Blood Elf Trading Practices
Copyright© 2025 by SerynSiralas
Chapter 2
Fan Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 2 - Far from home, Brialla attempts to secure trading contacts for her family business. She finds the local night elves difficult to work with, but her long-dormant appreciation for the amazonian kaldorei allows her to focus on something more likely to go her way. Engaging with an extremely well-endowed sentinel warrior.
Caution: This Fan Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa Consensual Hermaphrodite Fiction Futanari DomSub Light Bond Rough Cream Pie Oral Sex Pregnancy Size
Brialla woke to the same blissful seaside soundscape that lulled her to sleep the night before. And the same, thankfully much lessened, sensation of a full stomach she had gone to bed with. Running her hands over her it, it felt flat once more, and if she could not still feel the mild burning of receding aches in her face from repeated impact, she might have imagined it merely a meal too heavily indulged in. Kerendra’s endless ropes of seed could be categorized as such, of course. In impolite company. She felt herself very impolite, sleepily turning to coil the thin covers around her for lack of a warm body.
The promise of breakfast she had made was the only thing capable of prying her drowsy and comfortable mind from its pleasant, thoughtless reverie. The sound of waves terminating on the distant sandy beach, the bustling of what was morning to her, the equivalent of night to the nocturnal Kaldorei, would have been an insurmountable hand beckoning her to sleep a little longer. But she had made her choice, and though sweet aches and a bed warming her to her core might have made her think it a terrible one, the promise of the sentinel herself outweighed it.
Kerendra. Building thoughts centered on the towering night elf rose to a blissful, prurient crescendo in her mind, heating her further. Feeding a burning, tingling, coiling heat in her, reddening her cheeks, making her right hand slip from her stomach and down. Just a few inches down.
She took a slow, shuddering breath, cracking her eyes open, filling the small bedroom with faint golden light. Pressing fingers against her skin, against her pelvis. That pressure was a concession between what she wanted to do, and holding back, waiting for the Kaldorei to arrive. She had seemed eager enough.
Breakfast. Get some food sent up. Brialla sighed, closed her eyes briefly, and then forced herself to roll out of bed, and to stand. To put on clothes – different clothes than the night before, not dirtied with cum-mixed saliva. Padding down to speak to yet another vaguely unfriendly male night elf, the one in charge for the morning and day, arranging to have a meal for two sent up. Specifically, something light. For breakfast. The request earned her another odd glance, but she cared little, instead turning away. Walking back up.
Should she receive Kerendra in the living room, with the chaise longue, and the table, and the carpet and chairs and so on? Decorated in the style of the Kaldorei, with books and crystals and purple banner-cloth and bowls of fruit and nuts. Little houseplants everywhere, spilling out of their pots. A door opening out to a fine view, but not balcony at all. Just a chance to stand in the breeze and wake up. Or hold one-another, keeping warm. Or, perhaps, forget the breakfast, and instead lead the sentinel to the bedroom immediately? But she would be hungry after an entire night’s duty. Surely.
Brialla took a breath.
From the vantage of that false balcony, standing in the open doorway, she observed the slowly dying activity of the town. The elves were clearly winding down for the morning, disappearing to sleep the day away. Gradually, the guards changed, one shift replacing another.
Minutes passed, and Brialla came to miss someone warm embracing her. Remaining in place, nevertheless, scouting for the one elf she wanted to see, her shift over, making her way to the inn. Five minutes passed, and then ten. Breakfast was delivered in sullen silence. By fifteen minutes, she despaired that Kerendra wasn’t coming. Why not? Had she not proven herself amply capable of pleasing the sentinel? If for no other reason, she could at least turn up for that.
By twenty minutes, Brialla resolved to get more properly dressed, socks and shoes and a bone-colored long-sleeve shirt, and a coal-black vest, and similarly dark trousers. And her knife, and belt, with its few pouches. Ready to go back to the Priestess’ residence to find the sentinel, and demand that she come eat breakfast. Returning to the balcony, a few more minutes passed. Brialla spotted the sentinel who had stood guard alongside Kerendra. The uptight, annoying one.
Their eyes met.
Slowly, a smug smile made the night elf’s expression a terrible one. A smile that settled like a stone in Brialla’s stomach, somehow weighty and entirely formless at the same time. Cold, and pointy, and yet wrapped in wool. What happened? Was Kerendra done with her, like that? That would be stupid. But maybe she was the idiot. What reason had she really given the sentinel to show up? She had gotten what she wanted, presumably.
With great effort, Brialla managed to sneer back at the sentinel, though it seemed uncertain whether her grimace was noticed. Infuriating, stupid woman, that one.
Brialla turned from the balcony, forgetting to close the door in her hurry to leave behind the room and go find Kerendra. Leaving the inn, stalking across paths kissed by warming rays of the sun, none of them seeming to warm her much, even as they hit her.
Would the sentinel even be at her post? Perhaps she had already left, went to her barracks? Or home? Brialla would not only have to live with her stupidity for another eight to ten hours while the settlement slept, but also have to suffer the humiliation of having been so easily taken advantage of. She shook her head, increasing her speed as she rounded a corner, the Priestess’ residence coming into view. And, a few paces from that house, Kerendra walking deferentially a few steps behind the regal but faintly aged woman clad in white that Brialla assumed was the Priestess.
Still with the pit in her stomach, Brialla nevertheless took a breath and let it out slowly, her shoulders sinking. Fists she hadn’t noticed clenching relaxed. She had no claim to the sentinel, nor her time, but she wanted to believe that she had not earned the scorn of being abandoned after throwing herself at the night elf. The still towering, strong, statuesque kaldorei that her eyes strayed to, and stuck with. For a little too long. Until Kerendra’s pale blues shifted to her, responding to whatever emotion she saw on the small elf’s face with a lopsided smile. At once self-satisfied, and understanding. Somehow.
This small exchange seemed, in some inexplicable way, to alert the Priestess to Brialla’s presence. She turned, her attention impressing the feeling of being in a kindly but ever-curious, only slightly judgmental spotlight. Deference lent her by the two almost equally impressive sentinels escorting her seemed to bleed into this sense of being larger than she was. The Priestess was tall, of course – she was Kaldorei. But, compared to her kindred, she was more a refined, slim marble statue, the closest a people who had thrown off royalty came to something like it. Bleached clothes, white hair, near-white eyes, skin so soft a pink as to almost be white, too.
A smile both kindly and conveying the command at the Priestess’ fingertips fell on Brialla. Diverted, then, to Kerendra, who had long removed her gaze from the blood elf.
“This is the one?”
The Priestess spoke to Kerendra, but did so slowly enough, and with diction so perfect, that Brialla understood the Darnassian.
After a moment’s hesitation, the sentinel likely sharing the total incredulity at the Priestess’ ability to discern some connection between one of her guards and the sin’dorei, she answered. “Yes, Priestess.”
“Come now, Kerendra. You would need far more subtlety in your comings and goings to escape my notice. You were right outside my door.”
“Yes, Priestess,” Kerendra said, bowing her head. The sentinel did not seem embarrassed, but rather acknowledging of her superior’s observations.
Brialla supposed that they had not been particularly quiet, but, tucked away into a wing of the residence, her mind had safely stowed their encounter as something only she and Kerendra knew. Having set aside any thought of speaking with the Priestess on mercantile business, she had mistakenly set the woman’s presence aside entirely.
It was within the power of this woman to do almost anything she wished – at least, that was what Brialla had been told before leaving. The faith of the night elves centered around the moon goddess, Elune, and her closest servants, the Priestesses of the Sisterhood of Elune, were effectively little nobles. Theocratic and bureaucratic and legal and every other kind of authority rolled into one. Propped up by faith, their decisions in all matters were that much harder to resist or undo. As such, if she decided that Brialla was unwelcome, or that Kerendra and her were not to meet any longer, it would be a deathblow to their tryst.
“You wish to establish trade relations with us, sin’dorei?” The Priestess’ attention settled once more on Brialla. Lighter, this time, but fencing her in. She could move anywhere she wanted to within the metaphorical, closed pasture placed around her by this woman, but the enclosure felt claustrophobic.
“I do, ma’am,” Brialla said.
“What is your connection to our town?”
Brialla hesitated, but could not figure out the Priestess’ meaning. “Connection?”
“What ties you to us, specifically? What would make us think that you would invest the necessary time and energy in us?”
Did she not know how commerce functioned at a base level? Money. Profit. Brialla’s eyes darted from the pale woman to the ground at Kerendra’s feet, then to the sentinel’s chiseled abs, to her face. Then, realizing what she was doing, tearing her gaze away and back to the Priestess. “Is trade itself not the connection, ma’am?”
“Once, perhaps. Recent history has shown that your people, and those you call allies, count such connections ... not at all. We need something else.”
“I must regretfully say that I don’t know what I could offer, ma’am. I represent a merchant house, nothing more.”
Several seconds of pregnant silence hung between the two. The Priestess exhaled, just the faintest hint of despair in the tone of that breath. The kind of despair an uncle or aunt might feel when an adorable niece or nephew fails to do some basic task for the seventeenth time. “You have found a safe harbor in Kerendra’s arms, have you not?”
Brialla was not embarrassed, exactly, of her encounter with Kerendra. She decided she wanted it, and she knew Kerendra had, too, and so they had done it, and it was not any more difficult than that. But it was a spur of the moment thing, a thing done because she was away from home, away from prying eyes. Or so she had thought. At length, she nodded, spending her energy fighting back the crimson in her cheeks. Failing to respond verbally.
“Kerendra likes your ... type. Likes you,” the Priestess said. She did not spare a single glance for her guard, whom she was speaking for. “But randomly copulating when you both feel like it is hardly fertile soil for something serious. I might put a stop to it, were it only that.”
Momentarily mute, Brialla nodded. Again. Felt stupid for her silence, but felt acutely, too, the Priestess’ ghostly, metaphorical fingers gripping her throat.
“It seems to me you might both have what you want. You, sin’dorei, need to forge an ironclad investment in us. Our people. This town. The two of you seem in a position to enjoy one-another, and create that investment.”
The Priestess spared a significant look for Kerendra first, and then Brialla. “Go with her,” she decreed to her sentinel, and then turned, disappearing into her residence, her other guard in tow. Leaving a few seconds of silence in her wake.
Brialla wet her dry lips with her tongue, and then shared an awkward smile with Kerendra. “So, ah ... breakfast?”
Someone else putting words to their tryst made it more real, and tying it to her success as an envoy of the family business sapped some of the magic from it, for Brialla. Tingling heat and pinpricks receded, rather than building, and she grew colder in the unsteady morning breeze. If the Priestess had wanted to make them more of an official item, she had gone about the project in an inexpert way. Kerendra and Brialla had barely spoken, and that fact was, to Brialla, at least, underlined. As they walked in suppressed silence, she came to think that, the closer they came to the inn, the less she wanted to have breakfast with Kerendra. What she needed was time alone, to process, to re-center herself.
The sentinel seemed less affected, but quiet, still. Then again, to her, the bright morning was the same as very late evening for Brialla. Was it strange to be quiet at such a time? Was it the best time for the two to share a meal, and a bed?
Arriving at the massive building that was the inn, once a warehouse, now a place to keep people rather than dried apples and spider-meat and wind-chimes and whatever else the Kaldorei made and exchanged, Brialla turned to face Kerendra. Was immediately reminded by the faint throbbing of a lump in her throat why she had knelt for the warrior the day before. Tall. Strong. Annoyingly pretty and chiseled. Making her mentally trip over her words.
In one such small break, where the blood elf had to marshal the words before saying them, Kerendra raised her right hand, cupping Brialla’s cheek. Used her thumb to, carefully, gently, caress just beneath one golden eye. Looked down, not happily, not discontent, but stoic. Neutral. Waiting to see what reaction her touch elicited.
That one touch was all Brialla needed to feel the terrible, pleasant weakening warmth in her knees again. Feel her cheeks lit with fire again. Take a deeper, snapping breath. The thought of needing time alone lingered, still, but in the way that a bright but distant buoy, dipping and ever-moving on a storm-tossed ocean is seen. From the deck of a ship sailing ever further away. Into the storm, or away from it? She raised her hand, placing it atop Kerendra’s, her lips at last parting in a silly, indulgent, stupidly pleased smile that she could not hold back.
“Breakfast?”
Kerendra’s response was to trace her thumb down along the side of Brialla’s nose, to her upper lip. Pushing past it, past her teeth, and into her mouth. Their eyes remained fastened on one-another, though the blood elf occupied herself by wrapping her lips around the digit, sucking. The sentinel raised her left hand, stroking through Brialla’s hair, to the back of her head, the hand cushioning her as she bumped up against a wide, wooden pillar, the support of a wide entrance into the inn.
Nowhere to run, once again. Fenced in by Kerendra’s body, pressed against hers. She released the seal around the warrior’s finger, drawing in a shuddering breath. Speaking with someone’s thumb in her mouth was never going to be graceful and elegant, but she did her best. “Maybeh ... we cohld go inshide?”
A faint, pleased smile from the sentinel made Brialla feel more at ease with her decision to suggest that they need not engage in anything more in full view of the public. Not that the public numbered anything impressive, the vast majority of the kaldorei having retired. Only other guards, sentinels, and a few stragglers, remained awake and active.
“Fine,” Kerendra said, mirth in her voice, withdrawing her thumb from Brialla’s mouth. “To your humble abode.”
“There’s a very pleasant bed. And some chairs, and a table, for the meal—”
“Not very hungry, little one.”
“Don’t you need to eat, to maintain ... that?” Brialla, with a vague gesture in Kerendra’s direction, indicated the kaldorei’s muscled frame.
“Of course. Already did.”
“Impatient to forge that connection?”
“As if you aren’t,” Kerendra said, pushing her thumb back into the sin’dorei’s mouth. A little deeper than before. “Little one.”
In spite of herself, every time Kerendra called her ‘little one,’ Brialla felt a faint surge of heat. An outbreak of goosebumps. Without thinking, reflex made her move a hand to her lower stomach, sandwiched between their bodies, to press against the warmth building there, in particular. She had spent no time contemplating what she was actually doing with the towering sentinel, and even now, though the Priestess all but told her what was expected, her thoughts still strayed from the topic. Wondered if it was even possible. Kaldorei and sin’dorei. It seemed unlikely, but then, if any night elf could make such an impossibility into something real, it would be the one pushing her up against the wall. A singular, unique elf at her physical peak. She knew perfectly well how copiously potent Kerendra was.
“Maybeh,” Brialla said. Unconvincingly. Trying to convince no one.
The sentinel, at last, removed her thumb from the small sin’dorei’s mouth, suffering no shame at wiping the spittle clinging to it in the girl’s shirt. “You sound very cute with a finger in your mouth, little one. But, you mentioned a bed.”
Without thinking about it, Brialla rolled her tongue over the spot on her lower and upper lip where the kaldorei’s thumb had sat. She nodded, then, without finding words, her cheeks flushed with the heat of a roaring fire. A moment ago, what felt, suddenly, a very long time ago, she had been on the edge of sending the sentinel away. If she allowed herself to speak, now, she might actually just ask the night elf to fuck her. A breach of public decorum at home, to say the least, but she felt less certain about how much of a faux pas it was in kaldorei lands – the purple folk seemed decidedly more open and relaxed about their emotions, in general. Showed interest, hostility, deference, and so many other things, all without much hesitation.
“You must be ... tired, yes,” Brialla said. She swallowed. “Come.”
Still pushed up against the pillar, she had very little agency in that moment, as far as where they might go, but she tried to turn. Was reminded by a forced, grinding thrust that pushed the sentinel’s girth against her flat stomach that they had to agree on where they might be off to, though coming seemed something both wanted. She tried again, looking up past her lashes, lending every convincing bit of herself to the bit. The encouragement, the double entendre. “Come?”
“To the room, first,” Kerendra said, finally separating herself from Brialla.
A strong arm found its resting place around the blood elf’s shoulders, and though it meant that neither of them could move quite as gracefully as they might be used to, she leaned into Kerendra’s flank and chest, regardless. Almost like a pair of pleasantly drunk friends, they half-stumbled to and up the stairs, finding their way to Brialla’s locked room. Only after she opened the door did the sentinel’s arm leave her, weaving through the door ahead of her. Allowing her to close it, and lock it.
Brialla turned. Tried to turn, but made it only halfway before slightly calloused fingers found her chin, tilting her head upwards. With a thump, Kerendra’s left forearm and hand landed on the door above the blood elf’s head. Once more, she found herself pinned against woodwork by the sentinel, and, once more, she found it difficult to complain about the continued gentle, cushioned impacts against such hard surfaces. Her focus remained elsewhere. Up. On Kerendra’s tattoed face.
“You almost said something, outside, little one. Why don’t you try again, in here?”
“What? I--”
She managed but two words of feeble protest, then three fingers smeared over her lips, halting words. It was not graceful, but the natural flow, the assumed command of the gesture, still buried what might have been annoyance by another blossom of heat in her chest. In her head. In her groin.
“Try again.”
It seemed that, every time one flush of warmth and pinpricks almost died upon her cheeks, a new one delivered itself. Kerendra was very close. Lips, very close. Eyes. Breath, spilling over Brialla’s skin. She blinked, repeatedly, and took an audible breath. Let it out, shivering. The first words that came to her were another protest, another evasion, but she quelled it. Willed herself to say what the kaldorei wanted her to. What she wanted.
“Fuck me. Please.”
At that, the sentinel pressed herself against Brialla’s smaller form, making that huge, fat shaft felt. Rolling slightly, grinding against the sin’dorei’s belly. Rolling her hips almost imperceptibly, though enough to make the slow, languid rhythm felt against skin. Directly above Brialla’s womb. “Please?”
“Please,” she whispered, her voice near breaking. “Please.”
They remained against the door for moments uncountable to Brialla. Ten seconds? Two minutes? Breathing, looking into one-another’s eyes, slowly rocking against each other. Until, at last, Kerendra leaned closer, pressing her lips to the blood elf’s. A brief kiss, a parting, and then a second, longer. On the cusp of developing into more, it was cruelly cut off by the sentinel, who separated herself, and then pulled Brialla a few inches off the door by the grip of her chin. Seemingly only to create room to take a hold of the back of her neck, directing her, with a light tug and a resultant stumble, towards the bedroom.
She ought to have felt awkward, but just as she righted herself, there was another shove. The second time, she had not the time to straighten and find her balance, the sentinel’s hand instead taking a hold of the back of her head. Directing her not onto the bed, but to her knees before its foot.
Brialla let out a grunt, her head turned sideways before being pressed into the soft sheets and covers and mattress, one eye squeezed shut, the other sending flitting golden light upwards as she tried to look back. Discover what Kerendra was doing. To no avail, as the kaldorei changed her grip, fingers curling around Brialla’s face, lacing across places less comfortable than she might have liked. A finger atop one brow, one crossing the bridge of her nose, one dug in between her lips, and one curving around her chin, the sentinel’s thumb settled on her forehead.
Pressed further into the soft bedding, she exhaled with more force than usual. Clearly, Kerendra wanted something specific, and was in the process of taking it, and Brialla was not at all opposed to the method. In truth, she wanted the night elf to claim her, to take what was hers. Wanted it so much that her core tingled, and burned, and made her feel pleasantly weak, made her breathing snap, made her grind her thighs together.
A rough grip directed first her left, then her right wrist to her lower back, crossing one-another. The clinking of a belt buckle being manipulated penetrated the palm over her one unobstructed ear, sending a her already furiously thumping heart into another fit. It was not the immediate precursor to being fucked, though, as she felt first an insulating, cushioning piece of cloth – a shirt, perhaps – coil around her wrists, followed soon after by the stiffer, tighter belt. Luckily, it had been broken in, worn for a while, and so it was pliant, not cutting so much. Flexible. Enough that she could shift her arms and wrists in the binding, but no more.
“You don’t ... have to—”
“Shut up,” Kerendra said. Her voice intense, commanding.