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Groaning softly, she began to stir. Sensation was the first thing to register in her mind -- something warm and soft beneath the bare skin of her head and hands, over which the silk-smooth fabric of her accustomed dress easily slid. Fur, probably. She heard nothing aside from her own breathing and the soft rustle of cloth as her body moved. This was likely a mercy; there was a dull throbbing in the back of her head that encouraged her to keep her eyes closed, for the moment. She focused on regulating her breathing, calling to mind the meditative exercises she often practiced. Soon the lingering comfort faded, and she ventured to open her eyes.

Wherever she was, it was dark. It seemed like a fairly small room -- no, more like a cave alcove; the walls appeared to be of rough stone, though the floor was smooth. She was laying among a pile of furs that served as a mattress. What little light there was originated around a corner of what seemed to be the only way into the room.

Or the only way out. Tialla rose to her feet, finding herself a little unsteady, and took a step toward it. Then another, more confidently. It bothered her that she didn't remember how she'd gotten here, but she didn't seem to be hurt. Her bare feet carefully treaded the smooth stone floor, one hand outstretched toward the wall to catch herself should she fall, but the caution proved unwarranted; the floor was dry, not slippery, and there seemed to be no loose gravel or cracks on which to trip. Obviously worked, then.

Tialla took a moment before turning the corner, allowing her eyes to adjust to the light again. The tunnel was a wide, serpentine one, the light emanating from some manner of crystal orbs set high into either wall, near the ceiling, at more or less regular intervals. It branched several times, but, having no better idea of where to go, she continued on straight, reasoning that it would be more difficult to become lost.

Her walk was slow and cautious, as stealthy as she could manage. The continued silence made her uneasy. She last remembered being outside, beneath the sun. She'd been gathering herbs, as she often did, to be made into medicine. She'd flown to the distant Andrian mountain peaks for iceblossom, and had been fortunate to find a large number of the rather rare flowers. She'd been careful not to take too much, of course, but what she'd packed into her basket would last for months nevertheless, and she'd made note of the spot. If it provided such a harvest every year...

She'd taken flight again, blue-feathered wings bearing her homeward. It would be several hours' flight, with brief rests, but little enough sacrifice. She was no soldier, to fight in the war, but she could do her part by helping to treat them. In a decade, perhaps less, her apprenticeship would be over, and she would be inducted into the order of healers.

But she hadn't gone straight home. Her flight had taken her near the outskirts of the Evenwold, to the north. It was past the peak season for silverthorn, but she'd hoped to gather one final harvest. Silverthorn root wasn't uncommon, in its season, but it was useful in a variety of poultices and medicines, and always useful to have on hand.

What then?

She must have been attacked, overcome, and brought here -- wherever this was. But the Evenwold wasn't deep wilderness. There had been rumors a goblin tribe had moved into the area. The primitive humanoids were superstitious, and usually shied from confronting her kind, but Tialla supposed it was possible they'd been moved to attack. But she was unhurt, and goblins were not known for their subtlety in battle. There were the occasional bandits, too, mostly humans from neighboring Thelessia. Perhaps a wizard's runaway apprentice, using his powers to lead a small band of such men? Yes, that seemed more likely. This cave complex would probably make a good hiding place for a group of highwaymen.

Highwaymen wouldn't have worked the stone, of course. An actual wizard? It would be unlikely, but not unknown.

Tialla rounded a corner and froze, a surge of fear washing over her. The chamber she'd nearly stepped into contained the answer to her questions. A sleek, glossy, brownish form, blending the reptilian and the serpentine, curled so that its snout rested on its tail. Batlike wings folded over its back like a blanket. Its eyes were closed, and it slept soundlessly.

A dragon.

Tialla had never seen a dragon, but none of the avariel would mistake one. Her people and their land-bound elvish kin had been at war with the dragons for millennia.

It wasn't a loud or prominent war. Entire centuries had been known to pass in total peace. There were not so many elves in the world that an ongoing conflict could be sustained. Inevitably, however, there would be reports of a dragonflight attacking an outlying position, and there would follow several bloody battles.

The monsters had teeth sharper than any elvish lance, thick scales harder than truesteel, and aerial agility that belied their bulk. If that were not enough, every one of them seemed to have mastered a primal magic that only the best of elvish sorcerers or human wizards could hope to match. A single dragon had been known to defeat an entire century of avariel soldiers. A flight could decimate the army, if the battles went poorly. Thankfully, the dragons were even fewer in number than the elves.

Yet one was here, and Tialla was alone.

This one was smaller than the monsters Tialla had heard described; it fit easily into the cave. But that made it no less fearsome. If a tenth of what was said about dragons were true, a single warrior stood no chance against one, and she was no warrior.

Nervously wetting her lips, she examined the chamber. There was sufficient space along the walls that she could slip past, but if she failed to exercise sufficient stealth, and the creature awakened...

It wasn't worth the risk, she decided. She had no guarantee that the passage beyond led out, after all. She would turn back, first, and explore another path. If they led nowhere, she could return and try to sneak past. Perhaps the dragon would leave. Wishful thinking, probably, but her decision seemed sound nevertheless. She turned and stepped back into the corridor.

"Going somewhere?"

Tialla froze again at the deep but quiet voice behind her. It had a sibilant quality to it, a part of her mind noted, just as she'd been told. Once again she turned, slowly.

The dragon's eyes were open now. Their fiery orange color appeared luminous in the shadow of the chamber, and they were fixed on her. Its head had lifted just a fraction; the rest of its body might not have moved at all. It looked, she thought, amused.

It spoke to her again. "There's only one exit. Behind me," it said, as though it had read her thoughts. Perhaps it had; she wasn't certain whether that lay within the power of draconic magic. "You won't be using it. Not soon, at least."

Finding her voice, Tialla murmured, "You brought me here." Then, more firmly, "You attacked me."

"Attacked?" Its head tilted, considering the word. "I suppose I did, from your perspective. A harmless spell to induce sleep."

"Why? What are you doing here? These are elvish lands." Odd, how the fear seemed to dissipate, now that she was talking to the beast. But no, that wasn't right. It no longer seized her, but there was a creeping dread lying heavily in her stomach that prompted her to ask, "What do you want with me?"

The dragon emitted an alarming noise, a low, grinding sort of hiss. It took Tialla a moment to realize that this was laughter. "I see I've chosen well." Its body lifted suddenly, and it turned to face her more fully. "Elvish lands? Elves have a short memory, it seems."

Declining to elaborate further, it raised itself off the ground, turning more fully toward her. The lights in the chamber flared to life, an afterthought, revealing that its scaled body, which she'd taken for brown, was in fact a copper shade. "You, little one, are my prisoner. You needn't worry; I have no intention of killing you."

Tialla failed to find that reassuring. "Prisoner? You can't keep me here!"

"I think you'll find I can. Your stay can be reasonably comfortable, though--"

"Ridiculous! Let me out of here at once."

"--So long as you remain well-behaved and obedient," the dragon concluded, without even pausing at her interruption. "As for letting you out... I'm afraid not. Not yet. But that leads to another matter." Its fiery eyes narrowed, regarding her. "My kin would suggest clipping your wings, assuming they allowed you to live at all." She gasped, but the dragon again continued, unheeding, "I am loath to do so. Of course, I can't allow you to simply fly away while I sleep." Its claw flicked toward her, and something landed near her feet with a muffled thump.

Tialla found herself unable to break the dragon's gaze until its eyes turned away for a moment, flicking downward toward her feet. Her own attention followed. On the cave floor lay what she took at first for a choker: a black band with a silver ring. Her cheeks colored as she recognized it for what it was. A collar. "This--"

"That will ensure that you don't pass through the exit, if you put it on of your own free will." It sighed. "Otherwise, I'll need to clip those wings after all, and that would be tragic."

She knelt, slowly, picking up the collar with two fingers, reluctant to touch it. It appeared perfectly ordinary to her. The band was soft leather, of good quality, the clasp, ring, and nameplate of brilliant silver truesteel. It was the sort of collar that might be placed on a dog, although only a monarch or a sorcerer could afford to use truesteel for such a purpose. "Magic," she guessed. "There must be a simpler way."

"My powers are not without constraint, girl." It could have sounded impatient, but to Tialla's ears, there was a note of amusement in the dragon's tone. "I could chain you to the wall, but I presumed you'd prefer to have at least a little freedom." Its eyes glinted. "Put it on."

It seemed she was out of time. Sighing, she turned the collar over in her hands, examining it. The thought of wearing such a thing was appalling, but the alternatives the dragon offered were unthinkable. Inclining her head slightly, she raised the collar to her throat. She could think of it, she supposed, as jewelry. And she could remove it, later -- cut it off, if need be. She still felt the presence of the small knife against her hip: a tool, not a weapon, but it would be sharp enough. The dragon had been careless not to search her when it had taken her.

Or perhaps it simply hadn't cared. The knife would be less threat to it than a toothpick to Tialla.

Steeling herself, she closed the clasp, expecting to feel a sudden tingle or a rush of heat, some indication of the magical power she'd guessed the collar held. She felt nothing. After a moment, she relaxed, looking up toward the dragon.

It was looking back at her, lips curled in what might be a smile. "Very good... Tialla, is it?" She stepped back in surprise. "On the nameplate. A simple enchantment. I'm not reading your thoughts."

Lifting a hand, she ran her fingertips across the plate, feeling the slight indentations engraved into what had been smooth metal when she'd studied the collar. Frowning, she nodded in acknowledgement.

"A pretty enough name. You may keep it." While she was still gaping incredulously at that statement, the dragon continued, "Your throat could not pronounce mine, but a portion of it approximates to Razal. You, however, may call me 'Master.' I assume you're not familiar with the draconic protocols of war." Still attempting to work out which of the statements to respond to first, Tialla remained silent for a moment. That was all the dragon allowed her before continuing, "I thought as much. Your education among the elves was sorely lacking. The usual sentence for a poisoner is a thousand years... if she is not killed outright."

That brought focus to her scattered thoughts. "Poisoner? I'm an apprentice healer. And I can't be a prisoner of war, I'm not a warrior."

"I'm sure. And you're unaware of the effects of iceblossom extract mixed with an emulsion of silverthorn and sulfur." It paused, head lifting back, looking down at her. "Hm. Perhaps you are, at that. I'll reduce your sentence to one year, if what you're saying is true." Smiling slowly, it added, "I'm certain the truth will become clear within that time."

"But--"

It gave her no opportunity to protest. "In any event, you are my prisoner. I've spared your life, which means it now belongs to me. I'll renounce that claim once you've served your time. Until then, I expect your obedient service. Is that clear?"

"I will not be your slave!" She stamped her foot and immediately wished she hadn't; aside from the fact that the floor was bare, hard stone, she was immediately aware of how ridiculous she must have looked to Razal. Forcing her fingers to relax from the fists she'd clenched them into, she resolved to act in a more dignified manner.

"Won't you?" the dragon asked quietly. "And what makes you think you have a choice?"

She told it, in a dignified and exceptionally vehement manner, exactly what she thought.

She had expected some reaction, but in this she was disappointed. Razal showed none. The dragon subjected her to the same enigmatic scrutiny as earlier. When it at last moved from its stone-still poise, she jumped in surprise, but it took no notice. "You'll learn differently in time. Come. You'll need to learn the layout of these caverns if you're to be of any use."

Its bronze form shifted sinuously as it walked, oddly graceful for such a creature. At the same time, Tialla found it disturbing. The movements of the dragon's body didn't seem to quite match the motions of its limbs. It reminded her of nothing so much as a marionette dancing awkwardly at the ends of a hundred strings. It was moving, but in the wrong directions as often as the right ones.

Then she saw why. The creature wasn't simply moving; it was changing. Its forelegs had shortened. The ridge of spines that ran down its back was melting away. The structure of its neck and head were changing. Muscle, bone, and flesh were flowing like liquid with each shape the dragon took.

Razal stood. A casual gesture shrouded him in a rich purple robe of Jherebian shadowsilk. The garment was unadorned, but that amount of shadowsilk would buy a manor.

The dragon paused in the mouth of the passage and looked back toward her. "Come," it repeated, more firmly. Tialla started; how long had she been staring? Razal seemed to sense the thought; with another of its thin, disturbing smiles, it asked, "You didn't think we all stayed as large as a galleon?"

"I..."

"As I said, your education has been lacking. You have a great deal to learn." Razal gestured with what might have been impatience. "And you will learn this, too, but not today. It's difficult to grasp even with the proper grounding. The halls of your home, however, are not."

With a sigh, she followed the dragon from the room. There was nothing to be gained by refusal, so there was no reason to risk angering the dragon. Assuming that it could feel anger. Its behavior seemed to her terribly alien and cold. There were moments when she felt she understood it, but those were few.

Razal led her slowly through the complex. The sprawling maze wasn't quite as extensive as she'd feared in her earlier escape attempt, but it was daunting all the same, and she was glad of the care the dragon took in guiding her through it.

There were marvelous things in the caverns. One room was large and almost hemispherical, its domelike walls and ceiling smooth to her eyes and polished to a sheen. It was utterly empty, save for a blue-veined white sphere floating in its center, which Razal curtly warned her never to touch. Another was a boxy closet-like room full of a variety of colorful feathers, for which no explanation was offered. A third was empty but for two inches of pristine snow on its floor, which failed to melt despite the warm temperature. When they had passed, Tialla glanced back and saw that their tracks had faded, as though they had never been. There was a garden, too, in what must once have been a volcanic crater; it was a wide, circular area, open to the sky, bisected by a brisk brook, and in its soil grew a number of flowering shrubs and even a handful of spindly trees. Though she longed for a better look, the dragon turned and led her back the way they had come, informing her she was to stay out of the garden. And so it went. As they walked, Razal discussed her duties. This, she was to keep clean; this, not to enter; this was where she might prepare food for herself, but he did not require her services in that regard. She listened to this with half a mind, more concerned about committing the layout of the caverns to memory.

The temperature. There was another oddity -- the caverns had seemed chill to her before, but now the air was comfortably warm. The stone underfoot felt as though it had been exposed to summer sunlight recently and retained vestiges of the heat. Puzzling it over, she concluded that the change must have been another of Razal's magics. Had it been for her comfort? That seemed unlikely.

Razal led her into the next room, and she immediately forgot that concern. This was the most extraordinary of all. It was roughly square and unremarkable, but its contents were a king's random. Shelves lined every wall and spilled into the center, and every shelf was packed with books and scrolls. Some of them looked quite old, others recent; she guessed there were a thousand, perhaps more. She was standing within a library that would be the envy of any wizard or sage.

Her awestruck expression didn't escape the dragon's notice. "You appreciate them." She could read approval in his tone, she thought. "Good. You may come here, whenever your duties permit it, and read what you like. Show proper care. I would not be pleased if they were to be damaged." Even if it would hurt him, Tialla didn't think she could bring herself to damage them. There were precious few places where so much knowledge was gathered in one place. She was about to say something to that effect when he continued, "You're probably tired."

She noticed with some surprise that she was. How long had they been walking? It was impossible for her to tell; there were no cues to go by except for the ache in her feet, and she hadn't noticed that until Razal had brought it to her attention. She nodded.

"To your room, then," he said, turning. With a last glance at the shelves surrounding her, she followed. The dragon led her a short distance back the way they had come, and then turned to the left. He gestured with a clawed hand -- definitely a hand now, she noted with interest, not the paw-like structure it had been earlier, before he had taken bipedal form -- at an archway.

Entering, she raised an eyebrow. An actual bed took up a good quarter of the room, and there were several other pieces of furniture -- a wardrobe-style closet, a bedside table, one of the low-backed chairs her kind favored, basins large and small for washing -- all of which seemed to be fashioned with some skill, though she was no expert in such matters. A rug covered much of the stone floor, a fireplace sat dormant in one wall. Aside from the lack of decorations, it was remarkably similar to her home.

"You should find it comfortable," he said, fastening that inscrutable gaze on her again. "Rest. Eat, if you wish... you remember the way?" She thought for a moment and nodded; the room he'd pointed out was not far from this one. That made sense. Nodding in turn, Razal said, "Until tomorrow morning, then," and turned, walking away as though he were no longer interested in her.

Tialla stood for a moment, thinking about all that had happened to her. Then she went to make herself a meal. Everything else could wait.

*

The dragon's stores were impressive, but the meal Tialla had chosen was a simple one: a mix of vegetables over rice and a single apple, crisp as though it had been freshly-picked -- another of the casual marvels that lay about this strange place. She'd been tempted by the mead, but settled on water. She would need her wits about her.

She ate slowly, savoring the rest as much as the food.

When she had finished, she went to the quarters the dragon had assigned her, sat upon the bed, and waited until she was reasonably certain a full hour had passed.

There had been no sign of Razal. Concluding that the dragon truly had departed, she reached to the collar, intent on its removal.

Her fingers found no purchase. It was as if the collar were a single unbroken band, with no clasp or lock. Tialla was only mildly surprised; she hadn't expected it to be easy. Experimentally, she tugged. The leather was tight enough against her flesh that she couldn't work a finger underneath, so she was forced to resort to awkwardly pinching and wrenching at it. The leather refused to deform, and she soon gave up. That was fair enough. She had learned what she'd expected.

Tialla unstrapped her little knife and raised it toward the band. She could have wished for more leeway, but she had a steady and precise hand. She was confident she could cut through the collar without risking a serious injury. The knife was sharp -- she kept her tools in good condition -- but hardly honed to a razor's edge.

Carefully she inched the implement closer to the band around her throat. Steadying the collar with her free hand, and holding it as far away from her neck as she could comfortably manage, she pressed the knife's edge against it and began to lightly saw back and forth.

The leather was of good quality, and quite tough. It would take some time to slice her way through it. She was reluctant to move any faster; being free of the collar would do her no good if she sliced open her neck. There was no need to rush.

Seconds ticked past, perhaps minutes, the soft hiss of the metal sliding against the leather clamorously loud in her ears. But Razal never appeared. Her arm began to ache, and she lowered it, allowing herself a few moments' rest. The fingers that had been holding the collar now brushed across its surface, attempting to assess the damage she'd done to it. Tialla froze.

The collar's surface was as smooth and unbroken as it had ever been.

Defeated, she collapsed back against the bed. She would need more than the small knife to remove the collar, it seemed. All she'd managed to do was to waste time and further tire herself.

Had Razal anticipated just that? Was he right now laughing at her, somewhere?

She closed her eyes tightly, on the brink of tears. Tears she was determined not to allow. It seemed she would need to bear the indignity of the collar a little longer, though it was beginning to seem like a great weight on her neck.

With that dark thought, she allowed her weariness to overtake her. Soon she was deeply asleep.

*

Razal came to her the next morning, while she was preparing a breakfast. "I will be leaving for the day," he informed her.

At some point, Tialla realized, she had begun to think of the dragon as 'he' rather than 'it.' When had that happened?

He continued, "Today you are to sweep the entrance chamber, the hallway, and the room where we first met." Tialla bristled at his tone -- at his casual assumption that he could command her. Without comment, though, she nodded. It would be counterproductive to embroil herself in an argument now. After waiting a few more moments, the dragon concluded, "I will return late," and departed.

She took her time finishing her meal, then rose, tracing the passageways to the entrance. There was no sign of Razal, but there was a broom leaning against the wall near the cavern mouth. She walked to it, but left it where it lay, looking out.

The cave mouth was partway up a mountainside, she saw. There was a large relatively flat area, which would no doubt make an ideal surface for the dragon to land upon, and beyond that a steep dropoff. It would be difficult for any land-bound creature to approach. The dragon had chosen his lair well.

She didn't recognize the surroundings, but she'd expected that. Once she was in the air, she would have a better idea of where she was.

The drop presented no impediment to Tialla, of course, but she restrained the impulse to step past the threshold and throw herself into the air. Razal had surely set something into place to prevent such an easy escape. Weaving a ward across the entrance wouldn't be difficult for a being of his apparent power.

Sighing, she turned away and retraced her steps. From the room Razal had given her, she set out again, wending her way through the tunnels. Her memory was sharp, but even so, she lost her way once in the labyrinth and wasted precious minutes finding the path back.

Finally, she arrived at her destination. The forbidden garden stretched before her, and she took a moment to study it before moving forward with her plan.

The former volcanic crater -- if that is what it truly was -- was quite large; Tialla estimated it at roughly two hundred paces across its center. While the caverns were stone-floored, the floor of the crater boasted a rich, loamy soil she imagined must have been brought in, either by Razal or by a previous occupant. The amount of labor such a task would require, even aided by magic, left her speechless. Someone must have considered this garden vitally important, to expend so much effort.

In spite of that fact, it clearly hadn't been tended recently. Tialla could see places where beds of herbs or flowers had once been laid, but they were now wild; only faint traces of the former order remained. The spindly saplings scattered about the crater might have been intended as shade trees, but they too grew haphazardly.

A stream roughly bisected the crater. Not, in all likelihood, a natural feature. She made her way toward it. It flowed swiftly, emerging from a narrow hole in the northern wall, and looked about three or four feet deep at its deepest point. Judging by the banks of slick mud on either side, its course was not fixed. It pooled in the south before draining through a slot that had been carved into the crater wall near floor level.

Escaping by following the river didn't look like a good option. Tialla doubted she could fit through the southern slot at all. She might be able to squeeze into the hole to the north, but swimming against that current would prove difficult. Like most avariel, she was capable of swimming, but not especially practiced. And there was no way of telling how long the passage might be, or whether there were any pockets of air to breathe along the way.

That left one option. She looked upward, skeptically examining the open crater. The sky above was bright blue, with barely a cloud to be seen, but it was the rim of the crater that concerned her. She didn't see any telltale mystic glow, or any carved runes that might indicate the presence of a ward. To cover an opening so large without any such signs was impossible. Yet it seemed impossible that Razal hadn't considered that she might escape in this way.

She was wary of a trap, but she saw no better option. Spreading her wings, she leapt into the air.

The first downbeat of her wings gave her more confidence. The thrill of flight she always felt muted her worries. She ascended in a slow spiral, approaching the rim of the crater with caution, alert for any sign of a trap, and even in this situation she felt the euphoria of flight.

She circled just below the rim for several minutes. Finally, taking a deep breath, she crested past the opening. She caught a brief glimpse of the surrounding mountains, a forest far below, and a spray of water plummeting from a high peak to the north -- that explained the stream. Then, quite suddenly, she was yanked groundward, tumbling head over heels.

The collar around her neck had increased greatly in weight. It was like a millstone pulling her down. No wonder there'd been no ward; the trap was in the collar. Her wings strained to right her, to stop her earthward plummet, to little effect. Gritting her teeth, she redoubled her effort, ignoring the burning strain in her shoulders and back. Her fall slowed. She began, at last, to level out.

Tialla hit the ground, sprawling into a pool of mud. It was soft enough to break her fall, but her momentum drove her far enough that she was engulfed by the slimy substance. She thrashed frantically to raise her head to breathe, fighting the massive weight of the collar and the grasping suction of the mud, her lungs beginning to burn. Just when she was afraid she'd drown, the collar's extra weight disappeared as suddenly as it had manifested. She wrenched her head out of the mud, gasping and sputtering.

She gulped in air until her burning lungs were soothed, then began the laborious process of freeing herself from the clinging mud. It fought her efforts, clinging tenaciously to her limbs, the thick ooze only slowly giving way with a prolonged sucking burble. When at last she'd managed to clamber to her knees, she looked down at herself and groaned. She was covered with the stuff. Her dress, her skin, her hair, even her wings were plastered with mud. Fighting her way to her feet, she stumbled toward the rushing stream. If she couldn't escape, she had to at least clean off and conceal the fact that she'd attempted it...

Holding her breath, she plunged into the water. It was every bit as cold as she'd feared; her teeth began to chatter almost immediately, and she swore her fingertips had already gone numb. She shook herself vigorously to try to warm up, and found herself unable to stop shivering afterward. Grimly, she stripped off her dress, set on cleaning it, and herself, as quickly as possible.

Though she felt clumsy in the chill water, its quick-running nature served her well. The wet mud came off easily enough, with a little rubbing. Her hair and her wings gave her the most trouble; it took her several minutes with each to be reasonably sure she'd removed the last traces of the mud.

Climbing out of the water, she hung her dress over the branch of the nearest tree. It was good that the day was so clear -- with luck, her garment would dry before Razal returned. And the sunlight warmed her, too, of course. Doubly good, because she was still shivering from her bath.

Slowly, those shudders eased as her skin dried. As she became more comfortable, her previous curiosity about the garden returned. She might as well look around while her clothes dried, she reasoned. Since the garden was forbidden, she might not get another chance.

Giving the muddy area a wide berth, she stooped over one of the former beds. No trace of iceblossom or silverthorn was to be found -- not surprising, given the dragon's earlier implications. The tiny white flowers her people called amanthe, whose petals, steeped as a tea, were a remedy for sore throats and the loss of voice, grew in profusion, but that didn't help her to determine whether it had been a bed of medicinal herbs or of aesthetic flowers; amanthe were used for that purpose as well. Shaking her head, she stood, circling a tight copse of leafy bushes. There she stopped, puzzled.

On the ground lay a plant the likes of which she'd never seen. It resembled nothing so much as a tulip growing on its side, or perhaps a split pea pod. But it was a pastel pink in color, and absolutely enormous -- easily eight feet in length, if not more. Near its more bulbous, unsplit end -- its base, she supposed -- was a smattering of leaves surrounding a thick, short stem. It had a strong perfume, too; she'd become aware of a sweet scent, even at this distance. It was vaguely familiar; similar to jasmine, she thought, but there was an indefinable quality to it. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, trying to identify it. Yes, like jasmine, but different. Heavier, certainly. What was that underlying note? Taking a step forward, she breathed in again. Aloe? No, that wasn't it...

Her breath caught in her throat as something slithered across her right ankle. Envisioning a snake, she froze, so as not to startle it, and, opening her eyes, glanced downward.

It wasn't a snake. The tendril chose that moment to snap around her ankle, pulling with surprising strength. Tialla stumbled, crying out, then fell, her hands slapping at the ground to protect herself from the impact. Another tug yanked her a foot along the ground. Yelping, she scrabbled with her fingers at the surface, seeking something to catch hold of, while her eyes turned toward the trapped foot.

A vine of some sort had ensnared her ankle. She kicked at it, but it was as thick as three of her fingers and refused to break. And it led...

She gasped in horror. The vine emerged from within the strange blossom.

Another surge drew her nearer to the plant. She twisted frantically, reaching one hand toward her thigh for her knife, and cursed when she realized that it was still hanging in its sheath, along with her dress, by the stream. Clutching at the tendril, she pulled, to no avail. The vine was too strong, and slippery, coated with some manner of nectar. It slowly twisted its way further, spiraling up her leg almost to the knee, and continued to pull her toward the flower.

Desperate, she clawed at the vine, attempting to pry it loose. Its grip only seemed to tighten in response, though. The "tulip" began to blossom, slowly opening into a glistening maw nearly the diameter of its base. Squeaking in fright, she redoubled her efforts, bucking and twisting on the ground.

Just as she began to make some headway, groping and tugging at the vine, a second tendril lashed out from inside the plant, capturing her other ankle. She gasped as the flower started to drag her all the more quickly toward it, and lost her grip on the slippery tendril at a particularly violent yank.

Sobbing, she clawed the ground, hoping against hope to slow her progress. The stalks of grass and flimsy flowers that lay in her reach couldn't anchor her. Inch by inch she was reeled closer. With an effort, she managed to lift her torso upright so that she could reach again for the vines.

She gaped for a moment at the open maw of the plant. She could see the interior of the thick petals, glistening with oily fluid, pulsating slightly as though the plant were breathing -- and more tendrils like the ones that held her ankles, hovering near the back of the blossom, writhing with a serpentine grace. One began to extend toward her and she shrieked involuntarily, tearing at the thick vines that now twined about each leg to the thigh.

The third tendril wrapped around her right wrist in an oddly delicate fashion, but its pull was no less forceful than the others'. The plant dragged her ever closer. Another of the vines ensnared her left wrist in the same way, forcing her hands away from the ones wrapping her legs, putting an end to her meager resistance. Now she was helpless to slow it as it pulled her struggling body to it.

Her bare feet touched the lower petals, finding them very slippery, and unexpectedly warm. The sensation reaffirmed her fears; it was like nothing so much as being drawn into a mouth. "No..." she groaned, thrashing against her captor's grasp. Then she screamed. "No! Help! Please, someone...!"

The plant took no heed. Its tendrils continued to pull its prey inside of it. As her legs were drawn further onto the slick surface, her efforts became even less effectual. Her legs slipped faster and faster into the thing, its soft, fleshy tissue unpleasantly wet against her bare skin. And as more of her was engulfed, more of her flesh became wet, and the creature was more easily able to engulf her further. She was being eaten alive.

She sobbed, near hysteria. If this were like other carnivorous plants, her death might take days as the fluids inside slowly devoured her! At best, she was about to be drowned.

The morbid thought spurred her to frenzied action. She thrust wildly with her legs, kicking the plant's sides, struck out with her arms, and even, as her waist slid into the plant's maw, buffeting it with her wings in an effort to cause enough damage that the plant might release her. Her hopes were dashed as her blows bounced with no apparent effect off of the spongy petals. Additional tendrils were seizing her limbs, pulling them into place. Her torso was drawn inside. Then her shoulders. Her head.

She screamed one final time as its petals slowly closed. The interior of the plant grew darker, until finally only a small opening remained to allow light in.

This proved small comfort. The light only enabled her to see clearly the creeping tendrils that continued to grasp her limbs. They wove, ever-tightening, about her arms and wrists and forcing them upward, nearly perpendicular to her body. They pinned her legs against the spongy flesh of the floor. They lashed across her body, encircling her waist, knees, thighs, neck. For the first time, she was grateful for her collar; the same magic that had prevented her from cutting it evidently kept the plant from strangling her with its powerful grasp.

The web of vines draw more and more tightly around her, trapping her, restraining her thrashing body until it was all she could do to wiggle and arch her back in useless resistance. And when her motions didn't stop, it continued. A thick tentacle swooped beneath her back, keeping it arched. Another crept over her forehead, forcing her head back. A thinner pair snaked around her breasts, wrapping and constricting as they had her limbs, pulling the mounds of flesh upward until she groaned at the strain. At last she lay completely restrained, barely able to wiggle a finger or toe. She was trapped, destined to be the monstrous flower's next meal.

A feeling of weariness swept over her, the effects of her exertion setting in now that the adrenaline rush had faded, coupled with a sense of despair at her situation. Tightly-wrapped in the odd pink-tinged twilight of the plant's maw, she had no options, no way to escape. It was difficult even to breathe, between the stretching of her limbs and the weight of vines across her torso, and every breath she took was filled with the cloyingly-sweet, from this distance, perfume of the flower.

A movement in the rosy shadow to one side of her head caught her eye. She tilted her head very slightly to the left -- it was the greatest motion of which she was capable. She saw nothing for a moment, and thought perhaps it might have been the slow pulsation of the plant's walls.

But no, something was moving. Something was extending from those walls. It crept closer, until she could make out the form of a pale stalk reaching toward her. Another flutter of motion. Her eyes widened. There was another one, further down the side of the plant. She thought she saw a third beyond that.

Were the stalks going to devour her? That was hardly normal for a carnivorous plant, but little about this plant was normal. If they did, she hoped it would be quick. She struggled, feebly, but without any real hope. She hadn't succeeded in freeing herself earlier, and she was much more securely trapped now.

The first stalk she'd noticed hovered in front of her eyes, swaying slightly. It was an odd-looking thing: a bulbous tip as thick around as her wrist and as long as her forearm, attached to the plant by a thinner stemlike structure. The whole of it glistened, like everything else inside the plant, coated lightly with its nectar. And it moved painfully slowly, giving her imagination plenty of time to run wild. She almost wished it would hurry and arrive, just to end the dreadful, helpless anticipation.

Suddenly Tialla felt a faint touch against her inner thigh. Something blunt and somewhat slippery brushed across her skin, questing slowly upwards between her parted legs. She gasped as it bumped her soft folds once, then again, seeking entrance.

Not mouths at all, she realized. Stamens! It wasn't going to eat her; it was going to...

The probing tendril parted her, forcing its way into her body. "Iyaaaaa-- glmp." She screamed as the swollen head stretched her tight passage, but the sound was cut short by the sudden forward plunge of its twin, which had been hovering in front of her face, into her mouth. The thick, pale pod, which shared the uncanny warmth of the rest of the plant's body, drove past her lips, rubbing against her tongue. It felt like tough, spongy flesh, not unlike the plant's petals, and it seemed to be dripping the plant's nectar, spreading it across Tialla's tongue as it invaded her mouth. She was surprised to find the taste sweet.

She bit down in sheer defiance, but her teeth failed to even scratch the skin of the thick pod. Her only reward was a sudden gush of the nectar into her mouth. The phallic tendril, throbbing slightly, then began to slide back and forth over her tongue, stifling her cries and groans of protest.

Meanwhile, the other tendril was doing the same. It had pushed forward, insinuating itself further into her pussy, its girth forcing her to stretch to accommodate it. The fluid that dripped from its tip aided its slow progress only a little bit at first, but as it began to withdraw and thrust back in, its casual violation of her became easier.

Other stamens began to reach her now. One brushed against her cheek and traced upward to her ear, pushing forward against it as though seeking to penetrate it. Another rubbed against her belly, leaving a damp trail of its nectar across her skin. A third probed her trapped breasts, pushing curiously against each of her nipples in turn. The constriction of her breasts had made them sensitive, and Tialla gasped, moaning around the thick shaft in her mouth.

Her trapped body shook in her bonds as the tendrils continued to penetrate her, plunging into her mouth and pussy with an almost-mechanical regularity. Most of the pain had faded now, but the discomfort and humiliation of being restrained and used in this way could not. The flower's vines held her immobile, a helpless recipient of the twin phallic tendrils that relentlessly thrust into her, dripping their syrupy nectar.

"Umnf!" Her eyes snapped wide open as she felt the blunt caress of yet another of the stamens stroke across her rear. Its thick tip came to rest at her pucker, pushing insistently forward against the tight ring of muscle. "Nnn!" There was no way she could ever take that! But the plant wasn't interested in her muffled protests; the thick tip continued to grind against her hole, spreading its lubricating nectar across the flesh, massaging her clenched muscles. Slowly it coaxed them to relaxation, against Tialla's will.

Her eyes bugged out as its wriggling and burrowing paid off and the stamen's bulbous tip inched past her sphincter. It had her now, and she knew it. The thick tendril surged forward, working its way deep into her rectum. Relentlessly it pushed inch after inch inside of her. When it finally came to rest, she sobbed brokenly, her ass throbbing with the pain of the penetration.

Then it began to fuck her, the tendrils moving in a complex rhythm. One thrust deeply into her as another rested, wriggling momentarily, and the third was withdrawn. The phallic organs pumped feverishly inside her. Traces of thick, syrupy nectar spilled from the corners of her mouth, trickling down her chin and cheeks, and she could feel the disconcertingly warm fluid beginning to leak from her pussy as well as her rape continued. Her quiet groans and whimpers were further stifled by the thick stalk that filled her mouth. She breathed in quick panting gasps through her nose, her head spinning from the plant's scent.

The tireless thrusts of the tentacles continued to assault her, maintaining a frantic pace that no elf could have held for long. Again and again, the stamens plunged deep into her orifices, filling her as she writhed helplessly in the vines' grasp. They began to twist as they slid, further stimulating her -- and perhaps themselves.

She realized with a shock that it no longer hurt. In fact, the quick, constant thrusts had begun to evoke a warm, not unpleasant feeling as they slid back and forth across sensitive flesh. Shame and revulsion swept through her as she came to the realization, but the steady penetration threatened to brush those away just as they had the pain. Her body was beginning to respond to the ravishment, she thought, horrified. She was beginning to enjoy it.

The other stalks writhed across her body, a dozen warm, wet touches energetically caressing and stroking her bare skin. As much as she tried to fight it, the warm tingle of undeniable pleasure she felt deep inside continued to rise. And now that she'd become aware of it, it seemed to be building even faster. She gasped every time the phallus assaulting her pussy slammed itself forward into her depths, moaned heatedly each time the one in her ass did the same.

This was wrong, she thought desperately. She couldn't let it...

But she couldn't control it, either. Tialla was no virgin, but she'd never experienced any stimulation remotely this intense. She felt aglow, no, ablaze as the thing took her, filled her, again and again in maddening, endless cadence.

Her muscles clenched and relaxed almost beyond her control as she struggled to eke out just a little more, to push herself just a little further. She was close now, so close, and it felt so good. A part of her mind still whispered that it wasn't right, but the larger part no longer cared. If she were free, she knew with a rush of shame, she would no longer struggle to escape. She would lift her hips, bucking and rolling against the penetration, actively assisting the plant's depredations.

Blood rushed to her cheeks at the thought. What was wrong with her? She wouldn't... she couldn't...

The member in her mouth began to stiffen and shudder, continuing to piston into and out of her. She felt it swell slightly and moaned, knowing the inevitable climax was near. Then even that inadequate protest was silenced as the stamen discharged, spraying a thick, creamy fluid into her mouth. The slimy substance coated her tongue and, shortly, filled her mouth, and she was forced to swallow heavily so that she could continue to breathe. It seemed to pour out endlessly. She couldn't drink it all; it spilled past her lips, oozing over her chin and onto her neck.

Overwhelming though it was, she was aware of the other stamens following suit. The stiffening was apparent in the ones rubbing her body -- and the swelling of the pair in her pussy and ass was very obvious. Her eyes rolled wildly as the plant's forceful thrusts filled her like never before. The low blaze she'd felt building inside heated quickly to an inferno.

The one that had been stroking her cheek and ear exploded, drenching her face in its thick, slimy fluid. Seed splashed across her belly and breasts, soaked her thighs and calves. She moaned, frustrated, impatient, and almost delirious, around the thick bulb that filled her mouth.

At last, the plant broke its rhythm. Both swollen members surged ruthlessly forward, burying themselves deep in her pussy and ass. They remained there for a moment, the trembling vibration running through them the only indication of the coming explosion. Then they burst, twin sprays of thick seed pumping relentlessly into both her holes.

It was too much for her to resist. Her entire body seemed to clench upon itself, muscles tightening. Then the fire that had been ignited within her burst free, raging through every nerve of her trembling body, filling the avariel with sheer bliss as she climaxed.

The stamens continued to move, though without their previous urgency, slowly stroking and rubbing as they pumped more of the thick slime into, and onto, her bound body. Consumed in her orgasm, Tialla was barely aware of the rivulets of thick seed splashing across her body, pouring in heavy strands into her holes only to ooze back out, dripping in rivulets around the invading members. The winged elf could only moan and whimper animalistically as the pleasure continued to crash through her ravished body, as the plant continued to ejaculate its seed into her.

Tialla's muscles went limp as her climax crested. She lay defeated, thoroughly used, and, at the moment, completely uncaring.

Minutes ticked past. The electrical bliss of orgasm faded into the warm contentment of afterglow, though her mind still hadn't descended from that dizzying height. The stamens began at last to retract, withdrawing from her stretched, sore holes, drawing another moan from the avariel's lips as the motion stimulated her oversensitized areas, giving her another quick jolt of pleasure. She shuddered as they finally pulled free, still dripping their slime across her limp, prone body, until she felt soaked from head to toe.

She panted, gasping for breath, slowly beginning to come back to herself. Shame began to rise within her again as she became aware of what had just been done to her -- what she had just enjoyed. But her self-recriminations were cut short.

Something blunt caressed her thigh, creeping upward toward her still-tingling pussy.

Tialla's eyes went wide. "No... not again..." she whined, as another of the stalks pushed its way into her stretched, sensitive hole. "Please..."

Her plea was cut off as another tendril plunged past her lips, its sweet nectar already dripping onto her tongue. Beyond, she could see half a dozen more moving into position, continuing where the others had left off. An unseen bulk pressed against her anus.

She groaned helplessly as the plant began to take her again.

*

A dull, constant ache was the first perception to rise out of the dark. Tialla groaned softly, stirring; every muscle felt limp and ineffectual as water. Even breathing seemed an effort. Struggling to gather her fragmented thoughts, she slowly forced one eye open.

Her body, lying in a semi-fetal position, was coated in sticky, half-dried slime, and she grimaced with revulsion, beginning to recall details of the ordeal. How long had it...?

Wait. She was lying on bare stone.

A scaled foot stepped into her line of vision. "You disappoint me, Tialla," Razal said. She was poor at reading his emotions, but the undertone of anger in the sentence was clear. "I suppose you were trying to escape?"

An attempt to speak produced a rough croak and a jag of coughing. Her throat, too, felt raw. Shuddering, she wondered how much of the plant's fluid she must have swallowed. It would explain the queasy, bloated feeling... Wrenching her mind back to the present, she managed to weakly shake her head.

"You neglected your assigned duties," the dragon said, in a calmer tone of voice. "You disobeyed my warning to stay out of the garden. You attempted to escape." Before she could protest, he continued, "All of that, I could have forgiven."

His last words sounded so weary that Tialla felt a perverse impulse to soothe him. No, that couldn't be right. She still wasn't thinking straight.

"But you lie to me," Razal said, heaving a heavy sigh. "That, I cannot abide. Well, so be it. Clearly, I have been too accommodating, and you don't value the privileges I've granted you. I'll correct that oversight. You will learn proper respect, elf."

Finally, Tialla found her voice. "Please, I didn't mean--"

"Silence!" The dragon's roar echoed from the walls of the cavern. Had she been in any state short of her total exhaustion, she would have cringed, perhaps bolted outright. As it was, she flinched, and ended up regretting the motion when her protesting muscles throbbed. "I'll hear no more from you until you've learned your place. Now..." He paused, snorting derisively. "You're quite a mess. I wouldn't want to touch you in that condition. So, first..."

A sudden deluge splashed across her head and back, and she shrieked -- the water was as frigid as the stream's had been earlier. It left her shivering involuntarily, evoking still more protest from her abused body, and it only partially cleansed her.

Razal must have considered it sufficient, though; he reached out a claw and took her hand, folding her fingers in on themselves and pressing her thumb to its side. A tingle ran through the limb. He released her, but she found herself unable to unclench her fingers or move her thumb. Her entire hand below the wrist felt numb, though it remained rigid.

"What are you doing to me?" she asked, fearful. He paid her no mind, repeating the process with her other hand. A brief, almost disdainful caress to each of her calves numbed her legs from knee to ankle as well. "D-don't... why are you...?"

A clawtip touched her throat, and she quieted abruptly. "I told you," the dragon rumbled, "I didn't want to hear any more from you. It seems you're determined to disobey me in even the smallest things." Apprehensively, she tried to draw her head back, but his claw followed. "No more words," he said, barely a whisper.

A sudden heat spread through her throat, fading quickly to a dull tingle. The claw withdrew. She tried to apologize, but her tongue wouldn't obey her; she produced only a faint whimper.

Hearing the sound, he smiled down at her. At least, she thought it was a smile. "To answer your question, though... since you're unwilling to behave in a civilized fashion, I've decided to treat you in a manner more befitting your behavior." He rose, then, and from within his robe -- and when had he shifted into bipedal form again? -- he drew a leather cord. No, she realized: a leash. He bent to snap it onto her collar. "We'll see whether you tire of acting like a beast. Perhaps you'll appreciate your privileges more when you've earned them than you did when they were given to you. Now... up."

A flush had crept across her cheeks as she'd listened to Razal's explanation, and now it blazed bright red as he commanded her like he might a dog. It would be unwise to try his patience, though, and she made an effort to roll to a sitting position. Her aching muscles refused to respond to her will. She fell back, breathing hard.

"Up!" he snapped, emphasizing the imperative with a sharp tug of the leash. The leather made a soft cracking noise as it lost its slack. A moment after the light tug on her neck, she felt a sharp impact across her ass, as if a large, broad hand had swatted her. Eyes bulging, she yelped and renewed her struggles.

Tialla knew that her progress was slow, but Razal seemed content enough to stand and watch now, a vague smirk crossing his face as he listened to the litany of yips and whimpers her protests became when they left her lips. Somehow, she managed to sit up. Taking a deep breath, she got her feet under her and began to force herself upright.

Her legs collapsed under her before she'd gotten more than a few inches, and she fell to all fours. It was as if her tendons had been severed -- her calves couldn't sustain her weight.

Razal allowed a few seconds for the realization to sink in before tugging the leash once again. The soft pull to her neck was accompanied by a second phantom swat across her rear cheeks, and she jerked forward in response, crawling a half-step toward the dragon.

"Good girl," he said sardonically. Once more blood rushed to her cheeks, but he appeared not to care. Turning, he led her slowly toward one of the passages.

Even this gradual progress proved a Herculean effort for the exhausted avariel. The dragon was patient with her slow pace, but any time she tried to pause for a moment's rest, a gentle tug and a sharp spank would drive her forward again. By the time she'd reached the far end of the corridor, her ass was burning; she imagined it must be a bright red from absorbing so many impacts. But her thoughts turned away from her current misery when Razal stepped to one side, revealing the room's contents.

It was a small room, with two passageways granting access to it, and Tialla remembered from her earlier tour that it had been empty. Now, though, most of its space was taken up by a cage. It was steel, with close-set bars and a single door, and its floor was covered by a layer of straw. It was rather long and broad, but it stood only three feet or so off the floor.

"Your new home," Razal said, confirming her fears. "Inside, girl." She hesitated momentarily, and noticed his fingers tense around his end of her leash. Her desire to avoid further punishment impelled her to scurry forward, ducking through the door. She tried to ignore the dragon's laughter.

Reaching through the bars, he unclipped the leash. Then the door swung shut, and she heard the distinct click of a padlock, set somewhere she couldn't quite see from inside. High on the corner of the door, probably.

"Good girl," he crooned, again making her blush in furious embarrassment. She stifled an angry retort, knowing it would emerge as a sharp bark or some other animalistic noise, only serving to further amuse him. Turning her back, she lay down awkwardly on the straw. Even the short crawl had left her utterly drained.

When he received no reply, the dragon laughed, a sound reminiscent of a distant landslide. "Rest, little one." With that, he departed.

Scowling, she took a moment to examine her cage. It took only a moment; there was little to see. It was, as she'd thought, high enough for her to lie down or crawl on all fours, but not high enough to sit upright, let alone stand -- even if she could manage to stand, that was. Neither was it large enough to allow her to fully spread her wings. It was mostly filled with what seemed to be fresh straw. There was a wide slot in the door and a thin depression in the floor in front of it on this side that might accommodate a tray, and there was a small covered chamber pot in one corner. Nothing more.

Tialla curled on her side, sighing. She'd hoped at least for a bath -- something more thorough than the splash of freezing-cold water she'd received. Her naked skin was still streaked with the thick, drying slime. She found herself too weary to concentrate too much on that, or on her humiliating imprisonment, though. Her body was demanding rest. Her eyes drifted shut.

*

When Tialla woke, she felt significantly better, though numerous dull aches lingered throughout her body. No doubt it would take her a few days to recover from her... overexertion. Frowning slightly, she began to sit up, and stopped just short of striking her head against the low metal-mesh ceiling of the cage. She settled for rolling onto her other side and stretching out her legs.

Razal had evidently visited at some point, but hadn't seen fit to wake her. There was a tray resting in the depression in front of the door, with what she first took to be two round bowls on it. On closer inspection, though, these proved to be part of the tray itself -- two raised round rims had been sculpted from its flat surface. One was filled with water, the other with an unidentifiable mass of mixed meat and vegetables.

He'd painted her name onto the side of either "bowl," in elegant cursive script.

Fuming, she studied the tray itself. It fit the depression very well -- not quite flush, but tightly enough that, lacking the use of her fingers or thumbs, she wouldn't be able to lift it, overturn it, or even shift it very far. He must have been planning this.

Snarling, she turned her back to the tray, and to the room. She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.

It seemed like ages before she hears his footsteps approaching the little chamber. Only then did it strike her: he'd taken her voice, and she couldn't even give him the tongue-lashing he deserved for these indignities. She wouldn't allow him to make her a figure of ridicule again.

She remained quiet, facing away, as Razal drew near. She heard him stop, and heard the soft rustle of cloth as he crouched. Then came a quiet clatter, and finally his footsteps again, receding.

He hadn't even tried to speak to her.

She turned again, vaguely curious. The tray was gone. Of course; he must have come to dispose of that. He would return shortly.

Tialla waited, but the dragon didn't return. Eventually she slept once more. When she woke, the tray was back, or another one like it.

By the third morning -- she thought it was morning, at least; it was impossible to tell, penned up in the tiny cage in the middle of the cavern -- hunger was gnawing at her, and her thirst was overwhelming. Twisting, she crawled weakly toward the tray and lowered her head until her lips touched the water. Tepid though it was, she drank deeply. She eyed the food, too, but forebore. She wasn't quite that desperate yet.

As with the previous days, Razal said nothing when he came to retrieve the tray. He must have noticed that some of the water was gone, surely? If not... no, he had to know she couldn't live without water for long. He'd have been expecting her to drink; if not today, tomorrow. Best not to read anything into his lack of reaction.

By the fifth day, if it was that, she was hungry enough to eat the food he'd presented her with. She'd tried feeding herself with her hands, but again his transformation of them had prevented her from using them effectively; she only managed to make a mess of them. She was forced to hunch low on her belly and thrust her face into the bowl in order to eat.

She was in the middle of doing so when Razal walked in. "Ah, you're eating," he exclaimed with sarcastic pleasantness. "Such a relief. I was afraid you were ill." Before she could rear back, he reached through the bars of her cage door and patted her head. His hand rested there afterward, its weight keeping her in the position. "There's a good girl," he crooned sibilantly. "Finish your dinner, and we'll do something special tomorrow, hm?"

Embarrassed as she was by his treatment of her, she did. She'd gone without eating for too long, and her body demanded the sustenance. She'd all but licked the bowl clean before the dragon removed his hand. Disgusted with herself, she backed away. He made no attempt to stop her, but bore the empty tray away with him.

The next day, the tray was back in place; this time, Razal sat by the side of her cage, watching. He smiles when he saw that she had awakened. "Eat," he said, gesturing at the tray and its bowls. "Then it's time you got some exercise, I think."

She watched him warily for a few moments, but when he offered nothing more, she rose to all fours and crawled to the tray. Trying to ignore the feeling of his eyes on her, she ate and drank. Still he didn't move. Raising her head, she looked quizzically at him.

"Finished?" He patted her head again, then removed the tray, setting it atop the cage. With a quiet click, the lock sprung, and he swung open the cage door. "Good girl. Come, then, it's time for a walk." The leash dangled from his hand. She flinched at the sight of it, but he reached forward like a striking serpent and attached it to her collar. "Come," he repeated, firmly, and took a step back.

He hadn't tugged the collar yet, Tialla noted. She knew better than to expect he'd refrain for long, if she stayed put, though. Reluctantly she crawled forward out of the cage, stopping in front of him.

"Good girl," he said and, turning, began to walk.

Razal moved slowly, and Tialla had no trouble keeping up, even at a crawl. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the lingering aches of the last days had dissipated. There was some stiffness in her joints, from the long time in the cage, but that was rapidly going away now that she was in motion. Tentatively, she spread her wings, and was delighted to find that, for the first time in what must have been a week, she could fully extend them.

The dragon's quiet chuckle brought her back to earth. "No flying today, my dear. Perhaps before too long, if you're good." He turned, leading her down a gently-sloped passage she didn't recall seeing during her earlier tour.

She would have expected that crawling for so long on bare stone would hurt, but that wasn't the case. The dragon's transformation of her hands and legs must have toughened them, too. It was a small relief.

He led her into a smaller side passage, ushering her into a broad room. Here it was warmer than in the rest of the complex, and a deep pool of water covered most of the floor. A hot spring? It had the sulfurous smell associated with them, though to a lesser extent than she'd have expected.

Her musings were cut short when he tossed aside his robe, scooped her up, and carried her into the water. In three quick strides, they were both submerged to the neck. Her eyes bulged and she yelped in pained surprise; the water was *hot*! He didn't bat an eye at the temperature, though, and she soon found herself becoming more comfortable.

Razal sat her on one knee, and she felt him begin a gentle massage of her back, cleaning her skin of the dried remnants of the plant's slime that still streaked it. The soft, methodical rubbing traveled up her spine to her shoulders, then back downward, ringing either wing. Tension melted away at the combination of the water's heat and his soothing touch. She relaxed, leaning slightly back into his hands; he responded by pressing a little harder with his fingertips.

By the time he had moved from Tialla's back and sides to her wings themselves, she had let her eyes close and was half-slouched, nearly purring with pleasure. Whatever the dragon's other shortcomings, he had very skilled fingers.

Those fingers turned next to her neck, and then to her scalp and hair. He would scoop up a palmful of water, pour it over her head, and massage her scalp vigorously with the tips of his fingers before drawing them through her hair. After so many days unwashed, it must have been a frightful mess, even without taking into account the dried gunk spread through it, but he was careful in his ministrations, and she never felt any painful tugs to her scalp.

He might have spent an hour on it, patiently washing and grooming her long tresses until they shone again, the occasional long stroke along her back, arm, or side interspersing with the steady attention to her head. Her face, too, he cleaned delicately, his fingertips whispering across her forehead, cheeks, chin, one even brushing her lips. She giggled, and continued to laugh when he next moved on to her belly, the ticklish touch provoking uncontrolled bursts of laughter from the avariel.

She caught her breath suddenly, flinching, when his hands moved upwards, cupping her breasts. If Razal noticed, he didn't react. His fingers ran lightly over her curves, caressing and massaging, but he lingered no more than he had over her back or her arm. She felt somehow insulted to be handled in such an impersonal fashion. But it was hard to be angry when the sensations felt so good. She shifted uneasily as his hands moved on to her collarbone and throat.

He cleaned her legs in the same fashion, beginning with her feet. He took up each individually, softly stroking its top, stretching each separate toe, then pressing his thumbs into the soles of her feet and rubbing. Tialla couldn't help a quiet coo of pleasure at that; the remaining tension in her muscles vanished in a tide of warmth as the dragon skillfully stimulated the pressure points of her sole.

His fingers flowed over her ankles, explored the muscles of her calves, gently prodded at her thighs. She inhaled sharply when he cupped her groin, fingertips fluttering across the sensitive area with no regard for her privacy or dignity; but again, he didn't linger. The brief contact, and the long massage, left her decidedly tingling.

Razal lifted her and placed her on the stone beside him. His hands ran briefly once more over her calves, and then he stood, taking up her leash again. The small corner of her mind that noticed such details noted that the leather seemed perfectly dry despite its long immersion in the pool. He didn't give her long to reflect on the fact. "Stand."

Blinking out of her reverie, she looked up at him. Tentatively, she gathered herself and pushed to her feet.

Her legs held under her.

Beholding her surprise and happiness, he grinned. "A small reward. Come. We'll finish your walk."

He led her back to her cage; this time, she walked behind him, rather than crawling.

*

The bath became a part of the daily ritual, along with the food and water. It was one she looked forward to. It felt good to be clean again, and she'd acclimated quickly to the heat of the spring. Tialla remained more than a little unnerved by the way he washed her -- the sensual play of his fingers across her body that was never quite the same twice but always evoked such pleasant responses from her, coupled with the casual indifference with the dragon performed those caresses, left her feeling off-balance. It was preferable to spending her every waking hour locked in a cage, though, and she held out some hope that he might soon reverse the transformation of her hands as he had her legs.

She thought that day had come when, following her bath, he mused, "You've been a good girl. I think you've earned another reward." Instead of undoing the spell, though, he took up the collar and began walking. Disappointed, yet curious, she followed.

He took her to the entrance to the cavern complex, then stepped outside. Eyes wide, she stopped just inside, one hand rising to her collar as though it might become leaden as it had before.

The slack had almost gone out of her leash when he looked back and laughed. "Come, girl."

Fearing to disobey, Tialla stepped forward out of the cave. After a moment, when nothing had happened, she took another step. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back, reveling in the warmth of the sunlight upon it. A gentle breeze blew, and she spread both her arms and her wings, embracing it.

She heard a quiet click and opened her eyes to see that Razal had removed her leash. "You've earned a degree of trust." Folding his arms, he gestured with his head. "Fly. But do not betray my trust. Stay within sight. I very much doubt you would survive the fall."

Even the dragon's threat didn't detract from the sheer rapture she felt at the prospect of flying again. In a heartbeat, she spread her wings and leapt into the gentle wind.

A few powerful strokes carried her skyward. She glided gently for a few moments, stretching her wings; they felt stiff from disuse, though she knew most of it was a phantom stiffness. Then she began to enjoy herself.

She wheeled, looped, and spiraled through the air, exulting in the feel of the brilliant sunlight on her naked skin and the fresh, cool mountain air whipping past her. It had been far too long since she'd been airborne, and her every motion sang euphorically now that she was back. A part of her longed to simply keep flying straight upward, until she fell at last into the sun, as legend said Natalya Starheart had. Mindful of Razal's warning, she refrained from making the attempt.

Eventually, she began to tire. A slow downward gyre put her back on the outcropping outside the cave, where the dragon was still standing. For all appearances, he might not have moved from the moment she sprung skyward. He moved now, beckoning to her with one finger.

When she stepped forward, he refastened the leash. "Tired?" he asked, leading her inside. "I'll bring some food and water for you." He ushered her into her cage and departed.

By the time he'd come back, she was asleep.

*

"You seem to have recovered from your encounter with my experiment in the garden," he said the next day, after her bath. Frowning at the memory, she nodded slightly. "Then it is time you faced your punishment for your disobedience." She stopped suddenly, and he turned to her. "Ah. You thought this was your punishment, perhaps? No, my dear. I must admit, your behavior seems much improved--" Something about the way he said it made her blush furiously. "--But I'm afraid such gentle measures won't do, for a transgression as serious as attempting to deceive me." He paused thoughtfully, then reached across to caress her throat. "A reward for your good behavior since is warranted, however. Have you anything to say for yourself that might mitigate your punishment?"

Tialla's tongue darted over her lips, moistening them. "I..." She smiled slightly, discovering that she could speak coherently. Her voice was hoarse, and she coughed a few times, clearing her throat. "What are you planning to do to me?"

"What are you planning to do to me, master," he corrected, emphasizing the last word. She frowned sourly, but he affected not to notice. "And I'm afraid it will be rather painful, unless you can point out some factor that I haven't considered. You have my word, however, that you will not be damaged permanently." This he said with such cool detachment that the elf was again shocked at the alienness of his perspective.

"I'm not sure what you mean," she admitted, when she'd overcome her surprise enough to speak again.

"You disobeyed me by failing to complete the duty I set out for you. You disobeyed me again by going where I had forbidden. You attempted to escape. And you attempted to lie to me about all of that. You are being punished for all of those things, but you are being punished severely for your lie. I want you to understand that clearly." When she nodded, he continued, "Have you any reason or explanation for those actions?"

"I was trying to go home," she admitted. Scowling, she folded her arms. "You don't have any right to keep me here or to call yourself my master."

He stared impassively at her for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't blame you for missing your home, little one. However, I have every right, and I perceive no mitigating circumstance. As for the rest, I'm certain you'll change your mind in time." He frowned, pausing as though reluctant to proceed. "I suppose we must proceed now."

"Wait. Please. You don't have to--"

"No. No more waiting. I've waited too long already, but I wanted you to recover first." He clapped his hands together.

Tialla shrieked as her wrists and ankles were suddenly engulfed in thick ropelike coils. Bands of amber light stretched from the floor and ceiling to surround her limbs, and they began to retract as she watched, pulling her feet apart and her wrists upward slowly and inevitably. "Stop it! What are you-- make them let go!" she demanded. Her body was fully stretched out, now, and still the golden tentacles pulled her arms upward until she was forced up onto her toes. She was afraid for a moment that they might continue, hanging her by the wrists, but there they stopped.

"Hush now. Don't make me regret restoring your voice." His voice had a disconcertingly gentle quality to it. He paced around her, inspecting her body. Naked, limbs splayed, she was entirely exposed to him, and her cheeks colored at the scrutiny. So strained was her body, though, that she couldn't so much as flinch away; any motion beyond a tilt of her head or a wiggle of her fingers would pull her weight off of her toes. He offered her a tight grin. "Very good... however..."

She felt another of the tentacles snake around her throat, then creep across the back of her neck to once again coil over the front, slowly wrapping her in a tight spiral, finally reaching upward again. A long segment of the amber tendril rested alongside either side of her head, further restricting her motion, though she had no trouble breathing. Perhaps the collar again, she thought.

"Better," he purred, eyes flicking down the length of her bound body. "You're entirely helpless now, aren't you? And..." He reached forward, pinching the hard nub of her right nipple. "I believe you're enjoying yourself."

She shook her head furiously as her face grew bright red. "How could anyone enjoy this?" she demanded. Inwardly, though, she cringed at her body's response. A reaction to the cold cave air, she told herself. It must have been. Even though the air in the cave didn't feel *that* cold. It was clearly cold enough.

The dragon interrupted the parade of thoughts with a single blunt remark. "You're unlikely to enjoy the next part." He frowned, as if about to add something, but hesitated. Finally, he said, "Know this. I take no joy in your pain, deserved though your punishment is. I do this only to show you the error of your ways, so you will not repeat the incident. The pain you are about to feel is a reflection of the pain I felt when you chose to lie to me."

Something about the speech made her blood run cold. "But--"

"No. Do not plead. I've made the decision. I'll return in a moment with the instrument of your punishment."

She blinked as Razal abruptly turned and stalked out. She was left hanging... literally. Unable even to uneasily shift position as would have been her instinctive response, she stood stiffly on tiptoe in the tentacles' relentless grasp.

She heard the dragon's return rather than saw it; he entered from behind her. He startled her by gently grasping her wings and pressing them inwards, ignoring her protesting questions as he guided her to fold them. A sixth tentacle promptly manifested to wrap around them and hold them in place. Only then did he circle around her.

The instrument he had spoken of was a long rod, perhaps two or three inches thick. Much of its length, she saw uneasily, was covered in short, stubby spikes with rounded tips -- except for a small area near its rounded top and a few inches obviously meant for a grip. But it wasn't metal or hardwood, as she might have expected; it was something of a softer texture, almost like leather.

He stepped forward, nudging the top of the rod between her spread thighs. Her eyes widened and her blood ran cold as he slowly drew the blunt end along her exposed, parting her. "No," she half-whispered, throat tight with dread. "You can't--"

Eyes hard, Razal pushed the thing into her. Its tip was thick enough to make her eyes bulge with sensation even before the spikes came into play, but when they did... When they did, it was as though half a dozen fingernails were clawing at the delicate lips of her pussy and tearing into the soft walls of her passage. She shrieked.

Razal closed his eyes and forced another inch of the shaft into her, twisting it as it went in order to further the penetration. The soft spikes dug cruelly into her pussy, the pain intense enough to make her forget the growing strain of hanging on tiptoe. There was no blood, and she was sure there was no damage -- the dragon had given his word -- but that was no comfort. She felt as though she were being torn apart from the inside as her body was forced to take the torturous toy.

"Agh! Gods," she screamed as the shaft twisted and dug its way further into her, spikes discovering new expanses of tender flesh to torment while others scraped across her nether lips. It wasn't even halfway into her, and already she felt painfully full, scraped raw by the profusion of spiky nubs. There was no reprieve; it surged forward another inch, rotating still further into her, clawing at her as it went. Again. Again. And again, until it seemed like a single endless tide of mind-searing agony, reducing her to tortured screams.

Suddenly, it ended. Her eyes slowly cracked open as she panted for breath. Her throat was raw from screaming, and her groin throbbed painfully. She groaned weakly. It felt like there must be a foot of the thing inside of her.

Razal stood before her, his expression almost... sorrowful? "I'm sorry, my pet, but it's for the best. You'll see that, in time." He caressed her cheek, letting his fingertips glide across her lips, leaving them tingling. Then he stepped back. "Reflect on what you have done. I'll return in the morning."

"W-wait," she called hoarsely as he turned.

The dragon's pace didn't slow. When he reached the corridor, he lifted a hand in what might have been a negligent wave. It proved instead a magical gesture. Tialla was plunged into darkness as the mystical lights of the cavern suddenly extinguished themselves. "Reflect," he repeated. She listened to his footsteps recede until all fell silent.

The lack of other sensory input made the lingering pain seem sharper. There was nothing for her to concentrate on other than the tension of her muscles, stretched sadistically close to their limits, and the constant stabbing pain between her legs. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd been clawed open, and that dozens of tiny scratches were burning in the aftermath.

Her eyes failed to adjust. Elves were famed for their night vision, and avariels' was better still, as befitted creatures of the air, but in the dragon's subterranean lair, there was no light at all to see by. As her immediate agony continued to fade, and she thought about the matter, she realized there was nothing to listen to, either, apart from her own breathing and the pounding of her pulse in her ears. Not even the dripping of water echoed from the stone walls. Nor was there any scent she could notice; the air was still, and there was only the slightly musty odor of the caverns themselves, which she'd become used to.

Trapped in the dark, she was left with only her sense of touch. It made her minutely aware of the increasing strain on her calves and thighs as she stood on her toes. And of the spiky nubs still pressing lightly into her delicate inner flesh.

How long had it been? It felt like hours. Probably it had been only minutes. She groaned, longing to shift positions and relax her legs. The sound made the surrounding silence seem less oppressive. She hummed a tune she had danced to at the last spring festival. Then another. Then she started to sing a ballad she'd enjoyed listening to, but she couldn't remember many of the words, so she was reduced to humming that, too.

Eventually she tired of singing. Her throat was beginning to grow dry, and she was beginning to have trouble thinking of lighthearted songs she hadn't already sung or hummed or whistled. Besides, her legs were beginning to feel rather sore, and it was getting hard to concentrate on the melodies. Sighing, she wondered how much time had passed.

Hours? *An* hour, at the very least, she was sure. There was no way of knowing, but she'd sung so many songs...

The boredom was the real punishment, she decided. The stretching hurt, but not sharply. It would get worse, no doubt, as the night progressed, but she'd borne similar stress before, when she'd needed to fly for long periods without rest. It wouldn't be enjoyable, but it wouldn't be beyond her endurance. As for the rod he'd so unceremoniously stuffed inside of her, she could barely feel any more pain. There was only the nagging discomfort of the rod itself, and the spikes' light touches, to remind her that it was still lodged in place. In fact...

She frowned slightly, realizing that she'd begun to grow moist. Her body was responding to the presence of the intruder in the only way it knew. Annoying. Halfheartedly, she began to whistle again. Just a short tune, to break the silence.

Now that she'd become aware of her body's responses, they distracted her. The spikes didn't hurt her, but their light pressure against the walls of her passage was a constant stimulation. The earlier scratching seemed to have made it even worse; her pussy had felt rubbed raw, but now it was hyper-sensitive. Or perhaps it was only the darkness, the fact that there was nothing to concentrate on apart from the toy buried in her cunny. That, and her own growing arousal as her body misinterpreted the signals it was providing.

Scattered efforts at singing were no longer distracting her. The presence of the hard shaft in her pussy remained in her mind despite her efforts to clear it. The thick rod spreading her open; her growing wetness as it tantalized her... she could feel a dull heat beginning to spread through her extended limbs. A phantom tightness in her nipples told her they were already hard.

Tialla breathed deeply, trying to clear her mind. It didn't help. She kept picturing the thing inside her. She'd only seen it briefly, when Razal had displayed it, but she'd felt it -- was feeling it -- intimately. Her breaths grew a bit shallower at the thought. Her pulse speeded up in her ears. No -- she had to remain calm...

A droplet of moisture wormed its way slowly down her thigh. Gods... she was dripping. She could feel the flush creep across her skin. She wasn't sure how much of it was embarrassment and how much sheer heat. The admission only seemed to arouse her further.

The entire focus of her world had collapsed to the implement assaulting her pussy, and her own reaction to it. Even the building ache in her calves and thighs from the strain of remaining in her enforced position seemed distant and trivial in comparison. She felt a slight chill -- she was sweating. Her breathing was becoming more labored, practically panting. How could something that had brought her so much pain earlier bring so much pleasure now?

The erotic buildup seemed to slow. Her mind was thoroughly fixed on the sensations, but they were limited. The spiked shaft occupied her pussy without moving. She felt an urge to twist and gyrate, to wildly thrust her hips to achieve enough stimulation to push her over the edge. But she couldn't move! Having to wait for the sensation to slowly crest was a torture in itself.

It seemed to go on forever. Her chest heaved in gasps of air. Sweat stood out all over her body. She must be radiating heat like a furnace. Her own juices trickled down her thighs.

It would never end, she realized with a shock. She couldn't move, and the dildo wouldn't. Not on its own, and she could no more move it than herself. Her whole body was glowing with arousal. She needed so little to finish, to push her...

Experimentally, she tightened some muscles, bearing down on the intruding shaft. The spikes dug into her pussy, the quick flash of pain interrupting the numbing fog of pleasure. Gasping, she quickly relaxed, then sobbed with frustration. That wasn't going to work?

The knowledge didn't keep her from trying it again, some time later. Leaving her body in its fever of arousal was unthinkable. The rod's design, though, kept her from finding any relief, just as it kept the thick toy from slipping so much as a hair's breadth. She could scream. To be brought so close to an orgasm, yet denied...

She did scream. She screamed at Razal, imploring and threatening, begging and cursing, only half-aware herself of what she was saying. Not a single word produced a response. The spiked dildo refused either to go away or to move even the inch she needed. Her clit throbbed with her pulse, crying out for the slightest stimulation. The most fleeting touch would do, she was sure. The smallest breeze caressing her body, the tiniest brush of a butterfly's wings.

Tialla screamed until her voice at last gave out, and then she screamed silently.

*

How long she hung suspended at the edge of orgasm, she didn't know. It might have been years; her body's incessant, unfulfilled, demands for release made it seem that way. Time ceased to have any meaning. Half-delirious, she thought it might have stopped entirely. She had always hung in the darkness, every fiber of her being crying out for a release that was constantly beyond her reach.

She didn't even notice when the light had returned. She was focused almost entirely inward, every nerve aflame with lust. She didn't register the vague bronze shape before her for... she had no sense of time. But finally, the fact pierced her fogged consciousness. Razal. "Please..." she croaked, desperate.

"Mm?" The blob of color shifted in front of her. Approaching? She felt a tiny surge of hope, before the uncompromising *need* overwhelmed it.

"Please..." she repeated. Then, with an effort, "Master... Need..." Her voice failed her again. No matter; her mind couldn't stay focused on anything but her own desire, now. It barely registered when the shape that was the dragon moved again, or even when the pressure of the shaft inside her suddenly disappeared, vaporized by the dragon's spell; it had been with her so long, she still felt it.

Her dripping pussy was suddenly filled with the hard heat of the dragon's cock. He thrust into her completely in a single stroke, overwhelming her with a flood of sensation.

The long-denied orgasm was mind-blowing in its intensity. Searing electrical bliss surged through her from head to foot, battering her already-tenuous consciousness. It seemed endless, as if a well of heat had suddenly been tapped and was now spilling relentlessly through her.

Dimly, she felt Razal's cock begin to draw back. Her overstimulated pussy, still convulsing powerfully around his girth, translated the sensation to still greater pleasure. It was too much; it was almost painful. She wanted to scream as he gradually thrust forward again, but her voice was shot, and anyway, she had no breath. She was panting uncontrollably, almost hyperventilating, drawing as much air as she could in quick, sharp gasps, and the orgasm wasn't stopping, it was going on and on, even building, the sheer pleasure, it blocked out everything else, it was too much, and he was still moving, still giving her more, and she was cumming and cumming...

*

"Feeling better?" the dragon asked when she opened her eyes.

She wished she hadn't. Everything was sore. Her head, her throat, her calves, her... "Mnuh," was all she managed in reply.

"I thought you might be." She heard the rustle of cloth, and only then realized that she wasn't laying in her cage. This was a proper bed, a rather large one. Razal was standing over her now, in bipedal form, freeing her from the blankets. He stooped, scooping her into his arms.

She thought about complaining. Then she considered the proposition of trying to walk, and put the thought aside.

She was hungry, but he led her not to food but to the hot springs. "Something a little different today, my elf. You'll need some time to recover, but I think you'll feel better after this."

They plunged together into the hot water, and he proceeded to deliver the bath and massage that had become her morning ritual. In spite of her lingering irritation, she couldn't help finding it soothing. She relaxed, letting the heat and Razal's fingers work the tension from her aching muscles.

This morning, he lingered particularly on her feet and lower legs. She found herself grateful; she hadn't felt much of the strain her position the previous night had put on these areas, but it had been there nevertheless, and this morning it was making itself felt.

When they had finished, he carried her again. Tialla was surprised when he brought her to the library she'd all but forgotten about. A low, padded bench had been set there, with a reading stand and a side table nearby; the table, she was glad to see, bore a covered tray. He sat down on the bench and settled her on his knee.

"You've done well, little one. Today we begin your education, as I promised." Razal lifted the lid from the tray, revealing several dishes of sliced fruit and vegetables, breads and cheeses, and a pair of carafes. It was the latter he reached for first, filling a crystal goblet with a dark amber fluid. Her musings about how she would eat with her transformed hands were answered when he raised the glass to her lips. "Drink slowly," he advised, watching her.

The rim of the glass was cool, she noticed, not at all as if it had been standing for any length of time. The sweet, tart juice within was equally cool. The first swallow hurt her throat, but it seemed to soothe it, too. She drank until she'd emptied the glass. Not seeming surprised, Razal poured more, but he set it aside for a moment to pluck up a slice of apple. Eating it, she immediately realized she felt ravenous. So much so, she didn't even object to his feeding her.

"I thought we'd begin with a subject you should be reasonably grounded in. Elvish history." The dragon chuckled softly at that, or perhaps at the way she took a cube of cheese from his fingers. "You're aware of Montcallien?"

"The myth of the mountain king," she said. She did feel much better. The food and drink were working wonders for her throat, at least. "The first of the great elf lords who unified the various clans, before arts such as steelworking or wizardry were known. His given name isn't known, so he's named after the mountain where he ruled from."

Razal nodded. "And how did he die?"

She frowned. "The myth says he and his best warriors went to kill a giant that had been threatening the clans. He managed to kill it after it had slaughtered the others, but he died later from the wounds he took in the battle."

"And the history?"

"Harder to say. The prevailing theory is that he was murdered by Brisarian, who became ruler after Montcallien's son also died young. The only real source for that is Legea's 'Records of the Dawn,' though, and her clan and Brisarian's had feuded for years before Montcallien's unification. In fact, he'd killed her father's brother."

"Ah." He smiled and fed her two more slices of the apple. "You know about Legea. Good. You're past the point of simply accepting what's written. Perhaps you're further along than I thought. How did Brisarian's reign end?"

He continued in this vein, intermittently questioning her and feeding her. She dredged through her memories of her studies to try to answer his questions and felt a certain satisfaction at Razal's apparent surprise over the extent of her knowledge. Occasionally, he would add a comment, discussing a tangential point. On those rare occasions when she didn't know the answer, he would turn the pages of the book, which turned out to be a copy of 'Record of the Dawn,' and allow her to read the material while he discussed its impact.

The dragon was, Tialla had to admit, a fairly good teacher. But given the amount of information this library put at his fingertips, perhaps that was no surprise. He did seem well-versed in elvish lore, she noticed. Because of the war between the elves and the dragons? But the elves were involved mostly because the avariel were involved, and he hadn't yet mentioned her people.

She still hadn't managed to puzzle it out by the time Razal said, "Enough," and closed the book. "You've done well. Give me your hand." He reached for her even as he spoke, closer to taking than being given. His thumb stroked her clenched fingers, and they unfolded.

Tialla wiggled them experimentally while Razal did the same to her other hand. She felt somewhat clumsy, but the fingers flexed and bent as she desired.

He shifted her from his knee to the bench, then stood. "You may spend the rest of the day as you wish. Do not leave the cave." As though he had already lost interest, he turned away.

"Thank you," she found herself murmuring. She thought he paused briefly, but it might have been her imagination.

*

Razal was waiting for her again the following day, coiled in front of her cage in his quadrupedal form. His luminous eyes were shut, and she thought at first that he was sleeping, until he asked, just as he had the day before, "Feeling better?"

She was vaguely surprised to find she was, and nodded. Then, with another glance toward his eyes (still closed), she said, "Yes." Again there was no food. She didn't ask about it; perhaps her routine was changing again. She hoped so. Embarrassing as it was to be fed, it was preferable to eating from a bowl on the floor. And the food was better, too.

The lock on her cage clicked without any visible cause, and the door swung open. She crawled out and had begun to stand when Razal opened one molten eye, paralyzing her in the intensity of his gaze. "And have you thought any more about your punishment?" he asked, very softly.

Tialla squirmed; she'd been trying to avoid thinking about that. "Yes. Sir," she added, hoping the honorific would lessen the piercing quality of the look he was giving her. It seemed to, just a little bit.

"You feel it was... unfair," he said; it wasn't quite a question, in tone. Did he sound cold, or curious? It was still hard to read him sometimes; he could show gentleness, but he could also... punish.

"No," she said, treading carefully.

"But?"

She didn't answer.

Razal's other eye opened, and he tilted his head to the side. "Speak," he hissed, with pronounced sibilance. "I won't punish you for answering me honestly." Another moment passed. "Shall I give my word?" He sounded disappointed, she thought.

She took a deep breath, and blurted, "You raped me."

"Mm?" Tialla wasn't certain what she'd expected from the dragon in response. Casual dismissal, perhaps, or anger, or some manner of sadistic glee. But not vague amusement. "I seem to recall that you begged."

Her cheeks flushed. "You knew I would! After you... did that to me." Scowling, she protested, "I didn't mean it," realizing, even as she spoke, how ridiculous she sounded.

"Mm," the dragon rumbled. "Perhaps I am mistaken."

"Besides-- what?" She blinked.

He rose to his feet. "I could be. Dragons are accounted an egotistical breed, but not so egotistical as that. It bears investigation, at least." He made the expression she recognized as a smile. "I do, of course, have my own ideas regarding the subject."

"What ideas?" she asked cautiously, edging backwards.

That smile spread. A dozen stone hands erupted from the floor around her, grabbing her wrists and ankles, her calves and forearms. She shrieked and struggled, but the sculpted hands were as cold and unyielding as they looked. While she wriggled and tugged, Razal slowly walked toward her. "The most important one, little elf, is: you like this."

"I don't--"

"Really?" He stepped forward, to her side, and continued walking until the tip of his tail hovered in front of her eyes. It stood, swaying slowly, like a snake, and she couldn't escape the impression that it was about to dart forward to strike. "Let's see."

It wasn't his tail that struck. The liquid heat of his tongue touched her inner thigh and slid slowly upward until its tip -- forked, like a serpent's -- caressed her slit. Ignoring her startled cry and stammered protest, he tantalizingly traced the supple tongue around her nether lips, exerting just the slightest pressure.

"You're wet," he said, his hot breath caressing the sensitive area. She shivered at the sensation. "I think you like this very much, elf."

"N-no... please, let me go."

"Mm." Razal's tongue lashed forward, lapping at her sex, three quick, broad strokes. Without any further preparation, he thrust it into her folds, piercing her, its incredible warmth spreading to her own flesh almost instantly. Wriggling and twisting, the nimble muscle wormed deeper and deeper still. Tialla gasped, eyes rolling uncontrollably, as that incredibly long tongue continued to fill her, seeming to caress everywhere at once.

As suddenly as it had pushed into her, it withdrew again, leaving only an echo of its heat behind. She breathed in deep, ragged gasps, her mind still trying to process the pleasant experience she'd just received.

"You plea and you struggle," the dragon noted, one foreleg setting carefully on her right shoulder. The other settled on her left shoulder a moment later. "But you respond so very readily."

His weight shifted, resting on her to a greater extent, and she groaned, feeling a light bump against her sex. "Please," she squeaked.

The pressure increased, the tip of his thick member grinding against her entrance, patiently spreading her lips -- and, she realized with chagrin, lubricating itself with her juices. "I think you like to be useful," he continued relentlessly in that same tone. The tip of his cock slid into her, its movement deliberately gradual so that she could feel her opening stretching around him, feel every inch as it slowly pushed into her welcoming pussy. "That's why you gravitated to gathering herbs, why you study to become a healer. It's one reason why you make such a good slave."

"Nooooo," she half-groaned in protest as his cock continued to delve further into her. The sensation of heat his tongue had evoked was back in full force as the hard member slid across her delicate flesh. She could feel his body against hers, now; it struck her how soft the fine scales of his underbelly felt, and how warm. They were far from the hard plates she'd imagined -- and either dragons were warm-blooded, or their bodies reflected the heat of the fire inside, the fire they so famously breathed.

"Yes," he hissed, coming to a stop as the tip of his shaft lightly bumped her cervix. Her head swam, imagining that length inside of her. "But more than that. You like to be taken." She could sense the grin spreading across the dragon's features as he withdrew, only to thrust forward again, quickly this time, drawing another quiet gasp from her. "You like to be used."

She shook her head in denial, trembling as he set a steady pace, his thickness drawing almost entirely out of her before driving forward again, a hard single stroke plunging his full length into her helpless pussy.

"No, you love to be used. It lets you indulge all the desires you've tried so hard for so long to hide. Why, I wonder? Perhaps you were ashamed to be thought of as a slut?" His sibilant whisper in her ear was almost hypnotic. She shivered again at the last word, and he chuckled, a low rumble. "Perhaps. But if you're used, if you have no control, then you're free to enjoy."

"That's n--ah... ohhhh... not true," she whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut. If only the cock pumping steadily into her didn't feel so good...

"Or is there more to it?" His pace increased again, and her throaty moan attested to the pleasure the friction produced. "Does the thought of being helpless make you squirm? Is it being vulnerable, completely exposed for my use, that excites you?"

His tongue swooped out and traced the rim of her ear, flicking first up, then down, the point. Moaning again, she arched her head back.

"You enjoy the very thought of being a pet." His cock stabbed into her, punctuating the statement, and she drew a deep, shaky breath. He seemed to know all of her sensitive spots, and to strike them with every thrust. "Of being a slave. An object. A possession."

Her whole will was directed, now, to resisting the orgasm he seemed intent on inflicting. Every thrust, and every word, seemed to chip away a little of the mental wall she had built.

"Yes... I think that's it." Both his tongue and his cock were relentless; he seemed to have endless energy to maintain his frenzied pace. "That's why, bound, on your hands and knees, being mounted like a dog, by a dragon... you're about to cum." Razal laughed softly and added, "Rest assured, my elf slut, I will use you thoroughly."

A final hard push slammed his cock deep into her, and she came, a wail of mixed pleasure and humiliation tearing itself from her throat. Light burst before her eyes, echoing the tide of sexual bliss that washed over her mind. Somewhere, distantly, she could feel the dragon making slight, gentle motions, his shaft tugging lightly but incessantly at her pussy as her convulsing muscles clamped around it. Very slowly, he slipped free of her.

The orgasm began to subside as he circled her. The stone hands holding her down drew her wrists back to near her ankles, forcing her to lift her torso to relieve the pressure on her wrists and shoulders. She felt him nudging her, bringing her into something resembling a kneeling posture; then he was in front of her, standing bipedal. She'd missed the shift.

His left hand clutched the top of her head, fingers curling lightly into her hair, as he turned toward her, revealing the hard length of his shaft, glistening with her fluids. He hadn't climaxed?

"My turn," he said, grinning as he caught the look of disbelief in her eyes. His cock thrust between her lips, its tip rubbing against her tongue, treating her to her own taste. She drew a deep breath in shock, filled with a musky scent she took to be the dragon's own arousal. Smirking, he used his grip on her hair to rub himself against her tongue. "Thank your master for granting you pleasure. And I don't want to feel any teeth."

Tialla paused for a moment in sheer disbelief, cheeks reddening. He continued to bob her head, forcing her tongue to caress his shaft, and chuckled. "Take as long as you like. I could enjoy this all day."

With a quiet whimper, muffled further by the cock in her mouth, the defeated elf began to tentatively lick. As her tongue flicked over the hard member, she heard his murmur of appreciation. His grip on her hair slackened, but his hand remained in place, gently bobbing her head along his dick.

As usual, Razal had ensured that she had no real choice but to comply. With the stone hands holding her wrists and ankles in their unbreakable grasp, she could only debase herself by licking and sucking as the dragon desired -- or refuse, and kneel helplessly before him while he pleasured himself with her mouth regardless, extending her humiliation for as long as he liked. The only way to get this over with was to give in to his demands.

She didn't look up at him; even if he might have allowed it, she didn't want to. She could picture the triumphant sneer on his face. He had begun to pet her with his free hand, patting her head and stroking her hair as he might an animal. Gods, she hoped he wouldn't last long; she couldn't take much more of this.

Something blunt and slightly rough dragged slowly across her sensitive slit. She howled in surprise around the cock in her mouth, and heard the dragon's answering rumble of pleasure at the vibrations of her tongue playing against his shaft. Whatever it had been repeated a moment later, a near-identical stroke. The sensation it granted her primed, mostly-exhausted body was intense, bordering on painful. A third stroke drew a long groan from deep in her throat as it brushed her swollen clit.

His tail, she realized. He was flicking his tail against her overstimulated sex. Worse, she could feel that all-consuming heat rising again within her. She wasn't sure she could take another orgasm. She redoubled her efforts, beginning to suck gently while she swirled her tongue around and around the tip of his cock. She had to make him cum before he drove her insane.

Where his hand had been guiding her, it was now restraining her, keeping the bobbing of her head to a slow, steady motion. Her tongue lashed all the more quickly against his cock to compensate. His musky scent seemed stronger now; perhaps it was only the taste of her own fluids weakening as she cleaned them from his shaft.

His tail kept pace with her tongue, and it brushed her clit every third stroke with an almost mechanical regularity. White-hot sensation, impossible for her to distinguish as pleasure or pain, flared with each fleeting touch. It was too late, she thought. She couldn't take a single more stroke.

His cock twitched within her mouth, pulsing, and without further warning, he came, roaring. The first surge of hot seed filled her mouth; it had a distinctly, unexpectedly sweet taste. She swallowed reflexively, and felt its heat trail down her throat, to rest in her belly. She didn't have any time to think about it; Razal was stepping back. The tip of his cock slipped out of her mouth, spraying thick, ropy strands of slimy cum over her face. Hot dragon seed splashed across her nose and cheeks, thickly glazed her lips, fairly coated her neck and breasts. He stood before her, head tilted back, eyes shut in repture, his cock still dripping thick streams that spattered across and began to ooze down her naked skin.

Finally, he opened his eyes, stepping forward to wipe himself clean with her hair. She trembled -- with disgust, with arousal. "Very good, slave. Now, didn't that feel good?"

Before she could muster a response, his tail rubbed her clit, the last bit of stimulation she needed. The stimulation overwhelmed her exhausted will, plunging her battered psyche into another powerful climax.

*

Tialla wasn't certain whether she'd actually blacked out for a few moments or not. Every cell of her body seemed to be... trilling was the only word that came to mind. Vibrating with the echoes of her passion, somehow at once limp and clenched. She could hardly breathe.

The hands that had restrained her were gone. She was sprawled awkwardly on her left side, legs curled. And, she noted with distaste, she seemed to be lying in a small pool of cum. She shuddered to think how much the dragon must have spurted onto her.

Razal was still there; she noticed him only when he moved. He was in his natural form again -- she assumed the four-legged one was natural, at least. "You may take the rest of the day for yourself," he said, catching her glance. "Leave the cave and fly, if you'd like. Don't go further than a league, and return by sunset." With that, he left, to all appearances uninterested.

She laid there a few more minutes before she gathered the strength to crawl off in search of a bath.

*

The dragon kept his word: he used her frequently. Sometimes he would await her in the morning, greeting her with what she could only think of as a cocky smirk and the words, "Time for your fucking, my slave." Other times he would finger her to orgasm during her bath, or bend her over during her lesson, or order her to kneel after her meal.

It was always subtly different. He might force her to all fours and mount her from behind. He might force her limbs to extend, as he'd done during her punishment, and take her standing up. Once, he suspended her upside down from the ceiling and spent the better part of a day exploring her pussy with his impossibly long, dexterous tongue. Once, he lifted her onto him, forcing the head of his cock into her tight ass; once he'd worked his way into her, he simply let her own body weight drive her down onto his cock, until he pushed her up again to ready her for the next drop.

Sometimes he took her slowly, deliberately, building her pleasure steadily until at last he allowed the climax to crash over her. Other times he thrust into her with fast, deep, punishing strokes. Sometimes he used magic to restrain her, sometimes his physical strength. Sometimes it was only a veiled threat, or a sharp command.

One thing was constant: she always came. Whether he took her roughly or gently, whether he fucked her pussy, her ass, or her mouth, Razal's skillful ministrations never failed to force her to orgasm. Often more than once. Once he even managed it while doing nothing more than fondling her breasts. He seemed to delight in watching her writhe, listening to her moans and her occasional pleas, driving her to orgasm until she was on the verge of complete exhaustion. Several times she even blacked out from the onslaught of sensation.

Tialla hated him for it. She hated the way he could casually dominate her, physically or magically. She hated how he knew her body, knew just where the most sensitive spots were and how to strike them, how he seemed capable of finding entirely new spots every time. She hated how he played her body like an instrument. She hated how easily she responded to his caresses, how quickly his touch reduced her to a moaning, quivering pile of flesh. She hated how her body had begun to respond to him -- how she grew aroused from his scent, or kneeling before him, or the weight of his forelegs on her shoulders, or his whisper of "slave" in her ear. She hated the thrill she'd begun to feel when her wrists were tugged behind her and bound, or she was shut into a cage.

At least, she told herself she did. She didn't want to admit to herself that she was less certain of herself with every passing day. That there were times she found the dragon's touch comforting. That once, while he'd bathed and massaged her, she'd caught herself imagining his cock sliding smoothly into her pussy.

That he might be right about her.

When he wasn't fucking her, he was often as not teaching her. He covered elvish history, then moved on to human, and finally to dragon. Tialla wasn't well-versed in the subject, and she found it fascinating. He remained patient with her, instructing her in what seemed overwhelming detail, and repeating it until she had it by rote.

After history, he moved on to a fleeting overview of the other arts and philosophy, and then to the sciences: astronomy, alchemy, herb-lore, stone-lore, wizardry. Examining the somewhat lopsided sphere of bluish light Tialla had managed to produce after several days' tutoring in the latter, he judged that she had talent. "In two or three centuries," he mused, "you might make a passable magician." Then he had her thank him for the compliment by sucking his cock.

He rarely assigned her any menial chores. Now and then he had her sweep a room or two or clean or polish something, but he seemed to do so mostly because he wanted her to think over some lesson she'd learned. She always found herself with numerous questions for the next day's lesson, and he answered them in detail, sometimes pointing out a text that discussed the matter.

But when he wasn't fucking her or teaching her, she was mostly on her own. She spent hours at a time in the library, reading those texts he hadn't forbidden. Sometimes -- more and more often -- he gave her permission to step outside and fly. She never seriously considered running away. Even if she managed to escape, she could never manage to fly with the magical collar around her neck weighing her down.

She was scrupulously careful to return on time, too; she still shivered whenever she thought of her last punishment session. Whatever her own reasons, he seemed pleased by her obedience. From time to time, he presented her with a reward. He returned to her the silver amulet with its enormous emerald inset, which she'd thought lost after the plant in the garden attacked her. He taught her a spell to pacify that plant, and permitted to work in the garden, even accompanying her on an expedition to gather transplants. He allowed her to wear clothing sometimes; the silk felt strange against her skin, now, oddly enticing. Finally, he gave her back her room.

Sometimes, though, at the end of the day -- apparently at a whim -- he'd order her to strip and crawl back into her cage. She never failed to blush, keenly feeling his eyes on her as she obeyed. The soft clank of the cage's door as it closed and the click of the lock seemed to strike some chord inside her, though. By the time she woke up the following morning, she was always embarrassingly aroused, a fact Razal rarely failed to take advantage of.

*

He unlocked her cage door and stepped back, gesturing her forward. She crawled eagerly out and straightened into a kneeling position, cheeks flushing with the surge of arousal she'd been conditioned to. Razal didn't move, though; he stood before her, looking down at her with an inscrutable expression. Tialla's tongue flicked out, moistening her lips nervously. The dragon rarely hesitated; she wasn't sure what to make of it.

Razal bend forward, then. She blinked, tensing in anticipation. But he'd made no effort to remove his robes, nor did he touch her. His claw merely tapped against her collar, then glided around to her throat.

When he removed it, the collar came with it.

Speechless, she gaped at him. He dropped the collar into her hands and smiled. "Good morning, little elf. It's been a year and a day since I took you prisoner. You're free to leave. If you'd like."

Her mouth worked soundlessly as her mind cast back. A year? Already? It didn't seem like it could possibly have been a year. She looked down at the leather band in her hands. She'd worn it for a year... She felt naked without it. Well, she was naked, but somehow being without the collar seemed much more momentous than being without her blue dress or any of the garments Razal had given her. She looked up at him again.

Flickering orange eyes, like stirring embers, regarded her impassively.

She could go now. Return to her life. Or fly where she would. The collar wouldn't make her fall from the sky or tether her to the ground. She wouldn't have the dragon watching over her, commanding her, using her. Fucking her. Stroking her. Holding her. Teaching her. She'd be on her own again. Tialla closed her eyes, imagining it.

The clasp of the collar clicked shut as she fastened it around her neck. "I would like to stay, Master," she murmured, dropping her eyes, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks as she made the statement.

The dragon's smile sent a rush of warmth through her. "In that case... it's time for your fucking, my slave."

Squirming in anticipation, Tialla dropped back to her hands and knees, waiting to be used for her master's pleasure.