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It had been a long damn week. That much was certain.
Several jobs that hadn’t panned out. Having to drag Dirge, kicking and screaming, off Garthar when the latter made the hapless mistake of insulting the former’s chosen nickname. Losing a good amount of Guild coin gambling on a shipment of precious ores and jewels that had turned out to be a red herring on the East Empire Company’s part to throw them off the scent. Having to put up with Tonilia and Vekel’s incessant bickering every second the two of them were in the Flagon together.
Vex took a deep breath and sighed it out through her teeth before bending down and meticulously threading the last of the laces on her thigh-high leather boots. She pulled them tight to the point of discomfort—just the way she liked it—and stood, examining herself approvingly in the mirror.
Ingun had done exceptionally well tonight. Vex’s ivory skin, stark in contrast with the black leather catsuit she wore, was smooth and smelled enticingly of deathbell and lavender. Her shock of white hair had been lovingly washed and swept back into a severe knot. Her eyes were smudged dark with kohl, and her lips were painted a deep, dangerous red.
She made a fist and allowed herself a tight-lipped smile. She was going to enjoy this.
Brynjolf was hers tonight. The rules were clear, the boundaries already set. She could do whatever she wished with him. And after all the shit she’d had to slog through on his behalf for the Guild lately, he had it coming.
She caught his eye across the table while Ingun and Ysolda served dinner, her grip tightening on her goblet of Alto wine at the self-satisfied grin she got in return. It was clear he thought he’d be able to charm his way out of her wrath, just as he did with anything else. She smiled and drank deeply, savoring the earthy taste of the wine on her tongue. For all his cleverness, Brynjolf was a damned fool. It was going to get him killed one day.
She lingered at the table as the others retired to their respective chambers for the evening: Nadine with Gwilin, Giraud with Ingun, Astrid with Aela, Ysolda with Drevis and Nazir—she smirked to herself, pitying the poor girl. She had her work cut out for her. Brynjolf rose from his seat, one eyebrow cocked, with an expression that indicated they’d better get on with it.
“Go ahead,” she remarked, her expression inscrutable. “I’ll join you in a bit.”
“Suit yourself, lass.”
Brynjolf shrugged and made his way down the passage into the sanctum proper. Vex watched him go, mulling another sip of wine around on her tongue. Anticipation was already building in her, hot and urgent as it spread through her core. She put her feet up on the table and leaned back. The pleasure would keep. There would be plenty of time for that later.
As to the severity of the punishment…well, that depended on him, didn’t it?
~~~~~~
Some time later, Vex slunk into her chambers to find that Brynjolf had already made himself quite comfortable on the four-poster bed. He was fully nude, his Guild armor slung over the back of a chair and his charms on open display. He reclined nonchalantly on the pillows and grinned.
“I don’t recall telling you to undress,” she said dispassionately, flicking her eyes up and down his naked form in a way that implied she was entirely unimpressed.
“Thought it’d save us some time, lass,” he quipped back. “Since you seem so keen on playing the waiting game tonight.”
“Impudent.” Vex frowned. “Didn’t take you as such a glutton for punishment, Brynjolf.”
“I may be many things, but I’m not stupid. Provoking you would be as smart as throwing darts at a saber cat in heat. I assure you I meant no offense.”
She chuckled. “That infamous silver tongue of yours isn’t going to be enough to save you from me, darling.” She stalked over to the side of the bed and stood over him. “But since you insist on pulling it out, you may as well put it to good use. Undress me.”
“Yes, Vex.”
Her catsuit was a lovely piece of leatherwork. Vex had commissioned it from Adrienne herself, and damn if the woman didn’t know how to craft to perfection. It was designed with a series of clever buckles and straps that allowed the garment to be removed without having to take off her boots. The sleeves and shoulders were a separate piece, which when worn by itself framed her breasts nicely and culminated in a severe high collar.
She looked on as Brynjolf busied himself with the clasps, a task that his nimble fingers were certainly more than equal to. Goose bumps pricked her skin in the cool air of the sanctum as the leather fell away from her body.
“Kneel,” she commanded, feeling desire flare in her core as he slowly sank to his knees, his striking green eyes trained, unerring, on hers. She smiled. “Good boy. Get to work.”
She couldn’t help but let out a gasp at the first sweep of his hot tongue over her cunt. There was no prelude, no gentle build-up, just the touch of him, warm and wet, sucking at her lips exactly the way he knew she liked it. The fire inside her roared higher, stoked by anticipation and fed by his submission.
Her legs trembled under her, and he steadied her thighs with his firm grip. She briefly considered punishing him for touching her without permission, but that thought was rapidly driven from her mind by the swirl of his tongue over her clit. She moaned, knotting her hands forcefully in his hair, and dragged him closer, pressing his face into her cunt. She could feel the prickle of his stubble against her thighs, the movement of the muscles in his jaw against her own smooth skin. His breath, hot and insistent, as he lapped at her like a man dying of thirst.
Tonight, she was in charge, and that meant she denied herself nothing. Vex gave into the pleasure that was building in her like a rising tide, grinding against Brynjolf’s tongue, savoring the low growl he let out as she tensed up under his touch and white hot pleasure came surging through her as she came. She made no attempt to muffle her keening—let the others hear what she’d taken from him. Let them know that she always got exactly what she wanted.
Brynjolf did not cease or slow his ministrations, continuing just as fervently to taste her cunt even as the aftershocks faded. His eyes were locked with hers, energy thrumming between them like magicka permeating the air. Despite the coolness of the sanctum, his skin was hot under her fingers. She could feel the slight dampness of sweat in the locks of hair that she still held in her vise-like grip. She pulled at them harshly and he grunted in response.
His cock sat neglected between his thighs—he at least had the sense for now not to touch himself without her permission—flushed red and leaking already. A bead of silvery precum dripped down its length as he dug his fingers into the flesh of her thighs and moaned against her, already forgetting himself and his position out of sheer want.
Vex almost let her composure crack as he brought her back to the tipping point, her thighs squeezing tight around his cheekbones to the point she felt she could have cut herself on them. His tongue laved over her, his touch agonizing and delicious all at once, swirling, tasting, teasing. Vex’s eyes met his once more and she came again with almost no warning, her thighs spasming violently. She maintained her footing despite the heels of her boots—she was a professional, after all—but only just. Fighting to catch her breath, she released her grip on Brynjolf’s hair and pushed him away.
He fell back on his heels, eyes glazed with desire and beard soaked with her cum. Vex lifted his chin with her fingertips and nodded approvingly.
“You did good. Nice to see time hasn’t dulled your skills.”
“I live to serve,” Brynjolf said breathlessly. His cock twitched between his thighs.
“Mmm.” Vex traced the line of his lower lip with one finger. “After a performance like that, I’d almost say you deserve a reward.” His eyebrows flicked up, hope apparent in his expression. She grinned cruelly. “Almost.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” he muttered.
Vex stalked over to the wall and took down a length of sturdy cord. It was strong, woven from han fiber, and had proved its durability several times over. She stood behind him and grabbed his wrists roughly, pulling them up over his head and binding them together. He fought against the tightness of the rope, but refused to make a sound in complaint.
Satisfied her knots were secure, she hoisted him to his feet by his bonds. “Get on the bed.”
“What are you going to do to me?” There was a note of apprehension in his voice that she found deeply appealing. She bent in close, growling directly into his ear.
“I said, get on the fucking bed.”
Vex shoved him forward, and he fell forward when his knees hit the mattress. She took the end of the rope and bound it securely to the headboard, positioning him so that he was face-down and his arms were hauled up over his head. There would be no cheating, no chance for him to escape from this, unless he chose to use his safe word.
She let him sweat, nude and vulnerable, taking her time as she strolled over to the trunk at the foot of the bed and pulled the leather harness from within it. It was another of Adrienne’s creations, just as finely-wrought as the catsuit, the straps sized perfectly to the angle of her hips. She buckled herself into it, pulling the straps tight, taking her time. From the depths of the trunk she also retrieved a cock—hefty, comparable in size even to Ulfberth’s, and carved lovingly from a chunk of ivory. It had been polished until butter-smooth, and was ridged along its length. She slid it home into the ring of the harness and looked at it approvingly.
Having a cock always made her feel powerful. It was one thing to be fucked, even if she was the one calling the shots, and another entirely to be the one who was doing the fucking. She stroked it for a moment, letting her fingers trace the carved details and enjoying the pressure of its base against her mons.
“Just a cock, then?” Brynjolf was looking back at her over his shoulder, craning at an improbable angle to get a look at what tortures she’d devised for the evening. “No flail? No cane? No casting sparks at my cock and watching me writhe around in agony?”
She continued to admire it, a thin smile slowly curling her lips. “No.”
“You’re going soft on me, lass,” he taunted. “As I see it, this is a reward, not a punishment.”
“You vastly underestimate my abilities.”
Vex retrieved a bottle of oil from her trunk and mounted the bed. She plucked the cork from its neck with deft fingers and drizzled it over her cock, working it in with her fingers until it was smooth and slick as silk. Then she turned her attention to Brynjolf himself.
She had to admit he looked rather appealing like this, bound to the headboard with his ass invitingly up in the air. His cock strained against his stomach and he’d already made a mess of the sheets beneath him. She suspected that, had his hands not been bound, he would have given into the temptation to pleasure himself and damn the consequences.
“Let’s make this perfectly clear,” she said, running her hands over the curve of his ass and yanking him closer to her. “You’re going to keep your hands exactly where I can see them, and I’m going to fuck you into the mattress until you can’t take it anymore and every soul in the sanctum can hear you begging me to end it.”
His breath hitched in his throat as she spread his legs and drizzled oil over him. The scent of dragon’s tongue and fire salts tickled Vex’s nose. The sensation of the oil was pleasantly warm on her fingers, but she knew intimately how maddening it could be when used in a sensitive area.
“Any other rules?” he asked, making an admirable effort to keep his voice steady.
“Just one.” She leaned in, fisting her hand in his hair, and purred into his ear. “You’re not allowed to touch yourself. Feel free to cum, though—if you can.”
Vex released her grip and lined up her cock with the tight ring of his ass, relishing the sensation of him opening up for her as she thrust slowly, agonizingly slowly, inside. Her intrusion was met with a muffled gasp, followed by some rather inventive swearing she was certain he’d picked up from some Khajit traders that continued until she was finally sheathed to the hilt. She paused there and waited for him to catch his breath.
“Yathi oriit,” he hissed. “Please, Vex.”
“Begging already,” she remarked, drawing back and thrusting into him again, hard. He cried out in response. “I’m disappointed.”
She set the rhythm, holding his hips in an iron grip and fucking him in long, deep strokes. There was no mercy, no holding back, no gentle redirection to keep him from being pushed forward every time she bottomed out.
The sounds she tore from him were feral, caught somewhere between pleasure and pain. He groaned and grunted through clenched teeth as she slammed into him, his bound hands curling hopelessly into white-knuckled fists, the usually pale skin of his torso flushed crimson with strain and desire for release that would not come.
Vex savored it, loved the resistance of his body as she rutted into him, bit her lip at the pleasant pressure of the base of the cock against her skin every time she thrust forward. If she had been wet before that was nothing compared to now—the juices of her cunt flowed freely down the inside of her thigh. She smelled like sex and sweat and Alto wine, a filthy perfume that would have put Dibella herself to shame.
“Fuck, Vex, please—” Brynjolf managed to gasp out between thrusts, his wrists pulling hard against the ropes that bound him. “I need—”
“If you want to cum, then cum,” she replied dispassionately. “I’m not stopping you.”
Brynjolf whined in anguish, pushing back against her cock. Vex threw her full weight on top of him—admittedly, it wasn’t much, but she was stronger than she looked and more than capable of restraining him. She pressed his hips hard to the mattress and pinned his legs with her own, fucking him with abandon.
“A good whore takes what he’s given,” she growled in his ear, “and doesn’t complain. You can end this whenever you want.”
He was trembling under her, beads of sweat visible on his skin. Vex continued to torture him, knowing full well he couldn’t stand to be denied this way, using the full length of her cock with every vicious thrust. His steady stream of swearing had long since devolved into incomprehensible moans and curses, half-muffled by the mattress. She dug her nails into the flesh of his shoulder, letting them bite into his flushed skin, and he cried out.
“I can’t—”
“You can and you will.” The sound of him begging always awoke a monster in her, unlocked the parts of herself that she usually kept under lock and key. She wanted to hurt him. Wanted to destroy him. Wanted to take what she needed from him until she was spent and then come back for more.
Brynjolf moved under her, rutting hopelessly into the rumpled sheets beneath him, desperate for friction. Vex canted her hips, fucking him harder, deeper, grunting with the effort.
“Please—”
His voice was ragged as he gasped it out, his eyes squinched tight with the effort of concentrating. She fucked him like her life depended on it, never letting him know a second’s respite, her cunt throbbing in response to the noises he was making—
“Please—”
His words now were clearly an appeal to a higher power, Nocturnal or Vivec or Dibella, Vex didn’t know or care which—
“Fuck, please—”
He broke off, crying out and spasming violently under her as he came, still rutting into the sheets like an animal, flushed and sweating and entirely defeated. Vex maintained her pace as his hips jerked beneath her, carrying him through the aftershocks—he deserved that, at least, she’d put him through hell—growling like a saber cat at the sight of him coming undone under her touch.
She gradually slowed and then stopped once she was satisfied she’d wrung every bit of pleasure possible from his body, trying to be as delicate as she could as she withdrew her cock from his body. He groaned into the mattress when she did.
“Brynjolf.” Vex laid a hand on his shoulder, gentle and solid. Grounding. “I’m going to untie the ropes now.”
He nodded breathlessly, his eyes still unfocused. She pulled at one end of the rope and the entire knot fell away as if it had never existed in the first place—that was the beauty of this particular binding, which she’d learned from a Khajit trader who’d passed through Riften many winters ago. Brynjolf rubbed his wrists appreciatively, feeling out the places where the rope had bitten into his flesh.
“Are you hurt?”
“Nothing that won’t heal, lass,” he replied after a moment, his voice shaky but even. Vex breathed a sigh of relief—she hadn’t been certain if she’d pushed him too far.
She unbuckled herself from the harness and laid it lovingly on the low table by her trunk—she’d clean and oil it later. She retrieved a silver tray loaded with fresh fruits and cheeses and a carafe of wine that had been staged next to it and returned to the bed.
“Are you thirsty?”
He nodded and accepted the cup of wine gratefully, sitting up and then rising from the bed with a wince. Vex carefully unbuckled her collar and slid the leather sleeves and shoulder piece of her catsuit from her body. The sweat that had beaded up between her skin and the garment immediately began to cool and dry, and she shivered.
The boots took longer. She needed several minutes to undo the dozens of laces and tug them free of her feet. She always felt strangely short without them—she was a tall woman, but the confidence they gave her was about more than just stature.
A gentle knock sounded on the door as she set them to the side and she opened it to find a large bucket of steaming water waiting for her, its bearer having already vanished once more into the depths of the sanctum. It had probably been Ingun. There was no way Drevis and Nazir had finished with Ysolda that quickly. She noted with a small smile that there was a purple mountain flower floating on the water’s surface, and it smelled softly of soothing herbs. Definitely Ingun, then.
Vex picked up the bucket and brought it back into her chamber. Brynjolf had abandoned the sweaty and soiled sheets in favor of a low velvet couch in the corner, and she joined him there, offering a him washcloth soaked in the warm, fragrant water.
“Thanks, lass,” he said with a contented sigh, pressing it to his face and wiping away the sheen of sweat that still stood out on his forehead.
The two of them sat in relative silence for a moment, cleaning the night’s sweat and filth from flushed and aching skin. Bathing always made Vex feel like a new woman. She scrubbed her skin like she was trying to remove it, enjoying the contrast between the scalding temperature of the washcloth and the cooling air of the sanctum as the water on her skin slowly dried.
“I’ve got to say, you almost make me miss Delvin,” Brynjolf quipped after a while. “Though I imagine your cock is a sight nicer than his.”
Vex threw her washcloth at him and failed to suppress a laugh. He held out an arm and she settled in against him, resting her head on his shoulder.
“It’s been rough lately, hasn’t it lass?” Brynjolf’s voice was wistful.
“Thought you didn’t like to talk shop in the sanctum.”
“I don’t. But you can’t deny that things have been bad these past few weeks. Seems like luck’s just not flowing our way.”
She sighed heavily, reflecting on the messes she’d had to clean up just in the fast few days. “You can say that again.”
“Truth be told, I’m not certain I’m the right man for this job. Perhaps someone else…”
“That’s not a conversation we’re having again, Brynjolf. The Guild chose you fair and square. We’ll figure something out.”
He ran a hand through his damp locks. “I hope for all our sakes that you’re right.”
“I have a feeling the wind’ll be blowing our way again soon. And if it doesn’t, you can always try to persuade Nazir to give you some leads. I’m sure he could be convinced.”
Brynjolf laughed openly, the sound echoing back at them off the walls. “Some prices are too high to pay, lass.”
Vex laughed too, melting in against his chest. It had been far too long since she’d relaxed, since she’d just let herself breathe. In Riften there was no respite, day or night, from the troubles that dogged their heels. But here, tonight, for the first time in a long time, she felt content.