Legends of Belariath
Stormbringer
The Rampant Dragon
An Immorality Tale by Stormbringer
(Yes I know none of the ideas in this story are new. It's not my fault that others have used precognition to steal my ideas before I even wrote them! Or before I was even born. They should be aware I intend to sue.)
It wasn't such a big dragon, as dragons go; barely more than twelve feet from the top of it's horned head to the tips of the wickedly curved talons on its scaled feet. But it did have rather an imposing wingspan. And it did roar quite loudly, and belch an impressive amount of flame from its wide, teeth-infested mouth. At any event, it was quite big enough and scary enough to send the superstitious peasants of High Tor running around in a panic when it swooped down on their small village without warning. The dragon would have laughed aloud to see them scurrying about in such an ungainly attempt to find cover, but then it had already witnessed the same scene so often before. And besides, a chortling dragon didn't have quite the same dramatic effect, now did it?
Draco Sharpclaw - well no one ever claimed dragons were inventive in naming their children - swooped once at a height of about twenty feet along the length of the rather muddy track that served as a main road through the village. His keen, though slightly too close together red eyes spotted a suitable target and he wheeled around, rather carelessly setting fire to several thatched roofs during this aerial manoeuvre.
Beth Trueheart had almost reached the shelter of her father's hovel when two clawed hands fastened about her waist and she felt herself whisked upwards. The speed of her passage through the air caused her thin blouse to mould rather tightly to a pair of impressively large breasts while the coldness of the rushing breeze also brought Beth's nipples standing to attention. Her skirt tended to billow out rather too, since Draco was too busy trying to look down the top of Beth's blouse to pay attention to his flying. All in all, it made a rather stirring view for the remaining peasantry, not a few of whom had been lusting after that shapely body for quite some time.
I guess, depending on your preferences, the view Beth had when looking down at her home from a height of fifty feet would have been equally impressive. But in the true tradition of captive maidens she kept her eyes tightly screwed shut, either from vertigo or in hopes that nothing would happen if she couldn't see it. The rather naive 'if I can't see it, it can't see me' position lasted about half a mile. Then Draco shifted his grip, grasping Beth against his body with one arm while using his other hand to clasp a firmly rounded breast. Well, Beth could hardly ignore such rude familiarity, even from a dragon. Her eyes snapped open; looking down at the ground she screamed extremely loudly and with a total conviction matched only by its absolute futility.
I should mention here that I use terms like 'hands' rather loosely. Anyone familiar with dragons will know that they have two strong rear legs for walking on, and two more delicate forelegs for holding and such. Well, since they don't walk on those forelegs, and since they end in long fingerish sort of thingies, even though tipped with sharp claws, it seems reasonable to call them hands. It's certainly easier than inventing a new word or consulting an encyclopaedia for the correct technical terms for dragon bits. So hands they are, until someone tells me otherwise. And since it sounds silly to have hands attached to legs, I'm going to call Draco's forelegs arms.
Anyway, the most significant consideration about Draco's 'hand' was that it was currently also attached to one of Beth's shapely breasts, squeezing and moulding soft flesh through thin cotton, while quite possibly he was giving thanks that garments such as bras hadn't yet been invented. This at least took Beth's mind off the distance between herself and the unfamiliar looking ground below. When one claw gripped a bit too roughly, scratching otherwise perfect creamy flesh, her eyes were drawn rather closer to home. And of course the sight of those four wicked looking talons clutching one of her prized possessions caused her to scream again. This time though, the noise was rather less piercing as an attempt to fill her lungs to the capacity needed for an impressive shriek also pushed her large breast quite hard against the encompassing talons, and even in her current state of terror Beth realized this was not a good thing to do. So faced with the inability to have a really good scream, and with no obvious way of escape that didn't involve falling rather a long way downward, Beth took the only reasonable course of action left to her and fainted.
When she came round again, Beth found herself standing fastened between two rocky pillars, with bands around her wrists and ankles. Those bands were also attached to large metal rings set into said pillars, causing Beth to look from a distance rather like a large letter X. To my knowledge, no one has ever satisfactorily explained why such items as these pillars should be conveniently located a few miles from any village likely to be attacked by lustful dragons. Maybe they had been left by a previous dragon with some stone carving ability and a lot of spare time on his hands. Or possibly the villagers themselves liked a bit of discreet BDSM and had banded together to erect them. My own theory is that the villagers had indeed constructed them, but rather than for the playing of dubious games involving black leather and a variety of whips, they had done it so that any hero happening along soon after a draconic abduction would know exactly where to go to find the fiendish monster and it's prey, thus saving time and keeping down the cost of a rescue.
Anyway, enough of the asides...
Draco looked down at Beth's helpless condition through his beady red eyes, snorting softly and rather sulphurously, causing the girl to wrinkle her nose with fetching cuteness. Most people would have been so overcome by such a display of ingenuous girlishness that they would have probably set her free in an instant. Not so Draco. Instead he reached out with one long-fingered hand and slid the tip of his claw into the top of her blouse, ripping downwards in a move that slid the side of his talon against Beth's soft breast flesh and shredded the garment rather thoroughly in the process. Out popped two of the biggest, plumpest, most appetizing tits the dragon had ever seen and his eyes lit up like a child on Christmas Day.
While Beth could only twist helplessly between the pillars, tossing her long dark hair, rolling her eyes and occasionally screaming for help, Draco moved closer, reaching out and stroking a breast with each hand, his rough scaly skin running over her soft velvety flesh as he explored her tits. This friction, or maybe the cool air they were exposed to, had an immediate effect on the girl's nipples, causing the fawn coloured teats to grow bigger and darken to a deeper shade as blood engorged awakening peaks. Well, despite his rough skin, Draco still had a keen sense of touch and he was soon aware of those hard little bumps under his palms. Shifting his grip, he wrapped hands carefully around her tits while allowing the nipples to poke out between two fingers.
When his tongue emerged, a long sinuous appendage almost three feet in length and looking very red against the sharp white teeth, Beth's eyes widened. And when the forked tip flickered over first one nipple then the other, she moaned softly. For the first time, she managed coherent words. “Aren't you going to eat me, Mr Dragon?”
”Huh?” Draco responded, rather garbled and not a little preoccupied as he tongued her swollen nipples. “You've been listening to too many fairy stories, my pretty. I eat salads mainly, and have far better uses for young girls.” Beth groaned again, partly as the significance of his attentions to her breasts sunk in, and partly because those same orbs were hardening with arousal and there was a definite warmth growing between her legs. Almost involuntarily her eyes wandered downwards and she gasped again, but far more loudly. Between his legs and just forward of his long tail, was rather obvious proof that Draco was built in proportion all over.
Since the cause of her gasp was rather easy to work out, Draco grinned with anticipation, further exposing twin rows of razor sharp fangs and causing Beth to cough daintily as another gust of malodorous air wafted from whatever internal organs produced his flames. “I'll bet you never had one that big before,” he commented rather coarsely.
”But I'm a virgin, Sir Dragon,” Beth batted her eyelids.
”Then your uncle must have a wooden leg and your cousins all be blind,” Draco riposted. “I know what they're like in those isolated hamlets with their lack of entertainment and compulsive inbreeding. But either way, you soon won't be, so make the most of it.”
This effectively killed the conversation, so Beth went back to her ineffectual attempts to twist free while Draco squeezed and moulded her large soft breasts, all the while flicking that long adroit tongue over their sensitive tips. And as time went by, Beth's twistings became more like writhings and she barely noticed the dragon's halitosis. To be fair to him, Draco did try to angle his face away as much as possible without interfering with the use of his tongue. He was rather practiced at ravaging maidens but he still remembered how it was in his early days when excitement had sometimes got the better of him, and he had found through experience that nothing put a girl off so fast as scorch marks on her tits.
Noticing the rather flushed appearance of the young girl's face and the way her nipples stood out so hard and eager, Draco decided it was time to move on. Besides he could never be sure how much time he had before some uncouth hero type interfered with the fun. So releasing Beth's mounds, he gripped the top of her skirt while watching her tits bounce softly back into their normal position. One thing you could say for claws; apart from being useful when the tin opener went missing, they were damn good at rendering a girl naked with minimum effort. So it took only a few seconds to strip this one of her coverings and admire the sweeping curves of her hips and legs, a pretty frame for the fuzzy brown triangle partly hiding her sex.
About the same time, as inevitably happens in stories of this type, one of those roaming hero types, the sort who wanders the countryside with no visible means of support, trundled into High Tor. I suppose if they had had a choice, the villagers would have preferred a hero whose armour was a little less rusty and whose horse rather less fitted the description of a broken down nag. But since heroes of any description tended to be rare in these parts, they made the best of things and clustered around Sir Archibald's horse, wailing and probably gnashing their teeth too - assuming their poor diet had left them with anything more than stumps and gums.
Looking down from his vantage point the knight sighed audibly, still not missing the opportunity to peek into any low cut blouse that showed promise. “What is it, simple peasant people?” he asked tiredly. “A wicked warlock? An errant Knight Errant? Some improbable beast carrying off your chickens?” With a few words Beth's tearful father, sobbing at the loss of his daughter and along with it the loss of a rather lucrative wedding he had planned for her, explained the situation. “Would that I could help you, honest yokel,” Sir Archibald replied, “but my horse is due a 10,000 league service and my armour needs a visit to the body shop, so I needs must find some work that pays more than good wishes and hearty applause.”
This produced a stir in the crowd and several tried to sidle away unnoticed. But after some whispered comments, a few adroitly placed fists and a promise to cut the others in on his daughter's dowry, Beth's father eventually managed to gather together seven gold pieces, a couple of tarnished rings, five chickens and a number of buttons. This collection he pressed on the reluctant knight, who rolled his eyes but nevertheless agreed to return the innocent girl to the bosom of her family or at least suffer some nasty grazes in trying. So with a rattle and a clatter Sir Archibald headed out of the village and towards the stone pillars.
Time doesn't stand still, even in improbable stories like this one. And while the father had been collecting from his neighbours, his daughter had been feeling the effects of a sharp claw lightly scratching her clit while a draconian hand squeezed her bottom. And it has to be said, the daughter had the best of it. Beth's twisting movements by now had far more to do with arching her hips towards the source of her arousal than they had to do with escape attempts and her breathing was growing heavy and uneven. Using his decades of experience, and perhaps influenced by Beth's cries of “Oh my god, I'm cumming you horny beast!” Draco decided she was ready, and stepping closer he crouched slightly and angled his mammoth cock up towards her reputedly virgin notch.
Never one to call a young lady a liar, Draco was far too polite to mention that the way she squirmed against the tip of his member as it began to enter her seemed to demonstrate rather more than a passing familiarity between the girl and masculine organs. Rather he put his efforts to the more productive purpose of grasping her bottom with both hands and angling her body so that he could enter her easier. The girl did cry out as Draco's thick cock pressed her cunt wide but repeated groans along the lines of “Yes... fill me up... shove that lovely tool up to my throat, big boy...” tended to make him wonder who was raping who. Still, never one to look a gift maiden in the cunt he slid his cock deeper and deeper while Beth spasmed into a series of loud and uninhibited orgasms.
Beth shuddered and danced between the pillars as the dragon impaled her on his huge member, thrusting again and again into the soft wetness while she gasped and groaned in a series of mind-shattering orgasms. He was really enjoying this one, so much so that he didn't even notice the stern shout demanding, “Unhand that innocent maiden, foul creature” when Sir Archibald approached. Instead, Draco continued to fuck his demented partner until his cock twitched, a thick stream of dragon-cum shot up into her body and head thrown back, Draco roared a twenty foot long tongue of flame into the evening sky.
Almost too late the dragon became aware of his danger, twisting aside with an audible plop as his softening shaft came free and causing Beth to moan slightly in disappointment. Then the battle was joined. Sword clashed against scales, flames scorched plate armour causing Sir Archibald to sweat uncomfortably while emitting a smell rather like boiled lobster. Beth, gradually returning to planet earth from whatever places her orgasms had taken her, watched enthralled as the two battled over her, unsure which to cheer for and so contenting herself to neutral comments while becoming uncomfortably aware of the large amount of rapidly cooling liquid rolling down her inner thighs.
Then it was all over. Draco groaned rather theatrically and rolled onto his back with bright red staining his chest and all four legs (or two arms and two legs if you prefer continuity) stiffly pointing up into the air. With an ungainly bound - you try bounding in all that armour - Sir Archibald jumped from his steed and freed the girl, who looked back with only the smallest visible trace of regret to see that his cock was the only one of the dragon's appendages no longer pointing up stiffly. With a sigh she accepted a position on the horse, in front of her rescuer and they rode away towards the village.
I suppose you think this is the end of the matter? Good triumphed over evil, everyone lived happily ever after and all that? Or maybe you cheated and noticed there's still some writing below this? Looks like you caught me. The story didn't end there; there is a little more, so I might as well tell you the rest of it.
Horses, especially broken down nags with two people on them, tend not to move very fast. And even though Beth was still stark naked, this was more than outweighed by Sir Archibald's armour. So it was that she had plenty of time to become aware of his strong manly arm around her waist, and even more aware of the pommel rubbing against the front of her mound with every move the horse made. And even though she had already experienced more orgasms than most women get in a month, Beth was young and healthy... well OK, sex-mad... and it wasn't long before she was feeling aroused again.
Her first surprise was when Sir Archibald dropped the reins onto his horse's neck and a pair of mailed gauntlets grasped her still swollen tits, kneading and caressing the full mounds. This seemed a bit off to Beth, as knights were supposed to be satisfied with a kiss on the cheek or maybe a glove to carry next to their hearts. But given her current state and the way he rolled her tumescent nipples so expertly, she wasn't about to argue, leaning back into his strong chest and sighing sweetly while he titted her with an adroitness unexpected in one wearing metal gloves. And in a kinky sort of way, she was turned on by the cold metal against her hot flesh. If they had been invented she would probably have had a robot fetish but being a simple girl, unconscious of the depths of depravity invented by psychiatrists in seeking to increase their own importance, she just squirmed while her breasts swelled with lust and her nipples stuck out like little thumbs.
Then came the second surprise. It is a little known fact that knights in armour need to pee just the same as normal humans do. To facilitate this biological need and because they don't like living in smelly armour while their socks rot away and fungus grows between their toes, they have a little mail curtain that can be raised as necessary. So it was something of a shock to Beth that after one particularly violent bump in the horse's ungainly motion, she descended not onto the saddle but onto Sir Archibald's naked and very erect cock, which slid straight up a pussy so recently stretched by its draconian inhabitant.
But let's not beat about the bush. Even though the knight had a decent sized weapon it came nowhere close to filling a cunt still stretched by Draco's prick. And the result was that neither of them could feel very much. So after a few minutes Sir Archibald, who seemed almost to have expected it, grasped Beth by the hips and lifted her up again. This time when she descended the result was a far tighter fit because he aimed his cock at her anus, allowing her own weight and the horse's movements to sink the girl downwards until he was fully inside her.
That worked better for both of them. Beth writhed in abandon, the rocking motion of the horse moving her between the thick shaft filling her ass and the leather pommel rubbing against her clit. Sir Archibald took her plentiful tits back into his hands and fondled them while his cock moved in and out of the girl's tight passage as they rode along, the knight riding his horse and the maiden riding the knight. It was a long, slow, leisurely fuck that only ended almost within sight of the village when Sir Archibald's cock swelled up and exploded it's thick and creamy contents deep into Beth's bowels while she shuddered into her umpteenth orgasm of what had started as a very ordinary day.
By the time the young girl, maiden now in little but name, was handed back to her grateful father there was no trace of what had happened on the horse. Sir Archibald's curtain was closed and if anyone noticed Beth's condition they just put it down to a rampant dragon having used both her holes and said no more about it. Well, dragons can't get human girls pregnant and the knight only took her up the ass, so in due course Beth's father got her married off. He lived for a couple more years, until he had drunk most of the dowry and Beth settled down to being a good housewife, only occasionally sighing to herself about the rather inadequate nature of her husband's lovemaking. At such times a rather special smile would cross her face, her eyes would glaze slightly with memory and she would tend to fondle suitably shaped vegetables in highly suggestive ways. Rumours that she did more than just run her fingers over the kitchen produce are, of course, simple jealousy from those with nothing better to do than write silly stories like this one.
As for Sir Archibald, a few miles from the village he made camp for the night, building a small fire and roasting those chickens that comprised the edible part of his fee. As he sank his teeth into the second one there was a flutter of wings and Draco alighted beside him, still scrubbing absently at ketchup encrusted scales and snatching up one of the remaining chickens. “So how much did we make this time? Apart from a damn good fuck?” he enquired as the two friends settled down to plan their route to the next village.