by Cecilia Tan
“Why haven’t you pleasured yourself since?” The tone was pleasant, but there was steel behind it. Therese set her jaw. She would not give this bitch her deepest shame to toy with. This time, however, Harrow leaned forward and bit her on the throat, hard enough to bruise, while at the same time forcing three fingers up inside her, and the confusion of sensation—pain and pleasure—so entirely confused her that she could not tell which it was that made her come again. “Damn you,” she wept angrily. “Damn you! What do you want from me?”
“You have very soft skin,” the sorceress whispered, as if to herself. “But I want the truth. Or we can keep doing this until—”
“No!” Therese screamed. “You want the truth, you she-snake? I can’t stop thinking about it! At first, it just made me cry to think of it, but then... I can’t lie with anyone, I can’t even touch myself without thinking of how I shamed myself—and yet to think of it makes me burn!”
“You came, didn’t you,” Harrow said mercilessly. “When they fucked you, when your cunt and ass were full of their filthy cocks, you came.”
“It’s the only damn thing I can think of when I try to come!” Therese wailed, beyond caring about dignity. “I’m tainted! Tainted! And I prayed and prayed, but there was no answer....” Her head fell forward again and she trailed off.
There were a pair of strong arms going around her, holding her. “You’re not tainted,” she whispered in the soldier’s ear. “You’re just different. Like me. And a war god is not exactly the best counselor for your sexual problems,” she added, chuckling to herself.
Therese sobbed onto her shoulder and then squirmed, realizing the soft stroke of Harrow’s silk shirt against her skin was an irritant. “You’re hurting me,” she whispered.
Harrow pulled away. “So I am,” she said. “Would you rather I beat you?”
“Yes,” Therese said, finally. “Yes. Milady. Please.”
Afterwards, when she was black and blue with the welts of the whip, when she had writhed and screamed in that curious mixture of pain and pleasure until orgasm had shaken her half a dozen times, the sorceress took her down and laid her on the big bed, and drove her hand into Therese’s cunt harder and harder. As each wave of pressure receded and her body eased Harrow’s fist inside, it ceased to give pleasure and she cried out for more, harder, fiercer, until it seemed she would be split in two.
Then Harrow removed her black silk clothing and leaned her slim, hard body against the wall, and gave an order, which Therese knelt to do. She had sworn an oath, and anyway there seemed little point in resistance now.
They stopped briefly for food and drink; Therese sat numbly on the floor and took what tidbits Harrow passed down to her. Then, as the sun dropped low in the sky, the sorceress bound her hands behind her and lay her on the bed. She took a small vial from the cupboard; when she took the lid off, it smelled of juniper liqueur. Removing one of her earrings, she dipped into the bottle. “This is a healing fluid,” she said, “for small wounds.”
“What are you going to do to me?” Therese whispered, watching the setting sun glint flame off the swaying gems.
For answer the sorceress took hold of her nipple firmly and thrust the sharp hook of the earring through it. Therese screamed until her throat was raw, and shook with the strongest orgasm yet. Harrow, straddling her thigh, rubbed herself against the thrashing woman and laughed. “You’ll wear my marks until you leave, and you’ll love it,” she said, thrusting a second one through her other nipple and enjoying the ride.
When the young soldier curled up like a wounded animal at the foot of the bed that night, she wore the other six dangling from the lips of her cunt, three to a side, and even though she was exhausted she could not sleep for the arousal. Finally, giving in, she watched Harrow’s sleeping form and put her hand where she had resisted for so long, letting her mind fantasize about what it wanted to. The memories were surprisingly faded, like an old story retold so many times it is misty, like a stylized masquerade.
Afterwards, she slept like a stone.
The next day, she submitted to Harrow’s ministrations without complaint or rebellion, letting the woman whip her, letting her thrust a strong slender hand into her cunt, letting her grease the handle of the whip and violate her ass with it. She was not allowed to stand or leave the room; when the sorceress sat at her table reading, Therese was left chained to the bed, wet and swollen, writhing, waiting for Harrow to come over and hurt her again. On the third day, she learned to clean off the sorceress’s slim black boots with her tongue, and when Harrow brought a mastiff’s collar with a heavy chain attached, she bent her head for it without a word. The last night she slept the entire night with the chain attached to a belt around the sorceress’s waist, her mouth and chin buried in dark-furred, strong-smelling cunt, ready to do her duty whenever Harrow stirred and moved her crotch against Therese’s blind, nuzzling face.
The sword was exactly where she had left it, leaning up against the library wall. Her clothing was there, too, neatly folded on the chair. Harrow watched her as she dressed in silence. “You’re afraid,” she said.
Therese nodded. Honesty toward the sorceress had become a reflex by now. “I’m afraid they’ll know,” she said, “when I return. That they’ll somehow sense how I’m... different.”
The dark-haired woman’s mouth quirked up slightly. “It doesn’t show on the outside, I assure you,” she said.
The young soldier buckled on her armor and squared her shoulders. “How long will it take for the drug to wear off?” she asked.
Harrow laughed. “I only used it that first day,” she said. “Everything since has just been your own natural desires.”
Therese drew in her breath, stunned and dismayed. “No!” Then, at the sorceress’s even gaze, she slumped where she stood. “No, you’re right, it is true. It is true.”
“I have only lied to you once,” Harrow said quietly, “and I will rectify that now, if you will allow me. Look out that window.” She pointed to the barred window of the library. Therese went over and peered out through its small diamond-shaped panes; it looked out onto a beautiful garden with a small cottage at one end, wreathed in blooming morning glories. A young man with gilt hair and rich clothing walked with a pretty, buxom girl; both were laughing and obviously had eyes only for each other. Therese could see the flash of his white teeth from here, though not his sky-colored eyes. To be truthful herself, she had almost forgotten about him.
“That is Olwen, my second cousin,” Harrow said. “Tamwind, I am afraid, is having an affair with her, and they asked to borrow my guest cottage for a few days in secret. He plans to leave today. His father thinks he is visiting an aged aunt.” There was an ironic twist to her voice and Therese turned to look at her, not knowing if she should be feeling relief or anger. “Go down to him,” Harrow told her. “He doesn’t know you are here. Tell him I asked you to escort him home.” The irony reached her mouth in a small smile. “Tell him we are old friends.”
“It was all for me, then?” Therese whispered.
The dark-haired woman nodded. Her hair was out of its tail and it fell around her face, softening the angular contours, hiding her expression in the shadows. “You are not alone, you know,” she said. “Nor even alone with me. There are others, more than you’d know. We are Skulde’s children; she owns that part of us that makes love. Some of us are born, like me; some made, like you. You will find someone, someday.” She paused. “Mother Skulde reclaims what is damaged by others, and makes it into a triumph. Nothing is ever wasted. Believe that.”
Therese gripped the hilt of her sword, testing it in her hand. “Will I see you again?” she asked.
Harrow MacBridie shrugged; her hands flew out in an unreadable gesture. “I doubt it. But one never knows.” She turned away. “Go, Therese.” It was the first time she had spoken her name. The young soldier turned away and left the room almost in a daze; the hall opened onto the beautiful garden and the bright sunlight, flowers nodding gen
tly, tall and lush. A garden growing from the plowed and harrowed ground, and beyond it two people raised their hands in a wave and a shout of greeting and joy for the fine, fine day.
Capture, Courting, and Copulation: Contemporary Human Mating Rituals and the Etiology of Human Agression
by Carolyn and Steve Vakesh
The somewhat older—and certainly wiser—dragon addressed her pupil. “Human courtship is much more complicated now. In the past the human male simply clubbed the female over her head, dragged her back to his cave, and mated with her.”
“Weren’t there casualties?” her pupil interrupted.
“Well yes, of course. The occasional female who was clubbed too hard or a male who missed or didn’t club hard enough and was in turn beaten senseless by the female. But mating in most species is not without risk.” She blinked, her large, gem-like eyes glittering in the sunlight. “Now where was I? Yes, of course, current human mating rituals. They are much more complex now than in the past and require elaborate preparation and ritual. Usually one of them gets tied up, often the female, but not always. The other human then rescues her after demonstrating his or her prowess in ritual combat. Both now sexually stimulated from this display, they mate.”
“That’s why you had me kidnap the human female.”
“Yes, and an excellent choice you’ve made,” she said, gazing through the concealing blind at their trussed captive. “She’s quite attractive by human standards and seems to have dressed for the occasion. Notice how the tight clothing around her middle pushes her mammaries up, making them protrude, and how it accentuates her hips; how the slit in her skirt reveals her long, shapely legs. This is even further accentuated by the way you have tied her between those two trees. Her squirming combined with the exposed flesh will further stimulate the lust of the male.”
“Truly, human mating is complicated.”
“It is not for us to judge. We are merely humble scientists conducting research.”
She was about to continue when he interrupted her again. “What if it’s not a male who comes to rescue her? What if it’s another female? Will they still mate?”
“Sometimes. Humans are far more concerned with gender than more evolved beings such as ourselves. Several of their cultural groupings even stigmatize same-gender pairings. For our purposes, it would be best to have a male rescuer, but we must accept what fate provides.” She paused, resting her head on her interlaced talons, studying her research assistant. “Now are you ready to play your next role in our experiment?”
“I’m still not sure I understand what I’m to do.”
“It is quite simple really. As we speak a human warrior must already have donned his metal suit and be riding to the rescue of this maiden. You will need to engage him in ritual combat and lose.”
“Lose? Lose to a puny human? What about my honor? What will other dragons say?”
“You are a scientist. Such concerns are beneath you. Besides, there would be no honor in dispatching such a weak foe. Now when the human warrior comes, he will attempt to stick you with his long, pointy thing. Even if he hits you it probably won’t penetrate your scales, but best to be safe. Simply clutch it to your side, scream, and fall down pretending to be dead.”
“What if he stops to check? What if he tries to shove his pointy thing into one of my eyes, or some other orifice not covered by my scales?” He shuddered in memory, curling his tail protectively about his nether regions. His great-grandfather had been killed in his sleep by a human who shoved a long, pointy thing up his rear—a most undignified way for a dragon to die.
“Highly unlikely. You must position yourself so the warrior can see the bound female. Once you’ve fallen to the ground, he will be overcome with lust and will rush to her and mate.” She drew out the last words, her voice rising in a sense of triumph as if their act of coitus were her own personal erotic conquest.
“What if the warrior’s a female? Human females are more observant than the males—at least that’s what Salo claimed in his last paper.”
She frowned at this too obvious attempt to impress her with his research. “While I am inclined to agree with Salo, even a female warrior should still be more interested in rescuing and mating with our captive than in making sure of your demise. Still, you should probably be more careful of a female than a male warrior.”
“But how will I be able to tell the difference under the metal suits they wear?”
“Solid statistical evidence indicates that the male warriors prefer metal suits, whereas the female ones, especially those attracted to other females, prefer leather suits. We do not know why this is. In fact, we should investigate that after we finish this experiment. Yes, ‘The Erotic Place of Leather in Human Mating Rituals’ would be an excellent presentation at next year’s conference. Make a note of that. Perhaps you could do your dissertation on that topic.”
Her pupil, who up until now had managed to avoid the entire problem of finding a graduate advisor and beginning the dissertation process, shuddered and quickly moved to sidetrack his teacher. “What happens after I fall to the ground?”
“Yes, you are quite right, we must concentrate on the present study. The human warrior will slay you and then mate with the bound woman, and we will observe.”
“But how are they going to mate? She’s tied up and the warrior is in a silly leather or metal suit. Shouldn’t I at least peel him before letting him slay me?”
“No, the armor is necessary. Human warriors wear it to resemble our own beautiful scales and proud head crests. It is an important sign of their virility and necessary to stimulate the female.” She puffed up her own head crest to display it in its full grandeur, and indeed it was beautiful, glittering in a thousand dancing colors, and it did indeed arouse her pupil. “As for the ropes,” she continued, “Humans are stimulated by bondage. We still have not determined why, but it is apparently an aphrodisiac for them as much as gold and gems are for us.”
He nodded in agreement. There was, after all, nothing better than making love on top of a pile of warm gold coins, surrounded by sparkling gemstones. But alas, his girlfriend had dumped him and run off with a credit card executive whose trove of gold and gems could never be matched by that of a poor graduate student like himself.
His mentor interrupted his reverie. “The warrior comes. Take your position.” The younger dragon moved into the clearing to face his enemy, his back to the trussed and delectable female. His mentor concealed herself in their carefully constructed blind, observing the human warrior approaching on his mount. He wore a metal suit, so he should be male, or at least so said solid statistical evidence.
The brave human warrior charged the dragon on horseback, lance carefully couched beneath his arm, his shield held high to deflect the talons of the fearsome beast. As the knight thundered forward, the dragon deftly moved aside, propelled by his powerful wings. The warrior’s lance passed beneath his right arm, grazing the soft scales there. Twisting about, the dragon caught hold of the warrior’s lance under his arm. Clutching it to his side, he screamed, “Aaaargh you got me!” (in dragon, of course) and fell over, breaking the lance with his weight to make sure the human didn’t get any other ideas as to where he might stick it.
The knight dismounted his equally brave steed, kicked the presumably dead dragon, and then, true to his mentor’s prediction, did indeed rush to the maiden. There, he pulled off his gauntlets and began tearing at her clothes, exposing more of her succulent—and probably quite tasty—flesh. He paid special attention to the maiden’s mammaries, fondling and squeezing them and pulling them away from her concealing clothing. His examination of the female’s mammaries, in fact, so occupied his attention that he failed to notice the supposedly dead dragon crawl closer to the blind where his mentor remained hidden. Once he was close enough, she whispered to him, “Look. Notice how he thrusts her mammaries right under his face. Notice how she wriggles to expose bare flesh to his gaze, how she rubs her hips against his leg.”
/> “Yes, it’s making me hungry.”
She gasped. “We are educated, politically correct dragons. We do not eat humans any more.” She glared at him but then caressed him with her tail to calm him. It had, after all, not been so long since the pioneering work of her own teacher had proved that humans were, like dolphins, sentient and therefore not to be eaten. There was also, of course, the unfortunate incident involving her student’s great-grandfather. No doubt that troubled him. She continued to caress him. He was, after all, not only one of her brightest graduate students, but also the most attractive with beautiful iridescent green scales and dark, sparkling eyes. “Now watch what they do. This will certainly win us academic acclaim and get us published in The Journal of the Sociology of Lesser Sentient Creatures.”
He moved closer to her, exposing his neck to her touch, still watching the humans, and still pretending to be dead.
The warrior continued to paw at the female, moving more of her clothing aside and tearing much of it. He lifted the visor of his helm and nuzzled her with his lips, sometimes biting her with his teeth. The female in turn arched her back, making strange panting noises, and exposed more of her flesh to the warrior’s touch. She now wore little more than the tight leather garment about her waist. The warrior grabbed hold of her about this garment, picked her up and pulled her close to him. She, in turn, wrapped her legs tightly about him, trying to force herself downward, but the ropes still held her arms high. The warrior, apparently enjoying her struggles, held her there for some time while she writhed against him, entreating him in the strange human language.
This display of lower order lust, along with the tender caresses of his teacher, began to stimulate a pleasant tingling under the pupil’s scales. While the humans mated, the pupil crept closer and closer to his teacher, intoxicated by the warm, dry scent of her. She in turn caressed him more and more, first only with her tail, but then as she slowly advanced out of her hiding place, with her talons as well. He slid his tail into the bushes and let it travel over her beautiful violet and indigo scales. His tongue flicked out, tasting her talons and then her arm, sampling her perfume. Soon, small puffs of smoke and flame emanated from their nest as each nuzzled the other.
