From the Diaries and Travel Logs of Siriel Glaivesong, Siren of Silvenar. Bard, Rogue, Thief.

 

 

  My mother used to tell me that all men think with their dicks, that might actually be relevant later, but for now I think it affects women too. Because as I stalked through the streets of Bruma I found my brain deep in argument with my cunt. "You have more important things to be doing." My Head would try and explain. It was correct of course, I had a heist to plan, Count Carvains treasury vaults would be mine. And before I even attempted to pull that off I had to find a way across the mountains, an escape route into the North and out of reach of the city watch. The war in Skyrim had the Imperials locking the border down, I'd need to find another way past them. It didn't worry me too much, Imperials are fat and lazy and the mountains are vast, plenty of paths over them, plenty of paths under them. I just needed to locate one.

 

 

  My crotch meanwhile, was focused on the task at hand. I used to work with a lockbreaker by the name of Cassida Scribbonia, notable only because one of her anscestors was a famous author, Casta Scribbonia, responsible for "Woman Gone Wild" and other bawdry tales. Cassida had left me an object in a stash before she left to take up residence in the Imperial Prison. A simple thing, a shaft of carved and polished wood attatched to a brace of leather straps, she'd call it her "Lady's aid." It did it's job just fine, but I wanted something more, I wanted an enhancement to it, and for that I needed sorcery.

 

 

  No, not them. I need actual sorcery, the only magic the Synod ever pulled was hoodwinking the Elder council into giving them a charter. Back in Elen Root or Silvenar, there are tree-shapers, those who can give life to dead wood. But no such thing exists outside the Valenwood.The Witches of the Glenmoril Covens would be an option, but Bruma has no witches. What Bruma has is...

 

 

  Razzada the Resplendant. A Redguard, merchant, mage and complete charlatan. He knows his target audience, he knows Nords are not to bright and thus he uses flashy titles and long complicated words to empty their pockets and line his own. In another time he'd have been in the Garden's of Dareloth, fencing supplies for the Fox and selling bridges to tourists. Now though he was a pauper on the streets of Bruma, he needed coin and I needed his services. I discreetly explained my requirements and unsurprisingly learnt he did not know such an enchantment. Not wanting to loose out on the possibility of a sale though, he explained he had something just as good, a recipie for an oil, told me to brew it, wear Cassida's "lady aid" and then lubricate it with the mixture. Simple.

 

 

  Creating the mixture was easy enough, I have some skill with alchemy, mostly perfumes  and "Aphrodaisiacs" the occaisional poison, but not often, You can't make a profit of a corpse. What I needed was somewhere to test it. The Jeral View Inn. Not my rooms here, Dar'taqto has the habit of wandering in at the most inappropriate times. But the Jeral View boasted a bathhouse that saw no useage, most Nords don't seem to know what a bath is and don't care to unless they can beat each other other the head with it. A quick scan revealed it to be deserted as always, moment of truth then. Stripped out of my leathers and attatched Cassida's aid.

 

 

  Rubbed on the oil and waited for a reaction, nothing. Applied a more generous amount, working it into the wood, still nothing, I began to question Razzada's recipie and angrily emptied the entire bottle, tossing the vial aside, tapping my foot in frustration. Was about to clothe myself again and head back into the streets to find and throttle that Redguard conartist when it happened, the results were not what I was expecting.

 

 

  A tree-shaper or a witch would have simply given life to the inanimate wood, but this? A few tentative, suspicious prods confirmed that the oaken shaft had been transmuted entirely and perhaps more surprisingly, I felt each of those hesitant jabs. I curled my digits around it and peered down to inspect this new discovery, watching it slowly uncurl in my fingers, stiffen and stand to attention at the touch. A few tugs confirmed that it had not only completely melded with my crotch but it had complete feeling, sending pleasant sensations rushing up my spine to my brain, a brain that was suddenly silent and no longer arguing it's case. At some point I noticed those few tugs had turned into many, a constant rythmic massage, and I couldn't stop myself, the sensation was too good.

 

 

 

  Discovering you suddenly have a new organ is somewhat shocking, someone else discovering you have a new organ is embarassing. So when I heard the sound and looked up I could feel my cheeks flush red. Alammu Nethre, a Dunmeri noble that had taken rooms in the Jeral View, playing the damsel in distress all in a tizzy over a missing family heirloom. She was leaning against a post staring down at me with a devious smile, murmuring her approval whilst licking her lips. I simply pointed and tried to stammer an explanation. This wasn't what it looked like?

 

 

  Embarassment was being replaced with anger as I pushed to my feet. I didn't need to explain anything, she did, what in Oblivion was she doing there? Looking like a painted harlot bedecked in red jewels, had the present situation not had me flustered I'd probably already be plotting a way to seperate her from her rubies. As she stepped forwards I could see she was touching herself, hand between her legs, slender fingers rubbing against her dress. Her smile never left her face and her eyes never lifted from my crotch and I could feel the rush of blood to it as it lifted itself even further, liking the newfound attention, wanting it.

 

 

  Alammu didn't give any explanation, didn't bother with my stammered protests at her presence at all. She just strode forward, slinking out out of her dress, stepping out of it as it pooled around her feet and placed her hands on me. My own hands felt good, her's felt better, she knew just the right places to touch, when to tug, when to massage, exactly how to nudge and manipulate my new sacks for maximum pleasure. And if her fingers felt good, her lips were phenomenal, planting kisses along the shaft, tongue swirling as she worked her way up and down. I wasn't sure if my new length could mimic the real thing in all aspects, but it felt damned near ready to explode as Alammu wrapped her lips around it, taking it into her mouth and began to suck. The sensation was exquisite, made all the more so as she gurgled and gagged.

 

 

 

  "All men think with their pricks" my mother had said, honestly I think it more likely that theyr'e enslaved by their pricks. There was no choice when she finally released me from her lips and laid back, spreading her legs and dancing her fingers down to peel open her folds. I had no say in the matter, it was an invitation and my new organ intended to accept, no choice, only lust. I imagine this is how Imperials new to manhood feel when they loose their divine given innocence to their first tavern wench. Clumbsy, fumbling, she had to reach down and guide me into place and the first few thrusts were slow and hesitant. But once I'd found purchase in her crevice it was like I'd been there a thousand times before.

 

 

 

  The dissapointment when she pulled away, my member wasn't done yet, it had more to give and two sacks to empty. Was that it? Was she nothing more than a cocktease? She gave me an answer when she pushed me over, toppling me onto my back and clambering on top. Delicate fingers opening herself again as she squatted down, sliding herself onto an eagerly awaiting cock. Seems she was as hungry for more as I was as she began to bounce with a passion, gripping my legs for support as she slammed herself into me again and again, the sight of her backside jiggling in rythm causing me to harden even further.

 

 

 

  As Alammu's panting grew heavier and her movements slower I knew she'd spent what energy she had and it was my turn to push her off. She toppled forward throwing her hands out to stop her tumble, the perfect position to finish her. Pulling her legs appart to accomodate me I placed my hands against her hips for support and pressed into her once more. More urgency this time, my alchemy created ballsacks aching with the need to empty themselves as they slapped against her again and again. I could feel her trying to tighten herself around me but there could be no resistance and the dick plummed her dephs harder, faster, hungrier.

 

 

 

  Eventually neither of us could take much more. I broke first, letting out a feral howl, the sound mingling with her wail of pleasure as it rushed forward, exploding from the tip and gushing into her. Pulling away and falling onto my backside, speechless, breathless, panting. She simply collapsed in place, taking deep breaths, equally as exhausted. I went limp again and could feel the enchantment slowly dissipating, a numb feeling starting at the tip and pulsing towards my crotch as flesh became wood once more. Sitting there, staring at her raised backside and her fuckhole, her own juices leaking out and mingling with my alchemy infused seed as it ran down her thighs to pool at the floor. Two thoughts occured to me, first, I needed to find  that heirloom of hers and hope it would earn myself more of this filthy dunmeri whore. Second, I needed to distil more of this oil.