The Dragon's Eye (Entry for Zsisron's contest)
(My entry for Zsisron's contest, ...
(My entry for Zsisron's contest, here: https://inkbunny.net/journalview.php?id=15631)
The Dragon's Eye
By Raff the Rook
The lush, gilded throne room clattered with muted discussion. Groups of three or four huddled together or slowly paced between the columns, their forms reflected in the polished marble beneath them, refining the details of countless deals, bargains and laws that kept the kingdom running. At the end of the room a vast mahogany throne stood, inlaid with golden scenes of mythic battles, the spirits of the darkness fighting champions of the people, back and forth across the frame until the heroes emerged victorious at its peak.
Reclining on the throne was a graceful dragon, dull sapphire-blue scales smooth as silk. A lush gown of velvet green hung loosely on her, just close enough to betray the figure underneath; lithe, full and powerful. The fabric cut low beneath her neck, and just above the valley of her breasts hung a ruby half-sphere, set in gold, hanging from a chain necklace of the same. The Dragon's Eye. Her claim to power. With it, she wielded incomparable power. Vast strength, speed, and near invincibility. With it she had driven back the demons that had tormented the land for so long. With it she held together a decade of peace under her rule. No one, demon or mortal, would challenge her while the stone hung around her neck.
She gazed down from the throne. In front of her, a fox in tattered clothing knelt on the blood-red carpet leading to her, hands pulled behind him in shackles. Guards flanked him on either side, watching their captive coldly. The queen tapped the floor once with the bare claw of her toe, the click echoing in the hall. The surrounding court grew quiet. She had made her decision. The fox looked up to her as protocol bid. She motioned to one of the guards, who drew gleaming steel and pressed it to the fox's throat as the other pulled him up by the hair, baring his neck for the blade. The fox shuddered, but didn't struggle. The dragon spoke.
"I have forced you to live in want, to do things no man should do, for the sake of your family. I have failed you as your ruler. For this, I make amends."
The dragon's hand gave a flicking motion and a glittering coin hit the carpet in front of the fox. Small, but incredibly valuable. Easily twice the worth of the small jewelry he had stolen from display at the royal gallery. Enough to start a new life. The dragon leaned forward slightly, green eyes alight behind her measured words.
"Steal from the kingdom again, and you will make amends." The blade pressed harder into his neck. "Understood?"
The fox nodded. The blade fell from his neck, the shackles falling loose on the floor. With an unsteady bow, he kissed the floor at the dragon's feet, scooped up the coin and quickly backed toward the door, shuddering as if he might collapse into a pile of fox parts at any moment.
The dragon sighed, leaning back on the throne. The fox was the last audience of the day, and slowly the hall emptied, the clatter slipping away to an eerie silence as the last minister closed the wide doors behind him with a dull thud. And then, gradually, another sounds rose up from the silence: the soft tap of footpads gently stepping across the smooth marble.
The dragon tilted her head slightly as a coyote approached the throne, his ragged fur a patchwork of browns, worn leather hanging off him here and there in an eccentric collection that made up a twisting jacket, arm bands and various other unnamed shapes. It was customary for a court official to bring her the records at the end of the day, but she hadn't seen this one before. There must have been some shuffling in the ministry.
He went down on one knee in front of her as usual, presenting the queen with a leather sleeve stuffed thick with papers, records of the day's transactions and deals. Taking the sleeve from him with a nod, she pulled the papers out and began to review the summaries scrawled across them. But it was dull work, and her mind wandered as she did, strolling through random ideas to distract itself from the tedium of the work. Her days in battle, driving the demons back, hunting out the last hold outs. Her childhood, learning simple magic from her parents, learning jewel-working. The games her friends would play.
Something gently pulled her back from her reverie. A strange scent was playing at her nose, just on the edge of recognition. Cinnamon. Reflexively, she gave a sniff to get a better taste. The smell flooded into her with strange intensity. It felt comforting somehow, relaxing. She gave a few more sniffs, and discovered the scent was coming from...the papers? She glanced to the messenger, but he was still kneeling, awaiting the completion of her review. Had he taken a detour to the kitchens before arriving, set the parchment near some seasoning? Not that it mattered, she decided. The smell was certainly an improvement. Anything to make the review a little more bearable.
The dragon returned to her work, but found it hard to focus. For some reason the dreary records were even more difficult to process than usual. Her mind wandered more and more, the recollections of old memories becoming more and more vivid. And slowly, a strange thought started to form.
She wanted more of that smell.
Not just the bit still trickling into her angled nose. Not just a sniff. A deep, full breath. She pushed the idea away, trying to laugh at herself, but it kept coming back, a little stronger each time, nagging more and more. What did it smell like, really, under all the surface scent? How would it feel to let that teasing cinnamon in, all the way, to really take it in? Soon she couldn't even focus on her distractions. It gnawed at the edges of her nose, teased the back of her throat, stuck here and there to her tongue. Before she realized what she was doing, the dragon grasped the papers, lifted them. Pressed them to her nose. Took a deep, full breath.
She coughed, gagging, papers falling to the floor as she reeled back. Her vision blurred. Everything felt suddenly soft, light. Initial panic quickly sunk beneath a sea of confused contentment. She felt warm, heavy. Something strange had just happened, but she was having trouble reacting to it. Her mind felt like it was mired in a swamp of soft, warm, velvet pillows.
She realized the coyote was standing now, closer to the throne than he was allowed. He was holding a few of the pages that had tumbled to the floor. Holding them out to her. She tried to be angry, but her mind couldn't find any traction against the velvet pillows. She tried to get away, to get off the throne, but again, not enough traction. Her body twisted and pawed a moment in the aborted attempt, then went still again. The coyote motioned gently with his paw. Come here. Come to the paper. Come to the scent. There was something ominous in the motion, in what was happening. But she couldn't hold on to that thought; it kept slipping away like a water-slick gem. And the other idea, the need for the scent kept pressing into her mind. Harder, and harder. Gently, she started to move, slowly, blankly leaning toward the scent, feeling as if she was floating. His paw moved, shifting the papers back and forth, in and out. She followed. Closer and closer. Until at last the parchment pressed hard against her nose. She inhaled.
Once, the dragon had fought a demon that had paralyzed her and gotten a grip on her neck with its long tail. Unable to free herself, unable to use her strength or speed, she had felt the oxygen slowly drain from her, until her body floated, tingly and unreal, until she felt like she was barely in it, barely had any weight at all. She felt like that now.
He was talking to her. She couldn't make out the words, everything was blurred now, vague, faint. But she could feel them slipping into her, taking root. Her head buzzed, then slipped away into white noise. She realized she was tensed, as if trying to resist something. He told her to breathe out. Not the words, but the idea. She did. Everything relaxed, went limp with a final, shuddering twitch, her body draped dully against the throne. No more fear, or confusion, or worry. Just happy, contented floating in this warm, comforting lightness. A dull smile spread over her face. It felt so very, very good.
She blinked. She was standing. Facing the throne. He was seated on it. She could feel the cool air against her bare back, her belly. Her gown, all her clothes lay in a tumbled pile beside the throne. His hand extended, motioned DOWN. She sunk to her knees, then hands, gasping as she did. The motion of his paws, his words, was like a tug, and following its' lead made the warm, wonderful haze even better. He motioned her forward and she came, slowly crawling to the foot of the throne, hands and knees slowly passing, claws digging into the soft carpet.
He spoke again. She obeyed.
Leaning back, resting on her ankles. As if on wires, her hands moved to the dull, glowing red gem around her neck. Clasped around it, then hooked around the gold chain it hung from, tracing it to the back of her neck. Lifting it over her head she held it up for the coyote, her spread hands forming a triangle with the chain. Eyes never leaving his hand, she held it out for him. He reached for it, closed his paws around the cool stone and pulled it away, taking it from her stiff, unmoving hands as if removing it from a display at a shop. He spread the chain, lifted it up above his own head, let it sink into place around his neck, the Dragon's Eye disappearing behind layers of leather. Her empty hands stayed frozen, still offering what they no longer possessed. The coyote reached for his left arm, unwinding a worn strip of leather with a buckle. Leaning down, he wrapped the leather around the dragon's bare neck, once, twice, three times in an overlapping pattern and buckled it tight at the back.
He leaned back, relaxing on the throne. His throne now. Only with his next words did the dragon finally move again. Sinking to the floor, she took his right foot in her hands, lowered her mouth to it and slowly, carefully ran her tongue over it. Bathing the smooth fur, the leathery pads, the sharp nails. Swearing an oath with her tongue, of loyalty, of submission, of surrender of everything she had and everything she was. Knowing, in the vague, floating lightness, that she was his now. And filling with joy at this, sharper than she had ever felt, trembling as she licked, more careful and deliberate with her tongue now than she had ever been with anything. Tears welled in her eyes, slowly ran down her face. His. His. HIIISSS. Nothing could have been more wonderful.
He spoke, and she felt a change run through her. The lightness shifted, evaporated like dew in the sun. In its place her body turned suddenly hot, heavy, dull. An ache began to spread through her. For the first time the kneeling dragon noticed her thighs were slick, running with arousal. Slowly she understood what the ache was, what she needed now, what she was starving for. The coyote's member tumbled out of dusty pants, thick and musky. The moment his finger beckoned she lept forward, lips eagerly pressing to cockflesh, tongue lapping hungrily. In reward his scent filled her nose, her mind, like the cinnamon before it, dazing but so much stronger, so much better, cranking up the heat, the ache, the need. The more she licked that hard, hot flesh, the more she sucked in the addicting musk the more the dragon felt as if she was being pressed against a wall, ground and squeezed until every drop of lust and surrender she had had flooded into her head. The sweat of the day still hung on him, salty, masculine. Delicious. She moaned into him, toying with his foreskin in her lips, eagerly exploring every inch of his wonderful length. He grinned down at her cruelly as she licked, mockingly stroking her head.
Soon he grew stiff under her attention, hot and full against her cheek. He guided her to the tip, pressing her down lightly. Her lips parted eagerly, but no sooner was his tip past them then his fingers grasped her crude collar, forcing her down in one hard, cruel motion. In an instant her regal mouth, reserved for the finest the kingdom had to offer, was stuffed with hot, salty coyote. His taste filled her mouth, his narrow head spreading her throat. For a moment she gagged, then relaxed, groaning in satisfaction. She could feel the tug of his words at her mind again as she sucked, licked, pressed him down deep into her throat. Urging her on, stoking the fire, the ache. The initial need was sated now, but in its place a red-hot appetite was filling her, an absolute desire to stay here, to keep doing this, on and on and on forever because it felt so incredibly good. The more she tasted him, felt him in her mouth, grinding against her tongue, the stronger the heat burned, the ache twisted inside her, glowed down her spine. Soon the pleasure, the heat was almost unreal. The word blurred around her, darkened. Her mind filled with him, only him, only the hot, melting sensation of tongue over cock, lips over cock, cock digging back into throat. And the overpowering scent grinding it all in.
At last she felt him twitch against her tongue. His paws grasped her head, slamming her up and down, grinding her nose into him. Mentally she begged him to go faster, harder, to take her, use her. The harder he took her, the more amazing it felt. She whimpered desperately through the gags and coughs, pleading. In her mind the dragon could feel herself hurtling toward another edge. As much as she wanted more, she was afraid to go over. Because at the bottom of that long fall there were rocks. Jagged, unforgiving stone. And if she fell, she knew, there would be nothing left but pulp. But the momentum forced her forward. Her raging, uncontrollable lust forced her forward. His paws forced her forward. Faster and faster and faster---
Hot, salty climax exploded against the back of her throat. Her own followed an instant later, bursting between her legs, flashing out through her body in waves of punishing intensity. She twitched, gagged, eyes wide, her regal face twisted in a pathetic, agonized meltdown. Her mind white with pleasure, her climaxes kept coming, a second, then a third, each making her dance and twist on her knees more than the last. It feel like lava was rushing through her mind, burning away the fireproof dragon, melting and burning and clearing out, replacing her with something new.
At last she felt herself go still, dazed, hovering on her knees. The grinding, glowing, throbbing pleasure pulsed inside her again, dull now but still strong, and she realized it would never leave. The hungry, drugged, limp-mouthed desperation to mate was etched into her now, like words in stone. The Coyote pulled her back, off. Semen ran back over her tongue, dripping filthily from her lips, splattering onto the carpet at her knees. She met his gaze weakly, still trembling. Gurgled.
He smiled down at her, teeth glittering cruelly. She gave a perverse smile back in utter, broken defeat, filth-smeared tongue lolling from her loose mouth. Both set now in their new roles. He, as he would declare the next day, as emperor. And she, as his toy.
He rose from the throne, grasped it tightly, hundreds of pounds of wood and metal. The feet gave a dull scraping sound, wood on marble as he turned it, easily as one of the servant's stools, until the towering, broad back faced them. Grabbing the dragon by her crude leather collar he hoisted her up, then threw her at the back of the throne. She yelped a moment at the pain, then struggled for breath as his paw, still hooked into the collar, pulled it tight and pressed her hard against the cold wood.
He whispered to her, the words harsh and clipped. Her hands left her still-struggling throat, spread to either side of her, above her head, palms to the wood. She raised her tail, slowly spreading her legs, her sex slick and flushed beneath. At last his hand left her collar, and as air rushed back into her with a shuddering cough he grasped her hips. She felt him press against her, that same flesh she had drained already tense and eager again. Eager and so hot. Her heart jumped. Here it was at last. What the ache in her had been pleading for since it began. What she was hot and slick and trembling for. And if taking him in her mouth had done this to her-She shuddered. She arched herself back, spread her legs a little wider, silently pleading.
He pressed forward and every muscle in her tensed, tight with anticipation. But his length only ground against her lips, heat against heat, slick as silk from her juices. She whimpered in frustration, moaned, babbled incoherent pleas into the uncaring wood. Still he kept grinding. Her body went hotter and hotter, harder and faster than before, until it was unbearable. Any moment she was sure she would melt into a pool on the soft red carpet. The surroundings dimmed, every other thought leaving with them. Every thought that wasn't a dripping, obscene supplication to be taken, mated. FUCKED.
But at last, at long last, he did. Pressing in and up with fast, smooth motion, burying himself in her . coyote pressed in, up, hard and quick. She gave a surprised gasp at the sudden sensation, feeling him inside her, thick, stiff flesh spreading her slick sex. And then she howled twitching as an ungraceful groan followed. The first climax of her true mating.
Paws tight around her waist he started to take her, slow at first but quickly building to hard, eager thrusts. She struggled under him, twisted, twitched, flailed, even his power not enough to contain the raw, red hot instinct that was flowing through her now. With fast, merciless cruelty he forced climax after climax through the dragon like wildfires. Her face shifted again and again, tense twisted agony of building pleasure to loose, sloppy oblivion of release. She felt as if she was still being thrown against the wood, in spirit now instead of body, over and over until she could feel herself begin to fall apart. As she came over and over against the wood, she could vaguely feel something shifting deep inside her. Incredible pressure baring down on the foundations of her mind, the stones beginning to tremble and quake. Something was coming. Something immense. But she was long past struggling or resisting now. Or even caring, other than a slight sense of dread, buried deep beneath the constant waves of agonized pleasure crashing against her mind now. Her head swam, pulsed, her body floated with impossible pleasure, unspeakable satisfaction. To serve, to be mated, to be used, to be ground against the throne, ground into dust, ground away into nothing. Her mind danced with joy, and words formed on her lips, reflex to the abject lust and submission that ran through her. The words of worship of her clan, for their god, in their old, obscure tongue.
Shakki Kaer
Shanna Kor
Maelnor Afi
Fosha Nakki
Ri sahn tor
An Kai shanna
[Cutting claw
Tearing fang
Melting fire
Swirling magic
All I have
I give to my god]
Over and over the words ran over her lips. Mumbled, then panted, then screamed and slurred as her drool ran down the throne, as her claws raked at the wood, as she twisted and trembled and came against the coyote's hot, ravaging length. Over and over and over.
At last she sank back to a whimpering mumble, her voice raspy now, almost gone. The pressure of each climax had come and gone, but with each the deeper pressure had grown stronger. Her body ached with it now, her mind, her soul. The stones shook. The pressure of another climax neared. She kept whimpering out the words, eyes half lidded now, tongue loose and uncooperative. Her body, her mind, her soul right at the edge of the gulf.
He stopped.
He leaned in close. Whispered to her, the words burning, mocking.
Rah shen rah kan, an shii soff.
The stones collapsed, tumbling in on themselves. She felt herself plummet, down into the infinite gulf. Her body heaved, seized, eyes wide, teeth clenched in her final climax. She felt his own, thick and hot, rush into her, felt herself go limp. For one brief instant, the most incredible pleasure she had ever felt burned through her. For another brief instant, as she felt the last stones of her mind tumble away beneath her, she realized it was the last thing she would ever truly think. Then everything sunk into darkness.
Filthy sounds filled the throne room. From a new throne of polished Onyx and silver, the coyote watched the celebration several yards to his right. Amidst an island of soft silk, couches and cushions, three females were entertaining several high-ranking court members. A rabbit knelt between several older officials, eagerly serving their lengths with mouth and paw. Her eyes were glazed and vacant, as if the soul they led to had drowned in a vast dark sea. A limp, sloppy smile hung on her mouth as it bobbed up and down. To her right a powerful mare was on all fours between an ox and a bear, the former enjoying the work of her tongue, the latter her ample sex, pausing now and then to tug her clipped tail or bring his paw down across her firm rear, bringing an anguished, pleasured moan from her stuffed mouth. Between the two a slim midnight black fox was on her back, legs spread high above her as a tiger ground into her, whimpering in pathetic need as he took her. The court members all still wore traces of their robes, white with gold edging. The females wore only thick, iron collars with long, heavy chains that rattled as they entertained.
The coyote's rise to the throne had met with some resistance at first. Discovering the usuper, the queen's champions had launched a full-out attack to regain the throne and free her. But in the end, their combined strategy and strength hadn't been enough to turn back the Dragon's eye. Beaten and subdued, the female champions had been captured and confined, gradually drained of their will and trained for better things. Now they worked at a more fitting trade: providing release for the new king's favorite officials. The male champions...He glanced over to the display case on his far left, where the polished skulls of a jaguar, horse and dog sat on silk cushions, a name card propped neatly in front of each.
Then he looked down to his immediate left. The back of the old throne had been torn off and set in the marble like a monolith. New carvings ran down its surface: A desperate dragon entertaining a crowd, as the rabbit was now. The same dragon with leash and collar, walking hands and knees beside the Emperor. The dragon kneeling at his feet.
Near the bottom a massive bolt had been thrust into the wood, its closed eye capturing a long, heavy chain. At the end of the chain a thick iron collar rested loosely around the neck of a blue scaled dragoness. She was propped limply against the wood, like a toy dropped and forgotten, head listed to one side. Thick white filth clung to her scales, splattered carelessly over her whole figure, but especially around her lips and between her legs, where it curled and burst in obscene clumps. Above her sex, her belly hung thick and swollen with the fruit of her service: to the Emperor, to his court, and every month to a crowd of lucky commoners. Her eyes, half-lidded and dead as the rabbit's, stared out into space, unseeing, unknowing. The coyote's enticing cinnamon was wasted on her now. It was crafted to trick and ensnare subtle minds, and what remained in the dragon's head was barely stronger that in the heads of the feral dogs that roamed the streets in the capital's poor districts. But the Emperor didn't mind, and neither did she. It was all she needed now. And she could still do a few tricks. Slowly, her lips moved, silently mouthing the only words she would ever speak again, remembering the sounds, but long past comprehending the meaning.
Ri sahn tor
An Kai shanna