Interrupt a romantic candlelit dinner.

The heavy wooden doors of the Herald's Rest swing inward as you stride into the tavern, the cacophony of drunken revelry washing over you like a tidal wave on the Waking Sea. Skyhold's favorite fuck den is as lively as ever as soldiers spill drink and spunk in near equal measure, the flirty barmaids sucking and fucking with practiced enthusiasm, their ragged moans mingling with the clink of tankards and slapping flesh. The air is thick with the scent of cheap ale, roasted meat, and sweat, a heady musk that floods the nostrils and makes your cock stiffen as your gaze travels across the crowded tavern floor.

In front of the crackling hearth, the bard Maryden fingers her lute, one leg hitched high enough atop her wooden stool to flash her bare pussy as she performs a bawdy tune for the tavern's entertainment. Your perverted influence over Skyhold continues to manifest itself everywhere, even in the singer's song selection; her inspiring ballads have all been replaced with dirty limericks with crass lyrics and juvenile humor. You recognize the songbird's current piece, the cheekily titled Swabbin' The Poop Deck, recounting the tale of a famed female Antivan pirate captain who paid her crew in rimjobs.

The lyrics hardly matter as the tune provides a rhythmic backbeat to the rampant fucking happening all across the tavern. Your focus drifts to the Rest's upper floors, where grizzled mercenaries trade war stories over ale and tavern girl blowjobs while mages and templars sixty-nine on the dining tables. In the dusty rafters, you even spot Cole perched atop the cross beams like a strange-looking bird, his floppy cock dangling freely as the pantsless spirit watches with a child-like curiosity.

Back on the ground floor, one particularly enthusiastic soldier hoists one of the giggling tavern girls onto the bar itself, hiking her skirt to her waist as he begins to fuck her down on all fours, her heavy tits bouncing with every frenzied thrust. Behind the bar, Cabot, the perpetually grumpy bartender, remains wholly unfazed, continuing to fill flagons with frothy ale and sliding them across the bar, between the lass' quivering thighs and into the waiting hands of thirsty patrons.

The Herald's Rest is certainly living up to its reputation as the most depraved establishment in Skyhold this fine evening. Yet amidst all the debauchery, your eyes lock on an unexpected sight- a tiny island of normalcy in this sea of hedonism.

There, at a secluded table in the corner, Josephine Montilyet and Blackwall are in the middle of a romantic candlelit dinner. Your ambassador is dressed in her finest Antivan silks, her curly hair pinned up elegantly for the evening, while the warrior sports his usual armor, though he's clearly polished it for the occasion. The normally professional Josephine radiates a soft, almost schoolgirlish glow while the bearded Warden, his grizzled face softened by a tender smile, pours her another glass from an expensive-looking bottle of Antivan wine and no doubt regales her with tales of his bravery in the Deep Roads.

Your curiosity (and your boundless perversion) is naturally piqued. With a lecherous grin splitting your ugly face in half, you lumber towards the dining couple, letting your rapidly-engorging dick guide your footsteps as you cross the tavern, weaving through the sea of drunken sex on your way to the candlelit table.

Trapped in each other's star-crossed lovers' gazes, the fawning couple doesn't even register your foreboding approach, even as your bloated shadow suddenly overtakes the table like a solar eclipse. It's only when you loudly clear your throat that the pair of lovers finally acknowledges you standing there, Josephine's lashes fluttering as she turns her head in time for you to thrust your fat, unwashed cock right into her face, pressing the drooling tip against her olive-skinned cheek.

"Why hello there, you two!" you announce yourself boisterously, smearing the bead of pre-cum across Josie's flawless skin, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything..." you offer with a disengious smile.

"...Inquisitor," Josephine blinks in surprise, her voice strained but still laced with her typical honeyed politeness even as you drag your sticky prick up and down her meticulously made-up face. "Warden Blackwall and I were just enjoying din-"

"Looks tasty!" you cut her off, practically drooling from the corners of your toothy grin as you scan the prepared spread of braised pheasant with golden roast potatoes and Ferelden turnips. "Beats Cabot's three bean chili for the fifth day straight."

"Evening, Inquisitor." Blackwall greets you, unfazed by your intrusion. "What brings you to the tavern on this fine night?"

"I'm afraid I have pressing business for our ambassador here," you chuckle, adding sleazy emphasis on the word "pressing", making your intentions crystal clear as your cock strains against her face. "Matters that require her immediate attention."

Josephine is silent for a beat, her eyes flashing with something you haven't encountered from her in months: hesitation, the faint spark of defiance as she pulls back from you ever so slightly, like a Mabari pup tugging against an invisible leash. When the diplomat's rose-tinted lips do finally begin to part, it's unfortunately to speak and not to start sucking you.

"Your Worship," she murmurs, her voice maintaining its polite edge. "Perhaps Leliana could handle your needs tonight?" she offers conciliatorily, staring down the barrel of your veiny breech-demon. "She's far more capable in those matters."

Her words hang there for a moment, the unexpected flicker of rebellion in your advisor catching you completely off guard.

"Now why would I ask Leliana?" you question her, pressing the tip of your cock against her lips, rubbing it back and forth, painting them with more of your leaking pre-cum. "After all, my loyal ambassador is sitting right here in front of me.""

"That's true, Inquisitor, it's just..." Josephine hesitates, struggling to reason with a flabby brick wall. "The Warden and I have been planning this evening for weeks," she glances over to her date. "It's rare we have a night like this to ourselves."

"I see..." Your eyebrow furrows in puzzlement. This rare bit of pushback from Josephine feels like dry tinder on a campfire, fanning the Throne's perverted flames as your cock twitches at this unforseen challenge to it's usually iron-clad authority. Could true love really be the antidote, the perfect shield against your mind-bending grip? You didn't need to wrestle with that question for too long, however, as Blackwall's steady voice suddenly cuts through the awkward silence like a blade.

"It's alright, Josie," Blackwall interjects, his voice calm and supportive as his rough, calloused hand settles itself over hers, giving her a reassuring squeeze as they both stare into each other's eyes. "Your duties to the Inquisitor should come first.”

"Well said, my friend!" you commend him, patting the Warden on his shoulder approvingly. "The Inquisition comes first."

Josephine lets out a shaky exhale, her shoulders slumping as the fight drains from her face, replaced by resigned obedience. "Yes, yes, of course," the ambassador nods dutifully, shaking off her momentary lapse in judgment. "How foolish of me."

Setting her knife and fork down with practiced grace, Josie primly dabs at the corners of her lips with her dinner napkin like she's prepping for the next course of a formal dinner. Without another word, she reaches out and wraps her soft hand around the base of your cock, her delicate fingers barely meeting across your formidable girth as she squeezes you. Finally, she leans forward, lips stretching wide as she guides you into her warm, wet mouth.

The first touch of her tongue is electric, a slow, swirling lick across your cock tip that sends shivers up your crooked spine. As deliberate and methodical as ever, the diplomat takes you inch by inch, cheeks hollowing out as she bobs on your cock; coating your fat shaft with saliva that glimmers under the flicker of candlelight as she takes you deeper into her throat.

The suction is immediate, your head drifting backwards as you let out a low, shuddering groan. Your hands reflexively find themselves placed at your hips, standing there like the smug bastard you are, as your turn to Blackwall with a cocky smile.

"So, Warden," you laugh, thrusting your hips lazily into his date's face in shallow pumps. "....Heard any good jokes lately?"

While Josephine works you over, you and Blackwall carry on a conversation, discussing the weather and other banal topics even as his paramour steadily worships your cock. Occasionally, you reach down and steal bites of food from Josie's plate; picking up roasted potatoes with your bare fingers and flinging them into your open maw before chewing them messily, half-mashed bits landing haphazardly in Josie's dark curls as she bobs up and down your hairy lap.

All the while, Blackwall smiles and sips his wine unfazed. There's no hint of jealousy in his eyes, merely quiet acceptance. The Warden is above all else, a man of honor and duty, and he understands that your needs must come before everything, even the desires of his own heart. You're lucky to have a friend who understands the pecking order so naturally.

Of course, Blackwall is far from a cuckold. Here in Skyhold, thanks to the not-so-subtle influence of the Blowjob Throne, monogamy has become an antiquated concept. A relic of a more prudish Age and the punchline to a long-forgotten joke. When he isn't wining and dining your lovely ambassador, the bearded warrior is almost always balls-deep in a tavern girl, his Grey Warden stamina allowing him to plow dozens of girls in a single night with a sip of ale in between for recharge.

"Gotta say, I never really pegged you for the romantic type, Warden," you offer, rubbing your greasy fingers on your tunic. "Always took you for the 'love 'em and leave 'em' sort, y'know? Bang and bolt, gone before the dawn, kinda guy. Like me."

Blackwall lets out a chuckle, a deep, hearty laugh that echoes over his sweetheart's slurping as he leans back in his chair.

"I've had my share of exploits, sure," he grins wolfishly, caught up in nostalgia. "Poked plenty of farmgirls' hay in my day," he admits before turning back to his date's head bobbing rhythmically on your prick, her meticulous makeup starting to run down her cheeks in whorish streaks. "But women of Lady Josephine's caliber? You have to treat them properly."

"I'll drink to that," you concur, scooping Josephine's unattended wine glass off the table and washing your mouthful down with a gluttonous gulp, wine spilling down your chin and soaking into your chest hair long before it reaches your cock. "You need to handle these highborn sluts properly," you add, twisting your friend's noble sentiment into something far more lascivious as you slam your hips forward, making Josie **** on your cock while you toast to her “proper treatment.”

"I'll admit, fine dining never came naturally for me." Blackwall remarks, his gaze traveling across the range of silverware arranged on the tablecloth. "But there's nothing like the love of a good woman to teach an old dog a new trick or two."

"I gave the romance route a try once..." you snort, picking a stray piece of lint from your navel as Josephine bobs deeper, her throat bulging around your invading fuckmeat as you tilt your head back and reminisce with a fond smile on your face. "Brought Cassandra to this flowery meadow for a sunset picnic, even recited some of that poetry crap chicks love..."

"Ha! Who knew our Seeker had a soft spot under all that armor?" the Warden offers, a hint of genuine curiosity in his tone, like you're swapping battle tactics around the fire. "And reading her poetry? She must have been truly smitten with you."

"Not sure how much she heard, honestly." Your belly jiggles with laughter. "She was gagging on my cock the whole time." Your fingers tighten in Josephine's hair, dragging her forward until her nose is buried in the tangled curl of your pubes. "Kinda like this..." you helpfully demonstrate on his date as her throat bulges around your prick. Josephine's eyes water, hands bracing on your hairy thighs as you fuck her face with a building rhythm, balls slapping her chin on every thrust. while drool bubbles from her stretched lips, spilling down into her cleavage and darkening the hemline of her silk gown.

"Fuck, just like that...take it slut..." you mutter under your breath.

You hold her there, the musky scent of your swampy crotch burning the Antivan's senses as you grind her into your lap. Her lashes flutter wildly, eyes watering profusely now as tears stream down her olive cheeks. You feel her throat convulse around your **** girth, gagging and sputtering as her face begins turning from tanned to a **** shade of purple, her body trembling with a hastily accelerating need for air. A sadistic grin splits your ugly mug as you watch her struggle, counting the seconds silently in your head. Only when you’re satisfied, when her pleading eyes roll back in her skull, and she’s damn close to passing out, do you finally elect to yank her off your cock, letting Josie draw a ragged, wheezing breath, strings of throat slime connecting her swollen lips to your glistening meatsword.

"Still," you smirk, barely allowing Josephine a moment's breath before you swing your spit-soaked cock like a pendulum, your thick shaft slapping her flush face with a meaty thwack as you turn back to Blackwall. "You two make a cute couple," you offer geninuely even as you drag your wet cock across her once-pristine skin. "Everyone in Skyhold is rootin' for you," you offer sincerely with another degrading smack of your meat, smearing filth across her flushed features.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Blacwall says with a warm, genuine smile, as if you hadn’t just used his woman as your throat toy. His gaze softens as he turns to Josie, looking past the heavy layers of ruined makeup and cock slime to see her inner beauty. “Lady Montilyet is a woman without equal,” he professes, his voice almost reverent as he admires her cock-drunk visage. "Her poise, her grace, her wit. And Maker, that smile. Warmer than any hearth in Ferelden.” His eyes beam with adoration, oblivious to the fact that his object of worship currently resembles a Lowtown dock whore during low tide.

“And she gives great blowjobs,” you interject with a crude snort, undercutting the tender moment as you shove your cock back into Josephine's mouth without warning. Her eyes widen in surprise at you, but she doesn't have the power to resist. She simply relaxes her throat, accommodating your thickness with practiced ease as you buck your hips wildly.

“Aye, she's talented,” he concedes with a hearty laugh, eyes never leaving Josephine's as he watches you defile her face. “I’m a lucky man, indeed.”

"These Antivan gals could suck the silverite off a carriage hitch," you grunt, your hips beginning to piston in earnest now, your balls drawing tighter against your body as the first twinge of climax tightens your loins. "Fuckin' silk throats, I swear."

By now, the usually raucous atmosphere of the Herald's Rest has dwindled to a hushed silence. Every eye inside the tavern, from the grizzled soldiers to the serving girls under their tables, is trained on your corner. The air crackles in anticipation, thick with the unspoken understanding that you are approaching release. Like the reveal of a winning Wicked Grace hand, the moment commands rapt attention from everyone in your (momentarily subdued) fuckden.

"Fuck!" you groan, your breath coming in labored grunts as the pressure builds, your cock swelling to painful proportions inside Josephine's tight, spasming throat as every hard, sloppy thrust pushes you closer and closer to the brink of orgasm. “This is gonna be a big one,” you warn with a guttural snarl, your voice strained with lust as you peer down into her eyes, her watery gaze flickering up at you from beneath those ruined lashes. “Hope ya weren’t saving room for dessert, Josie,” you add with a sleazy wink, gritting your teeth as the first wave of your climax hits your gut like a warhammer.

Your hips buck forward one final time, ramming your huge prick balls-deep in Josephine's throat as you fire the first shot of hot spunk against the back of her throat and down her gullet, flooding her stomach with warm, sticky seed that she has **** but to swallow down in ****, convulsing gulps. The feeling is euphoric, her windpipe clenching feverishly around your spasming girth, stealing rope after rope from your bloated balls, your hairy thighs twitching with every pulse. You can sense her shuddering beneath you, eyes bulging as she struggles to keep up with the sheer volume of your release, the gurgles and choked whimpers but you hold her there, grinding her into your lap until you're damn near empty.

Finally, you pull her off with a wet pop, her face pulling from your lap with a stringy trail of spit and cum connecting you. You aim your last ropes right at her face, splattering her dusky skin with pearly white globs that strike against her cheek, splatter her forehead, and even glue her eye shut under a heavy layer of cum.

Josephine is left a panting, disheveled mess, her hair matted, her makeup smeared, and her face covered with your spunk. You take a half-step back and admire your handiwork, marveling at the transformation. The beautiful, refined woman who just moments ago had been enjoying a romantic dinner with her admirer is now an utterly debauched, cun-drenched mess that wouldn't look out of place in an Antivan back alley.

Finally, Josephine coughs, the wet, hoarse sound escaping her abused throat, strings of your jizz bubbling from her mouth. "Will that..." she rasps out, her voice raw as gargled seawater and broken glass. "Will that be all you require, Inquisitor?" Her lips instinctively trace her swollen lips, collecting the remnants of your essence still clinging there.

You chuckle, low and satisfied, giving your softening cock a few lazy tugs before reaching down for her discarded napkin. With a leisurely smirk, you wipe the remnants of your load and her saliva from your shaft like polishing a prized weapon. The fine linen comes away stained with filth, and you casually toss it aside, letting it land atop Josephine's half-eaten plate.

"Yes, that will be all, ambassador." You chuckle, untangling your fingers from her sweat-dampened locks. "Good girl."

With a firm grip on her chin, you slowly turn Josephine's dazed, cum-splattered face back towards Blackwall once again, letting the two lovers lock eyes while your sticky cock bobs lazily between them like a perverted centerpiece on the table.

"Well, my little lovebirds," you announce with a smug grin, your voice dripping with false sincerity as you give the lovers synchronized patronizing pats on the head. "Don't let me spoil your evening. Enjoy the rest of your night, alright, you two?"

With a final lingering glance at the couple, you turn and lumber away. The sounds of tavern revelry begin to pick up again, the moans and laughter returning to normal volume as you disappear into the sea of debauchery that is the Herald's Rest.

Behind you, Blackwall leans in closer to Josephine, his voice steady and affectionate as ever. "My lady," he chuckles softly, reaching out to brush a stray sweat-licked curl from her forehead. "You've got a little something on your face, my sweet." His tone is warm, slightly teasing, as he offers her his clean napkin as a romantic gesture.

"So I do..." she offers embarrsedly, a gentle blush forming on your face beneath the copious layers of your drying cum.

You waddle off into the night, taking a strange comfort knowing that even here, within the walls of Skyhold, love endures. But the warmest comfort, the true power, lay in the knowledge that your Throne's influence would always triumph over it, snuffing it out as easily as a candle on a lover's dinner table.