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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 8: Chained in Chorrol
By JD joandoe@gmail.com
Description: As Moz became the undefeated Champion of Cyrodiil, so the urge to be helpless again grew. For one final night, she submits to her adoring Bosmer fan.
Content Codes: MF, M-dom, cons, pwp, BDSM, bond, inter, rough, ws, viol.
Disclaimer: This story contains content that should not be read by people underneath the age of 21. It is 100% fiction and has no bearing on reality whatsoever. 100% fiction means real life rape is WRONG. The author does not condone illegal and immoral actions described. If you feel rape in the real world is a good thing, bend over in a prison and whistle dixie. While I'm disclaiming, racism, homophobia and other bigotry of any kind are also really fucking stupid. I don’t own The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, or any characters and make no profit from this story. Please read the story codes above to ensure that you are not going to be offended by, or otherwise dislike, the content.
Mistress S's suggestions heavily influenced this chapter, though the ending was all mine. My thanks for her support in the writing of this story.
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Guttering candles and new oil lamps lit the dark bedroom of the Orc Champion’s house in Chorrol. Heavy drapes kept the room private from the few citizens and guards still wandering the streets outside. The air hung heavy with the smell of sweat and arousal, the candles and the faint hint of an expensive Bosmer perfume.
"You think you can just announce you're leaving Cyrodiil for the Shivering Isles, like a noble taking a holiday to a High Rock brothel? Are you mad?"
'Yes,' Moz wanted to say, 'I’m mad. That's why the isles call to me."
She couldn’t speak coherently. Master armourer Gin-Wulm had created the finest work of his life in the chunky, expensive, ebony and leather spider gag. This fit snugly between teeth and tusks, and kept her mouth opened as wide as it could be stretched. Drool glistened upon her chin, and down to her bare breasts. The fine craftsmanship was equally apparent in the thick rings bolted into the ancient oak beams of Arborwatch, the collar and the shackles. Inch-long steel spikes ran around the outside of the fine leather collar, save only over the slightly stiff buckle that secured it around the orc’s tough neck muscles. Some great beauties have been described as possessing swan-like necks; Moz’s had more in common with a particularly hardy plant stem. Her skin trembled slightly, a sign of how un-used she was to feeling weakness. The magic bound into the fine collar stole her strength as surely as her favoured axes claimed lives.
Given the effectiveness of the magic in the collar, Moz’s thick wrists might not strictly have needed to be shackled together just above her hard muscular buttocks, nor those shackles attached to either end of a spreader bar between her more strongly shackled ankles. She’d tried to break free; perhaps harder than she’d dried to defeat Mehrunes Dagon, during the Oblivion crisis. She’d failed. She was completely at the mercy of the Bosmer who stood above her kneeling form, and willingly so. ‘There was no surer sign of madness’, she might have added, though the thick bush that spread wildly beneath her thighs glistened wetly enough that the method in her madness was clear. As the great champion, the undefeated warrior, the Orc who knew so little fear she’d beat trolls barehanded for the slightest extra challenge... Moz wanted to feel helpless again. Totally so; the urge had grown from the day the once irritating wood elf sneakily shackled her before fucking her in the ass.
Fanroth, the Bosmer, was good at organising. He’d set the evening up with Moz’s money as she took a last circuit around the imperial province to settle her affairs, say her goodbyes, and get disgustingly drunk in every city, town, village, and wayside inn she could find. He’d done the research, bought most of the equipment, arranged the enchantment, and felt quite happy to fulfil Moz’s final requested desires, if sad that the Orc who’d done so much for his life was leaving. He wore comfortable boots, and gloves of finest leather, but otherwise stood naked before the bound warrior. He could literally smell her lust; the musky Orc arousal which unfailingly put members of more civilised races in mind of rutting animals.
"Hmm. I could keep you here now. Stop you leaving. That collar around your neck won’t come off without my say so, a little rider to the enchantment," Fanroth lied convincingly, getting into his role, "if you want to reject me like that, fine. I’ll have you chained up in the square for the drunks and beggars to fuck. Maybe put a couple big gold rings in these thick nipples, chain you down by your tits!!"
He slapped Moz’s breasts, before pinching her dark nipples in the cool leather grip of his slim, elfish fingers, and twisting. She responded with groans. She wanted more. Moz closed her eyes, imagining the rings, imagining the public humiliation. Would the good citizens of Chorrol even believe that the Orc being ridden before them was the Champion? Some would find it as hard to believe as the rumours that Divine Crusader Antoinetta Marie who’d re-founded the Knights of the Nine and defeated a great evil, had been a Dark Brotherhood assassin. Despite the exhortations of the prophet, it hadn’t been a quest Moz had fancied. She loathed the idea of serving the Nine Divines whom the imperials worshiped. Lucky she’d had the failed assassin to persuade into it, really. Damn, but the Wood Elf’s rough groping felt good on her breasts. She always responded well to that, and managed to arch herself forward a half inch into his grip.
Alternating one hand between pinching at Moz’s sweat glistening breasts, Fanroth reached with his other to slip two gloved fingers between her swollen labia. He fingered the Orc roughly, applying his thumb to her large, hard, clit. Their eyes met as he raised his head; he could see how close she was. He stepped back, drawing an open-mouthed growl of frustration. That made him smile. Fanroth took up a bottle and sipped the potion within, sensing his strength grow. It was hot in the fine bed chamber, and his hay-coloured hair had wilted to hang down about his neck. He wasn’t given to hard sadism, but he could certainly enjoy the power Moz had given him. Sure, the final enchantment in her shackles would, with the right hand movements, unleash a powerful area-effect unlock spell and release the Orc... but that was easy to forget as she cursed his denial of her orgasm with unbroken strings of vowels. By Azura, he was hard.
Moz wanted to cry her curses properly, but the hard ebony gag, newly warmed to body-temperature, kept her mouth not-quite-uncomfortably wide. She tried to bring her thighs together and grind, but couldn’t make it. The armourer had done his job well. Even knelt and bound, she felt physically large next to the diminutive Wood Elf. She dropped her head, momentarily limp in her shackles, and awaited the Bosmer’s next assault. The tip of a fine wooden cane moving across her breasts announced his intent. The strength potion would put force into his arm.
"I’m sure you were trying to call terrible curses down upon me. I can’t allow that to go unpunished, can I? Ten strokes, I think."
The blow stung like the flat of a sword across Moz’s nipples. The Bosmer had been practicing his aim; perhaps on the fine ass of the Countess. Moz cried out with raw lust, shocked by the pleasurable pain. Fanroth gave her three more in quick succession, one above and two other below, and then paused to allow her to relish the lines of fire striped across her green skin. Moz shuddered hard as he brushed a gentle hand across the darkening marks. That such a physically pathetic specimen as a Bosmer was beating her... He gave her the fifth stroke back across her nipples, and she nearly came.
"Five more still to come... you filthy Orc beast."
Fanroth had potion-enhanced strength, but the effort still made him pant. He’d been quite worried that he might hit too hard, but Moz’d clearly been into it. Seeing her reaction he’d wanted to shove his own pre-cum leaking cock between those breasts and hump until he painted her neck white. He doubted it would take long. He looked away, regaining control of his own lusts, and walked around behind Moz. Her buttocks made a tempting target; a few of the faded scars that added such texture to her green skin showed old foes had had a similar idea. He doubted any of them lived. He took a moment to aim again; as Moz knelt her buttocks were much closer to the floor and the angle steeper. He didn’t want to hit her feet by mistake; he worried that he might accidently break a toe.
The heat across Moz’s breasts had faded to delicious warmth. Her large nipples had swollen to a new hardness. She eagerly anticipated the blows to her buttocks. The Bosmer didn’t disappoint. He gave her four strokes, long seconds between each, alternating from one buttock to the other. Moz’s toes curled up as she braced herself against the blows. The final stripe came extra hard directly between, and lashed her sensitive asshole with an almighty crack.
"By Azura! The gods damned stick, uh, cane broke!"
Fanroth’s sudden concern bordered on panic, as Moz’s sudden wide-mouthed roar sounded pained in the extreme... but she made no attempt to cast the unlock spell. Recovering himself, the Bosmer discarded the broken cane and dropped to his knees behind Moz. Tenderly, he stroked her big green ass with one hand. At the same time he rubbed his hard length between her cheeks, poking gently at her rosebud, then pressing down and rubbing within her sopping yet still scratchy bush. Pressing his face against the Orc’s broad muscular back, he felt as well as heard the groans originating within her chest. The heat coming from the Orc'
"You’ve taken your punishment. Do you want me to fuck you hard now?"
Moz nodded enthusiastically. She was ready; she could feel the above-average girth of the Bosmer’s cock pressing into her back as he spoke, sticky with their mutual exertion. Her body throbbed; he’d played her like a harp. She was reaching the crescendo, but there was still a way to go. Fanroth kissed her shoulder gently, before standing sharply away.
"Good," he grinned, "I’m going to start with your invitingly wide open mouth!"
Fanroth was certainly making the most of being in charge. Moz entertained for just a moment a fantasy of casting the unlock spell, and riding the Bosmer until he was sore, bruised, and unconscious beneath her. She put the image from her mind; she didn’t want the game to end. The Bosmer had declared he was going to impudently use her throat for his pleasure before he deigned to fuck her, and bound before him, the Orc warrior submitted. She doubted he’d last long anyway, and she could swallow his Bosmer cock, sizable as it was, with ease. She ran a dark tongue across her yellowing teeth and tusks, and the ebony gag, as he metal clanked behind her.
"One more thing. I have a little more of the master armourer’s finery here. This chain is solid silver. And the clamps, well..."
Moz barely had time to register the light glinting from the metal as the Bosmer attached the first clamp to her left nipple. Already swollen with her lust, and the caning, the thick black flesh at the centre of her areola felt crushed between the biting metal teeth. The second came, a sharper pain, but it too faded into a deeply arousing gripping. The Bosmer tugged on the chain, checking it was secure and incidentally stretching Moz’s nipples. She’d always enjoyed teeth and tongues and rough hands, but the clamps took the sensations to a whole new level. Fanroth had learned much.
He reached for a ring and slipped it onto his finger. Far harder to obtain than anything else they’d made use of, and costing a deal of Moz’s money that he’d claimed as "expenses", it was amongst the very rarest of constant enchanted Daedric items. Where some mages relied on the light-weight effectiveness of conjured armour or weapons, the ring glinting around the Bosmer’s finger summoned a Daedric cock almost on a par with that of a Minotaur Lord, and bound it in place of Fanroth’s. The sensation of lust grew sharper in the Bosmer, sharper than he’d thought possible. Some kind of magical feedback. He felt a rush of power as Moz’s eyes widened in surprise, and slapped her green skin with the dark blue organ.
"Remember how I said I had a secret little surprise for you, and you said, ‘Good’?"
He didn’t allow Moz time to groan out a reply. Thick veins throbbed along the length of his new shaft as he directed it into the confines of teeth and spider gag. The cock squeezed through, seeming almost to expand within Moz’s mouth. He paused, gasping as she worked her tongue against the crown, tasting and sampling. Precum squirted wetly from the end, working out between Moz’s teeth with her drool. Wrapping one hand in the shiny black hair that fell like a lion’s mane from her head, and tugging on the chain between her breasts with the other, the Bosmer used all his strength to pop past the back of Moz’s mouth and into her throat. He held her gaze as the length disappeared between her lips until his lightly haired belly pressed against her face. It was shocking to see her take the whole length; was there nothing this Orc warrior couldn’t do?
At that precise moment, Moz couldn’t quite breathe properly. She felt like a jar, a cup. Completely helpless. For the first time her perspective skewed, and she felt as if the little Bosmer was towering above. Her throat was stretched to the edge of pain; she couldn’t wait to feel this cock thrusting into her pussy or even her ass. There was a new lust in his eyes, a new dominance. The Daedric magic certainly had affected him. The heat radiated through her throat, and seemed to reach down to her belly. He started fucking, in and out, but hard, rough. There was nothing gentle or tender as he began. Mox could barely hear herself think over the constant wet squelching pounding. He claimed her throat completely, conquering her. His enhanced strength and her magic weakness saw her completely at his mercy. She felt thoroughly alive, and wanted more.
Fanroth’s arousal had been building all day, from the moment he opened his eyes. He doubted he could stand more than 50 or 60 seconds in Moz’s throat. She felt so tight against his Daedric cock. The heat and warmth felt far closer and more gripping than with his own cock. He kept telling himself that Moz liked rough sex, but there seemed almost a voice telling him to ignore what she wanted, and take his pleasure from the bound beast. At that moment, they seemed much the same thing. With each withdrawal thick gobs of drool burst from Moz’s mouth, while her clamped nipples were stretched out beneath the showering saliva.
"I’m going to spray all over you..." he muttered, before withdrawing with a loud pop.
Moz tried to focus through bleary eyes at the seemingly giant crown directly before her face. The slit at the end appeared grown to drake size, though surely a trick of perspective. The pressure on her sorely tugged nipples lessened as Fanroth dropped the chain and began stroking a cock he could barely get his fingers to. The near-scalding stream gushed forcefully against Moz’s face; the quantity made even the Minotaur Lord look dry. Screwing her eye shut she took heavy blasts across her face, hair, into her gagged-open mouth and most-pleasurably across her breasts. The little Bosmer had turned her into his personal come sponge! That she could free herself, break his neck, but instead allowed this... Bubbles burst through the spunk in Moz’s mouth as she cried out with a sudden orgasm. Unfocussed and smaller than usual, the pleasure still powered through her body. She gushed wetly across the floor beneath her as she made fists behind her back.
"I... I think I need to piss. This thing..."
Fanroth still had his bound Daedric cock pointed at Moz’s breasts when the second stream came. Almost as hot, thick, acrid and golden. The strong smell cut through the other odours in the room as the Bosmer showered off the clinging Daedric spunk from green Orc skin. It felt surreal; pissing in the face of the strongest woman for hundreds of miles around as she moaned and writhed. Not even the Countess, kinky widow as she was, had shown inclination for this kind of play. It was appallingly degrading, yet the magic in the ring seemed to dampen the guilt that would otherwise have forced him to turn the stream away rather than aim directly into the Orc’s mouth. Yet, if Moz wanted him to stop she could unlock herself easily.
"Have you done this before, Orc? Served as an Elf’s privy bucket?"
Moz’s climax had almost ended when the stream came; from sponge to toilet. The waste fluid smelled strongly of the towers she’d explored in Oblivion; clearly the Daedra didn’t bother going to the lava to piss. It wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever tasted. Past-its-best Nordic mead held that dubious honour. She kept her eyes closed, but didn’t try to turn her head. The stream seemed almost never ending, and she doubted there was an ounce of the spunk left on her skin when it finally slowed, and stopped. Blinking her eyes open against the stinging drips, she saw that Fanroth’s new cock was still hard. She desperately wanted to feel the length and veins inside her, and hoped he was smart enough to realise it too. This Orc needed to be fucked. Hard. Without further ado.
"Look at that... it’s fading away. I wonder if the urine is a sort of cleaning method that returns to Oblivion, rather than leaving stains here? Someone must have had it in mind when they enchanted the ring,"
Moz growled through the gag, and regained the Bosmer’s attention. He lent down and unclipped the chain from her nipples. Blood flowed into the compressed areas with a sudden sharp pain that turned the growl to a higher pitch. He smiled, and put the silver chain to one side. At one point he’d considered getting a tripartite chain with a third clamp for Moz’s clit, but the idea made him wince too much. Especially if it inspired her to attach something similar to the end of his cock before she left. He sipped, water, this time, and prepared himself to fuck. Down on the floor below, stealthily directed magic opened the door almost under the nose of a passing guard. A figure in light armour of darkest hue drifted unseen within; mistress of moving undetected.
Fanroth sighed,
"I’m going to miss you so much when you leave. I think it will hurt physically."
Moz nodded; she was starting the feel the same... but leave she must. Sheogorath beseeched her aid.
"Right then, enough mush. I’m going to give you a fucking to remember me by!"
Moz resisted as Fanroth unshackled one wrist from behind her back. Not because she actually wanted to be free, but to test again how much of her usually brutal strength had been drained by magic. Despite straining hard against the relatively small arms of the Bosmer she couldn’t stop him re-shackling first one wrist, and then the other, ‘til they were stretched out before her. Her swollen black nipples hung almost to the floor, but the new position would permit much deeper access where both of them wanted it. He left the spreader bar between her ankles, but chained it to a final unused ring to the rear, so the Orc was secured on her knees between two points. He worked quickly, as eager to fuck as Moz was to be fucked, and paused only to allow her to move her hands and ensure she had enough freedom to cast the unlock spell if needed. As a final touch, he pushed the room’s floor length mirror to stand directly before Moz.
Kneeling behind the Orc, Fanroth rubbed his Daedric cockhead between her swollen labia. He caught flashes of the brighter inner skin between her dark outer folds and even darker bush. He bit his lip, ignoring his screeching-lust and taking the penetration slowly. Durable as Orc women were, he didn't want to risk tearing her internally with the freakishly sized bound organ. The sense of domination feeding back from the magic ring grew, eroding his concerns and making him thrust in harder. The Orc’s pussy stretched and took him, well used to Minotaur roughness. She was wetter than a Leyawiin poet, and shuddered as the thickly veined skin of his cock rubbed against her hard clit. He kept pushing forward, letting the scratchy bush around her entrance stretch about his rod, until he bottomed out.
The Orc gripped the short chains that ran from her wrists to the floor rings, and pushed back. She felt so deliciously full, with her face close to the floor and her ass in the air. Her tusks were virtually rubbing into the ground. Strings of drool hung from her mouth, but went unnoticed. She was relishing the delicious rubbing deep inside, and just right against her clitoris. When he started to fuck, slapping her ass with one hand as he thrust, Mox cried out for more. The cry, wordless and incoherent, still brought harder, faster thrusts. She raised her eyes to the mirror. The Bosmer seemed pale and small against her in the low light of the room. It emphasised her submission when he smiled lustfully back, and slapped her ass again. Rocking back to his thrusts, she let her nipples brush roughly on the floor. So quickly, so very quickly, she was ready to pop.
"Shit!" Fanroth wasn’t prepared for the strength of the muscle spasms within Moz when she started to scream. The magic weakness didn’t go far enough inside, and it felt as if his Daedric cock was gripped from tip almost to base in a wet velvet coated gauntlet. He could see veins standing out across her green skin as he tried to pull free. The extra friction was almost too much; he thought he might pass out with his blood trapped in the cock... and then the howling Orc fell limp. Their crotches were both drenched as he pulled the pulsing Daedric cock free from Moz’s gaping pussy. He reached quickly for a pot of warmed oil, and poured it down her ass crack. She still panted raggedly as he eagerly lubricated her rosebud, and then pressed into the oil-glistening centre. Glancing up, he met Moz’s eyes in the mirror as he, a Bosmer, claimed her Orc ass.
"I love you, Moz. I’d be yours alone if you’d be mine alone," the soppy declaration surprised even Fanroth.
Moz would have smiled if the spider gag allowed it. If she was in the habit of making lists, the last orgasm had surely been the second or third strongest of her life. It wasn’t just the physical contact, the fucking. It wasn’t merely the bondage and the not-just-playing submission. She felt a strong connection of loving lust with the wood elf, and it grew tighter as he spoke. She decided that he had to be pretty mad to want to fuck or love a big brawny Orc woman like her... so she’d find a way to take him with her into true madness. Her asshole tingled as the giant cock opened her up. If the veins of the cock felt half as good against the clustered nerves outside her sphincter as they did against her clitoris, she was going to be a well satisfied Orc in a few minutes. And yet... something subconsciously set the well honed survival alarm bell ringing in the back of her mind. She tried to push her lust aside for a moment and identify the source. Had a door hinge creaked as she was screaming?
The Bosmer marvelled at the taut green skin around the Daedric shaft. He didn’t have Moz’s sense for danger; he just knew the hot warmth felt so tight against the ring-generated rod that he was already spurting pre-cum into the Orc’s stretched rectum. He had no sense of the stealthy intruder in the room, her Dark Brotherhood armour enhanced by learned stealth. The Argonian, Ocheeva, had led her entire Chapter against the ‘traitor’ Antoinetta’s new Knights of the Nine, and seen them all cut down. She’d barely escaped with her tail, and swore to use every ounce of her great skill at stealth to seek vengeance against the Orc who’d caused Antoinetta’s redemption. She was much stealthier than the Breton bitch, and believed killing the Champion Moz in bed would be a challenge, but doable. On arriving to the sex in the room she knew killing even the strongested Orc in chains with an ass full of Bosmer cock would be easy! She’d let the Orc suffer with a paralysis poison for a while, and know why she was dying, before she ended it. Ocheeva drew her favourite blade, blessed at Mephala’s shrine in memory of her fallen brother, and moved silently around behind the Bosmer.
He remained oblivious. His attention was entirely on Moz. He could fit the Daedric cock into her ass far deeper than into her pussy, and she was pushing back hard as if she wanted him deeper. Her alarm had faded under the delicious friction in her ass. She’d dismissed it as paranoia caused by being in shackles and by the slightly constricted feeling of the collar around her neck. Fanroth’s skilled strokes were definitely preferable to the Minotaur’s selfish roughness in her ass; and she could tell the Bosmer was getting as close to another climax as she. Moz pushed and squeezed, rubbing her breasts into the floor for the sensory overload, and grunted like an animal as the Bosmer managed to force the last of his Daedreic cock into her ass. So deep, so hard, so filling.
They came together.
The Daedric load felt even hotter inside Moz than it had across her body. She felt Fanroth collapse across her back, his face against intimately close against her skin, as he spewed deep into her core. Then she could think only of the pleasure exploding within, from breasts to clit to asshole. From tusks to toenails, neither of which should have felt anything at all. Screaming with throaty bestial lust, Moz didn’t care if the whole town heard her pleasure. In that one room was the best sex she’d ever had, the best night of her life so far. Everything had been worth it to bring her to that moment. It seemed to take an age for her screams to die down to deep, lung-filling, pants... and then the alarm returned.
She couldn’t hear Fanroth breathing. Not even a gasp. She shifted her weight, confused, and he slid from her back. The Daedric cock pulled loose from her ass with a pop, and spunk gushed out hard across the non-responsive Bosmer. Mox twisted her hands into the unlock spell and, acting on instinct alone, rolled hard to the left. The sound of a blade sinking into wood told her to keep moving. Freed from magic constraint, her strength returned. Splashing sweat and spunk across the floor she rocked back and then spring to her feet. Her muscles protested, threatening cramp after the floor bound exertions, but she ignored the pain. One heart-rending glance told her that someone had ended her fan, and then the shadowy room was filtered into a red tinge. Unarmed against the greatest assassin remaining in the Imperial Province, Moz’s throat allowed a new sound. Deep, heartfelt loss. The Argonian spoke, but she saw only lips moving as her own roar filled her ears. Moz lunged.
�
And two weeks later, after the funeral pyre, Moz crossed the bay to the portal into the Shivering Isles. She took her weapons and a pack of potions and other supplies, and stepped into another realm wearing new boots finished in Argonian skin.
The End.
Feedback to joandoe@gmail.com

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Ending the Fan