Bred by the Monster

  Ella Brooks

  Copyright © 2023 Ella Brooks

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Thank you!

  About The Author

  Books By This Author

  Chapter One

  The forest ground was a blur beneath my feet, every jarring step sending shockwaves up my spine, jolting my bones, rattling my teeth. I couldn’t stop, couldn’t afford even a split second to gasp in the air my lungs were screaming for. The world had turned on its head in a matter of moments, morphing from a mundane trading journey to a nightmare painted with the blood and terror of innocents.

  We were simple folk, a band of humble peasants accompanying a caravan laden with goods meant for barter. The sun had been generous that day, its golden rays winking between the leaves, the path ahead a journey of hope and prosperity. No one could have predicted the malevolence that lay in wait, the ambush that would transform the day's tranquility into chaos steeped in crimson.

  The orcs, creatures of immense strength and little mercy, materialized as if from the very earth, their war cries an unholy chorus that sent a chill down the bravest spine. They were towering figures of muscle and malice, their skin a patchwork of battles past, eyes gleaming with a bloodlust that knew no bounds. They were not here for the meager treasures our caravan held. No, their currency was far darker: the thrill of slaughter, the spoils of captives taken.

  In the onslaught, I witnessed the caravan guards, men and women sworn to protect us, fall under the brute force of our attackers. Steel clashed with crude iron, screams melded with triumphant roars, and one by one, our defenders were overrun. The scene was a maelstrom of violence that no amount of preparation could have readied us for. And as they fell, we, the simple peasants, became the focus of the orcs' unbridled fervor.

  Amidst the chaos, survival beckoned, pulling at my very soul. As the orcs swarmed like vengeful wraiths around the wagons, I seized my chance. With a leap born of sheer desperation, I plunged into the dubious sanctuary of the forest. The last sounds that reached my ears, even as I fled, were the gut-wrenching screams of those taken captive, their fates sealed by iron shackles and merciless captors.

  The forest, I had hoped, would swallow me whole, allow me to disappear into its verdant maze. I prayed my feet, nimble from years of treading the uneven farmlands, would be swift enough to carry me to safety. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

  I was not alone in my flight.

  One orc, a hulking brute, had set his sights on me. His grunts were a relentless echo in my ears, a morbid metronome that paced my frantic heartbeats. He was close, too close, and his guttural curses in that harsh, jagged tongue rose above the ragged symphony of my breaths. In his eyes, I saw my future, and it was a bleak, desolate thing.

  The stories were common, whispered in hushed tones at the hearths of those lucky enough to never experience them. Orcs, when not slaughtering, took captives for their own nefarious purposes. And for someone like me, a woman whose body had been both ridiculed and coveted, the potential fate was a horror that rooted in the deepest marrow.

  I had known the jeers, the contemptuous glances paired with salacious smirks. Men, both young and old, had deemed themselves fit to judge my worth based on the breadth of my hips, the curvature of my form. They said I was built for breeding, an object meant for bearing children, a vessel for their lineage. The orc, I was certain, harbored similar plans. I would be nothing more than property, a slave to his whims, my identity stripped until I was but a shadow of my former self.

  Every labored breath was a rasping plea, every stride a silent prayer. The underbrush grasped at my legs like the icy fingers of death, brambles tore at my skin, marking me with a trail of scarlet I dared not look back at. I was not just running from the orc; I was running from a life of subjugation, a future devoid of freedom.

  In an abrupt culmination of the relentless chase, the orc lunged with a ferocity that mirrored the wildness of the untamed forest. His colossal form collided with mine, an unstoppable force meeting a far too movable object. We spiraled to the earth in a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths, the ground unforgiving as it welcomed us. The orc, a behemoth of muscle and malice, overshadowed me, his sheer bulk a terrifying eclipse against the dappled forest light.

  I was winded, the air knocked from my lungs, but survival screamed within me, urging me to rise, to flee, to fight. Yet, before I could muster the strength to combat gravity and fear, he was upon me. His hands, calloused and immense, clamped down, rooting me to the spot as surely as the trees that bore silent witness to my plight.

  "Look at you! Led me on quite the chase, princess," the orc rasped, his voice a gravelly sneer that reeked of contempt and dark amusement. There was an acidity to his tone, a venom that made my blood run cold. His grip tightened, and I felt the remnants of my dress, already tattered from the frenzied escape, give way under his insistent tugging.

  Panic, raw and blinding, clawed up my throat. "No! Please, leave me alone!" The words tore from me, half plea, half war cry. I thrashed against his hold, desperation granting me a frenetic energy. But he was immovable, a mountain of flesh and intention.

  "No no no, none of that," he taunted, a cruel smirk twisting his grotesque features. "I caught you. You will do well to please me!" My gaze was drawn to his belt, an ominous array of jagged, crude daggers hanging like a promise of pain. His intentions, laid bare in his leering grin and roving hands, spurred a new wave of terror within me.

  But alongside that fear, something else blossomed. A searing hot defiance, fierce and indomitable. I would not be this monster's prize, his plaything. His strength was formidable, but I found my own brand of power in those harrowing moments.

  My screams rent the air, a discordant melody of distress interwoven with rage. Tears forged paths down my grime-streaked face, but they were not solely born of fear. They were a testament to the tumultuous storm of emotions within me, to the realization that I was not ready to surrender my fate to this creature of darkness.

  "I will not go down without a fight!" My declaration was as much for him as it was a reaffirmation to myself. My body, pushed beyond limits I never fathomed it could endure, responded with a surge of adrenaline. Every muscle, every sinew, coiled with the primal need to survive.

  I fought with everything I had, with every scrap of strength and cunning I possessed. My nails found purchase in his coarse skin, my teeth a weapon as primal as his own savagery. The forest around us became a cacophony of our struggle, of grunts, cries, and the rustle of foliage disturbed by our grappling forms.

  Our struggle was an ancient dance, one of primal forces clashing—a microcosm of life's ceaseless battle between predation and survival. The orc, a manifestation of brute strength and merciless intentions, finally managed to drag me down. The earth beneath us was a cold, unyielding stage to our conflict, each grating particle of soil a testament to my resistance.

  "Now, slut, get ready for my—" His vile proclamation was cut short, his sentence left to hang in the air, an unfinished symphony of malice. Before the orc could claim his perceived prize, an unforeseen force intervened—a colossal impact that came with the fury of the natural world unleashed.

  Something immense, a juggernaut of raw power, collided with my assailant. The orc's body became a projectile, relinquishing its hold on me as he was hurled through the air. He collided with a tree with a resounding thud, a grotesque puppet severed from its strings. The forest, so recently a cacophony of our scuffle, echoed with the impact, a stark reminder of the violence still at play within its depths.

  Scrambling, my senses scrambled in disarray from the abrupt turn of events, I twisted around. My eyes, wide with shock and the remnants of fear, fell upon our unexpected interloper. There, amidst the tangled underbrush and sentinel trees, stood a gargantuan figure. His skin was a verdant hue, the color of deep woods and ancient moss, and he towered over the clearing, a monolith of muscle and sinew. He was easily nine feet tall, if not more, and his physique was a testament to formidable strength, with muscles that weren't just pronounced but seemed to challenge the very air around him to a contest of density.

  This new behemoth let out a roar, a sound that rumbled through the forest like a tempest, stirring leaves and sending nearby creatures into frenzied flight. It was a sound of defiance, of indomitable authority that brooked no challenge. And it was directed at the orc, who was now clumsily regaining his footing, confusion and rage contorting his features.

  The green titan's presence commanded the space, a force of nature personified. Every line of his body was a statement, from the clenched fists like boulders at his sides to the set of his broad shoulders, squared as though bearing the weight of the world. His eyes, glowing with an inner fire, were locked onto the orc, and they promised retribution.

  I remained on the ground, momentarily forgotte n, a spectator to this clash of titans. My chest heaved with labored breaths, the adrenaline still singing in my veins, but now mixed with a spark of something else—hope, perhaps, or the simple, profound relief of the no longer hunted.

  "Filthy troll! Claim your own spoils!" the orc bellowed, his voice a serrated edge of fury as he yanked daggers from his belt with menacing intent. The troll, undeterred, responded with a derisive huff of hot, moist air that hung between them like a tangible challenge. The orc, propelled by what could only be immense bravery or profound foolishness, charged at the monumental figure before him.

  Yet, the lumbering troll was deceptively agile. With a casual swat, dismissive in its ease, he sent the orc flying once more. This time, the orc's body careened uncontrollably into a boulder that had stood silent vigil in the forest for centuries. The sound of the collision was sickening, a solid, wet crack that whispered of bones breaking and the end of things. The orc lay still, a sudden and final cessation to his menace.

  I remained frozen, every muscle taut, as I processed the swift conclusion of what had been an imminent threat. My gaze eventually found its way back to the towering troll now looming gently in front of me. Trolls were the stuff of whispered stories and cautionary tales, mythical beings known for their insatiable lust for havoc and their capricious natures.

  "Please, do not hurt me," I implored in a voice laced with the raw remnants of fear, my hands raised in a universal gesture of surrender. If the orc, with his malice and daggers, was an adversary beyond my ability to combat, this magnificent creature seemed utterly unconquerable.

  "I will not hurt you," came the response, a voice so deep and resonant that it seemed to stir the very wind. It thrummed through the air, a primal bass that I felt in my marrow. "I do not harm women."

  A tremor of relief, fragile as a fledgling's first flight, fluttered through my tension-wracked body. I drew a shuddering breath, daring to believe that, for now, I was safe in this creature's shadow.

  "Thank you," I managed, gratitude lending strength to my voice as I gestured towards the now-still form of the orc. "Without your intervention, he would have harmed me."

  With a nod of acknowledgment, I turned to leave, my legs shaky but determined, my mind set on finding my way back to some semblance of civilization. The forest, with its dappled light and whispering leaves, seemed less menacing now, almost an ally.

  "You owe me a Vroshnok," the troll's voice rumbled, halting me in my tracks. The word was alien, its meaning shrouded in the mystery of a language not my own. I pivoted to face him, confusion knitting my brow.

  "What?"

  "A debt," the troll clarified, his gaze—intense and unyielding—locking onto mine. "I saved your life." In the midst of the turmoil, I noticed, perhaps for the first time, an unexpected rugged charm to the troll. There was an allure in his formidable presence, and the earthy scent that clung to him was strangely intoxicating. I quickly banished the errant thoughts, focusing on the present.

  "A debt? I have nothing to offer you," I confessed anxiously, my eyes darting across the forest floor as if it might proffer some solution.

  “Yes, you do.” the troll replied, his eyes leering at me with a sudden hunger. I could see something strong under the loin-cloth covering him, something that truly scared me.

  “I.. You’ll break me.” I whispered, my eyes bulging as I stared at his firmness growing.

  “Your mouth.” the troll said, watching me. He suddenly sat, his eyes on me.

  I’m not sure what it was. Was it the adrenaline? The fact that I had almost died? I should’ve been offended by the offer, but the way the creature stared at me felt different. Far different.

  “I am not experienced.” I said, taking a few cautious steps towards the cloth covering his growing manhood.

  The troll said nothing, his massive hands moving to the loin cloth and moving it aside.

  Gods, he was massive.

  Chapter Two

  The massive green cock was growing more and more, and was a foot or longer. It would take multiple hands to cover its thickness, and I gasped when he revealed it to me. The troll’s grin let me know that he knew what he was armed with, and probably took pleasure in my shock.

  A growing sensation of unease twisted my stomach, but it wasn't from disgust. It wasn't exactly fear either; I wasn't frightened for my safety. Perhaps my worry stemmed from the sense of danger that permeated his appearance—the fanged tusks, the wild mane of dark hair that served only to amplify the predatory gleam in his fiery eyes. No, I was not afraid of the troll, not really. It was the feelings the troll had inspired that sent my heart galloping: a hint of exhilaration, a streak of lust.

  All manner of fantastical imagery and salacious thought had flickered across my mind, of lips pressed against lips, and hands exploring the tantalizing secret places hidden in the creases of clothing. They were nothing more than shameless whispers in the back of my head, forbidden fantasies born in the secret chambers of my soul. Now, they sang in chorus with an awakened voice, and they demanded that I follow through.

  "You shall pay your debt," the troll commanded in a gruff voice thick with expectant lust. I noticed with a languid curiosity how his monstrous phallus bobbed and twitched with every syllable, demanding attention. How could he know what lurked within my subconscious desires? Or, perhaps the heat was his. A heady warmth rolled off his titanic form, stirring primal feelings of anticipation that coursed through me, a subtle siren's song that was impossible to deny.

  "Very well," I said. Even I was taken aback by the low tone of my voice, the arousal dripping from the simple acquiescence. It had been too long since I had experienced such excitement, the thrill of discovery. The man I had called husband had been little more than a transaction. We shared mutual respect, yes, but desire and passion had been a lacking ingredient. My flesh now prickled with wanton need, my mind an exotic mosaic of ecstasy.

  Inching forward, I knelt before the mighty creature. He seemed to tower above me, a titan looming in the shade of the sentinel trees. From my vantage point on the ground, he was impossibly enormous, like a behemoth from ancient myths. A faint flush of shyness swept across my skin, my heartbeat racing and fingers tingling with excitement. The creature remained silent as he awaited my next move, a benevolent giant of emerald muscle and stone features.

  Tentatively, I ran the pad of a finger over the smooth crown. A deep shudder wracked my frame, a response not wholly from the troll before me. Something had stirred within, a latent flame stoked by this surreality. A faint glow peeked from under his hood, a gleaming bead. Experimentally, I trailed a fingertip in it and brought the shimmering smear to my lips, letting the digit disappear past the seam. I allowed my eyes to slip shut, savoring the flavor on my tongue like a delicate nectar. Salted, savory, and earthy, with the barest hint of bitter and sweet. With a flicker of amusement, I mused that his taste was the spice of his wild nature, the same nature that permeated the ether around us.

  "Yes..." His deep baritone cut through the quiet like a thundering chorus. Emboldened, I leaned in, allowing my tongue to press against the plump glans of the swollen head. It pulsed warm against my mouth, and I nearly pulled away in surprise. Instead, my tongue darted forward to explore its contours, discovering the bumps and ridges. I watched the troll, noticing the way his eyelids seemed to flutter with every pass of my eager mouth over his shaft.

  I soon grew greedy, hungry for more of his honeyed pre-cum and aching to draw his cock into my waiting mouth. Fingertips a vice grip on his thigh, I accepted the entirety of the tip between my lips, relishing the spasmodic jerks of the enormous tool. I swirled my tongue in every direction and even did the kittenish trick, bathing him in a coat of saliva and love-juices. He responded well, groaning in encouragement and drawing forth a torrent of lubricant from my aching center.

  Lubricated and ready, I drew his length fully into my mouth. The mere size and girth made for a full mouth, stretching my jaw painfully and pushing its way down my throat. Saliva dripped from the corners of my lips, drool that dampened his wiry, matted fur at the base of his dick.

 

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