Fearful Priest 5
Will Lyam and Iruno have some time together?
Fearful Priest 5
Will Lyam and Iruno have some time together?
The next day, Lyam woke up feeling fresh and healthy. No, beyond that, his body at rest, while he jumped off, only to find himself again stripped of clothes and with nothing to wear.
Yet the moment he stepped outside, everyone assumed he was wearing his own chasuble. Nobody… Nobody except the Cardinals and their ilk noticed his naked presence. And none other than the demons would comment about it, in whispers, or even dare to push Lyam’s buttons.
They would pass by, interact with him, stroke his fur, explore his posterior, and dig into it.
The first time it happened with Herverd, Lyam thought he would be caught, especially when the Dwarf was right between his legs, grabbing his buttcheeks to pry them and to reveal the slightly agape hole.
A touch, an abuse, the Worgen endured silently down to the fingers playing with his rim while Herverd and he talked finance as if nothing weird happened.
Nothing strange even after the Worgen came on the floor, after a long and tedious massage that’d left his legs trembling and his asshole aching for more. Aching for a true release. Aching to the point of winking even when Lyam stepped away from where he’d been molested and abused, unable to resist those hands that would always come for him.
When he asked his assistant, he found that the assistant had seen nothing and was now curious about his recent line of questioning.
But the abuse continued. The hands twisted the nipples, and the testicles were smacked. And though Lyam tried to remain stoic. He had difficulty keeping quiet. He had difficulties not getting hard as something within him, a lust, was arising.
He’d always known that side of him, that yearning for the eyes to see him and yet not to see. He’d yearned to be at the center of attention, and yet not to be insulted.
He desired that exposition without the punishment. And he had it.
He had it whenever he desired as he strolled through the Cathedral’s corridors.
Nobody seemed to notice him; nobody even remarked as… he was strolling naked with a small hard-on, unable to resist the pleasure to the point of sometimes needing a break.
No. Often needing a break.
“Is my Pet enjoying my gift?”
The voice was cajoling as Lyam entered the Archbishop’s office, finding it the same as before, with stacks of papers and messages. With the accounting to be done, but no trace of Herverd. Lyam closed the door and sighed, watching the window ahead and the dark clouds in the distance.
“I… If anyone knew, they wouldn’t condone this. I… Cannot condone this,” mumbled Lyam.
“Lie. You love it. And nobody will know. Unless you want it, you pervert.”
“I do not!”
Lyam’s voice was a shout, but he got no answer except a faint chuckle in the room, an echo that continued before Lyam felt something akin to a breath upon his neck and hands on his shoulders.
“Good. Because you are much better hiding in plain sight. I have a gift for you.”
“Another… Gift?” asked Lyam, nervous at the flippant tone.
“Yes. I had it delivered for you. Come and sit.”
Lyam stepped closer to the desk. He felt the call as much as he was pushed. As he was attracted by a yearning he didn’t know, while his eyes danced from the paper to… Well. A cock.
A toy. A dildo. It was evidently a facsimile of Geruhlon, but attached to the Archbishop’s chair. The flesh was massive, steamy… And somehow felt alive when Lyam touched it and found it burning hot. Searing. And pulsating under his palm.
It reeked of the Fel, too. A presence that was soon to be caught.
“I… It needs to be removed. If anyone sees it.”
“Nobody will see it. Unless you refuse to have it in you.”
The voice was so cajoling, so perverted, and Lyam… Lyam could sense the phantom hands descending upon his back. They espoused his curves, his meatier ass. And then they pried it with two thumbs, with the claws titillating his entrance. To have him… Be agape in the open and feel that ache as the room’s air rushed against his puckered entrance.
He gasped, he moaned. And his ears dropped in shame while he bit his lips.
“Do it.”
Do it. That word resonated inside Lyam’s mind. But not only from Geruhlon’s suave voice. It was also his own primal appetite that pushed him to approach the chair, to press his fingers against the flared end to have them covered with green precum.
A precum he licked, finding its taste not only palatable but nourishing. Soothing, even.
One flavor he licked off his digits before he presented his posterior to the dildo and… Sat.
At first, there was the usual burn.
His rim, though used to the fingering and penetration, ached and itched from the stretching. Then, with the lube being spurted inside his tight entrance… That ache disappeared. The lubricated inner walls became painless and restless while Lyam pushed further with his thighs.
Pushed while that dildo slipped between the meaty buns and, finally, with a squelching sound… Lyam’s hole gave in.
It slurped, it swallowed, it took in.
Lyam sat, feeling his groin warm up with delight as he could feel his groin again being teased, and his mind lashing out with the pleasure he experienced.
One shameful, forbidden, and lustful pleasure. But one that grew as his rim was forced onto and that length, veiny and with a median ring, slipped inside.
And then… Came another pressure, familiar. Invasive. Powerful as the Priest reached for his belly, feeling how stuffed and stretched he was.
And how stiff and needy his tiny cock was; his fingers descended onto that red-tipped end.
It wasn’t as magnificent as he might have had before. He’d lost much. So much. But that tip was enough of a presence for his mind to explode and his mouth to open.
For him to take one raspy breath while a thrum shook his mind.
“You should enjoy this.”
“I… Shouldn’t,” mumbled Lyam, although he was the one currently impaled, hard, and dripping on the mat-covered floor.
What good were his morals and ethics when faced with need and yearning? Against a deviant lust he’d been ignoring and pushing against?
Even as limited as he was. As reduced, humiliated, degraded… he was experiencing that thirst an old him would have embraced wholly. And he was returning to it.
Returning to the need when he pushed against the sheath, unveiled the small organ, and he stroked between his fingers while his tail wagged and his thighs pushed.
For a moment, the sound of suction echoed again with his sphincter fighting to keep that toy inside him. But attached it was, and hence the rim had to give up on its grip and let it slide.
Slide with precum and lubricant dripping over it, forming threads joining the pulled rim before the Worgen slammed it back and almost groaned.
Certainly, he was feeling it more than even the stroking and the masturbation, despite the heightened sensation of contact. And so, Lyam lifted his hips again. And again, his posterior slammed against the dildo.
Again, his mind burst with delight while his eyelids fluttered, and he glanced at the ceiling above, at the few runes etched in the stones, before he heard a cough. And… Footsteps.
As a reflex, he tried to pull his hands away. But a presence, a phantom grip, led him to keep his hands on his genitals while another lifted his posterior.
Even as he fought and tried to steady himself, the Worgen couldn’t resist such a powerful grip that guided his digits with the most minute of touch… Just so he could be stroking himself when his assistant entered the room and took a deep breath.
“Head Priest Lyam? I have a message from the throne. They wish to send a few emissaries from the Alliance to your next sermon.”
“I- Yes. Of course,” mumbled Lyam, flustered.
Flustered as he heard the slick sound of his cock being masturbated, of the precum sticking to his pads and fingers, of the threads collapsing due to the strain while his cocktip was being massaged, rubbed, and teased in a way only someone else’s touch could.
Yet, with his own familiar fingers, with his own hand that was pumping behind the desk while his hips were pistoning and lifting his own weight, putting a strain on his asshole before his body collapsed onto that toy, again.
“Do you want me to give it to you?”
“Y-Yes,” said Lyam, leaning forward.
He pulled on his hand and arm, solely to find that Geruhlon’s grip had lessened, and so, he could extend his hand to grab the missive. His fingers were dirty, coated, and smelly. Yet, the Priest didn’t seem to notice it.
Neither did he notice the naked Head Priest, nor notice that the Priest was pumping, lifting himself, and clearly smiling whenever his prostate was lovingly nudged.
“You can take your leave. I’ll call you later,” said Lyam.
“Of course.”
And so, the young Priest left. Leaving Lyam alone as he moaned… And creamed the Desk’s underside, certainly not the last time of the day.
-
Hooves and stomps.
The sound was almost discreet compared to the constant chatter filling Stormwind’s streets. Almost nothing compared to the chaos of the inhabitants rushing from one duty to another.
It was Saturday, yet there was that levity in the air. That air of sympathy, while the stalls had been installed and were ripe with greens harvested from the nearby farms. But not only that, there was cheese, milk, all sorts of berries, and freshly baked pastries.
Sausages hang from stalls, inviting people to get a sample from the generous farmer.
Lyam almost felt at rest as he walked among them, feeling not a glance on him, and yet grinning.
“You should cover yourself.”
“I have my fur, isn’t it enough?” asked the Worgen, tilting his head.
His white fur was pristine and clean, brushed by the constant winds engulfing the city. But even the strokes and gusts were not enough to make the Worgen act differently, even as his testicles were swinging in the air.
Perhaps it was pushing it too far. Perhaps it was playing right into Geruhlon’s hand. At the same time, Lyam enjoyed that streak of exhibitionism. He smiled, his hands on his hips, as he strolled the streets almost naked, except for his belt and purse.
They only saw him as a poorly dressed dockworker, one among many, who went around to buy what he’d need for the day.
They couldn’t see the pierced nipples, the pierced large scrotum, or even the plugged asshole the Worgen had, and would only be revealed whenever he lifted his tail while bending over.
Something he often did, eliciting a few groans and grunts, though he cared little.
His situation was bad enough as it was, and Lyam wasn’t about to make it more difficult for himself merely to please a stiff bastard who’d been enjoined to tag along.
“Why don’t you go somewhere else, Iruno?” asked Lyam, waving at the Paladin to shoo him.
“I wish,” replied the Draenei, approaching the stall with the rags on them. He picked at them, pinched the fabrics, and had that curious expression of discovery. “But I have been tasked by the Archbishop to be with you. Even with your… Coverage.”
Lyam snorted, then listened to the precious old grandma who explained she’d sewn that tiny purse herself, made with red and white rags. It wasn’t the most beautiful thing, but Lyam eagerly pulled coins from his purse and paid the old lady.
“Why are you buying this?” asked Iruno, huffing and dropping the sewn purse.
Lyam picked it back, then pressed it against the Draenei’s chest, right against that recently washed purple shirt.
While Lyam could pass as a dockworker, the Draenei wore an attire that definitely attracted the eyes: with purple and gold he looked like a fancy noble.
“Because you stand out too much. I don’t need a nanny. I only need to enjoy my moments away from the Cathedral.”
“Without anything in your ass, like a whore?” huffed the Draenei, receiving the purse, huffing, and then pocketing it. “I don’t like either. But I’ve been tasked, and I don’t care what you think.”
“That’s good.”
“Good?” asked Iruno, certainly raising an eyebrow in surprise at the remark.
“Yes. Good. Because I don’t care about what you think either,” grumbled the Worgen, waving his hand and moving on to another stall. “You have been a pain in my ass. Why would I?”
“You little-“
“Sirs! Would you enjoy my fire-wine?”
“Oh, yes, of course!”
Lyam smiled, smacking his head while a farmer, someone who wasn’t about to sell his swill to any noble, dunked a mug into an open casket and offered them to drink.
“You’ll… Drink that poison?” huffed Iruno.
“M’sir! I’ll tell you, my wine is respectable!” replied the Farmer, frowning.
“It’s not that I care about whether the wine is good or not; it is that you dare not to observe the rules of hygi-“
“Can you shut up?” asked Lyam, going for a swing.
It was definitely swill. Not something you’d order for a noble, or you’d find in the Archbishop’s collection. But Lyam licked his lips, enjoying the fruity taste and the acrid touch. It wasn’t noble or fully fermented. But Lyam smiled, handing the mug back.
“It is pretty good. Maybe I’ll take a bottle,” he said to the Farmer whose face gleamed.
“Let me try that,” interrupted Iruno, grabbing the half-empty mug also to taste it.
Definitely, the Paladin wasn’t used to such drinks because his eyes widened and he coughed into his fist, attracting the eyes of the crowd while he was spitting his lungs out.
“Yes. That’s a very strong brew!” said the Farmer, grinning and certainly enjoying Iruno’s pain as much as Lyam.
“Strong? You could kill someone with it,” grumbled Iruno.
“Kill? How dare you! I would let you know this wine is better than the plonk we get from the Azuremyst Isles!”
“Plonk… What?”
“It means it’s disgusting wine,” said Lyam, leaning to whisper to the irate Paladin.
“Plonk? How could you say it’s plonk! Telaari Wine is much better than anything here!”
Lyam almost wanted to smile as he watched the well-dressed Paladin go on a tangent about the quality of beverages from Stormwind and beyond.
For the last hour, the Paladin had been hounding the Priest, almost going toe to toe while constantly grumbling and commenting on anything Lyam was doing. To the point that the Priest felt like he couldn’t even breathe without receiving a harsh comment from Iruno.
A disappointing situation that had also been hindering Lyam as he looked around, and then stepped away from the Wine vendor.
For most of the morning, they’d been sticking to the merchant district and the main avenue. As such, nothing the Priest could have been searching for.
“Time for some snooping,” huffed Lyam as he straightened up and gave the Draenei the slip, just so he could start sniffing around the back alleys.
Once there, the ambiance was different. Food was replaced by rusty tools, drinks by dubious beverages. And even the merchants glared at him while he peeked at the strange books. Books he observed, sometimes picking one as he tried to follow a trick he’d learned from a fellow who’d been a Warlock all along: ‘Knowledge isn’t always in the circles’.
Sometimes, stumbling on a grimoire sold on the streets was the solution, thanks to how many lugubrious old men died in their offices, leading to their work being burned or sold on the streets.
It was almost fascinating as Lyam was going through some books and finding mage formulas or texts about spellcasting that ought to be stored in a mage’s tower. And yet, here it was as he snooped… Trying to get a feel of the books.
Some had residual auras. Some had none. Some looked as though they were so old they’d belong to another century. Others? Well, the white-furred Worgen could only be curious about some unfinished grimoire.
“You’re gonna buy?” asked a gruff Worgen holding the stand, an old one who had scars and looked like he wasn’t in his best financial situation. “I’m not a library.”
“I don’t think so,” mumbled Lyam, dropping the book he’d been reading back onto the stack.
Next, the old Worgen grumbled, reached for that book to align it properly on his stall before he sat back on his stool, while grumbling in Lyam’s direction.
“M’fucking exhibitionist.”
“What?”
Lyam blinked, watching that old man glaring back at him, before he crossed his arms and straightened his back.
“What?”
“What did you call me?”
“Hrmph, n’thing. Move along,” huffed the Vendor.
“You called me an exhibitionist. Why’s that?”
“What? You asking me that when you’re buttnaked in public? Oh… Yeah.”
Lyam blinked, his mouth opening as he watched the Worgen lean back, open his legs wider, and snap his fingers. For a moment, there was a green shimmer around them.
The same in those eyes before the Worgen lasciviously grabbed his groin.
“See? I can do a veil, too. Not so fucking impressive.”
“You… Can see me?”
“Yeah. Anyone with an eye for Fel-magic can. What?”
Lyam blinked again, watching as the smug Worgen now frowned and then leaned forward again.
“What? You thought you’d be impudent? Tsh. Fucking new warlocks. Anyone with a good eye like ours can see through. And… Damn. You got quite a few marks. You traded your genitals for power or what?”
Now, the Priest was hiding his groin, feeling flustered and ashamed as he tried to look away.
“I didn’t do that. But if you can see. Who else-?” asked Lyam. But he stopped mid-track and stepped around the stall, eliciting a befuddled expression from the old Worgen. “You’re a Warlock. Could you tell me where I could find someone like you?”
“Like… “
The vendor’s expression definitely went to surprise when Lyam grabbed his hands, joining them while leaning forward.
“I might need your help. Do you know any warlock who could help someone?”
“Yeah. Warlock, you could always go for the Slaughtered Lamb.”
“No, not there,” said Lyam, still clutching the Warlock’s hands, forcing them close together. “Somewhere nfew know. Especially not Demons.”
“Fuck. You’re creeping me out!” shouted the Warlock, pulling his hands away.
And so, Lyam was almost yanked forward, before he recovered his posture and stood almost naked near the Warlock who eyed him up and down… Before frowning.
“What’s wrong with you? A Demon cursed you? Is that why you use a veil? You can’t wear clothes or what?”
“No!” replied Lyam, before he bit his lips and looked. The other merchants on the side streets were not even looking in their direction, which meant that the veil was working just fine. “I’m… Yes. I’m cursed. Or followed. Either way. Do you know Warlocks who could help me with… A demon invasion?”
“Warlocks who could? Pah. Prolly not.”
“You don’t know anyone? Anyone who could work for me for some gold?”
“Gold? Pah!” laughed the vendor, smacking his thighs and shaking his head. “Gold. Really.”
Lyam remained still, watching as the Warlock guffawed and laughed. Before, with a stop, he raised an eyebrow and looked at Lyam, his expression hardening.
“Shit. You’re serious. Listen. I don’t know what your thing is with your Demon invasion, but no good Warlock will work for you for gold. Crappy ones? They’ll flock you, though.”
“Not even for that much?” asked Lyam, reaching for his purse to produce enough Gold to feed a family for a year. And yet, the Worgen eyed it with a mix of envy… And disdain. “You need gold, right?”
“Not that much to be mingling with Demons once more,” said the Worgen, straightening his back and putting a hand on his knee. “Listen. Whatever your problem is, you won’t get a snap -fix solution. If it’s that urgent, go to the cathedral and pray a priest to save your ass.”
“And what if I can’t?”
“Well, tough luck,” replied the Warlock, shrugging. “You’re in for trouble. Dunno what you did to get into such deep shit. You didn’t summon a Fel lord, did you?”
Lyam’s flustered expression worsened. He didn’t know what a Fel Lord was. But if Fel meant Demons and Geruhlon was a Lord…
“You summoned a Fel Lord? Are you crazy?”
“I didn’t! It wasn’t me who summoned him!” replied Lyam, shaking his hands. “I swear!”
“Well. In that case, whoever summoned that guy must go,” mumbled the Warlock, shaking his head. “Fuck. I don’t know why you’re asking me. I’ve retired from that shit.”
Lyam looked at the Warlock up and down. At those eyes with bags, at those dirty teeth, at that mangy presence. And then, he grimaced.
“You were the first… To look competent.”
“… Competent? Me?” asked the Worgen, snarling and snorting. “I don’t know if you’ve got shit in your eyes. But if I’m the first to comment on your… Clothes. Yeah. Prolly.”
The Warlock then leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest while pondering the situation, his foot stomping on the cobblestone.
“Will you help me?”
“Me? Nether no,” replied the Warlock, laughing. “But if you want my opinion, you’d better leave.”
“I’d… better leave?” asked Lyam, tilting his head. “Why’s that?”
“Bad omens. Why do you think I’m selling that? I’m planning to leave. There are efforts to rebuild Gilneas. I’m planning to go there, or perhaps try my hand at Kul Tiras.”
“You’re planning to leave? But why?”
“I told you, bad omens. Are you deaf, son? There is something foul in Stormwind. And I’d prefer to try my luck elsewhere. Prolly it is linked to you. So you should skip town.”
“I-“
Lyam felt his neck was strangled before he reached for it… For his throat as he took a sharp breath. Then he shook his head.
“Can’t? Too bad for you,” mumbled the Warlock, waving Lyam away. “Now shoo. It’s draining to maintain a veil because you’re a noisy cunt.”
“Can’t you do anything for me? No name at all?”
“Scram.”
Lyam bit his lower lip but nodded before he stepped around the stall, ready to walk away.
“Wait.”
The Warlock’s voice was like honey for Lyam as he turned his head, feeling like he was about to smile from relief. Instead, he saw the Warlock grabbing his red cock that had come through his pants. A red knotted cock he was stroking, with greenish precum at the tip.
“You didn’t pay for reading. But you can give me a preview of that fine ass,” he said.
Lyam frowned, looking him up and down.
Definitely, that cock was almost as big as the one he had once. But the man with that associated cock? Lyam turned his back, letting him see that ass. More than that, he heard the groan from that old Warlock.
A groan that was enough to titillate the Priest as he was away, going back to the main arteries. After the last interaction, he couldn’t tell he was feeling well enough to search for a grimoire, and so, he turned, looking in the direction of nearby canals.
“Maybe a drink bre-“
“There you are!”
Lyam frowned, feeling that powerful grip land on his shoulder and the fingers digging into the muscles.
“Where were you? Were you inciting further unrest in the city?” asked Iruno.
“Unrest? Do you think that’s what I do?” huffed Lyam, reaching for the hand to brush it away, but Iruno’s fingers were like steel and hurting as they dug more into the muscles.
“I know what you’re doing with the others. That and your… Exhibitionism during the sermons. Do not act innocent. What were you doing?”
“Searching for… Books,” huffed Lyam. “Grimoires from old Warlocks. Happy?”
“You were seeking power,” mumbled Iruno, releasing the shoulder while his arm dropped by his side. “Your hunger for power will never end?”
“My… Hunger for power?” asked Lyam, snarling and glancing at the Paladin who was grimacing back. Evidently, Iruno had no respect for him, and Lyam stepped away from him, his tail tucked between his legs. “I do not know what’s into you. But…”
“But?”
Lyam grumbled, shaking his head. He didn’t know what to say; he hadn’t told them already.
“If you want to follow me, stay silent. I need a drink, something heavy.”
The Paladin huffed, but he followed as Lyam went to the old town, going for the Pig and Whistle Tavern.
Luckily enough, it wasn’t bustling, and though Kendor, the Innkeeper, recognized Lyam, Iruno attracted some glares. Glares the Worgen ignored as he sat at a table, and then snorted when Iruno went to join in, ignoring the tables of cowl-covered men.
“Sit at another table. I don’t want to be seen with you.”
“That’s your problem. I have to watch you. I already lost you once.”
Perhaps the Demon was thick-skulled. Lyam couldn’t tell him off. And if he directly insulted him, it’d be a potential source of a problem with Geruhlon. Or at least, that’s what the Worgen thought as he waited for his drink.
“… So.”
“So?” imitated Iruno, already bracing.
“Geruhlon punished you?”
“Who?” asked Iruno, tilting his head.
“Geruhlon. Don’t play stupid with me. I know you met him in the catacombs. He took you in after you attacked me,” grumbled the Worgen in a low voice.
He got the reaction he desired as the Paladin’s eyes squinted. The arms were crossed, but the fingers twitched as if he were about to close them into a tight fist.
“If you want to gloat, do that. But you won’t get my anger.”
“More like, I want you to tell me you’re sorry for what you’ve done.”
“I won’t,” said the Draenei, tense. “Drop it.”
Lyam’s ears dropped, but still. He accepted the silence and, next, the mug of beer he nursed before he sighed. Drinking was one of his guilty pleasures. And the taste of the acrid beer was something he enjoyed as he sighed and reclined on his chair, one arm thrown over the back.
“Is that why you always leave after the sermons? To drink? I presumed you were pillaging the Archbishop’s reserves.”
Again, sourness.
Lyam’s brows dropped, and he huffed before turning his head towards Iruno.
Now, that was it. Anyone in the Inn could feel the tension from the two, and the few dwarves were giving Lyam and Iruno a wide berth. Even those wearing cloaks were eyeing them, though Lyam focused on the Paladin while pointing his index finger at him.
“Do not ask me about that again. I told the original that I would drink every Sunday. And I don’t care if someone like you decides to… Police me.”
“Police you? That’s cheap,” grumbled Iruno, rolling his eyes. “But I understand now how long you’ve been playing that game?”
“Playing that game? I’ve been running that whole Church while you were having fun,” grumbled Lyam into his drink. “Not a sorry.”
“Running the Church? You? You’re ruining it from the inside, like a poison.”
“A poison? A poison?” scoffed Lyam, his ears straightening as he raised his mug, ready to slam it.
But before he could, he heard a cough.
Not someone interrupting voluntarily, but enough for Lyam to look at the nervous onlookers, at those who could be workers, casual drinkers, or merely travelers. Even Kendor was tense, ready to grab something from behind the counter.
And so, Lyam stopped, lowered the Mug and glared at the Draenei.
“This is not over. But if you’ve got a problem, go tell Geruhlon. I am through with you.”
The Draenei eyed him, the mug. Then the onlookers before he, too, relaxed. His arms uncrossed. His shoulders dropped, and as Lyam returned to watching his drink, he heard the sound of the chair scooting away, giving the Worgen relief.
And peace as he closed his eyes and finished his mug, before ordering another.
At least he could return to the Church tipsy, and that would be a good excuse to stay hidden in his room rather than to face the Cardinals or the piles of messages he’d have to answer diplomatically. His mood was definitely soured.
And it remained so, even as the Sun raised and the Worgen heard footsteps at his door. He’d heard the hooves stomp before, with Iruno going around. Then, he’d heard the assistants muttering at the door.
But this time, whoever knocked was far more insistent for the Priest, who rolled like a petulant child on his bed.
“I need time to recuperate!” he shouted, like a kid shouting he was too sick to leave bed to work in the fields.
Yet he rolled, trying to ignore the knocking while he pondered the situation. While he tried to shut his eyes so forcefully, he’d cut the world away from him.
So he could think. Relax as he signed and tried to make sense of it.
Something had been nagging him since yesterday. Perhaps it was the Warlock’s words or something else?
Something else he couldn’t read or understand. As he took another deep breath, the door rattled from the constant knocking until there was no other option but for him to stand on his feet again.
And to go to the door, to open it on the same young Priest who’d been hounding him in the last days. Same soft face, babyface, and same smile whenever he looked at the Priest up and down.
“Good. You are prepared. We must ensure this sermon will be great.”
“Hum? Why is that?” asked Lyam, tilting his head and stepping out, while scratching his shoulder. “This is no important day.”
“Yes. But I so heard from the Cardinals that the Archbishop is about to return.”
“Is he?” asked Lyam, tilting his head and yet finding that the young Priest nodded.
Emphatically.
“We must have the Cathedral ready, I was told. All statues must be cleaned and polished. And… Hum. You will be demoted back to a simple Priest. I’m sorry.”
“None taken,” replied Lyam, raising his hand and yet approaching the Transept while almost dragging his feet. But he could certainly feel that nervous energy in the air.
The other priests were running amok, carrying new candles, cleaning supplies, and even paint to give the altars a clean-up. Lyam? He was the odd one out, feeling oddly unfazed. Even as he was at the Apse, his hand was running on the wooden pulpit that had been cleaned off. He observed the clearer spot where he used to put the Libram. And then, he turned to a recently entering group.
The Cardinal Ervron was at the front, handing out orders like pamphlets before he noticed Lyam and offered the Worgen a smile. He even waved at him with that saccharine attitude before he scampered away for a reason.
Lyam?
He was back naked at the altar, watching the empty benches with all the priests chattering around. But not a prayer, as if they were all preparing for something.
And then… His fur bristled.
“What are you planning?” asked Lyam, whispering.
“The return of the Archbishop. Isn’t it that bad?” asked Geruhlon’s voice.
His fingers were also on Lyam’s posterior and nipples, giving each a lick of appreciation while the Worgen endured it with a tense grip on the altar.
“You told me you wouldn’t step up as the Archbishop. That so long as I followed the orders, nothing bad would happen to him.”
“Nothing bad happened to him. He willingly gave me the title. I was baptized.”
“You.. Baptized,” said Lyam, with a snarky chuckle. “What is your game?”
“My game? Isn’t it you who has a hand in this? Who lied to so many just to maintain your little pride?”
“Do not say this!” huffed Lyam, before he stopped and looked around. Some eyes were on him, and so, he turned his back on them, feigning to pray while he whispered. “You forced my hand.”
“More so, I titillated your libido,” replied Geruhlon, his fingers stroking Lyam’s testicles, rubbing against the underside. “And you answered.”
The Worgen huffed and grimaced, still as he pressed his hands together.
“So, what will it be? What will become of me?”
“This depends on your actions, Priest. The status quo is gone. But you could stay. Instead of planning to leave.”
“I won’t abandon the Cathedral.”
“Then? What was that talk with that old Worgen, yesterday? Were you having cold feet?”
“I… This doesn’t matter. It was only a talk. Why does it bother you? He told me he’d leave, but I wouldn’t.”
A pause. A moment of pondering. Of silence, the Priest picked up.
“What is this? Did I surprise you? I won’t abandon my faith, like you.”
“Mayhaps. I admit… I would love to see you play more. Little Head Priest.”
Lyam’s ears straightened, guided by a touch. By a hand stroking his ears and teasing them, playing with them, pulling on them despite Lyam’s tense attitude. And then, his ears were let go, and he exhaled.
“I am not playing. Fiend. And I will continue to search for a solution to your presence.”
“Please do. Keep searching. Keep hounding the Warlocks and other casters so they can chase me. But they won’t be able; you’re only throwing corpses at the problem.”
Lyam wanted to scoff, and he almost did, before the sound came like a deflated balloon while his shoulders dropped.
“I can hear your disappointment.”
“And I can hear you want something from me. What is it?” asked Lyam, eyeing behind him to see the Cardinals in the distance, seemingly talking and then eyeing him, laughing in his direction.
“I have something prepared for you. Join me in the catacombs.”
“And what about the celebration? About the Archbishop’s return?”
“This can wait. I have the priority. Don’t you think?”
Lyam’s teeth clenched, grinding together while he imagined his escape for a moment. It was pointless, and so, he stepped away from the Altar, only to feel something… To glance at the Church’s atmosphere and feel like all that gold, all those cleaned altars, were nothing but a farce.
Even as he passed by them, watching the gold inlay given a second life, the Worgen only felt it was an ostentatious display, something to satisfy the Demons’ ego, Geruhlon among them.
However, he followed the order and stepped away.
The Priests interrupted him, asked him to check their work, or to confirm the Cardinals’ nonsensical orders about using so much gold inlay everywhere, or pulling every relic from the vault.
To each, the Worgen answered by shaking his head and telling the Priests to follow every order while his march guided him to the Catacombs. And as he approached them, he saw fewer priests. Until he saw none, not even… A Paladin.
A surprising sight, but he accepted it as he descended, finding himself drawn to the dark tunnels while the distant flames echoed his steps. By the muffled whispers.
By the hooves stomping on the ground.
Only one cell seemed occupied and open, basically one of the biggest. One Lyam dreaded to see, but he approached it, leaned against the door, and then… Gasped.
“The Hell is he doing here?” swore the Priest, only for Geruhlon to turn towards him and shush him.
The Doomguard was naked as usual, exposed, without his glamour.
But as he shushed, it was almost intimate. Almost a sign of care that continued when he beckoned Lyam to approach in silence.
“Do not interrupt such a faithful, Lyam.”
“A faithful?” whispered the Worgen back, huffing. “He is… … What is he doing?”
“He repents.”
Geruhlon’s voice was suave as he stood behind Iruno. As the Worgen approached, he could see it.
The large and hulking Paladin, the warrior of the Light, had been a pain in the Worgen’s ass. Naked, exposed, disrobed. No armor, no clothes, nothing covered that skin covered with clearer scars. Nothing hid that powerful back with the flail, leaving gashes on it while the Paladin was muttering and mumbling something: prayers.
Prayers he recited in a mantra as he was punishing himself, beating his chest and back bare, the lashes leaving throbbing marks… Which would join the many adornments that chiseled body, covered with a faint hint of hair.
Lyam watched it, watched that blue blood drip from the wounds. He observed the tension in those legs. The way they quivered, the way those thighs hardly supported the Draenei’s weight and posture. And how… Naked as he was, the Draenei was impaled on a dildo made in the likeness of Geruhlon’s cock.
A similar Dildo to what Lyam had been riding. Similar to the cock that was now rubbing against his backside and smearing precum upon it.
Hands crept over the Worgen’s shoulders, dug into them, drew red blood. But the searing pain was nothing compared to the troubling sight as the Draenei was blindfolded and had his ears plugged. Yet, he held his head raised as he prayed.
“Light! Save us! Save us all! Save us from this torment!”
“What is he… Doing?” asks Lyam, gulping and uneasy.
He'd always hated Iruno’s guts. He’d seen that bastard as a nagging presence, then as a demon. But here he was. Naked, wounded and wounding… And yet, impaling his body on a dildo, both praying and yet moaning from the sensations as that vibrating cock was plunging deeper into his ass.
“Only seeking repentance. Even though he shall not find any,” whispered Geruhlon. “How do you feel about it?”
“What do I feel? I…” Lyam stopped, eyeing the Demon. “What have you told him?”
The moment the question was asked, the Demon chuckled. Next, his features were shifting, covered by a thin veil, while the fel-riddled veins disappeared. And so were the scars, the marks, the leathery skin to wear instead a face that wasn’t his: a soft, smiling, and eager face.
“Nothing much. Or rather, I listened to his troubles,” replied Geruhlon, speaking with the Archbishop’s voice while his fingers drifted away.
The Demon stepped around the Draenei before the human fingers approached the shoulders to touch them, making the Draenei stop.
“Arch-Archbishop. How long… How long should I repent?” asked Iruno.
A remark, a question so earnest, the Worgen trembled and quivered. There was something sick, distasteful. Even inflicted upon Iruno.
“How long have you been lying to him? What does he know?”
“Nothing much,” replied Geruhlon, his fingers stroking the Draenei’s right cheek, eliciting a gasp. “He believes you are the Demon who infiltrated the Church. He doubts the Cardinals, too. But it seems your last discussion has troubled him.”
“Ho- How?” asked Lyam, stepping back, gulping.
“He asked me if my words about you were true. If it was right to treat you like a Demon. His faith faltered. But he still follows my orders,” said Geruhlon as he stroked the Draenei’s cheeks.
“He is gullible. He thinks I am praying to undo those accursed runes,” said Geruhlon, eyeing the many marks etched in the stone. Before his eyes were towards Lyam, with that eerie glow. “But we know what will end. Do you? Priest? Or should I have him know everything?”
Lyam stopped, his mouth slightly agape, and yet closed when the Archbishop’s finger pushed against his chin… And then, the Doomguard’s digits stroked his neck.
“What do you think?”
“… What?” asked Lyam, his mind gone blank for a second. He recoiled. “What do I think?”
“What do you think about Iruno? He is afraid you will do something stupid at this ceremony. Even if he doesn’t know anything.”
“What will I do? Well, he needs to kn-“ replied Lyam, extending one hand towards Iruno.
However, the Demon’s hand gripped his wrist while clicking his tongue.
“Not so fast.”
The hand was released, and Lyam brought him closer while the Demon circled Iruno again, with the Paladin pinching his nipple and riding that dildo, while with the flail, he continued to hurt his body, to cover it with scars.
“Another… Gift?” asked Lyam, unsure to ask.
“A conundrum,” said Geruhlon, his finger going to his mouth, while with his human fingers, he reached and removed the Draenei’s earplug.
“Ar- Archbishop? Was it enough? Do I need to repent more?” asked Iruno.
“Repent? No. You are not done, my child. But please, you told me you had revelations about the Demon. Which is it?”
“I-“ gasped the Paladin, stopping his legs as he had more than half of the Dildo inside him. “He was talking to a mage, I was certain. Or a warlock. I cannot be sure, but he was conniving with one. I couldn’t hear anything because I was too far away, and they had a veil. But that Demon must have cultists under his sway.”
“Can you prove it?”
“P-Prove it? I’m not sure,” mumbled Iruno, his head low. He reached for the blindfold, only to be stopped by the Archbishop’s hand. “I saw him acting strangely and attempting to flee from me. Worse, he has been flippant since I caught him. I don’t know. I threatened him, but it wasn't enough to stop him. We must do something.”
“Good,” replied the Archbishop.
“Good?” asked Iruno again. “Should… Should I continue?”
“You shall”, confirmed the Archbishop, the plugs led against the ears before Iruno positioned them. But for good measure, Geruhlon checked them before his eyes, soft towards the Paladin, shifted. And then, that mischievous smile went to Lyam.
His body betrayed his pleasure, down to his cock slipping out of that sheath and dripping with hellish precum.
“You fed him lies. He thinks it’s all my fault,” said Lyam, clenching his fists. Fists that approached the Paladin, before a hand gripped his wrist again.
“But I did not. I told him you had been cavorting with Demons and, at best, working with them. He concluded you were a Demon, thanks to all the Fel and the scent surrounding you. But you could fix this… By telling him it is all a lie.”
Lyam gulped, approaching his hand again, and feeling the restriction.
“But then. What will it be? Do you think he can fight me? Do you think You can fight me? And what of the others?”
Lyam’s arm trembled, finding the Demon’s grip like steel. And the green eyes glimmered with uncontained malice.
“And if you did. What about the truth? The reality of the situation? Who summoned me? Who helped me? And how long,” said Geruhlon, relaxing his hand. “You know how difficult it was for you to come here. How much you’ve been longing to forget your past. Even if it comes back.”
“Fine!” huffed Lyam, bringing his arm back to himself. “You’ve made your point. And so what? I… I have to lie to him? To… Continue to be his villain? To be… The monster?”
“No. You must do something worse,” said Geruhlon, approaching Lyam and passing a finger against his waist, stroking the fur. “Something you have been desiring for so long.”
“What… What could I have desired?” mumbled Lyam, but he could feel the Doomguard looming closer.
And then, the hands grabbed his posterior.
The digits played with his buttcheeks, prying them apart while the claws approached Lyam’s posterior, making him feel warm. And warm as they sank inside his hole without eliciting pain… As they stretched his entrance, teased it… Abused it.
And Lyam moaned, echoed by the grunts and growls from Iruno continuing his prayers and mantra…
Right by a righteous man who’d been lied to all along. And one who wasn’t even aware of the truth happening but a few feet away. Of the Worgen whose hole was fingered, stretched, and played with by a Demon. A lustful, yearning, and perverted Demon.
“You will help me… Break him.”
Lyam gulped, but something inside him cheered at the idea. At watching Iruno. Observing the Draenei moan again while impaling that muscular ass on the dildo.
It would protect him, and yet. There was also a vindication, a desire to mess with him.
Circumstances were against Iruno, and yet… At the same time, there was a pleasure in seeing him lessened much like how he’d lessened him, how he’d messed with him. Even strangled him.
An anger that soared inside him, like a fire. Like the fire he’d experienced during the prayer, no different from any other, as he smiled. As his lips curled and he could feel the Demon’s grip upon his throat, caressing it.
“You merely have to follow the script.”