A Perverted Path to Victory

Fanlah

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“Is that…” Sara repeated, propping herself up on her elbows to look Fanlah in the eye, “...all you got?”

The buzzing in Fanlah’s chest was becoming dangerous. She could feel her blood pumping, arousal rising. Her tongue was aflame with the taste of a Chosen, still popping and sparkling with numbing flavors that ran down her throat, coating the flesh in tingling pleasure. She’d thought it was an aphrodisiac at first, knowing the sensation as she did from the times when she’d been duty-bound to bear an egg from a wyvern she didn’t fancy, but this was different. Absent that aphrodisiac’s unnatural tang, it seemed somehow… pure. Delicious. She didn’t want more of it because it was altering her better senses. She wanted more of it because it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

With a rumble that was higher pitched than she wanted, Fanlah splayed herself out on the bedding, wings flat to the ground so that she could stare straight at Sara. She wanted to talk, but it seemed the slick arousal of a Chosen was turning to glue in her throat. She was swallowing again and again, running her tongue along every nook and cranny of her mouth, savoring every remaining drop.

Gods, she thought, head spinning. It’s a wonder she struggles with anything at all. She could rule the world by offering the privilege of putting one’s tongue between her legs.

“So how do you want to do this?” Sara asked, slightly slurring her words. Fanlah wasn’t sure if any of her life’s accomplishments brought her more pride than the Chosen’s dazed expression. “You on top? Me on top? You wanna find out what it’s like to fuck me when I’m a wyvern?”

Fanlah blinked, confused. She swallowed one last time, the tip of her tail shivering as she downed the last drops of Chosen arousal, then did her best to speak levelly.

“I… what do you mean, Sara? On top of what? Both of us find pleasure from the bottom of our bodies, do we not?”

Fanlah knew she had asked a foolish question when the Chosen of Emotion laughed uproariously, throwing her head back and grabbing her stomach. Thankfully, Fanlah could distract herself from the embarrassment by watching what the rib-clutching laughter did to Sara’s chest.

“Who’s gonna put what in who, Fanlah,” Sara explained, still laughing. “I guess you’ve only mated with male wyverns before, huh?”

“O-of course,” Fanlah huffed, ruffling her wings. “A life bond may not have found me yet, but it is still every wyvern’s duty to sire the next generation.”

“Well, noble sire that you are,” Sara rolled onto her stomach, resting her chin on the back of her hands, feet raised to kick playfully in the air behind her, “I guess I’ll still have to explain some stuff. Y’see, when two women get it going on, there’s a lot of options for things to get up in different places, and everyone’s got their own way they like to do each other.” She smirked at Fanlah. “You sure seemed to enjoy putting your tongue up in my guts. That’s topping right there, since you were the one shoving things into me. Seemed like you really loved that, but if you want, I can return the favor.”

Fanlah took a long time to respond. Too long. She was lost in the images dancing involuntarily in her mind’s eye, all the different ideas of what might happen next paralyzing her.

“A moment,” she said, a realization striking her. “Did you offer to become a wyvern?”

Sara grinned. “I did, yeah. I’m the Chosen of Emotion, Fanlah, and I’ve got a specialty in fucking. Whatever you want me to be, I can be it.”

“O-oh dear,” she breathed, blinking rapidly. “That is… I cannot imagine…”

“Wyvern it is, then?” Sara stood, stretching.

“No!” Fanlah shouted. When Sara jumped in surprise, she cleared her throat, getting control of herself. “That is, ah, no, Sara. There is no need for that. To have a wyvern in bed is something many have known, but a Chosen…”

“And a human,” Sara added. Her expression was infuriatingly knowing, and it stirred heat in Fanlah’s belly. She walked forward with a sultry gait, hips shifting, black hair shimmering in the firelight. “C’mon, don’t pretend it’s not just that. You’ve got a thing for humans, don’t you?”

Oh gods, Fanlah whined inwardly, scales rippling with embarrassment.

“N-no,” she stuttered, lifting her head up and away from Sara as she approached. “That is ridiculous. The difference between our kinds is insurmountable, is it not? For a wyvern to lust after humans is-”

“More common than you think,” Sara interrupted, peering up at Fanlah with a sly grin. “Trust me, I’d know. And there’s more than a few humans interested in your kind, let me tell you.”

“R-ridiculous!” Fanlah sputtered. “What would they even do? How would they, they… do anything?”

“Licking, for starters,” Sara purred. Fanlah’s embarrassment was made far worse by the fact she knew the woman could sense it rolling through her. “Kissing. Grinding. Fisting. Toys and masturbation, too. There’s all kinds of things a wyvern like you could do to a human, Fanlah. And just as many that a human could do to you.”

Fanlah was panting so hard she could see heat waves shimmering in front of her snout. She still had her back half pressed firmly to the pillows, and she didn’t intend to change that any time soon. The wet spot that had been created beneath her was mortifying.

“I… but I worry,” she breathed. “I can’t help but worry. What if I hurt you? Or offend you, even? You are so fragile.”

“Offend me?” Sara laughed. “That’d be pretty fuckin’ impressive, Fanlah. So long as you don’t start talking about politics, anyway.”

“I have no intention of such, of course. It is your health that I am worried about.”

The Chosen looked up at her, brown eyes blinking in slow bemusement, her dark hair spilling in waterfalls about her bare shoulders.

“How about I explain it this way: if you wanted to fight me, I’d get torn to shreds. But if you want to fuck me?” She rolled over, baring her breasts, head dangling off the edge of a pillow to stare up at Fanlah. “You couldn’t do a damn thing to me. As rough as you want to give it, I’ll take it. And if you want, I can probably give it back just as hard.”

The room is briefly filled by the rattling rasp of Fanlah’s scales scraping against one another, lifting up as if they were hinges to bare the sensitive skin beneath as a powerful shiver shakes her body. Even with the roaring fire so close by, the air slipping beneath her scales to touch her raw skin feels so cold. It makes her want to shiver again.

“Oh, you liked that, did you?” Sara asked, chuckling. She rolls back onto her front, getting up on all fours, crawling forward. “Which part did the trick?”

“I-I-I-” Fanlah stammers hopelessly. It had been centuries since she felt threatened by a creature so small, yet she can’t shake the sense of predation in Sara’s hungry gaze.

“Did you like the idea of me being rough with you? Showing you what I can really do?”

“Th-that’s not-”

“Or was it something else that got you shaking like a leaf?”

Fanlah can back up no further. Not without revealing the shameful arousal that has ruined the bedding beneath her. Her wings are pressed to her chest, her tail curled around herself for balance, and still she keeps leaning back, until she’s so off balance she might tip over any moment.

Sara doesn’t show any mercy. She crawls up, breasts hanging from her chest, lustrous hair shining like a black diamond, the sparkling drops of her and Fanlah’s joining still coating her lower body. When she reaches Fanlah properly she leans back, legs folded beneath her, and raises a hand.

Fanlah’s eyes flutter closed as a cool palm comes to rest against her wing membrane. It is small, it is light, and it is electrifying. She shivers again, nearly falling.

“I think,” Sara purrs, “you want to let loose. That no matter how desperate you are to get your own pleasure, you’re too afraid of looking selfish to come and take it. Too much of a service top for your own good, really. But don’t worry. I can give you the best strap in the world.”

Confusion over those words has her eyes flickering down, risking a proper, straight-forward glance at Sara. Strap? Serving a top? Sexual positions again, or something more—

“A-ah!”

A fire is rising in her belly. No, not her belly. Lower. Between her hips. It isn’t the nearly painful sensation when she spits acid from her maw, but something more… filling. Demanding, even. She starts to shuffle away from Sara, worried about what it is that so desperately wants to erupt out of her, but she stumbles before she can, dropping to one wing as the heat redoubles.

“Oh,” she whispers. “O-oh gods, this is…”

From its starting place in her core, the heat moves toward the surface, intensifying all the time. She shudders again, this time hard enough to shake the whole room, and then she drops her head with a whimper, cursing silently.

It’s going towards her core. Her… hole. Arousal already had the scales splitting apart to give access to her dripping arousal, but this is something new, unlike anything she’s felt before. It feels as though every pleasant buzz from her rare matings had conjoined themselves, multiplying one other’s effect on her body, only to begin traveling out, not in. She is so distracted by the racing intensity of it that she doesn’t realize what has happened until it is already over, her dizzying confusion slowly giving way to a very alien sensation.

Something is… wet. Hard. Outside her body. No, not outside her body, it is her body. It is just outside her scales. Sensitive skin dangling in the open air, caressed by every little swirl and current which passes it by.

“Spread those wings, girl,” Sara murmurs, her other joining to press against Fanlah’s opposite wing. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

She’s been left so out-of-sorts by the strange transformation that she obeys without thought. Still squatting precariously on her haunches, she nonetheless uncovers herself, showing what now lays between her legs.

Sara lets out a low, impressed whistle.

“Fucking massive,” she says. Then she laughs at herself. “Of course it is. Keep saying I don’t like ‘em big, but when it comes down to it, what do I keep ending up with…?”

“H-huh?” Fanlah manages to ask. Not her most eloquent question, but she is still dazed. New sensations are swirling through her, new and old urges splitting and merging. The desire to be filled is still there, she knows. The mating instinct, the almost-pleasant ache of her body telling her she ought to have either an egg or a partner stuffing her full. That she knows well, even if it had never been so intense, but now there is something new.

The desire to fill. To thrust. To grind. She is… is it hunger? It feels like hunger, but it is different. A hunger in her groin, a longing need for something that is most certainly not food. She feels… exposed. Bare. She needs to find something to cover herself— no, to be covered by. To…

A hand touches her. Touches her in a place she has never been touched before, because she’s never had that place to be touched.

Fill, her mind growls, the pieces clicking together. You need to be in. In. Inside it. Fill something. Make them take it all.

She falls forward with a rumble echoing out of her lungs, catching herself on her wings. She is over Sara now, hunched over the woman, the Divine Chosen trapped beneath her body.

“You’re a lucky girl, y’know,” Sara announced. A hand runs down… down Fanlah’s shaft. It makes her whine. “Took me forever to figure out how to make sure someone has both. And here you get to experience that for your first go. Damn lucky.”

“Wh-what have you…?” Fanlah pants out.

“Gave you a cock,” Sara says matter-of-factly. “Or the best strap in the world, if you want to think of it that way. I figured that if you’re too proud to let me make you feel good without doing anything back, I might as well make sure we both get something out of it.”

Fanlah hasn’t totally lost control of herself. She lowers her neck down, weaving around until she can see beneath her.

She’s never been a large wyvern. Even on all fours, the top of Sara’s head is rubbing against Fanlah’s lower belly. She hadn’t noticed that, however, because the woman was kneeling, legs folded beneath herself, one hand running down the shaft of… of…

Her ability to finish the thought is temporarily stolen from her when Sara’s hand reaches the base, fingers gently sweeping down onto the thick bulge of her knot.

Fanlah’s hips buck forward of their own volition, her eyes squeezing shut involuntarily as the lightest grazing of Sara’s fingers burst like a keg of gunpowder in the back of her skull. Her whine warbles and shifts, pitching up and down, from demanding growl to pathetic whimper.

“Liked that, did you?” Sara purrs. Then a second hand joins the stroking. Fanlah manages to restrain herself from knocking the Chosen to the ground, but only just. She feels herself quiver in place like a drawn bowstring, cock bouncing accordingly. Sara’s speech turns breathy and quiet, as if she is speaking to herself. “I bet you did. So much to give attention to down here. I can almost see why Evie likes this…”

Watching through lidded eyes, Fanlah sees Sara lean forward, drawing closer to the thick, throbbing cock before her. She inspects it as she strokes, both hands grasping the shaft without a single finger meeting in the middle. It is large for Fanlah’s frame, she knows. She’s mated with wyverns of her size before, and none were this large. Loosed from its sheath, her cock is shining with fluid, the head most of all. A thick, viscous fluid drips from its bouncing tip, dropping to land between Sara’s thighs, splashing up against the Chosen’s skin.

“I think I know how I can convince you to just let yourself feel good. You’re a tougher nut to crack than most, but I’m pretty damn good at this. Even with something so…” she lets out a breathy sigh, moving even closer. “Even with something so big.”

A light… kiss. That’s all Sara does. A press of her lips to the tip that, had it been anywhere else, might have been chaste.

It is anything but. It is like fire on Fanlah’s cock, a comforting flame like the bed of simmering coals she laid upon in her youth, rejuvenating and filling and so, so good. She flexes her hips against her will, making her cock try to jump, but Sara is ready for it. A strong grasp from both hands keeps Fanlah’s cock under her lips through the whole kiss, fingers squeezing tightly in a way that is almost as wonderfully pleasurable as the kiss itself. Finally, Sara pulls her face off of the cock, her lips now wet with the dripping fluid.

“Gods,” Fanlah groans out. “Good gods, S-Sara. This is… oh! Oh, how can I blame my old mates for being so eager with me! Is this what it is like for them?”

“Maybe,” Sara laughs. “But probably not. I’m not surprised you didn’t have all that good of a time. Mating for ‘duty’ is a hell of a lot different than mating for fun.”

A second, quicker kiss takes Fanlah by surprise, too fast to prepare for. Her body sends her hips thrusting forward, but thankfully Sara was ready for it. Braced and ready, all that happens is her cock dragging along Sara’s palms, a second and even-more dizzying pleasure joining the pressure: that of friction, delicious, the tantalizing friction born of two simple hands. Fanlah realizes she does not have much time left. Her need is a broiling thundercloud in her belly, and it is not one she can fly away from. She already knows that under Sara’s teasing, prodding guidance, that storm will follow her, building and building until it swallows Fanlah whole.

“Sara,” she warns. “This is… it is too much.”

“It’s not,” Sara assures her. Then, reluctantly, she says, “Okay, well, sure. It probably should be too much. Would be for most people. But for me?” Another spine-twisting kiss, now with the horribly tempting addition of a long lick. Fanlah shifts and whines as Sara teases her from tip to base, the flat of her tongue lapping up fluid like it is the finest of wines.

It is no wonder that they say the Chosen of Emotion have a Divine tongue!

Fanlah is shaking. Trembling in place. She can barely think, can barely notice that there even is a world around her, much less care about it. She knows Sara can see her dripping arousal. She knows she has exposed the pillow she was hiding atop, that her pathetic neediness is radiating from the gap in every scale, but she can’t bring herself to care. Not when she is being touched like this.

“You’re almost ready, aren’t you?” Sara asks. “Come on. Let’s get this started. You won’t hurt me, I promise.”

The touch disappears, and Fanlah once more finds herself the victim of her body’s overpowering instincts when her hips slap forward.

What a fool you are! She all but screams at herself. What are you? A dog that humps the air just because they’ve caught the scent of a female? Get a hold of yourself!

But she can’t. No matter how deep she sinks into embarrassment, she can’t help but wish for the touch to return. It is all she can think of, all her body demands of her, and so she looks to Sara once more, searching for the cause of her absence.

Sara has turned around. She is looking straight at Fanlah. She still doesn’t have room to stand, but she isn’t trying. She isn’t even kneeling. The Divine Chosen is on her back, knees spread apart, a grin that straddles the line between sultry and nervous on her face.

Between her spread knees, something glistens. A long drop of it staining her thigh, sparkling in the firelight.

Arousal.

She wants this.

Fanlah’s higher functions slowly fade away. There is a mate for her. Presenting themselves, willingly pinned beneath her. She is… ashamed of how easily her mind goes. Or she will be, later. Not in the moment. In the moment, all she can think of is her. Of the hunger. Of how she can use the willing woman beneath her to sate it.

“C’mon, big girl. Don’t you want to make me feel good?” Sara wiggled her hips, putting her hand just above her oh-so-human entrance, palm against that sensitive bud. Fanlah had always been jealous of human women for that. Two fingers spread themselves, not to put anything on display, but to open herself for the dangling weight hanging from Fanlah’s pelvis. “You know what to do, don’t you? Or do you need me to show you?”

Fanlah whined, frozen, and so Sara moved. She brought her hands up to the cock, tugging at it. The difference in size between them is so great that Fanlah is not dragged closer, but rather Sara goes sliding across the bedding, silk and feathers rustling until she’s positioned herself in a way she finds appropriate.

The cool, soft touch is all around her. Her cock throbbed against Sara’s thighs, smooth skin against smooth skin, but the tip— the tip is against something warm. Hot, even. She wonders what temperature it must be, to feel hot to a wyvern. Beyond anything that a human should be able to survive, surely.

She has enough sense left to bring her head down, looking down at Sara. Breasts and splayed legs frame the angry redness of her cock, and she can see at once that what the woman wants to happen next is impossible. The difference is too large. She would hurt her, hurt her terribly, and so she starts to pull backward, to give Sara room.

“No,” Sara said. “Stay.”

She wants to move away, but she wants to listen to that voice even more. There is so much authority in it. And the heat. The softness.

She stays.

“God, you’re barely there, huh?” Sara says. Fanlah starts to say something, but she breaks off into a groan on account of the thighs shifting against her. Sara laughs. “I think you might be the neediest top I’ve ever met, and that’s really saying something. You want this so bad, don’t you?”

Her legs shift, claws scraping against the flooring beneath the pillows. Her breath comes out in great gusts, hot and heavy.

“You want to fuck a Chosen, don’t you?” Sara asks. She rubs herself against Fanlah’s tip, hips lifting up, holding, and then moving slowly down. Fanlah has to fight to hold herself back, to stop herself from spilling then and there. “Or is it just a human girl that’s got you so excited? Are you that much of a pervert that any human would get you like this? A little bit of both, maybe?”

Sara saw right through her— again. So easily. It is mortifying in a way that leaves her dizzy. Her home is once again filled by the scraping rustle of scales rising off her skin in terrible embarrassment.

Suddenly, Sara’s fingers lifted from her cock, shooting upward. Fanlah snorts, gasping, trying to pull away as the Chosen’s fingers dive beneath her scales, prying their way inward, downward, toward her-

Toward her skin.

The pads of Sara’s spread fingers make contact, and Fanlah melts. She drops lower, groaning, her neck stretching and twisting involuntarily. So close. A wyvern shouldn’t know what it’s like to be touched beneath their scales. That isn’t possible, isn’t something she ever even imagined, yet it is like a poison soaking through her, every feather-light touch a needle pumping pure, undiluted desire into her. Sara has her at her most vulnerable. Her most sensitive.

And she’s tugging inward.

“Come on, big girl,” Sara breathes. She’s not speaking well either, is she? She’s stuttering, a small part of Fanlah’s mind realizes. Yet all the same her voice seems the most refined, profound thing the world has ever heard. “You can feel it, can’t you? You can feel how well I’ll take you. So just… start… fuckin’... oh…!”

Fanlah obeys. She’s not sure if her mind and her body are finally in agreement or if her instincts have beaten her better senses into submission, but the end result is obvious: her hips slipping forward, claws digging into the stone for leverage, scraping white marks in the dark slate.

Sara’s entrance is tight. Consuming. It is hot and wet and everywhere, everything, consuming Fanlah’s thoughts. She huffs, snorting, and when she hears Sara whimper her pleasure, she loses herself even more.

It is slow going. She enters her mate inch by inch, piece by piece. Sara is so tight that it is as if her cock is being strangled, and she feels those fingers beneath her scales scrape and scramble for leverage, a Warrior’s strength subverted toward the carnal pleasure of keeping herself pinned in place.

“F-fucking hell, you like it tight,” Sara groans, pressing her cheek to Fanlah’s scales. “F-fuck. Gonna… gonna be a tough one to get down on.” She giggled, and it’s an almost drunken noise. A kiss is pressed to Fanlah’s scales. “Help me out here, yeah? Put your back into it. Fuck me full already.”

What self-restraint Fanlah had left was already thinner than silk thread. Sara’s request snaps it without ceremony.

Her weight bears down. She pins her mate against the bedding, giving herself the angle she needs. She starts shoving forward, deeper, deeper, every inch she feeds into Sara rewarded with a quiver and clench of her walls. Fanlah keeps going, her pleasure mounting, both of their breathing coming faster and faster, until she feels her knot thump against Sara’s outer walls.

She draws herself back. She’s lost in it. Sara says something below her, something Fanlah will remember later with great embarrassment, but in the moment she doesn’t comprehend a thing.

“Oh shit. Okay, okay, you got this, Sara.” She inhales sharply. “And if you don’t, it’s your own fuckin’ fault, so… Here we go.”

With an almighty shove, Fanlah stuffs her cock back into Sara. She’s been told she won’t hurt the woman, and she no longer has the capacity to question her.

Sara cries out. Her fingers dig into Fanlah’s skin, her actual skin, not her scales but the soft, sensitive flesh beneath, and that touch is a reward nearly equal to the world-shattering pleasure that runs through her cock.

She begins to thrust. It’s so tight that she has to roll against Sara, the pressure too great to overcome no matter how wet the woman might be, and with a growl she shoves the woman even further down, forcing her legs to splay open, the silk pillows compressing until Sara’s back is shoved against the floor.

There’s no caution. There is only the pleasure of it all, the joy of it, the sense of… of accomplishment. Fanlah has a Chosen beneath her. The most beautiful woman in any land, Divinity’s Chosen, the girl named Sara Brown that has ripped asunder the world’s prophecies. She is hers. In this moment, Fanlah is hers.

That’s how she fucks Sara. Not as the one above her, not as her superior, but as her aide. Someone who knows how lucky they are to have earned this privilege. She listens to her cries, to her whimpers and shouts and profanities, and she drinks them down. Every time she thinks she has found the purest pleasure of their joining she moves her hips just right, getting another muttered squeeze from Sara, and the rippling squeeze of her walls unveils a new height of decadent bliss.

Fanlah is lost in her. She growls and snorts and thrusts, giving herself to the woman beneath her over and over again. The slickness grows, easing their joining, and soon the room is filled with the sound and scent of sex.

Fanalh brings her neck down beneath herself so she can watch, tucking her wings inward. It is not something that instincts could have taught her, because no wyvern is small enough to be cradled in such a way, but Sara Brown is, and she’s crying out for Fanlah.

“C-c-ccomemeonnnnn,” she slurs, throwing her head back. “Cloooooser, all uppp in meee you big… fucking… beast…!” She begins to tremble, her breasts shaking. Fanlah’s head snakes down, twisting until she can bring her tongue to bear on Sara’s breasts, licking and slurping. The trembling redoubles, as do her cries. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck this is… oh, I hate how much I fucking love this, stupid fucking Hurlish and Evie and their goddamn contagious fucking siiiize kink-!”

Sara is rambling. It is the most beautiful thing Fanlah has ever heard, because she knows it is her that caused it. Her thick cock, the girth of it reaming Sara out over and over again, sending her stomach bulging, her breasts bouncing, that is what is causing those sounds, and that means it is because of her.

It is too much. Too wonderful. She feels a heat like before rising in her, a swelling deep in her core, but this is a thousand times hotter. She thrusts again and again into the vice-like splaying of Sara’s legs, and she finds herself making noises she didn’t know she was capable of. The scent of their sex is on the air, the sound of slapping and panting and ecstasy bouncing off the stone walls.

“Gonna cum?” Sara asks deliriously. Her fingers are massaging Fanlah’s skin now. She’s never felt that— a massage. It is like molten gold pouring into her muscles. “Y-yeah you are. ‘Cause you know that’s what I want. Not gonna last long now, are you? Just gonna… fill me up… like a good girl-!”

Sara’s hips rise, her walls clamping down even tighter in what Fanlah now recognizes is a climax. She belatedly realizes it’s far from the woman’s first, but it’s here, now, and she can feel it stoking the heat in her core like a bellows only the gods could lift.

Fanlah’s hips slap down into Sara once. Twice. And on the third time, they stay there, pressing into her, embedding the great bulge at the base of her cock into the woman’s core, shoving her knot deep, deep inside.

Her climax arrives.

It isn’t like she thought. Not like the cocks of humans she has read so much about. It is like her wyvern mates, a great, unyielding torrent, a pressure that begins so high it is almost painful. She spills into Sara unendingly, overflowing seed spurting around the seal of her cock’s swollen knot, and finds herself roaring as if she’s won some great victory.

Because she has, she realizes. The way Sara convulses around her cock, the things she cries out? They are better than any tournament victory, any crowd’s jubilant exultations, and she’ll remember those sonorous moans for the rest of her life.

Seed stains them both. It gets beneath the scales Sara has kept pried open, it coats the pillows beneath them, and most of all, it spreads itself across Sara herself. It is everywhere, and it is something that her instincts rejoice in. So much. She’s done so well. It’s so beautiful.

She does sag, however. Her weight comes crashing down as strength leaves her legs, and soon the pressure is fading, even if the pleasure isn’t. She is buried in a Chosen— how could it ever feel less than perfect? All the same, however, the delirious rush of her climax regresses. It is a testament to the sheer impossibility of the pleasure that she cannot muster a sense of regret to see it go. She seems to have lost the ability to feel anything other than delight.

The first piece of common sense that comes back to Fanlah is, of all things, awareness of her posture. Her neck is still wrapped down under herself to reach Sara, and it hurts. She pulls her head out, taking a gasp of the cool open air, and drops herself onto the pillows with a delighted, satisfied huff.

The second piece of common sense comes to Fanlah a few seconds later, when she feels Sara’s fingers tapping against her skin.

“Oh!” She cries. She’s wobbly and so unsure of herself that she doesn’t even try to stand, but rather rolls onto her side, freeing the Chosen that her collapse had just trapped beneath her bulk.

“Thanks,” Sara wheezes, taking deep gasps. She pulls one hand out of Fanlah’s scales to wipe her soiled face. “Choking to death on cum beneath a girl’s hips may be one of the better ways I can think of to die, but I still got a lot of shit to do.”

“I am sorry!” Fanlah wails. “I warned you that I could not control myself, and now I have-”

“Girl,” Sara gasps. “Hold on. Put that panic attack on hold for, like, five minutes. I just shotgunned off twenty orgasms in a row and I do not have the lung capacity to tell you how good that felt to calm you down.”

Fanlah bites her tongue, falling silent. It is… true… that Sara had seemed to be enjoying herself. And she didn’t seem injured, despite bearing the full weight of a wyvern’s body…

“See?” Sara wheezes, giving Fanlah’s pelvis an affectionate pat. “Good job. Felt great.” She drops the hand, breathing hard. “Fucking hell, though. I got a party to go to in, like, five hours. Gonna be so goddamn wobbly-legged, I bet.” She laughs. “You the type of rich person to have, like, a personal trainer? Someone that comes in and helps me stretch out or something?”

“I could… I could hire a whore?” She suggests, seizing on the first thought to come to mind. “I know many of the elven and wyvern crews enjoy them, so there are quite a few in the capital, and if I bring enough of them— a few dozen or so, perhaps?— I’m sure one of them will have the skills you seek.”

“Nope,” Sara laughs. “No, I really don’t need some sex workers right now. Pretty much tapped on that one. Or at least as close as Amarat lets me get, anyway.” She shifts, rolling her hips against the knot that is still embedded in her. They both groan, then Sara laughs. “Gonna keep that in mind, though. You can just call up a couple dozen sex workers at the drop of a hat like that? The Wyvern Courts are a better place than I thought.”

“Well, I’ve never done it,” Fanlah admits, nervous. It was so strange to be knotted in a woman, yet still feel nervous speaking to her. “There are quite a few human crews who stay with their wyvern, and many have been away for months at a time. It is only natural they have access to those with the right, ah, skills.”

“Didn’t think you’d done it,” Sara chuckled. “But I can tell by how much you know about it that you’ve thought about it.”

Fanlah opened her mouth to protest, to say that it was ridiculous for a wyvern to desire such a thing, only to catch the absurdity of the statement before it left her lips. She instead fell silent, and Sara laughed again.

“Yeah. Well, look, we’ve got a while until this—” she rolled her hips against Fanlah’s knot, making them both moan, “—goes down, so let’s just relax for now. Take a nap or something, yeah?”

“I don’t want to cause difficulty for you-”

“Fly me and Evie to the party,” Sara interrupted. “How about that? It’ll give me more time to relax, then I’ll be fine. Sounds good?”

Fanlah knew she was being placated. That her anxiety was being paid mere lip service to, and that Sara wasn’t all that concerned. But that didn’t change the fact that the placation was working. Or that she was very, very tired.

“Of course,” Fanlah said, laying her head back on the pillows in a wide semi-circle, wrapping her wings, tail, and head around Sara. “Wake me when you must leave, yes?”

“Works for me.” Sara patted her stomach, pressing a hand to the bulge there. Fanlah shuddered, shocked to discover that she could feel that touch. Sara smirked. “If you can actually sleep, that is.”

“I will… try my best.”

“All we can ever do, right?”

-------------------------------------

Sara

-------------------------------------

“I did not hire you to win me a war,” the Adjutant hissed, barely audible in the narrow hallway. “I paid for you to build me a legacy. If rule of the peasantry is as inevitable and ideal as you claim, why do you have so few solutions to my dilemmas?”

Sara glanced at the man without moving her head, lip curling. “Was ruling with an iron fist the easiest thing in the world? Having different problems doesn’t mean the system is failing. It means your old solutions are outdated.”

Their voices didn’t carry far in the stone corridor, the echoes overwhelmed by the stomp and clank of steel-clad guards walking ahead and behind them. Evie was on Sara’s heels, her eyes on the Adjutant’s back, ears sweeping circles like radar dishes. No matter how safe the common folk were in the homeland of Emperor Aydrian, Evie’s perennial concerns about assassination couldn’t be soothed. Not at an event as public as this. That the capital was considered neutral ground only heightened her paranoia. There were as many of the Adjutant’s enemies as friends in the city, and she put little faith in their foe’s adherence to age-old traditions.

The path they were taking to the social event was a long, intentionally circuitous one, chosen partially at random in an attempt to dodge eavesdroppers and spies. Seen from above, the snow-covered structure had resembled an Earthly stadium, though far smaller, of course. As Fanlah had flown them in, Sara had seen a high outer wall and curved roof sloping down to an interior courtyard rife with bonfires and cooking pots, party-goers frequently moving between the warm interior and icy exterior populated with feasting wyverns. Rather than using the main entrance, however, the Adjutant had preemptively directed Sara to arrive a full hour before the party, instead greeting her at the humble stairs which lead to underground tunnels used by servants managing the storage cellars. Sara hadn’t been paying too much attention to their route, but she was beginning to suspect they’d looped back on themselves several times, giving the Adjutant more time to voice his grievances.

“You warned me of political parties, yes, but you did not tell me what to do about them,” the Adjutant snapped. “The House of Lords is emboldened beyond belief! They think that their coalition means they can countermand my orders! My orders! The Houses have not even elected a Prime Minister, yet they already make demands of me!”

“You knew perfectly well that there was going to be resistance to abolishing the lower nobility,” Sara replied, keeping her tone steady and, if not entirely lacking in hostility, at least hidden behind a sheer curtain. “You’re still the ultimate authority, and you have an absolute veto power you can exercise without limit. Do it.”

“In public?” The Adjutant demanded with a scoff. “It is one thing to use the heavy hand of my authority in a private meeting, but you are asking me to brazenly deny their demands in front of the assembled peerage! If the lower nobility garners enough support, they will not go quietly. No matter how heavily I exercise my veto powers, the House of Lords has already been paralyzed by incessant bickering.”

“There’s something to be said for that kind of back-and-forth. You’re letting them vent their frustrations for a while, then you’re going to do whatever you wanted anyway. So long as you pretend they almost succeeded in convincing you, they’ll feel like they had more of a say than they really did.”

“I am perfectly familiar with the mentality of wrangling troublesome nobility.” The Adjutant had a deep scowl as he gestured harshly, making his clothing swish. He wore a gaudy, gold-embroided garment, a robe of loose silk tied at the waist by silver thread. “What I seek from you is institutional knowledge. Political parties which decide to pursue an unproductive goal seem endemic to the system of democracy! What am I to do about them, Sara Brown?”

She snorted. “Try your best to get enough of them to shut the fuck up. You’re always gonna have to deal with people like that. But you gotta remember that you already were getting screwed over by these problems. You think those idiots weren’t doing that crap before you had a place for them to meet up and yell their heads off? Now they’re just organized and in the open. You’re the Adjutant. Deal with it.”

“Your advice is childishly inelegant! I am taking a sledgehammer to the foundations of an ancient empire— on your advice!— and when the walls begin to tremble you want me to simply deal with it? Give me something actionable, woman!”

Sara couldn’t help it. She laughed. A boisterous cackle loud enough to overpower their escort’s clanking footsteps, her mirth bouncing down the cold halls.

“Y’know what I like about you, big guy?” She asked. “You’re one of like three fuckin’ people in this whole Empire that have the balls to talk to me like that. You may be a piece of shit dictator, but at least you’re not a pussy.”

He sneered at her. “I have tied my fate to your vision of the future, Sara Brown, and in doing so I have spread your ideology to millions. I no longer have need of polite obfuscation. So long as I am the Adjutant, we both know that you will see to my success with a dog’s loyalty.”

“I would caution you against such bold remarks, Adjutant,” Evie interjected. “My wife’s spitefulness has a history of outstripping her common sense. Should you prove too bothersome, it is not beyond reason that she will sabotage your success, even to the detriment of our own goals. An eventuality none of us desire.”

He flicked his wrist in a shooing motion without looking at her. “I am not being bothersome. That would involve actively opposing her, which I am not. No, I am being rude. And that is something that your wife has made abundantly clear she quite enjoys— so long as my actions do not overstep the bounds of her nigh-incomprehensible morality.”

“How fortunate for us that you are so motivated by a desire for lasting legacy, then. Were you-”

“Yes, yes, your wife’s Divine powers uniquely position her to grind future historian’s opinions of my rule to dust if she so chooses,” the Adjutant huffed, distractedly adjusting his belt. “No need to bludgeon me over the head with it. So long as we both get what we want, I have no interest in crossing her.”

Sara’s eyebrows rose, impressed. The Adjutant had caught Evie’s argument flat-footed, sweeping the legs out from under it before things could get started. Not many people could do that.

You’ve got to remember how dangerous this man is, Sara scolded herself. He’s the only person you’ve ever met who’s spent enough time in high-stakes politics to get a diplomatic Class that can so much as make you blink. Hell, he might be able to lie to your face and get away with it, for all you know. Keep your guard up.

The Adjutant was a fascinating man, Sara had decided. Humble enough to dress in the garb of a commoner for their first meeting, yet vainglorious enough to be motivated almost entirely by pursuing the only kind of immortality available to him: the reverence of future generations. He wasn’t actually humble, didn’t care the slightest bit about the morality of democracy, abolition, or peasant’s rights, and probably wasn’t even invested in the fate of the Empire or its people. Not beyond how their success reflected on him, anyway. He was a purist, chasing his dream of lasting legacy with a single-minded passion that even Sara couldn’t help but feel a grudging admiration for.

“And speaking of you, Evie,” the Adjutant said, moving aside and slowing so she was forced to join the conversation as a peer, “I believe that your agenda for the evening’s meeting is to convince myself and others to pursue a counterattack instead of taking advantage of enemy weakness in the Imperial Core. Speak on that.”

Evie lengthened her stride to put herself between the Adjutant and Sara, though she was careful to stay just a hair behind them both, keeping Sara ahead of her and easily visible to the Adjutant. Her ears kept sweeping their surroundings as she smiled tersely at the man.

“Has General Borek spoken of it already? I believe he would be better-”

“No, don’t defer to his authority, nor your wife’s, either,” the Adjutant snapped. “My time is too valuable to speak to messengers, not when I have their master at my beck and call. Elaborate on your proposal.”

Evie blinked, her expression frozen for a half-second too long. Sara could practically hear the word she knew was ringing in Evie’s head:

Master?

It wasn’t something her wife could comprehend. Sara knew Evie thought it a word that physically couldn’t apply to her. Despite that, she recovered with admirable speed, chuckling politely, though her tail still slipped behind and to her right, seeking comfort by curling around Sara’s waist.

“The matter is simple enough: though this war sees cities frequently trading hands, your Empire is massive enough that no single loss of a population center is capable of devastating yourself or your enemies. Wyverns willing to fight in the war, however, are rare. Rarer even than cities. Unlike their civilian populace, devastating the enemy’s flying corps will be a blow that they cannot easily recover from. Not only will every dead wyvern take with it decades or centuries of invaluable experience, such terrible loss will make it all the more difficult for the enemy’s forces to recruit their replacements.”

The Adjutant’s cool expression didn’t change as he met Evie’s eyes. “A war such as this is not ended by winning battles. It is won by taking land and its products. Resources, trade, and population. That is what is needed to fight, and it is what we must deny the enemy. Your proposed deviation will provide us none of these.”

Behind her stone mask, Sara grinned savagely. The Adjutant was right about a lot of things: about Sara, about what she thought of him, and about the stranglehold he had over her thanks to how much she wanted to spread her ideology. He was also, she didn’t think it rude to admit, a better diplomat than Evie. He had better control of his emotions, could set aside personal factors more easily, and had the Skills to back those talents up.

But he wasn’t a general. He wasn’t even a soldier. If he wanted to try and argue military semantics with Evie, Sara was more than content to sit back and watch her wife go to town on him.

“That you presume a push in the core will be successful during the absence of opposing wyverns proves you understand their importance, yes?” Evie posed it as a question, but didn’t offer him a chance to respond. “So you recognize that your victory is all but assured should your wyverns fight unopposed, yet you lack the vision to expand further upon the idea. If Tulian stands alone against the coming tide, how long do you think it will take for our forces to be defeated? A month? Two? Against a combined force of Imperials, wyverns, and the Sporatons, it won’t be much longer than that. Three months then, to be generous. How far do you think your ground troops can advance in that period? In this centuries old war, how many enemy cities will fall in a mere three months?”

“I see where you intend to direct your argument.” The Adjutant stopped fiddling with his clothing, peering at Evie more closely. “Wyverns are valuable enough that killing them might be decisive in a way that other battles are not. But what proof do you have that this venture is achievable?” He gestured vaguely backward, to the place where Fanlah had delivered them to the party. “The service and loyalty of wyverns is important, yes, but they are nimble creatures. It is why they have persisted in this conflict for so long, after all: when they find themselves facing an enemy they cannot defeat, they simply fly away. You want to force a decisive battle in the air, but it is the air. What is there to pin the enemy against?”

Evie’s smile widened. “Their conscience, Honored Adjutant. The wyverns willing to fight in the civil war are young, and they have a strong sense of duty for their cause. They will be trapped by the very sense of loyalty that compelled them to oppose you in the first place. Whether through ignorance, desperation, or sheer audacity, your foes have seen fit to clip the wings of their most valuable assets. They have a massive force of experienced soldiers diverting far into the wilderness, reliant upon invaluable wyverns and hordes of griffons for transport and resupply. For the first time, those duty-minded wyverns have taken upon themselves the survival of an entire army. When their defeat becomes inevitable, what options will the enemy have? Will their commanders spare the wyverns by ordering a hundred thousand troops abandoned to starvation and atrophy, ruining the morale of not only the wyverns themselves, but all the armies presently under their command? Or will they pour in their few remaining wyverns, whittling away the last of an irreplaceable asset as they are defeated piecemeal? Perhaps they’ll simply leave things as they lie, letting the battle be fought to its bitter, tragic end. Whatever they decide, it won’t change the fact that their efforts will be nothing more than the salvaging of a disastrous defeat.”

Evie spread her fingers, turning her hand over to inspect her fingernails. “I don’t know which path your opposite will take, Adjutant, but I do know that Graf Urs taught me what is required to win wars: blood. And if you send your wyverns to Tulian, if you bolster our nascent Air Force with the might of your Empire, we will find out how much of it is contained within the heart of a wyvern. A great deal, I suspect. Even if it is not enough to drown your enemies outright, I intend to spill enough blood that their resolve will sputter, gasp, and choke on it.”

The hallway was quiet for a time as the Adjutant allowed himself a period of reflection. He stopped walking to stare off into space, evaluating the promises echoing in his ears. Finally, he met Evie’s eyes.

“You promise much. More than any of my generals ever have.”

“I am the wife of a Chosen.” Evie smiled smugly at him. “Divine Heralds are not, if the historical record is to be believed, underachievers. And regardless, you said it yourself: your fate is now tied to ours. If Tulian is burned to ashes, do you really think my wives will value the honor of a mercenary contract enough to remain in your Empire? At the very least, you must protect your investments. With the right support, we will pay dividends you can hardly fathom.”

The Adjutant inspected Evie for a time, eyes narrowed. Then he turned his attention to Sara, searching her gaze for even longer. Finally, after a minute or so, he returned his arms to his sleeves and resumed walking.

“It seems you’ve won me over. You’ll have to convince several others at the party, however.” He looked Evie up and down. “I suggest you leave that task to your wife. Though you hid it well, there was too much… glee in your voice when you described your plans. Speak of killing wyverns like that in front of those that can sniff out your joy and they might try to have you executed for heresy. Tulian Alliance and marriage to a Chosen be damned.”

“Of course.” Evie flicked her hair aside, stepping back into Sara’s shadow. “Unlike you, those at the party will be actual strategists, the sort wise enough to press the question about how and why I am so confident our victory will be achieved, rather than listening to me wax poetic about how wonderful its results will be. My wife will be far better equipped to discuss such details. My comparatively meager talents are fit only to sway greedy politicians.”

The Adjutant slowed, cocking his head. He glanced back at Evie.

“Hm,” was all he said. A light, non-specific acknowledgement.

Evie smirked. “Another thing Graf Urs taught me, Honored Adjutant. Rulers are the same everywhere. When you require their approval for a plan, don’t bore them with the important details. Just tell them how rich they’ll be after you’ve won the fight for them.”

The Adjutant licked his lips, then turned a head toward Sara. “Does she always talk about that man so much?”

Sara’s laughter boomed down the halls.

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