Age of the Orc - 02

Now
25 Mar 2019, Fourth Age
04:53 :02

Zoch woke before the alarm a warm Hobbit mouth bobbing up and down unhurriedly on Orc cock. Eevin's curly head rose and felt with soft wet slurps, her tongue sliding along the soft, smooth underside, all the way from the shaven balls to the ultrasensitive tip. She knew how much Zoch loved it when her lips ran over the flared crown of the erect prick...and Zoch knew too how hot it got her to feel that little twitch as the Orc's entire body went taut like a bowstring drawn back, ready for release. That was when Eevin took a deep breath and plunged down, to take the cock to the root, the head pressed against the back of her throat. Small hands clamped onto Zoch's hips so that there was no way to get away as the Orc's balls bobbed against her chin, and liquid heat released deep inside of Zoch's crotch, to travel up the length of the prick and explode down the Hobbit's esophagus in a sticky eruption that made the Orc's toes curl and eyes roll up until the whites showed.

As the cock slowly softened, Eevin sucked the last drops from the wilting prick, her glowing Mordor Cybernetics cybereyes shifting from red to a soft blue. It was exactly the kind of response that the Hobbit liked to see. When Eevin finally pulled her mouth off the Orc's cock, she gave the pecker a little kiss.

"Thanks for breakfast," she said, a line straight from the erotic Matrix comics she so loved.

"Mornin'," Zoch said back. "What's the occasion?"

Eevin's smile faltered a little, and Zoch regretted it. They both felt the tension on them now.

"Big day, is all," she said, then bit her lower lip, which caught the little stud of her labret piercing. She sat up and looked at the window, which was set to some tropical island. Water, warm and clear, washed up against a smooth expanse of black sand beach under the stars, dawn still an hour off. Which was much better than the view of a lonely black highway heading straight to Barad-dûr in the distance if the window actually displayed the view from outside the arcology.

A digital clock ticked in the corner of the Orc's vision. 0457. Close enough. The company car would be here at 0530. Not really enough time to fool around.

"I'll get you back," Zoch promised, as the Orc sat up.

Officially, they were roommates. Eevin was Zoch's lab assistant. A friend from university who had gotten the job at Zoch's insistence, and who lived with the Orc to share the cost of their larger-than-normal house. Unofficially, upper management was willing to overlook certain things for one of their star researchers. It helped reinforce Zoch's loyalty—and gave them leverage to make help prevent defection. Or punish disloyalty.

Not that Zoch had ever given them any reason to doubt on that score. After all, the megacorp had been good to them. Secure jobs for life. An house in the corporate arcology complex directly adjacent to the Mt. Doom Geothermal Power Plant where they both worked. Discounts on cyberware—it was still amazing that neither of them needed glasses anymore.

As long as they kept up appearances. No public displays of affection. No leaving the corporate compound without permission, not that there was anywhere to go except Barad-dûr. Zoch still remembered when the Chief Technology Officer had handed over the keys to the sleek, dark Black Arrow convertible that still lived in the garage, as a little gift upon Zoch's promotion. Knowing even then that the new head researcher would have nowhere to drive it.

Even here, in the house that they didn't actually own, they had to be careful. No pictures of them together for the cleaning staff to see. Separate bedrooms. Plausible deniability.

Another, more thoughtful gift lay framed on the wall. The original page for Age of the Orc. The one the artist had first put on there before the editor had insisted on changing it—something Zoch had not learned until years later—was more refined, the fangs smaller, the lips fuller and more sensual. Mouth set in a grim line, staring off the page. Breasts smaller and hips wider. Wielding a realistic rifle, holding up a normal bayonet. Not sexy enough for the readers of Age of the Orc, but more...real.

Eevin had bought it for him.

They dressed in silence, the Hobbit and the Orc. Zoch slid into a tight chest binder, the better to fit into the best slim-fit suit. There had been times, when wearing the elastic band had been claustrophobic. Now it was almost comforting. The Orc stared into the mirror, and saw a reflection very different from the skinny kid who had left Barad-dûr with a calculator and a stack of comics all those years ago. A little taller, a bit more lean muscle, the cheekbones more pronounced. Clean-shaven, a black spray of freckles across the dark olive skin of the nose and cheeks. Dark brown hair collar-length, which would have been unthinkable as a youth. Fangs straight, eyes the precision glass and chrome of Mordor Cybernetics' very top-of-the-line models, obviating the need for glasses.

There were other things, of course, that Zoch couldn't see in the mirror. Other changes. A bit of headware memory. The neural port at the base of the skull, hidden by the longer hair. A standard medical implant that tracked vitals. Blood pressure, glucose levels, hormone levels.

Eevin dressed conservatively today. No cleavage showing, slacks instead of skirt. She climbed the stepladder to help Zoch with the tie, and poured the soykaf into their to-go cups.

"You still have an extra set of clothes at work?" she asked, and gave her clothes a tug in that last little fidget of nervousness. Zoch felt it too.

"Yes. Don't worry. It'll be alright," Zoch promised, and gave her hand a squeeze. "All things in their time."

There was a chime at the door. Zoch dropped Eevin's hand before answering it. Public displays of affection were still frowned on. The Orc driver, in a crisp uniform, managed not to sneer at Eevin as she walked to the car at the end of the driveway.

Zoch closed the door behind them, but didn't bother to lock it.

One way or another, they wouldn't be coming back.