To The Base

Brialla’s attraction to kaldorei, to Kerendra specifically, had managed to stay a secret for some time. But upon being bound and mated to Kerendra, upon having a child, her tastes, though never announced, nevertheless became obvious. And, seeing no reason not to allow others to indulge in what she had, she had selected for employees who were capable, clever, and clearly had a taste for kaldorei cock. Not that they were shameless, of course, merely on the same path that she had been, which would come in handy several times. That day, too, when Brialla dispatched her first and most trusted staffer to Salka’s quarters in order for them both to spend quality time together. Each elf differed, of course, but it seemed reasonable to assume that the two would be occupied for at least an hour.

Meanwhile, none of the priestess’ guards would be able to focus on getting a message to Salka, as they, too, would be occupied with the skilled hands of Brialla’s two most recent hires. Both of whom were somewhat more experienced, worldly, confident, just not with kaldorei, in particular. As such, they proved more open to taking care of the sentinel guards when Brialla presented them with the task. There was no reason to lie, or to try to obfuscate what she wanted them to do. They were both interested, anyway, and that genuine interest would no doubt play a part in attracting the attention of the sentinels.

As it happened, when the four of them approached the priestess’ quarters, a change of guards was in progress. In retrospect, were she not mated and bonded, Brialla might have taken on the task that now fell to one of her employees. One found her hands full – overfull – with the considerable girth of one of the guardian sentinels. The other seemed at once totally overwhelmed and lost, and yet perfectly comfortable with playing prey to the remaining three guards. By the time Brialla, Kerendra at her side, pushed the door to the priestess’ office open, it seemed two of those three sentinels were angling to try to fit into the small, fiery redhead’s ass, another one into her face. Thus distracted, none of the guards tried to stop Brialla or Kerendra. If anything, given time, they might thank them. And so would the two sin’dorei, Brialla knew. In a distant way, at least.

Brialla’s attention was, instead, focused on the priestess, who was at her desk. Never surprised, it seemed, her eyes calm, almost dull with precise emotional control, taking in her former sentinel guard, and the sin’dorei trader who had made a home in the settlement.

“You have a new proposition to make, Brialla?”

“I do,” Brialla said.

“Let me guess. The same one I encouraged you to make, years past.”

“The very same.”

“Do you approve of being used in this manner, Kerendra?”

“I’m here because I want to be, priestess,” Kerendra said. “And because she asked me to be. Did you not expect this to be a potential outcome?”

“I expected her to be crudely splayed across my desk already, sentinel, rather than conversing about her as if she was not here.”

Brialla took a steeling breath. Years of living among the kaldorei nevertheless failed to prepare her for their relaxed manner around something that would, back home, be seen as a private act made public for selfish reasons. Something tasteless, somehow. Here, it was different, and so she turned aside to look up at Kerendra. Her bonded mate, the sire of their child, and the strongest, proudest, most handsome creature in the whole world. Demanding lover, safe, comforting, protective partner. Brialla had made peace, long ago, with the fact that some deep-seated part of her had been turned up beyond what her own kind could handle, and so, she wanted for the towering, imposing kaldorei. That part also bayed and growled and hounded her to cement her union with this amazing mate by way of bearing her offspring, and though she could not always control that side of herself, that rarely mattered – it was a side which she agreed with.

And so, even in her more reasonable moments, even in control, capable of embarrassment, able to hold herself back if she wanted to, to stem the tide, she had no compunctions at all about taking in a deep breath. About looking up, long and hard, willing herself, her mind, to sink down into the pleasant murk. To take upon herself the role of willing subject, prey. To encourage. She placed her hands against Kerendra’s muscled stomach, and found the layers of cloth padding, of leather and chain obstacles to getting what she wanted. Always there. Always.

Brialla employed but a single finger to hook around the side of the loose cloth tabard draped over Kerendra’s front, peeling it aside. Tugging, pulling, until it came loose from its seating behind the belt which secured it. The thing would have been in the way, even with the belt removed. Something she set to work on immediately, practiced fingers undoing the buckle, drawing the belt apart. Those self-same digits curled around and pushed one button open, then a second, a third, and a final fourth. There were layers of garments that could be removed, but like the spoils of imaginary war, Brialla’s interest was not in a slow, pleasant dance of getting each of them naked so that they might indulge in one-another, but rather in freeing Kerendra’s monster of a cock, so that she might be taken to the hilt. Fucked, mercilessly.

One small, brief indulgence was allowed, however, as she used the slight opening of Kerendra’s pants to work her fingers in, below the various layers of cloth and chain, pushing upwards in order to feel firm, chiseled abs beneath her fingertips. Rumpling the previously ordered, settled look of her mate, who, despite the brutal indulgences they both shared, took some pain to always appear proper. But that, too, worked as a little nudge, a push against Kerendra’s mind, getting her to light the flame of the sentiment which Brialla wanted in her. The saber-beast, the pistoning, powerful, endless thrusts. The woman who would have tied her, controlled her, had she had the means which they kept at home, beneath the bed. Now, only a belt and their limbs were available.

There were other ways to display who was in control, however, and, Brialla saw with a brief glance over at the priestess that control was what was desired. More than a few of the kaldorei delighted in any indicated at all that Kerendra dominated her, and took charge, and so, it seemed, did the priestess. A kind of mixing of victory and loss with the union of desires that Brialla and Kerendra shared, where one might be the physical superior, but both indulged just the same. What sort of life together would it be if she thought Kerendra gained some kind of victory over her every time Brialla’s stomach was made to steadily rise with those crushingly powerful loads?

Others did not see it that way. The priestess, apparently, did not see it that way. So, when Kerendra’s fingers snaked, deceptively smoothly, up Brialla’s throat, curling around her chin, clasping her jawline, controlling her head to wrench her eyes from the priestess, it was the right thing to do. In all possible ways. It drew attention to them, not to the muffled but obvious sounds of straining blood elves outside the office, and their sentinel partners.

Even after so many years, Kerendra knew precisely what to say. To make Brialla say. In front of the priestess, who she would certainly have to deal with again, negotiate with again, who would recall these moments in future. Might even use them against her.

“What do you want, girl?”

“Please fuck me, Stag,” Brialla said, voice trembling just so. A hard-fought, silent battle went on as she kept her attention on Kerendra, as she viciously took the life of any conscious thought that diverted attention to what the priestess might say, or think. Kerendra mattered. No one else. Kerendra, who enjoyed hearing Brialla admit these crude, sordid things, who openly, smoothly acknowledged wanting these devotions, this praise. Kerendra, who raised an eyebrow. Long past demanding a repetition with a word, nevertheless ordering one.

“Please,” Brialla hissed. She knew better than to look down. Received her wish when, a moment later, Kerendra leaned down and impressed a kiss upon her. Stole it, took it, shared it. Chose to give it, benevolent as she was. Cruel as she was.

“Hands,” Kerendra said, then, having separated their lips.

Brialla gathered her hands before herself, so that they both came to rest between her legs, wrists stacked atop one-another. That was the intention, what was desired. The point of that single word, long-ago not really agreed, but trained into her. Kerendra removed her belt, and lead it around in several circles of Brialla’s wrists, loose enough that, when she was done, she could lead the end below the innermost loop. So as to not cut off bloodflow to Brialla’s hands, even if the entire setup was rather awkward. Something they had made do with, once, before having acquired something more specialized. Something more capable of trapping and keeping her hands, something more comfortable. But, somehow, they were now establishing a tradition for how they conceived.

Kerendra placed twin fingers, index and middle, beneath Brialla’s chin, urging her to lift it, to tilt her head backwards. She looked up into the eyes of her mate, but a few inches away. Calm. Not a hint of a trembling cheek, not a hair quaking. Slowly roiling, calming, luminous eyes. “And now…”

“Please, Stag,” Brialla said, the words springing from her unwittingly, prompted by the fingers below her chin. By a hundred, a thousand repetitions. By the desire that those words reflected, even if they had first, once, years ago, been spoken for Kerendra, not for herself. The two of them owned those words together, now, though it was her that asked her mate. She declared her desire, which had once been shameful, suppressed, without hesitance, now.

For one more moment, Kerendra looked into Brialla’s eyes. Still. Conveying no single demand, and yet demanding with her silence. Demanding submission, demanding that which Brialla had wished to give from the very first day, the very first moment she had laid eyes on Kerendra. The desire for it had been present, but without defined shape before then, only given form by that seemingly innocuous, random sentinel, into something more. Together, they seized fate, and made it into something beautiful.

That was the idea, at least. The artful explanation, which she had sometimes entertained herself by pretending she was going to tell her parents of. Her parents might, just, understand, her being theirs. But the rest of Quel’thalas? No. Certainly not when the beauty evolved, took a new shape. Kerendra’s hands settled on either side of Brialla’s head, palms momentarily blocking her ears, fingers entwining, just, behind her head. Once more, she was drawn up into a kiss that was, nevertheless, forced upon her. Rose to the tips of her toes, and was then pushed down again. Eyes closed. Their lips still touching, just so, she whispered assenting, affirming nothings, held there by Kerendra, so close that when she spoke her pleasant nonsense, her lips moved and rubbed against Kerendra’s.

Always, when tied, the world shrunk. Became manageable as her horizon drew in, as if the horizon took a great breath and held it just for her. Compressing around her. Filled with warmth, with dulled thought and heightened emotion. And so, Brialla knew that the priestess was still present, but saw nothing save Kerendra. Followed her, eagerly. There was no need for a harsh grip of her hair, or her chin, or her elbow. A simple suggestion of movement induced by those fingers against her skin, releasing her ears to remain settled in her hair without tugging, whatsoever. She moved along, step by step, twisting, turning, attention only on her mate.

The sharp edge of the priestess’ desk bumped up against her butt, and so she remained in place. Could move no longer. The hands in her hair, Kerendra’s hands, slipped down, caressing her neck, her collarbone, her flanks, finding a new and temporary home at her hips, where they lifted her up just so. Enough that her feet dangled off the floor, just a few inches onto the desk. Atop crumpled paper, shoving aside knickknacks, inks, quills, decorative trinkets. If the priestess complained at all, Brialla did not hear it. And Kerendra, who would be receptive to reproach, seemed not to pay any attention to anything or anyone but Brialla.

Settled on the desk, she was allowed a moment to sit, tied hands in her lap, until Kerendra placed a hand against her chest, against the thin fabric of the dress, between her breasts, pushing against her sternum. Not violently, but with intent. Brialla’s stomach tensed as she leaned back, as wordlessly instructed, finding a bed of more paper, and thankfully nothing else that might bite into her skin. What Kerendra had in mind might not be terribly artful or elaborate, but it would certainly get the point across. It would ensure another addition to the family.

Brialla squirmed to do her part, drawing her legs up so that the skirt of her dress bunched up almost around her waist, allowing her fingers somewhat awkward access to her underwear. She pushed it down, or, rather, pushed one side down, then the other, then the first again, working on her lonesome for a few moments until Kerendra took pity on her, and pulled it down her legs, letting it fall to the floor without thought for where it might land.

The belt already gone, it was an easier task for Kerendra to wriggle her trousers down a few inches, allowing her to work the rapidly hardening colossus of a cockshaft free, stepping up between Brialla’s legs to let it come to rest against her front with a heavy smack. Just a little bounce to it, still growing hard with each heartbeat. Firm fingers found a grip around her hips, pulling her a little down, towards the edge of the desk, such that Kerendra could more readily press all the way up between her increasingly widely spread legs. Demonstrating for the both of them, though they knew intimately already, the depth to which she would undoubtedly ram herself in. Letting those hefty balls find a warm, comfortable rest against Brialla’s skin.

With a sigh through her nose both amused and, if Brialla heard right, slightly impressed, the priestess seemed to resolve to allow them their show. She placed herself in her desk chair, working a pillow in under Brialla’s head. That seemed to be what she was doing, for a moment, anyway, until her smoother, more graceful fingers worked beneath Brialla’s scalp, lifting her head up off the pillow, so that she was offered the full, unavoidable view of what she was to indulge in. The impossibility of it never ceased, never quite left her mind, no matter how many times she witnessed Kerendra’s behemoth. No matter how many times they united, sentinel bottomed out in her mate.

“Show me, then, your dedication, Brialla,” the priestess said.

Just a touch of color reached Brialla’s cheeks, then. Not solely composed of the heat of the moment, of lust, but also a little embarrassment. Long years, a whole upbringing, in the sun kingdom had settled deeply in her the need and requirement for some things to be private, certainly something such as this, and it was hard, perhaps impossible, to drive that notion entirely from her mind. Nevertheless, she rested in the priestess’ cushioning hands, observing Kerendra’s fingers curl around her thighs. Watching the inevitable, languidly pumping growth spurts, girth packed on as moments passed, the mammoth shaft weighing her down more and more heavily. Then less, slowly, as it began to rise from her front, from between her breasts, from her stomach. Chin sunken near to her collarbone, Brialla looked up at Kerendra, statuesque, chiseled Kerendra, not to nod, not to give permission – it was always given – but to savor the wait. Savor the moments before they came together. As deeply as possible.

The shameful, superficial part of Brialla dined on those moments, and in them, she allowed it free reign. Otherwise loath to admit its truths, there were times where it was impossible not to acknowledge that while Kerendra was a thoughtful, supportive mate, a solid, protective companion, she was also precisely what Brialla had always wanted, physically. What she still wanted. A towering figure, carved with precision and elegance from marble into a shape almost oppressively beautiful. Physique of a lifelong athlete, a strong and yet graceful frame, muscled, and tall, every move made with confidence. For Brialla to press her lips to the curve of defined muscle, to abs, to each heavy breast, was a blessing which she indulged in every day. And it was a blessing which, now, on the verge of being pressed against her, she wished more for with every passing moment.

Being prey, being trussed up, the helpless plaything of Kerendra, was not something to be afraid of, it was a privilege. Able to do whatever she wished, Brialla’s mate chose to fuck her. Hard. To underline and affirm their physical bond, their desire for one-another. And so she would again.

A single, heavy, opaque bead of potent seed grew upon the tip of that monster, filling out until near spherical, until breaking apart and rolling down that broad cock-crown, until it met Brialla’s bottom-most rib. Smeared against the skin, warm, and clingy, and soon joined by another little pulse of potent cum. Another drop, and another, building a trail down her flat stomach as Kerendra withdrew. Had she wanted to first mark her depth, before pulling back to begin the inevitable conquest? Brialla did not know – did not care. She turned her hands and wrists, still tied, so that she might lift the beast from below, just so. Greedily caress it, feel the width of that cumvein, the warmth of the shaft grinding down over her. The dress would be marked, thoroughly, with Kerendra’s scent, and so, Brialla’s mind settled on, should it be.

Kerendra having pulled back far enough that the slowly pumping, massively thick shaft hung in the air between her legs, Brialla was momentarily separated from her mate. A strong, purple hand pressed against the top of the beast, depressing it just enough that the head went out of sight briefly. It made itself known, Kerendra coming closer, slowly, when the next thickly-flowing drop of seed broke against Brialla’s left inner thigh, smeared along it until the next pulsed freely directly against her. A slow, insistent, almost growling exhalation came from above, Kerendra’s hands once more finding Brialla’s hips. Not pulling her downwards, but rather pressing her against the desk, so that her treacherous body could not escape the force that would soon be exerted against her.

A single, high-pitched breath escaped Brialla, just then. Forced to look, where usually, she would see the ceiling. See Kerendra’s eyes, perhaps. See nothing, head pushed down into a pillow. Now, she both felt and saw that behemoth grinding up against her, felt the always-returning, surreal sensation induced by her mate’s girth, that her legs were somehow reseating themselves as that broad cockhead pushed up against her cunt, and then, just barely, into her.

Eyebrows rising, toes curling, feet arching, restless fingers near clawing against her own stomach, Kerendra’s progress was marked. Underlined by a held breath, straining muscle, air then allowed out and immediately hauled back in as that first, most difficult union was slowly, brutally made. Brialla’s shoulders tensed, her eyes threatening to roll upwards – would have, if not for the priestess’ sudden, soothing hum, which pulled her back into the moment. Back into the clenching tightness, the obscene girth inexorable grinding, pushing into her, each fraction of an inch gripped and held on to, and then released when Kerendra demanded more.

To the tune of staccato, high-pitched breaths from Brialla, eyes locked upon her flat stomach, teeth grit, Kerendra mercilessly pushed one, then two, then three inches of that colossal cockhead in. Brialla’s fingers, without her deciding to, found themselves against that first little, building rise, which marked her mate’s progress. An obscene mound wrapped in the already straining dress, which shifted, and grew, as another moment passed, as another half an inch of the monster crammed into her.

In her mind, well-known words flashed past. She was to say something. Kerendra enjoyed it when she said a few, specific words, but she could not, in that moment, recall them. Perhaps the sense of the priestess’ fingertips against her scalp robbed her of what shred of control she had learned to maintain when Kerendra first pushed into her, perhaps she knew the words, but was too self-conscious to say them in someone else’s presence. Not so much that she refused to do something as intimate and vulnerable as this before them, but to declare that – the words. To declare that she loved Kerendra’s cock, that was too much?

The first, hard thrust followed, and pulled from her whatever coherency allowed her to think those fleeting thoughts. Her hands lifted as the bulge grew in earnest, filling out, rising in a smooth curve around the beast within her. Reflex, instinct, the sound of cloth ripping, made her press her fingertips against the monster, some things too primal to stop, even with many years of repetition, and, anyway, Kerendra seemed to enjoy that she could still push Brialla to the edge, every time. Much like that declaration of love, that very same slipping control which set her fingers free to desperately push against the invading, huge, fat dick was a demonstration of the ways in which they were only just compatible. A needy, physical, wordless declaration of love, as Brialla indulged in it again, and again, and again. Despite knowing what was to come.

Another thrust.

Inch upon thick, weighty inch of cock pounded into Brialla, the hard grip of her hips no longer sufficient to keep her in place. She slipped upwards, head moving from the priestess’ fingers up onto one of her shoulders, where she settled with another thrust, an ailing, wet, desperately needy breath escaping her as Kerendra hammered up against her cervix. Especially eager in the priestess’ company, perhaps, to display her strength. To prove the extent to which Brialla had submitted herself, her senses, her experiences, to Kerendra’s whims and desires.

Paper crumpled and ground against the desk when Kerendra pulled her back down, back into position, so that the priestess might support only her head once more. Pale purple fingers dug into her skin, dimpling it, whitening themselves at the sheer strength leveled against her, crushing her, holding her down. No more would she be allowed to move so. Kerendra had, at least, graciously, moved backwards as she dragged Brialla into her original position, rather than making it conditional on taking more of that monster. Not that she would be spared, of course – not that she wanted to be spared. Dress risen as her stomach had, straining, on the verge of fracturing entirely, her fingers drew long, trembling lines down the slopes of that cockbulge, its shape, its raw obscenity a fascination that somehow never released its claws from where they had buried into her mind so many years ago.

Head held up by the steady, soft platform offered her by the priestess, Brialla’s eyes had settled on that slowly growing outline of Kerendra within her. Feasted upon it, clinging to it, knowing the moments to come. Breaths that had been labored, but under control, began to rise in speed. Ethereal sound rose into something higher pitched, ailing, as Kerendra did not thrust, but leaned forward. Employed her size, her weight, her strength, to press just a little further into Brialla’s tight, clenching cunt. Moment by moment, cramming just one more fraction of an inch of that behemoth cock in, smoothly-veined, fat dick disappearing. Increasing, ever increasing, the relentless, brutal, cruel pressure upon her compressing cervix, building up towards the inevitable conquest.

Thin, hissing breaths escaped Brialla, a dull ache, a demanding, strenuous kind of pleasure, emanating from her core, where Kerendra sought to stake her claim. That same, primal need driving her, the one she had displayed from the very beginning of their relationship, which Brialla so wanted. To say that she desired it was woefully inadequate. Mere desire felt not enough, and yet too grand, to contain what they both received from the brutal union of their bodies. Had her hands not been bound, she would have wrapped them around Kerendra, would have urged her towering, statuesque mate only forward, hands upon sculpted butt. In Quel’thalas, one did not mate. Much too animalistic. There, on kalimdor, among the kaldorei, people mated. Rutted. Fucked. The question of propriety did not ever emerge, nor did one wonder whether to submit was a shameful act. It was a natural act. To have found someone so thoroughly deserving of bonding with, regardless of the near physical impossibility of their coupling, you did not question.

And so, despite straining, despite whining, and wriggling, and pressing fingertips against the slowly growing, imposing bulge upon her stomach, Brialla tensed, and tried to relax, and never ceased wanting Kerendra to piston-fuck that monster of a cock into her depths. Even with those strong hands capturing her hips, even with the priestess’ fingers holding up her head, letting out ailing, halting gasps, she yet found the strength to try to rock back down against Kerendra. And be, in that moment, rewarded for her efforts.

Brialla’s eyes rolled upwards, her breathing simply ceasing after one trembling exhalation of far too little air, her limbs twitching, quaking, as her bruised cervix at last gave up in the face of Kerendra’s ceaseless, grinding pressure, against endless little thrusts of that treetrunk cock, and opened. Slipped over the smooth skin of that broad cockhead, clamping down behind its ridge, trapping the beast within. Allowing its still pearling, fat drops of seed nowhere to go, only to begin to build, to slosh inevitably within Brialla’s womb. Brialla, who, after endless moments, managed to draw in a gasp of breath. Who seemed unable to welcome it in, spitting it back out almost in a panicked hiss, her shaking fingers caressing the once more growing bulge upon her belly.

A singular, punishing thrust rammed into her, several girthy inches plowing into her womb. She raised her eyes to Kerendra’s, tremulous, vulnerable gaze meeting the confident, assuring eyes of her mate. Chin still near resting upon her collarbone, eyes slowly opening wider, eyebrows rising, blinking moisture away. Brialla’s whole body shook, then, when Kerendra thrust again, pounding another three inches of that monster in.

Wordless, now, Brialla wished to say what she knew Kerendra wanted to hear, and yet found herself unable to produce the words. All that emerged from her mouth was a steady stream of needy gasps, halted only when the force of another thrust supplanted through her small frame. She tried to wet her lips, dry from the constant panting, and found her tongue obeying her only in small spurts, so that, for long moments, it remained pushed out between her lips as she breathed and looked up. Another thrust, another brutally thick, languidly throbbing few inches of dick hammering into her womb, seeking their fullest possible depth, made her near choke on her own tongue, and so she pulled it back into her mouth. Shielded it behind burning, tingling cheeks. Relaxed, as much as she could, her body insisting on tightly gripping that behemoth, allowing that misting, foaming warmth to rise within her core, too. Not beaten down, but carried aloft by each of her mate’s brutal thrusts.

Kerendra was very close to hilting, and so, another thrust saw her, for just a moment, make contact with Brialla’s inner thighs at the deepest extent of that thrust, though she then fell back just a little. Fell into smaller, swifter thrusts, moving those final, massively thick inches of cock back and forth with coaxing speed, only slowly pushing deeper. Deeper. Until, at long last, still keeping up that hard, fast rhythm of but a few of those final, fat inches of dick, she bottomed out. Muscled, purple skin, heavy, sloshing nuts mashing against, smacking into Brialla, the force of their union only slowly absorbed, thrusts becoming rapid gyration, and then nothing but insistent, completely bottomed-out back and forth movements, Kerendra at last conquering the very depths of Brialla’s womb. Holding herself in, to the base, displaying that enormous, hefty bulge, against which Brialla’s fingers still rested. Caressed. On display, for the priestess, whose treacherous breath revealed that even she was not unaffected by the strength demonstrated by both Brialla and Kerendra. Every movement suggesting another rip in the straining fabric of Brialla’s dress.

A single, hard clamping down of muscle could be felt, Brialla certain that her beloved had just ensured their second child already. Straining from the immense girth plowed into her to the base, she nevertheless had to exhale yet more heated, needy, aching air as her mate’s colossal shaft plumped up just a little more. That thick cumvein rising but once, as a singular, full load of potent seed hammered into her, pressing past her cervix, a shooting, continuous rope impacting the inside of her womb such that her already distended front bulged a little further for several seconds.

That additional bulge died down, and, when Kerendra moved, allowed herself to slip back just two inches, and then crammed, ground, forced those self-same inches back into Brialla to the very hilt, just a little of that blessed, molten load found no room, and came coursing back out, connecting them more intimately still. Pearling, bubbling beads of cum came from within Brialla when Kerendra thrust those two inches of behemoth cock in, again, flattening, breaking, smearing between them. Forming into strands of seed that were broken and recreated from then on at every movement.

Without thinking, when Kerendra once more pounded those two, massively thick, innermost inches of dick into Brialla, she wrapped trembling legs around her mate’s waist. Hips held in that crushing grip, she still, in some instinctual way, wished to feebly ensure their union, ensure that they got what they both wanted. That Kerendra, with finality, asserted what had turned out to be the more expressive line; that she allowed Brialla to once more carry a very kaldorei child of them both. As a reaction to this gesture, though Kerendra could easily have broken free of the constraints of Brialla’s legs around her, she leaned forward, thrust forward, though there remained nothing of that monster of a cock outside of Brialla. And so, once again, she was pushed up the desk, and further up to rest her head against the priestess’ shoulder with an ailing, hard breath.

Satisfied, for a moment, Kerendra remained there, utterly hilted, completely bottomed out, her chiseled physique shimmering just so with the faint sweat produced by the effort of claiming her mate. Quite unexpectedly, Brialla felt the priestess’ fingers caressing, massaging her scalp, her cheeks, as if seeking to enable her to handle the brutal union – as if she had not handled it a hundred, a thousand times in the preceding years. She would have scoffed, then, but Kerendra, either knowing her bond very well, or merely seeking more stimulation, chose that precise moment to withdraw several inches, and then thrust them back in. Brialla’s core rose in fluttering, fuzzing points of light, her attention stolen away, words she might have said slipping her grasp. Instead, her eyes rolled upwards for a moment, and she turned her head towards the priestess’ neck, where she could seek stability. Refuge, for a moment.

Refuge that was taken from her, broken, in the very next second. When Kerendra hammered another thrust into her tight depths, a primal need for air, rather than refuge, seized Brialla, and so she rolled her head again, lips parted, a desperate gasp of breath coming from her, toes curling, fingers pressing harder still down against that obscenely fat cockbulge, as if she had any hope of influencing it. Was she trying to push it out, or to heighten Kerendra’s pleasure? Her own, somehow? She tried to get a single word out to express these desires, no more than a breathy pleading for something, anything, but that too slipped her mind when Kerendra slam-fucked more than a handful of those monstrously fat inches of dick in, again.

Brialla’s skin dimpled from the force exerted by her fingertips, squeezing, pressing down against the enormous, half-cylindrical shape standing out upon her front, and, to her fortune, Kerendra seemed to interpret this not as a pleading note to stop, but rather to keep going. To go harder. To lean into everything they had built together, over the last few years, surprising each other with the durability of Brialla’s comparatively petite frame. Kerendra withdrew again, twin handfuls of behemoth cock languidly pulsing, then powering back into Brialla with pistoning force and determination. A staccato thrust, followed by another, and another. Always a pause between each, emphasizing the strength poured, meticulously, into every thrust.

Breath sighed and then exploded from Brialla in a great, ongoing gasp each time Kerendra cruelly crammed that treetrunk cock into her, to the hilt. She gasped, almost sobbed with desperation for breath when it was pulled back, though understood herself to appear near tearful only from an odd distance. Overstuffed by that monster, overwhelmed, her stomach, her thighs, her forearms and cheeks and the tips of her ears all burned, tingled, buzzed with continuous, undeniable warmth. Something so steady that it seemed as if it should not be exciting, and yet, it carried aloft every sizzling impulse, every coiling tendril of pleasure. Hammered into shape by each ramming, hard thrust, each growing longer only until, at its furthest extent, the ridge of Kerendra’s cockhead dragged back up against the inside of Brialla’s cervix, feebly locking it in place.

All three together now rocked back and forth, Brialla settled with her cheek against the priestess’ neck, the woman’s eyes locked upon the very meeting she had forced Brialla to witness. That colossal, thick bulge, pounding up, and then back down. Never ceasing, never tiring, seemingly, and perhaps inspiring the priestess to feel some semblance of what Brialla did. Perhaps what Kerendra felt, too. She whispered some word, quiet, not a prayer, a word that took a moment to worm its way through Brialla’s mind, pleasure-clouded, sluggish, as it was. Not for her, she realized, then. The priestess had quietly called for Kerendra to do it. To finish it.

Kerendra’s fingers curled further around Brialla’s hips, digging in, taking a firmer hold, finally lifting her small mate from the desk upon which she had lain, taking full control, at last. Holding her up, removing her contact with the wooden, paper-strewn surface, such that Kerendra alone controlled the ceaseless, brutal thrusts. Brialla was bodily pulled down to meet those crushingly powerful hammerblows, from then on, inch upon inch of monster cock pounding in, until their bodies met with another resounding smack of skin against skin. Another hesitant blooming of aching pleasure in Brialla’s core, regardless of the strength with which Kerendra rammed into her.

Those staccato thrusts continued unabated for many more endless moments, time passing for Brialla, and yet becoming a concept with which she felt foreign. Its passage marked not by seconds, by the rising or falling of moon or sun, but ticking forward only to the steady, pistoning pace of her beloved Kerendra’s brutal thrusts. Bottoming out, letting the force dissipate, grinding herself in, though there was no more to force into Brialla’s clenching, tight cunt, not a fraction of an inch more to be plowed into her womb, bloating her with that steely, weighty girth. For but a heartbeat moment, she was blessed with that grinding closeness, and then Kerendra pulled back again, smoothly-veined, fat dick freed from the constricting confines of Brialla’s pussy, only to be pumped back in again. And again. And again.

At Brialla’s ear, the priestess still spoke quietly, almost having turned that call for Kerendra to finish it, to cum, into a prayer. Words tumbling from her lips at such speed that they near collapsed into incomprehensibility. Almost. Fingers that had once held up her head now casually curled around Brialla’s neck, around her throat, resting there. Undeniably present, and yet exerting little pressure, as if she were a mere handhold for the woman’s first row seat to the real show. Kerendra’s continual, brutal thrusts, hammering in to the base of that monster over, and over. Making Brialla’s body shake with each impact, the force supplanting, settling, only just, then the next came.

That steady pace of demanding, ruthless thrusts met its end not piteously, but with purpose. Kerendra settled Brialla back down against the desk, those strong fingers shifting to curl around her thighs, holding them in precisely the right position. Up, just a little, wide open, so that Kerendra could alternate between holding herself in, absolutely hilting that huge, fat dick, and powering an endless series of smaller thrusts of perhaps two inches of monster cock in and out. Unending, without a moment’s pause, until halting to press and mash herself in, then restarting the rapid, coaxing pace.

It was that grinding, that rocking, gyrating movement when Kerendra held herself in, that brought Brialla to the edge, balancing her there, precariously. It was the series of ten, thirty, fifty thrusts that pushed her over it, not any single one, but the pressure’s inevitable rising, those points of white-hot light buoyed, growing, the constant, hammering thrusts only allowing them to gather strength, not to release it. Never to release it. Only when Kerendra, at last, bottomed out and held herself in, moving, rising and falling, holding herself always as close as possible to Brialla, was that stored up, pounded, powerful, boiling sense of pleasure allowed freedom.

Not, for once, in a rising wave of satisfying, roiling ecstasy. It was a hard, punishing thing, that first wave of pleasure. Much as the next, and the next, her already overtaxed musculature flexing, hardening, clamping down around Kerendra’s behemoth cockshaft, allowing Brialla only to desperately gasp for superficial breaths in between those jittery, steely jerks of muscle. Only between them, it seemed, was pleasure allowed to seep out, but seep out it did, permeating, burning, coiling in every muscle. Releasing her only just, only enough that she could suck in little, high-pitched breaths, her brow lowered, lips parted.

It went on. Somehow, it went on, and on, and on, and only after endless, uncounted time did Brialla realize that the priestess’ fingers against her throat pulsed some continuing command into her, a soft, silvery light settling between those digits and her. Rising and falling, rhythmically, in precisely the way her body locked down, and then released. A coaxing, continual pace, which seemed to be drawing from Kerendra that most precious, final blessing. With the priestess’ aid, Brialla finally realized, they could come together. Something she had wished to give Kerendra for so very long, and yet been unable to.

Chin against her collarbone, whining, mewling with straining pleasure, Brialla felt, at last, a crashing, hilting thrust. The final one, settling Kerendra as deeply as she could possibly go, sentinel musculature quaking a few times, and then locking down in that first, bloating, massive rope of seed. Pounding from Kerendra through that wide cumvein, through that monster of a cockshaft, shooting as a molten, copious rope of potent swimmers directly into Brialla’s womb, coaxed the whole way by one orgasmic tensing of muscle after another.

Had it been a romance novel, Brialla might have seen them embrace in that moment. Some things were better raw, feral, not wrapped in civilized notions of togetherness, and that moment of rope after massive, fat rope, each pumped into Brialla’s womb with bruising, assuring force was one such thing. And, through the steady, quiet blessing, she was able to feel herself, her body constantly allowing, enabling, demanding Kerendra’s fat ropes, one after another, after another. Raw, and primal. Breeding

By the tenth, Brialla’s womb had filled twice over, making her still desperately clenching stomach begin to rise, a rising which continued as the seconds marched on, each colossal load adding more weight, more certainty, to their union. Adding more sloshing, potent mass to that little dome. A dome that rose again, and again, and soon lost the ability to call itself little. A distension, a hill, and still rising for every seconds-long, thick strand of seed, long ago having drowned out that enormous cockbulge, absorbing it. Her dress had begun to show clean rips by the third load, but soon enough let out a tearing sound of some finality, and then her stomach was, at last, free. To rhythmically pump larger, and larger.

The hemisphere, having grown into that, wobbled for each emptying, pounding load still pistoning in, Brialla allowed, at last, to come down from the last spiraling embers of orgasm, instead greeted by the straining of her massive stomach, still growing steadily, until the dome spilled over her flanks.

Coaxed by her orgasm, by the priestess’ efforts, Kerendra had outdone her most titanic previous efforts, and, for but a moment, Brialla wondered whether the desk might actually collapse under the weight not of her petite form, but under the obscene, bulging dome of her belly. She could find room for no more than superficial breaths, and for indulging in the caressing fingertips moving up her throat, to draw ethereal lines over her cheeks. The priestess seemed satisfied, as she withdrew. As Kerendra, slowly, began to withdraw that monster. Little by little.

In a doting, indulgent fashion, the priestess leaned down, allowing Brialla to just about catch a self-satisfied smile curling the woman’s lips. Suggesting, for but a moment, that almost nothing of what had happened had been an accident. The notion settled in Brialla’s mind, something to be examined later. Instead, her senses focused on the priestess’ lips against her cheek – a reward, of a sort. As if she needed any more reward than what Kerendra had granted her. Was still granting her, in truth.

Kerendra pulled back, inch by massive inch, Brialla’s tightness still managing to milk fat jerks of seed from her, now and then. Smaller and smaller, and yet still more than capable of overfilling cupped hands, had Brialla presented them for her mate. Heedless of the priestess’ efforts, for just a moment, Brialla let out a long, straining breath, hissing, as Kerendra employed some force to press first an inch back in, and then haul herself free, at last, of Brialla’s womb. Sealing within the future of them both.

“You shall have the contract, little Brialla,” the priestess whispered in Brialla’s ear, timed so perfectly with that sealing-in of thickly-flowing, potent seed, no doubt wriggling and burying into an egg in that very moment, that it could not be an accident.

With an amused, relieved expulsion of air, a sated, but tired smile, Brialla merely nodded. Too weighed down, too exhausted to even keep her eyes open. Kerendra would free her hands. Kerendra would lift her, and carry her home, and dote on her.