To the War Room!

With Harding in tow, you lumber out of your chambers and begin the long trek towards the War Room for your meeting.

You stroll the hallways of Skyhold, your cock swinging freely between your thighs as Harding trots faithfully beside you, her cheeks flushing red as she tries to ignore the curious stares and sidelong glances of Skyhold's other inhabitants.

Naturally, the fat, sweaty Inquisitor walking around shamelessly without pants isn't anything out of the ordinary for them, but the presence of a new companion at your side isn't going unnoticed as soldiers and servants gossip among themselves. You glance down at your diminutive pet, watching her shrink under the attention as she hides behind your hairy haunch.

"No need to be shy, cocksleeve," you chuckle, tussling her ginger hair like a Mabari hound's fur. "They're just jealous."

"Just not used to all this attention, I guess..." Harding offers nervously. "Scouts don't normally draw this many eyeballs."

"You aren't a scout anymore, Lace," you remind her brusquely as you stride past a group of nobles. "You're my cum dump. You set the example for what every member of the Inquisition should strive to be. People will look to you to inspire hope."

You watch Harding’s freckled cheeks burn even redder, but she puffs out her chest proudly. “Y-y-yes sir, Your Worship!”

The two of you continue along, Harding showing a much more confident stride in her steps as she embraces her new role and the accompanying stares from the people of Skyhold as you continue on your way to her first War Table meeting.

Cutting through Josephine's office, you pass through the hallway with the infamous hole in the wall, an unsightly blemish on your fortress that has been left unrepaired for months. Of course, Josephine had allocated funds to fix it several times, but you've always redirected the money to your own pet projects like sailing in that troupe of Antivan sword swallowers for Varric's birthday or commissioning that Val Rouyeax artisan craftsmen to hand chisel a life-sized ice sculpture of you with a steady stream of frosty Ferelden ale flowing from the tip of your big icy pecker.

By now, everyone had grown used to the hole. You're convinced it gives the fortress some much-needed character, and it made for a handy garbage disposal for the stacks of boring reading material your advisors saddled you with after meetings.

Just ahead lies the War Room, and you push open the twin doors with a dramatic flourish as you and Harding step inside. Your trusted advisors Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen are already gathered around the War Table, deep in discussion as they pore over maps and spy reports. Josephine is the first to lift her eyes from the busy table, acknowledging your entrance.

“Ah, Inquisitor,” the diplomat says, her tone measured. “We were beginning to wonder if you had forgotten our meeting."

"Excuse my tardiness, Lady Montilyet," you smirk, your voice dripping with mock sincerity. "I've been a tad...detained." You gesture towards Harding, who shrinks slightly under the weight of your advisor's gaze. "Allow me to introduce-"

"Your new cocksleeve," Leliana interrupts, stepping over your announcement. "Yes, we're all quite aware, Your Worship."

"Well-informed as ever, spymaster," you offer petulantly. "Those ravens of yours do keep you up to date, don't they?"

"Inquisitor, please," Leliana offers chidingly. "Half of Skyhold witnessed your performance on the balcony this morning. You weren't exactly keeping it discreet up there."

"Of course," you scowl. "Well, regardless, Harding here will be handling all of Morrigan’s duties for the foreseeable future."

"I must admit..." Leliana's smile falters a bit. "I'm not fond of losing my best field agent…" Her gaze drifts back to Harding, whose hands have already found themselves wrapped around your cock. "But Harding has been an asset of the Inquisition, and I know she will tend to your needs dutifully, Your Worship."

"Indeed." Josephine nods, seconding the spymaster's sentiment. "We look forward to you working alongside us, Lace."

"Thanks, everyone!" Harding replies cheerfully as she casually plays with your cock. "I'm so excited to be part of the team."

"Can we please return to the meeting now?" Cullen clears his throat loudly. "I believe we were in the middle of discussing the Venatori sightings in the Western Approach..."

"By all means," you grin, sauntering over to your spot at the helm of the War Table. Harding, ever the eager cocksleeve, wastes no time crawling beneath the table, and you quickly feel her lips pressed against your cock once again. "Let's begin."

The War Table meeting finally begins in earnest, your advisors debating strategy and coordinating vital resources while in the faint shadows beneath the table, Harding's lips are wrapped snugly around the base of your cock, her tongue swirling across the pre-cun leaking tip while her tiny hands massage your hairy balls, each weighty nut the size of her clenched fist. Her compact dwarven frame made her perfect for the task.

While your advisors squabble, you reach for your goblet at the table's edge, filled to the brim with expensive Orlesian wine, and take a deep, gluttonous gulp that tickles your throat all the way down. This is how strategy was meant to be conducted, with your huge prick buried in a warm, willing throat while the very fate of Thedas hangs in the balance.

The first load of the meeting finds you quickly, a thick, creamy deluge of cum that Harding swallows with a practiced ease, her throat working to milk every last drop. She hums around your cock, the vibrations sending shivers along your spine, and you can’t help but let out a satisfied grunt as Josephine's voice is the first to cut through your post-orgasm haze.

"Lord du LeMarque's taxes on our caravans continue to cause headaches." Josephine addresses, raising her speaking voice over the obscene slurping noises emanating from just below the polished table. That noble's name means nothing to you, just another name on a seemingly endless list of Orlesian dickheads who take profound pleasure in obstructing your goals. "I've already penned a strongly worded letter reminding his lordship of his contracts with the Inquisition."

"A letter? Really?" Leliana scoffs, her hood casting shadows across her dubious face. "Why not send him a box of chocolates or a bouquet of Crystal Grace while you're at it, Josie?" She rolls her eyes, her voice dripping with a slightly mocking edge. "With all due respect, ambassador, we've been far too accommodating to these ticks clinging to the Inquisition's backside."

Josephine raises an eyebrow, her expression questioning. "And what would your suggestion be then, dear spymaster?"

"We send a message, of course," Leliana replies smoothly, her eyes gleaming with a certain hint of mischief. No one could accuse your spymaster of not enjoying her work.

"A show of ****, perhaps?" the military-minded Cullen offers characteristically, his hand resting on his sword hilt as usual. "Dispatch a small contingent to his estate, make it clear that-"

"Pretty words and rattled swords are temporary solutions." Leliana dismisses sharply. "Every minor noble in Orlais fancies themself a master of the Grand Game. Now is the time to send the message that thorns in the Inquisition's side get clipped." Your spymaster places her elbows on the table, bearing her ample cleavage as she leans forward. "Permanently."

"The Du LeMarques do have several enemies amongst the royal court." Josephine offers reluctantly. "If handled discreetly, the Inquisition could plausibly deny any involvement and let the gossip merchants work their magic..."

You, however, had a different idea.

"Or we can send Sera," you interject, the first input you've offered since the meeting began outside of affirmative grunts. "She hasn't pulled any of her juvenile pranks this week. I say, we reward the little freak and set her loose on this bastard."

"...Sera?" Leliana arches an eyebrow, her expression flickering with skepticism. "Inquisitor, this matter requires subtlety," she argues, her tone carefully measured. "A delicate touch to ensure the Inquisition doesn't draw unnecessary attention. Sera can certainly be effective, but well, quite frankly, her methods are as subtle as flatulence in the Grand Chantry."

You snort, grabbing a fistful of Harding's ginger hair beneath the table's underside and forcing her head onto your cock, feeling her throat bulge as she gags. "I've found subtlety to be highly overrated," you growl, your voice tight with lust as you pump her freckled face a few times for emphasis, the wet glurks echoing loudly under the wood as you swig your wine. "The elf's chaos will send the message perfectly--loud, messy, and fuck...full-throated. Just like the Inquisition itself."

You stifle a groan into your goblet, hips bucking gently as you flood Harding's throat with another helping of ball-gravy. Your advisors all exchange apprehensive glances but say nothing. After all, you're the Inquisitor, and your word is law.

Sloppy, perverted cum-drenched law, but law all the same.

“I'll inform Sera at once.” Leliana sighs, poking a wasp-shaped pin into her map of Orlais. “She’ll be delighted, I'm sure.”

Cullen, meanwhile, rubs his temple like he's suddenly fighting a headache. "Maker, I need a drink."

"As planned, our forces have made inroads into the Emerald Graves..." Cullen reports, his brow suddenly furrowing as he searches his collection of figurines, he uses to illustrate troop movements. "Maker, has anyone seen my infantry pieces?" That's the fifth one to go missing this week!"

You watch Leliana and Josephine exchange knowing glances, a silent conversation passing between the two amused women while your Commander absently peeks under the table, disappointed only to see the cute dwarf sucking on his boss's dick.

"Infantry pieces, you say?" a smirking Leliana finally speaks up. "Those pretty statues with the mushroom-shaped helmets that flare so satisfyingly towards the weighted base?"

"That's an...accurate description, I suppose." A clearly confused Cullen plays along. "You've seen them then?"

"Me?" the spymaster offers innocently. "No, I haven't seen them. Josephine, have you seen our Commander's little toys?"

"No, I'm afraid I haven't," Josie answers, finding it hard to look Cullen in the eyes. "Surely they've just been...misplaced."

"Impossible," Cullen argues. "I was polishing them right before I arrived here."

You can see Leliana and Josephine's faces twitch slightly, biting their bottom lips as they both try to stifle a fit of giggles.

"I’m sure your little toys will turn up eventually, Cullen," you finally interrupt. "Let's move this meeting along, shall we? I've got a Throne that needs sitting on..."

The meeting presses on. Reports are given. Strategies debated. Harding, ever the dutiful cocksleeve, coaxes another load from you before the topic shifts toward the Hinterlands as Leliana unfurls a weathered map dotted with scouting markers. "This route has proven troublesome..." the spymaster says, tapping her gloved finger against a thorny path in the Storm Coast. “We've lost our third patrol this month without any explanation," she notes pensively, her eyes piercing through the War Table, her gaze fixed on the space where your cocksleeve currently resides.

"What's with the staring?" you offer with a grunt.

"I just know Harding has scouted this region extensively." Leliana remarks. "Perhaps she could provide valuable insight..."

You grunt again, this time with a hint of annoyance as the mention of her name causes Harding's relentless cock-sucking rhythm to falter just a tiny bit while you're on the teetering edge of another orgasm. "She's preoccupied," you scowl.

"It would only be a moment, Your Worship." Leliana offers persistently. "Her expertise could save Inquisiton lives."

"Ugh, fine..." you relent, begrudingly reaching under the table to grab a fistful of Harding's ginger hair and yank her off your cock with a wet pop, her lips smeared with spit and cum. You petulantly slap your heavy, veiny length against her freckled face a few times--thwack thwack--watching her eyes cross cutely as she blinks up at you, dazed and cock-drunk. "Alright, spill it, cocksleeve. What's the deal with this backwater path? And let's keep it quick, alright?"

Harding wipes her chin with the back of her hand, her voice still bubbly despite the redness across her cock-slapped cheek. "Oh, um, well, I know it's Great Bear mating season right now..." she offers. "Those big furry bastards can get real territorial when they're in the mood, so you probably wanna steer clear of the caves or pack extra bear bait on your next patrol."

"Noted." Leliana offers with an appreciative nod as she marks a piece of parchment. "Thank you, Lace. Helpful as always."

"No problem, Misstress Leliana!" Harding blushes, eyes lighting up as she starts to add more. "If you need any more help. There's actually a really great book on the mating habits of-GLACK!" but you cut her off mid-sentence, thrusting your cock back into her face with abrupt ****, slamming past her lips and straight down her throat, her words turning into a muffled gagging fit as you start fucking her mouth in earnest, hips snapping forward as your balls slap against the dwarf's wet chin.

"I believe that concludes today’s business," Josie announces, snapping her ledger shut. "And in record time, I might add."

As her words hang in the air, you feel your final climax surging, Harding's throat pushing you over the edge one last time, and you pull out just in time to unleash a massive, ropey volley all over the War Table, hot, thick spurts of cum splattering up and down the maps, soaking into Josephine's carefully-caligripahed parchments. One particularly potent burst strikes Leliana across the cheek, leaving a pearly streak of white down her pale skin, while another arcing glob lands perfectly in Josephine's dusky cleavage, pooling between her ample tits like a pearl necklace. You groan in satisfaction, milking the last drops onto the table while Harding instinctively laps at your balls from below, the room now reeking of your foul spunk.

"Well, Your Worship," Leliana giggles, dragging her thumb across her cum-stained cheek before giving it a delicate lick. "You certainly know how to mark your territory."

"I'd say that's meeting adjourned, everyone," you smirk, shaking off your cock.