Gwennalyn's Sexual Awakening Ch. 18

If only Father and Mother could see me now. Put to work by tribal orcs, plucking fruit like a commoner.

Soon, the females gestured for her to come down.

"There are still some left," she called.

They shook their heads, and again gestured for her to come down. One stepped forward, raising her arms pointedly.

Again, she shrugged, and crept forward to sit on the edge of the branch.

Across from her, the child jumped, landing gracefully.

If I tried that, I'd probably break my foot.

She let herself fall, and was caught easily, feeling like a little girl in those strong arms. With a satisfied grunt, the tribal set her down, and the group continued to the next tree.

This time, she was ready, but still could not heave herself onto the branch. Luckily, the orc whose hands she had stepped into helped her.

Tree after tree, she was heaved up, and plucked fruit off the branches, dropping them into the waiting basket. Although there was a certain organization to the task, the pace was laid-back, with no one rushing her if she took her time to choose the fattest, juiciest fruits. The group ambled from tree to tree, often breaking into song or just chatting. It was quite different from what she had seen of the Free Lands commonfolk working.

I've never seen our commoners so relaxed and high-spirited while working. I wonder why that is.

Finally, once the baskets were laden with fruit, the group headed back, the princess swelling with pride every time she looked at the amount of fruit in the basket she had filled. Her arms and shoulders were slightly sore from trying to heave herself up onto the branches, but there was a satisfaction to that soreness, an appreciation of an accomplishment.

I've been sore around orcs before, but this is different. It's the most work I've done in my life.

Before long, the group was back in the village. A few females gestured for her to follow them as the group split up into smaller groups, each one taking a basket.

After a few minutes, her group stopped outside a long hut surrounded by several smaller huts. Outside the long hut was a male orc, a small, bawling baby in his arms. The females cooed at the babe as they passed. The princess stopped for a second to get a better look at it. Its squirming made the male chuff and run a tender hand over its back. The babe was wrinkled and chubby, its eyes barely open, not even noticing her. The male noticed her gaze, however, and promptly held the babe out towards her.

Uh...

Smiling politely, not wanting to disappoint or insult, she took the squalling babe.

I assume you hold an orc baby the same as a human baby. Not that I've held many.

The baby was soft and warm. Its squirming and squalling calmed after a few seconds, to her surprise and the male's delight. She felt wetness on her shoulder and peeked down to see the baby drooling on her, its eyes closed, its admittedly heavy head nevertheless far from uncomfortable. The male shook his head in disbelieving bemusement.

I guess I have to hold it for a while now.

She peeked again at the babe, its scrunched-up face showing nothing but peaceful slumber, a stark contrast to its earlier squalling.

Hmm. You're cute, I guess.

After a few minutes, the male gestured into the hut, and held out his arms.

She took a few seconds to look back down at the slumbering baby before handing it over.

Inside the hut were more babes, some held by orcs ambling about, others in the arms of bedbound females.

A chuff came from behind her. She turned to see a non-bedbound female holding out a baby. This one was just as wrinkled and chubby as the one outside, but it was quiet, staring at her with an adorably grumpy expression.

This time with less hesitation, she took the baby. It grumbled when it changed hands, but only a few seconds after it met her shoulder, it babbled, that grumpiness becoming acceptance. The female padded over to a nearby empty bed, nodding gratefully at her, and laid down gingerly. After a few seconds, she closed her eyes, a light snoring coming from her after a few more seconds.

Guess she just wanted some sleep.

The princess made sure to stay near that bed, keeping the baby on her shoulder, cooing to it, more drool wetting her bare skin.

You're cute too, I guess.

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

The mouth was tight around her wrist, but the orc's grip on her upper arm was firm. The water sloshed around his feet as he searched for the best foothold, needing leverage to augment his natural strength.

Once he found solid-enough ground, he pulled hard at her arm, the princess adding her paltry strength to the effort.

A loud, slick squelching rang out as the fish was yanked from its burrow, clearing the river's surface with a splash of muddy water, adding to the mess already smeared over her body. The pale, oblong fish wriggled in the air, its toothless mouth latched onto her wrist. The orcs around her hooted triumphantly, the one who had helped her clapping on the back, almost sending her sprawling into the water.

Another orc helped ease the fish off her wrist, and once he walked away with it, she followed the others until they stopped not that far away. One got down onto her hands and knees and stuck her arm under the water to search for the next burrow. The princess watched patiently until the female grunted back to her, and then she stepped forward and stuck her arm under the water. The female took it by the wrist and guided it to the small opening so she could slide her hand inside.

A few seconds later, another fish bit, and was summarily caught, the orcs hooting and grinning happily, the princess smiling right along, their joy contagious. The mess of mud and water on her did not bother her, and neither did the red mark circling her wrist and fish saliva smearing her hand. She even felt no arousal, only triumphant satisfaction, even though she and the orcs around her were naked.

When the group had stripped off their loincloths and waded into the water, she had expected aquatic debauchery. But once she had joined them, after a solicitous female had helped her take off her loincloth, they had waded over to the riverbank, and begun the hunt.

The first time she had been guided to stick her hand into a burrow, the only warning she had received had come via crude gestures. Although she had vaguely understood the idea, that understanding had not prepared her for that hungry mouth mistaking her hand for a meal and latching onto it. Her shriek had made the group laugh, and someone had yanked her arm out, revealing the wriggling fish.

But now, she was a seasoned veteran, prepared for the fish's attack every time.

This task was more arduous than the fruit picking, physically speaking, since the orcs would tug and yank at her arm, their grip tight, her muscles straining to help, sweat adding to the mess on her. But the group still enjoyed themselves, sometimes pausing between burrows to splash each other with water and chat idly. And the arduousness was tolerable, as ultimately, her main contribution was acting as bait.

Plus, I'm used to orcs handling me roughly.

She lost track of the number of fish she had caught, but finally, the group ended the hunt, rather unceremoniously grunting at her and wading deeper into the river. As she trailed after them, they began to wash up, so she followed their lead.

Once the group was clean, they headed back to the shore, and picked a random spot. She again simply did what they did, in this case lying down on the ground under the sunshine. There was still no lustfulness, the orcs chatting, a few napping.

A slight ache throbbed between her shoulders, joining other twinges here and there. Her weak muscles had been used much more than they were used to, her wrist had taken the brunt of many hungry fish mouths, and her arm had been yanked at constantly by the orcs.

This is how commoners must feel at the end of the day. Sore, but proud of their work.

She sighed in satisfaction, closing her eyes, basking in the sunshine.

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

The princess giggled, feeling several different hands in her hair, hearing plenty of overlapping, chattering voices from behind her. Every so often, an overly eager child would tug too hard at her hair, making her wince, and would then hurriedly pat her shoulder and chuff apologetically. She always answered those apologies with wide smiles and more giggles so they would know she was alright.

On cue, one of the children tugged at her hair. They hurried to apologize, eyes wide with concern, but her quick smile eased their concern.

"I'm used to orcs pulling my hair," she assured them, "but they're usually older than you."

The child said something to her, smiling widely, and then turned their attention back to her hair.

She was sitting in front of a random hut. After a dinner of crispy fried fish, various roasted vegetables, and luscious fruit, the children in the group gathered around the chieftain's hut had pulled her to her feet, and then dashed off, screaming happily, looking back over their shoulders at her. By now understanding this game they liked to play, she chased after them, the chieftain and other adults chuckling at her indulgence of the children's enthusiasm.

The game had ended in front of this hut. The children had promptly sat her down on a tree-stump-turned-chair, a few slipping inside while the others waited. The intent had been unclear at first, but she had been grateful for the rest, out of breath after the spirited chase and still slightly sore from her busy day. When those few had come back outside, bearing baskets of small, colorful items, the children had gathered around her. It had not been until she had felt their hands in her hair that she had understood.

All the tribals had unique hairstyles. Some colored their hair with streaks of orange, while others threaded little trinkets through it, and a few had combined the two. She of course stood out starkly among such vibrant individualization. Not only had she adopted a simpler hairstyle for the trip, but she also boasted blonde hair, much lighter than the orcs in her party and even the Estefaloni sailors currently staying with the tribe.

These children, it seemed, had taken it upon themselves to make her hair more tribal.

That's sweet of them.

More children were watching the decoration of her hair, thoroughly entertained by the effort. She talked to them from time to time, uncaring of the language barrier, the children similarly eager to have inane conversations.

The chatter quieted behind her, and she peeked over her shoulder to see the children there stepping back to appraise their work. She giggled at the serious expressions on their faces, quickly turning back around to allow them a better look. A few hands went into her hair for adjustments.

Those children hurried around in front of her then, and began to judge her hair from the front, those same serious expressions all over their faces. She sat still, fighting back more giggles.

This is like when I have to sit still for the family portrait. Except I know how I look then.

Finally, they chuffed among themselves, nodding in satisfaction. A cheer went up, and all the children crowded around her, pulling her to her feet. She brought her hair forward over her shoulder to finally see their work.

"Oh, it's so pretty..."

The children cheered again, correctly interpreting her delight.

Small seashells had been braided into her hair, in four slightly askew rows, each row comprised of a different color, from light blue to soft violet to sparkly silver to dark pink. Her fingers trailed along the rows and out of sight. Halfway up the back of her head, feathers replaced seashells, arranged in a haphazard pattern over the top of her head and back down to her hairline. She shook her head curiously, hearing a subtle clacking from the seashells.

"Thank you," she told the children. "I love it!"

They let out another cheer.

She ran her fingers through her hair still, the children crowding around her to watch with their usual shameless interest.

"It's very pretty..."

She shook her head a bit harder, the clacking louder this time. The children laughed gaily, clapping their hands together.

"Princess!"

She looked up to see the three Estefaloni sailors strolling towards her.

"Did the children do your hair?" Leos asked her.

"Yes, they did."

"Very tribal," Kestian said, smiling in amusement.

"They've never done that for us," Aiton added. "I want seashells in my hair."

He chuffed at the children. They laughed, a few chuffing back.

"They said I wouldn't look as pretty as you," he told the princess, making her giggle.

"I agree with them," Kestian snarked.

Leos chuffed at the children. Whatever he said made them hesitate, but some nodded after a few seconds, and then the group ran off.

"I asked if we could borrow you," the sailor explained.

"What for?" she asked, biting her lip. "If you want to bring me back to your hut, you'll have to ask the chieftain for permission. I'm his now."

"He gave us permission already," Aiton told her offhandedly.

"Really?"

"Oh yes. He said he knows you would want him to share you even though we're not a part of the tribe."

"He's right."

"But we didn't come here to fuck you," Kestian said.

"Why not?"

The trio chuckled at the slight petulance of her response.

"We wanted to see if you would come with us."

"Where to?"

"There's a hut nearby," Leos began, "where one of the elders makes dream broth."

"What's dream broth?"

"There are these mushrooms that grow in the jungle, that if you eat, can mess with your mind and make you go crazy."

"But," Kestian took over, "if you prepare them a certain way, you can extract whatever causes that, and dilute it. The tribals make dream broth from those mushrooms, and if you drink it, instead of going crazy, you'll just have visions."

"We don't know how the tribals do it," Leos added.

"And they won't tell any outsiders."

"But they let us drink it," Aiton cut in.

"Last time I had some," Leos told her, "I had a nice conversation with my father."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Do you...usually not?"

"My father died when I was a child."

"...oh."

"Last time," Kestian began, "I had this vision that I was a bird, soaring high over the jungle."

"I had a vision of my own birth," Aiton said. "It was strange."

"We thought you might want to join us," Leos explained.

"Is it dangerous?"

"No," Kestian assured her.

"You might have a slight headache after the vision," Leos added. "But otherwise you'll be fine."

She shrugged.

"Okay. It could be interesting."

"Perfect!"

Their destination, only a few minutes away, was a residential hut, but the sailors slipped around behind it. In a small yard, an old, wizened orc was stooped over a large, wooden pot, stirring the contents. Woven mats were laid out on the ground in front of him. When he saw the quartet, he chuffed brightly and gestured to the mats. The sailors chuffed back, the princess smiling politely.

"The broth is ready," Leos told her.

The orc filled a bowl and handed it to her. As he filled up three more and handed them out one by one, she examined the thin, grayish soup, her nose wrinkling at its unpleasant appearance.

"It's best if you drink it all down in one go," Kestian advised her as they sat down.

"And try not to panic when the vision starts," Leos added. "It can be disorienting."

A little bit of concern crept in.

"How will I know when the vision starts?"

The sailors shared a look.

"You'll know."

She watched as the trio brought their bowls to their mouths and drank deep.

The concern was balanced by curiosity, so she followed their lead.

The broth was bitter, making her recoil instinctively. But the sailors were already almost finished with their portions, and she remembered their advice. She pressed on, her nose scrunching in disgust as the warm brew trickled down her throat. Thankfully, there was not that much in the bowl.

"That tasted horrible," she complained.

"They could make it taste good," Leos told her. "But they don't want to."

"Why not?"

"They think it should taste bad," Aiton explained, "so no one thinks it's just regular soup."

"Huh."

She scrunched her nose again, still tasting the broth on her tongue.

"I'm sure you've had worse things in your mouth," Leos snarked.

"I like those things, though," she shot back.

He laughed at her quick response.

The laugh became a string of giddy giggles. As she watched in confusion, he fell backwards, ending up flat on his back, still giggling, his hands rising to paw at the air.

Okay...

A glance at the other two showed they were also feeling the effects of the dream broth.

Kestian was staring into the sky with unfocused eyes, murmuring softly. She leaned closer, but could not hear any discernable words, only babbling.

Aiton was calmly and quietly sitting cross-legged. His eyes were closed, and he nodded firmly, his face set in a resolute expression.

Strange...

She looked over to the orc at the larger bowl, but he paid no attention to her, idly stirring the contents of the bowl.

This is probably normal for him.

She looked back to the sailors and started in surprise.

They were nowhere to be seen.

Instead, a female orc was sitting in front of her. Although she was dressed like a tribal, she lacked the traditional tattoos and hair decorations. In one hand she held a carpentry hammer, in her other a tightly bound scroll. She stared at the princess, a small smile on her lips, a picture of serene dignity.

"Hello," Gwennalyn said lamely.

"Hello," the orc replied smoothly.

"Oh! You speak the Free Dialect?"

"Of course."

"Are you...a tribal? I didn't know any spoke it."

She shook her head.

"No, I am not a tribal."

The princess frowned.

"Then...what are you? Or who are you? You didn't come with us from Coronhar, and King Victorin never mentioned any other orcs were here."

That enigmatic smile widened.

"You know who I am."

"I do?"

"You have prayed to me many times."

"Uh...what?"

The princess looked again at the carpentry hammer and the tightly bound scroll.

"Wait...are you Irezis?"

That can't be right.

Gwennalyn had learned much about orcish culture during her time in Coronhar. Some of that education had come from simply living among the orcs, but a lot had come from lessons on specific facets of their culture.

One such lesson had been about their gods. There were plenty in their pantheon, but the two most important were Irezis, the goddess of, among many other things, creation, fertility, and sexuality, and Kulzis, the god of combat and challenge. In the orcish creation myth, the duo had created orcs.

And here she is, sitting before me...the Mother of Orcs.

"Yes. Yes, I am."

The princess stared blankly.

"How...how are you here?"

"You tell me. This is your vision."

"So, this is a vision then? It's not real? It seems real."

The goddess shrugged.

"Just because it's a vision doesn't mean it's not real."

"I guess so. But if it's a vision...why am I seeing you, of all things?"

"I don't know. Like I said, this is your vision."

"Huh."

The princess looked around. The old orc was stirring the large bowl, blissfully ignorant of the presence of the fertility goddess. No one else was in sight.

"You have certainly embraced life among my children. Both in Coronhar and here."

"I do enjoy living among orcs," the princess admitted readily.

"And my children here have certainly accepted you," the goddess added, gesturing to her newly decorated hair.