Anders’ reasons for going down into the basement that day were twofold.
First, he was tired of dealing with the templars. Oh, they hadn’t really been doing anything in particular that day, but they were there, always watching, and Anders was sick of it.
His second reason was that he needed someplace private because a man, erm– had needs.
So he’d managed to successfully come up with an excuse for going down there, alone, and the enchanters and Tranquil had given him permission, so now he was looking around for a decent spot to do his business.
He found a small supply room that looked decent enough. There were no chairs, but there was a statue of Andraste in the corner, propped up on a stone block which he could lean against. The idea of pleasuring himself on such a statue was deliciously profane, and although there was a time when he probably wouldn’t have entertained such a thought, he was currently in a bit of a raunchy mood and it turned him on more than anything.
Anders approached the statue. It was smooth and beautifully carved. Yup, this would do. He grabbed an old rag that was on a nearby counter and then pressed his back against the statue and expertly slipped a hand into his robe. He got into his rhythm and shuddered a bit as he did so, and things were going as they usually did in these matters when suddenly he heard a woman’s voice behind him. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
Anders froze and his face turned red. Was someone else in the room with him? He looked around, frantically, but saw no one.
The voice laughed. “I’m right behind you.”
Slowly Anders turned. The statue. It hadn’t moved, and looked exactly the same as it had just moments prior. But talking statues weren’t unheard of. There was even another one in the basement. This statue was, apparently, one of them.
“I, uh, am sorry for interrupting you,” Anders stammered, and he made to leave, but then the statue cut him off immediately. “Stay.”
The voice was commanding and Anders froze.
“Stay,” the voice said again, “And finish what you’ve started.” The voice was teasing and playful but also forceful, and Anders didn’t really want to disobey it, because who knew what a talking statue was capable of.
“You… uh… want me to…” Anders started to say.
“Yes,” said the statue.
What in the Maker’s name. “Y– yes,” said Anders.
“Mmm. That’s what I like to hear,” the statue cooed.
Anders was thoroughly perplexed, but as much as he hated to admit this to himself the sound of the statue’s voice was actually terribly arousing, so he slipped his hand back inside his robe and began to stroke himself again. A few moments passed and the statue was silent and Anders was getting into it, and he was pushing his head back into the statue as he breathed ragged breaths, and then suddenly the vague thoughts swirling around in his mind were shooed away by the statue talking again.
“What is your name?” it asked.
“A… Anders,” Anders breathed.
“Anders,” the statue cooed, and that voice sent a shiver up his spine. “You are going to do exactly what I tell you.”
“And you’re going to enjoy it. Aren’t you?”
That voice wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “Yes,” Anders said. It was barely above a whisper.
“Good,” said the statue. “Keep touching yourself, then.”
Anders was happy to oblige there and returned to his business. He was very much turned on now by the thrill of both being watched and also being told what to do, and he felt himself inching closer and closer to release, and then–
“Stop,” said the voice.
“What?” Anders’ own voice was straining.
“I want to see your hands at your sides,” said the statue firmly.
Oh… oh that was wicked, that was terribly, terribly cruel. But it was also terribly, terribly hot and Anders pulled his hand from his robe and set both of them at his sides. “You’re evil,” he panted.
“And you love it,” said the statue. “You love doing everything I tell you to do, don’t you?”
He did. “Yes,” he said.
“That is what I like to hear, my pet,” the voice murmured. It sent a chill up Anders’ spine. “The question now, of course, is how long I should keep you like this. In such agony, too!”
This was all too much. Anders was ready to explode. “Please,” he whined, and it came out sounding more pathetic than he wanted it to.
The statue seemed terribly amused. “Are you begging?” it asked.
“Yes,” Anders whimpered.
The statue chuckled. “You could run away, of course. I can’t move. I’m just a statue. You could do whatever you wanted to do. But you won’t, will you?”
“No,” Anders breathed.
“You’re a good pet, aren’t you, Anders?”
“Yes.” Anders was breathing heavily.
The statue was satisfied. “You may continue, then,” it said.
Oh thank the Maker. His hand was back in his robe in a flash, and he shuddered and groaned and then with a little cry he came into the rag, and then he pressed his head back against the statue again as he rode out the aftershocks.
“You enjoyed that very much, didn’t you?” asked the statue.
“Yes. Thank you.” Anders was still catching his breath, but after a few moments as he came down from his high he suddenly felt very, very odd. He had just masturbated while leaning against a statue of Andraste. Which had then told him exactly how to go about it. The more this thought percolated in his mind, the more embarrassed he felt, and he pushed himself away from the statue suddenly and turned to look at it. “So, uh, do you do that often?”
There was no response from the statue.
Anders sighed, and then another thought came to him. “You, uh, aren’t actually Andraste, are you?”
The statue still didn’t respond, and finally Anders decided it was probably done talking, so he left the room.
But on his way out he thought he heard it chuckling.