Gwennalyn's Sexual Awakening Ch. 16

Thank you as always to Emma Kendrick for providing her thoughts on the chapter!

The humid air hung heavy around the party as they made their way through the underbrush. A grotesque insect, as large as a baby bird, with spindly limbs and iridescent wings, buzzed past Gwennalyn, circling her for a moment before flying off, repelled by the special balm the members of the group had applied to any exposed skin.

The princess had spent enough time in forests to be unperturbed by nature.

But this is a different world than the forests back home.

The trees were taller and boasted thick crowns of multicolored leaves. Long, gnarled branches provided plenty of places for animals to perch. On the jungle floor, plants bloomed, in green, red, pink, yellow, and all sorts of vibrant hues. Some were small and humble, tucked into the curls of a tree's roots, while others were large and proud, with thin stalks swaying in the air or brilliantly colored petals demanding attention.

And then there were the animals.

Back in the Free Lands, wildlife in the forests, especially in those areas heavily trafficked by people, generally stayed clear of interlopers unless directly threatened.

But the animals here had no fear.

In the first few minutes of their trek through the jungle, they had encountered a group of angry copper-furred monkeys chittering at them, a large slug-like creature that had been inching its way over the ground before slowly disappearing into a bush, a shaggy-feathered bird of decadently colored plumage that had burst from one of the trees, a small blue-skinned rodent unlucky enough to be unceremoniously snatched up by that bird, and finally, what had looked like a boar with a turtle shell on its back snuffling at the roots of a tree with dirt-stained tusks.

The boartoise is definitely my favorite so far.

Some of the other animals Gwennalyn had seen in menageries, but most were completely new and entirely bizarre. She stayed alert so that she could see every animal that revealed itself. That effort also distracted her from the stifling humidity and the soreness at various points on her body.

The party had left Coronhar two days ago. The first part of the trip had been by boat, along the coast and then into the mouth of the God's Wrath River. Partway up the river, they had disembarked and spent the night in a small village. The next day, they had set out on horseback, headed towards a mountain range, its peaks rising above the horizon. At the foot of one, they had been met by Valenzian rangers, orcs tasked with safeguarding the idyllic jungles of Eastern Valenzis. The rangers had provided the party with mountain goats for the next part of the trip, a trek through the treacherous passes threading the formidable peak. The goats were more surefooted than horses, but their herky-jerky gait made for an uncomfortable ride, and her mount, Bastard, had lived up to his name with an unpleasant attitude and general rebelliousness towards anything she tried to get him to do.

The trek had started out arduous, due to the uncomfortable ride, and the thinning air high up on the peak.

I would think I'd be used to a sore ass and asphyxiation by now...

The view on the way down the other side of the mountain more than made up for the arduous trek. Thanks to Bastard's natural surefootedness, she had been able to take in every detail.

The jungle lands were spread out before them, a shimmering green swath, the color almost impossibly rich. The other peaks in the range hemmed the green in, each one jutting up majestically into the sky. A silver sliver sliced through from the east, the God's Wrath River after the portion of its length that had earned it its name. The party had begun the trek down just as sunset had begun, so that waning light had bathed the vista in a soft glow. The princess had not taken her eyes from it until they reached the bottom.

Once there, more Valenzian rangers had met them, and after relieving the party of their mounts, set them up in a nearby lodge for the night.

After a quick breakfast, the party had set out several hours ago, traipsing through the jungle towards their destination, two rangers serving as their guides.

Although her feet were sore from walking in her riding boots, and her back and shoulders ached from hoisting her bag, Gwennalyn was entranced by the landscape, shrugging off the discomfort to better enjoy such a different and strange environment.

She bumped into the orc in front of her then.

As she was the smallest of the party, and there were plenty of dangerous animals around, they had placed her in the middle of the group.

And now, they closed ranks around her. The orc she had bumped into closed a hand around the haft of the massive axe slung over his back. She glanced around in confusion but saw nothing.

The leaves on a tree to their right began to rustle. When she looked over, she saw something moving there, flashes of a large figure visible through the cover of those leaves.

That large figure leapt from the tree a moment later and landed gracefully.

More followed, leaping from other trees. The party relaxed their defensive postures, the orc in front of her taking his hand off his axe.

These must be the tribals.

Their large, muscular frames, and skin in varying shades of green marked as them as orcs.

However, their features were more brutish, with heavier brows, deep-set eyes, and small, tusk-like fangs jutting up from the lower jaw. Orange tattoos decorated their bodies here and there, different orcs boasting different patterns and symbols. There were plenty of tattoos to see, as all they wore was a loincloth. Splashes of orange also showed up in their hair, again in different symbols and shapes, although some eschewed coloring their shaggy black hair and instead had trinkets threaded through the thick tresses. Each one wielded a weapon, either a crude axe or a sharp spear; the first who leapt wore a curved horn around his neck.

He now strode towards the party, calling over enthusiastically with guttural chuffs. The king stepped forward to greet him with a similar enthusiasm and his own chuffs. The two spoke for a few moments, and then the king turned back to the party.

"They will lead us to the village," he said, waving for them to follow as the tribal orcs began to walk away.

After a few minutes, the group came upon a large cairn, the stones emblazoned with orange symbols. A second stood a dozen yards after the first, and a third stood a dozen more after that.

Finally, the group came upon a long row of tall stakes rammed into the ground. Each stake had a small, orange flag tied to its top. As the party made their way past the stakes, the leader of the tribal group raised the horn to his lips and blew two quick notes, followed by a third, longer one.

A few minutes after they crossed the row of stakes, the ground began to slope upwards. There was a path hewn from the underbrush, cleared of trees and other vegetation. It followed the slope, and then turned left.

When the party rounded that bend, they were met by a large crowd of tribal orcs, who let out a boisterous cheer. The tribal orcs who had met the party earlier led them through the crowd, who parted to either side.

The crowd's collective attention was on King Victorin, who waved and nodded. A few young children peered at her in curious amazement, but besides them, no one spared her a second glance.

I thought I would be more of a spectacle here.

The path wound around languidly. The trees on either side gave way to more cleared-out areas. Some held a large hut, others gardens, others livestock pens, others simply empty.

The crowd grew larger as more orcs appeared, the new arrivals also cheering for the king. She glanced around, taking in as much as she could, of the sprawling village but mainly the gathering orcs.

During the walk into the village, she had studied the tribal orcs who had met them.

Do they all wear loincloths? What do the females wear? And do they all have tattoos and things in their hair?

The walk had given her plenty of time to think of what the rest of the tribe would be like, and now, she had her answers.

Every orc had tattoos and some sort of differentiation in their hair. The tattoos were different from one to another, with unique patterns, shapes, and symbols. Some orcs had splashes of orange in their hair, others instead had small items threaded there, and a few had both. The only bit of clothing was a loincloth, although a few orcs wore a sling over their chests, the sling carrying a baby and thus only incidental clothing. The females left their upper bodies uncovered except for the ubiquitous tattoos, so there were exposed breasts all around.

When the king had explained the trip to her, he had mentioned that they would wear clothing provided by the tribe once with them.

"No dresses, gowns, or even trousers," he had said. "They dress very simply."

I had imagined something simple. But not just a loincloth.

A shiver ran over her at the thought of wearing just a loincloth and showing off her body to these tribal orcs.

The party walked on. There were more cleared-out areas on either side of them, but these all held small huts arranged in groups.

Finally, the path opened onto a spacious clearing, with only a single, large hut in the middle of it. More orcs waited in the clearing; the moment they saw King Victorin, another cheer went up.

He stepped forward then and began to speak. The guttural language sounded strange coming from him, but he spoke smoothly and confidently.

Gwennalyn leaned forward to Mazin, one of the king's courtesans.

"What is he saying?"

Mazin shrugged.

"I don't speak the language."

The crowd listened intently to the king's every word. At one point during the short speech, he gestured to the party behind him, and the crowd let out yet another cheer.

When he finished speaking, the crowd let out a final cheer, and then moved back so that the party could continue. The king waved and nodded to those around him as they walked towards the large hut.

Standing outside it was a stooped, elderly orc, holding a gnarled staff decorated with beads, bones, and streaks of orange paint. Behind him was a small group of children. The king spoke first to the elderly orc, and then crouched to speak to the children. Whatever he said made them nod solemnly.

The children then turned, and began to walk around the hut, followed by the elderly orc. The king gestured for the party to follow.

On the other side of the large hut was another clearing, this one smaller, holding a dozen huts of varying sizes. The children hurried to the first and arranged themselves on either side of the entrance. The elder took up position in front of the entrance. As the group stopped, one of the children darted to the elder and handed over a small, shallow bowl.

The king directed the two rangers towards that first hut. They walked to the elder, and then knelt. The elder dipped two fingers into the bowl; they came out coated in an orange paste. The children began to sing, their voices jumbled since some were louder and others more reserved. As their song continued, the elder swirled his fingers across the rangers' foreheads, first one and then the other, painting complex symbols. When he was finished, he took a few moments to appraise his work. The song ended then, and the elder directed the rangers to stand. They nodded respectfully to the elder, the children, and finally the king, before slipping into the hut.

It was the same at each hut, the children singing their song and the elder drawing symbols in orange paste on the party members' foreheads.

Finally, there were two huts left, with the princess, the king, and the courtesan remaining.

"This one is yours," the king told her, gesturing to the second-to-last hut.

By now, she knew what was expected of her, so she knelt before the elder, the children already singing. His fingers pressed into her forehead and drew symbols there. Once he was satisfied, he directed her to stand. She fought back the instinct to curtsy, only giving respectful nods all around like the other members of the party, before entering her hut.

The interior was cool, dim, and simply furnished. A mat of woven material lay on the ground, serving as a floor. A wooden basin was to the left, and to the right was a squat table. A small basket, laden with fruits, sat on top of the table, and next to the basket were several folded-up pieces of fabric. The last piece of furniture was a sleeping pallet against the opposite wall; a thin, folded blanket was placed at its foot.

She sighed.

When she had accepted the king's invitation, she had been aware that she would not have access to those luxuries she had grown up with and grown accustomed to, soft robes and sheets, spacious beds with ornately crafted frames, lush pillows and blankets.

But now the lack of luxury was staring her in the face.

I'll basically be sleeping on the ground.

She sighed again.

I did want to come.

Her feet ached as she took off her boots, the stench of accumulated sweat wafting out. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she put them by the entrance.

With a third sigh, she trudged over to the pallet and sat down.

The material was surprisingly soft and springy despite its unassuming appearance.

More of her body ached, so she laid down. The trek through the jungle had been strenuous, so the chance to get off her feet was very welcome.

Huh. It's not bad. No pillows though...

She let out a fourth sigh, this one of relaxation rather than resignation.

The invitation to join the king on this trip had come at the end of a stressful week.

Two weeks ago, in the middle of a lazy afternoon spent lounging in her chambers, Deiara had brought her a letter. The sight of her father's seal on the front had given her pause, but she had opened it.

The letter had informed her that Lucien, her husband-to-be, had been injured on the expedition he had set out on with his father, with wounds to his back, leg, and face. Those wounds were bad enough that he had been sent home.

Will Father have me come back because of this? had been her first thought after reading the letter.

Silly, selfish girl, that you can think only of yourself when Lucien is gravely wounded, her second thought had chided.

She had spent the following few days constantly worrying. Her chief worry, to her shame, had been about whether or not she would be told to come back home, but there had been worry about what Lucien's wounds meant for their arranged marriage, and from time to time worries about Lucien himself and if he would recover.

I do want something to put a stop to our marriage, but his death is not what I had in mind.

And then another letter had arrived, also from her father. It had informed her that Lucien would make a full recovery from his wounds and would not be crippled or disfigured. It had also informed her that she would stay in Coronhar for the rest of her scheduled time there instead of coming home early.

The second letter had greatly assuaged her worry, but the stress of those few days had weighed on her mind. She had done her best to avoid thoughts of Lucien or their impending nuptials while in Coronhar, but the letters had made that impossible; those thoughts only soured her mood. That mood had lifted slightly at the king's invitation; as more time had passed, it had lifted entirely, until she felt carefree and relaxed again, her only pressing concerns involving lustful orcs and a lustful handmaiden.

She stretched out on the surprisingly comfortable pallet.

I'll just close my eyes for a few minutes...

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Gwennalyn stirred and opened her eyes.

Mazin stood above her. Instead of the clothes she had worn during the trek through the jungle, she was wearing just a loincloth. The orange paste on her forehead, courtesy of the elderly orc, stood out brightly on her green flesh.

"Rise and shine. It's time for dinner."

The princess yawned, stretching languidly on the sleeping pallet.

"Did you have a nice nap?" the courtesan asked sarcastically.

"Mm-hmm," Gwennalyn replied, heaving herself up onto her feet.

She was halfway to the door when Mazin cleared her throat pointedly.

"You're a little overdressed," the courtesan said, gesturing to the table.

"Oh, right," the princess murmured apologetically, padding over and picking up one of the pieces of fabric.

How do I tie a loincloth?

After working through the possibilities in her head, and coming up with nothing, she turned to the courtesan.

"Can you show me how to tie it?"

"Of course," the courtesan said, taking the piece of fabric and placing it flat on the table.

Gwennalyn paid close attention, but could not follow the complicated process of tying, tucking, and twisting that led to a finished loincloth. Even with the courtesan nice enough to show her a second time, the proper procedure eluded her.

"Why don't I just do it for you for now?" the courtesan offered in an exasperated tone.

"Thank you," the princess said, slightly embarrassed, "I'm sure I'll learn later."

"It's alright, I understand. You never dress yourself anyway."

"I do," the princess replied defensively, "I've just never worn a loincloth."

Mazin chuckled.

"Relax, it was only a joke."

A few awkward seconds passed as the courtesan stood there expectantly.

"Take off your clothes," she finally said.

"Sorry," Gwennalyn murmured.

"I know you know how to do that," the courtesan commented drily.

The princess undressed, biting her lip as more and more of her figure was revealed to the courtesan. The fact that Mazin was disinterested in her figure did nothing to stop that by now instinctive reaction.

I can't help but want to fuck when I take my clothes off around an orc.

Once she was naked, the courtesan wound the piece of fabric around her waist. Even up close it was difficult to track the maneuvers that followed.

Mazin finished and stepped back to appraise her handiwork.

"How is it? Tight? Loose?"

"Feels good. Snug but not tight. How do I look?"

"Adorable. Let's go."

Stepping outside in her current outfit was a bizarre experience.

If only Father could see me now...

Immediately, she felt the dirt crunch underneath her bare feet, and wiggled her toes curiously. The ground left smears of soil on her ivory skin as she walked along.

A stranger sensation was the sunlight hitting more of her than usual.

While she had left her arms uncovered plenty of times before, as sleeveless outfits were common in Crownhold during the warmer months, having her upper body so vulnerable was an entirely different experience.

Her lower body felt vulnerable as well. Even though her womanhood was covered, her thighs and calves were left defenseless against the elements and any glances that might be sent her way.

It feels weird...but definitely not unpleasant.

While such dress was normal here, for her, it was taboo, a deliciously scandalous breaking of a social norm.

"Calm down," Mazin said quietly, "not everyone here is going to want to fuck you."

Gwennalyn glanced over in surprise.

"I can smell you," the courtesan explained, "you're aroused."

"I can't help it."

"I know. You're a massive slut. Just don't jump on the first tribal you see."

"Of course not."

She steeled herself against the arousal.

I'm visiting these tribal orcs. I'm not just here to fuck them. Although I hope that does happen...

"You'll have plenty of chances to spread your legs," the courtesan said, "be patient."