Sacred Ecstasy of Irel (Warcraft) (continuation)
Chapter 2: Insatiable Faith
Her words hung in the air, thick with the scent of their bodies—the sweetish aroma of her skin mixed with the acrid reek of fel and the pungent spirit of seed. "Can you, warlock, fuck a servant of the Light so that she truly feels converted?"
Malkor looked at her, at this lilac-skinned girl kneeling before him. Her fingers, long and elegant but with a grip full of imperious demand, continued their smooth, insistent movements, cradling his scrotum. Her touch was not mere caress; it was an inquiry, a challenge, and a promise. Under her skilled fingers, his flesh,
already weary, responded with a dull, hot throb. Blood seemed to boil in his veins with renewed force, and his cock, still wet from her, began to slowly but inexorably awaken, filling with strength under her persistent hand.She was a challenge to him. A living embodiment of everything he despised and sought to dominate—holy faith, fragile purity. But that purity had proven deceptive. Beneath it lay a volcano of lust he had only accidentally uncovered. And now he burned with the desire to fuck her senseless, to have her, this mighty paladin, lie breathless with pleasure at his feet, her silver eyes rolling back as she forgot the name of her Light. But he himself was stunned. Where did this fragile body, which seemed breakable with one wrong move, find such strength? How did she withstand his onslaught, his fury, and not just withstand it, but demand more?
"You are an insatiable, lustful little draenei," he repeated hoarsely, no longer as an insult but as a statement of incredible fact. His hand reached for her face of its own accord, and he ran his thumb over her wet, kiss-swollen lip. "Doesn't the Light teach you moderation?"
Irel smiled, low and insinuating, and licked his finger with the tip of her tongue. "The Light teaches me the fullness of being. And I... I am not yet full. You said fel nourishes well. So prove it. Fill me."
He crushed his lips against hers, and this kiss was a battle—for dominance, for air, for the very soul. Irel met him with equal fury, her tongue meeting his, her teeth lightly biting his lower lip. Her hand, still gripping his balls, released and slid higher, wrapping around his cock, which now stood rigid, having regained all its former hardness and seeming even larger from her brazen words and touch.
"Proceed, warlock," she breathed against his lips, and her voice held the steel of a command. "Do not keep me waiting."
Irel lay there, breathing heavily, her chest heaving, her silver eyes shining with a feverish gleam in the gloom. She looked at him challengingly, expecting him to enter her again with the same animal force. But Malkor decided to change tactics. If he wanted to break her, he needed to attack where she did not expect.
He knelt before the table, roughly spread her trembling thighs, and buried his face in the intimate depths of her body.
Irel cried out—high, piercing, from surprise. She had expected a rough invasion, but not this... not this deliberate, barbaric caress.
"What are you doing?!" escaped her, but her body immediately arched when his tongue, rough and incredibly skilled, found her clit.
Malkor did not answer. He held her hips, digging his fingers into the firm flesh, not letting her close her legs. His tongue worked with devilish artistry—now fast, vibrating movements, now slow, smooth circles, now light sucking. He studied every fold, every shadow, every response of hers. Her pussy, which he had just fucked with such fury, again felt incredibly tight and virginal. The flesh was inflamed, sensitive, and every touch of his tongue sent electric shocks of pleasure through her.
"An'kir!.." she moaned. "What are you doing?.."
But her questions quickly turned into incoherent moans. His tongue was a skilled weapon. He didn't just lick; he attacked. Fast, insistent, vibrating, rhythmically pressing. He made her jerk and writhe on the table, her hips moving unconsciously, offering themselves to his mouth. She had never experienced anything like it. It was so intimate, so submissive, and so incredibly divine.
"Yes! Like that!" she cried, her voice echoing under the vaults. "Don't stop! That tongue... By the Light, where did you get it?!"
Malkor, encouraged by her reaction, redoubled his efforts. With one hand he held her thigh, and the fingers of his other hand found her entrance and entered her without ceremony, stretching and filling her, moving in time with the work of his tongue.
Irel surrendered completely to the sensations. She clamped his head between her thighs, her fingers tangled in his hair, pressing him to her flesh as hard as she could. Her cries and moans merged into a continuous song of pleasure.
"Yes! Deeper!" she ordered, her voice breaking. "Lick me all over! Turn me into a puddle! Oh, yes! You... you're the best who's ever done this... The best!"
Irel threw her head back and moaned, no longer trying to hide anything. Her fingers gripped his tangled hair, not pushing him away but pressing him harder against her.
"Oh, Light... Oh, My Light..." she babbled, her hips beginning to move on their own, following the rhythm of his tongue. "Yes... right there... don't stop!"
It was magnificent. Better than anything she had ever experienced. His tongue was a living fire, burning away the last remnants of shame and doubt from her. She felt everything inside her tightening into a tight, sweet knot, ready to unravel at any moment.
"You... you are beautiful at this..." she exhaled, her voice breaking into high notes. "Your tongue... Gods, your tongue! Lick me! Lick my pussy! Lick it all!"
She was wanton and beautiful in her depravity. Her lilac skin was flushed, her chest heaved, and her face was frozen in a grimace of blissful ecstasy. Malkor, obeying her commands, redoubled his efforts. He inserted two fingers inside her, feeling her wet, hot walls clenching around them, while simultaneously continuing to work his tongue fiercely over her nub.
The wave hit her suddenly and crushingly. Irel screamed, her body shook with convulsions, her legs cramped, and tears sprang from her eyes. She screamed incessantly as the orgasm rolled through her, long, agonizing, and liberating.
Before she could recover, Malkor rose over her. His cock, huge and menacing, was ready for a new assault. He didn't waste time on foreplay. He spread her thighs, still trembling from the orgasm, and with one powerful, confident thrust, entered her.
Irel cried out again, but this time the cry was full of wild joy and satisfaction. "Yes! Like that! Again! Fill me!"
"Yes! Like that!" she cried, her hips moving to meet his with equal force. "Oh, yes! Your cock... it's just made for me! Perfect! An'kir, how huge it is!"
He pressed her against the table, his body covering her like a shroud. He began to move, setting a fast, furious rhythm. The table creaked and rattled, threatening to fall apart under their onslaught. Irel gave herself to him completely. Her nails dug into his back, leaving long red scratches on his calloused skin. She moaned, screamed, howled with pleasure, her voice echoing under the chapel vaults.
"How... huge you are!" she cried out, her eyes gleaming. "What a magnificent cock! You're fucking all the lies out of me! Fucking out the very essence!"
"You are insatiable, draenei," he rasped, driving his shaft into her. His sweat dripped onto her chest. "Your thirst... it is bottomless."
He leaned down and pressed his lips to her breast. He took her small, hard-as-stone nipple into his mouth, caressing it with his tongue and biting. Irel moaned even louder, arching towards his lips. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him to her.
"My breasts... do you love them?" she whispered passionately into his ear. "You make them so sensitive... I feel your bites... everywhere... deep inside."
They moved in perfect, furious sync. Malkor, usually cold and calculating, could not hide his amazement. She was as skilled in sex as in battle. Her hips met every thrust, her muscles clenched his cock with such force that he himself had to exert effort not to come prematurely. She was not a passive victim, but an equal participant in this wild dance.
Then, feeling his climax approaching, he abruptly pulled out of her and flipped her onto her stomach. He lifted her pelvis, putting her on all fours, and forcefully pressed her against the edge of the table. Her perfect, rounded buttocks rose before him, lilac and firm, with a reddened, wet entrance that so craved his return.
"I will fuck you to death, lustful draenei," he whispered, his voice low and ominous, full of dark magic and promise. "I will fuck your Light out of you, and you will forget its name."
Irel, instead of being frightened, laughed fanatically. Her laughter was the music of his triumph and her own liberation. "Try, warlock! Do it! Prove that your fel is stronger than my faith!"
He entered her again, and this time it was even harder, even deeper. He held her down on the table with one hand, and the other... his fingers closed around the base of her horn. It was more intimate than any other touch. A draenei's horns were sacred, a symbol of their race and connection to magic. And now he held her by the horn like reins, controlling her body, directing every thrust, every moan.
"Don't stop!..." it was already an order, but an order full of lust. Her voice sounded hoarse and commanding. "Prove you're not just capable of killing!"
"Yeees! Like that!" she screamed, her voice breaking. "Don't spare me! Give me all your fury!"
Malkor did not make her ask twice. He began to move, setting a fast, furious rhythm. His hips slammed against her buttocks with a thud, her body rocked back and forth under his onslaught. He held her by the hips, but that was not enough. His gaze fell on her horns—graceful, like carved amethyst, emanating from her crown. A symbol of her race, her connection to magic. A symbol of everything he despised.
"Yes! Like that! Hold me by the horns! Fuck your holy whore!" she cried, her voice rasping. "Show me what your fel is capable of!"
One of his hands released her thigh and rose upward. His fingers closed around the base of her horn. It was more intimate than any other touch. He held her by the horn like reins, like a handle. Irel froze for a moment, feeling this new, sacred humiliation and depraved excitement.
"Yes..." she exhaled, her voice full of a kind of reverent horror. "Hold me by the horns, heretic. Control me. Show who is the master here."
"Be silent!" he growled, pulling her by the horn and making her arch her back, entering her at a new, incredible angle. "You are here only to take my cock and scream with pleasure."
"I am screaming!" she wailed in response, her body trembling with each of his thrusts. "An'kir! How huge it is! You're tearing me apart! Fuck your holy whore! Fuck all the righteousness out of me!"
Her words spurred him on. He fucked her with a fury he had not felt even in the fiercest battles. He held her by the horn, directing every thrust, every moan. His other hand released her thigh and grasped her breast, squeezing the firm flesh, pinching and pulling her nipple.
"Your breasts..." he rasped. "So small and firm. They are made to be squeezed while you're being fucked."
"Yes!" she herself pressed his hand harder against her breast. "Squeeze them! Hurt me! I want to feel you everywhere!"
Her eyes shone, literally emitting light. A bright, silvery radiance poured from them, illuminating the dusty basement room. The Light did not fade in her; it overflowed her, reacting to every movement, every word. It seemed to feed on her ecstasy.
"You will come for me, draenei," Malkor growled, feeling his own fury and passion reaching their peak. He pulled her by the horn towards him, making her arch her back, and entered her at a new, incredible angle. "You will come when I command! You will forget your Light on my cock!"
"Make me!" she wailed in response. "Make me come! I demand it! I want it! You... you are magnificent! Your cock... it works wonders on me!"
Her words, her admissions, were the strongest aphrodisiac for him. He saw her body tense, felt her insides beginning to convulsively clench around him.
"Come!" he roared, and it was a spell, an order, a prayer.
"I'm coming!" she cried in response, and her cry was bright and terrible.
The orgasm hit them simultaneously, crushing as a hammer blow and bright as a flash of holy fire. Malkor, with a final, choked groan, spilled into her, filling her with his seed, feeling her body convulse, squeezing out every last drop from him. The light emanating from her eyes became blindingly white, illuminating the entire chapel for a moment, then went out.
He pulled out of her and, staggering, stepped back. His legs gave way, and he collapsed heavily onto the floor, leaning his back against the shattered altar. He was drained, squeezed dry. His mighty body, tempered in dark rituals, trembled with tension.
Irel, having received an unforgettable orgasm, let out a final, long, fading moan. Her body went limp on the table, limp as a rag doll. Her chest heaved heavily, trying to catch air. She lay powerless, her silver hair disheveled, her skin gleaming with sweat and his seed trickling down the inside of her graceful, trembling thighs.
Silence fell in the chapel, broken only by their heavy, ragged breathing. The battle was over. But who had won in it—darkness or the so uniquely understood Light—was completely unclear. Only one thing was clear: their confrontation had only just begun.
Irel, having received her portion of unearthly pleasure, went limp on the table with a final, deafening cry. Her body, which just a minute ago had been convulsing with passion, now lay as a completely shapeless, beautiful mass. Her chest heaved heavily, trying to draw air into spasming lungs. From her stretched, reddened cunt, a thick stream of semen flowed again onto the cold stone of the table, forming a puddle beneath her. She couldn't move. She couldn't even think. She simply lay there, feeling every cell of her body, every nerve, singing praises to the Light, manifested through the darkest, sweetest of possible prayers.
Irel closed her eyes and seemed to sink into sleep, or deep meditation, her body finally finding peace. Malkor continued to lie and watch her. This mysterious, insatiable servant of the Light, who in a depraved act had found her most sincere prayer. And he understood that this night was far from over. Her challenge had been accepted. And he, Malkor the warlock, did not know what was more terrifying: to destroy her... or to fail to satisfy her next time.
— — —— —
At first, Irel lay on her stomach, sprawled across the polished tabletop like a sacrifice. Her lilac skin was damp and covered with a light, pearlescent sheen of sweat. Long, white, moonstone-like hair was disheveled, and several strands stuck to her cheek and mighty horn. Her powerful yet graceful legs were splayed in helplessness, and on her thighs and buttocks, of perfect rounded shape, reddish marks from too-strong embraces showed—imprints of the passion that had raged here minutes before. She was fucked, utterly satisfied, and powerless.__