Uh, sure...

You look between your older brothers, suddenly horny beyond belief, and ready to agree to nearly anything to get some relief for your seething, overful Orc-nuts. Keeping a secret shouldn't be a problem. "Uh, sure..."

Gurak leans in and grabs your sack through your loincloth. "...And do what you're told?" He slips a finger up past your taint to circle your butthole slowly.

You stare down at your straining dong, so hard that it's pulling your loincloth down to expose the first inch or so of your cock, where it sprouts from your thick, sticky, tangled pubes. You find yourself instinctively parting your legs as your hole tenses and tenders to his touch, like giving the rough, callused pad of his finger a sticky, brown kiss. Swearing to do what you're told is a bigger risk – especially with these two. As you hesitate, you reach absently to squeeze and stroke your aching boner, just like Gurak had been teasing a moment before. Behind you, Karug licks your neck. "Um... Okay."

Gurak releases your nuts, and lays his finger across your lips with a stern gaze. "Not a word about any of this, understand?" Your tongue darts nervously between your tusks, and you nod. He nods in return, smiles tightly, and pats your cheek before letting his finger graze over the pulse of your throat. "This way."

Karug has gathered what gear the twins carry and leads the way up a trail to a cliff-side you don't usually go near. Right at the foot are three or four flat-thatched, stone-lined pit-chambers - each a lodge of one of the warrior or hunter totems. The one Karug leads you to is directly under a mossy petroglyph in the symbolic figure of a rutting boar. "Uh, should I even be here?" you ask. The pits are taboo even to mention, if you are not an initiate of the lodge.

"Ordinarily, no," admits Karug.

"But no one else has any reason to be out here by day, Full Little Moon isn't for five more nights," says Gurak. "And anyway, special occasion. This is your coming of age, after all, Get in before anyone sees." He raises a panel of thatch, exposing a crude wooden ladder leading down, and gives you a smack on the ass.

You scramble inside, finding yourself in a low chamber, lit by sun striking the thatch roof above. The walls are mud plaster over dry stone, painted with strange figures of the lodge, stick-Orcs and stick-Beasts in strange groupings, all of course male. In the center of the sandy floor, a cold, coal blackened fire pit, and beyond it on the far wall, a huge log of bullthorn wood, hollowed out as a deep, low bench, shadowed by the dead, dry, time-polished burl of its roots woven into the likeness of a huge boar, root ends making its tusks and the crest of its back and its twisted pizzle. A chunk of polished obsidian forms its watchful eye.

Karug slips in past you, crossing to toss your fur rug and their double-sized one onto the bench as Gurak drops in heavily behind behind you, closing the hatch above. The pit is delightfully dim and cool. You can actually feel the heat of Gurak's body, even before he presses up behind you, bucking against your backside like Karug had teased at, pushing you along after his twin.

You find yourself seated between them, exchanging another of their secret, silent jokes. As you sat, Karug had caught the thong low on your hips to tug your skimpy, straining loincloth up your butt-crack again, and you shift to slip a finger or two down there to pick out the wedgie. "So, what's the big secret?" you ask.

"Nothing the elders of the Breeding caste would tell you. But the Hunters know."

"So do the Shamans. Ask our oldest brother if you don't believe us."

"Yeah, maybe don't do that. What he would propose for you could be... eh. I wouldn't. No," decided Gurak. "It's about Mom," he said, deadpan.

"Good one," you laugh aloud. "You got me." You sock his arm with a meaty punch. He sways slightly but doesn't flinch. He isn't joking. "Um, what about Mom?"

"Well, she is not an Orc, Little Bro," says Karug. "She's Elvish." Yeah, you knew that. And...?

"We, and you too Little Bro, are Half-Elvish. And lucky you," Gurak continues, "are of the Breeding caste."

You are still not at all clear what they are getting at, and squirm where you sit, rubbing at your sticky butthole with a fingertip where the greasy leather loincloth had chafed you. "Yeah, and..." Your tongue darts between your tusks. and you give your captive chub a slow squeeze.

"And this is your coming-of-age, your Ceremony of Seeking." Karug stretches, leans in over you, holding onto an overhanging root so his hairy underarm tickles your ear. "And no one may interfere in your choice, right?" You lean in yourself, take a huff, and nod, nuzzling impulsively. Behind you, Gurak looms close, leaning in over your back to speak to the other ear.

"And you did your meditation thing with your big, dumb dong," he says, reaching around to lace his big fingers between yours to give you a squeeze there. Karug leans in to whuffle at your throat, right at the pulsing spot his twin had swiped his finger.

"And then, you came to us, right?" You nod. He looks to Gurak, who nods as well, then back to you. "We accept." Gurak licks your neck, and your sticky butthole flutters in surprise, so that your finger slips in, up to the first knuckle.