The Shameless Shopper

The Zocalo thrummed with life, Dazar'alor's beating heart laid bare under a relentless sun. Scents of roasted raptor, spiced fruit, and jungle flora wove through the air, mingling with the clamor of bartering voices, laughter, and the occasional bellow of a direhorn breaking free. Kaz'jir's stall, "Kaz'jir's Curios," stood humbly amid the chaos, wedged between a leatherworker's tent and a gem-laden cart. Its wooden table, draped in vibrant cloth, displayed trinkets, potions, and oddities gathered from the wilds of Zuldazar and beyond. The sign above, red letters flaking in the heat, promised treasures for those bold enough to browse.

Kaz'jir cut a striking figure, even among Zandalari. His teal skin bore golden tattoos that traced his muscular frame, glinting as he moved. Sharp tusks curved upward, framing a face both proud and cunning, his blue eyes sharp with a merchant's wit. His dark mane, braided with beads, clinked softly, and a gold hoop pierced one ear. A dyed leather loincloth, belted with dinosaur bone and feathers, was his only garb, suited to the tropical swelter. He was tall, towering over most, his presence warm yet commanding, a balance honed by years of trade.

Today, though, the stall was quiet. Morning had crawled by with scant customers--an orc haggling over a cracked amulet, a goblin peddling nonsense, a young Zandalari asking endless questions but leaving empty-handed. By midday, the Zocalo's energy dimmed, heat driving folks to shade or taverns. Kaz'jir leaned against a post, claws tapping his tusk, boredom gnawing. Slow days left too much room for thoughts of debts, repairs, and whispers of unrest in the city's underbelly.

He was about to shuffle his stock again when a figure caught his eye, moving through the crowd with a grace that parted the chaos. A blood elf, her blonde hair cascading like molten gold, gleaming in the sun. Her sundress, crimson and gold, clung to her buxom curves, its light fabric daringly sheer, ending high on her thighs and swaying with each step. Bare shoulders and a confident stride made her stand out, a rare sight in Dazar'alor's raw sprawl. Kaz'jir's gaze lingered, merchant's instinct noting her air of wealth, but her beauty tugged harder--a primal pull he didn't bother denying.

She slowed near his stall, eyes scanning his wares. Kaz'jir straightened, dusting his table, and flashed a grin, tusks just visible. "Welcome, elf," he rumbled, his Zandalari accent thick. "See somethin' worth ya time?"

Her head tilted, a faint smile curving her lips as she stepped closer. Her green eyes flicked over vials, bone charms, a raptor-claw dagger, then settled on him. "You've got quite the spread," she said, her Silvermoon lilt smooth. "Anything... special tucked away?"

His grin widened. Her tone was bold, teasing, and he sensed a game worth playing. Slow days bred recklessness. "Plenty special," he said, leaning forward, voice low. "Depends what ya after. Somethin' to dazzle? Somethin' to... thrill?"

Her smile sharpened, eyes sparking with intrigue. She edged closer, dress brushing the stall's edge. "Thrill sounds good," she said, fingers grazing a blue potion vial, gaze locked on him. "Though I must warn you... it takes a lot to impress me."

Kaz'jir's pulse kicked. Flirting was part of the hustle, but her hunger matched his own restlessness. He glanced around--crowd thin, merchants distracted. A bold idea sparked, risky but tempting. "Hold up," he said, grin sly. "Got somethin' real special, but it's private." He tugged the stall's canvas flaps down, enclosing them in shadow, the Zocalo's din muffled. The air warmed, charged. He turned, eyes glinting. "Ya ready?"

She didn't flinch, crossing her arms to accentuate her curves, one brow raised. "I suppose," she said, daring him.

He chuckled, a deep rumble. Stepping closer, he towered over her, shadow swallowing her frame. With slow deliberation, he untied his belt, letting the loincloth fall. His cock, thick and veined, hung heavy--a Zandalari boast made flesh. In the dim stall, it was a bold reveal, and he watched her, amused, expectant.

Her eyes widened, cheeks flushing, but she didn't look away. Her lips parted, breath hitching as she stared, mesmerized. The blush spread, but fascination held her gaze. "By the Sunwell," she murmured, voice soft. "That's... incredible."

His grin turned smug. "Go on," he purred. "Touch it. I can tell ya want to."

She hesitated a heartbeat, then closed the gap, dress swaying. Her fingers brushed him, tentative, then bolder, wrapping around him with a warm grip. She hummed, appreciative. "It's massive," she said, hushed. "So much better than my husband's... I knew trolls were bigger, but this is extraordinary..."

Kaz'jir laughed, pride roughening his voice. "Zandalari don't do small, lady." He leaned closer, taunting. "Bet ya man never gave ya this kinda thrill."

The elf's blush deepened, but she didn't retreat. Instead, she leaned in, lips grazing him, then parted, taking him in. Her tongue moved with skill, hands steadying against his thighs. The sensation hit hard, and Kaz'jir groaned low, claws flexing.

"Ya like that, don't ya?" he taunted, voice thick. "Bet ya been cravin' somethin' this big, somethin' ya won't find back home."

She didn't reply, her focus absolute, head moving rhythmically. The stall's air grew heavy, her jasmine perfume mixing with their shared heat. Her dress rode up, revealing pale thighs, and Kaz'jir felt triumph surge. Slow days had their perks.

Minutes later, he reached down, lifting her gently but firmly. She gasped as he set her on the table, legs dangling, dress rumpling. "Ya gonna feel real sore after this," he said, grin wicked. He tugged her dress straps, sliding the fabric down to reveal her breasts, full and pale, then lower, letting it pool on the floor. Her body was lush, curves begging touch, her eyes nervous yet eager.

He parted her thighs, hands steadying her hips. "Ya need this cock in ya," he said, a command. "Say it."

"I need it," she whispered, trembling. "Please... take me."

He positioned himself, careful despite his size, and entered her slowly. She gasped, nails scraping the table, body arching. The fit was tight, her warmth gripping him, and he growled, savoring it. "So tight," he muttered, hands on her hips. "Bet ya never thought a cock this big could fit inside ya."

"Yes," she moaned, voice breaking as he moved, each thrust deeper. "I love it... your cock is perfect... please, ruin me!"

Her desperation spurred him, her fetish laid bare. The table creaked, canvas walls trembling, but the Zocalo's noise hid their sounds. She was loud, moans frantic, words spilling. "Fuck, it's so good," she gasped, legs wrapping him. "So strong, so huge... I need this... don't stop!"

Kaz'jir matched her fervor, thrusts relentless yet controlled. Her body shuddered, climax nearing, and he leaned close, tusks grazing her shoulder. "Not gonna stop 'til ya cum," he growled.

She did, crying out, body convulsing, pleasure overwhelming. A string of Thalassian profanities escaped from her lungs, emphatic and foreign, no control over her volume. He didn't understand, but he didn't need to, her tone enough to push him over. With a deep thrust, he released, filling her, a primal claim sealing their moment. As he did, she pulled him down, kissing him fiercely, tongues clashing in hungry passion.

They lingered, breathless, entwined. Then he pulled back, grinning. "Well," he said, grabbing his loincloth, "that was special, yeah?"

She laughed, shaky, sliding off the table to gather her dress. Her cheeks glowed, hair mussed, but she moved with ease, sated. "Oh, yes," she said, slipping the dress on, smoothing it. "Definitely worth crossing the Great Sea for..."

Kaz'jir retied his loincloth, gesturing to his wares. "So, elf, buy somethin' to remember me by?"

She smiled coyly, picking a serpent-carved bone charm. "This'll do." She pressed coins into his hand, fingers lingering. "Keep the change."

He pocketed them, watching her adjust her dress, legs still trembling faintly. "Come back anytime," he said, half-teasing. "Kaz'jir's got more where that came from."

With a knowing smile, she slipped through the flaps, vanishing into the Zocalo's crowd. Kaz'jir watched her go, smirking, then raised the flaps, letting noise and heat flood back. The day rolled on--more customers, more coin--but her desperate cries, her passionate pleas, echoed in his mind. Sometimes, he thought, the best customers arrive when they are least expected.