Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.
You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.
Click here
Her child. She knew it was her child instantly, the fundamental and instinctive recognition of a mother for her...
Her daughter. Strong, proud and... beautiful. Oh, so beautiful. Arms well-muscled, skin fair, breasts large and firm, green-tinged hair streaming behind her like a tribal banner. She looked human. She did not look like she would ever need a shaman's magic to make her acceptable to a human man.
And then she saw her daughter fight. And roar her courage into the faces of unnumbered foes. And vuk her way through prisoner after prisoner and man after man who would fight and die in taverns and on battlefields and in arenas just for the chance of a taste of her body.
And she knew wonder and awe and pride. This magnificent woman was her daughter.
With a loud grunt, Van Kor withdrew his cock from her body and his seed spurted out of its swollen purple-angry head, splashing thickly against her bare flesh. She felt the presence of a force then, a presence that pulled down on her body. She could barely focus her gaze, but she felt the shaman's seed seep into the skin of her belly, felt it penetrate her deep within her. Her womb was pleasantly warm. She sighed, satisfied, at peace.
Somewhat theatrically, Van Kor collapsed on the bed next to her, almost falling off it in the process. She paid him little attention; her mind was still full of visions and dreams.
"You saw," the shaman croaked.
She turned her head, looked at him searchingly. "Yes," she said at last. "You see?"
He chuckled. His clouded eye closed briefly and then opened again. "No," he said. "But know you did." He patted her bare stomach gently, almost reverently. "Strong orcs." He paused. "Saviour of tribe, maybe?" A sniff. "Yes. Maybe."
Then he farted loudly and yawned. She wrinkled her nose.
"Go to Grun tomorrow," he drawled. "You need him." She bridled a little at that, but stayed quiet. It wasn't often that Van Kor dispensed his wisdom quite as freely as this. "Tonight, you stay with me. I make stew. Make you strong." He turned to her and she felt a shiver of fear at the utterly serious expression on his face and the soft glow that seemed to emanate from his cloudy eye. "You need it."
TO BE CONTINUED
- COMMENTS
