Page 69 of Grumpy Pucking Orc
I told her about the mountain caves near our clan’s home, about how we purchased and used fae magic lanterns and other spells and had indoor plumbing and heating systems similar to what the humans had here. After polishing off a third tray of crabs on my own, I sat back, my hunger finally satisfied.
Our dining area looked as if a brutal insect battle had occurred. The brown paper that covered the tabletop was damp and torn in spots and littered with clumps of the orange spice. Broken bits of shell, stray leg segments, and smears of mustard covered the surface. Wadded paper towels and buckets full of dissected crab parts flanked the empty bottles of beer.
Our server didn’t seem at all disturbed by the scene. She efficiently scooped everything into a large, black plastic bag and cheerfully asked us if we’d saved room for dessert.
Jordan laughed, eyeing me. “Ice cream?” she asked.
I grinned, then turned to the server. “What do you suggest?”
“I’ll be right back.” She toted the plastic bag off and returned a few moments later carrying a tray with samples of all the dessert offerings.
“Ooh, Smith Island Cake.” Jordan winced. “I’m not sure if I can eat more than a few bites, though.”
I sniffed, then frowned. “None of these smell like food. They smell like plastic.”
The server laughed. “Because they are. Trust me, theones you’ll get to eat are real. We have these plastic replicas to show customers.”
“If they used real desserts as displays, they’d melt or have flies dive-bombing them, or look really stale a few hours into service,” Jordan explained. “Lots of restaurants do this.”
I nodded, bemused by the idea of fake food. This would never work back home since the aroma was so unappealing, but humans didn’t have our acute sense of smell, and they were very visual.
Visually, these selections were attractive. But none enticed me without being able to scent the combinations of sugar, flour, spice, milk, and fruit.
“I’ll take a slice of the Smith Island Cake.” Jordan glanced over at me. “And let’s get the warm bread pudding with caramel as well. We can share.”
“No ice cream?” I didn’t intend for that to sound so whiney, but I was truly sad over not having what had become my favorite treat.
Jordan’s smile brought adorable dimples to her cheeks. “I have ice cream at home in the freezer and will gladly serve you some. If you’re coming home with me, that is.”
I perked up at that. As much as I loved ice cream, the best part of that offer was that I would be taking Jordan to her lack-of-furs bed and spending the night bringing her pleasure and having her body against mine.
The server returned with Jordan’s selections. I inhaled deeply and knew that my mate had made an excellent choice.
“Smith Island Cake is a bit of a local legend, although you can now purchase it all over the country,” she explained as she pushed the plate to a spot between us and handed me a fork. “In the early eighteen hundreds, women onMaryland’s Smith Island would bake this cake to celebrate the autumn oyster harvest.” She gestured out to the river, dark with lighted boats bobbing at the pier. “If you haven’t realized, Maryland has a love affair with the water and the bounty the Chesapeake Bay brings. The whole state is covered with creeks, streams, and rivers—all tributaries leading to the Bay and the ocean.”
I nodded, thinking of how, back home, we were all about the mountains, the stone, the caves. While we did have streams, rivers, and lakes, my clan’s territory did not have anywhere near the number of waterways that this state did.
“The cake has always been distinctive for its multiple thin layers. Usually there are anywhere from eight to ten, each with icing in between. No one is exactly sure how the unusual number of layers originated, but I like to think that the women baking the cakes had a friendly rivalry over who could create the thinnest and the most layers.”
“I am not a skilled baker, but I cannot imagine creating layers this thin without them breaking,” I confessed.
“Me either. But I’m sure it’s a lot easier with our modern automation.” She dug her fork in and scooped up a large piece. “The original was yellow cake with a chocolate buttercream, but nowadays there are lots of flavors, and the chocolate icing is usually fudge so it remains stable at a warmer temperature. It’s the official state dessert. And since Maryland is my adopted home, it’s my official favorite.”
She extended the fork toward me, and I hesitated. Courtship involved male orcs feeding the female they wished to marry, not the female feeding the male. But humans had their own culture, and I’d noticed Jordan doing many things that would be a male orc’s wooing actions. She occasionally purchased food for me. She planned some ofour dates. I’d been thrilled that she was physically demonstrative, initiating many of our sexual activities.
Jordan leaned forward, touching the fork and the cake to my lips. I opened my mouth and let her feed me, my hand-axe growing hard at the gesture. The cake was good, an explosion of sugary crumb and sweet chocolate, but that all faded into the background of my sudden fantasies.
Jordan pushingmeback onto her furless bed. Her restraining me with those small, fragile, white hands. Her issuing demands. Her taking control of my body. I would lie there, helpless as she used me however she wanted.
It wasn’t the sort of fantasy that a Clan Guardian should have. It wasn’t the sort of fantasy that a male orc should have. But the idea of this slight human having her way with me almost had me ejaculating in my pants.
“And now for the bread pudding.” Jordan pushed aside the cake, putting down her fork and picking up a spoon. “This isn’t a particularly Maryland dessert or even one originating in the U.S. It dates back to the Middle Ages in England and was a good way to make use of stale bread.”
I stared at the gooey mess with horror. Stale? Stale bread?
“Oh, stop!” She laughed. “It’s soaked in custard which is eggs, sugar, and milk. You’re going to love it.”
Again, she fed me a spoonful. In spite of the stale bread, this dessert was much better than the sugary cake, but not nearly as appealing as Jordan’s delight in feeding me.
