Into Her Arms

Silendiel discovered something in the days following. The easy, largely unbothered life she had led no longer satisfied her – emptiness was everywhere. In the eternal charade between her and her staff. In the much grander bluff and masked play going on between nobles and important personages.

Rarely had she cared to host gatherings, or invite the worthy to visit, only doing so at the urging of her majordomo. Once. Different, now, as Silendiel made efforts to have a representative of every single family of any repute she could lay her claws into filter through the house, particularly the garden, where the chairs would need to be polished afresh, so much wear did the rumps of the high and mighty inflict upon them.

It was important that they see the garden, though. It was important that they see its lack of anything kaldorei at all, and it was important that they brought servants and staff with them, who could mingle with Silendiel’s own, confirming that a kaldorei, a sentinel, stayed in the garden of the Flameborn mansion one night, but was then sent away by the mistress of the house. An effort of diplomacy, nothing more. A kindly offering, a hand extended seeking peace, towards the depraved and deplorable and dangerous invaders who had now, inexplicably, been allowed to set up an embassy in the very heart of Quel’thalas.

The visits grew shorter and shorter as the days passed. Not that the need for them lessened significantly, but Silendiel found herself unable to carry on conversations with the same vim and vigor as she once had. It had been artform, a spider’s web that she ever sought to rule, to pluck the unfortunate fruits from, stuck to this or that strand. Only occasionally, then, had her thoughts strayed to the long-dead kaldorei who had taken hostage – a disruption easily forgotten. Kept to the darkness of her chamber.

Less so, now. Though it was not that emaciated, feral creature, arms around her, hand around her throat, that occupied her thoughts any longer. Unbidden came instead the Lieutenant. Neryniael. The spots upon the back of her skull where fingertips rested burned, made themselves known again. Hardened muscle against her face. Her nose flattening against those steel-hard bumps, the night elf’s flawless physique haunting her. But, where the prisoner had been near wordless, Neryn was less that. Still hinting at that feral creature, dormant under the surface, but a person. More so than the prisoner ever had been. Someone who saw beauty, and disgrace. Who could discuss, who could reason, who could be tender. As well as brutal, hammering massively fat cock down Silendiel’s throat. Mid-conversation with a rather well-connected merchant, she thus raised a hand to her throat, and then to her lips, coughing once, twice. Excusing herself for a few minutes.

Doing so, all she managed was to stand outside the room, her sanctum, leaned against a wall. Eyes closed, calming her breath down, her mind’s eye changing perspectives, views, going from Neryn’s piercing white eyes to the view of a shadowed, towering creature above her, in the night. Uncompromising. Someone to kneel at the feet of, whom it felt right to serve. Someone who took what was rightfully theirs. And yet, someone capable of error. Who cared. Silendiel swallowed, eventually, and went back in. Hoping, for the rest of that interminable, hour-long visit that the frequency with which she raised a hand to touch her throat was not noted as unusual.

It was the silence of their parting that, at last, pierced and shattered that frail glass in Silendiel’s mind that kept her somewhat contained. Days of strain. Four. Five? She did not know how long it had been since Neryn had silently gathered her things, and left. Why did she not speak, then? Safer, perhaps, not to? So as to not reveal that even the mighty, proud sentinels had emotions. Could be hurt.

With that thought settled in her mind, afternoon on the cusp of turning to evening on that fifth day since their parting, Silendiel returned to her room. Tired, mentally, from the four visits of the day, each one only done so as to ensure that the visitors saw that there were no kaldorei, no scandal, nothing to the rumors. Said rumors would inevitably live on for days or weeks more, but as so many people had now seen, with their own eyes, to their contrary, the rumor would die. To the extent that rumors ever die – lie dormant, irrelevant. Hopefully never to be revived. This accomplished, she endeavored to pick out her slummiest set of clothes, trying to bear in mind that, really, she had no idea what that meant, having been born and lived in the lap of luxury for her entire life.

There was a quiet side exit from the mansion grounds, one which only she and her majordomo now knew of, as there were no family members left other than Silendiel for whom it could function as both an emergency escape, and a stealthy exit. Having clad herself in more regular clothes, a bone-colored shirt with what she considered rather subtle, chestnut-brown stitching down the front, trousers of the same color, and matching boots with only half an inch of heel, and then thrown a hooded cloak over the ensemble, she made her way down. The majority of the servants had been given the evening off, and were gathered for their evening meal, anyway, and so she had few eyes to avoid. It was easy to slip out, through the garden next to her own property, and then out onto a slim but well-lit alley that ran between her neighbor and the next mansion.

Following that alley to its mouth, she emerged onto a street still filled with the commoners and craftsmen and noble servants of Silvermoon City, albeit one whose population thinned rapidly. It was growing ever later, and so, the chance to blend into the crowd lessened by the moment – there was less and less of a crowd to blend into, at all. Silendiel noticed, as well, that almost no one wore hoods. She stood out, trying to shield herself from view, and so reasoned that, once out of her immediate neighborhood, it was better to show her face. Rely on how little the average sin’dorei seemed to care who she was for stealth, rather than the cloak. Without incident, then, she made her way to the embassy. To the abandoned mansion which had been bought, and turned into a house of depravity and debauchery under the apparently indulgent eye of the priestess, Iralis.

Silendiel, whether it drew attention or no, pulled up the hood of her cloak once more as she approached the main entryway of the embassy. Not that her blonde locks and golden eyes were so unique, in Silvermoon, that she would immediately be recognized, but word would no doubt reach ears she did not want to hear if she was spotted trying to gain entry here. No doubt, the embassy was being watched. Discreetly, no doubt, but all the same. So, she hid in the depths of the loose material, stood before the double doors, and rapped upon one of them.

A long moment passed, no activity to be heard behind the heavy doors. Ordinarily, she might have taken that to mean that no one lived in the place, but Neryn had already demonstrated the uncommon ease with which the kaldorei moved around without a sound, and so, it did not necessarily mean that no one was coming. Silendiel waited and, after another few moments, was rewarded for her patience. A tall, well-built sentinel pried the door open, looking down at her. Not Neryn. Not anyone she knew, or had read descriptions of in detail. Nevertheless, she straightened, not that it mattered, looking up at the sentinel’s blue-white, shimmering eyes.

“I wish to speak to Lieutenant Neryniael. To your priestess, Iralis. I should like for the Lieutenant to return with me, to my mansion.”

Silendiel drew in a breath. She had not agreed with anyone, least of all herself, that she was going to bring Neryn back to the mansion. The words formed, as they so often did, and sprung almost directly from her subconsciousness to her lips, leaving no time for her to examine them. They almost never betrayed her, but now, they had. She pushed her tongue out between her lips, breathed in, but failed to find any suitable follow-up.

“I wish for them to come to me. I cannot go into the embassy to meet them. I am taking a risk being here at all, as it is.”

“The priestess is occupied,” the sentinel said. “As to the Lieutenant, you will have to wait here. We will send for her.”

And so, without further ceremony, the sentinel shut the double doors once more. A people used to war, used to living in an enchanted forest home that nevertheless teemed with potential predators, with, if history was to be believed, corrupted animals, satyr, and all sorts of things eager to kill them, would perhaps not wish to leave the door open. But then, taking such a view of the situation, Silendiel wondered what it said of their view of her. Leaving her outside, alone, in the proverbial wildlands.

Minutes passed. Silendiel remained before the door, stood two paces away from it, hands gathered before herself. At last, the time she had once spent practicing meditation came to her aid, allowing her to focus on something – her breathing, gradually trying to relax her muscles one by one – other than the prospect of standing face to face with Neryn once more. She did not know what to say. The excursion felt somehow out of place, out of time, something arranged and done by her, yet without her knowing, her willpower, fully behind it. As if she had piloted herself here, and now dumped her full awareness in a place it was not ready for. What would she say to the Lieutenant?

The door opened, and though a towering figure emerged, it was not Neryn. It was the same sentinel.

“The Lieutenant isn’t coming down to see you,” she said. Waited for a long moment, scanning the street outside. “And, if you aren’t coming in, and have no business with anyone in the embassy, I have to ask you to vacate the area. Find somewhere else to gawk and stand around slack-jawed.”

“Slack-jawed!?”

Silendiel’s outburst reflected off an already closing door, and was automatic anyway. A lifetime unused to all but the mildest possible barbs had left her easily bruised, unless it was verbal jousting in the context of jostling for position among the upper class of the city. She had not wanted to react to someone so undignified, but, for the second time that evening, found that emotions and a prickly subconsciousness ruled more than she might like. She turned away from the double doors, pouting, gaze settled on the pleasant reddish-brown bricks covering the ground before them. Walked slowly away, grappling with what she was even doing at the embassy.

Neryn did not wish to see her. Not enough to emerge from her den, at least. Perhaps the point had been made, the seed of doubt sown, and now, all she had to do was sit back and watch one of the embassy’s enemies flounder, having succumbed to the stupid, stubborn charms of a single sentinel. Running every which way to extinguish sordid rumors, as opposed to orchestrating hostility towards the invaders. Masterful work, really, and perhaps Silendiel ought to congratulate Iralis on spotting so easily exploited a weakspot. Plant a sentinel in the Flameborn mansion, and simply wait for the mistress of the house to fall into the hands of said sentinel. Come to rest below thrusting hips. Taken care of.

It was not too late to reinstate the campaign. Though it had been paused, the soil was still fertile, and rumors of the embassy’s debauchery, of its invasion, of its spying and abductions, could all serve to take attention away from Silendiel, too. Could serve as suitable punishment for the injustice, the manipulation she had been subjected to. A little more pushing, then she would not even have to spend effort on those rumors. Already now, they lived their own life, and would need only minor fanning of the flames.

Was it not what the kaldorei, what the priestess, deserved?

Silendiel halted, eyes hard, realizing that she stood before an arcane golem. Looking up at the thing, as if it could be expected to solve her problems. It seemed inert, instead. Or, rather, powered, but unmoving. No solution proffered, nothing but overwhelming, arcane-fuelled physical might on offer. Not what she was looking for. Not in that moment, at least.

A deep breath, sighed out. Looking up, perhaps the tilt of her head, her stance, brought back a moment she was busy trying to bury. A hand brushing her cheek. Had that happened, or did she only wish it into being? She had fainted, choked out, and Neryn had brought her back. Untied her, supported her upstairs, and pressed no more. Been apologetic, even. A sentinel, a towering, feral creature, who notionally took exactly what she wanted, and made no excuses for what her might allowed her possession of. That sort of person apologized. Silendiel furrowed her brow. The arcane golem’s tiny head whirred and came to life, its attention falling upon the noblewoman.

“CITIZEN. HOW. MAY. I. BE. OF. SERVICE?”

Much too loud, standing so close. Silendiel did not answer, instead stumbling away. The golem’s attention remained on her, but as its primitive automata brain did not perceive her to be in danger, and as she had made no request of it, and as it was still only evening, there was no logical path from where it was to pursuit, or insistence of helping her. So, it settled again. It succeeded in getting her moving again, though, only her feet took her back towards the embassy. She thought of swearing, but discarded the notion in favor of slowing herself down.

Was it not, in the end, better to go to the embassy than to have Neryn follow her home? For that meeting, at least, where they had to figure out what was going on, or, rather, where Silendiel had to untangle the maze of emotions that at once pushed the sentinel away, and drew her towards those piercing eyes, moth to the metaphorical flame. She pushed it away, and yet followed in its path. Stupid. Who was stupid and stubborn, exactly?

Rather than answer that question, she broke into a run. Boots rapping against the stone, she rounded a corner, continued down the street some two hundred steps or so, and once more stood outside the embassy door. Knocked on it once. Twice. Waited. Thrice. It opened, then, the same sentinel in the doorway. Looking impassively down at the same blonde sin’dorei, only slightly out of breath, now.

“The priestess is occupied. The Lieutenant does not wish to return to your mansion. Do you have any other business?”

“I want to be allowed in. To speak with the Lieutenant,” Silendiel said. Without thinking, after a moment, a final undignified and earnest word slipped out. “Please.”

The sentinel, to her credit, did not stand around, spent no time gloating at the pleading tone of the would-be visitor. Instead, she nodded. “I will ask the priestess. Wait here,” she said.

Minutes passed, again, but Silendiel could not find the same peace as earlier. Could not focus on one muscle at a time, making them relax. Instead, she stared intensely at the foot of the door, at nothing, taking slow, deep breaths, which she released through parted lips. Audibly. As if she exerted herself mightily, standing still there, cloaked. Likely observed, but unknown. The door opened, at last. Farther than last time.

“The priestess allows your entrance,” the sentinel said. “She grants permission for you to go to Lieutenant Neryniael, if that is what you wish.”

“It is,” Silendiel said. She swallowed, and then nodded redundantly.

The sentinel returned the gesture, pointless as it was, and then pushed the door open further, still standing in it. Silendiel waited for a few seconds, but then, upon realizing that the woman, as well-equipped, in all possible ways, as the Lieutenant, was going to make her slip past, unable not to touch. Grind against, here and there. She breathed in, steeled herself, and went through the door. Shoulder and arm dragging against a densely-muscled form. That done, however, the sentinel seemed finished with her impositions, closing the door and nodding to her companion, leading Silendiel into the slowly transforming mansion. Up a staircase, and off to a side corridor, to the second door.

Stopping a few paces away from the door, the sentinel still remained. Watchful, but apparently not wishing to come as close to Neryn’s door as Silendiel was. Looking to the sentinel, and then to the door, it was as much a desire to get away from the foreign sentinel as it was a desire to speak to Neryn that made her rap her knuckles on the wood. She could have had a squeezing claw around her throat in that moment and felt more free to breathe. What was she doing? Going to the embassy, entering the embassy, going to Neryn’s room? After all the stories, all the reports, she now found herself in much the same position. Would she emerge three days hence, inexplicably a firm ally of the kaldorei?

Before her, the door opened. Low, silvery-blue light outlined Neryn’s physique, hinting at the purple locks, but leaving the face in darkness. Markings visible only as darker shapes against gray-looking cheeks, illuminated by the sheer white of the sentinel’s eyes. No words exchanged, the two stood still. Not fencing, really, not in any meaningful sense. Silendiel had, after all, forfeited whatever battle they might have engaged in by coming at all, but, even so, she did not feel Neryn’s gaze to be punishment meted out for transgressions committed. Cool, silent observation. Waiting for the spinning coin of fate to slow and topple, so that they might decide whether Silendiel was to enter, or to be sent away.

“Enter,” Neryn said, after a long while.

She stepped out of the doorway in a way her sister sentinel had not, and, after shooting the other night elf a brief glance, Silendiel fled into Neryn’s room. A simple, relatively spartan place, compared to what she was used to. An absurdly large bed, one sized for a night elf, took up most of the far half of the room. Closer to the door, to the left of it, was a free space. A mirror against the wall, and a desk with a single chair before it. And free room. There were a few implements that Silendiel reasoned were for Neryn’s training efforts, should she not want to leave the confines of her room. And a thick, plush, comfortable rug spread all over. Something one could lie on and sleep quite comfortably, should one want to. Not that Silendiel ever would. She glanced right, seeing a long, rectangular table, a sofa on one side of it, comfortable chair at each end, and two on the side facing towards the middle of the room. Closets at the far wall, either side of the bed. The soft light that outlined Neryn came from a glass bowl filled with crystals, each emitting dim light of a slightly different hue. Most of it on a spectrum from pure white to azure blue.

“Cozy,” Silendiel said. A servant would have taken her cloak, now, if she were at home. But no hands reached to help her. She stood, instead, clasping the fingers of her left hand in her right, looking at the bowl of crystals. Finding it difficult to convince herself to look at Neryn. In the low light, curtains drawn to shut out the evening’s last light, there was a sense of being let into a hungry saber’s enclosure. She had seen, once, the way those beasts tore apart the prey sent in to feed them. Wondered wither she might soon feel Neryn’s fangs settle in her neck.

“What do you want?”

“To… sit. To talk. If you will allow it.”

Neryn sighed. Still not taking the cloak, she gestured towards the sofa. “Sit, then.”

With no other recourse, Silendiel shed the cloak herself, and, after looking around for a moment, found a hook next to the door to hang it from. She wondered, briefly, if it was hung correctly, whether it would slip and fall to the floor – it only had the hood to hang from.

Realizing, then, that she was stalling, Silendiel breathed in, straightened, and strode over to the gathering of seats around the table, maneuvering around it to sit in the sofa. The chairs were gathered too closely around the table, so that she had to shuffle carefully past. Easing herself down into the sofa, she found it a worn but tough thing to sit in, as if the springs were **** to give way. Sluggish. Made for someone heavier, perhaps? She sighed, fastening her eyes on the table. Plain, solid purple paint covered it. In the warped light from the crystals in the bowl, it looked, at first glance, to be many different hues.

“Well?”

Silendiel opened her mouth just slightly, then closed it again. She had no immediate reply to Neryn, and merely opening her mouth did not make words spill out. Instead, she lowered her brow, looking at the slowly shifting light of the crystals. She heard a slow exhale from the sentinel, a note of exasperation to it, though the both of them then sat in silence for a while. A long, long while, until Silendiel found herself staring at her hands. Grasping the left thumb in her right hand, then moving her left hand closer, resting its digits atop the right’s. She sighed.

“You wanted to talk,” Neryn said, at length. “About what? Why are you here?”

“I do not know,” Silendiel said. Noting a tone almost accusatory, as if it was Neryn’s fault that she was at the embassy. It was Neryn’s fault. Was it not?

“You’re the one who sent me away. Can’t have a night elf in your mansion, someone might talk.”

“What do you know of the consequences?” Silendiel’s eyes snapped up to stare at Neryn for a moment, and then she found a home for them again. On her hands, once more.

“Of allowing a savage in your home,” Neryn said. “Of inviting in an invader. Someone who abducts innocent sin’dorei, a spy. A violent attacker. Isn’t that what we are? Isn’t that what you’ve told people?”

Silendiel’s expression tightened. The right side of her face contracting a little. Unhappily. She let out a much quieter sigh, lifting her eyes to glance to the drawn curtains momentarily. “It is.”

“You aren’t going to apologize?”

“Will that somehow take what was whispered in the ears of the people back?”

“It might’ve made me feel like you regret it,” Neryn said.

“I do,” Silendiel said. She sighed, once more. A much greater breath, a much greater weight settled on her shoulders, unable to be sighed out so easily. She dared lift her eyes once more, looking to Neryn. Beaten down. “Will you come and sit with me?”

The Lieutenant looked surprised. Actual emotion penetrated the mask plastered on her face, and, after a few moments of looking at Silendiel, without smiling, she nodded. “Alright. I will.”

“Thank you,” Silendiel said.

She already occupied only a small fraction of the space available, but nevertheless moved aside to make more room. And then returned her gaze to her hands, one wrapped around the other, warming it. Neryn stood, and shuffled around the table, chairs and sofa too close to its edge. She seemed not to mind terribly, though, perhaps just pleased to have a table and chairs at all. Silendiel then scowled, chastising herself for falling into the same pattern of thought that all of her kin seemed to have been taught, seemed to teach themselves – their cousins, the kaldorei, were barbarians. Unused to tables and chairs? Neryn’s weight added to the resistant sofa, dipping a little next to Silendiel. The sentinel sat back, first, for a little while. Then leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands meeting in the middle, clasped.

“What’d you want to talk about?”

“I wish I knew,” Silendiel said.

There was an upwelling inside her, blocked by some invisible presence. Something holding it down, allowing her to feel terribly little. But she had come to the embassy. After four or five days of trying everything she could to salvage the situation, to forget what had transpired. And still, now, she recalled Neryn’s fingers against her scalp. Felt as if her cheeks came alive, just slightly. Was that why she had come? Just to satisfy some primal, hedonistic need?

Next to Silendiel, Neryn sighed. And then did something unexpected. Reached a hand out, lifting Silendiel’s to one of the kaldorei’s knees. Then the other. Wrapped both of the noblewoman’s small hands in her own, larger.

“Your hands are cold,” Neryn said.

Silendiel merely nodded. Between Neryn’s fingers, her own hands were aligned almost as if she were praying. Or, as if they were tied. She breathed in, and allowed the breath to exit between her lips at almost a whistle. Very clearly audible.

“You’re afraid,” Neryn said. “Holding something back. What is it?”

“I am scared, of… you. No-- of what may happen. When I am with you,” Silendiel said.

“What is it you think might happen?”

“You know perfectly well,” Silendiel said. She had turned her whole body just a little towards Neryn, and so she flashed, for just half a second, a mirthless smile.

“What? You’re afraid I’ll kill you? I won’t stop?”

“Nothing so… terrifying,” Silendiel said. Anxiety bubbled and tingled in her chest again. The bad kind of anxiety, in that she was painfully aware of being alive. The good kind in that it came with a sort of pressure in her. Cheeks and core warming, a growing tension blooming somewhere in her. “I am—”

“Afraid we’ll… what? Spend time together? You might actually come to like me?”

“I already like you,” Silendiel said. She glanced to Neryn’s luminous, white eyes. “No matter how dense, and… silly.”

“You’re the silly one,” Neryn said. She squeezed Silendiel’s fingers. “Your name’s almost silly. Isn’t it?”

“It is not.”

“Silly-endiel.”

“I will have you whipped.”

“I’ll have you wishing for me to do the very same to you. Silly,” Neryn said.

Silendiel huffed. Sat in silence, for a little while, and then shifted and shuffled a little closer to Neryn, until she could lean her head against the much larger elf’s shoulder. Hands still enveloped. “Are all kaldorei as stubborn and stupid as you?”

“Unfortunately, most are worse than me,” Neryn said.

“That bad?”

“Much worse,” Neryn said.

Silendiel, through her ear and cheek against the sentinel’s shoulder, felt a little rumble from within, something like a chuckle, and then a deep breath that, when it was exhaled again, seemed to take much of Neryn’s tension with it. Carefully, the two leaned back a little, coordinating so that Silendiel could stay leaned in. Once they found the back of the sofa, Neryn raised her arm and settled it around Silendiel’s shoulders, allowing her a place in what felt like the safest possible nook in all of Silvermoon. Comfortably resting against Neryn’s flank, a strong arm around her. Perhaps that was why she had come, then?

“Still haven’t told me what you’re afraid will happen,” Neryn said, after a while.

“You do not understand the complete, mortifying scandal it would be if we were found like this,” Silendiel said. “Not to mention if we had been seen, together, that night in the garden. I can barely think of you without the consequences piling up in my mind. Perhaps I should give you another name. Malanore, that will be you.”

Neryn screwed up her expression for a moment. “Traveler?”

“Suitably anonymous, is it not? You can call me… Belore,” Silendiel said.

“My sun? I still prefer Silly,” Neryn said.

Once more, Silendiel huffed.

“Your objections die quickly, my sun.”

“I have spent five days unaware of how much I wanted this. To sit here, with your arm around me.”

“And yet, you’re afraid of me,” Neryn said.

“Not of you. Not… not, directly. It is more complicated than that.”

“Is it something that’ll matter while you’re in the embassy?”

“It will matter forever, if it happens,” Silendiel said.

“Will you tell me about it?”

“After we sit here a little longer,” Silendiel said. She dug herself in a little closer, not that it was possible to get much closer without melding with Neryn’s clothes and skin, and sighed out a breath. She rested one hand atop the sentinel’s thigh, eyes fastened upon that hand. On the strong limb it sat on. The shifting shades cast by the moving, dim crystal-light made it harder to see what she knew lay in wait between Neryn’s powerfully muscled thighs, but perhaps that was for the better. Its role in her fears, in the nightmare scenario that had nevertheless driven her to the embassy, was best put off a little while longer.

They sat there, together, for minutes. Many minutes. Silendiel did not know how many. It was dark outside already, and so the passage of time could not be marked with a change in light. She knew time passed because she could mark it by Neryn’s slow breathing, by the ever drifting light of the crystals, and by the quiet, churning anxiety that sat beneath her sternum. It never let up. Never calmed, no matter how long she waited. She imagined that it would sit in her until she told Neryn of the fear, the most shameful desire, and even having confessed, it would still have a home in her heart.

Silendiel drew in a breath.

“I am afraid, in a way, of you,” she said. “But not the way you think. I do not think some beast will wake inside of you, and shortly thereafter, you will tear me apart. Not in that way, precisely.”

Thankfully, in the moment that passed after Silendiel first spoke, Neryn did not feel the need to interject. She remained in place, arm around her comparatively little sin’dorei, and allowed Silendiel to gather her thoughts. Her courage, perhaps, to go on.

“It is what you can do. What we could do, together. Our union.”

“Your reputation?”

“No,” Silendiel said, rapidly. Then she shook her head. “A little. But it is not so simple.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m confused, little sun. What are you afraid of?”

“If we remain together, you will… we will, eventually, sooner or later,” Silendiel said. Stalling. She allowed the last word to dissipate, and then allowed the following expectant silence to go on for so long that it lost its tension and became, instead, something hungering for her to explain herself. To make sense. She closed her eyes, and pressed her cheek to Neryn’s ribs. “My family, my name, is important. It has a history, here. And, with you, I would… we would… produce a kaldorei child. Together.”

“That’s what you’re afraid of?”

“Yes,” Silendiel said.

It was the truth, but a part of the anxiety in her chest released itself into a gentle tingling sensation that flowed down into her stomach. Into her thighs. Rose into her cheeks. To the tips of her ears, even.

“And you don’t want that?”

“Yes-- no. I am… I wish I knew,” Silendiel said. “The right answer would be no.”

“And yet, here you are,” Neryn said.

She squeezed Silendiel’s shoulders, both of them. And, Silendiel felt as if she could tell, the sentinel’s simple garb shifted just so. Trousers letting a sound of strain go, as if they had to adjust. As if that behemoth had come alive, just a little, demanding space. At the mention, the thought, of a kaldorei heir to house Flameborn.

“Here I am,” Silendiel said.

“You’re afraid of it, but there’s a part of you that wants it, too,” Neryn said. “Am I right? Is it the scandal that makes it attractive?”

“No. Yes. A little. Maybe,” Silendiel said. Her cheeks felt a fiery, heated crimson. A part of her wanted to mount the night elf, seat herself atop those hips, and ride. Was that why she was at the embassy, after all? A carnal, sinful need for Neryn, and her ability to sire one or more heirs?

“You’re afraid of it. And yet, you came all the way here for just that,” Neryn said. She rose from the sofa, tugging Silendiel up with her. “Show me. What it is you’re afraid of.”

Mute, for a time, Silendiel could only nod. She followed along, shuffling free from the prison of the table, to move over and take her place on the other side of the door. On the fluffy, deep carpet before the mirror, behind the desk chair. There she stood, for a moment, her hand finding Neryn’s. She nodded, then, more to herself than anyone, as if to urge herself on in that way. The mental image had been set in her mind for a very long time. Once, it had been with someone else, but now it felt as if it had always been meant for Neryn.

“We will… have to go on the floor,” Silendiel said.

She lowered herself down, finding the carpet as cushioning as it looked. Sat on her heels, at first, turned so that she could look at Neryn, who assumed much the same position opposite her. Knees almost touching. It felt natural, right, now, for their hands to hold the other’s. An absence not to. Silendiel took a breath, and, cheeks seeming to find another, deeper feeling of red warmth, she looked up at Neryn, who appeared calm. Engaged, but accepting. Ready.

“You… remain there,” Silendiel said.

Those words spoken, she leaned back, until she supported herself on her elbows. Lifted one leg, then the other, unfurling them, settling one on Neryn’s left, and one on the right. Elevated from the floor, as the night elf still sat on her heels, she shuffled a little closer, such that her butt rested halfway up Neryn’s thighs.

“This is what you’re afraid of?”

“No,” Silendiel huffed. “Was I not supposed to be Silly?”

Neryn placed hands upon Silendiel’s thighs. Hands that weighed her down, just so, hands that kept her in place. She swallowed, breathed in, and then spoke once more.

“You… undo my trousers. Pull them off. I take off my shirt, while you remove your own trousers,” Silendiel said. For no discernible reason, her chest rose and fell more rapidly, though she had done nothing overly strenuous since moving to place her ass in Neryn’s lap. “Then, you place your hands behind my knees, bend my legs up, and then rise to be on your knees. You… loom, over me. With your tip pushing up against me.”

“Hmh,” Neryn said. An almost contemplative sound, her hands moving from Silendiel’s thighs to her belt, which was undone slowly. Carefully. Each button of her trousers worked open, Neryn’s fingers, ever so slightly rough, grazing her skin as they pushed up along her stomach just slightly, then reversed direction, back down, hooking into and beginning to tug down those trousers. “Like this?”

Silendiel nodded, wordlessly. Bent her legs, and then extended them almost straight up, in front of Neryn, so that her trousers could be worked up and off of her. A single finger, Neryn’s right index finger, pushed up under her shirt. To her navel, where it rested, and then began to draw a straight line downwards, halting just before it arrived between her legs.

“And then?”

“You… take yours off,” Silendiel said.

Already, her fingers, always so steady, yet now oddly trembling and difficult to make work as she wished them to, fumbled at the buttons of her shirt. Before her, Neryn rose up off her heels, belt clinking and shimmering in the crystal-light as it was worked open, trousers them seeming almost to sigh with relief as their buttons were undone. The sentinel stood, for a moment, letting them pool on the ground, and then be kicked aside. She found her position on the floor once more, but when strong hands around Silendiel’s waist tugged her back up where she had been before, there was a hard, monstrously thick presence against her firm, peachy rump. Warm, slowly pulsing with heat and power. Hard. Insistent. She worked the final button of her shirt open, and shifted to one side, then the other, leaving the garment below her as an unnecessary, second rug.

“And… now,” Silendiel said, her voice scarcely more than a whisper. Not even that. Something more coherent than a breath, but so quiet as to be lost even in the stillness of the embassy. She squirmed in the grip of her waist, marveled at how easily she was handled, at Neryn’s hands, enveloping her and meeting fingertip to fingertip. There they remained, for an eternal moment, the two resting skin against skin. Breathing, finding each other’s eyes, speaking without words, arriving, together, at the moment in which to move.

Neryn moved her hands, finding the back of Silendiel’s knees. Lifting them up, and then further up, bending back until her lower legs pointed just slightly up in the air, at an angle, thighs pressed up against herself, next to her, knees resting near her shoulders. She no longer even spoke, merely mouthed the next movement, when Neryn rose up off her heels, pushing Silendiel down a ways to allow that monster of a cock to rise up, its broad, throbbing head producing a slow stream of beading, thick precum, smeared against the girl’s inner thighs as it made room for itself, rising. Neryn rolled her hips forward just so, at the right moment, and so the enormous crown came to a crushing rest against her cunt.

Precisely this moment had played in her mind, on and off, for years. Decades, it felt like. When she would be defenseless, at the mercy of the looming, feral elf above her. Open. ****. And yet, the anxiety which had made its home in her chest for so long was now gone. Evaporated, perhaps to make room for the audible, elevated breathing that now saw her chest rise and fall. She looked down, and saw the impossibility of Neryn ever cramming that behemoth into her. Knew, as well, that, however absurd the Lieutenant’s size, she had nevertheless stuffed, jammed, hammered every massively thick inch of that dick into her mouth, and throat, and stomach. The powers of the kaldorei were without end, somehow.

“This, you’re afraid of?”

Silendiel nodded, but nevertheless raised her hands to wrap around the back of her knees. Settled them atop Neryn’s, after which she nodded again. “A savage… has her way, with me,” Silendiel managed to say, surprising even herself.

“Ah,” Neryn said. Smiling, just so. Crooked. Those piercing, white eyes settling on Silendiel’s again. As if she had understood something, something unshared, that had to be crucial. “Don’t worry, little sun. Nothing will happen. I’ll be sure not to do anything untoward. No children. No coming inside.”

“Good,” Silendiel whispered, though she had seen how thick, potent drops of seed had gathered on the tip, and then smeared against her when Neryn found her place, already. A ****, fool’s hope, but she might still avoid the worst. Though in the grip of the sentinel, she managed still to push herself to rise against that behemoth, terribly worried about the potential of a kaldorei child, clearly. Its absurd girth promised a difficult union, but she felt entirely certain that Neryn would make absolutely sure that it would happen. That she could be trusted. “No… accidents,” she whimpered, observing how the sentinel’s muscled core seemed to tense, imagining a corresponding little lake of potent swimmers slowly building against her, fighting to enter, as another fat drop joined the rest.

“No accidents,” Neryn said.

Already, Silendiel’s mind felt as if it expanded and contracted as a way of alerting her to the danger of what she was indulging in, the absurdity of such a promise given the thickly flowing presence already clinging to her skin, but she chose instead to focus on looking down. On the way her breaths caught in her throat just enough to make them audible, a little labored. Forming a little ring with her lips, through which she could make Neryn aware of the struggle she faced already, though all that had happened as of yet was that behemoth simply resting against her. She mouthed the same two words again.

“Still afraid?”

Silendiel gave, first, the tiniest of nods, then looked up at Neryn, who loomed over her. Pressed her down against and into the rug, holding her in place, and open, perfectly angled to push into. Defenseless. She shook her head, then, left to right. Twice. Thrice. Then, as if to underline the depths to which her emotions swayed from instant to instant, she nodded again.

“What are you afraid of?”

“That you will make it fit. That you will-- will... push in,” Silendiel said.

Almost as if on cue, as she spoke those words, Neryn shifted forwards near imperceptibly. Enough that the pressure of that colossal cockhead upped just so, enough that it moved from being a threatening, massive presence to something actively seeking to grind into Silendiel. It felt, for a very long moment, as if the monster was actually resettling her thighs, widening the gap between them, bent up as her legs were, to make a home for itself. She let out a straining breath, exhaled through barely parted lips, and then, at another slight shift of Neryn’s body, closer, closed her eyes. Lowered her brow just so.

That massive cockshaft not so much pushed forward as insisted upon its place, and, slowly, she opened and began to shape around it, allowing just half an inch of it in. Chin sinking towards her collarbone, Silendiel **** her eyes more tightly closed, teeth setting, lips curled back from them just a little. Each exhale came as a little, tense, hard sound, dragging a little in her throat. She had never thought that Neryn would make herself fit into so tight a throat as hers, and thought even less, now, that the Lieutenant would manage to grind and jam herself in even far enough that that enormous, wide head could lodge in her cunt.

Each second that passed, the pressure increased. Each second that passed, it felt as if some grand, hefty log insisted upon growing up into her, stretching her, and, her own core wound tightly, nevertheless, Neryn made slow progress. That colossal, broad crown having slipped perhaps an inch in, even as Silendiel’s pussy clenched around it, tight, holding on to every available scrap of smooth skin. But the **** of muscle and weight, the towering night elf leaning ever closer, a kind of twin-starred sky above Silendiel, who only had the wherewithal to open her eyes now and then, came out on top ever more as moment rolled into moment.

There was no doubt, in Silendiel’s tingling, prickling, white-hot-embers-bursting mind that some measure of magic was involved. Her reflexes somehow bade her suck in her already flat stomach as that huge, fat dick sank another half inch into her, the tone of her ailing breaths rising slightly higher in pitch with each clawed gasp. That colossal cockshaft’s girth rivaled nothing she had ever seen, surpassed everything, and yet, at the insistent, inexorable forward pressure and grinding, another half inch of it jammed into her. Began to build the first hints of a mind-bending, thick bulge on her belly, and promised that it would become her new world, so little crammed into her, so much still left to go.

A first thrust came. To Neryn, it seemed, a gentle, almost casual movement of thighs and core and pelvis, just rocking half an inch forward, and then bouncing much the same distance back. All the easier to set up a slow, rolling rhythm, then, having secured her place somewhat. The Lieutenant’s breathing became almost relived, then, as she managed not to merely press herself in, but to begin sinking in, little by little. Forcing the little noblewoman, her little sun, to subconsciously synchronize her breathing out with when that massive pillar of kaldorei cock rolled forward, forcing her clenching, tight cunt to accept a little more. And then more, still, of that obscene girth.

For a moment, Neryn halted, relaxed, when the rim of that behemoth cock-crown slipped in and made a home in Silendiel, forcing a briefly-living ring of thickly-flowing pre-seed out, splattering and splurting quietly, having no room at all inside the straining, trembling form of the blood elf. Only the consistent, fat beads of cum, over the course of a few minutes, had formed that little flood. And, once more, Silendiel whispered, as if desperately holding on to some already shredded hope, or dream.

“No accidents.”

“No accidents,” Neryn breathed.

A long moment’s stillness of movement passed, and Silendiel opened her eyes to look up at the hungering need in the piercing eyes of her sentinel. Let her eyes slip down to caress the prominent, hard abs that might help drive the monstrously fat cock into her depths, ensuring that there would be no accidents. It would not be an accident at all, that much was certain. She looked down, then, to the bulge upon her previously flat stomach, past the rapid rise and fall of her chest, straining as she was to contain the kaldorei’s colossal, fat dick, the back of her mind playing some sensation on repeat. The history of her long and noble line, perhaps, crying out in alarm at the feeling of thick, sticky, stretching and breaking feeling of cables of seed connecting her skin to the smoothly-veined, monstrously fat kaldorei invader. She looked up to Neryn, again, voice near breaking as she whispered.

“Promise me.”

“Promise,” Neryn said, her voice thick with need.

Dangerously close to breathing in precisely the same way she had, when she had bottomed out in Silendiel’s throat, and held herself in. Down. As Silendiel had wanted it, despite having no control, no way out. Just as she did not now, held down, in a firm, crushing grip. Knees near at her ears, ass lifting from the ground.

Neryn let out a slow breath filled with exertion as she began to move, once more. Rocking forward, and then back, and then pressing that monster a little deeper. For each thrust, she made more space for herself, made Silendiel’s taut, tense form give up a little more room, moving that thick bulge, in the shape of that treetrunk cock, a little further up. Came to a slow, inexorable rhythm, grinding a handful of massively thick inches in, and out, sinking deeper little by little, until that wide cockhead came into first contact with Silendiel’s cervix.

A shock of tension, a first meeting proving almost so intense as to overwhelm her senses, she would have curled up around herself if she had not been held in place. Eyes opening, lips parting, back arching at the depth charge going off, making her already straining body shudder, and then clamp down hard. There was a moment’s pause, Neryn letting out something like a soothing, cooing breath as she sank that beast of a cock back in. More slowly, for a little while, the second meeting between that battering ram head and Silendiel’s inside gate a slightly more gradual, gentle affair.

Wordless, for a while, Silendiel settled her widened eyes upon Neryn, lips remaining parted in what could, before, have been the beginnings of a shout. It died down into a series of pliant, if straining, breaths, as the sentinel withdrew, and then, more insistently, pressed up against the blood elf’s core. Slowly building that same pace of thrusts back up, each one rolling up against Silendiel’s cervix a little more, grinding, pressing, the continual depth charges calming to bubbling, tingling warnings, dissipating into little churning knots of anxiety and something not quite pleasure, but expectation. A desire. A need.

Neryn’s steady, pumping pace had her push in further, and further, and, eventually, there was no longer any denying of what she sought. Pushing herself in, holding that ever-increasing, merciless pressure against Silendiel’s cervix, the only reprieve granted when the sentinel rolled her hips backwards to prepare for the next thrust. Fat, potent drops of pre-cum still rolled from around the huge, fat shaft, ever refreshing the thin forest of strands which connected that monstrous dick and Silendiel’s cheeks, and stomach.

A hard thrust resulted, at last, in a crowning circle of blushing pleasure expanding in Silendiel’s tense core, crawling and prickling its way up her chest, to her cheeks. Into her shoulders, arms. Even her fingers reacted, and the next time Neryn crashed against the clenching, tight gate to her womb, the sin’dorei let out a light, quaking sound of pleasure. Not a moan, precisely, something too primal and conflicted, but unmistakably something of desire. A shameful, hedonistic sound which she could not imagine having a home in the refined halls of her family. But Neryn drove it from her lips when she hammered in again, the depth charge of feeling one of overwhelming intensity and pleasure, now.

Neryn was unsatisfied with her position, clearly, pounding that monstrously thick dick in again, and again, and then holding herself in, applying weight, and muscle, and willpower. And, as the seconds slipped past, as Silendiel’s eyes began to roll upwards, her cervix capitulated slowly to the feral kaldorei’s efforts, grinding open over the smooth skin of that colossal crown, allowing it, slowly, entry into her innermost. A sanctum, unsullied, the battering ram of a cock cramming past the entry, closing around it as the head pushed in, the sheer, all-encompassing pressure prompting the first intentional accident. Pumping a single, fat strand of swimmers directly into Silendiel’s womb.

At last, she released her grip of Neryn’s hands, at the back of her own knees. Not with any plan, not with anywhere else in mind to settle them, merely unable to control them. Unable to hold on, her body shaking, trembling, that hefty, wide bulge having pistoned much further up her once flat stomach. Conquering her womb, leaving her totally ****. In the grip of the savage sentinel, at her mercy. Silendiel twitched her fingers closed, and then opened them, moving her arms so that she could caress her core, within which Neryn rested. Caress the bulge, which then moved. Withdrew, just a little. No more than that her cervix still locked behind the rim of that massive head, but enough that Neryn could then pound back in, deeper. Harder. Releasing another of those clenching, bursting rings of sensation so intense that it took time for Silendiel’s body and mind to resolve its pressure into pliant, **** pleasure. She wanted to tell Neryn to be careful, but could not form the words. Another thrust, and her eyelids twitched, eyes threatening to roll, or merely to twitch and be useless, too. The muscles in her arms, in her legs, in her chest doing much the same.

The final, fat inches were hammered into Silendiel’s clenching, shuddering form with three hard thrusts, and, at last, Neryn’s tense, imposing physique came to rest against the noble blood elf’s, pelvis and fat, churning balls connected by those thick, lazy strands of seed, each one more than sufficient proof that whatever accident they had agreed would not happen was already long gone. It did not seem the sentinel cared for that, rather only to hold herself in, bottomed out, moving back and forth in only token, small ways, pushing forward more to roll and press against Silendiel than to get anywhere. There was nowhere further to go, the noble’s body heavy with that monster of a cock, her womb conquered, laid bare, the gates broken down and opened.

“Still… afraid?” Neryn’s words were breathy, marked by the exertion of taking Silendiel, and not superior, not patronizing, but also not in **** need of an answer. There was none forthcoming, as Silendiel actively shook, trembling, and then broke down into rhythmic, hard clenching around Neryn’s colossal shaft, her core tightening, her cunt clamping down on the brutal invader, little dots of pleasure rapidly multiplying and taking over every sense, settling in her mind like commanding stars that burned bright and then died, and then lived again, for endless moments. Wave, upon wave, upon wave, until she was finally released from that prison of pleasure, allowed to lie back and breathe through her parted lips, cheeks wet with evaporating moisture from tears **** from her by the depth, and crushing intensity. Which still would not let up. Which Neryn reinforced at every tiny movement.

At last, Neryn began to withdraw. Slowly, each moment measured, in control in a way Silendiel could not comprehend. The backwards journey stopped only when the vice-like grasp of her cervix clung around the rim of the sentinel’s huge, hefty cockhead, and this seemed her cue to push back in. Slowly. Inch by colossal, girthy inch fitting back into Silendiel’s depths, not quite so carefully as it had been pulled back. This movement was repeated, settled into as a kind of rhythm too slow and deliberate to be thrusting, rather a kind of reinforcement of conquest, Neryn claiming the tight, clenching body of her little sun, her refined noblewoman who seemed, once more, to begin to breathe in almost pleading quakes. Pleading not for an end, but for mercy, each complete bottoming out in her imposing a constant, merciless pleasure upon her senses, one that she could not escape. One that came on too often for her to remain coherent. She trembled, and let out a thin, breathy sound, and then her jaw set, her neck tensed – her whole body tightened, and clenched, and grew taut again, and again, and again, those punishing, hard lashes of pleasure leaving her weakened. Unable to resist the next, and the next hilting of that colossal, fat dick.

Calling on her, almost, Neryn’s body had responded to every single one of those deep, needy orgasms, to their constricting tightness, with a single, hard, copious rope of seed, pumped into the depths of Silendiel’s womb. Nothing compared to what was yet to come, but an assurance of the blood elf’s fate, already. The accident had happened already, the feeble promise they had made to each other lost in the endless heat of the endless moment of grinding, conquering motion.

Finally, it seemed the sentinel had had enough of mere steady, plowing conquest, and so she held herself in to the very root, weight and muscle crushing Silendiel down into the rug for a long moment. She was released, at last, only for Neryn to pull an inch back, and then jam it back in. Two inches for the next thrust, their bodies meeting in a brutal, smushing embrace once more. And so, each thrust built upon the previous one, until the sentinel piston-fucked two handfuls of cock into Silendiel’s womb for every thrust. Ceaselessly, at a punishing, staccato pace, the night elf having taken to tightening her core, coaxing herself towards orgasm more so than those hammering, brutal thrusts could on their own.

Hands left Silendiel’s knees, at last, her legs slowly finding a place as they unfolded, on either side of the statuesque physique of her sentinel, her Malanore. Instead, as if to secure her and stop her from squirming and running away, something which had not even the tiniest speck of attention in her heated, slow, needy mind, those large, slightly calloused hands settled against her comparatively delicate shoulders. Stopping her from being pushed up along the floor, just a little, with every bottoming, pounding thrust. Necessary, since for every time her body met with the densely-muscled thighs and hips and pelvis of the sentinel, she shifted in place, the crushing, hard meeting pushing a high-pitched, pleasure-flecked breath from her. Straining, and yet inviting Neryn in. Closer.

Nevertheless, as time, measured in the thrusts of that monstrously fat cockshaft, marched on, Silendiel found one thought piercing the pliant, pleasantly weak murk of her mind. She lifted shaking arms, and, with effort, tried to place splayed fingers against Neryn’s abs, though it was a difficult and rhythmically interrupted task, the sentinel pumping those punishing thrusts into her depths with almost frightening regularity.

“C-careful,” Silendiel said, fingertips once more colliding with, easily brushed aside by, the night elf’s tense musculature.

It was unexpected, but a mark of more control than Silendiel thought possible, that Neryn actually slowed. She did not halt, not entirely, still pressing those colossal, thick inches in, but it was a movement more akin to what she had come from, the slow conquest, than one inevitably ending in pumping herself entirely empty in her little sun’s defenseless womb.

“What… would you… like, little sun?” Neryn’s breathing heavy, taking precedence over words and pronunciation.

“I want… I want,” Silendiel breathed, losing her place when that behemoth once more bottomed out in her, pressing another white-hot flash of sensation upon her. Her fingers trembled against the sentinel’s abs, once more. She swallowed, and blinked another tear away. The depth and intensity too much. Too much. “I just… want you, to be… careful.”

“To stop?”

“To… keep on. Going,” Silendiel said. “I want you.”

Clearing nothing up with those words, she was nevertheless beyond being able to focus for a long while after that, and the emotion that had made her press her fingers against Neryn’s body and whisper for her to be careful no longer reared in her mind. It did not rise when the sentinel leaned in, when she slowly built up the pace, again, and did not make itself known, at all, when their bodies collided again, and again, that thick mess of seed connecting them so very obvious. Criss-crossing strands, drooping, collapsing, reforming when they came together once more. Harder, and faster, after every meeting.

Having built up to that same merciless pace again, it was clear that Neryn approached a climax. The knowledge settled, arising from somewhere beneath the surface of Silendiel’s thoughts, and simply made her aware of itself. If she was to even begin to pretend to insist on the earlier promise, on them being careful, it was now. And yet, she found no will to react. Found herself wanting, more than anything, for Neryn to find that peak, and to hold herself in, crushingly close, so that they could be together. Unite. So that the intensity of sensation, the cruel and irresistible hand of pleasure, would sink into her psyche and not let go for so long that she would no longer remember what day it was. Where she was. Would only know that her sentinel had made them one, entwined their houses and histories. She did not object, she wanted it. Somehow, in Silendiel’s mind, the fingertips that remained for Neryn’s muscled core to impact were no longer there to remind her to be careful, or to stop her, but to encourage her. To be there to feel the inevitable, powerful release, when it came.

They were on the cusp of it, together. Neryn’s breathing had grown from heavy to strained, almost as if she had difficulty with the entire concept, her large frame quaking once, sinking in to the hilt in Silendiel, and then pulling a few erratic inches back out. Slam-fucked back in again, and again, those final, fattest inches coaxing her ever forward, to the edge, and then, in one stumbling moment, inevitably over it.

A long moment of taut silence passed, the sentinel cramming herself in to the absolute hilt, seeming almost to shiver with the effort of so closely marrying their bodies. Then, at last, as an obvious relief, a breath finally spilled from her throat. Her muscles hardened beneath Silendiel’s trembling fingertips, and the kaldorei rose just a little upwards. Forward. Those heavy, churning nuts did the same. A single moment of relaxation, and then Neryn’s physique clamped down, hard, in what was, at first, a single hard quake, her body allowing a first, titanic load the freedom needed for it to find its seat, biological machinery then hammering into place, that colossal, fat shaft growing just a fraction of an inch wider, still, the thick cumvein rising, bulging with that first load as it pistoned into Silendiel. Past her cervix, plowing into the depths of her womb with the bruising **** imparted to it by Neryn’s body, splattering everywhere. A truly massive first cementation of their union.

The next came on, molten, copious swimmers pumping in a thumb-thick, briefly continuous rope into Silendiel, meeting what was already there, still settling. Merely those first two loads already added to the monstrous, girthy presence of Neryn’s behemoth, a full meal in volume. Silendiel’s fingers shuddered against the hard, rhythmic pumping of muscle, her sentinel’s breath still caught in exertion so great that it seemed near painful, though the luminous, white glow of Neryn’s eyes had disappeared, closed off, her expression at once one of effort, and of long-sought, coaxed relief. The pleasure grew and became apparent as the next, enormous load of potent seed pounded into Silendiel, and beneath her fingertips, she felt the awesome power of her Malanore – her sentinel. Felt something like reverence growing in her, natural appreciation for the superiority on display, for the conquering breeder who gave her what she had been afraid to ask for.

So massive were those loads that each took over a second to mercilessly pound through that girthy monster, into Silendiel, that time marked by each pumping orgasmic clenching passed. Allowing her to savor each additional rope, the blossoming fullness, which grew beyond what she had thought possible. Each colossal load building upon the last, sweltering, sloshing in the growing bump on her stomach, soon eclipsing the enormous bulge of Neryn’s shaft – drowned out, steadily, by that pistoning, pumping, steady bio-machinery. Each clamping down of muscle in Neryn’s core felt, revered, by Silendiel’s fingertips, until the churning dome of her stomach rose high and wide enough that she could only wrap her arms around it, supporting it with those same trembling fingers that had desired only to worship the body of her sentinel moments ago. It was difficult to imagine what had gone on inside of her, but the titanic load that left her already looking pregnant so filled her that it seemed impossible that every nook and cranny had not been invaded, so ensuring that she would carry the Lieutenant’s child.

Neryn continued to rock back and forth, even as that treetrunk of a shaft came to a gradual rest. Every single, thick drop of seed pumped into Silendiel, the sentinel nevertheless remained in place, using her size, her muscled form, her balls against the blood elf’s skin, to keep as much of the thick, sloshing mass inside. Neryn remained in place, just so, leaned forward and slowly lowering herself such that, eventually, her chiseled abs met the massive bulge of Silendiel’s belly. Breathing out one last remnant of tension, the night elf wriggled her hips just so, and then began to shift backwards, dragging that mammoth, fat cock backwards. Inch by slow inch, until that thick crown had to be slipped past Silendiel’s cervix with an insistent pull. From then on, it was easier, but Neryn’s pace remained steady, and slow, finally, after eternal, uncountable moments, pulling herself free. Leaving her little sun to desperately, rhythmically begin to clench back up, after having been so thoroughly conquered.

A slow exhalation, expelling more tension, and then Neryn took hold of her discarded trousers as she stood. Not to put them back on, it turned out, but to dig into a pocket. What she found in it was, momentarily, a mystery, hidden in her closed left fist. She did not leave Silendiel to deal with the consequences of her most shameful desires, however, instead finding a place on the comfortable rug next to the sin’dorei’s head, and shoulders.

With great care, Neryn both lifted Silendiel’s upper body, and shuffled into place beneath it, so that she could place the noblewoman’s head, her blonde locks, her tear-streaked, thoroughly sated face, in her lap. It was impossible, with its size, even if it had slowly begun its journey towards dormancy, not to have Silendiel rest partially on that monster of a cock. Despite this, Neryn focused on stroking her little sun’s cheek, shifting stray strands of hair back into position, smoothing it down, hiding locks behind pointed ears.

“Still afraid?” Neryn spoke, at last.

Silendiel shook her head, as best she could, given where she lay. Eyes closed, hands cradling her colossal, cum-bulging belly. Too weak, too worn out from repeated, hard orgasm, from aching around the sentinel’s behemoth. From aching for its renewed presence. Her cheeks, somehow, still found enough emotion in her to display a blush. “Too… late, for that,” she said.

Neryn opened her left hand, letting something shiny, silvery, spill from it. She held it in the air, above Silendiel’s head, displaying it. A fine silver chain attached to a thin circle, within which sat a crescent moon. Spinning, slowly, upon the chain, catching the crystal-light of the room every now and again, sending it into one or the other elf’s eyes.

“You faced your fear,” Neryn said. “You didn’t have to, but you did. For yourself, but for me, too. This will help you retake control.”

“A pendant?”

“An enchanted pendant,” Neryn said. “The priestess has blessed it. The power of the Goddess in it is such that, while you wear it, you will not get pregnant. You may put it on now, and take it off again, when the time is right.”

“You present it to me now,” Silendiel managed. Worn, still, though some fire inevitably began returning to her eyes. “After it all?”

“The priestess gave it to me a week ago,” Neryn said. “As a precaution. In case things went very well, when we visited you.”

“She sees too much of the future, that woman,” Silendiel said. She caressed the lower half of the dome upon her stomach, skin taut, but pliant. Then looked up at Neryn. “Will you put it on me?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Silendiel said, after a few seconds. “I wish for… you. But not yet. Not now.”

Neryn nodded, lowering the piece of jewelry such that the silver circle and its inset moon rested between Silendiel’s breasts, leading the silver chain over her head, settling it around her neck.

“And that is all?”

“I don’t know how it works,” Neryn said. She offered a crooked smile. “Only that the priestess’ magic is reliable. You’re safe.”

“A little pendant, against all your might,” Silendiel said. She looked to the enormous, slightly wobbly bulge upon her belly. “Light preserve me, you are… copious. Will it handle it all?”

“We can only wait and see. But I think it will,” Neryn said.

They remained there, on the floor, for a few long moments of silence. Until, breathing in laboriously, Silendiel recentered her eyes up on Neryn.

“I want you to come back with me. To my home,” she said. “I want to continue my old life. But I want you there. As… guard. Confidante.”

“You sent me away at the mere thought of spawning rumor, last time,” Neryn said. She traced a finger along the line of Silendiel’s jaw, from chin to the base of one ear. “Won’t we just see a repeat of that?”

“No,” Silendiel said, swiftly. And then allowed a little more time to pass, while she had her mind formulate a reason for why it would be different, exactly. “No. I wish for you to be there. With me. We will be careful, for a time, but we may begin to convince a few of my acquaintances of the qualities of your kind, given time.”

“In what way?”

“Showing off,” Silendiel said. Her cheeks burned at the thought, but, at the same time, she could think of a few candidates who might be swayed by the statuesque, towering charms of the kaldorei. By their huge, thick personalities.

“Showing off,” Neryn repeated. “I might enjoy that.”