Chapter 8

GURREK

S ita had looked so small in her chair, trying to reach her food, that I became enraged with myself. I should have gotten her a regular chair, I thought. Now the table is too high, and the sad creature had to reach at an awkward angle just to eat her meal.

But she was clearly grateful for the gift. She’d scrambled to her feet to do the cleaning, eager and pleased to have a chore to do. She also seemed happier today after her time with Merka. Taking her there was, I believe, the right decision. Now she knows even more words, for better or worse.

It was when Sita bent over to pick up the drying cloth she’d dropped that something very terrible happened.

As she leaned forward, her pert behind rose into the air, fully facing me. Each cheek was round and lush, clearly visible through her thin clothes.

And the sight of them did something to me. I couldn’t stop staring as she snatched up the cloth and then righted herself, throwing it into the bin before continuing with her tasks of scrubbing, cleaning, and drying. My eyes stayed riveted to that part of her body long afterward as I tried to puzzle out what it was I felt.

The human is not beautiful, not by any orcish standard. I’m used to much more muscle on a woman, and her face is so peculiar and foreign, her nose so small and pert with such a small mouth. And yet... something about her rear end had heated the blood in my veins. I began to picture it without any clothes on, how her pale flesh would look without that raggedy skirt over it.

I could have slapped myself when Sita finally turned around and caught me in the act. Though she was none the wiser, I knew what traitorous thought I’d had. I knew what sensation had coursed through me, from my throat down to my bollocks.

It was a craving. I’d been overcome by a bright, sharp need to touch those two soft cheeks, to squeeze them in my fingers. As I pulled them apart, it would reveal whatever she was hiding beneath, and I twitched at the idea of what I’d find there.

That was why I’d shot to my feet and stormed off to bed. I couldn’t have her see it on my face, and I certainly couldn’t let her notice it in my pants.

When I slam the door behind me, though, I’m disgusted with myself.

I can’t be thinking this way about a human. I can’t be lusting after her small, weak, wicked body, or I’ll be betraying my own kind.

I’d be betraying her, too.

I know why Sita picked me. She saw an orc reluctant to marry, so reluctant that he was trying to flee, and chose him.

She was afraid . She worried, and with good reason, about what one of my brethren might do to her, so she selected the option least likely to try to touch her—and that was me.

Sita wants safety, which is understandable in her position. She lost everything she knew and left her only home to be thrust into the middle of a clan of orcs, where she was forced to choose a partner.

Knowing this, I shouldn’t be thinking of her in such a manner. I can’t possibly give in to Naggen’s mindset. I bet she’s small and tight.

I wanted to vomit at the time, and yet that’s how I’m thinking of her now, too. In that one moment, looking at her soft backside, something irrevocably changed in me.

I don’t think I can undo it.

When I’m alone in my room, I stand with my back against the door for too long, trying to bring my breathing back to normal and willing my cock to stand down. There’s nothing out there for you , I assure it. The creature out there is our new burdensome pet, nothing more.

But my lower head has completely different thoughts about this than I do, and wishing the thoughts away only makes the slow throbbing in my trousers more uncomfortable. With a groan of frustration, I unbutton them and slide them off.

My cock springs out full and alert. It’s thick and completely full of blood, much to my displeasure. It’s been some time since it was demanding in this way, even in the morning when I awaken from the occasional sordid dream. Now it’s thirsting, calling for something that I will never, ever have.

Wrapping my hand around my cock, I squeeze hard, as if punishing it. But all it does is swell even more painfully, imagining things I very much should not imagine, things I can’t even put into words without disgust rising inside me.

She’s human. She’s different, too different, and not what I want. No, I’d spent my life asking for a strong orc wife, someone who could help me work, who could stand up to someone my size on top of her.

I would crush Sita underneath me, and I would violate her trust in me if I ever asked that of her. But oh, fuck, just the idea of it—of my body over hers, her little face twisted up with pleasure... my cock jerks in my hand.

So, finally, I stroke it. From the crown, where a bead of my seed has emerged, down to the root, I maintain a strict and even pressure. A groan nearly wrenches itself from my lips at the sensation on my too-sensitive flesh.

This is more than a simple morning erection. This is heat and pain and longing. This is evil incarnate.

I stroke again and again, drawing up even more milky seed to the slit at the tip of my cock until it slides down the underside. My bollocks tighten, responding to my steady, even strokes.

The image of those two round globes passes through my gods-be-damned mind over and over. In the vision, Sita wears no dress. What do humans look like down there? Would she resemble an orc woman, or would she be something else?

I can’t hold in a grunt as my thoughts stray south, to the hidden treasure between her legs. How would it feel inside her?

I’ve been with a woman before, of course, particularly in my youth. That is how I know that there’s no match for me in my village—I’ve tried out the options and found little there besides release. Those women were tight and wet, but I was always sure never to spend my seed inside them.

I wanted a wife before I wanted younglings, and so as others in the village have paired off, I’ve kept my sexual activities to a safe minimum.

Perhaps that barren existence is why I’m so painfully hard now. Of course Sita would appeal to me, being in such close proximity day in and out, and sleeping in the room beside mine. It’s been too long since I was with an orc woman, and my imagination is clinging to the nearest object.

That’s all.

I stroke faster, with more meanness behind each pump, strangling myself even as I creep closer to my inevitable finish. When it strikes me, it wallops me over the head, sending me back against the wall while my seed arcs up in front of me and onto the floor. I can’t help a moan as I pump again and even more spurts out.

And then, at last, I’m spent, and I fall backward onto my bed. I’ll have to clean the rug tomorrow.

I work almost every day, as very few other activities interest me. But one day a week, I make time to wander the woods, seeking out mushrooms and gathering choice tinder. I’ll usually bring a bow along on the off chance I spot a deer, but my aim leaves much to be desired. I’m no hunter, like Lassa, who can spot a rabbit from forty yards away and spear it through the head without much effort. I’ve only felled a few animals in my life, usually by sheer dumb luck.

That morning, I consider abandoning my usual routine to go to the forge, simply so I don’t have to look Sita in the eyes after what I did last night, how I fucked myself into my hand and came all over thinking about her backside. But mushroom season is in full swing, and I deeply appreciate both the flavor and the additional nutrition they provide in my diet. I suppose there’s no harm in taking Sita into the woods with me.

Unfortunately, it also means maintaining rather close proximity with her for a few hours while we wander. Not to mention trying to make conversation. I dread that for a different reason.

No matter what I say to her, it always comes out harsh. I think of last night, how just the word “no” made the little human wither like a plant in winter. It hadn’t sat well with me.

It’s stupid how much I dislike seeing her upset, while I am often the source of it.

I don’t think she has the vocabulary to understand my plan, so that morning, after we’ve had breakfast and I’ve taken a look at her healing wounds to ensure they can handle the stress, I take off the bandages and pat her toes.

“You don’t need these anymore,” I say, tossing the bandages away. Sita’s face brightens, and she extends her little feet in front of her. Her toes are so tiny, and all I want to do is touch them, to see how they would feel.

I rise once again and head to the door, motioning for her to follow. “Come.”

Sita cocks her head, then slips her feet into her shoes before following me out onto the porch.

“Where?” she asks in her wobbly accent.

I point off to the trees. “That way.”

“Forest?”

I shoot her a look of surprise. So Merka taught her many new words. That’s helpful.

“Yes, we’re going out into the forest.” I should use full sentences to help her learn our grammar. “Looking for mushrooms.”

“Looking for mushrooms.” Her attempts to repeat me are endearing. She’s certainly trying hard to learn Orcish.

“Mushroom,” I say again.

“Mushroom.”

When I nod in approval, she flashes me a big smile, and then we’re off.

I don’t follow any particular path through the forest. I know these woods well, and I can navigate them for miles just by sight and landmark. It’s too bad that I can’t reiterate to Sita the importance of staying near me and not getting lost, but a few minutes into our journey and I don’t think it will be a problem. She stays close by my side, picking her way over branches and around rocks, never straying more than a few feet away, as if she’s afraid the woods might swallow her up.

I need to get her better shoes. They’ll have to be custom made for someone her size, though, but I should probably acquire them before next week’s adventure.

Deeper in the forest, I catch sight of our first prize: a rather large turkey mushroom, growing from a rotting log. I pause and stoop down to get a better look at it, and Sita imitates me.

“Mushroom?” she asks.

“Yes. Mushroom. Tastes good.” I imitate putting food in my mouth, and she nods in understanding.

“Tastes good.”

The words sound so strange, almost musical in her little bird’s voice. I pull a bag off my belt along with a knife, then separate the base of the mushroom from the log before dropping it into the bag. On her own prerogative, Sita takes the bag and carries it with her as we leave the log and head onward.

I gather a few choice sticks as we go, but neither of us speaks. It’s not an uncomfortable silence as we take in the sounds of nature. A creek burbles nearby, and birds sing in the trees. A breeze blows past, shaking the branches and sending a flock of yellow leaves fluttering down to the ground.

When I glance at Sita, I find her peering up into the canopy overhead, which is turning orange and red with autumn’s gentle touch.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I ask her. She shakes her head, not knowing what I mean. I point at the leaves. “Beautiful.” Then at the sky. “Beautiful.”

She nods in understanding and repeats the word a few times until she mostly has it right.

We continue for another two miles, stopping occasionally to collect edible mushrooms. Once, Sita finds one of the poisonous canary mushrooms and happily dives for it, victorious at her discovery—until I shake my head and say, “No.” She hastily leaves it and retreats. I try to explain that it would hurt her, and I believe she gets the message.

We’ve found a few other interesting varieties on the way, though, that will make a rather pleasant medley.

As the morning turns into early afternoon, Sita starts humming a tune I don’t know, a pleasant little ditty. I’ve had to slow my strides so she can keep up, which means we’re not covering nearly as much ground as I normally would, but I find I don’t mind our meandering pace. I can well and truly appreciate the clean aroma of the trees, and out in the fresh air, Sita’s scent isn’t quite so strong.

“Gurrek,” I hear her say after some time. She’s slowed down behind me, so I come to a stop. Lifting one of her feet, she reveals that the sole of her shoe has come clean off, and it hangs limp.

“Shit.” I examine the shoe to see if there’s any hope, but I think it’s little more than trash now. Unfortunately, we’re quite a long way from home, and Sita can’t very well walk barefoot.

“Shit?” she repeats.

I can’t help barking out a laugh. “Shh,” I say, putting a finger to my lips. “You shouldn’t say shit.”

She cocks her head. “Shit.”

I laugh again, unable to hold it in. She crows the word a few times, making me laugh harder as I try to get her to stop.

Then I realize I’m going to have to carry her home, and all the humor falls from my face.

Wonderful. We’re a good two miles from home, and I’ll have to hold on to her thighs to carry her back.

Not that I have any other choices. I turn around and pat my shoulders. She’s going to have to climb on.

“Get up,” I tell her.

“Get up?”

After some finagling and imitating what I want, Sita eventually understands me. Her cheeks turn pink, and she checks her shoe one more time as if to be certain it’s unusable before she climbs onto my back. I have to hook my hands under her thighs to keep her afloat, and just the feel of her nearly bare legs sends a tingle across my whole body.

Fuck.

With a grunt, I turn back towards home and begin walking. She’s not much to carry around given how small she is, but after almost an hour, even I start to feel her weight.

“I’m sorry, Gurrek,” I hear over my shoulder. I pause, glancing back at her. Sita’s face is turned away.

“Don’t be sorry. You didn’t know this would happen.” I keep my tone reassuring, even if she can’t understand me.

She sighs, and after a few moments, leans her cheek on my back. The sensation of her against me is soft and warm, and I feel freshly strong again.

I heft her up higher on my hips, then continue toward home.