kink 

Warlord on a throne, imposing stag horns and flowing silver hair, with powerful sorceries and years of combat experience at their hands - though a stern steely gaze and a few well-placed words are almost always all they need to command obedience

Protecting their people fiercely, dismantling oppression and exploitation wherever they find it, leading loyal soldiers on the battlefield, always flanked by the same two people; their right and left hand, trusted lieutenants, watchful bodyguards, companions and confidants

Content with their relationships, but just as willing to let the worthy into their chambers. Sitting back and watching while their lieutenants play with their new toy, stepping in for hands-on instruction in how to please and serve. Whatever they will, without question.

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switchy kink, long 

That is, most of the time.

The rare occasion when they're alone in their chambers, desperate with heat, unable to keep composed. Robes cast aside, hands roughly kneading and pulling, their inexperience at taking care of their own needs quite clear. Gasps and a barely restrained moan would be enough to ruin their image, but for the sealed chamber and solitude.

"Our master, in such a state?"
"Unthinkable."

Or, what was supposed to be solitude.

"Quite unthinkable."
"Disgraceful."
"What would the people think-"
"-if they saw them like this?"
"I'm loathe to consider it."

The taunting compassion from their lieutenants was normally gratifying to watch. This time it was pointed in entirely the wrong direction.

"You were under instruction to guard the door."

Their breathing was heavy. Their voice wavered. The blanket they pulled across their body concealed little. It did little to slow the approaching bodyguards.

"We heard cries."
"Of a sort. We were concerned for your wellbeing."
"Mmm."
"It's plain that you are in need of... well."
"Assistance."

Standing from the bed, pointedly unconcerned about the display they were putting on, they summoned their pride and power.

"Return to your station. My needs are no concern of yours."

The smirks they got in response suggested the wrong approach.

"Needs?"
"Oh, but of course they have needs."
"Don't we all?"
"And it's not right that theirs should be so... neglected. All that time they spend in charge."
"Commanding."
"Yes, giving all those instructions. We need them for it of course..."

They were so close now. Touching, staring, exploring. An opportunistic hunger in their eyes, one that had perhaps been taught to them too well.

"But, perhaps..."
"Maybe..."
A breath at the shoulder, a hand at their stomach.
"Just for a little while..."
"Only tonight..."
Tracing the chest, moving steadily towards the heat at their thighs.
"They can be... a well-behaved... dutiful... attentive..."
"Slut."

Their knees hit the floor. They gasp. Assassination attempts and knives at their throat haven't left them feeling as vulnerable as they do right now. A few words would be all it took to take back control, but they can't find them. They aren't sure they want to.

"I... I command-"
"Shut up."
"Don't embarrass yourself any further."
"Just let us-"
"Let us take care of you. We can all see how much you want this."
"Need it."

They did. They really did. For their first time in a long, long time, their gaze softened. They looked up, expectantly, and they waited for instructions.

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