Rytlock’s Display
Request from Remy: Rytlock in a humiliating situation with chastity
Rytlock’s Display
Request from Remy: Rytlock in a humiliating situation with chastity
“Tribune?”
A grumble answered the request, with long clawed fingers scratching his temple. Even though the pen remained in hand and scratched the paper, there was tension in the atmosphere.
Chairs had been kicked away, a few scrolls thrown on the floor. It was as if a small tornado had gone through the office, throwing everything around until, amidst the chaos, Rytlock Brimstone was the only one standing.
Rambling. And definitely muttering something while he scribbled.
“Tribune?”
“WHAT?!” shouted Rytlock, throwing the pen across the room at the rusty metal threshold.
In return, the young Charr envoy recoiled, his head moving back in surprise at the Tribune’s outburst.
That was definitely something he wasn’t expecting, as seen in the way he clutched the paper he was holding. Definitely something surprising from Rytlock.
“Hmm… Is there a problem?”
“What?! The Fahrar didn’t kick the stupid out of you?” repeated Rytlock, his four ears shaking before he leaned back against the chair, his body covered by the desk. “What do you want, Cub? Can it wait?”
The young Charr, certainly in his age to serve, gulped at the word Cub. Even so, he reaffirmed his posture, straightened his legs almost in a salute, while he pressed his fist against his chest and the armor on it.
“It cannot wait, sir. The legions are waiting for you?”
“The… Oh, crap,” mumbled Rytlock, passing a hand over his forehead. “The Ghost expeditions? Right? Searspite and Desergrave. Tell them I have an issue.”
“Sir. They sent me for you precisely. They’ve got-“
“Another argument… They’ve taken their sweet time. Crecia will have me executed.”
“What?”
“Nothing,”
Finally, done shaking his head and holding onto his temple, Brimstone stood up.
The Tribune of the Blood Legion, the wielder of Sohotin, a member of Dragon Watch, the first Revenant… Stood in his glory. Even if it meant for him to wear no armor below his waist. What an exposed glory.
His black armor plate had been stripped below the waist, exposing the Tribune’s dark brown legs, the rough fur on them… And then, much like the rest. His genitals.
The young Charr hiccuped at the sight before looking away, far intimidated by the… Course of events.
“Sir.”
“Let’s go, Cub,” huffed Rytlock, going for his blade, which he attached to his back, before trudging forward.
“Sir? May I advise you to… Put something on?”
“You can. But it doesn’t work that way. Let’s get moving,” huffed the Tribune, his rumination audible as he left his office to take the passageway to the central concourse. Then, it was only a matter of descending the spiral stairs, going from the top of the Imperator’s Core, a ball of rusty steel plates, down to the lower levels where the Bane was located, an arena erected over the ruins of good ol’ Ascalon.
Yet, the more Rytlock descended, the more eyes were turned toward the Tribune. They eyed him up and down with astonishment, pinching themselves as if they were in a dream. Alas, they were not in one of Goldclaw’s lusty fantasies.
No, it was all the more real as Rytlock huffed at the guards in faction, watching them salute him nervously while their eyes were always going down, much like the plethora of soldiers.
Everyone was watching Rytlock’s groin, admiring the craftsmanship while the Charr was putting up a tough front.
In comparison, the young Enjoy was almost hiding his face behind the paper he had been holding, while following the strutting Tribune around.
“Sir. You really need to put something on. Everyone is watching.”
“I’d like to. But whoever had the STUPID IDEA TO MAKE THIS CAGE ENCHANTED IT TO REMOVE MY PANTS! WHAT A FAILURE OF A COMMANDER!” shouted Rytlock, turning his head in one direction and waving his fist in the air.
Of course, everyone who watched this recoiled and hastily fled, those who were in the first relative direction.
“Please, Tribune. People might think you’ve gone crazy.”
“Yeah. I’m gone crazy to try on something stupid like this.”
Then… Rytlock sighed, grumbled, and took the elevator down to the arena, followed by the Envoy.
An awkward situation, as they were plunged into the darkness of the tunnel. Air rushed in, but nothing that could… Really remove the waft of masculine Charr musk emanating from Rytlock’s testicles, the skin taut and pulled by a silver ring.
A nervousness. And… A sniff.
“You like it,” said Rytlock with a chuckle.
“It’s… Strong. Tribune. I am sorry if it offends you, but you really shouldn’t go to the Bane!”
“Well. They sent you for me. They will have to handle this. That and the other issue.”
“… The other issue?”
“You’ll see, Cub,” said Rytlock, shaking his head again. “One day before the execution.”
The Envoy certainly gave up on understanding what Rytlock meant, but his blue eyes certainly went and… Observed the flat chastity cage fitted on Rytlock’s groin, crushing into his sheath until nothing could be seen from the typical red tip.
The closer one went to Rytlock, the stronger the Charr’s musk. Intense, rowdy, with hints of powder and perhaps urine? It was quite appealing to the Envoy, who was going red and clutching his own pants.
Then, with a jolt, the elevator stopped, and the Envoy stopped clutching his pants, following his Tribune through the exit and out into the open. To an arena that was filled with Charrs ready to watch another bout between the Flame and the Ash Legion.
This time around, two Tribunes were at odds on how to handle the remaining specters living in the Charr’s lands. And since he held the ‘key’, Rytlock had to rein them.
A displeasant situation with Rytlock approaching fellow Tribunes. They stood at the edge of the arena, shouting orders. Or at least, until the eyes turned to Rytlock, and so did the Tribunes.
“Well, well. Rytlock. I knew you were not discreet, but this is new,” chuckled Desertgrave.
“What an audacious craft. I can feel the magic coming from it,” added Searspite.
“Can it, you two. You forced me to come here. You’ll have to watch,” said Rytlock, planting his sword in the ground and crossing his arms. But the two fellows exchanged amused glances despite their rivalry.
They even mouthed a few words before Rytlock closed his eyes and grumbled.
“Get on with it, you two. Or else I’ll kick your butts and send you to Lion’s Arch, Crecia’s orders.”
Sure enough, Rytlock couldn’t do that. But the threat worked enough for them to get a semblance of order.
A semblance, though whispers came from the crowd. If there was an event today, it wasn’t another squabble between the Legions; but Rytlock’s meaty legs, his ample posterior, or those genitals that were massive and befitting a proper sire.
His testicles were practically orange-sized, and though his cock was caged, many were whispering about how big it was. A new topic that was getting on Rytlock’s nerves as his tail flailed behind him.
Worse, he had to stay on watch to see if there was any foul play between the two Tribunes… And. They were chuckling.
“Will we get your new armors to try?” sniped Searspite.
“They are certainly more within the budget,” continued Desertgrave, her voice rumbling.
“Here we go.”
The two Tribunes eyed one another before they heard a purr.
Or a grumbling. A deep, sonorous sound came from Rytlock’s throat as he had his teeth clenched and jaw shut.
His attitude was like that of a statue, but anyone behind him could notice it. His muscles were moving. Someone or something was pulling on the buttcheeks, on those muscular mounds… And were starting to pull them apart.
In the middle, the Charr’s slightly swollen orifice was in sight, and Rytlock spread his legs, though his expression shifted to exasperation and anger.
Glances were exchanged, whispers ushered. And then… As the crowd partly shouted from a bold assault from the Ash Legion… Another part shouted as they saw Rytlock’s asshole stretch and open without anyone in sight.
The orifice opened, revealing the purple insides, the walls moving and twisting under an invisible touch. The squelching, the natural lubricant being sprayed out… And then the movements of a penetration.
It was definitely visible as Rytlock huffed and closed his eyes for a second, his hands clutching his arms.
It was definitely happening in public, and even the Charr’s feet dug into the rigid steel while his body moved. Or was rocked by the movement inside him.
Rytlock was acting like a statue, trying to stay still and tough, without breaking character.
But the eyes and ears were turned to his posterior. It was kneaded, massaged, pulled by invisible hands, the touch leading to squelching sounds due to the sudden penetration.
It was quite… unnerving, especially for those nearby. But some Charrs were definitely approaching, sitting behind Rytlock to have a sight. A sight of that orifice that was slowly being spread and opening, with the inner walls being revealed while the Charr continued to widen his stance and lower his hips.
At some point, everyone knew something weird was happening to the Tribune.
But a glare or a huff, and they would recoil and not dare to ask or state anything.
Instead, they had to watch that prime Sire of a Charr, studly and impressive with all his feats. And… getting penetrated, the Tribune’s hips swaying from something thrusting inside him.
Sure enough, Rytlock groaned and huffed, and sometimes closed his eyes. But at no time did he uncross his arms, even when one particularly powerful hit made him take a step forward.
He huffed and grumbled, eyed by his fellows… Before he straightened his head, raised his chin, and closed his eyes as if he were unbothered.
Yet, his mouth was tight. His ears fluttering. His feet scraping the steel.
And worse… His caged cock was dripping.
Musky, sticky, and whitish precum dripped from the cage onto the crushed sheath. Then, that same precum went over the sheath’s folds, descended onto the Charr’s cinched and fuzzy testicles, before it dripped on the floor.
One drop at a time. But with so many droplets and a profuse Charrhood, they turned into a musky puddle between Rytlock’s legs.
The Ash and Flame Legion Tribunes stopped, chuckled, then grew nervous, curious… And then, ashamed, Rytlock acted so defiantly uncaring that anyone could hear it. Could hear his buttcheeks pummeled.
SMACK!
The sound was almost deafening in the arena, stopping the fight for a moment as one invisible hand smacked Rytlock’s posterior, making his tight sphincter clench before the penetration resumed. And again came the smack, each time with a grumble from Rytlock and his tail-tip sweeping around.
“We… Could do that another time,” mumbled Searspite, as even the fight below died down.
“No. Crecia will have my skin for that. So let’s finish this,” huffed Rytlock, opening one eye to glance at the tense Flame Legion Charr… before his eye twitched.
People were watching, seeing as the Charr’s expression tensed. His mask of stoicism was breaking apart before their very eyes, with one tear at the corner of an eye. Behind the smacks were deafening, and Rytlock was visibly rocked by whatever entity was fucking him.
His claws dug into his armor, and his lips twitched.
Whatever was happening was picking up speed and intensity, making the studly Charr almost bolt as… Before the crowd, something happened.
First came Rytlock’s own cumshot. A long, white shot soared through the air, coming from the cage, and landed on the steel floor before him. Then another. Then another, as his testicles were pulled closer to his groin. Then… As the cumshot ended, as the Charr sighed and his expression relaxed… Something else came.
Cum…
Before the crowd’s very eyes, the Tribune’s asshole was starting to ooze cum and drip all over his taint before it landed into the precum puddle, muddying it as Rytlock grumbled, sighed, and reached for his head.
“I’ll have your head, Commander. One day or another,” mumbled Rytlock, his index finger tapping his temple… Before he hissed, roared, and had his eyes bulging from having his posterior spanked again.
“Your invisibility can’t protect you from me, Mesmer!”