Finally succeeding at holding his head up, Vidar sees, now, the orc, Fu’shj. It’s sitting on its knees, one hand on its cock as it guides it and the other on the ground, and Vidar’s legs are pulled so far apart that Fu’shj’s knees don’t even touch him. He gulps at that, snot dripping from his nose, and his gaze slips to the orc’s cock. It’s large, as long as Vidar’s forearm at least and he can’t even see it entirely. And it’s thick, too, an angry purple-ish color, and he feels the blunt head shove, shove, shove.

“Please,” Vidar begs, shaking his heads. His whole body is shaking again, trembling, breaths heaving, and he feels. He feels. He feels—

The cock breaks into him, and he screams. Throwing his head back, he gags as he feels his asshole break, blood rushing inside him, and the scream quickly turns into hiccups and sobs and tears and snot, and his whole body is tense, too tense. The cock is going deeper still, pushing onward, rearranging his innards, and Vidar can feel it.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and he loves it.

Gasping for air, his eyes clench shut and he bites on his lip until he tastes blood. Every time Fu’shj thrusts, Vidar twitches and moans brokenly, more tears slipping sideways and landing in his messy hair. He tries to hold on to something, tries to remain in control, but it’s torn from him as blood is torn from his ass.

Fu’shj is still going, Vidar notes, blubbering even in his mind. He can barely track what’s happening, but he knows that the orc hasn’t pulled out yet, is still just shoving in. And it’s so wide, and so long, and so thick, and fuck, fuck, fuck.

Vidar isn’t breathing when the orc finally stops. He’s lightheaded again, his breaths shallow and useless. Vaguely, he notes that he really can’t feel his arms at all anymore, and that he can barely feel his legs either. It feels like they’re not even there, like he doesn’t even have them and that’s not good, is it? It means something, he thinks. But he can’t remember what.

“You—” Vidar rasps, feebly, his voice barely audible. He smacks his lips and when he breathes, he feels the cock inside him move with it, nudge his internal walls further apart, tear against them, and he’s so aware of it. So aware, his world narrowed down to just the cock inside him and though his eyes opened at some point, he can’t even see anything.

Vidar groans a faint, “Why?”

His only response is a hand gripping his waist, curling around it and squeezing tight. Then the cock begins to pull out, slowly at first but then quickly, and the thrust back in is brutal.

Vidar croaks, groans, moans, spits, and shakes his head, and bites his own lips apart and still tries to strain away, tries to get away from the pain. It hurts, hurts, hurts.

Always, the thrusts go deep, as deep as they can, the warm hand on his stomach pulling him to meet the thrusts, keeping him further immobile yet. He keens, blubbers, gasps, and begs, so much begging, amidst weak screams when something inside him breaks. Vidar can’t, he can’t, he—cums on his stomach again, the cum flying and striking his face and he flinches, just the tiny movement hurting him.

“Stop, stop, stop, please, please, please,” Vidar begs, voice puny, rough, hoarse, broken. He keeps begging, but there’s no noise anymore, and he vaguely realizes he’s lost it. His eyes drive around, to, and to, and to, and they settle on the crowd of orcs sitting around the fire-pit. They’re looking right at him, Vidar thinks, but they’re doing anything. Just staring and staring, and Vidar’s eyes slide shut once more.

Fu’shj has started to grunt, groaning and huffing as it forces all the way in. The hand on Vidar’s stomach lets go, and he hardly notices before it’s on his neck, on the bloodied collar.

Through the heartbeat in his ears, the rush of his blood, and the sound of his breaths, Vidar hears Fu’shj say something. He doesn’t understand, but the hand goes form his collar to the underside of his jaw, tilting his head back, and his eyes slip open, his saliva running from his mouth. He makes a dull questioning noise, and then the orc’s cock goes deeper in yet again as Fu’shj leans further over him, tusk touching the underside of Vidar’s jaw.

He has a vivid vision of the tusk tearing through him, killing him, and he whimpers. But Fu’shj merely noses at his neck, at the his ears, going downward and—biting his shoulder. Vidar can’t even scream anymore, no noise escaping him as as he attempts to curl away.

Fu’shj lets go of his shoulder and Vidar feels blood rush from the open wound, flooding down toward the ground. His HP helpfully informs him that he’s only at ten percent of health now, and that he’s going to die soon.

He laughs wetly.

Fu’shj freezes over him, but then seems to decide to ignore it, continuing to leave deep bite-marks all over Vidar’s chest and shoulders. Vidar relaxes, forces his body to un-tense, to loosen up. He leaves his eyes open, gazing at what little of Fu’shj he can see. The cock continues to drive into him, up, up, up. He flinches and twitches, and he needs to re-relax every few seconds when he forgets.

When Fu’shj cums, it’s a surprise. Vidar is flooded with hot semen, and the cock stays deep inside him, pumping seemingly endlessly. It’s scorching, covering every piece of his innards, and he tenses up again, can’t help it.

But the cock stays inside him until every last drop is out, and then Fu’shj grabs the back of his neck and pulls his head up, keeping it still. It takes Vidar a worryingly long time to focus his gaze, to understand what he’s seeing.

His stomach is bloated, he notes. Vidar’s eyes blink rapidly, and he sniffles as he stares. His HP is at seven percent now, and his stomach is bloated and hurts, and he can no longer feel his legs at all. Just the cock inside him, the semen plugging him up and his gaze wildly veers to Fu’shj. The orc is looking at Vidar with a dark gaze, the expression unreadable. It grips his neck tight, holds his head up even when Vidar sags.