Seduced *Mature Content*
 

Video: “Sacrifice"
By: Black Atlass, Jessie Reyes

__________________________________

Disclaimer: This is a written work from three different muse-sources combine. Because of how they are so woven into the piece, I cannot take full credit. However, I wrote this to show a snippet of Isabela's and Tempest’s relationship shortly after he embraced the life of being a pirate. Isabela is a Pirate Captain from Dragon Age Origins, and is a romantic interest in Dragon Age 2. Given her reputation to plunder and ‘woo' nearly any man, I found it fitting for her to be the one to have first broken Tempest’s heart. However, chances are that this Rivain Captain will not ever be a part of many storylines beyond perhaps an honorable mention—if anything at all. So, naturally, I had to write just how she eventually seduced Tempest away from the addiction of bloodlust and battle.

This is also NSFW content –And let's be honest—plain smutty. So, read at your own discretion! ❤



“These are Torrent’s paintings?” Tempest gazed around at the brightly colored canvases adorning the wall of the small salon. Torrent was one of the few artists displaying work at an art gallery called “Eden” in Orlais; however, his original work had been stolen and brought to the Obsidian Isles. His work had a full room within Isabela’s little treasure trove. Like a shrine, that it was, to one artist and his work.

“They are.” The Rivain Pirate Captain nodded and folded her arms underneath the swell of her large breasts; pushing pressing in the creases to her leather jacket. “What do you think?”

“I think Jacques Torrent has perhaps too much enthusiasm for bondage and ménage à trois.” Tempest admitted while staring at the paintings as if it were the first time his eyes took in an orgy.

Isabela snorted a laugh at him shook her head at his response. It was a little more honest of an answer than one would have first thought, coming from a man like him but lacking the added heavy criticism that a Tevinter Noblemen would have usually given.

“—He does have a good use of color, though.” Tempest remarked while still looking around. His gaze fell on a painting depicting a lush-figured woman lying nude on a bed, her wrists and ankles bound to the posters with airy-looking scarves. Not one inch of her splayed form was hidden from view and Torrent had captured every detail—so much so that Tempest almost believed that if he were to touch his finger to the woman’s sex, it would come away damp.

“I find his work very…sensual.” Isabela said when he didn’t offer any further criticism. “It’s almost as though you can smell the subject’s perfume, the musk of sex. See how her belly is flushed?”

Tempest swallowed hard and looked to where Isabela redirected his gaze to another painting in which the woman was pleasuring herself with an ivory phallus.

“He never misses a detail.” Isabela’s smooth lips curved in the most pleasing of smiles. “I can even feel her arousal.”

Tempest did not need to know that. He was already about to sweat profusely just from the collection of scantily clothed images alone. He could feel the demon within him clawing at his mind and whispering orders --dark orders that Tempest had been rather too strong to give in to for some time, when it came to Isabela. She was a woman who teased his prudence around her; mistaking it for virgin’s chastity. She truly had no idea how wrong she would be of that ----well---to some extent.

The bloodmage had yet to still have a woman other than oral fixation, bondage and various dark kinks that twisted pain into pleasure. That’s not to say he’d probably avoid having his “sword” hilted into the heavy temptations of a woman’s “sheath.” He just did not have this experience. No. The Ancient Dragon Cult refused him of that one pleasure, believing to be the one purity that could not be tainted. Now, his gut twisted in knots and turns, wondering if the very thought was merely splitting hairs by this point. He was not “green-horned” by any means. Tempest knew the pleasures of the mouth in its multiple uses but around Isabela, he still tended to possess blue balls and on the edge. –And she spared no time to tease him of this when she knew.

“I certainly like his work better than the drawings of the woman with a candle up her ass.” He joked while trying find a dark corner somewhere to stare at for a while.

Isabela laughed while her deep brown eyes seemed to sparkle. Her gaze met his wandering blue hues and she kept that Cheshire’s Grin even still. “So do I.”

Tempest abruptly looked away. One glance at her now, and his thoughts went where they shouldn’t go---again. His gaze fell upon a very graphic but somehow beautiful representation of a half-naked young woman sitting in a chair with a man kneeling between her spread thighs. He had his mouth on her, his tongue buried deep in the auburn curls. From the flush on the girl’s cheeks, the way she clutched the man’s hair, Tempest would have to surmise she liked it.

He found his thoughts wandering again with dark whispers that where Vince just would not let him be. The bloodmage would have liked to make Isabela flush like that. To taste her on his lips, lick her sweet slit—the tiny little button inside—and wrap his lips around her swollen sex to pull and suckle until she shuddered and came all over his face and then—

….Thank the Blood she was no true mind reader. Thank the Blood he was wearing a long enough coat to hide his groin! Many more thoughts like that occurring to him—and he’d be walking like a hunchback. It was just too much. All of this was too much for he or the greedy little demon gnawing at his peace to withstand!

“These paintings… They are originals, right?” Tempest questioned in a vague and desperate attempt to take his mind off from the actual images surrounding him.

“That’s right.” She said and looked back at the paintings once more. “I steal the originals, bring them here to have them copied, for a five percent profit, and then sell the copies.”

“But ..that’s illegal!” Tempest blinked and looked at her with wide eyes and shock.

“It’s only illegal if you get caught.” She rolled her eyes slightly and shrugged her shoulders then. Heavy breasts seemed to sway and expand from every upper chest movement that she made. Her body teased and tormented even when she was not even trying. That luscious dark Rivain tan and toned muscle could wet any appetite. Tempest salivated in secret denial over her. “Besides, it’s far better to steal artwork and counterfeit it than to steal human lives from their homes.”

Isabela had him there, and it was all still a rather sore spot for him. Tempest narrowed his eyes at her and his jaw stiffened. “It wasn’t like that---not for me, anyway.”

“You mean you weren’t kidnapping and enslaving Dalish elves across the frozen deserts of Nevarra?” Isabela raised an eyebrow at him to taunt and question him harshly.

“You saw how the war was. I was Exiled from home.” Tempest blurted out defensively and a spike to his anger slightly rose. “I was forced--!”

“No one forces you to do anything, Tempest. You have always been your own man.” Isabela shook her head and smiled with a sigh. “Maker’s Breath! It’s like you’re a baby bird still realizing that he is truly free from his cage.”

“Aye…” Tempest caught himself saying through gritted teeth and started to turn. “And one in need of some fresh air.”

“One moment.” She clutched his hand in hers just as he began to pass her for the exit. “There is one more display I want you to see.”

By the f***ing sweet blood! He was not going to survive this. He was beginning to suspect that she had brought him there, not just to see Torrent’s work, but to torture him with a thousand sexual images and taunt his patience with her. Yet, despite these misgivings, he followed where she led. She could be leading him into a room full of people ready to stab at him with silveritte daggers and he would still follow. A lapdog with fangs ready to feast, that’s what he was becoming. However, instead of a dagger room, she led him into an other small shrine set up much like the one that housed Torrent’s work, only these were charcoal drawings.

Beautiful, erotic charcoal drawings.

There was nothing as obvious as some of the other work he’d viewed there that evening. Nothing quite so blatant and colorful as Torrent’s work. These images were subtle shades of black and white—delicate, tantalizing grays accentuated with soft highlights and seductive shadows. Bodies entwined under gossamer fabric, revealing the hazy outline of a nipple, the soft curve of buttocks. In another, a nude breast was just barely covered by a strong, dark male hand. Faces were shadowed, eyes closed in sublime pleasure.

Tempest swallowed hard once more. These drawings were done by someone who understood seduction. This artist knew the difference between revealing too much and revealing just enough. With a close image of a woman’s face, lips parted in rapture, the artist captured the essence of climax without any overt image.

And then he saw it.

Among some individual portraits--mostly ethereal nudes--was a drawing of a lone male. He was shirtless, his trousers hanging low on his lean hips. His back was to the viewer, profile turned ever so slightly. From this angle of the male, there was no viewing of the burn brand at his hip. But the burn scars on his back were what Tempest recognized instantly. It was him.

“Do you like it?” Isabela asked, her voice a hot breath against his ear.

Did he? He wasn’t so certain. He wasn’t sure he liked being on display so open and vulnerable to a canvas, and yet…. Was that how she saw him? Was that how he looked in her presence? In this drawing, his wings did not appear ugly or something to be resented. It was very much the opposite, as they were forced to be viewed upon and accented with soft feathery strokes of charcoal blending directly into the fabric canvas. Indeed, they were not something branded and scorched on by the devil, but instead they appeared to have been light, fluffy and perhaps even gifted to him by the very Holy Maker. So, then…despite what she knew of him, was he an angel to her? Was he truly glorified to that point of innocence? Surely, it was a bit of a stretch…and yet, his heart was touched.

“You drew this.” Tempest stated softly as a-matter-of-factly and his eyes darted over the soft and wispy texture of the burns.

“Along my travels, I learned a thing or two in dabbling with a bit of coal and ink.” Isabela nodded and leaned slightly against his shoulder. “But that still doesn’t answer my question.”

“I like it.” Tempest spoke quickly and jerked his stiff neck to her and met her gaze. “I like all of it. I like it a lot.”

Somehow, this made up for everything between the both of them and it still left Tempest in wanting. Perhaps, it was because he was still plagued with erotic paintings and drawings. But at least Isabela seemed happy again. She smiled and stepped towards his left side then.

“I have some that are naughtier but I wanted to display what I find erotic—not what I think other people might judge to be.” She admitted and curved her finger to beckon him to look and follow still.

“You did a fine job.” He praised with a curious eyebrow and moved in her direction once more.

Isabela then turned and pointed to a charcoal drawing on the center of the next wall. A woman draped in a well textured lawn with the outline of her large breasts were visible. Her aureoles were a faint shadow, nipples, tight little pebbles. And lower, the shadow of her pubic mound was little more than a hint—the tease of something there but not quite defined.

“That’s me.” She told him.

Tempest’s eyes dawned on the extravagant charcoal drawing and he groaned ---actually groaned. “F***.”

Startled, Isabela stared between him and then to her own handiwork. “What? You don’t like it? I think it’s lovely.”

Turning so that they faced each other, barely an inch between them, Tempest gazed down at her. As many times as she teased and taunted – could she not tell how his blood boiled to have her skin under his? She was lucky they were alone in this little cove now; for he took one of her hands in his and guided it between his legs---to where he was hot and heavy and hard for her.

“It is lovely, Isabela.” His voice scratched from deep in his chest. “Feel how lovely I think it is.”

Brown eyes brightened. Sultry lips parted, as Isabela rubbed the aching length of him with her palm. “Oh. That’s lovely.”

Like a flame ignited from an ember, Tempest leaned into her and ravished her mouth. His arms tightened around her, not allowing her much room to move as he sucked her tongue and bit that full lower lip. His thoughts dwindled from that point onward, but he just could not register anything beyond what a sneaky little vixen she was. He knew then that this must have been her plan all along; to lure him close and bend him so desperate just to have a taste of her. And she tasted of warmth and honeyed rum. Her well experienced tongue rubbed against his to match in contrast and skill of what each other knew in how to kiss. Tempest tried to be gentle, but even so the delicate fabric of her well-tested blouse tore under his enthusiasm.

In the blink of an eye, the bloodmage tore his mouth away from her. “I’m sorry.”

Isabela looked to him with lust glittering from underneath those heavy lids. Her hand below never ceased in rubbing him while her opposite reached up to grab the back of his neck and pull him towards her. “You are forgiven… But only if… you do not stop.”

Tempest growled, sinking his mouth back down to hers and the two lowered down onto the floor. He wanted—needed—to have this seductress pinned underneath him. He didn’t care how but eventually he was going to have her in every way each portrait she teased him with revealing.