Starting Over

Warnings again – it gets pretty wild in this chapter – if you are offended by some seriously kinky stuff, please pass this chapter by.



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It’s for a Good Cause



Sophie and Reginald looked around the abandoned room, both wrinkling their noses with disgust. The dwarf’s unhappiness was probably deeper and stronger than the paladins, if that was possible. They were back in the citadel where the ogre had almost killed her friend with the soulbinder blade. Sophie was trembling as she stared at the large blood stain on the floor that was the remains of Reg’s life-threatening wound.



Sun filtered through the small windows in the stone hold, illuminating the thick dust and bird droppings that covered every surface. It was clear that once the two of them had killed the leader, the remaining orges fled the area – there were no signs of recent habitation.



The hunter prodded the closest of the three skeletons with her toe and sighed. “No bodies to check for clues, I’m ‘fraid,” The remains of the ogres were picked clean by animals, thanks to the lack of glass in the windows.



Reg glanced briefly at the bones and scrutinized the rest of the room. “Let’s examine over there,” he gestured with his thumb to a pile of trash and debris against one wall. “I’m guessing that since this was the highest room in the citadel, it was where the leaders slept as well.”



Pally, Hunter, and bear walked over to the place in question. Piles of straw, tattered blankets, and piles of refuse backed up the man’s hypothesis – this was indeed where the leader and his ‘officers’ lived for a short time. Gingerly they poked through the trash with their swords, not wishing to touch it with their hands, and sifted through broken crockery, smashed kegs, and piles of wood obviously gathered for fires.



“Here, Soph,” the paladin called. Turning around, the dwarf could see a wooden box, maybe a foot long, in his hands. “This box is made out of silverpine – those trees only grow near Lordaeron, if I’m not mistaken.”



She took the box and sniffed it. “Ya – I can smell undead on it – it came from there,” Sophie agreed, nodding. “That it wasn’t burned for fuel tells it was important to them.”



Reg lifted the lid and pulled out a scrap of rough linen cloth, and held it closer to the window to examine it. “The box seems big enough for that blade, “he pondered.



Sophie drew close and gently took the fabric from his hands. Bringing to her nose close, she sniffed deeply. Eyes wide, she stared at her partner in shock. “This be from Frostmane Trolls, Reg!”



“Trolls, huh?” the human mused. “So either the Forsaken or the Trolls are in back of this, or both?”



The hunter shook her head vehemently. “Not those trolls, Love! The Frostmanes be a small tribe in Dun Morag – just a few miles from Ironforge. The ones me and Rambler stampeded. They aint strong or smart enough to be in the Horde.” She smelled the cloth again, and scratched her head puzzled. “I promise they be too stupid to make knives or be enchanting. When first training for the Alliance we used to thin them out all the time. Used this cloth to make our first bandages.” A third sniff and she handed it back to Reg. “I can smell steel on the cloth – it held a blade of some sort – that be certain.”



Reginald gazed out the window, unseeing. “Perhaps the enchanter is from Alliance lands, Soph.” He said softly. “It’s likely a piece of looted cloth.” She nodded sadly in agreement.





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The pair made their report to Devon, who would get the information securely to the rest of the team. Reginald was sent to Southshore to watch the roads from Silverpine to Alliance lands for anything suspicious, and Sophie was to investigate Dun Morag to look for signs of who could be doing the enchantments.



Packages were sadly not traceable once they hit a mailbox. Mail was delivered by magic so a person could get their mail from any mailbox of their faction. All they could hope to find was someone from the Horde hanging around an Alliance mailbox with a similar wooden box.



It was Ascenta, the wife of the leader of the Eagle of the Alliance, that had the toughest job at the moment. Perched high on the stone wall of the courtyard of Lorderon with a flock of wild ravens, none of the Horde shambling across the grounds to the entrance of Undercity noticed the slightly larger druid in bird form. Sharp avian eyes watched below for anything out of the ordinary. There did seem to be a tangible air of excitement – not the nervous fevered pitch of before battle, but the ‘day before Winter Festival’ kind of electricity in the air. No decorations were up, and nothing came to the druid’s memory, so she sat and waited and watched.



The next morning dawned clear and warm as Ascenta woke up with the ravens huddled to her left and right. Ruffling her feathers she yawned and took her first glance into the open courtyard and almost fell off her perch. Dozens of human pirates were dancing and carrying on below, surrounded by friendly and amused Forsaken, Tauren, Orc and Blood Elves. On closer examination she realized every man and female pirate looked exactly the same, and she cawed with relief. The humans hadn’t changed sides – it was the effect of a magical fish-based potion. Evedently it was ‘Talk Like A Pirate Day’. Swiftly taking wing, Ascenta headed for the nearest Alliance flight path – it was time to get some deviate fish.





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A very drunk female pirate was draped over a brewfest keg outside of the Magic Quarter. Well, she wasn’t actually a pirate, nor was she drunk. But the druid Ascenta had spent the past few hours partying, feeling grateful for her fluidity in the Orcish tongue, and pretending to get toasted while looking for signs of the blacksmith or warlock that was making the soulbinders.



The open layout of the city and its shops was a huge help. And the Horde folks, except for rogues, seemed to be pretty easy to get talking. Pretending to be unconscious, reeking of ale, she watched through her long lashes at the warlock and his minion in the shop across from her. There were five boxes identical to the one Reginald and Sophie had brought back from Arathi stacked on the filthy worktable in the center of the room, an undead warlock busy drawing a pentagram on the floor in the back of the shop area.



Ascenta hoped that something definite would happen soon. Her bladder was full to bursting, and plumbing seemed to be a thing to be mocked in the filth and squalor of the Undercity. She didn’t dare leave her post to find a private alley to relieve herself in – the information she might miss was too important to the alliance.



The rotting husk of a human continued to lay out candles and paraphernalia, muttering dark invocations under his breath. “Get on with it, man,” she thought to herself, squeezing her thighs together as much as she dared. Too much movement and the nervous warlock, who was constantly glancing over his shoulder, would suspect she wasn’t really passed out.



“Finally!” she sighed with relief – the Forsaken warlock had stood and started to cast obvious summonings for something very powerful and evil. As the daemon started to take form in the pentagram, the undead pulled the nearest box open and readied the blade. Sure enough, the druid was pleased to see, it was an unenchanted soulbinder. Oh but she had to piss so badly.



As she watched the daemon and warlock come to an agreement over the knife, a lanky green troll and lumbering Tauren came around the corner, blocking her view of the undead and his business. “What have we here, mon?” the troll leered at her. It was all Ascenta could do to keep her eyes half shut and her bladder from emptying.



“It’s a woman, stupid,” the Tauren’s deep bass voice rumbled. Oh the druid knew she would burst soon if she didn’t find some place to pee. Her forehead broke out in a sweat, and she tried to think of anything else but the ache in her bladder. But dutifully she listened in on the warlock whose view was blocked and continued pretending to sleep.



“I know that, asshole,” the troll grinned. “But why would a good woman of da Horde be so willing to look like a shitty human bitch?”



“Dunno, Skeech,” the bovine shrugged. “It’s Talk Like a Pirate Day – the women are all doing it. I like their tits.” He gestured with a meaty thumb at Ascenta’s huge jugs spilling out of the small halter top. Did pirate women really dress like this?



The troll, to Ascenta’s shock, started to unbutton his fly. “Well, this is closer than da canal. She be looking like a toilet to me.” Steeling herself to keep her eyes from flying open, she watched with disgust as the troll pulled out his green prick and proceeded to aim it at her large breasts. With a snicker of pleasure, he let loose with a hard pelting stream of piss, spraying his hot liquid over her chest.



“Oh Skeech,” the Tauren chuckled, “you are a disgusting dog. But it looks like fun.”



The heat, the smell, the sights, Ascenta couldn’t hold her water another second. With a groan, which she hoped the two perverts would take as drunken mumbling, the floodgates opened and wetness flooded her pants, drenching her crotch and legs with her own hot pee. The relief was so intense, and the situation so bizarre, the elf orgasmed powerfully despite her revulsion. She only hoped the pair chalked her shaking and moaning to drunkenness.



The troll and Tauren laughed uproariously at the woman now soaked from Skeech and her own accident. “Slut can’t hold her water, mon.” The troll mocked, staring at her piss-soaked crotch. The hulking bull reached under his loincloth, and the druid looked in fear through veiled lashes as he pulled out eighteen inches of flaccid, fur-covered cock, aimed it at her already soaked pants and proceeded to shower her with his own pungent urine. The torrid was so strong against her heated clit she came a second time, though she kept her face from betraying any expression.



The Tauren shook the last few golden drops off the end of his dick. “Don’t be putting that away, mon,” Skeech snickered. Both Ascenta and the Tauren looked at the troll – his cock was half hard, still in his hand, and being deliberately massaged by its owner. “Pick the bint up and put her over her keg – she be out and not be knowing a thing.”



The druid stayed limp, despite all instincts to scream and run. Still chuckling in his deep voice, the Tauren grabbed the ‘sleeping’ Ascenta by the arms, flipped her around and draped her over the keg. Skeech must have let go of his prick for a second, because the druid felt cold air hit her bottom as her pants were torn off with the help of a dagger.



Belly down over the barrel, her rounded bottom hiked in the air and chilled from the piss coating it, Ascenta groaned in what she hoped was a drunken manner. “Fuck her, mon,” the troll chortled, and the elf felt two huge hands spread her legs wide. She gave up the pretense of sleep at this point. She had to let them have their way with her – she could not leave the warlock, who was glancing over with amusement and envy as he dismissed the daemon. His relief was obvious – the enchanting was successful, the blade now runed, and he would live. But Ascenta needed to see what he did with the dagger next, so she willingly submitted to the Tauren and Troll in back of her.



She hoped she was a convincing drunk. She lolled her head to the side, slurring “what’s up?” while wiggling her bottom in what she hoped was a provocative manner. It was then she saw just what the Tauran had. Eighteen inches flaccid was immeasurable when hard. The fur covering was evidently a foreskin – his erect penis was now protruding out, dark red, wet and angry like a dog’s prick from hell. Ascenta was terrified and so, so turned on at the same time.



With a grunt the bull grabbed his dick and poked at her pussy a few times, prodding and massaging against her wet opening. “Don’t make love to her, mon. We don’t have all day,” the troll mocked, while stroking his own ever-growing member. The Tauren snorted and thrust, entering the frightened elf in one strong motion.



Ascenta felt fireworks go off. The bull’s cock was so wet, so huge, so forbidden, and her two previous orgasms had her lubed nicely. She gave a loud moan as the gigantic penis filled her womb in ways never filled before.



“Oh, the little slut likes it!” Skeech chortled with glee.



‘Yes I do!’ Ascenta marveled to herself, groaning even louder. She gripped the sides of the barrel and hiked her fanny even higher in the air. The Tauren’s prick finally was fully sheathed in her small pussy, and she could feel his velvet-covered balls caressing her upper thighs. Slowly he withdrew, and the elf whimpered with the loss despite the pain.



“We found us a live one, mon!” the Troll laughed cruelly. The druid turned her head and looked at Skeech’s cock – now fully hard, 10” long, green, and weeping pre-cum. It was huge and much more humanoid looking, but it was the alien cock inside of her that was driving her wild. “Speed it up, mon!” he demanded of his friend.



“Shut up, Skeech,” the Tauren grunted as he slowly entered the elf again. “I don’t wanna kill her.” The massive cock took forever to enter her, Ascenta decided. Inch after inch, slowly she was filled like never before. He slowly withdrew, then entered again in the slowest fuck she had ever experienced.



It was torture. Delicious, maddening torture. After a few minutes Ascenta found her self wiggling, begging and groaning for more speed. Snorting like the bull he was, the Tauren complied, building up speed and thrusting into her wet pussy faster now. The elf was groaning and moaning, slamming back with vigor. Her third orgasm was building, and building quickly. Three more deep thrusts of the massive cock, and Ascenta threw her head back, screaming her climax to the heavens. The bull grunted with pleasure, thrust one more time so hard she was lifted off the keg, and filled her with buckets of his hot spunk.



“My turn,” the troll growled, his voice pitched with lust as he elbowed his friend to the side, who obligingly pulled his dripping cock out and moved over.



The druid winced – she was sore from the massive size of the Tauren, and the troll was packing a much larger than average member himself. Sticky hot jism was dripping down her thighs and onto the keg and floor, and despite the low opinion she had of trolls, she was shocked he would willingly go for ‘sloppy seconds’. With a chill of fear, Ascenta realized when Skeech placed the head of his dick against her tight virgin asshole, he wasn’t interested in seconds of any sort.



With no hesitation the troll shoved his prick right inside, not pausing to first oil it with her love juices. Ascent screamed in pain and attempted to get away, but the troll had her pinned on the barrel – there was no room to get away. Skeech, fully sheathed in her tight anus, rotated his hips a bit to get her used to the sensation, but pleasuring her was the last of his concerns – the movement was for his benefit only.



“Awww Skeech,” the Tauren mumbled. “Don’t hurt her too badly.” The druid looked at the bull with tears and pleading in her eyes. He gave her a sympathetic but helpless look, and turned slightly away in embarrassment.



The troll withdrew his cock half way, then proceeded to pound into Ascenta, fast and furious. He paused for a moment, ignoring the elf’s weeping of pain and humiliation. “The problem with you, mon, is that you be too soft. Wimmen, they respect a guy in charge. Don’t ya, slut?” Not waiting for a response, Skeech continued to fuck her ass, fast and hard.



Ascenta had never felt anything so painful and degrading in her life. She had friends who claimed to enjoy anal sex, but most certainly they hadn’t been raped like this. The only good thing was that the Troll only lasted a minute before peaking and pouring his load up her ravaged anus.



“Aaahhh – that was good. Glad to have met ya, slut,” the troll grinned, buttoning his fly back up. Ascenta fell off the barrel, curled into a ball, sobbing bitterly. Her pussy was burning, her ass felt like it had been split in two, and she was sitting in a disgusting pool of piss and spunk. And how was she going to leave Undercity without any pants? To her relief Skeech turned and walked away with cruel laugh.



The Tauran knelt down beside her, and patted her hesitantly on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, miss. Really I am.” He looked sincere enough. “I didn’t know Skeech would hurt you. Here – I repair armor and stuff.” Making the familiar hand gesture, the bull cast the repair charm on the startled elf, repairing and cleaning her pants and clothing. Shoving a card in her hand, he mumbled “look me up sometime”, turned and left in a hurry. The card had his name and address on it.



Numb, Ascenta staggered a short distance away, still in hearing distance of the warlock’s shop. It wasn’t hard to pretend she was in no shape to walk – boy did she hurt. At least the warlock still had the box with the knife in his arms, and he appeared to be waiting for someone.



A short while later a young Blood Elf warlock entered the shop. Ascenta bristled at the sight of one so perverse, so evil in her vicinity. She really disapproved of the Sin’dorei and all they stood for. The warlock grunted at him and handed him the box. “Here, elf. Deliver this to the fat bitch.” He growled, seemingly happy to have the knife out of his hands.



“When will the next one be ready?” the elf asked in his silky voice. It was amazing how everything Blood Elves said sounded like an insult.



“I won’t be able to call on Jarealle for 30 days,” the warlock shrugged. If they want them any faster, they will have to find more ‘locks with the power and desire to do the work. Think you could do it?”



The elf looked at the box in disgust. “Not me. I like living too much – I don’t care how much they are willing to pay.” He gingerly picked up the box and dropped it in a silken sack like he didn’t want to touch it. “I hate entering those cursed lands. It’s so cold, and those people are so hideous. She actually thinks I’m attracted to her.” The elf shuddered in revulsion. “Why can’t you finish the enchanting yourself? Why her?”



The warlock laughed in his hollow, dead voice. “No thank you, elf. Jarealle is a handful – I’m lucky we get along. But to piss off the Spirit? I’ll take my chances with Jarealle and enjoy the money the Horde council is paying me. That’s enough. As for ‘why her’, not many are willing to risk their souls cheating the Spirit out of companionship.”



The Blood Elf shrugged and left the shop. The warlock started to close up his shop, and Ascenta started the long painful walk out of the city. Her poor body was so violated and sore, but she ran a thoughtful finger over the edge of the Tauren’s card. ‘Stormhoof, eh?’ she pondered. Yes, it hurt, but she had never had such a powerful orgasm in her life. Devon was a wonderful husband, but always off on missions or wrapped up in guild matter. Perhaps she wouldn’t lose Stormhoof’s card too quickly. At her age it was quite something to have experienced her strongest orgasm to date.





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While the guild master’s wife was learning the joys of piss play and gigantic Tauren cocks, Sophie was scouting around the chilly lands of Dun Morag. She hung around Anvilmar for a few days, giving lessons to new recruits to the Alliance and keeping a sharp eye out at all who entered the valley that were not young trainees.



Sophie came the conclusion that nobody entered the valley to farm cloth from the trolls and troggs. It was a very poor grade linen, good only for the very beginning levels of tailoring and first aid, and just not worth the lengthy trip to get it. She even made a journey to the Frostmane’s cave. After an impressive display of killing 20 of their warriors in mere seconds she demanded to speak to their current leader. The troll assured her with fear that they only wove cloth for their own use and did not sell it to anyone outside of the tribe, and the dwarf could smell his honesty. She left them without a backwards glance – they knew full well that one arrow in the back of her armor and the tiny hunter and her bear could easily wipe them all off the map.



The dwarf and bear traveled a couple miles from the valley, glad to leave the trolls behind. She had hated killing so many when they were so backwards and poorly skilled. But they were a cruel people who understood brute force only, and took delight in murdering recruits any chance they had. It was unfortunate, but necessary.



Sophie’s nose found a cave for the night. Rambler blocked the entrance with her huge body and helped to heat the small interior. She would have built a fire, but had plenty of preserved rations and the cold didn’t bother dwarves like it did humans. The dwarf left the cave’s entrance long enough to sniff the air deeply for humanoids of friendly or unfriendly nature, but could sense nothing but rabbits, squirrels, and a spotted leopard far down the valley.



Unpacking a bedroll, she bundled herself up for the night, leaning against the curved wall of the cave and reaching over to scratch her bear between the ears the way she liked. Sighing, Sophie looked back at the past couple of weeks. Her life had certainly changed for the better. It was hard to believe that only a few short weeks ago she had almost lost her friend Reg to the soulbinder blade. And even harder to believe that he had harbored an interest in her as much as she had for him.



The stars were coming out now. Deep velvet blue sky with glittering diamonds shone over the back of her dozing bruin companion. The cave was comfortable for a woman used to sleeping in the wilderness, and she enjoyed the peaceful sound of the wind blowing through the pines. Rambler was gently ‘woofing’ in her sleep, and Sophie was happy to just sit, relax, and think about Reg’s body. After being alone for so many years, she truly missed him after three weeks of feasting.



A slight vibration tingled from the hem of her tabard. Touching with her gloved fingertips, Reg’s whisper came through clearly. “Hey pumpkin – I was thinking about you. Hope I didn’t wake you.”



Sophie smiled widely. “Not at all – just thinking of ye,” she warbled with dewy eyes. “How goes Silverpine?” The communication was telepathic, so nobody would hear what they were saying but each other.



“Boring,” he laughed. Sophie trembled with the timber of his voice coming through her mind directly. She could feel the affection, the warmth, with just the right touch of lust. Unconsciously her free hand crept to her breast, reaching under her armor to lightly tease her nipples. “Ascenta told me to watch for a male Blood Elf, but there are so many paths in the woods. I can only be one place at a time. I doubt she’d want to hear that.”



The hunter smiled with understanding, while caressing her breasts and tweaking her nipples. “Ya – she acts like she’s got something shoved up her ass most the time. I be having no luck meself, Reg. Nobody comes to Anvilmar to farm the linen – I had a little ‘discussion’ with the leader of the Frostmane.”



“Discussion?” Reg snickered. “How many walked away from that?”



“Oh, I let a couple live,” she shrugged. “I sorta hated to do it, but that’s the only way they listen to a lass.”



“Find anything at all?” the paladin asked sympathetically.



“Naw,” Sophie replied, moving her hand down her waistband. “You can bet our cloth was just a scrap someone had lying around.” The dwarf’s greedy hand snaked down to her waiting snatch. Just hearing his voice had such an effect on her!



“I’ve missed you so, Soph,” the man’s voice reverberated in her mind, bringing a smile to her lips. Her middle finger started to tease her clit now, and she closed her eyes in bliss. “You make me feel like a teen again – can’t stand to be away from you.”



“I know what ye mean, Reg,” she cooed. “It’s been so lovely having a constant companion. I can’t get ye out of my head.” Ah she was so wet already! She put a little more pressure on her nub, and sucked in her breath in arousal.



“Your voice sounds sort of funny – you ok Soph?” Reginald asked with concern. “Wait – are you playing with yourself?”



Sophie giggled in response, continuing to rub and flick her clit.



“Oh you are a naughty girl!” he laughed, immediately turned on him self. “You have me ‘standing at attention’ at the mere thought!”



“Are ye alone, Reg?” she purred, working her folds and enjoying the wickedness of the experience.



The paladin’s voice chuckled warmly. “Yes, and I’m taking advantage of it. You have me so hard, girl. I hope you are somewhere safe.”



“Ah – I’m gonna slow down, love, and let you catch up. Tell me about yer tadger,” she begged. “And yes – I’m in a cave, safe. Nobody can get within a mile of here without Rambler and me sniffing ‘em first.”



“Good,” he replied. “And yes, I’ve pulled ‘little Reg’ out – he’s tall and proud just hearing your voice. Now if he could just feel your lovely mouth…”



Sophie started fingering her self again. If she kept up the pace, it wouldn’t be long, but Reg was right. It wasn’t smart to let her self be distracted for long when out in the wilderness. “Oh Reg – if you were here right now I’d be sucking on yer lovely cock, caressing your sweet, full balls,” she moaned. It was difficult to moan telepathically, but they managed. All that could be heard in the cave was the dwarf’s ragged breathing and the wet squelching of her fingers in her empty snatch.



“Yes Sophie. I can hear you getting close,” her friend whispered back. “I’m so hard for you – I want you so badly. If I had you here, I’d suck your nipples, and be touching you, instead of you having to do it yourself.”



Faster now the hunter circled and stroked her love-button. “Ah Reg – I’m so close – should I hold off? Just hearing your voice has me so hot.”



“Don’t wait, princess. Cum for me,” the paladin begged. “I’m close myself – so hard, dripping, thinking of your lovely pussy.”



“I want your cock, Reg. I want it deep inside ‘o me right now,” Sophie gasped. “Now, Reg. NOW!” She arched her back and gasped out loud, cumming hard and shuddering against her hand. She was pleased to hear her partner’s ragged breathing come through their private chat.



“Yes, Soph. I want that. I want you. Yeeessss!” The whispering stopped for a moment as the dwarf slowly withdrew her hand and wiped her fingers on a rag from her pack, knowing Reg was cleaning himself up in a similar fashion. Or using his fancy purification spell, she thought with a fond smile. “Oh Reg, I miss ye, laddie,” she murmmered out loud. “Good night, love,” she whispered to him. “Thank you, and keep yerself safe for me.”



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The cave wasn’t as empty as Sophie thought. In the back corner watching in admiration, sat a gnome rogue, fully stealthed, cradling his massive spent prick with both hands. What most dwarves didn’t realize, he smiled smugly, was when a rogue was stealthed, it hid his scent as well. Massaging his spunk onto his slowly shrinking member he blew an invisible kiss to the now dozing hunter in front of him. She would never know, but he would treasure this memory the rest of his life. Who ever ‘Reg’ was, he was one lucky man.