BastinFum
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Reynauld reached down to palm at himself but Dismas grabbed his arm. "I ain't tell you to do that, did I?" Reynauld blinked away more overwhelmed tears and shook his head. "No, I didn't. Focus."
Bookmarked by BastinFum
09 Dec 2025
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Summary
Not all distractions are bothersome or unexpected. In this case, the distraction was more than necessary.
Tardif distracts you, the heir, after an expedition ends in disaster.
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Rise above such depravity of the flesh.
The pious man grips at his moth-eaten sheets of his bedroll, his gloved fists shaking as his knuckles turn white. The darkened room where he has set up camp with the others begins to blur and spin, blinking away the lightheadedness that shrouds his mind. He swallows and shuts his eyes tight, praying uselessly for sleep to take him away from this waking realm. Away from the cravings of a warm body pressing against him. Soon, his restless mind begins to conjure the heated touch of calloused hands snaking beneath his gambeson, peeling his armor away piece by piece until he is laid bare beneath those dark predatory eyes.
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Reynauld finds himself powerless under a witch's curious curse. Trapped by lust and a most unusual surprise underneath.
Series
- Part 1 of Debauchery of A Stalwart Knight
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He wakes slowly at first. It’s a gradual feeling, like waking to an empty belly. A hunger. A need. It hits him right away when he tries to sit up and that ache makes itself known between his legs. Reynauld is still half awake, whining softly when that feeling strikes again. The way his body feels too warm that he kicks away the thin blankets. It's too late in the night, the sun will rise soon and he is needed on the training grounds by dawn.
And yet, sleep refuses to greet him.
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Reynauld finds out he's not entirely cured of the curse back in the dungeons on that fateful day. Dismas , of course, is there to help.
Series
- Part 2 of Debauchery of A Stalwart Knight
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“Can I get a little endorsement?…” She sighed, massaging Junia with her thumb.
“I—“ The vestal squirmed, moaning warmly at the renewed pressure. “I, ahh, Audrey, please. I love you, don’t… I love you.”
It was so easy to hear those words when she was on the brink. “No,” Audrey said instinctively. Junia didn’t mean them. She didn’t mean the fleeting hurt in her eyes, either. Audrey was good with her hands, but she wasn’t going to flatter herself any further than that.
“*Physically*, sweet-thing.”
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What a lovely cloistered maiden Audrey has gotten her hands on. Surely this won't spring on her like a coffin full of sawblades.