He unfastened the buckles of his pretentious robes with a rush that could almost be considered comical if it had been a different situation and a different person. He didn’t disrobe completely, of course, he just loosened the necessary amount of cloth that allowed him to free his cock. She hooked her leg on his waist, urging him to continue. His hand ran up her thigh, collecting the wetness that, in the meantime, had started to trickle down.
He used it to slicken his cock, grasping it tightly and stroking it from the base to the tip. There was something primal and thrilling in his action, a basic need as ancient as Nirn itself that had to be satisfied. It was unadulterated instinct. Something that put them both on the same level.
As he shoved her damp smallclothes aside and pushed himself deeply and unceremoniously all the way in, Maren closed her eyes, rested her head back on the wall and exhaled, letting herself be used as he liked.
He grabbed her legs to have a better leverage and immediately started to pound for real, without wasting time in unneeded foreplays. He fucks like a Nord, she mused. His movements were unrelenting, determined, but everything else about him was foreign to Maren. The firmness of his lean body, the angular features of his face, the aftertaste of spiced wine in his mouth, the absurd color of his eyes, a rich hue that reminded her of birch leaves in autumn. No, he was not a Nord and she realized that’s exactly this that had turned a twisted, spiteful feeling into something so deliciously right.
The sound of slapping flesh and broken sighs echoed through the empty corridor. Someone was going to hear them, eventually. They had to make it quick, and make it count. She knew that he wanted her to come fast and bask in the sight of her undoing. She would remember this moment, she’d know whose hands had touched her in the most intimate way, the hands of the enemy. And as soon as the memory would surface in her mind, shame would follow, tainting like a blood stain on a white dress, for as long as she tried to wash it away, it would always be there. She would never be able to look at her brothers and sisters without feeling the sting of betrayal and guilt.
She wondered if Ondolemar was thinking the same thing about himself.
Maren knew she was close, the intensity of it was overwhelming, something she had rarely experienced in her previous escapades. As she felt the pressure of his forefinger and thumb, rolling and stroking between her thighs, she locked her eyes with his.
I can make you come with two fingers, whore of Talos
Smug bastard.
She grabbed his neck and arched her back from the wall, meeting his thrusts fiercely.
“I know you are close. Say it. Forswear your God and I will give you what you desperately want”
Maren’s head was the battlefield where the civil war of her senses was raging. She tried hard to endure and delay the inevitable. Not before him.
“Say it”
Ondolemar’s words were commanding but they sounded as uncontrolled as he looked. She knew right then that every barking order or resistance on her behalf was pointless. They had shed their dignity and stepped into this unexplored territory together, peeling all the layers of stubbornness, loathing, pride and differences, only to discover that underneath they were driven by the same desires.
“F-fuck you” she blurted out between gasps. It was liberating.
“No human, I fuck you”
It started from the trembling of her legs and arms, an anticipating sensation that made her oversensitive, and then, all of a sudden, she felt herself gushing and clamping around him, while he moved in her violently, without pulling out. He circled his waist a few more times and when he lowered his head and looked at himself as he kept on entering her, now completely drenched in her fluids, he spilt biting at his bottom lip.
Re: Ondolemar/F!DB - "Pantheon" 6/?
He unfastened the buckles of his pretentious robes with a rush that could almost be considered comical if it had been a different situation and a different person. He didn’t disrobe completely, of course, he just loosened the necessary amount of cloth that allowed him to free his cock.
She hooked her leg on his waist, urging him to continue. His hand ran up her thigh, collecting the wetness that, in the meantime, had started to trickle down.
He used it to slicken his cock, grasping it tightly and stroking it from the base to the tip. There was something primal and thrilling in his action, a basic need as ancient as Nirn itself that had to be satisfied. It was unadulterated instinct. Something that put them both on the same level.
As he shoved her damp smallclothes aside and pushed himself deeply and unceremoniously all the way in, Maren closed her eyes, rested her head back on the wall and exhaled, letting herself be used as he liked.
He grabbed her legs to have a better leverage and immediately started to pound for real, without wasting time in unneeded foreplays.
He fucks like a Nord, she mused. His movements were unrelenting, determined, but everything else about him was foreign to Maren. The firmness of his lean body, the angular features of his face, the aftertaste of spiced wine in his mouth, the absurd color of his eyes, a rich hue that reminded her of birch leaves in autumn. No, he was not a Nord and she realized that’s exactly this that had turned a twisted, spiteful feeling into something so deliciously right.
The sound of slapping flesh and broken sighs echoed through the empty corridor. Someone was going to hear them, eventually. They had to make it quick, and make it count.
She knew that he wanted her to come fast and bask in the sight of her undoing. She would remember this moment, she’d know whose hands had touched her in the most intimate way, the hands of the enemy. And as soon as the memory would surface in her mind, shame would follow, tainting like a blood stain on a white dress, for as long as she tried to wash it away, it would always be there. She would never be able to look at her brothers and sisters without feeling the sting of betrayal and guilt.
She wondered if Ondolemar was thinking the same thing about himself.
Maren knew she was close, the intensity of it was overwhelming, something she had rarely experienced in her previous escapades. As she felt the pressure of his forefinger and thumb, rolling and stroking between her thighs, she locked her eyes with his.
I can make you come with two fingers, whore of Talos
Smug bastard.
She grabbed his neck and arched her back from the wall, meeting his thrusts fiercely.
“I know you are close. Say it. Forswear your God and I will give you what you desperately want”
Maren’s head was the battlefield where the civil war of her senses was raging. She tried hard to endure and delay the inevitable. Not before him.
“Say it”
Ondolemar’s words were commanding but they sounded as uncontrolled as he looked. She knew right then that every barking order or resistance on her behalf was pointless. They had shed their dignity and stepped into this unexplored territory together, peeling all the layers of stubbornness, loathing, pride and differences, only to discover that underneath they were driven by the same desires.
“F-fuck you” she blurted out between gasps. It was liberating.
“No human, I fuck you”
It started from the trembling of her legs and arms, an anticipating sensation that made her oversensitive, and then, all of a sudden, she felt herself gushing and clamping around him, while he moved in her violently, without pulling out.
He circled his waist a few more times and when he lowered his head and looked at himself as he kept on entering her, now completely drenched in her fluids, he spilt biting at his bottom lip.