The Warden wants to be sexually dominated after a struggle with a worthy foe

When the Warden had tasted the bitter funk of Fay's arse on the tip of your tongue and climaxed in your arms, an intense, pivotal scene from Barbara Torch's history had flashed into your mind.

When the Warden had departed, you saw the whole scene as if it had been your memory.

You stand in a dim chamber, your tall, broad frame naked before your judges, who wear hooded formal robes with the device of the Outside Warders. Gathered behind you are the rank and file of the Outside Warders, here to witness your disgrace.

"When circumstances demand that a Senior Warder should be removed from duty, the honor of our organization and the integrity of our purpose require that the cause be known," says the central figure. "Barbara Torch, the achievements of your service have been estimable, and your name will be known in the rolls of our history. Therefore the offenses that demand your removal must be notable, and known."

You feel a tremble inside yourself, not so much fear, as anticipation, of reliving those peak moments.

The central judge continues. "These offenses are three. First, your repeated challenges of other Senior Warders to magical duels, questioning their honor and fitness to provoke response, and threatening the harmony of the Outside Warders. Second, your continued participation as a magical duelist in your private life in direct contravention of orders. After being commanded to cease this activity for your safety and for the reputation of the Outside Warders, you continued this practice secretly in disguise, covered by magical misdirection, in dangerous circumstances. Third, in the line of duty, of choosing the path of direct confrontation with a threatening ****, at the risk of your life, the lives of your fellow warders, and the Outside Warders' duty as a protective order."

The central judge stands quietly for several breaths. You tremble in anticipation, your heart beating faster.

"Witness," the judge says.

Displayed for all to see are your duels within the order. You feel your nipples stiffen as you recall the glory of the challenge. Within the order are fast, powerful, clever witches and wizards worthy of contending. Why would they not contend? And so you challenged them. The elation of preparing for a duel, every nerve singing, your vision bright and sharp and all your senses vivid, looking for a weakness, preparing your move. The pride and joy of overcoming a worthy foe through struggle. And the feeling of being overpowered, overwhelmed by a superior opponent. Of being completely overmastered your will under their subjection. More often than not, a worthy duel brought you a powerful climax, more powerful when you were defeated. But it had to be a worthy struggle.

A trickle of juice threads down your thigh as you remember the duels ending in overwhelming, climactic defeat.

"Witness," the judge repeats.

Discouraged from challenging the Senior Warders, you had turned to dueling with young bravos. When these failed to be worthy opponents, you sought out more accomplished witches and wizards who lived to contend. Displayed for all are your moments of triumph. You can see how others might think you ungracious, vainglorious in your victories. But they fed your hunger, and you learned that you were not the only one for whom a worthy magical duel was a sexual act. Even without the forbidden CLIMACTICUS or EJACULA, the climax of a hard-fought duel not uncommonly concluded with robes soiled with seed or female ejaculate.

Forbidden from public dueling, you turned to the underworld of secret duels. The judges have nothing to show, for those bouts were well-warded. But there were worthy foes in the underworld. True challenges, as worthy as any Senior Warder. You kept your personal stakes low, but even so, when you were overcome, you did pay the price. A night of service. A day and a night. A week, once. Your will subject to your opponent, a toy to their whims. You hid your pleasure, but they knew. That was how you were discovered. You are displayed for the assembled Outside Warders, in a position of supplication, wearing the heavy collar and bracelets worked with enchantments that enforced your week of service.

"Witness," the judge says once again.

You bow your head, for this is the matter of duty in which you acknowledge your fault. But still. Still. Another trickle of juice threads down your leg.