Primal Instincts

Despite his best efforts, his knot refused to penetrate her. He snarled in frustration, the pressure in his balls growing and the hackles along his back raising. Still thrusting and pressing her flush against the great tree, he took hold of her by the waist with one hand and maneuvered her against him, pushing down as he slammed upwards.

As if there had been no resistance at all, his knot breached her womanhood, expanding quickly and locking her in place while the pointed tip of his cock blasted her uterus with cum, his heavy balls working overtime to pump thick creamy loads of seed into her in an attempt to conquer her womb. He gave a brief howl as he unloaded, and then wrapped his jaws around her throat, teeth prickling her skin but damaging her no further.

Tyrande, ignoring the worgen's grip around her throat, screamed as what seemed like a tsunami of pleasure overtook her. Between her furry lover's cock, cum, and knot, he filled her completely. The ramifications of such made her body quiver and her pussy spasm in a climax like no other. She blanked for a moment and then came to again, whining a satisfied mewl, spittle decorating her sharp chin. Garin's jaws were still around her throat, holding her steady as he inundated her canal with an overabundance of potent worgen jizz.

Her words from earlier echoed in her fragile mind. She should feel terrible, but in truth she felt nothing but pleasure and excitement. She wanted to be bred, and she had a good feeling that he had succeeded in doing exactly that. This thought caused her to tremble with another, smaller orgasm. Garin took notice of this and rumbled, licking at her neck, his jaws still ahold of her.

Finally, when his balls were entirely spent, their virile seed implanted within her, he strode away from the tree, her arms and legs still wrapped around him. Collapsing onto a patch of plush azure grass, he laid beneath her while she used him as a bed, her breasts pressed against him.

"Done," he said simply.

She grinned at his implication but said nothing, instead patting his arm.

The group of voyeurs had left by now and, drained of energy, Tyrande panted, her head nestled against Garin's chest. Her body, still connected to the worgen by his knot, was a mess of sweat, seed, saliva and worgen fur. Her hair lay loose like a shroud around her, a shimmer of green against the worgen's black hair. She listened to his heartbeat, quickly realizing that he had already fallen into slumber, and her own eyes began to grow heavy.

As the sands of sleep gradually took her, the irony of creating life within the realm of Death did not elude her, and she smiled as her eyes closed.