The human and elf lords filed into the Warchief's campaign tent. They eyed the huge orc cooly as they took seats around the crude rough table. Grogamam watched the visitors carefully. An awkward silence lingered with neither side speaking. 

Grogamam shifted in his massive ornate chair. It had been plundered from a human castle in one of the orc-warband’s many raids. The orc chief noticed one of the humans eyeing the chair in pure hate and disgust, probably a cousin or kin to the slain lord that had once owned it.

Finally, a regal elf broke the silence. "Greetings Chief, I am Erryollynd Lord of High Valley, and authorized to speak on behalf of the Alliance of Three Armies. We wish to talk terms of a white peace."

With a guffaw, Gorgamam leaned forward over the table glaring down at the puny beings sitting at his table. "You think I seek peace? This warband has crushed all before it. Tell me, why would I seek to stop our profitable raids when your armies lie scattered and running to the hills?"

"What is it you seek Warchief? We'd like to come to an understanding and avoid further bloodshed. Your band moves across the land, never keeping land, just moving from one fight to the next. Surely there is some tribute we could provide that might turn your swords in another direction?"

"What is it I want?" Goramam leaned back, a thick green fist nursing his dark beard. "I'll tell you what we want. What would be fitting tribute." He barked at one of the guards, who nodded with a feral grin and departed through a tent flap behind the chief.

The chief continued, "I want battle and blood. To crush your armies before me. But my people, my war band? They want spoils. Treasure and flesh."

The human and elf lords exchanged distasteful looks at each other.

"Ha! You hesitate." The orc roared. "Let me show you the tribute we demand."

The massive orc guard that had departed only moments ago returned. A thin elf woman was dragged along behind him, pulled by a rough cord binding her wrists. Her gown, once beautiful, was stained and tattered, ruined with grime and ragged. She glanced up at the faces around the table before winching her eyes shut and turning her face away. The guard shoved her roughly into the table causing her to fall across it.

Grogamam stood and stepped behind the elven woman. She lay with her eyes still shut, her hands tightened into fists, nails digging into her palms.

"Orc and Goblin, cousins to some extent," The chief explained. "Have a singular problem we cannot solve."

The huge, green-skinned monster reached down tearing the the elf’s skirt away. The civilized lord’s faces reacted in horror, one of them standing suddenly, but no further moves were made. Grinning with bared fangs, the Chief had hoped at least one of them would have fought for the girl’s long-lost honor. Weaklings, he thought.

"And that problem is the root of all our problems. Too many males are born in each litter. For every 5 of us, there is only one cunt." He explained while working to pull his loin cloth away. His huge dark green flesh hung before them, framed by the pale and bruised bare ass of the elf woman. Taking his stout cock in one hand he began stroking it before the weakling lords.

"My tribe needs wombs. Many of them. Without something to fuck, the rage flames out of control." He smacked his tool, thick and long as a truncheon against the much smaller elven girl. Then used it as a speartip to tease the valley folds before him. She whimpered, her hands clenching at the thought of what was to come.

"Send us your cunts." He growled and thrust into the elf woman hard enough to jolt the table. She cried out loudly and the orc guards shifted, clutching themselves.

"Is this worth the peace you seek?" Grogamam asked while his hips rode back and forth shaking the table violently. The impaled woman cried out, burying her face in her arms to the horrified looks of men and elves. Hearing no immediate answer the Chief slammed his hips down harder into the captive, filling the tent with her cries.

"Chief..." Erryollynd stuttered, "While peace is our goal..."

Grogamam cut him off with a low grunt, "Wait!" He continued hammering the elf beneath him, trying to break her in two, to fuck through her and into the table. Her cries turned to grunts of agony, and then something else. A high-pitch was bleeding in her grunts. There were wounded animal noises as she writhed face down on the table. Her ecstatic gasps matched the savage thrusts of the monster behind her.

The Chief howled, a blood-curdling war cry that filled the tent. "Cum for me elf slut! Cum now!"

And the elf howled, arching her back and fucking into the beast with a fury none sitting at the table had ever seen. Her cries gurgled in her throat as her body tensed and twisted.

"I fill you now!" Grogamam roared. And then grunting in time to each thrust he grabbed the woman by her hair pulling her face up off the table. Sickly wet sloshing noises revealed the orc blasting his spunk deep inside her, overflowing, and splooshing down legs.

Slowing the war chief stabbed into her a few more times. Then released his grip allowing her to slump back into the table. He eased out of the fucktoy with a plop, his jizz spilling everywhere. For a moment he stood there, cock exposed and covered in slime, letting the esteemed delegates see all.

Grogamam then sat heavily back into his chair, not bothering to cover himself. Staring straight into the eyes of Erryollynd.

"You thin scrawny elf. That could have easily been you." He mocked the elf lord, "For now though it makes my cock twitch knowing your favorite cousin has taken my seed."

The other lords at the table averted their eyes. Unable to look at the elf leader, or his kin, who lay there on the rough table, spunk spilling from her battered hole.

With a feral smile and bared fangs Grogamam demanded, "Yes, send me more cunts like this, then we can talk peace."