She felt an arm slink around her waist, then the soft breathing against her neck as her Dunmer lover trailed soft kisses along her skin. Coquettishly, she turned her head to meet the kisses, greeting them with kisses of her own. A hand found its way to her breast while the Dunmer’s arm held her closer. Breaking the kiss, Gabriella’s mouth found its way to Meliandra’s full bosom as she traced the Breton’s side lightly bringing pleasured moans from her.
The Dunmer sat up and looked upon her lover. “The smell of murder on you is quite intoxicating.” She ran her fingernails down her chest, scratching the skin just enough to bring blood to the surface. Gabriella leaned down and licked the blood off, her eyes never leaving Meliandra’s. “It is good to have you home, my love.”
Gabriella reached over to the end table and, opening it, removed something just out of Meliandra’s view. She smiled at the woman beneath her as she said, “I think you deserve a welcome home fuck.”
Meliandra smiled as she saw the Dunmer reveal the Phallus of Dibella, anticipation beginning to make her wet as she watched the dark elf apply a lotion to the dildo before slipping it into the Breton’s slit. Slowly, Gabriella fucked Meliandra with the phallic object, first softly, gently, lovingly but increasing the rhythm into hard, frenzied slamming until Meliandra arched her back, her orgasm flooding around her hand. She pulled the dildo out of her, then, bringing it to her mouth, she sucked Meliandra’s cum off it.
Meliandra took the phallus from her, gently pushed the elf back, and began to kiss the dark skin of her thighs, making her way to the wetness of Gabriella. Flicking her tongue into her, she teased the Dunmer, licking the wetness, sucking on her pussy lips, and thrusting her tongue into her, fucking her. The dark elf moaned loudly, grabbing ahold of the Breton’s head as she grinded against her face. Upon releasing her head, the Breton lifted her head and slipped the dildo into her lover and began fucking her with such a frenzy she was soon crying out as she climaxed. Meliandra, with no hesitation, licked her lover dry.
Nazir ate his bowl of stew, ignoring the silence between Arnbjorn and Astrid as he spoke with Festus about the wizard’s latest job. He knew what lay beneath the tension and that reason was the Breton Astrid had recruited. It was no secret that Astrid’s lover now lay with the young Breton, yet few knew of Meliandra’s constant toying with the woman by tempting her husband consistently. Meliandra’s return to the Sanctuary early this morning was heard by everyone, making Astrid’s already sour mood worse. Festus was only too willing to try to ease the tension in the dining hall. They had been doing somewhat well until Meliandra appeared at the top of the stairs.
The two women saw each other, and one could feel the tension spike. A sly smirk appeared on the Breton’s lips as her eyes went from Astrid to Arnbjorn who refused to look up at her. She sauntered down the steps to the table, stopping in front of Nazir. She picked up an apple and took a bite as she poured herself a tankard of mead before addressing the Redguard. “Have any contracts for me?”
“I do have a contract in Winterhold,” he answered and proceeded to give her the details of the job. “Interested?”
“Sure, I’ll take it,” she answered.
Nazir watched her carefully waiting for one of the women to address the other, waiting for the storm that had been brewing for months. But instead the Breton took the paper from him that contained more information the she was going to need and exited the room, presumably going to see Babette before heading out of the Sanctuary. The Redguard glanced at Astrid to see the growing hatred on her face before glaring at her husband and storming out.
Meliandra exited the Sanctuary, blinking a few times as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight. The scent of nightshade was heavy in the air, the flowers flourishing in this heavily wooded hideaway. She began walking toward town, her mind on nothing in particular except for her mental list of the things she needed to restock; a visit to both the apothecary for ingredients and potions as well as a visit to Solaf at the general store was in order. She groaned at the thought of Bolund, the proudful Nord who worked at the mill and who was the brother of the storeowner, he always looked down at her simply because of her having Breton blood. His brother, though, Solaf, he was kind to her, always giving her a better deal on her purchases and sales with him.
Suddenly a roar sounded around her, drawing her eyes skyward. She sighed heavily as the dragon began to beat its wings above her. She drew her bow as she sneered at the enormous beast. “I’ve already killed many of your kind, dragon. I will take your soul as well. Do you really want to do this?” She knew the beast would not answer her nor did it care how many of its kind she slew, yet she knew it understood her.
The dragon breathed a cold breath upon her; she could feel the cold set into her bones as she blocked her face from the brunt of the blast. She slowly turned her head back to the dragon and smiled. Taking a deep breath, she Shouted “Yol!” The air around her sizzled as the flames crashed into the ice particles still hanging in the air. With an expert flick of her wrist, she cast a spell that created a heat shield around her, making the dragon’s frost breath attack ineffective, albeit for a short while.
Again, she Shouted. “Yol!” As the dragon fell back from her Shout, she nocked one of the arrows she had dipped in a paralytic poison strong enough to paralyze a dragon that Babette had helped her create and brew. The arrow flew through the air and found its mark as it lodged itself in the beast’s throat. Again, she nocked a poisoned arrow and took aim again, releasing it almost immediately. This arrow also hit its intended mark, right in its chest. Once again, she Shouted, this time “Fus!”
The dragon was pushed back with her Shout, but more importantly, the force of her Shout had pushed her arrows further past the scales of the beast allowing the poison to be introduced to tis bloodstream. Its wings slowed down, and the dragon began to descend as the paralyzing agent to the poison worked is way through the body. It tried to work its jaws, to Shout at her, but the poison had done its job and had done it well in paralyzing the neck; the beast fell to the ground with a resounding crash.
She put her bow on her back, drew her sword and walked toward the grounded monstrosity, a wicked laugh rippling forth from her lips. “I told you, dragon, I have taken many souls from your brethren. Now I shall take yours as well.” She rushed forward, leaping upon the head of the dragon. She quickly turned her sword blade down and drove it through the thin part of its skull.
She held onto the dragon as its death throes overpowered the poison and its gargantuan body began to convulse. She closed her eyes as the dragon lost its fight to live, hearing its soul cry out to her as she slowly absorbed it. Her own body began to tremble as she claimed the soul and memories of yet another dragon, growing even more powerful herself; the feeling was intoxicating.
She jumped down off the beast, straightened the clothing she wore, and, picking up her dropped pack, continued toward Falkreath.
Solaf listened to his brother complain as he pulled his boots on before heading back to the mill after eating a midday meal. It was the same complaint as always, this damned war, the lack of support for the Stormcloaks, and the increasing amount of non-Nords moving into Falkreath. He continued sweeping the floor, the dust and dirt having blown in with the winds. He busied himself, waiting for his brother to leave. A courier had arrived earlier in the day, a sealed letter with an accompanying letter ordering him to deliver the letter himself to the assassin Meliandra. He had also heard the rumors at the inn of the recent killings of Legion officers in the Hold and knew this meant that the assassin who had aligned herself with the Stormcloaks was close to home again and that he’d be seeing her again soon.
He smiled as he recalled the last time he fucked her, just a couple weeks previous; she had been particularly feisty that day, insatiable in her lust for sex. He had willingly obliged her, closing his shop early and screwing her for the rest of the evening. His dick twitched as he thought of her lips wrapped around his member as she suckled him, coaxing his cum into her mouth, swallowing it obediently. He had worn that pussy out that day, pounding it with the fervor of a wild man.
He nodded absent-mindedly as his brother walked by him, muttered his goodbye, and walked out of their shared home. A moment later he smiled as he heard Bolund’s voice boom, “What are you doing here, you fucking Breton whore?”
“What’s wrong, Bolund?” he heard the woman respond, “jealous your brother gets a piece while you stand in the shadows stroking your dick wishing you had someone besides Rosie Palm and her five sisters?”
“I oughtta- “
“You oughtta what?” he heard her interrupt. After a moment, he heard the heavy footfalls of his brother’s boots as he walked on the wooden planks away from the store and towards the mill followed by the smug laugh of the Breton. The door then opened as the black-haired assassin walked into the store, a warm smile on her face. His cock twitched again as he thought of her lips on him.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said as he walked to the door, locking it.
“Hello, handsome,” she purred as she set her pack onto the counter then turned back to him. “I trust you have some special deals to offer me?” She licked her lips as she walked toward him.
“I always have a good deal for you, darling,” he answered as he began to unfasten his pants, dropping them to his knees. His erection was evident as he moved his loincloth out of the way. “I was just thinking about you and that mouth of yours.”
“Oh, really?” she asked as she reached down and took his balls in her hand, massaging them as she met his eyes, a sparkle in her eyes.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, enjoying the feeling of her fondling his sack. “Something came in for you.”
She stopped short. “Something came for me? Here?”
He opened his eyes. “Yes, to both.” He reached toward her, but she stepped back, letting go of him. “What? You’re gonna stop?”
“Who the fuck knows to send me anything here?”
He sighed as he pulled his pants back up and fastened them again. “Should’ve kept my fucking mouth shut,” he grumbled, walking over to the other side of the counter and pulling out the sealed letter, setting it on the counter.
She stared at the seal that stared right back at her. The blue wax embossed with the familiar seal that belonged to the Windhelm jarl. “This is from Ulfric,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“How the fuck does he know to send this here?” she demanded again. He began to answer when she cut him off. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”
“Because he knows that the Dark Brotherhood makes their home on the outskirts of town and ordered me to keep an eye on you.”
“Yes. I’m a retired Stormcloak.”
Suddenly, she turned and grabbed her pack from off the counter. She turned back to him, glaring at him, her eyes blazing hotly. “You’ve been fucking spying on me. This whole goddamn time.”
He folded his arms. “All’s fair in love and war, sweetheart. You swore your loyalty to Jarl Ulfric. Don’t think that he’s going to let you go that easily, Meliandra.”