“IMSORRYIMSORRYIMSORRYIMSORRY—“

“It’s fine, Joraa,” Corian groaned, though the galaxy-colored bruise that had replaced his face suggested otherwise. He was lying in a cot in Lysandra’s tent, where the cleric was tending to his bruises with minor healing spells.

“I wouldn’t’a done it if I thought yeh’d be so fragile, honest! I’ve sat on the faces of so many orc men I’ve lost count. A few orc women, too, but—“

“He’ll be alright, Joraa,” Lysandra said. “Nothing some basic potions and healing magic can’t fix. But I’ll, uh, need some more space to work on him.” The orc girl’s kneeling body was taking up nearly all of the cleric’s tent, and that was with her legs sticking out of it.

“R-right,” Joraa said, hesitant to leave her wounded lover for even a moment. “Roguey, just cry out if yeh need anything.”

“Like more orc ass on my face?” Corian groaned with a slight smile. His girlfriend grinned back.

“Love yeh, roguey.”

“Yeah. Love you, too. Don’t forget to drink your spiced mead. It’s, uh, good for your bones.”

As soon as Joraa managed to wiggle her way out of the tent, Lysandra shot Corian a dirty look.

“You let the giant orc sit on your face?” she asked, using her hands to guide a small orb of light along the rogue’s bruises. Already his head had graduated from purple-black to pink-purple.

“She was hornier than any woman I’ve ever seen. What was I supposed to say?”

“‘Don’t sit on my face, Joraa.’”

“She… she was moving too fast, and I was half knocked out already. Everything was a blur.” A beautiful, sexy blur. But it was probably best not to tell the cleric how complicit he had been in this whole incident.

“Did she seem tired?”

“Yeah. I think I got her close.”

“Good. You’re going to fuck her again tonight.“

“TONIGHT!? It’s not just my face, my whole body is sore. Do you know what a night of orcish lovemaking does to a human man? I can’t—“

Lysandra put a firm hand over his mouth, stooping her face close to his.

“First of all, I’ve got a hunch Joraa’s waiting right outside this tent, so keep it down.” Corian could see from the giant shadow lining the canvas walls that she was right. “Second, we’ve only got a single dose of love potion left after today. You need to kill her soon. And third… you’re going to have some help.”

Lysandra brought a puke-green vial to Corian’s lips and tilted it down. He coughed at the putrid taste, but the cleric clamped his mouth shut again to ensure he swallowed it all.

She released her grip and he gasped, his mouth still coated with the awful taste. He reached around for anything to cleanse his palate — even the jar labeled “WYRM RESIN” looked promising. Luckily, his hands found a flask of gin instead.

“What the hell was that?” the rogue asked, wiping his lips after a long pull of liquor.

“A few things,” Lysandra explained. “An Elixir of Enhanced Recovery to ensure your body’s healed up for tonight. An Iron Brew to give you resistance to any further physical damage. A basic stamina potion so you can keep up with her… you know, down there. And then finally, some swamp juice.”

“Swamp juice?”

“I had to use it up.”

Corian took another swig of gin, still trying to shake off the aftertaste.

“I know it’s a lot to ask. But this time tomorrow, you’ll be free. No more body-bruising romps with your green girlfriend.”

Lysandra frowned. She was sure that would elicit at least a chuckle from the rogue, but he was staring into the ground, dead silent.

“No more waking up with-“

“Shut the fuck up, Lysandra.”

“Great ancients, Corian, you were a corpse when she dragged you in this morning.”

“Well, the damned orc dragged me in, didn’t she?” Corian growled, taking another pull from the cleric’s flask. “She didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“She didn’t mean anything, Corian. The last time she was herself, she was trying to chop our heads off. It’s just the potion. I want you to repeat that to yourself until you realize it’s true.”

“Bit of a hard thought to fuck to, no?”

“Not then. When you’re… fucking, just think about all the women you’ll have to yourself in Misthaven. Think about old flames. Whatever. Just don’t think about her.”

Corian nodded. Tipping the flask to his lips, he realized he had already drained it. “Sorry about the gin,” he said, guilty placing it back where he had found it.

“It’s fine. You need it more than I do. Oh, and Corian?”

“Yeah?”

“If she asks you to eat her out tonight, maybe get on top this time.”

The rogue smiled. “Duly noted.”

~~~

Corian’s head was spinning, his temples bursting with pressure. The rogue had been squeezed, scratched, bruised, concussed, and, at one point, nearly strangled.

And Joraa had been trying to take it easy on him tonight.

Still, that awful concoction seemed to be having its desired effect, and the human had managed to keep pace with his 10-foot partner for multiple hours at this point. Both were on their last legs now, five rounds in and exhausted in every sense of the word.

Corian was on top this round, using his increasingly slick grip on her tree-trunk thighs to pump the orc girl full of cock. This position meant more work for him, but it was far kinder on his body; besides, Joraa was physically exerting herself as well, raising her hips to meet his with her massive core strength.

Their dark tent suddenly exploded into light — Joraa had cast another candlelight orb. Craning his neck up, Corian realized the orc just wanted to see his face. She blew him an air kiss and he weakly returned the favor.

With their quarters illuminated, Corian was able to see just how sweaty they both were. The tent felt like an elven steam bath, even with a tiny stream of air flowing in from where Joraa’s legs poked out. Joraa in particular was practically gleaming, her wet skin highlighting her physique in sharper definition than usual.

Still humping her tight cunt, Corian traced a curious, lusty hand along her iron abs. If carrying thirty logs was a light errand for her, how the hell had she gotten this ripped? Did she wrangle dragons as a side gig?

“Like ‘em?” Joraa asked, panting.

“Love ‘em.” As if to prove his point, he pivoted his head away from her bosom to give the top of her abdominals a long, salty lick. It was a nice reprieve from breathing in the scent of her sex these last few hours, though in all honesty he couldn’t get enough of either.

His orcish partner suddenly crossed her legs, easily wrapping them around his back — and sinking his cock deeper into her hungry cunt. They both let out small, happy grunts.

Her abs were majestic enough, but her thighs — he could swear they were thicker around than he was, and probably each stronger than a musk ox. Their tight constriction around his form should have felt painful, but it only supercharged his libido, and the tired rogue sped up his thrusts in response.

On Lysandra’s advice, Corian had started the night thinking about his past conquests: the barmaid from his hometown, that elf girl in Deerbrook, those dwarf twins in Fairchester — by the ancients, who could forget them? But gradually, he found himself thinking about Joraa. Yes, he was staring at every flawless facet of her expertly sculpted body, but he was thinking about her, too.

The way she sometimes squeezed his cock between her warm, massive breasts. That blowjob she once gave him while holding him up in the air. That look he had gotten at her ass last night—

That was enough. Corian moaned, gripping the orc’s thighs harder than ever as he climaxed for the fifth time that night. Joraa moaned too, feeling his member pierce her further as it spasmed ceaselessly. Her thick calves dug into his ass, pushing him in further still.

The two looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. Even half a minute after the initial burst, Corian’s dick was still spurting empty loads inside of her. Joraa giggled.

“You’re damn good,” Corian admitted, now laughing himself.

“Yer damn better,” the orc said, pulling her tiny human lover closer to her face. Corian rested his chin on her collarbone, using her bosom as neck support.

It was cozy. Too cozy. He hoped she was feeling tired, too, since a few minutes like this would be enough to knock him out.

Thankfully, she let out a colossal, leonine yawn (even larger than last night’s), clearly spent. Smacking her lips, she looked down at her rogue, a simple, happy look spread wide across her face.

“You should close your eyes,” Corian suggested, rubbing his thumb along her eyelid as if to encourage her.

“Yeh go first.”

“You go first.”

“Fat chance, roguey.”

Corian considered pretending to shut his eyes so that she would — but with the position he was in, he knew he’d actually fall asleep. No, he simply had to outlast her.

“I know what yer tryin’ to do.”

“What am I trying to do?” the rogue laughed, a little nervous — even though there was no chance she knew the real answer.

“A starin’ contest. Me and meh brothers an’ sisters used to have ‘em all the time.” She gave another great big yawn, straining her eyes open as she did so. “In meh hometown we used to hold these great big ones. There were feasts of roast boar, prizes of eighty silver. Competitors came from all over the Hinterlands.”

“All that for a staring contest?”

“Ain’t much to do in orc villages,” Joraa confessed. “It was that, tend to farms, or try to find somewhere yeh could make a livin’ as a bandit.” There was a twinge of sadness in her voice. “Yeh can probably guess what I was good at.”

“Being an amazing girlfriend?”

“Am I?” Joraa was grinning as she asked it, but Corian quickly realized her question was serious.

“I mean, uh, you just made me cum five times in one night.”

“After I damn near killed yeh last night,” she sighed. “And outside of sex, yeh’ve been… I dunno. Yeh’ve been distant.”

“No, no, it’s just…” Corian said, feeling a yawn rise through his throat as he spoke. The heat from her breasts was flowing to his head, and he was straining to keep his eyes open now.

Just stay awake. You can do this.

“It’s just, uh…”

It’s just that I’m trying to kill you, you fucking orc…

“It’s just what?” Joraa asked.

You’d do the same if it wasn’t for that damn potion…

“Roguey?”

Corian blinked two tired eyes open. He didn’t even realize he had closed them. Thankfully, the orc he was lying on looked equally exhausted.

“It’s nothing. It’s me. I’m, um…”

“Tired?”

“Tired.”

Joraa slid her huge hand along the rogue’s hair, her pinky able to massage his neck while her thumb cupped his scalp. The pressure felt oddly soothing on the human’s battered head, and Corian hoped the warm embrace of her fingers wouldn’t make him fall asleep even faster.

“You won the staring contest,” Corian realized aloud.

“Guess so,” Joraa giggled, relishing the relief as she gave a few big blinks. Then her big blinks became bigger, and longer, and slower, and then the orc blinked her eyes shut for good.

Thank the ancients, Corian thought, using every last ounce of energy he had not to fall for the cute, blissful smile on Joraa’s face. Now I can just move my hand…

Gliding his hand across the orc’s fat right tit, his fingers found a plump nipple. Joraa let out a small, satisfied noise, though it was obvious she was already fast asleep. As if to make sure, Corian rubbed her nipple, then rubbed a little harder, then squeezed what tiny fraction of her boob his hand could gain a hold of, then keep massaging, then…

Joraa’s candlelight orb extinguished, plunging the tent into darkness.

That’s okay, Corian sleepily thought to himself. If it’s this dark I might as well close my eyes anyway. And then I’ll do it…

Do what? Corian was too tired to even make sense of his own thoughts. All he could feel or comprehend was the orcish tit flesh he was lazily fondling.

He closed his eyes, instinctually slid his face down into the hot, heavenly crevice between the orc’s breasts, and within seconds the rogue was fast asleep.