A Night Elf Warrior Gets Help From Her Draenei Fri free porn video

"No, it's not made of saronite..." the teal-haired night elf warrioress tactfully pronounced.

" 'En eye 'on't kno' wat ya want, missy." Soft-spoken and ever patient, D'Dea had been trying to get this dwarf weaponsmith to understand her request for a good fifteen minutes. She was increasingly of the impression he already knew he didn't know how to smith the sword she was seeking, and was merely taking some twisted pleasure in wasting her time.

"A...felsteel longblade..." Carefully, slowly, struggling not to be patronizing. It wasn't in the night elf's nature, and she was in earnest; she was willing to hold out on the slimmest hope the beady-eyed, calloused, filthy dwarf (was he a Dark Iron dwarf or had he just not taken a bath in so long?) could deliver. "It is an Outland weapon. Crafted from felsteel. Reddish-black, slightly curved, broad-tipped, single-edged, one-handed. Can you make it? Or, do you know someone who can?"

"Eye 'on't kno', missy, ya hafta give me more info'mashion."

"How about gold? If you can tell me the name of a smith who can craft this sword, I will give you a hundred gold." To the quick.

The dwarf smithy's indolent eyes lit up with greed. "Aye that be easy, missy. Lady Aestu, of course, she can smith jus' about anything. A real piec a' work, 'at one, tho."

D'Dea felt promise before her. The dwarf seemed to be speaking in earnest. Greed was such a strong motivator for the lesser races. She had heard the name before...not always in the nicest sort of way... "So, do you know where I could find her?" D'Dea's long eyebrows danced above her delicate lavender features, animated with an almost teenage excitement at the prospect of finally laying hands on the sword she coveted so long.

The dwarf had already turned back to his work - or rather, to balefully turning the molten slag next to his forge over and over. Without turning around: "Las' I hears, she was 'bout th' land o' the raccoon folks." It took D'Dea a moment to make the connection. Raccoon folks? The Pandaren? Pandaria?

"Thank you so much, dwarf ally. I shall not forget to give you the hundred gold I promised upon having Aestu craft my sword." The dwarf half-turned to give her a last baleful look but did not argue, for all the good it would have done; the night elf, half again his height, had already mounted her pinkish-red drake - one of Alexstrazsa's chosen - and was flying up, up to the plateau above Stormwind, where the kingdom magi labored to maintain a portal to the formerly-mythical land that was now the latest front for the humans' quixotic endeavours. It was less than a thousand paces from the dwarf's anvil, but somehow she suspected that the smithy, caught up in his own petty foibles, had no idea the plateau even existed.

Hunting a person was not so different than hunting a stag. It took patience, diligence, resourcefulness, subtlety and guile. Speed, stealth, and powers of observation. A discreet question here, a bit of observation there, setting rhetorical traps, knowing when to watch and when to strike. Not that it was difficult. The Pandaren were a friendly and gregarious people. They were not fools, but it took little guile to procure information from them as to her quarry. Thirty minutes in this or that bar, dimly-illuminated by red silken lights, pungent with thick beer and loud with the unsettling belly laughs of the Pandaren led D'Dea up... Mt. Kota.

The warrioress guided her drake - stoic and obedient in the face of the exotic grandeur of Pandaria - to land her on a steppe about a third of the way up, a good half-mile above the foothills. It was a picturesque sight indeed. The length of the Western Wall could be seen from its southern steppes, the air was chill and crisp, the snow and ice brilliant, still, unmoving, sluicing down with the slowness of ages from the forbidding peaks of the mountain. D'Dea's sharp eyes gazed down at the wild savannah of the lowlands, and further away, the terraced agriculture of the valley.

The dry chill of the mountain wind, a south-south-east breeze, was not uncomfortable to the scantily-armored night elf. Her people were accustomed to exposure from infancy; it did not bother them. Their feminine machismo demanded the exposure of their physical grace and beauty - the tendency of other races towards prudishness seemed to reek of self-loathing and unreasoning hostility towards the natural. Not a goosebump appeared on her long, toned, pinkish-purple abdomen and legs, exposed past the limited coverage of her lime-green half-breastplate and armored kilt. Her ears pricked up -

Around an outcropping she sighted her quarry. A draenei paladin, about as tall as herself. Out of her dishwater-blonde hair, ending in a pair of pigtails, emerged long curved horns not so different from the crests of the mountain goats about the steppes of Mt. Kota. She wore a set of ponderous sapphirum armor, fitted with the sort of reinforced knee protectors draenei preferred. The draenei dug at the tough steppe clay with her shovel. Where handle met spade, the stock narrowed to a forefinger's width, so that the draenei could guide the shovel between the toes of her right hoof. Left and right of the breadth of the bluish-lavender spade - some exotic draenei alloy, the night elf surmised - were a pair of horizontal spikes, allowing the draenei to apply leverage with either hoof to pull the spade back out of the earth.

The draenei did not seem to notice D'Dea. Indeed, her stalker's instincts were still switched on. Realizing this, she called out - "Hello there, ally!"

Aestu released her hoof from the spade and turned. She'd heard of this paladin's reputation. Conflicted. By some accounts mad, bad and dangerous to know; by others, a misunderstood idealist. D'Dea took in her face and eyes. Aestu's eyes glowed with the brilliant blue opalescence common to all draenei - she had met many in her adventures; her cute light-blue features were delicate yet rugged, steady and full of character. What would be called handsome, for a woman. Behind the calm expression on her face and cool gaze, D'Dea sensed...exhaustion, melancholy. As if the fire within was a shadow of what it once was.

"How do you." Neat, heavily accented Common. "What would you ask of me?"

The jaded impatience of the draenei's query offended D'Dea's night elf sensibilities. But she reminded herself - from what she knew, this was a very tried woman - so she replied in kind...

"A felsteel longblade, Lady. I am told you can smith it."

"I can smith...very nearly anything. I can even smith armor purposed for the old Naxxramas. Do you have the materials, on you?" Boastful. Impatient. Yet matter of fact. Certainly not deliberately rude.

'Yes, Lady, I do..." D'Dea took a step forward, handed a sizeable gunnysack to the draenei. It was no harder for the draenei to take the cubit-and-half bag of ingots and ores than it was for her to hand them to her. It was a bit of an adjustment, actually, handing the mass to someone her own height and strength. The draenei opened the bag, gazed in, shook the contents around, making sure they were all there. D'Dea sensed a mental checklist being scratched off.

At Aestu's waist was a toolbox. She opened it, pulled out a dull metal box, gave it a good whack with her wrist as she let it fell to the ground. The box resounded with disproportionate volume and unfolded into a miniature anvil and forge. Impressive trick. The draenei did her work with a gnomish army engineer's combination tool - pounding, annealing, trimming, shaping, touching up.

"I was doing archaeological research. It is a hobby I have taken up in my...active retirement." Answering the question unasked.

"I see. Why an active retirement, Lady?" The draenei answered to the formal address whether she approved of it or not. Her strikes upon the metal became slower, though, weighed down by rumination.

"Sometimes...one is fit for...a place and time, a purpose. You grow into it, and when it's gone, what do you have?" Aestu shrugged. "This new era doesn't need such paladins as me."

"The Age of Mortals," affirmed D'Dea.

Aestu's cute features hardened. "It has ALWAYS been the Age of Mortals. Our destiny has always been our own. It is not the Age of Mortals, it is the age of...the small." A pause while the draenei controlled herself. "What I offered was initiative. But this era, initiative is not needed. The King issues a call to arms, men show. Some Pandaren post notice of a crisis, men show. But what need is there of those to...go out looking for great deeds to be done? More than just showing up to a queue?" Her crested blue brow furrowed. "That is not needed. I am not needed. So, I...amuse myself."

"So you miss the old days."

"Miss them? No. Well. They were...satisfying. In the 'old days', I was never happy where I was or with what I was doing. Yet somehow, I found purpose in what I did. Even if it made me enemies. I made a few friends too - real friendship, tested friendship. Forged, like a sword." With that, Aestu skillfully lifted the sword from the anvil with her tongs and dipped it in a deep puddle. Grabbed it by the blade and handed it to D'Dea hilt-first. "There you go."

"My thanks, Lady. ...How much would be appropriate?"

Aestu shrugged. "A hundred gold?" D'Dea delicately opened her leather pouch and handed over a single hundred-krone piece. "Anything else?"

"Actually..." D'Dea peered at Aestu for a moment. Took in her calm, straight-dealing gaze, the small ironic smile on her broad lavender lips. Why not? "There is something else. Could you smith me...a conical rod, a thumb's thickness, half a cubit long, with a smooth, tapered tip? The surface must be completely clean and smooth, and the base must be suitable to grip with the palm of one's hand. Make it out of a lightweight metal, but the alloy must contain no lead, cobalt or quicksilver."

Did the draenei suspect? Did her people have similar inclinations?

Aestu smiled, amused. "Ah, I see. I can do that for you, certainly. You are not the first to order such a thing. No need to be bashful; a toy is a warrioress' most fun and loyal companion. From my experience, though, it's better a bit broader than high, with a bulge on one side of the tip and some gentle furrows on the other. Yes?"

"Ahh... I will entrust myself to your experience, Lady Aestu. Thank you." The night elf meekly bowed.

Aestu took an ingot from her toolbox, placed it on the anvil, and, smiling slightly, got to work. D'Dea felt compelled to turn away while Aestu crafted the thing. She heard the clank, clank, clank of Aestu's combination tool, followed by the hiss of water on elementium. "All done!" D'Dea turned back to Aestu. "Thank..."

D'Dea's shy gratitude was cut short by the howl of a great yeti. The two armored women turned - the eight-foot-tall (and nearly as wide) ape had come up the pass quite silently. The creature roared again, spittle foaming forth from its maw. With a practiced gesture, Aestu bent one double-jointed knee slightly and reached to her waist with a smooth movement of her elbows. In a moment, her sword and shield were in her hands, ready for action. D'Dea's twin swords flashed into her hands - she loosened her limbs for combat. She would follow the more heavily armored paladin's lead.

The paladin yelled fiercely in her native Draenic, throwing her shield headlong at the b**st to cover her broad slashing charge. The shield returned to her just as she closed to melee and her wide slash landed, raking the b**st's torso and breaking its momentum. She brought up her shield in a defensive gesture as the yeti countered, a mighty punch with a fist the size of a sheep. D'Dea moved up behind the creature and began to hack and slash at its exposed flank and rear. The b**st howled in rage, stomping hard, hard enough to bring down a hail of snow and pebbles from the steppes above onto the combatants. The yeti was fierce but not smart - hack, slash, parry, slash, slash, jab - the b**st faltered. With its last ounce of strength, it gave one great yell and a brutal double-fisted strike at the paladin, the full inertia of its dying form thrust at her armored blue form. The paladin shrieked in pain. D'Dea vaulted over the corpse, all worry.

What's wrong with Aestu?

The paladin stood there, bowed over slightly, her long-fingered blue hands clutched tightly around her ears and brow. Her curvaceous, double-kneed form swayed unevenly, drunkenly. Her eyes were distant and full of panic. D'Dea kept her distance, wary. Aestu continued to sway back and forth, her brow suddenly sweaty in the frigid air, tears streaming down her cheeks. D'Dea cocked her head and glanced at the side of Aestu's brow...saw a hairline crack, about as long as her thumb, running down the base of her left horn, just above her shimmering dishwater-blonde bangs.

"Give me a moment," said Aestu slowly, unevenly. The draenei fixed her gaze on a nearby rock, inhaled and exhaled deeply through her mouth and nose. Tried to evacuate her inner ear and re-establish her equilibrium. Gradually the sweat and tears stopped - still obviously unsettled, however.

"Will...that leave a mark?" D'Dea innocently asked.

"Yes. It will." Aestu's face was a hot silver flush of humiliation. "When you lose your moment...get rusty...it's a hard thing. You feel you've lost something you can never find again." The paladin breathed deeply.

"I...understand, Lady. It's nothing. I doubt I could have handled the b**st alone. Thank you." The night elf bowed and gestured to the skies for her circling drake to descend, leaped onto the saddle.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" The paladin was smiling again. The crack in her horn was still visible, but the sweat and tears had dried and all D'Dea could see was that irrepressible smile. Aestu tossed the night elf her "toy". Her elven grace failed her, she fumbled for it twice before cupping it against her exposed abdomen with both hands. She'd handled severed heads with less awkwardness.

"How much-" "Don't worry about it. Have fun." D'Dea intended to take that advice to heart.

A suitable place for a one-woman getaway. Booty Bay! Why not? The lesser races might have thought night elves had their wires crossed - to the motley crowd of humans, dwarves and gnomes, fornicating outside was to commune with their rejection of the natural environment - a "guilty pleasure" - but for the night elves, life for D'Dea's people was all outdoor, indoor environments being temples, shops, storehouses, barracks - infinitely less discrete, less natural, than a secluded grove. A wicked place for narcissistic self-indulgence. To indulge in a grotesquely plush, materialistic hotel room, Goblin fashion was...an all but forbidden pleasure.

D'Dea locked the door behind her and stripped out of her armor. Her chiseled yet graceful form - flat tummy, round buttocks, firm conical breasts, wide hips - was still slick with perspiration from travel and battle, torrid from the thick linen insulation of her thorium armor and the wet heat of Stranglethorn. Laid down on the gaudy bed, with its pineapple-and-flamingo pattern, lowered her brown linen thong. She breathed deeply. Prepared herself.

From her supine position D'Dea exerted herself to make a long reach to her satchel, too lazy to get up, enervated by the plush bedding. Pulled out the toy, discretely hidden in a long silk scarf. Examined it a bit. A good piece of work, it was - wider than it was tall, teasing little indents along the base, and a brash, sensuous bulge at its tip. Solid ebon color, solid but smooth, metallic but warm. A lusciously exaggerated parody of a manhood. The night elf woman rubbed it back and forth in her moist hands. Delicately brought it to her lips - kissed it slightly, wet its very tip with her tongue - then brought it down to her other pair. Teased her outer labia with its moistened tip. A delicate push - her taunt womanhood resisted. Fudge.

D'Dea reached down with both hands, kneaded herself with her long lavender fingers, pressed and kneaded, back and forth - she felt her fingertips moisten. She let out a coo. As she continued to work herself, the coo became a deep groan. She felt herself open up. She was ready. Slid the ebon length inside herself.

She gasped at her own reaction. It was so good. So good. Her taunt elven form convulsed in passion, her glutes, toned with chase and battle, pushing up against her excited pelvic floor. If the toy had been the genuine article, the feedback would have been too much for any man to bear. She drew the toy back, and in, and down again, and out, in quick, uneven motions, like sawing through the gamey muscle of a fallen stag. She felt herself grow wet all over - not only in her womanliness, but her breasts, her abdomen, her armpits, all excited and exuding perspiration. She choked on her own breath. More, more. She drew herself in and out, going from teasing herself to desperate gratification, sawing away at her dark purple orifice. She could smell her own scent filling the room with its musky abundance. See, saw, see, saw. Back and forth. From sawing to determined deep pumping. The lump at the toy's head worked as advertised, it tantalized that rough flat spot just inside her, below her abdomen, opposite her mons pubis. Her inner wall wept spasms of passion. Rougher thrusting now. Rougher. Deeper. All but the full half-cubit length deep. So good...

"Yo, lady! You want your drake fed, or do I tell it what to do with itself? Ten gold a meal for that b**st, but five hundred gold fee for each of my guys it eats if it gets too hungry!"

OMFG!!!

D'Dea cursed. Again. Rose unevenly from the bed, still holding her favorite toy between her legs, she couldn't let that delightful thing go. She got up just enough to yell at the door. "Feed my drake, goblin, bill me in the morning, and don't disturb me again!" Her tone of voice said she meant business.

The goblin had some common sense. "Fine by me, lady." As much attitude as he thought he could have short of endangering his life.

Omg...

Lay back down, back to teasing, teasing...calming down...pushing mental images of v******e out of her mind...imagining a third-party point of view on herself, her tall nude form convulsed in pleasure, a picture of night elf sensuality. Gripped one of her firm softball-sized breasts, her magenta nipples firm with arousal.

Back and forth. In and out. Sensuous pleasure. For hours. sleep came slowly to D'Dea.

Morning. She paid her bill, including the fee to feed the drake. They charged her more than she thought was fair, but whatever - and she tipped them extra, too. Wanted to make sure next time she wasn't bothered.

D'Dea felt aroused. A bit giddy. Playing with herself and her new friend had been fun, but not entirely satisfying. There had to be a way to make it better...More immediately, she had to do more chores for the Pandaren to replenish her purse.

Her routine began at the Sanctum of Seven Stars. And whom did she notice fiddling with some wires at the engineering bay but the inimical draenei paladin. Her left horn was touched-up with a bit of blue-dyed rubbing cement. Didn't look half bad. The draenei's back was to D'Dea, but she happened to turn at just that moment. Smiled.

"D'Dea. You enjoy life now?" Chipper through her heavy draenei accent.

"Yes, I think." "You think. You need more kick? I see that in your eyes." The night elf's eyebrows shot up with an expression of half-offended innocence.

"You do, yes?" "C, can you do that? How? Uh, what will it cost?"

"A bit of gnomish technology. Two hundred gold. A small attachment to the base of your toy, if you like." D'Dea swiftly reached into her bag and forked over the toy. Only on second thought did she glance swiftly around at the surrounding crowd of motley Alliance adventurers of all races, who, she supposed, were all caught up in their own business. Or did anyone see her? Glanced back down at the toy. She had cleaned it off entirely. She was sure. Not so sure she didn't look it up and down nervously at its length, grasped in Aestu's lithe blue hand. Any wet spots she missed?

Aestu handled the toy without worry, reached again into her toolbox, pulled out a small mechanical device about the size of a ring box. The box was conical in shape, with a depression on its top just the same width as the toy. Aestu snapped the two together, then with her combination tool tightened the connection, tested it for firmness. D'Dea glanced around again nervously.

"There you go, my Lady. Battery is self-recharger, with internal power supply. Should not need service for better part of a century. You will enjoy, I am sure." Aestu beamed and handed the toy, augmented with the mechanical box, back to the night elf, who shoved it away and, trembling, handed five hundred-krone coins to the draenei. "Why thank you, Lady. Light be with you."

A day of doing errands of all sorts for portly, gregarious, strange-smelling Pandaren was never so long. D'Dea had never learned to tell them apart, except by hairdo. They all looked the same to her. All the chores seemed the same. Her afternoons were with the Klaxxi, even worse, reminded her of nothing so much as those vile insects her ancestors had fought two vicious wars against.

Drive off hozen. Drive off virmen. Kill lots of little bugs. Kill bigger bugs. Kill really big bugs. Kill smart bugs. Kill not-so-smart bugs. In great numbers. A day in the life of a hero.

Her last task of the day brought her to yet another Pandaren brewery. D'Dea had thought the portly Pandaren man who'd asked her to kill a bunch of hozen occupying his estate would let her go after she'd finished her task, but no, in characteristic Pandaren manner, he slowly, ponderously, waddled back and forth, going on a panegyric about the Pandaren and their history and whatever. Interminable. On and on the Pandaren went, in his slow, infuriatingly amiable, deep-bellied warble. D'Dea just wanted the day to end, to lay down in bed, spread her legs, try out this pleasure toy that the draenei had created for her...she gyrated her hips slowly as she thought about it, a moan escaped her lips-

"And don't you agree?" asked the pandaren man rhetorically.

"Yes. Yes! Listen, Mister, ah-" "Cheng." "Cheng! Yes. Could I spend the night at your inn? I must beg forgiveness, but I have had a long day, and a longer one tomorrow. You've given me a lot to think about." "Ah, yes, indeed, grasshopper, the brew needs to steep before it can be filtered and bottled. Surely your mind needs to sleep on all I have said, about the secrets of the-"

"Yes, indeed, Mister Cheng. I must beg forgiveness, but-"

"No need, no need, young grasshopper. I understand completely. Why, in my day, I fought so hard, and slept so hard, that I-"

"My room, please, Mister Cheng." D'Dea curtsied shyly, raised her eyebrows good-naturedly, and smiled as best she could. She wanted...so badly...

"Yes, yes. Of course. Ahh, right up the stairs. My grand-uncles old room. A great view of the valley. Come, let me-"

"I think I can find my way, Mister Cheng. Thank you." D'Dea curtsied again and beat a hasty retreat up the stairs, around the banister, first door on the left. Well-outfitted, with the big, firm beds pandaren preferred, a low tea-table surrounded by pillows, and of course a view of the valley. Faster than before D'Dea stripped off her armor, pulled off her brassiere and dropped her panties. Threw herself back on the firm bedroll, drew the motorized toy, turned the knob and-

omg...

Instant gratification. As she drew the toy up and down along her engorged purple slit, waves of electric passion passed through her body. Omg. Again and again she teased the buzzing head of the toy against her womanly lips. Droplets of fluid trickled forth. She exuded musk onto her finely trimmed fingernails. Passionate moans from her throat between her broad, shapely shoulders became deep groans of passion. Unhhhhhh... A spring breeze blew in the window over her supine form, her legs spread, feet crossed, torso twisted in ecstasy. Fantastic pleasure. Pressed the vibrating head into her. Oh! Unhh... Her groans became deeper, more sonorous. She climaxed...felt an orgasm course through her...exhaled deeply, moaned loudly...

"AIEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!"

A elderly female pandaren was standing in the doorway, shrieking in terror at the hedonism that lay before her. "AIEEEEEEEEE!!!" From below: "Grandma Ching, what is the matter? Are you alright? What are those strange noises I hear?" "AIEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!"

D'Dea had chosen the wrong door.

Effing!!! The naked night elf woman ignored the old, senile pandaren woman - her eyes glassy, the left almost entirely enveloped by a cataract. Didn't even bother with her panties and bra - let the pandaren figure out what to do with them - but put her armor back on, grabbed her baggage - slipped the toy between her breasts for safekeeping - and jumped right out the window, gesturing to her drake as she fell twelve feet to the ground below and made a sprint for it.

Well, the pandaren had already paid up. For all their talk about their history, somehow D'Dea didn't think any of them would remember the incident tomorrow. Flew to Sanctum, spent the night there, exploring herself with her new best friend. Like, the same friend as before, only a million times better. Pure motorized passion. Images of nude forms - her own leggy lavender grace, males of various species, and...it wasn't enough, she realized. She needed-

D'Dea felt a sudden cramp in her lower abdomen. Drew her hand back from her womanly canal - saw a red tinge along her fingernails. The timing could not have been better.

Dusk was the time when a night elf's crepuscular sleep cycle overlapped that of the diurnal lesser races. So it was just that evening D'Dea set out on her manhunt. Hunting was a night elf's forte, after all. Most races built elaborate traps, with springs and trap doors and the like; night elves knew better. D'Dea's drake and its lusty rider glided slowly up and down the pristine river running longitudinally along the Four Winds valley. Looking for the right spot - there. Flat, gently sloping terrain leading along down to a steep incline before the muddy banks of the river. D'Dea dismounted and began creating her trap.

The night elf pounded the grass flat, paced back and forth over it, danced on it. With a thickly woven water basket from her pack, she drew water from the river and poured it over the grass, again and again, until the grass was slick and muddy. D'Dea picked up a pebble, tossed it into the river. The ker-plunk resounded through the valley canyon. Good. She called her drake, mounted up, and lay in wait upon the plateau just above the river that ran through the canyon around the valley, as dusk faded into night. The warrioress' senses became attuned to the moonlit evening.

She didn't have to wait long. A burly orc warrior made his ponderous, graceless march alone through the grassland. His armor was red and black, he carried a long spear and a pack. His skin was olive, almost black, his bulging eyes yellowish and bloodshot. His jaw was slack; whether due to stupidity, rumination, carelessness, or just because he was built that way, who would know? D'Dea watched with anticipation. Here it comes...

The orc stopped for a moment, turned. Began walking again. Slipped slightly. In typical Orcish manner he instinctively tried to right himself through further exertion, kicking out with both legs and flexing his seemingly too-short arms. Bad move. The orc lost control of his momentum and went slipping, sliding along the wet grass, down the muddy embankment, rolling a good eight feet right into a big rock, which struck him in both knees. Ouch.

D'Dea watched carefully. The orc tried and failed to rise. He had badly twisted his right arm and broken one, possibly both, kneecaps. His spear lay a few cubits away, out of reach. The orc rolled about on his back, vainly trying to rise, only causing himself further discomfort. He was utterly incapacitated. The night elf called her drake and swooped down on him.

The orc saw her land right before him, glared with undisguised hatred at the night elf warrioress. He knew resistance was useless and he would not give her the satisfaction of seeing him beg for mercy. He simply lay back and glared at her, his yellow bloodshot eyes meeting her luminous white eyes, waiting for the end. His powerful olive muscles, their thick veins, throbbed with forced calm. D'Dea bent down before him, nose-to-nose. She felt the orc's hot breath on her face.

Without breaking his gaze, she undid the breastplate strap that lay across her chest, let the ponderous thorium mass fall to the ground beside the orc. A look of confusion filled his face. She leaned back, pulled down his legplates, and below that, his k** leather undergarments, barely rags, really. The orc's expression changed to one of terror and loathing. D'Dea realized what he was thinking. She removed his member - a massive, heavily veined deep olive organ, still limp with fear - began to massage it with both hands, rolling it between her palms like a piece of dough, then pumping it as if with a tourniquet. The organ slowly became aroused, engorged with the orc's fel-tinged blood. She brought down her chest, rubbed the orc's manhood against her firm lavender breasts and erect magenta nipples.

The orc began to breathe slowly, deeply. He continued to stare, confused, of at least two minds. D'Dea reached down to her hips, undid her waistband, let her legplates fall. Pulled her panties down. The orc could not see what lay down that far - the visage of her lust-filled face and curvaceous torso blocked his sight - but he could see the activity, had a good idea of what was going to happen next.

In a single motion, D'Dea lifted herself up and brought her hips down hard on the orc's groin. The orc grunted loudly. The night elf went up and down, up and down, hard, on his pelvis. The orc grunted again and again. Groaned with bestial ferocity. He wasn't sure whether he should like it or not. Aestu's toy was very nice indeed, but the real thing throbbed, the night elf could feel the orc's engorged veins against her womanly lips, the very tip of his manhood almost seeming to reach within her. His scent wafted up to her nose - disgustingly sweaty and dirty yet somehow arousing.

She bent her chest back, allowed the orc's manhood to rub up against that broad rough spot along her inner wall, opposite the mons pubis. So good... Up and down, back and forth. All around them, the cool stillness of the early evening, crickets loudly chirping, water striders making their curious buzzing sound. The orc was still caked in mud from his fall. His arms and legs lay prone at his sides but now he struggled to reciprocate with his hips, to push back into her. D'Dea appreciated the effort and pushed and grinded back. She heard the orc growl - almost the same sound his people when stabbed through the chest - she felt a torrent of warm, viscous fluid within her, an abundance - closed her legs and eyes, paused, enjoying the moment.

D'Dea rose, satisfied. A bit of emission and blood trailed down onto the orc's groin and along his legs as the night elf rose to her full height. She did him the dignity of pulling up his undergarments and legplates, and moving his spear close enough to him that he could grasp it to ward off wolves. The orc flashed a look of gratitude. He had not actually attempted to say anything during the entire encounter. D'Dea fully disclothed, washed herself down at the stream below, then leisurely put back on her undergarments and armor. The orc, unfortunately, had no such luxury, but his people would find him in the morning. Assuming an Alliance raider didn't find him first, of course.

With such a memory forever in her mind, D'Dea was sure, her future sessions with her favorite new toy would be all the more fulfilling.