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Sunnyslope - the first multi-species city located right on the edge of the Reservation where humans and dragons can coexist peacefully. A triumph of urbanism that has attracted investors from across the country and proved in practice that integration is possible. Spacious streets, a pleasant environment and a surprising range of architectural solutions. But above all, the city has been declared a free-trade zone with simplified paperwork flows.

Sunnyslope - come for the sunshine, stay for the opportunities!

Everyone just called it New-Babylon. Soon, all key positions were occupied by dragons or their protégés, and the city became a citadel of gambling, debauchery and dubious chemicals. But while the rich rivers of money flowed into the right seas, the oligarchs and politicians of the Republic defended the unique atmosphere of this city more fiercely than a bear defends its cubs.

In New-Babylon, however, the rule of law reigned supreme. Iron discipline was upheld by the Black Clan with their peculiar notions of order, honor, and legal standards. The militarized and heavily armed security force was always ready to swiftly and efficiently resolve any issue, although the entirely untrue rumors suggested that chronic offenders had their bones meticulously but decisively broken for educational purposes, and some were even thrown into liquid concrete. As a result, guests and residents were perfectly safe as long as they played by the rules. Here, money was earned and spent, and woe to those who interfered with this noble enterprise.

An eclectic mix of folks from both the Republic and the Reservation came here, but it was particularly popular with those few who felt an odd attraction to yesterday's sworn enemies. There were a number of peculiar places at their disposal, but one stood out even among them.

The interspecies gay-club "Celibate" was a cave for true perverts. The style of the place was reminiscent of the monastic order of the Blue Clan, a brotherhood of wise, ascetic hermits who had lived in the mountains long before the Reservation was established.

The design was austere, with raw concrete walls, rough-hewn benches for the humans and hay cushions for the dragons. Each visitor was given a matching black cloth robe with a hood. Instead of music, there were recordings of throat chants. Clay crockery. The food was boiled meat, the drinks were monastic beer and strong herbal liqueurs, and the barkeeper, a blue dragon, looked like someone you would want to confess all your sins to. Not long ago he had been thrown out of one of the most traditional monasteries for sodomy, so he had moved to New-Babylon and founded his own "monastery".

Still, visitors were expected to follow a strict code of conduct. A long list of prohibitions, summed up by the only kind of punishment. A polite but firm kick out of the door, followed by a ban on entry. For a fee, however, a spacious 'monk's cell' was available, where the prohibitions were not so strict and one could indulge in a brotherly love.

In this very establishment sat Gaspar. This was far from how he imagined interspecies friendship. His homemade leaflets exposing stereotypes about dragons, which he diligently distributed, were not just about a genuine desire to help these sentient creatures teetering on the brink of extinction. They also screamed his desperate need to find a mate. So, the rapid degradation of Sunnyslope into New-Babylon was a crushing blow for him. Yet here he was, sitting in this den, sipping a monastery version of the Monaco beer-lemonade cocktail, waiting for his dose of counterfeit affection. All because the cynical and cruel world didn't understand his naive kindness, and elsewhere, he didn't even get this much – neither from humans nor dragons. His meager savings from the modest salary of a school curriculum assistant usually stretched to just one frugal weekend in New-Babylon a month, and this was one such visit.

---

A cushion fell beside the man, on which the robed dragon sat confidently. Wing fingers and part of a folded webbing protruded from the fabric, and a black, elongated snout was visible under the hood. He spoke in human language with a heavy accent and his bassy voice was quiet, in accordance with the code.

• Hi.

• Hi, my name's Gaspar. What's yours? - the man replied in good Draconian.

• Me? Uuh.. - The black dragon seemed more surprised that the man didn't recognise him, than by his language skills. - My name is Vursug. - he said, also switching to Draconian.

• Nice to meet you, Vursug.

• You really don't know who I am?

• No, who are you?

• Oh, it doesn't matter. Believe me Gaspar, it's even better.

"Some big shot maybe? But he's right, it doesn't matter".

• Would you like a drink, Vursug?

• I'd love to, but listen, I'm a simple dragon. I'm not like those, you know... - he made a contemptuous movement with his forepaw, as if controlling a marionette - ...schemers. I don't like to beat around the bush. I want to have some fun before work, and you're a handsome human, my type. Now, have a look at me.

He opened his robe and showed the human his seated body. One look was enough to see that he was in excellent shape. There was a special beauty about him, a male who literally radiated physical health.

• Nice muscles.

• You bet. So, let's go and commit a sin, shall we?

---

That was quick. Slightly dazed by the speed at which their encounter had escalated, Gaspar found himself in a monk's cell. Despite the impressive price tag, the surroundings were truly Spartan. Concrete walls, a plank floor, a large dragon mattress and a poster with a wise Blue Clan saying:

"Our quest for pleasure often lands us in a heap of pain."

Vursug waved off the offer to pay half price and was already stripping off his robe, hip-bag, fingerless gloves and toeless boots with the newfangled Velcro fasteners.

When Gaspar saw the black dragon in all his glory, he couldn't take his eyes off him. His bulging muscles were the perfect size, the right balance between strength and agility. If the ancient sculptors had known about dragons, they would have begged him to pose for them. A true blackscaled Apollo. He was the size of a medium horse, but his movements were reminiscent of a leopard. A beautiful golden ring dangled from his ear-webbing.

Vursug, clearly pleased with the effect he was having on the human, began stretching as if to warm up, but the movements were fluid and seductive. In another, he lay on his side and drew his outstretched hind paw towards him, but in such a way that his horizontal vent opened to reveal the pink skin of his cloaca.

"Wow, that's some serious flexibility and muscles. He must live at the gym. Oh, now I get it. He is from the security force. Not a commoner of course, the commoners there are usually human mercenaries, this one is clearly an officer. Maybe even a senior officer, since he's so surprised that I don't know him. Well, I don't know anyone here. What a beautiful body he has. Perfection."

Gaspar was confused, this handsome hottie was obviously out of his league, he would never dare to sit next to such a dragon.

Seeing Gaspar's confusion, Vursug realised that he had overdone it. Normally, when the tourists found out that he was a passive and saw his exercises, they immediately rushed to fuck him. But this one, he was obviously a rare guest in this city. A kind soul. A gentle one. The dragon stood up and approached the still clothed man.

• I bet you're thinking about something right now, aren't you? I like guys like you, always thinking, always uncertain. It's so sweet. - He licked Gaspar's lips. His hot breath smelled pleasantly minty, there was no tenderness in the way he moved, just confidence and honed efficiency. - Too fast, huh? Then let's do something more relaxing. Give me a hand.

The dragon went to the edge of the mattress and pulled it up against the wall. Gaspar, catching his thought, grabbed the other edge and together they made it so that half of the mattress was on the floor and the other half covered the concrete wall. Then the dragon sat on it and leaned his back against the wall.

• Take off your clothes and lie on top of me. - The dragon said, patting his belly.

• Won't this be hard for you?

It's something a human has never done before. Normally, dragons never let humans sit or lie on them. They found it incredibly humiliating, and the weight of humans was too much for these fragile flying creatures. But Vursug's answer to another bout of doubt was just a grin.

-How could it be hard for such muscles? Come on.

The man sat down on the dragon just above his protruded pelvis bone and leaned his back on his front plates. The dragon's soft belly sagged under his weight, Vursug was obviously uncomfortable, but strangely enough, he groaned with pleasure. Then the dragon gently placed his forepaw on the Gaspar's chest, and with the other he reached even more gently for the testicles, taking them in the palm of his hand. He was careful not to scratch the man.

Gaspar was very pleased to sit on the dragon, he loved to cuddle with them, he liked the feel of his skin and scales touching, but it was even more pleasant to feel the firm muscles of the plated belly with his bottom. It made him feel as if he were sitting in a soft armchair. His cock was already erect, though the earlier hesitation was still there. Then the clawed paw released his testicles, opened his index and middle fingers and touched the head of his cock with the small webbing between them. The man moaned, unlike scales the delicate skin of the webbing was soft and elastic.

• No-one's ever done this to you before, eh? It's my know-how.

He squeezed his fingers lightly and moved the webbing up and down, smearing the human's pre on the cock. Gaspar saw the dragon's inflated and throbbing, tapered phallus. He placed one hand on the dragon's paw on his chest and with the other caught and cupped the curved tip of the phallus, fingering the opening. The dragon's sharp claws were frighteningly close, but not a scratch appeared on the human's body. The dragon was masturbating him, something that certainly hadn't happened to Gaspar. Waves of pleasure stirred the sexual energy in him and he took the initiative. He took the dragon's other paw from his chest and spreading his fingers, put the webbing in his mouth and licked it with his tongue.

• Oh, fuuuck... - Came from somewhere above. The dragon moaned with pleasure. Then Gaspar kept sucking on the webbing, brought the dragon's phallus to his cock. The tip immediately wrapped around the head and the dragon now stroked them both. The man also helped with his hand, stroking them and smearing the mixture of their pre. Gaspar could feel the dragon's pleasant scent, the smell of a burning fire by the sea, the smell of spiced roast meat. He loved the smell of draconian male pheromones, but the effect of frequent inhalation was much weaker than the first time.

Meanwhile, the dragon became rougher with every movement. The fingers of one paw squeezed his cock harder and the other paw squeezed his jaws, pushing the webbing deeper. The phallus tensed as well, squeezing his head harder. The Gaspar was in pain, but the pain was provocative, it was as if he wanted to respond, to fight back. The human's hand squeezed hard the phallus and pushing his bottom violently onto the Vursug's stomach.

• Ohhhhh!

He moaned even harder, a slight shiver running through his body. The dragon squeezed the palm of his forepaw, twisting the embracing phallus and penis slightly, causing a strain pain. A brazen pain, impertinent. Insulting. The man responded by gnashing his teeth at the finger webbing. He began to lose his head. What this dragon was allowing himself, he thought, there was an answering desire to hurt him, to fight him, to punish him for his despicable attack. Now he wanted to take him into the cloaca roughly, without any tenderness. Being a true geek, he didn't just understand the language of dragons, he understood their body language, which is why those humiliating movements, those reptilian snapping sounds, that mocking snarl hit him so hard. And that savoury smell. He'd had enough! The man abruptly unleashed himself from the dragon's 'armchair', grabbed him by the forepaw and threw him to the floor with all his might. Vursug didn't just fall down willingly, he lifted his tail back and his pelvis up enthusiastically. He was pleased that his provocation had worked and that the man had finally been made angry. Just below his 20 centimetre tapered phallus with two knots at the base was the tight entrance to his cloaca. The man grabbed the phallus with his hand, pulled it roughly upwards, lubricated the entrance with his pre-wet hands, then impatiently probed it with his penis and entered roughly all the way in, hitting the scales with his balls. He lay on top of him, holding onto the phallus with one hand and resting the other on his firm belly plates. Then, without wasting any time, he began to thrust. He knew very well that a male's cloaca was very tender, especially when the phallus that stretched its walls was erect, but he wanted to go harder, deeper, he wanted to pierce it, to stretch it, to take revenge, to get even, but he couldn't remember what for. With each thrust, his penis forced the tight but weak muscles of the cloacal walls apart. The waves of pleasure grew stronger, partly from the physical sensations, but more from the satisfaction of seeing justice done. He squeezed the flexible phallus hard with his hand, trying to bend it. Suddenly the dragon's whole body shook, the phallus trembled and he came. His seed splashed onto his stomach plates and the human's chest. All the while he growled and moaned in bliss through tightly clenched jaws. But the human didn't notice because the spasm of the bumpy cloacal walls squeezed his penis so hard that he came only after a few hard thrusts. Each semen shot into the cloaca was an arrow of his rage.

• Take it! Yeah! Fuckin' take it. Take another one. You got what you deserved, I taught you a lesson you nasty foul dragon! - Cried Gaspar.

Not to say it was his greatest orgasm ever, but it was definitely the weirdest. Vursug was over the moon with happiness. He especially liked it when the goodies got angry and tempered his spirit with sexualised pain. He took a perverse kind of pleasure out of it.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, what did you expect? The "Celibate" gay-club's clientele matches its standards perfectly."

Satisfied Gaspar crawled away from the dragon breathing heavily. Then, all of a sudden, he came back to his senses and remembered everything that had happened to him in the last few frantic minutes. It was as if he'd come out of hypnosis, waking from a bad dream. A wave of burning shame washed over him.

"Oh my God, what have I done? I... I... He didn't do anything bad to me and I... Fuck..."

• Vursug, please forgive me... Have I hurt you? I'm so sorry... I don't know what came over me. I just...

"He's so cute!"

While Gaspar was making his amusing excuses, the dragon stood up, walked around the human and suddenly grasped his head with his wing-fingers, bringing his maw close and sliding his tongue into human's mouth, moving forward so that his scaly lips made contact with the man's soft lips. He drove his tongue furiously in, probing the man's teeth, palate and tongue. Gaspar was stunned at first, but once he realised that the dragon wasn't upset at all, he began to return the movements with his tongue, enjoying the kiss. He moaned with pleasure and placed his hands on the dragon's cheeks, then stroked him under his ear-webbing, right next to the opening of the ear canal. Almost no one wanted to kiss in places like this, so he savoured every moment of their intimacy. Pulling back, Vursug ran his dry tongue along Gaspar's chin, lips, nose and forehead.

• You're a great lover, I enjoyed it very much. I hope you did too. - He felt like doing something nice for the human, a keepsake. - Listen, aren't you into arena fights? No? Never been? There's this fighter, L'Ombre, they say he's tough. You've never heard of him?

• I'm sorry, but I'm more of a book guy. I like medieval fantasy.

"...about handsome dragons and gentle knights" - he added mentally.

• I thought so. - He dug into his hip bag and pulled out a crumpled ticket. - Here, a gift for you. Tomorrow will be a big day. There'll be some warm-up bouts first and then the regional finals at the end, so maybe you'll like it. Just don't be late.

---

He was late. As he approached the indoor stadium, he heard a chorus of shouts from hundreds of dragons and thousands of humans already near the entrance.

• E ho'oholo ke apo i ka hopena o ka deragonaaa!

• Auwe! Auwe!

• E ho'oholo ke apo i ka hopena o ka deragonaaa!

• Auwe! Auwe!

The crowd from the human sectors of the arena cheered the dragons' chants with no less enthusiasm. Most of them didn't understand a word of it, but that didn't stop them from enjoying the barbaric spectacle all the same.

Sacred arena duels were the Black Clan's age-old technique for resolving conflicts (and proving who had the biggest stick). The rules, of course, had strictly prohibited lethal blows, grievous injuries, and bites. Not out of some misplaced sense of compassion, but simply to ensure the fights lasted longer than a few seconds. Over time, this savage ritual had morphed into a bloodsport that sated the primal thirst of the crowd.

"Aye! It's down to the arena now to decide the fate of the dragon!" - The trembling, energy-laden voice of the green dragon commentator thundered through the stadium speakers. - "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the last and most important fight of the thrilling night in our bloody coliseum, where only the most formidable and ferocious dragons dare to step into the ring. We are graced with the grand finale of the regional championship! A clash between two titans: the seasoned, battle-scarred silver Mortifère and the young, fiery upstart black L'Ombre. Get ready for a spectacle of carnage, cunning, and sheer brutality!"

Gaspar climbed the stairs and took his place in the human sector. It wasn't the closest, and the view of the arena was poor.

"I can hardly hear our bipedal fans. Come on, give me a proper welcome to our fighters!" - Switching to human language, the green commentator goaded the crowd.

Hearing the call, the human crowd went wild, stomping their feet in rhythm and shouting the names of their favorites:

• L'Ombre! Mortifère! L'Ombre! Mortifère!

As L'Ombre, the black dragon, strode confidently into the arena, his wings were secured in leather sheaths, and his claws were encased in sturdy gloves and boots.

Gaspar looked closely and suddenly realised that it was Vursug, except that he no longer had the gold ring in his ear-webbing.

"Oh wow, my partner from yesterday turned out to be the arena star. That's why he was so pleasantly surprised by my ignorance, he must have got tired of the annoying fans." - Gaspar thought.

Opposite him stood Mortifère, with his silver scales gleaming under the arena lights, adorned with numerous scars and donning similar protective gear. Some of his scars were clearly caused by shell splinters.

Bulky, human-operated TV cameras broadcast the action from all angles, so that viewers of the Republic's sports channel could also enjoy the brutal spectacle.

"Ladies and gentlemen, dragons and humans, this is what we've all been waiting for!" - Green commentator's voice boomed through the arena, whipping the crowd into a frenzy. - "On one side, we have Mortifère, the veteran who's already halfway to Elderhood! On the other, the sprightly youngster L'Ombre, a mere 133 years old! Ah, the energy of youth, the swift reflexes and the minimum amount of wasted years flushed down the drain! Two titans, two colossi, the crowd shivers in anticipation!"

The first round began, and the dragons started to warm up, testing each other's defenses.

"Mortifère's tactics are as sharp as ever. Well, what did you expect? He's in the regional finals, after all! And look at that speed, folks! I can barely keep up with them! This youngster must have come out of nowhere because the old champions couldn't keep up with this pace! The geriatrics just don't cut it anymore!"

The arena lights flashed red, signaling the end of the first round.

"Round over! The judges say our old geezer has blown it! He looks like he wants to gouge his own eyes out but manages to pull himself together. He's shaking like a leaf! That's not going to help him in the next round. The arena's getting fiercer and meaner, folks!"

While the fighters recovered and prepared for the next round, the crowd munched on meaty snacks, drank beer and enjoyed the rousing background music.

"And let's not forget, dear fans, our fabulous betting pool is still taking bets! Haven't placed yours yet? Well, what are you waiting for? The top odds in New-Babylon await you!"

The second round commenced, with L'Ombre holding the advantage but then he was forced into defence. The blackscaled withstood Mortifère's attacks but lost his lead.

"I might just drop dead from the tension! Maybe I shouldn't have drunk that swill before the round, huh? But how else are you supposed to watch this stuff, sober?! - Green's commentary was relentless. - Hey L'Ombre, losing your grip, kiddo? Mortifère seems to have found his rhythm in this round! Our pensioner has woken up. Hit, hit, hit!"

The arena lights flashed red once more, marking the end of the second round.

"End of the round and this time, the judges award a well-deserved victory to Mortifère!"

The throng exploded with cheers. The lights were wandered to the dragonesses performing seductive dances to entertain the crowd.

"And by the way, check out our cheerleaders! They're on fire tonight! Look at those lascivious moves! It's not even mating season, but I'm feeling the urge to abuse my position for personal gain!"

• I wanna fuck one of those, brother! - a fatty in a horned knitted hat shouted at Gaspar.

• Thanks for sharing.

"The third and final round! This is where the real battle begins! I was too shy to mention, or maybe I just forgot, but our old guy's a righty, and the youngster's a lefty! L'Ombre is a beast, a monster! He's trying to get behind Mortifère. The old dragon is conserving his energy, which might pay off in the end. Meanwhile, L'Ombre's jumping and darting around, keeping his blood boiling! Is Mortifère conserving energy or just plain exhausted?" - Greenscaled pauses for dramatic effect. "The silver dragon has been champion many times, but the higher you soar, the further you have to fall!"

All of a sudden, the crowd gasps in astonishment.

"Oh my goddess! Ladies and gentlemen, L'Ombre takes a devastating blow to the head and wobbles but doesn't give up! He's like a dragon pushing through a thick, sticky gel, trying to run in his sleep, while his brain questions the very nature of existence! Mortifère gazes at his opponent with a proud look but it's not arrogance, he just knows his worth. Yet, he gets a tail slap! Will the legendary pride of the silver dragons be his downfall?! L'Ombre switches to total annihilation mode! If he wants to win, he has to go all out in these final minutes! The fight is deadly now! Enough with the energy conservation, old drake! Defending only brings you closer to defeat! If L'Ombre keeps up his pace and energy, he'll win this round and the regional championship! Holy shit! A crushing left-paw money punch beats the silver's defence and finds its target! Is this really the end for Mortifère?! Yes! Knockout!!!"

The crowd roared as the judges stopped the fight.

"The youngster wins! L'Ombre is victorious! The shark-tooth necklace is his!"

A bruised and bleeding but satisfied Vursug stood on his hind paws, proudly displaying his well-earned necklace to the crowd.

"The arena has decided the fate of the dragon! Let us honour our new regional Champion, blackscaled L'Ombre!"

• L'Ombre! L'Ombre! L'Ombre!

As the arena erupted in cheers, the commentator's final words echoed through the chaos.

"And that's a wrap, folks! The young blood reigns supreme! Until next time, and always remember: life is a fight, and only the ruthless survive! Yarr!"

The fans began to scatter, humming the traditional chants of the Black Clan, while some went to claim their winnings. Despite Gaspar's disgust for such savagery, he couldn't help but notice that he had never seen such unity between humans and dragons. It seemed that this barbaric custom had done more for the integration of the two worlds than all the activists' efforts over the past decades.

A cynical thought crossed his mind: the toxic blend of greed, lust, gluttony, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride, spiced with brutal discipline, made for a New-Babylon cocktail that wasn't entirely unpalatable. It drove the society of sentient beings forward far better and more reliably than the naive dreams of freedom, equality and brotherhood.

It was well past midnight and Gaspar was hurrying to the railway station. He had work at the school early the next morning and would have to sleep on the train.

---

• Mr Gaspar, I would be really grateful if you could come to my office for a quick chat. We've got an important matter to discuss, so I hope you don't mind.

• Of course, Mr Headmaster.

As the door closed with a resounding slam, he carried on.

• Congratulations Gaspar. They've dealt with your fucking petition and now we have to give a lesson in tolerance, equity and some other shit I can't even remember. With a fucking dragon as a guest. Except they forgot to send me one.

• But I just asked them to...

• Who cares what you asked them to. You've been here all these years and you didn't have a clue how this shit worked? Every new initiative is just another headache that people desperately try to shift onto someone else, typically ending up with me. Now it's your turn to enjoy the headache. Find me one.

• But where am I gonna get you a dragon?

• Probably where people like you fuck them, eh?

• I would ask you to...

• I don't give a shit about your private life Gaspar, do whatever you want, all I need you to do is to find me a dragon who can at least piece together a basic human-language sentence. Okay? But hey, there's some good news too. After the lesson, the students will write their feedback. If it goes well, we might snag a government grant. Finally, we could fix up this dump of a school. For you personally, it means a salary bump and a nice bonus. Plus, you get the perfect chance to enlighten our young degenerates about the wonders of co-existence. Make the world a better place, just like you always wanted, Mr Do-Gooder. Now go and get me a scaly beast.

---

Without much hope of success, he asked the Black Clan telephone operator to put him through to Vursug. "Tell him it's Gaspar." He was asked to call back in half an hour.

The request amused the black dragon with its blatant naivety. Of course, he would have simply sent him to his agent, so that their conversation would have ended after the announcement of the champion's hour-long fee. But then it occurred to him that Gaspar would be perfect for an important matter.

• All right, I can find some time, but in return, you'll do one thing for me.

• What's that?

• A private, non-public personal favour. No bullshit, don't worry. Deal?

Dealing with dragons blindly tended to end badly, but he was left with little choice.

Vursug had no visa problems, the border was open to the champion, and it was only a week later that the lesson in tolerance arrived. The classroom was thick with skepticism. Students couldn't wait for some pompous goldenscaled jerk with a fake smile to lecture them for 40 minutes with hypocritical political crap.

• And now, dear students, you will hear a lecture on the topic of... um... - Gaspar faltered from nerves. A runt in the middle row blew and popped a gum bubble, radiating "utmost interest" - ...whatever. Well, without further ado, please welcome Mr Vursug.

With a confident stride on all four paws, a muscular black dragon entered the spacious auditorium. His red eyes scanned the students with a heavy gaze. A necklace of shark teeth hung around his neck, and a golden ring adorned his ear-webbing.

The room fell silent, then whispers began to fill the air.

"That's L'Ombre", "no fucking way", "it's really him, I swear", "he's right, I recognise him too", "they've actually brought the champion!", "and you said it'd be sad pile of shit", "who knew? Shut up!".

Suddenly, someone from the back row couldn't hold it in and shouted at the top of their lungs:

• E ho'oholo ke apo i ka hopena o ka deragonaaa!

• Auwe! - the dragon roared in response. Waiting for the excitement to die down, he continued in human language with a heavy draconian accent. - Alright. Quiet, quiet, we have a serious matter to discuss here. - The previous skepticism vanished like smoke in the wind. Now, the students, especially the boys, hung on his every word. - I'm not a big fan of such talks, but since I've been asked to tell you about tolerance between dragons and humans, I'll share a cautionary tale with you.

Once upon a time, there was a black dragon. And this creature was evil as the devil himself, with a heart as black as his scales. He reveled in mischief, torment, and the kind of malevolence that made you wonder if the dark lady Tiamat had subcontracted her job.

He also loved gold. He loved it more than dragons from your human fairy tales are even supposed to. Once a golden dragon came to him looking for his lost female. And you know what he did? He made a female out of him. Beat him up, tied him up, and then brutally fucked him right in his shiny cloaca. Oh yes, that's what he did. Shocked? Life doesn't care about your comfort, kiddos.

So one day, he stumbled upon an human illegal gold mine in the Reservation mountains. A seedy operation run by men with dirty hands and dirtier souls. He told the miners to scram or he'd fill the mine with mustard gas.

Naturally, the miners weren't going to let some 'overgrown lizard' mess with their livelihood. They called in their protection rackets, the kind of guys who made their living by being tougher and meaner than the next thug. Within hours, thirty armed men in six cars came to slay him. Big mistake! Huge! The dragon waited till nightfall, then he slaughtered them all with his bare paws! That's how cruel he was! And he lived on his mountain of gold ever since, occasionally picking off an ambitious thief or an overly curious adventurer.

Until one day, a new thief came along. A short guy, looking more like he should be picking pockets in a Dickensian novel than squaring off with a dragon. He wasn't here to steal, he said, no, this gold was his and his colleagues' by right and the black dragon was the real thief, the mugger who had stolen their gold.

The dragon, considering strangling the little pest, paused. There was something almost touching about the guy's bravado, or maybe the dragon was just bored. Instead of killing him on the spot, he looked at the situation from a different angle.

"You know what, shorty? You're right. Take the gold. I'm out of here." - The dragon said with a smirk, then flew off into the horizon, leaving the bewildered thief with more gold than he could ever carry.

However, the word spread like wildfire that the black dragon was gone, and suddenly, the gold mine became the epicenter of a new kind of war. Bandits from every corner of the Republic. Southerners with their drawls, Northerners with their grit and all sorts of other scum descended upon the mine. Five armies, each more ruthless than the last, converged in a bloody free-for-all. Then, my little friends, human greed turned allies into enemies, as it always does.

Our short thief watched in horror as his mates got caught in the crossfire, butchered by the very allies they'd hoped to partner with. And when the dust settled and the ground was soaked with blood, who should return but the black dragon? He swooped down and finished off the few survivors, adding their bones to his collection.

The dragon settled back into his mine and there he remained, ever the king of his glittering domain, untouchable and evil as ever.

So, what's the moral of the story, you ask? Sometimes, the bad guy wins. The black devil screwed everyone once again. That's the moral. Goodbye kids, hit the books, and always remember, that's life. Oh yeah, be tolerant and stuff.

Then he turned round and with a deft movement of his wing finger tossed a gleaming gold coin onto one of the desks, and then walked out of the auditorium to the applause and cheers of the students.

• L'Ombre! L'Ombre! L'Ombre!

Gaspar sat with his face buried in his palms.

"I'm so fucked..."

A short spin-off story about the evil black dragon "meeting" the golden dragon. If you're interested, you can find it here:

Warning** :** _brutal M/M cloacal rape.

https://www.sofurry.com/view/2126843_

---

Oddly enough, the tolerance lesson was a roaring success, with rave reviews from the students. The school headmaster, in addition to a hefty bonus, even shook Gaspar's hand, offering surprisingly sincere congratulations. Imagine that an arena regional champion had graced their school. And it didn't cost the budget a dime.

Soon enough, the headmaster was giving an interview.

• Despite the concerns of many of my colleagues, I made the bold decision to heed the voice of the most progressive part of our community and allow a dragon into our educational institution. This success once again proved that co-existence is possible and...

"...and now I can milk these fucks for way more than just one measly grant. Hell, if I play my cards right, I'll have these twats filling my pockets for years. Co-existence my ass. This is a goldmine."

As Gaspar walked back to his modest rented flat, he had heavy thoughts instead of joy. The tale of the gold mine was on his mind. It was about the infamous black and gold pirate, of course. Or just the Golden pirate. Dragon piracy had flourished near the archipelago for hundreds of years, but the ship whose name could be translated into human language as "Goddess' Cunt" was particularly famous. It was a real sailing aircraft carrier that allowed dragons to sail far out to sea to attack human ships from the air or underwater. The legendary ship could only be sent to the bottom of the ocean by a steelarmored military cruiser, and her crew scattered. No one knew exactly who was on board, except one. The Golden pirate. This black dragon seemed to have been plucked from the pages of the most vile anti-dragon pamphlets. A brutal sadist, a ruthless murderer and a gold-obsessed psychopath. All of this could be dismissed as propaganda, were it not for the numerous witnesses who serve as a chronicle of his centuries-old atrocities. Even the dragons of the Black Clan feared him. Most terrifying of all, he was not a caricature of chaotic evil, but a real one. Strong, clever and cunning. After the end of the pirate era, all traces of him were lost. Someone had supposedly seen him on the reservation, but it was hard to tell, too many impostors had claimed his dubious fame.

"It's obviously him. Vursug told a story about himself. They say he used to boast about his escapades. Times have changed and he has decided to start a new life as a young arena fighter. A no-name rookie wins a regional championship, yeah sure. They don't age, he could be 100 years old or 1,000, it's easy to pretend. He didn't even bother to take off his golden ear-webbing ring."

"And now he's trying to involve me in his criminal affairs. He needs a sidekick they don't know in New-Babylon. He'll start with little things and then say something like: "Now we're tied up, don't mess around or we'll drown together". Fuck you Vursug, I'm not falling for it. Of all the dragons I could've met at the club, it had to be him."

Gaspar may not have turned up, but the pirate knew where he lived. All that was left was the good old threat: "If I die, please forward this letter to the police and the press.

---

Gaspar was sitting on the boulevard, watching the hustle and bustle of the city. He steeled himself for an uncomfortable conversation. Every so often, a dragon could be seen soaring through the sky between the trees, and people hurried on their way. In the distance, construction noises were audible as yet another 60-story skyscraper was being built in the business district. A group of construction workers in yellow helmets walked by, accompanied by their foreman copper dragon in a strange-looking white helmet. Gaspar overheard their conversation.

• Hey, boss!

• What?

• What did you say to that jerk of an owner who wanted us to buy that crap from his buddy Patrick instead of the real materials?

• Told him to kiss my cloaca.

Gaspar heard the fading sound of rough, hearty laughter as they walked away. As he watched the young golden female purposefully walk past him on her two hind paws, using her tail for balance and holding a really big stick of cotton candy, someone tapped him on the shoulder.

• Gaspar quiet. If they recognise me, I'll be here signing autographs till tonight. Come on, let's go to the park.

The black dragon wore a monk's robe from a gay club and, just to be on the safe side, he also wore flying goggles. As they left the footpath, Gaspar charged in.

• It's you, isn't it? You're the black and gold pirate.

• Me?

• You. I've gathered all the facts, there can be no doubt, so there's no point in pretending. You can deny it all you want, but now I know the truth. You've been a great help, but I won't be drawn into your shady business. I don't know what you have in mind for me, but I refuse. As a token of my gratitude, I won't reveal your identity to anyone, not to a living soul. But we won't meet again, I'm leaving. But be warned, if anything happens to me, everyone will know the truth. - The man finished his tirade, but kept looking at the dragon, as if waiting for permission to leave.

• Huh... - He slapped his tail lightly. - You know what the problem with all smart-asses is? They think too much sometimes. But hey, you were close. Gaspard, I'm just his son. Believe me, I'm not thrilled about my dad either, but some things you just can't choose.

• Son?

• Yeah, adopted son. But you're not gonna take my word for it, are you? Of course not. You humans have become so paranoid these days. It's that damned Red Clan and their fucking sche... All right, if you're so concerned about all that shit, I'll tell you my story. But you keep your mouth shut about it and then you do what you said you would do, got it?

---

The entire seafarers' guild laughed at the expedition to the archipelago in search of dragon gold. The losers came back empty-handed, and all they got was a crazy juvenile green female. The laughter stopped abruptly when the auction to sell her ended. It turned out that the nobles were willing to pay any price for live dragons or their eggs. Some believed in the nonsense of elixirs of immortality from their internal organs, some just wanted an exotic pet, the dragon hunters were not interested in their reasons, all they cared about was a fortune as a reward.

Of course, hunting adult dragons was a lost cause. Despite the muskets and ship cannons, the wings still gave them a decisive tactical advantage, allowing them to retreat safely in case of danger. However, as the targets of the hunt were clumsy wyrmlings who could not yet fly, the attacks were often successful. Speed was the key to success. The ship would begin by firing all its cannons at the dragon's lair on the island, forcing the inhabitants to flee into the air, while an assault party would come ashore with nets. Soon the ship, more often without the catch, but sometimes with it, left on all sails. Flight was difficult for the dragons, and they dared not pursue the ship on the open sea.

On one of such ships, a very young black dragon sat in a collar on a chain. He broke the wooden cage, so he was simply chained to the wall. His claws and teeth were too small to do any serious damage, and his only real weapon, his tail, was strapped down and tied tightly to his collar. He had not been fed to make him more docile, yet he threw himself furiously at anyone who came near him. The sailors drew a safety line of charcoal and amused themselves by standing close to the beast as it snapped his teeth in impotent rage. One day the boatswain came to amuse himself. The dragon slept near the wall, covered with his ungrown wing. But as soon as the sailor stepped over the border line, the dragon sunk his teeth into the thick tanned leather of his boot. His movement was swift and imperceptible, as if he were a shadow. The boatswain jumped back, and the boot remained in the dragon's maw. Then the black one stood up on his hind paws, took the boot in his forepaw and launched it straight at the sailor's head.

• Ah you fucking beast, now I'll teach you some respect! - He grabbed a long whip from the wall and began to whip the dragon from a safe distance with surprising accuracy. His experience was evident.

The Wyrmling tried to dodge, but still most of the extremely painful blows found their mark. After another blow, his legs gave out and he fell on his side with a hiss, his chain rattling loudly.

Suddenly, all the laughing sailors watching the execution had the same thought.

"Shit! This motherfucker is ruining our cargo!" - In the same second, the whip was taken from the boatswain and he was led out under his arms, not forgetting to take his chewed-up boot with him.

The young dragon lay on his side, breathing heavily. His body trembled, but the pain of humiliation far outweighed the physical agony.

"I hate humans! I hate every one of them! I'll show them who I am! I'd rather die than break!"

Hours passed, and as night fell, he noticed another sailor near the boundary out of the corner of his eye.

"Another one. Think I've weakened from the whip? Just try crossing the line and find out!"

The sailor held a wooden bowl. He placed it on the wooden floor. Inside was salted meat.

"This scoundrel. Think I'll scramble for food I can't reach out of hunger? Dream on!"

The sailor took a stick and nudged the bowl closer to the dragon.

"Want to humiliate me with handouts? It won't work!" The dragon turned his head away from the bowl, defiantly.

The sailor kept pushing it closer. The pleasant aroma of cooked salted meat tickled his nostrils. He didn't detect any hint of poison or other foul substances. Just the simple fare of sailors. A treacherous inner voice whispered enticing thoughts.

"Maybe just a bite? No! Yes, you're right, don't eat it, just look at it, smell it. Not to eat, but to confirm that this human is another scoundrel. You can even throw the bowl at him afterward."

After a while, the dragon turned his neck and looked at the bowl's contents. Indeed, it was just warm, cooked salted meat. No trickery in sight. He looked at the human. The man squatted, opening his mouth and making a few chewing motions.

"Look how politely the human is asking you to eat. No! He's just mocking me! Just one bite. No, it's all a trick! He'll hit me when I let my guard down!"

He looked back at the sailor. The man had set the stick aside. There was no whip. His posture was relaxed.

"Fine. But only one bite. No more!"

With an air of great reluctance and overcoming the burning pain all over his body, the dragon sat up, took the bowl in his forepaw, and plunged into it. Never in his short life had anything tasted so good. The rough meat felt like a divine delicacy. Before he knew it, the bowl was empty. The dragon snorted and threw it back beyond the safety line. The kind sailor stifled a smile, careful not to bare his teeth and unnerve the dragon. He simply picked up the bowl from the floor and calmly walked away.

Since then, he often visited him at night with a bowl in hand. He'd give him half of his dinner, not really knowing why, perhaps just to feel like he was doing the right thing. The wyrmling, on the other paw, was torn. Sure, his new acquaintance was just another one of them, but he had come to appreciate how even the faintest glimmer of light could be valuable in the abyss of utter darkness.

That night, a young black dragon deftly threw a bowl into his hands, and the sailor caught it. But instead of walking away, he carefully stepped over the border line. Blackscaled didn't like this, he tensed his whole body, but watched the slowly approaching human without moving.

"The two-leg is up to something."

As the human approached he reached out a hand to his head.

"He wants to hit me! No, he just wants to pet you. No matter! No one dares touch me!" - A rough, calloused hand came down on his forehead. Black felt the urge to break the man's arm for such insolence, but then he looked at the kind, tanned face and the storm of anger that had begun to brew subsided imperceptibly. Somehow he felt comfortable. His head and long neck were petted like a cat. A sudden wave of pleasure made him close his third eyelid.

"It feels so good. He's a... erm... A good human." - The black wyrmling decided that an exception could be made for a 'good human'. Sometimes.

Suddenly they heard a scream that was abruptly cut short. Then sounds of fighting, single shots from flintlock muskets and pistols. More shouting. Soon there was the sound of claws scraping the wooden steps. Then the door flew off its hinges and a black dragon with a gold ring in his ear-webbing squeezed in nimbly. Blood dripping from his teeth and claws, he was clearly satisfied. His red eyes instantly assessed the situation.

"Wyrmling on a chain. One human. Unarmed."

However, a strange thing happened next. The young dragon stood in a threatening posture, covering the human and growling amusingly.

"Gone mad. No time to deal with him."

• Out of my way, brat!

But as soon as he crossed the safety line, the brat disappeared and appeared right next to his snout, delivering a weak but extremely frustrating blow to his lower jaw with his left paw. The stunned dragon leapt back and swung his tail at the spot where the insolent creature had just been. But he was no longer there. He covered the human with his body once more and growling.

"You little son of a breeding whore, you fucking hit me! ME! Uh... Wait a minute. Fucking hell, you managed to hit me. And you're chained. Holy fucking goddess, are you giving me a sign?"

• All right gutter-snipe, I'll spare your human, but for that, you'll come with me willingly. Yeah? Then we have a deal. Let me break your collar. Stop fucking move! I gave you my dragon's word, I'll keep it.

The battle was over quickly, the boarding party of the Goddess' Cunt, stealthily swam underwater towards the Dragon Hunters, knew their job.

• Hey, look what I've found. A black brat.

• And who the hell is that?

• A sailor. I gave my word to the boy that...

• What kind of fuckin' word? Get rid of human scum.

• Step aside! My dragon's word is stronger than stone, that's my principle. - Of course the pirate lied, the dragon's word meant almost nothing to him. He just wanted to bond with his future stepson by honouring his request.

• You'd better remember who's in charge!

• Banag, leave him be. The human will sail away in a lifeboat and tell everyone what we do to the likes of him. Load all valuables and scuttle the ship. Execute. - Said the red dragon coldly. His hoarse voice was calm and commanding, despite the blood dripping from the wound on his chest.

• Aye aye, Captain. What about the wyrmling?

• That's Golden's concern now. He's responsible for him.

"That accursed Red Captain, he'd probably keep scheming even on his deathbed." - Chief mate Banag thought with annoyance, but went to look for water and food for the sailor's lifeboat.

The golden pirate looked at HIS brat with relief. The unscrupulous bastard wanted a son, but he could have used a daughter. He was so desperate for an egg that every year he made hundreds of attempts to impregnate various females, but alas, Mother Nature had taken a cruel toll on the dragonkind for their gift of biological immortality.

* L'Ombre means the shadow.

---

• I never saw that sailor again. I grew up as a cabin boy. And then, long story short, you guys won and me and my father were looking for adventure on our cloacas on the Reservation. I ended up joining the Black Clan, and he just lay there on his mountain of gold. That's the way it is.

The human looked at the dragon, taking in what he had heard. Either the story was true, or the gold pirate was a really talented actor.

• I'm so sorry.

• That's why I hardly ever tell this story. So I don't get those fucking pitying looks. I'm not a weakling, I'm a black dragon, okay? This experience has only hardened my spirit.

• Did you look for your parents?

• Only the navigator knew where I was taken, and his charts went down with his corpse. My father. Stepfather, he didn't want to give me away and didn't try to find them, and then when the archipelago was attacked by a whole fleet of armoured battleships and the evacuation to the mainland was announced... Anyway, enough of that, okay? Now that we're done with your paranoid crap, can we get on with it? Let's go to my house. Hmm... On the other paw, it's actually a good thing you asked about it, it makes it easier for you to understand my motives.

They walked around roundabouts and through deserted streets to Vursug's house in the Dragon residential district. It wasn't particularly original, a standard two-storey concrete cube with a flat roof for landing. But he led him not to the main entrance, but down to the basement.

"Well done, Gaspar. He is Golden after all. Of course he didn't believe my pathetic bravado... Now it's even too late to run away."

Gaspar descended the ladder into the cellar as if he were going to his execution, but what awaited him inside was not the grim lair of a psychopathic killer, or even the usual tangle of pipes, but...

• A ship's cabin!?

• Yeah! It's pretty cool, huh? I built it myself. We're going to play a role-playing game here. But not the kind of board game that nerds play, no, there's no formulae or dice.

Indeed: the steel collar, the heavy chain and the really scary looking whip suggested that this game had much simpler rules.

• I see...

• I think you get the idea. You see, the longer I thought about that fucking sadist, the more grateful I became. The pain made me stronger, you know? I need you to play the role of the boatswain and make me even stronger. Anyway, all you have to do is whip me. Brutally. It has to be very authentic, we're playing roles, but my experience has to be real. Otherwise it won't work. Got it?

• Why me? I don't think I'm cut out for this kind of game. Why don't you just pay somebody?

• Gaspar, Gaspar. No matter how much I pay, there's always someone who'll pay more. If this gets out, it'll be very bad for my branding. Believe me, this town plays dirty and secrets are a valuable currency. They'll demand that I throw the fights, or worse. And nobody here knows you, so they won't believe you. Besides, you won't blackmail me. You've got honesty written all over you.

As the dragon explained the nature of his request, he had already begun to put on the collar that was chained to the wooden wall. He was clearly eager to start the game. Despite the soft light of the dim lamps, the 'cabin' looked a bit fake. All the furnishings, including the boxes and wardrobe, were stylised. Except for the wooden bowl in the corner, which looked surprisingly real.

• Are you sure you want this?

• Oh, absolutely not, I'm just drowning in uncertainty. - The dragon said cheerfully and clicked on the collar. Then he opened one of the drawers and took out the protective gear for his wings that he used during the fights. - Come help me put this on, my wing-webbing are very delicate, you know. And then we'll put the tail on.

When they were finished, the dragon gave the final instructions.

• Once again, this must be as real as possible. Remember, I'm a black dragon, my body is as strong as my spirit, so whip me with all your might and don't you dare feel sorry for me. I'm counting on you. If there's a problem, I'll use a stop word. Mizzenmast. Is that clear? Then get dressed over there.

Gaspar didn't like this game, but he made a promise. Vursug helped him a lot and he'd be a swine to refuse. A deal is a deal. He obediently changed into an old-fashioned navy suit, took the long whip and stood at the safety line drawn in charcoal on the wooden floor.

• I'm ready.

• 1. 2. 1. Let's go!

Suddenly, the cheerful and cheeky expression on the dragon's muzzle changed dramatically. His gaze was now filled with hatred and fierce hostility. He gathered himself and crouched down slightly, as if preparing to leap. His stance was threatening and intimidating. Gaspar was terrified, this creature was very dangerous indeed. It was as if an aura of death had appeared around him, and all that kept him away was a chain of steel. Suddenly, a moment later, teeth snapped close to his face. Had it been any closer, he would have lost his head. The human jumped back in horror and stumbled backwards, covering himself with his hand. The chain was tight, and the dragon's teeth snapped furiously, his growl like that of a chain dog. Then he jerked the chain several times, as if testing it.

• Fucking human spawn! If it weren't for your cursed chain, I'd tear you to pieces! I hate you! I hate you all! Come here, you wretch! Get over the line, you cowardly piece of shit, and I'll show ya!

Gaspar struggled to his feet, leaning on the whip.

• Ahem ahem. How dare you speak to me like that, you abomination? You are my captive and I demand...

• Shut up! Shut your filthy mouth, you disgusting rat. You are a subhuman, under-kind, a kind of slaves, you were born to serve the dragonkind. Look at you! Small, weak...

This time, though, it was clear to Gaspar that Vursug was provoking him, trying to make him angry. But his heart ached with grief, he knew the dragons too well to see in his red eyes not contrived hatred, but heartache. Still, he swung the whip with all his might. The small iron ball at the end struck him on the back of the thigh. The dragon shrieked slightly and crouched down on his hind paw. Gaspar instinctively jerked forward, but the dragon snapped his jaws menacingly again.

• Coward! Wretch! Come any closer and you're dead!

A whoosh. A snap. This time the whip struck his forepaw. He clutched it, it shook.

• That's the only way you can do it! Whip a chained one! You have no honour! No dignity! What else can be expected from a mere human spawn?

Another blow. This time the whip struck him in the neck. The dragon roared loudly, his scream hoarse, guttural. Then he went mad and began to tear at the chain with his paws and scratch at the wooden floor with his talons. He was obviously in terrible pain.

Another blow. And another. And another. With each blow, with each pitiful cry, Gaspar got worse and worse, as if he were being beaten himself. He almost vomited. He saw this beautiful dragon writhing in terrible agony and he wanted to burst into tears.

"Why am I doing this? Why is he making me do this? Why is there so much pain?!"

Indeed, this kind and compassionate man who had adored dragons since childhood was being forced to brutally whip one. How ironic.

With another blow, the dragon hissed and collapsed onto his side. His whole body shook.

• Do you think you've broken me because my legs won't hold me up? Huh?! I'm only getting stronger! Come on, human scum! Do it again! I'll show you who the black dragons are! More!!! - He spat out the words in a shaky voice with each heavy breath.

The man threw the whip down on the floor in disgust.

"What on earth is happening now?! Despite Gaspar's word and the relentless demands, he refuses to whip Vursug any longer! But don't mistake this for stubbornness, and certainly not for surrender, no, he's concocted some kind of plan! Could it be an insanely risky psychological attack!? Yes! Unbelievably, he's attempting to save him from the depths of despair! Ladies and gentlemen, could this human's kindness and compassion, so scorned in this ruthless world, actually be of use to someone? Let's find out!!!"

While Vursug growled about his spirit, Gaspar changed into the sailor's clothes that were also in the wardrobe. There was no salted meat here, but he found a pack of dried meat chips in one of the boxes. The dragon hesitated half a word when he saw the human's new outfit and a filled bowl beside him. It was the very bowl he had taken from the ship and kept it all these years as a memory of HIM. It struck him harder than any whip, his narrow vertical eye pupils narrowed to the limit, a truly demonic rage began to boil within him.

"I've revealed my most precious memory to him, and he uses it to mock HIS memory!?! I'll break him! I'll kill him! I'll shove my claws into his chest and rip him in half! NO! STOP! You can't! You're gonna be in serious trouble! The stop word and kick him the fuck out. Never to see this human filth again!"

• Mizz...

But suddenly, through the red veil of rage in his eyes, he saw Gaspar's sincere face shining with kindness.

"He's not mocking you, he just wants to help you. Wants to 'pet' you." - said another inner voice quietly.

"His wrath reached a fever pitch, only to be abruptly shattered by a blinding insight that sent shivers down his spine! The sheer absurdity of the unthinkable revelation making him question the fabric of reality itself!"

He sat up with difficulty, picked up the bowl with a shaky forepaw and mechanically sent its contents into his maw.

"Goddess! What if all that Blue Clan's religious bullshit about soul reincarnation is true? Sure, he looks completely different and he doesn't remember anything, but..." - He thought, swallowing the dried meat chips.

"Look at him you dumb drake fuck. The sailor died of old age long ago, of course, but Gaspar is just as kind. And he wants to help you as well. His bowl. You even met in the same ship's cabin! What do you think that is, a coincidence? He was reborn!" - He wanted it to be true so badly that he was ready to believe anything. Even in a miracle. The inner voice of his tortured soul almost convinced him. And when Gaspar drew his head to his chest with his hands and began to stroke him gently, his inner voice went into a frenzy.

"It's him! It's definitely him! He was reborn!" - If dragons could cry, Vursug would have burst into tears from the emotions that overwhelmed him. He heard a whisper.

• Lie on your side, please.

He obediently lay down and the human sat down on the wooden floor, resting his head on his chest. He did not stop stroking his long, scaly head. After a minute he moved his hand to the spot on his neck where the whip had struck and whispered:

• It's okay, I'm here with you. Just tell me how you feel. You can trust me. I'll understand. - And then he leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. It was a kiss of weakness that finally broke the dam.

• It hurts. It hurts so much. I was so scared. I was so hungry. Nobody felt sorry for me. Everyone just forced me to be strong, but it's so hard. It's so hard for me. I wanted someone to pet me. But no one ever petted me like that again. I missed you, I missed you so much.

Everything mixed up in the dragon's head, past and present, acting and reality, pain and pleasure. But most importantly, he was patted on the head again, almost the same way, only even better.

• I understand you, I'm with you. Now I can be with you. I can make you feel good. I can show you that you can live without pain. I can show you that you don't always have to be strong. Let me take all this off you, you don't need it any more. - The man placed the dragon's head on the floor and stood up. He released his tail, unbuckled his collar and threw it away, then loosened the straps of the protective sheaths, took them off and threw them away as well. - Spread your wings, do you feel better, freer? Please lie down on your back and relax.

He couldn't spread his wings all wide, but he felt a relief. With difficulty, the dragon rolled onto his back. He had little understanding of what was happening to him, but his heart was pounding. The sound of Velcro. His toeless boots were being removed from his hind paws. Now the feeling of tightness in his paws was gone too. Gaspar went to his clothes and took a disposable wet wipe from his pocket and began to gently wipe his heels and toes, one by one. The dragon moaned and flexed his long clawed fingers.

• Shhhh. Relax.

After wiping his feet thoroughly, the human massaged his toes with his hands, spread them apart and took the webbing between them into his mouth. The dragon shuddered. His whole body burned, but through the pain came a very unusual and incredibly pleasant, slightly ticklish sensation. He loved the attention on his forepaws, but no one had ever done that to his hind paws. Gaspar stretched it with his lips alone and kissed the toes, remembering to massage the heel with one hand and hold it with the other. Then he let go of one webbing, but only to move on to the next. Vursug tried to relax and stay still so as not to hurt Gaspar's face with his claws. The bristles on his chin scratched his rough scales playfully, and the pleasurable sensations drowned out the pain more and more. His trained and battle-hardened body knew how to fight it. His experience was evident. But he had never been quick-witted, and so it was only now, at this very moment, that he suddenly realised that every time he felt bad or lonely, he did indeed remember the boatswain and his whip. But he was wrong, it wasn't the pain that hardened his spirit. He only remembered it so that he could later brighten his life with that brief touch of the kind man's hand. But he could never see it, his warrior's mindset just couldn't accept that it was weakness that gave him strength. Up until that moment. That epiphany was like a bolt of lightning illuminating the darkest night. Then he heard the thunder, another revelation. How much he wished the sailor would take him in the cloaca, as pleasurable as when he petted him. It was a desire so deep and suppressed that all this time he had been attracted to humans rather than his own kind. But now it was clear that it was not humankind he was attracted to, but a specific person. He knows his name now. Gaspar.

He arched his pelvis and looked pleadingly at the human. He had never pleaded for anything before, but for once he hoped the human would understand. Never had the heart of this black dragon been so defenselessly exposed. One awkward movement and it would close again, this time forever. But Gaspar had got it right. Gently, he released his hind paw, tossed the sailor's clothes to the floor and crawled to his horizontal vent. Without much thought he pulled the scales apart with both hands and dove into the pink, slightly throbbing lips of the male cloaca. He tried to stimulate it gently but firmly, to give the dragon as much pleasure as possible. He made a circular motion with his tongue and then slid it in. It tasted like washed skin, he could feel the slight tang of soap. His lips touched the lips of Vursug's cloaca, kissing them greedily and sucking them in, smacking loudly. The dragon moaned even louder, the stimulation of his tender cloaca was far more pleasurable than the stinging blows of the whip. He tried to arch his tail as hard as he could, eagerly offering his cloaca to the rhythmic stimulation.

"HE is licking me! He came back from beyond and now he's licking me!" - and even though his rational side still wasn't completely convinced, the news went through his entire nervous system like a hurricane.

"Blow me down, disregard the pain! Set course for pleasure! Release the phallus!" - His reptilian part of the brain barked orders like a seasoned sea captain utterly indifferent to the feeble doubts of his more evolved parts of mind.

The human felt the tip of the phallus pushing confidently at the walls of the cloaca, preparing to emerge. He put his lips under it so that he could take it in his mouth and go higher and higher with it. He continued to hold the cloaca with his hand, wanting to feel the two knots stretch it and come out. Finding the human mouth, the tip of the phallus groped it madly and pouring out a lot of sour pre, as if anticipating the long-awaited fulfilment of an erotic dream more than 100 years of ageing. It was like a shower hose that had got out of control. It coiled around his tongue, felt all his teeth and gums and didn't stop for a second. Gaspar especially liked the moment when the tip of his tongue met the hole of the phallus opening. He then squeezed it tightly with his lips and began to suck the pre out of it like a cocktail tube. Gaspar then released the protesting tip from his mouth and pulled his head away. Then he found the tight entrance to the cloaca under the knots with the head of his penis, lubricated it with pre and pushed it in, but this time he did it very gently and pleasantly for the Vursug. It ought to be kind and relaxing sex. His penis slowly slid along the pulsating, bumpy walls, trying not to cause the slightest discomfort. Dragon let out a long moan in a deep bass. He'd had sex thousands of times, including with multiple humans, but strangely enough Gaspar was his first. The first person he'd really let inside him. There was a note of pure joy in his low moan. In this moaning the human could hear... music. Somewhere in the distance, sailors were clapping their hands and stamping their feet. Someone was playing a harmonica. The scent of his draconian pheromones was particularly strong. The scent of the open sea, the resin of the of the wooden planks of which their ship was made, the aroma of expensive exotic spices from the cargo sacks, the rhythmic creaking, the sound of the waves, the cries of seagulls. He could even feel the rocking. The intoxicating masculine aroma of distant sea voyages. Without noticing, Gaspar began to sing an old sea shanty in the Draconian language while making thrusts to the beat.

What shall we do with a drunken dragon?

What shall we do with a drunken dragon?

What shall we do with a drunken dragon?

Earl-aye in the morning.

The dragon's heart nearly leaped out of his chest. He lifted his head and looked at the man in awe. What had been a desperate hope instantly became a fervent certainty.

"I swear I'll donate my next fee to those fucking Blue Clan fanatics. It's him!"

He continued the song with his deep bass:

• Roll him in the mud till he's filthy,

Toss him in the lake till he's chilly.

The man closed his eyes in delight, it was his turn:

• Smear his wings with honey and feathers,

Let him dry out in all weathers.

They sang the shanty lines one after the other. The pain was completely gone, now there was only the pleasure of intimacy, the feeling of joy and freedom, it was the happiest sex they had ever had. The man's penis moved rhythmically in and out of the tight cloaca, whose walls also pulsed to the beat. With each verse, with each thrust, the tension grew in both of them. Vursug closed his eyes as well, surrendering to the wonderful sensations. It was as if the dragon had travelled back in time and was on that ill-fated ship again, only now, with each thrust, with each wave of heat and pleasure, he wanted to sail on it more and more, he wanted to sail with Gaspar forever.

• Send him to the humans, dressed in tatters,

Laugh at his protestations, they don't matter.

• Stick him in the hollow of a tree trunk,

Cover him in soot so he looks like junk!

The dragon's phallus curved, the man grabbed the tip of it with his hand and it began to wrap around his fingers. They both groaned, ready to climax, but they sang the chorus in unison.

Way hay and up he stumbles

Teeth and scales and tiny rumbles,

Way hay and up he stumbles

Teeth and scales and tiny rumbles!

That's what we do with a drunken dragon!

Earl-aye in the moooorniiiing!!!

They came at the same time, the dragon in the human's hand and the human in the dragon's cloaca. They didn't have tremendous orgasms that sent them flying into other planes of existence, no, instead they had fun and joyful sex. The sex of old friends after a long time apart. Sex that makes you want to live. Sex that makes you feel like a different human. Or a dragon.

Pulling his weakening cock out of the cloaca, Gaspar walked over to the dragon's head, sat down and rested it on his bare legs.

• Yarr - the man said with a smile.

• Gaspar... You were right, that felt really good and it didn't hurt at all. Thank you. - Vursug paused for a moment - Just... Could you pet my head and neck again?

• You're such a big softy at heart. - The man laughed. If someone else had said something like that to Vursug, he would have broken every bone in his body. But the 'good human' Gaspar is allowed. Sometimes. Meanwhile, the human stroked the black dragon gently on his head and neck, tugging at his golden ring. Then he took him by his scaly cheeks and brought his mouth close to his face. - Vursug, can I do something I've always wanted to do to a dragon?

The dragon rumbled contentedly, thinking Gaspar wanted kisses, but the man brought one scaly nostril to his mouth, put his lips to it, then covered the other with his palm and began to blow like a balloon with an expression of absolute happiness. To say that the blackscaled was puzzled would be to say nothing.

"Humans. I'll never fully grasp them."

---

They enjoyed each other's company for about half an hour, until Gaspar recalled that he had a train to catch.

• I need to head to the station, I have a job in the morning.

The Black Dragon was instantly reminded of the heartbreaking sight of the lifeboat sailing off into the darkness of the night. He didn't even have a chance to wave farewell. He shook his head slightly, chasing the vision away. Like hell he'd let him sail away this time. Over his dead scaly body.

• Fuck your job! Oh... um... no, what I meant was, let's first go to my agent and discuss an enticing offer he have for you. And if you don't like it, I'll buy you a ticket for the express train. Deal?

The longer the old, grey-haired human agent, who had seen everything in this world, listened to our two lovebirds, the wider his smile became. Vursug's self-abuse had been bothering him for a long time, it could have a negative impact on his ward's future results in the Reservation Global Championship. So, after a short but productive conversation, he enlisted Gaspar as 'emotional support' for the team. The human didn't mind. Helping his black, handsome dragon friend, with whom he was already falling in love, to live among the dragons, and even get paid for it. A dream job. And he never really liked being a school curriculum assistant anyway. So he changed careers.

Of course, Gaspar hasn't conquered all his demons yet, but when the dragon began to dismantle the ship's cabin, it became clear that the bleeding wyrmlinghood wound in his soul was gone, he was able to heal it. Healing sexotherapy, who would have thought?

Soon, however, Vursug invited Gaspar to play a new kind of role-playing game. As it turned out, the cellar was now a mini-manege with a set of harmless riding crops. But surprisingly, in their version of this originally BDSM ponyplay practice, there was no pain, humiliation, domination or punishment. There was only bondage, very light though. No human being on the entire planet he would allow himself to be saddled with. But for a 'good human' Gaspar, he made an exception.

Vursug's pals from the Black Clan were surprisingly accommodating to the new emotional support team member, especially after he signed up for the gym. The muscular dragons found it hilarious to watch the scrawny frame of this kind and harmless human slowly bulk up. Yet, participating in a real, as opposed to an idealistic, dragon community gradually shattered his naive notions of tolerance and coexistence. Or perhaps it was just the massive testosterone hit from all the weight lifting? Who knows. The main thing is, he no longer has to haunt shady dives looking for a surrogate for love, since he's found the real deal. He always reveled in simple romantic tales of humans rescuing dragons in distress to win their love. And now he's saved his dragon, though not quite in the way he had dreamed.

• Hoy, human, enough daydreaming. Time for your third set at the bench!

---

In a dank cave, atop a mountain of gold, a black dragon slept peacefully. To keep his beloved yellow metal from being too cold, he'd rigged up a heater, powered by a wind turbine on the surface. The faint hum of wind and the steady drip of water echoed inside. He couldn't care less about wealth or money, he just liked gold. It was his little guilty pleasure.

A born fighter, a true warrior, a genuine martial arts master, he was nonetheless a complete amateur in mining. Oblivious to the fact that the illicit mine was constructed with flagrant disregard for every conceivable and inconceivable safety regulation, the sight of rotten wooden beams and rusted steel supports didn't particularly worry him.

However, like any seasoned pirate, he trusted his instincts. So when an unusual rumble pierced through his sleep, he was already sprinting towards the exit. The rumble grew louder, and he could hear the grinding and crashing of falling rocks. Left, right, up, right again. He burst out of the entrance and, without losing momentum, leapt into the air, furiously flapping his wings to ascend.

The rumble ceased as abruptly as it had begun.

"Damn it! Maybe I can still dig out my treasure, huh?"

In the black heart of the not-yet-fully-awake dragon, a flicker of hope remained. Suddenly, he watched in horror as a small rockslide turned into a full-blown avalanche, burying the entrance to his mine forever. Even his wind turbine was taken out. The dragon didn't even have the strength to scream. Ten minutes ago, he'd been sleeping on his own mountain of gold, now he was a pauper. All that was left was his favorite golden ring in his ear-webbing.

"I need to eat." - The dragon muttered, turning towards the hills, scanning for a mountain goat. Never before in his life had he wanted so badly to kill something.