Orced Raw E-Book

Nixie Fairfax

• Herausgeber: Nixie Fairfax
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Captured by her people’s ancient enemy, Elara the elf discovers forbidden pleasures at the hands of the monstrous orcs!
After finding evidence of orc activity near the border of her forest homeland, Elara the elvish ranger sets out to investigate. When she recklessly gets too close to their lair, the petite warrior is captured and taken to their arena, where she learns that she has been chosen to become the tribe’s latest broodmare and must now face off against every healthy male orc of the tribe in a battle/mating ritual. In the process, she discovers that her hatred of the orcs masks other, more shameful feelings, and as the hulking, well-hung monsters overwhelm her and roughly have their way with her, she finds herself wracked with bliss the likes of which she has never felt before.

Leseprobe

Orced Raw

By Nixie Fairfax

Copyright 2019 by Nixie Fairfax

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This work contains explicit sexual content and is intended for adults only. All characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

She found the tracks just past noon, when the hazy, mote-specked shafts of sunshine that found their way through the forest’s thick canopy had begun to slant toward the west. Squatting down on the stream’s eastern bank and absently levering her sword up so the scabbard’s tip wouldn’t drag in the dirt, she studied the confusion of large, deep prints in the mud.

Boots. At least six sets of them. Probably closer to ten. The boots were crudely made and poorly maintained. And they were large. Far too large to belong to one of Elara’s people, the elves of western Shoshen. And whoever wore them was extremely heavy, too: The depth of the prints suggested the wearers weighed a few hundred pounds apiece. The bulkiest elf in existence probably didn’t top a hundred and twenty.

Amid the prints were a couple of coarse black hairs. She tweezed up one of them between her buckskin-gloved thumb and forefinger and examined it, then flicked it away and scanned the forest around her, her green eyes narrowed to slits, her heart banging like a war drum.

Orcs. This was almost certainly orc spoor. Exactly the sort of thing she had sworn to be on the lookout for when she volunteered to help patrol the western reaches of the forest. Though the orc tribes of the Ash Lands west of Shoshen hadn’t dared to make any significant encroachments upon the elvish homelands since the wars of nearly a century ago, small bands sometimes slipped across the border, usually to make off with young elvish women whom the brutes meant to use to both sate their bestial lust and sire new orcs.

The thought of those fiends and the horrible obscenities they committed upon helpless women made Elara’s blood quicken and her pulse throb in her temples. Her hand, suddenly damp with sweat, grabbed the hilt of her short sword and gripped it tight, its leather wrapping creaking softly in her fist.

The worst part was the scurrilous rumors that some foul-minded souls had spread about these matters: that because orcs were sexually voracious, incredibly well-endowed, and possessed of a virility and stamina even the hardiest male elf couldn’t match, their captives often came to enjoy the depravities visited upon them; that indeed in many cases those captives chose to stay with their captors because they couldn’t bear to give up the intense, toe-curling pleasures of being “orced,” as some folks crassly put it; there were even tales that some elf girls had actually sought out the orcs of their own accord, unable to resist the forbidden delights the rumors spoke of.

Elara’s nostrils flared, and her cheeks flushed hotly as she recalled those scandalous stories. Her grip on her sword’s hilt had tightened so much her knuckles were white as bones.

But no. She might be getting worked up over nothing. These tracks might not be from orcs after all. Big boots and black hairs were not definitive proof of anything. Once in a while, humans sometimes strayed into Shoshen from Gallinant up north, or from Kleer to the northwest. Especially the latter lately, the once-proud country’s swift and brutal descent into civil war and bloody chaos having sent refugees fleeing far and wide.

The prints could even belong to some other species, perhaps a troll, or a very young ogre. Those, too, were creatures that Elara and the others who patrolled the land’s borders were tasked to be on the lookout for.

Orcs were still the most likely culprit, but she ought to make sure before she raised the alarm. She’d look a fool if a small war-party were mobilized, and the intruders turned out to be merely a few galumphing humans. It shouldn’t be too hard to learn the print-makers’ identity. The prints weren’t more than an hour or two old. Their makers might still be nearby.

Scanning the terrain around her, she soon spotted more prints on the stream’s opposite bank. A trail of them led away westward, the prints growing fainter as they left the moist bank behind. Elara lithely and soundlessly bounded over the little stream and followed the tracks into the brush.

* * *

Nearly an hour later she came to the cave. The tracks had led her on a bewilderingly meandering course, and at this point she wasn’t entirely sure if she was even still in Shoshen. She might be in orc territory at this point. There was even a chance she had strayed into Greatwood in the south of Gallinant.