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Aela howled, lurched in climax, my own bursting once more as I was abruptly penetrated again, this time in my rear hole. I sought the woman’s lips with my own; tongues duelled, swirling the warm milky fluid about as the magnificent sensations washed over us and the first twin pulled out and shot another load all over us. My body gave a last spasm as I collapsed and rolled off her. XII Agony I was sick for a different reason. The ‘bandits’ Aela, Vilkas, Farkas, and I slaughtered last night did not appear to be such at all. As I surveyed the scene of the encampment – Vilja and Lydia no longer accompanied me on these ‘follow-up tasks’, whilst Aela and the twins had returned to Jorrvaskr – I could tell these were not bandits, nor any other kind of scoundrel. Although torn apart, they were still recognisable as orcs. Of course, this alone did not prove anything, but Skyrim bandit groups typically appeared of mixed races and sexes, and these all seemed to be male orcs. I did not know much about the tusked, green-skinned peoples of Skyrim – properly known as Orsimer – except that they were no better or worse, as a Big Boobs race, than any other, including the three distinct ethnic groups of elves: the dark elves or Dunmer; the wood elves or Bosmer; and the high elves, the Altmer. Although racial prejudices abounded, in my experience none were any more or less inclined to violence or criminality than another, including the racial subgroups of humans, such as my own Redguard, the native Nords, the Bretons, or the Imperials. In fact, it may be argued that, since the cat-like Khajiit and saurian Argonians were mistrusted in Skyrim, a disproportionate number were forced to the edges of society, whence ofttimes circumstance obliged one to do what was necessary to survive, thus earning their reputation. Yet, what came first, the mistrust or the behaviour? None of it was an excuse for banditry, however. Regardless, my hunch appeared confirmed, as a search of the remains and camp revealed nothing bbw of typical bandit loot; they had meat – most in the process of smoking and salting – furs, hunting bows, no heavy armour, and few other weapons but skinning knives. I buried what was left of them; I could not leave these innocents to scavengers. What little ‘loot’ I found I interred with the bodies; would that I knew who they were, so that I could somehow return it to families. Thus did my guilt instigate my meeting of Borgakh the Steel Heart. The nearest orc settlement I knew of was Mor Khazgur in The Reach, yet they had no knowledge of a hunting party, missing or otherwise. Borgakh is the daughter of their chief, Larak, and when we met in the bailey of their fort, she appeared to be taking out her frustrations on a training dummy. When I enquired as to her role in the tribe, she related how she would soon come of age, and hence be off to marry a chieftain in some distant Orsimer community. She did not seem enthusiastic about this future, saying something about feeling as though she were ‘in a cage’, and wishing to see ‘new places and people’, yet I do not believe it was this declaration that prompted me to invite her to accompany me. Hesitant at first, she finally agreed when I offered to pay her dowry and assured her that she would be free to return and marry when the time came. Aside from the aforementioned sudden remorse for orcs in general, I felt sorry for her, not being free to do as she pleased – although, who am I to question others’ customs and beliefs? Regardless, I needs must admit to lustful curiosity prompting me as well. Although generally considered ugly (to be kind) by almost everyone, to me, orcs were fascinating. I found myself enthralled with Borgakh’s looks: greenish-brown skin; pointed ears lying nearly flat against her head, which was close-shaven other than a broad strip of dark brown hair on top, plaited into a ponytail; deep-set green eyes surrounded by purplish-brown tattoos running cheek to jaw to throat, thus resembling twin rivulets of dried blood. Not to mention the tusks. Of course, I also confess my desire to see what was under her armour – which did not take long. If she was atypical of her race, then she was certainly not shy, as she often as not walked around nude in our camps, or perhaps wore aught but a pair of ragged trousers. She even liked to cook in the nude, which I thought was risky, considering how many important bits risked being splattered: For example, her full breasts, crowned with huge reddish-brown nipples akin to my own. Somewhat surprisingly, the chief’s daughter had little body hair, but she did have marvelous dark tufts growing in her underarms and betwixt her legs; I yearned to nuzzle and find what remained hidden down below. Otherwise, her body was wide-shouldered, broad-hipped, strong; if she was immature, I could not see where. She seemed innocent of sex, but perhaps this was only due to the dearth of males in our camp (Vilja had rejoined me, but Lydia stayed at Breezehome amateur to look after an orphaned child I had recently adopted), and she had no experience of women. She sighed loudly and stood on her amateur toes. She got up, and I thought she was going to leave, though I have no idea how she could, since her car isn’t there. My arousal got stronger, up to an AF factor of 6 or 7. I decided to switch the egg on and let me have number 3. Causing yet another Ouch from the fullest figured of the three. “You’re not so hairy, Harry.” I had an assgasm too daddy. With Big Boobs my other hand, bbw I pulled her lips open and put myself right into her entrance, then looked her questioningly in the eyes. My hand then moved steadily backwards and forwards, rolling the foreskin back and forth over the glans, until I felt his penis throb and begin to harden. “How about you Georgia? She takes it out of my mouth and says "Now treat it like a real dick, give it a blow-job, lick it" "But I have to go to the festival." Phil was shaking. Peace. John runs his hands up and down my body seemingly pleased with himself, he is sporting a huge erection but doing nothing with it……..”strange” I think to myself. Now tell me what you are.' [They should be able to protect your internal self very well. When she hugged me, the hugs seemed to be longer and somehow more intimate. She's got her tongue jammed so far inside of me. Just swirling around and... and... Megan shrugged and her stance lost confidence. Connie began to hunt around in the safe.