Leaning back on his elbows, Cooper tilted his head back and closed his eyes. The combination of warm sun, cold water between his toes, and being well on his way to shitfaced was making him sleepy. The bellyful of booze inside him sloshed gently as he reclined, drawing a small burp out of him and then a tiny fart. Between the soft birdsong and gentle buzz of bees pollinating the hedge, Lord Hefnus' snore was almost completely drowned out. He could almost feel the fatigue washing away from him, much like the filth on his submerged feet. For the first time since Mordred had banished him and his friends into this fucked up fantasy world, Cooper felt at peace.
Naturally, this was the point at which Rhonda sat down beside him and grabbed his junk.
Cooper's eyes jerked open and he sat upright. The sudden compression of his torso squeezed out a squeaker of a fart. This had the effect of making Rhonda simultaneously recoil and tighten her grip.
Cooper roared, “What the hell--”--and here Lord Hefnus stirred in his chaise lounger, reducing Cooper to a stage whisper--”what the hell are you doing?” Hefnus subsided back into slumber.
“Making Julian jealous”, replied Rhonda as she waved away the fart with her other hand. A few awkward strokes and she already had Cooper at half mast. “Although Dave would probably have done the trick, and not made me nauseous, either.”
“I'm not complaining, but this may not be the best idea on your part”, said Cooper. “There's no telling what kind of diseases I'm carrying.” To accentuate his point, he plucked a louse from his scalp and squashed it between two filthy fingers.
“Well, that's the beauty of living in a fantasy stereotype”, was Rhonda's response. “I get a Saving Throw to not be affected by diseases, and in the worst case scenario, we have a fifth level cleric back at the bar who will cast Cure Disease if he knows what's good for him. Now let's get this over with.”
Cooper scooted back from the edge of the pool onto the grass and jerked the front of his grimy loincloth to the side. A piece of hide apparently taken from some fur-bearing creature just before it died of mange, it had seen better days. The only way to distinguish the front from the back was that the stains were lighter colored in front. He couldn't believe this was happening. Was he really about to get laid as an almost superhumanly repulsive half-orc? For free?
Meanwhile, Rhonda had hiked her robe up around her hips, revealing a pair of well-marbled thighs. It was a shame that fantasy art had evolved since the seventeenth century, she reflected. She squatted down and advanced on Cooper.
Cooper, seeing a pyramid of dumpy female flesh approaching, crawfished back a little farther involuntarily. He'd done worse, while not even drunk as he was now. But somehow Rhonda's perpetual scowl cut right through the gentle haze offered by beer goggles and fired anti-boner rays at his crotch. “Geez, can you whip out your tits or something? You're looking at me like I killed your dog, and I could use the distraction.”
With the disgusted grunt that accompanied her almost every motion or sentence, Rhonda obliged. Spitting into her hand, she reached for the bumpy, grey shaft of Cooper's schlong. Maybe he was just a shower and not a grower.
“Um, actually, can you put them back in? It turns out, nipples don't make pancakes more interesting. It's actually kinda really fucked up.”
“You think this is any easier for me, asshole? I had to use a perfectly good first level spell slot to cast Grease. Close your eyes and think of England.”
It was good advice, Cooper reflected. With Rhonda's hand working his semi-stiffy, he exhaled and flipped through a mental Rolodex of carnality. A Waffle House at Christmas...no. Blindfolded in a dark barn at an alligator farm...almost. And then, it came to him unbidden, a memory of a happier time, of soulful brown eyes regarding him with utter trust and love, a choke chain, and some strategically placed peanut butter... “Houston, we have liftoff”, he said, grinning through his tusks.
“Finally”, said Rhonda as she slid onto Cooper. No sooner had she climbed aboard than her eyes crossed, and she started spasming. Her head and limbs jerked around as if they were on marionette strings, and a series of low grunts came out of her mouth as she fell right back off into the grass. Her vision blurred, then went white.
Slowly color flowed back into Rhonda's field of vision, then formless blobs coalesced into Cooper's bestial face hovering above hers, showing equal parts fear and confusion. Also, a bulbous green booger almost but not quite hanging out of his left nostril. Of course.
“Are you okay? You went grand mal there for a minute. How many fingers am I holding up? Do you smell burnt toast? Um, do I get to finish?”
Rhonda waved away Cooper's hand and questions, then rubbed her temples. “I'm fine, back off for a second and let me think, okay?” She stood up and ran her hands through her hair, then began a monologue, pacing back and forth by the side of the pool.
“Okay, so we know this world is a product of Mordred's imagination, and follows a lot of common fantasy tropes because he's too lazy to do much world building on his own. I think what just happened was that I ran up against the limits of Mordred's imagination. I have to give him credit for knowing that women can have orgasms, but I'm pretty sure he has no idea how they happen, or what it takes to make them happen. And because he's such a patriarchal little shit, he probably assumes that all the average man has to do is stick his wang in a hoo-hah, and that woman comes her brains out, maybe literally, haha, and becomes his sex slave for life.”
“Does that mean you're going to finish me off now?', asked Cooper plaintively.
“There is probably some sort of opposed Charisma roll”, reasoned Rhonda. “I started out Hostile, so with your penalty, you might have needed a Natural 20 to have even had a chance. Don't look too gloomy, though, there's still a thing or two I want to test out.”
With that, Rhonda pushed Cooper back onto the grass. Gritting her teeth, she straddled him once more. “Back home, I almost never got off unless I was angry. The only time I ever enjoyed myself was right after a fight.” She started to move up and down slowly, gritting her teeth and occasionally letting out little yips like a coyote. “I would get to thinking about how my ex was denying my agency by trying to tell me how to drive, how he would never check his privilege--” -here her thrusting started to pick up momentum- “wouldn't admit he was homophobic because he'd never had sex with a man, participated in numanumnumnum rape culture by following the Lakers, ohshitohdamnohhell, he, he, he, would expect me to pick up the tab at dinner!”
At this last, Rhonda started spasming and bucking uncontrollably. The extra friction was too much for Cooper, who in his imagination had been dipping a finger into the peanut butter jar for a second round. As his body arched up in orgasm (orc-gasm?), a long rumbling fart erupted from between his clenched cheeks, followed by a medium sized turd. Even his massive strength couldn't hold Rhonda's twitching body aloft for more than a few seconds, though, and his ass slammed right back down into the mess.
It was probably time for a new loincloth.
Rhonda came to again to see Cooper offering her a glass of lemon water. The bizarre tableau of a grungy half-orc, illusory naked servants, and a snoring senile archmage getting a sunburn in a lounge chair was too much. She accepted the glass, then closed her eyes again. Pressing the cool glass to her forehead, she sighed.
“So is it true that once you go orc, you...hold on, I know I can come up with something here...” Cooper's face bunched up in concentration.
“That would have been a one-time offer even if you weren't a walking advertisement for Depends”, Rhonda snarled. Apparently the afterglow had a very short half-life with her.
“Got it---once you go orc, you're ruined for any other kind of pork? Huh? Huh?” Cooper leered at Rhonda, one of the few expressions that he could pull off really well. His rhyme was met with an outstretched middle finger.
“Actually, I just had another idea. I bet Mordred automatically assumes that size is paramount when it comes to pleasing a woman. We need to go talk to Julian.”
“I can assure you I'm way bigger than him! This one time, we were on a raft, and we had to use all our clothes to---” Rhonda shushed Cooper, then helped him to his feet.
“I've had a change of heart. Don't get me wrong, what just happened with us was awesome. I'd even go so far as to say that you made it tardally awesome. But my plans now go way past getting to Julian by going through you.”
“Oh, my God, you don't mean---?”
“Oh, yes, Cooper. I've got to go see a man about a horse.”