From Ruins, Satisfaction

Erin half fell, ass first, onto the edge of her bed, finding a seat on it. It complained beneath her, a loud, pained squeaking, but held firm. Mercifully, one thing went right, that day, though it was but small comfort. Drained of all energy, she found that she had not even the will to lie down. In that moment, the extent to which she could stretch herself was to stare ahead at nothing. At the closed door, with its shitty lock. Piles of clothes and books and utensils and the detritus of a still-young life occupied her peripheral vision, as much as feasible shoved into the little room and stacked up in rickety piles.

Time passed. Unmeasurable, to her, in that it could have been hours, or minutes. A heavy, dampening cloth had been draped over her world, and though it made her sluggish, made her do, want to do, nothing, it was preferable to the reverse. Storming around in a mad panic, trying to salvage something from the seemingly still ongoing disaster that was her life.

While not a full paladin, she was trained not just to fight, but theoretically to command. In diplomacy, and in the Light. All of these skills could be valuable to a mercenary company, even if most of them likely just wanted someone who could swing a weapon, and would otherwise shut up and do as they were told. Not following the beaten path was what had gotten her into trouble in the first place, and so, prospects looked somewhat grim. But what else was there to do? She was not trained in tailoring, or baking, or mason-work. She was trained to fight. And maintain her own gear, that much was true, but sowing on the occasional patch or mending a rip or tear did not make her a tailor.

There was a knock on the door. Three raps, measured, the sound piercing the quiet of her little box-room and jolting her awake. Sending her heart, momentarily, into a panic. Who would even think to come and knock on her door, at this time? The old, drunken caretaker? Perhaps she just needed more money to piss away on drink and gambling.

“Go away,” Erin said, with some ****.

The response was a second knock. And, at length, when Erin did not reply, a third. She closed her eyes, finding that annoyance pierced the anesthetizing veil overlaid her senses, using that blossoming emotional energy to make herself stand. To stalk the few steps to the door, already preparing to scream at the old bitch to leave her alone. Erin jerked the key, still sat in the lock, opening the door. Ripped the door towards herself, breathing in.

It was Nesra.

Slightly bent, so as to fit into a cramped, human-sized hallway, and a low and small one at that. She stood, one forearm leaned against the wall above the lintel on the outside, head bowed, leaned down. If not for the fact that she had to, simply of too large a build to properly fit inside the run-down shack that was the flophouse, Erin might have associated that kind of position with trying to envelop someone she might be courting. A slight hiss emanated from Erin’s lips, the breath drawn in to be expelled in a shout at the caretaker fizzling, words once again abandoning her in the presence of the towering, statuesque elf.

“Uh, I’m… Erin,” she ventured. Why? She had already introduced herself. A few hours earlier. Surely the kaldorei recalled her name, otherwise, why, how, would she have made her way into the depths of Old Town, to Erin’s door?

“I know,” Nesra said. “You need to move to a dwelling with higher ceilings.”

Mute, temporarily, Erin merely nodded. Lips parting, as if she had anything to say, words dying before they could leave her. Before they could even form. Why was the sentinel here, at her door, in the flophouse? That was a question to ask. But, in the moment before she could ask it, she was interrupted.

“Are you going to invite me in, little Erin? You are at my service, are you not?”

“I-- I am, I… yes,” Erin said, fumbling. She took half a step aside, feeling how a stack of books and clothes tipped over, half falling, half trapped between her and the wall. “Come in. Why… are you here?”

“Why am I here, little Erin?”

“That’s what I asked,” Erin said. She swallowed, gesturing towards the terribly overfilled, shoebox room. Its ceiling no higher than the hallway, with only the rickety cot for a surface to sit on. It was extremely doubtful whether it would survive Nesra sitting upon it, complaining, as it did, just dealing with Erin’s comparatively diminutive frame. “Oh. I… I guess, you’re here because I’m at your service?”

Nesra, with a mild, somewhat suppressed sigh, bent down further still, fitting herself through the door, and into Erin’s room. Unable to move, practically, without bumping into something. Piles of things. She turned to face Erin, then.

“Are you?”

Erin blinked several times, parted her lips, and took in a breath. Exhaled it audibly, purging herself of the remnants of anger, what had flared when she thought it was the caretaker come to demand money. Instead, it was the large sentinel upon which she had placed her fragile hopes, and seen them dashed. So she had thought. But, seemingly, rather than disappear off somewhere with two of her former classmates, Nesra had instead chosen to be the one to track her prey, finding Erin in the unpleasant, small shack. She nodded, then, taking another audible breath. Closing her eyes, purging herself once more of the disappointment, the worries, the anxieties that had ruled her all day. For many days, it felt like.

Instead, when Erin opened her eyes, she fastened them on the exposed midsection of the sentinel. Once again, wholly unexpectedly, she found herself in the company of a large night elf, and, eyes drifting down a little to confirm what she already knew, this one was precisely as monstrously blessed as Rana and Dana had been. It was no mystery what being of service meant, and it had not been when she had first offered it to Nesra, either. Only, she had not expected the service to happen in her room, entirely too small for her, never mind the massive sentinel. But, then, perhaps that would somehow make their encounter more cozy. Closer. She breathed again, and then looked up, meeting Nesra’s silver eyes, and nodding.

“I’m at your service, sentinel. I have been, since… since your two comrades left me.”

Nesra nodded. A brief confirmation, after which, shoulders near to resting against the ceiling, neck and head actually doing so, she moved her hands to her trousers, beginning to undo the belt without any ceremony. The thin rattle of metal, and the resettling of straining pants that followed, told Erin that Nesra was in just as dire need of relief as could be expected. Out of armor, without visible weaponry, it was clear that she was in Stormwind not as a warrior, but as someone looking for relaxation, and perhaps a few diplomatic talks. Erin reasoned that she was the relief and relaxation.

Even so, the unassuming, entirely natural, casual manner in which Nesra immediately began to undo her belt and open her trousers spoke of familiarity that they had not built. But, then, kaldorei norms and customs might be different. And she had, after all, confirmed that she would be of service. She might have liked a little more lead-up to proceedings, still, but then, getting fucked absolutely into the ground would be a wonderful distraction from her woes, and Nesra’s honed, muscled form looked entirely capable of precisely that fucking. Erin breathed in, again, feeling her mouth water just so. Slowly, she warmed to the task. It would be easy enough to slow down things just a touch, enough that she could do so a little more.

She sank to one knee, then the other, placing a comparatively small hand upon Nesra’s fingers, halting her efforts with the buttons. “Will you close the door, first, please?”

Nesra did so, evidently less concerned with privacy than the human norm, but neither did she complain when asked to do so. Erin, in turn, used that moment’s time to drag in a few loose articles of clothing to settle her knees on, and then, rather than continuing Nesra’s immediate business of pressing buttons open, leaned in to settle her lips against the sentinel’s abs. A kiss, followed by another, after which she looked up.

“You’re not in too much of a hurry, I hope, sentinel?”

A deep breath, followed by a sigh, but Nesra’s shoulders still sank just so, relaxing into the moment. Content, perhaps, to take her time, having found the storied girl who took Rana and Dana, both, at once, and having gotten her on her knees. A light shake of the head. Erin saw, and then felt, a pale hand against her cheek, caressing the back of its fingers over her skin. Slowly.

“No,” Nesra said. She exhaled again, a more leisurely sound, that time. “I came to give you what you deserve, from the priestess. But I came, also, to enjoy your company. And now that I have it, no, I should not hurry.”

Erin, still looking up – far, far up – responded with a wry smile, and another press of her lips against the sentinel’s chiseled core. Her mind strayed back to the last time she had experienced such a physique, how it had pressed against her, locked her in place, controlled her. Made demands of her, of her body, that she had desired ever since. Demands that Nesra promised to make again.

A low, churning kind of tingling emerged, rose up in much of her, not pleasure, exactly, but certainly not anxiety. Expectation, satisfaction at the prospect of what was to come. For a moment, anyway, as pressing her lips against Nesra’s pale pink skin stoked the flames of that continual prickling, making it rise. Erin’s cheeks warmed, as did her chest, her breath spilling from her nose and over Nesra, lips too occupied with the slow, meticulous work of kissing their way down to the base of that monster of a cock. Her chin bumped into the shaft first, and, insistent on having her lips brush against the very root of the sentinel’s huge, fat dick, Erin turned her head, leaning in a little closer.

Still so much to explore in what was presented to her already, Erin nevertheless raised her hands to work another button open, and then the final one, so that Nesra’s behemoth could breathe a little more freely. The trousers slackened, but remained tight enough to cling on to the night elf’s thighs, demanding that Erin worked her fingers around the hem of them and pulled down. Just a few inches. Enough to reveal another vast swath of colossal, girthy cock to her, over a handful of inches and yet to reach anywhere close to the halfway mark of it. She leaned in again, close, pressing a prim, proper kiss to the smoothly-veined, silken skin of Nesra’s mammoth shaft, sensing very clearly how it pounded harder for every moment that passed, for every heartbeat, slowly swelling to is proper, immense size, and girth.

Erin dotted another kiss onto that monster, and then, finally, indulged in what she had held back. Parting her lips, letting her tongue roll out so that she could press it flatly, directly against Nesra, dragging it up a few inches before pulling it back into her mouth. Before she could repeat the gesture, to the sound of a relaxing, pleased exhalation above, a hand found the back of her head. Not to mash her face up against that colossus, not yet, at least, merely, it seemed, to show through physical contact that she was appreciated. That she was doing well. Erin closed her eyes, drawing in a breath as she opened her mouth, once more letting it spill from her and across the weighty, wide shaft before her in a heated wave, halted only when she pressed her tongue, then her lips, to Nesra’s fat dick.

This dedicated worship continued for well over a minute, Erin’s hands at first resting on the strong thighs of her needy sentinel. Rising, over the course of that minute, until her fingertips rested on bare skin – powerfully muscled, strong – ever digging deeper. Languidly, her digits curled around the slow curve of the very base of that behemoth cock, confirming what she already knew to be the case. She could have the tips of her thumbs meet below, applying just a little pressure to that dormant cumvein, but could not then come close to having her middle fingers join at the top. Nesra’s cock was too obscenely thick for such a thing to be possible, at least for human hands. Why, then, Erin briefly wondered, did she come to human lands? Why did she specifically seem to seek out Erin?

She shed these thoughts quickly, focusing instead on hefting the weight of the sentinel’s monstrous shaft, lifting it from her trousers as much as she could, though it seemed that the garment slipping towards the floor did more of the work than Erin was capable of, straining with the beast, even hardened as it was. She could move it almost not at all, and, as the trousers fell away, she came to realize why: Nesra had used clearly straining bands of cloth to tie the monster to her thigh, keeping it in place. Both of the two wide strips of cloth now seemed on the very edge of tearing, though, and Erin imagined the situation not at all comfortable for the sentinel. So, mercifully, she found the knot holding the first band together and undid it, and then the one holding the second, undoing that as well. To the sound of a great, relieved release of breath from above, and two whispered words, which she was uncertain she was even meant to hear.

“Good girl.”

Leaned forward as Erin was, the broad, slowly pulsing crown of Nesra’s cock bumped up against her, between and against her breasts. Kept down, bodily, by her presence, as she insisted on completing the task she had set herself. Before continuing her way down that massive, fat cock, she moved upwards a little more, closer, such that she could present herself with one of the sentinel’s balls, held up by, overflowing over the edges of, one of Erin’s palms, lips briefly planted against it. If Nesra left after their encounter, despite what she had said about some gift from a priestess, Erin was determined to have taken as much time as she could with one of the seemingly rare, statuesque, absurdly blessed sentinels. So, having finished demonstrating her affection with one, she pecked at the other of those huge, churning balls, only then returning her attention to where she had let up.

There was a note of an impatient, primal thing to the way Nesra shifted, even if the hand behind Erin’s head remained calm and affectionate, not commanding, and so, she dragged her lips, always in contact with that steely, fat shaft, down its length, until they wrapped around the ridge of the sentinel’s cockhead, slowing only then. Remaining there, for a moment, after which she pressed soft, warm kisses to the sensitive, smooth skin, journeying towards the tip of that broad crown. As if to add a pale red jewel to it, she planted a lasting kiss against it, feeling large, beading drops of seed flatten against her lips, flowing and smearing across them. Looking up, at last, to Nesra’s silver eyes, to the intense expression painted on the sentinel’s features, clearly wanting more, even if enjoying the submissive display. Erin remained there, wide-eyed, holding Nesra’s gaze, for a long moment.

Just briefly, she felt the large, chiseled elf move, pushing forward just so. Nothing that would press her into Erin’s mouth, that sort of thing would required two hands locked behind her head, keeping her solidly in place, but just an indication of desire. Something which she caught, something which made her eyes light with mischievous joy, which made her rock backwards just a little, and then forward again, planting another firm kiss upon Nesra.

The second hand moved, curled around her head, finding its place there. Fingers entwining with her hair, digging deep into those dirty blonde locks, coiling locks around. A solid grip, at the roots of her hair, curled protectively around her skull. Not one that would result in the pinprick pain of a hundred strands tugged too hard, but rather the strength of tens of thousands held firmly. At their base. Not the kind of grip Nesra would take if she wanted anything like what Rana and Dana had enjoyed. No, it was clear enough that Nesra wanted to fuck Erin’s face, and throat, and deeper still. Another indication, half a thrust, really just a tease more than something actually meant to push Erin’s lips apart, landed, and she exhaled against it. Kept her eyes closed for a long moment, letting her lips part and spread just a little. Opened her eyes again, then, looking up at the intense, near metallic sheen of Nesra’s eyes, and nodded. Almost imperceptibly, but enough that the night elf clearly saw.

“Ever since I first heard of you, little Erin, I have wanted you,” Nesra said, breathing out with a slight shudder. She shifted her pelvis forward, just so, and Erin could not react to counter the pressure even had she wanted to, held in place by those two hands curled around her head. Instead, her lips parted, her mouth opened, and, as the pressure kept up, she gaped. Her nose scrunching, her eyes narrowing, the corners of her mouth stretching, aching, her forehead even wrinkling a little, so wide was she made to part her lips. And all of this, in the end, proved not quite enough. It was Nesra’s thumbs, her hands large enough that, had she wanted, she really could have encompassed almost all of Erin’s head, reaching around to pull just a little more, carefully, making more room for that behemoth, that allowed it, at another grinding, slow thrust, to settle a single inch of that weighty, fat cock-crown in Erin’s mouth.

Spit and saliva bubbled from the corners of her mouth around it, and, already, she was **** to breathe entirely through her nose, stretching, gaping her maw wide open, and yet still only barely managing to provide a home for Nesra’s colossus. A straining, high-pitched tone emerged from her throat, interrupted by a shallow breath, as the sentinel applied both weight and muscle to another half-thrust. Really, more of a mercilessly insistent, forward grinding of dick, forcing Erin’s straining lips to slip and slide and caress over more of that broad cockhead, another girthy inch finding a home in her mouth. And then another. The pressure was ceaseless and, perhaps a little too late, her muddled mind realized that she ought to breathe in deeply, because that beast of a cockhead came closer, ever frightfully closer, to pressing directly up against the opening of her throat, as it flattened her tongue against the bottom of her mouth, and made her cheeks bulge, and made her, without thought, half curl her fingers and dig their tips into Nesra’s strong thighs, just so.

Another moment of brutal pressure, of the night elf’s weight applied to conquer Erin’s mouth, and then that slowly pulsing cock-crown pushed into place, and settled against the already tightening, clenching opening to Erin’s throat. Another gate to batter down, another place to conquer, Nesra’s grip of Erin’s head already turning harder, removing what control she might have felt she had, such that her head, instead, could be angled precisely right to receive the grinding forward pressure. Occasionally, now, peppered with hammered thrusts, each one securing another fraction of an inch’s foothold, causing Erin’s throat to widen, to slowly accept the colossal invader. Clenching around it, the rhythm seeming to please Nesra, whose breathing had gradually grown deeper in response to her slow, inexorable progress.

With one harder, pistoning, pounding thrust, Erin felt her throat swell, bulge outwards, as Nesra at last managed to cram several inches of that behemoth down into her. The towering, chiseled night elf’s weight aiding her in both initial conquest, and then in the torturous moments after, where yet more of those massively thick inches plowed into Erin’s depths.

Another thrust, and another, and, Erin was convinced, she bulged almost from chin to collarbone with the sentinel’s behemoth. Fully expecting more, each moment another preparation for the brutal conquest of her face, and mouth, and throat, but one that did not come. Above her, those twin silvery stars in the dim little box-room remained in place, ever-hungering, and yet, the hunger seemed not to be to immediately hammer in as deep as Nesra possibly could. Rather, she breathed heavily, chest rising and falling, her towering form tense, on display, but without another thrust coming forth. Instead, as Erin’s forcefully narrowed eyes found the night elf’s, it seemed to be primal joy at conquest. At having taken, and held, a kneeling human’s throat, so that she was at the mercy of her partner.

Minuscule movements back and forth did happen, Erin could clearly feel the desire in Nesra to claim more, but, equally, those eyes made it clear that Erin’s determination to stay in place, to take what was given to her, to struggle with the lack of breath, was precisely what Nesra wanted. To be acknowledged as the physical superior, but also to be trusted as such. To hold Erin in her grip, accepting of that brutal affection, relying on, believing, that the kneeling girl would come out the other side as satisfied as her sentinel.

It was this moment of understanding, of indulgence in physical domination, and submission, which passed between them, and set Erin’s mind on a path towards the same floating, deeply satisfied non-place it had been pushed to by the efforts of Rana and Dana. There was a brief moment, a realization, that if someone else somehow came upon the two of them, they might imagine something rather different was going on – exploitation, of a sort. Something no one would want. But, even as her throat desperately clenched around that colossal cockshaft, working rhythmically to try to expel it in an utterly futile effort, she felt some tension that had sat in her mind, beneath conscious thought, relax. She leaned into those strong hands, clasped around her head. She had found what she wanted.

Somehow, through defeat after seeming defeat, that solitary, hesitant indulgence in the ashen room high up in one of the cathedral’s spires had lead her to this. To the feeling of Nesra’s behemoth, ruthlessly pulsing along with the night elf’s heartbeat, conquering her throat ever more for every passing second. Each little shift, movement, reflected in a few more bubbles of thick, throaty saliva dragged up and out, slipping along, coating that monster, until it bubbled out from her stretched, aching lips. The eternal flow of bubbles and droplets ran along Erin’s mouth, slipping from her lower lip to run to her chin. Running over her skin to her jaw, where it once more converged, building drooping strands that grew longer, thinner, and then broke apart. Splattering against her bulging throat, but against her chest, too.

Nesra, having stayed in place for something that felt to Erin like minutes – one, at least – finally shifted. Pulled back, just half an inch, before feeding, plowing a full inch of that mammoth shaft in. Settled into a pace of moving just so, enough to rock back and forth, making Erin move with the same rhythm. In a controlled, steady rhythm, allowed only so much freedom of movement with those hands around her head, strong fingers still secured in her straw-like locks. She could not help but produce more choked, half-formed sounds as Nesra pressed into her throat again, and again, hoping faintly that none of those who lived in the room around her were at home to hear.

“Glrrrk,” Erin managed, her contribution to the conversation that carried on regardless. Steadily plowing a single inch, then perhaps a little more, and a little more again, into her face, and throat.

She managed another look up at Nesra, and the cramped little room made the sentinel seem all the larger. Towering, too broad, too big for her surroundings. And yet, what captured Erin’s attention was not, in that moment, the physique of her partner, but her eyes. Luminous, silver eyes, near opaque, only suggesting pupils. Enough, somehow, to display the raw, primal hunger in them. Much more than any movement of any limb could have suggested on its own, Nesra’s expression gave context to the uncompromising hammerblows of her thrusts.

The sounds of Erin’s struggles to take that treetrunk cock was not a potential embarrassment, to the kaldorei. They were proof of an ever-moving conquest, a physical thing that proved Erin’s desire to serve Nesra, specifically, and the sentinels of her kind in general. And so, she was allowed to serve. Not to breathe, though color had long-since risen in her cheeks, and to flush her contorted face. To her shoulders, and chest, and hands. Fingertips tilting just so, allowing short nails to impress themselves upon the sentinel’s skin, suggesting that she might consider allowing Erin to breathe, relatively soon.

For a time, at least, that suggestion was ignored. Heavy, staccato breathing went along with Nesra’s pistoning thrusts, increasingly a stop and start rhythm rather than something fluid. Gathering power for a moment, after which another slam-fucking thrust pounded into Erin’s maw, grinding that behemoth down her tight, clenching throat. The simple conquest of that monster’s presence had been abandoned, and now, even as she trembled, even as she dug fingertips into Nesra’s skin, carving nails into it just so, it was clear that pumping huge, fat inches of that massive cock into her was the only goal. She had submitted already, long ago, and now, she was to prove that submission in a way that even Rana and Dana had not asked of her. Entrusting her life to the demanding, statuesque sentinel.

Erin tried her very best to do just that. To rise from her knees to meet those merciless thrusts, so that Nesra could plunge just a fraction of an inch deeper into her. Not in search of hollow pleasure, but rather, to experience the satisfaction it would be to give everything to the chiseled, tall sentinel, to accept hammerblow thrusts ramming against her face, to wrap her lips around the very base of that monstrous shaft. To prove to Nesra that she meant it when she promised service, perhaps. More so to prove to herself that she meant it. That she was capable of giving the ever-worthy kaldorei precisely what they sought, without being ****. That this was precisely what she wanted. Even as her world grew smaller, as her pulse pounded in her ears, as blackness encroached upon her thoughts, and her vision. To feel her nose mash against Nesra’s pelvis would make it worth it. If the Light and the church rejected her, the night elves opened their arms to her, and, at least for now, she could think of nothing more worthy of her dedication and affection than colossal, fat cock.

That was the final thought allowed her diminishing mind. Nails dug into Nesra’s thighs, having long signaled that it was past time to stop, to withdraw, and yet, Erin’s quaking arms, body, throat, did not truly retreat. It was Nesra who did so, at long last. Not in a single, great heave, but rather by reversing those punishing thrusts, such that inches were gradually removed, thrust back, rather than pounded into Erin’s shuddering, trembling form. The broad cockhead slipped from the opening of her throat reluctantly, the tight grip relinquished only with a little jerk of movement backwards, and then a little further back, finally allowing her to suck in one high-pitched, **** gulp of breath through her nose.

Nesra, it turned out, was **** to fully abandon what she had already taken entirely, and so, Erin’s mouth was never free of that monster, rather having to breathe through her nose, and what little she could manage around that huge, fat cock, small bubbles of spit building, bursting, building again. Repeating endlessly as she fought both to breathe out, and to greedily suck in the air she would maintain herself on during the next hammerblow thrusts, sure that Nesra would not remain content with merely claiming and resting in her throat once again. She could, at least, let careful fingers smooth over the spots on the sentinel’s thighs where she had, moments ago, dug in nails, as if to somehow undo that smallest of assaults afterwards. She had not meant it, not truly, but could not stop her body from reacting violently to the obscenely thick dick plowed into it.

Breathing in deeply, the thought occurred to Erin that, perhaps, it was not entirely useless to devote oneself to the Light, even if its servants had cast her out. If not for its power, how could she ever have managed to handle Nesra? Or Rana and Dana, for that matter? Not that they would ever be taught that its power could grant durability and stamina useful in those sorts of activities in class, but it made a kind of sense to her. So resolved, she focused her squinting, diffuse gaze up on Nesra, linking with those silver eyes. Offering the smallest of nods, the hunched over sentinel reacting not with a return nod, not with a blink, only two mouthed words. Those, and the clear sensation in Erin’s mouth of that colossal cock beginning to roll and push forward.

At the precise moment in which the opening of her throat was once again filled, blocked off, the firm praise filtered through her warmly muddled mind.

“Good girl.”

Nesra hammered a single, powerful thrust into Erin’s face, into her mouth, and down her throat, the conquest re-initiated in a much more brutal fashion than it had started the last time. Pounding thought and emotion from her mind, almost. As she bulged around the colossus, there was, for a single moment, only one, comforting flicker-flame in her mind to contrast the tightly controlled movement of her body. The fingertips upon Nesra’s thighs were automatic in their pressure against powerful muscle, the hands secured around and behind Erin’s head letting her do nothing but cede control to the sentinel, who pushed her to the limit with but that singular, hard thrust. It was the thought of those two words that pushed back against the harsh, hard thrust into her maw, that dispelled the ache if not entirely, then enough not to pay it any heed. Good girl. A beacon-flame that built, and could not be quelled by the second, brutal, ramming thrust that drove another handful of colossally thick inches of treetrunk dick down her throat. Good girl.

At the next thrust, Erin, though still in Nesra’s hands, tried to rise to meet it. To lend a little extra purchase, a little extra power, to the sentinel’s efforts, such that more of those girthy inches could be buried in her throat. Clenching, tight, she could clearly feel the slight pulsing of that shaft, a pillar rising towards its crescendo only slowly, even if coaxed every step of the way by Nesra. And, as Erin lifted one shaking hand from the night elf’s thigh to lay it upon her cock-bulging throat, by her. To the extent possible, she applied just a little more pressure. Massaging her convulsing musculature, trusting that it might be felt as a feather-light encouragement by Nesra. She tried, even, to make her tongue, long pressed flat against the bottom of her mouth by the enormous invader, rise up against it, to provide a smooth welcome as another pistoning thrust slammed yet further inches into her.

Nesra bent over just so, trying to reorient herself such that the angle down into Erin was as perfectly straight as it could be. In the near complete darkness, Erin could nevertheless make out the faint shimmer of silvery light reflecting in a light dusting of sweat gathering on the night elf’s skin, heavy breaths falling with enough strength that she felt them briefly envelop her from above.

Shorter, faster thrusts. Rather than try to take what was hers in great strides, Nesra worked as best she could in her awkward, slightly crumpled position, applying the same strength and weight which had hammered her well over halfway down into Erin’s throat to those briefer thrusts. Conquering yet more, irresistible power allowing her to fit another inch, and another, and another into Erin, each second passing seeming to fill her with more of that behemoth. Fill her with more pleasant weakness, as she heard Nesra whisper-talk, seemingly to herself, as the Darnassian words were so quiet as to almost not be legible. Encouragement, perhaps? But then, the same word accompanied each thrust, and it was a rounded, sweet-sounding one, even in the somewhat rough, labored tone of the sentinel. The name of the kaldorei goddess could be heard, too, just once. In the moment after Nesra had pounded another massively thick inch of cock in.

Nearing the end, Erin became convinced of two things. That she would pass out, clawing at Nesra’s thighs, and yet be satisfied for the chance to do so, throat clenching around absurdly thick inches of dick. Secondly, that she was enough that Nesra had begun just repeatedly whispering the name of her goddess, Elune, a stronger enunciation after each thrust. The final few inches remained, and the **** with which each was hammered into Erin’s face would have sent her reeling, had the hands around her skull not prevented it. And, again, each one accompanied first by the name of the goddess, and then that other, sweet-sounding word. Good girl, perhaps?

With an effort, she tried to focus her teary eyes, the pressure and **** applied to her making the water run from her, to link eyes with Nesra again. And, upon doing so, upon feeling that final, fattest inch of kaldorei cock pounding into her, she heard that same word again. Heard the same tone employed when Nesra said the the word in the common tongue, split into two.

“Good girl.”

Another brutal thrust came, though there was little more of that magnificent, overwhelming length to settle into Erin. She burned, body screaming for air, pulse racing in her ears and head, and yet, the **** with which her face was slammed against Nesra’s body was not unwelcome. Sedated, almost, as her mind contracted and her skin and muscles churned with heat and satisfaction – not quite pleasure, perhaps, but something its close cousin.

For a long, long moment, the vice-like grip around her head held her down, and in place. Lips embracing the very root of that massive, fat dick, nose squashing against Nesra’s pelvis, fingers desperately digging into those densely-muscled thighs, she nevertheless tried to hum, thinking that it might supplant into the warrior’s shaft. She tried to share any possible stimulation she could, with the sentinel who had finally taken her throat to the very root.

Cramped as the little box-room was, for Nesra, at least, it was clearly difficult to smoothly measure and execute some movements. Nevertheless, she managed to tilt her pelvis forward in a small series of thrusts, bottoming out what had already found its deepest possible seat in Erin’s throat, bumping a little harder against the kneeling girl’s face, just to assert who had conquered who. A possessive, perhaps even upsetting gesture if laid upon the wrong partner, but in Erin’s breath-starved mind, little jolts of increased awareness rose from the pressure against her features, squashing her nose just a little closer. Her skin crawled and flushed with heat, an insistent and increasingly difficult to ignore impulse rising at the back of her mind, one that she could put off less and less. It seized control of her fingers again, and, once more, nails carved into Nesra’s thighs, a few thin rims of purple blood actually clinging to Erin’s fingertips.

It was not that breaking of skin that seemed to convince Nesra that it was the right time to mercifully allow Erin to breathe, again, but rather an extended marriage of their eyes. Erin’s, running with undesired tears of **** tension, narrow from the presence and pressure of that mammoth cockshaft, and the slowly flowing, liquid silver, twin moons above her, Nesra maintaining that gaze for torturous seconds. At last, though, the sentinel relinquished the steely grip on Erin’s head, allowed the strength cramming every possible inch of that monster into Erin’s throat to ease off, and then, finally, bounced a thrust off of the girl’s face to begin to work her way backwards. Faster, this time, perhaps sensing the urgency with which Erin’s throat convulsed, its rhythm devolving into something erratic as huge, thick inches slipped its grasp.

Erin managed a singular, wretched gulp of air as Nesra’s hefty cockhead once more withdrew from her clenching throat. This time, the sentinel, though still in possession of Erin’s head, and hair, actually withdrew entirely from her kneeling human’s maw, allowing Erin to complete the **** series of gasps for breath, and coughing spasms, as if her body did not yet understand that the behemoth which had stopped it from breathing for so long had left it alone. Momentarily. Another thought, albeit a brief one, went to any possible neighbors. Erin imagined that if any had been home, at this point, they might be less liable to make her embarrassed, and rather more to worry whether someone was trying to kill her. Nesra, of course, held that power in her hands. But showed no sign of using it, only to make Erin do what she had promised herself capable of: Serving.

Again, her aching lips met the cum-pearling tip of the kaldorei’s cockhead, spreading apart over it as Nesra pushed forward again. Once more, Erin gaped her mouth open as far as she could, and then found herself assisted in going just a little beyond that. Her tongue flattened, again, and she exhaled her last warmth breath, for a while, through her nose, its heat spilling across the top of that monstrously fat shaft. Having begun to acquaint Erin’s mouth and throat with her obscene size, Nesra applied strength and weight to, much more smoothly, and in a single, long, continuous movement, conquer Erin’s maw and throat again, and beyond, too. Slower as more inches ground down into Erin’s depths, perhaps, but still a terribly smooth movement, suggesting that it was easier for her body to adapt to the statuesque sentinel than she had thought possible.

Even so, the final handful of those fattest inches of cock each required a hard, pounding thrust, until Nesra’s nuts found their home against Erin’s bulging throat, muscle against her facial features, nose once more mashed against the hard body of her towering partner. Exactly how it was possible for the Light, if that was indeed the **** supporting her, to so readily adjust to the brutal affections of one of the special sentinels, Erin could not imagine. And, as the grip around her head grew firmer, as, momentarily, Nesra bottomed out with yet more feral strength in her face, and throat, thoughts of how or why fled her mind. Instinct already knew what was to come, and, as the sentinel pulled those final, five inches back, there was just a moment’s relative peace, such that the thought could arise in Erin’s mind. A thought, and a mental image, which then came true. Nesra’s grip of Erin’s head allowed her to pour every ounce of strength available to her into a single, brutal thrust, hilting herself in the small human once more.

Pulling back, Nesra repeated that singular thrust, not in a rolling, continuous rhythm, but as staccato, single impositions of ****. Hard breathing from above, silvery eyes revealing just a hint of a hungry expression, Erin understood that in this sentinel, in a way the others had not shown, lived some primal need to show physical conquest, and superiority. It was not enough merely to fuck, she needed to demonstrate, perhaps as much to herself as to Erin, that there was an element of subjugation. Domineering, in a way that had to be shown in this way. She could have knelt, head to the floor, and kissed the boots presented her, and it would have done nothing for this urge. Only those hammering thrusts sufficed.

So, skin reddening from impact after hard impact, Erin maintained her composure. She fought the need to breathe, but, more so, she fought to look up at Nesra in between those savage thrusts. Not in defiance, but with her eyes as wide, as desperately hopeful, as she could make them. To invite her own conquest – to invite Nesra, specifically, to oversee it.

The reward came tens of thrusts later, when the sentinel bottomed out, and stayed hilted. Continued to grind her muscled form against Erin’s face, the night elf’s chest heaving, lips parted just so. She was, barely, able to say those same words, imbuing them with the kind of reverence that Erin imagined some would have thought her the one to employ. But, in truth, as much as Nesra took, Erin gave.

“Good girl,” Nesra near hissed. Pulled a few of those colossal, dangerously pulsing inches back, hammering them into Erin’s maw again.

Lips caressing the monster’s skin, until they settled once more into the deepest possible kiss, around the base. She closed her eyes, at last, and added what little pressure she could to the union, leaning in, hearing, again, those words. Breathless.

“Good… girl.”

Heartbeat pounding in her ears, fingers not carving into Nesra’s thighs, but resting against them, Erin tried to count seconds passing by. Lost count, and restarted, over and over. How many times did she reach five, and then ten, and then lost her way when Nesra momentarily thrust against her face? Five? Ten times? Twenty? She could not tell. Only the slowly building, immaterial pulsing in her chest and thoughts, ever impressing upon her the need to breathe, assured that time did, in fact, pass. That she was not simply lost in some in-between place neither hell nor a paradise, where all she needed to do, all she wanted to do, all she could do, was host that monstrously thick dick between her lips, in her mouth. Jammed down her throat.

Again, Nesra rolled forward in something meant to be a thrust. They were too close together for the movement to be that, rather more a rolling forward and then back of body and head, though the night elf’s heavy balls resettled against Erin’s bulging throat. One more rolling of hips, one more squashing of her nose against hard muscle, and then it eased off.

Erin saw, but registered none of what she saw. Felt, but all that her mind registered was throbbing warmth, and fullness, and a dark hand closing around her thoughts. Not those strong fingers curled around her head, not Nesra, something at once immaterial, and yet more powerful. Consciousness slipping, she almost did not register when the night elf began withdrawing. Long, regular thrusts that ultimately removed those fat, weighty inches, rather than plowing them in. One after another, Nesra hauling that colossal cock-crown free from Erin’s throat, backwards further still, until the girl’s aching lips were allowed a reprieve. Not that she noticed, in just that moment, her body desperately heaving a wretched, almost shrieking breath in, after which she coughed out the blockage that was no longer there. Thick, drooping strands of spittle and slop still hung from her lips, from her face, nose, chin, cheeks, connecting her to the monster that had so abused her mouth. For a long moment, at least, breaking as the towering night elf worked herself down onto on knee.

The grip of Erin’s head changed its nature, then, Nesra’s hands moving to the temples, carefully clasping there in order to help Erin support herself while breathing, hacking, her body fighting itself to both exhale and inhale. Trembling, her head would have hung, and, likely, she would have slowly collapsed to the floor, were it not for those strong hands urging her to stay upright. Presenting her head, her face, features reddened from pressure and impact, coated in spit, saliva, streaks of bubbled-out pre-cum. Nesra leaned in, then, placing a kiss on Erin’s forehead.

“Good girl. You’re doing so well,” Nesra said. Silver eyes bathing Erin’s features in faux moonlight. “Can you take a little more?”

“I’m… at your… service,” Erin gasped out, gradually regaining some composure, some control of herself. “My lady.”

“Nesra.”

Mouth and tongue and throat too overworked already, even with what few words she had managed, Erin merely nodded. Raised her eyes to Nesra’s, nodding her assent. Held the sentinel’s gaze for a long moment, before nodding once more. With more firmness.

As if to make triple, quadruple-sure that Erin was not about to collapse, that she was not deliriously agreeing to something she did not understand, Nesra remained on one knee, still towering over Erin, filling out the little room. Waiting, watching, and then, at last, nodding. Standing once more, becoming a kind of shadowed, monstrous presence inside Erin’s home, though one she wished for, rather than one she shied away from.

The sentinel’s hands realigned, once more settling into that firm, inescapable hold, straw-colored locks entwined between fingers. Erin pressed her tongue out, running it over her lips. Thick, lazy drops of spit clung to her chin, and, normally, she would have been both horrified and in the process of wiping them away. Instead, quaking fingertips reached out, making contact with Nesra’s knees. The drool was a sign of accomplishment, not an embarrassment. And, anyway, it would be renewed and stirred and pounded away soon enough. Again, once last time, as that immense cockhead, pearling a thick bead of cum, came to hover but an inch from her lips, she nodded.

Parting her lips, Erin knew already that her own efforts would not suffice. She knew, also, that Nesra would assist her, and so, even as she opened her mouth wider, and wider, thumbs hooked between her lips and pushed her open further still. She met the familiar, powerful warmth of that massive cock-crown, and, again, her expression screwed up. Her eyes narrowed. She breathed in through her nose, one last time, and then the monster met the opening of her throat. Colossal inches of that cockshaft pressed, ground down, supported by the crushing strength and weight behind it.

That first, relatively gentle entry was soon broken by a hard, pistoning thrust, leading into another, and another, and another. Five, six of them, rapidly pounding into her maw, and throat, and further down, until, with almost frightening ease, Nesra had conquered her again, entirely. Lips aching, tight around the base of that behemoth, balls resting against her bulging throat, the tip of her nose making contact with the sentinel’s pelvis. Sinking, very slowly, deeper down. Squashing against Nesra’s strong body.

For ten, twenty heartbeats, Erin rested just there. Eyes closed, a tear blinked from each, spittle bubbling from her lips around the hilt of that colossus. A kind of comfort to be found in her place, held down, the hands behind her head at once imprisoning and caressing her, allowing, helping her to perform precisely the service she had hoped for. Not that she had imagined, in the square, that she would find herself exactly like this, but the thing awakened in her in the cathedral had stirred. Driven her onwards Into Nesra’s demanding, strong arms. Demanding only that she do what she wanted to, anyway, even if her body occasionally rebelled. Even if her throat still rhythmically clamped down around the sentinel’s huge, fat cock, as if to try to expel it, succeeding only in what Erin wanted, regardless. To serve, to give pleasure to her feral, physical betters.

Nesra pulled back, then, just a little. Two inches, perhaps, holding still for a second, after which she thrust forward with such strength that she bottomed out in Erin’s face once more, but then bounced off. Not all the way, but enough that another movement just like the previous was natural. And, as it was natural, it was indulged in. Nesra settled into a rapid, punishing pace, hammering herself in to the absolute hilt, near flattening Erin’s nose against herself with every thrust, the sentinel tensing, tightening muscles in her core to the same rhythm. Seemingly satisfied with the complete conquest of Erin’s throat, and thoughts, face-fucking to completion was the next indulgence.

Inevitably, as one thrust lead into ten, into fifty, a hundred merciless impacts, Nesra’s rhythm slowed. Still steady, still insistent on each hard hammering of muscle into, against Erin’s face, she nevertheless pulled more, and more, and more monstrously thick inches of dick free. Two, three. Five. As she went on, plowing, slam-fucking massive, fat cock into Erin’s aching throat, bottoming out with every thrust, it became two handfuls, and then three, the rhythm still almost mechanically steady, smooth, despite the weight and muscle required to maintain it.

No longer, then, did each movement culminate in ramming against Erin’s face, even if those hefty, churning nuts still met her cock-bulging throat at each thrust’s apex. The hold of her head slowly, subtly shifted over time, so as to better hold her in place, at the exact, necessary angle for her to take all of those treetrunk, girthy inches, driven brutally down into her, and though her chest had long ago begun to burn with the need for air again, she did what she could to steady herself, shaking, shivering fingertips resting against Nesra’s thighs. Taking, accepting every brutal thrust, pushing herself up against it, to the extent the hold of her hair allowed, such that she might, every few thrusts, secure a tenuous, brief kiss around the root of Nesra’s huge, fat cock, rebuilding those cables of drool and seed to be, inevitably, broken once more when the sentinel withdrew for another thrust.

In one single movement, Nesra actually withdrew the entirety of that colossal cockshaft, allowing Erin one **** breath, before she was filled again, before her throat swelled around that enormous invader, before, a second later, she felt the sentinel find her proper home, bottomed out in her little would-be paladin’s throat. This repeated, again, and then a third time, and so, the clenched, powerful grip around Erin’s thoughts, the presence reducing her awareness and sensory input slowly, inevitably, was beaten back. Clearly, she was allowed a moment’s reprieve before the natural end of this one afternoon’s service, and though she had the sense that someone else might have considered being allowed to breathe a basic necessity, considered her service ****, all it proved to Erin was that, however feral and ferociously mighty the kaldorei were, they were not without mercy to their partners. To those they cared for.

Punctuating that allowance, Nesra halted her thrusts, securing herself against Erin’s face once more. Holding herself in place, in complete control over what she had taken, made her own, for moments that stretched into seconds. Ten. Twenty. She stirred again, then, whatever primal part of her that so needed to physically prove itself superior apparently sated, hard breathing, silvery light from above interrupted as the sentinel blinked. Remained bottomed out, pressing those massively thick, final inches in with every shred of strength available to her, but began to tense her core muscles. Rhythmically clamping down, moving very little against Erin’s reddened, saliva-covered face, for a long while.

Slowly, then, Nesra rebuilt her prior pace. Staccato, short, brutal thrusts, into longer, steadier movements, into handfuls of fat inches, exploiting Erin’s accommodating mouth, and throat. There was an ever-seeking, questing quality to the sentinel’s movements, though, something Erin sensed in the way the kaldorei remained just a heartbeat longer, bottomed out. Balls rising against her throat, muscle hardening. Again, and again, and again, the same thing, growing more insistent each time, if only just slightly. Building towards an inevitable crescendo, thrusts becoming accompanied by straining, loose gasps of breath from above. Fingers behind Erin’s head curled, hardening, their grip crushing her close at every opportunity. No longer could she rise against Nesra’s thrusts of her own accord, the movement was done for her. Directed. One hard meeting following another.

At last, Nesra rammed in, and held Erin in place for an endless moment. Thundering pulse, heartbeat in Erin’s ears, she wondered briefly if she had finally succeeded. Then, leaving her with a brief note of disappointment, Nesra withdrew again. Only a staggering, few inches of that monster, before unsteadily jamming herself most of the way in. A heartbeat passing, that colossal shaft pulsing, after which the final inch was secured in place.

The sentinel’s breathing had been contained, stopped, a silent, still pause catching the both of them in its claws. Like a cloud briefly looking like a piece of art, that moment was taken from them by Nesra’s straining, almost groaning breath finally spilling from her, her core musculature clamping down, hard as steel against Erin’s features. A brief moment of relaxation, and then the sentinel let out another breath, at once straining and relieved, a strange mixture of feeling, and the final note upon which Erin’s mind dwelled before being swept away.

A first, massive load swelled and boiled in Nesra, pumped with brutal, bio-mechanical strength through that widening cumvein, thundering past Erin’s straining, aching lips, down her throat, to be pounded down into her. A hard, thick rope, shooting, with bruising strength, into her stomach. Splattering into her depths with overwhelming ****, such that her flat belly actually, for one moment, distended just from that singular rope, before settling back into its usual flatness. For a few heartbeats, at least, as another colossal, sweltering strand of Nesra’s seed hammered into Erin’s stomach, adding to the first. A third, then, and a fourth, and so her stomach grew first a little bump, one that rose with the rhythm of Nesra’s orgasm, the bump steadily rising to a little hill, and then a large one. Building to a pregnant curve, each of those massive, fat loads swelling Erin’s stomach, bulging further for each passing second, for each relieved, almost laughing breath from the sentinel above.

Her head held to Nesra’s rhythmically quaking body, Erin shifted her hands from the sentinel’s thighs to instead curled around the slowly growing dome of her swelling belly, feeling an inexplicable, primal need to support it. The weight of it foreign, certainly, but welcome. Somehow. The natural reward for her efforts, the corner of her mind that had, since a month back, been ever pushing her towards doing precisely this granting her a strange satisfaction that seemed only to grow deeper, warmer, with each flooding, colossal load pumped into her.

Nesra, seeming to have regained some measure of control, still moving in a graceful, light way, as if she had been unburdened not just physically, but mentally, began to push just that final, immensely thick inch of cock in, and out, thrusting herself in to the hilt again, and again. Not managing to match the rhythm of her pounding, powerful orgasm, somewhat erratic, but nevertheless insistent on this continuing stimulation. Conquest. Grinding what felt, to Erin, a still girthier monster of a cock in, and out, the behemoth seeming to have packed on another half an inch of thickness so as to accommodate the pulsing, massive loads.

Gradually, the rhythm stilled. Turned into more sudden, but still powerful, singular loads, each adding to the already obscene, sloshing ocean now weighing down Erin’s stomach, Nesra’s insistent movement of her colossal cockshaft allowing thick swells of seed to work their way up. Slowly, but inevitably, squeezed from Erin’s tight, clenching throat, filling every available nook, every little space still left unconquered in her mouth, with Nesra’s cum. With further buildup, the thick, clinging jizz worked its way up Erin’s nose, soon dribbling, then splurting from her nose to the rhythmic movement of Nesra’s thrusts. Bubbling, splattering from Erin’s lips, the mess was complete, sweltering, potent seed mixing with drool, and spittle, connecting the two even more closely than they had been.

Another load pumped down Erin’s throat, and then, it seemed, at last, that she had served. Given Nesra every possible part of herself, at least for that day. Taken everything offered. Arms still wrapped around the hanging dome of her previously flat stomach, she nevertheless allowed herself to relax, and as the sentinel began to pull back, she relied on the hands around her head to hold her up. Hold her in place.

A final, flagging rope of seed pumped down her throat, while Nesra had already pulled back halfway – a parting gift, adding just a little more. Clogging up her insides, painting her, as if she had not already been taken entirely.

Nesra withdrew, finally, from Erin’s throat, and so, she gasped greedily for breath. Exhaled, and inhaled, both fighting each other for time. Erin no longer saw anything, her eyes closed. No longer caught any scent. Was not bothered by the thick mess upon her face, and chest. Upon the floor. In that moment, all she felt, all she could focus on, was the sensation of Nesra’s titanic, endless loads sloshing in her distended stomach, and the steady, warm hands cradling her head. The tip of the sentinel’s massive cockhead greeted her lips again, and she rewarded it with another kiss.

Warmed through, weakened, breathing still elevated but growing ever more quiet with each passing moment, Erin rested in Nesra’s grip. Lips parted just so, her battered tongue lolling in her mouth, the last streams of seed slipping from her nose, she had never felt more spent. Not just pushed to the absolute limits by intensive training. Her whole body, her mind, was empty of energy, having been exerted in a way they had never experienced before. Comforting heat coursed through her every limb, the extent of her actions the occasional deep breath.

Nesra had taken one knee in front of her, again, drawing her close, allowing her head to rest, cheek first, on one shoulder. There they sat, in comfortable silence, minutes passing as Erin gradually regained the ability to think. Then to accept the input of her senses again. To move again, at last. To formulate complex thoughts, more than merely sensory response. She swallowed. The hands behind her head had turned into but a single hand, and it no longer trapped her head in its grip, but merely supported her. Every now and then, perhaps every half a minute, Nesra said something. Two words. Those two words, said quietly, but with insistence.

“Good girl.”

Sensing, perhaps, that Erin might be able to sit without being supported, Nesra carefully leaned back, and leaned Erin back, so that her abused, messy face could be studied. The sentinel produced a scrap of purple cloth, an unused kerchief, and began the arduous process of wiping the clinging, thick mixture from Erin’s face.

In silence, while Erin was cleaned, they sat together. Once satisfied with her work, Nesra curled the cloth into a ball in her fist, extended the index finger from that fist, and laid it under Erin’s chin. Tilted her head upwards, so that she could meet the silvery eyes of her sentinel, still towering, too large for the room, but caring, now. Protective. Proud, even? It was hard to tell, in the dim light. It was easier to tell a moment later, when Nesra pressed a lingering kiss to Erin’s lips.

“I’m so very proud of you, little Erin,” Nesra said.

“Thank… you,” Erin said. No matter how much her face had been abused, how many times Nesra’s pelvis had hammered into, against her comparatively delicate features, she still felt a swell of warmth in her chest. She had done well. She had served, and given pleasure. Nesra approved. For a moment, right then, she noted only the silvery, luminescent eyes, pupils almost lost in them, forgetting everything else. Her aches, her exhaustion, the sloshing dome of her bulging belly.

“The truth is that you were already chosen, little Erin,” Nesra said.

“Chosen?”

“To be liaison here, in Stormwind. To take care of the relations between the city, and us,” Nesra said. “To be responsible for the upkeep of any of Iralis’ agents and servants, when they find themselves here.”

“I,” Erin said. Her gaze flickered to their surroundings. To the room, too cramped for Nesra, never mind more sentinels. Stacked with clothes and books and other belongings. Overfull, even before Erin entered. Stuffed beyond all reason with both Erin and Nesra in it. “I want to, but this place…”

“The priestess had me purchase a two-story building in the Cathedral District, not too far from your old training grounds. You will be given stewardship of it.”

In lieu of responding, Erin just looked up at Nesra. Not in disbelief, exactly, and neither with a sense of dejection, or wanting to reject what was being offered. Overwhelmed, simply.

“You can live there. You can care for my needs, while I remain in Stormwind. You can prepare for future passersby in Iralis’ service,” Nesra said.

“And that… I’ll… I’ll be of service,” Erin said, somewhat lamely. She wanted desperately for Nesra to approve of her, but her dream had never been to work as a caretaker, a servant, whatever the task would actually be.

“And,” Nesra said, moving the index finger to caress it over Erin’s cheek. “Your reinstatement into the training program you were removed from has been negotiated. Under new instructors, though I trust you will not mind over-much?”

“No,” Erin said. She could not help but let a smile of quiet joy curve her lips. “I’m… thank you.”

“I am happy to do it, little Erin. You are much appreciated.”

Shifting just so, freeing one arm from its task of supporting her bulging stomach, Erin reached up to take Nesra’s finger, caressing her cheek, leading it to her lips to kiss it. Not only had her luck turned in a flash, but, as if she was being singled out by fortune itself, she would have the chance both to become a paladin, and to continue to serve Nesra. And Rana and Dana. And any other of those rare sentinels that came to her.

“Though I hope that we might enjoy our next evening together in a place with higher ceilings,” Nesra said. “My neck hurts.”

Erin smiled a lopsided smile up at the sentinel.