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In the city of Altrea it was impossible not to know the woman whole ruled over it. Her Majesty's name was on the lips of those who gossiped and traveled. Her profile was stamped onto the coins the people paid with. On the highest hill where the city swelled into the air, Her bronze likeness stood upon a pillar, finger pointed, apocryphal wings spread. A mosaic of the grandest size sat on the floor of the city square where the people walked. There was Her image, standing in a golden toga with a single claw resting on a marble column. Each tile was painted and shined to replicate the fiery beauty of Her ruby red scales. Large as the square was, nobody walked across Her. They didn't dare defile Her image, either out of reverence, fear, or both.

Every citizen knew to thank Her for the life they lived, to count each day's blessing as a gift from their Empress. Every meal, every coin earned, everyday woken to was entirely Hers to credit. She was worshiped and feared appropriately. Chosen by the God of gods to rule, criticism of Her was the most vile sacrilege, one that would be duly punished by Her governors if heard for only a single syllable. The great majority of Her people were happy, so they had no reason. The very few who weren't kept their mouths shut. There was a saying in the city, and across the Empire: "Any woe is merely your own. Her Magnificence has no business in it, and if She does, you've brought it on yourself." So the people worked hard, both for themselves, their families, and the woman they could thank for having those things.

The Empress lived in a marble palace far removed from the drum of the city's heart. Large and extravagant as it was, many people who lived there failed to know where it was or even that it existed. They knew for sure She lived somewhere nice, but what it looked like was purely their imagination. The most loyal said She was wherever Her Empire needed her. She certainly was, but more often than not that was Her palace where She could think and make decisions in peace.

The city itself reflected the opulence She herself afforded through conquest and diplomacy. The most important buildings were large structures of marble crafted by the cleverest engineers and most imaginative architects, distinguished by their angular facades and lofty columns. The roads were paved with cobble. A highway of aqueducts woven through the streets ensured drinking water for everyone. The baths were enormous and the theaters grand. Her Brilliance was a patron of the arts. She rewarded the most creative and adored efficiency. Those who couldn't meet Her standards were rejected. Nobody who posed the slightest danger to the efficacy of Her realm would not be tolerated. Everyone who worked for Her, no matter the capacity, learned that very quickly.

Most importantly, though, Her Omnipitence's empire was safe. The beginning years of Her reign were rife with turmoil and anarchy. She quelled such unrest through every means at Her disposal: diplomacy, negotiation, payment, and bloodshed. Altrea's many enemies took advantage of what they thought was a young woman too inexperienced to control Her new lands. They learned, in the swiftest and most violent series of wars that continent had seen, that they were very, very wrong. The men who sought to control Her homeland had their own devoured and annexed. The only mercy was that they did not see it happen, because they were all dead. Altrea, once a bankrupt city-state unable to stifle its own hemorrhaging, became the largest, most powerful, most influential empire in less than a decade due to the shrewd, cunning, and ruthless decisions and actions of her ruler.

Queen Corunda of House Silicaea, Empress of Altrea, the dragoness who was responsible for all of these successes and luxuries, lived knowing Her accomplishments would cement Her in history as one of the greatest people to ever live. Nobody in the world could prevent that, nobody could convince Her otherwise, and nobody had the gall to try and change that, lest they suffer most promptly because of it. Still, Corunda sought more. The blasphemous idea that She had still not done enough intruded into Her mind many nights. Gazing over the horizon broken apart by the outline of Her city, She could not help but ponder on what She could do to better the lives of those who lived in it. Often as She tried, as hard as she worked, nothing could satisfy Her.

It was one man's job to do that.

The Queen's touchman was one of the most revered positions short of the Queen Herself. He had no duty leading anybody, he gave nobody orders, and hardly anything he did or said affected what went on in the realm. He did, however, serve Her Brilliance's bodily needs and desires to the finest detail of Her whims, and that was no small calling. The Queen was a woman of specific tastes and sexual preference. Her standards were high, requiring the utmost mental focus and effort to meet them. The physique and endowment of a man pleasing Her hardly mattered, but what he did with it had to be immaculate.

Regardless of how good The Queen wanted Her Touchman to look, only the cream of men were chosen and scrutinized. Inspections were rigorous, performed by Her Majesty's most astute physicians. Tall men were preferred, their shoulders had to be broad. Those who worked hard to keep their physiques in shape were among the first picks. The lazy were weeded out. They were all virgins, uninitiated to a woman's touch. The Queen liked them to be pure so that their reactions to Her were genuine. It helped if their sex organs were large, but that was among the lowest priorities. The Queen did like strong glutes, however. Candidates usually hailed from the sons of wealthy landowners who wanted to graft their influence into the palace, minor as it was. There was a great level of pride in being the parent of a touchman. Like a warrior's brave accomplishments on the field of battle, it was a tremendous honor to make The Queen cum.

The title was special and respected, but it carried with it a burden of responsibility equal to its prestige. Failing to please Her Wisdom was a disgrace to the touchman's manhood. More than one crumpled under the pressure, besmirching their identity of being a man and capable of anything worthy. Every candidate felt the pressure. Not being chosen was a disappointment, but simultaneously a great relief. They no longer had to worry about choking, something that would've been an even more devastating event.

Jeremiah was not so fortunate. The inspection of recruits had finished after an arduous 3 weeks, and he had been chosen. A gray wolf, he fit the mold of what The Queen expected of her Touchmen. He was tall at six feet, four inches. His fur was a dense gray, uniform across his entire body. He had a strong, if young, face with a pair of steely-blue eyes that exuded a friendliness unlike his intimidating stature. He was athletic. His skin was strung taut around wiry muscle run through with veins on his lithe forearms. His trunk was devout to a plan of rigid abs and squared pecs. His paws were big and his fingers were long, something that helped him during the selection process. The Queen liked to be touched.

He was allowed time to celebrate with his family before he was due at the palace. It was a bittersweet event rife with laughter and tears like some graduation of sorts. Jeremiah was to become a man in the luckiest and most prestigious fashion, but at the cost of him leaving his house for however long he was needed. The average time She held onto a single Touchman was four years. If Jeremiah did well, he could expect to serve that long and then some. He hoped he had the skills to do so, but him being a virgin meant he would not know until the moment of truth.

He moved to the palace a few nights before he was scheduled to meet The Queen. He was given his own quarters, introduced to the head masters of the servants, and given a brief tour of the place. He was struck by how massive it was, a virtual maze of brilliantly decorated hallways whose ceilings looked as high as the sky itself. Banners with House Silicaea's Coat of Arms were hung everywhere. A rearing black dragon breathing flames on a brilliant red background was an image Jeremiah grew familiar with as he wandered those halls. Images of Queen Corunda's most epic battles were painted along the ceiling in a tapestry. Her lineage, going back centuries, was immortalized in a series of marble busts.

His tour guide was an elderly feline named Mernin. Though his whiskers were drooped and his fur wiry, he walked upright with the confidence of a man who'd familiarized those halls like the back of his paw. His fur was mostly white with the occasional dash of black. He wore a long, airy brown robe that drifted around him as he walked. The tip of his cat tail poked out behind him. His voice was rugged and crackled from the many decades in which he used it, yet his volume remained level and his tone unshaken. "You'll have these halls memorized soon should Her Magnificence travel them as often as She usually does," he told Jeremiah as they walked down the Hall of Mirrors. Jeremiah was transfixed on the dozens of copies of himself he saw walking around him. Between each flawless panel as an elaborate gold plated column, further increasing the brilliance of that decadent hallway. He was more modestly dressed than Mernin in a simple brown tunic, one designed for easy removal in case of any spontaneous desires from Her Highness. "You may not follow Her everywhere, but you will be called to certain locations at any time. You should know where to go when that time comes."

"Does She, um... usually call the touchman in these rooms?" Jeremiah asked. He wasn't quite comfortable with having sex in an area so open.

"Seldomly, but She has done it. You may have an audience on some occasions. Her Beauty likes to show Her prowess in front of guests."

"I see... Great."

Mernin smiled, sensing his hesitation. "She won't mistreat you, rest assured. Her Magnificence merely likes to show off. Your height and build will impress anyone She shows you too. I'm confident you'll receive nothing but compliments based on that and whatever She makes you do to Her."

Jeremiah could only hope. "Are there any other former Touchman here that I can meet? What happens after they retire?"

"They usually return home or become a headmaster here. It's never anything personal when Her Grace retires a Touchman. She likes variety. The flesh of a man becomes old to Her after a few years. As for a former touchman, you're talking to one, the first, in fact."

Jeremiah's brows lifted. "Really? What was it like?"

Mernin shrugged. "The same as I've described. I've seen so many come and go between my retirement and now. I've seen some flourish, I've seen some fail. Her Majesty claims not to have favorites, but I know that's a lie. There are men more fit than others to please Her Mightiness. She makes that clear by how long they last in her employ. I was there for 5 years. The longest was a kobold fellow who lasted 13. You're his replacement."

Jeremiah tensed. A 13-year veteran was going to be tough to replace. "What happens to the failures?"

"Nothing severe, have no worries, but the shame is often too much to bear. A few have fallen on their own sword, others exile themselves. Once they're gone, we never see them again." He read Jeremiah's growing anxiety. "But there are far more successes than failures. You're the perfect specimen and you seem kind. Act as you have been trained. Do as you are told when you are told to do it. I've already described you to Her. She liked what She heard. I'm more than willing to bet that you will do just fine."

So Jeremiah had been told for the past several days, but hardly anything he or anyone told him did much to alleviate the stress. Like any good Altean citizen he had worshiped Her Majesty for as long as he lived, placing Her on a tier of love and respect equal to, if not surpassing, his own parents. Failing Her, no matter how unlikely, was a possibility he dreaded worse than death. He did not blame the men who ended their own lives after being rejected. He could hardly imagine what living with such mortification would be like. He envisioned himself on his knees in an empty closet, naked to the waist, with a short sword aimed towards his gut.

Such thoughts he brushed away with a frantic shake of his head. It wasn't going to help him, nor Her Majesty. He had to relax and trust that the inspectors had made the right choice in him. Still, he could not stop a simple question from niggling its way out of his subconscious. How sharp does a blade have to be to pierce the stomach?

* * *

The morning came when Jeremiah was to meet The Queen. He was awoken early, before the sun had risen. Her Grace wanted to spend the entire day with him and learn more about him. He would meet Her in the throne room. From there, She would have Her way with him. He went through a brisk cleaning and inspection to make sure everything was immaculate. His fur was brushed, his claws were trimmed, and his tunic was pressed. He didn't think that last measure was necessary, given that he wouldn't be wearing it for very long.

Mernin walked him to the throne room's entrance. A towering pair of double doors made of heavy, dark brown wood stood at the end of the hallway. The handle rings were cast iron and big enough for Jeremiah to fit his head through. The morning sunlight casted slanted beams of gold through the windows, looking like a thin haze. Two guards stood by them, kobolds, tall and strong, decked from head to toe in mirroresque armor. They each carried a halberd much taller than themselves. They were totally motionless, but Jeremiah did not doubt the potential for violence that rested within each of them.

"She's in there, waiting for you," Mernin told him, sounding nervous himself. It was his duty to keep The Queen happy too. He was riding on Jeremiah's success. They came to a stop in front of the doors. "Do as you're told. Tell Her what She wants to hear. If She tells you that She doesn't like what you're doing, stop it. Ask Her how to improve or if She'd prefer something else. Do NOT hesitate to ask questions."

"I know, I know."

"Good, good. Let me look at you." Mernin grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face him. He grabbed Jeremiah's jaw and gave his face a look over. He patted his shoulders and straightened out his tunic. "There, you look fine, I suppose."

"I wouldn't fret over this tunic. I don't think I'll be wearing it for very long," Jeremiah joked to ease the tension.

Mernin didn't laugh. "No, you won't." He took a deep breath. "Alright, off you go, then." He motioned to the guards. Their metal boots clacked loudly against the marble floor as they did a synchronized turn towards the door. They grabbed the handles and pulled. Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhh went those mighty doors as they opened. There was the throne room, a hall bedazzled in so much sunlight that Jeremiah could hardly see into it. Mernin hurried him inside with a quick gesture, and he stepped inside. The doors closed with a giant whoom!

The doors' echo faded, and Jeremiah was left in silence. The throne room was long from its entrance to that hallowed seat. A single red carpet ran from the doors to the stairs leading up to the throne. The columns flanking the carpet were gold plated, matching and magnifying the constant pour of sunlight from the arched windows to Jeremiah's left. The throne was like a giant block of marble, simply designed but massive in scale. The stairs leading up to it were shrouded in what looked like solid gold that had been melted and then poured over it. That continued up to the throne itself where Her Magnificence sat.

She sat quietly, with a smile on Her face, or so Jeremiah thought. He couldn't quite tell through the fog of sunlight. He saw Her red head standing out from the top of her dress which flowed down the throne to the floor like a luxurious waterfall. Her dress was the same color as the steps, one flowing seamlessly into the other. It was as though She was physically and spiritually connected to the palace, and by connection, Her empire. Everything that happened within it did not do so without Her bidding or knowledge. She and Her realm were one.

She lifted her hand up and beckoned him forward with a single inward flick of her middle finger. He could see from where he stood how black her claws were. "Come here," She called out. Her voice was calm, smooth, and surprisingly deep. It was the kind that commanded and received respect, no matter the person wielding it.

Jeremiah gulped. "Yes, Your Highness." He walked forward briskly, passing through a trio of sunbeams until finally standing at the foot of the stairs where She held her palm out to make him stop. He could see Her clearly now. Her frame, though concealed by Her dress, was broad. In stark comparison to those golden threads were Her blisteringly hot red scales that shone just as proudly as the gold around Her. The dress covered up to midchest where Her enormous bosom hung from Her courageously. Her cleavage, apart from its blinding red shade, looked soft and welcoming. Her shoulders were wide but Her neck was thin. She had a long snout. The crown of Her head erupted in a dazzling forest of short horns and scaly protrusions, each one a shade of red slightly darker than the rest of her body. A diamond headpiece hung around Her forehead. Her arms, laid out on the throne's armrests, were large and bulging with muscle. Her fingers were long, tipped by what looked like razor sharp daggers of obsidian. Jeremiah met Her eyes for the first time. Her irises were an amazing white, almost like pearls. They would've blended in with her scleras if they weren't even brighter. The pupils at their center looked all the more black because of them.

She smiled at him, yet he still withered in Her presence. Those immaculate claws could open him with ease. Her arms were stronger than any man's. The intimidating pierce of Her gaze reflected the fierce intelligence and wisdom She had used and honed throughout Her reign. All She did was sit there, yet nobody could do it so threateningly.

"Jeremiah is your name, yes?" She asked. Her voice seemed not only to come from Her mouth but also from the atmosphere itself.

He nodded. "Yes, Your Brilliance. I come from House Schestor."

"So I've been told." Her eyes fell down to his bare feet, then back to his face. Her gaze felt like a scalpel running down his body, slicing him open. "You look suitable. I think you'll do fine here. Mernin chose well, methinks."

"Yes, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace. I'll do everything within my power to make sure You're happy and content, no matter the cost."

Her smile deepened, narrowing Her eyes. "So they all say." She stood up, dragging the bell of Her dress up and off the golden steps, severing the illusion of connection. Jeremiah realized how tall She was, something he had heard about many times but had never gotten to truly appreciate until now. She was several heads taller than him and larger across every other metric. She came down the steps, gold dress wafting around Her legs like a thin curtain in a breeze.

Jeremiah's heartbeat escalated and his nostrils flared. She reached the floor, coming within a few feet of him. Her mere proximity made his fur stand on ends. She stood directly in front of him, once again looking him up and down. She walked a circle around him, scanning every inch. He remained still, looking straight ahead, listening to the soft tap of Her footsteps.

She came back around, nodding. "Yes, you'll do fine indeed. Tell me, Jeremiah, what have you heard about Me?"

He frowned. That was a vague question. "I've heard so much about You, Your Beauty. I would not know where to start when describing Your history or character."

"Fair. How about my reign?" She crossed Her arms in front of Her bosom. "What do they teach you in schools? What legends have you heard?"

That was better. "Her Excellence came to the throne young, at a time of war, upon Her father's betrayal and assassination. She coerced the loyalty of Her remaining Generals and struck back at Her father's murderers, vanquishing them all in just one fell swoop. Her genius on the field of battle was nothing those treacherous scum were prepared to match. The dread foreigners, now benefactors to Her Mercifulness's bosom, were also defeated and subdued. Her Majesty's realm has since been a land of plenty and peace. May Her name be exalted for the rest of eternity for it." He prayed to the gods that he said that well enough.

Thankfully, she was nodding along. "Of course, it's a far more complicated matter than that, but I wouldn't expect everyone to know. Well done."

He smiled. Relief burst across his chest. "Thank you, Your Beauty."

"Speaking of..." She turned her head to the side quizzically. "What have you heard about my looks? How do they treat my visage?"

"Most reverently, Your Splendor. The people of this nation are blessed to see Your face on our coins and upon the square where we dare not tread Your image lest we defile it. Tales of Your beauty abound, but I fear they fall woefully short of the truth. Your fairness is something I could not have predicted nor imagined. The gods worked their longest and hardest crafting your image and body. Your face is flawless, your eyes finer than marble. I tremble to think I may see You in Your nature. Though Your dress is pretty, I curse it for hiding the infinite beauty that must be Your form."

She stared at him blankly, leaving him unsure of what she thought. "You have a way with words, wolf. I would've thought you a poet or a storyteller. Tell me the truth, did you think of that before today, or did you make it on the spot?"

He knew better than to lie. "I've practiced that for a while now. I hope it impressed Your Intelligence."

"It did, but forgive Me if it is not your creative speech I'm after."

He figured as much. "I shall, Your Highness."

She nodded. "Undress for Me. Show Me your body, and perhaps I'll show you Mine."

"Yes, Your Highness." With one quick jerk of a string, he loosened his tunic. The back split apart as easily as a hospital gown, letting him shrug it off and down his arms to the floor. Just like that, he was totally bare, in front of Her Majesty, the most powerful person in the world. She eyed him up and down again, focusing much of Her scrutiny around his loins where his scrotum hung heavily. It was a solid pouch of flesh covered in soft, gray fur. It bulged around the two orbs it carried and was topped off by the nub of his sheath, already sprouting a very small bit of pink. The brush of the throne room air against his bare skin made his muscles twitch and his scrotum shrivel, yet he still remained proud in both posture and build.

The Queen reached out and gently cupped his balls with one hand. He tensed along his spine; his penis retracted fully into his sheath. He was suddenly quite aware of how sharp Her claws were. One nick would have his balls spilling to the floor. He remained perfectly still and trusted Her not to make any quick and unfortunate movements. She didn't, and instead gave his testes an investigative lift and drop. She fondled them and rolled them around in Her palm. His nipples stiffened and the tip of his penis made a return. She smirked. "You like My touch, don't you?"

He felt heat rising to his cheeks. "Most definitely, Your Deftness. I feel the arousal building inside me every moment you touch me." He gave a heavy exhale. He looked down and saw his penis creeping out of him. Its blood red skin shone in the sunlight. "My manhood has no choice but to express its appreciation."

"I see~" Her hand drifted up to his cock and grasped it carefully. He winced, feeling the first bite of pleasure. His cock slid out upon Her request, lengthening into the hollow of Her hand. "And what else might your manhood do for Me? It's never felt the embrace of a woman's cunt, has it? How do you know what it's capable of?"

He breathed in through his nose and out of his mouth. He recited words forwards and backwards in his head. Strength. S-T-R-E-N-G-T-H, H-T-G-N-E-R-T-S. "My manhood is Yours, and Yours entirely. I will make it do whatever you ask it to. I fear I've never shared a bed with a woman and felt her touch..." He gulped. "But to experience Yours as my first is an honor most inconceivable. I am extremely fortunate as well as humbled. Mmf." She began stroking him, brushing the bottom of Her fingers along the underside of his cock, now fully erect and jutting proudly. Her touch was soft and even. Her fingers glided back and forth at a cadence slow and confident. Her scales were soft. He felt himself throb against Her. "I know not what I'm capable of, but I will do anything and everything to prove myself worthy. Ahh..."

"I know you will." She let go of him. He collected himself. All She had done was stroke his penis, yet already he felt the threat of climaxing too early. Relax, relax, relax. R-E-L-A-X, X-A-L-E-R. "So few men have had the honor of lying with Me. Many would kill for the opportunity that you have. What makes you more worthy than them?"

He remained honest. "I cannot tell you, Your Courage. I am a humble gray wolf sent to please Her Majesty the best way he can. I cannot explain what brought me here better than the people who sent me. I trust their wisdom in selecting me. My every waking moment will be to make sure they did not make a mistake."

She liked the sound of that. "Then I would suspect they did not." She turned around and climbed the steps back up to Her throne. He noticed for the first time her long, dragon tail poking out from a hole in Her dress. It was thick from base to tip. A ridge of thin, black spines ran its entire length and continued up Her back. She turned around and sat, reattaching Herself to Her empire. She waved him over. "Come." He hustled up the stairs, penis bouncing, and stood before Her at the foot of the throne. His eyes, and cock, both looked at Her, ready for the next order. She chuckled. "You're quite the eager one."

His tail wagged once, then stopped. "I cannot help myself, Your Beauty."

"Have no shame. I love to see My subjects happy. It's why I put so much effort into ruling. Everything I do is for the people who live within My borders."

"You are most kind."

"Yes, and you are most sweet. Few touchman possess the honeyed words you do. I am most flattered to have you here."

Dimples appeared on Jeremiah's cheeks as his smile broadened. His tail stirred behind him. "I am very glad and honored to hear You say that, Your Kindness."

"It's the truth, and to come from a man so pleasant to behold makes it all the better. You're very handsome. I don't see myself replacing you until a long time from now."

His tail was wagging in full. His face had gone red while his smile turned goofy. "You do me too much service, Your Grace."

She smiled triumphantly as She watched his tail fling into a blur. "Nonsense. Like I said, I love making My people happy. I provide for them by every means and would lay My life on the line for their safety and wellbeing."

He grew serious and faded his wagging. "Of course, Your Highness. I would expect no less. The people acknowledge and appreciate Your infinite mercy and skillful leadership."

"Do they?" She looked out one of the windows. "I consider these people My children, yet many do not see it that way. They harbor grudges against Me. They remember all too well the wars of the past, regardless that it was their own leaders who brought it to Me first. Many aristocrats regret the failure to establish their own influence over Me or My father. Many believe they could've done better in My position, or that I could've done more to enrich them."

Jeremiah kept quiet. He was utterly inept and clueless about such matters. He doubted there was anything to soothe Her anxieties. But he would try. "Then that is their issue, not Yours," he told her. "It was not Your fault those wars came to you, neither is it your fault that this position was thrust upon you. You've done far better than any other person possibly could have. The circumstances were impossible to overcome, yet here You are on the throne of an Empire that's all the better for it. I loathe to think of a world without You being in it."

She remained silent throughout his speech, listening closely and hanging on every word. She looked off into the distance once he finished. He doubted what he said alleviated Her, or that it was anything She hadn't heard already. Regardless, he spoke the truth and prayed She knew that. She did, apparent by the minute smile that cratered the corners of Her lips ever so subtly. Jeremiah's heart flourished. Much like his Queen did for him, he found joy in seeing Her happy.

"I'm glad to hear it. You speak from the heart, young wolf. I sense no bending of words to appease Me. Too many men, touchman or not, think they can garner My favor by telling Me strictly what I want to hear. Those are the men I reject. I did not save this city and forge an empire by ignoring the many misfortunes along the way. Nothing disgusts Me more than a bootlicker, something I deduce you are not."

Jeremiah's tail started wagging again. "It brings me great satisfaction to hear You say that, Your Wisdom. I shall never tell You anything but what my heart tells me to."

The Queen grinned. "We'll see about that." She sat upright, jutting Her chest out. "As I said, I consider the people living throughout My empire as My own children. There is very little I would not provide or sacrifice for them."

"Of course, Your Generosity."

"Indeed, I am their mother. Perhaps not by blood, but certainly by benefactor."

"There is no comparison, my Matriarch."

"No," She said, and slid the dress's shoulder straps down Her arms. "There is not." She hooked a single claw into the dress, right into Her cleavage, and pulled down. It was a physical impossibility for Jeremiah, or any man, not to react. His gaze was sucked into Her bosom like an inescapable vortex. His chest rose with a single, deep inhale. His penis swelled as another rush of blood ran into it. Her breasts were mighty, fitting for the woman who carried them. Hanging from Her chest audaciously and unashamed, they had a presence of their own that demanded the admiration of any audience. Admire them he did, entranced not only by their extreme immensity but their bountiful curvature as well. They were segmented horizontally by her belly scales. At their centers were pitch black nipples, already perked and ready for attention. Their burning red color shone in the light.

Jeremiah had to breathe through his maw. He couldn't stop staring. Every attempt to look his Queen in the eye was quickly interrupted by a journey back down to Her chest. Her black nipples stood in sharp contrast to Her blood red scales. The flesh of Her bosom looked wistfully soft as well as unforgivingly heavy. He wasn't sure what was more impressive: Her breasts, or the fact that She was able to carry so effortlessly.