Full title: Revisiting Erik, parting with Faendal, and getting down and dirty in Markarth
Chapter Summary: After exploring around Haafingar and the Reach, Miranja and Faendal find themselves back in Rorikstead, where young Erik has hung out his mercenary shingle. Miranja reluctantly parts with Faendal and takes Erik adventuring. The unexpected awaits her in Markarth.
***AUTHOR'S NOTE***
All right, y'all. The last half of this chapter was originally a one-shot, then I used it as a flashback in Chapter 4 of DwD, where Geldis Sadri reenacted it with her (that chapter is going to be rewritten). Some of you may have already seen it. Some of you may be uncomfortable about it. One person has been angry enough to flame me about it. Suffice it to say that Miranja wanted this when she entered the situation, but it didn't happen quite the way she wanted it to. That said, she still enjoyed the hate-sex and felt rather guilty about it at the same time. Expect blood play, mild BDSM, dom/sub, and anal sex.
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The next day, Miranja and Faendal started heading slowly southwest. They visited Dragon Bridge and Miranja made the acquaintance of everyone she could find there, learning about their village and their backgrounds. They explored as much as they could of Haafingar, and at one point they stood at Icewater Jetty staring out in mystified awe at the enormous castle on an island that was too far away to swim to. Faendal wanted to take the rowboat that was moored at the little dock, but Miranja got a bad feeling from the place and didn't want to risk there being something or someone horrifying in that castle, so they moved on. It was getting late, anyway, and the sun would be going down all too soon. Consulting her map, she pointed out to Faendal that Mor Khazgur wasn't too far away. It would be a good time to test out her new status as blood-kin to the Orcs and see if they could lodge inside the stronghold for the night, even if only outside the longhouse.
They were challenged at the gates, but when Miranja told the watchman her name, he welcomed her in, saying that word had already made its way to all the strongholds that she was to be trusted as kin. He escorted her and Faendal to the longhouse and introduced them to Chief Larak, who offered them food and said that there were no free beds but they could sleep on the floor before the hearth for the night. Miranja gratefully accepted. The chief's daughter, Borgakh, kept them company while they ate, and everyone else headed off to bed. Borgakh envied Miranja her freedom, stating she wished for more than becoming some chief's third wife but she couldn't leave or it would dishonor her father. Miranja knew that Borgakh was hinting that she'd like to have a feasible excuse to go with them, but Miranja was perfectly happy with it just being her and Faendal, so she pretended not to get the hint.
The next day, they explored some more around northwestern Haafingar and the northern part of the Reach. Late in the afternoon, they came across a camp surrounded by a spiky fence. By the time they realized that they were within visual range of a Forsworn camp, they'd already been spotted and were being shot at. Miranja wanted to just run, but Faendal began shooting back, killing the lookout and switching to his sword as two more Forsworn came running out of the entrance toward them. She couldn't just leave him, so she joined in the battle and focused especially on the magic user, warding his spells and casting her own at them.
Once they were safe and had respectfully lined up the bodies in a row outside the fence, Miranja consulted the map, as she wished she'd done before this had happened. "Bruca's Leap Redoubt," she read. "I wonder who Bruca was? Sounds like some star-crossed lover who leapt to their death."
Faendal shrugged. "I've been in Skyrim for a while now, but I don't really know a lot about the Reach or its history and legends." He was looking toward the cave entrance on the high end of the camp, and Miranja wondered if there were more Forsworn inside who might come out and find them there. The sun was getting low in the sky, and there was a good campfire and tents there. It would be nice to take advantage of them, since they were still far from a town with an inn.
"We'd better check the cave," she told him, and he nodded his agreement.
Half an hour later, they emerged under Masser's light and a blanket of stars, rather shaken and slightly injured; there had been more Forsworn in there, and one was a Briar-Heart. He had been particularly savage, but with magic, not a weapon. He'd only been able to focus on one of them at a time. Even so, it was a difficult fight. On the bright side, Faendal's armor was still in good shape afterwards.
They swigged some healing potions and Faendal checked the stew still simmering in the pot. "It's not burnt," he reported. "Hungry?"
"Starving," Miranja replied.
They ate in silence, fatigue setting in as the adrenaline rush ebbed, hardly noticing the taste of the food, just wanting to get something into their bellies and get some rest.
After supper, they chose the tent with two bedrolls inside, spreading them out fully on top of each other, then spreading Faendal's bedroll over them and covering up with Miranja's bedroll. For once, Faendal wasn't raring to fuck her, and she wasn't overly disappointed about it. He spooned behind her as usual and arranged her hair so that it wasn't tickling his nose, smoothing it out to lay his head on it like a pillow. She didn't mind; it was a comfort to her, as was his strong arm holding her snugly against his warm, firm body.
"I love you, Faendal," she whispered. It was the first time the words had left her lips in his presence, and she held her breath as she awaited his response.
"I know," was all he said, but he tightened his hold on her for a quick moment.
Sighing, she snuggled in more comfortably and closed her eyes.
The next morning, they awakened to the sound of wolves feasting on and fighting over the corpses outside the fence. Fortunately, their tent was on the opposite side of the camp, and there was a second exit on their side. Having slept in their clothes, it was easy for them to quietly gather their packs and slip away.
They spent most of the day exploring around the Reach. They met Kesh the Clean, a strange Khajiit who had set up a sort of residence at a small altar to the daedra Peryite. Miranja was curious, and Kesh gave her a list of ingredients needed to make incense for communing with Peryite. They found Bthardamz and Karthwasten, and then for no very good reason, they turned back eastward and ended up at Rorikstead after sundown.
Inside the Frostfruit Inn, Erik sat in a chair facing the door, wearing his new iron armor. The Alik'r soldiers about whom Miranja had completely forgotten were there, also, but she avoided them. She was tickled to see Erik looking so happy and eager, but she was curious as to why he wasn't already out doing some adventuring. Before she could ask, he piped up.
"Good to see you again! How would you like to hire a brave, if untested, mercenary? You can now call me Erik the Slayer."
"Ahh, so you decided to become a mercenary?" Miranja was both amused and bemused. Did this sweet, naïve, young man realize what he was getting into?
"Seemed like the best way to see the world and make some coin." He paused, seeing Miranja's dubious expression. "Sure, I'm a little green, but what I lack in experience, I make up for in courage."
"Well, your name certainly sounds fearsome enough," Miranja nodded, barely containing her smile. Faendal had laid hold of her arm, and his subtle squeeze told her that he shared her amusement, even if his face was sober as a priest.
"Father says I should pick a name that describes what I really am, but nobody's going to hire Erik Greenthumb or Erik Hoe-pusher. No, I need a name that will put some fear in the hearts of my enemies." He stopped and smiled sheepishly, even blushing a little. "When I have some enemies, that is."
"How do you think you'd hold up against Forsworn?" Miranja asked. "I plan to go to Markarth next, and I could use a brawny companion against those savage people. Faendal and I have had our hands full two or three times just in the last day. I'm just thankful we both lived through it with minor injuries. Those Briar-hearts have some powerful magic."
"Miss Miranja, if you hire me, I swear I will protect you like a housecarl. You won't regret it, I promise."
Miranja exchanged a glance with Faendal, gauging how he felt about her dismissing him and taking up with this inexperienced farm boy.
Faendal shrugged amiably. "I'm good with whatever you want to do, Miranja. But let's at least get some supper and a good night's sleep here."
"Of course," Miranja replied, a little piece of her mind fixing on the sound of her name in his voice. Turning back to Erik, she said, "Consider yourself hired, brave mercenary. We'll head out in the morning, so be prepared."
"Yes, ma'am!" Erik exclaimed, his voice pitching upward and nearly cracking.
Miranja smiled warmly at him and gave him a playful punch in the shoulder before heading with Faendal to the counter to see what fare Mralki had to offer.
They took their lukewarm stew to their room, kicked off their boots, and ate in relaxed silence for a while as Miranja wrote an entry in her journal. Soon, though, she just had to open her mouth and ask.
"Not too broken up about parting ways, are you, Faendal?" She tried to sound lighthearted and joking, but she hid her heartache poorly.
Faendal either didn't notice or pretended not to. He continued stuffing bread into his mouth and then spoke with his mouth full as he chewed. "Well, of course, it's been exciting as always, and I'll be glad to unload some of your extra junk and let Erik carry it for a while." He paused to swallow. "But mostly I'm just looking forward to getting back to Riverwood to check on Camilla and make sure Sven hasn't been trying to move in while I've been gone." He didn't look at her; his eyes were focused on his bottle of ale as he reached for it.
"Of course." Her voice was nearly a whisper, her bottom eyelids suddenly full of unshed tears. She picked up her bottle of mead and chugged down several swallows, setting it back down a little too hard. Then she excused herself from the table and crossed the room, undressing for her bath as she went. She kept her back turned to him, not trusting herself to keep her face under control.
"I've been away for about a month," Faendal continued, using the last of his bread to mop up the remaining traces of stew in his bowl. "What if she thinks I'm not coming back and Sven's her only remaining option? What if – no, she wouldn't. Would she?"
Miranja closed her eyes in frustration and grudging resignation, causing the tears to burst free and course down both cheeks. Now standing nude in the washtub, pouring water into the washbasin to wet her washcloth, she answered in a carefully steady voice. "I don't know her as well as you do, Faendal. I can't answer that." A jealous, spiteful part of her wanted to tell him yes, yes Camilla would, if she would flirt with Miranja just for returning the golden claw, she would probably be easily swayed back to Sven's side and maybe even into his bed if Faendal was out of the picture. Camilla's affections seemed to change like the wind, rather like Fastred's. The loving part of Miranja, which only wanted him to be happy, wanted to comfort him and tell him that Camilla couldn't possibly be interested in Sven after reading that fake letter and seeing what a conniving dick he was. Never mind that she and Faendal had been conniving right back; that was beside the point, a matter of "turnabout is fair play." But she didn't have a chance to say any of those things.
She felt heat near her back but not touching. Warm breath on her shoulder. His hands coming to rest on her hips. Her heartbeat quickened and her breath caught in her throat. Hands paused in the act of soaping her washcloth, water dripping into the basin. Damned sneaky Bosmer…
Thoughts flashed through her mind in quick succession: was he going to tell her he was just kidding? That he had come to love her more than he'd ever loved Camilla? Was he going to ravish her right this moment? If so, should she hold him at arm's length so that parting with him the next morning wouldn't hurt as much? Should she take both him and Erik with her, the more the merrier, the more to watch each other's backs? If she did that, would he resent her for changing her mind and keeping him away from Camilla even longer? Would he just say to hell with her and leave, anyway? Had she really thought that spending more time with her would make him less interested in Camilla?
Faendal's voice, soft and low in her ear. "I know what you're thinking. We've talked about this already. You're an incredibly desirable woman, and I care very deeply about you. But I think we're best off staying as friends who just happen to have sex, too."
Inwardly cursing her weak and foolish heart for allowing herself to be his second choice, she dropped the soap and cloth and turned to him with a half-hearted smile. "I guess I'll just have to take what I can get."
Faendal traced the curve of her face with his work-roughened fingertips, and his eyes bespoke a love deeper than what his words conveyed. Her heart yearned so hard for him, she felt it might burst from her chest and burrow into his. It hurt, loving Faendal. He saw the pain in her eyes and favored her with the tenderest of kisses, bringing with it a fresh sting of tears.
She reached up and placed her damp hands on both sides of his face, pressing her lips hard against his. When she wrapped her arms around his neck, he lifted her right out of the washtub, turning to set her feet on the floor and back her against the dresser. His rough, passionate kiss was an answering call to her own, and her body was already aflame with desperate desire. One of his hands was clutching at her buttock, and the other was cupping and squeezing her breast. His crotch was pressed against hers, and although she couldn't feel his cock through the Blades armor he still wore, she knew he was getting harder and harder as she eagerly met his fucking movements. His little panting groans turned her on, made her crazy with lust.
But when he tried to wedge his hand between her legs, she became self-conscious and pushed his hand away.
"I'm sweaty and gross," she said, an apology in her eyes. "Let me finish my bath. Hold that thought."
"How about I help you?" Faendal's smile was wicked, and Miranja's crotch throbbed as a fleeting memory of their first bath together in the waterfall near Ivarstead passed before her mind's eye.
"Only if you get naked with me, so I can return the favor," she purred, pulling him back to her and kissing him again… and again.
He was already fumbling with the latches of his cuirass. When he got it off, he dropped it unceremoniously to the floor with a metallic clatter. The rest of the armor quickly followed suit, and when he stood naked before her, his lusty member standing out and bobbing before him, she playfully took it in hand like a leash and gently pulled him into the washtub.
Their bath was sensual and thorough, but quick, and they dried themselves hastily and fell into one of the small beds, eliciting a groan of protest from the old wooden bedframe. As they began pleasuring each other in earnest, Miranja's thoughts clung to her one consolation: His heart may belong to Camilla, but his body is mine right now.
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The next morning, after a light breakfast, Miranja parted ways with Faendal outside the door of the inn, Erik's presence behind her nearly crackling with anticipation of adventure. She didn't care that he was impatient; he could wait a few more minutes. She stood still and watched Faendal's progress down the road back to Whiterun until she couldn't see him anymore, then she and Erik set out to check off a couple of locations west of Rorikstead that she hadn't visited yet.
They were attacked by a vampire's thrall and a death hound near Mouldering Ruins, but the vampire who had been shooting ice spikes at them disappeared. They found a trapdoor inside the little hut, and while Miranja wanted to leave well enough alone, Erik was eager to go down and hunt for the escapee. She was horrified to find that there was a master vampire in the cave below, and though she used her trusty Ruin's Edge and a bone arrow to try to weaken him from a distance, it hardly affected him. He and his thrall immediately went on the offensive, and she and Erik barely managed to kill them both before they ended up going down themselves. After that, Erik was a little more cautious.
They had to take out some hostile Forsworn at Red Eagle Redoubt, and they found Rebel's Cairn to be peaceful, unless you counted the dead adventurer who had gone in looking for Red Eagle's sword. Miranja suspected it could be in the hands of the Forsworn at Sundered Towers, but she just wasn't feeling as adventurous as Erik, and she only dissuaded him by promising to come back later when she'd rested up.
They made it nearly to Markarth undisturbed by anything other than a couple of wolves. Unfortunately, when they reached Kolskeggr Mine they were assailed by several Forsworn outside the mine. They took the hostiles down fairly easily, but knowing that the Forsworn most likely didn't belong there, they decided to make sure the mine was okay. It wasn't. They almost weren't either, but they managed to escape the Briar-heart and his frost atronach by the skin of their teeth.
"Enough adventure for you, Erik?" Miranja asked him rather ruefully as they swallowed some healing potions a safe distance away.
"These Forsworn are really strong," Erik admitted, "but it's a good test of my mettle. You deal with these guys every day?" His tone was one of awed admiration, but Miranja had to shoot him down.
"Not if I can help it," she said tiredly. "I avoid the Reach as much as possible. Maybe when my magic gets stronger I can come back and clear some of them out, but for now, I just try to keep lots of healing and magicka potions on me when I come here."
They found their way to the Lover Stone so that Miranja would know how to get there again if she ever wanted to avail herself of the blessing it conferred, and then they moved on to Markarth.
Erik was speechless when he saw the impressive stone city clinging to the walls of the mountains, the mist from the waterfalls casting rainbows in the afternoon sun. "I can't believe a Nord city was built in a Dwemer ruin," he marveled. "It's amazing that it's survived so many hundreds of years and hardly deteriorated."
"What amazes me," Miranja said wryly, "is that they haven't replaced the uncomfortable stone beds. Wait 'til you see the inn."
They stopped first at Arnleif and Sons so that Miranja could unload various sundry items she'd been carrying around between Solitude and here. Next, they visited Ghorza's forge to sell the weapons and armor she'd picked up along the way. Last, they visited Understone Keep so that Miranja could finally pay her respects to the Jarl. She was determined to avoid the Thalmor justiciar and their soldiers and not let them intimidate her away this time. She pointed Erik toward the Dwemer Museum and told him to meet her back at the inn when he was finished exploring.
Miranja soon found that, once again, she would not be visiting Jarl Igmund. Watching the justiciar's back as he walked down the passage, she suddenly realized that his walk seemed familiar. Could it be…? Against her better judgment, she waited until he turned and came back toward her so that she could see his face. Heart pounding and the blood rushing in her ears, she placed herself in his path and greeted him. Now that she got a good look at him, she was able to confirm that he was, in fact, the same handsome justiciar she had met at the party at the Embassy.
He stopped and regarded her with disdain and condescension, giving no indication that he remembered her. "You have the honor of addressing a member of the Thalmor. Bask in it." His soldiers stepped back a few paces to allow their superior some privacy but kept watchful eyes on her.
Oh, wow, this guy was too much. Fine, if he wanted to pretend they hadn't met, she could do the same. "So, what's your name, 'member of the Thalmor?' And what do you do here?"
"My name is Ondolemar, and I am the head of the justiciars in Skyrim. It is my job to root out and put an end to any and all Talos worship in this city." His arrogance was over-the-top, but his accent, his bright green-gold eyes, and his full, sneering lips absolutely turned her on. Not to mention the exotic, spicy smell of whatever he had applied to his skin.
"So, Ondolemar, you're not from Markarth, are you?"
Ondolemar barked an ironic laugh. "As if this craggy wretch of a city could give birth to a superiorly bred Mer such as myself. No, I'm NOT from Markarth."
"I have to admit, you do seem to be quite an attractive specimen." She smiled hungrily at him, arching an eyebrow and boring holes into his head with her eyes. "It's a shame that your fine elven beauty is mostly hidden beneath your…" she eyed him up and down, "admittedly sexy Thalmor robes."
"What are you getting at, human?"
She lowered her voice so that the soldiers couldn't hear. "I don't suppose you'd deign to abase yourself by having sex with a human woman?" She bit her bottom lip while focusing on his full, sensuous mouth.
A hard glint came into his eyes, and he sneered menacingly. Without taking his eyes from hers, he called, "Guards, take this woman to the dungeon. I suspect her of aiding and abetting Talos worshipers in this city, and she must be interrogated."
"What?" Miranja was utterly taken aback as Ondolemar's soldiers flanked her and cuffed her hands behind her back. This wasn't going as she had hoped. What a complete bastard!
Ondolemar pulled a handkerchief from a pocket inside his robes and stuffed it firmly into her already gaping mouth. "Can't have the Dragonborn shouting her way out of this, now, can we?" He smiled tauntingly at her, eyes full of venom. She stared daggers right back. "Yes, I know who you are. I have my ear to the ground, you know."
Miranja found herself being hauled to a dungeon she hadn't even known existed below the Keep. The guards shoved her into a cell, and Ondolemar followed her in. "Lock us in and leave us," he instructed them. "This prisoner requires my special attention. I shall call for you when I am finished with her." The guards started to leave but Ondolemar stopped them.
"Handcuff key, please." The guard handed the key over, and Ondolemar's fingers closed over it as he smirked.
Alone in the cell block, Miranja being the only prisoner here since criminals in Markarth were usually sent to Cidhna Mine, they stared each other down. With her mouth stuffed full, she couldn't even ask him what this was all about, and her indignance seethed within her.
"Listen carefully, Dragonborn," he hissed into her face through his perfectly straight clenched teeth. His nostrils flared. "I'm going to remove the cuffs and you're going to strip to your bare skin. Any funny moves and you will instantly regret it. The cuffs go back on as soon as you are finished."
Damn this gag. Oh, how she wanted to spit in his face! She stood still as he removed the cuffs, then began undressing deliberately slowly, feeling more vulnerable every moment. She wondered briefly what instruments of torture he might use on her. She didn't know anything that he didn't already know about any Talos worship in Markarth. How much would he feel he had to do to her before he was finally convinced?
Impatient, Ondolemar zapped her with a sparks spell. "Hurry up!"
She shrieked and jumped, trying to work faster with trembling hands. Ruefully, she remembered that he didn't need any physical torture devices: he could do whatever he needed to do with the use of magic.
She finished undressing, and Ondolemar kicked her clothing aside, taking her hands and raising them over her head. He threaded the chain of the cuffs around a bar of the cell "wall," and fastened her wrists securely. He stood back and gloated, obviously relishing the sight of her completely vulnerable to whatever ministrations he saw fit to enact.
He raised his right hand, summoning a bound sword. Miranja's eyes widened, and she shook her head frantically, kicking at him with one foot. He caught her leg and pinned it between his arm and his side, wrapping his arm around her calf. She struggled but couldn't free herself.
"Hold still or this will get uglier than it needs to," he commanded. Grudgingly, she stopped moving, except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her breath whooshed loudly in and out of her nostrils. He dragged the edge of the sword down between her breasts, drawing a thin line of blood and eliciting an angry/frightened squeal from her throat. The pain was silver in her mind, sharp and shiny and fine, but she was seeing red.
To her surprise and disgust, Ondolemar fell upon her chest with his tongue extended, licking the bloody line from bottom to top. The taste of her blood seemed to ignite something crazed within him; he looked at her with blazing eyes, blood on the tip of his nose and in his goatee.
"There is something to be said for consuming the blood of your enemies." He grinned wolfishly and she saw that his teeth were bloody. By the Divines, this man was crazy – what had she gotten herself into?
Then he was pulling the handkerchief from her mouth, and before she could draw a breath to scream or summon a Shout, he covered her mouth with his, thrusting his bloody tongue into her mouth, making her taste it. Something primal awakened within her and, gods help her, she found herself becoming aroused. When she began kissing him back, he released her captive leg and pressed himself against her, biting her lips, sucking her tongue into his mouth. She bit back, drawing blood from his bottom lip. He dropped the sword to the ground and put his arms around her, grabbing her ass in his gloved hands and squeezing hard.
"I've been wanting to get you like this since the party at the Thalmor Embassy," he ground out. So, he did remember. "Don't think I don't know how much you hate the Thalmor. You humans all hate the Thalmor, whether you speak it openly or not. Which makes this even sweeter for me. You can't help yourself; you have to recognize elven superiority because you still want me in spite of hating me." His breath was hot in her face, and coppery with the scent of blood. As he spoke, he pinched her ass cheeks, making her wince; then, sliding his hands between their bodies, he took her erect nipples between his fingers and twisted them hard, making her cry out. She could feel his hard cock pressing against her belly even as she felt the uncomfortable iron bars against her back.
She was anxious to have him pressed against her clit. She grasped the bar above her head with both hands and managed to hold herself up with her arms long enough to lift her feet from the ground and wrap her legs around his waist. He promptly extricated himself and stepped backward, leaving her panting and aching for more of his rough touch.
"You wanted to see – what did you call it? My 'fine elven beauty?' Well, prepare to behold." He wrested his gloves off and threw them to the ground, kicking his boots off next. He loosened the drawstring of his trousers and they dropped to the floor. He stepped out of them, his cock tenting out the front of his tunic as he removed the long, hooded jacket. Lastly, the tunic came off, and he stood proudly naked before her. Her cunt ached at the sight of his long, slender tool. She wanted to touch it, stroke it, taste it. She wanted it inside of her. She wanted to wrap her arms and legs around him, touch every inch of that golden skin. She swayed and trembled with desire and frustration, sucking her breath through her teeth.
But Ondolemar had other plans. He roughly turned her to face away from him, depriving her of the sight of him. Her forehead banged painfully against one of the bars. The chain on the cuffs was just long enough to cross over itself as her hands changed position. He pressed his body against the back of her, cock nestling between her ass cheeks, wrapping one arm around her waist to pull her backwards as he used his other hand to push her shoulders down and bend her over. The cuffs slid down the bar with her hands. He pushed her forward so that the top of her head was pressing uncomfortably between two bars as he held her in place.
"I'm going to fuck you like the inferior dog you are," he intoned darkly through clenched teeth.
Oh, gods, yes, she thought, wanting so badly to reach down and rub her clit but unable to. She pressed her legs together and twisted about, trying to create the proper pressure on her aching clit, but he wedged his knee between her legs to separate them. She groaned in frustration, and he chuckled cruelly. She couldn't turn her head very far, but out of the corner of her eye she saw his arm swing up and out to the side, his hand shoulder height; she scarcely had time to brace herself before he brought his hand down hard against her ass with a resounding smack, making her cry out again and bringing tears to her eyes. He repeated the treatment on the other side, and in her mind's eye she could see the matching florid handprints.
"Do you want mercy?" he sneered.
"Yes," she spat. "I've done nothing to deserve this." She knew his response before the words left his mouth.
"Beg for it," he ordered.
"Go fuck yourself," she replied venomously.
Once again he hit her with the sparks spell, holding it longer this time. She quaked stiffly with the shock, voice frozen in her throat, and when it ended, her body collapsed like a rag doll to the floor.
"Yes, that's good," he purred, and she sensed him dropping to his knees behind her. He grabbed her by the hips and lifted her ass into the air until she was on her knees. "Stay. Put."
He pushed two fingers into her sopping wet quim and chuckled once again as she weakly pushed back. "If I didn't know any better, I'd have to think you were enjoying my ministrations." Then, without further ado, he placed the head of his cock against her and shoved it all the way in with one smooth movement.
She moaned and swayed at being filled with that long golden rod, tormented by the light, teasing touch of his scrotum against her clit. Once again she writhed, trying to put pressure on that poor, deprived button, and once again he brought his hand down hard on her ass, the pain burning on the already mistreated flesh. "Be still! This is not for you, little human bitch. This is allll for me." She could tell by the tremble in his voice and his shaky breath that he enjoyed having his cock enveloped in her hot pussy, and she squeezed her walls around him to get him moving. She smiled at his gasp of pleasure.
He fucked her roughly for a few strokes, then withdrew. She tried to turn her head to see what he was doing, but suddenly she felt the slick tip of his cock pressing against her asshole. She cried out and tried to pull away, but he held her hips firmly and pushed. He was well lubricated from fucking the other hole, and it went in easier than she thought it would, thanks in part to her plentiful juices and in part to her pushing against him – somehow the pushing actually relaxed her sphincter to allow him less painful access.
Slowly he invaded her backside until he was balls deep. She could feel him trembling as he stayed there for a few moments, and she knew he was struggling to postpone his orgasm. She felt the sweat from his brow dripping onto her back. Deep inside her ass, she felt his cock pressing against something that felt surprisingly good, but she had already learned that to make any move to pleasure herself would result in more abuse. She held still and waited for him to begin moving, and yes, it actually did feel fantastic. She knew his intention was to humiliate her, but instead it was having a decidedly pleasurable effect. She arched her back to push her ass back against his hips, and within moments his cock was throbbing and filling her with hot semen, too soon for her to achieve any significant amount of pleasure for herself.
He groaned and bent over her back, releasing her hips in favor of reaching below her to find and twist her still-sore nipples once again, this time with his bare fingers. He bit her shoulder, hard enough to leave marks but not hard enough to draw blood. A twisted part of her enjoyed it; just being naked with him and experiencing his touch, harsh as it was, turned her on. As his orgasm waned, he cupped her breasts gently in his palms and kissed her sweating back a few times, staying inside her until he became too soft and slipped out. "There's a good girl," he murmured as he pushed away from her.
He used the discarded handkerchief to dry his flaccid member, then tossed it in her face and unlocked the handcuffs. "Clean yourself up and get dressed," he ordered.
She cleaned herself up the best she could with the already-soiled handkerchief, then got shakily to her feet, gathering her clothes and dressing slowly, exhausted. Her eyes were drawn to Ondolemar as he pulled on his sexy Thalmor gloves and flexed his fingers.
"Would you like me to finish you?" he asked, voice dripping with false sympathy.
Oh, she would, very fucking much, but she refused to give him the pleasure of a reply.
"I'll make you a deal," he said magnanimously, and she glared at him. He continued, unfazed.
"I have well-founded suspicions that the local bard, Ogmund, secretly worships Talos in his home. You bring me evidence of that, and I will reward you in a way that I'm sure you will find quite satisfying."
Her traitorous pussy throbbed at the offer, but still she didn't answer.
Ondolemar stepped close in front of her, capturing her emerald eyes with his green-gold ones as he lifted her chin with his gloved fingertips. "You don't have to answer," he purred, and his accent, low voice, and full pouting lips wove their magic spell on her cursed libido. "I know your body demands your cooperation so that you can have your own satisfaction. Break into Ogmund's house and find that evidence. I'll be waiting."
He shot a burst of flames at the incriminating handkerchief, then called for the guards to come let them out.