Lamentations of the Turnip Farmer
Copyright© 2026 by Snekguy
Chapter 10: Winter Moon
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 10: Winter Moon - After his fief is put to the torch, a lowly serf named Rian is taken captive by Orcs. The women cart him back to their stronghold and put him to work cooking, cleaning, and serving them. Little do they know, his new situation is a marked improvement. For the first time, he has a soft bed, plentiful food, and a warm hearth. Will his hosts ever find out that he's only pretending to lament his new role?
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Farming High Fantasy Humor FemaleDom Light Bond Polygamy/Polyamory Massage Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Tit-Fucking Voyeurism Big Breasts Muscle Mommy Size
They spent the rest of the evening working on the feast, Sharog and Urami coming and going intermittently as they tended to preparations of their own in the village. When night fell, they bathed again, and Rian slept by the fire. He kept an eye on the simmering pots that were cooking over it, waking every now and then to stir them or move them further from the heat. Loaves of bread and pastries were baking on the hot stones at its edge, the pleasant aromas making it difficult to sleep.
The following morning was spent cooking more dishes, Rian preparing those that could be served cold first, and leaving the others for later in the day. They were already preparing quite the spread. The dining table was piled high with all manner of dishes. There were sweet fruit tarts with fillings of apple, pear, figs, and berries for dessert. Several cauldrons filled with stews and pottages still simmered over the flames, keeping warm and ready for serving.
The stews were mostly meat-based with tender beef, pork, and venison that had been absorbing the flavors overnight. Along with the meats were vegetables – chopped leeks, onions, spinach, lettuce, cabbages, carrots, and even some turnips he’d found in the storehouse. Every herb and spice in his repertoire had been brought out for bold flavoring, including some he had harvested from his garden. There was dill, mint, thyme, basil, sage, parsley, chives, fennel, rosemary, and some rare nutmeg.
Loaves of wheat bread usually reserved for the upper echelons of society baked on the hot stones, swelling with the heat, as soft and white as linen pillows. They could be used as trenchers to soak up juices and broths, or simply eaten with some of the butter or cheese that he’d fished out of storage. He’d even been able to find some raspberry and strawberry jam that should go marvelously with some nice soft bread.
Some of the meat courses were already slow-roasting over the crowded fire, suspended above the licking flames on spits. With no less than thirty hungry Orcs to feed, they were going to be consuming a prodigious quantity. There were two whole pigs, three deer, and two goats, the latter of which had been blessed by Sharog and slaughtered for the occasion. Ghorza’s main task right now was basting the meat in the spice mixes he’d concocted, flavoring them and keeping them from drying out, along with turning the spits to ensure they were cooked evenly.
Along with them was an abundance of chicken and fish, some of which was roasting, and some of which Rian had been cooking into pies. He’d pan-fry some salmon, bacon, and eggs once the feast had begun in earnest and serve those piping hot. Remembering how the Orcs had responded to his spiced ale, he had tasked Ghorza with fetching plenty of good wine and ale for mulling. The Orcs didn’t strike him as great lovers of wine, but it was a special occasion, and there was no more appropriate time to indulge.
“I am glad we have you here with us, keesahn,” Ghorza began as she basted a suckling pig.
“Oh?” he asked, turning the spit. “And why’s that?”
“Because cooking is boring and I hope never to do it again.”
“Don’t worry,” he said with a laugh. “I doubt you’ll be tasked with cooking again. Not until next time there’s a feast, at least. How many feasts are in the Orcish calendar, anyway?”
“Several,” she grumbled. Her yellow eyes glanced around the room, then found their way back to him again, sly and narrow. “I can think of ways we can amuse ourselves.”
“Oh no,” he replied, shaking his head. “If Sharog or Urami walk in on us-”
“They will be busy all day!” she sighed, giving the pig another dispassionate slap with her wet brush. “All the cooking is done. Now we only babysit pots and pigs.”
“I’m supposed to be taking my new duties very seriously.”
“It will not take long,” she insisted, giving him a smirk. “You think I cannot finish you as quickly as I like?”
“It doesn’t need to be a competition,” he muttered.
“I would say this too if I feared competition.”
“You think you can tempt me?”
“I know it,” she replied, sticking her pierced tongue out at him. She turned to face him as she stood a short distance away at the firepit’s edge. She was wearing leather breeches and a thin linen shirt. It was cold outside, but warm beside the fire, and they had been working close to it all day.
The shirt was held together with wooden buttons, and she began to unfasten them, starting at the bottom and moving up to her collar. With each button that she opened, she revealed a few more inches of green skin, cocking her hips and putting her sculpted midriff on display. The little piercing in her navel glittered in the firelight, his eyes lingering on it as she slowly slid a hand up her stomach, teasing him. When she reached the linen sling that covered her chest, she lifted it up and away with her thumb, exposing her perky breasts. They quivered ever so softly as she shifted her weight, more golden piercings in her nipples capturing his attention like lanterns shining in the night.
“Well?” she asked, giving him a pout that only exaggerated the fullness of her lips. “Keep to your work, keesahn, if you cannot be tempted.”
He tore his eyes from her bosom, focusing on the pig that he was turning. She grinned, biting her lip and raising a hand to her chest, cupping a breast and kneading it roughly. Just the sight of her green flesh molding around her fingers and springing back to shape brought back vivid memories of having his face buried in her bosom.
Cheeks warming, he checked on one of the iron pots, lifting the lid and glancing inside at the simmering stew. Ghorza moved over to one of the nearby support pillars, four of which flanked the firepit and helped hold up the roof of the hut. She leaned back against it idly, letting her red braid fall down her shoulder, lifting her hands above her head and planting them against the log. With a groan, she stretched, planting a boot against the wood and curving her spine, bending backwards until her flexible figure very nearly formed a horseshoe. Those lean muscles shifted and flexed beneath her green skin, leather pants creaking with the strain, so tight that he could see the outlines of her hip bones.
“Do I distract you, keesahn?” she purred. “Be good and tend to your work.”
Her hand slid down her stomach and settled at her belt buckle, prying the clasp open. Slowly, she loosened the belt and dragged it down, stopping only when a tuft of red hair was revealed. Rian lifted a brush and basted the pig, coating the crackling skin in spiced oil.
“I could order you, you know,” she chimed as she inched her breeches just a little lower. “But ordering is not fun. I do not want keesahn to obey, I want keesahn to worry me for sex like hungry puppy because he cannot stand to be apart.”
She slid a finger out of view, and when it reemerged, there was a thin strand of nectar dangling from its tip.
“Five minutes,” Rian sighed, holding up five fingers. “That’s as long as I’ll leave the meat unattended.”
He left his place beside the fire and walked over to join her at the post, already unbuckling his belt, and she swung out a hand to cup his bulge as soon as he was within her reach. He almost flinched away, but she slowed before contact, grabbing his swelling manhood through the soft silk of his breeches. She gave it a squeeze, her fingers mapping his shape through the slick fabric.
“Was good idea to dress you so nice,” she purred, closing her hand around his shaft. “Have you walking around looking good for us. Even if I cannot touch you in front of others, I can enjoy you from afar.”
“I thought these clothes were supposed to be humiliating?” he asked, faltering as she gave him a teasing stroke.
“Warriors with ratul do not dress so pretty,” she snickered. She leaned in to give him a kiss, parting her soft lips, then drew back when he lifted his chin to meet her. “It means you are not warrior. It means your place is here, in hut, looking good for captors.”
“What a terrible fate, to be made to look good for you,” he replied as he extended a hand. He lay it against her flat belly, feeling her firm, lean six-pack flex and harden beneath his palm. He slid higher, rising past her ribs and cupping her breast as best he could, giving it a firm squeeze and teasing the golden piercing with his finger. She squirmed, her pierced tongue sneaking out to play with her tusk, rewarding him with another stroke.
“Quickly,” she gasped as he kneaded her yielding flesh. “I need it now.”
They hadn’t much time for teasing and foreplay, the Orc gripping his belt and tugging his pants down just far enough to expose him. The fabric caught on his erection, then let it bounce free, hard and prominent. She took it in her hand, biting her lip as she gazed down at it, her golden eyes filled with hunger. She tugged him closer, using it like a handle, and leaned in for a hurried kiss. Licking her lips, she turned to put her back to him and bent over, hooking her thumbs around the hem of her pants and dragging them down around her knees. The jacket came too, landing on the floor beside her.
She exposed her green ass, just as toned and sculpted as the rest of her, the fullness and the dimples in her cheeks making it look like a pair of invisible hands were squeezing them together tightly. They quivered softly as she moved, not so firm that there wasn’t a little fat to make them soft and inviting. Unable to resist, he slapped a hand against her rump, the clap echoing through the hut and making the cheek ripple. Her flesh was as soft as melting butter, and beneath, the flexing muscle was almost hard enough to hurt his palm.
“You dare strike a warrior?” she giggled, glancing back at him over her shoulder with a smirk. “We shall see if you can meet challenge.”
He had to spread his arms wider than the breadth of his shoulders to grip her hips, drawing closer to her and letting his member throb against her cheek. It was like a giant green pillow.
“Shall I fetch a stool for you to stand on?” she asked, giving him another grin as he stood on his toes to reach her. She lurched as he grabbed her long braid, holding onto the iron ring at its end as though it was a handle and giving it a harsh tug. Her spine arched beautifully, and she had no choice but to throw her head back, a tremor rocking her. “I should frustrate you more often,” she snickered. “I like angry keesahn...”
She leaned her weight on the pillar for support and bent her knees to bring herself a little lower, letting Rian slide his cock between her cheeks. He gripped them, testing the firmness of her muscles and pressing them together, enjoying the way that they sandwiched his shaft. She flexed, and he could feel her grip him – see her cheeks tighten and those dimples grow more prominent.
“Your roasts will burn if you play with my rear too long,” she chided. “Next time, maybe I sit on your face and give you closer look.”
Rian gave her hair another hard pull, and her taunting faded into eager laughter. With a hand on his shaft, he slid it lower, seeking out the warmth and wetness of her loins. Those slick, velvet folds welcomed him, tangibly hot and already drooling with anticipation. Needing no further invitation, he pushed forward, his hips sinking into the springy cushion of her rump. Her entrance resisted him for a moment, a wonderful pressure building before her muscles gave in, and he slid into her like a sword into its sheath. She let out a low, gratified grunt, her flexible spine bending again as she pushed her hips out to take him deeper.
“Better be quick,” she said with a low chuckle. “I smell meat starting to burn.”
Winding his hand around her braid like he was taking the reins of a horse, he began to move, rocking into her. Her squeezing passage gripped him with a familiar ferocity, holding onto him greedily – possessively, as though desperate to avoid that feeling of emptiness. She was almost tight enough to take off the skin, making him falter when she flexed, her nectar dripping down her inner thighs in strings. Already love-drunk, he thrust into her with slow, deep strokes that had her stretchy depths tenting around him like living silk.
With each push, he impacted her cheeks, so toned and bouncy that they acted as a kind of pillow to force him back. Yanking her hair and taking a tight grip of her hip, he put more force into his movements, admiring the ripples that each impact sent through her ass. Ghorza leaned into the pole, her curved spine compressing with every thrust, the beautiful muscles in her back and shoulders tensing up when he bottomed out inside her.
“Is nice to have you do hard work this time,” she purred, rolling her hips a little to change their angle. “Keesahn labors for his mistress. So dutiful.”
Rian took full advantage of his new position to slide his free hand across her green skin, already subtly wet, beads of sweat welling as she exerted herself within the fire’s reach. He admired the two perfect dimples at the base of her spine and took handfuls of her haunches, guiding the motions of her hips as she impaled herself on his shaft. He might be leading today, but Ghorza was not one to take anything lying down. She was needy, grinding against him and bucking, matching his pace and meeting his thrusts.
“Won’t you keep still, even for a moment?” he complained as he gave her braid another punishing tug. He might have worried that he was pulling it too harshly, were it not for the little hitches in her breathing and her gasps of delight, and the way that her loins clenched around his girth like a fist. “You’re wriggling like a worm on a hook.”
“But you like my wriggling,” she purred, moving her spine like a snake weaving through the grass to demonstrate. She swung her hips in turn, grinding him against her pillowy walls, her reaches massaging him with little twitches and contractions.
“You’re right,” he conceded. “I’ll never tire of watching you move.”
“In war and hunting both, warrior must be agile,” she purred as she gave him another percussive stroke. “We must curve like bow string, flow like water, and have stamina enough to outlast opponent. By luck or providence, skills and strength of warrior also translate well to fucking.”
He gave her braid another yank and sank his cock as deep as it could reach, her legs trembling as she let out an eager cackle.
“Enough play,” she muttered, breathless. She pulled forward and away from him, Rian’s member sliding free with a tangible pop as her muscles relinquished their death grip, a fat rope of her love shimmering in the firelight as it joined them for a few moments more.
Quick as a flash, she turned and took him by the shoulders, spinning him around and putting his back to the wooden pillar. She backed up into him, sandwiching him between her ass and the pole, straightening her long legs to lift him a few inches off the floor. The motion sank him to the hilt again, the pressure that she exerted forcing a groan from him as he lay his hands on her haunches to steady himself.
“My turn,” she chimed.
Suspending him in the air, she began to move, keeping him secured in place with nothing more than the force of her cheeks pressing against his hips. She still had enough range of motion to slide a couple of inches of him in and out of her, starting to move, her rump cushioning the blows. She quickly found a ruthless pace, slamming him back against the pillar with each swing of her wide hips, twisting and shimmying.
Rian knew her body well enough to tell when she was getting close by now, her graceful movements becoming more bestial and urgent, his lover forcing him deep and stirring him within her like a mortar in a pestle. He could do little more than watch her ass bounce and her braid swing like a pendulum, Ghorza hanging her head, lips ajar as she sucked in quick and desperate breaths. After a few frenzied thrusts, she would press him tight against the pillar, swallowing him to the base and making needy circles before resuming her rutting.
“Such a fat cock for such a little thing,” she groaned, arching her back and giving him another hard push. “I am near, keesahn. Just a little more...”
He held onto her hips as she fucked him into the pillar, the wood creaking such that he feared the roof might come down on them. What a start to the feast that would be. Despite her aggression, her ass was as soft as a feather pillow, her sinuous movements driven by her pursuit of pleasure. Her breath came in heavy gasps and stifled grunts, her legs trembling, her lithe frame twisting and bucking as her desires got the better of her.
Tight, flexible muscles milked him as she climaxed, Ghorza slowing her thrusting and hilting him with an eager groan. Her sweat-soaked figure gleamed as she shivered and shifted in the firelight, beads of sweat rolling down the indent of her spine just as strands of her love dribbled down her thighs, clenching both within and without. Her dimpled cheeks flexed, the brawn in her back and shoulders rising to prominence, casting shadows on her green skin. Her loins sealed around his length with such force that he failed to suppress a groan of his own, kneading his seed from him, the stimulation too much to bear.
Digging his fingers into the meat of her haunches, he tried to buck reflexively, but she had him pinned far too tightly. Instead, his cock flexed and pulsed within her, painting her innermost walls. Ghorza shivered and cooed with each warm, generous rope, slowly grinding her hips until she was certain that he’d relinquished every drop. He doubled over, letting himself lie on her back, his arms draped over her sides like a cat sleeping on a tree branch. Her skin was warm and soft, waves of bliss rolling over him as he enjoyed the euphoria of being joined.
He could have stayed that way for minutes, but she lowered him down, his feet touching the floor again. They separated with another shared shudder, and the Orc leaned down to pull up her breeches, dancing on the spot as she tried to get the garment past her rear. Rian leaned back against the pillar, his erection still wet and shining, crossing his arms as he watched her struggle. Like rising dough spilling over the edges of a pan, the belt pressed into her soft cheeks, and she finally succeeded in getting it past them. They filled out the breeches wonderfully, straining against the creaking leather, the fit so tight that she could barely fasten her belt.
“What are you smiling at?” she asked, looking back at him as he stowed his manhood.
“I need to get back to the roast,” he replied evasively, giving her ass a hard clap on his way past.
“Is everything ready?” Sharog asked. She strode over to the firepit, examining the many spits and glancing at the dishes that were heaped upon the tables. She was clad in her ceremonial shamanic garb, the long tassels that decorated it swinging as she walked, her mask with its bead curtain and antlers obscuring her features. It was hard to view it as some sacred vestment when Rian had become so acquainted with it during their encounter in the shaman’s hut.
“It’s all ready,” he replied, giving one of the simmering pots a stir. “We’ve got pottages, pies, roasts, stews, meat, fish, poultry, tarts, fruit, mulled ales and wines – you name it.”
“When is feast to begin?” Ghorza asked.
“The sun has set, and we await moonrise,” Sharog replied. “Tables have been brought to the great bonfire, and when moonlight touches it, we shall set it aflame. When you see the fire, begin bringing food.”
“Got it,” Rian confirmed.
Sharog returned the way she had come, and Rian moved over to the open door, peering down into the courtyard below. The bonfire he had labored over for so many days stood tall, and it was now surrounded by a ring of wooden dining tables like the one in the hut, presumably brought out from the other homes. Totems covered in skulls and runes were scattered about like signposts, each one dedicated to a different God, as he understood it. The Orcs were already assembling, milling about and taking their seats, some of them glancing at the sky as they awaited the moonrise. The sun had just set behind the valley, plunging the village into twilight, a few stars already twinkling in the sky.
He waited a little longer, and the moon’s silver light soon appeared above the valley, full and bright enough to see by. Sharog was speaking, raising her hands above her head and gesturing as her audience watched, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying from so far away. She set the bonfire alight, plunging a lit torch into its base, and the flames soon found purchase. They rose higher and higher, licking at the cool night air, until the whole pyramid of logs was blazing brightly. There was enough wood there that it would probably burn well into tomorrow.
“That’s our cue,” Rian said, turning back to Ghorza. “Let’s get the first course ready.”
“What is first course?” she scoffed.
“The pottages and stews,” he said, gesturing to the cauldrons and pots beside the fire. “The preserved fruits, the cheeses, and the loaves of fresh bread. We’ll need some bowls, boards, and spoons. You get that big cauldron – it’s too heavy for me.”
“It is wonder you can support my weight when I sit on you,” she mused, giving him a smirk.
“Enough of that, now,” he chided. “If Sharog overhears you, she’ll skin us both and serve us for dessert.”
They began to carry the food out of the hut and down the dirt path, Rian careful not to slip, as there were still some patches of snow lingering in the shade. The Orcs looked up from their conversations as the pair approached, curious about the strange foreign dishes. The bonfire was raging now, its flames rising high above the logs, reaching up towards the silver moon. He could feel its heat well before he got close to it, driving back the chill air.
Like waiting the tables of some Lord during a great banquet, he moved between them with Ghorza at his side, the pair placing down vessels and dishes. They laid out loaves of sliced wheat bread, butter, and cheese. They filled the bowls from steaming iron pots, ladling out great helpings of stew and pottage. Some of the Orcs didn’t quite know what to do with the unfamiliar food, but Ghorza was there to explain. She showed them how they were expected to use the bread to soak up stew, and how to enjoy cheeses and preserves spread on the slices.
There were many people to get to, and Rian didn’t have a great deal of time to stop and take in their reactions, but he picked out some snippets of Orcish conversation as he circled around the bonfire. They seemed to be enjoying it, some initial skepticism washed away when they tasted the cheese or sipped at a spoonful of pottage. They didn’t seem surprised by his presence or by the meal on offer, so Sharog must have informed them of what would be happening in advance.
As he rounded the table and set another board of sliced bread and cheese in front of a pair of Orcs, Sharog came into view, and he was able to catch a little of the sermon she was giving.
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