The Meeting

Without really meaning to, Silendiel had affected her old self once out of Neryn’s presence. Completely ignored the servant woman present in the kitchen alongside her, as were she back in the mansion, where her staff, through unspoken agreement with her, were a sort of mobile but otherwise unremarkable kind of furniture. Background objects which one did not notice, if one’s birth was of a different station.

So, to the extent that it was possible to fill a basin with lukewarm water in an imperious, refined fashion, Silendiel did so. Stared into the middle distance while she waited for a small remnant of water to boil, just to up the temperature of the water a little more. The way she would have wanted it, had she been the recipient of her service.

While making her way back to the main hall, to the stairs, she wondered idly why servants complained so of their lot, every time one caught them with time to chat among themselves. It really was a fairly minimal effort, this business of moving water here and there. Up the main stairs, a single precarious moment balancing the basin while opening the door by leaning her elbow down onto the handle, and then she was inside. A few more steps, and the basin was on the desk. Chair ready before it, for Neryn. Who stood by the bed, in the process of discarding her more casual outfit for her uniform, sparing a long, exasperated glance for Silendiel. Exasperated and, for some reason, amused.

“I should help you with that, o great and grand mistress,” Silendiel said, deadpan. Turning from the washing basin to her sentinel. “Should you not wash before putting on the uniform?”

“We have only so much time, devoted servant,” Neryn said, voice equally controlled and even.

“Spare a moment, at least, to let me wash your face and hands. You should be proper before the priestess,” Silendiel said. Feeling rather serious, all of a sudden. It was not a sense of professional pride that drove her, exactly, but rather a kind of vanity. Transferable vanity? If she were the supposed servant, and her mistress arrived in any kind of disheveled state, it inevitably would reflect on her efforts. She dipped a purple, somewhat rough cloth into the basin, and then wrung it out as best she could, turning towards Neryn.

“Perhaps your norms are different, little sun, but servants generally do not command those they serve in night elven society,” Neryn said. “Not that we have many servants.” She had still ceased trying to put on more of her rather elaborate, full uniform in favor of waiting for Silendiel to approach and do as she wished. “Did you often let your servants order you around?”

“Remember, beloved mistress, that we will again come to live in my home, and that my father’s whip is still on the grounds, somewhere,” Silendiel said.

“Physical threats, too,” Neryn quipped. “Truly, you must have hidden this unexpected equality of the staff and you well, if I did not see it before now.”

“Is this not just a little serious, o most gracious mistress? We are being accosted in the streets. Of my home.” Silendiel stood before Neryn, sat on the edge of the bed, and so, she had but a handful of inches on her large night elf, height-wise, for once. She used this position of superiority to step closer, the carefully dab the damp cloth against Neryn’s cheeks, and then her face. Enough to clean her, without rubbing so much as to make her skin flush in reaction. “Hands. Please.”

“It is serious,” Neryn said. She extended her left hand, first, for it to be cleaned. The back of it, the palm, each finger, individually, then the wrist. “In truth, I do not know what we can do to stop what has been started. Would my own people not react similarly if, say, an embassy of trolls showed up in Ashenvale forest?”

“Are you telling me that your Sisterhood of Elune would accept such a thing?”

“Unlikely,” Neryn said. She withdrew the left hand, presenting the right instead. Silendiel set to work on it. “Only if they saw some benefit to it.”

“Who, in Silvermoon City, sees a benefit to you being here? I heard nothing about it, until the priestess brought you here. Moved in,” Silendiel said. “And I cannot think of who stands to benefit. Other than someone trying to stir up hostile sentiment.”

“The priestess has a plan,” Neryn said. She remained silent for a few seconds, once both her hands were clean. Stood, towering over Silendiel once more, though she reached for a vambrace, rather than the small sin’dorei’s chin. “She would not have come here without considering what we have just talked about.”

Silendiel tried to assist Neryn’s efforts in strapping various pieces of padding, chain, and plate on. Some of it functional, some of it seeming rather more like the decorative, impressive, but somewhat useless pieces of a parade soldier. It took a while for her to decide that enough time had passed for her to probe, again, at Neryn’s loyalty to Iralis. “Why are we going to meet her now, then, to discuss what to do? If she knows already? Should you not know already what the plan is?”

Neryn sighed audibly through her nose, white eyes following Silendiel’s inexpert efforts in helping her. It resulted mostly in holding this or that piece in its position while Neryn strapped and clicked it into place, locking it down, but, if given enough time, Silendiel could perhaps become a respectable squire. But, then, if not for the meeting, she might instead have found one of the straps employed to circle her wrists a few times. Not the time. “The priestess will know what to do. With our advice, especially. That is why you must be there, too.”

“It seems to me that I must be there because it is becoming important for a sentinel officer in this embassy to have a suitable sin’dorei at her side,” Silendiel said.

“That is… only partially true.”

“It is entirely true. And you could have said that I make for good arm-candy,” Silendiel said, pursing her lips with mild discontent, for a moment.

“You have knowledge of the city, and the social climate,” Neryn said.

“But it would not have hurt you terribly to say that I make for good arm-candy.”

“Is that what you want to be? Have I been neglectful in not continually praising the curve of your ass?”

“Perhaps there are times where I want you to say that I am pretty, and that it helps our cause,” Silendiel said. She took a step back from Neryn, now fully clad in her purple, black, silver-filigree uniform, admiring it like a piece of art, or perhaps like a skillfully decorated cake which she had somehow contributed in the making of.

“You are courageous for choosing me at all, little sun,” Neryn said. She raised her right hand, the tips of four fingers coming to rest against Silendiel’s cheek, gingerly. “And you’re very pretty, and clever, too.”

“And if we were not going to the meeting, you would be straining the bed’s ability to carry us both,” Silendiel added, after a moment.

“That, too,” Neryn said. “Is it that obvious?”

“Your armor has a special section carved out to make room for your grandest blessing, o mistress, and it is obvious right now.”

“This is where you would expect me to embarrassed, were I someone else, no?”

“This is where I expect us both to regret that we must attend a meeting with your Captain, and the priestess, but we can deal with your excitement afterwards,” Silendiel said. She placed one of her own, delicate hands upon her stomach, which had, at last, sunken to a level that seemed more usual for her. Flat, and ever so slightly toned. “I need no blessing to handle you, mistress.”

“It does not suit you over-much to hold that over Liriel, little sun.”

“But, nevertheless, I do.”

#

They arrived at the door to Iralis’ chambers just a few steps before Tessa and Liriel. Neryn and Tessa exchanged some kind of gesture, or glance, but Silendiel’s attention was, at first, on Liriel. And then on ignoring her. What, after all, were her qualifications for a talk of the nature they were about to have, having lived a life as a commoner? What justification could there be for her presence save that she happened to luck into being the sentinel Captain’s preferred partner? Seneschal of the sin’dorei, and, so? Were it not for the blessing, the still burning glyph upon her forehead, she would not have had even that position.

While Neryn opened the door, Silendiel waited for her to pass. The picture of obeisance as she allowed Tessa to pass her, as well, before slipping into the priestess’ quarters herself. It was one thing to find oneself superior due to good breeding, and so she was, indeed, though it still rankled at her that being suitable for being blood elf nobility apparently also came with the ability to handle massive kaldorei cock. It put a certain perspective on past history that she imagined quite a few scholars in the spire would near **** to be so much as introduced to. Even setting that all aside, however, it was clear that Liriel knew the difference of class between them, deferentially remaining a few steps behind, halted, while Silendiel observed her.

Entering Iralis’ quarters was rather a rare occasion, Silendiel had come to learn. Once one was settled, to some extent, as she was with Neryn, the priestess became a rarer and rarer sight, her supposedly legendary plans and foresight – though Silendiel thought that latter ability ascribed to her rather unlikely – ever driving her towards new people. New horizons.

Iralis was as Silendiel remembered her. White robe draped from her shoulders, cinched at the waist. Dark blue hair, her skin a pale purple. Her face kindly, and yet vaguely unsettling, her facial marking an endless swirl of blood red. Save that, though, she came off motherly. Understanding. Soft, to the extent that any kaldorei spending time maintaining their physique can be soft. Certainly not the musclebound huntress her sentinels had been forged into, but Silendiel had no desire to fight her. Certainly not because the priestess’ attention, whether she was conscious of it or not, came with some odd charm of divine power. Woven into her pattern of speech, her vocal chords, her… something.

It took **** effort for Silendiel, trained in resisting mental dulling and warping effects out of necessity, to resist the urge to agree with Iralis’ every word. If Tessa or Neryn felt the same effect, they did not let it color them at all. Not a twitch, not a single indication of anything out of the ordinary, at all. Because they were under Iralis’ sway already? Silendiel almost scoffed, visibly, at such a thought. Her beloved was not so easily cowed. Not to be controlled by a look, a mere thought.

Both sentinel officers stepped forward, some five paces from the priestess, and then bowed from the waist. As Tessa and Neryn finished that motion, Liriel and Silendiel both moved forward to stand to the right and just a step behind their respective kaldorei mistresses, and then bowed in a manner similar. Liriel did, at least. Her new faith and station and indebted position urged her to do so, while Silendiel remained a noble of Silvermoon, rather than a follower of Elune. She graced Iralis with a bow of her head, which she, with some satisfaction, saw repaid in kind.

Liriel took a step forward. “Priestess, as you have no doubt been told, both your sentinels and embassy staff have begun having altercations with the city guards,” she said. “Each day, at every opportunity, they track us, and find us. It is a question of time until something regrettable happens.”

“The Lieutenant’s latest encounter is the most worrying yet, priestess,” Tessa said. She indicated Neryn, who nodded first to Tessa, and then to Iralis.

“I do not think them bloodthirsty, priestess,” Neryn said. She allowed herself a second to find her next few words. “But they expect us to be. I merely moved, today, and found myself with one of the city’s arcane guardians readying to fight me, and a handful of crossbows pointed at me.”

“Not even for scratching her nose,” Silendiel found herself saying, some indignation having found its way into her voice. “She was with me. In the bazaar. Doing nothing untoward, save looking at the goods on display.”

“This is not all, is it, Lady Flameborn?”

Iralis’ tone was smooth, and even. And yet, inexplicably, Silendiel felt invisible tendrils coil and rise around her mind, ensnaring her thoughts. It was easy to answer the question. She wanted to answer the question. But it made no sense to prompt her to do so, and so, shrugging off the odd sensation of being goaded into doing something she already wanted to do, she came to the conclusion that the priestess was not, at least not entirely, in control of whatever blessing that inhabited her, and accompanied every word and gesture.

“No,” Silendiel said, a moment’s silence having stretched too long. She felt, more than saw, Liriel glancing in her direction at the wait. “We know who is behind this most recent trouble. Lady Surielle Silversong – Suri. One of my political allies.”

“Have we taken another hostage, then, dearest Silendiel?”

“It would seem so,” Silendiel said. She looked in Liriel and Tessa’s direction, catching movement out of the corner of one eye. Hearing a muffled word, quiet, so as to not interrupt her as she spoke. Tessa had told Liriel to kneel, indicating the floor before herself. “Me,” Silendiel finished, at last, somewhat lamely, clearly distracted by the Captain and the Seneschal.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Iralis’ attention did not drift from the discussion as Liriel took her place before Tessa. Her eyes did not dart to the two, even if she was clearly aware of what was happening, as she waited with divine patience for them to find a position from which the talk could continue uninterrupted.

Silendiel watched Liriel reach for and begin to undo the necessary straps, undo the locking mechanisms, and set aside ornate, ceremonial pieces of uniform so that she might gain access to the Captain’s belt, and trousers. For a moment, Silendiel’s attention flickered to Iralis, but the priestess looked terrifyingly serene, attention resting principally on Silendiel. Did the woman expect her to do as Liriel did? Neryn had never mentioned that meetings would be like this, even if she, like Iralis, did not react to the changing of positions. The eager fingers pressing one, then another button open. Silendiel looked to her beloved, but found no answer as to what she ought to do there, either. Neryn did not move a muscle, did not change expression at all, made no indication about whether it would be appropriate, expected, even, for Silendiel to do as Liriel did.

“We have had dealings, in the past. Worked together,” Silendiel said. “Not on everything, of course, but with some regularity. I think Suri – Lady Silversong – considers me more than a mere acquaintance, and I would have said the same for her, until recently.”

Liriel had the last button open, fingers curling around the hem of Tessa’s trousers, tugging downwards in a great heave that allowed the hefty, fat base of the Captain’s monster cock to breathe. To be exposed to the world. To the rest of the chamber, at least. Silendiel breathed in sharply, and looked away. Looked to Neryn. The kaldorei seemed, as a rule, more loose and accepting of behavior such as what Tessa now displayed, but a civilized and proper upbringing was not so easily shrugged off. Decorum, Silvermoon decorum, was absolutely being breached. Demolished. Perhaps not quite spat upon, but close. And here she was, on the cusp of throwing herself into some sort of competition with a commoner, and her partner.

She meant to say something else. Something more. Golden eyes flickered to Liriel, on her knees, a hand behind her head, though it seemed unnecessary encouragement for her to indulge in exploring what was revealed of Tessa with her lips. Indecent behavior, perhaps, but there was something to the arrangement of large sentinel and small, kneeling blood elf, something Silendiel felt to be proper. Knowing, simultaneously, that that feeling was itself improper. Perhaps Neryn and her looked similar, when they were together? Perhaps they should have shown off more, then, to more people. Acted like the living art they, together, were, rather than hiding their union away in rooms in her mansion, or in the embassy.

“If she… Lady Silversong, has heard the rumors I regrettably instigated,” Silendiel said, taking a trembling, superficial breath. Liriel’s grip, as comparatively feeble as it was when before Tessa, nevertheless worked those trousers down until they released their greedy grip of the Captain’s slowly growing shaft. Silendiel took a step, not quite involuntary, but certainly not planned, closer to Neryn, placing a hand upon her beloved’s hip. “She…”

Silendiel took another breath, chest rising. Where had she been going? She had been talking about Suri. The rumors. She blinked, and shook her head, and then continued.

“If she heard the rumors, and believed them, thought me in danger somehow, she would be able to manipulate matters, call in favors, to rescue me, as it were,” Silendiel said. “Not that I need rescue, of course, but she may think so. I should meet her, priestess. Convince her, in person.”

Iralis merely nodded, in response. She heard Silendiel’s words, quite clearly, but said nothing to carry on the discussion. And, in truth, Silendiel no longer truly focused on their talk, having instead moved closer to Neryn to move the hand from the sentinel’s hip to the shadowed, massive bulge which Silendiel had helped conceal in the uniform but a few minutes ago. Delicate fingertips dented the cloth curving around the monster.

For a moment, it occurred to Silendiel that, perhaps, the priestess was not using her blessed powers consciously, which meant that she might, without knowing it, be encouraging her sentinel officers and their chosen partners into shameless, depraved behavior in her presence. What possible benefit could there be to this interruption of business? Silendiel moved to stand in front of Neryn, then, not to usurp her position in the discussion, but to do what she could to press and squish her ass up against her beloved’s languidly pulsing, fat cockbulge. A difficult proposition, given how packed away and shielded it was.

A large hand curled around Silendiel’s throat. Did not squeeze, but nevertheless directed her to tilt her head back. Neryn had leaned down, just so, pressing a rough kiss to Silendiel’s right ear, making her lean her head to the side, as well. Quiet words, as well as warm breath, spilled onto her skin.

“Are you sure, little sun?”

“I do not… need a blessing, to take you,” Silendiel hissed, quietly, in response. “I want you. I want you to show them.” A moment passed, the two of them silent, Iralis saying not a word, though Liriel could be heard exhaling in the background with some strain, as Tessa had begun the arduous process of fitting into her mouth.

“We are to show them the superiority of…”

“Of nobleborn ass, my mistress. Unless you object?”

The fingers curled around Silendiel’s throat, pushed up so that one joint of three of them encompassed her jawline, too, squeezing just so. Affirmation, but also a reaction to her impetuousness. Her challenge. Neryn was patient, and knew to stay calm during tense moments, but she needed little goading to sink into Silendiel’s ass. Had never seemed to need much to do so. It was safer for the Flameborn noble lineage, too, though Silendiel had yet to give up on her illicit dreams when it came to that. Another time.

“I take that as a no,” Silendiel said, her voice straining just so, her throat compressed. “Shall I help you out of your uniform, oh mistress?”

Silendiel had expected, then, to turn. To work her way down Neryn’s front, to spend a few moments acquainting her lips with her beloved sentinel’s musculature, impressing her appreciation upon it physically. To, only then, sink down onto her knees to begin discarding plate, and padding.

It was not to be.

Neryn kept one hand at her throat, the other working its way up behind her, infiltrating her golden locks, entwining hair around each finger as it found a deep seat at the back of her skull, cradling her head. With that grip, with a precise prod to the back of Silendiel’s knees with a leg, first one, then the other, it was easy to **** her down to the ground. To her knees, first, and then, as she bent forward, to the floor. On the edge of being pushed enough that she went entirely prone, Neryn spoke but two words to have her stay face down, ass up.

“No. Stay.”

She did so. A hand still behind her head, the other arranged her arms behind her back, wrists crossing over her spine, after which they were left alone. Silendiel’s head rested against sheer, uncushioned floor, but she did not complain. Without thinking, she had turned her face in the direction of Liriel and Tessa when **** to the ground, and, as Neryn wrapped her belt roughly around Silendiel’s wrists, she observed the meticulous, cruel strength with which a sentinel took her sin’dorei partner. Liriel’s lips stretched, straining, slipping past the rim of Tessa’s colossal cockhead, locking behind it. Powerful thighs, hips, core muscles, the grip of Liriel’s head, ensuring that not a moment’s reprieve was offered. Huge, thick kaldorei dick pushed slowly, but inexorably down the kneeling seneschal’s throat.

Behind Silendiel, Neryn had, it seemed, removed enough of her uniform. Ripped apart the plain, summery dress and the underwear Silendiel had chosen for the meeting, making her, for one moment, tense. Relaxing, then – making herself relax, with conscious effort – she felt the vast, fat base of her beloved’s shaft press against her ass, that thick cumvein settling between her cheeks. Hefty, churning nuts impressing their weight against her skin. Silendiel closed her eyes, and lowered her brows just so. She knew what was to come. Wanted it. The struggle, the overwhelming ache and pain, but the pleasure, too. The starved, little part of her mind that sought and received satisfaction in the combination of suffering hard work and being rewarded for it flared up in precisely the moments where Neryn worked to sink into her. Carnal work carried with it its own, natural reward, of course, but inexplicably, that spreading warmth was all the deeper for the exertion and sacrifice that came before.

Silendiel could not help but watch, every now and then, the progress of Tessa into Liriel’s diminutive form. In one of those moments, the priestess moved silently up, placing a gentle hand upon Tessa’s fingers, wrapped around the back of Liriel’s head. Conferring a blessing – serene, divine calm suffusing her. And, though it was clear that Tessa was much too enormous for Liriel to have any chance at all of taking her easily, the Captain still let out a pleased, deep breath. Without anything to explain it other than Iralis’ hand upon the two, sentinel and sin’dorei, three, six, ten inches of that monster smoothly disappeared into Liriel’s mouth, and down her throat. Tessa had to shift her footing to follow along, but, having done so, yet more of her girth steadily pushed into the seneschal’s maw. Until, in scarce more than a moment, the Captain found her kneeling seneschal-servant’s lips wrapped around the very base of that monster.

In that moment, as Liriel’s head bumped backwards just so from the impact of Tessa’s body against her face, Iralis’ attention turned from the two to lie, instead, on Silendiel. For a moment, the benevolence was gone, ticking clockwork of calculation having taken its place as the woman seemed to work out what to do with her sentinel Lieutenant’s partner. Not quite ominous, Silendiel thought, but a look behind the kindly demeanor that revealed that the priestess acted with purpose. Somehow. With purpose, and without full control of the smothering, divine power emanating from her.

As if expecting, needing Iralis’ permission to do anything, Neryn had remained largely still. Grinding back and forth, just so, enough that she had slowly, languidly swelled to full size. Weighing down Silendiel less and less for each moment that passed, as that behemoth rested less and less on her, between her cheeks, and more and more held itself up. Strong hands wrapped around her hips, holding her in place. Not that she was going anywhere, wrists tied.

Iralis, trailing an immaterial path of blessed warmth, spreading satisfaction in her wake, before her, in a way that Silendiel still had to actively fight against, so that her mind did not devolve into soupy comfort, moved over. To stand a step away from Silendiel’s head, making her wonder, briefly, if she was now to demonstrate her devotion to the kaldorei by kissing the priestess’ feet.

Such did not come to pass.

The priestess, instead, eased herself down onto the floor, legs crossed so close that Silendiel’s hair and head bumped against one cloth-wound shin. Without, apparently, considering the additional strain it would place on Silendiel’s back, Iralis wrapped terrifyingly gentle fingers around her head. Beneath her chin, beckoning her to lift her head as much as lifting it, shuffling forward just so. Enough that Silendiel found her head resting partially in the priestess’ hands and fingers, partially on one leg.

“You, on the other hand, Lady Flameborn, wish not just to serve as easily as possible,” Iralis said. She traced her thumbs gingerly over Silendiel’s cheeks, one on each, looking down.

Not quite motherly, anyway, but rather serious. Did she understand, somehow, that seeming the kind matron bothered Silendiel, and so, changed her demeanor? Neryn impressed herself upon Silendiel with more strength, causing her to shift forward just so, further into Iralis’ grasp. She could not stop a little expulsion of breath, of pressure, from coming out. Why would Neryn not just do it? Why had she indulged in this, in the priestess’ presence, at all? Thumbs stroked her cheeks once more.

“Focus, my Lady,” Iralis said.

“No,” Silendiel said, after having let another breath go. Half annoyed at the priestess’ insistence, half distracted by Neryn’s ever-threatening, looming presence. “I do not… wish to serve, as easily as possible.”

“You wish to earn it. To own it. To be sure that it is yours,” Iralis said. “And how better to demonstrate this than struggle for it, without assistance you do not need?”

Again, Neryn rammed into her, up against her, seemingly without point. Thighs smacking against her ass. For no other purpose than to demonstrate her strength. To rattle Silendiel’s mind, to needlessly remind her of the weight of those thick balls, of the girth of that massive, fat dick. She had been trying to reply. To say something, before her focus was cruelly stolen by her beloved sentinel. As much as she despised looking up at the priestess from such a low position, cradled, in her lap, she nevertheless did so. Heard, rather than saw, in the background, Liriel’s choked sputtering. The pitter-patter of fingertips against strong, uncompromising thighs.

“You chose this, Silendiel. With great determination, and courage. And desire. You face your own past, your desires, every day. Neryniael is very lucky to have you, and you her,” Iralis said. She looked up for only a moment, not even nodding to Neryn before her attention returned to Silendiel. “You have yet to embrace the Goddess, Silendiel. But you demonstrate the virtues she looks for in all of us, at every turn.”

Silendiel might, regardless of her position between the two kaldorei, ass up, face down in Iralis’ lap, have taken up the argument of whether she really was the perfect Elunite. The priestess’ devious plan slotted into place just then, however, Silendiel understanding it in precisely the moment it enveloped and embraced her. With her chin resting on Iralis’ leg, with fingers wrapped around her face, it was already difficult to speak. When Neryn, having slowly withdraw as Iralis spoke, leveled the first, cratering moment of pressure against her ass, between her cheeks, words flickered in her mind, tumbling to some immaterial elsewhere as overpowering sensation instead captured her thoughts.

Tensing her arms, squeezing them inwards against her own back, straining against the bindings of her wrists, Silendiel ran through familiar, reflexive actions once again. As she had so many times, and so they were familiar, even if the emergency, by its nature, felt new again every time. She arched her back just so, flexing thighs, and butt, and shoulders and arms. Her chin rose from Iralis’ calf just so, and, for the shortest moment, her eyes darted upwards, as if to roll, before she recaptured control of them. Her lower lip found its way in between her teeth, trapped there, breaths shallow, through her nose.

Neryn’s hands, large, strong, and thoroughly inescapable, curled around her hips. Held her close, and in perfect position. Near enveloping her, conducting her movement, and though she could perhaps have bucked and struggled, they were nevertheless in control. Exacted the toll required for the warmth and protection and comfort to be found in her beloved sentinel, in that moment. A firm grasp of her, pulling her inexorably closer, deeper.

The crushing pressure increased, and Silendiel experienced again the primal, alarming sensation of her small, firm ass being pressed into shape around Neryn’s behemoth. Molded, indenting, cratering to try to accommodate that massive, broad cockhead. Thick, sticky, huge beads of seed pouring forth, smearing directly against her now ****, straining asshole, soon squashed into no more than smoothing lubrication by the insistent, merciless ****. Neryn’s will, made manifest in those slightly bulging muscles, as if conquering her little sin’dorei was no more than light exercise.

Silendiel, unable to prevent her mind and body from jerking, trembling about, let out staccato, high-pitched breaths as she slowly, torturously slowly, felt Neryn physically **** a place for herself. Crushing, grinding strength that could not be denied allowed her to sink closer still, impossibly close, such that it could not be born any longer, finally collapsing the resistance of Silendiel, of her straining, clenching ass, to the inevitable.

Eyes rising, finding but not truly seeing Iralis’ placid, somewhat satisfied face, Silendiel’s breaths fell into an audible, high-pitched noise that emanated from the opening of her throat. Halting only to suck in breath, she slowly wriggled, squirmed one shoulder forward and the other backward. And, all the while, as she near whined and struggled, her beloved sentinel allowed her no escape. Not a moment of relaxation, of being allowed to gather up her thoughts, or of coherency. She had wanted to say something. Made some realization.

It was gone.

Neryn let a single, slow grunt go, one that turned into a longer sound of some strain. It accompanied that first, hardest conquest of Silendiel’s ass, the brutal, sluggish first few inches, never ending in so many senses. Eternal pressure, the small blood elf clearly straining and struggling and fighting, and yet, not allowing a single word to escape her that might indicate that she wished for any of it to stop. Only forward motion was allowed. Quite literally, in a sense, as Neryn’s grip of Silendiel’s hips only grew harder, such that she could go nowhere but where the pressure and the oncoming thrusts would direct her. An inch, a second, a third inch of that colossal cock grinding in, having **** her ass into a simultaneously pleasant and cruelly tight grip of that wide cock-crown, one that ever failed to hold it back.

Little by little, Neryn not thrusting, merely keeping up that steady, crushing weight of muscle, Silendiel’s body had **** but to accept. To take her. And so, slipping, grinding inwards, the sin’dorei’s ass at last clamped down, constricting around and just behind the rim of Neryn’s cockhead, as the sentinel finally managed to settle in.

A moment passed in silence, where the continual forward progress was called off. Neryn breathed a relaxing sigh, and Silendiel’s erratic breathing, her chest pushing against the floor in its efforts to fit more air inside of her, came down perhaps just a single notch. Still, her mind was occupied with the emergency of that behemoth cock having been hammered into her ass, the slight bump, the little rise of her stomach already necessary to accommodate what was inside of her pushing against the floor. But there was a small light of reason, too. Blinking, Silendiel found a little place in her mind where she could shelter, where jolts of sensation, of crushing pleasure, did not instantly strip away every thought. Her chin rested again, still, on Iralis’ calf. Fingers still curled around her cheeks. Stroked, occasionally, over her skin.

“You wish to earn her, do you not, little Silendiel? Prove to yourself that you deserve her?” Iralis’ voice was even. Calm. Comforting. Even though, off to her side, violent, mechanically steady thrusts hammered into Liriel’s throat, coughs and sputters and skin impacting the seneschal’s face, framed the priestess’ words. Even though Neryn had only begun. “Do you wish to truly prove yourself? I can enhance her. Make you have to earn everything.”

For a long moment, Silendiel looked up at the priestess, finding that she had no response. What was Iralis even suggesting? Making their coupling more difficult, somehow? Making Neryn larger still, as absurd as such a thing seemed? And what was the right answer? To the extent that she needed to earn anything with regards to Neryn, she did so every night. What more was needed? Did Neryn think more was needed?

Before the moment’s panicked, half-formed thoughts could resolve into anything, Silendiel was pushed into verbalizing no more than another high-pitched sound emerging from her throat. Her beloved sentinel had, once again, applied that frightening, steady strength, and pressed another huge, fat inch of cock into Silendiel’s ass. Two, and then three, making her tense, and then relax, a reflex she had tried to train into herself. Was still trying to train into herself. The little bump on her belly rose again, pressing against the floor, and she responded, involuntarily, by her steady breath turning into little staccato, almost shocked bursts. The feeling of bulging around Neryn’s vast, thick size was, somehow, always new. Always overwhelming. Pressuring. Odd, in how it made her rise from the floor, just so. In how it made use of every nook and cranny, of how it ground into and broke and rebuilt every part of her.

The mind-bending pressure dimmed her senses, as if Neryn had laid down, heavy, strong, overpowering, atop her mind. In the same way she sometimes did when completely hilted, such that they could be as close as possible. So that Silendiel could be as provably physically subdued and dominated as possible.

Another movement, an actual thrust, broke her line of thinking again. Iralis’ fingers stroked her cheeks, but her attention was torn away from the sensation. There had been something to answer. That was all she could hold on to as Neryn laid a hard, pistoning thrust into her, her beloved’s fingers creating little divots in Silendiel’s skin as they held her down. In place. Pale skin actually whitening from the **** impressed upon it. And, if not held so, she would have shifted forward. Would, perhaps, have seen her face mashed up against Iralis’ stomach, instead of merely rolling a few inches forward, and then sinking backwards once more, a little fuller. That bulge upon her stomach having grown thicker still. Rising, pressed against the floor. Leaving her, again, unable to stop herself from breathing little thin, almost wretched bursts of air, almost panicked. To her body, having to take Neryn’s obscene girth, she was under attack by a monster. A monster that might begin to resolve into pleasure, given time, but still one that felt as if it near rivaled her waist for width.

“You are being very good,” Iralis said, stroking fingers carefully over Silendiel’s eyebrows.

Silendiel looked up, uncomprehending. She knew that Iralis had spoken, had said words that, ordinarily, she would have had no issue understanding. Sensed vaguely, even, that a part of her mind had heard, and translated, but that it was simply not being heeded or listened to in that moment. So she looked up, golden eyes wide, a quick intake of breath snapped in before the next hammerblow thrust hit her, plowing fat kaldorei cock into her core. A handful of monstrous, weighty inches plunging that wide bulge deeper, further up her straining form, driving an involuntary breath from her lips. Finally free from her teeth, somehow.

Toes curling, nails finding purchase against her own palms, Silendiel continued to slowly move, squirm, no longer finding the time between increasingly hard, fast thrusts to come back to some semblance of coherency. Like an immaterial, cushioned blow directly against her mind, each time Neryn hammered another thrust forward, into her, another few inches sank in. And each time, reflexively fighting as she did, legs **** apart by her beloved’s presence, and violent movements, she found a flagging, flickering, but always returning little pulse of pressure grow. Different from the brutal, plowing thrusts, resolving each one, each crushing moment, into something else.

A slow, insistent pace for Neryn had left Silendiel gasping, without words, without the ability, even, to understand what she saw or heard. Only pressure, and in the wake of each earthquake, the **** of her beloved sentinel’s thrusts dissipating, a warm, spreading fog of pleasure in her core. One that was pushed down, was subdued, each time Neryn **** more fat dick into her, but came back stronger. Until, as the monster neared its root, as but a few plowing thrusts remained until the night elf could bottom out, that fog refused to be subdued. Fed, instead, on the overwhelming pressure, and strength, and weight. Rose with it, embracing it.

Silendiel’s breaths had turned from near panicked gasping to an odd, **** want. Pleasure, and yet the emergency of Neryn’s titanic size and strength persisted, all the while that coiling, airy, prickling delight combined with it. Fed on it.

Another thrust, managing only to jam and grind but an inch of Neryn’s behemoth in, as she came close to hilting. One hand moved from Silendiel’s hip, fingers instead curled into her hair, around blonde locks. It was not the deep, careful, controlling hold of the back of her head that she was so used to, when she took her beloved in her throat, but something looser. More painful. Tugging her upwards, lifting her chin from Iralis’ calf, making her back arch deeper. She rose from the floor, slowly, such that she, or rather, Neryn, could show off her progress, her conquest, by displaying that absurdly thick cockbulge, shifting, pushing deeper still, as the night elf continued to press herself in. No longer thrusting, but relying on steady strength and weight.

Long moments passed, Silendiel only vaguely aware that she had been raised so far that even the priestess’ fingers no longer caressed her skin. There was a longing, intermixed with the **** pleasure and crushing pressure. A longing to feel Neryn push up against her tight, clenching ass, molded around the very base of the senitnel’s colossal cockshaft, cementing her conquest. Demonstrating, beyond all possible doubt, their closeness. And as one heartbeat ran into the next, she could feel those final, fattest two inches sink in, little by little, until Neryn’s muscled form pressed up against her. Those hefty, churning balls settling against the back of her thighs.

In spite of the pain of a thousand pinpricks, Neryn’s grip of her hair growing this forest of heat and sharp ache, her core, her stomach, thighs, chest, cheeks, still lit up, burned with weakening, comforting pleasure. Mouth agape, something she realized only when she, at last, lost control of a drop of saliva that ran from her lips to her chin, clinging there for a few moments before dripping. Silendiel closed her mouth, and swallowed. Blinked, and felt moisture there, gathering, not quite tears yet. By the grip of her hair, she was tugged backwards further still. Closer, and closer, until Neryn’s breasts came to rest against her back, her shoulders, warm breath upon her ear, and head.

“Good girl,” Neryn said, her voice just a little raspy. Strained. “Little sun.”

As if the words had to settle, had to navigate some complicated maze before reaching her, it took a moment before Silendiel reacted. Through the intense pressure, and aching, through the dulling, weakening, and yet infinitely desirable pleasure, a sound of relief rose. Pure, and struggling to find its place, subdued as she was by her towering, beloved sentinel, it nevertheless found a way. Shaped itself into a little laugh at herself, one of reassurance.

“If we could but show you as you are now, to Lady Silversong,” Iralis said. She remained seated, looking calmly up at Silendiel. “She might think Liriel a subdued ****, but not you. You are here because you wish to be. Yes?”

Somehow, the question made Silendiel laugh again. That same sound of release, of reassurance, and of simple joy. She nodded, to the extent that she could, Neryn’s hand still curled around, into, entwined with much of her hair. “Yes,” she managed, at last. Too simple a word. It failed to express the depth of her emotion, but it would have to do. She could not muster any more than that.

Neither was she required to, or able to, as Neryn lowered her, gradually, once more, into the priestess’ lap. Kept herself completely, crushingly hilted, but allowed Silendiel’s chin to once more find Iralis’ calf, so that fingers could again caress her cheeks. Neryn’s muscled form still impressed its pleasing hardness upon Silendiel’s form, and she had no doubt that it would soon do so again. And again. And again. Pound her into a receptive, orgasmic mess, during which she might accidentally come to profess her devotion to Elune, when, really, her devotion was to the savage. The terrible. The wonderful. Neryn.

Once again, Iralis demonstrated a level of understanding that would, if Silendiel had been in a more coherent state of mind, perhaps have been frightening. With Neryn still bottomed out, grinding hard muscle against Silendiel’s conquered, pliant ass, the priestess caressed the near-prone sin’dorei’s cheeks once more, and then released them. Shifted backwards just so, enough that Silendiel’s head came to rest against the floor, rather than Iralis’ calf, and then stood. Not to survey the scene in a domineering, naked display of power, but rather as a benevolent superior. For but a moment, Silendiel wondered how the priestess had been trained, herself, and wondered if she had been in a position not so terribly different once. Facefucked before her superior. Assfucked into the ground before that very same person.

Silendiel turned her head to rest cheek-first against the sheer, plain wood, wishing for the cushioning of a bed. Or of a carpet, if nothing else. Not enough to speak out, not enough to try to shift to one side or the other, interrupting proceedings. Eyes flickered, then, to Tessa and Liriel, and she caught them in what seemed to be a pivotal moment. Tessa hammered two handfuls of dick into the kneeling seneschal’s face, impacting it with a resounding smack of saliva and seed-smeared skin on skin, the **** such that Silendiel wondered how Liriel’s nose was not broken. Came to wonder how her own was yet to be broken by Neryn.

Her beloved sentinel chose that moment to lean forward, the hand that had, before, taken a hold of Silendiel’s hair instead finding a rest against the side of her head, its palm against her left ear and its base, reaching onto the side of her head, fingers, for the moment, casually draped across her facial features. Not taking hold, not squeezing. Weight pressed her down against the floor, and made her close her right eye, made her take in a breath. The wooden floor was polished smooth, and so, no splinters bit into her skin, but even so, it was an uncomfortable position, one she imagined Neryn would not allow her out of for quite a while. Another sensation to add to the overwhelming mess and confusion of impressions.

Neryn planted her other hand, somewhat heavier, on the floor before Silendiel’s eyes. Leaned forward, and so **** her forward, and down. To the extent allowed by that fat cockbulge still running up her front, she was squeezed to the floor, her beloved sentinel pressing her down against it with weight, more than anything, coming to rest atop her, still hilted in her clenching, tight ass. Wrists still tied behind her back, flattened as best she could, she was treated to the feel of her beloved’s musculature shifting, hardening, relaxing.

So the two lay, Neryn draped across, atop, Silendiel, enveloping her and weighing her down, for a long while. Thoughts, sensations gradually stilled within, and so, Silendiel found some equilibrium again, even if her cheeks were still crimson with effort. And with the insistent, unquenchable fog of pleasure. A little, thin breath, part moan, emerged from her every time Neryn shifted, flecked with the straining bliss she could not escape from. The feeling suffusing every fiber of her being, until she could not prevent each exhale from coming out with a little ailing, satisfied sound, so permeated by weakening, quietly joyful pleasure was she. It was impossible not to give continual voice to it.

“I believe,” Iralis said. “That the two of you – you, specifically, Neryniael accompanying – shall meet with the lady to try to soothe her ruffled feathers. Do you accept?”

Without prompting, it was not, at that moment, within Silendiel to respond. Her face half pressed into the floor, lips parted just so. But, as moments passed without response, Neryn’s hand against her ear and temple and cheekbone shifted, curling once more into her hair. She was pulled upwards, or, rather, her head was pulled back and up, so that she could perhaps look at Iralis. In her ears was a gentle, but insistent hiss.

“Answer the priestess, little sun,” Neryn said.

Eyes closed, thoughts swimming without connection, Silendiel ran her tongue over her lips. “I…”

“Do you accept?”

It was Neryn, again. Making Silendiel emerge from the deep, thick murk of conquered pleasure, allowing her to rise to the surface, to decide. For herself. She spared a rare, precious thought for the control her beloved sentinel displayed in so prompting her, in the middle of everything, of being utterly buried in her ass, insisting upon her deciding, rather than being commanded. Even if her capacity for reason might be in question, at least it was her that answered. After another trembling breath, Neryn shifting just so, changing the way the pressure of that behemoth cockshaft applied within her.

“I… accept,” Silendiel managed.

Head held up for a moment longer, she glimpsed and understood Iralis to have nodded.

“Little sun,” Neryn whispered, in her ear. Affection thick in the two, simple words.

“Beloved,” Silendiel replied, her voice near breaking a syllable into the single word.

She did not have to face the shame of her diplomatic abilities having been so reduced for long, as Neryn pressed her back down against the floor. Placed her hand in its previous place again, though, graciously, she employed mostly the hand on the floor in raising herself up. In withdrawing just a few, massively fat inches of cock from Silendiel’s ass, letting out a single, slightly strained breath as she applied the **** necessary to grind it back in. Bottoming out, again, maintaining that same strength even as she mashed against her little sun’s ass, cramming against, into her, trapping her between floor and stony muscle.

In response, Silendiel let out a long, slightly shaky, ailing breath, one that occasionally rose up in pleasure, and died only when Neryn pulled back once more. The next thrust was harder, and faster. Something made to coax pleasure, to extract it from her and give it to Neryn, as if the little, bursting cloud of prickling warmth spreading in its wake was no more than an accidental side-effect.

Neryn built from rolling a few of those treetrunk inches of dick in and out to full, pistoning thrusts of over half of that mammoth cockshaft over the course of perhaps half a minute, the fingers that had merely draped over Silendiel’s features curling, finding purchase in places she had never expected to be gripped. One finger against a delicate eyebrow, one against the bridge of her nose, two pressing between her lips to hook into her mouth, cheek, one scrabbling somewhat against and beneath her chin. A grip that was arrived at organically, rather than decided on, each of those plowing, ceaseless thrusts settling her into her beloved’s hand more and more. Slipping forward just so with each movement, pulled back by that hold. Ensuring that Neryn bottomed out, completely, every time. Balls smacking against Silendiel’s thighs, rhythmically, solid pelvis against her tight, once-peachy, now clenching ass, shaping around her sentinel’s girth as it did.

Every moment, every ramming into her, built up an ethereal, expansive feeling within, the fog of pleasure becoming a roiling mist, expanding, somehow, despite there being only so much of her to fill with its imperatives. Curling back in on itself, fed by the terrifyingly steady thrusts, warmth rose and intensified within. Silendiel, without thinking, curled her lips around the twin fingers in her mouth, sucking on them, then relaxing, breathing, before beginning again. When unsteady, trembling eyelids betrayed her and opened, her eyes rolled upwards. The **** panting for breath from earlier replaced by a deeper, much less dignified moan which she managed to hold in against the **** of one thrust, only for it to be hammered out of her on the next.

A sound of pleasure almost guttural, grinding against a raw throat for a moment, left her as she descended from her refined, gracious, self-imposed vision of what a noblewoman ought to be, and behave like. Again, for every alternate thrust, steely, consistent tension pounded into her, tensing, relaxing, tensing again. Over, and over, to the tune of a body seeking, without her conscious input, the bliss of orgasm. Pounded towards that goal every time Neryn crashed into her, skin long ago reddened from those many impacts. Deeply red, and more, in some places, the ache at once burning and reinforcing, pushing her up, ever upwards.

For an unbearable moment, Silendiel felt certain that she would burst. Somehow. Neryn bottomed out in her, roughly, their bodies united once again. That enormously thick cock slammed into her as deeply as it could possibly go, the sentinel seeking for a moment to impress her strength upon Silendiel’s form before withdrawing again. That moment of pressure was enough. The final impulse, enough that the metaphorical boulder had reached its peak, and then started to roll on its own. Down, ever down, taking everything with it in its mad rush.

Silendiel, for a moment, slackened the grip of her lips around Neryn’s fingers, twitching. Her tongue quivered, as her straining, overtaxed system clamped down. Locked, for one long moment, and then released, allowing a brushing, sparkling sensation to rush over her. Like the spray of a strong current, it was only a meager sign of the pounding, rhythmic, spreading waves of pleasure, something almost monstrous, taking control of every limb, of her breathing, allowing her to do nothing but ride the waves out, weathering the storm, the pinpricks of something white hot but cooling rushing through her core. Into her thighs, up into her cheeks. Into her upper arms.

An eternal moment passed just so, and then Neryn laid another brutal thrust into her, momentarily dimming the storm, only for it to rise again, as strong as before. Stronger still. Silendiel gasped for breath just once, desperately, her body heaving slowly, steadily, with pleasure. To a rhythm not erratic, not urgent, but quaking.

Neryn, having bottomed out once more, clearly breathing heavily, nevertheless halted her thrusting, though otherwise remained in position. Still crushed Silendiel’s head to the floor, still ground herself into that rhythmically clenching ass, even if there was no further to go, but remained, otherwise, still. Allowed the writhing, pitifully gasping sin’dorei, her little sun, to contract again, and again, and again with something too controlled to be ecstasy. Conquering pleasure, satisfaction of something almost too deep to be comprehensible.

From eyes squeezed shut, but nevertheless rolling, Silendiel felt tears flow. Slowly. Through trembling, parted lips, she breathed shallowly. Her thighs sizzling with exhaustion so deep as to render her powerless, and nevertheless, she remained up. Held up, by Neryn, who did not abandon her. Who held her in place, when she was without means of sensing, of feeling anything but the punishing, hard rhythm of orgasm that was more **** upon her by her savage sentinel than taken, or sought. And yet, pushed upon her or not, she shed tears of relief, and rapture. Still, in that moment, tired-out muscles contracted, and so, coiling, piercing pleasure made itself apparent in her mind, but it no longer commanded her entirely. She understood the world around her – understood Neryn, at the very least.

The pace restarted, and, very quickly, reached its previous pace. Its steady, pounding, ceaseless pace, Neryn’s towering form increasingly leaned forward over an ever more surrendering Silendiel, until the night elf had planted her knees on either side of her little sun’s thighs, grinding as much down into her as forward.

A blur of hammerblow thrusts, of moments jerking forward from the sheer **** poured into her comparatively small frame, saw Silendiel through the next short while. Time, seconds, minutes, it was beyond counting, and so she only meekly tried to rise back up just a fraction of an inch each time Neryn withdrew, as if she could do anything significant for her beloved’s pleasure. She could, at least, show her desire. Try to coax Neryn towards the inevitable.

That inevitable came closer, showing itself when Neryn shifted her grip of Silendiel, hands curling around the blood elf’s body, around her hips, fingers reaching onto her stomach, still risen in embrace of Neryn’s mammoth cockshaft. With that hold, the sentinel pulled Silendiel off the floor, just a little, bringing her into position for a series of hard, continuous thrusts, piston-fucking but a handful of inches in and out at a pace the rhythmic, huge movements of many inches could not rival. Instead, ten, twelve, fifteen thrusts slam-fucked into Silendiel’s very depths, only for Neryn to pause. To gather herself for but a moment, then repeating herself. Three, four times, and then, at last, the sentinel did not cease. Not as such. Instead, the distance moved shrank, until she was moving perhaps an inch back and forth, smacking that behemoth cock in, bottoming out, at an incredible pace.

Judging from Neryn’s straining breaths, low grunts and groans of pleasure, the feeling of sweat mingling as skin smacked against skin, the pace took its toll. Silendiel felt the shake of muscle on the verge of overexertion from her otherwise inexhaustible sentinel, just so. For a moment. The last moment, before Neryn held herself in, crushing Silendiel to the floor, between her beloved, savage kaldorei and the hardwood. Held down, in place, by the weight of the much larger night elf, by unwavering will, even if physical limits of the otherwise seemingly endless stamina of the sentinel had been found. Bumped up against.

Neryn rolled a slow, firm thrust down into Silendiel, though their bodies were already married and mated, not a single fraction of an inch of that behemoth cock left still outside to be crammed in. All that changed and moved was Neryn’s weighty, churning balls, rising just so. More, with every moment, the kaldorei’s muscled abdomen hardening into iron. A single breath drawn in, and held, even while she seemingly automatically bumped against Silendiel’s claimed, clenching ass.

Finally, a single, strained, **** sound came from above Silendiel, as Neryn pressed down with brutal strength. Fingers splayed, curled around Silendiel’s frame, pulling her opposite, so as to ensure that they were as close as they could possibly be. Neryn, it seemed, was unaware of what she was doing. Acting out of primal instinct, which would be telling her a single thing with only minor variation on a theme, over and over. Bottom out. Hold yourself in. Claim your mate. Pump her full.

A heartbeat before the flood, Silendiel felt her sentinel’s already obscene girth pulse just a little thicker, stretching her to a breaking point. In the next moment, skin whitening beneath Neryn’s fingers, a cascade of relieved and yet still tense breaths spilling from above, a quake could be felt, the sentinel’s physique releasing its strenuous lockdown. Just for the blink of an eye. Neryn, after that, crumpled just so, coming to rest against Silendiel’s ass more than pressing down onto it, a taut puff of breath following. Musculature worked, and then hammered down, producing the massive **** needed to pound that first, sweltering, thick load down, bulging that cumvein as it plowed into Silendiel’s ass. Pumping a full, more than thumb-thick rope of molten, copious seed into her depths, a continuous, fat pillar that set to filling, to bloating her stomach all on its own.

The next rippling, hefty strand slammed into Silendiel, scarcely offering time for the first to conclude. A third, and a fourth, and, though Neryn weighed heavily on her frame, she began trying to push and roll her way to her side, something that her beloved only accommodated sluggishly. Every degree she managed to fight her way to, however, eased her strain, as her already cockbulging belly grew around that distension, rising with the thick, potent, colossal cables of jizz pumped into her.

Neryn’s hands remained around Silendiel’s hips as, at last, she rolled onto her side, dragging her little sun with her. Rammed in to the hilt, still, the root of that treetrunk cock locked in place by Silendiel’s clenching ass, no escape was offered or given by either of them. Silendiel soon came to whimper to the rhythm of those colossal loads, however, accompanied by Neryn’s sated, pleased, orgasmic breaths, her stomach visibly growing for each moment. For each massive, fat gift given to her, until smooth skin grew to a dome that drowned out her beloved sentinel’s girth, and kept rising. Steadily, rhythmically growing to a huge, sloshing bulge, over the course of half a minute, if not more, of Neryn’s continuously pumping, enormous loads of seed.

It was a blur of moments, rather than one specific, identifiable one, where they lay together, where Neryn’s grip of Silendiel’s hips relaxed, where a hand instead rose to lift her head, such that her ear, and then her cheek, and then her lips could be kissed.

Only then, at last, did reality assert itself again. Silendiel blinked, and saw the white robe. Saw Iralis, stood before her. Saw, a few steps removed, Liriel’s azure glow, the rune on her forehead fiery, her body covered in thumb-thick, coiling tattoos, each one shining as brightly as the rune. Her stomach bloated beyond pregnancy, and yet sinking already. If nothing else, a mere commoner’s need for help allowed her to spend less time waddling around with a belly bulging with the most recent conquest.

Silendiel let out a slight hiss as Neryn shifted, and withdrew just a few inches. She looked up at Iralis, too, expecting some kind of self-assured, annoyingly superior speech. An arrogant word. Something, anything. An interjection to prove that, somehow, Silendiel’s ability to couple with Neryn was granted by Elune. That her lineage was uniquely blessed, as if part of what had been selected for in Silvermoon nobility was the ability to take colossal kaldorei cock.

Instead, the priestess settled down on one knee, a pleased, if slight, smile creasing her lips. She reached out, the back of two fingers caressing Silendiel’s cheek along the path taken by a now mostly dried tear.

“You may even manage to convince her of the pleasures of friendship with the kaldorei.”

The moment hung between them, still, until shattered by Liriel. ****, coughing, shrill breaths stumbling over one-another as she was, at last, allowed to breathe by the Captain. An unbelievable, thick mess covered her bruised face – saliva, throatslop, seed, and more besides. Silendiel found herself oddly embarrassed to observe something she still considered showing off, herself. A most peculiar sensation, but then, what Liriel had suffered looked so much more grievous than she knew it to be when Neryn and her indulged in it themselves. Perhaps, then, that was how Surielle saw it.

She hissed again, quietly, as Neryn worked another few of those massively thick inches out of her ass.

“Tomorrow evening, with your leave, priestess,” Silendiel said. “I do not think myself capable of representing us well, right this moment.”

“Tomorrow evening,” Iralis said. She caressed Silendiel’s cheek again, and then stood. Turned towards her desk, apparently satisfied with the meeting, though both her sentinel officers finished it thoroughly spent.

Silendiel turned her head, and, before she could speak, Neryn pressed another kiss to her lips. She sighed around it, relaxed into it.

Tomorrow.