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.