Just a quick announcement to Welldark readers out there, I've already submitted the chapter more than a month ago but since it has images it's being delayed due to site upgrades and I'm also told it just takes them more time since they have to put it in their database, so it's coming don't worry!
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Sylvanas stumbled into her quarters. Her legs were weak, her entire body shook and she felt hot, as if she had a fever. All of these sensations, all of them, were alien to her, ever since she had been turned into a banshee. Recovering her body had changed nothing about it. Now these emotions surged, growing stronger with each minute since her return.
It had started with that blast of magic. It had taken out her strike force, Nathanos included. A hefty loss of resources. Luckily, politically inconsequential. Sylvanas' position was already precarious. Her personal combat-power kept any attempt by the orcs and trolls to usurp her leadership in line. Having them and the eternally loyal Forsaken was already enough to pull together a force second only to the Alliance. It was, however, second and grew more decisively so by the day. The blood elves had joined the Alliance, the tauren could not be trusted to have her back, the goblins were disjointed at the best of times and reports had it that there was an exodus to Booty Bay by the female goblins. The males could be kept by promises of money and careless experimentation alone, but many of the women had additional interest in other massive things than sums.
Thinking about it made Sylvanas aware of the clothing on her skin. It rubbed against her in an equally pleasing and bothersome fashion. Her skin felt sensitive. Leather and plate felt confining, particularly around chest and hips, despite being hand-crafted for her. She often scrubbed dirt off her hardened skin, otherwise the armour was meant to stay on her at all times. It protected the integrity of her body. Even as an undead, she needed to keep her physical vessel intact. Because hers was such a fantastic tool of diplomacy through seduction, she kept her looks pristine, her clothes enticing. It crossed her mind why she had ever exchanged her old, sluttier armour for this new, more protective variant when her skin was harder than the leather. She desperately wanted it off her.
Nobody would have dared enter her quarters without her permission. She undid the clasps on her armour. A trail of metal and leather accompanied her, as she stumbled towards the bed that she had never once used. She needed to lie down. Today had been an utter failure at the end of a chain of massive setbacks. On the way, she came across a mirror. Her craving for the bed suddenly stopped when she saw herself.
The grey in her skin had diminished minorly, leaving a blue shade that felt minorly more alive. Similarly, the colour of her hair, the long-faded blonde, had intensified slightly. The earlier tightness of her clothes was explained by a much more notable increase of size in her already large bosom, ass and thighs. Particularly the latter was notable. Thick and smooth, extending from wide hips that made up the bottom part of her hourglass figure, her legs looked absolutely fantastic. The red of her eyes had retreated to her irises. Her sclera had retreated to a regular white.
Sylvanas took a trembling step towards the mirror and looked at herself with wide eyes. She looked more beautiful than ever. Her dark lips had shifted slightly towards a deep purple, and the crowns atop her large, firm breasts were of a purplish pink that rose distinctly from the rest of her flawlessly smooth skin.
Raising one finger to her lips, she gently brushed over them. She gasped, the long lost sensitivity tingled. Instinctively, the hand travelled down her slender neck and over the choker -- the only part of her outfit that she still wore, down to her breasts. "Ah!" she cried, when roughly taking hold of her left tit. Behind it, she felt it.
Ba-dump.
A faint heartbeat. Too fragile and weak to be called life. What kept her body moving was still, without a doubt, necromantic power. Her skin was cold, warmer than before but still cold, and the blood that circulated through her did so too slowly to sustain biological function. She felt no hunger. She was something between undead and resurrected.
"What is... happening... to me...?" she sighed, while playing with her left tit. She couldn't bring herself to stop those circular motions. Her right hand moved on, down her flat, softly toned midriff, instead. Forcing her fingers between her clenched thighs, she felt an impossible trickling. Quickly she withdrew her hand and looked at her fingers. They glistened, the fluid that stuck to them stretched in gooey strands when she fanned them out.
She was wet.
Sylvanas tried to ignore the realization and get her urges under control. Certainly, she had been a masturbation addict in life, but those times were long past. No longer did she have the urges to sneak out at night and finger herself in the forest or masturbate in a room right after an important meeting had taken place (or while it was happening). No one had ever caught her. 'No one ever will, those urges died,' she told herself.
A moment later, she saw her expression in the mirror. Looking back at her was a glassy-eyed, panting mess. One that couldn't help but keep fondling her chest. Her right hand wandered back between her legs and she shouted loudly, when her fingers curved inside her. In a flash of pleasure, her resolution was gone, and the need took its place.
Closing her eyes from the surging pleasure and to shield herself from seeing herself in the mirror, Sylvanas kept fingering her overflowing cunt. Honey kept on trickling down between her legs. It made a mess of her hand and the inside of her thighs.
She lost her balance and fell down on the thick carpet. The impact was painless, although she caused a great many things to fall on her way down. She kept her eyes closed, now lying on her back. Her legs were now parted widely. Accelerated fingers rubbed her clit feverishly, as her moans filled the isolated chamber. Her hips bucked off the ground from the occasional highpoints of pleasure.
The rough fondling of her juicy, large tit was no longer enough. Sylvanas pinched the hard nipple, following intuition. That did the job better. The pain, a sensation she hadn't lost but had been considerably dulled until now, mixed with the pleasure and the pressure of the choker and created a wonderful sensation. It fulfilled her depraved desires enough that she felt herself grow steadily towards a release.
