Undressing

Chapter 3: The Misunderstanding

The orc woman pulls at a small knot of mixed furs above her hip, and the entire waistcloth falls down to her ankles. Gingerly she steps out of the bundle of fur and leather, placing the last of her dried meat into her mouth and looking pointedly at you. She holds up her empty hands almost tauntingly... welcomingly... placatingly? Now you can clearly see the scanty leathers she wore under her waistcloth, and your eyes dip too-easily into the deft slope of material between her shapely legs. They linger there.

"Wait!" you cry. "Stop!" Did she misunderstand? Did she think your gestures were asking her to join you? To add her clothes to your own? Surely she didn't think you were... demanding...

If she did... would you mind?

"Ohm?" she sounds questioningly as she finally swallows. The tone, the word - if it truly was a word - is completely incomprehensible. A certain familiar feeling tingles, and you are made keenly aware of your nakedness. The light in her eyes seems to dance in the hues of the setting sun.

"You..." you sigh, slowly kneeling a little lower so the water of the pool rises past your hips. At least this way she might stop staring at your waist. At least this way you might hide the sudden, unwelcome(?) stirring of your manhood. Her smirk falters slightly as you move; perhaps you are right. "You really don't understand me, do you?"

The orc wipes her lips across the back of one long finger, narrowing her eyes at the sword in your hand, still purposefully leveled at her neck. Once more she glances at the pile of your discarded gear. Does she even know how your steel plates and leathers function? Has she ever seen chainmail or proper sabatons? Why are your eyes still roaming her ample chest, her wide hips, the gentle sway of each...

The moonstone seems to twinkle from the hilt of your holy sword.

The cold sharpens the mind. Think. Is this a test?

The orc stoops to lift something from her slim bundle of furs. She raises the item, and to you it looks like a browned gourd, steeped in glaze that shines in the setting sun's rays. She tosses her head, firmly, sending her hair flowing back around her nearly bare shoulder. Her fingers flex slightly around the tip of her gourd, pulling something away as she brings the rest to her feminine lips. She drinks - slowly, deeply - then sharply catches her breath as her other hand moves to replace the stopper. Welcomingly, she holds the item out to the pool, to you.

You shake your head, moving your sword towards your armor.

"Don't touch those," you demand. "Move back!" You gesture away from your gear with the tip of your sword, pantomiming the distance you desire. "Move!" The orc... maybe understands.

Gently, carefully, she bends over to scoop your discarded gear into her arms. No, if she heard you she clearly didn't understand, for soon enough all of your armor - and your scabbard - rests in the clutches of the wild orc. You walk forth, ready for her to run or discard them violently into the waters, but she surprises you again, carrying them down to the edge of the bathing pool and placing them delicately onto a wide, flat rock near the water's edge.

As she rises the orc pats her sizeable chest once, deliberately, and gestures to the water. Her hands move up into her hair as if she was teasing knots or kneading soap into it. For a moment you are more transfixed by the subtle, swaying motions of her breasts, and the sheen of sunlight on her supple skin. She clucks her tongue loudly, perhaps in annoyance at your dumbfounded expression. But there is still a merriment in her eyes, some mischief at which the orc is clearly playing.

First, she sets the brown, polished gourd on top of your leathers, simultaneously fidgeting with the bit of bone clasp at her temple. This too she sets amongst your belongings, tossing her loosened hair wildly about her as she rises. Then she reaches behind her, the arch of her back straining tellingly.

"Wait!" you utter, but the sound is somewhat choked and barely audible even to your own ears. The word - and your senses - are lost in the roar of the falls. Your heart thunders with a thrill you'd forgotten in the bloody haze of the recent battle with the goblins. This is a... welcome... change. You don't want her to stop.

The moonstone in your blade pulses.

When the orc's hands return to the front they bring with them the straps of leather once covering her chest. These too she drops on top of the gourd, on top of your holy armor. From head to waist the woman stands shamelessly, completely bare.

Gods, they are perfect: firm, round, heavy. The night-green nipples are tight, pointed against the cool forest air as if she were already in the chilling waters of the bathing pool. Only her clean, silvered scar mars the sight of them, and now that they are bare you see that the mark ends nearly perfectly at the perimeter of her right nipple. Still, as a warrior, it serves her well...

She leans down to pull at some buckle or strap behind her swollen calf muscles, her breasts swaying pendulously in a wide, nearly tear-drop shape. She steps out of her boots with a knowing smirk and boldly slips her feet into the water at the pool's edge.

At last she holds.

The woman stands before you like a painting, only the scantest stretch of a leather triangle keeping her modest. No, even that isn't quite enough. Her bare hips and the smooth green skin framing her tight leathers draw your eye instinctively. Two measly straps, tied high on the generous flare of her hips, is all that stands in the way. One simple tug on each would leave her as naked as you.

Her perfect breasts barely bounce as she gingerly takes another graceful step into the bathing pool. The twitches in your manhood are already solidifying into something firmer. Her glimmering, golden eyes are clearer now, shining, watching yours with rapt interest... curiosity? The orc smiles a challenge, her metallic gaze flashing in the dusk. They dip slowly downward, her eyes, until they land pointedly on the tip of your sword.

"Myr, lend me strength."