Summary: After defeating Alduin, Harkon, and Miraak, the Dragonborn can get back to what she does best: being the best madame of the best brothel in Skyrim. Inspired by a prompt on the Elder Scrolls kinkmeme site.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Skyrim and the Elder Scrolls games are owned by other people-people with lawyers and budgets and huge creative teams. This story is only for fun and I promise not to break the characters too, too much. Yup, exactly the same as in Chapter One.

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Best Little Whorehouse In Skryim

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Chapter Two

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Musette nodded to Brighe as her fellow Breton slowly closed the door behind herself, leaving the Breton vampire in the company of her evening appointment. It wasn't every night that a Justicar came to call.

"A few rules, Justicar, since tonight is our first time together," purred Musette as she stalked towards the Altmer, her booted steps ringing on the stone floor. "Just in case our dear Mistress Brighe was not clear in stating the rules." She moved closer to the lean Justicar, her eyes glittering. "In here, I am your mistress. Your only mistress," she added with a purr, her fingers trailing down Ondolemar's bare throat from his chin to his sternum. One of the first things that Musette had insisted on was that the Altmer strip his heavy robes from his lean golden form. "You will speak when I give you leave and only when I allow it. My commands will be followed. Disobedience will be…punished," she smiled coldly.

Ondolemar nodded wordlessly, his skin shivering beneath her slightly cooler touch. Standing in her bedchamber in just his loincloth he felt incredibly exposed. Which was the idea. Of course he still had access to his magicks—could probably roast the vampire with a few spells—but that wasn't part of the game. For a Mer with almost unlimited power over life and death of those around him to be at the mercy of this little Breton abomination…

"You may speak now, Justicar," advised Musette as she stepped around in front of Ondolemar, drinking in the vision of the Mer so completely within her sway. "Tell me, do you want to fuck me?" she asked, false innocence wrapping her words in silk as sheer as that which draped her body.

Ondolemar nodded. "Yes, mistress," he replied, his words almost musical with his cultured cadences. "I want to fuck you, Mistress." Ah, to hear him debase himself with such crude language—and in that voice…

Musette stepped a little closer, trailing her fingers down the front of her sheer silk gown. She had chosen it especially for him—in the right light one could see every line and detail of her rounded figure. In the candlelight of her chamber, though, it was nearly opaque. "Have you earned that, my Justicar? Have you earned that privilege to sink your thick cock inside my hot, wet cunt?" she asked, her voice throaty as let her fingers drop down to his sex, her fingers wrapping around his barely clothed cock and squeezing gently. "I think not. No, you have not earned that privilege. No, you must be cleansed. You need punishing." She gave another loving squeeze to his cock before stepping away to stand before him. "On your knees, Justicar."

Ondolemar swiftly lowered himself to his knees, amber eyes watching the Breton. Hands clasped behind his back, he waited.

Musette stepped behind him, trailing her fingers from one shoulder to the other. "I wonder, what to do with you, Justicar," she pondered, her hand sliding up the back of his neck to cup the back of his head, her fingers giving his scalp a gentle scritch that nearly had him purring. Suddenly her hand twisted, catching his hair in her hand and yanking his head back so that he was looking up at her. "Since this is our first time together, Ondolemar, I shall make it abundantly clear to you. You will obey me."

Ondolemar swallowed as he winced. "Yes, Mistress," he replied, forgetting that he had not been given leave to speak. Or deciding to speed along the game.

Musette's open hand cracked across his cheek. "I did not give you leave to speak, Justicar," she purred, leaning closer so that her breath feathered across his reddened cheek. "A lesson. That is what is needed. On your feet, Justicar."

Ondolemar rose again and waited, forcing his hands not to rise to his rapidly swelling cheek. Permanent damage was not the goal, he knew. And he would be downing at least one healing potion at the end of this 'session.' But it didn't mean that, in the meantime, his cheek didn't hurt. Again, the pain was part of the game. Keeping silent this time, he waited as Musette crossed to the far wall and pulled back a curtain.

Musette glanced over her shoulder at the Altmer mage, brown eyes glittering. She was glad that she'd fed from Brighe earlier—seeing the Justicar willing to obey might have caused her to feed from him if he'd been willing. And she could make him willing. "Come here, Justicar," she ordered, watching as the long-limbed Altmer strode towards her, "it is time for your punishment to begin."

Moments later Ondolemar stood facing the wall, his hands and feet bound with heavy iron shackles. The shackles were lined with a soft fur that he could not place but that didn't lessen the feeling of powerlessness that washed deliciously over the Altmer.

Musette stepped back, taking in the vision of this golden-skinned Mer bound so prettily against the stone wall. "Ah, lovely, my dear Justicar. You play this game well." She stepped to him again, her sharp fingers trailing down his back to cup the globes of his ass as she stripped his loincloth from him. "Now, let us begin. Feel free to voice your appreciation, Justicar."

Ondolemar arched in pain as he felt whips of electricity snap across his back and ass. Over and over again the magicks wrapped around him, sizzling over his flesh and slicing fresh gouges into his pretty skin. His shouts of pain echoed through the room as he thrashed against the stone wall, wrenching against the manacles at his wrists and ankles as he mindlessly tried to escape. Finally he hung panting against the stones, eyes unfocused as his body absorbed the pain before he finally blacked out.

It was a long while before he began to come back to himself, the orgasmic warmth of healing magicks spreading through him. He was no longer hanging from the wall, instead lying flat on his belly in another room. A quick glance over his shoulder told him that it was not Musette casting Healing Hands on him but the mistress of the house, her expression full of concern. To his unasked question she shook her head, her fingers gingerly trailing over the once-ruined flesh. "No scars. No marks at all remain, Justicar. Did you enjoy your session with our Musette?" she asked, rocking back on her heels to face the Altmer as he slowly pulled himself upright on the settee.

Reaching out, Ondolemar caught his fist in her hair, dragging her across the narrow space to catch the madame's lips in a bruising kiss. "Aye, Mistress Brighe. I enjoyed it immensely. I think I shall be visiting regularly," he advised with a grin as he pulled the Breton madame down to lie beside him.