The opulent green gem, larger than a closed fist, sparkling and tempting with radiance in the opalescent tray, held Urganza's interest for an endless span. Watching the emerald glow, The Orc High Lady's amber eyes danced with spectating pleasure. Urganza was oblivious to her newly elected role as the Orc Overlord. Born and bred to raid savagely, a morsel of dried salted meat held more appeal to the orc than exquisite riches for tribute. Yet, the large emerald stood before her, held on a rich ornate tray, its worth alone could feed a small clan for months; the gemstone rested on wine red velvet pillow atop the tray, further accentuating its natural dazzling green colour.

Moving one well-toned forearm to reach out for the jewel, her rightful tribute, the Orc High Lady could not help but wonder. Her seneschal, Tharkas, the wisest among the Stone-Cleaver orcs, insisted that Urganza gift a small gemstone, worthy of her position as the Orc High Lady, to her negotiation partners. Such a lavish display would strengthen her position at the negotiation table. At that moment, Urganza scoffed at such a vile means to curry favours. She is the Overlord of the Orcs, to lead and live by example, is what was expected -- required of her. She could achieve the favourable outcome at the negotiation with the strength of will. Using Wealth to seduce her enemy was far below her, and yet now that she laid her eyes on the huge emerald, her resolve quickly eroded.

The brilliant green colour reminded her of Cyrene's alluring eyes. In fact, they were almost similar. Sashaying finest cuts, plucked from the depths, unknown territory and laced with the presence of tantalizing mystery. Old shamans claimed that emerald was the of stone domestic bliss and eternal loyalty. Urganza wished it were true. Hoped that the emerald would pave the way for a successful love. Urganza felt herself falling deep within its green. Looking down at its green brilliance reflecting in her palm, she decided. Cyrene, pure, tender and innocent, is the right match for the emerald. If there was any modicum of truth in what the elves claimed about emeralds, the famed ability to heal tortured souls, then its gift must be shared with Cyrene.

Alluringly gazing upon the gemstone, Urganza frequented the erotic thoughts of holding the enchanting raven-haired beauty in her arms. Holding each other, kissing passionately, rolling naked together on pristine white marble, exploring each others' bodies, discovering exquisitely sensitive places, drawing a pleasure-saturated moan. But all that lay somewhere in the future. Probably, if fortune favoured, perhaps at the end of the negotiation, ask her for an evening meal, as was the custom among the humans, and if lucky, might yield her lips to her.

Without wasting her precious time on further ruminations and salacious fantasies, Urganza pocketed the large gemstone and as an afterthought, collected a small ruby from her growing collection of gemstones, for Antilorwe. Dismissing her personal guards, she rode out alone on her gray thundertusk boar. The once untameable behemoth of a beast and now a docile mount carried her swiftly, racing the wind, towards the Manor of Antilorwe.

Urganza raced her mount through the day and through the dusk, the night, till the dawn. The thundertusk was sturdy but its robustness failed before the tenaciousness of its rider. The massive beast buckled under the excessive strain on its weary frame. Bereft of even a comfortable saddle for the long ride, Urganza struggled. Try as hard as she can, her efforts were futile. Vivid images of Cyrene invaded her concentration, paralysing her body one moment and a liquid fire flaring through her spine the next moment. Thick shrouds of undeniable emotions ambushed her. Irritation festered and grew as she thought of how adorable Cyrene would look with the emerald enriching her already bedazzling form.

The Orc High Lady's stomach twisted in knots, in a good way. Urganza, given and experienced only to lust, struggled to rationalise the sudden influx of feeling that found refuge in her. The human mage, Cyrene, felt warm, invoked a need to hold. The sentiment intruding itself on her existence was all alien and unsettling, provoking anxiety as she wrestled with the still-raging inner battle between the craving to possess and the need to protect. Though utterly, ravaged, suffering between unhealthy obsession and sheer bliss, Urganza leaned against her mount's broad back, allowing the stormy fantasies to flood away. Not all fantasies were filled with honey sweet tender lovemaking. Some were dark, fuelled by her orcish heat, but the most she feared were those encompassed in an ashen cloud of apprehension at Cyrene's behaviour itself.

Rylonvirah, the crafty dark-elf sent her missive, hinting to her of Cyrene's decision -- to live her life, to liberate herself from the shackles that bound her, to challenge a biological error and to defy nature's unjust. For a fleeting moment, Urganza felt exhilarated at Cyrene's decision to boldly lead her life. The Orc Overlord, flirted ephemerally with the idea to approach Rylonvirah for advice but abandoned the recklessness lingering behind such a move. The drow has honoured all their transient alliances -- till now. But she is no Orc; has no incentives to loyalty. She cannot trust her with the contents of her intense frustrated attraction, wanting desperately to visit the new realm of wanton indulgence in the company of Cyrene with the drow.

Their last meeting, at the curseforged city of Arlond, the separation left her feeling ambiguous at best -- unresolved, where the uncertainty tugged at her own actions, her overblown attraction darted like grasshoppers beneath, urging her to openly declare to Cyrene. For a culture, that glorified domination, revelling in conquering, where possession is the only measure of one's prowess, a plea for courtship in the presence of her hunters and raiders, is a weakness; a move that no other orc in her station would dare to indulge. Yet, Urganza acted on her impulse, persistently grasping at the delightful Epiphany of heartstorm that enthralled her during her plea to Cyrene. Yet when Cyrene merely ignored her, steering clear of the orcs, Urganza felt an unseen blade twitch under her heart, a pain that she was not used to; not expecting Cyrene's cold, emotionless rejection, hurt Urganza. Soft humming soon turned to soft sighs, weeping at a loss.

Panting breaths and deep throaty sighs reverberated with shaking fervour, a highlight to Urganza's incompetence at gaining back focus on her situation. Apprehension ate at her growing anticipation, festering like a cancerous tissue. Urganza gave due credit to Rylonvirah for the dark-elf's thinly veiled hints for action. Frowning and contemplating the dichotomy of the arrangement, Urganza again considered the oddly broken melody of Cyrene's amorphous form setting fire to the marrow of her bones -- which never burnt out since Arlond. Her biggest challenge was knowing the desires safely harboured in Cyrene's own heart. Now that the Mage is an enticing woman, would she prefer the comfort of a man? Certainly, Urganza was equal to any man in combat and more. She had earned her title of Stormlord in a brutal succession duel, savagery in its pure undistilled form displayed to rise up in rank. But the heart has its own ebb and flow. In the privacy of her chambers, the lust of Cyrene buried beneath a slumbering pit of molten lava, might ache for the touch of a man. Cyrene herself, now liberated of inhibitions, may seek to fulfil her unsated lust with a male, to take him between her legs, to fill her inviting ass with his cock. Would that feel more fulfilling than any comfort Urganza can hope to provide?

And what if, Cyrene, the dainty tender girl, wanted a human, someone of her own race, than an orc? The last question staggered Urganza. The very idea threatened her entire world, unleashing incomprehensible sentiments; the sense of supremacy battling unreasonable lull of lust, insecurity fighting reckless indulgence, desire grappling deeply festering debauchery. The outcome branched into darker thoughts. Predatory orcish behaviour. An inherently accepted social norm for her culture, that turned her warm blood into freezing ice, rupturing her veins. Flinching sensitively under her rough exterior, Urganza struggled against the vivid torment.

Rotten bile rose within Urganza as the festering thought. She bit her lips tightly; drawing blood. If Cyrene was an Orc, that is what would have happened. Violate her, show remorse before her family, and her clan; offer a suitable compensation of herds or lands, even precious metals and claim her as a wife. Urganza's knuckles paled, her heart throbbed faster as if wanting to escape her sinful cage of a body. Urganza detested the thought, not because of the arcane abilities of the Mage, not because of the repercussions from Rylonvirah or even the rage of Lyriendriath. It was something far more fundamental. Brutal as she might be and for all the ruthless savagery that she displayed on the battlefield, Urganza cannot bear to see tears straining Cyrene's gorgeous features. Her low sobs of cry, begging barely a bit louder than whimper and cuts and bruises covering her lithe body; Urganza could not withstand these dreadful images. At the horror of her own actions. More importantly, for all she could, the act itself felt inherently wrong. Panting her breath loudly, Urganza found herself drenched in sweat. The orc's glorification of violence has run too far. For Urganza, it was one thing to butcher an enemy, even a sly one without a physical weapon but wielding honeyed words, was fair game. But compensating admiration with violence; replacing adoration with domination, is where the orcs' sense of honour failed. To change the attitude of her folks, a race who unwillingly became slaves to their traditions, as the Overlord of the orcs, this was one struggle that would follow her for a lifetime.

Urganza became acutely aware of another sensation. Her raging torment grew more violent as she struggled with her physical needs while riding the thundertusk. Stiff aches cramped between her muscular torso and thews defined neck. She cursed her decision to ride in a true Orc way, as some called it, without a saddle. The powerful undulating rhythmic motion sending waves of tremor through her body, the heaving muscles of the beast throbbing against her thighs, the sinews of its ridges spine heaving and lowering with every bound, rubbed firm against Urganza's aching clitoris despite the multiple layers of intervening cloths. Panting excitedly under the heavy onslaught of sensation, Urganza trembled. But the beast continued its pace, oblivious to the effect of its movement on its rider. Momentum and instinct pushed Urganza to stay on the mount, rise each time, absorb the aggressive push and resist the rising feeling as many strong riders acquainted with bareback riding have mastered before. Yet, this time, the urgent need burned with fervour in Urganza, summoning an unquenchable demand that the orc so desperately wanted to gratify. Agonised voices poured from her inner self, desperate to surrender. Leaning forward, she pulled herself tighter towards the sturdy neck of her mound. She tapped her palms bringing the beast to its much-needed rest.

Urganza stretched her legs on the solid ground. Realising that she had ridden into Baron Beoric's land, her deep sunk amber eyes gazed at the patches of green vegetation surrounding her. Her mount, urged by hunger and the need to rest, quickly found itself, an inviting damp ground to settle in. With pouting lips and dust caked in sweat, Urganza examined herself. Her white linen travel blouse was now covered in rich ochre grime. From her doeskin leather breeches rose the staunch smell of sweat mingled with the scent of her own arousal. Her heavy travel sack contained her spare clothes which she grabbed and slung over her shoulders.

Sensing the presence of no one nearby and assured of a decent measure of privacy, Urganza began to strip. Backing to the trunk of a nearby tree, she released the pins from the heavy blouse that she wore during the tempestuous journey, exposing her well-toned abs, caressed by the cool breeze. Warm blood rushed through her veins, flooding beneath her skin in response. She held the blouse on top of her arms and pushed it aside. Squirming to one side, she reach behind and unfastened the knots to the soft leather wraps across her chest, exposing her delicate breasts. A slight moan escaped her lips as she felt the freshness of the air gently taunting her dark nipples. Her breasts jiggled free, perfect sphere supported on her clear skin. Slipping a hand beneath, she slowly cupped one breast; her fingers traced a swirling curl, teasing her nipple. A wild shiver rippled down her spine. Her breathing became erratic as she struggled with the overflowing sensation from her breast. Slowly, still wearing just her soaked loincloth, she eased off her breeches with urgency. The throbbing from her clit intensified, now that only a single piece of fabric separated it from her eager fingers. Her heart pulsated wildly, pushing warm blood to her swollen demanding clitoris. No longer shackled by modesty, she snugly removed her loincloth revealing her blood-filled bulbous clitoris. The wetness in her vagina slowly seeped to her thighs. She knew that she was suddenly in dire need to release tension.

Tugging harder, eager to begin, Urganza noticed how greatly moistened her vagina had become. Spreading wide, her fingers quickly freed her clitoris from her eager labia's tight folds. While grinding sensually along the length of her fingers, slithering up and down and then in circles around. A soft purr issued from her lips, approvingly. Locking her eyes to a faraway horizon, Urganza slowly relaxed, releasing herself from struggling against the tempestuous feelings.

A vision of Cyrene, almost naked, straddling on her lap, the luscious lips of the mage exploring her dark sensitive nipples, while Urganza's own hands, slowly caressing, advancing along the mage's tightly clamped together legs, coaxing them, little by little to ease, to allow her access to what lay between them. Guiding her to another thrilling new place. Placing her hands between her thighs to push them further apart, opening, parting. Massaging, slipping along the peerless skin to grab her organ. If Cyrene felt uncomfortable at being touched there, she would move her fingers to the crack between her perfectly smooth asscheeks. Urging Cyrene to allow her to finally explore with her fingers. If that were not enough, there would always be her expert tongue, slowly forcing its way inside, swirling with fevered gusto around, and onto the centre of her ass, eliciting excited moans and content sighs exploding out from the mage.

Urganza slowly closed her eyes as images flashed before her. Another familiar sensation intertwined her sense of being with a fog of pleasure. A strong vibration stroked through her vaginal muscles, tickling the nape of her neck. Allowing sound to pour out of her mouth, Urganza shivered as ripples tore through her. Sensations rushed upon her body, magnified and multiplied, jarring intensely. Nipples, tongue, stomach, clitoris and inside herself, all felt like a grand symphony. A harmonious perfect play.

Urganza's sense of touch thrilled when massaging slowly up to Cyrene's asshole, spreading those enticing cheeks, to reveal her vulnerable hole. Curving down to slickly slide her finger across the gap between her ass cheeks, Cyrene wiggled her hips to seek out each of Urganza's penetrating fingers in response, grinding obscenely as Urganza relished in the lusty moan emanating from the mage.

Suddenly a gentle curl of fire flicked upwards, rising higher from her clit. Her motions, slow and jittery, suddenly grew purposeful, burning her mind to hold on to the imagined moans of Cyrene, solely fixated on what they did together. Urganza, fought in vain, against the overstimulation. Urganza was unsure whether she should let this lusty madness persist or not. Closing her eyes, squeezing her tummy, her mouth opening, releasing a low, drawn-out, yet shaking cry squeaking Cyrene's name lustfully. At that very instant, she felt a thrust, a hot liquid gush flooding, soaking the walls of her cunt with no inhibition, overwhelming her. Loud moans, rapidly uttering the girl's name floated from the orc.

Panting heavily, crumbling on her feet and basking in the afterglow of her powerful ejaculation from her female prostate, the realization occurred to her that these peculiar moments were actually beautiful. And no matter what might follow, she already decided to not solely rely upon such imagined sexual gratifications. Urganza has experience lust before never a strong desire like the current. Her weak mind gasped. Images flickered past her consciousness; lying naked with Cyrene, her rough thews encased arms wrapped around the slender waist of the mage, her burning amber eyes meeting the cool collected green eyes of the mage. Whatever organ rested between the mage's legs, did not matter for Urganza. She loved the mage, irrespective of gender.

Clothing herself in a fresh new shirt and pair of breeches, Urganza assessed herself mentally. Her tight muscles, and slim frame aroused feelings of safety but rarely desire. She was pure strength that stood out. Confronted with the conventional notion of beauty, Urganza felt herself falling behind. All her previous sexual experiences were either willing favours exchanged for her protection or decision made in the low light of a bonfire influenced by copious amounts of alcohol. As the new Orc Overlord, other orcs, goblins, ogres, minotaurs, humans and even elven maiden would line up to gain her attention. But Urganza needed a means to sojourn her way to Cyrene's heart. The mage is educated, undoubtedly rolled in sophisticated circles. For the orc, sophistication meant, not licking her fingers after a good meal. She already lost on two fronts.

Urganza, rubbed her temples with her index and middle finger, stimulating her nerves. What would Rylonvirah do? She slapped her forehead, muttering to herself. Of course, she should seek our allies, unlikely ones. Pulling out a flask of water from her personal travel supply, Urganza drank a generous portion. She knew what must do now. Make herself appealing to the mage. Perhaps her previous failure was due to her inexperience in the art of sensual enchantment. Subconsciously, she dabbed the corners of her eyes with her thumb, wiping away any lingering fatigue. She needed to show more maturity and self-confidence, treating Cyrene with respect like what a high-society lady deserves. Antilorwe's obvious fascination with Urganza can be described as fleeting at best, after all, High-elves do not dally with other races. Maybe, she could come to a sort of understanding with the high-elf. A quick romp in the hay to satisfy Antilorwe's curiosity in exchange for the high-elf's assistance in currying favour from the Mage is a beneficial arrangement. Urganza's pensive mood melted away and a wide feral grin soon took its place.

A guttural bark issued from the Orc High Lady's throat, summoning her mount. She has another long restless journey before her, to reach Antilorwe days the appointment meeting. For her plan to succeed, attracting Cyrene's full attention and appreciation for her growing affection is vital. More importantly, Antilorwe needs to be on board with the plan. Unaware of Antilorwe's hidden desires, Urganza surmised that convincing the high-elf would be a difficult task to achieve.