Recovering Grimsever

BY : N01
Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim
Dragon prints: 1171
Disclaimer: The Elder Scrolls are owned by Bethesda. Skyrim and its fandom are not owned by me and I made no money from this.

Mjoll the Lioness was a sight to behold. Never backing down from a good fight, a blue streak of war paint flashing as she tore through her enemies, blonde hair whipping to and fro as her strong Nordic body made her enemies cower in fear of her immense power. She loved the rush of battle, the smell of blood. 

She had a secret. She loved to cum in unexplored ruins. The fact that no one had walked in the same spot as her for potentially centuries, and that she desecrated this place with her pussy juice, always made her cum harder. The fact that no one may be here again for potentially centuries, and her juices on the cold floor would be what they could find, also exhilarates her. She's been all over Skyrim, and into Morrowind and Cyrodil as well, exploring ancient Nordic, Dwarven, and Alyied ruins, and marked them all with her quivering quim. 

The true secret was in her sword, Grimsever. On the surface, just an average sword with an ice enchantment, but it was what made her squirt like nothing else. She often teased her puffy labia and protruding clit, scraping the sharp blade against the sensitive flesh, with a direct sense of cold to smooth the sore nether lips. If it was covered in the blood of a freshly killed bandit, then it only acted as a form of live for her. She also used Grimsever's handle to impale her vagina, acting as a frozen pseudo-penis, and easily made her shoot her juices a solid two meters away, as she felt the feathered pommel prod her cervix, barely not inside the deepest recesses of her womanhood. 

But that all changed one day. She was in a Dwarven ruin called Mzinchaleft, and had just slaughtered a whole bandit camp on her own, without breaking a sweat, and was looking for a good cumming place, her usual spots were walkways, old meeting hubs, bed chambers, or even torture rooms. Anywhere where people could have been and spots where people could be later on was a good spot to squirt at. Eventually she decided on the Mzinchaleft Gatehouse, as it was a perfect entryway for newcomers and the long dead. 

She eloquently removed her iron battledress, and as she wore no undergarments, the cold air made her feel alive. Grimsever, the green blade shone light blue through the bloodstains on it, seemed to quiver in excitement in Mjoll's hand. Most people may have been worried that they could cut themselves with such a masterfully crafted blade, especially on their sensitive genitals, but Mjoll was both skilled with a sword and excited by the prospect, so she typically didn't cut her pussy, but she also liked the pain if she did. 

The best place to cum would be right in the middle of the room, Mjoll thought, and she got on her hands and knees, her rear facing the large Dwarven construct that obstructed the exit of the guardhouse, her firm butt right up against the crotch of the giant robot. With expert precision, she slid the bloody blade softly along her dripping slit, barely brushing the razor's edge against her pussy. She lived dangerously, so she grabbed the blade and gyrated her hips, smothering her enlarged clit against the icy sword, making the sensations reach deeper depths in her body. Her eyes were closed, her soft voice penetrating the still of the air, and she had no idea that something was stirring in the room. She expertly grabbed Grimsever by the cross-guard, and filled her aching and sore cunt with the cold metal, only amplified by the magic embedded within it. 

She was deeply fucking herself when the danger caught her, literally. Two large, metal hands grabbed her upper arms, pinned her down (which then broke both of her arms), and a long, thick object was pressing into her asshole. She should have known that the Centurion would be active. She was fearless and took too many risks, but now she would pay for her own hubris. Her protests and screams did nothing, it was a fully automated machine with one purpose: making whoever encountered it experience hell incarnate. Mjoll looked behind her and saw a large penis poised to enter her bowels, and began struggling to wriggle away. However, she was pinned by two tons of metal, both of her arms were broken, her armour was discarded on the other end of the room, and her sword was still firmly wedged in her pussy. There was nothing Mjoll could do but watch in abject horror.

She would later learn that it was a blessing in disguise that Grimsever was still in her pussy during this endeavour. As it turns out, some dwarves' only job was filling up the Centurions' reserve tank with their semen, which could then be used to repopulate the dwarves if their society ever collapsed. The Centurions were also known to be used for torture via sex, where they would ravage prisoners until they submitted or died. The only working model of the semen model in Mzinchaleft, and dwarven cum was written to be extremely potent, so Mjoll would be knocked up for sure if it came inside her pussy, but seeing as it was occupied at present, it settled for less: Mjoll's tight asshole.

The head of the golden penis was as large as Mjoll's head, and she did sincerely hope that it wouldn't push it in any further than she could stretch. It did anyway, with a loud crunch (that being her pelvis) and began to vigorously and brutally pump Mjoll's torn and bloody asshole, her screams echoing and reverberating in the cold stone room. There was a trickle of crimson which quickly grew into a larger stream of blood, pooling into an ever widening puddle. Mjoll was drifting in and out of consciousness, her voice tired and her mind was fading into a deep pool of acceptance and pain. As the machine continued its onslaught of her small hole, it came. It had no pleasure senses, and so it had a timed release of the cum reserves for optimal pain of the recipient. It must have been a few litres stored, as it tore her rectum apart and filled it with pulse after pulse of cold, dead sperm, which overflowed out of  Mjoll's butt and made a pink stew on the the floor as it mixed with her blood. The Centurion unceremoniously retracted it's golden cock from the poor woman's anus and left a small opening to the lift that led outside, and it shut itself down, sensing that it's job was done. With her body bruised, bloody, and broken, she turned and wriggled her way toward the lift, and kicked Grimsever in the process, which slid out of her ravaged body with a loud clank. This reawaken the Centurion, which then proceeded to chase the Nordic woman to the lift, but she had already made it to the lever and pulled it with her teeth.

Locked in a cage, in the middle of a snowstorm, with no way to effectively defend herself, run away, or even warm herself from the bitter cold of Skyrim's winter. She was barely able to make herself toward thelever that opened the gate leading to to the rest of the world. She was going to die, and maybe her bloody corpse could deter future prospectors. 

- - -

She opened her eyes. Unfamiliar sights, but also a welcoming scent. Beef and venison stew, cooked by an unknown man in a brown cloak. Her body had been washed and the bones have been mended and her internal injuries were healed (albeit by an amateur). There were bandages across her face, when she apparently hit her head on something, and she was wearing skins of various animals to protect her modesty. She was sore in more places than she knew that she had, but she was alive, and that man was to thank, it seemed. She made her way to him.

- - - 

A few years pass, and a friendly unknown Argonian volunteered to retrieve her lost sword deep within that old Dwarven ruin where this all took place. Some few weeks pass, and somehow he had managed to do it, and relatively unscathed as well. However, he did question why the handle was so slick, to which Mjoll just smiled a little. 



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