The Overlord's Harem part 2: Baruun the Orc (Patreon)

Nitka made for a very pleasant houseguest. The little kobold took up one of the guest bedrooms (where I carefully made sure the previous tenant's booby traps were disabled). It was apparently roomier and cozier than anything she'd ever been in, to a point where she was too excited to sleep during her first night in the castle. I sent a runner to find her some finer clothes (the dwarves knew some traders who would deal with us), since the few laying around were far beyond her size. She did her duties quite eagerly, carrying messages and interpreting for her kind and tending to my needs when there was nothing to be done. I spend the next few evenings with her moaning as she rode my hardon, her soft bottom and curling tail slapping against my hips.
Then some idiot tried to sneak into my land from the Western border. A few days after I'd met Nitka, some treasure-hunting party came poking around after the rumor that my predecessor was dead, or the gold traded by my dwarven subjects, or some shit like that. Who knows? They're dead now. They thought they were sneaky by moving around a flank, with most of the orc tribe at the more obvious entrance of the Southern pass. It's more obvious from up in the tower that orcs spread themselves out, creating several smaller villages to prevent that very thing. Marcus came clanking back into the throne room to report their victory.
"LORD WILLIAM! THE ORC SAVAGES HAVE SLAIN ANOTHER PARTY OF ADVENTURERS! SOME WERE WOUNDED, BUT NONE KILLED!"
"I see. The adventurers?"
"OH NO, MY LORD! THE ADVENTURERS ARE VERY DEAD! ONLY THE BARBARIC ORCS HAD WOUNDED!"
"Ah. Good. Marcus, could you stop calling them savages, please?"
"WHY WOULD THAT BE, M'LORD?"
"One followed you home." Marcus' skull spins all the way around on his spine with a rusty old creak. There was a scarred orc woman behind him, somewhere in her adulthood but the exact age unclear. She has her arms folded, which are as thick as hams and swollen with muscles. Her skin is a muddy shade of green, dark like swamp algae and dotted with scars and tattoos that tended to accumulate on the adults. Two large handaxes are on her hips, and a long, jagged, curving sword across her back. Most of her clothing is assorted bits of metal and leather straps, as if orcs had a scarcity of metal and fabric but an abundance of belts. A skull of some beast is mounted like a belt buckle at the peak of a loose loincloth, centered between broad hips and two thighs that could break open a barrel. Two studded, scratched up pieces of metal were strapped tightly to the front of her full bosom, clearly to protect her heart more than any pretense of comfort. She had full lips that bore thick, sharp tusks when they moved in the right direction. Three gold studs were punched into one of her short but pointed ears, and one more in her slightly raised but stubby nose. The mountain of a woman is topped off by shaggy, coal-black hair tied back in a ponytail, and signs of the rest of her hair being shaved off at the sides.
Marcus' reversed skull nods backwards. "YES, LORD WILLIAM! SHE SAID HAD BUSINESS!"
I sigh and gesture him away. "Thank you, Marcus. Your loyalty is only outdone by your stupidity. Go see that the wounded have what they need." Marcus' skull twisted back into place before he saluted and stomped off again.
"They'll refuse," the orcess finally responds in a soft but rough voice. "They will never show weakness to the walking bone."
I raise my eyebrows at her, the hood down again today. "Is that what they call him? I kind of like it."
"It's not a compliment," she grunts.
"Oh, I didn't think it was." We share a smile, even if hers it a lot more lethal-looking than mine. "So what's your business? I don't want to waste your time, and you definitely don't want to waste mine."
She raises a fist, then thumps it twice on her breast. It's a kind of salute they do, but I don't know if the chesty orc knows how much that bounces her tits around. Then again, if I were leading the orcs (which, you know, I am), I'd try to encourage that kind of behavior too.
"Baruun the slayer, chief," she introduces in her smoky voice. I really do lose track of all my titles sometimes, but I'd apparently earned the title when the local chief challenged me for authority over the land. He was ashes before he'd properly raised his sword. "I must ask for my tarra midur."
I hesitate as she looks at me expectantly. "Baruun... I'm not sure if you noticed, but I'm not an orc..."
"You are, chief," she cut off. Bold, but polite for orcs.
"I am?" I ask expectantly.
"You hold the rank of leadership. Orcs are not made by blood but by deeds and rites," she goes on. "Even our newborns are not true orcs until they have been properly initiated."
"Interesting." I'll remember to add it to my resume, but decide quipping right now isn't going to get me anywhere. "Well my point is, I was not raised by orcs. I am not sure what a midur is."
"Tarra midur," she corrects me again. Much more vocal than Nitka. "The war brand that marks my fifty avenging deaths for the clan. It must be granted by the chief himself."
Ah. So their body mutilation rituals. No one's quite sure which land or god created the orcs, but they are clearly invested in fighting and pain as a part of their overall culture. I wave a hand, floating a quill and scrap of paper in front of her. "Shouldn't be a problem. Can you draw it out for me? I can have you in and out in no time."Baruun seems puzzled by the display of magic, but she does as I ask. She ends up handing me the page with a few thick lines that seemed to slash through a rectangle. Easy enough. "And where does this go? Just wherever I can find the space?"
"By my vaoul, my chief." She catched onto my blank stare quicker this time and raises her big, booted foot onto the arm of my throne, lifting her loincloth. There's a pair of small scars, wave-like lines just beside her green and pink womanhood. Its placement near my chest lets me smell the aroma of fresh sweat and the outdoors radiating off of her thick, slightly opened labia and defined abs.
"I see... very clearly. And will a mark do? Like a tatoo?" I could easily just give her a stamp of the pattern with a few seconds of magic. She shakes her head.
"Only scar. By the chief's hand."
I guess asking Marcus to do it with a branding iron is out of the question, but the proposition is interesting. At least she's showing some loyalty. I had to blast a few orcs who voiced a challenge the first few months I was in charge, so the respect was a welcome change.
"Very well. Not as quick as I'd hoped, but let's get you comfortable." I escort her a short way to one of the open guest rooms. I can only assume the last owner was the mad type that welcomed adventurers to stay the night and sent in magic, assassins, gas in the vents, and that sort of thing, because he has a lot of empty rooms. I have her lay on the bed and strip down, wearing nothing but her various studs and piercings. I find one more in a thick gold one ending in a dull hook that's pierced through one of her dark green nipples. She spreads her legs as I pull a seat in front of her, rubbing my fingers together a moment until they warm up. I focus the heat into a red glow and start to carefully trace my finger along her thick flesh. The skin itself is soft, but even her inner thighs hold more muscle pushing back at me than I have anywhere on my body.
She hisses softly as her flesh sizzled, but I smell her musky pussy more than anything else. It’s slow going to get anything deep enough since her skin is thicker and tougher than I expected.I feel her twitch and wince now and then; better than I would deal with it, but clearly not something comfortable. She has his stern but vulnerable expression on her thick features that makes me offer her a little distraction, at least.
"So fifty kills for my clan? That must be a lot."
"It took time. And many battles," Baruun seems to agree. "I forced my way to the front lines to throw myself into my enemies."
"I see. And what did you atone for with these kills?" She hesitates. "You say it was to avenge someone. What happened to them."
Her hand reaches down and rubs her leg muscle a few inches from where I'm working. Her thick, short fingernails rub over the wavy lines I saw first. "Husband. And child. I was not there to protect them from an attack."
"Can't be helped," I try to assure her. "All the strength in the world won't help if you're not where you need to be, and nobody will tell you where that is."
Her brawny body lifts and droops slightly as she breathes a deep sigh. "I need to be there for my clan," she insists, but it sounds like it might have helped a bit. "With these kills, I have proven myself worthy of forgiveness. I am a proper woman again."
"Really? With no dishonor intended, you looked like quite the woman before I heard about any of this."
"The waves, they show my unreliability."
"Sounds a bit harsh to do that to you."
"I asked for them. Even with my redemption, I don't know if a mate will have me again."
I pause to cool down my fingers a little and let her have a moment's rest. "How long did you say you had these?"
"Twenty moons. Two winters," she explained.
"And you're telling me that this brand left you un-matable for two years?" She bites her lip, which makes me wince just from seeing it with those sharp teeth, but she nods. "Poor thing."
"I was unworthy," she insists, but I rub a hand over her crotch. She gasps as I feel her warm, slightly loose pussy lips, brushing them gently with my fingertips. Her various muscles tense and twitch anxiously, but she stays perfectly still.
"I wouldn't think so. You seem loyal and honorable. I could stand to see more orcs like you, Baruun."
"You honor me, chief," she says, but it comes out in a quick, held breath rather than the firm and polite tone she probably intended.
"My pleasure," I assure her. I rub my fingers to indicate I'm ready to move on, but I keep my other hand gently rubbing over her privates. Her breathing grows more deep and intense, and she never protests or whines. If anything, she spreads her legs wider as if to invite me in. It makes her lips part a bit further as her thick leg muscles slightly pull at the surrounding flesh. For all the magic I have, seeing her so willingly vulnerable and submissive makes me stop to readjust my branding finger. It feels like petting a tiger and realizing that it purrs.
I spread her lips with my fingertips and see her big round breasts puff up higher and larger as she breathes deeper. I venture inside with two fingers, and a harsh, husky grunt comes from her a moment later. I hesitate, but she whispers back "Keep going." She's a bit larger inside than I expected from a human, and exceedingly warm. Thick, wet juices offset the heat, and given how thick her hide is, it's hard to think the fire in my fingertips is to blame. Then again, when I lift my fingers from one of the slash marks, she gives this intense, labored breathing that I can't help but consider sexual. It's as if she gains as much arousal from the brand as the fingering, or that they're part of the same act to her: all a part of reclaiming and celebrating her sexuality.
By the time I'm done with the brand, Baruun is sweating and giving off this sort of grateful, labored breathing, as if she proudly just finished running a marathon (she was certainly built like she could, anyway). I snap my fingers to dismiss the heat, meeting her eyes from beyond her mountainous breasts. "You did very well, Baruun," I praise her gently, resting a thumb just next to her singed flesh as a reminder while my fingers still pump rhythmically inside of her. "Very strong, and very brave."
"Thank you, chief," she pants, a hand brushing over her breast before she pulls it back with a guilty expression on her face.
"You're proud of your deeds," I point out to her. "That's good, isn't it?"
"Our tasks are for the tribe," she says, eyes fluttering as I keep teasing her clit. It's hard enough that I could take her pulse on it if I wanted to. "Not for ourselves."
"Well it pleases your chief to see you enjoy yourself," I state calmly, easing my fingers out of her as I admire her powerful but feminine frame. I sit up to remove my robe and slide down my pants, mounting the bigger woman. "And you serve your chief so dutifully, I think you deserve some reward."
Her eyes light up as I slide inside of her. She's looser than expected, as I mentioned, but it's easy to maneuver inside her and rub directly against her clit. Her body vibrates under me with her deep groan. I find her a bit too tall to kiss easily; I hold it deep enough inside her to kiss her full lips, but more often I have to settle for groping and sucking on her big pierced tits. Her swollen nipples are delightfully sensitive, apparently the orcish toughness not universal when it comes to their sex organs. She has this look of her mind being blown when I pinch and pull on her jugs and the piercing golden hook, the dense orbs stretching out just slightly from the pressure put on her tender tips. It makes her grip my arms in her calloused hands, forcing me to hold her this way as she humps harder back against me. My entire body bounces from her thrusts, a lazy wizard not exactly built to mate with a 200+ pound she-orc.
"Seed me, chief," she huffs in a low, husky voice. "Give me strong heirs. Strong sons and mighty daughters all..."
"Earn it," I mutter to her, not so much a power play as it seems to be what she wants to hear. She's craving a strong mate after her years of abstinence, and I move to match her thrusts as she grunts and flexes like she's working every muscle in her body to fuck me harder. I'm balls deep into the big woman when she feels me cum, my fingers digging into her breasts a bit harder. My moan comes right before her high-pitched wail and a gush of her own juices, mixing with mine as she floods her inner walls. She moves like she's in an earthquake, and my arms ache from how hard she squeezes them. That's quickly replaced by an overall crushing sensation as she grabs my back and pulls me into a bearhug, forcing me to keep my dick inside her and my face buried between her breasts like two firm, sweaty pillows.
It's either another testament to orc stamina, or just two years of buildup, but it feels like she orgasms for most of an entire minute. I remember hearing from a drunk farmer that pig orgasms last for half an hour, and the comparison has been made between the beasts and orcs before. I don't quite have the brain cells in order to make the comparison at the time, but she cools down eventually as her thick fingers run through my hair.
"Oh how I missed that," she coos in her chest-rumbling voice, hearing each word vibrate out from behind her breasts.
"Glad to help," I pant, not minding the mild aches and bruising I received in the process. I give some light kisses against her breasts in the afterglow, just beneath some tribal tattoo that followed the curve of her mammary. "Something you'd consider doing again?"
"As my chief commands," Baruun vows dutifully, even while my manhood is stewing in her cum.
"Not because I command it. Do you enjoy it?" This seems to surprise her, but she nods after a second's thought. "Good. Because so did I, and I have a proposition for you."
Baruun moving in is a bit more of a to-do than Nitka was. She has a lot more weapons, trophies (mostly teeth and horns of things), animal skins, and other possessions to bring into the tower. I let her keep the room where we slept together, and she vowed on her life to act as my resident representative to the orcs. When I introduced her to Nitka, Baruun scoffed and dismissed her. Clearly not a threat to her or her mate, I guess.
"You've taken another mate?" Nitka asked me with a puzzled look.
"Something like that. Is that a problem?" I could get another if I had to, but I didn't want Nitka taking a job that would make her upset.
The kobold just shook her cute little head. "No. I'm just surprised you didn't have several wives already." She trots off as I piece together that kobolds are polygamist, and Baruun doesn't seem to care as long as she serves her chief. Good to know.