The Taste of a Bosmer Huntress

Warning: Adult content for 18+ readers only!

Two Bosmer huntresses—Caska and Velta—caught wind of the Redguard’s camp near dusk. He’d started a fire that drifted wafts of smokey cedar along the gentle southern breeze.

They melted into the woods and approached his camp from a high cliff. Plenty of wild foliage to hide their lithe, near-naked bodies. They slid on their bellies until they reached a good vista and appraised the camp together.

He wore breeches made from elk skin and knelt in front of his fire, sharpening a broadsword with easy, rhythmic motions. Naked from the waist up, it was easy to see his dark skin was smooth and wreathed with muscle. There was an open canteen on the forest floor next to his hip and a simple bedroll and tent erected on the fare side of the fire.

“Black-Briar Mead,” Caska whispered after sniffing the air.

Velta sniffed the air as well. “Wrong, huntress. That’s Honningbrew.”

Caska frowned. They both knew that Velta had the better nose—she had picked up the scent of the fire a few moments earlier than her partner—but Caska was far too stubborn to admit defeat that easily.

“Care to make a wager?” she asked.

“What are the stakes?”

“First taste of the Redguard?”

Velta smiled. “Deal.”

They slithered and slinked their way down the cliffside, careful to stay out of the fire’s glow. There was no danger of the Redguard noticing their approach. He was clearly an outdoorsman, used to living off the land and relying on his sense. But he was still an outlander. The dulled down senses of the desert Redguard were no match for the sneak on Caska and Velta.

They split off like a pair of wolves on the hunt, each taking their prey from opposite sides. The Redguard continued to sharpen his sword, oblivious to the approaching predators. Caska got into position and waited on her belly until she could see the shiny glow of her partner’s eyes reflecting in the fire. Velta blinked three times, signaling Caska to make the first move.

Caska slithered up a little further until she was close enough to tug on the Redguard’s dark ear. Slowly, she stood.

“That’s a pretty sword, outlander.”

The Redguard stopped moving the whetstone, shifting his face to see who’d snuck up on him. Caska slipped further behind him, forcing the big man to twist further in order to get a look at her. She circled around, letting him drink in the sight of her long, pale legs that ended in a lambskin breechcloth, which covered the place between her thighs but not much more. Her firm, supple ass was on full display between the thin thongs of leather. Caska strode around the little camp until she was standing across the fire from the Redguard. She faced him and bit her lip as she watched his dark eyes scan from her breechcloth up her chest—naked except for dark green paint in the image of a tree. The roots started at the top of her pubic hair and the leaves spread out across her breasts, covering her pink nipples.

“Who are you, stranger?” he asked in a rolling deep voice.

“Caska. What’s your name?”


“Pretty name and a pretty sword. I wonder what else is pretty on you.”

“Are you a wood nymph?” Orion looked wary. His hand had not left the grip of his sword.

“I’m a Bosmer, silly man.”

His expression stayed guarded.

“Your people call us Wood Elves, surely you’ve seen one before.”

He gave her another appraising look, eyes continuing to linger on her perky breasts, then shifting up to her thin neck and large, elven eyes. Flitting along the moss and twine braided into her golden hair.

“I have met Wood Elves before,” he admitted. “But they wore silk robes and…normal hair styles. You seem to be wearing almost nothing at all.”

“I am clothed in the garb of the forest, Orion.”

“Do you mean me harm?”

“Of course not. I mean to settle a bet with my fellow huntress, Velta.”


“Me, silly man.”

Orion twisted around again to find Velta standing behind him. Caska and Velta were from the same clan, but they looked almost nothing alike. Where Caska had moonlight-pale skin and sun-golden hair, Velta’s skin was dusky brown, hair black as an owl’s feather. Her breasts were round and heavy, nipples as black as her eyes and large as a Septim. Unlike her fellow Huntress, Velta did not where a breechcloth over her pussy—just a series of braided lavender sprigs that left nothing to the imagination.

Caska could smell her clan-sister’s excitement already, which in turn moistened the insides of her thighs. It had been a long time since they’d hunted together.

“You,” Orion said. “I see.”

The Redguard was taking the appearance of two naked, lustful elves rather well. Caska supposed this was a fantasy among lone hunters such as himself—two horny sprites appearing half-naked from the woods. If they had not melted into his presence, he would most likely have conjured them in his mind while pleasuring himself under the forest canopy.

“What bet have you made?” he asked.

Velta smiled and circled around to stand next to Caska. “We made a wager over the contents of your canteen.”

“It’s mead.”

“Obviously. What kind?”

Orion smiled and let the moment hang. Caska could see a quick mind turning fast thoughts behind those eyes.

“Taste it for yourself,” he said, picking up the canteen with a large, callused hand and offering it to the two Bosmer women. He knew what this night was about.

Velta went first, tilting her head back and drinking long. Caska watched her dark throat bob. She lowered the canteen, smiled, and handed it to Caska without a word. She look it and sipped just as deeply as Velta. Caska liked sex better with a buzz in her bloodstream. The sweet liquid filled her mouth and coated her throat, prickled her skin with honey-laden pleasure.

Caska dipped the canteen into the crook of her arm and licked the remaining sweetness off her teeth.

“Black Briar,” she said simply. “Velta wins.”

“What did the two of you put up?” Orion asked. He was still on his knees.

“You,” Velta said, stepping forward.


“That’s right. The first taste of those sweet, outlander lips.”

Orion smiled.

“But I like a little flavor before a kiss,” Velta said, stepping closer. Her pussy was just about mouth-level to the kneeling Orion. She stepped forward and, when Orion did nothing but smile wider, tossed one leg over his shoulder and pressed herself into his face. Velta ran her fingers through his hair and threw her head up the way a wolf does before a howl. Orion ran his hands alone her thighs and ass while he worked her pleasure with his mouth. Soft suckling sounds whispering between the crackle of the fire.

Caska watched and drank more mead. Slowly snaked her left hand beneath the breechcloth and rubbed her fingers into the dampness forming between her thighs.

Eventually, Vesta clamped down on Orion’s head and released a howl of pleasure. She stepped back, hands still dug into his hair, and appraised his glistening mouth. Orion looked hungry and wild. The first taste of a Bosmer huntress will do that to a man.

Velta lowered herself down into his lap and kissed him deep. Sucked on each lip in turn and then on his tongue, moaning a little at the pleasure of tasting herself all mixed in with the desert dweller. Caska didn’t mind going second—she liked watching her fellow huntress. She was so wet between her legs that it was easy to slide two fingers between the deepest part of her pussy and the tip of her swollen elf clit. Her entire body was brimming with the promise of orgasm when Velta finally untangled herself from Orion’s mouth and turned to her.

“Your turn, huntress.”

Vesta moved back, lifting the little tent cover off the bedroll and sitting on the soft cotton, legs spread wide and already touching herself, ready for a spectacle.

Caska looked into Orion’s eyes—two white-fish orbs glowing in a dark ocean—while she made a show of untying her breechcloth’s cords and letting them drop, revealing the triangle patch of pubic hair and dripping-wet cunt. She put her fingers inside herself one more time, then knelt in front of Orion and put her soaked fingers into his mouth. He sucked on them like a greedy lamb, moaning. Caska could see his cock growing long and hard again his elk breeches.

“You taste like moss and honey,” he said when she took her fingers out of his mouth.

“Let’s see what you taste like, killer,” Caska whispered, then kissed him.

His mouth reminded her of rich, loamy earth and wild onions. She could taste the elf forest he’d lived off of but also the perfumed desert flowers that surrounded his youth. Scented his blood. Caska felt his pulse thrumming hard on the underside of his tongue, and when she untied his elk breech and pushed her hand beneath, she felt the same pulse strong along the underside of his thick cock.

They moaned together as she rubbed him up and down. Somewhere along the way he had slipped two of his large fingers inside of her and started stroking her insides like a blacksmith expertly stokes a fire.

“More,” Caska moaned.

Three. Then four. The walls of Caska’s pussy strained and relaxed and then descend into the dirty pleasure of having a hunter’s fist inside of you.

She came on the forest floor with a wet splatter. Behind her, she felt Velta come from watching her.

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