This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.
All work is fiction intended for fantasy only, regardless of content, and consent must always be acquired when engaging in any sex act with another adult.
Please note that all characters are clearly over eighteen and written as such in all stories.
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The orc army ravaged the outskirts of the kingdom, laying waste to every town and village they came across. Even though they took losses of their own, the spears and swords of men, untrained in battle, were not enough to cut them down and send their power-hungry hides back to the mountains from where they had come.
They had to be stopped, one way or another, and that was how Briar came into it. Young and dashing, he was the prime young king, following in the path of his late father, a renowned warrior. Yet Oswin Osborne fell sick some years back, leaving the queen Athela widowed to raise their heir alone. Of course, they had the support of the kingdom and everything the castle had to offer, but it was a change that rocked both Briar and his mother to their core.
He rallied an army, the young prince, and charged off to battle, though they were still rebuilding after the great war, the last war his father had fought in. But the orcs had to be turned back, shown the full might of the kingdom, lest they fall at the feet of the orcs and care not for their fate.
Alas, Athela, his mother and the queen, was left comparatively unprotected in the castle: an expansive castle ringed by fine gardens and a moat, which was a leftover defensive measure from years gone by. No army had reached the castle since before their time, but the great war had weakened them so that the best fighters had gone with Briar.
And that was how the warlord got into the castle, storming the capital with his army. Screams cut through the air as the orcs took what they pleased, ravaging and pillaging, even raping. They didn't know the touch of morals or kindness, a harsher, rougher kind of people who came with an innate need for new territories. To them, land was power -- and, in a sense, it was. Yet they came after it with a more feral, animalistic presence about them, lacking politics and diplomacy.
No one, however, could have said they were ineffective, not as they battered the guards and hurled them into the moat, alive or dead, not caring for the mounds of bodies they left in their wake. Flags were ripped down and women cowered from them, even if no one would be spared the wrath of the orcs and the army that had come to wreak havoc.
"Unff... Arrrrggghhhh!"
Fidguf, the warlord leader, bellowed as he stormed through the castle, swinging a double-bladed axe that was heavier than most men all by itself. With green-grey skin, his great gut pushed out before him, though it was the muscle and heft of the orc that had granted him his title. With a bald head and dark, conniving eyes, no other orc had been able to best him -- not yet, at least. Perhaps when age caught up with him, Fidguf too would fall.
"I see the small human has fallen for it," he growled, stomping with a lewd smirk into the queen's quarters. "Does he not understand what happens to the women left behind? Ah... But your son ran off... He forgot you!"
Athela stood tall as the orc broke into her bedchambers, her golden hair coiled on top of her head in a braided bun. There was no one there but her and she had dressed as if she was receiving foreign dignitaries, standing firm against the monstrous brutes with the last shreds of pride she had left.
Against these monsters, I cannot show weakness, she thought, even though she had sent her staff away, hoping at that they at least could be saved. But I can stand tall now, I can be myself, to my last breath.
Yet the orc, Fidguf, smirked crudely, a fleshy, slimy tongue sliding out against his lips, though it barely retreated again.
"Ah... Queen thinks I'll end her life..." He rumbled, grabbing at his trousers, a leather harness on his left leg, holding further weapons. "But... Orcs take victory...differently!"
He roared, ripping his trousers down, a button popping off, his belt loosened, freeing a massive spire of meat. Athela's eyes widened, her hands quivering, but she could not have anticipated the change in direction. For there he was, not set to kill her, even setting his axe aside as he cracked his knuckles out, a crude smirk on his face, holding his lips steady while he gripped his massive cock.
His length of meat throbbed, already fully hard, as if it had leapt to attention the moment he came to claim his prize. Her heart skipped a beat, pounding too hard in the aftermath, her stomach churning as nausea threatened to rise, her stomach flipping with horror.
No...
Athela stiffened, a dagger clasped within her hand, which had been concealed within her dress. No... No, he would not have her!
They faced off, the queen saying nothing as she held his gaze, the two of them in a silent standoff. If she didn't move, maybe the orc wouldn't be able to do anything?
Alas, it was a false hope as the orc bellowed and covered the distance between them with a lumbering, blundering gait, though Fidguf had still been wily enough to get into the castle, to get her son away and leave the capital vulnerable. He staggered into motion too quickly for her to do anything about it, snatching up her weak wrists in his massive, meaty hands, grubby fingers curling around her frail, delicate limbs.
Well, she was frail in comparison to the orc, already a foot and a half taller than her and far wider, thick with muscle and fat, the power of their people. Fidguf laughed, a sickening rumble that rose from his gut, hurling Athela on to the bed and slamming her down. The bedframe cracked, collapsing under her, and she cried out, even if her scream was lost in the might of the beast Fidguf was.
"No! Don't!"
