The day of Savaric's first day off after strenuous weeks of learning magic with his Master felt as though he may finally get a moment of normalcy. The sky was a great blue canvas free of the clouds that otherwise usually dot its complexion. The city was loud and alive as he trekked the winding cobblestone roads to the marketplace, where his go-to bathhouse sat stout among the tall buildings and stands of merchandise.
Entering the wooden building, he nods to the owner sitting lazily at the front counter, his eyes pouring over a scroll of writing, and heads into the men's changing chamber. Savaric peels his clothes off, grateful for the nip of the chilled air against his bare body, rubbing his calloused hands from years in the blacksmith shop his father owned.
Stuffing his trousers, loin cloth, shirt, and mage robes neatly into a wooden cubby carved into a wall of the small room, he opens a door and is greeted by a moist, hot embrace of steam. His body felt relieved, and immediately relaxed. The bathing chamber was small, but stone work curved graciously around a large oval tub cut into the earth, fresh water splashing into the tub from pipes coated with runes of water creation and heat.
Savaric slips eagerly to the tub, sighing as the water consumes him, and he immediately feels his skin begin to soften, his balls loosen between his legs and relax. He rests his head against the stone edge of the tub, his mind wandering over the past weeks working with his master. So much in his life, of him, has changed. He felt like a different person, like the life before his initiation was years behind him. His mind was dulled and his hands were stiff and exhausted from hours and hours of conjuring charms, and precariously inserting them into the physical shell of artifacts to sell. He was working his Master's shop, or training, leaving little room for bathing other than quick rinses between obligations. Most of his time was spent under his Master's watchful eye, and having this free time was relieving and a much needed change.
The loud scrape of the door to the bath chamber pulled his alone time to a close, but he didn't mind, he was in a rather good mood. He opens his eyes, watching through the hazy fixture of steam as two men lumber lazily to the tub, stepping into the water and maneuvering to be across from Savaric. Savaric attempted to withhold his gaze, but ever since his Initiation, his mind, and body stubbornly disregarded the boundaries that his straight male masculinity had built up, that he kept instinctively wanting to return to, but couldn't. He found himself admiring the two men's bodies as they slushed through the water to their seats.
One of the men was a slim, but sturdy man he could not recognize. His hair a shock of red locks over his brow, his body hair like live embers trailing down his pale skin. The other man was vaguely familiar. He was a rather full man with a roundish belly and beefy arms, his face was stout and furrowed giving him a naturally skeptical appearance. Though, between his legs, he had a cock Savaric couldn't help but admire. It's circumcised head was a hearty lump extending from a veiny stump of a shaft and balls tight against his taint. Savaric shook his head, he had to be mature, he was representing the Mages of the kingdom.
He nodded to them in a friendly manner, and they returned it politely, before sinking into the tub, idly chatting about their days. Thankfully,f or the reluctantly perverted Mage, their goods were hidden beneath the clouded water.
Savaric leaned his head back, closing his eyes again, taking deep breaths of the dense air around him. He found his mind exploring old memories of his magic study at the academy, of days shaping metal under his father's guidance. Thinking of his father, of his family, left a lump in his throat. If his father saw him now, in his particular profession, let alone magic in general, he would truly be smited and disowned, if not already. His father had never truly felt like a father. He was a husk of a man living his days by the bend of societal cues: having a bride because men needed brides, having a son because you couldn't die a virgin, and you had to pass on the family name, and passing on the family trade to that son, cause who will take up the business when you're dead? He knew the basic checkpoints of life but was very out of touch with the in between.
Savaric's thoughts were becoming a swirling bowl, threatening to boil. He had to leave his mother and father, because he couldn't die in that black smith shop. He wanted to learn magic. Reading the whimsical tales of magical mischief, or tales of brave sorcerers turning back the tide of war, as a child he knew what he wanted to do in his life, even though he was a peasant, a black smith. He wanted to help make the world a better place. After leaving everything behind, he had no family, no friends, until...
Suddenly a tingling sensation set into his lower abdominals. He readjusted his sitting position in the water, craning his neck, fighting off the peculiar feeling that was growing inside of him. Whatever it was,was riveting up his legs, swimming through stomach and chest. The reaction in his body violently rises to a burning intensity, boiling his blood, and Savaric's heart begins to pound profusely.
That's when the presence of a tongue trailing across his cock appears beneath the water. He jerks abruptly, gasping and stealing the attention from the two men across from him.
"Oh, it's- NOTHING!"
His lower body spasmed as the tongue pressed into his glands, digging in, testing his piss slit. The men look at Savaric's flushed and contorting face, but decidedly brush it off, returning their attention to each other and their conversation.
Savaric peered into the water. There was no one there, it was him and the two men across from him. What is happening?
Heat smoothed and ripened up and down his chest and abdominals, Savaric clenched his fists, fighting off the sensations threatening to take over, but the invisible tongue was going to town on his cock. It peeled back the foreskin with unseen lips, and it took strenuous effort for Savaric to not groan at the pleasure wracking through his body.
His cock was fattening up at an alarmingly fast rate. He willed his erection to dampen, but the tongue caressed him, coiling around his extending and beefing shaft. Suddenly it occurred to Savaric that the tongue was long. Inhumanly long.
A lizard tongue.
His cock heaved out of the surface of the bath water uncontrollably, a hefty cannon, its thick mass sticking out from between his legs, splaying onto his stomach, completely at the will of his mischievous Master's skillful servicing.
Panicking, Savaric jumps out of the water, trying to turn and cover up his throbbing member, but not before the two men get a good glance. His face red, steaming with anger and uncontrollable lust, Savaric didn't look to see the reaction of his bath-mates. He ran into the changing chamber just as one of the men began to say something:
"What the hell, was that guy-"
He didn't want to hear the rest. He dresses himself as best as he could, and nearly crumbles to one knee as the invisible tongue delves into unexplored ground, living his balls playfully, teeth pulling them down just enough to drive Savaric mad and his cock too jerk heartily in his trousers. He shrugs on a shirt, attempting to hide his spasming member by tucking it upwards into his waistband, and hiding the exposed flesh with his shirt. A bulbous hump was clearly visible, but this was all he could do. The MC, trying as best as he could to stay coordinated, left the bath house, not saying anything to the owner, and made a beeline to Aragog's Home of Sexual Artifacts, where someone was getting a talking to.