Lavorra worships her Sir

The evening rain patters on the windows of the tower, a gently crackling fire illuminating the cosy living space adjoining Sir Henry’s study.

Soft muffled moans and murmurs mix with slick wet sounds of worship, and a man’s breathy groans of pleasure. A pair of petite feet attached to slender legs wave lazily in the air, appearing from behind an elongated settee.

“Such a good girl.” Sir Henry drawls, “Such an obedient little nymph.” He gazes down the length of the sofa from his half-reclined position, taking in the sight of Lavorra, pale and naked but for her tight corset. The garment digs into her flesh, too slim even for her shapely figure, but the young Wood Elf seems not to notice at all, her eyes glassy and unfocused, her mouth occupied as she lathers her lips and tongue over his heavy balls.

Lavorra giggles, the sound sending pleasing vibrations through his sack, as his length slips from her petite hands, and slaps against her forehead, resting there warm and gently pulsating. Behind her meticulously combed, straight head of scarlet hair, her pale bum rises, crowned by her smooth pink soles, waving girlishly in the air.

This is just what I was made for. I have always been called to worship, this is what I was put here to praise.

Her head fills with happy thoughts as she gazes up at Sir Henry, the gentleman-scholar of the mystical arts who has been her protector and her lover for as long as she can remember. She moans softly as one large, work-calloused hand caresses her ear. His other steers his member towards her lips, and she pulls away from his balls, opening her mouth as he feeds her his cock.

“This is your oath now, little Paladin.” He chuckles, his hand stroking that neat head of hair as she begins to glide her lips over his shaft.

Paladin?

I… I am…

Something does not feel right. This is not where she is supposed to be.

She mumbles uncertainly, then finds her head **** down, his member pushing against her mouth painfully. Sir Henry glares down at her, his free hand moving in a wordless incantation.

Her mind empties.

She slurps at him greedily, soles scrunching happily, her eyes glassy once more. Why would she resist as he draws her head up and down his perfect cock? His hips begin to thrust, forcing himself deeper into her throat. But that’s what he should be doing, isn’t it? That’s what her mouth is there for. To be used and fucked and filled with his seed. That’s what all her holes are for. For Sir’s seed.

Her only regret is that she cannot show him her eyes, as he shoves her down, she cannot show him what a good girl she is what a good little fairy or pixie or knife-eared whore.

Sir Henry grunts, confident that the momentary slip has passed, and that she is in his power again. He watches her struggling with the **** of him, her cheeks pink, the make-up she dutifully applies each morning beginning to run as tears of exertion ruin it. He bucks his hips, and presses her further down.

He holds her in place, her lips on the base of his cock, chin on his balls, throat bulging, eyes beginning to roll back.

Let me go! I’m Lavorra! I’m not yours! I’m not!

She lets out a muffled squeal and begins to **** on him, panicking, pushing on his thighs as she tries to free herself.

He allows her a few fleeting seconds of clarity, intentionally this time, before reasserting the spell. The image of her eyes becoming unfocused and submissive once more, combined with her tight throat around his cock, brings him to climax, and he releases her.

Lavorra’s head rockets back, drool coating her chin. She coughs and splutters, her face a ruin of makeup and his cum. She chokes, some of his issue leaking from her nose, as she sobs throatily. But she smiles sweetly, despite the desolate mess of her face, happy and fulfilled to have served her purpose.

“Th-thank you Elantir.” She gasps, her head empty once more.