In the world of Mundus, where monster males are the majority, and women the minority, the various species discovered the interbreeding capabilities of human women...
...and exploited it.
The majority of those were oversexualized, overpowered, and overbearing...
Orcs.
Their love-hate relationship with humans and elves especially due to their dominant blood overpowering the birth patterns of those females and their compatibility, the orcs enjoyed extensive...availability of such women, and worst of all (for other males), raiding and conquest wasn't even necessary anymore, thanks to their latest nation-builder, the legendary orc Gromar the Conqueror. Utilizing a mythic feat of balancing, negotiation, and warfare, he had stabilized the needs of orcish males and the number of females in his holdings of Broken Lands, the warlord-turned-nation builder had made carnal needs of Mundus orcs sustainable while minimizing atrocities and casualties.
Many orcs still worship his memory, and any insult to his memory would earn one gaol if only to avoid being lynched by enraged orcs.
Yet, orcs are a migrant species. As the world changed and advanced, many would wander outside of the Broken Lands and offer their services as mercenaries, "troubleshooters" and would be the worry of many fathers with daughters... Accepting coin, and of course, women for services, they would each write their own stories. Whether it was to raid a Drow slaver party to rescue women (and take an adoring human or elf wife or two home grateful for the rescue) or beat up a smuggler ring, to slaughter a rampaging dragon and save the maidens offered to him, the orc sellswords would be welcome. From Gasyuz the Gray, the legendary pugilist who became a boxing superstar, to Garthuz the Hunter who traded human barbarian women to an elven archmage for his elven wife, they each had their own story.
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Once you go green...
To an elven maiden, life after the first encounter with an orc would never be the same. Nowadays, even with raids lessening, a chance encounter in their woods was still shocking, for all the correct reasons. Crude, oversexualized, and beastly to boot, an encounter would be an experience the elven maiden would not forget.
Just like today, when a wandering elven ranger had done her weekly patrols against slavers, drow marauders, and the occasional demonic infestation to protect her delicate, beautiful, enchanting cities.
Innocence, beauty, and purity personified, her marble-like skin glistened under the sunlight, and silvery mesh armor covered her flesh while weighing less than a human peasant's sackcloth. Tualan'thalasa, or Tuala was a ranger, a painfully stereotypical occupation for those struck with wanderlust to contain their need to travel, protecting the city-dwelling kin engaged in their vocations.
The week had been busy, dreadfully busy. And bloody, a regretful work.
Drow marauders had sprung out of the cavern tunnels to grab their pale surface kin for slavery to sate their need for labor and sex; the skirmish resulted in a close victory but the drow had retreated, fled with magical phasing: at least no one got taken. Most of the rangers stayed to tend to the wounded and nearly dead, Tuala decided to go "solo", separating from her comrades, and guarding the bridge leading into the forested heartlands for the day. There would always be a maddened Minotaur in heat, or a troll seeking to violate women who needed driving off.
Squatting under her favorite tree, the young, sweet elf's blue, almond eyes scanned the horizon, her youthful, innocent face focusing on any threat daring to approach the bridge. Her thick, baby face froze, lustrous lips pursed, wondering if any creature would challenge her. Her curvaceous body was pressed against the bark; her body was more built to be a concubine than a warrior, and her ample, soft backside was squeezed between the silvery thong armor, soft cheeks squeezed tight inside the leather leggings. A perfect, sexy contrast of colors, the armor, and the underlying leather was both beauty and protection combined: elven artifice being its worth in gold.
Her chest armor was all-encompassing: thick plates shaped like a leaf made of mithril-and-steel alloy covered each ample breast, welded and beaten inside the most wondrous breastplate made of silver. More for show than practicality, it was enchanted nonetheless. An elven cloak of magnificent beauty covered her body, green and brown making her nearly invisible to an observer from afar. Situated on a hilltop, the ranger preferred to sit under the tree rather than on top of it.
Fortune would have it that she would have her first encounter by surprise.
Orcs are natural-born hunters: despite the stereotypes, they were not filthy brutes and were quite aware of their own scent and sound. Unnaturally quiet if they focused on their footsteps, and paying special attention to hygiene, an orc hunter was a true predator of beasts...and women.
Tuala would soon find out how well the orcs could sneak.
The brute, another hairless, naturally muscular, and savage-looking orc with half a human's sense, twice their lust and none of their morality dared to crawl under the bridge, and quietly climb across the pillars to reach the other side of the river, slowly making his trek inside the forests. His amber eyes squinted, his sharp senses picking the scent of an elven female, his lips curled to a wicked smile, tusks gleaming under the summer sun.
"Elf pussy..." He growled, quietly walking uphill while taking care that no leaves crunched. His prey closer, he crouched down, evading her line of sight by savage instinct. Soon, the soft elven woman would be in his arms. Of course, courtship was almost alien to the beastly savage, other than exposing his oversized genitals, extremely ripped body, and mounting any comely female that was frozen in shock like a stallion would mount a mare.
He wasn't intelligent, just a mindless, hulking specimen of male virility with little else to offer. And he had smelled the elf at least half a mile across the river.
Poor Tuala never stood a chance, looking far away for threats that never existed, the poor, delicate creature did not notice the dark green brute that stalked her uphill, bounding around the copse of trees to get behind her hiding spot. His huge, wide feet treading as carefully as possible, the orc kept a low crouch, taking each step with deliberate slowness, until he could finally see his prize: the young elf was in sight, her back turned to him. Big round asscheeks, showing more prominent in thong armor (something the innocent elven girl took for granted and never thought ill of it), clad in leather underneath, were in his sights. Grunting, he crouched forward, until he could stand right behind the pale, delicate, soft elf, ready to surprise the creature and avail himself on her. Why not?
"Elf pussy..." He thought and rationalized his primitive thoughts, his dull, lust-addled brain focused on the pale, beautiful curves, that golden mane of hair, that beautiful frame; though elves were comely, the orcs naturally preferred their own kind, strong, less-than-feminine brawny beauty of orcish women. Still, elven bodies had an exotic allure to the almost simian, brutish orc libido, a flowery scent that made the green beasts go into rut; beautiful, innocent faces, lovely eyes that would snap open at the sight of an orc with oversized genitals was something to be enjoyed.
