Dorian and Mother Giselle!

The climb up the winding stairs is unremarkable until you reach the landing, where you soon discover a heated exchange between Dorian and Mother Giselle that's impossible to ignore. Dorian, his usually charming composure slightly ruffled, wears an expression of thinly veiled exasperation. Predictably, Giselle is mid-lecture, her voice a sanctimonious rasp that could curdle milk while boring enough to lure a Great Bear into early hibernation. You've endured her unsolicited advice countless times yourself but usually with a wet mouth wrapped around your cock--a luxury the Tevinter clearly lacks.

"Greetings, Dorian." you greet your fellow mage warmly as you approach. "Is this wrinkled old prune nagging you again?"

"I'm afraid so, Inquisitor," Dorian replies, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mustached lip at your timely intervention. "Our Revered Mother still doesn't approve of my lifestyle choices. She prefer I practice my deviancy behind closed doors."

"That's not at all what I-"

"Mother Giselle, how many times must we have this discussion?" you cut the Chantry Sister off mid-sentence to scold her. "Dorian is my friend and a valued member of this Inquisition. I won't have you making him feel unwelcome in Skyhold."

"Why thank you, Inquisitor." Dorian offers sincerely. "How fortunate we all are that you sit on that tacky throne of yours and not this repressed old crone..."

The thought of the Revered Mother's bony posterior resting on your Blowjob Throne is enough to make your skin crawl and your cock shrivel a solid inch.

"Lord Herald," Mother Giselle sighs, her voice steeped with exasperation. "As I've told you many times, the young man's proclivities are not my place to judge. I simply ask that he refrain from using the Chantry garden for his...fraternization."

"Your Reverence, you wound me." Dorian retorts with mock outrage. "I merely visited the prayer gardens this morning to admire the Crystal Grace in spring bloom. Or is enjoying the flowers a privilege only afforded to the Maker's faithful now?"

"Sister Amelia offered a rather detailed account of what she witnessed in the gardens early this morning..."

"Perhaps Sister Amelia is lying?" Dorian challenges, lifting his chin defiantly. "Incorrigible gossip, that girl. Ask anyone."

"Young man." Mother Giselle's wrinkled eyes narrow. "Sister Amelia is in the ninth year of her decade long vow of silence. Or should I say she was until she stumbled upon the "pretty mage from Tevinter" getting his "big beautiful penis" sucked by one of the Templar recruits beneath the statue of the Most Holy..."

"That does sound rather like you, Dorian." you stifle your laughter.

"Well, if we're pointing fingers, perhaps you should ask the Maker why he chose to bless me with this irresistible cock?" Dorian retorts, grabbing his crotch and giving it a taunting shake. "Perhaps I'll start referring to it as "The Morning Chant', given how many strapping young men it's compelled to their knees in your gawdy little prayer garden, Revered Mother."

"You blasphemous little shit-"Giselle sputters, her face turning crimson at Dorian's crude words before turning to you. "Herald, you cannot condone such blatant disregard for the Chantry's teachings and values. Won't you please intervene?"

"Oh certainly, Revered Mother," you smirk, your voice dripping with mock politeness. "I'd be all too happy to intervene."

You waste no time in pushing Mother Giselle to her knees, her wrinkled face contorting in shock and disgust. But you don't give her a chance to protest before you grab the sides of her habit and **** your cock down the Revered Mother's throat.

An amused Dorian watches your dominant display as you begin fucking the cleric's face, your heavy balls slapping her chin. Normally, you wouldn't touch an old hag like Mother Giselle with a ten-foot pole but you were coming to a friend's defense and to be honest, there's something strangely satisfying about using the Revered Mother's nagging mouth like a throat toy.

"Love is love, Mother Giselle." you lecture her, guiding the bigot's face up and down your crotch in a sloppy wet face-fuck. "The Chantry's antiquated views on sex hold no place in my Inquisition. In Skyhold, we indulge in our basest desires and if you can't get that through your wrinked head-"

You punctuate your words by bottoming out in her throat, holding her tight against your lap until she's purple in the face, only letting her up for air so you can slap her across the face with your prick. The weighty smack of your spit-soaked cock against her spit-stained cheek sends her reeling as you turn to your fellow mage with a mischievous glint in your eye.

"Ever cock-slapped a Revered Mother of the Chantry, Dorian?" you offer, angling Giselle's sticky face towards the mage.

"I can confidently say I've never been offered." Dorian chuckles, stepping forward. "But I'm open to new experiences."

Reaching into the front of his robes, Dorian pulls out his own smaller yet impressive cock. As prim as the rest of the mage, the Tevinter's prick is as primped as his signature mustache with nary a hair out of place on his impeccably-groomed lap, standing in stark contrast to the unkempt bird's nest of a bush that blankets your own.

With a dramatic flourish, Dorian strikes Giselle across her wrinkled face with his big penis like an Orlesian's dueling glove, the resulting sound slightly higher in pitch than your own weighted smack but no less humiliating for the helpless Giselle.

The two of you stand over the sputtering Revered Mother, alternating slaps across her aging face--using your fat cocks like blunt instruments of humiliation as you rain blows upon on Giselle's wizened features like a Qunari war drum before battle, the rhythmic beat of your fleshly barrage echoing through the mage's tower.

Her eyes water, cheeks burning red, her muffled cries muted by slaps as she resigns herself to her debasment.

Satisfied with Giselle's public flogging, you thrust your cock down her throat again, fucking her face with a renewed vigor. You work her mouth up and down your cock desperately, your thrusts growing rougher with every passing second as you prepare to punctuate Giselle's much-needed lesson in open-mindedness with a big white exclamation point.

With a final, brutal thrust, you hilt your cock in Mother Giselle's throat, your balls tightening as you let pleasure take you. You feel your orgasm roll through you like thunder, your cock twitching and spasming as you let the first powerful pulses of hot cum pump into her mouth and explode out her nose before hastily pulling out and letting the rest shower over her.

Hot, sticky ropes of your foul-smelling spunk erupt from your cock splattering Mother Giselle's face and staining her robes. You stand triumphantly over Giselle as your load coats everything from her cheeks, her chin, and all across her forehead and even fittingly splatter the Chantry seal atop her habit in a thick streak of white.

"Now Mother Jizz-elle," you command as you stare into the cum-faced cleric's eyes. "I want you to apologize to Dorian."

"I'm-I'm sorry, Dorian," Giselle forces out the words, her voice weak and humbled. "I...I had no right to judge you."

"That's a good girl," you smirk, patting her on the head patronizingly. "Now run along to the Chantry gardens and water the Andraste's Grace. And if I catch wind of you sticking your wrinkled nose into other people's business again, I know a spell that can turn you into a divan and I'll let Dorian and the Iron Bull put you through your paces."

"Maker preserve me..." Mother Giselle shudders in fear. With that proper level of motivation, Giselle hastily finds her feet, meekly bowing to you both before fleeing the mage's tower, her cum-stained robes billowing behind her.

"You don't really know a spell like that, do you?"" Dorian inquires, once Mother Giselle is firmly out of hearing distance.

"Absolutely not." you offer with a candid chuckle. "But our dear Revered Mother doesn't have to know that, does she?"

"In any case, I want to thank you, Inquisitor." Dorian offers sincerely, tucking his tan cock back into his tailored robes. "That was...therapeutic, to say the least."

"Anytime, my friend." you smile, patting the mage on his shoulder. You turn and begin striding out of the mage's tower before one lingering question makes you circle back. "You really think my Throne is "tacky"?" you ask self-consciously.

"Oh, dreadfully so." Dorian offers with brutal honesty. "But I assure you, I wouldn't dare say that to your face..."

"Farewell, Dorian." you smirk, leaving your flamboyant friend to his own devices, free of Mother Giselle's lectures.