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PlayerUnknown’s Soulsborne Waifu Compendium	By : WickerMan Category: +A through F > Dark Souls (series) > Dark Souls (series) Views: 22045 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Souls or Bloodborne, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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PlayerUnknown’s Soulsborne Waifu Compendium
(A/N): The Dark Souls I arc of PlayerUnknown’s Soulsborne Waifu Compendium comes to a close with one of those fan favourites that people secretly pretend to not be into! But come on, we’re all a little bit gay for him… N-No homo…
Silver Knight Martin, Blade of the Darkmoon, stars as our man of the hour today, who after years of loyal servitude and attachment to the Dark Sun cannot resist the temptation to break his oath! No doubt his god will have a suitably kinky “punishment” involved…
WARNING: Obvious sexual content, spelling errors, bad language, traps/boy on boy, cringy and heavy dialogue, ye olde Englishe on steroids, crude jokes, an attempt at making someone intentionally cute and dorky, not really doing the “punishment” thing promised in the A/N, loosely implied drugging, OC protagonists with little personality, OOC behaviour, non-lore friendly events, a whole lot of frotting, and my first story in around six months and my first LEMON in probably four years!
Chapter Five: Dark Sun Gwyndolin
He knew his boundaries.
Knowing your limits was part and parcel when it came to servitude, and it was a point that he stressed in every waking moment. In swearing an oath you are bound by honour, and to break your sacred word would be akin to announcing that your very soul was without a shred of decency.
But that wasn’t to say that he never thought about it. To be perfectly honest, he thought about it even as he performed his daily duties. It was one of the greatest ironies of the forbidden - the more he told himself that it would be dubious and decadent to dismiss his vows, the more he hungered to try.
Just a little bit.
What was the worst that could happen?
Blade of the Darkmoon and sworn vanguard of the city of Anor Londo, Silver Knight Martin’s single great trait was his undying obedience to the cause he served. He never doubted the machinations of the Dark Sun who commanded him, nor did he truly understand them; was it his place to question the blessed word of his deity?
Presently he patrolled the ramparts of the city of gods like so many other Silver Knights, their muted vigil a constant over the lifeless kingdom. Few dared to lay siege to the impregnable keep’s walls even now, and one had to wonder if the vile foes of Gwyn feared the power of his mighty legions.
Or if they even existed anymore.
And heresy grew from idleness.
There were few things more petrifying than a once bustling kingdom made empty. At times Martin froze mid step as he marched across decaying ivory, convinced that his echoing footfalls were that of an infiltrator ready to pounce. That very sensation had just rippled through his mind this very moment, and he came to a complete halt.
And then he listened to that sound.
The sound of nothing.
For countless years it had been all he’d heard – that fuzzy ring, punctuated by the steady rhythm of his stomping greaves and rattling plate. The only respite that came to his soul were the words of the god he served, who had sworn to protect him in exchange for his own shield and spear; a pact to preserve them both.
He had never gazed upon the visage of Dark Sun Gwyndolin, youngest child of the Lord of Sunlight from whom his name was derived. The god shrouded himself behind smoke and mirrors, content with giving his soft and well-spoken commands faceless and alone. Martin believed he did this out of a humble sense of honour, stressing to his Blades that to serve the Darkmoon was to be a shadow of his father and bountiful sister Gwynevere, not he. The Dark Sun did not see himself worthy of worship; he was merely a vessel for the will of his betters.
Yet the Silver Knight refused to accept such a coy stance. He had not pledged his life to a Lord of Cinder nor an absent Princess who had abandoned her homeland before blight had even struck. Martin served the Dark Sun Gwyndolin, and him alone.
Gwyndolin was his god.
Gwyndolin was his idol.
And he would have it no other way.
It was Gwyndolin who had given him purpose.
It was Gwyndolin who had remained dutiful even now, in the end times.
It was Gwyndolin who was worth fighting for.
These thoughts were what brought him full circle as he returned to Darkmoon Tomb, descending its many steps and striding across its worn red carpet. He knelt prostrate as he always had within a square marked by flickering candles, and then waited for a sign as he always did, the doorway that led to his lord shrouded by a magical mist as it always was.
He could smell something fragrant.
Were these candles… Scented?
They weren’t the same from this morning…
“Blade of the Darkmoon, explain thy presence.” his god finally spake from beyond the hazy veil, a certain anxiety filling his often stern and measured voice. “The hour is not yet upon us, and Anor Londo is without one of its finest spears. Art thou in urgent need of mine ministration?
To think that the one thing that separated Martin from gazing upon the one he’d pledged his very existence to was merely a few inches of glorified steam. To think that for all this time he’d refused the urge that stabbed at him like a jagged knife to step forward and intrude upon the shroud ahead. He’d come here on a whim, shirking his duty upon his fellows; not that he had the guts to admit it.
“Please state thy wish mine noble knight.” Gwyndolin urged, taken aback by his servant’s silence. It was unlike him to avoid answering a question, especially one directed at him. “It is my function to safeguard thy person as Dark Sun, and I must know what troubles thee Martin, Blade of the Darkmoon.”
The Dark Sun had called him by his name several times before, and he had done the same for many of his colleagues all ensconced in identical plate mail. It was a telling sign when a god so mighty could recognise his subjects and address them by name seemingly from sight alone; just another reason why the youngest son was deserving of worship and tribute.
Martin stared at the fog gate before him, his heart screaming at him to take a few steps forward and sate his burning curiosity. But he was a simple man of logic, and his ever sensible mind forced him to lower his head in supplication as it always did. He just couldn’t do it – he’d programmed himself to obey. “I-I have sinned, my lord.” he stammered guiltily, seeking absolution. “My transgressions are few yet grim, and they vex me so.”
Gwyndolin did not respond instantly, his weighty pause lasting just enough time to feel peculiar. It was as if the Dark Sun was busying himself with some activity, prepping himself in a hurry. “... Father Gwyn is a fair and just god, and smiles upon those who serve his namesake.” he assured the knight, giving his word as judge and executioner. “Thy felonies may be foul, yet thy soul remains unsullied. Do not punish thineself with unneeded scorn, Blade of the Darkmoon.”
“I am lost, oh Dark Sun.” Martin brooded, confiding in the one god he truly believed in. “My faith in the Lord and Lady of Sunlight wavers, and a base urge grips at mine soul to trespass thy domain.” he shook his head, amazed by the ridiculousness of it all as he confessed his heretical thoughts. “I wish to gaze upon the one god I serve true with mine own eyes, and for that I art sullied so in spite of thy blessed words.”
The pause was almost doubled in length this time, the faint sound of bare feet pattering on stone and the shuffling of cloth being punctuated by the noise of something large and heavy being shoved against a wall. “Y-You wish to look upon my person?” Gwyndolin uncharacteristically stammered after a while, seemingly short of breath. “To… Gaze upon me as if I too were a god and deity?”
“You are a god and deity, greater than any other!” Martin interrupted in a sudden outburst. He furrowed his brow in disgust, pressing the nasal of his helm against the paved floor. “And this sinner fouls all upon touch.”
The only way to cleanse himself of this sin was through punishment, and it was sickening that he who had once dealt justice had let corruption and taint get the better of him. He felt he had disappointed his fellow Silver Knights for falling knowingly to such base depravity, but worse still he felt he had harmed his liege and betrayed his undying trust.
“Martin, I thought…” Gwyndolin spoke quietly, only to stop himself and regain the stern voice he was known for. “Come hither, Blade of the Darkmoon. Pierce the veil, and enter this sacred tomb proper.”
Martin raised his head, taken aback by such an order that amounted to sacrilege. “My lord?”
“P-Please?” he asked, or rather begged, with a stutter.
Obedient to a fault the Blade of the Darkmoon rose to his feet and extended an arm to push through the murk of the fog gate. In spite of its thickness it gave little resistance, parting before his hulking person like a flock of flighty doves.
And there he was, straight ahead, in tangible form.
Dark Sun Gwyndolin.
Clad in spotless white garments and adorned with a weighty golden crown, he almost seemed to be trembling; not in fear, but rather with a childish sense of excitement. The dissipating fog from which Martin came regained its misty volume, returning to its shrouding state.
That smell of fragrant candles was far more intense within the tomb itself, and briefly tearing his eyes from the majesty of the Dark Sun he spotted dozens of the things dotted on numerous tables across the length of the hall. They were all tall and flat topped, freshly lit for what seemed to be the first time. Even within the restrictive cone of vision his awkward helm levied Martin could see an open crate filled to the brim with sconces, which had been clumsily hidden behind a table. As if noticing Gwyndolin moved between the Silver Knight and the box, suspiciously blocking it from sight.
Had Gwyndolin just been lighting them?
Setting a mood, as it were?
The deity kept his hands to his front, his posture erect to just barely reach Martin’s shoulders in height. “Thine felonies are troubling, Knight of Anor Londo, but not beyond redemption.” his fingers subtly loosened for a moment, a collection of smoking matchsticks falling to the floor; red handed. “Relax thineself, breathe deeply.” he advised, himself taking a lungful of air.
Martin mimicked the god before him, partaking in that scented aroma only to regain his knightly composure and bow his head. His eyes were too base to gaze upon such wonder, but Gwyndolin raised a hand to halt his submission. “Lift thine eyes. The hour is nigh, and thy punishment is likewise.” the white-clothed idol announced. After a moment he turned his head, suddenly interested in a window to his left. Supposedly raised a woman, there was a certain femininity to his words and ways. “… I-I would rather this be kept a secret, for the livelihoods of us both.”
“I am yours and yours alone, my lord.” Martin reaffirmed, standing tall and empowered by his faith in the true Darkmoon. “I will brook no less than your ordained words.”
“Yes…” Gwyndolin said breathlessly, clutching the front of his gown between ladylike fingers. His lower lip was trembling and so he bit it firmly, his hands reaching further and further down. He traced his stomach, his thighs, and his knees, before finding his purchase and beginning to pull.
“Remove thine helm, child.” he spake, and the knight obeyed, “Thou shall follow my every word, and obey my every order.” he said, the hem of his skirt now over his knees. “We will cleanse thine naughty soul together, Martin.”
Suddenly the dress was hiked all the way up, the Dark Sun Gwyndolin nervously holding it by both ends between finger and thumb. Exposed now was something that Martin had never in his wildest dreams expected to see. Small and grey and fully erect, trembling with cold and energy, was his deity’s awaiting member.
What was this feeling in his chest?
Was there something in those candles?
“H-Hurry mine Blade of the Darkmoon.” Gwyndolin urged, his hips lewdly swaying partially from the chill. His length bobbed ever so slightly from side to side, beckoning the Silver Knight closer. “Is it not obvious? I wish for thee to…”
Suck it.
That’s what his god wanted. Martin was a man well taught in the use of spear and shield, a talented vanguard and master of combat, but he was no lover. He had pledged his existence to battle as a soldier, yet the Dark Sun required him as something more. All he had to work with was primal instinct.
And that primal instinct was to make his idol feel good.
No matter the means.
So he stepped forward and knelt to his god, as he had always done. Gwyndolin scrunched up his gown between his silken fingers, holding it just above his navel as he watched with anticipation. Cold metal hands encased in plate pinched the small erection between finger and thumb, slick precum constantly oozing from its tip; no doubt the Dark Sun was equally sex starved as his servant.
Martin struggled to get a grip, the slippery cock constantly sliding out of his hands and prompting a shudder from the god. “M-Make haste…” he chastised, swallowing his drool. “Do not tease me so…”
Desperate to please but not entirely sure how, Martin held the base of Gwyndolin’s cock between his fingers and began to slowly lavish it with his tongue. He lapped circles around the tip, the bitter taste of precum being beaten only by the sheer joy of the situation he’d found himself in.
The mewls and whimpers that came from the Dark Sun spurred him on, his cute little balls rising and shivering to his clumsy yet potent assault. What Martin lacked in technique he more than made up for in sheer enthusiasm, and it was that sense of devotion that drove the god wild. His thorough licks evolved into a series of weak suckles, holding the end of his idol’s cock hostage between his lips and tugging gently. Even then his tongue continued to probe, rapidly flicking Gwyndolin’s sticky tip again and again.
“Martin!” Gwyndolin yelped in surprise, his arms struggling to keep his gown raised high. He hissed through gritted teeth, resting a hand atop his breast as if calming his heart. “D-Don’t neglect my balls so…”
Obeying his command he quickly got to work, placing a smooch between the god’s small sack. His nose rubbed against the underside of Gwyndolin’s dick, the length bobbing up and down with every nudge. Between the scent of the candles and the subtle musk of his liege, he knew which he preferred as he nuzzled ever closer.
Gwyndolin’s moans grew more and more exaggerated as Martin reached for his lord’s saliva-coated length and vigorously pumped it, all the while continuing to service his testes. The hand upon his chest began to explore the curves of his breasts, squeezing one tit tightly between his fingers. The Dark Sun shivered in arousal, moaning “Faster” and “Suck my cute little balls” between drawn-out whimpers and groans. Caught up in the moment his probing hand reached under his blouse to fondle at the awaiting flesh, yet his aggressive and lust driven movements found nothing of the sort.
Something slipped down his front and fell out of his open gown; a soft, cotton, suspiciously breast sized pad had fallen onto the floor. Both he and Martin stopped their movements for a moment, the truth behind Gwyndolin’s modest bust revealed. Gwyndolin stammered in a hasty defence, “I-I did not place that upon mine brea-” the second pad rolled out with comical timing, the front of his blouse now completely flat. He flushed furiously, his lip quivering as he struggled to find an excuse. “… T-They aren’t mine! They-”
Not phased in the slightest by such a thing, Martin released his liege’s dick from his fingers and pulled Gwyndolin close by the rear. Squeezing his god’s pert bottom he fit the whole of the Dark Sun’s delicate cock in his mouth, its small size letting him bathe it in its entirety with his tongue. The feminine deity gasped in surprise at such a haughty action, both of his hands gripping onto Martin’s head and letting his scrunched up dress cover him.
Gwyndolin gently thrust into his faithful’s awaiting mouth, exploring the many angles of his warm tongue. “F-Fucking thine mouth feels so…” he ruffled Martin’s hair between his fingers, pushing deeper as his balls rubbed against the bristles of the knight’s stubbled chin. “Naughty little heretic, sucking mine boy cock so perversely!”
Martin was shocked by such aggressive words, the formal language he was so accustomed to being washed away by slutty and at times cringeworthy expletives. But this shock quickly evolved into an enamoured lust – his god was saying these words not because he found it enjoyable, but because he thought it would appeal to his Blade’s tastes.
And he wasn’t wrong.
The scent was intoxicating.
Tightly pressing Martin’s head against his member Gwyndolin used him like a toy, holding him down for as long as he could take before eventually letting him pull away. The large knight released his god’s short, slender, sloppy cock from heaven, a long strand of drool still attached between his lips and his liege’s dick. “Thou art in need of relief, hmmm?” he purred, licking his lips like a whore, “I hunger so, I need thy big sinner’s cock in my mouth.” he reached for his member and rubbed it against Martin’s drenched lips, breaking the tether of saliva as he massaged the underside of his tip. “The Dark Sun wants to choke on it, right now!”
After an incredibly awkward amount of fumbling which blatantly betrayed the apparent experience and confidence in his words, the pair positioned themselves with Gwyndolin atop Martin, poised to suck on one-another’s needs. Not entirely sure how his armour worked the bare-bottomed Dark Sun awkwardly fiddled with the groin of his servant’s plate as the Silver Knight was smothered by his bare length. Martin rolled up his partner’s gown and grabbed a firm purchase on the god’s ass, his fingers eager for another squeeze. While Gwyndolin lacked the sheer curvature of a woman, that didn’t make his slight bottom any less cute in its own way.
But Gwyndolin was an impatient god and pressed his waist down, rocking his hips lustfully at the feeling as he stuffed Martin’s mouth with both cock and balls. “Thine beautiful god wants to fuck thy mouth.” he exhaled hotly, his ass flexing with effort. “A-And he wants his handsome knight to fuck his.” Martin’s dick finally broke free of the confines of his armour, large in both length and girth. The Dark Sun stared at it in shock and awe; could he even fit something that big down his throat? He sniffed and nuzzled it experimentally as he continued to inadvertently suffocate his partner, the lack of oxygen reaching the knight’s brain giving his deity’s heavenly touch an even greater power. Gwyndolin pursed his lips into a roughly circular shape, positioning the tip of the raging boner between them. It stunk from a day of marching in heavy plate, but to his sex-addled mind he longed for it; wanted to smell like that, covered in musk and cum. Muffled, he stressed with vibrating lips, “Don’t hold back.”
And so the Blade of the Darkmoon began to thrust. Gwyndolin was turned from a well-spoken and dominant flirt into a sputtering mess in a matter of moments, clutching onto Martin’s hips and continuing to grind against Martin’s face as he tried to take in the entire length of his follower’s cock at once in spite of his lack of experience. While he impressively lasted a full fifteen seconds he quickly reached his limit, and choking and hacking he pulled away from the drool coated dick and slid to the side a tad; dizzy and confused. The god’s member pulling out of Martin’s mouth with a lewd pop, a dazed yet concerned knight looked worriedly at his liege.
“P-Puh… P-Perhaps if we were to start slower rather than with such primal haste.” Gwyndolin struggled to suggest, his voice hoarse and his head aching. He placed a hand on his sore throat, swallowing loudly. A tad bit embarrassed by how much of a braggart he’d been, the Dark Sun pulled himself back atop his partner and clutched the base of his length, dangling his own little dick over Martin’s awaiting mouth teasingly like a fisherman’s lure. “I love thine fat, horny cock, Martin.” he sighed whimsically, running his fingers gently along its length. Martin shuddered, oozing precum which his idol lovingly licked off; he couldn’t put his finger on the flavour, but he was instantly hooked. “… R-Really, I do…”
With that they began to quietly tend to each other’s needs, what had been a lusty fucking reduced to a timid, affectionate bout of lovemaking. Martin felt this gentleness was a much greater reflection of Gwyndolin as a whole, demonstrating his reserved compassion for those who served him. Loudly and comically Gwyndolin covered the knight’s cock with smooch after smooch, from top to bottom, and all over his balls. He squeaked with sudden surprise, flinching. “You bit me, Martin…”
Before Martin could beg for forgiveness he bit back; ever so lightly but on the tip, prompting the Blade to yelp. The Dark Sun giggled playfully, returning to a shower of wet smooches like a doting mother.
“Awww.”
Mwah, Mwah.
“Poor little Silver Knight, let thine god kiss it better.
Mwah, Mwah.
“Good boy.”
Mwah, Mmmmmmmmwah.
Gwyndolin shuddered as Martin gleefully suckled on his balls, placing his hands on the ground for balance and slowly thrusting into the hot warmth of his knight’s mouth; measured and carefully, rather than forcefully as before. Martin purred approvingly, sending vibrations through the Dark Sun’s body as he dipped his sack again and again. “D-Dirty blasphemer…” he murmured, his cute little bottom twerking to a rhythm as he found a comfortable pace. “Thy god should be the one dealing punishment…”
Despite his words he continued to ride his Blade’s face for quite some time, before reluctantly pulling away with a drenched pair of balls even wetter than his rigid cock. He wouldn’t admit it, but he loved the feeling of having his sack suckled and bit on; ‘twas so very sinful. He stood on shaking legs, shuffling away a few feet with a womanly gait and giving Martin a lovely view of his bouncing bottom and dainty thighs. He had one little mole, just on the underside of the left cheek. “P-Punishment requires that the felon and judge strip before on another…” he announced anxiously, cupping his rear.
He’d just made that up hadn’t he?
But who was he to question the blessed word of his deity?
Martin rose to his feet, and loyal to his lord’s words began to unfasten what remained of his platemail; once grandiose, now stained with spit, sweat and precum. Gwyndolin turned and stared at him expectantly for a few moments, chest thumping, before realising that he should probably undress himself also. “W-Watch me.” the Dark Sun commanded, the first of many blouse buttons coming undone. “Watch thine god strip for thee.”
As the Dark Sun began to expose himself he stared at the Silver Knight with the unerring excitement of a boy on his birthday, captivated by the shape of his abs and the tone of his body. The soldier’s chest was adorned with a patch of hair, accentuating the bulk of his muscled pecs. Would you believe him if he said that his knight’s bare body had been the topic of many a dream these past few months?
The real thing beat his imagination.
After the last few buttons popped free the white gown of Gwyn’s youngest slipped off his frail body in a heap, leaving him completely nude save for the oversized crown that adorned his head.
Grasping the pointed lengths that protruded from the ceremonial headpiece, Gwyndolin paused with sudden reluctance. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shown his face to someone, having been shunned into isolation for so many years and being labelled an abomination by many.
He glanced at Martin nervously; Martin wouldn’t judge him because he was Martin. That may have sounded like flawed and circular logic, but it made perfect sense to him.
He pulled off the helmet and let it fall to the floor with a dull conk.
The first thing that grabbed the Blade of the Darkmoon was his eyes. The Dark Sun’s eyes - like his voice - betrayed his youthful appearance, silver bangs brushed aside to reveal a subtle golden glow filling each iris and granting him a mysterious allure. These were the eyes of a god who'd seen more unfold than any of his servants could hope to claim. These were the eyes of a god who’d faced adversity from the day he was born. His lush eyelashes fluttered, the white pallor of his skin flawless as he.
It was nice being stared at like this.
With affection rather than aversion.
Awkwardly trying to cope with the heaviness in the air Gwyndolin struck what he thought would be and alluring pose, holding his hands behind his hips and pushing his waist out to accentuate his dripping dick. “Like what you see…?” he asked, his body both feminine and boyish all at once. He stared at Martin’s chest obsessively, his heart visibly beating against his breast. “B-Because I do…”
Gwyndolin slowly closed the gap between them, before bumping face-first into Martin’s chest with a muffled “Ow” from the impact. His loyal servant kept his hands to his side, letting the god do what he wished. Teasingly he massaged the knight’s chest, tracing the grooves of his muscles and gently pressing his little cock against Martin’s massive member.
Standing on the tip of his toes he could just barely reach the Silver Knight’s chin, which he pecked at weakly. While not short by any means he had always been one of the smaller gods, and it was something that easily got him flustered even to this day. Gwyndolin pressed himself against the larger man, his hairless chest and pointed nipples smoothly rubbing against him. “Kiss me.” he murmured suddenly, “W-With speed and great frequency, now.”
Bending his knees awkwardly Martin kissed his lips. He wasn’t really sure what he was doing nor was Gwyndolin, but both of them tried again. And again. And again just to make sure. All the while the Dark Sun continued to massage his servant’s body, running his soft palms across his stomach and eagerly pressing their cocks together. Still wet and slick from their lovemaking the two shafts slipped and slid against one another, their tips occasionally prodding as if sharing their own wet smooches.
Reaching further down Gwyndolin grasped the two of their members between a tight fist, muffling a moan with a long and deep smooch. He could feel Martin’s body shudder as he jerked off the two of them, their exploring tongues darting about within the moist caverns of their mouths.
That sound.
It was impossible to describe but he loved it; the sound of their hungry kisses breaking apart, wet and loud and followed by a gasping chorus of airy groans and sweet nothings. Forehead to forehead Gwyndolin continued to pump at an excruciating pace, staring into the Silver Knight’s eyes hypnotically. The golden glow of his iris was almost soothing, like a warm honey or the rising dawn. “Doth mine Silver Knight wish to fuck mine Darkmoon with his Blade?” the Dark Sun purred, needily thrusting into the cramped warmth of his hand and Martin’s length. He paused awkwardly, wondering if his play on words had even made sense. “… A-As in fuck mine tight little ass?” he clarified, cheeks red. “W-With thy thick, manly dick?”
Apparently it made perfect sense, as the pair somehow descended to the floor without releasing one another from their respective grips. With the knight that stood vigil day and night laid flat out on his back the god coyly straddled his waist, placing the flats of his feet on the ground. His stiff member strained with lust, hovering an inch above Martin’s stomach.
Gwyndolin began to lower himself, blindly rubbing the knight’s shaft against his cheeks as he fumbled for the right angle. Guiding Martin’s dick was harder than it looked, “D-Do not laugh…” he pouted cutely, incredibly self conscious of his bumbling ways. “Perhaps thine cock is to-”
Suddenly it found its mark, impaling Gwyndolin with half its length in mere moments. He squeaked in surprise, biting on his finger to cope with the sudden surge of pain. Martin made to rise yet his god prodded him back, his frown contorting into a wicked – if shaky - smile.
“Dirty sinner...” he teased, leaning back and opening his legs as he gazed intimately into Martin’s eyes. “Fucking thine god’s tight little ass…” with the awkward form of someone who knew not what he was doing but ached to do it he began to ride his servant’s rock hard member, the sheer mass eye watering without proper lubrication. “M-Making thine god a cock hungry whore…!”
The ravaging of his virgin rump was driving him crazy, his frantic humping making his dribbling dick flail up and down upon the cushion of his balls. His tip slapped Martin’s stomach with every movement, staining his stomach with sticky precum and the lewd slapping sound joining the moans of the Dark Sun.
“So fucking biiiig!” Gwyndolin slurred, quite literally drooling from such a deep dicking. His knees growing heavy from such brutal exertion he threw himself forward, face to face with his knight as he continued to flex his hips. “K-Kiss your god!” he ordered loudly, grasping Martin’s hands and holding them tight. His hands were small, soft and grey in polar opposite to his servant. The two fruitlessly reached out with their tongues, clumsily wrestling together as the deity continued to bounce. “Mine girly dick is all wet for thee!”
Their fingers interlocked Martin leaned forward, roughly exploring the mouth of the one he’d pledged his life to protect and beginning to thrust himself. Gwyndolin’s muffled murmurs urged him to press on, his own movements slowing as if in surrender to the physically stronger knight. The god wanted to be dominated by this ‘heretic’; made a lewd fuck toy by a mortal man. Father had feared men for their unerring lust for control and power.
But it was that which made him so horny.
His cock pressed between their stomachs and rubbing with every thrust, Gwyndolin’s head slumped against Martin’s collar as the Blade of the Darkmoon bent his knees and began to rapidly ram the Dark Sun’s rear with unrelenting force. The deity had gone completely limp; a ragdoll to be used for pleasure. Gwyndolin wasn’t sure whether it was his filled up ass, his squeezed dick or the addictive scent of Martin’s sweat, but he could feel his balls tighten in warning. “I-I’m about to cum…” he slurred weakly, muffling his cries with a face full of pecs. “Fucking thine slut so roughly is… M-Making me…!”
The anal stimulation milked out a weak yet plentiful orgasm, a steady torrent of watery semen shooting across Martin’s stomach. While his thrusts slowed ever so slightly he continued to hump vigorously, resting his nose upon Gwyndolin’s hair. “So much cum for thee, Martin…” he sighed, his still stiff member continuing to thrust as the pool of cum clung to both of their bodies. “Thine god wants it all inside his girly little ass.” he purred huskily, holding his favourite knight tight. “Thou art mine god. Do what thou please with me!”
Gwyndolin’s body, wracked by the throes of orgasm, vigorously milked at Martin’s intrusive member. Ripples of tightness surged throughout the idol’s ass, squeezing the knight’s base at one point only to pinch at the tip a few seconds later. Martin’s breath grew ragged, his throat drying from the overwhelming and almost unnatural pleasure.
While weakened the frail god still urged his partner on with lewd and perverted encouragements. “Empty thy balls in me, Blade of the Darkmoon.” he whispered, reaching for his spent member and gently rubbing its underside. “I can feel every vein in thine throbbing dick.” he sighed lustfully, eager to feel the Silver Knight’s swollen cock pulsing within his walls. “Make me thine whore!”
Martin’s breaths grew shallow, his orgasm approaching. Gwyndolin raised his voice and threw what little subtlety he had left to the dogs, bluntly and rudely begging for exactly what he wanted from his servant. “Cum! Cum in mine ass!” he cried, a second wind surging through him as he grinded his hips once more. Even as the knight crossed the point of no return Gwyndolin continued to rock his waist, eager to make this orgasm as powerful and pleasurable as he could. “Cum! Cum! Yes! Y-Yes…!” he squealed like a common slut, his words degenerating into one drawn out whimper as he felt his dearest ejaculate. “So much cum…!” he laughed in a cute and nervous way, slowing his grinding as he felt each spurt paint his insides white. It was a strange sensation, without a doubt. “I can feel it… I-It tickles…”
It took quite some time for the god to release Martin’s cock from his rear, having grown accustomed to its great size and feeling a discomforting emptiness when it was pulled out of his stretched hole. Their limbs heavy and their hearts racing the two lay together about the cold tomb floor, content with pressing their bodies together and squeezing the last few drops out of eachother’s lengths.
Gwyndolin didn’t mind being dirtied, drips and dribbles of his own semen being milked onto his stomach by Martin’s prying hands as cum oozed from his abused hole and slid down his thighs. He was content with nuzzling noses, quietly caressing his servant’s spent member not out of mindless lust but rather with a sense of loyalty and care.
The candles had been completely overpowered by the scent of their lovemaking quite some time ago – sweat, tears, and sperm. They were miniscule at this point, much of their wax having burnt away and leaving their flames to flicker on borrowed time. Just how long had they been at it?
“Thou hast nary spoken a word since we began thy… Punishment…” Gwyndolin pointed out with regained composure, lying atop the larger man like he were a cushion. “Art thee well, Martin?”
Many an oath had been broken today. He had thrown away his sacred vows and somehow done the unthinkable in claiming the virginity of both a prince and a god. When he had come to the Darkmoon Tomb he had several ideas how events would proceed, but one could forgive him for not being prepared for this contingency. Martin was anxious, to say the least. “I-It is not my place to speak, my lord.”
His voice returning to that stern yet comforting tone he often used, the Dark Sun caressed the Silver Knight’s stubbled jaw. “My dear Blade.” he sighed longingly, nuzzling his nose with his own, “Thou art mine grandest knight. From the day ye pledged thy spear and shield to mine father I could feel it in mine breast.” his golden eyes almost seemed to sparkle, as if recalling a fond but distant memory. They gazed into his without fear, “It was a foreign feeling that one could not describe nor understand… But it has all come together.” the Silver Knight struggled to blink, not wanting to break their stare for so much as a moment. “Martin, thou art a wonderful man who hath proven his loyalty and good will time and time again, and no doubt shall do so ‘til the end days come.”
As if reeling him in with his enchanting gaze, the beautiful prince of Anor Londo suddenly pinched the tip of Martin’s length with his nails, smirking deviously as the larger man was jogged out of his reverie. “… Thy lovely cock is but a little perk!”
The soldier took a moment to process his liege’s kind words of encouragement, and his drive to reassure his follower even now whilst dazed and exhausted. Perhaps he had been so obsessed with the words of the vows he had taken that he had forgotten their true meaning? To serve the Darkmoon was an honour of the highest calibre; a reward for those that yearned for justice, not a strict punishment that would control one’s existence.
… A ‘little’ perk?
Silver Knight Martin chuckled dryly at the thought. It was a strange sort of chuckle for someone so humourless and serious as he, and it caught Gwyndolin – pleasantly – by surprise. The Dark Sun’s cheeky smirk became a delicate yet confused smile, his eyebrow rising inquisitively.
“Why art thou…?” Gwyndolin began to question, only to realise what he had said, “Very well, a big perk!” he hit Martin’s chest playfully, yet his laughter continued. “A gigantic perk?” soon enough they were both chortling, “Don’t let thine ego grow too large, knight!”
Soon the laughter faded away, the two once again smitten by the mere sight of one another like a pair of newlyweds on their honeymoon. All the while Gwyndolin continued to slowly run his thumb along the underside of Martin’s member, squeezing out the very last drops of his monstrous orgasm. Even now it was white and viscous; the Silver Knight was a very fertile man indeed.
“My lord, I-”
“Why not ‘my love’…?” Gwyndolin suddenly interrupted, finally breaking their stare. Shyly he nestled against Martin’s neck, as if trying to hides his eyes. “… J-Just for today.”
Without his characteristic hesitation the knight kissed Gwyndolin’s forehead clumsily, continuing to press their now flaccid cocks together. While no longer charged with blinding lust, there was a certain comfort and warmth that came from it. That and he found the Dark Sun’s little member rather cute.
Gwyndolin kissed him quickly. “Thou art pure of heart, Martin.” the deity announced theatrically, his soul ‘cleansed’ and his punishment served. He went in for another kiss, this time a tad bit longer as he gently bit his follower’s lower lip. He had something else to add but he couldn’t help but go 0in once again, smooching him loudly with a hint of tongue. “A-A fantastic kisser…” he complimented as they broke for the briefest of moments, pressing their foreheads together. “Mayhaps we shall kiss again one day?”
This time Martin was the one to kiss him, brushing his lush silver locks between his fingers. The two fought a brief tug of war as they battled for supremacy, but eventually the satisfied Gwyndolin ceded victory and let his numb lips be ravaged. The victorious Martin, gracious in victory, spared his lover’s defeated mouth from any more punishment; for now.
“We could kiss every morning…” Gwyndolin sighed dreamily, closing his eyes and resting upon Martin’s breast. For a moment he imagined a simpler world where there was no need for the Darkmoon knights, nor the constant vigil of an entire city. They could be truly happy together, sharing their lives and doing all the things that couples were meant to do – with plenty of fantastic sex on top of that. He couldn’t help being so obsessed with that; he was lonely. “I art a slut for your big dick…” he thought aloud, only to quickly realise what he had let slip as if it wasn’t common knowledge. “Thine heart is racing… D-Did that make you blush? But it’s true!” the Dark Sun insisted, pouting bossily. “Thine deity demands a tribute every night, when no one is looking…”
Martin held him close in a firm embrace, resting his chin on Gwyndolin’s slight shoulder; body language for ‘I agree’, the Dark Sun concluded. Sighing in approval the god returned the gesture, hands splayed upon the knight’s shoulder blades.
Serenity, of both mind and body.
Peace.
Today’s events would have implications no doubt, but for once Martin did not feel concerned. Hours ago he had been beating himself with angst and despair over the unknown ahead and the cost of crossing his boundaries, yet the soft touch and softer words of his deity had reassured his troubled heart. He had made him content. He had given him courage.
Silver Knight Martin feared very little, but that wasn’t to say he was entirely fearless, even now with the blessing of his liege. Could any mortal man or immortal god make such a claim? Even the Lord of Sunlight himself shuddered at the thought of the faltering First Flame fading away with nary a whimper.
Without beating around the bush, Martin was afraid of snakes.
It was a very specific phobia no doubt tied to some sort of incident in his youth, but it was so very specific that it had never been worth mentioning.
Until now, of all times.
It took a few seconds for him to realise that something was wrong. At first it felt like a chilled length of string was slowly being brought along his legs, coiling up his thighs and cresting over Gwyndolin’s rear. It was at this point that he saw them – them, as in several – cresting over the curve of the snoozing Dark Sun’s bottom.
Those beady little eyes.
Those jittery forked tongues.
Tasting the air and no doubt amused by the musky taste, the platoon of slithering serpents continued their twisted advance. They coiled around the defenceless deity and moved closer and closer, almost binding them together as if they were sentient lassos. Rather frightened to put it lightly, Martin’s tightening embrace pulled Gwyndolin from his slumber.
“Hmmm?” the Dark Sun murmured, rightfully groggy from their session prior, “Why, art thou stiff again?” he asked, entirely ignorant to the legion of snakes that were wrapped around his body. Mishearing a whimper of worry as one of arousal, Gwyndolin chuckled lightly at the ‘stiffness’ of his partner. “Already? Was it mine words that did this…?” the serpents were beginning to slip between them now, searching around their dirtied stomachs like demented probes. “Perverted little sinner, very naughty indeed.”
A hushed hissing sound sent a chill down his spine, the feeling of scales sliding between their sticky skin foreign and unsettling. It was difficult to decide what terrified him more - the sinister sight of the snakes or the knowledge that while hidden they were there, slithering and scheming in secret.
Somehow he managed to squeeze Gwyndolin even tighter, trembling as forked tongues tickled his navel. Were they licking up the…?
They were.
They really were.
“Thou hair hast stood on end, art thou cold?” he placed a warm pair of kisses on his partner’s neck, feeling his racing pulse. “Come close Martin, is it not mine duty as thy liege to satisfy thy needs?”
Both the Dark Sun and the spelunking serpents wrapped around him tightly in an affectionate embrace, even more of the slippery sods creeping up Gwyndolin’s thighs. Martin’s whimpers were quickly silence by an authoritative hush from his deity, whom the snakes mimicked with a loud, unanimous hiss.
It was at this moment that Martin’s horror-stricken mind put two and two together. These serpents were a part of Gwyndolin, sprouting from his person and pulling the knight into his embrace. This was the sort of cosmic irony that could only occur in the world of fiction – the one person that made him content and could bring him to a state of complete and utter peace just so happened to have an endless legion of the one thing that made his skin crawl sprouting out of his body.
This sort of thing was why he was such a stressed person.
“Shhhh, your god is with you.” Gwyndolin reassured him, his lips so close that it felt as if his words came from within his mind itself. The buzzing ring of silence was completely overpowered by his presence. “And he shan’t ever leave the side of his most loyal servant.” his gentle breaths and constant pulse surrounded him, smothering his senses with their tranquillity. “Let us rest together.” the Dark Sun let off an exaggerated fake yawn, tangling their legs together all cosy and snug – and inadvertently locking Martin in place. “Thou can have me all night, Martin.”
It was always night in Anor Londo.
The last of the candles flittered and wobbled, until at last it was snuffed out.
“Sleep well, my shining knight.”
X
(A/N): You never realise how frustratingly difficult it is to write dialogue in Ye Olde Englishe until you have to do it for a dialogue heavy porn fic! Not entirely pleased by how this one turned out in the end, although I went for sort of a fuzzy young lovers thing in the end which was cute – if a bit bland.
As for that candle thing? That was gonna just be a one off joke about Gwyndolin trying to give the Darkmoon Tomb a romantic mood, but that weird implied aphrodisiac thing randomly happened… I wonder if something like that exists in Lordran?
With that the first arc of the Compendium is concluded, but fear not! After a brief hiatus we shall return with the second arc set in Drangleic and Dark Souls II! We’ve got plenty of new waifus to come, ranging from excitable bird ladies to hypnotic big booty zombie temptresses to towering snake women with terrible self esteem issues! Make no mistake, with increased danger comes even greater degeneracy! Watch for it!
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PlayerUnknown’s Soulsborne Waifu Compendium