Content Note: F/m, Noncon of male
His lean blond body was stretched over the altar, shackled with the heavy manacles. He wondered how many had bent before, to the corrupted god of this shrine. He knew their rites favoured scourging, bringing about a holy trance within their chosen vessels as they were pushed to the brink of their endurance.
He wondered if she thought that he too could be made into an instrument. Would it be knotted rope, a braided cane or thorn branches? Regardless, he knew he could take much before succumbing. That his skin was largely unmarred was more a credit to the healers of his faith than a life lived without injuries.
This temple had fallen before the Necromancer and her army, its crypt seized to fill out her forces. As a Paladin, he had been drawn to this taint, discovering it all too late. Now he knew her to be a cancer in his homeland, growing strength in this ancient backwater. He believed his days were numbered, soon to become another victim. He prayed the people of the nearby village would notice he hadn’t returned, and not send a search party, for nothing they could muster would be stronger than him, but send word back to the temple or the royal guard. Anyone who could hope to stop her before she grew too strong.
In the room, once a place of worship but now little more than a half crumbling ruin on an ancient crypt, the shuffling clunk of her foul undead thralls patrolling was the only sound. If he had his sword, if his strength would let him break free, he would purge this place or die trying. But he had been stripped and restrained, body bared, and left with his back exposed vulnerably, hld so all he could see was the sleek feet of the shrine’s statue directly in front of him.
It was Nari, god or goddess, depending on the language and what they considered the neuter pronoun. They of the slim, sexless body, neither male or female, with skin that glistened like black tar in the light. Not his deity, not the three faced Purifier, whose name was so powerful that it was not uttered careless by even its most devoted. tHe Purifier commanded the dead be placed on pyres, lest they become, as those buried here had, more tools for a foul purpose.
“You are the very model of the pretty Paladin, are you not?” She, the Necromancer, had been there for his binding, cruel and imperious, dressed in black silk-satin slit to the thigh more daring than a courtesan and glittering with ornate silver jewellry to be the envy of any noblewoman. Her mouth was a berry of blood, mirthful, her eyes gloating. She had commanded them, the undead that had overcome in such numbers even his righteous gifts could not turn them all. Even with their crude movements they had managed to drag him and click the manacle in place.
Then she herself had peeled his armour and the clothed beneath from his body. Where they could not be unfastened, she’d cut, precise and relentlless.
“Posterboy. I suspect they paraded you out on feast days, had you stand guard when your high priest petitioned the court,” Her fingers hard run over his flanks, cool but alive, feeling the scrape of the points on the intricate metal gauntlets she wore. Soul Rippers, a profane instrument to weave and pull at the dead as she wished.
“You will be called to account for your crimes, Necromancer. If not by me, by my brothers who will come after.”
“Crimes? What crimes? Under whose law? I am a licensed privateer, Paladin. And no citizen of your lands.” Those metal claws brushed him again, along the thigh. She repealed nothing he couldnt conclude from circumstances, an invader from an evil land, here to raid and claim bounty, while the demonic Republic pretended they condoned no such offence.
“You stand on our lands, nonetheless and are subject to both the law of them, and to the judgment of the Purifier,” It was a statement of patriotism as much as of faith.
“I have an invading army, and rather think that makes me sovereign to myself, as long as I have it.”
“As sovereign only as any subject of your foul realm, and served by stolen bodies of those who sought their eternal rest in the arms of Nari.”
“Only stolen bodies? Well, there are Kobolds. But if Nari minded so much, why then is the servant of their sibling god so humbled before them?”
He made an oath, not blasphemy, but a curse of judgment on her. She chuckled.
“Bold words for a pretty bitch, with his cock and balls hanging so easy in my reach.” She gave only the lightest brush there with a claw to remind him.
His indignant reaction was impossible for him to hide, even as he scolded himself for falling for such basic needling. She would toy with her prey, he knew. Perhaps she hoped to gain some intelligence from a servant of a temple as powerful as his or perhaps she simply thrived on cruelty.
Instead, her hands took him by each buttock, squeezing. She chuckled. “Are you wriggling your hole at me, to invite me in? You are, aren’t you?”
No. He had thought perhaps she threatened to castrate him, but rather, something else, more wicked than a mere mutilation.
She stepped away, and he felt something cloth be deposited on the small of his back. Then her fingers, wet with some oily substance and now free of hooks, caressed the cleft of his ass. “I am going to fuck you, Paladin.”
“You cannot taint the true heart of a servant of the Purifier.”
“Your cock twitches as much as your hole welcomes me, in anticipation. You are going to succumb to this.”
He was not expecting what she did, the fingers deftly exploring him. She dressed in the style of indolent wealth, but had the calloused hands of a crafter.
He had a visceral sense of violation, but also of an undeniable hunger. She did not rush, did not force. Bit by bit, massaging, pressing, he came to engulf a finger, than another. His cock, traitor, must be to some dark magic, stiffened at the touching. Her fingers were strong and slippery.
“Paladin-whore. Is this how you serve your Purifier?” She said it with such contempt he could not hold back, smashing the manacles hard against the stone altar. If, perhaps there has been more slack he might have cracked them, but he was pulled firmly against the cold stone.
There was the texture of the gutter underfoot, a groove carved in the stone floor to carry away the blood and sweat of Nari’s vessels while they suffered. His feet shifted, trying to fight her, to escape his penetration.
“Struggle if you wish Paladin. Milk my fingers with your hole. I have all the time I wish to tame you. And you will only suffer more for your tantrum.”
Another oath-curse. Vile woman. Three fingers within him, rocking back and forth.
“You ripen for me. Should I be poetic and say, the flower opens to reveal it’s ready nectar? Take it. Take it like the eager slut you are.”
He gave a grunt that muffled a groan.
“Is this truly a first time, Paladin-whore?” Pressure, pushing. “Or does a servant of the Purifier stuff his greedy hole in his private cloister, when he should be at prayer? Is that the secret of your temple?”
Blasphemy from her, and decadent libel. His order was chaste, monitoring eachother for the least stumble, proud of their discipline. If there was even a sleep-slip to awaken in spilled seed, a purging rite would follow. And yet his body reacted as she described.
“Your hole certainly craves it. It knows what it wants, even if you deny it.” She continued.
“Remove your hands from me at once, demon-thrall!”
“Very well, if you insist you shall take my cock instead.”
Her cock? He did not quite understand, but herd her adjusting behind him. Had she organs otherwise than her form might suggest? He knew in theory one could not tell, and a chaste Paladin did not concern himself with the anatomy of others.
No, the thing that nudged his ass, with a bulbed head, was not of flesh. “I carved this myself. Ivory. I have several now, sized and shaped to fill and break you.”
The shape was a perversion upon the human form. A fat head with a tapered tip, and then rather than a smooth shaft, an inhuman series of bumps. It was not meant to serve as a celebration of the human form, but relentlessly defile the body, in mockery to it, bringing out the weaknesses of the victim.
“Why do you whiner and growl so? This is only the start of your training. And hardly the largest in my collection. I am confident you can take it all first try. In time, you will bounce on it willingly.”
“You work dark magic on me. The Purifier shall cleanse your stain from me on my death.”
“You think I can only twist the dead and their souls to my whims? Oh no, Paladin-whore. This is the start of your shameful addiction. No death for you, just life as my personal fuck-hole”
She had no mercy, and all the patience she promised. The ivory overcame his strength, a bump at a time, filling him, bending him to it.”Such whimpers, Paladin-whore. You are so soft, peeled of your shining armour, drooling and dripping at the feet of Nari. And yet, part of you is hard still, isn’t it?”
He did not beg. Pride would not permit him that, at least. She had long since put her cock to its root within him, and now she seemed set on two twin goals. Relentlessly making him aware his hole was hers now, and forcing his body until his cock beaded at the tip.
Every pass in, every drag of those profane ridges, it fealt, almost, like she would make him spill his seed. At once he prayed to be spared that indignity, at least, but also, the traitor part wished he might, just for some release.
She laughed. It would be pretty, girlish, maybe cute from anyone else. “I wonder if you will come from your fucking, or if you are going to end up begging me to touch you?”
“I won’t!”
Her cock, it must be strapped on by some harness, he imagined, pushed back into him again, so she could lean over him, her mouth closer to his ear. “You know, I don’t think I will let you come though, unless the Paladin-whore can in his new role as my personal hole.”
He gave another grunt, as she pulled back again, but intensified, confident he no longer needed her to hold back in force.
“Don’t worry, I know you will beg anyway. Soon enough you will be reduced down to a mindless dog, humping my leg. I will fuck you until I get bored, and then I will decide if I want to admire your newly open hole, or if I will leave you stuffed. Which is it?”
When he wouldn’t answer, she pulled back a little further until her cock slipped all the way out, only to nudge it back in with one smooth, violent thrust. “Which is it, Paladin-whore?”
“I have really, really opened you up for a first time.” Another, out than in. She toyed with him. This time, her hand found his cock and balls, squeezing, a gesture more of control than to give him pleasure. He responded to that too, nonetheless.
“And I have some pretty carved plugs to train you with too, and metal and glass. And plenty of ivory if you prove too apt a pupil and master my current collection. Though given your desperate greed, I’d best lock up my supply of tusks, lest you try to shove a whole unwittled one in next.”
A sob from him. She laughed, again.
“Phew, destroying you is turning me on. I guess that’s how you buy your reprieve. Now do I leave my cock in you for company or let you feel the wind whistle in its absence?”
He could feel her shifting, lick buckles being undone, the cock twisting inside him but staying put. He spoke quietly, through gritted teeth,“Take it out.”
“What?”
“I said, take it out!”
“Oof, the Paladin-whore thinks he is in charge. No knightly genteel manners, I see. Now to fix this so you don’t push it out. Leaving it overnight is a bit much for a novice, but… if you are embracing your status so quickly…”
She was moving away from him, looking to wrap the harness that had held the cock to her around his hips and waist instead.
“Please take it out!” Shame burned harder than the ache of her first-time fucking and the unquenched desired it had inspired.
“There, was that so hard? Be a good little Paladin-whore and wait, now…” she pulled, and with a final pressure, the flared head popped free, “…I will be back before you know it to continue turning you out.
It has been too long since I wrote and released something particularly brutal. It’s not a true “Friday Femdom Fiction” as it’s not a loving couple, but I thought readers would appreciate the spice. And it’s technically fruit of a loving relationship as Silver and I’s roleplaying is very much the inspo here for this! Fans of Catamite in particular may appreciate I decided to just go all in on the sadism.
Lovely! The cracks are already showing — I wonder how long it takes for him to completely break.