Lamentations of the Turnip Farmer
Copyright© 2026 by Snekguy
Chapter 7: Helping Hand
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 7: Helping Hand - 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
Rian trudged through the snow, his legs sinking up to the shin in some of the larger drifts, making his way down into the valley. It had stopped falling some time during the night, but it had not melted by dawn, the veritable winter wonderland shielded from the sun’s rays by the canyon walls. It would have been picturesque if it wasn’t so inconvenient, every pine tree dusted with pristine, white powder as far as the eye could see. Ghorza roamed ahead of him, a deer as large as he was slung over her shoulder. Even in the unfamiliar snow, she had not missed an opportunity on their way back to the village.
It was coming into view now, the bridge that crossed the river already in sight. As Rian had speculated, it hadn’t gotten cold enough to freeze over, but the water had crept a little further up the banks than usual. It was probably being fed by melting snow closer to its source. As he emerged from the trees, he saw that all of the huts visible above the perimeter wall were laden with a crown of snow, including the one he called home.
Ghorza stopped beside the bridge, looking back and pressing a finger to her smiling lips.
“Remember,” she whispered. “Do not tell Sharog and Urami what we did! If they ask, you say we spend night in cave, and that is all.”
“Dishonesty?” he asked in mock surprise. “I’ll have to give it my best shot. I’m usually so forthcoming.”
She seemed more giddy than apprehensive, which led him to believe that the consequences of being found out wouldn’t be all that severe. Lying wasn’t a problem for him, but Ghorza was practically glowing. There was a spring in her step and a sparkle in her eye, a permanent grin etched onto her painted face. If anyone was going to give them away, it was her.
They crossed the bridge together and entered the village through the gate, Ghorza making a detour to drop off her catch at the storehouse. Rian waited for her, glancing around at the other Orcs as they went about their daily chores, seeming just as perplexed by the snow. Some of them stood at the thresholds of their huts looking out at the white powder that coated the courtyard, while others traipsed through it carrying tools or goods, leaving trails of footprints.
When Ghorza reemerged, they made their way up the dirt trail that led to their hut, opening the door to a warm hearth and two surprised Orcs.
“Ghorza!” Sharog said, rising from her seat beside the fire and marching over to intercept them. Urami was at her workbench as usual, looking up from a piece of armor that she was repairing. “Where you been? We expect you back yesterday. When the snow came, we grew worried. Another day, and we might have sent hunters to track you.”
“I not expect snow,” Ghorza replied, shrugging the bow from her shoulder. “Fierce storm came while we were hunting. It fell quickly, like frozen rain, and covered the ground. We forced to find shelter in cave and wait for it to pass. We could not leave before sunrise.”
“What did you catch?” Urami called from her workbench.
“Nice large deer,” Ghorza declared proudly. “Two rabbits, also, but we eat those.”
“I survived too!” Rian added cheerfully, giving Urami a wave.
“You are not hurt?” Sharog pressed, looking them both up and down.
“Other than a few scratches from an errant tree branch, I’m fine,” Rian replied. “Look, I even brought you back some herbs.”
He offered her the leather pouch, and she took it, popping the clasp and looking inside.
“Good, good,” she muttered.
“Keesahn knows much of snow,” Ghorza added, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He says it comes often in these lands. We should learn from him.”
“First thing I’d be concerned about is making sure that fabric roof of yours can take the weight of the snow,” he said, gesturing to the ceiling above them. “You may want to advise your people to clear it away. If too much of it is allowed to build up, it might collapse.”
“Very well,” Sharog said, glancing up at the ceiling with fresh concern.
“The snow is going to melt, but you’re near a river, so I don’t think that’ll be an issue. You might want to check just to be sure it’s not making its way into your storehouses. That moisture might ruin your goods.”
“You will check storehouses for moisture,” Sharog insisted. “Urami, come. We shall clear snow from roof.”
Urami complained in Orcish, but she rose from her seat at her workbench all the same, wiping off her hands on a rag.
“First, you both need meal and change of clothes,” Sharog added, turning up her nose at the pair. “Turnip boy will make food.”
Ghorza gave Rian a smirk, then headed off to the weapon rack to stow her bow. The two other Orcs left through the door, and he soon heard them leaning a ladder up against the wooden frame of the hut, using what might be a shovel to scrape off the buildup of snow.
Ghorza vanished behind her privacy screen for a minute as Rian changed out of his clothes, and when she reemerged, her cloak and garments were bundled up in her arms. She was nude, making no attempt to cover herself now, all of the soft skin and taut muscle that he had explored with finger and tongue now on full display. In a well-lit room, she glistened like polished jade, the rich green hue of her skin all the more apparent. He could see every muscle shift as she walked, each step bringing with it a gentle, enticing quiver from the softer parts of her figure.
“You are staring,” she chuckled, thrusting the bundle of clothes into his hands. There was a little pouch perched on top.
“My eyes are only following where my hands have already been,” he replied, and she laughed.
“Take our clothes down to river and wash them well,” she continued. “Do not leave stains...”
“Aren’t you worried the others will see you?” Rian asked, lowering his voice as he glanced up at the ceiling warily.
“They are not here,” she replied with a chuckle. She reached down and cupped his bulge through his silk pants, making him lurch. “Go on, now.”
He hurried out of the door, chased by the sounds of her mirth. Once he was outside in the chill air again, he turned to see Sharog and Urami. Urami was holding a crude wooden ladder steady while Sharog stood at its apex, using a long broom to clear away the snow. At least they recognized that he couldn’t handle all of the chores by himself.
By the time he reached the river, his shoes and breeches were damp with snow again. He knelt at the shore, where his preferred rocks were, and began to wash the clothes in the water. It was as cold as ice, such that he couldn’t submerge his hands for very long at all, but it was nice to get some time alone to mull over the events of the prior evening.
His encounter with Ghorza hadn’t been a one-time thing. It wasn’t a case of her getting it out of her system and moving on, nor could he say that he wouldn’t leap at the first opportunity for a second helping. It wasn’t the first time that he had bedded a woman in secret – he’d probably have been run through by an angry farmer more than once if he didn’t know how to be discreet. Still, living under the same roof as Ghorza every day, bathing her, squiring for her – it was going to be a test of his mettle.
And that was if Ghorza didn’t give them away before he did. She’d already expressed her intentions to take him out and play with him as much as she could. He was a lot less confident in her ability to carry on such a relationship without arousing suspicion. Then again, the Orcs appeared oblivious to the fact that he had been pretending to lament his situation the entire time, so perhaps they weren’t as perceptive as he feared.
As he struggled to get the massive wolf pelt cloak clean, it was impossible not to let his idle mind wander, memories of the taste of her kiss and the touch of her warm skin filling his head. It wasn’t just that she was an Orc, and all of the novelty that came with it, but that she had made him feel things he had never felt before. She had been so confident, so in control – a far cry from his smattering of prior experiences. Thinking about the way that she had pinned him beneath her weight and ridden him until he could no longer feel his legs made his heart race and butterflies swarm in his belly. He realized that the thought of it was making his cheeks warm, and he splashed a handful of the icy water on his face to cool himself down.
The Orcs weren’t like the furtive farmer’s daughters he had lain with in secluded barns. They weren’t just larger and stronger, but they were direct, and they didn’t play coy. There was no complicated courtship, no games, no subtle cues or lingering glances to invite a prospective suitor. They knew what they wanted, and they were blunt about their intentions. There was something oddly liberating about that.
He finished washing the clothes and returned to the village. There wasn’t anywhere to dry them with all the snow, so he’d have to hang them on a rack beside the firepit. On his way back through the courtyard, he was amused to see several other Orcs hard at work clearing the snow from their roofs. Sharog must have heeded his advice and warned some of the other villagers.
When he returned to the hut, he found the three Orcs sitting around the dining table sharing a drink, partway through a conversation. They paid him little mind as he set up the wooden rack and hung the clothes beside the firepit, Rian keeping one ear open. They were speaking Orcish, and he found that he could pick up more and more each time he eavesdropped. No longer was it a stream of undecipherable sounds. He could make out words and sentences now, follow the cadence of their speech, and even understand a few words here and there.
They seemed to be talking about Ghorza’s hunting trip. No doubt she was relaying the story of their adventure in the storm, or an abridged version of it, at least. He could pick out the words for bow, shooting, rabbit, and forest. She was talking about the rabbits she had shot. He heard his own name – Keesahn – and the words for cooking and eating. She must be telling them of how she had roasted the rabbits over the campfire, and perhaps lauding her cooking skills. Then came sleep. More shooting. Deer. Little by little, like planting seeds and waiting for them to grow, he was gradually learning their tongue.
When the clothes were hung, he fetched some more logs for the fire from the pile, then headed out to prepare lunch. He stopped by his little garden on the way, and was pleased to see that the snow hadn’t impacted it too badly in its sheltered position beside the hut. Everything that he had planted was hardy and would grow well in the winter, and most would even survive frost. Many were weeds that could be troublesome under different circumstances, after all.
His hosts had made no specific requests, so he walked down the dirt path to the storehouse and perused the shelves. It was like browsing one of the fancy shops in the fief, but without having to pay. Was this how Lords and rich merchants felt when they visited their pantries and cellars?
While he was there, he gave the storehouse a good once-over to make sure that none of the melted snow had seeped its way inside. The Orcs might not be used to harsh winters, but they were clearly familiar with rain, and he couldn’t find anywhere that the moisture had penetrated. He’d check the other buildings later, just to be sure.
With so many ingredients on offer, he could make almost any meal he wanted. Perhaps a winter dish would go over nicely – something warm and filling. The Orcs had really taken to pork, so perhaps a pork stew would be a good choice. He collected a generous portion of salt pork, a large head of cabbage, a sack of dried beans, some onions, a pot of butter, and some of the usual herbs and spices. There was still plenty of garlic and thyme, and he even found some ground mustard.
With his haul in his arms, he returned to the hut and got to work, the three women watching expectantly as the alluring smells of cooking started to permeate the space. It was clear that his short absence had very much been felt by Sharog and Urami, judging by the way that they were hovering around and pretending to be busy. Going a whole day without eating one of his home-cooked meals must have given them a harsh reminder of the shortcomings of Orcish cuisine.
He trimmed the pork of its fat and diced it into chunks, then began to boil it in a large iron pot. He didn’t have to go all the way down to the river to fetch some water, as there was plenty of fresh, clean snow outside for the taking. While the pork cooked, he returned to the table and began to dice the vegetables. He tossed the chopped onions and the herbs into a pan with some butter and fried them over the flames, agitating them with a wooden spoon as they sizzled, then poured them into the bubbling pot to join the meat. Lastly was the thyme, and the stew was soon ready to serve.
Rian filled three large bowls for the Orcs, along with a fourth for himself, and set the table ready for them. They ate heartily and drank more tankards of frothing ale, Rian feeling his usual sense of satisfaction as he watched them, enjoying his own portion from his seat at the fire’s edge. It was a little like having a family, albeit one that had forcibly adopted him.
“This is good,” Sharog muttered, talking with her mouth full and washing it down with a glug of ale. “I not think much of your dirt foods at first, but this hearty meal, worthy of warrior. You will keep us warm with full bellies through winter.”
“It almost sounds like you missed me,” he replied with a smirk.
“We worry that you lost in valley,” Sharog replied with a dismissive shrug of her broad shoulders. “Lose valuable property. You fragile. Very weak and frail. Easy for you to die.”
“Uh-huh,” he scoffed, cocking a skeptical eyebrow at her. “I’m sure it was my value in gold that had you worried. I am merely spoils, after all.”
He said it in jest, but it made him feel a certain way, and he found himself glancing at Ghorza despite himself. It was hard to say the words without remembering being tangled beneath the furs with her – hard to ignore the new implication that they had been given. The word keesahn was now entwined with lover as much as servant or captive.
Fortunately, they were more focused on their food than on any longing glances, so they kept their eyes on their bowls. When they were done, Rian cleared the table and drew their baths. Urami was her usual self, refusing any help from him, while Ghorza was even more eager than usual. It was a battle to maintain his composure with an audience watching, letting his soapy hands water across her wet skin, tracing the contours of her muscles with his fingers as he massaged her.
Not even a day prior, he had been exploring her body in a very different context. She leaned into him, letting slip soft sighs and comely groans of encouragement, making him wonder whether she was trying to remind him of their encounter on purpose. He felt his face warm as she shifted in the water, showing off the same flexibility with which she had ridden him, her modesty only barely protected by her arm and the scant film atop the water.
Whether she was really behaving differently, or if her teasing was no different from any of her prior baths, he couldn’t say. Maybe he was just being paranoid. When the Orcs were done, and they had dried off by the fire, it was his turn.
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