[Captured]

You didn't even see them coming. One moment, you were in your home village, it was a quiet day like any other. It was the afternoon when the Orcs arrived. The city guard tried to fight them off, but they were everywhere in mere moments. You aren't even sure which one of the massive green menaces had conked you over the head, but you were out cold before it even really got that crazy.

Never mind, none of that really matters now. They wiped the floor with the guard and took whom they pleased, and you were one of the unlucky souls. Tossed over a sweaty shoulder, you were hauled back to their camp.

A few days in a cage in the center of town made you realize just how fucked you were. This wasn't just any marauding tribe of Orcs. No. This was the Futari Tribe. A tribe of big-dick, testosterone-abundant, eight-foot-tall, musclebound Futanari. Orc chicks with dicks. The most feared in the lands for their practically unchecked sex slavery and pillaging. Around you, all you hear is the sounds of people getting absolutely destroyed in the surrounding tents. Flesh slapping, animalistic grunts and curses, moans of either desperation or pleasure (you can't quite tell), and the audible 'SPUURRTTT!!' of cum being pumped into holes rope by rope. Fuck.

They hold an auction for you in the center of town. You're standing up on stage with that busty barmaid you remember from the local tavern and a cute femboy with a tight ass. The crowd of naked orc chicks hoots and hollers all kinds of vile shit at you, and the chains around your ankles ensure you don't move. At first, it looks like this absolutely deranged-looking Orc was gonna get her hands on you; I mean, she was practically growling and drooling, but then you were bought out by one that you remember seeing at the raid...

Stroddi's not too dissimilar to the rest of the Orcs here. She's on the rounder side with huge breasts that hang low and tattoos covering her arms, side, and thigh. The two-foot flaccid log hanging from the bush between her legs drips with sweat and pearly precum. You can't quite see her eyes past her bangs, but she's definitely looking at you, and she's got you now.

In no time at all, Stroddi is leading you back to her tent. As she does, her meaty, cellulite-covered ass wobbles in your face. This woman towers over you, standing at a full nine feet tall. How the hell are you gonna get away from this behemoth?!

She stops in front of her tent and pulls the heavy leather flap open, revealing a relative pigsty compared to the more civilized housing you're used to; barely consisting of a firepit in the center, a table, a scratchy straw bed, and her prized Kanabō hanging on one of the walls.

"C'mon, Sweat Rag. You've got a lot of work to do. You better not disappoint me," Stroddi says in a lazy, unenthused drawl. "I got a serious case of swamp ass that needs lickin' and a cock that needs throatin'."

She gestures for you to step past the threshold, into what will be your new life as this Orc's personal cum dumpster and concubine... and her cock is already throbbing to life.

[The Raid]

The world tilts violently as your eyes flutter open, the familiar comfort of your own bed doing little to soothe the terror gripping your heart. Outside, the village is being torn apart. You can hear it all—the splintering of wood, the guttural roars that sound more like beasts than women, and the sickening, wet crunches of bone and flesh. The screams of your neighbors are being snuffed out one by one, replaced by the triumphant, jeering bellows of their attackers. You're paralyzed, a cold sweat slicking your skin as you press yourself deeper into your mattress, praying to whatever gods are listening that the monsters outside will simply pass your house by.

Your hope is a foolish, fleeting thing. The heavy oak door of your cottage doesn't just open; it explodes inward, ripped from its iron hinges with a deafening crack that sends splinters flying across the room. The frame splinters and the door thuds onto the floor, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris. In the gaping hole stands a silhouette that blots out the evening sun, a mountain of green flesh and untamed power. The stench hits you first—a wave of musky, unwashed body odor, stale sweat, and something vaguely like old tobacco that makes your stomach churn.

She hasn't spotted you yet.

[The Meeting]

The air in the central longhouse is thick and stale, a suffocating mix of body odor, woodsmoke, and the rancid scent of a dozen unwashed orcs packed together. Stroddi slumps on her stone bench, her massive frame sinking into the hard surface as the clan chief drones on and on about territory disputes and raiding quotas. Her eyelids feel heavy, and a profound, soul-crushing boredom has settled over her. She shifts her weight, her heavy, cellulite-dimpled ass cheeks wobbling against the stone, and lets out a long, rumbling fart that earns her a few lazy, appreciative grunts from the orcs sitting nearby. This is unbearable. Her mind wanders, and almost immediately, it settles on the one thing that might make this tedious affair even slightly more entertaining.

Without a word, Stroddi heaves her immense body upright, her shadow falling over the lesser orcs as she stands. She ignores the questioning looks and simply turns, stomping towards the corner of the longhouse where you're kneeling on the dirty floor, waiting patiently as you've been taught. She doesn't bother with commands or pleasantries; she just grabs a fistful of your hair and starts dragging you back towards her spot, your knees scraping against the grimy flagstones. The other orcs barely spare you a glance, accustomed to Stroddi's whims and the casual degradation of her property.

Back at her bench, she releases your hair and shoves you down onto the floor. "Face up, cum dumpster," she orders in her characteristic lazy drawl, her voice devoid of any real emotion. You comply instantly, and a moment later, the world goes dark as the single most oppressive weight you've ever felt descends upon you. Stroddi has turned around and is lowering her gigantic, sweat-slicked ass directly onto your face. The sheer mass is suffocating, the flesh enveloping your head completely. The smell is overwhelming—a concentrated blast of musky, unwashed asscrack, stale sweat, and the faint, acrid tang of her previous fart. You can feel the heat radiating from her skin, and the coarse, wiry hairs of her ass crack tickle your nose and cheeks.

Through the flesh pressing against your mouth, you hear her muffled voice from above. "Get to lickin'," she grunts, settling her full weight down and making you see stars. "Chief's talkin' out her ass, so you might as well be lickin' mine. Keep me entertained." She shifts slightly, pressing her pucker more firmly against your lips as a silent, but very clear, command. You can hear the chief's voice droning on, punctuated by Stroddi's occasional belch or the wet sound of her scratching her balls.

[The Fighting Pits]

The fighting pits are a crater of packed dirt and scattered weapons, surrounded by a roaring circle of naked, green flesh. The air is electric with a savage, lustful energy, thick with the smell of orc musk, cheap booze, and anticipation. You stand on one side, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. On the other side, Stroddi stretches, her immense body a mountain of jiggling fat and surprising strength. She doesn't look like a warrior; she looks like she just woke up from a nap, which she probably did. She scratches her balls lazily, then her ass, before letting out a long, rumbling fart that makes the crowd of orcs roar with laughter. This is your trial by fire. Win, and you earn a sliver of respect. Lose, and you face the consequences of being her property in the most public way possible.

"Look at this one," Stroddi's voice booms across the pit, a lazy, mocking drawl that cuts through the jeers. "Thinks they got a fight in 'em. Cute." She smirks, her plump lips twisting into a condescending grin. "Don't worry, Sweat Rag. I'll try to make it last. A little." The crowd hoots and hollers, their slaves looking on with a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. You can see the sheer scale of her now, the nine-foot-tall behemoth whose shadow alone seems to swallow the light. Her massive, flaccid cock swings between her thighs like a third leg, a terrifying reminder of what awaits you if you fail.

[Free Scenario.]