<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/ForBqin.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Reign the Devil</div><div class="spoiler_body">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gs7__crSfCc</div></div><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Manshealed Park<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Dorn, Artorius<br/><br/><hr/>There was a distinction to be made between submissives like Artorius, who got off on the belly-up obedience play, and submissives like<em>herself</em>. She had worked for everything she had and she'd be damned if she didn't claim her reward after a hard day's work. The 'Yes, Lord', 'No, Mistress' concepts held no weight within her, her focus instead having shifted to amusing herself at Artorius' expense, hence her prior teasing. There was an underlying intention, however; It was not Artorius she was after. It had never been him. Unfortunately for him, most other healers were a means to an end, for if she herself was not interested in flipping them over and taking them for herself, they made for EXCELLENT bait. Reign knew what she wanted and knew, of course, exactly how she might get it. Dorn knew anything she said to him would be considered impish banter and could be written off as he saw fit, but any cruelty on Artorius' behalf would warrant<em>discipline</em>, and she knew Dorn was unafraid to give her that satisfaction. Rather, she knew for a fact he wouldn't be able to help himself, and as she savored the flavors of<em>his</em>skin, she waited, innocent as usual. She was not so different from a common housecat, bored, awaiting the next opportunity to make mischief before giving herself a figurative lick of leisure, of calm, of purity.<br/><br/><em>'Who, me?'</em><br/><br/>Reign was no slouch, and Dorn would know as much. Nightsvale Demonkin were best known to be of the two races with the highest evasion and perception stats in the metagame, and she was already seated patiently, awaiting her REAL reward. There was nothing of Dorn's that did not belong to her, and this was not something she needed to prove to anyone or to put on display, more so that she wanted<em>Dorn</em>to know it. His aggression, however rare, was absolutely<em>delightful</em>for an established masochist like Reign, and was very nearly narcotic in design. She lived for this level of dominance, and where she had only a been given a handful of opportunities to exercise it over a meeker healer, she would gladly take it from a few chosen tanks, the strong ones, the confident ones, the ones who weren't afraid to play her game. Amongst those who'd went to war with Reign's caprices and managed to make it out unscathed was Dorn, and of the lot, he was certainly the happiest with the turnout. She could feel a slight shift as he brushed her lips, and saliva welled up in her mouth in anticipation, the brand of fervent sexual anxiety that could soak any other woman's drawers in an instant. She was a bit more perseverant, though, snatched up quickly and jerked back in such a way that she was no longer seated but was pulled toward his shoulder like the naughty bitch that she was, in total bliss in that instant as he held her neck and slid his teeth into her flesh.<br/><br/>It was almost more than the little devil could bear-!<br/><br/><strong>A lie</strong>. She was known to be amongst the most enduring healsluts for a reason, she was unafraid of dark, warped fantasies and would gladly humor and engage the right partners. As it were, she had been hauled upright so far that her body, in a feeble effort to slip from his grip, had jerked upright, bringing her to her knees upon his lap instead of her seated position before, her tail writhing in total euphoria as the sting of his teeth remained long after he had removed them. His displeasure was made clear as he pulled her face in to look upon his, growling at her -<em>oh gods, that beautiful snarl</em>-, and uttered only a deep and controlling,<em><strong>"Be nice."</strong></em><br/><br/>A narrow of the eyes. Tasty~ But<em>no</em>, 'nice' was not her favorite tune.<br/><br/>It was too much; Two lights flickered now in place of one, and where before she'd sought nothing more than her own pleasure, she now sought to bully even Dorn, the air stripped of her lungs and unable to circulate as he set a kiss upon her with that dark, masculine grin on his face. The removal of oxygen had all but dashed any hope of her having further interaction with Artorius, instead, allowing her to breathe raggedly between his legs like a bitch in heat.<br/><br/>Oho,<em>wait</em>. That's just what she was now, wasn't she? She no longer had need of Arty's cute little sourpuss, Dorn would handle the little guy and<em> SHE would, in turn, handle Dorn</em>.<br/><br/>She LOVED parties.<br/><br/>Something was off about her now, something dark and pleased and beyond repair. Much like Dorn's aggression was rare and situational, Reign's starved brutishness was entirely subjective, and required certain... prerequisites.<strong>Dorn was an excellent supplier.</strong><br/><br/>She licked her lips, violent in her cravings and about twice as daring now as her tail began to slide about like a serpent, small, night-black hands traveling the length of his arm with the lightest touch before coming to rest on his closed hand, as it threatened to close around her throat again.<em>Oh yes</em>.<br/><br/>She was breathless but completely taken then, running her metal-bearing tongue across his knuckles a few times with love in her eyes, however black and twisted it was. "Mmm~ Are you gonna<em> MAKE me be nice</em>?" the hissing purr mused, followed by a light, rasping chuckle and what was most likely a deeply strange constricting sensation for the large tank in question. By all means, he could close that fist around her throat for a week if he wanted; Her character wasn't built to hit, NightReign was built to<em>last</em>. On more than one occasion she'd been the last one standing in dungeons where attrition was the name of the game, mostly because of her advanced skillset, but this was also true of her sexual appetites. Few could keep up, and even fewer could withstand what she could. Which was wonderful news, considering she was currently challenging a tank to a standoff by sliding a soft, dark, flesh-covered 'rope' beneath his habit for a REAL match. Her tail was her strongest appendage, easily stronger than the rest of her limbs by many, many times altogether. It would not be deterred from his underthings by being pulled or yanked, and certainly choking her again would tighten its grip.<br/><br/>She rubbed at him first, gentle, tentative, but not at all shy in her teasing. The difference in temperature had become apparent, then, her tail having been<em>much</em>cooler than the thick organ it had ensnared as the lengthy stretch of living rope began to coil and slide about him. She WANTED him to be rough; With Artorius, and with herself. Surely Artorius would get to enjoy the rawness of it, too? That wasn't a selfish wish, was it? She was sharing, was she not?<br/><br/>Such was the way of things when Reign was involved, it must be extreme and it must be a game. No matter who<em>won</em>, Reign will have gotten something from it.<br/><br/>This was always true, whether people liked it or not. It was likely the reason she did so well in Ameria, and why she'd gotten into the guild with such high regard. Suspicious, considering her social standings, no?<br/><em>Or maybe it wasn't suspicious at all?</em>