[Please note: This story is fundamentally an interracial, cuckolding trope with a fantasy veneer. That's why it's in the interracial section.]
One day, the elven warrior, Lyvelle, spoke with her foster son about something she knew little about. Her job had always been to kill Orcs, not to raise one as her own child.
"Dagok, you have grown so big and strong. I'm as sorry as I can be that the village's young female elves do not consider you attractive. It may take a while for your father and I to find a bride for you. But you are young, and there still years before you are old enough to marry." The marriage age for elves is fifty.
Dagok paced around their small but tidy hut. "But, Mother, I want a wife now! My feelings are so strong, I worry about losing control!"
"What am I going to do about my urges, Mother?"
"Son, I have heard that human males will take themselves in hand to relieve the urges that plague you. Do you understand?" Lyvelle was not talking to an empty wineskin. She and her husband, Anipa, have discussed the natural act of sexual intercourse with Dagok more than once.
"I understand what you mean, Mother. But how do I do it?"
"It's suppose to be a simple task, where you grasp your erection and gently tug on it until your urges are satisfied." Lyvelle was not sure of her advice. Would human habits be suitable for Orc urges? Elves were naturally so flexible, they tended to use their mouths on themselves. And although Dagok's manhood was quite large, his musculature was too great for him to bend even as much as humans.
Lyvelle's expressed regret hung in the air, about Dagok's lack of appeal to the young females in their village. The poor Orc wasn't sure what to make of his situation. He felt desperate and aroused, his large frame vibrating with pent-up energy.
The large tent forming in his loincloth was an unmistakable sign of his growing erection. Lyvelle's face flushed when she noticed her son's burgeoning manhood. She quickly explained the human act of self-gratification, her words rushing out in a hurried attempt to offer some guidance.
"I will do this." Dagok replied, his deep voice echoing through the wooden hut. Lyvelle exited their home, leaving Dagok alone with his thoughts and his urgent erection.
The young Orc's lay down on his sleeping mat. His hands felt rough and calloused, wrapped them around his thickening member. He stroked gently. Eyes closed he imagined the women of the village, their smooth skin and tempting shapes.
His breathing quickened as a wave of pleasure washed over him. Unbeknownst to him, Lyvelle's ears pricked up at the sound of her son's moans. She simply stood watch outside of their hut, but she said nothing to the elves going about their business in the village - who also must be hearing the very un-elven sounds. Most had accepted Dagok's polite ways and capable help, over the course of his young life. Elves are easygoing about the privacy of others.
Dagok's continued stroking. The shaft in his hand felt powerful and harder with each stroke. He imagined his mother's heartbeat pounding beyond the stillness of the hut, the image of her body firmly planted in his mind. With a final, swift thrusts of his hand, Dagok gave a roar of satisfaction, semen spraying across his chest and hand.
Collapsing on his sleeping mat, Dagok's breathing stabilized as the pleasure subsided. But his rest was short-lived, for his desires returned with renewed vigor after only an hour.
Anipa entered the hut, carrying a haul of wild plums and turnips, the essence of the forest upon him. The scent of the wilderness shifted Dagok's senses, and he stood up, determined to assist in preparing dinner.
"Son, perhaps you can contribute to our meal in another way," suggested Anipa, his voice kind. "The south quarter of the woods have spared from intense hunting. There should be plenty of game."
Dagok's was overjoyed at the prospect of hunting, and he left the hut in search of rabbits, his large footsteps melding with the silent forest. His senses were alert, and he moved quietly until he had crept up on a unsuspecting rabbit, at range, and speared it with precision. As he looked down at his handiwork, Dagok's eyes drifted to his cum stained hand, a telltale sign of his continuing dilemma.
Sighing deeply, the young Orc continued hunting, determined to provide for his family. He speared another rabbit and headed back to the hut. In the small village, a girl elf who was as young as Dagok, held her nose as he passed by. She chortled dismissively and spoke to a girl elf beside her. "All Orcs are ugly brutes. I don't care if his heart is elvish." The other girl giggled, and they scampered away.
Dagok clenched his fists, his knuckles white, the bitter taste of humiliation in his mouth. He grunted, "I will never be accepted here."
At home, Lyvelle praised her son's efforts. Her words were heartfelt, and she couldn't help but admire her son's powerful build, despite his intimidating appearance. She spoke to Anipa.
"Husband, I fear we should look now for a bride who will welcome our son into her arms. Dagok is still young, but the search will be difficult. It would be best to find an Elven maiden who will overlook his ancestry."
"I'm sorry, my wife, I fear we may have to journey to the humans. They sometimes count half-orcs among their numbers. The elves here may know our son, but there is too much bad blood between our races. That is my thinking on the matter." Anipa accounted.
As Dagok set about preparing the rabbits for dinner, he eavesdropped on his parents' conversation. Their concerns about finding a suitable bride made his heart sink.
That night, unable to sleep, Dagok's desires grew more intense. The scent of his mother filled his nostrils like perfume, and the image of her naked form consumed his thoughts. He heard her stir beside his father, and he froze in place.
Lyvelle and Anipa slept beside each other, curtained off from the main area of their hut. Lyvelle dreamed of her son's mighty form. In the dream, she kneeled before him, head bowed, but her heart pounded in her chest, waking her. Lyvelle studied her sleeping husband but felt little of what she felt for her son in the dream. There was a masculine odor in the hut, one that she'd never smelled before. "My son is gaining his full adult body." She whispers. The strong musk is Orcish, and it triggers her warrior memories of battle with the wicked race.
Dagok's senses were overwhelmed by the scent of his mother's arousal mingled with the musk of his own lust. With quiet determination, he approached his parents' sleeping mat, placing a hand on Lyvelle's shoulder. Her eyes flicked towards him, battle rush and concern for her son mingling in depth.
"Mind your father," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Anipa woke at the commotion, his eyes studying the young adult looming over his wife's bed. "Are you troubling your mother, Dagok?" he asked, his tone steely.
Lyvelle interjected to calm the situation. "It'll be all right, Anipa. He's having a difficult time." Her voice trailed off as she glanced meaningfully at her husband, hoping to avoid conflict.
