Date: Mon, 2 Jan 2012 18:46:59 -0800 (PST)
From: D.O. <celliophonic@yahoo.com>
Subject: Bragenhos Saga 3 - Ill Tidings (Gay, SF/Fantasy

		      Bragenhos Saga 3 -- Ill Tidings

By D.O.
celliophonic@yahoo.com
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/bestbbcstories/

This story takes place within the world of Bragenhos, a fantastical land
filled with dark magics and darker religions, knights, warriors,
barbarians, orcs, elves, violence, chaos and death. Please see my previous
tales set in this realm, The Tavern, King's Gambit and Breed Mage.

                King Kresimir stood looking at the tall, black-skinned orc
chieftain dressed in scarred and burned and bloodied battle armor, before
him. Although Kresimir was a tall and imposing man himself, Zhakul towered
over him by half a foot, a tall male even by orc standards. His onyx skin
glinted in the streams of sunlight that shown through the skylight in the
relatively modest sized reception chamber at Kresimir's palace. The King
and the Warchief were meeting for the first time in several months, since
Zhakul's forces had soundly defeated Kresimir's badly outnumbered troops on
the field in what the humans were now calling The Battle of Sorrows.
River's End stood on the edge of orc lands, protecting much of the rest of
humanity from the brutish orcs. Even now, the small kingdom was bearing the
brunt of the surrender treaty and concessions made after the
battle. Kresimir had made deals he didn't want to make, but it was all in
the name of continuing to keep the orcs at bay. Zhakul was here ostensibly
to check in, but Kresimir knew he was simply visiting to gloat over his
victory. He hated the chieftain, hated him for the defeat, and hated him
for humiliating Kresimir by taking his youngest son as his jhuu-lia, a boy
wife.

                Zhakul smiled his mirthless, toothy grin at the king,
knowing just how much the man hated him and reveling in it. He looked so
forward to rubbing the human's nose in the shit of defeat.  He looked back
at his entourage; they were preparing to enter the reception chamber with
the very pregnant Luka at the head of the procession. How he was going to
savor the look on the king's face as he realized what Zhakul had done to
the boy, as he realized that further humiliation was indeed possible. "My
good Kresimir. Thank you so much for your fine hospitality." He spoke the
words with a cockiness that made no mistake as to his meaning. "It has been
many months since I last set foot inside your castle, long since we last
spoke as equals, man to man. I thought you might be interested to see your
son once again......my jhuu-lia, now of course. I am certain you
will.........pay attention, to say the least. Enter, my sentinels,
bring......the prince before his father." He emphasized the word prince,
articulating it in his heavy, gruff orcish accent.

                The guard marched in, the front soldiers carrying a bed of
sorts between them. Kresimir looked on in shock and disgust as his son,
Prince Luka, lying flat, powerless upon it, was brought before him. The boy
had clearly been crying, embarrassed beyond imagining. He was sickened as
he saw how garishly his son had been made up, looking like some painted
whore, wearing the flimsy silks and satins of a courtesan, pierced and
tattooed...and there was something else. Did the boy look heavier? What
could have happened to let things go to this point? He did not think it
possible at this moment to sink any further. But he was soon to realize how
wrong he was.

                Zhakul stepped quickly over to the boy and without advance
set-up or warning, quickly whipped away the gown covering Luka's midriff. A
gasp went through the crowd, followed by an immediate hush. It was plain
the unthinkable, the impossible had happened. No one in the room needed to
be told the young prince was pregnant; but nobody could figure out how it
could be. Kresimir was trembling as he looked upon his son's full abdomen.
He felt his face beginning to turn red, his shame now approaching
completion.  He struggled for words. "How....h....how
can.......th...this..........how can this vileness be?  Tell me what you
have done to my son, Zhakul! You will tell me!" He was facing the giant orc
lord, fury bubbling up from a hidden well within his being. Rage was
filling him. That rage began to grow hotter as Zhakul slowly ran his hand
over the expectant bump, touching his son possessively, as if the prince
were his property.

                "Heh, heh. You should take care with how you speak to me,
King. I alone hold the fortunes of you, your people and your boy, in my
hands. I defeated you on the field of battle. You accepted my terms of your
surrender. Your boy is now my wife, to do with as I please. I decided that
I would very much like to have him bear my children. So I have impregnated
your lad, your prince, with my orc seed and he will birth me a half-breed
runt. Now our two nations shall share a family connection; we will be kin,
of sorts." He paused to allow his words to sink in. "As to how this
conception was achieved...? You call it vile.....I call it the miracle of
life. Ha, ha! Well, ancient magics of the elves are a powerful thing,
indeed..... See how he has even grown some little teats....?"  He laughed a
humorless chuckle.

                Kresimir was trembling, clearly enraged over these
developments. He would surely die from this shame, this degradation.
"You......dare enter my dwelling to put on this......this....
demonstration of your hold over us? We have abided by the rules of your
victory, surrendered lands long ours, made monetary reparations......given
you slaves even.  I WILL NOT SUFFER TO..." Zhakul cut him off.  "You will
suffer whatever I choose, oh mighty King! You will open your residence to
me and my security detail. And you will thank me for not having you
beheaded, as I perhaps should have done....... I will have need of a
private quarter for myself and the prince. Very private....... See to it
immediately." His tone suggested he was not expecting to wait. He looked
back at Kresimir and smiled a snarly grin as he saw the color drain from
the defeated monarch's face. He would bed his pregnant boy bride tonight,
within the walls of his conquered foe, father of the bride...




                For his part, Luka, although extremely humiliated could
scarcely come to grips with his new body. Feelings he had never known,
never intended to know, rushed through him. It was now several hours after
they had arrived at the castle and he now found himself waiting almost
breathlessly, dressed in his sheerest mating gown, for his husband, Zhakul,
to join him in their boudoir. He was incredibly aroused; his hole was slick
and ready, aching to be taken by the brawny orc brute, despite or perhaps
because of the pregnancy. His tiny breasts, swollen with milk, throbbed to
feel the swine's hands and lips upon them, tweaking,
pinching......biting. He reached behind him and slowly slid two fingers
into his steamy gash, moaning as he pushed into the pulsating warmth. Gods!
Where was Zhakul? He hated the Warchief..........but still desired his
touch, his hardness. His mind and emotions twisted together as he despised
his own need for and servitude to the warmongering chieftain yet could not
contain the primal craving for the huge orc's pitch black manhood delving
deep into his guts, the muscled physique covering him in a protective
cocoon.  That need slithered through him like a sinful snake.

                The heavy oaken door creaking open diverted his
attention. As Luka looked towards the doorway, the hulking figure of Zhakul
filled it up, blocking the low torchlight in the hallway. He gulped a
little as his master entered the room, slamming the door behind. The orc
leader looked down at his slender, white-skinned boy wife and felt lust
begin to course through his veins. Even with child, the boy was beautiful
and Zhakul planned to spend another night of subjugating the youngster to
his iron will. He enjoyed the power he held over the lad, knowing the
hatred Luka felt for him, yet all the while quivering to feel the
Warchief's commanding presence and raw sexuality.

                He hurriedly unstrapped his breastplate, letting it drop to
the floor with a thud. "Hello, little white dove. Are you ready for your
warlord? Ready to scream in passion for me?"  Zhakul made no bones about
the fact that he was a very sexual being, with an enormous appetite for
carnal activities. He reached down and grabbed the boy by his chin, harshly
twisting Luka to force him to look in his eyes. "Take me in your mouth, my
dove." Luka's eyes moved downward as he realized the Warchief had already
undone the strings of his leather breeches and had released his cock. The
boy needed no urging, his mouth watering as Zhakul's strong scent reached
his nostrils. He grabbed the steely thing in his delicate hands and began
to stroke up and down the shaft. His master groaned with delight and he
quickly moved to place his lips over the tip, swirling his tiny tongue
around in the piss hole, now slimy with the herald of the orc's
desire. Luka suckled a bit at the bulbous head, amazed as he always was by
the sheer enormity of it, but knowing that he could get it all down his
gullet. Zhakul had trained him well, forcing him to push past his gag
reflex and simply accept the turgid meat into his throat. Now he could
barely contain his longing for it, to taste the salty flesh, to breathe in
the overwhelming musk of masculinity.

Zhakul looked down through slotted eyelids, moaning softly as his jhuu-lia
sucked him. The boy was humming as he slurped, a certain sign of enjoyment
on his part. The orc warrior threw back his head in intense ecstasy as he
felt his length slide into the lad's throat and as he looked down he saw
Luka's lips stretched obscenely around his swollen member, pressed into the
wiry hair at the root of his prick. Fuck the boy was so good! Such a good
little cocksucker! He could scarcely think as he felt those soft, ruby lips
begin to travel back up his tool, gliding wetly over the rock hard flesh.
If he allowed the ka-teth to continue, he would surely spill himself into
that thirsty mouth. Perhaps that is what he would do, even though he had
set his eyes on having some pussy this night. He just needed to nut, to
unload in a hole. But his real goal was to bring his boy whore to a
shattering, wailing climax, within earshot of the royals in the
palace. Disgrace and humiliate them, while debasing one of their own and as
a bonus, empty his balls of a massive load that had been pent up for
days......

The Warchief grabbed Luka's head in his strong grasp and slowly slid that
amazing mouth off his pole. He gasped a little as the boys teeth caught
just slightly on the fat crown around the head of his manhood, a strand of
saliva keeping them connected. Gods that felt good! But he needed to
refocus on his purpose.  Zhakul again twisted the boy's face upward to look
at him and spoke. "I wish for you to ride me. I will lie on my back; you
will face me, my dove." He rolled himself onto the ornate bed, pausing only
to reach for a droplet of slicking oil from the bedside urn. He slathered
it all over his cock, coating his meat with the viscous substance. He knew
Luka would be wet, a natural side effect of the pregnancy, but he always
knew you could never have enough grease when bedding a whore.

Luka was half crazed with willful need, coveting the orc warrior's muscled
body, wanting the black-skinned brute within him. Being pregnant had turned
him into a cock-seeking slut, almost. He had no idea how to turn off the
feelings of desire that welled up deep inside his body and soul,
practically forcing him to open up his slit to the bestial lord. All he
knew was that he had to have his aching innards wrapped around Zhakul's
cock very soon, lest he go mad from the wanting. "M....my
lord. Please.... I...I need it.....so bad...." He was nearly begging for
the big orc to take him, to make the throbbing in his hole go
away. "Shhhhh, my little dove. I will give you what you need.  Soon I will
soak your pussy with my seed once more..." Zhakul was whispering quietly.

                Luka was in position now, the heat from his hole radiating
out of him and onto Zhakul's shaft. The thought of being buried in that
sweet slit once more was almost overwhelming to the Warchief. He could
already envision how he would twist his cock inside the boy's guts, how
they would know intense bliss from the friction of each other's bodies. He
quickly snapped back to the present as he felt Luka begin to back down onto
the tip of his swollen cock-crown and like that, they became one again.

Zhakul gasped as several inches of his maleness was swallowed by the
velvety softness in the lad's entrails. He looked into Luka's eyes and saw
that they were just barely open, he was squinting through the slits as the
pleasure and pain overtook his young body. He was lightly mewling, almost
begging to be filled up even more. Zhakul spoke. "Yes little dove, move
your pussy on my spear, make Zhakul pleased. Let the entire castle know who
your Master is..." They both shrieked out a howl of delight as Luka slid
all the way down, his once tiny opening now stretched obscenely around the
orc's immense rod.  Zhakul let out a deep bellow as he felt himself sinking
deeply into hot, slippery boy flesh. The youngling was crying out as the
orc cock slid all the way into his guts forcing the yielding channel to
spread apart. "Ahhhhh Gods! Yes my Lord!! I'm yours!" Luka cried out
brokenly.

The Warchief grasped the boy's hips and began to fuck, in the animalistic
way of orcs. He gave the human male no quarter, no mercy. He made certain
the bitch knew that he belonged to Warchief Zhakul and everyone nearby knew
it as well. He felt as if he might slip into a stupor of rapture as he and
Luka settled into a rhythm with one another, grinding, pounding, and
sweating. The pair had a definite connection, despite the boy's loathing of
his captor. It was still quite clear that he could simply not get enough of
the black brute's vicious fuckings. He loved being a bred bitch boy.



Later as Zhakul lay with his boy-bride in his muscular arms, he smiled
wickedly to himself as he thought of Luka's cries of passion as the
Warchief had soaked his guts with orc seed once more. He knew that as
substantial as the walls of the castle were, there could be little doubt
that their union had been heard by at least a few. He knew Kresimir would
at least be aware of their coupling and he knew how it would infuriate
him. And that thought greatly pleased him......


Best, D.O.
celliophonic@yahoo.com
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/bestbbcstories/