mickume/dnd_drow · Datasets at Hugging Face

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He won't force you, will he? Devils are seducers, tempters, not rapists. No.
Haarlep made sure that you were willing, that you agreed with his proposal and its consequences. Hells have their own laws, didn't Raphael himself say?
Thoughts jostled for space in your panicking brain as you struggled to give them some order. You grasped at your knowledge of hellish laws and how they worked and found it extremely lacking, but you tried to make one thing damn clear.
"I will not agree to this."
Raphael let out a very weary sigh.
"Ah, yes... consent, choice, the sanctity of free will. These, and - I cannot stress this enough - the INVIABILITY OF PRIVATE PROPERTY, are the laws by which we live. The very cornerstones of our society."
He said all the right words, but you could already feel the devil's favorite trap coming your way - a catch. The fine print.
"Those who respect hells and its laws will in turn be treated so. Now tell me — pinpoint for me the exact moment -- when did you leave this fine company?"
The realization sank in: he was indeed going to force you on your knees. The two options are to be tortured and murdered, or to be tortured and murdered, but also to humiliate yourself by submitting to it.
Raphael mused on.
"And yet: choice is a sacred right. So I will indulge you - for old times" sake. We have a slander to dispute. Who would be kind enough to help? You or your sapphic lover?"
Sapphic... Oh. He meant Shadowheart. Images flashed through your mind: your half-elven lover degraded, violated and ravaged by the devil and his minions. Chained and tortured, crying out for your help.
Worse still, she would succumb to the violent pleasures. You know she would. The thought of losing her to Raphael had your blood on fire.
No. The mistake is yours, so would be the consequences.
"It would be me".
"Me," - Raphael taunted you, making a squeak out of your answer, "Me-e-e-e. That's a sound befitting a little mouse. Now get down on your knees and do something equally befitting."
By no means were you experienced in pleasuring a man this way. You had experience with men, plenty, but it didn’t venture much in anything besides the traditional and if it did, it was mostly about your pleasure. The last of your nights you spent in the tender embrace of Shadowheart, and wished for nothing else.
Raphael undid his trousers. His erect manhood slipped out, reddish, thick and dripping with pre-cum.
You approached him. The last step, kneeling, was the hardest. You thought of the small birthmark on Shadowheart's left thigh. The way she wrinkles her nose when she smiles. The time you were practicing limericks and she beat you by a mile.
I met a lewd nude in Jasuga
Who thought she was shrewd; I was shrewder.
She thought it quite crude, to be wooed in the nude.
I pursued her, subdued her and screwed her.
No, it had to be you. The clawed hand rested on the back of your head and pushed you down. You knelt. Raphael’s tail swung in a pendulum of anticipation.
The proximity of his cock to your face made you wince. Genitals too big, scent too musky - everything about sex and devils seemed an obscene version of human. The small part of your brain that was fascinated by the grotesque, that whispered to you that letting Haarlep taste you would be a fun pastime, would have been better off lobotomised.
He did not move an inch towards you, so you took the tip of his manhood in your mouth and ran your lips down his shaft. You were only able to take about half of it, so you cupped the rest with your palm and squeezed it lightly.
The devil let out a disappointed breath.
Imagining Raphael as someone else - Dammon seemed a better and similar enough option, horns and all - you began to pleasure him in slow, steady motion. This covert act of defiance gave you a small but necessary jolt of power. You tried not to look up until you felt a light tap on your cheek.
"Nine hells, where did you get the inspiration for that technique? A cheese grater?"
For a moment you fought the urgent desire to grit your teeth.
"I could show her how it’s done, Master".
Haarlep just could not remain silent. This is probably what your voice would sound like if you were selling yourself for a few coins in the Baldur's Gate docks.
Raphael grimaced.
"You showed her enough of your skills".
A pat on the cheek compelled you to try again. You resumed your efforts, making sure you didn't touch him with your teeth, even though you were absolutely sure that never happened. Haarlep did his best to distract you, clenching and squeezing the muscles of his pelvis, the pornography of his fantasies seeping into your mind.
"No more," Raphael sighed, "this is getting worse by the minute. I will have to take matters into my own hands - as I always seem to have to do".
He slammed his cock against the back of your throat, instantly triggering your gag reflex.
You tried to move away, but the claws held your head still. You could barely move as he jerked his cock back and forth. Haarlep giggled. They would be applauding if their hands were not above their head.
Tears streamed from your eyes. You scratched at the fabric of his trousers, trying to get to his skin, trying to hurt him, wild magic gathering at the tips of your fingers, clawing at the barrier of Silence Enchantment.
A hard slap to your cheek acted as a counterspell, and you stumbled to the ground. Blood covered your cheek where the claws had torn you. You used that second of relative respite to let your gag reflex take over.
You had eaten nothing, so all you could regurgitate was spit and water from the rejuvenation pool. Raphael yanked you by your hair, his voice piercing your eardrums:
"Do not soil the carpet! I beg you: a little respect for my house!"
But he did not care enough about the carpet not to force himself into your mouth again. That is not sex, that is torture. If that's the devil's idea of sex, no wonder his own incubus hates him. Raphael abused your throat with diabolical fervour, each attack more reckless than the last.
"Throatfuck her, Master. Choke her to death".
What madness ever possessed you to bed this creature or not to kill it on the spot?
"Spare me your cloying vulgarity, Haarlep".
The devil slammed their jaws shut with a snap of his fingers. Haarlep let out a whimpering, animal moan. What a wretched, needy creature. What an insult to your body to give them the right to wear it. Yes, this is definitely on you.
And yet Raphael seemed to be trying to do just that, choke you to death. You were far too focused on trying to breathe to struggle. You could bite him, of course, and then you would choke on your own blood instead of his cock.
Raphael enjoyed your execution and let it show: low, guttural moans amplified by the geometry of the boudoir walls, an organ in a church of depravity.
Haarlep wallowed in a hungry melancholy, abandoned and forsaken at the gates of the private party.
You were about to faint when Raphael told you something. The words became clearer as you tried to concentrate:
"...a choice. Swallow my seed or let me mark your face with it."
There was a limit to the humiliation you could take, even for Shadowheart's sake.
Your defiance only seemed to fuel his lust. Maybe that's what he wants; maybe you were just digging your grave deeper. He pinched your nose shut as he continued the onslaught, making you twice as desperate for air:
"Some - mortal - are - incapable - of - learning - are - they?
You felt his seed flood your throat and flow down your stomach without you having to consciously swallow it. Raphael's orgasm lasted a good half minute, his pleasure so exaggerated, so... abundant.
Gods, the burning, the smell... the hellish smell of sulfur. The cherry note on top, a sweetener, a fruity sauce on a pile of dirt. You will never be able to scrub it off your skin. It will always stain your insides.
He pulled back, still erect manhood soaked in seed and saliva, purple veins swollen against the reddish skin.
No, you definitely had to throw up. Vomit came up your gullet like an avalanche, burning your oesophagus. The only substance that came out of you was the devil's seed, coming up in spasms and splashing against the carpet.
Raphael sighed.
"You are truly determined to destroy everything that is mine".
The pleasure your torture gave him seemed to quell his anger, for his tone suggested that he had finally accepted the carpet's misfortune.
While you were preoccupied with another bout of nausea, he pulled up his trousers and straightened his clothes.
When you finally stood up - it took you a few tries - Raphael gave you the most polite of smiles.
"May I offer you a glass of wine?"
Haarlep looked at their Master with a glimmer of hope, saliva running down their neck, reflecting the same plight as yours. Raphael remained merciless.
"Nothing but thirst for you, Haarlep. I was asking the dear guest. Unless she doesn’t want to part with my aftertaste?
The argument worked like a charm. Raphael beckoned you to the balcony just outside the bedroom and handed you the thick red wine in an exquisite gilded glass.
The Devil leaned against the balcony fence, looking mildly - but only mildly - entertained. A firestorm was forming in the distant skies of Avernus, far beyond the ridge visible from the balcony of House of Hope.
You gulped down the wine like you were thirsty in the desert. Anything to wash away the aftertaste, really.
"This is wine, little mouse, not vodka," Raphael shook his head in disbelief. - What kind of barn did they raise you in?
Vodka would have been much better.
Your nickname made a comeback into his speech. Think, Tav, think. He didn’t kill you yet. He still needs the crown. He has seen how powerful, albeit foolhardy, you are. You almost killed him.
You could make a deal. You owe your companions that much. You owe yourself that much. There is no way you will let him put you through that treatment again.
"You call the shots now, Raphael. You can force me into any deal you want. You know I'll sign it."
Raphael swirled the wine in his glass. He really listens when he listens: measuring, weighing every word in his mind, his eyes fixed on you as if you were the most interesting person he had ever met. Devil has a way of making you feel seen and heard. A reassuring smile curved his lips, inviting you to continue the little pitch, and so you did:
"I will get you the crown. I will. You've seen me in action. Bind me to your will and let me go and I will do your bidding".
He said nothing, just stared at you. Surely you are a better negotiator when you are not stark naked. Would it be too much to ask him to cover your body with a piece of cloth?
Damn, he is a slow drinker. Dinner at his house must take hours. You shifted, uncomfortable in your own naked skin.
The silence was agonising - and unbecoming of someone so in love with his own voice. You spoke on, eager to end it:
"Hell, you can ask me to fetch you more than just a crown. What do you want, Raphael?"
"A question, little mouse."
The devil's voice suddenly turned into a sickly sweet syrup that choked your throat and lungs. You took another generous swig from the wine glass, then another in quick succession, the bliss and numbness that alcohol poisoning your veins could bring would surely come in handy.
"Have you ever been sodomised?"
You could feel tiny drops of sweat forming between your shoulder blades. Time seemed to stand still.
The answer to this question was no. You would very much prefer the answer to this question to remain "no'. Raphael savoured the obvious fear that gripped you, a small shiver of anticipation running through his body.
"A simple yes or no would suffice."
The devil was actually waiting for you to answer, his tail twitching in anticipation. You could not utter a word. You approached the balcony fence and considered whether jumping would only maim or kill you. Not high enough, the terrain below too manicured and smooth: you would probably end up with broken legs and a concussion.
Besides, suicide would probably bind your soul to it. Or so you'd think. You really should have read a book about the infernal before you came here.
Glass in his hand, Raphael stared off into the distance, smiling slightly:
"Hope had indeed jumped. One of her first days as my guest. Broke her neck. Took her thirty seconds to die, and for all those thirty seconds she thought she was going to. Sweet girl. It's a pity you made me kill her.
You stared down your glass in a desperate need to tranquilize yourself. It was hopelessly empty. Raphael cleared his throat, reminding you of the answer.
"Never? Why deny yourself such pleasures? I didn't think you were the type to deny yourself anything".
This would have been the perfect time to taunt the devil about how he came to know the pleasures of being taken up the ass, but your sense of humour decided to part with you to avoid killing you.
"Humiliating and painful," you replied, meaning just that: you had little regard for such pleasures, and even less for those who had the audacity to offer them to you.
Raphael beamed, as if you were his favorite pupil who had just given him the right answer to a complicated question.
"And what a wonderful constellation it is! What's not to love: the pain, the agony, the humiliation, the "please don'ts'" - Raphael sighed a little theatrically - "especially those".
The devil left his glass on the small table and went back into the room, towards the bed.
"You asked me what I wanted. So please, indulge me".
Haarlep, still hanging beside the bed like a useless forgotten toy, grinned. The grin felt strange on you face, like an ill-fitting mask. Even in the depths of their frustration, they were beginning to enjoy themselves. Truly, a perverse nature can be stimulated by anything.

He won't force you, will he? Devils are seducers, tempters, not rapists. No.

Haarlep made sure that you were willing, that you agreed with his proposal and its consequences. Hells have their own laws, didn't Raphael himself say?

Thoughts jostled for space in your panicking brain as you struggled to give them some order. You grasped at your knowledge of hellish laws and how they worked and found it extremely lacking, but you tried to make one thing damn clear.

"I will not agree to this."

Raphael let out a very weary sigh.

"Ah, yes... consent, choice, the sanctity of free will. These, and - I cannot stress this enough - the INVIABILITY OF PRIVATE PROPERTY, are the laws by which we live. The very cornerstones of our society."

He said all the right words, but you could already feel the devil's favorite trap coming your way - a catch. The fine print.

"Those who respect hells and its laws will in turn be treated so. Now tell me — pinpoint for me the exact moment -- when did you leave this fine company?"

The realization sank in: he was indeed going to force you on your knees. The two options are to be tortured and murdered, or to be tortured and murdered, but also to humiliate yourself by submitting to it.

Raphael mused on.

"And yet: choice is a sacred right. So I will indulge you - for old times" sake. We have a slander to dispute. Who would be kind enough to help? You or your sapphic lover?"

Sapphic... Oh. He meant Shadowheart. Images flashed through your mind: your half-elven lover degraded, violated and ravaged by the devil and his minions. Chained and tortured, crying out for your help.

Worse still, she would succumb to the violent pleasures. You know she would. The thought of losing her to Raphael had your blood on fire.

No. The mistake is yours, so would be the consequences.

"It would be me".

"Me," - Raphael taunted you, making a squeak out of your answer, "Me-e-e-e. That's a sound befitting a little mouse. Now get down on your knees and do something equally befitting."

By no means were you experienced in pleasuring a man this way. You had experience with men, plenty, but it didn’t venture much in anything besides the traditional and if it did, it was mostly about your pleasure. The last of your nights you spent in the tender embrace of Shadowheart, and wished for nothing else.

Raphael undid his trousers. His erect manhood slipped out, reddish, thick and dripping with pre-cum.

You approached him. The last step, kneeling, was the hardest. You thought of the small birthmark on Shadowheart's left thigh. The way she wrinkles her nose when she smiles. The time you were practicing limericks and she beat you by a mile.

I met a lewd nude in Jasuga

Who thought she was shrewd; I was shrewder.

She thought it quite crude, to be wooed in the nude.

I pursued her, subdued her and screwed her.

No, it had to be you. The clawed hand rested on the back of your head and pushed you down. You knelt. Raphael’s tail swung in a pendulum of anticipation.

The proximity of his cock to your face made you wince. Genitals too big, scent too musky - everything about sex and devils seemed an obscene version of human. The small part of your brain that was fascinated by the grotesque, that whispered to you that letting Haarlep taste you would be a fun pastime, would have been better off lobotomised.

He did not move an inch towards you, so you took the tip of his manhood in your mouth and ran your lips down his shaft. You were only able to take about half of it, so you cupped the rest with your palm and squeezed it lightly.

The devil let out a disappointed breath.

Imagining Raphael as someone else - Dammon seemed a better and similar enough option, horns and all - you began to pleasure him in slow, steady motion. This covert act of defiance gave you a small but necessary jolt of power. You tried not to look up until you felt a light tap on your cheek.

"Nine hells, where did you get the inspiration for that technique? A cheese grater?"

For a moment you fought the urgent desire to grit your teeth.

"I could show her how it’s done, Master".

Haarlep just could not remain silent. This is probably what your voice would sound like if you were selling yourself for a few coins in the Baldur's Gate docks.

Raphael grimaced.

"You showed her enough of your skills".

A pat on the cheek compelled you to try again. You resumed your efforts, making sure you didn't touch him with your teeth, even though you were absolutely sure that never happened. Haarlep did his best to distract you, clenching and squeezing the muscles of his pelvis, the pornography of his fantasies seeping into your mind.

"No more," Raphael sighed, "this is getting worse by the minute. I will have to take matters into my own hands - as I always seem to have to do".

He slammed his cock against the back of your throat, instantly triggering your gag reflex.

You tried to move away, but the claws held your head still. You could barely move as he jerked his cock back and forth. Haarlep giggled. They would be applauding if their hands were not above their head.

Tears streamed from your eyes. You scratched at the fabric of his trousers, trying to get to his skin, trying to hurt him, wild magic gathering at the tips of your fingers, clawing at the barrier of Silence Enchantment.

A hard slap to your cheek acted as a counterspell, and you stumbled to the ground. Blood covered your cheek where the claws had torn you. You used that second of relative respite to let your gag reflex take over.

You had eaten nothing, so all you could regurgitate was spit and water from the rejuvenation pool. Raphael yanked you by your hair, his voice piercing your eardrums:

"Do not soil the carpet! I beg you: a little respect for my house!"

But he did not care enough about the carpet not to force himself into your mouth again. That is not sex, that is torture. If that's the devil's idea of sex, no wonder his own incubus hates him. Raphael abused your throat with diabolical fervour, each attack more reckless than the last.

"Throatfuck her, Master. Choke her to death".

What madness ever possessed you to bed this creature or not to kill it on the spot?

"Spare me your cloying vulgarity, Haarlep".

The devil slammed their jaws shut with a snap of his fingers. Haarlep let out a whimpering, animal moan. What a wretched, needy creature. What an insult to your body to give them the right to wear it. Yes, this is definitely on you.

And yet Raphael seemed to be trying to do just that, choke you to death. You were far too focused on trying to breathe to struggle. You could bite him, of course, and then you would choke on your own blood instead of his cock.

Raphael enjoyed your execution and let it show: low, guttural moans amplified by the geometry of the boudoir walls, an organ in a church of depravity.

Haarlep wallowed in a hungry melancholy, abandoned and forsaken at the gates of the private party.

You were about to faint when Raphael told you something. The words became clearer as you tried to concentrate:

"...a choice. Swallow my seed or let me mark your face with it."

There was a limit to the humiliation you could take, even for Shadowheart's sake.

Your defiance only seemed to fuel his lust. Maybe that's what he wants; maybe you were just digging your grave deeper. He pinched your nose shut as he continued the onslaught, making you twice as desperate for air:

"Some - mortal - are - incapable - of - learning - are - they?

You felt his seed flood your throat and flow down your stomach without you having to consciously swallow it. Raphael's orgasm lasted a good half minute, his pleasure so exaggerated, so... abundant.

Gods, the burning, the smell... the hellish smell of sulfur. The cherry note on top, a sweetener, a fruity sauce on a pile of dirt. You will never be able to scrub it off your skin. It will always stain your insides.

He pulled back, still erect manhood soaked in seed and saliva, purple veins swollen against the reddish skin.

No, you definitely had to throw up. Vomit came up your gullet like an avalanche, burning your oesophagus. The only substance that came out of you was the devil's seed, coming up in spasms and splashing against the carpet.

Raphael sighed.

"You are truly determined to destroy everything that is mine".

The pleasure your torture gave him seemed to quell his anger, for his tone suggested that he had finally accepted the carpet's misfortune.

While you were preoccupied with another bout of nausea, he pulled up his trousers and straightened his clothes.

When you finally stood up - it took you a few tries - Raphael gave you the most polite of smiles.

"May I offer you a glass of wine?"

Haarlep looked at their Master with a glimmer of hope, saliva running down their neck, reflecting the same plight as yours. Raphael remained merciless.

"Nothing but thirst for you, Haarlep. I was asking the dear guest. Unless she doesn’t want to part with my aftertaste?

The argument worked like a charm. Raphael beckoned you to the balcony just outside the bedroom and handed you the thick red wine in an exquisite gilded glass.

The Devil leaned against the balcony fence, looking mildly - but only mildly - entertained. A firestorm was forming in the distant skies of Avernus, far beyond the ridge visible from the balcony of House of Hope.

You gulped down the wine like you were thirsty in the desert. Anything to wash away the aftertaste, really.

"This is wine, little mouse, not vodka," Raphael shook his head in disbelief. - What kind of barn did they raise you in?

Vodka would have been much better.

Your nickname made a comeback into his speech. Think, Tav, think. He didn’t kill you yet. He still needs the crown. He has seen how powerful, albeit foolhardy, you are. You almost killed him.

You could make a deal. You owe your companions that much. You owe yourself that much. There is no way you will let him put you through that treatment again.

"You call the shots now, Raphael. You can force me into any deal you want. You know I'll sign it."

Raphael swirled the wine in his glass. He really listens when he listens: measuring, weighing every word in his mind, his eyes fixed on you as if you were the most interesting person he had ever met. Devil has a way of making you feel seen and heard. A reassuring smile curved his lips, inviting you to continue the little pitch, and so you did:

"I will get you the crown. I will. You've seen me in action. Bind me to your will and let me go and I will do your bidding".

He said nothing, just stared at you. Surely you are a better negotiator when you are not stark naked. Would it be too much to ask him to cover your body with a piece of cloth?

Damn, he is a slow drinker. Dinner at his house must take hours. You shifted, uncomfortable in your own naked skin.

The silence was agonising - and unbecoming of someone so in love with his own voice. You spoke on, eager to end it:

"Hell, you can ask me to fetch you more than just a crown. What do you want, Raphael?"

"A question, little mouse."

The devil's voice suddenly turned into a sickly sweet syrup that choked your throat and lungs. You took another generous swig from the wine glass, then another in quick succession, the bliss and numbness that alcohol poisoning your veins could bring would surely come in handy.

"Have you ever been sodomised?"

You could feel tiny drops of sweat forming between your shoulder blades. Time seemed to stand still.

The answer to this question was no. You would very much prefer the answer to this question to remain "no'. Raphael savoured the obvious fear that gripped you, a small shiver of anticipation running through his body.

"A simple yes or no would suffice."

The devil was actually waiting for you to answer, his tail twitching in anticipation. You could not utter a word. You approached the balcony fence and considered whether jumping would only maim or kill you. Not high enough, the terrain below too manicured and smooth: you would probably end up with broken legs and a concussion.

Besides, suicide would probably bind your soul to it. Or so you'd think. You really should have read a book about the infernal before you came here.

Glass in his hand, Raphael stared off into the distance, smiling slightly:

"Hope had indeed jumped. One of her first days as my guest. Broke her neck. Took her thirty seconds to die, and for all those thirty seconds she thought she was going to. Sweet girl. It's a pity you made me kill her.

You stared down your glass in a desperate need to tranquilize yourself. It was hopelessly empty. Raphael cleared his throat, reminding you of the answer.

"Never? Why deny yourself such pleasures? I didn't think you were the type to deny yourself anything".

This would have been the perfect time to taunt the devil about how he came to know the pleasures of being taken up the ass, but your sense of humour decided to part with you to avoid killing you.

"Humiliating and painful," you replied, meaning just that: you had little regard for such pleasures, and even less for those who had the audacity to offer them to you.

Raphael beamed, as if you were his favorite pupil who had just given him the right answer to a complicated question.

"And what a wonderful constellation it is! What's not to love: the pain, the agony, the humiliation, the "please don'ts'" - Raphael sighed a little theatrically - "especially those".

The devil left his glass on the small table and went back into the room, towards the bed.

"You asked me what I wanted. So please, indulge me".

Haarlep, still hanging beside the bed like a useless forgotten toy, grinned. The grin felt strange on you face, like an ill-fitting mask. Even in the depths of their frustration, they were beginning to enjoy themselves. Truly, a perverse nature can be stimulated by anything.