The Lady of Desolace

A chill ran across Delleren's spine as he surveyed the grey wasteland of Desolace. Dead earth as far as the eye could see stretched out before him. Cracked from vegetation that had tried - and failed - to grow, the bleak landscape held little in the way of noteworthy features, save for the bones of the massive Kodo beasts who had come here to die and some ancient elven ruins.

His attention lay on the southern edge of the region, however, in the mountains that separated it from the far more fertile Feralas.

Rumors of demonic activity had brought the assassin here, along with the promise of a hefty reward from the Argent Dawn. Burning Blade cultists had recently built a small village for themselves in the mountains nearby, tucked away and hidden from prying eyes.

The cultists had not, it seemed, bothered to cover their tracks, and the white-haired assassin followed the wagon trail into the mountains with relative ease. No sentries had been posted on the road, making the job that much easier for him. Every step taken worsened the stench of fel magics, the night elf's senses well-trained in their detection.

Harsh mountain winds blew against him, cold and unforgiving. He pulled his cloak tightly against himself, not for any desire to shield his body from the frigid air, but to make at once cease the loud flapping of the fur-lined garment.

When he spotted the first wooden construction, nestled in the narrow pass, the elf swiftly rolled behind a rock. His eyes scanned the area for any sentries. None were present. Silently, he climbed atop the wooden palisade.

There, standing at the center of the cult's nest stood an elven structure. Standing out like a sore thumb among the orcish huts, it seemed to Delleren as though the white walls of that building had been lifted directly from ancient Zin-Azshari herself. Four towers of white stone surrounded a domed central structure. From the windows of that central structure, green light could be seen, bathing the surrounding wood-and-straw structures in a deathly glow.

"Well, that confirms it," thought the elf. "Now to find the leader and nip this in the bud..."

The man slipped down from his perch, landing gracefully on the rocky soil. Moving like a shadow between the primitive huts, he arrived at the main one. Peering inside through the window, he spotted two dozen cultists chanting around a blaze of emerald-green flames. All wore black robes, as was expected of any proper cultist. Comprised mainly of orcs, Delleren nonetheless spotted one or two humans along with a dwarf.

On the other side of the fel flames, a figure approached, emerging from the darkness. Nearly nine feet tall, the unmistakably feminine form walked slowly, cloak trailing behind her, head covered with a hood. Her height was the only reason Delleren could even see her above the blazing inferno. Though all eyes were now upon her, none dared slow in their chanting. Fear, love, and admiration filled the looks they gave her, and her arrival had given them new vigor, it seemed. All voices had joined together, the pace of that excited prayer quickening with every repetition until, after a long while, she produced a golden chalice from her robes, which she lifted above her head.

The voices grew louder and louder until they fell to a sudden silence.

Only a few cultists continued the chanting, their voices soft and their words ominous. The pounding of the cultists' voices had turned into a whispering, a gentle repetition of demonic chants of which Delleren understood nothing, barely audible even to his own sensitive ears.

The assassin could now get a better look at the woman at the center of the gathering as she lowered her hood. Wavy, shoulder-length hair of an almost black, rich purple parted on either side of her head to reveal the long, elegant ears of a Kaldorei. A necklace of pearls wound around her neck held a golden star that dangled tantalizingly towards the abundant cleavage she sported.

Her face was mesmerizing, her curves motherly.

Delleren thought he recognized the witch, her voice slowly rising as she resumed the chant. He searched his memories, reaching as far back as he could.

"From the Nether, our masters come," came her rich contralto.

"

From the Nether, our masters come,"

the hooded figures repeated.

"Emerald flames purge our imperfections," the witch continued.

"Emerald flames purge our imperfections."

"Cleanse this world of the unbelievers."

"Cleanse this world of the unbelievers."

Another hooded figure emerged from the shadows holding a silver pitcher filled with an unknown liquid, but the green glow that came from it was the same wicked green glow as the flames illuminating the circular room.

Uneased wormed into Delleren's mind. He had to stop what was happening, but he found himself frozen in place. His eyes were locked on the priestess-witch who had lowered her chalice so that the shorter assistant could fill it with the contents of the ceramic jug.

She wore a shirt of black silk, the puffy sleeves of which ended with star-decorated cuffs. The garment did little to hide her feminine charms, the vastness of which overflowed, struggling for space. Her breasts were, simply put, gigantic. Even supported as they were, Delleren guessed that they covered her torso down to her navel.

The breadth of her chest surpassed that of her hips, which was no mean feat, considering the abundance of those curves.

When her chalice had been filled, she once more raised it above her head to the delight of those zealots around her, fanatical eyes following every movement she made.

Tilting her head back, the witch brought the chalice to her lips, slowly ingesting her contents, gulping down the unknown substance. As she did so, her eyes slowly took on a hint of that same fel coloration, glowing with power. A drop fell from the corner of her lips, rolling down the curve of her breast and disappearing within the valley below.

"She is one with the masters!" the cultists shouted in unison as the nine-foot-tall woman finally finished gulping down the contents of her chalice.

Delleren felt sickened.

"What are they doing?"

he asked himself.

"Now," began the woman. "Before we begin the ritual, we would be remiss not to handle any unexpected guests... properly," she said, and the flames' intensity fell once more.

Her piercing, glowing-green eyes landed directly on Delleren. He felt his strength leave him.

"I have seen you before," came her voice. Her words gripped him; her presence locked his muscles in place. The assassin was unsure if some shadowy spell was at work here or if he had simply been bewitched by her beauty.

Slowly, she walked towards the window where Delleren had been observing the ritual. Every deliberate step brought with it a quaking of her tremendous bust, those massive breasts of hers only adding to the frightening beauty of the woman. Every step solidified the hold she had on the man.

When she'd reached him, she leaned over, giving him an eyeful of that sea of titflesh, the contents of which should have spilled from their prison.

More magic?

he thought.

The woman cupped Delleren's chin in her hands, lifting and observing his features for a moment. It then struck him. This woman was Eshana Oaksong. He had been tasked with capturing her daughter, Shalendris, well over ten thousand years ago, during the War of the Ancients. He thought she'd died during the cataclysmic Sundering that followed.

A chuckle slipped past her full lips when she saw the realization in his eyes. "I was not told that I would be sent reinforcements and reinforcements would not be sneaking around as you were. You are not one of us," she concluded.

She straightened, looking down at him. From this distance, she seemed even taller. Even for a night elf, she was positively enormous, easily two and a half feet taller than the average woman of her kind.

Delleren remained silent.

"Now, I wonder what we should do with a worm such as yourself," she pondered. Her eyes looked down at him. She cocked her hips, placing a fist upon them. "No matter. Take him away."

She snapped her fingers, and the darkness of sleep overtook Delleren. He heard the brushing of bare feet on stone as he hit the ground.

Sharp pain in Delleren's wrists pulled him from his sleep. His eyes shot open to see his hands bound tightly by simple rope hanging from the stone ceiling above him. His arms were numb from behind held up. He was in a closed cell in some dank prison, the dripping of nearby water the only sound accompanying his panicked breathing. He was most likely underground, then, unless the structure had a leaky roof.

He then remembered the ritual and the witch-elf that had captured him, his memories coming back to him as his hazy mind focused. This was supposed to be a simple mission to eliminate a simple threat. He had not expected a Kaldorei wielding fel magic to imprison him.

The assassin had been stripped of his armor and weapons, wearing nothing but tight briefs that did a splendid job of highlighting his virility.

Delleren waited. He waited for hours, it seemed. During those interminable minutes, he could hear rumbling from all around him along with chanting loud enough that the sound somehow managed to travel into his cell. He was not far from where he'd been captured, then. In the same structure, possibly, judging by the elven masonry of his cell. The assassin, however, had difficulty pinpointing the exact direction of the chanting.

He heard a door opening outside his cell. He heard it closing soon after. The soft clicking of heels against stone echoed bounced off the walls. Whoever was coming his way was alone.

Why would they keep me alive?

Delleren wondered.

What use am I to them? Perhaps they will torture me in the hopes that I will reveal information about my employer, even though I know next to nothing.

The door to his cell opened and in strode Eshana. The woman was tall enough that she had to bend over slightly to enter. This time, she wore a wide-brimmed hat and very little else. When she bent down to enter, Delleren noted how her breasts were already out of her shirt. Her black stockings were held up by a star-decorated garter belt with matching panties.

Odd choice of clothing

thought the night elf as he watched the enormous woman enter, her chest wobbling and jiggling about tantalizingly.

She stood before him, imposing. Not a word left her mouth for many minutes as they stared at each other, though not without some difficulty from the assassin, his gaze pulled ever downward by the pull of that sea of titflesh.

"Well, well, Delleren. You survived the Sundering, did you? Not many people come through Desolace," began Eshana. "This happens to be a blessing for us on one hand, as we remain relatively unopposed in our plans, and a curse, as there are too few souls for us to draw from. But, ah! There are always a few pesky adventurers who come to thin our ranks, to cull the herd, if I may. Drawn by promises of glory and riches, most look no further than Thunder Axe Fortress. Alas, we have more than that one fortress and soon, our Lord Azrethoc will walk upon Azeroth once more."

Delleren stared at her defiantly. "And why the fuck would you need me for that? Just slit my throat and be done with it," he spat.

Eshana laughed. "Those adventurers who come through here to sow death among us, when they are captured, do not feed our portals for long. We need souls, you see, and yours seems a fair bit more potent than most."

She placed a hand on his chest, then, closing her eyes. She seemed to enjoy the hardness of his well-muscled abdomen. Uttering an incantation under her breath, the witch's fingers glowed briefly and Delleren felt something pulling at his essence briefly. "Mmh, delicious," moaned the purple-haired woman. "You will do nicely," she said, a grin on those full lips.

Delleren squirmed when her hand slid down from his chest to his abs to the string that held his undergarments. She unlaced it slowly, manicured fingers working meticulously.

"What are you-" protested the assassin, but he was quickly hushed by Eshana.

"Now, now, Delleren. I was a gracious enough host to let you in and allow you to rest under my roof. Be a good guest and allow your host to... partake in your gifts. Those brutes downstairs boast of their abilities, but they can offer little more than a meager meal," Eshana said, giving his briefs a sharp tug, revealing his painfully erect cock. "Fearousal" he'd heard someone call it, once. He could feel that the woman was not only magically gifted, but that those slender arms and delicate hands belied strength beyond what one could ever acquire through natural means. She could have ripped his briefs off with ease, he knew, but she seemingly enjoyed making a spectacle of stripping him, enjoyed the ritual of it.

She admired his prick for a moment. Not overly long, it remained impressive nonetheless, a single drop of arousal running under its belly. He became acutely aware of how naked he was, of how the cold air of the cell brushed against his skin.

Pinching Delleren's maleness between her fingers, though not in a manner to cause him any pain, the larger she-elf began stroking him. She stared into his eyes. "You should try to enjoy yourself. I've not yet decided what to do with you," the witch said as ravenous hunger seized her.

Delleren didn't get the time to respond, his cock engulfed within the warmth of Eshana's slurping maw. He could not argue against ten thousand years' worth of dicksucking experience, and he soon found himself squirming as she took him to the root. Her nose pressed against his bald crotch, her lips sealed tightly around the base of his hardness.

"Aughhh," he groaned in delight, the purple-haired woman's tongue writhing against his veiny cock, every moment bringing him nearer and nearer to release with, it seemed, very little effort. The assassin had no problem with endurance, typically. Yet this was an extremely atypical situation with an extremely atypical woman.

At the precise moment when he'd become acclimated to the warmth and wetness of her mouth, Delleren felt the curvaceous woman start bobbing her head on his length, dragging the softness of her lips along every inch of his fat prick. As she started moving with more vigor, he sometimes felt the brush of one of her colossal breasts against his leg.

Eshana moaned in appreciation when she felt him twitch against her tongue.

His eyes were locked on her, wishing he had the freedom of movement to properly fuck her mouth, but the exhaustion in his limbs only allowed him to thrust weakly against her face.

She pulled her face from his cock, replacing her mouth with her hand to keep him fully erect. "Getting close, are you?" her smooth voice echoed against the stone walls.

He did not offer her the satisfaction of an answer, but the spurt of his precum against her fist gave her all the indication she needed. The tip of her tongue darted down to lick his clear arousal, that agile appendage moving along the crown of his prick, replacing precum with saliva. Another moan was forced from him.

Her lips then moved down his dick slowly, teasingly, making sure to stimulate that most sensitive part of his manhood. Only his cockhead remained trapped between her lips as her tongue assaulted his glans. "Unf... Fuck..." he breathed, and he noticed the corner of her mouth curling into a slight grin.

Feeling him nearing release, the elf-witch's mouth and tongue began working overtime, her tongue assaulting the tip of his spear, her hands finding their way to his shaft to pump at the remainder of his throbbing pole. He threw his head back when, without much warning, he felt himself thrown into the arms of an explosive orgasm. Delleren lost control of his muscles briefly, eyes shut tight, toes curling, load spewing into the woman's maw.

She swallowed every drop of his cum as he blasted thick ropes deep against the back of her throat, coating the inside of her mouth with thick nut batter. Never for a moment did she stop sucking, prolonging the male's pleasure, stretching it out for as long as she could.

With a sudden

plop

, Eshana pulled her lips from his rod, licking up the last remaining drops of his potent seed. With a single digit, she wiped a solitary remnant of his release from the corner of her mouth before sucking it down as she had the rest. The sight of her savoring his cum as she was doing made his spent dick twitch.

She was not done with him. Not yet.

Raising one hand towards the crude orcish ropes that held him up, she snapped her fingers. A fel-green spark materialized between index and thumb. His silver eyes followed the spark as it moved through the air until it connected with his bindings. The ropes were soon alight with magical fire. With his body in an upright "X", he watched as the emerald flames burned through the rope rapidly. Instead of dropping him to the ground as he'd expected, the ropes were instead replaced by enchanted chains of fel iron of the same hue as the fire that had been there moments prior.

Like snakes, the chains wrapped around his arms before pulling down on his limbs with such force that he could do little to resist. Delleren's body slammed against the stone floor, knocking the wind from his lungs.

"You've got more energy left in you even after that, hm?" Eshana said, standing over him, the tone of her rich voice made him believe that this was no suggestion, but a threat.

The assassin found himself unable to move, though this time from the magical bindings that twisted and slithered against his form, never fully immobile, slithering and sliding constantly. Still reeling from his release, he found that every minute sensation was amplified tenfold. The stone at his back, the slight air currents on his skin - the tall she-elf now crawling between his legs.

Eshana's gigantic chest hung beneath her as she dispassionately gripped Delleren's half-erect cock. "I could use a few magic words to bring this dangling man-thing of yours back to life, but there is always the chance of it simply melting off. Quite the undesirable outcome," she stated matter-of-factly, stroking him deliberately, fist rising and falling along Delleren's thick length.

Delleren clenched his teeth as his prick, still extremely sensitive from his previous orgasm, reacted to the witch's pumping hand. He could feel himself slowly rising once more, hardening from the witch's practiced touch. No magic had been needed to bring him back to full hardness. A groan slipped from his lips. A drop of precum rolled from the head of his dick and onto her hand. "Why are you...?" he asked.

She looked up at him with an intensity in her gaze. "Orgasmic pleasure," she began, "is but one way that we can get access to a soul's energy. As unrefined as it is, killing is but one way to capture a being's essence. I have no such plans for you yet. Why waste a valuable resource?"

Eshana looked down briefly at Delleren's dick, giving it a teasing pump. "I want you to witness our master's return to Azeroth, and your pleasure will grant us the power needed to do so."

So, my cum is the key to summoning demons, huh,

thought Delleren as he watched Eshana lift her enormous tits, cupping the mountainous masses and laying them on his lap. Their softness enveloped his rising prick and as it grew back to its glorious fullness, it would rub along the inside of her cleavage.

While his maleness was far from what one would call gigantic, Delleren was no pushover in that department. As his hardness reached its zenith, it pushed her tits out slightly, creating a small sinkhole in that ocean of titmeat. Reactively, he tried to reach down and cup the colossal breasts. As though reading his mind, the snakelike chains wrapped around his limbs tightened, forcing a grunt from him.