Bathe with Me

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Sci-Fi and Fantasy Erotica  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

For the sheltered daughter of a Nord nobleman, traveling across the harsh, frozen lands of Skyrim is no easy task. Which is why I hired Oonla; a brutish Orc ruffian, who's main concerns don't venture very far beyond her own selfish desires for coin and violence. Even so, there is something about Oonla that I can't quite help being drawn to.
But the Orc woman insists on keeping me at a professional distance, and I think she has a secret. A deep, personal secret. It's frustrating to know that Oonla is keeping something from me. But in a remote village's steamy little bath cellar, I'll finally learn a big truth about her!
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>DON'T FORGET TO COMMENT!<
[Author's Note - This is an original erotic fiction piece, taking place within the realm of Skyrim. If you have never played Skyrim some of the references in this story may escape you. However It should not take anything away from your reading experience. Enjoy!]

  My hired guard, Oonla tested the temperature of the water in the sunken tub for me, trailing her finger across the steaming surface. I was more than ready to wash the grime of the wilderness and the dust of the long roads from my weary limbs. The steam curled and drifted towards the oaken rafters of the Inn’s bath cellar, like long spiraling fingers reaching upwards. As I pulled at the leather straps on my corset, Oonla cleared her throat.

“I’ll leave you to it,” She stated, offering me a privacy I did not desire.

I haven’t known many Orcs in my mere twenty-four years of life, especially not living as the sheltered daughter of a minor Nord-nobleman, but I couldn’t imagine that they were overly bashful, not even the females. Since I’d hired her a few short days ago, Oonla had proven herself as a sellsword worthy of escorting me through even the roughest landscapes; slaying bandits, Falmer, Hagravens and Forsworn with ease. Her skill with the huge greatsword she wore on her back was nothing short of a marvel. But she had become just as grimy as I had over the course of our journey, even for an Orc. I skipped over to the wooden door before she could leave and pushed it shut.

“You’re joining me for a bath tonight,” I told her.

“Is that so?” She pressed back, her burning yellow eyes fixed to my own crystalline blue, like fire meeting ice. I dropped my gaze first, as always whenever Oonla challenged me, and instead began to look her up and down, clucking my tongue cynically. The armor Oonla wore was shameful to say the least; For starters, it wasn’t anything near traditional Orc armor. Meaning it wasn’t properly fitted to her tall, developed body. It clearly hadn’t been forged for her. In fact, she had very likely snatched the pieces off some Nord woman she’d defeated in battle. It barely fits her! I often found myself thinking whenever I glanced over at Oonla. The chest piece was made up of two simple plated scraps of steel, which were secured to her shoulders by leather straps and hardly did anything to conceal her massive round breasts. And I thought mine were big! Is the other thought which often ran through my mind whenever I caught sight of Oonla’s impressive tits bouncing up and down as we walked along the road.  Worst of all was the lower half, which on its original owner may very well have been a scaled loincloth, but on Oonla it was little more than a thong. It’s thin leather strap and metal rings hugged her great curvy hips absurdly. The only parts of Oonla’s armor which fit her properly were the arm and leg guards. It was ridiculous, and it did nothing to prevent her soft brown skin from getting coated with filth.

For a moment, I thought she would refuse. I might be a noble, but Oonla was not the loyal, protective housecarl, nor the sweet and guileless servant from all the legendary tales. This Orc woman had deep battle scars and eyes that had seen too much. She was a warrior. I was a spoiled and wealthy youth. Still, she was a woman, and those long roads across Skyrim contained as much loneliness as dust.

 I raised myself on tiptoe in my leather boots and leaned against her ample chest, wrapping my arms around her muscular neck. For all my judging over its absurdity, I loved seeing Oonla in her skimpy armor, almost as much as I love the idea of seeing her climb out of it. She was very attractive, for an Orc, and processed a sultry appearance that might rival that of even the most beautiful Nord maidens from the songs. The sleek surface of the metal chest pieces crushed my bosom as I asked,  

“Don’t Orcs like baths, Oonla?”

“We do,” she answered, “but I can take one later, when you’re done, m’lady.”

I pouted, as I am known to do when I do not immediately get my way. “That’s true, I suppose. But then I won’t be in it. Wouldn’t it be more fun with some feminine companionship, Oonla?”

“It would be a bad idea, m’lady,” she said. Damn the Orc! What was she talking about? Did she want me to beg? The sellsword, it seemed to me, had grown quite fond of making me beg her for things during our travels together; She didn’t like to immediately give into my desires or demands. The grindstone of a rough, roguish lifestyle had honed her to a fine edge, and that was what I liked about her, what made my blood burn like fire salts. Secretly, inwardly, I didn’t want her to just give into me like everyone else always has. I enjoyed her stubbornness, her steadfastness. The idea of breaking her resolve thrilled me. But I would never say anything of the sort to her. In this, as in our quests together, I relied on Oonla to know what I needed and to do it without being commanded.

She smelled of sweat and leather, and a hint of wild mountain grass. I bated my dark eyelashes at her as I lifted my gaze back up to those fiery yellow eyes. “Please, Oonla,” I pleaded softly, pressing my breasts into hers, relishing the rough scrape of her armor through the soft white cotton of my shirt. Suddenly, with her strong hand, she gripped the back of my hair. Her fingers in their Orcish gauntlet tangled in my blood-red locks and held tight, yanking my head back and breaking our gaze. I didn’t cry out, assuming that was exactly what she expected me to do.

“Stay with me, Oonla,” I whispered, “bathe with me.”

Her other hand came up and grasped my waist. I might have been held by a standing stone, solid and just as impossible to move. Her lips brushed mine, along with her bottom pair of sharp and protruding white teeth, like two small tusks. But she didn’t linger, only leaned her face in close. I wanted to scream, but there was no shout, no word of protest that would be able to make her release her hold on me, and I knew it.

“What do you need me to bathe with you for?” She asked. It took me a moment to consider an answer that might be good enough. Feeling stupid, I tried something. “I’m paying you to do what I say, aren’t I?” I was answering her question with another question, and again I felt stupid. With a coy smile, Oonla released her grip on my hair with a sudden jerk and broke away from me.

“You hired me to kill people who assault you on the road. Bathing companionship will cost extra.”

Humor was dancing in my eyes; I was sure of it. She knew full well that indulging minor whims was part of the mercenary package, a slight curve in the tediously straightforward path of wolf slaying and bandit intimidation. With as harsh a land as Skyrim, any joys or comforts were seized without question. Why, then, was she being so difficult about this simple invitation to indulgence? Perhaps she had a spouse or a lover waiting for her somewhere and wasn’t allowed to bare her body to anyone else’s eyes. But no, that didn’t make much sense considering her scant armor. I didn’t understand. But I knew she loved gold. Gold and the feeling of a limb being severed beneath the lethal edge of her greatsword. Well, then, so be it.

  My voice felt thick in my throat when I chose to speak again. “If you get in this bath with me, I’ll double your pay by three septims a night for the duration of this journey.” She looked me up and down, and grinned. “Just remember, little noble,” she said, “you asked for this.” Her hands went up to her shoulders, locating clasps and rings, unbinding them. She removed her chest armor first, peeling the plated metal away from her large breasts and dropping it to the stone floor with a clatter.

I timidly glanced at her exposed chest, even as I unlaced my corset. Her nipples were darker than the rest of her and had gone erect against the chilled air of the dank bath cellar. I dropped my corset to the floor and pulled my shirt up over my head, freeing my own round bosom. I unclasped my leather trousers next, wiggling them down over my thighs and stepping out of them once they had bundled at my ankles. I glanced back over towards Oonla, expecting to see her out of the lower half of her armor already, but it remained on, and she was working at the clasps on her leg guards by the time I’d stripped down to my amulet of Arkay . She pulled off the leg guards, tossed them aside, and looked over at me, watching me climb into the warm water. For the briefest of moments, just before my body dipped beneath the water’s surface, Oonla’s eyes seemed intently fixed on my thighs, and the narrow strip of short mahogany hair between them.  In this, as in battle, I supposed, she wasn’t one to rush in until she assessed the situation.

I burnished my skin with tallow soap, frothing the bath water with thick suds. Leaning back against the brim, I rinsed dirt and the Divines-know-what-else from my red locks. I splashed a palm full of water onto my face, scrubbing soap across my brow, wondering when Oonla was planning on climbing in. I splattered some more water across my face and opened my eyes to the shocking sight of someone’s long, thick, naked manhood dangling before my face. I jerked backwards in the water and glanced up in utter surprise, wondering if some stranger had managed to stroll into the bath cellar without us noticing. But no, to my bewilderment there was no one else in the room with me. It was Oonla. Just Oonla. She was standing there at the edge of the tub, looming over me like a formidable, hulking brute.

“Oonla,” I stammered out, jutting my chin out towards the great heavy cock hanging between her powerful thighs, “where have you been hiding that thing?”

It was no wonder she’d mastered two-handed swordplay. The weight of her hung half-hard and enticing, inches from my lips. I choked back an appreciative growl even as I eyed the part of her I’d much prefer to choke on.

“Are you confused, Little Noble,” she asked me in a teasing tone. “You’re staring like some blushing maiden.” She put a hand on her hip and shifted her body weight. The movement sent her hefty cock swinging from side to side, back and forth, like a pendulum.

“I didn’t expect –” I began to stammer, feeling as if my jaw had dropped to the bottom of the bath, “are all Orc women – I mean, do you all have –”

“I had the misfortune of crossing a particularly mischievous mage, years back,” she interrupted. “What you’re looking at is the result of some interesting little spell he cast on me.” Then, after I didn’t speak for a moment, she asked, “Is there room for me?”

Whether she meant room in the bath or room between my lips or my thighs, I swore to find a way, Dibella willing. I moved in the water so she could sit beside me. She stepped in up to her knees, and even by then the dangling tip of that cock was beginning to brush the water’s steaming surface. Her bulging arms drew me closer, so my stomach covered hers, and I felt her arousal throbbing between us. A long scar ran up along the curve of her left shoulder, and I traced it with one finger.

“The Thalmor who gave me that was aiming for my head, but Arkay didn’t want me that day.”

“I’m glad,” I whispered back.

“As am I,” she chuckled, but her laughter transmuted into a savage groan when I pressed my lips to hers again. Her rough hands came up to squeeze at the curves of my body. No metal nor leather separated us, and flesh on flesh, fair ivory meeting tanned brown, I pressed myself into her tough thighs and soft chest. Yet again, the sharp points of her bottom fangs lightly bit into my full, puckered lips. Between kisses, I washed the dirt from her neck and wiped a smear of white war paint from her cheek. Her curly black hair felt like the fur trim of a Jarl’s tunic. I slid my hand down her tight stomach, and suddenly took hold of her now rock-hard cock. The thickness of it barely fit in my palm, like the hilt of the enormous war hammer I’d once tried to lift. 

“How do you possibly manage to tuck this massive thing away inside that tiny armor of yours?” I had her in both hands now, gripping her fat shaft with my delicate fingers, slowly stroking her up and down with smooth, fluid motions, like I was charming a long snake out of the bath water.

“That particular piece of armor is enchanted,” she told me. “It’s a handy little concealment charm. Could you imagine the trouble I’d get into otherwise? Maidens and lonely wives would be jumping me in the streets of every town I visited.”

I giggled at the idea of Oonla having to fend off a hoard of horny women. It made sense that magic was responsible for such a magnificent cock, for I had fallen completely under its spell. The more I tugged at it, the more it seemed to stiffen in my hands.

“I’m not sure I even know what to do with something like this,” I whispered, staring at the plump tip in admiration. My voice had gone soft and sultry. Oonla shifted closer to me.

“You know what to do with it,” she stated. One of her hands come up to grip my hair.

“No, tell me,” Her hand gave a sharp tug on my hair, then began to push my head down.

“Worship it,” I heard her command me, even as she used her unyielding strength to push me down onto my knees. The water sloshed up around my tits as I dropped, and before I could whimper or form a single word, her fat tip was pressed against my mouth. My lips parted, wild and hungry, letting her in. I wanted to consume her, to swallow her whole. When I felt the weight of her against my slick, wet tongue, I trembled. She tasted of salt and soap, but I didn’t care. I curled my tongue around her, drawing her shaft in deeper, inch by inch, and I began to suck. I could scarcely wrap my lips around her width, and I hadn’t even managed to absorb even half of her full length before I felt her stabbing the back of my throat. Her harsh hold on my hair loosened and changed into an appreciative, encouraging caress as my head bopped back and forth. Between the wet, slurping noises my mouth was making I could hear Oonla groaning with pleasure, clearly enjoying my efforts. 

“You’ve got quite a talent,” she mumbled playfully. “I think you’ve done this before, you naughty little pub wench.”

I turned my eyes up to her and winked, rolling my tongue around her shaft before slowly drawing her out from between my lips with a sweet, wet pop. The water cooled the more I burned. Slow but forceful, Oonla raised me up off my knees. Tucking her powerful hands beneath my armpits, she lifted me up out of the water. Squirming, and sloshing the bath’s contents over the sides, I hooked my arms around the back of her neck and wrapped my legs up over her hips. I tried to impale myself on her curving horker tusk, but Oonla held me firm and wouldn’t let me budge an inch. Her soft yet stony voice filled my ear.

“You won’t be claiming ownership of that, my seductive, spoiled Little Noble. You’ll get it when I give it to you.”

Before I could argue, she carried me out of the tub, as easy as if I were a sack of feathers. Striding over towards a stack of barrels, she lifted a silver chalice in one hand. With her other hand firmly gripping my round arse, supporting my weight, she tossed her head back, tipped the chalice to her lips, and drank the last of the spiced wine. All while I enjoyed the magnificent feeling of being so effortlessly handled. Her wet skin glistened in the candlelight around us. Her nipples two small, tight pebbles on the crests of her heaving bosom. But the cool cellar air had no effect on her manhood. “Oh, please, Oonla,” I began to whisper, biting playfully at her earlobe and shifting my arms around her neck in my restlessness, and maddening lust. “Oonla, please. Oh, please, Oonla, please, please.”

“Look who’s learned to ask for something so nicely,” she said. She discarded the chalice and lowered her free hand, slapping arse with a sudden force that pressed a small gasp from my lungs.

“You’re the one always complaining about my bad manners,” I teased.

“The entitlement issues of you Nord nobles. We Orcs aren’t known for being tolerant of other races, you know.”

“How do you feel about the rich, helpless daughters of Nord nobles?”

“With my hands.”

She grinned, bringing up a palm to cup one of my ample breasts. She began kissing me deeply while her thumb flicked over my pink nipple, gently pinching, tugging and massaging in circles. Pushing her hips against my legs, she slid the full length of her shaft up and down, polishing the sensitive pearl in my hot, damp cleft until I arched my spine and writhed in her grip, digging my fingernails into her thick neck and grasping handfuls of her black hair. If I were a lute, Inge Six-Fingers could not have played me better. And so, I gave myself over completely to her and to my own berserker frenzy of desire.

When she finally entered me with a single, deft thrust, burying herself to the hilt, I cried out. The ache of emptiness soothed, and I felt a fullness more powerful than any potion of ultimate stamina could provide. I clenched my legs around her more tightly. My moans shook the rafters of the bath cellar. She impaled me again and again, each withdrawal leaving a desperate desire for more, each stab pushing me closer to the edge of oblivion. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they could hear me all the way to the Blue Palace.

The rumble of her voice insisted, “Now, my lovely Nord. Do it now… come on me now, like a good Little Noble.”

I obeyed. Climax vibrated through me like the strike of a dragon’s tail. Oonla slowed but would not relent, drawing out the length of each stroke with expert timing, driving me to convulse again. My pleasure became perfectly blinding, and I gasped her name when I couldn’t stand it any longer, clawed at her shoulders and back in exquisite agony. A lone climber, hanging on for dear life from the mountainous build of this Orc’s body. She grunted my name, and something about the Divines, and I felt her hot explosion of release.


Submitted: December 13, 2019

© Copyright 2021 S.P. O'Brien. All rights reserved.

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