Beldin discovers a tribe of orcs

Beldin flashed through the tall pines like the shadow of a bird overhead and left nearly the same trail. A stream murmured beside him as he hopped down a sharp hill of rounded boulders. The dark elf stopped, balancing on the dome of one of these, and looked skyward to the Cheshire smile of the moon overhead. He basked in this silver light, reflecting on how his siblings despised the open air and broad horizons of the surface world, preferring the dark, cramped quarters of their underground lair. He scoffed. What they failed to understand was the opportunity this realm presented. It fairly smelled of change. He breathed deeply, the rich odour of pine and the clear water beside him saturating his senses, accustomed to far staler scents of the underdark, where a passage could go untrod for decades alone and still bear the presence of that traffic. Not here.

Another scent tingled in his nose. His eyes narrowed and he looked back down. That smell…Smoke. A campfire. He crouched on the stone, reverie forgotten, and jumped through the remainder of the boulders to the soft ground. The wind brushed the loamy soil as he darted beneath the trees and rejoined the darkness. Without the sound of the stream he could now hear things. Voices, cacophonous and harsh, and as he drew nearer, a tongue he recognized well.

He came to a second cliff overlooking a stony clearing. He flattened himself, then wriggled forward and peered over the edge. The firelight in the clearing hurt his sensitive eyes but they soon adjusted. The scene opened like a panorama, resolving itself beneath him. An orc tribe had taken refuge in the valley, their crude tents of cured hide thrown up pell-mell the light from a bonfire flickering over the scene. They were in the midst of festivities, the hard muscled and heavy set creatures riotous in amusement, drinking of wine skins and tearing flesh from several deer spitted over smaller cooking fires. It was a large tribe, and so was their chieftain, who could be easily distinguished sitting atop a throne of wood, bone and decorated with antlers, placed atop a boulder like a stone dais covered in animal pelts.

And yet, all this was nothing new, for Beldin had seen many orcs back in the wilds of the underdark. Rather, what caught his interest, was the women.

He stared, amazed at what he saw. Orc women in leather skirts too high to serve them properly wandered about serving their males, their vests open at the front revealing their green breasts and black nipples. Even as he watched, one of the warriors suddenly grabbed a wench and yanked her to the ground, wasting not a moment before tearing open his pants and entering her harshly. And she…she simply accepted it, submitted and grunted in tandem with the male.

He looked around and saw then the cages gathered in the shelter of the stone. Slaves cowered within, women and a few men, and not far from this, several stakes had been driven into the ground. Manacled to these were several human women, their knees in the dust, their asses high and being abused by several warriors of the tribe.

Beldin was stunned. Of course he had heard that orc treated their women folk in such a way, but to a male grown up among the matriarchal drow, the sight itself shocked him to the core. Such feral wildness on behalf of the orcish tribes thrilled him even as he balked with disgust. To see creatures he only ever encountered as cowed, beaten slaves revelling in their feral glory amazed him. He listened and watched intently the orgy among the tribe. He shifted at a growing stiffness in his leathers. Then he found the throne again, and found an even greater shock.

The orcish chief was a large creature. At least a head greater than the tallest Beldin had ever seen, he wore neither shirt nor pants as he sat in his throne, naked save the scars and harsh, tribal tattoos all across his powerful green frame. His hair was wild and coarse and he looked on the revelry of his tribe with amusement. And all around him were women. There were perhaps a dozen, humans mostly but he could see a few elves in fact, and all shapely and attractive. They lay about his throne like treasures, the skin on each of their rumps marked by a brand burned in their hide. They writhed and worshipped their chief, a blonde with heavy breasts bobbing on his cock eagerly, another serving him wine while two more hung from his arms with needy exuberance. Their only clothes were jewelry for the most lovely, the rest of their skin marked by tattoos of ownership or grime from crawling about the male orc’s feet.

The orc chief suddenly laughed, starting Beldin from his trance. The figure of powerful male virility reached out with a thick green hand and grasped a **** girl, an elf, pulling her to his mouth. She must be new, Beldin observed even then, for she bore less marks of ill use than the others, and trembled fitfully as he crushed his mouth to hers. The other woman, no doubt more experienced, pressed herself against the male’s chest, coaxing and caressing his scars wantonly. It was then that Beldin saw that many of these women sported the gravid bellies of pregnancy.

The orc chief suddenly pulled the elf from his mouth. He groaned and bucked his hips into the mouth of the woman kneeling before him, grasping her by the head and pushing her against him. He was coming. Beldin watched in fascination as the girl struggled to drink her chieftain’s seed, finally falling away, her eyes glazed and panting, cum visible about her slack open mouth. The chieftain laughed harshly. Even then his powerful member remained hard. He suddenly grabbed the elf and turned her around. She cried out, but he ignored her distress, and sheathed himself inside of her. In a moment she was riding him, mewling desperately as she sought to please her master.

Beldin shivered and gasped as his cock rubbed against his pants. Was he truly this hard? He shook himself and crept back from the ledge. He supposed he had best report to Venium what he had seen.

But, did he have to? Beldin paused, thoughtful. What if he made an alliance with the orcs? His mother would surely be pleased with his initiative, and perhaps even advance his rank, proving that a male was as, if not more, useful than a female.

Then, another thought presented itself to him. With a whole tribe of at least a hundred at his back, Venium and her party, hells, his whole family, would be easy prey. He shuddered at the horror of such a thought, dooming the entire female part of his family to slavery with orcs. And yet…and yet, the thrill at the thought! To see the proud females reduced to breeding sows to an orcish tribe, building an army and ruling the valley. His knees grew weak but he shook himself. The decision was now. He looked back, the glow of the campfire visible just over the cliff along with the sounds of festivities, then back into the darkness of the forest where his sisters struggled to follow his trail.