Author’s Note: Welcome back y’all! This is book three in an ongoing series that starts with Sex Wizards Initiation and continues with Sex Wizards Mastery. If you haven’t read those, I’m afraid you’ll be diving into the deep end with this story. For those of you who have read the other two books, this one digs in deep to epic fantasy, but it is definitely still as queer, kinky and consensual as ever! I’ll be posting chapters weekly, but there may be breaks between the three different sections of the book. I’ll be sure to post updates on my profile, so keep an eye out! Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy!
The crack of thunder makes my clenched teeth rattle in my head. I throw my hands up on instinct, and though my abjuration barrier stops the spell from sending me flying, it doesn’t do shit to dampen the sound. My ears ring, and I’m not given more than a second to recover before another spell flashes towards me in a bolt of blinding light.
I swear and tumble away, hearing it whizz past my head in a crackle of static. I don’t think my shield can take any more hits like that, and it’s the last one I’ve got. The spell string wrapped around my hand is dotted with darkened, spent focuses.
“You’re going to have to use something other than abjuration, Dom,” Arlon calls, his deep voice booming over the din.
I yelp as a well-timed attack catches me just as I stumble back to my feet. Over the crash of impact, Olbric’s rather sinister laugh rings out. My shield shatters, and I barely keep my feet under me as I stagger back from the force of the blast. The focus around my hand fizzles out with a quiet pop.
Olbric’s grin is nothing short of predatory as he advances on me. In any other situation, the look on my lover’s face would make my pulse roar, but in the middle of a sparring match, dread settles heavy in my gut.
“C’mon Dom!” he crows. “Throw an attack! I won’t even block it, promise.”
At least he’s having a good time handing my ass to me.
I swear and plant my feet, feeling through the string of spells. None of them are mine, so it takes me a second longer to find something suitable. For sparring, Arlon pulled from the Crux’s spell stores – all lower caliber so we can’t do any real damage to one another, but it still makes me nervous releasing spells against a person.
“Concentrate, Dom,” the grandmaster says from the sidelines. “You shouldn’t have to think about what’s around your hand.”
Easier said than done, but I settle on one and let it loose. The evocation blast cracks from my outstretched hand and streaks towards Olbric. True to his word, he doesn’t block it, but it doesn’t send him tumbling either. He shifts his weight forward, stance strong as the spell connects. It makes his robes billow out behind him, ripping the tie off to free his long, black hair.
As the dust clears, his hazel eyes lock with mine, a smirk on his face. He throws a punch, and a focus around his hand goes dark. The spell connects like a wall. I realize it’s equivalent to what I just tossed at him, except the force of it sends me sprawling. I fly back and hit the ground with an “oof,” the air rushing from my lungs.
It takes a moment for me to draw a breath, and I cough it back up as soon as I’m able. Olbric appears above me, his grin standing out bright against his russet brown skin. “Are you alright?”
“I think you knocked something loose.”
“Wouldn’t have if you had a better stance,” Olbric chuckles and offers me a hand up. I take it and let him pull me to my feet, my head still spinning. Even though it was just practice, the aftermath leaves my nerves frayed, my pulse still roaring in my ears.
“You barely let me get my feet under me!” I say with a scowl.
“Excuses, excuses,” Olbric says before kissing my cheek. It softens the sting of defeat a little bit.
Arlon hurries across the field to join us. “You’re alright?” The grandmaster pulls me against his chest, his fingers sliding through the hair on the back of my scalp. “You didn’t knock your head, did you?”
I sink against his broad chest. “Nah, I’m alright, sir,” I say. “Nothing’s hurt but my pride.”
Arlon chuckles and ruffles my hair as he lets me go. “Your stance was terrible.”
“So I’ve been told, sir,” I huff. “Guess it’s for the best I’m not participating in the tournament tomorrow.”
“You have a much more important role,” Olbric purrs, and I can’t stop a shiver. “Also you need at least an abjuration and evocation mastery to participate.”
Arlon claps me on my shoulder. “You’ll get there,” the grandmaster says. “Despite what I know you’re thinking, you are getting better.”
“Well, I’ve at least stopped freezing every time someone aims a spell my direction,” I mutter and Arlon chuckles quietly.
As soon as the grandmaster had realized my tendency to freeze up, he started using our time together on Mondays to try and break me of the habit. So, once a week for the past month or so, as soon as the weather got nice enough to permit, I’ve been in the fields beyond the Crux having sparring lessons.
Olbric is usually happy to assist, but in the past weeks I’ve gone up against Galiva, Alix and Cancassi, and have lost every single time. But Arlon’s right; I’m no master sparrer, but I am getting better.
“I’m not gonna lie,” I groan as I stretch my sore back, “I’m looking forward to spectating tomorrow.”
Arlon nods to Farlan who is leading the final construction of the tournament arena with the help of a couple of wizards. It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll do. A large oval has been drawn around the field in white chalk to mark the boundaries, while Alix, Cancassi and Olbric have gone through and used magic to turn the field and pack it down to a more-or-less even layer. The quartermaster shouts as Thaddius’ grip slips, sending the tent they’re erecting for spectators crumpling back to the ground.
“It should be a hell of a show,” Arlon says. “We’ve had eight people sign up to participate. We’ve done tournaments in the past, but we’ve never had such a large turnout before.”
“No doubt the prize is a good incentive,” Olbric says slyly. “Though it’s a moot point – I’m going to win.”
I chuckle as I try and fail to rub the blush from my face. “And how is using me as the prize for the tournament going to make your transmutation spell work this time around?” I ask.
Olbric drapes an arm around my shoulder as we head into the evocation yard. “Transmutation is fickle,” he says. “The last time we tried it, I didn’t get the level of effect that I wanted because I wasn’t thinking big enough. Sure, I got a single piece of gold out of a bar of steel, but I think I can do better than that. I hope that by making you the prize for this big to-do, ascribing you a value aside from your normal charming self, will help get the caliber of spell I’m hoping for.”
“I think you just want an excuse to parade me around naked for a day.”
“It’s certainly an added bonus,” Olbric says with a sly grin. “It’s a shame that I’ll be too busy winning you to even be able to enjoy it.”
“Instead, I get the pleasure of monitoring you,” Arlon says.
I’m glad that Olbric and Arlon have found a happy middle ground when it comes to sharing me. After Olbric admitted his jealousy, Arlon and I both have both made sure that he feels taken care of and included in whatever way we can, which is how he ended up as my sparring partner. Besides, I get the feeling that Olbric gets a kick out of handing my ass to me on the regular.
Our arrangement has also come in handy with Olbric petitioning for his transmutation mastery. Because of the threats Olbric’s father has made against Arlon, the two of them don’t cast with one another. It’s supposed to avoid creating more unnecessary tension between the Crux and the Cairish Shykh, but gods only know if it’s helping.
With a new Cairish ambassador in attendance at court, they’ve had to be extra careful in approaching Olbric’s transmutation mastery. Even though there’s a trust of privacy placed in the non-magical personnel at the Crux, Arlon’s afraid that Cairish coin might have loosened a few tongues. When the ambassador had visited for a tour of the towers at the end of winter, he had said some things about Olbric that were far too specific for comfort.
So, since we don’t have a hope of privacy with casting this spell, I’ll be standing in as conduit for Olbric’s spell while Garrett will be the one to cast with him for his final transmutation trial.
“Do you feel ready for this?” Arlon asks. “With eight competitors, tomorrow is bound to be a long day.”
I shiver at the thought, a thrill of excitement settling in my gut. “I’m ready.”
Olbric kisses my cheek as we reach the atrium of the Crux. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll wake you up bright and early,” I say.
Olbric chuckles and waves to both of us before heading off towards the evocation tower. Arlon squeezes my shoulder. “Go grab us lunch and meet me in my office.”
“Yes, sir.”
I do as asked and grab us each a bowl of pottage and a few slices of bread from the mess hall. When I return to his office, I’m a little surprised to see that he’s not alone. The two visitors turn as I enter the office with a tray, and I freeze as Captain Thora of the Royal Guard pegs me with an icy glare. Behind her is another familiar face – the guard Nikolai, who questioned me after the whole debacle at Lucien and Jaret’s botched execution.
“It’s alright,” Arlon says and waves me in. I close the door behind me before I set the tray on the edge of his desk. I can tell by his tone that he doesn’t appreciate their unexpected visit. I’ve come to learn that Arlon doesn’t like surprises – least of all from the Guard. “Dominai is my assistant on Mondays. I’m sure whatever has brought you here can be shared in front of him.”
Over Thora’s shoulder, I catch Nikolai’s eye and wink. The guard’s pale cheeks flush pink, and he looks resolutely ahead. In the months since Garrett was used to attack the city square, he’s been by a few times while accompanying a representative of the Crown.
Part of the stipulation around Garrett’s release was that someone would check on him weekly, and the Crown has made good on that promise. In the past months, they’ve arrived without warning, as if trying to catch the half-orc outside of the Crux’s walls or carrying spells, but Garrett has been nothing but obedient and composed under the Crown’s restrictions. Which is more than I can say for Arlon. While Garrett seems to view the Crown’s check-ins as a necessary step to repairing relationships with Straetham, Arlon has said in no uncertain terms that he finds it insulting.
Even though Arlon assured them time and time again that any lingering enchantments were long gone, it was only when the fever started creeping through Straetham at the end of winter that Garrett was allowed to return to his duties at the clinic on probation. One of the Guard always accompanies him to and from the Crux, but their presence rankles Arlon far more than it does Garrett.
The grandmaster leans back in his chair. “What can I do for you, Captain? I hope this isn’t about Master Garrett.”
“No, fortunately not,” the captain says. “It has come to the King’s attention that you plan on holding a magical tournament tomorrow.”
Arlon frowns. “We are. What of it?”
“King Thermilious wishes to attend and spectate,” she says simply. My stomach drops even as Arlon’s back goes stiff in his chair. It’s one thing to have a spar outside of the Crux’s walls. It’s another thing entirely to spar with fucking royalty in attendance.
“The Royal Guard will handle security, but we will require a private box for his Majesty which you are, of course, allowed to share.”
I barely suppress a wince at that. Arlon visibly bristles. “How very generous,” he says, voice cold as ice.
The captain ignores him. “What time do you expect to get underway tomorrow?”
Arlon sighs, and he must know that there’s no getting us out of this. “First round starts at second bell,” he says. “We will do our best to accommodate the… extra attention the King’s presence will inevitably draw, but we would appreciate the Guard’s help in turning people away if it becomes unmanageable.”
Thora nods. “Of course,” she says. “In spite of what you may think, we do not wish to step on the Crux’s toes. If we had been informed of the event officially instead of leaving it up to rumor, perhaps we could have collaborated on something at the fairgrounds.”
Arlon snorts at that. “This is far from the first tournament that we’ve held,” he says. “If the Crown had shown any interest in past events, I might have extended an invitation.”
The captain’s smile is chilly. “Well, after the public display of magic that took place a few months ago, King Thermilious has a… renewed interest in seeing all that magic is capable of.”
“Of course,” Arlon says, his voice carefully neutral.
“Do you expect a number of people to attend with his Majesty? We would like to create appropriate accommodations.”
“You can expect his attendants. The ambassadors from Cairish and Immenbach have also expressed an interest in attending.”
Arlon’s thin-lipped smile is forced. “Of course,” he says. “We welcome such esteemed and…unexpected company”
Thora gives a polite nod. “And we look forward to the spectacle,” she says. “Thank you, Grandmaster. We will see you tomorrow morning.”
Without another word, the two of them depart, closing the door to the office behind them. Arlon waits a moment longer before he sinks back into his chair with a groan. “Good gods,” he mutters and rubs his eyes.
Now that no outsiders are here, I kneel beside him. “What can I do, sir?” I ask. No doubt this is about to turn into more of a logistical mess than it already is.
Arlon snorts. “You can tell me how you’re feeling about conduiting in front of the King and a crowd,” he says. “You’ll be in the royal box with us.”
I flush hot red at the thought even as some of that heat shoots straight to my groin. “I’m alright with it, sir,” I say carefully. “Though I think I’ll ask Olbric for a little bit more covering than what I had last time. Are we… going to offend someone with this?”
“The King has no delusions about how magic is made,” he says. “But with you covered, we can at least avoid being obscene about it. Chances are the rest of the crowd won’t be any wiser as to what’s going on.”
I bite my lip as a shiver of excitement makes its way up my back, but nothing gets past Arlon. He raises an eyebrow before hooking a finger through my collar and pulls me up to straddle his waist. His other hand grabs my half-hard cock through my trousers, earning a gasp from me.
“What’s this?” he rumbles, his deep voice adopting a playful purr. “Could it be that the innocent young hunter from Airedale is excited about being paraded around in front of king and country?”
I can’t stop a moan, my hands braced against his shoulders. In the year that I’ve been at the Crux, I guess I really have become an exhibitionist.
“Yes, sir.”
Arlon’s rough fingers tug the hem of my trousers down and coax my cock to full attention. “You are remarkable,” he murmurs as I roll my hips to meet his grip. “So long as your hole is filled and your cock is hard, you’re happy, isn’t that right?”
I flush as his words wring a moan out of me. He pinches the tip of my cock, making my hips buck. “Yes, sir.”
His other hand slides down my back, dipping under my clothes to tease at my hole. I grip his shoulders and arch against him, the fabric of his cloak bunching in my fists.
“A perfect fuckboy of a conduit,” Arlon purrs. “You’ll be a beautiful prize for tomorrow.”
His praise used to make me so uncomfortable, but with his hands on me and his cock stirring under me, I melt. I bury my face against his neck as he toys with me, rocking against his hand, and feeling the start of an orgasm building. Then, there’s a knock on his door.
Arlon chuckles and kisses my cheek. “Never a moment’s peace,” he says before tucking me back into my trousers and pushing me onto shaky legs. I can’t quite stop a whimper of disappointment as I sink to my knees beside him again, my cock throbbing. In the past few months, he’s been working with me on enchantment, and it never fails to turn my thoughts to mush when he talks to me like that.
“Come in,” Arlon calls.
Farlan the quartermaster enters, wiping sweat from his brow. “I believe we’ve got the arena finished if you’d like to come take a look.”
Arlon winces. “About that…”
#
The rest of the day is spent helping Arlon and the quartermaster make some last minute changes to the arena. While Farlan and I erect a box, Arlon goes around the arena, transmuting a wall of stone at chest height around the perimeter to keep the inevitable crowd safely away.
Watching him is fascinating. I keep getting distracted from the task at hand as I sneak glances of him making his way around the arena. It doesn’t help that after he uses one spell to raise the earth into a wall, he takes his shirt off before going back around to finish it. He recently turned 50, but he’s easy to look at with those strong arms and muscled chest. It’s been a warm spring so far and sweat glosses his skin. His face is pinched with concentration as the wall turns from dirt to stone under his hands.
It’s like watching cards fall. One second, the wall is dirt, and the next, stone ripples out from under his hands, creating a long, smooth wall all the way around the arena. I gape as I watch and nearly get my finger smacked by Farlan’s hammer for my lack of attention.
I’ve seen magic used in a fight, which is terrifying and awe-inspiring all at once, but there’s something beautiful in seeing it used for such a practical purpose. Arlon finishes and wipes sweat from his brow as he comes over to join us. The question is almost out of my mouth before I remember my manners and bow.
Arlon gives a closed lipped grin as he holds a plank of wood in place to allow Farlan to hammer it to the spot. “Yes, Dominai?”
I straighten and set the next plank down that will make up the last piece of the floor of the box. “How do you do that, sir?”
“Do what?”
I frown, trying to figure out how to phrase the question. “That was all transmutation, right? How do you… direct the magic to do what you wanted?”
Arlon waits until Farlan is done hammering the plank into place before he says, “Just like when we’re casting, magic relies heavily on our intent. We’re intentional with the casting components we use to ensure a spell will be able to do certain things, but your intent when you release a spell is just as important. That first spell I cast could have created a dome of earth, or a pillar, but I needed a wall. That second spell could have turned this whole field to stone, but I didn’t allow it.”
“Gods, I haven’t been doing more than releasing the spell and hoping for the best,” I mutter.
Arlon chuckles. “And your attempts at sparring reflect that,” he says. “Make no mistake, your intent and focus while sparring are just as important as when you’re doing practical magic like this.”
Farlan finishes hammering the last plank into place for the platform, giving us a nice raised box. It’s rather bare bones, but it’ll suit. Arlon straightens with a groan before pulling a spell from his necklace.
“Here,” he says as he hands the magiline ring to me. I take it and can tell it’s a conjuration spell just by the feel of it. “Even conjurations have variability to them depending on your intent. This one is something I made with Garrett to create a tent in a pinch, but I’ll bet that if you concentrate, you can create a covering fit for a royal box.”
I roll the ring in between my fingers as I look at the box uncertainly. Both Arlon and the quartermaster take a step back to give me space. I close my eyes, thinking back to the time Arlon sent me to the palace. I remember the lush red curtains that had hung around the windows, the gold inlaid into the marble stone floor. It had been expensive and opulent, and I hold that picture in my mind as I hold the focus out and release the spell.
There’s a quiet whoosh, a flap of fabric, and when I open my eyes I can’t stop a laugh. Crimson red fabric hangs over the frame of the box, though it’s bunched elegantly at the four corners and tied around the posts with gold threaded rope. It even has a fringe that dangles around the edge like golden icicles.
Arlon chuckles as he squeezes my shoulder. “Well done.”
#
Arlon makes an announcement at dinner to inform the Crux of the guests that will be attending the tournament.
“With such an esteemed group of spectators, we can assume that the crowd will be larger than anticipated, and will include a number of royal and city officials. As such, I expect everyone to follow common decorum and be on your best behavior. This is another very public opportunity that could make or break us in the eyes of the city. I need each and every one of you to be the gracious host and not to start anything with the inevitable drunks who throw a snide comment your way.”
Arlon’s expression is hard as he scans the room, though his gaze lingers a little longer on Thaddius and Adan. The two of them had gotten into a scrap outside of the Devilish Boar a few months ago. They claimed that some drunk assholes had started it, but the flashy abjuration they’d left the rowdy group trapped in had given no illusions as to who ended it. Needless to say, the Guard had paid Arlon another visit in the wake of that, and Thaddius and Adan had been sequestered to the Crux for a whole month after the incident.
“At the very least, those same people will hopefully think twice about approaching us with hostility after seeing what we can do tomorrow,” he adds. “But for now, we ingratiate ourselves. We show the people what we can do. And we make them very glad that we’re on their side.”
We eat, and even though we’re both tired and sweaty, Arlon insists we rinse before we sleep. We forgo the public bath to use the private pool in his room. It’s big enough to fit the two of us comfortably, and the hot water starts to lull Arlon to a doze as I bathe him. Soon, he’s got his head rested against the lip of the pool as he snores quietly.
Today must have really worn him out, because he doesn’t even stir when Garrett and Bridgette come in through the main door of his rooms a little bit later. Garrett chuckles quietly when he catches sight of us. Bridgette’s grin is mischievous as she walks forward and puts a hand on my head.
“Why don’t you wake him up nicely?” she murmurs before pushing my head towards the water.
I draw in a breath before she pushes me under. My hands rest on Arlon’s hips before I blindly find his cock. I wrap my mouth around it, and feel him stir as I slide down his length. My head bobs shallowly before I swallow him to the root. His hands grab my head to keep me there as he rolls his hips, thrusting deep. I start to run out of breath as my throat works around him.
Just when I think I’ll have to pull away, Arlon grabs my hair and drags me up. I gasp for breath as I meet his smoldering gaze.
“Bold little fuckboy,” he growls. “Who gave you permission to do that?”
I bite back a whimper as I glance over at Bridgette. She’s lounging on Arlon’s bed, Garrett’s head resting in her lap. Both of them watch us with twin smirks on their faces. Though he’s been allowed to return to work at the clinic, Garrett is still confined to the Crux when off shift. In the past months, my Mondays collared by Arlon have turned into Mondays with all three of them, and Bridgette in particular likes to get me in trouble.
Not that I’m complaining.
Arlon crushes his lips against mine, stealing what little breath I have. I feel light-headed when he pulls me away. He gives me an appraising look, his brown eyes dark with lust.
“It wouldn’t be fair to Olbric if I ruined you for tomorrow,” he says. “But I’m sure that eager mouth of yours can still be put to good use.”
I shiver as he pulls me from the bath by one of the rings on my collar. Dripping wet, he leads me out of the bathroom and pushes me to my knees by the bed. The water cools against my skin, but even the cold can’t hide the fact that I’m already half hard, my heart thudding with anticipation.
Arlon leaves me there to stew. Behind me, he rummages for something, but I don’t dare turn my head to see what. Bridgette catches my eye and winks, her fingers toying with Garrett’s short hair. Not a moment later, Arlon returns.
“Open your mouth,” he orders. I do as told, but it’s not the ring gag I expected. Instead, blunt metal hooks into the corners of my mouth and tug my lips back as Arlon tightens the strap behind my head. It makes it so I can’t close my mouth all the way, and I groan quietly.
Arlon leaves me kneeling as he joins Bridgette and Garrett on the bed. He leans over Garrett to catch Bridgette’s lips. “How was he today?” he asks, leaving me to wait. I keep my head lowered, even as it makes spit drip from my forced-open mouth.
“He left his shift when he was supposed to this time,” Bridgette says, pleased. “I had just left the glasshouse and he was right on time to meet me, isn’t that right love?”
Garrett’s gray cheeks flush a couple of shades darker. “Yes, Mistress.” In all the months he’s been at the Crux, his collar has stayed on. Though from what I’ve been able to tell, he belongs to both Arlon and Bridgette equally while he’s wearing it.
“And do you want to tell him the good news?” she asks as her fingers trace the half-orc’s jaw before gently touching one of the little tusks that jut up from behind his lower lip.
Arlon raises an eyebrow. “What news?”
Garrett grins and kisses Bridgette’s finger. “My guard today extended an invitation from the king to meet with him next week,” he says. “I think my probationary period might finally be coming to an end.”
“About godsdamned time,” Arlon mutters, but it makes my stomach knot to hear the sadness taint his relief. If Garrett’s no longer confined to the Crux, no doubt he and Bridgette will return to their home in Straetham. I’d have to be blind not to see how the three of them have leaned on each other in these past months.
There are times that Garrett still gets lost in memories he can’t fully remember or forget, but Arlon and Bri are there to pull him back to the present. When Bridgette came down with a fever over the winter, Arlon and Garrett didn’t leave her side. And when Arlon butted heads with Captain Thora or any number of the Crown’s delegates, Garrett and Bri were there to cool him down enough to work through it reasonably.
I lift my head just enough to catch a glimpse of them through my curtain of bangs. Bridgette reaches out to cup Arlon’s cheek. “We love you, Arlon,” she says gently. “These months have helped me remember all the many reasons why, but it’s time we get back to our lives in Straetham.”
Arlon lets out a long sigh. “I know,” he says. “In spite of the circumstances around it, I’m grateful for these past few months. I’d be selfish to try and get you to stay, but…letting you both go is going to be hard.”
“We’re not dying,” Bri says with a snort of amusement.
Garrett drapes an arm over Arlon’s waist. “It won’t be like it was before,” he says in his quiet way. “I think we all let our work take priority. After everything that’s happened, I’m not willing to do that again. We’ll make a standing arrangement. We won’t become strangers like we did before.”
Arlon’s shoulders sag even as Bridgette presses her lips to his. “I love you both,” he murmurs before kissing Garrett. “Maybe someday I’ll be able to leave with you.”
He sounds tired, and I discreetly lower my head again. When I first overheard that Arlon was considering retiring as grandmaster, I couldn’t understand it. The fact that he was considering me for his replacement was baffling enough, but I couldn’t understand why he would want to leave the Crux. Yet after seeing everything he’s had to put up with these past months, after hearing him tonight, I think I’m starting to get it. By being married to the Crux, he’s given up having a life and family outside of it.
“In time,” Garrett says.
Arlon chuckles quietly before I hear Garrett’s sudden gasp. “It sounds as if you’ve been very good today,” Arlon says, his voice adopting that playful purr I know all too well. “And there happens to be a perfectly good mouth kneeling on the floor who would love to give you a reward.”
“Yes, Master. Thank you.”
My hands clench to fists on my thighs, and I barely bite back a whimper. Spit has made a bit of a puddle between my kneeling legs. I hear Garrett stir and can’t stop my cock from twitching.
“C’mere, Dom,” the half-orc rumbles as he sits on the edge of the bed. I crawl towards him as he releases his cock from the slit of his trousers. He slides grey foreskin back to uncover the delicate pink head of his soft cock.
I know what’s expected of me, and I don’t disappoint. I wrap my mouth around him with a quiet groan. Not being able to close my lips means I can’t suck him properly, so my tongue goes to work licking him to attention. His cock swells in my mouth, making it much easier to tend to. I bob up and down his length, and when my tongue gets tired, I swallow his thick length, letting my throat do some of the work.
The half-orc’s hands fist in the sheets on either side of him as he writhes under my attentions. The gag makes this harder and far more noisy than usual. I drool over his length as I pull back for a breath.
“Go on,” Arlon says. “Fuck his mouth like I know you want to.”
Garrett moans, and I brace as his fingers grab my hair and pull me onto him. He thrusts to meet me, and I barely stave off gagging. I clench my eyes shut and relax my throat as best as I can as he uses me. It’s a special kind of torment not to be able to suck him to help him along.
His groans, his cock twitching in my mouth. “May I please cum?”
“Not yet,” Arlon says, his voice rough with lust.
My tongue laps the underside of his cock even as mine juts up hard and untouched. I lavish on the attention, teasing him in every way I know how. Garrett is nearly as big of a masochist as Olbric, so I let my teeth graze his skin as he thrusts deep. Turnabout’s fair play for all the times his split tongue has gotten me in trouble these past few months.
Garrett thrusts deep, sliding down my willing throat. “Sir please,” he gasps.
Arlon chuckles. “Cum, Garrett.”
The half-orc moans, grabbing my head to anchor me around him as his release flows out of him. The taste of him fills my mouth, but I can only swallow so much with the gag in. When he finally releases me, spit and his seed dribble from my lips, and I shudder at the degradation.
Garrett flops against the bed, panting even as Arlon looks back at Bridgette. “Since you’re so quick to get him in trouble, would you like a turn with him?” he asks.
Bridgette chuckles at that. “And here I thought that you’d appreciate your fuckboy’s talented mouth waking you up.” She crawls towards the edge of the bed and pulls her skirts up before beckoning me closer with a finger.
I do as told, and Bridgette grabs my hair before pulling me between her legs. With the gag tugging at my lips, my tongue is left to do all the work. I lap between her folds, exploring the shape of her before I push into her. She’s tangy and sweet, and I savor the taste of her almost as much as the sounds she makes. Every moan and gasp makes my cock twitch.
Her hand stays on the back of my head, anchoring me in place as she grinds against my face. I whimper against her, feeling lightheaded as she uses me for her pleasure. Bridgette loosens her grip to allow me a breath before she pulls me back to her, smothering me again.
I’ve gotten used to this sort of treatment the past few months, but gods know it hasn’t gotten any easier. My cock aches painfully between my legs, and it’s a struggle to keep my hands planted on the ground.
By the time Bridgette tenses and shudders with release, my tongue aches, my face wet with her juices. Saliva drips from my lips, but I’m helpless to stop it. And I’m still not done.
Arlon moves to sit beside Bridgette as Garrett settles behind her, one hand dipping under her blouse to grab her breast. “Are you ready to finish what you started?” Arlon asks.
I whimper when I see him holding his hard length out for me. I scoot across the floor to meet him and settle between his legs before I wrap my mouth around his cock. He grabs the back of my head and thrusts deep.
He’s far less gentle than Garrett was. I gag and clench my eyes closed as he pulls me onto him, fucking my face roughly. I lose myself, submitting to the rough use as I feel his cock thrust down my throat. Every moan is music to my ears, and when his hand tightens on my head to anchor me in place, I swallow around him, looking up to meet his eyes.
The lust and intensity on his face sends a chill of pleasure down my spine. My throat quivers, lungs burning with the lack of air, but Arlon doesn’t release me. Tears well to my eyes as I stave off the gag, looking up at him pleadingly. He grins before loosens his grip, gasping as I suck in a much needed breath of air.
It’s a short lived break before he pulls me back onto him. Even though my throat is sore, he’s merciless as he fucks my mouth. It’s a relief when he thrusts deep, forcing me to swallow what he gives me. I’m dirtied and trembling by the time he pulls away, my chest and face wet with a mix of fluids that I couldn’t swallow.
Arlon chuckles as he cups my cheek. “What a good mouth he is,” he rumbles and the simple compliment sends a thrill through me. I lean into his hand with a whimper as his other finds my cock. He strokes me as he murmurs praise into my ear. “Such a good fuckboy.”
I arch against his hand, fingers flexing with the urge to grab onto him. In the months I’ve been collared by him, he’s trained me well, and since he hasn’t given me permission, I keep my hands by my sides. As my release builds, I can’t help but thrust up into his grip, chasing my end, but Arlon has other plans.
I wail as he pulls his hand away, leaving my cock aching and leaking. His fingers are gentle as they reach behind my head and unlatch the gag. Arlon tilts my chin up, silencing the pleas that threaten to spill out. His smile is full of wicked pleasure as he presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.
“Go clean up and come to bed.”
I whimper, my cock throbbing with unfulfilled need. It’s not my place to argue, so I get to my feet, my legs turned to jelly. I do as told in a haze, using water from the sink to clean myself up.
When I return, Bridgette and Garrett have joined Arlon on the bed, as naked as I am. Arlon pulls me in to join them, trapping me between him and Bridgette at the center of the bed. I groan, the feel of their warm bodies doing nothing to stamp down the ache between my legs.
Arlon’s heavy arms wrap around me, though part of me thinks it’s to ensure I can’t find some way to relieve myself. I sink into him with a helpless whimper even as Bridgette twines her legs with mine.
“I’d like to give you an order that will stand outside of our scheduled time,” Arlon says. It’s rare that he does, and the thought of what he’s going to say fills me with equal parts dread and excitement. His breath brushes my neck, and I squirm as it sends chills down my spine. “You’re not allowed to cum until whoever wins the tournament tomorrow lets you.”
I can’t quiet stop a moan as I arch against him. “Yes, sir.”
Arlon’s chuckle shivers over my skin. “Get some rest. You have a long day ahead of you.”