r/orc34

Now under new management, r/Orc34 is back for your green needs.

There are caveats, however. I don't believe we should be propping up AI generated images, so I have removed the AI Art tag accordingly.

Additionally, I don't think it's been a significant issue, but please be sure to label the artist in the post title whenever possible.

Thank you, and welcome back to lovers of the verdant, virile vagabonds that are ORCS!

Previous chapters

1. The Two Horse Thieves
2. Ralof (M/M)
3. The Mage Sign (M/M)
4. Shame (M/F)
5. Ragnar the Red (M/M)

I curled my two fingers about, inside Sven, inside the bard, fucking him through the last lines of Ragnar the Red. The titular Matilda, twisted about upon Ragnar's sword.

Or at least aching for such a fate.

"Now Sven... what more do you wish? Or should I call you something else?"

There was a shudder, his whole body shaking there in the bath, tremors running up and down his spine. His brilliant skin soaking up the available candlelight.

"...Call me pretty." He repeated, trembling and wanting more, but leaving the pace entirely up to me. An eager, if confused virgin, or at least, virginal to the touch of a man. Of an orc. Of me.

I worked my fingers still, showing just what I had learned from the holds and cities, the brothels and barracks of the dying empire. "Such a pretty boy come to visit me in my room. Or was it a pretty girl?" I asked, pushing my fingers in to their fullest extent, starting to pick up speed.

"Boy.... I think?"

That was surprising. Though not altogether new. "Do you wish to try the other for a time?" I asked, curling around, brushing across that little boybutton inside of him.

"...yes."

I laugh, but not with cruelty, instead warmth. My brother had gone through a similar realization long ago. Albeit the circumstances of such were quite different. I hardly had him dance along my fingers like Sven here.

"Good... girl." I told Sven below. "Prettiest girl in town." It wasn't entirely untrue. Sven had compared themselves to Camilla time and time again, wanted to have Camilla for their own, wanted perhaps to be Camilla. But there was a severeness to Camilla that soured her presence.

But in Sven, an abundant, enthralling hope. I reached forward, grabbing Sven by the hair, pulling their head back. Smaller than me by far, I loomed over them here in the bath. But tilted back like this, their back arched... I wanted to see their eyes.

"Good... Matilda." I praised with a final flourish. As they jerked wildly upon my fingers in response. As their eyes rolled back. As they finally came, cum shooting out from their dick at the edge of the bath.

"....thank you." They whispered.

I pulled my fingers free, the soap once more and lathering my hand once more, coating it in the suds, the rich animal fats. And then starting to stroke my cock with it.

"We don't have to do more, if this was experiment enough." My self-disregard coming through once more. Always the passing orc, the experiment. The tool of self-realization. Never somebody worth keeping about past that point of discovery.

"More..." Sven whispered.

Well. That always felt good to hear.

"This is going to be a little rough, a little painful, even at my gentlest." I told him. He had never taken a dick before. Let alone one of my size.

"Ragnar... please." Ragnar, the wandering villain of the song he sung out before, who drank all the wine. Who was undone by the shield-maiden Matilda. Casting himself in the other role.

"Matilda..." I tried the name out. Testing the shape of it in my mouth. In the reactions of the nord below. I tried to remember the lyrics. Just what to say in response.

"Let me swagger and brandish my blade; tell you of bold battles and gold I have made..." I offered, a poor recitation compared to Matilda's own voice, but one that seemed appreciated nonetheless. I lined up my cock head at her ass, slowly pressing forward, stretching her out slowly.

Taking her for the first time under that name. If the name would stick, if this new gender worn for a moment would matter come the evening, I had no idea. But... there was a sense of duty to it.

To treat the girl right. To make this an experience she would never forget. My glans slipped inside her, pushing through. Suddenly enveloped in that impossible tightness, that crushing grip. That needy warmth.

I paused a moment. Letting Matilda below adjust. Her breathing just as heavy as mine. "Tell me when you are ready for more Matilda." She shuddered a moment at just the name.

"I..." She took her time. "It's... larger than I thought." I nodded, taking that as a request for more time.

"It always is, the rose sees the giant in us all." It didn't help that my cock was larger than average, and perhaps a good bit larger still. A difficult first attempted buggery at best.

"... Okay. I'm ready." She finally stated in response. I trusted her will, her consent and her eagerness, but not entirely her readiness. I slowly pushed forward, letting her take my cock inch by inch. Pausing after the first three, letting her adjust once more.

"So deep." She whispered, trying to hide the tears in her eyes. Already clearly struggling. Inexperienced, and not quite as rugged as Ralof before her.

She might not be able to take more than this, at least for today. An acknowledgement even internally that there might be a next time, even as precarious as this had all started. I pulled back my cock slowly, drawing out of her, letting Matilda recover a moment.

Before pushing back in, fucking the very breath out of her. Only to be replaced with moans, needy and nearly keening. Overwhelming her, with not even a full half of my cock. Fucking her with mercy and restraint, entirely unlike the titular Ragnar.

Had Ragnar been less bold, would he have survived Matilda the shield-maiden? Would she have let him sheath that sword in her? At least for a night or two? I had never really thought about the song much before, but now it was hard to think about anything else.

I shuddered, even this incomplete sensation a pleasing, an unmaking and overwhelming one. Her ass clinging to and gripping desperately at my cock, trying to claim, trying to draw me further in. Trying to never let me free.

That wholeness that the bard had lacked. Always wanting to be seen. I was right about that, but I was wrong at the exact cause for such want. I laughed to myself, but didn't stop. I don't think I could stop now if I wanted to.

All the worries gone away, melted at the moment of coupling. All those names, all those fears, those recurring dreads. Given way to the delightful friction, the knowing of truths and secrets inside ourselves. Of milk-drinker fed and truly sated.

Matilda cried out, cumming once more, staining the bath once again with her seed. I thrust another half dozen times, my own breathing becoming irregular, my lungs gasping for breath. My restraint failing, pushing a little bit farther inside Matilda, despite my attempts at mercy.

Enjoying every devastating inch of heated vice grip. Until finally, I to was undone. Pumping my seed deep inside her, flooding out through her bowls, claiming her in a way she had never before experienced. Earning a moan of delighted sympathy from the new woman beneath me.

And then finally, the friction far too much, I pulled my cock back and free. I had come in here to remove the stink of sex upon my flesh. And yet I never seemed to escape it.

At least there was still more soap, and I could try and clean up. I lowered myself back down into the tub, and reached out my arms to pull Matilda off the side of the tub and into my lap.

I didn't push my cock back inside her, despite every temptation to. A touch too sore on my part, and likely triply so on hers.

"You okay?" I asked. One arm wrapped around her, holding her steady. The other running through her blonde hair.

"That was a lot." Matilda said, shaking, not complaining, but having to acknowledge the intensity of the experience. I nodded, remembering back for moments my first time bottoming.

At least I wasn't a Khajiit.

"Next time." I paused, an assumption in my words. "We should do more to prepare you. Perhaps use a better oil than just the soap on hand."

Matilda nodded, not denying the possibility of a next time. "That would be nice." There was a pause of breath. "You are a little... big." A champion of understatement.

"Yes." I say in reply, squeezing her a bit closer, letting her rest back against my chest. But there was clarity I wanted from her. "Do you want me to keep calling you Matilda, to keep thinking of you as a woman?"

Matilda takes a long time to answer that, biting her lip, before finally answering. "Yes. But maybe not with others. Not yet. I've got a lot to think about, and I don't think I'm ready to admit anything like this to my mother."

"Okay." I say, understanding. "I can call you Matilda in private. I... might slip up on gender from time to time." After those fevered moments, it was difficult to think of Matilda as a man, even in pretense. Not that bottoming made one less of a man, of course.

"My brother, it took him some time to open up." I finally said.

"Your brother?" Matilda asked, trying to figure out just what that could mean.

"Narjdgol wasn't his birth name. He wasn't acknowledged as a man until he was older."

"Oh. I didn't know that orcs allowed for such." They didn't, not really. But there were ways around limited traditions.

"Narjdgol's axe made it possible. And I chose not to fight him."

"And that's why you are here." Matilda guessed. The entirety of my life story, all the sorrows and triumphs, reduced to a single choice many years ago. The fall of empire, just a footnote compared to a brother's acceptance.

"... More or less." I said. It was a good summary. It left out a lot of horror and heartbreak.

Matilda gave me a harder squeeze, clinging to my chest. We lingered there in the bath for a time, just the two of us, basking in the increasingly chilly waters. Token attempts to bathe. Matilda's clothing shed through the course of the lazy afternoon.

It wouldn't dry well on the floor like that, but presumably she had other pairs of clothing available to her.

"We should get dressed." I finally offered. I didn't know how much time I had left on the room rental, and there were likely to be questions about Matilda's intrusion.

Matilda paused, and then leaned up, pressing her lips against mine. She was an experienced kisser, but there was a notable pause, an invitation. For me to take the initiative. To push my tongue into her mouth, which I gladly did. Meeting her there in that moment of passion.

"Thank you." She whispered at its end.

I nodded and helped her up and out of the bath, her legs wobbling a bit from the afternoon's vigor.

I stood up after, taking one of the appointed towels to start to dry off. Finally stepping free and onto the stone floors, doing what I could to dry off.

The whole time Matilda was staring at me, looking down at my crotch. "Fuck... how did I take that whole thing?"

I laughed, letting the secret loose. "You didn't. Maybe half. I was going easy on you."

She blinked. "There was more...?" She shook her head, struggling with the thought. "I'm glad you didn't try more. That was a lot to take as it was."

"Mmm. You were hard to resist. Prettiest woman in Riverwood and all." I said with a smirk.

The blush she gave was worth it. Still, admiration couldn't last forever, and I pulled my new robe on. It largely fit even, though a little tight at the shoulders. But a flattering tightness around the arms.

"What do you think?" I asked, turning about in the fresh blue.

"I didn't take you for a wizard." She responded at first.

"I don't think I'm one either. But it was the only thing the traders had that would fit."

"Blue is a good color on you." She admitted, before getting dressed once more in her damp leggings and tunic. Grumbling at the texture. "I'll have to change at home."

I nodded.

"Well... let's see what the damage is." I offered, a hand upon her back and another pointed towards the door.

She nodded reluctantly, steeling herself to face the outside world once again, to wear, at least for a time, the mask of Sven.

Outside the room, the Sleepy Giant wasn't so sleepy. The bartender was still there, still behind the bar, likely having heard much of what we did, but hopefully not the words.

But he was flanked by a Nord woman, weathered and experienced, and already studying me. Picking me apart. Looking for every potential flaw or opening.

A veteran of the Legion, that much I could tell by her stance alone. I shifted back into my old posture, a symbol of recognition, of common background.

Her eyes drifted past me. I wasn't a threat to her. Her eyes instead fixed upon Matilda.

"Sven." She said accusingly. Incorrectly.

"Yes Ma'am?" Matilda asked, deferring to this woman immediately.

"You're fired. I can't have my employees attacking customers." There is a pause, looking back to me. "Or whatever else you did." She didn't accuse Matilda of whoring herself out.

Not in words. But the effect was the same.

The whole time, Faendal watched from the back of the inn, slowly sipping on a mead.

I thought to put my hand on Matilda's back. To comfort her. But such might only deepen the accusations.

"And Narzol." The woman said, already knowing my name. "You can stay the night. An apology if you want to consider it such. But come morning, you should move on to your destination."

I had caused enough trouble in her town, and she wanted me to hurry on to somewhere not here.

"Thank you ma'am." I said, mimicking Matilda's deference.

Matilda nodded and rushed outside. I gave a slight bow and followed after.

"What am I going to do now, Narzol? There are no other inns here. And what, are they going to say I attacked a customer? That I fucked a customer? What is my mother going to think?"

I didn't know the answer to that. Or to any future worries. Often when I stumbled into someone's life, I tried to help, tried to get them what they wanted, what they deeply wished for.

And often, that realization destroyed everything around them. I didn't know how to get Sven work in town, how to fix his reputation, how to do anything about my own regard, likely worsening by the hour.

But I did have a lead on a job.

"You ever heard of Bleak Falls Barrow?"

Throk felt the flames bathe his flesh. What little damage dealt by the Troll King's fire was easily knit by the priest's spells. Throk was an amazing tank, he could just sit in fire all day and hardly be hurt. And even better, while standing still, he was easier for healers to target.

Healers loved Throk, and couldn't hold back their exuberant praise. Today's healer was a goblin, a little runty woman who Throk could easily hold in one hand.

Throk might ask her out after. What was Throk doing again?

"Stupid fucking tank, get out of the gods damned fire!" Shouted the goblin.

Right! Throk was tanking. Throk took a few steps forward, getting out of the center of the fire, before smacking the troll king with his shield. Throk was such a good tank, he regularly did more damage than a good half of his party! It was almost like he just wanted to kill people and didn't care about damage prevention at all.

He just got to stand there at the edge of the flame, bathed in spell after spell! Throk enjoyed priest healers the best, their spells of healing and light went so far as to tickle him. Or maybe that was just nerve damage from his many years of tanking.

If he kept this up, he would be level 30 before the year was out!

"Fucking newb tank doesn't know what the fuck he is doing." The healer growled, obviously overwhelmed with Throk's magnificent presence. "Let me just..."

The priest started casting a spell, and not the usual healing spell, but something more violating, something more forbidden.

Throk felt a tapping, a rapping at his mind. Like there was a door he had long forgotten, one he needed to open.

To let her in.

Her presence slowly filling his mind, making his worries fade away. Throk wasn't worried about tanking, of course, he was great at it. But he was a little worried about what he would get for lunch later. But now, with that invasive soothing presence....

Throk didn't have to worry about anything. He could just relax. As he felt his feet move on their own initiative, stepping further and finally out of the fire. He felt his shield arm raise up, his shield deflecting the troll king's magic.

Oh, that was what that power did. Neat! Throk had no idea.

He felt himself throw down mitigation after mitigation, powers that Throk barely ever used. Abilities that he had saved in reserve for emergencies. And then usually in emergencies he had forgotten about.

Throk wasn't getting healed now, the healer seemed distracted for some reason. But that was okay, he was tanking well enough that he was barely taking any damage at all.

Some other voice whispered out of his mouth. "Stupid fucking orc didn't even have mitigation on his bars."

A few more swings of his axe and the troll king was defeated. He even got a new shield. Huzzah! Today was a great day for Throk. He didn't have to worry about anything anymore.

Not even what he was going to have for lunch.

"You all go on ahead." The goblin priest finally said. "Throk and I here are going to have a chat."

Oh. A chat. Maybe the little goblin had a crush on Throk? She was so small, but at least she was cute. Though as short as she was, she would probably have trouble taking all of Throk's orcish cock.

A voice in his head, distant yet thundering through the full of his mind, laughed at that. "Wanna bet?" That distant voice asked.

Throk didn't have to wonder about who that voice was. Everything was fine. He didn't have to worry ever again.

Not with the rest of the party leaving. It was just him, and the pretty goblin priest.

She cast another spell, and started to fly! Or at least float above the ground, nearly to Grok's full height despite how short she was. She floated close to Grok, inspecting him, first with her eyes, then with her hands, running those small hands across his face, petting him, feeling his strong manly jaw. Tracing her fingers across his tusks.

Oh. She clearly had a crush on Throk. This wasn't surprising. Most healers couldn't control their emotional responses around the manly orc tank.

She grabbed both sides of his shaved head, chanting more, relaxing Throk ever more.

"You and I..." She whispered. "Are going to find a secret boss to the dungeon. That the two of us have to work together to defeat."

Oh good. A secret boss meant more loot. And this time he wouldn't have to share with that dumb hunter. This was great. Throk nodded eagerly.

"The emerald serpent. You are going to need to do your best to survive this. Use all the mitigation you have to sustain the damage the snake is going to be putting out."

"You understand damage mitigation, right?" The priest asked Throk.

"Sure!" Throk lied. All he had to do was kill the snake before it killed him. Violence was the best form of damage mitigation.

"Well, your loss." She said. Then a few things happened that didn't make sense to Throk. The healer, floating so near Throk's face pulled her dress up, a brilliant white color, like something elves would wear, and beneath it, her fat thighs, and an even fatter... cock?

That didn't make sense. She was a girl goblin. And girl goblins didn't have cocks. Certainly not cocks bigger than Throk's.

"Behold. The emerald serpent!" She hissed, as that emerald serpent slowly rose to prominence. To arousal. And this all made sense, the girl goblin didn't have a cock. That would be weird.

This was just the secret end boss, the emerald serpent itself. That had bound itself to the goblin somehow!

"Don't worry goblin! I'll protect you!" Throk said, leaning forward to try and bite down on that emerald serpent before it could attack the healer further.

As he moved in to bite however, a sudden pain invaded his mind, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. Drawing tears from his eyes.

"No. You cannot defeat this boss by biting. Whatever you do, don't bite." The goblin told him.

And she was right, of course. He couldn't bite the Emerald Serpent. The pain started to fade, but not before the serpent unleashed its first series of attacks, that large skirt snake reaching out, and slapping across Throk's head.

Battering him, striking him with such a force that Throk was sure it would leave bruises. Wrenching his head back and forth as he was beaten.

This boss was harder than he expected! Throk tried to ignore the pain, to endure. He didn't want to look weak in front of the healer after all. But the healer did her part, casting some sort of blessing to slowly heal Throk over time.

Letting him endure this assault better. Throk let out a great roar, to try and intimidate the serpent... before the serpent struck again. That emerald cockhead pushing against his open mouth, stretching his jaw wide.

But Throk remembered. No matter what happened, he couldn't bite the snake. He tried to open his jaw wide as that monster pushed inside. The serpent's mushroom head pushing down upon his tongue, leaving a smear of precum behind.

Pushing ever deeper. Throk roared out again in protest, but only manage to bring vibrations across the serpent's length. Before it pushed down further, fucking into his very throat.

Throk hadn't had a boss fight quite like this in a month at least! He raised his shield defensively, but it seemed to do little to protect him, little to keep him safe as that serpent plunged down his throat, making it hard... no impossible to breathe.

As it made him choke in a way Throk couldn't remember choking before. Gargling upon so much precum fucked down his throat. The healer, still above him... mysteriously attached to the Emerald Serpent still.

She kept healing him, just as she had before. Keeping him alive, even as that snake pushed down further. Throk was gasping for breath, trying to breathe through his nose, but as deep as the serpent was, he had trouble getting any breath at all.

He was growing light-headed upon it. He wasn't sure how long he could stay awake during such an assault. Until finally, with a bucking of her hips, the goblin smashed her pelvis against Throk's face, that terrible serpent fucked all the way down his throat.

It was so deep, part of Throk was worried that it fucked through into his very chest. The priest adjusted her spell. And then Throk remembered, he didn't have to worry anymore.

Everything was fine. He just had to trust his healer and relax. Throk was a good tank. Throk took all the blows. Throk doesn't bite. Throk puts his party first.

Throk could endure getting his nose smashed repeatedly by the goblin's frenzied thrusts. Throk gave out a muffled cry of pain, as in the goblin's frenzy he was sure his nose broke.

Blood dripping down along his face, coating her cock. No. Not a cock. Coating the terrible serpent in blood. Throk wasn't doing great. Even when the healer's spells mended his nose, made him anew again.

Healed the bruising along his face. Along his lips. Healed the damage to his throat. Only for that snake to push through once more, to ravage him once more. Throk was barely keeping up.

This secret boss had done so much damage to Throk. But then something started to shift. He felt the goblin's scrotum shift, those emerald orbs wrapped in so much luxurious skin, dragging across his chin, tightening a moment, and then releasing their bounty.

So much cum pouring down his throat, pushing down into Throk's belly. Overwhelming him, taking him to the point he could no longer stand. He started to fall down, that serpent slowly pulling from his throat.

Pulling out far enough that only the mushroom tip of the snake remained in his mouth. Spraying cum out, puffing his cheeks out. Shooting out his newly mended nose. Drooling down his lips.

"Such a shitty tank." The goblin growled. "You couldn't handle the Emerald Serpent at all."

Throk felt such great shame. Maybe he wasn't a good tank at all. A good tank swallowed. He gulped down what he could, though far too late.

The enrage timer had already passed. The goblin floated back, pulling her cock... no, the Emerald Serpent retreating from his mouth. Giving Throk a chance to breathe again. To choke and recover and try and find some semblance of normal after that first boss fight phase.

Throk collapsed onto the ground immediately. Utterly defeated by just the first phase of the boss fight alone. He heaved and vomited up a belly fully of cum, though still felt like there was so much more packed away inside of him.

His healer, ever attentive, stopped levitating, her feet finally touching the ground. "You poor thing." She said with a mockery of false pity. She raised a bare foot up, dressed in the current barefoot fashion of villains and raid bosses, before finally pushing that foot down on Throk's head.

Pressing him into the stone floor. Putting her whole weight on that foot, before her next foot pressed down across Throk's back. She took her time walking over him.

His armor at least offered some protection from her trampling. That and she wasn't too heavy. Throk grunted, his breath finally returning, his main airways clear, though it still felt like his nose and sinuses were overfilled with cumsnot.

"Now for the next phase." The healer threatened, hopping off and behind Throk, standing now between his legs. "Let’s get you a little higher." She cast another levitation spell, this time on Throk himself, making his body float two feet off the ground.

The healer reached forward, undoing Throk's belt, pulling it free, and casting the over-engineered mess of leather and bone behind. Removing his pants took more effort, all the buckles and straps involved, but finally she pulled it down, and yanked it off his body, leaving Throk's lower body bare in underwear alone.

"You are almost cute like this." The healer praised him. And that mild praise felt affirming to Throk's addled mind. While he was having so much trouble with this last boss, at least the healer thought he was cute, at least he had some value, even if it was just in his appearance.

"But we waited too long." The healer reached forward, grabbing Throk's underwear and tugging at it, pulling it down to his knees, and then finally starting to rip it open and apart, leaving scraps of cloth and fur stuck along the orc's knees.

Finally she was able to pull Throk's thighs apart. Revealing Throks relatively smaller cock by comparison, green and formidable still, but no true emerald serpent, despite his otherwise greater stature.

"Cute." She said with a cruel laugh.

But more importantly, his ass, well muscled, sculpted out of meat in the form of an orcish Adonis. She reached her hands forward, and with some effort parted his cheeks. Looking between at his unblemished sphincter.

"Normally woulda done more prepwork. But foreplay is for tanks that stay outta the fire." She said with a growl, smacking Throk's ass once, before tugging him back closer to her.

Weightless and floating, there was nothing Throk could do to resist. Nothing he could do to stop her. And then he felt that emerald monster press between his cheeks.

Spirits. It felt even thicker there than it did against his lips. Throk gulped. "I'm not ready. Not prepared!" He cried out, hoping for some mercy.

"Too late." Replied the priestess, before slamming her thighs forward, the blunted head of that great emerald serpent crashing against Throk's ass. Far too thick to press inside, but delivered with such force it felt like Throk took a full strike.

Throk grit his teeth and braced himself, using one of those oft forgotten mitigation abilities to try and resist what was coming, to try and reduce the damage.

And another body-shaking thud, but less painful now with Throk's preparation. If he just kept this up, perhaps he could survive this boss fight, just outlast it while his healer kept him alive?

Thud.

Thud.

The mitigation wore off.

That serpentine member pushed forward, crashing against Throk's ass, drilling against the sphincter and finally splitting Throk's ass open. Leaving Throk screaming out in agony as the goblin forced the full of her cockhead inside.

"It's... tooo biiig." Throk whined out. Sweat running down his face, his whole body shivering at the enormity of the insertion, at the danger of this whole encounter. Or perhaps, shivering from the cum still sloshing about in his belly.

"You are a big boy. You can handle it." The healer said encouragingly, casting another spell to keep Throk healed, to keep him conscious and alive. To slowly mend his sphincter, even as she fucked it open again and again.

With each thrust, pushing another few inches into Throk's unprepared ass. The Emerald Serpent taking its toll in bloody streaks. Throk doing his best just to survive the monster.

"Fuck. You are tighter than the last tank..." The healer muttered, making another powerful thrust, punching that cock far deeper inside of Throk, splitting the orc open, fucking past and into his colon. Pushing all those unnecessary organs out of the way to make more room for the serpent's demands.

For her lust.

Throk shivered, his body overwhelmed. Floating there powerless as his ass was ravaged, as he was split open without any mercy or lubrication. Feeling as if an entire tusk was fucked up his ass... but there was still so much of the snake left to go.

He drew across what inner reserves he had, trying to guard himself. To endure just that little bit longer. To not let his healer down. To stay conscious during the repeated gut-breaking thrusts.

The healer kept pushing, kept fucking Throk. Kept destroying his ass around her raid boss of a cock. She kept healing him up as she went, giving that extra bit of regenerative resistance, but also, with her cock still lodged thoroughly inside, healing him back wrong.

Remodeling him to be her newest cocksleeve. To better take her cock next time without preparation. To make any lesser cock feel utterly insufficient. She healed a void into him that would never be truly filled.

And finally, she slammed into him fully, fucking that emerald serpent deep enough inside of him that she was sure that she had fucked into his very chest. She slammed her pelvis against his ass hard enough to leave a bruise.

Finally, she could start fucking him for real. Pulling her cock almost all the way out, she crashed forward once more working the full of his body, making a fucktoy out of his intestinal track. Every time she pushed deep enough inside him, she could feel his panicked breaths, the rapid beating of his heart.

Just little bits of extra stimulation to please her, to bring that extra bit of enjoyment. Even as she crushed his diaphragm and fucked the very breath out of him.

"Please....!" He begged, struggling to stay alive through the rough fuck-fight. Doing his best to defeat his enemy before he himself got defeated. But it was clear that this was a losing battle for Throk. If it wasn't for his healer being so careful with her spells, he wouldn't have survived it at all.

He was being carried.

Even as that same healer was destroying him with her cock, The Emerald Serpent as he imagined it. As she fucked into his mind. Throk only existed to be a good tank. To take all the punishment that his healer demanded. To endure all the pain and suffering like a good little slut.

To trust his life, his flesh and his mind into her hands. And only through submitting and trusting her utterly would he survive the encounters she would lead him through.

Throk groaned out at the thought, his own cock shaking and cum pouring out across the ground beneath him. An impressive load, or at least, it would have been if it wasn't compared to the load that the goblin had already fucked into his belly.

If it wasn't compared to the dangerous amount of precum that she had already fucked into his guts. The way his belly had been stretched out, both upon the girth of her cock, and the cum he hadn't yet managed to vomit out.

"Nearly there slut." She growled, near rabid, her own mind taken over by a fuckfrenzy, a chance to indulge and break a slut who was durable enough to actually survive the experience. A slut big enough to take her to her fullest extent.

She screamed out, finally reaching her peak, her terrible orgasm pouring through and into Throk, bloating his guts immediately. Her cock thick enough that there was no way it could leak back out his ass. So instead it filled him more.

And more. And more.

Pouring up through, mixing with the seed already in his guts. And more. Pushing through, and finally slowly up his throat, until finally his jaws were wrenched open, seed pouring out of him.

Turning the orcish tank into a full cum fountain.

The Emerald Serpent had finally been defeated. Throk had survived the hidden dungeon boss. Barely. Throk was so happy to be of service, so eager to be used.

So full of cum that he was unable to speak.

"Not bad..." The healer praised him. "I should introduce you to my raid group later."

Previous chapters

1. The Two Horse Thieves
2. Ralof (M/M)
3. The Mage Sign (M/M)
4. Shame (M/F)

I couldn't remember my last bath. Before Ralof. Before crossing the border. Before Lokir's death.

Had I drawn that last bath with him? I liked to think so, but the memories faded of it. No longer as important in the growing distance of now. But it was now, and in the now Lokir was dead.

And despite the tragedy of it. This bath was nice. As drafty as the Sleeping Giant was, as well... dreary as the innkeeper seemed to be, the room was private, it was affordable, and the water was heated. The tub was even large enough to fit me.

At least mostly. Sprawled across the bathtub, my shoulders never quite got covered, my calves hung over the sides as well. But the warmth was soothing, the way it slowly seeped into my muscles. The soap was good too. Fatty and rich. Cow perhaps? Or some of the rich game of the region?

It didn't have the pleasant fragrance of the Cyrodillan soaps, but for cutting through the buildup of grime, it had a delightful utility of it. After I was done with this bath, I might see if I had enough coin to buy a bar to take with me.

To prevent things from getting this bad in the future. But where would I go with this soap? There was that golden claw calling me to Bleak Falls Barrow. Violent work, but paid, and perhaps some of the bandits would have gear closer to my size.

Although... bandits plural. Not the best sort of work to take on alone. Maybe I could convince Ralof to come along once he got back from Riverwood?

I considered that a moment. Plumbing those dark depths again with the handsome nord. Exploring the barrow as well between trysts. But I doubt it. He wouldn't slip away for long, not with his sister so close.

I groaned. Part of me wanted to hate Gerdur. That overprotectiveness, that judgment But... I understood it. Her brother was nearly killed by the Imperial headman, only saved by the improbability of a dragon. And a rough orc.

She wanted to keep him close and safe. Wanted to cling until she was sure that Ralof wasn't about to go off and get himself killed. I had people who cared for me like that once. A brother and sisters. But that was long ago.

I couldn't go home unless I killed them. Such was the way for second sons of Malakath. That struggle for who would lead, who would father the next generation. My sisters either leaving for better lives, or being traded off to other holds as forge wives. My brother, living in some sort of hedonism, albeit one bound strictly by rules, by schedules.

That's the thing about wedding bonds, even those held before Malakath. They go both ways. I had more freedom, even in the Legions, than Narjdgol ever had. I had thought about killing him. Taking his place. Taking his wives.

I think most orcs had that thought. But I couldn't. Narjdgol chose that life. Chose to become. The usurper, perhaps. But he was truly happy as a man. As a father. Happier than he ever would have been as a hunt wife.

"Open up, you orc son of a bitch!"

I raised my head from quiet contemplation, shifting slightly in the bath.

"Who is there?" I replied, scanning the room. I didn't particularly want to fight. I didn't even want to get out of the bath.

"Who is there? You don't even know?" There was a sudden slam as the intruder threw himself against the door. Shoulder checking it. Trying to burst the wood.

Stressing the hinges. The latch. Trying to burst past the door bar.

I looked to the door. Ah.

The door I had forgotten to bar. He hadn't checked if it was locked yet? I couldn't help but laugh.

Another slam against the shoulder, and a pained whine from the other side.

"You slept with my fucking girl!" The Nord from the outside complained. Finally, realizing his folly and starting to turn the door knob.

Sven. Camilla's 'friend' at the Sleeping Giant. Narzol wondered about that. Maybe Camilla hadn't told him everything? Or perhaps, more likely, Sven read too much into what was said.

Sven burst into the room, stumbling to right himself. A handsome man, a fitting appearance for his bardic profession. With long blond hair, looking for a moment like a younger Ralof. One less scarred by empire and its collapse.

A slight stirring before the water. Not coming at the best of times.

His tunic was well-made a bit worn, a yellow, not unlike Camilla's own, over a darker underlayer. Fists raised, looking for a fight. But no weapon in hand.

Good.

I didn't feel like killing today. Nor did I really feel like getting out of the bath.

"You must be Sven." I offered, giving a lazy wave, before grabbing that bar of soap and rubbing it across my arms. Working up a lather. Showing that I wasn't here to fight. But if necessary, making it all the harder to grab hold of me should the fight happen anyway.

"So you fucking knew, and you did it anyway?" Sven snarled, closing the distance.

The tub was wide enough that Sven couldn't strike me from the other side, which meant he had to come around. By the time he circled about, I already had my arms up in front of my face. He threw those first few punches, connecting, albeit with my guard.

Decent strikes, slipping past along my soaped up skin. I let him have a few more. Perhaps it was wanting to feel pain? A self-judgmental masochism? But not enough that I let him truly hit me.

And I let him get tired. And sloppy. Those desperate strikes full of emotion, empty of training. Unready fingers crashing against my forearms, until finally, his arm pulled back too slow. I reached out, grabbing his wrist. Holding him close.

"What are you here for, Sven?" I growled, slowly crushing his wrist in my grasp, letting him feel that pain returned, that potential for more as I twisted his arm about.

"I... you slept with my girl!" He whined out.

"She never said she was yours." I replied. I wonder if she had ever told Sven that she was his either. I was curious to see how he would respond.

"I... we had something special." Sven said, trying to hold back the tears.

I grunted, reaching back with my other arm, grabbing him by the back of the tunic, and then with my controlling grip, heaving the nord up and over the edge of the bath, pulling him in, clothes and all. The water now overflowing and running down the sides.

The spills might be on my bill. But I figured being attacked by the inn's bard would give me some credit.

Sven panicked, kicking and flailing in the tub, squirming about across my lap. Thinking perhaps for a moment that I would drown him there, kill him in that very tub. I didn't discourage that thought.

At least for a few moments.

Before pulling him up for air.

"It's bad form to attack a man having a bath." I chided him, before finally letting go. Leaving him there, soaked and confused.

"Why did you stop?"

"Because I didn't go to this inn to fight you. I came to get a damn bath. Now if you wanted to talk badly enough to break into my room, you should spit it out."

"I came in here to beat you for what you did to Camilla."

"With Camilla."

He paused, shivering a moment with the uncertainty. "With Camilla, across the bridge."

"Camilla is a willful woman. Do you think that would have happened if it wasn't entirely her idea?"

"I..." Sven looked ready to burst into tears. Or maybe that was just the water and soap dripping down from his face.

"No. She wouldn't. So, you didn't come here about me. You were upset about her decisions."

"Yes..."

"You want her to only fuck you, I take it?"

"I want to marry her."

"Yeah. But also to only fuck you."

"Yes!" He growled back. "Is that so strange? To not want my girl off with that wood elf, or every traveler who comes to town?"

"You tried to use violence to control a woman."

"What! No. I'd never threaten her."

"Just those she has been with."

"I..." He blinked before looking down at the water.

He paled a moment.

"Look Sven. I was a young dumb idiot once too. Raised on tales of Malakath and orcish propriety. Thinking that I deserved the wives I would one day have."

"I was irritable and entitled." And learned some hard lessons.

"Just because you want a woman doesn't make her your forge wife. Even if everything in the world conspires to make it so, if she wants to leave... she will leave. If she wants to sleep with other men, she will sleep with other men."

"But that isn't fair."

"Why isn't it? You get to decide who you fuck too. Nothing is stopping you from sleeping with every orc who walks through town."

"But I don't."

"Because you chose not to. Not because of any justice or compact."

Sven was still looking down. Still staring into the water. Through the parting of soap. Ah. I was still naked. Still bare. And the horrid thing about fights. They got me excited in so many ways.

The water must have been playing tricks of refraction. Making my cock seem all the bigger. All the more imposing. I looked at Sven. Lost. Confused. Torn up by emotion. Defeated.

And of course, a fucking blond. Like a younger Ralof, before he earned all those scars.

I reached over, grabbing him by the jaw, turning his gaze up. To look at me. "A bard right? Raised by all those songs. All those ideas of what a proper man is? What a proper man claims? Love at first sight and all that rubbish?"

"They... they aren't rubbish. Just sometimes exaggerated.”

"Love at first sight would be a curse. Sometimes we don't see what we want at first glance. Sometimes we don't understand what we really need until the third, or even hundredth glance."

I tilted my head, looking at him not with judgment but perhaps a touch of understanding. "You thought you could come in here and destroy me, right? To leave me begging for mercy, to leave your claim on Camilla unopposed?"

"Uhh...." Sven responded, squirming some in my grasp. The bath was not big enough for the both of us. As it was before he fell in, my legs were already hanging over the edge. As it was now, he was trapped, between them, our limbs tangled up. That cock of mine uncomfortably close.

"You sought to prove yourself against me. A prop in your song." I suggested, watching his awkwardness. The bard face to face with the subject. "I'm not actually insulted, even if my arms ache from your punches."

Sven mumbled out an apology.

"You aren't sorry. And that's okay. I'm not really what you are here for. I'm not really who you are upset at. I'm just the orc." I chuckle. It wasn't the first time I had been 'the orc', that outside influence corrupting wives and husbands away.

The excuse that they had been waiting for.

"You are upset at Camilla. And upset at yourself. But it isn't really anger. If you were angry at Camilla you would have just left her."

Sven straightened up at that. "But I love her."

"And she might not love you back." I replied. "It happens. Quite often." I let go of his jaw and rested my hand on his shoulder. "But really, you feel yourself treading water. Drowning. Impotent. Not knowing what to do next, how to get her to return those feelings burning through you."

The word impotent hit hard. He looked back down at the water. "I thought if I could just keep Faendal away... but then you showed up." And then a pout. That dangerous expression.

"Camilla enjoys men. Perhaps a bit too much. There was kindness when she was with me, but also a bit of glee." I frowned. "I think she wanted you to see what she did to me. Perhaps enjoying that jealousy, or just enjoying showing off."

She didn't mention Sven being a partner. Just a friend. This might have all been a claim in his mind, not her own. A one-sided infatuation. But... she had told me to say hello to Sven. Already knowing how this might turn out.

Maybe not the violence. But wanting that competitive streak. Camilla might have been a heartbreaker, a hussy, or a dozen other deriding terms. But then... so was I.

"Shall we return the favor?" I ask, casually, my hand trailing down along Sven's arm.

"What? What do you mean?" Sven asked, his voice catching as his mind struggled to keep up.

"Nothing says you can't sleep with the handsome orc too. Nothing says you can't make her just as jealous as you are. Or, perhaps even better, make her envious to join in."

"I..." He started to say. Perhaps to deny. To say he didn't want that. But the way his gaze kept drifting down, we both knew that wasn't true.

"And unlike Faendal. I'm not sticking around." He wouldn't have to see me in the months to come. That regret. I'd go away quietly. Just like Ralof sent me away. Just like dozens more.

Not good enough to keep. I grit my teeth quietly. I knew I couldn't stay in this town. But this was the first time I said it out loud.

There was uncertainty there in Sven. Desire sure, but a desire for something he didn't quite understand. Sven wanted to be wanted, to be adored, perhaps a passion he shared with bards as a whole, but one he never quite grasped.

Always the singer of songs, and never the subject. Not entirely inexperienced in matters of the heart, but never in such a way that he felt such experiences worthy of mention.

So used to being the desirer, the audience, the anticipation eager for its return in kind that he didn't know how to deal with intention himself.

"What do you mean?" He asked, already knowing the answer to the question.

"We fought. Got our hearts beating, Our lungs breathing heavy. Riled up. I'm offering you the natural conclusion of this. To return a bit of your aggression To fuck this agony out of you."

"...Okay." He said, with a gulp. "But... be careful? I haven't done anything like this before."

I nodded. "Then we should start you slow and easy." I grabbed him in my arms, gathering him up, and laying him out over the edge of the tub. His leggings clinging to his ass, the fabric sopping wet. Easy to peel down and off of him.

His ass was... well, it was stunning, perhaps part of the reason for Camilla's continued toleration of his antics. I brought my hand down, delivering a solid smack, to watch it wobble there on the bath's edge.

The way his feet kicked up instinctively in response. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Really? I'm not allowed to strike back?" I asked with a laugh. Delivering a follow-up spank, but a lighter one. Painful sure, but the sort of pain that you could get used to. The kind that would make you miss its absence.

"I... guess." He said, precariously, in so much unfamiliar ground.

I gave a slight grin, though I knew that I should be a bit gentle. Another virginal blond, looking to me for help, for guidance, to treat him right.

I brought my hand down again, squeezing and kneading the flesh, bringing pleasure to chase after the pain. Testing the strong muscle underneath. This was not a casual growth of muscle, but one deliberately cultivated.

Effort, attention, intentionality to so much of him. A desire to be seen, to be admired. A would-be heartthrob of a bard, although one whose inexperience was obvious. A mimic, seeking to be the shape of what he wished to be. Or perhaps, the shape of what he desired.

"When was the last time Camilla called you pretty?" I asked, delivering another swat as a gesticulation of pointed punctuation. A question demanding a response.

"I." He started. Thinking back. Thinking hard. "Never? She called me handsome a few times."

I nodded at that, slowly parting his cheeks, peering in between. Looking, admiring that wrinkled knot of flesh, that drain of lust. That winking invitation.

"You are handsome, sure, but that doesn't stop you from being pretty too. You are quite the striking figure, Sven. You might even be prettier than Camilla."

He gasped at the idea, or perhaps my breath across his rose. "What but I..."

Stammering, because he didn't know whether to defend his crush or not. Melting under that focused attention for the first time.

"You want to be admired, don't you? To be seen?" I asked, pushing the limits of my perception, taking the illusion of him, the mask I had formed in my mind and pressing it down across his form. Seeing if it fit.

"Yeah... being seen is great." He said, though still distracted, delirious from that focus. From getting what he wanted. The dog ever chasing the wagon.

I pulled a hand back, wetting it with soap, coating my fingers with it, before taking a single fingertip and dragging across that wrinkled rose, tracing a slow pattern across it. Watching all the ways those dedicated intentional muscles twitched in response/

"And what do you want Sven? You are seen. You are observed. You are hungered for."

He gasped, his body twitching in response to my gentle touch.

"I... want to be whole. To be satisfied." Sven said, his mind shifting back and forth between metaphor and crude practicality.

Fucking is base physicality, the same way music is vibration. Isolated acts of impact, of tension, of strumming, that when woven together become a greater form. Capable of capturing sorrow, beauty, perhaps even truth in their warbling.

"Sing for me Sven." I told him before slowly pushing my fingertip inside, watching with great fascination as that wrinkle of flesh resisted, and then finally parted, slowly opening, not used to this sort of intrusion.

Sven was so used to taking requests that he did so immediately. Singing the first song that came to mind.

"Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red, who came riding to Whiterun from old Rorikstead."

I couldn't help but laugh, but worried about damaging the poor bard, I followed it up with praise. "Well done Sven. Keep going." I urged him along, pushing my finger in to the first knuckle, not a truly formidable intrusion, but one to the uninitiated that would feel vast, impossible.

Every bit of size magnified en fold, wiggling against that constricting bit of muscle, winding my way once and then back again, relaxing the flesh. Pulling my finger clear to soak it in oil again before pushing it back.

"And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade, as he told of bold battles and gold he had made."

Ah. The choice of song was not accidental. But it made me wonder, this bold braggart, was that Sven, or myself? I remembered something of the song.

A pride undone.

It was strange, having someone actually sing in response to my touch, as opposed to a song more metaphorical. It wasn't in itself unpleasant, but it threw me off, it seemed rude to give my usual banter, and so I answered with touch.

Finally leaning forward and kissing that exposed ass cheek, feeling the flesh beneath my lips. Beneath my teeth. Constricted tight along my finger, slowly pulsing as I pushed that finger deeper still. Up to the second knuckle, a full Muatra for the uninitiated.

"But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red. When he met the shield-maiden Matilda, who said..."

A little deeper still, and I found what I was looking for. That bit of buried pleasure. A touch that would make a shield-maiden pause and whimper.

At least according to Sven's rendition of the song.

"What did Matilda say?" I asked, egging Sven on, all while brushing my finger back and forth across that bundle, trying to please him, rewarding him for his indulgence. Offering him my own sort of violence in return for his own.

Twisting my finger about, finally giving him room to breathe again. To exhale into the inn room.

"Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead...." He got out in desperate gasps, his lungs sucking in air whenever he could, but still trying to do as he was told. Perhaps out of pride? "...now I think it's high time that you lie down and bleed!"

Or was the bard doing his best to be an obedient boy? I pushed a second finger against that plucked rose, twisting my way past the sphincter, stretching the Nord wider still, leaving him gasping, nearly keening in response to that deep touch.

The next verse taking longer to form, interspersed between desperate, needy sobs. "And then came clashing and slashing of steel....!" He called out shuddering, getting ever closer. "As the brave lass... Matilda charged in... full of zeaahahah!"

The line unfinished, Sven broke into nervous laughter, his mind trying to understand the sensations running through his body. The sensations he had denied himself until this fateful day. As that toned ass of his finally clamped down hard upon my fingers.

His whole body shaking. The song disrupted, as his seed shot out along the edge of the bathtub. So much for getting clean.

I didn't stop the movement of my fingers, the two of them now working so much more devastation, so much overwhelming sensation inside of Sven, destroying and remaking his mind, what he thought of himself, just with a light sustained touch.

He was far too gone now to keep talking, but it seemed ill fortune to leave a song unfinished. And so I spoke out, from what lines I remembered.

"And so the braggart named Ragnar the Red was boastful no more... when his ugly head rolled around on the floor." My voice didn't have Sven's training, that beauty to it. And the line such as I remembered it didn't really rhyme. But the story was complete.

"Tell me Matilda." I whispered to Sven, casting him as the local hero. "Are you ready for that clashing and slashing? Or was this enough?" There was a trembling, a failed response as I wiggled my fingers about, enjoying just how easy Sven was to stimulate.

Until finally, I paused just long enough for him to respond. "...more." he choked out.

Chapter 1: The Orc of Riverwood

Chapter 2: Ralof (M/M)

Chapter 3: The Mage Sign (M/M)

After Gerder's rebuke, I was more conscious than before just how dressed down I felt. Just how naked. My rags, obviously those of a prisoner, now far more worn and torn from the experience and battles of the days before.

And not all the wear from battles either, a few tears from Ralof's writhing in my grasp. While I had been the whore before, or at least more obvious with my activities, it was usually months after I had integrated into a community, not as some outsider who walked into town barely dressed and smelling of blood, sweat and musk.

If anything, modesty had rendered me unusually shy. Still, I had a few coins, and the willingness to spend often opened doors. I opened the door to the Riverwood traders, and was relieved when I wasn't the immediate target of derision.

"Well, one of us has to do something!" an imperial woman called out in frustration.

Another responded, a man looking somewhat similar to her still, a brother perhaps?

"I said no! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!"

"Well, what are you going to do then, huh? Let's hear it!" She replied.

While the brother's protective attempts at control were obnoxious at best, I did find myself drawn to the spirit in which she defied him. A wildness to her, perhaps a growing resentment at being coddled. A rebellious streak, of course.

I looked down at myself, barely wearing scraps of cheap linen at all. Were I better dressed, less reeking, I might have made my interest clearer, but not now. Not while cloaked in shame.

I cleared my throat.

"Oh! A customer. Sorry you had to hear that." The brother replied, sizing me up, though pausing upon seeing the coin purse in my hand.

"No need to apologize. I need new clothes." I said slowly, looking between the two of them. Awaiting that judgment.

"You certainly do." the woman said, though there was less mockery there than I feared. "What happened to you on the road? Were you attacked?"

I paused a moment. Unsure of how much I wanted to get into it. "Yes. Waylaid on the way to Helgen. And then things were strange... there were a great number of fires."

I shook my head. "I have coin, though I don't know if you have anything my size?"

The woman frowned. "Sven said his mother was talking about fires to the north..." She shook her head. "Let's see what we can get you set up with." She paused as she stepped closer, pausing at the threshold. Pausing at the stink. A wrinkle on her nose as she recognized what the smell might represent.

Her brow raised slightly with perhaps a flicker of interest. "I'm Camilla Valerius, and this is my brother Lucan. And you are?"

I was unsure what to say at first, so I settled on the obvious. "Narzol." I said with a nod. "Good to meet you both."

Lucan shook his head, going behind the counter, searching through the fabric of different outfits. "We don't get too many orcs coming through here." A practical, if perhaps isolating, statement.

Camilla grabbed a tape measure off the counter and finally stepped closer. "Now... I'll need to take some measurements before we see if anything fits. It wouldn't do to have you trying a half dozen outfits for only one of them to fit."

I nodded. That made sense. She stepped closer again, extending her arms out, almost for a hug, measure stretched between them. Pinning one side of it to my shoulder, and extending the measure across, dragging across both rended fabric and bare skin.

"Mmm. Wide. But not impossible to accommodate. I'm a little worried about below." She reached down then, kneeling slightly, closer to my waist. Closer to my crotch. Embarrassed still, I was worried now how much she could smell of Ralof and I.

That had only been this morning, and I still hadn't taken a bath. She paused, inhaling a moment, steadying herself, and shaking her head slightly, a few strands falling out from her tied back hair.

"Sorry." I mumbled. "It's okay." Camilla said, looking back up at me. "You had a long day. A hard journey." Words of understanding, both of the difficulty of life, and the record of intimacy left behind. Camilla left out the hardest parts, before pinning the measure to my side, reaching forward to wrap it around my waist, taking another measurement.

"Right. The waist might be difficult... and finally." She inhaled again, a small smirk on her face. Her reactions were distracting, disarming. Something I'd enjoy further if not in such a condition.

All of her softness, her curves, reminding me of what Ralof lacked. My cock slowly swelling in response to her attention, despite my attempts to rain it in.

I grunted.

She smirked. Measuring my legs now, from waist to knee. From knee to ankle. "Lucan. I don't think any of the pants will fit. He is too tall, and likely a bit too wide besides. See about the robes? One of them might be broad enough in the shoulder."

Lucan nodded, setting out a series of robes. Cut in the mage style. Little protection, but it would at least help with the cold. With the modesty. And I had selected the mage stone earlier, and did something with it, however impulsively.

If I was to be a mage, or dream of casting spells, perhaps I better look the part?

Lucan stepped closer and nearly doubled over immediately, a visceral reaction to the smell. "... You really need a bath." He critiqued, his nose twitching. His mind trying to place the full of the stench. He lacked his sister's uptake.

"No trying these on unless you pay." He said firmly. Disapproval, and more protective glances to his sister.

"Lucan, there is no need to be rude. Here, just see if any are wide enough for his shoulders."

Lucan sighed. "Fine." He picked up one of the robes, an old gray set, raising it to my shoulders, having to reach up to match my height, pinning them against me. Far too narrow.

"Right not these." Lucan nodded, doing his best to ignore what that smell might represent, returning to the line of other robes, moving instead to the largest of the lot. A robe in dark blue. "This one might just work." He offered, coming back over, and once more pinning the robes, these a darker blue, to my shoulders, looking at the relative size.

The fabric itself was broader than my shoulders. But that didn't necessarily mean it would fit. "Camilla, what do you think?" Lucan asked, before I could.

"Yes. I think these should work. Or at least be close enough for now. We might need to make some alterations, but even as it is, it should be better fitting than what you have on currently."

She gave a warm smile, before standing up and stepping back. "How about you purchase these now, and try them on after a bath at the Giant, if they don't fit after you are all cleaned up, we can give you your coin back."

"Camilla, you should really talk to me first before making such offers." Lucan chided, frowning and looking between the two of us once again.

"Brother, you should be more careful. Other people have lives with sorrows of their own, just as valid as that claw of yours, if not more so. It's clear that Narzol had a rough day, getting waylaid and then having to flee the fires..." She pauses and looks at me again apologetically.

"We should do what we can to help others, to be understanding, even if it's only within our limits. He will be paying us if he accepts the robe. And if it doesn't fit after his bath, then the robe will be returned to us... not that it's any great benefit in our stores. You know how long that piece has been waiting on the shelves. Just how many orcish mages do you think there are in Skyrim anyway?"

Lucan frowned but nodded. "Right. Fine. The robe should be an even hundred and twenty septims. I trust you have the coin?" Lucan asked, trusting nothing of the sort.

I looked down into the coin purse, sorting through. It looked like I had little more than just that. Gerdur had given me more of a purse than I had expected. Thanks for saving her brother, perhaps? Or a payment to avoid him in the future.

I wasn't sure. Still. I needed these clothes.

"Okay." I said, nodding slowly, counting the coins out and passing them over.

"Good!" Lucan said with some amount of satisfaction. "Finally some real business in here, beyond those boys of yours coming about." He said, shaking his head and looking to his sister.

"They aren't some street scamps!" Camilla complained, a recurring argument it seems. "Sven is a full bard working at the inn, and Faendal works at the mill." The elf that laughed at my predicament earlier, perhaps? "And they both buy things when they stop by."

"Worthless trinkets..." Retorted Lucan.

"That you put up for sale. You can't blame customers for buying the merchandise that we willingly offer."

I took the robe and held it in my hands, careful not to hug it too closely, lest I somehow contaminate it. Before finally I asked. "Oh... what was that about thieves earlier?"

I don't know why I asked it. I was done with that life. I wanted to be done with that life. Lokir was dead, and there was no future in theft, only the arbitrary penalties of empire. But there was something about it that caught in my ear, that was worming its way through my mind. Something I couldn't ignore.

Lucan spoke up reluctantly. "Yes, we did have a bit of a ... break-in. But we still have plenty to sell. Robbers were only after one thing. An ornament, solid gold. In the shape of a dragon's claw."

I blinked a bit. An ornament of solid gold was doubtful. But perhaps something gold-plated that the merchant didn't know better. A dragon's claw was odd, perhaps something imperial in symbol?

"I could help you get the claw back." I say, automatically. I had my share of violence the day before, used my axe on imperial soldier and spider alike, even a bear. A few thieves were likely within my ability, even if I would be wearing only a robe for armor.

"You could?" Lucan paused, looking me up and down, his eyes lingering on that same axe. Some of the dried blood still on the blade. "Fine. I've got some coin coming in from my last shipment. It's yours if you bring my claw back. If you're going after those thieves, you should head to Bleak Falls Barrow, northeast of town."

"Already sending our customers away, Lucan?"

"Yes. So now you don't have to go, do you?"

"Oh really? Well, I think your new helper here needs a guide."

"Wh...no... I.. Oh, by the Eight." How quickly the imperials forget the unnamed. "Fine! But only to the edge of town!"

"Come on Narzol. I can show you the inn as well. You can get a bath there, and even say hello to my friend Sven if you like. I'm sure he would like to hear about those fires in Helgen"

Camilla led me outside, her dress all the more brilliant in the sunlight. I carried my new robe with me over an arm. I looked not yet ready, unmade. An anticipation of the orc to be.

But my state of relative undress didn't seem to bother this woman much. I followed along dutifully as she walked me through the town.

"We have to go through town and across the bridge to get to Bleak Falls Barrow." She said, gesturing to the few buildings around us, dotting the village. Hardly a town at all.

I had seen Sentinel and other true cities, Their towers, the way their walls loomed. But for her, this was a town. I wondered if she had ever explored the world, or if she and her brother had been born in Skyrim. But I didn't need to judge. Not when she treated me with relative kindness.

"I saw the barrow on the way into town." I commented instead. It was certainly a notable tomb, looming above the mountain, and the village below.

"We are sure the thieves are hiding up there. Camilla explained, walking ahead. Gesturing her to the right. "The Sleeping Giant Inn. Rather true to its name, we often gather there most evenings, but it never gets particularly rowdy."

I had enough excitement for a few days at least. That sounded nice. "I might linger there, after I clean up. Unless you would like me to return to show off how the robe fits?"

She gave a slight smile. "Mmm. You could if you wanted to. I might be able to make some alterations if necessary. Though, I more want to make sure you are properly attired. You don't deserve to be dressed in such rags."

"Oh? What do I deserve?" Was there some deeper meaning to this? Some hinting?

"Nobody does." She said simply, though amused herself at my questions. "You know, I do wonder why they only stole the Golden Claw." She said, changing the subject.

"It might have been quick and easy to carry." I say automatically, a hint at my life before.

If she catches that hint of past, she doesn't comment on it. "We have plenty of things in that shop that are worth just as much coin." My lip twitches. A reminder of what was. Of the past I had. Of the coin I could take, seemingly laid out before me.

But I remembered the cost. Still fresh in my mind. So many arrows shot into the back of my beloved. The headman's axe overhead. My death certain.

And then...

Something, all the more terrible still, out from the clouds. I paused a moment, my breath coming in panicked bursts. Crouching, my hands on my knees.

Camilla stepped closer, resting a hand on my back. Across my shoulders. "Are you worried about the claw? You don't have to go just to make my brother happy. It's okay to back down. Those old crypts are filled with trolls and traps and who knows what else."

I shook my head. Words not yet coming to me.

"What happened to you Narzol? What happened on the road to Helgen?"

I opened my mouth, wanting words to come out. It took some time. "Helgen's gone."

"What do you mean gone?"

"There were imperials there. Thalmor." I had tried to forget the Thalmor. How quickly they had dug their talons into every part of empire.

"But then there was a great beast. Ralof called it a dragon. It flew. It breathed flame. The town was burning. Ralof and I barely made it out."

Camilla blinked, removing her hand for a moment. Holding it just above my skin, noticing in more detail the burn marks across the rags.

"A dragon." She said, with incredulity and hopeful doubt.

"And Ralof saw it as well?"

I nodded, slowly raising myself up from the crouch. My breath returning.

"Sven's mother Hilde spoke of dragons as well. She said it flew right over the barrow." Camilla paused. "None of us believed her. And when you spoke of Helgen... I thought she took in the fires of Helgen and assumed it something worse, some old legend to explain an accident."

I shook my head. It was no accident.

"Somebody should tell the Jarl. If he doesn't know already." Camilla looked to the sky again, looking to the mountains, over the barrow, the last place the dragon had been seen.

"Gerdur and Ralof were going." I commented at last. Even with Ralof's bad leg. Even with him being a fugitive. Gerdur just assumed I wouldn't be let through the gates.

And like this. I wouldn't blame the gate guards for denying me.

"Good... good. And maybe others besides Hilde saw it." Camilla extended her hand out, reaching for mine. I grabbed it, giving her a squeeze. Feeling her warmth. Her hand was so small in mine. So many hands were.

She led me along, past the wooden buildings, oh so burnable, and the wall, much the same. To finally a bridge.

"The path up there to the North West will take you to the barrow. If you are still wanting to do that job."

"I could use distraction." I meant to say the distraction, but my desperation leaked through. Any distraction would do right now. Eager for it.

Anything but flame. Anything but the terrible stillness of Lokir. Anything but the way I abandoned his body to the fires. I squeezed her hand tighter in mine. Careful not to crush her, but not mild in the intensity.

"I should head back to town..." She began. Before tugging me along, crossing that bridge, passing the threshold. Going beyond where her brother would let her.

Camilla brought her other hand up, brushing along my face. "What else happened?" She asked, reading more of me than I ever wanted written. I looked back at her, blinking. My eyes wet and blurry.

"He's dead." I said, shuddering. I had kept things together when the imperials attacked us, at least more or less. I had put on a brave face, or at least an assembled face of bravery when keeping Ralof safe. But now that the dragon was gone, now that Lokir was gone. It was all falling apart.

"Ralof? I thought you said he was going to Whiterun?" I shook my head.

"No. Not him." There was no future with him. There was nothing with Ralof. Just a fleeting moment of need in the dark.

"My partner... Lokir. We were captured by an Imperial patrol. They thought us rebels, or they didn't care enough to check." I shook my head. "They were going to kill us for crossing the border."

"And Lokir..?" Camilla asked, interested, in the story, or perhaps me, I couldn't tell.

"The Imperials killed him. They shot him as he tried to run away." I turned and looked away, shamed that I couldn't rescue him somehow. To try and pretend I was hobbled too instead of just bound. That maybe if I had done things just right...

If I had just attacked that man with a feather pen...

I shook my head, looking back to Camilla. "I was to be the third to die, head on the block. When that beast showed up. It was... it was like the very sky burned above me. I thought it some death dream. But I kept moving. Kept running until I got below."

I gulped. "I am such a fucking failure. I couldn't keep Lokir safe... I couldn't... his body wasn't even cold!" I protested out, hating that weakness in myself, that hungry itch that was never satisfied no matter how thoroughly I scratched it, no matter who I scratched it with.

"What happened below?" Camilla asked, inhaling and not letting go, engrossed in the story, in my words, perhaps even in my tears.

"I... I don't think I am supposed to talk about it." I grunted out.

At this Camilla laughed. An amused laugh, not unkind, the kind that might come with a hug and a pat on the back. She pulled me close, wrapping her arms about me as best as she could. Mysticism wasn't truly dead.

"You already told me about your execution, your lover, and a great dragon burning the sky. What is more important than that?"

I nodded slowly, trembling in her arms. "You... aren't wrong." I admitted. "I slept with Ralof." I paused. "A few times." My lip trembling. "We both needed it, I think after that day. When we were trapped in the dark. Hiding from Imperial patrols and that... dragon overhead." I finally called it by its Nord name.

If dragons were ever real, this was it. If dragons weren't real, it was a close enough fascimile to earn the name in truth.

Camilla nodded. "You aren't a failure, Narzol. And you are hardly the first one to do something like that. It isn't cheating on Lokir. And you sleeping with a handsome man isn't killing him. The Imperials did that." Said the imperial. The juxtaposition between empire and the people named after it.

I nodded slowly. "No... I suppose it fits the songs." I gave a slight toothy grin.

"I'm pretty sure I heard Sven sing this song already." She mentioned, before giving a light laugh. "Faendal hates it. But that is no surprise."

"Faendal?" I asked, looking to her. She had mentioned Sven before repeatedly, a bard at the tavern. But Faendal was new.

"Ah... he works at the mill with Gerdur. I'm surprised you didn't meet him." I nodded. The elf who overheard. Who tried to hide his laughter.

"Briefly." I confirmed.

"Mmm. He is sweet on me." She shrugs. Just because someone had a crush on her didn't mean she had to return it. To be wanted did not mean to be claimed, to be owned.

"And you?" I asked, more curious, perhaps out of eagerness to not think of Helgen.

"I like who I like Narzol." Camilla said, reaching up to brush her hand across my face. "And I have no shame about my interests. And neither should you."

I nodded slowly, entranced, bound like a drowning man to a rope. Desperate for whatever stability I could grasp. Whatever affirmation I could grasp.

"Now. How badly did you need that distraction?" She asked, one hand reaching down along my chest.

I paused, inhaling once more. "I... what do you mean?" I knew exactly what she meant, but I didn't want to admit it. I didn't want to just assume the lurid. To walk right into that betrayal once more.

"It isn't betrayal to do what you wish, Narzol." Camilla said, reading my mind. Her hand slowly running down my chest. Feeling both rags and the flesh underneath. Her hand felt nice. Soothing.

"I..." I paused. There was only one thing important to say right now. "Yes."

She gave a teasing grin. I understood in that moment Faendal's obsession. I understood what I was sure was Sven's interest as well. A woman that so many men tried to control, twisting about between them, free, doing as she wished.

"Now... from the smell, I take it you fucked poor Ralof repeatedly?" She asked, tracing her hand down my body, brushing my belly, and very nearly reaching beneath.

I paused a moment. There had been an unspoken agreement of silence. Though largely one imposed. Largely one pressured. "...Yes." I nodded. "I took him repeatedly. It was glorious, and I'd like to do so again." I admitted fully, no longer trying to hide myself, to try and hide that erection under scraps of cloth.

She gave a dangerous smirk in response. "That does explain Ralof's limp." Camilla said with what might have been envy, or if not envy a dangerous mischief. "Yet, much to my brother's disbelief, there are some limits to my recklessness."

She finally pulled my pants away, revealing my cock in full, showing just how distant those limits were. Her hands, largely soft, but with the occasional callus dragging across my length. Tracing her fingertips, dragging her palm across it.

Watching it. Like one might watch a fox. Though I couldn't quite tell if she was the hare or the hunter. I trembled at her touch, enjoying it. Enjoying being so exposed on the edge of town. Having my cock stroked so openly. So eagerly.

She spit out on her hands, and gripped my shaft with both of them, one near the base, and one playing just short of the glans, playing with that sensitive spot underneath.

"And so, I'm not going to let you fuck me bold Narzol.... at least not until you take your bath." Not quite a promise, but a dangerous offer. "But that doesn't mean you can't help entertain me."

She lowered herself, kneeling in front of me, sniffing, and pouting at the scent of Ralof. I wondered how well she knew them if the two had grown up together, and now she was inspecting the instrument of his ruin. Or if she had moved to the town more recently with her brother, and that wicked smile of hers brought ruin to the men of this town.

Whatever her purpose, whatever her goal here, I found myself unable to complain, to answer her statements only in low murmurs and groans. In the twitching of fuckflesh, and the drooling of pre-seed across her fingers.

"I do enjoy a certain boldness in men." She admitted. "Not the stubbornness of a giant, mind you, but enough to react to. To work around. To dance with."

Had the men of this town not been enough? Had they not quite pleased her? Or had she just grown bored of them? Or perhaps was the failure in me? To assume every woman not a blushing maiden, some manipulator?

I imagined Camilla for a moment taller, more masculine, orcish perhaps, tusks only enhancing that dangerous smile. Would she be a manipulator still? Or some sort of stud, leaving behind the broken hearts of men and women in her wake?

I had been wilder, before Lokir's embrace. Perhaps Camilla's mirror in masculine. Sleeping with who I could, enjoying the thrill of it, the story. Getting bored if I lingered too long.

Touching the sex of others in public with oh so practiced fingers. How delightful was it to see it reversed. How practiced she must have been from those that came before. I gasped, as she tightened her grip for a moment, her other hand reaching down to slowly fondle my sack.

"Mmm... you almost had my brother running away. If it wasn't for that coin purse you brought in with you. He has always been the uncomfortable sort. I don't know if he figured out you and Ralof, perhaps he imagined you in the hills, taking the bandits bareback." She shrugged, and then with a defiant smirk, abandoning her previous protests, she pushed her lips forward, kissing me across the glans, flicking that soft tongue up and down across my cockslit.

A slight frown of displeasure at the taste across her features. "I... didn't really plan things through." I finally admitted. Taking Ralof had been an impulsive act of the both of us. An intersection of danger and need. An act that I then went back to again and again. One which he didn't seem to mind, but perhaps one that I needed much more.

Or I was just worse at handling my own emotions. But lust need not only be an expression of grief. There could be joy there. Mischief. There could be getting my cock licked just outside of town. What would Gerdur think if she saw us now? Just outside her mill.

I looked over towards it. I didn't see Gerdur. But there was a slight bit of movement. Someone had been watching. I didn't speculate for long before a pang of guilt hit me. It could have been Ralof. To see this wouldn't have been a betrayal. We had nothing. He and his sister had made it clear.

But it was still rude. I looked down at Camilla. Who uncaring had opened her mouth wider, sucking in the whole of my cockhead, dancing it along her practiced tongue, her cheeks slightly sunken from the pressure. From that delightful application.

I might get chased out of Riverwood by morning. But here I was seen. Here I was alive.

I reached my hand down, running it through her hair, enjoying every bit of texture over my fingers. "Thank you..." I mumbled, in reverent gratitude. As some of that uncertainty, some of that shame, it all boiled over in that moment of lust. Of embrace. That something was right in Lokir's creation.

She stared up at me, eyes ever so intense, challenging. Wanting more. Demanding more. Controlling me in her own way. My pleasure crowned in her teeth, held by her tongue. Gulping me down in easy movements. Eager, but on certain terms.

"Not bad. Despite everything." Camilla finally said, pulling back slightly, leaving one lingering kiss across my fading cock. "Get that bath Narzol. And if you see Sven. Tell him hello for me?" She asked, licking the last bit of cum off her lips.

Something dangerous in that request. "...Yes ma'am." I said stepping fully into that trap.