skyrimkinkmeme | Meme Announcements!

Meme Announcements!

ANNOUNCEMENTS: UPDATED 12/16/2017

Happy Holidays, fellow Kinkmemers! I have returned and have no reasonable excuse for my absence except LIFE. I will be working on updating the archives. If anyone sees anything amiss, please let me know.

I am also hoping to find another Mod and an Archivist.

The more dedicated people we have in this Meme the less chance of it dying. I admit that being the sole keeper of the Meme is not great for the fandom. If something were to happen to me, for good, this place would go the way of the Fallout Kink Meme. Let's not let that happen! If anyone would be interested in Modding/Archiving, please drop me a line. Thanks! <3

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh. My. God. 0_0

I honestly even forgot about this prompt. Only once I started reading it did I realize that it was me who prompted it. A!A, you are awesome for filling this, I already lost hope anyone will ever fill it :3

This was heartbreaking. And exactly what I was looking for. Extra super bonus kudos for using Argis, since that was the housecarl who broke my heart in the game, too.

Perfect. :3

And just when I think no one's reading this any longer...thank you so, so much for this wonderful comment! I can't really take credit for that line; it's just a twist on Ulfric's dialogue from the game ("We're fighting because Skyrim needs heroes, and there's no one else but us"). The great thing about the character is how much of this story is implied if you read between the lines. Bethesda did a great job with him.

Obviously I like Ulfric too, despite my better judgement. I would love to read the stories you're working on. This one is cleaned up a bit over at ao3.

pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee backkkkkkk!!!!!!!miss youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uhuhuhhuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

A!A here. No, thank you for the wonderful prompt ;).

And I'm happy you enjoyed it!

I think Captcha just insulted me

TEY. MIR. AAR.
Why so perfect?
Nearly as perfect, except for one little detail(little, hah!): IIZ. KIIR. KAH.
But it really is nearly as perfect, so I guess Skyrim Iskierka breathes ice instead of fire.

Audric rode hard, his thighs cramping from exertion. He could feel the exhaustion in his horse’s gallop, but pressed on anyway. Windhelm was only another hour away, at this speed. Despite being on the road, though, his thoughts remained in his basement, tucked neatly in a hiding hole he had excavated in the stone. Nestled deep amongst must and mortar, in a damp corner of his modest home, there lay an Elder Scroll.

He also continued to revisit his contest with Alduin, reliving his mistakes and kicking himself at every opportunity. He imagined all of the ways it could have gone instead until he was tangled up in the coils of What-If, its venom poisoning his veins and souring his mood. The cold didn’t help, either. The weather was gray, the sky a sheet of dull metal, tarnished with dark stormclouds. The promise of snowfall tasted sharp in the air. He dismounted at the stables and left his horse in the reliable — if annoyingly cheerful — care of Ulundil.

The city proper felt barren. Shutters had been latched and the streets were devoid of any sign of life. The bare branches of trees appeared to scrape against the dismal sky. Loose crumbs of gravel and shards of ice broke and crunched beneath Audric’s boots, and it was so quiet that he winced upon entering the palace, for the doors let out such a groan as if in agony.

Jorleif, who was seated at the far corner of the dining table, glanced up and then his eyes turned wide, filled with something akin to awe. He regarded Audric like a spirit, looking pale, relieved, and horrified in turns. “By Ysmir, is it...is it really you?”

“It certainly isn’t Vivec,” he answered sarcastically.

“No, it’s only…” Jorleif stood, the rush of air behind him agitating the papers on the table. “Bellamy,” he said breathlessly, “we all saw it. We saw the storm on the mountain; you could watch from the city streets. And then, the noise like thunder. Was that —?”

“Yes, it was.” Audric cut him off, uncomfortable with the question before it was asked.

“But then we saw Alduin! Flying away, alive and....”

“We both survived, but only because the bastard turned tail. Where’s Ulfric?”

“Ah.” Jorleif looked supremely discomfited, and began fidgeting. “Like I said, we came to our own conclusions. There’s been mourning in the streets; we had to send guards down to the Gray Quarter, it was so clogged with…” Jorleif struggled to find the least offensive description.

“Oh, spit it out.”

“I’m sorry, I know how fond of them you are.”

“Jorleif. Nevermind your prejudices, where is Ulfric?”

The steward averted his eyes, looking displeased at being admonished. “He left with the rest of the war party, about a day ago.”

“They left without me?!” Audric yelled. His voice bounded off of the stone and got lost in the vaulted ceiling.

“We thought you were dead! And can you blame us?”

“Yes. Anyway, I suppose I’m off to Solitude. Goodbye, Jorleif, and try not to give anyone any trouble in my absence. If the weather gets you down, Ambarys Rendar sells a fine liquor at his Cornerclub. Warms up the insides quite nicely.”

He barely stayed long enough to savor the expression on Jorleif’s face.

It should’ve been less of a challenge to catch up to the company, but a recent storm had covered the roads and he’d exhausted his poor horse. What might have taken only a few hours took the rest of the night: he slumped in his saddle and cursed the deep drifts of snow as they plodded through it. It wasn’t until sunrise that he found where the tracks picked up again: deep ruts from wagon wheels and innumerable hoofprints had churned the snow and the ground beneath it. It wasn’t difficult to guess the path they were taking, and a lonely road patrol in the Pale confirmed that they had ambled through the day before. Audric traded his horse for the intel and snatched more than a few coin purses on his way. On foot, he cut through the snowcovered forests, cowl up and hood drawn to avoid being whipped by frozen branches.

At the top of a hill, he spotted them, a band of eighty at least. Like a shadow, he slid down the snowy bank; losing his footing at the bottom, he skidded onto the road splayed on his back, laughing. He accepted one of several hands offering to help him up. A tide of whispers rolled through the ranks and faces hidden behind helmets turned to watch as he pushed his way to the front. It was unnerving, and he tried to brush it off.

Ulfric was leading, Galmar at his side, of course.

Audric climbed onto the supply wagon and perched at the front, and then called, “Ulfric!”

The man in question jerked around in genuine, undignified surprise and his eyes widened, wet with either cold or relief.

“You started the party without me; how very unsporting of you.” Audric wagged a finger teasingly, but his insistent playfulness failed to lighten the mood. “Ulfric?” He wasn’t used to his humor going unappreciated.

When he finally managed to rein in his emotions, Ulfric murmured, “We’ll talk later.”

Feeling very small, Audric nodded and pulled into himself. Remorse was peculiar to him and he almost didn’t recognize it — and he certainly didn’t know where it had come from.

‘Later’ turned out to mean when they had gathered a few miles from Solitude to make camp. They stopped in a clearing, sheltered by a grassy overhang and dense forest. Audric knew the area, but not so well that he would stray by himself at night. It was frigid even here, where the stream off the coast was mild, but instead of snow, the land was soggy from a fresh downpour. He disliked the mud, but helped out anyway, grimacing all the while. The air was heavy and the sky was dark, clogged with bloated thunderheads.

Audric shuffled around the camp, loitering with the soldiers. His chest felt tight, but with what, he couldn’t tell. Guilt, longing, nerves, or even just a regular ache...it worsened when he heard Ulfric call his name. He tried to stroll casually into the tent, but it came off as a tired drag. Besides, with his head down, he looked almost humble.

Humility, Ulfric decided, did not suit him.

The silence thickened until the tension fastened itself around them both like a rope, tight, strangling. Audric resolved the matter by speaking first. “You look pale. Are you well?”
Ulfric frowned, not taking to his jokes at all. “If I seem as though I’ve seen a ghost, you’ll have to forgive me. For a while now, I thought I had.”

“Are you of so little faith?” He put up his most winning smile, but that only seemed to infuriate his friend.
“What was I supposed to make of it? A storm like armageddon at the Throat of the World? Alduin, very much alive? And you were nowhere to be found, not so much as a letter or gossip in the streets.”

“It’s not my fault!” he protested.

“Two weeks, and five days.” Ulfric rumbled solemnly. “That’s a long time not to write.”

Audric was taken aback. “I’m here now, aren’t I? And that’s got to count for something.”

“It counts for a quite a bit.” They both turned around, shocked at being interrupted: Tullius stood, the tent flap settling behind him. “I was worried about pulling this stunt without you. Though, I notice you’re without your entourage. Hardly surprising.”

Audric bristled. “We thieves honor our promises,” he spat. “They couldn’t have known; I told them the agreed-upon date and then you all left early.”

“With you presumably dead and gone, we didn’t want to lose our element of surprise.”

“You know,” Audric put his hands on his hips, “for such a renown tactician, you show a startling lack of tact.” Then he wheeled around, back on Ulfric. “Were you so quick to dismiss me, too?”

Ulfric took a moment to answer, but when he did, it sank heavy in Audric’s gut. “I was quick to mourn.”
Visibly uncomfortable, Tullius cleared his throat and confirmed plans curtly before taking leave. Audric stared at the space where he’d stood, puzzled. “You know, I feel remarkably like we were walked in on.”

“Weren’t we?” Ulfric replied, and Audric’s face went warm.

That night, Audric turned in early, but to little effect; the soldiers outside were rowdy, full of drink and story. He’d have liked to join them, but he didn’t relish nursing a hangover while tip-toeing through Elenwen’s solar. It was agony to listen to, though. He rolled around a bit before standing from his bedroll and pulling on a long shirt and some leggings. He paced around, resisting temptation, and just as he began to feel he couldn’t stand it any longer, he turned to find an unexpected visitor.

“Excuse you,” he scoffed, “what if I had been —?”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Ulfric assured him.

“What are you doing here!” he demanded, cheeks hot.

Ulfric pulled up the only chair — rickety and a little bit rotten. Not at all fit for a king. “I thought I’d try to persuade you, one last time.” Inhaling deeply, closing his eyes, he said, “You don’t have to do this.”

Audric raised an eyebrow. “No, I really think I do. I might have been able to step down a few weeks ago but the eve of the occasion? Even I’m not that flaky.”

“This isn’t another one of your heists, Audric. You’re lucky to have escaped with your life the first time.”

“And here I thought it was going to be a tea social, like back home,” he sneered, crossing his arms. “Look, I know what I’m getting myself into. And —”

“Do you? Can you really fathom the nightmare that awaits you if you’re caught?”

Relaxing a little, Audric allowed his gaze to fall slowly over the man in front of him, trying to imagine all of the scars that must have been hidden behind all of that finery and posture. “I have a few ideas. Anyway, I’m sure if she sends me back to you in an urn, it will at least be tasteful.”

Ulfric’s brows met in an angry line. “Kill you? She won’t be so kind.”

Audric gulped. “I know that. But I have to do this.”

“No, you don’t. We can make it without you.”

“Sure, but what about all that sensitive intel? I’ve had more than my fair share of time; I can stand to buy some for this place.”

“You’ve come to love her — Skyrim — haven’t you.”

Nodding, Audric reached into his shirt and lifted his pendant out. He tried not to watch the passage of confusion and then anger on Ulfric’s face as he removed it from his neck. Taking Ulfric’s hand and prying apart his fingers, he lay the piece in his palm. “Take this back.”

It was still warm from Audric’s skin. The sapphires seemed aglow with something Aether. “What did you do with it?” Ulfric asked softly.

“I told you, I enchanted it. Nothing special, mind you. Just a little restoration charm, nothing a novice couldn’t preform…”

Ulfric clasped his old treasure in a tight grip. He was mad, though he couldn’t bear to leave on such terms. He forced his other hand out to land on Audric’s shoulder, fingers digging. Startled, Audric locked eyes with Ulfric. “Please,” he tried one last time. “Don’t go.”

The two of them stayed fastened in one another’s gaze, and the gravitas of what had just taken place pulled on them both, but it still wasn’t strong enough to force either hand, and it certainly wasn't strong enough to convince either man to change his mind. After what seemed like hours, Ulfric was the first to pull away.

“Goodnight, then,” he offered gruffly, and left.
Audric slipped back into bed, tingling all over, but mostly where moments before, a heavy silver pendant had lain against his chest. He felt for it, despite knowing it would not be there, and in its absence, he fondled the silver cuff on his ear and tried to think of Bryn.

Sometime in the night, the air had frozen and snow began to fall, becoming slush. The soldiers gathered together, and Audric stood among them. He stayed low and out of sight while Ulfric gave a speech; had he his way, he’d have saved the speech for a victory. When it was time for everyone to take their places, he split off from the group, a lonely swath of black in the snow and mud. The climb was hazardous, but he’d made worse. He listened to the cavalcade and prayed for the lives of strangers to gods he didn’t trust.

Audric slipped through a pine forest as a shadow against the thick trunks. He weaved in and out and under branches; he slithered over brambles; he crawled uphill through underbrush. Here, the snow began to pile up, colder and in weightier drifts than below. Light as he was, he hopped along, not dragging his feet. His heartbeat was steadily climbing into his throat, though, as he remembered what he’d seen upon his last visit. The memories burned across his eyelids: Etienne, hanging by his wrists, dirty and bruised and broken; spatters of blood and scorch marks decorating the walls; rusted, bloodied stretchers and chain-yanks and all other manner of terrors, hidden beneath a warm and opulent façade.

The smell at the cave entrance was putrid; apparently, no one had bothered to notice that the troll was dead. It was hard enough not to vomit while clambering back through the mucky dregs, but the fresh smell of torture made him wretch, once he was in the embassy proper. He waited, trying to control himself, before moving on. He kept seeing things out of the corner of his vision: a shadow or a color or an imagined movement, and he found himself a prisoner to sickening déjà vu. His skin crawled until it was almost numb with anticipation, and he could feel his heartbeat in his ears. He wondered if the sensation alone would kill him before he completed his errand. Lamps burned, barely a flicker, and the air was warm and smelled of lavender and tallow. The windowpanes would occasionally rattle with wind, but there was nary a creak beneath his feet, nor even the whisper of his cloak. His hand relaxed around the grip of his dagger, and that was his first mistake.

A searing coil wrapped around his throat, quiet and deadly as any snake: it burned his skin and seemed to reach inside him, incapacitating him. He screamed, but there was no sound, and he lost himself in the pain. He might have reached for a weapon or rolled away to defend himself, but he could barely move.

“Contrary to popular opinion, lightning can, in fact, strike the same place more than once.” Elenwen’s cordial voice only accentuated her venom. “But I would expect a thief — even a petty one — to know better.”

Tears burning in his eyes, Audric tried desperately to Shout, but found nothing.

“The Dragonborn, in my grasp. How tempting it is to make an example of you. To execute Man’s Hope, Lorkhan’s shining star, publicly, gruesomely…” she speculated delightedly.

Audric’s anger scorched him from the inside while Elenwen’s spell continued its torture. It surprised him; any fear he was feeling hurtled forward, convulsing, twisting itself into aggression. This went on, growing, swelling, hot discomfort pushing against him from within.

“Sadly, there is little time for such a formal thing.”

“Lady Ambassador,” quivered a nearby voice, “the report is that there’s been an ambush.”

The invisible snare tugged on Audric’s neck and he choked, crumpling to the ground. “You mean there were more of them?” She sounded genuinely surprised, which would have pleased Audric, under other circumstances.

“Well. Tullius’ men, actually.”

“Treacherous,” she observed plainly. “Our defenses will hold, nonetheless. I will have to confer with the front, however. In the meantime, please escort our guest to the dungeon. Make him comfortable, then gag him,” she ordered. “Make certain he can’t speak, or it’s your life.”

After that, Audric faded out, resenting himself, hating Elenwen, and wishing he hadn't hesitated with Ulfric the night before.

A guard leaned against the makeshift battlement, bored. She had been left to keep watch while a small contingent cleaned up the last of the Elven rabble. She stiffened and whirled around though at the sound of hooves. A figure was approaching rapidly. As he gained distance, his silhouette became ungainly, too big to be one man, riding lopsidedly.

Then, she recognized the Thalmor garb, and raised her weapon. They continued to beeline for the camp.

“Stand down!” one rider cried, frantic. He ripped his hood down and revealed a human face. She wavered, but kept her sword raised. Still, she failed to cut him down when he tore into the camp, almost tumbling off the horse.

“My name’s Name’s Etienne Rarnis!” he panted. “I’m with the splinter group, here with Master Audric Bellamy —” he tried to explain as he hauled his cargo — the other rider, limp — from the saddle.

She shook her head. “He hasn’t returned yet. It’s been days, I’m sorry to say. But why…” she gestured at the Thalmor robes.

Etienne managed to prop himself under his burden like a crutch. “This is him.” Gently, he removed Audric’s hood to expose his face, caked in dried blood. “It barely seems it,” he said, holding back tears, “but it is, I swear. Please, he needs help...he’s barely breathing.”

“Alright,” she offered her arms. “Don’t go into hysterics, we’ll take care of him.”

“You don’t understand!” Etienne cried. “He...he was…”

Her face softened as she carried the Breton in her arms. The Dragonborn in her arms. What a strange day. “Like I said, we’ll take him to our healer. And if she can’t mend him, there are any number of talented hands in this country.”

“I don’t think we have the time for that,” he protested.

Ulfric was in the midst of a circular argument with Tullius when they were both interrupted by Etienne. He barely announced himself before lunging into a piecemeal explanation. “He’s...he isn’t well...what an understatement…”

“Start over, son,” Tullius said. “Breathe a moment.”

Ulfric’s brow furrowed as he listened, and his mouth went dry. His worst fears confirmed, he didn’t stick around to hear the rest of Etienne's story. He found his way to the healer’s tent, but tarried outside, nausea budding in his gut as he envisioned all the conditions he might find Audric in. Steeling himself, he entered, and somehow it was worse than he’d anticipated.

Audric was laid out on a cot, stripped, all his wounds uncovered, burns and scars in crosshatch. His face was wrong: his eyes were closed, as if in tranquil sleep, and no pain pulled at his mouth. His red hair fanned around his face and shoulders, revealing angry welts and monstrous bruises along his neck, his chest, and abdomen. An especially aggravated wound framed his jaw, where some despicable contraption had kept it shut.

Rage and anguish rose in Ulfric with bile, and he took to his knees at Audric’s side. He dared not touch him, but his fingers ghosted near the gouges in Audric’s wrists. He wished only to sew this boy up, to breathe life into him again, to erase the travesty and make all the pain go away.

When he was kindly asked to leave, he acquiesced without ado, but before leaving, he removed his necklace. This prized possession, this family heirloom, this tainted treasure that he had missed for so many months...it was worth returning it to the thief who took it in the first place, if it meant the charm placed upon it might help at all.

Ulfric almost regretted it later, when in the night, Audric came to with blood-curdling screams. Weeping, he considered that death might have been more merciful.

It has been five months since I updated this and I sincerely apologize. I hope this installation makes up for that, and I hope I can continue to make up for it by updating more regularly.

A!A, please tell me I've misread and there are more than 2 chapters to go.
I might die without this in my life.

I hope they're two long, long chapters… for my sake.

I need the next update in my life; I hope you finish writing soon :)

Hang in there, don't die!
Yes, 2 more chapters is my intent. The next part is much longer than my usual.
I love writing Therion and Farengar, but I started the story June 2014, and we're two months from June 2015; I've nearly been writing this story for one straight year (with a few short story breaks along the way).
On that note, sorry for the slow progression, lol. Work keeps me very busy. Finding time and conscious hours to write in are few and far between.
I'm working hard on the next chapter, I hope it is well and truly worth the wait for the wonderful anons that continue to read this slow, lengthy story. I try to make each chapter epic worth the wait.
It's bitter sweet to be so close to the end. I'll miss writing these characters, but I'm excited to start something new.
Thank you for commenting, I'll work hard to get the next part up as soon as I'm able!

Are you going to continue this story? I'm really enjoying it and hope you will finish it.

Oooh, it's back! Thanks for the hard work, A!A! I haven't checked SKM for a while so I was pleased to see some new Audric action. I must say, this is one of my favorite fics. I had taken proper spelling, grammar, and capitalization for granted before, but given the fics that I've been reading lately...well, let's just say they don't hold a candle to your writing.

Eagerly looking forward to the next installment!

One of the most aggravating things is thinking I've sufficiently edited — after rereading to the point of nausea, sometimes — only to find that spelling error or this punctuation flaw after I've posted, haha. I'm glad that despite these things, I get it right most of the time,

Thank you so much for taking the time to comment; feedback is always so encouraging. I've been working on this fic for so long now, sometimes I wonder if people are still reading.

Summary: Altia Verandus is swept up in a less-than-consensual encounter with an amorous agent of the Thalmor.

Tags:

Prompt:filled
Relationship:het
Char:M!NPC
Char:F!NPC
Race:Altmer
Race:Imperial
Kink:biting
Kink:bondage
Kink:dirty talk
Kink:dom
Kink:non con
Kink:molestation
Kink:fingering
Kink:forced orgasm
Kink:hate sex
Kink:oral
Kink:overstimulation
Kink:racism
Kink:rough sex

Altia Verandus patrolled the halls of the White Gold Tower with a sense of unease. There were Thalmor in the halls, agents of the Summerset Isles’ ruling faction, and all of them had looked her over in one of three ways – a flea to be crushed, an invisible wall, and a piece of meat to be devoured. It was bad enough being in the palace guard and a woman – so few of her fellow guards were women, and the last thing she wanted was to end up an Altmer’s plaything on a ship to Alinor. It was at times like these that she wished her Imperial armour was less easy to flip up for anyone who wanted to fuck her. Whilst it made barracks trysts simpler, when she was surrounded by Altmer like this, she wasn’t sure she wanted the accessibility. Altia wanted her shift to be over so that she could go back to her bunk and sleep for the rest of the evening. In the guest wing, she was close to far too many empty rooms. Every time there were strange visitors in the Palace, and she was in this wing, her patrols were quick and meticulous, in case any of the dignitaries, gender or race regardless, decided that the young Imperial woman walking around outside was a tasty addition to their bedtime routines.

“Well, well,” a voice purred, and she started, looking over towards its bearer to find a Thalmor, hooded in those damned black robes, leaning against a nearby pillar. “What a lovely thing you are. For a human, at least. I see high cheekbones and full lips behind that helmet. And your eyes are such an intriguing shade of brown.” He approached her, and she stiffened. “We don’t have such a colour on the Isles, not among pure-bred Altmer. Brown is for Redguards and Bosmer.” He reached for her, and she stepped away, gripping her spear tightly. “Let me examine you,” he commanded.

“You’re not my officer, so I don’t take orders from you,” she said stiffly. “Who are you?”

“My name isn’t important,” he assured her. “Other things about me, however, might be.”

“I suggest you find your rooms,” she advised shortly. “It’s getting close to ten.”

“A wise piece of advice,” he murmured. “Shall I be going alone? I think not.”

He walked towards her and Altia unwittingly backed herself into a corner. She hit the wall and he leaned over her, grasping her helmet in his leather clad hands. Lifting it from her, he tossed it to the floor, and placed his arms either side of her to trap her.

“Let me return to my patrol,” she demanded, trying to stop her voice from cracking.

“You can do just that,” he told her. “After you’ve spent a night with me.”

“No.” He grinned at the statement, a wolfish expression that unsettled her. He gripped her spear and took it from her in a single, strong wrench, throwing it to the stone floor as he pressed her into the wall, his body heat suffusing the space around her. Altia tried not to tremble. She was a soldier of the Imperial Legion, a guard of the White Gold Tower, and this Altmer was likely nothing more than a jumped up Justiciar desperate to get his rocks off. He had no power over her.

“Let me repeat myself. I will allow you to go back to your patrol, unharmed, but having experienced the most pleasurable night of your life, if you agree to go with me to my chambers and be fucked by me. If not…” he trailed off. “If not, I will force you there, and subject you to the most pleasurable night of your life. Which is it to be, Imperial?”

“Go fuck yourself,” she snarled, shoving him heavily. He barely moved, and with a rising sense of dread she realised he was bulkier and more muscular than the robes he wore gave him away to be. He gripped her arms, pinning her against the wall as a strange glint entered his eye.

“I should have known you’d choose to be forced into submission,” he growled, shoving her wrists up by her head. “You damned little humans are so insistent on being subjugated by superior beings. Very well, young Imperial. You could have had me willingly, but you chose to play hard to get.”

He could have paralysed her but he didn’t, enjoying how she writhed as he pulled her away from the wall and into the nearest room. Truthfully, he had just exited it to find another agent when he’d spotted her. The timing was perfect. He hadn’t blown off steam since his last tryst with a girl back in Alinor, and that was months ago. He needed a good fuck, and this Imperial looked like she’d be a perfect mix of unbreakable will and wonderful moans. The hardest ones to tame always had the best sounds. When he shut the door behind him he made sure to lock it tightly with a spell, throwing her down on the bed and shoving her back with his magic as he approached her. She struggled against the push but he kept his magicka firm, watching her strain against his power. Her muscles bunched beneath the armour and he cooed in delight. A warrior! They always took the longest to break down, but when they did, it was worth the effort. She’d have something to tell to her fellow guards on the long nights when they told stories, an erotic tale that would leave Imperials of all sexualities squirming and breathless. He could picture it now as he unlaced his gloves. She would never forget him, finding pleasure only with him in her mind. It would be a perfect, poetic way to conquer his enemy.

She struggled as he loomed over her, ripping her armour off as he knelt on her thighs. His hands seemed to be everywhere, stripping her of her boots and greaves, sliding beneath her skirts to roll her smalls down a little. It felt like an assault from every side, one she had no hope of repelling unless his magicka wound down. When it did, she tried to sit up and found herself pinned back down by his hands, a physical restraint this time that was somehow more terrifying than simple magic. He unlaced and unbuckled her from her armour as he began to kiss her body, biting her neck and causing her to stifle a moan. As more skin was revealed she fought harder, and he held her tighter, pushing her back every time she got up. Something secured itself around her feet, and the next time she struggled she found her left leg could barely move. Within seconds, her right suffered the same fate, and she found him pressed into her, rocking against her body as he took her bra from her. It was tossed on the floor, and he fondled her breasts, seemingly ignoring her hands’ attempts to get him off her. Her neck was ravaged by his lips and teeth, his sucking leaving dark welts in the tanned flesh. His thumbs grazed her nipples and she hit him, feeling herself involuntarily get wet. She began to pant, swallowing anything louder as he tweaked the peaks of her breasts gently. He seemed to be admiring them, his head leaving her neck for a few seconds to skim down her body to her chest. She grabbed his hair when he pulled one into his mouth, and he pinned her arms above her with one long-fingered hand. The other glided over her belly, hooking into her smalls and pulling them away from her.

Oh gods no.

His tongue assaulted her breast as his fingers slid between her legs, a slick sound following them as Altia swallowed a moan. He rubbed them over her bud and she nearly gasped at the sensation of his slippery digits running across the sensitive nub. She twitched, arching slightly beneath the stimulation. Trying not to let his touches affect her, she glared at him, lip trembling. He pressed harder, the pace increasing. The sound, a wet, sexy noise, reverberated around the room as he molested her, and her hips rose and fell with the touches. In an agonisingly slow motion he slid two fingers inside of her, thumb bracing against her nub. She was wet now, and he dragged the digits along her inner walls, crooking them and seeing her jolt in pleasure. This was unfair. It was more than unfair. With each curl he’d thrust them deep into her, long fingers able to reach places previous lovers had missed. He wasn’t being slow, either – the stimulation was harsh, almost too much pleasure as he forced her towards completion. Altia wouldn’t get there without a fight.

She struggled, trying to break her bonds and free her hands as he withdrew his fingers and plunged them back in, watching how her wetness glistened on his fingers in the lamplight. It was erotic, she admitted.

If not for the fact that he was a Thalmor agent bent on fucking her without caring for her consent. His fingers weren’t touching her skin, even though he was sucking her breast eagerly. Altia arched, her breathing ragged as his digits drove her into pleasure, rubbing her bud and walls without mercy. A shudder of ecstasy raced down her entire body, and her toes curled, as her orgasm crashed into her. He continued, only withdrawing his fingers when she jerked. It was too much.

He let her hands go to remove his gloves, and Altia tried to headbutt him, punching his stomach firmly. Winded, he nevertheless produced some leather strips and bound her hands to the headboard. Wrists securely together, she was completely spread open in front of him. She felt her wetness on her thighs, glaring at him as he sat up, moving away from her. The gloves came off and were placed on a nearby table, followed by his boots. The hood followed, nimble fingers unbuckling the various belts connecting its lower piece together. The belt came after, dropping to the floor with a thud. Altia stared at him.

His hair was short, not stubbly but cropped, enough for a woman to dig her fingers into. She hated herself for thinking of it that way. He shrugged off the long jacket, removing a long black tabard made of silk. When the tabard was gone, Altia was treated to his naked torso, lightly scarred and golden in colour. His yellow eyes gazed at her curiously as he watched her stare, the slightest smirk on his face. He wasn’t a warrior, but he was toned, muscles bunching just enough to betray his strength. His stomach showed the beginnings of abdominal muscles, brought on by agility and the occasional use of a staff.

He gripped the waistband of his trousers and she struggled, but her bonds were firm and she was forced to watch, unable to tear her eyes away, as he dropped the black leather trousers from around his waist and revealed a loose loincloth beneath. When the loincloth was removed, Altia had to stop herself from biting her lip. He was a good six or seven inches long, with golden hairs dotting the base of his cock. Two inches thick, he was uncut, and her sex clenched traitorously at the thought of him fucking her. His fingers were good enough, but he was right – he would show her pleasure unrivalled.

He approached the bed, running his fingers over her breasts before he straddled her, grasping her hips. He kissed her again, and she headbutted him. He fell back, dazed, laughing. Altia glared at him from her position on the bed, wanting nothing more than to strangle him.

“Not quite ready, I see,” he observed.

“I’m not going to let you fuck me,” she snapped.

“You don’t have a choice,” he told her with a grin, kissing her breast and sucking on her. She cursed, feeling his tongue lapping over her stomach. His lips pressed into her pubic bone, before his thumbs opened her up, and he licked a stripe up her slit to the sensitive nub. Altia swore loudly, whimpering as he tongued her. He sucked and she arched as much as she could with her restraints. He showed no clemency when pleasuring her, tongue darting inside her and over her most sensitive spots.

“I…hate you…” she gasped, and he snorted, gripping her hips tightly, diving into her core and sucking her. She wanted to squeeze his head with her thighs but she was tied too tightly. He was sinfully good, pulling groans and whimpers from her mouth as she tossed her head. It was torture. Altia felt helpless, able to do nothing more than ride his mouth. Her restraints creaked as her muscles coiled, pulling fiercely on what held her down. The inability to hit and kick at him was pure frustration, coupled with what his tongue was doing. His nails bit her skin and he almost hugged her hips to his face, groaning into her crotch. The vibrations made her jump, and she squirmed, feeling his tongue dip inside her.

He sucked her softly, his finger sliding back into her. Her moans echoed in the room, and Altia panted, slick dripping from her entrance as he licked her towards her next high. The obscene, wet laps of his tongue met her ears. Nobody had ever done this to her before, and he seemed to be devouring her, enjoying her taste as he fingered her. Because of him she would never view sex the same way again.

She hit her peak with something close to a scream, and when his tongue didn’t stop lashing her she fell back in her restraints and moaned at the overstimulation. She felt something in the restraints give, not enough to set her free, but it gave her hope. As he continued to lick, shudders ran up her spine. She felt herself growing towards another burst of pleasure, and when it hit, she cried out again. He licked her clean, sitting up and straddling her waist.

“I think it’s time I took a little for myself,” he purred, grasping his cock in hand and guiding it to her mouth. “Open, and suck for me, and if you bite, there will be consequences.”

Altia grudgingly opened her mouth, and he slid himself inside, grasping her head as he began to slowly move his hips back and forth. He moaned softly, fingers stroking her hair as she sucked. She’d done this before, and she knew how to get a man off. She tongued the slit at the top of his cock, bobbing her head back and forth. The hairs at his base tickled her nose, but she never got close enough to take him to the hilt. She teethed it a little, continuing to suck. He shuddered, grinning.

“By the Eight, you’re good at this,” he breathed. “Much practise in the barracks, I see.”

She growled and he gasped in delight at the vibrations running over his cock, moaning. He pulled himself out slowly and wiped her mouth clean from the saliva around her lips, smirking in satisfaction. He moved down the bed, opening her up with his fingers and pressing his head against her slit. Slowly, agonisingly, he slid himself in, parting her walls and causing her to whimper. Gods, she was almost ready to cum again. The size of him was as she’d expected, and he felt hard and unyielding, burying his head in her shoulder as he went in to the hilt. He bit her neck softly, licking the area and causing her to buck in surprise.

The Justiciar grasped her hips and started to fuck her like she was air and he was a drowning man. Pressing his form roughly against hers, he kissed her, groaning wildly as she gasped. It was more than she could have imagined, harder than she’d ever been taken. Breathing became difficult. His nails met her back, rough and raking down her skin, leaving welts she’d have for days to come. He bit her, capturing her lips as his body slammed into hers. This was rough, it was calculated, and he hit all the spots she had, her eyes raising to the ceiling as sweat dripped down her body.

She was on fire, shuddering with each thrust as he rolled her clit beneath his thumb. His other hand was in her hair, holding on tightly as his mouth ravished her neck, fingers twitching as she felt him, quiver. This was affecting him just as much as it was her. His hand moved down, cupping her breast and flicking her nipple as he took her, golden skin contrasting against her bronze body.

“I see why you…you patrol the…oh gods…the rich quarters, you’re quite the…Auriel, ughn!..quite prepared for anything.”

His groaning shouldn’t have affected her the way it did, but the thought of the smooth-talking agent being reduced to a hot mess by the feeling of her body was strange. His words were stuttered, and his lips trembled against her skin. It made her feel powerful, even if she hated the situation. She came, loudly and arching into him as he whispers stupid pet names into her ear, biting her neck, fingering her nub and rolling her nipple under his thumbs. He twitched, and spurted into her, collapsing next to her and panting like a dying man. Altia gathered her strength, breaking free of the restraints and rolling him over. She jumped from the bed, falling onto the floor and grabbing her amour. He sat up, panting, as she threw some of it on and ran out of the room. He watched her go, staggering out of the bed and over to his robes. Pulling them over his head, he fastened them, pulling up his trousers and slipping on his hood. He picked up his gloves, and walked slightly awkwardly from his room. A bark caught his ears.

“Tarindil!” his superior snapped. “Where in Oblivion have you been?” The other Altmer looked his subordinate over, and scoffed. “Perhaps I don’t want to know. Get back to your station.”

“As you wish, Narimian,” Tarindil replied.

*fans self*
Amazing stuff, Anon! Eagerly reading through this!

Wow! I will be re-reading that fill quite a lot, Anon!
The characters, the voice, the hotness, excellent grammar - it was the whole package! Thank you for writing it!

You're very welcome anon!

Almost two years later, and I think you're about to get your fill, OP~

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