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[Editor's note: Thus proceeds the second part of the account of the former seaman, Mister Giaco Bernat of Port Nou, Laonetia. As before, it contains explicit descriptions not appropriate for children or dragonets. If the reader is a human under the age of eighteen, or a dragon under the age of thirty-five, he is obliged to cease reading immediately.]

About a week after my firing, I found myself on the main wharf of a port town I'd never heard of, a tumor on the arse end of the Republic's archipelago. I'd heard the locals call the place 'Port Nou', or something equally unimaginative. True to his word, Natcytaryx had convinced the Captain to dump me there, all eight-hundred and fifty ducats of the severed contract in my pocket. And lest the reader think this generous of him, I should clarify that this was effectively a delayed death sentence.

I wandered, wobbly-footed, from the harbor, trying to hide the clinking in my tattered frock coat. I soon found myself on the wide, dragon-sized main street of the town. My eyes darted between butcher shops, taverns, dragon bordellos, and other, unknown establishments denoted by squiggly writing.

What would I do now?

Cold despair crested over me and stung like the high seas of February. I had no skills other than sailing, no education, no family, and knew not a single soul this side of the world. I was somewhere between thirty-five and thirty-eight years old.

My life was effectively over. I was a tramp with a sack of coins, and nothing more. Surplus human refuse. As soon as I ran out of the money I had, I was going to starve. I doubted even the Navy would take me back, not at my age, especially given the thin line between it and the merchant fleets. I supposed I could find some dumb landlubber work on the docks, unloading ships or carrying cargo. That might be just enough to afford a rope to hang over in the 'spike'. [Editor's note: Mister Bernat is referring to the austere accommodations available in Laonetian tramp-shelters, where beggars sleep by draping themselves over a suspended rope. They are awakened when it is cut in the morning.]

No. I'd never do dockyard work. I was a sailor. I would never stoop so low.

I must have said some of that out loud, because a few passers-by swerved to hug the stucco wall on the other side of the street.

Enraged, I slapped a mosquito that had managed to stab right through my ragged headcloth. The thought of my former shipmates passing the harbor and seeing a seadog like me reduced to such humiliation was too much to bear. I wouldn't do it. I couldn't. Besides, it wasn't like I had anyone to provide for. If I dropped dead of typhus on the spot, the only person in the entire world who'd be bothered would be Port Nou's corpse-cart dragon, who'd be burdened with the mild annoyance of having to make an extra trek out to the paupers' pit.

“Out of the way, roughfoot!" A drake's gravelly voice cut me like a sabre.

Muddy water slapped onto my coat as I sidestepped. A copper tailspade swished past my head. Neither the dragon nor the man on his back gave me a second look as they passed.

I shook out my drenched apparel, and did some mental arithmetic. I figured that with the money I had, I could afford enough rum to remain in a state of unceasing oblivion for the next month straight. Maybe longer if I bought the cheap stuff. And if I didn't wake up at the end of it? Well, I wouldn't mind so much. Actually, that would be for the best.

I spied a wooden sign carved into the likeness of a tankard, some hundred yards down the street, and set about shuffling towards it, ignoring the stares I got from respectable onlookers. I hadn't even made it half-way when a curious spectacle caught my attention.

Outside of one of the storefronts, a small crowd had gathered. At the wide doorway, controlling entry to the two-story structure, stood a mustached man in a crisp, frilled shirt and feathered hat. Beside him was a bronze-scaled drake, clad in a well-stitched garment, a silver collar on his neck. The dragon growled, dispersing a gaggle of young lads who had accumulated at the threshold. Several of them cursed in disappointed tones as they scattered.

My curiosity piqued by the excited chatter, I crossed the street and drew closer.

“Mmmhem. Do you have business here, sir?" The stately doorman's drawling voice dripped with disrespect, no doubt at my briny appearance. “We have limited space."

The mighty reptile next to him made a snorting, gurgling sound. “Hmph. Would you like me to see this. . . this gentleman off? Looks like he's gotten lost on the way to the crow's nest."

Now, normally I would have just turned around and left. But a strange urge told me that I needed to go in there. What was it? I didn't know. A gut feeling? A familiar smell? The whisper of Neptune himself in my ear? All thoughts of liquor forgotten, I patted the pocket of my coat, letting the coins jingle inside.

“Ah. Go ahead, sir." With a twirling flourish, the doorman pointed to the door.

Well, that was Laonetia for you. Money really did solve everything.

The rusty-scaled dragon raised a wing and pushed the portal open with his foreclaws. He eyed me suspiciously, frills out, as I stepped into the packed interior.

Once inside, I craned my neck over the well-dressed, buzzing crowd, the quiet throb of drum and string in my ears. At the far side of the lofty hall was a raised hardwood stage, wide and sturdy. And when I saw what was on it, I knew what had brought me here. Yes. That was it. It had been a familiar smell. The smell of nervous dragon.

The door slammed shut behind me.

“. . . And here, ladies and gentlemen, we have a fine young dragoness. Forty-two stone, thirty-five years on the dot. Of age just three short weeks ago and already broken in."

I watched in shocked enrapture as the black-scaled female, the very same one I'd met on that cursed ship, strutted a slow circle on the platform. She'd been given silver cuffs on her hind legs to match her collar, which in turn was clipped to a thin (and entirely symbolic) chain lead. At the back of the creature's mighty head, a black and gold ribbon hung from a horn dark as midnight: the mark of an 'upventer', a signal to all who passed that the services she provided her owner involved the filthiest sort of concourse.

A flamboyantly-dressed auctioneer held the other end of the lead. It was his voice I had heard. He directed the dragoness about, while she showed every last little scale she had to the murmuring crowd.

“Just look at this beauty! Look at those claws! You're not going to find a sturdier set of wings anywhere. And show us that maw: tongue out, girl. Wew! What a firehole. Hot and roomy, just begging to get a good taste. And believe you me, ladies and gentleman, this 'ness is a hungry one: she never hesitates to get those forks 'round a cock. That's a tongue worth every ducat."

But, of course, she had even more important assets to advertise.

When the dragoness had finished her strut, she stopped, faced away from the audience, and raised her tail. The deed elicited applause from the onlookers. In the reptile's open vent, I could see that she'd received a single silvery ring through the centre of her offsize draconic cunt, supposedly ensuring its disuse. Though, in her case, the decoration was surely more of a formality than anything. No man with any sanity would have stuck it in that subpar gash. Not with the delicate bloom of her tailstar beckoning just above, its halo of rays fine as threads of silk tucked just beneath her vent-lip.

“Oh, would you look at the face on that lizard, ladies and gentleman? That's something money can't buy, and training can't give. She loves showing off, and why shouldn't she? Now, girl, why don't we get a closer peek at that 'pussy' of yours?"

The auctioneer spent the next while using his whip to spread the dusky flesh of the 'ness's anus, pulling back and forth to show off its give and tautness. To allow all present to imagine what it would look like wrapped around a cock.

“Oh yes, folks, that ribbon ain't just for show. This 'ness is trained for anal, and only anal. As rough as you please, and she makes it look easy. You won't find a finer, snugger rump this side of Euscaria. She'll stay fresh and tight no matter how often you have her pounded, or your money back. But you don't have to take my word for it." The auctioneer winked, and pressed his whip to the midnight serpent's ample flank. “Take hers. How many men have you felt up your shitvent today, lizard?"

“Seven, sir," she said, frills out, head held high. “And you can hardly tell."

“There you have it, valued customers," the auctioneer said. “A perfect dragoness for group entertainment, client functions, private use, hospitality, you name it." He led the black-scaled female in a final circle on the block. Then, with a tap of the whip to her tailbase, he directed the proud creature to resume her squat on the edge of the platform and display her open vent to the audience in preparation for bidding. A second smart tap of the whip to her muzzle and she arched her crested neck, snout down and tight against her collar, eyes back, wings out, and tailspade high.

That was, as I later learned, the traditional pose a pleasure-dragoness was made to adopt while she was up for sale. Though a 'regular' dragon put to the block was allowed the dignity of facing forward, muzzle-up, while the offers came in, no such concession was permitted to a pretty piece of scale like this one. She was to display herself for all to see, and keep her snout tucked low. It was a stark and deliberate reminder of her status and function, as much to herself as to her prospective buyers.

“Yes, yes folks," the auctioneer continued, “this 'ness is ready and eager to please. She's just begging for an owner to put her to work. So who'll it be? Automatic purchase at four-thousand ducats. Do I hear six-hundred? Six hundred! Do I hear six-fifty? Six-fifty! Eight-hundred! Do I hear a thousand? Do I hear a thousand two-hundred?"

Good grief, I thought to myself, she was going to sell for a king's ransom. Few individuals, even the very richest, could afford that. She'd probably go to a guild or company.

The black dragoness's fiery gaze flitted back and forth between the bidders as she held her lurid pose. Then, scaly hindquarters dark as ink began to sway, ever so slightly, in time with the thumping drums. Her pert button winked, sending a fresh string of white down over her ringed-off cunt even as her mighty tail swished over the front few rows.

A smattering of applause greeted the she-wyrm's display of submission: a wordless message to the bidders that she wouldn't cause any trouble, that she was ready to comply and obey. An implicit plea that she need not be punished any more than pleased her owner.

“Wow," the man next to me elbowed his neighbor, mouth agape, “what a good girl."

“Do I hear fourteen-hundred?" the auctioneer chipped. “Fifteen?"

I shrunk back, suddenly nauseous. I couldn't watch any more of this. Why had I even come here? I glanced back at the exit, now blocked by the sea of humanity that had pressed in behind me.

“Sold! Twenty-four hundred! To the Island Jewelers' Guild."

With a flourish, the black-scaled dragoness was led off stage, neckfrills high and leash chiming, accompanied by thunderous applause. She'd spend her foreseeable future as a high-status companion, offering her rear passage for the pleasure of guild members and clients, when her breath wasn't warming the guildmaster's study.

The golden dragoness was next on the block.

I sucked in my breath sympathetically as soon as I saw her snout poke from stage left, knowing the last time I'd seen her. But she carried herself well, all things considered. The glittering reptile marched onto the stage with deliberate steps, her eyes firm and hard, muzzle gritted shut, a somewhat thicker chain swinging from her blued collar. As with her predecessor, an 'upventer's ribbon on her horn signaled the extent of her sexual submission.

“Oooooo, ladies and gentleman, do we have an ornery little shitvent-slut for you! This one will squawk and wriggle while you fuck her ass, but there's nothing a gag and a touch of the whip won't fix. And don't worry, she'll gush like a fountain out her useless egger when she feels a real man up her gut."

The crowd whooped and tittered at the directness of the pitch. No euphemisms this time. Meanwhile the golden dragoness dipped her head, an embarrassed tint on her snoutscales. Other than that though, she faced her sale with more mettle than I would have expected, I'll tell you. The rest of the process went much like before, though her round-the-stage strut was a tad stiffer than the midnight female's.

As the previous slave had done, the golden dragoness spread her wings and cocked her tail for the bidders, showing the pinkish, speckled flesh of the anus tucked inside her dainty vent. She pivoted a couple times, to allow all corners of the hall a good long ogle. Below her freckled button, the reptile sported a full three rings through her exotic vagina, which went duly untouched and unmentioned by the auctioneer.

“Now," the pitch-man continued, “this sultry serpent isn't like the other. She's rough, and she needs a rough master. She's got an attitude, but nothing a good dicking where the eggs don't grow won't sort out. So who'll it be?"

The lanky man nearest to me scoffed. “Mph. 'Needs a rough master'? More like 'not fully trained'. Sounds like a lot of work. She's got a cute asshole but she won't sell for as much."

“Don't count her out," his pudgier companion said. “I heard she was trained by Natcytaryx himself."

The tall man's eyebrows lifted. “Oho, him? You jest! Not much for drakes, but what I'd give to get under that tail. Eegads, I'd let him do anything to me. Hi, you, sirrah, what are you snickering on about? Do you find something amusing?"

“Nothing," I said. “Just thinking of a nice pair of red boots."

The auctioneer twirled his whip, and the golden dragoness settled into the bidding pose. “Let's start at seven-hundred ducats. Automatic purchase at two-thousand. Do I hear seven hundred? Do I hear seven-fifty? Eight-fifty?"

Not quite as expensive, but still a ludicrous sum for the bulk of the Laonetian population. This time some of the private buyers and brothel madames pitched in with their bids. It was one of the latter who won.

“Sold! Fifteen hundred, to Missus Ivorra of the Westside Scalehouse!"

A ripple of applause met the sale. A dark-haired woman a few rows in front of me stood and bowed.

The buyer strode up to the auctioneer, heels clicking, and whispered something in his ear. The golden 'ness peered back at them, sizing up her new mistress with frills tight to her neck. Her tail trembled slightly, no doubt at the news that she was now officially a whore, but she knew better than to lower it even a smidgen.

“Oho," the pitch-man said. “Do I have some great news, gentlemen. Special deal at the Westside for the rest of the week: half price on this dragoness. And if you rent her tail, the tongue is free."

The room erupted in whoops and cheers.

A quick tug on her leash, and the golden dragoness was led offstage to prepare for a busy week.

Now, I'm sure the reader has figured out what came next. And, by then, so had I. But that doesn't mean it hurt any less when it happened. When the bluing snout of the Green Drake poked its way onto the auction block, I felt like I'd fallen belly-first from the mizzen mast.

No.

No, no, no, no.

Not him. This was too much. I couldn't watch this. I had to leave.

“Ow," shot the man behind me, “what's wrong with you?"

“Hey!" grunted someone else.

“Oof!"

“Stop pushing! Are you mad?"

I was stuck.

“Our final sale of the evening, ladies and gentleman, is another lovely 'dragoness'."

Guffaws rocked the auction-house as the blushing male was led onto the stage, a chain lead chiming ahead of his steel collar. His verdant scales steamed and rippled like a mountain spring. No ribbon hung from the double pair of horns on his head. Everyone already knew his role.

The auctioneer began his pitch. “Don't let those nasty spikes fool you: this one was hatched to feel arms around his tail, and he'll get loud while he's doing it. Oh yes, dear customers, he's a real singer. Show them that pretty snout, lizard. Turn around, swing that tailspade. There you go- what a cutie! An excellent option for clients who want something a bit different. Truly a no-risk purchase for any establishment: well-trained, great stamina, three years experience."

The man beside me elbowed his neighbor. “Hoho. That's one way of saying 'loose and used up'." He chortled.

His pudgy friend laughed back. “Bet you could put another dragon on him and he'd hardly feel it."

I clenched my fist.

The collared drake did his rounds as the female slaves had done, showing his maw, wings, flanks and bellyscales for the attendees' judgment. Like the others, he was made to turn rump-outwards and hike his tail. This time though, instead of an eggslot, the tip of a ridged cock hung from the lower part of his vent. That part of him might have been virgin, but the oiled pink just above sure wasn't. The dragon brought his haunches low, very low, and gave the crowd a clear, tail-up view of where a drake received his master.

Now, dear reader, the crowd produced quite a hubbub at the sight, but I must say that I was unaffected. I'd seen it all before. I could only stare down at the cracked leather of my shoes, trying not to think of what had happened on the ship. Trying not to picture the expression of concern on his long face. Trying not to hear his muffled laughter, his awful jokes, his hissing voice calling me an idiot. His defense of me before Natcytaryx. I shut my eyes. Men jostled around me, babbling, heedless.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen," said the auctioneer, “who wants to hear him squeal? Automatic purchase at eight-hundred ducats. Let's start the bidding at one-hundred."

What I did next wasn't on the spur of the moment. Not at all. As soon as I heard the price, I knew exactly what I had to do. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't.

“Do I hear a hundred? Do I hear-"

I shot my hand up. “Eight hundred!" I shouted, maybe a bit louder than I needed to. Actually, a lot louder than I needed to.

A hush fell over the auction house. Every eye settled on me, and none more shocked, none more stupefied, than those of the green drake.

The auctioneer coughed. “Ah. Sold? To the gentleman in the, erm, colorful headdress."

The tall man beside me shook his head sympathetically. “Your employer isn't going to be happy the way you're spending his silver. That used-up fagdragon might be worth half that. Maybe."

It took every last ounce of my self-control not to sock the bastard right in the jaw, and even more not to slice him in half with my cutlass. I snarled at him, bit my tongue, and pushed my way through the throng of onlookers into the buyers' area behind the stage.

The green drake was there already, standing to one side while attendants unshackled his hind legs. He stared at me as I entered. Other staff set packs of his worldly belongings next to him. All was chaos. A thin, gray-haired man carrying a bundle of documents under his arm just about bumbled right into me. He startled prattling straight away.

“There you are, sir! I was looking for you. Now now, em, Mister…Mister…?"

“Bernat."

“Ahem. Mister Bernat. On whose behalf are you making this purchase?"

“Mine?"

The grey-haired man didn't even blink. He bowed. “Excellent. Just a quick thing before we sign. Your new drake has a decorative piercing on his 'clit', and we'll need to fit him with something now that he's land-side. Complementary, of course. Would you prefer just the ring, or would you like us to hang a little chime or bell from it?"

“Um. Ah." I looked at the green drake, my cheeks hot.

The reptile blushed to the tips of his neckfrills.

“Arr," I said, “I think a little bell would suit him."

“Excellent choice, sir."

Two of the staff rushed to the dragon's hindquarters for the fitting. The green drake spread his legs and let them get to work, his muzzle-scales dark blue. I couldn't get eyes on the piercing before his cocktip was back in its slit.

The rest went by quickly. I had some papers shoved in my face, which I hesitated to touch thanks to my bad experiences the last time I'd put my signature on something. But the drake snuck me a little nod, hidden in the midst of the horde of auction staff clothing him and strapping on his harness bags. So I scribbled my 'X', and, just like that, we were out on the street.

~First Intermission~

I won't lie to you, dear reader. It was odd seeing the green drake clothed. He followed me down the street away from the auction house, a simple off-white garment buckled at the neck and tailbase. His packs of possessions were strapped to a sort of half-harness, half-haversack on his back. They were technically my possessions of course, but only technically. Not even the cruelest dragon-owner would dare touch any of it.

“Ahem. Excuse me." The dragon's voice sounded tired, but had a pointed edge to it. “Might I be so bold as to ask where exactly I am going?"

Now, after only ever having heard him talk in whispers, I must say that it startled me more than a little bit to hear his real speaking voice. Not only was it a few pitches deeper than I had expected, but it had an educated accent, or, at least, a dragon's harsh imitation thereof.

I gave a little bow. “Begging yer pardon, skyclaw, I just thought we'd get as far away from that shithouse as possible for now."

“Did you seriously just call me 'skyclaw'?" The reptile didn't really have an eyebrow to raise, but he made do by cocking the frill on one side of his head. “I'm your dragon, you clown. You just bought me."

“Ah, sorry mate." I felt heat rush to my cheeks. I gestured to my striped, tar-stained shirt, and the salt-pocked cutlass in my belt. “I know it'll come as a surprise, but I'll tell you a wee secret." I leaned towards him, next to where I supposed his ear might be. “I'm actually not a hoity-toity old merchant who shits ducats, and I've never owned a dragon before."

“You don't say."

“Anyway, I, um, don't think we've been introduced. Not properly. What's your name?"

The young drake's yellow, reptilian eyes widened in shock, like I'd asked him for a flying carpet made of unicorn hair. “My name? Oh, it's-" he hesitated for a second, then gargled something hideous and unpronounceable in Draconic that made every hair on the back of my neck stand straighter than a galley's mast. It sounded a bit like “Raxytarcyl".

I nearly leaped out of my britches at the sound. A couple of children who happened to be passing us on the other side of the street shrieked and ran the other way. No, I'd been wrong, I hadn't yet heard his real voice. That was his real voice, and it was bloody terrifying.

“Arr," I said, scratching the back of my neck, “that's a right mouthful. Mind if I call you 'Raxy'?"

Maybe it was just my sea legs making everything look all wobbly, but I could have sworn the saucy wyrm rolled his eyes at me. In any case, his sigh almost singed my eyebrows right off.

“See this, doofus?" He stopped walking for a moment, and tapped a claw (filed blunt, of course) to his steel collar. “This means you can call me whatever you want, and you don't have to ask whether or not I mind it."

“Oh, c'mon matey, you didn't answer my question." I rubbed my stinging forehead. “Pretty sure they don't call a big bloody dragon like you 'Skillypaws McDuffmuffin', eh?"

The drake flicked his gaze away, and grunted dryly. “Huh. 'They' mostly don't call me anything at all. 'Whore' sometimes. Or 'faggot lizard', on formal occasions, when they're feeling polite." He looked away to watch a pair of shabby urchins playing on the other side of the street, presenting me with the back of his horned head. “I don't get to talk much."

The reader might have gotten the impression that I'm a big softy. I'm not. [Editor's note: he was]. But at that moment my black heart fell right out of my chest and melted like molasses onto the street. I can tell you, it took a lot, and I mean a lot, to resist reaching over and patting the rough scutes on the back of his neck.

I crossed my arms. “So, 'Raxy' is fine then?"

The dragon turned his head an inch, and I caught just the smallest glint from the corner of his eye. “Yeah, that's fine. 'Raxy' is fine."

“I'm Giaco, by the way. Giaco Bernat." I bowed. “Yer 'umble servant."

Raxy shot me a look like that of a tired grandfather with a toddler chewing on his trousers. “I think you have that a bit backwards," he said. “You're a strange man. I think you might be a lunatic." I did, however, notice that the dragon's clawed feet clacked livelier on the cobbles, and the frills on his crest perked.

I glanced around at the bustling storefronts that lined the street as far as the eye could see, vomiting forth every manner of man and dragon at the height of the afternoon shopping hour. Ragged seadogs bumped shoulders with swaggering musketeers and well-dressed merchant ladies, jostling to get out of the way of a couple of patricians mounted on gold-collared dragonesses. More humbly-clothed dragon slaves snapped instructions at human staff (whom they invariably outranked) while the men loaded the satchels on their backs with fresh groceries.

Which reminded me.

I needed money, otherwise we were going to have a hard time finding a roof tonight, and roofs that fit twenty-foot dragons under them tended to cost more. Neptune's fishy arsehole, what an absolute mess I'd put myself in. Both of us, actually. I'd probably robbed Raxy of a golden chain in some merchant's harem, just so that he could waste away in poverty.

“We're going to have to find the harborfront," I said. I pointed at a where a cloud of seagulls rose above the red-tiled roofs. “This way." I didn't have much of an option any more. I had responsibilities now, and I was going to need to swallow my pride.

It was time for some landlubber work.

The dragon lumbering silently alongside me, I made my way away from the crowded town centre. We soon came to a great edifice, which I took to be the harbormaster's office, stretched overtop of an abandoned side-street. I motioned at Raxy to follow me through the archway below it. Hopefully there weren't any footpads waiting to jump me on the other side. Though, of course, even if there were, I was twice as scary as the worst mugger this town could muster. And Raxy was twenty times scarier than me. [Editor's note: at least.]

It would be a lie though, to say that my heart didn't skip a few beats when a weight like a small tree-trunk caught my chest. My hand was halfway to my cutlass before I recognized it as the dragon's paw. A horned head larger than my torso swung to block my path.

“You," Raxy breathed. “You really did buy me?"

“Huh?" I stumbled back against the archway. The question came as a surprise, as the reader can imagine. “Aye, I did. Of course. Thought we'd established that."

The dragon's yellow eyes narrowed, his frills down, the tip of his snout hardly an inch from my face. “I mean, you, personally."

I nodded, still quite confused. “Um. Aye?"

“So, you're really my master now. You?" I felt his hot breath on my neck.

My heart sank. He was right. The whole thing was rather ridiculous when you really thought about it. I coughed and studied the cobblestone at my feet. “Alright," I said, “look matey, you won't be living in a palace. Or eating too well. Or-"

“No!" Raxy gasped like I'd just offered him his own royal suite and a seven-course feast. “This is incredible! I can't believe it!" The drake's swinging tail nearly knocked down a nearby statue. He gave a sheepish glance at the empty street, then looked back at me, wide-eyed and earnest. “We'll find a way to make this work," he said.

I looked away. Partially because of how pitiful his expression was, but mostly because his gasp felt like a bad sunburn. “I can get a couple ducats," I said, “as a porter at the docks. That should keep me afloat for the time being." That wasn't quite honest, but I didn't have the heart to tell him.

Raxy gave me the tired grandfather look again. “You? A porter? Was there something in the salt pork they fed you on that stupid ship?"

“Arr, well I'm not exactly the doctor type. Not much of a lawyer either."

The mighty green drake craned his neck to its full height and snorted a puff of smoke. “You have a dragon, in case you've forgotten. I can carry ten times what you can."

And he did.

A day's work later, I sat on the edge of a stone fountain in one of the town's several open squares, dirt on my feet and dust on my jacket, a hunk of cheap bread in my hand and some canned meat in my belly. Raxy curled around the fountain edge, his scales and garments dull with grime. The dragon held a leg of goat between his forelimbs, which he tore into most voraciously.

“Oof." Raxy groaned and stretched his wings. He ripped a piece of gristle off his meal, which he held pinched between his foredigits. “That was refreshing. I could get used to that sort of work for a change." He dropped the gristle to the street, and reached out a single claw to stroke the pigeon that had scuttled up to it. To my surprise, the bird made no effort to fly away. It cooed at his touch.

“Aye, but I don't think the porters' guild took a liking to you. They think you'll put them all out of a job." I brushed away a burbling set of feathery wings. “Arr, now look what you've done, you'll have every skyrat in the city on us."

“I'd forgotten you humans had no taste in birds." Raxy scooted the pigeon gently away with his clawtip. “It's incredible how they can fly without an intracostal pneumenatory system."

“Intra- nooma- what? Aye, aye, sure." I shrugged, tore a fresh chunk of bread off my loaf, and looked up at the evening sun which was already beginning to touch the western rooftops. “Anyway," I said, “we're going to need to find somewhere to stay for now, unless ye fancy racking out in the street." I gave the town square a once-over. “Say, er, they do have inns for dragons? Not really something I've ever had to look for."

“Aeries," Raxy said. He pointed a wing-claw stained with meat juice at the opposite side of the square. “There's one right there, can't you see?"

“Eh? Where?"

“Look at the sign, doofus. It says A E R I E."

“You can read?" So shocked was I, that I barely even noticed the pigeon swoop in and pluck the bread from my hand.

The dragon looked back at me with an expression of unfettered horror. “You can't?"

“Scurvy spinning dockspiders," I gasped. “Where the hell'd you learn?"

Raxy's went a shade bluer around the nostrils. “It's a long story," he said. “I- um, there was some reading material at the old place, in the waiting room. We could use it after hours."

“Ah." I kicked a pebble, and watched it roll across the cobbles. “So, this 'old place', was it-?"

“Shit." Raxy ripped a chunk from his goat leg, and swallowed. “It was shit."

“Oh."

“It's about time I got a fresh start," Raxy continued. “This 'Port Nou' place looks alright."

I grunted. “Hate to pour saltwater on your expectations, matey, but wherever you were before was definitely more hoity-toity than anything you're going to get from me in this bilge-bucket of a town. Can't say I savvy why you're so excited."

The dragon snorted a grey wisp. “You actually talk to me," he said, as if the answer were as obvious as the scales on his nose. “Like I'm a normal person."

Now, dear reader, that comment made me mightily uncomfortable. I quickly shoved a morsel of plastery bread into my mouth and chewed as slowly as possible while I thought of how on Earth I was to respond.

Raxy flicked away the last bone of his meal. “It always hurts a bit. But with you, I guess it won't be so bad."

I very nearly choked.

The dragon tilted his head. “That's why you bought me, wasn't it?"

“Wha- no." I wiped my mouth. “And to be honest with you, I prefer the 'nesses."

“You're funny," he said. “Naïve, and a total lunatic, but funny."

“A lunatic, eh? Harr, guilty as charged, Raxy, guilty as charged. I did just spend two years' wages on your sad scaly arse." I had no idea what 'naïve' meant. That was one of those fancy foreign words. I guessed it probably meant 'crazy' too, or something.

We finished the meal and headed over to the aerie Raxy had pointed out earlier. Inside the wide, dragon-sized doors of the building was a dim, brick-walled anteroom. A portly, balding man leaned behind a standing-desk to one side. He swatted a fly from his face as we entered.

“How much for a berth?" I asked.

“Six ducats a night," the aerie-keep said in a nasal voice. He looked me over like I was a piece of rotten cheese. “Eyyy, my mother! They're hiring any old tramp to tend to their dragons these days." He turned to Raxy. “Skyclaw, you should really put in a request to your owner for a better groom, this one looks like he's on the gin. I know some fellas."

I laughed and reached into my coat for the ducats. I was pretty used to that sort of welcome portside. “Right, guvn'r, six ducats it is."

A deep, menacing gurgle came from beside me. Raxy's frills were straight out, reptilian fury in his inhuman eyes.

Oh no, I thought. Don't do this.

Raxy blasted a puff of black smoke into the bald man's face. “How dare you speak of my master like that, roughfoot scum."

The aerie-keep cringed back against the wall, stammering in terror. “Ah. S-s-sorry skyclaw, I- I didn't know." He shot me a terrified, watery-eyed look. “Listen, sir, I mean no disrespect. I can offer you a deal. Yes, yes, a deal! I can give you half-price. No, no, quarter-price!"

Well, shiver me timbers, now the poor bastard probably thought I was some merchant prince out slumming it. My cheeks burned. Good grief, we were probably going to get spiders in our beds, or piss-stained towels. Or maybe not: the landlubber looked fit to shit himself. I made a frantic effort to think of something to say that wouldn't give the game up.

The aerie-keep made a choking cough.

“He'll accept half-price," Raxy said, coming to my rescue. “And you will address me in future. Speaking to you is far beneath my master."

The aerie-keep nodded vigorously and looked like he was going to vomit.

Raxy shot me a cocky wink. The cheeky lizard!

A short walk through the corridor later, I stepped into our new accommodations. Raxy followed just behind me. I threw my coat onto the dragontackle-rack and stretched my arms, gawping at the sight of the rented chamber.

“Shiver me squeaking shiprats, wasn't expecting a pad like this."

Well, dear reader, it wasn't exactly palatial. But it was certainly respectable by dragon standards. The high walls were of fire-resistant brick. To one side was a boulder, polished smooth and wide enough for even the largest dragon to sleep on. The lizards preferred hard surfaces, you see. Next to the dragon 'bed', a hearth roared, tossing its glow over the heated stone. A doorway on the far wall led to what I presumed was the groom's chamber.

Raxy poked his snout inside, stared at the comfortable interior, then swung inside. He closed the door with a flick of his tailspade.

“So, Mister Bernat-"

“'Mister'? Nah, call me Giaco."

“No."

The response took me aback. “Eh?"

Raxy stiffened on the threshold like he'd been turned to stone. “It's not appropriate," he said. The scales on his throat heaved. “None of this is appropriate." It was like the dragon that had stepped through the doorway had been sucked right back out again and replaced with a statue.

“There a problem, matey?"

The scutes on Raxy's brows hardened. “I'm not your 'matey'."

I was about to respond with a joke. It died in my mouth. My stomach foundered into the freezing depths like a scuttled hulk as the true weight of the green drake's words sunk in. I'd still been thinking of him like we were back in that awful ship, in it together, cracking jokes, and sticking it to that nasty red fiend. And, judging by the blue flush on his face, maybe Raxy had been thinking of me that way too. Until now.

But things had changed, hadn't they?

“You're being far too familiar with me," he said. “It won't end well."

I fought to find a response, heart hammering. “Harr. But, er, weren't you the one calling me a 'doofus'?"

Raxy looked down. “I shouldn't have. You shouldn't have let me." The dragon raised his head and shot me a glare that stabbed my gut like an icy boathook. “I'm your slave, not your friend."

All of a sudden, Raxy's long face twisted into a snarl of the ugliest, most horrible pain, as if the fluke of an anchor had been punched into his ribs.

“You felt sorry for me, didn't you?"

The dragon advanced, black fumes spilling from his nostrils.

“That's why you bought me, wasn't it? You felt sorry for me."

“No, I-"

“I told you. Remember? On the ship? I told you you shouldn't. You ever hear about the town of Pont-de-Cotilla?"

As soon as he said it, I knew what he was going to say next. All of a sudden, the hundreds of pounds of winged serpent seemed much, much larger, and the dusty room I was sharing with it shrunk to the size of a cupboard.

The wyrm stopped, just as his snouthook brushed the hair on my forehead.

“They were just animals to me, then," he said. “I didn't even think about it."

Horror like I'd never felt before tore at my bowels. I held up a shaking hand. “Belay that. Belay that right now. I don't want to know."

“It was like hunting goats. Or cattle."

“Belay that!"

He swung away. “I don't deserve your kindness. Nor do I want it."

I shrank, scarcely believing what I'd learned. A maneater! The dragon of Pont-de-Cotilla! He was the green drake? One and the same? Impossible. But no, it had to be true. I struggled to speak. “F-fine. I- I savvy. We'll keep more to ourselves then. I'm sorry. Not used to this whole thing. We won't talk if it makes you uncomfortable."

“No!" Raxy spun. “We can still talk. I like talking to you."

I crossed my arms, now more frustrated than shocked. “We can, can we? Didn't know you were the one who made the rules here."

The dragon swept his wing over the floor and clapped a paw to his face. “Ugh. You got me."

I couldn't resist a quick chuckle at that, though the whole exchange pained me greatly. “Aye, though," I said. “I see how it is. We'll keep this more professional-like then."

Raxy nodded, his neck frills regaining some of their posture, and the green returned to his face. The big reptile padded into the centre of the room, scales sparkling on his tail as it swayed. Then, he balanced his forequarters on one winged forelimb, and reached to a buckle on his garment with the other. “Ahem, so . . ." his face flickered blue again. “Will you inspect me now, or should I wash up first?"

Now, dear reader, up to that point the reality of it hadn't yet hit me. Not fully, anyway. I watched the blunt claw tremble on the latch of that buckle. I looked back into the slitted, membraned eyes, wide and wet. I saw the dusty sunlight, dancing on the steel collar. And I understood.

I owned a dragon.

I actually, really, owned a dragon.

This green drake, every dirt-flecked scale of him, from the tip of his tailspade, down the length of his thick tail and narrow back, from the edges of his wings to the end of his smoking snout, to the point of every spine and frill, was mine. And, with a nod of my head, he'd drop his coverings, to be viewed at my leisure like the newly purchased property that he was.

I gulped, a flutter deep in my throat. I could tell him to open his maw and let me touch every tooth, let me run a finger down his forked tongue, and he'd allow it. I could brush my hand down his tail, feel every bump, every ridge, every scale, and it would be my right. I could order the dragon, right now, if I wanted to, to drop and present himself like a female, then mount him and rut him dry and dirty until his wails woke the dead, and he would obey. I could command him to lay his tail over my knee, this moment, and he'd bow his head and moan as I flogged him purple. I could . . .

“I just figured," Raxy said, “that you might want to have a look at me, since you've never had a dragon before." His face lit up bright green. “I could tell you all about me. All about dragons, I mean."

Raxy. Yes, his name was Raxy. He liked pigeons, he could read and write, he called me a 'clown', and he was overjoyed that he could talk to me. I was a hard man [editor's note: he wasn't], the kind of salty ruffian you'd probably cross the street to avoid at night [editor's note: that much was true], and I'd spent twenty years at sea: five in the Navy, ten as a pirate, and another five on a slave ship. But I felt so guilty about where my thoughts had taken me, I almost cried.

I sniffed, and nearly sneezed at the dust in the air. “I think you should wash first."

“So should you, Captain Gunge-" the dragon made a choking sound, and flushed in remembrance. His wing-paw dropped from the buckle and onto the floor with a thump. “I mean, yes, sir. Wouldn't want to get any more dust in your eyes."

I wiped a hand on my face. To get the dust out.

“Say, mate- um, dragon," I said, then grabbed the convenient soapy bucket beside the groom's door, and splashed some water over my cheeks. “Why don't we do both at the same time? I'll give you a good swabbing, and you can tell me all about you. All about dragons, I mean. I'd love to hear it."

For a moment, Raxy's frills perked, and his scales flashed a brighter green. Then, his eyes narrowed. “Wash me? That's a job for a roughfoot, not you."

I crossed my arms again. This was getting a bit ridiculous. “Arr, right you are, Raxy. I'll just whistle up the boatload of grooms I keep stowed up in my palace. Might even get an honor guard of the Doge's marines to stand watch while they do it."

The dragon averted his gaze. “Ah. Ahem. I see."

“Tell you what: you rest up for a bit, do what you need to do, and I'll see you later this evening for that swabbing. I could use some alone-time anyway."

That wasn't true. I didn't need any time to myself, but I figured he probably did. Neptune knew the last time he'd had any privacy. And so I made my way to the door to the groom's chamber.

“Mister Bernat."

I turned, my hand on the doorframe, and looked at the straw near the dragon's feet.

Raxy fiddled a claw into his collar. “Don't think that I- that I dislike you or anything," he said. “I'm sure you'll be a fair master, and I will obey you. but that's as far as it will go. That's as far as it can go."

“Aye," I said. “I take no offense. See you in a bit, Raxy."

I grimaced, and the door clicked softly behind me.

~Second Intermission~

An hour or so later, I gave a light tap to the door. It wouldn't do to just barge in on him. “Raxy?" I knocked again. “Hello?" I pushed the door open a sliver.

In a corner of the room lay Raxy's harness and collection of packs, one of the smaller of which hung open, its unbuckled strap stretched on the floor. Curled up next to it was the dragon himself, who held a most curious item to the tip of his scaly snout. Dwarfed in the mighty fore-digits of his wing was a square of what looked like old, beat up leather, creased in the centre. Hunks of colorful fabric stuck out from it in all directions like signal flags.

I stepped softly into the room, a wet towel over my shoulder. “Hey. Raxy." It seemed a shame to bring my voice above even a whisper, given how intent the wyrm seemed on whatever he was doing. His gaze was locked down at the strange object pressed to his nose, and his eyes swept across it, from side to side.

He pulled his snout away. For a moment, I caught a glimpse of the forks of his tongue flicking from his open mouth. Then, he reached into the leather with two wingclaws and delicately flipped a piece of yellowed paper.

A book.

That's what it was. Raxy was reading a book. I couldn't believe it. You must understand, dear reader, that at the time I had seen maybe four or five such items in my life. Even with the new printing presses they'd put out, reading materials were expensive in those days.

“Ahoy there." I waved a hand under his face.

The enormous reptile hopped like a startled cat, and made a noise like a whistling kettle that nearly blasted the skin from my arm. He coiled back into the alcove, hugging the weathered, dog-eared tome tight to his body. “I didn't steal it," he snapped. “It's mine. I bought it. I got tips."

I held up my hands, making myself a mental note never again to startle a dragon at so close a distance. “Just coming around to give you that swabbing, like I said. Fine book you have there."

“Thanks." Raxy eyed me suspiciously, and his wing swept over the object as if to hide it. His claws slotted into the well-worn furrows on the battered cover. “It's not really worth that much though."

“Better put your book away," I said, lending what I hoped was just enough emphasis to the word 'your' to get my point across. “Don't want it to get wet." I dipped the rag in the bucket and wrung it out, watching as Raxy lumbered out of the alcove. “Anyway, maybe you could read me some of those stories later. I like a good yarn."

Raxy made a sort of gargling, coughing sound as he closed the clasp of his pack, his prized possession safe inside. “Oh. Aha. It isn't a story. Don't suppose you're the sort who'd be interested in natural philosophy." As he said this, he flicked open the wide buckle at his throat, and bent his flexible body to undo the one around his tailbase. His garment fell to the floor.

“Natural what, you say? Put that head lower, will you, I can't reach."

“It's like, how the world works. How nature works. You know, stars and planets, and living things, and. . ." Raxy shivered as soapy water cascaded down his neck and snout, lending a sheen of reds and purples to his scales. “It's hard to explain."

“It tell you how dragons work? Er, show me that paw, or wing, or whatever ye lizards call it."

“Heh. Does it ever." He balanced on one forelimb, and raised the other. “I think you humans might know more about dragons than dragons do."

“'Us' humans? Harr. Don't think I can take the credit for that, personally." I ran the cloth between the two independent digits of his wing-paw. “Like these fingers of yours. You only have two of them. Can't say I've got the least savvy why."

“That's because you don't have wings," Raxy said, as if he were explaining the discovery of a new continent to a toddler. “Your wing-struts function as extra fingers, so it seems like you have five of them instead of the usual two."

“That's one way to put it, I guess." I bent down to soak the towel. “And the fire-breathing?"

“Alchemical properties of the gizzard. Humans don't have that. That's why you're so cold all the time. I set the air alight with my front teeth, like a flint. Would you like to take a look?" At this, the dragon opened his long jaws, held his enormous, twitching tongue down, and presented his dagger-filled maw.

I blanched. Shiver me scurvy nutsack, and people had put their cocks in there! I had, actually, not a week earlier. Insane, it was. Truly insane. Whoever first thought that it would be a good idea to get blown by a dragon was a braver man than me.

Anyhow, that's how things went for a good few minutes. I brought the shine back to Raxy's neck, wings and belly, and he chattered incessantly about draconic anatomy. I didn't understand half the words he used, but I didn't mind. It must have been horrible for him, having all that knowledge in his head and no one to share it with. Besides, swabbing him gave me something to do with myself. I'm a simple seaman, you see, and a dragon's as good as a deck.

The enthusiasm Raxy displayed at showing himself off to me did nothing to assuage my guilt at the parallel scenario I had imagined.

I set my jaw. “Tail up," I said.

“Yessir." With a dip of his snout, Raxy complied. Claws clacking on the hardwood, the collared dragon brought his forequarters to the floor, slung his long, lithe belly low, and presented his rump for its owner's inspection.

“Right," I said, swiping the cloth along the horizontal slit where the drake's midriff became his tail, leaving a shining swathe of wet scale. “Tell me all about this. I can't say I've got one of these astern, meself."

Raxy's frill-tips flashed blue, and he gurgled something horrible in his own speech that nearly made me drop the soap. “That's what we call it sometimes. The 'toothless smile'. The 'mouth with the forkless tongue'. Ugh. Doesn't translate well into Laonetian. It sounds better when you say it in Draconic." The obliging wyrm folded one winged forepaw onto the other and hiked his haunches to give me a better view.

The great reptile chuffed as I wiped him down.

“Open 'er up." I reached down into the bucket and wrung out a fresh cloth. “Going to want to swab you in there too."

Raxy spread his vent before I'd finished the sentence, revealing his plump, off-pink tailbutton and the ridged tip of his drakehood. I'd already gotten a good look at the former, all those weeks ago. But when it came to the latter, my curiosity got the better of me. All I could see now was the triangular head, duly pierced on the underside, and graced with the bell I had requested, which dangled at the end of a short chain.

“Drop," I said. “Let's see the whole thing."

“I can't," Raxy replied. “Not unless I'm, ah, ahem," he flashed blue, “aroused."

“Harr, well that's a lie. I thought you knew how dragons worked, ye scurvy lizard. You're all the way down right now."

Raxy's frills flattened. “Oh."

I grinned triumphantly. I tell you, I was pretty damn smug at catching that great green know-it-all in an obvious error. Neptune's beard, I was dumb, but I wasn't that dumb. 'Not unless he was aroused', indeed!

“And what's up here?" I asked, pulling the top edge of his vent to give a little stretch to his wrinkled tailstar.

Raxy snorted. “You know exactly what that is." The dragon cocked his frills askew and chuckled dryly. “I mostly use it for sex, but every once in a while I shit from there too. I'm sure you'll want to give it a little rub."

“Arr- wha-?"

“If you did spend your year's wages on my 'sad scaly arse', as you put it, you might as well get a feel for it. It's your property. Go on. You think I'm shy? As if you'd be the first..."

“You don't have to do this," I said.

“No," he said, firmly, “I do. You may have paid the ducats, but you won't really be my master until I've felt your balls on my vent. It's just how it is."

My cheeks heated up as I first cupped the wrinkled flesh of the dragon's anus, but his entirely nonchalant expression soon got me to relax. Raxy's cockslot was dry, soft, and just as warm as the rest of him. I tested the button's give with a gentle rub, and he rewarded me with a few little winks of the star in the centre.

“So, arr, this is a really stupid question . . ." I coughed.

“Yeah?"

“Why does it- uh, stick out like that?"

“Hmph. That's easy. It's to provide cushioning for whoever's mounting me, otherwise you'd hit the sides of my vent, and that would hurt." Raxy blew a little puff. “Heh. And since you're going to be doing that on the regular, we wouldn't want you to get all bruised, would we?"

“Arr, do you have any, um . . ."

“Oil? The bigger bag. Third pouch."

“Th-thanks." I pulled the plug on the bottle I found inside, then gave the dragon's waiting hole a good drizzle. Ropes of oil climbed his lower ventlip.

“Inside as well," Raxy said. “Get a finger in there at least. Oof! Yeah. You're going to want to keep that part nice and slick, or it won't be pleasant for either of us. Oh, and I can do the preparation myself if needed, so just let me know what you'd prefer for next time. You'll want to set a schedule too, so I know when to be ready. Good thing that goat leg was only a few hours ago."

“O-oh..."

Raxy sighed. “I'm sorry. Am I boring you? I wish I had something really raunchy to say here, but I'm not usually allowed to chat before I get stuffed."

“Um. Uh…"

“I could try though, if you want. I could say something like, um, ahem-" The dragon balled his wing-paw and held it to his chest. “'It will be an honor to be your dragoness, master,' or, 'the way you talk is really cute', or 'give me your mammal eggs', or. . ." Raxy's face-scales creased. “Ugh. No, that's horrible. Those sounded much better in my head."

“Raxy," I said. “I think the way you talk is really cute too."

He went purple. Not blue, dear reader. Purple.

My heart hammered. “Alright, you." I shot out my arm and pointed a shaking finger. “Enough of this. On the rock, or bed, or whatever it is. Tail up. Now."

“Yessir." Raxy's forequarters dropped onto the stone with a slap. His little bell jingled as he sprawled one hind leg out, then the other. He locked his eyes on mine, and, with a spry little wiggle of his rump, he squatted low and cocked his tail.

I gulped.

Say what you want, but when you've seen a forty-stone firebreather, a monster of claw, tooth and wing, lift a ten-foot tail and present its lubricated backend for a well-deserved pounding, you tell me I wasn't crazy to be tenting my britches. But, as I took up the master's position behind him, standing by the bed with shaking ankles and fumbling with my belt, that wasn't what made me stiffer than Navy hardtack. No. I'd seen that before on that accursed ship.

What really turned me on was that his name was Raxy. He liked pigeons, he could read and write, he called me a clown, and, most importantly, he was my dragon.

To Davy Jones with what he'd done at Pont-de-Cotilla. No one deserved what he'd been through. No one. I swore to myself right then and there that I was going to give him the best night of his life, so help me Neptune.

There was no time to waste, then. I gripped Raxy's tailbase with one hand, brought my dick to his inner vent with the other, and ran my head around the rim of his button, tracing the oiled star and letting the hot flesh catch and tug. The dragon huffed as he got a feel for the girth he'd be working with.

“How would you prefer this to go, Master?" he asked, cocking his frills. “Do you want me to push back on you, like before?"

“No, relax and hold 'er steady, Raxy. I'll do the work this time. Oh..." I gave the un-scuted part of his hindquarters a sharp spank.

Raxy jerked. “Ngh!"

“...And that's for calling me 'master'. Scurvy shiprats, I don't like that stuff. It makes me uncomfortable."

“Fine. 'Mister Bernat', then. Just remember though, rhetoric aside, I'm a drake, not dragoness. Aim high, it'll feel nicer for you, and it'll help me keep soft and in my slit for longer."

Ah yes, I thought. The 'rules'. As if I could forget. [Editor's note: if the reader has not recently read part I, he might not remember that a slave drake in Laonetia is expected to remain flaccid while penetrated, or at the very least to avoid climax. However, a hard rut through his ventring is almost invariably enough to get him to drop, and he is generally allowed to finish himself afterwards.]

“Now Raxy," I said, “ye think you could manage a little purr for me when I spread you out?"

The dragon cocked his frills. “I'll try. I usually squeak a bit though. Nothing to worry about, it's normal."

And squeak he did, as I parted his star and popped into his waiting heat.

Now, I must pause here to stress to the reader just how different this was from our previous meeting in the ship. In a good way, of course. No one watching. No leashes, no fetters, no Natcytaryx. No crops, no slippery decks. Just me and the green drake, alone. Free to go at any pace, and free to 'discuss the weather' while we did it.

And by Neptune did it feel better this time, without all the pressure on us. I got to appreciate Raxy's mighty form, his fierce wings, his sharp horns, the mosaic of armored scales on his lithe, powerful back. His serpentine neck, like an axe ready to chop. How wonderfully it contrasted with the delicate trembles and twitches of his slick, soft pussy.

“Don't be afraid to go all the way in," Raxy said. “I can h-handle the whole thing just fine."

So that's what I did. I tried him out, one hand gripping my cockbase, the other braced on his haunch, letting his taut ring slide over every last part of my length. Testing. Exploring. By Davy Jones, now that I had the leisure to think about it, no wonder it was socially acceptable in Laonetia to mount a drake. The intense warmth. The plumpness of the button, stretched between cock and ventlip, glinting. The snugness at the entrance, surprising for such a large creature. It was as if Nature herself had designed the dragon for receptive anal. Perhaps she had, but Raxy surely would know more about that than me. [Editor's note: that is indeed the accepted theory.]

“Meet your approval?"

The dragon's sardonic tone jolted me from my thoughts. “Arr! Uh- um. Aye."

Suddenly self-conscious, I began to move. Gently. Tenderly. An expert like Raxy didn't really need it, but I figured I'd break him in slow for the night.

“Aah! Gnngg." The drake yipped, then rumbled, his maw cracked open, his gaze wet and narrow.

But it wasn't right.

There was something missing. Something I hadn't had since Raxy had followed me through the aerie door. It was all too submissive. Too saccharine. Too, well, professional. Didn't he get it? Didn't the dragon understand? I didn't want some bootlicking hole. Some piece of meat. I wanted the green drake from the ship: working my cock under his tail with a cheeky leer on his snout and a sharp word on his tongue. I wanted the insults. I wanted the jokes. I wanted the banter. Even if it was about pigeons.

I wanted Raxy.

The wyrm's head tilted somewhat. “Something wrong?"

Aye, I thought to myself. And I'm going to fix it.

I thrust my chest out, put my fists to my hips, and sang out in the most pitiful shlock accent I could manage. “Never fear, brave dragon," I proclaimed. “I'll cover your rear."

Raxy's mask shattered as into a thousand grains of sand. He spluttered. “Stop, just -pfff- stop, you lunkheaded bozo."

“Ha!" I grinned. “There he is! There's Raxy, I thought I'd lost him."

The dragon chuffed a bit at my next thrust. I could feel his rump-muscles soften beneath by hands. I hadn't realized they'd been so taught. A bemused expression began at his muzzle-hook, then washed all the way to his frills. “You're -umff- impossible, you monkey."

“Harr, you tell it to me how it is."

Raxy snorted as I slid outwards. “Heh. 'How it is' is that you're the worst -uhn- actor I've ever met."

“Ho ho, I believe it."

Now that I'd gotten the real Raxy back, I figured it was time for the 'rules' to go overboard for good. I'd promised myself I'd give him the night of his life, and I wasn't going to go back on that. I owed him. And so, I adjusted my hold on his tail, and angled down. Way down. Down where I wasn't supposed to.

And gave him a good old balls-to-vent hilting.

“Uhhn!" Raxy's head shot up. “Oooh!"

“You alright, Raxy? Did that hurt?"

“Yeah. That hurt. Could you do it again?"

I grinned and clapped the back of my hand to my forehead. “Aye aye, Cap'n!"

“Are you kidding me- ahh!" The dragon yelped as I slammed in once more.

Three or four thrusts later and the gentle break-in was over. I set my rhythm: a proper, firm fuck, quick and deep. All the way out to where Raxy's ventring tugged at my head, then all the way back in so that his sizzling drakecunt gripped me snug round the hilt. I hugged the dragon's tail and pushed it forwards, gradually shifting my pelvis further and further up over his squatting hips, so that I was slamming almost directly downwards into his open rear.

Raxy grabbed the tip of his snout with a shaky forepaw. He gave muffled moans as he felt the familiar girth of a human cock slapping down into his stretched-out tailvent, only this time, filling him all the way to his most sensitive, most forbidden spot. “Mmm. Mmm. Mmm!"

“Arr, let's hear it, Raxy," I grunted, “Don't have to...hold...back."

“Mmm. Mmm. Ah. Ah! AH!" The dragon tossed his head and gaped his toothy maw, foreclaws clutching and scrambling over the stone in front of him as I hammered into the searing depths of his hole in double-quick time, my loins battering his warm scales with a ringing thlap-thlap-thlap as I dropped hard.

“AH! AH! AH!"

Now, curling his tail over his back and receiving it rough was certainly a regular thing for Raxy, but I like to flatter myself that it had ever been quite like this, done with his enjoyment in mind. Still, he did a bang-up job at keeping his head turned back, even as he puffed and writhed, careful to allow me the pleasure of seeing every twitch of his frills, every blink of his eyes, every last flicker of blue on his sharp snout as I pounded the fiery breath right out of him.

I must have been doing something right, because when I glanced below me I could see that Raxy's ridged penis had not only dropped all the way out of his vent, but had gone hard as tempered steel. The dragonflesh hung heavy behind him, pressed straight down against the side of the 'bed'. It flapped stiffly against the stone surface, in time with the thrusts into the thoroughly conquered hole above.

None of that was accidental, of course: a trained pleasure-drake like Raxy knew exactly where his 'clit' belonged while he lifted tail. If a dragon was absolutely unable to avoid going hard while providing his rump for his owner's pleasure, he was expected to keep himself tucked demurely down and back. At least, that's what Natcytaryx had taught.

Fuck Natcytaryx, though. Fuck him and the egg he was hatched from. I had other plans. Plans that required Raxy's impressive drakehood to be elsewhere. I slowed my pace, gave the dragon's back-scales a little rub, and pulled my length from the hug of his twitching asshole.

Raxy gave a little puff as I popped out of him. “Umff. That- that wasn't so bad." He cocked his frills to the side and flushed slightly, a ghost of disappointment in his voice. “Actually, that was rather nice. Could we do that again sometime?"

“Harr, ye crazy lizard. Again? We aren't even done with this go yet. Not even close." I patted the underside of the dragon's thigh. “Up, if'n you please."

Raxy gave me a quizzical look, and raised his hindquarters. He grunted as his pierced rod slipped from the side of the 'bed' and smacked up against his belly-scales, his little bell chiming sharply.

“Listen, you," I breathed, my own painful erection fit to burst and screaming at me to cram it back into that cheeky wyrm. “I don't care what that scurvy dog Natcytaryx told you, you're going to take this properly, with your cock forward and your head up." I gave his tailbase a firm rub, and tut-tutted like a scolding spinster. “C'mon, Skyclaw Raxytarcyl, you're my dragon now, let's see some pride then, eh?"

Raxy snorted, and looked at me like I was gibbering nonsense, which I suppose I was. He did, however, keep his frills out, with a gleam to his reptilian eye that I hadn't quite seen before. “Huh. Alright, you clown," he said. He curled his flexible body so that his tailspade hung almost directly over his head, his winking, pre-splattered hole ready and presented, showing a slight gape from the hard rut he'd just endured. “But I'm not quite sure I believe you. You'll need to show me you know how to master a dragon. Respect is earned, after all."

“Down," I said. I put my hand to the crook where the dragon's tail became his back, and gave a firm push. He lowered his hindquarters and resumed his squat, this time with the end of his drakehood hidden from my view beneath his belly. I straddled his upturned rear once again, the cool green scales of his undertail flush to my front. Then, I touched my aching tip to the rim of his puffy, reddened pucker.

“Mmmm." Raxy rumbled and pushed his hips upwards as he felt my flesh brush his hole. His head perked a bit, and his browscutes stiffened. “Like I said, you won't regret buying me. I'll be just as good as a dragoness, you won't even know the difference." His slitted eyes burned with determination. “No, no, I'll be even better."

With the help of a sweaty hand, I directed my cock to the beautiful star at the centre of Raxy's oiled sex, and pressed my head to its warmth. “Uh, I'm going to fuck you pretty hard, Raxy." I felt my cheeks heat up. “Just, er, just so you know."

Raxy shot me a haughty stare. “I'm a professional," he said, snorting a puff from his nostrils. “I'd be insulted if you didn't. You'd think I was some sort of delicate virgin flower, the way you're yammering."

“Harr! Oh, and you can face forward if you want. I don't care about any of that nonsense."

“Actually, I'd prefer to look at you, if that's alright."

I gulped. “Aye, fine. Ready?" (I could barely stand myself by this point.)

“Yessir."

Without any further ado, I slipped back into him, and once he'd made a quick adjustment to his haunches and a little 'go-ahead' clench, took him at his word and treated his gripping bowels just like the loose snatch of a dragoness.

Raxy reared his head up, threw out his wings, and wailed as he was taken.

I wasn't gentle.

I'll tell you, dear reader, when Raxy had promised to out-do any female, he hadn't been pulling my leg. Sure enough, the firm tug of his tailring around my cock lessened with each upstroke, replaced with a slick, trembling openness that could welcome a fuck just as easily as any 'ness's cunt. The seasoned pleasure-dragon held his muscles expertly slack, frills out, snout flushed blue, his breath hoarse and irregular, his bell jingling proudly beneath his belly, eager to accept the sloppiest pounding he could.

I stabbed down into his slick warmth with ease, a bubbling cocktail of lube and pre sliding and squirting around and under my length. My body struck the soft flesh of his wide-open vent with soaking, lurid plops in time with his ever squeakier, ever less coherent yelping.

I felt a rising in my loins. I was close.

Raxy must have sensed this too, because he dipped his snout down to his collar, just as a drake (or upventer) always did when it was ready to have its guts filled.

Not yet though. There was something I needed to do first.

Still bucking into him, I bent over double, twisting my torso past the dragon's tail. I clapped my arm around his belly, reaching, slipping, till I felt the smooth scales below. It was a damnably uncomfortable position, thanks to his rudder, and my spine felt like it was going to snap each time I moved my hips. But it didn't matter. Raxy had taken some pain for my sake, that much was sure. So it only seemed right that I should take some for him. It was backwards, upside-down, the opposite of what our roles were supposed to be: but all that mattered to me then was his pleasure. Not mine.

He clued in to what I was trying to do about a second before I accomplished it.

Raxy's eyes grew ten sizes. “What are you-? You shouldn't-"

For an instant, the very tip of my finger brushed past something smooth. Something ridged. Something that wasn't scale.

And that, dear reader, was all it took.

Now, I don't suppose the reader has ever experienced a dragon ejaculating while he's got his tail up against your chest and his shitvent crammed around your dick. Hell, most in Laonetia haven't. It's not really allowed. The first word that comes to mind is 'terrifying', because Raxy was pretty strong back there, and I was legitimately afraid for a moment or two that I would, well, lose it. I was also afraid that the blast he shot from his muzzle would crumble the brick. But, most of all, I was afraid that Raxy's lower jaw would fall right off.

But, by Neptune's left ear, for better or worse he was a professional. And nothing got in the way of that. Not even committing the ultimate taboo of squirting while he still had his owner's unsated dick in him.

And so he steadied his wings, and looked me fiercely in the eye as I powered my load up his undertail.

What happened next, was, I must admit, a tad awkward. I stayed there, half hunched-over, still inside the dragon's sopping backvent, probably grinning at him like a simple idiot. Hard to think of something to say after such an event.

Raxy stared back at me, eyes like dinner plates. “That. Was great."

We came apart (messily, I must add). Rumbling, Raxy arched his back and hiked his tail to present himself. That's the way they were trained, you see: a dragon's plump button looked its best just after a thorough dicking, or so they said. His was no disappointment, and I'll leave it at that.

I sat on the smooth stone of the dragon bed, light-headed. “Better than the go we had on that ratshit tub, I'll tell you. Unless you miss having old Redscales peeping in on us. That hunk of boot leather had more than the Captain's dick up his ass."

A long smile snaked under Raxy's eye in that manner peculiar to dragon faces. “Don't remind me," he said. He lifted a wing, and peered under his messy belly at the massive ropes of dragon jizz smeared along the rock beneath him. He gawked at the forbidden sight, and blew an incredulous puff. A stern expression crossed his features. “You really shouldn't have done that though. I'm pretty sure it was illegal, and it definitely wasn't appropri-"

“Arr, shut up, ye overgrown iguana. Damn, you're annoying sometimes. Come here." I scooched over to the dragon's front, close enough to see the chip in his horn, the snaggle-tooth, the little nicks in his collar. I stood, my legs warm and shaky, my face level with his fearsome snout. Then, I did something that I should have done hours before. Something I should have done as soon as that aerie door had first shut behind us.

I pressed my chest to Raxy's, wrapped my arms around his neck, and squeezed.

He was warm, of course. Very warm. I touched my cheek to his firm scales, felt his heart thump against mine, the scutes of his crest on my fingertips, his searing breath down my naked back.

The dragon jerked, and made a surprised-sounding gurgle that I felt deep in my skull. The creature's heartbeat sped up. No doubt he had never been offered such a display of affection. I wondered if he even knew what it meant, to do what I was doing. No, judging by how his trembling shook my ribcage, no one had ever thought to give Raxy a hug.

“M-m-mister Bernat-"

“Shhh."

I held him, I gripped him tight, and thought horrible thoughts.

What if I hadn't been late to the First Mate's duties, all those weeks ago? What if I hadn't risked Natcytaryx's wrath by talking to that unnamed green drake? What if, earlier that morning, I had decided to keep on walking, to go to the tavern instead of the auction house? The idea of not having Raxy there with me was unbearable. Unthinkable. Maybe he thought I'd done him some favors, but this 'used-up fagdragon', the monster of Pont-de-Cotilla, had certainly saved me as much as I'd saved him. Given my situation that morning, what my plans had been, where my mind had gone, I probably owed him my life.

But I couldn't tell him that.

No, I could never tell him. It wouldn't be, as he would say, 'appropriate'.

So I squeezed him. I squeezed him like he was about to fly away.

At length, he wrapped a wing around me, and touched his nose to my back. We stayed there a long while.

~Third Intermission~

The reader will scoff at me for saying this, but it's true: the hug was as good as the sex. Better, actually. I needed it, badly. And, given what he had been through recently, I'm sure Raxy needed it too. [Editor's note: I did.]

“Thought you preferred the dragonesses," Raxy rumbled. “You lying monkey." I felt his voice against my cheek, more than heard it.

“Oh? Aye?" I said defensively. “And I thought you didn't like getting it up the tailvent."

“I don't," he growled. “Usually. I mean, that was a bit different, wasn't it? And you aren't a 'random stranger', so. . ."

I lifted my cheek and looked up at the side of the dragon's massive head. His eye flicked down to meet mine, and I gave the thick hide on the back of his neck a vigorous rub. “Thanks," I said, “for sticking up for me back there."

“Heh. Ducat saved is a ducat earned."

“No. On the ship."

“Ah." Raxy looked away, his frills drooping. “Oh, that."

“You're a tough dragon," I said, and gave him another rub, more gently this time, running my fingers through the hard-to-reach space between two scutes, listening to his reflexive prrr throb in my bones. “You don't let anyone give you any nonsense. I like that. I- arr- I know you can't really be my 'matey', but it's nice having you around. Ye savvy?"

“Oh, what, are you some kind of fag now? Hey, don't laugh, I don't really have a choice in the matter, unlike some people."

“Naw, ye dumb lizard, I'm not a fag, and neither are you. Pretty sure your balls are all up inside of you somewhere, so I can't possibly touch them."

“You're a lunatic," Raxy grumbled. “A madman. You're stark, raving mad, and it's adorable." The last word came out as a squeak that toasted every hair off my back. That was the least of my worries though, because at the same time, the dragon's wings seized around me with such force I thought he'd break my ribs. A monstrous strength lifted my feet clean off the floor like I was made of cork.

I don't quite remember what I tried to say to him at that point, but I think it was something to the effect of “errrmmmfff!"

“Oooh," he squealed, squashing me to his chest-scales like a sack of feathers. “You're such a cuuute little human! Gah!" He made a thunderous sound that nearly burst my eardrums. “It's- it's so hot the way you talk to me while you're stretching my ass and it turns me right on and if you don't grab my tail right now and tear my vent to shreds over and over and over I swear by my mother's tailspade I'll roast you into a pile of-"

“Mmmmmff- R-rax- aagh- eeemmmff!"

Just when I was sure my skeleton would shatter like a rowboat under roundshot, the force relented. I found myself gasping, my feet back on the floor, Raxy's mortified face staring down at me.

“Arr. Ahem."

“Yes, ah..."

“So..."

“Wha- what I meant to say was that I- oh, don't look at me like that." The dragon gave another one of his stern expressions. “As we dragons say, a young drake with big eyes and a tight vent should feel paws on his shoulders twice a day, lest he forget himself. But seriously, if we are going to be this familiar with each other, it's all the more important that you top me as frequently as possible. To balance it out, you know. And that's once so far today, by my count." The way he wiggled his hindquarters as he said it brought a warm flutter to my stomach.

“Really?" I put my hands on my hips. “Are you telling me what to do again?"

“Aha. Um-" Raxy dipped his snout in a coquettish, frills-down expression, his paw fiddling with a loose scale under his collar. “Possibly."

“Arr, guess I'll have to put that mutinous mouth of yours to better use."

I widened my stance, and placed a firm hand on Raxy's horned crest, letting my cock fall onto the dragon's snout with a little flipp. “But really. You, uh, you do need to learn the ropes a bit better. Last time was awful."

“Practice makes perfect," he said, as my dick slid off his face. “Though I never got much of it. Everyone always goes straight for my other end, for some reason." Raxy proved why by opening his razor-lined mouth. The dragon's eyes turned almost crosswise to focus on his task, and I set my hand firmly on one of his horns.

I pressed down. “Let's feel that tongue then, eh? Yowch, no, not your mouth, just the tongue. Aye, umff, like that. Thanks Raxy. Get a good look at it now, 'cause it's going right back under that handsome tail of yours as soon as I'm stiff enough."

The dragon bobbed, cheekscales bluing. The moist furnace of Raxy's mouth was a tad more enjoyable than the last time I'd been in it. My grip on his horns grew shakier as he worked his tongue into a rhythm, his tail swishing absently over the stone behind him.

“How is it?" I asked. “Can't say I've ever eaten a cock meself."

Raxy's scaly head pulled away, a rope of shining pre hanging between my cock tip and his blushing snout. He flicked it away with his tongue, and gave me a flat look. “Uh, great. I think I can taste my own ass."

“Eh. Um. What?"

Twin jets of smoke shot from Raxy's nose. “Pff! The look on your face."

I jumped. “YEEOW!"

“Oops. Sorry."

I patted down my singed pubes, grumbling. “Don't mean to be all impolite, Raxy, but yer blowjobs suck."

I shouldn't have said that.

A minute of hopping up and down in a circle later, I finished hissing in pain and gave Raxy's wing-joint a stiff boxing. “Stop giggling ye milkguzzling landlubber, it's not that funny."

“That's it?" Raxy skewed his neckfrills. “You're just going to let your slave laugh at you? Right after I nearly crushed you? You need to show some claws, Mister Bernat."

“Harr. You know, if you want me to plug your bunghole again, you can just ask me like a normal person."

Raxy flushed, though not as much as I expected him to.

“On your back, lizard, and let's see those legs up nice and high. Going to show you how us humans do it."

The dragon snorted. “You think I haven't gotten fucked missionary before? Yeah, I know what it's called. Silly monkey. Now, duck. Watch the wing. Oof. Move back a bit, my tail's got to go there."

“Still telling me what to do, eh?"

“Rrrrr!"

We took our positions. The dragon on his back, and I on top. Raxy gave a low rumble as I swung my leg over his girthy tailbase.

“Harrharr, you sure sound like you're ready to set sail, eh Raxy?"

“Heh. If it's anything like last time. Never knew it could feel that good. I mean-" his neckfrills flushed. “Just the stretch at the rim can be, well, alright, I guess. It's enough for the 'nesses sometimes. But, rrr, whatever it was you were hitting in there..."

“Arr, I let you squirt once, and now you think you deserve it every time?" I gave his tail a squeeze with my loins. “Don't want to spoil you."

Raxy cocked his head and wriggled beneath me as I lined up with him. “Oh, come on. After all that, you're really going to do this to me?"

“'Course not. Just pulling yer tail." The heat of the dragon's slickened anus pressed once more to my tip. The mighty serpent arched his back and rumbled softly at the touch, and I gave his massive thigh a reassuring pat. “Feel free to go out all the way," I said. “Get as hard as you want. Have fun. You don't have to worry about any of that bilge with me. Just, er, don't touch it. Keep those paws up by your collar. That eggpoker of yours looks fantastic, so I'd like to watch it twitch while I fuck you. 'Pologies if that sounds odd."

Raxy nodded.

It was a fair concession, I think. On its back, tail straddled, was probably the most submissive position a dragon like Raxy could be put in. Immobilized in such a way, there was no question of it ever being allowed to push back. It could only lie there with an open vent, look down its exposed belly-scales, and wait to be used as roughly or gently as its owner saw fit.

I didn't bother with a slow work-up this time around. Raxy might have been smart as a knife and cute as a clam, but he was, as he said himself, no delicate flower. I made him yelp with a quick hilting and gave it to him strong and steady right from the start. [Editor's note: Never attempt a quick insertion into your dragon's anus unless your dragon is ready and knows exactly what he or she is doing. As Mister Bernat remarks, I and both dragonesses in this account were professionals and had undergone a lot of training and practice.]

Raxy roared, threw his head back, and just about chipped his horns on the stone 'bed'. His split tongue flicked wildly from his open maw. The dragon hooked a wing-claw into his collar and squeaked each time I slotted into his vent, past his trembling button, straight to his most sensitive spot.

I pumped into the mewling drake's warm bowels, quickly, deeply, and easily, my hands pressed to the firm scales of his belly, his powerful tail-muscles tensing and relaxing beneath my loins. Raxy was still tight, but his anal passage had been worked in a fair bit by our first go, and was well-oiled. Spurts of hot liquid squirted around my cock and out behind him each time I slapped his cloacal lips, running in burning trickles down my thigh and over his ample tailbase.

Though he blushed as blue as he always did when newly breached, it's fair to say Raxy settled into his second round of the night rather well. The dragon's sharp squeaks merged into a single pleasured whimper once we'd gotten into the rhythm, and his wing-claws slowly steadied their shaky grip on his collar. I supposed he was still adjusting to the novel concept of being able to just lie back and enjoy a good pounding up the tailhole, not as a duty, but for the sheer fun of it.

A half-dozen slaps later and Raxy was looking at me with what I could only describe as worshipfulness: eyes half-lidded, maw cracked open, smoke breaking over his snout in time with my movements. The eager dragon kept his tail low and his legs nice and wide as I went to work between them, and a length of ridged flesh as long as my forearm soon flopped over the smooth scales between my hands.

“H-harr," I gasped. “You really are . . . f-full of it, Raxy. You love this...d-don't ye?" Neptune's beard it was hard to talk properly, as the reader will know if he has ever tried to converse in flagrante, but I was feeling pretty smug. I gave the drake's belly a playful rub, just beside the tip of his penis, though careful not to touch it.

Raxy moaned as I gave him a particularly deep thrust. His powerful muscles gripped down and tugged at me greedily as I pulled out, just before I slammed back in hard and deep. “Uhh!" The dragon grunted, and the look of sheer indignance on his face turned to an abashed grin a few strokes later. “Y-yeah." Abashment turned to mischief. “Hey c-clown, want to -nngg- see a trick?"

“Aye? I suppose?"

I gasped as soon as I saw what he was up to. Without a further word, Raxy reared up and bent his snakelike body forward so that his snout was right between his own upturned legs. With the sauciest look I ever saw on anyone ever, human, dragon or otherwise, he laid his tongue right over the spot where I'd breached him.

“Agh! Shivering seahorses, Raxy, you're d-disgusting!"

Now, that got the powder burning pretty quick, I must say. Pumping through the wet of his tongueforks into the grip of his undertail, my hands on his horns, while he looked up at me like he'd just won a million ducats? That was about as much as I could handle.

Luckily, he wasn't far off either. Soon, Raxy's tongue began to shiver, his breaths uneven. He was clearly having a hard time keeping it together. He pulled his head away from the site of our union, breathless.

“Mister Bernat, I-I'm-"

“Put those paws back on your collar. Close?"

“Y-yeah. Umf. Move your hips up. There. Uhh! Right there." The dragon's eyes rolled back.

“Aye, hold on," I said, with a firm pat over his nostrils. “Lie back and keep that firespout away, you're going to want to roar."

At this, I went full stretch over my dragon's belly scales, my face an inch from the bell on his dick, and let my whole weight fall into his most sensitive place. Every. Last. Pound of it.

Thank Neptune the walls were made of brick!

It was nothing less than like Raxy merited. A glittering drake with such fine little nostrils, such hardy snout-spines, so sharp a tongue, had the right to feel every ounce. To delight in being mounted and dominated. To share in his man's pleasure, differently but equally, each and every time. And it wasn't quite like the first go, either, where'd the only thing I'd hugged was his tail. The last few moments of our second round were far more intimate. We were close, skin-to-scale, chest-to-belly, his inhuman warmth radiating to every part of me, his legs surrounding me.

And he enjoyed it all right. All of a sudden, Raxy arched his belly right up, in a way a human simply couldn't, and just about threw me clear. I got an absolutely pristine view of his ridged cockhead flaring out as he climaxed into the air.

His squeals were pure art. His expression would have been too, had the silly lizard not managed to catch his own snout in the arc he'd squirted. An expression of shock crossed his vicious face.

Now, dear reader, I had done many novel things that night. But, I must say, I'd never before had the experience of orgasming while laughing at the same time. I must have made an amusing face of my own [editor's note: he looked like he'd swallowed a live puffer fish], because the bloody dragon started cackling at me, even as I slammed another load up his spasming exit.

We collapsed, still locked together: Raxy supine on the stone 'bed', and I over his rising belly.

“Bernat! You clown."

“What?" I wheezed back. My chest prickled. Everything else was numb. “I couldn't help it, ye great gecko."

“Rrrrr, so naïve. You really are like a hatchling. Like you've never seen a drake with jizz on his face." Raxy licked his chops clean, frills lowered sheepishly. “That was a good idea, though. I'm your 'ness', after all. If I do get off, it should be from my tailhole only. Felt even better than the first time, when you winged me off. Or 'handed' me off, or whatever you monkeys call it. No offense intended. Also, you're lying on my dick."

Well, shiver me scurvy barnacle rods. So that was why my chest prickled.

“Arr, oh!" I jerked up, then relaxed. “Agh, forget it, to Davy Jones with it. I paid eight-hundred ducats for that fat eggpoker of yours, I can touch the damn thing if I want to. Natcytaryx and his weevil-eaten rules. Does anyone even follow them?"

“Heh. I don't know. But I'd prefer if you followed that rule, at least."

“Oho." I bowed. “In that case. Your word is my command, O Skyclaw."

“Fff. Alright, master. Now have your look. By the claw, I'm probably a mess back there, aren't I?"

I pulled out, sat back on the dragon's tailbase, then stuck a few fingers past his ventlip to work the flesh of his anus back and forth. Light speckled within him. His button was open, but not excessively. Just enough to give compliment to my hard work (and his), forming a dignified little circle at the centre of his wrinkles. Already, it winked smaller, letting forth a thin bead of what I'd tucked within.

“Harr, you're looking shipshape to me. And pardon me saying this, but if you aren't proud of what you're packing under that rudder, you should be. Top notch."

Raxy cocked his frills. “Ah? Then you won't mind sticking it in again." His wing-claws gripped his feet. “Come on, let's go. Chop chop. The night's hardly started. Oil's right over there. Yeah, where you kicked it."

I groaned. “Again? Scurvy swimming shrimpdicks, give me a few minutes will you? Ye randy snake. Going to need to reload the ole musket first."

Raxy's frills drooped, then raised a moment later. “Oh! Would you like to learn about natural philosophy then?" He rolled onto his side, and reached a wingpaw into his book bag. “I could read some of this to you while we wait. I'm sure there are parts which would be relevant to a sailor."

“Erm. Sure then, I suppose. As long as this 'Natural Fill o' Sophie' story isn't about pigeons. Going to swab you first though. No- don't even say it. I insist. Pass me that cloth. Aye, that one."

The reader will never believe this, but I swear to Neptune I spent the next who knows how long snuggled up beside a maneating dragon while he tried, and failed, to ram through my thick skull how 'water displeasement' [sic] and 'peril axe' [sic] worked. I didn't understand one damn word, and it was the best time of my life.

I remember it far more vividly than the rest of the night, though I'm sure the naughtier bits are of greater interest to the reader, so my editor has adjusted the account accordingly. By the end of the reading, I felt like I'd known Raxy for a thousand years. Hell, the crazy lizard was still chattering at me even as I slid two oily fingers under his tail.

All told, I climbed Raxy four times that night. We gave it one more go in the 'snout-down, tail-up' position, my cheek pressed to the dragon's raised rudder, his bell chiming wildly below him while he bantered mercilessly back at me. Later, exhausted, I lay on my back and granted his request to straddle me. His ridged penis tickled my chest, his scalding breath ruffled my hair. My ears were serenaded by the unique sort of music a twenty-foot drake's throat could produce as he brought his sprawling hindquarters down onto a human.

It's fair to say that Raxy enjoyed the riding part the most. I gave him the liberty to adjust his tail and haunches so that he could jam my cock up his drakepussy at precisely the angle most pleasing to him. Oh, the noises he made! I will not even bother to describe them. I tell you, dear reader, I just couldn't understand how my compatriots could ever be aroused by keeping their tail-lifters limp, chained and silent. There is nothing raunchier - nothing - than going face-to-snout with a male dragon several times your size who's getting nailed like a 'ness and is really, really into it. [Editor's note: this is incorrect. The only thing raunchier is being that dragon.]

Yes, even though Raxy was much larger than me, if he arched his neck all the way down, and I craned mine back, I could almost touch my nose to his. I looked up at him, eye-to-eye, the dragon's grinning snout pressed to his chest, his smoking nostrils an inch from my forehead.

“Hey, doofus," Raxy said. “You know when I said you'd - uhhn - have to learn to ride me?"

“A-aye?"

“I think we've -aah!- gotten that a bit backwards."

I rolled my eyes so far back in my head I was surprised I couldn't see the inside of my own empty skull. “Uck, leave the lines to me."

“Gah, I'm trying."

Shiver me timbers, he was a charming little lizard. Charming enough to deserve a harder dicking.

I bent my legs, locked Raxy's tailbase firmly between my knees, and bucked. My hips met his undertail with the filthiest slap, and a few firm fucks later I was hammering the twenty-footer's smooth rump from below while he rode me like a conquering knight.

“Ah! Yeah! YEAH!" Raxy roared, pushing down onto my thrusts, wings spread. “Grrr, that's a master I'm proud of, fuck me good!" [Editor's note: Yes, as atrocious as this sounds, those were my exact words. I considered re-writing this part, but felt it would be dishonest.]

I hugged his belly and clapped up hard to meet his bouncing haunches, more for his pleasure than for mine (my hips were pretty sore by then, and the stone 'bed' didn't make things any better). I patted his side. “Haharr, h-having fun?"

The dragon bared his teeth, whisps shooting from his nostrils. “Uhhng. What does it. Look like?"

Fair enough: I needn't have asked. Every inch of Raxy's phallus had gone stiff as a batten, and the bell at his hefty cocktip now jingled from its chain a good inch or so above my chest. The piercing spun and twirled in tandem with the dragon's haunches, its music as savage and exotic as the organ it graced. Far too eye-catching a thing, I remember thinking, to ever actually bury in anything. Those spines and ridges looked much better displayed free in the air under Raxy's bellyscales, shaking to the beat of another male's cock as it slammed in just behind.

Raxy's breaths quickened. Searing smoke stung my eyes.

“M-mister Bernat," he gasped.

I tried not to cough. “A-aye, R-Raxy?"

“Can we- guuhh! - you know. . .th-that human thing?"

“Wha- what?" By Neptune, I could barely answer.

“Oh, fuckit!" The dragon flushed purple to the tips of his horns, growled, and transfixed me with a fearsome, thoroughly wicked leer. Then, he dipped his head and planted his massive tongue to my face.

Raxy pressed deep into the forbidden act of intimacy, one never meant to be shared between a man and his drake. His rapid (and frankly painful) breathing burned my cheeks in close time with the sharp slaps under his tail and the wild jingling at the tip of his untouched cock.

Now, I'd love to spin a yarn about how the 'kiss' was the most romantic experience ever, but it wasn't. At all. In fact, it was a complete disaster. I think I spent most of it wincing like a strapped schoolboy and pecking at the dragon's hard nose-scales in the most embarrassing fashion imaginable, while he blushed colors I didn't know existed and slobbered all over my face. At one point, I swear the clumsy lizard even managed to get a tongue fork right into my eye socket.

That was it for Raxy, though. Between the feeling of his drakeclit flopping up against his belly and the pressure of a human cock ramming home in just the spot he wanted, he'd gotten more than enough to put him over the edge.

Raxy reared back. Twin lances of smoke shot from his nostrils. For the fourth time that night, I was treated to the unique feeling of a dragon's anus climaxing around my dick. That, dear reader, was never going to get old. Just like the drapes behind the 'bed', which would need replacing after what Raxy hit them with.

I knew I wasn't going to last much longer either, not while under the tail of a drake as affable as Raxy. I was just some random scurvy tar, after all, not the swashbuckling incarnation of Eros. [Editor's note: perhaps not, but he was close.]

“Keep going," I gasped, still bucking up into him, loins afire, “keep g-going."

“Yessir!" Teeth gritted, Raxy continued to roll his haunches onto my thrusts, his spent, softening dragonhood already halfway back into its slit and sliding limply over my chest. His breath dampened my brows. What I did next I'm not too proud of in hindsight, though it worked out well in the end.

I reached up with both hands, gripped my dragon's collar, and, none too gently, yanked him down. Raxy barely had enough time to blow a startled puff into my face before he was getting ravaged from beneath like he'd lay a thousand clutches. I fucked him. Faster than he'd yet gotten that night, slapping up his loose, open tailhole with wet smacks that echoed from the walls. No longer able to push down, the poor dragon could do nothing more than brace his wings and endure it.

He whined beautifully.

“W-where do you want it, Raxy?"

“H-huh-?"

“Tell me or it's g-going all over the bed." I slowed, legs spasming.

“Guh! Aah! Oh!" The dragon panted as he regained his composure, his throat heaving like a bellows above me. “You- you really shouldn't give me the option, but…oh, who am I kidding?" He growled ferociously, and a scaly snout that could have snapped me in two pressed firm to my forehead. “Put it inside, Giaco."

And that, dear reader, was why the last climax was the best of the four.

Raxy settled all the way down and stretched himself out like a proper bottomdrake: gripping, rolling, and milking me for every drop. The stone beneath me was air, the scales above me were heaven. And there he was looking down at me, chipped horn, snaggle-tooth and all: the greatest dragon in the world. And all the greater for having that inimitable 'I've got cum up my shithole' expression on his snout.

I ran my fingers lightly down his belly, letting them catch on the divots between his scales. Then I gave him a little pat.

“Up."

Raxy dismounted with a wet pop, which was a good thing, since he was looking a tad unsteady and I didn't feel like finding out what would happen if he collapsed on top of me. I lay on my back, utterly finished.

“Phew. That's it for me, matey." I groaned like a dying seal. “No powder left in this cannon."

Raxy lay next to me. “Thanks, Giaco," he said, “for all of that. That was really fun. So much better than the last place. Though at this rate you'd better get me a saddle and a flying license. I won't be walking the way you give it out."

“Harr, glad you enjoyed yerself. I, uh, might have gotten a bit carried away there at the end. 'Pologies about that."

“Oh come on, what kind of wimp do you think I am? The rough stuff was the best part. Oh- heh. I almost forgot. Watch your head-"

Raxy began to turn about to present himself, as before, but I reached out and caught the edge of his wing. “Arr, that's fine, no need to show me again. Besides, Raxy," I said, more quietly. “I like talking to this end of you better." I touched my hand to the dragon's nose, gently pushed his snout down to his chest, and planted the softest ghost of kiss right in the centre of his face.

For a second, I feared Raxy's grin would break his skull right in half.

Neptune's beard! And to think I'd ever have preferred a dragoness. Or, well, anyone else.

An hour later, as the gray-blue of the morning poked through the windows of the aerie, we lay together on the smooth stone of the dragon bed. Raxy had insisted that I join him there, since the groom's chamber was 'beneath' me. I'll tell you what was beneath me, dear reader. It was hauling that damned straw mattress out and dumping it next to him.

It was worth it though, since the fireplace, once refueled, heated the stone beneath us most wonderfully. Combined with the feeling of Raxy's flank against my back, it was so comfortable it was almost painful.

“Going to have to find you a job that suits you more than porter work," I said. I brought a lit match to my pipe, then waved it out. “Has to be something out there for a dragon who's all lettered and smart and such. I could try setting you up at the university. If they'll let a scalawag like me in the door."

Raxy swung his head around and glared down his snout at me like a quartermaster judging a drunken cabin-boy. “Hmph. Seems I have my work cut out for me then." His massive wing-claws rapped absentmindedly on my thigh. “Yep. I'm going to have to turn you into a proper gentleman. I'll need to teach you how to dress properly, and write properly, and speak properly and- actually, no. The way you talk is fine. It's cute."

I grunted, and did my best imitation of a dragon puff with what I'd taken from my pipe. “'Cute', eh? What's that even mean?" I found the whole thing a little suspect. That was the second time he'd made a comment to that effect, and I wasn't quite sure what to think of it.

“Yarr harr harr," the dragon gurgled, his balled paw pressed to his chest. “Avast me hearties! Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!"

“Wait." I shot upright. “I sound like that?" I gave him the dirtiest frown I could manage. “Are you- are you making fun of me?"

He flushed blue.

“Ho ho! You're great." I clapped the wicked scutes on his back. “Owch!"

Raxy snickered as I wrung my hand. As he did so, I felt his body curl around me, the weight of his tail-end draped over my legs. He surrounded me. The warmth was indescribable.

We listened for a moment as a cart rumbled over the street outside, its wheels creaking and clacking. The sound faded.

I put out my pipe. “Say, Raxy. . ."

He rumbled, nostrils piping lines thin as twine, and pressed the side of his head to my chest. “Mmm?"

I draped my arm over the warm scales of his neck, and rested my cheek just behind his horns. Darkness began to close around the edges of my vision, the embers in the fireplace dancing drunkenly over emerald and sapphire. “Been thinking about what you said earlier."

Raxy made a rumbling, chortling sound. “I said a lot of things."

“Maybe you're right. Maybe we can never really be friends." I rubbed him just behind the neckfrill. “But, harr, we can be 'mates'."

[_Final editor's note: Thus concludes the account of my master, lover, personal scale-groom, and best friend in the entire world, Mister Giaco Bernat. Though these days I just call him 'Clown'. It is hoped that it has been of interest to the reader, though I fear many parts of it are written more in my voice than in his. _

Port Nou is a small place, and as such I had no trouble keeping in contact with my old 'upventer' comrades from the ship. I hope to be able to publish an account from one of the two dragonesses, both in the original Draconic and in Laonetian translation. The reader is exhorted to keep an eye out for new releases from Port Nou Press and Laonetian Republican Press.

Yours sincerely,

Raxytarcyl]