This choice: In the middle of the book • Go Back...Chapter #6In the middle of the book by: Yote   The book is opened less than half-way. A pity. To blackmail somebody as powerful and untouchable as a foreign military leader, it really needed to be something from the later section, something truly dispicable. "A little tame, my lord. Perhaps you wish for something a little more...challenging."
You reach out to flip the page forward. His hand closes around your slender wrist. "Don't tell me what to do, bitch." He jabs the book again. "I want that. Bring it to me."
"A man who knows what he wants," you croon. "Your wish is my command. I shall have it washed and brought to you at once." You take the book and hop down from his lap. The hand closes painfully tight around your tail. "Yes, m'lord?"
"This thing. Is it...tame?"
"Oh, no Orc can be said to be truly tame, my lord," you smile sweetly, as you retrieve your tail from his grasp and scurry from the room. Once back in your study, you open the chest and lift out a skin of bright green, muscular flesh. An Orc. A very male Orc. The General had requested what was sometimes known as an Orc Handshake. While certainly unusual, as far as you know it isn't exactly illegal in Ordania. A pity. Still, satisfied customers tend to return for more, often demanding ever more outlandish things. Perhaps you will get lucky next time.
You don't bother to remove the tiefling skin, simply pulling the Orc skin over the top of it. It is massive, the empty skin weighing almost as much as you do whole. The green flesh quickly seals itself to your skin and you flex your swollen musculature, feeling strong enough to punch through a wall. Your hand reaches down to cup the monstrous member that hangs like a third leg. You hope the sight of it doesn't discourage Volkov. For decorum's sake, you hang a loincloth over it. It is like hiding a dragon under a handkerchief.
The Ordanian solders clear a path as you stomp back to the Red Room. Volkov rises warily as you stoop to enter the doorway. The colour drains from his face as you pull aside the loincloth. His arousal however, appears undiminished, as he sinks to his knees at your feet.
Even using two hands and his mouth, the Orcish cock is too much for Volkov to effectively handle, but it doesn't take long before it begins to swell with green blood. As it rises into the air, several feet in length, he gives a short nod of readiness.
To his credit, he takes it on the chin like a man, not flinching once as you grab your monstrous member and bludgeon him about the head with it. The second blow staggers him. The third knocks him to his hands and knees, grunting in pleasure, but rises again.
The guy is made of stern stuff. For half an hour, this unique sparring session continues, as you methodically pummel every inch of his body into bloody, bruised submission. As you rain the final blow, the General crumples back onto the bed, blood pouring from a broad, satisfied grin on his scarred face. Thankfully he is still breathing. With a resigned sigh, you complete your end of the bargain, blowing your green Orcish load all over his unconscious body.
Some people and their fetishes, you shake your head in bewilderment. Well if people were normal, your job would be all that much harder.
You lumber across the room and pull back a false panel on one of the wall. Behind it is a small cavity in the wall containing a clockwork device of glass and brass. You lift it out as gingerly as you can with your hands. It is a thaumascope, one of the most useful inventions to come out of the workshops of the Tyrian artificers of old. With a combination of magic and machinery, it can record and replay moving images onto crystals. You are relieved to see that Sarya remembered to wind it up this time.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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