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Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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YAY!

Marcurio and crackishness are both welcome!

OP, are you me? Divines, this prompt is hitting every one of my werewolf kinks. All of them.

I can't guarantee anything this side of the weekend, but I'm going to try. To tide you over, may I point you to my last woof fill? There be knotting and milking and Sylgja. If I do write something it will involve Sylgja, if that's cool with you.

http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal [dot] com/3603.html?thread=5833235#t5833235

+ 1

I love literally everything in this prompt

Mmmmm! I think sequel is needed. Or better yet, a series!

Flame atronach!

Mirelle neatly tucked her dark brown hair into twin ponytails on either side of her head. The hood of her red traveling cloak – which she wore so that hunters would know that she was a person and not a wild animal when she traveled through forests – was left down as she stood back up from the stump she had sat down to rest on. It was relatively warm for a mid-Frostfall day, despite being cloudy to the point of being overcast and gray, so she was dressed in a corseted, white cotton peasant top and a brown, knee-length wool skirt. She wore knee-high brown leather boots that had seen a few years of traveling across Skyrim's mountains and fields, but were nonetheless taken care of and showed only a few signs of wear and tear. Being a courier was not an easy job, but it was never boring and it paid really well, which is why Mirelle signed up for it. It could, at times, be dangerous, but she had at least learned enough to be able to defend herself with her steel dagger.

Today, she had been sent from Markarth to deliver a letter to Falkreath's alchemist, Zaria; there was no major rush, so she could take her time. The woods, hills, and river in the area between the Reach and Falkreath were some of the most beautiful in the whole province, in her opinion, and the wafting smell of pine trees and rushing water made her feel refreshed and invigorated. The earth beneath her feet was soft enough to give but solid enough to support her weight without her worrying about slipping, and contrasted with the occasional flat rock or stubborn root that peeked out.

Little did Mirelle know, she had a rather unwanted follower; to a casual observer, he seemed like a pretty average Nord man – long blonde hair, pale olive skin, a bit of a scruffy goatee – but Kjellar was no ordinary human. Initially, he had come out here for a hunt, knowing that these wilds were not normally frequented by human activity and he could pursue his prey – generally elk or deer – in peace. However, his amplified, lupine senses picked up on the scent of this young woman passing through the forest, and that whiff of fertile femininity reminded him of a distinctly different sort of hunger that he felt he needed to satisfy... and she would be the perfect recipient. Kjellar began to sniff out that intoxicating aroma, faint though it was, and tracked her through the woods, making note of trees with her scent on them (Mirelle tended to touch the trees as she passed, to keep her footing).

As Kjellar approached, Mirelle felt a chill of fear go up her spine, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and she paused to look around. She unsheathed her dagger, and got into a fighting stance, ready to defend herself as she heard rustling among the leaves.

She was about to call out to see who was there (as there was no use in hiding, her red cloak made her blatantly obvious), she heard a rugged, masculine voice behind her, one that was clearly restraining heavy breaths.

“Well now, what's a lovely lass like you doing out here all alone, hm?”

Mirelle whipped around like lightning, her blade flashing; she could feel her heart pounding, this stranger seemed strangely more threatening than anyone or anything else she had thus encountered on her many journeys across the province. She met Kjellar's intense green eyes, and backed away to keep her distance, the dagger always facing him.

“I don't have anything you want, so it's best if you just be on your way and let me make this delivery.”

He shook his head, with a rather cruel laugh, “Oh no, that is where you couldn't be more wrong.”

The sudden realization terrified Mirelle, but she was afraid to turn her back on him for an instant, even if it meant an attempt to flee. Kjellar flashed a wolfish grin and he gave her a dark, provocative glare, “Go ahead. Run.”

The poor woman somehow knew that no matter what she did, she probably was at a loss. He hadn't been the least bit worried about the fact that she brandished a blade, and even dared her to try and escape, like he was sure that she could not outrun him. Nevertheless, she decided her only option was to attempt to get away.

Kjellar appeared to give her a head start, and his face formed a wicked smirk, “Oh, I always love it when they run,” he thought. His dark green eyes turned to an amber color, and he began to hunch over; his limbs, ears and face lengthened and gray fur began to sprout from his skin, a long wolf's tail arose from his rear, and claws formed at his fingers and toes. This process was painful, but in years of lycanthropy, Kjellar had learned to ignore the pain, and it became a fairly quick process.

He got down on all fours to pursue Mirelle through the woods, and because of his greater strength and speed, he quickly overtook her as he bounded over rocks, roots, and ledges, jumping in her path and stopping her in her tracks. Before she could turn around and run in the other direction, Kjellar pounced and seized her in his claws; Mirelle began to scream for help, but he covered her mouth tightly, “If you scream, I'll only make it hurt more.”

“More?” Mirelle's thoughts were racing, and her pale green eyes were full of tears; she was certain that this werewolf would kill her.

He held her front half down to the ground, flipped her skirt up, and hooked his right claws under the waistband of her panties. With one swift motion, he savagely shredded the cloth from her body, leaving her completely exposed. The poor woman was quaking, and her fear and helplessness only made Kjellar that much more aroused. The tip of his lupine cock was crowning from its sheath, but he wasn't ready to mount her yet.

Instead, he seized her by the thighs and pried them apart, to take in a deep sniff of her natural scents. Further intrigued, Kjellar then buried his snout betwixt her pale buttocks, the cold moisture of his nose shocking Mirelle; he then extended his nearly prehensile tongue to lap up the fluids emerging from her delicate parts, first from the lips on the outside, then as far into her vagina as he could reach. The way he drank of her nectar was vulgar, punctuated by hungry slurps and labored, raspy panting.

“Your face says you're afraid, but your body... betrays your lust. Oh, you dirty, dirty girl...” he got up and placed his large, wolfish hands on her shoulders, and began to rub his still partially-sheathed penis along the fissure of her backside. Kjellar took Mirelle by the waist and positioned himself so he could find her vagina again, and although he was of a human mindset, he could not completely fight the canine tendency to thrust ahead of time. The shining pink-red of his shaft was totally unsheathed, and as the very sensitive tip found her lips, and the emanating warmth and wetness, his thrusting became more feverish. Mirelle could feel the shaft – which was pretty reasonably thick – going in and out of her; his was larger than that of her long time lover, who recently became her betrothed.

After a couple of minutes, she found herself... enjoying it, despite (or because of?) the brazen violation. Then, Kjellar took her by surprise, and decided that he should push all the way in before he got fully hard; this would have been strange had he been in human form, but this meant that he fully revealed his cock and forced in the “knot” at the base. Mirelle bit her lip hard, and her eyes watered more, because the knot was nearly twice as wide as the shaft, and he got it into her with a small “pop!”.

This was definitely unlike anything she had ever experienced. As his knot expanded to its full size inside her, and locked them in place, Mirelle could feel every last throb and pulse against her birth canal, and the pressure on her clitoris sent powerful shock waves through her body. As she got wetter, even the slightest movement in Kjellar's hips resulted in a massive ripple through her body; she felt her vaginal walls begin to contract and relax rapidly as she prepared for a mind-blowing orgasm. These acute changes in pressure spurred the werewolf to an intense climax – though he had been constantly emitting nearly clear precum as lubrication, this was when he was able to fill her up with actual semen, which because of his length, squirted deep into her womb. The feeling of fullness in her lower belly was the tipping point, and Mirelle had a most fantastic release of pleasure.

Kjellar's ejaculate kept coming for several minutes, as it does in male canines, and Mirelle got to ride several aftershocks. The hot white cum literally filled her womb to overflowing, and as he let out the last few spurts, his knot began to deflate and he pulled out. This resulted in a small torrent of semen erupting from her nether regions, into a puddle on the ground. The entire experience left Mirelle so exhausted that she couldn't make herself get up, her swollen labia left exposed to the air, as Kjellar transformed back into his human body. He said nothing, he simply sneered as he left his conquest lying in the dirt so he could pursue the hunger he'd originally come out here to satisfy.

OP watches as the Anon has it's fill of the precious nourishment. OP knows that if the OP is quiet and waits patiently, the magnificent wild Anon may just make magic happen before very OP's eyes. Though, the OP would like for nothing more than to jump up and down, and dance, and sing for joy, the OP instead calmly takes a sip from an open bottle of juniper mead, and allows the Anon to do what the Anon does best.

Thank you kindly!! I wasn't expecting any sort of attention from this self-prompt at all, to be honest. I'm so happy you enjoyed it! It was definitely fun and even a little eye-opening for me. I love Khajiits even more so now than I did before. =]

Thank you so much! I'm glad it was somewhat close to what their culture is like. Some playthrough and a LOT of wiki reading helped me to do this, haha! Again, glad you enjoyed it, and thank you for the response! =]

Just wanted to say that I've started on this today, and I'm really loving writing this. I hope I do it justice!

(Are dreadlocks okay by the way, OP?)

This was BRILLIANT! Passing!anon is drooling into her lap :)

"Um, excuse me, Brelyna?" Onmund called, as the Dunmer student hurried from Faralda's lessons in pyromancy.

"Can this wait, Onmund? I really want to practise that fire rune, and there won't be any room in the garden if J'Zargo gets there first," Brelyna replied.

"Um, um, yeah, it can... Um... Can I watch? You have the knack with fire spells that I... don't," Onmund stammered, barely looking Brelyna in the eye.

Brelyna rolled her scarlet eyes, and heaved a sigh. "Fine," she conceded. "But don't get in my way - I am not taking you to see Collette Marence if you get burned!"

The two worked together that day, encouraging and embellishing the rune spell until it was powerful enough that Tolfdir ordered them to fill water barrels and raise wards when testing it.
As the light waned, Onmund cast candlelight, and Brelyna took off her hood to see better, which act revealed more of her than Onmund had ever seen.

"Are you going to cast it or will I? Onmund?" Brelyna asked, but got no reply. The Nord was staring oddly at her. "What is it?"

"You - I - I - I've never seen you without your hood. Your ears..." Onmund said quietly.

Immediately Brelyna reached for the hood, turning her head to avoid his gaze, but Onmund reached out and took hold of her wrist. "I - You're the first Dunmer I've ever met, Brelyna. And I think your ears are pointy - er, pretty, I mean. And, well, different than me. Is... Is that bad?"

Brelyna shrugged him off, blushing slightly. "I'm here to learn."

"You want to learn about Nords?"

"Why would I?"

"Because I'd like to learn about you."

Brelyna rolled her eyes again. "Sure," she said cynically. "What do you want to know?"

Onmund reached up and stroked a finger up the outer edge of her ear, all the way to the tip. "Does this feel good?"

Brelyna's eyes were shut, her mouth sagging open, and her head tipped toward Onmund's hand. He knew he wasn't good with words, but even he knew an order to continue when he saw one. He started gently pinching the eartip, fondling it almost like a nipple between thumb and forefinger. Brelyna's breath hitched and she shuddered. He heard a tiny whimper.

The door to the Hall of Attainment slammed shut, and they sprang apart like startled deer.

"There's no privacy in this frozen wasteland of a province," Brelyna muttered savagely.

"I know where the entrance to the Midden is," Onmund said quietly, "and I have a couple of bedrolls in my room."

Brelyna looked at him seriously. "Is this just because I'm Dunmer?"

"No, it's because I've never met anyone like you. And now I kinda want to know if I can make you come just by touching your ears."

"Let's find out."

Driveby Anon quietly unfurls a bedroll and camps out quietly, at a safe distance so as not to startle either the Anon or the OP, occasionally tossing tidbits of Encouragement in the direction of the Anon.

Hmmmm. This anon would LOVE to do this, especially with Ulfric. I'm hoping that since you mentioned him, you don't mind him being the specific Nord. ;)

go for it!! i'm more of a slash fan myself but i'm always up for more woofs

seconded, always need more werewoofs with knots

I love Belrand! He's such a goof. He and my straight-man (er, mer) Dovahkiin have been buddies for most of my playthrough. Belrand most definitely does not get enough love.

Passing Anon smells the excitement in the evening air, and sees the action unfurl. Also pulling out a bedroll, she offers sweetrolls and softly plays a flute to aid the Encouragement.

There are also sparkles of happiness.

I wouldn't mind Ulfric--he's an complex character and it would create an interesting power dynamic as well.

Dreadlocks are just fine--really, the wilder the Bosmer is (I'm assuming these are the Bosmer's dreads) the better!

BTW Anon, I'm almost 3/4ths done in case you're still watching your prompt (writing with a Bosmer). Just thought you might want to know it didn't get abandoned!

Yep - I've had this Bosmer dancing through my head since I saw this prompt, all ink and metal and dreadlocks.

I'm filling with Ulfric too, just noticed the other nonny - hope you don't mind two Ulfric fills? :3

Nevena was glad when she was able to see Whiterun in the far distance. The sun had already begun to set, slowly disappearing behind the mountains. Exhaustion always made travelling hard, but this was just ridiculous. Farkas casually walked next to her looking not even a little bit tired. She silently cursed her weak, delicate body. More muscles would be really helpful. It didn't really matter when it came to fighting, her strong points were her speed and skill after all. A few quick, well placed strikes with her sword were usually enough to win, but those Silver Hand agents they had encountered in Dustman's Cairn had been brutes and the small Nord female had a hard time slaying those. She was lucky that she hadn't been alone, or she would be lying dead on the cold floor right now. Their enemies had clearly outnumbered them and Nevena had been afraid that this were the last moments of their lives while she was caged behind the bars of the trap, her companion facing them on his own.

And then Farkas had let the beast loose. It had been scary, especially since she had never seen a werewolf before. His claws had torn their foes into shreds, blood splattering everywhere, giving the room glistening red walls. The wolf's eyes had glowed in the dim light, filled with ancient, animalistic bloodlust. She had forced herself to remember that it was still Farkas. That was more difficult than she would like to admit, but since the beast showed no threatening behaviour towards her, she had calmed down. After slaying remaining Silver Hands and Draugr they finally found the fragment of Wuuthrad next to a word wall. With the treasure safely packed in her satchel, they exited the cavern, heading home.

Her legs felt as heavy as ebony. For a brief second she considered asking Farkas if he would carry her home. She pushed the thought aside - it would be awkward and she didn't want him to feel uncomfortable. He would do it, she was sure about that, but that would leave a really bad impression. Which real Companion had to be carried home if not dead or severely wounded? She would look pathetic and the Dragon inside her would never allow that. Who was she to disobey her soul?

It was already dark when they finally reached the gates of Whiterun. Nevena looked forward to the celebration after the ceremony that would make her a fully accepted member of the Companions. Her stomach growled by the mere thought of food and she wanted to drown herself in mead and wine tonight. She always slept best when she was drunk. They passed the empty market square, ignoring the joyful noise that seeped through the entrance of the Bannered Mare and ascended the steps to Jorrvaskr. The wooden doors creaked as Farkas pushed them open.

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