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The Wanderer in Whiterun
Author: Closet Fetishist

Written: April 26th, 2016

WRAHHHH! I shout as I plunge my sword into the creature. It stands, frozen at first, as if it doesn't comprehend the pain and impending death from its mortal wound. But then it falls as all four of its legs buckle and it descends to the ground in a clump of brown fur.

I roughly take a knife and skin the animal; slowly I carve around the meat and stuff what is usable in my pack. I get back to my feet and look up into the warm sunshine, I smile; so this is what it was like to be an adventurer. Quite different from my old peasant life but it was clear that life wasn't for me; and now, after my first kill, it feels right to be in the world, braving dangers for a small reward and so many happy faces.

I remember the faces, mine was one of the faces, beaming and cheering the unwavering adventurer who saved our village against a dragon; his armor glistening in the sunlight as he rode his elegant steed. He knew of war, he knew the glory of victory; he knew the love of all the village's women who threw themselves on him for his bravery in saving our lives.

I wanted to feel that; so I set out to become an adventurer of my own. In time, my flail frame will grow hard and rugged from the wilderness; my face and body showing the scars of my conflicts where I ultimately emerge victorious. A hero.

As continue my journey, with no particular place to go, I happen upon a town, much bigger than my village. I smile, my first interaction with other adventurers was imminent. I tried to think of what to expect; bustling marketplaces, people rushing to and fro. I could hardly wait; I saw the sign just outside the gates.

Whiterun, the sign read.

I adjusted my pack on my shoulder and marched forward to the gates where a guard let me pass through into the town.

It was much smaller than it looked from the outside, and quiet; it wasn't as bustling as I expected but I saw the shopkeepers, the blacksmith. They were busy at work and citizens mulled about but it wasn't the exciting image of a town I'd pictured.

At the end of the path, I could see a large building; it looked rather lively and warm.

The sign on the front read: The Bannered Mare

I wonder what's in there; a stable?

I tread the walk and enter to find a place like an inn, with large comfortable chairs, tables, a few people sit and drink. I had only been in one of these before, delivering a message to the innkeeper for my father when I was only eight. Perhaps it was there that my sense of adventure and danger began.

I start to walk to the counter when I feel my legs suddenly give out as I hit the floor with my face; a small chuckle emitted from the various but few patrons around. Had I merely slipped?

"Hey, wanderer; what are you doing here?"

I turn to confront the deep voice, it's an older woman in a full armor of darkened gray. Her face once perhaps was soft and unmarred but now she was weathered by both battle and age. And yet she still looked powerful, a tangible symbol before me of everything I admired and desired to be.

"I have no quarrel with you, warrior," I say.

"You may not, soft-gut, but I take issue with you."

Fearful, shaking on the ground, I stammer, "I...I do not wish to fight you, I seek to be an adventurer, a warrior like yourself."

She laughs, "Really, wanderer? You think you can be like me?"

The woman stares me down hard, piercing through me, seeing through me. She knew I was weak.

But I can't give up; I will be an adventurer, I will be the greatest warrior in all of Tamriel!

"Yes!" I proclaim proudly from the floor.

The warrior smirks, "Then rise, wanderer," she says, holding a hand out for me to lift myself back to my feet.

I dust myself off and stand before the woman, face to face though she was more than a few inches taller than me.

"I am Uthgerd the Unbroken," she smiles, it seems sweetly; perhaps it was all a game, a test of the new meat. Perhaps this is something I'd endure at every new town, playful locals.

She continues, "Would you like to hear a bit of Nord wisdom? You don't really know a woman until you've had a strong drink and a fistfight with her."

I look at her for a moment, a bit unsure what she meant; but when she laughed, I laughed with her.

"Let us start with the drink, then we can see how much of a warrior you can be," she says heartily as she slaps hard her hand against my back, it makes a tremendous sound as I stumble forward a bit but try to maintain my composure.

She orders a drink for both of us, such generosity I would have never expected. We talked and laughed at the table, mostly I heard her tales of great adventure and the time she attempted to join the Companions. What a remarkable life she'd had! And continues to have, her adventures seemed to show no end of stopping.

I envied her, what fun it must be to explore the world, thwarting both monsters and pure evil; telling tale of my adventures in the taverns with the locals huddled around, listening to my travels. I wanted that life.

"I think we are throughly ale'd, so it's come time to test you, warrior," she says, encouragingly. She stands and I do the same, "We shall wager 200 Septim on a fistfight between you and I."

I barely take the time to think about it, being thoroughly drunk, I had never had Argonian Ale before, "I accept!" I exclaim, charging forward towards her.

Uthgerd reels her arm back just a little, her hand in fist as she plunges it straight into my gut and I feel an overwhelming tinge of pain rush through my body from the epicenter at my stomach.

I fall back from the force of her punch and double over on the ground.

"Pathetic. You are truly a soft-gut; no warrior will you ever be," she says dismissively, she spits down near my near my head and then takes her seat. "I'll take the 200 coin and you can be on your way, wanderer; you've wasted enough of my time."

"I'm sorry and beg of your pardon, Uthgerd, but I have no money to give."

She slams down her drink, and stands; she towers over me, "So you had no intention to pay?"

"I did but..."

"With no coin, how could you?" She says as she reaches down and snatches my pack; she looks inside. "What is this? Deer skin and meat?" She pours my hunt onto the table and looks at it; "And this is wastefully trimmed, you know nothing of survival or the hunt, do you? And you wish to be a warrior?! You're merely a waste and have nothing of value to anyone." She pushes the meat off the table, spoiling it with dirt; the hide could be salvaged maybe.

"I...I..." I stammer on the ground, unable to speak.

"You will repay your debt," she says, harshly, "You will serve me today, perhaps tomorrow as well, do you understand? I shall call you my slave."

"I...I do not wish to be your slave, Uthgerd."

"If you refer to me, you will do so as Mistress, and you do not have a choice in the matter, slave, for you owe a debt to me. And I will collect that debt, many times over." She says, taking a long satisfying drink of ale and belching loudly.

She grabs me roughly from the ground and leads me outside.

I don't know what else I could do...I have nothing to offer and no one to turn to; it seems I have no choice but to be her slave. Hopefully it wouldn't be too bad.

Somewhere, some absurd bit of optimism thought that maybe this too was a test, just a friendly game to play with the new guy; but it seemed less and less like that every minute.

She leads me to a house, I presume it's hers; it's near a large tree with pink leaves. She shows me inside.

It's very simplistic inside, the house of a committed warrior, without ties or binds to keep her in any one place; she was a traveler. Yet her house was not sparse, it had all the amenities of a home. A ladder near the door would lead up to her bedroom.

I scan around the room as Uthgerd starts to remove her armor, first the chest piece which clatters onto the ground; underneath she wears a simple tunic, it's drenched with sweat. Her long hair flows more freely, unmolested by her armor; her beauty showed much more easily without her armor.

Then she removed her leg pieces, revealing her plain, soft underwear; it too was soaked with her sweat and possibly more, it looked rather well worn and used.

She rushes towards me, pulling my head down by the neck to level with her butt.


She unleashes a devastating gas emission from her butt for which I feel the hot wind blast by my face before leaving me soaked in a terrible, toxic hell of her rear odor. I fight to free myself but she holds me there with ease, making me inhale all of it, until finally releasing me from her clutches; I fall to the floor attempting to recover from her gas attack.

She walks past me without further acknowledging me, "Now, slave, I've had quite the day and I could use a satisfactory release." She says, removing her panties and taking a seat on the chair near her fireplace; she split her legs, showing proudly her womanhood.

I shy away as she does. And what did she mean by 'release?' More gas?

She chuckles, and stands, "Oh, boy, you will have no time for modesty with me," she grabs me, painfully, by the hair and drags me along the floor to her chair where she sits again.

Then she pulls my head and stuffs my face straight into her woman area, where I feel the moist wetness of her insides; accompanied by a sour, sickening smell that made me want to choke and vomit.

"Now lick me, slave,"

Lick her?

She smacks hard the back of my head.

"I said lick!"

I immediately start running my tongue inside her and that seems to please her as she moans softly with pleasure, her eyes towards the heavens.

She moans out. PRRRRRRrrrrrrpppppppp!

Her butt echoes its blast against the hard wooden chair and caressing my face in a horrid stench worse than any rotting carcass I'd ever encountered. I retreat in panic, gasping and sputtering for breath but she holds my head tight.

She leans into me, coming face to face, "You will finish me to my satisfaction, slave! PRRRrrrrrrppp!

She blasts again, clearly caring little for my struggle as she forces my face back inside her to finish the job; whatever it may be. I had to lick her to some desirable, sick end she had in mind.

Furiously, through my pained moans, I run my tongue along her insides as best I can, with great fervor so I could be freed from her sour, sickly prison.


She sighs with great relief as her potent release hits my nostrils; I cry out but stay focused on my task though her rough hand on the back of my head surely played a part to ensure I went nowhere she did not want me to go.

She pants, suddenly; rocking back slightly, stiff in her chair as her grip tightens over my hair and pushes me further inside; my labored breath even more so than it already was.

She shakes me, roughly, practically using my face as a tool on her insides; she's seemingly oblivious to my struggling breath as she pastes my face practically flush against her sour cunt.

She chuckled softly as her body seemed to convulse sporadically; a moist, warm cream spreading over my face before she aggressively pulled me out, setting my head against the chair.

Desperately I try to recover my breath but she, instead, sits her butt over my face, lifting her leg a little.


She emits a massive, burning gas blast straight up my nostrils; I could feel the sting of the heat inside my head before the smell began to assault me in a seemingly impossible way. How could her gas smell so bad, so inhumanly bad?!

I struggle and fight underneath her, trying to buck free but it's useless; she finally rises once all the gas has saturated into the air or been inhaled up my nose. It surely felt like mostly the latter.

She looks down at me with a smug smile, "Good boy, slave," she says, patting my cheek twice, roughly. It makes me disdainful of her, hating her for treating me this way. How is this someone I had admired just earlier in the day, just hours ago.

But I'm powerless. I'm weak. And I do owe her a respectable debt, for which I should pay. Still, I did not think this was what grotesque slavery she had in mind; to service her weathered womanhood and endure her wretched indigestion in my face.

I watch her retrieve and pull her underwear back, covering herself from view again; I fear for what horrid task she has for me now.

"Now, slave, I expect you to clean and buff my armor; hang it up when you're are finished. You will then prepare my dinner, I want something very rich; I'm quite hungry. You'll find plenty of cheese and other ingredients stored here. I will retire for a brief respite."

She stops near the ladder and looks at me, noticing my eyes glance over to the door.

"If you leave, slave, not only will I find you with ease, but I will make your eventual death very long and unpleasant. That is...if I allow you to die."

I freeze in place at her cold words, shaking in terror. She laughs as she ascends to her bedroom. "Better get to work," she taunts before disappearing upstairs.

I take to my work. I may be a slave but at least these tasks were conventional slave jobs and I was much more happy to do them; there was a simplicity to doing these chores, taking orders from another that was somewhat appealing. It reminded me much of being back home in my village.

I clean her armor until it sparkles, almost a full shade lighter now due to my efforts; and I carefully hang it proudly for my Mistress' use.

Now for dinner, I open the cupboards to find a very surprising amount of cheese; making sense why she'd mention it, she must enjoy it immensely.

Some hours later, her dinner is ready and I hear her return, she yawns, "Good evening, slave; what do you have for me?" She asks.

I smile, proud to show her my rich and creamy creation featuring blended cheeses to make a rich, cheese and vegetable soup.

She smells it, and she seems pleased, "Very good, slave, this smells very delicious; I am eager to try it but I'm afraid the chair is a bit hard for my bottom, could you cushion it for me?"

I nod and look around but I don't see any suitable cushion, "I don't really see any cushions," I say.

"I know, slave, I want you to be the cushion; is that clear now?"

I shudder from her tone, "Yuh...yes, Mistress." I say as I lay across her chair so she can sit on my softer back.

"Very good, slave," she says. She dishes out a heaping bowl of the hot soup and takes a seat on my back; I moan out as her weight crushes me against the hard wood. "Oh stop whining, slave!" She says, smacking an exposed part of my back; I whimper in pained response.

I hear her sipping the hearty, creamy soup eagerly until she suddenly stops.

I feel her lean to one side.


"Ahhhh!" She sighs, "Much better." And she continues eating.

I'm thankful my face isn't at her backside for that blast but it didn't matter as the nauseating smell reached my nostrils and I was stuck inhaling it as she continues to enjoy a rich, creamy soup above me.

The soup she really enjoys, getting two more full helpings; it felt like hours later when she finally rises off me.

"That was very good, slave, very good indeed; almost worth keeping you with me forever," she smiles.

I look at her too and smile, awkwardly; I just really wanted to go home now. I don't want to stay another minute, let alone forever. I could only hope she was joking.

"Well, it's bedtime; you will meet me upstairs, slave. On my bed."

I look at her, confused.

"Go!" She demands.

I scramble to my feet and up the ladder; I enter her dark bedroom and feel around for the bed, finally laying there once I've found it, waiting for her. Was this a reward? A treat? Sleeping on her bed? Were we going to have sex?

My mind races until finally, I hear her approaching; she enters with a small candle, she sees me on the bed.

"Very obedient, slave; good," she says, placing the candle near her bed and laying down. "And I'm sure you realize your dinner has made my stomach quite upset, so you will be enduring that this evening."

"Mistress,, I beg of you," I plea to her.

"Silence, slave," she says, positioning herself to place her butt over my face as she sleeps. I hear her blow the candle out and then turns to me, "And now time to blow you out, slave," she chuckles.


"Ahhhhh! Yes!" She exclaims as she settles in to sleep; I struggle and thrash underneath her but it seems entirely worthless as her body pins me there underneath her, stuck directly under her ass.

"Good night, my slave," she says, sweetly as her ass continues to pummel me through the sleepless night, a terror of my own culinary creation and my own desire to please her; now I suffered for that desire, suffered my own betrayal of conscious.

The hours pass like molasses under her hellish stink prison but I breathe a noxious sigh of relief as I watch the light of the sunrise peer over the horizon and into Mistress' bedroom. I didn't know when she'd rise but I had hope it would be soon.

Finally, she stirs; she pushes her butt roughly against my face and strains.


She sighs, rubbing my head as if to show some twisted affection, "Good morning, slave; I trust you slept well," she laughs.

"Yes, Mistress," I say, respectfully; it would do me no good to be rude to her now.

"Good." She replies, smiling.

I rise from her bed, weakly, sorely; my body feeling compressed and uneasy.

"Where are you going, slave?" She asks, incredulously.

"I have served you for the day, Mistress, as we agreed."

"Indeed we agreed but a full day served, you have not." She retorts, cleverly.

She intends to keep me here, at least for several more hours. Well, how much worse could it get. "What would you have me do, Mistress?" I ask, subserviently.

"Good, slave; you will kneel here before me now."

I slowly did as she told me, quite afraid of what she had in store; I was in line with some nasty parts of her body at this height. I shake in place as I see her, and she notices this.

"Oh, don't worry, slave, this is the last task you will do for me before I free you; you've made good on your debt, you deserve your freedom..."

She positions herself and takes a seat, my eyes go wide as her butt covers my face; my nose, deep inside, can already smell the putrid remnants of her last emissions and reminded me of how disgusting her emissions can be. But freedom was just around the bend. Oh how sweet it will be! Freedom!

"...after I finish with you."


She sighs euphorically, "Oh, what a blast," she laughs!

My nostrils are assaulted with a wretched, rotting smelling end of the dinner I prepared for her; fermenting and aging inside her body to produce a toxic blast for my face. It was truly a demonic torture she had contrived.

Then she strains, painfully; she clutches her stomach and slowly begins to relax as...

Oh my god! She's dropping waste on me! I feel the hot log resting on my cheek as more pushes from her backside, looking for a home on my face as I keep my mouth tightly shut but it leaves my nostrils open for pressure as her feces forces itself up my nose. I scream and cry out but it's useless and only serves to allow her shit to slip down into my mouth where I'm hit with an ungodly wretched taste of her waste.

I scream again, horrified and panicked; struggling to breathe as she continues to lay her waste over my face, seemingly caring little for my pleas for mercy as I shook and convulse from the toxic odors and begin to suffocate under her growing waste pile.

She sighs softly, "Isn't this pleasant," she says, blasting another waste loaded gas emission into my face, "It's much more enjoyable to relieve oneself inside, don't you think? Maybe this will become a trend across the whole kingdom!"

I can't hear her words from the immediate struggle of survival as I try to shift logs with my tongue from my mouth to make some sort of place to get some oxygen before I die. Every lick is agony, and none more so than penetrating a semi-soft log that turns to disgusting runny mush on contact.

Suddenly, I fall back, perhaps under the weight of all the waste on my face; I sputter and cough on the ground as Mistress looks down at me.

"Very good; you are done, slave. I expect you're going to pass out; when you return to consciousness, I expect you to clean all this waste and then you may leave," she say, sweetly but sternly.

She heads for the ladder, going down but she stops, "You should cross me sometime again soon, slave," she laughs. I hear her put on her armor downstairs and leave the house.

My eyes grow heavy, staring at the ceiling through a pile of Uthgerd's waste; I finally do pass out, a welcome rest.

Perhaps it was a foolish dream, to think I'd be an adventurer, much less a warrior. Perhaps I was more suited to the simple life, an admirer of heroes rather than a hero myself.

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