A request featuring Nick the worgen and Sylvanas Windrunner
***
For a city of the dead the Undercity was rather bright this time of year. Lunar Festival decorations were sprawled across shops and balconies, and paper lanterns, illuminated by candle or crystal, repelled what the Dark Lady typically regarded as very comforting shadows.
"Too many damned holidays," Sylvanas muttered, pulling her cloak more tightly about her. The cloak, different from her customary cape, hid her body under a bulk of black silk and shimmering raven feathers.
She rounded a corner and swatted at a lantern with a pink heart attached to it that nearly hit her in the face, glared at a passing orc from deep under her hood as if he'd personally placed it there. The orc, apparently sufficiently disturbed by her eerie red eyes staring at him, kept his distance and hurried along as if she'd turn into a banshee and gobble him up.
And not in the way that she typically gobbled men up.
Sylvanas continued on, gliding through the Undercity's streets like a shadow, an eagerness in her step despite the annoyance she felt towards the holiday decorations. For the past week she had been absent from the Undercity while she visited her sisters in Quel'thalas. This trip had proved fortunate for her, giving her a good excuse not to be within the Undercity during any Lunar Festival festivities which she, as leader, would be pressured to attend.
As she was now finding out however, she had arrived just in time for the advent of another obnoxious holiday: Love is in the Air. Perhaps even worse, she'd arrived during an interim period in which the Lunar Festival decorations were still being displayed while the Love is in the Air decorations were being put up throughout the city. All around her an odd, tacky mix of ornaments and other disgusting doodads now gave her city, typically known for its labyrinthine corridors and utilitarian function, an air similar to that of a circus rather than the macabre sewer that it was.
Carrying her annoyance on the sleeve of her thick cloak, Sylvanas' boots marched her quickly in the direction of her quarters, and her thoughts, which had been angrily focused on the potentiality of non-compliant decorations interfering with flight paths, turned to what awaited her back in the Royal Quarter. First, Anya, who had been acting as her double. But then...
Upon entering the Royal Quarter she threw out a quick salute to her guards and then caught the eye of her dark ranger, her body temporarily morphing into that of a banshee as she floated up to the dais in which her throne, and Anya, sat.
"Mistress," the dark ranger said, jumping to her feet and looking uncharacteristically excited. "Welcome back."
Desiring to dispense with necessary duties as quickly as possible, Sylvanas said, "Details, ranger. Anything I should know about?"
Anya stood up straight and relayed with military efficiency what had occurred over the past week. "Beginning three days after you left, our forces reported minor skirmishes with the gnolls near the border of Silverpine. A day after that we captured Alliance spies in the area and are working to see if the two are connected."
Sylvanas waved a bored hand. "Gnolls and spies, what else is new? Did our alchemists not develop a truth serum for such occasions?"
"Yes, but... well, the side effects can be rather deadly. The interrogators are saving it as a last resort in case it renders the captives unable to function afterwards."
"
Unable to function
?" Sylvanas snorted, then motioned towards her private quarters. "How is the beast?"
"Right where you left him, Mistress."
At this Sylvanas' lips curved into a smile. "Splendid," she said, tapping Anya's arm with the back of her hand as she moved away. "Then I will be unavailable for some time. You will continue your assignment of impersonating me for these holiday festivities. If you need assistance, utilize Clea."
"But Mistress," Anya protested, shrinking back a little when Sylvanas whirled on her. "Clea is... preoccupied."
Sylvanas scowled as realization hit her.
Ah yes, preoccupied! How could she have forgotten? During her last visit to Quel'thalas, Clea had used her mistress' absence to engage in some physical activity with Nick and, somehow, managed to get knocked up--the gutter tramp. Worse yet, so had two val'kyr and a number of other rangers. Unbeknownst to everyone at the time, some of them still retained their reproductive faculties. Lesson learned: do not leave a worgen sex pet unattended. As a result, Sylvanas had locked him in her private chambers with provisions for the entirety of her latest trip. Naturally the second lesson of this ordeal was to research necromancy that allowed for reproduction, and by extension population growth.
"Figure it out then," Sylvanas ordered. "You have full authority while I'm absent."
With that, she left her subordinate to conduct the affairs of the Undercity, and with each step she took the more eager she became. For one week she'd been away, and for one week her lack of sexual activity had built up a fierce hunger within her. An incredible hunger. A hunger for one thing and one thing only: cock. Thick, throbbing worgen cock, beating into her pussy, knotting her and making her scream and cream.
Sylvanas found herself salivating, licked her lips, reached for the door of her inner quarters and yanked it open in a rush.
She stepped inside. The heavy door clicked shut behind her.
The inside of her chambers appeared suspiciously empty, however certain things were out of place that made it obvious to her that it had been lived in. A pair of identical Sin'dorei crystal lamps, positioned at opposite ends of the room, cast their dim purple glow over naked stone walls. An empty glass stood next to a half-empty pitcher of water and a loaf of bread upon a table. Her bed was unmade. Upon the floor were a number of male clothes that caused one of her long eyebrows to twitch in annoyance.
She glanced into a secondary room adjacent to this one, saw nothing. She peered up into the darkness of the high vaulted ceiling, again saw nothing. A smile crept its way across her features, her eyes searching the deep shadows of her quarters for the slightest sign of movement. Knowing he was there, sensing he was there. Expecting him to leap forth at any moment, she felt a sort of throbbing itch growing within her, demanding release. For a nympho such as her, a week without sex had left her in desperate need of a good filling.
Lazily, as if she were alone and simply getting comfortable after a long day, she raised her arms and allowed the silk and raven feathered cloak to tumble to the floor, revealing the bodacious body of one of the most highly sought after women on Azeroth.
Blue skin and luscious curves emerged from beneath the cloak. Like the unveiling of a masterpiece of elven sculpture, Sylvanas stood proudly dignified, her presence commanding attention. She had the type of figure that was impeccably fit and incredibly voluptuous, a combination achieved through dedicated training and superb genetics. Her muscles were toned and her waist was small, yet she had plenty above and plenty below. Long agile legs supported statuesque proportions, powerful thighs, a wide pair of womanly hips perfectly suited for a worgen's paws to grip as he slammed her from behind and made that marvelous ass jiggle.
Anticipating her return, Sylvanas had picked up a special sort of souvenir whilst in Quel'thalas just for this occasion. Until now it had been hidden beneath her cloak, but the full set of red lingerie complete with stockings and garter belt were now displayed to any man or beast that might be hiding amidst the darkness of her private quarters.
Casually, she adjusted her bra, the size of which appeared to provide less than adequate coverage, then ran a finger under the waistline of the garter belt which came up to her belly button and pressed against the faint lines of her abs. Head lowered, blonde hair shading her face, her gaze cut slowly across the shadows within the room again, searching for movement. Again there was nothing. She smirked, stepped forward, and immediately one of the puddles of darkness from across the room came alive with tooth and claw, springing for her but missing as her body dissipated into that of a banshee. Purple-black smoke whirled as she dodged. A furry hand grasped for her, missed. She delighted in this unusual foreplay, a grin on her beautiful, twisted face.
Like a storm she flew about the room, a preternatural gale that taunted the worgen until at last with great effort he managed to capture her. Strong hands grasped her rapidly solidifying body, and as she returned to her normal elven self she was twirled around and bent over the table, ass raised. Her grin grew, as did the otherworldly fire in her eyes when she glanced back at her worgen fuck buddy and observed both his massive body and his massive cock issuing forth from its sheathe like an executioner drawing his blade.
"That's it," she hissed in response to Nick's hands taking possessive pawfuls of her big blue ass, squeezing her thick cheeks and indenting her skin with his claws. "Go on and give it to me you mongrel."
Her furry lover growled, smacked her ass hard enough to make it jiggle and leave an imprint of his hand. In the next instant, before she could finish a sultry little moan, he ripped the silky red string of her thong and, hands holding her ass in place, brought his snout to her needy cunt. His long tongue dragged along her wet slit, parted her folds and made her wiggle her hips back against him, her spectral groans driving him on as he lapped at her pussy like the thirstiest dog in the world.
Between his hot breath and incredible tongue Sylvanas had a hard time keeping her head on straight, had a hard time keeping still even, her hands firmly planted on the table while she trembled and squirmed and bucked into his snout. Each scrape of that wolfish tongue on her clit drove her closer and closer to orgasm, but before she could reach it Nick abruptly stood up. She felt then the heavy slab of his crimson behemoth slap against her ass, one, two, three taps, smearing her with his natural lubricant; then in one deftly efficient motion he dipped the inhuman tip of his canine monster into her entrance and shoved home, reclaiming her royal pussy after one long week's absence.
The two of them howled in ecstasy. A shiver quivered up Sylvanas' spine. Her pussy contracted around his titanic girth, and before she could fully prepare for the next stroke it came, full force and balls-deep, the tip of the worgen's banshee breaking fuckstick kissing her cervix and rattling her brain--again and again and again, an agonizingly sweet loop that repeated every time he pulled out and slammed back in.
