Ballsac the Barbarian 8: The harpy and the Half-orc.

In our last episode, Ballsac got back to nature in an encounter with a dryad that had him seeding a forest of trees. Today he rejoins his crew in the fishing village of Fellatchio, where he’s celebrated as a hero. But one of his crew feels left out.

Ballsac dismounted his steed in the village square to the cheers of the town’s folk and his crew.

Shar’dali stood with her arms crossed, glaring at him. “It’s about time you got here.”

Ember, a wood elf ranger from the wilds of Glizznand, clapped Ballsac on the shoulder. “They’ve refused to start the feasting until you arrived.”

Borg took the reins of Ballsac’s tired horse. “I’ll stable him for you. Save me a bottle of rum.”

“I will. My friend,” Ballsac replied.

Borg appeared a bit glum that evening, but it was hard to judge the mood of the half-orc.

Pushed on by the cheering crowd, Ballsac entered Fellatchio’s Great Mead Hall.

Fire roared in the two great hearths, and the chamber smelled of savory roasting meats and stale beer. Mugs were raised and toasts were given to celebrate Ballsac and his crew, the defenders of Fellatchio.

Borg got Ballsac’s steed brushed, fed, and bedded down for the night. It was quiet outside the old stable, and Borg took a moment to breathe in the crisp night air as he trekked toward the mead hall. He’d make a cursory appearance and raise a quick toast to Ballsac, then grab a bottle of rum and make his escape. Even as a member of Ballsac’s crew, the town’s people had never warmed to a half-orc in their presence, and it was hard to enjoy the revelry when people kept flashing suspicious glances his way.

Still, he did look forward to these party nights. The town’s people safely ensconced in their cups meant that she would be out and about.

“So, Ballsac,” Borg said, raising his mug. “What took you so long?”

The beer was cold and refreshing, but he longed for rum and other company.

Ember chortled, already deep in his cups. “My guess would be that there is not one unfucked maiden between here and Kunt.”

Ballsac shrugged. “If you must know, I was planting a forest.”

Shar’dali, sitting on the lap of one of the town’s folk, piped up. “That sounds like a story I want to hear.”

Borg grunted. “Not me.” This was his opportunity to escape.

He made his way to the bar and slapped five coppers down on it. “A bottle of rum, barkeep. Your finest.”

The man behind the bar eyed him suspiciously but reached down to extract a corked bottle from somewhere out of sight.

Borg snatched it from his fingers and headed for the exit.

The moon was just rising over the trees on the hillsides behind the village. A light breeze ruffled the fallen leaves on the ground. It wasn’t cold, but there was a nip of autumn in the air.

At the top of the hill, there was a ruin of an old watch tower. Borg sat on one of the large, fallen stones. “I’ve got rum,” he cried out.

He smiled when he heard the first flutter of wings. Catching the evening breeze, a very feminine, winged form launched from the top of the tower and was momentarily illuminated by the bright moon.

Short, blonde hair, ivory skin, and inky black feathers, the harpy emitted a screeching cry, then circled to the ground to settle before him. “Borg! You came.”

Borg snickered and rose to greet her. “Not yet, but I plan to.” He offered her a drink from the rum bottle. “Drink?”

“Now Borg,” she admonished. “You know what happens when I drink that stuff.”

His smile broadened. “I do. Drink?”

“Why, it makes me all squishy and tingly inside. I lose all control.”

He cocked his head. “You certainly do.” He pushed the bottle toward her. “Drink?”

She snatched up the bottle. “I thought you’d never ask.” She took a deep draught.

Genta Lightwing was an odd one. While most harpies tended to be dirty and ugly, this young bird was beautiful, and enjoyed bathing regularly in the mountain springs.

She was an outcast from her flock. Much like Borg, the villagers tolerated her, as long as she kept to herself up in this old, abandoned tower. But they’d never gone out of their way to get to know her.

Borg had.

“Did you have a wonderful adventure,” she asked, then took another drink of rum.

Borg shrugged. “We killed the Necromancer, drove off his vampire queen, liberated Kunt and set up a new queen to rule them.”

She handed him back the bottle. “So…same old, same old. You have such an exciting life.”

While she’s stuck here, day after day.

“You should come with us when we go,” he suggested. It was not the first time.

“I’ll think about it,” she answered. She’d been thinking about it for months. “But right now…”

Her hand caressed his crotch, causing his cock to stiffen.

He chuckled. “Right now, you’re thinking of something else.”

“I’m thinking Grond wants to come out and play.”

She’d named his cock Grond. And she was right, Grond did want to come out and play.

Genta’s core clenched in excitement. It wasn’t the rum, though she’d always let Borg think that. “Strip, you beautiful thing,” she said. “I want to see my pretty boy in all his glory.”

He was hers. Oh, he’d go off on his adventures. He probably made love to other women. But he always came back to her. She didn’t need much in life, but more and more, she needed him.

He shed armor and clothing to stand stark naked in the moonlight. His pulsing green cock stood boldly proclaiming his desire.

Genta hovered in the air in front of him, her gaze fixed on Grond. “You are beautiful.”

“I believe you are the only one who thinks so.” His tone held a hint of sadness. “Come here. You’re wearing too much.”

They were so alike, he and she. Outcasts. Alone in the world. But for this brief moment…alone together.

He stripped her of her clothing, then went to his knees between her legs. His long, dexterous tongue slid along her slick folds and toyed with the stiffening bead at the apex of her thighs, sucking it into his mouth.

Sparks tingled throughout her core as he slid one thick finger into her. “You are so wet.”

She was so ready for him.

He kissed a trail up her belly toward her breasts, dragging his tusks along sensitive skin that yearned for his touch.

Her nipples pebbled hard as he cupped one breast with his large hand and pulled the peak of the other into his mouth. Tongue, lips, and tusks teased the sensitive bud, sending her passions soaring.

Orgasmic pressure built inside and she panted under his relentless assault. “Yes. Yes!”

Then he stood. Taking his throbbing member firmly in hand, he pushed into her.

She felt every inch of his incredible girth. He filled her so completely.

He wrapped his arms around her neck as he plunged to the hilt inside her. “Take me to heaven, pretty bird.”

She spread her wings and, with a heavy flap, lifted them both into the air.

Harpies mated in the sky. It was instinctive, and Borg had learned to adapt. He held on and continued to thrust as she took them higher and higher into the night.

Waves of passion washed over her and she crowed her mating call to the skies. A murmuration of starlings lifted from the trees and fluttered around them, chirping in chaotic ecstasy.

Within, passion rose and orgasmic pressure pounded as she neared her release.

Still, he drove his wonderous cock into her again and again.

As her passion crested, she felt him grow even larger inside her.

“I’m coming,” he cried out.

Huge spurts of jism erupted within her core as her release finally claimed her. Wave after wave of passionate glory washed over her.

Panting hard, her wings spread wide to support them, she pulled Borg on top of her, flying with her back to the ground so he wouldn’t let go and fall. Then, gliding lazily, she circled, following the thermals to slowly descend to the ground, enjoying the feel of his naked flesh against hers.

Her mind still awhirl with passion, she didn’t look at where they would land. When they settled softly in the heart of the village green, they discovered a throng of town’s people staring, mouths agape, at them.

Not missing a beat, Borg sprang to his feet and lifted Genta gently from the ground. “And that, my friends,” he said, “is how you welcome someone to your village.”

Without a backward glance, he carried her toward the edge of town. They both held it in until they were deep in the woods before chuckles erupted. Mirth had them laughing hard by the time they reached Genta’s tower.

“Now you have to come with us,” Borg said when he could talk again. “They will never let you live that down.”

Go with Borg on one of his adventures? There’d never been a greater pull.

“I believe I will.”

Next time, Ballsac is looking for a new mount. Can he tame the wind? Find out in Ballsac the Barbarian 9: To Ride the Wind. (Coming soon.)

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