Business and Pleasure, Chapter 9.

There's a lot of important things you need to know when dealing with dragons. Most of them are extremely old, of course, which in turn usually means they're far more intelligent than the petty mortals they deign to associate with. It also means they're arrogant, but that's tempered by the knowledge that they actually are better than us. So long as you don't annoy them, they just come across as haughty and a bit condescending. Their hoarding instinct stemmed from the need to attract and impress a mate, but has evolved into a complex social hierarchy. You can tell a lot about a dragon from the size and state of its hoard.

The one I spent the best part of a week sitting on, for example, was mostly gold and precious stones, with the occasional enchanted weapon or fragment of glamoured armour jutting out from the heap at odd angles. Which made it a cold and uncomfortable place to sit, for one thing, but also marked the dragon who owned it out as a staunch traditionalist. Perhaps too traditional - the mark of a very old, stubborn wyrm, or a young one desperately trying to emulate the old stories.

Here's a few other things about dragons. They're usually very cunning negotiators, and after the great hunts carried out by the ancient elves, the survivors had a good, thick vein of racial paranoia bred into them. Combine the two and you get a race that doesn't take chances when dealing with other species, but it sure as hell takes collateral. Which led to my recent situation.

Not all dragons are shapeshifters, which means they occasionally need agents to carry out any business they have in polite society. When my little band of mercenaries and adventurers heard that a dragon was looking for some patsies to acquire a few magical trinkets for its hoard, we jumped at the opportunity. That one of them was a dragonborn, one of the seven-foot tall bipedal descendants of a Wyrm that spread its seed a little too far and too eagerly back in the day, certainly helped make up our minds. Moundra's byzantine religious beliefs would have pushed him into accepting the contract anyway, and the big lug was too useful for us to just let him wander off and die on his own.

When we finally hiked up to Brynwyldn's lair and started negotiating, as soon as the dragon mentioned keeping one of our number back as insurance should we turn on him or welch on the deal, we all expected Moundra to be the one chosen. In retrospect I probably shouldn't have been surprised when he pointed at me and uttered, in a deep, rolling voice that set the cavern vibrating, "the red one." After what Kristoff, my friend and the other longest-standing member of the group, politely referred to as 'the thing with the Werewolf', these sorts of events had become a little predictable.

He was an impressive creature, Brynwylden. The dragon was ten meters long from snout to tail, his glossy black scales contrasting with the pale grey tone of his wings and underbelly. His eyes were larger and more expressive than I had expected, and long, knotted horns spiraled back from his elongated head. His sleek, powerful body sat curled atop the largest pile of gold in his lair, his long neck bobbing back and forth as he spoke with us. There was something hypnotic about it. I couldn't help but stare, like a rabbit enchanted by the the movements of a Cobra, as he calmly set out his demand.

Which is where I learned another thing about dragons. They're quite happy to add people to their hoards. Some specialise in it, but you'll have to work hard to find a dragon that doesn't take some satisfaction from having the wealthy or powerful in their service, or simply attractive ones on display, even if only for a few days. And you can probably guess which category Brynwylden had filed me into.

The others filed out, leaving me alone with the wyrm. The first few chambers of the cave system looked like any other mountain cavern, but the deeper walls had seen the attentions of several skilled stonemasons. Brynwylden's main chamber had been expanded and decorated with the angular carvings and hexagonal pillars common to dwarvern holds, and an underground hot spring had been diverted to heat the chamber and provide an artificial pool in one corner. Rich red and purple drapes hung from each column, while soft, velvet cushions lay scattered around the floor.  For the convenience of his guests, I supposed. Either that, or the wyrm was angling for a Caliphean harem chamber look. The massive heap of treasure certainly made for an impressive throne, if nothing else.

"Okay," I sighed, dropping my pack next to one of the cushions. "So, what happens now?"

The dragon watched me for several long moments. His eyes were yellow, slitted, and only rarely seemed to blink. My tail twitched nervously. I felt a shiver run up my spine. Not fear; at least, not quite. But apprehension. Brynwylden could have bitten me in half then and there, but while he had no good reason to do so - I was a hostage, after all, not lunch - the dragon's sheer physical presence put me on edge. Something about the shape of his jaw made it look like he was smiling. One of his foreclaws ran through the pile of gold, scooping up a number of coins and letting them fall, one by one, back atop the heap.

The sharp clink, clink, clink filled the silence, echoing softly around me.

"Undress, please."

Brynwylden's voice was perfectly measured, perfectly polite, as if he had casually asked me to pass him the salt over dinner.

Again, in hindsight, I probably should have expected something like this to happen. In reality, I froze.

"Excuse me?"

Believe me, I wasn't shy. I've always been comfortable with my body, and living in a brothel while working as a whore to supplement my share of the adventuring spoils had done a lot to erode any sense of shame over the idea. But, while I'd turned tricks for more than a few strange or unusual clients, the idea of stripping in front of something as large, as powerful, and as blatantly inhuman as a dragon knocked me for six.

Brynwylden shifted his position, coins and rubies slithering down the heap of treasure as he craned his serpentine neck closer to me.

"As I said. Undress, please. I would like to examine my latest treasure."

The dragon's voice rumbled around me like thunder. He snorted out a small cloud of sparks and settled back, his forelimbs neatly tucked under his body.

Well, I thought, what was I supposed to do? Do I just take everything off? Should I dance? Shaking my head in disbelief, I unlaced my light curiass and dropped it next to my backpack. Brynwylden's eyes followed my every movement. My skin prickled as I unbuckled my trousers. It didn't feel like I was being ogled. More...valued. Appraised. As if the dragon was trying to judge my worth. A ruby the size of a baby's fist rolled past. Gold rattled and clinked underfoot.

And then it happened. Warmth prickled over my skin, and another thought slithered insidiously into my head.

I think I'm worth an awful lot.

I think I've parted many men, and a few women, from quite a bit of money in my time. Enough for a girl with no formal education and no craft or trade apprenticeship to live far more comfortably than she really should be able to, all in return for something as fleeting as an hour or two of sex. Of course I was only there as a hostage to make sure Kristoff and the others did their job, but there were many stories of dragons who could be quite generous to their servants if the mood took them. And never let it be said that I'm one to pass up an opportunity.

With a flick of my long, muscular tail, I turned and unbuckled my belt, bending sharply at the waist and slowly rolling the leather trousers down the length of my slender legs, lifting my tail and offering the dragon a perfect view of my behind as I kicked them aside. Brynwylden snorted - either in approval or amusement, I couldn't tell - sending a warm gust of air over my crimson skin, teasing me through the thin material of my undergarments and kissing the exposed, sensitive spot at the base of my tail.

Of course, Ireela, I thought, you don't actually have the faintest idea what to do if he does want to fuck you. He's probably going to be hung in a way that would put a draft horse to shame, and he isn't a shapeshifter.

I shook my head, tossing my black, curly hair over the long horns that swept back from my brow and shoving the doubting voice down. Too late for that now. Brynwylden might accept a reluctant treasure, but given the arrogance and possessiveness of your average dragon, he probably had very little patience for mercurial ones.

Spinning and seizing the hem of my top, I lifted it off in a single smooth motion, letting out a theatrical sigh of relief as if I was glad to be free of my awful, awful clothes. In some respects it was - I'm a mutt, descended from a whole mess of demon lineages, but there was more than a little hint of Seducer in me. It made sauntering towards a dragon wearing nothing but my undergarments, my best sultry grin, and a pair of fuck-me eyes not just possible (as opposed to 'run away screaming', which might have been the more logical option) but exciting enough that, by the time I reached the foot of Brynwylden's hoard, I could feel my heart racing and the first hints of wetness gathering on my lips.

"Will this be sufficient, great one?" I purred. Of course it wouldn't be, I knew that. But it was all part of the act.

Brynwylden let out a deep, rumbling cough - a laugh, I realised. He stretched his wings out and shook them, gazing down at me with his red eyes.

"I rather think not, fiend-blood. Come now, after that little show, I doubt you have much to hide."

I matched his laugh with my own, turning my back to hum once more.

"Well, would you care to do the honours?

Another snort of amusement. Good. First rule of professional whoring - keep the client happy. That means more than just letting them fuck you. Give them a show, make sure they're entertained, make sure the like you. They'll be more likely to remember you and come back in the future. It was good for other reasons as well - I'd put together quite a nice little network of contacts by giving the better connected of my clients more reasons to remember me than just horns, tail, and red skin.

There was another rattle of shifting gold and the soft, dry sound of scales moving over scales. I felt heat against my back as the dragon leaned in, then jumped as one of Brynwylden's long, sharp claws brushed over my shoulder blades. It slowly traced its way down my spine, cool and hard amidst the volcanic heat of his breath, and hooked under the strap of my bra. My heart fluttered in my chest. Images of his great claws slipping and eviscerating me danced before my eyes as. The garment tightened around my small breasts as Brynwylden drew the chord back, rubbing against my hard nipples until, with a final snap of release, it broke.

I let out a heaving sigh of relief - this one quite genuine - as the bra slipped off me, landing in a little heap on my foot. I kicked it away to join the rest of my clothes, but froze as Brynwylden's claw brushed against my skin once more.

Ah, yes. Of course. There was still one left to go.

Except this time it was the point of the dragon's claw that grazed my skin. It took every ounce of self-control I had to stay still, to force myself to relax, as the razor-sharp tip worked its way down to the small of my back. My skin tingled. Brynwylden's touch was so delicate that it wasn't even grazed, but the memory of that small, sharp point tracing the length of my spine left my body singing. And then it moved again, a quiet tearing sound filling the cavern as his claw slipped between my buttocks, slicing away my undergarments as if they weren't there.

I couldn't help but clench as he tickled over the tight little ring of my ass before withdrawing, carrying the torn remains of my last piece of clothing on the end of his claw. Brynwylden sniffed it and let out another deep laughing sound, before dismissively tossing them aside.

It took a moment to compose myself before I could turn around again. The feeling of the dragon's claws had been like a shot of electricity through me, leaving my nerves jangling and sensitive. When I finally did, I spread my arms, letting Brynwylden take in my long, naked body. Tall for a girl, tall enough to look most men in the eyes. Everything small, tight and well-formed, with athletic muscles flexing beneath smooth, hairless red skin, blemished by a few nicks and scars picked up in my adventures. My tail lashed back and forth as I swept hair out of my eyes with a clawed hand, grinning and showing off the small fangs of my front teeth. Exotic enough to draw the eye, human enough to hold it there.

At least, that was how it was for other bipeds. What Brynwylden thought, I had no idea. His muzzle was locked in that perpetual sly smirk, and his only reaction was a slow, lazy blink of his slitted eyes.

"One finishing touch, I think." The dragon rumbled. One of his scaly forelimbs raked through the heap of gold, sending a waterfall of coins tumbling over my bare toes. "A relic from the old Caliphean. I'm sure it'll suit you perfectly."

I raised an eyebrow. Several centuries ago, Tieflings had been seen as semi-divine in the Caliphean. We made up the majority of the priest caste, and I felt a shiver of excitement at the prospect.

Finally, Brynwylden withdrew a metal collar on the end of a long, dangling chain and tossed it to me. I snatched it out the air with a soft sigh of disappointment. It was beautiful to be sure - solid gold and inlaid with twisting branches of silver, with several meters of flowing chain. I ran my fingers over one of the topmost links and hissed in surprise as a sharp tingle shot up my arm.

"Magic?" I asked. The dragon nodded.

"Very good. An allegedly unbreakable slave collar. Used for the most favoured member of a harem." The dragon nodded, his head bobbing up and down. Smoke and sparks puffed from his nose. "You know a little of your history, I hope? It would please me greatly to have an agent of the gods - or whatever your ancestors were - in chains."

Well, I thought, it's not like I shouldn't have expected something like this. At times it seemed like the universe conspired to keep me wearing gold jewellery and little else. I raised the collar to my neck, then hesitated.

"If only for a few days?" I asked, finishing Brynwylden's thought. The dragon didn't reply, and even though his face didn't move, at that moment I would have sworn to each and every one of the gods that he was grinning like a snake.

With a heavy sigh, I closed the collar around my neck. Probably a stupid idea, but what can I say? There's something about an ten meter long, flying, fire-breathing reptile that can command obedience from a young, unarmed, naked woman.

Brynwylden beckoned me over to him, taking one end of the chain and wrapping it around his forelimb. Then he curled up, wrapping his long neck and his tail around himself, and went to sleep.

I stared at the dragon for a few moments and fought the urge to kick him in the nose. Then, with few other realistic options, let out a huff of annoyance and flopped down onto the gold beside him.

---

And that was how I learned another thing about dragons.

For all their wealth, their smarts, their physical power and magical knowledge, they're a lot like big, scaly cats. They spend most of their time asleep, and when they aren't, they're either eating, looking for things to eat, or preening themselves.

Now this isn't in of itself a bad thing. I've always rather liked cats, and it sure beats the old wives' tales that painted dragons as rampaging, single-minded monsters. But it did leave me with very little to do. Brynwylden didn't own any books small enough for me to read, and while he graciously allowed me to recover some charcoal and parchment from my backpack, drawing could only hold my attention for so long. I did try to strike up conversation now and then, but it very quickly became obvious that the dragon really did intend to me to be a treasure in the most literal sense. Sitting around being admired isn't normally something I object to, but I'm used to the experience being punctuated with rather more vigorous, not to mention compensated, bouts of admiration.

I think it was that boredom which got me thinking about how I'd tackle a client like Brynwylden again. Though the initial, erratic flare of passion which had been responsible for my impromptu striptease had faded, the curiosity it left behind hadn't. With precious little else to distract me, I naturally found myself mulling over the the idea. Some of the other girls at the brothel specialised in doing shows with animals (not my thing, but hey, I'm not judging), but Brynwylden was far larger than the big old retired warhorse we had stabled behind the building. So I supposed I actually fucking the dragon would be out of the picture. I'd have to handle him with my mouth, but even then, he would probably be too girthy to properly suck on. So...arms and legs? Wrap my tail around him, hug his length against me and grind against him until he came? It was all purely theoretical, of course, but it seemed like a workable solution, albeit one that would probably leave me wholly unsatisfied and desperately needing to wash a large amount of dragon come out of my hair.

It was too long, dull days before I found myself having to put all this theory crafting into practice. Brynwylden had left to do whatever it was when he wasn't hanging around his lair, leaving me to amuse myself until he returns. In truth I wasn't in the best of moods. The supplies in my pack were starting to run dry, raising the ominous prospect of having to eat the scraps of raw game left over from the dragon's hunting flights, and the only amusement to be found was in an old lyre and my less-than-stellar musical talent.

The thunderous roar of displaced air being forced through the caves told of Brynwylden's return. I hastily tucked the lyre out of sight - the dragon could be extremely precious about people handling parts of his hoard - and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. It was obvious from the moment he emerged into the main chamber that something was wrong. Brynwylden crashed straight past me, coins clattering in his wake. His wings were pressed firmly against his back and his long neck, normally held proud and upright, instead stretched forth from his body like an arrow. I lept to my feet, instinctively trying to straighten clothes that weren't there. If the dragon was as pissed as he looked, then now was not the time for petulance.

With a noise like thunder, Brynwylden threw himself down in a great, scaly heap amidst his treasure. He rolled onto his side and curling his limbs and tail protectively around his belly as I staggered closer, arms and tail held out to keep my balance. Coins slithered beneath my feet as the aftershocks of the dragon's arrival echoed through the room, every step threatening to betray me as I drew closer to the massive reptile.

"Bry- my Lo- Master?" I cycled through names and titles, discarding the more flippant, irreverent, or human ones in favour of something I hoped would be pleasing. No matter how many times I reminded myself that logically I had nothing to fear, that I was just collateral and Brynwylden gained nothing by taking his frustrations out on me, the urge to keep him happy and placated until I was well gone remained. "Is something amiss?"

The dragon's head snapped around, his nostrils flaring. His wings shook in irritation as he glared down at me.

"That it is, treasure." He rumbled.

I tried to smile. "Forgive my presumption then, but, may I ask what?" I spread my arms and bowed. "Perhaps I can help? Or offer some way to soothe your ill-mood?"

Brynwylden's long, forked tongue flickered out from between his fangs. He stared at me again, and for the first time since the dragon had ordered me to strip, I had the distinct feeling that only now did he choose to actually consider what he was looking upon. The thought was exciting and terrifying in equal measure.

The dragon let out a long, rumbling chuckle. His eyes narrowed, and once again I couldn't help but think how much it looked like his was smirking. "Yes, perhaps. Perhaps you can."

Slowly, like a clam opening its shell to reveal its delicate innards, Brynwylden uncurled. His long, powerful limbs stretched out, foot-long talons clawing at the air as his tail swished back to drape itself over his treasure. There, emerging from a slit in his pale underbelly and resting against one of his hind legs, was the largest male organ I had seen in my life. It must have been at least two hand a half feet in length and well over a handspan at its thickest point. Looking back, it was remarkably similar to the equipment most dragonborn males packed, with a fleshy frill around the tip which protruded backwards over his shaft, like the head of an arrow, and a row of soft, knobbled protuberances emerging from the underside.

My heart leapt. My stomach sank. My mind rolled its eyes and muttered about how it knew this would happen.

"I was engaged to meet with a female." Brynwylden rumbled. "Only to find she had been drawn away by a rival. I suppose you will have to replace her."

It took a few seconds before I could tear my eyes away from the glistening thing that lay before me and return them to the dragon's face.

"You know that's - that's not going, uh, in me, right?" I stammered out. Brynwylden simply beckoned me forwards, into the spread embrace of his claws. At that moment I would have sworn before the gods themselves that the big scaly bastard was actually grinning.

"I'm sure you'll do your best." He replied. My legs felt like jelly as I stepped forwards. All the scenarios that I had run through in my head were very little comfort now. It was almost a relief when I slid down to my knees next to his mammoth organ. I stared at it in mute amazement.

"Cushion." I said. Brynwylden's head snaked around, letting out an impatient snort. I pointed towards my knees. Days of sitting my bare ass on a pile of hard, uneven coins had been uncomfortable enough without having to kneel on the damn things as well.

"If I'm gonna do this, I'm going to have to be comfortable. So pass me a cushion."

The dragon snorted again, this time in what I thought was amusement. He craned over and snatched up the edge of a cushion between his jaws and tossed it to me, and I gratefully slipped it underneath my knees, shuffling closer to his mammoth prick. Heat radiated out from the thing, warming my belly and the underside of my breasts. A strong scent filled the air. I was used to that, the heavy, musky scent of the male body, but this was different. Strange and intoxicating, like burned charcoal, incense and cinnamon. It drew me onwards like a fish on a hook, heart racing with excitement as I gently laid my hands upon Brynwylden's massive organ for the first time.

It was hotter than any other than I had felt before, thick and throbbing in time with the dragon's great heartbeat. His soft, velvety flesh dimpled as I explored his cock with my fingers, trailing them through the faint slickness that clung to it. Brynwylden rumbled in pleasure, one of his hind legs kicking the air as I wrapped one hand around his head and lifted it to my mouth, placing a gentle kiss on the body of his shaft.

Well, I might not have been your first choice for the night, I thought with a sudden flush of smug pride, but there's things I can do that your waylaid love can't. I licked, I lapped and I kissed, tracing tiny circles upon the pillar of hot flesh with the tip of my tongue as my hand slipped beneath his frill to tease the sensitive nerve I suspected hid there. The heavy booming heartbeat that echoed through his prick began to speed, and I let out a small, soft laugh. Brynwylden was immense, so much stronger than I was. And yet he lay there, his legs twitching and wings ruffling, seemingly helpless as I toyed with him, his prick cradled against my chest as I sucked.

The feeling was every bit as maddening as his scent. Heat flowed from him and into me, kindling the fire of my own arousal. My thighs clenched, aching for something between them, no matter how impossible our sizes made it. I moaned, slipping my tail between my legs and grinding down on it, leaving a slick trail as my hips slid back and forth along the muscular limb. Just as Brynwylden in turn twisted and contorted his long neck, the pale expanse of his belly shuddering in pleasure as his body flexed under my delicate touch. Thick, rolling gobs of precome dripped from the pointed tip - itself several inches across - of his cockhead, pooling obscenely amidst the gold he lay upon.

I glanced down at the sticky mess, a devilish thought creeping through my head. Releasing Brynwylden's prick, I reached out and snatched up one of the soiled coins. Just as the dragon huffed out an irritated shower of sparks and looked down to see why I had stopped, I raised it to my lips. The strange, animal-spice scent seemed to work its way into my mind, seeping down through my whole body as my eyes, full of warm-blooded passion and infernal lust, met his slitted, possessive gaze.

My head tipped back, and the coin slipped into my mouth. He tasted of bitter and salt, like any male of any species who ate too much meat, but the essence of him left a lingering burn on my tongue. I grinned, the coin clamped between my fangs, and spat it towards the reclining dragon.

"Still disappointed your date didn't turn up?" I said, my voice light, just on the right side of mockery. Beads of sweat rolled down my body. My breath came in short pants, and the desperate, hollow ache from my sex was almost unbearable. I shuddered in pleasure and ground down on my tail again, dragging it along my tender lips and sorely wishing it was dexterous enough to loop around and slip between them.

"You certainly put on more of a show than she would have done." Brynwylden conceded. His horned head bobbed, and he blew a contented ribbon of smoke out from between his fangs as I grabbed the cushion and shuffled round to better tend to the swollen, frilled head of his prick. It jerked as I laid my hands back upon it, another thick bead of precome bubbling up from the tip. I scooped it up with a pair of fingers and once again let my head fall back, allowing the clear, sticky fluid to splatter across my breasts as I greedily sucked it down. The taste was not, in honesty, particularly pleasant, but the sheer thrill of the situation was enough to drown out such a trifling detail.

I only wished Brynwylden was a little more concerned for my satisfaction. A good number of my clients, by dint of simple shared biology, ended up getting me off whether they intended to or not. Even if they didn't, I'd usually have a hand free to sort the matter out myself. But I needed both to comfortably handle Brynwylden's huge organ, and the dragon himself seemed ill-inclined to put his tongue to good use. Even as I dipped my head back towards Brynwylden's cock, massaging the sides of his head and lapping at the precome with bubbled forth, my own body burned with need. No matter how much I squirmed down against my tail, it was a poor substitute for the lips or fingers of an eager partner, or for the surge of pleasure that came with the first penetrating thrust.

At least Brynwylden was enjoying himself. Every time I pulled away to catch my breath, a sharp tug on my chains dragged me jealously back into place. The head of his cock glistened with saliva and sticky precome. The dragon had begun to thrust, the motions clumsy and awkward given his reclining position, and the fleshy frill that radiated back was swelling and expanding. He's going to come, I realized. The thought left me giddy with excitement. No matter the gnawing burn of my own arousal, no matter how my breasts cried out to be touched and my skin tingled with the need to feel another body pressed against it, his pleasure was my pleasure. The idea that I had brought him, this ancient, monstrous creature, to this state - it felt dreamlike, unreal. But if it was a dream, it was one I took the greatest delight from.

My heart hammered against my ribs and I let out a wild laugh, throwing an arm around the hot, swollen pillar of meat that butted against me and pressing it against my belly. It burned softly against my skin, leaving thick, glistening trails that ran the length of my body as the dragon thrust himself against me, driving his prick between the small, sensitive mounds of my breasts and butting against my chin. I wobbled, off-balance, and withdrew my tail from between my legs with a whine of disappointment for fear of being knocked down and crushed by Brynwylden's increasingly ferocious movements. He twitched and began to swell. Webs of clear, sticky fluid hung from my chest, decorating my crimson skin with an iridescent sheen. I knew what was coming. My mind burned and my body sang. I wanted to taste him, to feel him - if not in me, but on me. Because I could. Because I might never get another chance. I bowed my head. I opened my mouth, and closed my eyes. And waited.

Brynwylden came. He came in gouts. He came in fountains. His cock pulsed and throbbed in my arms, splattering thick jets of pearly seed over me. It flowed into my mouth and over my cheeks. Strings of it slapped against my forehead, collecting in my hair and dripping from my horns. My breasts drowned in a warm, white mess that slithered down my belly in white streaks and pooled in the little hollow between my thighs.

I drank him like wine. Swept along by the madness of the moment I swallowed the first mouthful of rich, bitter come  and parted my lips for another, delighting in the searing heat that wound its way down into my belly. In the back of my mind I knew I would probably regret it later, but in that moment I just hugged him tighter against my chest and relished the joyous, sticky warmth that suffused me as Brynwylden writhed, bellowed, and emptied himself upon me.

---

I did regret it later, but not all that much. Many first or second generation Tieflings, or ones who come from a very pure heritage, can be virtual slaves to their passions. Infernal blood burns hot in them, and their emotions dance and rage, always on the edge of slipping beyond their control. Fortunately, given that my bloodline is about as muddied as a the swampland around Varna'kel city, it usually isn't too much of a problem, but sometimes my Seducer heritage burns bright enough to scour away my self-restraint.

Brynwylden was understanding, to an extent. By the time I had returned to my senses and cleaned myself off in the hot springs the dragon heated his cave with, I noticed he was watching me with a renewed interest. Which put me in a very delicate situation.

I sell sex. I'm used to being seen by men as a pretty, desirable object, and in truth rather enjoy it. Most of my clients and admirers, however, are not ten-meter long fire breathing lizards. Dragons are possessive by nature, and a nagging sense of worry had taken root in the back of my mind. What if he decided not to let me go? What if he offered the rest of my party a substantial sum of gold, of which he had plenty of, in exchange for the unique treasure which he perhaps saw me as? Kristoff I knew wouldn't accept that, and Kissilik, the little Kobold, likely wouldn't either. But none of us really understood how Moundra thought, and Cassandra, the bitter, mutilated Varnian alchemist, was about as selfish and mercenary as they came.

The day after our first tryst, Brynwylden made no further advances upon me. Instead he retreated into a deeper chamber of his cave system. The warning he gave me not to follow was barely necessary; the entrance was so heavily warded with magic that the air around it rippled like a desert heat-haze. The sounds that echoed up from that cavern over the next day were not reassuring. Snatches of Brynwylden's voice reverberated through the upper caves, punctuated with unwholesome, fleshy sounds and the hard crack of breaking bones. I found myself lingering near the upper entrance to the cave, staring down over the valley I had hiked up with the rest of my companions, hoping with every passing hour to see them emerge from the scrubby treeline and nursing the growing anxiety in my gut that whispered they might not.

This continued for two more days. Brynwylden emerged from his deep chamber every now and then to hunt and make sure I hadn't tried to escape, but we spoke little and it was never long before he vanished back behind his portal. Until, almost a week after I had first surrendered myself to the wyrm, I heard him calling my name. I gathered myself from my perch at the mouth of the cave and hurried back to the main chamber, to find the dragon reclining once more at the peak of his hoard.

"Ireela." He rumbled. "Excellent. I do appreciate how obedient you have been thus far. Many of my treasures cause no end of trouble, but you have been a...uniquely pleasing addition to my collection."

Sure. 'Uniquely pleasing'. That's one word for it. Something about the dragon's tone of voice, and the perpetually smug look on his face, gave me a good idea what was coming next. I said nothing, waiting apprehensively for him to continue.

"I recently received a message from your friends. They have completed their task and will soon return to collect you and their reward."

That at least was a relief. I smiled and bowed. "I only hope that everything will be to your satisfaction, then."

"Quite. But for now, you still belong to me, and I intend on making the most of that." I opened my mouth to speak, but he made a curt gesture with his foreclaw, cutting me off. "Which means I intend on making the most of you. I imagine you know what that means."

Brynwylden ruffled his wings and hefted himself off the heap of gold. He stretched, undulating his long, muscular body, letting the hazy light of the chamber ripple from his dark scales. The air grew thin and tight for a second, rippling like the surface of a pool. Magic, I thought suddenly, taking a nervous step backwards. And then the dragon began to shrink.

It was not an immediate process, and nor did it look like a comfortable one. Brynwlden's body seemed to collapse in on itself like a concertina. The sound of bones breaking like dry wood echoed through the cavern. His clawed limbs flailed, spilling great sheets of gold over my feet as he twisted and shook, bellowing raspy noises that could just have easily been words as cries of pain.

Was this what he was doing, I thought? He had claimed he wasn't able to adopt a humanoid form, but had he spent those days in his chamber learning how to alter his size? All so he could, what? Give me a good, proper fuck? It seemed absurd, but like he said, I was hardly blind to what 'making the most of me' implied.

And I'd be a liar if the idea of him going to so much effort for me didn't seem like a compliment, or that as the transformation finished, the idea didn't bring a small smile to one corner of my mouth.

Now 'merely' the size of a large draft horse, Brynwylden vomited out an exhausted blast of flame and collapsed atop his scattered hoard. His body was shorter and stockier now, his black scales punctured here and there by newly emerged, ragged spikes of bone. The dragon's flanks heaved with exertion. His wings lay around him like a shroud. It seemed to take a monumental effort for him to lift his head as I approached, one arm daintily holding my chain out of the way as I picked through the golden minefield that covered the floor.

"Okay, it's not that I'm not flattered," I said as Brynwylden painfully hauled himself upright. "But that looked like it hurt. Like, seriously hurt. You don't need to...I don't know, turn yourself inside out or something just so you can get with me."

The dragon groaned, flexing his limbs and stretching his long neck. His scales glistened like oil in the ruddy light as he moved, experimenting with his new proportions.

"I know you got dumped a few days ago, but there's got to be plenty of other girls in the, uh, sky, right?" No sooner than the words had left my mouth, Brynwylden's head dipped a fraction, his wings sagging for a moment before flaring up in an imperious gesture.

"Less than one would think." His reply was sharp, almost an admonishment - you could hear the unspoken 'foolish mortal' hanging in the air - but he didn't meet my eyes when he said it. And that was when it hit me.

You get a lot of them in my line of work. Men who, for one reason or another, don't have a lot of success with women. Some are genuinely objectionable - those ones tend to get kicked straight back out the door, often literally - but most are just awkward and lacking in social graces. So, they come and pay for their pleasures. They make for good clients, actually, since they're almost always polite and respectful. Just as long as they don't get over-attached and forget they're paying for a service and not a relationship.

Also, so long as they aren't dragons.

"Well, then I stand corrected." I said, I keeping my face carefully straight as Brynwylden paced around me. His claws clacked on the bare stone of the cavern floor. His tail brushed over my thigh, the scales cool and smooth on my bare skin. My own tail flicked anxiously back and forth. His dry, spicy scent filled the air, and every so often he would stop and sniff, snorting out puffs of sparks in what I thought was approval. He's hesitating, I thought. Just like every nervous young man, caught in the proverbial headlights. Which was all very well and good, but the tension in the air was killing me.

As he passed, I reached out and snagged Brynwylden's horns, pulling his head around to look me in the eye. He made an outraged noise, flapping his wings and slapping his tail against the ground, but I ignored him and shoved a finger up against his mouth to keep him quiet.

"Right. Okay. Let's drop the pretensions, shall we?" I said. "You want to fuck me properly this time, don't you?"

Brynwylden snapped at my finger. I yanked it out of the way and lightly smacked him across the snout. Fangs and claws or no, something about being able to look him in the eye made him a lot less frightening.  "No, bad. Attacking the girls gets you kicked out of the whorehouse. Now, I asked you a question."

The dragon pawed at the ground, flapping his wings and lashing his tail in fury. "Of course I do! What kind of - "

I cut him off. "And have you thought about how that's actually going to work? Size issues aside?"

That shut him up. Brynwylden paused, looking mollified for a heartbeat before his usual air of snobbery returned. "And I suppose you have?" He replied. He shook his head from side to side as I released him, stepping back with my arms crossed imperiously over my chest.

"Yes, actually." I replied. "I'm going to get down on all fours. Then you're going to use that tongue of yours to get me ready." My heart began to race as I spoke. "And then, you can climb on top and fuck your scaly little heart out. But if I say stop, or if it sounds like you're hurting me, you stop. Understand?"

It was hard to believe I'd said that. A dragon. I was going to get fucked by a dragon. The idea seemed so unreal, despite the reality of it staring me in the face. But you know what? It felt good. Despite his haughty attitude - something I was quietly convinced he adopted to hide his nerves - Brynwylden was a sleek, magnificent specimen. I turned and walked the length of him, running my fingertips from his horns, down along his body, feeling the powerful muscles that lay beneath his scales tensing as I worked my way down to his tail.

Questions danced through my mind as I retrieved a long divan pillow and draped it over the largest heap of gold still standing, then lay myself atop it. What would he feel like? How heavy would he be on top of me? Would be be rough and unthinking, like an animal, or more gentle and courteous? And which, after almost a week of intermittent boredom and sexual frustration, would I prefer?

I lifted my tail into the air, shaking my behind encouragingly as Brynwylden's hot breath touched my bare slit. One last touch, I thought, collecting the golden chain that fell from around my neck and tossing it back behind me, there to be grabbed and pulled if the dragon so wished.

"I'm yours, great one. Your treasure, for one last night." I sang. The words wavered in anticipation as Brynwylden's snout butted against my rear. "Make use of me."

He started slow. His tongue was long, and wide, and far rougher than what I was used to. Though he went straight for my sex instead of teasing my thighs or the base of my tail, that first long lick was enough to leave me squirming and breathless. I hugged the cushion and cried out in pleasure as he tasted me, dragging his tongue over my lips in long, indulgent motions that stoked the growing heat of my passions. His forelimbs closed around my buttocks, the prick of his claws against my sensitive skin like tiny bolts of energy amidst the warm haze that suffused me. Brynwylden eased my cheeks apart, spreading my lips and lapping deeper into me until my thighs ran wet with arousal. I shuddered and cried out, the sound meaningless and inarticulate, grinding myself backwards as his hot, rough tongue writhed against my inner walls.

It felt glorious. All the more so because it was so wonderfully, indulgently selfish. Perhaps it was nothing but fair recompense for the drenching he'd given me earlier - which incidentally I still hadn't gotten out of my hair - and I knew before long he would be clambering atop me to sate his own needs once more. But as I relaxed deeper into the dragon's ministrations, for those moments I found that I didn't care. Surrounded by riches far beyond what most people would see in their lifetime, and with the snout of an incredibly powerful creature buried greedily between my legs. That was all there was - the gentle roughness of his tongue, the occasional ecstatic jolt whenever his nose brushed against my behind or his chin dragged against the aching nub of my clit, the sound and glitter of gold. My climax built just as slowly. It was no mind-numbing surge of pleasure, no manic, frenzied whipcrack of release. A long, drawn-out wave of warmth and satisfaction spread through my prone body, like a golden cloud that caressed every part of me at once, leaving me limp and breathless upon the cushion as it gently faded.

Of course, it didn't last. Even as I sagged forwards, smiling lazily and letting out a sigh of contentment, Brynwylden was maneuvering himself into position. His movements were clumsy and awkward; I suppose he must have been afraid of squashing me. Two thick forelimbs planted themselves before me, claws digging into the heap of treasure for support. Sleek, snakelike belly scales brushed against my shoulders. My stomach gave a sudden lurch, shaking me from the haze of post-orgasm bliss as Brynwylden's hind legs tightened around my thighs and the burning pillar of his cock flopped onto the small of my back.

He was everywhere at once. I was hemmed in, with the hoard of treasure beneath me and the dragon atop and around me. Brynwylden suddenly seemed to dominate my entire world - my tail lay trapped beneath his, his hind legs were clamped around mine. His belly was flush against my back, the pulse of his slow, thunderous heartbeat passing through me in a faint vibration. My horns knocked against the base of his neck as I looked left, then right, seeing nothing but Brynwylden's dark, scaly body and the dark glitter of gold in the dim light. It was overwhelming, almost frightening; if something went wrong, there would be no-one to help, nowhere to run to. If the dragon got too enthusiastic, I wasn't even sure he'd notice I was being hurt.

I felt him starting to move, the massive shaft of flesh on my back dragging itself slowly into position. "Wait, wait!" I yelped. "Just - just give me a moment, I don't think I'm ready!"

Thankfully, Brynwylden halted. His head appeared between his braced forelegs, upside-down as he peered beneath his belly. I took a breath, trying to steady myself.

"Ireela? Is something wrong?" It was hard to tell if he sounded concerned or irritated. A little of both, maybe.

I swallowed and shook my head as best I could. The tips of my horns grazed the dragon's belly. "No. Yes. I mean - like I said, I just need a second. I've never done anything like this before."

Well, not quite true. There was the werewolf. But that hadn't been much larger than an especially tall, muscular human. I squirmed around, trying to shift into the most comfortable position I could, trying to settle the thoughts that buzzed madly around my head. I'm going to get fucked by a dragon. I mean, not a dragonborn, but an actual, real-life dragon. I've spent the past week sitting naked in his cave, he gave me a one-man (one-monster?) come bath, and now he's going to pin me down atop a heap of gold and fuck the living daylights out of me. Even by my standards it seemed unreal, dreamlike. But the weight of him pressing down atop me, the rich, spicy sent that filled the air, and the urgent throbbing of the pillar-like cock that rested against my behind were all very, very real.

But then again, for all his flaws Brynwylden had always been reasonably courteous with me. He had been quite willing to tend to my own pleasures when I asked, and hadn't he just stopped when I told him to? And, while I'm not terribly submissive by nature, the more I thought about it the more I felt my heart race. There was something rather pleasing about finding myself so utterly, physically overwhelmed. I'm easily as tall as most men, and between the horns, fangs and claws, and general reputation Tieflings have, many of my partners tend to be a little hesitant. Brynwylden made me feel so small, so sexy and girlish.

I took another deep breath, letting it out slowly, then nodded. "Okay. Ready as I'll ever be."

Brynwylden let out another huff of impatience, before his fanged head vanished from view. I was rather glad about that. I meant he couldn't see the wide, impish grin that had spread across my face at the prospect of what was about to happen.

He shifted his weight backwards. His organ slipped from my back and stabbed clumsily forwards, too low to find its mark. I felt it against my thigh, hot and slippery and almost painfully hard, and my stomach clenched as it thrust towards my bellybutton. His second attempt brushed against my sex before sliding clear, and we both moaned in frustration. I tried to guide him as best I could, hoarsely whispering 'ups' and 'downs' as his massive shaft poked and prodded, eager to overcome the barrier of our disparate bodies. My body burned with awful, aching hunger. My heart leaped every time the dragon slid forwards, anticipation dragging the moment out as I willed him to find his mark and slip into me. Every miss felt like a dagger in the heart. I almost wanted to scream.

And as the stars aligned and I finally felt the head of Brynwylden's cock parting my slit, I did. I felt myself stretch, pain shooting through my lips as the heaving mass of hot, pulsing meat thrust into me. It hurt, but it hurt beautifully, and the stinging pain was merely the crest of the great, crushing wave of pleasure that swept through me as the dragon sank his organ deeper. I dug my fangs into the pillow and screamed into it, my eyes screwed tightly shut, slender body shaking like a leaf as the great, scaly beast let out a thunderous bellow and a triumphant blast of flame. It was a climax so unlike my first. This was as brutal in its intensity as a hammer blow. My body tensed, abused lips clamping tightly around Brynwylden's monstrous shaft, hugging the great thing as it worked its way into my heat. Rhythmic aftershocks punched me like blows to the gut as the fingertip-shaped knobbles lining the base of his organ dragged over my bud, each one a sending a sharp, singing bolt of pleasure through the haze of sensation I was drowning in.

But somewhere, in the back of my mind, some small element of self-preservation remained. I heard myself speaking, the words almost like sobs, begging the dragon to stop before the pain grew too much or he caused me serious harm.

Slowly, the discordant fog began to clear from my mind. I could still feel him inside me, a great mass of heat and pressure, the slow pulse of his heartbeat stark against the rapid flutter of my own. The initial pain had faded, replaced with a persistent, dull ache and a wonderful feeling of fullness. For a moment there was nothing I could do but lie there, sandwiched between Brynwylden and the cushion, overwhelmed by the feeling of the dragon's prick at rest inside my body.

Brynwylden's head reappeared. This time his slitted eyes were wide, and when he spoke, he almost sounded concerned.

"Did I hurt you? I wasn't sure if you were making good noises or bad noises."

I took a deep breath. Clumps of lank, sweaty black hair had tangled around my horns, hanging over my eyes like a veil. I tried to flick them out of the way and grinned. Every little movement, every subtle shift of position, sent a new twinge singing through my overstimulated body. Even breathing seemed like it gently increased the pressure I felt inside.

"G-good noises." I stammered. "Just - just don't go any deeper than that, please? And be - be gentle. You wouldn't want to break your treasure, would you?"

The last words came out as a soft purr, followed by a playful bat of the eyelids. I felt the great mass of scaly muscles around me tense in excitement, and knew Brynwylden had heard what I wanted him to hear. Be careful, he'd heard. Be careful, but don't be *too* gentle. I can take it.

Brynwylden's head slipped deeper under himself, carefully biting the end of my chain and carrying it back with him as he withdrew. It was too long, and the domineering way he crouched around me too tight, for him to do much more than give it the odd tug by tossing his head backwards, but we both appreciated the gesture. For now, for a little while longer, he was the demanding master and I was the precious, beautiful slave.

The dragon's forelimbs pawed at the diminishing heap of gold, sinking his long claws into it for purchase as his hips began to rock back and forth. Scales rubbed against my thighs and up the length of my back as he moved. His first strokes were slow, experimental, the great mass of his prick barely shifting inside me. But with each motion he grew more confident, more sure of himself - and more sure that I could match him.

FIrst one, then two of the nodules that lined his great organ popped out of me as he withdrew. I cried out as they tugged at my sex, each motion sending a shower of tingling sparks through my ragged, overstimulated body, only to fall silent again as the dragon's mighty return thrust forced the air from my lungs in a ragged gasp. Then he paused, his cock throbbing deep inside me, taking a moment to enjoy the hot, silken vice that clasped around it. And then he began again. Brynwylden may have began slowly, but his thrusts into me steadily began to gain pace. Each time he would withdraw a little further, adding another one or two fleshy fingertips to the succession that tugged at my swollen lips, and the moment of retrieve he gave me grew shorter and shorter as I writhed beneath him in ecstasy.

I was trapped, hemmed in, overwhelmed by the great mass of him inside and out. Within he pulsed and throbbed, the frill around his head swelling deep inside me, filling my core with a wonderful, aching tension as he pushed me to my limits. Without he only clamped down on me tighter, pressing me deep into the cushion, his mighty hind legs holding me helplessly in place as he began to fuck me in earnest. Gusts of warm air hissed through the gaps between his legs as he stretched and flapped his wings, coasting over my sweat-soaked crimson skin like a wave of dancing fingers and tongues. Haughty and selfish to the end, I had no doubt that Brynwylden cared very little for my own pleasure, or even my own well being beyond making sure I wasn't injured. I had no choice but to give myself to him, to lie there and take each and every one of his thunderous, pulsing thrusts, to let him treat me as the beautiful possession he saw me as.

And I loved every moment of it. I moaned and cried out in pleasure, calling muffled, garbled words of encouragement as the dragon tossed his head back and forth, yanking imperiously upon the chain around my neck. There was to be no change of position, none of the playful banter or catcalling that I might engage a regular client with. I didn't have to worry about whether or not I was performing adequately that night or if I had worked out what my partner wanted me to do. Brynwylden was like an elemental force, relentless and unstoppable, wallowing in his own sense of self-importance as he fucked me, dominated me, controlled me. And whether he wanted to, whether he even understood or not, he gave me something I needed; sheer, overwhelming, hedonistic release. Surrender to him meant surrender from responsibility. When I came for the final time that night, I did so laughing. Every fiber of me ached from Brynwylden's punishing thrusts. The constant stimulation of my sex had passed through pleasure, through discomfort, and become a mindless, animal haze of sensory white noise. I could feel my neck cramping from Brynwyldan's constant tugging upon it. But above it all, as I twisted and thrashed and spasmed under the waves of conflicting pleasures and pains, as the dragon's massive prick thrust one last time before releasing into me, I felt completely and utterly, beautifully, free.

Thick, sticky pulses of white seed lapped at my inner walls and ran down my shaking legs in a pearly torrent, cooling the raging fire that burned inside me. I collapsed into the ruined cushion, spitting out a mouthful of feathers which I must have chewed out in the moment of climax and laughing softly. Brynwylden lingered inside me a few minutes longer until his cock finally softened enough to withdraw. It slid clear with a soft, wet noise, sending one last shudder of pleasure through me as the frill popped out and slapped gently against my trembling buttocks. The dragon let out a long, contented breath and slumped down next to me, one yellow eye staring at my prone body.

"You remain unhurt?" He rumbled. The exhaustion in his deep voice was palpable.

I laughed again, the sound just as weary. "No, I think every bit of me hurts." I said. "But it's the good sort of hurt. I'm not injured, if that's what you mean."

Brynwylden eyed me for a moment, then closed his eyes. "Good. It is a shame to break precious things."

His breathing deepened, and his wings stilled. Lazy curls of smoke wound their way up from his nostrils. I stared at the sleeping dragon for a few moments, then shook my head in disbelief.

"Oh, for all the gods - men. They're all the bloody same."

---

Brynwylden might not have been one for pillow talk, but we spoke a little after we had both slept off the worst of our exertions. He was more open with me now, and we exchanged stories as we washed in the diverted hot spring. Like I thought, Brynwylden was relatively young, by dragon standards. He had only mated twice before and to his knowledge neither of those encounters had borne fruit. Most of the other local dragons were all older, wealthier, and with a great deal more physical and political power, which made attracting partners difficult. I had no idea how much of his haughty arrogance was real and how much was just chest-puffing adolescent egotism, but I suspected he wasn't entirely bad. By dragon standards, at least.

When he learned of my occupation, he actually offered to let me stay with him as part of his hoard. I turned him down as graciously as I could. The idea of a life of pampered, hedonistic boredom wasn't entirely unappealing, but I knew the loss of freedom would drive me mad. As it is I can walk away from anyone, any partner, any client at any time I like, and all the treasure in the world wouldn't make me part with it. Brynwylden did, however, let me keep the harem collar. The look in his eye as he handed it over sent a little shiver of anticipation down my spine. I'm not quite done with you, that look said. Especially now that I know you're willing to put out on demand, for the right price.

Well, I thought, after I'd said my farewells and been collected by the rest of the group, I'd put my skills to good use consoling more than one man after he'd failed to win over the object of his affections. Brynwylden might not exactly be a normal client, but his motivations, at least, were easily understood. There were worse things to be, I thought as the five of us tromped down the mountain and back towards civilization, than the dragon's whore.