#i think i'm officially obsesed with elf cellulite

[pecanwriter]

The Orc's Lover

Themes: Body worship, affectionate feeder/encourager, fantasy setting, Orc/Elf couple

Words: 2741

“You wanna play the harp to my patrons?” Zaranor asked the elven bard. He looked at his sharp cheekbones and chiselled jaw with dismay. All the poor elves were so scrawny and slim, not a bit of meat on any of them. The bard’s face was bad enough, but his body was equally sad to Zaranor, a thin, almost lithe waist, his stomach almost sunken in, narrow hips and long, slender legs… Zaranor let out a heavy sigh. He wasn’t sure his patrons would be interested in elven music, but that way he could at least put some proper food into this poor lad. 

“So what brings you to the Orc Country?” He asked, wiping down an ale mug where he stood behind the bar. “I didn’t really fit into the elven society, my parents are scholars, and they didn’t approve of me becoming a travelling bard.” The elven bard said. “I went to the Human Lands, but they’re… peculiar creatures.” 

Zaranor hummed in understanding. Humans were, indeed, strange. 

“So I came here. I hear Orc Country is a much friendlier place than people at home made me believe.” He smiled at Zaranor and he couldn’t help but think he could be really pretty if he wasn’t so wretchedly thin. 

“What’s your name then, elven bard?” “My name is Tarkilon.” he gave a small, smooth bow. No meat on that one, not one bit, Zaranor couldn’t help but note. 

“I’m Zaranor.” He poured a big jug of Cream Ale, an Orkish speciality, a honey ale that was mixed with heavy cream into a thick sweet drink full of great nutrition. "Here, drink this. And then, you can entertain my quests."

Tarkilon smiled, smelled the drink uncertainly, took an experimental sip and his eyes widened in surprise.

"This is really good!" He drank it eagerly from that point on, and Zaranor nodded with satisfaction. Maybe he would make this little skinny thing look a little better, at least. He seemed like such a nice young man, it would be a shame if he were wasting away.

Tarkilon’s playing was surprisingly very well received by the Orkish audience, and Zaranor could see why, the elf played absolutely beautifully. But he heard the same things from his patrons that he was thinking himself; it was such a shame to see such a small skinny thing waste away when he clearly had so much talent. The more enthusiastic fans of the music would order snacks and food and cream ale jugs for the artist and he would accept it all graciously. Zaranor watched from behind the bar, nodding in approval. 

“I think I had too much ale…” Tarkilon slurred slightly. The bar was already emptied out for the night and the Inn guests disappeared into their rooms, it was only Zaranor finishing his cleaning up and the bard. 

Zaranor looked at the skinny thing. He was looking a little better with his face flushed from ale and his previously sunken-in stomach now pushing against his shirt, filled with all the food the patrons were sending him. 

“You had just enough.” Zaranor smiled at him. “Come, I will let you a room to stay tonight. He helped the swaying elf to his feet and led him to a room at the back, massaging little circles into his stuffed belly as they walked. 

*

“You’re leaving already?” Zaranor stared at the bard. “I thought you’d want to stay for at least a few days!” “One of the patrons from yesterday has an entertaining band, they travel all around Orc Country playing and entertaining, he invited me to join them! I can travel without having to figure out the routes myself, this is exactly what I was looking for.” He beamed. “Thank you for letting me play here yesterday. And for letting me stay the night. When the band passes this way I’m definitely coming for a jug of that Creamy Ale!” He leaned over the counter and kissed Zaranor on the cheek. With that and his harp slung on his back, the elf was gone. 

Zaranor let out a pained sigh, watching as his long skinny legs carried him outside. 

“I hope they will at least feed him properly.” He said, patting his own round belly. What was a man without some meat to him, after all? 

*

“Zaranor!”

Zaranor looked up from where he was agonising over the profits and his mouth widened into a smile. It’s been six months since Tarkilon left with the entertaining band and he was looking decidedly better. His face softened a little, his legs and hips were rounding out nicely, filling the legging he had on and there was a little paunch above his belt. Still looking way, way too skinny and weak in Zaranor’s opinion, but it was a step in the right direction. “Welcome back!” He hurried to the bar, pouring a jug of Creamy Ale for the elf. “How is Orc Country treating you?” “It’s been really great! I really love it here, I should’ve left the Elven Lands a lot sooner…” He seemed wistful, absently rubbing the tiny fold of flesh on his belly. Coming back to himself, Tarkilon smiled widely at Zaranor. “I’ve met a lot of nice orcs but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

Lost for anything coherent to say, Zaranor just poured him another Creamy Ale and pushed it into the elf’s hand. 

“Can I play here tonight?” “I’d be very happy if you did.” 

The elf beamed and downed the jug in one long gulp. 

Similarly to last time, all his patrons kept sending food and drink Tarkilon’s way all night, and he obligingly accepted it all. 

“I think I’m never going to move from this chair.” Tarkilon said, let out a groan as he leaned back, undoing the laces of his legging and letting his now perfectly round, bloated belly free of the lacing. Zaranor observed the roundness with satisfaction. He was starting to look good, Zaranor really hoped the elf’s belly would be this round permanently very soon. For his own good. It wouldn’t do to be this skinny, not in Orc Country. 

“Come, elf, I will lend you a room for the night.” 

“How’s about…” Tarkilon wrapped his arms around Zaranor’s neck as he was helping him up. He pressed his small, bloated belly into Zaranor’s own soft gut. “How’s about you lent me your bed… With you in it?” 

Zaranor squeezed his big green hand between their bodies to massage the elf’s belly. He leaned down to nip at the long, pointy ear as he led the elf to his room. 

* “The band is leaving today.” Tarkilon said the next morning, lying next to Zaranor. His belly was sadly deflated and only the little paunch remained. Zaranor could think of little else than preparing all the best Orkish breakfast specialities and feeding them to the elf. He needed some meat on his bones, this just wouldn’t do. 

“Stay.” Zaranor said firmly. “Really?” “Stay. Play for my patrons. And I will feed you and love you and make you beautiful and strong.” 

Tarkilon laughed. 

“So you think I’m too skinny like all the orcs from the band did too?” “Yes. But I will soon remedy that.” He kissed Tarkilon softly, careful not to get his tusks too close to his delicate elven skin. “Let me love you like a proper orc loves their mate.” 

Instead of a reply, Tarkilon moved in between Zaranor’s legs, his pale elven mouth soon closing in on it’s target. Zaranor let out a nasty orkish curse and rocked his hips, already thinking of all the foods he was going to feed the elf that was no his. He had to put some meat on his bones, it was improper for a respected orc like himself to have such a skinny little thing in his bed, oh no, it wouldn’t do at all.

*

“Zaranor, my love, you must order new clothes for me.” 

Tarkilon came out from behind the partition where they had their bath, he was only wearing a loin cloth and a tunic that wouldn’t reach past his soft chest. 

Zaranor, still splayed in bed, examined his elf appreciatively. It’s been about seven months since Tarkilon decided to stay and he was blossoming beautifully. Although he still wasn’t up to the orkish standards of beauty, he was definitely on the right path. His belly was now not only a little paunch but a fully formed, round belly, starting to sag slightly against his very nicely widening hips. His legs were filling in nicely as well, slowly getting some proper meat on them, from his rounded calves to the thickening tights. His face was looking better and better too, with a much softer jawline and softer cheeks, a small suggestion of a beautiful double chin was starting to form as well. 

“I will order you anything you want, my love.” He came up to his lover, placing an appreciative hand against his soft belly and giving it a little shake, marvelling at how it jiggled. Elf skin was much more delicate and softer than orc skin, so their bodies didn’t really shake and jiggle like that and Zaranor found himself completely enamoured by it. “But perhaps I should order them with some room to grow. I need to put some meat on your bones, after all, this is Orc Country.” 

*

“Stop it! Tarkilon laughed, slapping Zaranor’s hand away. “You’re so silly, Zar.” “Do it again.” He demanded. 

Tarkilon laughed but obliged. He moved his knees from one side to the other where he laid on the bed with his legs bent. The motion sent his entire body jiggling and rippling and swaying and Zaranor felt like he could watch it forever. 

It’s been about two years since his elf came to live with him and he was really filling out nicely. His belly was now big and soft, hanging in front of him proudly, sagging low and almost covering his entire groin. His chest was soft and with a pair of beautiful tits, Zaranor couldn’t help but bite on every single night. There was a ring of soft, doughy flesh starting to develop around Tarkilon’s softening face and the prominent double chin. Although Zaranor loved all of these things about his lover’s body, his favourite were his legs and ass. Since elves had much thinner skin, Tarkilon’s legs and ass looked like they were made of curdled milk with a layer of delicate milky white skin on top. Zaranor loved it, loved touching it, biting it, kissing it. And he loved how it bounced and jiggled and slapped against each other every time his lover took a step. 

“Turn around,” Zaranor ordered and looked at his lover as he changed position, his beautiful body jiggling with every move. He marvelled at the wide, ample hips and how Tarkilon’s ass and legs were spread on the bed’s surface, making him look even wider and more beautiful than when he was standing up. He kissed and bit and squeezed the elf’s delicate doughy ass, already thinking that he’d have to make him this wide even when he was standing up. This was Orc Country, you needed some meat on your bones!

*

Zaranor looked up from the ledger where he was sorting through the Inn’s finances in his small office. He heard a loud crack, and when he looked up he was his beautiful lover bent down with a big crack ripped in his legging, revealing his glorious, curdled milk ass. 

“Oh-uh.” Tarkilon said, trying to see the damage but unable to twist around enough to see over his own increased bulk. “I will have to order you some new clothes, my sweet, beautiful elf.” He came from behind his desk to kiss his lover, pulling him close and feeling very satisfied that encompassing him in his arms was starting to be difficult. 

Tarkilon was filling out beautifully, Zaranor accomplished his goal of making his hips and ass much wider, along with it grew his beautiful, heavy belly, his soft tits that Zaranor loved to suck on these days. There was a definite roll of fleshy softness around the elf’s neck, moving and squishing his soft face every time he moved his head. Each day Zaranor was finding a new roll of fleshy softness somewhere on his lover’s body, or noticing him getting just a little wider, his belly hanging just a little lower. He beamed with pride every time someone gawked at him with obvious awe or even stared daggers at Zaranor with jealousy. He relished those looks, he wanted everyone in town to know this beautiful, gorgeous creature that could play harp like no other and make Zaranor feel loved like no one ever did was his and only his. All of him, all that gorgeous, jiggly soft flesh and the elf adorned with it. All his. 

*

“I didn’t know elves could be so beautiful!” He heard one of the patrons say to his comrade as they left the Inn at the end of the night after Tarkilon’s concert for the evening came to an end. 

Zaranor smiled in self-satisfaction. No other elf was as beautiful as his lover was, he didn’t even doubt it for a second. It’s been almost five years since Tarkilon came to stay with him. 

Zaranor looked at where he sat still with the harp in his soft fleshy hands. The elf was simply a vision of perfection. His gorgeous soft body continued to steadily expand over the years, his curdled milk legs and ass were simply a work of art, spreading wide, taking up nearly the entire bench he was sitting on. It was a new one, of steadier wood, the old one couldn’t handle Tarkilon’s beautiful body anymore. His soft, doughy belly hang between his widely spread legs, hanging off the edge of the bench and peeking out from underneath his tunic. The belly was a perfect shelf for Tarkilon to keep his harp on, although it was sinking quite a bit into the doughy, gorgeous flesh. 

“Zar?” Tarkilon called over front the bench and Zaranor abandoned the bar, ready to serve his perfect elf in any way he could. 

“Will you help me up, please?” He asked, putting the harp away and outstretching his arms, making the soft flesh on them sag and swing from side to side. His beautiful elf couldn’t really get up without his help anymore, his beautiful body too much in the way of his movement. Zaranor was happy that his lover needed him, and relied on him. Being there for this gorgeous creature was all he really wanted to do. 

He pulled his lover up, even his orkish strength straining slightly as the incredible, magical body jiggled and wobbled around with the force of standing up. 

“I think I had too much ale.” his elf complained, swaying a little. 

“Let’s get you to bed, my beloved.” He said softly and led Tarkilon in front of him, following a half step after, at the elf’s pace. He looked with fascination and a growing, warm feeling in his chest as his elf waddled down the corridor to their rooms. They used to live on the top floor, but his beautiful elf didn’t really do stairs these days. Zaranor marvelled, looking at how his elf waddled, how his enormous, soft tights rubbed against each other, both they and the massive hips and ass jiggling and sloshing around with every step. When they made it to their room Tarkilon halted briefly, his ample, gorgeous hips momentarily stuck in the doorframe. Zaranor gave him the gentlest of pushes to get him through and then helped to rearrange his elf’s folds and rolls on the bed so he would be comfortable. He climbed into bed himself and as he ran his hand over the gorgeous, doughy flesh, sinking his fingers deep into it he made a mental note to have a carpenter brought in to widen the door. He couldn’t have his incredible, beautiful lover bruise his perfect hips on the doorframe now, could he?

No, a wider door was needed. Especially when he knew his beautiful elf was only going to get wider.

A little drawing of Tarkilon