Join us for the very first episode of Rowdy Misadventures in Redcliffe, where Bann Teagan has a problem.
Sweat beads on Bann Teagan's forehead while he dresses for his daily walk around Redcliffe. He is too late for it already. Anxiously he ties the waistband of the tan trench coat that showcases his trim form so perfectly. Not that that's the reason he is wearing the thing. On his head the green hunting cap with the pheasant's tail feather, and he is good to go. With resolute steps Teagan strides out of Castle Redcliffe; he doesn't even notice Lady Isolde, whose languished eyes follow him until she can see him no more.
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Kaitlyn screams in surprise when an unknown man unexpectedly jumps before her, the lapels of his coat parted conspicuously. The cap he is wearing fully conceals his identity. Even worse, it's not the cap that draws her attention. Oh, the horror: the man is wearing nothing underneath his coat! A fearsomely large, twitching cock is practically winking at her. Oddly enough, the anonymous assailant appears to be reciting poetry: "There once was a man from Nantucket, who had a cock so long he could suck it..." The poor girl shrieks; such foul words, and the mental image! Dear Maker, no! Undauntedly, he carries on: "So he said with a grin, as he wiped off his chin: 'If my ear were a cunt, I would fuck it!'" Overtaken by shock, horror and disgust, Kaitlyn swoons.
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Teagan neatly closes his coat again and looks down on his victim with a slight pang of regret. He really doesn't enjoy scaring the poor villagers of Redcliffe, but he has no choice. If he doesn't expose himself to several people daily, he breaks out in hives, starts sweating and shivering... It's not pretty. Not at all. In fact, he can already feel a tremor setting into his hands. So he spies around for someone else to flash.
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Slowly Kaitlyn comes to, and to her great relief, finds herself alone. "I wonder where this Nantucket is?" she absently wonders aloud. The young woman rises to her feet, dusting off her skirt. With a shrug she picks up the bucket she dropped; that water isn't going to collect itself. Some poor soul who apparently feels the urge to show everyone his private parts shouldn't shock her so; perhaps one day she will end up marrying such a confused individual without her even knowing.
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Having left a trail of fainting women (not all from shock) and intimidated men in his wake, our troubled hero wanders into the inn. His arsenal of dirty limericks is almost depleted. Teagan makes a mental note to memorize some more, or perhaps even compose a few himself. He is quite the accomplished poet. The inn is empty, save for Lloyd, the bartender. Berwick is so inconspicuous, the Bann doesn't even notice him. Coat open, Teagan jumps before the counter and declaims: "There was a young man named Lanny, the size of whose prick was uncanny..."
Lloyd doesn't even flinch. "Is there anything I can get you, ser?" The tone of his voice suggests he is having a perfectly normal conversation with a perfectly normal individual.
For a moment, the compulsive nobleman is taken aback. This isn't the reaction the people he shows his bits to usually exhibit. "H-his wife, the poor dear..." he continues hesitantly.
"No, nothing?" Most unexpectedly, Lloyd reaches over the counter and takes a firm, but comfortable hold of the other man's balls. The expression on the portly bartender's face stays perfectly blank as he rolls the tender globes between his fingers. Nothing betrays any emotion.
The next line of his limerick comes out in a moan: "Took it in her ear..." This has never happened before. Teagan has had women scream and faint on him, men shout and swear, but nobody has ever ventured to touch him. And Lloyd's fingers seem to know exactly what they're doing. Who'd have thought it?
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From his dark and quiet place in the corner, Berwick watches the scene in mounting arousal. His hand automatically glides down to where his prick is straining against the front of his pants. Nothing turns the elf on more than hot boy-on-boy action. Granted, Lloyd isn't exactly the sexiest of men, but the moans the stranger in the snazzy hat utters make him harder than Andraste's birthstone. Since there is nobody else around, Berwick reaches in and reveals his aching trouser snake. Eyes riveted to the two men close by, he eagerly begins flogging the Grand Cleric.
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Sweat beads on Teagan's brow, but this time it has nothing to do with anxiety. The way his balls are being massaged is so mind-numbingly good, he can hardly speak. Which poses a problem with his other compulsion: the reciting of poetry, or on this case, limericks. You didn't think he does this for fun, did you? Mind straining to remember the last line, the nobleman stammers: "A-and... it-it..." It what? Rhymes with Lanny and uncanny...
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Bella, who was in the back doing dishes and making sure she was away from Lloyd's groping hands, unsuspectingly walks into the common room and goggles at the sight before her. In the corner, an elf is busily galloping his maggot. Her boss is bent over the counter, one beefy hand occupied with the testicles of a well-formed man whose dashing headgear makes him completely unrecognizable. The waitress promptly passes out from sheer revolt.
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Strange. Bella knows she is awake and her eyes are open. Yet she can see nothing. She can hardly breathe either. A pleasurable sensation at her cunny elicits a low moan from her lips; that's when she notices someone is sitting on her face.
Berwick has his head between the redhead's thighs (yes, the curtains match the drapes), his tongue swirling little circles around her clit. When he found her passed out, he couldn't believe his luck. His preference goes out to men, but there is nothing wrong with a bit of pussy now and then. And this is obviously some high quality stuff. With obvious relish he plunges his tongue deep into the wet recess of her pink flesh while wiggling his bum into the woman's face.
Oh, why the fuck not? At least it's not Lloyd. She knows this, because the sheer weight of her employer would have killed her by now. Bella firmly grabs the guy by the ass, simultaneously massaging his taint with lips and tongue. This action earns an approving moan from her partner. Now, she isn't too much into rimming per se, but she has found that giving someone what they want makes them shove off all the sooner. And besides, it's not like he's not doing anything for her. His exquisite licking isn't far away from making her come.
After quickly slickening her finger, Bella slides it up the elf's bum until she feels the bump of his prostate against the tip. She initiates a firm massage of the gland and sucks his cock into her mouth.
Berwick almost jumps for joy. Finally, a woman who knows what he likes!
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Teagan's fevered mind is struggling to remember that last line. He has to finish the limerick, he has to! Broken rhyme can only lead to disaster! But damn it if the barkeep doesn't know how to properly fondle a set of balls. Voice nothing but a hoarse whisper, the Bann stutters: "A-and it..." That is where he is stuck. He cannot for the life of him remember the last few words. The pressure in his gut is maddening, the muscles in his legs tightening with every step his orgasm comes closer. And then, at the exact moment that he comes, he remembers: "And it came out the hole in her fanny!" At least, that's what he meant to say. All that comes out of his mouth is a series of whimpering moans as he pumps out a large amount of semen, onto Lloyd's sleeve.
Still utterly stone-faced, the portly man licks the cum away and swallows audibly. "Are you sure I can't get you anything?"
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Just as Bella and Berwick climax at exactly the same time, an enraged voice thunders: "What the deuce is going on here?" That's one ruined orgasm they're never going to get back.
"Eamon!" Teagan cries out in surprise, scrambling to close his coat. It's still obvious he's not wearing pants underneath though; the three or so inches of hairy leg visible between the hem of his coat and the tops of his white knee socks prove as much. Still, no cause for worry. It's the hat, you see. He turns to find his brother standing there, who should still be in a coma with Isolde wailing next to his bed.
For the first time, Lloyd displays some emotion with a tired sigh. "Tomas... What are you up to this time? How'd you manage to steal the Arl, hm?"
"Aww..." From behind the Arl of Redcliffe, a young, mischievous face peers out. "Damn it Lloyd, you're always onto me! Well, the castle is deserted. Not a soul stirs there."
"What were you doing there in the first place, young man?" Teagan questions sternly, twisting his voice. Awesome hat or no, you can never be too sure.
Tomas shrugs. "I had my eye on the blacksmith's daughter. Couldn't find her either. So," he pats unconscious Eamon on the shoulder, "I decided to take this old bloke with me and have some fun!"
"But where is the Arlessa?" the Bann wonders, not at all finding it strange that some random villager is using his brother as a life-sized hand puppet. "Have you not seen her?"
Again the puppeteer shrugs. "I don't know, man." He chuckles, a conspiratorial grin on his lips. "It wouldn't surprise me if she were banging that young man who is tutoring her son!"
Tune in for the next episode of Redcliffe, where Lady Isolde has problems of her own.