XIV. Lovely girl won't you stay, won't you stay, stay with me/All my life I was blind, I was blind, now I see
It was a month before she could smile fully again, a month before the light shone in her eyes once more – the light that was proof of her will to live. Through that month Azog had held her, had pressed his hand over her heart and said as best he could, "love," though he did not know the word; all he knew was that it explained whatever it was he felt. It explained the rush of desire he felt when near her, the overpowering need to keep her safe, the unbearable thirst to see her beautiful face and hear her voice, and it explained his inability to imagine resuming his life when she was not apart of it. And when he took her he moved only to please her, slowly and angled to make her moan with every thrust; and when she had come he turned her on her knees and slammed her hips onto his, following her shortly after. Many a time he could bring her to a second release, moving against her as she laid on her belly with her hips in the air. And every time he rolled onto his back and pulled her to his chest, holding her against him as his heart drummed to the beat of hers.
A warmer breeze blew against them when the orcs raided a village next, Azog leaving her with Daisy who had grown larger in only a months time. On their return she stood beside Yazneg waiting, and all the orcs watched enraptured as Azog lept from his warg and wrapping an arm beneath her round bottom he carried her to the tent. They did not miss the sounds of their leader and his mate as he took her, her lovely moans and his hard growls sounding in the quietest moments. There had been several many orcs who had loathed her presence in their camp, had wished to fuck her and kill her as they did all the others; but they thought this no longer. Not when the woman Azog had taken up was spoken of so highly by the few orcs who had witnessed her kindness, not when she was willing to kill for their leader. Not when she was a killer, as they were. And so gradually the orcs accepted her presence among them until they no longer cared, and many of them gave her the same kindness as they did their fellow orcs – which wasn't much kindness in all truth, but she took it with a smile all the same.
For now she could walk to the river to bathe without Azog and feel not even the slightest of fears that any of them may attack her, for they no longer leered at her. She was not theirs to have, they now fully knew, she was not theirs to dream of tasting and fucking; she was Azog's, and it was now all too clear she would remain his to the end of her days, something she seemed only too happy to remain. If Azog, their leader, were considered a king then she would be his queen; the orcs did not dare upset her. All too used to her lovely smile, which she gave often, had they become. And as quick as they were to please Azog in fear of him, they were only too quick to please her for want of nothing more than her smile: and because it greatly pleased Azog to see their good treatment of her. Brutality and cruelty was all that had been known to them, they dropped something they were struck for their stupidity, they did not obey their leader they were whipped or killed; though Azog had found happiness in Calla his treatment of his orcs did not change, and so they still bowed their heads meekly and obeyed him. But when Calla had seen an orc drop something, she had done the most astounding thing they'd ever beheld; she picked it up and handed it back to the orc, offering him a small smile and a kind word before she turned away. Never before had they witnessed any sort of beauty as they did her, and many of them grew to even love her in their orcish ways as they feared Azog.
Though she could bathe without him only the sparest few days did Azog not join her, for he could never resist the lure of her naked body. Most often Calla coaxed him out of his loincloth and into the river, allowing his hands to roam as they pleased as she cleaned herself – which ended in her on his lap moaning as he took her. And many a time she convinced him to sit in the water with her, enjoying as the days grew hot the chill from the river; and as any man in love he did as she wished simply because he loved her and she wanted him to, even though he was an orc.
Weeks turned to months, hot turned to chilled, and Azog left her more frequently to prepare to move to the Ettenmoors again for the oncoming winter. Calla spent her time without him by Yazneg, who taught her more and more of orcish and who grew more and more impressed with her cleverness as she quickly began to learn the language.
"How was your day?" Calla asked Azog as she laid over his chest after they'd lain together.
"Good," he answered, his fingers wrapped in her longer hair. "We leave in a weeks time."
"So soon?" she asked looking up his long chest at him.
He nodded staring back at her. "It is cold, food is small." She could form simple sentences, using as few and easy words as was possible, and it was all she could understand as well. But they could talk to one another on their own, Calla being able to piece sounds together to understand what he'd said if she didn't know the word he used. But out of all she had learned, there was no word for love – they were orcs, love was unknown to them; and so he used her word, or simply placed his hand over his heart staring into her eyes. She knew both, and it pleased her to no end to hear him say the word and see its truth in his eyes; when they were out of the tent and with the others he patted his chest to tell her and she would smile before doing the same.
Winter was around the bend when they made for the woods, taking them three days to arrive. Daisy had grown larger than the other orcs, now older than a year, and Calla being much smaller and lighter than the orcs had ridden her at Azog's side as they traveled. On the nights they slept under the stars Azog had tried laying with her, having no care for the other's seeing them, but she said no. "We can not," she told him pushing his hand away with a small smile.
"Why not?" he asked her, pulling her to him. "I know you want to."
She gave a short laugh shaking her head. "Yes but," she stopped not knowing how to say it was private between only the two of them, and so she pointed first to him and then to herself. "You and me."
He sighed grievously, knowing she would not let him take her, and he settled for her laying at his side; at least until Daisy squirmed her way between them and slept curled against Calla with her back to Azog.
On the second day a scout spotted a small pack of rangers, and with a vicious cold blooded growl Azog gave the order to prepare to attack. "Go with the pups, Yazneg and a few others will join you," he told her before riding out with the others.
Daisy had whined watching him leave, and Calla found that she felt the same; remembering the scars he had received the last they encountered rangers. "Come, before the rangers start to move," Yazneg told her, and she turned from Azog's pale shrinking form and ran along the others as they headed for the Ettenmoors. She did not sleep that night, lying under the stars wondering when the others would return and if Azog would be wounded when he did. She tossed and turned and stared at the stars, willing the time to pass and for Azog to return to her so she would not feel so worried it made her sick. Dawn broke and they ran the few hours to the woods before they settled and made their camp, Yazneg and another making Azog and Calla's tent before leaving her to do something else. With nothing of her own to do, the orcs telling her she did not have to help them, she laid against Daisy waiting for him come back, and she was on her feet in an instant when she heard them.
Azog got down from his warg and stabbed the large stick into the ground before her, bearing on it the head of one of the rangers he'd killed. She stared at it befuddled a moment before looking to him; it was what Daisy did, she killed an animal and many times she brought it to Calla as a gift; so Calla looked upon the head as nothing more than Azog showing his love to her, for that was exactly what he was doing.
He stared hard at her, wondering her reaction and if she would be pleased. "Are you hurt?" is what she asked him, looking at him with eyes free of horror and disgust, eyes that shone with worry and desire at seeing him.
"No," he answered shortly, seeing the relief flood through her as the corners of her mouth lifted. In place of worry lust appeared, for it had been several nights since they had lain together. With her arms around his shoulder, his arm around her bottom, their foreheads resting together as though for a kiss, he carried her to the tent and he fucked her, hard, until they were both nearly screaming.
It often took time for her to become aroused enough to enjoy his swollen manhood inside her, for he was larger than she; but he had come to know how to arouse her, how to make her dripping with need for him so that he slipped inside her with ease and pleased her. His hands on her breasts excited her, squeezing and pinching; but he loved nothing more than the taste of them, and she ignited at the feel of his tongue burning and swirling against her nipples. He never tasted anything so sweet as her, her breasts, her skin, her womanhood. In minutes he could have her writing on the ground, holding her hips still as he tortured her slowly. He had discovered how greatly his mouth pleased her by luck; he had pressed his own kisses upon her body and had heard her gasp when he kissed her there, and then he never stopped. He left her crying out, vulnerable, completely submissive to what he wanted – and he loved greatly to have that control over her, to know the reason she shuddered in delight was because of him. When he had the patience he would torment her for a long while, bringing her to the edge only to stop, and then to resume only to stop again before she came; leaving her moaning and begging him to take her. "Please," she'd cry whining, feeling her finish ebbing away another time. "Please Azog." He would look up at her, seeing the pure need in her eyes as she panted, pleading with him.
"What do you want?" he'd ask her, sliding up her body to hover over her, feeling her hips raising to seek him out.
She'd stare up at him with burning eyes, desire scorching them both. "I want you to fuck me." Her voice, low and gravelly, had him thrusting hard inside her and sending her over the edge in seconds; and then he'd bring to another, and sometimes another.
Most often he did not have the patience for this, he barely had the will to bring her to a release with his mouth before his stiffness became too painful and he would take her.
This was their winter, him leaving often with others to raid a village and get supplies, and him returning with a gift for her; sometimes a dress, or a new coat, or a new hair clip, once a new pair of boots; and most often a speared head, which not only showed his love to her, but to the others as well. He gifted her with his kill, baring his strength in battle to her. And every time he'd take her to the tent, desire at its strongest on those days, and their moans and cries were loud and rough and frequent.
When the days began to grow warmer they packed their camp and left the Ettenmoors to the river by the Mountains once more, where a scout may spot the travelers that passed anywhere near and they could reap their rewards. It was in the first days of spring, their new camp made, starting her second year with Azog, Calla fell ill.
song is Big Parade by The Lumineers.