Vanessa examined the deck of the old juggernaught; her father's battleship had kept well sitting on the subterranean lake in the deepest depths of the Deadmines. This place held memories. Most of them were painful or bittersweet, all of them steeped in nostalgia. It was strange seeing the abandoned mines once more, decrepit as they had become. The journey to the lower levels had been simple enough, however. There had been a few collapsed tunnels and fragile shafts, but the veiled men of the Uncrowned, all former Defias Brotherhood, had easily plunged through the blockage. Those men sure knew their way through tight spots.
Their quest was clear. The Uncrowned needed to be a greater force in the world and this battleship could offer them a moving base of operations. Her impression was that the fragile relationship between the Horde and the Alliance had grown cold; some sources even said war was brewing. If that hammer fell, she would rather not be at the center of it. In a conflict between those behemoths, neutrality was a fool's game.
Of course, she had personal reasons for being here too. Power was always seductive. Most of all, it was a memory that led her down this road. Her father, Edwin, had taken her aside when she was a child. No matter what I build, little one, you will be my pride and legacy, he had told her, booping her nose. Vanessa was a grown woman now, but his words echoed in her dreams still. Whether it was her or the ship that was Edwin's greatest legacy, she wasn't sure, but maybe both of them could serve some greater purpose.
Men of all races were busy all around the deck, making ready to depart. Most of them wore dark leather armor and their signature red bandanas across their faces. Usually armed with daggers and swords, they were wielding hammers and nails, brushes, and planks now as they worked on the repairs of the juggernaught. Arai, her righthand man for years and an old member of the Defias Brotherhood, approached her near the cabin atop the upper deck. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a hard face with a three-o-clock shadow and intense brown eyes.
"Boss," he said in his deep voice. "The battleship is in working order. We can set sail, metaphorically speaking – start engines, I suppose. But the cannons are out of order, I'm afraid. I suggest traveling to Booty Bay and have the goblins look at them."
"Alright," she agreed. "I never liked making deals with those little creeps though, it's bad enough to have some among the crew."
"Aye, aye, captain," was all she got in response. He was well aware of her dislike of the small green beasts.
Arai shouted orders and before long, the great gate of the subterranean chamber opened up to reveal the morning sun, a clear blue sky, and the infinite sea. It took a bit longer for the great juggernaught to cough and lurch into movement. The colossus of machinery slowly picked up speed, narrowly clearing the entrance of the cave in which it has slumbered for years and years. The fresh air and smell of the sea brought memories of the Westfall coast, where she had played as a kid before the murlocks overtook it. It had been a rough upbringing, but with glimpses of light. The juggernaught chugged along southward, and for the first few hours, Vanessa just stood watching the sea and coast from her vantagepoint atop the battleship. Her father's construction was impressive.
All around the upper deck, circular tables and chairs had been placed as if it was a common room of some tavern, complete with rum and ale. It was important to keep a balance between discipline and enjoyment to ensure your underlings' loyalty, in her opinion. At least thirty of the Uncrowned sat around these tables, squawking in mirthful conversation. Humans, gnomes, dwarves, orcs, ogres, and even goblins, the brotherhood had always been open to all kinds and walks of life. She sat herself at a table with an old dwarf named Groinin, who had survived the assassination of her father back in the day. They spoke of olden times and the great prospects of the future. She told him about what her father had told her as a child, that she was his greatest legacy, and Groinin agreed that she definitely would be. She thought she saw a smirk, right then, but the old gray dwarf had been a bit strange for as long as she could recall.
The change of mood was sudden and unexpected. As they rounded a peninsula and Stranglethorn Vale came into view, all talk stopped abruptly, and all eyes fixed on her. What the… are they expecting me to say something? They have their orders… she pondered. Pensively, she looked around to see Arai approaching her again.
"What's going on?" she inquired, looking about the deck puzzled. The anticipation and tension were sharp enough to cut iron.
"Mutiny," Arai answered so matter-of-factly it took her a moment to react.
"What the fuck," she whispered. Instinctively, she searched for her daggers and poison vials, but couldn't find them. "What are you… where are… is this a silly joke?"
"Looking for these?" a voice came from her left. Groinin stood by the railing, holding her daggers and poisons. She bellowed a "no" as he flung it high and far, sending them flying to slip beneath the waves.
"Why in the ball-juggling FUCK did you do that?" she exclaimed. "You are no match against me, I'm going to cut you a new –"
"The Saldeans are your foster parents, no?" Arai intercepted. Shivers ran down her spine as her jaw clamped shut. "They're safe in our care. If you do as we command."
"You can't do this. My father built this guild, and I made us strong," she kept her tone steady, and eyes locked on Arai's. Maybe he was bluffing. The Saldeans had taken her in when she was moments from death. Vanessa had stumbled onto their farmstead as a young girl and collapsed, and they had nurtured her back to health, giving her the name Hope. Regardless of how cold an assassin Vanessa had become, she owed them a safe and comfortable life. "Why?" she managed.
"You made us week, puppets who dance on the strings of Alliance and Horde alike. We will join with the new Horde, but their cost of entry is high," Arai responded, face still hard. "And so, you'll do as we say, and make no sudden movements or attempts to regain control. If you don't…, do you see Telik up there?" She followed his pointing finger to the tower of the battleship. The gnarled old man waved down at her. "He is ready at any moment to send birds flying with messages to do unspeakable things to your kindly 'parents'."
Vanessa surveyed the deck, weighing her options. Too many men. She would never make it up to Telik in time either, besides, she had no idea whether or not they had other ways of sending messages. Her heart pounded faster and faster. Her jaw creaked. Finally, she sighed. "What do you want me to do?"
"Get naked." His two words was like a bucket of ice-cold water.
She fought to keep a straight face. She stared him down. She knew that her ice-blue eyes would all but pierce armor. Many a man had buckled and surrendered their silly whims under her scornful glare. "I will not suffer such indignity. You can hold me captive, but you will not stain my honor in such a way."
"Telik," the masked man raised his voice. "Make ready the pigeons." The squeaking of hinges sounded across the deck as an unseen cage was opened. Telik held up a fat pigeon, a tiny scroll attached to its foot.
"No, don't. Wait," she yelled. The man in front of her raised a hand and Telik put the bird back in its cage.
"Damn you all," she snarled. Her pauldrons and gloves were first to hit the deck. Her slender, pale hands were seldomly exposed to those around her; keeping them on gave her better grip on her daggers. That hardly mattered now; they were probably on the ocean floor already. Her mask went next, knot hidden behind her raven-black hair that fell halfway down her neck before swirling back up in waves. She knew her thin, yet feminine lips wore a snarl. Her face was no secret to them, but she despised being exposed. While she wielded her thighs as a weapon, showing off just enough to keep them on edge and curious, her face was more beautiful than sexy, and that was attention she didn't want.
"It's not too late to stop this foolishness," she began. Arai's slap hit her cheek without warning. She turned on him, ready to lunge, but stopped herself just in time, seeing his hand raised ready to signal Telik. His smug face didn't even look nervous. The audacity!
"Keep going," he simply stated.
With jaw clenched to the point where she feared breaking a tooth, she removed her knee-high boots. Red leather piled on top of red cloth and armor. Next, she reached behind and undid the zigzagging cord holding her chest armor in place. It collapsed forward and she had to catch it. Arai stared greedily at her newly revealed cleavage.
"By the brotherhood," he giggled eagerly. "I knew they were big, but Vanessa. That has to be three handfuls per melon."
"You disgust me," she responded, keeping her voice steady, eyes sharp, and head high. She had always expertly hidden them within the corset-like armor, which made them appear big but not massive. Now the secret was out. Annoyed and, she had to admit, a little bit embarrassed, she let the armor drop to the deck.
Arai gasped, reaching out to grab at her naked breasts. Vanessa slapped his hand away. He shot her an angry look, then returned his gaze to her huge hooters. "How can something that big be so firm and kept… together? I thought one needed one of those brassieres to do that." Quickly, he wiped a drop of drool from the corner of his mouth. "And those nipples, so circular, small, and perky."
"Clearly, you haven't seen many naked women," she scolded, earning her another slap. One more and she would rip his throat out regardless of the consequences.
"Keep going," he said. He sounded cold now. Plainly unhappy about her comments. Perhaps her provocations weren't the best if she wanted to negotiate at some point, and she had to remember her parents.
Shimmying out of her final items of clothing, she stood naked on the deck. One hand hid her bald womanhood, the other attempted to conceal her breasts, but it was like balancing two great baskets with a single arm, if those baskets would bulge out on either side of the arm like squished dough, that is.
"Have mercy on me," another Uncrowned sighed from behind her. "I was aware that those thighs were thick, but my oh my, that is the bounciest, juiciest booty I have ever seen."
She wanted to spin around and scold him too, but what was the point? The Uncrowned, her own brotherhood, was all around. Prying, hungry eyes feasted on her visage from all sides. Besides, if she spun, things would jiggle, and she couldn't allow that.
"You can serve the tables," Arai said nonchalantly. "Cookie?"
"Gurrrrgggghhhlll," said the murlock as he waddled onto the deck from the hut. He carried a small silver tray.
The next leg of the journey, Vanessa VanCleef, heir of the Defias Brotherhood and uncrowned princess of the Uncrowned, spent serving her own men ale, rum, and stew in nothing but her birthday suit. Every time she sauntered over to a table to take an order or deliver a bottle of grog, the 'patrons' at said table would look at neither the beverage nor her face, but stare at her exposed bosom while she served and gawk at the alternating jiggle of her ass cheeks when she left them. The first couple of times she sighed and rolled her eyes, but as the hours went by, the feeling of discomfort and self-consciousness began creeping in.
At one table, a one-eyed, pink-haired gnome named Veliram flipped a coin onto the deck.
"Can you pick that up, sweety?" he asked in a playful tone.
With a dampened growl, she bent her knees to pick up the copper coin.
"Oh no, don't bend at the knees," Veliram said with his cruelest grin.
Vanessa rolled her eyes and bent over at the hip to pick up the coin. Her humongous tits hung low, and her voluptuous bum stuck out atop the magnificent pedestal that was her thick thighs. Whistling and hoots filled the deck. She stood back up, slamming the coin onto the table hard enough for ale to slop out of their mugs. A still-veiled human man got a good sip straight into his lap. He stood up angrily, black eyes like hot coals. A rough deckhand grip locked around her wrist. The wrinkles around his eyes and his gnarled hand were those of an older man, but his vice-like grip was undeniable.
"I need to teach you some manners, bitch," he coughed hoarsely.
Yanking her arm, he sat back down, bringing her over his lap as if she was a naughty girl who had stolen honey. She kept her legs firmly together to guard her womanhood. Her toes hit the planks on one side and her fingertips on the other. The rough hand followed the contour of her right thigh, cresting her bottom; it almost felt like sandpaper. This was not the silken touch of a tender noble.
The first slap of the spanking made her tense. Not because of the slight pain or the embarrassing reverberations across her booty like the surface of a still pond disturbed by a rock, but because of her seething anger, which told her to tip the old fool over in his chair, break of a chair leg, and plunge it down his throat. She didn't, though.
Everyone was watching at this point. Cheering, chugging ale, giggling, and all in all enjoying the abuse of a woman some of them had known for years. No honor among thieves, she thought. The slaps came infrequently but hard. The indecency was worse than the pain, although it had started to sting a bit. Luckily, the surface of her booty was enormous, and the old man was too greedy in wanting to cover it all, he didn't focus too much on one spot. Furthermore, he would stop at uneven intervals to lustfully squeeze her cheeks as a parched man lost in a desert would squeeze an emptying waterskin. Men were simple creatures, she reminded herself; there was no way they could break a woman like her. If they chose to go further beyond this humiliation, she could take it.
"Human do it wrong," a slack-jawed ogre announced as he stood up from one of the nearby tables and stomped over. "Let Rugmash try."
Oh darn. Rugmash has invariably been a brute for as long as he has served me. This might hurt bad, she realized, feeling a trickle of sweat run down her back.
"Alright," the old man sighed, disappointment apparent on his voice. He gave her one final squeeze, kneading her left buttock while sucking his teeth.
"Don't damage her too much," Arai yelled from somewhere. This was bad.
As if she was a ragdoll, the ogre lifted her and carried her to his reinforced chair. The position was the same, but atop the ogre's massive legs, she couldn't quite reach the floor with her toes and fingertips. The first slap alone was insane. The meaty hand, broad as a paddle with fingers that whacked down like the tails of a whip, came down with a loud smack blending with the impressed gasps of the onlookers. An unintended 'ugh' escaped from her lips as she was pushed forward, her eyes wide. The shock of the sound swiftly gave way to the stinging agony of the impact.
"Oh, fuck," she exclaimed.
Another smack. This time she was able to keep her mouth shut, but she grunted. The old man was observing, scratching at his head, and nodding as if seeing an artisan craftsman demonstrating his handywork. By the sixth slap, the pain was becoming impossible to ignore. By the ninth, the grunts had come to stay. By the twelfth, it was becoming unbearable. By the twentieth, tears were swelling in her eyes for the first time in years, and there was no end in sight.
"P-please," she blurted out after what had to be sixty or seventy slaps, her pride no longer a sufficient bulwark against the onslaught. "N-no more!"
Rugmash grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back, so he could peer into her eyes from above. With puppy-dog eyes, she stared back at him through a veil of tears. "P-please, mister Rugmash, no more. It hurts!"
"You suck instead?" the stupid brute grunted.
"W-what? No!" she responded through gritted teeth. There was no way.
Another twenty slaps followed. Her bum had gone from a light pink to a light red, to a deep crimson with a blue fringe. She refused to cry but couldn't keep those damned tears from threatening in her eyes.
"You suck instead?"
"Oh, Light," she sighed, but she knew she would do just about anything to avoid another slap of that fleshy spatula of a hand on her colored cheeks. "O-okay, I'll do it." At that, everyone cheered.
Next thing she knew, she knelt before his chair, waiting between the triangular borders of his meaty knees and loincloth. He pulled the cloth aside, revealing a sizeable cock that was much closer to a club than a penis. He drew her head in close and rested his half-chub member on her forehead, draping it across the top of her head. Reluctantly, she stuck her tongue out and tentatively touched the huge, hairy nut sack with the tip of her tongue. The taste of sweat and grime was strong.
The other people on deck had gone quiet. Instead, they watched with perverse glee, chugging down ale as if watching a duel. Except, this one she knew she had already lost, and they knew it too.
Maybe I can at least make it quick, Vanessa pondered. She certainly didn't want to provoke another spanking. As she flicked the stinky sack with her tongue, pushing at this globe and that, the giant rod grew rigid. It rose above her like a monolith, casting a long shade. Leading with her nose and following through with the tongue, she moved up the shaft toward the head. She swirled her tongue about the shaft, on the one hand wanting to make it quick, on the other dreading whatever awaited her under his foreskin. Eventually, she got to the top of the monolith, using both hands to withdraw the turtleneck. A repository of cheese met her alongside a sour stench.
"Vanessa like?" the ogre inquired. Without warning, he took hold of her head and shoved his dirty dick into her poor mouth hole.
"Gawk, gawk, gawk, gawk," was all she could answer as his schlong of doom was repeatedly thrust down her gullet. His vintage cheese was smeared on her tastebuds as one would spread butter on toast. The silence of the crowd had become a murmur as they discussed the scene playing out before them. Through the haze of that choke rod prodding her tonsils and flicking her uvula, she believed she heard worried phrases such as damaged goods, ruined deal, and hopefully intact. It triggered in her an instinct to flee, but the fear for her parents was an anchor keeping her secured. The tears were not just ones of embarrassment now, but of the horrific throat raping.
The moan of the ogre was her only warning. She pulled her head back to avoid drowning in the sludge of his spitting trouser snake. It slithered from her esophagus and slid over her tongue, but just before she could get it out into the open, the ogre took hold of her head once more. The first pump of cum slushed across the slope of her tongue and ricocheted from the back of her throat. The second pump sent another dose of sludge to meet the first midway into a great swirl. The third pump whipped up a froth in the raising goo levels of her mouth cavity. The fourth and fifth filled every nook and cranny, puffing out her cheeks forcefully. The sixth sent something straight up her nose, running out her nostrils. As he released her head, she turned to the side to spit the disgusting gravy upon the deck.
A firm hand grabbed her chin. It was Arai, turning her face upward to look into his. Her cheeks were puffy with the ogre sauce, as if she was a gluttonous hamster. He came close and she had half a mind to spit it into his ugly face. He smiled at her as if reading her mind. The only thing he said was: "swallow."
It took sickening gulp after sickening gulp to get all the white gravy down her gullet. Several times the stuff almost came back up, but she forced it all down. The ordeal was an offense to her tastebuds, an assault of her stomach, and a scar on her reputation. She dried a drop of seed from the corner of her mouth. Tears of rage burnt in her eyes.
"Good girl," Arai said. The rest of the crew chuckled at that. It must have been the closest Vanessa had ever been to ramming her fist down someone's throat. But she didn't. "Prepare her," he added, walking away.
A dozen hands were suddenly upon her, grabbing her hands, feet and hair and holding her down. Some ravenous paws snuck in a pinch or squeeze on her bottom or melons.
"Get off me, bastards, I will flay you!" Vanessa bellowed. Now she hardly cared, she would not be dogpiled like this.
Yet, it was no use. Her arms were tied behind her back, underarms overlapping. Her heels were pulled toward her butt and tied there. An intricate pattern of ropework was constructed around her back and belly, between and around her tits, almost like a net – many of the brotherhood were sailors, and masters of the knot.
"What the fuck is this? Let me go!" she demanded. For the first time during this horrible day, her trepidation was primarily for her own future.
"Well, let me tell you", Arai explained in a calm voice. "The new Horde declined our application for membership, even when we told them we'd give 'em you. Turns out you're not even worth much as a Horde slut. That's when the boys had a suggestion. You see, they had heard that the new warchief wanted an alliance with the goblins at Booty Bay – strategic position, as it is. If we sail to the Horde on the Juggernaught with Booty Bay on our team, we will no doubt be met with open arms. So, that brings me to the boys' next suggestion: We needed an icebreaker and a gift of parley when approaching the goblins."
"Wh-what? An alliance? But we're neutral! And what gift?" Vanessa asked, looking around. Everyone on deck was looking at her now, smiles widening all around.
"What gift?" she reiterated.
A single rope was bound to the intricate vest of ropework surrounding her torso, while the other end was connected to one of the massive cranes atop the battleship's deck. The crank of the crane was turned, and Vanessa was lifted into the air. They never did give an answer to what gift they had alluded to, but she had a grim suspicion. I am truly fucked, she thought.
To be continued in a truly disturbing part 2.