The following is the opening of what I hope will be a longer story, full of weird fantasy sex and women essentially having a ludicrous amount of power.
GRUN
From his vantage point in the upper boughs of the broad, strong oak tree, Grun watched the human plow Greveshka. Not for the first time, he found himself resenting his role as glorified watchdog to the absurdly soft-looking half-orc. He was a warrior of the G'naaarsh, a clan-master, a killer of men and destroyer of their crops and dwellings. He should not be stuck half way up a tree watching one of the hated humans make
vuk
with his clan-sister.
Impatiently, he waited for the
vuk
to finish. 'Plow', he realised, was not really the right word to describe what was happening just a few yards away from him. 'Plow' was a human word for the
vuk
. While the screw of a plough could be said to approximate the rhythm and penetrative motion of the
vuk
, the word suggested that Greveshka was as passive as a field waiting for seed to be planted. No field bucked and writhed like his clan-sister; no field moaned and growled and panted in urgent, desperate pleasure as the pale-skinned half-orc was doing now.
Finally, the man finished and Grun watched carefully as Greveshka reached up to the human's reddened sweaty cheek and spoke the words the shamans had taught her. The human keeled over to one side as if suddenly drunk. A moment later he was snoring loudly, his leather trousers still loose around his ankles.
Grun dropped from the oak tree and padded over to Greveshka. He glanced at the man as he passed him, sorely tempted to thrust his spear through him, but, for all that he mocked them, he feared the shamans. He would not disobey them.
"Dress. Now."
Lying on her back, legs still spread wide apart, the sleeping man's seed glistening like a slug's trail between the folds of her unnaturally fleshy cunt, Greveshka was a picture of wanton carnality. Even Grun, who, like most of the tribe, viewed her softness as a perverse abnormality, felt a stirring within his loins and a strange tightness in his throat.
"Not yet."
Grun's scowl darkened.
"Now," he growled. He looked around him, aware of the restlessness of the other two warriors a few yards away, aware too that the four of them were deep in lands that the humans thought of as theirs. The trees around them provided some cover, but if a hunting party or, worse, one of the Baron's patrols found them, there would be blood. And death. Grun was not afraid of either, but he knew that foolishly inviting an encounter with a band of well-armed humans would jeopardise their mission.
Greveshka raised her backside off the ground, elevating her hips as if offering her cunt to Grun like a cup containing precious wine. "No," she said, defiantly. "Van Kor say..."
'Van Kor'. Damn the wily shaman and his obscure magicks. Grun glowered and spat on the needle-strewn ground. But he did not attempt to order the half-orc woman again. He did, however, stride over to her, ignoring the sight - and scent - of her seed-filled opening, instead bending down to grasp her by the throat, keeping his voice low so that only the two of them could hear what he said next.
"Van Kor not always live," he whispered hoarsely. "When he dies, his pets die too."
Greveshka kept perfectly still in Grun's grip for a moment, but her dark eyes flashed and she jutted her chin out proudly. "I work for tribe. Make tribe strong. You know this." She brought her hand up to grasp his wrist. "Leave me be. After plowing, let seed settle. You know this."
With a grunt of disgust, Grun released her. He turned to the others standing in the shadows cast by ancient, hoary pines. The half-dressed man's snores were making him seem foolish. "Briz, Dol," he said, sharply, "go to stone now. We follow."
Attempting but not quite managing to disguise their relief behind a mask of efficiency, the two orcish warriors nodded and turned away, casting contemptuous glances at the slumbering form of the human who had, albeit unwittingly, made a monumentally significant contribution to the survival and prosperity of the G'naaarsh tribe of orcs in the mountain region of Ergolis in the province of Sarvole in the great Holy Empire of Elisabet the Mad.
*****
GREVESHKA
They had found the man on his own in the Great Wood, the vast tract of forest that girded the peaks that the humans called Ergoline but the orcs had long named the Skyscratchers. This was not the first raid for man's seed Greveshka had been on, but it was the first with Grun, her clan-brother and a near-perpetual thorn in her side.
Ever since she could remember, Grun had made life difficult for her. Well, even more difficult than the meagre, desperate existence eked out by the tribe in the passes, crevices and caves of the mountainsides. Most of his malice came from Greveshka's appearance and status. In his mind, the two were intrinsically linked and both were a reproach to his traditional - and highly-developed - sense of orcish honour.
Greveshka had been born with unnaturally pale skin and had almost been killed at birth because of it. Only the intervention of Sag Nar, one of the tribe's three shamans at the time, had saved the uncomprehending babe. Rather than an aberration to be rejected, Sag Nar declared that Greveshka's birth had been a sign from the gods, particularly Vanak the one-handed, whose mythical deformity had, it had long been theorised, required him to develop a keen and wily mind. Sag Nar had not deigned to explain precisely what Vanak's plans for the soft-skinned orc might be, but his regular reminders of her importance to the tribe granted Greveshka some small measure of protection and respite in an otherwise brutally competitive and extremely violent upbringing.
Greveshka had known her mother, of course, but not her father. Orcs did not marry, nor did they place much store in the notion of monogamy. The males of the G'naaarsh tribe were impulsive and violent in all their lusts, not least those that originated deep in the gut and manifested themselves in engorged, swollen tokens of their masculinity. While chieftains and elders could occasionally claim slaves and concubines, the rank and file of the tribe's men courted the women of their tribe with acts of strength, cunning and bravado, then mating with them in explosive fashion before invariably forgetting about them altogether. Until the next time their blood stirred and the desire for the meaty thighs, full breasts and hot cunts of their female counterparts rose in them once more.
Greveshka could have suffered a similar fate. Despite her freakishly human appearance - considerably more human, in fact, than the half-orcs occasionally sired by lusty orcs on the other races - there were some in the orc tribe who had made crude advances to her in the past. Her rounded, voluptuous body particularly appealed to those reavers who found sport and pleasure in the tribe's occasional raids on human villages and the inevitable rape and slaughter that followed. But, she was under the shamans' protection. Sag Nar took her to his bed when she reached her maturity and, when he died in a raid on the neighbouring Loka tribe, the old, one-eyed Van Kor, all sinew and bone and sly tenderness, took her into his yurt and made her his own.
Many had been unhappy with the new arrangement, not least Grun, whose muttering and scowling became more pronounced in the months after Sag Nar's death. But the one-handed god had spoken through his servants the shamans and Van Kor's connection to the realm of the gods had grown especially strong when he had taken Greveshka in. Through prophecy and pronouncement, supported by Talar, the tribe's chieftain who would never dream of challenging the wisdom of his shamans, it had been made abundantly clear to the G'naaarsh that, if the tribe was to do more than just survive, the old ways had to be, if not abandoned entirely, then certainly modified.
Greveshka, Van Kor had said, was a gift from the one-handed one, a female whose blood was orc but whose body and features, with a little magic and some cosmetic cleverness, could pass as human. She represented a unique opportunity for renewal, a chance for the G'naaarsh to replenish its strength, mixing it with the seed of men, the thrusting, virile race who had, in just the last two hundred years or so, tamed much of the wilderness around the Skyscratchers and bent it to their will. Greveshka would be the first of the tribe's seductresses, but not the last. Others would come. The shamans had spoken.
This particular foray into human lands had gone as well as could be expected. Greveshka's warrior escort had scouted out the land proficiently, settling eventually on a favourable target - a solitary hunter of the kind frequently found in the hinterland between the farmlands to the south and the mountains north of them.
Luring him to her side had been almost pathetically easy. She had simply slumped against a pine tree and, once Grun and the others had concealed themselves as best they could, started snivelling. The hunter, who they had spotted roughly half an hour beforehand, came eventually, cautiously edging close to her, his bowstring nocked, eyes alert. When he saw the state she was in, that alertness had faded to be replaced by a gleam that Greveshka knew all too well...
*****
"Please," she whimpered. "Lost. So lost..."
Human men liked tears, she had learned. Just like orcs, they liked their women weak and in need of protection. She had ripped open the front of her dress beforehand and now she leaned towards him, knowing full well the effect her ample bosom and deep cleavage would have on him. She looked up at him through misty eyes.
