The orc’s every touch was torturous, whether that was in some measure of pain or pleasure.  His hands grasped at her, hard but thankfully dull claws digging into her skin to leave deep indentations and scratches that bloomed in angry red lines across her skin.   The fingers tangled in her hair twisted, making her cry out as he used his hold to control her body, keeping her posed so that all could watch.  It wasn’t just her previously untouched and unsullied body that he showed them, but her face.   He wanted them to see her expression, let all savor her defilement but most of all he wanted her to be unable to hide the pleasure she took in the cruelest torment of all.<br/><br/>Her whole body rocked by the orc’s quickening thrusts, Shaelee couldn’t hold back the sounds of her growing need.  She was forced hard against the wall each time her filled her  tight passage, pushing deep until she whimpered in pain, sure this time he would destroy her inside.  Then she would shake and moan as he withdrew once more, an overwhelming sense of relief only adding to the pleasure of him moving within of her.  Again and again those cycles of aching pressure and soothing friction continued until the young elf maiden lost track of the difference between pain and pleasure.<br/><br/>Her insides quivering, her center throbbing and sensitive, Shaelee burned with shame as she felt the orc slam deep into her bruised body.  Already on the verge of something that threatened to overwhelm her, she screamed as he swelled and jerked inside of her.  The first rush of seed felt like molten iron that seared, burning away everything except the feeling of him as her lower body suddenly tightened, slick walls clenching and squeezing as she thrashed weakly against his hold on her, lost in a daze of orgasmic bliss.<br/><br/>She crumpled in a boneless heap the moment his support was withdrawn, unable to try to catch herself.  Huddled against the wall in a spreading pool of creamy white streaked with bright red, she wrapped her arms around herself, shaking and crying softly.  She watched with a mixture of horror, fascination and pity as the once proud warrioress debased herself for the orc, using lips and tongue to clean him, greedily licking away every trace of her defilement while Shaelee rocked with the pain and whimpered just feet away.<br/><br/>It was intolerable, this pain she felt.  Her blue eyes were filled with it as she looked up to his face.  She hated him for this and maybe that showed as well.  What didn’t show was that she didn’t hate him for the physical pain he had inflicted; that would be forgotten in time, either through greater suffering or with healing.  Neither did she mourn for the loss of her virginity or the healing power that had died with its taking.  She hated him for the way she felt so hollow and empty inside, resented him because she was sure that the only thing that would ever make her feel whole again was to have that space filled by him.  Even now, damaged and bruised, she trembled with the need for more while feelings of warmth, comfort and desire clouded her thinking.<br/><br/>Around them the citadel was a jumble of screams, sobs, grunt, growls and whimpering moans as more than a score of priestesses and acolytes were left either unconscious or dying in pools of blood-streaked semen where others were handed off to yet another orc.   Of those still alive, some moaned softly, writhing even in their stupor and some lay curled into tight balls, shaking uncontrollably as their mouths uttered false denials of what was happening to them.  Her knowledge of healing had not been stolen with the magic that was now gone from her and she could see that many would not survive the night, having been treated far more violently than she had.  Others would leave the world having exhausted themselves struggling against potent orc seed.   Of those that lived a few would go mad with this or choose death over the degradation.<br/><br/>Shaelee took all this in and then looked up defiantly at the now redressed orc commander.  “You will not break me,” she told him, her voice shaking and soft but the words sure.  “I won’t let you.”  The willow did not break even in the storm that uprooted the mighty oak because it would bend and sway with the wind rather than stand rigid against it.  Makretia had been an oak, strong and proud.  If she had broken the young elf knew she had no chance to win such a fight.  Shaelee believed her only path that did not end in complete depravity lay in being like the willow.