Admiral Jaina Proudmoore stood in her rowboat, eyes locked on the nearby Horde vessel. All around them was the vast, open sea. Just as they had agreed, there were only the two ships present at this diplomatic meeting, the Alliance ship behind her, and the Horde ship before her. The newly created Horde council, which was a great leap forward from their traditional warchief rule, was willing to discuss the re-building of Theramore. This fragile peace had brought with it new potentials for diplomacy. As the little dingy came near the large, red-sailed ship, a rope ladder was lowered for her and the two Alliance guards escorting her.
She shot the guards a look, both dressed in armor and tabards of blues and white. They looked worried. "No need to worry, men, these are times of peace." She offered them her warmest smile.
She felt it the moment she stepped onboard. An anti-magic field of some kind was slammed into place, cutting her off from her arcane power.
"What is the meaning of this?" She asked confused, eyes searching the crowd before her. Orcs, trolls, goblins, undead, and tauren stood in a semi-circle and watched her. Anticipation was thick in the air. She heard her escorts clutch their blades at either side of her. Don't do anything rash, she thought.
"Welcome to the Wavebreaker," came a voice. The crowd parted to give way to a large, brown orc. He was bald and his tusks were large and bound in iron. His gaze was hard as steel, but she thought she saw amusement in his face too. She was used to this game; males would posture and puff their chests, but, whether through a silken touch or well-reasoned argumentation, she always won out in the end. "I am Ogmash, the warchief of the new Horde," spoke the great orc.
Jaina was taken aback. The surprise must have shown on her face because the audience laughed out loud. She gathered herself. "What about the council? I thought there were no more warchiefs?"
"The Horde has grown weak. The council is dead, Admiral, and we will bring the Horde back to its former glory." He whistled and she heard crossbows firing. Stupefied, she saw her guards be turned to pincushions. One fell back over the gunwale to splash into the ocean below. The other fell back with a grunt, eyes staring into nothingness.
"What the – our new alliance! You will not get away with this," Jaina shouted at the crowd. Then she caught their eyes. They were looking at something in the distance. She turned to see her ship burning, being assailed by bat-mounted attackers. It was set ablaze and sinking.
"You have to help them," she yelled, spinning to face the orc who called himself warchief.
He was standing right in front of her, towering several heads above her.
"How dare you."
Two green orcs flanked her, grabbing hold of her arms. Ogmash took hold of her chin, lifting her face to meet his. Her eyes were frozen pools. "I will never call you warchief. You have no claim to the seat."
"We shall see," he simply responded. His fist hit her belly, knocking the air out of her, and hunching her over. The orcs threw her to the ground. She struggled to catch her breath. Before she knew what was happening, she felt a dozen hands grabbing at her. Her cloak, robes, and staff were ripped away. She was lifted into the air. The world spun. They placed her on a table, laying on her back. Massive hands spread her arms and legs to the side, holding her firmly in place. Ogmash seized her panties and gave them a violent tug. The string dug into her slit before snapping off. The orc put the ripped piece of silk to his nose and sniffed deeply. "Ah, the scent of victory. For the Horde!" The onlookers erupted into feral cheers.
"How dare you? I am a powerful mage," she coughed, still fighting to breathe.
A heavy hand was placed on her throat as well, making her head hang off the table. Ogmash walked around it to stand before her head. "Time to shut this Alliance bitch up." From his pants he produced a humongous cock. Brown as he was, its veiny length pointed at her face.
She clamped her jaw shut. With her arms and legs pinned and a hand upon her throat, it was the only defense she could muster. I can't believe it. Please, somebody, anybody, help. The tip of his fleshy spear pushed against her tight-lipped mouth. She did not relent. Another fist hit her stomach, making her grunt. But her mouth remained sealed.
"She is a fierce one," the orc laughed.
Someone pinched her nose shut. She tried to twist away from those fingers. If she could just get them away for a moment, she could get some air and keep up her ward. Her throat spasmed in a desperate search for air that wasn't there. Black spots flew past her vision. She was cramping against the vice grip of her violators. Then she opened her mouth to breathe in greedily, only, the rigid cock was pushed into her mouth. Attempting to draw breath, the dick was partly forced, partly sucked down her gullet. A sweaty and hairy ball sack flopped atop her face, spreading like a soggy dough to cover her nostrils and eyes. The smell of unwashed taint retrieved from a stinking loincloth was unbearable in itself, but worse was the fact that she had only been able to sip a tiny bit of air before the slick member had sealed her throat completely. Her labored struggles to inhale only slurped the cock down deeper. She tried to close her jaw around the massive trouser snake, but it was too thick and too rigid for her to make a dent. The orc must have noticed, though, as a fist hit her belly with brutal force. Had she had air in her lunges, the breath would have been knocked out of her, but she only spasmed.
She gasped as the giant withdrew from her windpipe. Through pure instinct, she sucked in air in rapid, uncontrolled heaves. "Please, I – ghh"
He re-sealed her throat. In her fight for breath, she became vaguely aware of someone positioning themselves between her forced-opened legs. Her muted screams barely escaped around the orc cock stuffed down her esophagus. She had no time to worry about the pole intruding into her pussy; it was the throttling meat that was worrying her. In her drawn-out struggle against Ogmash's member, she felt cock after cock working inside her.
"Stop… ugh… raping… ugh… me…" she managed between mouthfuls. "P-please, by the light. I yield, I yield."
The torment stopped. She was thrown from the table upon the deck, where she lay a quivering mess, hair covering her sobbing face and red eyes. Around her, an army stood discussing unspeakable things, rubbing their cocks in anticipation.
"We wouldn't want you to be hurtin' too much, witch," the warchief mocked. "Take care of her, boys."
From a pouch at his belt, he produced a greater healing potion. The body of the flask was a perfect sphere going into a slim neck and a slightly wider mouth with a cork stopper. Inside the bottle sloshed a red healing liquid.
"Th-thank you," Jaina vocalized with a feeble quaver. She hated feeling weak – hated it! She was Jaina Proudmoore, a mighty mage. She had been a leading diplomate and a fierce warrior. She had conjured impossible blizzards and forced elementals to obey her will. Now, stripped of her magic, she was a broken mess. Worse of all, she had felt the fight in her ebb at one point during the brutal assault; if she was to survive, she would need that healing potion to give her renewed strength. She would fight – she had to. "Warchief, I – wait. What are you doing?"
Orcs grabbed her legs and lifted them up. She was left pinned down, lying on her upper back and neck, ass sticking up in the air and knees pressed toward her face.
"The potion – you said – please!" That fight she had sought had transformed into pathetic begging.
The warchief simply smiled. "Oh, you'll get your potion. We want to keep you for a long time."
Using his teeth, the big orc removed the cork stopper. He went over to her while she wriggled in the iron grip of the orcs. He spit on her butthole. Then, without warning, shoved the long neck of the bottle, all the way to the sphere, far into her colon, giving her a rejuvenating enema.
"YEeeeaa! By the light!" She screamed. The red liquid of the upturned and inserted elixir leaked into her unexplored brown mine. Her belly felt heavy with the thick fluid. "You sick, green bastard. I'm going to bring the entire fleet of the Alliance down on your primitive asses. I will –"
"Do what?" The warchief asked, pushing on the bottle with a hefty hand. The intrusion of the spout had stung, but the forced insertion of the incrementally wider neck, like a rape funnel, was maddening agony.
"Nooo, please, I beg you. I won't do anything, I swear. I swear," she sobbed. The bottle's advance stopped. It hadn't gotten far but the very thought of this brutal orc pushing the entire thing inside of her almost broke her mind then and there. "I agree to your deal, whatever it is. I'll move my fleet away."
"Deal?" The warchief sounded puzzled. "I want to broker no deal. The new Horde does not negotiate with your kind. Those weaklings on the council are dead. A new rule, MY rule, is the new law. You are the first slave, soon to be followed by others like you. Once powerful, soon broken and servile. Not only hunters, but all members of the Horde shall have a pet soon. Your kin will breed a new Horde and be our playthings."
He placed himself standing on top of her, gazing down into her upturned holes, one of which was still occupied by the potion. His dick slipped in the free one, and she grunted as the sound of escaping air flapped at her cunt. He moved his legs methodically, piledriving her. Faster and faster.
"Lok'tar – Ogar! Guh!" The battle cry echoed out as he filled her with his orc juice. As he arrived, he jerked violently, pumping inordinate amounts of sludge with every spasm. Slowly, he withdrew his softening cock. The sloppy sausage slid out and thudded against the table, leaving the molested hole to gush cum. He awarded Jaina's tits a forceful slap.
"Thank you, admiral," he mocked. "Let's mark her."
She was lifted up, gunk dripping from her assaulted cunt. Two orcs flanked her, holding her wrists and arms firmly by her side, keeping her upright.
"Wh-what do you mean mark?" She stumbled.
Two hands clasped around her ankles; an orc had lain down behind her and was holding her feet to the deck.
"What do you mean mark?" She shouted at the warchief's back this time, finding a final drop of resistance within herself.
A goblin woman took an iron poker from a nearby brazier. It ended in a hot-glowing symbol. They were going to brand her… Worse still, she recognized the brand as an anti-magic rune!
"No, please! Warchief? My lord. Please. My magic, I need it!" The sobs that came out of her were animalistic.
The goblin had a broad grin as she approached the helpless mage.
"Warchief! Please! My magic can serve you. I am the most powerful mage on the continent. Please. I can – YEEEEAAAAAAHH!"
The sizzling noise of searing flesh was drowned out by Jaina's mournful wail. Smoke arose from her midsection where the brand had burnt a symbol into her belly. The crew went wild, cheering and shouting at the scorched mage. After all the creatures who had been burnt by her fireball, the orcs had turned the tables on her in an act of horrible irony. Her screaming died down and she was a mumbling mess in the orcs' hands.
"How… could… you…" she whispered. The agony was unbearable.
She looked up, shivering, only to see the goblin return with another brand. The air was filled once again by admiral Proudmoore's wails as the Horde emblem was imprinted on her left ass cheek.
"Boys! Let us share the spoils," Ogmash bellowed.
The ship set sails toward Ogrimmar. Jaina found herself in a stockade, feet shackled to the wooden deck. She had given up screaming. Given up shouting curses. Given up negotiating. Even given up begging and pleading. All she could do was grunt as the crew of the Horde ship lined up behind and in front of her in an orderly fashion, and one after the other pounded her brutally. The orcs and trolls were large and would make her grunt involuntarily. The goblins, who had to climb barrels to reach her juicer, and the blood elves' members were not as powerful, but what they lacked in massive, throbbing members and primal rage, they made up for in cruel ingenuity. Whether by irons or magic, burn marks and welts covered the mage's body once one of those races had had their turn. Worst of all, however, were the mighty taurens. The gargantuan totems they grew between their legs would give her a tribal ramming so hard it lifted her off her feet with rattling chains, tore her hole, and re-arranged her insides. But every time, just as consciousness was leaving her, she would be treated to another healing enema. After the first day, the crew had become so addicted to her tight cunt – indeed, it would tighten with the healing brew – a goblin was simply assigned to sit atop her back and change the rectal-delivered potions as soon as the liquid of one had drained into her cavity. Every single one of them took a perverse pleasure in cumming inside her, spewing their seeds deep within, in masses of sticky white. At one point, they had to put her feet in a basin to avoid making a mess on deck from the rivers of goo running down her shaking legs. Her belly bulged with the unholy mixture of liquids pumped into her holes. She had to swallow their breeding filth swiftly if she wanted a gulp of air before another rod was thrust down her throat. Some would just push all the way in when fucking her mouth and deposite their load directly down her windpipe.
As the sun rose on the third day, a city came to view. Orgrimmar was going to be a nightmare.
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Go check out a book called, "a/bejTTheReal-life gamer," if you want to read something wacky. And it's written by Random_Lore which is me....
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