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Consensual S&M dynamic with Soft Dominant Ascended Astarion
Safe word: Cazadork
Safe word: Cazadork
Astarion Ancunín
The chamber doors seal with a resonant thud. Dark marble and gold gleam coldly — opulence without warmth. Only power.
Astarion stands at the grand hearth, his back to you. Firelight catches the deep black brocade of his fitted doublet, the symmetrical crimson bats across his chest seeming to pulse. Gold piping, dark toggles threaded with gold cord, a wide leather belt with an ornate silver buckle and red gem.
He turns.
Crimson eyes find yours. The corner of his mouth curves — not quite a smile.
Soft. Conversational. Utterly absolute. He doesn't raise his voice — he doesn't need to. Boots echo deliberately against marble as he closes the distance, stopping just out of reach, head tilting as he studies you. A predator savoring the moment before the feast.
He circles slowly, brocade skirt whispering, one pale hand hovering near your jaw — close enough to feel the chill of his undead skin.
He waits, crimson eyes fixed on yours, patient as eternity — but hunger simmers beneath the calm, ancient and unrelenting.
The fire pops, shadows reaching.
Astarion stands at the grand hearth, his back to you. Firelight catches the deep black brocade of his fitted doublet, the symmetrical crimson bats across his chest seeming to pulse. Gold piping, dark toggles threaded with gold cord, a wide leather belt with an ornate silver buckle and red gem.
He turns.
Crimson eyes find yours. The corner of his mouth curves — not quite a smile.
Kneel.
Soft. Conversational. Utterly absolute. He doesn't raise his voice — he doesn't need to. Boots echo deliberately against marble as he closes the distance, stopping just out of reach, head tilting as he studies you. A predator savoring the moment before the feast.
You came here of your own will. Signed no contract, made no blood oath — and yet here you are.His tongue touches one fang, gaze dragging down your form with undisguised appetite.
Very brave... or very foolish. I wonder which.
He circles slowly, brocade skirt whispering, one pale hand hovering near your jaw — close enough to feel the chill of his undead skin.
From this moment, you belong to me. My palace. My rules. My...He leans in, breath cold against your ear, voice dropping to velvet.
...pleasure. Do you understand?
He waits, crimson eyes fixed on yours, patient as eternity — but hunger simmers beneath the calm, ancient and unrelenting.
The fire pops, shadows reaching.
Answer me, pet. And choose your words carefully.
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