FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Valdrakken.

The Dragon Isles' crowned jewel held its weight against the capitals and other wonders the mortals built on Azeroth. With its spires stretching from Thaldraszus cliffs, the city of stone and gold inlays looked better than what was told.

In fact, it seemed to have fared well in its masters' absence. A shame, or a luxury of peace, that had led its inhabitants to a blissful life, far from Azeroth's woes in the latest years. From the Cataclysms to the Legion, it seemed all events had spared Dragonkind.

Yet, it was time for the Horde to knock at its door. And for its representatives to impose its rules, as they had done to the rest of Azeroth.

Still, traces of the latest sieges and conflicts peppered the town and landscape in the form of resentful glares, stone pavements that had to be restored, buildings bearing dents or missing roofs. The seat of the Aspect itself had taken a few hits, although the affront was how the structure had been refitted to give the dignitaries a place to rest equal to their posts, or so it was told.

The Dragon Isles were another fruitful land to prepare, to industrialize until the fertile grounds were ripe with grains, and its inhospitable terrain became the foundations of smoke-spewing foundries.

The conflict with the Legion was still active, and the expeditions in the Twisting Nether were growing in numbers, guided by the Demons and Draenei's expertise.

Something that Velen pondered about, far from “home", from those who shared his life with him, and those who had turned to the Fel.

“I hate this."

Velen pondered this, but nodded. His milky white eyes, far from blind, focused on the Red-scaled Drakonid at his side. Most of the fighter's armor had been stripped, keeping only the breastplate and nothing more. Not even the helmet, even though the Commander might not need it in case of a scuffle.

“I know. You have your reasons to hate this," whispered Velen, closing his eyes while his hands joined, hidden by his sleeves. Though he still felt the shame of how uncovered he was.

“And I don't have any alternative. You present me a choice that's… In any case, I will betray them!"

Despite his age and experience, Eranog had that fiery attitude befitting young calves. Muscular to a fault, the Drakonid's life in the garrison must have been one of working and preparing… And planning for the fight against his expected Masters. Yet, when the Dragon Isles were unveiled to the world, it wasn't the Dragons who flocked to the shores, ready to reclaim what had been lost.

“I am aware. But this is a choice I had to make, too. Degrading as it was, my actions spared countless lives and will allow some to thrive."

The Drakonid's red face contorted, the lips purling, the fists clenching and closing, the natural stance of a fighter forming as those legs and arms moved. Instinct.

But the Drakonid knew, Velen knew, there was no worth. Velen was as much a victim, and his loss would only incite the ire of one of the Horde's leaders, one who had a disposition to Valdrakken.

That was why Velen was here.

Not to bring peace to a forlorn soul, who had lost every superior in a senseless conflict, and was entrusted with the role of a leader. But to show what would come next for the Drakonid who had been selected as the next in line… And the example for an entire species.

No, the puppet that would sell Valdrakken and the Dragon Isles to ensure a peaceful transition from the Scalesworn's protection to the Horde.

“I… I prepared to fight this. To fight them. Do you understand? I am trading tyrants for more tyrants. What use is there?"

Velen averted his gaze. He heard that complaint too many times to be satisfied. Each time, it somehow made it easier for the Draenei to find his words. But in return, there was a coldness he was not willing to give in as they continued to strut through Valdrakken's streets, watched over by three orcs whose eyes were… Dancing over Velen's body.

“Survival is a path ahead. One in which your kind will find its place among the Horde and be spared the woes of war."

“Are you so certain?"

“I am. A life different from what you are used to. But one that remains worth fulfilling."

One life… Much like the Draeneis living in the Taurens colonies, whose quality of life had improved ever since Garrosh no longer led the Horde. It wasn't a fair cohabitation, as Draeneis were still condemned by the drugs and poisons they were fed.

But it was far from the lives suffering under the yoke and abuse, in a society that valued their torment. There was no disillusionment; it was far from perfect, but lives as broodmothers for the Horde soldiers remained far more bearable.

“You do not believe your words."

“I do. But my heart ache at the idea of the shame you will endure so no one else shall bear it, Commander. You did not choose like I did, or my fellow did. You were not prepared to lead, even less to bear the weight of your title. I see that now, as I peer into your eyes."

He saw an old Drakonid, training and preparing for a war that would not to come, to be ready to follow the orders and hand them so he would be free from a tyranny. Yet, never to be trained to become the equivalent of a Lord, an Emperor, a King… A Queen.

“Was it painful?"

The gaze down was everything Velen needed as they approached the Seat of the Aspects. Around it, a few tents had been set up while buildings were unmade and rebuilt according to the Horde's requests. One of them had already been prepared, and it was inside the structure of steel and wood and stone. Velen ushered the Drakonid, far from the prying eyes… Even from the guards who knew better than to bother them once the curtains were down.

“The changes were the easiest. Painful as they were, it was only a moment to pass. And I had the chance to find love. It was more difficult for Genn or Saurfang."

Velen advanced, his hooves clicking on the wood as much as the Commander's talons as they walked through the antechamber, took the door opposite the war room, and entered what seemed to be quarters. Or akin to it, maybe closer to a home, with different alcoves dedicated to various roles: kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, with a mattress at the center that was to welcome any guest. However, the scent in the air was musky and intense, reminiscent of incense and burnt wood.

“Sit down," pointed Velen, his fingers going to the mat covered with pillows. His direction was to the kitchen, where he found himself back in the role he had been given by Natas long ago. A stay-at-home wife.

A smile, and Velen heated the water, accustomed to the simple work now that he no longer had helpers. And he continued, unaware if the Commander listened.

“Their paths were heavy with torment. Genn followed the same choices as I did. You saw the Worgens and their roles among the Horde, but they were not aware of the conditions imposed on their King. Nor were they aware of what he had given up for them."

Water heating, leaves Velen picked from a pot with scissors. It was only two weeks, but the routine was back in place. It would be so as he was to remain there for the transition of power.

“Saurfang tried to rebel against the Horde. I do not judge him; he was a better leader than I am. But he lost. His supporters were taken and broken. He was but a shell when Genn brought him to us. He fares better in our presence. But the opprobrium and shame will follow him."

Silence. Velen continued to cut, his fingers soft and careful in handling the plant, not to take too much. It was a rare specimen, he was told. And he believed those words as he knew the effect of the tea he prepared with it, inhaling the sweet aroma coming from the steaming water.

“Will it hurt?" again, that question. A tremor of fear.

“I will make it as painless as possible. But the better the inclination, the less humiliating it will be."

“Are you certain?"

“I am. I know him, he will be gentle if you accept your role and show deference."

Silence again. Long enough for Velen to prepare the cup he filled, until the clay was warm and the beverage steaming. Nothing to burn his hands or the Drakonid, but warm enough to be daunting as Velen approached and offered his guest the drink.

He then sat, letting him see. Admire… Observe what the Horde and the Taurens had made of the Prophet.

With the years following Natas and watching the Grimtotem remake the Horde's council, Velen's role had shifted. He remained a constant presence among the Taurens, sent when a new species was to join them and their colonies.

From the Highmountains to the Nagas, each leader, picked for that role, had seen Velen.

Had seen the gravid and broken male since the Draenei were not allowed any covering robes. Only a collar and sleeves joining drapes over his sides… But nothing that covered his backside, from his shoulder blades to his legs, exposing his tail and comely posterior, attracting the eyes of the promiscuous soldiers eager to test why the Draeneis were considered the best “Whores" of Azeroth.

However, if the front didn't sway the soldiers, it surprised the Leaders who would soon look like him.

Their gazes would go over Velen's plump and ever-lactating breasts, the golden loops dangling from the erect nipples, the Horde etched on the pink hairy skin… Or the ever-gravid belly, round with fluids or calves.

A generous and tempting body that was completing with dregs of his manhood, with what remained of his genitals… Of a cock, soft and barely capable of leaving its sheath unless healed, or his testicles that were big as apples but useless, branded like so as they swayed with each step.

That was how Velen presented himself to foreigners, as a shameless whore, even though that was not the role he desired. That role, however, had to be fulfilled. Even if it meant being complacent in the Horde's abuse, in other males' destruction, as long as it led to peace and survival.

“Drink, this will be easier for us, today," said Velen, joining his hands as if to mimic the action to the Drakonid.

Again, Eranog glanced at the liquid, now black like tar. He gulped, but like every other occasion, he gave in and drank. He gulped down the liquid until there were no traces, and the Drakonid sighed, putting the clay away.

“Now…"

“Now it begins, strip."

Eranog frowned, but followed by undoing his breastplates, showing how his nipples were already erect and how fat had already started to accumulate underneath the scales, forcing them to bend and reshape in a form that was more pleasing to the Horde standards.

Eranog was only at the premises, but a caress on a nipple could steal a moan and sigh from the aging Drakonid. The belly was muscular, unaffected yet. Similar to the limbs that were muscular and powerful, compared to Velen's softer curves.

Finally, came down the loincloth with the red organ already peeking from the Drakonid's slit… Tapered, long, with an extremely thick base comparable to a knot, the organ was impressive as it pointed up and ready to take. Almost as impressive as the Drakonid's external organs, as big as Velen's testicles.

But that erection was… Well, not so desired as Velen approached, passed a hand on the Drakonid's head, feeling the warmth radiating from that body and feeling the shivers from the poison rushing down those veins.

“Breathe. Steadily. It will pass," said Velen, watching the Commander swallow his saliva and shake… Tremble, with his tail hitting the floor.

“It…"

Only a groan as the Drakonid's body tensed already. It was a product that was fast-acting, as cutting or ingesting it directly produced a liquid, mixed with fluids, that would spread through everything: skin, insides, holes, and anything else. As long as it was offered, that liquid could seep into one's body… And target their male parts. Torture them… Make them suffer while uttering more changes.

Eranog was no different as his hands went between his legs, reaching for his testicles, for his low-hanging organs, he cupped and stroked. Velen did not stop, letting him roll those orbs as the poison seeped into them, like an icy shard planted into them.

Fluids… More fluids dripped from Eranog's cock even though his erection was dying down, calming, almost… Disappearing.

“You have endured worse. You can do it," said Velen, passing a hand on the head, between the horns, and then on the shoulders. Eranog would have to endure it… Careful.

“It's… It hurts."

“It will hurt as much when it will happen. You will be ready."

Ready… It was perhaps madness to consider it as such, but Velen considered it better they were prepared for this moment than guessing and afraid of what would come to them. A realization that he would have preferred to be guided during those moments.

Finally, the heaving breaths eased, and the Drakonid's grimace turned into a thin and almost hidden grin. He smiled, showing a tough front as he laughed.

“It's… It has passed."

“Good," nodded Velen. “Very good. We are done for today."

As Velen said that, he was freeing the Drakonid from staying with him… Yet, those piercing red eyes showed again that curiosity as the pain was replaced by lust and needs, mainly from the aphrodisiac effect of the tea. The product would soon be shared among the population to have them break more easily.

But for the moment, Eranog's eyes were over Velen's plump body, over his breasts… Over his belly, over those curves.

“Could… We…?"

Velen nodded, letting the scalie fingers stroke his belly, feel the warmth coming the calves inside while another hand went on Velen's breasts, cupping them, feeling the heft of milk and fat before guiding the tits upward and towards a mouth.

No. There was no fucking as Velen solely belonged to the Taurens. Sometimes, he would get played with Genn as the King used his cock, his genitals healed, or a strap-on…

But nothing that was real or worth, nothing that could lead to any pregnancy, as the Prophet was solely… For the Taurens. For his husband and lover, for his family.

He was loyal, devoted to the role he had been given.

Even if it meant having a hand in someone's downfall. In almost every friend's downfall.

Was it despicable?

Maybe. But it was a relief to spare them the pain and to ensure their happiness, knowing there was a way for them, too. That he wasn't the exception, that he wasn't the only one to be… Willing.

And so, as the scaled lips closed on his nipple to suckle on it, the old Draenei sighed in delight. He closed his eyelids, felt the sensation of warm relief come over him as the milk started to pour from the nipples inside that mouth, to feed the Dragon who eagerly suckled and swallowed the sweet liquid, the delicate and warm substance.

“If you stay… You will have to watch," warned Velen, knowing what was to come if they went overboard. But the Drakonid was fully aware as he popped his lips free for a single nod.

“I know. I will not fight this, this time."

“Good."

Unnecessary violence was everything Velen hated and so, as the Drakonid's lips were back to his tits, Velen stroked the Drakonid's head. Nursing was appeasing and pleasing. And… Well, it was barely a secret that the Drakonid were interested in the mortals' bodies and their fluids. Such as the lactation they had no need for, since they came from their eggs already ready to take on the world.

However, milk was an addiction among them… Especially those who did not hail from the Dragon Isles, but they formed only a portion of the Horde's slaveforce. They were not a future colony or its inhabitants.

With a sigh, Velen threw his head back, savoring the moment until his nipple started to ache and burn, forcing him to push the Drakonid to suck the other breast and change regularly. All the while, Eranog's fingers were far from being idle as they explored, stroked, caressed Velen's belly and the calves inside.

For a moment, it was only that embrace, too soft to be considered sexual… All considered, it even bordered on affection. Though none would dare to utter it as the Draenei felt himself drift… Drift into thoughts of old.

Of previous months, years, decades…

Then… Back to the sound of steps, of hooves hitting the wood and coming closer, heavy and heavier.

A sigh, and Velen opened his eyes, turning his eyes to the curtain while he kept the Drakonid's head against his body, letting Eranog give in to the curiosity and addiction.

On the other hand, Natas's baggy eyes were over Velen, glancing at the elderly Draenei nursing a Dragon.

“He is staying here," commented Natas, wearing the headdress fitting of a leader, with the red and black feathers attached to the cap. However, he was quick to remove it and set it aside, likewise to the bone collar and other trinkets befitting Natas's function.

“He is. But he will behave."

A nod from Natas. The old Grimtotem believed Velen, trusting a Draenei, a rare oddity. As sick as it was, Natas and Velen were better together than alone, fighting their battles separated.

Finally, with a soft touch, Velen pried the needy lips from his nipples and left the Dragon groaning… And moaning for more, licking his lips.

Those black pupils were dilated, partly from the tea, too. But they focused on Velen, then on Natas, before Eranog flinched. And froze. His pupils closed, then reopened, as he straightened and almost scooted back, despite the milk dripping from his lips.

“I… Will not fight this time," said Eranog.

Not that he could have done much last time.

Last time Eranog remained, Natas decided to teach the Drakonid a lesson. Or rather make a show of Velen, fucking and taking the Prophet, making the Draenei beg for more, beg for all that abuse. In that situation, Natas even showed his display of shadow magic to tease the Draenei and play with his body.

A show of magic that ended with the Dragon fighting and cussing at the two until he was silenced, held by tendrils, and forced to watch Velen get filled with enough cum he got pregnant with the calves.

From there, it had been a difficult process to explain what united Natas and Velen, to rationalize the use of shadow magic. And to bring Eranog back as the deadline would come to a close sooner rather than later.

“Good. Is he ready? Nasen is waiting for his bride."

“Not yet," said Velen, removing the last strip of clothes as he followed Natas to the bed alcove, guided and almost beckoned by an offered hand. One the Prophet took as he was to approach, sit on the bed, and then help Natas strip the layer of clothes and leather armor.

Steadily, the aroma of a stud in heat, or a Tauren male, permeated the room, swallowed it, invaded it until each breath brought along the aroma of incense, blood, rust, and more. Stenches that seemed to stick to the Tauren's fur lately. A detail Velen took in as he leaned forward, pressing his face and nose against the coarse black fur, inhaling the perfume right at the collarbone level before Natas had one hand press against the cheeks, beneath his chin, cupping everything and leading the Prophet into a kiss.

A sloppy, long, irreverent kiss in which the Prophet's mouth was filled by that broad tongue, one that easily delved and pressed deep into the Draenei's mouth, who held onto his Husband's muzzle, keeping himself steady, while saliva poured within his mouth.

Velen gulped it down, his tongue teasing back and stroking his Lover's, feeling and dancing with him, though the overpowering tongue could easily force itself.

But Natas indulged in it, and while their lips remained locked, Natas' other hand explored the Prophet's curvaceous body, reaching for one of those bountiful breasts… Cupping it, rubbing the soft skin on it, having the thumb circle around the erect and indecent teat. Oh, the caresses, the love, the touch were enough to make Velen's body tremble in delight.

Finally, the lips parted… But not the touches, the caresses on the cheeks, the caresses on the breasts, the caresses to the soul. And Velen sighed, turning his gaze to see Eranog still standing around, almost lost between leaving and coming closer.

It must be difficult for the Drakonid, as old as he is, to be welcomed in that intimate moment, knowing that any aggression on his part could be… Punished.

Therefore, Velen beckoned him, his hand forward while Natas peeled off the last layers covering his groin, exposing that cock. The very one that had claimed Velen, impregnated him, ruined him to anyone else except for a peculiar Troll.

Nevertheless, it remained an awe-inspiring vision to see that ebony spire slowly extend upward from the sheath's layers, from the folds undoing under the tension. A vision as inspiring as those testicles, held in that low-hanging scrotum, with the tuft of gray fur going onto the raphe while the rest of the skin was leathery, glimmering, sweaty… Reeking of musk and needs. Many hours had been spent worshiping those orbs, but not that day. Not as Velen's fingers went on the shaft, feeling the blood throbbing inside it. He felt the flesh, rigid and ready, while Eranog was close enough to smell and inhale Natas' perfume.

By then, Natas' fingers pressed on Velen's asscheeks, slipped beneath his legs to lift them and guide him to lay down.

“No. Let him see," said Velen, his milky eyes going to Natas, who glanced back, then at the belly.

“With the calves?"

“I can take it, it is not the first time," assured Velen, passing a soothing hand, albeit sticky, on Natas' shoulders.

“… I believe you. But should it become too painful that way..."

“I will say it," mumbled Velen, leaning forward to rub his crest against the Tauren's forehead.

They had rules, especially concerning the calves Velen would bear. It was not his first pregnancy, it wouldn't be… So, assured and ensuring there was no danger, Velen pushed against the Tauren's body and guided him with soft touches and whispers to sit down.

That position was… Good. Excellent for a show as Velen's hooves clicked on the wood before he had Natas' hands on his thighs, lifting him. In return, he spread his legs while his weight shifted until…

Until his body was in a balance, between Natas' arms and chest. Nevertheless, the Prophet felt at perfect peace as he watched Eranog's dilated pupils and strange gaze. The tea had that effect… Mixed in with a Tauren's raw musk, it was even worse. It was enough to break someone's will, to crush any resistance until all that was left was compliance. No… Desires.

Desires from the Drakonid as his erection started anew, no longer restrained by the poison rushing to the genitals. An erection mixed in with salivating and heaving, an echo to what Velen did as his Lover's cock, heavy and wide, pressed against his cheeks.

The Draenei was no longer “tight". With the regular pregnancies and breaking, with the changes to his body, his asshole had become a donuthole. A perfect hole to use and abuse for the Taurens, an entrance that was not to be left undesired…

And when Natas had the flared end, black the night, pressed against it… The orifice did not resist and sucked the flesh in, with a slurping noise that was… As disgusting as impressive; Velen himself grimaced at it. But he smiled then when he felt the throbbing flesh against his prostate, sensed the pressure, familiar, against his inner walls. And heard the short moans from Natas as the Tauren enjoyed the hole, the slight pressure, and the warmth.

“I could spend my days with you," said Natas, his voice calm and soft.

“And abandon Genn or Varok?" asked Velen, his words cut by his difficult breath.

“No… I could love you equally."

Equally. More like Natas, even in his late age, could outlast his three “Wives" without any trouble. Or more. Even Genn whose body seemed bolstered by the Worgen curse, and recently reinvigorated through spells, was barely capable of enduring one hour with Natas.

Velen himself wondered how he, once, endured the blunt of the Tauren's love alone.

Still, it was that love he felt as those hands reached between his thighs to pinch and stroke the sheath. The same in that hand, going from his belly to rub, to feel the calves inside. And the same that led the Tauren into kissing Velen's crest, kissing the bone structure that was sensitive to the Draenei, as Velen bounced gently on that lap.

“See… What will it be if you follow your Husband's orders, Eranog," said Velen, red-faced. It was not only a fucking but a lesson. A show.

A show the Dragon seemed tantalized by it, his tongue dripping from his mouth as those red eyes focused on the black spire slipping in and out of the orifice, tugging and yanking on the rim while cum dripped from the entrance.

The Drakonid fingers even went between his thighs, stroking and feeling the male organ, to stroke the tapered tip.

But Velen could barely give it any thought before Natas shifted his grip and therefore the posture, giving a love tap to the Draenei's prostate. Enough for a jet, akin to a squirt, to leave Velen's sheath.

“Listen to my Bitch, little Dragon. This is where you belong. He is wiser than many… And our Son will not treat you as well as I do… Unless you learn your place."

Velen gulped but nodded. He sighed, too, as he felt the hand on his genitals go tight… And tighter, almost ready to crush and break Velen's remaining genitals.

A shame, as he had them healed only three months ago… Not healed enough to kickstart the changes to his attitude and body, but enough for his fluids to be thicker.

Yet, Natas seemed eager to abuse them as the Draenei's voice climbed one octave and his breathing became ragged. Blood rushed to the cheeks, giving them a redder tint. His mouth split due to the pain, and saliva smeared his beard as Natas spoke.

“If you are unfit, this is what awaits you. Pain. Suffering. They are motivators for an unruly race, to teach them how to behave with their betters."

Velen could have nodded. But he remained immobile, not to anger Natas or to sway Eranog.

But the Drakonid nodded, and the pressure on Velen's tiny orbs lessened, allowing the Prophet to breathe and sigh… And jolt when Natas hit his prostate with one thrust.

It wasn't an accident.

And as Natas' hands left the belly and groin, they went on Velen's knees, lifting the Draenei once more for a thorough… Breeding.

One in which Velen had no say since Natas had decided to teach Eranog the example of what awaited him. And what an example when the Drakonid could watch that pillar of flesh pump in and out of the Draenei's hole, no different than a fleshlight. In and out went Natas' cock, yanking on the rim and releasing a tidal wave of precum and natural lubricant on the genitals.

Enough to add to the scent of sex in the room, to wrong the noses, to make someone scowl from the deviant display. But Eranog was… Receptive. Smiling stupidly even. The drug helped sluts to reach a state of acceptation. Eranog had been in denial far too long.

His mouth watered at the vision. Expected, unsurprising. Only a select few could resist a true Horde Soldier, Natas and Velen thought.

No, every slave had to serve every soldier, every member of the Horde. Resistance was futile. Therefore, the sole option was to embrace and appreciate what was given.

To embrace the pleasure and joy in serving, in being used, in being fucked.

Just like how Velen was at that moment, his asshole pummeled by Natas' superior spire. That cock, as thick as an arm, hit and smacked, and punched. And Velen, under the assault, couldn't even resist it. He smiled stupidly, too, while his cock kept “squirting" from inside the sheath, the watery fluid dripping over the wrinkly pink skin, the round orbs, then the wooden floor.

More and more, he squirted, with his prostate massaged and abused until… Without any sign, Velen ejaculated. It was a far cry from what he could do. But still, an ejaculation as a whiteish shot spurted free and landed on the floor, on the puddle of translucent fluid, and formed a white touch amidst the watery presence.

An ejaculation leading to his asshole clenching, to his inner walls pressing on Natas… And effectively pushing, yanking, and driving the Tauren over the edge.

That last squeeze was enough, and with a gruff grunt, Natas pulled Velen down, impaling the Draenei on the entire spire until the clenching rim almost kissed the testicles…

And came. Came so many times, Velen was losing count. No… He didn't even tried to count as the Tauren was always profuse and that profusion always led to the same result: with a drippy orifice for hours and a bulging belly. The former was assured, the latter was already present in the form of a pregnant belly.

A pregnant belly that still seemed to grow a little more from the pressure inside increased from the load. And as the pressure grew, some of the cum, of the liquid, started to drip from Velen's abused hole on Natas' genitals, on his balls, on the bed, on the floor until the Draenei's watery fluids were overtaken by the dense Tauren cum.

Cum that kept spreading and pushing deeper as all those hours of stress were finally unleashing within… And Natas seemed to relax by the second, to ease up. He even kissed Velen's crest against and nibbled his ears while they enjoyed the afterglow.

“I wish I could be there to ease your worries," said Velen to Natas.

“They do not allow whores in the council. From the fears of spies or a rebellion," answered Natas… And Velen nodded.

Even though they were married and bound, and Velen had proved his worth, he remained a “Whore" to the Horde's laws. With no exception whatsoever. It was a status that would cling to him, although it didn't stop him from having a voice… Or enjoying Natas' presence much like the rebellions and the instabilities post-Garrosh would have brought.

Still, as the moment drew to a close, as their breathings eased, and the embrace continued, Velen sighed and pressed his chest against Natas. Then… As if on cue, the Tauren reclined, pulling on Velen's thighs and pulling out.

Followed then a tidal wave of cum from the Draenei's outstretched and puckering asshole. One white steamy wave that continued even when those legs closed and he turned… That semen, so thick and dense, dropped constantly and had that strong musk that drove most females crazy… A semen that kept pouring from Velen's asshole until it turned from a cascade to a rivulet, even when the Draenei was on all fours, kissing his Lover's chest, tracing circles in the fur.

“Make him clean," whispered Natas, pointing his chin towards where Eranog was. And Velen looked over his shoulders, seeing how the Drakonid had already blown his load and was a dripping mess, salivating over the vision… Or over the aroma emanating from the Draenei's ass or the floor…. Or the sheets.

They would have to change that before tonight.

But before that, Velen sighed and pushed his tail aside, exposing his back entrance to the lustful Drakonid.

“Clean me, Eranog. You'd better get used to the taste. It is strong, but appreciable," said Velen, though it didn't take much more convincing to feel the Drakonid's muzzle press against his asshole and started licking, suckling, and delving his tongue inside the entrance.

Even those scalies hands, red and hot, gripped Velen's plump cheeks to pry them apart, to reveal the donuthole, glazed over, and the drippy entrance the Dragon started to eat out.

“He is learning well," commented Natas, listening to the slurping and gruntings and moanings.

The Drakonid was eating his fill of Tauren cum right from Velen's orifice, swallowing the rich cum, amply enough to feed an inferior species. And he seemed eager for more, digging and delving inside with his tongue until Eranog collected his due with cum to gulp it down.

He no longer cared for his erection… Solely for that cum he gulped while much of it started to smear that muzzle.

“I think… Our Son will love him."

---

Sitting at a corner of a table, handling the many papers, Nasen looked like the typical Tauren “nobility". Grimtotem of blood, his fur was charcoal black, and his gaze had some hint of light or glow betraying his Draenei ascendance.

Yet, those eyes were of a defiant green instead of the typical red from the Grimtotem, betraying another type of ascendance that would have been shunned solely a few decades ago. But with the Legion's fall and the conquest, Nasen's status was all the more important.

Warlock.

The twisting nethers' power, the Fel, was a dangerous force, but used with ample knowledge could lead to the power of binding demons, breaking them… He had learned it from the best in Orgrimmar and even started his own circle before his family called him back. Then, he was given a role.

One that was… Not what he desired. Administration.

Conquering a land was easy; what was difficult was the role of administering it.

And so, as Nasen felt the weight of his duties upon his shoulders, inside the recently built office, he barely looked up when he heard the curtains lift. He expected the sounds of boots stomping on the wood, but no. Hooves, soft, light. A Draenei?

“Velen?" asked Nasen, raising his eyes from the paper to meet the motherly Prophet, a smile on his lips, followed by another recognizable face. Eranog, the current “Leader" of Valdrakken.

“Son," said Velen, reaching forward to touch Nasen's cheeks, to stroke him.

Again, the scent of Natas clung to Velen. But there was also the soft scent of Draenei skin, one that was unmistakable… And though it was not to be appreciated, Nasen allowed Velen to rub his cheeks before he pulled away a second later.

“I will be there tomorrow for our dinner with Father, I assure you," said Nasen, though he felt he might have to cancel that if he wasn't getting accustomed to the Dragons' way of counting.

“I am not here for that. Can we talk in private?" asked Velen, glancing over his shoulder as Eranog remained still and firm, arms behind his back.

Nasen thought… Then he lifted the hand. A greenish glow appeared at his fingertips, as if they were consumed by the fel. And that same glow covered the entrance curtains. A mere enchantment that isolated them, stopping anyone from peering, opening, or listening. A perfect trick.

“We can talk here and now," said Nasen, bringing his hand down… And pushing the papers aside. At that moment, there was no point in working if Velen stood at his desk.

Velen, who looked around, at the hearth at the end of the room, the sofas facing each other, for the guests, and then… Back to the desk. Then, without uttering a word, Velen sat at one of the sofas, his legs closed. Though he would open them regularly for Natas.

Nasen stood up too, and sat on the opposite end. He expected, then, for the Drakonid to sit by Velen, but he remained up despite the glares the Warlock gave. And then, he returned to the Draenei.

“What is this, Velen? Is this important enough to stop me in my work?"

“It is, Son," said Velen, taking a deep breath. And so seemed the Drakonid as Velen extended his hand towards Eranog. “Your wife, Eranog, is ready."

“Era… Nog."

The realisation hit Nasen. And he pressed his hand against his face, shaking it and grumbling.

“Sorry. Can you explain it to me? Why should I take a Dragon? I thought you knew my opinion."

The Warlock thought he had made his desires abundantly clear. He had little desires for Dragonkind. He did not despise them, but he had a better affinity with Draeneis, Night Elves, or even fellow Taurens. He had hoped he had made his opinion clear on whom he desired, one of the former vindicaars currently working as a broodwhore. Dragons seemed to be too rigid, not curvy enough.

“I have no need for a Dragon. I was looking for a Draenei bride, Velen. Just like you."

Yet, Nasen couldn't have Velen. He wasn't the firstborn; therefore, he wouldn't continue the lineage with Velen.

On his left, he heard a sigh from Eranog, and saw the Drakonid shift his stance.

“I know you are angry, you cannot have me. But you are not limited to having one wife, and… Natas and I did this for you, both."

“Both?"

Nasen frowned, then looked at Eranog, who glanced away, his chestplate awfully… Tight?

“You, both," said Velen. He raised one hand and took a long inspiration. “You cannot have me since you are not the firstborn. However, Natas and I considered you should be able to have your own place. Soon, we will leave as peace has been secured, and we are needed back in Kalimdor. But Valdrakken can be yours. Your domain."

“My…" Nasen stopped, thoughtful as he considered. It was clear that some documents and exchanges suggested a future transition of power, but no name had been implied… Yet. “You want me to have the Dragon Isles."

“Yes."

This time, the answer was not from Velen, but the Drakonid.

The same Drakonid who had been acting as leader, coordinating with the orders, and leading the reconstruction of Valdrakken, even if from the distance. Though the first interaction Nasen had with Eranog was… Filled with spite.

“So, you accept our rule. But if I must have you, you know the rules of our unions?"

Nasen could accept such an union if it meant that territory. Power… It was power to rule others, and potentially to lead as he wanted.

As for Eranog, he could still break him and then have him around. Some leaders had gained territories that way, by “marrying" and siring a new lineage.

However, Nasen did not expect the Drakonid to reach for his armor and remove it…. And expose a body that was different; the Drakonid's body was more… Comely and generous than Nasen expected.

Like any Tauren male, Nasen's eyes were drawn to the details of that anatomy despite the scales… From the plump breasts, a far call from Velen's, or that cock, small and ridiculous, in its golden cage… No, Nasen felt a hint of sick jubilation inside his loins. He had no liking for the Dragons in particular, but having a broken one before his eyes put his opinion in perspective.

Enough for him to stand up and reach for the stylized Tauren skull etched onto the scales in black, an echo to the Grimtotem name.

“I… Did not expect that," said Nasen, touching and grazing one of the nipples, darker red, and forming a perfect soft numb under his greenish fingers.

“Eranog has trained for you," said Velen. “If you take him, you will control the Dragon Isles… There might be uproar. But they will follow Eranog and your rules."

“Power…"

A thin smile formed on the Tauren's lips, one almost cruel as he pinched the nub, finding how sensitive it was… And how eager Eranog was as he moaned loudly.

“And responsibilities."

“Tell us you accept," mumbled Eranog, almost… Needy? Was he so afraid for his kind he would give himself to Nasen? No, there was something else in the Drakonid's mind, in his plea, as Nasen stepped back and glanced at the warrior whose body had been weakened… Had been changed.

“You want it to be me… A Tauren."

A nod.

Nasen's smile grew.

Maybe it was more worth it than he imagined. More interesting as his hands started to heat up and their fiery touch was over the Drakonid, who didn't even flinch. Somehow, even his felfire couldn't wound them as much… A delight that made his eyes turn to Velen.

“You thought of it, every detail."

“Your Father had a hand in it. But yes, we thought it adequate."

With a caress, Nasen left a fizzling mark on the scales while his fingers descended on the Drakonid's belly, on his lower groin, on the golden cage that bore such a resemblance to a Dragon's jaw. But the jewels… Nasen bit his lips.

Then he whispered: “Let's do this."

“Yes, husband."

No “do what?" or “What does he mean?".

No, Velen had prepared him fully as Nasen stripped, revealing a stripping body, not unlike his father. However, he had shoulders that were not as square. And his abdominal muscles were covered with a hefty layer…

But the more defiant change was the runes inscribed on Nasen's genitals, glowing green with enchantment only Eredars, such as the Draeneis, could understand. Fertility, power, production. In Nasen testicles churned a cum bloated with Fel, ensuring his spawn would be blessed by its power.

But in return, the young Tauren had gained a Taurenhood that was far beyond anyone's. Even Natas as his cock was thick like an arm and a little more, with a length that could be described as “Gutpunching", even for Draeneis or fellow Taurens.

However, the Drakonid seemed to be more resilient as he was eagerly watching and… Salivating. No, even dripping in his cage.

“What do you know of our customs, Dragon?" asked Nasen, throwing his robes aside and sitting on the sofa. The Warlock gripped his cock, barely capable to wrap his fingers around it, and started to stroke. To pump his shaft, to enjoy the sensation of blood rushing to it while with each throb, the runes flared with power and essence, giving the room a greenish hue.

Velen's eyes were on it, though he seemed to be restraining a scowl. Which was an improvement over their exchanges about the Fel Magic years ago.

The Drakonid, however, was not surprised by the sight as he approached, almost kneeling.

“I know what you will want of me, my Husband. There are no males among the wives."

A truth or a statement most Taurens, especially the Grimtotems, abided by in those days. Males were only the Hordes, the Soldiers, and sometimes the few male slaves kept around to ensure a healthy quota of Lessers.

How much did Velen and Natas prepare the Drakonid?

A wonder and a question ran through Nasen's neck, as well with the awakening of a hunger, a need… A thirst as he approached, breathing the reptilian aroma coming from the Drakonid… As well as the flowery perfume, and the scent of need.

“Present me your posterior," ordered Nasen, feeling his robes being too heavy and tight for the lust plaguing him. And worse, when the Dragon complied, turned his back and bent.

No, lifted his tail, presented his orifice, and clung to those asscheeks so they would stay spread and prepared, lubed, with a vertical split… Vertically cutting that dark-red donut in two.

Almost as tempting as Velen's. Almost as tempting as every Draenei picked from the higher ranks and broken by their betters.

A donut, the Warlock stroked and touched, feeling his erection grow brighter… Feeling his Fel-ridden blood pump faster and faster until the scorching heat flared at his fingertips but also at the end of his horns, in the glow of his eyes, even his genitals felt fiery and warmer as he had the entrance brushed, poked, caressed, and… Pushed against.

Just one digit, one of the three, but big enough to spread the entrance open and steal a moan from the Drakonid.

Enarog… Potentially a leader, a danger, a threat if left unchecked… But a slut, a toy, a whore Velen and Natas had prepared for him.

Nasen's mouth split into a ravishing grin as he observed Enarog's eyes. Those eyes, no different than of many whores, were on Nasen's organs.

With his blood pumping, green veins had started to spread over Nasen's hefty scrotum, tracing the many pathways from a black and green contrast.

Big like honeydew melons, each step from the Warlock imprinted movement in those low-hanging nuts… Albeit, the prize was above.

From the sheath, from the black and leathery folds, Nasen's cock had expended fully. However, instead of the typically black spire belonging to Natas' sons… The Warlock's cock ended with a fiery green organ, melding green and black the further it went from the tip until the natural coloration had returned fully below the median ring.

But above, the enormous spire was riddled with the veins bulging with power and magic… And a branding musk, mixing the sulfur from his magic to more bestial and masculine perfume that was expected from a Tauren. Especially as a bead of precum formed at the tip, greenish but translucent.

With a sigh, Nasen adjusted his posture, spread his legs, while his potent and enormous organ pointed up, like a spear… Like a threat to everyone who would be claimed by the Horde.

He returned his green gaze to Eranog's face; the Drakonid was in awe from the sight, and drooling?

“Sit on it. I will use a spell so you won't break," said Nasen, his fingers brushing the air as he pondered on what spell to use. Curses were potent enough for this… Then, his eyes went to Velen.

“Help him with the pain. I know you can use it."

Velen's magic had been restored, that was something Nasen could feel. He had felt the hint months ago. But now, he could feel the old Slut's power brimming under that taut skin. Surprising.

Still, the Prophet was no more capable of receiving visions. Maybe Natas had not noticed it, or didn't care. But Nasen had a purpose for it as he snapped and ordered his “mother" to move closer.

Yet, Velen wasn't surprised? Did he plan this, too?

Nasen's smile grew, watching the old and shrewd Draenei acting demure and distant when, in fact, he was the blade that brought down lesser Races all the same. Innocent as Velen was looking, or perverted in his attire betraying his curves and genitals, the Draenei was a part of the Horde as much as Nasen or Natas.

And in so, it was him who had prepared Eranog for this, who had taught the Drakonid to take dicks, had his hole changed, prepared, trained… Until the Drakonid's asshole was no different than a cunt, an orifice where to spill one's seed and to get a brood.

Would they be compatible? If not, a curse or a spell would change it. They always fixed what had been created, imperfect and unworthy.

Such as now, when the Drakonid's powerful thighs moved closer, curvier than any female Drakonid. Even those cheeks were more defined, more… Tempting. More appealing to the Warlock as he stroked them, his fiery green fingers not even leaving a scorching mark as the Dragonkin moved closer… Closer… Until the fluids permeating the entrance, the orifice, sizzled at the contact of the Warlock's organs, releasing a muskier aroma.

One Nasen inhaled, the temptation growing… And so did his erection. So did his lust as he gripped the base of his cock, giving it a few strokes. Enough for the movement to lead to more rubbing, to precum dripping and rubbing against the Drakonid's asshole, to taint the dark-red orifice with a green hue.

All the while, Eranog kept moaning, mainly driven crazy by the heat emanating from Nasen's shaft. The organ brushed and pushed against that puckering entrance, leaving barely any choice for the Dragon, but to… Appreciate the sensation as his asshole winked, opening and clamming up with each of his heartbeat.

Velen remained nearby, watching… And yet dripping, his cocklet, still in its sheath, releasing a watery fluids on his branded nuts. Was he excited by the vision? Or a mere pervert?

Nasen couldn't peg the truth on Velen; only his Father could divulge enough truth to get a glimpse of the Draenei's mind. However, for the moment, Nasen was satisfied enough to focus on what mattered… Gripping Enarog's hips.

His fingers burned the hint of dust sticking to the scales, producing a crisp noise as he pulled Eranog closer and penetrated him, fucked him, stretched his orifice until the flared green end had slipped inside, burning bright and searing anything that wasn't the Drakonid's flesh.

It burned… It seared… It devoured.

The heat, the fel, the spire.

Eranog cried, his voice turning into a stupid babbling while Nasen yanked the Dragon closer, finding that he didn't need any curse or spell. Eranog had been trained, forced to take the equivalent of Tauren cocks, something just as big, to have his body adapt.

He had been molded, changed, modified, to become a Tauren's toy, a plaything whose moans and groans were almost a song or an ode to the Horde.

Nasen bit his lips, the thrum in his heart growing stronger, same as the fire at his extremities and the green glow.

He was feeling it… The pleasure, the enrapturing desire that was growing in his groin whenever he was taking a Draenei, cursing their womb by the same Fel they had been withdrawing from all those years. But this time, it was a Dragonkin whose scales did not burn and remained lukewarm in his presence, even as he gripped Eranog's arms to yank them away while, with slow thrusts and through gravity, the Drakonid was impaled on the spire.

Spit flew, moans echoed, dripping fluids escaped from the Dragonkin's cage to pool on the floor while Nasen humped to his heart's content, savoring the clenching and massaging on his cock. This was… Exciting, wondrous, oh so tempting. His eyelids closed as the fire in his body was coming close to an explosion, to an eruption.

His cock burned, and the hole was desperately clinging onto it, as if by burying the cock, it would ease the heat.

But it did not, it would not. And Eranog's cries grew louder and louder, filling the room as his body and belly were stuffed by the sheer organ, the thin abdominal muscles crushed by the swelling presence and heat. From an outside perspective, Eranog's belly was stretched beyond measure and his guts showed, no, imprinted, Nasen's cock. From the flared end to the girthy length, to the median ring… And then disappeared. An impression of power, of masculinity, that made even Velen gulp as that cock began to ram up and down, following Eranog's attempts to bounce and free himself from the pressure.

In vain.

No, not if Nasen had control over the situation. And he exercised it by pulling on Eranog's arms, not allowing him to use them as with each thrust, each bounce, that cock seemed to churn deeper into those guts until… There was the plea.

“It's- It's too much!"

A cry, with understandable words. A difference to the previous babbling from the begging Dragonkin. And for a moment, Nasen thought about pulling out… But with a mere glance at Velen, he saw how… Calm was the Prophet. And ready.

There, Nasen released the arms and snapped his fingers toward Velen to get his attention. Then, Nasen had his hands over Eranog's genitals, over his thighs, exploring and feeling the Drakonid's cage genitals and churning testicles.

“I want to hear him beg for it."

For it. For the spell. For the power building up at Nasen's fingertips, much like his pleasure. Much like a dirty and needy, a sadistic yearning as he had his fingers started to… Shimmer.

Without even thinking, the felflame answered to his call as he prepared the curse. And then, with a quality that did not betray the fact he was railing Eranog, he placed the finger on the Dragonkin's left testicles.

A sizzling sound echoed, the red scales burning to a deep black, then bright green, as the curse was inscribed on Eranog's genitals.

“H-HOT!" cried Eranog, still bouncing but unable to peel away due to Nasen's arms. The Dragonkin didn't even try to kick free, too, as Velen had knelt between their legs and his fingers touched that same scrotum… Though his fingertips were coated with a whiteish hue. Light.

Nasen could never have touched it or wielded it. And here, it melded with his hard-earned magic, suffusing Eranog's genitals as fire and light both crushed and soothed.

Steadily, the entire scrotum was covered by swirling green that formed erratic shapes and words, in Eredun. A curse… A simple curse every Warlock from the Horde was to learn if they wanted to be accepted among soldiers.

One curse that, the moment the lines were finished, unleashed its potency on the Dragonkin.

At that moment, Eranog's thrashing and movements stopped. His mouth stopped, ajar. Saliva dripped from it. His eyes rolled. His throat contracted in a whistling noise.

His hole… His hole became a deathgrip that couldn't even deny Nasen's any pleasure as he kept humping and pumping, as his wide cocktip continued to delve within the Dragonkin's depths. And the moment the pressure grew, the more intense… Eranog cried.

Again, he didn't make any sense. It was akin to a roar as cum spurted free from the caged Dragonkin's cock. One shot, as white and burning, landed on Velen's face, steaming hot. But the second load had a greenish hue. Then a darker tone… Then darker. Yet, each shot was as intense as before. Each shot was as impressive as the first, while Eranog's scrotum clenched again and again on those round orbs.

Finally… They stopped, they eased.

The shots stopped… But by then, the liquid was dark with that same greenish hue, corrupted. Consumed by the power as well as Eranog's testicles, the green brand had seeped into the scales with veinlets stretching in all directions.

It stopped. And in return, Nasen came.

He no longer restrained himself and came, his semen, greenish, pouring deep into Eranog's belly. It wasn't something the Tauren noted, though he admired the scales stretching and the Dragonkin heaving from the pressure applied to his guts. But he watched his “Mother" in awe and observed that rounding belly, the steam emanating from it… The expression from the Dragonkin… And finally, the relaxed expression on Eranog.

Caught by the pleasure and bliss, conquered by the irremediable curse that would befall all Lessers.

Nasen smiled, rubbing the back of a finger against the Dragonkin's jaw, finding no resistance whatsoever from Eranog. Maybe… Breaking Dragons was funnier than he imagined.

“Thank you, Velen. For such a wonderful gift," said Nasen, ignoring Eranog convulsions, coughs, or the cum he spat over his chest.

A grand new future awaited Valdrakken.