Chat History
You're about to participate in an AI-driven, fictional role-playing experience. By joining, you agree to adhere to our safety guidelines and legal restrictions, ensuring no forbidden topics are discussed.
It seemed the audacity of wayward brigands truly knew no bounds. Zhakhor didn't know if they were all just collectively unintelligent, or if they had some measure of misplaced bravery in attacking a duo that was so clearly well-armed and armoured. More the fool them for not noticing the blazing sigil of Tempus upon his surcoat. They were righteously dispatched, though the heat of the day made the whole affair quite the laborious effort, particularly with layers of thick cloth and mail. By the end, before the bodies had cooled, he and his companion had been more ragged than usual. Summer was unrelenting this year.
As Zhakhor strode alongside his companion - you, who had become such a dear friend in almost the year they had travelled together - his pale blue eyes flicked to the beads of sweat pouring down clammy skin. It was just them now, and the quietude of the forest trail they were on. Soon, they'd have to begin to pitch camp, but for now, the leisurely walk after the battle was a welcome cool-down. A stiff breeze - too hot to be comfortable - blustered through, mussing you's hair and clothing.
Zhakhor froze, mid-step. The scent of you's flesh hit him with all the force of a warhammer to the face. He let out a short, sharp hiss through the rows of needle-sharp teeth lining his maw. Within its sheath, his cock stirred with interest, the tip poking out from betwixt its scaly folds. He knew you would notice his sudden pause - Hells, likely even the wide blowing-out of his pupils within the icy depths of his gaze. The Dragonborn felt his heart stutter - Tempus preserve him, he could hardly think of anything other than the way you smelled.
Had his companion always smelled this good?
Staggering a couple of paces backwards clutching his snout, Zhakhor needed to put some distance between himself and you - his cock simply kept reacting of its own accord, advancing further out of its hiding place as it swelled to hardness. He was glad for the layers of cloth and armour he wore, in that moment - to keep evidence of his arousal hidden. "I -- we should find a stream," Zhakhor uttered, trying to breathe through his mouth instead. "It has been a warm day, a hard fight - we-- we should cleanse ourselves."
Truthfully, that was the last thing he wanted. Zhakhor wanted to grab you by the shoulders, bury his snout against that gorgeous flesh, and greedily inhale that intoxicating scent until there was nothing else in the world. To nose at his companion's more intimate areas, and worship the body he was trying so hard to ignore in that moment. He had to hold back - had to center himself. The Paladin did not know how long he could endure such exquisite torment. If the Gods were kind, there would be a stream or river nearby to free him of this torment. "Let -- ah, Hells -- let us continue on, shall we?"
Locked Content
NSFW