Bebe's Story

Journal of Rowana, daughter of Rowetha
21 / 04 / 2120 of the Fourth Age, cont'd

Azzie took the ring from my pocket, first thing.

Then I broke the hobble board, and cut off the cord tied to the young Orc's septum ring. Within half an hour of freedom, Bebe had on one of my clean white t-shirts and boxers in place of his frankly rank and inadequate loincloth, and was seated at the kitchen table as Azzie poured a heap of stir-fry out of the wok and onto three plates. Rice, scrambled egg, onion, reconstituted vegetables, bits of flavored krill and soylent meat substitutes...it wouldn't have passed muster at a Haradrim restaurant in the White City, but washed down with some Pellinor Pale Ale and I think we all felt a lot better.

There were only two chairs, so I ate standing. Tried to keep my eyes above the table, because the tip of Bebe's cock was poking out of his boxers. When the Dark Lord made him, he'd really given the Orc more dick than the poor skinny thing knew what to do with.

In between bites, Bebe gave us his story.

"I'ze born on de tird day 2101 of dey Fort Age," he said in his strange Westron dialect. "I'ze..."

He looked at Azzie, said something in the Black Speech. She translated.

"Runt of the litter. Smallest Orc of his clutch-cohort."

"Mos' runts, dey don't last," Bebe said. "Bigger Orcs get more food, fight harder, get bigger still. Runts fight for scraps. Bullied. But I was pulled out to be..."

Another word I didn't know. Even Azzie looked confused, asked questions in the Black Speech. I watched her frown angrily.

"Some of the Orc tribes they. Um. Control their numbers. Don't want people breeding out of season. Too many mouths to feed during the lean months. But it's hard for Orcs to go without for weeks and months on end, so sometimes when an Orc comes of age that is...pretty..." Azzie licked her lips. "They pull them out. Instead of doing the normal hunting games, sports, training, they're taught to dance, sew, and fuck."

"Bitch boi," I said, as I got the picture. "There are Men with traditions like that out in Harad. Sometimes it gets...well, some of us didn't like it. Our higher-ups, though, they didn't want to interrupt the 'immemorial custom.' Told us to 'respect the local traditions.' Bastards."

There was more iron in my voice than I intended. I remembered how appalled I'd been when I first heard about the dancing boys. It was different from the pleasure tents, the widows who were just trying to feed their families. The young men **** into sex work were often as not unwilling, bought and sold, little more than slaves. It wouldn't surprise me if the Orcs and Men even traded in such flesh from time to time.

"I'ze too pretty," Bebe said, and his ears fluttered as he rubbed his shaven head. "I learn dance too well. Dress up too pretty. With wig, I pass for girl. I'ze cock too big, ass too...tight. I'ze very popular. All de warriors fight over me. So da White Hand, he tell her, say they sell me in big city, make lot of money. Big fight about that, too many Orcs want...use me. Too much fighting. So when she meat Ashnazg, she make trade. Get good weapon, no more trouble."

Bebe turned his green eyes to look at us.

"You'ze is...nice. How do I serve youz?"

I physically recoiled.

"You don't serve us. We don't own you, Bebe. You can stay here if you like, and we might ask you to help out, but you are not a ****."

"Oh," he said. Then he turned to Azzie and asked another question in the Black Speech. That question became a conversation, and I policed up the dishes and washed them. I could almost feel Bebe's eyes on my ass. It was disconcerting. He better not hope that being rescued involved getting his dick wet.

Of course, that was my jealousy speaking. I didn't know why Azzie had rescued him. The fact that we had both seen the bulge in his loincoth had my mind jumping to conclusions. Probably it was just what she said it was: see a ****, free a ****. Easy enough, and...

"Bebe wants to know if we're gay-married or what?"

Pellinor Pale Ale is not meant to come out of the nostrils, and it took me a minute and a handtowel to get to the point where I could sputter a half-hearted "What?" followed shortly by "Why?"

Azzie's smile was the opposite of innocent. Her big eyes were half-lidded as she answered.

"Different Orc tribes, different customs. Some Orcs keep mates, monoagamous. Others, many mates. Some go from mate to mate, polyamorous. Older tribes keep up the breeding pit, keep males and females separate except for mating. Bigger, stronger Orcs usually demand mating rights, but smaller Orcs sometimes sneaky-mate when they can. Strong female Orcs sometimes take smaller female Orcs as mates, like the male Orcs do. But sometimes that's just a cultural thing, and they still visit the breeding pit when they want cock. Bede is being...polite. Wants to know whether he's expected to breed us or not. What the rules are for our tribe."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. This was not covering in any ranger training.

"I don't think we have a tribe, yet. And you don't have a SIN, so I don't think we can legally be married. But I always thought of you as...I mean, I thought we would be exclusive. Just the two of us."

"Lifemates," Azzie said, happily.

"Right. There you go. That's what we are," I said with relief. It was a hell of the time to have a "how do we define our relationship" question, right in front of the guest we just rescued from slavery.

Azzie explained the situation to Bebe, who nodded somberly, if not entirely soberly. He was visibly nodding off at the table.

So we set him up with a sleeping bag in the corridor outside our bedroom, showed him where the toilet was, introduced him to Búrzi, and then retired to our bedroom. Where we very conspicuously did not have sex.

We lay in bed together, Azzie and I, as our new friend got his first sleep as a free Orc. It felt weird, not being alone in the house with just Azzie. She was rolled onto her side, my arm smooshed between her warm, soft tits as I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling. It felt like if we had sex, we might wake him. Azzie hugged me close, until she could trap my hand between her thighs.

"You're afraid I'm going to fuck him, aren't you?" she whispered softly.

"Do you want to?" I whispered back, and I felt the knot of tension all my anxieties had become in my gut.

Her chuckle was deep. She leaned over and kissed my cheek.

"No. But when the time is right...I think I want him to fuck you. When you're ready."

I should have said something then. Muttered a protest, asked a question, said something. Instead, we closed our eyes and I, the big bad lesbian ranger, suffered a strange and terrible dream where the giant green were-worms of the Last Desert were trying to eat me.