A Different Kind Of Dungeon Master - Sex Stories

A Different Kind Of Dungeon Master

... fictional badboy.”

“I know,” I said, smirking.

I’d based Bastidio largely on the characters Rachel had most enjoyed hitting on in past campaigns, and I felt the warm little glow that came with eliciting exactly the reaction I’d been aiming for.

“Prince Bastidio unhurriedly catches up and enters the office behind you,” I said.

“Hey, so, hubby,” said Rachel. “What you do looks super fascinating. Before we get down to business, could you maybe walk me through a day in the life of a royal demon?”

I couldn’t help laughing at her innocent face. “Roll for persuasion.”

“I’ve got plus ten to charisma, baby,” Rachel said, and rolled. “Ten plus… oof, that’s a three. Thirteen total.”

“‘I safeguard damned souls,’ says Bastidio.” I arched one eyebrow and filled Bastidio’s voice with regal, no-nonsense condescension. “‘Do you think I’ve never heard someone stall, before?’”

Rachel drew her chin sheepishly down toward her chest.

“He snaps his fingers,” I said, doing so, “and instantly teleports you both to a lush bedroom, all furnished in red and black, with a huge four-post canopy bed.”

I stood up from my chair.

Rachel stood up with me, die and character sheets in hand.

So slowly, eyes locked to each other, like that game where one person pretends to be the other one’s mirror, we walked from the living room into my own less-than-lush bedroom.

“Prince Bastidio puts a hand on your shoulder,” I said, putting my hand on hers. “He’s totally calm, without a ...

... trace of anger over the whole knife thing. He says, ‘I’m afraid Iwill have you, Ms. Brighton. Would you prefer I endeavor to make it pleasant, or quick?’”

“I punch him in the junk,” said Rachel.

A snort escaped me.

“Roll to attack,” I said.

She rolled the die on my dresser. “Fourteen.”

“Fourteen doesnot hit him,” I said.

Rachel threw a downward punch, and let me catch her wrist easily in my hand, and wrench her arm up between us.

“With a flick of his wrist, Prince Bastidio directs a wave of Hell magic toward you,” I said. “Roll for dexterity.”

Rachel rolled. “Ooh, that’s a four.”

“Four’s not going to help you,” I said, not even trying to suppress my smile. “Invisible tendrils wrap around your limbs, and thenthrough them, not damaging you, but infiltrating and essentially seizing control of every muscle in your body. You feel your arms and legs, your midsection and neck, all of your individual fingers and toes, harden to the consistency of wood under your skin, until you freeze into a statue before him.”

Rachel acted out the process beautifully, starting with a wild swing for the door, then a couple of increasingly laborious steps that took her only as far as the side of the bed, where she came to a teetering stop.

I stepped around to the front of her, put the tip of one finger to her forehead, and ever so slightly pushed.

She toppled backward onto the bed, holding that same rigid position so perfectly, you could almost swear she was really ...