Chapter 13: Urka's Claim
The campfire’s glow was a beacon in the vast, silent dark of the ruins. Fenrik’s long strides ate the distance until the shapes of tents and the hulking silhouette of the oxen-drawn caravan resolved from the shadows. He stopped at the tree line, his arms still cradling Alex like a child or a prize.
“This is far enough for me,” he rumbled, his voice a vibration against Alex’s ear. He knelt, setting Alex down on a soft patch of moss with a surprising delicacy. Alex’s legs buckled, and he caught himself on his hands, staring at the dirt. He could not meet the wolf-man’s eyes.
Fenrik hooked a claw under his chin, forcing his head up. The amber gaze was unreadable. “Remember the taste, little healer. Remember the peace. The world out here is louder. Colder. My kind would have kept you. They would have used every hole until you forgot your own name.” He leaned in, his breath hot. “You got a taste of kindness. Don’t forget it.” He released him, melting back into the darkness without a sound.
Alex knelt there, trembling. The camp was thirty yards away. He could hear the low murmur of voices, the clank of a pot. Normalcy. It felt like a painted backdrop, something he was no longer part of. His mouth was sore, his lips strangely full and sensitive. The taste of Fenrik, of salt and bitter magic and his own helpless climax, was a film on his tongue. He smelled of sex and wolf and shame.
He didn’t know how long he sat there before a heavy footfall crunched on the gravel behind him.
“Well, look what the moon dragged in.”
Urka. Her voice was a low, amused growl. Alex flinched, hugging his knees to his chest, trying to make himself small.
The green-skinned orc futanari stepped around him, planting her thick legs in his line of sight. She wore loose leather trousers and a hardened breastplate, her powerful arms crossed over her chest. She leaned down, her broad nostrils flaring as she sniffed the air around him. Her grin was a slash of white and tusks in the gloom.
“Oh, by the ancestors,” she chuckled, a dark, knowing sound. “You are drenched in it. Wolf and cum. Lots of cum.” She crouched, her muscular frame looming. “Lost little healer goes for a walk, gets found by a pack, and comes back smelling like a brothel pillow. You been busy.”
Alex shook his head, a feeble, desperate denial. “N-no… I didn’t… he…”
“He?” Urka pressed, her eyes glinting with predatory interest. “One of them? Just one?” She reached out, not with violence, but with a terrifying casualness, and rubbed her thumb over his bottom lip. It came away glistening. She sniffed it, then popped it into her mouth with a satisfied hum. “Mhm. That’s a strong one. Alpha stock. And you’re just coated in him.” Her gaze dropped to his lap, to the unmistakable, damp patch on his trousers. “Little bastard came in his cage, too. Look at that mess.”
Humiliation burned through him, hot and sickening. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Hey,” Urka said, her voice dropping, losing its mocking edge but gaining a steelier tone. “Look at me.”
He couldn’t.
A calloused hand grabbed his chin, forcing his head up. Her green face was serious now. “Did they hurt you? Break any bones?”
The question was so practical, so unexpected, it shattered his paralysis. “N-no,” he stammered.
“Scare you?”
He gave a jerky nod.
“But he brought you back. Fed you his cock, filled your pretty little mouth, and brought you back.” It wasn’t a question. She was piecing it together with an unnerving accuracy. She studied his face, his swollen lips, the hollow, submissive look in his eyes. “He was kind. In his way.”
A traitorous tear escaped, tracing a hot path down his cheek. Urka released his chin and wiped it away with a surprisingly gentle thumb. “Alright. Get up. We’re going for a walk to the stream. You can’t go back to the others like this. Rolf would have a moral seizure. Kael would ask questions you don’t wanna answer.”
She hauled him to his feet, his body obedient and boneless. She kept a firm grip on his arm, steering him away from the campfire glow, towards the gurgling sound of water hidden in a rocky culvert.
The stream was ice-cold and clear under the moon. Urka didn’t ask. She pushed him down onto a flat rock and began unbuckling his trousers. He didn’t fight her. His will was ash.
“Gods, you’re a state,” she muttered, pulling the damp cloth down his thighs. The cold air hit his caged clitty, making him gasp. The small metal prison was slick, a mixture of his own spend and pre-cum beading pathetically at the tip. Urka whistled low. “Fuck, he really did a number on you. You popped just from sucking, huh? That’s some trained bitch behavior.”
She soaked a rag in the stream and began to clean him with a rough, efficient tenderness. The cold was a brutal shock, a physical slap that started to clear the fog in his head. The shame rushed in to fill the empty space, sharper and more vicious than before.
“Why?” The word cracked out of him, broken and small.
“Why am I cleaning your filthy, cum-stained ass?” Urka grunted, working the cloth between his legs. “Because you’re our healer, dumbass. A useless, cock-drunk healer, but ours. And because…” She paused, looking at him. “I think it’s funny. You’re fighting so hard to be something you’re clearly not. That wolf saw it. I see it. Your body sure as hell knows it.” She rinsed the rag, the water running milky for a second. “It’s hot.”
She pulled his trousers back up, then handed him the rag. “Wash your face. Get the smell off your skin. I’ll cover for you. Said you got turned around foraging for night-bloom moss. Had a scare with a shadow-cat. I’ll sell it.”
He scrubbed his face until it felt raw, but the taste inside his mouth, the new sensitivity of his lips, the phantom fullness on his tongue—that wouldn’t wash away.
Back at the edge of camp, Urka stopped him with a hand on his chest. She leaned in, her tusks near his ear. “This is our secret, pretty boy. Your little walk on the wild side. You belong to the party, but…” She traced his newly plump lower lip with a blunt finger. “This mouth? What it did? What it wants? That’s between you and me. I’m not as nice as your wolf.”
She strode into the campfire light, her voice booming. “Found the idiot! He was chasing glow-moths near the blackstream, nearly fell in!”
The next two days were a special kind of hell. The party, relieved he was alive, mostly left him alone. But Urka didn’t.
She found moments. When he was grinding herbs for poultices, her broad body would crowd him against the worktable. “Bet you wish this pestle was something else, huh?” she’d whisper, her breath on his neck. When he knelt to check a blistered foot on a guardsman, she’d loom behind him. “Getting real familiar with that kneeling position, aren’t you?”
And the touching. It was casual, constant, and deliberately tantalizing. She’d brush past him, letting the back of her knuckles graze his ass. She’d reach for a waterskin, letting her fingers drag across the front of his trousers, feeling the shape of the cage beneath. He’d jump, a flush creeping up his neck, and she’d just smirk.
But it was his mouth she obsessed over.
But it was his mouth she obsessed over. She would sit across the fire from him, sharpening her axe, her eyes locked on his lips as he drank or spoke. The attention was a physical weight, a constant reminder of what they both knew he could do. “Hey, healer,” she’d call, her voice cutting through other conversations. “Your lips look chapped. You should drink more water.” The knowing smirk that followed made his throat constrict.
On the second night, she took first watch with him. The others slept, the camp quiet save for the pop of embers. Alex sat stiffly, back against a stone, staring into the darkness beyond the firelight. Urka moved silently, settling her bulk beside him, so close her thigh pressed against his. He froze, every muscle taut.
“You’re still thinking about it,” she stated, her voice a low rumble. “That wolf cock. I can see it in your eyes. You’re fucking haunted.” She didn’t look at him; she stared at the fire, as if discussing the weather. “Your mouth gets all soft looking when you remember. Bet it’s practically watering right now.”
“Stop it,” he whispered, the plea pathetic even to his own ears.
“Or what?” she finally turned her head, her gaze heavy and amused. “You’ll heal me to death?” She brought a hand up, her fingers rough and calloused. “You wanna pretend, fine. But this?” She traced the cushion of his lower lip, and a jolt, electric and warm, shot straight to his caged clit. He gasped. “This doesn’t lie. The system’s already got its hooks in you deep, boy. Makes you sensitive, makes you need it.”
He tried to turn his head away, but her other hand came up, cradling his jaw with terrifying gentleness. Her thumb pressed against his lips. “Open.”
“No.”
“Open, or I wake Kaelen up and tell him exactly what I smelled on you. Tell him how his old friend came in his pants like a bitch in heat from sucking off a monster.” Her voice never rose above a conversational tone. “Your choice.”
A low whine escaped him. His jaw unclenched. Her thumb slid past his lips, pressing down on his tongue. It was salty, leathery, overwhelmingly her. “See? Not so hard.” She began to move her thumb, a slow, shallow imitation of a fuck. “This what you’re missing? That nice, full feeling?”
Tears welled in his eyes, blurring the firelight. He was achingly hard inside the cage, a throbbing, furious pulse of need that had no outlet. His tongue moved against his will, a weak, lickspit reflex to the intrusion.
“There he is,” she crooned. She added a second finger, stretching his lips just enough to make him feel it. She scissored them slightly, a crude stretch. “Gods, you’re trying to suck on my fingers. Look at you. Pathetic.” She fucked his mouth with them, a slow, deliberate rhythm. The wet, obscene sounds were louder than the fire.
He sucke softly, but his hips gave a tiny, helpless buck. The pleasure was a wire pulled taut from his tongue to his trapped, weeping cock. Shame washed over him in nauseating waves, but it was drowned out by the raw, chemical need for more.
“You want the real thing, don’t you?” she whispered, her face close now. Her breath smelled of cheap ale and meat.
He shook his head, a frantic, weak motion. The denial was a brittle shell. "I don't."
The denial was dust in his dry mouth. Urka’s grin spread, a predator seeing the fear in the rabbit’s twitch. “You’re a terrible liar. Your whole body’s begging.” She leaned back, the pressure of her thigh leaving his, and the sudden absence felt like a punishment. He shivered in the cool night air, his own heated shame momentarily exposed.
For a long minute, she just watched him, the firelight dancing in her dark eyes. Then, with a deliberate slowness, she unfastened the thick leather belt of her trousers. The buckle clicked, a sharp, definitive sound in the quiet. Alex’s breath hitched. He watched, hypnotized, as she loosened the ties, her movements pragmatic and utterly controlled.
She didn’t undress. She simply eased her cock out through the fly of her trousers. It was already half-hard, thick and unmistakably orcish, a deep green flushed with darker blood at the broad tip. It curved slightly upward, heavy and real. The sight of it, so casual and yet so monumental, sent a jagged bolt of pure, undiluted need straight to Alex’s core. His mouth flooded with saliva.
It lay against the coarse fabric of her trousers, a felted pillar of flesh that pulsed slightly with her heartbeat. The firelight caught the slickness already beading at the slit. Alex couldn’t look away. His own tongue felt thick, stupid, pressing against the roof of his mouth where her fingers had just been.
“See something you like?” Urka’s voice was a gravelly whisper. She made no move to touch him with it. Instead, she brought her other hand back to his face, two fingers pushing past his plush, unresisting lips once more. “Eyes up here, slut. This is what you get.”
The dual sensations concocted a special chaos. His mouth was occupied, filled, his tongue lapping uselessly at the leathery taste of her skin. And there, just inches from his face, was the thick, green reality of her cock. The musky, earthy scent of it cut through the woodsmoke, familiar and terrifying. Different from Fenrik’s wild, magical smell, but just as potent. Just as commanding.
She moved her fingers in a slow, shallow rhythm, a lazy mimicry of sex. Her other hand came up to stroke her own length, a slow, tantalizing pump from root to tip. A pearl of pre-cum welled, gleaming. “Look at that. It’s saying hello. Bet your little mouth is screaming for it, isn’t it?” She smeared the bead with her thumb, spreading the slickness around the broad head. “Bet you wanna clean that off.”
A ragged, choked sound escaped him around her fingers. He was trembling, a fine, constant shiver that started in his jaw and ran down his spine to the ache between his legs. The cage felt like a brand. His brain shattered into sharp, panicked pieces. Run. Scream. Pull away. But his body was a monument to stillness, a vessel wired for service. Fenrik had soldered the connections. Urka was just testing the circuit.
She leaned closer. The fiery tip of her cock brushed his cheek, a searing brand of warmth. He flinched, but didn’t pull back. The heat was astonishing. “Feel that?” she breathed, dragging the slick head down to the corner of his mouth, painting a hot, wet stripe along his skin. “That’s what you’re missing. That full, heavy stretch. But you don’t get it.” She pulled it away.
The deprivation was a physical pain, a hollow cramp in his jaw and gut. His hips jerked again, a futile thrust into nothing. She chuckled, the vibration traveling down her fingers into his mouth.
“Nuh-uh. This is all you get tonight.” She fucked his mouth a little faster with her fingers, scraping his palate. “My fingers are plenty for a needy bitch like you. My cock’s for good boys who know what they are.” She tapped the tip against his swollen lower lip, letting him feel the heat, the silky-slick skin, before pulling it back. A thin strand of his saliva and her pre-cum connected them for a moment before snapping.
Tears of pure frustration joined the ones of shame, hot and silent. He was drowning in the proximity of it. The need was a snarling, rabid thing inside him, chewing through the last of his pride. He whimpered, the sound desperate.
“You wanna swallow it so bad,” she observed, her tone almost clinical. She pumped her cock slowly, a full, luxuriant stroke right in front of his glazed eyes. The sight was hypnotic.
The sight was hypnotic. A low, animal groan rattled in his chest, trapped behind her invading fingers. His eyes, wide and wet, tracked every movement of her fist. She saw the total absorption, the desperate hunger, and her grin turned wicked.
“You can still smell him on you, you know,” she said conversationally, her fingers still moving in his mouth with a wet, shallow rhythm. “Under the stream water, under the soap. It’s in your pores. Wild magic and wolf-seed.” She inhaled deeply near his temple, a theatrical sniff. “Fuck, it’s potent. Musky. Like pine and blood and pure dominance.” She pulled her fingers out with a slick pop, letting them rest on his chin. “He marked you, inside and out. And you loved it. You fucking revelled in it.”
Alex shook his head, a weak twitch. “Didn’t.”
“Your body’s telling a different story, pretty boy.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can imagine it. Big, rough hands holding your pretty face. That fat wolf-cock just resting on your tongue, not even fucking, just owning. Making you hold it. Making you taste him for hours.” She tapped his lower lip with her slick thumb. “And you just laid there and took it. Let him use your mouth like a warm hole. No fight. Just… relief.”
“Look at you right now,” she sneered, her amusement laced with contempt. “Eyes glazed, lips all puffy and wet, blushing so hard I can feel the heat. You’re embarrassed? Sure. But you’re also so fucking gone for it you can’t even form a sentence. You’re not trying to leave. You’re waiting. Hoping I’ll give you what that wolf did.” She leaned in, her tusks grazing his ear.
She gripped her own cock firmly, giving it a few slow, deliberate strokes. The sound of her fist moving over slick skin was obscenely loud. She pressed the leaking tip against his parted lips, not pushing in, just letting the heat and the wetness coat them. “See? You’re not pulling away. You’re leaning into it. Your tongue’s trying to reach. Pathetic.”
The shame was a furnace, but the need was the fuel. It burned away the last pretense of thought, leaving only raw, quivering instinct. His lips parted further on a silent gasp, and the very tip of his tongue, pink and desperate, touched the gleaming slit of her cock.
Urka laughed, a sharp, triumphant bark that snapped through the night air. “There it is! That’s the bitch.” She pulled her hips back, denying him even that minuscule contact. The heat vanished, leaving his tongue feeling cold and foolish. “Told you. You’d lick the drop right off if I let you.”
The laugh echoed in his hollowed-out chest. She kept her cock positioned before his face like an offered sacrament she had no intention of letting him receive. Her fist moved, a slow, mesmerizing piston that coated the thick green length in a glossy sheen. The smell of her, earth and musk and salt, filled his nostrils, a scent that now felt more familiar, more grounding, than the clean linen of his forgotten world.
“You can watch,” she said, her voice a gravelly command. “Watch what you don’t get to taste. Watch what that pretty, trained mouth of yours is begging for.” Her strokes became more purposeful, the sound a wet, rhythmic slap in the quiet night. “Remember how that wolf felt? Heavy on your tongue? Bet you’re fantasizing about it right now, pretending my fingers are his cock again.”
“Want it?” she taunted, her voice tight. “It’s just gonna go to waste.”
“No,” he whispered, the word a paper-thin veneer over a chasm of need. His own denial sounded pathetic, even to him
“Liar.” With a sudden, brutal pivot, she shifted her stance. The hand not working her cock clamped onto the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his hair in a grip that was not gentle. She didn’t slam his face forward. She forced him to stay perfectly still, pinning him in place while she loomed over him. She adjusted the angle of her hips, bringing the furious, leaking head of her cock level with his face.
She adjusted the angle of her hips, bringing the furious, leaking head of her cock level with his face. It was a dark, pulsing green tower, veined and slick, inches from his open lips. The primal scent of her, musky and heavy, flooded his senses, overriding the clean pine and distant smoke of the camp. His breath hitched, fogging in the cold air against her heated flesh.
“Go on,” she growled, her grip in his hair tightening to the point of pain. “Tell me you don’t want it. Look me right in the eyes and say it.”
Alex’s vision swam, tears blurring the intense, humiliating focus her demand required. He dragged his gaze from the mesmerizing bead of pre-cum tracing a path down her shaft, up past the leather of her belt, the hard plane of her stomach, to find her dark, waiting eyes. They held a challenge, and a dark, endless amusement. His mouth moved, but the denial died before it was born. A soft, pathetic whimper escaped instead.
Urka’s grin was a victory. “That’s what I thought.” She didn’t move her hips forward. She kept that maddening, tiny distance, close enough for him to feel the radiant heat, to yearn for the texture. His whole world narrowed to the space between his tongue and her tip. A string of his own saliva stretched from his lower lip, breaking and falling onto his tunic.
“You can look, though,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble. Her fist began moving on her length again, a slow, slick rhythm that made the skin glisten. “Look how hard it is for you. Look how fucking desperate it is to pump a load right down your throat.” Her thumb circled the swollen crown, spreading the wetness. “Bet that wolf never let you watch. He just used you. I’m giving you a show. Be grateful.”
He was trapped in that sissy gaze, a humiliated spectator to his own deepest craving. His cock throbbed in its cage, a persistent, aching pulse that synced with the jump of the vein along her shaft. He watched, hypnotized, as her rough fingers stroked from root to tip, a blur of green flesh and motion. The wet sounds of her fist moving filled the silence between them, more eloquent than any filthy promise.
“Your little clit is sopping in those panties right now, isn’t it?” she panted, her own breath starting to come faster. Her strokes became shorter, harder, concentrating on the head. Her knuckles were white with tension. “You’re gonna drip for me just from watching me get off. You useless, pretty thing.”
“I’m not,” he choked out, the automatic denial a hollow reflex.
“Shut up and watch your dinner,” she snapped, her hips giving a tiny, involuntary jerk.
Her rhythm lost all pretense of teasing. It became frantic, a brutal, focused piston aimed at release. The slick, slapping noise of skin on skin was obscenely loud. Her breath hitched in sharp gasps. Alex could only stare, his own body coiled tight with a sympathetic tension, his mouth watering so profusely he had to swallow again and again.
"Fuck, yeah," she grunted, her body tensing. "Here. Take it."
Without warning, she shoved his head back just enough to clear a target. Her orgasm wasn't a gentle pulse like Fenrik’s possessive fill; it was a brutal, visual eruption. The first thick rope of cum, pearlescent against her green skin, spattered across his cheekbone, warm and startling. The next hit his lips, the salt-bitter taste exploding across his tongue. Another striped his chin and neck.
She kept milking herself onto him, her release painting his face in streaks of hot white. He flinched with each impact but didn’t close his eyes. He watched hers glaze over in pleasure, her tusks bared, a raw portrait of dominance satisfied. The final spurts were weaker, dripping onto his collarbone, seeping into the fabric of his tunic. The smell, potent and distinctly her, enveloped him.
She sighed, a long, satisfied exhalation, and her cock gave a final twitch in her still-clenched fist. She looked down at him, her face softening into something like amused appraisal. “Look at that. What a mess.”
Releasing his hair, she used her clean hand to tilt his chin. She examined her work, then, with shocking gentleness, she dragged her thumb through the warm pool on his cheek. She brought it to his lips, pressing insistently. “Clean it.”
His resolve had been vaporized. His tongue darted out, licking the thick, salted spend from her thumb. It was Earthier than Fenrik’s, less magical, more brutally organic. He swallowed, and a low, traitorous moan rattled in his chest.
“Good boy,” she murmured. She gathered more from his chin, feeding it to him with her fingers, wiping his skin clean only to deposit it in his mouth. He suckled weakly, obediently, his eyes fluttering closed. A fresh, hot trickle of his own arousal seeped from his cage into the damp fabric of his panties.
She chuckled, the sound rich and knowing. “Told you you’d drip.” Leaning forward, she licked into his mouth, her tongue sweeping past his to taste herself mixed with his submission. The kiss was deep, claiming, and brief. She pulled back with a wet smack.
“Now get the fuck to your bedroll before someone wonders.” She landed a sharp, stinging slap on his ass, the sound cracking through the night. He jerked, a fresh wave of heat flooding his face. “And we will do this again. You need it too bad.” She tucked her softening cock away, fastening her belt as if she’d just finished a casual piss. “Go on.”
Alex stumbled to his feet, his legs unsteady. He could feel the cooling streaks on his skin, the sticky dampness in his smallclothes, the phantom warmth of her slap. His mind was a silent, shapeless void. He took one step, then another, back toward the circle of firelight, the taste of orc cum a final, sealing truth on his tongue.