It just feels more proper that way, for reasons that entirely escape her. It’s not like Lys hasn’t seen the rest of her before, and it’s not like they both aren’t aware of the end that she was hoping for when she invited herself back to Lys’s quarters instead of her own to freshen up before the closing banquet. But familiarity is tempered by time, and it’s been long enough that she knows she ought to keep her distance, at least for now, lest she fall back into the routine of a self she outgrew years ago.
So Red turns away when she begins to pull off her shirt, facing the standing mirror and stepping close enough in that she can still glimpse Lys, sprawled sideways like a graceful whore across her bed, but Lys can’t catch any tantalizing peeks of her own.
She stays quiet as she runs a damp cloth across her skin. Face, then arms, then chest, cleared of the sweat and grime of the day. She grits her teeth and lets out a small hiss as she drags the cloth over a few particularly deep bruises, already beginning to purple.
“Oh, come on now, I didn’t hit you that badly,” Lys drawls.
“No, but I also don’t heal as easy as I used to,” Red calls back. “And besides, I’ve been out of the ring for a while. Tolerance is lower now, but it’ll return.”
“Sounds like excuses to me.”
Red rolls his eyes. The criticizing banter’s always been their main form of communication, competition sparking through even their most intimate moments. He can see Lys’s eyes flick up and down his form as he bathes. She bites her lip and pushes herself to sitting as Red reaches over his shoulder to begin cleaning his back.
The bed creaks, then the floorboards, as she crosses the room. Red watches her approach in the mirror, bringing the cloth to still so Lys can pluck it from his grasp with one hand while the other snakes over his bare shoulder to steady him. Lys runs it in slow circles, subtle pressure easing the ache of battle out of his muscles with a knowing precision. He has to admit, it’s much nicer than trying to do it himself, even though the way Lys is pushing at him sends spurts of water running out of the rag and down to the small of his back.
“You’re getting my trousers all wet,” Red grumbles.
Lys hums with faux concern. “So take them off.”
Red’s hands fall to the drawstring, pulling it loose. Fabric crumples to his ankles, and he takes a few dancing steps to kick his pants fully off and aside. Lys sucks in a breath and the washcloth splats to the floor, along with the pretense. Her now free hand settles at his hip while her chin comes to rest in the crook of his neck, letting her take her first full view of his reflection.
“Heavens, dove, you really have turned out striking.” Her eyes shine greedily. The hand grasped around his shoulder flattens, slipping down his chest, down the full length of one of his breasts. “I mean, look at how these things have grown.”
Red doesn’t answer, save for the audible hitch of her breath as Lys’s fingers begin to spread and squeeze at her nipple, hardening it.
“And these, too.” Lys’s other hand wanders, from the dip of her hip down her thigh and up again, then back, to cup the meat of her ass. “You carry the weight so well.”
Red arches her back ever so slightly, pushing into both of Lys’s palms at once.
“Perhaps it’s just the freshness of lust after so long apart, but I really cannot take my eyes off of you. So fucking beautiful.”
Red lets a slight grin steal across her face at the compliment. “Well, thank yourself for that. You made me beautiful.”
Lys’s brow furrows, her hands both freeze in their path. “Oh, dove.” She tilts her head to press softly against the side of Red’s. “You were always going to be beautiful.”
Red scoffs, the grin fades. “What have these years done to you? I’m shocked you don’t want any sort of credit.”
“Not for that,” she says, twisting so her lips just barely brush Red’s temple as she talks. “I didn’t make you this way.”
Red’s eyes slip closed, and an all-too-familiar image appears in his memory.
It’s Lys, of course, almost fifteen years younger and half-silhouetted by the fire she sits beside. The harsh cut of her cheekbones and knuckles, highlighted by the flames glinting off her blade as she runs a whetstone along it. Several locks of sweat-stuck hair dropping into her face, even as she tries to blow them aside. The curve of her cracked lips curve and the bob of her adam’s apple as she laughs at his gangly stare. The pierce of her eyes as she looks him up and down for the first time, certainly not the last. The practiced smoothness of her voice as she asks if you were planning on just looking at her all night, or if you’d like to take a seat and learn a thing or two, new boy.
Sharp, and broad, and fierce, and breath-taking. The vision of a kind of femininity Red had hardly even known existed, until she needed it so badly she could barely breathe. There’s a reason this woman took her oath name to be Catalyst.
“You sure?” Red murmurs.
Lys’s hands begin to move again, curious and wanting. “Oh, I made you many things, dove. Just not this one.”
“What exactly is it that you think you made me, then?”
“I made you strong,” she says, murmuring into the shell of Red’s ear as one hand slips below her breasts to splay across her toned stomach.
“And I made you tactical,” as the other brushes across a scar from an arrowhead, pierced near inches from taking out her kneecap.
“I made you skilled,” Lys’s first hand begins to pull back, and up, dancing along each rib on its way.
“And I made you dextrous,” while her other finds Red’s fingers and spreads them, threading her own into the gaps.
She begins to move her head down, nipping at the underside of Red’s jaw. She drags their intertwined hands up the softness of his inner thigh. Her free fingers splay under his cheek as her lips press to the side of his neck.
“I made you hungry.” Her breath is hot on his skin, and her teeth barely graze his jugular as she talks. “So very hungry.”
She presses the back of his hand down with her own, flattening his palm to the dip of his hip. Her thumb grazes across the base of his cock, and he can feel the pulse of his own blood quicken under his hand. “My dove, I made you alive.”
They breath together for a moment, silent, her chest pressed flush to his spine.
“And above all,” Lys whispers, “I made you -”
“- Yours.”
Red can barely get the word out before her breath is knocked from her chest by the speed at which Lys is bending her over. The hand at her neck grips tight and thrusts Red forwards, her arms instinctively grabbing at the frame of the mirror as a brace. The hand on her hip instead tugs backwards, pulling Red flush to Lys. The hardness of Lys’s bulge is apparent against the back of Red’s thigh, welcoming the pressure to grind against. She can feel the strip of skin and hair where Lys’s shirt has ridden up and pants have ridden down as she leans over her.
“Oh, good,” Lys croons in her ear. “You remember.”
I just signed up to staff a kissing booth at a Valentine’s Day sapphic party and I am trying to not freak out about it too much 😭 time to start consuming chapstick like my life depended on it
who the fuck even uses "pretty boy" as an insult any more I thought we all came to the agreement that all it does is make you sound like you want to stick your tongue down the other guy's throat
thinking Lots about what being butch means to me. i've been seeing discussion about how a lot of masc people/butches display chivalry on a conditional basis, like femmes have experienced butch chivalry only if the butch wants to fuck them/wants something from the femme and it's just insane to me. i feel like this attitude of expressing chivalry bleeds into all aspects of myself because it's reflective of the kind of person i want to be, so i extend it to literally everyone regardless of how i feel about them. anyways all this to say that if you're femme you deserve care and kindness unconditionally and this goes doubly so for the femmes who are overlooked and treated like shit because they aren't white or thin or neurotypical.
realizing you're the biggest pervert in a room is a scary feeling. like oh nooo in my circles i'm like an entry level pervert at best... i'm only into really basic stuff like computers and wound fingering and surgery.
Prince breaking decorum and personally armoring up his knight before he goes to fight for him in a tournament. As homoerotically as possible.
The night before the tournament, the knight had knelt before his prince and sworn to lose.
Part and parcel of their game; it would not due for one of the new prince’s sworn men to attract too much attention, not yet.
But now, the falcon prince steps into the arming pavilion, resplendent in the pale dawn light. Even dressed in silks, with the glimmer of a pearl dangling at his ear and his silver hair brushed to a mirror-shine, there’s something sharp in his bearing. A blade never quite sheathed.
“Dismissed,” he says, with a curt wave to the knight’s squires. The boys goggle at him for a moment, before disappearing from the pavilion.
The knight bows, awkward in his half-laced gambeson and arming belt. “Good morning, Your Grace,” he says. “This is an unexpected honor.”
Outside, the horn blows, marking the beginning of the tourney; the knight can picture the falcon prince’s place on the royal dias, standing empty, and already knows what the princes of the blood will say.
Ungrateful boy, they’ll snarl.
“The tournament —“ the knight begins. “— I’ll need those squires, unless you want me to withdraw altogether.”
“You underestimate me.” The falcon prince shakes his head, and picks up the knight’s breastplate. His hands linger on its scratched surface for a moment; no matter many times the knight has his squires beat it back into shape and polish the surface, the metal shows hard use. “I haven’t been so long away from the field; I expect I can manage the duty.”
Blood rushes to the knight’s face as the falcon prince leans in close to slip the breastplate around him. His cool, sword-scarred hands go to work on the shoulder clasps. “I shouldn’t underestimate my prince,” the knight says. “But you’ll be expected on the dias.”
“They’ll do without me for a few minutes,” the prince says, leaning over to do up the back of the knight’s breastplate. His hair falls across the knight’s shoulder, and the scent of jasmine and amber washes over his senses.
It should be incongruous with the stench of leather and old sweat, but it brings the knight back to the first days of this game, when everything had been a bid for survival, and the falcon prince fought at his back more often than not. “They’ll hardly notice my absence.”
“You’re the guest of honor,” the knight says.
The falcon prince gives a little shake of his head, annoyed. “I’ve changed my mind,” he says, reaching for the knight’s gorget. “I don’t care if it brings us undue attention. Forget my previous order.”
A shiver runs through the knight. Collared by his hand, freed by his voice; these were the moments that made his blood sing. “Your Grace?”
“I think the other champions would benefit from a lesson.” The falcon prince leans in close again, resting an arm on the knight’s shoulder and murmuring in his ear “I want you to win. Think you can?”
It’s as if his lead has been finally let slack; the dog knight is free to hunt as he wills. “For you? Of course.”
The dragon queen's reign must come to an end, and you, one of the most talented assassins across the 7 kingdoms, are to see to it that it does. Her policies of self-governance and her raw power have frightened your new employers, other kings and remaining loyalists: what if their citizens get the same ideas?
She's a formidable foe in battle and out. Her personal knight -famed for their strength and talent with the blade- clings to her side along with the dragon she miraculously tamed. Her staff is loyal and unlikely to turn a blind eye to any threat to their queen. She's faced dozens of attempted assassinations before from rival kingdoms, and each of those assassins have faced a swift death. It's nigh impossible. Which is precisely why you were chosen. Impossible is your specialty, and you heard whispers of "expendable" on the lips of your comrades. You'd have to prove them wrong.
Nsft under the cut
Your plan initially goes without a hitch. You're familiar with the castle from your years as a servant to the former king, an assistant and informant to his personal master of espionage, so you slip easily between blending into busy corridors and sneaking through winding and precarious maids' stairways. The queen's quarters are guarded, but you know you can scale an external wall from another balcony and climb in with relative ease (for you). The room is empty at the moment, and to conceal yourself as you await your prey you tuck into a large, ornate armoire stuffed with fine gowns and... You run your hands over the unfamiliar objects. Leather armour? Some kind of marble, glass, and polished wood figurines? Strange.
Hours pass before she returns to her quarters. You've been told conflicting stories about her sleeping habits, that she's an insatiable temptress who never sleeps alone but cares not who joins her, that she's a frigid virgin who welcomes no man into her bed, even that her demonic nature lead her to sleep only during the day and feast on the innocent at night. That last one surely isn't true, though.
Evidently, the first is the closest to truth. You hear her giggles and flirtation as she speaks to someone you can't see, who addresses her with affection as "my lady". This is presumably the fearsome dragon queen, yet she sounds so... not scary. And younger than you'd imagined. You anticipated someone intimidating, a wizened ruler. Perhaps this was not her, you thought. Perhaps you, or this young lady, had found yourselves in the wrong room. But you'd thought your information and scouting reliable.
You hear the flap of dragon wings and the graceful yet heavy thud of the size-shifting beast landing on the balcony. "Your majesty," its low voice rumbles, sending a shiver down your spine. You know dragons can imitate human speech but you've never heard it in action before. It's so natural you'd hardly even notice.
"My love, you missed the party," she coos in response.
"How was your watch?" The third voice asks, who you now assume is the Queen's loyal knight. Their voice sounds familiar but you brush it off.
"Uninteresting. I sent a patrol to investigate a disturbance by the east wood, but I'm sure it's nothing. And your ball?"
In the East Wood? That was where you entered from. Another shock of nerves bounces through you as they converse. It must have been something else. It isn't possible that you left a trail.
"You look delectable, your majesty," the Dragon growls.
"Doesn't she?" The knight adds.
Perhaps insatiable temptress was right.
Hearing people's most intimate moments in these hiding spots could be considered a perk of the job, if that was a person's thing. And usually it wasn't yours, but something about the trio of moans struck you differently. As if you were participating, you felt your blood flow to your dick, and your mind follow.
Their voices were so pretty. The sloppy sounds of a wet cunt getting pounded, the creak of the furniture and the slap of skin against skin, and the moans, oh the song of pleasure danced in your ears. Your hand just teased at your dick, the other clamping over your mouth. There was no time more apt for your talent of staying silent.
It became nearly too much when you heard the princess cooing, "Ohh, good pet. So lovely, darling."
It was almost as if she'd said those words to you. You hold back a whimper. You can't bring yourself to release without making noise, so any touch you get is torture, but doing nothing is just as achingly painful.
You don't know what any of them look like, so you have no face to imagine as your mind places you in the center of their desire, toying with your sensitive tits and laughing at you as you writhe under them.
The queen continues to egg one of her partners on, and you hear an animalistic yet pathetic whimper, then gasping and the sound of movement speeding up. Your hand moves along with them until you hear her voice again, "Go on, love, you can cum for me."
You shudder and hold yourself from obeying, body raging against you. Helpless against yourself and instantly feeling foolish for it, your throat lets out a strained whimper.
The sounds outside instantly stop.
"What was that?" The knight said. If only being silent and still could turn back time. That voice- you could swear it was... No. You prayed that the trio would be too caught in their pleasure to care about you, and dismiss the sound.
No such luck. The dragon demanded to be untied (they'd restrained a dragon?) so they could check on the sound. You heard a sword be unsheathed. You were absolutely doomed. You clutched your knife. Perhaps you could at least not go down without a fight. There was a potent poison on the blade. One cut could drop a grown man in seconds.
As the closet door was yanked open, you sprang into action, tucking and rolling ahead to dodge any immediate attacks. This maneuver evades the dragon's grasp, but the moment your eyes lay on the sword-wielder, you freeze. The reality you were ignoring was no longer deniable.
Standing in front of you, sword at the ready and body protecting the queen, was your ex. You'd parted somewhat amicably (high knights of the Kings guard took a vow of chastity, which seemingly had been broken), but the room felt far from amicable. Breaking in while your ex was having a threesome to murder one of the participants would do that to any breakup, surely.
In your shared moment of frozen weakness, you're roughly grabbed from behind. Claws prick into your shoulder and you whip around, slashing at the dragon with your knife. Your form is messy, and its tough-scaled hand grips the blade raised over your head, wrenching it out of your hand. You're kicked to the floor and held there by clawed foot and strong tail, but you smile as a drop of shining golden blood traces down the dragon's emerald scales. With that poison at least you know you'll die being the first human to kill a dragon alone.
Your smile drops as the dragon sniffs its hand and its forked tongue teases at the wound. "Hm," they rumble, unbothered, "You spiced it."
You wait for the poison to take effect as the dragon continues to lick the remains of the blood from its hand. "Don't touch this, loves. Ithian is toxic to humans." Their forked tongue traces up the side of the knife like they're enjoying a candy. It makes your stomach jump in a way that would embarrass you more if you weren't so concerned by your imminent demise. "Tasty, though."
You feel cheated. The swamp witch you got the poison from assured you it would work. Turns out she only reliably distributed poultices of repuberty, not poison.
"Now let's see how you taste," the dragon growls. Its bright eyes dart back down to you. You can feel it growing in size as its foot weighs on your chest, pushing air out.
"Wait!" Your ex yelled. The dragon paused and all eyes went to the knight. "I know them. That's... My ex," they looked pained as they said it.
"Oh so I should let you do this?" The dragon responded, taking get more weight off your chest and allowing you to breathe again. Its claws raked across the loose blouse you were wearing.
"The other one. The good one." Aw. The dragon's foot shifted from your chest to your shoulder. You start trying to pry its claws off with your free hand but it's no use. You're still pinned by its tail anyway. Their eyes travelled down to your chest, still developing breasts visible through the rips in your shirt. "You look... Different." Her wide eyes spoke her approval.
"Whoever they are, they were trying to kill our queen," the dragon growled. "I'll try to do this quickly, for your sake." They flexed their clawed hand and yanked your leg with their tail.
You whimpered and closed your eyes, preparing for the end.
"Ah-ah," the queen said. You opened your eyes to see her looking down, evaluating you. "My decision, dear heart." A single finger tilted the dragon's jaw and you could see their whole body react to her touch. She was very hot, draped in an embroidered silk robe and hair a beautiful mess. Her gaze settled below your belt. "Someone was enjoying this evening," she teased with a coy smile. "Still. We must make sure you haven't any weapons on you if you're to be spared." She snapped her fingers. "Strip them. Make sure they're clean."
The knight hesitated before the queen looked at them expectantly and jutted her head to the side. With the dragon's help they hoisted you off the ground, holding your arms behind your back. The dragon's tail wrapped around your shoulders prevented you from thrashing. The knight approached you. They look pretty different too. Evidently you'd both changed a lot in the past years.
Their hands traced over you tenderly, eyes betraying some disbelief. "You don't have anything on you do you?" They asked.
You wanted to be stubborn, but at this point, tits exposed and boner apparent, you didn't have much ground to stand on. "No," you grumble. This was supposed to be an easy in easy out kind of mission, bringing extra things would weigh you down when all you should have needed was the knife.
The knight carefully ripped the rest of your shirt away anyway. "No point in lying anyway," they said, flicker of a smile on their lips as they look at your entirely exposed chest. They've been naked this whole time, and with them so close your breath hitches. They looked fantastic. The court alchemist's potions of body transmogrifying they'd taken since youth had done wonders, evidently. They pulled off your breeches, exposing you further, carefully shaking out your boots and satchel along the way. The process of getting undressed by someone you once loved (and maybe still did) while completely helpless left you flustered.
Speaking of that helplessness, the dragons that held you's smooth scales and fire-generating heat behind you were difficult to ignore, just like the golden collar you noticed and their present erection pressing against your ass. It made sense, given the moment you'd interrupted.
All the while, the queen's eyes stayed on you, hungrier than the dragon who just threatened to eat you. You met her gaze for a moment and saw that princess whose castle you grew up in, who you'd always had a bit of a crush on. You writhed slightly under her imposing look. The robe had fallen off her shoulder, exposing soft skin and the fold of where her arm met her breast.
"Seems you've always had good taste, my love," the queen says, eyes trailing down your body. Your face warms. "You used to work here, didn't you, dear?" She addressed you.
The knight's hands stayed on you, hesitating over your sun-dappled skin and new curves. You're entirely exposed, but their hands travelled around you like they were still checking for suspicious items, taking you in.
You stammered out the words, "Yes, I did."
"One of your many servant admirers, my lady," the knight said. They knew about your childhood fancy. It was something you'd both shared.
The queen's perfect lips curved into a smile. "I've always been popular with the common folk." She stepped closer to you and traced her fingertips down your neck and over your collarbone. Her touch was delicate but deliberate. It sent shivers through you. "Your ex... This is the one that liked..." She dug her nails into your skin and scratched just hard enough to leave marks. You couldn't help but gasp and try to squirm at her touch.
The knight broke into a knowing smile. "Yep."
"Well we best teach them a lesson about breaking into my quarters." She grabbed your face and tilted your chin up, digging her nails in. "Perhaps that will give us some answers about where they came from." She stepped back abruptly and waved a hand at her companions. "Bend them over the bed, loves. I want answers."
Firmly, you were grabbed and thrown face down onto the bed. With your face pressed to the fine sheets, you watched the queen stride over to the armoire you hid in. Out of it she produced leather straps, which formed hand cuffs, and a small wooden paddle. Your breath caught in your throat. She deftly fastened the cuffs, securing your hands behind your back without the knight leaning down on you, and the dragon sat in front of your head, pinning your shoulders down with their strong legs, leaving their dick tantalizingly close to your head.
"For old time's sake," the queen said to the knight behind you. You felt the weight shift as she sat on the bed next to your head. She ran her fingers through your hair. "Now why don't you tell us who sent you?"
You were in very little position to deny her information, but selling out your employer would burn any bridge you had if you managed to get out of this alive. You stayed silent, almost hoping for what you knew would come next.
She snapped her fingers and you heard the crack of wood against flesh as pain crackled up your backside. You gasped out loud, but forced yourself to regain composure. "Is that all you got?"
The queen snapped her fingers again, and another slap of the paddle met your ass. This wasn't the hardest your former lover could hit you, you knew that, but still the pain made you hiss through your teeth. "No," you forced out.
Another snap of the fingers. Another slap. Your knees buckled and you gasped again. She didn't even give you enough time to respond before she snapped her fingers again and the paddle hit your ass.
"Harder, love." She pulled your hair to make you look at her. "I don't like it when pretty whores don't know how to listen." She snapped her fingers again, making the knight strike you once more, harder this time.
Your back arched and you cried out, tears starting to well. It stung, but it felt good. You hadn't felt anything so strong in a while.
"Who sent you?" She repeated.
"If I tell you, they'll kill me," you spat out.
"If you tell her, I won't have to," the dragon retorted with a snarl. Fair point.
She snapped her fingers again. The strike left you breathless and hard, and you finally were convinced. You spat out the name of your employer.
"Very good," she purred, petting your hair. She nods like she knew the answer already.
As you strain your eyes too look up at it you see the dragon, still humanoid in shape, but large and scaley, lazily pumping their cock. Your eyes bulge at the size. You're a perfectly respectable size for a human, but dragon cock cannot compare.
"Excited, my darling?" The queen coos to them.
"They make such pretty noises," the dragon whines to her. It makes you flush and bury your face in the sheets.
She reaches down to pet your hair again. Her touch is so soft and sweet, given the situation. "They do," she sighs contentedly. Suddenly, her hand grips your scalp and forces your head down into the plush bed "Again, love. I want tears."
The knight slaps your ass twice more, alternating sides. You gasp and moan as the weight on your head shifts. You can lift it up just enough to see the queen shed her robe, exposing soft, unblemished skin and perky, round breasts. She's a vision of raw beauty as the dragon helps her straddle them, still facing you.
You watch the dragon lean back as she rubs along their cock. You can see precum, more opalescent than a human's, glisten out of the tip. The queen is not a small woman, but the dragon guides her body like she weighs nothing. You see her spread her pussy mere inches from your face and slowly sink down on the massive dick, stretching around it like it's nothing. Her moan of relief and pleasure intoxicates you. As you see the dragon raise and lower her, using her cunt to get them off, you're not sure who you envy more.
Your vision of their union is interrupted with another slap on your ass, nudging your head closer to the pair. The crack of the paddle against your flesh warms the skin and makes your knees buckle again. Your clit aches, yearning for touch.
Another hit brings the tears the queen requested to your eyes. The knight has discarded the paddle, and you feel their bare hand brush over your ass, squeezing and parting it, then squeeze your hips. "You're beautiful," they whisper behind you, then hit you again, making you cry out. The tears drip over your cheeks and you feel on the verge of cumming just from this.
Between gasps, the queen moans, "Oh beautiful," she bites her lip, trying to hold herself together against cumming. "You're both so good for me." You can see her tits bouncing as the dragon pounds her. You can smell them both, their cum and sweat mingling.
The knight whimpers and rubs against your ass. They don't have anything to grind as they did when you were younger, but just the feeling of their skin against yours, slapped bright red and sensitive, is bliss. They shift between bucking hips against your aching skin and slapping you again to make sure the sting doesn't die.
The queen finally gives in and you hear her escalating moans as her legs spasm on either side of you. You see the dragon speed up and based on the sounds they make, they seem close too.
Then suddenly, you feel a yank on your hair and the queen lifts your head to look at them as she lifts herself off of the dragon, perfectly allowing it to splatter hot cum across your face and into your slightly open mouth.
Mind numbing to the pain and the sex in the air, you moan loudly at being used as a cumrag. The queen giggles at you and gets up as you feel yourself flipped over.
The knight descends on you, pressing your shoulders into the bed, and their tongue traces up your jaw, collecting some of the cum. It sends shivers through you. The queen returns and coos over you, "Aren't you just so cute?"
You can't even feel embarrassed over the haze of lust. You feel a damp cloth wipe over your face, cleaning you off as the knight kisses down your neck and body. They hesitate at your groin, kissing each of your inner thighs. "Can I suck them off, my lady?"
She giggles again, "How does that sound dear, can they?"
You whine in response and buck your hips up against nothing. Your clit throbs after ages of unanswered begging for touch.
"Words, darling." She laughs. The embarrassment excites you further.
"Yes," you gasp. You feel their fingers trace along your inner thighs.
"Be polite,” the queen chides you, tapping your nose.
You gasp again as the dragon readjusts to pin you down and twirl their monstrous tongue around your sensitive nipple. The throbbing between your legs is ceaseless.
"Please," your voice breaks, "please!"
The queen looks quite satisfied, then nods to her knight. "You may."
Feeling their mouth around you is pure ecstacy. Your eyes roll back as their experience takes the reigns. Their hands hold your hips steady. It's been harder for you to cum recently, but it's like they never forgot what buttons to press to pull you closer. With the Dragon attending to your breasts, you're helpless to them. You've been on the edge for so long.
You gasp and writhe and cry out as if pained from how the sensation sends pleasure through your whole body. You meet their eyes and stutter out "I'm- I'm-" between gasping breaths.
Their lips release you just as you do as well, cumming on their chest. Your body falls limp after, breathing heavily.
The knight kisses your cheek and whispers into your ear, "I've missed you." As the queen hums and strokes your other cheek.
"What a lovely show," she sighs. "Now how about you two get cleaned up and take this one down to the dungeon?" She finally undoes the cuffs you wore and pulls one heavy wrist up to her lips, granting your hand a soft kiss. "I think we're far from done here."
the level of entitlement a lot of tme people on this website feel to continue seeing and consuming the writing, humor, art, sex work, and cultural contributions of trans women while never having to hear about transfeminism is fucking unreal
Maybe lesbianism WAS invented purely so transfem butches could have near intolerable amounts of sex appeal from our warm voices, our commanding stature and the comforting knowledge that if this is how hard we can fuck gender imagine how hard we can fuck You
