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The Ideas Man	By : Casnia Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim Views: 9320 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Skyrim or any other part of the Elder Scrolls. I receive no money for this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Ideas Man
- 1
To most citizens of Skyrim, it was unclear as to why the Dragonborn chose to do battle in nothing but her underwear, expensive jewellery and a pair of boots. They'd most of them seen her glorious armour sets and mismatched outfits of varying degrees of inappropriateness... But the pantie-clad fighting was new to them. The general consensus seemed to be that she'd gone mad with power, though a fair few of the thin-lipped locals insisted that she was nothing more than an attention-seeker. The truth was that she had gone mad in a way... It had been clear to her, for some time now, that she had done everything there was for her to do in her lifetime. The time had come for her to reflect on her own accomplishments, call it a day and lie dormant for the unlikely event of more things to do. The Dragonborn took issue with this. She had come so very far and did not want to sit and wait in the darkness for her inevitable demise, with nothing but her dull marriage and extensive collection of inexplicably short books to keep her occupied. She loved Skyrim and wanted to continue to be involved with, and have an effect on, its people and creatures. Of course, what she wore mattered little to dragons and other various forms of enemies, when she could slay them with but one strike from each of her two beautifully crafted swords, but this was essentially part of the bigger issue; She no longer had any control over the world around her - and the Dovahkiin desperately wanted to remember what it was like to feel something when she did something.
This afternoon, she had stormed into Markarth in a full set of Forsworn gear, wildly brandishing her large spiky axe at the faces of civilians and shouting about briar hearts, uprisings and the imminent deaths of all Nords. They barely batted an eyelid. In fact, they completely ignored the axe and instead stared indifferently at her face... Just stared.

"I mean, who wouldn't go mad," she ranted over her mug of ale by the fire of the Silverblood Inn. "Are your minds so blank?!" She drained her mug and slumped into the nearest chair, thoughts consumed by the flickering flames. "I ought to kill them all," she muttered broodily into her hand. She blinked and lolled her head around to glare at the rest of the room. No reaction from a single soul. "Fus," she shouted. Food and crockery went flying all over the place. She chuckled and her laughter morphed into an uproarious cackle as the inconsequence of her action sunk in, her mind slipping into drunken insanity. She shot out of her chair and danced over to the bar, humming deformed snippets of ballads about the Dragonborn as she went.
"Mead," she exclaimed. She stared at her drink as it appeared in front of her, and let the bar take her weight. Her silence overcame her mouth and she lost the will to say any more. She heaved a deep sigh and her face drooped low enough for her nose to hover above her drink. She could now smell it over the stench of pub food and unwashed barkeeps. Imp stool. She smiled inanely. Her head drooped lower and the tip of her nose almost touched the surface of the liquid in her mug. Taking in the aroma again, she confirmed the smell... Imp stool. A frown oozed onto her face. She looked down at her mead. Why did it smell like imp stool? Straightening up, she turned and delivered a bewildered look to the stranger next to her, before clasping her mug firmly and staring blearily at its contents in search of an answer. "Oh," she said rather brightly. She turned back to the stranger, put a hand on his shoulder and sniffed him. He was taller than she, wearing indistinguishable robes of an even less distinguishable dark colour. Upon closer inspection, she saw that he was also wearing a smirk upon his face.

"Huh," she muttered pleasantly. His surprisingly attractive face. He appeared to be looking across the room but she could not see what he was smirking at. She hoped to Talos it was her.
"You smell like mushrooms," she informed him in a voice designed to embody 'sultry and inquisitive' but came off as nothing but 'drunk.' To her immense surprise, the stranger began to speak to her.

"I can think of a few things you've probably never done before." The Dovahkiin did a mental double-take. "Rather fun things, actually," he added. He took a small swig of his booze and continued to stare across the room. "You might not be game but it's clear that you can handle most anything that comes your way," he glanced at her determinedly intrigued expression, "besides boredom, it seems."

"Not handling boredom at all," she said slowly. Who was this man? "What sort of things," she asked instead. He smirked again. Turning his full body to get a proper look at her, he took in the sight of her Forsworn armour; Small strips of fur and leather, tied haphazardly around her naked flesh. It covered little but just enough for him to seem to want to tear it off.
Just as he began to answer, she stopped him and took his hand. It had been far too long since she'd met anyone she found even remotely attractive or interesting (or new) in this land and she wanted to make the most of it. "Tell me where it's less noisy," she said, squeezing his hand, before leading him away from the bar. He followed as she pulled him into one of the closest rooms and shut the door behind him. He leaned back against the shut door and she was pleased to see that he was still holding his drink. She kicked a basket aside and sat atop a barrel to watch him. "Speak. What sort of things have I not already done?"

"It's refreshing to meet you at last, Dovahkiin."

"Anya," she offered. The stranger nodded into his drink as he took another swig.

"Nice outfit, by the way," he muttered.

"It's..." Was he truly patronising her? She did not usually take such a thing so lightly... "It's armour."

"Having trouble getting a reaction out of people?"

"So, do you have any suggestions or ideas or...?"

He looked down at the floor and appeared to be laughing at her.

"You are a beauty, Anya. The rumours are true," he said in a smooth but rather honest voice, making Anya's heart beat faster. He looked at her with a mischievous smile and she became painfully aware of the bed in the room. She said nothing. "Can you imagine the response you might get if you were to stumble across an Imperial camp in the middle of the night, dressed like that," he indicated to her armour briefly as he stood up straight and stepped away from the door towards her, "pretending to be a lost member of the Forsworn?"
"They'd try to kill me," she said, shaking his question away with her head. This answer was not only obvious to her but tedious as well. The leftover Imperial camps still stood in the wilderness, though the war was over, and their soldiers still hostile. He seemed smarter than that, and she hoped that he was, but she did not know of what he was thinking. Though, the way he was looking at her made her desperate to find out. He placed his drink on the short stone wall that bordered the room and stood before her, his hands coming down to rest upon her knees and his eyes fixing upon her face.

"Would they, Anya?" He lifted a finger to touch lightly beneath her chin, guiding her eyes to meet his. "What's the sense in killing..." His other hand slowly slid up and around her smooth thigh and her breathing grew heavier. He watched as her eyelids fluttered shut and her knees parted to accommodate his stepping closer. Her lips were begging to be kissed. "...a young," he brought his lips closer to hers with every word, "pretty, little, unarmed Forsworn girl?"

"Unarmed," she repeated weakly, as if in a trance.
"Wait..." Her eyes flew open in time to watch him kiss her, his implications finally dawning on her. Her mind struggled but her lips gave way instantly, melting into him, her thighs soon following suit and spreading further apart so as to allow him to press against her. With him between her legs, she began to ache for him, getting more wet by the moment. She felt him harden against her pelvis and it made her whimper into their kiss. As her body fell willingly under the stranger's control, she reached up to grasp his dark, tousled hair in an attempt to hold on for dear life. He gripped her soft thigh at the noise, his other hand sliding around her slender neck. With one yank, he tore the ridiculous feather necklace off her, then kissed down the other side of her neck and bit hard. Her yelp of pain came out as little more than a gasp as his teeth lingered, embedded in her flesh. He reached up and pulled off the matted wig of a Forsworn headpiece, to let loose her long, wavy, white-gold tresses. As his teeth relinquished their pressure, he took a handful of hair close to her head and pulled her head back and aside roughly. He looked at the mark his teeth had left and kissed it gently. Her involuntary wince told him that he had bruised her, and forced from him an animalistic growl. He dragged his tongue across the tender spot and up her throat until his mouth came upon hers again, his tongue invading her in such a way that she could almost feel it between her legs.
The hand gripping her thigh also let go its tight grasp, and slid further up on a quest to settle a curiosity it seemed to have. The Forsworn armour did indeed involve no undergarments. The man groaned, lifted her off the barrel and carried her, with her legs locked around his waist, the short distance to the stone bed behind them. He set her down on her feet and turned her around. She backed up into him and snaked one hand around the back of his neck to bring his face closer, tilting her head and exposing her neck to him. He tutted quietly in her ear.

"So, the Dovahkiin likes a little pain," he said with barely-stifled pleasure before he kissed her neck and bit hard again. She went a little limp against him and his hands roamed freely over her curves, caressing the soft skin of her breasts and hips. As he released her flesh from the grips of his teeth, his fingers slipped past the fur scrap that was the front of her skirt. They brushed against her clit and she gave a slight moan. He traced the line between her soaking wet lips, then slipped his fingers deep inside her, forcing a short cry of pleasure from what was well and truly his new plaything.
Holding her hip with his other hand, he slipped his fingers out and pushed her shoulder away, bending her over with minuscule effort. Her palms fell flat on the stone bed and her ass pressed up against his crotch. He firmly clapped a hand to her thigh and dragged it up towards her ass, which he spanked. Hard. He pressed against her with the rock hard bulge in his trousers and spanked her again. She felt him step away slightly, then flinched a little with surprise at the sudden touch of his fingertips to the wet entrance of her sex. He rested his other hand on the small of her back and relished the sight of her bent over, his hand up her Forsworn skirt.

"Enough teasing," she moaned.

He took his fingers away and spanked her again.
She'd been enjoying herself so much, she had almost forgotten about the fact that she had absolutely no idea who this stranger was at all... Suddenly curious, she dipped her head down to peek underneath herself, which afforded her nothing. Just a pair of legs clad in loose, dark trousers. She whipped her head back up and moaned when he slipped a couple of fingers inside her and started pumping. She craned her neck to look around her right arm at him but could see nothing and got a spank in return. Was she being told off for looking at him? She snapped back into place and closed her eyes. Might as well enjoy herself now and ask questions later. He crouched down, pushed the fur skirt up over her ass and tasted her pussy. The surprise sensation made her giddy and her head dropped down again. When she opened her eyes, she saw the top half of the stranger in a new light. Upside-down, granted, but suddenly clear to her nonetheless. His robes were dark but she could just make out an even darker hand print, against the faded maroon fabric draped over his shoulders and chest. It was uniform... Of the Dark Brotherhood. Anya watched, her eyes half-closed in ecstasy, as the assassin lapped at her aching pussy.
In her drunken haze and the dimly-lit inn, she had not recognised the shrouded robes. The imp stool suddenly made sense. Something now interested her about his attire...

"Why do you wear the robes without concealing your face," she whimpered. The assassin, instead of stopping to answer, reached around to rub her clit as he licked deeper. "Mmm-... Your hood is down and your gloves are off-..." She bit her lip and swallowed hard. "Why? Aren't you afraid of being recognised?"

The assassin stopped and stood abruptly. He was otherwise silent but she could hear him breathing. She almost thought she heard a sigh but then she was distracted by something promising pressed between her swollen lips. Sure enough, within seconds, he shoved the whole length of his cock inside her. Her arms almost buckled beneath her with the pleasure that overcame her body. She hadn't been filled in so long, she'd almost forgotten how good it felt. He started a slow and steady pace, pushing his cock in nice and deep as he finally spoke again.

"I'm as bored as you are, Dovahkiin," he muttered.

"I'm not bored," she interjected breathlessly with a smile that he could almost hear.

"Not right now, obviously," he grunted with the hint of a smile himself. He reached out and grabbed a fistful of her hair, making her back arch and her knees come together. With the hand at her hip, he gripped her hard to hold her steady as he fucked her faster.
"We're not going to be bored anymore, are we, Anya," he said in a low, slightly constrained voice. Anya couldn't breath, let alone respond. The assassin continued to hold her hair back tight as he went on. "I'm going to tell you some of my little ideas that I've thought up over the years..." She could feel his cock grow harder still. "And they're going to alleviate the boredom for both of us... because I want to see you do things that I just know you're going to love doing." Anya had started to go limp. He let the hair slip from his fingers and she gasped for air gratefully. "Isn't that right," he said, fucking her faster still. Her life-giving gasps had mingled with gasps of overwhelming pleasure and she did not respond. He spanked her hard. "Isn't that right," he repeated.

"Myes," she breathed.

"You're going to be a good girl and entertain me?"

"Ahuh"

"Good," he said, running his hands around her hips, feeling the warmth of her smooth skin with a sense of appreciation.

"Your ideas had better be good," she breathed. He slowed to a stop.

"What did you just say?"

"I said... 'I bet your ideas are good,'" she lied. There was a pause. The assassin took her by the neck and pulled her up towards him. He held her throat tightly with one hand, the other roughly sliding up her handkerchief of a fur cuirass and taking a handful of one gorgeous breast.

"Don't test an assassin," he muttered dangerously.

"I'm the Listener," she choked. His grip tightened in both hands as he chuckled. He ran the tip of his tongue along the edge of her ear. Goosebumps erupted all over her body.
"And?" He squeezed a nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he squeezed her throat. Her fingernails dug into his hands, drawing blood. The assassin nuzzled his nose against her ear as tiny pinpricks of light plagued her vision. Suddenly, her hand opened up and a small ball of flame appeared in her palm. The grip around her throat relinquished and she dropped hard to her knees on the stone floor, gasping for air with a new sense of frustration. The assassin sat down upon the stone bed before her, took his girth in one hand and the Dovahkiin's jaw in the other.

"I'm not stupid enough to start a fight with the Dragonborn," he admitted.

Anya finally got her breath back. She looked up at him with a deadly glare, raised a hand to the one on her jaw and gripped his wrist. She lingered upon his face but a moment longer and her heart softened. It was true; He was as bored as she. Looking into his undeniably-charming brown eyes, she saw a devious cynicism born of a long-lived torment. His years as an assassin had shown him a great deal of suffering... And not just that of those he had poisoned. He stared unflinchingly back at her.

"Alright," she said. "Let's go."

"You what?"

"Let's go-..." She went to pull away but his grip on her jaw tightened.

"You're going to play the poor little Forsworn girl," he asked to clarify, then added with a smirk, "just for me?"

"No," she struggled to say with her jaw held so tight, "I'm doing it for fun."

"I see," he said thoughtfully, looking into her large, storm-grey eyes. "Haven't you forgotten something?"

She looked from his face to his cock, then smiled greedily.
He let go of her jaw and leaned back on his palms as she moved in close enough to lick the tip, one hand snaked around his cock and the other lightly caressing his balls. She wrapped her mouth around the head and circled it with her tongue. Her fingers tightened around the shaft and his cock twitched in response. The feeling almost winded her, and she whimpered with longing. She started sucking with gusto and the assassin shuddered and groaned. Anya could tell that he was already close, and she moaned again at the thought of tasting him. She barely felt her knees protesting against the cold, hard stone floor; She longed to have him fill her mouth to the brim with warm, delicious cum. A hand was placed on her head and his fingers closed tight around a handful of her soft hair. The shaft of his gorgeous cock grew impossibly hard beneath her fingers and the assassin himself stiffened and gasped. Anya sucked harder, pumped faster with her hand, and the assassin suddenly gave way. He shuddered, his whimpers and groans making her even more wet, the taste of his warm seed filling her mouth making her feel giddy. She savoured that familiar flavour for a moment before she swallowed, and gently sucked and licked him clean. He had aroused her so much so that she was now feeling eager to go to this Imperial camp and try his disturbed (though strangely alluring) idea. Her lips had barely parted from his cock before her next few words breathed new life into it.

"Can we go now?"
- 1
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The Ideas Man