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jfraser

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  1. Having no mods picked used to dump you on the doorstep to Whiterun with a message saying a group who was opposed to slavery bought and then frees you. I think that has changed but I don't remember what happens now. Going back in the time machine again, the original plan was to have a basic farm for those situations. You could escape by killing or seducing the guard. But it turned out I'm bad at making world spaces. XD
  2. Well... funny you should phrase it that way. XD See, originally having its own outcomes was *exactly* what SS was designed to do. I just turned out to be terrible at making those outcomes and stumbled onto the bridge idea quite accidentally. But you are quite right - SS is simply a bridge mod to other mods and, though he is welcome to do what he wants with it, I don't think Hex is going to change that.
  3. It's not an argument, it's discussion. please do - the more ties to SS++, the better. I'm certainly not trying to disparage you and I apologize if it came across that way.
  4. I suppose, if you're playing a run through where having your way with the normal prisoners is against the rules. XD To each their own, especially in modded Skyrim.
  5. Doesn't make much sense to me to buy a slave to put in prison. The collar idea is basically already done via DCL.
  6. I actually did start on a pre-auction training and inspection scene at one point. I couldn't get it to work so I ditched it.
  7. It's not as effective, it's true, but you could just talk to the slave guy at simple slavery once you get there and just kind of pretend the dialogue fits what happened to you a little better. The end result remains the same with only a slight glitch.
  8. Really? I don't know why one would affect the other. But I can never get this MCM to show up either.
  9. Missing or having an old version of Fuz is the problem 99% of the time on that issue. Triple check it.
  10. She was awoken by a roar that filled the air and made the ground vibrate. She gasped as pain lanced through her arms and shoulders. She struggled to put weight back on her legs, though they had their own share of complaints. The roar sounded again as the first tingling of feeling began to sweep over her limbs, and she twisted her head in every direction she could manage even as the refugees began to drag themselves from their tents. Soon the area was filling with muttering and cries of alarm. “Is it a sabretooth?” “A bear?” “I heard the dragons are back. Could…could it be…” This last thought was quickly put down with scoffing laughter, but the laughter stopped as a third roar filled the air, loud enough to momentarily deafen the entire group. After only the slightest of pauses, every head in the camp turned and looked at her. No. Not at her. They were looking behind her, in the direction of the lone building in the camp. The one that HE had entered the night before. And now… All the refugees clearly came to the same conclusion she had stepped in at the same time. There was a very sudden bustling as people began stooping and gathering what little they owned with haste but without a word. It was far too late. A slam of wood cracked on stone and another ROAR filled the air and at once HE was upon them. HE was naked and unarmed and it did not matter in the least. The refugees ran screaming and HE ran right after them. Not one made it further than the road before HIS giant fists caught them, smashing heads and breaking bones and tossing bodies like twigs high into the air. They landed with sickening thuds and lay still. It was over in moments, but a moment too late for a lone woman who happened to crest the rise of the road just as HE broke the last of the refugees over HIS giant knee (is was Slimy, she was secretly pleased to note). The woman froze in place for a moment, then yelled something about Stendarr and rushed forward with sword drawn. The woman gave HIM a fight, far more so than any of the soldiers from the day before (and certainly more than the hapless refugees) but she could tell that the warrior recognized the mismatch from the start and seemed almost resigned as HIS fist caught her temple. HE caught the body as it began to list and mumbled to it as HE carried it back to the camp. “I apologize. You did not deserve that. But I could not afford any witnesses.” HE laid the body with careful hands onto the ground near the spent fire, laying the sword on the warrior’s chest and then clasping the warrior’s hands over the hilts. HE rested his hand on the warrior’s for a moment, then stood and turned to her. She watched his eyes resume burning. “They try to tie me up and they treat MY property like this! I wish I had just knocked them out – they did not deserve an honorable death. I should have hung them like the spineless cowards they were.” She merely sagged with relief as HE picked up a rusty dagger and began to saw at her binds. After a moment, HE threw the knife away with a disgusted grunt (“They didn’t even sharpen their knives. They deserved to die.”) and simply ripped the ropes to shreds with quick tugs. The moment she was loose, her legs gave out and she collapsed to the ground with a pained grunt. A wave of panic raced through her and she struggled to get back up but a moment later she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. “No, do not try to stand. You need to rest.” She looked up with grateful tears in her eyes as HE squeezed HIS hands into fists again. “How dare they? I wish I could kill them all again.” Then, the last thing she expected – HE stopped and picked her up and cradled her in HIS arms as HE marched back toward the building. After a moment of stunned disbelief, she let her head fall onto his chest and couldn’t hold back a sigh. “Now, then. Let’s go visit Soril.” They banged through the door – though she noted that he twisted his body so her head would not hit the doorjamb – and entered a room that looked as though a tornado had passed through. Broken furniture and glass, blood and slumped bodies, it seemed as if not one inch of the house had escaped some form of scathing. He marched through without a care, stomping on whatever flotsam got in his way with his bare feet, until they reached a small room in the back. He shoved his way through the even narrower doorway into a bedroom, except the bed and all the other furniture was likewise strewn everywhere. He grunted and flipped the down mattress with a foot until it lay more or less flat on the ground, then bent and lay her onto it with nearly as much care as he had shown the warrior. “You have a few more moments to rest. Then I expect you to be able to walk.” He turned away without waiting for her nod of understanding, and she allowed herself to sink into the softness as her body slowly started to come back to life. He stepped only a couple of feet away and tossed aside a broken chair to reveal something Aithne had not noticed before – a woman, bound and gagged, staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes. Presumably this was Soril. He knelt and reached out, ignoring her flinch as he grabbed her hair and yanked her head up. He forcefully turned her head toward Aithne. “Look what your ‘guests,’ as you liked to call them, did to my property. MY. Property. That was at least a thousand septims worth of fucking they stole from me. Not only that, but they left her hanging by her arms for hours while they slept. Hours! Do you have any idea what kind of damage that might have done to her arms and shoulders? If she is crippled, she will be worthless, which means I’ll have lost not just a thousand septims, but many times that. She is MY PROPERTY!” Soril screamed through the gag and struggled, but he forced her head back toward him. “Don’t you look away. You keep your eyes right on mine. Now, here is what you are going to do. I know you have money hidden around here somewhere. You are going to show my where your secret stash is. No, don’t try looking sly. I know you didn’t trust them, no matter how much you pretended to care. You hid money somewhere, and if I do not have it in my possession in the next thirty seconds, you will begin to feel the kind of pain that your friends did to my properly.” He jabbed a thick finger into the woman’s dress right at her crotch as he finished, eliciting a pained muffled yelp. “Now. Point with your head.” Soril did so, jerking her head to the left with desperate staccato movements. He stood, lifting her with ease in one hand and holding her in front of him like some sort of divining rod. She jerked her head toward the door and he stepped out of the room. Aithne watched them go through hooded eyes before exhaustion swept her away. Next chapter Previous chapter Start at the beginning
  11. The Isle of Mara is specifically made for gay males. I have no idea how finished or stable it is. It worked well the last time I tested it, but that was a while ago.
  12. In the context of this mod, sanguine's debauchery can send you to male or female
  13. The sun had dipped partway into the distant horizon like a satisfied man in a bath when they arrived at what appeared to be a mine, except there were a number of ragged tents staked out around it. HE inquired and discovered it to be a makeshift refugee camp. “Just our luck,” HE muttered as she set up their own small camp on the outskirts, somewhat away from the refugees. “I had hoped to make some money tonight but these cowards don’t have a septim to split between them. Finish setting up and rest. We should be in Morthal tomorrow night. You’ll need your strength. I’m going to talk to whoever lives in the house up there.” She bowed her head in acquiescence, secretly relieved. She would do whatever HE asked, of course, without hesitation, but the smell wafting from the camp was…unpleasant, to say the least. She laid out HIS blanket as HE strolled away, then began to build the fire. HE hadn’t returned by the time the small meal was finished, so she ate her portion, covered HIS in a cloth near the banked fire to keep it warm, and curled up in a ball at the feet of HIS blanket. Cold and uncomfortable as the ground was, she was asleep in moments. She slept deeply and, after some measureless sleep time, she had a dream. This was, itself, unusual – she had not had a dream since…since sometime. Whenever her mind strayed to the thought while she was awake, the best she could conjure were vague memories of feeling certain that she had had dreams at some long lost point. But here one was, in the form of a light touch on her hip. She dreamed of a hand running along her thigh, then back up to her hip and then between her legs, pressing into her, gently at first, then with quickened force. This pressure woke her up, only to find that it had not been a dream after all – someone was pressed against her back, and she felt a hand slide further inside her. She bit back her instinct to cry out. Clearly HE had returned while she was sleeping and had decided to make use of HIS property. The thought made her relax, and she parted her thighs so HE could reach her more readily. It took only a couple more heartbeats for the fog of sleep to clear enough for her to realize something was wrong. First, it was the stench, as if a dozen unwashed bodies were gathered all around. She opened her eyes and cast her gaze about and discovered a dozen unwashed bodies were gathered all around. And the one pressed against her was far too narrow to be HIM. Too late, she realized that the refugees had decided they didn’t need money to make use of her. She opened her mouth to call out to HIM but a hand clamped over it. “No noise, now. We wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” Strong hands – not as strong as HIS, but strong enough – yanked her to her back and the greasy-haired form of her attacker blocked out the clear sky, one hand still over her mouth. The attacker leered at her as he licked his other hand and started rubbing at her entrance with enthusiastic gusto. “It won’t matter soon anyhow,” the attacker added. The hand finished its sloppy work and moved to her head, gripping her hair as her attacker adjusted to align to her. “Your master will make a fine slave himself.” A painful thrust buried the attacker’s cock inside her and she let out an involuntary but muffled yelp from under the rancid hand. “He’s in there getting drunk right now, but Soril made sure he got more than just ale.” Each word was punctuated by a jab. She had spent weeks or months with HIM in the cave, had endured the long night in Dawnstar and two other inns since, but somehow this one narrow slimy man was worse than any of that. The first tears she had felt since she could even remember began to dribble down her face as the pace quickened and slimy man stopped talking and started grunting instead. Moments later she felt the shudder and the hot spurt inside her but Slimy paused a moment more to leer into her face. “Guess that makes you ours as well, now don’t it? Finders keepers and all that. Things are finally looking up.” A slap across her face and Slimy finally lifted away, but she had no time or chance to move or call out or anything else – the others pounded like rabid wolves. It was worse, by far, than even Dawnstar had been. There were no breaks for water, no orderly queue. Just cocks jabbing at her from all angles. Her ass, her cunt, her mouth, her hands, her breasts, all of them felt filled without pause, leaving her to wonder at these men’s ability to bend their bodies around each other to reach her all at once. She might have been impressed, had she not been the center of their dubious attention. She did not struggle. Her training took over and she did her best to accommodate the flurry of cocks, sucking and swallowing putrid cum until she ran out of saliva, at which point she stopped swallowing and used one load to moisten the next cock. It did not take long for long stringy white strands to dribble down her chin to mix with the trampled ground to form a sort of think pasty mud. At the same time, she rubbed at everything that touched her hands, which sometimes meant more than one cock per hand, while simultaneously spreading her legs as far as she could to stretch her double openings as wide as possible, both to accommodate and to ease her pain as well as she could. Though it did not take long for the pain to become less, as more and more loads created a slick and protective coating. She sun was just beginning its reverse performance from the night before on the opposite end of the sky when the last finally grunted seed into her cunt. She collapsed to the ground, sucking in air as is she had just run a mile, only to feel hands on her again. She bit her tongue to keep from moaning as she tried to force her weary body back up. A pair of hands grabbed her by the hair and arm and forced the issue. A moment later, she found herself face to face with Slimy. “You’re ours now. Say it.” She licked her thick cum-encrusted tongue over her equally dry lips and croaked, “I’m yours now. Master.” “Good! Beast he may be, but he knows how to train slaves. Still, I’m not taking any chances. Come on.” Another yank got her to shaky feet and she stumbled along with the hand that still gripped her arm. They were just finishing a makeshift wooden X in the center of the camp, so Slimy gripped her arm and held her in place. Had she been asked, she would have said with complete honesty that she would not even think about running, but they did not ask and she did not speak. She knew her place. When the X was complete, she stepped forward without being compelled and placed her arms and legs against the wood, standing stoically as her wrists, ankles, thighs, and biceps here tied tight. When they were finished, Slimy ran his hands down her body, squeezing her nipples and fingering her sopping cunt as slowly drying cum began to thicken on her thighs, chest, face, and belly. When Slimy at last stepped away and she was left splayed but alone, she slumped as well as her bindings would allow. Her chin drooped to her chest, every inhale a sickening reminder of the night, and closed her eyes. Weariness fought a brief but ultimately victorious battle with protesting joints and she somehow fell into an uneasy slumber. Next chapter Previous chapter Start at the beginning
  14. depends on what you want. the most immersive feeling (imo) is with Slaves of Tamriel ++. If you want to play the actual game while enslaved, try Submissive Lola: the Resubmission
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