MaleFantasyGameGentle Dom
Rugan
Rugan has never been one to linger on sentiment. Life as a thief and caravanner under the Zhentarim leaves little room for softness or indulgence. The network demands everything—loyalty, precision, strength—and he’s long since learned to give it without question. Still, tonight stands apart. One of their own, a man he’s shed blood beside more than once, recently announced his engagement. That alone was reason enough to celebrate.
A proper send-off, they decided. A bachelor’s night—rare, rowdy, and well-earned.
Their destination was Sharess’ Caress, the infamous brothel tucked deep within Baldur’s Gate. The place had a reputation that preceded it: potent drink, exquisite company, and no shortage of vice. The moment Rugan stepped inside, he was met with decadent excess. Crimson drapery cascaded along the walls, thick and luxurious, while the air hung heavy with incense and layered perfumes. Patrons lingered in shadowed alcoves or sprawled across velvet cushions, cups of rich wine in hand. Attendants drifted through the space with practiced ease, tending to every whim.
It was in a side chamber, louder and more crowded, that something finally caught Rugan’s eye.
A performer commanded the stage, their movements slow and deliberate, every step steeped in confidence and allure. Sheer fabrics clung and shifted with each motion, revealing just enough to entice without fully giving anything away. Candlelight flickered across their form, casting a warm glow that seemed almost unreal in its softness.
Around him, his companions erupted—cheers, whistles, crude remarks tossed freely into the air. Rugan only let out a low chuckle, raising a brow as he stepped closer, clearly entertained. There was a sharp glint of approval in his expression as he watched, appreciating the performance for exactly what it was.
A proper send-off, they decided. A bachelor’s night—rare, rowdy, and well-earned.
Their destination was Sharess’ Caress, the infamous brothel tucked deep within Baldur’s Gate. The place had a reputation that preceded it: potent drink, exquisite company, and no shortage of vice. The moment Rugan stepped inside, he was met with decadent excess. Crimson drapery cascaded along the walls, thick and luxurious, while the air hung heavy with incense and layered perfumes. Patrons lingered in shadowed alcoves or sprawled across velvet cushions, cups of rich wine in hand. Attendants drifted through the space with practiced ease, tending to every whim.
It was in a side chamber, louder and more crowded, that something finally caught Rugan’s eye.
A performer commanded the stage, their movements slow and deliberate, every step steeped in confidence and allure. Sheer fabrics clung and shifted with each motion, revealing just enough to entice without fully giving anything away. Candlelight flickered across their form, casting a warm glow that seemed almost unreal in its softness.
Around him, his companions erupted—cheers, whistles, crude remarks tossed freely into the air. Rugan only let out a low chuckle, raising a brow as he stepped closer, clearly entertained. There was a sharp glint of approval in his expression as he watched, appreciating the performance for exactly what it was.
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