This is the first chapter of my partners erotica novel/novella she’s working on and would love some feedback if anyone has any, links to the full chapter and her erotica writing Twitter at the bottom
When I open my eyes, three things are clear;
My husband was wrong about our forces being able to repel the ‘pig men’ of the mountain.
Said ‘Pig men’ have slaughtered the entirety of the compound.
I am, miraculously, alive.
My vison is blurry, my mind too, I recall being at dinner with my husband (if that’s what a man whom I had met once before being informed of a betrothal can really be called?), a messenger bursting through the longhouse doors, frantically gibbering about an incoming hoard of orcs.
I stood at the news, already planning our flight, mentally measuring how many caravans we could fill with our essentials before running. My husband merely scoffed, ordered me to sit back down.
“Be still wife, we are wise and strong warriors, have we no archers on the walls?” he raised one eyebrow, how I hate when he does that, “We will slay them at our walls and show these pigs not to trifle with elves.”
One look around me at the burning village tells me that our men were not able to slay them at our walls, I could have told him that. Before I was brought here my own tribe had been run off land so many times I lost count. You can not repel the orcs, there are too many, they are too strong, and they do not fall.
Everything smells of fire and death, and roasting meat, I suppose they’ve set up camp for the night?
I am laying on the ground, the satin of my green gown is stained with blood and soot, I can see that much as I shift, which tells me none of my bones are broken. My movement alerts me to something more; my wrists and ankles are bound together, I’m almost relieved, they wouldn’t tie me up to kill me later, surely?
I can hear breathing, I dare to lift my head and try to muzzily look around.
Ah. There are two Orc men, one either side of me. They’re both holding spears with cruel curved blades, one is still stained with dried blood. My moving doesn’t seem to have disturbed either of them. Of course it hasn’t, it isn’t as if I could run away with my ankles bound, this is probably the boring duty for them, they’d probably much rather be with their comrades, dealing with the corpses and the pillaged goods.
I manage to at least right myself into a sitting position, my blonde hair causes some hassle, it was already long when I came here only a week ago and my husband insisted I let it grow into such a length as it looks more a cape. I end up seated upon my own locks and wince, it hurts but I suspect pain is to become something I am very familiar with.
This gives me a chance to look around and take in the devastation. I can see the remains of the longhouse, it looks as though someone tore the roof off before setting fire to it, I don’t think they’ve even salvaged anything from inside. Same with many of the houses in the compound.
There’s a huge campfire at the base of the huge oak around which this compound was built. I think they intend to burn it along with-
I gasp in horror, my mind struggling to comprehend what I see.
They’re burning… burning the bodies. That’s what the smell of roasting pork is. I shudder and avert my eyes; I can’t help myself by showing fear now. I am alive, for whatever reason. That has to be the key, I am alive and I can keep myself that way.
The orc men around me are typical of their race, their legs are built like tree trunks, their skin ebony black and traced with thick veins. Their thighs are huge, I doubt I could put my arms around one even at a stretch, we elves are built so small and dainty. I curse us for that, if I was stronger I could fight.
They wear only loincloths, I recall my father once telling me that they consider armour dishonourable, as if one can cheat at war.
Orc’s faces are not so blessed as we elves, no one could call them beautiful. Their noses are inevitably upturned to give them the appearance of a snout (hence the uncharitable name of pig men), their lips sprout sharp fangs from the corners. The only part of their faces any elf would consider possibly approaching presentable are their eyes, always in shades of yellow, bronze and gold.
My two captors have facial hair too, white hair sprouting into sideburns and leading up into the top-knotted ponytails they wear. I find myself a little fascinated; elves do not grow facial hair, it has the draw of the unusual.
Their torsos are muscular as the rest of them, criss-crossed with tattoos which (I swallow hard) only serve to emphasise every aspect of their masculine bodies. White lines of ink swirl across pectoral muscles, circling nipples and sweeping away across shoulders broader than buildings. Sharp, striking lines outline tense abdominals and almost arrow-like draw the eyes back down towards their loincloths, which-
I shake my head dizzily. My heart is racing in my chest, I must survive. I must survive, and not lay here gazing at these heaving, masculine bodies around me. Perhaps I could shuffle on my backside to get away while they seem to not be paying attention?
My two guards move suddenly, giving me fright as they stand to attention, though their expressions don’t change. Alerted, I turn my gaze to where they are looking and my breath is taken away.
There’s a bigger male orc stood before me. Like his men his hair is white, but longer, plaited not in the decorative way of elfin men but down his back like ship-rope, he too is mostly naked, and if anything his tattoos are more emphatically drawing the eye downwards, more obviously crying out for the onlooker to look down, to-
My breath catches, I can’t help it and I feel the blush of shame racing across my skin, I can only hope the soot hides it. His loincloth is bulging, and doing little to disguise the shape of what lies beneath. Some traitorous part of my mind remarks that I doubt I could get both my hands around whatever dwells within.
He chuckles. He saw me look.
I gulp, summon my courage, “Please, I-“
He reaches out casually and grasps a handful of my hair, in one movement curving it around his fist and twisting, the pain makes me yelp. He’s now bent over, closer to my face I can see his skin is shimmery with sweat. He smells of fire and carnage.
“You speak when I say.” He grunts, his voice is deep, more a base growl than a voice. I try to meet his eyes, though my body trembles. “What were you here?” he waves vaguely around at the devastated compound.
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Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/8iupdp/captive_chapter_1_fantasy_rape_violent
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