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The Official Wedding Ceremony, Part 3

So, unfortunately, the last phase of the Orc wedding ceremony isn’t finally putting on some damn clothes and sitting down to a nice meal.

“Second vestment is for later. First sacred vestment is for NOW.” The Orc mage extends the smaller embroidered towel, which I can now see is damp. “Bride must attend to Emperor before Emperor’s final claim of Bride’s mouth.”

I loosely translate that as I’m supposed to ritually clean and dry Ivar’s dick—presumably so I can suck him off for the next part of the ceremony.

I don’t want to call myself a victim of the weirdly poetic way Ivar phrases things. But a belated realization strikes me: he wasn’t talking about food when he said he was going to feed me.

I’ve only been here for a few hours, but I’ve already figured out that the Orc Horde probably doesn’t host a lot of guests or hold formal meetings like the U.S. Armed Forces.

They’re not great at hospitality, they boo and hiss cultural differences, and if there’s an official agenda, they’re not even trying to give me a preview of it beyond the current step. They’re somehow ritualistic and completely moment-to-moment at the same time.

Maybe that’s why they’re always so quick to rush into fights with an overpowered Fae hero in the Clara Quinn books?

When I’m Empress, maybe I should talk to Ivar about coming up with a better protocol for⁠—

Wait, what am I even thinking? I’m not really going to stay here and rule by Ivar’s side.

This wedding is just a means to an end—the end being returning home to my own plane of existence.

Still, I eye the second sacred vestment towel jealously. Gotta say, the me of a few hours ago didn’t know how good she had it.

Especially now that I’m standing in front of at least a thousand Orcs, leaking their Emperor’s cum loads from two of my holes.

“Can I get a dry towel, too?” I ask the mage hopefully while keeping my eyes respectfully lowered. “Just for me?”

The mage lets out an annoyed grunt. “Whatever for?”

“So that I can cover myself up,” I answer slowly.

“Whatever for?” The mage’s tone is both sincere and baffled.

“Never mind,” I grumble, snatching the wet cloth out of his hand.

Figuring that getting this bonkers ceremony over with is probably the fastest path to gaining access to actual clothes, I turn back to Ivar.

Even with me standing and him sitting, he’s still about a head taller than I am. I mentally add a few more inches to his seven-foot height before getting started on this clean up job.

As I wipe down his spent length, he settles a hand on my hip. It’s so wide, the thumb comes all the way up to the side of my breast, which he strokes idly as he watches me clean him with a bemused smile beneath his tusks.

His eyes track my every movement. And despite my brusque efficiency, by the time I’m done, he’s already hard again. And pulsing. And dribbling pre-cum.

I gulp.

You’d think the prospect of giving Ivar a BJ wouldn’t be so intimidating after taking him in two other holes.

But Vance had never been complimentary of my skills in this area, and someone behind me seems to be speaking my thoughts out loud when they ask, “How ever will Emperor’s great cock fit in Human Bride’s too-small mouth?”

I wince up at Ivar. “Whoever said that has a point. Human mouths don’t… ah, stretch like other parts of us.”

“Do not be intimidated, Little Bride.” The throne groans as he leans forward to address me over his dribbling, dark green length. “Even a few draws of your pretty mouth upon my tip will be enough to satisfy the third claim.”

His hand moves up to cup my neck and most of my shoulder, the soft fur of his bracer brushing against my cheek. “You are so very beautiful. Merely looking upon you is enough to disarm me. I only ask that you try.”

It’s a stomach-fluttering thing to be called beautiful by this Orc. And the way he says it, with his gaze holding mine… makes me believe it’s true.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll try.”