((Author's note: I have put Athene's adventures on the backburner for now, and will be focusing on this story for the time being. I do write the storyline out similarly to how my game ends up, minus some event swapping for theatrical purposes, and of course, adding all the extra head-canon. I hope you enjoy! ))
"You know," he drawled, thick tentacles of smoke curling from behind his glittering teeth. "I've never been with a Khaajiit lass before."
"Hmm, well, tonight will be many firsts for this one then." The Khajiit girl replied with a purr. Her back was turned to him, her shadow illuminated against the canvas of the caravan tent as she lithely removed her shirt tunic. The candles danced and flickered against the steadily climbing breeze outside, which wafted in from under the pegged sheets and left a faint chill upon the ankles of its inhabitants.
She turned to him, and even in shadow her fur shone luminously. Her legs were long and shapely, her hips cut but ample, her stomach flat and lightly defined; her breasts were the pinnacle of perfection, a good couple of handfuls each, and succinctly rounded, covered with a fine layer of ivory and black spotted fur, except her nipples which were pert and pleasantly pink.
The Khajiit seemed to float toward him, her movements a slow ballet, her lavender skirts flowing and dancing around her. She nimbly arranged herself on his lap, still dancing to the beat of their pulses. He took another long drag of the pipe, inhaling deeply the vapors the Khajiit trade: skooma. The girl draped her arms over his shoulders, pressing her breasts right before his face; he could hear her purring and thought, regretfully, how nice a sound it was.
"This one is pleased, no?" She murmured as his hands snaked under her arms to cup the ample breasts.
"This one is very pleased." He murmured back. It's really quite a shame that you'll be dead by tomorrow, he thought. "Just one taste."
His tongue darted out to sample the rosy flesh, and he groaned as the nipple hardened beneath him. He was a large man, muscle upon muscle; hardened from battle. His hair was a shimmering reddish brown, trimmed recently, but due for another cut. His eyes were a brilliant hazel, like the darkening petals of a late-summer sunflower. The Khajiit girl had noticed them instantly, and she had hand-picked him for her favors that night. Too bad I'll be robbing you blind, she thought almost regretfully, as she purred under his administrations; regret, however, does not bring in the gold, she reminded herself with a smile. No pretty face is worth missing out on riches.
"Is this one enjoying his pipe?" She rasped lustfully, leaning so that he would suckle from her other breast. You should be near sleeping time, the pale cat thought eagerly.
"Mmm." He moaned, taking the other nipple in his mouth and sucking greedily. "I am indeed."
"I thought you hadn't tried skooma before." She mentioned quietly.
The man swirled her nipple one last time, and rubbed his thumbs over the nubs before looking up at her. His hazel eyes met her big crystal blue's and turned cold.
Despite her lightning quick reflexes, she was not quick enough.
"Imperial!" She shouted as she flung herself off of his lap, toward her tunic and dagger.
But she was too late. The Imperial had grabbed his own steel dagger and cracked her on the back of the head with the butt of it. The tent walls came crashing down just as she hit the floor, revealing a hive of running Khajiit and soldiers in pressed, red gear. She recognized some of them from the gathering earlier that night; the dogs had disguised themselves as commoners! A fire had erupted somewhere, casting the caravan into an eerie reddish glow, and smothering the campers and soldiers in a blanket of smoke. The screams and bellows of her traveling companions could still be heard as her vision started to fade, and all went black.
"Xiomara, what in the world are you doing, little one?"
The spotted ball of fluff looked up at her mother, and gave her a toothy grin. The black Kahjiit woman scooped her off the floor and nuzzled her affectionately.
"This little one knows to stay out of such things." She meowed sternly, and took the bowl of moon sugar from her daughter. "Your teeth will rot with too much this early in the day."
She pressed her nose to her daughter's and began her stroll through the sprawling ranch house to find her husband; the toddler still perched on her hips. The ebony Khajiit woman found her husband stooped over his desk, scribbling hastily on various documents. She set the toddler down in the corner where a couple of straw dolls lay and stood over the desk, casting a shadow on her husband's work.
The Kahjiit man looked up, furrowing his ivory brows. He was a cat of average size, though his musculature failed to match that of his wife's. His fur was clean and white, like pressed linen, dotted with burnt umber spots and speckles; his eyes were like fire, a brilliant orange with flecks of the sun streaked through them. He met his wife's blue eyes and sighed deeply through his nose.
"Gyesa..." He mumbled to her.
"Irthur." She replied, leaning forward on her palms. "I need some gold."
"Gyesa, I just gave you 100 septim's not last Morndas." He hissed quietly. "What could you have possibly done with it all?"
The ebony creature looked quaintly to the ceiling, pouted her lips. "It is none of this one's concern." She replied, to her husbands chagrin.
He groaned, rubbing his fingers across the bridge of his furred nose before reaching in to his desk and pulling out a small pouch. He tossed it across the desk toward her. She snatched it and dropped it into a pocket on her lilac dress and stood straight, smiling sweetly.
"This one thanks her dear husband."
She turned, swishing her tail proudly, bent down to pick up her daughter, and left her husband's office. Irthur watched her leave, and reached into his own pocket, fingering the small, deadly vial inside. He admired his wife, certainly; her name carried significant weight in Elsweyr, but her addiction to spending had taken its toll. Irthur had invested a large portion of their entire earnings in an adjacent plot of land simply to increase their moon sugar production for that very reason, but the ranch had not been out of the red since. Gyesa was a strong Khajiit, lithe and powerful as the moons had dictated she be; she had standing in the Khajiit army, and had fought bravely every time the Khajiit were forced to defend their borders; but Irthur was a man fond of his money.
Gyesa stepped out into the sunlight of her husband's sprawling ranch, her daughter still clutching her fondly. The black Khajiit woman rubbed her chin upon the head of her youngest child lovingly, and then held her before her.
"What does this one say to a visit to the temple, and then for a sweet?"
The baby meowed happily, her tiny, fluffy tail rising and swishing as if to echo her feelings. Her mother laughed, pressed her child to her chest and continued on into their village.
"Hey..." The disembodied voice seemed distant. Her vision began to fade in, still blurry and accompanied by a shrieking headache. "Hey! You're finally awake." She looked up to the voice. It was a nord man, with a strong, stubble-covered jaw and a stringy mass of blonde hair. He looked like he needed a long dip in a cold stream. "You must've got picked up at the border raid."
She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to remember where she was and how she came to harbor a frightful and throbbing pain in her skull. Some other man had piped up by now, frantically questioning anyone that would listen. Xiomara opened her eyes again and looked to her side; another nord of considerable size was positioned next to her, but he had a cloth tied tightly around his face, thoroughly eliminating any means to speak. She and the other two, both nords, were not gagged, but she could feel the ropes around her wrists digging in to her flesh.
The men were speaking, but she wasn't listening entirely. She caught "Ulfric Stormcloak", and realized the name was designated to the man beside her.
Although the name carried no considerable meaning to her, the tiny nord across from her bench mate really began to panic. She gathered that the little man was a thief of some kind; stupid, clearly. He began praying to any divine that would listen as they rolled onto a village; the gates opened with a loud groan, and the nord in front of her sighed with resignation.
"We won't be leaving here alive." The blonde said distractedly, casting a glance at Xiomara.
She said nothing as she began to remember the details of the night before. Was it the night before? She pondered, trying to find her sense of time and location. Her head pounded as if to argue, and she stopped trying to think.
Imperial soldiers crawled from every corner and walkway of the town; the Kahjiit woman eyed them warily. They were armed to the teeth with swords, daggers, and bows; she wondered why. The cart rolled over bumps and rocks through the town; the townspeople shushed their children and sent them inside, watching the macabre parade with wide eyes.
"Are nords always this enthusiastic about prisoner caravans?" She grumbled to the nord across from her.
To her surprise he mustered a smile. "Most of the time. We're a passionate breed of people. Name's Ralof, by the way. Not that it matters any."
She returned the smile as best she could and reciprocated. "La'Xiomara."
The carriage came to a halt and the guards jumped down from the seats, ushering out the prisoners. They forced them into a line and two guards ahead of them began calling out names from a piece of parchment. Xiomara looked around and saw where they were headed: the chopping block. A huge, muscled man stood before the bloody arena, his head cloaked in black and holding an executioner's axe. The black bane glinted in the late afternoon sun and despite the threat to her life, Xiomara was inexorably mystified by it.
Someone shoved her. "You're up, cat!"
She stumbled forward, hissing behind her to the Imperial dog.
"A Khajiit-probably with one of the caravans. Your kind always seems to find trouble. Name?" An Imperial guard asked firmly. He had long ruddy hair, and muscled arms that seemed to barely tolerate the fabric of the starched red Imperial uniform. In his hands were the parchment and a quill; no doubt scribbled with the names of the future deceased.
"La'Xiomara." She said, standing tall.
The Imperial scoured the list and looked to the woman Imperial beside him.
"Captain, her name's not on the list."
Xiomara glared at the Captain, wriggling her wrists in her bonds. The Captain glared back, her face an angular tide of hatred and glory.
"Doesn't matter, send her to the block."
Xiomara hissed angrily.
"I'm sorry," The ruddy haired man replied with a hint of sincerity. "We'll make sure your remains are sent to Elsweyr."
The guard behind her shoved her toward the gathering of prisoners awaiting the chopping block. There must have been three dozen there, she realized, looking around at all of them. Most were wearing blue uniforms outfitted with some kind of light armor, but some were various vagrants, vagabonds, and gypsies such as her. A priestess stood before them all, prepared to give them their final rights; the Captain took her position in front of the crowd, admonishing them with a succinct smirk and scolding glare.
The Captain began shouting at the prisoners to be heard over the din of the imprisoned. "You've all committed crimes against Skyrim and her people, today-"
"Yeah, yeah!" Called out a man from the crowd. Xiomara turned to face the voice, and found him only two people away. "Let's just get this over with!"
He shoved his way through the prisoners, spat at the Captain's feet and knelt before the executioner. Xiomara smiled inwardly at the man, reveling in the look on the Captain's face for having been interrupted.
"As brave in death, as he was in life." She heard the ruddy haired guard say solemnly as the executioner dropped his axe upon the head of the prisoner with a sickening shink!
"Next up! The cat!" The Captain hollered, grinning with pleasure as Xiomara was shoved forward.
The priestess began her prayers and Xiomara dropped to her knees, looking straight into the glassy eyes of the brave Stormcloak. In the distance the sound of thunder rumbled, and Xiomara wished for a moment that the storm would fall upon them and grace her with refreshing rains one last time.
"What was that?" One of the Imperials called out.
"Nothing. Move on." The Captain barked.
The executioner raised his axe high, and Xiomara once again admired the glint of the ebony blade. Thunder rumbled again, louder this time, accompanied by a shaking in the ground.
"Captain!" Someone shouted, and everyone turned skyward; except the executioner who was steadying his axe.
The thunder rumbled again in that instant, causing the executioner to drop his axe completely. Suddenly, from the skies, a great winged beast swooped down and landed on the watch tower in front of her. Its great claws sent debris flying from the stone building, and it opened its terrifying mouth to let out a deafening roar. This was the thunder! It was no thunder! It was a dragon, Xiomara realized with her heart in her throat. It was a bloody dragon, and its thunder breath had called forward burning rocks and desecration.
The people began screaming and running now, except for the Captain and a couple of guards who had unsheathed their weapons and were trying to bark orders to their frightened subordinates. Xiomara clumsily rose to her feet and looked for an escape. Ralof, she remembered he'd been sitting in front of her in the carriage, grabbed her arm and began pulling her forward.
"Get to that watch tower!" He shouted over the sound of roaring, screaming, burning and crying.
Still bound, she half leapt half ran to the watch tower where she found one man dead on the floor, another trying to administer aide to him, and Ulfric Stormcloak. She turned to the giant Nord who, to her utter surprise, smiled at her.
"What's going on?" She asked, panting.
"I'm not sure, lass." He replied in a deep, gravelly voice. His face was etched and defined, covered in a light layer of stubble which matched the long, slicked back blonde hair on his head.
"Come on! We need to get out of here!" Ralof called out. "Up the stairs so we can get a better look."
They all began their ascent, Xiomara treading as quickly and carefully as she could, since she was still bound. Suddenly, the wall of the watch tower blew in, and they were engulfed in smoke and flames. The nord who had tried helping the deceased man caught the brunt of it and was lost in the wreckage of stone and fire. She did not see Ulfric anywhere.
"This way! Jump through here and head toward the keep! I'll meet up with you!" The stringy haired blonde hollered at her, shoving her toward the newly blown hole in the wall.
She hesitated for a moment, but the dragon began another swoop around the watch tower and she knew it was not going to hold. With a silent prayer, the Kahjiit leapt with as much grace as she could provide, and landed with a thudding roll into the crumbling building below just as the dragon finished destroying the watch tower behind her.
Xiomara knelt and then stood, shakily, before jumping down another flight to the ground below. Her paws ached, and her hands were still bound; she looked around frantically for an exit.
"Over here!" A voice called, and she followed it.
There, stood the red-headed Imperial with a small boy and another couple of guards.
"Get him out of Helgen." The Imperial barked and turned to Xiomara. "We need to check for other survivors."
The cat was astonished, and it must have shown on her face. The Imperial had the good grace to look ashamed, but had no time to apologize as the dragon swooped down and began a blast of fire toward them.
"Toward the wall!" He hollered at Xiomara, and began running behind another crumbling building.
She followed in a hurry, and they pressed their backs against the wall, trying to blend in as much as possible as the dragon perched upon the same wall with a reverberating thud. One of the dragon's wings fluttered mere inches from her face, and she examined it as best she could. Its scales were a mottled mixture of black and forest green, shining and hot from exertion.
When the dragon took flight again, they ran once more. The Imperial looked ahead and saw a scattering of villagers and prisoners near the keep. To her right, Xiomara saw the Ralof, and he called for her, motioning to follow. The Imperial eyed her.
"Follow me to the keep." He ordered.
"You tried to murder me!" She hissed.
"I know," He growled with exasperation. "But we can kiss and make up another time!"
She glared at him, shook her head, and ran in the direction of the nord. They ran inside the keep just as the dragon swooped over the area and enveloped the rest of the survivors in a fatal blanket of fire.
Once they were safely inside, the nord turned to her. "Let's get those ropes off you"
She turned to offer her wrists, and felt him sawing at her bonds with a dagger, pilfered off one of the bodies lying in the keep. Finally, she was freed, and she stretched her arms before her, rubbing the raw wrists.
"Thank-you." She murmured.
"Get what you can off one of these men. They won't be needing it anymore."
She looked down at the bodies which were bloodied and akimbo. They had fought each other to the death. One was an Imperial, the other a Stormcloak; she chose the latter to pilfer from and a few minutes later arose wearing the awkward blue armor.
"Grab one of those weapons and give it a few swings. We're not alone down here."
Xiomara reached for a sword, and grunted with the effort required to pick it up.
While the ebony spotted Khajiit was skilled beyond measure with a dagger, she had never had use for a weapon any larger and was unequipped to handle something of that size. She got the thing in the air, and waved it around unsteadily before finally dropping it and looking about for a dagger.
Just then, two Imperials came from the other side of the keep. One was the Captain, followed by the red-headed guard. The nord bellowed at them and lunged forward, swinging a mace at the Captain's head. The woman had been unprepared, and her helmet caved in against her skull as the blonde's mace struck the side of her head. The other Imperial looked on in horror as she crumpled to the ground, a pool of blood seeping from beneath her.
The two men stared at each other for a brief moment before the walls of the keep rocked and growled with the efforts of the dragon outside.
"We can do this peacefully, stormcloak." The red head offered firmly.
"My arse." Ralof barked back. "The second we get out of here, you'll send for my head again."
"Have it your way." The Imperial retorted with resignation.
The two men lunged at each other, the Imperial's sword clashing against the Stormcloak's mace with a deafening ring. Xiomara looked about hurriedly for a smaller weapon, and finally came across a glinting steel dagger. It was heavier than her usual, but workable. The men were still bellowing and lunging, parrying forward and backward in an evenly skilled match. The Stormcloak's mace carried more weight than the Imperial's sword, and managed to knock the weapon from the red-headed man's hands despite his grace and skill.
The Imperial backed from the Stormcloak, facing away from Xiomara. When the man was an arm's length away, Xiomara rushed forward, and plunged her dagger into the side of his neck. The red-head spun, holding his neck, and dropped to his knees in front of her. He looked up at her.
"Khajiit woman. I am truly sorry." She looked into his sympathetic eyes, and felt a sense of respect for him. He was apologizing even as blood began to trickle from his mouth.
"Tell that to your people in the after-world." She murmured quietly, and watched as he fell to the floor.
Ralof whooped and ran over, snatching a key ring from the Imperial so they could open the door and escape. Xiomara followed him through winding tunnels and to the torture room where they aided a couple of Stormcloak's as they fought the torture master and his bookie.
Xiomara made herself busy with snagging and looting whatever gold and valuables she could find before the group carried on. On an end table she found a tattered book titled 'the Dragonborne', and snagged it as well, thinking it could perhaps shed some light on the dragon which was currently pillaging the town. It seemed an eternity before they finally reached the end of the keep and emerged outside, having dodged cave-ins and other Imperial's trying to escape.
There was no sign of the dragon when they emerged, and the two other stormcloak's took off in search of other survivors of their kind. Ralof turned to her.
"Why don't you come with me? My sister lives in Riverwood just a ways from here. She can get us cleaned up until we figure out our next move."
"Our next move?" Xiomara asked tiredly.
"Well. That's up to you. You might think about joining up with the Stormcloak's. You're not much for battle right now, but we'd get you on score." He offered a smile and turned to leave. "Are you coming?"
Deciding that she didn't want to stick around for the dragon to come back, she followed the man and they began their trek to the town of Riverwood as the sun started to set behind the voluminous mountains of Skyrim. Xiomara thought to herself of the badlands of Elsweyr, and how the mountains there did not seem so ominous. She resolved to find a way to return to Elsweyr and her sprawling ranch home, and damn this silly nord nation once and for all; but first, she would slit the throat of the Imperial trash that had done this to her.
The duo made the trek to Riverwood relatively unscathed, aside from a light skirmish with a pair of wolves. Xiomara met Ralof's sister and brother in law, and their son who looked up at his uncle with moon-eyes. The cat smiled inwardly at this; mainly at the boy's enthusiasm for warrior-hood and not for any particular affinity of children.
The family offered the both a place to stay, but Xiomara politely refused. Despite this, they offered the key to their home and told her to take what supplies she needed, and to wash up with the kettle they had boiling on their hearth. Ralof escorted her to the home and had the good grace to leave the little cabin as Xiomara gladly washed up; taking special care to scrub the blood from her tightly spiraled, blazing orange ringlets, where the Imperial had cracked her in the skull. She said her good-bye's to the family and they pointed her in the direction of the Riverwood Inn; Ralof pressed a septim into her palm before she left.
"Remember what I said, lass. The Stormcloak's are always looking for people to join our cause." He met her eyes steadily. "You may be petite, but I saw the blood lust in your eyes at Helgen. I fear for any who cross you."
She nodded at this, offered her thanks once more, and padded toward the Inn. The sky had darkened by now, and stars twinkled brightly in the sky. Xiomara admired the view for a few moments before taking a deep breath and pushing open the door of the Inn.
Inside, a bard played a soft tune on a lute, while a spattering of patrons sat on either side at tables lined against the wall. A large hearth sat spitting fire and embers and heat in the middle of the room. Xiomara approached the counter at the opposite end of the room, her gaze meeting that of the man tending the bar. He was handsome, with long ruddy brown hair and a square jaw line; his build was stout and firm, like those who spend their days toiling over firewood and livestock. He kept his gaze on her, even as a blonde woman, the proprietor from the sounds of it, barked at him from a few feet away.
"Orgnar! Did you hear me?" The man's spell broke and he turned to the woman.
"Yeah, sorry. You need me to re-stock the mead barrels. Gotcha." His voice was deep and strained.
"Good, then you don't have potatoes in your ears." She quipped, and turned on heel to greet her new visitor. "Welcome to the Sleeping Giant, what'll ya have?" She asked the cat with a stoic expression.
"I need a room." Xiomara replied, offering the septim that Ralof had given her.
The blonde eyed it, plucked it out of the Khajiit's palm and dropped it into her skirt pocket.
"This way, please." Xiomara followed her to a small room on the left. "Name's Delphine. I run this joint. If you need anything ask me, or Orgnar the oaf out there."
Xiomara nodded and smiled politely at Delphine until she left the room, then closed the door behind her and fell into the bed, suddenly feeling as heavy as a bushel of stones. She hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep until she woke with a start, and jolted out of the bed and through the door. The Inn was mostly dark except for the hearth, which had quieted its flames after the last of the patrons had either retired or gone home.
A door opened beside her and the man named Orgnar appeared. "Something wrong?"
"I...I just needed something to drink, is all." Xiomara offered plaintively.
"Ahh, well, you've come to the right spot." Orgnar walked past her to the counter and produced two mugs which he began filling with mead. He scooted one across the counter toward her.
"Did I wake you?" She asked quietly, not wanting to awaken the other patrons or the proprietor.
"Nah. I'm usually awake until pretty late. Sometimes people wander in here at the strangest hours." He took a swig of his mead. "What brings you to Riverwood, if you don't mind my asking?"
Xiomara sat at the counter and took a sip of the mead. Oh, how she would have killed to have a sip of Skooma at that moment.
"I came from Helgen." She murmured.
Orgnar nearly spit his drink. "Helgen!" He rasped. "Where the dragon attacked?" Xiomara nodded. "By the gods...." She looked at him and he shook his head. "Well, at least someone survived. Riverwood's in danger now, because of that dragon." He leaned in, his voice deep. "You should go to Whiterun and inform the Jarl. Riverwood could use some more muscle around here in case things go sour."
Xiomara released a breath and took a long drink.
"I don't know if that's such a good idea."
Orgnar eyed her. "The Jarl won't care about your past." He offered, obviously included in some Skyrim knowledge that she was unaware of.
"What do you mean?" She hissed softly.
"Helgen is...well, was...The execution capital. You're obviously not in the war or you wouldn't be sitting here with me. That means you're some kind of criminal."
She snorted. "I was framed."
"That's what they all say." Orgnar retorted. "In any case, you couldn't have been that dastardly a criminal...or maybe you are. But, either way, you're here now, and you have valuable knowledge that could help all of Skyrim." He stared intently at her.
She matched him. "Why should I care for Skyrim? I've been in this land no more than a day and look at what's happened."
"You don't have to care...But, I think, somewhere inside of you, you do."
And then he was silent for a long while, sipping on his mead.
"Is there anything to eat?" Xiomara questioned at long last, rooting around in her satchel for some of the pilfered gold.
"Put that away." Orgnar scolded and pulled out some dried meats. "You're clearly famished. It's on the house."
Xiomara looked up at him, accepted the meats, and devoured them with little grace. When she was finished she took a long swig of her mead and stood.
"I appreciate your hospitality."
"Just remember that not all of us nords are pea-brained goliaths. No matter how much our bosses might like to think it's true."
Xiomara smiled at him. "Is there any way I could talk you out of another mug?" She scooted her mug closer and he re-filled hers and his own.
"What's your name, anyway?" He asked.
"La'Xiomara." She replied.
"And I suppose you already know mine." Xiomara grinned and nodded. "Anything else you need?" Orgnar questioned genuinely.
The Khajiit nibbled her lip glanced down to his chest and trailed back up to his eyes. "Just one thing." She purred, and turned toward her room.
She took the few steps to her rented doorway and turned back at him, raising a brow. Orgnar blushed, finishing off the dregs of his mead and followed. Once inside the room, Xiomara pushed the door closed and inched his back against the wall, purring and nuzzling his neck. The broad bar keeper awkwardly placed his hands on her hips, craning his head back as her course tongue lavished his flesh.
"I, uh...you know, I've never been with, uh-"
"A Khajiit?" She whispered with mild annoyance.
"Well," He swallowed. "I was going to say as beautiful a woman as you, but that's true as well, I suppose." Orgnar looked down at her, and found her blue eyes twinkling with amusement.
"I see." She purred and resumed her administrations upon his neck.
Xiomara snaked one hand around his neck as the other trailed slowly down his chest and to the top of his pants. She slipped a finger into his waistline and he tensed at the sensation. Her tongue continued a voyage down his neck to his clavicle, lavishing him greedily. He groaned through gritted teeth, lolling his head back once more as she began lifting his tunic and journeying across his broad chest and hard nipples. The Khajiit continued her trek down his sculpted abdomen and hovered at his chiseled hips.
Slowly, she inched his pants down as he held up his tunic, looking down at her intently. Xiomara glanced up at him, meeting his eyes as she let his pants fall to his ankles. His member sprung from the cloth, bouncing before her temptingly. She wrapped a hand around the staff and pumped it a few times before daintily lapping at his ballsacs. He hissed and groaned, bucking his hips forward under her administrations; she purred steadily upon him.
"Alright." He moaned to her finally, as her teasing began to rise. "Enough of this."
Orgnar stopped her and helped her to her feet before kicking off his boots and guiding her toward the bed with his lips and hands. He found it easier to kiss her than imagined, and once he discovered how to maneuver around her sharp teeth it became thoroughly enjoyable. His hands ran over her silken dread-locks and over her neck, enjoying the supple feeling of her velvety fur. He stopped at her breasts and looked down as he removed her tunic; he didn't want to miss a moment of this glorious opportunity. Her breasts were a magnificent thing of beauty; his palms could not cover the whole of them, and they were soft and pliable. He ran his thumbs over the pink flesh, his fingers kneading her mounds with great care.
The nord bent to taste her and swirled his tongue about the nubbins lavishly. She let out a satisfied moan and arched her back, giving him free access to as much as he desired. He pressed his face between her supple breasts and moaned with raspy delight. After Orgnar had filled himself on her chest for the time being, he began ascending lower and inched her pants off her defined hips. He looked up at her; she was panting with excitement, her eyes closed and head rolled back. Her knees were together, feet still in the air from aiding his removal of her pants; gently he ran his hands up her silken, long legs and pried them apart, revealing a tender, glistening pink entrance.
He moaned softly and spread her further, dipping his face into her essence. The nords tongue circled and swayed against her clitoris and slit; Xiomara grabbed the pillow from the top of the bed and pressed it against her face to muffle her cries of ecstasy. The Imperial at the caravan had left a painful ache in her, and with everything that had occurred in the last couple of days, her steam was ready to blow. Orgnar worked her dutifully, enjoying the sweet taste of her womanhood before slipping two fingers inside her. She panted and writhed on the bed, finally throwing the pillow to the side and grasping her breasts with heated gasps.
"Ugh...Nord....Fuck me." She rasped at him.
No sooner had she uttered the words than he was upon her, his tongue thrust into her mouth and his manhood at her entrance. She grasped his back, taking care not to gouge him too deeply with her sharp claws, and urged him on. Orgnar plummeted his cock inside her dripping snatch, and groaned at the excursion, pumping slowly and deeply. Xiomara urged him further, moaning throatily into his shoulder. He kissed her and nudged her head back so that he could suckle once more from her breasts as he continued thrusting inside her. She was panting and wrapped her legs around his hips to pull him in deeper as he increased his intensity.
"Yes..." She hissed. "Yes, that's it. Just like that."
He groaned against her breasts and continued as she steadily climbed to that pinnacle of ecstasy. Heat rose from her hips to her cheeks and back down to her toes, which curled behind him as she cried out, forgetting herself and digging her claws into the flesh of his back. Blood trickled from the puncture's, but this only intensified Orgnar's lust as he felt her womanhood clamp down on his member from the pique of orgasm. He buried his face in her neck and groaned with satisfaction as he crammed his cock to the hilt and filled her with his hot essence.
Orgnar remained there for a moment, panting, his balls still quivering from exertion; the Khajiit was purring softly, her eyes closed with serenity. He lifted himself above her on his elbows and peered upon her face. Of course, he had immediately noticed the exotic woman when she had entered the Inn earlier that night, but he'd had no other chance to study her intimately since.
Her eyes were large and rounded, with lashes long and glimmering; her nose was as black as the spots and speckles that adorned her, as were her ample, pout-y lips. She was graced with a long and slender neck, a petite figure, and lightly toned musculature; the spots trailed all over he body.
Orgnar felt eyes upon him and looked up. Xiomara was peering at him behind tired eyes, and he sheepishly grinned.
"Orgnar!" Orgnar dropped his head onto her shoulder and heaved a sigh, as he heard his boss calling.
"It must be morning." He murmured against her and made to get up.
Xiomara did not stop him, and languished in the bed.
"Hey, I had a nice time." Orgnar directed at the Khajiit as he slipped his pants and boots on. "I hope you're not too embarrassed by my walking out of your room this morning."
The cat laughed graciously.
"I do nothing that embarrasses me." She remarked, staring at him plainly.
He smiled at that and lifted his shirt over his head.
"Well I'm going to have a hell of a good day to that." He replied, pulling the tunic down over his broad chest and smoothing it into place.
"As will this one." Xiomara purred sweetly. "But, before you go, I must ask. Where is Elsweyr from here?"
Orgnar chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment.
"Honestly, I'm not sure." He responded apologetically. "But, I hear there's a Khajiit caravan heading toward Whiterun. You may be able to catch them there."
Xiomara smirked. "You are cleverer than they credit you. Thank-you, Orgnar. For everything." She gave him a final once over for good measure and he blushed, smiled at her, then left with a nod; Xiomara could hear Delphine's admonishments from outside the door, but couldn't care. Orgnar, clearly, was used to taking a thrashing from the proprietor, and it was not Xiomara's fight.
She sighed satisfactorily and dropped her head to her pillow, content to rest the day away before leaving for Whiterun. How clever he was, she mused before drifting off to sleep, to get her to Whiterun in that way; she supposed it was Orgnar's hope that she would visit the Jarl with word of Helgen and Riverwood.
Xiomara hoped the caravan would be there when she arrived, and that Orgnar had been truthful. If he had been, she would consider speaking with Jarl, she decided. If he had lied, however...
She would slit his lovely throat.
Jun 26, 2018 in romance