Darma awoke lying on something hard and sticky, in a quiet, cool place. She tried to lift her head, but a searing pain shot through her right eye. With her left, higher eye, she saw the walls of her prison and the outline of the grate above her. The lit torches cast little light. Her face was glued to the floor. So she extended her hand and began patiently prying at this strange substance that bound her to the clay of the prison cell. She was beginning to understand what it might be. Finally, she peeled off a large, uneven scab and, trying to stand up, realized how badly she must have been beaten. All the external surfaces of her body ached, especially her shoulders, arms, collarbones, thighs, back, buttocks, and calves. She must have also taken at least a few blows to the head and face, and her right eye was so swollen she could barely see through it. She felt as if she had been trampled by horses. She crawled to the wall and sat upright. Resting her head against the wall, she freed her breasts from the fabric. She rolled it into a small ball. With her free hand, she pulled over a bucket of water, soaked and wrung out the bundle, then with a quick jab of her fingernail, she cut her eyebrow arch. She sighed softly, squeezing out dark blood and wiping it with the cloth. She used an old warrior's trick to open a swollen eye and speed up regeneration. One just had to be careful not to infect the wound, but the huntress had an incredibly resilient body, and experience told her she would be fine. She then carefully washed her face and nose, refreshed her body, and felt her hair, matted with clotted blood. She was getting a bit hungry. Yesterday, she had managed to say nothing to her tormentors, so today she expected a repeat of the torture. She impatiently drummed her nails on the ground. She cursed and spat, which revealed new shades of pain in her mouth and jaw. The helplessness enraged and hurt her more than her injuries.

  For lack of better occupation, she gave herself over to memories that revolved around the times when the tribe deliberated her teenage fate.

  Narma, her twin sister, was immediately chosen to join the ranks of the Strong. As for Darma, opinions within the tribe were divided. Although the girl strongly desired it, her scattered, somewhat romantic nature raised doubts. The young Orc-woman was interested not only in weaponry and armor, hand-to-hand and ranged combat, battle tactics, and clan history. Unlike other teenagers destined for the Strong, she spent time on things traditionally associated with Workers – fishing, mending nets, gathering herbs, and above all, long, solitary walks and runs. When they were children, Narma and Darma were inseparable, but as they grew older, the former quickly focused her interests on combat and almost entirely gave up her old activities and games with her sister. In the Orc world, this was understandable, and the elders encouraged the young to practice skills useful in the future. The clan decided on assignment to one of the important roles, in which one remained forever. The only exception was the arrival of a new Oracle. This rare occurrence, happening once every hundred years or so, always caused commotion and deep contemplation throughout the tribe. The current Oracle would travel from her mountain solitude to the clan's abode and unerringly point out her successor. Having left her a handful of tips on how to find her way, she would depart. This fate, however, befell neither Narma nor Darma, and to their knowledge, the current Oracle was barely 50 years old, so they did not expect to see a new one any time soon. In the normal course of events, just before reaching adulthood, everyone was subjected to a traditional vote, and once a year the Workers and Strong prepared a grand celebration for their new members. Although there was no hostility between the groups, most Orc hearts longed to the latter. Darma hesitated too long about which path to follow, and on the eve of adulthood, she lacked several skills necessary to become one of the warriors. Unexpectedly, Babeno – then an unsettling, easily provoked brawler, the chieftain's younger sister – came to her aid. This Orc-woman, older than Darma, with unwavering calm, woke her at dawn and ran long distances with her to satisfy her need for movement and quiet, and in between, she trained her in hand-to-hand combat and with weapons. She also gave her part of her food rations to strengthen her muscles and aid regeneration. This was the only way she could help her without neglecting her daily duties at the gate and on patrols. Young Darma, bruised and battered, initially stood no chance. Babeno, seeing her weakness and lack of coordination, often shook her head in resignation, but both persevered. Despite constant pain and a body screaming for even a day's rest, the mocking comments of boys and some girls, Darma submitted to this training daily. After a few moons, she changed, and less than a year later, she surpassed even her talented twin sister in technical skill and strength, easily convincing the elders that she deserved to belong to the Strong. Interestingly, Narma eventually rediscovered her love for simple, everyday activities, observing nature, animal customs, and plant properties. Being appointed a huntress, she moved so far from her teenage lifestyle that looking at the sisters now, one might think that one had always been quiet, elegant in manner, and somewhat dreamy, while the other was fierce, playful, and prone to fighting. This impression, however, was misleading and did not reveal the entirety of their personalities. The sisters combined these qualities almost equally. Their great strength was that they loved spending time together, and whenever an opportunity arose to go on patrol, they did everything to prove to the tribe what a valuable team they were. They didn't particularly want to stay in camp and practice drills or prepare weapons; gate duty wasn't to their taste either – they were drawn outside, into the wild. Over time, they became the core of the female hunting team, boldly competing with males both in hunting effectiveness and in understanding the natural principles governing each area. They respected the breeding seasons of birds and the reproduction of wild boars. They hunted but allowed the game to regenerate and grow. They never left traces of their presence in the thickets, only repaired the boundary totems and marked places where they found signs of contamination by evil magic. They also had to their credit some spectacular hunts for monstrous creatures, which sometimes, driven by incomprehensible instincts, came from distant, uninhabited lands and sought victims in their territory.

  The sound of footsteps, curses, and a splat on the ground brought her back to reality. She thought that the hot-blooded guardswomen must have gotten into a fight among themselves. She was captured, beaten, and imprisoned in a slave pit. She thought intensely about a solution, but nothing came to mind. She hoped Narma had managed to free herself from her shackles and returned safely to camp, as that would offer some chance of rescue. On the other hand, she didn't want to be rescued like some child. It would be more honorable to die in battle, and most honorable of all – to defeat her opponents, crush them, burn this damn tent, and ride off into the blue distance on a horse, hugging a charming human boy in front of her... She laughed at her own foolishness and frivolous thoughts. Her laughter was answered by laughter and a short "Psst!" She looked up, and through the gaps in the grate, saw Dorky's handsomely goofy face, leaning in a curious pose and illuminating himself with a torch. He was alone. The huntress rolled her eyes and shook her head. A slight pain reminded her that she shouldn't move, but she didn't care. The soft rumble of the chain raising her grate made her sense a turn for the better in her fate.

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  The boy slowly freed his legs from the clamps and moved towards the women with his erection raised like the lance of a charging knight. What he saw was limited to objects of desire and nothing else. He wanted moist lips, he needed to touch hot skin. He buried his nose in sweat-damp hair, licked backs, the curves of buttocks, reveling in the tastes, shape, and color of vaginas. He painfully squeezed the elves' nipples between his fingers, pressed his palms and cheeks against the arches of their breasts. Gentle and in an elusive way somewhat virginal, the two exotic slaves wordlessly guided him to give them the greatest pleasure, simultaneously dropping their gazes shyly, blushing, and biting their lips. Dorky was in heaven. When he set about penetrating the white-haired elf, he positioned himself with her friend so that the other wouldn't feel neglected. It was pleasant – they could kiss, while he penetrated her with two fingers and teased her with his thumb. One heartbeat before actual intercourse, a loud grunt echoed. Garba wasn't just going to watch her toys get it on without her. With one swift motion, she pulled him off the elven slave and onto herself, lying on her back right next to them. The carpet groaned under the weight of her powerful body. The boy, thinking little, held his penis with his hand and entered her up to his testicles. Her boiling vagina greedily and instantly embraced him, and two strong hands pressed his whole body against her sticky armor. His nose was at the level of her breasts, which undulated under the leather fabric in rhythm with the thrusts. He didn't know whether he was setting the pace more, or if she was rocking him back and forth with the force of her internal contractions. It didn't last long. Both were aroused like wild cats in heat. He climaxed, gasping loudly, at the same time as her. He felt equally defiled and fulfilled. She was a cruel ruler, keeping him in terrible conditions, but also a debauched and confident woman, proud of her large, alluring body. He didn't lie to himself that he didn't fancy her. He felt her animal magnetism. From that thought to action, not long passed. His still hard penis revived and began to move inside her again. The Orc-woman's wet, spasming pussy was wide but tightly clung to him. All he wanted was to keep fucking her. He frantically began to unbuckle her corset, but he didn't know how, so, semi-conscious, she had to help him. After a moment, she tore off her unnecessary clothing, and he drowned in her large, brown breasts, with nipples pierced by delicate gold rings and connected by a strong chain. He gripped it with his teeth and pulled, watching with satisfaction as her lips peeled back, revealing strong fangs. His lover sprang up and skillfully turned onto all fours. With both hands, he spread her buttocks, watching with fascination as her anus moved and trembled. As he fucked her feverishly, she repeatedly brought her salivated fingers to the butt and gently massaged it, sometimes plunging inside. He caught the pleading gaze of the blue-haired elf. She sat, unconsciously squeezing her nipple with one hand, and with the other, discreetly pointed to Darma's club, lying in a tiny puddle of mucus nearby. The second elf silently pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. Dorky shook off his sexual rapture and returned to reality. He decided to act wisely and quickly. "Wonderful Garba, my lady," he moaned, spitting directly onto her butt, "I can still go on, but I need to try the other hole." The profile of her face appeared over her round shoulder, flushed with fiery blush, sweat, and saliva. For a moment, disbelief shone in her eye. The young man seized the moment and pressed his penis, slick with semen and female fluids, against her pulsating anal opening, then with slow, slightly circular movements, he slid past the initial resistance and entered up to his frenulum. The marvelous sensation of tightness and a forbidden, inaccessible sphere momentarily robbed him of his reason, but the Orc-woman did not cease her pursuit of ecstasy and with undulating movements pushed him deeper and deeper. He fucked her straight in the butt in front of two naked elves bearing the marks of strenuous intercourse, on the wet and fluid-drenched, soft, magnificent carpet, in a tent converted into a torture chamber, in the wasteland. As he mused on the perverse fate that had unexpectedly thrown him into such situations, his experienced partner surrendered to primal instincts. Moving one hand between her legs, she grabbed his hand firmly and guided it between her somewhat forgotten and neglected labia. He submitted willingly—first he penetrated her with two fingers, then smoothly transitioned to four, and finally thrust into her with his whole hand. Splashes of fluid gushing from her soaked his forearm and elbow, and his penis ached from the pace of intercourse. With his other hand, he embraced her waist, resting his cheek on her back. Her heavy buttocks slapped against his body in waves. The Orc-woman howled with pleasure, then buried her head in the carpet and bit it with her teeth. For a brief moment, Dorky felt like a king, an absolute male, the ultimate form of his own being. Then one of the elves pushed the ash-gray stone club towards his face. Thinking little, the boy removed his hand from Garba's pussy and began to prepare to replace it with this combat-sexual object, while not wanting to lose momentum. The elf's eyebrows rose so high it seemed they would pop off her forehead and disappear under her hair for good. Gently but firmly, she snatched the club from his hand, spun in a naked, graceful pirouette, and hit Garba in the back of the head with full force. The Orc-woman's skull miraculously did not crack, but the blow had its effect, for she lay on the carpet, cross-eyed with her tongue out, and translucent pink bubbles slowly emerged from her nose.

  There was no time to lose. They quickly prepared to escape.