Ingjard, intriguingly, got up to follow him. I tied the flap open as I ducked in after them. Dusk calmed the chill breeze, yet Kharjo soon had two braziers glowing inside. (Instead of campfires, he tended to build bonfires on a scale befitting the festival of Fiery Night – doubtless because his race, originating in the warm, dry hills and plains of Elsewyr, found Skyrim perpetually cold.)
“Do you theenk… Could you close zee tent, please?”
“Do not fear,” I responded, “I will warm you.”
Purring, he began to remove his plain steel armour. The tent smelled of wet fur, though not unpleasantly (unlike ‘wet dog’). Rather, the cool air was redolent with a spicy scent, the likes of which I had never encountered. Combined with the odours of sweat, the earth and grass upon which we encamped, the night’s promise of snow, it was… potent. My ardour intensified.
Ingjard, staring moon-eyed at him as she knelt nearby on the furs in the confined space of the tent, emitted a small whimper as she began to fumble with her own scale hauberk. I felt rather affronted that she had never reacted to me thusly; however, I assisted her, then Kharjo. Enthrallingly, his torso emerged: arms and biceps well defined, stomach moderately rippled, narrow waist; a mottled pattern of brown-and-black striped fur; under-breeches still covering the main point of focus, which already tented promisingly.
I gestured to Ingjard. “Help him with those.”
She knelt in front of him, unhesitatingly reaching to fumble with the draw to his breeks. Meanwhile, I pulled off the rest of my accoutrements, sat back to watch. As Ingjard jerked down his under-breeches, Kharjo’s member sprang from its confinement like a triggered ballista. Curved toward the roof like a small mammoth tusk, his long cock was the only part of him that was not furry – or so I thought at first. Its stripes matched his tail, which whipped about. Though not quite prehensile, he seemed reasonably adept at tickling her with it, draping it over one shoulder, curling it back and forth across her naked back. The tall Nord giggled and moaned simultaneously as she grabbed for the shaft, began to stroke it two-handed. The head, pink rather than purplish as were most humans’, disappeared in her yawning mouth as she thrust it in, greedily sucking and bobbing on it. Though unimpressed with her technique myself, the feline’s purring intensified.
I knee-walked beside her, began to stroke the soft hair covering the Khajiit’s legs and buttocks, the finer matting on his chest. I flicked and pinched his pinkish nipples, tongued my way from one to the other. Pushing him prone to the sleeping furs, I commenced licking him all over, as I imagined a cat might groom itself – or one another. The taste was of ‘normal’ sweat and the spice I yet could not identify. I licked his ears, cheeks and whiskers, almost lipless mouth, kissed him; he returned it as a cat might lap milk, tongue darting in and out instead of swirling, dueling my own. My tongue travelled over his sharp teeth, reminding me of Serana’s. I shivered, suddenly needing that member to indulge my nipples as I pushed away thoughts of the arrogant vampiress.
Ingjard seemed almost frantic in her treatment of his shaft as I proffered him a swollen teat, then the other. He actually kneaded my breasts – thankfully, claws retracted – purring all the while as he licked and sucked; reached for my dripping sex, prodded, flicked, poked. Growling, I straddled his face. His whiskers tickled my thighs so that I snickered, abruptly gasping as his oral appendage darted at my nether lips, traced the outline, grazed my crevice. When it encountered my Sword of Dibella I shouted my pleasure, grabbed his head in both hands as if to thrust it inside me. It felt… exquisite, certainly unlike anything I had heretofore known. His tongue buzzed all over my aching cleft, darted, as would a hummingbird, probing, seeking my nectar. Abruptly he seized my swollen bud; I climaxed in a shudder, crying out as my trembling body arched, jerked. I half-stood to my knees, removing my over-sensitive sheath beyond reach of that talented tongue. I could not quite believe that he had brought me thus so quickly.
“Kharjo eez…” he began, licking whiskers shiny with my juices, “wet.” The man-beast did not appear perturbed, though I had heard that Khajiit did not bathe, as, resembling their wild and domestic cousins, they disliked water – at least immersion in it. Withal, also similar to their animal kin, they were otherwise fastidious about cleanliness, grooming themselves and – dependent upon the closeness of their relations – one another. Of course, what flowed from me was not water, and so Kharjo, purring continually, golden cat-eyes hooded, wiped a hand across his mouth, licked his fingers, combed my secretions from whiskers into furred jowls, over his ears. I do not know why I found the gesture profoundly erotic; astonishingly, I came again, though hardly touching him.
As Ingjard continued to work over his cock, I recovered enough to push her aside. “Let him lick you,” I encouraged.
Ingjard, tongue travelling over her own garnet lips, complied, though not without a wistful glance at Kharjo’s engorged member as she released it to me. Whimpering once more, she rose, squatted over his mouth, screeched as she experienced the same sensations from which I was still recuperating.
Turning my attention toward her former occupation, I was pleasurably surprised to find his long, curvy shaft covered with fine fur, save the pink head. Wrapping my hands around it, there was, to my delight, lots of room, although my hands were not small. I began masturbating him, moving both fists in the same direction, then working them apart and together again; it was a little awkward at first, due to his curvature, but I soon got into a rhythm. Starting slowly then rapidly, I changed pace and direction. His rumbles of pleasure emerged, almost muffled, from beneath the screaming Nord woman who writhed atop his head, thrashing as though he sought to toss her – perhaps in order that he might breathe, she determined to smother him.
A sudden huffing sound vented from the Khajiit as I thrust his cock into my mouth, engulfed it as deeply as I could, pulled away, swallowed it once more. I sucked it, thrilling in the tickling sensation its fur imparted on my tongue and inside my mouth; smooth going in, it resisted as I withdrew, just as though a cat’s pelt would resist, were it petted against the lie.
Ingjard caterwauled, her climaxes apparently following one upon the next as I continued to suck, dip up and down on the Khajiit. Just as I anticipated getting that member down betwixt my other lips, Kharjo’s whole body stiffened. He managed to thrust aside the other woman, whom had quieted somewhat and turned to observe as she rolled off him.
“Hunk-hunk-hunk,” he voiced, in time with the sudden spurts of sweet cream exploding into my mouth. “Hunk-hunk-h-hunk-hunk,” he repeated, a seemingly endless stream of ejaculate spraying as I backed off slightly. I let it pulse, aiming for my open mouth, uncaring than much missed, squirting across my cheeks, chin, an eye. Ingjard, panting, joined me, thrusting face and tongue forward to catch stray pearlescent gobbets, lapping them from my neck and cheek. I seized her head in both hands, pressed a fierce kiss upon her as my tongue fought for admittance; swapped the slightly spicy taste of Khajiit semen with the slender Nord. She squirmed, at first resistant, then stiffly accepted the shared gift.
I felt both pleased and, perversely, annoyed that he had cum already, as I was far from sated. “Oh no,” I growled, “you do not get to nap yet.” Purring contentedly, orgasm subsiding, the Khajiit’s glowing yellow eyes were hooded. “You do not put away a stringed bow.” I reached for his wilting member, soon had it to full attention with Ingjard’s assistance. Climbing atop him, I stabbed myself with his cock. Gasping – its pronounced curve loaned another new sensation as it stimulated my inner parts whence none had gone before – I proceeded to ride him. Surprised yet again at the height of my arousal, soon another series of climaxes wracked me as he hammered his cock into me almost as fast as his tongue.
Ingjard bent to our conjoined parts, probed, sampled our commingled secretions. I fell back as, my juices streaming, he spurted yet again, as though he had not just moments before; the redhead slurped, clambered aboard as my convulsions waned and I slid aside. Moaning, she began to bounce on the poor Khajiit, another succession of screeches bursting from her as she frantically sought yet more climaxes. I crawled betwixt his furred legs, stroking along them and then up, fondling the woman’s hips and flanks, groped around to her smallish breasts, then down again as I probed at their connection with my tongue.
Since I lacked full stamina, they both paced me. Yet, I was most impressed at how Kharjo kept up his end, as it were (might all Khajiits be that stalwart?) Withal, we spent ourselves long ere the dawnstar rose, but ere then I directed our finale, bidding the Khajiit fuck first the Nord woman atop the piled furs on her back, then me from behind, beast-style, Ingjard sprawled beneath my ever-eager tongue. I felt his last injection shoot deep inside me as I vaguely wondered what a half-human vampire half-Khajiit baby would look like.
XX Dreams
The cure successful, I slept for days – or was it weeks? My dreams were alternatingly horrifying, amusing, and blissful.
I dreamt of fucking and then eating half-burnt corpses – or was it the other way around? Of being a giant and fucking a dragon – or was it the other way around? I dreamt I met the entire Stormcloak host as a werewolf and defeated them singlehandedly, then sought out the last camps of stragglers and exterminated them, ripping still-beating hearts from flesh, squeezing the blood down my throat before consuming them entire.
I dreamt that Serana tried to turn me into a vampire again, but I died and went to Sovngarde, whence I met Kodlak Whitemane, Ulfric Stormcloak, Mjoll the Lioness, Aerin, and myriad others, all reveling together; opposition, ego, pride forgotten. There ensued an orgy, suddenly disrupted when the great dragon-god Alduin attacked. Hundreds of us, all in the nude, casually slew him, continued the debauch.
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