An Orc called Hole

"Milk your filthy prick in your shitty fist, Hole." You obey, pleased to be allowed, moaning around his thick cock where he he has made a sticky, brown wallow of your wet, sucking mouth. He tugs the chain of your collar, leaning you forward to slide himself into your throat. Your little tusks plow furrows that spill down to join what he grinds into the wispy hairs under your lip when you meet his bristling root. Your whole body shivers as you feel him pulse and throb. You swallow around him, **** to **** on his load, and your hole quivers and queefs out a quart of cum to soak the back of your sack.

As you stretch to suck and sate him, and pump your own nuts to a furor of fullness with your flogging grip, you feel everything that your father's first brutal fuck had only plunged deeper up your gut fall again to follow the flood of his cum, filling you where you bubble to empty. But the mud-slide within you slows as it begins to weigh on your quavering hole from within and piles heavy to bury that spot that throbs inside you. Fullness completes your need, as you feel another hot gush flood down your throat, and you pant and snort through your nose, and suck and swallow.

"Sounds like you are about ready," your father growls down at you, pulling back to gush against your tongue, and then out to spray your sticky chin. His monstrous cock is not even half-clean as it spits and spurts ribbons, but by now, your fouled brown mouth could only make him filthier. He doesn't care. Already his hand has dropped from your collar to the hollow where your back arches as you thrust in your slick, slack-handed strokes. A rough-callused fingertip slides down your cleft to snag on your sticky ring.

You press back in surrender, knowing that just as his touch made you crave and beg for this fate to befall you, he means to reward your readiness by making you wish you could be worthy of such use. Your hand slows, but does not stop, and your cock seeps freely. At his merest touch, your awareness narrows to your cum-slicked, quaking hole, tensing then tendering at his fingertip in a shit-sticky kiss. Still he stares down, reading your willing defeat, fingertip circling and skating and taunting you with the warm weight waiting within. You have no hope of escaping this, and no wish to.

"Shamed, pleased? You don't know anymore, do you? Only want." As he says, so it is. The need of your unanswered urge seething in your cum-sodden sack and the fullness fatefully weighting the hole where he teases have become one and the same. "And what do you want? No..." A peremptory slap of his cock laying a brown stripe across your cheek as you start to speak, then laying patiently at your lips. "Show me. Show us all."

The slap has broken the testing torment of his touch, and you see by sullen, smoking torch-light that you are no longer alone. Your captors, unwilling to touch even your iron chain, stand well back, gathered around the looming, laughing figure of their Chief. Every confession, each private defeat your need has conceded, you face again, and this time your choice foregone, wanting only witness to set a seal upon your surrender.

You lean up to slick and sully his conquering cock with your soiled, sucking mouth, as your arch to spread and press where his touch teases and taunts you.