By the end of the month everything was set. She had her list, and half of the men who had made it into the top fifty were gathering inside of her throne room, with the other half scheduled for tomorrow. Entertaining all of them at once would be impossible; there simply wasn't enough time in the day. As such, she'd dedicated two days of the month to rewarding these fine soldiers of the Horde.
And fine they are. This is just as much my reward as theirs.
Sylvanas sat in her throne, stiff as a gargoyle, mouth twisted in a sinister smile, unblinking, unbreathing, utterly motionless save for the flickering of her eyes shifting to the faces of the men as they filed in, twenty-five hardened studs bulging with muscles and littered with scars. Blue skinned trolls, green skinned orcs, tauren with bodies like bipedal kodo beasts. Massively masculine. Just her type.
Once they were all inside, the sturdy iron door of the Warchief's chambers slammed shut. The echo carried through the open room with its domed roof, curved walls and various patriotic decorations, then stopped. Silence reigned alongside her. It was just her and these men now. The best the Horde had to offer if Vera's criteria could be trusted. Well over half of them were orcs, with a smattering of trolls and tauren as well as an elf whom she eyed most curiously, eyebrows raised as she studied him. No doubt he was handsome, but the difference between him and the average Sin'dorei soldier was obvious from the manner in which he carried himself, as if he had adapted to the uncivilized ways of orcs.
Blood elves rarely opted to join the primary Horde military, instead choosing to remain within their native Sin'dorei forces. The men who did join up with the Horde tended to be rugged outcasts if not outright criminals; the women who joined were much the same, often ending up pregnant with a half-orc mongrel within a year of their transfer to Kalimdor. If they weren't outcasts before, they certainly were then.
Sylvanas swept off of her throne, stalking to the center of the room, lithe and beautiful with a cloak of shadows swirling about her. The men followed her every move. They hadn't a clue what they were getting, but she could tell from their lecherous gazes what they wanted. Fearsome as she was, her body inspired far more than just terror. She knew this. She liked this. She used it to her advantage whenever possible.
Amused, she stopped in the center of the room and continued to study them, eyes passing from one soldier to the other, noticing more than a few familiar faces. A number of Kor'kron were there, as well as some of the local chieftains named as potential traitors within Vera's report.
The sniveling rats hide it well though, I'll give them that. They look about as stupidly loyal as the Kor'kron.
In all truth there was little evidence of treachery, but she put a lot of faith in what they did have. Of course, by the end of the night she had a feeling any potential traitors might just have a change of heart.
Her lip curled, revealing the sharp tip of an elven canine. "Lok'tar," she said, with such sincerity it wrapped around into being flippant. The men straightened and twenty-five hands thumped at their chests in salute. "I had high hopes when I was sworn in as warchief," she continued, "and I had high hopes when I devised this program to honor those who best serve the Horde. So far I have not been disappointed." She took a step forward and raised her hands to the group. "You are the best. The elite. The ones marching the Horde forward against both the Alliance and the Burning Legion. And so I ask you: what is a suitable reward for those such as yourselves?"
They waited for her to answer her own question, but when she did nothing but stare expectantly back at them they shifted and looked at each other. "Land?" one asked. Another mentioned armor, another weapons.
"Oh no, nothing that money can buy." She peeled off a glove, tossed it away and flexed her fingers. "You are the best, and as such deserve an appropriate reward." Both gloves were off now, and she reached up to unclasp her cloak, bundling it up and throwing it off to the side. Her silver-blonde hair tumbled loose, flowing like a waterfall down her back and shoulders. The men stared, bewildered and confused. Her pauldrons were the next victim, dropping to the padded floor with a soft thump, revealing more of her smooth blue skin.
"What would you rather have?" she asked, prying at the latches of her breastplate. "A new pair of armor--" The chestpiece fell away in the most magnificently mundane manner possible, revealing the Dark Lady's stacked chest, firm and supple, two great womanly handfuls that often strained at her corset and teased those taller than her. "--or me?"
Standing tall and proud, she cupped the full curves of her breasts, hefting them and squeezing them and feeling them overflow between her fingers. The dancing flames of a nearby torch caught the gleam of a silver piercing cut in the shape of the symbol of the Horde dangling from her left nipple. A display of her dedication. Amazed, the men gawked and grinned, staring like a group of barbarians salivating over a piece of meat.
That's precisely what they are. On the battlefield or in the bedroom, they're little more than animals.
Sylvanas' eyes glowed within the dim light of the room and her body swayed ever-so-slightly to an inaudible rhythm, half-clothed and incredibly erotic, her body naked from the waist up. Her countenance was etched in by shadows, her lips posed in a dangerous yet seductive smirk, her curves highlighted by the soft flickering lighting of torches ensconced upon the walls. A combination of preternatural beauty and unsettling dark magic. Warchief and woman at the same time.
She trailed her hands over wide hips, down to her thunderous thighs, framing her mound before bending over and kicking her boots off. Straightening, she turned around in one fluid motion, arms above her head as if stretching, legs spread wide and her back arched in a way that emphasized her clothed posterior. The swell of her breasts were visible from behind her naked back, and without her usual cloak the men got a good view of her ass straining through her leather trousers, round and perfectly shaped. Barely contained by the fabric of her pants.
She hooked her fingers into her waistband, slowly shimmying out of her pants with each sensual sway of her hips, exposing more and more skin to the rapt crowd of spectators. Her bubbly ass resisted its unveiling, but was eventually left fully exposed, thick and begging to be slapped. Two blue half-moons with plenty of bounce.
After the removal of her trousers the only thing left covering her was a thin string of thong lost somewhere between her cheeks. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw twenty-five pairs of eyes staring at her ass. She could very well imagine what they wanted to do to it.
And today's their lucky day.
Turning around, their eyes focused on her breasts, then her loins, where the little black thong covered her pussy. Embroidered on it was the Horde emblem, blazing red in all of its blood-and-thunder glory, matching her nipple piercing. Never before had a warchief worn the symbol so well.
Sylvanas knelt within the center of the room, the heels of her feet digging into the plump cheeks of her ass. The torches flickered. Her otherworldly eyes scanned the men, bright and beautiful, her gorgeous face tempting as a siren and haunting as the cold grave. She smiled, and her voice reverberated with an unnatural huskiness.
"This is your reward. You may do whatever you want with me." Wickedly powerful, wickedly beautiful, and wickedly wanton, she beckoned them over with a curl of her finger and a vulgar lick of the lips. "Who's first?"
An orc with skin like an olive and a chest like a bear stepped forward without hesitation, crossing the distance before anyone else realized they were not in a dream and that yes, the Dark Lady was in fact naked in front of them and making lewd gestures with her mouth and tongue.
Sylvanas looked up to a fat green cock flopping out of a pair of pants and dropping onto her face. Her eyebrows twitched, framing the cock like a tiny pair of wings. The man certainly didn't waste time.
"You must have scored well in courage and participation," she said, nuzzling against his shaft and inhaling his masculine scent.
