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Blackpowder Dominance	By : TropicalFool Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 2888 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Dragon Age & all characters are owned by BioWare & EA, not me. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
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"Move down a bit, so that we are tip to tip and I may gauge you," the Arishok instructed. Doing as he was told, Anders braced himself on his hands and moved down until the tip of his penis was even with that of the Qunari. Before he could settle, a large hand had enveloped them both, covering the mage from root to top. The Arishok squeezed and Anders screamed. He could feel his erect cock bending around the harder organ of the giant and hear the deep guffaws underlying his own cry. Suddenly he was released, and he fell back onto this haunches, running a healing hand gently over his abused self.
One hand still on his cock, marking the limits of the mage, the Arishok reached behind and rummaged in basket on the small table that held the lamp. Despite his pain and fear, Anders was intrigued by the metallic sounds coming from the Qunari's searching. Grunting in satisfaction, the giant held out a large golden ring, slipping it over his cock and forcing it down to the bottom of the encircling hand. "That shall remind me of your limits," he explained. "For you, tools to prevent an early arrival."
He held up a much smaller ring and pushed it onto Anders' bruised staff until it nestled at the very base, laughing at the mage's indignant "Ow!"
"That one will see you stay hard," the giant continued, and, hummm…" he searched in the basket, then apparently not finding a suitable size, pulled a ring from his thumb and forced it over the head of Anders' penis where it stuck under the glans. "That one," he continued, "will keep you from coming sooner than I wish.
"Stand and let me see you." Anders climbed to his feet and stood submissively, his arms at his side, his throbbing and decorated organ prominent. The Arishok tipped his head thoughtfully, then said, "You skin is white for a human, and this is pleasing to me. However, to have the markings of the kossith upon you would please me further."
Intrigued, Anders asked, "The red paint you wear? Is that what you mean? Is it permitted on a human?"
The giant replied, "I cannot decorate you as a warrior, that would be forbidden, but I am Arishok and may place on you a pattern pleasing to me. You are mistaken if you think this paint, however." He indicated the elaborate design covering his own body. "It is perhaps closer to the process of etching."
Considering, and as he realized the implications trying to control his reaction, the mage asked, "Etching, as in acid?"
The Arishok was looking towards the ceiling, drawing figures in the air with one massive finger. "Um, yes, like that," he answered distractedly.
In a voice not so brave as he might wish, Anders asked, "But doesn't that…"
Before he could finished, the Qunari replied, "Hurt? Yes, quite a bit."
The mage looked at this giant that he had thought his friend and asked, "You would torture me for your pleasure?"
The Qunari took a moment for thought, then said calmly, "Yes."
Anders wanted to shout, "No!" To argue against the burning of his flesh for nothing but an evening's visual stimulation for his captor," but instead asked quietly, "Is it permanent?"
Still making his movements through the air, the Arishok replied, "No, it will fade in, um, well, on a human I cannot say, but for us in a turn and a half of the moon or so. It allows the pattern to be changed and renewed, but there will always be a faint trace of the old design."
Damning his curiosity, but intrigued despite himself, the mage asked, "So, you have this done every month or so? Everyone that I see these patterns on?"
The reclining giant nodded. "It is an honor for the warrior. Each line has a significance and must be renewed. The Tal-Vashoth mock us by having degenerate patterns placed on them, but even they will not use a mark of a true warrior. But for you, something pleasing to the eye and touch is all that will be required. I believe that I have the vision I need to start."
Anders felt himself shrink back involuntarily. There was no escape, but his body had not quite accepted the fact. Damnably, even as his balls retracted in fear, his cock, caught between the Qunari's rings, stayed firm and eager.
The giant uncoiled himself from the bed, walking serenely to a chest on the other side of the room and extracting a great quantity of silken ropes in all colors. He held several skeins up to the mage, considering, and finally settled on a deepest violet and crimson. At the sight of the restraints, the mage whimpered despite himself.
Looking up in surprise, the Arishok asked, "Binding is not part of sex play among humans."
"It is not uncommon." The honestly of his answer surprised Anders. He wondered if his candor were the result of some subtle magic of the Arishok, or perhaps an herb slipped into his rum. He continued, "However, I have a particular aversion to being tied. It comes from being captured by the Templars, more times than I care to remember, and well, other things also. So, if we could skip that part. I'll be a good boy."
The Qunari smiled down at him, a look that made the mage shiver and shrink further into himself. "Even Arishok are bound for the culm-thest, the… hum, decorating. Later you will be bound again as well, both for my gratification and to keep you from attempting escape. I would not wish to have to slay you because you break the Darthas-Dus, and your will may not be sufficient to confine you.
Before he could protest further, a loop of violet silk was slipped around his wrist and his arm tied to a ring in the wall at Qunari shoulder height. He had noticed these brass rings on earlier visits, but had thought them merely fixtures to hold lamps or decorations. The other arm was tied to a ring opposite so that he was stretched between the two points. His reaction was even worse than he expected. All of the memories of being bound by the Templars came rushing over him, the loss of freedom, the helplessness, the fear. He dropped his head and let himself hang, suspended by his arms, his feet trailing… that is, until one foot was caught up by a rope around the ankle and pulled from under him. The Arishok looped this strand through a hook near the floor, the tied it off to the tall ring. The other leg was bound and the mage stood, spread and helpless, realizing that he was, indeed, if only for this one evening, a slave without will of his own. He comforted himself with thoughts of revenge on Fenris, but both Justice and that part of him that was honest required that he admit that it was his own greed for the gaatlok that had gotten him into this position.
Standing before him, the Arishok said, "There are preparations to be made. It will be some little while. You may contemplate your bargain while this task is accomplished." With these words, the Qunari left him. He could hear rustling behind him, presumably the Arishok donning his clothes, then the door opened and closed. When he thought he was alone, he tested the ropes, knowing the effort was vain, but compelled to do so anyway. Of course the ropes were strong and the knots expertly done. The loops on ankles and wrists, tied so quickly, were not excessively tight, but neither was there any play nor hope of escape there. Having nothing else to do, he did as the Arishok suggested and contemplated his position.
There was no doubt that if this were Fenris' revenge it was both sweet and apt—to take his tormentor and turn him into a slave so that he might know something of what the elf had gone through. Anders was still not sure if Fenris had meant him to be subject to the full horror of Darthas-Dun, or if that had been a mistake, a lack of knowledge, or perhaps even an error in Anders' own pronunciation. In the end, it did not matter, the elf would pay, and pay dearly, if the mage survived the night.
As his limbs became numb, Anders considered the gaatlock and his use for it. It was something that he wished to have prepared, but hoped to never need. But the preparations must be made soon, in case of the worst; they could not wait until the situation was already out of hand. Was it all worth it? Both the pain and danger he was now in and the lives that would be lost if his plan were forced to consummation? He didn't need the emphatic answer of Justice, as the face of Karl swam before him. Karl before the rite, his face full of love and the joy of living, even living within the confines of the Circle. Karl who had done nothing, ever, except help Anders once again escape and who had paid with more than his life for that act of devotion. Yes, it was worth whatever price was exacted from him or anyone else to end the madness.
It as not long before the door opened again—Anders could have wished for it to be much longer, until the crowing of the cock perhaps. The Arishok moved in front of him holding a small bowl and what the anatomist Anders immediately recognized as a human humerus, ancient and worn, a paddle carved into one end. The Qunari smiled at the recognition and said, "Apologies. A relic from the last unpleasantness, many years ago. However, it is now traditional and the instrument I am most comfortable with."
Putting bowl and bone in one hand, the Arishok began tracing patterns with the other on the mage's skin with a large finger. Anders shivered and squirmed, but his weak protests were ignored. Satisfied with what he saw in his mind, the giant carefully submerged the paddle in the dark liquid, then touched it to the mage's pale flesh.
The pain was immediate and searing and for the second time Anders screamed. There was no hope or pretense of being brave, at that first touch he lost control. Some very small part of his mind realized why even the Arishok was bound for this ritual before he succumbed to the agony.
It seemed to go on for days, with pauses as the Arishok stood back and considered his next move, pauses which only made the subsequent touch that much more harrowing. The work started at his collar bone, moving down each arm and then his chest, front and back, the pattern slowly growing. Strangely, those parts not yet touched began to feel chilled next to the raging heat of the decorated sections.
Although his face had been spared, at least so far, the palms of his hands and soles of his feet did not fare as well; even these sensitive areas were inscribed. When his body was finally covered by a complex pattern of intersecting lines and forms, the Arishok stood back, his eyes fixed on the still erect penis. Blinking at the pause, trying to focus, Anders saw where he was looking and cried out, "Maker, no! Please, no, not that, no…" The cry became a wail as the paddle descended then sweet oblivion enveloped him.
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Blackpowder Dominance