A thick hand lands on his head, enveloping it entirely. It just sits there for a moment, Vidar so nervous he’s almost nauseous, and then it finally moves. Gripping the back of his neck, fingers closing around his throat in the front, it pulls Vidar forward, shoves him against its legs.

He doesn’t... understand.

The grip stays closed. He tries to pull away, but the grip merely tightens to the point that he’s choking again, easing up only when he stops trying to move. He can breathe, barely, and he glances up the orc. His vision is blurry from all the tears, but he raises his hands, gripping the orc’s forearm.

The orc holding him says something, a rough sound that makes Vidar flinch. He feels the hand around his neck momentarily tighten, but it eases again before he can strangle once more. He breathes unsteadily, uneasily, his hands tingling and fingers flexing uselessly.

Then other hands grab Vidar’s arms, pulling them behind his back and up. Something pulls tight around them, and when the hands let go of him, he still can’t move his arms. The position forces his chest forward, and he twitches, loosing balance. The hand around his neck is all that keeps him upright.

Okay. Okay, his arms are tied up. That’s good, that feels good. He tries to pull on them again, but there’s no give at all. It feels... really good.

The orc holding him makes a loud sound, then, louder than he’s heard yet. His eyes peek open, peek up, and then the orc starts to walk. It drags him after it, drags him by his neck and throat, and with his arms tied up he can’t get any leverage, can’t get his feet under him. He strangles, the grip too unyielding and he can’t breathe.

Vidar’s HP goes down again. It’s almost at the halfway point now. He doesn’t have any potions, any way to get his health up; he never did go to that starting village.

His vision is blackening by the time he’s let go again, once more dropped carelessly on the ground. This time, his breaths hack and he coughs wildly, throat hurting and chest compressing painfully. He gags, spitting on the ground, and can’t resist at all when his clothes are torn off. There’s a pressure, a painfully pressure as the clothes remain, but then they fail, start to tear, and they’re systematically removed.

He’s naked, Vidar realizes. His gaze is so blurry that he can’t even see the sky, and he curls his legs up as he tries to shift onto his side, embarrassment vividly coloring his skin.

Hands pull his legs wide apart, so wide they ache, and he whimpers, moans, tries to twist away. Fruitlessly, he shoves and pushes but the hands on his ankles and thighs are wide, large, strong. His gaze finally clears somewhat and he manages to get his head up and look and oh. Oh. His legs are so wide they’re almost in a split.

His cock is erect, standing tall over his stomach. It’s red, aching, pre-cum dripping, he almost absentmindedly notes.

There are two orcs holding his legs, one each. They’re not even looking at him, just keeping him still. Vidar licks his lips, and gives a rough groan when they pull his legs further apart, still. It hurts. (It hurts so fucking much, he can’t stand it.)

Vidar’s eyes cut away from his legs, looking around, and he sees two other orcs approaching from either side of him. They’re each carrying something, and he shudders deeply, flush deepening.

One has chains and manacles and a wide iron collar. The other has several poles, as wide as treetrunks and almost as tall. When they reach him, the one with the poles instantly starts driving them into the ground around him, and the orcs holding his legs pull on him, stretching him further. He mumbles a word for the first time, whimpering a soft “No,” and shaking his head.

His no is ignored.

The strain on his legs hurt, hurt, hurts. They’re so wide, they can’t possibly go any wider. But they do, fuck, they do. It’s a game, a virtual reality, and they are pulled wider, pulled outward, too, until it feels like they’ll dislocate, like the joints will just pop apart.

Vidar’s scream is loud and sudden and it only lasts for a handful of seconds before a hand grips his jaw and snaps his mouth shut.

He can’t stop screaming though. His eyes glance around, and around, and around, trying to find focus outside the pain. The hand keeps his mouth shut, but muffled noise still leaves him, and the grip on his jaw stiffens to painful levels. But it distracts from the pain in his legs, at least, and he finally manages to see who’s holding onto him.

It’s the biggest orc, sitting silently by his head. Vidar tilts his head back, to the side, a motion that’s apparently allowed, and while he’s trembling and crying and snotting wildly, he stares at the gigantic orc.

The orc stares back. It doesn’t make a sound, but the grip on his jaw doesn’t ease, either.

Vidar flinches when the manacles are secured to his ankles, so ice cold they burn. He flinches again when he hears chains moving, feels the orcs let go of his legs but the strain doesn’t ease, doesn’t change. His legs are still pulled too far apart, and he feels like he’s breaking.

He’s shaking, when the last touch leaves him. Shaking wildly enough that his teeth chatters, and can’t help raising his head, can’t help looking.

The chains are taught, taught enough that there isn’t any give at all. His bare ass is scratching on the ground painfully, chest pushed up by the arms still tied behind his back.

(He can barely feel his arms anymore, he realizes.)

But his legs, his legs are shaking, too. He can see it, can see the goosebumps on otherwise perfect skin. But there are already bruises, too, bruises where the orcs pulled his legs apart, on his ankles, and his thighs and calves. The chains are connected to one iron pole each, and the poles are high enough that Vidar could never get his legs off them even if they weren’t spread this obscenely, inhumanly wide.

He shakes harder.

Vidar shakes his head when the smallest orc approaches him again, one of those who pulled his legs so harshly, so unrelentingly, that tainted his skin. He shakes his head, and forces out between chattering teeth, “No, no, no.”

But like before, his no is ignored.