The Half's Way

By Yancy Ball

When her orcish father is killed, Shauba, a lusty and bellicose woodcutter, is invited to visit his tribal home for his death rites and embrace her Red Tusk heritage. Finally, she will have the chance to be with people just like her. People who love and accept her, and who are also great in the sack.

The problem is the Red Tusks are on the verge of a disastrous war, as always, and orcs aren't big on love and acceptance. To make matters worse, Shauba, and her best, smartest, and only friend Mikel, decide to stop this guaranteed slaughter from happening.

As her father warned her, orcs love war, and they will lie, steal and murder to get what they want. But Shauba is determined to keep her tribe alive, even if she has to fight them to do it.

The Half's Way is a 21,000 word novella, and the beginning of Shauba's tale. This erotic fantasy adventure contains graphic sexual situations, violence, and wholly exorbitant use of the f-word.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yancy Ball
• Release date: May 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005192600

Yancy Ball

As an amateur writer with a vastly overactive imagination, Yancy Ball has been writing sexy heroines into African-inspired fantasy realms for many years. During the day, Yancy enjoys cycling, martial arts, and conspiring to build a brighter future. Read Yancy’s Smashwords interview at https://www.smashwords.com/interview/yibala.

Book preview

The Half’s Way

by Yancy Ball

Published by Yancy Ball

Copyright 2022

Smashwords Edition

Cover Art by The Illustrated Page Book Design

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements

To the intrepid writers and readers at Literotica, - especially Nouh_Bdee, who created Shauba’s world of Leinyere.

Fuck, that was a good idea.

Table of Contents

Shauba’s Only Friend

Pikeskull

We Are Orcs

Shattersack

The Lok’gorash

They Think Us Brutes

Never Kissed Anyone Before

The Bundlefuck

The Punishment

Exile

About the Author

Other Books by Yancy Ball

Connect with Yancy Ball

Shauba’s Only Friend

The Nugsen Timber Crew’s southern workshed was large enough for four big men to hone axe bits, splice cordage, or nurse the jars of honey ale stashed in the woodpile. But the shed seemed much smaller and closer when you were fucking in it instead of working.

Shauba grabbed the edge of the sawhorse, bracing herself and rocking her ass back against his thrusts. He was as big as her, and that was saying something. He gripped her hips like a starving man seizing his next meal. He gave back as good as he got.

Her mass of wiry brown curls jounced across her face with each impact. She wished he’d grab a fistful of it and pull; arch her like a bow. But maybe that was asking too much.

Shauba had just met him today, after all.

He hadn’t grimaced in disgust at the tribal rings that pierced her septum and her peaked earlobes. Or the tusks that protruded from her lower lip. Or the mossy brown hue of her skin. Or the gnarled fingers and toes that ended with nails as horny as she usually was.

Yes, a fistful of her hair was asking too much.

His cock was a nice one, with a curve that hit just right. Not that she’d examined it up close. She almost never got the chance.

Fuck me! she cried. Just like that.

Each time their bodies slammed together, pleasure swept through her like a forest fire, consuming more and more. The shed smelled of pine wood and rust, of his sweat, and, increasingly, of her, and the arousal that trickled down the insides of her thighs.

Cuvehr’s balls, girl! You’re as tight as a fist!

He was close. She could hear the strain in his voice. Shauba lay her forehead on her hands. She rolled her hips, swirling him about in her pussy like a butter churn. Then she held herself still for him.

He eased, slowing to his own pace. To long, steady strokes that made her want to whimper with need. His fingers dug into her skin. Pressure built inside her like a steaming kettle.

Shauba heard voices outside, distant. The crew would come looking for them soon.

His pace quickened, gradual but relentless, a divine sort of agony. Shauba held herself like a vessel for him to fill, yielding control to him. She moaned with the thought, and that sound seemed to egg him on.

He was fucking her hard now, faster and faster. She started to boil, each smack of their flesh spattering her juices about.

Her orgasm nearly felled her like a tree. Oh, fuck! Shauba gasped. Her hips jerked, and she struggled to hold herself up. She clung to the sawhorse as heat seared her through and through.

He swore as he pounded away at her. She was barely aware of him pulling out, of his seed spurting over her hip, running down the side of her leg.

Shauba sagged. She dropped to her knee, damp curls tumbling over her face, sweat trickling down her nose. She found him already sitting, legs splayed, behind her. A contented grin spread his jaw, and he pushed damp blond hair off of his forehead.

Gods,… she began, and then paused.

What was his name? Was it Matthis? Half the young men in Hillcrest were named Matthis, after the last Marchlord. Grigor had only been Hillcrest’s Marchlord for fourteen years, so Matthis was a decent guess.

Someone pounded on the door. Shauba, are you in there?

That voice was familiar. Not one of the other woodcutters.

The door swung open. A small man peered inside. Sharp-faced, dark goatee and a tuft of hair under his lip. Mikel. His eyes fell upon her, his expression troubled. He didn’t even seem to notice her lack of trousers or boots.

Something was wrong.

Get your ass out of here, the man (who was maybe named Matthis) snapped. You little rat-faced-

Without even thinking, Shauba grabbed a fistful of his pretty blond hair. She yanked his face to within a thumbs-length of her tusks.

Don’t ever talk to my friend that way, she growled.

Shauba’s only friend, as it happened.

Maybe-Matthis visibly gulped. I - I didn’t mean-

Shauba, you’re needed at home, Mikel said. Something has happened.

**

Home was a log-and-sod hovel in a glade outside of town. Next to it was the shack Shauba’s mother used for weaving. That is, she used it until Krisias moved in. Now it was a stable for Krisias’s mule. On the edges of the clearing were the symbols Shauba and Mikel had carved as children – red-painted tusks here, a crude lute there, a fist etched on a twisted old pine, the links on a friendship chain drawn in charcoal on the wall of the privy.

Shauba bound her hair again, feeling viscous wetness where it hung down her back. Fuck, she uttered, flicking her fingers. She hadn’t heard anything in the house since they’d gotten close. What’s this about? Are they fighting again?

No, Mikel swallowed. It’s about your father.

Shauba burst through the door to find her mother sitting at the supper table. What’s happened to Father?

Krisias leaned against the wall like it belonged to him, his arms crossed. Neither he nor Shauba’s mother seemed surprised by her sudden entrance.

"Aren’t you going to