Journal of The One-Eyed Dragon Entry 5
Author's Note : These Entries are in no particular order, the given numbers are merely the order in which they were posted. This story should not be read if you are under the age of consent. If you are easily offended, or bothered, do not read this as it is based off a game that is a Mature rating. There will be acts of violence, rape, criminal negligance, and other dark themes. I do not own Oblivion and make no money off of this. This is purely fanmade and for personal ejoyment, of which I decided to share with the community.
These are the tales of He-With-One-Eye. A Shadowscale Argonian born of the Black Marsh. Imprisoned falsely, thanks to a lying Khajiit. He-With-One-Eye is often called The One-Eyed Dragon, or the Scarred Dragon. It could be because of his brutal nature in battle and even cruller tendencies when it came to getting what he wanted, or the fact he had lost his right eye to some unknown, or rather: untold accident. He was forced into the Imperial Province, but by some fortune of luck, he escaped prison on the blood of the last Septim.
How Quaint.
Entry 5
I could not honestly understand any of the shit I had to deal with as of late. I found some twisted information on Count Caro's young fuck sock, Alessia Caro. I was not going to deal with any of that for the time being. Instead I returned to Cheydinhal, and though the small city was as backwater as an Imperial's privvy. I loitered outside of that Orc's shop, Borba gra-Uzgash. I swear they just write their names long to sound smarter. Drunkards falling in line, exiting the Newland's Lodge, drunk off their asses.
An interesting rumor made it's way to my earhole, to my delight. Apparently some painter was missing in town, leaving his poor wife a widow, and my target. I was already feeling horny from the mental pictures of me, face-humping Borba in her shop, for all to see. I wanted that damn cloak and she kept me from it. I made my way to the home of Rythe Lythandas. His wife was a Dark Elf, Tivela I believe her name was? Not that I could give any fucks toward what they called her since birth, it more mattered what I was going to call her in the next few minutes.
The worried widow let me into her home, and only after I insisted that rumor had started to make its way with her husband gone missing, rumors that turned to her as a number, on the list of reasons Rythe was missing. In a panic she ushered me in to explain. I did not listen intently, because I was to busy wallowing in the feeling of the tip of my cock, peeking out from my swelling slit. Her flapping lips only drew my eyes over my prize. I smiled and showed the Dark Elf false pity.
"It must be so lonely."
My cold words were laced with false kindness. I did not care for the problems of an Elf. When had they cared before of the problems my people suffered at the hands of theirs, across the Ghost Seas, upon the Isle of Morrowind? Fucks were of equal divide: none to be given in the end. She nodded, sobbing into her hands. I stood, my hardening erection making it difficult to move as it burned so good as I walked, the friction coaxing it further from my swollen slit.
I comforted her, brushing my hand against her shoulder. As I did, my other hand would undo my belt and pry apart my greaves so that I could shift the flap of my undergarments. She slowly looked up when she heard the inconsistent shuffling, and before she could shout out: my hand, which had inched its way toward her head in gentle patting, I raked my claws through her hair and yanked. Her strangled shout caused her mouth to open. My free hand, now done settling my cock in the warm air of the domicle, helped force her skull down. He hips thrust up, my bulbous cock ramming into her mouth.
"Fucking bite and I'll make sure you go missing like your husband!"
My hissing threats only served to release her tears, but her mouth slackened in tension, and that was enough permission for my cock to start tingling. My hips pushed up, hands pulling her head over my prick, slathering it in her saliva. She eventually had to move from her seat and kneel on the floor. I'll allow her temporary comfort, because it was only moments after that it became mine. I rammed her mouth over my meaty, ten inch cock, the sounds of squelching music to my ears as my pre filled her mouth and mixed with her saliva. I fucked her mouth roughly, her cries only stimulating the raised nerves on my penis.
A few more thrusts and my cum erupted into her mouth, choking her protests. I sighed out, holding her head and pushing my cock so deeply that her lips kissed my slit.
"Don't worry, if your husband is dead, I'll fuck you."
And why in Oblivion not? Why stop there? I slammed her against the ground after she was able to take a few gulps of air in, the dizziness from lack of air having choked down my cock. Before she could recover I threw my weight onto her back. She tried to scream, so I smashed her face against the ground and held it there.
"Let's not become a missing person, like our husband."
The threat was clear, but she still struggled. I had not minded. I pushed up her long skirt, yanking her underwear away. She was wet. I mockingly praised her for being so ready and hospitable for a stranger. The sound of her crying sobs did not deter me as I wrapped my arms around her waist and rammed myself into her wet pussy. I did not start slow, or give her a chance to get used to my size. I was too horny. I'm sure my loud hisses had concerned neighbors, but who would intrude on a greiving widow? I fucked her pussy to the heavens, her complaints now jsut raw moans of pleasure. These Dark Elves were sluts, but that was fine with me.
As I rode her pussy, lifting her off the ground at this point as I stood and rammed myself into her tight canal, I took note of her preciously tight asshole. Well I had already taken two holes, so I had decided that the third needed attention. I thrust one last time and filled her womb with my seeds. It would be truly ironic were the Dark Elf to bare my clutch. She seemed to relax, likely having cum herself, but I had no time to care before my black cock drove itself into her asshole. She screamed, but I pistoned into her body, concentrating hard on pushing myself to the very barrier of her insides.
Her ass was so tight, it seemed Rythe had no experience, and I felt like a whelp myself with how fast I came the thrid time into her ass. It was just so tight that my balls emptied themselves quickly. I pulled out, letting her shuddering form slip to the ground. I grabbed my pulsating cock and squeezed a few, final spurts onto her body.
"Don't worry, I'll find your husband, let him know his slut is still very fuckable."
I liked her, or her holes, either way I decided to help and look for clues, but not without moving around with my dick in hand, spurting my cum on their things, letting them know this was my fuckhouse. Tivela could only watch as I marked their home as my own. After all that fucking though, I had to take a piss. Finding my way around the manor I found the basement. Imperials usually kept their privvies down there, did Elves too? Instead I found what had been Rythe's painting room. I shrugged and dangled out my cock, taking a piss into the can of turpentine that lay beside a really nice painting.
Before I had knew it, I was _ in _ the painting. To this day I swear it was the volitale mixture of my piss and the turpentine that caused my head to go, yet there I had been! Inside the damn painting!! I eventually found that limp-wristed Rythe. No wonder his wife was such an easy fuck. It was a pain in my ass, or Rythe, after all, I was not going to help him for free.
In the end we returned from that turpentine induced mind-fuck. I did not worry about having to stay in the Newland's Lodge. My dear fucktoys, Rythe and Tivela offered me lodging, so kind of them, all considering the both of them hadn't the balls to tell the other they had an affair, with me.