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It started with the damn gypsy girl. She had plagued his mind all night and had prosecuted every gypsy he crossed paths with to find her. But despite the daily measures they’ve taken to take home enough coins to put bread on the table, no amount of coins in the world would allow a gypsy to betray their own kind. It was a disgrace that the outcast could never afford.
After destroying a gypsy family’s home wagon and receiving only silence when asked for the wench’s whereabouts, Frollo realized he needed to adopt a new tactic, and fast. Each passing moment, the gypsy girl was getting further and further away, and the fire she had ignited inside him would not quench until he had her!
Finally, one of his soldiers reported that a gypsy talisman had been found near the Miller's family home. He ordered his troops to regather and start heading there. He dismounted his horse and headed to his carriage, ordering not to be disturbed so he could better analyze the talisman. Truth be told, he missed her scent and had hope the talisman would carry it, however light it may be.
Oh, why had he burned her scarf?
Frollo–a calculating man who was always hyper aware of his surroundings–had his mind so smogged he didn’t realize he was muttering to himself like a madman with a soldier nearby to hear, letting his tongue loose to curse Esmeralda and willing to burn the city to the ground to find her.
That same soldier then began to mouth Frollo’s descent into madness to a fellow soldier. Then that soldier went and passed that madness to another soldier, until eventually the word reached the Captain’s ears, and the message had been improvised of a burning city and the burning of the Miller’s family’s home down.
Phoebus had had enough.
He dismounted Achilles and ordered the soldier on standby as he stormed toward Frollo's carriage, ignoring the nervous glances amongst them.
Inside the carriage, Frollo finally allowed himself to take off his imposing mask. The talisman lay in his open palm, his thumb running along the chakra wheel. His tongue did the same around his dried lips.
It wasn't even a day ago that this item made the Judge sneer, thinking of them as silly charms at the least and unholy items at worst. He would mock gypsies he had arrested, holding the confiscated talisman before them, asking how good their talisman was now in protecting them? Before he cast them away or held them as evidence for witchcraft. Now, Frollo held the item as if it were a cross blessed by Christ himself. His eyes marveled at the design, flaring his body at the thought that it might have been held by Esmeralda.
Frollo cupped the item in his hand and pressed it against his nose, taking in a deep breath. His hands dropped, gasping as if he had been deprived of clean oxygen for far too long.
It was faint, but it was her. He could never forget her intoxicating scent: sweat, rosemary, and sage.
Once his eyes became focused, they made contact with Beata Maria, who hung on the opposite side of his carriage's wall. It was one of many paintings Frollo had commissioned. He tried to have them set up at every quarter he may frequent, so that she may look over him and guide him to the righteous path. Looking at them with reassurance that, despite the endless rigorous strain the occupation of the Minister of Justice induced in his body and soul, he will be rewarded in doing God’s work of ridding Paris of these heathen heretics. Now she looks at him with disappointment in his state of disorientation and reawakened arousal.
But how could he not go ravaged? Maria must know that the witch was in alliance with the devil, and the devil was so much stronger than a man. And, really, despite his position in power, even Maria knew that he was only a man. How could he not be provoked by the damn gypsy girl? The way she danced so provocatively on stage, running up toward him, doing a high kick, giving him a glimpse underneath her skirt, wrapping that soft, intoxicating scarf around his neck, laying a kiss upon him, fueling his temptation!
He must have her.
He’ll have her or send her back to the fiery pit so no other man could fall victim. She must be punished for her witchcraft. For the humiliation she had put him through at the Festival of Fools and now.
His head became heavy and slumped to the side, facing the carriage’s open window, looking out at the gloomy sky and the city that was awakening to Frollo’s obsessive pursuit.
Oh, where could she be? How far has she gone? Surely, she will realize that running away will only do her and her people more harm than good. Surely, she will realize that her only option was to return to him.
Frollo looked away and pressed his cupped hand over his nose, but his thriving high was disturbed when his carriage door burst open. He was so startled that he dropped the talisman to the carriage floor.
At the door stood the Captain, scowling at the man before him. It nearly made Frollo forget himself.
Frollo rose to his feet, covering his embarrassment with anger, and pointed at the door as he told the Captain off for entering his carriage without permission and demanded he exit at once and resume the search.
Phoebus stared him down as he slammed the door closed behind him, admittedly enjoying the dismay of Frollo’s order being defied and his authority's finger faltering.
“How dare you–”
“Call off your men. The search is over.”
“Excuse me?”
Phoebus himself was surprised by the order he gave. He had his former Captain whipped for being a disappointment. Well, no turning back now.
“Your obsession with Esmeralda has gone too far.” He said as he approached. Frollo was baffled, but held onto his bearings as he stared back with the utmost vexation, despite his back hitting the wall of the carriage once Phoebus was standing over him. “Cease this madness.”
“Who do you think you are to give me orders? I say when the mission is ceased, and we will not cease until we find the girl. You are to follow my order or–OH!”
Phoebus acted before thinking. His former Commanding Officer would have turned red with anger and humiliation after swearing Phoebus was the best Captain of the Guard. He was taught better than this. He wasn't like this! Then again, Frollo was like no Commander he'd ever had the displeasure of serving.
Phoebus's hand shot forward and locked onto Frollo's cheek, squeezing out the little fat on them and making them puff out around his vice grip before pulling the old tyrant close to his face as he hissed every word that came out like a dragon breath on Frollo's now distraught face.
“You are the Minister of Justice. Your role is to keep order. And you, Minister, are disrupting that order for a single woman!”
He threw Frollo back with such force that he hit the carriage wall so hard that his hat fell and the carriage tipped before wobbling back straight again, no doubt alarming the soldier outside. Phoebus did not hear any immediate commotion or heavy boots approaching, so he turned his attention back to Frollo. But his attention was quickly drawn to the huge tent that was visible on Frollo's loose robe.
“GUAR–”
“Ah-ah,” Phoebus said, bent down on one knee just in time to press a single finger on Frollo's trembling lips. He anticipated Frollo calling them by the bob of his Adam's apple when he could only stutter out the “g” sound.
Frollo crossed his eyes at the finger. His disbelief only grew, and he raised a hand to slap it away, but Phoebus was quicker and caught it and held it over his head against the carriage's wall.
“Insolent son-of-a–You dare put your hands on me?”
“Sir, stay calm,” Phoebus said, now following practice. “We are way past proper procedures. Besides, do you want your guards–”
“Oh!”
“--to see what you’ve really been up to?”
Phoebus freehand feathered over his tent. It twitched just at the lightest touch, excited to finally receive attention. With one final long trace from the base to the very tip, his finger circled the covered head. Had Phoebus not been wearing gloves, he would have felt the dampening spot.
But Phoebus's attention throughout the whole tease was focused on Frollo's expression. Phoebus could see Frollo fighting himself. His head faced towards the ceiling, gritting his teeth, searching for salvation.
Frollo's chest heaved. His breath labored. Phoebus could tell Frollo tried to speak–possibly to tell him off, to continue, or say a prayer–but it couldn't be deciphered.
Phoebus paused his movement.
Frollo blinked, then finally looked down from the ceiling of the carriage and gave one of the most dissatisfied irritations Phoebus had ever laid eyes upon.
Phoebus loved it.
He stood.
“Wh-Captain!”
Frollo was flabbergasted. First, the Captain barged in here, commanding orders, laid his hands on him, and now he won’t finish what he started?
Frollo never felt so conflicted in his life!
The witch probably bewitched the Captain to further her cause. Or, perhaps he and the witch had conspired behind his back while they were in the cathedral to trance Frollo into their spell!
“This is your problem,” Phoebus said, crossing his burly arms. “Take care of it on your own.”
Frollo opened his mouth to ask how, but closed it immediately. Even he knew how ridiculous that question would be.
Still…
“I…I’ve never exposed myself to someone before.”
“First time for everything, isn’t it?”
Frollo’s head fell to the tent on his robe, sulking. Slowly but surely, he gathered enough willpower to bundle the fabric behind his striding fingers. But just as the hem of his robe reached just a little above his knee, he hesitated.
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, Frollo.”
How insubordinate! He’s addressing him so casually. Yet Frollo swallowed and pulled his robe the rest of the way until his underwear was exposed
Phoebus stared. Frollo’s cock pulsed as if it were trying to break down the constraints of the linen undergarment.
“Okay,” Phoebus said, surprised by how dry he sounded. He swallowed before he spoke again. “Let’s see it.”
“Phoebus, please–”
“Get to it.”
Phoebus hoped it came out sounding irritated rather than desperate. Phoebus had to see the beast that caused all this chaos.
Frollo made a noise that sounded like a whine as he slipped his finger under the band of his underwear and pushed down until his cock popped out. The tip was red and swollen just like Frollo’s face.
Though it looked painful, Phoebus let out a low whistle.
“I’m actually impressed, Judge, and so would the ladies at the tavern.”
Frollo’s face went from red humiliation to fiery scorn.
“Silence, you brute. I have no interest in those salacious whores!”
“Well,” Phoebus said, smiling. “Aren’t you one for refined taste? Now, take care of your problem.”
Claude looked like he was thinking, but eventually his hand closed toward his cock. His hand flinched away at contact as if it burned him (Phoebus wouldn’t be surprised by how red it was), but, eventually, after some feathery touches and building confidence, he enclosed his hand on it and began.
And he wasn't even doing it right.
“Frollo, this is pathetic.”
Frollo stopped.
“Wh-What?”
Phoebus unfolded one arm and made an open-hand gesture to his groin.
“Do you have a cock or a pussy?”
Frollo blanched.
Frollo was using the hilt of his palm to rub up between his shaft and scrotum.
“I-I-I have… I have a–Do you not have eyes?” he said with indignation, hand gesturing at his very hard and neglected cock.
“My eyes see that you’re rubbing yourself as if you have a cunt.”
Humiliated, again, Frollo tucked his robe between his legs and enclosed them, looking down to the side, trying to hide the tears and trembling pouty lips. But Phoebus caught it.
It was adorable.
“What were you planning to do with her?” Phoebus asked, before losing track.
Frollo didn’t answer. He only tucked into himself further.
“You don’t even know how to pleasure yourself. Can you imagine what she’d say if she saw you right now? I don’t even think she’d be able to say anything to you. If she doesn’t die at the stake, she’d die in your bed from laughter. And you want a woman like Esmeralda?”
“I’ve never done it!”
Phoebus arched an eyebrow.
“Fucking? Yes, Frollo, I’m well aware of that now.”
Frollo shook his head. “I’ve never touched myself before.”
“...Get the fuck outta here.”
“It’s true!” Frollo quivered, his tears now spilling down his gaunt cheeks. “I have always been a diligent man of God. We have been taught by the church that we must never ‘waste our seed’ unless we are under the sanctuary of marriage and to procreate.” He sniffed and threw his fist against his heart. Through the tears, snot, and red face, his face took on a form of sturdiness. “I am a man of virtue. All these years, I’ve had self-control to be a vessel of God. There was no woman who was able to tempt me into such an unholy act.”
Phoebus was speechless.
Then again, was it so hard to believe? He’s turning the city upside down just to find a single woman. But how could a man–an old man–live so long without even touching himself? Even popes have fiddled with their own cocks before–at the very least.
Claude Frollo truly was a man of no pleasure.
“I hadn’t even had a perverse thought in decades! Not until her–” Frollo’s voice faltered. He looked down at himself, biting his lips to tame the quiver, his tears falling on his concealed hard cock. It reminded him of the fury that pumped his blood since the day before.
His head shot upward with the utmost detest vexation. It spooked Phoebus’s blood cold, but Frollo took no notice as all he saw was red and his voice scorched with the same color. “Not until her wickedness danced on that stage, in the hellish red dress. You saw with your own damn eyes how she came from the smoke of hellfire! Once I send that succubus back to the Devil’s batch of concubines, I’ll be sure to have all gypsies eradicated from Paris! The gypsy jester is proof that the lot of them are servants of Satan. They summoned that harlot to bewitch me and stray me from God’s path. Slut! Whore! Foul, putrid, corrupting jezebel cunt–”
“Enough,” Phoebus said with finality. He’s surprised Frollo was able to hear it over his spitting venom, coming to an utter halt.
Phoebus closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a deep breath.
Good Lord, his head hurt.
Taking a deep breath, he let the air flare out of his nostrils before he released his hold and opened his eyes again to look down at the pitiful Judge of Paris.
“For the sake of Paris and her people, I’ll teach you how to relieve yourself.”
“Shut up!” Frollo said, pulling his arms out from the tight grip that hid his shame, swiping at Phoebus like he was a fly. “You will be joining them. There will be no tolerance for the Devil’s underlings and their sympathizers. Throw your promising career out the window for all I care. I’ll get another Captain of the Guards five times better than–!”
Phoebus's heavy boot dropped on Frollo’s tented groin. He watched with satisfaction as air deflated out of his lungs in a wheeze.
He must be more in shock than in pain. It must have been a while since someone had hit him there. Frollo was full of surprises.
Phoebus pressed down. Frollo made a high-pitched, feminine gasp and frantically tried pushing his boot off, but he was no match against Phoebus’s strength.
“You don’t get it, do you? You won’t have another Captain of the Guard if you go through with this. After word reaches The King, hearing how you were ready to burn Paris to the ground just for a single woman, do you think you’ll be Minister of Justice for long? Do you really think you’re that untouchable?” His voice rose as Phoebus' irritation grew, and so did the pressure of his boot.
“Ca-Captain!” Frollo squeaked.
“Yes,” Phoebus whispered now. He bent down, and the frightful Judge shrank back against the wall as Phoebus’s face loomed closer. “I am your Captain. And as Captain of the Guards, it is my duty to manage our soldiers, enforce the law and order of Paris, protect the city and its citizens, and protect you. And that includes protecting you from yourself.”
Phoebus then pulled his boot off Frollo and stood back up straight, giving Frollo a moment to recover from the pain.
“Pull your robe back up and spread your legs,” Phoebus said after he felt enough time had passed.
Frollo released his hold on his sore groin. His fingers hooked under the hem of his robe, slowly exposing himself again to the captain.
“Good. Now, wrap your hand around your cock.”
Frollo wrapped his long, spidery finger around his cock at the base, then looked back up at Phoebus, dry tear streaks down his gaunt cheeks, waiting for the next instruction.
“Drool on your cock.”
Frollo looked downward at his cock. At least a minute of silence passed, which Phoebus figured Frollo was using the time to collect spit in his mouth, until he made a measly spat on the head.
“What?” Phoebus blurted, his stance faltering. “All this time and that's it?”
“It's disgusting!” Frollo shot back, giving a pleading look. “Making a pool in my mouth… Can't I just proceed without?”
“No,” Phoebus said, not feeling like giving further explanation on how he could hurt himself without some sort of lubricant. “Drool.”
Frollo looked back down at his cock, frowning. Sulking.
Frollo tried again to gather as much spit as he could, but when he felt his saliva making a disgusting puddle at the base of his mouth, he spat it out onto his cock. It was more than the first, but not enough.
“Frollo,” Phoebus said through his teeth.
“I don't want to!” Frollo let go of his cock and used both hands to cover his mouth. He looked at Phoebus, timid by the way his outburst sounded so strained and pitched.
Phoebus looked back, arching an eyebrow, communicating with a wordless question: “What in the world was that?”
Frollo looked away.
Oh, how much more humiliation could he take? He felt like he was going to combust any minute. He prayed God would be merciful and take him to the pearly gates right here and now, away from the heavy look from his Captain.
The Captain was certainly bewildered by Frollo’s childish outburst; he was also amused, and he was also liking this shift in their power dynamic. His erection was beginning to battle the plate that restricted it.
But the Captain needed to stay in control. He needed to steer this situation further into Frollo’s guilt and shame to have the upper hand. And to save Esmeralda and Paris. That’s the most important reason, of course.
“Fine,” Phoebus said, catching Frollo’s attention again, a little spark of hope twinkling in his eyes. Phoebus couldn’t wait to quench it. Phoebus turned his back on him. “If you’re that much against it, I’ll call for one of the guards to bring oil. I’m sure they’ll have fun guessing what that’s for.”
Phoebus took only one step towards the exit when he heard scrambling and felt the carriage quake until his blue cape was harshly pulled.
“NO!”
Phoebus momentarily allowed himself a small satisfied smile before replacing it with an unamused façade, before he looked over his shoulder and down at a frightful Frollo, on his knee, red face, sweating, and hair disarray. His hands were holding onto his cape, trembling.
“Don’t.” He whispered, shaking his head, pleading.
At that moment, the Captain knew it wasn’t only going to be Frollo who was damned.
Well, misery likes company, doesn’t it?
A knock came from the carriage door.
Frollo gasped, now pulling the Captain’s cape to his chin in fright.
Phoebus pulled his cape out of Frollo’s grasp and approached the door.
“What are you doing?” Frollo hissed.
“You’ve made a ruckus,” Phoebus answered. He paused with his hand on the door, turning to his superior. “They’ll want to check on you. Pull yourself together, fast.”
Frollo got on his feet, fixed his robe, put on his hat that fell after he was thrown against the carriage wall, and wiped the beaded tears from his eyes before he placed his imposing mask back on with ease.
Phoebus was, again, impressed. Frollo was able to put on such a stern face with hardly any effort and in a matter of seconds.
He turned his attention back to the door and pushed it open. There stood Brutish, his mustache now even, but shorter, thanks to the Captain.
“Sir!” he saluted.
“What is it?”
“Well,” he began, looking back at his fellow troop who elected him as their martyr. He turned back to the Captain, trying to appear unfazed under the Captain’s gaze, but the bob of his Adam's apple was noticeable. No wonder he was never made Captain. “We’re concerned about Minister Frollo. We saw the carriage shaking a bit and a shrieking voice. We want to be sure–”
“You were not summoned, Brutish!”
Both the Captain and Brutish turned to Frollo and were taken aback by Frollo’s sudden raised voice. The man who not long ago had a red and snot face was not replaced with the fury that Phoebus thought he had extinguished.
Frollo pointed his finger at the intruding soldier.
“Do not disturb us during our private conversation. UNDERSTAND?”
“Yes, sir!” Brutish said, saluting. “Sorry, sir!” and with that, he ran with his tail between his legs.
Phoebus closed the carriage door and turned to Frollo, amused. Frollo did not meet his gaze. Phoebus closed in on him until he was standing over his stature.
“You’re quite amazing, Judge. One wouldn’t guess you're a pathetic man who is going crazy because he doesn’t know how to get himself off.”
Frollo only glanced at him, waiting.
“As you were.”
Frollo backed and slid down the wall, resuming his disgraceful position.
Still, Frollo did not collect enough spit. Instead, he only kept spitting on his cock.
Phoebus’s crossed arms slacked as did his head, tilting upward in frustration and silent prayer.
Lord, could you have granted me more of an incompetent imbecile?
Frollo was in the midst of spitting on his cock again and nearly choked on it when Phoebus suddenly bent down, grabbed his knees, and spread Frollo’s legs wider.
“Phoebus!”
“Shut up,” Phoebus retorted. “We’ll be here until the next resurrection of Christ once you finally lubricate yourself enough.”
“Do not mention his name during such a crass moment,” Frollo tried to say in an intimidating manner, but one hand clutched timidly against his mouth.
Phoebus did not retort. He was busy doing what Frollo couldn’t. And in less than thirty seconds, he parted his lips, and a stream of drool began to coat and dribble down his cock and over Frollo’s pitiable spats.
Frollo was fixated on how close Phoebus was to his cock. How close his mouth was to his red, aching head. Frollo should be absolutely disgusted. Having spat lavishly on him, and by another man no less! But it only sped up his heart rate and pulsed his forsaken cock. After the last drop, Phoebus pushed himself off and resumed his stance.
“That is the only thing I’m going to do to help you relieve yourself. Hands around your cock.”
Frollo didn’t waste Phoebus’s time and did so, never minding the stickiness of another man’s spit. He looked back at Phoebus, waiting for his next order.
“Slide your hand up and down.”
Frollo did, but not to Phoebus’s liking.
“Ah-ah,” Phoebus said, suddenly but gently placing his boot over his hand to stop Frollo’s motion, but it made Frollo visibly wince. “Slowly. Build yourself up to a speeding rhythm.”
Phoebus took his boot off to allow Frollo to continue.
Frollo's hand moved at a slower and steadier pace. He concentrated on the burning sensation that he spent all last night battling.
He thought of her, in her red flowing dress. Every twirl heightened the skirt up her thigh, nearly able to peek at her undergarment. Her long, slender legs and the ripple of the dress hypnotized him. Her smoldering green eyes caught his. Her lips turned into a wicked smile before charging at him. Unlike last time, however, she didn’t sit on the armrest that divided them, but directly on his lap, right on the hardening erection of her doing.
She leaned in close, he could smell her again (oh how lovely she smelled), and her lips touched the tip of his nose, smelling her minty breath. The kiss peppered down his nose, cheek, and neck until finally they reached his lips. And then…
And then…
Frollo’s hand began to slow down.
“What now?” Phoebus asked.
Frollo didn’t answer right away. “I just…I don’t know where to go from here…with my imagination, I mean.”
He heard Phoebus chuckle. That was to be expected. Frollo had already been humiliated beyond what he could stand. He was beginning to become numb to it at this point.
“You really are a handful.” Frollo looked up when he saw Phoebus move. He sat himself down across from him, legs crossed, and crossed one arm while the other propped his chin. “This is going to be longer than I thought. Tell me, what were you imagining?”
Frollo thought too soon. Frollo hunched his shoulder and looked downwards as red embarrassment seeped back into his face. But Frollo told Phoebus about his limited imagination.
“...Really? That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
“Not even bare naked?”
“Fleeting ideas, but no.”
“...Have you seen a naked woman before?”
Frollo looked at Phoebus with contempt. “Of course I have! I’m not that ignorant of the female anatomy. Though certainly not by choice. I’ve had the misfortune of visiting those vulgar taverns to seek out hiding gypsies, which I’m sure you’ve visited in the last 24 hours since you’ve come back to Paris.”
Phoebus shrugged his shoulders, not denying it. And he certainly wasn’t going to be ashamed of it, either. Not by a high and mighty Judge who couldn’t properly get himself off. If anything, Frollo was proof that not releasing your pleasure was highly unhealthy. Soldiers like him, who came back from the horrors of the battlefield, were in desperate need of a soft touch from a woman, especially after meeting a beauty such as La Esmeralda.
“Close your eyes,” Phoebus said. “I’ll help you visualize.”
Despite the Captain’s insult, Frollo did as he was told.
“She’s kissing you, right? Think of her deepening that kiss.”
Frollo imagined her tongue battling his. His hand began to move again.
“She knows you’re inexperienced,” he continued, his index finger now playing with his goatee. “So she’s going to take charge. She straddles you, she presses you against your chair, she is winning against your tongue.”
Frollo moaned. His hand was going faster.
“But–” Frollo’s deep baritone voice turned to a feminine, meek, yelp and jumped at the touch of the Captain’s uncrossed, gloved hand over his cock. He looked at Phoebus with a mixture of indignation and terror. “She can tell you’re about to burst. That won’t do,” he said, shaking his head. “She wants you to share the pleasure.”
Phoebus removed his hand. Frollo went slower.
“Good,” Phoebus said in a hushed tone. “You’re going to make her feel so good. She can feel your cock under your robe. It twitches against her pussy. She begins to rub it between her folds. She can feel how hard and long it is. Her clit shudders in anticipation."
Phoebus swallowed. His mouth was going dry from not only the imaginative description he was giving, but also how it was inflicting Frollo.
Frollo’s beet-red face turned to a softer, warmer, pinkish hue. His eyes were closed, but no longer clenching. His jaw slacked as puffs of hot air escaped. His tongue bordered on his lips. Saliva threatened to spill. His chest heaved as his breathing labored. They were nothing like a woman's breast, of course, but Phoebus wanted to see them nonetheless.
“She lifts up your robe, but doesn't go for your cock just yet. She wants to make this last. Instead, her hands feather on your nipples.”
Frollo's hand stopped. He opened his eyes with a look of yearning and confusion.
“What?” he puffed.
“Lift your robe over your chest,” Phoebus commanded.
“...Shouldn't it be I doing the fondling–”
“Lift. Your. Damn. Robe!”
Frollo frowned.
This was absurd! He was no woman. Why in the world would he be the one fondled with? In fact, why was she the one taking charge? He’s the Minister of Justice of Paris. People take orders from him. He should be the one in charge. He ought to grab that gypsy’s bitch by the hair and…and…
Frollo lifted his robe higher.
He shivered, realizing just how cold the carriage was. Or perhaps he became more sensitive to the cooler air because his body was overheating. Nonetheless, goosebumps evolved all over his exposed skin. His small pink nipples began to harden and perk.
The Captain had expected worse. Frollo was thin. He could make out his ribcage. He had an inverted triangular-shaped body. He wanted to see his exposed chest so badly, but his eyes were drawn to another interest, following the inverted shape downward to his belly button.His stomach was so lean and flat, but there was still a bit of tone to it. Perhaps that shouldn’t be surprising. Phoebus suspected that Frollo was not actually as old as he appeared; he was able to duck before the pole could hit him at the Festival of Fools, and his guards had warned Phoebus he was still agile and sharp. He had to keep up some sort of regimen if he was able to live all these years with the countless enemies he’s made.
So far, Phoebus has been thrown into a loop by how surprisingly attractive Frollo’s body was. He had a reasonably large cock, developed a bit of breasts that had small pink nipples, and something was drawing how thin he was, especially at the waist. His waist was so small! Phoebus wondered if he could wrap both his hands around it.
Despite agility and sharp wit, Phoebus could easily break this man.
Phoebus was at the edge just thinking about it.
“Okay,” Phoebus finally said, after having a good look over. “Rub your nipple while you jack off.”
Frollo, of course, hesitated, but ultimately moved his hand that was holding his robe up to play with one of his tits while the other hand resumed its motion on his swollen erection. The damn robe had fallen over his chest.
“Hold the robe up with your teeth. I want to see.”
“Phoebus, please,” Frollo begged.
“You need directions on how to masturbate. I need to see.” Phoebus reasoned, though he sounded desperate on the ladder.
After releasing a small–almost inaudible–whine, Frollo held the robe up with his teeth, now fully exposed.
Frollo was playing with his nipples with the pad of his index finger, his thumb following close suit but not yet daring to join.
“Don't forget to give attention to the other.”
Frollo moved his hand to the other nipple, already beginning to harden.
“They look like pink rose buds,” Phoebus commented, watching his finger circling the nip. Frollo looked at him, expectantly. Phoebus started to think of it as an invitation until he remembered his role was supposed to direct the play of the fantasy. “She decided to suck on them.”
“Hw bulgur,” Frollo said through the teeth that held his robe.
“They're hard. Pinch them.”
He followed the command.
“She’s licking them, gently, with the tip of her tongue,” Phoebus tongue licked his upper lip. “But she doesn’t forget the man you are. Now that she has you where you are, she sinks her teeth and bites your nipple.”
Frollo let out a small gasp in the fabric, pinching his nipples slightly harder.
“I said bite, not nibble. Pinch them harder.”
Frollo did. His teeth clutched down on the fabric of his robe to withstand the pain.
“Harder.”
Frollo put on more pressure, teeth gritting.
“Harder!”
Frollo's mouth opened, but Phoebus quickly covered it with his hand, his cry coming out as a muffle. Frollo opened his eyes; his vision was hazy as he was edging toward climax, but when his vision became more focused, they could make out a twitch beneath Phoebus's blue fabric between the opening of his armor at his groin.
Phoebus let go of Frollo’s mouth, allowing him to make an audible yelp as he was suddenly pulled by his legs and hit his back painfully on the carriage floor.
“C-Captain,” Frollo said, lifting his head. “What do you think you’re–”
“Shut up,” Phoebus said, holding Frollo's naked and slender legs tightly together with one arm while the other wrestled with his garment. “Just shut up and work with what I gave you.”
Finally, his cock was free. Pre-cum was oozing, but not enough for lubricant. He worked on creating some spit of his own, then dolloping it on his cock. Once he felt it was coated enough during his desperation, he spread Frollo’s leg. He felt them tremble in his hands. It was then he noticed Frollo had stopped touching himself completely. His hands instead have retreated over his chest, fisted and pressed under his chin, as if he were feebly protecting himself, looking at Phoebus’s cock that challenges his own with terror and distress.
“What are you doing? I didn’t tell you to stop.”
“Ph-Phoebus,” Frollo said in a small voice that didn’t sound like his own. “Please, don’t. I’m not ready for this.”
Phoebus paused.
Frollo didn’t say “he didn’t want this” or “we can’t do this.” He wasn’t even struggling in Phoebus's grasp or cursing at him. He said, “he wasn’t ready.” He was scared, but there was a tinge of curiosity. To Phoebus, in that moment of induced carnal haze, it was almost like a promise.
Phoebus's fingers dug into the flesh of Frollo’s calves, drawing a timid whine from his cracked lips.
“I assure you,” Phoebus breathed, massaging Frollo’s scrotum with his lathered spit cock, “there will be other times for more adventures.”
Phoebus closed Frollo’s legs together with an echoing “clap” sound. If Frollo made any noise or commented on the brute force, it was drowned out by Phoebus’s moan as he began to fuck Frollo’s thighs.
Phoebus threw Frollo’s tightly hugged legs over his shoulder and leaned into them, eyes clenched shut as his hips bucked. He thought of Esmeralda, her lying there instead, her large brown tits bouncing with each thrust. He’d imagine she wasn’t a woman of a timid nature. She’d lie there, exposed; her arms thrown over her head, head thrown back in pleasure, her eyes closed and enjoying the pleasure, but those beautiful green eyes would occasionally open and make eye contact with Phoebus’s, smiling. He’d also imagined her being quite vocal. Her moans would be loud and bold. She called out his name, perhaps added a few dirty talks here and there, not at all timid to tell him what she did and didn’t like. And how those long, beautiful, toned legs of hers would ensnare him around his waist, pulling him in deeper into her spell.
Phoebus grunted as if he could feel her there. His hips began picking up speed. It then dawned on him that she had never said his name during their formal meeting in Notre-Dame. Phoebus knew it would have sounded so beautiful. He bet it would have sounded better than a choir singing at mass.
“Ph-Phoebus.”
Yes. Just like that, though it was more timid than he imagined.
“Phoebus!”
…And deep and baritone.
Phoebus's eyes unclenched, taking a moment to focus on the person before him.
There was no young, dark, beautiful woman before him with raven-thick hair. It was an old man, pale white with silver and thinning hair. This one also couldn't make contact. Once their eyes crossed, Frollo immediately turned away, closing his dark, encircled eyes, frowning with embarrassment. Phoebus's eyes trailed downwards and was reminded more of the contrast between his fantasy and reality. There were no huge bouncing brown tits. Rather, it was a flat board men's chest. There was some small bounce with pink nipples, and only if you were paying attention. He may have some tone to his body, but he knew this was nothing compared to the beautiful Esmeralda. He was able to get glimpses of it through her tightly snugged red dress. His stomach was more sunken. His ribcage was more pronounced.
Phoebus thought that if he were inside him, he would be sure to see his cock bulging through.
“FUCK!”
And Phoebus did.
He hugged Frollo's legs tighter. His nails dug into his hose until he heard a rip and cut even further into his skin. Frollo moaned, reverberating off the wall of the shaking carriage, but Phoebus wasn’t sure if it was from pleasure or from pain. Frollo’s hand worked faster on his cock as his other twisted around his nipple.
Just as he was at his peak, the idea of Frollo covered in his seed enticed Phoebus. His eyes shot wide like a madman. He pushed his legs off his shoulder and snapped them wide apart. This time, Frollo screamed, and Phoebus was sure it was from pain, as his hands were taken off his cock and tits from the shock.
Phoebus didn’t care. He scrambled on top of Frollo–rattling the carriage with more force and making the painting of Maria finally fall and shatter–and sat on his chest, never minding that he may be crushing the man with his weight and his armor. He didn’t allow Frollo to protest. He snatched the back of what was left of his thinning hair and leaned forward and pressed his cock against Frollo’s pathetic face. His hips bucked. His cock glazed on the right side of Frollo's contorted face.
“Stick your tongue out, slut.”
A flash of aghast crossed Frollo’s face, quickly replaced with knitted eyebrows and reeled lips at the incensed. But with another buck of Phoebus's hips, and his eager-to-burst cock slipping into his right-side view, Frollo's enraged face softened to the meat that lay thick and heavy on his face. What’s more, Frollo caught a whiff of its scent. Before he could think of his next action, he turned his head to press his nose on it and took a deep inhale of the musky scent.
Phoebus jolted.
He…wasn’t expecting that.
Then he watched Frollo's move again, eyes rolled back, releasing a sigh, and then began rubbing his cheek against the heavy meat. Not long after, Frollo opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue.
A twitch and a small amount of pre-cum leaked out.
Phoebus’s hold on the back of Frollo’s hair tightened. He pressed his cock on the base of Frollo’s tongue and began pumping like a dehydrated man pumping a well in the desert. He took no notice that Frollo, too, had resumed his own masturbation, too distracted by his eager tongue awaiting nourishment, subtly lapping underneath his cock and bits of his gloved hand.
Phoebus cursed that he hadn’t removed them earlier, but it was too late. It took no time for him to fill Frollo’s gaping mouth with his seed.
Frollo's eyes gaped, and he sputtered at the unexpected filling and taste. He thrashed in Phoebus's hold to get away and spit on the content, but Phoebus only held him firmly in place, and his thrashing only had his seed spill down his chin and sprayed half of his face.
Phoebus's other gloved hand smacked over Frollo’s face.
“Swallow.” Phoebus breathed through the height of his orgasm.
Sparing a glance down at the gloved hand and realizing there was really no other choice, Frollo did.
Frollo scratched and began to hit his wrist. Phoebus's hand covered nearly his whole face, including his mouth and nose. Only barely registering the pitiful assault, Phoebus moved and dropped his hand by his head, using it as a pillar to hold himself up as he came down from his orgasmic high.
Frollo took a mouthful of air and choked on it. Phoebus felt himself bounce. He only barely registered that he had dropped back on Frollo’s chest. He leaned on his trembling knee. Frollo was still breathing hard, but it was coming back to him easier.
They both shared the air and steadily came down from their blissful high. And as their breathing became even and their blood started flowing away from their cocks and circulate across their bodies and into their brain, rationality seeped in.
Phoebus had put his hand on his superior.
Frollo had become weak and pathetic before his subordinate.
Phoebus had used Frollo as a carnal release.
Frollo had touched himself in front of his subordinate.
Phoebus had wanted to fuck Frollo.
Frollo was destroying Paris for a woman.
Phoebus and Frollo said nothing to each other, but the utter disbelief and realization were said clearly through their flushed faces and unblinking, wide eyes. The more time passed, the more it weighed between them. Possibly more than the weight on Frollo’s chest that Phoebus suddenly remembered he was on.
Phoebus got up quickly and began making himself proper, rattling the carriage.
He paused, mid-dress. Then he remembered hearing something fall in the midst of his fucking. He looked around and found that the painting of Maria had fallen with the frame broken.
Phoebus groaned inward.
The carriage. If they made the painting fall and break, there was no doubt the soldiers outside saw the carriage rattling. And they really didn't care to keep their moans in check at the end there, did they?
He looked back at Frollo, wondering if he figured this out, too.
Frollo still lay there, unmoving, unblinking, unchanging, unreadable, cum spilled on his face and chin.
Phoebus broke eye contact, coughed, got himself dressed, straightened himself, and put his helmet back on.
“Yes, well, you certainly can’t be out looking like that. Uh…”
Phoebus felt around his person, trying to find a handkerchief he knew he wasn’t carrying, until he felt around his shoulder and remembered his blue cape.
He removed it and flapped it out in front of him and was surprised.
Christ, Frollo had practically soaked it. Then again, for an old man who hasn’t touched himself up until just moments ago, of course he burst like a geyser. Well, now Phoebus really doesn’t have anything to offer Frollo to clean himself.
But it will have to do.
“You can, um, use the top part to clean,” Phoebus said and began to approach Frollo, but was stopped by another sight.
Frollo lay there, his robe bunched up above his pink nipples, his right red and sore from how hard he pinched by Phoebus’s command, his cum sprayed around his leg, and Phoebus’s on his face and chin, lying motionless with the same unturning expression.
Phoebus covered Frollo with his cape, with the side where he didn’t spill his seed, though it probably didn’t matter.
“I’ll tell the coachman to take you home.”
With that, he turned to leave, not ready to face the soldiers' questioning faces, but definitely not willing to stay in this sex scented carriage any longer, either.
He paused with his hand on the carriage door.
He spoke again, never turning to look at Frollo.
“Um, if you have a scented candle, I'd light it. Also, keep your carriage's window open on your way back to the Palace of Justice.”
And with that, he pushed the door open.
Closing the door immediately behind him, he was met with a row of soldiers awaiting, all with a look of perplexity and superstition—or, in Brutish's case, scowl.
“Atten hut!”
All soldiers immediately stood before him in a position of attention.
So far so good.
Phoebus placed his hand behind his back and took back his reign of authority.
“Today's mission for the search of the gypsy woman, Esmeralda, has been terminated,” he continued, looking over the soldier before him, though quickly glazing over their faces and eyes to avoid reading too much of their expression. “Tomorrow, we will regroup for Frollo's next command.” The Captain thought for a moment of giving the next command. “Release the gypsies we have taken into custody today. They are of no use.”
That got an audible “what” from Brutish, inciting the other soldiers to murmur loudly and break their stance.
Phoebus turned to Brutish.
“Problem, Lieutenant?"
“Minister Frollo would never set a gypsy free once he has them in his grasp.” Brutish challenged. His scowl deepened. “You're giving orders by your own accord.”
“Would you like to consult Minister Frollo to be sure?” Phoebus asked, stepping aside from the carriage door for the invitation
Bold move, yes, but Phoebus knew Brutish was a coward the moment he met the man. He steals from the gypsies’ hard-earned coins, becomes small and pathetic when confronted by his superiors, and he had joined in terrorizing the poor Hunchback at the Festival of Fools.
Brutish looked at the door, his face already going pale. He stayed where he stood.
And he wondered why Frollo never made him Captain after the termination of their last Captain of the Guard.
“Dismissed!”
The soldiers saluted and dispersed.
Phoebus walked to the coachman's seat. His facial expression was neutral, but Phoebus knew if anyone knew what had happened inside the carriage, he would have heard it and felt it.
“Take Minister Judge Claude Frollo back to the Palace of Justice. Be sure to drop him off in the back where no one can see him.”
The coachman acknowledged him with a curt nod before giving a whip of the saddle, and the carriage pulled away.
Phoebus watched as the carriage got smaller. His trance broke when he felt a nudge from behind. He turned and saw it was his horse, Achilles, and they were the only ones left.
He smiled at the concerned horse, but it did not reach his eyes. He gave his horse a chin rub before mounting the steed.
“Come on, boy,” Phoebus said, giving him a pat and steering him. “Let's go to the tavern. You can eat some good hay in the stable while I have what might be my last round of drinks. Maybe I'll take a woman tonight. Or two… Curvy ones. With big asses and tits.”
Inside the moving carriage, Frollo still lay on the floor. The only movement he's made so far was provoked by the movement of the carriage. He was, however, not as shell-shocked as he would have Phoebus believe.
He was quite aware of the things said and happening around him. He felt the heavy blue cape put over him and heard Phoebus’s suggestions. He heard Phoebus outside giving commands to his guards and ordering them to release the gypsies in custody. He even heard Phoebus bluffing and daring Brutish to come in and check his state.
He heard and registered it all, but still lay on the floor of the carriage carrying him back to the Palace of Justice, not feeling a damn thing when he should have raised hell ten times over.
Frollo thought, for a moment, perhaps he had died, and this is why everything felt like an out-of-body experience. Perhaps this carriage was taking him to Purgatory, where he could expiate his sins before being granted access through the holy gates.
Something then rolled and hit the side of his left temple. He turned and saw it was a piece of the frame that held his commissioned painting of Beata Maria. The paper had folded inward, but her eyes still peered at him.
“...Why didn’t you protect me?” he asked.
Frollo turned away to the opposite side, only for another item to catch his eye. It was the forgotten gypsy talisman.
Frollo pulled his arm out underneath the cape and reached out. He barely reached the item with a finger, barely scraping the necklace towards him with his nail, before he was able to hook a finger around it and lift it above him, watching it dangle.
He still wanted her, yes.
He could still remember her in her red dress, dancing. The movement of her body still enticed Frollo’s thoughts of sin and pleasure. And he still remembered the scarf she wrapped around his neck, literally pulling him into temptation, faintly remembering her scent.
Yet even though his desire for her has not changed, they no longer fuel him with obsession. Frollo's arm dropped, and the talisman slid out of his grasp and slid back underneath the carriage’s seat.
He reset back to his motionless state and stared at the ceiling, thinking about what he would have to do about the Captain and the guards who no doubt could guess what had occurred.
When he knew they must be nearing the Palace of Justice, Frollo’s uncovered arm reached to take the Captain’s cape off to put himself back together.
He should have lit a scented candle. Hopefully, the small carriage window helped.
As Frollo reached to rip the cape off him, he immediately pulled his hand away in disgust when he felt something wet.
Looking at his hand, white substances were laced around his finger.
Staring at his soiled hand, he pulled his other hand out underneath the cape and touched his face. It was beginning to dry, but he was still able to scrape some still-wet cum off his face onto his fingers and examined both soiled hands.
The substance that came off the cape dripped and fell on his lips. Frollo's tongue licked it off.
Though he was put off by the taste at first–especially by the large amount he was forced to swallow–he brought both hands close to his face and whiffed at the seed before lapping his tongue to clean them off. Now left with saliva-coated hands, he used the cape to clean them before pressing it against his nose and taking another whiff.
The cape dropped with his arms, and Frollo looked back at the ceiling, the smell of the Captain’s cologne and sweat intoxicating him.
The carriage came to a stop.
Frollo decided he’ll keep the Captain around, for now.