For the Stormcloaks!
In times of war, some spies might get their information unconventionally.
Even in the middle of summer, Windhelm remained one of the snow-covered cities in Skyrim, if not the most. Something that never appeased the soul of the non-Nords within its walls. Whether you were an Argonian or Dark-elf, you lived with the constant sensation of cold creeping around.
Some never got accustomed to it, preferring to settle further south or even leave for another province… However, this was not the case for Yeletul.
Traveler, merchant, and mainly the owner of a small trade company located in Whiterun, the gray-scaled Argonian wasn't one to step foot in Wildhelm regularly. But it was clad with enough fur when he did. To the point, his heavy features were almost hidden away. Leather, fur, cotton, all formed layer after layer, protecting him and ensuring he wouldn't freeze as he crossed through the bridge leading to the city, while his eyes wandered left and right.
Refugees rushed to the hold's capital, dragging along their carts and bags as they searched for a place to hide during the civil war. But Yeletul wasn't one, and his following cohort proved it as he marched with his chin up, three nords tagging along to protect his cart.
“Ah, Windhelm. I missed the place," chuckled Yeletul, his golden eyes glancing at the massive door. In the same movement, he adjusted the leather hat covering his horns and the top of his head. He darted his gaze around, expectantly.
“They should be around soon."
“Who, Sir?" asked one of the workers, holding onto the horse reins as they stayed in the queue.
“Them." the elderly Argonian pointed at the two guards approaching with their hands on their blades. Clad in armor, yet with their arms exposed, those guys had their faces entirely hidden away. Although there was no point in guessing their identity.
“Good morning, sirs! I assume you are here for the inspection?" Yeletul asked, point-blank, with a mischievous grin on his face.
“Yes, Lizard. Declare what you are selling and what's in those carts," asked the guard on the right, holding a torch as if to fend off the cold wind.
They were going for the formalities, and Yeletul was all for it, carefully lifting his hat up enough to grab a stack of papers within its folds. Then, he offered them the slip.
“Steel, Iron, Wood, Hist sap, Columbine, and a few items listed on those stamped documents. I am sure you will find them adequate," almost whistled the Argonian, fidgeting on his feet while his tail swayed from one side to another, dragging along the tiny bags attached to it.
For a moment, the guards looked at the documents, seemingly deciphering the official stamp and the scribbles on them… But after a second thought, they turned to the workers.
“The cart can go, but we will need to discuss some details, Lizard," said the guard on the right, his posture shifting but his hand sliding away from the handle.
“Ah!" exclaimed Yeletul, raising a hand to his face with a dramatic expression as he turned to his workers. “Alas, you can go… Please, men. Go inside and unload the merchandise, as I told you. I must talk with the customs. It'll be all right," chuckled the old Argonian, advancing and passing an arm around the guards' shoulders.
-
“Delivery for Galmar Stone-Fist!" shouted a soldier, leading the way for the other four men carrying what looked to be a weapon crate. It was way past midnight, and at that hour, no delivery was expected in the Palace of the Kings. Yet the four well-armed men rushed across the corridors, pushing and forcing the servants to step aside. They had a mission, and whether the slumbering little hands liked it or not, they had to carry it out.
And by that, it meant carrying the box up and down the flights of stairs until those men landed by the right door. They knocked, didn't hear any words, and entered it while each nodded to who was inside. Galmar Stone-Fist.
Second-in-command after Ulfric Stormcloak, he had managed to rescue his King after the utter failure at Helgen. Yet, despite that victory, his army remained swamped near the imperial-controlled holds, making any progress a slug for the bearded and aging Nord.
A worry that forced the man to burn some midnight oil and right on time to see the crate land at his feet. He watched it, saw the perfectly fine crate decorated with the Stormcloak's coat of arms, then up towards the group of soldiers that were, by all accounts, loyal to the cause. It was no trap.
“What is this?" asked the Nord, his gauntleted arms crossed.
“Sir, Ice-Knife wanted to tell you he is tired of receiving your private mail at his doorstep and that he would like you to handle the content of that crate with due respect."
Galmar looked down, then raised an eyebrow as he heard a faint sound coming from the crate—a muffled chuckle that made him shake his head before he looked at the guards.
“Have you seen the content of the crate?"
“Yes… Most of the soldiers at the door have, Sir."
Another chuckle came from the box, leading Galmar to stomp on it. This elicited a groan as he kicked the wood.
“I'll handle it from now on. Tell Ice Knife I'll fix the situation. And he's welcome to discuss it further."
The guards gulped but stormed away… Leaving Galmar sighing as he closed the door behind them and returned to what was his office: a large room with a map in the middle, cabinets all around, more tables, even a few chairs… The place was scarce with comfort but enough for the pragmatic man he was.
“You couldn't stop yourself, could you?" he suddenly asked out loud, hearing another muffle from the crates followed by a grunt when he kicked the crate right by the map. Just… At the right spot. Right where he could put his feet up as he sat, watching then the displayed large map on the table. He had spread figurines here and there to define where the armies were and their supply lines. Something he had been watching over, ever since the civil war broke out.
“Since you decided to have your fun before working, like the beast you are… I will get my information now," commented the Nord, putting his heels on the wooden crate. “Is there something new for me?"
He waited, then heard one muffled groan. Quickly followed by another.
“Good. Does it concern the army?" asked Galmar.
Again, two muffles.
“Is this the southern front?"
One muffled cry.
“Then, the north-western front?"
Two. An affirmation that made the old Nord smile as he started to peel information after information out of the crate. Whenever it took too many times, he gave the box a good kick and instantly got some results as he slowly rearranged the lines. The Imperial army had backed out, planning to create a fake opening the troops would follow, only to be taken in a pincer move. Expected, but Galmar appreciated the information as it was dispensed, one groan after another.
His calloused fingers worked rapidly, and so did his mind as he considered the possibilities of what he could... what he would do. But then... as he spoke and asked more questions, on the verge of finalizing the demarcations... he heard nothing.
No more muffles, nothing.
“Are you awake?" he asked, giving the box another kick. Then, there came a cry and a moan—a long muffled moan even the wood couldn't restrain as the Nord's expression shifted.
Galmar had always considered himself an open-minded Nord, contrary to most people living in Windhelm. He didn't care much about the conventions or his kind's propensity to xenophobia. He was pragmatic, cold, merciless... but not without reasoning. Even then, he couldn't hide his disdain as he shifted his posture and brutally opened the crate, revealing its contents.
Yeletul, as the Argonian liked to call himself, was old, gray-scaled, and had a large body and arms befitting an old fighter with next to no muscles. He was fat, clearly, but not absurdly so. Closer to someone who had let himself go. For a simple reason. Back to the Nord, he watched the shaved horns with roundish gold tips; the cords passed all over the Argonian's body to keep his arms hidden behind his back and his legs as spread as possible. Galmar watched the plump breasts the Argonian possessed and the enormous golden ring passing through the erect dark nipples or even the dribbles of milk coming from them. He saw the round belly covered with blue ink to resemble the Stormcloak's coat of arms… And he saw the Argonian's dick dripping juices on that empty scrotum.
A mere result of the Argonian using his knees and legs to press his body further against the box's walls, forcing his twisted tail to bend further and… Slip into his hole, with many spurts as more cum oozed from that ruined orifice.
Then, Galmar looked at the Argonian's face. At the pack of dirty clothes stuffed in his mouth, surely a whole day of dirty underwear from the garrison… Or the blindfold passed around the lizard's head. It… Never stopped.
“You are a pervert," commented the Nord as he suddenly yanked the blindfold away. The golden eyes opened immediately and focused on the ceiling above, then at Galmar before that mouth tried to contort with a smile… Something that didn't go so well when the Nord's swift hand grabbed the sweat and saliva-ridden clothes to remove them before he threw them aside.
“Hrgl… H-ello Galmar," gargled the Argonian, swallowing his saliva and nodding. “The information is correct, as I promised."
The Nord watched the gray lips split into a dumb grin completed by those closing lids…
“They were right. Until you started to masturbate like the beast you are," answered the Nord, watching how the Argonian tried to wiggle his legs and arms. But without the lid above to use as a support, the Lizard could no longer press his ass against the wall and use his tail.
“Can you judge me? I have been very pent-up on my way here," he answered with that same devious smile.
“And you exhausted the entire garrison," commented Galmar, glancing at the tightly packed underwears. At least a dozen formed a “neat" ball in the room's corner.
“I am a proud ally for the Stormcloak! I have to train their stamina and- Heh!"
Again, the Lizard wiggled as Galmar grabbed the Argonian by the cords. In the same fashion as usual, Ice Knife had bound Yeletul with those cords so he couldn't move… But also to have a firm grip the Nord could use as he lifted the slutty spy out of his box and watched him. Watched him grin, act silly, and even pull out his tongue.
That was always like that with Yeletul. The elderly Argonian was a mere spy… But his perversion and lust made him difficult to wrangle… And yet loyal. Even now, Galmar could see the cum encrusted on the scales, over that head and chest… That Lizard was a Nord addict, a stormcloak slut… And, therefore, the most trustworthy spy as long as he was properly dicked.
“You believe me, Galmar? I promise I am an upstanding Argonian citizen for the free Skyrim, and I shall abide by the ru-“
“Cut it out," grumbled Galmar as he sat… And threw the Argonian on his lap, watching how the slut wiggled and tried to move his arms. His fingers, whose claws had been removed, were useless if he desired to cut the cords. Yet, he still attempted.
“Hey, one Argonian can try. Please, can you release me? I've missed you so much, Galmar… I'm still your tight-cunted Lizard slut," moaned Yeletul, his eyes sunken and his mouth dropping as if he could sway the Nord's heart.
The Nord glanced back, his expression as cold as stone while he raised a hand… And he smacked that ass. From the get-go, the Argonian cried and extended his neck, his deeply settled tail wiggling without managing to slip away.
“Ouch! My ass!" cried Yeletul, his fingers trying to grab the cords. Yet, they straightened and gave up the moment that firm, calloused hand met those buns, once more.
“I got it! I got it!" cried the Argonian, smacked again.
And smacked.
And smacked.
The hand raised like a threat, the fair skin turning red from the contact. And it descended, creating a small gust before that hit resonated across the room. Despite the pain, the inured general lifted his fingers without uttering a word. He let the Argonian do the talking, pleading, and bargaining.
“I'll never bother you with that!"
“I'll be a good slut!"
“Galmar! I- I only want Nord dicks!"
“Please! I'll be yours, sir!"
The tone was more pleading by the second, not that it displeased the Nord, but he kept a straight face while his fingers wrought more pain on those soft scales. He watched the fingers contort and release their grip; he admired the stunned silence the Argonian had half a second after he screamed… And he watched those toes curl. In the end, he knew Yeletul loved it. Those cries weren't feigned… But what motivated them was lust, as proved by the damp precum covering his right thigh. That Argonian was enjoying it, and that tail up his ass must have been rubbing against the Slut's prostate.
Nonetheless, he raised his hand. The skin burned in the room's cold air, yet he smacked. He felt the scales compress under his strength and the slight shake from the disturbed cheek. It... pleased him to unleash all that pent-up frustration and anger on a willing victim, to feel the hoarse breath whenever he lowered his hand.
It had been long since he had fought on the terrain, too busy to protect his King or order the armies… But he could unleash it on that Argonian. And he felt blood rush to his body, to his groin, his heartbeat fastening.
“I promise! I'll be your good Slave!"
“Good," mouthed Galmar, halting his hand. He went down to rub the Argonian's thigh. Even from afar, he could feel the distant warmth emanating from the slut's abused cheeks as well as his palm.
He breathed, enjoying the moment as the heat dissipated and the prickling pain subsided. He breathed again, barely ignoring the Argonian's moans as he picked him up and put him back inside the crate.
“Keep quiet," he ordered, shutting up any contestation that might come from the slave as he started to undo his buckle.
Steel, hide, and leather formed a Stormcloak's armor. It was easily doffed if you knew how to, making it a breeze for Galmar to strip his top and skirt… His bracers remained, as did the Bear's pelt over his head. Two details he preferred to keep as he kicked his boots off and turned to the Argonian, who had been glancing at him with a smile—such a lustful, perverted, and deviant smile.
“You dirty Lizard," spat the human… Yet, he was as dirty as him.
His body proved it in the shape of his erect shaft, its broad and mushroom-shaped tip standing in the open while its veiny length pulsated along with his heightened heartbeat. Galmar was hung, not like those bearing a giant's blood, but close to. His hairy testicles were hanging heavily between his legs despite the room's chill temperature, swaying with each step as he returned to his seat… And picked up his package.
“Any words to say?" asked the Nord, gruff and rough, while he placed the Argonian on his lap. But this time, instead of laying Yeletul down, he had the slut facing him. Close enough to see the pointy teeth and to smell the nasty cumbreath the bitch possessed.
“Use me well, sir," was the encouragement Yeletul answered with.
“You have no shame," commented Galmar, his rough hand grasping the Argonian's broad tail and yanking it out despite the protestation. The slut cried, as expected, especially with his asshole sucking and nearly prolapsing… But he moaned, too, as semen poured from the gaping orifice right within the crate. There was so much semen; it was like a fountain.
The Argonian's belly, distended as it was, started to shrink and flatten while Yuletul held the posture with his neck high and chin raised.
A posture allowing Galmar to lean and breathe the faint perfume from the Slut's scales and to appreciate it. At least once. He appreciated it again, watching the scales tense and release the Argonian's sweet perfume, filling his nose.
“Flowers from Colovia?" dared Galmar to ask while he used his other hand to grip the Argonian's plump cheeks and to position them… Without any freedom left to Yeletul, it was all up to Galmar to adjust until his cockhead nestled between the cheeks.
“Summerset."
“Those prissy elves always have the best perfumes," grumbled the Nord as he pushed against the Argonian's chest, making him tilt and… Lower. He still had another hand behind, to ensure the Slut wouldn't fall… But at the same time, he knew Yeletul had extended his tail to press it against the table as a support, making it all easier to… Enjoy the moment.
Galmar breathed again, his raspy breath by the Argonian while his cockhead was embraced, stroked, and welcomed by the Argonian's orifice. After years of abuse, the orifice remained as tight and sultry as in its first days.
He sighed, feeling the tense muscles close up on his cockhead, tightly holding onto it. It was… Warm.
Warmer, so smooth, so soft. Galmar's voice was a mess of moans and groans as he continued inside. It was something; Yuletul was something else compared to the whores in town or those women whose hearts easily faltered for a soldier. But in comparison, the Argonian needed no preparation or foreplay. More than that, whether he thrust or not, the pleasure remained all the same and the sensation intense.
“You're always… So tight," grumbled the Nord, feeling more than half of his shaft slipping inside and yet feeling no resistance whatsoever. Nor displeasure.
After all, Yuletul was… A freak.
Other Nords had modified his body, but he bore those changes with an indecorous pride. What about his manhood? What about those blossoming curves? Or those tipped horns? The Argonian bore each mutilation and abuse like a token of pride, and his inked belly was another detail in the long list of abuse he had weathered at the hands of Stormcloak. But he returned for more… Addicted.
No different to Galmar when he returned inside that hole, breathing against the slut's neck and giving in to his carnal appetite.
He pushed, finally having most of his dick within the Argonian. He breathed, knowingly not moving and not daring to pull back now he had the pucker tightly holding onto his shaft. Finally, he passed a hand on the Argonian's backside and lifted it. He lifted the man's body, feeling and hearing the close pucker ooze cum all over the dick before he managed to lift him up to the cockhead…
Up until his cock was about to leave that ass… But it didn't.
The second after, Galmar lowered the Argonian onto his dick, impaling the slut onto it with many cries and moans. He watched the squirming Argonian extend his neck further and listened to that quickened heartbeat right against his lips.
He listened and yet lifted again, uncaring for the sensation Yuletul could experience when his oversized prostate was squeezed and crushed.
Galmar focused on himself.
He focused on the rubbing against his dickhead, the slight pull against the corona whenever he passed past the prostate. And yes, the tightening grip for half a second whenever he gave that ass a thrust. He closed his eyes, uncaring for the Slutt's movement. He felt the ridge within the ass, the artificial bumps pressing against his veiny length.
He embraced the sensation of the successive sphincters closing on his cockhead, each holding a portion of the sensitive part they rubbed and embraced before he departed.
“Your hole is… Perfect," grumbled Galmar, his voice lower by the second. He couldn't control his breath; he was heaving like a bull dragging a load. It was so unlike him, but the Argonian's cunt was a burden unlike any other. And he… Loved it.
“Hhh… Tighter, lizard," he ordered, feeling the heat at the base of his dick and his scrotum tightening. His orgasm was close by, only a pressure and caress away; he felt it.
It was like a beast you could see from afar, but attempting to run after it would merely spell a failure. Instead, he… ignored it. He passed his tongue over his lips, feeling them dry after heaving for so long.
He took another whiff of the floral perfume Yeletul wore today, and thrust again, impaling the Slut's ass on his dick and…
There was it, the tightness, the squeeze, those invisible hands holding onto his dick. By some miracle or some modifications, that ass was able to do so much. It was indecent. And it was perfect as he started to hump by embracing the Argonian's body. He humped, bouncing the slut on his lap with only a few movements. All the while, those sphincters had all closed and were attempting to retain or stop the movements.
The sole results were their intense touch, their overwhelming presence, and…
“RAHH!" the pleasure.
Galmar cried, muffling his cry within the slut's scale neck, leaving his breath within the folds while he came. His scrotum tightened, his prostate followed, and the warm hot cum poured into that cunt's depths reaches.
More than that, he felt how the Argonian kept attempting to please and squeeze his sensitive dick, as if to milk the last droplets out of that shaft.
“Tighter!" shouted the Nord, throwing his head back and letting go of a deep and bestial grunt while the orifice almost closed on his dick, almost crushed it. He exhaled, feeling his dick surrounded by the warm but drippy walls as well as the cum oozing onto his hairy balls. He… Exhaled. And closed his eyes for a moment.
“Sir. Uhmm… We have the reports from the Rift from yesterday. Where should I put them?" asked one soldier, his voice betraying his youth and his surprise at the strange situation.
“Let them in my office. I'll come to read them later. You can go," grumbled Galmar, passing a hand over his sore neck. After such a night, he was always sore and in pain.
And today's sauna barely helped.
“Wuun', more ice," he groaned, watching above.
“Please." Answered the interlocutor, his voice speaking higher than the slow suction from his side.
“Please?"
“Say please, and I might do that."
Galmar grumbled and looked down, watching Wuunferth scowl back at him. The grizzled and grumpy court mage and dabbling necromancer wasn't impressive once stripped of his garb and standing naked like the frail old man he was. Still, he was a powerful mage—and a good support.
“Please, Wuun'. More ice," answered Galmar, stretching back and passing a hand between his legs to grab the half-mast that was in there. He was merely at half-chub, but its impressive size forced the man to use his whole hand while he gave it a slow stroke. A slow, deliberate one while he observed the mage sigh… And raise his fingers.
One moment later, an ice spike appeared and shot from his finger to land right on the sauna's embers. Right after, a steam cloud formed and filled the room, almost blanketing both Nords in its embrace… As well as the naked Argonian between them.
“Thank you, Wuun. Our pet left me sore."
Pet wasn't an insult in that case. Or merely an off-handed remark the Argonian accepted with a swaying tail while showing off his creamed butthole. That lizard was a slut, and had managed to sneak out of Galmar's room in the morning only to return as round with cum as before. How did he manage to break out without ruining the state-of-the-art lock and naked?
Nonetheless, Galmar sighed, knowing the slut was entirely dedicated to them.
Even now, as it worked on Wuun's dick, sucking the old mage off while his deft and scalie fingers danced on the hairy scrotum. Yuletul was… Talented, that was certain, and the suction sound coming from that pretty mouth sure tempted the general.
Yet… He was giving himself a break. His hips were sore, so were his legs, and his balls would turn into mush if he slapped them against that ass once more.
“What an eager lizard today… Maybe we should let him live in the Palace. He'd be happier, and the wives would be less burdened," stated Wuun, his comment met with a swaying tail.
“He's way too useful, and his presence on the frontline is... appreciated," said Galmar, again with that swaying tail.
“You said you planned to use him as a messenger, before." Again, the tail swayed.
“No. To be a sleeper agent in solitude so he can be useful on the occasion." The tail stopped.
It stopped and stood up like a T. It was followed by the slurping noise stopping, and the Argonian's slobbering mouth retreated. Enough to leave Wuun's long dick a kiss on the tip.
“I have an idea… That might be useful for all of you," chuckled the Lizard with that sybilline attitude… More than that, he now used his hand to spread his cheeks, to expose that gaped cunt drooling with all that jizz from the soldiers.
“Oh… And who told you you could speak in our presence?" Wuun' retorted, arrogant as he grabbed the Argonian by the horns and kept his muzzle pressed against the smothering and hairy scrotum.
“Hhh… I am sorry, Master."
Galmar rolled his eyes, but he watched… And reclined, pressing his back against his seat while his hand lowered to touch his now-erect dick. Under the touch, the skin was still raw but bearable for him as he started to peel down the foreskin, unveiling the musky and broad tip while he watched the Argonian's gray fingers explore his own anal depths. Those digits pulled and tugged, forcing the hole to form a horizontal split that stopped the cum's flow… All the while, the darker rim stood exposed and… prepared.
Such hole was to be conquered and claimed, knew Galmar. He had ruined many a man, woman, and bitch until their orifices looked like this. But only Yeletul seemed to relish in that prospect as he kept tugging while suckling on the Mage's testicles.
“What next should we remove to you, Yeletul? Your teeth?"
Despite being a court mage, Wuunferth dabbled in sorceries considered dangerous or threatening to the people. One was the flesh shaping, redoing someone's body under the spell… Already had, the Argonian lost his pride, yet the mage seemed eager to take as much as the slut to give.
The Argonian answered with another kiss before Galmar's eyes, licking those sweaty balls until they were pristine.
“Good idea, Master," meekly answered the slut, his dripping limp dick proving his excitation as much as his relentless fingering.
“Are you planning to do that?" said Galmar, grimacing… And yet stroking. He was almost losing his erection from that talk. He didn't have the soul to torment or alter the Argonian any further… Yet, again, Wuun' scoffed.
“You don't get it. Yeletul wants to be a good servant for the Stormcloaks; nothing else matters to him. Right?"
The mage grabbed the Argonian's neck and lifted it, forcing the slut to look up… And as sultry as before… Yeletul grinned.
“For the Stormcloaks."
“Good. So… Tell me, pet. What was your idea?"
“Men! I got us a new contract!" boomed Yeletul as he entered the jammed room within the warehouse. The beds were empty, yet showed signs of usage, and most of the employees played cards when the Argonian entered the room, as covered with fur as before.
Yet, he smiled and started undoing his robes while the men set the cards aside to watch their boss.
“A new contract? We're already swamped, boss. We can't take a new route," grumbled one of the oldest members. A veteran and former Stormcloak soldier—well, they all were.
“It's not a new route!" chuckled Yeletul as he grinned, showing his silvery but flat teeth. His generous chest was exposed, and his belly started peering through, too.
“Then?"
“It's a consultancy! We'll remain around Windhelm and help improve their supply lines. It's not great?" chuckled Yeletul as he finally stripped, the only one in the room to have done so at the moment. His piercings, inks, and modifications were all exposed as he stretched and advanced towards the table… And sat right on one of the men's laps, right to feel the boner press against his winking and dripping asshole. That, as well as the fingers starting to rub and finger him.
Around him, people were cheering and chuckling as they knew what it meant… Less movement, increased pay, and more time spent in a warm home with their slutty boss around. The sole issue was the order since the Argonian had a limited number of holes… But it was a non-issue. Someone had won during Yeletul's absence and taken all the stakes… Which meant...
“Let's test your new teeth, hun'," whispered the Nord right by the Argonian's ears, making him shiver like the first time he had tasted a Nord dick… The first time he had truly felt an orgasm. And the first time he had proclaimed his love for the Stormcloaks.