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The Silver Masked Sol

A Silver, Sand, and Silken Wings story: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/44319/silver-sand-and-silken-wings

The cold of a desert night bit Beryll's scales, but did nothing to soothe her burning body. Despite entering the last days of that dreaded month, her nethers stung with nagging, soggy lust the same way they did in the first.

The serene stillness and coolness of the royal gardens promised relief, not only with its secluded loneliness, but she followed an earlier letter provided by a most reliable source. Beds of roses would provide esthetic calm along with the stretches of those other colorful plants, and the palms. How could she forget the palms? Erecting themselves out of the ground, sturdy, long, ribbed and rough. Her mind wandered to things and dragons most pleasant. Missing the next step, she clenched her legs, trying to squeeze and hold the building excitement, but it only worsened as her swollen and needy flesh rubbed against itself. Maybe a palm would do. The ridges were-

Beryll drew in a large amount of air and cautiously peeked behind her. To get so lost imagining rigid and rough and probably sharp and unpleasant palms, it was unbecoming. The stone trail stood as empty as it stood quiet. Only the twinkle of a few drops of wetness a few tail lengths behind, the height of her palmy thoughts, answered her gaze. The guards knew better than to ignore her orders to be left alone.

But the smells painted a most colorful picture behind her. Between the soft scents of sleeping flowers, seeped the heavy and pungent scent of her arousal. A Sol knew not to sniff and tell, but the entire palace must know of her unmet needs. She wondered what they thought. Perhaps that she valiantly kept her composure as the princess, or that she was above such desires as royalty. Scoffing at her silly notions, she passed deeper into the flower garden. Liars, all of them.

The palace smelled like a brothel that past month. The baths, the storage lockers, the kitchen, not even the grand hall remained unstained. Who and with whom, she did not know, but it drove that imaginary rod of desire ever deeper, yearning for something real.

She passed over the last cobbles of the rose garden, ignoring all the sights and heading straight ahead into the alley beneath palms, lost in her thoughts. Already halfway down the road, a voice, loud and imposing, sounded from above. "My, my, what have we here?"

Her head spun towards the source, up on the tiled roof of the shed behind the hedges. There, illuminated by pale moonlight, sat the silhouette of a large and muscular Sol. His wings hid most of his body from sight, but it brought all the more attention to the silver mask he wore. It stretched from the tip of his snout up to his straight horns, leaving only space for his eyes that shone a foreboding red.

"Who are you to intrude on the gardens?" Beryll sneered and dropped into a fighting stance. "You are not allowed to be here."

He laughed and carefully raised up his pfod from behind his wing to reach for the moon and she could not help but notice the sheen of wetness all around it and the smell of vanilla rolling down towards her. "They call me the Silver Masked Sol, defiler of all that is pure. And you, innocent princess out on a stroll, lonely gardens at night are not so secure."

Beryll huffed a misty breath, clenched her pfod, and her claws dug into the brittle grass below. "I am about to serve you your teeth, using your mask as a platter."

The Masked Sol shuffled a little on the roof, placing himself sideways into the shine of the moon, darkening his silhouette bar the silver outline. "From you I sense only words most vile. I should put a tongue like that on trial. Mind your lesson might get bloody-" He flared open his wings. "Behold the tools of this study!"

And behold, she did. In the pale gaze of the moon, shone his erect dragonhood. It glistened, slick with fluid that formed beads at the tip and ran along the sizeable length until it pooled in a sliver puddle between his legs. Her pleasure starved brain stood too mesmerized to realize what situation she was in.

She barely reacted as he pushed himself off the roof, poised for a strike. Only her dragonheart, so schooled by countless hours of sparring, jumped to life like a wildfire over dried grass. Instinctively, Beryll threw herself to the side. The Masked Sol was quick to react and banked just in time to cut her off.

That singular moment of distraction was all it took to have a worse position in this coming duel. Her martially inclined brain shamed the aggressively lustful rest as they collided. His bulk threw her off-balance, but not enough to trip her.

With a mighty, but reserved roar, she smashed her left legs into the floor and pushed herself in his direction. The fool failed to follow up his moment of surprise, which would not cost him the fight.

He was more nimble than she had expected and dodged her swipe by ducking towards her side. He then reached forward and lodged his claws deep into her shoulder. Using the swing of their momentum, he let himself be carried by her bulk, anchored by his lodged claws, and landed right behind her.

She had to reposition, shake him off, but before she could react, he lunged forward and smacked down onto her back. Her wings got squashed tight against her body and screamed in anguish as her muscles stretched against her will.

Both his arms held onto her shoulders and she had to strain to remain upright with his weight on her back. Flashes of pain raced through her arms as he adjusted and flexed his claws deeper into her flesh. "Just like that, the princess is mounted," he purred into her ear while his slick dragonhood rubbed teasingly against her thighs. "And now, she shall get pounded."

He reared up his head with a triumphant, giggling roar before surging down and biting hard into her neck. Beryll went stiff as teeth pierced her scales and drew blood that ran down hot against her scales and filled the lust heavy air with the coppery smell of fresh blood that only deepened her excitement.

A dragon knew when they were bested, having teeth around your neck being a very clear indicator of a loss. Beryll stopped her struggle, focusing on keeping steady to carry the bulky male.

His teasing motions continued, aggravating her lust as he pressed himself against her, adding to the ever-growing wetness between her legs until he finally shoved her tail to the side. The rock-hard tip of his dragonhood pushed against her rear and she spread her legs without conscious effort. She was no princess now, not to him. She was but a needy dragoness, succumbing to nature. Her body yearned for it, demanded it. "Come on then, do your worst."

Only waiting for words like that, he raised his butt and brought the tip to enter her slit with precision. He held still, and she could no longer resist. Her hips moved on their own, chasing the desperately needed relief, but he did not follow, choosing to remain teasingly far, making it impossible to feel his thick dragonhood inside her. Instead, he bit down harder, pushing deeper into her flesh, and the hot flash of sweet pain elicited a moan deep out of her throat. "Do it!" Her voice thundered with excited and mad fury. If he did not move, she would make him move.

With a guttural groan that reverberated through her neck from his throat, he relented and plunged himself deep inside her. Beryll moaned in surprised as the yearned for sensation of fullness reached her.

He pulled back, grasping her tighter, and smashed forward once more. Pain and pleasure mixed in her mind into a singular ecstatic haze as he pounded her insides again and again, pressing deeper and deeper with every thrust.

Growing more sensitive every passing second, she felt each ridge of his bulk grinding against her inside as though every single one of them tried to tease her as much as possible before they pulled back and repeated the process. White, cold flashes of pain scratched past her head as his claws dug deeper with their motions. His hot breath condensed and tickled her neck. Relief edged closer and closer, blazing and sizzling, and she moved along, anticipating every thrust of his, every pleasant sting of his teeth lodged in her neck. Her body boiled, the white mist curling from her mouth swelling into a full-blown haze as she moaned and groaned her pleasure to the outside.

His rhythm changed, faster and faster, pumping and pulsing stronger as he neared the height of his climax, chasing her own.

But it could not be. As the princess, she could not dare to bear a clutch to a masked stranger. Through the pinkish haze muddling her brain, she bit her tongue, softly, but hard enough to draw blood. Magic surged through her body as the metallic taste filled her mouth. Brimming with feverish power in her muscles, she waited until his next thrust.

He pushed his length deep into her once more and then, as he pulled himself back out and loosened his grip a little, she threw herself to the side with all her weight. Bracing herself, she caught her footing, but the masked dragon slipped, releasing her neck and drawing long, hot scratches up her arm as he struggled to hold on.

Beryll followed and rushed to grab his throat. With blood induced strength, she hoisted him up as though he was but a toy, pacing her energy as to not crush his windpipe. She charged, if not hastily, stumbled forward on two legs, dragging him to the next palm. Pulling him up the rigid bark, she plunged his horns into it, pinning him into the fibrous material. "I am not so easily bested!" She grasped his throat, but as he struggled for air, she relaxed her grip. "Have mercy," he said.

"Mercy?" Her digits brushed against the delicate scales under his chin, feeling the pulsing of his heart. Every beat sent a shiver down her arm and she pressed up against his body to be that little closer. His slick, erect length rested up against her smooth underbelly. "What mercy does a masked nuisance like you deserve?"

Beryll moved up and down, his dragonhood sliding on the coat of their combined juices. It felt even larger out in the open and the sensation drove a subdued moan out of her chest. "You don't get any mercy from me." She tilted her head, opened her maw and closed it lightly around his throat. His heartbeat quickened with every new upward motion and he stiffened with every rub she gave his length down between their bellies.

"Please, I am about-" His tiny outcry ended with an abrupt huff for breath.

"Surrender to me," Beryll whispered and pressed herself upward once more, squeezing his dragonhood as she embraced him along with the tree.

His body convulsed as he shot string after string of hot liquid up between them, coating their bellies in sticky semen. He huffed and groaned in rhythm with his twitches below, and when they stopped, he surrendered a long sigh.

Basking in the combined lustful heat between them, Beryll released her bite, lowered her pfod and dragged it up between their bellies, teasing his spent dragonhood once more to see him shiver.

She watched her digits draw strings as she pulled it up between their snouts. The scent seemed overpowering, driving a spike into her still unsatisfied nethers. They were not done, not yet.

She brought her sticky digits up to the tip of the mask, watching his red gaze follow. She drew a streak down to his lip, forced them into the hot, wet embrace of his mouth. The surprised Sol gulped, but knew what to do. His tongue flicked along her digits, cleaning even under her claws. "What a good, obedient, masked nuisance you are." She pulled them back out, wiping them on his cheek.

"And now-" She reached upwards with both arms and grabbed his stuck horns. "Now you will finish what you started, you insolent newt!" With a singular, powerful pull, she freed him from the palm prison. She fell onto her back, pulling him along, and caught his head between her legs.

Adjusting their position, she forced him closer to her steaming slit. His tongue instantly flicked forward and found its target. Unlike his dragonhood, it was thinner but hotter, moving with incredible precision.

She took in the scent of their combined arousal, tart, hot, shameless, and her desire jumped tenfold. The last minutes had brought her close, the mountain and cliff or her climax seemed so small now. "Just a little-" She grabbed his head once more, pressing it against her as his tongue swirled around her swollen lips, and dived deeper in between.

Her mind replayed his ambush, how his teeth dug through her skin and how his length plunged deeper and deeper. Lusty thoughts and his tongue pushed her over the edge. Her orgasm came as an avalanche, rolling down the tip of the mountain, building and building as her body stiffened, until finally she groaned out her week long frustration in a singular, powerful spasm. Again and again every muscle twitched in pleasure and with every moan she grew more and more sated until her muscles went numb and limp. Wave after wave of bliss coursed through her body from tail tip to her head, bringing with it a solemn emptiness that robbed her breath.

The stars shone above and she had forgotten how long she had basked in the afterglow. A minute or ten, it did not matter. Her misty breath curled up into the air along with the tendrils of steam coming off of her body. The cool grass below seemed to boil away as she lay there.

A sneeze brought her back to reality. "Bless you," she said, and raised her head.

"Thanks, you hit me right in the nostrils." Onyx had taken off the mask, which had been covered almost entirely in liquid along with his satisfied smirk. "Could be worse things to get up my nose. How was my acting? You did not know it was me, the mysterious stranger."

Beryll laughed a single ha and let her head fall back into the grass. "If it wasn't you, I would have ripped your cock off and shoved it so far up your ass that you can suck yourself off. Besides the rhyming, it was acceptable. Putting the sex into numbers, eight out of ten."

He stretched his jaw and got to his paws as he peered around the palm. "Eight? We can do better than that."

"Not for another year, we can't," she laughed.

He reached around the trunk and pulled forth a lidded basket. "Picked a convenient palm to hide it. Or not, we could have smashed it." From the depths of the basket, he pulled out their first aid kit and produced the wipes and bottle of disinfectant.

"Wish you could be here tomorrow too," Beryll sighed, "I need you." She turned onto her belly to give him easy access to her wounded neck. Moistening the fabric, he wiped away the blood, and the soft stings brought back pleasant memories.

"If you want to make it official and spare me the week long training exercise, be my guest."

They both know they could not. Not yet. Beryll pulled the basket closer and inspected the contents. Next to a small bottle of vanilla scented oil sat two wrapped flaky pastries, and another, strawberry like smell caught her attention. "Whoopsie tea? Well, wasn't somebody confident that he could finish inside today?"

Onyx laughed. "We get carried away. Wouldn't want an accident like that. You can't afford that."

"When I let you, you will be able to call yourself king."

He bumped his sticky forehead against hers and paused. "Can't wait for it. Imagine our little ones, they'd be monsters." He handed her a fresh wipe and the disinfectant, then turned to show his throat, revealing the puncture wounds.

"Sorry, didn't mean to bite that hard."

"Its fine, I clearly enjoyed it," he said and gestured to the sticky mess on his belly that now contained quite a few blades of grass and dirt. "And if I didn't, I would have stated our word."

He flinched as she dabbed his wounds. "Any ideas for what to do when I come back?"

"Oh, so many. And I won't be in heat any more. How about this: 'After a long week of marching through enemy land, the tired soldier leaves the camp for a private nature break. As he unhooks his armor and lifts his leg, he is ambushed by an enemy scout that only wants one thing.'"

"His pastries."

"Of course," she picked up one of the wrapped pastries and unrolled the paper.

"Must I wear my armor? Do you know how hard it is to scrub the mess out of the ridges?"

They laughed. Time had advanced and as their lust died down, the sticky mess everywhere felt like just that, a sticky mess. "Let's hit the bath. You better have brought the cum brush or I will make you use your tongue."

"You are so cute when your threats sound like treats."

She flicked his side lightly with her tail.