The Demonstration

The next day, somewhere between nine and ten in the evening, all but a few guards gone to bed, or quietly minding their own business in their own quarters, Silendiel stood, naked, in a room made bare by her staff. Nothing remained in it save chalk-white walls, and, in the center of it, a square table, cushioned with several small rugs. Each bit of fabric old, worn, something that would likely have been thrown out in short order, and therefore not something she minded risking totally soiling with the impressive amount of seed that Neryn produced. It was just enough that she would not suffer overmuch, lying upon it, tied up. When the time came.

In that moment, though, Silendiel stood before Neryn, a thin summer dress pooled at her feet. Lit by the glow of their eyes, and a dim, arcane lantern set in the wall opposite the door into the room. For the last night and day, the anxiety planted in her chest when she said yes to Liriel had not left her, had not burned low, but neither had it flared. It was a stupid risk to take, the chance that one’s reputation be destroyed by showing off the union between kaldorei and sin’dorei to a few commoners, but, at the same time, Silendiel wished to demonstrate the both of them. Somehow, the idea of showing off what she submitted to, what she desired, what she gladly took, spoke to her. Not in an overpowering way, but one that nevertheless held that bubbling, fluttering cloud of buttierflies and steel wool in her chest in check.

Silendiel looked up at Neryn, in silence. Their eyes remained locked, and had been for a few seconds, when the sentinel finally moved. Raising two slightly curled fingers to rest beneath Silendiel’s chin, raising it just so, in a move that would have enraged her but a month ago, had anyone tried it. Now, it made her feel lighter, made her breath quicken. At the touch of her sentinel, at the vulnerability of her throat, the large kaldorei before her still vaguely reminiscent of a predator saber, one that could close her teeth around that throat and tear. Theoretically. She tried to take a deep breath, to sigh it out, and to let that calm her – to no avail.

When they stood as they now did, their physical differences so starkly on display, there was no running from any of it, no hiding from the fact that, in this respect, at least, Silendiel was the inferior. But, then, she had come to realize that that was what she wished for. That was why she had, so long ago, taken to that emaciated kaldorei prisoner, too. Why she had had such difficulties caring for her own kin, in that way. And now, she was here. About to demonstrate to some of those kin her dedication to a recent enemy of the sin’dorei.

Neryn shifted her hands, each taking a gentle hold of Silendiel’s cheeks, holding her in place. Leaning down, sharing a long, deep kiss. A series of them, one following on from the next, short bleeding into long, to a final peck.

“Do you want to carry on, little sun? I can go outside and talk to Liriel. I can send her, and the prospects, away. I would not hesitate, nor question your decision to ask it,” Neryn said.

A moment passed. Silendiel, as best as she was able, shook her head, half-forcing a small smile to her lips. “No. I want them to see that blissful service is possible. That the rumors about you, about the embassy, are true in the best possible way. I want them to see what they, too, can have. Assuming your sister sentinels are as wonderful as you?”

“Some,” Neryn said. “Most.”

“Then, I want them to see,” Silendiel said. “Us. Together. I want them to see you, in your full glory. I want them to see you… bottomed out. In me.”

Neryn caressed her thumbs over Silendiel’s cheekbones, tapping one, very carefully, against the tip of the noblewoman’s nose. Almost as if she were trying to hide the faint blush. Trying to wipe it away. “In your ass,” Neryn said.

Those three words seemed to finally make what they were about to do real, and so, Silendiel’s crimson, tingling, warm blush spilled from her cheeks and into the rest of her. Weakening her arms. Making her core burn. She ground her thighs together, just so, and then nodded. “Yes.”

“What do you want them to see, little sun?”

“I want them to see you. Bottomed out, in my ass,” Silendiel said. Her voice not quite ironclad, but getting there. Neryn enjoyed such crude language, and seemed, even more so, to enjoy her overcoming her inhibitions and speaking those words. And that was why she did it at all.

Another moment passed, and then Silendiel angled her face upwards just a little to meet another kiss. Without being commanded to, she shifted her arms to her back, wrists crossing at the small of it, just above the modest curve of her firm butt. When Neryn’s lips left hers, she took a quiet breath, and let it seep slowly, audibly, from her. Trying to let the anxiety that still churned beneath her sternum leak out with it, though it proved unsuccessful.

“Your courage and determination is proving to be your most attractive trait, little sun,” Neryn said.

“But the ass does not hurt either, no?”

An unimpressed lifting of one eyebrow later, Neryn pushed splayed fingers up Silendiel’s cheeks, up into her blonde locks. Shaking just a little, as if to physically chastise her. “I was trying to say something nice,” Neryn said. “But, no, the ass doesn’t hurt, either.” Another moment passed, before Neryn spoke again. Her voice had taken on a different tone, then. One Silendiel could imagine used for commanding a line of sentinels, more so than delicate, small sin’dorei.

“Stay.”

She did so. Settled her feet a little ways apart on the cool floor, and kept her wrists crossed behind her back, exactly as they had been that first day she had seen Liriel. Her eyes strayed from Neryn when the towering sentinel released her head, and moved aside, instead taking in the breathtaking simplicity of a plain, white wall ahead of her. She knew perfectly well what was coming – part of it had been her own request, after all.

First, the cuffs wrapped around her wrists, an inevitable, comfortable feeling, the calm of it borrowed from the presence of her sentinel behind her. There was an odd sense of protection, almost, in giving herself over to Neryn’s care so completely, though, physically, wrists shackled or not, there was little she could do against the kaldorei in a fight. But standing still as the padded cuffs were secured – first one, then the other – around her wrists was an intentional trading away of control. It was something she chose to do, because she trusted that she would be taken care of.

Quite unnecessarily, perhaps just to mark her metaphorical territory, Neryn shifted Silendiel’s arms just so, here and there, as if she needed to stretch a little further for her wrists to find their place in the cuffs. The second one closed around her, and the strap was secured, and pulled tight. She breathed in, and closed her eyes, and her breath shuddered when it came out again, as Neryn’s fingers curled around her throat, from the back, holding her by it for a long, tense moment, which made Silendiel’s every limb relax into that grip.

“Blindfold, now,” Neryn said, as she released Silendiel, moved away, and then returned. A long, relatively thin strip of cloth which was wrapped around Silendiel’s head again, and again, and again, so as to remove her sight, but also to obscure her features. It sat both low, and high, leaving her mouth and nostrils still exposed, but hiding much of the rest of her face. The light movements of her head as Neryn worked told her that it was secured in place with first one, then a second knot. So, hands secured and unable to see, she could no longer keep her breathing under control. It settled at an elevated, audible level, and eagerness for what was to come began to edge out anxiety beneath her ribs. Thoughts flitted to the prospects, and so her nerves gained ground in that fight, but lost it slowly at any moment where she did not think of those eyes who would watch her. What of Liriel?

“Will… Liriel watch us, also?”

“Would you rather she didn’t?”

“No,” Silendiel shook her head. “I… think she may. She may. If she wishes to.”

“I think she might want to know what it looks like when the Captain and her, well,” Neryn said.

“Please,” Silendiel said.

“Mhm. Gag, now.”

Silendiel nodded. It was not a question, merely a message, but if she had objected, she knew that Neryn would have halted. But, once the ball of cloth was stuck into her mouth, and secured, it would be difficult to make herself understood. She parted her lips and her teeth, regardless, and found the soft material suitable for settling her teeth into, just a little. She did not gape anywhere near what she had to when Neryn wished to use her throat, or even what she sometimes did when eating a piece of buttered bread. She could, if she opened her mouth wider, probably manage a few garbled words around the gag, but then it would settle deeper in her mouth, and make it hard to speak once more. But, in truth, it was not there to perfectly silence her. Merely to make a statement. A statement that Neryn cemented when she tied the padded, soft line behind Silendiel’s head, securing the gag in place.

Though it mattered little with the blindfold in place, Silendiel closed her eyes. Her skin tingling, crawling at every little movement of air, a suggestion of where her sentinel moved, where a finger might settle on her skin. A hand, digits spread wide, came to gently rest on her flat stomach, pulling her backwards. She leaned a little, sensing Neryn’s body behind her, and let out a soft, pliant sound at the blissful little bubbles of emotion spreading from where her sentinel’s body contacted hers.

“On the table, now, on your back,” Neryn said. Voice quiet, lips close to Silendiel’s ears.

Silendiel nodded. She had an idea of where the table was in relation to her, still, blindfold or not, but was uncertain. Thus, she let Neryn walk her forward, turn her, and encourage her butt to find the cushioned surface. She laid back on it, squirming and struggling a few more inches onto it, pulling her legs up into tight, inverted v-shapes. Felt one of the night elf’s hands on her right knee, stroking a slow path down the top of her thigh.

“Good girl.”

Rather than immediately setting to the work of tying Silendiel’s legs, Neryn let all but the tip of her index finger leave the blood elf’s skin, tracing that one digit up, until it met the lowest rib. There, it moved towards the center, traveling up along Silendiel’s sternum, between her modest breasts, up past collarbone, up along her throat, until it came to a stop beneath her chin. She breathed out a shuddering breath, then, somewhat obstructed by the gag. Whatever attention she had still held on the notion and thought that there would soon be a small group of prospects entering to observe her had effectively been ripped away.

“Would you like me to go on, little sun?” Neryn added just a touch of pressure with that finger, making Silendiel tilt her head back.

“Yheh,” she managed, through the gag.

“What?”

“Plhhs,” Silendiel said. Struggled with.

For a moment, Neryn tapped the nail of her index finger up beneath Silendiel’s chin, contemplatively. Then, revealing that she had had materials in her other hand all along, she moved back down. Began to settle something that felt like a wide, long belt around Silendiel’s ankle, around both upper and lower leg, securing it near the hip joint. This was repeated for the other leg, after which Neryn patted the front of each knee, once, indicated what she wished well enough that Silendiel tensed and rolled a little, pulling her tied legs up a good distance. Not perfectly, perhaps, but that was soon helped by Neryn weaving a length of smooth, possibly silken, rope in behind one knee, leading it down and below Silendiel’s back, and then back up to hook around the other knee. Tightening and tying it in place, she effectively trussed the most refined, graceful noblewoman up, presenting her openly to the world. To a room which, for the moment, only had the two of them in it.

Without waiting for the prospects, or Liriel, to enter, Silendiel heard very clearly how Neryn worked her belt buckle open, and then each button of those straining, struggling trousers. It almost seemed a mercy when the sentinel let them drop, no longer having to contain that behemoth shaft, and there were small moments when Silendiel wondered what the kaldorei made their clothes out of, given all that they seemed able to support. She imagined, too, in that moment, Neryn removing what clothes she wore, standing in her full, statuesque glory. On display, even if she would soon become a very active display.

“I’ll get them. You still wish them to see us?”

“Yehs,” Silendiel breathed, her entirely unreasonable and inflexible negotiation with the gag ever-losing. As it was supposed to. For a few seconds, Neryn’s hand rested upon her knee, and that simple gesture, that moment of contact, helped to once more beat back down the galloping, merciless thumping of her heart. Cold and warm, alternately, as she thought of Neryn, and then of the strangers, staring, recognizing? No. They would be too busy watching Neryn. Watching the union. She breathed in, and sighed that breath out around the gag. Neryn had left her, and a moment later, Silendiel heard a low tapping against the door.

Soon after, it was opened. Hinges purposefully oiled that very day, it made not a sound, but she caught the quiet scraping of sandals against the floor, and the slight twinge of cold brought on by air rushing in, and out, of the room. The reassuring hand upon her knee returned, but then slipped down towards her ankle. Quiet gasps from what she judged to be four throats, four prospects. The hefty weight of Neryn’s shaft pressed up over her flat stomach, then, as if to demonstrate to the four what they and their bodies would have to contend with, should they accept their places. The colossal girth, the progress up Silendiel’s front, almost as if Neryn was purposefully trying to scare them. Almost. But, what little experience she had built up with sentinels, with this one, in particular, told her that it had little to do with the prospects. Her sentinel enjoyed watching the contrast of her size against the comparatively small form of her little sun, and so, being weighed down by that huge, fat dick was not an entirely foreign experience.

Hands, palms, found a place beneath her rump, lifting her up against that behemoth, making her roll upwards just so, after which a pillow was pushed in beneath her. Presenting her all the better for her sentinel, and, potentially, for the prospects. Silendiel drew in a laboring breath, exhaling it with another pliant, needy sound emanating from her throat, one which she would never have dared or dreamed of letting out in anyone’s presence a month ago. It seemed to be taken as a sign, as Neryn began to drag that smoothly-veined, enormously thick monster downwards. Slowly. Leaving a trail of absent warmth and weight behind, something real, and then a figment of Silendiel’s imagination, as she withdrew.

There was the sound of shuffling feet, then, quiet urgings from Liriel, in order to move the prospects into a better position to watch what was moments from happening. Though unnecessary in order to keep Silendiel’s legs bent up, Neryn’s fingers still nudged the inside of her thighs just so, tapping nails and fingertips here and there, as if she might make more space magically appear by doing so. Of course, futile as the effort might be, Silendiel still tried to relax, tried to let her legs, tied tightly as they were, relax, tried to will herself into a soft, flexible state of mind. There was the vain hope that this, in some way, would make what was about to happen easier, though this was a fool’s hope. Nothing to do with Neryn had been easy, the first time, or the second, or the third. In truth, she did not want it to be easy. She wanted to earn her sentinel’s pleasure.

A pleased, slow breath came from above, from Neryn, as the head of that behemoth finally withdrew far enough to land on the cushioned table surface with a heavy thump. A little forward motion, something Silendiel told herself that she sensed and felt through the air, though, in truth, it was the theater of her mind that made her keenly aware of Neryn’s movements, of the proudly defined, chiseled muscle on display. Another small movement, Silendiel breathing in more sharply, that gulp of air wavering and shuddering for a moment, the night elf finally coming close enough that the broad, hefty cockhead push up against her. For a time, there was only a little squirming, only gentle forward pressure, just enough that, slowly, room was created between her cheeks. Not near enough to begin to take it all in, but enough so that her peachy, firm butt found itself only able to begin shaping around the night elf’s presence.

More **** applied, then. Not quite a thrust, but enough that Silendiel let out another high-pitched, straining sound. Repeatedly, as it proved a persistent effort, Neryn still relatively gentle in her nevertheless inexorable forward pressure. Prying apart Silendiel’s cheeks, so that she began to cave in, rather than allow that massive girth in, forming something like a wide, still slowly expanding indentation, feeling as if her hips were on the verge of somehow needing to re-seat just for there to be room for the Lieutenant’s absurdly thick shaft.

Another moment passed, Silendiel exhaling again, and again, needy, taut breaths sinking into and spilling around the gag, sucking in her stomach, some unreasonable corner of her mind commanding her to do that. As if it would do anything. She tried to relax, tried to allow her sentinel in, despite the building ache, despite the uncontrollable desire to begin trying to squirm. Arms secured behind her back, legs bent up into the air, she had almost no purchase on any surface to do any struggling, and so, when Neryn’s hands hooked around her thighs, into the tight crook formed there by their upward angle, and used that hold to not just keep her in place, but begin to pull her down against the motion of that colossal cock-crown, Silendiel could only let out increasingly anxious, thin breaths. Let them slip noisily from her throat, through her nose.

Without a sound, she parted her lips. The gag sank in a little deeper, and her arms, her chest, her entire body tightened, eyes rolling beneath the blindfold. At last, with increasing pressure, with insistence, Neryn’s massively thick cockhead had begun to sink in. Half an inch, at first, pushing back against the clenching, crushing tightness of Silendiel’s ass, near clinging to the invader. But then, slowly, accompanied by shrill, near-continuous breaths from the prone blood elf, another half an inch. A full inch. She would have rocked with the intense, weighty pressure applied to her small frame, but the hard grip of her thighs allowed her to go nowhere. She could not even rock backwards, only ever, it felt like, be inexorably dragged slowly down against that treetrunk. Sinking in. Beginning to make her flat stomach rise in an indication of its conquering progress into her ass, still clinging to, constricting around that huge, girthy dick.

Eternal moments passed, each heartbeat seeming to see just the tiniest fraction of an inch of that colossus grinding and mashing into Silendiel. She felt, keenly, what had started as a small bump upon her front building into something much more substantial. The rim of Neryn’s enormous crown had jammed into her, almost a kind of barb which prevented her from easily being removed, and signaling the further growth of that beginning cockbulge. Beneath herself, Silendiel tried to open and close her hands, tried to find purchase against the rugs below. Curled her toes, and her feet, stretching her neck, leaning her head to one side, thrashing it to the other, clearly straining with the absurd size of her sentinel, slowly claiming her ass. Moment by moment, as more of that huge, fat kaldorei dick sank in. Compressing her. Grinding. Making room.

A moment’s respite, then, when Neryn stopped. Rolled backwards just so, perhaps an inch, and then thrust forward. A commanding movement, a wordless statement that she demanded Silendiel accommodate her, regardless of how strenuous the prospect of that might be. So much more intense, being unable to see. To speak, or even make noises properly. Focused so completely upon even the most minute sounds, but even more so, the feeling of her sentinel’s conquest. The complete overwhelming of her senses, the ever-present, clenching tightness, the slow growth of her stomach, but also, almost surprisingly, the near irresistible, dull pleasure, which threatened to be torn up to bloom into something far more powerful at that first thrust. And then, more powerfully still, at the second, slightly deeper push.

Quite clearly, those thrusts meant to set up a slow, unstoppable rhythm, more than they were meant to immediately begin to conquer her ass. Handfuls of inches could not be taken at a time, not yet. Silendiel knew that she could not stop Neryn from claiming her in that way, and did not wish for it to stop, but rather realized, thoughts pushed into the back of her mind by another hard thrust, returning to her control momentarily, that it would come in time. Once Neryn had first hilted herself, cored out her little sun, so as to lay claim to her small blood elf’s trembling body.

Another thrust rammed into Silendiel, and she could not help but let a small, whining gasp disappear into the gag. Yet another inch of that massively thick shaft hammering into her, making itself obvious by the bulge upon her stomach. Hands tied behind her back, she wished more than she ever had wished anything to move shaking, delicate fingers to the distension, to feel the steely, pulsing strength of Neryn’s colossal cock within her, hips rolling backwards, then forward, into her again. Harder. Deeper. Conquering, claiming more, for each increasingly brutal movement. Silendiel’s senses told her that there was still much to go, but also that Neryn was much closer to pressing her firm physique and protective weight down onto her little sun. Cramming absurdly fat inches in, so that they could come together, so that Silendiel could feel her sentinel lie atop her, holding her, surrounding her with those strong arms, with lips, or teeth, against her skin.

Neryn slam-fucked herself in again, grinding, pressing another inch of that behemoth in. Ceasing her thrusts in favor of simple, brute strength, pushing forward, applying weight and muscle and unbreakable, merciless resolve to the problem, such that she began not to hammer in, but sink. Silendiel’s body gave ground, her throat seeming almost of its own accord to produce a series of quick, ailing, needy breaths, the room filling with the sound of her struggle to take in her sentinel’s unstoppable might.

The kaldorei shifted, then, one of her hands coming to rest on, against, Silendiel’s collarbone. Slipping upwards, almost at the same pace that those colossal inches were shoved and driven into her surrendering, tight ass, until fingers settled around her throat. The mere presence of that hand was enough to register in the tenor of her voice, her obstructed breaths catching in the gag – no pressure on her windpipe at all. The mere weight of that hand, laid where it was, proved enough to have the effect Neryn most likely wanted. As if she could somehow surrender more, Silendiel tried, again, to push back, up, to meeting her sentinel’s efforts with her own, arching her back, trying to **** her hips and pelvis to roll down to meet that brutal conquest, though she managed only to take more inches by the grace of Neryn’s persistence. Thanks to the sentinel’s other hand, securing its place behind Silendiel’s thigh, in the crook formed by its high bent upwards.

Neryn grew tired, eventually, of the steady, crushing, cramming pace, though, and so it fell away into staccato, hard thrusts as she came closer and closer to hilting in Silendiel’s clenching, cratered ass. That huge, fat cock plunging another inch into her for each thrust, until she felt the air move between their bodies, so close had Neryn come to smacking against her. To uniting their bodies in the best, most demanding way possible. Another thrust. Another. She cried out, the sound stolen by the gag almost entirely, her core completely conquered, clenching with its own rhythm, one Silendiel no longer had control over. She no longer knew if her body betrayed her, trying desperately to expel Neryn, or whether it succumbed to the constant shocks of that battering ram grinding against her every nerve in just the right way.

Finally, a thrust pumped into Silendiel that made her feel Neryn’s chiseled form brush against her. And then another, and another, and then they were mashed against one-another, and she gasped for breath, and the domineering, controlling hand laid upon her throat seemed ever heavier. And coiling, snaking little sun-like tendrils burrowed through her, reaching everywhere, bursting into warmth that stole away control. That made her mind descend into a fog-like cauldron, from which she could not, did not want to crawl out. Her eyes rolled beneath the blindfold, her rebellious, taut muscles finally having come together. Not to try to push Neryn out, but in a climax so deep, so all-consuming, that Silendiel felt as if she had briefly lost consciousness. Were it not for the bindings, she would have tensed, flexed, and tried to curl up around trembling muscles, around that colossal invader hammered so deeply into her small form. She could not. She could not defend herself, could do nothing but gasp, and let out moans so strenuous as to be almost as painful as they were flecked with pleasure.

And all the while, Neryn, Silendiel’s rock, remained bottomed out, entirely. Pressed as deeply as she could possibly get, as hard as she could, rolling only the slightest hints of thrusts into her quaking little sun, steely muscle against the pliant, if straining, overstretched body beneath. There the sentinel remained, cementing her conquest with every second that passed. Only when Silendiel had fallen to a slightly lower level of energy, having ridden her orgasm to its inevitable conclusion, did Neryn begin to pull back. To the sound of constant, elevated breathing from the prospects, as well as shushing, and obviously heated breathing, from Liriel.

First, Neryn pulled perhaps two inches of that mammoth cockshaft back, pressing them back into Silendiel’s depths, thoroughly cramming herself in as deep as she could go, once more. Using her weight, and her strength, and her position to push Silendiel to her limits. To push her down against the cushioning, crushing her between the surface of the table and the hard physique of her beloved sentinel. This repeated once more, a few more inches removed that time, and then again. And again. Until Neryn, still with controlled, deliberate, almost mechanically steady movements pulled over two handfuls of those colossal, fat inches back, and then **** them back in. Grinding, that monster of a cock slowly pulsing, pumping with the heartbeat of its owner, that slow, slight gain in size taking its toll on Silendiel. Clearly, though, the blood elf was rather more occupied with the obvious flood of pleasure that assaulted her every sense whenever Neryn bottomed out in her tight ass, though she still clenched out of some primal instinct, as if it might remove the sentinel.

“Y-- you said… four, at once?”

A whisper from somewhere behind Neryn reached Silendiel’s ears. She had not the focus, the mental capacity to think about it, other than to register that someone had said something. A prospect? The thought melted, slipped the grasp of her mind, weakening heat once more rushing through her as Neryn’s chiseled core mashed against her, marking that her ass was totally, entirely claimed once again. Those slow, deliberate movements were, with each hilting, gaining just the tiniest bit of speed, building into first an unhurried, languid pace of thrusts, but one that grew for each passing second. The friction, the overwhelming impact on her for every time Neryn bottomed out, made the experience one of surrender, one that might have frightened Silendiel, had she not been so completely in the protective, demanding grasp of her sentinel. She never would have thought herself able of letting go so completely, until Neryn had come into her life. Until she had allowed the sentinel to come into her life. Another deep, merciless thrust, and so, Silendiel leaned her head back, and let her limbs quake, and her core tense. She did not fight it. She wanted it.

Silendiel’s core tensed, clenched, trying to lock down around the colossal, fat cockshaft, though she remained utterly conquered in a way that allowed her body little more recourse than to clamp down. Down. Pulsing, churning pleasure spreading from what seemed like every nook and cranny stretched and caressing around Neryn’s huge, girthy dick, that warmth not so much working its way into her chest, thighs, arms, cheeks, but appearing there. Bursting, growing from the same relentless, deep impacts that each hilting thrust caused, making her strain not against her sentinel, but against her bonds.

Once, she had been told that love wanted to be free, and had scoffed at it then. Finding, always, that it somehow thrived, fed on, was nurtured at the breast of adversity. No longer. Neryn’s hand resting upon her throat, helping, with a vice-like grip of one of her thighs, pull her back down to meet the growing strength of each thrust, Silendiel came. Came to realize that, in the right hands, love did not even need to be granted freedom. It materialized everywhere. In the burning, prickling, weakening pleasure that took over and impressed itself upon her every sense. Everywhere. In every limb. She heard and felt the hard, hammering smack each time her sentinel hilted. Caught the ever-present scent of the kaldorei, of leaves and rain and earthen comfortable warmth, of lavender. Of a day’s well-earned sweat. Silendiel’s mind fooled her eyes into the pretense of seeing Neryn’s long-honed physique above her, between her legs. The sweet and sharp taste of her. And the heat. The heat that penetrated everything, and would not let go. Pulsing in her chest, in her core, slowly. But it would not let go. Every time Neryn rolled another hammering thrust into Silendiel’s depths, bottomed out, a conditioned response hit. Another tensing, building blossoming of pleasure, another butterfly threatening to burst from her ribs, lifting her up as it escaped.

Neryn’s hand around her throat moved, fingers curling possessively upwards around chin, jaw, then one cheek. Silendiel breathed hard, exhaling the overwhelming, sensory warmth and fog every second, the needy tone so clear that the gag could no longer begin to hide it. She rocked up, and down, and up, her body moving at the continual, pistoning speed of Neryn’s thrusts, no longer truly emerging from one orgasm before the next began. She might have worried at the power over her senses that the sentinel had, if she had been capable of the coherent thought required by such contemplation. Blessedly, though, the refined noblewoman was granted that most rare state of being, her conquered body languidly moving, head slowly lolling from one side to the other, steadied only by the hand which held one side of it, lost to time and space in endless, sweltering pleasure. A graceful creature reduced, at the hands of her beloved sentinel, to no more than a hedonist, trapped in and seeking the pleasure ever granted to her by Neryn’s powerful, inexorable thrusts. Trembling. Coming.

The speed of those thrusts had risen, and then found a steady, punishing level, the sentinel exhaling at the exact same point in the rhythm, each time. Every time she slam-fucked herself in to the hilt. Her form sheened by a thin layer of sweat, it seemed she, too, had not so much chosen to ignore the audience, but forgotten that they existed, pounding into her little sun’s conquered, tight ass, filling that small frame with colossal cock. Hammering in, bottoming out, at a steady, merciless pace, which slowed as it reached its apex, and then jerked back into hard movement as Neryn began each thrust, as if the goal was as much her own pleasure as it was to push Silendiel to the absolute limit.

Silendiel truly did not know how long it carried on, only that she could measure hundreds of thrusts by the blooming pleasure each caused within her, shockwaves of pressure and pleasure emerging each time Neryn hilted. At moments, briefly, between those conquering thrusts, she broke the surface waters of that mindbending, continual rush of pleasure, and squirmed just so. Curled her fingers into the rugs on which she lay, trying to gain purchase, as if holding on to something physical might anchor her mind to the world, only to find the anchor gone, her hold on herself crumbling when Neryn pumped into her depths again, and started the whole thing again. So she crawled back towards awareness and was knocked back down innumerable times. Fifty? A hundred? Hundreds?

The end began only when one hilting thrust did not lead into the next, when Neryn instead held herself in to the root, those chiseled muscles tightening, quaking against Silendiel’s surrendered form. Even had she not been gagged, she could not have formed words, but she nevertheless sensed her sentinel’s climax approaching, and so she tried to roll back against it. Found herself shaking, too weak to move. Neryn withdrew just a handful of inches, and slam-fucked her way back in, grinding the innermost, thickest inch of massively fat dick in only slowly. Repeated this once, twice, thrice, moving less and less each time.

At last, Neryn moved only perfunctorily, as her body, her muscles, made her jolt forward, securing her position as deeply as possible in Silendiel, the primal part of the kaldorei clearly demanding that she do so. It did not matter that she was claiming her little sun’s ass, the urge was beyond controlling, and so she obeyed it. Half crushing Silendiel beneath her, a second of stillness passed between the two, only hard, needy breaths to be heard from beneath. Neryn did not breathe, then, too caught up, too wound up, too tense in that moment before the dam inevitably broke.

Finally, a single, hissing breath **** itself from the kaldorei’s throat, not ****, not indulgent, something that fought to get loose, fought for its freedom. A breath that was allowed out only because Neryn’s core relaxed for but a fraction of a second, and then clamped down again, producing the enormous **** necessary for that first, colossal, sweltering load to be pumped through her massive shaft, that cumvein bulging as the rope of seed pounded down it, and then, at last, found its home within Silendiel. With bruising ****, Neryn loosed that thick, continuous strand of cum, causing a localized little distension upon her little sun’s belly, until the load settled. Followed by another, equally titanic, immediately after. Almost, there was a kind of painful note to the straining, struggling exhalations from above, but Silendiel focused only on trying to roll down against Neryn, on meeting the quaking rise of the sentinel’s pelvis that signaled each pumping, powerful rope of seed.

As long as she could, Silendiel sought to meet her sentinel in that way, but it took little time for her to begin to be too laden down with those colossal loads, her stomach building a small hill that gradually enveloped the cockbulge so firmly settled in her. Its shape grew with frightening regularity, at the pace of each of Neryn’s molten, copious loads, settling for but a moment, and then rising again, its round bulge soon coming to equal, then surpass anything Silendiel had experienced before. Even in the arms of her sentinel, she had tried nothing of the sort, her breath strained, muscle aching as her stomach rose into that colossal dome. Wobbling with each fat rope of seed pumping, pounding into her.

Neryn’s hand, gripping around Silendiel’s face more than it cupped her cheek as the sentinel rhythmically tensed with the punctuated, heavy jets of jizz, gradually relaxed its hold, and that was her sign that they were nearing a kind of end. Still breathing hard, Silendiel was at last capable of relaxing just a little, even if her body strained and fought with its continued mission of containing not just Neryn’s colossal girth, but that churning, bloating mass of seed. Nevertheless, she let her head fall back down against the cushioning rugs, and let her legs relax, falling to either side just a little, around her sentinel. A few final, fat cables of cum still hammered into her, but the way Neryn pressed against her had dropped off to something almost approaching a caress, rather than a crushing, primal insistence at bottoming out. Together, they breathed rapidly, almost synchronized, though Silendiel’s breathing was higher, relieved, pleased, almost spilling over into pleased laughter for a moment as the grip of orgasm loosened, and awareness and real, coherent thought rushed back in.

Above her, Neryn seemed to try to calm herself, her breathing, by intentionally taking slower, big breaths. Moving the hand from Silendiel’s face and down to rest, for a moment, atop that dome of seed within her previously flat stomach, to then find its place at her hip. Where, for a time, the sentinel still rocked that innermost, thickest inch of her behemoth in, and out. And then, gradually, a little more out than in, such that, over time, she seemed to thrust her way out, rather than in, still exploiting Silendiel’s clenching, tight ass for every moment of pleasure possible.

Silendiel rocked back and forth with this motion, but it was a more quiet, almost comfortable thing. A long moment of warmth shared between her and Neryn, which she was content to bask in, until her ears once more heard that quietly elevated breath of the prospects. Women she had not even seen, and perhaps never would. If they were going to be turned away, surely, that performance would have done so. If there was even a shred of desire for what had been shown off, surely it was aflame now, and, rather than be turned away by the thought that she might lead someone into depravity, Silendiel felt a guilty kind of satisfaction. Pride, not at having shown off, as such, but at herself and Neryn together. Affirmed in the knowledge that they had exhibited precisely what it was like to be united as they were, sentinel kaldorei and refined sin’dorei.

Neryn took a half-step back, continuing her slow rhythm, withdrawing inch by massively thick inch, until Silendiel’s ass held on to only that hefty, broad cockhead, tugged at as even that, eventually, was surrendered and allowed free again. Normally, when they were done, they might have wrapped up in each other’s arms, or Neryn might have carried Silendiel to bed, or to a bath. This time, that was not the case.

Instead, the sentinel released her grip of her little sun’s hips, and, Silendiel could hear, took the few steps necessary to arrive up at her head, instead. There was the tiniest possible, still detectable, tremble to Neryn’s fingers as they pushed into Silendiel’s hair and found where the gag was secured, undoing the knots, and then slackening it. Pulled it from between her teeth and lips, very carefully, allowing her to take a full, shuddering breath, then exhaling it. She learned, then, why her sentinel had freed her mouth, as Neryn moved closer, positioning Silendiel’s head nearly between her thighs, allowing those weighty, fat balls to settled down and onto her face.

Silendiel pressed her tongue out between her lips, as if to wet them, knowing that it would bump into the pliant flesh of her sentinel’s nuts. Opening her mouth just so, and then further still, and even further, she carefully sucked in just a little of one hefty orb, and ground her tongue against it. Released it, and then dotted a kiss to it, lips expanding until she encompassed as much as she could of but one of those churning, heavy balls, still dutifully running her tongue against it. It seemed to produce both a comfortable, relaxed sound from her sentinel, but also a single, thumb-thick rope of seed, Neryn’s core turning to steel for but one, long moment as the thick load splattered against the upper curve of Silendiel’s bulging belly.

Neryn took a step back, then, one hand employed to angle that huge cockshaft down, so that Silendiel could arch her back and press her lips to its tip. Or, rather, meet what was offered her, sensing rather than seeing it, and responding as she knew her sentinel would wish her to. By dotting kisses to that fat dick’s crown, eventually letting her lips expand over its tip, as much as she could. And, again, near unbidden, Neryn’s core tensed, shook, and another hammerblow fell, pumping a final, fat strand of seed into Silendiel’s waiting maw. In but an instant, her mouth filled, her cheeks bulged out, and splattering strands of the viscous, potent load burst from her lips where they had previously sealed around her sentinel’s hefty, broad cockhead, rolling and flowing over her features. From her maw, from her nostrils. She worked to swallow what she could in three, then four great gulps, keeping her lips against Neryn to accept whatever else might come. But it seemed, at last, that the sentinel was spent. A final, slow breath taken in, and then sighed out. Relief. Relaxation.

Against Silendiel’s messy chin, and the side of the blindfold, Neryn laid her hand, offering a single pat. It was not clear exactly what transpired, then, at least to Silendiel, who nevertheless sensed communication. The shuffling feet of the four prospects, movements slow, making Silendiel attach impressed, slightly embarrassed, gaping expressions to the diffuse mental images of the four in her head. And, behind them, ushering them with little nothing-words, was Liriel, who seemed also somewhat out of breath – not that she could be unused to what she had witnessed, but Silendiel imagined it was quite another thing to watch it than be a part of it. Perhaps Liriel and the Captain would have to repay the favor, one day.

Before the door had opened and shut behind the onlookers, Neryn’s fingers already worked to undo the tie holding the blindfold in place, leaning down to place a kiss, upside down, against Silendiel’s forehead once the cloth was removed.

“Thank… you,” Silendiel said, unsure what she was thankful for. All of what she had just experienced, perhaps?

“You did so well, little sun,” Neryn said. She cradled one messy cheek for a long moment, before releasing it, moving on down to Silendiel’s right side, beginning to undo the binding that held her legs secured in the position up along her flanks. Slipping from one leg meant that the tension was out of it, and so, her legs, still held in those tight, inverted v-shapes, began to sink downwards. The right one was stopped by Neryn’s hand, the binding undone so that Silendiel could finally stretch her leg again. Something she had, while caught up in the brutal intensity of her sentinel’s affection, been unaware of even wanting or needing to do.

Neryn shifted to the other side, repeating much the same movements, allowing Silendiel’s legs to extend over the edge of the now rather rickety-seeming table used to position her for her sentinel’s use. With a strong hand behind her head, and an arm digging beneath her, she was guided up into a sitting position, where she wanted very much to wrap her arms around that colossal, sloshing dome of seed, but was unable to. The cuffs remained, for a little while, though Neryn moved to those next. Undoing one, then the other, removing the thankfully cushioned leather from its seat, running slightly calloused fingers over the odd little bumps and ridges impressed on Silendiel’s skin, on her lower back, where she had rested on the leather.

Quiet, whining breaths left Silendiel’s throat as she sat, half hunched over, her sluggish, weakened arms draping around her bulging stomach, trying to support it. The aftermath of any coupling with Neryn was always challenging, and she knew that it would remain so for several hours. But she knew, also, that her sentinel would not abandon her, and so she remained in place, head hanging a little, eyes closed, focusing on maintaining steady breathing.

“You need a bath, before we go to bed,” Neryn said.

“We?”

“You’d prefer I toss you onto the covers and leave?”

“No, no,” Silendiel said. Though her head remained down, her eyes still closed, she could not help but smile a joy that bloomed in her chest. She shook her head. “No. I just did not expect it. Is it not morning for you? Are you tired?”

“No, I’m wide awake. But I want to lie in bed with you. Unless you object,” Neryn said.

Silendiel shook her head again. “No. I want you to.”

“Bath first. Can you walk?”

“I suppose we can find out, together,” Silendiel said. Her smile widened, momentarily, at the absurdity. It felt the kind of overblown, stereotypical tale drunkards might share in a tavern, bragging about how their partners could not even walk after a sexual encounter, so massive was their prowess. Truthful, in the case of Neryn, but Silendiel did not imagine that she would find herself sat in many taverns, bragging about her sentinel partner. With Neryn’s arm securely around her back, hand with a grasp on the opposite flank, she tried to stand. Once, twice, and then the third time, having gotten the considerable extra weight of her domed stomach to work for her, she managed to work herself up on both feet. And realized, then, that if she had not been supported, she likely would have sat right back down again.

“As long as you help, it seems, yes,” Silendiel said, answering the question at last.

Together, in a thankfully quiet, dusky mansion, they made their way to the bath which had, ahead of time, been prepared by the servants. Not quite steaming, anymore, but still pleasantly hot. With no need to shed any clothes, Silendiel, thankfully supported by Neryn’s strong arms, worked one foot over the edge, and then the other. Seated herself, carefully, and leaned back, resting her head on the towel draped over one end of the tub, submerged save for her head, and the very top of that bulge on her stomach. The water making her limbs feel lighter, she raised her arms to smooth the soapy water over the bump of her belly, breathing in, and then out. Settling her golden eyes on Neryn, who still stood next to the tub.

“Will you stay here, with me?”

“Why would I go guard your door if you aren’t in your quarters?”

“Not what I meant,” Silendiel said. She smiled, an oddly affectionate sensation to the words she had first assigned to her sentinel. Stubborn, stupid, savage. “Will you sit with me here, at least?”

“Of course,” Neryn said.

Luckily, for the both of them, the tub was full, and well-anchored, and so it complained only just when the large kaldorei found a seat on its edge, near the end where Silendiel rested her head. After a moment, Neryn cupped water in her hands, and lifted it to Silendiel’s face, where she washed away the mess that still clung to it over the course of a few moments. She settled, then, after caressing the back of her fingers over her little sun’s cheek, into stroking those golden-blonde locks of hair that ever seemed to want to escape their proper arrangement.

“I will,” Neryn said, at last.

Silendiel nodded, and suddenly found a need to swallow. To blink her eyes several times, swallow, and then nod again. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that, little sun. Shouldn’t I thank you, too? Instead?”

“Maybe,” Silendiel said. “Just let me be silly, if I want to.”

“You’re silly whether you want to be or not.”

“If I was less exhausted, I might have swatted you for that.”

“We’re a devious and tactically clever people. I know exactly how exhausted you are, and how safe I am,” Neryn said.

Silendiel responded with a mere huff. And then closed her eyes, leaning on the towel, and into Neryn’s slow strokes of her hair.

“Some time,” Silendiel said, after a while. “We might bring some of your sentinel sisters, here. I have a few acquaintances who might enjoy kaldorei attention more than they imagine.”

“In time,” Neryn said. “One small step at a time, I think.”

“Is that what the priestess would say?”

“She isn’t here. And I’m more concerned with you, right now,” Neryn said. For a moment, she halted the caresses. “Don’t push yourself just because you think it’ll impress me, or make me care for you. I already do. And you need not impress me any more than you already have.”

“In time,” Silendiel said. She breathed in, and then out. Slowly. The caresses resumed, and she could not hold back a simple, joyful smile.