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Ep. 10: The Scar

Ailsa settled upon a thick blue blanket with silvery patches. Still damp from the bath, she hadn’t bothered to dress. She opened up her pack, glancing at the dragon. Varcorak sat on his haunches nearby, his finned tail curled around his paws. Pale blue light made the gray lines and blotches of old scars stand out against his belly.

“You’ve a lot of scars.” Ailsa retrieved a couple brambleberry tarts and set them on the blanket. Each was twice the size of her first and wrapped in a golden, sugar-dusted crust.

“A lot of people try to kill me.” Varcorak peered at his scars. “Just as they’ve slain so many other dragons. Humans believe us evil. Even you called me the devil.”

Ailsa glanced at the tarts, sighing. “I doubt my opinion matters to you. For what it’s worth, your town doesn’t seem to think you’re evil.”

“And you wonder why I stay.” Varcarok stretched a wing, staring at it as though the green markings told a story across its black expanse. “Peace is as viable a means of survival as bloodshed.”

“So it is.” Ailsa picked up a pastry and waved it at the dragon’s scars. “Those attempts ever come close?”

“This one.” Varcorak traced a claw tip along a thick, gray scar marring his belly. “This one terrified me. I thought it was my end.”

“What happened?” Ailsa clutched the tart in both hands.

“Are you going to give me that tart or just tease me with it?” Varcorak licked his muzzle, rumbling a hungry purr.

Ailsa laughed. “I was going to eat it, but if you’re going to beg for scraps like a dog, here.” Ailsa passed the dragon the treat, then pushed a few more towards him. “They said brambleberry was your favorite.”

Varcorak popped the pastry into his muzzle, spines trembling in delight. “Oh, yes. I love these.”

“Good. There’s cakes, too.” Ailsa dug a cake from the pack and took a bite. The honey icing was melted, but it was still soft and sweet. “Maybe I’ll trade you for one of your tarts.”

“A fair trade.” Varcorak eased down onto his belly, licking sugar from his paw. He cocked his head and gave Ailsa an odd look. “Do you really want to know about my scar?”

“I do.” She may as well keep the dragon busy while the red root worked into his system.

The dragon reached for another tart. “Then I shall require your companionship.”

“Companionship?” Ailsa smirked, drumming her fingers against the leather pack. She grinned as Varcorak ate a second pastry. That’s right, King Ugly, eat them all. “Are you asking to cuddle?”

“Yes.” Varcorak snorted. He rolled to his side and hoisted a foreleg in invitation. “And bring the tarts.”

Ailsa carried her pack across dragon’s bedding and settled against his chest plates. When Varcorak wrapped his foreleg around her middle, Ailsa fought the instinct to twist away before she was trapped. She relaxed after a moment, telling herself the dragon just wanted to cuddle. Varcorak’s warmth helped soothe her.

Ailsa stroked the black scutes of the dragon’s foreleg, removing tarts from her pack with her free hand. She pushed them towards the dragon, along with a honey cake. Ailsa kept one tart for herself, marked by an extra incision in the crust. She picked up her tart, and leaned back against the dragon.

Ailsa took a bite of her pastry. The crust was flaky while the red-black filling was sweet and with a tart edge. It was studded with whole berries. No wonder he loved them. As Ailsa ate, she stroked Varcorak’s stomach. Her fingers brushed smooth scar tissue, and she glanced at the fat gray blotch.

“I was young.” The dragon’s spines drooped, his ears pinned back. “Too young to be hunted.”

Ailsa scowled. “You were being hunted?”

Varcorak glanced away, growling. “Dragons are always being hunted.”

Sympathy knifed through Ailsa’s armor. She knew what that was like to be hunted, to wander alone. How difficult life was when you never felt safe. Ailsa swallowed, and stared at a mirrored lantern just to keep her eyes off the tarts.

“It’s alright, Varcorak.” Ailsa rubbed his foreleg scutes. “No one hunts you now.”

Varcorak shifted, and Ailsa glanced up at him. She immediately wished she hadn’t. The smile the dragon gave her nearly broke Ailsa’s heart. There was honesty in that flicker of a smile that spoke of genuine comfort and consolation in her presence. Old bastard really was lonely. That wouldn’t keep Ailsa from stealing his treasure, but it might keep her up at night.

Ailsa patted the dragon’s hand. “Let me get us some wine.” Varcorak moved his leg. Ailsa rose, poured them each some wine and returned to the dragon. “Here. This will help.”

Varcorak accepted the wine with another smile that made Ailsa cringe inside. “Thank you.”

Ailsa settled back down against the dragon’s chest. This time when he enclosed her in his foreleg, she didn’t feel trapped, just guilty. “You don’t have to talk about it, Var.”

“I don’t mind, Ailsa.” The dragon selected a tart and gazed at it like some unsolvable puzzle. The sugar crystals glittered in the blue light.

Ailsa took a drink, then set her goblet down and splayed her fingers over the back of Varcorak’s free hand. Maybe it would do the dragon good to bare a little of his black heart.

“I was young.” Varcorak’s voice drifted, aimless upon a dark ocean of memory. “Not ready to live alone, but life had not given me a choice.” The dragon swallowed, pinning his spines. “Too young to be so afraid.”

Ailsa stroked the dragon’s foreleg, furrowing her brow. “Why would they hunt something so young?”

Varcorak bared a few fangs, gave her a dark look. “Easier to slay a monster before he’s fully grown.”

Ailsa winced and picked up her goblet. She’d drink the whole bottle if she didn’t need to stay sober. “That’s cold.”

“Slaying dragons was their only goal.” Varcorak turned his gaze away, his wings shivering. “They tracked me all summer. Several times they ambushed me, drew my blood, but never could they end me. The longer it went on, the more terrified I became. In desperation, I set my own ambush. Slew a few of them, drove the rest away. I offered pieces of their dead to the swamp in hopes of earning its protection and intimidating the others into retreat.”

Ailsa sipped her wine, rubbing the back of the dragon’s hand. “Didn’t work?”

“No.” Varcorak stared at his reflection in his wine, spines rising. “A few nights later, I cowered in my tiny cave while a storm raged outside. Shattering thunder startled me and I leapt to my paws. In the next flash I saw them slinking into my home, intent on murdering me in my slumber. The storm they’d used for cover saved my life.” Varcorak’s voice grew hoarse, and he took a drink of wine before continuing. “I tore one of them apart, burned another alive. I sound evil saying that, but I just wanted to live.”

Ailsa tightened her grip on her goblet.

The dragon turned his head, staring at his scarred belly. “I managed to kill them all, but not before one of them pierced me with a barbed lance made to kill dragons. He wrenched it from me, and the barbs…tore me. Inside.”

“Oh, God.” Ailsa shuddered, biting her knuckle.

Varcorak grimaced, flattening his ears. “It was the worst pain I’ve ever felt. Sometimes, when it storms, it still hurts.”

Ailsa traced a finger around the outline of the fat gray scar. “You’re lucky you survived.”

“I did not think I would.” Varcorak’s voice grew distant, his bronze gaze unfocused. “I had never seen so much blood. I tried to stop it, but it poured across my paws in a red tide. I twisted in pain and screamed till my throat tore.” The dragon hung his head, his ears drooping. His wings shook. He balled a paw into a fist. “Then I cried, Ailsa.” Varcorak’s voice cracked, growing hoarser with every word until it broke entirely. “I cried. I did not want to die. Not like that, not bleeding out, forgotten in some damp cave. I was so afraid, so utterly alone.”

“I’m so sorry.” Ailsa set her goblet down to squeeze the dragon’s paw between her hands.

“I was so afraid, Ailsa. Afraid I would die without ever mattering to anyone, with no one to remember me.” Varcorak took a shuddering breath, and turned his head away from Ailsa. His spines sagged around his head. “I…I need a moment.”

Ailsa furrowed her brows as the scaly bastard tried to hide his tears. Hell, she hadn’t even known dragons could cry. Varcorak wiped his eyes with a paw, choked back a gravelly sob, then another. His wings shook, a whimper escaped him. Ailsa swallowed, trying to strangle her sympathy before it got started. Damn dragon wasn’t supposed to be able to make her heart ache.

Aw, hell. Least she could do was comfort the beast before she robbed him. But only because she’d brought it up. Not because she felt sorry for him. So close to dying alone in his youth. Lonely and terrified. Damn it, Ailsa, cut it out! Ailsa’s throat clenched as she rose. Before she could stop herself, she wrapped her arms around the dragon’s neck.

“It’s alright, Var.” Ailsa pressed herself to him, stroking his neck. He’d better appreciate this. “You’re safe, now. You’re not alone anymore.”

Varcorak heaved a sigh, his brassy voice a battered, rusted horn. “No, I am not. I have you, Ailsa.”

Wasn’t that just a knife in the belly. “And your daughter, Var. And your town.” Ailsa rubbed his scales, blinking back a few tears of her own. “Right?”

“Yes, Ailsa.” Varcorak turned his head to gaze down at her, his bronze eyes wet and bloodshot. His pebbly scales crinkled when he smiled. He lowered his head, nuzzling her cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Var.” Ailsa hugged his head, and then eased back down to sit against his body. “You gonna be okay?”

“I’m fine.” Varcorak slipped his foreleg around Ailsa’s middle. “That was a long time ago. I try to forget how frightened I felt that night. How alone.”

Ailsa grimaced. The comforting warmth of Varcorak’s foreleg around her made for a blanket of guilt. “How did you survive?”

“The swamp.” Varcorak lapped up the last of his wine as he collected himself. He stared into the empty bowl. “Starting with the storm it sent to warn me.” Varcorak gazed at his windows. “As it always does.”

Distant lightning sent ice down Ailsa’s spine. Any moment now the storm would strike her dead. She hoped the dragon could not feel her goose bumps through his scales.

Varcorak pushed his bowl away. “I drifted on agony and fever dream, heard my father’s voice. He’d taught me fresh brambleberries quell bleeding, fight fevers. I woke and crawled from my cave, and there they were. Piles of them washed up around my home after the storm.”

Ailsa leaned her head back. “Lucky for you.”

“Not luck.” Varcorak’s voice sharpened. “The swamp. When I was dying, it brought me medicine. When I could not hunt, it sent me food. When I could not protect myself, it made a friend of my enemy.” The dragon gestured at the portrait of the gray gryphon with gray mottling. “The swamp provides, Ailsa.”

“It provided a gryphon?” Ailsa blinked, wondering if the red root and wine were influencing his story.

“He came to steal my kill.” Varcorak curled his paw and lay his head down upon it. “Still young, like me. Stalking a half-drowned flock of mud hens washed to my cave. I was too weak to fight him. He could have claimed my life and my land. Instead, he took half the birds, and left. The next day, he returned with a fresh kill and gave me half. Of all the gryphons…” Varcorak yawned, and closed his eyes.

Ailsa nudged the dragon when he did not continue. “Of all the gryphons…what?”

“We were threats to each other. Gryphons and dragons.” Varcorak opened his eyes to bronze slits. “So the swamp sent me the only gryphon who could help me make peace between our species.” He closed his eyes again.

“That’s it? You can’t end the story there! How long did it take to heal, what happened with the gryphons?”

Varcorak lifted his head, peering at Ailsa with bleary, unfocused eyes. “Sorry, Ailsa. I’m suddenly…quite drowsy. I’ll continue tomorrow if you wish.”

Damn. She’d stepped right in her own snare. “I’d like that, Var.”

“Good. Thank you for coming, Ailsa.” The smile the dragon gave her left her choking on her own guilty heart. “It has been…too long since I’ve known companionship.”

Ailsa forced a smile while she still had the strength. Her lies were getting harder to speak. “Even a dragon needs a friend now and then, right?”

“Yes.” The dragon laid his head against his paw again. “He does. Will you lay with me while I sleep? Sometimes that memory haunts my dreams.”

“Of course.” Ailsa fetched herself a blanket. “Var, remember what I said. When I’m gone, go see your daughter. Please.”

“I doubt she wants to see me.”

“Visit her anyway.” Ailsa sighed as she wrapped the blanket around her naked body. She curled up against the dragon so he could feel her warmth, her presence. Her words were a knife in her own heart. “I’m here if you need me.”

“Thank you, Ailsa.”

Ailsa pulled the blue blanket up over her face. She wiped her eyes. “Sleep well, Var.”

 

I hope you enjoyed the tenth episode of The Devil’s Deal by D. Wilder. Stay tuned for the final episode tomorrow. You can catch up on episodes you may have missed and see the full schedule along with contact information for D. Wilder here.

Ep. 9: The Pleasant Evening

Ailsa knelt beneath Varcorak’s outstretched wing, rubbing oil into the black and green canopy. The dragon’s wing membrane was sturdy as leather, but softer and quite warm. Tiny veins pulsed throughout it. A muscular joint behind Varcorak’s shoulder anchored his wing, with the membranes attached along his back from that joint to his haunch. Ailsa worked her way from the joint out to his wingtip. As Varcorak’s wing twitched and trembled, he made halting, growling noises that sounded suspiciously like draconic giggles.

Ailsa paused, smirking as she rubbed fresh oil between her hands. “Are your wings that ticklish, Var?”

“I keep telling you, they aren’t ticklish.” Varcorak snorted, his wing twitched. “They are sensitive.”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” Ailsa trailed a single finger across the underside of the dragon’s wing just to make it twitch. Varcorak squirmed. “They seem ticklish to me.”

“They require sensitivity to feel the air currents.” The dragon snapped his jaws. “We went over this while you oiled my other wing.”

“Could have sworn you said they were ticklish.” Ailsa had finished oiling his first wing quickly after returning to his massage. But the dragon’s ticklishness was so amusing she’d taken her time with the second. “Don’t worry, Cranky, won’t be long now and I’ll be done tickling you.”

Ailsa slipped out from under Varcorak’s outstretched wing and grasped its edge. Ailsa spread the oil all along the edges of Var’s wing until she’d reached his body. Then she walked back and forth, distributing the oil as far as she could. The oiled areas shone in the blue light.

“How’s that?”

“Good enough.” Varcorak folded his wings over his back, rubbing them together to help spread the oil.

“That just leaves your underside, then.” Ailsa grinned at the wriggling dragon. “Can you lie on your back or are your wings in the way?”

“I can.” Varcorak eased himself over onto his back, draping his wings against the blankets. “I don’t bare my belly for just anyone.”

“I’m honored.” Ailsa grinned.

Ailsa clambered up, and seated herself on his chest plates, smooth beneath her body. Ailsa stretched her arms up his chest, kneading the muscles beneath the natural armor. The oil made his plating shine. Ailsa wriggled her way down his body, massaging every armored inch. The further down his body she moved, the more the plates melted away into pebbly scales that felt lovely against her skin.

Ailsa oiled every scale. She worked her hands down his sides, across his ribs. Varcorak sighed, ever more relaxed. With her focus on his belly, Ailsa noticed more scars than before, gray marks on his ebony underbelly. She traced a finger around the largest scar, wondering, but when the dragon squirmed she left it be.

When she reached his hind legs, Ailsa slipped off the dragon. She oiled his tail next, from the finned spines at its tip to where it met his body. Then she turned her attention to a gray-speckled hind paw. She kneaded the tender gray pads and delicate webbing before working oil along his limb. Ailsa danced her fingers between the dragon’s back legs, teasing where scales gave way to flesh. His erection had mostly retreated. She traced a finger around a draconic testicle, dragged her fingertip up the ebon sheath that held his member, and moved onto his other limb.

“Tease.” Varcorak snorted.

“You like it.” Ailsa caressed the pebbly black scales of the dragon’s thigh, working to his paw. When his scales and pads were glistening, Ailsa drummed her fingers back down his leg, pausing where it met his body. “All done. Have I missed anything?”

“That’s not funny.”

Ailsa settled down against the base of the dragon’s tail, pebbly scales under her rump. “I suppose your balls deserve a massage, too.”

“That isn’t all.”

Ailsa grinned and ran a finger between Varcorak’s balls. The black dragon’s testicles hung loose in warm relaxation, their fat oval shapes silhouetted against the ebony skin. The left one hung a little lower, and Ailsa cupped it in her palm. With her other hand, she rubbed oil in slow circles over the sensitive skin.

“How’s that?” Ailsa rolled the dragon’s ball between her hands.

“Mmmrrrrhhhrrrmm.”

Ailsa grinned, massaging the dragon’s testicle till half his scrotum shone with oil. She moved to the other jewel, kneading the tender gland and spreading oils all across the skin. Varcorak groaned, his toes curling, spines trembling around his head. Ailsa watched his pointed, ruby member emerge from its soft black sheath as she polished his eggs.

“You’ve fascinating equipment.” Ailsa laughed. “I’m afraid the next man I’m with will seem boring.”

Ailsa reached forward and twined her fingers around the tapered tip of the dragon’s growing spear. It was hot against her skin, as smooth as the dragon’s scrotum. She squeezed it, stroked the last few inches with her oiled palm. Varcorak trilled in delight. She stroked him again, coaxing the rest of him out. Then she took him between her hands, running her oily fingers down the dragon’s shaft to his ridges, then his balls. Teasing his ridges brought a second trill.

“Where’s the most sensitive part of you?” Ailsa leaned over the dragon’s erection, breasts brushing him. Her tongue against his pointed tip made him gasp. “Here?” She drummed her fingers across his ridges. “Or here?” Varcorak sucked in another breath, shivering. “Here, I think.”

“Ridges,” Varcorak said, his voice a blissful murmur. “Then tip, and the rest.”

“Oh?” Ailsa leaned back, peering at the dragon’s penis. She wrapped both hands around its ridged base, then pumped him. “What if I just stroke these?”

Varcorak cried out, thrusting against her touch.

“Oooh, someone likes that.” Ailsa giggled, stroking the hot, fleshy creases a few more times.

“Ailsa, too much!” Varcorak half-shouted, half-laughed, squirming. His member pulsed in her grasp.

“That sensitive, huh?” Ailsa eased her grip. Wouldn’t want to set him off early and miss a chance to wear him out.

Ailsa ran her hands to Varcorak’s pointed tip. Between its natural smoothness and her oily hands, the dragon’s crimson member felt very slick. Ailsa squeezed it then eased her hands towards his balls, her fingers knitted around him. Ailsa pumped her arms, both oiled hands gliding together in smooth strokes. Varcorak groaned, the sound deep and gravelly, bubbling with pleasure.

“Feel good, Dragon?” Ailsa leaned back and forth with every stroke. The motion caused her to rub against his tail’s pebbly scales. She spread her legs, enjoying the feeling of his warmth against her.

“Yeesss.” The dragon’s reply was drawn out into a moan.

“Been a while before today, hasn’t it.” Ailsa stroked him harder, grinding her hips against the dragon’s tail. She bit her lip. It felt good. “Poor dragon.”

Ailsa leaned forward to kiss the dragon’s spear-flare. The dragon lifted his hips and Ailsa flicked her tongue. She tasted the herbal oils and the dragon’s exposed skin. For a moment, she wondered how dragons mated. Probably from behind, like animals. Did they share pleasure in other ways? That’d be something to see.

Alisa lifted her rump and slipped a hand between her legs. She was wet. Her swollen folds parted easily for her fingers. She worked two of them in as she stroked the dragon’s tip, licked his ridges. For a little while, she pumped the dragon with one hand and herself with the other. Then she had a better idea.

Ailsa crawled across the dragon. She dragged her tongue up Varcorak’s cock, her fingers over his balls. Then she settled against the dragon’s spear, her warmth and softness pressed to unsheathed flesh. The dragon’s member felt very hot and hard beneath her. Ailsa rolled her hips, stroking him with her rump. Varcorak groaned, eyes rolling.

The woman leaned forward and rolled her hips back, pressing her body to the dragon until she felt his heat against her sex. Ailsa trapped Varcorak’s cock between their bodies, hard and hot against her stomach. The pebbly scales of his underside teased her nipples as she twisted into position. She might not be able to safely take him inside her, but she could use his body to pleasure herself. Oh, and him too. Ailsa wriggled against the base of the dragon’s cock till she was parted against it, warmth caressing her spread lips. She rolled her hips, and pleasure blossomed as her clit rubbed against the dragon’s ridges.

“Oh, God.” Ailsa moaned, kissing Varcorak’s belly, his member flush against her.

Ailsa thrust against the dragon’s cock, using his ridges to stroke her clit and parted folds. Her wetness slickened Varcorak’s member as she dragged her pussy across it, his heat ever-present. The beast moaned, lifting his hips to slide his maleness against her body. His cock slipped along her belly, his heat pressed between her breasts. His scales rubbed her nipples, his ridges rolled against her clit and his balls pressed against her. Ailsa stretched her arms and dragged her nails down his natural armor, grinding herself against him.

As Varcorak moved, she moved. Ailsa matched his motions. She stroked his tip with her breasts, rubbed his mating tool between their bodies. She moved in tandem with the dragon even as she ensured his ridges kept sliding back and forth over her clit. Varcorak’s heat against such sensitive flesh was almost fiery, any hotter and the pleasure might stray into pain yet Ailsa relished it.

Varcorak put his paw on Ailsa’s rump, claw tips teasing her skin. Ailsa wriggled against his grasp, twisting against the dragon’s entire mating tool. Dribbles of draconic pre lubricated her skin from her breasts to her belly. Grinding herself against his bestial member and its hot grooves made her feel as though the dragon were some kind of giant, twisted pleasure toy. A toy she was more than happy to take full advantage of.

Not like the dragon wasn’t enjoying himself.

As Ailsa’s pleasure grew, her motions became more urgent. She gave little gasps and moans with every blissful caress of flesh on flesh. Her juices ran down the tiny valleys between the dragon’s ridges, wet his balls. When the dragon’s blissful snarls got louder, his thrusts stronger, Ailsa glanced up at him, smirking. Bet his swamp woman never rode him this way.

As Ailsa neared her release, she put one hand against the dragon and pushed herself up. With the other, she grabbed the dragon’s cock and lifted it away from his belly to press its base harder between her legs. She wriggled herself till her swollen clit was flush against the bumpy lines encircling the base of the dragon’s erection. Then Ailsa ground herself against it with frantic need. She rocked herself against the dragon’s spear, relishing its heat and desperate for more. Faster, harder, until finally she came again.

Ailsa screamed her delight as the ecstasy rolled through her, her inner walls clenching. She tossed her head back and forth, her jet black hair flying, eyes squeezed shut. Her honey spilled across the dragon and over his balls. Ailsa thrust herself against the dragon a few final uneven times, barely even able to hear his own cries through her pleasure. He throbbed as she squeezed him, dragon pre dribbling down her fingers.

As Ailsa’s orgasm faded, she eased back, panting. As soon as she caught her breath she leaned forward and took the dragon in her mouth. Ailsa bobbed her head against the dragon’s tapered tip, her hands stroking his oiled, crimson length in swift, smooth motions. Varcorak gave a shuddering groan. Ailsa swirled her tongue around his tip, sucking, and the groan turned into a frantic trill.

Ailsa bobbed her head and stroked him faster. Even as her own afterglow was just settling in, Ailsa had the unexpected urge to let the beast finish off in her mouth. He’d earned it with his tongue and all. Ailsa sucked him harder, slurping on the dragon. Soon Varcorak’s whole body went tense, his scarlet cock flexed and his ebon sac tightened.

Varcorak snarled when he came, his paws curling. His tail twisted into coils, his spines flared and he beat his wings against the blankets. Finishing him in her mouth seemed fun and spontaneous until the first spurt of white-hot dragon seed exploded from his tip. The force of it stung her throat and filled her mouth to overflowing. There was something primal about the taste of him but Ailsa was too busy trying not to choke to consider it.

The second eruption was larger and Ailsa was forced to retreat, coughing. She pulled her head back, dragon semen dripping down her chin. She pumped the beast in her hands through the rest of his orgasm. The dragon’s final spurts arced through the air, splattering his underbelly with off-white mottling that sluiced down his plates and scales. Once his bursts tapered off to dribbles, Ailsa let his member flop against his underbelly.

Ailsa followed suit, flopping against the dragon’s hind leg. She rested her head against him, panting. She wiped her mouth. “You’re messy, Var.”

“It’s your fault.” The dragon plucked a small, tattered blanket, and used it to wipe his belly. “We should bathe while there’s a pause in the storm. I hate going to bed unclean.”

“Good idea.” When Ailsa caught her breath, she slipped off the dragon. “Hope you’re not going to sleep on that sex rag.”

“Sex rag?” The dragon snorted, rolling over onto his belly. “Must humans name everything? I’m going to wash it and leave it outside.”

Ailsa smiled as she strolled to the tapestry-covered exit. She slipped out into the evening and found the storm had lessened to a cool, steady rain that filled the swamp with a fresh, clean scent. Ailsa stood beneath the overhang while her eyes adjusted. Streams gushed over broken cobblestone, muddy puddles lay in shallow depressions. The rain clattered against the tiles above her, and everywhere else was the pattering hiss of water on water.

Varcorak walked out behind her, rustling his wings. “I’ve set a blanket down inside so we can wipe our muddy paws when we return.”

Ailsa chuckled. Damn obsessive dragon. “So is this our nightly ritual now?”

“If you’d like it to be.” The dragon stepped out from under the eave, hissing at one of the headless statues as if it had insulted him. Rain splattered against his black and green scales.

“I’d like that.” She’d like that tongue, anyway. The next time some drunken warrior was awkwardly fumbling around with his mustached face between her thighs, Ailsa was going to wish she could use her stolen treasure to buy a dragon.

Ailsa followed Varcorak to his tub. She climbed into the cool water and closed her eyes. The chirping frogs and buzzing insects melded with the steady, cascading rain into an ocean of gentle noise. It sounded like a thousand soothing, whispering voices all at once.

Ailsa smiled. “Your swamp’s not so bad, Var.”

Varcorak rumbled as he eased into the water. “A pleasant end to our evening.”

“Evening’s not done yet, Var.” Ailsa waded to the dragon and stroked his neck. “We can’t end the day without your treats.”

 

 

I hope you enjoyed the ninth episode of The Devil’s Deal by D. Wilder. Stay tuned for the final two episodes. You can catch up on episodes you may have missed and see the full schedule along with contact information for D. Wilder here.

Follower’s Choice

Last Wednesday I missed posting to the blog. As a result I decided two posts today, with one of them being your choice, would make up for it. I’ve been posting two posts a day all week with The Devil’s Deal, but that doesn’t make up for anything. It is #DragonWeek afterall.

I had a few suggestions and the consensus was that people enjoy seeing me with a cock in my mouth. Wouldn’t want to disappoint. ;)

 

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Corset

I was going to do an audio blog of one of my “first” pieces. Had it all planned out. Did a couple practice runs and everything. Problem is, I’ve a cold with massive coughing and sore throat. I may be able to pull Smelly Cat off but no way can I pull off sexy and seductive with all this going on. So sadly, audio will have to wait for another day.

A first I can share with you is my new corset. She was waiting for me when I got home today.

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Isn’t she all dark and satiny and lovely?

 

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I had her on for a little while this evening as I have to break her in before Saturday. The videos make it look so easy but reality is, she’s a bitch to tighten all by yourself.

Oh, I haven’t mentioned Saturday? You’ll have to wait to find out what happens. Maybe another first if the meds kick in and knock this cold out. ;)

 

 

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Ep. 8: The Plan

The first thing Ailsa did when they released her from jail was to demand a hot bath, a hot meal, and a night in a comfortable inn. She used the bath to wash the cell’s stench from her body, the meal to meet with a contact who worked in the tavern, and the night alone to formulate her plan.

Meeting with her contact was a challenge, but he tended a local tavern so Ailsa just asked to have her meal there. She sat at the bar so she could hold a conversation with the bartender while she ate. The two guards she’d dubbed Pukey and Giggles kept watch, but Ailsa knew how to keep the authorities in the dark. She mixed in plenty of simple code words and phrases until she’d gleaned all she needed to know.

If not for the promise of dragon treasure, Ailsa would have ditched Pukey and Giggles in the middle of the night and never looked back at their mud hole of a town. Bad enough she had to give up the job she came here for. At least a bag full of loot would help make up for the sentimental value of what she was leaving behind. Now she just had to play her role till she got her hands on the goods.

Ailsa convinced the guards she should not meet the dragon without a gift for him. She suggested something edible so that he could fill his belly with treats rather than with his newest companion. After that, no one would shut the hell up about some damn tart the dragon always demanded. Tarts it was, then.

Early the next morning, Ailsa followed a winding cobblestone lane across grassy rises and beneath the drooping boughs of ancient willows. Cozy white-walled homes, little shops and hand-painted signs lined the path that led to the dragon’s favorite bakery. Warm morning sunlight painted the world gold, though a distant wall of roiling gray clouds promised rain as they slunk ever closer.

The bakery sat on the reed-lined banks of a lazy river. It had a domed roof and walls painted with all manner of pastries. Smoke drifted from clay-brick chimneys. A rock propped open the green front door. Delightful scents of bread and sweet cakes wafted out, overwhelming the dank smell of the swamp festering beyond the city’s walls. Ailsa savored the pleasant aromas as she strolled in.

Shelves and display cases showcased freshly-baked wares. A stocky man with dark hair placed loaves of bread. A slender woman with red hair tied behind her head stood behind the counter, arranging cookies on a silver platter. Both wore matching green aprons.

“Hello!” The woman glanced up from her tray, smiling.

“Hello!” The man remained fixated on his bread.

Damn cheerful idiots.

“Yes, hello!” Ailsa slipped into friendly traveler mode. “It smells wonderful in here.”

“Oh, thank you!” The woman flashed Ailsa another smile, then deposited cookies on a second platter. “My husband and I are just getting ready. Can we help you?”

“I certainly hope so. I’d like to buy some cakes and things, but…” Ailsa let her eyes drift as if interested in what they had stocked. “Do you take custom orders?”

“Only rarely.” The woman re-arranged the cookies, scowling at them. “Afraid we’ve already got a busy day of baking ahead.”

“What a shame.” Ailsa slipped a note of disappointment into her voice. “I heard the dragon likes your pastries best.”

The man turned around, and the woman’s eyes lit up. She grinned, quirking a brow. “Ah, so you’re that girl.”

“Yes, that’s me.” Damn guards told the whole town already. Ailsa sighed, lowering her voice. “I’ve scarcely any idea what I’m getting myself into. He’s…not going to…eat me, is he?”

Both bakers laughed, and the woman reached across the counter to touch Ailsa’s arm. “Of course not, Dear. Just treat him respectfully and you’ll be done before you know it. Might even end up wealthier than when you arrived.”

The old bag was right about that. Ailsa feigned a shy giggle. “I’m very nervous. I was told you might have something to help calm my nerves or help me sleep.”

“Ah, that sort of request.” The woman patted Ailsa’s arm, grinning. “Given your situation, yes, I could make something for you. Something with a pinch of red root, put you right out.”

Ailsa smiled in relief. She pulled a few golden coins from her purse. According to her contact, this bakery would do anything for the right price. Ailsa passed the coins to the woman, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I was also told you might be able to help the dragon stay relaxed and calm, as well. Just until I’m used to being around such a creature.”

“I see.” The woman glanced at the guards and the coins vanished in an instant. “He eats our brambleberry tarts by the dozen. I could add red root to those, as well. That’d take the edge off his attitude.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful.” Ailsa clasped her hands, beaming. “So should I offer him the whole dozen?”

The woman chuckled and shook her head. “No, just a few at a time. Otherwise that might leave even a dragon snoring for a day or two.”

“Oh, my.” Ailsa pushed a few more coins across the counter. “We wouldn’t want that. I’d be bored to tears.” She tapped a finger to her chin. “Of course, if I did end up wealthier in the end, I’d not be above sharing that wealth with those who helped me endure this trial.”

The woman chuckled, sweeping up the coins. “Wouldn’t say no to a nice tip down the line.”

“Wonderful. I’ll take a dozen brambleberry tarts, then.” Ailsa lifted her voice, smiling. “Plus one for myself, and a couple sweet cakes.”

“Of course, Ma’am.” The baker smiled and gave Ailsa a curt bow. “Why don’t you get some breakfast? By the time you’re back, they’ll be ready to go.”

“That sounds perfect.” Ailsa smiled, thanked the woman, and made her way back outside. She grinned at the guards. “Pukey, Giggles? Why don’t you buy me some breakfast?”

That treasure was as good as hers.

 

I hope you enjoyed the eighth episode of The Devil’s Deal by D. Wilder. Stay tuned for more episodes all week. You can catch up on episodes you may have missed and see the full schedule along with contact information for D. Wilder here.

Ep. 7: The Massage

Ailsa followed the dragon to his sleeping area. Varcorak settled on his side upon a sprawl of blankets and cushions, his wings draped behind him. He plucked a silver goblet from his wine crate, uncorked a new bottle and poured some into the vessel. When he held the goblet out towards Ailsa, the webbing stood out between his digits.

Ailsa set the clay pots down then accepted the goblet. “Never knew dragons were such aquatic creatures.”

“Most aren’t.” The dragon tucked the bottle away. He splayed his forepaw, then waggled his fingers and watched the gray webbing stretch. “Remnant of my heritage.”

“So there’s different dragon breeds?” Ailsa rolled the goblet between her hands. It’d fit nicely in her pack.

“There were.” The dragon set his paw back down, then curled his tail and flared out his finned spines, undulating them like fish fins. “Most dragons don’t have webbing. I’m just a creature of the swamp.” He grinned at Ailsa. “Or maybe I’m a malformed oddity.”

“You like toying with people?”

“As if you don’t.” The dragon flicked his claws at Ailsa. “Do you like red wine?”

“More inclined to ale and rum, but I’ve yet to meet a drink I couldn’t finish.” She held the goblet under her nose. The aroma was ripe with plum and cherry. Damn dragon had good taste. “Not something I’d expect a dragon to enjoy.”

“I stole a wagon full of it in my youth and developed a taste.” The dragon lapped at his bowl of wine like an oversized cat.

Ailsa sipped the wine. A hint of tartness and earthy oak balanced the plum and cherry flavors. “This is really good.” She glanced at the box of clothing. “How many girls have you had out here?”

“A few.” The dragon refilled his bowl. “Now that I can’t go around burning things, I get bored. It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

“Bored or horny?” Ailsa smirked, swirling her wine.

The dragon grinned. He tucked the bottle away and pushed the crate aside. “Let’s call it both.”

“But never lonely, right?” Ailsa exchanged her goblet for a pot of oil. “Because dragons don’t get lonely?”

Varcorak gazed at his blankets. He traced a single claw around a golden sun emblazoned on a blue quilt. “Dragons might get lonely. A time or two. In their youth.”

Ailsa uncapped the clay pot, an herbal aroma wafted from the oil within. “Have you always lived in the swamp?”

“Yes.” Varcorak kneaded the blanket. “I’ve watched it grow as I’ve grown.”

Ailsa trailed her finger around the inside of the pot, slick with oil. “You said there are still other dragons, right? Your daughter found a mate.”

“Yes, a young male from the west. They adore each other.” He bared his fangs. “But if he mistreats her I’ll beat him to death with his own wings.”

Ailsa smirked. “My father told the first man I was with if he ever laid an unwanted hand on me, he’d throw him in the village well.”

“A wise man.”

“He was.” Ailsa picked up her goblet. “Didn’t like that I ended up following the same path he did.” She stared into her wine. “Sometimes the roads we walk choose us.”

“So he was a mercenary, too?” Varcorak perked his ears, tilting his head.

Ailsa chose her words carefully. She didn’t want a simple, honest chat to be a noose around her neck. “He lived a life of danger and violence. When I was born, he knew he had to change.” Ailsa drank some wine then swapped her goblet for the oil. “Shall I start that massage?”

“Please.” The dragon stretched, luxuriating upon the blankets. “Your father sounds like a criminal.”

“Bodyguard for a criminal.” Ailsa knelt alongside the dragon and worked the oil between her hands. “Till I was born, then he was a town guard. Taught me to defend myself, but wanted me to live a peaceful life. Didn’t work out.”

“Plans rarely do.” Varcorak laid his head upon a purple cushion with silver seams. “My father was a dragon.”

Ailsa laughed, kneading the dragon’s shoulder. “And your mother, I’d wager.” Varcorak stretched his foreleg as Alisa worked his scutes, black and green scales shining in the oil.

“As I recall.” Varcorak closed his eyes, relaxing. “I did not know her well.”

“What was your father like?” Ailsa cradled the dragon’s gray-speckled forepaw, kneading the soft pads.

“Wild.” Varcorak splayed his paw. “My father was the swamp itself. Powerful, unpredictable. A tide to wash away his enemies. He taught me to hunt, to survive, and then he let the swamp raise me a while. If he saw me today, he’d ask me why I lived in here when I had the swamp for shelter.”

“So why do you?” Ailsa caressed the soft, warm webbing between Varcorak’s digits.

“I grew tired of moldy caverns.” The dragon pinned his ears when thunder rumbled. “Even I would be a fool to trust the swamp with my life when it’s in a foul mood.”

“So…” Ailsa glanced at the darkened window. Another flicker of lightning flashed in the distance. “Did the swamp…I mean, your mother…”

“Don’t stray into deep waters, Girl.” Varcorak opened his eyes to bronze slits.

Ailsa nodded. Better not ask about his mother, then. “Ever think about leaving the swamp? You could go west, find other dragons.”

Varcorak sighed, flicking his spines back. “The swamp is my home, Ailsa.” He turned his head, staring at the webbing between his fingers. “Look at my damn paws. I’m as much a part of this swamp as the water.”

Ailsa scowled, oiling her hands. “You sound like you think you’re trapped here.”

The dragon snorted and curled his paw.

Ailsa decided to drop the subject. She couldn’t rob the dragon if he was too upset to sleep. Ailsa smiled at him, and patted his scales. “Lay your head back down.”

The dragon took the purple cushion in his jaws and stretched his neck. He dropped the pillow, and set his head upon it. “How’s this?”

“Perfect.” Ailsa knelt alongside the dragon’s neck, working oil over his green-mottled scales.

Varcorak sighed as the tension melted from his serpentine neck. “That feels nice, Ailsa.”

Ailsa grinned, examining the gray spines decorating the back of Varcorak’s neck. They ran along his backbone, connected by thin, gold-tinged membrane. When they lay flat they overlapped one another. Ailsa ran a single oiled finger alongside his spines. They twitched and lifted a little.

“Think I can tease these into rising?”

“I think can you tease a lot of things into rising.”

“Aw, does little Varcorak want a massage too?” She danced her fingers over the dragon’s spines. “I’ll be sure to oil him up.”

“See that you do.” The dragon lifted his spines for her. “And never call it that again.”

The dragon’s neck spines were dark gray and tipped in gold, an impressive display of ancient beauty and primal threat. The membranes connecting them were mottled with emerald green and edged with more gold. Ailsa traced a finger along one of the green markings upon the smooth skin. The dragon shivered.

“Are you sensitive here?”

“Extremely.” The spines trembled beneath her touch.

“Good to know.”

Ailsa scooped fresh oil from the pot, and rubbed it into the dragon’s neck frill. She worked her hands in circles, polishing the membranes. Varcorak trilled and shuddered, his scales clicking. Ailsa kneaded his neck, loosening the knotted muscles along his spine. The oil made Varcorak’s scales shine in the pale blue light, like polished obsidian dotted with glossy malachite. The tips of his spines gleamed like wet gold. Maybe King Ugly wasn’t so ugly after all.

“You’ve striking colors.” Ailsa traced a finger around a green blotch.

“Yes, I’m ferociously handsome.” The dragon chuckled.

Ailsa worked her way up the dragon’s neck, oiling his scales and frill until she’d reached his head. Once there she caressed his ears and the smaller frills at the sides of his head. By the time she was working oil into the fine scales under his jaw, the dragon was purring. It took Ailsa a moment to realize it, but then it was clear. It sounded like stones cascading down a hill, rumbling and rattling, as though the earth itself found a way to growl.

Ailsa grinned, rubbing his chin. “Didn’t know dragons purred.”

“Keep it a secret.”

Ailsa smirked, massaging the soft area of the dragon’s nose. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“What deal?” The dragon swiveled his ears.

“I’ll keep your secret if you visit your daughter after I leave.” Ailsa stared at her oily hands as she worked them over his face, back to his neck. “You don’t have to stay here.”

“This is my home, Ailsa.” The dragon sighed, his tail curling. “I belong here. My swamp and my town need me.”

Ailsa kept her own sigh to herself as she worked her way back to the dragon’s neck. “So visit other dragons. Find a mate to share the swamp with. It’s just…” Ailsa scowled as cold guilt tugged at her heart. What the hell did she care? “You don’t have to be lonely, Var.”

“Your concern is appreciated.” The dragon’s voice wavered. He glanced at the portraits lining his wall, then at a box set aside from the others. For a moment, pain shone in his eyes, cold and real. It was an anchor heavy enough to pull down all his walls and lies and arrogance. “But I do not think I could save my drowning heart a second time.”

Ailsa leaned her forehead against his neck. “I’m sorry.” Sorry for what she was planning to do.

“As am I, Ailsa.” The dragon turned his anguished gaze upon Ailsa. In a few blinks, the pain was hidden behind bronze walls. “But you’re here for fun, not moping.”

Ailsa grinned. The dragon’s attitude was good armor across old wounds. She’d stop picking at them. She oiled the other side of his neck, then his other shoulder and foreleg. “Your wings are next.”

“My wings can wait.” Varcorak pushed himself halfway to his haunches. “Females should never go long without satisfaction.”

Ailsa quirked a brow, smirking. “Can’t argue that.”

“Then clothes off, Ailsa.” The dragon waved unsheathed claws.

“As you wish, Var.”

Ailsa eased her shirt up, gradually unveiling light bronze skin. She paused when she reached the swell of her breasts, nipples hidden. Ailsa circled a finger around the button of her leather breeches. She ran that finger down the seam of her pants, over her crotch, and then back to her waist. Then she popped the button, easing open the front of her breeches. The dragon’s eyes followed every motion.

Ailsa returned to her blouse, tugging it up an inch at a time. Once her nipples were exposed, she pulled the shirt off and tossed it aside. She ran both hands over her breasts, down across her belly, then hooked her thumbs into her unbuttoned breeches. Ailsa dragged her breeches down the swell of her hips, unveiling her mound. She paused before pulling them down enough to reveal her folds. Ailsa saw the dragon’s eyes lingering before she stepped out of her pants.

“There. How’s that?”

“Perfect.”

Varcorak curled his neck and brushed his muzzle against her cheek. The pebbly texture made her shiver. When she felt his snout drift lower, Ailsa tilted her head. She gasped as wet heat washed across her throat. As he licked her, the dragon’s paw settled on her hip, stroking her skin. His pads were soft and warm. Varcorak’s tongue roamed her throat, his paw explored her body and goose bumps rose in their wake.

Ailsa shuddered when the dragon’s tongue descended over her throat. He tilted his head down, and his chin scales brushed her left breast. When Varcorak nosed at her nipple, Ailsa held her breath and put her hands on his muzzle. The dragon parted his maw, swirled his tongue across her nipple. Ailsa gasped, the dragon’s tongue was just as velvety as a man’s and even hotter. It felt so wonderful twisting across the sensitive bud Ailsa was disappointed when he turned his attention to her other breast.

Varcorak dragged his muzzle against her, and Ailsa felt every fine, pebbly scale bumping against her hardened nipple. The intensity of it was almost too much, yet just when she was going to push him away he rolled his tongue over her. This time the pleasure was even greater as though his scales set her nerves alight in preparation. Ailsa arched her back, groaning.

As Ailsa arched, Varcorak stroked her back. Ailsa gasped when she felt claw tips dragged across her skin. The feeling was as frightening as it was exhilarating. She liked the feeling of nails dragged across her skin but dragon claws were far more dangerous. She shivered as more goose bumps broke out across her in waves.

“I won’t hurt you, Ailsa.”

“I know, Var.” Ailsa didn’t trust Varcorak, but the dragon had little reason to harm her.

Ailsa ran her hands over the dragon’s face as he worshipped her breasts. Each time Varcorak alternated scales and tongue, her head spun. The pebbly texture left her nipples alive with extra sensitivity, and the velvet heat took full advantage. The dragon stroked her back, her ass, her thigh. Claw tips glided across her but never broke the skin. Ailsa’s heat grew with the dragon’s every touch. When his muzzle drifted downward, Ailsa stroked his nose to encourage him.

The dragon eased his muzzle back, patting a blanket. “Get comfortable for your pleasure.”

For such a smug beast, Varcorak sure seemed concerned with her comfort and pleasure. Maybe it was his ego. She wasn’t going to complain. Ailsa dropped to all fours, crawling away from the dragon. She waggled her hips at him, glancing back.

“If I was a dragon, would you want to mount me?”

Varcorak rumbled, his ears perked. Ailsa could see his redness showing beneath his belly. “If you were a dragon, I’d have already mounted you. Alas, I cannot safely fit.”

“I’d better stop teasing, then.” Ailsa fetched a maroon cushion with golden tassels and rolled to her back. She put her head upon the cushion, parting her thighs with her knees up. “How’s this?”

“Perfect.” Varcorak rolled to his side, his belly bared.

Ailsa’s eyes roamed his belly. His crimson spear was exposed and rigid. “Looks like you’re having fun, too.” She stretched a leg to brush her toes against his ridged member.

Varcorak shivered, scales clicking. “I am. But this is about you.” The dragon arched his neck, muzzle touching her thighs. “Do you want me to lick you, Ailsa?”

Ailsa offered only a coy smile in reply.

He peered up at her from between her legs, muzzle so close she felt his warm breath against her most private flesh. “Do you want to feel my tongue?”

Ailsa lifted her hips, squeezing the dragon’s head between her thighs. “Yes, Var.” She kneaded her own breasts. “I want you to lick my pussy. I want to feel your tongue on me. Please, Var.” Ailsa wasn’t normally one to beg, even in play, but stroking his ego ought to maintain his trust. “Please, lick my pussy.”

“If you insist.”

Ailsa gasped at the sheer, stunning heat of Varcorak’s tongue gliding over her mound. This time he did not tease her, he lapped at her. The dragon’s tongue dragged across her folds again and again. Each lick parted her a little more. Moment by moment the sweet warmth slipped deeper inside her. Ailsa shuddered with each new lick. She lifted her rump, hips shaking as she pressed her crotch to the dragon’s snout.

Varcorak curled himself and grabbed her ass, massaging it. Ailsa wriggled between paw and snout. As the warm velvet of his tongue rolled against her, the scales of his muzzle stroked and teased her thighs. Ailsa panted and ran a hand past her belly to further part herself for the dragon. Varcorak tilted his head and Ailsa cried out when his tongue found her clit. The heat was almost too much to bear.

Ailsa kept herself spread with her fingers while the dragon circled his tongue. His soft nose rubbed her sex. Scales brushed her thighs as he twined the tip of his long tongue around her swollen button. Warmth and pleasure rolled through her with every motion of Varcorak’s agile tongue. With her free hand, Ailsa squeezed a breast in time with the dragon’s pleasuring.

Ailsa’s eyes went wide, her mouth hung open in silent gasp when the dragon plunged his tongue inside her. The sudden rush of such intimate warmth made her dig her fingers into her own skin. Varcorak’s tongue twisted inside her and Ailsa rubbed her clit in matching motions. Ailsa gazed at Varcorak. There was a strange thrill in seeing the primal beast working for her pleasure, his muzzle buried between her thighs, horns sprouting above her legs.

Varcorak pumped his tongue, and Ailsa pressed herself against the heat that filled her. Her wetness marked his scales. Ailsa dropped her rump, and the dragon pulled his head back, pink tongue sliding from within her, dragging against her lips. Ailsa’s head lolled back in bliss, her whole body felt as hot as the dragon’s tongue that swirled against her.

Ailsa dropped her head to the cushion, moaning. The dragon’s paws roamed her body. His pads glided in soft circles across her belly. His scales dragged over her skin when he stretched a foreleg to grasp her breast. Varcorak’s paw pads were silken soft against her hardened nipples.

Varcorak’s tongue matched his touch. When he traced circles across her skin, he rolled his tongue tip around her clit. When he stroked her thighs, he bobbed his muzzle against her pussy. Whenever the dragon’s tongue left her clit, Ailsa replaced it with her fingers. Shivers of pleasure ran through her with their every shared touch.

Whenever the dragon’s tongue filled her, the heat was nearly all consuming. Ailsa rolled her hips against the dragon’s snout, wanting more. Varcorak arched his long neck, bobbing his head between Ailsa’s legs. Together they built a primal rhythm, the dragon’s tongue thrust into her each time she arched her back, scales stroking her thighs.

As Ailsa’s bliss grew, so did her moans. Her body trembled and tensed in rising delight. The louder Ailsa got, the more intensity Varcorak poured into his pleasuring. Ailsa writhed against the blankets as the dragon’s tongue returned time and again to the spots and motions that made her cry out.

Wetness dribbled down Ailsa’s thighs as the dragon bobbed his whole head. His scales stroked her skin, his tongue pumped in and out of her. Ailsa’s fingers grew frantic around her clit when the dragon spent a few long moments just swirling his tongue inside her, her pleasure surging.

“Aah!” Ailsa grit her teeth, unable to hold back her cries. “AH! Var! Vaaaar! I’m…ah! AAAHH!”

Ailsa arched her back as she came, her eyes squeezed shut. She ground herself against the dragon’s muzzle, inner walls clenching his tongue as ecstasy consumed her. Varcorak worked his tongue the whole time. Ailsa’s pleasure was drawn into beautiful, lingering moments through which she could scarcely breathe. Her juices soaked the dragon’s nose and pebbly chin. When her orgasm faded, Ailsa sank against the blankets moaning her satisfaction.

Varcorak lapped at her as if cleaning her with his tongue. “Enjoy yourself, Ailsa?”

Not even the dragon’s smugness could darken her afterglow. She stretched out on the blankets, answering him only with a happy sigh.

“Perhaps we shall make that a daily ritual.” Varcorak’s purr filled the room. “You pleasure me, I pleasure you.”

Ailsa smiled, rolling to her side. “You’re pretty good with your tongue.” She propped herself up on her elbow, smirking. “Must be all those gryphons you blow.”

“Been a while since I’ve done that.” Varcorak laughed, curling his tail.

“Pleasure a woman, or blow a gryphon?” Ailsa giggled.

“Either one.”

Ailsa laughed with him. She’d have a lot of stories to tell after tonight. She could hear herself warning prospective dragon-slayers now. Careful, the dragon might be busy blowing a gryphon. Don’t give me that look, I know more about dragons than you. I’ve blown one too! In fact, don’t slay him. He may have a daughter somewhere.

An image popped into Ailsa’s head. She saw Varcorak, splashing through the swamp. He was laughing, chasing an adorable little hatchling. The idea that even a dragon could experience such innocent joy made her smile.

“What are you grinning at?”

Ailsa stuck her tongue out at the dragon before her smile turned too wistful. She still had a role to play. “You, you horny lizard. I still have to finish your massage, don’t I?” She glanced at her pack. “Then maybe we’ll sit together, eat some tarts, and just…talk.”

“That sounds nice, Ailsa.” The contentment in Varcorak’s happy sigh almost broke Ailsa’s thieving heart. “That sounds nice.”

 

I hope you enjoyed the seventh episode of The Devil’s Deal by D. Wilder. Stay tuned for more episodes all week. You can catch up on episodes you may have missed and see the full schedule along with contact information for D. Wilder here.

TMIT: Let’s Get Serious

Let’s Get Serious

tmituesday serious

 

1. What are you most afraid of?
I am afraid of not being able to breathe. I have asthma, sometimes very bad, as well as severe allergies that have sent me to the hospital with anaphylaxis. Walking into a hospital and having them bring you on back without asking you any questions, that was when I knew things were seriously bad. I have an inhaler and an Allerject that are with me at all times. Well, except for that one time last month when I left my bag at the office and hadn’t yet replaced my spare. That was not a fun night.

2. Do you believe in life after death?
Do I believe when we die we magically end up in heaven or hell, or some other existence? Not really. I do believe that there is something to be learned from the human experience and our souls reincarnate until we learn whatever that is. I also believe that we live on through our children. Each generation carries pieces of the generations before it.

3. What is your purpose?
My purpose in life is to raise my son to be a decent human being. To provide for him, to love him, and to teach him.

4. Where are you going?
When I’m done this? Upstairs to bed. ;)

5. Do you fear hell? Why or why not?
Not at all, because I don’t believe the hell we are taught to fear really exists. Many of us live a hell on earth these days.

6. Do you feel free?
Nope. You have to know that I love my son and would do anything in the world for him, but since having him my whole existence has changed. He is a factor in everything I do, in every decision I make. I can’t even go to the bathroom without him following behind me!

Bonus: Why do people point to their wrist when asking for the time, but people don’t point to their crotch when asking where is the bathroom?
I always thought pointing to your crotch was the universal signal for “Do you want to get with this?” Or maybe it’s “Beware, it’s that time of the month and this things a monster!” I don’t know. LOL…

————

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

TMI Tuesday

 

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