Ceremony of Sin

A request featuring Sylvanas from WoW in a gangbang with orcs, trolls, tauren and an elf.

A hard knock on the door interrupted Sylvanas from her thoughts. Her hand paused mid-stroke of the pen, and she eyed the documents upon her desk, contemplating the wisdom in ignoring the interruption. She decided against it. No use delaying the inevitable. "Enter."

An elf with skin like ivory and eyes like fire glided into the room, her cloak fluttering as she closed the door behind her. Dark Ranger Vera was a deceptively dainty thing, but proficient in both civil and martial matters. These two qualities in combination were rare amongst the typical rabble of Orgrimmar, and made her a highly useful asset to the recently appointed warchief.

The ranger bowed her head. "Mistress."

Hand on her forehead and fingers in her hair, Sylvanas glared at the undead elf as if struggling to discern the purpose of her visit by mere eyesight alone. Sadly, she found the task impossible. "Please tell me this has nothing to do with the recent brothel fights."

"No, mistress."

She perked up. "Excellent. What is it then?"

Vera pulled a thick stack of documents from the satchel she was carrying and set them upon the desk. "Favorability reports. Talks of insurrection. Traitorous officers."

Snatching up the papers, Sylvanas skimmed through them with growing disgust. Ever since her coronation there had been murmurs of discontent among certain groups. Namely orcs and trolls who tended to think little of elves, particularly female elves. Unless they were working in a brothel of course, in which case the brutes would fight over the few Sin'dorei working there.

"Names?" she asked.

"Page two."

Sylvanas recognized some of them, and committed all to memory. She made a particular mental note of the officers listed.

"Would you like me to take care of them?" Vera asked, stone-faced, as if she were inquiring into something as mundane as drawing a bath or cooking dinner.

"Rumors of disappearing dissenters are the last things we need." She shook her head. "No, continue to monitor them. I will deal with them myself."

"As you wish."

She tossed the papers down with an amused snort. "Who these savages would prefer to lead them I can only guess. Baine? Hah!"

"They are fools," Vera offered.

"I know they're fools, but that doesn't help me any." Sylvanas drummed her index finger against the table. Tap. Tap. Tap. The dark ranger shifted uncomfortably as if unsure as to whether she should stay silent or provide advice. The tapping stopped and Sylvanas looked up sharply. "But they're also men--at least primarily. And what better to handle man than woman?"

"Of course," the ranger said politely, certain only in her uncertainty. "How so?"

Sylvanas waved a gloved hand, her thoughts racing ahead of their conversation. "Never mind that. I have a task for you: devise a set of criteria that can be used to rank all of our enlisted men from Kalimdor from best to worst in regards to their performance against the Alliance as well as the Burning Legion. The top fifty in particular must be of the highest quality." Her finger stabbed at the desk again. "And I do mean the highest."

Vera bowed her head. "As you say."

"And be quick about it," Sylvanas said, relaxing into her chair. She had a hand at her chin and a smirk on her face, lost in thought as she focused on the Horde tapestry dangling on the wall of her chambers. "Matters like this must be dealt with head on, lest they fester and rot."

She continued muttering as if to no one in particular. Forgotten, the ranger bowed and left.

Vera worked quickly, accomplishing her task within 24 hours. Smart and capable. This was why Sylvanas kept her around. Unfortunately the actual ranking of the men took longer, factoring in such things as participation, mission success, leadership qualities, disciplinary action, kill count, and loyalty. Two weeks went by, during which Sylvanas made preparations as well as affirmations to the public of a grand prize for this new system. If the spirit of competition didn't entice them, then the prize certainly would. Or at least it would once they figured out what it was.

By the end of the month everything was set. She had her list, and half of the men who had made it into the top fifty were gathering inside of her throne room, with the other half scheduled for tomorrow. Entertaining all of them at once would be impossible; there simply wasn't enough time in the day. As such, she'd dedicated two days of the month to rewarding these fine soldiers of the Horde. And fine they are. This is just as much my reward as theirs.

Sylvanas sat in her throne, stiff as a gargoyle, mouth twisted in a sinister smile, unblinking, unbreathing, utterly motionless save for the flickering of her eyes shifting to the faces of the men as they filed in, twenty-five hardened studs bulging with muscles and littered with scars. Blue skinned trolls, green skinned orcs, tauren with bodies like bipedal kodo beasts. Massively masculine. Just her type.

Once they were all inside, the sturdy iron door of the Warchief's chambers slammed shut. The echo carried through the open room with its domed roof, curved walls and various patriotic decorations, then stopped. Silence reigned alongside her. It was just her and these men now. The best the Horde had to offer if Vera's criteria could be trusted. Well over half of them were orcs, with a smattering of trolls and tauren as well as an elf whom she eyed most curiously, eyebrows raised as she studied him. No doubt he was handsome, but the difference between him and the average Sin'dorei soldier was obvious from the manner in which he carried himself, as if he had adapted to the uncivilized ways of orcs.

Blood elves rarely opted to join the primary Horde military, instead choosing to remain within their native Sin'dorei forces. The men who did join up with the Horde tended to be rugged outcasts if not outright criminals; the women who joined were much the same, often ending up pregnant with a half-orc mongrel within a year of their transfer to Kalimdor. If they weren't outcasts before, they certainly were then.

Sylvanas swept off of her throne, stalking to the center of the room, lithe and beautiful with a cloak of shadows swirling about her. The men followed her every move. They hadn't a clue what they were getting, but she could tell from their lecherous gazes what they wanted. Fearsome as she was, her body inspired far more than just terror. She knew this. She liked this. She used it to her advantage whenever possible.

Amused, she stopped in the center of the room and continued to study them, eyes passing from one soldier to the other, noticing more than a few familiar faces. A number of Kor'kron were there, as well as some of the local chieftains named as potential traitors within Vera's report.

The sniveling rats hide it well though, I'll give them that. They look about as stupidly loyal as the Kor'kron.

In all truth there was little evidence of treachery, but she put a lot of faith in what they did have. Of course, by the end of the night she had a feeling any potential traitors might just have a change of heart.

Her lip curled, revealing the sharp tip of an elven canine. "Lok'tar," she said, with such sincerity it wrapped around into being flippant. The men straightened and twenty-five hands thumped at their chests in salute. "I had high hopes when I was sworn in as warchief," she continued, "and I had high hopes when I devised this program to honor those who best serve the Horde. So far I have not been disappointed." She took a step forward and raised her hands to the group. "You are the best. The elite. The ones marching the Horde forward against both the Alliance and the Burning Legion. And so I ask you: what is a suitable reward for those such as yourselves?"

They waited for her to answer her own question, but when she did nothing but stare expectantly back at them they shifted and looked at each other. "Land?" one asked. Another mentioned armor, another weapons.

"Oh no, nothing that money can buy." She peeled off a glove, tossed it away and flexed her fingers. "You are the best, and as such deserve an appropriate reward." Both gloves were off now, and she reached up to unclasp her cloak, bundling it up and throwing it off to the side. Her silver-blonde hair tumbled loose, flowing like a waterfall down her back and shoulders. The men stared, bewildered and confused. Her pauldrons were the next victim, dropping to the padded floor with a soft thump, revealing more of her smooth blue skin.

"What would you rather have?" she asked, prying at the latches of her breastplate. "A new pair of armor--" The chestpiece fell away in the most magnificently mundane manner possible, revealing the Dark Lady's stacked chest, firm and supple, two great womanly handfuls that often strained at her corset and teased those taller than her. "--or me?"

Standing tall and proud, she cupped the full curves of her breasts, hefting them and squeezing them and feeling them overflow between her fingers. The dancing flames of a nearby torch caught the gleam of a silver piercing cut in the shape of the symbol of the Horde dangling from her left nipple. A display of her dedication. Amazed, the men gawked and grinned, staring like a group of barbarians salivating over a piece of meat.

That's precisely what they are. On the battlefield or in the bedroom, they're little more than animals.

Sylvanas' eyes glowed within the dim light of the room and her body swayed ever-so-slightly to an inaudible rhythm, half-clothed and incredibly erotic, her body naked from the waist up. Her countenance was etched in by shadows, her lips posed in a dangerous yet seductive smirk, her curves highlighted by the soft flickering lighting of torches ensconced upon the walls. A combination of preternatural beauty and unsettling dark magic. Warchief and woman at the same time.

She trailed her hands over wide hips, down to her thunderous thighs, framing her mound before bending over and kicking her boots off. Straightening, she turned around in one fluid motion, arms above her head as if stretching, legs spread wide and her back arched in a way that emphasized her clothed posterior. The swell of her breasts were visible from behind her naked back, and without her usual cloak the men got a good view of her ass straining through her leather trousers, round and perfectly shaped. Barely contained by the fabric of her pants.

She hooked her fingers into her waistband, slowly shimmying out of her pants with each sensual sway of her hips, exposing more and more skin to the rapt crowd of spectators. Her bubbly ass resisted its unveiling, but was eventually left fully exposed, thick and begging to be slapped. Two blue half-moons with plenty of bounce.

After the removal of her trousers the only thing left covering her was a thin string of thong lost somewhere between her cheeks. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw twenty-five pairs of eyes staring at her ass. She could very well imagine what they wanted to do to it. And today's their lucky day. Turning around, their eyes focused on her breasts, then her loins, where the little black thong covered her pussy. Embroidered on it was the Horde emblem, blazing red in all of its blood-and-thunder glory, matching her nipple piercing. Never before had a warchief worn the symbol so well.

Sylvanas knelt within the center of the room, the heels of her feet digging into the plump cheeks of her ass. The torches flickered. Her otherworldly eyes scanned the men, bright and beautiful, her gorgeous face tempting as a siren and haunting as the cold grave. She smiled, and her voice reverberated with an unnatural huskiness.

"This is your reward. You may do whatever you want with me." Wickedly powerful, wickedly beautiful, and wickedly wanton, she beckoned them over with a curl of her finger and a vulgar lick of the lips. "Who's first?"

An orc with skin like an olive and a chest like a bear stepped forward without hesitation, crossing the distance before anyone else realized they were not in a dream and that yes, the Dark Lady was in fact naked in front of them and making lewd gestures with her mouth and tongue.

Sylvanas looked up to a fat green cock flopping out of a pair of pants and dropping onto her face. Her eyebrows twitched, framing the cock like a tiny pair of wings. The man certainly didn't waste time.

"You must have scored well in courage and participation," she said, nuzzling against his shaft and inhaling his masculine scent. Probably not very high on intelligence though. Reaching up and gripping the orc's manhood with one hand, she pulled back to inspect it.

Thick as a log and long enough to make a lady faint. It was an orc cock, not something an elf was well-equipped to handle. Nevertheless...

"How many of you think I can fit all of this in my mouth?" she asked. A few raised their hands, although it seemed more out of obligation than conviction. She clicked her tongue. "Not much confidence in your warchief. Let us fix that."

Without another word, Sylvanas issued forth her tongue and gave the orc's prick one long lick from balls to tip before devouring him within her maw. Dipping her head, she swallowed inch after inch of his hulking green monster in front of the rest of the Horde's finest soldiers. Her mouth stretched and her throat bulged. Saliva squelched lewdly. Her tongue wiggled underneath, and his hard cock disappeared until nothing remained and her nose poked against his hairy groin, proving just how proficient she was at sucking dick.

He cursed. She sucked.

Sylvanas fellated her lucky subordinate like she was starving for him, her gorgeous features twisted around the orc dick in her mouth, her eyes burning like lustful pits of red hot felfire as she stared up at him without blinking. Skillful, slow and steady. Lackadaisical even, head rocking, mouth sucking without interruption, a master in how to please men. The orc didn't last very long. In fact, her fleeting partner blew his load so fast that it may have been considered shameful if the circumstances had been any different. No matter, though. Orcs recovered almost as quickly as trolls.

Purring, Sylvanas slurped on him greedily in an effort to clean him off, lips sliding back and forth, sucking every drop of cum out of his balls then pulling back with a pop and motioning with both hands for the rest to join them.

This time they all stepped forward without hesitation, threatening to trample one another. Trousers dropped and clothes fell. They formed a crowd around her, leering down at their warchief, beautiful in her nakedness, big tits jutting out from her chest and her chin sullied with saliva. Invoking near unbearable lust within them.

Sylvanas smiled and licked her lips. It had been a long time since she'd entertained so many men at once and now she was surrounded by so much orc cock it looked as if she were in a forest of healthy evergreens. Their members pulsed with vitality, massive, hulking green beasts that made her mouth water and her pussy drool. She reached for the two nearest men and fisted both of their manhoods, pumping up and down and wasting no time throating a cock dangling so close to her that it was tapping against her nose.

This new orc she was sucking off groaned appreciatively, while the rest of the men rumbled in approval. It wasn't every day that you got to see Sylvanas Windrunner deepthroating an orc, and they were at last getting into the rhythm of things as realization set in. They'd expected some sort of stuffy award ceremony and ended up with a cock-thirsty slut instead. And not just any slut, but the one person they would have least suspected.

The Warchief commanded both respect and fear, this was nothing new, but Sylvanas was not just any ordinary warchief. Her dark features were alluring, but the way she did not breathe, the way she rarely blinked, her fluid movements and the spectral tone of her voice, all served to create an image of a woman unapproachable and at times even unsettlingly alien. A deadly, dangerous woman with an unholy mastery of power, intelligence and desire.

Now more than ever she wielded this desire, and the men felt their trepidation dissolving. It was difficult to feel fear or anything but blazing hot lust when she was on her knees before them, half a dozen cocks poking and prodding at her head while she slobbered on the shaft of her subordinate.

"Never seen an elf this good at sucking cock," one of them said. There were murmurs of agreement. Sylvanas smiled. The fools hadn't seen anything yet.

"Mmmn." Her head moved in long sloppy pulls, her tongue putting in work and her head tilting as she angled the orc's tool down her throat. Slow then fast, altering speeds and bringing him to the brink of orgasm before rotating clockwise and gobbling up someone else. Another orc, this one thicker and greener than the last. She serviced him much the same, and gradually saliva and drool began to mar her face. Spit dribbled out onto her tits. Her hair became mussed from the men running their hands through it. They pawed at her while she sucked, kneading her heavy breasts and prodding at her pointed ears with their pricks, smearing their seed all over her.

The orc she was sucking roared abruptly and blew his load in her mouth. She guzzled it down, a generous torrent of jizz sliding down her throat and into her stomach. Then, she moved onto the next.

A mottled, animalistic cock greeted her. Absurdly long and impressively thick, it sported a flared tip that made the orc's look entirely ordinary. A tauren. Glancing up at the beast of a man, she stuck out her tongue and lolled it over his bullish cockhead, teasing his slit, tracing the beastly flare of his crown, shivering at the taste and then planting a kiss on it. Then another, hot and filthy, making out with the head of his cock. Kissing, licking, purring.

"Who says Sylvanas doesn't like tauren?"

More laughter. They were enjoying the show, no doubt about that.

Smirking, she planted one final kiss on the slit and then opened her mouth wide--wider than normally possible. An eldritch mist rose up around her, a prickling, purple-black haze that whirled like sentient smoke. Sparse but more than enough to startle the men.

The dark originations of this magic roused them into instinctual alertness, as if to a threat, but then she wrapped her lips around the tauren's immense cockhead and impaled her face on his manhood, bulging out her throat to a degree that should have been harmful. Aided by the unnatural limitations of her semi-incorporeal banshee form, she slid smoothly forward, eyes darker than usual, skin tinted purple, her face twisted in an incredible, almost macabre fashion necessary to accommodate the tauren's titanic masculinity.

The men looked shocked, watching with wide-eyed amazement as their warchief completely swallowed up the massive cock of the tauren. When their shock faded, excitement overtook them.

"Thrall's balls! Who knew the Banshee Queen could suck dick so well?"

They erupted with laughter, elbowing one another and jerking themselves while watching Sylvanas slurp noisily on the tauren's throbbing bullcock. Her pointy elven ears jittered and twitched, the only sign of potential discomfort, otherwise she showed little difficulty in throating the tauren's enormous shaft. On the contrary, she appeared enthused.

It's been far too long since I've had tauren.

Bobbing back and forth and taking him to the hilt, her throat distended with his shape, then returned to normal, then distended again in constant fluctuation. Her large tits jiggled from the effort, saliva bubbled up from the sides of her mouth, and despite the gigantic task before her, she kept her hands moving, jerking off one man after another, hands slick with pre-cum, the shlicking of dicks in hand and cock in throat resounding fiercely within the room.