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"Gruk'thar, it's me or the girl!"

"Well, I'm not leaving Griselde, brother, and you'll have to get used to that," the large, green-skinned humanoid replied hastily.

Bor'dan could tell his brother was getting fed up with his complaints. But they were absolutely justified. Since Gruk'thar had begun spending time with that hussy, he had become soft, and weak. Sure, his brother could claim that the third great war was over, and they were just pig farmers outside the growing new city of Orgrimmar. That didn't mean that his brother should settle down and grow weak. To Bor'dan, it seemed as if the massive, brutish Orc he had fought alongside so recently was reverting to the lethargy that had affected so many of their race, until the Great Warchief Thrall led them from slavery.

"One day, brother, I won't be here anymore. I can stand farming pigs to feed our great nation, but I can't stand watching that woman ruin you. If you'll truly side with her over your own blood, I will leave you to your fate." He almost spat with anger.

The muscular Orc growled, revealing his massive fangs. "Then leave, Bor'dan. Griselde is staying with me. If you want to throw away all we have made for ourselves in this harsh land, be my guest!"

"Away with you, brother! How dare you cast me away? I'll watch the pigs tonight, but I can't guarantee I'll still be here in the morning. Rest well beside that bitch, knowing she cost you your kin." Spittle flew from his face with the force of his yelling. He didn't care anymore about being polite. If Griselde heard him, all the better! He stormed away from Gruk'thar, toward the pig pens that held the two brothers' livelihood.

Gruk'thar shook his head sadly, returning to the small hut he and his brother had called home for almost two years. Griselde was waiting for him.

Bor'dan had no intention of leaving. When Gruk'thar and Bor'dan got into a disagreement, they both tended not to pull their punches, sometimes literally. But he loved his brother too much to go through with his threats. What would he do, if he left? Where would he go? His place was here, with the pigs.

His great-axe slung casually over his back, he reached the modest pens, that housed their single boar, and his harem of four sows. They had been more prosperous after their first year, but disease had cost them one boar and two sows, and they had had to sell another boar and sow to pay the stiff taxes imposed by Thrall. He couldn't blame the warchief - building a nation was hard and expensive. Without Thrall's honor guard, Durotar would be defenseless against its hostile neighbors, the Night Elves. And there was a human outpost not far south, in the barrens.

He leaned against the fence post, ready for a long night of constant vigil. There were crocolisks, raptors, even thunder-lizards that might endanger the two-hundred pound swine at night, so he and his brother took turns watching them at night. Not to mention thieves, Horde or Alliance. He could hardly believe any Orcs would be so unscrupulous as to steal from their own people, but Bor'dan supposed all races had their selfish, thoughtless bastards.

He gritted his teeth, wishing ill on the woman that was stealing his brother, and so he wasn't prepared at all for what happened an hour into his watch. There, out of the darkness, appeared a man in a dark cloak, almost impossible to see at night until he came within fifteen feet. Bor'dan finally noticed the man. Startled, the Orc quickly drew his great-axe and grunted, "Who goes there!?"

The man in the cloak waved his hand, which opened the cloak and revealed his face. A human! The old man had a snarl on his face, masked only by his gray beard as he uttered three unfamiliar words. Instantly, Bor'dan's heavy axe grew light, fading until it disappeared. The Orc blinked, amazed.

"Orc scum," the man drawled in the common tongue, clearly drunk. "What hubris to think they could build their own nation. It will fall, as every Orc community. Bloodthirsty brutes. You'll be better off dead!"

He was obviously a mage, and now Bor'dan was unarmed. This man was trespassing on Orc territory, but somehow he had evaded Thrall's honor guard. The man's hands began to glow red, cast in flame. The mage was attacking!

Bor'dan wasn't about to go down without a fight, great-axe or not. He charged the man, screaming, "For the Horde!!!!"

The human's eyes widened, not expecting such a fierce and rapid approach. He quickly stopped what he was doing and uttered a simple word. As the Orc reached him, the man suddenly disappeared. Undeterred, Bor'dan swung his fists through the air, trying to catch the invisible wizard. Drunk or not, the man must have been sprightly on his feet, because though Bor'dan's arms were like spinning tree trunks, he couldn't connect.

"Polymorph!" came a cruel shout from somewhere behind the Orc warrior. Bor'dan was engulfed in smoke. He could hardly see anything, and he felt different. He knew what must have happened. He knew that word, one of the most dreaded words during the second great war. He had been transformed into some sort of animal.

It was obvious now that he was no match for the mage, even drunk off his rocker. When the spell wore off, if he hadn't already been killed, Bor'dan would surrender and plead for mercy. The Orcs were no longer the bloodthirsty monsters of the first two wars, and though it would injure his pride, that was preferable to death. He counted the seconds until the spell would wear off, hoping this human didn't choose to end it all right then.

Bor'dan didn't hear the words of another spell, and sighed in relief as the smoke cleared, revealing the mage smiling mockingly at the former Orc. It seemed the mage wouldn't kill him. Bor'dan looked himself over. His four legs sporting pink flesh with very light, white hair. His hands were curled into cloven hooves, and his nose extended quite visibly in front of his face. He would know this animal anywhere - he was a pig. Wrinkling his nose, he could hardly wait for the spell to end.

"Ha ha ha ha..." the mage chuckled, looking the Orc over. "How the mighty have fallen! I'm sure you wish you could pop out of that and tear me limb from limb! No such luck, my friend."

Bor'dan grunted, stumbling as he tried to walk in his new form. It had been at least fifteen seconds. When would the spell end? He soon got his answer.

"I was trained during the second war, you brute. We were taught to cast spells with a bit more...oomph. This spell will last until another mage ends it. Sure, the effort of casting is a bit more taxing, but the results are so much more funny."

Bor'dan struggled to walk. The mage couldn't be telling the truth, could he? A pig, forever? He would have to somehow tell his brother what had happened, find him a shaman to undo the curse. He wanted to charge the frail human, to gore him with his boar tusks. Bor'dan blinked. He didn't have any tusks. By Durotar, what had happened?

"I pray the irony is not lost on you, weak-minded brute. Becoming one of your own herd. Telekinesis!"

Suddenly, Bor'dan was lofted into the air, his legs kicking and flailing as he squealed. He was effortlessly carried over the high fence of the pig pen, and placed amongst the sows. It had been more than thirty seconds, and he was starting to fear the mage was telling the truth.

"On second thought, I am more than a little hungry...perhaps some pork?"

Bor'dan closed his eyes, expecting at any moment to be roasted alive by the powerful wizard. This human was a remnant of a darker time, and his power had grown with his age. Unfortunately for Bor'dan, it seemed the man's wisdom had not followed suit. But the Orc was not slain. Instead, the man lifted another pig from the pen, one of their four sows. "She will make a delicious meal, don't you think? But I wonder, will your friends realize what happened to you, Orc scum? One boar and four sows when I arrived, one boar and four sows as I leave. If I know Orcs well, you'll be stuck as a pig for the rest of your life. I hope you learn to like it well enough, but I have business elsewhere. Farewell!"

As the mage was wandering off, Bor'dan was confused at the human's mathematics. He had taken a sow and left Bor'dan...that would make for three sows and two boars. His brother would notice immediately. Then, it finally clicked in Bor'dan's mind. He had no tusks. He quickly spun to see for sure, and he was shocked to learn the truth. There, between his legs, at the end of two rows of pert nipples, was his cunt. The mage had transformed him into a sow!

He needed time to process all of this. Just minutes ago, he had been his massive, Orc self, brooding about what seemed now to be an unimportant spat with his brother. Now, he was a female pig, and if he couldn't get his brother to realize what had happened, he would remain so forever.

He took stock. Sure, he was a pig, and the only sounds he could make were grunts and squeals. He had useless hooves instead of hands. But his brother was smart. In the morning, when Gruk'thar came to relieve Bor'dan of his post, he would notice the strangely behaving sow. Bor'dan was sure he would figure it out. He had to.

But Bor'dan wouldn't know until that morning, and until then, he was trapped in his own pen. There was nothing to do but wait, and as uncomfortable as the Orc was with the curse that had befallen him, he managed to dig out a small dip in the mud, lie down, and sleep.

Waking from ominous dreams, the transformed Orc glanced lazily around. A noise had woken him. There was Gruk'thar, with the slop. His brother poured the mixture of broth, meat, and vegetable scraps into the trough beside the pen before moving on to the boar. The boar was kept in a separate, smaller pen.

"Bor'dan!?" his brother called out, suddenly realizing his brother was not about. Or so he thought. Gruk'thar began scouting the area where Bor'dan had been on guard the night before. Of course! His brother would notice his clothes and axe. Couple that with a dancing sow, and he would certainly understand.

But Gruk'thar simply called out, "Bor'dan? Where are you? If this is a trick, it isn't funny." Groaning, Bor'dan realized that the mage had destroyed his axe completely, and that the transformation had included his clothing. There would be nothing but a few footprints to mark the short scuffle the night before, and Gruk'thar was no tracker.

Bor'dan watched his brother intently, hoping to meet his gaze. But Gruk'thar ignored the sows, looking around for his brother in every place that Bor'dan wasn't. The Orc-turned-sow was growing frustrated, but what could he do? He grunted and squealed, but his voice was lost amidst the panoply of pig noises. Eventually Gruk'thar called out to the hut in the distance, "Griselde!? Griselde!? Come here!"

Bor'dan could feel the urgency in his brother's voice. Soon enough, the woman he despised so much arrived, wearing a long, woolen dress.

"What is with all the ruckus, Gruk'thar? It's too early to be up..."

"Bor'dan and I are up this early every day, Griselde," he growled, but his tone changed as he continued. "Bor'dan is missing. He was posting guard as usual last night, but I can see neither hide nor hang-nail of him now."

Griselde looked up suddenly in surprise. "Are the pigs okay?"

Gruk'thar said, "Who cares about the pigs?!"

Bor'dan cared! More than anything he wanted his brother to look his direction. He prepared himself. Any moment now...

"Curl your tongue, Gruk'thar. I merely ask because if the pigs are harmed or stolen, we might know more about why your brother is gone."

The larger Orc nodded, seeing the reason in that. With that, he took several steps to the pig pen, and glanced in. Griselde followed him.

"They are all here," he said, but at that moment, Bor'dan enacted his plan. Lifting his heavy girth onto his stout hind legs, he forced his sow's body to do a sort of dance, shifting his weight between his feet until he lurched forward into the mud. Then he picked himself up again. Surely no true pig would behave like this.

Gruk'thar took notice immediately, "What is that!?" His brother's disappearance seemed to be taking its toll on the normally cool-tempered Orc. Compared to most Orcs, anyway.

Griselde watched in shock. "Madness. Have you ever seen a pig behave like that?"

"Never, in all my years of pig farming."

They were getting it! Once they realized that the pig was no true pig, but Bor'dan, they would surely seek a shaman to cure his curse.

"It must be sickness!" the woman shrieked, pointing at Bor'dan.

Gruk'thar looked down. "I don't have time to bother with shaman or voodoo remedies. I have to find my brother!" Growling, he pounded his fist into the fence post, denting it. To Bor'dan's surprise, his brother drew his hand-axe. "I should kill it before it infects the others."

That stopped Bor'dan cold. That wasn't it at all. Couldn't they see? But even now, his brother stepped over the fence, wielding his axe as he prepared to unknowingly kill his own brother. Bor'dan was petrified, standing in place.

Griselde saved him. "Hold, Gruk'thar. Look, it's stopped thrashing. Perhaps it was just a slight episode or something. We can't afford to lose another sow, you know that. Don't kill it unless it starts acting strangely again."

"Very well, Griselde," he said, putting his axe away, and stepping back outside the pig pen. "But we still need to find my brother."

Bor'dan felt grudging appreciation that Griselde had, admittedly unknowingly, saved his life. He didn't like giving that wench any measure of respect, but perhaps this time it was warranted.

"Don't you see, Gruk'thar? It's like he said, 'I won't be here in the morning.' He's left."

"No, woman. He'd never leave - it was just an empty threat!"

"Was it? Then where is he? No one harmed or stole the pigs, yet your brother is gone. This time he really did it, Gruk'thar." She put a hand on the Orc's shoulder.

No! That wasn't it either. Bor'dan was right here, under their noses! He wanted to grunt and snort, and do anything to draw attention to the fact that he was right there, but any strange movements might get him killed. What could he do?

"I won't believe that. We've been through too much together. You don't know him like I do."

"Come now, Gruk'thar. You should be happy for him. And for us. He was never satisfied raising pigs when there was fighting to be done. He made his choice; let him live his own life." She wrapped her vile arms around the down-trodden Orc, comforting him. Bor'dan noticed his brother wilt under her touch, just as he had feared. She was draining his strength, his stubbornness! How could he listen to these lies?

"You...you're right. You said he'd leave, and you were right. I can't...why?" At that moment, the great Gruk'thar descended into tears, and Griselde was there, offering her shoulder to soak them up. Everything Bor'dan had given Griselde credit for vanished now. That bitch ruined her brother and convinced him Bor'dan had left. Now how were they going to find a shaman and change him back! He couldn't stay a pig...a SOW!... for the rest of his life! He needed a new plan.

Griselde whispered evil into his ears, "Be happy. I know Bor'dan will enjoy his new life, even if he will miss having you at his side. But we are together now, and starting a life with each other. With more room in the hut...we could even start a family. This is all for the best."

"You're right, Griselde," the once mighty Gruk'thar said, leaning down to kiss the woman who had ruined him. "Let Bor'dan do what he thinks is best for himself. He never understood us, but as much as he insisted, I would never leave you."

With that, his brother picked up the hefty woman, and carried her back to the hut, leaving Bor'dan to wallow in the mud with the other sows.

There isn't much to do when you're a pig. Just eat and lie around, and Bor'dan wasn't about to dig into the slop. He needed a new idea to convince Gruk'thar of the truth. It was the first time in his life that Bor'dan wished he had learned to read and write, though it wouldn't matter since Gruk'thar couldn't either. But he could draw.

He set to it, immediately. It was difficult work with these legs, not designed for full rotary motion. But he started to draw, beginning with the hut. Two walls and an angled roof were etched out of the mud, and he began drawing the window. He grunted in satisfaction. This was obviously the work of a transformed Orc.

It wouldn't be long before Gruk'thar returned to check on the pigs, and a grand picture would be waiting for him. Unless the other sows got in the way! Bor'dan found himself working harder to keep the other pigs from trampling his drawing than concentrating on the art itself. He was still having trouble moving his new, pink, fleshy body. It was exhausting blocking the three sows from what amounted to ¼ of the pig pen. But he was determined, and though he was exhausted, he managed to keep his drawing safe. It wasn't as elaborate as he wanted, but it was obviously a house.

That's when it started to rain. Bor'dan just stood there, cursing silently. What could he do? He couldn't stop the rain... He refused to watch as the water washed the mud away until nothing remained of his hard-fought drawing. Almost as if fate were mocking him, as the picture faded completely, his brother returned to check on them.

Gruk'thar remained to keep watch, though his attention wasn't on the pigs. He was keeping guard, much like Bor'dan had, the day before. The rain wouldn't stop criminals - in fact, some thieves came out specifically in the rain. Bor'dan couldn't do anything to get his brother's attention...not while it was raining. At least the water cooled him off. He had been feeling very warm, and for some reason he wasn't sweating.

It didn't stop raining for three days. Bor'dan knew for certain now that the spell that had befallen him was probably permanent. With the constant rain, he couldn't do anything to show he was not an ordinary pig without risking his brother killing him for madness. He just had to wait it out, and draw again. The worst thing about being a pig was the boredom. There was nothing to do but sleep, lie down, or eat. The Orcs kept the pens intentionally small so that the pigs wouldn't have much room to run, growing fat and large.

By the second day, Bor'dan gave in to his hunger and thrust his snout into the feeding trough. Eating was a messy affair, and he wondered if there were more slop on his face, than inside it. It didn't really taste as bad as he had feared, and it was satisfying to fill the growing void in his belly. Pigs, it seemed, had an unending appetite.

On the fourth day, the rain stopped, and the sun was shining. It was still too muddy to try drawing anything, but after a day with such a bright sun, he would be ready. He waited anxiously for the ground to dry. Gruk'thar approached the pig pen as he had every morning. When he arrived, he sniffed the air, and looked straight at Bor'dan. Had he finally realized? Finally noticed that this sow wasn't like the others, or the one that had been stolen away?

"A bit early, isn't it, girl? Well, I won't argue with the plain facts."

Confused, Bor'dan stood in place, even as his brother stepped into the muddy pen, placing his arms around Bor'dan's sides. What did he mean? Suddenly, Bor'dan was hefted into the air, kicking his legs in shock. Gruk'thar effortlessly carried the two-hundred pound animal over to the next pen over...the boar they affectionately called "Boinker", a cross between the sound he makes, and his job on the farm.

Wait, was that why Bor'dan suddenly found himself in the small pen with Boinker? Did Gruk'thar think he was ready to breed? That was outrageous! He was male, really. And he didn't smell like he was in heat. Orcs knew that smell almost instinctively after so many years on pig farms. How could his brother so mistake that smell?

That's when Bor'dan realized something that had been nagging at his brain for quite some time, as the rain poured down. He couldn't smell himself, because the scent had built up over time, and his snout had adjusted to it, but he knew he felt different. Itchy, nervous. His appetite was lower. Bending around to sniff himself, Bor'dan got a strong whiff of the scent he absolutely didn't want to smell. He was in heat.

And now Boinker was trotting over to investigate this new sow, while his own brother watched from the fence to make sure nothing went wrong with the breeding! There wasn't going to be any breeding...Bor'dan would make sure of that! Swiveling away from the boar, Bor'dan backed into the corner of the pen, trying his best to growl at the incoming pig. It came out a rather vicious snort.

Boinker was a fair bit larger than Bor'dan, at least fifty pounds heavier, but Bor'dan was resolved to stay in that corner no matter how hard the boar tried to dislodge him. Repeatedly the cursed Orc was pushed and nudged, sometimes forcefully set upon by the boar's savage tusks. He held his ground, praying that Gruk'thar would end this soon.

His brother said, "C'mon girl. I can smell you're deep in heat. Don't you know how much we need a few more piglets for our farm? What's wrong?"

Piglets? Was that even possible? Bor'dan hadn't even considered that. It was a magical transformation, but it was also apparently permanent. Was he really a sow? Could he become pregnant? It didn't matter, there was no way he was going to be a sow for the four months it would take to give birth.

Assuming Gruk'thar ever smartened up. Bor'dan kept his little piggy hips flush with the fence. His perplexed brother said, "I promise you'll like it. Oh hell, I'm talking to a pig again...you can't understand a word I'm saying."

At that, Bor'dan began to thrust his head up and down, hoping his brother would pick up on the "Yes, I can" signal. He didn't. "Alright, girl," he said, stepping back into the pen. At least Gruk'thar would put him back in the sow's pen! Bor'dan was beginning to get downright nervous.

But when the Orc reached down to grab his brother, he didn't lift the pig up. Instead, he swiveled Bor'dan around until his rump was facing Boinker. Immediately Bor'dan began to struggle, squealing and flailing wildly. He almost escaped his brother's grasp, but Gruk'thar was a master pig-wrestler, and Bor'dan was a novice sow. In seconds the so-called sow was pinned in the mud, his haunches raised neatly for the approaching boar.

His three-hundred pound brother was all muscle, and Bor'dan was a chubby swine. His struggles were futile. He could hear Boinker approaching, but he was too exhausted to put up a fight. What could he do?

Held in place, there was nothing Bor'dan could do when Boinker thrust his snout up under his tail, eagerly sniffing at the transformed Orc's mound. The boar's nose was wet, and Bor'dan squealed in discomfort. Turning his head to the side, the unfortunate sow watched as Boinker extended his tongue, licking the swollen vulva held so precisely in place. Bor'dan shuddered. He could see the boar's penis extending, and knew exactly where the horny swine wanted to put the foot-long, thin prod.

And Bor'dan's own brother was going to hold him down while he was raped by a boar! Adrenaline was rushing through his body, but so were his new body's hormones. As much as Bor'dan wanted to high-tail it out of the pig pen, his heat-fever demanded he keep his tail raised for another reason. Boinker's perfunctory licks were, he hated to admit, titillating. Bor'dan had had his fair share of wenches, but this sensation was a whole new experience. Suddenly the boar's tongue pushed carelessly between Bor'dan's lips, penetrating him. The sow trembled, squealing.

"There you go, girl? See, it isn't so bad!"

He had to get out of this! He couldn't let himself be taken by a mere animal (as tempting as that proposition was becoming)! He was an Orc warrior, and he would fight this. Besides, once he got out of this horrible mess, he would never be able to live it down if Griselde and Gruk'thar knew he had let himself be fucked by Boinker. Bor'dan had to think quickly, because Boinker was getting ready to mount. Worse, the boar's licks were melting the former Orc's resolve.

Struggling wasn't going to work. Unless he went completely crazy, thrashing and squealing, but then he stood the risk of being killed. As bad as being raped by a pig would be, being killed would be worse. He wasn't going to be able to escape as long as Gruk'thar kept his pin. He knew that the only way to escape was to convince his brother that he would submit to the boar willingly.

Instantly, Bor'dan relaxed his body, praying his brother caught on in time. Bor'dan had grown accustomed to his tiny tail, and now flicked it upward, revealing his cunt to the horny boar. When Boinker took another deep lick, Gruk'thar watched the sow push back eagerly, squealing in an obviously different way. This squeal said, "Do it! Give it to me! Fuck me!"

If Gruk'thar understood, Bor'dan didn't know. But Boinker understood immediately. With sudden spryness, the massive swine leapt onto Bor'dan's back, resting half his weight on the smaller sow's haunches. The boar clumsily grasped the sow's sides, pulling himself further, inch after inch, onto her back.

Come on, Gruk'thar! His grip wasn't loosening. Wasn't it obvious that the sow was agreeable now? It was mostly a ruse, as Bor'dan was ready to flee the moment his brother weakened his grasp. He had to raise the ante somehow. Cursing, the desperate Orc decided to risk it all, pushing back against the boar with all his might. If Gruk'thar didn't let go, in seconds it would be too late. Bor'dan's loins were on fire, and he wasn't sure at all if he would have the willpower to resist once Boinker had penetrated.

Two seconds seemed like hours. Squealing as best he could like a horny sow, Bor'dan pushed back, even as Boinker thrust forward. His mound was only inches away from the boar's coiled tip, specifically designed to lock inside of a sow. One more thrust and their genitals would be straining against each other, locked in a desperate, sore embrace. It was too late. Bor'dan knew it, but he couldn't stop hoping. He grunted, preparing himself for the sudden, inevitable entrance.

Gruk'thar let go. Like a goblin rocket car, Bor'dan shot off, squealing, running around the pen, before backing up into the farthest corner. He couldn't tell who looked more stunned, Gruk'thar or Boinker. Bor'dan panted with relief. What a narrow escape! If his brother tried to pin him again, he would bite Gruk'thar so hard he'd bleed. He wasn't about to offer himself to Boinker again, any time soon.

Gruk'thar blinked. "What in the name of the Warchief is wrong with you?" Standing, Bor'dan's brother called over to the hut, "GRISELDE, come here!"

Oh, perfect. Nothing would please Bor'dan more than throwing that wench into the mix. What could possibly go wrong now?

Trudging out of the hut came Griselde, clearly having been woken from her sleep. "What is so important that you thought you had to wake me, forcing me to grab this nightgown and clomp through the mud? It better be good," she said with a low growl. She was bare-foot, just wearing a full-length gown, worn down to threads in some places.

"The sow won't breed," Gruk'thar said nervously.

Blinking, the woman turned around and said, "I'm going back to sleep."

"Wait! You know a sow that won't breed is useless to us. I thought you might have some ideas about what's wrong that I'm not thinking of."

Sighing, Griselde turned to glance into the pig pen, where Bor'dan was nervously backed up against the fence, with Boinker eagerly pushing at him. She said, "That's the same sow that went crazy not too long ago. If she's diseased, maybe its better we don't let Boinker stick himself in her..."

Grimacing, Gruk'thar replied, "You think it's hopeless? I should cull her so that we can at least have bacon?" It was clear he was reluctant, despite how much Bor'dan knew his brother loved bacon.

"What is with you and the killing? If she hasn't gone crazy again, it's probably nothing more than her heat confusing her. This her first time?"

Gruk'thar shrugged.

"Can't you tell?"

"Of course I can, woman!" He walked over to the fence where Bor'dan pressed his little rump, bending down. His own brother was about to check out the state of his cunt? Bor'dan wanted to swivel away modestly, but that would risk another boarding by Boinker. He has to stay put as Gruk'thar grabbed his tail out of the way and looked him over. He squealed in surprise when the big Orc poked him carelessly. How embarrassing! But at least he let go, turning back to Griselde. "I thought all our sows had done this before, but I guess not. She's a virgin."

"Of course she is, Gruk'thar. Wasn't it obvious? She's just afraid and doesn't know what's happening. It's normal."

"But normally a sow will breed anyway. We need her to. What do we do?"

Growling, the woman said, "Just hold her down and let Boinker do what he does best! She's just a pig, and she'll like it once it happens." Bor'dan wouldn't put it past Griselde to convince his brother to go through with that plan again. If Gruk'thar tried it, he would put up quite a fuss, but there wasn't much Bor'dan could do to stop it.

"She seemed pretty upset when I tried that. I don't want to put her through that again if I don't have to." Bor'dan sighed in relief. "I'm afraid Boinker will be too rough on her..." The boar continued to poke and prod the sow, desperate to mount her haunches.

"Well that's too bad for her then. We only got one boar, it's not like there's anyone else to introduce her to the wonderful world of fucking. I can't believe you woke me up for this!"

Stepping next to Griselde, Gruk'thar wrapped his arms around her, saying, "You know I never pass up a chance to see you." He leaned down to kiss her, and she hesitated. But only for a second. Soon Bor'dan could see the two kissing passionately. There, that was exactly what he needed. At least when he had been an Orc, his brother had had the decency to keep this sort of display private. But why would they be modest around pigs?

Griselde said, "Alright, I guess I can forgive you." Then her eyes lit up, and she stepped away from Gruk'thar with a malicious grin. Bor'dan could see everything as the woman he hated slid the nightgown up her body, flinging it aside. She was completely naked underneath! What was she doing? She said, "Maybe that sow just needs a little encouraging. Let's show her how it's done!"

No. No no no no. Bor'dan wanted to cover his eyes and ears, but whenever he closed his eyes, Boinker's continual efforts to nudge the sow around became a lot more effective. He couldn't dodge the boar with his eyes closed! Griselde was standing right in his line of sight, her green skin soft and revealing. Worst of all, she was pretty damn sexy, bulging muscles on a lithe, acrobatic frame. Bor'dan had had no idea she worked out so much, especially considering how infrequently she helped with the chores.

Gruk'thar smiled and said, "Now there's an idea I can get behind." He flung his equipment to the ground, rapidly removing his own clothing. Bor'dan could only watch with wide eyes, blood rushing to his helpless face.