The story of the Elf Queen

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On a high, gentle hill was a large, fortified Orks camp, surrounded by a high, thick timber fence with several watchtowers and a moat with stakes. The hill was surrounded by gardens and pastures. A small river flowed at the foot of it. At an arrow's flight from the foot of the hill, all the forest had been carefully cut down, including on the other side of the river, so no one could get to it undetected. Inside the camp were simple wooden huts and, in some places, just tents made of hides. In the very center of the camp, on the very top of the hill, behind another fence with a moat, there was one single huge house made of the trunks of centuries-old trees. The chief's dwelling. Inside, in the central common room, around a large hearth, several Ork women sat on skins laid directly on the floor. They were dressed in nothing but loincloths and necklaces. They were more than attractive by the standards of their kind. Tall, lean, muscular, with thick black hair in ponytails or braids and small, sharp fangs compared to their male counterparts. Most of them had noticeably rounded bellies, and those Ork women who were not pregnant sat by the hearth with their infants in their arms, cradling or nursing them. The latter made the mothers visibly uncomfortable. Ork children's fangs erupt very early, and they have a large appetite. Almost every Ork woman had bite marks on her breasts, and those who were nursing right now were writhing in pain. But they were patient.

The chieftain, dressed in a short fur sleeveless bear-skin coat and short fur pants, sat on a huge throne made of huge bones, skins, and skulls of ferocious beasts slain by his hand during hunts. Big and muscular even by Ork standards, more than two meters tall, he looked lazily at his wives and children. They were still small, but there was no doubt they would all grow up mighty warriors like their father. Scratching his square chin, the chief turned to the wall, where several slave girls sat huddled together on a bed of hides chained to the wall. All of them were naked, with only slave collars for clothing. Most of them also had bellies. It wasn't exactly hot in the house, so the soft-bodied slaves huddled together to keep warm. The yellow eyes of the chief stopped on the new girl, who sat apart from them, staring at the floor in front of him. Slender, lean like the Ork women, but noticeably more graceful, with long brown hair, fair skin, and long pointed ears. Sharp-eared ones like her were very rare prey. None of the chiefs of the neighboring tribes had one. She had been captured recently. They accidentally stumbled in the forest while returning from a raid. What she was doing so far from her native Forest is unclear. She must have been plotting some cowardly plot against the orks.

The captive was stubborn, but that made her even more attractive to the chief, who took her by right of Power. He liked to tame unruly slave girls. He liked to watch them break down and become meek and obedient. Eeyore was the perfect concubine in that regard. She so had hissed through clenched teeth the first time he took her! She so screamed with pain and impotent anger when the shaman burned a slave brand on her neck from the back, which slowly but surely eroded her will and mind! Her light green eyes glistened so bright as she was paralyzed, and her hands and feet were stamped with ritual patterns that could, at any moment, turn into shackles and intensify the effects of the branding. Each time he took her by force, the chieftain felt immense pleasure. It was not so much her slim body but her impotent anger and defiance, which he could feel physically. To see the light of hope fading in her light green eyes. To see the powerless anger replaced by despair and submission. It was an unparalleled pleasure. But all good things come to an end sooner or later. It had taken more than two months to fully tame this chain warg bitch, and the chief was glad. Before that, the staunchest of human slaves, a hunter from the wild and fierce tribe of the Northmen, had lasted only two weeks before the stigma and hardships of captivity had broken her. After that, she resigned to her fate and now sits with a puffed-up belly.

With a satisfied grin, the chief rose to his feet. He walked slowly toward the slave girls with broad, muscular shoulders. As he approached, the submissive female humans stirred and fidgeted, getting on all fours and turning their asses toward him, including the long-eared one. With a satisfied growl, he walked along them, groping at their buttocks and between them. When his broad palm touched their bodies, the slave girls reacted differently. The ones that were already knocked up trembled and almost whimpered. He could smell their fear. He could hear each of them praying to their human gods that he would not choose her, fearing that she could not withstand his pressure and would either die or give birth prematurely. A couple of the already reconciled but not yet pregnant ones, on the other hand, moved toward him, almost wiggling their asses. He didn't even need to check. He could smell they were already wet like warg bitches in spring heat. Hoping to earn his favor. The eared one, on the other hand, reacted to his touch in almost no way at all, just froze. Grinning, the chieftain ran clawed fingers over her lower lips. Dry. But completely submissive, not even twitching.

Shame, he'd hoped she'd last at least a couple more weeks. In this condition, however, she would suit him just as well. With a quiet click, the chief unhooked her chain from the wall and dragged her behind him to his private quarters. Sharp-eared still on all fours, followed him, looking down. The remaining chained slave girls exhaled in unison. Some from relief, some from annoyance. Once in his chambers, the chieftain slammed the door shut and, without ceremony, pushed the slave girl onto the pile of skins that covered his bed. Sharp-eared did not react. After months of captivity, the mind-numbing stigma of slavery and humiliation had taken their toll. Resistance, as in the first nights, was out of the question. He took off his sleeveless shirt, unbuckled the waistband of his pants, and threw them aside with a movement of his leg. After that, he knelt behind the slave girl. He grinned at her and ran his broad palms along the body of sharp-eared, who looked like a child, a teenage girl at best.

Rough fingers felt beneath the once flawless smooth skin the tense muscles of a trained huntress. Strong, skillful, dangerous! But not good enough to compete with Orcs! He groped her not-so-large breasts and used the tips of his claws to tweak the hardened nipples, teasing them a little. It made the slave's heart beat a little faster. Ha! She knows what's coming. She realizes it can't be avoided. She tries to be indifferent, to escape behind the shroud of indifference, but her body betrays her. It knows what awaits it, and it wants it. The orc's sensitive nose picked up a faint odor. The slave girl was beginning to get wet. Grinning contentedly, the chieftain leaned forward and ran his long tongue down her back, from tailbone to neck. The scent of the pointy-eared woman's skin had excited him since day one. That smell, that taste, they awakened a special passion in him. He wanted to bite into that tender and incredibly tasty flesh with his fangs, to taste her sweet blood on his lips and tongue, but he restrained those urges. Killing her was easy, but where would he get another one like her? After savoring the taste of his slave once more and feeling her shudder, he ran a finger over her cunt. She was leaking, but barely. It's worse for her. You could help her a little, though.

The orc pulled the pointy-eared girl's lower lips apart with rough fingers and spat into her open womb. Then he took his cock in his hands, ready for battle. Hovering over the pointy-eared girl, he placed it against the slave's slit and began to slowly drive the head in her pussy. After teasing the pointy-eared one and enjoying the way she shuddered involuntarily at his touch, the chief clutched at her with both hands and thrust in as deep as he could. In that instant, the shroud of indifference fell away from her. The captive arched her head back and wheezed in pain. Her light green eyes opened wide, and her breath came in short gasps. Despite the months that had passed, her gut was still unable to fully accept him. The orc nation was known for its size, and the chieftain's cock was almost as long as the pointy-eared girl's elbow. The most she was able to do was to take two-thirds of him inside her, and that was a challenge.

After waiting a few seconds, he began to move his hips, gradually increasing his pace. Sharp-eared clenched her teeth, trying not to scream. She clenched her eyes shut and bowed her head, clenching her fists into the hides, sweat beading on her back. With a satisfied growl, the chief slapped her buttocks with a savory slap, still moving. Sharp-eared cried out but immediately clenched her teeth again, breathing hard. This did not satisfy him, and he leaned forward, hovering over the slave. Grabbing her by the hair, the chief lifted her head and took her left ear in his mouth, barely biting it with his fangs. She couldn't take it anymore and moaned out loud. At first in pain, but as he began to suck and lick it, pleasure rose in his voice. He had long ago discovered that long ears were his captive's weakness and enjoyed taking advantage of it. Biting her pointed ear again and eliciting another shriek, the chief sped up his pelvis, sensing the impending release.

When he felt himself reaching the peak of pleasure, he jerked away from her and, with both hands, pulled her waist toward him, pulling her as deep as he could. The pointy-eared woman's scream melded with his growl as the chieftain's seed poured into her tormented womb. For several seconds he hovered over her motionless, enjoying the unbearably pleasurable tightness of her womb and feeling his cock throbbing as he poured his seed into the pointy-eared woman. Maybe after this night, she would finally carry a child. It was not easy to knock up an Eared One, but he could do it. The chieftain had no doubt. He let go of the pointy-eared woman, who collapsed exhausted on the hides. She was covered with sweat and trembling, trying to catch her breath. As soon as the chief's cock left her cunt, a thin trickle of semen began to flow out of it, along with drops of blood, staining the good hides. She was not a maiden, of course, but her gut was still not used to the size of the chief and could not withstand his pressure without damage. He would have to tell the eldest of the wives to put some healing ointment on her slit in the morning.

He left the half-conscious sharp-eared to regain consciousness and, without dressing, walked to the wall where a good-sized table stood. Several silver trays of food and a couple of jugs of wine were placed on it. All of it had been obtained during a successful raid on one of the human cities. He grabbed a large boar's hock and took a big bite in one fell swoop. Chewing on the tough meat, the chief took one of the jugs and took a few sips, spilling some of it on his chest. In a couple of minutes, he had devoured half a ham, enough to last a man for three days, and drained the jug. Wiping his mouth with his hand, he turned to the slave, about to take her again. She was still lying on the pile of skins, unresponsive. Turning her over on her back, the chief took her by the ankles and spread her legs apart, lifting them at the same time. Again, the slave did not react, staring at the ceiling with cloudy light green eyes. With a growl, the chief put his cock against her tormented cunt and entered her again with a single thrust.

It was easier this time. The pointy-eared girl's gut was heavily lubricated with seed and her juices. There was almost no blood, by the way, compared to the first time. It had taken nearly half a pot of healing ointment. The chief ran his tongue along her body, from breast to face, licking away the droplets of sweat. She was delicious, and he wanted to sink his fangs into her tender flesh. It was a pity she wasn't Orcish. Only the strongest women of his kind could withstand the Bites of Passion and not die from the love of a real male. After licking her entire face and penetrating her open mouth a couple of times, the chief moved his pelvis powerfully and again poured inside the slave. She arched her back wheezing in pain or pleasure, and collapsed on the hides. Her eyes rolled back, her body began to tremble again, and her chest heaved. Ha, weakling! Not like the human females, who can barely get enough for one time, but not even Grata, the youngest and weakest of the wives. At least she did not faint after his caresses, but he took her at least three times a night until she was pregnant.

With a satisfied growl, the chieftain pulled away from the nearly unconscious pointy-eared girl. He took his cock in his hand and ran it over the slave's belly, breasts, and face, smearing the semen and marking her. She didn't react. Then he brought the head of his cock to her open mouth and, grabbing her hair for comfort, made her lick it. Taking his cock into her mouth even halfway, she was incapable. Only one of the human females could almost completely pleasure him with her mouth alone and not even consider it something humiliating, which was why he appreciated her. That wouldn't work with wives. Not only because of the humiliation of such pleasures but also because of the sharpness of their fangs. After enjoying the small mouth of the still almost unconscious slave, the chief poured a few measly drops of his seed onto her face and then rose to his feet. With a shrug, he made his way to the table. Taking the same ham, he took a huge bite of it and chewed it with his powerful jaws. Should he fuck her again? Or call one of the wives? In thought, the chief turned to the bed and was surprised. There was no slave on the bed. He blinked dazedly and step forward, trying to figure out how that was possible. At this moment, from above, from one of the ceiling beams, a long-eared woman jumped down on him. Without a sound, tiny against the orc chieftain, the pointy-eared woman descended upon her rapist. She delivered a single, measured blow with the sheath of the chief's combat knife, which was still sheathed in its sheath on the belt of his pants. Between the shoulder blades, just below the neck, breaking the spine, but not killing, only paralyzing.

The mighty two-meter-tall orc immediately began to fall to the floor. The Elfess, tiny in comparison, was able to pick him up with unexpected strength and lay him on the bed without making a fuss. Placing the carcass of the defeated but still alive rapist face down, she stood still for a brief moment, wiggling her long ears. Once she was sure no one had heard anything, she began to act quickly but without fuss. The first thing she did was to go to the huge chest in the corner of the chambers. Opening it with the chief's key, she took out a jar of healing ointment and rubbed it between her legs, silently whispering curses. Then she applied it to her neck, where there had been a slave brand, but now there was only a small wound, like a burn. Similar wounds appeared where the ritual patterns had been applied. After treating the wounds, the elf went to the large bronze brazier, also captured by the greenskins during the raid on the human cities. It was currently extinguished, but that suited her just fine. She gathered more soot, ash, and cinders and began to coat herself with them. Soon, she looked like her subterranean relatives. After that, the elfess approached the paralyzed leader. Leaning over, she took his scrotum in her fist and let herself play with it a little, squeezing and loosening her grip. Then, with a vengeful smile, she stabbed the orc in one swift motion with her combat knife. If the paralyzed chieftain could have, he would have screamed for the whole camp. Having accomplished her little revenge, the elf again climbed up to the ceiling beams with incredible agility. She used them to reach the window and slipped out onto the roof.

The night air chilled her naked body, but she paid no attention to it. Instead, she listened to the sounds around her again. It was night now. Most of the orcs were asleep. Everything was as it had been calculated. Without a sound, she jumped from the high enough roof and, like a black shadow, jumped on the smooth timbers of the log fence surrounding the chief's house. It wasn't too difficult for the trained elf despite being twice as tall as she was. She jumped over the moat, using the stakes stuck in its wall as a springboard. Then, she walked like a black shadow toward the edge of the camp. She had only encountered a couple of goblin servants and a scrawny warg digging in a pile of slop. The fence surrounding the camp was noticeably taller and the outer moat wider, but they were no barrier to the elf. She deftly overcame them and made a quick dash to the river at the foot of the hill. She found the right place the first time. A long wicker basket was safely hidden in a thicket of coastal grass. Inside was a folded dark green camouflage garment of the Forest Guard Huntsmen, a pair of daggers, a set of various alchemicals, several enchanted amulets, as well as an elven bow and two quivers of arrows. After opening a couple of vials of alchemical ointments, the elfess rubbed them all over her naked body, especially her bosom and armpits. After that, she also sprinkled some special powder on top. Then she quickly dressed (I don't care about soot and alchemy), armed herself, hung up a couple of amulets, took one special empty vial, and brought it to her wrist. A brief pain, similar to a wasp sting, and the small vial quickly filled with blood. She then took one of the amulets and clenched it in her fist a few times. Whenever it was squeezed, the amulet flashed with a pale light in the direction of the forest beyond the river. Forty heartbeats later, a huge owl flew in from there, and with a muffled "Uhoo," it hunkered down next to the elfess. She tickled it affectionately under its beak and then handed it the basket with the blood-filled amulet. She gave another muffled "Uhoo" and flew back into the forest.

The alarm was raised by the eldest of the chief's wives when she came to wake him. When she discovered his body and the missing slave girl, the Orc got the whole camp on its feet. The furious Orcs, with the help of a shaman, quickly found the trail of the fugitive leading to the river and organized a chase. The old man stayed in the camp with a couple of younger apprentices, but a good part of the orcs with older apprentices and goblins went in pursuit. In the shaman's tent, decorated with amulets and carved statuettes made of the skins of rare monsters, the old orc, and his younger apprentices looked at the hearth burning with blue light in front of them. At that moment, he saw nothing of the hut, instead looking at the river and the forest through the eyes of the hand eagle whose body had become a receptacle for the Wind Spirit. Through the eyes of the spirit-enhanced bird, he saw the trail of the fugitive. Faint, but distinct enough. She hoped the river would hide her. It might have been confusing to someone weaker or less experienced, but the shaman was old and experienced. He wouldn't be fooled by that. He still has a few drops of the defiant slave girl's blood and a lock of her hair. He can see her trail clearly and he's following it. This is where she left the river and went deeper into the woods. The trail has become clearer. She's not getting away now. And that's a good thing. Before she's handed over to the youngsters, he'll know how she managed to get rid of the branding and ritual markings that should have shackled her body if she'd left the chief's house without permission. Had someone helped her...

Suddenly, the forest and the river became cloudy and then disappeared altogether. What the! The old man's mind returned to his body, and the orc shaman realized with horror he could not take a breath. His lungs convulsed, and his disciples collapsed beside him, writhing in agony. The old man tried to call out to his spirit servants, but none responded. As he lost consciousness, the old shaman saw a graceful maiden figure disappear through a slit in the wall of the tent. Then the mind and soon the life left the body of the old man who remained lying in his tent. Inside, the hearth was still burning. But no longer with blue, but with poisonous green light, after an elven woman threw into it a small bag with one very interesting powder. Shortly after the shaman's death, a fire suddenly broke out in the orc stronghold. Almost all the huts, tents, the chief's house, and, most importantly, the bridge over the moat went up in flames. The flames were spreading with great speed and were almost extinguished by water, which gave it away as alchemical fire. Those who remained in the camp tried to put it out, but one by one, they were struck by arrows that came out of nowhere. Within ten minutes, the entire camp was ablaze.

In the meantime, the tired but extremely satisfied elf was moving quickly into the depths of the forest, periodically throwing on the ground a handful of special seeds, which immediately sprouted and merged with the surrounding vegetation or a pinch of special powder. There couldn't be a chase, and precisely because there couldn't be, she took every possible precaution. She reached the rendezvous point just in time. Soon, several of her kin appeared from the forest, also dressed in the camouflage robes of the Jagers of Forest Guards.

"Successful?"

"More than that. They walked right into our trap. Let a few of them escape."

"Good. Let's go."

Without further words, the small group of elves went further into the forest. After a couple of hours, they came to a carefully camouflaged camp. Inside it were two more elves. To be exact, one elf and an elven woman. The elf was dressed in a healer's robe. He was busy healing the elven woman. She was lying in her underwear on a table grown out of the ground. Her neck, legs, and arms had quick-healing marks on them. Just where the slave branding and ritual tattoos of the elven captive had been. Meeting the kin, the healer answered the mute question:

"It's okay, she'll be able to walk. It'll be completely gone in two days."

"Good. Let's go."

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A few weeks later, at the Royal Palace.

"Sister, I heard that your granddaughter passed the final exam. Please accept my sincere congratulations. I'm so happy for her! The Forest Guard is our shield and sword. Jagers is its elite. To be accepted into their ranks is a great honor."

"Thank you for your kind words, Sister. I will definitely pass them on to her! I hope you will attend the initiation ceremony?"

"Of course, how could I miss such an event? I look forward to it."

Saying goodbye to her favorite half-sister, the queen touched the crystal in the frame of the enchanted mirror and stood on a special stand on the desk in her study. When she was sure the mirror had turned off and the reflection of her beloved sister had disappeared, she leaned back in her chair and moaned, letting herself finally cum. After she tightly squeezed with her legs the head of her page, who was kneeling under the table in front of her, and diligently worked with his tongue between the legs of her mistress, pulling up her dress. After a little breathing, the queen, without unclenching her legs, grabbed him by the tips of his ears and said with feigned anger:

"You rascal! You wanted to embarrass me in front of my sister on purpose!?"

"Couldn't tear myself away," mumbled the squeezed page with a sly grin on his face.

"Youh sho yummhy, Your Majesty."

Then he squeezed the bead of the queen's clit with his lips and began to work his tongue with redoubled vigor. With a moan, his mistress relented and loosened her grip, spreading her legs wide. Perhaps he could be forgiven for this little impertinence. Especially on the occasion of such wonderful news. The Queen was genuinely happy for her grand-niece and wished her success in her military service. She was not lying. But the reason for her sincere joy was a little different. Jagers of Forest Guards are the elite of the elven forces. They have to solve the most difficult and diverse tasks to protect the Forest. They accomplish their goals by any means necessary. Including not the most pleasant ones, if there is no other way. Like infiltrating in the guise of a captive slave.

The thought of her sister's granddaughter living for two months as an orc chieftain's sex toy gave her as much pleasure as the tongue of the handsome young man she would forgive for his insolence today. As did the realization of who had given her grandniece and her crew this particular "exam ticket". But no one will know about it. Or rather, everyone understands everything, they're not the unintelligent children of a hundred years old, but since there is no proof, no one will say anything. Etiquette. Again, against the background of the previous teasing from her favorite sister, it's just a little prank.

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