Archive-name: Fantasy/unicdrag.txt
Archive-author: 
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
city.
     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
unicorn.
     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
feet.
     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
Shastar.
     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
sound.
     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
time.
     "How are you feeling, slave?" he rumbled, a toothy grin on his
face.
     "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
slaves.
     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
overhear.  
     "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
fifty.
     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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