Page 31 of Marked By Feral Monsters
I follow the tracks for a few yards, not really thinking about where I'm headed or why. I actively ignore the array of emotions that accompany the excitement: shame for disobeying the elders, for putting my own selfish needs before my community. But I can't deny the feeling inside me that grows brighter with each step I take.
I don't actually want to find an orc, I tell myself. The thrill of knowing it exists, that it's so close to me, is enough.
The tracks lead further north, and after a short time, the sound of running water has me slowing until the steps disappear completely, nearing the edge of a cliff.
The waterfall is the furthest my people usually venture. The light breaks through the clearing, the afternoon sun beating down heavily, but with the water nearby, there's a light breeze, and it's less humid than under the canopy of the forest trees.
I lean over the edge of the cliff carefully, listening to the roar of the water churning below. The orc is long gone, or if he's not, there's no way I can follow him down below.
Disappointment pinches my chest. Which is stupid.
I shouldn't have even come this far. Truly, I didn't actually expect to find an orc.
But, I'd gotten so worked up with excitement, the blow that this idiotic fantasy of mine will never actually lead to anything has me slumping to the ground. Under the shade of a broken, weather-beaten tree, I sit, listening to the waterfall, contemplating how boring my life is going to be.
I'm destined to have unfulfilling sex, forage for berries and mushrooms, listen to my bunkmate get railed by the same guy I fucked three weeks ago, for the rest of my life.
Uncharitable thoughts fill me with shame.
Worst of all, my body responded so intensely to the large tracks that my pussy is still aching with need. I can feel how slippery I am, and I haven't touched myself in days. I stare at the berries in the basket, half-full because I'm the village fuck-up.
I need to orgasm. I need a release, to cleanse my mind and body, then get the fuck out of here. Then I need to regroup and find a way to be satisfied like everyone else.
Closing my eyes, taking in the sound of the water, the whir of wind through the leaves, I bend my knees, lean against the tree at my back, and slip my hand beneath my shift.
My fingers are cool, the sensation against my hot, soaking wet core a pleasant contrast. I dip my finger into the pooling slick, breaking the seal of my pussy, breath hitching when my fingertips graze my clit.
I circle the bud, slowly at first, teasing out the pleasure, doing my best to ignore the tugging disappointment that I'm all alone, and still empty.
My pelvis tilts forward, and I rock against my fingers, chasing the zinging pleasure building in my core. I'm so wet—too wet, so slippery I can barely feel the texture of my fingers on my clit. So I press harder, move faster.
I can feel my walls contracting, suckling for something that isn't there, wanting something big to fill me. Still, I rub faster and faster, spreading my fingers out flat, slapping my clit every few breaths, my arm getting tired from chasing the pleasure, and I keep pausing, taking deep breaths, trying to focus, but getting frustrated instead.
With a huff, I whine and pull my hand away. It's useless.
"Please don't stop, pretty human."
I scream.
Scrambling away from the deep, textured voice, my knees get caught in my shift as I try to get away from the orc, now kneeling beside the tree behind me. How I didn't hear him, I've no idea,but the amused look on his face tells me he's been watching me for a while. The way he's kneeling, the mossy color of his skin, has him blending in with the trees at the edge of the woods.
A strange accent truncates his words, affected by the massive tusks jutting up from inside his bottom lip. His teeth are sharp, and while his face is humanoid, he is distinctly monstrous.
The orc's eyes drag down my body, brows furrowing thoughtfully. He's got a jarring look about him, and I feel like a bug under glass as he stares me down. I quickly pat the sides of my shift, but the thick material is heavy and falls down to cover my body the second I stand.
Fisting my hands at my sides, heart racing like a hummingbird flutters in my chest, I drag my gaze up—and up—the orc's body.
Even on his knees, he towers over me. Large, barrel-chested, skin a mossy green texture, with shadowy blue coloring the creases of his arms, and his muscles, massive and defined, subtly shaded with brown.
Less fine than my shift, a swatch of scratchy fabric covers his lower half, and I curse myself for even looking down to check.
But the orc misses nothing. He smirks and adjusts his legs, which hide something enormous, judging by the bulge beneath his loincloth. I swallow, and the burning ache between my legs returns.
Need.
Fuck, I need it.
I'm just like the elders say. I'm a stupid girl, with no sense between my ears. A waste of resources and energy, because clearly, in the face of my potential death, it's still all I can think about.
