"There. That must be him - the leader of this rabble." Sylvanas surveyed the ogre camp, glancing back and forth from one brutish barbarian to the next. Her lips curled into a frightening grin as she imagined the arrogant dreadlords beaten to a pulp by the ogre's massive sledges. Her gaze came to rest on the biggest and burliest of the lot, a behemoth of a creature with arms like tree trunks. Strangely, while his clansmen were wearing scavenged armor and what surely might have passed for rich clothing by ogre standards, this one wore only a frayed belt with a loincloth hanging off the front. "Mug'thol of the Crushridge Clan. His misdeeds have plagued this region since the Second War. Break his mind, sister."
Dutifully, the gaunt ghost of a woman next to Sylvanas nodded, her innate glow dissipating until she resembled a semi-opaque wisp of smoke. Her features were still distinguishable, but rather than an elven maiden her face now bore its true form - a dreaded, mutilated face riddled with gashes and cuts. Sylvanas couldn't look - it reminded her too much of her own torment. The banshee drifted on invisible wings out of sight down the hill while Sylvanas backtracked, cutting through a gap in the trees and climbing up to a higher vantage point - a plateau overlooking the whole camp. The meatheaded rabble looked agitated and ready to wage war at any moment, and when she observed the clan leader, Mug'thol, suffer what seemed like a miniature stroke, she smiled anew.
As if in a trance, the hulking brute turned on his heel and began to approach the edge of the forest. Some of his kin gave him sideways glances, but they held their tongues. He vanished into the trees below him for a few minutes, but it wasn't long until the ground below Sylvanas' feet shook with his approaching footsteps. At last she saw him again, and her eyes went open in surprise. He was even bigger than she had imagined.
"Feel any better, Mug'thol?" she asked, if for no other reason than to suss out whether or not this creature was intelligent enough to verbalize thoughts. A long pause followed as Mug'thol just stared at her, and Sylvanas felt herself grow strangely self-conscious. She recognized the look in his eyes, though it had been a long time since anyone had looked at her that way. At last he replied in a rumbling, deep voice.
"Me serve pretty ghost now. Mug'thol's warriors serve too."
Again, Sylvanas was taken aback. Pretty? The word stung like a punch to the gut. Or a blade - she had experienced that now as well. A cold blade. Sylvanas had not been called pretty since long before the fall of Silvermoon, and hearing it now brought forth a strange, alien sensation from deep within her. Warmth. She lingered on the word for a few seconds, drinking in this unfamiliar feeling.
"Glad to hear it," she said, her voice strangely frail. Was this really all it took to shatter her defenses? A clumsy compliment from a braindead brute? She scanned the ogre once more from top to toe, though she didn't realize where this interest suddenly came from.
Had he meant it? Sylvanas honestly had no way of knowing - she had avoided mirrors like the plague ever since she had reunited with her body. Her arms, once so strong and full of energy as the sun's rays tickled her porcelain skin were now dull and gray and cold. Her once brilliant blonde hair was now ashy white and tangled. No. No, she was not pretty. She would never be pretty again. So why then did her body react in such a way at the brute's words? Was she that devoid of company that even this cretin stirred her loins? Was she truly that desperate to feel wanted? Desired? She realized she had been silent a long while, and when she focused her mind once more and rejoined the present she was surprised to see a development in the ogre.
"What is–?" She began, though she knew full well the answer to the question she couldn't bring herself to finish. The loincloth hanging from Mug'thol's belt was protruding from his thighs. Held up by something thick and rigid. Even as Sylvanas' eyes were fixed on the stained and dirty strip of fabric, she saw it move and shift as whatever had caused it to rise up continued to grow. Only when it stood straight as a pillar did Sylvanas manage to look away, but her curiosity got the better of her and she soon resumed her unabashed staring.
"Pretty ghost…." Mug'thol repeated, his already dull mind still reeling as the banshee's possession spell settled in his head. Just then, two orbs the size of small cannon balls peeked out from either side of the ogre's now proud loincloth. That sealed it.
"Do you find me pretty, Mug'thol?" Sylvanas asked, tearing her gaze away from the ogre's erection only just long enough to see the affirming look on his face.
"Very pretty," he confirmed, and Sylvanas felt the warmth from before flare up inside of her again. Sex was something she hadn't considered since the first reports of undead activity had reached her ears in Quel'thalas, but just now, just like that, it was all she could think of. A part of her, deep down and buried, awoke with a roar, and she raised a hand and motioned with two fingers for the ogre to approach.
"Approach your mistress, Mug'thol. Tell me more of how pretty I am." The ogre obeyed, and Sylvanas' eyes were glued to his tentpole as it began swaying from side to side as he moved towards her.
"Mug'thol want… see more. See pretty ghost naked." The ogre stopped when Sylvanas gave him the signal to do so, maybe ten feet away from her. She admired the way his fat cock seemed to throb under the loincloth, occasionally making the whole thing shift and jerk. Keeping her gaze fixed on the tip of his concealed member, she raised her hand and laid it over one of the cups of her breastplate, trailing her fingers along the curve of her chest and following it further down to her exposed midriff.
"You want these?" she teased, raising her arm up to cup herself once more over her armor. Mug'thol only nodded. "Use your words now, you're a big boy." Her eyes were fixed on his cock, and she saw it tremble as she finished speaking. A dark spot began to form at the very tip of the strained loincloth, just where the head of Mug'thol's cock would be, and Sylvanas licked her lips without thinking.
"Me never like elfs before. They too skinny and brittle. But you… Mug'thol in love." Had she been alive, Sylvanas may very well have blushed. She certainly felt like it, though she knew it was an impossibility. Still, she was realizing that even though she had no blood flow per say, certain facilities in her undead body still functioned inexplicably. The dumb brute's words may have been clumsy and uninspired, but this unexpected attention had nevertheless caused Sylvanas to make a mess of her undergarments.
She smiled softly, managing to take her eyes away from Mug'thol's cock for a while so she could instead look at his face as she prepared new commands.
"Kneel, Mug'thol. Your mistress demands it."
"Dark lady say, me do," he replied, falling to his knees with a crash. If it hurt him he didn't show it, but his knees dug into the soft soil quite a bit. "You make Mug'thol dizzy."
Sylvanas began to walk towards him slowly, swaying her hips as she took confident strides. Her bow fell to the ground with a clatter, but the ogre had eyes only for her.
When she got closer, another smile crept forth on her lips as she surveyed him up close. Her keen archer's eyes had guessed correctly. With him on his knees, his cock was at just the right height that she could stand with one leg on either side and it would fit perfectly between her thighs. She hesitated in front of him, staring down at his twitching cock, the head of which she could clearly see the contours of now through the wet fabric.
"I like it when you compliment me, Mug'thol. Do it some more."
"Combleemant?" he replied, clearly confused. It was clear he didn't know where to look, yet somehow he managed to look at all of Sylvanas' body at once.
"Compliment, you daft cretin." She sounded perhaps more annoyed than she was, but both her patience for idiots and her patience for delayed debauchery were running thin. "Say nice things about my body." She spread her legs in a wide stance and put her hands on her hips, then she forced her gaze up at the ogre's ugly face, locking her eyes with his.
Mug'thol remained silent, the only signs of life being his shaking eyes and his trembling groin. In response, Sylvanas rolled her eyes and decided on a change of tactics. Her feet remained planted firmly on the loose soil, but her hands slowly began to creep up her sides until they each found a buckle. Without looking away from the ogre's eyes she began to undo the fastenings that held her breastplate in place, testing Mug'thol's discipline.
The breastplate fell forwards as soon as the final buckle came undone, landing on the grass with a soft clank. Sylvanas didn't take her eyes off the ogre, but immediately felt a change as the wind began to lick and caress her nipples. She suppressed a shudder and felt herself become wetter. Even in undeath, some things didn't change. Sylvanas still loved having her nipples played with, it seemed.
The ogre's will finally faltered, and he dropped his gaze to look upon her now nude chest. Sylvanas drank in the unspoken glee that took over his face, and she felt her core continue to heat up with every second that passed while he continued to marvel at her form. She too allowed her eyes to wander once more, finding Mug'thol's cock now visibly shaking in front of her, the loincloth all but drenched in his arousal and practically sheer with how well it conformed to his shape.
"Dark lady… most beautiful creature me ever seen." Judging by how visibly Mug'thol was into this, seemingly so desperate to get up and touch her, Sylvanas for a second worried if the dumb brute would actually be able to overpower the banshee inside of him and break free. Something inside of her perked up at that thought. What would he do if given half a chance, she wondered? With every attempt at a compliment recieved, Sylvanas felt a shard of ice melt away in her heart. Replaced by a warm euphoria that echoed through her body, centered in her nethers.
She bit her lower lip and surveyed him once more, marveling at the monster of a cock hanging so mouth-wateringly close. She was certain she could grab it with both hands, lift it up and place it on her shoulder without having to bend her knees in the least. Would she feel its warmth against her skin? Or perhaps her body would crumple under the weight of his massive, throbbing rod. Part of her wanted to do it - lift him up and serve him as nothing more than a support for his thick shaft, nestling him between her naked breasts and wrapping her arms around it. She considered it, if but for a moment.
But she didn't do that. What was it he had called her? 'Dark lady'? Yes. Yes, she liked that. She could be a Dark Lady - the sound of it rang nicely in her ears, but in order to be a Dark Lady she couldn't serve. Wouldn't serve. Certainly not such a creature as this. No, she would need to be in control.
"I see now why you lead this band of fools, Mug'thol," she said, lowering her voice into little more than a whisper. She stepped closer and his eyes were ever on her, darting back and forth from stomach to tits to face. Then she raised a hand and laid it carefully on the ogre's shaft, feeling the rigid erection under the failing piece of cloth. His eyes shot down, and he thrust his hips forward slightly in affirmation. Three fingers clasped the loincloth and slowly began to pull it aside like a wet curtain, dropping it carelessly once Sylvanas was sure it would stay out of the way. Like she had guessed, silver tendrils clung to it in vain originating from his wet tip, but they broke away one by one.
Sylvanas once more felt the urge to submit to this specimen. To run her fingers along his wet shaft and then lick them clean of his essence before she fell to her knees to worship him with her mouth. But she wasn't Ranger General Sylvanas anymore - she wasn't the awkward, insecure woman she once had been, who had spread her legs for anyone who showed the slightest bit of interest. That woman had been weak. She was Sylvanas the Dark Lady now, and Sylvanas the Dark Lady didn't submit, didn't ask. Sylvanas the Dark Lady took.
"Hold yourself steady," she commanded. Surprising her with his sharp obedience, Mug'thol raised his meaty hands and placed them both around the base of his cock. "Good, Mug'thol. Now, no matter how much you want to, you are not to move a muscle, am I clear?" He remained silent, staring at her pleadingly. "You are not to get up, you are not to take your hands off, and you are absolutely not to touch me unless I say. Am I clear?!"
She must have spooked him, because when he began to nod frantically he bore the facial expression of an innocent child who had been caught doing something he shouldn't.
"Yes, dark lady. Mug'thol obeys pretty elf always."
"Good. Now close your eyes."
"Wha'?"
"Obey me, Mug'thol. Or get out of my sight."
"Me no want to leave!"
"Then close your eyes."
Mug'thol hesitated, but he obeyed eventually. When Sylvanas was sure her slave wasn't peeking, she took a step back and began undoing the buckles that held her belt and pants up. She made no efforts to mask her actions, in fact going so far as to make it very obvious what she was doing by sound alone. From time to time she raised her eyes and stole glances at him, feeling herself get wetter every time she saw him react to a piece of armor falling, or a belt coming undone. She smiled wickedly when she noticed a string of precum forming at his tip, and bit her lower lip when it began to droop downwards towards the ground.
She had expected to be wet, but she was still surprised when she realized just how wet she had gotten in such a small amount of time. In seconds after pulling her pants down past her knees her inner thighs were slick and glistening, and the chill breeze tickled her now naked pussy just like it had done her nipples earlier. She couldn't help but gasp in sudden surprise, and in response Mug'thol winced.
"You better not peek, brute, or another of your tribe gets me instead while I make you watch." Mug'thol apparently didn't like that idea, as he took a deep breath and snarled loudly.
"Me not peeking," he declared. "Me wants butiful god elf for myself."
Something in his clumsy words stirred Sylvanas to her core, and she let the last of her clothes fall to the ground before she stepped gracefully out of the pile. She didn't stop until the ogre's wet, glistening tip was inches from her own sodden pussy.
"Good," Sylvanas whispered, and Mug'thol smiled when he realized she had come so close. "Keep yourself still now, remember."
"Me steady, lady. Mug'thol steady as rock–" Sylvanas had taken another step, and the thick head of Mug'thol's cock was suddenly enveloped by her thighs, her wetness sliding along the top of his shaft. She took another small step, then another, then a third until she stood halfway down his length. Whatever Mug'thol was thinking at that moment must have taken a lot of his energy, for he didn't speak or do anything except breathe heavily.
"So warm," Sylvanas breathed as she planted her feet and took a moment to assess. Her own inner warmth was dwarfed by the presence of this thick, throbbing cock now pushing up against her pussy. She'd had to spread her legs a bit so that he could even fit between them, and now she began to rock slowly back and forth along his length. Every fraction of an inch she slid against set off fireworks in her mind, and she couldn't help but moan.
"Open your eyes," she said, and Mug'thol obeyed instantly. They opened, and went wider than she had seen them before. Sylvanas, fearing for her balance as she continued to rub herself along his shaft raised her hands to his chest for support, while he began to drink in the sight of her. True to his words, his hands were still firmly planted around his base.
"You most butiful thing Mug'thol ever seen." His voice was low and frail - clearly he was taking much care to keep his hands to himself. Sylvanas saw his eyes go still, and didn't need to follow them to see what he had become so fixated on. She could feel it. More of her wetness leaked out onto him, and she began to go slightly faster. Every miniscule shift of her lower lips sliding against him was made easier than the last thanks to her weeping cunt, and Sylvanas reveled in the pleasure, throwing her head back and letting out a scream.
When at last she looked back down, she was a new person. Arthas had taken her old life, then given her back a false imitation. Ner'zhul's will had bound her to his service for months, but his influence was gone and she was herself again, yet incomplete. Finally, now, as Sylvanas rode out the end of her first orgasm in what felt like several lifetimes, she was complete again.
She looked at Mug'thol and felt… nothing. She would throw his life away on a whim if she stood to benefit from it. Yet as she resumed rubbing herself against his manhood, she smiled. She didn't care for the ogre, but he had his uses. A means to an end. Arrows in her quiver. She was reborn as the Dark Lady, and the world was hers.
"Do you know what a clitoris is, Mug'thol?" she hummed, finding her voice strangely melodious. A side effect of the orgasm perhaps. It sickened her, but it was soon forgotten when she quickened her pace and the pleasure drowned out her thoughts.
"Y-yes, lady. Third wife teach Mug'thol. She never finish unless played with right." Sylvanas smiled, leaning forward and putting more weight on her arms which were still clutching Mug'thol's firm chest. She swallowed a curse as a shock of pleasure shot through her.
"Good. I'm allowing you to move one of your hands, Mug'thol. Rub my clitoris for me."
The ogre swallowed loudly, hesitating for a moment in case there she had more to say. When she remained silent, he slowly began to lift his right hand up towards her, before turning his wrist and presenting his open hand. She looked down, and feared for a second that he would grab her by the neck. Damn, she thought. One finger is as thick as my arm.
Sylvanas bared her teeth, and Mug'thol stopped playing around. Slowly his hand hovered back down, and all but his pointer finger curled into a fist. Then, slowly, he lowered it towards her crotch.
"So tiny," he noted, and Sylvanas hissed as his thick finger pushed against her clit. Her body sang in relief as the pressure turned to ecstasy, but she still didn't trust the brute to do it right.
"Careful now. I'm not an ogre," she reminded him, and Mug'thol in turn smiled dumbly and eased up a bit. Then when he pushed his finger against her again and began to draw light circles on her flesh, he was much gentler. The pleasure returned tenfold and Sylvanas failed to contain a low moan.
"Me knows. So pretty, so tiny." He pushed again, and once more Sylvanas moaned loudly in response. Any moment now she could cum again. "Mug'thol never do this with elf before. Is good?"
"Y-yes, Mug'thol. Yes," her voice broke and she interrupted herself with a sharp gasp, her vision starting to blur as she bent her knees slightly to get more purchase on his meaty cock. "Yes, you're doing admirably."
"Amibrably means good?" he asked innocently, the dumb question standing in complete contrast to the masterful way he toyed with her body.
"Yes you half-wit, you're doing well enough. Now shut up and do it more!"
Sylvanas' fingers clutched Mug'thol's chest tightly and she leaned in, resting her head against his clavicle as she came again, gushing once more all over his thick cock. It felt like a warm bar of steel was trying to push up against her cunt and she groaned endlessly as her hips continued to work along his shaft, the rest of her body seizing up as she lost all executive function.
Her hips alone kept working, kept grinding, spurred on by every sharp inhale of breath or tremble of the ogre's body. She felt his pulse with her lithe fingers, thundering against his ribcage like a thousand galloping steeds on an empty field. Likewise she felt the same beat hammering between her legs, his monstrous cock nearly vibrating with how fast his heart was beating. Sylvanas lost herself in the rhythm of his heartbeat as she came again and again, losing both count of how many orgasms she'd gone through as well as where the line between them was. It was a pure, unending line of bliss, interrupted only minutes when Mug'thol's finger slowed to a near halt.
"Did I say y-you could fucking st–" Another orgasm rolled over Sylvanas and she fell silent, absorbed by the pleasure that was now coursing through every fiber of her being. She had raised her head to stare up at Mug'thol's face, but the terrifying expression had soon been replaced by one of mindless glee as her mouth fell open.and her lips quivered.
"Mug'thol sorry, so very sorry, dark lady." Like Sylvanas, Mug'thol too was feeling the consequences and exhaustion of extended passion. His already slow cadence was slathered in molasses, and he took frequent breaks to catch his breath. "A thousand sorries, butiful mistress, but Mug'thol is… close."
Anger flashed in Sylvanas' eyes for a brief second, his words serving to sober her up substantially. Then, she calmed down, an idea far better than any punishment forming in her head.
"You've performed admir– Well. You've performed well, Mug'thol. Fight for me tomorrow, and your tribe will be handsomely rewarded. Do I have your oath?" At the mention of more, Mug'thol's eyes also lit up, and he nodded.
"Oath. Word, promise, heart and soul and cock and more, dark lady. Stonemauls fight for you."
Sylvanas smiled mischievously, then at long last removed her hands from Mug'thol's chest. Then she tried to take a step back, but found that at some point the ogre's excitement had become too much and he had grown even more, so much so that only the tips of her feet were now touching the ground and she had no leverage.
"Lower me, Mug'thol." Mug'thol obeyed, kneeling down lower so that Sylvanas' feet once more touched the grass. Then she hobbled backwards on shaky legs, and it took her a few moments to regain the strength in her thighs and knees. Mug'thol remained silent, though his eyes never left her flesh. Unburdened by her weight, his cock rose up towards the sky, and Sylvanas noticed how the entire length of it was slick and glistening in the light of the setting moon. Her work, she thought, and smiled anew.
"The reward for your obedience… is me. Work yourself, Mug'thol. I want to bathe in your excess. Show me how devoted you are." Sylvanas lifted her arms towards the heavens and stood there like a goddess of old, cold and stern and unmoving like rock, yet at the same time like nothing that before had ever been. Sylvanas was breathing, but she wasn't alive. She was cold, but she wasn't dead. She was ruthless, but not unkind, and most of all, in that moment she was the very image of beauty despite her hatred for herself.
Mug'thol obeyed one final time that night, and it wasn't long until his fingers which had been aching to act were let loose, even if it was only on himself. He worked himself into a frenzy, both his hands a blur as they worked in tandem to build up again, though both individuals present knew it would not take long.
"MUG'THOL… FINISH!" the ogre roared, loud enough to scare sleeping birds out of their trees for miles and miles around them. His ejaculation was immense, the first spray hitting Sylvanas' chest like a burst from a cannon, but she stood firm and let the tide wash over her, settle on her skin or drip towards the floor. There soon came another burst, hitting her stomach, then a third and a fourth which ended up covering her face and shoulders. Like a statue Sylvanas stood still and took it until Mug'thol's orgasm had no more to give, and he promptly fell on his side and was silent.
For many long minutes Sylvanas stood in the moonlight, feeling the weight of an ogre's spunk weighing down her shoulders, and burdening her knees, but she never faltered. The warmth that covered her like a thick blanket was beyond anything she could have imagined, and it wasn't until a cold gust of wind blew in from the north and grazed along her overstimulated skin that she awoke from her trance. Much of the cum had run off her, pooling by her naked feet, but there was still plenty left. She smiled as she let her arms fall to her sides, surveying her own body and seeing it with new eyes. In the moment, a thought passed through her that she must look more radiant now than she ever did in life.
When Sylvanas returned to her own camp that morning, her weakened and unwashed body having taken her miles after the negotiations with Mug'thol of the Stonemaul Clan, she gazed into a mirror for the first time in months, and smiled. Not a sly smile, nor a clever not a mischievous one. This smile was only for her, and it meant nothing more or nothing less than what it was. A sign of happiness.