⚜ 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: Story rating - E. Tags - smut, breast play
⚜ 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: Inquisitor Xylas learned that Sylvia doesn't need much to come and he exploits this knowledge with satisfaction.
⚜ 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1,344| AO3
⚜ 𝖆/𝖓: For the @/kinkuary 2026♡ | Picking up Kinkuary again, hopefully I can catch up! I'd say the fic still counts in-toe with the prompt, even if a little tweaked lol
In his lap, panting, gasping. Sylvia’s fingers are slipping from Xylas’ wrist but her other hand, the one that is clutching his coat at the back, grips even tighter. Her small body is coiled in his lap, tense and shuddering. With her jacket and shirt undone, Sylvia’s chest is exposed. Round, soft breasts are pointing with hard nipples. One of them, the left, Xylas keep circling with his index finger. The moment he makes another circle she moans again.
“You’re so sensitive, sweetheart.” He whispers against the side of her face and Sylvia manages a weak, strained smile.
“Don’t stop.” Sylvia says, begging lacing her words instead of a command and Xylas’ bionic eye glows a fraction brighter. She doesn’t see it. With eyes closed and her lips parted, Sylvia is lost in the sensation.
Just before Xylas pulled her into his lap she has been on her knees, his hard cock in her mouth and down the throat until her lipstick smeared and her dark eye makeup ran. She choked on it, gagged on it, almost passed out from the lack of air due to her effort to please him. Xylas didn’t even have to guide her through it, he taught her well already, and he was pleased to let Sylvia take control of how exactly to pleasure him. The sight of her sucking his cock is always a precious one, but when he spilled himself between those blood-red painted lips and she swallowed it all with adoration in her yes, as if he just granted either the best meal ever or a salvation, he wanted to give something to her, too. Something that she enjoys.
Pulling her jacket and shirt open was easy. Sylvia quickly developed a habit of wearing clothes that grant Xylas a quick access to her body whenever he wishes. The undergarments, such as panties or a bra, also have been decided against in favor of that. When her pale, round breasts perked up at a cool chamber air, he immediately pulled her into his lap, gripped her hip with a bionic arm so that she doesn’t slip off and began his slow torture.
But is it a torture? Sylvia doesn’t think so. She trembles again when his rough finger makes another circle, then another and she squeezes her thighs, feeling the tingling in her clit that is almost maddening. She’ll come, she knows she will but so does Xylas.
He squeezes her soft breast a little firmer and she gasps, leaning her cheek against his face, inhaling greedily while her heart thrums in her chest like an overworked engine. “Xylas, oh, oh-“ She wants to say something but nothing coherent comes to her and slender fingers cling onto his wrist, sensing his own calm pulse.
“Yes, sweetheart?” He croons and the breath feathers her long, red hair. She dyed from blonde, giving herself a look of a vixen rather than that of a scared girl that he expelled a daemon from, but he hasn’t complained. It suits her, just like her smeared makeup does.
“It feels so good.” She admits and he allows himself a small, satisfied smile. Xylas cock twitches again, stirring back to life with arousal even if he just spent himself. She has that affect on him. One that drives him both insane and grounds the Inquisitor in a way he never experienced before.
“Do I make you feel good?” He gently teases and she nods. With a shudder she looks at him, red eyes meeting his and Sylvia leans in, pressing her open mouth against his.
Xylas gives in. His tongue dominates hers and his finger circles faster. He wants to touch both of her nipples, imagining how her pussy clenches on nothing just from this alone, and craves to bury himself into her to the hilt. It will wait, he wants to see her come undone from this alone. To know that his touch is so intoxicating that she doesn’t even need to be touched anywhere else.
With a moan into his mouth Sylvia arches in his lap. Her ankles lock over one another and she shudders stronger than before. Nails dig into his wrist and she pulls back to gasp for air. Her thighs press tightly and she rubs them but Xylas can’t tell if she’s looking for friction, any friction, or is trying to stave away the orgasm that he knows is about to engulf her. She whispers his name like a prayer, begging, pleading and he can’t hold back anymore.
Using his bionic arm to turn Sylvia just enough towards himself, he dips his head and replaces the index finger with his tongue. She gasps, releasing his wrist and finding purchase onto his shoulder. “Xylas!” Sylvia exclaims as if in protest, but he ignores her entirely, and while still squeezing her tender breast in his rough grip he envelopes the perky nipple with his mouth.
He swirls his tongue around it, tasting and feeling the scarring around it but caring little for it right now. His cock is hard and aching with renewed need, but even that Xylas ignores. How foul it is to touch her like this, how foul it is to enjoy the foulness of it. The Chaos star that has been carved into Sylvia’s skin around both nipples is something that he loathes and can’t get enough of at the same time. He uses the tip of his tongue to go from one spear of the star to another, until he makes a circle and pauses to suck on the swelling, overstimulated nipple.
Sylvia doesn’t gasp anymore, she moans. Louder and louder her voice echoes through the chamber and his shoulder is released so that she can cradle his head best to her ability. Fingers find their mark in his greying hair and cling there as her chest raises and falls despite his vice grip over her breast.
It feels good. Too good. By the Gods, she’s melting, she’s flying, she’s fading. Sylvia’s ankles briefly rub against each other and then lock again before she bites her bottom lip and then throws her head back at the moment of climax. It hits her strangely, but strongly. It’s different from when she comes from Xylas’ cock, nearly tearing at her inside, and it’s different to when she touches herself, different to when he touches her too, stuffing his fingers deep inside. Hells, it’s even different from when Xylas’ has his face between her legs, but it still is oh so good.
Wave after wave, in tune with Xylas’ still swirling tongue, the ripples of bliss wash over Sylvia and she spasms once, twice, then thrice, gasping for air like she’s about to choke on air itself.
“Xylas, Xylas…” She whines pathetically and finally he releases her breast from his mouth, leaving the swollen, red nipple wet with his saliva. Rising his eyes to her he sees the most beautiful expression on any woman he has ever seen but even more beautiful when on Sylvia’s face.
“You did well, sweetheart. So well.” His voice is low, laced with desire that she will satisfy in a moment, but right now he wants to kiss her. And he does, conquering her mouth exactly how he did earlier.
Sylvia pushes at him, unable to catch her breath, but Xylas pinches her nipple, making her jump and whine with partial pain and partial sensitivity. At his correction she stops resisting and meekly kisses him back. He tastes himself on her mouth but it’s as addicting as obscura itself. When he finally pulls back new tears are pebbling Sylvia’s eyelashes.
With deep, whiny gasps she smiles at him a tired smile. “Please, a second.”
But she barely gets it. Xylas scoops her up from his lap in both arms, bridal style, and turns to his desk. “A second then.” That’s all that takes for him to make the step and all that Sylvia needs to chuckle and kick her feet with delight.
Notice the lack of deadly boob plate and armour that actually look like armour that you would wear to protect yourself.
This is sexualized armour.
By Anna Steinbauer.
Notice the book plate that would direct force to the middle of the chest, the body armour that looks like a corset..
Now you can come up with all the lore justification you want, but that doesn’t change what it is. You can even like it, but it doesn’t change what it is. You can like it AND acknowledge that is it sexualized at the same time even.
⚜ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Viktor Riemenschneider (@vossn 's oc)/Volenta Calcazar (oc)
⚜ 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: Story rating - E. Tags - smut, inappropriate use of a walking cane
⚜ 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: Viktor returns from a mission but his report is not what Volenta is truly interested in.
⚜ 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1,425| AO3
⚜ 𝖆/𝖓: For the @/kinkuary 2026♡
A smack of his cane against her rear makes Volenta jump and chuckle. She looks over her shoulder, white hair slipping from it, and her eyes betray glee even if her face is slightly flushed. They’ve drank, they’ve talked, now Viktor has her arms tied with his own belt to the top of a bedpost, forcing her into a kneeling position.
“Is that how you treat your acolytes as well?” She asks with a smile and Viktor snorts then smacks her rear again, this time harder. This time Volenta does not jump.
It has been a pleasant evening so far. After he returned from a short mission where he took Patryka, his actual acolyte, with him to test her on field, Volenta greeted him in nothing but a luxurious black robe and a glass of finest amesac. She helped him out of his cloak and his coat, then sat in his lap and listened to Viktor retell how the mission went while they shared the drink.
Until the conversation took a turn.
The moment Volenta thought that essentials of Viktor’s success have been shared, her hands started sneaking towards his belt. The very same one holding her wrists together. She tried to seduce him, slipping away from his lap and taking the aforementioned belt with her, beckoning him with a curl of her finger. He followed with a smile, rolling up his sleeves as we went, but Viktor wasn’t in a mood to simply give Volenta what she wants. Just like she, sometimes he likes to play.
She didn’t resist when he tied her up, forced her to the bedpost and subdued her in a way that left her capable of freeing herself but unwilling to do so. The next moment Viktor tossed the train of her robe over Volenta’s rear, bringing his cane to the skin.
“You know exactly how I treat them if they misbehave.” Viktor delivers another hit of the cane and with satisfaction watches Volenta’s skin gain a third red welt. She arches her back as if daring him to do it again.
“Remind me, Inquisitor.”
How she says the title is sweet as syrup and Viktor hesitates, raising an eyebrow and glancing to her face, but then uses his cane again. This time hard enough to make her yelp. Yet past the surprise at the pain Volenta smiles. Oh how beautiful that smile is, even if full of mischief.
Feeling a strand from his combed back hair beginning to slip loose, Viktor sweeps a palm over it, securing it in place. If Volenta wants to play this game, so be it. He will entertain her.
“No, they get an iron rod, acolyte.” He taps the length of the cane against his palm and sees Volenta’s smile become slightly wider. She’s not wearing anything underneath the robe and Viktor can see that she’s aroused already, most likely has been from the start, except he didn’t think of paying attention that early.
“That’s not the only iron rod I’d like, Inquisitor.” She responds and Viktor has to swallow a chuckle coming up lest it ruins the play at hand. He keeps his face almost neutral. Almost, except for a small smile that he permits himself on Volenta’s behalf.
“But is it the rod you deserve?” He asks and lets the gaze of his green eyes sweep over her form, feeling tension and fire building in his loins already.
“Should I misbehave?” Volenta chuckles and Viktor looks at his cane briefly, then back to her and moves closer to the bed. It takes only but a knee on the edge of it to bring him almost against her back and he leans to her ear.
“Do you want to be punished or rewarded?” He whispers, letting his breath tickle the white hair and Volenta exhales, caught up in desire and the game.
“Which one do you think I deserve, Inquisitor?” She whispers too and Viktor smiles wider, letting his nose press against her hair and for him inhale her scent that is so familiar and alluring.
“I would think the rod, acolyte.” His lips trail to Volenta’s neck and she gasps louder. The leather of his belt creaks when she pulls on her restraints and Viktor grazes his teeth against her skin, letting his tongue taste it even if briefly.
“Then… Then I take my punishment.” There’s a tremor of anticipation and of need in Volenta’s voice and Viktor put one hand flat against her stomach, holding her still.
He doesn’t respond, letting his actions speak for him. Viktor’s lips trace over her neck, but his cane, the steel head of it, he slides between her legs and presses it against her. Volenta gasps as the cold metal is forced against her folds and she whimpers.
“Is that what you wanted, acolyte?” Viktor whispers again, beginning to move the cane, rubbing the carved head of it against her and feels her tremble where she is held between his chest and his palm.
“I-Inquisitor… I think that’s an unfair punishment.” Volenta gasps and when he glances at the side of her face, Viktor sees that she has her eyes closed. The flush on her face has deepened and he smiles a little.
“Punishments are not designed to be fair.” He says in a low voice and that makes her look at him, to show those pale grey eyes clouded with desire. Gentle gasps are escaping her lips and a shiver runs down her spine when Viktor increases the pace of his cane’s movements just a tad.
“This might be just cruel, Inquisitor.” She whines and he smiles wider, placing a kiss on her shoulder. She sees amusement in his eyes and can’t help but enjoy it. The way the cane moves, the way he’s rubbing it against her, the way her clit throbs with increasing pressure and pleasure, all of it makes her moan louder.
“The Inquisition is merciless, acolyte. You should know that.”
It’s easy to maneuver his cane, easy to speed it up or slow it down and for a while Viktor toys with Volenta. Increasing the pace to make her moan louder and slowing it down so that she whines with need and urgency. He would touch her more, kiss her more, but instead he chooses to observe her and do nothing else besides holding her against his chest.
“Please.” She finally begs and Viktor rises his eyebrows, pretending not to understand.
“Please what, acolyte?”
“P-please…” She blushes harder and he relishes the struggle Volenta is still trying to put on.
“Speak your mind, acolyte.” He presses the cane harder against her and she whimpers with desperation.
“Please let me come.” She finally says and Viktor remains quiet for a while, letting her wonder if he will grant this wish or continue the torture further. Lucky for her, he’s not in the mood to take the long route. He missed her and that much is an undeniable truth.
“Say it proper, acolyte.”
“Please let me come, Inquisitor.” Volenta’s eyes are betraying just how desperate she is when she looks over her shoulder at him and Viktor nods, satisfied with her diligence.
“Very good, acolyte, very good.”
He maneuvers the cane to move faster and sees Volenta’s face shift with increasing pleasure. Her body trembles against his but her eyes remain on his face. And when he sees the familiar change in her expression, one that he knows well and one that spells her upcoming bliss, that’s when Viktor kisses her brow and presses the cane between her legs one last time, knowing exactly how it will end.
With a cry and her back arching, with a pull on the belt and her eyelids dropping shut, Volenta unravels. Her thighs tremble, her breathing stops for a moment and then resumes with another loud moan. She grinds herself against the head of the cane now, riding out the last bits of pleasure that she can get before it all falls away and he lets her, holding it still for her. Finally, when she just gasps and begins to go limp right against him, Viktor pulls her firmer against his chest.
He drops the cane where he holds it and uses a now free hand to turn Volenta’s face to him. Immediately his lips press against hers, drinking in last mewls escaping her lips. She responds even if out of breath and smiles against his mouth.
“Naughty techniques, Inquisitor.” She teases and Viktor smiles against her lips.
