Journal of the One-Eyed Dragon Entry 9
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 negligence, and other dark themes. I do not own Oblivion and make no money off of this. This is purely fanmade and for personal enjoyment, 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 9
I always found that taking a woman, or man, from behind was imperative for relieving stress. Whatever Sir Mazoga saw herself as, she was a great fuck to me. Within the confines of White Stallion Lodge I teach her what her, hos, commanding officer expects in his knights. Of course I expect me in them. After training outside for about an hour my loins felt the need for release. It was easy enough to convince that slow-witted Orc that this was just another part of her training regimen.
She lowered herself to her hands and knees in front of the fireplace and I made quick work of the layers of armor. My slit became wet at the sight of her flexing holes, her body still tense from earlier. Gripping the leather straps that kept the rest of her armor pulled up on her hips I began to grind my wet slit against her well exposed split.
"Sir," she moaned. "A request came. The peop-- uh!" I loved hearing the sounds the brute made as the nub of my slowly erecting cock found her flesh.
I moved my hips up and down, painting the trail from her and to her vaginal lips, coating it in pre. Once she found words she continued to explain the dilemma. She explained of an man looking to kill some goblins out near Burma. I felt it was a far place, much finding comfort balls deep in Sir Mazoga here. She insisted it was their duty to aide those in need... but let her keep thinking that. We only had these roles so that Marius had easy access to his fuck and I had access to sir knight here.
But I figured I'd look into it.
Eventually I arrived at Harm's Folly, and what a shithole. Not even a Khajiit would rob the ramshackle hut. Inside I found a Breton named Corrick Northwode. Listening to his plight it seemed a bunch of goblins killed his wife and he wants revenge. I could get behind revenge, but right now all I wanted to do was get behind that Breton. It felt my slit throbbing. The long journey had left me alone with my hand.
I told him by hiring the White Stallions he had to pay. He said he hadn't much, but the stupid Breton though I meant coin! Ha! A fresh, young ass like that, widowed? He's mourned far too long. I told him not to worry and had him sign our contract of work, telling him to not worry of the formality or coin. I assured him it was cheap....
It was an easy enough task. Fine the fucks, fuck them up, get a fuck. The sort of job I could really get used to having. But when I arrived at the mine they made their nest I sound these greedy little bastards had quite the pasttime. I heard grunting and slapping sounds from around the corner. Fully expecting the crazed barbarians to be beating each other up or some other crazed ritual, I was surprised to find what I did.
The little dungeon crawlers often kept pet skeevers for what I could assume was like cattle or some shit. What I did find is that the diligent shepherds got bored. Outside one of their pens was a lower ranked goblin, his cloth pulled aside to allow his cock free. The wrinkly fold of dark green-grey flesh was plunged inside one of the half-dead skeever listlessly dangling in his greedy fingers, and by its conclave skull I could say it did not struggle because it found the goblin appetizing.
The goblin grunted and screeched as it humps into the addled rat. Its slime covered cock easily slid in and out of the semi-conscious rat's hole. In all his gusto the shepherd boy failed to notice me coming from behind til I had his face buried in the stone. It hadn't helped I was weeks without Mazoga's sweaty backside, but that damn Breton had turned me on as well.
Without a thought I plunged into the goblin's ass. He could hardly scream with his mouth full of dirt, but he didn't need to because it seems I supplimented his own need and caused him to cum in the skeever so hard it slid off his dick. My own black, hard member twitches as it released inside the beast. It was a nice, quick fuck, but my goal was killing them and their shaman, but if my experience with Ogres taught me anything: everyone liked a good rut.
The snaggletoothed shit followed me, calling his kin along the way to be serviced. Oh it was a slice of paradise. Goblin after goblin offered themselves. I can only guess what they did with Mrs. Northwode. The first goblin received a courteous mouth fuck while his inviting kin barreled his own floppy dick in his ass. We would encounter more goblins all of them, as I came to notice, were male.
All the more none realizing they could fuck each other in that precariously tight back door.
The final goblins was their shaman and leader. They were harder to convince, but it seems a little aggressive release brightened the mood of his troupe. By now the thought of fucking their leader had me as hard as a rock. I was hardly able to move in my greaves they were so tight.
The shaman raised his robes, showing me he was a male. It seemed their grand leader too was without concept of frotting. I pulled him close to my body, adjusting for out discrepancy in size by pulling the shaman into an embrace. When our cocks met I almost came there as his wrinkled shafts rubbed against my sensetive, textured dick. My claws gripped into his ass, his minions watching intently.
I ground into him, my slit dripping with moisture. I felt the goblin's untrimmed claws grab my hip as he became aware of the sensation. My hips ground harder until my dick all but crushed his smaller prick. It didn't take his minions long to engrossing themselves and wrestle for dominance among each other looking for a viable hole. One would think I brought religion to the savages the way their wailed and ducked along the hard ground.
I eventually let the shaman plunge into my ass with his tiny pecker. He ravenously shouted as he pounder me, hips meeting my ass as his wet, saggy balls hung heavy with semen it had likely not expelled since Corrick's wife. I was on my hands and knees, spread wide and rocked as the goblin shaman drove into mw. There was nothing like a good fuck, and as if to agree my ass hole tightened around the wrinkly sick as my balls sucked tight. I expelled a copious amount of cum on the ground as the shaman spilled into me.
It was safe to say I brought the good news to Corrick... and my bill.
Black, hard, and still rife with goblin cum.