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Archive-name: Fantasy/unicdrag.txt


Archive-title: Unicorns and Dragons

     The life of a caravan guard consists of stretches of boredom

attentuated by the necessity of alertness, punctuated with frantic,

life-threatening activity.  I spent most of my time on the road

training and keeping in combat form, so when the inevitable attack came,

I could take out enough of the bandits with my fists and hooves to

pick up a hearty slave bounty, or use my horn and just bring in the

heads off the corpses.  I had originally intended to be a knight, as I

was one of those later sons of large noble houses.  I had had

disagreements of several kinds with my sponsor, however, finally

culminating in me being tossed out with all the necessary training,

but no armor, weapons, or title.

     Mercenary work was the obvious career choice for me.  It paid

well, but I missed out on the perks of the nobility that I would have

had were I dubbed knight.  Merchants were the next step down the

social ladder; they had money, money meant trade, trade meant

caravans, and caravans meant bandits.  That's where I came in.

     The weather had been horrible for the last two days.  Solid,

spattering, dark rain making it impossible to see even to the next

hill.  We were only three hours from Shastar, our final destination,

when nightfall came.  It was difficult to keep to the road in the

sliver of moonlight, but the owner wanted desperately to press on and

spend the evening in the city rather than miserable out here.  I

couldn't blame him.

     I heard a ragged howl arise in the distance, some canine baying

at what little moon remained.  I swivelled my ears forward, catching

the wolf's howl being half-cut-off and stifled, presumably by others

near to that one.  I tuned out the rain gradually, catching harsh

whispers of orders of some kind, rasping sounds carrying through the

rain to my aerial equine ears.  It was a wolf pack, most likely;

lurking close to the city because of the weather but far enough away

so that their criminal doings would not be noticed.  I decided that

I'd rather we were well-prepared for the upcoming ambush, slowed the

caravan and warned the other guards.  Personally, I took out my tower

shield, strapping it lightly to an arm so that I could rid myself of

it quickly.  My fur is short, save at mane and tail, and gleaming

white all over; in this darkness I made the only possible target for

arrow fire.

     We walked on, waiting for the wolves to spring their ambush.

They broke from the trees howling and screaming and waving their

ill-made weapons.  Our five archers let loose a volley, dropping one.

It was good shooting for such a night.  I stepped out from the

caravan; no missiles came towards me so I lowered the shield and

picked out their pack leader.  The wolves and dogs were mostly of

mottled black and chocolate brown, their leader was a big, dirty

white, some sort of polar wolf.

     I steadied myself, raised my power within me and initiated The

Unicorn's Charge, an instant of speed carrying me the hundred yards to

the pack before they could blink at the white blur.  Just before the

magic of my charge began to falter, I slammed into the leading three

wolves with my shield held crossways, splattering them away helpless

and broken into the mud.  I careened to a stop in the mud, getting my

hooves under me directly in front of the pack leader.  I was

surrounded, so I tossed away my shield.  It would only get in my way.

     He swung his sword at my head.  I caught it in a spiral of my

horn, took his wrist, and slammed him over my hip onto his back.  He

scrabbled in the mud with no purchase while I put my horn to his chest.

     "Surrender and tell them to drop their weapons, or you die," I

said.  He was brave enough to wait until I jabbed my horn in up to the

first spiral.  Then he cried like a hyena, and begged his pack to drop

their weapons.  Their pack mentality made them obey, and it wasn't

long before we had them tied up and guarded in one of the less full

wagons.  Three more hours and we entered Shastar, turned in our

prisoners at the yellow Slavers Guild pavilion, and collected the

bounty.  We split it, and our pay, and went our separate ways in the


     Most of the others went straight to the guild of mercenaries for

their first night in the city.  The fame of Shastar's great baths drew

me, however, and I decided to stay my week here in the Cerulean, the

largest inn and bathing house in the entire city.  It sprawled several

stories above and belowground, covering many acres.  It was a castle

of itself, devoted to many of the finer pleasures of life, and I

planned not to leave it for the entire week.

     Though I was tired, I didn't want to sleep with all the grit and

grime of the travel and fight on me.  After I checked in and let a

chunk of my money disappear, I stripped off my cuirbolli and sodden

tabard, going to the nearest heated marble pool to soak.  At this

early morning hour I was able to find a room-sized bath and have it

all to myself, leisurely awaiting service from those in the employ of

the Cerulean.  Two bath-kittens, yawning from naps, quickly came by to

work me over with their scrub-brushes.  They combed and brushed out my

tail, scraped my hooves, stretched me out and punished every inch of

my hide until the usual glossy white of my velvet-short fur had

returned.  They left me to soak just as quickly when I dismissed them,

and I fell into a warm doze floating free.

     I awoke easily when the dragons entered.  They weren't very quiet

and fifteen dragons made quite a crowd, mostly greenish, two blacks, a

mottled white and a big red.  They closed the door behind them

politely, stowed their towels, and started splashing amongst

themselves.  Sixteen people in the room crowded things up, but I'm not

prejuidiced against dragons of colour such as theirs, so I just sat

back to watch and sweat in the heated bath.

     They bathed and horseplayed, rarely glancing at me as the

interloper, daring me to disapprove.  All of them except the mottled

white and the smallest black had grace and skill about them, trained

warriors.  The white disdained the strained scale-on-scale tussling of

the wrestling games, preferring to sit near the red and let the blue

tiles of pool glitter and reflect the sun from his scales.  The red

was a monster, relaxed as a cat in the water, seven feet tall at his

bulging shoulder with two more feet of thick, whipcord neck before his

sculpted, snakelike head.  My eyes met his for a moment, slitted,

reptilian, unblinking and I locked into them, until the black dragon

obstructed my view.

     He was the smallest of the dragons, only some six feet tall from

tip to tail.  That still made him a foot taller than me sans horn, and

he was looking to take advantage of it, swaggering over to me.  I

could smell the caustic stench of his breathing when he spoke.

     "Hey!  Unicorn!  What's your name!"  he shouted, working himself

up to his most belligerent pose.  I merely looked up at him from my

reclined position.

     "I like to know whose balls I rip off and fuck down their

throat!"  The greens all laughed uproariously at this cleverness.  I

reached up and broke his little finger.

     He looked confused first, as the pain hit, and then indignant.

He took a deep breath and reared back his head, telegraphing his

intent to spit acid.  I stepped up, locked his arm, and forced his

head underwater where he could spit all the acid he wanted.  While he

flailed around and choked, the other fourteen rapidly unified against

the common foe.

     I broke their charge by tossing the one I had into them.  One of

the greens forgot that they were in an enclosed room and clouded me

with chlorine gas, spillover hazing the room in green smog.  The white

and red staggered over to open the windows while I jumped spinning up

out of the water to knock the green unconscious with a hoof to the

side of the head.  It was all he deserved for trying to poison a


     The melee degenerated.  They slowed down to attack me in twos and

threes while I'd throw one against another and land punches until

another group rescued the first.  The larger black gave me a little

trouble, taking a pounding and forcing me to dislocate his shoulder to

calm him down.  The mottled white was cowering, dragging the fallen

over to the side to make sure they didn't drown.  The only one left

was the red, stalking in towards me at the center of the pool.

     He was almost as fast as I was, and had a foot of reach on me.

Every time he threw a punch and I blocked, it just blew right through

and pounded me.  I threw him twice, but he rolled lightly in the water

and came to his feet unharmed, too fast for me to follow up.  His

style was brutally solid, taking my hits on his gut and chest without

slowing down.  He faked left once, and I raked the tip of my horn

across his gut from my watery crouch, opening a line of dark red blood

on darker red scales.  This gave him pause, pause enough to rumble in

his deep, firey voice.

     "I am Syrin, unicorn.  I would have the name of so fine a warrior."

     "My name is Luagha," I said, relaxing slightly.  His eyes became

incinerators, and it was clear that he intended to continue this to

a conclusion.

     "It won't be your name for long," Syrin said, and advanced into

another flurry of blows.  We both blocked and took hits, his footwork

hampered by the water more than mine.  I went for a high punch to his

head, but his snakelike neck eluded me, setting me up for a full-power

slam into my chest that flew me up out of the water and across the

pool.  I staggered up out of the water and launched myself

hooves-first into his oncoming charge, bowling him over and back,

knocking the wind out of him while we both lurched painfully to our


     I stared at him transfixed as he walked up to me, fist reared

back to strike.  Though I strained to move my arms to block, somehow I

couldn't, I was paralyzed in stance.  I strove to break my lassitude,

to no avail.  Syrin noticed that I had stopped moving, halting his

strike, and looked over to the mottled white dragon.

     I marshalled my will, trying to push my innately high resistance

to such magics to break the spell, but nothing happened, the spell

didn't even crack.  I figured the white to be an archmagus at least to

defeat my defenses like that, until I saw the long, white horsehair

tangled about his fingers.  He had used the law of sympathy to affect

me, using my horsehair as a link to me to give his spell enough power.

I hate shedding.

     "Let's kill him and dispose of the body, Syrin.  I can hold him

for long enough," the magedragon said.  Syrin laughed a husky laugh.

     "Oh no, V'heress, this one we keep.  He'll make a valuable

slave."  His voice was somewhat pained, so at least I had the

satisfaction of knowing I'd hurt him.  It seemed that my fate was

going to be similar to those I had captured just last night.  It

certainly explained what he meant when he said that I wouldn't have my

name much longer.

     Syrin dispatched some of them to fetch their things quickly.  They

tied me and gagged me with rope and cloth while I was held in the grip

of the spell, and then put me in their laundry bag to smuggle me out

of the Cerulean.  They held tight to the bag as they walked through the

streets, so I couldn't struggle or shout.  No one was going to hamper

a gang of dragons such as these walking through the streets of


     They let me out of the bag onto the carpeted floor of an

expensive inn.  The decor was that special shade of yellow reserved by

the Slavers Guild, and any hopes I had of an easy escape were put to

rest when the ropes were replaced by manacles, chains, and a

well-fashioned gag.  Syrin's broad chest was now enclosed withing a

yellow tabard with stripes of rank on the breast, and he wore a bright

topaz signet ring on his left hand.  This marked him not only as a

slaver, but a Guildmaster as well.  He easily wrestled me to my

stomach, and locked the chain from the manacles about my wrists to the

chain of the manacles about my ankles, hogtying me.  Crouched over me,

still musky and wet from the Cerulean bath, he slithered his tail

under me, encircling my chest, and flipped me to my knees.  I could

only kneel before him, back arched and chest puffed out to keep my

wrists close enough to my ankles for the short chains.

     Syrin held the steel collar before my eyes for a time.  It was

plain, the locking mechanism built in, and hinged at the front.  It

had four rings welded cleanly to it for attachment purposes, and that

was all.  It had a simple clarity of function, even more so when Syrin

slowly closed it about my neck.  Syrin gazed down at me, pressing into

my eyes with his.  The lock caught, and as a slave I had no more name.

     He laid me carefully on some cushions on my stomach, and covered

me with a blanket.  After taking the precaution of leashing my collar

to a ring on the wall he slept, leaving me hogtied through the long

day.  After testing my bonds, I slept as well.

     Syrin fitted me to a bit and bridle when evening fell, a silver

one fashioned with no beginning and no end.  Such a crafted thing was

proof against a unicorn, I couldn't remove it even had I my hands

free.  The Slavers Guild knew how to hold unicorns.  The gang of

dragons smuggled me out that night in one of their caravans, piled

under blankets in Syrin's wagon and well-muffled so I could make no


     I spent the evening and the next day of travel either sitting up

or lying down in Syrin's wagon.  He had bound me with a locked leather

belt around my waist to which my wrists were manacled so I would be

comfortable on the journey, but hobbled my hooves together with very

little chain so I couldn't run even if I managed to remove the collar

which was chained to the side of the wagon.  I was still wearing the

bit and bridle, and the only way to remove that was to have someone

remove it for me.  My clothes, weapons, and armor were in a cubbyhole

in the Cerulean.  Escape was a pipe dream.

     That evening, as they were making camp and tending to the rest of

the slaves in the caravan, Syrin came into the wagon where I sat and

took off the bridle so I could speak, even though it wasn't feeding


     "How are you feeling, slave?" he rumbled, a toothy grin on his


     "As well as might be expected."  His glare began to intensify, so

I quickly added, "Master."  That satisfied him.

     "Good," he said, grabbing the chain that held my legs together

and dragging me along the blankets, pushing me back so that I lay

down.  He straddled my waist, sitting on me, sliding his long, thick

tail between my legs.  I had no idea what he was going to do to me,

leaning over me, reaching with his clawed fingers for my chest.

     He cupped his hands over my flesh, and rubbed down with his

scaled palms, making circles over my bruises, slowly adding the great

strength of his huge frame.  The powerful massage increased blood

flow, bringing back faded pain and deep relief.  Ordinarily the

bruises from my fight against Syrin would have been healed by now, but

being unable to move and exercise, and being magically bound with the

bridle had slowed my recovery to a more normal rate.  Syrin's caress

loosened my barrel, rubbing the taut horsehide over my stomach and

waist, his muscles knotting to force their way through my nervousness

at his touch.  He was strong with me, but not rough, encircling my

arms and rubbing down to my wrists, making me recall each painful

block.  I tried to remain silent, but could not avoid whimpering when

Syrin brought his strength truly to bear.

     He moved down to manipulate my legs, stretching them at the

joints and feeling the stocky muscles there with probing claws and

coiling tail.  Then he carefully turned me to my stomach, sitting on

my legs.  The blankets were not nearly cushion enough in my sensitive

state.  My back was not pained, but it melted under his skill and

power and his claws encircled my flanks, gripping and squeezing and

spreading them.  He ran his fingers through my tail, and massaged the

scalp of my mane all the way to my horn, lying with his chest atop my

back so that I could feel his entire weight holding me down, and his

hot breath on my forehead.

     "Are you feeling better now, slave?" he whispered, curving his

neck so as to speak directly into my ear, no matter how I turned it.

     "Yes, Master," was all I could say.  He turned me over to my

back, covered me, and let me sleep.

     The next morning the dragons did not immediately break camp, but

instead set V'heress, the magus, to watch the slaves while they held a

combat practice.  I sat up in the wagon to watch as Syrin drove them

harshly through their paces, and most of them threw angry stares in my

direction for bringing his anger onto them.  He drilled them for an

hour and a half before leaving them to spar amongst themselves, coming

over to me.  He went through the usual precautions a slaver would go

through when transporting; undoing the hobbles so I could walk,

attaching a heavy chain leash to my collar, and manacling my hands

behind my back.  Syrin hoisted me into the air with one arm, setting

me down on my hooves, and walked me into the practice area.

     He drove a long metal spike into the ground and chained my leash

to it, so I had about twenty feet of radius in which to walk.  Then he

freed my arms.

     "Stretch out and warm up, slave.  Now we have some time to see

how good you really are," Syrin ordered.  I complied, watching my

odds.  I was still wearing the bridle, so it would be very hard to use

any of my magical powers.  If I killed Syrin, the dragonmage would

hold me while the others would close in with their spears and kill me

off.  Syrin didn't give me any time to think about working the spike

out of the ground.

     I came out of the match a singed mass of bruises.  Syrin, like

all dragons, took too long and was too obvious about breathing fire.

His flames never more than licked me while I flipped aside and inside

his guard to stab at him.  Once he quit bothering with his fire, his

style of fighting was just too solid for me to defeat; he had too much

reach over me, too much strength, and enough speed and skill to be

invincible.  He pinned me once, honestly, at about twenty minutes into

our fight, his needlepoint teeth pricking my neck until I slapped the

earth.  He pinned me again once by yanking on my chain, but at the end

of the match, panting for breath, he almost walked right into my horn

and I had to pull back to keep from killing him.  That ended combat

practice for the day while V'heress went about cleaning up the nicks,

scrapes, and punctures the dragons had accumulated.  At least I knew

that if I could tire Syrin out by somehow surviving the first half

hour of combat, I might win.

     He washed me that night in a basin of water and massaged me

again.  Even though he was dotted with bandages from the

half-magically-healed horn-wounds, his technique did not falter.  He

had me crying and begging for him to stop and continue alternately.

He halted only when my wounds were fully treated and I was limp and

unmoving in my bonds.  Grinning down at me, he tucked the blanket over

me, and went off to his own bedroll.

     The next day was punctuated only by a minor slave revolt, quickly

quelled with a few words by V'heress, and the skirting of a small city

towards evening.  By the Firebird mountains just now coming into view

ahead of us, I determined that the city must be Peaceknot.  It was

primarily a trading point, but the Slavers Guild was not welcome

there.  If I was to escape and reach it, I would be beyond Syrin's

taloned grasp.  I tested my manacles as quietly as I could that night,

but they were as binding as they had been before, and I dared not make

the noise that breaking them would cause, were I even able to do so.

     The morning brought another combat practice to the band of

dragons.  They drilled in even more earnest this time, as Syrin had

threatened to throw any slackers into the ring with me.  I strove to

remain relaxed, not hint of my plans through body language as Syrin

removed the hobbles and chained my hands behind my back.  He attached

the chain, and set me on the ground again, while I concentrated

desperately against the silver bridle.  Syrin slowly walked me as I

gathered up my power, fighting the damping, and unleashed The

Unicorn's Charge.

     It took almost two seconds for me to cover the hundred yards of

the charge, yanking the chain and spike out of Syrin's hands.  He

cursed and set off after me while I ran for Peaceknot.  Magic touched

me but I made it out of V'heress's range, dashing and gulping air.

The other dragons slowly came after, a few staying to guard the other


     I led Syrin on a chase for over three miles, and if I had not

been running with my arms chained behind my back and twenty feet of

heavy chain trailing behind me, I would have outdistanced him easily.

His long legs gave him enough speed to finally catch up and grab the

chain, hauling me down to earth.  He boxed my ear once to quiet my

struggles while he wrapped me in the chain and slung me over his

shoulder.  Miffed, he carried me back to camp amidst the hissing

chuckles of the other dragons, amused at the mighty Syrin almost

losing a slave.

     I caught a look at his eyes; they had his incinerator

intenseness, but it wasn't anger that I saw.  No doubt he saw my

defiance in my eyes as he stared at me.  He broke off, looking around

at the rest of the dragons who were packing up, and ready to begin the

days travel.  He spoke quietly, to make sure the others would not


     "I cannot blame you, slave, for your actions.  I would have done

the same in your position.  Still, you must be punished, so that you

will learn who your master is."

     With that, Syrin tossed a chain over a tree branch, hauled my

arms above my head, and locked the cuffs about my forearms to the

chain so that only half my weight rested on the downward-straining

tips of my hooves.  The whip he uncoiled was more like some heavy vine

made of leather, and he took the time and care to caress my cheek with

it.  Syrin demonstrated to me what a Guildmaster of the Slavers can

do with such a weapon.

     He beat my back and legs, leaving dark red stripes that turned

black on my white hide.  The whip was too heavy to crack, it did not

warn me of its approach no matter the vast strength Syrin put behind

it.  I was determined not to cry out, counting the strokes, but it was

hopeless.  Syrin crisscrossed the lashes, layering pain upon pain,

never too much at once to inure me to it.  I grunted and bit my lip

after twenty, uttered cries after thirty, and bawled like a child

through the final ten; dancing and dangling until Syrin stopped at


     Syrin took me down and lay me on my stomach in his wagon for the

day's travel, secured as before.  The pain sharpened with each rock

the wagon struck.  My every heartbeat forced blood through the crushed

places and jolted me painfully awake; I could not sleep to avoid the

pain.  It took me an hour before I could manage a stony silence during

Syrin's drive.

     Evening came and we continued to travel, for the mountains were

near.  Syrin left the road, uncovering a secret trail large enough to

drive the wagons down it single-file, and soon enough we came flat up

against one of the Firebird Mountains.  V'heress came to the fore and

opened the magical passageway, closing it behind when all the slaves

had been dragged through.  The interior was unlit, yet all the dragons

knew the place by heart; I listened to them make their way easily

about, dragging the clumsy chained slaves down separate corridors.

Gradually the other dragons split off, taking side passageways while

Syrin merely drove his loaded wagon down and down.

     It took an hour of driving, twisting and turning in caves that

seemed large by echo of sound, now deep beneath the earth.  I had

heard no other sounds of travel save our own for the past ten minutes

when the cart stopped suddenly.  Syrin got out and began to unload the

other goods he had brought with him, pushing them off on some kind of

roller, leaving me alone in the dark, in pain.  I thought of a

thousand hatreds and tortures and escapes before Syrin returned, torch

in one hand, leash in another.

     This time he locked the short leash to his wrist as well as my

collar, and led me into his high-ceilinged cave.  I walked on stone at

first, but soon fine inlaid tiling as we entered his home proper; a

simple, elegant series of interconnected passageways and rooms that

dwarfed the Cerulean in their opulence.  Collared slaves bustled about

at Syrin's return, going about bits of upkeep that they might have

neglected in his absence.

     Syrin led me ever towards the center, slapping his tail on my

back to correct my direction when necessary.  We slowed only upon

reaching his bath; large enough for several, deep enough to reach

Syrin's chest, and with a floor all of gold in the dim torchlight.  He

lowered me into the slowly flowing water, crooning reassuringly to me

as I jolted and winced, my welts sensitive even to the touch of the

warm water.  Syrin entered after me, wrapping his fist about the base

of my horn to dangle me vertically in the water in the water from it,

the bottom perhaps a foot away from my hooves.  He took my chin in his

palm, and forced my head fully above the water, to look into my eyes

as he gently removed the silver bridle.

     My power and my mouth were freed, I could heal and I could speak.

He sat me in his lap in the bath and washed me, exquisitely gentle

with my back as it slowly revived.  The massages and bathings Syrin

had previously given me had relaxed me to the feel of his heated

scales upon my fur.  The dim light of the torch served to make my

milk-white fur a moon of reflected light, glittering off Syrin's

scales and the gold of the pool.  Syrin fondled my body against

himself with the familiarity of ownership, finally removing me from

the bath, drying me, and brushing my mane and tail into flowing glory

as if I were his expensive doll.

     Syrin carried me bound into his bedchamber, a cozy, warm cave

with silken and satin cushions and blankets making a bed atop gold and

jewels.  He laid me out reclining, and lie beside me, curving over me

in the undulatory way his neck had, his thick tail snaking in to

coil about one of my ankles.

     "You are beautiful, slave.  From the moment I saw you, I had to

own you, I could not live without owning you, taming you."  Syrin

spread my legs, sitting between them while I lay back with my hands

bound at my sides, collared and enslaved.  His leather-rough hands

stroked up the insides of my thighs to enfold my hanging balls and

stroke my sheath.  I tried to relax, not yield to his caresses, but he

lowered his head to my crotch and insinuated his thick, black, forked

tongue within my sheath to lick across the hidden head of my cock.  I

could not resist his skill and he coaxed out my length, telescoping

in his hands as his tongue flickered.

     He aroused my passions slowly and intently, rubbing with his

palms and tongue until I hung on the edge of a gentle climax, holding

me down with his legs and tail so that I could not thrust my hips

against him and quicken my pleasure.  He held me there, milking me

slowly, lashing his tongue across the rounded head of my alabaster

cock whenever his gripping red claws squeezed sweet spoor from me.  I

begged for surcease, desperately tried to rock my hips and force

myself to completion; Syrin merely backed off, let me calm, and then

heated me to his desired temperature again.  Only in his own time did

he drag his claws upon my cock and encircle it with his tongue,

catapulting me into climax while he fastened his jaws about me to

catch and drink every exploding pulse until my gripping balls were

spent in his claw.

     Syrin gave me a few moments to rest, licking me clean.  He was

the fountain of my pleasure and I could not deny that I owed him my

life, the life he already owned.  He pressed his hard, scaled lips to

mine, forcing them open and driving inward with his tongue, treating

me with my own taste.  He pressed forcefully at the back of my throat

until it too surrendered to him, opening and swallowing, allowing the

length of his tongue to penetrate.

     Slowly, he broke the kiss, controlling my head by a grip at the

base of my horn and moving it between his legs.  His cock was a dark

red length, it did not glitter like his scales, soft and turgid as he

stroked it against me.  I worshipped it, took it in my mouth as he

pulled my head forward inexorably in his grip, filling my mouth with

the soft thickness.  It forced my mouth open further as it stiffened,

Syrin pumping my head upon it like a piston.  I used my wide, strong

tongue as best I could upon it, slavering with my desire to serve my

Master.  Syrin angled my head and neck, penetrating my throat and

hanging his cock down my neck, finally bringing my mouth flush with

his crotch and holding me between his thighs for as long as I could

stand not to breathe.

     He released me from that torment, leaving me gasping, and made me

oil the now-gleaming red length that I had fully swallowed.  Preparing me

for what was to come, Syrin oiled his tongue and flicked it beneath my

tail, sliding it inwards to open and ready me.  He massaged my flanks

to relax them, spreading my legs wide, resting the great head of his

cock against me as he lay atop me.

     The gentle strength of his entire weight pushed me open, slowly

bringing himself to rest his sleekly muscled stomach on my draft-horse

back.  I was barely able to contain the thickness of his cock and its

length filled me more than completely, twinging into pain at the apex

of his taking.  Syrin's crotch came flush with my opened flanks,

rippling agony of stretching and of servitude sliding though me.  He

began to ride me, made me his steed through the long hours of the

night, and I submitted to the ineffable sliding and pushing, each

thrust grinding the breath from my lungs.  His tail slid up under me,

encircling my hanging cock and balls, and Syrin's tongue slid inwards

to tantalize my inner ear, shivering me almost to unconsciousness with

the sensation.

     Breathless, Syrin brought me again to climax beneath him, my

release serving his in my throes of pleasure gripping underneath him.

His thrusts speeded, slamming into me with the force of a volcano, and

with the explosion of his fire gushing into me, I knew how well I had

served my Master.  After he had expended himself into me, he lay atop

me, keeping me full and wet with himself, pinning me with his weight

until he saw fit to release me.

     Syrin chained me to sleep at the foot of the bed, with weak,

shaking legs from the force of his lovemaking.  Slowly, the lather of

my exertions dried, and my life in Syrin's service begun.



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