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Niebelfader Feb 13th, 2014 (edited) 6,893 Never
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  1. The shimmering crimson light of the day's long sunset hovers at the horizon once again; a burning, sanguine eye, peering above the distant mountains before its inevitable descent to the dark of night-time. Ashazoth curls her tail around your leg, her body entwined with yours as you watch the departing sun from the cave-mouth. Months before, it would have been her, reverently watching that great fiery sphere with the intensity befitting a reptilian pyromaniac. She would always stand at the edge of the precipice, letting the last rays of light warm her scales and wings; staring down the sun like it were a challenger to her own mastery of heat and flame. And always that same sneering, superior smile, as the ball of gas finally rolled behind the darkening peaks - leaving her unchallenged as the firey lord of all she surveyed.
  3. No more.
  5. You suppose you are the master of these peaks, now. And the only thing Ashazoth gazes at reverently is your body. The sun's red light paints your naked torso in bleached, sanguine hues, as the dragon-girl traces her barbed claws tenderly across your flesh. She's not interested in flying the granite gullies or the lofty peaks of the range any more. The only features she cares about are the ones under her hands right now.
  7. You stir against her, your head amply coushioned by her burgeoning breasts. She knows you like to relax just like that, using her chests as a pillow. You mentioned it just one time, and since then, she's never even worn a top; obediently curling herself around you just so whenever you feel like taking a rest. Her already-ample bosoms have become even more comfortable, lately, beginning to fill with milk as the bump in Ashazoth's belly grows, announcing her first dragon-litter. The simple, animal joy at realising you had made her pregnant was a far cry from the haughty and aloof demeanour she once used to radiate. A change much for the better, you think.
  9. Feeling you shift in her embrace, Ashazoth cuddles up against you, her expression radiating devotion and a puppy-like eagerness to please. "Master, it's sundown. Would you like me to roast you something to eat? I-I can fly out and catch a cow, or a sheep, if you want beef or mutton?" She flaps her wings, once, as if eager for you to give her an order. Any order, as long as it comes from her husband-master.
  11. You chuckle, patting her scaled leg reassuringly. "Don't worry, Ashy, I don't need anything right now." The dragon-girl giggles to hear you use her pet-name. That's changed a lot since she first brought you up here, too - where anything other than "Lady Ashazoth" would earn you singed eyebrows for your impertinence. Definitely a change much for the better.
  13. "Then... would Master like to have sex with me?" she asks, not quite managing to keep the pleading tone out of her voice.
  14. You smile, the last light of the day twinkling in your eyes. She is absolutely insatiable since getting pregnant, and she was pretty insatiable before. You get the impression that she's offering herself up not only out of her own lust, but out of a genuine desperation to please you, and not let a single one of your carnal desires go unfulfilled. Indeed, her face lights up at your grin of assent, and Ashazoth quickly sets about stroking every inch of your body, using her talons and tail at the same time.
  16. "You know," she whispers, as her claw delicately strokes a path across your stomach, "I really do love you, you know. I love... being like this. Being yours. Being your creature. Before, when I was... proud, everything was a lot harder." She wiggles up against you, her cold-blooded reptilian body instinctively eager to share your warmth now the sun's going down. "When I tried to be in charge, to rule the whole mountain range. I thought I was happy, with power, with supremacy. But I wasn't. The other monsters, the harpies and the orcs and all the others that live here... they loved me, because I could fight, and keep them safe, keep the Order away whenever they came hunting. And when we first met, and I tried to rule you too, only..." She pauses, and swallows, suppressing the painful memory of her past mistakes.
  17. "Only with you... I realised. I don't need to fight to loved, to be happy. With you I don't need to be strong, to rule or fly or burn. All I needed to do..." Her clawed hand gently grasps yours, and moves your palm across her own body, bringing your fingers to cup against her breast."...all I need to do to be happy is..." Ashazoth whimpers pleasantly, as you obligingly squeeze her bouncy flesh under your palm.
  18. "...is... *ah!* t-to be female. Be your female."
  20. And as a blissful smile spreads over her face in response to your gentle kneading, her dragon-tail slithers into your breeches, its tip stroking against the rapidly hardening contents.
  21. "Thank you, Master," Ashazoth breaths, her breath hot on your ear.
  22. "Thank you so much, for showing me how to be happy." There's the faintest whiff of smoke in the air, to tell you she's really turned on.
  23. "Now, please... let me return the favour."
  25. /*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/
  27. As always, the sun returns to the mountain peaks. It's a bright, warm morning today; "springtime heat" arriving in the literal, climactic sense rather than just as a blooming of monstergirl libido once the winter snows vanish. From out of the cavemouth comes the sound of happy, carefree humming, as its dragon owner diligently sweeps at dust and pebbles with a threadbare old broom. Long gone are her bachelorette days, when Ashazoth could just leave immolated cow skeletons or smashed suits of human armour lying around the place. Oh, how untidy she used to be! But with her new outlook after meeting Master - a little fizz of adoration shivers down her spine as she thinks the word - she knows, instinctively, that it's her duty and pleasure to keep the lair, and herself, looking nice for him. So once Master left for his morning walk, she'd gotten straight on with the chores.
  29. Of course, even with the best intentions in the world, Ashazoth - being a dragon-girl - doesn't really know the first thing about cleanliness beyond possibly licking the blood off her claws after she's mauled something. Lizard aesthetics, too, are not particularly congruent with human ones... Ashazoth still can't understand why anyone would want to sleep on top of sheep hair rather than a nice comfortable pile of shiny gold. "♪ Gold, gold, gold, :D" she sings happily, as her skill-less broom-work churns and redistributes the thin film of grit on the stone floor rather than actually removing it. Of course, if Master says that gold is cold and uncomfortable, it must be true. And either way, no bed of precious metals could come close to how good it feels to curl up with him at night... to feel his hands gliding across her scales, teasing down her body... then rolling her over and pinning her underneath him and - !
  31. An excited moan of lust escapes out of her lips at the delicious memory; the broom-handle creaks in her claws, as though about to snap from the way she's gripping it. Ashazoth blushes a deep crimson inside the empty cave; even with no-one else around, she's thankful for the dark shadows in this particular dusty corner for hiding the excited wagging of her tail. She desperately hopes that Master gets back soon, so she can -
  33. "(...scaly...)"
  35. Huh?
  37. Monstergirls in general have far better hearing than humans; and dragongirls far better than that. So her ears perk up quickly at the noise from over by the cave entrance. Oh, is Master back? For a moment, she’s more flustered than excited. Oh dear, oh dear, she’s not finished cleaning yet, not gotten properly dressed, not drawn him a bath, not made everything nice for him! He’s usually out longer than this, and...
  39. "(... over here, Trix, the stuff’s bound to be -)"
  41. "(Be quiet, will you? She’ll hear us if you keep chirping away like that!)"
  43. That’s not Master.
  44. Those are female voices.
  46. It is a common misconception amongst humans that the dragons’ natural foe is the knight in shining armour. A blessed champion of the Order, battling against scything claws and dragonfire to banish the beast and reclaim the treasure? Such tales certainly play well from the pulpit, but the anthrocentric message utterly ignores the chief threat to a lizard’s horde. Out in the wild lands, where humans are rare and paladins even rarer, dragons still guard their treasure troves with endless vigilance. Because it is not only men and reptiles that lust for gold. Creatures of a certain ornithological variety also take a special interest in shiny things.
  48. "(I’m telling you, Styx, it’s going to be hidden deeper...)"
  50. Ashazoth stands stock still, her vermillion eyes fixed in the direction the voices are coming from. The clacking of talons on the hard stone of the cave floor largely nullifies any attempt at stealth, especially to her sensitive ears. And so, even before the intruders creep into her field of vision, the dragon knows exactly what to expect.
  52. With deep sable feathers and pale white skin, black harpies seem to carry an aura of nighttime around with them wherever they go. The lead bird rounds the corner of a pile of old boulders, dark wings folded against her sides; feet a little unsteady, more used to perching than tip-toeing. Her attire is minimal, even for a monstergirl: strips of dark cloth with silver clasps, fashioned into short pants; while further up, her top is little more than a leather belt, squeezing two creamy breasts tight against her chest. The other, younger harpy follows close behind, as though afraid of being separated. Even on first glance, it’s obvious that the pair must be sisters; identical shocks of short, raven-black hair crown aquiline faces with a clear family resemblance. Their monochromic appearance is broken only by piercing, blood-red eyes, cautiously scanning back and forth as they tiptoe over the dusty basalt.
  54. Scanning... over the dragon.
  56. The harpies both spot Ashazoth simultaneously, emitting twin strangled squarks of fear and surprise. They practically leap into each other’s wings, trembling in a mutual, terrified embrace. It’s a testament to her reputation on the mountain, that the sight of Ashy in her smallclothes and holding a broom can still draw a reaction like that.
  58. “Oh, Styx, Styx, scaly’s still here!”
  60. “L-L-Lady Ashazoth! I... we... h-humbly apologise! We, we, we were just...”
  62. Her viridian talons slide uncertainly on the broom-handle, as the dragon stares wide-eyed at the avian interlopers. For more than two hundred years, she’s defended the mound of gold in the next cavern from thieves and adventurers. And time and time again, she’s sent intruders much more dangerous than a pair of crows fleeing from the cavemouth with flames chasing their behinds. But... she’s... not that thing, any more; not the roaring, fighting, stupid tyrant of the mountaintop who sets people on fire in crashing thunder and smoke. She doesn’t want to be that. She just wants to be... Master’s snugly lizard... curled up in his arms and fucked and -
  63. Oh why, why did they have to come now, when Master isn’t by her side? Without him, can she do this?
  64. Can she do anything?
  66. “W-what do you w-want?” Ashy stammers at the intruders, her planned imperious draconic demand coming out rather less imperious or demanding than anyone in the cave expected. “I-If you’ve come for my g-gold then... y-you’ll be s-sorry!”
  68. The birds exchange glances with each other, crimson eyes blinking in expressions more of confusion than fear. What they do not do, is make any move back towards the cavemouth. Oh, what should she do, what should she do? Master... Master told her she shouldn’t attack humans, or livestock, even though the big fat animals that graze on the mountain’s flanks are so tasty. Did... did he mean she shouldn’t attack mamono as well, even if they’re thieves?
  70. “(Sis, is that really Ashazoth? She doesn’t sound like a giant scaly bitch like you said she-)“
  72. “(Shut up, Trix, shut up -)”
  74. “(But I thought dragons were supposed to toast you. Why isn’t she toasting us?)”
  76. “I... I will toast you, unless y-you go away!” Ashy warns them. But... will she? Can she? There’s two of them, and... and they have sharp claws, and clever eyes, and... there’s just one of her. Just a female lizard... on her own, without her Master...
  77. She can feel her confidence sinking in the pit of her stomach. “P-please... just go away...”
  79. The smaller harpy, Trix, slowly disentangles herself from her sister’s protective embrace. Ever... so... cautiously... she treads forwards, one talon-foot after the other. Ashazoth makes a pathetic mewling noise, at the back of her throat.
  81. “Styx,” the harpy says, sniffing the air, “I... I can smell something.”
  83. “Be careful, Trix! Come back here!” her elder sister hisses.
  85. “But Styx, it’s... it’s spirit!” she announces, her face lighting up. “Is there a man here? Oh, Styx, a man, a human? Forget the gold, I want that, I want that!” The black harpy flaps her wings energetically, eyes shining like an excited kid, apparently forgetting the dragon still facing them.
  87. “He’s not here!” Ashy yells, suddenly animated as well. “And you leave him alone! He’s my Master! I wouldn’t know what to do without... without...”
  89. “What do you mean, he’s not here?” Styx demands. Like her sister, her caution is thrown to the wind at the mention there might be males nearby. “Trix is right, I can still smell it, here... It’s right...” the black harpy closes her eyes, and breathes in deeply, following her nose. “It is here. It’s... it’s on her.”
  91. Ashazoth whimpers as the harpies step closer. She backs away from them... although soon she’s rapidly running out of cave space to retreat into.
  93. “You’ve been 'with' him, haven’t you?” Styx asks, a lewd, toothy grin spreading all over her face. “I can smell his scent on you. I can smell it... on these.”
  95. In a flash, the harpy’s wing cuts upwards. Ashazoth flinches from the blow... except it wasn’t quite aimed at her. Blinking down in shock, the dragon realises she’s suddenly topless. Milk-swollen breasts jiggle up and down in the warm spring air, suddenly liberated from her little green bikini – which is now dangling from the tip of Styx’s outstretched limb.
  97. “I – I –” the dragon stammers, her back now literally against the wall. Before, when they were after her beautiful gold – that was horrible enough. But now, they want to look for Master? The prospect terrifies her so much she can feel tears starting to form. “N-no... please... L-let me go...”
  99. “Sis, I’m surprised she can even fly with those big fat things on her chest,” Trix remarks, poking a feathered wingtip at the ample flesh of Ashy’s breast. It would be unfair – not to mention inaccurate – to call the black harpies flat-chested, for their succubus nature ensures that all monstergirls have all the right curves in all the right places. But harpies in general rely on light bodies and streamlined aerodynamics to stay aloft; so compared to a pregnant dragon, the birds’ mounds are certainly more modest. Ashazoth stifles a yelp as the curious harpy prods gently at her cleavage, causing drops of milk to squeeze their way out of the lizard’s flushed nipple.
  101. “Ah! It’s m-milk!” Trix jabbers excitably. “The man made her pregnant, Styx! I want that too, I want that too! Let’s find him, and make him get us pregnant!”
  103. The older crow-girl’s face is flushed, peering close to Ashy. Her little nose is quivering, as she homes in on the source of the delicious, spirit scent... the dragon’s bikini, suspended on the end of her wing. “Haa... it’s strong... on here. You... you titfucked him, didn’t you?” Styx says. “With these breasts... h-his cock, it was right... h-here...” Slowly, she leans forawrd. Ashazoth squirms, trying to get away, but there’s only stone behind her, and nowhere to go. Dreamily, the harpy sticks out her pink tongue... and slowly, tenderly, licks the dragongirl’s leaking breast.
  105. “Aah... I – I can still taste him... the semen, it’s...”
  107. Ashy cries out from the stimulation, her cherry-red nipples sliding under the other monster’s tongue. Watching her older sister’s technique, Trix joins in – grabbing the dragongirl’s other breast between her wing-tips, and suckling her like a hungry babe. Except it’s not milk they’re after; rather the ghostly taste of human cum, blasted over those breasts time and again last night...
  109. “Did he cum in your mouth, as well?” Styx asks, red eyes wet with lust, as she imagines the same for herself. The mamono brings her flushed face close to the whimpering dragon’s, asking, begging for a confirmation of her sudden fantasy. “Th- The human put his cock between your lips, and you tasted him... Drank all that creamy spirit, and... and...” Not capable of waiting for an answer, Styx brings her mouth together with Ashy’s. Their wet lips meet, slightly parted; gently at first, but within moments the bird is urgently forcing herself inside the dragon’s hot mouth. The black harpy kisses her hungrily; a literal, sexual hunger, her tongue desperately tracing across Ashazoth’s cheeks, the girls’ slimy saliva mingling together as Styx greedily searches for traces of spirit energy inside her. Murmuring in protest, Ashy’s tongue mounts a feeble defence... but grappling against Styx’s intrusion serves only to tangle the two of them further together.
  111. Now having both breasts to play with, Trix giggles happily, nuzzling from right to left and back again. Her wings trace down the dragon’s flanks, and her own... feathers sliding down into her short pants, to rub at her tingling groin. Ashazoth yelps, her green wings jerking against the wall as she suddenly starts to receive the same treatment: the tickling, stroking sensation, massaging her lower lips. It’s not like when Master touches her... just parting her folds aside, and thrusting. It’s... light, but insistent, and...
  113. “S-stop... please...” Ashazoth moans, tears dripping from her eyes. But it’s useless. Like green jiggly putty in their winged hands, the dragon’s own body starts to respond. The swish-swish of Trix’s feathery groping soon becomes more of a squelch-squelch... a fact which the other harpy doesn’t fail to notice.
  115. “Hah... ahh... Lady... Ashazoth... “Styx pants, her breath hot on Ashy’s cheek as she nibbles the dragon’s ear, “what will... your man think ...if he sees you... like this? Getting turned on by... being with other girls?”
  117. “I’m n-not, don’t say t-that!” the dragon pants. A contention rather belied by the colour of her cheeks, as Trix begins to slide down the lizard’s stomach, bringing her face level with Ashy’s crotch. “I-I’m not l-like that...” Further protests are cut off as Styx pulls another hungry kiss from her victim’s smouldering lips. Literally smouldering, as the draconic heat inside her swells in line with Ashazoth’s involuntary lust.
  119. “We’re going to... lick all his spirit energy off you...” the harpy tells her, face alight with mischief and passion. “And then, once we’ve fucked you... we’ll fuck him too –“ Ashy whimpers in protest... or possibly something else, as Trix is busy pulling down her panties with her teeth, “- and take his sperm inside us... and have his daughters, and... ah!” It’s Styx’s turn to whimper now, in unrestrained lust and longing.
  121. “Styx, if we have his babies too, will that make us sisters with Lady Scaly?” Trix asks naively, her face gazing up from between Ashazoth’s thighs. She licks at the dragon-girl’s crotch cutely, a happy smile spreading over her face at the warm, reptilian taste.
  123. “Harem-sisters, yes,” Styx answers, staring into Ashy’s teared-up face. “We’d get to play together like this... all the time, and share delicious cum whenever we want... ”
  125. The dragon screws up her eyes, stuck between desire and despair. Share Master? She- she couldn’t! But... ah! These, these feelings, the feathery tickles, they’re making her... oh, please, Master, come and save her! Master! They're... they're making her...
  127. Trix picks that moment to bury her face in the dragon’s secret place, birdy tongue swirling against her clitoris. Ashy can’t hold the sensations back any more... and ROARS. A vast, seething cry of pleasure and ecstasy; the cry of the dragons of old, summoned up from the deepest part of her. Furious decibels splash against the cave walls, even as Ashy’s female juices splash into Trix’s mouth.
  129. The rumbling concerto echoes from surface to surface, rolling like thunder towards the mouth of the cave... and over the silhouetted figure, who just now has arrived there.
  131. “...Ashy?”
  133. /*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/
  135. Ashazoth's roar buffets you backwards with a hot, sulphurous barrage of noise. Squinting into the invisible gloom of the cave, you vaguely glimpse a dark form moving around in the shadows against the wall – and blood-red eyes swivel in the direction of your voice. The dragongirl's thunderous cry trails away to an exhausted, incoherent trill. “A-aaAAa-ah...” Ashy moans, as little streamers of flame burn out of her nostrils, illuminating her upper body in a vermilion nimbus. What you see in the light of the fire makes your breath catch in your throat.
  137. The yellow light glints off shiny green scales and flushed pink skin both glistening with hot sweat. Wide golden eyes  brim with tears, their tracks steaming as they roll over the dragongirl's fire-hot cheeks. Wreathed in a miasma of thickly char-scented smoke, the tyrant of the mountain's huge, powerful wings are tucked timidly up against her sides, shuddering and shaking as aftershocks of sensation still course through her. That green bikini she was wearing when you left is nowhere to be seen, Ashy's full breasts jiggling up and down with her fitful breathing; flushed nipples dripping creamy dragon-milk onto the cold stone ground. It patters down at the great lizard's armoured, reptilian feet, accompanied by the sound of crumpling stone as her steel toe-claws curl up, gouging furrows in the bedrock beneath her buckling legs.
  139. “Ashazoth!” you yell, feet already running to catch her before your brain's caught up with the situation. There's a surprised squark! as you shoulder-barge one of those indistinct shadows out of the way, but your concern is only with the dragon. Alas, seven plus feet of pregnant tyrannical fire-lizard is not easily stopped, and it's her that drags you down rather than you keeping her up. After sliding slowly against the cave wall like a golem with its runes wiped, a dazed Ashazoth finally  pulls you to the floor as her pert dragon rump *pomf*s against the stone.
  141. “M-master...” she breathes, in a tiny voice, smoke still trailing out of the corner of her mouth. “S-sorry... m-master...” The dragon is a slick, quivering, reptilian mess, tumbled into an undignified cataplectic heap. She seems only half-conscious; and even then, there's no strength in her limbs at all. The sweat on her brow hisses and steams on her scorching skin; you can feel the heat through her scales. Usually, the lustrous green armour is cool to the touch; the only time Ashy's body gets this hot is if... if you've been...
  143. “What happened?” you ask, breathlessly.
  145. “You want to know what happened? Not enough, that's what happened,” a voice tells you, churlishly. “Aah... you really know how to interrupt a girl at the wrong time, human.” The intruder tiptoes into your vision, rubbing her wing with a grimace that sits halfway between frustration and resignation. The bird-girl's minimal clothing – is she wearing a belt as a bikini? - gives you an unobstructed view of her slender, cream-skinned body; a petite frame, merging at the shoulders with a riot of grey down into sweeping, dark feathers. A black harpy. There's whole eyries of these avian monsters living on the mountain-range; clever scavengers who pick up any livestock that Ashy char-grills but can't carry home.
  147. You scramble to your feet, placing yourself defensively between the home invader and the dragon. “Who the hell do you think you are?!” You shout at her, the confusion and concern for your pregnant mate starting to give way to grim purpose - and black, seething anger. Drawing yourself up as tall as you can, you ought to be an intimidating sight to a creature with hollow bones. But your foul countenance serves only to make the raven-girl cross her wings in front of her with a wry grin.
  149. “Styx. It's a pleasure, 'Lord Ashazoth',” The monster makes an overblown and obviously sarcastic bow, her black wing-tips almost scraping the cave wall. “But to think, that Lady Ashazoth's mate should be so uncouth, looming and yelling like some rage-mushroomed paladin...” she remarks, airily. “I'm scandalised. Trix is scandalised. Aren't you scandalised, little sister?”
  151. “Sis-?” is all that gets out of your mouth, before you hear Ashy yelp behind you, and something dark and feathery slashes through the corner of your vision. There's a glancing blow on your shoulder, which affects you more by its unexpectedness than its physical power; and before you know it you're spun round, back down on your ass on the cave floor. You start struggling immediately against your unseen assailant, fear and surprise crowding out all other thoughts in your mind. But fighting in the murky dark against something that seems both night-black and weightless, you may as well be grappling your own shadow for all the good it does you. Styx darts forwards too, adding her own attacks to the squawks screeches of your assailant; and after only seconds of resistance, the insistent pressure of very *sharp* talons, puncturing through your shirt and digging menacingly into your chest, succeeds in eloquently suggesting to you that you're staying down whether you like it or not.
  153. “He-he, I caught you, I caught you!” a childish, mischievous voice announces. No longer being buffeted every which way, you have more chance of making out what you're up against - and it also helps that the creature perched on your belly leans in towards you, inquisitive red eyes peering closely at your features. Her pallid feminine face, pinkish lips slightly parted in curiosity, almost looks like it's hanging disembodied above you, so dark is the messy shock of hair that surrounds it. Styx is moving around behind you; you think you can hear her unbuckling something...
  155. “Get off me!” you yell, although your furious glower and intermittent struggling doesn't seem to faze the perching bird at all.  You try to swipe at her legs to dislodge the monstergirl – and the black harpy twitches those dagger-like claws into your skin. Six sharp pinpricks of pain make you hiss like a lamia with it's tail getting stepped on. It's a sensation that stops your resistance cold; your instincts refusing to let you play chicken with evisceration.
  157. Trix grins at your impossible situation, while shaking her head at your demand. “Nope!” she announces, cheerfully.
  159. “Trix, do be careful with him. Males are delicate things, you'll scratch his tummy!” Styx scolds her sister. “Anyway, this'll stop him from getting too... rambunctious”. You can feel feathered wingtips  reach for your hands, but the threat of Trix's claws leaves you unresisting as – quite impressively for a creature without fingers – the older harpy binds your wrists together.
  161. Her prize appropriately trussed, Trix's satiny feathers press against you as she leans closer and closer, a bright, enraptured smile on her face quite at odds with the skewering death-hold her feet still threaten to exert. “I'm not letting you go. I caught you...” she repeats, her excitement palpable. “I caught you - so now you're MY husband! *smooch*!”
  163. It is literally a peck on the lips; if there's a more bird-like way of kissing someone, you ain't ever seen it. You just lie there, not really daring to move any more; and in truth the kiss catches you quite off guard, because her mouth tastes suspiciously like Ashy. As the birdgirl draws back, a thin tendril of saliva connects your lips to hers, glimmering in the light from the cave's entrance. The black harpy giggles at it; a sonorous, tweeting noise that sounds very close to birdsong. And then she licks her lips. Slowly. As her wet organ glides smoothly around the pink O of Trix's mouth, she doesn't break eye contact with you for even a second. “Hus~band~” she repeats, testing the word out again with a dreamy smile.
  165. “Sounds nice, doesn't it sis? 'Husband'...” the older harpy coos, leering over the pair of you at the exact angle to give you a perfect vantage of pale underboob. Turns out she was in fact wearing a belt as a bikini... because now your hands are tied up with warm leather, and Styx is topless. There's more chest than you would have expected on a bird; pert mounds that keep their shape as she leans low, to stroke her wing-tips down Trix's back. You can feel the tremor in her legs as Styx brushes through the tail-feathers on her sister's butt, and the little tweet of pleasure from the younger harpy, as both of them fixate on you with wet eyes. Next to each other, the family resemblance is really striking; everywhere except the breasts, where Trix's cute underdevelopment contrasts with Styx's modest curves. For a man who's been doin' nothing but jiggling, milk-swollen dragon for weeks, they're certainly... different...
  167. Shit. You're staring, and they noticed. You grab hold of your anger for all it's worth, to blot out any other emotions that might be suddenly bubbling under the surface. “What. Did you do. To Ashazoth?” you hiss through gritted teeth. Talons and trusses or not, you can't let this go on. “What did you do to Ashazoth? And just get off me!”
  169. “I was licking her... but you're tastier, hus~band” Trix says, licking her lips again with a mischievous smile. She scootches backwards on top of you  until she's seated right on top of your crotch. The springy pressure from her feathered behind can't help but start to provoke a reaction. And no matter how much you try to think other thoughts, the warmth you can feel makes it pretty obvious she isn't wearing any panties. Trix looks down at your groin hungrily, as the evidence your loosening self-control begins to pitch the fabric of your trousers. “Hee hee, I see you~” the bird-girl titters, as she starts to grind her hips back and forth over the growing bump in your pants.
  171. “I'm not surprised, Trix; I think he likes *these*,” Styx opines, squishing her boobs together between her forewings. “Is that right, human? I guess you'd have to like tits, living with a fat lizard like that -?”
  173. There's a little sound like a sob from Ashazoth. Out of the corner of your vision you can see the dragongirl, clutching her tail and watching with a horrified expression. No longer torpid or smouldering, she's just looks scared out of her wits: not an elder wyrm guarding her horde, but a doting housewife caught up in a home invasion. Shaking her head from side to side; as though if she denies the scene in front of her hard enough, it'll stop happening.
  175. “Ashy, snap out of it!” you cry, your voice high as Trix keeps rubbing her hot crotch over yours. Today, you need that reptilian tyrant back: the dragon with the claws and fire, rather than the nervous expectant mother. Dark harpy feathers are creeping towards your waistband... This isn't... I mean, surely they can't just...
  177. “Toast them, Ashy, toast them!” Your effort to play scarecrow has failed spectacularly; but dragonfire, that always works, right!? Your lover blinks at you uncertainly; but finally, with her Master's direction she starts to nervously compose herself, climbing to her feet and -
  179. “Ah-ah-ah, Miss Scaly, be c-a-r-e-ful,” Styx warns, hopping in front of her. A bird-girl facing down a dragon-girl should be a no contest whatsoever. But Styx's red eyes glint with a cunning, confident intelligence, like she knows exactly who's in control. “You wouldn't want to burn your beloved mate by mistake, when he and Trix are so... close?” By now the little harpy on top of you has stopped rocking, to instead gaze intently at the prize she's holding between her wingtips. With your pants and trousers somewhere around your knees, Trix's night-black feathers gently caress your still-lengthening manhood; your body betraying you as it stands to attention under the bird's ticklish, feathery touch. The dragon halts, unsure of herself.
  181. “And besides... you wouldn't want your mate to find out what *actually* happened earlier, would you?”, Styx goes on, leaning close in to speak to Ashy in a husky tone. “To tell him that his wife's a slut who got off with people that aren't her husband? A perverted dragon who gets all hot and sticky from kissing other monsters? You wouldn't want him to hear about that, would you?”
  183. Any fight that might have been building back up within Ashy evaporates out her at harpy's words, replaced with abject, crushing shame. “S-stop...” Ashazoth begs, as though she's about to burst into tears. “Don't make him hate me!” You bite back a gasp at Styx's lurid account – but her sister only takes it as encouragement. Trix is rubbing you up and down with her feathers now, rapidly running their sable tips over the sensitive head of your penis. The younger sister's in a cock-fondling world of her own, panting lustily as you twitch in her avian grasp. This shouldn't be happening; you're being molested by intruders, and Ashy's in trouble... but your penis isn't going down, it's getting harder as the harpy gropes you...
  185. “So scandalous... the pristine Lady Ashazoth, becoming a lewd adulteress, like a common humangirl slut,” Styx breathes, clearly enjoying toying with the dragon. Extending a wing, she strokes the whimpering lizard's hair, even as tormenting words keep falling her mouth. “How can you ever show him your face again? When even though you're carrying his child, you came from fooling around with a girl you'd never met before? So ~indecent~. Ku ku ku... but I can't say I blame you. My sister's just too cute. See, she's having the same effect on your husband, right now...”
  187. Your body's turned traitor entirely. Trix's enthusiastic hand(wing?)job has coaxed your cock to a massive erection; your treasonous manhood doesn't care who, it's just aching to fuck something, anything! The little harpy is quivering in anticipation as she hitches up her scrappy miniskirt. It's the exact opposite of your first time with Ashy: where seven towering feet of flesh, scales, and horn, haughtily devoured the tiny, puny male specimen like an aperitif. Trix, however, is drooling in shameless anticipation from both mouths; female juices trickling out of her narrow snatch, petite bird body desperately yearning to be overwhelmed by the huge, blood-engorged snake moving towards her lower lips. “Caught... you...” she pants, lustily repeating her earlier refrain. “And now I'm going to eat... you... up...”
  189. Too light to simply let gravity do its work, the bird grabs onto your hips with her wingtips, and slowly pulls herself downwards onto your shaft. Entering Trix is entering a squirming, wet vice of pleasure, her throttlingly tight insides barely able to take your girth. Just the tip forces a trill from the harpy, “Kyaaaa-aaa~ ~ ~... it's so... gyah!~” Inch by torturous inch, she impales herself onto you, wincing with effort as her light, girlish body struggles to handle the stiff male invader. You're barely two thirds in, and it feels like she's bottomed out, as the head of your dick presses against something fleshy and resistant. Trix's eyes go wide in sensation - but then she screws them up tight, body flushing scarlet with effort, and p-u-l-l-s on your hips one final time. With a *pop* that is felt rather than heard, your cock defeats the final barrier, breaking beyond her crushingly narrow cervix and into the warm, mushy wetness of the bird-girl's womb. Trix's butt collides with your hips as you vanish totally inside her, both crying out in unexpected pleasure.
  191. “Oh my, she swallowed him all up...” Styx murmurs. Embracing Ashy from behind, she's holding her in place, wing-talons dimpling threateningly into her soft pink skin. But the bird seems to have baser intentions than merely restraining her. Those black wings are busy feeling Ashy up; stroking her shoulders, rubbing over her breasts, and all the while her red lips are touching Ashazoth's ear as Styx whispers a lewd commentary. “Isn't it only fair, that he should get to enjoy her too? After all, my sister made you feel good earlier...” The dragon just stares transfixed, lip quivering as she watches the spot where you and Trix are joined. “It's good to share, after all. It'll feel good... sharing your husband, sharing your gold, sharing... who gets pregnant...”
  193. As her sister speaks, Trix starts to move up and down on top of you. Her rectrix feathers softly tickle your thighs, while inside her belly the motion pushes and pulls you in and out of her squishy womb. “He he he... it's my turn, it's my turn to get babies, right? Do it to me next, do it to me!” The tight folds of Trix's bird cunt ripple around your shaft as she works her inner muscles, cooing like a pidgeon while she watches your conflicted expression. You can feel your balls starting to churn expectantly as she wiggles rhythmically above you.
  195. “stop...” Ashazoth whimpers, in a tiny, despairing tone.
  197. “Make sure you work hard, Trix,” her sister encourages. “You'll have to make Lord Ashazoth feel ~really~ good, if you want him to fill you up. Eggs don't make themselves! Shake your hips a lot, that's it. Make some healthy nieces for me, won't you?” The younger harpy enthusiastically complies, flapping and giggling, her initial discomfort long forgotten as the monsters' baby-making instincts take hold.
  199. “don't...” the dragon pleads.
  201. “And you, human,” Styx continues, smiling at you amorously. “You'd better put out a lot... all of that sticky semen in my sister's belly, making sure you'll knock her up. You can do that, can't you? Make this little cutie-bird the mama she wants to be, her tummy all swollen up with your child? And then you can do the same to me too...” The pale bird's cheeks colour deep crimson, carried away on the tide of fantasy. “Aah~, wouldn't that just be bliss, having three lovely monsters, all carrying your seed in our bellies? And all you have to do is cum... cum as hard as you can. Cum and cum and put new life inside us, it'll feel so~oo~ good...”
  203. “No!” Ashy cries, with force this time. ”NO!” Tears streaming down her face, she opens her wings in one vast motion of leathery green, knocking Styx to the floor with a shocked expression. The blast of air scatters dust, grit, and feathers all across the cave floor, as she cries out for you, imploring desperately. Trix, in the middle of raping the husband of the dragon that's rushing towards her, starts to quail uncontrollably. “Let him go! Don't, master, please! I'm so sorry! I love you I love you! I want you to be my treasure and only my treasure, so please don't mate with anyone else, you're mine and I don't want you to be theirs too, they can take all my horde but don't make me share you, I love you! I l... love...”
  205. Her earnest declaration trails away, as Ashy realises that Trix isn't shuddering with fear – but with juddering, joyful orgasm. Your hips are moving on their own, bucking reflexively as the bird's slick, tight hole finally, totally, overpowers you. A torrent of thick hot semen forces its way up your squeezed shaft, her fleshy pressure amplifying the pleasure with each inch until your white seed explodes directly into Trix's fertile womb. The little harpy's eyes are alight with unrestrained delight, lost in the feeling of your love and warmth bursting inside, coating her, fulfilling her basest female instincts. Trix's thrilled animal cries sound like an entire dawn chorus at once, pouring joyfully out of the little bird-girl. Entirely oblivious to Ashazoth, or anyone else in the world, she wraps her feathers around you and pulls you together, kissing you over and over again on the lips, with ardent, needy pecks. A freshly-minted breeding female, yearning, aching for the touch and taste and pair-bond of her new mate. Still cumming, again and again you spew surges of gooey milk into the harpy's trembling womanhood, your testes in overdrive - as if your body can sense virgin territory to conquer, and is desperate to claim it as thoroughly as possible. With your cock still plugging her up tightly, prodigious spurt after prodigious spurt starts to push Trix's flat belly outwards. What few thoughts you can think, mind half carried away by the torrent of toe-curling pleasure, are mostly disbelief that you could have this much in you. For Trix, it's disbelief that she can have this much of you -in her-, as your dragon-trained dick pumps her to the brim and then keeps pumping. Eyes watering with the ecstatic ache of being overfull, she wiggles her narrow hips rapidly in mindless breeding lust. Your cock shudders its last spoogey drops into Trix's now slightly pudgy belly, and the harpy's orgasmic shakes give way the warm satisfaction of a bird that's very, very thoroughly stuffed.
  207. The corners of your vision have blurred into hazy shadows - most of your body's electrolytes now in someone else's body. Styx hovers at the periphary of your sight, staring at her sister's stomach with her jaw hanging open and a thin line of drool leaking out of the corner of her mouth.
  209. And Ashazoth, watching as her master's dick gives its love so happily to someone else... The arm she was stretching out towards you falls limply to her side. There's the tiniest, heartbreaking whimper, as the golden sparkle in her anguished eyes just... dies.
  211. “S-sorry... Ashy...”
  213. “Haaa... don't be sad, Miss Scaly,” Styx coos. Her wingtips curl around the dragon's fingers, the harpy's voice almost consoling, now. “I said it'll be fun to share, and it was true...” With a sucking, schlorping noise, a moaning Trix manages with effort to slide herself off your still-hard member, foamy cum bubbling out of her honeypot the moment you separate. Styx's voice drops to an intimate, lovers whisper, “...So let's you and me share him together.”
  215. Eyes vacant, face wearing no expression at all, Ashazoth allows herself to be led by forwards by the hand, guided towards you by deep, black feathers.
  217. /*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/
  219. There's a rapid pitter-patter of claws on rock, as the little dragongirl rushes into the cave's chamber. Her plain, grey dress is tatty and frayed; not exactly ideal for the approaching winter, but it's the only one she owns. “Mamma, mamma!” the girl weeps, tears cascading down her cheeks as she scrambles forward, face a picture of childish anguish. “Mamma, Nyx stole my dolly and she won't give it back, mamma!”
  221. Looking up with a start from the pile of silver coins she's counting, Trix smiles maternally at the little dragongirl. “Aww, your doll got taken away, Newt?” she asks, as the distraught reptile scrambles into her downy lap. Jewelled beads in her feathers clink together as Trix ruffles the lizard's bright green hair. “Okay, tell mamma what happened.”
  223. Newt nods her head, calming down a little as the black harpy's soft feathers run reassuringly over her scales. “W-we were playing in the stream, and *sniff* we, me and Zyx, were playing fishy-catch and – and Zyx nearly caught one, and I'd put my dolly on a rock to watch, but then Nyx came and she took it and won't give it back!” the dragonling blurts out in one long, distraught burst.  “She's naughty, mamma, Nyx is naughty!”
  225. Trix pats the little dragon's head consolingly. “Well, if you were playing fishy-catch, why not let Nyx play with your doll for a little while? Remember, it's good to share,” the elder monstergirl tells her, softly.
  227. “But when I want to play with Nyx or Zyx's things, Mamma Styx always tells me I should stop bothering them!” Newt protests, her scaled legs kicking irritably.
  229. “Well, sweetie, that's because sharing means different things to different species, doesn't it? Nyx and Zyx are harpies, which means they get to be in charge and have the things they want first. While you're just a silly lizard, so you have to be nicer to your sisters and let them have their fun. That's the way our family works, do you understand?”
  231. Newt pouts at the harpy, but Trix's no-nonsense scarlet gaze eventually prompts a reluctant nod from the toddler. “Good girl. You have to do what your sisters tell you, or you'll end up like our smelly old housecleaner. You wouldn't want that, would you?”
  233. “No way!” Newt replies, blowing a raspberry in disgust. “I don't like her. She's sad all the time and doesn't like to play!”
  235. “Well, exactly. Miss Scaly didn't like to share things with me and Mamma Styx, so now she has to do chores all the time! So don't grow up like her, be good and share your things with your sisters instead, alright?”
  237. Staring up with her big golden eyes, the dragongirl's brow furrows, as though she can sense that there's something not quite right here. But as an impressionable child, being told the way of the world by a parent, she's in no position to disagree. “So... does that mean I don't get my dolly back, Mamma Trix?”
  239. “I'm sure you can have her back when Nyx and Zyx are done playing,” Trix answers with a smile. “Just find something else to play with until then. You could keep at it with fishy-catch, or-”
  241. “Can I play with a shiny?” Newt asks, hopefully. She may be very young, but she is a dragon. Hopefully, she extends a scaled hand towards the pile of silver coins next to Trix – but the harpy slices her wing down on top of the kid's hand. Hard.
  243. “NO!” Trix caws, red eyes wide in sudden, jealous outrage. “MINE!”
  245. For a full three seconds, Newt's too shocked by the lightning-fast change in demeanor to do anything other than stare dumbfounded; first at Trix, then at the thin claw-scratches that have suddenly appeared on her armoured wrist. Her bottom lip starts to tremble dangerously, and -
  247. “Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry baby, look what you made Mamma do!” Trix croons, wrapping Newt up and cuddling her in her jewellry-festooned wings before the waterworks can start. “Newt, Newt, there there, it's okay, Mamma loves you, but you know you must never touch Mamma's shinies, don't you? How many times do me and Mamma Styx have to tell you? They're not for dragons to play with. Don't cry, baby, don't cry...”
  249. Newt's mewls are muffled by the raven-girl's ticklish hold, as she bites back the sobs in Trix's feathers. But, cocooned in the harpy's warm, familiar, maternal scent, disaster is narrowly averted. Newt knows that good girls don't cry, and she knows her Mamma loves her, knows Mamma Styx loves her too. It's just like they tell her: that she's a bad monster, a dragon, and when she misbehaves, Mamma Trix and Styx only shout at her so she learns to act like a good monster, a harpy. As the minutes tick by, held in a blissful avian embrace, Newt repeats the thought to herself. Harpies are good and dragons are bad. Harpies are good and dragons are bad. Harpies have cuddly, snuggly wings, and they're light and graceful. Dragons are big and sad. Newt hopes she grows up to be a harpy instead of a weird dragon...
  251. “Little sister, it's yoooour go~” a cheerful voice sounds through the muffling wall of feathers. “Sorry in advance, sweetie, but I milked him unconscious back there, so he's probably not going to be very affectionate for the first hour or so. Umm... I know she had her turn already, but you might want to let the help at him first, he – oh,”
  253. Newt peeks up out of Trix's enveloping feathers, to see Mamma Styx standing there too. Heh, she's messy, with happy-juice all down her front! The little dragon doesn't really know what it is, except that it's Papa's treat and it smells nice. Styx looks at her, a flash of embarrassment crossing her face – totally naked, feathers an unmistakably post-coital mess, empty vial of girtablilu venom clutched in her wingtip - “Err... I didn't see you there, Newt! You need to run along somewhere else, 'cos it's your Papa's turn to cuddle Mamma Trix now.” The harpy glances down at her cum-splattered breasts, and adds, “...Actually, go to the stream and get some water for me, would you? Your Papa got me -very- dirty.”
  255. “Yes Mamma Styx,” the dragongirl replies politely, scrambling down from Trix's wings. She grips her tattered dress hem in a clumsy curtsy to her parents, before scampering back in the direction of the cave mouth. The brisk autumn air makes her shiver a little when she emerges outside, but at the moment, she doesn't mind. The leathery green wings on her back bounce up and down as her legs carry her over the scree of the entrance, as if impatient for the day she can fly straight to the distant hills, instead of scrabbling around on the ground like a silly human. Dragons may be bad, but at least they can fly like harpies. Poor Papa must feel so stupid, still stuck on the ground even though he's all growed up. Still stuck in bed all day even though he's all growed up! Mamma Trix and Mamma Styx say humans belong in bed, that's what they're good for. But it must be boring. Poor Papa.
  257. The dragonling can hear Nyx and Zyx still playing down by the stream. Her sisters are in the water laughing and cawing – a sound Newt can't make no matter how hard she tries, whenever she does smoke just comes out instead. But it's good they're down there, for now at least. Newt goes in the opposite direction – climbing up the mountain, to the rocks above their cave. And that little circle of boulders, that she found before Zyx was even old enough to play outside at all.
  259. Newt is the eldest sister, and dragons are stronger than harpies - much stronger. If she'd actually tried to take her dolly back from Nyx, she'd have succeeded – but her sister cried so hard, and Mamma Styx and Mamma Trix got so mad and scary, that the first time she did that was also the last. But strength has other advantages... like moving a big rock, that covers a little hollow she dug in the earth.
  261. With a boulder as large as she is in one hand, Newt uncurls her other – to reveal the shimmering, shining ruby bead, that slipped off Mamma Trix's feather while she was hugging her. Well, “slipped”. She might have helped it a little. But only a little. Newt holds it up in the sunlight, watching in fascination as the light gleams over the pink-red gem. It's so pretty. She loves these sparkly things, that harpies get to wear, Trix and Styx and Nyx and Zyx – she even traded the best fish she ever caught in fishy-catch for one of Nyx's emerald earrings. It's down there, in that hidden pile under the big rock, along with her favourite pine cone, and the shiny penny that Papa gave her when she was very very small. Newt grins, and drops the ruby bead in after it, then plonks the bolder back down on top.
  263. Furtively sneaking back down towards the stream, shivering under her tattered dress, Newt's tail nevertheless swishes happily behind her as she holds on to the thought. A pile of -her- things. And it's -her- secret. Something she doesn't share, not with anyone else at all.
  265. She doesn't know why, but she thinks it's very important, somehow.
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