Zhak’orr – Prologue 0.5: Orc🌶️

LAYLA

I lay back, the sheets rough under my skin, still damp from sweat and my spent. My chest rose and fell too fast, my lips slick with him. He didn’t give me time to catch my breath. His hands were on me again — palms wide, calloused, spreading me out. Not gentle. But he wasn’t careless, either. Every movement was deliberate, as if he’d mapped every inch of me already and liked what he found.

He loomed over me, tusks glinting, that tail of his lashing once against the mattress before curling around my ankle. It was heavy, warm, alive, sliding up my calf until it rested just below my knee, anchoring me there. I flinched at the touch, at the reminder that he wasn’t human — and that I was here, spread open for him, dress torn to rags, bra snapped, panties gone. My thighs shook, stockings biting into soft flesh, my belly rising and falling like a wave.

His gaze roved over my belly, my hips, the dimples at the top of my thighs, and his lip curled not with disgust but with want. His big hand slid down, fingers digging into the swell of my hip, kneading it hard enough to bruise, thumb tracing the crease where flesh met thigh. He liked there was more of me. I could see it in the way his nostrils flared, the way his tail tightened.

“You’re mine,” he rumbled. It wasn’t a question.

Then he pushed into me.

God. The first stretch stole my breath. Thick, impossibly thick, he forced his way past the slick entrance of my body, and every muscle clenched against him. I gasped, nails digging into the mattress. I’d always imagined losing my virginity would be pain, a sharp tear. Instead, it was pressure, fullness, a burn that made my eyes water but not from hurt. I felt the resistance of something deep inside give way, and he slowed — just for a heartbeat, tusks grazing my jaw as he growled low in his chest. Then he drove forward, deeper, harder, until his hips met mine with a wet sound that echoed in the small room.

My body clung to him. Frantic. Overwhelmed. His size filled me so completely I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began. Heat roared up my spine. The remnants of his seed still in my throat burning through me, that rumored orcish aphrodisiac searing my veins until my pussy clenched around him like it was trying to pull him deeper. I whimpered, shame and hunger colliding. He answered with a rough palm sliding up over my stomach, fingers splaying wide to feel me stretched around him. He pressed down, not hard but firm, watching the way my flesh yielded under his hand and how he moved inside me.

“Look,” he growled against my ear, breath hot. “See how you take me. Good little witch.”

Tears pricked my eyes again, but my hips rolled up against his without my permission. His tail slid higher, curling around the back of my thigh, hauling my leg up and out until it hooked over his shoulder. The position opened me more, stretched me wider. He withdrew almost to the tip and slammed back in, deeper this time, the head of his length hitting something inside me that made my vision blur. I cried out, grabbed at his arms — hard muscle under my palms, scars ridging the skin — and tried to breathe.

I saw a wound on his chest then. A split just below his collarbone, blood seeping sluggishly from the fight with the Twins. Instinct moved faster than thought. I lifted my head and licked it. Just a swipe of my tongue over the cut, tasting copper and sweat. My magic leapt out like it had been waiting, flooding through the contact, sealing the wound with a hiss of heat.

He snarled — a sound half pain, half something else. His rhythm faltered for a heartbeat, then turned savage. He braced one massive hand beside my head and drove into me harder, deeper, pounding me into the mattress. Every thrust forced a gasp out of me, my breasts bouncing, stockings biting into the soft of my thighs. He bent lower, tusks scraping along my neck, breath ragged.

I didn’t think about my stomach anymore, or how my thighs spread too wide. There was only his weight, his heat filling me again and again. His hands were everywhere — one on my breast, kneading until the flesh spilled over his palm, thumb brushing the nipple; the other gripping my hip, fingers digging into the fold of my ass.

Then he bit me.

His mouth closed over the soft flesh above my right nipple, tusks grazing skin before his teeth sank in, sharp and brutal. Pain flared bright, blood welling up. He didn’t stop moving. He licked the wound even as he rutted me, tongue hot and wet, sealing the mark with each pass until the skin knit under his mouth. It was raw, primal — a mark of claim.

I came again. No build-up this time, just a violent, wrenching release that tore through me, my body spasming under him. My nails raked down his back, catching on old scars. Magic sparked again, little bursts of light flickering over our skin, the taste of copper in the air.

He roared. The sound filled the room, filled me. He slammed in deep, grinding against me as if he could bury himself deeper, as if he could crawl inside me. His tail lashed once, then wrapped around both my thighs, holding me open as he spilled into me, heat flooding so deep it burned. He stayed there, pressed to the hilt, chest heaving, tusks grazing my cheek as he murmured something low and guttural in orcish against my skin.

I sagged under him, trembling, slick and open, seed and magic pooling between my thighs onto the mattress. My body still clenched around him in little aftershocks. His hand slid down my side, over the soft curve of my waist, the round of my hip, fingers tracing the dimple where thigh met ass. Possessive. Approving.

He pulled back just enough to look at me. Amber eyes burning. His thumb dragged across my bottom lip, smearing spit and blood there.

His tail stroked up the inside of my thigh, slow now, almost tender. I shivered, realizing I wasn’t done wanting him. Not even close.

He still hadn’t softened.

Even after spilling deep inside me for the second time, he stayed thick, hard, hot. I could feel every inch of it still pulsing inside me, stretching me wide. His breath came ragged against my cheek, and then he moved — not away, not out. He dragged his mouth down my throat, over my collarbone, until his tongue found the fresh bite , his weight shifting.

“Turn over,” he growled, voice rougher than I’d ever heard it. “Hands and knees. Now.”

I should’ve said no. I should’ve said I couldn’t. My thighs were slick and trembling, my limbs barely obeying me. But my body moved anyway. I rolled to my side, then pushed up on shaking arms, legs spreading as I braced myself on all fours.

The shift made me aware of everything — the slick slide of his cum seeping down my thighs, the way my pussy fluttered around nothing now, wanting him back. I didn’t even have time to catch my breath before his hand slid between my thighs again, rough fingers spreading me open from behind.

“Still want me,” he muttered, feeling the flutter of my lower lips.

His tail wrapped around my waist this time, not tight but there — present, anchoring me. Then he pushed into me again.

I cried out.

From this angle, it was deeper. Somehow rougher. He filled me in one long, brutal thrust, the slap of his hips against my ass loud in the stillness. My elbows buckled. My face hit the mattress, but I didn’t pull away. I couldn’t. I needed him.

He gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, dragging me back into every thrust. The bed creaked beneath us, the springs crying out. Every movement rocked me forward, my breasts dragging against the sheets. I was fully exposed, no place to hide — every jiggle, every roll, every soft inch of me laid bare under him.

One of his hands left my hip, sliding up my side. He cupped the underside of my breast, fingers curling under its weight, lifting it, squeezing. Then down, palm dragging over the curve of my belly, rough fingertips circling my navel before pressing in. He liked how much there was of me. He didn’t say it, didn’t need to. His hands spoke louder. Possessive. Claiming.

“Perfect,” he snarled, voice low, cracked open with need. “Soft little body. Made to take cock. Made to take mine.”

His tail tightened around my waist, then slipped lower, curling under me. The soft, furred tip found my clit — not gently, not carefully, just enough pressure to make me whimper. The rhythm between his hips pounding into me and the press of his tail stole what was left of my breath.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growled, voice dark and fraying. “Breed this sweet cunt ‘til you’re dripping with me.”

I gasped — full-body, burning. Shame flared hot across my face. He couldn’t. Orcs and humans didn’t work like that. Everyone knew. No matter how deep he spilled, how rough he filled me, it would never take.

But god, it did something to me, anyway.

My thighs shook, pussy clenching down around him like my body didn’t care what was possible. Like it wanted it. Like the lie of it — the fantasy — made it worse. Better.

“Wanna see this belly round,” he rasped, leaning lower, pressing his palm against the softness there. “Wanna see it full. Swollen. You’d look so fucking good carrying my brat.”

I broke. Came again, thighs giving out, body collapsing under the weight of him and the words.

But he didn’t stop.

He followed me down, bending over me, hips grinding slow and deep as his weight pinned me in place. He still moved inside me — not fast now, just steady, claiming, owning every inch of my body. My pussy was raw, too slick, too swollen, but it didn’t matter. I wanted more. I wanted all of him. I wanted to feel ruined.

“Mine,” he growled, voice thick. “You’re mine.”

His tusks scraped against my back as he bent lower, teeth brushing the curve of my spine. His breath was hot, humid. His hands slid under me, palms spreading over my belly again — he loved holding me there, where I was softest. His fingers pressed in, grinding my ass back into him, making me take every inch.

Another release hit without warning. I shook under him, helpless, sobbing into the sheets. He cursed in orcish — harsh, guttural words I didn’t know but felt. He came with a roar, hips grinding hard, cock pulsing deep as he spilled inside me again.

It wasn’t a few shuddering spurts. It was endless.

Hot and heavy and so much that I felt it flood me, stretch me from the inside until my belly ached, swollen and full. I gasped as the pressure built — and still he pumped more into me. It pushed past the seal of him inside me, slick heat spilling out around his shaft to run down my thighs, even though he was still buried to the hilt, still plugging me. Every twitch of him sent another gush leaking out, dripping onto the sheets beneath us.

He didn’t pull out.

He stayed pressed against me, chest to my back, his cock still lodged deep, plugging me full. His weight sank down, not crushing — just there, inescapable. His tail coiled tighter around my waist. I felt his breath against the back of my neck, slower now, his tusks brushing against my hair.

He murmured something low, words in that deep orcish tongue. I caught only one: vash’turrah.

His voice turned soft for the first time — almost reverent. The words were too tender to be a command. Not praise, either. I didn’t know the meaning, but I felt it. Felt the heat of it roll down my spine.

I wanted to ask. But I couldn’t speak.

My mind drifted, hazy and full. My body wouldn’t stop shaking. Every part of me was wet, raw, spent. I should’ve felt ruined. I should’ve panicked. I didn’t know how many times my magic flared. He’d bitten me. Took me. Called me something I didn’t understand.

But none of that was what I held onto.

What remained was the way he touched me. His palm still pressed over my belly. His tail still wrapped around my waist. His lenght, impossibly, still inside me. I was stretched, leaking, split open, and still he stayed.

The last thought before sleep took me in was that I liked it.

I liked it too much.