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From the pen of William Brightshire, Esq.:

I write you again, my friend, to continue the strange story of my lizardman servant and I. Why I started penning down my thoughts I am not sure--perhaps as a confessional, or as an account of my experiences? Will my tale be used as a cautionary tale for the edification of the impressionable youth? We shall see.

After all, I am a gentleman of good standing, and have only my reputation to lose and nothing to gain were these deeds become public. The Empire makes allowances for its upper class and their peccadillos, of course, but a homosexual relationship with one's beastfolk servant would still be considered too outré. Perhaps I will burn this letter, unsent, after I finish writing it--certainly it would be the most prudent course of action!

I was not entirely truthful in my previous letter to you. While it is true that I have never entertained sexual thoughts about other human males, I have to admit that it was not simply the lizard's raw animalistic prowess that made me pleasure him sexually. I described being enthralled by his shameless display of arousal, but in truth I had already felt drawn to his entire being for a long while. The lizard is an exotic, hulking brute, and being so different from my species and gender is what made him appealing to me in the first place. The feelings were already there for those long months of him living under my roof, dormant, and the Incident merely made them bubble to the surface.

How to describe my feelings towards him… He is tall and powerful, his musculature obscured by his tough, loose skin--yet his strength is undeniable, laying in wait there like a predator under water's surface. He has broad shoulders and a slightly stooping posture which contribute to the impression of a squat, massive beast that he is. If he caught me by surprise he could tear me apart with his bare hands, yet he chooses not to--and I have to admit that the element of danger does give me a sexual thrill. I look into his yellow, reptilian eyes and cannot fathom to guess what murky thoughts swim behind them. Has he truly submitted to my will, or is he simply biding his time? We shall see.

Another detail of our first encounter that I left unsaid but now feel confident in sharing is what happened after I had retired to my rooms for the night. I had taken with me the rag that I had used to clean his body after he shot his load, and had left it on my nightstand (the good, mahogany one from the south, you know which one I'm talking about). It laid there taunting me with its presence as I paced back and forth, still too wound up from what had just happened to even consider resting. Eventually I had to be honest with myself and act out my desires to achieve peace of mind, but it still took me two tries to pick up the cumrag and sniff it.

His seed smelled… aromatic, there is no other word for it. His cum was thinner and more watery than human's, but its volume had been copious and more than enough to make the entire piece of cloth damp. It had a strong, masculine scent to it--like any male creature's would--but with an earthy, fresh tone to it, like the smell of grass after rain or the salty breeze of seaside wind. I stood there, eyes closed, my nose buried deep in the rag and inhaled his musk. I imagined him standing there, breathing in union with me, to receive my air from his lungs as he would wrap his strong arms around to caress me…

Soon I could not hold myself back--I had to know how he tasted. To this very day that moment gives me a shiver of pleasure, and remains as a pleasant memory of stepping over an unspoken threshold into an unknown territory. There was a glistening spot on the rag where his seed had pooled, and I touched my lips to it cautiously. It was lighter than his scent, salty and quite bitter--definitely an acquired taste, but one that I would soon start to crave. You know how something can be unpleasant on the first time, but leaves a lingering aftertaste you find yourself returning to in your thoughts, on those long idle hours between afternoon tea and dinner? That was how his cum and its faint yet distinct scent of cucumbers made me feel.

I was dreadfully aroused, of course, but I have a strict policy against masturbation distilled in me by my upbringing and I simply could not do it. Even now while writing this the thought makes me blush with guilt--my tutors were nothing but cruel if thorough in instilling the proper morals into me in my tender, formative years, and in a perverse way their efforts ensured that I would be bold enough to take the next step: to sleep with my brutish, inhuman manservant.

Alas, sleep! The last refuge of the wicked and the weary, and a reminder of one more embarrassing detail to share. After I had calmed my nerves with a hearty nightcap of finest brandy I retired myself to the bed, but could not close my eyes without becoming restless again. The bed felt too empty, too cold to sleep alone--my passions had been aroused, and my heart fluttered in my chest at the thought of the lizard curled on his cot downstairs. I was falling in love, perhaps for the first time in my life, and I yearned to feel the touch of those large hands on my skin. Eventually, in frustration, I scrunched up my pillow and duvet into a big mound and hugged it tightly. I imagined how it would be like closing my arms around the lizard's broad chest, and to enhance the illusion I laid the cumrag on it so I could nuzzle my face against it. With that pathetic--if comforting--display I eventually drifted into sleep.

--

It was impossible to tell if the lizard dreamed of me, or anything at all for that matter. His inhuman visage did not show emotion that I could interpret, and he spoke very little. His maw was ill suited for human speech, so he had to produce his voice deep within his throat. It made his speech laborious and his words slurred, as he formed the letters one by one with his raspy, hissing bass. He followed my orders silently and performed whatever manual labor I saw fit without complaint. Nevertheless, despite that servile attitude I was still given a reminder of his alien mindset from time to time.

For example, I had given him the butler's pantry next to the kitchen for his sleeping place, but after the Incident I decided that it would be better if he moved upstairs close to my own rooms--there was a little-used guest room that was not only larger, but also had a fireplace in it to keep him warm. However, when I showed him the new sleeping arrangement he became very agitated and growled at me threateningly, so much that I was afraid that he would lunge at me again. I had to slap him on the snout, hard, to make him stop, and to my relief he indeed backed down without resisting. Afterwards he was perfectly happy to return to his old lodgings, and did not seem to resent my actions at all. Another time I had been entertaining my guests for the entire evening, and having had a little too much to drink I stumbled on the stairs when retiring to my rooms. He was there in an instant to catch me in his big, strong arms. It had long been my fantasy but I was too taken by the surprise so I simply mumbled a thank you. He set me back on my feet gently, and that was the end of it. It was clearly a protective, perhaps even affectionate gesture, and the lizard demonstrably showed me at least some sort of respect--yet he challenged it at odd moments.

His unpredictability kept me on my toes because I never could be entirely certain how he would react to even my innocuous actions--which, granted, also was part of the excitement for me. After retiring from active service my life has been cozy but admittedly dull, and being involved with the inscrutable brute certainly changed that quickly. I believe that I became enamored with him not only due to the physical attraction, but also because of the mystery that he represented. I was curious and wanted to understand the murky depths of the lizard's soul, like an explorer entering an uncharted wilderness. Make no mistake: I do not deny being a deviant, and despite these lofty goals I still wish to partake in the pleasures of flesh with him. My body aches to feel him against myself, to hug and caress and grope his broad back and firm thighs, to have him squeeze me in a headlock with his bulging biceps smothering my face while he ravages me brutishly, taking me roughly as is the manner of his people… but we shall see.

--

Then came the early spring and another encounter with him. There was still snow on the ground and the storms arriving from the sea were fierce--once again I question the wisdom of our ancestors for not settling in somewhere warm--so it was a good day to hole up in my drawing room with a decanter of fiery liquor and make absolutely no plans to go outside. I watched as the wind howled and rattled the window panes and felt sorry for anyone who had to brave the sleet and the snow, and appreciated my comfy lifestyle a little better.

The lizard was curled up in front of the fireplace like a dog, hugging a hot water bottle that I had given to him and dozed off comfortably. He was not bothered by his proximity to the fire or even by the occasional spark a crackling log spat out--they just bounced off his thick hide harmlessly. I sipped my drink and watched him idly while the glow of flames danced on his dark green scales. After the Incident I had made him wear clothes, a simple loincloth that slipped between his legs and was tied around the base of his tail. Previously he had walked around completely naked save for the slave collar, but now that I had started to see him as a sexual being I suddenly felt flustered when staring at his bare crotch (it was particularly bothersome during breakfast, when his genital slit hovered right at my eye level while he waited by the table to serve me more coffee).

I called out to him and he perked up immediately, his head held up in attention, and told him that he should draw us a bath. My choice of words was intentional, but I do not know if he noticed or cared. I had had an iron stove installed last summer, so hot water was readily available--truly, we live in wondrous times--and soon I could hear the lizard splashing about in the bathing room. Yes, I have a bathing room in my residence--I confess being an aficionado of the bath, and up until now it had been my only vice. One can hardly blame a man for picking up such foreign habits after a long campaign abroad!

The lizard had filled the ornate metal tub to the brim with steamy water, hot enough to turn skin pink and drive any coldness from bones, and the soap flakes dissolved in it had turned it opaque and milky. I told the lizard that he should bathe first, and he stepped in without saying anything, steadying himself against my shoulder as he lifted his leg over the edge. He sat down with a deluge of soapy water rushing over the tub's rim, drenching my dressing gown completely and sloshing on the tiled floor up to my ankles. I was too self-conscious about my intents to care about such trivialities--the giant's palm on my shoulder had felt cool, yet burned like fire in my memory.

He settled in and leaned back in the hot bath, making a hissing sound between his parted jaws that I believed indicated pleasure. I took a scoop and poured water on his head, carefully, to avoid getting it in his eyes. I watched it run in rivulets down his neck and onto his chest. He relaxed, shut his eyes, and let me bathe him. Even so I felt my heart pound in my ears loud as a galloping stallion when I told him that I liked him a great lot, and--this is where I nearly faltered--that I wanted to mate with him.

At first he did not seem to have heard what I had just blurted out, and I started to grow anxious--how fierce a rejection would be when given by someone so lowly! Then, to my relief, I could see his knees move and rise to the surface as he spread his legs and waited, his eyes still closed. Emboldened, I touched his chest and massaged his firm pectorals with slow, sensuous motion. His scaly skin felt both rough and slippery at the same time, like stroking a river polished stone, and I could sense the tension leaving his muscles as I kneaded them. I let my hand follow a shallow groove down his chest and belly, and soon it disappeared out of sight in the milky water in its search for the treasures unseen.

I had to kneel to be able to reach over his pubic mound and between his legs, bringing my face close to his body. To my disappointment the lizard made no motion to pet my head or otherwise caress me as I had fantasized, but simply laid there and waited. I felt a tinge of sadness to be so denied by the object of my love, but my growing lust overrode that more delicate emotion. He had not taken his loincloth off when he got in the bath, and I found it rubbing between my hand and his crotch. I slipped my fingers under it and felt up his slit, its lips stiffer than woman's, but its insides just as soft and inviting. Almost immediately the tip of his penis pressed against my palm, and I grasped it as it slid out like an eel out of its hiding place. The first time I had been ashamed and had touched it only gingerly, but now I fully knew what I desired, and I relished feeling that thick meat in my grip. I stroked his firm, throbbing member slowly, savoring the smooth sensation of my hand sliding up and down its entire curving length. The lizard hissed and took hold of the tub's edges, and craned his head upwards exposing his throat. He looked at me through half-closed eyes, his slitted pupils dilated, and I knew that he was enjoying being pleasured by his master.

He thrusted his hips upwards as he climaxed, and I felt how his cock pulsed as he shot his load in the soapy water. It bubbled up in little coagulated lumps that floated idly on the surface. Spent, the lizard flopped backwards and slid deeper in the water, rumbling contentedly and making bubbles with his snout. I had waited for that blissful state of post-orgasm glow before approaching him with my own member, yet I was still very nervous when I shrugged off my clothes and presented myself to him.

He was surprised and taken aback when I pointed my erection close towards his face, and seemed at loss what to do. By then I was too horny to not have my way with him, so I cajoled him with soft words to give it a lick but he stayed hesitant--you have not seen me naked, but I am quite fit and have an even thicket of fuzz covering my chest and abs, and combined with my above average sized manhood the beast must have felt intimidated. Eventually I chose to grab him by his slave collar and drag him towards my crotch, and noticed how he grew tenser as he approached me. Nevertheless, he did not struggle and soon I could feel his breath on my cock. Air billowed in and out of his nostrils, its misty tendrils leaving my pubic hair adorned with beads of moisture as he breathed in my scent.

He opened his maw lined with sharp teeth, gingerly, and stuck out his blue tongue, all the while looking at me as if he expected me to lash out for some reason. At that moment I wondered if sticking my cock in that fierce meat grinder was such a good idea, but then I felt his slimy caress on my shaft and that dispelled all my doubts. He gave my cock a cautious lick, ready to flinch in case I punished him, but I encouraged him and he started to relax. His tongue was long and powerful, made strange by its cool touch--it moved like a living thing, but did not feel warm like one. He lapped at my cock with increasing gusto, making wet sloppy sounds, then dipped down to my balls covering my entire package in glistening lizard saliva.

He grunted and pushed his snout into my crotch like an overeager dog making his acquaintances, rising partially from the bath splashing us both with more water. I could see that he had become erect again, and as he kept nuzzling his face against my sex he started to make low, rumbling mating sounds. He was more excited than ever before in those months I had known him, which took me by surprise--I do not yet know if it was the act itself, or my scent that made the normally taciturn lizard so eager to please. We shall see.

My cock could not withstand such assault for long, and I yelped when I shot my thick wad on his snout. The lizard pulled back when he felt my warm load dribble down the side of his face, and dipped his fingers in the gooey mess to study it. He sniffed my cum, then snorted it in his nostrils--and thanked me in his hoarse voice. I stood there, panting, and watched the brutish hulk sit down and wait patiently in the cummy bathwater. I knew that his meaty pole would be there waiting for me under the surface, yet I climbed in the tub to scrub his back.

The lizard was very placid and let me handle him as I pleased, and I used the opportunity to sniff his armpits as I lifted his arms to wash his pits, to cop a feel of his buttocks when I scrubbed him under his tail with a washcloth. I felt a sexual tension between us, but the lizard seemed to simply enjoy the intimacy and did not make any advances towards me. We ended up washing each other, just as any two men sharing a bath and enjoying the warmth and company, and as such it was a pleasant experience.

Afterwards I invited him to spend the night with me, and my brutish manservant nodded. As I am writing this I can hear his footsteps in the stairs, and the floorboards creaking under his weight in the corridor leading to my door. What happens next? That, dear reader, we shall see...