Building a Better Alliance: Stormwind Cathedral
by SerynSiralas
Copyright© 2025 by SerynSiralas
Fan Fiction Sex Story: What seems, at first, a catastrophic day for Paladin-in-training Erin turns into a life-changing experience when two absurdly well-equipped kaldorei sentinels take a deep interest in her training. Both of them, at once. Fitting into Erin's ass.
Caution: This Fan Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa Mult Consensual Reluctant Hermaphrodite Shemale Fiction Fan Fiction Futanari Rough Group Sex Interracial Anal Sex Double Penetration Size .
Erin woke to the sound of the morning’s first pointless shouting match in the clogged Old Town streets below. Annoyed for a moment, she closed her eyes again and tried in vain to produce no effort at all, to convince her mind that, really, she ought to still be asleep. If only she relaxed, wiped the sticky trail of drool that ran from the right side of her mouth down to drench a patch of her pillow, and tried very hard to do, think, and feel nothing, she would be fast asleep in seconds.
Like a crack of thunder causing her body to contract protectively around itself before she even registered the overwhelming sound, she jerked awake. Sat up. The feeling of ice formed in and rapidly descended down her throat, turning into a pool of super-cooled meltwater in the pit of her stomach, anxiety settling in before the thought of what was wrong came to her. She was late. It was Friday, not Saturday, and the entire class of trainees, meant to go on to become yet another new crop of priests and paladins in service of the Light, and of Stormwind, was to gather in the cathedral and have their weekly light, indoors day. Their weekly ‘something exciting might well happen’ day.
Stumbling out of bed, removing the shirt she had slept in to don another from the pile of laundry washed four days ago, still waiting to be folded and put away, she briefly rested her hands against the top of the chest of drawers that held most of her belongings. Studied herself in the mirror. Messy, straw-colored hair pointing in seven different directions, but most of it reached her shoulders somehow, at least. She wiped her eyes, peeled her lips back from her teeth to study them briefly, and then grabbed the crude piece of wood that she used to clean them. While also trying to put on her faded, dark blue pants, hopping into one leg, and then the other.
Outside, the stream of people going to and fro, mostly to attend to their work and duties, birthed several more angry shouts, but plenty of amicable and indistinguishable conversation, too. It had been a while since anyone had been sent off, or returned home from, the Isle of Dorn, and few other hotspots remained. The city of Stormwind had found its old rhythms once more, erratic beating heart producing myriad lives, many more contented now that endless and large-scale war seemed to fade slowly into history.
Socks and sandals rapidly put on, her bleached but more bone than white robe tugged over her head as she hurried out of her little rectangle of a room, Erin maintained some hope that she might be able to slip into the morning lineup before it was noticed that she was late. If it was Mother Ellena leading the class in their studies, Erin might even be offered an understanding, only slightly chastising smile, despite her tardiness.
That thought settled in her mind, she stopped to pay for a steamed, filled bun, scarfing it down as quickly as she could while still half-running, weaving between the many people. Mostly humans, but a few allies standing out in the crowd, too: Horned draenei, towering kaldorei, dwarves and gnomes and even a few elves of varying, non-night, sorts. She could never easily distinguish the high elves from the more tame void elves, nor from the blood elves, or from whichever new strain of elf they decided to sub-divide themselves into that given year.
Erin tried to hurry, of course, but knew that the crowd was a difficult beast to manipulate or move. It moved at its own pace, and trying to shoulder and shove and slip past resulted, usually, in extremely marginal gains in exchange for scuffles and annoyances and usually at least one questing hand trying to catch a feel of some part of her that she would really rather keep to herself. So, calming her nerves, and her stormy mind, she settled into the pace set by those around her. Crossing the bridge to circle around the edge of the Dwarven District, and then another, the spires of the cathedral in the distance for a long moment, until three-story stone buildings consumed the view, leaving her with nothing more inspirational to look at than the broad back of the man in front of her.
Arriving, at last, at the steps of the cathedral, Erin mounted them two at a time, stuffing the last of the bun into her bulging mouth as she passed a guard. The relative calm of the entrance was a bad sign, but one she had expected. The morning rush of clergy, of teachers and students and the devoted come to pray, was not just winding down, but entirely done. At a somewhat more respectable, measured pace, she hurried to the left once past the redoubt of the entryway, quietly pushing open the door to the bare room, a lectern and several pews in lines before it, in which they were usually taught, and found it empty. The scent of candles that until recently burned, a mess of bags and coats and other sundry items suggested that her classmates and teacher had left but recently. To where, by what route?
Turning from the doorway, looking to one side, then the other, Erin spotted a servant of the church, an elderly woman whom she had to imagine might have either come south after the Scourge took Lordaeron, or had experienced the original sack and then rebuilding of Stormwind, and moved in her direction.
“You just missed ‘em,” the woman said, offering an apologetic smile. “Assuming you’re looking for your class?”
“I am,” Erin said. She sucked in air, trying to control her breathing after the tumultuous morning. “Where did they go?”
“Unusual morning,” the woman said. “Bunch of the tall and purple elves visiting, think they’re interested in looking at how the next crop of paladins are being trained? Practices used, something like that.”
“I see, I see,” Erin said, trying not to let bile and annoyance rise too high. “Where did they go?”
“Out, behind the cathedral, I think. For some light physical exercise, I assume? Might’ve gone east, too. Towards the Dwarven District.”
“I just came from there, I don’t think that’s where they went,” Erin said.
The woman shrugged, and perfunctorily moved the mop she held in her bony grip. “Might still catch up, it must’ve been less than ten minutes since they left.”
“Thank you,” Erin said, forcing herself to remain for just a moment, bowing her head. She turned, then, and managed exactly six steps before a clear voice rang out, calling her name.
“Erin!”
She stopped, knowing already who it was. Ulla. Dame Ulla, the paladin, the baroness-in-waiting. The most arrogant, entitled, rude--
“Squire,” Ulla said, tone more measured as she came closer, the whipcrack of her voice having successfully reined in the girl.
She always called Erin squire, even if she squired only in principle, and for the cathedral. Squired for the concept of the Light, rather than at the feet of, at the beck and call of, any individual knight or paladin. Ulla had never cared for such irrelevancies, seeming almost to delight in assigning tasks more fit for the regular servant staff and functionaries of the cathedral to the squires and adepts. To build character, Erin had once heard her say. To be as annoying and disruptive as possible, Erin had always thought. But then, if she had learned anything, it was the capacity for people to think that unfair treatment they inflicted on others somehow made them stronger, rather than more resentful. She told herself she could see just this sentiment shining righteously in the paladin’s eyes, just then, as she turned and shared her most placid, servile smile.
“Yes, paladin?”
“The cathedral has not been properly cleaned. You will have to step in,” Ulla said.
“With respect, that’s a task for the servants. I’m trying to catch up with my class.”
“You have missed them already, squire, and so you may turn your attention to the matters at hand here. The burned-down prayer candles of yesterday. Sweeping the floor,” Ulla said. “Sweeping, washing the floor, and dusting the Matron Mother’s quarters, as well.”
Erin, realizing that she was staring daggers and flame at the paladin, lowered her eyes to the stone floor. Polished by many, many years of reverent steps. She counted the gray-black impurities and fixed cracks, grinding her teeth for a long moment. When no more instructions came, she nodded, not even trying to hide just how sullen she was, mumbled something affirmative but indistinct, and set off to find a bucket for the candles.
She did not look back, not wanting to give the paladin the satisfaction of seeing her upset. When she returned, thankfully, Ulla had busied herself in some other way, hopefully doing something useful, rather than harassing the students and servants. Perhaps she would have gone out behind the cathedral to contemplate which early grave she deserved to be in. In her mind, Erin had it picked out already. The one closest the fence, right next to the trash heap.
Thus enlightened and ready to build her character, she trudged to the three-tier, blackened metal construction which held rows of candles lit by visitors to the cathedral. Many burned down and overflowed, but thankfully still largely in one shape. Before a change of supplier, she had once had to chisel away at inch-thick, hardened wax pooled in the trays meant to hold the individual candles as they burned. These new ones had the wick not quite reach the bottom, and they burned cleaner. With less mess, at least. As she picked out snuffed candles to slowly fill the bucket, Erin thus sent whoever made these new batches a kindly thought, appreciating the craft some. If she should fail to become a paladin, with her experience in the cathedral, perhaps she could become a reasonable chandler.
Depositing the bucket, two thirds full, back in its place, she took the time to refill the stocks of fresh candles for the day’s worshipers and visitors to use. Half because she ought to, and half because the paladin would notice and think of some tiring task as punishment for the transgression if she failed to do anything about it. Standing back to admire her handiwork, and then to admire the fifteen or so lit candles left in the long trays, Erin nevertheless sighed. There was satisfaction in service, in such work, but she would have much preferred to be with her class. To have learned what they learned. Were the kaldorei instructing them in some new, foreign technique that very moment, perhaps?
She had heard and read of the night elven fighting style, shaped by their forest environment, and wished she could have been there to learn. And to admire the warrior women, if she was perfectly honest with herself. They were impressive, and, perhaps a little more than impressive. Lovely? No, too tall, and feral. Attractive? She settled on that, her cheeks warming momentarily. Shook her head.
It really was a servant’s task to sweep the cathedral floor, but, more and more acknowledging that she would not join her class, Erin took to it. It was better than staring into nothing, grumbling and complaining internally at the unfairness. Which was precisely what the paladin would have wanted her to do – to rebel at the injustice, so that she could be taught some lesson. Perhaps that what is good and just is not what is convenient for oneself? That one’s own needs must take a step back for those of the community? Lessons she had been taught and learned tenfold over already.
Finishing the cathedral itself, and nearly done with cleaning the Matron Mother’s quarters, Erin stood and took a break, stretching. Relaxing her straining back, admiring the shining wet floor, the moisture evaporating slowly. Just like her chances at learning something new, something she might be unable to replicate, ever, even if she were to interrogate her teachers and classmates. Perhaps the kaldorei would remain in Stormwind, perhaps they could be sought out to teach her what she missed? Exhaling, she imagined the chance of that as similar to the chance that she would breathe that very same breath again. Nothing. Impossible.
Dusting then taken care of, Erin allowed herself another brief rest, parking her robed butt on the edge of the Matron Mother’s desk, observing the room. Historical paintings broke up the monotony of white-washed stone walls, as did a carpet. The only thing in the room of interest, not made to accommodate someone meeting in there, was a glass cabinet containing a forest of vials and jugs and jars, seemingly in a giant mess, placed here and there. The Matron Mother’s herbal and alchemical supplies. Badly in need of sorting.
Denied her day of martial learning under the tutelage of no-doubt expert and centuries-old night elf warriors, Erin could at least try to garner some goodwill. Ease the Matron Mother’s life, a little – not that the woman seemed to employ her own supplies much. But when she did, when she was called upon to concoct something, she seemed enraptured and engaged in her work. It was clearly important to her. Aid in organizing it could be what gave Erin a tiny leg up, a little notice, a little more leeway. Perhaps an understanding ear when she happened to mention the obstructions constantly put in her way, in everyone’s way, by overzealous and misguided would-be teachers like the paladin.
So, when the Matron Mother and the paladin, Ulla, came in unexpectedly, Erin was elbow-deep in the cabinet, meticulously arranging a set of fist-sized jars in two rows, by color, such that the reds were the farthest in, the yellows after, then the blues, and the greens closest to the edge. Next to those two rows were the larger jars, arranged by size and color, biggest father away. Interrupted, she nevertheless rose and faced the two entering, looking at the lintel above them, trying to keep her expression as neutrally dutiful as she could.
“Girl!”
Like a physical slap to the cheek, that one. The Matron Mother, first surprised, then clearly angry, paced over to shove Erin aside. Not move, not beckon, actually grab and move away from the cabinet which she had labored over.
“Girl, what have you been doing?”
Erin, self-assurance crumbling like a sandcastle trapped on a storm-tossed beach, tried to find a new place to settle her eyes. She dared not look at the Matron Mother, nor at the paladin. Fidgeted with her fingers for a moment, before she captured one hand in the safe, constricting grasp of another, so as to prevent the incessant movement. She opened her mouth, closed it, eyes flitting to Ulla, and then to the floor.
“Organizing, Matron Mother,” Erin said. “I thought I’d—”
“You thought you knew how to do this better than me, adept. Yes?”
“I ... no,” Erin stumbled over her words, mind racing. Had she just assumed she understood the woman? That she could just improve what seemed a mess. Perhaps it had been the kind of mess made by someone who remembers and can retrace their every moment. Find a single, specific report in a pile of papers two foot tall. Was that the Matron Mother? She took in a breath, and then nodded. “I’m sorry, Matron Mother. I wanted to help.”
“No doubt,” the woman said. Somehow, she managed to combine both kindly understanding and piercing, singular annoyance in those two words. “With such ardor, perhaps your passion for helping those around you ought be channeled where it is better suited. Paladin?”
“Matron Mother?” It was Ulla, so far silent, remaining in the doorway.
“The squire wishes to help. Perhaps you will show her to the gray chamber, where she can demonstrate her zeal for cleaning and organizing for the whole day?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ulla said.
Erin’s heart sank, carving out a hollow in her chest that was then occupied by an opaque, clear feeling of, not cold, precisely, but something that was not of her own body. It sank, slowly, spreading, manifesting in little pinpricks of gooseflesh around her body. Her cheeks, her forearms. She took a breath, and felt as if the strange thing pressed on her chest, making it harder to breathe.
“Come, squire,” Ulla said.
“Yes ... ma’am,” Erin replied, after a moment.
She had to breathe in again, had to uproot herself. That feeling in her chest, the foreign pressure that made it difficult to suck in air, to think, it was a kind of weighted blanket that kept her in place. Erin had to shake her head and consciously force her right foot to lift, to move forward, and to begin pacing after the paladin. Whatever she had intended, she had accomplished something much worse. The Matron Mother’s annoyance with her. Noticed for her apparent arrogance, and banished for a whole day to what amounted to the worst non-corporeal punishment available to those of rank in the cathedral to dole out to their students and inferiors.
The gray chamber, so named for its lack of real windows, only three arrow slits allowing slivers of light into the bare room, was up high in one of the spires of the cathedral, facing east. Placed to allow someone to keep watch on the eastern mountains, what it amounted to was the perfect catch for the occasional eastern wind to blow the endless, fine-grained, black-and-gray ash of the Searing Gorge and Burning Steppe and Blackrock Mountain directly into it. Gathering on the floor, in the corners, clinging to every square inch of the sparse furniture of the place. Grating in joints and between teeth within minutes of stepping into the place. The ash was constantly replenished, too, carried from the volcanic plains and wastelands, and so, there was an endless task available for the endlessly misbehaving students and servants of the cathedral.
“Sweep, and then wash the floor. Clean the benches,” Ulla said, having escorted Erin to the little square of hell built into the cathedral. “I will be back for you tonight. I expect the place to shine.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Erin said.
She refrained, at least, from digging the hole she found herself in deeper, refrained from commenting on how she might sweep the grit up and wash the floor, and thus do nothing but create a tough mud that would cling to every surface all the more. She did not talk of how clearing the ash clinging to the twin benches left in the room, in case anyone actually had to stay there to watch and guard, would only make the surface of them more raw, more suitable for catching more of the stuff as soon as it came in, windborne. Instead, Erin nodded. She waited for the paladin to leave, and then she fetched a broom, and a mop, and a bucket half-full of water.
Dragging each item into the room, she pushed the door until it shut, and then found a seat on the smooth bench nearest her. Sanded down over the course of months, and years, it would eventually collapse. But, until it did, it would be at once the smoothest and the grittiest furniture in the cathedral. Erin sighed out a breath, leaning her head back against the wall, and closed her eyes. Gathered her hands in her lap. Each one still trembled, just so.
Put herself opposite a skilled opponent with practice weaponry, a teacher or another squire from her class, and she would not shiver or shake for an instant. Locked in, ready, gauging when the next movement would come, where it would go, whether it would be an attack, or a feint for another attack. Put her in the Matron Mother’s quarters, and, apparently, she would immediate screw everything up. With explosive force, she breathed out her mouth such that she sputtered, trying to clear the small specks of ash already settled there. It had to be intentional, the whole thing. Otherwise, why not cover up the arrow slits until needed, so that the room would not gradually fill with ash?
Despite the obvious futility of it, eventually, Erin stood. Grasped the broom, and began sweeping the room, rapidly gathering a pile of gray and black specks which amounted to the size of her fist. And then a little more. She cracked the door open, swept it out into the hallway, and then dipped the mop into the ashen water, dragging it across the floor. Scraping grains of gray sand against the flat, worn stone. It seemed, soon enough, that she was more smearing a thin layer of extremely fine mud across the floor rather than cleaning it, but that was the task given to those sent to the gray chamber. Sweep. Mop. Wait. Sweep again. Mop again. Repeat.
The door opened. Without knocking, someone, who had approached the room in near total silence, entered. An extremely tall someone, who had to bow under the lintel to get inside, despite the free room beneath it being some seven feet.
Erin, having taken a shocked step back at first, took another step away from the door. From the towering, powerfully-built, twin kaldorei who entered, one seeming almost a mirror, a copy, of the other. There was something relaxed about the way they looked around the bare room which put her at ease, even though the two that entered put her in mind of ever so slightly starved, predatory lynxes. Or sabers, perhaps, more appropriately. The enormous mounts of the kaldorei.
The two of them, Erin reasoned, had to be twins, so alike were they. The only real differences were those that time inevitably inflicted. A scar here, on one, missing from the other. But they both had verdant, strikingly green hair, one in a very short, pixie-like cut, the other a tight ponytail. Golden yellow, luminous eyes, faded green markings wrapping over striking, sharp features. One, the one with short hair, had what seemed like a pair of glaives tattooed on her face, the other one, the ponytail, bore spread wings. Both of them easily cleared seven and a half feet, at least by Erin’s estimation. Whatever they were, they had two feet on her, as far as she could tell. Putting her face to face with the carven, statue-like abs of both, the clarity with which she could take them in suggesting that notion of both being slightly starved hunters.
Erin’s gaze shifted down, and she saw what the drunken tavern rumors had whispered she might. Strong thighs, and absolutely colossal bulges, reaching from each warrior-elf’s groin, to their knee, down along one leg. She took an audible breath, swallowing meekly, running her tongue over her lips before raising her gaze to look at the two with more respect. The fact that a people so wrought to be brutally efficient killers had ever suffered defeat reminded her of the quality of the enemies she might, herself, one day face. And that she had missed the martial lesson they could have imparted upon her, while she cleaned and swept and mopped. She sent a hostile thought in the paladin’s direction, and then parted her lips to speak.
“Uh,” Erin said, her mind failing to produce the words she had always just trusted would come out, mostly right, whenever she decided to speak. The kaldorei were very tall. Physique shaped to rend and tear, no doubt, but also to wrap arms around someone, and protect them. She shook her head, trying again. “Uh...”
“You will want to know why we are here, I expect?” The first one, the one with the short hair, spoke.
“Introduce yourself first,” said the other one, elbowing the first in the side before turning to Erin to speak. “I am Dana,” she said. Softening and stretching the first a, so that it sounded rather more like Dahna. “To you, at least. Humans most often prefer to shorten names, rather than pronounce them in full, yes?”
“And I am Rana,” the first one broke in. Similarly softening the first a.
“Rana and Dana,” Erin said. She wet her lips once more, the cooling effort of evaporating saliva just enough of a jolt that her mind, and her mouth, started working again. “What’s ... how come you’re here? Yes, I-- I’d like to know. I mean, I’m sure you have good reason, just—”
“Our unit came to the cathedral to instruct your class in close quarters combat, as it is done across the ocean. On Kalimdor,” Rana said. “We were told that their most promising student was missing, and so, our Lieutenant sent us back here, so that you might also receive this vital knowledge.”
“Naturally,” Erin said, her voice thick, half stuck in her throat. Her cheeks burned, and no matter where she moved to, she seemed to have to look up to maintain eye contact with the two. “Here? The gray chamber isn’t the best—”
“Here will do,” Dana said. “Here, or your own chamber?”
“I’m not sure we could all fit in there,” Erin said.
“Perhaps you can fetch a mat? The demonstration will end up with at least one person on the floor,” Rana said.
“Yes, I mean-- yes. Of course,” Erin said. She glanced around, desperately, as if someone, anyone, might materialize to tell her what to do. To leave the two large, almost hypnotic kaldorei behind. Or to indulge them. When no one came, she swallowed, and realized that her chest was rising and falling rapidly. She was too agitated. “Yes,” she said again, and then moved towards the door, having to push her back all the way up against the wall to pass one of the twins without touching them.
When she returned with a rolled-up mat, they were still there. Sat upon a creaking, complaining, sanded-down bench, clearly not made for two such huge predators. Hunters, who seemed entirely too at ease. Especially considering how prominent those monstrously thick shafts were – did kaldorei always walk around so? Erin did not think so. Did they do it just for the demonstration, whatever it would entail? She unfurled the mat, arranging it in the middle of the room, and then stood, back to the arrow slits, grasping her left elbow in her right hand. Feeling terribly small, and fenced in. The door opposite, next to the two sentinels. No doubt, she could leave if she wanted to, and, almost, she did. On a knife-edge, she balanced storming out with some mumbled excuse against remaining. Not being able to decide was, itself, a decision, and so she stayed.
“Sit,” Rana said. She indicated the other bench. “We will relax a little before we begin.”
The suggestion, command, natural assumption that she could or should suggest to Erin what to do made some small part of her raise its hackles. That persistent presence at the back of her mind which always insisted on being stubbornly opposite, which she had spent many an occasion taming, which she expected to continue to have to work to tame for the rest of her life. Almost, then, she remained standing. It was a harmless suggestion, and one that would make her more comfortable. With the two elves, with her situation. Really, this was what she wanted, was it not? What she had been annoyed the whole day at missing. It was just unusual to see kaldorei in the cathedral, but then, perhaps there was an unspoken ban in the name of propriety, given the complete lack of shame on display. She sat, and tried to appear grateful for the rest, rather than openly examining the two.
Each sentinel leaned against the wall behind them, unabashedly displaying their physique. The toned, pleasing curves of strong arms, the ridges of abs, and the suggestion of powerful thighs resting within their trousers. They had enough modesty, or perhaps prudence if it came to combat, to wear a top that covered most of their ribs, and their chests, but left their arms largely free. Another thing to be either jealous of, or thankful to avoid, Erin thought, her eyes straying to the head-sized bust of one of the elves. Rana. No, Dana? She whipped her eyes away when one of them seemed to notice.
“Your prowess is considerable, according to your fellow squires,” Rana said.
It was Rana, Erin decided, because of the short hair. Even with differing hairstyles, it was hard to tell one from the other. Then again, she had sinfully focused on other things than trying to imprint the tiny differences in each elf on her memory, so as to tell them apart. Instead, she was rather more able to distinguish them by the nicks and marks upon their bodies. One had a long, slightly more pink-ish than purple line down the right flank, an ages-old scar. The other did not, but, in turn, had what looked like an old puncture wound right above the belt, which naturally lead Erin’s eyes to sink down and find the monstrously thick curve of the kaldorei’s dick. Rana’s.
Blinking, she tore her eyes away, fastening them instead upon the wall between the two warrior women. Nodded, then, only half remembering what had been said.
“Yeah, I ... I suppose so.”
“Were they wrong? The skilled are usually more assured, though mercifully less prone to arrogance.”
“No, they’re right. I think. I mean, we’re all squires. It doesn’t take that much to stand out.”
“Do not underestimate yourself. Erin, yes?”
Erin realized, then, that she had forgotten to introduce herself. Heat rose to her cheeks, embarrassment, she hoped. Firmly told herself, rather. It was embarrassment. “Yes. Erin. Sorry.”
“We would like to test this prowess,” Rana said.
“Your stamina. Durability. Persistence,” Dana said. She was in the process of re-doing her ponytail, having captured a stray lock that needed to be imprisoned once again.
“Teach you a few new tricks, perhaps,” Rana said, offering a pleasant smile. One that only hinted at the fangs in her mouth. “Perhaps help you to understand what you are capable of. We have found that the cathedral does not trust its students enough, and so they do not find their full potential.”
“Potential? What are we practicing, exactly?”
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