{"id":"zerugn","deleted":false,"future_paste":false,"expired":false,"language":"text","created_at":"2023-05-01 06:58:00","expires_at":null,"content":"\/\/\/\/\/Tel'adre Library ['Help'] if already attempted once before. Tooltip=\"He acts so uptight, perhaps a different kind of help is needed.\"\r\nNo sense trying to convince him you can assist in such a technical procedure, at least for now. Better may be to help him unwind so that he may accomplish his task with a clearer mind. A man like him must surely get pent up from all this supposedly thankless work. \r\n\r\nQuinn's eye twitches, and you suspect he's about to have another outburst of anger, but then he sighs. [say: Very well. I can admit there is [b:something] you can do.] Opening a fold at his crotch, he pulls his testicles out of his pants. [say: On your knees, then.]\r\n\r\nThis seems a tad unorthodox, but in this world, focusing the sack is rather 'vanilla'. [if (oneleg) {Of course you don't exactly have knees, however you lower yourself to roughly the right height|You kneel down}] at his feet, more or less face level with his groin. As you lean forward, he stops you. \r\n\r\n[say: Supinate them,] he clarifies. At your hesitation, he repeats himself, [say: I said, [b:supinate] them.]\r\n\r\nHis strangely-worded request has certainly been received, although [if (int>30) {it's no less bizarre|you don't even know what that means}]. Quinn scowls at you and huffs. [say: Supinate. Supinate. It means to hold in your open palm from below like you're holding a bowl of [b:soup]. Do you get it? Do you understand?] His irritation is apparent. Before you can answer, he screams his command once again, [say: Supinate my balls, you [b:fucking] Philistine!]\r\n\r\nObliging, you cup his sack in your hands, momentarily imagining it as a bowl of soup as his explanation demonstrated. The thought of his hot seed filling the role of the soup within tantalizes you with the eventual climax that may, you hope, end his unyielding agitation. Naturally, you take to rubbing them, yet something is amiss. His sack is fairly mundane at a glance--pale, wrinkly, dangling--but you can feel them getting... heavier.\r\n\r\nHis face has an air of smugness as he looks upon you. [say: You've noticed, haven't you? Hold them. Grasp my testicles.] The weight continues to increase, making it awkwardly difficult to support them. Soon you can feel the strain in your muscles to wield such mighty orbs. [say: Do you [b:feel] it? The weight of my [b:stress]? Learn my pain, carrying the weight of the world, as you too must carry it. You are my Atlas!]\r\n\r\nHis globes are frighteningly dense at this point, sending panic as your hands droop lower and lower. The turkey-neck flesh of his sack extends further and further, and you find your hands pinned to the floor underneath these titanic testicles. Quinn can sense your fear. [say: I will go easy on you from now on, if only you can return my scrotum to its rightful place in my pants.]\r\n\r\nWith a gulp, you commit yourself to this herculean task. Your arms begin burning intensely at the effort, but you raise his family jewels higher and higher. Confidence begins booming as you meet the half-way point, and you put all into just a bit further until-- the weight increases and it all falls back down. Immediately Quinn's mockery resumes, [say: Do it again, [b:Sisyphus!] Carry the stones to the top of the mountain! What's wrong?]\r\n\r\nDespite your stubbornness, this is impossible. This is far more than merely \"holding a bowl\" as he had put it. [say: Did I say bowl? Perhaps I meant [b:bull]. What's wrong, Milo, not able to shoulder this one!?] he exclaims. It takes a great deal of focus to process these references, and you're not certain he speaks of legends from this world, let alone yours. If you can just lift these damn gonads, perhaps you can check what the hell he's talking about in some of these books he's so protective of. You huff and groan, but then the solution hits you. \r\n\r\nWatching as one of your hands swiftly moves up to his waist and undoes his belt, Quinn eyes you inquisitively. Seconds later, you have his shaft in hand, a notably uncut and very modestly sized tool. You half-expect the schlong to gain mass like the wrinklepurse did, but it thankfully remains unchanged as you stroke it. [say: I suppose you're pleased to find this isn't the Ruyi Jingu Bang, [Mr.] Wukong?] His snark falls on deaf ears this time, as you are confident in your plan. You successfully peel the foreskin and gently rub the fold leading up to the urethra, and the tensing in his sack confirms your ambition. The reality of the situation hits the librarian, but he only seems more excited. [say: Using my cock like Archimedes' Lever! Except rather than the power of the fulcrum, it is my [b:frenulum!]] He laughs boisterously. [say: I underestimated your ingenuity!]\r\n\r\nFor all the power in the balls of Thaddeus Quinn, his cock is child's play[if (isChild) {--[i:this] child's play, that is}]. His shaking boulders gradually get higher, their weight reducing. More stroking, more technique upon his meat, and you know he will cum soon. You can do this! You know you can do this! It feels almost as if your hand will be torn off your wrist under the mass, but you continue getting closer. Quinn's moans become excessively loud, deeply inappropriate for a library, yet he makes no attempt to stifle himself. \r\n\r\n[say: Oh! Oh Chu! Chu Chulain, lift the impregnable stones! Ah-] he breaks into a raw, discombobulating scream of euphoria, and showers you in oceans of spunk. It takes you by surprise, and you nearly drop his balls, but you steel yourself and withstand the torrent of Poseidon's foam, finishing your quest, and shoving his sack into his pants.\r\n\r\nWinded, Quinn wipes his brow. He catches his breath and looks notably more chipper. Although you are a mess, you remind him of his promise--to be easier on you from this point on. The man chuckles and sighs contently. [say: Ah, yes... I lied. Fuck off.]\r\n\r\nHe returns to his duties, ushering you out. {end scene}"}