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Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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Stenvar looked down at the Breton leaning against him. He was glad they hadn’t tried to make it back to town—she likely wouldn’t have made ten steps before he’d have had to have carried her. Not that he would have complained—he enjoyed the few chances he had to hold her to him. “You look exhausted, Bridget. To bed with you.” He turned to one of the bedrolls, making sure that furs were stacked beneath it to give extra padding. Turning back to her, he saw her shivering. “Bridget, we need to get you into warmer clothes,” he suggested gently. He hadn’t realized that the snow that had caked her armor had soaked into the leather as it melted. “Where are your other clothes?”

Bridget’s teeth chattered as she shook her head. “Only brought my armor. Thought we would be back by nightfall,” she admitted, cheeks reddening. “I’ll be fine.”

Stenvar shook his head. Strong fingers moving with sureness, he began to unbuckle her light leather armor. “You’re going to be ill. Now stop arguing,” he ground out. Soon she was huddled in just her underthings and Stenvar swallowed a growl. “Into the bedroll. Now.”

Bridget scuttled to the bedroll, cocooning herself in the furs. Slowly the cold began to seep from her to be replaced by the warmth of the bedroll. “Thank you, Stenvar,” she muttered groggily as sleep claimed her.

Stenvar stood staring down at the sleeping Breton, shaking his head. Stripping off his own armor, he settled down on the bedroll beside Bridget, pulling the furs of his bedroll around himself. In the morning they would be on their way. And woe betide Bridget if she was under the assumption that Stenvar wouldn’t be paying closer attention to her packing from now on.

Stenvar looked down at the Breton leaning against him. He was glad they hadn’t tried to make it back to town—she likely wouldn’t have made ten steps before he’d have had to have carried her. Not that he would have complained—he enjoyed the few chances he had to hold her to him. “You look exhausted, Bridget. To bed with you.” He turned to one of the bedrolls, making sure that furs were stacked beneath it to give extra padding. Turning back to her, he saw her shivering. “Bridget, we need to get you into warmer clothes,” he suggested gently. He hadn’t realized that the snow that had caked her armor had soaked into the leather as it melted. “Where are your other clothes?”

Bridget’s teeth chattered as she shook her head. “Only brought my armor. Thought we would be back by nightfall,” she admitted, cheeks reddening. “I’ll be fine.”

Stenvar shook his head. Strong fingers moving with sureness, he began to unbuckle her light leather armor. “You’re going to be ill. Now stop arguing,” he ground out. Soon she was huddled in just her underthings and Stenvar swallowed a growl. “Into the bedroll. Now.”

Bridget scuttled to the bedroll, cocooning herself in the furs. Slowly the cold began to seep from her to be replaced by the warmth of the bedroll. “Thank you, Stenvar,” she muttered groggily as sleep claimed her.

Stenvar stood staring down at the sleeping Breton, shaking his head. Stripping off his own armor, he settled down on the bedroll beside Bridget, pulling the furs of his bedroll around himself. In the morning they would be on their way. And woe betide Bridget if she was under the assumption that Stenvar wouldn’t be paying closer attention to her packing from now on.

It was hours later and the fire had burned down so that embers glittered like rubies amidst the ashes. As the fire died, so the cold curled back around the two adventurers and with it the shivering that wracked Bridget. Blindly, she sought out the heat she could feel just at the edge of her senses, rolling towards that solid wall of heat beside her. Finally she was beside it and she sighed contentedly as she curled against the wall of heat. She had never felt so warm and safe, she thought, absently stroking her hand against the wall. The wall shifted and she suddenly found herself engulfed in arms like bands of steel. Oh, she thought with a small grin, it was one of THOSE dreams. Nuzzling, she snuggled deeper into the warmth, banishing the cold that chased the edges of her dreams.

*A!A here--I screwed up. Poor cutting and pasting on my part. So here's the cleaned up 2nd part.*

Bridget nodded, settling beside the big Nord. It was nice. They didn’t do this very often, she thought tiredly, already reaching into one of her packs for some food she’d cooked earlier. She knew that she shouldn’t pass up this opportunity of a blazing fire to do more cooking but the cold and the day’s events had tired her out. Handing some of the wolf steak to Stenvar, she took a bite of her own share and chewed. “This is nice.” Her head fell against the shoulder of his armor, resting there as she stared into the fire. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Stenvar. That means a lot.”

Stenvar looked down at the Breton leaning against him. He was glad they hadn’t tried to make it back to town—she likely wouldn’t have made ten steps before he’d have had to have carried her. Not that he would have complained—he enjoyed the few chances he had to hold her to him. “You look exhausted, Bridget. To bed with you.” He turned to one of the bedrolls, making sure that furs were stacked beneath it to give extra padding. Turning back to her, he saw her shivering. “Bridget, we need to get you into warmer clothes,” he suggested gently. He hadn’t realized that the snow that had caked her armor had soaked into the leather as it melted. “Where are your other clothes?”

Bridget’s teeth chattered as she shook her head. “Only brought my armor. Thought we would be back by nightfall,” she admitted, cheeks reddening. “I’ll be fine.”

Stenvar shook his head. Strong fingers moving with sureness, almost as if he was getting a child ready for bed, he began to unbuckle her light leather armor. “You’re going to be ill. Now stop arguing,” he ground out. Soon she was huddled in just her underthings and Stenvar swallowed a growl. “Into the bedroll. Now.”

Bridget scuttled to the bedroll, cocooning herself in the furs. Slowly the cold began to seep from her to be replaced by the warmth of the bedroll. “Thank you, Stenvar,” she muttered groggily as sleep claimed her.

Stenvar stood staring down at the sleeping Breton, shaking his head. Stripping off his own armor, he settled down on the bedroll beside Bridget, pulling the furs of his bedroll around himself. In the morning they would be on their way. And woe betide Bridget if she was under the assumption that Stenvar wouldn’t be paying closer attention to her packing from now on.

It was hours later and the fire had burned down so that embers glittered like rubies amidst the ashes. As the fire died, so the cold curled back around the two adventurers and with it the shivering that wracked Bridget. Blindly, she sought out the heat she could feel just at the edge of her senses, rolling towards that solid wall of heat beside her. Finally she was beside it and she sighed contentedly as she curled against the wall of heat.

She had never felt so warm and safe, she thought, absently stroking her hand against the wall. The wall shifted and she suddenly found herself engulfed in arms like bands of steel. Oh, she thought with a small grin, it was one of THOSE dreams. Nuzzling, she snuggled deeper into the warmth, banishing the cold that chased the edges of her dreams.

Wow this keeps getting better. Good for Madanach! I love how he defended her. I loved it.

Out of all the military factions in Skyrim, the Stormcloaks are the only ones I've never seen torturing prisoners. This has given rise to a minor headcanon: Ulfric may be a racist warmonger with a terrible temper and blind spots you could drive a semi truck through, but he doesn't condone torture (for understandable reasons!). And he has made damn sure that all his officers know there'll be hell to pay if they do. Can I get fic dealing with this idea? Go wherever you like with it.

A handsome and somewhat naive imperial priest (original characters very welcome) from one of the cities or Cyrodiil decides to visit one of Skyrim's orc strongholds as a missionary, with fantasies of saving their daedric worshipping souls. But this is the kink meme, so you know how well this goes!

My firstborn is yours for a scene with restraints and the imperial helplessly riding the orc chief's lap, facing the other men present so they can get an eyeful of his cock steadily betraying him without even being touched. Let's see whose ways are stronger now, human!

Yes please: humiliating talk, bondage, anal, slow fucking, bottoms with neglected and desperate cocks, rimming, and lots of cruelly gentle mouthing and fondling of the rest of his body by that big strong brute of an orc.

No thanks: blood, pain, bathroom stuff, or any flavor of dubcon darker than the sexy unrealistic fantasy kind.

*A!A--Sorry, I know I have more than 5 other stories in the works, but I couldn't resist. Forgive me and know that I will return to Mercer, Belethor, Stenvar, Delvin, Brynjolf, and everyone else very soon.*

"Troika"

Igrainne sat apart from the other Stormcloaks, sipping on her mug of ale. She wasn’t in the mood to celebrate—not this. Not her betrayal of Balgruff and the city that she had pledged to defend. If only she could have figured out another way—-but her hand had been forced.

Standing, she smashed her mug down and stormed off into the night.

Galmar and Ulfric watched her outburst, nodding to one another before they followed. They kept a fair pace behind her, striding after her with singular purpose. Seeing her step to her house, they watched her fumble with the key in the lock before she stepped through.

Ulfric’s boot was in the space of the door before she managed to close it and Igrainne glared at the future High King. “What do you want, Ulfric?” she demanded darkly.

Ulfric’s brow rose as he took in the barely contained rage of the Dragonborn. Gods above but she was breathtaking when she was angry. “Is that any way to greet your High King?” he breathed, pushing the door fully open and stepping through, Galmar following immediately behind and shutting the door behind them.

Igrainne allowed a bark of laughter before she stormed closer to the firepit at the center of the ground floor, staring into the flames. “Again, what do you want, Ulfric?” she ground out, studiously choosing not to meet his gaze.

Ulfric nodded to Galmar, who stepped to the side opposite of the Dragonborn. They always worked well together, had since they were younger. “A better question, Dragonborn, is what do you want?” he asked, stepping closer to the woman.

Igrainne ground her teeth, eyes shutting. “For once not to be thought of as the Dragonborn would be nice,” she spat. “Fucking dragons.” Turning, she startled at realizing how close Ulfric stood—she was practically nose to chest with the man.

Ulfric smirked down at the woman before him before he met Galmar’s eyes. Nodding, he turned his attention to her armor, his fingers dragging gauntlets and cuirass off even as Galmar attended to her leggings and boots, stripping them from her as well. Soon she stood only in her underthings, quivering in anticipation as two of the most powerful men in Skyrim gazed at her in hunger. “Igrainne, I can guarantee, we are not thinking of you as the dragonborn right now.”

I'm intrigued, anon, please continue.

Ok... I hope this is along the lines of what you're looking for. I have never written like this before so I do hope you enjoy it!

.....

"How did I end up here?" she wondered as she hung naked by her wrists. Her orifices filled with thick, wet tentacles, "Oh that's right. I turned my back on a god."

----------

"Did you think to escape me, Miraak? You can hide nothing from me here. No matter. I have found a new Dragonborn to serve me." came the thundering voice from above.

Miraak cried back in defiance to the ancient god, "May she be rewarded for her service as I am!"

Miraak's death was harsh and swift. So much that it knocked Anaïs from her feet, sending her sliding across the rough stone ground. Hermaeus Mora's eye turned its attention to her, "Miraak harbored fantasies of rebellion against me. Learn from his example. Serve me faithfully, and you will continue to be richly rewarded."

Anaïs pulled herself up to her elbows. "No..."

"No?"

"No! I'm not a pawn! I'm not *your* pawn!" She came to her feet and stood in defiance. Deep down she was terrified that her death would be as quickly as Miraak's, but she refused to back down. "I am the Dragonborn! I will make my own path and my own destiny and I will be a servant to NO Daedra!"

With her final words echoing around the platform she turned to walk away. A sudden crack against the back of her armor sent Anaïs tumbling forward onto her knees, "This is it." she thought, "This is how I die... at the hands of this monster."

She barely had a moment to finish her thought before a tentacle wrapped around her ankle and roughly dragged her across the platform. She grabbed for something, anything, to hold onto, but she knew it was a fruitless attempt. Did she really believe the strength in her arms was enough to stop him from wrenching her towards him?

Suddenly she was weightless. Being lifted into the air as the platform beneath her shrinking, wind whistling in her ears, "He's going to drop me! I'll be nothing more than a small splatter stain in his realm. Another Dragonborn who defied him and paid the price for it."

She came to an immediate and jerking halt. Anaïs felt his eye staring at her. She refused to meet his stare and instead closed her eyes, waiting for the tentacle to release its grip and let her plummet to her death. Her eyes shot open to meet his frightening stare as she felt a boot slide off her leg. Another tentacle wrapped itself around her exposed ankle as the other boot slid off. More tentacles appeared then pulling off bits and pieces of her armor. Shredding the leather as if it were as brittle as old parchment. All that remained was her tunic, which, with nothing to hold it down against her, flew up and covered her face, and breeches.

Anaïs grabbed at the tunic and pulled it back down to cover herself. A foolish hope that the small act would keep her from losing her clothing further. Two tentacles whipped themselves around her wrists and pulled her arms back, thrusting her chest forward. Her tunic and breeches were unceremoniously shredded as the rest of her armor had been. The thick linen scraps gently wafting to the ground below.

Her eyes alight with shock and embarrassment as she hung there, completely bare in front of the ever judging eye of Hermaeus Mora. "You will serve me faithfully, Dragonborn. One way or another... you will serve me."

Anaïs hung there, silent as his threat sank in. She gasped as a wet tentacle slid itself against her womanhood. A threat? No. This wasn't a threat. This was a promise. She was going to serve him and he was going to reward her...

She opened her mouth to shout, it could cause him to drop her, but she would not be a Daedra's plaything. "FUS-" she had no chance. A tentacle shot out from the dark cloud of Hermaeus Mora and slid to the back of her throat.

"Did you honestly believe I would not see that coming?" his gaze upon her was never changing. "You are foolish Dragonborn. Though... somewhat lovely in a way for a mortal. I'm sure you'll grow into looks, but you're not displeasing to look upon."

She furrowed her brow. Did he just call her ugly?! She would have had the audacity to scoff at him had his tentacle not been working in and out of her throat with ease. The tentacle between her legs had not let up either. She tried, but a heated excitement was building within her body. The tentacle had grown wetter... or was that her?

He changed her position then. Moving her perpendicular to the ground and facing downward. Tentacles wrapped around her ankles and thighs pulling her legs apart. Her wrists still restrained, pulling her back. He breasts still thrust forward. She was turned this way and that as Hermaeus Mora looked upon every inch of her body. More tentacles appeared to run themselves over her body, wrap around her neck. One yanked her ponytail back forcing her head up. The moment her eyes met his own the true assault on her body started.

Tentacles slid between her breasts, wrapped around and squeezed her nipples. Grunts and groans erupted from her gagged throat. She was tickled and teased. All the while the tentacle sliding along her folds grew wetter. A chuckle came from the floating Daedra, "You may deny to yourself that you're not pleased, but your body cannot lie to me."

Again she'd have scoffed.... though the rising heat between her legs was too much to ignore. She ached and hurt as she felt her muscles tighten within her. The tentacle sliding along her removed itself. A slight relief passed momentarily through her body until seconds later it returned. Plunging itself deep within her. A guttural scream was muffled by the ever present tentacle. It was large. Larger than any mortal, and immortal, man she had ever had. Hermaeus gave her body no time to adjust as he savagely thrust his tentacle in and out of her. Her body was spun around to face towards the sky. Her legs, pried open, as she was being vigorously fucked faced him.

"You handle me well Dragonborn. Who would have thought a mere mortal such as yourself could stand up to a Daedra? But then again... you are no mere mortal are you? I do hope you've been enjoying your reward. However, you must still be punished for your impudence."

*Whack!* The crack echoed around her as a tentacle smacked her haunch. The stinging was hot and immediate. *Whack!* Another crack. This time across the buttock *whack!* *whack!* *whack!* Each one caused Anaïs to arch her back and try to wriggle away from the assailing tentacles. Her behind was riddled with red whipping marks.

Hermaeus tightened his grip on her legs and pulled her open further. He yanked her wrists forward and swung her arms above her head. She had no choice now, as if she had any to begin with, but to meet his gaze as he used her body for his amusement. She fought the orgasm rising in her body. Truly believing she would have been able to wait out an immortal being. How could she? He could use her for eternity until he got what he wanted from her.

Without warning a tentacle slid between her buttocks and into her tight ass. She jerked at the sudden intrusion, but was unable to move as Hermaeus held her firmly in place. The tentacles moved in tandem. Hard and fast. Penetrating deeper into her. Her body shook with the orgasm the Daedra brought to her. The tentacle removed itself from her throat and she cried out as the wave of pleasure hit her. Her cum running down her legs as the tentacle was removed from between her legs.

Her vision grew hazy and the world became dark around her.

Anaïs awoke on the ground back in Solstheim. Her clothes and armor perfectly intact. Had she dreamt the whole final ordeal? Her legs wobbled as she stood. She felt a dull ache resonate on and in her ass. She pulled herself upright and collected her belongings and tread off towards the village.

He was right. She would serve Hermaeus Mora. She would serve him faithfully and be rewarded richly every time.

OP here!

Ahhh I'm so excited someone's decided to fill this! And so soon! :) I love what you've got, A!Anon. Mercer is perfect-- creepy and Mercer-like and just what I'd wanted. His POV was an awesome way to show how much of a creep his is.

I can't wait to see more of him and the DB. Especially their first interaction with one another!

Thanks again!

I actually had to run around the coast to find a good enough setting for this and then a Lurker attacked when I did find a place. Like nope. Run away.

Characters: F!DB, Ancarion
Genre: PWP
Relationships: Hetero
Warnings: Masturbation, Fingering, Oral
Summary: The Solstheim Agent comes across the dragonborn desperately trying to please herself, only to be pulled in with her.

Tags: char:F!PC, char:ancarion, race:altmer, race:imperial, kink:dom, kink:fingering, kink:oral, kink:masturbation, relationship:het, es:skyrim

Notes: I fought with this but ultimately, I'm satisfied with it. Ancarion is just a slight Thalmor asshole because really, when I talked to him he was pleasant enough and he's willing to bargain with you so I assume he is probably more business than stomping on everyone (to me anyways). I mean, his men only bruised up the blacksmith, not like full on torture like SOME... I mean, really, Nelacar is being a drama queen at the moment. So I killed your master for Azura, big deal. He was more evil than her! Like come now, Nelacar, don't be a baby.

She lay back against the sand, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she rubbed herself more, her eyes on the stars before she closed them and bit down on the collar of her robes. She tried hard to focus on something to excite her, a threesome between herself, the Legate of Riften and one of the Altmer soldiers she had seen. Her best friend, maybe, between her legs helping her or even a stranger at a one of the taverns taking her against the wall. The more she tried the harder it became and she let out a noise of frustration, stopping to kick as the sand.

She needed to get laid. She cursed Nelacar to the planes of oblivion, his damned holier than thou attitude as of late the reason for her sexual frustration and she turned onto her stomach, digging her fingers into the sand. She tried again, rubbing, her legs spreading and her collar being bit but it did nothing to help her, her desire eating away at her, hungry and dissatisfied. She hit her head against the sand.

“Fucking Nelacar!” she shouted, punching the ground before she dug into her bag, pulling out a bottle of lubricant. It was nearly empty and she bit her lip but her need was too great and she emptied the rest on her hand. With her fingers slick she tried again, the wetness helping in making her twitch and quiver but her body was not satisfied with her own workings.

She grabbed the empty bottle, hoping it would help but its cold texture only discouraged her and she dropped it, whimpering as she did. She was tired of forcing it, of being alone and she looked to the trees and snow behind her, quiet as the sea lapped the sand. She hit her head against it again, sighing. “Fucking Nelacar… You couldn’t just listen to reason… Now I’m out here alone.”

A twig snapped as if it was waiting for her to say it and she got to her knees, her hands itching as she watched the forest. Either the weight of snow on a branch had made it collapse or something was watching her. She prayed it wasn’t one of those dirty men who turned into a monstrous bear form; she hated them and their looks at her from a distant as if she was a venison cut waiting for them to dig in.

There was another crack, signs of movement and she readied herself, staring. “Come out!” she shouted, her hands wishing to shoot fireballs at the trees but she restrained herself. “Come out or I’ll hunt you down!”

A large figure emerged from the trees, their robes black and their arms crossed, still keeping a distance. She stared, knowing she had seen them before when they slowly came forward making her flush.

“What… What are you doing?” she asked, trying to calm herself down but she throbbed from below, her legs pressing together tight. Ancarion sighed, rubbing his temple before crossing his arms again.

“I should say the same for you, dragonborn,” he remarked and she flushed.

“I asked first, Thalmor,” she said, crossing her arms and he sighed, coming closer to her until she could see his golden eyes perfectly, his frame still slim underneath his robes. “Ancarion.”

He said nothing for a moment, his golden eyes sweeping up her and she felt herself become a little more self-aware, smoothing her hair back. “We’re out of supplies. I was going to go see if those idiot Nords up in their pathetic village had anything but I damned well lost the path,” he shrugged. “Now what are you doing?”

She flushed, her ears burning as she shifted in her spot. He stared at her. “Really, Alla, speak up. What are you doing here in the middle of nowhere?” She drummed her fingers against her leg, pondering it when he came to stand over her. She flushed even more looking up at him and he stared her down.

She hated the Thalmor, she really did especially when her first encounter with one went so sour, but Ancarion was reasonable. He struck an easy deal with her that would find both of them profit and she had, on more than one occasion, sought him out when she was bored and wandering the island. He wasn’t anything like the mer whose name he almost mirrored; he was intelligent but not boastful about it and he readily admitted to being a bit daft when it came to matters that weren’t about the Dominion or weaponry. It was refreshing to do business with him when he openly laid his cards on the table and let her bargain.

She contemplated her options.

He wasn’t half bad looking either; sometimes she thought of him when she was preying on some hapless wizard back in Skyrim, his face young and build strong but slim. She found herself sighing, her legs pressing together to feel herself pulse and slowly she grabbed the hem of her robes and pulled up making him stiffen.

“I need release,” she said in an almost breathless voice. He gaped at her and she felt herself practically throb under his gaze on her making her desire only increase. “So…”

He swallowed. “Yes, that’s what I thought you were doing…”

She immediately glared at him, shocked. “Y-You were watching me?!” she nearly shouted and he frowned. “Y-You pervert!”

“Me? A pervert!?” he spat. “I’m not the one sitting on an open beach brazenly rubbing one off!”

“I’m not, obviously!” she cut in. “O-Otherwise I already would have come and had been sleeping and we wouldn’t be having this conversation-! Oh gods,” she buried her face in her hands, embarrassed and he shifted uncomfortably above her. “Ancarion.”

“W-What?”

She exhaled. “Please. Help me.”

She could feel him bristle with anxiety at her words, his weight shifting between his feet, his hands firm at his side. She looked up to him, biting her lip and he looked away, blushing. “That… is a highly improper…”

“I’ll craft you any Stalhrim you want,” she cut in. “For free.”

His eyebrows raised.

“Just help me get some release!” she begged, tugging on his robes which sent his eyes locking back on hers. “I’m bloody desperate!”

His fingers nervously tapped against his side and he crossed his arms, uncrossing them after a second as he fought internally with what to do. She shifted, getting on her knees before him and she waited, panting slightly as she did, her desire more than obvious. He opened his mouth, about to speak when he stopped, fidgeting more. “L-Let me get this straight. I get a free Stalhrim item just for… helping you… release?”

“Yes,” she begged. He still hesitated. “Ancarion, please! You don’t have to fuck me, just help me get off! I’m desperate!”

His eyes moved up and down her and she squirmed in her spot, feeling herself becoming unbearably frustrated, her body pulsing and throbbing just for a touch by someone that wasn’t herself. He pursed his lips. “S-So, what? Just… lick you or something?”

She flushed at his words. “Y-You can just use your fingers… but your tongue…”

“No, no,” he waved her off. “If I can just use my fingers, fine. Lay down.”

“Thank the gods,” she cried, falling onto the sand and she pulled her robes up, exposing herself. He said nothing but a shade of red seemed to highlight his cheeks. “Just… rub. Or something. Do anything, Ancarion, gods, before I die!”

“I doubt you’ll die,” he scoffed as he knelt before her, slowly pulling off his glove before his fingertips lightly caressed her. She jerked, crying out. “By the divines, you’re wet… You honestly couldn’t do this yourself?!”

“No!” she nearly sobbed as her hips twitched. “Ancarion! Just do it or forget our deal!”

“Alright! Calm yourself you… you improper girl!” he chastised. “Stop moving so much!”

She tried but her body was aching badly, her mind becoming scrambled. His fingers touched her again, their smoothness making her breath catch and he slowly rubbed, sloppy and inexperienced. She twisted below, not believing her bad luck and she grabbed his wrist, leaning up as she did. He waited, glaring at her.

“Put your fingers... like this,” she ordered, forcing his index and middle finger together. “Rub up and down, to start, l-like this.” She reached down, showing him with her own fingers, her hips moving a bit as she did. “Just… do that. For a bit.”

“F-Fine.”

She fell back against the sand as he imitated her, her breath catching in her throat as he brushed over her clit. He rubbed in a steady motion, his concentration purely on what he was doing and she closed her eyes, distracting herself. She focused on the steady rhythm, convincing herself in her mind that it could be enough and her thoughts drifted away from her, her hips bucking to the inexperienced Thalmor’s fingers.

“H-Harder,” she whispered to him, her own hand going down to join, just to rub her clit a bit as he obviously didn’t know about it. He pulled back making her kick his body and he slapped her leg but continued, hissing as he did. He got back into a rhythm, working with her own and she rode his fingers, hers moving in incomplete circles making her start to arch. “A-Ancarion! More!”

He hesitated but did as she asked. “More!” she begged, her thighs beginning to shake. “A-Ancarion! Ancarion, gods, more!”

“I am! I-I… I don’t know what you want!” he spat, continuing his rubbing but she barely paid attention to his words. His fingers on her were all that mattered and she bit the collar of her robes again, whimpering endlessly as she finally started to creep up to the release she needed. It was like she was running up a staircase, the steady rhythm of his fingers pushing her on and she began breathing harder, focusing on the ‘top’; reaching that goal that she needed to hit and she began to thrash, the sand being kicked under her feet.

“Gods!” she begged. “Don’t stop!” She began crying out bucking violently and her fingers stroked her clit, putting just enough pressure to make herself arch even more. He maintained his movements, shifting in the sand as she tried to get away, to get more, get whatever and she finally – finally – came against his rhythm, his fingers the ones sending her over the edge.

She let out a high cry, her hands moving to grab at her clothing, pulling as her body took over and she heard him let out a strained breath, his fingers still milking her. She grabbed his wrist, pushing his hand against her until it became painful and she knocked him away.

Her body slumped on the sand, her breathing ragged and laboured but it subsided as did the pain morphing into that familiar aftermath she loved. She moaned, inhaling the scent of the wet sand, the air that was filled with distant smoke and pine trees and she felt the Thalmor’s smooth fingers on her, spreading her legs making her look down. His brows were fixed, looking at her and she sighed.

“Enjoying the view?” He flushed at her words, scowling at her for a second. She merely raised herself up on her forearms, exhausted, warm, and watched him as his eyes flicked back down studying her again. He was looking at her as if he had never seen a woman’s well-spent sex and she cocked her head. “Ancarion, have you ever fucked someone?”

“Of course I have,” he muttered and she raised a brow. He growled at her. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

“Your sloppy fingers, your curious boyish staring,” she remarked and he dug his nails into her skin making her yelp. “Stop that! Let go of me!”

“I’ll have you know, unlike you uncouth and idiot Nords-”

“I’m an Imperial!” she cut right back and he scoffed, dropping her legs.

“Whatever! You bloody humans! We Thalmor, unlike you, don’t just rush into it. We take our time, courting, making sure we are compatible with our desired one,” he said and she snorted.

“Boring.”

“Oh shut up! Our women are respected and bred with perfect genetics because they pick superior mates! They don’t sour the pool, unlike your kind. So just because I haven’t touched a women in such a brazen and disgusting way doesn’t mean you can make assumptions!” he shot right back and Alla stared at him, her eyes flickering down to his robes which seemed tight on his body. She realized he was leaning forward.

“So then why are you obviously hiding your erection,” she pointed out. “If I’m so disgusting for wanting release which is natural.”

He turned a shade of crimson she had never seen on an Altmer before and he let go of her, standing up but still trying to hide himself as he did. “I don’t have time for this. There, I got you off, I expect a Stalhrim sword by tomorrow. Get on it!”

“Ancarion,” she said in a steady voice and he looked down at her, his lips pressed thinly together. “By the gods, sit back down and get your dick out. And stop being offended at everything.”

He did nothing, his breath being exhaled through gritting teeth and she waited until he relented and knelt back down, obviously having weighted the consequences of walking back with a hard-on. She moved closer to him, pulling up his robes and she reached underneath, her fingers drawing across the start of his trousers. He stiffened and she gave him a look but said nothing, gently running her hand down until she found what she wanted. She gripped him, her hand sliding along his hardening shaft and she frowned as she kept going, her cheeks beginning to flush.

“Ancarion,” she said softly.

“What?”

“How big are you?” she asked and he fidgeted making her pause, trying to do the mathematics to figure it out.

“Why?” he muttered and she licked her lips.

“Just… curious.”

“I-I don’t know, it’s not like I care,” he said and she drew her hand down until she could feel his balls, rubbing them to make him grit his teeth and silence himself.

“You should,” she said, slipping her other hand under his robes to stroke his tip through his pants, still working the base of his shaft. “You’re very impressive, even for an Altmer.” She complimented and he turned a bit pink, looking down at the sand in embarrassment. She smiled and pulled his robes up more, sticking her head under them making him grab her.

“What are you doing?!”

“What do you think?” she snapped, her lips joining her hands. She sucked at him through the thin fabric of his pants, pulling them down after she tired of the less-than-direct contact and the sight of him under his loincloth made her smile, the thing barely concealing him cock. She licked his bare tip causing him to grip her harshly and she giggled in response, her hands pulling at the strings so she could get at him properly.

He pulled his robes up around his waist, staring down at her with laboured breaths and she smiled. “Are you sure you’re not a virgin? You really do act like one who has never had fun like this.”

“S-Shut up!” he spat, his eyes locked on her and she took him, holding his impressive cock steady as she licked her lips, making sure her breath hit him. He shivered and she grinned.

“Just for you, Ancarion, I’ll try and swallow you up. I doubt I can but… here’s to trying,” she shrugged and his fingers dug into her arms.

“What are you talking about?” he said but she ignored him, licking the tip of his cock before she fit it into her mouth. Slowly she drew down, relaxing her throat as she did and his nails pierced her skin, his stomach becoming taunt and his chest rising as she swallowed around him. She inched down his length, shivering herself at how much it stretched her mouth and she had to pause when the back of her throat was hit. She still was gripping the base of his cock so she wasn’t nearly down enough but she knew it was probably more than he had ever had.

Judging by how he was gripping her, she could have probably even gambled on it and won. She purposely swallowed, her tongue rubbing his shaft and he hissed from above, his thighs shaking. She pulled off him, making sure it was wet and sloppy as she did and she sat back on her knees licking her lips. He stared at her, flushing.

“What is wrong with you?” he asked, nearly panting and she rolled her eyes.

“Do you want me to continue, dear Thalmor virgin or should I let you walk back to your men like that?” she said and he pursed his lips. “That’s what I thought.”

He slapped his hand on her forehead before she could continue. “This warrants another sword.”

“Fine,” she agreed, knocking him back as her hands moved to work him, one rubbing the tip while the other pumped his shaft. “But no more questioning me. It kills the mood.”

“…F…Fine,” he agreed and she slipped the crown of his cock in her mouth again, licking at his slit until he was shaking and precum began to leak. She tasted it, the small beads that formed, and her fingers worked his shaft encouraging him to relax and enjoy himself. One hand slipped down, palming his balls and he jerked, the tip being pulled from her mouth. She caught it again using her lips and she sucked, nipping at the foreskin, the head turning a bright red.

She pulled off, admiring the color and she began licking it as if she was trying to lick the icing off a sweetroll. She did it innocently, short little laps with barely anything but the tip of her tongue before she switched to bathing him, dragging up from the base to his slit using the entire area of her tongue to do it. She looked up at him once as she did, making sure she kept her eye contact as she started at his balls and moved to tasting more beads of precum that formed and she could see how hard of a time he was having controlling himself.

He eventually brought a hand up, biting his fist and he flushed deep, his body shaking as she took him back into her hot mouth, moving down his shaft again to swallow him.

She pulled up and her right hand worked him, expertly jerking him off. “What do you want, Ancarion? For me to swallow or do you want to give me a nice bath?”

“W-What?” he said, his voice shaking and she smiled at him. “Gods, Alla, I-I don’t know… Just… make it quick!”

“You have to come?” she asked, pouting and he broke their gaze, biting his knuckle hard as he tried controlling himself. “Ancarion, we just got started.”

“Shut up!” he spat, his hand clasping his face as he struggled to contain himself. “S-Shut up, shut up...” She watched his free hand let go of her to paw at the sand, his chest rising and falling more rapidly and she added both hands, moving them up and down his cock in long strokes, encouraging him to release.

“Tell me, Ancarion,” she said and he panted, closing his eyes. “Do you want me to swallow your seed? Or have it stick to my lips?”

“I-I don’t know!” he stressed, his back arching slightly and she decided to stop teasing him. She stopped her hand job, clasping the base of his cock and she went down on him, bobbing her head with the same intensity, taking in all that she could. He bucked, his voice coming out in desperate pants, his body tensing and she reached between his legs, cupping his balls. One gentle squeeze did it.

“D-Divines!” he cried, his fingers dragging across the sand, hips bucking and she struggled to hold him steady, swallowing what she could. It was bitter, as it always was, but somehow Ancarion’s seemed thicker than what she was used to. She drank it, her tongue teasing his slit as she did to make sure she got it all and she wondered if it was from him not indulging himself. As if his prudish nature somehow made him much more… delicious.

She pulled off him, covering her mouth and he fell back, the sand around them being disturbed. She swallowed, gasping after she was done and he sat on the ground panting, the sounds of the surf behind them slowly drowning them out, a slight breeze crossing the shore making Alla shiver. She looked to Ancarion who was rubbing his temples and she caught his golden eyes looking at her. “Feel better?”

He scowled at her until she opened her mouth, showing she had swallowed. He turned a deep crimson, pulling his robes around him and he looked away, embarrassed. “Y-You were the one wanting to get off, m-may I remind you, not me.”

“And now we both have,” she pointed out and he sighed. “Although… I am curious on if I could fit you…”

“No,” he said, standing up weakly, pulling himself together as he did. She chuckled. “Asshole.”

“You liked it,” she mocked making him flush and she got up herself, brushing off the sand from her robes. “Want me to accompany you back?”

“No,” he said again. She pressed her fingers together.

“Are any of your boys free?”

“You leave them be!” he snapped and she gave him a predatory smile. “Don’t distract my soldiers!”

“Do they get a break?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Because what someone does on their break is not up to you, it’s up to them.”

He glared at her as if he wished her to melt making her try hard not to laugh, eventually having to bite her lip. “I’m leaving.”

“Ancarion,” she called after him and he stopped, turning slightly to listen to her. “…Did you at least like it? Me swallowing?” She could see him shift, almost sheepishly before continuing to walk. She grinned. “Can I come and suck you off again!?”

“Bring me those swords you Imperial slut!” he yelled back at her making her chuckle. She waited until he had moved back into the woods, eventually seeing him emerge as he walked up a path in the glaciers and she sat back on the sand, running a hand through her hair, licking her lips.

She curled over, slipping her fingers between herself and feeling how she had gotten a bit worked up while servicing him. She rubbed herself, thinking of him, his taste, his smell, his adorable almost-innocent attitude. She gasped, her forehead hitting the sand and she squirmed, her fingers working, her imagination fueling herself.

The breeze hit her, blowing her robes up a bit, exposing what she was doing and she let out a small cry, biting her lip. Yes, that Thalmor Agent could do. He was large, authoritative, and still naïve enough she could teach him how to take charge with a girl. The thought alone sent her over the edge, of training an Altmer – a Thalmor Agent – how to be a dominant lover and she fell back against the sand, panting.

She rolled over, sighing and she looked at the stars above her, how slowly they were fading as daylight was starting to creep over Solstheim. She crawled to her bag, packing her things and slowly got up, heading towards the Skaal village, glowing as she did. She would make three swords, two for Ancarion’s help and one more as a bargaining tool. Maybe she could even convince some of his men to join in.

She licked her lips at the thought; the more the merrier, as they say.

--

I love this!

This was great. Thank you, anon.

I've been waiting for this fic since forever! I love Ancarion, and the fact that this had the Thalmor be the blushing virgin, made my day.
Thank you, you're great!

Has there been a fill regarding the Solitude festival descending into drunken debauchery and orgies? Would be nice to see some unexpected pairings!

Could be really hot if there is an surrogate "Olaf" (M/F) that the crowds get to dominate.

So, after the quest "the Heart of Dibella" the DB is instructed to prostrate themselves before the altar, after which they gain a damage bonus against members of the opposite gender.

This being the temple of Dibella, i can't help but imagine the DB having to do it naked, and more then likely being "attended" by the priestesses.

Im basically looking for a big fun orgy here.

Bonus for Female DB.

Double bonus for the ritual calling fprth an aspect of Didella, either as a physical person or a kink of spirit.

A/N: I’m not sure if the OP is here anymore, but I’m posting this anyway. :) Will post more as I write it…

Summary: The Listener asks Lucien Lachance about his death and she gets a little more than she bargained for.

Pairings: F!Listener/Spectral Assassin
Relationships: het
Kinks: bondage, denial, dom, ethereal sex, fingering, knife play, rough sex, submission (Obviously, I have big plans…)

Tags: char:spectral_assassin, char:lucien_lachance, race:bosmer, race:imperial, es:skyrim, kink:bondage, kink:denial, kink:dom, kink:etheral_sex, kink:fingering, kink:knife_play, kink:rough_sex, kink:submission

“May I ask you a question?”

Her inquiry is met by a gossamer chuckle as the silvery form of Lucien Lachance shimmers into view. His essence changing from a transparent mist to something more tangible before Lumen’s eyes.

“You just did,” he says, his full lips curling into an amused smile.

Lumen tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear, ignoring his gibe. “Well it’s a rather personal question.”

"Are we not bound eternally through the Void, my Listener?" he asks, moving closer to her, his curiosity piqued. "There’s no such thing as a 'personal question' between us."

The pad of Lumen's finger traces along the edge of a thick, leather-bound book. One of the many she discovered in the Dark Brotherhood’s ancient sanctuary. Unfortunately, there is little information she can glean from the timeworn tome, with its crumbling pages and mottled ink. She stares down at the book, wishing she’d just kept her curiosity to herself. Because the question is personal and Lumen has always held a healthy respect for Lucien Lachance. He is, after all, a Dark Brotherhood legend and she has no desire to offend him.

"My Listener," he says, his smooth, silky baritone tugging Lumen from her worries. "Ask."

Lumen stiffens at the command, her amber eyes meeting Lucien’s dark, spectral ones. “How did you die?” she finally asks.

Lucien's smile curves further up on one side. "I was murdered, sister," he tells her, and his smirk goes from amused to positively sadistic. Then, he moves faster than Lumen had ever seen him. One moment, he's standing in front of her, and the next, he's behind her. "Do you want to know how?" he asks, his voice carrying an elation she'd never heard from him before.

Her audible swallow draws another chuckle from the specter, and it takes Lumen a moment to find her voice. "I admit-- I am a little curious."

"More than a little curious, I'd say," he purrs. "It does make sense that one who's sent so many to their deaths would desire to know what it feels like."

"I'd rather not find out first-hand, just yet," she says, trying like the Void to keep her voice even. Lucien wouldn't kill her, she knows that. But that knowledge does little to calm her nerves when the specter is stalking around her, looking at her the way a hungry cat looks at a guppy in a fishbowl.

“Of course,” he nods. "My Silencer and I had been deceived, as had the remaining members of the Black Hand by a man named Mathieu Bellamont. I sent my Silencer to find evidence that would exonerate me, for the Black Hand believed I was the traitor. But she did not make it in time." Lucien speaks with bored nonchalance of a man talking about the weather, as though his death was no more significant than a slight chance of rain. "I tried to declare my innocence, but my pleas fell on deaf ears, as I knew they would. I did not expect my brothers and sisters to show me mercy, and I did not ask for it."

Lucien moves behind her again and says, "I was subdued when Banus stabbed me here," he presses his fingers against her stomach, putting pressure against her liver, which brings forth a wave of nausea. "The wound would've been fatal, but Arquen was a skilled healer and once I had been bound," his icy hands grab her by the wrists, wrenching them behind her. "I was healed, so the Black Hand could mete out their punishment. My siblings were well-versed in the art of torture, drawing out the exquisite agony of my death for hours."

His fingers slip into her hand as he steps in front of her, and Lumen visibly shivers when Lucien draws a finger down the length of her bare arm, only stopping when he'd gently taken the tip of her smallest digit between his thumb and forefinger. "First was Belisarius with the pliers," he tells her with a dark chuckle. “Usually I am the one delivering such glorious torments, so imagine my utter delight to be on the receiving end of such attentions."

"It doesn't sound delightful to me," Lumen admits.

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