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Ending the Fan	By : JayDee Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Oblivion Views: 14152 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Ending the Fan - Chapter 4: Hard Ride
By JD joandoe@gmail.com
Description: The Orc Warrior enjoys the Bosmer's increasingly skilled ministrations, but she's dreaming of a bigger cock than his.
This was written to build to another Oblivion coupling suggested by Mistress S.

Once the mighty Orc Warrior and intelligent Bosmer former Fan reached the Imperial City they again went their separate ways. Moz had many tasks to keep her axe busy, quite apart from the hard quests set by Martin Septim. She rather liked the Imperial heir, as most did, and had already made a great deal of progress towards ending the Oblivion Crisis. The material rewards almost outweighed the visceral joys of defeating tough, experienced foes. She left the city alone, and returned, several times through the weeks before again encountering the Bosmer, Fanroth. She would have accompanied him back to Chorrol anyway, but as events transpired she had to get him out of the city with great haste.
"How did you get into that mess?" she asked with considerable curiosity, as her recently acquired black mare pounded the road beneath them.
"It was a misunderstanding… I had no way to know the Blademaster would react like that. He used to like my dedication to the Arena and its history! He used to say most people only cared for the money won and lost, but I cared about the fighters."
Moz sighed; rumours had started to spread of the Bosmer’s conquests. She’d half expected a special edition of the Black Horse Courier detailing salacious exploits. Moz had come to understand that rather than knock sense into him amidst the Fort Ash ruins, she’d instead caused him to channel his Arena obsession Arena into more carnal pursuits; in short, fucking. The intellectual persistence was still there, but he’d become dedicated to fucking as much as possible with as many females as possible. Given his innate handsome face and golden hair, and well formed cock, he’d met much success in the field. Unfortunately, he’d obviously seen no problems with seducing either married women or those for whom tough men might already have a long standing interest. She wondered if she could have a quiet word with his employer, the Countess, about training some propriety into the Bosmer.
"Didn’t you know about the history between Owyn and Ysabel? You must have done! You knew everything about the damn Arena. He’s carried a torch for her since they were both younger than you. He might have thought you were hurting her, to return to screams…"
The short Bosmer rode behind Moz. Though he was supposed to be holding on just beneath her breasts, Moz felt his hands sliding downwards when she brought up his interrupted liaison with Ysabel. She wore only light leather armour for travelling. The Bosmer traced the hard abdominal muscles that crowded Moz’s small belly button. Light scarring criss-crossed the otherwise smooth skin, and his fingers lingered sensually for a moment before dipping lower. He spoke loudly, so the whistling air didn’t carry away his small voice.
"She clearly didn’t feel the same way about him, Grand Champion, or they’d have married long before wouldn’t they? I just went to see the Arena for old times’ sake, and managed to get talking to the Battle Matron. I was telling her about the brutal battles you fight every day for which the Arena doesn’t see a single coin. She said it was dangerous to travel with you, and offered to teach me a few special sword thrusts," Moz groaned as he continued, "One thing led to another, as they say."
As a warrior the Orc had no truck with the fancy ladies style of riding side saddle. Her thick thighs gripped either side of the great black mare. Her thick bush was spread wide by the mare’s width, and nothing blocked the Bosmer’s probing fingers as he worked them inside her rough leather pants. She gripped the reigns tightly, unwilling to lose control of the speeding mare as he rubbed. For a young wood elf who’d not touched pussy from his birth to her rough taking of his innocence, Fanroth’s touch was extremely skilled. Moz gasped; the bouncing motion of the mare seemed to enhance his uninvited fingering. There was a slight throatiness to the Orc’s voice when she spoke,
"You were lucky I arrived when I did, Bosmer. Owyn would have taken your cock."
She noted they were coming up on a turn in the road, and steered the mare up the grassy bank and into the trees. Her plans for the day had always included having sex, but not with the Bosmer. As good as his fingers felt rubbing up a frothy cream between her labia, Moz still wanted a good rough, hard, fuck beyond what she believed even the most enthusiastic Wood Elf could give. A male Orc could handle the roughness, but Moz was in the mood for the kind of stretching out few races could give her Orc twat.
"Ysabel might have fucked you, but if Owyn’d killed you in his rage she would not have cared for your loss. When I killed the previous Grand Champion, her friend, she shed no real tears. That Dunmer Gladiator was far more upset."
"Then you were lucky, too, Grand Champion. You like my cock, you’d be sorry to miss it? I can feel how wet you are..."
The Bosmer pressed his face into Moz’s thick black hair, and drew her strong Orc scent into his nose. He could feel the barely controlled strength trembling within as he pressed his fingers inside. None of the women he had met since his first conquering ever came close to Moz gra-Bura, the Grand Champion of the Arena. There was just something about the animalistic Orc nature. He doubted any Imperial or Bosmer girl would have let him finger them atop a speeding black horse. He was hard already, his thick organ emerged past his belt, trapped between them. Just as the horse’s movement improved Moz’s pleasure, he enjoyed the vibrations as his stiff flesh rubbed against the Orc’s leather wrapped ass and muscular back.
"Ha! You are too cocky about your cock. I like a lot of ‘em… Yes, you’re big for a Bosmer, but small for an Orc. I grew a bigger cock than you! I will always swing a bigger mace than any puny elf!" the Orc laughed hard.
Deep within the trees Moz slowed the mare to a quick halt, and slid off. Fanroth only just tugged his hands free of her pants in time to avoid being yanked off the horse. She pulled him down roughly and pushed him to his knees. Moz slid her boots off, and forced her creaking leather pants down and off. The heady Orc scent grew more powerful immediately, overpowering the nearby flowering shrubs. She roughly buried his pale face in her dark bush. Thick scratchy black hair pressed against his smooth skin as he eagerly licked and sucked on Moz’s clit. Despite her highly aroused state, she kept her eyes and ears open for approaching danger; the forests were never safe, and the surrounding area was known for Minotaurs.
The Orc musk was almost overpowering for the Bosmer, quite different from the old Battle Matron’s slowly lubricating arousal. It was quite possible to imagine drowning face first in an Orc pussy. Moz’s unbreakable grip allowed no rest. He would not be free until she climaxed. He was like a toy in her grip, and she ground herself into his face with bruising force. He looked up to see drool dripping from her tusks; a thick strand splashed his face. Recalling how Moz enjoyed rough treatment, Fanroth bit down upon her thick green clit, and then sucked. The grip on his skull intensified to almost bone cracking pressure, but it worked. Moz came.
She screamed, high pitched, and rocked back against the nearest tree. Rough bark scraped against her leather cuirass unnoticed. She knew the scream would attract attention, but for a few moments she was content to enjoy her pleasure. The Wood Elf’s inventiveness and passion added considerably to their fucking. It wasn’t hard to remember why she liked getting him into her pants when their paths cross. As her orgasm waned, Moz became aware the Bosmer had started struggling against her grip. He had trouble breathing with his nose and mouth held fast against her pussy while drenched with her juice. She released him as little shudders continued to radiate warmly through her belly.
"Good head, Bosmer. But it’s not your cock I want today. You can play with yourself, if you like."
He looked annoyed that she wasn’t going to fuck her. She could see his organ looked almost painfully hard, and leaked clear precum down the crown. She enjoyed his expression, and she felt it useful to put the young Bosmer male in his proper place; clearly subservient to any Orc female’s whim. After all, if she didn’t want to fuck him, well, there was nothing the Bosmer could do about it. A female Bosmer? He might call a tease or a bitch, but he wouldn’t dare lose his temper and insult an armed Orc (though she didn’t mind crude talk during ‘play’). At the same time she stripped away her remaining armour, but re-strapped her axe to her back. The leather strap crossed her chest from shoulder to hip.
"I... I find it a pleasure to serve, Grand Champion," he said.
Moz had to admit there was no sign of dissatisfaction in his voice, and the irritation had already faded from his gaze. She took it as a sign of the intelligence and diplomacy that had served him so well in his new pursuits. Her head flicked around at distant movement. A massive Minotaur Lord approached from perhaps fifty yards away, drawn by Moz’s climatic scream. Exactly the kind of thing she was hoping for; not only had she been seeking a Minotaur, but the Minotaur Lord’s territory would be free of other hostile interruptions. Absolutely stinking of sex, there was no way the bull-headed giant could miss her intense arousal. The Orc reached into her mare’s saddle bag and retrieved the chameleon enchanted Ring of Khajiiti. She gripped the Bosmer’s arm and slipped it onto his finger.
"I’m going to loan this to you, to help keep you safe."
"What is the enchantment? Oh! I can’t even see my hand?"
"Watch and learn, little Wood Elf. You enjoy fucking an Orc, yes? Well, time to see just how hard an Orc warrior likes to be fucked! If you choose to flee, borrow my mare. I’ll retrieve both ring and mount at a later time."
"You’re going to... you’re going to screw a Minotaur? It’ll never fit! Please, I would hate to see you harmed, Grand Champion."
The Bosmer’s voice was but a whisper in the breeze, emerging from the slight disturbance in the air that betrayed the chameleon enchantment. A somewhat greater disturbance suggested he wasn’t entirely concerned, as he was blatantly rubbing his shaft. Moz’s face stretched into her fun loving toothy grin, and with a brain rattling pat on the near-invisible head, she turned away and walked to meet the Minotaur Lord. Though un-armoured, she was ready to fight hard if he acted uncharacteristically and attacked. She fancied she could see stiffening in the thickly furred sheath from which his great organ would emerge.
"I love getting hammered by Minotaurs," declared Moz, as she spread her bush wantonly.
Continued in Part 5
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Ending the Fan