Janus3003
Skyrim Marriage Counselor
The crisp morning air of the Reach swept through Ulfric’s golden hair as he surveyed the situation. The Forsworn, a band of savages living in old ruins outside of Markarth, held captive his housecarl, confidant, and closest friend, Galmar Stone-Fist. Galmar was tied fast to a pole, a pile of faggots at his feet, and a beautiful Forsworn woman ready to burn him alive.
Long ago, Ulfric Stormcloak had met the Forsworn in battle, and slew all of their men with his mighty blade and Galmar’s good Stone-Fist. Now all the fifty remaining Forsworn were women, each of them proud, fit, buxom, and clad in ragged furs. For savages, they were quite fetching.
The lead Forsworn stepped forward. “One more step, Stormcloak, and he dies! He will burn, and you will listen to his screams just as we listened to our mates’ and brothers’! And then you will die, too!”
She was tall, with wide thighs, a narrow waist, and an impressive bust that threatened to burst through the hide top straining to keep her breasts contained within its tight confines. They jiggled with every move she made.
Ulfric put his hands on his hips, nodding. There was only one way for him to rescue his most favored companion.
“Allow me to make restitution,” said Ulfric.
Their leader laughed. “And how do you propose to do that?”
“Your men failed to protect you from the strength of my arm and Galmar’s grand Stone-Fist. I can provide you with an army that will never fail you.”
“You intend to give us a contingent of your Stormcloak troops? They’ve been beaten before.”
“No,” said Ulfric. “I intend to give you my seed.”
The fifty Forsworn women gasped, several clutching their bosoms and moaning as their legs shook. One, who had been carrying a pot of water, cried out as she dropped it and drenched herself. She fell to her knees and cried, “Unh, I’m so wet!”
The Forsworn leader trembled, her face turning red as she fanned herself. She let out a soft moan and whimper.
“But how?” she asked. “You cannot possibly intend to stay until each one of us has begun her ovulation cycle!”
“I do not. Nevertheless, you shall find my essence quite potent. Regardless of your flows and seasons, I will bless you all with strong sons.”
More women swooned, breaking out in oily sweat. They cried, moaned, and tore at their furs, lips trembling in anticipation of what would happen next.
Ulfric removed all of his clothing, exposing his glory to all.
“Ulfric!” screamed Galmar as all fifty women piled on Ulfric. Ulfric set to planting his seed in fertile Forsworn soil. With the stamina of all the great warriors of Sovngarde did Ulfric rut the savage women, never ceasing his ministrations as they fell unconscious around him, overtaken by their own pleasure.
“By—OH!—by the Nine, I never knew—UNH!—how pitiful was my late husband!” said the Forsworn leader as she was Stormcloaked. “Alas, I am afraid you have ruined me forever, for I shall never know another man so great as you, Ulfric Stormcloak! OHHHHHH!” She screamed and fell unconscious.
Ulfric set her down and smiled at the unconscious bodies and their heaving bosoms. Every woman had a soft smile, a motherly glow, and a zygote. Even those previously barren would bear the fruit of Ulfric Stormcloak.
“That will do, fair ones,” said Ulfric. “That will do.”
Galmar looked down in awe at the naked majesty of Ulfric approaching him. The mighty Stormcloak broke Galmar’s bands, and the Stone-Fist swooned and fell into his arms.
“Galmar!” said Ulfric. “Why are you faint, oh friend of friends?”
“Oh, Ulfric,” said Galmar, “I feel so terribly weakened.”
Ulfric gasped, for Galmar had two small marks on his neck—the telltale sign of a vampire. Already, the beast’s unholy poison worked through Galmar’s veins, and could not be stopped unless…
“I will suck it, Galmar,” said Ulfric. “Prepare yourself.”
He placed his lips over Galmar’s holes and sucked harder than he had sucked before, for this was Galmar Stone-Fist, and he deserved all of Ulfric’s strength. Ulfric’s face turned purple as he sucked one long, mighty suck.
Galmar gasped and moaned as the poison exploded forth from his body, and he lay down to recuperate. Ulfric did not swallow. He spat the poison out on the stone floor.
“Who could have done such a thing?” asked Ulfric.
“Me!” It was Harkon, the Vampire Lord. He turned into his ultimate form, that of a giant, blue, winged demon. “Pitiful mortal, you have no arms or armor! How do you expect to defeat a vampire lord such as myself?”
“You are the foolish one, Harkon. I am armored with my bare skin, stretched over my powerful muscles gained from lifting the burdens of my people and slaying their enemies. I am armed with this very same body, and the fiery spirit within me!”
Ulfric lunged at Harkon, the vampire lord unable to do anything but stare in awe as this paragon of manhood bore down on him. Ulfric bit the vampire lord on the neck, his white teeth easily tearing through the vampire’s thick flesh, severing both vein and sinew. Harkon screamed and turned back into a human.
“No!” he said. “What have you done? I am mortal again! That makes me weak!”
“Wrong,” said Ulfric, wiping away the vampire’s essence, “you make yourself weak. I am but a man. I am but a mortal. Do you still think me weak?”
“You speak truly, Ulfric Stormcloak,” said Harkon, “and I see now that it is I who have failed myself and my family. I go now to my death. Please, find my wife and my daughter, and bless them with your posterity.”
Ulfric nodded. “It will be done. Be at peace, Lord Harkon.”
Harkon died, and Ulfric hung his head, paying respects to this fallen warrior. Galmar was saved and the Forsworn would repopulate, but was it worth the cost?
“Ulfric?”
Ulfric knew the woman’s voice. It was Elenwen, the Thalmor woman who had tortured him so long ago.
“Elenwen!” he said. “Why are you here?”
“I’m drawn to you, Ulfric Stormcloak!” she fell to her knees and cried, tearing at her black leather bodice. “Please! Do what you will with me, just send me not away! I will do anything for your forgiveness!”
Ulfric looked at her. He nodded solemnly.
And then they pursued procreative pleasures.
Long ago, Ulfric Stormcloak had met the Forsworn in battle, and slew all of their men with his mighty blade and Galmar’s good Stone-Fist. Now all the fifty remaining Forsworn were women, each of them proud, fit, buxom, and clad in ragged furs. For savages, they were quite fetching.
The lead Forsworn stepped forward. “One more step, Stormcloak, and he dies! He will burn, and you will listen to his screams just as we listened to our mates’ and brothers’! And then you will die, too!”
She was tall, with wide thighs, a narrow waist, and an impressive bust that threatened to burst through the hide top straining to keep her breasts contained within its tight confines. They jiggled with every move she made.
Ulfric put his hands on his hips, nodding. There was only one way for him to rescue his most favored companion.
“Allow me to make restitution,” said Ulfric.
Their leader laughed. “And how do you propose to do that?”
“Your men failed to protect you from the strength of my arm and Galmar’s grand Stone-Fist. I can provide you with an army that will never fail you.”
“You intend to give us a contingent of your Stormcloak troops? They’ve been beaten before.”
“No,” said Ulfric. “I intend to give you my seed.”
The fifty Forsworn women gasped, several clutching their bosoms and moaning as their legs shook. One, who had been carrying a pot of water, cried out as she dropped it and drenched herself. She fell to her knees and cried, “Unh, I’m so wet!”
The Forsworn leader trembled, her face turning red as she fanned herself. She let out a soft moan and whimper.
“But how?” she asked. “You cannot possibly intend to stay until each one of us has begun her ovulation cycle!”
“I do not. Nevertheless, you shall find my essence quite potent. Regardless of your flows and seasons, I will bless you all with strong sons.”
More women swooned, breaking out in oily sweat. They cried, moaned, and tore at their furs, lips trembling in anticipation of what would happen next.
Ulfric removed all of his clothing, exposing his glory to all.
“Ulfric!” screamed Galmar as all fifty women piled on Ulfric. Ulfric set to planting his seed in fertile Forsworn soil. With the stamina of all the great warriors of Sovngarde did Ulfric rut the savage women, never ceasing his ministrations as they fell unconscious around him, overtaken by their own pleasure.
“By—OH!—by the Nine, I never knew—UNH!—how pitiful was my late husband!” said the Forsworn leader as she was Stormcloaked. “Alas, I am afraid you have ruined me forever, for I shall never know another man so great as you, Ulfric Stormcloak! OHHHHHH!” She screamed and fell unconscious.
Ulfric set her down and smiled at the unconscious bodies and their heaving bosoms. Every woman had a soft smile, a motherly glow, and a zygote. Even those previously barren would bear the fruit of Ulfric Stormcloak.
“That will do, fair ones,” said Ulfric. “That will do.”
Galmar looked down in awe at the naked majesty of Ulfric approaching him. The mighty Stormcloak broke Galmar’s bands, and the Stone-Fist swooned and fell into his arms.
“Galmar!” said Ulfric. “Why are you faint, oh friend of friends?”
“Oh, Ulfric,” said Galmar, “I feel so terribly weakened.”
Ulfric gasped, for Galmar had two small marks on his neck—the telltale sign of a vampire. Already, the beast’s unholy poison worked through Galmar’s veins, and could not be stopped unless…
“I will suck it, Galmar,” said Ulfric. “Prepare yourself.”
He placed his lips over Galmar’s holes and sucked harder than he had sucked before, for this was Galmar Stone-Fist, and he deserved all of Ulfric’s strength. Ulfric’s face turned purple as he sucked one long, mighty suck.
Galmar gasped and moaned as the poison exploded forth from his body, and he lay down to recuperate. Ulfric did not swallow. He spat the poison out on the stone floor.
“Who could have done such a thing?” asked Ulfric.
“Me!” It was Harkon, the Vampire Lord. He turned into his ultimate form, that of a giant, blue, winged demon. “Pitiful mortal, you have no arms or armor! How do you expect to defeat a vampire lord such as myself?”
“You are the foolish one, Harkon. I am armored with my bare skin, stretched over my powerful muscles gained from lifting the burdens of my people and slaying their enemies. I am armed with this very same body, and the fiery spirit within me!”
Ulfric lunged at Harkon, the vampire lord unable to do anything but stare in awe as this paragon of manhood bore down on him. Ulfric bit the vampire lord on the neck, his white teeth easily tearing through the vampire’s thick flesh, severing both vein and sinew. Harkon screamed and turned back into a human.
“No!” he said. “What have you done? I am mortal again! That makes me weak!”
“Wrong,” said Ulfric, wiping away the vampire’s essence, “you make yourself weak. I am but a man. I am but a mortal. Do you still think me weak?”
“You speak truly, Ulfric Stormcloak,” said Harkon, “and I see now that it is I who have failed myself and my family. I go now to my death. Please, find my wife and my daughter, and bless them with your posterity.”
Ulfric nodded. “It will be done. Be at peace, Lord Harkon.”
Harkon died, and Ulfric hung his head, paying respects to this fallen warrior. Galmar was saved and the Forsworn would repopulate, but was it worth the cost?
“Ulfric?”
Ulfric knew the woman’s voice. It was Elenwen, the Thalmor woman who had tortured him so long ago.
“Elenwen!” he said. “Why are you here?”
“I’m drawn to you, Ulfric Stormcloak!” she fell to her knees and cried, tearing at her black leather bodice. “Please! Do what you will with me, just send me not away! I will do anything for your forgiveness!”
Ulfric looked at her. He nodded solemnly.
And then they pursued procreative pleasures.
