Part II

The messengers were run ragged by Cariad and Senor Clouto in the following weeks. Clouto could not believe the letters he was being sent, so replied often and thoroughly, asking for detail after detail.

Eventually, Cariad wrote that she would like to see him, to talk it through over an invigorating feast, and Clouto readily agreed. She did not want their affair to be made public, so decided to escape from the castle at dawn one day, telling no-one, not even the fair duchess Julia Trulia.

She rode at high speed, eager to see him. Her mind raced with the possibilities that would arise when they met, her thighs clung harder and harder to the horse as she became more and more aroused. Her eyes began to tear with tiredness, excitement and the wind, and it was this that caused the accident.

She took a corner far too fast, the horse dismounted her, and she bounced cutely down a hill. Aside from a scratch on her elbow, she was unhurt, and fortunately her replacement green dress was unscathed, save for a patch of mud near the hem.

It was only after she had satisfied herself that she was well, that she noticed something was wrong. She had come to rest at the entrance to a large cave, and wandered inside at the sight of something glittering.

It was a mistake. She caught the hem of her dress on a rock, tripped, and fell. When she looked up, she saw something in the air. It looked big, fast, and approaching. She blinked, and blinked again, and realised what it was.

The dragon beat its wings once, twice, and its speed increased threefold. It had spotted Cariad trying to sneak into its lair, and decided that she would be a welcome addition to his total. He grinned to himself as he saw her paralysed with fear, but still descended in a way where he could close in upon her, if she chose to run.

Cariad had realised this, and decided that staying where she was would be the best option. It appeared that this was correct, when the dragon landed near to her. It was huge, at least sixty feet high and a hundred long, with a vicious set of teeth that were bared at her. She merely smiled at him, wrongly believing that showing no fear would help.

The dragon looked at her for a second, and then sneezed upon her.

“Ewwwwww!” she yelped, as the mucus covered her in a thin, sticky film. “Dash it, you never heard of a handkerchief?”

She quickly realised that the mucus must have toxic properties. Her body began to feel differently, she fell first to her knees, then rolled onto her back, lying flat out, breathing heavily. The feeling was draining from her limbs, she tried to stretch them out to get some circulation started, but all this accomplished was the adoption of a pretty starfish pose.

The dragon watched with interest. He appeared to frown slightly at the curious specimen below him, and approached cautiously.

He bent over her.

Cariad bit her lip so hard, she felt blood enter her mouth. She was not going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

He reached out an ugly paw, with long blunted claws from scaly, lizard-like fingers. Cariad closed her eyes as the first claw touched her. To her surprise, it did not cut her in half. In fact, the touch was gentle, almost sensual. If she wasn’t stupefied by fear, she would have sworn that he was stroking her with his fingers.

He appeared to have most control over the foot-long claw on his little finger. He slid it under the hem of Cariad’s dress, and stroked it up and down the inside of her leg. The smooth, cool blade raised strong goosepimples from her milky-white thighs. In spite of herself, she knew she didn’t wholly dislike the experience.

The claw began to move up and around her body, her breasts were prised out from the top of the dress, and wiggled happily as they were tickled and teased. The dragon seemed to know exactly what he was doing, thought the princess, as the edge of the claw ran around her nipple, circling it, tickling it like she dreamed Clouto would, making it hard, then rubbing across the hardness. The thought of Clouto helped. She closed her eyes as the claw continued to brush under her dress and on her skin, imagining it to be Senor Clouto taking advantage of her, as she lay in her four poster bed. Only the noxious smell of the dragon reminded her of her predicament.

Suddenly, the claw was removed, and Cariad felt the fear return. The dragon took a half-step forwards, and towered above her petrified body. She was looking into his eyes, and he almost appeared to smile. He opened his mouth, leaned forwards, and just as Cariad shut her eyes, expecting to be torched by the dragon’s breath, she heard a sound. It was a sound that she had not heard since she looked through a keyhole whilst Julia Trulia had fellated the Italian Prince Regent. It was the sound of a tongue, a six-inch wide, three-foot long tongue, uncoiling from his mouth.

“Surely not!” she told herself.

She was wrong.

The tongue was rougher than the claw – without any tenderness, it began to lap at Cariad’s vulva. It was torture, heavenly torture. She begged him to stop, she begged hard, because she could not admit to herself that she adored his touch. It drove her close to madness, as the wet tongue lapped warm saliva all over her lower body, because she could not close her legs, or arch her back, or wriggle the way she wanted to, the way she had to. She could feel each individual knobbly tastebud of the tongue and it ran up and down her inner legs, concentrating its focus on her pussy, but always surprising and disgusting her as it roved. Her dress was soaked with dampness, and she tried to convince herself it was all from him. She knew it was not true.

He stepped back, and produced the claw again. But this was a different claw, and it twisted to show a sharp edge. Her eyes flashed again, but his motive was the same as every other male she had met. He wanted her naked. The sharp edge ran up the centre of her body, neatly slicing the dress in two. He proceeded to snip off the sleeves, and then flicked it off her body in a delicate, deliberate motion.

A little movement had returned to her body, and she could bend her neck to look down at herself. Her breasts heaved quickly, her legs were coated with saliva, sweat, dirt and – because she had to be honest with herself – the sweet juice from her cunt. But there was not a single scratch on her body, save for a bruise on her elbow from the initial fall.

The dragon stood on its haunches, and looked up. It appeared to be puzzled for a moment, then roared angrily at something, vicious jets of flame bursting from its mouth. Cariad turned her head to follow the dragon’s line of vision, and saw what made it so irate.

“Hola!” shouted Senor Clouto. He was on his trusty steed, and was firing arrow after arrow from a bow. Each arrow hit home on the dragon’s flesh.

It was too much for Cariad. The dragon, the claw, the tongue, her naked body, and now Senor Clouto. “My hero!” she called back, and fainted.

She awoke to find Senor Clouto kneeling at her side. She was still naked, but she was overjoyed to realise that she could move her arms and legs.

“The d-dragon?” she asked.

“Dead.”

“H-how?” she stuttered.

“There’ll be plenty of time for tales later. First, we should get you home.”

He pulled her up, and covered her nakedness with his cloak. His horse, Dave, pulled to his side, and he leg-upped Cariad onto Dave’s back, before joining her. Instantly, she clung on, content to have something to hug.

“Why was he… doing that to me?” asked Cariad.

“Well, fair play to him, it’s what I’d do to you if I had the chance. Stout fellow, that dragon, full of common sense, don’t you know.”

“No, but…”

Clouto raised a hand, and Cariad stopped talking instantly.

“Knights do not normally tell anyone of this,” he whispered over his shoulder, “but dragons feed on the juices produced by fair maidens. Any chance they get, they seduce the girl until she is overcome with joy and ecstasy to the point where she can no longer contain herself. She would literally squirt into his open mouth.”

“And you stopped him? You bastard,” she hissed, punching him playfully on the back of the shoulder.

“Yes. Because after that, he gets hungry and eats her. But the mystical thing is that he can only survive on the juice of a virgin. If the lady has been deflowered, she has no nutrients left for him.”

Cariad ran this thought over in her mind for a few moments. “So, presumably, the fact that they are dying out means that there are fewer virgins around.”

He nodded guiltily.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Cariad continued. “Knights like you are going around, deflowering virgins so that the dragons will become extinct, aren’t you?”

“It’s a thankless task,” grinned Senor Clouto.

Cariad wrapped her arms around his chest as she clung onto him. “Why do you have to do it? Why can’t you just tell anyone to deflower the virgins?”

“Oh ah. Well, it has to be a Knight, you see, for magical and mystical reasons.”

“Magical and mystical reasons,” repeated Cariad, unconvinced.

“Yeah,” frowned Senor Clouto sheepishly. “You bet your ass.”

End of Part II