FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Lamplight reflected on the tepid pools forming from the natural condensation of water. Above and below hung stalactites and stalagmites in the small tunnel, like ramparts. The rock, dark as charcoal and marred with pickaxes' dents, pressed from all sides despite the wooden girders planted regularly and buttressing the ceiling.

The air itself was cold but possessed a sulfuric taste invading delicate palates at every breath. That place...

That mine should have been closed decades ago. The iron seam had been depleted, exhausted until the nearby town lost its revenue. Those days, the small community was nothing but a vague remembrance stated by the few walls standing instead of the rich houses... It was in one of them, inside a cave, he had stowed away most of his possessions after a quick scouting.

Whether he failed or not, he didn't want anyone to land their hands on his pricey equipment nor the accumulated materials, not even his potions he usually kept around "Just in case," never to use them.

So... It was why he felt the cold air brush his scales, carrying some other scents: Refuse, cooked pork, cheap mead, spoiled vegetables. In honesty, it wasn't the worst scent he had smelled over the years.

Nonetheless, he felt the thrill.

That place should have been abandoned until the structure would collapse onto itself. Only for Falkreath to notice the presence of bandits in its surroundings... And for him to arrive, to notice the renewed beams, and to push his investigation further.

Without all his enchantment and their boons to muffle his movements or make his presence less remarkable, he had to care for his steps. On his first way, he had removed, undone, or loosened traps just enough for him to pass through once more.

But he still had to look for the pressure plates, the snares, or even the water pools, lest he would awake the mine's inhabitants.

But this long progress, hunched, and avoiding the grimy walls, gave him much time to ponder. This place had no resources and was relatively far from any road or big city. It would be difficult to gain any gold for a group of five men as he saw...

At most, they were bandits fleeing from another group. Or they were probably former workers who had turned to crime to get by. Men who forsake their families, security, identities, so not to be a burden or live on their own.

It was almost a shame he had been sent there to stop their activities: precisely the assaults on merchants' convoys crossing the Jeralt mountains.

On his right, a tunnel extended over a few meters before it abruptly ended on a collapsed wall. The left was barely better, but those bandits had been working to remove the rock and potentially expand... Good, they had real projects. He could nudge them in the direction right away, but he refrained from thinking about it: excess was dangerous. Anything extravagant would jeopardize his idea.

And so he continued straight ahead until the ceiling inched away from his head. His feet met with a declivity, portent of a natural cavern.

And it was. From where he was, he could see all the criminals and then more.

At the center of the cavern, and probably the origin of it, ran a small rivulet from left to right while bringing its misty and fresh presence. On each side stood banks, marked by the declivity but also separating the cavern in two purposes. To the closest side, on the left, remained a sort of exposed storeroom: multiple shelves covered with greens, meat, caskets of different alcohols. And above it was a small opening revealing the waning moonlight cut through by a cord passing past the egress: a clever way to not spend all day hauling their ill-gotten gains.

On the opposite, his right, stood a camp on a stone platform. A fire had been lit, and the shadows expanded from it, drawn by the illuminated silhouettes of four people. Two in their bedrolls, one sitting, and the last afar and sharpening his blade with a whetstone. All men, gruff and of different origins... He had checked that and made certain they would fit what he sought.

But his prize was beyond the river. The opposite bank was smaller and narrower, it was near impossible to settle. Except for a wooden platform built and nearly overstepping the river without allowing the passage. Such construction could have been a foreman's cabin but for the wood looking too recent and clean... And spikes had been recently added along the low walls.

It was impossible to jump to reach the nailed planks without wounding oneself, leaving the sole option to follow a ramp settled on the other bank, which would expose him.

But it was no issue.

Despite the bonfire, the moonlight, and the lamps, the grotto remained barely lit up, and sneaking through was easy. The running water muffled his movement and the tingling from his golden bracelets; the meal erased his scent and the suave perfume he used.

None could have noticed him as he dipped a foot within the river and crossed in impunity. Behind, those awake were idly chatting and jesting with a somewhat light-hearted attitude. They were loud, perfect.

The next step was the ramp which he passed without any issues. Crouching and blessed as he was, he remained discreet in his approach. Until he was entirely out of view from the bandits and entered what was to be their chief's quarters. A makeshift room with a half-done roof, planks and covers used as walls.

The place was scarcely furbished: a large bed with beast skin spread on it, a table with gold and jewelry displayed on it, and one bow with many prepared arrows... One of those projectiles, still at its earliest stage, was on the table with the fletching missing.

As for the one who had worked on it, he slept like a baby and snored like an ogre while perfumed with the acrid scent of wine.

Contrary to the others, he wasn't a Redguard, a Breton, a Nord, or any kind of human hailing from here. The chief was an orc, bluntly. His face was stern, with furrows on his forehead and tense muscles from his scowl. His mouth was almost hidden in that tuft of unkempt hair he kept as a mountain-man beard, and his age was noticeable by his receding hairline. But he looked fierce even naked, if not donned by the bear fur covering him. And there was more that could matter.

An exhalation, a whisper came from the Argonian as he stretched, knowingly hidden from anyone.

He had a name before, but now, everyone used the same to describe him: The Dragonborn, the last of his kin.

The hero who saved Skyrim, who had dispatched any threat towards the Sun, Sovngard, and beyond. To everyone who heeded his sung tales, he was a hero: of might and muscles, his chiseled body adorned with silvery scales that darkened around his legs and arms when there weren't any strokes of scarred flesh. His face was cold, with blue paint passed over his cheeks that went along his blue-sky eyes. And whenever he scowled, it was to expose those serrated teeth that reaped apart a smilodon, as said the legend. His armor, meddle of magic and might, would endure any assault, whether Dragon or even Daedric Princes. Whereas his blade could cut through the thin veil separating the world.

All boasting from bards who enjoyed listening to their own voices. But none spoke of his whereabouts ever since peace befell Skyrim.

Or what he was doing now in that cavern with a small group of bandits he could dispatch in a snap.

... Especially as he sported nothing but a thin silky mauve loincloth, intertwined bands of a similar article over his lean belly and defined pecs, and that veil over his muzzle.

Even those golden bracelets around his ankle, wrists, biceps, or those piercings barely noticeable through the clothes, emphasized the incongruity of the situation. Passing a hand over his white and long feathers, then onto the diadem he wore, the Dragonborn sighed and stepped further.

"Let's see what you offer," he muttered with a thinly veiled smile on his face while leaning over the Orc's bed and pinching one pelt to peel it off from the man's naked body. The man's ashen green skin was deliciously covered with gray hair, and he even sported a beer gut that made the Argonian salivate... And swallow it back in a silent gulp when that gaze fell onto those pecs, the firm legs. And what he had been seeking all along.

"Perfect... perfect."

He muttered before putting back the pelt and stepping away. His desire, his envy, they were petulant and ceaselessly pushing him. To the point, he could feel the loincloth stir between his legs and some dampness form behind.

If the ebbing lust kept pushing, there was little chance he could salvage that attire for later. Therefore, the Dragonborn had to act. From the pouch he had been keeping all that time, he pulled vials to display on the table. A number that would surely not fit in that bag before the Argonian threw it away into the river and returned to the prize with a raised hand.

To most, their Hero was known for his talent with a sword and shield or manipulating a fiery destructive magic. But only a handful knew about his dabbling in more unspoken arts: discretion, the brewing of potions and poisons, enchantment, or... Illusion.

The latter was, in truth, his specialty. Most mages thought illusion to be the act of substituting one's perception with a more fitting version, to erase their presence, or bend magic to create long-standing but feeble effects.

Nothing so simple for the Argonian as he weaved a spell on the instant. A self-perpetuating web of lies, as he peered within the Orc's mind.

Like expected, he had been a former archer who turned to killing when he couldn't repay his family's debts through hunting alone. He had been keen enough to target small convoys and not to kill more than necessary.

But that was then their tales would intertwine. Stronger than in reality, the Chief had subdued the Dragonborn and captured him. Before coaxing the hero into becoming hi-... Well.

A chuckle emanated from that reptilian face as the spell took root in the Orc and his vicinity. All that magic poured within that craft would leave the Argonian drained for hours, but he didn't mind.

That's what he wanted as he pulled on the final magical strings and closed his craft, furnishing the Orc's dreams with memories that weren't his... All for one purpose.

This time, the Dragonborn didn't control his chuckle as he circumvented the bed, sat on it, then lay... Wrapping a hand over the man's chest and stroking those muscles.

Beneath his touch, the Orc's pecs lifted and descended. The Bandit wasn't entirely out cold, and those caresses over the skin had an effect on the man. He mumbled, grumbled. His lips smacked while his filled tusks scrapped the beard a moment.

Then the Chief turned, the golden eyes opening halfway but not without that man plunging in.

Without asking his Slut, the Bandit plunged his tongue within the half-opened mouth and gave the Argonian a mouthful to choke on and swallow the wine-laden spit while suffering from his rough breath. But more than that, those hands used to archery, hunting, tanning, were onto that body. Their calloused touch roughed up the scales in the descent on the softened abs. But then, the Orc tugged the Dragonborn's loincloth away and placed a cold palm between the thighs... Much to the Slut's half-asleep whimpers.

"Stiffy? You are ingrate," scowled the Bandit, rolling further on his right shoulder, pressing his palms with more strength until the former Hero whined.

"I- am... Sorry," mumbled the Argonian with a high-pitched and slurring voice.

"Sorry, who?"

"Sorry... Daddy."

A chuckle came from the balding Orc, followed by another push against the Argonian's groin, feeling and sensing those churning testicles taut in that scaly scrotum or that humid prick press below the silk. The one he had stolen to cover that little whorish Dragonborn.

The same who kept nibbling at that scruffy beard to get a modicum of attention or whined while his precious but useless jewels were played with.

"That's fine, babe. Go fetch me..."

Instinctively, the Orc's eyes were on the table covered with his arrows and concoctions, the latter stolen from merchants or alchemists. Most being poisons. For the mind, the body, the manhood...

And their names instantly appeared in his mind. He had been looking for them for weeks. Looking for them and searching so... He could punish this slutty Argonian.

"Fetch me the purple vial, the white, and the green. And the syringe."

With that older, he smacked the Dragonborn's nuts raw, eliciting a whimpering cry from the former hero along with a spurt of precum in that loincloth. Of course, the Orc frowned at it, but it was expected as he began to stir from his position while glancing at the servile Argonian.

The first instant the Dragonborn had been disarmed and stripped of his armor, that Slut was fighting back to maintain that image of a tough nut to crack whose powers and shouts were not to be trifled with. But once that Argonian got a taste of a real man? That was like day and night! That pretty mouth couldn't stop begging and moaning for "Daddy" to fuck that throat. And it was endearing to hear that bed-warmer call him that way. It aroused his little soldier whenever he needed it. Like now.

And with a grumble, the former Hunter threw the pelt away only to see his cock. Charcoal with a tinge of green, ending in a bulbous glans with precum-slathered skin. Full erect, he reached the 10 inches, but he always saw the width as the best part: whores needed two hands to hold the base of his cock... And the smell, it was all natural.

Girls constantly criticized him on it when he tried to get one in bed... Though he had always been thoroughly cleaning himself that time... Though, tonight, he wasn't entirely clean, having a layer of sweat and grime covering his body. And running his hand against his pubes before sniffing it burnt his nostrils. But again, it was no issue.

"I have them, Daddy. What do I do with them?"

But that slutty Dragonborn? Oh, oh, he was addicted. In bed, if given a cock to suck, he was a true fiend who would aspire your soul through it.

The perfect way to wake up, anyone would say.

"Pass me the purple vial and the green one," he stated, extending his hand to get the two small flasks. They were of refined glass that could be sold at a high price. But it didn't matter for the Orc who uncorked the green and emptied it in one sip before throwing the vial away in a sound of smashing glass. He, then, took the second vial... And used his other hand to give his dick a little swagger.

"Come, Daddy has a treat for you," grinned the Bandit while showing his tusks in full. His eyes burned with envy and lust while he swayed that cock right and left, spraying some precum on his thighs but mostly hypnotizing the dim-witted Argonian.

"What is this?" the Whore asked, climbing on the bed on all four, carefully not stepping on the Orc's limbs on that ascent before pushing that muzzle between the thighs. Between them, just beneath that orcish mast, were two hairy testicles: two orbs covered by such a wild tuft of hair it was difficult to clean them but also to perceive them.

So, as soon as those dilated nostrils made contact with the pubes, the Argonian's eyes fluttered, and the mouth opened. Those legs trembled, likewise to the arms. And a warbling escaped from that drooling face after one inhalation. Once, twice, thrice.

Amused, the Chief stroked that Slut's face, allowing him... Her to get that high from the sweaty pubes and salivate on them. No, girls used to criticize him. But that good Babe wanted nothing more than his musky nuts to breathe on: that little spurt and that tremor in those hips couldn't lie. Nor that tail that swayed left and right while he stroked.

"Nothing that matters for the moment. But what's important is how you want to take your favorite orc treat today... You've been a needy girl, and I know how riled up you are," mocked the Orc while moving his right leg.

Uncaring if it would endanger the Dragonborn's precarious balance, he lifted a foot and bent his knees. Just enough to give a little nudge with his big toe on the Scalies' big and hefty nuts, feeling them heavy and surely about to explode. Something that had to be fixed, especially when the mere contact produced another spurt on his leg this time, and further whines.

The Argonian, however, seemed unable to answer correctly in the instant while inhaling that musk like an addict, trembling and shivering. The Dragonborn was giving in again and again to those terrible feelings. But it was natural. The Orc pushed against that forehead, but not without allowing the Slut to give those pubes a lick.

"So, what is it, Babe? Cunt or mouth?"

"Cu- Cunt," mumbled the Argonian while passing a hand over his... her covered chest. That face was flushed, but there were no colors due to the scales. However, it was visible with those lowered brows and slack jaw.

"Good choice, now move," he said... No, the Orc ordered as he passed his hands and arms behind his head. It was lazy of him, but it was this Slut who woke him up, and even if he was good to hand a treat, he never said he would do something.

"Are you- sure?"

"Yes. Move those fatty hips, I want to see that ass working."

The Argonian stirred from his... her position. From knees to ass then feet, the Orc followed the movement and straightened himself while observing his Whore moving delicately on the bed... That and his erected dick poking up against his beer gut. Damn, he had gained some weight... In a way, he should have been doing more effort. But his Babe liked it that way, having a big Daddy to teach her what was the Dragonborn's place.

The Orc chuckled, watching that muscular body crouch and squat over his lap.

In that position, the Dragonborn's hardened cocklet was noticed as the loincloth wrapped around the bulbous tip and formed a nice tent pulling the fabric away from those rounds and hefty testicles. Not as heavy as the Orc's testes, but heavy enough to press against the Bandit's stomach and make him scowl.

"Wh- What is it, Daddy?"

Asked the Slut, still descending those delicious hips until those glutes nestled the tip that prodded, teased, and played in between. Something that brought whimpers and gasps from the former Hero.

"Nothing Babe, just thinking. Keep going," encouraged the Orc while grasping those delicious and scaled hips with his bare hands, still keeping the vial against his palms as he forced his dick against the Argonian's pucker.

Not tight, always warm, always needy, not clenched. That was how he liked a cunt, and the Slut provided with that swollen pink rim that always winked at him. It shinned, looked lubricated, and ceaselessly begged him to empty into. The Dragonborn started as a cock-sucking Reptile, unworthy of being called a male. But now, the Argonian was a prime babe impaling herself on his dick and whimpering "Daddy" whenever that black dick tingled that tiny swollen spot inside and spread that rim thin.

"Hah... Daddy. I- It's so big," whimpered the Argonian in a falsetto, the voice kept so high it almost drilled the Orc's ears. But it was fine, he liked to hear that shrill tone. It was hotter than the natural low voice.

"Relax, and breathe. It'll be good."

"Hhh-... It... it hurts."

"Shhht, let it in... Relax," shushed the Bandit while pulling on those hips with more strength. Before him, he saw that scaled form shiver and tremble but not falter as those legs supported the weight and kept the Whore from falling... And impaling that ass onto the whole mast.

Those eyes, the Slut's blue eyes were humid and pained, that jaw clenched and tense, but the Dragonborn prevailed. Then nodded.

"Good, let Daddy help you," muttered the Orc as he grabbed the Argonian's head by one horn and raised his other arm. He hadn't washed after today's hunt and had been sweating buckets. His pits had been simmering with sweat and musk during all that time: Tuft of hair, slightly oily from the fluids coating them, were profusely sprouting from below the arm and offered their perfume. One that was strong, even to his nose.

His ex-wife would constantly torment him and say he had to clean himself or use more soap. She constantly nagged him about it but the Slut... Ah, she welcomed it.

Right when he shoved that scaled-muzzled against the tuft of hair, he sensed that tight pucker relax and open. It was worth the sensation of that muzzle poking his sensitive pits, cold as it was. More so when his Babe's hot breath brushed the air, followed closely by that tongue, soft and damp. Without an order, the tantalized Argonian working to clean that pit while it slurped those caked hair.

She whined of course, whenever the Bandit tugged on those hips further with one hand, but it didn't complain or stop huffing that pit.

The Dragonborn nuzzled, pushed, rubbed the nostrils against the hair while licking or even taking some in mouth. From the mind-numbing stench came whimpers and moans from the dumb Slut, drunk on the smell.

Her eyes were unfocused, rolling in their socket... Even the Orc's hand releasing those hips didn't elicit any reaction until he finally uncorked the last vial he had been holding in hand. And emptied it, drips by drips, below his arm, and onto the Argonian's muzzle.

"Drink up, slut. Don't waste a drop," playfully ordered the Orc, knowing he didn't need much to have the Argonian lick that liquid. No, she was already suckling his hair and swallowing any drops of sweat while slathering the liquid all over that cock-sucking muzzle. The cloying savour from the concoction didn't deter the Whore, even if it was easy to notice its taste. It was a rare poison, a liquid prepared in Morrowind. Mainly by the Dres and their remains, from what he knew, to deal with "Frustrating" slaves.

A perfect product for a slut like the Dragonborn, a bad girl who needed to be punished and taught her place. The same Slut who eagerly gulped the purple and sickly sweet liquid, even "munching" on the hair to get her dose. And finally, as the last drop from the vial passed through, the bandit threw the glass away and stroked that feather-covered head while pumping with his hips. He had only pushed his tip through the hole and felt the rim pressing against his glans and seizing it.

But he focused on his Babe, stroking and massaging that forehead with a thumb while whispering right into those earholes: "What do we say?"

Instantly, the Argonian raised those blue eyes with a dumbstruck expression, slowly focusing on the Orc. The jaw and mouth moved, those lips curled a bit, then gave up. Before the Dragonborn finally shook that pretty head without reaching any reasoning: "What?"

Instantly, the Chief's grip on that scaled head was firmer as he pushed once again that muzzle against those pits, forcing his babe to breathe that musk-addled air and slurp on that tuft before pulling out.

"What do we say?"

"... T-Thanks."

"Thanks, who?"

"Thanks, Daddy."

There, the Bandit grinned and released his grip to reach for the Argonian's hips and buttcheeks, cupping them. And pulled on it, forcing the poor Slut to no longer be impaled onto that full orcish mast. When that tight cunt finally loosened its dead vice onto the Bandit's cock, it released squelching sounds as precum poured from it... In such an amount, it was comparable to a flood.

One that kept coming and coming, viscous and greasy, reeking and sticking. It even caught with the Orc's nose, but its vessel yearned and squirmed, seemingly tantalized by the scent that slowly permeated the makeshift shack they were in.

And she whined, the Argonian whined while those diligent legs pushed too and forced those roundish hips to straighten until a pathetic mewl escaped that mouth. The reptilian muzzle wasn't between those thighs anymore. That face couldn't lie on that driving addiction. That Dragonborn was a musk slut, a mere whore who relished in real men's scents and could have never found anything pleasing among his kind. Yes... He needed to be controlled and live under the orc's heel. It was for his betterment.

To this thought, the Bandit grinned and lowered his second arm until he finally took those pits away from prying nostrils... Instead used that idle hand to massage the bitch's cheeks before extending his fingers.

"Pass me the white vial and the syringe," he gruffly ordered... Even going so far as to shake the hand to reinforce the idea.

The Argonian, however, looked at it with lowered brows and a slacking jaw, his fingers trembling... Then gulped. Pathetic.

"Give me the vial and the syringe, now!" shouted the Orc, no longer caring if his men heard him order the slut around. If they didn't, it was not an issue. If they did, well, it was to remember them they had to punish the Dragonborn for acting out.

This time, though, there was no need to punish. That muscular body twisted and bent, with that oblong face turned toward the rest of the bed while one arm extended to grab the two trinkets before offering them back to the bandits who swiped them. And released the Dragonborn's asscheeks, letting him sink back and... urf... Clench his tight cunt around that orcish dick. It massaged his shaft.

"Daddy... It- It'll hurt," mumbled the Slut with those eyes lowered onto the deft calloused hands.

With the right one, the orc had uncorked the small vial while he used the syringe, of dwemer facture, in the other to take in most of the liquid inside. But when that slut dared to complain, he stopped and shot her a cursory glance.

"Are you contesting me?"

"No- No! I wouldn't!"

"Good. Because you're taking double dose tonight," he grumbled while filling the whole syringe with that milky-white liquid and threw it away, another sound of glass smashing within that shack. Oh well, he would order that Slut to sweep around tomorrow.

For now, he worked on helping her embrace that life of submission and lust so deserved. The Dragonborn was not a fucking hero, just a bitch in heat who had been searching all her life for a real male.

But there was something on the way. And with a wide grin, the Orc approached his now-freed hand to the translucent loincloth and peeled it away to see what was beneath. A five-inches cock, erected with a gray skin covered with scales when it wasn't raw pink flesh at the tip. That organ was okayish, but nothing compared to some orcish meat or even most humans. It was a shame to compare that thing to a cock... Especially as it leaked just from being fucked in the ass like a whore.

That "Clit" was just a toy to mess with, much like those tiny grape-sized nuts the Argonian sported in a taut scrotum. Two things the bandit flicked while eliciting whines from the slutty lizard.

"D- Daddy," pleaded the Bitch with one word... Solely to be rewarded with another flick and, thus, more whines.

"Hold your clitty, I don't want it to move," growled the Orc when he approached the syringe from the organ. In return, he felt the Slut clenching her asscheeks and that rim around his dick, turning their embrace into that firm grip that massaged and squeezed his orchood...

And if she desired that treatment and would give out more afterward; the Bandit shivered at the thought and felt a pang of satisfaction in his groin before he focused on the Dragonborn, wiping the saliva off his beard.

Those clawed and scaled hands were delicate in their work, so much so when it came to pleasure. And as the Argonian clamped two fingers around that small cock to pull it down and face the Orc, he grinned. And then approached the wide tip of the dwemer contraption. This syringe was solely made for cleaning bowels, but its small end was perfect for another purpose.

Delighted, he pushed the syringe's shaft against the bulbous end, right into the swollen opening that was the Argonian's urethra. Compared to the whole cock, the tiny orifice was sizeable and adapted comfortably when the cold metal entered and widened it.

"D- Daddy... I'll be good. It- It burns me," whined the Slut. Only again to be shushed by the Orc.

"It's for your own good. It's a cure for your illness," whispered back the bandit with that suave but low voice. He didn't want to hear more whines than needed. And so, he kept shushing while the syringe shaft pushed inside and began to spread that urethra so wide it bulged through that tight flesh.

"Illness?"

"Yes," said the Orc as he stopped his fingers and used his other hand to reach for the Argonian's face, pulling it forward.

There, he forced a thump between those lips, stroked the front of the serrated teeth. That long tongue danced in the mouth, swirling and tempting, while saliva dripped from the corners. He watched it, then amassed spittle in the back of his throat to spit it in the Argonian's mouth... Letting her savor the aftertaste of cheap wine once again.

"You don't need it. You're a little bitch who's been hiding... And this will help you feel happier, shouldn't you thank me?"

"Th- Thank Daddy."

"Thanks, Daddy, for neutering me."

"Thanks... Daddy, for neutering me," repeated the Argonian with a whimper.

It was satisfying to hear that voice so gruff and authoritative being reduced to mewls and high-pitched whispers... Especially when such lewd words came and went. But yes. The Dragonborn didn't need this, and the Orc was doing a favor to the world by getting rid of such a weak bloodline.

And with a devious grin, he pushed on the plunger.

Beneath the thumb, the liquid and the contraption resisted the force. It was a matter of effort, of constant pressure as he watched the bulge within the Argonian's cock seemingly growing. Before the said Argonian passed an index over it to smoothen the passage of the liquid inside.

And broke into a cry of pain while shivers coursed through that body and made all those muscles contracts. Tendons tensed, limbs stopped, sphincter clenched... And that pretty mouth opened while air escaped those lungs in a squeal. Even those blue accusative eyes had closed.

The Bitch screamed loud and clear, but the Orc kept pushing on the plunger and provided more of that fluid. More, always more. A constant stream only halted and impeded by the Slut's inner contractions.

And one the Bandit forced again... And again... And again.

And... It stopped.

The plunger was entirely in; the Orc's thumb couldn't push further. And all the liquid had been ushered within the Slut's genitals, who, now, frothed at the mouth while barely keeping that composure. That jaw was slacked, those eyes clenched shut, and the sounds escaping her throat were like a whistle.

"D- Daddy," finally managed to say the poor Bitch, only to be silenced. And kissed on the muzzle.

"You did good, babe. Now, you'll be a good girl for me. And keep your thumb on the tip when I tell you so," ordered the Orc.

And there, he worked. The dwemer contraption had been made to be easily undone for reparation. Which made it perfect as the man pinched the tip of the syringe, just at the base of the shaft and above the Argonian's urethra while he turned the rest and unscrewed it. Turn by turn, the cylinder moved, trembled while eliciting more haunting sounds from the Slut, before the syringe came off. Save for the tube deeply inserted in that tiny cock that sealed it off... Except for the hole in the middle.

"Now, slut."

And following the order, the Argonian's thumb was on that urethra, covering it entirely and keeping it shut. Nothing could escape. Not even that white poison that surely burned and wreaked havoc inside, as seen from the ceaseless shivers that swept over the Slut without signs of an end.

It was painful, tremendous, but the Slut held her thumb. But the Bandit wasn't done yet, not entirely. He had given his sluts his treatments, two gifts. But the burly Orc was now feeling the effect of what he had drunk a moment ago, of that green vial. A fertility treatment, just an aphrodisiac for old lords, but whose capacity had been cranked up to eleven.

And due to this, he was now feeling it: the churn in his testicles, the heat permeating the scrotum, the sweat sticking to his skin, or the constant flow of fluids into the Argonian's cunt.

His cock was feeling about to explode without any given orgasm... And the Bandit knew it was the case. If he came, it was not to reach an orgasm, yet... It would not end here. Not now, as he returned his fingers to those plump asscheeks, dug into the Bitch's scales.

And he lifted it like it was nothing. In his powerful hands, the Argonian weighed nothing. It was easy to take him off his cock if he needed: from the base to the tip. But he didn't, not entirely. That hole, it was too good to pass ,and as he lifted the Slut up to the glans, felt it squeeze and clench around... He pulled her down.

He pulled the whole Dragonborn on his cock, felt his shaft hammer, and hit the inner walls while the constraining muscles tried to halt him, impede those thrusts.

"Daddy! My- Cock, it-! It burns!" cried the Argonian, throwing the head back. It was a primal cry, a plea borne from pain and suffering as tears streamed down those envious eyes... But despite this, despite the utter pain the Slut was feeling... The two scaled hands were working on those genitals and massaging them, squeezing those grape-sized nuts and weakly massaging that cock. An action fit for a needy man, not a whore.

And thus, the orc released the right asscheeks to smack those fingers away from the Argonian's nuts before he swatted the orbs, too, giving them no respite before returning to lifting and impaling the Bitch on his lap.

"Bad- Slut! Don't touch yourself!" roared the man which a clenched jaw as he, too, began to move his hips to assail the whimpering slut.

This wasn't love, wasn't care, wasn't... Anything he had done before with his wife or the whores. It was more cruel and cold, but something in him loved it. Especially as he felt that Bitch's cunt clench all the more around his cock and massage it. That bitch... She was literally milking his cock as her tail swayed right and left despite her complaints. If the Dragonborn was solely in pain, there would be no signs of satisfaction like before. And both knew it.

Both knew it as the Orc kept pumping his cock by using the Argonian like a toy, rubbing his cock against the velvety and moist inner walls, savoring the clenching rim tug on his glans. All the while, below the Dragonborn's belly, formed and etched the shape of his orchood. Despite the abdominal muscles, despite the fine layer of fat, despite the size of those guts, the Orc's shaft formed a noticeable bulge that stretched the skin until the veined form could be perceived.

Could be seen moving up and down, appearing and disappearing in a frantic rhythm driven by lust and desires. Something so primal and barbaric, it sounded like a pummeling from how those hefty nuts beat those cheeks red and blue despite the scales.

Sweat and precum dripped from those balls whenever the man released his grip half a second or pushed his hips deeper.

Above, the poor slut had turned into a mess whose scaled stoic face melted in pure abandon. Much like the Bandit, whose corrugated forehead and frowned brows went hand in hand with his clenched jaw.

The pace grew more intense, more untamed, more... More. More! MORE!

It would maim anyone inexperienced. It would kill a human if he continued. But that Slut deserved it, she wanted it all along. That's what she had always deserved to be fucked 'til her lights went out.

The Orc frothed at the mouth, goaded by the heightened cries whose notes began to escape his aged audition, with a mix of blood and saliva behind his lips. His eyes focused on that body, his fingers dug within the flesh until he felt his nails bite something soft... And pressed further.

His jaw rattled whenever he grunted and plunged his dick into the Slut's cunt, watching those useless balls clench and contract without being given release.

And he... He needed more! MORE!

Frenzy was taking him, devouring him, as he suddenly threw the Slut on the side, still on the mattress. His dark-green cock glistened as it pulled out from the ruined and swollen cunt, covered with precum and cum. But it didn't end there. It wouldn't. He moved on his knees, approaching the whimpering bitch lying sideways from behind to force her legs together. He pulled that tail, so he could see the dripping orifice from up close, see the winking asshole.

All before he plunged again inside, gripping the tail and the Argonian's left cheek as he pumped and groaned: "Don't you dare to... Remove your fingers!"

His voice was saturated with anger, with hatred, with rage. It was a husky order, lower than anything he had breathed... All right to the Argonian's earhole as he leaned over it and resumed his breeding. Yes, that hero, that guy who had been lucky all his life... He was just a stupid and sissy Argonian who needed to learn what her place was, her kin's place. He would train her, parade her, ruin her so no one could contest that fact.

She was his, his bitch, his whore, his!

Still frothing and breathing down the Dragonborn's neck, the Orc raised a hand and smacked that brutalized cheek once, twice, thrice, losing count at the dozen... And again, even as his palm too burned from the hit. And kept going, both with his hips and hand, no longer resisting the appeal of brutality.

"Who are you?!" he howled, his lips slightly bleeding.

"I-" SMACK! The sound resounded in the cavern, loud and clear, while interrupting the Argonian.

"WHO ARE YOU?!"

"Your bitch!"

"YOUR BITCH, WHO?"

"Your bitch, Daddy!"

The Orc grinned, looking down at his Whore as his movement slowed. His abdomen burned, so his thighs and calves. His lungs were nothing but smoke and ashes as he groaned, and suddenly bent. Bent over, buttressing himself with his elbows and wrists before a growl escaped him. And fluids followed, more fluids than he had been expecting to produce.

It burned the inside of his dick and urethra, like a bladder infection, but it also brought him satisfaction... It appeased that pressure he finally noticed in his groin. Made it vanish as cum kept pouring from his weakened thrusts.

Again, again, again. His hips plunged while he grunted into the Argonian's neck, his idle hand lowered itself to the Bitch's distended belly. Within it, he felt the cum churning and searing to the touch, a flooding ocean drowning every sound. If not those pathetic whimpers.

Her face was soft, ecstatic, with saliva dripping from that opened jaw... Even when the Orc placed a finger inside to tease that tongue and those teeth.

"Hrmphh... You like it... When Daddy breeds you good, right?" boasted the Bandit with those words that came naturally to him. He didn't have to think about it to know what to say to the Argonian weakly whimpering and nodding.

He would have laughed at that small sign if not for his spent and sore body... Or for the need to give a few more thrusts to feel entirely emptied. One, two. And he pulled out.

Just from there, the Orc grinned and sighed, as his glans was released, and cum began to pour from the gaped and weakened hole.

A flood of white liquid that would surely ruin the pelts...

The Bandit looked right, left, then back right. And then down onto the Argonian before he pulled on that tail once more, eliciting another cry, only to push the tip within that cunt and press. With both hands, he inserted most of the tail, centimeters by centimeters. Up until half of it was inside, making it bulge through the cumgut and compelling the Argonian to weak moans whenever the appendage tried to squeeze itself free.

"Keep it inside for the night, I want to wake seeing you and that gut, got it?" stated the Orc, though he got no real answers.

This time, he smacked the offered asscheek and stole another yelp from the sore Argonian trying to roll while answering with a coarse voice: "Yes- Daddy."

A pathetic answer, but enough for the Orc, for tonight.