Of two things, Watch Sergeant Donovan was certain: he had been ensorcelled, and someone was following him.
The days were a blur since that afternoon at the Inquisition compound. His routine was little changed -- patrols and paperwork, punctuated by the occasional raid on a slaver den or arrest of a disorderly adventurer. But each shift he struggled through a constant flux of arousal that worsened day by day. His eyes were drawn uncontrollably to attractive women, lingering over the swell of their breasts and the curve of their hips. He did his best to avoid them, but in a city rife with adventurers it was a challenge.
Donovan felt compelled to masturbate more and more frequently. His mind always came back to Tanya, Amanda, and Emma, their soft bodies and teasing smiles, and found himself moaning his tormentors' names as ecstasy built. But his relief diminished with each orgasm. His balls churned, full and heavy. His shaft ached for their touch. It was only a matter of time until he was drawn back to surrender in person.
He'd tried at first to visit Magistrate Valken, and later to write him a letter. But any thought of disobedience conjured images of his mistresses, urging him to be obedient, to touch himself and do as he was bidden. Donovan had struggled, one hand clutching a pen and the other stroking his cock. He had lost in minutes, the cum-stained correspondence a testament to his body's treachery.
All of this brought Donovan to his second concern. The man had been following him for two days now, albeit discretely and (as far as Donovan could tell) not all the time. The sergeant had no idea who it was, but it was easy enough to guess that his employer was the Magistrate. Valken had been expecting a response from Donovan the same day, and after a week of silence it was unsurprising that the man suspected foul play.
But that didn't matter right now. The pavement blurred beneath Donovan's feet as he walked, the man following him nearly forgotten. The heat between his legs drove him, drops of precum seeping into his undergarments a sign that he had let this go too long. Had it only been two days? Tanya had been so understanding as her dainty hand held his erection, whispering honeyed words and gentle reminders in his ear as she sat on his lap. The girl had milked him dry, until his balls felt deflated and his body could barely move from pleasure and exhaustion. Donovan needed that feeling again, the warmth and softness of her body and the reassurance of her words.
His body broke into sweats as the compound came into sight, the white stone structure framed by the late afternoon sun. Up the stairs, through the colonnade. The sergeant pushed open the heavy brass doors with both hands, raced inside, and looked around. One Templar of the Inquisition was bent over his work, scratching furiously at the parchment. Amanda was sitting on her desk, speaking to a pale girl with long black hair. A second Templar diligently massaged the redhead's stockinged feet.
Emma sat at the front desk as usual, red lips pursed in concentration as she read through the document in her hand. She did not look up at Donovan's approach. His mouth felt suddenly dry and his eyes moved helplessly over her body as he worked up the courage to speak. His gaze roved to her cream silk blouse and that her breasts filled out so wonderfully. Donovan realized with a blush that Emma was most certainly not wearing a bra. He could see the delicate swell of her nipples through the thin material, temptingly close to the generous spill of her cleavage. Absentmindedly she brought her hand up, tracing two fingers down and up the V of blouse, outlining the curve of her firm breasts. Emma's finger lazily circled her nipple before returning to stroke along the line of her top.
Lost for words and unable to stop himself, Donovan unbuckled his belt and slid a hand into his pants as he watched, eyes locked on the mesmerizing display. This was wrong, some part of him whispered. But it was a small part, easily smothered by the roar of his arousal. She was unbearably hot. The sight was intoxicating, addictive. He needed to stare, and he needed her to see his devotion. To drink in her beauty and drown in arousal. He inhaled the sweetness of her perfume, invading his nose and burning into his brain. His hand moved faster, more eagerly, but Donovan found himself unable to finish. Instead he edged himself, painfully hard, cock poking out of his trousers as he masturbated helplessly to the goddess in front of him.
After what seemed an eternity through the man's lust-addled haze, Emma looked up and noticed her admirer. "Well," she purred, raising her brows. "Can I help you with something, Watch Sergeant Donovan?" She pushed her breasts together with her arms, eliciting a whimper of excitement. Donovan could hear giggling from the other women as they noticed his predicament.
"You know," Emma continued, "I have all sorts of men asking me out to dinner, or to private parties. It can be sooo exhausting, all this male attention." She sighed theatrically. "But that's just how boys are -- always thinking with their cock. And it gets them into
such
trouble, don't you think?" She glanced pointedly at the sergeant's waist.
"Ah, umm." Donovan found his voice at last, rasping the words out through his parched throat. "I came here to see... Miss Tanya?"
"Oh, that Tanya. She's a sweetie, don't you think?" Emma shook her head sadly. "But she's out running an errand, sadly. Won't be back until tomorrow." She straightened her expression, eyes wide with innocence and concern. "What was it you needed Tanya's help with, Mister Donovan?"
"Well, um. It's not exactly. I just - "
"Did you need some company in the records room?" She put a finger to her lips, considering. "No? Well, you'll have to speak up then," Emma cooed. Her eyes shone with mischief. "I won't share your secret. And I
love
when boys are honest about their feelings."
Donovan slowed his pace as his wrist grew sore, still unable to find release. He trembled with need, gaze roaming between the girl's eyes and her breasts. His face burned with shame.
"Oh my gods," whispered the black-haired girl, "He's sooo helpless!"
"I know, right?" Amanda shifted her other foot into the Templar's obliging hands. "Tanya really did a number on him."
