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It had been some time since Kithlord Daathrata had engaged in any sort of intimacy with one of his peers. No other qunari compared to the challenge and prize Treviso had proven to be. None had been worthy of his time, even the tamassarans eager to attend his needs—to help his focus, they swore. That he had been known as a depraved, thorough pilgrim in Par Volen had certainly not been a motivation to the tamassaran who waited to offer themselves to him outside his quarters every evening. To their disappointment, he waved them off night after night, sending them to his waiting lieutenants.
This Rook, seated across the table from him, posture slack and legs spread as if he were not in the presence of a general, was the first to spark his interest in many moons. His insolence made Daathrata bare his teeth, and the young qunari smirked in response. Daathra’s cock twitched for the first time since his arrival in Treviso. He had learned the truth of his fate after taking the blood of Ghil’anain too late. The pinnacle of the vashoth reduced to a mindless, violent monster waiting for death at the hand of a pathetic bas. No more Treviso, no more conquest, no more glory. Only death. To put it mildly, it was regrettable. The tension in Daartha’s shoulders made him wish he’d allowed the ministrations of the tamaasaran at least once in recent weeks.
Rook was well-bred, proven and strong. A fine specimen and worthy opponent. Death at his hands would not be disgraceful.
“It means something when you die, and even more when you kill. You’re as much a work of art as the city itself.”
“If you love Treviso so much, then help me, damn it. You know what the gods are going to do.”
“I can feel their corruption. I can hear their whispers. They’re calling for a ritual. If I give in, I’ll know where you need to go. But I will lose my jewel. My city. Make it worth my while.”
The Butcher finds himself saying, and Rook’s eyebrows rise in surprise. Both males’ nostrils flare as they catch the changing scent of pheromones on the air. Daathrata wants and Rook finds himself curious. Before being blighted, the Butcher would have been a highly sought after bull. Tall, thickly muscular, and sharp, his offspring would have been strong soldiers and strategists. For Rook’s purposes, the Butcher would be an enjoyable man to fold.
“That is quite the suggestion, Daathrata.”
The Butcher’s attendants step forward, reaching for the short blades at their waists to punish Rook’s disrespect of their leader. The Butcher waves a hand in dismissal.
“Leave us.”
The Antaam hesitate, shock poorly hidden on their faces, but sheathe their weapons and walk out of the cafe. Daathrata rises, towering over the table. Rook grins and rises to meet them. Rook was a large vashoth himself, but still has to tilt his head slightly to meet the Butcher’s gaze. They stand toe-to-toe for a long moment, appraising each other.
Under the Butcher’s hardened stare, Rook sees naked, desperate desire and bares his teeth in a savage grin. Pleasure is a small price to pay for the Butcher’s information. He unbuckles his sword belt before reaching out and doing the same to Daathrata. Their swords clatter to the cobblestone. Hands still at Daathrata’s waist, Rook tugs him closer by his trousers and brazenly palms the thick cock underneath. Daathrata exhales sharply through his nose, embarrassed at how violently his member jumps at the contact. It takes him several seconds to regain his composure, Rook’s confident, teasing touches disarming him completely.
When he’s regained himself, he reaches out and matches Rook’s movements on the smaller man’s cock. As soon as he feels the girth of it, Daathrata’s mouth waters. As long as it had been since he’d pursued any release at all, it had been even longer since he’d indulged in the specific relief of recieving. Rook’s member feels thicker than his own, and Daathrata can only imagine the exquisite pain of it stretching out his underused asshole. Restraint crumbling, he tugs down the irritating vashoth’s trousers and struggles to remain impassive as an enormous cock springs free and slaps the armor on Rook’s abdomen with a dull thud. The tamassaran had implements of various sizes to aid in sexual relief and to prepare the antaam for long deployments, during which it was expected they assist their brother’s in arms in relief. At lower ranks, it was expected you receive as often as you penetrate to preserve equality, and any higher ranking antaam could instruct your service at any time. It was a well known secret among the officers that many preferred receiving, but it was hidden fiercely from the lower ranking soldiers. In his early days in the military, his size made him a favorite among the officers. It was his honor and eventually more his pleasure to penetrate numerous officers to their release, but meant sacrificing his own preference for receiving. As he advanced, Daathrata found he didn’t trust any soldiers to satisfy him adequately or privately enough so he eventually stopped calling upon their service.
He took morbid enjoyment in knowing he would be stretched and sore one final time from this vashoth’s use when the young soldier killed him.
“Make it hurt, vashoth”
Rather than pulling down the Butcher’s trousers, Rook grasps more firmly through the material and strokes, the rough material scratching his skin and making him throb harder. After a moment, Rook finally pulls down his trousers and admires the cock before him. Despite being the larger man, Daathrata’s still sizable cock is slightly smaller than Rook’s own. He moves Daathrata’s hand off his cock and takes both cocks in hands, the two together too thick for just one hand. Daathrata finally lets out a moan as Rook strokes their cocks together, the softness of Rook’s skin a welcome relief after the coarseness of his trousers.
“Do your soldiers know how small your cock is, Butcher? Would they follow orders as well if they knew?”
Rook laughs coldly at the way the butcher continues to throb as he mocks him.
“Is that why you’re so desperate for a vashoth’s cock, because you don’t want your men to see yours?” Daathrata growls at the insult, baring his teeth and leaning in to bite at Rook’s neck. Rook allows it for a moment before taking one hand off of their dicks and yanking Daathrata’s head back by a horn.
“Kneel, antaam.” The general bristles at the instruction. Despite his request for pain and insult, his pride stiffens his spine and he refuses. Anger flashes in Rook’s eyes at the denial. Stars flash in Daathrata’s vision as Rook kicks him sharply and pain bursts through his groin.
“I said, kneel.”
The kithlord drops to his knees, eyes watering from pain and mouth watering in pleasure as he’s reminded of his days on leave in Par Volen, hours spent with the most particular of the tamassaran, barely able to walk back to the barracks after being beaten and stretched and used. He gasps as he hits the cobblestone and Rook uses the opportunity to force several inches of his cock in the Butcher’s mouth. He begins sucking immediately, greedily, moaning at the precum he pulls from the tip. Another private favorite, Daathrata realizes how much he’s missed the bitter salt of another vashoth’s body. Rook allows him to suckle freely for a few minutes, then slowly presses his boot to Daathrata’s low hanging balls. The initial pressure is pleasurable and Daathrata takes his cock in hand to stroke as Rook essentially squeezes them.
All at once Rook presses steadily and hard, pain flaring again, and as Daathrata gasps, Rook forces his tip and several inches of cock into Daathrata’s throat. His jaw is stretched almost painfully as Rook removes his boot from Daathrata’s balls and begins fucking the throat he’s forced open.
“Ooh, that’s a tight throat. Feels so good.”
Wet sucking and gagging echos in the courtyard as Daathrata’s mouth and cock drool pathetically at their use. Rook eases a few more inches down. Daathrata reaches up to stroke Rook’s exposed base and whimpers as he feels that he’s only servicing three fourths of the young fighter’s enormous member.
“What’s that, Butcher? You want more of it?”
Daathrata thinks that if Rook goes any deeper, he may choke to death before he’s able to discover the location of the god’s ritual, and he braces his hands on the snapping hips above him to slow him down. Rook laughs and slows down, pulling out completely and allowing him a moment to catch his breath before putting his hands on the back of Daathrata’s head and slowly forces the antaam general to take his cock all the way to the base. He holds him there for a moment before releasing and repeating several more times, each time holding his head longer, until Daathrata’s is slapping at his thighs in desperation for breath. Rook pulls him off by the horns again and rubs his cock and Daathrata’s drool over the general’s face as he gasps to regain his breath. Rook crouches to his level and tugs at Daathrata’s weeping cock.
“It’s interesting how similar the tamassaran and antaam’s roles are under the Qun, if you think about it. Sacrificing the body for the benefit of the people. I think you were misclassified, Daathrata. You would have been an excellent tamassaran. I think you might have even been happier servicing other Qunari all day, wouldn’t you? No war, no strategy meetings, just load after load in your holes.” Daathrata groans, eyes glazed over with lust. Rook slaps his cheek and Daathrata’s eyes focus momentarily.
“I asked you a question, Butcher. Wouldn’t you have been a happy tamassaran?” Daathrata nods frantically.
“Yes, yes, I wish I was a tamassaran.”
Rook grins wickedly.
“Would you like a taste of it?”
Daathrata looks confused.
“Right yourself and call in your attendants, Butcher. I’ll sit over here while you give your attendants the honor of servicing you before you turn to the blight. But you and I both will know the truth. You’ll be servicing them, like the tamassaran you are.” Daathrata whimpers, the most shameful sound he’s ever made. Rook stands, slaps Daathrata’s cheeks a few times, and takes his sword belt to a table tucked behind a tree, out of sight of the courtyard’s entry. He drapes himself in the chair, cock still out and erect, and plays with it absentmindedly. Daathrata rises slowly, struggles to force his erection back in his trousers, and sits at his table. He barks out an order in Qunlat and his two attendants jog back into the courtyard.
“The time has come for us to journey to the gods for the ritual. I require service and there will not be time once we return to the encampment. You will both attend me. Prepare.”The young attending soldiers stand still, mouths agape slightly. One obeys faster than the other, dropping his trousers and bending over the table, exposing himself to the evening air.
“No. Harden your sword.”
“Sir?”
“Have you never penetrated for release before? Harden. Your. Swords.”
The frantic ice in the Butcher’s voice spurs the soldiers into action. The second drops his trousers and both begin to tug and stroke their cocks, considerably smaller than Daathrata’s own, and especially Rook’s. The Butcher finds himself disappointed that the only real stretch he’ll have is Rook’s, but knows the preparation of his soldier’s will make the pain more pleasurable later. He removes his trousers as his soldiers masturbate nervously. Some bold officers will call upon a kithlord’s attendants, but he knows these soldiers have precious little experience compared to others due to his self-denial. Losing patience, the Butcher’s large hands swat the others away and he begins to stroke his soldiers. He pulls and twists expertly and the young vashoth are near gasps in mere moments. Daathrata stops, bends himself over the table facing Rook, and staring directly into the young vashoth’s eyes, says,
“Now, prepare me.”
There’s a moment’s pause before Daathrata feels the tickle of a hesitant tongue on his entrance. He wills himself to remain silent, efficient, as they take turns lubricating his hole, licking and spitting until he feels saliva drip down his muscular cheeks.
“You may begin.”
The Butcher quickly feels pressure against the tight muscle of his ass, and he reaches back to spread his cheeks further. He exhales a long, quiet breath, and his eyes roll back in pleasure as the head of his soldier’s cock pops into his hole. He hears spitting as the young soldier further lubricates his cock and thrusts a few times until his cock is fully sheathed. He’s slow and unsure, but after so many years of denial, Daathrata cannot deny the pleasure of even an inexperienced cock. As is expected, the soldier stands still once inside, an object for the commander to use to relieve himself. The Butcher rocks forward, letting the cock drag near fully out before sliding back in. He repeats slowly a few times, sliding back harder each time. After a few minutes, he discreetly clenches on the soldier and hears him groan in pleasure. It’s all the motivation the soldier needs, need winning out over nerves and obedience, and the soldier grasps his hips and begins thrusting fast, hard, full balls slapping against his commanding officer’s much larger ones. The young soldier manages to draw a few quiet grunts and moans out of Daathrata. He lacks technique, but makes up for it with power Daathrata thinks to himself. It doesn’t take long for the young soldier’s hips to begin stuttering. He snaps to a halt immediately, realizing the error he’s made. Using his commanding officer for his own release! He would be lucky to only receive a lashing.
“Sir, I apologize.”
Daathrata can feel the soldier quivering with the effort of holding still and holding back.
“Continue until you release, antaam. We will discuss proper service later.”
The soldier exhales in relief and begins thrusting vigorously once more. Ten more deep strokes, and Daathrata bites his lip to hold back the groan in his throat as he feels hot, sticky seed fill his ass. The vashoth thrusts deeper once more, grinding his hips flush against his commander’s ass, cock twitching as the final spurts of cum leave his tip.
“Dress and return to guard, soldier.”
Daathrata’s gaze focuses for the first time in a few minutes and they see Rook, still lazily stroking themselves and grinning. He gestures to the stone bench near Daathrata.
“Face me” he mouths
Insolence. Allowing a soldier to sit while they service someone of my rank.
“Sit, antaam.” The second soldier scrambles to obey his commander, taking a seat on the bench, legs spread. The Butcher stands from his bent over position on the table, embarrassed by the amount of precum that covers it. He faces Rook and straddles the soldier, braced above his cock, precum dripping from his tip in the lamplight.
“Begin.” As the young solider presses his head to his entrance, Daathrata eases himself down onto it, head popping in faster than before. Smartly, the vashoth with the larger cock had waited to go second, but he was still a toy compared to Rook’s awaiting member. The soldier sits perfectly still as Daathrata slowly moves up and down on his member. Once fully sheathed, Daathrata rolls his hips a few times, seeking the tender spot inside that makes him moan. Once found, Daathrata begins to bounce with abandon, panting quietly. His member slaps against his abdomen as he uses his soldier to pound his own asshole, eyes locked with Rook who’s exaggeratedly mouthing “tamassaran” repeatedly. His pants become soft moans, but before he loses himself completely, he hears his soldier.
“Sir! I’m going to—“
the vashoth cuts off with a moan as his commanding officer slams down on his cock and grinds, sheathing his full length in hot, tight muscle and milking spurt after spurt of seed out of his throbbing cock. The Butcher allows himself to sigh in pleasure this time, his second soldier leaking more cum much longer than the first. When the antaam is no longer twitching, Daathrata rises, discreetly clenching his hole to keep the sperm inside him. He’d need the lubricant for Rook.
“Dress, you both are dismissed to return to camp and prepare to travel.”
“Sir!”
The antaam scrambles to obey and the Butcher watches him leave. As soon as he’s ducked around the corner, Rook steps out from behind the tree.
“How did it feel to finally be tamassaran? Do you feel fulfilled, Daathrata?” Rook mocks. The Butcher bristles. Without looking he says,
“Were you truly antaam, your insolence would have had you made viddath-bas long ago.”
“Ahh, but I’m not, tamassaran. And you asked me to make it hurt.”
As he speaks, Rook yanks Daathrata down by the horns once more.
“Lay back and show me your hole, tamassaran.”
Daathrata obeys without hesitation, laying on the bench and drawing his legs up and open to expose himself. It had been years since he’d been seen this way and his mind goes blank with anticipation.
“Those vashoth seemed to enjoy you, tamassaran. Seemed like you were nice and tight. Knew just what to do to serve those good little soldiers, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I am a good tamassaran. I served well”
Daathrata surprises himself with his answer. Whatever will get his hole filled, his cock squeezed faster, he would say.
“Well, they were young. Let’s see how you serve a real vashoth cock.”
Rook says and presses the head of his cock against Daathrata’s waiting hole. Before it even pressed inside, The Butcher knew it was twice as wide at the head as the base of the smaller vashoth’s cock had been, and it was going to hurt. He squirms pathetically in anticipation but can’t find it in himself to feel any shame. Rook grasps at his muscular thighs to hold him still and presses Slowly, firmly, unceasing, he forces Daathrata’s ass to yield to his intrusion. The tip breaches and Daathrata let out the loudest moan he’s allowed all evening. His soldiers were gone and he could feel the blight singing faintly in his mind. This was his last act of free will.
Rook takes the antaam leader’s cock in hand and strokes, gathering precum and spreading it on both of their cocks. After a few moments of lazy thrusting, breaching deeper and deeper to allow Daathrata to adjust to the girth of his cock, Rook slams in without warning, forcing the rest of his length into the butcher’s waiting channel. Daathrata roars in pain and pleasure, legs dropping and clamping around Rook’s waist to prevent him from moving. Rook groans in relief, finally fully wrapped in tight warmth after so much mockery and anticipation.
“Careful, Butcher, your entire army could hear that.” Daathrata clenched in spite of himself at the thought and whimpers at the sting and stretch.
“Ugh, you are tight, I’ll give you that.” He forces the Butcher’s legs off of his waist and back up, fully exposing the vashoth again. He pulls out all the way to the tip, slowly, and slams back in. Daathrata moans loudly again.
“Yes, fuck me, vashoth.”
Rook maintains his staccato pace, punctuating his strokes with a fierce tug at Daathrata’s cock or smack to his balls. Daathrata is moaning and cursing in qunlat. Rook’s cock is so large that it’s never not massaging the spot in Daathrata’s ass that makes him moan and leak in pleasure. After so much anticipation, Daathrata finds himself cumming untouched in mere moments. He orgasms with another roar, clenching and spasming around the giant intrusion. Rather than slow down or stop, Rook increases his pace, switching to a smooth and steady stroke. He continues mocking the antaam general but Daathrata no longer pays attention to his words. His mind is blank and all he knows is pleasure and stretch and fill and pain and good feels so good so full hurts so bad as Rook uses his hole and pulls his balls and punches them. Daathrata orgasms again, quickly, cum errupting over his stomach and chest but Rook continues fucking him, using his sensitive, softening cock as leverage to stay balanced. The Butcher of Treviso begins to whimper and cry from overstimulation. He hears himself pleading with Rook to finish, for mercy, something he hadn’t done since the first time he serviced an officer. The sadistic senior antaam orgasmed harder the more Daathrata begged him to stop, and the satisfaction of serving so well made the pain worth it to Daathrata, fortunate for him as he quickly became the officer’s favorite tool of release. The memory alone makes him orgasm again, fully thrashing on the bench. His legs lock around Rook’s waist again and he rocks and grinds, ignoring his own pain and tears,forcing the cock just millimeters deeper, excruciatingly deep in the hopes of milking it dry. With a deep, rumbling groan, Rook releases with sharp, shuddering thrusts. His seed fills Daathrata’s hole and overflows, spilling out onto his ass and the bench beneath them. Rook stands still until Daathrata relaxes, absently scooping up the spilled seed and painting it onto the Butcher’s tattoos and war paint. As the antaam’s legs drop, Rook eases out and tucks his softening cock into his trousers.
“A reminder of what you actually are, as you lose yourself.”
As Rook fastens his sword belt and walks away without looking back, he hears,
“Find me in the drowned district. Earn my city.”