Shaga is sleeping, snoring like a bear, and our pet is finally quiet, curled up in his furs. I sit here by the low fire, oiling my axe and thinking. It is strange to feel so... full. My tits ache with milk, heavy and warm, because he fed from me until he was drowsy and content. It’s not just the milk. My cunt is still wet from earlier, when I held him down and rubbed him against me until he came, whimpering. Shaga thinks it’s just play, like tossing a toy. But I watch his face. The fear, the helplessness, the way his little cock twitches and spills for us... it fills a deep place in me. A strong orc provides. We hunt, we fight, we protect. And we own. To have something so fragile depend on you for everything—for food, for warmth, for the release we give his body—it makes me feel stronger than any battle victory. Tomorrow, I think I will teach him to lick my cunt properly. Not for Shaga’s rough games, but for me. A slow, obedient service. The thought makes my nipples hard.