Bullying the Dragon
Flamesinger carried himself with the dignity and strength that was reserved for only a few. Kings and queens, with their material wealth and vast armies, would puff out their chest when in the company of their peers. But dignity and strength did not come from noble birth or gold coins or how many men you had at your beck and call. It came from a core power, something that a dragon as old as Flamesinger was well accustomed to. Younger dragons, unsure of their position in the world, tried to flaunt their strength to prove it existed at all. They ravaged country sides and devoured maidens (despite the fact that humans were most often stringy and didn't taste very good), and usually fell to the blade of a wandering knight or skilled archer. They were stupid, and the world was better off without them. Flamesinger saw no need to be uncivil, and so when his great belly rumbled and he scented humans on the wind, he licked his lips and headed off in that direction.
Flamesinger was truly a sight to behold. As mentioned, younger dragons tended to flaunt their size. They walked with their heads high on their long neck, their hips shaking side to side so that any tree or passerby that ventured too close would get smashed to pieces. They frequently breathed fire just to show that they could, and crushed anything that was near beneath a casual foot. Flamesinger did none of that, and yet any who laid eyes upon him would be awed by his presence.
Flamesinger was green in color: dark green over his back and light green on his belly and underside. He was perhaps thirty feet long, not including the long neck that stretched out a good ten feet itself. His neck was usually pulled back and curled to make his size more manageable. His wingspan was grand and massive, as would seem logical for such a great monster, but his wings could fold along his back enough they were seldom a problem. Although short, his legs were stocky and powerful, and efficiently carried him deftly over the plains, approaching the scent of humans not far away. As massive as he was, by the time his draconic vision spied the human settlement, spotted first by the plumes of black smoke that rose to the sky and then the squat buildings that disrupted the smoothness of the fields of green, the humans must have spotted him. Although his hearing was not his best sense, he felt a low rumble of a siren horn vibrate through the ground, most likely calling any villagers who were outside the walls back in. Or perhaps they were arming the catapults. Undeterred, Flamesinger continued forward, lips licking in anticipating for the meal that would soon be had.
As he drew closer, a flicker of something shiny caught his eye. He focused his vision and peered forward, and noticed a small group of knights that were approaching him. Glory seekers, no doubt. A band of fools who had slain one of his younger cousins and assumed that all dragons were of the same strength. It was bothersome, but not uncommon, and Flamesinger began to trot a little faster, planning to simply crash through the mass of mounted warriors to be done with them.
The humans stopped a good distance from Flamesinger, which gave him pause. He waited, and stretched his wings out to intimidate them. When they did not turn tail, he focused his vision, and saw that they were indeed preparing an attack. The knights each mounted their arquebus on stands, and aimed their weapons at the dragon, all except the main knight, who dismounted his horse and instead approached. He was brandishing a blunderbuss in hand, and on his back he carried a very long straight sword, perhaps four feet in length. He approached, his polished armor shining silver and clanking noisily, and stopped about ten feet away from the dragon, who lowered his head and stared.
Flamesinger assumed the knight spoke, because he could hear muffled growls and grunts. Flamesinger snarled slightly, and then spoke himself. "Remove your helmet, knight," he said. "It is difficult enough to understand your tiny voices; the smother of your helmet makes it intolerable."
To remove his helmet, the knight would require both hands, which would entail placing his blunderbuss on the ground. His sword, too, would be out of reach as he took his helmet off. He stared at the dragon for a time, before giving an order to his men with a wave of the hand. They widened their stance and adjusted their aim on the dragon, as their leader placed his blunderbuss on the ground. He slowly removed his helmet, and placed it on the ground as well, before once more taking up his blunderbuss.
"My name is Captain Lowe," the lead knight said. "I am of the Golia Republic, and serving as leader of the unit you see before you. We have been hired to protect the township you approach, which is why we are here."
Flamesinger rolled his eyes. "I have no interest in your maidens, captain. I am simply hungry, and would like to indulge in some of your cows. Your village looks large enough. I am sure you can spare some meat."
Flamesinger noticed the captain's chain laced fingers drumming over the grip of his blunderbuss. "What have you to offer?" the captain asked.
"Feed me today, captain, and I will return in a week with a payment of gold."
"I am not authorized to make deals of that type, dragon. But I will escort you to the village, and you may address the magistrate. With him you may negotiate the deal." The captain retrieved his helmet, and walked back to his men and his horse. Lowe spoke in a whisper to one of the soldiers, who uncocked his arquebus and mounted his horse. A moment later he was racing back to the village. "He will warn the villagers, and tell the magistrate of your arrival. If you do not act hostile to the people I protect, you may proceed inside unmolested. If you do, however, I will be forced to put you down. You are not the first dragon that I have slain."
Flamesinger rolled his eyes. He was a dragon of power and strength, and did not need to engage in petty banter to prove his dominance. His strength would be clear when he crushed the insolent bug under his paw... if he crushed him under his paw. In Flamesinger's youth, he had been like any other dragon: slaughtering and pillaging and devouring for the simple thrill. But he had grown more refined with age, and no longer took as much joy in senseless slaughter. Besides, they had arrived at an agreement, and if the knights kept their word, he would keep his.
As he drew closer, he came to appreciate just how large this human village was. Perhaps city was a better term. Squat homes that could house perhaps a family of ten corralled the streets. The streets themselves were wide enough that Flamesinger could move through, though only if he was very careful and sucked in his ample girth. Carts and stray cats had all been moved out of the street to give him passage. Windows and shutters had been closed as if wood and glass would stop him if he chose to raze the city. There many, many archers and riflemen, however. Hiding inside the watchtowers, perched on distant roofs, all at the ready. Flamesinger was old and grand, but not invulnerable, and like beestings to a bear, enough arrows and bullets would fell him.
At last he arrived in the courtyard, and was free to spread his wings and his tail, and release a long held breath out of his gut. He settled down and waited. The lead knight waited with him. He remained mounted on his horse and his blunderbuss was kept in hand, and his eyes never strayed from Flamesinger. Flamesinger, on the other hand, was only interested in the courtyard. Humans were quiet interesting creatures. Dragons never gave them enough credit. And he stretched his long neck as far as it could go; eyeing each little building that surrounded him, curious about the craftsmanship.
At last the magistrate came forward, out of the building that was farthest from Flamesinger. Flamesinger looked to him, recognizing him as someone important by the purple robes he wore, and bowed his head to stare at the little man.
"What is the meaning of this, captain?" the magistrate demanded. He was a fat man, his girth apparent even beneath the elaborate gold and purple robes he wore, and although he did not usually eat humans, Flamesinger did lick his lips gently as the little morsel approached. "What is the meaning of this?"
"As the lieutenant explained, this dragon seeks to barter. He has come to the town peacefully. He will leave peacefully if we provide him with a couple cows."
"Overgrown lizard!" the magistrate shouted, stomping towards him, waving a finger up at the dragon. "Think you can come in and bully us! I have built this entire city on my own sweat and blood. You dare to puff out your chest and make demands."
"Magistrate," the captain said quickly. "A relation of this nature with a dragon would not be something bad. He has given his word he will pay for what he devours."
"I will not trade with a lizard! Do you hear me, you overgrown gecko! All archers and riflemen, open fire! Open fire! Captain, tell your men to open fire... I hired you, captain, now tell your men to open fire!"
"The township hired me, magistrate. And it is in the best interest of this town to form an alliance with a dragon such as him."
"Open fire, captain! Kill this fucking lizard!"
"I will not put my men, or the people of this town, in danger for you, magistrate."
In a huff the magistrate turned and stared at the dragon, and then the captain. "Fucking Goll," he said to the captain, which made the captain tense. Turning to the dragon, he shouted, "Fucking oversized scaly! Someday, someone is going to skin you and make a fine pair of boots, for someone like me."
And he began to stomp back to his home at the other end of the courtyard. But Flamesinger cleared his throat, drawing the magistrate's attention. Flamesinger took his time to lean down very close to the plump man, before speaking. "You have insulted me, tiny one. I require some compensation for such audacious speech."
The magistrate could only give a scream as a pair of mammoth fingers reached for him. Rather than pinching his head between the two fingers and squeezing, however, the delicate nail only pinched the purple robes he wore, and lifted him into the air. The captain quickly lifted a hand, signaling for none of the shooters to engage the dragon, as Flamesinger stood up on his rear legs and brought his other hand forward, delicately toying with the little human in his nail. The magistrate regained his composure quickly, and began to kick and squirm in rage. "Do you think you can scare me, lizard?! Every day the priests of this country offer their blessing and enchantments. Burn the city for all I care, I'll be perfectly fine."
But Flamesinger only smiled, and his long, black tongue flicked over his lips. "That's quite a reassurance," he hissed. "You see, magistrate, I swore to your captain that none under his protection would come to harm by my claw or tooth. With the knowledge that you are enchanted, I do not have to be careful."
The first thing Flamesinger did was tug at the elaborate robes the magistrate wore. Flamesinger did not like them. He could almost tolerate the knight and their adorable metal shells, at least those were functional. But these robes annoyed him, and one dexterous claw traced down the man's chest, cutting through the thick fabric effortlessly. The enchantments protected his fragile skin from the sharpness of the claw, and even when the fabric tore and he plummeted to the ground, the magistrate was perfectly fine. Well enough to stand and attempt to run back to the captain, who might offer some protection.
Flamesinger simply bent his head, and slipped his long tongue out. The dexterous appendage wrapped around the magistrate, and dragged him back. Lifting his tongue, Flamesinger was easier able to examine his quarry. The magistrate puffed and gasped, the warm, slimy tongue felt even through the enchantment. That confirmed it was simply a fortitude charm. Flamesinger had encountered such before. They were less protective than a Shield Spell, but they permitted the user to experience sensations; touch and smells. Shield Spells were akin to living in a muted bubble.
Flamesinger examined the human held by his tongue. He squeezed this human slightly, making him gasp and groan, which was odd, until Flamesinger noticed an odd something on his tongue. Lifting his hand and pinching the human by the foot, he released him and examined him closer, noticing that his little briefs were fitting tighter than they had been before. Flamesinger's eyes zoomed into the soaked white cloth, noticing a purple-pink spot peeking out from waste band. He laughed, and brought his other claw up, carefully pinching the briefs between two nails. Giving a soft tug, they tore as easily as tissue paper, and the little human's penis was left to flop comically in the air.
"You, you fucking lizard! Captain! Captain!"
Flamesinger looked passively down at the knight, who was examining the entire spectacle from ground level. His arms were crossed, his helmet shielding his emotions to prying eyes.
Flamesinger pinched the magistrate's other foot, and holding him upside down, pulled his legs apart. The magistrate was just going to shout and curse, when he felt a massive tongue brush up his whole front. His penis was lifted up, the forked tip of the tongue tracing the curves of the top side of the erection, before running down the bottom side and brushing over his testicles. Another lick followed, brushing over the entire length of man that was held, and then another. On the fourth, Flamesinger tasted a touch of salt on the tip of his tongue.
"You like that, tiny one?" Flamesinger asked, and the magistrate did not respond. He just hung there, eyes wide.
Flamesinger's tongue was quite warm. His whole mouth was, in fact, and when he exhaled warmth blew out of him and washed over the shivering magistrate's body. The forked tip of the dragons tongue emerged from his open maw, and brushed over the little human's body once more. Coming to his erection, however, he paused, and used the muscles in the fork of his tongue to squeeze around the erection's base.
The magistrate jerked forward suddenly, biting back a scream. "You fucking lizard!" he shouted instead. "You fucking, someone fucking shoot it! By the gods, someone fucking shoot it!"
Flamesinger pulled his tongue back very slowly, squeezing the erection to a painful extent. Miniscule drops of white were on the massive tongue, before Flamesinger closed his mouth and swallowed it and the saliva that was pooling inside his jaws. He took the human by one of his flailing arms and continued to hold him.
He examined the man, as if momentarily undecided about what should come next, but soon his eyes closed and he opened his mouth wide. The magistrate only let out a choked gasp as the great tongue emerged, and like a snake coiled around his whole body. His erection was pressed up against his belly, the erection's underside treated well by the bumpy, warm appendage that was so intensely squeezing his whole body. He wiggled and squirmed, but his arms were clamped at his side, and his legs squeezed together. Only his neck and head were spared the slimy embrace, although sometimes the forked tip brushed over his face in an odd kiss.
It was enjoyable. Flamesinger could squeeze the human as tight as he wanted but the body would not break. His tongue, especially at the human's groin, was treated to the warm, musky flavor that seemed to grow more intense the harder he squeezed. Eventually he would ease the pressure, his rough tongue brushing over the human's bare skin and making him shiver, before he once more coiled and squeezed, extracting every sweet drop of musk he could. It was fun.
The magistrate finally clenched his jaws and tightened his body. He tried once more to push his way out of the tight embrace, using all his strength, but when his muscles faltered, he was suddenly compressed even tighter... and Flamesinger tasted something salty on the middle of his tongue. His eyes narrowed, and he smiled, keeping the pressure up, increasing it, eager to squeeze out every drop of cream. The human whimpered and shook, though his movements were muted by how tightly he was embraced. He almost wished that the enchantments would give and he would pass, freed from the shame that was spilling out of his groin and onto the thirsty dragon's tongue.
At last the tongue began to loosen, and the magistrate, left weak and panting, began to feel himself fall. The sticky tongue held him for a time, until gravity's pull caused him to plummet to the ground. He was dazed, not from the fall, but from the sticky saliva that coated his body and the still spurting shaft that was swaying between his legs. He rolled onto his back, panting, groaning, and staring up at the looming grin of the dragon, and past that to the blue sky. He watched as the dragon lowered his massive upper body, bracing his forepaws on the ground, and lifted one of his rear paws. The paw loomed ominously in the distance, before it came crashing down upon the magistrate, who barely had the time to lift his hands to try to ward off the great, scaly surface.
Flamesinger sighed softly when he felt the flailing limbs beating against his center pad. He had aimed his foot well, and was happy now to just let the weight settle; sometimes rolling it left to right to grind the little human under paw. Almost his entire body was covered in dense, durable scales, which protected him from harm but also left him with few chances to feel simple sensations of touch. It was like being encased in plate armor at all times, never able to take it off. But the pads on his feet weren't covered in scales. In fact, they were just a little squishy, helping with weight distribution, and very sensitive.
The human felt amazing. The way he tingled and wiggled and squirmed, and having never felt such affection on his paws before, it was quite intense for Flamesinger. He very carefully pushed himself back, and came to sit on his large rump. He coiled his tail, not wanting to damage any buildings, and rested back, keeping his knee folded so he could keep the pressure on the magistrate. The magistrate did his part; fighting, kicking, sometimes even biting in a vain attempt at causing the dragon some, even mild, discomfort. As he had done with his tongue, Flamesinger applied smothering pressure to the pitiful man, and eventually rolled his foot off. The magistrate was given only moments of relief, which he spent ordering his captain to fire, before once more the foot came crashing down, the force making a dent in the courtyard's stone ground.
The magistrate was given another reprieve from the ungodly pressure when Flamesinger lifted his feet away. The center pad of his left paw was tingling warmly from all the pleasure, and he licked his lips, planning to smother the magistrate with his right. But looking down his belly, he noticed his black erection was peeking out of from between his plate scales. Odd... The taste of human musk was still on his tongue and his feet were tingling, and apparently he really had enjoyed both.
The magistrate was getting to his feet and attempting to flee, just as Flamesinger stretched his thick, powerful legs out. The magistrate was running as fast as he could, as the massive feet came to his sides, and slowly started to close in on him. He was puffing and gasping, and managed to leap forward just as the feet closed, and he found himself tangled in the cage of Flamesinger's toes. Flamesinger smiled cruelly, flexing his toes, and slowly dragging the magistrate back bit by bit. The magistrate's wiggles and fights against the pads that now surrounded him, as well as the utter and complete power the dragon held over him, did little to ease the tenseness in his groin. He looked down to his shaft again. His inflamed glans had emerged from the sheath, and now the several feet of thickness, iron black and covered in purple veins, were pushing their way out of the sheath.
It had been a long time since Flamesinger had felt the warmth of a female. Since his mate's untimely death, he had not bothered to find a replacement, not thinking about it, until today. He touched his erection with his claw, and let out a long hiss that shook and shattered windows within the town. He squeezed the magistrate tighter, so tight that he could not even twitch, as he once more wrapped his claw around his aching shaft. His erection was like his shaft: free of scales, so any touches over it were that much more intense. The rough scales on his hand felt amazing. Each individual ridge of sharpness, touching his aching flesh in a unique way... He eased his feet apart, giving the magistrate enough room to squirm and kick, but kept his heels together and his toes interlocked, trapping the man.
He rubbed himself slowly, gently, using one hand. A series of drawn out purrs vibrated from his throat as he stroked his aching flesh. Feeling so hot, the air around him began to shiver and distort, especially the air around his engorged shaft. If any humans were watching, what a sight they would have. He rubbed himself gently, slowly, wanting to savor the tantalizing feel of his shaft finally receiving some relief. And when his shaft was full grown, he required both hands to massage it, utilizing his tail to keep himself propped up.
The magistrate was still kicking, still squirming and fighting, when Flamesinger weaved his head down on his long, serpentine neck. "Lick," he said softly. The magistrate looked up at the looming face, but Flamesinger simply stared. "Lick or I will put you someplace you will never see the light of day again."
Flamesinger closed his feet, pressing them tightly together. He could feel the wiggles and squirms of the human against his two soles, but any trace of sunlight was lost in the dark embrace he now found himself in. And this time, Flamesinger did not stop. He kept his feet tightly pressed as he idly rubbed his enormous cock, still hunched over and staring, waiting, watching.
At last he felt a hesitant lick over his sensitive, quivering pad. He wiggled his toes, giving the magistrate glimmers of the outside light, and Flamesinger felt more licks over his foot, the tongue's touches hesitant and weak, but growing stronger with "encouragement." Gradually the feet parted, but the magistrate, so terrified of being enclosed once more, followed the foot as it moved away, always pressing his hands forward, and slipping his tongue over the soft pad.
Flamesinger resumed masturbating, as his little helper got to work. His muzzle still looming over the tiny man, he could smell the fear radiating from him, as well as a touch of musk. And when the magistrate pushed forward, rubbing the sole with his whole body, Flamesinger could feel not only the embrace of his body, but a miniscule point of heat poking his pad. Flamesinger chuckled deeply as the magistrate moved to the draconic toes, and his tiny teeth began to nibble. The magistrate hugged the toes, squeezed them against his body. He kissed softly at the largest one, which was almost as large as his head.
A steady stream of white had oozed out of Flamesinger's shaft, forming a large pool between his legs. The musky odor mixed with the fear of the magistrate, only making Flamesinger harder. He wrapped two fingers around the base of his erection, squeezing it tightly and cutting off the flow of cream and blood to the glans. His other hand massaged his slit, pushing one finger inside himself, pinching it, rubbing it. Long, drawn out purrs and roars escaped him, making the entire city vibrate, but human craftsmanship kept the buildings from collapsing. Not that Flamesinger really cared. Were any humans in reach, he would have forsaken his word and used them to aid in masturbation.
He felt a weight in his swollen testicles: the buildup of his climax. He squeezed his erection tighter, holding the climax inside. It was painful, but the tingle it left in his testicles made him drool. The tingle only grew more intense, more pleasure and pain mingling together, as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. His grip slipped suddenly, and a truly massive spurt of white shot out of his slit. Flamesinger's size and arousal meant a truly massive spray of white flooded the courtyard, globs of the white cream splashed onto the buildings that stood before him. Although they had endured the hisses and shaky moans, the buildings could not deal with the sudden force, and heavy globs of cream broke through the windows and stone facades, punching neat, drooling holes in the front. Flamesinger gasped, and thrust his hips forward, humping the air and sending another white glob into the building in front of him, like the load shot from a cannon. Rather than break the façade, this one splashed white across the front of it.
Flamesinger sprayed and sprayed, shooting his pent up load across all the buildings he could see. He found such pleasure in washing his musk across the front of the buildings, sometimes the globs punching holes and moving deep into the building's innards, other times painting the walls with his cream. Something about marking the buildings, this entire town, as his. He humped and sprayed, humped and sprayed, wings spread out and tail thumping the ground as he ejaculated load after load. Even for a dragon of his size, the release was absolutely massive, and washed through the city streets. The buildings before him, having a dozen drooling holes punched through their frame, suddenly collapsed into a cloud of dust, somehow awakening Flamesinger from his lust induced haze.
He folded his wings, and pulled his tail back. Blinking several times, he looked down. All the ground in front of him was covered in a white ocean; the smells making him want to rub out the load he could already feel churning in his testicles. He lowered his head though, and looked about, at last spying a spot where the white cream began to distort, and suddenly the captain stood. His once polished armor was covered in musky white. He had only been spared being washed away by the flood by driving his sword into the ground and using it as anchor. How the little human had managed to keep a grip on the blade was a mystery, perhaps a testament to human strength.
The captain pulled his helmet off, and threw it aside. What followed was an ugly display, as the captain retched and vomited sticky green onto the sea of white. He glared at Flamesinger, drew his sword from the ground and approached, taking care not to slip in the pools of cream.
Flamesinger groaned as he stood, erection still hard and swaying, and dribbles of white cream oozing out of the long shaft. He lowered his head to the captain's level, and spoke before the captain stabbed his sword into his nose. "I will pay you three carts of gold," the dragon said. "And I will not devour any of your cows." The captain continued approaching, his blade glistening. There was something frightening about that approach, and Flamesinger quickly said, "Five carts of gold!"
The captain lowered his blade. "When?"
"It takes two days to travel back to my lair. In four days time I will return with the payment."
"You swear on your honor?"
"Yes captain. I swear on my honor. I hope that I have not broken my assurance and killed some of your men however..."
The captain shook his head. "After word of your arrival, all the people were moved to a shelter that can endure a dragon's... razing. The magistrate... his blessings will protect him. He does not even require breath."
Flamesinger felt a wiggling between his cream colored toes. He smiled. "Tell me captain, his blessings... how long will they last?"
"The priests and sages say an eternity. So many blessing stacked on top of each other, it seems doubtful he's capable of being killed."
Flamesinger squeezed his toes together to cease the struggles. He nodded. "In four days time you will see me again, captain. I will return with riches to pay for the damage I have caused. It would be pleasant if you had a fat cow for me to feast on upon my return."
Flamesinger turned in a stiff circle, careful not to knock any of the surrounding buildings, and quietly headed out of the city. He shivered each time his rear right paw touched down upon the ground, sometimes lingering with his foot pressed into the ground, before resuming his stride. And finally outside of the city, and far enough away that no one would be able to see, he rolled onto his rump. Lifting his right foot and leaning his head down, he smiled as his eyes found the magistrate, who was stuck to the center pad by the stickiness of the goo. Flamesinger rolled to his feet, and resumed walking, enjoying each step he took.