That evening, Dorky noticed that when in the group of the Strong, the Orc-women tended to lose their individual characters and submit to Babeno's will. They adopted similar postures and tones, and with small, noteworthy exceptions, enthusiastically let themselves be carried away by whatever the Elder had planned. He feared a repeat of the beating, but this time the meeting concluded without physical cruelty. They inflicted a different kind of pain on him, deep and incurable, a burning thorn in his heart. No one could have guessed how incredibly his future fate would unfold because of this. But more on that later.

  He was ordered to remove his clothes and was meticulously measured with a beaded strap. His torso, neck, biceps, forearms, thighs, and calves were measured, not omitting the length of his penis at rest. The organ once again betrayed him, following its own incomprehensible rules, and after brief encouragement with lewd shouts, whistles and cackles, and a few open-handed slaps from Darma, against its owner's will, it gave them the opportunity to measure it erect. Marpala precisely touched his frenulum with the tip of her boot, extending her leg far forward and revealing the gleaming surface of her muscular thigh. Dorky looked at it with an undisguised appetite. Marpala was flattered. She effortlessly maintained her position, then twirled her foot and nudged him once or twice more, raising her eyebrows cheerfully. She was ready to tease him and remained so until Chechi finished measuring.

  The fun was in full swing, and the Orc-women crowded around a barrel of dark beer, from which an unnamed, plump, and shorter-than-the-Strong inhabitant of the settlement kept pouring into their horns, serving as goblets. Dorky stood at attention a short distance away, ready for further instructions, but not entirely immune to the contagious atmosphere. He almost started grinning at them. He wouldn't have disdained a horn of dark, nourishing drink or a few bites of roast. Or anything. A young, physically working human can be very hungry. The Strong did not seem interested in including him in their feast. They drank without much restraint, chattering and cackling as Babeno loudly declared and commented on the boy's size.

  "Listen here," she addressed him directly, clapping a few times to get the boisterous group's attention, "you still have some time ahead of you, and it's worth making sure you help Nature. Do you know what I mean?"

  He didn't.

  "I mean," she said, her slightly inebriated gaze sweeping over the others, "you need to bulk up! Get rounded shoulders, strengthen your hooves and chest, because the size of your pole doesn't fit this emaciated shell you're living in!"

  The Orc-women laughed and cheered. Only Darma seemed to disagree, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes, pouting her lips as Babeno spoke. Dorky couldn't believe his ears. Had he just been complimented on the size of his manhood? A strong blush rose to his cheeks, and he felt a pleasant tingling in his groin. He gathered his courage and said:

  "I need to eat more…"

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  "Naturally," Babeno replied gravely. "From today, we are increasing your rations, and you will receive meat, but you must also work hard and diligently, because nothing here is free. You will also receive instruction on all things valiant and Orc-like, as well as what one might encounter in the wilderness. Your presence here is useful to us," here she paused, her gaze fixed on the ceiling for a moment, "for various reasons. The last thing we want is for you to be torn to shreds by dangerous inhabitants of the wasteland or snatched from under our noses by competitors. And believe me, the fight for slaves today is fiercer than ever!" She frowned for a moment, then added, "This message also applies to you, Huntresses," she addressed Narma and Darma. Although they listened obediently, it was clear that such reminders offended their professional pride.

  "We won't lose the Little Fox, Chieftain," Narma promised.

  After the meeting, it was time for rest. Led by Chechi to the stables, chained up, the dazed boy stood leaning against the fence for a moment, watching her as she walked to the exit. Then she turned and came close, leaning against the beams from the other side. She looked him straight in the eye, whispering:

  "Just remember, you're not allowed to play with it. The pole is our property, and we decide. Understood?"

  He felt her hand massaging his groin through his pants. Her eyes were the color of coal. The smell of beer from her mouth, fresh stable hay, and that discreet hint of almonds sweetly spun his head. Before he could answer, she composed herself, turned, and walked away quickly, swaying slightly. Dorky exhaled, crouched down, and clasped his temples. The fence beam against which he leaned his head painfully reminded him where he was and what his rights were. The girl's scent vanished, leaving the silence of imprisonment, the palpable weight of the collar, the straw mattress, and loneliness. He reached for the bucket of water and submerged his face in it several times, yelling out all his frustration under its soothing surface. For now, that would have to be enough.

  He didn't sleep well that night, waking up every now and then. In each successive dream, the visions became bolder, and he almost tasted what he wanted, then, trembling on the brink of the indescribable, he would wake up. Irritated and sleepy, he would shake his head with a silly smile, having rolled off the straw mattress onto the cool ground. In just two days, his life had turned into a mad adventure, and one of the terrors of adolescence had smoothly transformed into an object of incomprehensible, painful desire.

  He took a deep breath and let his intrusive thoughts carry him away. Strong and dominant Babeno, in whose breasts he could drown. The Twins, impossible to mistake for anyone else, beautiful, perfectly aware of their assets and worth, like lionesses. The chic and electrifying Marpala, casting mocking glances at him from behind her glasses. The mysterious, tanned warrior Farme, with eyes blue as ice, whose wheat-colored hair, braided into a barbaric plait, he wanted to press to his face and inhale deeply ever since he first saw her. To top it all off, the ubiquitous Chechi… his peer, unrivaled in jokes and teasing, animalistically attractive, evidently pleased by his presence, and perversely very kind to him. His youth yearned for her youth. The world revolved around this feeling.

  And the most wonderful, bittersweet spice of all the burning desire he felt was the knowledge that he didn't have much time. They didn't hide it—they promised him a specific, short term. So his young life was coming to an end. Before that happened, he resolved to do everything in his power to win them all over.