Warm Sands
by Wingman

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Note: This story contains graphic descriptions of a largely non-consensual sexual encounter between an adult and a juvenile character. This content is portrayed strictly as fantasy, and the author emphatically condemns real-world sexual activity with underage persons and any type of sexual abuse of children, animals or anyone else.

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The sun has fallen below the horizon, burning the western sky a fiery cinnabar, when I rein up my horse outside the Wandering Wisp. I’ve ridden since sunup from the Morrowind border to this obscure little corner of western Whiterun Hold, and the poor beast is beyond exhausted. I treat her to a handful of miscellaneous vegetables from my pack, and leave her tied to a post near some scrub grass that looks like fair enough grazing fodder. She seems content enough with the offering.

A wandering mage taught me a useful anti-theft spell in Cyrodiil once, and I fumble my way through the casting – it’s far from my speciality. The greenest neophyte of the College of Winterhold could have laughed and broken my weak effort with a blink of his eye, but I don’t expect too many horse thieves to have extensive Magicka training. Since I started casting the spell as a precaution, I’ve never lost a horse, so I keep up the habit.

Stretching, I stroll inside to the warm and familiar sights of my favorite tavern in all of Skyrim. It’s not the largest, or the most luxurious inn – you find those in the cities, not out here on the road where the plains meet the foot of the southern mountains. No, the Wandering Wisp distinguishes itself in other ways, ways that make it a destination for anyone of a certain persuasion making their way through the Old Kingdom…

[Full story continues at https://justpaste.it/6d21y]