Union, At Last

Without fanfare, they returned to the safety of the embassy’s dusky interior. Bathed in low, silvery-blue light, rustling with leafy vines that somehow survived inside, alive with the occasional sounds of the sentinels and servants, but alive, too, in some promising, pregnant way, with silence that nevertheless made the senses acknowledge it. No one but the twin guards of the outer double doors received them, and so, Silendiel cast aside her previous decision to be demure and deferent to her big and mighty Lieutenant, instead leading Neryn to her chambers, their chambers, rather than to the priestess’. Reporting the predictable outcome of their meeting with Lady Silversong, which Iralis almost certainly foresaw, was not of great import in that moment.

Rather, what seemed important was to tug Neryn by the hand, by a few of her fingers, in truth, up the stairs, and down the hallway a little, and then into her cozy, dark chamber. Lit by slowly roiling azure light, which was dim enough that one had to wait for one’s eyes to adjust to see much by it. Not that Silendiel needed to see where they were going. She waited only for Neryn to close the door behind them, and then, for once, it was her turn to shove someone against one. With the cooperation of her beloved sentinel, of course, without which the prospects of moving over seven and a half feet of musclebound kaldorei were slim indeed.

“We should talk, little sun,” Neryn said, leaning against the door. She was terribly at portraying what was usually Silendiel’s part.

“So we should,” Silendiel said, her focus clearly elsewhere. “You start.”

Neryn’s immediate contribution to their discussion was to help Silendiel begin to unstrap her ceremonial armor, though she took care of the places that Silendiel did not – gloves, vambraces, pauldrons, and so on. Eager to use the jittery, nervous energy settled in her for something, Silendiel’s fingers, shaking just so, instead worked to remove plating hung from Neryn’s belt so as to protect her thighs, and then individual pieces of metal. Coating, chain, padding, all was inexpertly taken possession of and flung aside, or let drop. Until, Neryn still working to discard sections of armor on her upper body, Silendiel could work her slightly splayed fingers up under her sentinel’s shirt, feeling the dormant musculature of her core.

A moment later, Silendiel reversed the hand already against Neryn’s warm skin, and added the second, slowly, wriggling and crawling fingers downwards, worked them both under the hem of the night elf’s trousers, feeling familiar, slight padding, but also the inescapable strength which Neryn disappeared for at least an hour, nightly, to maintain.

For a time, Silendiel stood thus, looking up at Neryn. Her sentinel, who still removed a last few pieces of armor, and then unbuttoned her shirt, little by little, slowing down, attention upon Silendiel instead of the work at hand. That work came to a halt, only two buttons popped, one hand leaving it to instead cradle Silendiel’s cheek. The whole left side of her face, it seemed, everything from the corner of her mouth to her temple protected, warmed, by that careful rest into which she then leaned her head.

“Are you sure, little sun?”

Silendiel let her eyes fall shut, and she turned her head just a little more. Leaned into the hand now supporting her head. “I am as uncertain as I was the first time, my… beloved.” A moment passed, a gathering of resolve. “Perhaps you, then, will be entirely as careful as you were that first time. So that there are no accidents. None.”

It seemed likely, at least to Silendiel, that they both remembered that first anxious union, a kind of intentional falling into Neryn’s embrace, though she had hesitated to think of it as such, at the time. And though she asked and pleaded for her sentinel to be ever so careful throughout the entire ordeal, her fate had been sealed from the start. From the very moment Neryn, with fat, potent beads of seed building before she had even started thrusting, pushed in, and if not from that point, then surely when she her beloved sentinel conquered her womb.

Silendiel proposed to do the same again, the removal of the necklace, tossed to the floor somewhere, buried in a pile, returning her to a state not too dissimilar from that evening when she had sought Neryn out with some desperation. There was still time to make another decision, even with the blessed protection removed. Neryn had proved herself trustworthy, certainly in carnal matters, over and over and over again. She would not make so important a decision, would not complete the circle, until Silendiel agreed. Yes, that made sense. The logic clicked into place. Neryn was trustworthy.

By way of further responding, of ensuring that Neryn understood their circumstances, Silendiel nodded. To herself. To Neryn. Reached up, trembling, delicate fingers struggling for a moment to open another button on the sentinel’s shirt, and then another. The final one.

There was some shimmer of recognition in Neryn’s eyes, when Silendiel looked up. Some sort of knowing, deep assent, which did not reassure her entirely, but could be interpreted as her beloved sentinel following her train of thought, and choosing to operate within its undefined borders.

“I will be precisely as careful, little sun,” Neryn said. “If that is what you want.”

A roiling, strange feeling worked its way around and ever around in Silendiel’s stomach. Something on the cusp. Not quite cold, but telling her senses that it was. Not quite painful, but alerting her, nevertheless, to something going on. As if her body understood the precarious situation she was about to place herself in, and warned her of it. She drew in an audible, quaking breath, moving her hands so that they came to rest on Neryn’s trousers – on the colossal, fat bulge, growing with the attention lavished upon it. The attention expected.

They were new to one-another again, just then. When Silendiel had dragged Neryn into the chambers, their shared apartment, really, it had been with thoughts of ripping clothes off, of sinking to her knees to encourage her beloved sentinel, only to then swan confidently over to the bed, where they could complete their union. That plan still lived somewhere in her mind, but she no longer had the will to carry it out. Only to pose meek, feeble questions. Make little, ineffectual gestures, which might nevertheless propel the game onward, even if Silendiel, in a fit of unrecognizable cowardice, relied on Neryn do what needed doing.

“Promise?”

A different person. Neryn had made her a different person. From confident noble to whimpering, conflicted, needy girl. And then, again, to confident lover. Back, now, to that trembling girl. Someone she did not want to be. But could not escape the claws of.

“I promise, little sun,” Neryn said.

She seemed, in that moment, a creature of the darkness, some small fragment of that age-old dream and reality combined, from when Silendiel was briefly held captive by an escaped kaldorei war prisoner, brought to Silvermoon. A hundred incomprehensible thoughts had rushed through her head, that day, those scarce few minutes for which she was the captive of that emaciated, feral elf – someone else. Not Neryn. But someone who-- what if that elf had had more time? Had decided to have her way with the foolish noble girl who had come too close? The utter, sordid scandal of it all.

“Remove your clothes. And then mine,” Neryn said.

Mechanically, unable to summon the sensuousness she so desired to infuse into the moment, Silendiel did as she was asked. Cast aside the outfit she had put on to appear presentable to Surielle, Piece by piece, until nothing remained. Until, quivering, her fingers reached, once more, for Neryn’s trousers. She fumbled for a button, but was stopped, her head seized in a harder grip, tilted up, her sentinel’s lips pressed to hers. Warmth billowed from that kiss, spilling down. Expanding in her chest, doing quiet battle with that not-cold, not-painful sensation which had taken hold of her.

“You said something,” Neryn said, withdrawing from the kiss just so. “In this Silversong’s home.”

“I did,” Silendiel responded. The battle still underway within, some coil of deep sadness manifested in her throat, still, tightening, making her swallow, pushing at her eyes, as if she were going to cry at the removal of lips from hers. She swallowed again. Silly.

“What did you say, little sun?”

“I love you,” Silendiel said, quietly.

“And?”

“And that you love me.”

“I wish you understood that,” Neryn said. “You have said it, but a part of you still thinks you have to fight for me, prove yourself, prove our feelings for each other. Silly.”

“You have… you -will- change everything, beloved,” Silendiel whispered. “Everything. I cannot bring myself to do it.”

“But you wish for me to?”

Silendiel nodded, silently, after moments of stillness. Nodded. Again. “To… carefully…”

The response to this stumbling, hesitant, new woman inhabiting Silendiel’s body was simple. Neryn’s hand, previously caressing, stroking Silendiel’s cheek, moved. Took a hold of her face in a most undignified manner, thumb on one side, caving in a cheek as she let her teeth part within her mouth, palm settled under her chin, the remaining fingers pressing from jaw up to her cheekbone. What she had wanted to finish that stumbling sentence with, she did not know, and if a word had been forming within her mind, it was now extinguished.

Silendiel breathed in through her nose, chest rising, cheeks tingling beneath Neryn’s grip of her face. That cool, nervous feeling that had captured so much of her surged, finding herself much less the willing partner, but rather the willing prey.

“The truth, little sun,” Neryn said, her gaze having grown colder, more appraising of Silendiel. “Is that you have desired this since you first saw me. Unable to say it, you still want it. Continue your work.”

A gesture of her head, downwards, made Silendiel **** her trembling fingers back to the task at hand. Her head still captured, she could only look up at her beloved sentinel even as she opened another button, and another, and then felt Neryn’s trousers sag open just so. Hanging onto her hips, straining around the colossal girth she knew so well. Digits traveled across the muscled form of her sentinel, finding where the garment had settled, digging in beneath it to urge its further descent. Enabled by a shift in position from Neryn, the trousers slipped and fell to the floor, pooling around the night elf’s feet.

Measured, with slow steps so that Silendiel could keep pace, Neryn moved towards the bed. Kept going, until the back of Silendiel’s knees found the edge of it and, as the pressure never abated, made her seat herself. Encouraged, dragged by that same, uncomfortable grip, she shifted further onto the rumpled, purple covers, exhaling now and then, dispelling what strain she could.

Finally, Neryn released the grip of her chin, and cheeks, crawling onto the bed herself, knees moving up, pressing Silendiel’s legs up, and to the sides, so as to make room between them. Neryn, both arms extended, fell forward, hands landing on the bed to either side of Silendiel’s head. Perhaps not physically caged, now, but the muscled weight above her could very easily keep her in position, if so employed, just as her sentinel’s strength could cage her without the need for iron bars. One hand moved, then, not to restrain her, not in that immediate moment, but to instead move that behemoth up, into position, smacking against her front. Making its weight, its colossal girth, felt against her stomach, warm, and to her half-panicked senses, something near the width of her waist. She had no need to talk up her beloved’s blessings, but, looking down on the slowly thickening, growing monster, it seemed just that.

The same care as their first time was on full display, a thumb-size, growing bead of potent seed, fat, ready to burst, smeared against and onto her at Neryn’s desire. Merely hanging there, for now, though it would soon roll, soon smear into her skin, worked between that mammoth shaft and her comparatively petite form.

Silendiel’s eyes remained glued to that ominous promise, even when she began to rock back and forth. Neryn, a hand pressed to the top of that massive cockshaft, having begun moving back and forth, coaxing herself the last of the way towards full, languidly throbbing might. Smooth skin, woven around that dense, steely shaft, caressed Silendiel, the weight of the beast weight always astounding to her. That she could contain it, but, just as much, that Neryn could wield it, seemed an ever-marvelous, terrifying fact.

Neryn pushed forward, deeply, so much so that her huge, fat balls dragged upwards, coming to rest against Silendiel’s inner thighs. Against her cunt, as if acquainting her with her future. Underlining the absolute madness of any promises to be careful. Neryn’s obscene size, and strength, and insistence, seemed to void any promise other than that she would bottom out, and hold herself in to the root, pumping herself empty in Silendiel’s depths. And, quietly, Silendiel wanted only that. To hear the strained, grunting breaths, to feel the powerful, rhythmic contractions of muscle against her. To feel full, beyond fullness. To forge a bond between them that would be unbreakable.

Above Silendiel, Neryn’s body was lit only by the dim glow of golden, sin’dorei eyes. Her face in stark, sharp contrast, gold drowned out by those piercing whites. For one brief, blessed moment, her beloved sentinel raised one hand from its position against the bed, and caressed the back of four fingers over one pale cheek.

“I will be so very careful, little sun.”

Tearing her eyes from Neryn’s, Silendiel looked down as she felt that behemoth slipping back. A small, warm pool of almost shimmering, pure white seed had settled against her skin, between her breasts, over her sternum. From it, a long, stretching cable connected to Neryn’s broad cock-crown, the promise to be careful seemingly already hanging by a thread as thin as that strand, which soon broke. Part of it splattered against Silendiel’s lower stomach, the rest receding up into a new, building, thick drop. Clinging. Ready to break, to smear, to push into her absolute depths, crammed into her as far as it could possibly go by Neryn’s brutal, ceaseless efforts.

Her legs were pushed apart further, and then up, Neryn’s hands finding the back of her knees, curling her up so that her toes came to near touch the covers above her head, on either side of it. And, a breathless moment later, Neryn pushed up against her. That thick bead of cum broke, and smeared between them, nowhere to go but inwards, as Neryn clearly sought to take what was hers. She pressed that colossal, fat cockhead up against Silendiel, her pussy responding to that **** by opening, molding, squeezing tightly around the massive crown, a single inch of it managing to sink in with that first effort.

She shuddered, then, seeing, more than feeling, as Neryn’s core trembled. A moment later, a fat, partial load, enough that Silendiel’s hands cupped would overflow if made to try to contain it, nevertheless, pounded against her, the thick, clingy seed connecting them inextricably. Most of it flowing freely from her, but some, certainly with Neryn’s iron muscle, pumping deeper. But an accident, assuredly, despite the seemingly coaxing, straining grunt from above.

The strength behind the inexorable, all too familiar pressure grew, and Silendiel fought to relax. Released first deep breaths that came from her chest, their source gradually rising up into her throat, until it seemed that she took in only halting snaps of breath to expel it again, gaining nothing from it but the ability to produce a thin, high-pitched, ever rising sound. A reaction she could not control, as Neryn sank in, slowly, molding, making room for her sheer, obscene girth, seeming to resettle Silendiel’s hips sideways – creating the feeling of just that happening, at the very least. Had it been that way, that first night, too?

Her stomach rose in first a hint of a bulge, and then a more defined one. A little fist-sized hill, which ever packed on more size, more volume. Locked her eyes to it, at first, forcing from her a series of audible gasps as her hands snaked down over the covers, and up onto her body. Trembling fingers laid upon the growing rise, as if it were a delicate thing, apt to break at the simplest touch. Even though, as Neryn expelled a satisfied, slightly strained breath, grinding another inch of that behemoth into Silendiel’s tight, clenching cunt, the supposedly fragile bulge bulked out yet further, with seeming ease. With nothing else to do, the night elf pressing more of that massively fat monster of a cock in, the little hill rose.

Silendiel’s eyes slipped from the bulge, resting only for a moment upon what she could see of her beloved sentinel’s colossal cockshaft still outside of her, waiting between her and her beloved for the appropriate, steady strength to be applied, so that they could be wholly unified. Gaze slipped upwards, then, to strong thighs, to the flexed, clearly defined abs – not on display, for Neryn was not parading herself, as such. Merely taking what was hers.

“Careful,” Silendiel managed, then, a whisper, a little word, something easily trampled beneath the metaphorical feet of her beloved. Nevertheless, a word that managed to produce a moment’s pause, even though that treetrunk cock remained inside of her, the broad, slowly pulsing head enveloped, its ridge captured. Fat, persistently produced drops of potent seed still beaded, and instantly broke, and smeared, and became one with Silendiel. The thick substance, even now, in a reaction to the weight and strength applied by Neryn to cram as much huge dick in as she had already managed, slowly bubbled and flowed out of her, rolling, drooping to the covers of the bed, waiting to be absorbed there. Waiting for Neryn to hilt herself, so that they might near glue her weighty, potent nuts to Silendiel’s skin.

Neryn shifted as Silendiel’s eyes finally tore themselves from the night elf’s physique, traveling upwards over her chest, straying to a strong shoulder and upper arm, up along her neck, to her face, still in contrast from the light of her eyes, and of Silendiel’s own. The red markings, lines dragged from her forehead and down over eyebrows, cheeks, nose, seemed closer to black. Lips parted just slightly, allowing breath out, displaying the tips of her fangs. That much, Silendiel saw. Neryn leaned forward, then, such that her elbows came to rest behind her little sun’s knees, instead, one hand on the covers, the other smearing, pressing against one cheek. Forcing Silendiel’s face to the side, down against the bed, though she dared to work against the motion, mouth opening, one of her beloved’s fingers caving in her cheek just so as her teeth parted. But she could just barely strain to look up, to see the intensity in Neryn’s eyes.

What she could see, then, for a time, became irrelevant. Became something she registered, but something slipping into the background. Neryn had resumed her forward pressure, had begun to rock back and forth, just so, ever jamming more colossal cock into Silendiel’s clenching, tight cunt, and that gyrating back and forth lead to the first meeting of that huge crown and her cervix. A shock of white-hot, short-circuiting tension that kept a breath involuntarily in Silendiel’s lungs, only for it to be let out in a **** gasp. She snapped another, a replacement, catching Neryn’s scent anew. As if that grinding impact had reset something within her. Clean, and comfortable, and warm, and always the note of forest in rain, of wet leaves, one sensory impression that seemed to call forth another. A thousand droplets hitting leaves, making them rustle.

A brief interlude, only. For the second time, Neryn rocked up against, and impacted her cervix, and flattened it just so. And, again, Silendiel let out a sound twisted with a note of overwhelmed shock, raising her right hand from the moving, ever-growing cockbulge upon her stomach to instead wrap fingers around Neryn’s wrist. On the hand pressing her head sideways down into the mattress. Not that she wished to remove it, she wished nothing in that moment. Could focus on nothing, save her digits finding safe harbor somewhere, jittery, grasping, scrabbling for a hold before she compressed once more, eyes rolling upwards as that insistent, rolling, inescapable strength pressed that huge, fat cock up against her again, inner wall pushed back. Neryn barely retreated after that thrust, and so, Silendiel’s fingers turned into claws. Feebly, not able to reach quite yet, her other hand nevertheless reached for Neryn’s hip, as if the light pressure of her pale fingers would somehow stop the towering, ceaselessly moving, conquering kaldorei.

Silendiel’s ability to even breathe had fallen away. Slipped her grasp, at some point, and so she only quietly writhed. Eyes rolled up not quite all the way, her mouth having worked itself open without her conscious command. One of Neryn’s fingers curled into it, hooking her cheek. She shifted, not so much as a gasp leaving her as the enormous, statuesque sentinel pressed fat, conquering cock into her, flattening, brutally pressing against her cervix. Demanding more than was given.

Another rolling thrust, and with it, Neryn leaned down. Closer. Not just her arms, but her body beginning to keep Silendiel in place, legs still up, pressed back, feet above her head. Another thrust, and another, the crushing, mind-breaking pressure seeming, somehow, to increase with every passing moment. But, in spite of this, she found her breathing again, inhaling little, **** gasps, shaking, trembling, halting again every time Neryn crammed that immense, thick dick in, another half inch. Another inch. Another.

Finally, in one rushing moment that saw all that pressure shatter, dissipate, and then build back up into a wholly new, more complete sense of fullness, Neryn ground another thrust forward, and held it, unrelenting, until Silendiel opened, her cervix giving way, at last, a barrier battered down, subdued, slipping over her beloved sentinel’s broad cock-crown, until able to clamp down around it, behind its ridge.

A new rush of panicked pleasure, of overstimulation, battered Silendiel’s senses, and was allowed nothing other than to rise to new heights for every steady, relentless thrust which Neryn now indulged in. That behemoth conquered, filled, and pressed ever harder, deeper into Silendiel’s womb, some sense within her aware that her beloved sentinel’s endlessly pearling, sweltering, potent seed now began to pool within her defenseless core.

The press of white, almost blank, searing, incomprehensibly cold sensation upon her mind was the first to begin to resolve. Into straying, fraying coils of pleasure, each somehow pushing behind her eyes, making her pant in tearful desperation that expertly masked pleasure. Closer, and closer, Neryn’s strong thighs, core muscles, would soon impact her, completing their blessed union, locking her in place. Silendiel tried, in vain, to express this most urgent, most wretched desire for her beloved sentinel, but found her body resistant to her commands. The hand around Neryn’s wrist, the one that should have caressed, encouraged, still grasped, such that her fingertips whitened. Her toes curled. Had she not been weighed down by her sentinel’s weight, by that colossal cockshaft, her back would have arched. Even the trembling fingers of her left hand, finally meeting Neryn’s strong pelvis, could not manifest a stroke, but rather a feeble pressing against those ceaseless thrusts.

Of those massively thick inches of kaldorei monster cock, only a few, the final, thickest, were left outside. And, as Neryn set to the work of hammering them into Silendiel, she descended further, leaned down so far that they both moved as one, rocking back and forth with each thrust, close enough that breath spilled across Silendiel’s cheek. Lips, their warmth felt, pressed against Neryn’s fingers. They moved aside, just so, and smeared against Silendiel’s cheekbone. Retreated, then found the base of her ear. A crushing, slam-fucking thrust, and another inch hammered in, her body quaking, clenching, protesting and finding elation and pleasure in it, all at once. Another thrust. And another.

Finally, Neryn came to rest against the back of Silendiel’s thighs. Against her ass. Churning, weighty balls settled against her skin. Her fingers trapped between herself, and Neryn, unable to complete the mission she had not given them, unable, with their few taps, to stop the towering, conquering kaldorei’s progress, merely to feel the strength and weight against which they fought.

“Good girl,” Neryn whispered, then, between hard breaths, into Silendiel’s ear.

A pause, then. Three words followed which Silendiel, for most of her life, had imagined she might hear, but never in circumstances such as this. Trapped, cocooned beneath a massive, statuesque night elf, her beloved, filled to the absolute brim with monstrously thick dick. Head not held, but savagely pressed sideways down into a mattress. And still, upon hearing them, they settled in her mind, finding a place from which they would never be dislodged. Never forgotten.

“I love you.”

There was no time to respond, had she been able. If she had, that ability would have been taken from her, for Neryn withdrew a handful of inches, and then crammed them back in, a single, aggressive move. The bed, which had withstood much, creaked beneath them as the **** of that single thrust supplanted first into Silendiel, and then into the frame. Another thrust of the same strength, and then another.

Neryn settled, bottomed out entirely in Silendiel, against her, fingers once more trapped between them. Providing painstakingly clear, sensory confirmation that the sentinel’s musculature shook, flexed, as she rose against Silendiel’s form, those huge, heavy balls likewise rising, just once. A massively thick, boiling load pounded through that cumvein, Neryn releasing a strained breath as that fat rope pumped directly into Silendiel’s womb. An errant thing, an accident, and yet, once again, the sheer volume of it enough to fill the noblewoman’s cupped hands twice over. But a single, sweltering proof of Neryn’s potency. Assurance that she could give the Flameborn family not just a single heir, but whole litters of them.

At the next, hilting thrust, the sheer flood of that single load caused thick droplets and strands of it to work their way back out, pressured to find nooks and crannies such that, around the base of Neryn’s colossus, pearly-white, sluggishly-flowing drops of seed escaped, splattering, captured between their bodies, and smeared against them both, making the staccato, hard, smacking impacts of skin for each thrust all the sharper.

Silendiel tried to say something. To reply. But was, every single time, interrupted. As if Neryn worked specifically to interrupt her with one of those brutal, bed-breaking thrusts every time she managed to gasp the single, first word out. Again, and again, and again, she was interrupted, managing only ever to repeat one thing. I. I. I.

Love you. Love.

Love.

The hand that held her head down, sideways, against the bed, grew lighter. A moment later, both sides of her head were held, each by one of Neryn’s hands, and she was allowed to look up. Could have looked up, had not her eyes constantly rolled up as a reaction to every renewed, hard thrust, cementing her beloved sentinel’s conquest of her womb. Hilting, hard, every second. She tried, still. Tried to speak. Failed to produce more than whimpering, moaning breaths, failing even that when Neryn leaned down, pressing a kiss to her lips. For a long moment, rocking back and forth, thrusts never ceasing, hammering cruel pleasure into her surrendered body, sweet weakness spreading from each impact. She wanted to say it. To say it. Say… something. Neryn’s lips left hers, and her sentinel settled instead, for a moment, her forehead against the covers, next to Silendiel’s. Whispered as much into the bed as into her ear.

“I know.”

Rough lips against her cheek. Then Neryn’s hand once more **** her head down, sideways, two fingers curled into her mouth, depressing her tongue so that she no longer had a chance to say anything, had she been capable of it. Rocking back, and forth, breath squeezed from her lungs in straining bursts, such was the **** of those consistent thrusts.

Something had come loose in the bed, at long last, after weeks of punishment. Squeaking, rattling, creaking in a threatening way. Had she not currently been thoroughly occupied by Neryn’s efforts, Silendiel might have reacted, but as it was, each sharp sound of woodwork in pain was only one more thing added to the overwhelming sonata of sensory impressions accompanying each brutal, hammering hilting of her beloved’s monster of a cock.

Each thrust added more fuel to the embers of pleasure that burned low, but consistently, in every limb. In her mind. It was difficult to think, even to consider the coiling, tingling warmth as a small thing, so pervasive was it. Rippled with each ramming thrust, each bottoming out of Neryn’s behemoth, as were it a largely still ocean, pulled upwards by tidal forces without any ****. It would, inevitably, rise to the lip of the harbor-front, and spill over. Break the dams, and cascade out. The sheer, crushing strength which Neryn poured into each hard meeting of their bodies, having built up a steady pace of several handfuls of inches pounding in, and out, threatened to collapse what remained of those barriers.

Silendiel tried to say something, knowing not what. A sound that collapsed into incomprehensible nothings as her tongue met Neryn’s fingers in her mouth, the response only to press down harder on it. Only breathing remained, ailing, wet with tears, and yet falling into an almost pitiful moan again, and again. She thus whimpered her way towards inevitable climax, not so much coaxed, not coaxing herself, but hammered into shape. Her cockbulging form, her straining core collapsing, clamping down, flexing, though it could not hope to stop Neryn’s brutal strength from pounding into the depths of her womb over, and over. Could only be fed by that power, pushed back, up the bed, merciless ecstasy released at last, seeming to echo the **** of her sentinel’s thrusts as it invaded, conquered her body.

Even with Neryn’s hand against the side of her head, the thrashing of orgasm allowed her to let her chin sink towards her collarbone. Silendiel’s fingers, some around Neryn’s wrist, still, some having come to rest against the side of that rhythmically pounding cockbulge, turned into claws. Her toes curled, her feet tensing. Calves, thighs, her arms all flexing, her breathing ceasing, only her mouth moving. Opening, despite no sound emerging. Nothing but the small expulsions of breath that could not be prevented, each one a result of Neryn bottoming out in her tight, clenching cunt once more.

Those myriad, seemingly placid, warm, weakening coils of pleasure had turned into taut whips, so intent upon her feeling her orgasm that she could sense only tension. And the steady, continuous movement of that monster of a cock plowing into her. Nothing more, for endless moments, until something relaxed. Allowed just a sliver of lightness, of joy, through. Like a reaction catalyst, it seemed the moment that little thing took root, it perpetuated itself in but an instant.

Heat, a hundred thousand pinpricks rising at once all throughout her body. Pushed to further heights by Neryn’s steady, strong efforts, coiling pleasure manifesting each time her beloved sentinel hilted, those churning balls smacking against her. With strength seemingly only available to her in those near **** moments of ecstasy, in spite of Neryn’s grip of her head, Silendiel’s chin rose from her collarbone again. A single, sharp inhale, as her body pulsed again, and again, and again, heat everywhere, but most powerful in her conquered core where it lived and gave her endless, punishing pleasure.

Another creak, as Neryn bottomed out. One with some finality, as in an instant, the bed frame finally gave way, seemingly cracking in half beneath them. There was a sudden moment of tension, as Neryn steadied herself with her support shifting beneath her, Silendiel falling as the bed crumbled, the two ultimately ending in a heap not too dissimilar to the one they had formed a moment earlier. Neryn atop Silendiel, who now, quite involuntarily, let slip a brief sound of joy, the bed’s collapse seeming to have freed her from the iron grip of orgasm. Or her mind, at least, as her breathing still returned to straining exhalations of deep satisfaction. Interrupted only by Neryn’s lips against hers.

Still atop the mattress, the thrusts resumed, Silendiel once more finding her head held between both of her beloved sentinel’s hands. A continual stream of kisses were settled against her – against her lips, her cheeks, nose, eyebrows, forehead. Remained there for a few of those brutal, hammering thrusts, before being moved. Breath spilled from Neryn’s nose against her skin, and the **** of it, the need living in each, made it clear that her beloved sentinel was moments from ensuring that their union was final, complete.

In the last moment, when Neryn’s thrusts had grown erratic, and then incoherent, and then devolved into merely trying to jam and **** and ram as much of that monster into Silendiel as possible, the hand that had feebly tried to slow the sentinel’s pace instead snaked around her side, resting upon her hip for a moment, and then curled around one taut, straining buttock. Settled there, so that Silendiel, to the extent that it was possible for her to physically control Neryn in any sense at all, could encourage her to stay buried.

A kiss turned into sharp fangs pressing against skin, Neryn’s lips having curled back at the point of orgasm, her previously white, roiling eyes having taken on a grayish note. Abandoning the kiss, teeth grazed Silendiel’s skin, her cheek, down over her jaw, until she found Neryn settled at her neck, stopping just short of having the points of those fangs against, around her throat. As if some primal notion, something uncontrollable, told the kaldorei that she had to hold her partner down, in place, while she ensured the next generation came into being.

First, a strained breath, held overlong by uncooperative muscle, released with relief, with need, against Silendiel’s throat. Neryn’s teeth pressed against, dimpled that delicate skin, only a little moment of compressing **** from sinking deeper. Silendiel held her breath, rising, falling again with every breath, increasing and then relaxing again the stress weighing against her, aware, still, of the crushing **** which had made the bed capitulate, which no doubt bruised her below her beloved, and which now threatened to have those fangs collapse, and dig in. All that held them, it seemed, was the almost supernatural gathering of strength, the compaction of the metaphorical spring within Neryn, made real by flexing, ever more tense muscle. Even had Neryn wanted to bite, it was uncertain whether she could have, in that moment.

She settled, at last, against the covers, turned her head, pressing lips and teeth to the side of Silendiel’s neck, not quite digging for purchase in flesh, but still grinding sharp points up and down, carving little white, and then increasingly crimson lines. Reflex-worn paths which halted when another, deeper, fiercer breath spilled from Neryn’s mouth, hissing almost like ice dragged over stone. At long last, mighty weight applied to its utmost, Silendiel’s beloved came.

A terribly brief relaxing of muscle could be felt against her. Thighs, pelvic and core muscle the most, but every part of Neryn nevertheless softening for a long moment, after which the first violent quake made muscle rise, made her body turn to iron, those massive, sloshing balls rising to deliver a first real, obscenely thick load. A stream, a pumping rope of seed hammered down Neryn’s wide cumvein, so that it bulged – her girth packed on just a little more, as if she needed, somehow, to conquer and subdue Silendiel a little more, make her take more of that behemoth, girthier still.

That first strand, powering, bloating Silendiel before it had even concluded its final journey, hammered into her, the already astounding **** of her beloved sentinel’s orgasms seeming redoubled by the mere knowledge that the necklace had been removed. That it now lay, useless, on the floor, somewhere many paces away. Too distant to do anything.

Crushing, crunching, bio-mechanically steady strength poured into each clenching, surging load, Neryn’s musculature finding a punishing, ceaseless rhythm, pressing harder still down against Silendiel in that primal quest to ensure what was already a certainty. Thumb-thick, bruising, fat ropes of sweltering, potent swimmers pounded into Silendiel’s conquered womb, and the flood rose, and rose, and rose, brimming, overfilling. Her stomach rose, then, each load several cupped handfuls of added weight, of certainty that her lineage would be altered forever, melded with Neryn’s, presented in the most crude, most obvious way possible by her gradually growing belly.

Steadily, at exactly the pace set by Neryn’s physique flexing, clamping down, and pumping again, and again, and again an absurdly thick, copious load into her, Silendiel’s stomach, previously subjugated and made to display her beloved’s monster of a cock, distended. At the beat of Neryn’s drum, skin rose, first to a complete hemisphere, a dome into which that treetrunk, fat dick sank, and then, as Neryn curled her back, allowing space for the work of art she plowed and pounded into Silendiel, beyond even that beast and its girth.

To the tune of increasingly strenuous, gasping exhalations of breath, Silendiel moved her arms down to cradle that growing dome, its size eclipsing anything Neryn had granted her before, as if the promise of siring noble offspring had enabled some previously untapped reservoir, and so, the colossal rise began partially to fall to its own weight, spilling over Silendiel’s flanks, though still rising in a taut, sloshing marvel. She could no longer see much of her beloved’s lower body, and, even had she been able to, the colossal, still pumping ropes of seed ensured that her attention remained solely on the immense, blessed gift granted her – her bloated womb offered the singular chance to carry the descendants of someone so profoundly sacred, so sanctified by her goddess.

“Light,” Silendiel gasped, thinking them at an end. Proved wrong in the next moment, when the whole, hallowed edifice that was her stomach bulged in one specific spot, another hammerblow, bruising, thick pillar of potent seed pumped from Neryn’s nuts and into her. “Light,” she whispered, a moment later, hands slackening, shoulders sinking. Not relaxing, as such, merely worn out. Weak from pleasure, from bruising, thrusting impacts, and from the world-conquering potency wielded only against her.

Neryn moved, just so, at last. A fraction of an inch backwards, such that a thick cascade of seed shifted, and bubbled, poured, from Silendiel, only to splatter, splurt, come to a stop, when the sentinel’s iron body once more rammed in, to the hilt.

When Neryn repeated the movement, merely retreating a full three inches before pressing herself back in, bottoming out, Silendiel exhaled with strain, struggling for those hands now cradling the enormous bulge of her stomach to reach beyond, down, to gently press fingertips against her beloved’s abs, encouraging her back. And, this time, Neryn responded, to some extent, by doing as those fingers wished. Cramming herself in, one final time, to the deepest possible extent, a minor, final jerk of flexing muscle granting one more small rope of seed. After this, Neryn rose, somewhat awkwardly on the collapsed bed, to rhythmically move herself backwards, three inches at a time, then two inches of that behemoth thrust back in.

So it went, many rolling, gyrating pushes, Silendiel’s cervix finally allowed to, with some desperation, clench back up, and then, as Neryn finally withdrew that cum-smeared, colossal cock-crown, a continuous mess followed her out – that which found no room remaining in Silendiel, trickling, bubbling, splurting back out. Halted only when the sentinel leaned forward, just so, the tip of that broad, still languidly pumping cockhead against Silendiel’s tight cunt, the final, lazy beads of seed still granted a home in her.

A clarifying, deep sigh escaped Neryn, who raised a hand to brush it over her sweat-damp forehead, as if only then rising up from the mental murk of some great effort which had made her blind to Silendiel. When Neryn looked up, then, Silendiel imagined that she saw an exhausted, but deeply satisfied elf – worn out, bulging obscenely with cum, somewhat glassy-eyed, but with a small curl of the lips that showed a smile impossible to extinguish.

“Very… carefully done, my love,” Silendiel managed, caressing her right hand a few inches up, and then down, the smooth skin of the dome of her stomach. Returning, then, to cradling the weighty, slowly roiling mass, held up and in place by her body’s insistence. A dome to rival quite a few of those atop the grander buildings of Quel’thalas. She smirked, eyes settled, for a long moment, on the slightly wobbly result of Neryn’s titanic efforts, and then exhaled. A breath that fell in pitch as it rolled on, her shoulders sinking in relaxation. Even if the bed had collapsed beneath her and Neryn, she was still so taxed that the uneven foundation, cushioned by mattress and covers, we good enough for a small while.

Rather than rehome them somewhere else, on the sofa, on the floor, anywhere not broken down, Neryn let out a breath through her nostrils, something almost a sibilant hiss, flexing one final time, pressing a last little flood – still something that would have filled Silendiel’s cupped hands – free, and then marking the end to the endless by exhaling, shoulders likewise sinking.

Somewhat awkwardly, working her way down onto the sloping, broken bed, up past the colossal bulge of Silendiel’s belly, Neryn laid down next to her little sun. Seeming not to think, very much, of that still-hard, monstrous shaft, settled against Silendiel’s thigh, and flank, and the side of her rib cage. Not to impose and prove a desire for more, but rather to allow it to come to relax. Grow dormant. Neryn pretended not to notice, as far as Silendiel could tell, as she leaned in, planting a kiss upon her cheek. And then her lips. A hand snaked beneath her, and, with some effort, she soon found herself maneuvered partially up onto Neryn’s chest, and shoulder.

For a while, they laid together, saying nothing, letting breath find a more natural pace. Not quite so hurried, so ****, so wracked with pleasure and exhaustion. Neryn’s free hand, seemingly without much thought behind it, had come to rest possessively against Silendiel’s hip, fingers reaching for the edge of the colossal dome of seed.

“This is still what you want, little sun?”

Silendiel cracked one eye open. She dared not move, or she might slip even more thoroughly into the nadir, the crater of the broken bed. All that remained was to smile.

“Are you prepared? Your people will-- there will be derision. Scorn. Will the child face the same?”

With much care, Silendiel caressed one hand along the full curve of that slowly sloshing, potent dome. At the very least, there would be no doubt as to whether she would be pregnant. Something which one might, otherwise, have had to worry about. Not so, with Neryn.

“If there is a child—”

“There is, little sun. There will be.”

“So very certain, oh, grand mistress,” Silendiel said. “A single trinket removed, and, suddenly, it is assured?”

“No,” Neryn said, though one eyebrow was quirked. “Certainly not. Anything could happen, dearest Silly.”

“If I did not think your bed would fall apart more than it already has at my slightest move, I might have swatted you, beloved. Pretend I have.”

“Of course, most devoted, loyal servant,” Neryn said.

Silendiel exhaled something like a sigh, taking a moment to consider before speaking. “Some will view it as your child, my love. But it will be my child, too. Ours. My family will live on, my lineage lives on. The city will come to understand, to accept.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“They will come to understand you, beloved,” Silendiel said, continuing, for a moment, as if Neryn had said nothing. “Come to understand our child.” She breathed out, not exhaustion, but in order to purge herself. To establish clarity. “We will make for ourselves a happy life, here. In Silvermoon. If you wish to stay here with me. Us. I swear it, I will not rest until we have that life.”

Once more, Neryn rolled, leaned in, and shared a long, indulgent kiss with Silendiel. In lieu of words, it made Silendiel certain that Neryn planned to go nowhere but to the Flameborn mansion, with her.

Withdrawing only an inch from that meeting, Neryn spoke. “I believe you, little sun. Even if I feel our fate to be in the hands of the priestess, now, more than our own.”

“You may be right,” Silendiel said. “But, for all her terrifying and unnerving comfort, her supposed foresight, even if it is as you say, I believe that she wants the best for us.”

Again, Neryn leaned down, pressing her lips to Silendiel’s.

“You will make a wonderful mother, little sun,” Neryn whispered, in a brief moment where they did not make one-another mute with greedy, indulgent kisses.