Cynric was disgusted. The alien feel of something piston inside of him was gods awful. He felt like that jezebel of Haelga back in Riften; the thief knew from Rune that she offers her arse first to her numerous lovers, for the sake of being kinky.
His hood was ripped back then a hand grips his sweat-slick blonde hair, snapping his head back. Cynric grits his teeth in pain. The gag was removed, allowing him to breath through his freed mouth before it was partly stuffed with a rod of greasy rigid flesh. The thief retched after realising that it was another filthy cock from one of those mercenaries, a repulsive Imperial pig of one.
It was revolting.
A cuff to his ringing ear was all the warning the thief needed. The Breton did not bite down but refused to compromise any further as the horrid meat was wedged further in his reluctant hole. The only comfort he got was that the fat, pulsating thing was pitifully small in length; it only filled half of his mouth's capacity.
Sweaty, meaty, dirty hands comb through his hair before clamping down on his skull - trapping him entirely. His nose uncomfortably presses into the fatty tissue of the man's hairy paunch, smelling the odour of musky sweat and stale ale. The fat Imperial experimented by retracting himself until he left the bulbous tip between the lips, then eagerly pushing back into the wet and warm orifice. He sighs blissfully, shallowly bucking his flabby hips into the thief's delectable mouth.
It was surreal. He was fucked on both ends; one ramming his arse while the other humped his face.
If the thief's rage-clouding mind can rightly recall, there were three of them. It would explain the ghosting of fingers, the same ones that fingered his rectum for buggery, delicately tracing his exposed abdomen as if in admiration. The light caresses were parallel to the crass handling, bruising the flesh of his hips and head.
The mercenary behind put more strength and speed into his thrusts, clawing at the thief's slim waist. He keeled over the thief, panting from the awesome pleasure given by the supremacy fucking, biting into the leather clad shoulder as if marking his bitch. The Dunmer's thrusts were getting more desperate and brutal than the previous ones. The grey-skin is close.
The thief snarls. He clenches his fists until bloody crescents were left behind. His sharp ears perk at the metallic jingling, figuring out that his valuable findings were in the fat mercenary's poaches. Seems that the curs are going to steal from him as well as violate him. Just wonderful.
Suddenly, the fat Imperial squeals as he spills his slimy seed into the unsuspecting mouth. Cynric starts from surprise then shudders as the foul fluid fills his mouth, the repugnant saltiness coating his squirming tongue. His cheeks puff out as he refuses to swallow the bitter liquid, trickles of it seep from the corners of his pursed lips wrapped around the thrusting rod.
Agonising seconds passed as the Imperial still pumped his cock, spending the last of his come. At long last he collapses backwards on his arse, away from the spluttering thief as he sighs in total satisfaction.
While the contented swine stares blissfully off into nothing, Cynric painfully coughs up and spits out the mucky substance. His lungs burn as he raggedly inhales air, attempting to sooth away the horrid crick in his neck.
He is in hell.
As the thief regulates his flow of breathing, the sodomising sell-sword growls as he approaches his release. He grabs his bitch's hair to pull on painfully, almost tearing out the roots, for leverage and adding to his sick pleasure. The Dunmer slams in more urgently than before. His cleft, grey lips curl back in a leer, bearing his yellow rotten teeth. His cock stabs at the squirming walls that push down to expel him.
Sorta Misfire MPC/MPCS - Cynric/Mercenaries - Misfortunate Events (1b/??)
His hood was ripped back then a hand grips his sweat-slick blonde hair, snapping his head back. Cynric grits his teeth in pain. The gag was removed, allowing him to breath through his freed mouth before it was partly stuffed with a rod of greasy rigid flesh. The thief retched after realising that it was another filthy cock from one of those mercenaries, a repulsive Imperial pig of one.
It was revolting.
A cuff to his ringing ear was all the warning the thief needed. The Breton did not bite down but refused to compromise any further as the horrid meat was wedged further in his reluctant hole. The only comfort he got was that the fat, pulsating thing was pitifully small in length; it only filled half of his mouth's capacity.
Sweaty, meaty, dirty hands comb through his hair before clamping down on his skull - trapping him entirely. His nose uncomfortably presses into the fatty tissue of the man's hairy paunch, smelling the odour of musky sweat and stale ale. The fat Imperial experimented by retracting himself until he left the bulbous tip between the lips, then eagerly pushing back into the wet and warm orifice. He sighs blissfully, shallowly bucking his flabby hips into the thief's delectable mouth.
It was surreal. He was fucked on both ends; one ramming his arse while the other humped his face.
If the thief's rage-clouding mind can rightly recall, there were three of them. It would explain the ghosting of fingers, the same ones that fingered his rectum for buggery, delicately tracing his exposed abdomen as if in admiration. The light caresses were parallel to the crass handling, bruising the flesh of his hips and head.
The mercenary behind put more strength and speed into his thrusts, clawing at the thief's slim waist. He keeled over the thief, panting from the awesome pleasure given by the supremacy fucking, biting into the leather clad shoulder as if marking his bitch. The Dunmer's thrusts were getting more desperate and brutal than the previous ones. The grey-skin is close.
The thief snarls. He clenches his fists until bloody crescents were left behind. His sharp ears perk at the metallic jingling, figuring out that his valuable findings were in the fat mercenary's poaches. Seems that the curs are going to steal from him as well as violate him. Just wonderful.
Suddenly, the fat Imperial squeals as he spills his slimy seed into the unsuspecting mouth. Cynric starts from surprise then shudders as the foul fluid fills his mouth, the repugnant saltiness coating his squirming tongue. His cheeks puff out as he refuses to swallow the bitter liquid, trickles of it seep from the corners of his pursed lips wrapped around the thrusting rod.
Agonising seconds passed as the Imperial still pumped his cock, spending the last of his come. At long last he collapses backwards on his arse, away from the spluttering thief as he sighs in total satisfaction.
While the contented swine stares blissfully off into nothing, Cynric painfully coughs up and spits out the mucky substance. His lungs burn as he raggedly inhales air, attempting to sooth away the horrid crick in his neck.
He is in hell.
As the thief regulates his flow of breathing, the sodomising sell-sword growls as he approaches his release. He grabs his bitch's hair to pull on painfully, almost tearing out the roots, for leverage and adding to his sick pleasure. The Dunmer slams in more urgently than before. His cleft, grey lips curl back in a leer, bearing his yellow rotten teeth. His cock stabs at the squirming walls that push down to expel him.
He is in paradise.