Ysolda waited until the Giant was deep in slumber. She knew he would never just let her go now, not after the ritualized offer she made to him. He had picked her up from the stone slab and brought her over to the bed - a pile of sweet grasses covered by animal skins. She secretly thanked Kynareth that he had not restrained her.
She slowly and quietly crept from the cave, mammoth tusk in hand. Ysolda had to stop and wash the Giant's fluids and mud from her pale body before she re-entered the city. The last thing she wanted was some guard pestering her or worse, taking her into custody. She also found an abandoned house on the way - scorch marks and skeletons - a dragon attack. Unlucky for the family that once lived there, but lucky for her that the flames had not destroyed a crate on a shielded wall. She hastily dressed in the rough linen garments and boots, making her way to Whiterun and entering the city without incident.
She shut the door to her tiny house, leaning her body against the wood. She drew a long breath and slowly exhaled, looking around her meager abode. She dropped the tusk on her bed and went to the hearth to make a meal - she had not eaten since before entering the Giant's camp. To her dismay, her potatoes were molded and unfit for consumption. She quickly changed into one of her other dresses and headed to the Bannered Mare for supper.
The noise and smoke greeted her as it had done almost every night since she first arrived in Whiterun eight years ago. She sat by the fire, eating bread and stew, looking at the scene before her. Mikael grouping Carlotta, Sinmir rambling about the city guards, Uthgerd making eyes at her, trying to seduce her. Even Amren and Idolaf trying to catch her eye. Ysolda sighed and looked at her meal. Suddenly she felt different - she would normally love their advances, but they didn't look at her deeply, knowingly, with fascination. She remembered the dark, glassy eyes, the smell of moss. She abruptly ran from the inn - she needed air.
She ran straight to her house. What was wrong with her? She had everything she thought she ever wanted, her future secure now she had the tusk. She walked over to it, looking at the strange carvings. She could feel the Giant's finger on her skin, tracing the same patterns. Her stomach felt warm and her groin throbbed. She lifted her skirt and straddled the large tusk, laying flat on its side. She began to rub against it - the carvings providing a delicious friction against her warm, naked flesh. She sped her movements, moaning as the heat rose in her body, the tusk now slick with her wetness. She groped her own breasts through the fabric, kneading them. She slipped her hands into her bodice, finding her nipples hard. She pulled them as she had done for the Giant. She remembered how excited he became, thrusting so deeply into her. She groaned aloud remembering how his grey-black tongue had manipulated her taut nipples so sweetly. How it had probed her fleshy folds, the pink bud of her clit and the deeper reaches of her downy cleft, so wet from his attention. As she came, fiercely, she saw those dark black eyes boring into her own. Panting, she could feel the hot, wet breath of the Giant on her skin. She sobbed when the tension released, grasping the tusk for balance. She lowered her head, still atop the tusk, her hips slightly undulating from the afterglow of her orgasm. She breathed deeply, surveying the tiny room. A compulsion drove her from the house, mammoth tusk in hand.
The moon was almost setting as she stood outside the city gates, over looking the road leading west from Whiterun. The pale light cast long shadows over the land. She closed her eyes - she could hear a distant owl, feel a light breeze caressing her face, carrying the sweet scent of honey from the meadery. She ran her fingers over her arm, feeling the smooth heat of her own skin.
Ysolda opened her eyes and smiled. Her body heeding a deeper call - she had never been more alive.
"The Mammoth Tusk - Epilogue" (2 of 2) [Giant/Ysolda, het]
She slowly and quietly crept from the cave, mammoth tusk in hand. Ysolda had to stop and wash the Giant's fluids and mud from her pale body before she re-entered the city. The last thing she wanted was some guard pestering her or worse, taking her into custody. She also found an abandoned house on the way - scorch marks and skeletons - a dragon attack. Unlucky for the family that once lived there, but lucky for her that the flames had not destroyed a crate on a shielded wall. She hastily dressed in the rough linen garments and boots, making her way to Whiterun and entering the city without incident.
She shut the door to her tiny house, leaning her body against the wood. She drew a long breath and slowly exhaled, looking around her meager abode. She dropped the tusk on her bed and went to the hearth to make a meal - she had not eaten since before entering the Giant's camp. To her dismay, her potatoes were molded and unfit for consumption. She quickly changed into one of her other dresses and headed to the Bannered Mare for supper.
The noise and smoke greeted her as it had done almost every night since she first arrived in Whiterun eight years ago. She sat by the fire, eating bread and stew, looking at the scene before her. Mikael grouping Carlotta, Sinmir rambling about the city guards, Uthgerd making eyes at her, trying to seduce her. Even Amren and Idolaf trying to catch her eye. Ysolda sighed and looked at her meal. Suddenly she felt different - she would normally love their advances, but they didn't look at her deeply, knowingly, with fascination. She remembered the dark, glassy eyes, the smell of moss. She abruptly ran from the inn - she needed air.
She ran straight to her house. What was wrong with her? She had everything she thought she ever wanted, her future secure now she had the tusk. She walked over to it, looking at the strange carvings. She could feel the Giant's finger on her skin, tracing the same patterns. Her stomach felt warm and her groin throbbed. She lifted her skirt and straddled the large tusk, laying flat on its side. She began to rub against it - the carvings providing a delicious friction against her warm, naked flesh. She sped her movements, moaning as the heat rose in her body, the tusk now slick with her wetness. She groped her own breasts through the fabric, kneading them. She slipped her hands into her bodice, finding her nipples hard. She pulled them as she had done for the Giant. She remembered how excited he became, thrusting so deeply into her. She groaned aloud remembering how his grey-black tongue had manipulated her taut nipples so sweetly. How it had probed her fleshy folds, the pink bud of her clit and the deeper reaches of her downy cleft, so wet from his attention. As she came, fiercely, she saw those dark black eyes boring into her own. Panting, she could feel the hot, wet breath of the Giant on her skin. She sobbed when the tension released, grasping the tusk for balance. She lowered her head, still atop the tusk, her hips slightly undulating from the afterglow of her orgasm. She breathed deeply, surveying the tiny room. A compulsion drove her from the house, mammoth tusk in hand.
The moon was almost setting as she stood outside the city gates, over looking the road leading west from Whiterun. The pale light cast long shadows over the land. She closed her eyes - she could hear a distant owl, feel a light breeze caressing her face, carrying the sweet scent of honey from the meadery. She ran her fingers over her arm, feeling the smooth heat of her own skin.
Ysolda opened her eyes and smiled. Her body heeding a deeper call - she had never been more alive.