Wild Temptations

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Frustrated, Tyrande has an affair with a worgen.
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A request featuring Tyrande and a worgen.


It had been only a week since the Battle of Ardenweald, and though her body had healed, Tyrande's mind was still sore. A mix of emotions swelled within her, and, through it all, an odd itch that she hadn't felt for some time gnawed at her, adding to her extensive list of frustrations. Even in Ardenweald, perpetually beautiful as it was, she spent most of her time indoors, lonely, upset, and confused.

Deciding that she had spent more than enough time brooding, Tyrande shook the bad thoughts from her head and stood up. Grabbing her glaives, she strode out of her apartment and through the Heart of the Forest, ignoring the looks its inhabitants gave her. Within a minute she was gone, feet marching across a path deep into the lush wilds of Ardenweald. Despite being in the realm of the dead, Ardenweald was very much alive: the wilderness was vast, with towering trees that shaded the earth and flowering plants of all colors. As she walked, large moths and butterflies fluttered around her, while blue-furred foxes and deer stopped what they were doing to look at her. She smiled at them and waved, earning a curious inclination of the head from one of the foxes which then trotted off, no doubt in search of food or play.

This joy was temporary, however, and the broodiness returned shortly after. Sighing, she continued on her little journey further into the wilderness. Tired and on edge—only partially because of her lack of sleep—she followed the worn pathway towards a lonely copse atop a hill and surrounded by rolling plains of blue grass. At the center was a grove—quaint, but tranquil and relaxing. It was not a secret location by any means, but in her time spent within Ardenweald, she had met few others at this peculiar spot. It had become a place of reflection and isolation for her; a place where she could stop and think with nothing but the animals to keep her company.

Making her way inside the dense thicket of trees, she followed the path to the heart of the copse, brushing aside low-hanging branches and smiling again as a small rabbit dashed across the road and dove into a leafy bush. Striding forward, she shoved aside the last of the branches blocking the pathway and stepped into the open grove. It was as beautiful and pristine as it was during her last visit: a manmade pond similar to a moon well took up nearly a third of the clearing, and a single log that she often sat upon lay like a sleeping giant upon the ground with orange and pink flowers crowding around it. The grove was as she left it—save for just one, or rather, two things: Tyrande was not alone. There were two others in the clearing—a worgen and a sylvar. This was fine of course. After all, this land did not belong to her. What they were doing, however, made her stop and stare.

Both were naked, and the sylvar—a female—was bent over the log while the worgen rutted into her from behind. Neither seemed to notice the purple elf gaping at them from the other side of the grove, so caught up in their sexual romp were they. The woman was small, at least, compared to the worgen she was, and her labored moans almost made it sound as if she was hyperventilating. The man on the other hand was panting, his hands grasping at the much smaller faun-woman's hips while he ploughed her pussy in what appeared to be a very effective manner. As she cried out from underneath him, her body shook in an obvious climax, and the worgen pulled out of her, muttering something that prompted the sylvar to spin around and take his cock into her mouth. Even from a distance Tyrande could see how large the man's tool was, and the deer-woman resigned herself to suckling on the head.

Unnoticed as she was, Tyrande stood motionless at the entrance to the clearing. She watched them, her eyes wide with shock but gradually narrowing into a glare. At last, her anger found a voice.

"What do you think you're doing?" she blurted.

Tyrande's sharp voice cut through the silence and the sylvar woman bolted upright, head swiveling to look at her while the worgen did the same.

"Priestess!" the woman squeaked.

Apparently the furry woman knew who she was.

"This is a public place. Have you no shame?" Tyrande stepped forward, arms crossed and brow furrowed.

The sylvar mumbled an embarrassed apology, got dressed and then hurried past Tyrande and out of the clearing. Though Tyrande herself was tall, she noticed that the sylvar, despite appearing small next to the worgen, was in reality just as tall as she was.

"And you," she continued, turning to the man who was now dressed and only a few feet in front of her, "we're here to help them, not fuck them." He blinked awkwardly and Tyrande sighed. "You have a place to stay, yes?"

The worgen nodded his big furry head. "Near the Heart of the Forest."

"Then at least have the decency to do it there and not here." She paused and eyed him disapprovingly, eyes briefly flickering over the bulge in his trousers. "What is your name?"

"Garin Brant."

His voice was a manly growl and he smelled much the same: husky and masculine. It was not unpleasant. In fact...

Tyrande licked her lips and nodded dismissively. "Begone then, Garin Brant."

Knowing full well who she was and the power she possessed, the worgen bowed his head respectfully and trotted off in search of the sylvar girl. Half-turning, Tyrande watched him disappear from the glade and out of sight before sighing and taking a number of tentative steps towards the log she normally sat at. Eyeing it with disdain, she sat upon its edge, farthest from where the man and woman had defiled it with their lewd misdeeds.

She gazed into the bubbling artificial pond and found herself alone with her thoughts—thoughts that quickly turned devious and only upset her even more, if such a thing was possible. To add to her growing list of frustrations, a fiery desire was beginning to blossom in her loins as the memory of what she had just witnessed replayed itself over and over in her mind. The way the sylvar woman cried out in pleasure, the way the worgen's towering form pounded against her, and that bulge in his pants!

She cursed and stood up, scaring off a curious vulpin and taking a few steps forward towards the pond. Staring into its crystal-clear, eddying depths, she wrestled with her inner thoughts. Infidelity had never been something Tyrande had considered before—and other than Illidan she had never desired another man but her husband—yet for some reason it plagued her today, gnawed at her from the inside. These new emotions angered her greatly, and she blamed it on what must have been lingering side effects of the Night Warrior ritual. Unfortunately, the angrier she got, the more cock-hungry she became, and the memory of the worgen's manhood refused to be banished from her thoughts.

It wasn't right, but in the land of the dead, and afflicted by the aftereffects of the Night Warrior's powers, did it really matter? Tyrande had an itch, and it needed to be scratched—she needed to be fucked and filled and she knew just the person to do it. For the first time in a while she felt something other than anger and frustration; her body tingled with excitement, and she grinned, fists balled in determination to do what would have ordinarily been unthinkable. Taking a deep breath, she sat back down upon the log and contemplated how exactly she would go about seducing her soon-to-be lover.

Tyrande was not a subtle person, and the decision was made quickly; she could think of nothing more than a direct approach. Come nightfall—or what could be construed as nightfall within this realm—she would make her move. Smiling, she observed the beauty of the glade for some time before standing up and making her way back towards the Heart of the Forest, ignoring the part of her mind that urged her to remain faithful.

First, she would need to find out where he lived.


Ardenweald's blue sky shimmered with impossible objects that sparkled like stars and dimmed ever so slightly as the hours passed by. The otherworldly "day" stretched into otherworldly "night" and yet the hum of the great forest's denizens only increased in intensity; it was not at all unlike the forests Tyrande was used to. As there was but one worgen in all the land, her quest had been quick and easy. Recognizing who she was, a steward in the shape of a crane gladly offered up the worgen's location. It wasn't far from the glade she frequented; close, and yet far enough out of the way for him—and her—to have some privacy.

Tyrande slipped away from her home, body hidden by a thick cloak. For a while she stuck to the cobbled roads, but eventually she found herself traversing the path less traveled, boots sinking into soft grass as she made her way towards the man's home. Utilizing the steward's directions, she arrived within fifteen minutes. The house was fashioned—and no doubt magically constructed—from a huge tree, befitting in size for one as large as the person within it. Swallowing her fears, she reached for the door's wooden handle and pulled. Surprisingly, it was unlocked. It creaked open, revealing a single-room home that was illuminated by dim purple and blue sconces situated about the walls. It was largely empty save for a table, supplies, and the one thing that interested Tyrande the most: the bed. Inviting herself in, she closed the door behind her and stepped forward, making sure to make a considerable amount of noise as she did so. As expected, the worgen, who was lying atop the bed, noticed her and sat up. Whether or not he had been awake prior to her entry she didn't know, but they locked eyes and she nearly shivered in excitement. He was large—very large—with a coat of shiny black fur and keen yellow eyes that glowed similar to hers within the faint light of the room. Those eyes followed her as she stepped ever closer, allowing herself a better look at him, and he a better look at her.

"Tyrande? What—?"

"I interrupted you earlier," she declared, voice steady as stone despite a storm of excitement and nervousness raging within her.

"Right... me and the sylvar girl. Sorry about that." No doubt wondering why she was here, his voice lacked assurance, but he chuckled genuinely—a sound like tumbling gravel—and further sat up against his pillows.

"I have come to take her place."

Tyrande was nervous and unsure of her infidelity, but thankfully it didn't show in her voice. On the outside she appeared calm and poised, albeit flushed with an obvious desire. Beneath her brown cloak—which she quickly removed and dropped to the floor—a translucent white gown made of silk and decorated with silver embroidery in the shape of the moon and stars clung to her body, loosely designed and yet form-fitting due to her curves. Sleeveless, it extended outwards at the chest, curving around her large breasts and hanging like a curtain from her erect nipples. The gown hid nothing, and the soft, blue glow of a nearby lantern revealed all: her dark purple nipples, the etched lines of her abs, the protrusion of her wide hips, and even the small patch of green hair decorating her mound. The worgen eyed her body and she eyed him in turn, feeling a rush of adrenaline and confidence when he swallowed and licked his lips.

He cleared his throat and looked into her shining blue eyes.

"I don't understand."

"What's not to understand?" she murmured, sharp canines exposed as she grinned impishly. The straps of her gown were peeled away from her then, and what little clothing she had fell to the ground in a pool of silver and white. "Normally, I would never consider this... but you have something I want."

The bed was round and more than large enough to accommodate the worgen's massive figure—as well as her own sultry body. Tyrande crawled onto it like a cat, eyes locked with his and wide hips wagging while she made her way towards him. Peeling back the sheets, she settled between his legs and smiled.

"You sleep naked I see."

"It... gets hot," he said lamely, still bewildered.

"I hope so," she purred, and then reached with both hands to grasp at his semi-flaccid member. It was reddish in color, and though not entirely one or the other, more canine than human. Her warm touch brought it to life and it hardened further in her hands. Bringing her head in close so that she was only a couple inches away from it, she marveled at its size, smell, and, after giving it a quick lick, its taste.

"Mmm." Tyrande was smitten with his tool, and she took to using it like a new plaything, stroking it up and down with her hands while her tongue indulged itself with happy licks at his mighty obelisk. Gradually, she maneuvered her hands upwards to the head of his shaft, still stroking his length while her tongue worked its way down until she was lapping and kissing at his balls. His masculine flavor fueled her desire, and she juggled his orbs on her tongue and inside of her mouth until she finally gave him a long, lingering lick from his sack to his tip, and then, as if starving, devoured his cock.

Her plush lips spread wide as she took his length into her mouth, sliding it across her tongue until it struck the back of her throat. Tyrande nearly gagged, but she pulled back in time before her reflex could interrupt her eager dick sucking. Glancing up at the worgen, she resigned herself to try again, and again, and again. The night elf matriarch slurped on his cock loudly and profanely, coating it in oozing saliva that dripped down to cover the entirety of his manhood. Her head bobbed, twisting and turning as she fought for a better angle, green hair falling out of place from her efforts. Tyrande was enjoying her first taste of worgen cock, and she enjoyed it even more given the challenge she was facing; with each thrust of her head she took more of his length, her plump lips, coated in a dark purple lipstick, inching further and further towards the root.

Her determination earned her pleased groans from her new lover, and his hand found purchase on the back of her head. Annoyed, she shot him a look and swatted his hand away before resuming her fellatio, repressing her gag reflex until at last she had utterly devoured the entirety of his cock. Hair tickled at her nose and her lips massaged the base of his shaft, sealed tight while her tongue wiggled against the underside of his girth. Eyes watering and a strained grin tracing its way across her features, she sputtered and pulled back, coughing yet triumphant in her ability to deepthroat the worgen. Her inhibitions were all but banished by this point, and, after calming down from her coughing fit, she dove right back onto his manhood, humming sweet "mmm's" as she suckled and slurped on his member, relishing his flavor.

Minutes passed: five into ten, and ten into nearly fifteen. Despite her enthusiasm, her hairy lover refused to give up the payload boiling within his balls. Though she was enjoying herself, she could not help but feel a little bit annoyed. Surely it wasn't because of her lack of skill? Dismissing that thought, Tyrande moved her hands to his hefty sack, massaging his balls while she stretched her lips around his girth and pushed forward. His manhood shoved past her tonsils and lodged itself down her throat, flattening her poor little tongue beneath it. The High Priestess practically choked herself on the worgen's dick, teary eyes squeezed shut and her long ears pressed neatly against her head like a pair of frightened animals. She was determined to last longer this time, and she was eventually aided by the man's hand grasping at the back of her head, hips inclining upwards to meet her face.

Tyrande offered a muffled protest, and though garbled by the slab of meat stuffing her mouth, Garin soon let go, allowing her to pull back and break into a fit of coughing. Spittle dripped from her chin and her eyes glared at the worgen.

"Don't do that again," she warned, voice like acid.

"Alright," he nodded, visibly holding back a grin while his eyes roamed downwards to admire her heaving chest.

This did not go unnoticed by Tyrande, and her lips curved upwards in the very slightest of smiles. "Like these, do you?" she reached for her full breasts, grabbing and squeezing them in a lewd display meant to tease the worgen.

Garin nodded again, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he watched her jiggle and smush her large breasts together. "How about a tit-fuck?" Part of him expected the question to anger her, but he had to take that chance.

Luckily for him, Tyrande did not become upset, and, after a moment of consideration, her smile widened. She bounced her breasts in her hands and then brought a nipple to her mouth, licking and sucking on it, enjoying his pleased reactions. Scooching forward, she wrapped her pillowy mountains around his hulking red member, enveloping the majority of his tool but leaving his tip and a vestigial few inches remaining. In truth, despite her greater than ten-thousand years of life, she had never done anything of the sort before. It had never really occurred to her, and her husband didn't seem to fancy it either. Still, in this moment it excited her, and she enthusiastically began to carry out the worgen's request. Her tits, large and pillowy, were more than a match for his manhood; she mashed them against him, massaging up and down his considerable length. Though she was inexperienced, the lewd activity seemed to come naturally to her, and the saliva she had so sloppily smeared over his cock easily facilitated her up-and-down motions.

Garin sighed contentedly, rather pleased with the idea of the Kal'dorei matriarch servicing him with her tits. She seemed to be enjoying herself as well, for her movements were fast and eager, creating wet squelching noises as she fucked her tits upon his cock. Up and down she worked to please him, dripping saliva from her tongue down onto his tool, further lubing it up and making her efforts easier. He moaned and she doubled her efforts, realizing at some point that she could do two things at once: inclining her head, she parted her lips and made way for the tip poking out between her cushiony breasts. With every undulation it came and went, entering and withdrawing from the warm confines of her mouth. In this way, she sucked him off while simultaneously fucking his cock between the soft flesh of her fat tits. Her hands, her breasts, her mouth and her tongue all worked in tandem to please the worgen, until at last he erupted with a mighty roar.

The first creamy spurt caught her off-guard, splattering against her nose, mouth and chin. Tyrande was quick, however, and she took the rest in her mouth without hesitation, sealing her plush lips around his tip. Eyes wide, her tongue wiggled underneath the worgen's cockhead while it pumped its load into her mouth. From it came an unprecedented amount of jizz, flooding her mouth with hot, sticky and almost chunky sperm that bulged her cheeks to the brim. Tyrande swallowed every drop that she could, audibly gulping it down while more seed was pumped into her. Despite her heroic efforts, some of the thick concoction leaked from between her lips and drizzled down her chin, dripping onto her breasts like rainfall.

When Garin was finished, both were surprised—he with her ability to swallow so much of his load, and she with his ability to create such a load. Blinking, she suckled on his tip for a brief moment, coaxing out any leftover cum and swallowing it down before pulling away from him and catching her breath.

"I've heard stories of worgen virility but that was ridiculous," she panted, eyeing the sack between his legs. His balls were rather large.

"And I've had my fair share of elves, but you're something else," Garin replied, impressed and similarly panting.