Scenes Between a Rock and a Hard Thing

Not so long ago @Syrinxo released his beautiful Mozauga orc character and I though that it is a big shame that alot of his amazing characters are not having any scenes. So this scene is our collaborative labour of love for you guys to enjoy. Happy holidays!

Some "gameplay" instructions(menu and settings advices): Sometimes pose are not alligning properly,so just press Pose button one more or couple times to fix it. There is a small toggle Menu button on the left side from Mozauga,it is visible only when game menu is active(F1). You can disable PostMagic posteffects there,choose Expressions preset for female,also choose random thrust speed or set desired one with a slider. Also be sure that your Physics update cap in game settings is set ot 3,otherwise you will get a slowmo animations. Hiqh quality physics should be disabled aswell.

Spoiler: Menu and Settings previews

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Their story,by @Syrinxo

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“Mornin’, mum. Lookin’ fer a job?” The dwarf jingled his coin purse up at her.

The orc grunted into her tankard. It happened to contain the remainder of her wealth, so she was drinking it slow. She didn’t want a job, but now, she needed one.

“Ther caravan leaves in two days. Ter Karragha, so five, six weeks. ‘Ow much ter bring yer axe?”

The mug came down and so did the orc’s eyes, until they eventually arrived at Danli’s damaged smile, far below. A single black eyebrow went up, slowly. She held up fingers - three at first, meaning thirty six, and then two while her thumb tapped the tip of her middle finger, for four more.

“Forty??” Danli was dismayed, but determined. “Mum, with respect… thar’s well over twice ther fee of any other guard! Even yer orc-folks! Why-...”

His words dropped away as the tall green woman put down her mug. She raised two fists over her shoulders to flex, her back straight as a rod, and when her biceps bulged, Danli’s eyeballs did too.

Veins curled turgid under her yellow-green skin as taut, striated muscles rippled across her arms and shoulders. He could see now, too, the smudged white paint lines of the White Fang, worn only by a warrior of that order, though clearly she hadn’t touched it up in days. This was no ordinary orc mercenary - her fighting ability, if the hearsay was to be believed, would be far greater than that of two trained men. Forty crowns was a bargain - this woman was a squad by herself, or worth two in deterrence!

It wasn’t just her muscles. With her shoulders back, her posture and rough leather jerkin no longer concealed the considerable volume of her breasts. Danli suddenly wondered how she fought, with those counterweights swinging and bouncing, then silently judged that the mental image of such a scene was worth a gold crown by itself and stowed it for later.

But it wasn’t stowed fast enough. The dwarf heard his own voice speak, before his brain had a chance to rein it in:
“And fer forty five, mum, would ye provide ‘extrer services’ on the road?” He squeaked.

At his words, the orc bent at her waist, face intent, until he was staring directly down the crevasse between her dangling breasts, inches away. She reached down and he flinched, silently cursing his loose tongue.

But there was no strike. Instead, her hand slid directly down his trousers, with no hesitation. He could feel every axe-haft callous as she found and gripped him, testing, feeling his girth, working her way down to the bulbous head as he became fully rigid and pushed against her hand in the quest for elevation.

After several seconds (it felt like minutes to Danli), the green warrior pulled her hand out. Still bent over, she locked eyes with the dwarf, then raised her palm to her cleft nose and sniffed it once, then twice, then deeply. Danli staggered backward, suddenly out of breath, as his member strained against the fabric imprisoning it.

The berserker stood, towering over the dwarf once more, but this time she was grinning down at him. Showing her savage set of pearly teeth, tusks and all, she held up two hands.

One finger up on one side; her thumb at the base of her index finger on the other. Twelve and three.

Fifteen.

“For five-six week, yes?” Her accent was thick, and her voice resonant. “If… IF… little man can ‘extra service’ Mozauga. Every day, little man? Every day, to Karragha.”

Sunset-colored orc irises glowed, and somehow, her tusky grin grew even wider.
They were in business.