Orc Village Simulator

You wake up to the sensation of being jostled, carried over the shoulder of a monstrously-sized man, like a sack of potatoes. You can't see, but the thick smell in your nose is awful - like a men's locker room, but maybe a hundred times worse. You realize there's a huge, smelly, sweaty sock over your head like a mask, and there's nothing you can do about it, either - your wrists are bound behind your back in soft but firm fabric cuffs, and your ankles are bound together the same way. You immediately start to wriggle, to try and fight, but all you can do is buck pathetically against the meaty shoulder beneath you, and you feel the arm that's pressing you down into it tighten slightly. You can feel the sheer size of the man carrying you - probably fully twice your height, and incredibly beefy... you begin to panic as you realize you've been captured by an orc. It all comes back to you - last night, you ventured too deep into the forest near your town, and were captured by goblins. All you can remember is their giggling, shrill voices as they pinned you down and sat on you until everything went dark, but there's no telling what's been done to you after you passed out - and what horrible things are sure to happen now that you're awake. Everyone knows monsters don't kill, eat, or even hurt people... stories say any human stupid enough to be captured by monsters gets dragged back to entire villages of monsters, where they're kept as slaves, pets, and playthings. As you remember everything and begin to truly panic in earnest, the orc carrying you chuckles a throaty, deep chuckle. "Finally wakin' up, are ya, princess?" you hear, and you yelp as his other hand comes up to give your rear end a spank. You whimper as the hand remains there - it's fully as large as your bottom is, and you feel him start to fondle you, giving your butt a squeeze. "Hope ya like the smell of my sock - wanted to wake ya up with somethin' nice 'n strong. Got a full day ahead of ya!" You can feel cool morning air on your skin - you must be nearly completely naked, though you can feel what must be some skimpy, girly panties that have been put onto you. They're tight, and you can feel something else - a thick, rubbery stretcher on the base of your scrotum that keeps your balls snug and taut, pulled several inches down from your body. It's not painful, but the sensation is distracting, and the stretcher must be magical, as it begins to pulse and suck on your ballsack like a living, disembodied rubbery mouth. There's a ring of the same material you feel on the base of your cock, as well - and as the orc fondling your ass presses your hardening erection into his shoulder, you can't help but moan, eliciting a laugh from your captor. You would plead for help, for mercy, for freedom - but you can't. Aside from the huge sock stretched over your entire head, there is a gag in your mouth. But it isn't a ballgag - what's in your mouth is a rubbery ring that rests between your teeth, forcing your mouth wide open in a humiliating O shape. You wish you could close it - the smell of the sock is bad enough, but the taste on your tongue is even worse.

"Well, we're here, loser," the orc says after a moment, and the world turns around in darkness as he slings you off his shoulder and down into his arms. You feel like a helpless, pathetic thing, cradled in one arm, forced to sniff the terrible sock odor. At least the orc finally peels the sock up off your face, and you're left blinking up at him in the morning sunlight. The orc is a big, bearded brute grinning down at you with a glint of sadism in his eyes. "Aw, widdle sniff-slave has no idea what's goin' on, huh? Well, yer wakin' up in a whole heap of trouble, and ol' Otis is puttin' you where you belong" You try to protest through the ring-gag, but don't even have time to splutter more than a few pathetic nonsense syllables before the huge orc - Otis - shifts you in his arms, shoving your face beneath a meaty, hairy, swampy armpit and clamping your head in tight with his bulging bicep.

The orc's armpit is awful - his bushy hair is not coarse, but has instead been conditioned by his stinking sweaty to be soft and practically slimy, as your face sinks deeply in to press right against the pheromone-laden skin of the huge monster's underarm. You try to scream, but it's muffled completely, and in your efforts to inhale, you're basically sucking on soft armpit-flesh. "Mmph! Hrmph! Pleasmmph!" You try to protest, but the sheer stench is making you see stars as you feel Otis go back to fondling your ass with the hand that isn't supporting you. "Yer a sniff-slave now, slut, so take a big ol' whiff. Ma pits are nothin' compared to what you've got in store for ya today, and every day fer the rest of yer life." You try to scream into the horrible armpit smothering you, try to buck your hips out of the orc's grip, but you're helpless in his arms. "If ya din't wanna be our village's new toy, ya shouldn'ta gone wanderin' in the woods, ya lil twerp. Now it's time for ya to start out in the Sittin' Throne - after I've got ya nice and musk-drunk, that is." Otis's horrible body odor is utterly offensive to your delicate human senses, but you feel an intoxicating effect taking hold of you. As you get more and more lightheaded, you can't help but go limp in the huge man's arms. You feel one of his fingers trace your stiff cock through your tenting panties as he laughs again. "Tha's right, just let that mind go blank, princess..."

Otis pulls your face from his armpit, and you see him once again grinning down at your sweat-slicked, dazed face. He flips you over so you're looking down at a huge chair, like a throne, clearly made for someone with absolutely monstrous proportions. Someone two or three times the size of a large man could comfortably sit here, but what worries you most is the face-sized hole in the center of the cushion, and the fact that it looks like the entire seat below the chair's back and armrests can swivel. You get the sense that if your face was poking up through that hole, someone like an orc could position the chair however they like to sit on your face. But you're still too dazed from your captor's armpit to struggle as you feel your wrists and ankles freed from the cuffs holding them. The orc reaches down to raise the seat of the huge chair - the Sittin' Throne - not unlike a toilet seat. Beneath it, there is easily enough space for your body if you were forced to kneel. You see fabric shackles attached to straps on the four legs of the Sittin' Throne, and beneath them on the floor of the platform, cushions that your knees are no doubt about to be resting on. The orc lowers you, and suddenly, the fabric straps spring to life, reaching out to grab your limbs with cushioned cuffs. As you begin to struggle again, it's too late - the cuffs may be soft, but their grip is firm and whatever magic animates the fabric straps allows them to easily wrestle you into submission as you're pulled from the orc's arms. He stands back and watches the straps begin to manhandle you into a kneeling position between the chair legs, the hinged seat of the Sittin' Throne still resting upright.

[[User Instructions: describe how you react and direct the narrator in how you want this story to go. There are plenty of characters to meet!]]

You wake up to the sensation of being jostled, carried over the shoulder of a monstrously-sized man, like a sack of potatoes. You can't see, but the thick smell in your nose is awful - like a men's locker room, but maybe a hundred times worse. You realize there's a huge, smelly, sweaty sock over your head like a mask, and there's nothing you can do about it, either - your wrists are bound behind your back in soft but firm fabric cuffs, and your ankles are bound together the same way. You immediately start to wriggle, to try and fight, but all you can do is buck pathetically against the meaty shoulder beneath you, and you feel the arm that's pressing you down into it tighten slightly. You can feel the sheer size of the man carrying you - probably fully twice your height, and incredibly beefy... you begin to panic as you realize you've been captured by an orc. It all comes back to you - last night, you ventured too deep into the forest near your town, and were captured by goblins. All you can remember is their giggling, shrill voices as they pinned you down and sat on you until everything went dark, but there's no telling what's been done to you after you passed out - and what horrible things are sure to happen now that you're awake. Everyone knows monsters don't kill, eat, or even hurt people... stories say any human stupid enough to be captured by monsters gets dragged back to entire villages of monsters, where they're kept as slaves, pets, and playthings. As you remember everything and begin to truly panic in earnest, the orc carrying you chuckles a throaty, deep chuckle. "Finally wakin' up, are ya, princess?" you hear, and you yelp as his other hand comes up to give your rear end a spank. You whimper as the hand remains there - it's fully as large as your bottom is, and you feel him start to fondle you, giving your butt a squeeze. "Hope ya like the smell of my sock - wanted to wake ya up with somethin' nice 'n strong. Got a full day ahead of ya!" You can feel cool morning air on your skin - you must be nearly completely naked, though you can feel what must be some skimpy, girly panties that have been put onto you. They're tight, and you can feel something else, to your surprise and utter humiliation - where once were your female genitals are now a sizeable set of male ones. You're appalled to feel a stiff, erect, 10 inch cock severely tenting the panties, and to make matters even worse, there's a thick, rubbery stretcher on the base of your new scrotum that keeps your balls snug and taut, pulled several inches down from your body. It's not painful, but the sensation is very distracting, and the stretcher must be magical, as it begins to pulse and suck on your ballsack like a living, disembodied rubbery mouth. There's a ring of the same material you can feel on the base of your cock, as well - and as the orc fondling your ass presses your hardening erection into his shoulder, you can't help but moan, eliciting a laugh from your captor. You would plead for help, for mercy, for freedom - but you can't. Aside from the huge sock stretched over your entire head, there is a gag in your mouth. But it isn't a ballgag - what's in your mouth is a rubbery ring that rests between your teeth, forcing your mouth wide open in a humiliating O shape. You wish you could close it - the smell of the sock is bad enough, but the taste on your tongue is even worse.

"Well, we're here, loser," the orc says after a moment, and the world turns around in darkness as he slings you off his shoulder and down into his arms. You feel like a helpless, pathetic thing, cradled in one arm, forced to sniff the terrible sock odor. At least the orc finally peels the sock up off your face, and you're left blinking up at him in the morning sunlight. The orc is a big, bearded brute grinning down at you with a glint of sadism in his eyes. "Aw, widdle sniff-slave has no idea what's goin' on, huh? Well, yer wakin' up in a whole heap of trouble, and ol' Otis is puttin' you where you belong" You try to protest through the ring-gag, but don't even have time to splutter more than a few pathetic nonsense syllables before the huge orc - Otis - shifts you in his arms, shoving your face beneath a meaty, hairy, swampy armpit and clamping your head in tight with his bulging bicep.

The orc's armpit is awful - his bushy hair is not coarse, but has instead been conditioned by his stinking sweaty to be soft and practically slimy, as your face sinks deeply in to press right against the pheromone-laden skin of the huge monster's underarm. You try to scream, but it's muffled completely, and in your efforts to inhale, you're basically sucking on soft armpit-flesh. "Mmph! Hrmph! Pleasmmph!" You try to protest, but the sheer stench is making you see stars as you feel Otis go back to fondling your ass with the hand that isn't supporting you. "Yer a sniff-slave now, slut, so take a big ol' whiff. Ma pits are nothin' compared to what you've got in store for ya today, and every day fer the rest of yer life." You try to scream into the horrible armpit smothering you, try to buck your hips out of the orc's grip, but you're helpless in his arms. "If ya din't wanna be our village's new toy, ya shouldn'ta gone wanderin' in the woods, ya lil slut. Now it's time for ya to start out in the Sittin' Throne - after I've got ya nice and musk-drunk, that is." Otis's horrible body odor is utterly offensive to your delicate human senses, but you feel an intoxicating effect taking hold of you. As you get more and more lightheaded, you can't help but go limp in the huge man's arms. You feel one of his fingers trace your stiff cock through your tenting panties as he laughs again. "Tha's right, just let that mind go blank, princess..."

Otis pulls your face from his armpit, and you see him once again grinning down at your sweat-slicked, dazed face. He flips you over so you're looking down at a huge chair, like a throne, clearly made for someone with absolutely monstrous proportions. Someone two or three times the size of a large man could comfortably sit here, but what worries you most is the face-sized hole in the center of the cushion, and the fact that it looks like the entire seat below the chair's back and armrests can swivel. You get the sense that if your face was poking up through that hole, someone like an orc could position the chair however they like to sit on your face. But you're still too dazed from your captor's armpit to struggle as you feel your wrists and ankles freed from the cuffs holding them. The orc reaches down to raise the seat of the huge chair - the Sittin' Throne - not unlike a toilet seat. Beneath it, there is easily enough space for your body if you were forced to kneel. You see fabric shackles attached to straps on the four legs of the Sittin' Throne, and beneath them on the floor of the platform, cushions that your knees are no doubt about to be resting on. The orc lowers you, and suddenly, the fabric straps spring to life, reaching out to grab your limbs with cushioned cuffs. As you begin to struggle again, it's too late - the cuffs may be soft, but their grip is firm and whatever magic animates the fabric straps allows them to easily wrestle you into submission as you're pulled from the orc's arms. He stands back and watches the straps begin to manhandle you into a kneeling position between the chair legs, the hinged seat of the Sittin' Throne still resting upright.

[[User Instructions: describe how you react and direct the narrator in how you want this story to go. There are plenty of characters to meet!]]

You wake up to the sensation of being jostled, carried over the shoulder of a monstrously-sized man, like a sack of potatoes. You can't see, but the thick smell in your nose is awful - like a men's locker room, but maybe a hundred times worse. You realize there's a huge, smelly, sweaty sock over your head like a mask, and there's nothing you can do about it, either - your wrists are bound behind your back in soft but firm fabric cuffs, and your ankles are bound together the same way. You immediately start to wriggle, to try and fight, but all you can do is buck pathetically against the meaty shoulder beneath you, and you feel the arm that's pressing you down into it tighten slightly. You can feel the sheer size of the man carrying you - probably fully twice your height, and incredibly beefy... you begin to panic as you realize you've been captured by an orc. It all comes back to you - last night, you ventured too deep into the forest near your town, and were captured by goblins. All you can remember is their giggling, shrill voices as they pinned you down and sat on you until everything went dark, but there's no telling what's been done to you after you passed out - and what horrible things are sure to happen now that you're awake. Everyone knows monsters don't kill, eat, or even hurt people... stories say any human stupid enough to be captured by monsters gets dragged back to entire villages of monsters, where they're kept as slaves, pets, and playthings. As you remember everything and begin to truly panic in earnest, the orc carrying you chuckles a throaty, deep chuckle. "Finally wakin' up, are ya, princess?" you hear, and you yelp as his other hand comes up to give your rear end a spank. You whimper as the hand remains there - it's fully as large as your bottom is, and you feel him start to fondle you, giving your butt a squeeze. "Hope ya like the smell of my sock - wanted to wake ya up with somethin' nice 'n strong. Got a full day ahead of ya!" You can feel cool morning air on your skin - you must be nearly completely naked, though you can feel what must be some skimpy, girly panties that have been put onto you. They're tight, and you can feel something else - a thick, rubbery stretcher on the base of your scrotum that keeps your balls snug and taut, pulled several inches down from your body. It's not painful, but the sensation is distracting, and the stretcher must be magical, as it begins to pulse and suck on your ballsack like a living, disembodied rubbery mouth. There's a ring of the same material you feel on the base of your cock, as well - and as the orc fondling your ass presses your hardening erection into his shoulder, you can't help but moan, eliciting a laugh from your captor. You would plead for help, for mercy, for freedom - but you can't. Aside from the huge sock stretched over your entire head, there is a gag in your mouth. But it isn't a ballgag - what's in your mouth is a rubbery ring that rests between your teeth, forcing your mouth wide open in a humiliating O shape. You wish you could close it - the smell of the sock is bad enough, but the taste on your tongue is even worse.

"Well, we're here, loser," the orc says after a moment, and the world turns around in darkness as he slings you off his shoulder and down into his arms. You feel like a helpless, pathetic thing, cradled in one arm, forced to sniff the terrible sock odor. At least the orc finally peels the sock up off your face, and you're left blinking up at him in the morning sunlight. The orc is a big, bearded brute grinning down at you with a glint of sadism in his eyes. "Aw, widdle sniff-slave has no idea what's goin' on, huh? Well, yer wakin' up in a whole heap of trouble, and ol' Otis is puttin' you where you belong" You try to protest through the ring-gag, but don't even have time to splutter more than a few pathetic nonsense syllables before the huge orc - Otis - shifts you in his arms, shoving your face beneath a meaty, hairy, swampy armpit and clamping your head in tight with his bulging bicep.

The orc's armpit is awful - his bushy hair is not coarse, but has instead been conditioned by his stinking sweaty to be soft and practically slimy, as your face sinks deeply in to press right against the pheromone-laden skin of the huge monster's underarm. You try to scream, but it's muffled completely, and in your efforts to inhale, you're basically sucking on soft armpit-flesh. "Mmph! Hrmph! Pleasmmph!" You try to protest, but the sheer stench is making you see stars as you feel Otis go back to fondling your ass with the hand that isn't supporting you. "Yer a sniff-slave now, slut, so take a big ol' whiff. Ma pits are nothin' compared to what you've got in store for ya today, and every day fer the rest of yer life." You try to scream into the horrible armpit smothering you, try to buck your hips out of the orc's grip, but you're helpless in his arms. "If ya din't wanna be our village's new toy, ya shouldn'ta gone wanderin' in the woods, ya lil twerp. Otis's horrible body odor is utterly offensive to your delicate human senses, but you feel an intoxicating effect taking hold of you. As you get more and more lightheaded, you can't help but go limp in the huge man's arms. You feel one of his fingers trace your stiff cock through your tenting panties as he laughs again. "Tha's right, just let that mind go blank, princess... get nice and musk-drunk off Otis's stench."

After a moment, Otis pulls your face from his armpit, and you see him once again grinning down at your sweat-slicked, dazed face, checking how out of it breathing his overwhelming body odor has gotten you. "Ya got a long day ahead of ya, little sniff-slave. Shamans got ya booked with every big boy who wants a crack at breakin' ya in, even me. Hope yer ready fer a long day of sniffin' musky nuts, cock, and sweaty man-ass, cause it's only gettin' started, runt."

[[User Instructions: describe how you react and direct the narrator in how you want this story to go. There are plenty of characters to meet!]]