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An attractive and well-educated young dragon, Lucien has been extensively trained to provide a very particular and exclusive sort of service. On the day of his arrival at the home of Lady Melodie Fontaine, he greets his new employer with all due politeness and platitudes, but she insists that he drop the manners and be a little less proper with her for a while.

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"This way, sir, if you please."

The old servant gave a sweep of his wing, far more gracious than necessary for greeting someone at the servant's entrance. Lucien dipped his head politely in response, dipping his wings as well in an equal display of excess graciousness that earned him a quiet chuckle. His guide introduced himself as the estate steward as they started down the dimly lit servant's passage.

"Your arrival has been much anticipated, young Lucien."

"I have anticipated it at least as much, I'm certain."

This too earned a chuckle. The steward's scales had been a vibrant green once, Lucien was sure, but there was nothing wrong with a greying muzzle, least of all when it indulged so often in humor. The echo of their claws on the wooden floors followed them through the corridor for the space of a few breaths.

"I'm curious," the steward ventured, hesitating, "what exactly your training entailed. I've only ever heard rumors myself, but if even half of them are true... well, it must be quite the experience."

"That's a guild secret, I'm afraid. Although I would imagine that at least some of those rumors are probably true."

The steward stopped next to a door and smirked a moment before asking, "I don't suppose that you could hint at which rumors?"

Lucien laughed, enjoying the steward's flustered expression perhaps slightly more than was proper. It was impressive how vibrantly colored those greying scales had suddenly become.

"Alas, good sir, I cannot."

"Ah, well..."

He pushed the door open, oiled hinges making no noise, and stepped through with another overly-gracious gesture for Lucien to follow.

"...I suppose that's for the best."

"I'd imagine the mystery of it is more enjoyable than the knowledge. Not that I would know very well. My perspective on that is likely more than a little bit skewed."

That got an actual laugh out of the steward.

"Firsthand knowledge would have to be better than mystery, but I suppose I'll settle for mystery over merely being told."

"A distinguished choice for a distinguished dragon. I'm certain that you yourself are party to a great many happenings that would astound even me, if only they weren't so secret."

With that and another answering chuckle from the steward, Lucien found himself within Fontaine Manor proper. He'd be seeing far more of these bright, elaborately decorated hallways than he would of the service corridors, he was sure. The nature of his role was hardly to remain as unseen as possible, after all.

The interior showed little remaining sign of the mansion's fortification during the war so many years ago, a fact which the steward proudly pointed out as he led him across the marbled floor. The steward took his time, leading him down hall after hall, pausing at intervals to point out an important artwork or a portrait of some important Fontaine from the past.

Lucien didn't mind the meandering too much. Appreciation of art and history was among the many things he had been trained in by the guild. He hadn't left a life of privilege, exactly, but he'd left a reasonably comfortable one to volunteer himself to the guild, and extensive education was but one of the perks of his new position. The main perk, though, would be the job itself, or rather, some very specific parts of it. He tempered his excitement before it could spread from his mind to his body.

Pausing for a moment in his explanations of the unique architecture particular to this wing of the mansion, the steward informed Lucien that his belongings would be moved to his new quarters within a few hours. Lucien nodded, having already known as much but politely indulging the old drake anyway. The steward was technically in charge of him, after all, and even if he didn't actually have any real authority over him, it always paid to be reasonably polite.

"You'll be shown to those quarters later, of course. Although, how much later that will be, I can't say."

He leaned over conspiratorially and lowered his voice.

"It could well be tomorrow afternoon before you have the opportunity, the way you look."

After a moment spent deciding just how much the steward had meant to imply, Lucien accepted the compliment with a laugh. He was a fit, young drake, after all, handpicked by the guild for rough potential and refined into a fine, attractive specimen. While he had no interest in engaging with someone so much older than himself, it would be unusual for his looks to go unnoticed, as it was a rather significant part of his purpose to stand around and look pretty. Among other things. Again, he tempered his excitement.

The steward coughed once before composing himself and giving another sweep of his wing.

"Right this way, please. Miss Fontaine is eager to meet you."

He caught Lucien's raised eyeridge and added, "Her words, young sir, not mine."

He spun about and started briskly down the hall before Lucien could respond. Lucien smiled and shook his head, following. The steward's embarrassment was amusing, but far more interesting was the idea that his employer had said such a thing. Excitement widened his smile. Sometimes there were days or weeks between an Attendant's arrival and their employer having a moment to meet them. Of course, much of that had been during the days when Attendants served as companionship for unwed male nobility, mostly for the purpose of discouraging them from sowing their wild oats and creating uncomfortable issues within their line of succession. Relatively recently, it had become more and more fashionable for young adult nobility to have at least one Attendant, regardless of their sex. Typically, as with his case, the pairings were straight, since those were the sort of flings which would otherwise carry the risk of muddying lines of succession, and that was fine with Lucien. However, it had also recently become fashionable to ignore that convention, which, as he had discovered during the course of his training, was also fine with Lucien. As it happened, his training had caused him to discover a great many things that were surprisingly fine with him.

A particularly flattering statue of a past Lord Fontaine caught his attention briefly. The sculptor had ignored no detail, not one, and Lucien spared a small laugh at himself as he admired some of the more particular areas. There were indeed quite a few things he was perfectly fine with. He shook his head and returned his attention to the steward's continued explanation of the history of the manor and the various artifacts on display. Despite the stated eagerness of Miss Melodie, the steward had slowed from a trot back to a leisurely walk. Lucien smirked at that, but another attractive statue caught his wandering eye, a Lady Fontaine this time. Although this sculptor had elected to skimp on a few key details, the lines were still nice. Very nice. The craftsmanship was nearly as fine as the likeness that it shaped.

A faint buzz spread over the base of his tail, radiating from the small crystal implanted beneath the scales next to his spine. It did that occasionally, as if to remind him of its presence, but he mostly didn't notice it these days. It was harmless and served to prevent him from accidentally muddying those all-important lines of succession. It also had some secondary effects, like preventing communicable disease, but he preferred to think about how it meant he could do his job without worrying about those carefully maintained lines. When he retired, well-compensated and comfortably housed at the guild's expense, it would be removed just as harmlessly as it had been implanted, and he would be able to start a family if he wanted to. He tried not to think that far ahead most of the time, but it was nice to know that such a future would be there, waiting for him. Of course, if his Lady Fontaine took at all after her ancestors, then his eventual retirement might well be quite the downgrade. He spared himself another laugh.

The steward stopped again at a set of thick double-doors. Faintly sweet smells drifted from the other side, riding upon a hint of humidity. The steward gave yet another sweep of his wing, dramatic this time rather than merely gracious.

"Beyond these doors, young Lucien, you will find the baths."

Lucien nodded. He had made sure he was completely clean that morning, but it was reasonable for his mistress to expect him to wash again before meeting him, even if he had been brought in a carriage that shielded him from the dust of the road. He started towards the doors, but paused in his stride as the servant added, "You will also find Miss Melodie waiting for you inside."

Surprise at that perked him right up, setting smoothly-oiled wheels to turning in his head. There were only a handful of reasons to meet an Attendant in a bath, and all of them led to something distinctly pleasant. He nodded to the steward and thanked him before pushing the doors open and striding through.

"Good luck," the old drake sighed just before the doors swung closed behind him. A key rattled in the lock, which under other circumstances might have been unnerving. In his situation, though, the sound held nothing but promise.

The scent of fragrant soaps and oils was more pronounced here, carrying lavender and lilac, among other florals. Two wide pools lay on the far side of some thirty feet of white-marbled floor, steam curling faintly from the smooth, glassy surface of the water. Shelves lined the wall to the left, stacked with towels, rags, and jars from which those scents were almost certainly emitting. More importantly, she was there, reclining with her back to him in a small lounge area to the right of the entrance. Her body curled around itself such that it showed off her most pleasing curves, warm lamplight falling worshipfully across crimson scales. Her elegant ears flicked in his direction, but she otherwise pretended as though she hadn't noticed his entry. He smiled, swallowed the finicky anxiety that tried to plug his throat, and walked closer. When only about ten feet remained between them, she stood and turned about in a single, fluid motion, her scales gleaming, clearly already washed and polished. The sound of her book snapping shut echoed around the empty chamber for a moment as she watched him, waiting silently.

"My lady Melodie Fontaine," Lucien greeted, sweeping his wings down and back and dipping his head low in a gracious bow, "Truly, even the wildest rumors understate your radiance."

The tone of her laugh didn't sit well on his ears, and he rose from the bow to find her smirking at him.

"Do they now, Lucien?"

She shook her head. A pit opened in his gut as his mind frantically retraced every word he'd said and every step he'd taken since the doors had opened.

"Stop that," she said, rolling her eyes, "And stop that too, the freaking out."

Biting back an anxious cough, Lucien focussed his attention on the coppery shine of her eyes. Mischief glimmered in the lamplight reflected there.

"We have this place to ourselves, as you can see."

He caught the strained excitement tensing beneath the affected smoothness of her voice, and his panic fled from the light of dawning comprehension.

"I've had enough politeness. I get enough of it from every other lord, lady, servant, merchant, and minor noble that thinks I should listen to them regale me with tales of their hidden greatness and their prowess at managing their once-pitiful farm holdings into moderate success."

She smirked harder, as if at her own specificity, before continuing.

"I'm sick of being prim and proper, and I'd rather like..."

She cast a long, observant look up and down his front.

"...I'd rather like to skip to the part where we do things that are... less than proper."

Without waiting for a response, she began to walk around him in a wide circle, surveying, and he stood straighter. He'd shined his scales that morning until the bright grey glinted like silver, and he doubted that the effect was lost on her. She hummed appreciatively as she rounded his tail, grabbing the tip of it and lifting it up in mock inspection. The touch startled him a little, but he didn't let it show. Instead, he flexed subtly, showing off for her benefit. The guild had ensured that his physique was at its peak for his build, light and limber-framed, but packed with muscle. She laughed, clearly noticing his display, and lifted his tail higher. Making a show of ogling his balls, she gave an even more appreciative hum and shuddered lightly. He managed not to blush when she met his gaze and stared into his eyes for a long moment.

"I've never seen anyone with golden eyes before," she remarked. Her apparent fascination with them corroborated the claim as she continued to stare. His eye color was indeed rather uncommon, of course. It was one of several traits that had ensured his acceptance by the guild. He thought it was by far the least interesting of those traits, himself, but it was nice to be admired for it all the same.

Finally looking away, she released his tail and finished her circle, though she did steal a quick glance at his sheath as she passed his flank. That done, she trotted past him and toward the baths, scarlet hips swinging from side to side. Her tailtip flicked his jaw. He felt an undeniable stirring in his belly at that, and allowed himself a grin.

"Come on, Lucien. I don't intend to bathe alone," she called over her shoulder. He rewarded the sultry look she gave him by allowing a little of his own growing lust to show on his face.

"Of course, ma'am," he said with his words.

I am falling victim to the sensuous sway of your hips, he said with the tone of his voice. And with his lingering eyes. He always had been rather fond of bright red scales on a dragoness, and these bright red scales were on a very attractive dragoness who was swaying her hips very attractively. She laughed as he approached, holding her tail to the side and giving him a none-too-subtle view of her nethers. He let himself admire her, let arousal stir, and she shuddered under his gaze before sliding fluidly into the water. Making a gamble, he slid into the opposite side of the pool without further prompting, sighing at the warmth and giving her a hungry look. His gamble paid off, and she stalked toward him through the chest-deep water, eyes intent. But she stopped halfway across as though catching herself, turned away from him, and sat down.

"Help me reach my back?" she asked, pointing coyly with a wing toward the shelf of bathing supplies.

"Of course."

He climbed out of the water and crossed the floor slowly. Her gaze burned across his dripping scales, hungry, drinking him in. He had been told she was supposed to be in a relationship with the crown prince, but she didn't act like someone whose desires were at all sated by a lover. He pushed the thought away as he grabbed a rag in his teeth. It didn't much matter whether she actually slept with the prince, or even whether the prince was any good at satisfying her when she did. He knew his role, and he was eager to play it. She pretended not to stare at the evidence of that eagerness as he returned, but he could tell where her attention was. She seemed disappointed when he slipped back into the pool and the water hid his half-emerged arousal from her view.

Neither of them bothered to mention the soap and oil he had conveniently neglected to grab as he closed the distance between them and she gave him her back again. He dipped the rag into the water and played along with the charade. She shuddered as he began to scrub the scales between her shoulderblades. The scales themselves were worthy of admiration in their own right, shining, well-kempt, and very supple. He pressed a palm against them, just between the wingjoints, and rubbed hard. She gasped and shuddered again. There was no extra tension there to massage out, and he was beginning to think that her shudders weren't all so genuine. If the gasping and shuddering were meant to arouse him, though, then it was certainly working.

She reached up with her tail and caressed his inner thigh, wrapping it around his leg. Unlike hers, his shudder at that was definitely involuntary. She tugged, and he stepped forward, dropping the rag into the water but maintaining pretense by massaging at her shoulders. Unlike her wingjoints, these were tense indeed. He suspected that she stretched her wings regularly but neglected her shoulders. Nobles often did that. His deft claws worked out a knot, and he was rewarded with a sigh. Her snout rose up to meet his.

"Lower," she said. A simple command, short and amorous. He grinned, moving his claws downward to work at her shoulderblades. She huffed and shot him a look that said that she knew that he knew damn-well what she'd actually meant, but she didn't correct him. A glint of amusement in her eyes told him that she really didn't mind the teasing.

He dropped into a crouch and shifted forward, reaching over her wings to massage at her flanks, working slowly towards her chest until his own chest just barely touched her back. She sighed, long and heavy and hot, and touched her snout to his chin. Her tail tightened around his thigh, coaxing a little more of his length free. The head nudged at her haunches, and she gave a throaty laugh.

"Lower."

He obeyed this time, rubbing at the supple scutes of her belly, stroking light clawtips downward, tracing the creases of her thighs, and sweeping delicately inward. She tensed up with a gasp. The movement caused her haunch to rub against his member unexpectedly, and he let out a gasp as well, in spite of himself. She hummed in her chest.

"Alright."

She began to pull away, and he almost tried to hold her in place, but he was here for her needs, not his, and he let her go. She spun around, grabbed his shoulder with a forefoot, and guided him with surprising force until his back pressed against the side of the pool. Her tail loosened and uncoiled from around his thigh before snapping back toward her and taking his ankles with it. He grunted in surprise as she slid him down into a sort of sitting position with his tail curled forward between his legs. She trailed a look down his body, and he shuddered again at the hunger in her eyes.

"That really is enough propriety," she said, voice aught but a low, sensuous growl. She sank down and sat on his tail, pinning him pretty much in place. He didn't mind that in the least. If she wanted to be in control of the encounter, then he would be absolutely thrilled to let her control it. She seized his half-exposed member in a forefoot and gave it long, tight-fisted strokes until she had coaxed both a low moan and the rest of his length out of him. She raised an eyeridge and relaxed her grip, caressing his lightly tapered shaft from head to base, slowly.

"Oh, that's... longer than I expected."

"Not too long, I hope," he managed, face heating in a blush. He was comfortably above the average in that regard, so being too large was a legitimate concern. But she laughed, playing with the ridges just behind the flare of his head, the ridges that made up all of the ornamentation on the gentle curve of his otherwise smooth, ebony length... at least, they would until his knot began to swell, but he could hold that off for hours if he needed to. Despite his self-control, the stimulation of that sensitive spot made his haunches twitch.

"Oh, no, certainly not too long, Lucien."

He curled his tail around, dragging its tip in a light circle across her hip, and she hummed appreciatively at the touch. Her legs spread wider as she gripped his member tightly again and gave it a long, thoughtful stroke, all the way down and back up, as if remeasuring its length. She held his eyes inescapably with hers. Were her claws not wrapped around his malehood in such a wonderfully distracting way, he might have found her ability to hold every last shred of his attention unnerving. The forefoot pinning his shoulder shifted to his chest, massaging at it. He moved his tailtip to the inside of her thigh, obtaining another shudder before moving it again to tickle at her lower belly. She flashed him a toothy, devilish smile.

"Lower."

Eagerness got the better of him, and he forgot his intention to tease her, instead caressing her warm outer folds with his dexterously twisting tailtip. She hummed happily, letting her eyes drift closed and treating his malehood to long, lazy strokes. Her forefoot left his chest and wrapped around the head of his member, squeezing at it delightfully. He reached forward, gambling again, and pressed his right forefoot against her slit, grinding his palm upward. The pressure found its mark, and she rewarded his boldness with a gasp and an extra tight squeeze around his head before opening her eyes.

"Now you're getting it," she purred, and then her teeth found his neck, nipping playfully at the edges of his scutes as her hot breath washed over him. He let out a tiny, startled growl before remembering himself and placing his left forefoot behind her shoulder. Her touch left his shaft and found his balls, squeezing and rolling them in time with her pulsing grip on his tip. He twisted his wrist and pressed a digit against her entrance, pressed harder, slipped it in. She tensed, but before she could quite respond, he added a second digit and thrust, pushing a sharp little "Oh!" out of her mouth. She let him pull her over onto him. Her forefeet left his nethers as they came out of the water to rest on his shoulders, but her chest and belly pressed down against his, trapping the front half of his member and rubbing against it as her hips started to rock. His digits continued to thrust in and out, pulling back as far as the closeness of their bodies would allow and burying themselves knuckle-deep inside of her. Her muscles clenched around his claws, tugging at them every time he withdrew, and her haunches rolled in time with the movement, seeking more depth. He added his tailtip to the cycle, pressing it into her whenever he pulled his claws back, alternating the penetration. Her back arched, and she pulled her head back to look at him with hazy, half-lidded eyes, mouth ajar, tongue hanging out, breath coming in hot, quivering pants.

He opened his mouth to say something charming, but she dove forward, trapping his words with her maw and swallowing them as she pushed her tongue aggressively into his mouth. He grunted in pleasant surprise, tilting his head to ease the angle of her neck and working his tongue into her maw in return. Clearly, she wanted him to be bold, wanted him to be as open and as needy as she was. That too was fine with him. It had been a very long time indeed since he'd been allowed to simply cut loose and enjoy the moment. She sighed blissfully into his mouth as his hips began to rock beneath her. Her claws raked gently at his back, prickling. Letting his eyes drift closed, he moaned quietly and worked his claws and tail a little more urgently.

She reached blindly down, groping for a long moment before finally finding his forefoot, dragging it away from her slit, and pinning it to the wall behind him. Her hips shifted, pressing her entrance against the side of his shaft and grinding hard against it. He ground back, continuing to thrust into her with his tailtip. She broke the kiss and grabbed the suppler scales at the scruff of his neck, causing him to freeze.

"Are you going to fucking screw me," she hissed, "or do I only get to ride your tail?"

The coarseness of her language shocked him, but it also sent a thrill coursing up and down his spine. Unable to muster an articulate answer, he drew his tailtip out of her and let it drift with the gentle current. She rose into a crouch, dragging her nethers along his length until his tip was lined up with her heated entrance. Leaning back, she released his pinned forefoot. He followed those claws with his eyes as she moved them down over her gleaming scutes, pressing against either side of her slit and spreading it open. Buoyed only slightly by the water, her body slid downward, pressing him into her in slow motion. She stopped just after his flare had slipped fully into her and grinned at him. He had enough time to suck in half a breath before she threw her head back and shoved herself down, sinking herself around more than half of his length in a single go. He snarled at the unexpected fervency of the entry, at the heat, the pressure, the way she rippled and squeezed around him. White hot bliss clouded his thoughts. How long since his last release? Weeks, at least, and he was feeling it. His knot began to swell as instinct overpowered his will, its bulge the only thing that stopped her as she pushed up and dropped herself onto him again with a lusty snarl. Grabbing her shoulders, he bucked his hips with a strangled cry, unable to get much leverage in his position but trying anyway. She rose and fell again, more slowly, laughing and gasping as she faded into a steady rhythm.

Desperate for any distraction to stave off his impending release, Lucien grabbed at her flanks, rubbing, exploring, reveling in her moans and hisses. Her ribs were particularly sensitive, and his touch lingered there for a while. Her claws dug pleasantly into his shoulders, not quite drawing blood, but constantly reminding him that she was in control. She moaned and grimaced at him, back arching as she bit her lip and murmured to herself about how deep it was. This too he thought might have been for his benefit, but she twisted her face convincingly and moaned as she clutched a little more tightly at his shoulders, and he found that he didn't care.

By the time she realized that it was his knot stopping her descent and not his hips, it was far too late for it to fit. She ground against it with needy grunts, stretching around it, but couldn't quite take its full girth. It was meant to be too wide to fit through a woman's entrance, and, like the rest of his body, it was good at its job. Her efforts drove him further and further from reason, robbing him of any semblance of self-discipline. A long, juddering groan tore itself from his throat as he gyrated his hips with increasing desperation, needing it to fit as badly as she did.

She leaned forward and locked her jaw with his in another kiss. When he didn't immediately push his tongue into her mouth, she laughed in her throat and pulled back just enough to bite at his lip. He moaned at her, finding it far more pleasant than he would've expected. She released his lip and he immediately returned the bite. She melted into a squirming, shuddering heap, falling forward onto his chest and humping at him feverishly. He released her lip, and she nipped at his only briefly before pushing meaningfully at his mouth with hers. He got the hint and latched onto her lip again, worrying at it gently with his teeth. She shuddered hard and clenched, gasping into his mouth and dragging him along with her over the edge. Electricity arced through his muscles, shooting from his fiery member up his spine and striking his every limb with lightning. His body buzzed and burned, convulsing in time with hers. She tugged back enough to get him to let go and pressed forward again into a deep kiss, strangling his building roar into a long, forceful groan. Finally, his built up pleasure burst from his core and surged into her, coaxing rhythmic moans from her chest with each pulse. He fought through the urge to freeze and relax, continuing instead to grind and gyrate his hips, spiralling release into all-consuming bliss, carrying them both higher rather than merely riding the pleasure down. Far, far away, the sound of lapping waves filled the air, drowning out their strained noises as their humping stirred the water around them.

Melodie pulled away very slowly when they finally stilled, each heavy breath carrying the feeble hint of a moan.

"Damn," she managed, "that was... oooh damn..."

She trailed as he ground up into her, his softening member still managing to stir pleasantly at her depths. He chuckled, finding his breath.

"Thank you, milady."

Her eyes focussed and narrowed.

"Don't do that. I have a name, and you might as well use it when you're buried..."

She ground her hips meaningfully and gasped as she slipped the rest of the way down onto his member, finding that his softened knot didn't do nearly as much to stop her anymore as she'd expected. She laughed, eyes crossing for a moment. This he was certain had been for his benefit, as she hadn't gotten much more depth at all out of him, but he laughed as well, in spite of himself.

"...When you're buried this deep in my slit," she finished, "It's weird."

"As you wish, Miss..." he thought better of the address, and reworded, "As you wish, Melodie."

Her laugh was more pleasant than any laugh had a right to be. He wondered faintly if some of her charm wasn't magical, and why she would bother going to that kind of effort for a servant who, fundamentally, didn't have to be impressed by her at all. Not that she wasn't impressive enough anyway, but that rather added to the point. She drew him back to the present with a firm squeeze at his shoulder.

"Sorry, my mind wandered a little."

She accepted his apology with a giggle, a sound which he had been taught very early on was pretty much only ever for the benefit of the male partner. He smiled at it anyway, letting himself be taken in by it. Why not let her charm him? If it made her happy, then she could charm him all day. She laid a clawtip teasingly on his snout.

"I'll take it as a complement."

He smiled up at her, giving his hips another experimental grind. He could probably get going again, right now, wrapped in her warmth as he was, if she wanted him to. He thought about telling her as much, but she spoke before he could figure out a charming way to word it.

"You didn't have to hold yourself back for that long, Lucien."

He blushed and looked away, smirking. He wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. It had been a long time since it had been obvious to others when he was struggling. She ground her hips against his lap, humming to herself as his softening length moved inside of her.

"But, I'm very glad that you did."

She shifted, pulling off of him with a moan. His seed clouded the water, which was significantly cooler than her depths had been.

"Next time, though, I expect you to give me that knot."

He laughed.

"Yes ma'am."

She gave him a look at that as she climbed off of him, but apparently decided it wasn't worth commenting on. He wiggled his haunches, using his wings to push off from the side so he could right himself in the water.

"Now then, Lucien, go fetch my satchel from the lounge for me. I have need of its contents."

He grinned and nodded, climbing easily up over the side of the pool and making sure to give her plenty to look at as he crossed the distance to the pillow she'd been lying on when he entered. While it had been fine with hanging out in the relative warmth of the water, the open air was strikingly cold, and his member had already retreated back into his sheath before he even stopped to shake the water from his scales about halfway across. He could still feel her gaze nonetheless, though this time it seemed to slide over far more of his body.

The satchel was easy enough to find. Taking it up and throwing the strap around his neck, he turned just in time to see Melodie slide into the other pool. She watched him intently as she did, as if daring him to peek inside of the bag. Despite temptation, he managed to resist taking a look as he approached the new pool, which was significantly shallower than the first. She lay on her stomach near the edge, water barely lapping at her flanks and shoulders and failing to reach her back. Behind her, the water deepened toward the other end, reaching perhaps chin-height. She stood as he set the bag in front of her, showing no qualms about getting it wet as she began to open it.

"Join me in the water?"

"Of course, Melodie."

She smiled at his use of her name as he stepped down into the pool.

"Lie down on your belly, facing the edge here," she instructed, inspecting the contents of the satchel but keeping them carefully hidden from his view. Lucien complied, considering sneaking a look at whatever she was doing but deciding to wait instead. She pulled an unmistakably phallic length of rubber out of the satchel and waved it at him, laughing as his eyes widened.

"Not that you aren't wonderfully long," she giggled, "Sometimes, it's all about the shape."

And the shape was a different one indeed. Not draconine in the least, it much more closely resembled the sort of equipment sometimes displayed by the stallions that the guild used to pull its carriages, and it appeared to be at least as large. An electric shiver ghosted hot talons up his spine as his loins got to stirring.

"You look hungry, Lucien."

He read her tone and shuddered at the implication, but didn't move. She slapped the toy down onto the tile in front of him, leaving its towering form to rock lewdly from side to side, a great, obscene pendulum. Her voice came thick with flirtation.

"Please? For me?"

She batted her eyes at him in obvious exaggeration, as if challenging him to point out how much of an air she seemed to be putting on just to arouse him. As if he could even think to point such a thing out. As if he could do anything but feebly admit to himself that it was working. He reached forward and nudged the toy with the back of a claw, shuddering at how it flopped. Then he lunged forward and grasped at it with exaggerated eagerness and a wide-open mouth, only to stop with his muzzle a bare inch away, close his jaw, and lick at the wide, flat head of it daintily. Melodie laughed at the antic, and he took the victory, tilting his head to peer at her as he nudged the base of the toy with his snout and gave it a tiny lick. And a longer lick. And then, he drew a long, sensuous stroke up to the tip.

"Now suckle it."

Lucien kissed the edge of the flare, sucked it in past his teeth, and worked his jaw and tongue in tandem, making the lewdest sounds he could manage. Her eyes hazed slightly with lust, and she moved slowly over to push at his haunches. He complied with her unspoken command, rolling partly onto his side and raising a leg to show her his member, which was now peeking out again from its hiding place. She teased briefly at his balls, giving them a quick tug and a playful flick before backing away and beginning to rifle blindly through the bag. He held her gaze with his own, copper locked with gold, and opened his jaws, tilting the toy over so that he could push his mouth around it slowly.

The fullness of his muzzle felt wonderful, a sensation he'd gone far too long without. He took as much of the toy as he could in his mouth alone as his eyes fluttered closed, his lips just touching the medial ring that marked the middle of the length. His head pulled back, slowly, suckling, driven by mingled instinct and muscle memory, and then pressed down until his mouth was full again. Dimly, he was aware of her panting breath, of the sound of disturbed water that meant she had found her nethers with some extremity or another. He opened one eye to look, and moaned at the sight of her using another toy on herself, this one shaped more like it belonged to a dragon than to an animal, though it would've been a dragon with far more ridges and barbs than himself. It was shorter than his member, but wider and stouter, and she teased only the very tip in and out of her entrance. She gave a laugh that was more arousal than humor, trailing into a growl as he bobbed his head forward, filling his muzzle again. The base of the horse toy came up from the tile with a startling pop. He realized he'd been pulling on it and took his jump of surprise in stride, rolling over onto his back and positioning the toy more conveniently for thrusting. Melodie didn't appear fooled by his ploy, but a gasp swallowed any laughter as one of her teasing nudges found its mark unexpectedly.

"Wow," she said, "You really do like that thing."

He pulled it mostly free and gave the head another suckle before taking a deep breath and pushing it back in, past the back of his muzzle and into his throat. Experience kept him from panicking, even though the unusual flatness of the flare plugged his throat in an unfamiliar way. The medial ring passed over his tongue, and he swallowed around it, flicking his tongue out to lap at the base before pulling it out again so he could breathe. She whispered something obscene that he couldn't quite hear. Then her tailtip fund his taint and pushed, and he moaned around the girth of the toy, his member jumping and stiffening. One of her forefeet replaced her tail, and she caressed, rubbing, massaging.

"Don't stop," she whispered, and he swallowed the toy again with a shudder. It bent more easily than he expected as he turned his head to look at what she was doing, and he pulled it back gently before giving it an experimental thrust. Even with his neck curved, it would follow his throat willingly enough. Her massaging claws wandered further back, found his pucker, pressed. She slipped a digit into him, and he pulled the toy out just in time to give a long, low moan. Her other forefoot left her own toy to rub the length of his member, still only half-erect. She whispered something else that he couldn't make out, though the look in her eyes made her meaning clear, and he pulled the toy mostly free before filling his muzzle again. Her touch left his member as she reached up to press at the back of the horse toy, pushing it down his throat. He grunted as his lips bumped against the wide base. She pulled it back, and out, and it came free with a wet sucking sound. His tongue trailed after it.

She worked another digit inside of him, and he shuddered, moaning. He tensed at the long thoughtful gaze she gave the horse toy, all slick with his saliva, unsure if he could manage to take it, and if he could, whether he could keep from climaxing before he was even fully hard. Her digits pushed extra deep and wiggled for an impossibly long second before pulling out of him. She lapped suggestively at the tip of the toy and pressed it against his taint. He squirmed, panting. Thankfully, she laid it aside.

"Maybe next time," she mused before bringing the draconine toy around and ramming its tip into him. He gasped out a cry, rolling his hips, seeking either more or less depth. She gave him both, pushing more of it into him and drawing slightly back before giving it another sharp thrust. The barbs and ridges rubbed his insides deliciously as she repeated the maneuver, pushing deeper. Its girth stretched him more than he expected, and he bucked, feeling a spurt of precum shoot from his member to splatter over his chest and snout. Melodie giggled and continued thrusting the toy into him as she leaned forward, took his tip into her muzzle and suckled it. Her tongue rolled around his head, toying with those ridges and squeezing. That, along with the continued stretching of his tailhole by that toy, had him fully erect in a matter of seconds. She gave him one long, final suck before pulling away. He moaned in protest at her absence, and moaned protest again as she pulled the toy out of him, but she shushed him, grabbing him beneath his shoulders and dragging him up out of the pool, turning him around so that his head rested on her half-full satchel like a pillow.

By the time he managed to process the change in location, she already stood straddling his hips with her back to him. She reared up onto her hinds and crouched, treating him to another maddening giggle before sinking down onto him, hilting him so suddenly that he almost climaxed right then. He whimpered and shook, every muscle flexing. She gasped and shouted inarticulately, squirming in a perfect mirror of his struggle. He grabbed at his muzzle, gripping it in helpless pleasure and screwing his eyes shut. But she stilled and relaxed before he was quite overcome, grinding her hips experimentally with a sigh.

"There we go."

"Oh," he murmured, not really in answer, "Oh, Melodie, that's so nice..."

She tensed when he said her name, and moaned, and began to bounce on top of him. Her insides clenched and released in time with her rapid movements, coaxing blood into his slowly swelling knot. The toy returned to his pucker, pressing in mercilessly and thrusting deep. He mewled as its girth stretched him, jerking his hips. She rode his desperate motions with a feral growl, gripping his ankles for both leverage and balance. Her deepest reaches milked at his tip, coaxing more pre out of him in a steady dribble that mingled with her own fluids to press from their union with every thrust and run down his scales, hotter and thicker by far than the remaining drops of water. Her tail curled around his neck, cradling his head as she released one of his ankles and continued working at him with the toy.

"M-Mel-odie..." he stammered, unsure of what he wanted to say but desperate to say it. She shuddered again and pulled her hips up enough to slide his half-engorged knot free before pushing herself back down again with a heavy slap. She gave the toy an extra-deep thrust.

"Don't worry, Lucien," she panted, grinding her hips against his lap and giving the toy a tiny shove with every syllable, "You're gonna take this knot."

She released his other ankle and put both forefeet to work, moaning at him to keep humping, keep going, that it was so deep. He did, urgently, even though he once again found himself in a position with almost no leverage. Her depths burned like a crucible, pressure and heat so intense that he found himself tumbling the wild thought about that she could've turned coal to diamonds in there. She gave a particularly hard shove, and his pucker stretched wide, almost letting that enormous bulge pass. Already he was so full that he couldn't imagine fitting anything more. But another, harder thrust gained a little more depth, edged it closer to passing that vital zenith after which it would be practically drawn into him. His own knot was at its full size, swollen and bulging. His member twitched, so close, and he rode the peak, holding onto the edge of it with all of his feeble willpower.

Melodie threw her weight onto the toy, forcing it all the way into him with a ragged cry of triumph. He jolted and snarled as his whole body clenched around the intruding girth. His balls tightened, his toes curled involuntarily, and his tail swung wildly around in search of anything to latch onto, finding her shoulders and wrapping around them tightly. She bounced her hips, trying to pull forward for one final hump, but his knot locked her in place, and she succeeded only in yanking at his member and heightening his pleasure. The sparking ecstasy came from deeper within him this time, coaxed free by the impossibly filling thing locked deep within him. This too she tugged at ineffectually, and this too only ensured that when the explosion finally came, it rocked them both, hard. His roar shook the room as the first mighty splash of his seed shot into her, long and powerful and hot. Halfway through the second boiling surge, she tensed and clenched, shuddering and releasing a roar of her own. He thought his claws might tear into his snout as her ecstasy dragged his own into even greater intensity, but he forgot them entirely as his pleasure crossed a new threshold into transcendence. A third surge finished him, and he snapped his jaws at the air, riding it for as long as he could before it finally began to fade.

Her own climax not quite past its peak, Melodie tottered, wings flailing, held up only by his tail and the stiffness of his throbbing member, before falling forward onto her stomach, wrenching his malehood down and pressing at the toy buried inside of him so that it levered upward into that sensitive bundle of nerves in his secret depths. Impossibly, he felt his body tense up again, balls tightening further. This time, his roar ran out of air and shrunk into a whimper as more seed erupted out of him, hotter and thicker and more violent than before. This load filled her shuddering, clenching depths utterly, squeezing around his knot and squelching free in burst after molten burst.

Lucien wasn't sure if his eyes were open or closed, but he was seeing fireworks either way, bright vibrant starbursts exploding across his vision and blotting everything else out. Melodie mewled somewhere near his tail, snapping at it weakly with helpless jaws. It took a long time for his lungs to refill, but when he finally managed to take a full breath, the surges had faded to spasms and twitches, leaking only the last straggling drops of his seed.

Releasing his muzzle and rubbing at it gently, he rolled onto his side, groaning at how the movement pulled at his member. He lay there, panting, listening to the rhythmic sound of Melodie's quiet breathing while he waited for the spots in his vision to clear. They did, slowly, leaving him faintly disoriented when he saw the room from a sideways view before he remembered that he'd rolled over. He worked his aching jaw. Even with all of his training and experience, he had never even dreamed of an orgasm that intense.

Slowly, carefully, he crawled over the tile, pivoting around their union and hissing at the bursts of extra pleasure every wobble gave as it tugged or pushed at his member. Finally, he found her, gathered her sprawled form in his limbs, and pulled her back against him, moaning as it pulled at his knot.

"This... doesn't... seem so proper."

He smiled at her teasing and nuzzled behind her jaw, delighting in the shiver it sent down her spine.

"Shall I stop?"

She whispered something shaped like a "no," and laid her head on the tile, surrendering to his tender attentions as she recovered from their mutual trip into nirvana. Her breathing slowed and her eyes drifted closed, either asleep or very close to it. Stroking her chest and haunches gently with his claws, he lifted his head to steal a glance at her slit. A self-satisfied hum sounded in his chest at just how much of his seed had spilled past his knot. He gave his hips a little tug, found that they were still quite securely locked together, and laid his head down beside hers with a long sigh. The thought of removing the toy from his tailhole, now that he was relaxed enough, crossed his mind, but he dismissed it out of hand. It would require him to move too much, and he couldn't bear to disturb her. After several long minutes, she stirred slightly. Giving her hips an experimental tug of her own, she also found that they were still tied just as tight and gave a long, fulfilled sigh. He curled his chin down to touch the top of her head, and she pressed into it, claws rising to caress his muzzle.

"Oh," she said, wiggling her shoulders lazily against his chest, "Oh, Lucien, we're going to get along famously."

"Yes, Melodie," he murmured, enjoying how she tensed up around him when he used her name and treating her to a slow lick at the base of her ear, "Yes, I think we are."

***