could not help thinking back to the claims of her aunt ... If she should surrender to the weapon's stimulation ... What would it be like? How bad would it be? What if it wasn't bad at all?

What if it was like his tongue upon her ear? What if somehow it turned out even better than that?

These thoughts, of course, were her ultimate undoing. She was undermined by her own imagination. Her own perverse curiosity. It is a curiosity shared by most females, confronted by an enflamed phallus. Especially one as grotesque and oversized as the orc's. It is an organ of sexual stimulation. He'd already demonstrated a measure of prowess with another instrument of pleasure, his cunning tongue. Thus, would this other mighty organ do what it was shaped for? Could he wield it with equal skill? Was the thing itself as potent as it appeared, or only a pretender? A blunt selfish instrument of nothing but savage violence. Could her passages accommodate a thing like that, and master it, in turn? Or would it master her instead? And if it could, if it did, how would that be? How would that feel? She could scarcely imagine it. To be mastered ... It was terrifying, but also a fascinating idea. How would she handle such an experience? Would she lose her mind? Would it destroy her spirit or delight her? Or both those things at once? A great contradictory transcendence.

She wanted to know ... These dubious, dangerous questions must be answered, now that they'd been awakened inside her mind, and inside her belly, and below. She wanted to put herself—and him—and his cock—to the fullest possible ultimate test.

But she mustn't! Of course she mustn't! Never! She'd made a solemn unbreakable vow, both to herself and to him. She had promised to defeat this creature and to slay him! She must see it through! She must hold fast! She must restore her honor! She must not break!

Yet she was already breaking. She had weakened too much, both in flesh and in spirit ... Her fierce warrior resolution caved in and dissolved under this new treacherous onslaught from within her being, like a wicked stormsurge of all her basest darkest animalistic urges. They flooded her entire body and her soul, swift churning currents sweeping aside her every noble instinct, and all commitments to duty and to pride ... the whole of her rational will. All her strength and resistance faded now. Evaporated, like wisps of steam.

Her body was steaming, indeed. Rivers of sweat streamed down her skin, and she could feel her sacred vale moistening in turn, until it was overflowing upon the petals of her passage. A spasming sensation, as if they were both tightening and loosening themselves somehow in the same moment ... While further inside, she was beginning to itch in her deepest, warmest depths. Now there were tingles all through the channel, as it shivered and clenched upon itself, awakened to its emptiness.

The eye of her sex—the precious pearl—it had unhooded itself. Swelling and stretching, straining—becoming almost as enflamed and eager as the shaft of the orc. That part of her wanted to feel the shaft press upon it, with all his strength. It wanted to press itself back upon him, with all of hers.

Her legs were trembling. No, all of her was trembling. She found she couldn't catch her breath. She could hear herself gasping. Panting like a dog, in fact, with her tongue hanging out. As bad as that.

She was aroused. The orc had succeeded in arousing her. Though she had done it to herself more than he had.

Now that it had happened, she couldn't hide it. The orc could feel her heat beneath him, and he could feel it quickening, and now he could feel her fluid too ... for it was trickling out of her thick enough to coat the head of his weapon when he rubbed against her petals and pushed them wide. And then wider.

Yes, at long last he was pushing there. The critical spot. There was a last crackle of her magic, to answer that touch—but the jolt was tiny, that time. Pathetic. Not nearly strong enough anymore to make him jerk away. He laughed and pressed himself further. Another flash, but now no accompanying crackle or jolt. Only a popping sound. She felt her shields shatter and fizzle away into nothing, every layer. Her magic had given out on her. Her skin-spell had failed. She was undone.

Now she felt truly naked. Now she knew she truly was. Her final defenses had been breached, and now her body would be.

"Oh no," she whimpered, "Oh no. Please no."

"You are bested, she-elf," pronounced the orc, "You are beaten."

"No. No. Oh no. No!" Her denials were empty and useless, of course. She could say it a thousand times, and it changed nothing.

"You are mine," said the orc. And then his victorious cock pressed further forward, and began to penetrate her. Stretching her passage wider than it had ever been opened before. But even then he was not brutal with her, as she expected. He did it like he said he would when this began. He was firm and he was merciless and inexorable, but not brutal. He pushed himself in very, very slowly and very, very carefully, and only the head of it. Still, it was enough to make her cry out again. More than enough.