Daughter of Coldharbour

Tired and filthy from long days on the road, Serana's ceaseless pleading for a warm bed under a dry roof finally broke even the Dragonborn's iron resolve.

"Okay! Okay, fine. What about that place then, eh?"

"Four Shields Tavern? Who names these places, anyway?" she muttered. Joren fought to remind himself that, though undead, Serana was just as apt to tire of the road as he was - he bit back a rough reply and followed the Daughter of Coldharbour into the warm, dry inn sullenly.

"Two rooms, please," he heard her telling the innkeeper before he'd even swept his rain-soaked cloak off his shoulders at the door. "And something hot for my man here."

Her man. If only.

"Will you not dine too, my lady?" the innkeep enquired, obviously gambling at an honourific that suited Serana's fine crimson garb, dirty though it was. The poor woman couldn't possibly fathom how ridiculous the question was.

"Maybe later," she replied with a wry grin, careful not to peel her lips back too far. They couldn't afford a careless moment. "For now, I think I'll just retire to my room. Joren?"

With a groan, the Nord champion stumped forward and loosed his purse strings dutifully, hoping that the kettle of stew bubbling over the fire would at least taste half as good as it smelled.

True to her word, Serana disappeared to her room with nothing more than a hand on his shoulder as she passed him by to say 'goodnight'; the tired warrior knew that the touch was meant to tell him to get some sleep, and soon. He offered her something that was very nearly a smile in return, watching her mount the creaking stairs up to her room fondly. Five minutes by the fire and he'd already forgiven every annoying thing she'd said and done on the long walk from Riften.

Joren watched the log roar down to glowing embers deep into the night, drawing long drags of his ivory pipe until the warm hearth and belly full of stewed rabbit promised him the best sleep he'd ever known. With an effort, he dragged himself away from the warm hearth and up to his room.

"Shor's bones, Serana!"

Aside from the unnerving glow of her amber eyes, glinting in the night as they reflected the low light of the single candle on a nearby dresser, Serana's near nudity froze Joren's heart and stole his breath as surely as an ice wraith's bite.

"Oh come on now, you brute," she whispered, "close the door before someone walks by."

Joren did as she commanded without hesitation, wondering if she'd bewitched him into compliance. Surely he wouldn't wonder about such a thing if she actually had bewitched him. He decided that he'd obeyed because he'd wanted to.

Serana's hair, ordinarily brained to band her tresses back from her face, fell loosely now to her shoulder. The skirts of her outfit lay in a heap in the corner, baring the woman's shockingly strong legs, and more, in all their pale power, but for the high gartered stockings that hiked past her knees. Joren dropped his rucksack and kit to the floor with a dull thud and began unclasping his armor's buckles in slack-jawed awe.

"That's it," Serana murmured, baring a sharp incisor to gnaw at her lip. She knew well that the man had developed an unslakable desire for her, and was growing tired of pretending that centuries without the touch of another soul hadn't left her incurably needy. Joren's heavy steel breastplate fell to the floor in a clattering heap. "Yes," she moaned. The man was built like the greatest of his forbearers had been: broad, strong, and powerfully muscled across the chest and shoulders.

"Now what?" he asked.

She grinned devilishly, flicking at the delicate catches of her corset so that it joined his heavy plate on the floor.

"Your tunic," she commanded.

Joren complied, exhaling audibly as she wrenched at the neckline of her own blouse to expose herself to him equally; no corset he'd ever contended with had ever managed to hide so much so well - pale, heavy, and pleasantly freckled, Joren wondered for the hundredth time if Serana might have some Nord blood in her after all, as her tits suggested she might.

"Your pants," she said breathily, urging Joren to lose them at once. "Will you lay down?"

He would, and did.

Serana wasted no time in mounting the Nord hero, swinging herself to straddle his hips effortlessly; he'd never let her complain about being tired of walking again if this was what she looked like after weeks on the road.

"By the Nine," she moaned, taking his swollen cock in her cold hands, "or Eight. Whatever it is now." Joren smiled up at her and reached out a hand to caress her naked form.

Faster than thought, Joren's neck was encircled by a thin cord of dark leather that Serana had seemingly hidden somewhere within reach; the vampiric vision had slid herself down onto him and leaned back as she did so, out of reach, all while hauling on the lead around his neck.

"No no," she cooed as Joren struggled to gurgle a protesting reply. "Just...just let me have this."

With her feet tucked up under his armpits, Serana moved with the languid grace of a woman purpose-built for riding cocks. Centuries of experience revealed themselves in her every bumping, grinding squat while the choking collar around Joren's neck was always kept *just* tight enough to make his vision swim.

"Fuck, I needed this," Serana said with a playful smile. She knew the behemoth she'd impaled herself on could very likely give her a run for her Septims if he wanted to, but assured herself that his docility was entirely willful. She watched, enraptured, at the clenching set of his square jaw while she rode, desiring nothing more than to take them both to Oblivion and back tonight if it was the last thing she did.

Serana abused the weary man's fat pole wantonly, greedily gorging herself on him until her face began to flush in a way that shouldn't have been possible for one of her kind.

"With me...this time..." she panted heavily, "I need you...to give it to me..."

Joren nodded grimly, relieved to know that she'd let him find the release he'd come to need with a mighty desperation. She slammed herself down onto him powerfully, slapping her meaty buttocks against his thighs with her pointed teeth bared in rictus carnality, moaning like a horker in heat as she demanded his seed loudly.

"Cum...for me! Now! Come...on! Give it to...ME!"

Serana pitched forward with a wracking convulsion, letting the tight lead slacken enough the allow Joren to cry out as he flooded himself into her; pent up as he was, he carelessly spat a brief, but powerful, curse in the language of the Dovah, blasting a gust of wintery wind into the room's rafters. Serana cackled through her orgasm as the icy burst blew her hair back wildly around her. His hands grappled at her waist and forced her down onto him, ensuring that the last gushing spurts of his cum found a deep berth within her undead womb.

Flopping forward against Joren, Serana hummed a happy little noise against his sweaty, hairy chest while he caught his breath. Worried he might have let himself get carried away, he finally spoke after a long, breathless minute.

"Are you all right?"

"I will be. Just...give me a little time." She grinned into his chest and laid there, motionless, until sleep took her champion at last.