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Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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Just a horny F!DB playing with herself in the wilderness. Then, something comes and help her to get over the edge.

"It" can be a werewolf, a Stormcloack, a Thalmor, a hunter, a passing by jarl, a companion, a dragon, a wild dremora... I don't care as long as he observes her for a moment then joins her.

Kinks are: masturbation, public, nature, voyeurism, dirty talk, rough sex, orgasm

No squicks for this!
Come on Anon, make uncle Sanguine proud of you!

Oh wow, you managed to pack a powerful amount of sexy into such a small amount of words in this instalment, I'm really impressed! Needless to say, I really, really enjoyed this part.

Outdoor sex, eh?... Thalmor you say... Maude, eh?

Completely seconding this for now and hoping in the very near future I can tackle it properly for you OP. Wonderful request!

Apologies - only just saw this A!A!

Ungh! Bryn is one of my favourites and he's crazy hot. You did him justice: the sexy confidence, the easy banter, the wicked thoughts...

Sigh. OP is very happy :)

So I was playing my new Thieves' Guild PC today, and was all prepared to play her through her first heist mission... only to have her contract Ataxia from eating a stale apple (from the mods I have downloaded).
My prompt would be a PC of any race or gender, in the Thieves Guild, who tries to continue on with a mission while sick only to be dragged back to bed by their Guildmates.
Any pairings are welcome and fluff is very much appreciated :D

This took longer than I wanted to write. I should have been done earlier, sorry OP! D:

Characters: F!DB, Lorcalin, Lydia, brief appearance by the Companions
Genre: PWP
Relationships: Hetero
Warnings: Rough sex, loud sex
Summary: The Dragonborn unwittingly is manipulated by the Thalmor to keep breaking her ties to Whiterun and her Housecarl.

Tags: char:F!PC, char:lydia, race:altmer, race:nord, kink:dom, kink:loud_sex, kink:rough_sex, relationship:het, es:skyrim

Notes: Whoops. So, background I suppose? Lorcalin (That Agent that *may* come at you during a quest for Elisif) is playing my ditz of a dragonborn for the Dominion, trying to get her obedient to them so they can use her in fucking up everything. If he's not ruining her life he's trolling her friends because it's hilarious. There's no real need to read 'Threshold' before this but you know, it's on the meme.
And people wonder why there's Thalmor Hunters hurr hurr

He loved the sound of angry Nords in the morning.

“Get out,” Aela snarled and he merely leaned against the post by the door, smirking.

“Where’s Eloine?” he asked, casual and the hall seemed to bristle with tension, one of the ugly troll twins grabbing at the sword on his back. He smiled down at him. “I wouldn’t, boy. I have free reign in your little province to kill and as much as it would be a pleasure making your head explode, I don’t fancy the paperwork after.”

“I’d like to see you try,” his lip twisted showing his teeth and he found himself chuckling more.

“Challenging a Thalmor? You’re stupider than I thought!” he said and the brute moved, stomping towards him but his brother stopped him, giving him a look of pure hatred as he did. Lorcalin only chuckled, tapping his arms. “I’ll repeat myself again for you useless brutes. Where is Eloine?”

“Right here,” he heard a man say and he looked to the stairwell where an old Nord was emerging from, his body weak as he made it to the landing. Behind him a little blonde came and she turned, looking around before she saw him. Her face lit up, her steps becoming more rapid and she rounded the bend, breaking into a run towards him. He uncrossed his arms, letting her throw herself into him and he could feel the disgust from the pathetic mortals around him, uncomfortable with her utter affection towards him.

He decided to really bother them, pushing her back and he forced her chin up looking deep into her eyes. “Lorcalin!” she said, bursting with joy and he smiled.

“Hello my little bird,” he purred and he leaned down, giving her a kiss. He could have burst out laughing at the sound of the barbarian woman scoffing in disgust, a rumble of distaste moving through the hall and Eloine flushed under him, giggling as he withdrew. She gripped his robes, her cheeks red, ears turning pink when the old goat from behind her spoke.

“Eloine! Heed my words!”

She looked over her shoulder, flushing but she nodded to him and Lorcalin narrowed his eyes. He’d have to ask her later about it. He tugged her making her focus back on him and he purposely kicked the door open to the hall making the ancient old bat who cleaned for them stiffen as he chipped the wood.

“Come on, Eloine. You’re needed by the Thalmor,” he said in a loud tone and she followed him, giving him a nod. He shut the door with a grin, loving the looks of utter malice he received, savouring it within his mind. They were too easy and too stupid to rile up; no wonder his little dragonborn fit in. She shifted next to him, holding his arm and he began to lead her away, making sure she was at his side as he took her down the steps.

“What does the Thalmor need?” she asked innocently and he shrugged.

“Nothing. Well, not exactly, I need you my little bird,” he cooed and she flushed, her grip tightening on his arm. “You’ve been gone too long from your house and I missed you.”

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, lovestruck and he grinned, parading her through the city ignoring the glares from the guards and townsfolk around him. He hated Whiterun, absolutely hated the filthy, disgusting place but his damned little pet project refused to leave it causing him to remain there to endure the stench of the filthy commoners. She was beloved by the people, as he found out through various means, her favors and utter devotion to being the Thane of the city giving her a high standing and because of that she didn’t dare stray far.

When he had first come there had been immediate resistance to him and her sudden relationship but as time went on and he sowed more seeds of discontent and sabotage, their hold on her had weakened. Before she would fidget and question the accusations of the Dominion’s atrocities; now she wouldn’t hear anything of it making him grin. He led her down past the market, ignoring the children running through it as he did and he turned her towards her little shabby home, ignoring her as she talked about some noble deed or whatever mindless task she did for the idiot Companions.

“Lorcalin!” she said his name and he looked down. “Are you listening?”

“No,” he said plainly making her frown. “I’m too busy thinking about how lovely and beautiful you are,” he lied and she flushed a deep red. “Come, my little bird. I haven’t seen you in a while and I rather wish to catch up. To your home now.”

She nodded, reaching into her pocket to pull out the key and he stared at it, trying to copy the details of it into his mind. He still hadn’t been able to pickpocket it off her as she carried a mess of keys with her at all times and she let go of him to strode up to door, unlocking it to let him inside. He held the door open, ushering her in first and she giggled, doing as he wanted.

Her key was in her pocket before he could snatch it and he cursed her, letting her move into her home. “Hello? Lydia? Are you here?”

An ugly, plain Nord came from alchemist room. “Eloine! My, I haven’t…” her voice trailed off when she saw him and she stiffened, sneering. “You lost?”

“No,” he said before the little dragonborn could. “But you look like you are. My, you’ve gotten more bestial since the last time I’ve seen you.”

“Fuck you, elf!” she spat, moving past her Thane to come up to him. He grabbed one of the swords by the door, holding it at the Nord before she came near him and she stopped, grabbing her own from her back. “I’ll kill you where you stand!”

“Try it, you ungodly bitch,” he said right back. “I’ll see your head on fire before you take a swing.”

“L-Lorcalin! Lydia! Stop!” Eloine cried making Lydia pull back, looking at her from over her shoulder. Lorcalin took the opportunity to take a few precise steps forward and her slammed the end of the blade against the Nord’s head making her yell out and take a swing. He caught it with the blade in his hand and Eloine yelled out. “Lorcalin!”

“You piece of shit!” Lydia snarled and he smirked.

“Such a foul tongue! I think it would be better cut off!”

“STOP!” Eloine shouted and the small house shook, her eyes wild as she stared at them. He stared at her, pursing his lips as he did but he respectfully moved away from Lydia, going to the stairs where Eloine stood near. She glared at him, her hands shaking and he touched her shoulder. She jerked to his touch.

“Sorry, my dear,” he said in a soft voice and her eyes moved to him, slowly looking him over before she turned back to normal. Lydia stirred from her spot.

“Eloine,” Lydia breathed out, lowering her sword. “Eloine, I’m-! No, my Thane, see?! See what he does? How he influences you?” She had relaxed a bit, frowning at her Housecarl’s words leaving her room to continue. “He is poisoning you, Eloine! How do you not see?”

“Eloine,” Lorcalin breathed next to her ear and she jerked, turning to him letting him kiss her cheek. She tensed, flushing and he took her hand. “I apologize for causing trouble. I just haven’t seen you for a while and would very much like to be alone with you.”

“Alone?” she asked and Lydia shook from her place.

“Eloine!” she said, nearly shouting and the girl’s gaze went to her. “Eloine, no! Don’t keep letting him lead you on?”

She furrowed her brows. “Lead me on..?”

“Lydia, catch,” Lorcalin said and he threw the sword at her making her shriek, moving out of the way as it hit the ground. He clucked his tongue. “Pick that up, won’t you? Your dragonborn was fetched by me, not you and I wish to speak with her.”

“Don’t touch her!” she shouted but he was already leading his pet upstairs, ignoring her slight resistance as she looked back to her housecarl. “Lorcalin, I’ll kill you!”

“Unlikely,” he yelled from the balcony, turning to grab the little Nord and sling her over his shoulder making her cry out in shock. He carried her the rest of the way, slapping her thigh as he did and she squirmed, pulling at his robes.

“L-Lorcalin! Lorcalin, t-this-!” she let out a cry as he kissed her bare calf, kicking the door closed behind him. “Lorcalin…! That tickles!”

“Does it?” he asked and he kissed her calf again, tugging at her boots making her squirm even more. “You’re ticklish here?”

“No!” she pleaded, yelping as he forced her off his shoulder and she hit her bed hard, bouncing on it. She let out a small laugh, disorientated and he leaned over her, kissing her nose. “Lorcalin! Y-You need to apologize to Lydia!”

“Later.”

“Lorcalin!”

He pushed her to the bed, pulling off her boots and she flushed, her cheeks still glowing. “What were you and that old goat talking about?”

“Old goat?” she frowned and he began working on her armor, undoing the straps and it was pulled off her, dropped beside the bed. She was naked below, her only undergarments covering her lower torso and he squeezed her breasts making her mewl.

“That Nord who told you to ‘heed his words’,” he said. “What did he mean?”

She shifted, uncomfortable. “Um, Kodlak. He’s the Harbinger,” she said and he rolled his eyes. He didn’t care what he was. “He… told me not to tell.”

He pulled her nipples making her gasp and a quick suck to her right one made her tune change. She began squirming below him, her legs spreading and her breath coming out in pants. “L-Lorcalin…”

“My dear girl,” he purred, releasing her now hard nub. “What have I told you about keeping secrets from the Thalmor?”

She frowned, her brows knitting together as she thought. “I-I shouldn’t.”

“That’s right,” he said, kissing the tops of her breasts, groping them as his lips moved up. She shifted more, her small fingers pulling at his arms. “Whatever he told you, you can tell me.”

She hesitated but relented. Idiot. “He said you were bad. The Thalmor are bad and Talos is a real god.”

“Is that so?” he muttered, nipping at her throat. “Why would he say such things to you?”

“I-I don’t know!” she said, whimpering. “I told him he was wrong! The Thalmor are good… Y-You are good! But he told me I was being… muddled?” She bit her lip and he looked up at her.

“Muddled?”

“It was a big word,” she said, flushing in embarrassment and he could guess at what the old bastard meant. Manipulated; good thing the stupid girl didn’t understand it. “I-I told him he was wrong…”

“Eloine, my darling,” he cooed, gathering her up into his arms, moving onto the bed and he began kissing her cheeks and neck until she was relaxed against him, giggling at his affection. “I’ve told you once before and I’ll tell you again. People, especially Nords, do not understand us so they will always try and drive us apart. But you know that I love you, don’t you?” He breathed against her ear and she gripped him, nodding.

“I-I love you,” she stammered, whimpering again as he kissed her temples.

“I know you do, my dearest little bird,” he purred, trying hard to keep down the laughter that wanted to escape his throat. She was so stupid, so trusting it was like killing a child. “So do not listen to them, they only wish to upset you. The Thalmor only want what is best for you – I only want what is best for you – and we are at your beck and call when you need us. We will never make you unhappy and always protect you, Eloine.”

She nodded, hugging his chest and he stroked her hair. “The Thalmor are my allies,” she said softly. “But… Talos?”

He sighed. “I’ve told you, darling, a mortal that murdered innocents and hurts others would never be a god. If he is anything, he would be more with a daedric prince and we don’t worship those, do we?”

“No!” she pushed away from him looking horrified. He couldn’t help but grin. He pushed it a little further.

“Exactly, my dear. And what man suggests you should worship a daedra? One that doesn’t have your interests at heart…”

She looked conflicted, her disgust at the mention of a daedra obvious in her mind but the old goat was dear to her. He watched her, curious on what her pathetic little brain would come up with and she finally bit her lip. “B-But Kodlak… is Harbinger. He’s… He’s good…”

“A wolf can mask themselves as a sheep, my dear,” he reminded her and she didn’t understand. “Some people who are good to you really wish to hurt you. He may seem nice but he may be wanting to destroy you. You are the dragonborn after all. Many men would like to see you dead.”

She slowly nodded, absorbing his words and he cupped her cheeks, kissing her again in false affection and she melted to him, whimpering his name. The wonderful lie he had just sold her made him chuckle, his fingers running over her body and he found himself actually wishing to reward her for her stupidity. The further he drove a wedge between her and those barbarians, the better. “Come, my darling. Lie back down.”

She did as he asked, their lips connecting once more and he pulled at the strings on her hips as his tongue pushed into her mouth, her pants of desire feeding his ego, her eagerness for him only making it better. He leaned back, tugging off his gloves and he undid his robes, pulling them over his head making her giggle. “What?”

She flushed, covering her mouth. “I-I like it when I get to see you... undress,” she said and he raised a brow, smiling at her.

“That’s rather naughty, my little bird,” he teased, poking at her stomach making her giggle. “You’re certainly a bit bolder these days.” She leaned up, wishing to help but he pushed her away, pointing to the end table. “Get the potion bottles, dear.”

She obeyed and he folded his robes, dropping them beside the bed before he ran a hand through his hair, watching her. She leaned over the bed on her stomach, reaching into the disorganized drawer full of books and necklaces and bottles and he crawled on top of her, biting the nape of her neck. She pressed into the threaded sheets, giggling and he lapped at her skin and rubbed himself against her bottom.

She spread her legs, as if she was ready for him and he merely gave her pale skin a harsh slap making her yelp. “Get the bottle, my little naughty girl.”

“Y-Yes Master,” she reverted to his title and he grinned. A few more lessons with her and he wondered if he could actually have her killing for the Dominion. She seemed to believe enough that their relationship actually existed instead of realizing he was merely using her. Maybe he could bend her to that point.

He reached down and spread her cheeks, looking between her legs while she shivered and finally she grabbed one of the bottles of lubricant he had stashed, holding it for him. He took it, popping the cork off and poured it against her, his fingers moving to make sure it was distributed well. He wasn’t in the mood for foreplay and judging by her movements, neither was she. He did admit he liked that, how she wasn’t demanding a long courting session like he was used to and he rewarded her by rubbing her clit. She panted and raised herself up on her knees in response and he chuckled.

“Feel good, my little bird?”

“Y-Yes!” she panted and he continued, making sure her entrance was slick.

He thought about her housecarl, how she was still down below and he pulled the little Nord flush against his body his fingers moving to work her from the front and she bit her lip, riding him. “Eloine, my dear, don’t hold back your voice alright?”

She frowned. “M-Master?”

He forced her chin up, the top of her head hitting his chest and he leaned down kissing her forehead. “That’s an order. I want to hear you saying my name, alright? I like it when you do.”

She swallowed but nodded, her cheeks still a rosy color and her eyes glazing over as he ran a finger over her clit. “Y-Yes M-Master…”

“Good girl,” he complimented and he let her go, allowing her to go down on her hands, spreading her as he did. She seemed ready enough, the girl having learned quick that his rewards felt good and he emptied the rest of the bottle out on himself. A few strokes and he was adequate enough to go and he took to mounting her, pressing her down against the bed. She whimpered from below, her muscles flexing as she had to support herself. “Good girl, Eloine. Keep relaxed.”

“L-Lorcalin!” she whined as he started pushing in, her walls still tight against him and he nipped the back of her neck, his fingers digging into her hips making her buck. “L-Lorcalin!”

“Louder!”

“L-Lorcalin!” she cried out and he heard movement from below. He grinned, grabbing the headboard. Gods he hoped that damn bitch below could hear. “Lorcalin!”

He kissed her shoulders and pushed until he couldn’t go any further, until she was clenching around him, shivering from below. She pulsed around his cock, her breaths uneven and he smiled, reaching down to grab her breasts, squeezing. “Master!”

“I have missed you,” he sighed against her and she tried looking over her shoulder, her eyes bright. “My cute little bird.”

“I-I…” she began and he looked at her, watching her flush, giving him a look of pure adoration and love. She licked her lips, ready to speak again and he pulled out, thrusting in hard to silence her making her shout instead, her hands buckling; he wasn’t in the mood to hear romantic drabble. She was pressed against the bed, her knees spreading and he began a rough rhythm, forcing her to adjust to it, his gentleness only in his fingers pressing against her shoulders.

She adapted quickly, moving back against him and he bit his lip, chuckling as the headboard hit the wall again, her beginning to twist below. A few good thrusts and a fingers against her clit and she became desperate for him, her hips bucking back against his wanting release. Her panting increased and he pinned her down, making sure his strokes were powerful enough to continue making the bed shift to hit the wall. “L-Lorcalin!”

“Good girl,” he groaned, driving into her. She wasn’t as tight as before since he found himself regularly having to use her but how she seemed to conform to him now actually felt better. He angled his hips, his thrusts hard and she took it with a cry, arching her back to him. It helped that she seemed completely desperate for his dick, something he never got from the girls back in the Isles.

“Lorcalin! Lorcalin, a-ah!” her voice broke out in a cry. “S-So big! You’re so big!”

“That… I am… darling,” he purred, gripping her hair as he tried to control her damned thrashing. She was starting to clench around him, her arching and tugging on the sheets below an indicator she was getting close and he pulled her back against him, the new position breaking her concentration. She moaned out and he grabbed her breasts squeezing them. “Keep saying my name, my little bird.”

“Locralin!” she said automatically, her body quickly getting used to the new position. “Lorcalin!”

“Louder!”

“Lorcalin!” she shouted, riding him hard. He chuckled, thrusting into her, his stomach starting to knot as he finally felt the pullings of an orgasm in his gut and he had to test her again, his one hand gripping her throat as he forced her against him.

“Beg for me, Eloine,” he growled, roughly pulling her right nipple making her cry out in pain. “Beg for me, my little bird, for me to let you come!”

“M-Master!” she cried out, her small nails reaching behind her to try and grab any part of him, having to settle on his forearms after wielding no results. “Master, please! Please let me come! I’ve been a good girl!”

“Have you?” he hissed against her ear sending a shiver down her spine. “Have you been good for the Thalmor!?”

“Yes!” she pleaded.

“Will you always obey us!?” he growled, squeezing her throat a bit.

“Yes!”

“Tell me, Eloine! Tell me who you obey!”

“T-The Thalmor!” she begged, her throat rumbling against his hand. “I obey the Thalmor!”

“Louder!”

“I obey the Thalmor!” she shouted making him smile. “Master! Master, please!”

“Again!” he groaned.

“M-Master!”

He let go of her throat, grabbing her wrists and he forced her against the bed, fucking into her damned squirming body, her cries fueling him further. Gods above, she felt good. His dick was becoming soaked by her damned wet pussy, her clenching making him hiss and her sporadic thrusting back welcome. She still couldn’t take all of him in but what she could felt fantastic and he dragged his nails down her back as he rode her, no longer paying attention to sounds of the bed hitting the walls.

She came first, as always, crying out his name an endless amount of times, her clenching unbearable when she was at her peak. It almost drove him over the edge, the need to come teasing in the back of his head but her body started to relax; the tightness was subsiding and he desperately bit her shoulder to get it back, her pain making herself tighten and his seed finally spilling.

He bucked into as he did, not caring for a second that he was doing it and his forehead pressed against her hair, his fingers pulling at the furs below before he caught himself. He was panting, shaking, his eyes not wishing to open but he slid off, dropping beside her. She whimpered and crawled onto his chest, burying her face into his neck. “…Eloine…”

She wormed onto him more, his seed dripping out of her body as she did and she curled against him, cuddling him as if he was a giant stuffed toy. He let her, not in the mood to push her off.

“I love you,” she cooed and he cringed. He knew he had to say it, to maintain his control over her but it was the last thing he wanted to say.

“I… love you too,” he muttered and she nuzzled his neck, kissing it. Suddenly she was up and he coughed at the weight distribution, her hands pressing painfully on his chest.

“O-Oh no! L-Lorcalin! I think Lydia is still here!” she gasped and he opened one eye, giving her a look. He would have laughed if he wasn’t so damned tired – damn girl knew how to make him spent.

“Eloine.”

“W-What?”

“Who cares,” he growled, pulling her down and he kissed her blushed cheek, feeling how soft she was before he got an idea. “Eloine, my dear… Do me a favor.”

“What?” she asked, biting her lip and he moved her head down, shifting his legs.

“Clean me,” he ordered and she blinked making him lift his hips up sending her entire face flushing making him grin inwardly. “Come now, my darling.”

“B-But…” she pointed. “Y-You were inside me.”

“I know.”

She pursed her lips, staring at him but he leaned up giving her a hard look which made her relent. She took his softening cock, holding it gently within her palm and she started to lick it, her hot mouth sending a shiver up him. He fell back against the bed, sighing as he did and he heard footsteps finally sound on the steps, the heavy boots slow as they took each one. Eloine pulled off, looking to the door but he forced her back, making her suck him while he listened to the movements.

There was a sigh outside the door and he laid against the pillows, hoping the insufferable bitch outside would come in. “Eloine?”

She pulled off his cock again with a wet noise. “Yes?” He pushed her back down.

There was a silence and Lorcalin tapped his fingers on the bed, waiting for Lydia to either enter or speak again. When his patience started running thin he began to speak. “Do you want something, Nord? Your dragonborn is a little busy.”

Eloine flushed and he pushed her head back down reminding her of her duty. She continued to lick him and he watched the doorframe, feeling a sort of tension from it.

“Lorcalin, get out,” Lydia merely said, not entering. “You’ve done enough. Leave my Thane alone.”

“We’re not done,” he mocked and he heard her shift outside. Eloine pulled off, her mouth opening but he shoved her back, displeased with her breaking his orders. “So either state what you want or leave. Preferably forever.”

He heard her exhale, a hiss to it and he grinned. “One day, Thalmor, you will be beheaded and gutted and no one will weep when you are.”

“I doubt that,” he growled, ignoring Eloine’s shifting against his cock, aware of how they were speaking. “Your kind lacks the intelligence to even match us Thalmor. Now unless you wish to keep interrupting my blowjob, go throw yourself off a cliff.”

He heard her stomp across the boards, her boots on the steps and the sound of the door slamming making his little pet pull herself from his grip, giving him a painful look as she did. “L-Lorcalin! Why would you say-!?”

“Eloine,” he growled, grabbing her arms and she stiffened at his roughness. “How many times have I told you before? I just did before this! There are people out there to hurt you and your damned Housecarl is one.”

She shook her head and pulled her wrist away. “No! Lydia would never-!”

“Eloine!” he snapped, making her wince. “I know it hurts but did you not hear her? Beheading someone innocent is not something a good person says.”

“She’s just… a-angry,” she protested, hugging her hands to her chest.

“And why would she be, Eloine? Because we are close? Because I am with you?” he asked and she fidgeted, confused. “Eloine, your housecarl is an enemy. You need to understand that.”

She began to look miserable, biting her lip as if she was going to cry and he grabbed her, pulling her into his arms as he stroked her hair, feeling her wrap her arms around him. “L-Lydia’s a good person…”

He stroked her hair, thinking. “Eloine, come back to the Embassy with me. Maybe you need some time with the Thalmor. We are the ones truly looking out for you, after all.”

She looked up at him and he continued stroking her hair. “The Embassy…? But… That’s near Solitude.”

“Yes?”

She went quiet, leaning against him but her head began to nod as she rubbed her cheek against his chest. “W-Will the Thalmor welcome me…?”

“Of course.”

She remained silent for a bit longer. “Okay,” she nodded. “Okay. I-I need to see my allies anyways…”

He grinned from above her, gently rubbing her back as he did. He’d have to send a courier away to alert Lady Elenwen, maybe even one to the guards at Northwatch as they had expressed interest in the dragonborn before and he began pondering how they could break her. Their plans were coming together nicer than he thought and he almost wanted to go and thank Lydia for her intrusion, her act of loyalty only driving the dragonborn further into the Dominion’s arms.

She looked up to him, her fingers moving to hold one of his hands and he met her eyes, waiting. “What are you thinking about?”

He smiled. “Oh, just a welcome ceremony for you, my little bird,” he said and she brightened, shifting in his arms.

“Will there be sweet rolls?”

“Oh, most definitely,” he purred and she nuzzled him once more, her fingers lacing into his as she affectionately leaned against him, forgetting her problems from before.

--

spoiler alert: there were no sweetrolls

OP, you have no idea how thrilled I am that you liked the way I portrayed Bryn! Thank you so much for your fantastic prompt, btw--loved it. And, if you hadn't already guessed, Bryn is one of my favorites...writing him is a nice counterbalance to the evil twistedness that is Mercer. Please, keep giving us those prompts--they're better than candy or chocolate or ice cream.

Redguard fraternal twins coming right up.

I love old Fantasy but I admit I would like to see it in a new setting (an AU).
A turn of the 19th Century Skyrim filled with lords, ladies, balls and those dresses and such. Basically the time of Pride and Prejudice when wars were fought with words and letters of rent. The Dragonborn could be a new lord/lady on the scene having inherited a state or such (I mean, this is an AU and Skyrim is pretty gender equal so I imagine lasses inherit) or just some sort of romance between a woman of lesser birth and perhaps a lord (The Thalmor all come to mind for being in such a class).

Something fun like that. It seems like it would fit Skyrim with a lot of the characters in it.

The fire crackled in the middle of the Bannered Mare as it had done every night since Ysolda first moved to White run, over eight years ago. For practically every night she sat by that fire, drinking Honningbrew mead and supping on the dish of the day - grilled venison or rabbit stew mostly. The usual buzz and hum of the other dinners and drinkers comforted her, but the monotony of her situation enraged her. She had diligently been working with the Khajiit, trying to trade with them and build up an impressive network of merchants throughout Skyrim, but to what end? The Jarl’s steward refused to grant her a new merchant’s license, reiterating that she was only able to inherit a merchant’s stall or buy an existing business. While Hulda, the owner of the Bannered Mare, was agreeable to sell, Ysolda was still unable to get the Khajiit to fully commit to selling with her. She lacked a mammoth tusk to seal the deal. There was a warrior who passed through town several weeks ago who promised to help her, but after the dragon attacked the Western watchtower, he was in the service of the Jarl and unlikely to retrieve the tusk. Numerous lay bouts in White run had promised to help her. Even the liar Belathor promised to give her his tusk if she would sleep with him, but much to his amusement and her loss, he had no recollection of the dealing in the pale grey hours of the morning after.

Taking the final mouthful of her mead, Ysolda decided right then and there to help herself.

The next morning, she set out from the town gates, heading west toward Fort Greymoor. She knew from her dealings with Sleeping Tree Sap that there was a lone Giant who lived in Sleeping Tree Cave. She figured it would be easier to have him in the cave, while she scoured the camp for mammoth skulls and hopefully tusks. Typically, giants lived outdoors in nomadic camps set up as they followed their herds, but this giant was different. She did not want to chance giving a giant free-range or running into more than one. She wasn’t even sure running into a 12-foot, grey humanoid was such a good idea, but she was desperate for a mammoth tusk and a lone giant, potentially accounted for in a cave seemed her best option.

By nightfall on the fourth day, Ysolda reached the outskirts of Sleeping Tree Camp. She was tired, her denim and leather dress dusty from the road, but she was also exhilarated at being faced with possibility of collecting the object that could be the answer to all her problems. Crouching behind a boulder, she observed the camp. She saw a raging bonfire surrounded by wooden posts with strange carvings and paint marks. She could smell the mammoth herd nearby, probably over the next hill. She noticed large bowls with cloth covers on rocks near the fire, and a large wooden chest with more markings. She did not see the giant.

Ysolda crept from her hiding spot after ten minutes and moved closer to the camp. Moving silently, but deftly she wandered past a stone block that also had more of the carvings and paint. The only illumination was the fire and the clear light of the half moons. She began to quickly look around at the ground covering, seeing numerous bones and skulls.

“All I need is one tusk, just one tusk.” She whispered to herself. Frantically searching, she froze when she heard a stirring at the cave entrance. Her heart pounded in her chest - surely the Giant can hear it and smell the fear pouring from her skin. She quickly broke toward one of the large stone blocks, hiding out of view from the cave entrance, pressing her back against the cold, uneven surface. She pressed further into the rock, trying to ground herself and calm her breath – she was practically panting with fright. It seemed like two hours passed before she plucked up enough courage to ever so slightly peer around the rock. To her relief, she found no signs of the Giant. Creeping out once more, she began to search again for the elusive tusk. She slowly neared the bowls and chest when she saw a long, slightly off-white tusk lying against a rock. Her heart leapt as she quickly scuttled over to the tusk, so elated, she failed to notice the trap she triggered and was caught in the net before she knew what was going on. Small bones and shells attached to the rope jingled loudly in the quiet night. It was not long before the ground began to shake with the hurried movement of the Giant charging out from the cave.

Things became surreal as Ysolda watched the Giant charging toward her. Her ears filled with the deafening fullness of her heart beating and her body instinctively clawed at the trap to get away. The way with which the Giant moved was fluid, but terrifying. He was enormous, grey-green with strange carvings on his chest and arms. He was naked, save for hides and skulls that covered his waist, forearms and shins. The large club he drug behind would have been large enough to ford some of the small streams around Whiterun. Ysolda swallowed hard as she saw the club raised in her direction. She wasn’t stupid. She knew the stories – giants did not forgive, they did not barter, and they did not spare lives. She closed her eyes tightly and waited for the inevitable.

But the inevitable was not the club crashing down on her short, auburn hair, cracking her skull like an egg, spilling brains and blood before the fire. She opened one eye to see what was going on when she saw the Giant crouching before her, nearly eye level. She screamed and lurched back.

“No Khajiit. No bandit.”

Ysolda did not move. Did the Giant just talk? She furrowed her eyebrows and thought that she was surely dead and that she was hallucinating this scenario.

“No Khajiit. No bandit.” There could be no mistake. She watched the Giant’s mouth move as he repeated the words.

“N…n…no.” Ysolda managed to utter. She could barely control her breathing and racing heart – she felt like she would lose consciousness. The Giant seemed to regard her words and then moved closer, black eyes looking. He began to sniff the air in front of her.

“Female.” The Giant grunted. The word filled Ysolda with a new dread, but what could she do?

“Y…yes. Female.” She responded. Then thought quickly. “No hurt.” she said, not altogether convincingly. The Giant stood up, towering over her. He picked up Ysolda and the net-trap like he was carrying a purse and moved into the cave.

“Oh Talos, what did I get myself into?” Ysolda wondered aloud. She swung by the Giant’s side. Do Giants eat humans? Nords in particular? She then realized she still had her dagger by her side. There was no point in attempting to cut the netting or stab the Giant, she would be but a gnat against him and she was not inclined to damage any goodwill she may have going. He brought her deeper into the cave, she could feel the air change, wetter and heavier. The smell of freshly skinned animals also permeated her nostrils. Maybe he wanted a new human hide to add to his collection.

He dropped her before another fire roaring inside the cave, smoke filtering out through an opening above. The ground was softer than she thought it would be, mixture of sand and dirt. More of the bowls with cloth coverings littered the landscape, along with bones and skulls, some of which were unmistakably human. Ysolda swallowed any hope she may have foolishly allowed herself to have.

The Giant put down the club, grunting, and opened the net-trap, leaving Ysolda lying before him. There was no mistaking the fact that he was a Giant, large and formidably, but Ysolda noticed he was not twelve feet tall, maybe nine or ten. She quickly assessed her surroundings and noticed that there were more human-type trappings in the cave, albeit extremely primitive. He also lived in a cave, unlike other giants. Was he some Halfling? A hybrid? Perhaps she could use this to her benefit.

He knelt down and inclined his head toward her, studying her in the firelight. She dared not move. The firelight, however, caught the hilt of her dagger and the Giant immediately grabbed her with both hands, raising her up. Ysolda screamed and struggled, but the Giant’s grip impossibly strengthened. Instinctually, she stopped moving, unable to breathe. Gasping, she looked at the Giant, her hazel eyes bulging. His grip slowly loosened. Ysolda’s throat and lungs burned, but the sweet rush of air, coated the inflammation causing her to choke and cough. The Giant put her back on the ground, but ripped at the dagger, attempting to remove it from Ysolda. She did not fight him, but cried out as he pulled the dagger and fabric from her body, leaving her dress in shreds around her frame. All that remained was her tan-leather undergarments and boots. The Giant looked at her for a long time, waiting for her to move or aggress. She stood still, only now panting and shivering as the adrenaline coursed through her body. He picked up the remnants of her clothing and sniffed them headily.

“Female.” The Giant said again. What was he thinking, Ysolda wondered? Had he never seen a female before? The notion that there were no female giants raced into Ysolda’s mind - what did he have planned for her? Her eyes wet with fear, she ran through the litany of all the abuses he could commit against her. The Giant then picked her up again and brought her close to his face. She could smell him – moss and animal hide, warm and not unpleasant, but feral and unknown. His hair was matted with dirt and leaves, skin grey and course, like old unoiled leather, his eyes, glassy and black. He brought her ever so closer to his face. She could feel his warm, wet breath on her skin, the slow rumble from his throat as he inspected her. He then leaned his nose against her stomach, just under her breasts and sniffed deeply. Her heart raced and her breath caught in her throat. His nose was pressed into her skin and she could feel the strong strokes of air sweeping over her skin as he inhaled. His head was twice the size of a Nord male’s, which made sense due to the Giant’s size. Ysolda found herself wondering if everything was twice the size of a Nord male but quickly brought herself back to the present.

The Giant must have felt her jerk in his hand and withdrew, pulling her back and looking at her. He kept looking at her and looking at her, Ysolda was growing slightly mad from the waiting. Before she realize what she was doing, she slowly moved her right hand, palm down toward his nose. He watched her hand move right to his nose and stop. He regarded her for a moment and then bent in to smell her hand. Again, he pressed his nose to her skin and took his fill of her scent. Her body strangely tingled from the exchange.

The Giant moved from her hand to her arm, lingering at that soft place on the underside of her elbow and back toward her torso. He moved up to her collarbone and the place between her neck and shoulder, her short auburn hair mussed by his own. As he drew heavy droughts of her scent from this tender well, Ysolda found herself become strangely aroused. Was it the primal movements? His response to her actions? The heat of his breath so heavy upon her, she absently moaned out. The Giant withdrew again to look at her, cocking his head to one side, regarding her with curiosity. Her breathing still fast and shallow, she looked back at him thinking, she needed to keep him interested. She slowly moved her hands to her breasts, massaging them over her undergarments, then lifted the cloth toward her throat as her very full breasts spilled forth.

The Giant’s eyes widened as he watched, still holding her in one hand. Ysolda again began kneading the mounds in circular motions, alternatively pulling on the hard peaks of her pink nipples. She cried out softly with pleasure, her body slightly shuddering. The Giant continued to watch her, his own guttural rumblings increasing. Ysolda finally stopped and motioned to her right breast. There was no reaction. She again looked at the Giant and pointed to the succulent mound. The Giant moved in slowly, the black eyes transfixed. He again sniffed her skin, his rough nose causing a delightful friction against the tender pink bud. Ysolda let a little moan escape, catching herself and looked to the Giant. He watched her reaction and then repeated the same movement, still watching Ysolda. She again moaned out. The Giant grunted in almost an approving manner. Then much to Ysolda’s surprise, the Giant opened his mouth, revealing a wet, grey-black tongue.

The rough tongue felt animalistic and sent Ysolda moaning louder. Her body began to tense with that glorious heat. The Giant continued to lick her breasts fully, alternating between the two, making them bounce with the force of his movements. The firelight sent shadows of the mounds dancing across Ysolda’s stomach. Her breasts quivered like a set pudding, firm but delightfully yielding. Instinctively, the Giant began to focus heavily on her pink nipples, giving him the reactions for her that he desired without the full motions of before. Without thinking, Ysolda’s hands clutched the Giant’s hands that were about the waist. She was massaging his skin subconsciously, lost in pleasure. The Giant looked at her for a moment, stopping his movements but then quickly resumed his ministrations. Her breasts were glistening in the light and growing red from the rough friction. She shook and cried out when the Giant stopped licking her marble-hard nipples and began to suck them. The feeling was terrifying at first because his mouth was so large, he could seemingly swallow a whole breast in one movement, but he was able to maneuver his lips to manipulate Ysolda’s nipples, garnering the heated reactions he seemed to be desiring. Ysolda thought she was going to burst, but could not think about anything else, the sensation was overwhelming. She could hardly believe it when she came in the Giant’s hands, held aloft.

As her breathing slowly returned to her, she had the sober realization that she was still being held by a Giant in a cave, captive in a net only ten minutes ago. She straightened up, but something caught the Giant’s attention. He rotated his wrists, thusly rotating her body so her legs were closer to his face. He began to sniff her legs ferociously, but was not finding what he was looking for. The Giant moved his way up her knees, passed her thigh and Ysolda flooded with realization – she could feel the immense wetness between her legs and the Giant could evidently smell it. His nose found her undergarments and he pressed heavily into the humid area between her legs. She gasped from the pressure and the intensity with which he took in her scent.

The Giant moved forward and placed her on a flat rock before him. It was positioned at his waist and obviously had been used for some animal butchering by the scent and stain of blood. Ysolda tried not to think about it as the Giant continued to regard her, his head cocked to the side in study. He then ripped away her lower undergarments and the remnants of the upper still dangling above her breasts. She was now completely naked before him. She could see from beneath his animal skins a bulging below his lower abdomen. There may not be many (if any) giant females, but giants still had all their equipment and desires, Ysolda noted. There was something utterly terrifying and rousing about the thought of being penetrated by the Giant.

Without thinking, Ysolda’s hands moved to her extremely wet slit, her legs parting to ensure the Giant had a full view. Her fingers expertly moved over her bulging clit, circling and squeezing it. Ysolda threw her head back and cried out with sheer pleasure from the sensation. The Giant crouched lower, sniffing right above Ysolda’s busy fingers. Her hips began to move uncontrollably as the tight buildup in her groin increased. Her breath was hard and fast. She could feel the Giant’s breath on her fingers and inner thighs – wet, warm and also fast. She brought her head up to look at him, his eyes fixed on the fury of action. Ysolda could feel her wetness streaming from her, on her thighs and down her slit to her ass. She knew it had to be pooling underneath her on the rock, mingling with whatever sacrifice has taken place before her. The sheer primal nature of the situation threw her over the final throws into full orgasm, legs twitching compulsively with the throbs of pleasure.

As her fingers slowed, her hips still rhythmically moving in time to residual waves of heat, she felt her hands moved from between her legs and pinned to her sides. Looking up, she saw the Giant had his hands over her own; his head dangerously close to her sex. She felt like a bug, pinned and wriggling to the wall. The reality of the situation was she was completely subject to his will and he wanted to inspect the source of the rivers of nectar coming from her. The Giant sniffed and then the grey-black tongue came forth, licking and lapping her. The rough texture and brutal force was almost too intense and Ysolda cried out as he greedily drank from her. Like probing honey from a comb, his tongue and lips continued to explore, much to her delight. He found the deeper slit and stabbed at it with his tongue. Ysolda thought she would pass out from the feeling, so insistent and raw. The Giant must have been amazed - the more he lapped away, the more came of the sweet, musky fluid. When she thought she could take no more, the Giant stopped.

Ysolda drunkenly looked up from the stone slab. The Giant towered over her. Escaping from the animal skins was his immense, grey erection. The Giant seemed to regard it and her, as though he never had experienced it before, but knew it was connected to her presence. She slowly sat up. The Giant did not move. Ysolda pulled her knees under herself to flip onto all fours and she crawled over to the Giant, still unmoving. She looked up at the Giant, his large black eyes over her, his bulging erection eye-level and a few inches away. She slowly reached out her hand. His length was that of her entire arm. The sheer size and thickness was startling but also incredibly stirring. She gently touched it and the Giant shifted his weight, grunting, but letting her continue. The skin was also rough, coarse, but Ysolda could feel the throb emanating from it, the blood flow intense and powerful.

While the length of his erection was immense, the head was not so massive that Ysolda could not imagine her full lips wrapping around it. A slight salivation in her mouth made her lips and tongue glisten in the firelight. She got as low as she could, still looking at the Giant. She opened her mouth, showing him her firm, pink tongue and touched the tip of it to the swollen head. The massive erection leapt at her touch, the Giant now panting and growling deeply, but he did not stop her. She began to lick under the head in full movements – from the ridge joining the shaft to the tip. Her mouth watering, she thoroughly coated the throbbing head when she attempted to take him in her mouth. He was almost too big to try at first, but she was then able to take his head fully in her mouth, her lips wide and saliva running down her chin and neck. The Giant was groaning louder now, echoing into the darkness of the cave. His hands found her auburn hair and pushed into her, forcing his bulging member down her throat. Ysolda thought for a moment she dislocated her jaw, her mouth was open so wide. The feeling was overwhelming and she gagged a little, as her throat and mouth were nowhere near large enough to fully accommodate the Giant’s throbbing rod. When he withdrew from her mouth, Ysolda saw the thicker salvia, strung about his head like decorative beads.

She quickly lubricated both hands and vigorously pumped his shaft. The Giant roared with obvious pleasure, watching her move. She would alternatively lap the swollen head as she continued to work his length. The Giant then grabbed her hair and forced her face onto his member, Ysolda knowing he wanted to plumb the depths of her throat. She opened again to his insistent thrusting and took him in as far as before, gagging from the length and fullness. There was such a mess of saliva and sweat that the dust and muck from the table became like a primitive war paint, decorating Ysolda’s body. The Giant withdrew and once again thrusting deep into her mouth and down her throat, so powerful that Ysolda though he might poke out the back of her skull. She kept gagging and gasping for air, finding the experience overwhelming but arousing. She moved her fingers again to her own throbbing groin, making a V with her forefinger and middle finger to nestle her clit between and spiritedly work it. She could feel her orgasm intensify with her lack of air, all the time, the Giant pounding his three-foot erection down her slobbering throat.

The Giant began to come in her throat and it felt to Ysolda like drowning in a sea of custard, so thick and gelatinous. He pulled his length from her, roaring and shooting ribbons of white cum into her mouth as she tried to clear her airway, cum streaming from her nose and mouth. Like a geyser, his immense cock spewed cum forth, hitting her face, streaming down her neck and splashing over her full breasts. Cum covered her torso and dripped down the length of her body, pooling on her stomach and eventually sliding between her legs, lubricating her clit as she came again, still coughing but unwilling to stop. Cum was so thick that it hung in streamers off her nipples and moved slowly down her body like drying glue.

After a series of groans, the Giant regarded Ysolda. She was awash in his cum and the mud mixture from the slab, looking quite primal herself. She lay back on the slab and the Giant began to trace markings onto her skin, made visible by the cum and mud. Ysolda watched in fascination as he worked from the tips of her feet, up her legs, over her stomach, around and on her breasts, and down each arm. The markings resembled the ones she notices on the stones outside and the carvings upon the Giant’s chest. She could only guess at their meaning, but had a notion of the significance.

When the Giant finished, Ysolda noticed the bulge again from under the animal skins. She moved toward the edge of the slab, sitting right before the Giant. Ysolda then leaned back, parting her legs and tilting her pelvis, offering herself fully to the Giant. He looked at her parted sex and back to her face, but not making the connection. Ysolda, then reached under the skins, finding the erection in full bloom. With a slight hesitation, she put the head to her slit and moved toward the Giant, feeling the swollen knob pressingly intensely against her wet opening. The Giant growled a primitive growl of pleasure and put his hands around Ysolda’s hips, pulling her swiftly toward him. Her body tensed in pain, crying out mostly in fear.

The Giant stopped and looked at her, then as he pulled again he did so slowly and she began to moan with the exquisite feeling of immeasurable fullness. Each time he thrust, he thrust deeper into her. There was no way he could fit completely inside her, but would give as much as she could physically take, which was a surprising depth. The rough skin of his erection provided a delicious friction against the tender, fleshy walls within her, which were uncontrollably fluttering against the Giant’s immense rod. Ysolda moaned in rhythm to his plunges, bringing her fingers up to her hard nipples and pulling them fiercely, matching his thrusts. The visual delighted the Giant as he made a noise akin to a laugh and sped up his plowing, unrelenting in his pursuit. Ysolda felt her body ignite, the blood rushing to her face as she screamed out in utter ecstasy.

The Giant once again came inside her, the force of his cum in the vacuum of her womb pushed the Giant back, withdrawing his cock. Again, cum came like rain over the fertile landscape, rivets of cream over the mounds and valley of her shaking body. The amount was truly staggering. It pooled under her body on the stone slab, making sucking sounds when she moved her legs and ass, making it hard for her to gain any traction. She was sliding around in shallow puddles of cum when she finally regained her breath.

The Giant looked at her, his eyelids drooping, a look of fatigue and satisfaction lined his face. It looked as though he thought for a moment, then walked away from her. She could hear him messing about with something on the floor by the fire. Straining to see what was going on, Ysolda tried to sit up, but continued to slip in the cooling pools of cum. When the Giant returned, he presented her with a mammoth tusk, engraved with the same markings he carefully drew all over her body. As she took it, she looked into his black, glassy eyes, still regarding her. Ysolda could not help but smile.

I have never, not once, ever seen a fic addressing the fact that the court mage of Solitude is a vampire who is heavily implied to EAT THE FUCKING PRISONERS IN THE SOLITUDE DUNGEONS when she's having a bad day.

This seriously needs to be remedied.

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