Building a Better Alliance: Stormwind Cathedral
Copyright© 2025 by SerynSiralas
Chapter 2
Fan Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 2 - 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 Oral Sex Size
Building A Better Alliance: Second Wind
Erin shouldered the door to the run down flophouse shack open, leaving the always aggressively noisy streets of Old Town behind. Blessed, dusky silence, or near enough, the continual tumult of the outside diminishing with every hard step taken, the impact of her army-issue boots threatening the very life of the decades-old floorboards. She spared the joke of a receptionist, an old, perpetually drunk woman one had to whip to get anything done, but a single look, storming past, down the hallway which lead to her shoebox room. Fourteen doors down, with a lock that might admit anyone at so much as a mildly displeased stare. It was courtesy, nothing else, that kept her belongings safe there. Or her, for that matter.
It had been two months since she was discovered, ass desperately clenching back up, her belly bloated obscenely with the colossal loads of the two night elves, Rana and Dana, on the floor of the gray chamber, in the cathedral. The two long gone, only one person remained to suffer punishment, and, having offended the Matron Mother and Dame Ulla both that very day, mercy had been in short supply. Had, since then, remained in short supply. Erin removed her still mostly presentable vest, tossing it on the floor. The single cupboard and chest stuffed into the tiny room next to the door were already overfull of her things, those things she had been able to bring with her from the last place. Everything else laid in piles, some growing to be over five feet, making the little rectangle a kind of labyrinth.
Since having been discharged, or, rather, put on leave from the cathedral program, she was no longer a squire, or a prospective paladin. Not actively, at least. The judgment that she needed time to reflect upon her actions had been made, and that reflection was, apparently, best carried out not in the presence of her classmates. Having trained for years, Erin had been assigned to train raw recruits. Her quarters and meager stipend gone with that reassignment, she had had to abandon her old quarters in great haste. Find a place so far buried in the squalor of deepest Old Town that it was a wonder the building still stood.
Not exactly enlightened about her wrongdoings, she nevertheless set to her new task with as much vigor as she could muster. A single encounter with some rapturous, skilled, and lovely kaldorei was not something she was going to allow to derail her entire life, and so, with a little luck, she might train recruits for three or six months, and then return to her former position.
That was the plan, of course. Had been. But, as she was yet young, several of the raw recruits, especially those of even minor status, turned rebellious at the notion of being instructed by her. A failed paladin-squire, someone as young as them. Younger, in some cases. This had turned, eventually, into an altercation with the son of the most minor of merchants, who had utterly refused her commands one day, and gotten in her face about it. Naturally, then, she told him in no uncertain terms to right himself, or face the consequences. When the dust settled, she had only been hit once, and he had been downed after three punches. The last laugh was his, though, as his father wielded what influence he apparently had, and got her discharged from her position as instructor.
With that development, her path back to the classroom and the training fields of the cathedral had turned terribly murky. With no way to demonstrate her reliability, and no one to advocate for her, and no income, it seemed more likely that she would end up spending her days begging on the streets of Stormwind, rather than protecting it from the enemies of the Light.
And, just that day, she had been utterly ignored by the knight, Dame Ulla, when going to the cathedral to try to make her case. She had not even been offered a response, as if she no longer existed. All the people Erin had once worked with, interacted with, even looked down upon, in some cases, now studiously ignored her. She was not even a common visitor, but something less than that. As if no one else in the cathedral had ever been caught doing something indecent. Was it somehow worse just because she had had the most mind-blowing hour of her life with two night elves?
The answer, it seemed, was yes.
No friends left, no money, but far too much time. In a week, she would be thrown out of the flophouse, and, other than not having a place to store her things, sleeping on the street might actually be an improvement. She told herself as much, at least, because it distracted her, for a moment, from the hollow in her chest, the pit in her stomach. Her body understood the great change, the danger, the downward trajectory of her life, even when she tried very hard to deny the realization its place in her conscious thoughts.
With no money for even the worst possible moonshine, and not enough desperation to go entice someone in a bar to buy her drinks for as long as she could without actually having to engage in anything with them, she faced a night alone in her little box of a room. Too worried to even spend the evening in pleasantly reclined pleasure, goading herself on with thoughts of the two impressive kaldorei still occupying much of her mind and many newly grown fantasies. Half a year ago, she would not have even contemplated something as maddening and overwhelming as those two, and their monstrous cocks. Even less so the two of them working themselves, at the same time, into her ass. Now, it seemed almost as if her body recalled the sensation at the merest thought, as if she had been conditioned, through one single meeting, to respond to the kaldorei. To the mere thought of them.
So, in the end, Erin spent the night in her own company, after all, her fingers finding much work. Still disappointing, in many ways, when compared to the impressive size of the two kaldorei. And the endless thrusts of someone real, rather than imaginary.
For no real reason other than not wanting to waste away in her rented room, Erin had, after the morning rush dissipated, made her way back over the roughly cobbled streets of Old Town, across the canal, around the outskirts of the Dwarven District, across the canal again, and then into the Cathedral District. Not to enter the grand building itself, exactly, just to be nearby. The idea had entered her mind that, somehow, as long as she was nearby, some coincidence, some twist of fate, some event might sweep her up. Change her fortunes.
Night elves were not a rare sight in Stormwind, as such. Of many different shapes and sizes, with many different colors of hair, and skin. Exotic, she had once thought. Somewhat more pedestrian, now. Save Rana and Dana, who had been taller, but, clearly, shaped from different clay. Strong, brutally trained. Broad, and powerful, in a way not too many of their kin were. Compared to humans, of course, even the smallest kaldorei was a tall, toned, graceful creature, often with a hint of the wild to their demeanor. Something feral. But that was what Rana and Dana were when compared to their kin. Rare, exquisite creatures, at once natural, and works of art. And, that morning, Erin spotted another such night elf. It was neither of the two that she knew, but someone reminiscent of them. The same kind of height, muscle, stature. As if there was some order of special sentinels, set apart from the rest. Coming to the cathedral, a few at a time. Why?
That sentinel disappeared into the cathedral, and though Erin was not barred from entering the grand edifice just to take it in, or pray, it would not help her case any further if she was caught storming in there on the trail of another large kaldorei. And, anyway, seconds slipping her grasp, the gap between them grew, and her catching the elf became a remote possibility, and then an impossibility. She stood, instead, leaned against a tree, and waited. Stared at so much nothing, at those milling around, at those going to and fro the various offices and shops, even at the more or less reputable organizations trying to recruit anyone who could wield a weapon. Or, in some cases, anyone who could be made to look like they knew what they were doing, so they could bulk out the ranks and look threatening.
It might come to that for her, too. Take up arms with some aging northerner, still starry-eyed with hope that yet another expedition would finally reclaim Lordaeron. Or might stake a claim in lands no longer claimed by the Alliance. Truce-breakers beneath a very thin veneer of respectability. Of course, there were other causes, too, and it might be possible to pick and choose and sort among the options until she found something at least partially respectable. Something that would not see her face down in the mud inside of two weeks, something that would not sully her reputation or her soul so much that she could never hope to become a paladin. Those outfits were rare gems, something one took their time to find. Not easily discovered when facing the prospect of homelessness inside of a week.
A full hour had passed, Erin having long ago made the choice to sit down on the edge of the wide beams used to make the slightly raised bed in which the tree she had leaned against was planted. Her view occasionally blocked by people, the candleflame of hope that fate would smile upon her flickering a little. What would it help her to meet with another of the sentinels, the special, statuesque kind which had so occupied and conquered her mind since her encounter with two of them? How could it possibly help her get herself back into the good graces of the Matron Mother, or the Dame?
Important questions, but also questions that slipped her mind when she spotted that same sentinel exiting the cathedral. There was something cruder about her than Rana and Dana. This one had black hair styled in a sideshave, silvery eyes, but it was the facial marking. Not the artfully done thing that most kaldorei had, but rather simpler. Four fingers, dipped in dark purple, dragged from her forehead and down over her face, to her jaw. And a welt on her left cheek, three or four inches of irritated skin. An old scar, perhaps. The others had been unblemished, had they not?
Erin shook her head, crawling, jumping to her feet so that she almost stumbled in her haste to catch the sentinel as she took the final step down and put foot to flagstone street. In her haste, the sentinel noticed her and, for just a moment, Erin realized that she might seem like she was charging the woman. She tried to slow down, to compose herself, but managed little of that. She did not bump into the towering night elf, but halted a step back. Looking up. Realizing, too late, that she had had an hour to think of what to say, but had no idea what she was going to say. The words would just have to emerge from her mind as it willed.
“I’m Erin,” she said.
A long pause, the kaldorei’s luminous eyes, seeming almost like liquid silver in the right light, appraising Erin. Top to bottom, them back up. “Nesra,” she said.
Her voice was a note deeper than Rana and Dana’s had been. Erin sensed something, some weight, which the other two had not born – experience, perhaps? The thing that had given her that scar on her face? Erin parted her lips, then closed them again. What was her plan? She closed metaphorical hands around her own mind and tried to wring and squeeze thoughts, words, from it.
“I ... knew ... Rana. And Dana,” Erin said. Blurted out, really.
In response, Nesra raised an eyebrow just slightly. “Rana and Dana?”
“You don’t know them? They’re ... ah, they just, they remind me a lot of you. You remind me a lot of them.”
“Ah,” Nesra said. Some small shard of stone, some piece of rapidly melting ice, seemed to fall from her, her eyes softening just a touch.
Erin glanced up the cathedral steps at movement that her peripheral vision told her was somehow important. She saw the middle-aged knight, Dame Ulla, rapidly descending towards the two. Still trying to claw and draw words from her resisting mind, Erin turned her attention back to Nesra. Desperately, she said the first thing that welled up from her subconsciousness, just to say something, anything, before they were interrupted by the Dame.
“I’m ... if you desire, I’m ... at your service.”
An actual smile. A slight one. Nesra’s expression turned both slightly amused, but more interested, too. For just one moment, and then they were both interrupted.
The Dame, at first, halted a few steps away from them, just slightly out of breath, offering a respectful bow of her head towards Nesra. She shared a far less dignified scowl with Erin, one that informed Erin very thoroughly that her transparent efforts to try to seduce yet another representative of the allies of the cathedral was not appreciated. That she could go and practice her sluttery elsewhere, or fall over dead, the latter perhaps preferred, for all Ulla cared.
“Sentinel, the Matron Mother has had another meeting postponed, and so, she has time for your visit, after all. She would like to meet with you, and discuss future cooperation.” Ulla halted for a moment, both to breathe, and to stare another barbed dagger at Erin. “The great majority of the students expressed that they greatly enjoyed the class taught by your predecessors, and we would like to repeat the success ... If you would come back inside?”
“Of course,” Nesra said. She had long ago turned her benign attention from Erin, waiting only for a moment for Ulla to accompany her. When that was not immediately forthcoming, the kaldorei simply began going back up the steps herself. Allowing for whatever private conversation the two humans apparently needed to have.
“Remove yourself, Erin,” Ulla hissed, voice lowered just so. “You aren’t needed, or welcome, here. There are better places for you to offer yourself up to any passing night elf than here.”
Not seeming to care for Erin’s response, the knight turned on the spot, and hastened after Nesra, who was already halfway up the many steps to the main entrance of the cathedral. Erin was certain she heard a not so quietly mumbled “slut” coming from Ulla, but it was difficult to be certain. Just as the knight intended, no doubt.
Left behind, alone once more, Erin trudged back to her spot by the tree. Not quite demotivated, as she had managed to fumble her way to some kind of proposition that Nesra did not seem entirely repulsed by. But it was clear, too, that Ulla’s dislike had mutated into something worse, more personal. Erin could imagine a few reasons, but found most of them unconvincing. Jealousy, for example, was unlikely. Ulla had a partner already, and had never expressed any dislike of them, so why would she care that Erin had been with the two sentinels? And, likewise, upset at her being vaguely promiscuous seemed unlikely, too. The church just did not seem to care over-much about such things, as long as it did not become a detriment to one’s duties. Was it just those duties Erin had bungled, then? Messing with the Matron Mother’s alchemical ingredients, and her failure to clean the impossible to clean ash chamber, favoring instead her close encounter with Rana and Dana?
If both the Matron Mother and Ulla had soured on her, though, her chances of ever getting back into classes, back into her studies, into training sessions, her chances of ever being able to call herself a paladin, were grim. If relations were truly so soured, it seemed the only other option was mercenary work. Either that, or, somehow, just maybe, working with the kaldorei? Rana and Dana had talked about something. Establishing a presence, somehow, and Nesra had not refused the blundering declaration of being at her service. Before throwing herself in the arms of some mercenary company with few scruples about how they spent the lives of their new recruits, it was worth trying. And, should it come to nothing, she would at least have a pleasant memory to warm herself by, when sent to some dangerous end of the world place to see to the interests of some mercenary captain who cared not one jot for her.
Whatever Ulla had said, then, was irrelevant. No longer a factor worth taking into consideration. Erin resolved to wait outside the cathedral, at the foot of the steps, once again, insistent that she would speak to Nesra at length. She would weigh her words more carefully. Prepare a little speech, sentence by sentence, assuring the sentinel that Erin’s arms were open, and welcoming. More subtly implying that she waited for, encouraged, even closer relations.
Erin’s mind frequently fled from the task of trying to craft convincing and coherent words, having once more been confronted with one of the chiseled kaldorei sentinels. Taking refuge with the image of this one, as opposed to applying itself to figuring out what to say. Erin had never, truly, contemplated what she preferred, having thought herself rather normal. Boring, even. But, after the encounter with Rana and Dana, she had had to admit to herself that she was unusual. She knew well enough that tastes went in every possible direction, but had never really thought it possible that hers would drag her towards something as crude as they had. But, especially now, having stood before another of the towering kaldorei sentinels, she could not deny that she wanted the monstrous cock that, seemingly, only those special few night elves could offer. Another good reason to try to talk to Nesra before turning mercenary.
Another two hours passed, and Erin’s stomach growled. She was thirsty, and shifted constantly. Stood, sat, but, in truth, just needed to be elsewhere. Needed something to eat, and drink, her lips dry. Her throat feeling dry, even. Leaving her place under the tree was not an option, though, for in precisely the few moments she would be gone to take care of herself, Nesra might emerge from the cathedral, walk off, and then be impossible to find again. Where did the kaldorei even stay? How would one seek a specific one out, save asking random people, and would her own kin even help find her? Was Nesra’s type appreciated, or loathed, among their own? Erin had no chance of knowing, and did not want her plan to hinge on the answer. So, she remained. Waiting.
When Erin spotted Nesra again, a few steps out of the main entrance to the cathedral, she was flanked by two people. Two of Erin’s former classmates, walking very close to the sentinel. Much closer than strictly necessary, the two almost grinding against Nesra’s hips, and thighs, close enough that they could have linked arms behind the back of the kaldorei.
On the cusp of storming up the stairs to greet Nesra once more, Erin stopped in her tracks. A realization hit her, at last, something terribly obvious, but something she had nevertheless entirely failed to take into account: She was not unique. However few people might be interested in someone like Nesra, the number was not zero. It was not even, necessarily, few. Among this group, given how rare an opportunity it was to even find one of Nesra’s kind in Stormwind, the competition would be fierce.
Erin had heard, briefly, tales of the training that had gone on when the last batch of sentinels had come by. Certainly not nearly as explicit as her encounter with Rana and Dana, but more than a few of her classmates had reported that they had been wrestled to the ground, legs up, the frightfully endowed kaldorei seeming to consider them subdued only when able to grind that massively thick bulge in their trousers against the crotch of their training partner. A great many more of them than Erin had imagined seemed to have enjoyed that. Some openly, others with a greater degree of shame. The two now flanking Nesra had been some of the shameful, but that had, evidently, passed. What had Nesra even been doing in there, for two hours? Repeating the training, perhaps? Going further? Perhaps all three of them were off to somewhere more private in order to take that training to its natural conclusion. The two women certainly made an effort to stay close enough to Nesra that that was a reasonable conclusion to make. Erin lowered her brow, just so.
All she had, really, was Rana and Dana’s promise that they, or someone else, would return to visit. That was it. Why should Nesra care for some soon to be homeless nobody, a street bum, living in run-down squalor, not a friend to rely on. No doubt talked down at every possible opportunity by those inside the cathedral, for the crime of being too eager to help the Matron Mother.
Finding herself stripped of energy, a quietly churning, cold ball of wool occupying her chest cavity, Erin could not make herself move. Could not make herself try to catch up to Nesra, who seemed perfectly content walking along, a girl at each elbow. Westward, towards the exit from the district, to the canals. To Light knew where, no doubt to introduce the two to the demanding, but mind-blowing, deep pleasure that her kind were capable of.
Erin breathed out. Tried to keep her mind still, and sedated, though her body, once again, knew when something significant happened. Her cheeks and forearms prickled and tingled, not with pleasure, but with anxiety. At the uncertainty returning to her life. The plan had been too fickle, anyway, too bound and tangled up in the whims of a single sentinel. And, had things been different, what was a single kaldorei to do, anyway? She could not somehow fix everything wrong in Erin’s life. No one would do that for her. She would have to do it herself, however she could. By signing up for a mercenary company the next morning, being sent somewhere to guard, or to be muscle. But to live, at least. To be paid, and fed, at the very least.
She sighed, again. Stayed still for a long while, looking in the direction that Nesra had disappeared. Finally, Erin turned, and walked back the way she came.
Erin half fell, ass first, onto the edge of her bed, finding a seat on it. It complained beneath her, a loud, pained squeaking, but held firm. Mercifully, one thing went right, that day, though it was but small comfort. Drained of all energy, she found that she had not even the will to lie down. In that moment, the extent to which she could stretch herself was to stare ahead at nothing. At the closed door, with its shitty lock. Piles of clothes and books and utensils and the detritus of a still-young life occupied her peripheral vision, as much as feasible shoved into the little room and stacked up in rickety piles.
Time passed. Unmeasurable, to her, in that it could have been hours, or minutes. A heavy, dampening cloth had been draped over her world, and though it made her sluggish, made her do, want to do, nothing, it was preferable to the reverse. Storming around in a mad panic, trying to salvage something from the seemingly still ongoing disaster that was her life.
While not a full paladin, she was trained not just to fight, but theoretically to command. In diplomacy, and in the Light. All of these skills could be valuable to a mercenary company, even if most of them likely just wanted someone who could swing a weapon, and would otherwise shut up and do as they were told. Not following the beaten path was what had gotten her into trouble in the first place, and so, prospects looked somewhat grim. But what else was there to do? She was not trained in tailoring, or baking, or mason-work. She was trained to fight. And maintain her own gear, that much was true, but sowing on the occasional patch or mending a rip or tear did not make her a tailor.
There was a knock on the door. Three raps, measured, the sound piercing the quiet of her little box-room and jolting her awake. Sending her heart, momentarily, into a panic. Who would even think to come and knock on her door, at this time? The old, drunken caretaker? Perhaps she just needed more money to piss away on drink and gambling.
“Go away,” Erin said, with some force.
The response was a second knock. And, at length, when Erin did not reply, a third. She closed her eyes, finding that annoyance pierced the anesthetizing veil overlaid her senses, using that blossoming emotional energy to make herself stand. To stalk the few steps to the door, already preparing to scream at the old bitch to leave her alone. Erin jerked the key, still sat in the lock, opening the door. Ripped the door towards herself, breathing in.
It was Nesra.
Slightly bent, so as to fit into a cramped, human-sized hallway, and a low and small one at that. She stood, one forearm leaned against the wall above the lintel on the outside, head bowed, leaned down. If not for the fact that she had to, simply of too large a build to properly fit inside the run-down shack that was the flophouse, Erin might have associated that kind of position with trying to envelop someone she might be courting. A slight hiss emanated from Erin’s lips, the breath drawn in to be expelled in a shout at the caretaker fizzling, words once again abandoning her in the presence of the towering, statuesque elf.
“Uh, I’m ... Erin,” she ventured. Why? She had already introduced herself. A few hours earlier. Surely the kaldorei recalled her name, otherwise, why, how, would she have made her way into the depths of Old Town, to Erin’s door?
“I know,” Nesra said. “You need to move to a dwelling with higher ceilings.”
Mute, temporarily, Erin merely nodded. Lips parting, as if she had anything to say, words dying before they could leave her. Before they could even form. Why was the sentinel here, at her door, in the flophouse? That was a question to ask. But, in the moment before she could ask it, she was interrupted.
“Are you going to invite me in, little Erin? You are at my service, are you not?”
“I-- I am, I ... yes,” Erin said, fumbling. She took half a step aside, feeling how a stack of books and clothes tipped over, half falling, half trapped between her and the wall. “Come in. Why ... are you here?”
“Why am I here, little Erin?”
“That’s what I asked,” Erin said. She swallowed, gesturing towards the terribly overfilled, shoebox room. Its ceiling no higher than the hallway, with only the rickety cot for a surface to sit on. It was extremely doubtful whether it would survive Nesra sitting upon it, complaining, as it did, just dealing with Erin’s comparatively diminutive frame. “Oh. I ... I guess, you’re here because I’m at your service?”
Nesra, with a mild, somewhat suppressed sigh, bent down further still, fitting herself through the door, and into Erin’s room. Unable to move, practically, without bumping into something. Piles of things. She turned to face Erin, then.
“Are you?”
Erin blinked several times, parted her lips, and took in a breath. Exhaled it audibly, purging herself of the remnants of anger, what had flared when she thought it was the caretaker come to demand money. Instead, it was the large sentinel upon which she had placed her fragile hopes, and seen them dashed. So she had thought. But, seemingly, rather than disappear off somewhere with two of her former classmates, Nesra had instead chosen to be the one to track her prey, finding Erin in the unpleasant, small shack. She nodded, then, taking another audible breath. Closing her eyes, purging herself once more of the disappointment, the worries, the anxieties that had ruled her all day. For many days, it felt like.
Instead, when Erin opened her eyes, she fastened them on the exposed midsection of the sentinel. Once again, wholly unexpectedly, she found herself in the company of a large night elf, and, eyes drifting down a little to confirm what she already knew, this one was precisely as monstrously blessed as Rana and Dana had been. It was no mystery what being of service meant, and it had not been when she had first offered it to Nesra, either. Only, she had not expected the service to happen in her room, entirely too small for her, never mind the massive sentinel. But, then, perhaps that would somehow make their encounter more cozy. Closer. She breathed again, and then looked up, meeting Nesra’s silver eyes, and nodding.
“I’m at your service, sentinel. I have been, since ... since your two comrades left me.”
Nesra nodded. A brief confirmation, after which, shoulders near to resting against the ceiling, neck and head actually doing so, she moved her hands to her trousers, beginning to undo the belt without any ceremony. The thin rattle of metal, and the resettling of straining pants that followed, told Erin that Nesra was in just as dire need of relief as could be expected. Out of armor, without visible weaponry, it was clear that she was in Stormwind not as a warrior, but as someone looking for relaxation, and perhaps a few diplomatic talks. Erin reasoned that she was the relief and relaxation.