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Ailsa rinsed the mud from her dress, then wrung it out and pulled it on. The wet blue fabric clung to her skin. She stepped into her boots and snatched up her pack. Ailsa searched for her sword and knives before she remembered they were locked away in the town jail.

Ailsa scowled, following the dragon. The beast’s posture had changed. Varcorak’s tail hung, its spiny fins dragged the ground. He held his head down, spines pinned flat to his skull. His green-mottled wings were half-unfurled as though he were ready to fly to safety. Each time thunder cracked the still air the dragon jumped and glanced around.

By the time they’d reached the manor it was as if someone had opened the clouds with a knife. The crushing deluge would have soaked Ailsa to the skin if she wasn’t already wet. She cradled her pack to protect it from the rain. She doubted the dragon would eat soggy pastries.

Varcorak hunkered beneath the overhanging roof that sheltered the entryway. Fluted columns in alternating white and black marble spanned either side of the dragon. The pillars culminated in elegant arches supporting the tiled eave. Rain pounded against the roof tiles in a hissing cascade, pouring down around the dragon. The rain brought a sweet freshness that covered up the danker scent of the swamp.

As Ailsa ran to catch up with the dragon, she spotted a few more statues near his entryway. Like those dotting the plaza, they were missing their heads. “What’s with those?”

“I didn’t like the way they were looking at me.” Varcorak growled. “Dead eyes. So I pulled their heads off.”

“Oh.” Right. Nothing creepy about that.

“Come inside, Ailsa.” Varcorak walked into the archway that served as entrance.

Up close the dragon’s manor looked like a limestone fortress, square and sturdy. An immense tapestry hung across the arched entry. An image of the dragon adorned the tapestry, inky black and emerald green. The dragon’s name was scrawled across it in fancy script. Varcorak. Beneath the dragon was another phrase. The Black Shield.

“The Black Shield?” Ailsa raised her voice over the rain. “What does that mean?”

“The town calls me that.” The dragon pushed aside the tapestry long enough for Ailsa to slip through. “Because I protect them.”

Ailsa patted dragon’s haunch in thanks and went inside. “Good name.”

Varcorak snorted. “I suggested Varcorak, King of the Swamp, and Bringer of Desolation, but it wouldn’t fit.” The dragon padded inside and let the tapestry fall shut.

Inside the dragon’s home, Ailsa was struck by the quiet and the pleasant aroma. The stone walls and thick tapestry shut out most of the rain and thunder. Coils of gray-brown smoke rose from smoldering incense in iron braziers. It left the air smelling of the deep forest melded with exotic spices.

“Is that incense?” Ailsa laughed, almost in disbelief.

“Yes. Humans don’t like the smell of the swamp.” Varcorak flared his nostrils as if reveling in the scent himself. “Do you not like it?”

“It’s nice, actually.”

“Good, because I’m lighting more.”

Varcorak walked to a brazier holding a clump of wet, red-brown moss. He took a breath, and spat a burst of stunning, red-orange fire across the brazier. Ailsa winced at the flash of heat, but could not tear her eyes away from roiling flames erupting from the dragon’s mouth. Great. They really could do that. In the fire’s wake, the moss lingered as smoldering embers emitting pungent smoke.

Ailsa shifted her pack, chuckling. “Never thought dragons would have incense in their lair.”

“Lair.” The dragon grinned, lifting his ears. “I like that word. Makes me sound dangerous.”

“You are dangerous, aren’t you?” Ailsa smiled.

“Extremely.” The dragon rumbled, splaying his tail spines. “Especially to those who betray my trust.”

Ailsa wrenched fear’s cold fingers away from her heart. Varcorak couldn’t know. “I can’t imagine anyone would dare cross you.”

“Not if they appreciate the use of their limbs.”

Ailsa smiled, looking around the dragon’s lair while her eyes adjusted. It was a bit dark inside. Windows dotted the upper walls, the panes shone white-gold when lightning flashed. Mirrored lanterns hanging on iron hooks emitted a pale blue light. Ailsa examined one and saw the light came from a misshapen lump of crystal. Glowing rocks? Those were definitely worth snatching.

“Where’d you get these glowing rocks?”

“I found the light stones in the swamp.” The dragon swished his tail. “The swamp provides.”

Sure. Damn lying dragon.

Once Ailsa’s eyes adjusted, her jaw dropped. She’d expected a mess. She thought Varcorak’s hoard would be big pile of coins with scattered crowns, jewels and skulls. Instead it was tidy, ordered, almost obsessive. Every wall was lined with shelves, crates, chests and more. Ancient tomes filled elegant bookcases. Gold rings glittered in a crystalline display case. A jeweled scepter sat upon a lone shelf. The dragon might know every bit of treasure here.

Varcorak’s tail brushed her as he walked by. “What do you think?”

“It’s not what I expected.” Maybe if she only stole from closed chests he wouldn’t notice till she was gone.

Varcorak snorted and stretched a wing. “I suppose you thought I slept on a pile of coins in a cave.”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

The dragon tossed his head, hissing. “Why do humans think dragons sleep on metal? Sounds profoundly uncomfortable. And untidy.” The dragon clicked his teeth and waved a paw. “If you had a collection of valuables, would you just toss it about on the floor?”

Ailsa’s gaze wandered across portraits and busts of dragons adorning his walls. “So what do you sleep on?”

“Pillows and blankets.”

Ailsa followed his gaze to the largest pile of bedding she’d ever seen. Woolen blankets, comforters, cotton sheets, silk spreads, lumpy pillows and frilly cushions, all neatly arranged in the corner. “Where did you get all that?”

“The town.” Exasperation stretched the dragon’s voice. “More comfortable than animal hides and easily washed. You will sleep upon them with me. I promise not to roll over and crush you.” The dragon smirked at her, flicking his ears. “Do you wish dry clothing?”

Ailsa grimaced, tugging at her wet blue dress. “I’d love it.”

“This way.” The dragon walked to a series of wooden crates along the wall. “Unless you prefer to go naked.”

“Sounds like what you’d prefer.” Ailsa set her pack down, grinning.

The dragon pulled a crate free. “Don’t leave your pack there.”

Damn dragon was obsessed with tidiness. Ailsa picked up her pack, and set it in an empty space between crates. “Better?”

“For now.” The dragon pushed the crate towards her. “Your clothes are in here.”

Ailsa bit back an insult and replaced it with a smile. Good thing she was gonna rob this dragon and run. She doubted she’d last more than a few days with him before she got herself eaten for kicking him in the balls. She knelt down and opened the crate, wondering where he got the clothes that filled it.

“What are these, trophies from your last victims?”

“Only a few of them.” The dragon yawned, tongue curling.

Ailsa ignored the dragon as she appraised the garments. She glanced at colorful dresses and frilly skirts, but needed something suitable for her escape. Half of it was moth-eaten anyway. Before long, Ailsa was tossing old clothing on the floor just to irritate the dragon.

“Stop making a damn mess!” The dragon snapped his jaws when the box was nearly empty.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ailsa said, her voice all false innocence. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean that all–Oh!” Ailsa pulled out a pair of well-worn black leather breeches. “Here’s something.”

The dragon peered at the pants, tail twitching. “Oh, I liked her. Shirt should be there too. Green and gold.”

Ailsa seized a green sleeve and pulled the shirt free. “You didn’t eat her, did you?”

“Certainly not.” The dragon stuffed clothing back in the box. “I rescued her from the swamp.”

Ailsa stood and held the pants against herself. “Aw, how sweet, someone you didn’t drown. Didn’t think you had any kindness in you.”

The dragon narrowed his bronze eyes and pinned his spines back. “Do not presume to know what is in my heart.”

Ailsa grimaced. Beast had a point. “Sorry.”

The dragon grunted and busied himself packing clothes away. What kind of woman got herself lost in a swamp? A woman like Ailsa. Did she rob the dragon too?

Ailsa stripped off her boots and wet dress, and stepped into the dry breeches. She glanced at the dragon while she pulled them up. “You really like human women, huh?” She buttoned up her breeches. A bit tight but they’d do. “Are we your fetish, Dragon?”

“I don’t know that word.” The dragon cocked his head. “I like many things, human females included. That surprises you?”

“Yes.” Ailsa scooped up the green blouse and pulled it over her head. “I thought dragons would only be into…” She adjusted the blouse. The gold-hemmed emerald sleeves were a little short. “We’re not even the same species.”

The dragon shrugged green-mottled wings. “We’re both sentient creatures who speak our consent. What is not to understand?”

Oh, sure, make her look like an idiot. Thanks, Dragon. “If you put it that way…”

“Humans complicate things. Pleasure is natural. It is not to be ashamed of.” The dragon fetched her wet blue dress, and laid it over the crate. “How are your clothes?”

“Dry.” Ailsa fidgeted with them. “Thank you.”

The dragon moved the crate against the wall near her pack. “How did you find yourself in my town?”

The question caught Ailsa off-guard. She couldn’t tell the dragon the truth without blowing her cover. Ailsa made a show of adjusting her breeches. “Passing through on my way out west. Figure all the instability out there means lucrative work.”

“So you decided to stop by the swamp on your way to die in someone else’s rebellion?” The dragon shifted a few crates, but Ailsa saw through his feigned disinterest. Varcorak knew more about the outside world than she expected.

“Actually I hoped to work here and avoid the damn rebellions.” Ailsa gave the dragon her best mercenary smirk. “Never know how those things will play out and losers rarely get paid. Turns out some scaly bastard’s got the local mercenary market cornered.”

“Indeed.” The dragon scratched his neck with a wingtip talon. “It’s for the best. The swamp would have ended you, and that would cause trouble.” The dragon gave her an odd stare, lifting his spines. “It only takes one dead trespasser to get people up in arms, hunting down the swamp tribes. And that makes the swamp very angry.”

Ailsa wasn’t superstitious, but the idea of an angry swamp was starting to get to her. Thunder rumbled, and Ailsa glanced at a window streaked with lashing rain. “Yeah, I heard there’s gryphons out there.”

“Gryphons, lizardfolk, horned coyotes, so on.” The dragon flicked his tail, spines scraping stone. “Humans call them what they resemble.” Varcorak arched his neck, flaring his gold-tinged frills. “They once sought trade with your kind until your people killed them for their lands. So the swamp fought back, and the dead town outside is the result.”

“I thought you said it was a plague.” Ailsa wrung her hands, glancing at the exit. Was he unstable or just toying with her?

“I say a lot of things.” The dragon stared at her. Mischief and danger danced together in his bronze eyes before he turned away. “I’m going to get us a drink. Feel free to look around, just put everything back where you found it.”

“Sure thing.” For now.

 

I hope you enjoyed the fifth 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.

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Ailsa rose to her feet, shivering. Something in the dragon’s voice made Ailsa wonder if it already had. She gazed at him, then walked to the crystalline fountain and knelt down. She leaned forward and braced herself against one hand, her bare rump in the air. She scooped some fresh water and sipped at it. It was cool, with a faint, refreshing mineral taste.

“This water is really good.” She scooped up some more, eager to quench her nervous thirst. She slurped it and glanced back at the dragon. He was staring at her, so she eased her rump higher into the air, parting her knees. “Enjoying the view, dragon?”

“Yes, Ailsa, I am.” The dragon rumbled, his tail swaying behind him.

Ailsa grinned. “So you were listening. Are you going to tell me your name, too?”

“Only if you promise to moan it for me later.”

Ailsa’s blue-green eyes widened. “Promise. What’s your name?”

“Varcorak.”

Ailsa worked the dragon’s name over her tongue as if tasting unfamiliar food. “I’m not sure I can pronounce that. Maybe I’ll just moan like this.” She ran a hand over her belly and down between her thighs till she knew the dragon could see her fingers roaming her folds. “Ooooooooh, Vaaaaaar.”

“That is acceptable.” The dragon’s eyes fixed upon her wandering fingers.

“Good.” Ailsa gazed back at the dragon. She had to sell her role, right? Might as well have some fun with it. She rolled her hips a little, working herself against her own fingers. As the dragon stared, she parted herself, moaning under her breath. From her vantage, she had a clear view along the dragon’s underbelly. A hint of red peeked from the dragon’s fleshy black sheath. “I guess you do like what you see.”

The dragon curled his long neck to gaze under his belly. “If you tease me into arousal, you’re going to have to tend me.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Ailsa swayed her hips, smiling. “Shall I demonstrate?” May as well get the first time over with and earn his trust. “Prove I’m the right woman for you?”

“Seems wise.” The dragon’s crimson tool poked out a little more. “Get in the tub and I shall join you.”

“Good.” That’s right, King Ugly. Buy into it. “I have to admit, I’m curious to see what’s hiding in that tube thing.”

That was a lie. Well, it had a hint of truth. Maybe more than a hint. …So she wanted to see the damn thing. Big deal. How many chances would she get to see a dragon’s penis?

Varcorak scrunched his muzzle. “Tube thing? We call it a sheath.” Varcorak smirked at Ailsa, spines lifted. “Your curiosity is expected. Dragons are magnificent. Now get in the water.”

Smug bastard. Ailsa bit back a retort about her boot and his magnificent balls as she eased down the white marble ledge into the pool. The cool water was refreshing after the humidity of the swamp. The dragon followed her to the water and climbed into the deep end of the pool. His bulk sent waves crashing over Ailsa.

“Watch it!” Ailsa wiped water from her face, coughing.

“Consider yourself washed.” The half-submerged dragon growled laughter, then peered at the clouds, water running down his scales. “It will storm soon.”

Ailsa rubbed at her skin, working away sweat and mud. She should have brought a cloth. She glanced at the sky, still dreary and gray, but she hadn’t heard thunder lately. “How do you know?”

“The swamp told me.” Varcorak swiveled his ears, listening to unheard voices.

Ailsa rolled her eyes. Maybe King Ugly’s kitchen was missing a few pans. Fine by her, it was easier to fool a dimwit. She dunked herself, rinsed her black hair, then surfaced and wrung it out. Cool water dripped down her body. With the dragon watching, she ran her hands across her breasts, her nipples firm.

“Then I’d best tend you now.” Ailsa beckoned him with a finger.

The dragon sloshed into the shallows. Waves rolled away from his scaly body. “Have you washed off your perfume stink?”

No wonder he lacked for companionship.

Ignoring his question, Ailsa walked around the dragon, exploring the textures of his body. The scales were firm and pebbly upon his shoulder, broader and smoother across his side. His wing membrane was like soft, warmth leather. She danced her fingers down the back of his green-speckled tail, then beneath it. Ailsa’s palm glided towards the softer areas of Varcorak’s body. Ailsa moved her hand, caressing the pebbly scales on the dragon’s inner thigh. Soft, warm skin brushed the back of her hand.

“You may play with my balls, if you wish.” Varcorak gazed back at her.

Ailsa blinked, smirking. Nothing set the mood like draconic bluntness. Made it easy to play the eager companion. “I do.”

The dragon tucked his tail aside, exposing his ebon testicles. The dragon’s scrotum had no scales, only soft black skin. Thanks to the cool water, Varcorak’s balls were snug and outlined in ebony. Ailsa put her hands on either side of them, teasing the area where pebbly scales gave way to soft skin. Soon she cupped the dragon’s balls in both palms.

Varcorak gave a throaty groan that made Ailsa smile. Stupid dragon already trusted her enough to let her hold his nuts. This was going to be easy. A shame she wouldn’t really get to tie him up, she felt a little empowered holding a dragon by the balls.

“Hell of a set you’ve got, dragon.”

“Thank you.” The dragon rumbled, pushing himself against her hands.

Aww. The big, horny dragon wanted to be played with. How cute. Ailsa rolled the dragon’s testicles around. She lifted one, silhouetting its fat oval shape against the ebony sac. Given treasure was at stake, Ailsa decided to go all out. She brushed her lips across the back of the dragon’s scrotum, felt the eggs inside shift.

Ailsa kissed each ball. They tightened and the dragon shuddered. Ailsa flicked her tongue out, and when Varcorak gasped, Ailsa swirled her tongue across his scrotum. She sucked the dragon’s sac, massaging the beast’s testicles. Glimpses of the red flesh growing beyond them made her curious.

Ailsa released him and waded to the dragon’s head. “Can you change positions?”

In response, Varcorak nuzzled Ailsa’s naked body. Scales brushed her stomach, and the dragon’s tongue flicked across her mound. Ailsa gasped and put her hands on Varcorak’s snout. The dragon pushed her with his muzzle. Hot breath washed across the lips of her sex. Ailsa stepped back, and the dragon pushed her again until she was trapped against the stony corner of the tub. Water sloshed around her thighs.

Varcorak wedged his muzzle against Ailsa’s crotch. Ailsa rose to her tip toes. Waves washed around her and crashed against the white stone. The dragon’s tongue parted her folds with blissful heat. Ailsa sucked in a breath as his tongue rose, warm velvet washing across her clit. Ailsa fought the urge to cry out even as her trembling body betrayed her, begging for more. The wet velvet heat rose over her belly, up between her breasts.

Varcorak’s bronze eyes were all shining smugness. “My muzzle fits nicely between your hind limbs. You shall moan my name later. Now tend me as promised.”

The dragon rose onto his hind legs and set his forepaws on the ledge behind Ailsa. The swamp dragon was fully displayed before her, his erection a crimson spear jutting beneath his belly. Ailsa stared at it, eyes wide. What had she gotten herself into? It was bigger than her forearm. The organ was lightly arched and smooth save for the fleshy ridges encircling its thick base. It was dark red, and tapered to a point like a weapon he’d drive into a female’s softest areas until she was defeated.

Then again, that described some of the better sex she’d had.

“Good lord, Dragon.” Ailsa set a hand on the dragon’s belly. Old scars littered his pebbly-scaled hide. “You’re not so much endowed as you are equipped for war.”

The dragon laughed, his erection bobbling. “I’ve used it for a conquest or two.”

Ailsa heard the dragon’s breath catch when she brushed her fingers down his shaft. The whole organ had the same slippery, silken texture as the glans of a man. The dragon’s penis had no head, just a minor flare behind the tip. Ailsa circled her fingers around the tapered point. It was like holding freshly forged steel, smooth and hard. Ailsa danced her fingers to the ridges that wrapped its thick base. When she played her fingers across them, the dragon groaned and trembled.

Ailsa wet her hands and entwined them around the dragon’s cock. She stroked him and the beast gasped and rocked his hips, thrusting like an overeager hound. Ailsa pumped her hands and the dragon thrust harder. His balls swayed, water splashed around him.

Ailsa moved to enclose the dragon’s pointed tip in one hand. That made it easier to give him smooth strokes that matched his thrusts. She pumped her arm, her wet hand sliding back and forth across the dragon’s slippery flesh. Ailsa marveled at his heat and myriad textures. Varcorak’s balls swayed and Ailsa cupped them in her free hand best she could. Encouraged by the moans and grunts she coaxed from the dragon, Ailsa stroked him harder, faster, rolled his balls around her hand.

At the end of each stroke, the dragon’s spear-flare peeked out from her grasp like a red hooded prisoner. When Ailsa eased her strokes, the dragon stopped thrusting. Ailsa held his member still, lowering her head to his tip. For a moment Ailsa just stared at it, scarcely able to believe she was holding a dragon’s cock in her hand.

“Hold still for me, Var.” The things she did for treasure.

Ailsa brushed her lips against his captive point. The dragon gasped. Good. She may as well give the beast something to remember other than being robbed blind. Ailsa parted her lips and pushed her mouth around him. When Ailsa swirled her tongue around the dragon’s tip, he crooned and tensed. Ailsa twisted her tongue again, and gave the rest of his mating tool a slow stroke.

The dragon’s mild taste was a pleasant surprise, little stronger than the faint saltiness of freshly-washed human skin. Ailsa bobbed her head, working her mouth over the apex of Varcorak’s cock. His pointed design made it easy for her to twirl her tongue around him when she pulled back. The beast grunted and groaned with her every movement.

The woman took more of the dragon into her mouth, sucking. She bobbed her head faster, slurping at the dragon. She stroked the rest of him in time with her head, massaged the beast’s balls with her other hand. The dragon curled his long neck under himself to watch. Typical male.

Ailsa slowed her pace, taking her time as she went down on the dragon. Her hands roamed him, stroking in unison, or toying with the dragon’s nuts. She sucked just his tip for a time, then took as much of him as she dared. She bobbed her head as slowly as she could. When the dragon groaned louder, she repeated that motion a few times.

The dragon’s mating tool throbbed, a spurt of hot liquid splattered Ailsa’s throat. It tasted stronger than his skin but no more so than a man. Ailsa eased her head back, let her lips pop off his pointed shaft. She licked him a few times. More dragon pre dribbled from the slit at the end of his tapered tip. Ailsa stroked it down his member, licking his tip. He hissed in pleasure, and Ailsa glanced at his face. His ears were splayed, eyes half lidded. His muzzle hung open.

“That feel good, Dragon?” Ailsa dragged her hot tongue over his sensitive skin while the beast watched.

“Yesssssss.” The dragon hissed again, his tail curling in the water.

“Good.” Ailsa parted her lips and took him in her mouth again. She bobbed her head a few times and swirled her tongue, watching the way it made his bronze eyes roll back and ears twist. Then she eased her mouth away and grinned at the dragon. She twined a single finger and thumb just behind his point, gave him a lazy stroke. “You seem kinda close. Want me to tease you, or finish you off?”

Varcorak licked his nose, his brassy voice shaking with pleasure. “I wish to release my seed before the storm. Later, I shall give you pleasure in return.”

“Sit back, then.” Ailsa gave him some room. “I have an idea.”

Varcorak settled onto his haunches, his erection jutting up from the water. His draconic balls floated beneath it. Ailsa knelt before the dragon, took him in a hand and guided him between her breasts. She flexed her shoulders to trap him there. The soft warmth made the dragon groan. The pebbly scales of his underbelly brushed her hardened nipples. The dragon’s cock was hot and slick against her skin, tapered tip erupting from her cleavage. Ailsa slipped her hands under the water, wrapped them around his ridges, squeezing in silent encouragement.

Varcorak lifted himself, thrusting up between Ailsa’s tits. Ailsa worked her body to stroke the dragon’s cock between her breasts, his pointed red spear emerging from betwixt them at the end of every motion. His scales rubbed against her nipples, pre-seed dribbled down his length, lubricating her skin. She slipped her hands under the water to stroke his ridges in one hand, roll his balls around the other. The dragon moaned, his horned head lolling, his thrusts frantic. His breath seized in stuttering gasps.

“Cum for me!” Ailsa stroked him harder, hand pounding against his ridges. “Shoot your seed, you wicked beast!

Varcorak snarled as he did just that. His muzzle scrunched, his gold-tipped frills flared. He beat his green-mottled wings, lashed his finned tail against the water. The dragon’s cock jumped and Ailsa realized she was in the line of fire. Time to take one for Team Ailsa.

Ailsa squeezed her eyes shut just as dragon seed blasted her in the face, white-hot and sticky. More thick spurts of it splattered her throat, marked her olive-toned breasts with white blotches. It ran down her fingers as Ailsa kept stroking with hands and body. Only when the dragon slumped with a long, groaning sigh of pure satisfaction did Ailsa release him.

Ailsa slipped out from under Varcorak to wash herself. She glanced at the dragon, grinning. This’d make a hell of a tale. Maybe she’d buy her own tavern to tell it in. Imagine the looks on her patron’s faces when told them where she got the coin.

“Enjoy yourself?”

Varcorak panted, his head hung, his wings limp. “Immensely.”

“Guess that means I get the job.” Ailsa dunked herself to wash her hair. When she surfaced for air, she saw the dragon scrubbing himself with his paws. “You know, we’d get cleaner with soap.”

“Humans brought soap, once.” Varcorak hissed. “It burned my eyes. I found it foul and unnatural.”

“Nothing wrong with a monster who smells nice–” A blinding flash of light tore through the swirling gray clouds and cut Ailsa off. She clapped her hands over her ears just before the tremendous crack of thunder that followed.

Varcorak cringed and pinned his ears back. In an instant, the dragon was out of the tub, shaking droplets from his finned tail. “We are going. Now!”

“Guess you were right about that storm.” Ailsa hauled herself out of the tub, glancing at Varcorak. “You scared of a little lightning?”

Varcorak glared at her. Lightning struck again, and Varcorak pinned his ears in anticipation of the looming thunder. “You should be more concerned whether the swamp and its storm will let you stay.”

Ailsa scrunched her face as she fetched her dress. She wasn’t superstitious but something in the dragon’s words made her skin prickle. “You make it sound as if the swamp has a will of its own.”

“It does.” The dragon tilted his head, gazing at her, bronze eyes narrowed. “I am going inside. Stay here if you wish. Do not expect me to come to your rescue should the swamp turn against you.”

 

 

I hope you enjoyed the fourth 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.

 

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“What happened to this place?”

“A swamp plague, I think.” The dragon scratched his neck with a wing-tip talon.

“A plague?!” Ailsa jerked away from a puddle filled with tiny swimming insects.

“Yes, you know how it is. A few people drop dead, the rest flee.” The dragon folded his wing. Something dark crept into his voice. “Maybe the swamp just didn’t want them here.”

Or maybe he killed them all. Ailsa reached for her sword, cursing when she remembered it wasn’t there. She wrung her muddy dress in her hands, gazing around. No signs of damage beyond age and rot. Maybe it was a plague. Ailsa wasn’t sure which was more frightening, being stuck with a dragon who’d slaughtered a town, or wandering a place ruined by plague.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” The dragon tossed his head. “It’s nothing I can catch.”

The dragon led her towards the large manor that stood at the end of the old road. Unlike everything else, it looked in excellent condition. Alternating black and white marble columns spanned the front of the rectangular limestone building. The columns culminated in elegant arches supporting the overhanging roof. Several pillars bore twisting vines with heart-shaped leaves and bright blue flowers.

Between the ruined town and the well-kept manor lay a weed-choked plaza. Statues wrapped in bramble and missing their heads dotted the area. The plaza’s center held a sunken, white marble pool. At one end of the pool, water bubbled up and cascaded down crystalline mounds and ledges, a mineral spring flowing from its own time-built monument. The water splashed down into the marble pond, draining at the other end through a channel that lead to the swamp. Just like the manor, the pond seemed clean and cared for.

As they neared the plaza, the dragon whirled on Ailsa. His spined tail fins went rigid, whistling through the air. He snarled, baring his fangs. “Tell me why you’re here before I incinerate you.”

Ailsa froze, choking on her heart. “Wh-what?”

“You’re not from my town.” The dragon narrowed his bronze eyes at her, hissing. “Tell me why you’re here.”

“I…well…” Damn, he knew? “It’s just…”

“Spit it out, Girl, or I’ll spread your pieces around my swamp.” The dragon’s voice cut her as easily as his talons.

“Jail!” Fear fueled her answer. Cramps knotted her belly. “To get out of jail!”

“Jail?” The dragon pulled his head back, growling.

“Yes!” Ailsa’s heart pounded so hard it made her voice quake. “That’s where I was. When I heard. You! About you.” She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm enough to put her story together. “I was in jail, in your town. The guards were talking about a dragon, and the next thing I knew I’d volunteered.”

The dragon cocked his head.

Ailsa ran trembling hands over her face. “It’s just…twenty years! I didn’t know what else to do, so I offered to solve their problem and be your companion.”

“Why were you in jail?” The dragon stepped towards her, silken menace in every motion. “I despise thieves.”

“I’m no thief!” With all the emotion in her voice, even Ailsa nearly believed it. She was a good liar, but an angry dragon rattled her more than any guard. “Just a mercenary looking for work. I got drunk, and someone put his hands where they didn’t belong, and I beat the shit out of him. Turns out he’s a city official.” A grain of truth made a lie easier to speak.

“Mercenary?” The fire smoldering in the dragon’s bronze eyes faded. “Better than a thief, as long as you don’t slay dragons.”

“I prefer jobs where the odds are in my favor.” Ailsa smiled, relaxing her posture even as her heart pounded.

“Wise.” The dragon arched his neck. “It is unfortunate you were punished.”

Ailsa shifted her weight. Was he sympathetic or picking apart her lies? “How did you know I wasn’t from the town, anyway?” Her dry throat begged for water while her lying heart begged for whiskey.

“No one in my town has black hair and bronze skin or smells of sweet rain. Nor eyes that shade of blue-green, like water beneath a stormy sky.”

Ailsa looked at her hands. “Olive, I think, not bronze.”

The dragon waved his paw. “Doesn’t matter. Remove your clothes, show me you’ve no hidden weapons.”

“Paranoid, are we?” Ailsa eased her pack off. At least he’d believed her.

“Paranoia keeps dragons alive.” The beast glanced away.

Ailsa’s skin prickled. Had many come to slay him under guise of friendship? She scowled and tugged off her muddy boots. He’d bought her lie, now to act as if she trusted him and put his fears to rest. Ailsa hiked up her blue dress, then pulled it off in one smooth motion. Standing naked before the dragon, Ailsa folded her dress a few times, and then laid it across her pack.

Ailsa had always been comfortable with her body. She wasn’t as voluptuous as a barmaid or as toned as a real mercenary. But a life of thievery and fleeing had given her a lithe sort of agility long since softened by the curves of adulthood. Hardly perfect, but who was? She turned to show him her backside. As her assassin friend said, let the man think he’s in charge, and he’ll never see the knife till it’s wedged between his ribs.

“Satisfied?”

“No. Your sex has no hair.” The dragon tilted his head. “Want manner of pervert do you take me for? I wish a mature female.”

“Wh-what?” Okay, now she felt self-conscious. “I’m more than adult! Just didn’t think dragons would appreciate hair!” Ailsa flushed, ears aflame. “Or even know we had that. So I, you know…” The things she did for treasure. The dragon just stared, so she moved on. “Convinced I’m not hiding anything dangerous?”

The dragon inclined his horned head the other way. “What is in your pack?”

“Some tarts and little cakes.” Ailsa picked up the leather pack and opened it. “Village told me brambleberry was your favorite.

“It is.” The dragon gazed into the pack, then pushed his snout in. His muffled voice filtered through the leather. “Oh, those smell heavenly.”

“Good!” Ailsa pulled the pack away and closed it. “I had them baked fresh for you this morning, before I left town. They’re for tonight. I thought they might help our friendship.”

“You expect friendship?” The dragon flared his gold-tipped spines, neck curling into an S.

“Isn’t companionship what you wanted?” Ailsa set the pack down. “Or just a woman to polish your spear?”

“Polish my spear?” The dragon shook his wings, laughing. “I want both those things.” The dragon stretched a green-splotched wing. “Pleasure, yes. But also someone to lie with and talk to when I feel…”

“Lonely?” That almost made Ailsa feel bad about robbing King Ugly. Almost.

“Bored.” The dragon snorted. He turned his head to gaze at his wing’s green markings. “I am not lonely.”

“Liar.” Ailsa smirked. The dragon was unwilling to admit his own loneliness. How very male of him. “You should find a female dragon.”

The dragon snapped his wing against his body, hissing. “Have you seen any female dragons lately?” Something dark and hurt drifted behind his bronze eyes. A cold flicker, an empty ghost, an old wound opened and closed again in an instant. “I sure as hell haven’t.” The dragon blinked and the pain was gone, hidden away behind layers of bronze indifference as he gazed at a bird circling in the sky.

That explained a few things. A twinge of cold sympathy squeezed Ailsa’s heart. She swallowed, muttering an apology. The dragon grunted, still watching the bird, his spines all pinned back. Now that she’d not only stuck her foot in her mouth but swallowed it whole, how best to go about removing it?

“At least…you’ve got me, now.” Great. Real nicely done, Ailsa. “That’s something, right?”

The dragon snorted, lips twitching around his muzzle. “That remains to be seen.” The dragon tilted his head, grinning. “You may try and rob me, and force me to drown you in my swamp.”

Ailsa’s every fiber tensed. He couldn’t know, could he? She forced a smile. “Fitting end, I’d think.” Act casual, Ailsa. “Hey, can I touch you? Your face, I mean. I’d like to feel your scales.”

The dragon lowered his head. “You may.”

Ailsa shrouded her relief in genuine curiosity. She set her hands on either side of the dragon’s muzzle. The scales there were soft and warm, pebbly in texture. She stroked them, smiling. “You actually feel quite nice.”

“Thank you.” The dragon’s breath washed over her skin. “Am I the first dragon you’ve seen?”

“Up close, yes.” Ailsa ran her hands back to the dragon’s spiny frills. The membranes were smooth, the spines rose against her touch. “I saw one flying, and I saw…” A dead one. “Another one down in a valley, but that was it.”

The dragon turned his head, nuzzling at her arm. Ailsa bit her lip when the dragon flicked his tongue, tasting the inside of her arm. His tongue was hot, wet velvet. He pulled his head back, scrunching his muzzle. “Your perfume stings my nose.” He gestured a wing towards the marble pool. “Wash it off.”

Ailsa scowled and sniffed at her arm. “Don’t like flowers, huh?”

Much as Ailsa enjoyed the rare chance to wear perfume, she was also eager to wash the mud and sweat from her body. She walked over to the edge of the pool, and knelt down on the marble tiles edging it. The water was clear and fresh, the white tiles marred by scratch marks but mostly free of moss and slime.

“How does it stay so clean?”

The dragon shook himself, rattling his spines. “I scrub it. Why should I bathe in dirty water?”

Ailsa glanced back at him. “I thought you’d bathe in the swamp.”

The dragon snorted, tossing his head. “I shit in the swamp.”

There was another mystery solved. “Guess it’s big enough to shit in one place and hunt in another.”

“My swamp could swallow a kingdom.”

 

 

I hope you enjoyed the third 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.

 

 

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Ailsa ascended old wooden stairs slick with moss and half-rotted by humidity and rain. Every creak made Ailsa’s heart jump. She braced herself to avoid tumbling back down the steep hill if a step broke. Aside from the decaying stairs, there was nothing to break her fall save the jagged gray rocks littering the tall, mossy slope.

Halfway up the hill, Ailsa glanced around at the swamp. The road that brought her here was just a muddy line through soggy earth shored up with wooden beams. Pools of brackish water and lines of emerald reeds stretched as far as she could see. Fat purple blossoms speckled a few patches of dark water. Tendrils of gray moss hung from the drooping boughs of massive trees with tangles of gnarled roots. From the wet land rose a broken line of imposing hills, all broken rock, soggy moss and trickling water. Gray clouds churned above her, distant thunder threatened rain.

Ailsa hated the swamp. It stank of wet earth and rot and she could have cut the thick air with a knife. And why was it so damn noisy? Chirping birds, buzzing insects, yowling beasts. Couldn’t they all just eat each other and shut the hell up? The cacophony made her nervous. All of civilization was behind her, and before her stretched the unknown wilderness. She felt naked without her weapons, her gear.

Ailsa scowled to herself. It seemed easy yesterday. Service a dragon, get out of jail, steal treasure. She’d signed the contract commuting her sentence without hesitation. But now that she was here in the reeking swamp, without her weaponry, she was starting to miss her cell. At least it was safe there. The guards didn’t let her bring anything more than a pack filled with baked treats, a simple gift for the dragon.

They even gave her a dress she had to wear. Sky-blue, light and airy. Not her thing, even if it was more comfortable than her blouse and breeches. Ailsa would rather make a clean getaway in uncomfortable clothes than trip over a comfortable skirt when fleeing with the dragon’s treasure.

Why did the dragon have to live in the damn swamp, anyway?

Ailsa’s stomach tightened. Giving a wicked beast a tug was hardly different than say, manipulating some filthy warlord with her mouth. Hell, the dragon probably smelled better. But she didn’t have to worry about the warlord roasting her alive or snacking on her limbs.

Ailsa grit her teeth and clenched at her soft blue dress. All she had to do was gain the dragon’s trust, and make off with a little of his treasure. By the time he was burning down that stupid swamp town for betraying him, she’d be pawning his jewels somewhere dry. What did dragon’s jewels go for, anyway?

Dragon’s jewels. Ailsa laughed. If dragons had those surely they were more valuable to their owner. Perhaps if she got them in one hand with a blade in the other, she could ransom their safety to the dragon. …And then she’d be incinerated.

At the summit, Ailsa gazed at the old limestone archway that capped the hill. Emerald carpeting covered much of the arch’s pitted surface. Rusted hinges were set in the stone. Broken, rotted wooden posts ran down the hill along with another set of wooden stairs on the other side.

Beyond the hill lay a town long since abandoned and reclaimed by the swamp. Wooden boardwalks lay half-submerged in front of flooded homes. Cobblestone streets spanned higher ground, lined with crumbling buildings. Broken signs and glass from shattered windows lay in the street. Brambles choked alleyways and scaled walls. Ivy hung from exposed rafters. A tree erupted through a roof. Birds nested in a fallen watchtower. The dragon himself lay in front of the ghost town, staring at Ailsa.

That wasn’t creepy at all.

Ailsa went cold. She stepped back on shaky legs and braced her shoulder against the stone arch. Her bowels attempted to braid themselves. Cold sweat broke out across her. All the trepidation she’d pushed aside hit her like a fist in the gut. She should turn around and…

And spend twenty years in a jail cell? Or should just run off into the swamp with nothing but a flimsy dress and a pack filled with cakes and tarts? Besides, she’d never get another shot at a dragon’s treasure. If she turned back, she’d have nothing to show for herself but cowardice.

Ailsa was no coward. She could not banish her fear, but she could best it. She’d been through far worse than a night spent as some dragon’s whore. As long as she kept the act up, the dragon had no reason to harm her. He wouldn’t demand a companion to live with him if he just wanted a snack. Besides, better to die trying to get rich than rot in some cell.

Time to meet King Ugly of Shit Swamp.

Ailsa descended the hill, staring at the dragon. From a distance he was all black scales and spines, as though the swamp itself spawned a primal guardian. Dark green markings were strewn across his back, his tail, and his wings. The beast looked twice the size of a horse, sprawled out upon his belly with his forelegs crossed. His brilliant eyes stood out like polished bronze coins.

Ailsa was so focused on the harbinger of her doom that she missed the last stair. She stumbled, stepped on her skirt, and pitched forward into a mud puddle. She planted her hands against the mud but it splattered her dress, and dull pain thudded through her.

The dragon laughed. Deep, guttural and growling, but clearly laughter. Heat rushed to her ears, reddened her face. If he was a barroom drunkard laughing at her, she’d threaten to slap the teeth out of his mouth. In the interest of survival, Ailsa swallowed her reply and picked herself up.

“So you’re the girl they sent.” The dragon lifted his wedge-shaped head. Ridged gray horns crowned his skull. Disappointment weighed his down his sonorous voice. “They didn’t even bother to tie you up.”

Ailsa picked up the hem of her skirt, shaking mud from it. Her flush grew. “Were they supposed to?”

“No.” The dragon’s voice was more rumbling brass than growling menace, tinted with smug amusement. “Waste of a lovely pole, though.” The dragon glanced at an old banner pole anchored in the earth. Strips of tattered blue cloth tied around it fluttered in the breeze. “Sure you don’t want to be tied up?”

“Would you?” He’d better not expect subservience. It wasn’t in her nature.

“Depends who was tying me up.” The dragon licked his nose. Webbed spines tipped in gold flared around his head. His lips curled across his tapered black muzzle. Was he smirking? “Is that an offer?”

Definitely smirking. Ailsa hesitated. His playful nature put her on edge. If he was human he’d have a knife behind his back.

“If that’s what you want, I’d be happy to tie you up.” That part was true. Easier to steal a helpless dragon’s treasure. Maybe she’d even give him a good kick in the balls for being a scaly pervert. Assuming he had those. She flashed him a genuine smile. “Nice and tight.”

“I’ll bet you would.”

The dragon uncrossed his forelegs to stretch them. Gray speckles dotted his splayed paws. Webbing spanned his toes, complete with an opposable thumb digit. The dragon pushed his chest up into the air, stretching a hind leg out. Segmented plates protected his chest and the front of his limbs. He yawned and his pink tongue curled between rows of sharp teeth. He rose up and shook himself, wings rustling.

“This way, Girl.”

As the dragon turned away, his long tail swung into view. Flexible, gray spikes lined the end of the dragon’s tail, connected by gold-tinged webbing. They looked like spiny, razor-edged fins. Ailsa gulped. Damn beast was armed at both ends.

Ailsa followed the dragon, getting closer for a better look. The texture of his black scales varied from pebbly across his face and paws to broader and smoother along his body. Scattered blotches of dark green marked him all along his back and his folded wings. Smaller emerald speckles mottled his tail, haunches and shoulders. Spots of gray dusted all four paws. Gold-tipped spines spanned by gray and green webbing decorated the side of his head behind his pointed ears. A larger frill edged in gold sprouted between his arched horns and ran all down the back of his neck.

Despite his spikes and armor, the dragon moved with a feline elegance. Muscles rippled beneath his black and green hide, yet his body was tightly coiled power, lithe rather than bulky. As he walked, his spined tail undulated behind him like a slithering snake.

Ailsa hooked her thumbs in the straps of her pack, deciding to break the silence. “My name is Ailsa.”

“I didn’t ask.” The dragon snorted, padding over broken cobblestone into the ghost town.

Ailsa scowled. “I’d rather you use my name than call me Girl.”

The dragon tossed his head, shifting a single wing. “I shall call you whatever I like, Girl.”

Great. That’d get old fast. “Fine. I’ll call you Boy.”

Ailsa smirked when the dragon cocked his head like a confused hound. In retort, he flicked his tail to the side and Ailsa found herself staring at the dragon’s testicles. Leave it to a dragon to find a way to show off and insult her at the same time.

Ailsa glanced away, her face burning. That was one mystery solved. Before the dragon settled his tail back into place, Ailsa snuck a peek. Looked like a couple of ebony goose eggs bouncing around back there. Despite her blush, she grinned.

“You’re just showing off now, aren’t you.”

The dragon smirked at her over his wings. “Wouldn’t you, if you had them?”

“You do have quite the pair of dragon-apples, I’ll give you that.” She shrugged, chuckling. Not that she had anything to compare him to aside from men. “Where are we headed?”

“My home.”

How informative. Ailsa scowled, but soon lost herself in her surroundings as she followed the dragon down the former main street. Broken cobblestone poked through the mud. Decaying buildings lined the road. Through a broken pub window, she saw a moldy bar still lined with stools. Remnants of clothing and leather goods still hung from shelves and racks in old shops. Down the side streets, Ailsa saw water. Cattails grew between the slats of broken boardwalks. Brown rot crept up the walls of houses that sat partly submerged. Ailsa couldn’t tell if the swamp was rising or the town was sinking.

 

 

I hope you enjoyed the second 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.


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Sunlight filtered into the cramped cell through rusted iron bars set in mossy stone. Ailsa scraped at a patch of crusty yellow lichen with her boot. Three days imprisonment had reduced her to pondering the walls. Limestone, maybe. She shifted against the scratchy wool blanket covering the cot’s thin mattress. Stupid swamp town. Stupid jail.

The place reeked. The blanket smelled of sweat and must, a pleasant respite from the pervasive stench of the corner latrine. The swamp’s humidity made it worse. The still air was a weight pressing her against the bed, squeezing the breath from her body.

At least they treated her well. Plenty of food and water, and she got to keep her clothes. Guards didn’t even touch her. She’d been in worse jails. Ailsa laid her head against her hand. Her jet black hair fell across her arm as she considered her escape options. She could ask for a bath, invite the guards to join her, take them out when they were distracted. Cliché, but it worked last time.

“Get movin’, you drunk!” A gruff voice carried over the rattling of chainmail.

Ooh, a drunkard. That might be fun. Ailsa was at the door in an instant. Ailsa craned her neck till two burley men with gray and gold tabards over their chainmail came into view. Both had swords on hip and spears in hand. One had reddish hair, the other brown. The guards dragged a pudgy, half-conscious drunkard between them. The drunkard’s legs kicked and shuffled. They stopped at an empty cell and rested their spears against the wall. One hauled the man to his feet while the other fiddled with the keys.

The drunkard peered at the man holding him. He blinked, slurred a ‘good morning’, then vomited beer all over the guard. The guard yelled and shoved the drunkard. The drunk stumbled and fell, vomiting again on the floor.

The other guard bellowed with laughter, shaking his head. “Always point ‘em away!” He unlocked the cell door, opened it on creaking hinges. “Never know when they’re gonna let loose.”

“Sound advice,” Ailsa said, laughing.

“You shut it, Prisoner!” The angry guard struggled to shake the stinking wetness from his tabard. “Bloody fuckin’ hell. First the dragon, now this.”

Dragon? If the town had dragon problems, she’d stay in her cell. “What’s that about a dragon?”

The guards ignored her. They hauled the drunkard back to his feet and shoved him into the cell. The befouled guard peeled off his soaked tabard as soon as the door was locked.

“This shit better wash out.” He tossed his filthy tabard to the floor. His mail glistened with repulsive wetness as he fetched his spear.

“Shit don’t wash out,” Ailsa said, grinning. “But that might. Now what about that dragon?”

“All the way through to my fuckin’ clothes.” The guard stabbed his filthy garment with his spear, hoisting it. “Still no volunteers, huh?”

The other guard smirked, resting a hand on his sword hilt. “Nah, but whaddya expect? Dragon says companion, but he just wants his spear polished, right? Some bar wench’ll volunteer, especially if we sweeten the deal with coin.”

“So sweeten it.” The red-headed guard stared at the pool of vomit as if willing it to evaporate. “Don’t need that scaly bastard bellowin’ his balls off ‘bout us breakin’ the deal. The happier he stays, the better off we are.”

Ailsa leaned her forehead against the iron bars. The cool metal against her olive skin was a respite from the humidity despite the rust. “Hey! How about you two smelly bastards stop gossiping like a couple of street corner whores and tell me what you’re babbling about?”

“What’d you call me?” The red-headed guard stepped towards the cell, anger flashing in his brown eyes. “You’d better shut your mouth, Prisoner.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’d hate to have to kick the shit out of a man covered in puke.” Ailsa glanced at the brown-haired guard. “You gonna let me rough him up, or you gonna tell me about this dragon?”

The dark-haired guard put a hand on his partner’s shoulder, calming him. “You’re pressing your luck, Prisoner. But since you’re so eager, maybe you can help.” He smirked at his friend, and Ailsa’s stomach sank. She shouldn’t have asked. “I guess you don’t know about our deal with the dragon, huh?”

“You made a deal with a dragon?” Ailsa quirked her brows, wrapping her fingers around one of the bars.

“Not us.” The guard tapped his spear against the door till Ailsa pulled her fingers back. “Our city.”

“Your whole city made a deal with a dragon?” Ailsa folded her arms over her dirty green tunic. “No wonder they’re dumb enough to hire guards who get puked on. Something in that swamp must be rotting your brains. Can’t trust a deal offered by a monster.”

“Watch it.” The guard’s voice sharpened. He drummed his fingers against his spear’s haft. “We’ve had this deal a long time. Mutual protection, you see. There are worse things in that swamp than dragons. He keeps us safe.”

“Uh huh.” Ailsa lifted a brow. “And what’s he get?”

The guard shrugged. “We keep him safe from dragon slayers. Not as many to worry about these days, so now we give him coin, treasure. Let him tax merchants on our roads.”

“Almost like he planned it.” Ailsa rumpled the fabric of her sleeve, an idea forming. “Now he wants a whore, huh?”

“Companion was how he put it.”

“And polish his spear was how you put it.” Ailsa stared at him through the bars, nudging her boot against the floor.

“We like our peace.” The guard glared back at her. “So the dragon gets what the dragon wants. And the dragon…” The guard tapped his spear against the door. “Wants a volunteer. Someone willing to…”

“I understood the euphemism.” Ailsa glanced at the barred window. Dust motes danced in the sunlight. She had too much life to live and too many things to steal to spend her life rotting away in some swamp town’s jail. “So if I do it, I’m free, right? Isn’t that what you’re scheming about? Send a prisoner to spare some townswoman?”

“Ain’t you the clever thief.”

“Not so clever she didn’t get caught.” The red-headed guard adjusted his still-wet chainmail, soaked to his skin now. “But I bet she’d make a good dragon’s whore.”

“You’ll commute my sentence?” Ailsa glanced between them.

“Up to you.” The brown-haired guard scratched his stubble. “Only offering cause you asked. If you’d rather spend the next twenty years stuck in that cell instead of a few months with a dragon, that’s fine.”

“Few months?”

The guard shrugged. “When he tires of you, you’re free to go. I hear he’s had women out there before. They say some even came back with treasure.”

Treasure, huh? Maybe she could still salvage this job even without getting what she came for. Compared to some of the things she’d done just to survive, pleasuring a dragon sounded easy. She’d get the dragon off, wait for him to sleep, grab a few things of value and be gone long before he ever woke.

“What the hell.” Ailsa smiled at the guards. “Gotta be better than spending my life in here.” She smirked at the red-headed guard. “Right, Pukey? Alright boys, sign me up.”

 

 

I hope you enjoyed the first episode of The Devil’s Deal by D. Wilder. Stay tuned for more episodes all week. The full schedule and contact information for D. Wilder can be found here.

 

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Flash Fiction Prompt – 11/15 – Fuck Me

FFF Challenge – You have 100 words to make me cum.
You get 25 extra words if you write it on Thursday and do it in one draft, typos and all.
GO!

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He wakes to the feel of her mouth around his morning erection, her tongue flicking that spot that drives him mad. He begins to move his hips, fucking her mouth now rather than just being serviced.

“Fuck me,” she says. “Fuck me, please.”

Who is he to deny her? He shoves her face down on the bed and rams into her from behind.

A yelp, then a moan as she moves her ass up to meet his thrusts.

She loves when he takes what he wants.

His hands reach down, grabbing her by the shoulders, and pulls her towards him as he thrusts again.

Her moaning, and that tight ass, sends him over the edge.

He explodes insider her.

“Good morning, baby.”

“Good morning, mister.”

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If you are new to Flash Fiction Friday and would like to try your hand at it, click HERE for all the instructions.

Click HERE to see how others interpreted this photo and Advizor’s challenge.

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Last week I asked for guest bloggers and my friend Mal asked if he could contribute. My answer, HELL YA! I am sure most of you know him but if you have been living under a rock and do not, I have all his links at the bottom of the page. Go ahead, check him out. I am so very honoured to have Michael Malflic as my guest today.


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Unspoken


As the day faded into evening the house was silent, in fact completely silent and very still; an oddity by any measure when compared to the usual frantic tempo and deafeningly boisterous state of the place. Gone were the noise makers, the drama queens, the hellions and all their minions both real and imaginary. Weekend sleepovers at the grandparents are the last bastion of sanity in an otherwise hectic life. Paula lingered in the tub, candles casting an increasing amount of shadows about the room as daylight faded. Music played softly, the scent of flowers filled the air. Eventually the time came where the water had cooled to the point of not being worth reheating, the week’s stresses all but washed away and the last sips of her wine had been enjoyed.

She dried, slowly, leisurely, in an indulgent way that is simply not normally possible. All the needs, desires, wants, and demands of others were decidedly not present. Peace and solitude gives a person time to think about other things and think she certainly did. Her mind wandered as she covered her body in lotion, her skin soft, supple and pampered. She made her way downstairs. Opened a bottle of wine and placed a second glass on the coffee table. Candles still flickered upstairs, the light of day faded away completely and the room was illuminated solely by some inconsequential show playing on the TV without any sound. She continued to enjoy the silence and swim deeply in her own thoughts.

A simple click broke the silence, footsteps in the hall and she called to him to join her. She listened for deft little feet to follow his long and methodical stride. There were none, he rounded the corner and she looked in his direction longingly, hoping to find his arms empty. Was it possible that he actually was able to return alone, that no one had schemed and twisted the situation so they could be back home with Mommy and Daddy? It looked like it worked. A fact that was confirmed when he spoke. “they all went straight to the movies; no fussing or crying. I couldn’t believe it”. He smiled and she wanted to scream with delight at time alone with him.

He sat next to her. She poured him some wine, actually she over poured it, filling the glass far beyond what polite decorum and etiquette suggests for a glass of Cabernet. Maybe she was trying to help him “catch up”, she was a glass and a half ahead of him. Maybe she was being a good little wife or maybe, just maybe she was hoping to get him a little drunk. Nothing too over the top but that state where inhibitions start to fade and one becomes comfortable with that warm buzz. They talked without interruption. He babbled about his day and work, and how they never have enough time alone, as friends or as a couple. She listened and smiled, snuggled up next to him. She encouraged him to drink and offered him more. He accepted but barely sipped the luscious red liquid. Demure and alluring all at the same time, finally she raised her head and kissed him, some guys just can’t take a hint. It was a long slow loving and familiar kiss, when it ended he smiled. So she kissed him again this time with more passion, and urgency.

Eventually their bodies were intertwined. He suggested “going upstairs”. She inquired as to why. He blushed. She took him by the hand. As she stood she pressed herself against him. Grinding into his leg and quite literally began to loosen his tie, her red chemise reflecting the muted TV’s images as she cast his neck adornment aside. He stood there smiling at her, his hand found the small of her back. She imagined a man overwhelmed with desire, a lover that is so over come with passion he must have her right then and right there. Her nipples hardened at the thought. He took her hand and began walking across the room. Her heart raced wondering what he was thinking “let’s go upstairs”. Her pulse slowed, just a little. They found themselves making their way to bed room, a stolen kiss here, a passing touch there, a slow ascent up the stairs. She smiled back at him playfully, swinging her hips a little extra with each step. She imagined what was yet to come. The moment when his formality would fade and lust would take over. It excited her in ways beyond words, she wanted to be his. In time they made their way down the hall. He closed the bedroom door as he entered.

She undressed him slowly as he sat on the edge of the bed. First his shirt, then shoes, pants, socks, and under garments. She made quite the production of each discarded piece, watching his face and feeling his body’s reaction to her touch. Folding it and walking seductively across the room and back. His eyes on her as she left and she eyed him like her prey on her way back. Finally her chemise fell unceremoniously to the floor and her breast found its way to his mouth after the last of his textiles were gone.

He nibbled and kissed, ever so lightly. “Harder” she said. He looked at her, “yes I am certainly getting harder” he said almost shyly before paying the same amount of attention to her other breast, his hand on her hip holding her so lovingly, so softly, with such tenderness. All the while she imagined the pinch of him biting her with more force, his strong hands pulling her into him. That his loving touch went from gentle to demanding. She felt her excitement growing as she played those thoughts through her mind again and again. Be demanding, she thought, take me and use me she wanted to tell him.

After being so attentive he took her hand and moved her on to the bed before entering her with long, slow and deep thrusts. She drank in the feeling of his hard cock inside of her, the feel of it sliding though her slowly. It was maddening the way he was teasing her with each movement. His lips found hers, their tongues danced, her hand in his, as their bodies collided in a timed, controlled, and measured manner. She imagined him pinning her to the bed, forcefully. Not letting her move, using his size and strength to prevent her from escaping. He continued on, now varying the pace ever so slightly, a push, and a pause; making love to her with a gentle respect all while she imagined him fucking her with a lust filled intensity.

“Harder” she said, perhaps so quietly that it was little more than a gasp of delight filling the room. She admired him, eyes shut, lost in the sensation, in his own thoughts, perhaps his own fantasy. She wondered what he was thinking as he pushed himself completely into her again and again, his hips meeting her inner thighs.

Taking the initiative she deftly maneuvered a change of positions, on top she controlled the pressure and the pace. She placed one of his hands on her chest. He lightly pinched her nipple rolling it between her fingers and then pinching again. Next she moved his other hand from her hip, placing it firmly on her bottom. He grasped her ass firmly, kneading her flesh as she took a moment to drink in the sensations.

Her pace quickened and she could feel him starting to lose control, hips pushing upward into her; trying to get deeper, to feel just a little bit more of her, straining in the space between pain and ecstasy, those moments of control and unbridled release. She imagined herself completely breathless, the hand on her chest pinching her roughly, pulling and squeezing, the one on her bottom she fantasized was slapping her crisply with each quickening thrust, stinging and marking her cute bottom a lovely shade of pink.

He said “I love you” but she imagined hearing his deep voice telling her what a dirty little slut she was and what he was going to do to her next, “because she loved it”. His release began and with the first sensation of his ejaculation she came. It was overwhelming, hard, and intense as she imagined being nothing more than an object of his lust. She was a slut, wanton, and willful and all his.

She collapsed on him, short of breath. He kissed her and smiled. She snuggled against his chest not ready to let these all too fleeting moments go saying softly “I love you too”. Fulfilled without a doubt, a story book romance, a gentle love scene fitting for a Hollywood ending had just occurred but what happened inside of her mind and how those thoughts had taken her to such arousal and release. In fact what they said about what she really wanted for now would go unspoken.

Michael Malflic

Author Site

Malflic.com Kink, Erotica, and Humor

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Author of the erotic romance It Had Been Years available at Amazon for Kindle and in Print

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