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He bares his teeth at me in the Doug equivalent of a smile.
“Well, I should like to ask some questions, and you can nod yes or no.”
He rocks back on his heels, still eyeing my pussy hopefully, before he sighs.
I try to close my legs.
He wedges himself between them, then slides his hand the length of my thigh toward my pussy with deliberate slowness as if defying me to complain.
“I—oh—are you really the warlord’s nephew?”
He nods, fingers continuing on a path for my pussy.
I gulp and try to remember what the urgent questions were as he reaches his destination. I’m too slow. He begins to play, dipping into the wetness that always gathers for him and spreading it up and over my clit. I suck in a sharp breath. “Did your mother abandon you… send you away?”
He nods again, his eyes on my breasts as he leans forward.
“The warlord, ah, seems to like you… maybe. Oh!” He closes his lips over my stiff nipple and sucks as he eases a single finger into me.
I fist his hair, my pussy squeezing over his finger, and wish it was something more. I wonder what this all means about his uncle—the warlord—and his mother; whether there are other people here who hate him because of what his father did. Only, it is hard to hold onto any thoughts when he is pumping his finger slowly in time with the pull of his mouth sucking against my sensitive nipple.
I believe that it means nothing, for nothing will change in our status.
I am still a bondservant.
He is still a low orc who was abandoned by his mother.
Melody is still a pawn being used to discover worlds for the Blighten to rain terror upon.
But here, in this darkened room, we remain ensconced from the rest of the world. And here my fierce white orc is forever gentle with me.
ChapterSix
Doug
Icome to dread the days when we do not need to go to the palace, and even though when I’m there, I’m bored to the point of distraction as I stand around and watch Melody and Jendrick. But I prefer anything over laboring for the new extension to General Edwin’s home, where I lug mud bricks from the courtyard to the construction site at the back of the property. Stack upon the stack of mud bricks must be ferried, due to the constricted nature of the path which prevents a cart or wheelbarrow from getting through.
Orcs are sturdy and strong by nature. We turn our hands to whatever the fuck we need to do. Yet there is something soul-destroying about moving mud bricks from one pile to another. Worse, it is summer, and the sun is high in the sky, beating down upon us in relentless, blistering waves.
My skin, as is the way with all orcs, is resistant to the rays of the sun, and I do not take on the golden hue that some pale-skinned humans do, nor do I burn. My white skin does, however, seem to glow with annoying brilliance.
“Could you not put a fucking shirt on or something so you don’t have to blind us!” Trent, a typically quarrelsome human, snips at me as he carries a paltry few planks of wood past.
I curl my lip at him. It is too fucking hot to wear a shirt. He is not wearing a shirt, and he is barely carrying enough to break a sweat on any other day.
“Fuck off, Trent,” Bron says. He is my orc companion on this joyless day and responds where I cannot. “When you can carry as much as Doug, you can comment on the color of his skin.”
Trent, whose skin is already a deep shade of pink that reminds me of the lobsters they pull out of the sea at Bleakness, sneers at Bron. “I’m to be made a free man soon.”
Bron cuffs Trent up the side of the head, which I appreciate, given my hands are full of mud fucking bricks. “But you’ll still be a stinking human, won’t you? Small, weak, always thinking with your small cock.”
“Trent!” the site overseer barks when the snippy human looks like he might club Bron with the wood in his hands.
He scurries off to do the overseer’s bidding, which is a shame because Bron is not well known for his patience around humans and might have thumped the mouthy fucker again.
“He’s always full of himself,” Bron mutters. He has already been liberated of his stack of bricks by one of the builders and now helps to unload me, taking the mud bricks from my arms and forming a pile at the foot of the wall where they are already being snatched up and laid with wet mud and grit mortar.
“More bricks, or logs?” he asks the builder as he gets near to the bottom, and I can put the last few down for myself.
