(Features: Mild femdom, face sitting, demihuman(half-orc) sex, light bondage)
Varg was having a bad day. The Company of the Raven banner had been hired to help the nearby town with some sort of magical conflux, something about demon portals or other. He hadn't really been paying attention at that point, there weren't any portals open yet, and as a rule, until there were actual demons to kill he honestly wasn't too interested. He had a very particular skill set, usually involving hitting things until they stopped moving. And so the more magical types of the party were putting their heads together in the keep, while he and Luca, their halfling thief (acquisition specialist-as she called herself), got sent out to the local forest to clear up some sort of wild dog problem.
Unfortunately for them, Varg realized it was not actually a wild dog problem the moment he stepped into the net trap and the forest erupted in cackling howls of laughter that could only mean one thing: Gnolls, hyena headed creatures whose cruelty was legendary. They had trussed Varg up like a pig ready for slaughter, dragged him through the forest to their camp, stripped him of his arms and armor and tossed him into a cage. Still, it meant that he was at least not immediately destined for the stew pot.
It seemed like they left him there for house, sitting the the darkness with only the faint stirrings of rodents for company. When they came for him the faint light filtering in through holes in the tent had faded, guttural voices in poorly accented common told him that he was to be presented to the Chieftess.
So it came to be that Varg, Terror of the Steps, breaker of the Siege of Lorienne, Slayer of the Great Wyrm Rathogan, knelt on a pile of dirty furs, chained at wrists and ankles, stripped to his loincloth and bare skin before the chieftess of the Gnolls.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in." A voice called out of the darkness and Varg blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light after being blindfolded. In front of him a woman perched upon a primitive throne of leather and dragonbone. Even in the flickering torchlight it was easy to notice her green skin, her bare, lean arms adorned with the tattoo of a curling snake. This was no gnoll, he would recognize that raspy voice anywhere. Borea.
The half-orc woman pushed off the chair, the flex of her powerful legs and well muscled thighs laid bare by the what little she wore. Faint pale lines and whorls told a tale of old battles, scarred upon her flesh. A loincloth and spotted fur wrapped around her breasts barely concealed her considerable assets, and showed off well defined abs shining with tiny beads of perspiration in the humid night air. Her jet black hair was shaved away on the right, and the rest fell to ear length along the left side. A necklace strung with bones completed the ensemble, rattling as she stalked forward with a predatory grace, like a panther in the night, self assured of her own position.
"You!" Varg shouted, his muscles strained against his bonds in a futile effort to break free. The panic of recognition forced every effort out of his body, but to little avail. "Of all my rotten luck, to run into you Borea."
"Did you think I died when you left me in the labyrinth?" Borea smiled, revealing a glimpse of small tusks, a sign of her mixed ancestry. Borea the half-orc, daughter of the Red Reaver of Karth, and thorn in Varg's side for years.
"It was payback for when you stole the Idol of Orestea after we cleared the ruined temple." Varg snarled back. "I didn't expect you to make friends with the Minotaur."
Borea's face twisted into a wry grin as she stepped closer. "Yes, friends. That is exactly what the Minotaur's price for helping out of the maze was." She paused, one hand idly drifting over the taut skin of her abdomen, tantalizingly close to the top of her loincloth. "Of course, it's hard to call it a price, it was a memorable evening."
"You seem to have done well for yourself. Surprised those Gnolls let a half-orc lead them." said Varg. He gestured with his head to the hut, the random treasures and chests scattered around the perimeter, the dragonbone throne.
"I landed on my feet. Gnolls are a refreshingly simple people. Their previous leader didn't see things my way, but-" Borea ran a hand across the spotted fur chest-wrap she wore. "Once I took care of them, the rest of the tribe saw the value of having me as a leader."
"So since you're their leader." said Varg. "I don't suppose that you could release me and my halfling companion. For old time's sake."
"I could." Borea shrugged. "For the right price."
"Always the mercenary." said Varg, a slow smile began to spread across his face. This was a dance that they knew well from years of encounters.
"You see, for all their simple joys, everything with the gnolls is a dominance game. It's hard for me to really..." Borea stopped in front of Varg, her crotch hovering inches away from the face of the kneeling barbarian. "Get what I need." She dropped a hand to her side and undid the rawhide straps of her gnoll fur loincloth, letting it fall away, revealing a dark bush of pubic hair barely concealing thick lower lips.
"I think-" gasped Varg, as a heady musk wafted into his nostrils, intoxicating in the warm night air. "I can help wit-"
Varg's words were cut off as a hand grasped the back of his head and pushed his face forward, burying his nose in the surprisingly soft bush of hair.
"Shhhh. Don't talk." said Borea, her fingers threading through his hair, petting the back of his skull as he had little choice but to open his mouth and begin to lick. Borea let out a low growl as his tongue teased her folds. "You're less annoying when you don't talk."
Varg continued to accept his fate, mouth open, tongue extended as Borea's grip on the back of his head guided him. Still, he couldn't resist, submerged in the warm musky shelter between her legs. The warrior lapped at her, planting slow sucking kisses along the edges of her pussy before dipping the tip of his tongue into her folds, then pulling back, teasing, nuzzling around her clit before her insistent hand pushed him forward again. She held him there, as moments stretched, the edges of Varg's vision went fuzzy and dark from the lack of air, his nose and mouth pressed close against her flesh.
When Borea released him, Varg gasped for air, both their faces flushed in the flickering torchlight. A thin strand of saliva connected his lips to her nether regions, and he could see her shiver briefly before looking down at him. Her golden, almost catlike eyes met his and she panted for a moment, looking down at him, their mingled fluids still slick on his face.
"This is a bad idea, but-" Borea caressed the side of his face with her palm, both soft and then rough where the calluses from long days spent practicing with the blade had accrued. Varg nuzzled into it, seeking the warmth , the rare moment of vulnerability that it offered, kneeling before the half-orc chieftess as she treated him like a pet. "Can I trust you not to try anything if I release your bindings?"
