IceKrystalz
Registered User
- Joined
- Jan 6, 2013
- Messages
- 28
- Points
- 0
The following story is Dragon Age universe fan fiction. Click this link to learn more about the Qunari and the terms I use in this story (there are a lot of them.) http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Qunlat Also of note: Qunari don't have names, they have jobs and they are the same thing to them. They do give each other ncknames, though.
Tamassran knew her place in the Qun, theoretically, anyhow. She was Tamassran; she provided council and needed release to other Qunari who sought her services. This was her life, day in and day out. Not all of the Tamassran were like her, just a select group. The others ran the well regimented breeding program and the education centers where the young were taught, where she had been groomed to be a Tamassran from childhood when it was noticed that she was skilled in empathy and the desire to do whatever it took to make those around her happy.
The Qun found a place for you. Free will was for the weak, and even those who abandoned the teachings, the hated Tal-Vashoth, conformed to each other. Questioning the Qun was natural, but actually considering leaving was a kind of offense that put you in the hands of the Vidathiss re-educators. So she wasn’t really surprised when she woke up tied to a metal frame in a tent on the outskirts of town. She had no idea what she was in for, but if the dragon scale restraints holding her six foot eight inch body to the large jumble of metal was any indication, it wasn’t going to be pleasant. She hung there; awake and silent for what felt to her like an eternity, and she spent all of it inside her own head. Her shoulder started to itch, and she tried to use her curly, ram-like horns to scratch it, like she had done a million times before, and she found herself unable to, thanks to a thin cord around her neck, looped through her horns so as to prevent movement.
Vidathiss walked into the tent. She seemed a bit small to her captive, barely over six feet tall, but with horns invoking the ferocity of the bull, large and curved upwards. She was also slimmer than most of her broad, muscled brethren. To compensate for that, it seemed to Tamassran that she took up more of the room that someone larger might have, and the presence was quite intimidating—and living among strictly regimented giants, this really means something. She was dressed in slick black leather that continued the air of danger about her, and her shock of white hair was kept in several tight braids.
“Welcome, dear Tamassran, do make yourself comfortable. I’m glad you could, as the Bas say, ‘hang out’ with me. I have heard we had a naughty girl who wants to abandon the Qun.” She moved closer, her face inches from Tamassran’s, an index finger under her chin as one would do to an impudent child. “Seeing you before me, I have to assume you are she. You have one chance before we get started. Do we have the right Tamassran?” Her eyes narrowed as they locked with those of her prisoner.
Tamassran looked away. “…you must. I question not the Qun, as much as my place in it. What is the Tamassran compared to the Ashaad, or even the baker? What I do for others is fleeting. The baker can see the bread she makes and the Ashaad can count the bodies in his wake. What do I have to show? Can I help but question my place?” She sighed, as though she might have hung her head if she could.
“You seem to have done the first part of my work for me, Tamassran. Already you are broken,” Vidathiss cooed, her voice thick with the syrup of pity “what Basra Vashedanhas has gotten into your head that you can’t see the purpose in what you do?” With this, she stroked Tamassran’s hair, wild and red between her horns. “You bring comfort and peace to our people. Surely you can count the smiles on the faces as they leave your sanctuary. So what do you do for… the baker you mentioned, when she comes to you in a fit because the workers picking up her bread were late and complained that it was stale?”
Tamassran cast her gaze down, since she couldn’t move her head, “I lie down across her lap and let her beat her frustrations out of my backside. Once her rage subsides, I let her tell me her troubles, with my head between her legs, if necessary.”
“Hmm. I see. And what do you do for Ashaad, when he comes to you, battle-weary and despondent?” asked Vidathiss, enthralled, as if the answers to these questions were more for her benefit than her charge’s.
“If he were tired of sticking his little arrows into unpleasant targets, I would let his big arrow hit my target…” She let the pause linger here, her training taking over her fear and shame as she teased her captor, “If it strikes his fancy, I would let him hit my bulls eye. And if that isn’t enough, I find a Saartoh Nehrappan and I let him be the target.”
Vidathiss had a far-away look on her face and took a little while to pull herself together as she tried to reign in her imagination, which was already over the edge into the gutter. She shook the thoughts away with a small snort of laughter, something the bound Tamassran likened to an ox getting ready to charge. She then brought her head closer and used her grip on Tamassran’s hair to make the bound Qunari meet her gaze. “You talk in erotic poetry, it is very… effective.” Tamassran allowed herself a self-satisfied smile.
“I feel as though I can see what is wrong.” Vidathiss continued. “You are so devoted to the pleasure and well-being of others at the expense of yourself. Giving your all to the Qun and not seeing the Qun give its all to you can cause these feelings of dissent. I have to punish you, Tamassran. I have a duty to the Qun and to you, and I will do that duty with all my heart because you deserve no less. However, what you need is pleasure, and I know how to give you both.” To get an echo in a room with no hard walls is a feat of wonder, but there are moments which have this kind of gravity to them. This was one. The silence hung in the air like the intense humidity before a downpour. Tamassran nodded with her eyes because she couldn’t do it with her head. The tension in the air swelled, and Vidathiss let it build, because she knew that the anticipation would be part of the game. It was at the breaking point now, and she still had a hold on Tamassran’s head, so she brought it closer to hers and kissed. The kiss wasn’t very long, but established some important things: Vidathiss was in complete control and the magnetism was overwhelming.
The kiss broke, and that moment was filled with infinite possibilities. Vidathiss smiled at her captive, and brought her free hand in a lazy swipe along Tamassran’s exposed and well-toned belly. Her smile grew as she felt the muscles twitch and spasm in the wake of her devious digits. ”Uh-oh!” she exclaimed in a sing-song voice usually reserved for talking to children, “I think my lovely Tamassran is TICKLISH!” The strokes were repeated, drawing some very un-Qunari like squeaks out of her poor captive.
On the other side of this, Tamassran was becoming acutely aware of how utterly helpless she was. There was nowhere to move, barely any to squirm, and all she could do to respond to the urge the nails skittering over her belly was producing was to splay and curl her fingers, digging her own nails into the metal frame. The laughter was welling up inside her, and it was all she could do not to let the dam burst. “You are Qunari,” she thought, “Vidathiss wants you to be strong, so be strong. Do not laugh!” So she closed her eyes and tried to think about anything else. She thought about the Arishock eating breakfast, about Vints doing blood magic, about pictures she had seen of tiny furry animals the Bas called ‘kittens’. They were small and cute, climbing into things and playing with everything. This made her smile; and that smile made her tormenter smell blood in the water.
Vidathiss grinned; she always enjoyed her job, but today she loved it. The Tamassrans who selected her for re-education picked up easily on her sense of duty, as well as her creativity in tormenting the young ones she was grouped with. She picked up the pace, playing Tamassran’s belly like a lute: strumming her fingers over it, picking at her navel. She was playing her heart out, waiting for the sweet music of Tamassran’s laughter. When the smile cracked through on her charge’s face, she took her fingers to a speed that would have made any virtuoso curse in shame.
The speed at which the sensations were bombarding Tamassran’s already addled mind served to be too much for her to take. It started with a giggle. This was followed by several more before she bit her lip to try and suppress them once again. These attempts never go well, and with an expert like Vidathiss playing her like an instrument, it was about as useful an axe made out of candy. After a few more seconds of this torment, her resolve failed and the cracked dam gave way to the tide of her laughter. She cursed her weakness in her head, but didn’t have much time to think other things, as the whole of her mind was invaded by the ticklish sensations. She closed her eyes, screwing them shut.
“Don’t you dare close your eyes! Take your punishment like a Qunari, not like some frolicking elf! Look. Me. In. The. EYES.” Vidathiss spat, pressing her face nose to nose with Tamassran. The sensations stopped for just a second while Vidathiss waited for her to open her eyes. With heaving breaths, Tamassran’s eyes opened to slowly to the sight of her captor’s pale violet irises. The world stood still one more time. The world was still, but her mind was racing faster than a Mabari on stimulants. Whatever she was feeling, she knew one thing: she wanted more. Tamassran knew her heart had skipped a beat, and she could feel deep down in her soul that Vidathiss could feel it, too.
“That’s better.” Vidathiss added. The moment ticked away, and with a sadistic smile that was completely out of Tamassran’s vision, she dug the nail of her pinky into her captive’s bellybutton. There was a loud howl of laughter that felt like it travelled directly from her ears to the very center of her womanhood. She marveled at the sounds she was eliciting from the woman stretched on the frame with just the tiniest movements of her little finger. This was power. Not even the Arishok knew the joys of her private power, and she wanted to keep it always. I word formed in her mind and then passed through her lips in a hoarse whisper: Kadan. Bound before her was the piece she needed to make her existence complete, and she would never willingly relinquish it.
Tamassran was in a very special Heaven that only the torments of Hell can provide. Vidathiss had not touched any of her usual erogenous zones, but she was still smoldering, begging in her mind to be driven over the edge to her release. But she knew better, she knew it could be hours before she was either let go or allowed to climax. When she heard the word Kadan whispered by her tormentor between her peals of laughter, her heart melted. This indicated a love at first touch like she never could have imagined. The state of her mind caused her to consider the prospect of coming home to this kind of helpless, ecstatic torment night after night made her have hope for the first time in longer than she wanted to admit. In that moment, she would have done anything to make it continue… even…
Tamassran knew her place in the Qun, theoretically, anyhow. She was Tamassran; she provided council and needed release to other Qunari who sought her services. This was her life, day in and day out. Not all of the Tamassran were like her, just a select group. The others ran the well regimented breeding program and the education centers where the young were taught, where she had been groomed to be a Tamassran from childhood when it was noticed that she was skilled in empathy and the desire to do whatever it took to make those around her happy.
The Qun found a place for you. Free will was for the weak, and even those who abandoned the teachings, the hated Tal-Vashoth, conformed to each other. Questioning the Qun was natural, but actually considering leaving was a kind of offense that put you in the hands of the Vidathiss re-educators. So she wasn’t really surprised when she woke up tied to a metal frame in a tent on the outskirts of town. She had no idea what she was in for, but if the dragon scale restraints holding her six foot eight inch body to the large jumble of metal was any indication, it wasn’t going to be pleasant. She hung there; awake and silent for what felt to her like an eternity, and she spent all of it inside her own head. Her shoulder started to itch, and she tried to use her curly, ram-like horns to scratch it, like she had done a million times before, and she found herself unable to, thanks to a thin cord around her neck, looped through her horns so as to prevent movement.
Vidathiss walked into the tent. She seemed a bit small to her captive, barely over six feet tall, but with horns invoking the ferocity of the bull, large and curved upwards. She was also slimmer than most of her broad, muscled brethren. To compensate for that, it seemed to Tamassran that she took up more of the room that someone larger might have, and the presence was quite intimidating—and living among strictly regimented giants, this really means something. She was dressed in slick black leather that continued the air of danger about her, and her shock of white hair was kept in several tight braids.
“Welcome, dear Tamassran, do make yourself comfortable. I’m glad you could, as the Bas say, ‘hang out’ with me. I have heard we had a naughty girl who wants to abandon the Qun.” She moved closer, her face inches from Tamassran’s, an index finger under her chin as one would do to an impudent child. “Seeing you before me, I have to assume you are she. You have one chance before we get started. Do we have the right Tamassran?” Her eyes narrowed as they locked with those of her prisoner.
Tamassran looked away. “…you must. I question not the Qun, as much as my place in it. What is the Tamassran compared to the Ashaad, or even the baker? What I do for others is fleeting. The baker can see the bread she makes and the Ashaad can count the bodies in his wake. What do I have to show? Can I help but question my place?” She sighed, as though she might have hung her head if she could.
“You seem to have done the first part of my work for me, Tamassran. Already you are broken,” Vidathiss cooed, her voice thick with the syrup of pity “what Basra Vashedanhas has gotten into your head that you can’t see the purpose in what you do?” With this, she stroked Tamassran’s hair, wild and red between her horns. “You bring comfort and peace to our people. Surely you can count the smiles on the faces as they leave your sanctuary. So what do you do for… the baker you mentioned, when she comes to you in a fit because the workers picking up her bread were late and complained that it was stale?”
Tamassran cast her gaze down, since she couldn’t move her head, “I lie down across her lap and let her beat her frustrations out of my backside. Once her rage subsides, I let her tell me her troubles, with my head between her legs, if necessary.”
“Hmm. I see. And what do you do for Ashaad, when he comes to you, battle-weary and despondent?” asked Vidathiss, enthralled, as if the answers to these questions were more for her benefit than her charge’s.
“If he were tired of sticking his little arrows into unpleasant targets, I would let his big arrow hit my target…” She let the pause linger here, her training taking over her fear and shame as she teased her captor, “If it strikes his fancy, I would let him hit my bulls eye. And if that isn’t enough, I find a Saartoh Nehrappan and I let him be the target.”
Vidathiss had a far-away look on her face and took a little while to pull herself together as she tried to reign in her imagination, which was already over the edge into the gutter. She shook the thoughts away with a small snort of laughter, something the bound Tamassran likened to an ox getting ready to charge. She then brought her head closer and used her grip on Tamassran’s hair to make the bound Qunari meet her gaze. “You talk in erotic poetry, it is very… effective.” Tamassran allowed herself a self-satisfied smile.
“I feel as though I can see what is wrong.” Vidathiss continued. “You are so devoted to the pleasure and well-being of others at the expense of yourself. Giving your all to the Qun and not seeing the Qun give its all to you can cause these feelings of dissent. I have to punish you, Tamassran. I have a duty to the Qun and to you, and I will do that duty with all my heart because you deserve no less. However, what you need is pleasure, and I know how to give you both.” To get an echo in a room with no hard walls is a feat of wonder, but there are moments which have this kind of gravity to them. This was one. The silence hung in the air like the intense humidity before a downpour. Tamassran nodded with her eyes because she couldn’t do it with her head. The tension in the air swelled, and Vidathiss let it build, because she knew that the anticipation would be part of the game. It was at the breaking point now, and she still had a hold on Tamassran’s head, so she brought it closer to hers and kissed. The kiss wasn’t very long, but established some important things: Vidathiss was in complete control and the magnetism was overwhelming.
The kiss broke, and that moment was filled with infinite possibilities. Vidathiss smiled at her captive, and brought her free hand in a lazy swipe along Tamassran’s exposed and well-toned belly. Her smile grew as she felt the muscles twitch and spasm in the wake of her devious digits. ”Uh-oh!” she exclaimed in a sing-song voice usually reserved for talking to children, “I think my lovely Tamassran is TICKLISH!” The strokes were repeated, drawing some very un-Qunari like squeaks out of her poor captive.
On the other side of this, Tamassran was becoming acutely aware of how utterly helpless she was. There was nowhere to move, barely any to squirm, and all she could do to respond to the urge the nails skittering over her belly was producing was to splay and curl her fingers, digging her own nails into the metal frame. The laughter was welling up inside her, and it was all she could do not to let the dam burst. “You are Qunari,” she thought, “Vidathiss wants you to be strong, so be strong. Do not laugh!” So she closed her eyes and tried to think about anything else. She thought about the Arishock eating breakfast, about Vints doing blood magic, about pictures she had seen of tiny furry animals the Bas called ‘kittens’. They were small and cute, climbing into things and playing with everything. This made her smile; and that smile made her tormenter smell blood in the water.
Vidathiss grinned; she always enjoyed her job, but today she loved it. The Tamassrans who selected her for re-education picked up easily on her sense of duty, as well as her creativity in tormenting the young ones she was grouped with. She picked up the pace, playing Tamassran’s belly like a lute: strumming her fingers over it, picking at her navel. She was playing her heart out, waiting for the sweet music of Tamassran’s laughter. When the smile cracked through on her charge’s face, she took her fingers to a speed that would have made any virtuoso curse in shame.
The speed at which the sensations were bombarding Tamassran’s already addled mind served to be too much for her to take. It started with a giggle. This was followed by several more before she bit her lip to try and suppress them once again. These attempts never go well, and with an expert like Vidathiss playing her like an instrument, it was about as useful an axe made out of candy. After a few more seconds of this torment, her resolve failed and the cracked dam gave way to the tide of her laughter. She cursed her weakness in her head, but didn’t have much time to think other things, as the whole of her mind was invaded by the ticklish sensations. She closed her eyes, screwing them shut.
“Don’t you dare close your eyes! Take your punishment like a Qunari, not like some frolicking elf! Look. Me. In. The. EYES.” Vidathiss spat, pressing her face nose to nose with Tamassran. The sensations stopped for just a second while Vidathiss waited for her to open her eyes. With heaving breaths, Tamassran’s eyes opened to slowly to the sight of her captor’s pale violet irises. The world stood still one more time. The world was still, but her mind was racing faster than a Mabari on stimulants. Whatever she was feeling, she knew one thing: she wanted more. Tamassran knew her heart had skipped a beat, and she could feel deep down in her soul that Vidathiss could feel it, too.
“That’s better.” Vidathiss added. The moment ticked away, and with a sadistic smile that was completely out of Tamassran’s vision, she dug the nail of her pinky into her captive’s bellybutton. There was a loud howl of laughter that felt like it travelled directly from her ears to the very center of her womanhood. She marveled at the sounds she was eliciting from the woman stretched on the frame with just the tiniest movements of her little finger. This was power. Not even the Arishok knew the joys of her private power, and she wanted to keep it always. I word formed in her mind and then passed through her lips in a hoarse whisper: Kadan. Bound before her was the piece she needed to make her existence complete, and she would never willingly relinquish it.
Tamassran was in a very special Heaven that only the torments of Hell can provide. Vidathiss had not touched any of her usual erogenous zones, but she was still smoldering, begging in her mind to be driven over the edge to her release. But she knew better, she knew it could be hours before she was either let go or allowed to climax. When she heard the word Kadan whispered by her tormentor between her peals of laughter, her heart melted. This indicated a love at first touch like she never could have imagined. The state of her mind caused her to consider the prospect of coming home to this kind of helpless, ecstatic torment night after night made her have hope for the first time in longer than she wanted to admit. In that moment, she would have done anything to make it continue… even…
