RePhloxan
Dwarven Scribe Darovair has found himself unaware of some new habits, and perhaps the start of a brand new journey.
RePhloxan
(story is a work of fiction, and contains sexual elements including mind control)
Derovair awoke once again to the strange dream, drenched in sweat. It had been another balmy night in Phloxan Vale, the warm breeze characteristic to the region passing through his open windows. As with many nights like this, the dwarf would peel the thin sheets off his firm gut, only to grope at his thick morning wood. His mind wandered, thinking idly about the burly woodcutter down the street, whom he had yet to formally meet, with his broad shoulders and ursine features. It's funny. He hadn't seen Mr. Orsov in over a week. Just as his hands massaged his erection close to orgasm, he stopped, suddenly distracted with the need to start the day..
The dwarven scribe arrived at Phloxan Vale only a few months ago, and the repairs to the abandoned home went smoothly. The townsfolk were cordial and helpful, though he noticed a predisposition for males throughout the valley. It gave him more opportunity to focus on his work as a scribe. Books would arrive via courier every fortnight, and he would generally have a stack to send back, though larger works took him longer to do. Such as the Dictorum on Crystallic Energies his green eyes looked upon. The Dictorum, like most of its ilk, read dry, with references to other Dictorums on mystical study. His own innate resilience against arcane interference helped make him a perfect scribe of mystical tomes, since any latent spell energies would only create small tingles. Such slight sensations helped to keep his mind from the tedium of transcription.
The day went on as usual, the scribe taking breaks to refill his warm wakeberry tea, making a lunch of leftover mutton-pie, and tending to his long braided orange-red beard. His occasionally throbbing member went unnoticed as he worked through the day, copying the byzantine text from its source to the loose pages. As the ideal sunlight for writing passed beyond his desk window, he stood up to do his usual stretches. He ignored the swelling of his balls, but adjusted them as they stuck to his leg when he tilted to the side. Glancing back at his work, he frowned in self-reflection. He only completed ten pages, when normally he would do at least twenty. Perhaps he should get some air outside and enjoy the cool breezes that come down from the mounts. He threw on his embroidered leather vest and his favorite walking boots to enjoy the fine weather, and perhaps stop into town for some pastries. Hopefully, the exercise combined with the treat and a nice cup of cool ale will help him rest better.
Just as he was about to grasp the door handle, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. It was about head height, and moved quickly behind him. The dwarf paused, trying to recall where he last saw his dagger. He hadn't needed it since the trip in -- and the village had enough guard and strongarms to take on most bandits, and that didn't include any of the mystical wards that helped keep the land safe. Not to be caught off-guard, Derovair wheeled on his heel, to meet the movement face forward. As his eyes met the crystal floating before him, his eyes met the glowing, pulsing energy within that he swore looked just like him.
The scribe gazed, dumbstruck at the images that collapsed and collided before his vision. Part of him felt like he was falling into the crystal, deep between the facets of the lovely jewel. His mind seemed to pull into its depths, only to be replaced with an odd feeling of needful arousal. His thick, calloused hands moved down and started stroking his exposed member, having not softened much since waking up. It always seemed moistened with pre, the blushed head sensitive and sending a wave of pleasure through his body. He realized, briefly, that he never put on any pants, but he then remembered that he always wore his favorite leather chaps -- the ones that exposed his meaty cheeks. The idea that he would wear pants suddenly perplexed him, but the thought was gone before he could ruminate. The crystal hummed and glistened in the light, recapturing his attention. His eyes opened in surprise and bewilderment at the variety of purple hues, some of which were flowing from him, into the inner light.
His unattended hand rubbed under his beard to his red-haired chest and gut sensually, enjoying the sparks that tingled between his fingers and the fuzzy flesh. His cock jumped in delight, spurting a line of precum onto the stained stone floor. His mind emptied, hollow for an indeterminate time before the energy took its place, filling his thoughts with a craving to stare further. His rough hand rubbed his hard, firm shaft while he stood in place. His movements were slow and deliberate, designed to keep him from reaching full orgasm, yet inundate his mind with waves of pleasure. His strong arms and pecs glistened with dull sweat from the night before. He was a good slave, and good slaves stroke and obey. Good slaves fill their mind with The Light.
His breathing slowed to steady rhythm, and he lumbered, hand still stroking, to lean upon his writing desk adjacent to the door. The weight of his balls swinging heavily only encouraged him to submit further to the new desires. Removing his wandering hand from his greasy body, he grabbed the Dictum and placed it within the leather tomesack that he kept at his desk. Another spurt of precum hit the underside of his desk and chair, without a care.. All that he could see were the bountiful shades shown to him, replacing the willpower he once had.
His hand moved away from edging his dick, just long enough to pull the bag's carrier strap over his shoulde and adjust it for comfort. He had a delivery to make. His hand moved quicker along his dick, and he felt rewarded for his obedient actions. He would follow the light's commands, and he would obey. His breathing grew hot and labored from the almost endless self-pleasure. Sweat formed on his brow as the crystal's enchantment encouraged him to focus entirely on his rising lust, furiously masturbating and pulling down on his large, ponderous balls.. He was so close to orgasm, so close to shooting his load. Yet, when it came time to, his hands just stopped, and fell limp to his side, leaving his member wanton.
His eyes glowed purple as he stood motionless, staring at the gem long enough for the sun to move to the otherside of the cabin, before the gem pulled once again out of view. His mouth stayed agape for a few minutes in absolute bliss, allowing the energies to shape and seep into his mind. Then, as if nothing at all happened, he hefted up his tomesack and smiled. He needed to make a delivery to a new prospective client, one up in the mountains. His cock throbbed before him, obscenely, but he paid no attention to it what-so-ever. He walked over and grabbed his walking stick, and collected his canteen for the journey. The mountain was a good half-day's travel. It'd be good not to keep his new employer waiting.
The dwarf grabbed the handle and opened the door into his front garden, and the main road beyond. He held the door there long enough for the crystal to reassert its position out of view, hovering just over his shoulder. When he closed the door, his cock throbbed again in delight! A light moan escaped his lips, but otherwise, he acted no different than any other time he left his house. He looked at the dirt road that led through the village and up towards his goal. Breathing in the floral morning air mixed with natural pines and his own musk scent, he stretched one last time before heading to town. It was a beautiful evening, and the perfect time to start a new journey.