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A Commission

Dragonlayer

--

Trent had not planned for this.

The apprentice sorcerer had set off from his master's house that morning to slay the dragon in the next valley once and for all. Now the forest clearing was in flames, the air was full of smoke, and the air thrummed with the heat of the dragon's fire. Ash tinted the inexperienced canine's fur from its usual green and white. He looked left and right, and yelped at a flash of red and yellow on his tail. Only after rolling around on the ground did the obvious occur to him: that was his tail. His panic had distracted him from his natural coloring.

He growled in frustration. Just like him.

A shadow passed over the would-be hero. The flames around him shrank back and guttered out, laid low by the beating of enormous wings. Trent gulped as the dragon swooped in to finish him. She was fire and heat and sharpness packed into an enormous hunk of muscle and scales that had easily shrugged off Trent's spells and weapons.

There was only the defensive option left. Trent planted his staff on the ground between his paws. A dim green shield flickered into being around him, and he held his breath as the dragon drew nearer.

The weak shield shattered on contact. Trent's breath was knocked out of him as the dragon bore him to the ground with meteoric force. His staff flew off to one side in two pieces. The canine let out a yelp as he was driven into the dirt, cutting a furrow halfway across the clearing as the dragon came to a halt.

Trent was at the dragon's mercy. His eyes darted about in panic, blazed with embarrassment as he prayed for the creature to finish him. The dragon's great scaly head filled Trent's vision as she leaned in and sniffed him. His whiskers twitched at her hot, smoky breath.

"Get on with it, why don't you? Aren't you hungry?" Trent hissed. The dragon might as well, right? What good was an apprentice who went and got himself killed?

If the dragon was hungry, she wasn't showing it. She sniffed him deeper, poking at Trent's chest, under his arms, nosing curiously at his whiskers.

It was a long enough process that Trent was confused. What did she want with his whiskers? Did she notice that they came from some distant draconic ancestor? What difference would it make?

The dragon's lips peeled back, revealing teeth the size of Trent's forearms. The apprentice squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the dragon lift herself, as he waited for the descent, for the end that smile surely embodied.

It didn't come - at least, not in the form of ripping, tearing sensation at Trent's neck. The dragon's smoky breath faded from Trent's nose, to be replaced by something acrid and cloying.

The scent was pressing down on Trent, but it wasn't killing him. He flattened his ears suspiciously and opened one eye to see what was going on.

The dragon had turned herself around. His arms were pinned against his sides by her back legs, which were bending... lowering her rump closer to his face. He could see her armored sex, slick and dripping; just above it, the fleshy ring of a dragon's asshole.

When he thought of parts of a dragon none had seen and survived, this definitely wasn't what he had in mind.

The musk of the dragon's taint filled Trent's snout, a physical presence as imposing as the creature herself. Trent shook his head, clenched his teeth, and twisted from side to side - fruitless, weak, but any effort to keep the dragon from sitting on his face was worth it.

As luck would have it, the dragon threaded the needle precisely onto Trent's snout. The earthy scent of the draconic pucker shoved itself into his nostrils, and dove down his throat, gagging him with the sheer wall of musk. Trent made a muffled mmmph sound as the dragon's anus pulsed around him, gripping his muzzle as she settled herself down on the makeshift canine butt plug.

The beast growled in approval, loosening her back legs slightly. An opening! Trent pressed his arms outward... only for the dragon to lock him in place again with a warning snort.

_ _

Sweat was matting Trent's fur now, from the heat the dragon's body radiated; from the desperate, shallow breaths he was taking to avoid huffing deep from the draconic butthole; from the thought that she could sit all the way down and grind him into dust between scales and dirt.

There seemed to be only one way out, and Trent hated it - but it was his only shot at maybe surviving.

Gingerly, as if digging out a tenacious splinter, Trent poked out his tongue. Pushing it into the dragon's musk was like lapping at a pool of lukewarm water, but he pressed on, finding the soft flesh inside the dragon's mighty pucker.

Trent suppressed a gag at the thick, spicy taste of the dragon's ass, but the soft skin vibrated as the dragon gave a purr like distant thunder. Clearly, he was on the right track. Experimentally, he flattened his tongue against the dragon's inside, properly licking at the draconic ring. The dragon's purring grew louder, and deeper, tickling Trent's snout with its vibrations. Quite without thinking, he pressed it against the inside of the dragon's asshole to alleviate the concomitant itch in his fur.

The taste coated Trent's tongue like hot wax, the scent made him tear up, and yet he found he was growing used to the heat and the weight between the dragon's cheeks. It was keeping him from being crushed, in any event. Her bulk settled relatively comfortably on top of him, cracking out every knot and ache as she flattened him against the earth, and her gentle rocking was like a continuous massage as she responded to Trent's lapping at her hole.

After time out of mind, she lifted herself, and Trent took a gasp of suddenly fresh air.

No sooner had it filled his lungs than his muzzle was enveloped by the dragon's asshole once more, fitting comfortably in her small hole. As she started to move, fucking herself up and down on his snout, Trent realized he'd only begun to pay the price for his impudence.