Animal Urges - Chapter XIX

Chapter XIX - The Cure

I felt ill, and I missed Vilja. I missed her banter, her healing; the light she provided deep underground and in murkiest night; her modest battle prowess; her funny accent and mispronunciations; her humour; even her cooking. I missed her complaints of sore feet; frequent demands to have a say in what we were doing and whence we travelled. How I longed to be able to massage her tiny feet just now; let her cook me something; lead us wherever she wanted to go; play-fight with her (even though I avoided it, like swimming and massaging her feet, because it was too erotic). But I had lost her.

All I knew about her home was that her family lived in Solstheim. Even so, although I had now explored its depth and breadth with Serana - completing several quests, including resolving the issue of my dragon blood heritage - I found no trace of her or her family; she seemed unknown there. Mayhap if I had known her family name...?

Further befouling my mood, Serana began to test my patience. If the insufferable vampiress was not complaining of the weather, she was raising dead bodies. Wolves and skeevers were disquieting enough, but humankind was rather something else; I found it more than unsettling, beyond eerie; it disturbed me greatly, even when she used former enemies thusly. The grain of wheat that burst the sack was when she raised an innocent miner, a victim of draugr in an archeological dig I had financed.

I skewered the zombie that had 'slain' the miner's corpse, which disintegrated into a pile of dust just as had the corpses we animated not long ago. "Stop it!" I snapped, whirling on my vampire companion. Still brandishing my dragonbone greatsword, sullied with draugr ichor, I wrenched it free, kicking the draugr off it. Sweat stung my eyes behind my new daedric helm (I needs must improve the lining's absorbency). I had meant to be threatening, but the perspiration slicking my palms and invading my eyes obliged me to stow my weapon after cursorily dragging it across the zombie carcass in a feeble attempt to clean it. The dry air of the crypt wrenched from me a succession of hacking coughs. I removed my helm and gauntlets, wiped at sweat ineffectually with an equally damp hand. I was exhausted; I refused to feed, as a vampire needs must, thus I was weakening.

"I told thee before, Shrelle: I am what I am, and I do what I do."

Despite lowered voices, our words resonated off the largely empty stone biers set regularly into the walls of the tomb, down through the dusty stone corridors.

I felt the barb; she was telling me I needed to feed - which she did, without compunction, upon enemy or 'innocent' alike. Yet, I would not poke my nose into that trap. "And I have asked you before: Must you raise innocent victims? Leave them alone!"

"Need I repeat myself once again? I am not thy thrall; do not speak to me as though I were. What is more, they are dead; they feel naught. And thou wert not so reluctant when lust was upon thee." The vampiress held my gaze, something to which I was no longer accustomed; I could intimidate most others with that stare.

I sagged against a wall. "Serana, this is no longer working out."

"If thou sayeth so."

"Methinks we must part ways." I found it difficult to say; I still felt something for the thousands-of-years-old, lonely undead woman. Was it merely lust? Yet, I was too sick and tired lately even for sex.

"If thou sayeth so," she reiterated, maddeningly.

"You will not seek a cure along with me?"

"Shrelle, we have discussed this. Speak not to me of it again."

I made up my mind. "Very well. When we are done here, I travel back to Fort Dawnguard to seek a cure for myself." I relented somewhat. "You are... welcome to accompany me till then, Serana. But if you choose not to accept it as well, then we must part ways."

"If thou sayeth so." Did I detect smugness, as though she did not believe me? She added, "Thou dost not wish to find your lady love as thou art."

My 'lady love'? Why would she say that, in quite that way? I found myself demanding to know what she meant.

The vampiress' red-orange eyes did not change whilst her tone became almost patronising, as though she instructed a simple child. "Thou wert once a werewolf; Vilja left thee because she could not abide thee thus." My innards twisted as Serana went on, "Believeth thee that she will be any more accepting of thy being a vampire? I endeavoured to tell thee this ere we came hence."

I did not answer, instead tried to swallow bile past an iron ingot lodged in my throat. I knew she was right; why was I here, now, like this? Perhaps it was just as well we had not found Vilja.

Withal, I yet felt my mind was not wholly my own; I knew, albeit subconsciously, that I was still obsessed with feeding and fucking, no different than when I had been a werewolf. Moreover, my guilt at being Dragonborn and yet a slayer of dragons - Vilja estimated some time ago that I must have despatched more than fifty - had begun to gnaw at me. I had added two to that number since arriving in Solstheim, and I now began to question whether I could follow through upon my presumed ultimate destiny if it meant slaying yet another dragon, even if he was 'evil'.

All this, added to my longing for Vilja, only exacerbated my illness. Thus, I do not remember the voyage back to Skyrim from Solstheim, or the trip to Fort Dawnguard from Winterhold harbour. Later, Serana told me that I spent the entire journey essentially unconscious below decks in our cabin and then in a hired carriage. Nor was I aware of the uproar I caused, arriving at Dawnguard in this condition; it was only much later I learned that Serana had come even closer to being killed than she had when she first arrived, for supposedly being responsible for my illness. However, as she reasoned, why would she bring me back to the fortress if she had been trying to keep me thus? She would have taken me to Castle Volkihar instead. Not to mention it was my own fault for refusing... sustenance.

Regardless, Florentius Baenius, Dawnguard's resident alchemist, tended me and brought me back to relative health, despite his inability to do anything about my primary affliction. Thus, although still sick, I asked Ingjard to accompany me to seek the cure and then find Vilja. I longed to invite Serana, but stubbornly clung to my threat to part ways with her, though she surely would be shunned, having chosen, somewhat inexplicably, to stay at Dawnguard instead of going home to Volkihar. So, I left with Ingjard, the only member of the Dawnguard who would have aught to do with me withal.

Setting out, I equivocated for a time as I considered calling upon Aela, and perhaps... But no.

Withal, I was unaware how much I owed Serana ere I left her by herself.

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On the road to whence I would find a remedy for my present condition, Ingjard and I met a band of itinerant khajiit merchants. Their mercenary guard, named Kharjo, told us of his Moon Amulet, stolen by bandits. We traced them to their hideout and recovered it, and the grateful Kharjo offered to accompany me. I was intrigued, as I had never seen a naked khajiit, either male or female.

By this time, I had learned to control myself and not fuck my mortal partners to death - though I had to admit that I was likely yet too weak to perform up to my 'usual' standard anyway. Serana and I had experimented with a few, including myself having 'sampled' Ingjard a time or two on this trip, despite my finding the rather slightly built, stern Nord not particularly appealing. However, I found mortal partners generally unfulfilling, as they simply could not keep pace; normally, I was just getting started as they spent themselves. Still, I was determined to try a khajiit for size, as it were...

That first night, Kharjo began to set up his own tent as Ingjard and I pitched ours.

"Kharjo," I interjected, "what are you doing?"

"Ehh...? I am zetting up my tent, my lady." The khajiit's low, buzzing accent milled 's' sounds into 'z'.

"We do not need two." I tried to infuse a promise into my tone. "Build a fire instead."

He hesitated only a moment, long striped tail switching, feline whiskers and ears waggling, as he no doubt contemplated the implications of sharing a tent with two human women. "Az you weesh, my lady."

"And you can dispose of the 'my lady' nonsense."

"Yez, my- Az you weesh."

Ingjard paused as well, eyed me, a rust-coloured eyebrow raised; turned back to her task. The stiff redhead had not been an enthusiastic lover, as I suspected she was either not attracted to me - perhaps not to women - else was simply afraid of me. Thus, I could not guess how she might feel about our new situation. We would find out anon.

Supper concluded, conversation waned with the remaining daylight. Gratefully, I removed my helmet without feeling as though my brains were cooking whilst my skin reddened and blistered. Ingjard idly poked the fire as I rose, pretending to yawn and stretch. "Well, I am for bed. Will anyone join me?" Of course, Ingjard would not be fooled, but I sensed our newest follower knew not yet what I was.

The tall Nord glanced up - not at me, but at Kharjo.

The khajiit was staring at me, yellow feline eyes glowing in the firelight. "I am... feeling a beet tired myzelf."

"Not too tired, I trust." Surely, he could not fail to catch my intent now, as, smiling, I held open the tent flap.

"Khajiit need only a catnap to rise again, ready for... anytheeng."

"You can nap later. You will need it. And I will see about getting you to rise."

He began, actually, to purr. Which brought Vilja abruptly to my lust-filled mind, recalling when she had once threatened a khajiit bandit with something like thrashing him so badly he would be unable to purr. With some difficulty, I thrust thoughts of her aside.

Ingjard, intriguingly, got up to follow him. I tied the flap open as I ducked in after them. Dusk calmed the chill breeze, yet Kharjo soon had two braziers glowing inside. (Instead of campfires, he tended to build bonfires on a scale befitting the festival of Fiery Night - doubtless because his race, originating in the warm, dry hills and plains of Elsewyr, found Skyrim perpetually cold.)

"Do you theenk... Could you close zee tent, please?"

"Do not fear," I responded, "I will warm you."

Purring, he began to remove his plain steel armour. The tent smelled of wet fur, though not unpleasantly (unlike 'wet dog'). Rather, the cool air was redolent with a spicy scent, the likes of which I had never encountered. Combined with the odours of sweat, the earth and grass upon which we encamped, the night's promise of snow, it was... potent. My ardour intensified.

Ingjard, staring moon-eyed at him as she knelt nearby on the furs in the confined space of the tent, emitted a small whimper as she began to fumble with her own scale hauberk. I felt rather affronted that she had never reacted to me thusly; however, I assisted her, then Kharjo. Enthrallingly, his torso emerged: arms and biceps well defined, stomach moderately rippled, narrow waist; a mottled pattern of brown-and-black striped fur; under-breeches still covering the main point of focus, which already tented promisingly.

I gestured to Ingjard. "Help him with those."

She knelt in front of him, unhesitatingly reaching to fumble with the draw to his breeks. Meanwhile, I pulled off the rest of my accoutrements, sat back to watch. As Ingjard jerked down his under-breeches, Kharjo's member sprang from its confinement like a triggered ballista. Curved toward the roof like a small mammoth tusk, his long cock was the only part of him that was not furry - or so I thought at first. Its stripes matched his tail, which whipped about. Though not quite prehensile, he seemed reasonably adept at tickling her with it, draping it over one shoulder, curling it back and forth across her naked back. The tall Nord giggled and moaned simultaneously as she grabbed for the shaft, began to stroke it two-handed. The head, pink rather than purplish as were most humans', disappeared in her yawning mouth as she thrust it in, greedily sucking and bobbing on it. Though unimpressed with her technique myself, the feline's purring intensified.

I waddled on my knees beside her, and began to stroke the soft hair covering the khajiit's legs and buttocks, the finer matting on his chest. I flicked and pinched his pinkish nipples, tongued my way from one to the other. Pushing him prone to the sleeping furs, I commenced licking him all over, as I imagined a cat might groom itself - or one another. The taste was of 'normal' sweat and the spice I yet could not identify. I licked his ears, cheeks and whiskers, almost lipless mouth, kissed him; he returned it as a cat might lap milk, tongue darting in and out instead of swirling, dueling my own. My tongue travelled over his sharp teeth, reminding me of Serana's. I shivered, suddenly needing that member to indulge my nipples as I pushed away thoughts of the arrogant vampiress.

Ingjard seemed almost frantic in her treatment of his shaft as I proffered him a swollen teat, then the other. He actually kneaded my breasts - thankfully, claws retracted - purring all the while as he licked and sucked; reached for my dripping sex, prodded, flicked, poked. Growling, I straddled his face. His whiskers tickled my thighs so that I snickered, abruptly gasping as his oral appendage darted at my nether lips, traced the outline, grazed my crevice. When it encountered my Sword of Dibella I shouted my pleasure, grabbed his head in both hands as if to thrust it inside me. It felt... exquisite, certainly unlike anything I had heretofore known. His tongue buzzed all over my aching cleft, darted, as would a hummingbird, probing, seeking my nectar. Abruptly he seized my swollen bud; I climaxed in a shudder, crying out as my trembling body arched, jerked. I half-stood to my knees, removing my over-sensitive sheath beyond reach of that talented tongue. I could not quite believe that he had brought me thus so quickly.

"Kharjo eez..." he began, licking whiskers shiny with my juices, "wet." The man-beast did not appear perturbed, though I had heard that khajiit did not bathe, as, resembling their wild and domestic cousins, they disliked water - at least immersion in it. Withal, also similar to their animal kin, they were otherwise fastidious about cleanliness, grooming themselves and - dependent upon the closeness of their relations - one another. Of course, what flowed from me was not water, and so Kharjo, purring continually, golden cat-eyes hooded, wiped a hand across his mouth, licked his fingers, combed my secretions from whiskers into furred jowls, over his ears. I do not know why I found the gesture profoundly erotic; astonishingly, I came again, though hardly touching him.

As Ingjard continued to work over his cock, I recovered enough to push her aside. "Let him lick you," I encouraged.

Ingjard, tongue travelling over her own garnet lips, complied, though not without a wistful glance at Kharjo's engorged member as she released it to me. Whimpering once more, she rose, squatted over his mouth, screeched as she experienced the same sensations from which I was still recuperating.

Turning my attention toward her former occupation, I was pleasurably surprised to find his long, curvy shaft covered with fine fur, save the pink head. Wrapping my hands around it, there was, to my delight, lots of room, although my hands were not small. I began masturbating him, moving both fists in the same direction, then working them apart and together again; it was a little awkward at first, due to his curvature, but I soon got into a rhythm. Starting slowly then rapidly, I changed pace and direction. His rumbles of pleasure emerged, almost muffled, from beneath the screaming Nord woman who writhed atop his head, thrashing as though he sought to toss her - perhaps in order that he might breathe, she determined to smother him.

A sudden huffing sound vented from the khajiit as I thrust his cock into my mouth, engulfed it as deeply as I could, pulled away, swallowed it once more. I sucked it, thrilling in the tickling sensation its fur imparted on my tongue and inside my mouth; smooth going in, it resisted as I withdrew, just as though a cat's pelt would resist, were it petted against the lie.

Ingjard caterwauled, her climaxes apparently following one upon the next as I continued to suck, dip up and down on the khajiit. Just as I anticipated getting that member down betwixt my other lips, Kharjo's whole body stiffened. He managed to thrust aside the other woman, whom had quieted somewhat and turned to observe as she rolled off him.

"Hunk-hunk-hunk," he voiced, in time with the sudden spurts of sweet cream exploding into my mouth. "Hunk-hunk-h-hunk-hunk," he repeated, a seemingly endless stream of ejaculate spraying as I backed off slightly. I let it pulse, aiming for my open mouth, uncaring than much missed, squirting across my cheeks, chin, an eye. Ingjard, panting, joined me, thrusting face and tongue forward to catch stray pearlescent gobbets, lapping them from my neck and cheek. I seized her head in both hands, pressed a fierce kiss upon her as my tongue fought for admittance; swapped the slightly spicy taste of Khajiit semen with the slender Nord. She squirmed, and eagerly accepted the shared gift.

I felt both pleased and, perversely, annoyed that he had cum already, as I was far from sated. "Oh no," I growled, "you do not get to nap yet." Purring contentedly, orgasm subsiding, the Khajiit's glowing yellow eyes were hooded. "You do not put away a stringed bow." I reached for his wilting member, soon had it to full attention with Ingjard's assistance. Climbing atop him, I stabbed myself with his cock. Gasping - its pronounced curve loaned another new sensation as it stimulated my inner parts whence none had gone before - I proceeded to ride him. Surprised yet again at the height of my arousal, soon another series of climaxes wracked me as he hammered his cock into me almost as fast as his tongue.

Ingjard bent to our conjoined parts, probed, sampled our commingled secretions. I fell back as, my juices streaming, he spurted yet again, as though he had not just moments before; the redhead slurped, clambered aboard as my convulsions waned and I slid aside. Moaning, she began to bounce on the poor Khajiit, another succession of screeches bursting from her as she frantically sought yet more climaxes. I crawled betwixt his furred legs, stroking along them and then up, fondling the woman's hips and flanks, groped around to her smallish breasts, then down again as I probed at their union with my tongue.

Since I lacked full stamina, they outpaced me. Yet, I was most impressed at how Kharjo kept up his end, as it were (might all Khajiits be that stalwart?) Withal, we spent ourselves long ere the dawnstar rose, but ere then I directed our finale, bidding the Khajiit fuck first the Nord woman atop the piled furs on her back, then me from behind, beast-style, Ingjard sprawled beneath my ever-eager tongue. I felt his last injection shoot deep inside me as I vaguely wondered what a half-human vampire half-khajiit baby would look like.

Continued in Chapter XX

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