Despite being a three-way match, there is, in a sense, only one character here. These three are all exterior guards for Fort Dawnguard, and they share not only much of their routines but also all of their lines. This could be a close match.
Summary: The majority of Solstheim was in debt to him, so when a debt is due – the responsibility falls to the dragonborn, and their method of payment is highly satisfactory.
He’d seen her poking around at the market stalls, he didn’t like them, but he sure loved to watch them haggle, watching them throwing and catching the coin in a boast of their wealth. They became acquaintances soon after – over a love of money – and co-existed well, until the Drovas incident.
Which is how he found himself here, digging through dusty crates of treasure – hoping to discover an item of value that would pay off Drovas’ debt - coughing and spluttering whenever a relic decided to spit up another cloud at him.
He eyed their bookshelf, perhaps a rare tome would suffice, but again, nothing but garbage - until he reached the bottom. In the gap between the floor and the bottom of the shelf was a long, short, box, fitted so snuggly one would usually miss it if they weren’t looking properly. He slid it out slowly, noticing that it had clearly been handcrafted to fit such a specific space, and sealed with an intricate latch. He listened for a moment, hearing the clang of the cauldron upstairs before flipping the lock and lifting the lid. His throat dried up in an instant.
The inside was lined with expensive velvet, shaped to cushion and protect the erotic objects within. On one half, the velvet held a collection of fine rope, all different thickness, texture, colour. From first glance, he could see some had been handcrafted, the likes that could only be found in certain cities of certain regions. He could only identify the bosmeri craftmanship.
He swallowed thickly when he glanced the other side, phalluses of every species sat snuggly in the case, all crafted of rare stones and labeled at the base. The largest slot was taken by the orsimer, veined, thick from base to tip, and crafted from orichalcum, the sight of it makes him feel just slightly inferior. This was no doubt crafted by an orc, a forge wife, probably shaped after the chief, and it was sitting in the Dragonborn's toy chest.
He was about ready to slam it shut and crawl into a hole when the final one caught his sight. It was heavy in his hand as he picked it up, smooth spare the long vein on the underside. It was crafted of moonstone and reflected the light till it shone bright white. ‘Falmer’ read the label, and he nearly balked imagining how this mold was obtained.
“Want to see how it works?” Came the sudden voice from behind him, his heart leaping out his throat in the process. He dropped the shaft instantly.
“Hey now, no need to damage the goods! That was hard to get.” They announced, picking up the phallus without an ounce of shame, twirling it in their hands and checking for chips. “You best not have damaged any others in the collection.”
He was speechless, but at least he knew what would pay off the debt. “I want it.” They smirked; he gagged. “Not like that! I want it to pay off the debt, an item like that will fetch a hefty price to the right perverse buyer.” The dragonborn tutted, absentmindedly stroking the stone shaft, an action that Mogrul couldn’t seem to take his eyes off. He watched the way their fingers worked, palming, stroking, and twisting around the shaft, it wasn’t until a long rope of saliva draped itself over the phallus that he realised they’d stopped talking. They smirked devilishly, lathering the cock in their spit.
“Now, I’m afraid I can’t do that, a close friend put a lot of trust in me when I obtained this so it’s not for sale. Perhaps I can entertain another interest of yours?” They bounced their eyebrows suggestively. Their eyes flicked down to the case, and he was reminded of the ropes, the faint squelching slightly distracting.
“What about the ropes?” He muttered skeptically. They halted their actions, moving slowly around him to pick up a collection of densely twined ropes.
“This is my beginners set, dense, thick, they don’t cut into the skin too much and they are soft.” They came closer, winding the rope around his wrist and pulling one end so it slid over his skin. It rubbed, but not too hard, and it didn’t itch like dock ropes did. He swallowed thickly, the muscles in his neck tensing, adam's apple bobbing.
“Perhaps there is another way you can pay me.”
Within half an hour he was strapped down, the deep red ropes - contrasting against deep green skin - binding him to the bed. The ropes were pulled to each corner, wrists and ankles rubbed gently by the binds, biting as he squirmed away from the dragonborns attentions. He huffed deeply, feeling them probe at his arse with nimble fingers, as their tongue probed the slit in his dick. They suckled it sweetly as he was penetrated, the subtle pleasure overwhelming the pain caused by his slowly stretching asshole. He cried out when he arched his back, the collar around his neck pulling the ring placed around his engorged cock – he’d forgotten about the piece of rope which connected the two. With each inhale, he felt the gentlest of tugs, his heavy shaft swaying with the pull, the dragonborn following it with gentle laps.
To be treated so gently was strange – considering how hated he was within the community – but the way the dragonborn had talked him through everything, the knots, the ring, the word, it made him feel… safe – able to let go without the worries of his reputation. The dragonborn ran their fingertips to the base of his cock, licking their lips at the incredible bulge that nearly overhung the silver ring. His cock was turning a darker green than ever with the slowed blood flow, the sensitivity rising as they gave him slow, loose, strokes, their fingers still lazily running in and out of him.
Suddenly, everything sparked at once. Their fingers pressed and rubbed against his prostate, the sensations driving him to a pleasure he’d never experienced before. He gasped and huffed, groaning deep within his chest as they continued the onslaught, bringing him to a precipice of pleasure he thought impossible. The ropes gnawed against his flesh as he twisted and turned, ankles pulling roughly at the restraint, just to bend and move, escape the conflict between the wants of his mind and body. His mind wanted him to run, unused to such overwhelming sensations, whereas his body moved on its own, hips rock against fingers, thrusting up into their palm as much as it was able. It was over too soon, and he found himself crying out when they withdrew all touch.
His hand pulled harsh against a rope, desperate to reach out and grab pull, to pull them back into him and finish what they started – all complaints died when they drew out a toy. The war chief’s phallus lay heavy against his thigh, the cool stone prickling his skin with goosebumps as they rolled it, running it against his cock then down to his hole. The ring was pulled harshly as he tried to get away, causing him to moan, an opening seized by the dragonborn when they pushed the tip against his slick hole. He trembled immensely, if he were to lower his spine, the cock would surely slip into him, but the constant pull on the bulging base of his cock was near unbearable. Slowly, he relaxed, and slowly the head slipped in.
His breath was ragged when the dragonborn took over, full cock slip in and out of him, stretching to the point he believed he would break. Were it not for the grounding touches of the dragonborn he surely would have. They tickled his thighs, his ass, making him squirm and jolt, ropes caressing then biting sharply – sensations running straight to his crotch. He grunted and growled, feeling his release quickly approaching despite the fact his cock was being neglected. His ass started sucking in the phallus, unwilling to release it whenever the dragonborn attempted to pull it out all the way – they chuckled every time – but he needed it, the way it brushed perfectly against that spot.
It felt so foreign when he came – all sharp sensations, his body fighting the binds desperately. He needed to grip onto something, dig his fingers or toes into the bedding, but he was forced to float through his orgasm, spasming with every long shot of semen that landed on his stomach. Without a doubt, it was the best he’d experienced on this little island.
The ropes left marks, small indents where they weaved together, they didn’t hurt – just like they promised – and soon the ring too was removed, sliding easily over his flaccid cock. The collar was the last to go, ashamedly he confessed it felt so natural he’d forgotten it was there.
Their debt was paid, they were even, their encounter a pleasant memory in the back of his mind as they continued their lives the next day. As he watched them, collecting their pay from the kind alchemist, he wondered briefly – who would be the next debt they’d have to pay off?
The final match of the round! Unlike most of the other matchups this round, these two don't have much in common. There's Sorine, the dwemer scholar and crossbow expert, and Mogrul, the last of the outdoor guards still in the running. Who will you vote for?
