As the fire faintly crackled in Corian’s eyes, he wondered if he had ever been so young as to think it was safe to touch.

The rogue must have spent countless childhood mornings sitting by his family’s hearth, though even in the viscous haze of his earliest memories, he seemed to know he wasn’t supposed to touch the flames. Was such knowledge innate? Or was there a time before he could remember, when he naïvely assumed their true nature was as wholesome as their beauty promised?

It was certainly possible. He had fallen under similar delusions before.

Hell, he was fighting one right now.

But Corian wasn’t going to think about that particular matter. No, he would just stare into the embers before him and watch the final flames dance ‘til they extinguished.

Unfortunately, his fellow party members didn’t hold his same preoccupation.

“We don’t have much time, Corian,” Thoran said. His booming urgency was enough to snap the rogue from his trance.

Corian rubbed his eyes of the smoke and looked over at his dwarven companion. “We told her thirty pieces. She’ll be a few minutes.”

“I mean we don’t have much time. Misthaven’s six days away. We’ve got enough silverroot to last us two.”

“Then… then we stretch the potion out.”

Lysandra shook her head. “Can’t risk it, Corian. She’s massive. Needs a lot of potion. Too small a dose and she’ll realize what you’ve been giving her these last few weeks and turn on all of us.”

Corian looked up at the elf, his tired eyes a bit wider now. If they couldn’t water down the potion, then…

No. There had to be a way.

“We’ll make Misthaven in three days. We can do it.”

“Corian—“ Lysandra said.

“We’ll sleep less, walk faster. And — and if one of us gets tired she could carry us! Nothing would slow us down.”

“CORIAN!” Thoran boomed.

That was enough to shut the rogue up. He looked at the dwarf and the other members of his party — Lysandra the cleric, Aldric the warrior, Liora the bard — with legitimate dread. He knew what words came next.

“You have to kill her, Corian.”

A pause fell over the camp. Then, with guilt and great hesitance, the rogue spoke.

“…It shouldn’t be me.”

“Oh, gods,” Aldric sighed. Liora rubbed her tired face.

“You’re the only one she trusts,” Lysandra said. “None of us can get a good enough shot at her. She was powerful enough to nearly kill all of us combined, remember?”

“And you’re a rogue,” Thoran added. “It’s a blade to the throat, something you’ve done countless times.”

All eyes were still on Corian, but the rogue just stared into the fire again.

“She’ll be back any second,” Liora said.

“Fine. I’ll do it when she’s asleep.”

Aldric gave a deep, mocking laugh. “That’s rich! The damned beast hasn’t closed her eyes once. Always keeping watch or whatever the hell she calls it.”

Corian shook his head. “No, I’ve seen her do it for brief periods before. After we’ve, uh…”

“After you’ve what?” asked Liora.

“You know.”

“Shagged?” said Thoran. Corian nodded. “When the potion wears off she’ll kill you, too, kid,” the dwarf sighed, sympathetic.

“I know.”

“She doesn’t love you. It’s just the potion.”

“Yeah. I know.” Corian sounded almost petulant now, but there was real pain in his voice.

An uneasy silence filled the camp. The adventurers all looked into the fire — unable to look each other in the eye, much less the rogue they had unloaded this odious task onto.

The distant sound of crunching leaves broke the stillness. The party looked up to see a giant log monster sprinting towards them.

“Oh, great ancients,” Aldric cursed under his breath.

“I’M BACK, ROGUEY!” the monster cheerily screamed, and thirty-odd logs fell to the dirt with an ear-splitting crash. With the grace of a child skipping stones, the dark figure hurled four more massive pieces of wood into the campfire, showering the entire party in a sea of sparks.

This was no wooden golem, of course, but something far more imposing: an orc bandit, impossibly large even for her kind, with a built olive-green figure that may as well have been chiseled jade. Her loincloth, probably made of some animal that could swallow a human whole, barely covered her fat tits or unshaven crotch (though the whole party had seen those, too, as she made a point to strip naked and swim in any river she saw). An ordinary man would come up to her navel — much like the ordinary man she was now hastily descending upon.

“How’s my little roguey? Did ‘e miss me?” the orc asked, squeezing the life out of Corian as she easily wrapped her huge arms around him.

“Y-yeah, Joraa, I missed you a lot,” the rogue squeaked, head sandwiched between her sweaty, vaguely oak-scented tits. She had been away for all of four minutes.

“I’ll bet yeh did,” she purred in her Hinterlands accent, craning her neck to rub her pillowy lips along his face. “And I’ll bet yeh missed this, too.” A huge hand slithered past his shirt and into his trousers, her fingers alone covering his manhood from testicle to tip.

“J-Joraa, not in front of everyone else, remember?”

“Ah, they don’t mind,” his titanic lover said. “Er— do yeh?” The orc looked up at the other adventurers’ frozen faces.

“N-no,” they all lied in unison. Their obvious expressions of terror were lost on the orc, who simply turned back to her beau and flashed a snaggletoothed grin.

“See? Told yeh so.” She gave a casual flick of her wrist in the direction of the dying fire, sending the pile of wood bursting into eight-foot flames, and slid her thick tongue between Corian’s lips.

The fucking magenta bottle. Why did he have to throw the fucking magenta bottle?

~~~

The rogue was lucky to be alive at all, of course. They all were.

The party had made a name for themselves clearing out bandit camps in the Southmoors. Most of them simply scampered away without even giving battle. It was an easy gig, though the villages they helped had little in the way of coin. More lucrative opportunities were to be had in the north, near the Capital — but getting there before the late autumn snows made travel impossible meant passing through Devil’s Canyon.

Located on the outskirts of the Hinterlands, the deep gulch was where the cruelest orcs preyed on clueless travelers who didn’t know to take the coastal route. But Thoran, Lysandra, Liora, Aldric, and Corian took on bandits for a living. They could handle Devil’s Canyon.

Then came Joraa. They couldn’t handle Joraa.

She didn’t have a crew. She didn’t need one. She was a one-orc army, skilled in longsword combat and advanced pyromancy, probably capable of destroying entire legions if she put her mind to it. 

They should have offered up their belongings. They should have begged for mercy. Instead, they were neck-deep in a battle they were decisively losing, every member injured or incapacitated.

That was Corian’s read of it, at least, from the bottom of the dust cloud their battle had filled the floor of the ravine with. He was crawling by now, his ribs either bruised or broken after the beast had carelessly tossed his body onto a boulder earlier.

But he must have been the strongest member of his party left, as the tall, faint figure rising from the grey air was now refocusing its attention on him.

The rogue scrambled back, but the beast was undeniably gaining on him now, even with a slow, lumbering stomp that suggested this wasn’t a battle it wished to waste much energy on. This thing had nearly killed Corian with a toss; he dreaded to think what the nine-foot war hammer now visible in her silhouette was capable of.

As his hopeless crawl backward continued, Corian felt the dirt around him grow warm — then hot. Turning around, he realized why the bandit was taking her sweet time pursuing him: she had surrounded their party in a ring of fire. He had nowhere to turn. The figure in the dust cloud was clear as day now, and it was readying its swing. Up the weapon went, and down —

THOOM. The world jumped, the ground cracked, and Corian’s body had not turned to stew. The hammer had struck the tail of his cloak, something the orc angrily realized as her target ripped free of his pinned garment and scurried away.

“YER DEAD, RUNT!”

Corian scrambled up to another boulder, buying himself useless seconds as Joraa stepped towards him at a quicker pace. Through the thick air he could faintly hear Lysandra crying out to him. He was right beside the cleric’s strewn belongings.

“THROW THE PINK BOTTLE!”

There must have been dozens of bottles — but the rogue had no time to deliberate. The shadow of the orc’s hammer fell over him. Corian made out a rose-hued vial to his right, grabbed it, and hurled it up against the beast’s head. The potion burst open against her forehead, sending the massive creature reeling. Corian stared at the orc stupidly, what for her to freeze solid or turn into a pigeon or something. The blow to the head alone wouldn’t hold her off for more than a few seconds. Then he heard Lysandra’s voice again:

“WRONG BOTTLE!”

“WHAT?”

“WRONG! BOTTLE!”

And those were the last words Corian heard before the orc tackled him, threw his body to the ground, and began to fuck him mercilessly.

The pink bottle was a Potion of Paralysis, which would have rendered the orc motionless for enough time for Corian to attack her.

The magenta bottle Corian threw was an Elixir of Amorous Affection. And by the ancients, did it seem to be effective.

A rub of her greasy, massive palm had been enough to make Corian erect — and then the towering figure thrust herself down onto his shaft, pounding him with a raw strength he hadn’t even known existed before today. Her hairy pussy clenched onto his manhood, quickly sucking a large burst of pre-cum from his member. Later on, the rogue would recall only having a single thought during this time: She’s tighter than I thought.

The rest of the party should have killed her there and then, but they didn’t. Not only were they all half dead, they were all too shocked.

Just as Aldric finally tried to make a move, the orc stood up, having successfully milked her mate to completion. She pulled Corian up with her, coating his face in a massive, loving kiss.

Joraa the Bandit had been defeated. And Joraa the Overly Affectionate Girlfriend was now the sixth member of their party, whether they liked it or not. For the remainder of that first day she was glued to the rogue’s side, treating him and his peers like they hadn’t been trying to kill each other just hours ago.

Friendly as she seemed, she was a powder keg. The Elixir of Amorous Affection wouldn’t last long, certainly not on a creature as large as she was. Fortunately, Liora recalled a simple love potion recipe from her childhood in the Willowfields: elven mead, mulberries, sage, and silverroot. It was extremely rustic, but it would have to do.

It wasn’t hard to convince Joraa to consume the alcoholic drink, especially when the love of her life was giving it to her. But the question of what to do with the lovestruck orc still weighed heavily on their minds.

Trying to lose her proved fruitless, as her legs could walk much faster than theirs; killing her while she was distracted in another battle was raised as a possibility, though now that every other bandit they encountered fled their camps at the sight of her, there were no more battles to be had. (Dangerous as she was, nobody ever denied that she was an effective member of the party.)

And Joraa never rested, spending her long nights scanning the horizon for any potential threat to her lover — never once realizing the entire camp was conspiring to kill her.

There was just one way to make Joraa fall asleep, of course.

Luckily for the party, it was something she’d agree to readily.

~~~

Corian felt like he was back on the floor of Devil’s Canyon — only instead of dust, he was choking on orc sweat.

Joraa’s mammoth jugs were positioned right above his head, sending drops of her body’s juices dripping down onto his face from both nipples. It was like dual water torture. Salty dual water torture. (Great ancients, he thought, she needs to drink more liquids.)

His eyes were closed shut to keep the sweat from stinging them, but it was easy enough to picture the rest of the scene around him. For one, he could feel his ten-foot orc lover pounding the life out of his cock (with what sensation he had left below the waist, anyway), eagerly pumping her pussy up and down with a rhythmic squelch. Her glutes were probably jiggling and sweaty as ever; the rogue’s right hand was still sopping wet from the numerous times she asked him to slap her ass. All of her was probably sweating by now, if the sweltering, musky air surrounding his body was any indication. Her feet were probably sticking out of the makeshift tent they had constructed for her huge form, her toes curled in orgasmic bliss. And her face —

“Unghhhhh… roguey… give me yer cummm…”

…Well, anyone could guess what expression her face was making right now.

They had been going for hours now, as any of the other party members could easily tell. Certainly the orc had to grow tired eventually. And then one swipe of the blade is all it would take. One swipe of the blade and the orc would be out of their lives forever. He could even do it right n—

Fuck. The tightness of Joraa’s pussy was distracting him. How could a beast so massive put such a chokehold on his human cock? Her hole seemed naturally small, but she seemed to be clenching it further, as if under orders to milk as much semen from her poor human companion as possible.

And as deeply unnerving as Corian found his current situation, it was working. He could feel his dick oozing out small droplets already, far more eager than he was to bust inside this massive monster. Another big drop of boob sweat splashed onto his cheek. Just a few more seconds of this.

But with a dramatic hump, Joraa lowered her body further still, pressing her tits into Corian’s face. The rogue gave his lover a muffled cry for help.

“Mmmm… suck ‘em, roguey.”

Figuring he had nothing better to do while denied access to air, Corian slid a fat orc nipple into his mouth and began sucking away. It was roughly as large as a grape, and hard as a chestnut; despite the size disparity, her body seemed to be loving every second of this.

And in a way, so did Corian. Sure, he was pinned to the ground, but he was pinned by the biggest bosom he had ever seen, and he was able to hungrily feast on one huge nipple with his mouth while he fondled the other with his hand. And that cunt — her loins could probably burst apart gemstones. With another thrust of her hips, he exploded, too.

“Fhhhckkkk,” the rogue moaned, still muffled by tit. He shot his tiny load deep into her hot orcish pussy, his mind basking in so much pleasure that he didn’t even realize he had gone a full minute without air.

Giggling, Joraa dismounted his cock and slid her wet breasts down, repositioning her giant face to meet his. She cast a basic candlelight orb to better see him in the dim light, placing the ethereal flame in the air above them.

The orc’s radiant eyes, greener than her skin, held a misleading innocence. Corian wasn’t sure if that was the love potion’s doing or her own natural elegance. Joraa was, by his own private admission, a beauty — someone he’d even consider using a love potion on intentionally if she were his own size.

And by any objective standard, she had been a terrific partner. She washed and cleaned his clothes without him asking; she sharpened his blades; she cooked a venison stew better than anything he had ever tasted; they held conversations about their respective cultures on those long, dark nights when he felt as restless as she did; her magnificent, roaring laugh always put a smile on his face; she—

Stop. She doesn’t really love you. You need to focus.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, roguey?”

“Huh? I— tired. Just how tired I was. By the ancients, you must be tired, too, right?”

Realizing she was, Joraa opened her maw and let loose a colossal, lengthy yawn against her lover’s face. The gesture would have seemed much cuter if not for the thick presence of mead and smoked meats on her hot breath. The orc smacked her lips, smiling at her tiny lover. “Ye, I think yeh just mighta knocked the wind out of meh. Tomorrow’ll be a long day besides.”

“Right.” A tomorrow she’d never see.

“Y’know, bein’ the good guy’s more fun than I reckoned it’d be. Chasin’ off bandits, collectin’ bounties…”

Just a few more minutes. You’ve got this.

“Singin’ and drinkin’ in taverns instead of robbin’ em…”

You can grab your blade from here. Just wait for her to close her eyes, slit her throat, and you’re done.

“Sharin’ old childhood stories of mine by the fire… heh, did yeh see how pale the bard’s face got?”

“Joraa, sorry — can we just close our eyes now? We’re both so sleepy, and…”

To Corian’s surprise, the orc responded with a pathetic, needy moan. She rubbed his chest with a hand that nearly covered it.

“Roguey… my pussy…”

“I fucked you good, eh?” the rogue said, smiling.

Joraa smiled back. “My pussy wants more.”

More? Was her cunt made of dwarven steel?

“I-I’m drained, Joraa, I-“

“Yer cock is drained. Yer mouth…” She gave him a saliva-soaked smooch. “…is gonna do all the work.”

Well… if he was going to kill her, the least he could do is eat her out, right?

“Uh… sure. Just lay down and I’ll—“

“No need to worry about that, little one,” Joraa said, maneuvering her whole body around in a tent she was twice the size of. “Yeh jus’ stay right there.”

Corian rubbed the sweat from his eyes, hoping to get a better view of what Joraa was planning.

And then, for a moment, time sat still. The rogue froze, too, watching helplessly as two plump green spheres filled up his field of view.

Orcish asscheeks.

He expected the odor to be horrid, but they smelled… beautiful. Beautiful in a way that made his tired cock twitch up again, at least.

The view was beautiful, too. He had never gotten a good look at her asshole, but it seemed cute and tight for her size like her pussy was. And then there was her pussy itself, wet and hungry for more pleasure, eagerly waiting to lock its lips with his own.

Corian simply smiled as Joraa’s giant jade cheeks descended further down onto his face. 

It was monstrous.

It was marvelous.

It was the last thing he’d see before he passed out under the weight of her ass.

“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.