"One sloppy blowjob, please!"

Having fully perused Bonny's goods, it's time to sample her services—one service in particular. The kind of service reserved for fat, perverted bastards with Throne's full of ancient sex magic.

"Your finest blowjob, please," you smirk, casually stroking your cock in front of the merchant.

"Of course, Your Worship." Bonny nods. The Orlesian doesn't bat an eyelash at such a request, your Throne's influence working flawlessly, even after another long day of abusing its power.

Removing her flamboyant hat, the merchant sinks to her knees before you, her billowing dress bunching around her knees as she kneels at your feet. Without hesitation, Bonny leans forward, her red lips parting as she takes you into her mouth. You let out a guttural moan of approval as the masked merchant's mouth envelops your length, her tongue swirling across your tip.

Bonny's blowjob is every bit as priceless as the goods she sold, expertly sucking and slurping until every inch of your shaft is coated in her Orlesian spittle. Reaching up with her free hand, she cradles your bloated balls, massaging your heavy sack with her delicate fingers.

"Now that's customer service..." you chuckle as Bonny bobs her head up and down your cock.

All the while, the marketgoers continue about their business, hardly sparing a passing glance at the whorish merchant gagging on the Inquisitor's cock in the middle of the bustling courtyard. Thanks to the Throne, the sight of you getting blown is as commonplace as Cassandra sparring with her training dummy or Sera relieving herself from the roof of the Herald's Rest.

Even while Bonny expertly services your cock, you start to feel a growing sense of impatience as the sun begins to set over Skyhold and the other merchants pack up their stalls for the day. While you would happily let the merchant suck you all evening, you have a schedule to keep before your trip to the Winter Palace in the morning.

Grabbing a fistful of Bonny's hair, you **** her head down, impaling her throat on your cock. Her eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn't resist. Your thrusting hips set a punishing rhythm, pumping wildly as you eagerly fuck the merchant's face. Each motion elicits a gag from Bonny, the sound of your hefty balls slapping her chin echoing through the courtyard.

As you start to pump harder and faster, spit spills down the merchant's chin, soaking into that frilly Orlesian neck collar-you aren't sure what it's called- but by the time you're finished here, the merchant will probably be able to wring it out over a flagon and get a full pint of spit.

You continue your relentless pace, your jerking hips driving you deeper down Bonny's throat. With every buck of your hips, you can feel yourself bottoming out, the merchant's nose buried in your hairy lap. From behind her gilded mask, her watering eyes gaze up at you submissively.

The sensation of her throat constricting around your throbbing cock, coupled with the sight of her ****, tear-streaked face, sends jolts of pleasure crashing through your whole body. You can feel your release building, the pressure coiling in your loins as you near the edge.

Bonny's fingers clutch at your thighs, her nails digging into your skin as she struggles to breathe. You don't relent, your pace rough and unyielding as you finally claim her throat.

"I'm the Inquisitor..." you shout to the heavens. "And this is my favorite shop on the Skyhold!"

With a final, brutal thrust, you bury yourself deep in her throat, holding her tightly in place as you pump your load down her spasming throat. You pull out just in time for your last volley of spurts to splatter across Bonny's masque as she coughs and gasps for air, her slack-jawed face glistening with a mix of your sticky white essence and her own throaty spit.

As Bonny recovers from your throatfucking, you snatch one of the Antivan silk handkerchiefs from her table of wares and begin casually wiping down your cock. You can't help but admire the impeccable quality of the fabric as you drag the soft cloth up your sweaty undercarriage before draping it across Bonny's sticky masked face.

"Quality service as always, Lady Simms," you smirk, brushing the wrinkles off your tunic as you collect your box of trinkets and tuck it under your arm. "Put these all on my tab, won't you?"

"C-c-come again soon, Your W-worship..." the muffled merchant offers with a shaky voice.

As you turn and head off from the merchant's stall, night has fallen over Skyhold's courtyard. You could probably head to bed early ahead of your long day tomorrow or perhaps you have a few more things to square away before your departure...