Chapter 1 - A Fine Prey

For every sunny day that was bestowed upon the jungle of Tanaan, there was a bloody deluge in the second. Every shred of light given was quickly repaid with enough rain to drown everyone two times over, giving a faint taste of what the land might be like - although a brief and not exactly proper one.
For in truth, it was much worse.

When the sun wasn’t scorching and the skies weren’t trying to quell your campfire, all to leave you warmthless for the night, something tried to eat you. It really wasn’t about what is trying to eat you, it was rather when it will try to do so; things tended to go that way when everything had teeth.

Beasts had them, worms had them and most of all, making the jungle what it was, plants had a whole lot of them. You never knew if that wondrous, pink bulb was a yet blossoming flower or a hungering mouth, very eager to eat the first thing that comes near it.

Reason for which, Grokasha Ironfang’s camp was like any other, located somewhere in the corner and with nearly all of the foliage cut out to the ground, save maybe for the blades of grass. Albeit only short ones. A single thicket was left underneath one of the trees but it would eventually get what was coming for it. 

Not tonight obviously. The moonshine which reflected off its leaves was enough for any hunter to tell the time for hunting was already over. For some it was the more desired part of the day, for others the dullest of them all; fires were to be lit and tents were to be checked, no one was willing to be awakened by droplets of water getting through the roof.

But it wasn’t exactly what the orcish huntress had on her mind today - the object of her thoughts was much, much different. Not to speak, greatly bigger than her tent. 

Ripclaw was a rather fierce beast and the heat of battle often clouded its thoughts, it was only natural that the last thing it would feel was warmth. In today’s case, the sizzling blaze of Grokasha’s fire as it slowly cooked over the flames. It was about time to turn the raptor around, lest a meal would be wasted. 

The raptorial and she had one thing in common, even for their kind they were most impressive in size and thew. So when she stepped out of her leathery tent and stretched softly, everyone could see that she was no less of a predator than the child of the jungle. 

With relative ease she managed to turn the massive chunk of meat - should anyone watch, they would see the wonder of inborn sturdiness, orcish might and green, sweat adorned skin. Years of tribal service do more than just change an individual, those decades of rough training define a man or a woman - she was no different. 

Strong, carved and bulky; her belly was made out of muscle and it did appear that you could break a hammer on it. The thighs were enough to get lost in and enough to have your head crushed, though all things considered, she had enough muscle to squash you with other parts of the body as well. 

There was a certain stereotype that Grokasha did seem to follow: orcish rough but appealing kind of femininity was properly mixed with great size and even greater muscle. Sometimes, however, it was more size than anything else - so when she moved, the monstrous, tender bust was put into the most pleasant of wiggles.

A huntress of her kind brought much to the hunt, not just her skill and determination. Giant tits were as much of a reward to a hungry predator as the predator was to her; it was a simple law of the jungle. To have a fine hunt, you must first be a fine prey. 

She was one of the finest and she was not afraid to show it to everyone and everything, the reason for which she did not wear anything in her own camp. Giant wonders of fel-tainted flesh were to be seen by all, much like yet another of her weapons that rested right between her legs. 

She had enough to properly complement the massive bust, an orcish, semi-erected cock of a size big enough to fill a lesser woman two times over. Pleasantly flaccid and waving to the sides as she moved back to her tent, it was a slab of green, prime meat - it could not be helped to imagine the juicy smack, the sound as if it slapped across someone’s cheek. 

A fine specimen of orcish prowess, something that the wilds loved the most. 

And should the natural order of the jungle follow, one day she would be claimed by the roots, by the beasts or any other fine predator; a cycle that turned a thousandfold every day. But that still wasn’t today because today she would merely sit before her prey, watching Ripclaw’s skin turn all golden and maybe a bit tawny. 

By this point it wouldn’t be long till her meal was done and eating under the full moon had its charm. So when the fire thrashed according to the wind and the meat seemed at the peak of its juiciness, Grokasha rose from the cold grass; ready to grasp the knife or the hatchet, whichever would be closer.

Neither of those would enter her sight as soon as she expected them to do so and the huntress froze. The eager expression faded shortly when a few more seconds passed, all as she was unable to spot her tools -  she did remember where she put them. A rustle was to be heard, intertwined into the sound of passing wind and the burning fire.

Grass groaned, crushed beneath something. A beast wouldn’t steal a knife and neither would it be heard. Ironfang maiden waited for a few moments, her hand slowly turning into a fist; she did focus on her prey too much and for that, the scales would turn. Would, if she had nothing to say in the matter. 

Whoever came and for whatever they came, they would need to try harder than to just steal her weapons. Orcish muscles tensed and she clenched her teeth, just to then turn instantly and swing her fist with force. She lived in the jungle for long enough and it wasn’t hard to tell how close someone sneaking on you would be, especially if you could hear the rustle. 

In the most pleasing of ways, her knuckles met something - something initially soft but then hard as bone. Even before she felt it properly, the sound reached her ears; a wondrous sound of orcish fist slamming against someone’s face with enough force to break a jaw. Well, enough if that someone wasn’t as sturdy as she was. 

A quiet, quickly cut groan left her mouth as it felt no different than punching a boulder. Even so, as she managed to lay her eyes onto the intruder, Grokasha heard an even louder and feminine groan. A massive, brown body fell onto the ground with a heavy thud. Carved muscles no lesser than her own and silhouette much similar to her own, perhaps even greater. 

Much like orcish but not exactly, that she knew for sure and yet, couldn’t exactly tell as there wasn’t enough time to get a closer look. There was more noise than just the sizzling fire and heavy groaning - another few steps resounded in the night, all to her right. Sharp eyes, shaded like wild hazel turned to the side, just in time to spot yet another darkened shape; a chest covered in tattoos, 

Whoever came, they weren’t alone. To buy some time, she grasped the tree stump that she used for a chair and tossed it at the second intruder. It was music to hear yet another groan, she was proficient with bows but wasn’t so sure about her trunk-throwing skills. Without thinking, she gave a quick kick to the first of the raiders, even before she or he managed to get up from the moist soil. 

However troubles like to march in sets of three, this time no was no different. A pair of heavy, hands wrapped around orcish neck and tried to cut off her supply of air. “Down you pup.” An angry, female voice reached the huntress once more and she wasn’t in the mood to listen very much. Clenching alabaster teeth once more, she threw her head back - it was someone’s face against her skull, it wasn’t hard to tell who can take more blunt force.

It did hurt like hell but then, it did hurt her opponent more. It was a rapid chain of events and after a few mere seconds, she was free once more. Wasting very little time she sent yet another punch behind herself, happy to see that third of her issues had to take a step back. 

The first, however, already managed to get up from the ground and when Grokasha turned back to face it, she got paid in her own coin. Heavy fist slammed into her stomach like a charging clefthoof; her lungs emptied and left her breathless. But even before she grasped another bit of air, her instincts kicked in and she gave another blow, aiming right for the cheek she did hit before. 

Entering some sort of shallow combat trance, she threw another punch behind herself, just to be sure. What ensued for the next few moments was her trying to fight on both sides, landing enough hits to not be exactly losing but taking enough to actually be far from winning as well. Had it not been for the kick of sudden, combat frenzy, she would likely take it much worse; her opponents were comparatively muscled to her but almost two heads taller. 

In the end, it wasn’t just about raw strength and fist-prowress. It was about a proverb.

Back when she lived in the village of her clan, they did have a saying: If something loves you, it is bound to return. As it turned out, the old tree stump had to be quite heavy with affection to her as it returned like a mad lover. Suddenly slamming against the back of her head, it sent the orc huntress onto the ground and left a ringing, heavy noise in her ears. 

Hazel eyes blinked twice, trying to regain sharpness of their vision as everything before Grokasha turned blurrier than a muddy water. Like a confused hound, she shook her head to the sides and tried to get up. A kick to the face was all she received, sending her even lower onto the cold grass.

“Know your place and stay down.” Someone growled as she groaned. Even then, she wasn’t a trained dog and wouldn’t simply obey, the reason for which she tried to get onto her feet once more. This time too, she was given a foot but unlike the previous time, it stomped her head and pushed the pretty face into wet ground. 

“No. If she’s so eager then let her see.” A calmer, eager voice answered. “Get her up.” 

And as it was said, it was done. One of the raiders grabbed her by the black mohawk and pulled up unceremoniously, just to quickly change into a headlock when she was high enough. With firm, tattooed hands around her neck and with her eyes still needing a while to see anything, she wasn’t as willing to fight as before. At least not enough to try someone’s face again.

“You didn’t even break your nose. Admirable. For an orcish pup.” With clenched teeth, she listened to her captor’s mockery - in all of the situation, it wasn’t even that bad. She didn’t get an axe to the head and her tusks were still in one piece; considering how raids usually went in Tanaan, it was almost a win. 

Regaining some of her better sight, Grokasha focused and then looked at what appeared to be a familiar and yet, so different sight. Shaped like an orc but broader, taller and with great, carved muscle - much like herself but as if someone mixed her with an ogre. 

Towering, made of out great muscle and shapes just as grand. With broad and powerful shoulders, with thighs that could drown you in themselves, right before breaking you open should they wish to do so. Even so, that wasn’t the most eye catchy part of their bodies, not at all, this particular honor was reserved for what lied beneath. 

There was fur, a lot of light attire made out of skins of animals long hunted. All of it tightly wrapped around the widest of shapes; a grand amount of leather seeming so little when used to cover halfblood busts. Be it wolven or be it stag, it barely did its job and served as the least one could use to cover themselves.

Each rack stood bare in a half, conveniently to leave a grand amount of flesh and a cleavage of largest sorts. To slip your fingers beneath any of them and pull with slightest amount of force, there was no doubt everything would spill right out; it was already some sort of mystery how it did not happen with every step the raiders took.

Beneath those monuments of pleasure-flesh, there were carved bellies - there was a lot of muscle in the jungle and rough life forged everyone into a prime specimen. The halfbloods before Grokasha were no exception, even if they weren’t males. Tanaan or Gorgrond, everyone was tested and refined. 

But who stood before her, was even more than a simple orc. 

“Mok’Nathal.” She growled with the bits of air that made it down her throat. It was far from Nagrand and she didn’t exactly ever do anything to get in the way of half-ogres. Lest she didn’t remember anything. “It’s a long way from home to gang up on a huntress trying to survive.” It wasn’t a lie and neither a mockery, though her tone had a stain of accusation. 

A heavy grasp fell upon her chin, forcing her up to look at one of her captors. “A long way to deal with a thief.” It was a simple declaration but the way it was spat at her, that was everything she needed to know. Grokasha stared into the eyes of the half-blood, all as they were partially hidden beneath a furred headdress, a trophy-skin of a clefthoof. 

In a way orcs or the ogres weren’t so different from the animal packs, there was always the alpha and to spot one was the simplest of primal instincts. Survival instincts. The way one moved, spoke and acted amongst her own, it could tell you everything about who stands where in the hierarchy. This time it was no different. 

As traditions told, every Mok’nathal wore a headpiece made from his or her finest prey or so she heard. A clefthoof, a teroclaw and a black worg; the irony was here and it resided in the fact that the carnivore stood as the leader. Even so, Grokasha wasn’t exactly smiling when the accusation was thrown at her.

“I haven’t stolen anything from your kind.” She snarled as the half-blood stared at her, just to then break into a small smile. 

“Five days we spent on the hunt, five long days of tracking and prowling, five days of pursuing a prey unlike any other.” The leader of the group explained briefly, nearing the orcish maiden who now was a captive in her own camp. And she neared greatly, making the thick lips of both ladies nearly meet. “Five days, pup.”

“And when we were ready, when the next dawn was to be of one great big-game, we’ve found the nest empty. The beast nowhere to be seen and only a lot of tracks.” The clefthoof brute squinted her eyes. “Clumsy, orcish tracks.”

“The jungles and the wilds are everyone to have. You do not own any hunt.” Grokasha growled yet again, staring into the dark eyes of the mok’nathal. “It is the law of the land, prey is made and declared in a single moment. You’re not to decide who’s your game just like that.”

“Maybe I am. In fact, I consider you but game now and even more, you’re already prey.” She smirked widely and the orc felt as grasp around her neck tightened, stripping her of any air flow. She wiggled and struggled but there was only so much you could do in an absolute headlock. 

“I could kill you for spoiling all the time we’ve put into this hunt but that would leave us with no prey and no trophy.” Thick finger fell onto Grokasha’s lower lip and pulled it down, showing off the white, clenched teeth. “And a good bitch like you has better uses.” Hand of the mok’nathal slid down and soon ran across the muscled stomach; it was a fine touch, far from delicate but still better than a punch.

As the Ironfang maiden grew thin on air, her hazel eyes glared at the party’s leader; by this point she didn’t even struggle anymore as it seemed as pointless as it was entertaining to the half-bloods. She felt the heavy hand moved all the way down and stop right before her crotch, just to then back off. 

Delicately brown irises stared at the dark ones of the largest raider; it wasn’t just a simple eye contact though and it wasn’t constant. From this position, a massive bust of the mixblood would obscure Grokasha’s vision with every breath her opponent took. The orc had enough to be proud of and her foe was twice that size. 

Two times as big and large enough to probably choke someone.

“Your clan breeds wolves.” The mok’nathal declared and gave the simplest of gestures; the grasp around orcish neck grew even so tighter and a sharp, starved sound escaped from the airless throat. “Which is only so fitting, you see.” She continued, speaking without a rush and making sure her captive is on the very edge of passing out.

“Because we breed them too.” 

Grokasha’s primal instincts kicked in as she tried to thrash to the sides, to struggle and do anything; all because she felt numbness taking over her body and darkness creeping in the borders of her vision. Even so, it was just this little too late as by this point she stood no chance - no different to a wounded game. 

And when huntress Ironfang was about to start fading away, the grasp around her neck suddenly vanished. Not fully, obviously, she still wouldn’t move anywhere but as far as it mattered, she could breathe. Her head fell down almost lifelessly, no longer restrained to look at the mok’nathal. 

Starved lungs acted on their own and the orc took a heavy, deep breath; one that quickly turned into several, shallower ones. There was a quiet rustle, noise of something leathery - something much like the armor of her raiders. Even so, getting any sort of air was still a priority and she didn’t bother to raise her eyes. She should have. 

“We breed a lot of animals.” The mok’nathal leader with a purr in her voice, something that actually made Grokasha blink twice and look up.

And the sound that followed was a most pleasant one. A heavy, juicy slap that resounded across the nightly jungle. Something bulky and yet cushy falling onto someone’s face. A very content, thick voice followed and it was not Grokasha’s voice. “And now, we’re going to breed an orc. Tame, breed and train, whatever will be the order.”

For the huntress, it was rather difficult to focus on the words; the shock of having her face slammed with a massive, fat half-blood dick was rather dominative. It wasn’t a simple cock, it was more like a slab of a massive, half-erect meat. Unceremoniously thrown against her face, it covered more than a half of it.

She swallowed her saliva, feeling the shaft of the mok’nathal pressed against her lips. It was an involuntary kiss but it did not change anything - Grokasha could feel the warmth, the hardness hidden beneath other flaccidness and the strong, salteous flavour. 

Even if kept from the precious air for long enough, she didn’t initially take another breath. Ironfang did hope that, eventually, the giant piece of halfblood meat would be taken off her face. It was enough that it pressed so perfectly against her kisser, it was enough that she could feel something sticky drip onto her forehead. 

And yet, the clefthoof huntress had a different plan in her mind. “Go on, take a breath.” The mok’nathal leader declared, grabbing her giant tool by the middle of the shaft and rising it ever so slightly, just to let it fall onto the orcish face. “Last time I’ve seen, you were really in need of some.”

Grokasha frowned, glaring even more at her captor. She did refuse to do so; the smell was already strong even without breathing. Carnal and succulent, it was a simple smell of a fat, halfblood prick, straight from an alpha maiden that now had her captive. The scent of her defeat, in a way.

“Good.” Her captor declared with a wide smile on her face, all while rubbing the totem worthy meat against orcish face. Her lips bent into a smirk even wider, as soon as she laid a beautiful stain of precum on her prey’s forehead and smeared it all over Grokasha’s skin. “We’ll see how long can our game last without air.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be long. Let’s make sure it will be worth the wait.”

There was a rustle of clothes and hazel eyes shot to the right, just to stare at the second of her problems. To watch as the second mok’nathal slowly got rid of her lower attire and showed her own fat, hanging prick. All three halfbloods were of the same gender and every single of them was huge - be it the bust, the behind or whatever was in their pants. 

Certain fearful anger painted itself on Grokasha’s face when yet another giant, flaccid tool neared her face. She wanted to growl something out but that would require taking a breath, so it was only an angered groan when another fat cock was unceremoniously slammed onto her face. 

“How does it feel, pup? 

The largest of her issues asked with a smile, one she couldn’t see. By this point, in fact, she couldn’t see anything but fat meat. One slab of mok’nathal dick was enough to cover most of her vision and a little over half of her face, two left her buried - buried beneath heavy pounds of heat-radiating, smelly halfblood pricks. 

And by the spirits, it was hot. Flaccid to a seemingly perfect degree, they clung juicily to her cheeks and shared this obscene kind of warmth; it did feel as if someone covered her face with dozen different blankets at night and told to sleep. Then, there was the air. Or rather a clear lack of it. 

It wasn’t looking good, especially with something pressing against her back as well. Eventually that void inside her lungs became impossible to deal with and her teeth were clenched to a point of nearly breaking, just so she could last a few seconds more. Few heated, buried seconds of obscene tameness. 

But then, she had to take a breath. A deep, starved breath that filled her with the tainted smell, with the cock-scented air that already bathed her face. With some hopelessness, she filled her nostrils with the pure stench of two massive, fat dicks - it stung her senses and numbed her brain down - it felt as if someone poured something thick and oozing right over her mind. 

Fleshy, salacious, it was the pure aroma of a yet unused, heated prick and yet, it was everything she was allowed to breathe with. A most pleased chuckle reached her ears as she inhaled this aroma, one that already permeated her face as if she was already used a tenfold.

“Enjoying the fragrance, pup?” The leader of the half bloods asked contently and grabbed her massive slab of meat, just to pull it a little lower, onto the obscenely looking face of her prey. She ran the puffy tip across Grokasha’s cheek and then right under her nose, smearing it with precum. “Go on.” She purred, giving a loving, little punch to Ironfang’s stomach, forcing the orc to inhale deeply.

The mok’nathal allowed her captive to choke on the wondrous smell, the intense aroma of pure sexual bliss that was yet to come; it all while she enjoyed the sight. The show of orcish expression trying to fight the intoxicating scent of an alpha, trying and losing badly. 

The other halfblood took her dick off Grokasha’s face as well, although sloppily; leaving a wondrous trail of precum that added to the orcish visage. “It’s almost like she’s in heat.” The lesser raider declared, sleazily slapping her dick against Ironfang’s face, adding a bit more of her nectar.

“I told you she’s a fine bitch. In heat and ready to breed, all you need to do is to give her a dick.” The largest of mok’nathal declared and gave the orc as a slap as well; it was a wondrous, juicy sound of something cushy meeting something soft. “Animals tend to work well with scents.”

Another smack followed, its sound satisfying no less than the previous one. Given the size and sheer weight of the halfblood prick, any lesser being’s head would be forced to turn from the impact. Grokasha, however, wasn’t small nor was she infirm - she didn’t follow the force of the hit just like that.

Even so, that little bit of resistance wasn’t making it any better. She still was smelling like a bunch of dicks, her face was still bathed in precum and her brain felt as if someone poured nectar all over it. There was that strange numbness going down her body and the heat that seeded right inside her flesh, truly putting her into literal heat. 

All while her captors simply smacked her, again and again from different sides, cock-slapping her repeatedly with wide smirks on their faces. She was like a punching bag, except for fat, halfblood dicks and her cheeks turned beautifully pinkish from all that impact, reflecting it well. “Beasts do tend to steal each other’s prey as well.”

“I haven’t stole anything…” Grokasha declared through the clenched teeth, using the very bits of her non-numbed mind to speak. “... the wilds of Draenor are for all to claim.” It was some sort of denying growl as if she didn’t agree to a single word that was thrown at her. 

“Defiant.”  Leader of the mok’nathal declared with a truly pleased voice. “Good. Like a good, cornered animal, she won’t just give up. Otherwise it would be boring.” The orcish expression nearly broke when two faster, juicy slaps were given against her cheek. “Good bitch. Bold to the end.”

“But I suppose…” Largest of Grokasha’s issues began, all while grabbing her captive’s nose and simply squeezing it to prevent the huntress from breathing. “... anyone, who gets hit by a trunk in the end and then still tries fighting, has to be both bold and defiant. Maybe just very stupid.”

“I don’t care which at this point.” She added, holding the orcish nose with her fingers and, with the free hand, raising her massive and  puffy tip right before Grokasha’s lips. Ironfang was kept barely even with the air for a good while now, so when one of her ways was blocked, she could do nothing but take another deep, heavy breath with her mouth.

Numbed and served with the strongest of scents, she wondrously spread her jaws and panted. All of it to have her eyes suddenly spread as something meaty and fat suddenly made it into her mouth; not far, merely right before the throat but nonetheless, filling her maws like a giant, puffy meal.

The salty taste hit her fast and it was overwhelming. Insanely strong and drowning her tastebuds almost instantly, any other flavour was buried beneath the intense taste of precum. Anger painted itself on her face, almost comical considering she had a mouthful of halfblood cock but nonetheless, she looked up at her captor with eyes even more defiant.

“Suck, pup.” The mok’nathal declared. “Blow me or it's going all the way in, right here and right now.” She threatened with a purr and Grokasha stared at her for a longer while; she could smell like a fat dick but wasn’t as keen on sucking one. Even so, that sort of iron will melted softly when she looked at it again - she was already full and there was much, much left of the thing. It was as if it could slam straight into her belly, should it be pushed far enough.

The choice was rather obvious.

“Gooood girl…” The leader of her issues uttered with a pleased voice, prolonging the word as she felt the orcish tongue run across her meat; she could feel as her monstrous, halfblood shaft was slowly cleaned of the early nectar that leaked down just a few moments ago. “... take care of the tip.” She pulled her tool back a little, allowing the orcish tongue to reach to the very source of the salty ambrosia. 

And she worked it, unwillingly but obediently licking all around the puffy tip; it was wide and swollen - there was a lot to clean. To top it all, if she accidentally put more pressure, it responded in kind and filled her mouth with precum like a squeezed sponge. Grokasha avoided the urethra but it really didn’t help much as her tongue still drowned in the sticky, early saltiness. 

The grasp around her neck loosened but the situation didn’t get any better; two of her captors still stared down at her as at some sort of lesser bitch, half of time their vision obscured by their own massive busts. Would they bend any forward, all of the moonlight would be blocked by the mok’nathal jugs.

It didn’t help that her mind was getting only more and more sluggish; sticky nectars weren’t working very well on her or perhaps worked all too well as Grokasha had troubles with focusing on anything else but the cock-sucking she was put to. 

The huntress wanted to stare down her captors and that resilient expression still held on her face but it was getting harder with every bit of precum flowing down her throat. That feeling grew only stronger, that sticky saltiness seemingly going not to her belly but right onto her mind, drowning it with the obscene smell and taste.

Smirks she was bestowed with were making it only worse, especially as her body decided to work on its own. She was bare in the night as always, cold wind was not anything unknown for her bottom or her front. And yet, her nipples decided to turn stiff as stone from the chilling gale, while her buttcheeks could melt snow like stones from the bonfire; she wouldn’t be surprised if the grass beneath them was already just as hot.

“Keep going, pup.” Mok’nathal leader purred as her tool kept the orcish maws stuffed. “The night is young and there’s more than just me.” She did enjoy the feeling, the sensation of her glans turning more immaculate than ever; she inhaled deeply and filled her lungs with clean air, something that Grokasha could only dream about. Her tawny, matronly bust raised and dropped according to her breath. “In fact…”

“... why don’t you make it easier to wait?” Her voice turned even keener as third of Ironfang’s issues, the one that took the pleasure in choking the hell out of her, stepped before the captive. The huntress could have tried to escape as now there was no one behind her, no one to strangle her in case of anything. Even so, the more she drank of mok’nathal precum, the heavier she felt. And she did drink a whole lot of it at this point, the dick that filled her mouth was gifting rather richly.

Feeling as some sort of nectar-filled barrel, she could only watch as the other two grabbed their rods, heavy hands wrapped around both girths and raised them before orcish face. Not fully erected and still partially flaccid, they had to be elevated just a little higher than usually, just so they could wonderfully bend down and point at softly flustered, stained cheeks. 

If she was to look above, she really wouldn’t be able to see that much; it was one giant mass of halfblood tits blocking off the moonlight, just one pair of massive pillows pressing against each other and hiding the small in comparison orc below. Grokasha wasn’t tiny - they were even bigger, a mix of orcish and ogre blood did just that. 

There was still mild defiance on her face, although it was melting slowly, not as slowly as the precum on her tongue but still. Yet then, her expression broke a little more; a moment ago she had some hopes of grasping clear air but now, another pair of giant pricks was simply left on her face, allowing her to inhale the mind-numbing scent straight from the source.

Much like before.

Not like before, however, she barely was able to breathe because of the fat dick inside her mouth; because of the giant slab of meat that was now sliding deeper into her throat, leaving just a bit of a passage for the air to get through. With almost sadistic pleasure, the leader of the mok’nathal party moved her hips forward.

It was a wet, nasty sound that accompanied that movement - a squish of mixed precum and saliva inside Grokasha’s mouth, a throat being completely sealed off as a swollen, puffy cock demanded all of the space inside. This time, she didn’t need anyone’s arms wrapped around her neck to lack air. 

“Get your hands to work.” The halfblood alpha declared, keenly moving further and further. With ease she pushed her rod down the orcish neck; there was a lot of still remaining precum that clogged to Ironfang’s inner walls. “Or do we want to play the breath game again?” She raised her eyebrow, keeping her advance, all till a beautiful bulge appeared on Grokasha’s neck.

Through the tiny, unobscured by dicks gap, the captive maiden scowled at her captor, in a way refusing to simply do as told. Had the situation been any different, she would eagerly tell the mok’nathal what she can do with her order. The situation was, however, whatever it was and she was like a squirrel full of nuts, her cheeks nearly spread to the sides by the sheer amount of fat cock inside her throat. 

This anger on face soon broke, her expression changed into some deeply annoyed surprise, all because of the gag that suddenly shook her. Hazel eyes jumped and saliva, deeply mixed with precum, erupted from her wildly stretched lips, staining all of the giant shafts that rested on her face. 

Nectarous spit dripped onto her bare tits; a set of glossy stains that would reflect campfire’s light beautifully. Would. Yet it didn’t as nearly all of that shine was blocked off by the muscled legs of Grokasha’s abusers, by their carved thighs and low hanging, heavy ballsacks that adorned massive tools. 

A second gag followed and she faded away for just a short while. Grokasha’s maw was stuffed and filled to the last nock, not by the meat alone but all the juices that her mouth eagerly produced. When it came to the gag, a lot of it was suddenly spilled and the effect didn’t help her in any way.

A dry dick was one thing, there was that smell of raw pleasure that already worked on her better than it should; all of the precum seemed to trickle down onto her brain, drowning her mind in simple obscenity. Most of her saliva now also covered other dicks.

A wet, glossy from juices cock - now that was an entirely different story. That was pure breeding; it was a scent of a meat that was already all slobbered over, of a prick that got the love it deserved and was about to repay in kind. A carnal, obscene scent that worked on her in the simplest of ways - much like on a bitch in heat. 

Now whether it was just the will to breathe or whether it was a simple need to grab a fat, swollen rod and feel the heat beneath her fingers, that she didn’t know at this point. Grokasha grabbed both of the halfblood dicks that rested on her face, gripped them with proper force and began stroking in the middle of their girths. 

Now, that didn’t help her situation any more.

Drowned in smells, she slid her skilled hands across cocks of her captors; there was something to the orcish grip that correlated so well with still half-erect tools. It was a juicy, full grasp of the puffy meats and with every time she ran her hands upwards, she squeezed the precum out of those wide tips. Right onto her face. 

When the mok’nathal leader began to pull back, she didn’t just smell like a sloppy wet blowjob - she also looked like one. But it wasn’t simply everything, that wondrous show of sights didn’t end just there and made the halfblood smiles just so much bigger. With all of the precum that covered her face, with all of the juices that dripped down onto her grand bust, with all of it there was still a bit of that wondrous emotion.

Fat tool slid out of her jaws and bent down; Grokasha’s mouth remained open wide and presented the obscene mess inside. Strings of precum and saliva stretching from the bottom to the top of her maws, the pink tongue that stood outstretched, all as she panted alike a bitch in heat. Despite all of that, she still stared at her captor. Glared with anger in eyes, even if her mind was drowned in precum.

Still holding to the massive tools, almost supporting herself on the mok’nathal cocks to not fall down, she glared at her captors. A sight to behold and for the halfblood leader, one most amusing. “Difficult to tame.” The biggest of her issues stated, squinting her eyes beneath the clefthoof headdress. 

“Like every bitch raised freely.” She purred, feeling as the heavy and heated breathing of an orc warmed her tool. Not that it needed any warming up by this point but yet, it was a pleasant sensation. “Even so…” The massive matron grabbed her tool yet again; not the first cock that would be simply gripped that night and certainly not the last. 

“... there’s a method for every animal.”

Once again it landed onto her tongue, using it as a simple carpet, a glossy little blanket existing only to let her tool slide in again. Mok’nathal hips thrusted forward and made their way all the way down to her neck - with a moist sound, Grokasha could feel as her throat was blocked.

Heavy, large hand of the mok’nathal fell onto Ironfang’s head and locked it; she wouldn’t be able to budge an inch. But the fat meat that kept moving forward, now that was another story. Orcish face soon stood adorned by a beautiful grimace, perhaps not beautiful on its own but with the widely spread, nearly circular lips, it was but an obscene wonder of facefucking. 

“Keep those hands working or Ripclaw is not the only one making it onto the fire tonight.” The mok’nathal declared and pushed her tool even further into the orc, inches of fat, swollen rod slowly disappeared in Grokasha’s throat. An unlikely fit and because of that, so much more obscene in nature. Accordingly, Ironfang’s neck was bestowed with a fitting bulge; a bulge that slowly advanced down her body. 

It wasn’t a smooth movement, quite the opposite - it was made in gradual, sudden jumps. Mok’nathal cock would ram and spread a single inch and then block for a moment. It would bend up a little every time as the tension rised, just to suddenly break all blockades on its way and slide further. 

Orcish eyes would slowly go up and the hands; they would once again take a heavy grip around the remaining tools, all as their owner was being stuffed with meat. But there was a lot to clutch and much like the one that filled Grokasha’s insides, those rods began to stiffen. Her grasp could be as hard as she wanted, it was no different to grabbing a horse tool - it simply was too hard. 

“By the spirits…” Mok’nathal words filled the camp as the smaller huntress felt the ramming of her insides, the absolute stuffing of her own throat. A sane woman could remain gutsy for only so long but when so many heavy pounds of cock-meat filled you, there was no space for anything else.

It wasn’t an endless advance, eventually Grokasha’s lips approached the crotch of the halfblood, all to leave a simple, lifeless kiss on the immaculately shaved skin. “Tight.” The clefthoof matriarch declared with a purely content voice; because of her own grand bust, she was unable to directly look at the sight below but she didn’t really need to.

The gagging, the feeling of perfectly stretched lips against her loins and the sensation of warm saliva slowly flowing down onto her ballsack - that was enough to tell just how broken the orcish face was. 

Gagging and blocked, unfinished breaths added to imagination. 

Wide hands fell onto Grokasha’s mohawk and grasped it with some malicious promise. “Been going with the foreplay for long enough, weren’t we?” Halfblood matron asked with a satisfied voice and although she was given no response, it was perfectly fine. After all, her new prey wasn’t really capable of speaking at this point. 

She pulled back suddenly and unceremoniously, simply leaving the orcish neck. And the throat. And for the most part, the very mouth, given her tip rested just on those thick lips of a huntress. “Tamed animals do one thing, eventually.” She purred, watching as her toy clung to the other cocks with force; after all it was the only reason why her head didn’t simply follow the motion.

“And it is a whole lot of breeding.”

She slammed back into the orcish face, forcing Grokasha to do more than just deepthroat. The precum and saliva gushed inside, pushed aside or deeper into the empty belly. Well, not that empty when Ironfang’s lips again met the crotch of the matron. 

And the mok’nathal simply swung her hips, back and forth, enjoying the spread but still relatively tight insides of her prey. The body of her captive followed with every part of the movement, holding tightly to the remaining, face-covering cocks and yet being unable to be truly still.

And when she mindlessly waved back and forth, her hands unknowingly did the same across two other, giant meats; stroking them and squeezing out even more of the thick, glossy nectar. 

It was but a mess; heavy thuds accompanied whenever Grokasha’s face was slammed against mok’nathal crotch, precum richly dripped from puffy tips and then flowed down the orcish face. All while her expression was slowly breaking into disarray.

It would continue for a time Ironfang couldn’t exactly count, in fact she couldn’t do anything else but feel as her consciousness was reduced to the simple sensation of being bred. Saliva spilled from her lips whenever her captor pulled out and her bust looked as if someone splattered a bucket of nectar all over it - there was a lot of juices dripping. 

They also kept jiggling. With every impact sent against her absolutely used face, her breasts wiggled, up and down in a pleasing manner - least it would be a pleasing sight if it wasn’t absolutely buried beneath three different cocks. 

But everything that’s beautiful has to end. 

So when enough precum stained her face, when enough saliva was spent to make the fat, halfblood meat as glossy as possible, the firm grasp on her head became pure iron. “And that’s…” The mok’nathal matron moaned, suddenly slamming Grokasha’s face deep into her crotch and in seemingly a task impossible, hiding the entire fat, horse-worthy tool inside the lesser orc. 

“... for your meal.” Her moan turned into a whisper, a most pleased tone of bliss. And as her voice changed, she pulled her head back in pure pleasure. Then, Grokasha could feel as she was slowly turned into the simplest of cumdumps. 

Sticky and nectarous, heavy gallons of halfblood seed left the massive, black balls of the mok’nathal matron. Like the whitest, saltiest of avalanches, those buckets of spunk were pumped into the unsuspecting orc; Ironfang’s belly slowly received its much needed meal and turned into a simple cumbarrel. 

“Spirits…” Her captor moaned with closed eyes, pushing the little orcish head even deeper into her loins. Load after load, she kept slowly emptying herself into the lesser huntress and it all straight into the stomach. Bit by bit, Grokasha grew heavier with the jizz of her captor; seed stuffed her with the saltish of tastes.

Even so, there was only so much space in the orc. It grew thin and it did so very, very fast.

Grokasha gagged, feeling as the room inside her belly was no more, in the spunk-drowned, precum-permeated mind there was just a bit of hope that the halfblood was about to stop coming. And she was. Just not fast enough. 

A few wondrous, nasty sounds left orcish maw, moments before the thick as mud seed raised up her throat. The Mok’nathal clenched her teeth and sent the last of her white gallons into a smaller huntress; the cup was overfilled and everything suddenly spilled. 

Grokasha’s eyes entirely rolled up as she gargled, suddenly spilling a decent portion of halfblood nectar from her lips. It bursted out beautifully and stained the brown crotch all over; the orcish face stood adorned in the same way, all as thick whiteness fell down onto the already twice-over stained bust. 

“Goooood bitch.” The mok’nathal matron declared with a blissful pant, just to then unceremoniously push orcish head back. With enough force put against her, Grokasha just slid across the fat, softening meat. Her lips ever so tightly clenched around wide girth, left it nearly flawlessly clean.

Only at the end of that movement did thick strings of spunk form between the thick lips and the puffy tip. They would last for only a short moment, before Ironfang lifelessly fell onto the grass like a used, cloth doll. 

“So much for orcish defiance.” The second of the mok’nathal added mockingly, looking at the precum smeared, spunk stained and saliva covered face of their newest prey. “Would they not breed so much like the animals they are, Mok’nathal would since long kept them in cages and pens.”

“Passed out after a single mating.” The other halfblood declared, looking down at her hanging tool. There was a lot of dripping nectar but that was about it. 

“Nothing you can do.” The largest matron declared, looking back at the raptor meat that was somewhat burnt at this point but still perfectly salvageable. “Welcome the hospitality of our host and get that raptor off the fire.” 

Then her dark eyes fell onto the passed out, cumfucked orc. “I’ll take care of our friend.”

“Night’s young and she has to wake up at some point.”


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This is a commissioned story. Second piece of coming. 