The Breeding of the Moon Riders

A request featuring night elves and orcs from WoW.

***

Her hair whipped in the wind as she ran, blood pumping fast, boots thumping against the cool, damp earth. She wasn't running--not really, anyways. Merely putting distance between her and the orcs. It was best to fight the greenskins at a distance; their size made them dangerous in close quarter combat.

Sensing from experience the need to turn and rejoin the fight, Bellatrisk Nightmist dived into a patch of brush, hugged the trunk of a great tree, and quickly peered back towards the center of conflict. Their patrol had gone out with nine Sentinels and encountered what appeared to be an equal number of orcs. This was not ideal, as typically they preferred to maintain a numerical advantage during encounters. Unfortunately things did not always go as planned.

Currently, she could see seven of her sisters battling with all nine of the orcs. Not advantageous in the slightest, but they were holding up fine for now. One of the Sentinels was on the ground, alive, clearly, but injured. Her hands clutched at her gut, but no blood seeped from any wound.

Bellatrisk and another Sentinel, acting on pre-planned strategic maneuvers, had quickly broken off at the first sight of the orcs in order to provide ranged support. She did not know where Liana had run off to, but she had a job to do regardless of where her fellow ranger had relocated to.

It had taken her less than six seconds to sprint away and position herself accordingly. Now, she lifted her bow, infused it with magic that glowed a lustrous moon-silver as she took aim at an orc swinging wildly, and let an arrow fly. It struck smooth and clean through the fumbling orc's neck. Blood spurted, gushed, dribbled so dark it appeared black, and then the orc fell, his descent aided by the arcing glaive of a fellow Sentinel slicing his throat.

The orcs did not seem to pay any attention to their fallen comrade; their arms continued to flail, axes howling madly against elven steel and empty air. Were they blinded by bloodlust or was it well-honed focus that drove them onwards? She didn't think it over. She notched an arrow, prepared to fire, felt a warning prickling at the back of her neck. Though she did not hear or see or truly sense anything to be alarmed over, she trusted in her instinct and whirled around just in time to see an orc stalking silently towards her, only a scarce handful of cubits away.

With skin as green as the Ashenvale vegetation and with arms as thick as tree trunks, he appeared just as surprised as she for a split second, his black eyes widening as they saw and recognized each other as the enemies they were. Then he charged, and she did not have enough time to impale him with an arrow. She dodged, barely, dropping the bow and reaching for her short sword instead. But he reached for something as well--her arm--and caught her by the wrist. He was fast despite his size.

Quick as a snake she yanked her arm back, hoping to break his grip before it formed. She was only semi-successful however, and his hand gripped hers, palm against palm in a mockery of an intimate gesture. She fought briefly, realized it was hopeless, grabbed for her sword with her other hand. The ground left her then, or she left it, weightless, the blurred tableau of Ashenvale flora flashing before her eyes as she was whipped in a semi-circle and slammed back into the tree she'd been hiding behind. Her head must have struck the tree, but she did not feel pain or anything at all. Blackness claimed her in an instant.

***

Voices wrested unconsciousness away from her as if it were an octopus, its tentacles clutching hard, reluctant to let go. Drowsy, dreamy, and fatigued, her head swam, but she managed to open her eyes, not quite awake, and felt an extreme sense of oddness. It felt strange to be awake, to be aware of her fingers, her legs, her toes. She shifted upon the bed and the linens brushed her purple skin. That, too, felt strange.

Again the voices needled their way into her skull. She blinked some of the blurriness from her eyes, turned her head, beheld a vision that, if she were in her right mind, would have startled her.

Very near her were an orc and a female troll, the latter of which was bent over a table, her robe pulled up over the blue hump of her behind. The orc was naked, a state easily achieved given their tendency for wearing loincloths, and ferociously pumping away at her.

It had been the woman who had disturbed her slumber. The feminine moans and ecstatic cries, combined with the thudding of wood as the table lurched forward.

Bellatrisk watched for a few seconds then looked away. In her current hypnagogic state she could not be certain that what she'd seen had even been real. Her mind was too fuzzy, her senses dulled and shapeless. She closed her eyes again. The troll and the orc faded away as if they had never existed.

***

When next she awoke she did not feel quite so strange. Initially she did not realize where she was, but keen alertness quickly took hold, and with it a rush of understanding. She sat up then, wide-eyed, immediately conscious of the fact that she had likely been taken captive. Her body functioned as it normally did, as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had happened. Clearly she'd been injured though, which meant that someone had healed her. A shaman, perhaps.

The room she was in was a small thing, with slightly curved walls of greystone partially covered by hides, tapestries, and medical equipment. A few plants took in sunshine beneath a small window. To her left, a bare wooden table, vaguely familiar.

She threw off the blanket that had covered her and stood up, discovering that she'd been clothed in a thin white gown. No shoes, certainly no weapons. The only thing she could repurpose as a weapon within the room was one of the small potted plants, but she did not bother attempting such a foolish thing. Instead, she crept to the window, glanced out, saw little but a number of orcish buildings without any actual orcs to accompany them. The area looked deserted, though she knew otherwise. As for where she had been taken, she could only guess somewhere near the border of Ashenvale and Azshara, given the sparse flora she could see outside. A fair distance from where she'd been prior to her run-in with a tree.

Quickly but quietly she stole towards the door and tried the handle. She had not expected it to be open, but she nevertheless felt disappointed. The window was too small to fit through, the door too big to break. She was not skilled at picking locks and even less skilled in the arcane ways of teleportation.

She had no alternative but to wait.

Two hours passed before she heard the unmistakable sound of movement, of feet striking earth and drawing nearer. Bellatrisk would have felt more at ease with a weapon, but she had to make due with what she had, and what she had was a bed.

She laid down, covered herself, and closed her eyes.

The door clicked open, gently thudded shut. A rustling soon arose from whatever her captor was doing, and so she felt okay risking the opening of her eyes.

Only little more than an arm's length away stood a night elf woman. She was turned to the side with her face partially obscured by luscious green hair, but the long ears and visible facial features left no room for doubt.

Something prodded at the back of her mind, but she ignored it. Surprised at seeing another elf, Bellatrisk blurted, "Who are you?"

The woman jumped a little, clearly surprised herself, then turned, revealing a kind face and glowing blue eyes that roamed over her appraisingly. "I am Esyll," she said, "and as you might have noticed given how quickly you've recovered, a very fine healer." She stepped forward, suddenly serious. "But how are you? I intended to let you rest another day."

"Good enough to leave," Bellatrisk said, demonstrating just how well she was by tossing the blanket aside and standing up. She wanted to leave as soon as possible. This place did not seem right. No longer worried, she glanced out the window. "Where is my gear? And how long have I been here? I would like to see my sisters." She paused, looked at the priestess. "Thank you for your help. I really must return to my duties though, otherwise I get very restless."

"Restlessness won't be a problem, I assure you," Esyll murmured. "And I imagine you will be seeing your sisters very soon."

Bellatrisk detected an odd note in the other woman's voice, a solemness that had not been there previously. The prodding in the back of her mind grew sharper. She was about to open her mouth to say something when movement outside the window caught her eye.

"An orc!" she hissed, ducking instinctively. Esyll did not move. "You didn't answer me before," Bellatrisk urged. "Where are we?"

Esyll smiled, reserved but not exactly sad. She brought a hand to her belly where a noticeable bump bulged out her robe. "A breeding facility."

The door opened.

***

Bellatrisk remembered the dream and realized rather late that it had not been a dream, and that had not been a troll. The woman whose cries had awoken her had been Esyll, who, as a healer, was rewarded special privileges within the facility. One of these so-called privileges apparently included the right to have a monogamous partner. An orcish partner. Some privilege.

"Keep moving," the orc escorting her grunted. He'd learned some rudimentary Common, but he still sounded like a boar trying to speak through a mouth full of rocks.

Bellatrisk wished she could tear his throat out. Nothing would give her greater pleasure.

The hideous creature had come to check in on her while she was talking to Esyll. He'd seemed pleased that she'd awoken when she did. She, on the other hand, could not be more displeased with her current predicament.

After having cleaned up with the assistance from the priestess, who informed her that she'd been recovering here for two days, the green-skinned oaf had wasted no time grabbing her by the arm and whisking her away towards "a place she'd love." She did not believe him, particularly when she'd been forced to remain nude after washing, equipped with nothing but sandals; but nor could she fight her way out of his grasp. Even if she managed to escape or incapacitate him, this so-called breeding facility was surrounded on all sides by a tall, insurmountable wooden fence festooned with wire and traditional orcish spikes.

Her captor moved quickly, as if he were late for something important, and whenever she lagged behind he would pull her arm and yank her forward, dragging her reluctantly behind him.

"Almost there," he grumbled. "Then you see sisters."

For some reason Bellatrisk did not like the sound of that. Soon, she found out why.

The orc led her into an area fenced off from the rest of the facility that required a key to enter via a sturdy iron gate. A watch tower overlooked it, glaring down in oppressive fashion. Beyond the gate were about a dozen medium-sized buildings arranged like a horseshoe around a yard with a guardhouse located in the center.

As he directed her towards the back of the bunch, her ears twitched, picking up queer, foreboding sounds from each building they passed. Rhythmic thumping, cries muffled by brick. A cacophony of unintelligible and barely audible voices, so low that she was not exactly sure if she were truly hearing them.

When they reached their destination and the door opened the noise exploded, and her stomach turned over. Orcs and elves were crowded inside of the building. Liana, Velene, Luciel, Shyela and the other four elves from her patrol were in various states of, as the orcs would say,

breeding.

"All of your sisters here. You're ninth cumdump."

Four of the captured Sentinels were arranged side-by-side upon their hands and knees, faces twisted into scowls, heads hanging or thrashing about. Behind them, orcs worked them over, hard, fast, mercilessly, hands clutching greedily at their slender bodies, lush with curves, spearing into them in beastly fashion. The room reeked of sex. The walls seemed to shake from the force of the ordeal. Breasts swung wildly beneath the elves, their muscles straining from stress, their asses jiggling under the rapid

thwip thwip thwip thwip

of the orcs' pelvises striking against them.

The rest of the elves who had not been lined up were scattered about the room on their backs, their smaller forms covered by bulky green bodies. Dreadful, sickening noises reverberated inside the room and crowded the building.

"What kind of animals conduct war this way?" Bellatrisk demanded, her hands tightening into fists.

Her orcish escort shrugged his huge shoulders and said, as if he were speaking about something as mundane as what he'd eaten for breakfast, "You kill us, we breed you. Fair trade." The orc nudged her forward. "Join in, little elf." His hand slipped down to her ass then, and when she jerked away he smacked it. "Maybe not so little."

Laughing, he left her there, the great sturdy door of the building locking shut behind him.

Rubbing her ass, Bellatrisk backed away towards the wall and tried to make herself look small. A hard endeavor. The orc was right, she wasn't little. She stood tall on long legs, her athletic body refined and enhanced over centuries of exercise and warfare. She had hair like deep twilight, so purple that at times it seemed highlighted with blue, a flat stomach, powerful thighs, arms capable of firing a bow for extended periods without trouble, and a firm ass that was perfectly rounded and perfectly squeezable. Her breasts, a byproduct entirely of her elven genetics, were full and heavy.

Compared to most women, Bellatrisk was an amazon, heavy only insofar as the fact that she was well-endowed in the front and back.

There were nine elves and over a dozen orcs within the building, with plenty of room for all. Her and her Sentinel sisters had faced worse odds on the battlefield, but nothing as hopeless as this.

Surprisingly though it took nearly an entire minute for one of the orcs to spot her. After that she had little choice but to participate in this twisted orgy of unmitigated depravity and perverse design. Fighting the orcs unarmed, although she certainly tried, proved ineffectual. And so when that first orc grabbed her, forced her protesting to the floor upon a thick layer of unused bedding, and buried his head between her thighs, resistance proved to be as ineffective as punching at a water elemental.

He wasted no time. He restrained her hands with one of his own, used the other to part her legs as his mouth found her sex and ate her out, evidently enjoying the taste of elven pussy. His tongue traced her slit, lapped at her folds, her clit, speared into her warm womanhood until she was as wet and ready as she would ever be.

When he sat up she got her first good look at him. The orc loomed over her in more ways than one, his freakishly large body sporting a cock that matched his overall size. It was fat and thick and long, a throbbing, dark green monster with a head like a fist waiting to pound her silly. Flooded with white hot anger, Bellatrisk cursed and kicked at him, but it did no good. He grabbed firmly ahold of her and, notching that fat cockhead at her entrance, drove himself all the way into her.

She gasped from the initial penetration, but her gasp turned into an angry hiss as he slid deeper and deeper inside of her hot, velvety depths, hilting himself fully inside of her. Connected now as they were, the orc allowed his hold on her to loosen slightly, and he watched her with visible satisfaction, enjoying the way her face contorted as her tight elven cunt was stretched to the brim with its very first orc cock. Stretched to a degree far beyond what she'd ever felt before or ever desired to feel. It did not particularly hurt, but the indignity of it further enraged her, disgraced her, humiliated her to have this beast's hands on her, to look and see her purple pussy stuffed balls-deep with an orc's oversized appendage, his green skin and wiry hair pressed against her.

"Good," he grunted, and she was not sure if it was a statement or a question, but she glared up at him and said nothing.

He drew back suddenly, both hands now holding her beneath the knees and splaying her legs apart so that he had better access to her defenseless pussy, bald save for a small tuft of purple hair. Slowly, whether to acclimate her to his size or simply to torture her, he began to thrust, making every stroke count. One stroke, then another and another, smooth and deep, his monstrous member scrambling her insides and bulging out her flat belly. It felt as if he were scraping every nook and cranny of her pussy, stretching her out utterly and impossibly. She cursed again, muscles flexing, her pussy gripping his cock.

How many orcs had she fought? How many had she killed? And now one was on top of her, enjoying her as a spoil of war. Desecrating her body and pumping her pussy like it belonged to him.

All around her she could hear the startled cries of her sisters, the monotonous clapping of flesh on flesh as powerful and ominous as any war drums. Bellatrisk did not look, however; she stared at the ceiling, growing more incensed by the second just as the orc in turn grew more and more pleased.

A rush of energy and anger caused her to sit up, but he pushed her back down and punched the back of her pussy with his cock, harder than before, harder than ever. She grunted and grimaced, eyes wide, nails grasping futilely at the floor as her assailant picked up the pace. Her muscles strained, her large breasts jostled and jiggled atop her chest. Unsurprisingly given how they fought on the battlefield, the orc did not sacrifice power for speed, nor did he lack in either category. As his pace increased the force of his strokes pushed her forward, but he held her still with one hand on her little waist, directing her body against him while he pummeled her pussy. Made sure she'd never forget what it felt like to be taken by an orc.

Power and speed combined with stamina to form a sexual beast that would have likely been supremely satisfying given more consensual circumstances. Instead, the greenskin's stamina only prolonged her righteous seething and made the odd sensations wrought by his fat plundering cock all the more enraging. His tremendous girth stretched her, molded her, every time he pounded his hips forward and bottomed out inside of her tiny spasming cunt, adding her disgruntled groans and harsh cries to the chorus of other elves scattered throughout the room.

Eventually, after what felt like forever, he erupted with a roar, his cock throbbing and his grip on her tightening, holding her in place while he splattered her insides with an explosion of hot sticky cream, virile and orcish. The first of its kind to touch her womb and, unfortunately for her, not the last.

He'd barely finished emptying his balls inside of her womb when another orc, having recognized her as a newcomer and wishing to break her in, took the other orc's place. Without warning she found herself flipped over onto her hands and knees, a hand the size of an anchor pushing down on her back, forcing her face down with her firm, round ass raised up in the air. Bellatrisk flicked her hair back over her shoulder and glanced behind her just as the orc, no less humongous than the last, sheathed his shaft inside of her cunt.

"Beast!" She growled through clenched teeth, clutching at the bedding, her beautiful body taut as a bowstring.

Her outburst earned her a sharp smack on the rump that made her ass ripple. Although it had not been an especially hard smack, the area where he struck stung hotly, and her lavender skin darkened slightly.