Awakening a Wood Elf

[Author's Note: Runé is a trans-coded character in terms of his anatomy, even if his gender is entirely biological within the setting of this story. I am a transgender man myself, I'm not attempting to fetishize or marginalize our community. Sometimes people just want to write stories about men with vaginas getting fucked. Its not that deep I promise.]

[Also I fully intend to upload multiple chapters. Taking some requests! Forgive my world-building, other chapters will be less of a tease.]

If you got a few drinks into any of the people living in the lumber town of T'fir, one of the first things they'd tell you about were the Wood Elves. They spoke about them with all the fear, reverence and even lust that sailors reserved for tales of mermaids.

They would describe androgynous beings, with slender bodies and long limbs, that moved so gracefully and quietly that they could put you into a trance by their very appearance. Beautiful - but not clean. No, they were a part of the forest as much as the oldest trees, and it showed in the moss that collected at their temples, the earth under their nails, the leaves tangled into their long, free flowing hair.

And once the storyteller believed you were transfixed, they'd smack their hands together as they proclaimed with a wild look in their eyes that the Elves were every bit as dangerous as they were beautiful. That they were cannibals, bloodthirsty warriors that protected their woods. That the elven women ate men, the elven met ate women, and that their secret, third gender - neither man nor woman - was the most dangerous of all, and would prey upon any fool who threatened their woods. Therefore you simply were not safe.

Sometimes the storyteller would be satisfied then with your fear. Sometimes they'd then try to sell you some sort of guide into the safe forest paths.

In any case, the myth of the Wood Elves persisted, mutating and twisting into darker and darker descriptions of their beauty and violence.

You see, no one thought to actually ask the Wood Elves.

--

Runè was ready for a change of scenery.

He'd been a scout for almost two centuries now (starting as a fresh-faced 98 year old who'd barely grown into his ears) and knew the borders of the Deep Forest by heart. So well, as a matter of fact, that it was finally starting to bore him. After decades of noting every new mushroom, every new squirrel track and watching a willow overtake him in height and radius, he finally worked up the courage to beg his captain for reassignment.

Elves did not do anything particularly quickly, and so it was a full year before Runé was informed he would be given a new patrol - one closer to T'fir.

Runé had heard stories of T'fir - that humans lived there, naturally, but also the other races of the world. Dwarves, halflings, perhaps even celestial and fae and infernal-touched people. What a concept.

Runé would never admit it aloud, but he wanted desperately to catch a glimpse of these strange, mortal races.

---

Runé would be disappointed for several weeks.

His new patrol was not nearly as close to T'fir as he had been led to believe. Perhaps the information was outdated. The paths were worn, and the area was conspicuously absent of deadfall. Clearly, it had already been swept through, processed by the loggers. Responsibly, of course, Runé noted with some satisfaction.

Several weeks went by uneventfully. Runé dedicated himself to memorizing the position of every tree, every mossy stump, the hide of every animal that made its den here.

He memorized every birdsong, every lonely wolf's call. Sometimes he called back out to them, laughing to himself in the confused silence that followed his beast tongue gibberish.

He woke one misty morning to an ongoing call that was not an animal he could identify.

He had fallen asleep cradled in the upper branches of a sturdy maple, and wasted no time carefully skirting across its branches to peer down at the source of the sound.

About twenty five yards beyond the maple tree, pressed up against a stump, were the first two non-elves Runé had laid eyes on.

With horror and fascination, the Elf realized they were copulating.

The woman, the smaller of the two, was making deep gasping moans as she held up the hem of her skirt with one hand, the other bracing herself on the stump. The top of her dress had fallen over her shoulders, leaving her breasts accessible to the man, who had one gripped in his sturdy hand. The other bounced freely as they rutted.

The smacking sounds grew more frequent, the woman's moans grew higher pitched, and Runé crawled a little further on his branch to get a better look. The speed of the man's hips, pistoning his erect cock between his partner's legs was impressive. He began to grunt, and the woman began to plead.

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop -"

Runé craned his neck to get an even better look. Both of them had round ears. Humans?

The woman squealed in pleasure, throwing her head back. She spasmed, gasping for air, cursing and cheering, rosy faced and glowing with sweat. "Oh, yes, fuck yes -"

She twitched and convulsed, eyes closing as she pulled herself from the man's still erect cock. With a smile, she pulled up her dress fully, exposing her naked lower body to him.

A strange feeling began to grow in Runé. From the waist down, she looked like him. He recalled, dimly, that humans were largely limited in their sexes. They had male and female, and occasionally something in between - but not attalér like him: misattributed as female at birth, but with a male spirit. Bodies with vulva, but no breasts. Deep voices but no beards. Wide hips but no wombs.

Truthfully, Runé had never really given much thought to sex, or copulation. Attalér did not become parents. He'd never had his eye on any Elf of any gender - but beyond studying the woman's anatomy, he realized far more prominently that he suddenly wanted nothing more than to be in her place.

The man seemed to know what to do. Some sort of ritual. He spit in his hand, rubbing his length up and down as the woman crooned. With a grunt, his cock head twitched, sending ropes of thick white cum across her torso.

Runé was transfixed. He couldn't move, looking down at them, his mouth slightly agape.

The couple collapsed there for a while, catching their breath, before the man stood, shrugging his shoulders and refastening his trousers.

"Next month?" Breathed the woman, still spread across the stump like some sort of offering to the old gods.

"Sure." Grunted the man. "I'll be here."

And off he trundled, further into the woods - away from the lumber town.

Runé sprang into action, running along the canopy of the trees, his footfalls silent against the bark, rustling the leaves only as much as any wind. He needed to follow that human. He couldn't let him approach the kingdom.

But the human wasn't heading for the Deep Forest. No, not at all. He spotted the second woman before his target did - short and plump, with long thick braids tied up with ribbons and a beard to match. A Dwarven-woman, dressed just as seductively as the first.

Runé nearly fell out of the tree as the two embraced. The man literally swept her off her feet, turning her in a circle before pinning her to the ground, pawing her dress off her shoulders and groping her like an animal.

She seemed to like this, in any case, mewling and laughing in great gasps as he tugged and kneaded and pulled at her breasts. Her hands tangled in the man's dark, curly hair, until he withdrew and she shrugged out of her top entirely. She offered her breasts to him again as he once again freed his cock from his trousers.

Runé gasped up in his tree, mercifully too far from them to be heard. How was he already hard again?

With a look of concentration, the Dwarven-woman pressed her breasts around his rod, bouncing on her heels to titty-fuck him. He gave a moan of pleasure, which only seemed to double her efforts.

They spoke to each other in the dwarven tongue. Runé had no idea what they were saying, but their tones were so lustful, so needy, that he found that strange feeling beginning to take him over entirely.

Leaning back, pressing his back against the tree, he found his hand snaking into his own trousers, feeling the wetness that had pooled there. He inhaled sharply as his finger caressed the swollen nub above his entrance. It throbbed with desire, with need.... as the two lovers below swapped positions.

The dwarf woman's sharp cry as the human man slipped into her only heightened Runé's pleasure. He was a voyeur, he knew it - there was something in his mind that knew this was wrong, that he shouldn't be deriving pleasure from the carnal copulation of mortals, but he didn't care.

As that beautiful, rhymthic slapping once more filled the air, Runé's caressing turned into a full on assault. Pinching his clit with two fingers, his back arched and he moaned loudly. He no longer cared if they heard him below.

The thought consumed him. That they might catch him, and invite him into their lovemaking. He felt so empty suddenly. His trousers felt restrictive - and oh so wet, as his elven pussy begged for anything to fill it. It would have to settle with his fingers for now, as Runé slipped in two fingers and moaned.

Below, the dwarven woman was panting and pleading, yelping as she came. Runé wasn't far behind, his free hand reaching above him to grasp onto a branch for dear life as his hips bucked and shook from the force of his self-imposed orgasm.

The clarity settled in almost immediately. Red-faced and just a little frightened, Runé removed his sticky hand from his trousers and sat up, listening intently. How could he let his arousal overcome his good senses? He had heard the stories of what mortals did to elves they caught - and all the worse things that happened to attalér like him. Mortals didn't understand the complicated genders of Elves, and what they didn't understand, they feared.

Mercifully, the lovers didn't seem to have heard Runé. They didn't seem too interested in each other now that the job was done - and hastily dressed, murmuring to each other about when next they'd meet.

Next week.

Next week, Runé heard them decide, and a strange feeling crept up his spine. Anticipation.

Next week couldn't arrive swiftly enough.