Whenever Aithne had chanced to picture in her head what an orgy might look like, she envisioned music and multitudes of naked gyrating bodies piled on top of one another in one writhing mass of limbs and bodily secretions.

 

The pubhimej was nothing at all like that. It was, instead, a sort of flirty game.

 

It started with the six chosen women (“One for each of the commanders of the two sides of the war”), each wearing three layers of sheer material, standing in a circle around the very naked Makṭu (“Representing the city of Orsinium”).

 

The other women stood in ready stances, eyes alight with anticipation, while Aithne stayed as far back as she could. Her new pendant hung around her neck, blocking the thoughts of the others, but she gave serious thought to removing it just so she would know what was about to happen. The only thing stopping her was the fear of all those minds pulsing with lust at the same time all around her, and what that might do to her.

 

The only information Jorg had given her was the women would choose among themselves which “commander” lost, at which point they would be “punished” by having to “go the city.” Aithne inferred going to the city was a colloquialism for the sex part of the proceedings.

 

None of that made sense to her and, with her hazy notions of what an orgy looked like, she assumed there would be some signal and all the women would pounce on Jorg at once, and the thought intimidated her. She didn’t want to be in some weird spot where she was competing with the others over Jorg’s cock, like dogs fighting over…well, a bone. She decided she would just hang back, maybe slip behind Jorg and…rub his back, or something.

 

Her assumption was right in only one respect – there was a small hand gong, rung by someone farther back in the room behind the ridiculous circle of candles (that were, fortunately, placed far away from the women and their thin and presumably flammable garments), and the other women did leap into action. Except, instead of jumping at the Makṭu, they jumped at each other.

 

Before Aithne knew what was happening, the two beside her grabbed the top layer of her outfit and played tug of war with it, tearing it off Aithne’s body in a flash.

 

“What…” was as far as she got before the hands reached for her again, so she ducked under them and scooted away.

 

The entire room had erupted in chaos, as the women laughed and ran and grabbed and tore at each other’s clothes, and she finally understood.

 

It was a free-for-all game of tag, except everyone was “it” and instead of tagging, the goal was to strip off the others’ garments while protecting your own. When the next orc came near, Aithne twisted away and ran past, grabbing at the woman’s garment as she went. It tore in a very satisfying way, but she didn’t stop to see the result.

 

Her trepidation was washed away in the flurry, and soon she, too, was laughing and running and tearing, spinning away from outstretched hands while simultaneously trying to reach for others.

 

Another gong brought them to a stop, and Aithne looked around in confusion, one hand clutching the hem of someone’s wispy outfit.

 

One of the women stepped forward, her garments ripped clean away. She approached Jorg with a wide grin, then straddled him and ran her nails down his chest. He grunted, shifted, then grabbed her ass and pulled her onto his cock. They started moving in unison and the rest of the women crowded around, touching both all over their bodies while calling out advice and teases and laughter, and Aithne felt it perfectly natural to be there with them. Her fingers traced over Jorg’s bulging arms and chest while the other hand swept through the woman’s hair then ran lightly down her face, neck, and the swell of her breast.

 

With the extra touches and the heightened (and exponentially increasing) feeling of arousal in the room, it did not take long for the woman to cry out and tighten on Jorg’s cock. Her body quivered and her nails bit into his chest then, with a final series of gasps, she slumped on top of him. They all stroked her back until she was able to sit back up and climb off him. Jorg’s eyes were closed and he breathed heavily but his erection remained, now slick from her.

 

Aithne thought there would be some sort of reset or a pause for a breather at that point, but the gong rang out almost at once and the women went back to grabbing at each other while the first woman out lounged on a small sofa beyond the candles and poured herself a glass of wine.

 

The pattern continued; they ran and laughed and tore and, when someone became naked, she climbed on Jorg and they all gathered to encourage them on. From the whisps of thought Aithne occasionally caught when the pendant of her necklace was not touching her skin, as happened often with the running and jumping around, she came to understand that the goal was to get the man to come. The greatest honor went to the woman who could manage the feat, although Aithne was fuzzy on just what that honor might portend other than the respect of the others.

 

As for the poor man, his job was to last as long as possible. Aithne took a curious peek into his mind during his time with the third woman and discovered he was picturing himself disemboweling an animal, painstakingly going over every detail about the process: where to start the cut, how much pressure to put on the knife so it didn’t damage the organs as it cut, where to stop…

 

“He’s probably thinking about hunting or something to distract himself!” she said to the orc woman who was riding him. “Don’t let him get away with that, Dwij!”

 

She felt the pang of surprise go through Jorg at her words and a wave of lust rushed through him as his mind came back to the moment, but he was somehow able to stave off the completion Aithne could feel he desperately wanted. She laughed at his anguished expression as he squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself back from the precipice.

 

It eventually game down to her and Chyehye, aided in no small part by the snippets of thoughts Aithne received that warned her when she was in danger. Even with that, her garments were down to a sleeve clinging like a lifeline to the tattered remains of the bodice, itself wrapped around her neck by the thinnest of threads.

 

Chyehye was in little better shape – her last garment was torn away from just above her breasts, but she still had both sleeves, and that turned out to be the difference. Just as with the trial, Chyehye was simply faster than Aithne, and this time Aithne had no opportunity to cast any clever spells to counter it. With a snap of her arm so quick, it registered only as a blur to Aithne, Chyehye yanked the neck strand away and the sleeve flipped slowly to the ground as the other women cheered.

 

Aithne laughed, then straightened, turned, and walked toward the Makṭu with head held high. Her breath was heavy, and not only from the exertion of the game of tag. Jorg’s cock rose before her, a perfect combination of the orc dicks she had had – it was long enough to give her the pain she craved but not so long that she couldn’t fit it all in, as with Nyatt; thick like Borkul’s, but not so much that it made her feel uncomfortably stuffed; and with a gentle curve, not straight like Urag’s, so it molded to the parts of her body that wanted it most.

 

Jorg looked concerned as she approached and looked like he might speak, but Aithne shook her head then, much as she had with Urag and her husband, she took control, clambering on top of him, shifting until his cock was teasing her labia, then, with a wild grin, impaling herself with a hard thrust. Jorg laughed, shook his head, and said, “I should have known.” And from then on, he held nothing back.

 

As with the others before her, Aithne could not last. The strip tag had been exhausting and more fun than she could have ever imagined and had turned out to be extraordinary arousing, his cock hit every spot of her need, the pain he caused her was exquisite in its sharpness, and the other women’s hands stroked every part of her body not occupied by the Makṭu like downy feathers. She found herself moaning and gyrating and shuddering almost immediately into an orgasm the size and gravity of which she had not felt since her early days with Urag. As with the others, she was left collapsed and gasping on Jorg’s massive chest while his erection continued throbbing unabated.

 

Then it was Chyehye, who stood like a predator staring at prey. She reached up, grabbed the tattered remnants of her garment, tore it off, and flung it to the floor. Then, instead of slowly stepping forward as everyone else had, she crouched and leapt from her spot onto the table, landing with a thud on top of Jorg.

 

They let out a simultaneous grunt, but Chyehye sat up, slipped herself onto his cock, and, as she began moving, kept her eyes on his. Every time she seemed to feel he was slipping away, she slapped him across the face, which brought him back to the moment with a shout. After the third time, he roared, lifted them both off the table and, with her legs wrapped around his waist and his cock still slamming into her, he took six long steps, knocking over several candles in the process (which Aithne hastily put out with a small water spell), shoved Chyehye’s back against the wall, and rammed into her with a fierceness that shook the building while her nails dug bloody trails across his back.

 

It was over only a few short heartbeats later – all at once, Jorg froze, straining, then howled an inarticulate cry that was matched a second later by Chyehye. This continued for several seconds, interspersed with moments of more slamming, before they stopped, both breathing heavily. Then Jorg loosened his grip on Chyehye’s thighs and she lowered her feet to the ground. They stood there for a long moment more, saying nothing, then Jorg stepped back and turned and the moment passed, bringing a feeling like daybreak to the room.

 

As if on cue, the room burst out talking as the women gathered what things they had brought with them and began to file out. Each one paused and gave Jorg a smile or a touch or a small kiss on the cheek before they left, and he responded in kind.

 

Aithne and Chyehye were the last to leave, and it seemed the easiest thing in the world to give Jorg a quick hug, ask if he wanted help taking down all the candles (“No, I will do it, but thank you.”), and walk out of the room, through the Immungot, out into the unexpected blinding sunlight (it felt much later than it was), and through the winding paths of the kwåim to the home they shared with their husband, chattering together the entire time. It was only until later that it dawned on Aithne that they had casually strolled through the public areas of the Kwåim completely naked.

 

 

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