#cabbage writes

She turns her back to him silently, and Rolan whimpers, waiting a mere second as she calmly searches a draw before gasping—

‘Are you going to help me?’ and then, grovelling and desperate, ‘Please!’

There it is; the cock and harness. 

‘I beg you—‘

‘Undress,’ she orders, and in the moment it takes for  her to turn he’s already half-ripped his trousers down, yanking his robe aside. 

He stops at the sight of the equipment in her hands and chokes out, ‘What?’

She pulls up her skirts, buckling it on with practised speed. ‘It is the fastest way to work in the cooling ointment, and undo the damage you have caused. Or would you rather suffer longer?’

Rolan’s bare thighs tense. He thrusts the tail of his robes back over his cock, but not before she sees how it is straining in its cage, swelling against the metal—

And still he hesitates, swallowing through tears of pain and the vivid red flush that scours his cheeks.

‘Zurgan,’ he whispers. ‘Hells…’

She raises an eyebrow, and his tongue suddenly unknots itself

‘Yes!’ he gasps. ‘Yes. Tell me what to—’

‘Hands on the bench, and bend over,’ she interrupts briskly, grasping a handful of ointment to slick her cock with. It is firm, bending slightly in her grip, the perfect implement to stretch and punish with.

Rolan trembles, whimpering, as she raises his tail; and then she plunges in. 

‘Fuck!’ he sobs, clawing against the leather bench, and then as she pulls back and rams in deeper he claws again, harder, striking white lines into black leather. Scratching desperately for sanity. ‘Wretched— Hells— oh, Gods!’

‘It should start working soon,’ she tells him firmly, her cool hands tight on the hot skin of his hips. Every thrust grinds her palms into his ridges, making them bend and yield. Just as he does, nodding frantically and scrabbling again, as if he is drowning and the bench is his only raft. He cries out, over and over, cursing, whimpering— sobbing— 

‘Please—’ 

She frowns, slowing the pace. ‘Is it not cooling?’

‘No— I mean—the cage—’

‘This is a treatment, not a pleasuring,’ she tells him sharply, thrusting up into him with a rough jerk.

Rolan ducks his head, making a strangled, desperate noise of assent. Understanding. 

‘It— there is a little burning— still—’

‘I see,’ she murmurs, reaching for more ointment, ringing it around his entrance before she slicks the cock again and presses back inside him. He’s wide open now, so easily fucked that she has no choice but to do it harder, driving the cream as deep as she can get it. Rolan has not been quiet since they started, but now he gets even louder, strings of incoherent whines and shouted moans. 

His tail tries to wind tight around her shoulder, but she slaps the tip away.

‘You don’t learn from your mistakes,’ she tells him sharply, and he nods in shamed agreement. Sharess above, his submission soaks her. The leather straps between her thighs are slick, her clit gorged, and still she grits her teeth in determined professionalism and steadies herself from going faster, from grasping his hair and shoving him down and fucking him until ecstasy rockets through her veins.

‘Please!’ Rolan whimpers. ‘Don’t stop— I want— please—’

‘You don’t learn from your mistakes,’ she tells him again, but her fingers are already wandering to his cage, feeling the slick wet bars at the tip where he is leaking. Perhaps— the impulse she has felt, this attraction to him, should be indulged…

She slows, seizing his hair, her voice dropping low. ‘What do you want?’ 

‘I— ahhh— I want you to keep fucking me,’ he gasps. ‘That is all. Please— I promise, I will not ask to be released, just—’

‘You don’t care if I take the cage off? Is that true?’

‘No,’ he admits, his voice ragged. ‘I am desperate— please!’

A sigh. She rubs the head of her cock over his entrance, and he stiffens. Shivers.

‘If I do this,’ she tells him, flexing his tail back, ‘I will have to punish you afterwards. This cannot be a reward.’

‘I understand,’ he rasps. ‘I broke the rules— but please, just— ahhh!’

She has buried herself to the hilt, and as he reels she takes the key from her pocket and reaches around to feel for the lock with practised fingers. 

The lock clicks; Rolan whimpers; she pulls the top part of the cage free. She strokes his cock, briefly, and feels his thighs tense in anticipation as she grasps the ring around his balls and removes it before he can get too hard to let it.

‘There,’ she murmurs, putting it on the bench, and as she returns her hand to Rolan’s cock he’s already swelling in her grasp, hot and hard and twitching. Like a rabbit released from a trap, awash with nervous energy and unsure where to go. 

A smile curls over her lips.

‘Sharess, take me!’ she calls out, seizing his cock tight, jerking it roughly as her hips snap into him. Rolan’s cries lie on the boundary between pain and pleasure, growing louder, louder— she takes her hand off to thrust him down, abruptly, and he whimpers in grief at its loss, so close to the edge— but he has no time to mourn because now she thrusts into him even faster and harder, grip braced against his shoulders as she arcs her back and heat scores through her, the power of her goddess and her domination.

His cheek is pressed to the bench, eyes screwed shut and lips wrenched open in the agony of too much pleasure.

‘Touch yourself!’ she commands. He jerks his hand beneath his hips, eyes still shut, hips bucking back into hers; no longer merely surrendered but seeking, needing; begging—

‘Fuck!’ he sobs, and then his cry becomes a shout. ‘Fuck — ahh— ahhhhh!’

‘Yes!’ she shouts back, fucking him with every ounce of the force her hot blood swells with. ‘Yes— yes— yes— ah!’

Sharess’s light blinds her, pleasure that spills over the surface of her skin and consumes her, deafening Rolan’s ebbing cries. He collapses entirely when she pulls out, body wracked with heaving breaths; whilst he still lies prostrate over the bench she seizes her own self-control back and strides over to find the cane in her drawers.

Seizing his tail, she begins before he can even realise what is happening— but he does not protest. The first stroke draws only a pin-sharp gasp, and a flinch he stifles half way. Good; he agreed to this. 

She raises her arm again and strikes, feeling her clit pulse once more. It is hard to remain professional, at the sight of welted cheeks clenching over fucked-open hole, the pained but determinedly quiet whimper that follows. 

‘Eight more,’ she tells him, and Rolan nods, curling slightly into the bench, bracing himself. Seeking comfort, perhaps, though there is little to be found in its austere padding. 

Eight. Seven. Six. 

The whisper of air that follows her cane makes his breath hitch every time, anticipating the impact— and as it recoils, she notes the spring of the rod and the increasingly raw gasps from Rolan’s lips with equal satisfaction. Deep burgundy welts mark his coral skin. 

Five. Four— 

‘Zurgan!’ Rolan sobs. Three. ‘Fuck!’ Two. ‘Nghhhh!’

One.

‘Nnnghhh— mmmmnnn— ah—’

The cries don’t stop. She throws the cane aside and pulls him up, close, wiping the tears from his cheeks. 

‘I am sorry,’ he whispers faintly, and abruptly she shuts his mouth with a kiss, forceful in its tenderness. 

‘Do not be sorry,’ she whispers. ‘The punishment is over. You did well.’

His claws curl into her back as he staggers to his feet. 

‘Why did you kiss me?’ he asks. ‘I did not think you—this—’

‘Rolan,’ she says, interrupting. ‘You broke the rules for a reason, didn’t you.’

Rolan pulls back a little, and flushes, but his usually haughty posture does not return. He might have entered her chambers an Archmage, but only the man stands before her now, holding uncertainly to her waist as she strokes the line of his jaw. Stuff and awkward still; but now the shell has been pried away, and he admits it.

‘Yes,’ he says quietly. ‘It was not conscious but… I wished to see you again. More than a successful treatment would allow.’

She nods. ‘I have been considering something, and now I am sure. I would like to make you an offer.’

‘I would take you for my own,’ she tells him. ‘Train you.’ She slips her fingers into her mouth, wetting them, reaching around him to press gently into his entrance.

Rolan’s breath catches. ‘You would—’

‘If you wanted me to.’ She pulls her fingers back out. He catches himself in a brief, sharp gasp, and looks embarrassed. 

‘You can get dressed again,’ she says, teasing slightly, and he hastens to pull his trousers back up. 

When he is done, he frowns. 

‘I did not want to be like this.’ There is surprisingly little self-recrimination in his tone; it is a mere statement of fact. 

‘You can go, if you wish. But if you stay, know that there will be conditions. Rules.’

She can see the longing, in the tantalisingly long glance he gives her. He is so close to admitting it—

‘How can I live— in between this? If I am… stretched again?’ Even a thorough fucking has apparently not loosened his tongue all the way; he still winces through the word. 

‘Is wearing a plug so terrible?’ she asks. ‘If you were doing it for someone…’

‘For you,’ Rolan murmurs, and suddenly— ‘Yes. Yes. I accept. Whatever your terms are, I will take them. I cannot deny myself any longer.’

‘Mmm.’ She’s pleased. ‘But as much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, if we are going to do this, I want you to prove that you can resist temptation.’ 

He swallows, nodding seriously. ‘Of course.’

‘We’ll restart the treatment. Another six weeks, to make your hole as tight and new as it can be.’ She stroked his cheek softly. ‘And then I’ll show you how capable you are. I will stretch you until you can take my arm to the elbow, and cage you until you no longer think of your cock as your own.’

‘Zurgan,’ Rolan gasps. ‘Yes— please, yes!’

The cleric smiles, and kisses him again. Rolan seeks her like air, chasing as she pulls away. But he catches himself, sharp tooth on lip, and clears his throat. 

‘Good boy,’ she murmurs, and he groans. ‘And perhaps, since you’ve been so good… before I lock you up again…’

‘Wretched Gods,’ Rolan whispers hastily, wrenching at his trouser buttons . ‘Yes! Yes— unnnnnnhh—’

And now, strangely, she finds himself by his side at a glorious Baldur’s Gate gala. Here, she is little known; simply the Archmage’s lover. An amusing inversion of influence, when she knows none of the patriars coming to talk to him knows of her plug in his ass and her cage on his cock— though they might catch the way he looks at her for permission to take another glass of wine, or the way his hand rests on his high robe collar, as if he is feeling for something underneath it. 

He has changed, in the last six months. At first, their relationship remained still mostly confined to her practise room; first the treatment, which he followed to the letter, and then the beginning of his training proper. But over time, he began to want more of her, and her of him. He is extraordinary after all; a man of intelligence and intense passion, hidden beneath that reserved exterior. Intoxicating, and not just for the sounds he makes when his ring is stretched around her fist, and when her cane kisses his flushed skin. 

Taking his hand, she buries it in her deep dress pockets, around the strap-on cock she has brought just for the occasion. 

Rolan nearly chokes on his moan. 

She murmurs a prayer to Sharess over the salve, made with a slightly different recipe this time. She says an incantation, too, to hold back the burning effect of the ingredient within.

‘What is that?’ Rolan asks. Ever-impatient. The cleric allows herself a brief eye roll whilst her back is to him, the corner of her lip curling with amusement. 

‘On all fours,’ she orders, ignoring him. Sharess, it is hard not to grasp the perfect peach of his ass, presented to her so firm and ripe every time. Blushing such a pretty coral by nature that the faintest kneading of it would make it red, and a punishment the deepest crimson. His raised tail frames the offering— temptation— perfectly.

As her finger sinks in, and Rolan cants up needily in response to it, she thinks yet again of how little she wants to see him go. How much there still is to know about him.

She rubs the new salve deep, not allowing herself even a wistful moment’s lingering over his pleasure. There is far too much to think about, to let herself act on impulse now.

‘There,’ she murmurs, ringing his entrance too. Rolan issues a low groan, sharply cut off, and tenses his thighs around his new cage. His cock is swelling inside it, despite the recent orgasm. His first taste of captivity. 

It must be rather distracting, because he forgets to ask if he can pull his trousers back up; and when she orders him to, he takes a moment to remember what he was asking about.

‘What have you just applied to me?’ he asks, flushing as he spreads his thighs a fraction and then closes them again. 

‘Is the cage noticeable?’ she asks.

He sets his teeth and nods, reddening further. 

‘It should only need to be a temporary solution.

Together with the ginger paste—’

‘Ginger?’ 

‘Yes.’

Rolan flashes her a look, half-affronted, half-nervous. He scowls, swallows, and straightens. 

‘It won’t be necessary anyway. I suppose… that enchantment was delaying the effect somehow.’

‘Yes. You will only feel it if you insert something larger than a finger. However, I have to warn you, once it starts burning, it may take some time to end.’

‘How does that work with—’ he scowls— ‘normal bodily processes.’

‘You are a mage too. You know that magic works on intent. Only your deliberate self-pleasuring will result in pain.’

His tail twists tight around his ankle. ‘I see.’

‘You’ll need to apply the serum to your hole every day, following the same pattern I did. If you follow my previous instructions to the letter, then no further consequences should arise.’

‘I understand. I… will visit you again?’

Hesitation flickers across his face, the gold sunbeams of his eyes shifting in search of something new: permission.

She smiles, and nods. ‘Two tendays from now, to check your progress, and two tendays’ more after that. Unless—’

Rolan’s brow furrows. He’s waiting. 

‘Unless— ?’

‘There’s some kind of emergency. But I doubt there will be now. You understand the importance of following the regimen to the letter.’

She lets her voice be closed off. No room for bad behaviour, no hook of hope for him that misbehaving will get him somewhere he wants to be. If there is something he would like, more than this, he will have to search deep and find the words within himself. 

Rolan frowns, his hand hovering over the jar. Abruptly, he takes it up, and thrusts it in his pocket, nodding to her.

‘Until then,’ she says.

His cheek twitches. ‘Indeed.’ 

To her almost-disappointment, he arrives at the next appointment quietly pliant, without the lashing tail or tensed jaw that would tell her he’d broken the rules. If he had disobeyed her, he would have flushed far harder; and then she could have revelled in the thought of him squirming all day and night, burning up with her punishment. The prayer to Sharess was to make it last, and to fruitlessly swell his cock with it until he knew what true denial felt like.

But as it is, he has been entirely well-behaved, and so she is professional with him. She can still feel his yearning for her touch. He disrobes quickly, looking to her for approval; presses his ass to her fingers, not seeking more depth than she will give, but offering himself earnestly, without the awkward ceremony that accompanied his first visits. She feels his want, rising beneath the surface of his skin to meet her fingers, the warmth that spreads over his cheeks when she glances at his face. But he doesn’t say it. 

She pulls her finger free.

‘Two more tendays.’

Rolan’s frown is inscrutable, a glimpse of feeling stiffened to nothingness before she can read it. He sweeps up his spellbook, and leaves, and for a moment she watches the door, wondering what it is that truly drives him most, lust or caution, which will win out— 

Seventeen days later, she gets her answer, a frantic hammering on the door as she attends the chafed nipples of a nursing patriar.

Her patient is interrupted mid-flow, expressing how good the salve feels, what a relief it is to get a moment to herself—

‘Please!’ shouts the voice from beyond the door, before commanding itself again. ‘It is urgent— I— Gods!’

It is almost sobbed, and yet still disguised— but she would recognise that cadence anywhere.

‘One moment,’ she tells her patient reassuringly, and stalks out of the door, slamming it behind her. 

This time, he has not chosen to disguise himself as a Dragonborn, but as an elf, and the illusion is flickering in and out as he clings to the post outside her house, a tear trickling down his cheek.

‘Please!’ he gasps. ‘Let me in— ’

‘You will have to wait until my appointment is finished,’ she tells him. The mere act of denying him mercy makes her cunt slick and her tongue wet— and so too does the way he lunges for her as she shuts the door once more between them, unsuccessfully seizing at her sleeve.

Fuck, it is almost impossible to concentrate, hearing his gasps of pain from beyond the door; even such a well-worn set of instructions as for a nursing mother’s salve becomes suddenly block-like and obstructive on her tongue. She enunciates them carefully still, hiding a quickening pulse and fast-deepening lust behind her professional demeanour. 

‘Twice a day, or as needed,’ she murmurs, opening a drawer just for a brief second to check that another salve entirely is where she remembered putting it. ‘Come again after the next full moon; I’ll be able to get you some stronger ingredients after a fresh Tearblossom harvest.’

‘Thank you,’ says the patriar gratefully, gathering up her embroidered robes. ‘Is all well outside? I hope I have not interrupted an emergency—’

‘Not at all,’ the cleric says smoothly. ‘But if that is all—’

As the patriar hurries out, Rolan stumbles in, catching her roughly with his shoulder as he goes. She shoots the cleric a glance of annoyance as she leaves, that the cleric returns with a set jaw and a nod of recognition, seizing him by the collar when he’s safely inside.

The last of his disguise falls off him like ripped silk, showing the mess beneath. Sweating and dishevelled, Rolan claws at his collar buttons, buttoned hastily into the wrong holes.

‘Thank the Gods,’ he gasps. ‘I could not wait–’

‘No matter how desperate you are, you will not take it my other patients,’ she interrupts. The glow in Rolan’s eyes is melting with tears, his lips flushed and wet, arched in agonising pain. 

‘A… chastity cage?’ Her client almost chokes, his tail twisting tight. ‘I came to you so I could stop wearing…devices… beneath my clothes. I am not a—’ Rolan fights for a suitable word—  ‘Freak.’

She’d like to ask him what a man who can’t control his urge to fill his asshole is then. A pervert? A whore? Her self-control is wearing increasingly thin, tempted anew at each meeting by his repression and desperation— and the elegant steel cage in her hand is not helping. But she remains impassive, letting Rolan vent his shame without comment.

He tries to argue further. 

‘It won’t work anyway. A simple Knock spell— ’

‘You would wake up half a Tower just to pleasure yourself?’ 

Rolan bites his tongue, and she smiles, pressing her point. ‘It wouldn’t matter anyway. I commissioned it especially for you yesterday. Since the Hero of the Gate brought back the secrets to making sussur weapons, the smiths around here have been innovating.’

‘What do you mean?’ Rolan asks, curious in spite of himself.

‘The lock itself is impregnated with sussur. It should be impervious to spells, without having any effect on your own casting ability. Now. Shall I put it on you?’

Rolan’s thighs clench. The breath he snatches is audible. Tantalising. 

‘I— how much was it? Do you expect me to— ’

‘Do you want this treatment to be effective? If you cannot stop yourself from masturbating then—’

His mouth twists; and then abruptly, he nods and begins to strip, refusing to look at her until he is undressed— and even then, his glance is quickly jerked away.

‘Go on then,’ he mutters. 

She reaches to move aside the length of his robe that still covers his cock; but Rolan, flushed, snatches it aside first. He is already stiffening.

‘Lie back,’ she tells him, and his eyes go wide; a glimpse of sweetness beneath the surface. 

He swallows, as if considering, for barely a moment— and then he obeys, slowly lowering himself down and opening his legs a little. She nudges one gently off the side of the bench, slipping into the gap.

Rolan whimpers as she takes his balls in her hand. His cock is almost fully swollen already, twitching as she brings the ring of the cage up to his balls.

‘Clench your muscles, and breathe. I know this process can be arousing—’

A noise of protest— or perhaps pure shame— escapes him.

‘I am trying,’ he gasps. 

She leans over him to take a bottle of oil from the counter, and he gasps again, screwing his eyes shut. And she’s not even touching him. The mere suggestion of her above him is enough.

‘Breathe,’ she murmurs, the oil pooling in her palm; and then she reaches to slick his balls with it. His tail lashes, catching her calf.

‘My apologies!’ he chokes out. 

‘Don’t worry about it,’ she says, and is immediately lashed again, more ferociously, as she takes one of his balls in her firm grasp and pulls it through the ring.

‘Fuck!’ he whimpers. ‘Zurgan—’

The second is through. She surveys his throbbing cock, and the needy trail of pre-come dribbling down its length. Rolan opens his eyes long enough to see her looking, and winces in shame.

‘We can’t put the cage on until you are soft,’ she says, taking the shaft in her hand.

‘I— oh, Gods! You’re not— going to— nfffff!’

He whines as she lets go.

‘Either I do it, or you’ll have to. If the act of being caged is arousing for you—’

Rolan’s lips arch in exquisite, mortified pain. She takes his flush as acknowledgement, and at last, a sharp, stilted nod as agreement.

‘I will do it,’ he gasps. ‘But…’

‘You struggle to come without something inside you?’

He looks revolted by himself, but he nods again. Sympathy twinges inside her, but so does a slash of pleasure. Rolan’s shame is beautiful, coloured in crimson flush and outlined in twisting, grimacing features; lips and brow and nose so elegant that the humiliation written on them only shines more brightly in contrast. For now, she lets neither feeling win out; merely reaches back briskly for yet another bottle.

‘I can’t let you put anything too large inside,’ she murmurs. ‘But I can help.’

‘Help— how? Ahh!’

She smears the first of the paste on his cock, rolling its sheath down so the head is fully exposed. The thrill of possession is hard to suppress. Her ownership of his cock is only temporary, but it will be hers; all its lovely length and girth crushed down beneath her lock and key.

‘Gods—’ Rolan whispers. ‘Is that— Chaunsel?’

‘Yes.’ 

She leaves him, legs wide open, to scrub it from her fingers before any more of its sensitising power blooms on her skin. Her fingers already feel alive to the chill water, and the rough sponge she scrapes them with; Rolan’s cock must be weeping.

‘I thought healers-- discouraged its use—’ he gasps, clinging on to coherence by a mere thread. ‘Oh Gods—’

His hand hesitates still, even as he’s biting his lip bloody with desperation. She raises an eyebrow, almost impressed by this last vestige of reserve.

‘It causes numbing for a few days, and regular use worsens the problem. But occasional use has its purposes.’ 

Rolan nods, trying to stifle a squirm. 

She takes up position again between his legs. ‘Now.’ Slicking two fingers, she presses them deep inside him. ‘Come for me.’

‘Ah!’ 

Rolan’s eyes fly open in surprise. His ass tightens around her fingers; for a second, she feels tension shoot through him and thinks he’s going to say he can’t do this; but then he slackens, submitting. Eyes locked on her, he closes his hand around his cock and begins to work it— tentatively at first, but soon urgently, his hips arching into her touch as her fingers find his pleasure and exert their practised pressure, strokes that make his stomach flutter and his fist grasp even tighter.

Sharess above— he is a vision, desperately trying to contain each wanton gasp, to stop his hips from bucking and his body from begging for more. Her cunt is soaking through her clerical robes, oceans of want that make her feel more divinely connected to her goddess than ever. She says nothing; only leans a little closer, inspects Rolan’s wild pupils for the glaze of near-orgasm and finds him so close to the edge.

‘I cannot—’ he sobs, punishing his cock with one rough stroke after another. ‘I can’t— I can’t— I— ahhhhhhhhhh!’ 

His come splatters the neat silver embroidery on his robes, ropes of pearl that are just as pretty to her eyes.

‘Good,’ she murmurs softly, stroking his taint. ‘Good.’

As she expected; it is less about his ass— though he does respond to it so well— and more about another’s touch. What she could do to him with both— a huge cock strapped to her hips, and her encouraging grip around his waist— 

Rolan groans, his eyes fluttering open. They don’t focus for several seconds, and he doesn’t speak for another minute more, waiting as she goes to pour another basin of water from the pitcher and wash her hands again.

He sits up abruptly as she comes back, catching enough breath to Prestidigitate his robes clean (though, she notes, a faint white stain still remains). Taking his softening cock in her hand, she wipes it clean— and draws it through the ring briskly, ignoring the whimpers still slipping from his lips. The Chaunsel will last some time yet, and he must feel the metal’s constriction acutely.

‘Now the cage,’ she tells him, and slips him into its grasp. His cock fits it perfectly; room to get ever so slightly inflamed but no more. She chose well. 

Rolan is utterly still, watching with open lips and held breath as she hooks the lock into place and closes it.

Click. She tucks the key in her pocket, and he lets the breath go.

‘Hells,’ he says quietly. 

His hips shift slightly, trying out its weight.

‘I also have some straps to wear around your waist; if it proves a little too heavy, those will help to hold its weight. It’s important that you’re comfortable.’

‘How can I be— ’ he counters, sarcastic, but he swallows the rest of his sentence and shifts again, looking at her uncertainly. ‘I will take them. Thank you.’

‘Do you think you’ll be able to resist using toys now?’

Rolan’s hand wanders briefly to his caged cock. He pulls it away, as if scalded, flushing to the temples. 

‘I… do not know,’ he confesses. ‘I wish I could promise you…. I don’t know what possesses me. Even now— this cage—’

‘Does it arouse you too?’

He groans faintly.

‘Give it some time,’ she tells him. ‘Some men find chastity allows them to think less about their cocks. Their desires.’

‘And others?’ 

‘I have heard that for some… but it doesn’t matter. I trust you, Rolan. You have promised me not to touch yourself again, or to fill yourself again, and I know you understand why it’s important. If you want to break yourself of this habit, and return your body to its former state—’

‘I do,’ Rolan gasps. ‘But— please. Wretched Gods. Is there nothing else you can do to stop me?’