Page 5 of Elf-napped

Clara gasps and writhes as if she’s enjoying a game of tickles. This back and forth, with pushing and pulling and tugging and twisting, stirs the parts of my body hidden under my kilt.

The way of humans is becoming more apparent the longer this goes. Every time she pushes against me, the friction causes my cock to expand and increases my desire for her.

The wish to taste more of her overwhelms my senses, and I dart my tongue into her wet mouth. Clara lets out a whimper, and her body softens its rigidity. Something has shifted, and she presses her tongue back against my tongue. Her lips play with my lips. There are interesting, wet noises too. I understand why they call it smooching, because that is the noise our mouths make, and it’s delightfully exciting.

As if compelled by some outside force, Clara pulls away from me, covering her mouth. To my shock, she turns and runs.

“Did you not enjoy that, my queen?”

“Nice try, but you’re more of a Buddy than a Legolas, pal!”

As I can never be angry at my Clara for this insult, I throw my head back in laughter so loud it shakes the branches up and down the miles of the forest.

Unfortunately, I don’t need to run after her, because my tree-shaking laugh has caught her so by surprise that she stops running. Her knees give way, and she falls with a soft thump into a snowbank. My sweet girl has fainted.

Pity.

My feet quickly crunch through the snow to where she lies unconscious. Now, what do I do with a passed-out human? Take her home with me, as planned. This changes nothing.

I suppose I have to get her warm. These creatures are so fragile; it’s comical.

Swiftly, I grasp her cold little body against my warm one and scan the woods for the other human.

The male one with the ax quite literally voided his bladder when he saw me, and ran. What kind of a coward leaves another of his species alone in woods haunted by a ferocious elf?

Not that I am going to hurt her. I could never.

I see no sign of the puny man she called Daren with the chemically addled brain. Just as well for him. For revenge for touching one of my trees, I could easily sic a wood sprite to torment him the rest of his days.

I pick up the weapon and carry it with us for the trip home. I have no use for it, but I should make sure it’s not here if he comes looking for it again. Or if he, more likely, reports an attack, and someone comes here to investigate.

With my Clara in my arms, my worried brain settles. My heartbeat slows, even more so than what is typical for an elf.

I finally feel calm and at peace, and I know what I have to do with my life now.

Firstly, and always, take care of her.

Inside my hovel, just on the other side of the brook, an eternal fire glows in the fireplace.

Clara is very cold, so I remove the outer layer of her clothing. Setting her down on the hearth rug, I strip off her coat and denim, which have gotten wet in the snow. I toss them into the fire. She’ll never need the coat again as she’s not ever leaving. And no queen of mine will wear such lowbrow, manmade clothes ever again. An Elf Queen wears only elven cloth.

Her stretchy long underwear is dry, but her woolen hat, scarf, and mittens are soaked through with snow and sweat. I toss them into the fire also.

Even in her sweater and strange underthings, my eyes can see her body is delectable. She will look unearthly beautiful once she’s primed and ready for me.

I will not wake her, though. Her tiny human brain is processing what she’s just seen, and she needs to sleep. I will sit here with her, acting as her cushion, keeping her warm and comfortable. I’ll feed her some of my homemade bread and cheese when she wakes up. Then I’ll make some tea and see if there’s anything else she requires before the sexual bonding ritual.

My loins stir beneath my leathers at the thought of engaging in more delightful inter-species pleasures with my Clara.

Most of my fellow elves view these desires as beneath our kind. As a rule, we do not engage in sexual gratification except for procreation alone. Specifically for North Pole elves, we are matched with a partner when we reach the age when reproduction is viable. We have many children, often before the age of 30, and then our libido goes away.

Our reproduction is a very efficient system, but there’s no pleasure in it.

And why would there be? We were born to work and serve Nicholas and do his bidding.

As for me, I’ve been in free fall since my exile was decided. But now, I’m simply free.

I can’t wait to get started. I can’t wait to fill these woods with a hundred little half-elves with Clara’s strength and beauty, and my long life and magic.