"Are you starting to see?"
Cass nodded. "He's been loving me in
his
way, and I've been trying to love him in
mine
."
"So what should you do?"
Cassandra took a deep breath. "Tell him frankly what I expect...and ask what he expects of me."
"Excellent choice, my dear." Azarel kissed her temple. "Now, wake up and get to it."
Cass smiled a little and nuzzled up to her neck. "Thank you, Mommy."
"Of course, luv. You're welcome here anytime."
She kissed Azarel gently, lingering in her touch.
Until a touch down below ripped a gasp from her lips, and the faint haze of the Fade rapidly ceded to blackness.
...
Cassandra woke with a slight gasp, her eyes snapping wide open. A slight groggy disorientation plagued her for barely a moment before she was sitting up and pushing off the thick fur-lined blanket. A slight groan escaped her lips as she reached down and touched her naked pussy--brushing the enchanted piercing adorning her clitoral hood. It was a gift from Azarel, one Damon had taught her to use after their third visit to her nearly cost the Inquisition a valuable resource. It was a Fade-strider gem--a magical device that would allow even non-mages to enter the dreamworld of the Fade. Very useful for visiting a demon for much-needed R&R while remaining close to the action.
Cassandra smiled and tried to ignore the mild throbbing between her legs, almost begging her to go back in. She shook it off and swung her legs over the side of the bed, taking in her surroundings. The Inquisitor's chambers were as rustic and welcoming as ever. After living in the Circle Tower for most of his life, he'd had enough of stone prisons. So, to spruce up the Inquisition's castle a bit, he'd incorporated the hides of the many beasts they'd slain. Everything from drakelings to bears found their way to his walls and windows. Tapestries were replaced with skins, curtains with sheared scales and fur. He'd even incorporated the hide of a particularly nasty sloth demon into a centerpiece above the entrance door. Though, that one might've been an enchantment to prevent any intruders from entering by force.
He'd told her while she was busy ogling his shoulder muscles, so she didn't really take it all in. Cassandra blushed hard.
Maker, they
had
switched places.
They'd both remained celibate since the explosion at the Conclave, so that couldn't have been the inciting factor. Based on his history and everything Azarel had revealed about his Tower exploits, Damon most certainly struck her as a man-whore (a tendency she had worked to curb since they'd been together). Yet, his quiet admission during the confession that followed, that he desired someone who actually treasured him as a person and not an object...
That
she could not recall from the stories of his past.
Whereas she
had
experienced that, with Regalyan. Maker's blood...of
course
he didn't know what was expected of him. The Circle had treated him like a walking bomb from the moment he exhibited his magic, and the slew of lovers he'd enjoyed at the Tower were no more than passing fancy (though on whose end, she had to wonder). The Knight-Commander he'd seduced--and who had basically enslaved him--was apparently even worse.
At the time of his Harrowing, the Fade trial to determine whether he would become a mage or a corpse, she personally oversaw the ordeal with sword already drawn. According to Damon, the blade was on his neck when he awoke from his Fade walk. And after his success, it only got worse. She transferred him under her command within the Tower, so as to keep her pet close. Kept his cock locked away in chastity for unreasonable stretches, even when she had to go away on Templar business. All for the sole reason of keeping him shackled to her, dependent on her good graces for just the possibility of satisfaction or relief.
And when she did permit either, it was bought with great pain, either at her hand or the hands of colleagues to whom she whored him out. Some would remove the cage and ride him. Others would keep it on and fuck his ass until he dribbled through it. Still others would not touch him at all except to use his mouth and hands for their pleasure, or simply tie him down and whip him for their amusement.
One particularly sadistic man took great pleasure in making Damon choke himself on his cock or have his own balls crushed by a dull spiked implement. The Knight-Commander had apparently received a great price for this lending, and apparently so due to this particular Templar's proclivities--sadism that surpassed even her own. And mere moments with the Templar showed he had been planning this for quite some time. Elaborate setups of metal and wood restraints, a lyrium-powered machine with a metal dildo on the end, and of course, the dreaded choke horse--a wooden wedge whose centerpiece was a mallet-head adorned with dull spikes and flanked by a large metal buttplug.
Damon was tied to this infernal contraption by his arms and legs, with just enough room to shift his torso and hips forward, pulling him away from the spiked head and the massive plug. Only he hesitated to do so, because every time he was affixed to this machine, it meant the Templar's cock would be waiting for him just a few inches forward. From the moment he was strapped with a ring gag large enough to hurt his jaw, he knew he was in trouble. But he hadn't expected the Templar to step so close to begin with, to always have at least the head of his cock past Damon's lips.
Every time he leaned forward to relieve his balls from the crushing mallet, he gagged and choked on thick cock. Mistakenly, he'd pushed himself the first time, bobbing back and forth despite his discomfort in an attempt to get his captor off and end his torment. They'd been in the Templar's personal chambers then, with the man's trousers on the floor and Damon suspended just high enough to put his head at crotch level. The whole time, the Templar showed no interest in him whatsoever, instead quietly reading a book over his head. The only sounds in the room were Damon's pained moans and gagging and the occasional rhythmic page turn.
The only response he got from the Templar was a quiet grunt and a painful grab of Damon's hair when he spurted down the mage's throat. He'd relaxed then, believing it was over. The Templar remained where he was, standing with his half-hard cock in Damon's mouth until it revived, and then the whole process started all over again. Despite his apparent disinterest in Damon, the Templar apparently enjoyed this so much that he made a replica of the machine for his office, hidden cleverly under his large desk. For hours, he would make Damon suck him off to orgasm after orgasm, a periodic relief and distraction from the endless reams of paperwork.
If Damon was very lucky, the flare of the buttplug would rub against his prostate enough to let him cum. Though the Templar always kept him naked on this machine, and any messes would be "returned to sender" once he was released. Returned, of course, by being smeared on the Templar's cock and fed to him along with one last load of the man's cum.
One whole week he was loaned to this sadist, never once having his cage removed, never once allowed to even ask for a break when he was used. The one time he made the mistake of asking, he was strapped to a table and ass-fucked by the lyrium-powered machine until even the discomfort of the dildo's size yielded to his immense sexual need. Damon dribbled on his midriff and moaned like a whore as he came. Then the Templar returned and clamped his nipples tightly, with a small chain attached to pulleys hanging from the ceiling. Weights were added to the pulleys, little by little with every orgasm Damon had ripped from his ass, until he was almost screaming loud enough to wake the neighbors.
Then the Templar stuck a large ball gag in his mouth, removed the clamps, and flogged his chest while the dildo continued to fuck him. After hours of this torment, when Damon's balls were completely drained and he could only twitch with dry orgasms, the machine was turned off and his gag removed. Though only for the express purpose of having the Templar feed him his own cum on the end of his cock, with each thrust plunging deep in his throat. By the time he ran out of cum to feed Damon, he was already on the edge, and so finished the job by splurting his load directly into Damon's stomach.
Again and again, the Templar made Damon fear to cum. He made him fear to relax. He made him fear to speak. Yet through it all, there was never any permanent damage, no ill that could not be remedied with a balm and a few calming words. The more Damon endured, the more he found himself dripping through his cage like a leaky tap. The more he began to instinctively expect the choking, the whipping, the machine fucking--and the more he began to anticipate it.
The very last day of his loan, the Templar took a personal day so as to avoid any distractions. For one whole day, he used every implement, device, and machine in his chambers to utterly
break
Damon, all while retaining his blank, disinterested air. Dozens of whippings and floggings, hours of choke-play, sharp angles his body was twisted and contorted into while his hands and mouth were used for pleasure. His balls squeezed and played with, his taint and asshole thoroughly teased and lubricated--sometimes by warming oils that made them even more sensitive, sometimes by the drippings of his own precum.
Yet through all this, he never had his cage removed or his ass fucked. There was no release for him, only an endless torment of pain and frustration, insufferably ratcheting his lust until he screamed and shrieked through yet another gag while melted wax dripped across his nipples and midriff. He stared at his captor manically, desperately, muffled begging vibrating through the gag. Begging that turned to pathetic moans and whimpers as all the intensity faded to the lightest touches across his arms and midriff and thighs. Before this experience, Damon had never shown any real interest in men, keeping his focus and attention entirely on targets of a feminine persuasion, even when previously loaned out to men.
Yet there he was, whimpering and begging for it, for just the faintest chance at getting release. It was the Knight-Commander all over again. He'd been turned into just another toy for amusement and conditioned to fucking
love
it. Eventually, the Templar removed his gag and listened to his whimpering, desperate pleas, to the blubbering mess he'd made of this younger man. Then, for the very first time in Damon's company, he smiled, all teeth. For the first time, Damon was laid in the Templar's bed, still collared and leashed and utterly vulnerable, not by any other restraints or predicaments, but by the weight of his own arousal and the force of his conditioning.
