Note: This is the fourth story of Dar's matches and builds off of his encounter with the Red Hawk Warrior and the Bloodstone Bandits. You should read those before reading this one.
Dar’s hot breath swirled about his face, confined by the burlap sack over his head. The improvised hood had already become damp with the dwarf’s sweat, and the air he breathed humid. He heard little more than his own ragged breathing and the occasional chirp of a bird or rustle of wind through the trees. Unable to see the way forward, he stumbled over an unexpected rise in the path, but managed to keep himself standing. He grunted and mumbled, sounding annoyed.
“Are you sure about this, sir?” Bruce asked, slowing his pace and offering slack in the chain he carried. Though it was not wrapped tight around Dar’s powerful forearms, the chains still made it nearly impossible for him to catch himself should he fall. Bruce wasn’t concerned for Dar’s safety so much as his own; he simply didn’t want to be responsible if something were to happen that angered his master.
“It’s da plan.” Came Dar’s gruff, muffled response. Bruce glanced about, scanning the trees. He saw no threats, but couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. The Red Hawk orcs were known for their stealth and power, silently dealing lethal strikes with heavy bows from impressive distances. Though Bruce himself was a strong man, built like an ox and capable of lifting the average man with one arm and a grunt, he had little interest in tangling with a greenskin. When he had exhausted his visual search, finding nothing to ease his concern, he tugged at the chain lead. Dar began to trek solemnly in the indicated direction.
It was invisible to him, but Dar could still feel the summer sun’s rays piercing the patchwork of leaves. It taunted him, adding its own insults to an already degrading act; The temperature had already reached oppressive levels, and yet midday had still not come to pass. Dar kept his mind focused on the future, hoping to forget his hours playing the part of a hunter’s prey. Though one would be more likely to get a dragon to give up its hoard than to get Dar to admit it, he was not invincible, and knew that the powerful arrows of a Red Hawk sniper could end him if he approached the camp without reason. Playing into the bounty, pretending to be defeated and chained, was the only way he could get to the Red Hawk’s chief and end the vendetta against him.
The black, boiled leather groin guard around his waist, struggling to maintain Dar’s modesty despite having nothing beneath its plates, reassured him the charade was worth it. He remembered the fight, the raw power, and the look on the Red Hawk’s face as he was forced to swallow Dar’s manhood. The armor had been his trophy. Wearing it into the camp of the fallen warrior’s brothers was Dar’s special touch. He fantasized that the tribe’s chief may turn out the same way: strangled by the twelve-inch dwarven dick lodged in his throat.
Before he could explore the idea further, Bruce stopped. “I think I see the camp, sir.” He said softly, trying to hide his exhaustion and unease.
“Ya waitin’ fer a chariot?” Dar growled back, unwilling to abide any delays between him and his goal. Bruce walked slowly, raising his hands to indicate that he was unarmed. The camp filled a clearing, and was much larger and developed than he had ever expected from orcs. The camp had walls of tree trunks sharpened to points and decorated with red tapestries bearing the black symbol of a bird of prey. Two guards, bearing bows larger than most men and savage-looking spears stood at the gate; though their features were concealed by their black leather armor, accented and reinforced with steel plating and frilled with feathers and animal skins, it was clear that they had impressive physiques. Their mountainous shoulders gave the impression they had no neck, and their forearms seemed as thick as a typical farmer’s thigh.
The bushes rustled gently, and before Bruce could utter a word, the pair was surrounded. Four orcs, more slender than the gate’s guardians but lean and lightly armored, stood poised with their bows to strike down the intruders. “I came for the bounty!” Bruce shouted, his mind half-convinced he was seconds from death. “I bring your chief the dwarf known as Dar.” The orcs, appearing to understand, appraised the duo. Their eyes played across the dwarf’s glistening figure, seeming to trace the edges of every swollen muscle. Though he was only five and a half feet tall, he weighed over three hundred pounds. Every muscle seemed to be of an impossibly exaggerated size, defined with clarity only seen in anatomical charts, and covered in a web of thick veins that pulsed gently with the beat of the dwarven behemoth’s heart.
The scouts’ eyes were particularly drawn to the tribal markings around Dar’s biceps, tattooed in a pale blue and indicating him as a dwarf from the far north. As their eyes drew lower, they scowled. They seemed to recognize the armor the dwarf wore as belonging to one of their own. One of the scouts shouted to the gate guards, but Bruce could not understand the guttural words. The guards then beckoned Bruce forward, and the two found themselves shepherded through the camp.
They passed warriors training with wooden weaponry, practicing against scarecrow-like targets, and wrestling in pits of sand. Though there were non-combatant orcs, men and women, crafting and building, it was clear the Red Hawk lifestyle centered around combat. Most of the population lived in circular tents crafted from the dried skins of animals, but a few large, wooden buildings had been erected to serve important people and functions. One of them, adorned with shields and ceremonial weaponry, was their destination. Dar sensed the sudden transition of light to darkness as they entered, as well as the scent of cooking meat. Bruce began to speak, but the guards silenced him, speaking in their own gravely voices.
Suddenly, a strong hand tore the hood away. Scents and sounds assaulted the dwarf, no longer muffled by the damp fabric, while Dar’s eyes surveyed the scene for the first time. Only two feet before him, at eye level, were the wide pectorals and brick-like abs of the Red Hawk chieftain. He wore a polished, spiked pauldron that had obviously seen years of battle, connected to a studded, three-banded harness that wrapped tightly around his torso. The chief’s arms, each the thickness of a woman’s torso, were crossed in a posture of detached appraisal. Leather pants and the pelts of wolves and bears concealed the features of the chief’s sturdy legs.
Dar lifted his head to stare directly into the orc’s eyes, silently challenging him through the spiked helmet concealing the war chief’s features. Though he felt his groin tingle as his fantasies rose once again to his mind, fueled by the heroic form of the greenskin, he couldn’t help but respect the warrior and the achievements he must have earned. “Is this the dwarf?” The chief asked, his voice deep and proud.
“Yes, sir, we-” Bruce stepped forward, but thick fingers wrapped around his shoulder. He stopped, startled by the imposing soldier that stood behind him. Dar took note that there were six in the room, one for each of the visitors and four across the wooden room as attendants to their master.
Through the sweet smelling smoke of a fresh kill over a fire, a slender, pale-green woman swayed and danced. Though she was an orc, her behavior was curiously elven. Other than Dar, she was the only one present who seemed worthy of the chieftain’s attention. His eyes followed her as she meandered to Dar and placed her hands gently upon his head and shoulder. The dwarf snorted at her, but managed to keep his cool. He didn’t enjoy the physical attention of his race’s most hated enemy at all, but he preferred her hands to be lower if his opinion mattered at all. As if on command, her nails began to trace their way down, over Dar’s fiery orange goatee and down the valley between his pecs. She gripped his chest, massaging them, and her eyes closed in ecstasy. What Dar took to be a worship of his body continued, around his torso, down his back, over his ass, around his thighs, and finally ending beneath the armor.
The short savage was displeased when she released his apple-sized testicles unceremonious, and disappeared back into the smoke, only to reappear seconds later bearing a tattered rag of leather. Dar soon recognized it as his old loincloth. He recalled leaving it on the battered face of the Red Hawk warrior he killed, soaked in his cum. He realized that the orc temptress was a shaman. She gripped the cloth tightly in her hands, held it to her face and drank in Dar’s lingering musk.
After a few moments, the orc dropped the cloth to the ground, and pointed an accusatory finger directly at Dar. “Yes.” She hissed. “This is the dwarf who slew your brother.” Upon hearing her words, the soldiers began to snarl and curse at Dar, even moving towards him with their weapons in hand.
Before the situation could escalate further, the chief threw his hand in the air, cowing everyone with his aura of dominance. “Justice will be dealt in public, for all of our tribe to see. His blood will stain the earth, and our brother will know peace. You two, prepare the pit for an execution.” He growled, opening his arms for the first time to gesture his commands. His personal bodyguards moved to carry out his orders.
“Aye’v beat’n ah warrior o’ good stand’n wiff ma bare ‘ands.” Dar declared proudly, renewing eye contact with the chief. “Dis makes me an ‘onerary tribesm’n. So aye’m allowed ah foight in da pit ta break da sen’nce.” All in the room stared, dumbfounded, at the audacity of Dar declaring himself an honorary orc. All attention shifted to the chief in anticipation of his reaction.
The chief stared for a moment, processing what had happened. His eyes never moved from Dar’s, but his back straightened and his fingers flexed in the bronze and leather gauntlets he wore. His muscles rippled as he breathed, causing the black designs that covered every inch of his skin to dance and enhance the definition and size of his hulking figure. He glared. “Indeed, our customs do say that, an allowance for our hobgoblin brothers. If you wish to spit on our customs by tainting them with your kind, you will get what you desire, but with a greater price.” He locked eyes with both of his attendants in turn. “Prepare the pit. I shall be his executioner.”
The bodyguards nodded, their morale revitalized by the prospect of seeing their beloved chief dominating the musclebound dwarf in his last moments. They hurried past Bruce and Dar, disappearing into the light of the hot summer day.
“If I may...” The bullish bandit began to speak. “I was promised a big reward for him, and... well...” Bruce glanced sideways at Dar, gesturing towards his thick biceps. “It wasn’t easy.”
The imposing orc turned to face Bruce, surveying him. “Of course.”
In an instant, the gateguard’s leather-clad hands grasped Bruce’s chin and bald, sunburned head. Before the bandit could do more than gasp and raise his hands to mount a defense, his attacker twisted with all his might, breaking Bruce’s muscular neck with a muffled, organic pop. The husky thug immediately crumpled to the floor. Dar gazed down at him, shocked at both his companion’s death and the fact it shocked him at all. He hadn’t actually given much thought to Bruce’s future beyond his aid in getting into the camp. Though he didn’t care for Bruce as a person, he briefly felt guilty.
The guard, however, did not, and stood dutifully over the motionless body awaiting his next command.
“You, dwarf, will join your fat friend by nightfall.” The chief declared. “You will get your combat, and I will enjoy feeling you twitch as I crush the life from you. You may be strong, but I am stronger.” His eyes rose to his remaining pair of bodyguards. “Prepare the dwarf for combat. We will deal with him this evening.” The orcs nodded.
The chief’s stare burned into Dar’s back while the bodyguards escorted him out the door. The guards paraded him through the camp like a prisoner, wrapped in chains and awaiting a death sentence, but Dar was too busy being pleased with himself and the turn of events to be concerned. All he had to do was play prisoner for the rest of the day, and he would get to tussle with the chief. Even better, the entire tribe would see their hero laying at his feet in submission.
After having seen the Chief’s mountainous, inked body with his own eyes, Dar’s victory fantasies became significantly more vivid. By the time he set foot in the dim, fort-like jail, his dick had swollen to near-bursting and was already dripping with the dwarf’s juices.
“Stand here!” The greenskin to his right barked as he shoved Dar to a patch of hay that was presumably intended as a kind of carpet.
“And take this off, you pale-skinned bastard!” The other orc snapped, stepping behind Dar. Meaty hands crudely fumbled with the orcish armor, soon unbelting Dar and depriving him of his trophy. The dwarf stood proudly, wearing only farmer boots and an arrogant smirk. The orcs had clearly caught a glimpse of the foot-long dwarfhood now uncovered between his legs, and Dar sensed that they found it rather intimidating. Though it was fully engorged, it was too massive to stand rigid. It instead hung out and down like a three-inch thick snake.
The orc hurriedly disappeared into another room with the armor, and soon returned with a ragged cloth fit for a slave. He positioned it to hide Dar’s pride.
“Aye loik orcs.” Dar taunted. “Ya got ‘at big ol’ jaw, roight? Mah cock fits bett’a.” The orcs remained silent. One had preoccupied himself with preparing a bucket for Dar’s ritual bathing, while the other checked Dar’s hair and boots for hidden weapons and other tricks. “But aye guess ya can see why ‘e choked, eh?” His comment about their fallen brother aroused a reaction; the warrior violently kicked the bucket of water he had been working with and began to storm towards Dar with injurious intent.
His brother stopped him. “Can’t hurt ‘im before the fight. It’s law.” He stated calmly. The other orc glared at Dar, who merely grinned in return. After a few seconds, he snorted and stomped back to the bucket, returning to his duties. Dar continued to snidely comment about the dead orc and his poor performance in battle. He made certain to describe his death in detail, and hinted that the same would happen to their chief. The excitable guard needed to leave the room several times to cool off for fear that he would strike Dar and violate tribal law. The other simply ignored him, and instead focused on bathing the prisoner with a rag and the bucket of water.
Once the dwarf was clean, the Red Hawks herded him into a holding pen. They chained him to an iron ring embedded in stone, where he remained for hours. The sky had turned a bright orange by the time they came for him again. The bruisers escorted Dar, unchained, to the center of the camp. Though shadows stretched long across the ground, many torches and totems bordered a large circle of sand, illuminating the arena in a flickering orange glow. To Dar, it appeared that only a few orcs, mostly gate guards, were absent: the entire Red Hawk tribe stood outside the combat zone in anticipating of the evening’s conclusion. Dar felt curiously excited.
The guards led Dar into the ring where the chieftain stood. Clutching the kilt of the fallen orc, the chief wore only a bearskin loincloth and his bronze-plated gauntlets. His head was smooth and hairless save for a bright orange, braided beard roughly four inches long. The jagged black tattoos covered nearly every inch of his body, including his face and scalp, with the exception of the pads of his hands and feet. Dar wondered if the brute’s penis was similarly inked, and decided to investigate once the chief was out cold to be played with at his leisure. The handwear, however, was clearly cheating, even by orcish standards of unarmed combat: Beating your opponent to death is no difficult task when your hands are encased in metal.
“Brothers! Sisters!” The Red Hawk’s earthy voice boomed. “This dwarf has taken the life of one of our own. For that, he is condemned to death.” The tribe cheered as one, their many voices sounding disembodied and omnipresent. The chief handed off the memento to an orc that appeared to be a kind of medicine man, who proceeded to lay it lovingly onto a spirit totem. “However,” The chief continued, “he has abused our ancient ways, tarnishing our customs by believing himself an orc, and worthy of all that entails.” Roars of disapproval replaced the cheers. “For his arrogance, he will die here, painfully, slowly, and without honor.” The chief’s eyes leveled with Dar’s, and he spoke softly so that only Dar could hear. “I’ve been waiting for this ever since the seer spoke of you. I expect you to fight a good fight, and die a fitting death.”
“Aye’ll die a ‘ero... fer single ‘andedly crushin’ da Red Hawk clan. Dere not gonna loik seein’ ya loose tahday, but ya will.” Came Dar’s response. It wasn’t as poetic or rehearsed as the chief’s, he accepted, but it would do. The sudden, thunderous pound of a war drum echoed through the tents and trees. This was the moment for which everyone was waiting. Both combatants lifted their fists and lowered themselves into a sturdy stance. They circled each other, drawing closer, surveying each other for signs of weakness. The chieftain’s arms were longer by virtue of his height, Dar knew; he would be on the losing end of a straight-up slugfest.
Dar took a quick step forward, provoking the chief into taking an opportunistic swipe. The dwarf ducked under and slammed his own knuckles directly into the orc’s knee with a gruesome thump. He lept back to avoid the counterattack, but the chief’s muscular legs absorbed the blow better than Dar expected. The greenskinned beast’s own fist struck Dar like a thrown brick, snapping his head to the side and sending a fine mist of perspiration into the air.
Shaking the stars from his vision, the dwarf staggered back while the crowd roared. Dar snarled, and suddenly assumed the demeanor of a threatened wolverine. His powerful legs propelled him across the sand to meet the grasp of the Red Hawk chieftain, and the two locked arms in a test of strength. Every muscle on the battlefield swelled and strained as the two powerhouses pushed and pulled against each other, grunting and grimacing, each warrior casually pushing with the strength of ten men. It soon became apparent that Dar’s compact, muscular frame was too sturdy for the chief to topple. Instead, the chief slid his arm out of the savage dwarf’s clutches and began raining blows onto the pale, exposed ribs of his opponent.
Sharp, shooting pain accompanied the strikes, but Dar held fast. He threw his mammoth arms around the chief’s legs, just below the tattooed glutes, and began to lift. To his shock, the orc felt his feet leave the ground. He thrashed and pounded wildly in Dar’s grip in an effort to break the hold. With the loose sand beneath his feet and an angry man-killer weighing over four-hundred pounds struggling against him, Dar lost his balance and released. The chief reconnected with the ground like an expert, and wrapped his own arms around to the dwarf’s lower back before Dar regained his bearings.
The green bear roared and hefted Dar up, bulging chest to bulging chest, and squeezed. His veins swelled with strength, but the dwarf was as solid as an oak. Dar was even stronger than the chief had guessed, and it became clear that he would need to be softened up before such a power hold could have an effect. The chief bounced Dar up and grasped him around his buttocks before sending his back and head to the ground with a dusty thump.
“Augh!” Came Dar’s pained yelp. The sand was uneven, causing his back and ribs to contort painfully as he landed. He retained enough of his senses to roll to the side, and for good reason: the bare foot of the orcish champion came down on the sand seconds later, intent on crushing Dar’s skull.
The chief opened his arms, inviting the approval of his subjects. His muscles had inflated with blood and strain, making him appear even larger than normal and more defined. Every edge, sinew and vein was visible on his god-like physique. “He thinks himself strong! But yet he rolls in the dirt like a bitch in heat!” He turned to Dar, who was preoccupied dusting the sand from his hair and face. “Come, dwarf.” The chief bounced his pecs with insulting confidence. “Match strength with me again. We’ve seen what good that does you.”
Though the summer heat still lingered in the evening air, Dar felt his face heat up. His fingers twitched and his shoulders trembled with the desire to make the orc choke on his taunts. He let loose a primal bellow and tore across the ring towards the chief, kicking up clouds of dust in his wake. The bald brute hunkered down in anticipation, but Dar quickly lept to the left, only to immediately dodge to his right just as he touched the dirt. The feint was successful, and all three-hundred-and-fifty pounds of mountain rage slammed into the chief’s undefended upper body. Within seconds, the orc was on his back, staring up at Dar. The dwarf’s green eyes glinted murderously in the torchlight for a brief moment before his fists hammered down upon the chief.
Bone-crushing punches connected in rapid succession like the attacks of an angry gorilla. The chief couldn’t see clearly, and before long, couldn’t think clearly, either. His head thrashed around, pounding into the ground whenever he tried to lift it, snapping from side to side. Dar’s fists struck his neck, as well, sending chills of numbness through his nerves and making even simple breathing a struggle. With the dwarf’s muscular thighs on either side of his torso, just below his pecs, he didn’t know how to effectively throw him off.
The Chief flailed, blindly groping Dar’s herculean form for leverage. He began to simply push Dar’s abs and arms while bucking, hoping to disrupt the assaults enough to open his eyes. To the chief’s surprise, the attacks suddenly ceased, and the weight lifted. His vision focused just in time to watch Dar deliver a vicious stomp to the his knee. Pain surged up his thigh on impact, and his eyes watered. He jerked his legs away from Dar before the violent dwarf could manage another kick, and scrambled to his hands and uninjured knee in an effort to stand.
Dar took advantage of the orc’s momentary weakness. He lept onto his opponent’s wide, rippled back, wrapped his legs securely around his waist, and went for the kill. Before the chief could mount a defense, an arm bearing the blue ink of a northern barbarian had found its way under his chin. Dar’s massive arm flexed and squeezed the greenskin’s neck like a vice, cutting off his air and threatening to cut off his blood flow, as well. The chief swatted and grasped at the bicep pressing against his arteries, but found it inhumanly solid. It felt as if someone had placed a round stone onto his neck and stood on it.
The chief stumbled to his feet, carrying Dar on his back, while the dwarf placed his free hand on the back of his victim’s bald, green head and leaned in. The extra pressure was agonizing. Though his neck was monstrously thick, tapering out from the base of his skull rather than inward, Dar’s stranglehold had rendered him unable to breathe and rapidly growing dizzy.
“Go ta sleep, pig.” Dar grunted. His victim desperately pulled and squirmed to throw him off, but the fight only massaged Dar’s cock between the mounds of muscle in the orc’s back. He was actually rather impressed; even in the short time the hold had been applied, most men would have starved of air and gone still. The orc was still standing, tugging with all his might, and occasionally coughing and gagging.
Feeling himself fading, mere seconds from blacking out, the chief focused all his effort into a single, life-or-death charge backward. With Dar’s hefty mass hanging on his back, the chief was able to pick up a surprising amount of speed; enough that Dar didn’t know what was happening until his spine wrapped around the top edge of a wooden totem, paralyzing him with pain.
Dar choked on his own scream and fell to the dirt, clutching his back. He hacked and groaned, weakly pawing and kicking in the sand while the chief rubbed his own throat. The orcish colossus took a few moments to catch his breath, and felt the fog quickly vanishing from his mind. The pain subsided, too, but not the humiliation of nearly being defeated by a dwarf. The chief came far too close to loosing than he was comfortable accepting, and he committed to end the fight before Dar got another chance to dishonor him.
The pride of the Red Hawk clan moved slowly and purposefully towards his intended victim. His body was like a god’s, shimmering in the orange torchlight with a sheen of sweat. He watched Dar heave and writhe on the ground, and tried his best to savor the feeling of total control. In a few moments, the freakish mass of dwarven muscle would be dead, and it would be a long time before he would get another thrilling battle.
The chief raised his foot. “Goodbye, cave-dweller.”
The air rushed from Dar’s lungs upon impact. The chief’s heel dug into Dar’s side, just below his armpit, and crushed the air from his body. He repeated the maneuver, stomping the dwarf’s chest instead when he rolled over defensively. The orc dropped all pretenses of nobility as he brutally kicked his victim into the sand. Dar couldn’t breathe. Every stomp made his head swim from the sudden pressure. The thighs of the orc could crush stone, but all of their impressive power was directed toward a singular goal: Dar’s execution. Though his conquest possessed an inhumanly thick wall of muscles as strong as iron, the chief could feel the spring of the dwarf’s ribcage. The warrior can only survive as long as his armor, and Dar’s would soon fail.
Dar’s boot struck his attacker’s knee, thrusting it to the side and toppling the green monstrosity. The chief yelped in pain and his bronze-plated gauntlets wrapped protectively around his knee, cradling it. For a moment, the chief thought his leg had been broken. Suddenly, his shoulder struck the arena floor, and Dar, heaving, coughing, and red with rage, slid his own sweat-slicked body on top. His eyes contained no hint of civility, and drool foamed in his mouth.
Both warriors, pained and breathless, vied for leverage. They grabbed, groped, and grunted their way dominance over the other, but the heat of the summer battle had left their skin slippery. Despite this, however, Dar managed to wrap his fingers around the chief’s throat, digging into the valleys of corded muscle. He jerked the orc’s head forward, only to slam it into the dirt seconds later. The champion spasmed, and spots of light flashed in front of his eyes. He tried to mount a defense, but Dar throttled him to the ground again.
The tribe watched in horror as the violence continued. Everything was silent, save for the crackle of the torches, the rythmic thump of their hero’s head against the sand, and the ragged breathing of the dominating northman. By the time the beating had ceased, the chief was nearly unconscious. His legs slowly carved ruts in the sand and his armored hands weakly slapped and clutched Dar’s vascular forearms. Dar lowered himself until he was face-to-face with his most powerful victim and his greatest victory. The air was humid and hot, thick with the musk of the two strongest men in the known world. The chief slowly grew conscious, and his eyes focused on Dar’s.
“See?” Dar snarled. His voice was quiet; his words were only for the chief. “Aye’m da strongest beast in da woods. Aye got da biggest cock and da biggest muscles. Ya think yer big an’ bad? Aye’m more of ah man den yu’ll eva be. Aye’ve killed bears, and aye’ll-” A bronze-plated fist struck Dar’s jaw, interrupting his threats. The muscleman fell to the side, eyes unfocused, while his body twitched in the sand. It was a lucky shot, the chief knew, a one-punch knockout, but he wasn’t going to let it go to waste.
The crowd cheered as their beloved fighter forced Dar’s back to the dirt and mounted the beast. His knees pinned Dar’s biceps while he situated his ass on the dwarf’s rounded pecs. Dar awoke to see a wall of bear fur, the chief’s loincloth, dangling only inches from his face.
“The dwarf has fought well!” The chief bellowed as Dar twisted and struggled beneath him. “As would anyone desperate to save his own life. However, it is time to carry out the sentence.” Cheers erupted into the air, and the chief waited momentarily for them to die down before he continued. “It has been decided that the foreigner should be executed in the same way he killed our brother.” He turned his attention downward, and grinned sadistically at the dwarf in his shadow. His leather-bound fingers had some difficulty with his clasp, but soon the loincloth fell away. No longer confined by the principle of public decency, the chieftain’s vascular manhood flopped out and rested its head on Dar’s goatee’ed chin. It was already swollen and dripping fluid. The main vein along its top pulsed rapidly with the excited beat of the champion’s heart, and the black designs that danced along the surface revealed to Dar that the chieftain’s penis was indeed tattooed as heavily as his body. The Red Hawk gripped his dick triumphantly and slapped it against the dwarf’s face. Dar swore and cursed.
The orc continued. “And I am just the one to carry out the execution.” The crowd’s reaction seemed more mixed than before. The women of the tribe nearly feinted, having their deepest fantasies of their nude chieftain suddenly manifested before them. The warriors were more reserved. Seeing their lord naked made them uncomfortable, but something about the situation pleased them on an animal level. “Open wide.” The chief softly commanded.
A leather palm gripped Dar’s head, lifting it up and forcing his mouth towards the mammoth manhood. Dar kept his jaw clamped shut, fuming with rage for even being in such a humiliating situation. This was what his previous conquests had experienced, Dar realized, and the thought that he may have finally been dominated made his eyes nearly water with frustration. “Choke on it.” The chief growled. The green dick poked at Dar’s lips and slapped his chin and cheek, leaving small ropes of seminal fluid behind.
“Open up, orc-killer!” The chief grew more and more angry by the second. He released Dar’s head, only to place the hand over his opponent’s nose, smothering him. Dar thrashed his head from side to side, trying to get a breath of air, but failed. His arms remained pinned uselessly beneath the orc’s monstrous legs. He grabbed at the chief’s forearms, but couldn’t get enough leverage to do anything beyond merely groping. Dar thrashed helplessly while his face turned from red to purple. If he opened his mouth for air, the chief’s dick would be inside him within moments. If he didn’t, he would suffocate, and become the chief’s plaything. Dar didn’t want to admit it, but at thirteen inches long, the brute’s inked and throbbing cock was too much for him to take. He knew that if he didn’t escape soon, the chief’s cock would fill his mouth and throat regardless of his struggles and he would choke to death on the manhood of his people’s greatest enemy.
Staring up at the grotesquely muscular shadow above him, Dar had an idea. He fumbled around the chief’s cock and the fingers wrapped proudly around it. When he stumbled upon the clasp of the chief’s gauntlet, he quickly undid it and tore madly at the leather, partially removing it. The chief released his grip on Dar’s skull, swearing and struggling replace his handwear. Almost immediately, the bulging green form withered slightly, becoming less imposing. The orc was still a paragon of physical perfection, but Dar’s suspicion was proven right; the gauntlets were enchanted to increase their wearer’s strength. Dar, however, was too busy enjoying the ability to breathe to care too much that the chief had cheated, even if the air was saturated with the manly musk of barbarian cock sweat.
Dar took advantage of the confusion and bucked the orc to the ground. He swung himself up, never releasing his grip on the gauntlet, and drilled his knee into the orc’s exposed testicles. A pained wheeze escaped the green gorilla’s chest. His body curled as the pain shot through him, causing his veins and muscles to flex and bulge. Dar slammed his fist into the chief’s balls repeatedly, each wind-up accompanied by a deep gulp of air. Dar’s pride was renewed by the crude abuse. He enjoyed feeling the orc’s testicles wrap and deform around his knuckles like a pair of apples in a leather bag. Dar only managed a few strikes before the chief’s massive hands cupped his groin and protected it from further harm. The rest of the chief, however, was paralyzed with agony, and Dar switched tactics quickly.
The dwarf snatched his opponent’s arm and jerked it up and out, putting his legs around the shoulder socket for extra leverage. He savagely locked the arm to his chest with his bicep, crippling it with the pain of distorted joints, and used his free hand and teeth to peel the gauntlet from the orc’s sweaty fingers. The chief struggled, but his mind was torn between protecting his arm and tending his throbbing balls, and the balls ultimately won out.
With one gauntlet hanging from his bared teeth and the stink of leather and orc musk assaulting his nose, Dar threw himself backwards with all his might. The chief’s shoulder let out a disgusting pop, and he roared as his arm fell limp and useless. The murderous dwarf rose with his eyes set on the other gauntlet. He stepped over the quivering orc, intent on claiming his prize, but the chief regained enough composure to shove dwarf’s thick thigh away while he moved.
His foot no longer properly beneath him, the cocky behemoth fell forward into the sand. The dwarf let out an incomprehensible profanity when he struck the ground with a thump, the leather gauntlet still dangling from his lips. He quickly scrambled to his feet, but found the chief had managed to do the same, though with much greater pain and effort.
The two fighters stood feet apart, heaving heavily. The chief clutched his dislocated arm, which dangled down like that of a ragdoll. His balls were swollen, but his thick meat had already shrunken along with his pride. Dar’s orc-strangling monstrosity, however, had swollen to its full potential, and ached with the need for release. With one motion, Dar ripped the rags from his waist and revealed himself to the tribe. The orc’s cock was bigger, but the dwarf’s looked even more freakish nevertheless, due to its proportions.
Dar removed the gauntlet from his mouth and held it for all to see. “See? Dis bitch needs magick ta beat me! Yer big boy chief ain’t strong enuff ta foight me man-ta-man! Red ‘Awks are weak! Even da best o’ ya is ah fuckin’ cock-luvin’ bitch!” Dar had begun parading the gauntlet, and his own impressive body, in small circles for the tribe to see. The chief, however, growled, and jerked his shoulder back into socket.
“Ya can’t cheat a’ bein’ da alpha male!” Dar continued. “Ya eitha are, or aren’t, an’ yer lookin’ a’ ‘im!” He transfered the gauntlet to his mouth to free his hands, then raised his arms in an impressive bicep flex. Each muscle was the size of a coconut, and just as hard. His penis, likewise, pulsed with vigor as it dangled between the dwarf’s tree-trunk-like thighs. The orcs did nothing but react with mild disgust at the redheaded savage before them.
Finally, Dar turned to the orc, who now glared at him with anger and a renewed will to fight. “Ya ‘ad magick and ya still couldn’t take me? Yer as weak as elven ale.” Dar slipped his hand into the gauntlet, which fit better than he had expected, and wiggled his fingers. “Without dis, ya got no chance. Yer gonna be da rag aye blow ma load in an’ throw away.”
The chief grinned. “You’ve still got some of my cock-spit on your face, dwarf.”
Dar wiped at his chin, and was soon overcome with rage at seeing the orc’s precum still lingering in his goatee. He charged at his opponent with murderous intent. With the dwarf falling for his taunt, the chief lowered himself into a sturdy stance and waited. Dar threw himself at his opponent, intent on toppling him, but the chief threw himself forward, absorbing the dwarf’s force and pushing the pale barbarian beneath him. Within seconds his forearm was around Dar’s neck, pressing into the pale barbarian’s throat. The fiery-haired musclebear struggled and gagged, wincing in pain while the orc tried to crush his windpipe from above.
“I don’t need magick to execute you. I’m still the strongest!” The Red Hawk bellowed as he leaned backwards, pulling upward on his victim’s neck and amplifying the already lethal pressure. Dar’s green eyes bulged out of his head and his face quickly grew red. His own weight was being used against him, combining the most lethal qualities of a choke hold and a hanging. With over three hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle, Dar’s weight threatened to decapitate him.
“Don’t worry, dwarf.” The chief whispered between the wet slaps of Dar’s hands against his sweat-slicked muscles. “This is only to make you sleep. You’ll swallow my cum soon enough.”
Wincing in agony and drowning in adrenaline, Dar shoved himself forward and grasped the chief’s leg. With a strangled roar, he lifted the orc’s legs to his waist. The chief, hanging from the fiery-haired musclebear’s neck, belly up, retained his choke hold despite now being carried like a damsel in the barbarian’s arms. Dar didn’t care. He lifted the orc up with all his strength only to drop him down again across his knee, contorting the orc’s muscular back and nearly snapping the chief’s spine.
The green colossus shuddered and fell limp momentarily. His stunned body rolled into the sand where he writhed, desperately grabbing at his lower back in excruciating pain. Dar rubbed his sore neck and advanced. He straddled the orc and rudely snatched the chief’s arm like a child taking back a stolen toy. Using his powerful grip, Dar twisted the orc’s elbow and shoulder until his victim was nearly able to scratch the back of his own neck. With the hand immobilized, it was easy for Dar to take the second gauntlet into his possession.
With the Red Hawk squirming in the sand beneath him and his heavy cock swollen between his legs, Dar slid the musty leather onto his hands and locked the clasps. Instantly, he felt a tingle as energy coursed through his veins. Already stronger than ten men, Dar’s body was forced to swell even further to accommodate the supernatural strength. The dwarf’s muscles bulged beneath his skin, causing individual bundles of muscle fiber to become visible. His biceps gained several inches of circumference, and his pecs grew even more solid and imposing. Dar glanced down expectantly, but was disappointed to find that his manhood had not changed. He wanted desperately to relieve his pent-up energy and return the favor the the orc for his earlier insults, but Dar was eager to test out the gauntlets first. Once he had tired of his green toy, he decided, he would let loose.
“Time fer some fun, greenskin.” Dar leered.
The dominating dwarf kicked the chief’s torso, forcing him onto his back. Dar then drove his boot into the chief’s knee, deriving a sadistic pleasure from the popping and cracking of an orc’s body collapsing beneath his strength. The chief roared in agony, but his cries were soon silenced by a leather-clad fingers around his throat. With only one hand, Dar cut off the orc’s air, a feat that most men couldn’t even attempt with two. He cupped his other gauntlet around the chieftain’s groin, and took pleasure in crushing the orc’s manhood.
With orc neck and balls in hand, Dar heaved his opponent up like a strongman. Soon the greenskin was over his head, arms and cock dangling uselessly downward. He was amazed at how much lighter the chief felt. Dar roared triumphantly, and his veins bulged as he lowered the orc, then raised him again like an exercise weight. The Red Hawks could do nothing but watch as the dwarf used their chief like a stage prop.
Again and again Dar lifted their chief, displaying his seemingly infinite reserve of strength, but soon Dar’s rage and pride boiled up until he couldn’t help but be overcome. He threw the chief to the ground with a thud, then threw his head back and bellowed like an angry bear. He circled his victim in a primal fury of violent desires and lustful needs, masturbating himself in defiance and flexing his inhumanly large muscles in any way he could. He wanted the Red Hawks to see his unnatural size. He wanted them to think of him as a monster. He wanted them to fear him.
Suddenly, the tribe burst into cheers. To the muscledwarf’s surprise, the Red Hawk chief had managed to stand. Though he was clearly pained and battered, he stood arrogantly on his hobbled legs. When Dar turned to face him, making eye contact like wolves testing their victim for weakness, the chief silently lifted his fists in a boxing stance.
“So dat’s how ya wanna be broken, eh? Punches?” Dar spoke proudly, with the unshakable belief that his victory was assured. “Ya know, ah broken jaw’ll let ya take more o’ ma dick in ya. Yu’ll still choke, but aye’ll loik it bett’a.” Dar slicked the rivulets of sweat from his shield-like pecs, allowing his fingers to explore the hills and valleys of his impressive torso. He lifted his arms and squeezed with all his might, bulging his biceps beyond the size of his own head, and looked toward the chief knowingly. “Aye loik dee’s gloves, aye can see why ya wear ‘em all da time. With ‘em, ya got no chance. Jus’ get on ya knees an’ open wide, an’ aye’ll let ya live.”
“I would rather die than simply lose to a northman like you. Do you think I would serve you like a copper-piece whore? No. I’ll kill you, and I’ll take my gloves. You’ll be my biggest conquest, and your body will be shown to all the allied lands as a warning. You think you’re feared? Imagine how feared the one who breaks you will be.” The chief began to move forward with grim determination, cautiously probing Dar for openings. “And I will break you.” The chief immediately threw a barrage of punches. Most struck Dar’s thick forearms, but a few slipped through and contacted the dwarf’s face. Sweat sprayed from his hair with every skull-shaking strike, but the dwarf seemed mostly unaffected.
Dar ducked inward, tangling within the orc’s guard and delivering his own metal-wrapped strikes to the orc’s torso. His fists pounded the abs and ribs of the chieftain, each strike emitting a deep, wet thump like a chunk of slaughtered ham tossed onto the cutting table. Disconcerted by the sudden proximity of his opponent, the chief winced and stumbled in a desperate and injured attempt to make distance with his attacker. His body was solid, like a suit of armor, but Dar’s strikes were powerful enough to weaken him even before the magick enhancement. With the gauntlets on Dar’s side, the orc’s muscles buckled like tenderized meat, offering no defense for the soft organs and tissues within.
With Dar clinging to his body, the orc wildly struck at the musclebeast with all his might. A lucky punch connected squarely on Dar’s jaw, whipping his head awkwardly to the side and causing him to stumble backward, somewhat bewildered. The two combatants took a moment to recover. Both were tired and injured, though the adrenaline masked most of the pain they would later be feeling in full force.
The chief had superior range, even in his injured state, Dar understood. Even with his enhanced strength, a lucky shot could lay Dar out and give the chief all the time he needed. It had nearly happened already, and Dar didn’t want to dance with lady luck any more tonight. He needed to end this, and take his place over the body of the Red Hawk’s beloved warrior.
Dar began to close the distance with fire in his eyes. His hands were low and his stride sure. When the chief inevitably attempted a swing at his head, Dar dropped low, twisting his torso, and put all of his weight into a single, crippling punch to the chief’s wounded leg. Instantly, the chief dropped to his knees with a sharp howl, his mind completely focused on what was likely a broken joint. Dar wasted no time in sending punch after metal-clad punch to the chief’s now-exposed head. The former champion’s skull whipped side to side, spraying blood, sweat, and saliva across the arena, while his limp dick swung like a pendulum with a similar rhythm.
The chief raised his arms to block the blows, but Dar’s rage was too much, and soon they fell to his side and hung helplessly like his cock. The dwarf stopped pummeling his opponent momentarily. The chief’s eyes rolled around, unfocused and unaware, while his face hung emotionless and Drool dribbled down his chiseled jaw. His body wavered as he struggled to maintain his balance. It was barely within the orc’s capability to sit upright, let alone fight.
Dar walked calmly around behind the punch-drunk beast without any opposition. The chief didn’t even turn his head. He did, however, grunt and flail weakly when he felt Dar’s bicep press firmly against his neck. With one arm, Dar locked the war chief in a chokehold, and took hold of his throbbing dick with the other. Amidst roaring disapproval from the Red Hawks, Dar began to feed his massive manhood into the orc’s ass. Though he was barely conscious, the chief was vaguely aware of what was going on. He felt the dwarf’s cock probing him, snaking deeper between his cheeks, until it reached his hole.
“Hope yer awake enuff fer dis.” Dar snarled as he penetrated his victim. The orc chief’s body quivered and spasmed when the dwarf’s penis slid inside him. He was big, even by orc standards, but the chief had never been dominated before, let alone with a three-inch diameter serpent of muscle. He felt like he was being ripped open. Dar felt pain as well, as the orc’s internal muscles reflexively squeezed and strangled his manhood. The crowd’s roars of rage spurred his ego, however, and the pain served only to make him more aggressive. Dar continued to slide himself in, despite the discomfort, down to the base of his cock.
When he had fully impaled the muscular monster, he moved his arm up to the chokehold and reinforced his grip. “Dis is it, greenskin. Aye win.” Dar growled. He flexed his bicep, crushing the orc’s windpipe and stifling his screams as Dar began to pound his ass like a wild bronco. With every thrust, the orc’s innards loosened. Dar submerged himself more and more in the primal moment, with each slam bringing more pleasure and less pain. He drank in the musk of his opponent. Not only was the chief the biggest and strongest opponent Dar had ever faced, he was an orc, and the thrill Dar got from humiliating him was a drug.
Within moments, Dar had lost himself in the ecstasy of his dominance. He felt invincible. Feeling the musclebound orc squeezing and clawing his arm in a failed attempt to break the hold made him feel powerful. The orc’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, and his face began to change to a greenish grey as he ran out of air. Dar controlled every aspect of the chief. He owned the orc: he served Dar’s cock as the dwarf demanded, and couldn’t even do something as simple as breathe without Dar’s explicit consent.
The Red Hawks watched their chief struggle, and their hearts sank low when he began to slip back towards unconsciousness. They watched the dwarf pound him savagely from behind like a raging stallion, and the chief could do nothing to stop him as his eyes became bloodshot and his vision blurred. His fingers clawed at Dar’s arms, drawing lines of white in his strangler’s blood-engorged skin, but Dar’s arm held fast. Worse, still, their chief’s manhood swelled with every thrust, until he too was erect and aroused.
Deprived of air for too long, the chief’s body finally decided it had enough. His hands squeezed the dwarf’s bicep with all their might, while the tattooed anaconda between his legs shot a stream of seed into the air. Moments after his ejaculation, the paragon of the orc species fell limp and lifeless in Dar’s arms, strangled by a superior man, with his thirteen-inch cock still dribbling cum.
Dar’s arm fell away, allowing the orc to gasp reflexively. “Is dat all ya got?” He yelled to the chief, loud enough for the tribe to hear. Many had tried to enter the ring, only to be stopped by their brethren. Though Dar’s victory enraged them, their laws prevented them from interfering. Dar was a free man, and, as the victor, the loser would die by his hand; thus was the way of their tribe.
The dwarf rudely shoved his plaything to the ground, who fell to his belly, somewhat curled awkwardly forward. Dar rolled him over in seconds, rabidly focused on his lust for the orc’s body. Not a lust for the orc himself, or even as a sexual object, but the strength and pride symbolized by Dar’s dominance over a powerful opponent.
Suddenly, the orc’s words came to Dar’s head, cutting through his fog of lust with an interesting proposition. While choking to death on Dar’s dick would be a humiliating end for such a powerful man, Dar realized that it would be worse to endure the abuse and survive. The proud chieftain would live the rest of his life remembering how the dwarf’s cum tasted.
Spurred by the orc’s own admission, Dar gripped his monstrous dick in both hands and began masturbated himself furiously, staring down at the bull of tattooed muscle he had defeated. The Red Hawks could do nothing but watch in horror. Soon, the barbarian came, forcing his dick down and filling the orc’s gaping jaws with his seed. Each spurt struck the roof of the chief’s mouth with a wet splick, until over a cup of semen had been loosed.
Dar admired the pool of white goop filling the orc’s orifice as he milked out the rest of his juice, dribbling it out onto the orc’s pecs. He laughed when his victim coughed, thus ejecting some of Dar’s spunk onto the green cheeks and inked chin. “Dis,” Dar began as he strutted away, pointing at the fallen orc. “Is wha’ ‘appens when ya fuck wiff me, ya got it? Ya wanted me ‘ere, an’ ‘ere aye am. Yer all luckey, ya know, ta see me wiff ya own eyes. Aye’m da strongest beast in deez woods... naw, strongest beast anywhere! Ya fucked wiff me, an’ now yer chief is drinkin’ ma cum. Now all da chiefs from ‘ere on are gonna ‘ave a little bit o’ me in ‘em.”
The dwarf proudly walked up to the totem where the dead orc’s studded leather kilt laid. He took it, and scowled at the orcs nearby. They scowled back, but stepped away. Content with their frightened complacency, Dar slung the armor over his shoulder. His trophy was his once again, though he didn’t put it on; He much preferred the horrified looks and occasional lustful glances his cock garnered from the orcs as he strutted through the crowd. When the edge of the camp came into view, as well as the darkness of the forest beyond, he glanced back, and surveyed the Red Hawk tribe. Their chief still lay unconscious in the arena, over three hundred pounds of tattooed muscle beaten senseless. “Aye got da biggest muscles and da biggest dick. No man can beat me. Aye’m Dar da fuckin’ Barbarian. Da king o’ beasts and da king o’ men.” Dar yelled behind him as his hulking silhouette disappeared into the darkness of the forest.
“An don’t ya ferget it!”
OMG, HOT! “Aye got da biggest muscles and da biggest dick..." Sexiest proclaimation ever!
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