Starting Over

Warning - this story starts to get a touch more kinky at this point. It will continue to be plot driven, with our dwarf and human as the main characters, but Fury has some rather exotic tastes...



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Questing



“Why are ye doing this?” A middle-aged dwarf with blazing orange hair and beard was chained naked to the dungeon wall. He had shared a pint with the knock-out of a dwarven maid, passed out and awoke to found himself in this predicament. “If it be kinky sex ye be wanting, ye just had to say so.”



“It’s more fun this way,” Fury purred, gliding across the room and barely brushing her silken dress across the dwarf’s skin. Her shift was blood-red, floor length, but very low cut, revealing her firm large breasts. Her waist was cinched with a sparkling beaded belt, and the skirt was slit up the sides almost to the belt, affording occasional glimpses of her pussy. She had neglected to put on any panties.



“Ah, that be all right then,” he nodded in satisfaction, his cock starting to lengthen with the promise of coming pleasure. The manacles chafed a bit, but he could tolerate it for now.



The mage stopped just out of his reach and smiled at the dwarven man’s member that continued to grow and harden. She slowly traced one long fingernail down his chest, a bit hard but didn’t quite draw blood – and stopped right at his orange pubic hair.



“Are ye just gonna stare at it, or do something with it?” he moaned in frustration. His prick was now ready – rock hard and jutting forward. He shifted his hips, attempting to rub against her to no avail.



Fury didn’t answer, but moved away, much to his disappointment. She sat on a sturdy wooden table across the room from him, and lifted one leg up onto its surface, legs spread wide, pussy hidden by the long dress much to the dwarf’s disappointment. Slowly, all too slowly she started to rub her nipples as she gazed at the rigid cock bobbing before her.



The dwarf’s breathing grew deeper a he watched. Her nipples jutted out, pebbles under silk as she smiled seductively. Slowly her hands began to wander, caressing her breasts, stroking her sides, teasing the insides of her thighs. But not touching her private places – not yet.



“I could do that for ye,” he offered hopefully, his voice low and gravelly with lust.



But the priest ignored him, keeping her eyes locked on his attentive manhood. Slowly, deliberately she lifted the front of her slit gown, picking it up and moving it to the side. Her cunt was already wet and dripping, and the chained dwarf gave a moan of lust looking at it.



Eyes never leaving the dwarf’s prick, she lay on her side on the table and took two fingers, and spread her cunt lips wide. Always at a slow, measured pace, she started to stroke her clit, occasionally stopping to insert her fingers into her empty snatch.



“Come on miss – let me do that for ye,” he begged, his cock starting to drip with pre-cum.



Sitting up, Fury slid off the table and approached him, a small glass vial in one hand. “In a moment, my dear friend,” she crooned as she gathered his liquid arousal into the bottle but never touching his aching member. Slowly, torturously, she corked the vial and placed it on the table. Returning to him she smiled and grasped his cock with one sure and practiced hand. The dwarf moaned deeper, anticipating, and praying he wouldn’t shoot his load too quickly.



The silk-clad woman lifted one leg and wrapped it around his waist, shoving her pussy right against his penis but not letting him enter. Fury angled him not for penetration, but for her own pleasure, using the head of his dick to stimulate her clit, digging the nails of her other hand into the back of his neck to keep her balance.



“Ah – but ye are the wicked one, aren’t ye?” the nameless dwarf marveled, eyes shut in bliss. He felt like his balls would explode if she didn’t give him relief soon.



Fury rubbed against his cock harder and faster now, her own breath growing ragged, sweat dripping down her neck.



“Cum for me lassie,” the dwarf begged. “Let us cum together, pretty one.”



Her climax close, at last Fury angled the dwarf’s cock and impaled herself on it. Three hard thrusts and the man yelled in passion. And at the peak of their joined orgasms Fury drew a blade out of her belt and thrust it between his ribs, killing him almost instantly. It was sheer bliss – seeing the realization in his eyes as he understood his death, as the light of his life flickered and died.



Despite the fact her partner was now dead and dangling in the chains, Fury proceeded to continue to fuck the corpse, laughing with evil glee until she came a second time. Withdrawing from the unfortunate victim, she pulled the knife out of his body and examined the glowing runes now decorating the blade. Ignoring her juices and the dead dwarf’s seed dripping down her inner thighs, she whispered dark spells over the dagger until the runes flashed red, and then faded away.



Reverently placing the knife on the table, she left the room with a satiated smile to clean herself up. Another soulbinder was finished. The Horde paid her so well for such enjoyable work. It was such a shame the bodies were so inconvenient to dispose of.





- - - - - - - - - - - - -



Sophie and Reg sat at the large table across from Nissa, Braenna, Devon and Ascenta, mulling over the matter of the knives. In the room, along with the friends, were the leaders of Darnassas, Ironforge, Exodar and Stormwind. All were deeply distressed over the news of the Soulbinder daggers. It was decided to keep the matter secret to all but the select few in the room for now. There was much to be decided – how many soulbinders were out there, how many had been used, and who was making them.



High priestess Tyrande Whisperwind, stately leader of Darnassas, stood and introduced her self. “At your message we looked up all we could about these evil devices – our knowledge isn’t very extensive, I’m afraid,” she stated apologetically.



Reg and Sophie both kept their faces neutral, but were thinking the same thing – elves were never very forthcoming with information even when they did have it.



The priestess held up a colored illustration of a wicket looking dagger, covered with runes. “Is this the blade that injured you, Sir Knight?” Reg and Sophie both winced and nodded.



“I didn’t notice any red runes like that though,” Sophie added, tapping her bottom lip in concentration. “But it was quite covered with blood at the time.”



“It was indeed a soulbinder then,” the elf nodded. “The shape of the blade is unique and not used for any other weapon. It was fortunate you had the presence of mind to bring it back with you. It is possible the runes were obscured by blood, but our librarian is of the mind that the runes glow only when the blade is first enchanted – they most likely fade away almost immediately.”



Sophie wanted to grasp Reginald’s hand at the reminder she almost lost him, but held her impulses to herself. Now was not the time to act like a silly little girl.



“How is the blade enchanted?” Devon asked. “Perhaps that will steer us to the source.”



The elf looked faintly nauseated. “It is a fairly normal dagger to start with, except for the particular style. Any blacksmith can make it – it has minor agility and damage stats upon creation. Then a warlock must summon a daemon to add the runes – and he must be a high level warlock to manage this part. The failure rate is quite high.”



“Difficult runes?” the dwarven king, Magni Bronzebeard, from Ironforge asked. Dwarves and runes had a racial affinity.



“No, Magni,” the elf shook her head sadly. “The daemon named on the blade is not an easy one to control. Our sources suggest they ignore the blade and devour the warlock three out of four attempts.”



“No wonder we have not been encountering many Horde warlocks lately!” Ascenta breathed in shock. “Yet they obviously feel it’s worth the sacrifice.”



“Yes,” the elf shook her head in sorrow. “And that is the only the first part. Then it gets really evil – the actual soulbinding enchantment happens with a sex ritual, where a victim is killed at the moment of climax with the weapon, then spells spoken over the blade. The victim and enchanter must orgasm at the same time for it to work.”



Reg and Sophie looked at each other in surprise, touching the hem of their cloaks for private chat. “How in the world do you cum when a knife is being held at ye?” Sophie whispered.



“No kidding!” Reg whispered back.



“The enchanter at this point has forfeited their soul to the spirit of death – they do not want to die, I assure you,” the elf continued. “This ritual displeases the spirit – she does not like being cut off from interesting people to talk to.”



“Does the victim need to be a warlock or enchanter?” Reg asked with curiosity. “And does it matter if they are a soldier of the Horde or Alliance? Can any one be the victim?”



“Good questions, Sir Knight,” the elf nodded with approval. “But unfortunately the victim can be any humanoid – willing or unwilling, on speaking terms with the spirit or not. So we can’t easily find a source of victims to aid our search.”



“How about the enchanter?” King Varian Wrynn asked, drumming his fingers on the table. “High level warlock also?” The leader of the humans was jotting notes on a parchment, deep in thought.



The elf looked at the human with respect. “No, Varian. Just a high level enchanter – any race or class can do it, if they are willing to risk their soul and have a black enough heart to be willing to do that.”



“I would imagine our first task is to find out who gave the soulbinder to the ogres,” Devon pondered, writing notes on a thick sheaf of parchment. “Perhaps we can tell what race is on friendly terms with the ogres, and providing the blades. From there hopefully we can find who is making them.” He looked up and gestured his quill at the pally and hunter across the table from him. “Reginald, Sophie, since you know the place and layout and what we are looking for, I want you to scout around and look for clues. And do not share your quest with anyone – this is to be kept to just the people in this room.”



“Do you think someone from our side could be making the blades?” King Bronzebeard sputtered after spitting out some of his ale.



“One never knows, dear dwarf” the elf sighed sadly. “I imagine the blacksmith, warlock and enchanter in question are all being paid extremely well. Riches can be a supreme motivator.” She glanced around the group of leaders and sighed. “I will contact Prophet Velen from Exodar in private and bring him up on these matters. The fewer people that know of this the better for now. Once the Horde finds out we know, we can distribute pictures of the knives for people to be aware.”



With that the guild members, along with the healers were dismissed from the meeting. Silent and sober in thought, Reg and Sophie went to pack for the journey.



- - - - - - - - - - - -



“I’m sorry, paladin,” the flight master shrugged apologetically, “all my gryffs are out but one – if you are in a hurry, you will have to double up.”



Reginald eyed the lone griffin speculatively. “If we change out of our armor, the weight shouldn’t be an issue,” he agreed. It was a good thing that items, like armor, stored in their backpack were magically shrunk and weightless.



The Flight master snorted. “If my gryffs can handle a Darenei, they can take a human and dwarf together.”



They paid to reserve the mount and rushed over to an inn to change out of their fighting clothes and into simple linen garments – shirt and drawstring trousers for Reg, a simple mid-calf length dress for Sophie. “This should be fun,” Reg leered at his friend and companion. Sophie blushed, thinking of the possibilities.



The dwarf climbed up onto the broad back of the lion-bodied eagle, with Reg mounting in back of her. With a slap to the beasts rump, the flight master sent them on their way. Although Sophie had ridden many a griffon and hippogriff for the Alliance, she had never sat so far forward, with the strong back and wing muscles flexing directly under her. On top of the rocking motion of the warm animal, there was a very warm paladin nestled against her back, strong arms wrapped around her body, and a suspicious prodding against her backside.



The wind whipped her face, and Sophie could feel her nipples harden from the cold breeze as she leaned back into Reg’s strong embrace. His muscular arms reached around, holding her even closer, warm hands playing with her nipples through her garment.



Sophie marveled at how turned on she was becoming. The freedom of the open sky, knowing that everyone could see them, but not have any idea what they were doing was so arousing. The chill on her breasts, the warmth from his arms and hands and body – it was ecstasy.



Reg’s strong arms reached lower and hiked her skirt up, greedily groping for her dampening pussy. Sophie leaned back, cooing with delight, running her hands down his long thighs. Probing searching fingers rubbed her clit just the way she liked, pausing to enter her tight snatch for a few thrusts before returning to her hard little button. She could feel herself groaning with passion, but could not hear the sounds because of the wind blowing so hard.



The paladin smiled warmly at the woman in his arms. His cock was hard and ready, being teased by the rough linen of his pants and the squirming of the dwarf leaning against it. Untying the drawstring, he released his member and pushed forward gently on Sophie’s back. Grinning ear to ear, she leaned forward, grasping the long feathers of the gryffon’s neck for support. Reg grabbed the back of her skirt, picked up the hunter by her generous hips, and positioned her over his aching prick.



This was heaven, Sophie decided. A little wiggle of the hips, and Reg’s hard cock was right at her dripping entrance. She teased a little, bobbing up and down only a few inches, but gave in to her own needs quickly. The dwarf was never a good study in patience.



The two joined in frantic coupling, Sophie slamming down on his cock, driving it deeply inside. Diddling herself with one hand, and holding tightly onto the gryff with the other, the two felt orgasm approaching quickly. Reg kept his hold on her hips, helping her thrusting with his eager arms, faster and faster until they swiftly came together, their cries lost in the rushing wind.



Relaxing her death-grip on the beast’s feathers, Sophie leaned back into Reg’s embrace, trembling with release. She felt the warm tingle of a pally heal and looked up at him questioningly, only to receive a wink in response. Together they snuggled and enjoyed the rest of the ride, feeling relaxed and sleepy before the storm to come.



The bird-headed beast touched down at last in Southshore, and Sophie slid off, positioning her pack on her back. “What was that heal for, Reg?” she whispered while they walked to the inn.



“Purification,” the paladin grinned. “It has the added bonus of cleaning. I’m sure the next riders of that gryff appreciated it, as did the gryff.”



Sophie blushed and nodded in silent agreement as she turned and smiled at the magnificent creature that provided such a wonderful experience. To her amazement it angled its head at her and slowly, intelligently winked at her. She would never look at a gryffin the same way again.