Date: Wed, 27 Apr 2005 03:18:17 -0700 From: The Satyr Subject: Stag God is Born, Epilogues 1 and 2 EPILOGUE THE FIRST, TWO YEARS LATER "Master Bayan!" the captain of the guard saluted smartly as he hurried into the room. His uniform was blood and mud spattered, and it bore the ragged marks of wounds -- not wounds by sword or spear, but by wicked talons and teeth. "We don't know what is going on, sirrah. The western gate was attacked by wolves -- they tore three of the guards apart before running off back into the darkened areas." Artemi Bayan straightened his robes about himself, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Things swooped and dived outside of his window, battering the latched wooden shutters with wings and talons. This surely was some kind of nightmare. "What in the hell is going on?" he muttered. He looked at the foot of his bed, where Imbru -- in the place that he now slept, as Master Bayan's body slave -- was awake but unmoving, his black eyes watching everything going on around him with some measure of uncertainty and fear. The screams of soldiers indicated that something had broken through one of the gates, and the flashing of torches showed that men were running to bolster those defenses. "Tell the men to fall back away from the outer gates. Those damned things aren't meant to be defensible. Regroup in the keephouse proper. I will be right there." The soldier saluted one again, spun on his heel and was gone, closing the door tightly behind him. "What do you make of it, Imbru?" he asked the orc, who shrugged. The merchant prince regarded the greenskin closely. It had been over two years since he'd bought the orc's game of pretending to be the stupid savage. However, that didn't mean the bull-hung orc was particularly forthcoming about his thoughts or ideas. "Well, its just as well, I suppose. I'm betting this is some idiot gambit by one of the Tulreth Brethren and their pet sorcerers. When I take this before the...is...is it getting darker in here?" Artemi looked around at the gathering gloom, until his eyes followed the lengthening shadows to the dying flame in the grate. His brow furrowed as he sought the source of the fire's demise. He walked over to the hearth, seeking rivulets of water, or pouring smoke that might suffocate the flame, but found nothing but a steadily dying fire. It wasn't until the fire was slain, leaving only a corpse of cherry-red embers, that the scratching inside the chimney began and quickly found its way towards him. Aretmi spat a curse and threw himself away from the hearth, just as it exploded outward in soot and smoke. In the middle of the billowing cloud of black came a great horned owl. The creature landed in the middle of the rug (now ruined by the soot, his merchant's brain told him peevishly) and shook out its feathers. "What the fuck?" Artemi cursed, reaching for the stout walking stick in the corner. Then, he stopped, as if frozen in mid-reach. The owl shook itself once, twice, thrice, stretching out its wings with each movement. Each time, its wingspan grew larger and larger. Soon, its feathered body warped, muscles and bones stretching horribly as it changed shape. By the time Artemi had a chance to realize what was going on, the change was complete, and He stood before them, flesh gleaming with sweat, standing in the center of a circle of soot-stained owl feathers. He stood nearly seven feet tall, with massively broad shoulders that would never fit through a door made for mortal men. He was very nearly naked, save for a set of buckskin breeches that clung tightly to his muscled thighs, ass and ample loin. His torso was naked of clothing, but heavily covered in the swirling blue tattoos favored by orcish initiates of the animal cults. His hair was long and the color of oak bark, and it was tangled with feathers, leaves and thorny twigs. From just above his temples sprouted a pair of velvet-covered antlers of seven tines, rising nearly another full foot above his head. At his braided leather belt hung several bags of beaded leather and rope, and a strange weapon crafted of a mighty stag's antler, reinforced with bands of bronze, with its handle wrapped in leather and bronze studs. His massive hands were the hands of a warrior and hunter. But it was his face that forced Artemi to gasp for breath. It was a human face, with eyes the color of the night sky surrounding the full moon. His lips were full and thick, and his strong cheeks and jaw were mainly shaven (though ill done, the civilized man in him noted), his moustache and chin-beard were worn long. Into the goatee was braided small bits of animal bone and colored glass beads. A cold fist gripped his guts as he realized that he was staring into the face of Ashlan -- horribly changed into some animal-thing out of orcish legend, but it was certainly his nephew. The one he'd brutalized, and used like a thing, for his own whims. The one who'd escaped from him two years ago. Artemi strangled a cry and dove for the door, but not before Ashlan gestured and spoke a word in the language that had, when spoken by the Mother in the Foundling Ages, excited the stars into forming the sun and had urged the lands to rise up from the wet seas. The wood of the door frame barely remembered that tongue, but it did remember it, and answered. Artemi lay hands on the latch and pulled with all his might, but to no avail -- the wood of the door and the wood of the frame had grown together, intertwining their lines like the trunks of two trees grown together until there was no difference between the two, sealing the door until such time as they were called upon to separate once more. Artemi spun around, but not fast enough, for the Hunter God was upon him. Ashlan stepped once and twice, placing his giant tree-trunk of leg in Artemi's path. The merchant prince nearly tripped over the sudden obstacle, but Ashlan's quick, strong hands snatched him up by the back of his robes and lifted him aloft. "You were right, in that long ago night, uncle of mine," came the booming voice right in his face. His breath smelled of tree sap and animal musk. "You were right to wish that I'd never come into your room, for that single action has led us to this place. You chose to use me as your bitch, I recall, uncle-mine." Ashlan threw him onto the bed and walked towards it, stopping at the sight of Imbru on his knees on the floor, hiding his face in terror and adoration. Ashlan smiled, and something deep in Artemi's stomach -- or loins -- wished that smile was for him. Ashlan knelt and pulled Imbru up by his shoulders. "I am unworthy, O Stag of Seven Tines," Imbru wept, tears of shame running down his face. He looked up into the face of the Stag God miserably. "I have stayed here, when I have had the chance to flee many times over. I don't know why, Mighty One, save that I am pathetic and broken by the will of the humans. I have even been forced to take the seed of the merchant, and now do so willingly, with no fight." Ashlan pulled him close, wrapping his arms around the sobbing orc. For several heartbeats, he held him close, like a father holding his son, or like a lover comforting his beloved. And for every moment of it, Ashlan's eyes bore into Artemi, who found himself frozen under that gaze, prey before predator. "Enough. You stayed here in the early years because you had a role to play. The will of the gods is greater than the pride of one brave, Imbru, and you have served the gods well. You were here when I was newly awakened to my destiny, and without you, I would have been slain by humans." Ashlan looked now into Imbru's eyes, seeing only his own face reflected there. "And you stayed after because I told you I would be back for you. You knew that if you fled, there was a chance you would never know if I had come into my power. But if you stayed, there was no way I could not return for you." Ashlan gestured and the door opened. He pushed Imbru towards it. "Go. I promised you your freedom. I give it to you now. The soldiers are concentrated on the front gate -- they will not expect an attempted breakout. Flee this place and go into the lands of your people. At the back gate waits The King of Ballain Wood, a mighty stag of five tines. He will carry you to freedom. I have business here," he said, turning his gaze back towards Artemi once more. Imbru started toward the door and then stopped, stepping quickly back to Ashlan's side and, dropping to his knees, kissed his mighty, taloned feet. Then, the orc was gone and the door sealed once more. Ashlan turned back to Artemi, who cowered in the bed. "Now...now what?" Artemi asked, his voice breaking. "What do you think, uncle?" Ashlan said, striding towards the bed. His antlers caught in the tapestry that formed the bed's canopy, and with a toss of his head, he ripped it to shreds. He stepped up to the edge of the bed and placed one knee upon the bed, allowing his weight to rest upon it. The bed creaked ominously, and Ashlan chuckled. "Nothing in the world goes unrewarded, Artemi Bayan. Nor unpunished," he said with a wicked grin that showed slightly pointed eyeteeth. In a sudden burst, Artemi was moving, throwing the thick coverlet over Ashlan's head, hoping to tangle it in his antlers, as he sped for the window. Ashlan roared his anger as he ripped at the quilted cloth, a bellow that drove Artemi mad with fear. He wasn't even able to take hold of the latch before the Stag God that used to be his nephew was upon him. In the wink of an eye, Artemi was pulled away from the window. Ashlan lay a massive hand on his uncle's neck and planted a knee in his lower back and spun on his heel, driving the man to the ground. Artemi gasped for air as Ashlan straddled him, his massively muscular thighs threatening to crush Artemi's ribcage should he choose. With only the slightest effort, Ashlan ripped the robe away, exposing his uncle's nakedness. Ashlan chucked, a primal sound that sounded more akin to a growl than any laughter. With one arm, he hooked his uncle's legs upward, pressing him to the ground strongly while his other hand reached into one of his belt pouches for the slimy stuff there. His thick fingers adroitly applied the grease to the tenderness between Artemi's asscheeks, working it in. Artemi thrashed and fought while Ashlan held him nearly immobile by his legs. "Yes, that's good, uncle. Fight it -- it's so much nicer when you fight it." With that, Ashlan spread and lowered Artemi's legs, so that he was positioned between them. With a lascivious grin -- the grin of the very devil, it was -- he slathered the remnants of the greasy stuff over his huge cock. Artemi blanched when he saw the massive instrument, easily the size of a baby's arm and as hard as stone. "God, please, no. You'll...my god, you'll tear me apart." Ashlan simply grinned at this. "Ohho. You are right to call me "god," Artemi Bayan, and I am about to introduce your nethers to one of my sacraments." He lowered his gaze to the work at hand, and began to work the head of his cock into the man's hole, gripping the end of it in his fist and working it in circles, slowly coaxing it into the ass of the man who once raped him. Artemi gritted his teeth and hissed at the pain. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes and he tried to thrash about again. With a gutteral growl, Ashlan planted one massive paw on the man's chest and forced him to the ground again, knocking his arms out from under him -- and as he did so, he punched his thick hips forward, driving his massive cudgel of a cock halfway into Artemi's guts. Artemi nearly passed out from the pain; indeed, his vision blacked somewhat and when he was aware again, mere heartbeats later, his mouth was filled with the tongue of the mighty Stag God. At some point, Ashlan had pulled him up off the floor, impaling him on his cock and wrapping his arms around his torso, allowing him to fuck the merchant and kiss him at the same time. Ashlan slowly arched his lower back and hips rhythmically, pulling his fat cock free from Artemi's ass and then slowly forcing it back in. This continued for many minutes and the heat radiated by Ashlan was intense, and overwhelming. Artemi's senses were overwhelmed by the powerful musk and the sensations caused by the massive cock in his ass. At some point, Ashlan shifted again, this time laying Artemi's back on the floor and holding his legs upraised over his head, granting Ashlan plenty of access to the merchant's hole. The horned creature drove his cock deeply into the recesses of Artemi's body. "Oh, gods. Gods," his uncle moaned, gasping for air as the hard cock of his own nephew -- changed by the touch of savage gods -- drove deeply into him, igniting a fire deep within his bowels. Ashlan smiled a wicked smile and pressed himself further forward, raising himself up on his knees and bracing his body against the bent-in-half form of his uncle, who could do nothing but endure the onslaught of the fat cock in his ass. "Not gods, uncle-mine. God. Just one. Me," Ashlan purred, a deep basso rumble that reverberated from his mighty chest, a rumble that Artemi could feel even despite the pumping his ass was experiencing. "Truly, Ashlan?" his uncle's gaze met his own. There was fear in his eyes, and lust. "Are you truly a god now, or just some savage orc demon?" Ashlan snarled and pushed his uncle's body forward even further, skidding his sweaty flesh along the hardwood floor as he brutally punched his thick, purpling cock deep into the man's body. Artemi nearly screamed, would have screamed, save for the meaty paw resting over his mouth. "To you...to men...there is no difference. Your kind will call me a demon, and that is a name I will relish, uncle-mine. Tell my father that his son is dead, that he is swept away in the face of the mighty flood that is the truth of the Stag God. This," he snarled, again punching his hips forward, this time hitting a place inside Artemi's ass that caused him to shudder in pleasure/pain, caused his cock to harden and spit a thread of clear slime from its head. "This is the only glory, the only truth, the only sacrament. We are savage creatures, driven to embrace the heat that lies at the center of our hearts. And only those men who try to deny will be enslaved by it." Ashlan raised himself up on his haunches and straightened. Reaching down, he pulled his hard cock out of Artemi's ass with a wet sound and grasped the man by his hip. With an almost negligent action, he turned him over, positioning himself between his legs. He remained on one knee, planting his other foot firmly beside his uncle's hot, sweaty body, and aimed the fat head of his cock back at Artemi's twitching asshole, which gaped and spasmed obscenely, almost expressing a craving to be filled once more. A craving that Ashlan quickly fulfilled -- after all, was not the answering of prayers the first duty of a god? Once more he worked the head of his cock into the asshole offered up to him like a sacrifice, but this time, there was little pain for Artemi. Ashlan lunged forward, and sank his cock to the hilt in the man's nethers. Both men gasped their pleasure, and Ashlan pulled halfway out and raised his hips, allowing him to punch his cock forward and scrape along that same spot deep in Artemi's hole that gave him such pleasure. Artemi could almost swear that the cock in his ass swelled to allow Ashlan to hit it just perfectly. The assault continued, and it was a short time before the sheer force and repetition of the fucking he was receiving -- bent in half, on his knees on the ground, being ridden like a bitch in heat and loving every moment of it -- drove him over the edge and his elbows gave out as his hard cock spat jet after jet of cum, drenching the floor beneath him in his seed. Then, Ashlan's body tensed, and he pulled Artemi near. The scent of the Stag God intensified to nearly overwhelming levels as his cock twitched and spat its seed deep into the mortal man. It was like liquid fire deep in his bowels. Artemi twitched and trembled as he felt it and was terrified. The two lay panting on the floor in an untidy, sweaty pile. Artemi gasped as he tried to move and found himself without the strength to do so. "Hush," the deep voice of Ashlan crooned to him. "Don't move. You've never experienced the seed of a god, uncle-mine, especially that of the Stag God. Fight it, and it will make you ill. Lay back, bask in the sensations it brings, and you will be strengthened by it." Ashlan stood and straightened his buckskin coverings. He smiled down at the blissful face of his uncle. "I didn't come back for vengeance, my uncle. I came back to thank you. You were as much a pawn of the will of the gods as any of us, and it would be ill done of me to hate you for playing a role that you never accepted. It was your seed that awakened the Stag God in me, and for that, you and I will always be bound together," he said, reaching down to lift his uncle and carry him to the bed. He gently placed him there as his uncle entered the first stages of a raging fever that would break by morning, leaving him feeling twenty years younger. Such was the seed of the young Stag God. "It is doubtful that we shall see one another, save in the most dire of circumstances. Should I need you, rest assured, I will come to you without the violence of this visit. Fare ye well, uncle-mine." With that, he stepped to the window and threw it open. As he cast himself from its heights, his form blurred and an owl took flight unwitnessed. ++++++++++++++++++++++ EPILOGUE THE SECOND, THREE DAYS LATER Imbru glanced out at the dying light, filtering through the trees. He was only traveling by night, as it was too easy to run into humans in this part of the country -- even the deep woods were occasionally visited by foresters and trappers, and it was too difficult to evade them during the day, when sharp orc vision was sometimes blighted by the brightness. He waited a bit longer until the light dusk had turned into a deeper night-hue, before emerging from his hiding place. He moved quickly, using the gait of a warrior on the warpath, but instead of his quick tread carrying towards villages to be ransacked and foes to be killed, it brought him further to the border between the villages of men and the lands of his own people. From there, it would be a short trip to the lands of the Split Hoof tribe. It would be good to be among his people once more, though he would likely have to fight his way back up the chain of warriors in order to regain the esteem of his people. He was long gone, and as good as dead in the minds of his tribe, and so they would treat him as a young orc, just home from the manhood rites of the Split Hoof tribe, his flesh still stinging from the new rings they thrust through parts of his body, and his ass still sore from receiving the seed of the five strongest warriors of the tribe, who hoped to grant him part of their strength. It was a difficult... Imbru suddenly stopped, still as stone. How long had he been hearing the minute sounds of his being followed, so subtle that it blended with the other noises of the forest, but unmistakable to his ears? He glanced about, warily, gripping the cudgel he'd made for himself while he searched for a place to hide. He was aware that as he had stopped, so too had the sounds of being stalked ceased, and the weight of unseen eyes watching him was unmistakeable. Suddenly, he broke into a frenzied sprint, dashing through the trees, away from the source of the noise, away from his follower... ...directly into the broad chest of the Stag God. Imbru let out a shout of surprise as he was thrown off his feet, and Ashlan chuckled. "Who do you think taught your people the Echoing Step of the hunter, child of the Split Hoof tribe? Who taught you to walk so that the trees would make it seem as though you were where you were not? It was I." The massive creature simply stood above him, his arms crossed over his chest and laughed. Imbru growled and leapt to his feet, reaching for the throat of the human who bore the antlers of the Stag God. He had laid claim to the legacy of the god of the Split Hoof -- let him prove his worth. Ashlan chuckled again, and easily sidestepped the charge, laying hold of Imbru's arm and then raising it above his head and behind him, planting his mighty knee into the warrior's lower back and allowing his momentum (and the sudden seizure of his arm) to send the orc crashing into the ground. Ashlan let him struggle there, thrashing about. The Stag God grinned at the beading of sweat that broke out on his brow -- this orc was strong, and it was no small effort to hold him. He leapt back to his feet with a whoop, and permitted Imbru to stand. Ashlan smiled, the grin of a man anticipating a joyful brawl. Imbru circled more warily, aware of the sheer amount of brawn in the Stag God's frame. He shook his head ruefully -- where once stood a strong, though thin, young man, Ashlan now stood nearly seven feet tall, with broad shoulders and thick arms. His legs were packed with layers of dense muscle, looking more like tree trunks than the limbs of a man. Though it had been two years, no one should have changed this extensively...at least under normal circumstances. The blessings of the Stag God, however, were hardly normal circumstances. "What do you want with me?" Imbru asked warily. "You promised me that I would never touch you, nor you I, save as the spoils of battle between we two. Though I owe you much, and would rather we simply pleased one another by the light of a bonfire, in the old holy ways, I know that your warrior spirit has been wounded." Imbru's brows shot together and he glared at Ashlan angrily. Ashlan shook his head ruefully, sadness in his face. "Yes. Your body-sport with Artemi -- and perhaps others -- has been done not as a brave, but as a slave. How can you know pleasure from another body again, until you have conquered that body, as is right and proper for a warrior?" Ashlan flexed his hands, cracking his knuckles warningly. "Come, then. You shall conquer me, or I shall conquer you, but one of us will be ridden tonight." Imbru's stance lowered, his arms held loosely at his side. He watched Ashlan carefully. The tall antlered human smiled and reached down to his buckskins, untying the rawhide cording at his waist and stepping out of his breeches. Ashlan's body was magnificent, sleek muscled shadowed with a light dusting of chestnut fur and decorated with blue whirling tattoos. His manhood hung down to the middle of his thigh, and even Imbru's eyes widened at the sight of it. Ashlan took a cautious step towards Imbru, and they circled one another. Then, as though a signal had been made, the two hurled themselves at one another. It was only by the narrowest margin that Imbru avoided being impaled on Ashlan's mighty antlers. He twisted his body slightly, grasping the mighty velvety antlers in his strong grip as Ashlan wrapped his strong arms around the orc's waist and lifted him bodily off the ground, crushing the man to him. The orc howled in rage and twisted the antlers in his hand, forcing Ashlan's head around and away, until he bucked his head and released his grip, and the orc tumbled to the dirt. With only the smallest hesitation, Ashlan sprung once more upon Imbru, planting his knee squarely into the warrior's belly, forcing the air from him. Imbru gasped and tried to catch his breath, while Ashlan grasped a handful of cloth from chest and groin and ripped, nearly completely stripping the orc. He chuckled, an echoing sound that resounded through the trees. He knelt on the orc's torso, holding his shoulders down. By this time, Ashlan's member was reacting to the excitement of the fight, and it trembled in the air between them, growing and hardening as they struggled. Imbru's eyes were drawn to it and Ashlan grinned, reaching down to wrap his hand around the thickness of his cock while reaching behind him to caress the orc's flank. Taking advantage of Ashlan's distraction, Imbru kicked both of his feet upwards, slamming the front of his powerful legs into Ashlan's shoulder and back. The antlered giant pitched forward, tumbling off of the orc's body and slamming, chin-first into the ground. With a twist and a roll, Imbru scurried out from under the fallen giant and took his feet again in a crouch. He didn't permit the Stag God time to recover. As Ashlan rose to his elbows, blood dripping from his split lip, Imbru threw himself at the human's back, slamming his fists and forearms into his back. Ashlan grunted and slammed back into the ground, gritting blood-covered teeth. With a quick flurry of his fists, Imbru punched Ashlan thrice in his kidneys. With a whoop, Imbru kicked Ashlan's legs apart, kneeling behind him. He reached up and snatched up a fistful of the human's long hair and pulled back. In a flash, Imbru's blade was drawn and held to Ashlan's throat. "Do not move," the orc snarled in the ear of the antlered human, who glowered. Pushing aside the tattered remnants of his breeches, Imbru took his hard cock in hand and spat on it. With a shove, he pressed it to the tight entry of Ashlan's ass. He snarled, unable to penetrate, and spat on the hole and cockhead again, pushing harder. Ashlan howled as the blunt, thick cock entered him, burning a path through his hole and into his guts. Imbru whooped his victory and pushed himself against his fallen foe and god, slamming his cock repeatedly into Ashlan's guts. Shortly, he realized that Ashlan was writhing against him, moving to receive his hard thrusts and moaning. Imbru dropped his blade beside them and wrapped his arms around the broad chest of the antlered human, crooning words of worship and dominance in his ear in the orcish tongue -- the first time he'd spoken the language of his people in many years. He wept tears of joy and ecstasy as he rode the muscled ass of Ashlan. It was only a short time before he spent himself, his whole body wracked with the orgasm that was the first he'd had voluntarily in years, as well. He collapsed onto the sweaty back of the Stag God and sighed, closing his eyes in contentment. Imbru awoke a while later. The day was far gone and night had come. He looked over and Ashlan crouched over a small mound of twigs and branches, singing them the song that excited them to spark. Soon, the fire burned merrily and Ashlan looked at him. "You're awake again. I was afraid I'd killed you." "I'm the one who won the fight, remember?" "Yes, but it was not I who ended our fight unconscious on the ground," the antlered one chuckled. He busied himself again with the small fire, crooning to it in the Foundling Tongue, urging it higher and rewarding it with more fuel and his own praise. Imbru watched him -- the human had not bothered to put his buckskins back on. He bore several bruises from their battle, but looked unconcerned with them. Unimpeded, even. "You let me win," said Imbru, finally. Ashlan looked up at him and smiled, and went back to ringing the fire with stones. "Didn't you?" "Does it matter?" asked the antlered one, not looking up. "Why didn't you claim me?" "Too many had claimed you in your time among humans, Imbru," Ashlan said, looking up at him with those wise eyes of a god. "I fought, not to the best of my ability -- which is mighty indeed, as befits my destiny -- but as well as many warriors might have. You won fairly, never fear. Does it bother you that I enjoyed your claiming me?" Imbru chuckled at Ashlan's leer. "No. Not at all." "Yours was the seed I last needed, Imbru. To finish my change. I desired your strength and your wisdom, your knowledge of being one of the Wild Ones among humans, and I needed it, even before I knew what was going on." Ashlan walked over to him and knelt next to him, his antlers looking like a regal crown as he bent his head to Imbru. Their lips met in a hesitant kiss, and then a hungrier one. The human tasted of acorn and blood. The two leaned away from one another, and Imbru's hand reached up to touch the split in Ashlan's lip, now angry red and healing. "You fought well," he said. "I can fight better," Ashlan teased. He reached up and pulled Imbru closer to him, and the two reclined back into the leaves and soft grass of the ground beneath them. Their kissing became more urgent, and Imbru's hand found Ashlan's rising cock, stroking it, smoothing the drops of clear fluid around the angry head and fondling it. He looked at Ashlan and smiled, then lowered himself to the heady musk of Ashlan's crotch. He licked the length of Ashlan's cock, his black tongue standing out in contrast to the deep red-purple of the human's member. Ashlan shuddered and ran his hand across the smooth head of the orc, who swallowed his cock as deeply as he could go. Though he choked once or twice, pulling away with tears in his eyes, Imbru buried the fat god-cock before him as deep in his gullet as he could, massaging it with tongue and throat. Ashlan groaned and threw his head back, scraping his antlers along the soft ground, leaving furrows. He bucked his hips rapidly, pumping his meat deep into the orc's mouth, seeking to go deeper into the velvety warmness of his mouth. Tusks scraped against the sides of his cock, almost painfully, but it excited Ashlan. The orc rose off of Ashlan's crotch and looked dubiously at the massive pillar of hardened flesh. He looked at Ashlan smiling. "I don't think spit is going to make this one work, horned one." Ashlan simply smiled and reached over, pushing Imbru onto his back. He swallowed the orc's cock into his mouth in one swoop. The warrior hissed his pleasure and twined his fingers in the thick mane of the Stag God. Suddenly, his legs were spread and Imbru shuddered to feel the hot breath of Ashlan on the tight pucker between his cheeks. His head nearly shot upright as Aslan laid a thick, wet lick along the length of the orc's ass crevice, and then focused in on the tightness at its center, pushing his tongue against the hole. He spat and spread the saliva around and finally into the hole slightly, using only the strength of his pointed tongue. He continued working his tongue deeper into the orc's ass, until the orc felt that he was already impaled on a hard cock, albeit one that moved and twisted, giving sensations that no member ever could. Ashlan raised his head and smiled at the orc from between Imbru's spread knees. He rested one meaty hand on Imbru's knee and reached over to the pile of his buckskins. He took up a pouch and opened it, scooping out a dollop of the smooth grease within, the grease that smelled of aromatic herbs, the waxy oils of certain plants and animal grease. Ashlan reached down between Imbru's legs and smoothed some of the grease into the orc's hole, which twitched hungrily. The antlered god greased some of the stuff on his cock, rubbing its hard, fat length until it fair shined in the firelight and then applied some of it to Imbru's cock as well, which had begun to stir and was partially hard. Ashlan smiled and pushed Imbru's legs back, forcing his ass into alignment with the human's cock. Ashlan pressed the angry purple head of his thick cock against the orc's hole and pushed, slowly. Even with the preparation and grease, Imbru hissed in pain, wrenching his eyes shut. Ashlan leaned down and crooned to the orc, urging him to bravery and strength, telling him that the pain would be gone soon, and in its place would be nothing he'd ever known before. Ashlan took Imbru's ear in his teeth and gnawed on it, until Imbru realized that the Stag God's cockhead was lodged firmly in his tight asshole, just past the ring of muscle there. Ashlan groaned in pleasure, and Imbru echoed him. Ashlan straightened and grasped the orc by his shoulders. He smiled down at the obvious need in the orc's face, his breath coming raggedly. Ashlan leaned down and kissed him again, running his tongue over the orc's tusks and then thrusting himself forcefully forward. Both howled as Ashlan's cock sank to the hilt in Imbru's ass. Tears coursed down the sides of Imbru's face as the fat cock of his god punctured his body, withdrew and was slammed home again. It was all he could do to hold on, digging his fingers into the soft ground beneath them both as Ashlan used his body for his pleasure, pulling his hard member nearly entirely free and then burying it in him again and again. Ashlan growled and lifted one leg, allowing him a better purchase. He leaned forward, forcing Imbru's legs further back as he picked up speed and force, and the sound of his fat balls slapping against the muscles of Imbru's buttocks became very loud. "This..." gasped Ashlan. "This is the only sacrament in all the world. Gods...gods may teach many things, warrior of the Split Hoof, but this is holy. In this joining of god and mortal...this is the absolute salvation." Ashlan roared and Imbru felt his cock pulse. Never before had Imbru felt its like. His ass had been used as a fuck-channel before, certainly -- growing up among his own kind, and more recently as a slave. But in all those instances, he was lessened. He was used as a thing, something to be made stronger for the tribe by fucking it, or simply as a toy crafted of meat for the one rich enough to own him. But not this. Ashlan's cock ravaged his ass, filling him completely and radiating such a heat -- it filled him with strength and Imbru realized that in this mating, there was no doubt of his strength. A union such as this was only for those who were already strong, powerful enough to withstand the violence and battering strength of the Stag God's fat cock plowing ever onward. The two fucked for what seemed to be an eternity. In a flash, Ashlan pulled his cock from Imbru's ass and flipped the orc over, face down in the grass that was torn up from their violent mating. He forced the orc's thighs apart, raising his muscled ass up to him like a sacrifice and then buried his cock once more in Imbru's twitching hole and the two sighed. "Soon..." chanted Ashlan, his voice gutteral, speaking the Foundling Tongue. Imbru gasped, for his body recognized that primal tongue just as well as the things of nature did, and it responded. He felt his muscles tightening, and his nerves ignite. The sensations Ashlan was subjecting him to doubled, then tripled and when the Stag God roared and emptied his seed into the orc, Imbru was flooded with waves of molten fire as his own cock orgasmed into the rich soil beneath him. Ashlan collapsed on top of the orc, his bulk driving Imbru into the muddy puddle of semen he'd made beneath him, preventing him from moving. The two of them breathed heavily, still shuddering from the after-effects of their lovemaking, and Ashlan's cock slowly began to shrink within Imbru's body. Soon, Ashlan shifted with a groan, and his cock slunk its way free from the orc's body. Imbru sighed happily and shifted slightly. Ashlan took him into his arms and they kissed, passionately. "Thank you," Imbru whispered in the tongue of his tribe. "You've given me more than your seed, more than your strength, O god of the tribe. You have made me one of my people again, in my heart, though I may still need to prove that to my tribe." "I have given you nothing," Ashlan said, kissing Imbru on the forehead. "You have always been a Split Hoof -- you just needed to be shown that again. It is the duty of a god to make his people whole, and if I have done that, then I am content." Ashlan wrapped the orc in his warm embrace and laid his head down on the pile of fur, cloth and leather that was their clothing. The orc laid down his head on the broad, furry chest of the antlered one and the two slept. When Imbru awoke, Ashlan was gone, and he dressed himself, setting out once again for his tribe.