Fettered wings
Heyos! I wrote this shorty as a prompt for the weekly writing group. It was supposed to be a character introduction done in a slightly different way than the usual, descriptive, paragraph by paragraph sandwich. My goal was to describe Aryn the dragon through the viewpoint of another character. I hoped to use dialogue as means to reach my goal, but along the way things took an unexpected turn...
Read and find out what that is!
Aryn eyed the approaching figures. They held torches. No. Only the shiny one did. The one with the metals and the obscured face. The two-legs beside him had no fire, only a jeweled rod passing from one paw to another.
"Place it there," she pointed somewhere. The man disappeared from view, towards where the scent of rot came from.
"And leave. I shall be alone."
"But my lady-"
"Go," she snarled. "I will handle the beast."
The armored man bowed and left, metal clinging on the wet stone. Aryn snapped his jaws, gripping and tearing at nothingness. He would've pierced through metal and flesh alike if the bonds weren't so tight.
"You are of a mood today," the two-legs spoke, passing a hand through her pale mane. She was female. Aryn could tell as much, though her scent was nowhere as noticeable as blood. His blood, oozing from more wounds than he cared to count. They stung and throbbed as one shallow, persistent cut.
"Perhaps I should turn back and bring you proper meal. I wouldn't want to-"
"Linger," Aryn hissed, crimson tongue poking between two long canines.
"And do what?"
"Undoing these bonds would be a start."
She chuckled. "And see myself wrapped with the same irons?" She paced around, glancing at the black metals that coiled themselves like snakes around Aryn. "It's not a fair bargain."
"It doesn't have to be."
"Then why ask?" She touched her scepter to one of the wounds. Aryn snarled, wing trembling in reflex. "You know your place. Lived moons than any of the master's beasts, you did." The woman disappeared from view, a soft humming resonating from her throat. Her splashing steps became fainter, then stopped.
"You killed my kind, your kind, and countless others."
"And what did that earn me?"
"You know what."
Rotten meat and foul stone to rest upon, bought with the prices of lives. Aryn cared little for any creature he slain, yet his kind...tearing the flesh of dragons felt worse than any wound marring his hide.
"Your wings are in tatters. If it wasn't for the joints that support them, I would've thought them red."
Licking his flaring nostrils, Aryn remained silent.
"Cut on your flank's wider than my arm. Slashes just where the tail sprouts, followed by punctures. How much do they hurt?"
"More than your observations."
"Very well," the two legs giggled. "I'll keep them for myself."
Aryn snarled, fangs bared.
"Don't get feisty, Scales. Sometimes touch yields greater value."
She was somewhere near his right flank. Aryn didn't mind her touch that much, only that yapping mouth that became unusually silent as her hand ventured lower. Aryn's claws flexed, scratching the stone.
"Anything hurting there?"
"Too comfortable to check?" Aryn turned his head. Or tried to. The chains that went under his horns bound him firmly into the ground.
"It wouldn't bother me. I'm used to all kinds of gross." The warmth went lower, touching and poking. Aryn snarled softly, wounds throbbing excitedly as his quickening blood. The female's paw stopped, undecided against the emerging member. After a heartbeat, she gripped, squeezing and rubbing the enlarging protrusion. Aryn's limbs became tense and hard, and his tail straightened. He wanted to growl, to ward her off. She was no dragon. She had no right to-
Aryn snarled. Words died on his fangs as he growled out his lust. He thrust, quickly and innefectively. The sharp movement filled his limbs with bliss, urging him into a cycle of repetitive motions.
"You are a feisty thing," the female giggled. "Bound and wounded, yet still you ram like a wild beast."
Aryn huffed. He couldn't focus on anything. Words dispersed like smoke, and that bothersome pain was all but forgotten, washed away by wild, lustful elation. Each movement hardened him. Each stroke stoked the fire smoldering inside him. Such primal purpose could hardly be denied.
"Almost there."
Her grip tightened around the sensitive tip. Aryn snapped his jaws, licking at the air. The pressure. It was too much, and the tight confine only added to the pleasure. Lust welled beneath Aryn's tail, ready to be unleashed. He had to thrust deeper. Farther. Faster. He throbbed once...
Then he burst. The stone moaned, tore by ravaging claws. Aryn released in a blissful, shrilling yowl. Spurt after spurt escaped his raging member, slipping over the stone and warming the dragon's belly.
"You were quick. I wonder what happened if you kept all that ooze trapped inside you. Would you burst, as your snake did?"
No reply. Aryn licked his mouth, panting in contentment. For a few blissful moments, he soared above the highest peaks, unbound by any mortal coils.
"My, you're all spent. I shall finish quick."
Finish? Aryn blinked. Pain flared, crisp and raw. The dragon jerked his tail, growling and snapping at the air. Fire plunged into his flesh, slithering under his scales.
"That one was bad."
Aryn barely heard her. The fiery snake rushed down his tail, numbing flesh and chilling blood.
"But it's the only one of its kind. Quite like you, actually. These walls bear little resemblance to your hide."
Aryn blinked. The flickering torchlight returned, along with the female's pale hair and azure vestments.
"My task is done."
"Doesn't feel like it."
"It doesn't have to." She turned around.
"Wait," Aryn growled. He squirmed, urging his numb paws into motion. Useless. The chains didn't even allow him to stand, pushing him into that foul smelling muck.
"The master expects me," she paused briefly. "He wants me to please him, and if I delay-"
"Do not. You've done more that was request of you," Aryn conceded.
"Did I?" The female turned around. "Dear, terrifying dragon. I did just at the master asked."
She laid a hand on his snout. Aryn sniffed, then licked the lithe, slimy fingers. The taste of his own seed greeted his tongue.
"Warm," she smiled, cupping the dragon's snout between two petite arms. "Just like your eyes."
"And like your touch."
Aryn closed his eyes, lost in the soft caress of his scales. When he opened them, the female was done.
And he found himself alone, with only the cold stone under his paws to keep him company.
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