Copyright Notice:
All characters and individual material are © Daniel Riverton 2011. All rights Reserved.
World of Warcraft, Warcraft and Blizzard Entertainment are trademarks or registered trademarks of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. in the U.S. and/or other countries. ©2004 Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. All rights reserved.
This is fan fiction only. This work may not be reproduced for commercial, marketing, republishing or plagiatory purposes. The work is sexual in nature and may not be to everyone's individual taste. Please do not continue reading unless 18 years or older.
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Cold Cobblestones
The hail whipped the Stormwind cobblestones with sharp 'clacks', striking against the stone and shattering like glass. Among the canals, the sometimes thumb-sized projectiles struck the water with a resounding splash, a symphony declaring the early arrival of late autumn, which soon would bring winter to the land.
Stormwind citizens were used to the hail season. When the first small, icy orb had struck the pavement next to a boy of five, parents had snatched their offspring, peddlers had quickly gathered their wares and the city guards had passed the warning along the streets quickly.
Within the hour, the city had seemed more like the ghost town of Caer Darrow than a bustling metropolis often thought one of the greatest achievements of humankind. Only the occasional guard was still visible for those running from corner to corner, sheltering beneath sloping, red-tiled roofs.
Few stayed outside long however. While the small spots offered shelter and the hail in itself was far from deadly, it was not uncommon for the by passers daring the streets to be bruised or even struck unconscious from an unfortunate orb to the head.
A guard moving among the streets with his solid, thick shield raised, deflecting the hail in a cacophony of cracking ice against metal, didn't even notice the tall, robed man walking next to the slightly smaller woman. The two traveler's ascended the Lion's stairs, leading to the bridge to old town.
At least, that was what the pair looked like to the unknowing eye.
Magoren Hellsbreath did not even flinch when a small hailstone struck his unshielded brow, feeling the blow as though a brush from a particularly insistent feather. He had neglected to pull up the hood of his crimson cloak, a garment intricately woven with abyssal patterns in gold thread and weather like this -- or of any kind -- did him little harm in any case. His demonic magic saw to that.
He had often heard others call him a frightening sight. Despite being only a few years past young adult, most of the brown hair on his scalp was gone, as though cruelly burned off to leave only a bald pate as devilishly dark as the rest of his hue. He was broadly built to the degree that some thought him a tavern tough, until they got a look at the rest of him.
Having been told that his eyes, near scarlet as a result of his allegiances were enough to send children gibbering in terror, he had quickly adopted a very confident stance. His powerful hand, fingers veined and slightly gnarled, were clasped around the base of a twisted staff.
His companion, sauntering along at his side, was in many ways worse however.
Her form was mostly shielded by a cloak not completely dissimilar from his own. It hid what he knew was a perfectly heart-shaped face with pouting lips, a small nose and liquid, black eyes. Her otherworldliness began with the horns sprouting from her forehead and ended with the tail jutting from above her round buttocks. A black whip of the unknown, leather-like material hung from a belt set in a garment meant to inflame rather than cover what lay beneath and betwixt.
Saszira had been his plaything, companion and more for a good ten years now. Her heart was blacker than pitch, her soul so far beyond corrupted one could not be certain it existed and she was worse than evil. A demonic succubus, she was delighted by every one of her master's cruel antics.
And she had been given reason to be delighted often.
"Masterrrr" The word was drawn out, exhaled rather than spoken as a hailstone struck the creature -- that was how he thought of her, never a woman -- square in the face, momentarily leaving an egg-sized bruise below her lips. By the time she gazed up at him, the bruise had faded.
He didn't reply.
"We have been here to-ah!... long" Another lump of frozen water had struck her, on the shoulder this time.
Again he neglected to reply. Some thought succubi could read minds - this was of course ludicrous. They could read desire, that much was true. He did not want to give her the satisfaction of knowing it bothered him as well, stuck in Stormwind for too long without any possibility of leaving. For the moment, at least.
Civilization did not sit well with him. There was too much order, and too many forces fighting to maintain that order. Chaos now....
Chaos was...fun. Chaos was life.
"Don't ignore me!" She put a hand, fingernails nearly claws, to his side.
A raw, threatening note in the feminine voice caught his attention, sending a thrill along his nerves. He spun with a quickness that belied his tough, shouldered exterior and struck her with a clenched fist.
She flew, staggering back into the brick wall, several icy stones immediately shattering against her brow. A trickle of crimson trickled from the corner of her mouth and a grin blossomed on her lips.
"Always so violent, my master" Saszira grinned, clearly pleased.
The creature actually squeaked when he pushed against her, running his calloused hand up her flat belly, only partially covered by the scandalous garment. He felt her breath, hot as from a forge, on his neck. The scent that was all...her.
Sharp and sulfurous mingled with a distinct smell of what was female about her. The smell of raw, unrestrained lust and sex always exuding from her like fine perfume. Odor designed to drive mortals mad. That was what it did to ordinary men.
It merely drove him crazy, made him unbearably lustful.
Yet a firm hand with your servants was necessary, regardless of what they sparked in you, he thought. He grabbed her black swell of hair in a firm grip, yanking her head up to kiss her. Her eyes betrayed a mix of emotions. Lust, anger, hate, fear, respect, love, and anticipation...it was too much. She was chaos made flesh, and his own emotions towards here were as mixed as the ones he felt from her.
He kissed her violently.
A pleased, muffled coo came from her and she molded into him, her full and barely restrained breasts pressing against his chest. She rode his leg, pressing the warmth of her near-unclothed cunt against his robed thigh. He felt the warmth and moist even through his robe.
She grabbed his already throbbing member through the fabric of his robe, expertly coaxing as she had done since the first night when they had coupled oh-so violently.
Magoren knew what would happen, should she get her way.
They would fuck here in the streets, he thought in between violent, demanding kisses. Her sharp teeth brushed his tongue, his lips, yet never broke skin. True pain had taught her what he thought of that. The demanding, incessant noises coming from her throat designed to drive him lustful beyond reason grew more insistent.
He tore her corset with a sharp motion. The material, easily giving way beneath his strong hands, was still a mystery to him. It was much as her desires were -- infinitely malleable. He had taken her in places most would call worse, and a nosy, interruptive guardsman could be sent on his way with a devilishly laden syllable from the lips separating beneath his tongue.
Saszira grinned as he freed her breasts, her eyes glazing when he struck her once more. Magoren pushed up against her, roughly parting her wet channel with two fingers without preparation. A sound like a deep, feline purr came deeply from her throat. She looked drunk and drugged. Her kind fed off desire and lust and he gave her what she craved -- regularly.
The hot, moist flesh of her cunt met his touch and her cloak fell as her wings unfurled, batting uselessly against the wall behind her.
"Whore." He snarled at her, giving her a slap that surely was enough to make even her ears ring.
"Yessssss..." She replied, biting her lower lip as she rode the two fingers he gave her. Always ready, never satisfied.
"I hate you." It was a statement of fact. True, coming from his own lips. He hated her from the depth of what remained of his heart and soul.
Saszira grinned, showing small fangs.
"I hate you too." She reached, sharp fingernails tearing fabric as she wrapped her dexterous fingers around his hard cock. She gazed up into him, her eyes markedly clear while still riding his thrusting fingers. "Now love me" The sultry creature purred.
Magoren withdrew his fingers, taking hold of her by her shoulders and ignoring the brushing of her bat-like, demonic wings as he pressed her against the wall. Hoisting her up, he unceremoniously slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt into her.
A sharp cry of mingled pleasure, relief and victory burst from her throat, piercing even the ongoing sound of shattering hailstones.
The contrast was sharp, he noted dimly. She was warm. More then merely femininely warm, but hot. Juice trickled from her, quickly coating his cock and driving him to further ecstasy. He pressed against her and she pressed back.
A stray, icy projectile struck her cheek, staggering her momentarily. "Fuck me, my master. Fuck me now!" She snarled bestially, baring teeth.
He started fucking her.
In some ways, the difference between taking a mortal woman and taking a succubus was like the difference between night and day. Neither was better, they were merely separate. In other ways, no mortal woman could ever hope to have the stamina, resilience, lust and expertise of a demonic succubus.
They were made to fuck and be fucked. They were built for sex, conditioned to please. It was the way they lived, survived, killed and eventually died.
Moans and exclamations came continually from her as he took what he wanted. What she wanted him to take. Sometimes it was difficult to tell who began these things.
"Ah! Bastard...harder! Fuck me harder! Ooh!" She spat, clutching his shoulders to hold herself erect against the wall.
