Katrin relaxed a little with his promise. Ever since she’d first arrived in Riften and helped him to frame the Dunmer shopkeeper (which she still felt a touch of guilt about, to be honest), he’d always played straight with her. He’d done his level best to protect and help her, even coming on some of her jobs. So, if the big red-haired Nord promised to help her get out whatever was inside her, she knew he’d succeed. “Think of it as pickpocketing with a twist,” she offered breathlessly.
Brynjolf chuckled. Trust his protégée to try to lighten the mood. Standing, he stripped off his jacket, tossing the leather over the chair beside her bed. Rolling up the sleeves of his tunic, he climbed back onto the mattress, though now he was kneeling between her shapely thighs. “Nice, lass. Now, I’ll try to cause you as little discom-“ he began.
Katrin rolled her eyes and lifted her head off the pillow. “Bryn, by the Eight if you don’t start working, I’ll filet you,” she ground out, already feeling the object inside her starting her back on the course of slow burn.
Brynjolf shook his head, smirking, but turned his attention to the job at hand. And what a job, he thought, sliding his hands up her inner thighs. The flesh quivered underhand and he tried to ignore her sharp, rasping intake of breath. Pickpocketing indeed, he thought, finally reaching the junction of her thighs. Whomever had trussed her up and dressed her (he was fairly certain that the gown on Katrin wasn’t something she’d be wearing to bed alone and asking her at this juncture might be tantamount to suicide) had found a lovely pair of undergarments to match. “I’m going to need to cut these off,” he warned, glancing up to meet her gaze.
Katrin nodded. “Do it, Bryn,” she groaned, willing herself to be still. Not exactly easy since she now had the dual sensory imputs of Bryn’s touch and that THING inside her.
Brynjolf nodded and, with a quick flick of his dagger, soon had shredded the sides of her undergarments, the cloth falling away to give him a clear view of the target. That’s right, old man, he scolded himself. Think of her as nothing more than a safe to crack or a lock to pick. Tugging the cloth free, he tossed it aside. “Relax, lass,” he ordered with a smirk.
Katrin closed her eyes at the first touch of his hand. His fingers slid over the lips of her cunt, grazing her clit as he slowly parted her enough to see her channel. His touch was just as she had imagined—sure and warm and intoxicating. Slowly he inserted a finger inside her, slowly sawing it back and forth to moisten her further. “Gah,” she groaned, arching against his touch as he added a second and then a third. “Bryn.”
Re: "The Favor" Part 1c F!DB/Brynjolf Re: F!DB needs an embarassing favour from male companion
Brynjolf chuckled. Trust his protégée to try to lighten the mood. Standing, he stripped off his jacket, tossing the leather over the chair beside her bed. Rolling up the sleeves of his tunic, he climbed back onto the mattress, though now he was kneeling between her shapely thighs. “Nice, lass. Now, I’ll try to cause you as little discom-“ he began.
Katrin rolled her eyes and lifted her head off the pillow. “Bryn, by the Eight if you don’t start working, I’ll filet you,” she ground out, already feeling the object inside her starting her back on the course of slow burn.
Brynjolf shook his head, smirking, but turned his attention to the job at hand. And what a job, he thought, sliding his hands up her inner thighs. The flesh quivered underhand and he tried to ignore her sharp, rasping intake of breath. Pickpocketing indeed, he thought, finally reaching the junction of her thighs. Whomever had trussed her up and dressed her (he was fairly certain that the gown on Katrin wasn’t something she’d be wearing to bed alone and asking her at this juncture might be tantamount to suicide) had found a lovely pair of undergarments to match. “I’m going to need to cut these off,” he warned, glancing up to meet her gaze.
Katrin nodded. “Do it, Bryn,” she groaned, willing herself to be still. Not exactly easy since she now had the dual sensory imputs of Bryn’s touch and that THING inside her.
Brynjolf nodded and, with a quick flick of his dagger, soon had shredded the sides of her undergarments, the cloth falling away to give him a clear view of the target. That’s right, old man, he scolded himself. Think of her as nothing more than a safe to crack or a lock to pick. Tugging the cloth free, he tossed it aside. “Relax, lass,” he ordered with a smirk.
Katrin closed her eyes at the first touch of his hand. His fingers slid over the lips of her cunt, grazing her clit as he slowly parted her enough to see her channel. His touch was just as she had imagined—sure and warm and intoxicating. Slowly he inserted a finger inside her, slowly sawing it back and forth to moisten her further. “Gah,” she groaned, arching against his touch as he added a second and then a third. “Bryn.”