A Warrioress' Best Friend

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 kid 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.