Character name: Tonraq from the Legend of Korra
Reader: Older male genie reader (he/him),
NSFW: Chastity, bondage, gags and humiliation (i dont have strong limits. I just ask that the reader isnt abusive towards Tonraq nor does he or anyone engage in any forms of misogyny).
Sex Role: Dom reader
Setting: Set in an Aladdin AU, Tonraq is the Sultan of the kingdom and is recognized as a man of power by everyone. But no one knows that hes having sexual relations with a genie who has him locked in a chastity cage, which is his lamp, and makes him perform sexual acts in secret. You can decide on the intimate acts between them as long as Tonraq is kept caged and cloth gagged.
I hope you like it! Sorry it took so long :,)
MDNI 18+
Contains: sub!Tonraq x dom!maleGenieReader, bondage, cloth gagging, gag speak, male chastitsy, public humiliation, power exchange, orgasm denial
The Palace of the Southern Water Tribe rose from the coast as a monument to endurance—a citadel of stone and water-polished marble. To the outside world, Sultan Tonraq was the immovable force.
He was the ruler who had stitched the southern clans back together. Yet even the strongest current has an unseen undertow, and Tonraq’s was bound to the dull gleam of an ancient lamp and the entity who owned what he had surrendered.
The burden of rule had crushed him years earlier. He needed a place where the crown did not exist.
You had emerged from the lamp as something absolute. By day, you lent him the resolve to govern. By night, he yielded his freedom entirely.
Beneath ceremonial robes, Tonraq lived with a constant awareness of his submission. The chastity device—smooth, unyielding steel—was a permanent fixture. It pressed into him during councils, a silent, pinching reminder that while he commanded the South, he had no authority over himself.
⸻
The tension sharpened during a formal banquet for Earth Kingdom emissaries. You moved unseen, a presence like dry heat against coastal air. Tonraq presided at the table, posture flawless. Your voice brushed his ear as your unseen hand slipped beneath the table. A single touch against the lock of the cage was enough. His shoulders stiffened, the wine in his cup trembling.
“They believe your attention is on patrol routes,” you murmured. “But you’re counting every breath instead.”
Tonraq cleared his throat, forcing his voice to remain the deep, steady baritone the public expected. “The naval rotations must remain consistent,” he said, his tone authoritative despite the fire blooming in his gut. “Any lapse would be costly.”
An elder across the table frowned slightly. “Sultan, are you unwell? You seem... distracted.”
Tonraq did not turn, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his goblet. “The hall is warmer than expected,” he replied evenly, his eyes fixed forward. “Nothing more.”
Outwardly, he was the perfect sovereign. Internally, the contrast between his royal dignity and the cold steel locking him away left him burning with a secret shame.
⸻
When the last guest departed and the doors to his chambers sealed shut, the ruler ceased to exist. Tonraq undressed to the waist, revealing a body scarred and disciplined.
“Kneel,” you said, your tone final.
He obeyed, knees striking stone with a heavy thud. He offered his wrists, and you bound them high with coarse silk cords, pulling until tension settled in his shoulders.
Then you brought the cloth—heavy linen, folded thick. Tonraq opened his mouth on instinct. You filled the space, layer by layer, until his tongue was pinned and his jaw ached. The final wrap sealed his lips, knotted with a brutal snap at the back of his head.
“So this is the great Sultan,” you said, circling him. “The voice of a nation, reduced to silence. Tell me—does the title still matter now?”
He strained against the bindings, breath forced through his nose. He fought to perform his duty, to answer with the strength you demanded through the obstruction.
"Mm b-l’ng t’ yoo. Mm sh-p’k o-nlee wh-n a-l-ow’d." ("I belong to you. I speak only when allowed.")
⸻
The hours that followed were a slow, methodical dismantling of the Sultan’s dignity.
You moved with the unhurried grace of a master who knew their subject’s limits better than the man himself.
Tonraq remained on his knees, his torso a map of tensed muscle and glistening sweat, his arms pulled so high behind him that every breath was an exercise in endurance.
⸻
You draped yourself over his broad back, your chest pressing against his scarred shoulder blades. The contrast was striking—your cool, ethereal touch against the furnace of his skin.
You reached around his waist, your fingers dancing just above the cold steel of the chastity cage. You didn't unlock it; instead, you manipulated the device, tugging it just enough to make him grunt into the heavy linen of his gag.
"You’re so responsive tonight, Tonraq," you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Even through the steel, you're trying to reach for me. Show me how much you want it. Show me how the Sultan begs when he’s been silenced."
He bucked his hips instinctively, a sharp, rhythmic motion that sent the metal biting into his flesh.
The frustration was visible in the way his thighs shook, his knees grinding into the stone floor. He was a man built for action, for conquest, but here he was trapped in a cycle of rising need and clinical denial.
You used your magic to heighten the sensitivity of the skin trapped within the cage, making the confinement feel twice as narrow.
He tried to respond, his voice a deep, vibrating wreck that rattled against the padding in his mouth.
"‘T h-rr-tsh... b-t Mm n-ee-d m-rr. D-nn’t sht-pp." ("It hurts, but I need more. Do not stop.")
You increased the pace, your hands wandering over his pectorals, your thumbs catching his nipples and pulling sharply.
Tonraq’s head snapped back, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling as a long, muffled wail of "Mmmph-nnngh!" tore from his throat.
You shifted your weight, grinding your own hips against his lower back, ensuring he felt every curve of your form while he remained encased in his metal cage.
The sensory overload was absolute.
You began to stroke the length of his bound thighs, your touch sparking like lightning against his skin, while the heavy cloth in his mouth forced him to swallow his own desperate groans.
"You look so beautiful like this," you purred, reaching around to grip the knot of his gag, tilting his head back until he was forced to look at you. "Muted. Bound. Caged. A ruler of thousands, but you can't even touch yourself. Tell me, who is the real master of the Southern Tribe?"
He heaved, his chest expanding to its limit, the silk cords around his wrists creaking with the strain as he tried to speak through the thick layers of the linen.
"Yoo ah-rr. Mm’m n-th’ng b’t yoor t’oy. P’lee-sh, Mmm-maish-t’rr." ("You are. I am nothing but your toy. Please, Master.")
⸻
You didn't give him the release he craved. Instead, you pushed him to the very brink of a ruined peak, using your influence to keep his body on the jagged edge of climax without ever letting the steel lock yield.
You spent time tracing the lines of his abs, your nails lightly scratching the skin, while he shuddered uncontrollably.
When he was at his most desperate, his muffled cries turning into rhythmic, animalistic hums of "Mmm-mmm-mmm!", you suddenly pulled back, leaving the heat to simmer into a dull, throbbing ache.
"Stay there," you commanded softly. "Let the cold remind you of the lock. You'll remain like this until the sun touches the horizon. Only then will I allow you to be the Sultan again."
He could only nod—a slow, heavy movement of his head that signaled his total, unyielding acceptance.
The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the sound of a man who had found his only true peace in the complete surrender of his power.
⸻
The hours until dawn were a marathon of forced stillness. Tonraq remained exactly as you left him—kneeling on the frigid stone, his wrists cinched toward the ceiling, his jaw aching under the unyielding stretch of the linen gag.
He did not fight the discomfort; he wore it like a secret uniform that meant, for once, he didn't have to be the man with all the answers.
When the first sliver of grey light touched the frost on the window, the magic receded.
Tonraq worked his hands free and untied the knots of the gag, his mouth feeling cavernous and dry once the fabric was removed. He sat on his heels for a moment, savoring the lingering heat of the humiliation.
By the time the palace stirred, the Sultan had returned. He dressed in his heavy, fur-lined regalia, the weight of the blue fabric hiding the steel lock that still pinched his skin.
He stood on the Great Balcony overlooking the capital, his face a mask of iron-hard resolve.
"The South is strong!" he proclaimed, his voice booming over the harbor with an authority that seemed to shake the very ice. "We do not break. We do not falter. We endure!"
The roar of the people was deafening. They saw a conqueror who bowed to no one.
They would never know that their leader’s greatest strength was his ability to be utterly broken in the dark.
⸻
As he stepped back inside, Tonraq felt a dark, private thrill. The more they cheered for his "unbreakable" spirit, the more he cherished the memory of the night’s ruin.
He realized that he wasn't burdened by the bargain; he was unburdened by it.
By surrendering his will to you in the dark, he found the strength to carry the world in the light.
He was a king who lived only for the moment the sun went down, just so he could be forced to be quiet again.
