The Half's Way

Author's Notes: This story was written as a part of the "Tales of Leinyere" event on Literotica, a collaborative fantasy worldbuilding event from many talented Literotica authors. Look for the event on Literotica's story page to find links to a map of Leinyere, the official timeline of all our stories, and links to all the stories in the event from all the fantastic authors who have participated.

Artwork by The Illustrated Page Book Design.

This story contains violence and some references to m/m sex. If either of those elements are of concern to you, this may not be to your liking.

The Nugsen Timber Crew's south woodshed had enough space for four big men to work - whether honing ax blades, splicing cordage, or nursing jars of honey ale stashed in the woodpile. But the shed seemed much smaller and closer when you were fucking in it instead of working.

Shauba grabbed the edge of the sawhorse, bracing herself and rocking her ass back against his thrusts. He was as big as her, and that was saying something. He gripped her hips like he was starving and they were his next meal. He gave back as good as he got.

She'd unbound her hair. The mass of wiry brown curls jounced across her face with each impact. She wished he'd grab a fistful of it and pull; arch her like a bow. But maybe that was asking too much. Shauba had just met him today, after all.

He hadn't grimaced in disgust at the tribal rings that pierced her septum and her piked earlobes. Or the small tusks that protruded from her lower lip. Or the mossy hue of her skin. Or the gnarled fingers and toes that ended with nails as horny as she usually was.

Yes, a fistful of her hair was asking too much.

His cock was a nice one, with a curve that hit her just right. Not that she'd examined it up close. She almost never got the chance.

"Fuck me!" she cried. "Just like that."

Each time their bodies slammed together, pleasure roared through her like a flame, consuming more and more of her. The shed smelled of pine wood and rust, of his sweat, and, increasingly, of her, and the arousal that trickled down the insides of her thighs.             

"Cuvehr's balls, girl! You're as tight as a fist!"

He was close. She could hear the strain in his voice. Shauba lay her forehead on her hands. She rolled her hips, swirling him about in her pussy like a butter churn. Then she held herself still for him.

He eased, slowing to his own pace. To long, steady strokes that made her want to whimper with need. His fingers dug into her skin. Pressure built inside her like a steaming kettle.

Shauba heard voices outside, distant. The crew would come looking for them soon.

His pace quickened, gradual but relentless. A divine sort of agony. Shauba held herself like a vessel for him to fill, giving him control. She moaned with the thought, and that seemed to egg him on.

He was fucking her hard now, faster and faster. She was starting to boil, each smack of their flesh spattering her juices about.

Her orgasm nearly felled her like a tree.

"Oh, fuck!" Shauba gasped. Her hips jerked, and she struggled to hold herself up. She clung to the sawhorse as heat seared her through and through.

He swore as he pounded away at her. She was barely aware of him pulling out, of his seed spurting over her hip and down the side of her leg.

Shauba sagged. She dropped to her knee, hair falling over her face, sweat trickling down her nose. She found him already sitting, legs splayed, behind her. A contented grin spread across his stubbly face, and he pushed damp blond hair off of his forehead.

"Gods,..." she began, and then paused.

What was his name? Was it Matthis? Half the young men in Hillcrest were named Matthis, after the last Marchlord. Grigor had only been Hillcrest's Marchlord for fourteen years, so Matthis was a decent guess.

Someone pounded on the door. "Shauba, are you in there?"

That voice was familiar. It wasn't one of the other woodcutters.

The door swung open. A small man peered inside. Sharp-faced, dark goatee and a tuft of hair under his lip. Mikel. His eyes fell upon her, his expression troubled. He didn't even seem to notice her lack of trousers or boots.

Something was wrong.

"Get your ass out of here," the man (who was maybe named Matthis) snapped. "You little rat-faced-"

Without even thinking, Shauba grabbed a fistful of his pretty blond hair. She yanked his face to within a thumbs-length of her tusks. "Don't ever talk to my friend that way," she growled.

Shauba's only friend, as it happened.

Maybe-Matthis visibly gulped. "I - I didn't mean-"

"Shauba, you're needed at home," Mikel said. "Something has happened."

**

Home was a log-and-sod hovel in a glade outside of town. Next to it was the shed Shauba's mother used to use for weaving. Since Krisias moved in, that had become a stable for Krisias's mule. On the edge of the clearing were trees where Shauba and Mikel had carved symbols as children -- red painted tusks here, a crude lute there, a fist over there, the links on a friendship chain beside the privy.

Shauba bound her hair again, feeling viscous wetness where it hung down her back. "Fuck," she uttered. She hadn't heard anything in the house since they'd gotten close. "What's this about? Are they fighting again?"

"No," Mikel swallowed. "It's about your father."

Shauba burst in the door to find her mother sitting at the supper table. "What's happened to Father?"

Krisias leaned against the wall like it belonged to him, his arms crossed. Neither he nor Shauba's mother seemed surprised by her sudden entrance.

"Aren't you going to sit?" the older woman asked.

Shauba remained in the doorway, Mikel hovering at her shoulder. "Mother... is he dead?"

He'd always said his time would come. He was Shagdab of the Red Tusk orc tribe. Only by the Goddess's will had he lived long enough to see his eldest reach adulthood.

Shauba's mother had high cheekbones, like her daughter. But the lines around her mouth were worn. Like almost everyone else in Hillcrest, she was human.

"He was killed in a raid on the Pikeskulls," her mother explained. "You've been invited to Esker, for the Lok'gorash."

The Lok'gorash. The Severing. The ritual in which a slain warrior's belongings would be given to the tribe, with his children receiving the first picks.

"You don't have to go," her mother said. "Shagdab always felt this was the best place for you to grow."

"I am grown, Mother."

Shauba's father's will was clear, of course. Shagdab had always visited Hillcrest during Smashfest to take her to shattersack games. Other times, he'd visit to spar with her, and regale her with tales of orcish glory. But he had forbidden her to come to Esker, his hillfort.

He'd left her here among humans who - with two notable exceptions - loathed her.

Krisias cleared his throat. "Rumor has it that the Red Tusks and Pikeskulls are on the brink of war. Getting in the middle of that would not be wise."

"We are orcs," said Shauba.

"You are not an orc."

Shauba responded to him in Orcish.

Krisias glanced down at his wife. "What did she say?"

"Krisias, maybe you should wait outside," Shauba's mother said. "Shauba-"

"I asked what you do here, because you are more useless than pimples on my tit," Shauba glared at her stepfather as she spoke.

Veins on Krisias's balding head visibly throbbed. He uncrossed his arms, hands balled into fists. "You ungrateful, stupid-"

Shauba sneered, eagerly stepping forward.

"Stop it!" Her mother leapt up between them. "Shauba, sit down and talk to me. Krisias, go outside and wait with Mikel."

Shauba sat at the table, eyeing Krisias as he swore his way to the door. He and Mikel walked out into the clearing.

Her mother sat again. She had a way of lulling Shauba's aggression; a skill perfected after years of practice.

"I thought you were doing well with the timber crew," she said.

Shauba shrugged. She was tireless with an ax, as good as any of the men. But she was easily... distracted. If she got caught fucking in the woodshed, she'd be chucked from the crew. Or Maybe-Matthis would tell all his fellows how she was a bitch and a slut, and it wouldn't even take that long for them to get rid of her.

"It won't last," Shauba said simply. She had no future in Hillcrest. They both knew it.

Her mother's hands squeezed Shauba's larger ones. She looked her daughter over, taking in Shauba's barely tamed mane and her brass rings. The tusk sigil Shauba had etched into her chest with a sharp wooden stylus and soot. There were others; markings her mother didn't know about. Nipple piercings, and another on her belly. Mikel had helped to ensure the wounds healed cleanly.

"And what about Esker?" the older woman asked. "Will that last?"

"They are the only people who'll accept me," Shauba said. "I can't live with you and Mikel the rest of my life." Actually, she hadn't lived here since Krisias moved in. More often, she and Mikel spent their meager earnings sleeping in tavern common rooms.

"I knew this day would come. I saw it in my dreams." Her mother's eyes glistened. "But Krisias is right, you know. You are not fully an orc, Shauba, just as you are not fully human. An orcish hillfort is a very different place. You may have to find your own way. Your own people."

"I'll come back, Mother."

The older woman smiled, sadly. Knowingly. "I'll pack food for you," she said. "Red Tusks love salt pork. There's an oil lamp and a few flasks in the shed you can take. Before you go get them, tell Mikel to come in here."

**

The next morning, Mikel accompanied Shauba out of the sleepy town of Hillcrest. She'd packed the food, a spare change of clothes, the lamp and oil into a ruck. She carried her axes, too. Not just the hatchet that she worked with in the timber crew, but the long-hafted war ax that stood almost to her chest.

Shagdab had given it to her when she started her monthlies. 'Now you'll be able to draw blood too,' he said, laughing at his own joke.

Mikel looked sleepy. He rubbed the bags under his dark eyes. He'd been in the tavern late playing ballads from Giltan's Port, where he'd lived as a little boy.

"Why are you carrying that thing?" Shauba asked. "You're only taking me to the first trail marker, remember?"

Mikel adjusted the stringed lute on his back. "I'll send you off with a song," he promised.

Few people were on the road yet, but beneath the ever-present odors of horse dung and woodsmoke, the air was just beginning to smell like baked bread. Humans were like this, Shauba decided. Underneath all the shittiness, they could actually be likable.

They were out of the tiny town and into breezy farmland in minutes. The fields rippled with wheat nearly ready for harvest.

"You should go back to Giltan's Port," Shauba told her friend. "It sounds like a place with more decent people. Or Mother would take you in. I think even Krisias likes you."

She'd thought long and hard about leaving Mikel behind. The city-born minstrel seemed to attract the wrong attention, and though he had a clever tongue, it didn't keep him out of trouble. She and Mikel had always helped each other, and now she was letting him down.

Mikel had come to Hillcrest with his mother when he was young. She'd married a wealthy farmer, who died soon after. Mikel's mother inherited the farm. But after he refused to marry the second girl she chose for him, his mother put him out.

If living in a human town was tough for him, living amongst the orcs would be torture. Orcs preyed upon weakness. They didn't appreciate cleverness, or pretty songs. The truth was that Shauba wouldn't always be able to protect Mikel.

"But what will you do without me?" Mikel asked.

Shauba laughed. They'd met at Smashfest before they were even adolescents. Shauba and Shagdab were watching a shattersack match, and Shauba saw two big kids stealing a meat pie from a smaller kid. To prove herself to her father, she fought off the big kids. To Shagdab's annoyance, Mikel had followed them around for the rest of the day. But by that day's end, Shauba had made a friend.

The trail began to climb into the hills, level cropland giving way to red pine, spruce and the spreading boughs of holm oak. Shauba inhaled the wild scents of pine needles, damp moss, and mushrooms. She hefted the ruck -- that her mother had surely overpacked -- and led the way up the slope.

"You remember those two brewers we met last month?" Mikel asked.

"Should I?"

"Yes!" Mikel huffed, breathing more heavily as they ascended. Most of the truffle merchants and other traders who followed this track out of the valley used mules instead of horses. "After all the work I did blowing them for you?"

"Oh gods... yes. I remember," Shauba said. The common room had been sparse that night. After sampling the burly pair's beer, Shauba and Mikel had offered samples of their own. Shauba had fucked one, while Mikel sucked the other. Then the brewers switched. By the time she was done with one, the other was rigid and ready. The beer traders must have gone like that for hours. By midnight, both Shauba and Mikel were sore, drunk, and very happy.

"Yeah, well they were back in town last night. You weren't around, and they paid for a room," Mikel said, panting heavily now with the climb.

"No wonder you're tired, You got rammed." Shauba snorted. "Were they as good as last time?"

"I didn't complain."

"Next time, I'm hogging the cock," she chuckled, but her smile slowly faded.

What next time?

The first trail marker was at the top of the ridge. Just a stone etched into the ground, carved with the symbol of Hillcrest, a holm oak. As they gained the summit, Shauba scanned the wooded hills to the southeast. The trail meandered like a dun-colored serpent, disappearing amongst the slopes.

She turned to Mikel and swallowed the lump in her throat. Though she'd never admit it, she dreaded being alone.

"Well. I guess it's time for that song," she said.

Mikel wiped a forearm across his sweaty brow. He sat down in the rock-strewn grass beside the trail, not reaching for the lute on his back at all.

"I'll come back, Mikel. I promise." Somehow, each time, the promise sounded more hollow.

Mikel eyed the pack on her back. "That looks heavy," he said.

Shauba gave a wry shake of her head. "Mother packed enough food for two of me. Like I'm going to hand out salt pork to the Red Tusk Orc tribe! Like a little girl sharing sweetmeats."

He gave her a bemused look, as if she had missed some hidden joke. "I don't have enough silver to even make it past Clearwater March," he said. "And I can't stay with your mother, because I promised her I'd stay with you."

Shauba stared at Mikel in disbelief. Her eyes began to smart, so she turned sharply away from him. Thick strands of her hair tumbled down, thankfully, shrouding her face. She slid the rucksack off her back, rummaging inside for a couple of strips of pork to share.

"Well," she smiled to herself. "A promise is a promise, I guess."

**

By the time Mikel had recounted the entire bawdy tale of the night before, they were well into the hills, and the damp trickle between Shauba's thighs wasn't just sweat. She wondered if it would leave a stain on the tight trousers she wore.

"So you fucked them both," she mused. She used her hatchet to push a low hanging branch out of the way as she led them through the woods. "At the same time?"

"They're cousins, you know? Used to sharing, I guess. I was laying on the mattress with my head off the edge," Mikel said cheerfully. "Like that, I could get one cock deep in my throat while the other brewer shoved my legs up and fucked me. I could barely move with them both plugging me like that. Just sort of drool and flop around. It was pretty great."

Fuck. Shauba resisted the urge to thrust a hand in her pants, imagining herself in his place.

"After the one fucking my ass came, he jacked me off a bit while I was still swallowing his cousin. It didn't take much for me at that point."

Shauba choked down a moan. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"They asked about you, but you must have still been at home packing."

Fucking salt pork!

Shauba had never even tasted a cock before. Men took one look at her teeth and desire leaked out of them like bad beer. She'd fucked lots of human men, more than she could count on both hands. But almost never face-to-face. She'd gotten used to getting rammed from behind all the time. But sometimes it just seemed unfair.

Orcish men would be different. They had to be.

An orc would grab her by the hair and kiss her right on the lips. Probably jam his tongue as far into her mouth as he could. He'd make her suck his cock, because her tusks would look like splinters compared to the spikes jutting out of his maw. Then he'd wrap his hands around her throat. He'd fuck her senseless while he gazed into her eyes with barely controlled lust and...

"I have to take a leak," she announced, checking around for concealing bushes.

"No pickle," Mikel said breezily. "I'll keep going. You can catch up."

She tossed the ruck sack at his feet. "Take the stupid food while you're at it," she said, as she hurried into the brush behind a fallen tree.

As Shauba pulled her pants down and squatted, she wondered how silly it was that she needed privacy from Mikel. They'd fucked in front of each other so many times. But there was something raw and disturbing about her desires.

To be wanted. To be taken.

She rubbed her fingers over her nether lips, already slick with her juices.

Orcs were fighters first, but fuckers second, outbreeding just about everyone but goblins. Adventurous humans flocked to them every year at Smashfest. Surely the Red Tusks would sense Shauba like a bitch in heat, and take her hard and fast.

She curled a finger inside her sodden pussy, then two.

Maybe the orcs would fuck Shauba two at a time. After being denied her entire life, she'd suck cock like a starving woman. And what better time to suck a man's cock than while someone else was fucking you? Fisting your hair while he was at it, just to make sure you did it right?

Shauba's thumb rolled over her clit as she fingered herself. She imagined kissing orcs, looking into feral eyes as they fucked her. She imagined them craving her.

She came, covering her mouth with the other hand to keep from crying out.

A few minutes later, Shauba caught up to Mikel. If he wondered why it took so long for her to pee, he didn't say anything.

"What Krisias said yesterday is right, you know," Mikel said, as if she'd been there all along.

"Krisias is a wad."

"After the cousins and I fucked last night, we had some of the honey brew they'd brought from Highridge March. They said they weren't able to sell it because the Red Tusks aren't buying. The tribe is spending all of their silver on weapons and armor."

"They're orcs. They fight all the time."

"That may be true of other orc tribes, but not the Red Tusks," Mikel said. "Your father's tribe gains more from peaceful trading with Hillcrest under the Treaty than it does squabbling over territory with the other tribes. That's been true ever since Lu'Horagh's death."

Shauba only grunted as she walked alongside him.

Mikel glanced at her. "You do know about the Treaty, don't you?"

Shauba scoffed. "Of course. That's why we have Smashfest."

If it wasn't for the Treaty of Great Wallamous, Shauba would never have been. Red Tusk orcs and the humans of Hillcrest March had sworn to keep peace between their peoples. They traded all manner of goods -- from fine human metalwork to the delicate truffles orcs dug out of the hills. Every year, Red Tusks would come to Hillcrest for revelry and competition in the festival. Shauba had been conceived during that revelry.