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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
[For Andrea and her inspiring fascination with the Arishok's tongue.]
As he stared into the mirror, Anders realized that he could taste all of the colors of the room and see every scent. A voice, growing fainter, told him that this was not right, then it died away in a whisper. Every nerve in his body was on alert, reaching out for new experiences, accepting each sensation as pleasure, knowing only the moment yet yearning for more. The ropes made a lyre of his body and he longed for each string to be plucked. Before him was a beautiful vision that he was vaguely aware was his own body and behind it the magnificent beast that would be the source of all satisfaction.
The Arishok refilled the silver goblet, allowing a meniscus to form as the liquid almost overtopped the rim. He threw the potion back, taking it in a gulp, and dropping the vessel.
Watching in the glimmering reflection, to Anders it appeared as if a god were swallowing moon beams, the movement slowed and spread into a milky smear by his altered vision. The metallic clatter as the chalice hit the planked floor reverberated in his mind like a thousand tiny temple bells.
Closing his eyes to ready himself, the Arishok let the emrus-din do its work. As it coursed through his body, setting alight the surface of his skin, washing through his blood and bringing to light the other world that lived within him but was hidden from normal perception, he thought of the human before him. He had wanted the mage, of course, as he would want any healthy and exotically handsome animal presented to him, but had not thought to be given his desire.
The emrus-din took hold and all thought left the giant as he stroked his now hyper-sensitive horns. The mages eyes followed every movement in the mirror much as a rat will watch a dancing snake, knowing that the serpent holds death or redemption. Each motion was languorous as he approached his prey. There was no hurry in the world of emrus-din, only the infinite moment, and each moment of crystalline perfection.
Anders saw the Qunari looming above him, that crimson staff rampant, stretching out, adorned with the one golden ring that would be his salvation. The smell, the taste, the essence of cinnamon engulfed him as the Arishok stroked its tip, bringing forth a cascade of clear liquid that fell hot onto the mage's back, sliding down the ravine that split him and dripping to the floor. He saw the shaft dip, then felt the pressure at his most secret opening. The liquid was slick and eased the way, but he still had to brace himself to withstand the steady force.
The Arishok was pleased to find the mage tight like a virgin boy, despite his undoubted experience. Perhaps a quality of being human or a gift of his magic, it did not matter. The thought that it would take strength to breach that defense, and that when he did he would be rewarded with delightfully constricted sheath, made his tongue reach out to lap his broad lips in anticipation.
Seeing that tongue, Anders moaned. The Qunari, every sense aflame, understood immediately. Stroking himself to release yet more of his copious and spicy lubricating fluid, he bent his great head and allowed his tongue to explore between the mages legs, wrapping itself around the bound cock and strumming the taunt ropes.
Anders was sure that he had died—it was simply not possible to have this much pleasure and still be living. The touch of that prehensile organ coated in spice laden slickness, playing at his cock, his balls, his belly, then sliding back through his legs, aroused every fiber of his being. The Qunari lapped at him as if greedy for his essence. He was licked from front to back, as he moaned and thrashed against his bonds, trying to find escape from the sensations that were overwhelming him. Then the Arishok delicately pieced him, allowing the pointed tip of his tongue to sink into the mage.
The Qunari was not sure if humans had the same divine spot as those of his species, but was curious to explore. He pushed his tongue in further, then allowed it to bend down, its stiffness powerfully stroking a place just beyond the opening. As the mage howled his passion, the Arishok smiled to himself. So they were not so different, these small and frail ones. He spent several more minutes in his labors until Anders was vibrating and humming with euphoria.
Withdrawing, he retrieved the goblet, filling it once again, and placed himself on the bed under the suspended man, holding the cup up for Anders to refresh himself. At first the mage was shaking too violently to be able to drink, even in his small lapping motions, but the Qunari was patient. When a quantity of emrus-din has found its way into the mage, the Arishok replaced the cup with the end of his penis. Although he had just drank his fill, Anders lapped and sucked like a man three days into a desert journey without a canteen. He was amazed by the almost continuous fountain of thick liquid that poured from the organ; the source of all of that cinnamon scent. His tongue did not have the reach nor the strength of the Qunari's, but he made up for his deficiencies as best he could with a unstinting enthusiasm. His hyper-sensitive body made every lick, every stroke a joy unequaled until the next.
Grunting, the Arishok placed his hand on Anders' forehead, pushing it back and tightening the web of ropes that encased his body. He placed his lips on the mage's and allowed his tongue to unfurl within the mouth of the other, tasting there the emrus-din and his own molten fluid. His longer appendage wrapped the mage's twice around, squeezing deliciously as he let the tip tickle the roof of the mouth. As he did this, he reached out and strummed the rope between chest and belly, the one between cock and throat, then each lesser strand until the mage's breath came fast and short and he could feel the other's pulse through his own mouth.
It was time. There was some regret in the realization, but the kesfals, the time of opening, of preparation, was complete. Now there was only the completion. He had restrained himself from the full measure of emrus-din to allow the control that would be needed to not completely sunder the mage. He closed his eyes and hoped that it would be enough when the moment was upon him.
Anders was aware that he was making mewling noises, very much like a spoiled and insistent kitten, but had no power to stop himself. He was sure that if he did not get release soon he would go mad, to live forever in the haze of the emrus-din—and a part of him hoped for that destiny. The Qunari had risen and was standing behind him performing some ritual of mediation, his eyes closed, his hand moving through the air trancing elaborate figures. As he did so, the mage felt the pattern etched on his body come alive, each stroke and whorl in turn, until it seemed that his skin was dancing, too joyous to stay quiescent any longer.
Abruptly, the Arishok snorted, then pressed himself into the mage, slowly but powerfully. Anders braced himself against the bar and, although it seemed not possible, spread his legs a bit further. The kind tongue had eased the entry and it wasn't until the first firm thrust that Anders screamed, despite the euphoric anesthesia of the Qunari potion. The movement did not hesitate for even a moment to acknowledge his distress, but continued in a steady rhythm, each withdrawal holding a threat and a promise of a deeper plunge to follow.
The movement forced on his body alternately tightened and loosened the ropes, pulling on his cock and balls, threatening to strangle him at times, tightening against the tender pattern that marked his skin, and making of his sensations a symphony. The pleasure and the pain melded into something beyond both, beyond the realm of normal human senses. He had just enough awareness to wonder as he felt the ring enter, if this would be the end of him. He had a vision of Fenris gloating over his mangled and abused body and laughed at the absurdity of it all.
The Arishok felt the resistance of the ring and gathered himself, pushing back against the mage's loins to gain a moment. He was Arishok, he could do this thing, show strength in discipline and denial. With renewed resolve, he shoved hard, but not past, or at least not too far past, his self imposed limit. It was difficult, but in the challenge was pleasure, rather like facing a worthy opponent on the field of battle. His rhythm became a steady acceleration, each thrust faster and harder, but not deeper. The two bodies rocked, bound together in lust and need, the mage barely conscious and the Qunari acutely aware, maintaining his precious control.
As the moment approached, the Arishok grasped the key thread firmly in hand. Then he was taken, bellowing like a bull to the mage's feline scream.
Anders felt as if liquid fire had been poured into him, shooting through his body with great force. He was vaguely aware of his own ejaculation, but the release was of much more than just his cock's fluid. Every part of his body, external and internal, was ablaze and waves of ecstasy thrummed through him. He screamed his triumph and defiance, expending the very last of his resources, his magic released from its tight control. Justice joined with him in truth as his body flickered with blue light. The magic, having slipped its fetters, rolled over the mage and crashed into the Arishok who froze, then growled, then howled, releasing his own carefully cultivated control.
At the last moment, as he was prepared to thrust home, the Qunari's massive discipline reasserted itself and he pushed away instead, just enough, just enough. As the last shuddering spurt left his cock, he pulled the thread and, reaching down, flicked up the bar the mage had been holding in his cramped hands. That key thread allowed every binding to unravel, releasing the human who, his strings cut, collapsed, moaning softly.
Catching himself on his arms, the Arishok threw his body down beside the smaller human figure curled around itself. He stroked the mage, murmuring comforting words. He then reached out for the large basin of lesmatk that had been placed carefully on the nearest table. Holding the lipped bowl above them, he slowly poured the contents across their bodies, bathing them both in the restoring liquid. As the last drop fell and the container crashed to the floor, the Arishok's eyes closed and his breathing became deep and regular.
- 6
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- 8
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Blackpowder Dominance