The risks of the adventurer life (Patreon)

Hello all! Hope you're doing great! Dropping here a new commission before continuing on with the monthly poll story. It's advancing at a steady pace and should be available by Saturday, Sunday at the latest. Enjoy!

Preview:

“Easy” The femboy coos, voice staying light, salesman smooth, almost kind. He turns the collar so the gem faces Lori like an eye. “It is not a soul trap. It is not a geas that lasts a year and a day. Think of it as a conversation piece that listens back. It wants accord. It wants the wearer willing. It records how a body answers suggestion, heat, pressure, command. I need a live pulse and a mouth that can tell me what it feels, not a dummy stuffed with straw. You put it on. I ask. You answer. If anything stings wrong, I take it off. You still get your forty percent because I am not a cheat, I am an opportunist. That is a different religion” He leans a hip into the counter. The infernal shirt rides up a finger’s width of glossy red stomach, while the thong’s contents shift, a slow, unapologetic adjustment of weight. “You ran from a hall that decided your life for you, did you not?” He adds, softer, sharper. “This is one clasp you choose. That is the entire joke, darling. Now, on~”

Lori’s fingers take it. The leather is warmer than it should be, as if it has been against skin already. Pearls roll under his thumb, as he lifts it to his own throat with the same careful grace he once used to fasten a ceremonial chain he hated. The buckle kisses the nape, and the gem settles in the hollow above his collarbones, a cool then quickly warming point. For a heartbeat nothing happens. Then his eyes flash violet. It is brief, one swallow of light, purple over green, a ring of amethyst fire around the pupil, and then the emerald returns, except it is no longer only emerald. A faint violet edge stays, like a bruise on a jewel.

**************************************

“Look up~"

The elf obeys and the picture he gets is obscene from this angle: gold choker, sharp lined eyes, horns, the infernal glyphs on the shirt twisted by breath, and that thick red slab of boi-meat pistoning between his spit-bright noble lips.

“In exchange for another...” A fourth coin joins the tower. “Open your trousers the rest of the way and put your ass on your heels. I want the cheeks spread by the posture. I want to know if the collar makes a virgin present without being told the word present~”

Lori shoves the silk down to mid-thigh. He sits back on his heels as much as the hobble allows. The plush of his ass settles, pale, unmarked, and the squat forces a slight spread he can feel like a burn. Cool air kisses the tight furl he has never offered anyone. His ears burn so hot they hurt, and Cerylis leans to the side, looking past the bobbing blond head, and makes a sound of genuine aesthetic pleasure. “Oh, it does! Look at that. A Dawnrunner hole winking at a shop clerk because four pieces of gold asked nicely~” He gathers spit on two fingers, his own, from the mess on his rod and reaches down Lori’s spine, over the chubby swell, and presses a slick pad to the virgin rim. “Oof, so tight I bet it could squeeze an inexperienced cock off, huh?”

*******************************

Arwen’s hand curls into a fist on the stone. Her throat works. For a moment, one bare, dangerous moment, she considers it. The back room, the bolt, the filthy relief of being the one claimed instead of the one holding the line. The image of Lori watching does not disgust her the way it should. It lands low in her belly and stays there, a secret she is not ready to name. She inhales to answer.

When she does, the devilish clerk gasps. The sound is punched out of him, sharp and helpless. His mouth falls open around a moan that never quite becomes noise. His sinfully gold eyes flutter, unfocused, beautiful and ruined. As under the counter his cock throbs once, twice, and then he cums, hard, and in thick rhythmic pulses that flood the elf's throat faster than the boy can think. Rope after rope, hot, bitter-salt, and way too much of it.