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Greenskins: A Piggy Is Born

A story by Zantesuken.

It had been a profitable week. The long and desolate roads that tied our kingdom to that of Deanshire to the north were those less tread - all the more reason for a trader such as me to take them. The promise of our finest furs, three cart loads, in return for one-hundred guineas was what the contract tucked under my coat detailed. It had been an easy sale - the stuff practically sells itself - but the northerners were always quick to accept the word of a wealthy, well-to-do southman laden with treasures and luxuries.

It had taken five days on mule to travel between the capitals; it would take five to return home. Rest by campfire between the tall pines was the usual fare, yet a few hours out from Deanshire's borders was a quaint, quiet and welcoming inn I had visited the outward journey. 'The Anvil and Key' was its name; a large stonework frame - perhaps once a castle or keep - laced with climbing ivy amidst the cool shade of neighbouring trees. A yard in front led off to the stables, while the main entrance was a plain but imposing pine door. Torrents of thick black smoke puffed up from a chimney, rising in a plume against the reddened evening sky. There sight of such a place cheered my spirit, recalling the pleasant and homely stay of a few nights past.

Upon opening the door I was met by a wall of sound and stench. Immediately my nose wrinkled; my coat sleeve was promptly brought to my face as an impromptu mask. Long gone was the aroma of a wood fire, freshly baked game-meat pies and brewed ale. Now there was a thick and choking stench, bitter and acrid as it flowed over the tongue. It was damp, musky and hot - it hung in the air like a pale, clammy fog. The deafening noise was raucous laughter, grunts and hollers. The slamming of heavy fists on tables and the clatter of mugs to the stone floor added their part to the cacophony. I didn't need to locate them with my eyes for confirmation, for I knew what the source of this befoulment was.

Orcs.

A group - a dozen or so - had infested a corner of the inn, gathered around a table drinking, gambling and roughhousing. There was a definite radius in which no other patron inhabited around them; in fact, after glancing around, no other patrons existed. The orcs, the innkeeper, and I were all the souls in the room.

He stood behind the bar, grim-lipped beneath his curled moustache. His round, chubby face previously full of cheer and good spirit was overcast, twisted in displeasure as he watched his guests wrestle, knocking chairs to the floor with a clatter. I approached, hailed him quietly, and sat before him.

"Quite a crowd on your hands." I said quietly - while the greenskins were unlikely to hear me, it was safer to error on the side of caution. He nodded gravely, leaning in and speaking in much the same manner.

"Never seen orcs this far in human territory. Must be mercenaries, would explain the amount of coin they've got too."

"Wealthy orcs?" I questioned

"Not wealthy. That would suggest they got class, respectability..." He was interrupted by a particularly loud and wet belch from the group. "... but I'm not one to complain. Sure they've scared off all my other business, but they're more than paying for it. 'Ain't no scruples in business, if you ask me."

I nodded, watching the raucous rabble huddle around a table at a game of cards, throwing their silver and gold pieces into a glittering pile in the centre. "You've the pragmatism of a merchant, such a trait is wasted as an innkeeper."

"I've got everything I need right here. Adventure and riches aren't for me."

"Surely though, you are -" I was interrupted when an orc shoved in next to me, despite the whole bar being empty. His thick, burly green body was clad in a strong leather harness, a close fitting pair of shorts and some ratty boots. What skin showed gleamed with a greasy glow, a pungent stench wafting off him in warm radiating waves. I grimaced and moved over, giving myself a little space hoping to escape his sickening aura. It helped little.

"10 ale!" He barked, splaying his fingers to mark the desired amount before reaching into a small pouch which tinkled as he opened it. He slammed a solid gold sovereign from it onto the bar. Both I and the innkeeper knew such a coin could pay for the inn's entire stock of ale, let alone ten flagons - but of course even simple mathematics would be beyond those brutes. Now I understood the innkeeper's tolerance.

Dutifully he began to pour out ten new flagons, placing each one before the orc. I kept my head down, yet I knew the greenskin was watching me. I could not help but raise my gaze upon his grizzly, ugly face. Messy strands of black hair were tucked behind his slightly pointed ears. His jaw was square, broad and the clunky bones inside were well wrapped in muscular flab. A squat, mutilated nose sat recessed above a wide smile; two tusk like teeth jutting upwards - yellowed like the rest - with slobber drooling slightly over the warty lips.

"You like greenskin, piggy?" He questioned, mockingly. His voice was jovial, innocent, yet menacing in its bass, rough notes. He flexed his pectorals, making his bare nipples dance atop their slab-like mounds. Disgusted, I turned away once again. "Hehe... piggy shy. Piggy should come play with orcs, 'less he scared!" He taunted.

Thankfully the innkeeper was an adept barman, and has the 10 flagons full and ready before the greenskin could further insult me with his presence. The full tray was hefted up by the orc and carried away to their secluded corner. With a sigh of relief, I turned back to the barkeeper, who addressed me with an unsettling smile.

"Curious creatures, 'ain't they?" I look at him squarely. Should I have known better, I would have named the look on his face as one of fascination and not, as I had expected, revulsion.

"Curious is one word. More polite than others." Still the orc's unwashed aura lingered in his absence, though it was difficult to tell what was from the individual and the general fog that seethed from the crowd. Still after some time inside I hadn't grown accustomed to the smell like one would for other odours. So alien, so pungent, and so invasive was it that any desire to drink or eat was sapped from me. Yet the orcs, they themselves were merry, rowdy and carefree; guzzling their ales, ripping tender meat from the bones of freshly cooked game, grunting and grinning around a primitive (or so it looked) game of chance. How could they wallow in their uncouthness? Was the familiarity of their way of life so strong that all their senses were warped to accept their bodily odours as normal?

I found myself watching them. They moved in a dance - not an elegant ballet, not a choreographed ballroom waltz, not even a street urchin's heart-warming shuffle. It was a tribal rhythm, a throbbing, virile movement between each member as they jostled, roughhoused, sang and ate. Their thick green skin glistened with sweat, mottled with dirt and lined with scars. I could see the heat rising from it; wisps of steam and stench evolving from their thick and burly bodies. It formed an ephemeral cloud over their heads, while another lingered around the table legs and naked feet of the occupants - though perhaps it and its green tinge was that of my imagination.

Their language was guttural - growls, sharp syllables; yet it was oddly poetic. It had a natural staccato which emphasised their body language. From what I could tell that was their primary method of communication. Fists, fingers, eyes, lips - these things were their tools of talking. It was their bodies... everything centred on their bodies...

One looked at me; others followed. I realised quite suddenly I had been staring at them intently and time had rather abandoned me. I felt my heart quicken and then kick when they begun to point and laugh amongst themselves. I turned back to the barman - or went to - yet he was nowhere to be seen. In my reverie he had vanished unheard while I fantasised over the orcs...

Fantasised? No, that wasn't the word... it was merely curiosity as the innkeeper had put it. Something about them was curious, fascinating even, and though I knew my observations were not secretive, it caused no grievance. If anything, the fact they knew about my sudden and inexplicable interest was rather exciting...

I had no real, objective reason for despising them. They were made out to be heartless, bloodthirsty savages by our kind, living without morality, law or order; portrayed as animals at best and cretinous scum at worst. But I could see that was not so. Though their tongue was strange and incomprehensible, I could understand their emotions. They felt the joy of an evening of pleasure and freedom. They felt the warmth of companionship. Their songs were crude but had form and melody rivalling that of any great human composer. Why should I shrivel from them?

One was focused upon me. He seemed to rise above the dozen or so others about him. His hair was short, and a thin line of sideburns ran into a trimmed beard, outlining his forest green skin like with shadow. His arm raised and a finger beckoned me, and to my surprised, I found my feet answering his call.

I felt very small and very vulnerable as I made my way from the relative familiarity of the bar to the recess in which the orcs dwelled. They crowded around a table fit for six humans to dine upon in comfort. I counted thirteen of them in total, each vaguely distinct yet not enough for my eyes to recognise them as individuals. Even as I came close their mass seemed to merge into one larger organism. Some stood, some sat, some on chairs, some on the floor, and others on their comrades. They had no concern for personal space; in fact it seemed the closer the better, each rubbing side to side with his neighbour, so close their beer-laden breath was shared between each adjacent orc.

It was as if a curtain of thick, repugnant stench and heat was drawn over them, and that I had to meld through it to approach the orc who beckoned me. Now that I was so close I could feel their combined cloud of perspiration settling on my clothes and skin, and for the first time I took in the rich panoply of scents through my nose and mulled upon it - still it revolted me. I knew not what to say. Their eyes were heavy upon me, yet their merriment continued regardless. What was I to do? Why was I even there? A sudden sense of alienation gripped me.

I focused upon their chief. He sat upright, legs akimbo on his stool protruding an aura of leadership and authority. Whilst the entire rabble about the table was masculine to a degree no man could match, he was a paragon of virility. Not only was he a little larger and thicker than the others, he appeared altogether more collected. Those that had facial hair (about half, the others were entirely smooth) wore it messily, sprawling beards with wiry hairs slick with grease - or dribbling with ale. The leader though was trimmed, a solid line of cut, short hair running down along his jaw line and around the bottom of his chin. It outlined his handsome, rugged face with a black shadow, making his lustrous green skin all the more vibrant and vicarious.

So too was he clothed differently. The majority were clad in the plain leather harnesses of the orc who had visited the bar, and with them snug shorts. Yet not their chief; his torso was clad in a tight vest. They fabric may have been white once, but a combination of a lack of washing and his olive green skin beneath made it look a muddy, organic brown. Behind him was his mail which would have been placed atop that undershirt. It was damp with his sweat - that much was painfully obvious - yet I couldn't understand why he did not take it off and let his flesh breathe freely like his comrades. A knee-length kilt, the fabric scaled like a crocodile skin, clad his groin and thighs. Between his torso and his waist however was a small gulf, less than an inch in diameter, of bare skin, the lower edge beginning to bristle with black hairs as they delved into the hot, concealed groin.

I was filled with a quiet sense of awe having studied that fine specimen of a greenskin. My quiet fascination was interrupted by the hooting and hollering of the other orcs however. They jeered, snarled and signed vulgarities at me - one or two insults of well known orcish slang were hurled at me. My cheeks flushed red hot... what was I doing, allowing these beasts to chide me so? I was a proud man, one of dignity and coin, yet their low-jawed bleating and vigorous, crude profanities did not raise a note of anger within my sole. Overwhelmed I stood frozen, unable to step closer and unwilling to step back.

A sudden pound on the table silenced them all, each turning to face their chief whose mighty fist had fell upon the scarred surface. He barked something in orcish; making each one turn their eyes to me, though now their faces were filled with anticipation and tension, as if watching where a fox would bolt before a pack of bloodthirsty hounds. "Come, human." The chief spoke. His voice was mellow but gruff and rustic, as if his rugged, masculine and built body was carried through in all its glory to his speech. "I see you curious about us orcs. We have lots to show you if you want to see." His English was fractured and imperfect, but overall much better than the other orc I had spoken with. His pale brown eyes glinted in the warm firelight, inviting me towards him.

I found my voice, though it was not the suave, confident one I had entered with. It was humbled, meek and tentative - reverent almost. "I... I would like that a great deal, if you wouldn't mind."

He smiled broadly, his warty green lips bearing yellowed teeth - all slick and glimmering with translucent drool. Something about those slimy, rank jaws was fascinating. He sat along the wall, a cushioned bench seating him and three others. Another orcish command had one begrudgingly leave his seat, standing so as to make room for me.

"Don't be shy, human." He spoke, patting his calloused green hand onto the sweat-dampened cushioning. I nodded softly and squeezed between the table and the standing orc, planting my buttocks onto the still warm fabric, feeling awkwardly out of place in the circle of green-skinned beast men. A great, olive shaded arm came down around my neck, pulling me against the chief's side. My cheek was pressed against his hulking bosom, the firm, leathery flesh clad in its tight, damp cotton vest - and God did it stink.

Hot, pungent, choking musk radiated from his body. It was all I could think about; all my other senses went numb and only my sense of smell remained, faced with the overwhelming magnitude of the orc's body odours. He was wet - tangibly wet - with the sweat that leaked from his rubbery skin. Already my cheek was clammy with his drippings, and my head throbbing with the sour, musky fumes I inhaled. As if to make it worse, the orc beside me reclaimed his seat, wedging me between two incredible males, creating an inescapable sandwich of orcish stink.

A dozen or so pairs of eyes watched me, muttering amongst themselves, sniggering under their breath. "Don't worry piggy." The chief said to me, looking down and spilling his humid, ale-saturated breath onto my face. "They just curious like you. Not often we get humans who have eyes for green-skins. They excited you might be new play piggy." He smiled honestly while I went wide eyed.

"No... no that's not -" I tried to protest, but the chief (and the orc beside me) laughed and interrupted.

"Don't pretend you don't like us orcs. No one going to tell on you." For such a fierce and masculine warrior, it was bizarre how childish and playful his manner was. But he was right. Something was culturing amorous feelings towards these fine - of not crude - creatures.

I was trying not to inhale through my nose. The thick orc-stink wasn't diminishing as any other scent would with familiarity. It was persistent and constant in its intensity. "I don't understand... only minutes ago you repulsed me. Now, I..." I could not bring myself to admit that I was finding myself physically attracted to them. I had a wife, a kid, a life back home. I was respected, and here I was in the arms of a great greenskin, trying my best not to sniff at the fumes evolving from his clothed armpit above me but uncomfortably tempted to do so.

"You not the first piggy to like greenskins. Orc bodies make good smells for both orc and human to enjoy. Especially orc warriors after long day of work and marching. Very good, strong orc smells. Human want to try?"

So it was their musk! Their mind-numbing, raunchy and malodours scent was both the agent and focus of my desires. It calmed me a little, knowing this wasn't some spell or demonic perversion, but just chemicals... but did that mean I was doomed to lust after every sweaty, filthy orc that flashed me some skin?

"You are very kind, master orc -" (Where did that come from, I thought to myself for a moment before continuing) "-but already I am quite overwhelmed merely sitting here at your side, as well as being amongst your comrades." Most had grown bored of me, going back to their games of chance and their drinking and roughhousing. I began to feel a little safer; undoubtedly the chief's heavy arm upon me was a protecting influence, and now I understood the cause of my attraction I could relax.

"You mean you not want to try the best orc smells? How will you make good play piggy if you don't want to sniff orc's sweatiest parts?" He looked genuinely confused. Perhaps in orc culture it was natural and socially accepted to reek to high-heaven, and further, to share it with ones friends and colleagues. I wouldn't have doubted it. But more worryingly, he was certain I wanted to be their 'play piggy', which I gathered would involve some very degrading and very lewd activities. I knew what 'piggy' meant; derogatory orcish slang for a weak, measly human - perhaps they preyed on us to make us their objects of pleasure...

But that idea did not repulse me as it might have done...

"What do you mean by 'play piggy', master orc? I do not mean to offend you and your custom by refusing you, but my human sensibilities are not accustomed to such... potent aromas." I watched his face tense up, as if the cogs in his simple brain were whirring and grinding hard to decipher my flowery language. "I mean, I'm not used to the smell of an orc." I blushed, shamefully, but the chief's face lit up with welcoming openness.

"Hehe, not long before you know our smells. A good play piggy takes time to breed."

"Breed?" I asked worriedly.

"Play piggy has lots of work for a band of orcs. He has to lick and sniff and rub all our orc bodies everyday to help us relax and make us feel good. Takes long time before piggy can lick dozen orc feet in a row. Needs slow training to get him used to orc stink. But once he trained he love it."

My mind was flooding with lewd, shocking images. Bare-soled, toe-splayed orc feet, glimmering with a dusting of sweat and a greasy glaze just waiting for a tongue to soothe the hot, rank flesh. Or a lustrous green stomach, toned yet rounded with a hearty meal, needing a soft pair of human hands to aid in digestion. Or a low-hanging, succulent pair of...

"It certainly sounds...exotic." I mumbled, trying to shake the image of a hairy orc scrotum from my head. "You think that I would be your play piggy?"

Again he chuckled. "Hehe. You are play piggy. You just not admit it yet. We turn you into good play piggy with lots of orc stink." I looked around, somewhat shocked. Was he right? Would I willingly serve this band of motley, green-skinned brutes? Across the table a pair of orcs were chugging their ale in competition, spilling most of it onto their naked chests. Beside them, a group exchanged hand wrestles. Behind those, on the floor, three were tussling in a submission contest - though from my angle it looked more like they were instead engaged in savage, drunken passion. How could I fit into this strange world?

"I am honoured that you would choose me, master orc, but I have a family. I have to return to them or -" Again he interrupted me with a command to the orc sitting on my right.

"We your family now, piggy. Grakk got gift for you." I turned to Grakk; a squat, almost goofy looking soldier with rippling muscles, a forest of hair on his chest, and a leather loincloth strapped around his waist. He gave me a comical grin before standing - one of the shortest orcs at under 6 feet - and reaching down to the hemp cords that held up the two triangular patches of leather guarding his groin and his rear.

He pulled it off, clutching the simple garment in one hand, allowing his impressive package to flop free into view. I felt my jaw slacken upon seeing that orc meat. I knew then more so than ever that my fate as 'play piggy' was sealed: I had no thoughts except for falling to my knees and serving those most alluring, monstrous genitals. 5 inches of soft, excessively foreskinned green orc cock sagged lazily atop a pair of peach sized balls, wrapped in a messy tangle of wiry black hairs. A dense pubic forest crowned it all, the whole thing wrapped in a glossy sheen of sweat, not to mention an intriguing glimmer of dampness amongst the wet wrinkles of the hooded cock head.

None of the other orcs seemed to care their comrade was now entirely naked - save for the sandals on his grubby feet. Calmly he sat back down, parking his bare, green ass so that it pressed warmly against my clad thigh. His rich, potent and manly crotch fumes rose up; I could not help but stare at the lazy cock just resting on his balls as if they were cushions. But the chief was right, the smell was almost nauseating. As much as the pheromones fuelled my lust, if I were to lower my face to that throbbing pit of absolute musk I would undoubtedly lose my stomach. These were dirty orcs after all.

Grakk passed his loin cloth to the chief over my head, who then held it between his fingers, fondling the straps. "Grakk's loin cloth is newest. He only buy it 3 weeks ago, so shouldn't be too strong for piggy to handle. I think we start you with backside. See how you like smell of Grakk's ass." With his right arm still wound around my shoulder, he passed one of the hemp cords to his right hand while holding the other in his left. Before my eyes stretched a wide, glossy patch of stained brown leather, thick with sweat both fresh and congealed from three weeks of being plastered to Grakk's mighty backside.

"Wait, you're not going to-" I was interrupted by the dense flap of leather being plastered to my face like a wet, fleshy towel. I held my breath instinctively, giving me respite for the moment, but I knew it would only intensify the inevitable lungful of ass musk. I winced as I felt the chief tied the cords behind my head, locking the foul undergarment against me. I could hold it back no longer...

Above all else I was surprised. I was expecting a rank, nauseating aroma of unwashed orc rump, but instead was greeted by the earthy, dry smell of leather - though of course there was an unmistakable twinge of muskiness. The dampness was sweat, but that alone had a faint, lingering saltiness to it. It was a shadow of what Grakk's ass actually smelt like, a tenuous imprint that suggested flavours and spices but delivered little of them. I allow my nostrils to take in the natural, embedded odours, drawing out the subtleties.

But, undoubtedly there was the scent of ass. It was different to anything I had ever experienced before. As I sniffed softly, curiously, I knew that the dark, dirty undercurrent of odour was that of an orc's unwashed, overworked rear. Though my vision was a constant curtain of dark, ruddy brown, I could imagine those round, green cheeks, dusted with speckles of sweat and a hearty, greasy sheen. As I inhaled the stale odours of the loin-cloth, I pictured that ass splayed before me, steam rising from it in swirling pillars of green-tinted vapours. That I could lean in and plant my lips between his muscular mounds of flesh and taste his sultry juices...

I was breathing happily now, comfortably enjoying the introduction to orcish scent. I wondered briefly why their bodies smelt so rich, powerful and pungent, while this sodden garment was tame enough for my human nose.

"Piggy like smell of Grakk?" The voice to my right asked eagerly, as if I were a critic he was aiming to impress.

"It is a fine scent you have." I replied, my lips brushing against the damp leather, accumulating the errant sweat onto them.

"Piggy try taste?" He replied, as if he had inferred my next impulse; to lick clean my lips and take my first taste of orc sweat. My tongue swept slowly and purposefully, collecting the moisture that was borne from the green-skin's ass-drippings. I felt a surge of excitement run through me as the liquid seeped onto my taste buds, as the dank, warm leather pressed against them and allowed the manly flavours to diffuse from the cracked material to my senses. It was not so much the taste that enthralled me, but the luridness of the act. Salty, slightly bitter, and much thicker than human sweat, I was lapping up Grakk's masculine offerings with reverent glee. How long would it be until I was sampling these tastes and scents directly from their sweaty, heaving bodies?

Carefully I lifted the sodden garment from my face to see several of the group eyeing me with interest. The breeding of their new play piggy was a matter of importance after all, and I was all too happy to allow it. "Thank you Grakk. That was a wonderful gift, but it is more fitting to keep this close to your backside - as much as I would happily lick it clean." Grakk looked at me confusedly, though still smiling. It was the chief who understood however, and I felt his thick hands begin to undo the cords behind my ears.

"See? I knew you like orc smells, piggy." He said, passing the loincloth back to his comrade, who saw no need to put it back on; in fact, now that I looked around, I could see that many of the orcs were disrobing. Harnesses, shorts, boots; all were being discarded to reveal the naked, glistening, sweat-slick bodies of each powerful and hulking warrior. So too was the smell rising, but now it was different. Before it was the fresh yet mildew like scent of sweat-infused clothes, and raw potent body odour. Now it had energy, a pulse - it was rich and exotic and spicy; muskier than before, but heavier and denser like a gaseous soup. I did not need to see the thickening orc cocks to know this was the smell of orcish arousal.

"I do, master orc. Though it was not as bad as you had suggested it might be." I replied, watching eagerly as the swathe of green-skins grew lustier and louder, flexing and grunting to their neighbours, who grunted and flexed in return. It was becoming difficult to distinguish where one orc started and another ended as they pressed together around the table; arms rubbing, chests heaving, cocks growing.

"It is new loin cloth. Not yet full of Grakk's smell, but still good for fresh piggy nose. But it good you enjoy. Shows you will make good play piggy, yes?" He looked at me, his eyes leading the question.

"Yes... I'll make a good play piggy for all of you. I would be honoured." I said humbly, letting the rising tide of orc lust fill me.

"Hehe! Good piggy! Then I give you piggy collar tonight. Group is going to have orcpile, but I will train you instead." He said excitedly.

"Orcpile?" I asked above the growing moans of the orcs, each starting to grind and rub against their neighbour, lips falling on lips and tongues sliding on tongues. They had no inhibitions about bodily contact, about intimacy with other males... how alien and intriguing their culture was.

"Orcpile big fun! All cuddle and share tastes and smells, and get all messy with orc juices! You would like, but it get very stinky for piggy! Maybe you join in next orcpile when you trained." So they were going to have an orgy...

The chief barked something at Grakk, who promptly rose from his seat and stood aside. "Come. Chief's job to breed new piggy. We go nice and slow teaching you all orc smells and tastes." For the first time in however long, his heavy arm pulled away from my neck, making me feel lighter yet vulnerable. The warm, powerful embrace of the chief was so securing, so authoritative, I wondered how I would manage without it. Yet he gave me a little shove, forcing me to my feet, with him following behind me.

He yelled out a few sentences of orcish, to which the group cheered, laughed and delved right back into their lustful play. Their positions were growing more and more lewd by the moment. Grakk had found a hairy, slick armpit to rest his face in; the owner of which was nursing a steamy, puffy sole resting on his lap. Several were kissing - but not kissing by any human standard. Their tongues were slopping about their lips, delving between the gums and making a frightful mess of saliva everywhere which dripped between their pressed chests.

"Don't worry piggy. You get to join in next time. Now come." The chief ordered softly, marching his hulking seven foot tall body towards one of the bedrooms. I gulped, knowing I was about to be transformed into something irreversible - if I hadn't been already. I turned one last time and looked at the seething, roiling mass of green flesh, moaning and grunting. I would be at the mercy of these orcs. I would become an accessory to their bodies, a communal object fit for their manipulation. I was a slave to their smell, and I would never escape. I would never want to.

Smiling, I turned once again and followed the chief into the bedroom, the sound of the growing orcpile behind me muting as the heavy pine door slammed shut.