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It had been the driver who suggested the route. The boggy terrain that stood as the most direct route towards the township still bore an identifiable road. It was passable, to be sure, but rarely used. It was a place often scorned and had given rise to a number of colorful folklore narratives. The driver argued that the prejudice against the place was due to pure superstition and not an assessment of any real dangers. Yes, of course stories abounded about encounters with the creatures dwelling in the adjacent swamps, but as far as he was aware, parties who ventured the road were never unaccounted for at their planned destinations.

"I would not advise it, my Lady," counseled Sir Gregory. "It may be a tempting course of action and I know you are eager to avoid any further delay. But by the driver's own admission, he is not familiar with the way." The knight spoke resolutely, sure of this conclusion. But the call was not his to make. He was only a hired escort, the Countess's servant, and not she, his.

Countess Hasting's glance passed to the driver, inviting his rebuttal. The coachman conceded that, no, _he_had never ventured this specific trail, but he was experienced in similar terrain and the horses were as sure-footed on soft ground as they would be on the much longer trail that circumvented the swamps.

"We are already a day behind schedule," mused the Countess aloud. "Without making substantial ground we will surely lose another day. That cannot be allowed. We will take the swamp road."

Sir Gregory offered no further objections. The Countess was a gracious, dignified woman, but within that form was still the hasty optimism of youth. Her nobility privileged her to a great many experiences in the world, but it was not the same kind of experience of a man-at-arms. For Lady Hastings, a shortcut was a shortcut. Perils be damned.

The driver turned the horses away from the main road. And the open country, green and familiar, disappeared behind the hillock as the carriage descended towards the wooded edge of the swamps. The trail was evident enough: a track of hard-packed earth rising a few feet above the otherwise boggy terrain on either side, but there was little evidence of recent passage. Ferns rose up and uncurled in the dual ruts which would have otherwise been clear on more trafficked carriage paths.

"I thought there would be more of a chill." declared the Countess, a few minutes journey beyond the tree line.

"Yes," agreed the knight. "The trees afford the place little light, and one would think a wetland would generally be cooler. But the place is almost . . . balmy."

As the knight considered their surroundings, a second characteristic of the place became apparent to him. Clinging at various heights on the trees, thick, mossy things which grew about on all sides, were what appeared to be a sort of mushroom. The thing which struck Sir Gregory as peculiar about this particular arboreal fungus was that, while similar specimens he had seen sprouted in vertically orientated patches, this variant seemed to consistently appear in pairs; two fleshy brims joined at the root, which then unfolded as they came forward from the tree. There was also the color: a rich crimson hue which stood out almost neon from the murky palette of the swamp.

Eventually succumbing to the unexpected warmth, Countess Hastings undid the clasp of a light cape she had only recently donned and set it aside.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed with a sigh.

A flush of color had appeared upon her usually fair complexion. She took in hand a silk handkerchief and, turning her head to one side and then the other, lightly patted either side of her neck. The gesture also pushed together her breasts as her elbow moved. The fact that she thought nothing of this with the knight in her presence spoke to her age, and the informal manner with which she still approached life.

The carriage slowed and then came to a stop. Sir Gregory turned to face the driver.

"What is it, man?" ordered the knight. But before the other could reply, two massive figures emerged from the misty path ahead. They were orcs, their stature as wide as the trees that they strode past. Because of their large physiques, Sir Gregory could see right away that one was male and the other, female.

"Ah," he said, turning back casually to the Countess. "'Tis but an orcman and his mate. It's only large bands which would be of any concern. These should give us no trouble."

But the knight's assessment was not validated. With massive but unhurried strides, the orcs quickly covered the ground between them and the carriage. The first thing Sir Gregory could see was they there were completely nude, lacking even the crude, utilitarian loincloths, among which even the more barbarous clans were common. It also struck him also that the expressions they wore were not the gaze of bovine indifference that characterized the peaceful giants occasionally found in the region. No, there was an intensity in their eyes, and as they passed their glances from Sir Gregory to the young Countess, the heavy lips curled back from their teeth and tusks into maniac grins, anticipating imminent and devilish pleasures.

With surprising gingerness, the he-orc took the latch of the carriage door and opened it. Sir Gregory stepped out before he could be coerced and, planting his feet squarely in the mossy earth, demanded an explanation for the affront. The knight made his address in the common tongue, the language used by traveling merchants and diplomats. But if the brutes understood this speech, they did not regard.

The driver, coward as he was, had already fled. The giant pushed Sir Gregory aside, and reached into the carriage with a massive hand, gripping the upper arm of the Countess and extracting her. She let out a shriek as Sir Gregory reached for his sword. But the blade was not half-unsheathed when the she-orc enveloped his sword-hand with her own and pushed the weapon violently back into its scabbard. The creatures were large and tremendously powerful. Even the female towered over Sir Gregory by three feet.

The female then rent Gregory's grip from the sword hilt before pulling the scabbard free from its leather ties. Travelers had often attested that the orc female-folk were barely distinguishable from their male counterparts, but Sir Gregory saw now that the giant overpowering him had a physique that was quite distinct from her partner. Her broad hips tapered upward to a lean and muscular stomach, above which hung prominently a pair of large, full breasts. Even the manner of her face was seemingly feminine by some non-human standard: the cheekbones more delicate, the smoldering cat-like eyes. There was even some evident aesthetic treatment to the coarse, white mane of hair which had not been evident in the other orc. But despite this character of femininity --albeit a character still alien by Sir Gregory's standards-- the she-orc seemed no less powerful and imposing than her male companion.

In the brief space of Sir Gregory's distraction by these revelations, the she-orc had seized him by the hips and now turned him about in the air, so that his legs swung, flailing, upwards. In his tilted vison, Sir Gregory saw the Countess, similarly taken in the arms of the he-orc. The monster lifted the purple skirts, exposing her plump buttocks. Gregory blushed with shame upon the view, an inadvertent compromise of the Lady's dignity.

The genitals of the he-orc had been becoming gradually engorged, and by now had approached full volume. The giant pulled aside Lady Hastings' silk undergarments and pushed himself upon her tender opening. The Lady let out a gasp of indignation, but the orcman did not manage to enter her, as she was still too small. All the huge member could do was push apart the plump halves of her vulva so that they straddled either side of his plum-red head as it struggled to find purchase.

Sir Gregory, to his distress, found his own self growing stiff, as the she-Orc, with her large and almost prehensile tongue, toyed him through the light fabric of his hose. But the cause of the knight's arousal was more than just the she-orc's oral performance, or the forbidden glimpse of the Countess's shapely form animated in its struggle against the would be intruder. There was an essence in the air, and if the knight had possessed a more extensive knowledge concerning the swamps, he would know that in this forgotten region, both humans and orcs had grown in symbiosis with that peculiar red fungus which grew so populous on the surrounding trees, and whose airborne spores excited the biological systems of the creatures who came into contact with the place. In any other context, a chance encounter between the orc and human party would be conducted with a mind to mutual disengagement and non-aggression. Both the populations had reason to be wary of each other, and both were content to avoid any casual encounters with their queer neighbors as a matter of policy. But here, under the intoxicating influence of the widely-spread, crimson growth, the natural order was being subverted. How long the orcs had dwelt in the swamp was unknown, but they had surely tasted the carnal pleasures of human partners before, and like a beast raised tame who had then been allowed to taste blood, they were driven for more. And now, the aphrodisiacal spore that had first kindled their fiendish appetites was doing its work upon the human pair, causing Sir Gregory's manhood under the desperate and fawning tongue of the she-orc to swell to great thickness, and the Lady Hastings' nethers to grow so hot and wet, that even as she squirmed against the orc's grasp, she was working the broad, tapered end of his penis ever so slightly into her, sharing with him her wetness, and preparing both their bodies for the inevitable congress.

The she-orc tore the fabric of Sir Gregory's hose and gave a grunt of sudden delight as the man's generous organ sprung forth. The air of the swamp seemed to put the knight's mind in a haze, but it did not deaden his senses. He had become acutely aware of his body and also that of his captor. As he braced himself, hugging her hips, he found that he took deep delight in her firm and round hindquarters. He marveled at the pairing of the powerful thighs and broad, breeding-hips. It occurred to him suddenly that among her own kind, she must be an exceptional creature. His touch strayed, fingers probing between her thighs, where her fluids were now dampening the hair beneath her pubis. The giant shifted her position and put her legs farther apart, inviting this exploration.

The he-orc shifted his position to make another attempt to penetrate the Countess. His efforts were rewarded. The girl's opening strained and as the girthy head of the orc's penis was enveloped, the Countess shuddered and let out a prolonged moan that Sir Gregory would have never thought a woman of the Countess's noble bearing capable of. The effects of the spores were spreading through the woman's body. The muscles in her pelvis relaxed, allowing her to ease down the orc, just above his widest limit. Her thighs quivered in time to her anxious breathing, which was as rapid and shallow as that of a wounded rabbit. The orc grinned, and after a moment, lifted her. The Countess lowed pitifully as the terrible work of penetration reversed itself. She felt her inside still clinging to the orc's huge cock even as he pulled himself free from the tight embrace. He was left wet with the girl's juices, which gleaned in the diffused light of the wood. Satisfied, the giant again eased the tension in his huge arms. The Countess again sunk down around him, the slow churning of her womb evaporating her resistance. Every time the orcman plumbed into her with a wet, sickly sound, and every time the Lady let out full-throated moan as he found a new depth. Countess Hasting's cries had transitioned from initial shock, to physical exertion. And as the he-orc worked his motions into a rhythm that was suitable to them both, the Lady's voice climbed eventually to a pitch of complete ecstasy.

Sensing the acute change in the Lady's cries Gregory was jerked from his own entrancement, briefly returning to a sense of duty. He had been charged with protecting the Countess! But where...where was she?

He managed to lift his head from his captor's torso just in time to see the Countess tilt her head back in an idiot grin. The jumping movement of her buttocks reflected the he-orc's increasingly eager thrusts.

Was she... enjoying it?

"Countess...!"Sir Gregory managed to stammer out. "Are you....injured?"

Countess Hastings, still grinning ear-to-ear slowly moved her eyes to meet his own.

"Oh...no, Sir Gregory..." she moaned between the deep thrusts. "As a matter...of fact....I think...this is absolutely...wonderful."

The she-orc had begun to suck hungrily upon him, swallowing him to the root, and the knight felt he could not disagree.