The Last Day

A single, significant change happened after Silendiel and Neryn’s meeting with Surielle. Days, weeks passed, and altercations with the city guard fell from a peak to a trough, and then to nothing at all. Still, despite the seeming return to normalcy, Iralis insisted that Silendiel remain in the embassy, for both her and Neryn’s protection, and so weeks rolled into months. Without ever really agreeing to, without either of them looking each other in the eyes and coming to the decision that they ought to live together, Silendiel nevertheless, for all intents and purposes, had moved into Neryn’s large, single room in the embassy.

Something else had changed, though. That fateful, bed-breaking night behind them, Silendiel turned rather more careful with hers and Neryn’s indulgences. The crescent-moon necklace, discarded that night and ever since, now rested, unused, in a bowl on a windowsill, perhaps to be picked up once more, many months hence. Not right then, as what they knew to be the case already came to pass: It took really very few weeks before Silendiel’s stomach, without her beloved sentinel’s direct efforts, displayed a small, but visible, permanent bump. Over the course of those quiet few months that passed, had lulled them into a kind of waking sleep, the bump slowly packed on more mass, such that she would no longer fit into many of the dresses that waited at home. Not, for once, from her beloved sentinel’s strong, pumping, bloating love.

What had not changed turned out to be Surielle’s seemingly increasingly unhinged insistence in occasional communications by letter that Silendiel was a prisoner. Was, even if she did not recognize herself as such, brainwashed and mind controlled to the cause of the perfidious kaldorei. Eventually, though, this unsteady stream of writing stilled, and a thin blanket of faux security descended upon the embassy.

Many mornings, Silendiel had woken before Neryn and laid there, quiet, worried. For her unborn child, naturally, but just as much for the seeming lack of activity. For what would become of her – of Neryn. Of Tessa, and Liriel, even of Iralis. No prospective buyers were shown around, no preparations being made to vacate the former mansion, as they had been told to. As the city had decreed that they should. The priestess ordered nothing of the sort, and so, implicitly ordered that life go on as normal.

It was the morning – late afternoon, really – of the change, and the only thing out of the ordinary, save the coming and going of the now nearly full complement of suitable sin’dorei servants, was a new sentinel arrival. The first and only one since Silendiel had become aware of the embassy’s existence. Someone, she knew not who, had arrived in the middle of the day, while all in the embassy slept, save the two guards whose turn it was to watch the door. And the premises.

“Awake?”

It was Neryn, always capable of sleeping longer, if she had no pressing duties to rise to. And, since Silendiel could no longer service her beloved sentinel in the same brutal fashion as she had once been able to, for fear of her titanic lover’s prowess causing damage, Neryn did not even have the carnal temptation of brutal facefucking to wake for.

Silendiel responded with an assenting hiss of breath, inflection rising as she rolled onto her side, placing a hand upon Neryn’s muscled core for purchase, pulling herself up from the enveloped, protected spot beneath her sentinel’s left arm in which she had cocooned, rested. Pressed a kiss to Neryn’s jaw, and then to the side of her nose, and only then her lips. Little, crawling brushes, almost like a fly tapping across skin, though her ending was more pleasant than a barely controlled, waving hand trying to remove an insect.

Once, now months ago, she had very seriously worried about Neryn’s loyalty, should she fail to regularly and with great vigor drain every fat drop of seed possible from her beloved. Despite the copious production Neryn was clearly capable of, however, she seemed equally capable of controlling herself when she had to. As she now did. Not that they had ceased their intimate moments entirely, at all, but they resorted, much more than they once had, to hands, and mouths. And to lying together, embracing, comfortable and warm, for endless hours. When Neryn did not have to train, or perform her sentinel duties.

Just that morning, the final morning, according to the official letter from the city, Silendiel stirred to indulge her sentinel. To indulge herself in the service she had come to terms with desires for. Desires she had once kept stowed away, locked, key thrown into the deepest possible abyss of her mind. The door to which Neryn had shouldered open, allowing light in, at last. Those desires, nurtured in the quiet, dusky interior of the embassy for months, had finally taken root. They grew, and flowered, without shame, and so she cared not for what Silvermoon’s upper society might consider beneath her.

“I want you, my sentinel,” Silendiel whispered, planting another kiss upon Neryn’s lips.

Even at this, they did not move. Not immediately. Silendiel had learned to wait, to take Neryn’s signal, or lack of it, judging by it where she ought to find her place, or merely remain in that terribly warm, all-encompassing warmth, to let the minutes and hours pass.

A long, mock-dissatisfied, thin growl came from somewhere within Neryn’s throat, the arm upon which Silendiel had dragged herself up, on which she now rested, curling around her just so. Seized her, lifted her, so that she came to rest almost entirely on her beloved sentinel’s body, at an angle so as to not put pressure on the bump of her stomach. Neryn let out another long, crackling, comfortable sound, one which petered out into a softer and softer breath. A sigh.

“How much, little sun?”

“Very much. More than we can do, enough that I want you to be well taken care of,” Silendiel said. She placed a peck upon Neryn’s jaw, all she could reach, at that moment. Had circumstances been different, she would already have been resting with her head over the edge of the bed, Neryn cramming that monster of a cock into her face, and throat. But they had to make do with less violent ways of pleasing one-another, even if it was still quite possible to demonstrate her dedication to the towering, statuesque woman of her dreams. The sire of her child – their child.

“I will allow you, then,” Neryn said. She rolled back towards where they had both come from, so as to deposit Silendiel back on the bed, on her back. The night elf continued her movement alone, then, so that she planted one knee against the bed on the other side of Silendiel, sat atop her, across her, without actually resting on her stomach. Only those fat, weighty balls did, and the monstrously thick cockshaft, only in the initial stages of hardening. Packing on length, and girth, as it smacked against, rolled over, Silendiel’s skin. Came to rest against her stomach, her rib cage, between her firm breasts.

“So very generous of you, grand mistress,” Silendiel said, though she leaned her head down, straining to place a prim and proper kiss against the enormous, broad cockhead which she was presented with. Already then, a thumb-sized drop of seed had begun to build, to fill out, upon the tip, though she pressed her lips in a circle of kisses around it, rather than diving for it immediately. Looked up, then, to her beloved sentinel, golden eyes focused on Neryn’s piercing white, luminous gaze as the two met, that bead of cum having grown large enough to be on the verge of bursting free of its surface tension prison. Instead of slowly, languidly running, clinging, sticking, it was painted upon Silendiel’s lips.

Neryn exhaled a slow, pleased breath, a hiss produced along the roof of her mouth for a few seconds, eyes half lidded, lazy even as she flexed her inner thighs, and lower stomach, making that still growing shaft tense, rise for a moment, hard and broad, before sinking just so as she relaxed. The goal may not have been, specifically, to smear Silendiel’s soft lips and nose with the mess of potent seed now settled there, drooping strands connecting the crown of Neryn’s cock with her little sun’s skin, but she nevertheless succeeded in doing just that. It seemed not to bother Silendiel overmuch, however, even if such an action might have caused her to lend her beloved a caustic glance in the past.

Silendiel felt the warmth, and the layer of sweltering seed clinging to her features, and let her eyes fall shut. Willed herself to think the same thoughts she had been trying to engender the last few weeks. Months? That she should think of the mess not as a cost, something one accepted in order to couple with her impressive, towering love, but rather as something one indulged in. Desired. So, she let her lips, for a moment, envelop the very tip of that monster cock, and then pulled back so as to run her tongue over them. Stretching her tongue to hit the tip of her nose, where her beloved had deposited some of that blessed gift, too.

“Generous,” Silendiel hummed. Not even sure herself whether she was chiding or thanking Neryn, pitch precisely conveying neither, and both. She exhaled through her nose, and, Neryn’s behemoth having bulked up, grown to something approaching its full size, found herself capable of pressing her tongue flat to the broad cockhead’s tip with barely a movement of her head. Her beloved proved ever eager, every time, to allow her as easy a time as possible to serve, and the audible, elongated, almost sighing breaths that emerged as Silendiel did just that serving indicated that even minor efforts were very much appreciated.

Another kiss, swift, then a second, lingering. Running her tongue up, slowly, as if she were reaffirming her love to her beloved after months apart. Tender, and lasting, and slow, not lazy, but indulging in that moment after weeks, months apart. Silendiel breathed out through her nose, pursing her lips, pressing them to Neryn’s cock-crown once again, thick, copious beads of seed pearling from her at a more steady pace – to the tune of her heart’s beating. Another. Another. Another.

Another.

Silendiel raised her hands, at last, finding them as delicate, as insufficient to the task presented them as she had for weeks. Closed gentle fingers around the curve of Neryn’s immense shaft, perhaps a third of its length from the head, caressing the soft, smoothly-veined skin, sensing the depth of the steely muscle beneath, moving her hands more so as to draw and coax comforting warmth from her beloved than to stroke a violent orgasm from her. That would come, in time. Instead, fingers taking a firmer grip, rhythmically, slowly going back and forth, she pecked a few kisses to her beloved’s hefty, pulsing cockhead, and then married her lips to its tip. Spread them just so, such that each of those huge beads of cum rolled, deposited into her mouth.

In just that way, Neryn’s behemoth languidly pounding as it rested up along Silendiel’s form, they remained. For how long, Silendiel could not tell. She had made it her desire and mission to indulge only in serving her sentinel without shame, without thought of herself, only giving warmth, and comfort, and receiving sating comfort back. It was her duty, taken on by her desire alone, to become a safe harbor. A place where Neryn could feel not protected, exactly, but totally free, unjudged, not just allowed, but encouraged to quench the primal need for orgasm with the willing, eager help of her little sun.

So, after indeterminate, lazy moments had passed, many minutes, Silendiel felt, at last, what she knew to be the signal. Heard the slightly strained breath of her beloved, above. Then the shuffling of knees, the beginning repositioning. Carefully, that colossal cockhead ground free from her eternal, snug kiss, slowly moving up over her face, employing her features as another soft, warm surface against which to seek rough stimulation. For just a few momenths, inch after enormous, girthy inch of kaldorei cock, pounding, pulsing, pushed against and over Silendiel’s face, and then, at last, she found herself, her head, settled between Neryn’s strong thighs, resting against the bed.

Neryn’s right hand firmly gripped her shaft, just below the rim of the crown, and there she began to stroke back and forth. Insistently, steadily, with practice she inevitably had to have, even if Silendiel had done all within her power to ensure that her beloved sentinel should not need to pleasure herself, for as long as she could.

Silendiel raised her hands further, fingers finding, lifting very carefully the subtly shifting, huge balls of her sentinel, struggling just a little further down on the bed, hands reverently urging Neryn’s nuts up so that she could plant a kiss against one bulging, relatively smooth, weighty orb. With no hesitation, she provided the other one the same welcome. They might have come to rest against her forehead, or her throat, had things been as they once were, and as they would be again, but in that moment, she did what she could, cradling, worshiping at the altar. Kiss, after kiss, after kiss.

With the rapid back-and-forth strokes, Neryn’s body rocked to that rhythm, seemingly unable not to push forward to meet a backward movement of the hand just so. Silendiel thus found, increasingly, her throat and chin and mouth a welcoming home for her beloved sentinel’s balls, reducing the need for her to use her hands to present them for the endless kisses, one long, indulgent lick after another. Instead, she reached her hands up, one placed against the front of each of Neryn’s thighs, unsure of why she did so, exactly. Perhaps to try to provide some feeble facsimile of what it would have been like for her sentinel to hammer into her, meeting resistance at each hilting thrust.

So Silendiel laid, for several minutes, Neryn’s efforts gradually growing more overtly coaxing of her own pleasure. Breaths halted briefly, only to start again. Muscle tensing, pelvis thrust forward, lifting just so, in order to push the building tension which would inevitably reach a crescendo, were they to go on long enough. Silendiel continued as she was, dutifully sharing loving kisses with her sentinel’s nuts, one, then the other, then back to the first. Eyes closed, engaged fully in her task, doing nothing but that, save drawing slow, caressing circles with her palms against Neryn’s thighs.

Those strokes grew faster still, Neryn seeming to lock her core into a long, clenching moment that brought forth straining, sibilant breaths, finally taking to small, two to three inch thrusts back and forth as she came closer, and closer. They had danced this dance before, and so, Silendiel knew when the moment approached, and what she could expect from it. What she desired from it.

Neryn’s stance widened, and so, she sank down. Closer to Silendiel, those weighty, churning balls rolling, slipping from her chin and lips. Instead, her lips soon came to smush against, try to shape around that thick cumvein, near the very base of it, her nose awkwardly pressed aside, a little askew, at the weight now resting against her face. Neryn continued to stroke with a near frantic quality to her movements, drawing closer. Ever closer.

A breath held back, then let loose with great effort, strokes ceasing abruptly for a moment. Restarting, stopping again. Neryn settled down more completely against Silendiel’s face, whose tongue pressed between parted lips, directly against that steely, monstrously fat cock. Against the vessel which would pump those blessed loads in mere moments. Those erratic thrusts, the struggle for breath, the flexing, relaxing, quaking, always preceded her beloved’s orgasm, and so it was just then, too.

Rhythmic, crushing clamping down, balls rising with each bio-mechanical, pistoning clench of muscle, the sensation of even more maddening weight, girth, each passed through Silendiel, supplanted from Neryn into her. A gift given to her senses, soon to be overwhelmed by but one thing.

That cumvein bulged outwards, squashing Silendiel’s lips beneath the crushing strength poured into that first, sweltering, fat load. A hammerblow of muscle rammed it through that behemoth cock, and past her. She cared not for its destination, in that moment, only the feeling of endless, steady, pumping seed passing, plowing through her beloved’s treetrunk cock. Each blessed by the lingering kiss which she had formed around the cumvein, so that she could feel the rippling, the throbbing of each orgasmic strand of potent seed.

Neryn’s strokes continued, but remained erratic, setting a demanding, coaxing pace one moment, then falling apart, collapsing into nothingness the next, only to redouble again. Load, after load, after copious, searing load. Pressing harder down against Silendiel’s head, lips, and then relenting. Repeating, then thrusting forward. Falling back. Over, and over again, as the thumping seconds went on.

Until, at long last, the final, seconds-long load came, after which only ever smaller ropes blessed the two. Those pounding jets roared yet, but settled more and more, and more, until only a steady stream of pearling drops was let loose, and then, at last, nothing more. Only then did Neryn withdraw, inch upon huge, fat inch, until Silendiel was able to, was allowed to, make out with the tip of her beloved’s monster cock. Several kisses pressed against the tip, she then parted her lips, resting her tongue there for a long moment, and then, finally, let the meeting end. To the sound of a sated, relieved sigh from Neryn, above, who was now covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Damp, just enough that she would make the whole bed clammy if she remained. Nevertheless, she did.

Silendiel might once have objected to the position in general, and certainly to remaining in it once they were done. Now, however, Neryn having shuffled backwards a little, she leaned her cheek against her beloved’s inner left thigh, looking up. Past the still slowly rising and falling, sculpted musculature, past the considerable cest, at the slightly parted lips. At the red facial marks. At the luminous white eyes.

Though momentarily distracted, sated by Neryn’s hand caressing her cheek, Silendiel nevertheless could not help but wonder what would happen to them. If, really, they should not be going back to her mansion.

“Would it not be safer to return to Flameborn mansion, my love? If this is the final day,” Silendiel said. The hand caressing her halted, but did not withdraw. Moments passed before Neryn responded.

“This will be our last day in the embassy, little sun,” Neryn said. “One way or another. So the priestess has seen, and decided.”

Silendiel was never satisfied with those sorts of answers, and Neryn knew it. Remaining so long in the embassy, months, she had come to the conclusion that, even if she did not like relying on the supposedly mystical, prescient abilities of Iralis, her remaining had to signal that she nevertheless trusted them to some extent. Especially with her pregnant, if she had truly decided to leave, she felt entirely certain that Neryn would have come with her, despite her faith in and loyalty to the priestess. So, in the end, their staying was Silendiel’s choice.

One she kept making.