Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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The Ashlander and his Enslaved Scholar (1d/??)

[(Anonymous)]

Although the Breton was perplexed at the notion of an accomplice, she dismissed it as she shifted into her fighting stance. A ominous ball of swirling purple and black formed in her right hand, preparing then casting the spell a few feet before her. The spell conjured a bulky creature made of solid blocks of ice, the Frost Atronach stomps it's way into the entry hall to eliminate its conjurer's foes. The sounds of the barbarians' war cries and the sounds of their weapons hacked and bashed the demon's hardened flesh of ice.

Marelle rushed to her bedroll, snatching out her staff of ice storms and scroll of paralysis. She sprinted up the ancient corridor, the frosty back of her Atronach filled out most of the doorway, just spotting one of the Reavers crouching in surrender from great injury whereas the other roared and fought with such fury it unnerved the mage. With the flick of her wrist to command her weakening ice demon to stand a side, the Breton used her staff to release a great storm of blitzing knifes of ice. The dreadful whirling blizzard swallows up the two Reavers. The sickening, wet sound of flesh being slashed and torn apart by the numerous ice daggers, taking their lives mercilessly. After the ice storm crashed and dispersed against a curved wall, it leaves behind a frosty trail of magic ice with the frozen, cut up corpses of Marelle's enemies. The Atronach crumpled into a heap of ice blocks next to her, rapidly melting away from existence.

The Breton tore herself away from the grisly scene, readying a ball of crimson energy then tossing it above her. Apart from the red aura of mice and insects, she cannot detect any life forms of another person. She scoured around the entry hall, bolting in the lock of the entrance in place. Brandishing her staff and summoning another Ice Atronach, she hurried into the first chamber, scanning the entire area before checking every nook and cranny. After she throughly checked the other chambers, her massive ice demon jogging behind, she returned to the first chamber, heading towards her camp to start packing. Despite not finding another person, she wasn't naive enough to sleep in the chamber; Marelle noticed the Elven arrows puncturing the first couple of Reavers.

The Breton knew someone was there. Watching her.

She has all she needs on Vahlok anyway. She should head towards the only Nord village of the Skaal, convince and pay one of them to escort her back to Raven Rock, so she could leave this dreaded island. The Breton was unnerved enough by the Ash Spawn, rising up from the hot ashes on the ground, their horrid hot-coal eyes glowing in blind rage to kill anything threatening and harmless. She sure as the thirteen planes of Oblivion that she doesn't want a damned stalker on top of all that.

Without warning, her Atronach dispatches into a rubble of ice once more. She didn't have enough time to react when a sharp shot of agony seized her left shoulder. The young Mage cried out in alarm, urgently grasping the fragments of a weak, wooden practice arrow. She staggers away from her belongings, her legs were becoming harder and harder to move as if transforming into leaden poles of stone. Marelle falls to her knees, cursing Lady Luck when her numbing hands fail to draw magic from the source within her stiffening body. She collapses to her side, recognising the poison from the arrow as paralysis. Her eyes bulged and breath quickens in fear as light footsteps approach from behind.

Arkay preserve me, Marelle prayed internally as her paralysed form was turned, her eyes meeting burning garnet eyes and a war painted face of a Dunmer ruffian.

OP again!

[(Anonymous)]

Ohmahgahdohmahgahdohmahgahd! He did it! He finally caught her. Yaaaaay! And the fact that he used a wooden arrow to shoot her instead of an ebony one was... sweet in its own way. I wonder if we will see more of his personality come through. Does he speak Common fluently? If not, it'll be cute to see them try to communicate with one another with broken speech XD Still! Can't wait for more, A!A. You are doing wonderfully.

A!A

[(Anonymous)]

Great to know that you're enjoying it OP!
Aye, t'is rather nice of Zairan; after all, he needs to take care of his little fragile slave.

Oh yes, you certainly will in the next parts~ ;)

The Ashlander and his Enslaved Scholar (1g/??)

[(Anonymous)]

Zairan grasps himself in hand, aligning his shaft to her exposed sex. The purple-red crown nudges between the delicate pink folds. He breaths in hard, attempting to reel in his Dunmer temper to think over the consequences of his actions. The only thought that is constantly flashing in his mind, stealing away his concentration and threatening to damage his pride, was one fuelled by the animalistic lust and rage swirling within him like a chaotic ash storm.

Claim her.

Intoxicated from this horrid notion, the Ashlander unceremoniously thrusts inside the Manmer's sheath. Ignoring her muffled shrieks of anguish he fucks blindly without savouring the tightness and slickness of her intimate core. Concentrating solely on the angry penetration he has set for himself.

She is rightfully yours.

Zairan grabs and wrenches out his Elven dagger. Pulling out of his Outlander, he roughly hauls her petite form onto her forearms and knees, slamming himself back into her from behind to resume his harsh invasion of her cunt.

You saved her from those Revears; she does not appreciate your effort.

The enraged Dunmer takes hold of her white-bone hips, his large hands inflicting bruising pressure that mars the flawless skin with blossoming black-blue stains. He leans over her small body, pathetically shuddering, sinking his teeth into her bony shoulder.

She deserves to be punished.

Zairan stops moving, his cock still buried deep within her. With one hand he slaps her rump, striking it with a downpour of vicious lashings of his calloused hand. The Manmer screams and whimpers behind the sodden cloth, sweat dripping off her sickly skin, her pitiful sobs shook her body as red welts appear on her tender buttocks. Satisfied, he continues.

She is yours.

"N'wah!" He grunts through gritted teeth, feeling the fire within building up in intensity, threatening to devour the Dunmer in flames as he reaches his peak. He twists his hand in her damp hair, yanking it painfully back as he glares down at her sorrowful, tear-streaked face. *"Ohn nchow n'wah!"

Yours to have.

With a cry, the Ashlander bucks into her a final time before the fire within engulfs him in ecstasy, causing him to see blinding light behind eyelids, exploding within the battered and relented body. With a sigh, he collapses on the Outlander in exhaustion.

Yours to control.

The thick red mist and quilt of sleep gradually dispatches from his mind, leaving Zairan feeling the sobering draft of air sweeping over his back and the shaved sides of his head. He acknowledges the crackling of the fire pit, the film of sweat cooling on his skin and the soft wheezing of his Manmer crushed beneath him. The fully-awake Ashlander bolts up, concern crawls up into his chest to replace the warm euphoria from before. He studies the Outlander, cold and still but breathing. The Dunmer moves away, hissing at removing his sensitive length.

It was a mistake but unpreventable for him to look down, seeing his flaccid, violet shaft painted with red. By Azura. He looks alarmed to her sex, also smeared in congealing blood. Realisation hits him harder than a kick to his stomach.

He brutally broke his sweet, beautiful Manmer's maidenhead. The thoughtless Dunmer stole her innocence.

Zairan rushes to remove the wretched gag, tearing at the cloth straps to allow her to breath. He lightly turns her over on her side, her face caused his heart to painfully ache. Her kind, soft and beautiful face was corrupted by the anguish and defeat poisoning her expression to be drawn. Her harsh hiccups racked her petite form, as floods of salty tears break loose from her blood-shot, heartbreakingly dismal eyes. The bright colour of gentle green fade to an ailing, dull shade Zairan will forever be reminded of his foul deed.

He looks away in shame. Anathematising himself for assaulting his little Manmer in such an unforgivable way; nothing could possibly compensate her loss of something so personally precious. The Ashlander is no worse than those cutthroat Reavers.

He is scum.

~~~~
*"You damn foreigner!"