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All characters and individual material is © Daniel Riverton 2011. All rights Reserved.
©2004 Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. 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.
This is fan fiction only. This work may not be reproduced for commercial, marketing republishing or copying 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.
Just a quick little story, again written on a few coffee breaks about a year ago. Feel free to let us know if you like it, we appreciate all comments!
Year 39, Stormwind, Harbor District
In a small room below the eaves of a quaint Stormwind inn, Herland Hagensworth dreamed of times gone months ago. Currently -- and as often as he could -- he tried to remain in his more familiar human form. Whenever the rage of battle took him however, the worgen came to him far too easily- Whenever he had a chance, he preferred this form to the beast.
Tonight, his dreams were different from the usually blood-infused terror that characterized his nocturnal fantasies and recollections. It was
almost three years ago..
Year 36, Gilneas, 20 leagues outside of Gilneas City, Hagensworth Manor
Herland was bored. He strode through the corridors of the massive manse and glanced only momentarily at the unique, precious wall hangings draped across the walls. The house was so gloomy at times! It was dark, dank and dreary, not to mention the permanent feeling of moisture that -- despite the fact that it wasn't really moist -- was always there. Probably Gilneas, he thought with a sigh.
Walking through corridors and halls, he ignored the two elderly servants he saw dusting and cleaning. One of them was polishing a precious vase, another cleaning a high window.
His father and mother were out for the evening. They had left their 18-year old son -- him -- at home however, not wanting him along when meeting with the King to discuss some of the trouble they had heard brewing in the rest of the world. Their wall closed them off quite effectively, but a small trickle of news -- the most important -- still managed to penetrate into their small but prosperous nation.
And so he had been left at home, bored and with nothing to do. His fencing teacher was gone for the day. Books held very little interest to him -- none of the ones his mother had in their library were racy enough! - and that left very little to do.
He reached the doors that lead to his room. The two massive doors made from strong Darkoak were ornamented with silver handles. He grasped both handles and threw them open, letting them make
quite
satisfying and resounding crashes against the stone wall.
...and interrupted a young servant in the process of polishing a silver candlestick with a thick, linen cloth. To him, it looked like she was about to stuff the ornamental, beautiful piece down her clothing. Perhaps to filch it.
He frowned.
"Jessamine? What are you doing with Grandfather's candlestick?" He stepped toward her, making the lass take an uncertain step back. He prided himself on knowing some of the servants names.
Particularly those of the young, pretty girls. Jessamine was a eighteen-year-old almost his own height. But despite their near-equal height and her full-bosomed strong-seeming build, she was the one who flinched when his frown deepened.
"Nothin, M'lord! Just cleaning it, I am!" She held up the cloth as if to prove it and began rubbing the silver fastidiously, her hands trembling visibly.
He stepped toward her slowly, his steps echoing on the uncarpeted parts of the stone floor. Every such step seemed to make her flinch.
Well, he conceded when he stood in front of her. He was half a head taller and far more broad-shouldered. But it was true, she was no quaint, frail dove, this one. He grabbed her wrist holding the cloth and she froze, looking up at him with the eyes of a startled rabbit.
"M'lord?" She said with a quavering, thickly accented voice betraying the low birth he knew she had.
The cut of her dress allowed a generous view of ample cleavage and hinted of sizeable breasts. Without shame -- indeed, without even much hesitation -- he pressed one hand down her dress and cupped her left breast firmly, giving it a squeeze.
She gave a gasp, both scandalized, angry and....powerless, perhaps. Had he done it to the daughter of another noble, a thrashing and a cuff would have been the result. But this young woman...a servant only. He smiled inwardly.
"What, Jessamine? Is something the matter?" He put particular emphasis on each word, pronouncing them clearly as though making his high birth and aristocratic upbringing clear to her.
"N-...No, M'lord. Nothin's the matter. " Her voice trembled and she bit her lower lip. Her hand holding the cloth shook, slipping off the candlestick.
"Then you should keep cleaning, do you not think? Clean the candlestick. Like a good servant." He felt for her nipple tipping the breast and rubbed it, pinched it slightly. The gasp she gave was a nice reward for the deed.
"Y...Yes, M'lord. Asyousay. O'course." The young brunette said with a stronger tremor to her simple voice.
He stood like that for a while, alternating between squeezing one breast, then the other while she rubbed and polished the silver candlestick with more and more fervour. He wasn't sure if she was trying to ignore him and that's why she looked away, lips compressed into a thin line, or if that was because she liked what he was doing.
He suddenly felt impatient and hungry, forward. Herland grabbed the candlestick, tearing it free from her grip and tossing it to the floor with a metallic '
clang'.
"But M'lord! What.." She began, protesting, wringing her hands. "Oh!"
"Hush!" He told her. With a gruff movement, he pushed her backward and tore the front buttoning of her servant's dress with both hands, freeing her impressive breast which he proceeded to squeeze more insistently.
"M'lord...you can't do this. You're to be betrothed!" She whispered breathily, trying to pull her dress closed.
"So?!" He spat taking her by her shoulders and leading her to his wide bed. "Who's going to stop me? Vivian? I don't see Vivian Blackmoor anywhere. Do you?" He smirked at her, giving the garment she wore another tug that tore it open further with a sound of tearing cloth.
"It's not...oh! Right, M'lord. Can't go around" She whimpered when he squeezed both her breasts and pressed against her where they stood, close to the bed. "doin this..not..right" She protested, her voice growing to a whisper.
"I do what I want when I want!" He countered, pulling the dress and shift from her shoulders together and down to her belly. Her breasts were indeed very large and -- since he preferred them that way -- beautiful. He looked up at her. "You have lovely breasts."
She blushed. "Thank you, m'lord." Her voice firmed a little. "But you still shouddn't! Shouddn't be feeling strangers tits up like this, no-uh!"
He almost laughed. Her tongue was so crude, yet charming compared to his. He ran one hand from her belly to her neck, feeling the warmth of her skin. He noticed her breathing increased too.
"But it's cold" He protested. "I want some warmth. Aren't you cold, my dear Jessamine? Wouldn't it be nice to be...warm?" He pressed closer, firmly exercising his right as his employer -- so to speak -- in fondling her firmly.
"Nut..sayin.." She breathed heavily, her chest moving with her deep breaths. "it wouldn't be..but not...aaah...right, M'lord."
