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“See how Bride’s cunt gushes over Emperor’s sword?”
Sword? Is that what they’re calling Ivar’s dick? More like a weapon of mass destruction.
Their commentary and the insane stretching sensation make me gasp out, “Stop! Stop! It’s too much.”
Ivar stops instantly, pulling me back into his chest. But I still reach down between my legs and clamp both hands around his pillar of a dick to make sure I don’t slip down any farther.
He’s not even a third of the way inside, but some sense of biological preservation kicks in and overrides the pheromone-induced mega-lust.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I whisper. “I know I was begging for this.”
“Sshh, sshh, Little Bride. Do not be sorry.” Ivar rubs his tusks into the side of my face. “Your Emperor is grateful you made him stop before he hurt you.”
He’s still talking in the Common Tongue, but I notice he’s slipped back to referring to himself in third person before he rumbles deep in his throat and returns to first. “Let me help you accommodate my sword. Tell me about your race’s erogenous zones.”
“Erogenous zones?” I repeat, voice weak with the strain of taking him.
“Show me where I can touch you to release more pleasure so you might relax into our coupling and once again ask me so prettily to receive my sword.”
No variation of “pretty” applies to any of this, and I’m too overwhelmed to answer his surprisingly considerate question. “I can’t—I don’t think I can do this.”
“You can, Little Bride, or your body would not have responded to my pheromones as it did.”
“What does that even—”
“I am told the females of your race have ways of touching themselves for sexual release and pleasure,” he continues on before I can finish my question. “Have you ever touched yourself in this manner, Little Bride?”
Oooh-kay, yet another conversational topic I did not have on my wedding bingo card. I guess we’re back to the interview stage of our strange Orc nuptials.
“Yes,” I admit, face burning. “Sometimes.”
“Show your Emperor where you sometimes touch yourself.” He plucks one of my hands off his junk so easily, I know he was definitely allowing me to grip it that hard out of kindness.
Which is not a word I would have applied to any of the bloodthirsty race of Orcs. Until now.
“Touch yourself,” he gently commands. “Show me the places that bring you pleasure.”
“Touch… myself?”
My eyes drift to the audience right below the dais. And they all stare back at me, their golden eyes shining with avid curiosity.
The only good thing about this awkward situation is that my abject embarrassment is taking my mind off the discomfort of being a third of the way impaled on their massive Orc Emperor’s equally massive dick.
But it’s not like I have the upper-body strength to climb off and run toward that red door. At this point, I’m willing to try anything.
Averting my eyes from the openly staring audience, I point toward the top of my sex. “I guess here, with specific focus on my clit. And my breasts…”
The audience lets out an interested hum, and the Emperor’s heavy hand finds the place where my sex is stretched out over his staff.
His fingers delve, almost immediately zeroing in on the bundle of nerves between my legs. “Is this tiny pulsing bulb the clit you referred to—the place where you concentrate your efforts?”
His too hot and too heavy touch sends a sharp zap of electric pleasure down my legs.
“Y-yes,” I stammer.
“How do you touch this clit?” he asks, over-pronouncing clit like it’s a foreign word, which it might be for his species. “Do you pat it, squeeze it, perhaps a tapping motion—”
“I rub it!” I blurt before he can get any ideas about experimenting. “It’s, um… very sensitive. So I just rub it lightly in little circles like this.…”
