XXX: Penthouse Pet

The penthouse door groaned like a vault sealing shut, its platinum hinges whispering of blood money and extinct treants. Evelyn’s talon hovered over the biometric panel, scales glinting under the foyer’s chandelier. A constellation of hellhound teeth dipped in mercury.

*Wards held,* Lanie hissed through the corset’s seams, gold filigree tightening with disdain. *No deep trace of him in her. Just a damned doppelganger. Told you she’d flee.*

Evelyn’s lip curled. “Or she never tried.”

Same difference. *Cowards don’t—*

The door hissed open.

Niyati knelt on the threshold, naked as a blade, moth pendant clenched between her teeth. Rainwater slithered down her collarbones, pooling on marble veined like cracked dragon eggs. Her cock, thick, glistening, with veins etched like cursed scripture, curved against her thigh. Its glorious head grazing the ‘Blasphemers, Blessed, & Bitches Be Welcome’ mat.

*Oh,* Lanie breathed, corset seams sighing. *She’s…*

“Don’t.”

*…Georgia’s ghost in high-def.*

Evelyn’s talon twitched. “How’d you get in?”

Niyati spat the pendant into her palm, chain slithering. “Took a ward-picking course. Your ex designed it.”

*Not her ex, mine.* Lanie corrected, silk prickling Evelyn’s ribs.

“Bullshit. Draconic encryption wasn’t covered.”

“No.” Niyati stood, cock swaying as she stepped inside. “But draconic’s just math with fangs. Easy, once you crack it.”

Lanie’s laugh crackled. *Definitely Georgie. Smug as a saint in a brothel when it comes to a challenge. She’s got Georgie’s playbook and our twats as bookmarks.*

Evelyn’s facade rippled. “Wait here.” She turned, claws clicking toward the hallway.

*Finally,* Lanie purred as they swept past onyx statues of Evelyn’s past conquests. *Time to shed this gilded straitjacket. I’ll be flesh, you’ll be furious, we’ll raze the city for—*

The bedroom mirror revealed no change. Lanie remained silk and seams.

*Try the incantation again,* Lanie demanded, seams fraying with panic. *The one with the blood and the—*

“Fine bitch,” Evelyn snarled and cast the spell, but the only thing it did was to atomise the mirror into mercury vapour. Glass shards dissolved into a toxic silver mist that coiled around like vengeful ghosts.

*Brilliant. Now I’m dry-clean only and you’re out a reflection.*

“Shut. Up.”

*Or what?* Lanie’s voice sharpened, seams digging into Evelyn’s ribs like barbed wire. *You’ll turn me into a whore’s wet wipe? Newsflash, darling—you already did.*

Evelyn gripped the dresser, talons splintering mahogany. “We’ll try the reversal at dawn. Maybe needs a recharge?” She glared at the corset’s warped reflections in the broken fragments and mercury haze. “Niyati’s… proximity might be an issue as well. Karma’s a vengeful seamstress.”

*Karma?* Lanie’s laugh frayed at the edges. *Really think this is balance? Turning me into a glorified girdle, the brat watches?*

“She’s not watching. She’s waiting.” Evelyn’s scales rippled, molten onyx bleeding through the cracks in her composure. “Think you playing spectator is coincidence?”

*I think this is punishment.* The corset tightened like a hangman’s noose. *Using her won’t absolve us. Just spreads the rot.*

“Then let it.” Evelyn’s talon slashed the air. “Leather. Chains. I’ll play dominant tonight. Keep her occupied and then chase her out before dawn.”

Lanie’s laugh was a scalpel scraping bone. *Dominant?* The corset constricted, morphing into black dragonhide studded with rusted railroad spikes. *Sweetheart, you’re a back alley bum in a crown. That girl out there?* A telepathic nod toward the foyer. *She’ll peel you open like a rotten fig. Georgie’s ghost wants payback. And honey? We are the chequebook. You’ll be begging for a safeword like a choirboy in a crack den.*

“Delusions suit you.” Evelyn cinched the straps until the leather whimpered.

*Careful.* The corset’s boning creaked, *I’m still the only thing hoisting those sagging udders. Unless you wanna greet her tits first like a lactating gargoyle.*

Evelyn snatched the riding crop from the drawer. Its handle still crusted with ‘92 Dom Pérignon and some parliament member’s lost dignity—and cracked it against her thigh. The sound echoed like a gunshot. “One: My udders could smother empires. Two: Will she bite?”

*Ohh She’ll swallow you whole.* Lanie’s voice was the cracking of a dying neon sign. *And you’ll thank her.* The corset loosened abruptly, silk whispering against scales. *Tonight’s about surviving the feast we’re too starved to refuse.*

Evelyn’s breath caught. Somewhere down the hall, Niyati’s bare feet shifted on marble, restless as a blade on a whetstone.

*I’d rather not be collateral when she realises we’re cosplaying gods.* The corset tightened, bitter as a hangover, as Evelyn responded reluctantly. “Agreed. Reversal magic at Dawn. If we survive tonight.”

*Tick-tock,* Lanie purred. Our *ex’s protégé is waiting. Better pray she’s the forgiving type.*

“Mercy’s for mortals.”

*So’s regret. But here we are.*

---

 
Desperate Dragons

The bedroom hummed like a live wire—AC units gasping against July’s fever, leather restraints creaking their dissent. Evelyn’s riding crop trembled ever so slightly as she circled Niyati’s kneeling form.

“Count the strikes,” Evelyn ordered, voice sandpapered raw.

Niyati’s smirk cut through the humidity. “Or what? You’ll spank me harder, Mistress?”

The crop cracked against her shoulder—a weak punctuation. One.

The corset cinched tighter, Lanie’s telepathy now a serrated whisper: *She’s mocking you, lizard.*

Evelyn swung again. Two. The welt bloomed coral.

Niyati shifted her weight—subtle, imperceptible—until her knees framed Evelyn’s stiletto. “Is this the part where I beg?”

Three. The crop trembled.

Evelyn’s fourth strike went wide, crop whistling past Niyati’s ear to gouge the bedpost. Sawdust snowed onto satin sheets.

“Focus,” Niyati drawled, arching her back to better display the crisscross of pinkening welts. “Or am I supposed to cum from your interior decorating?”

*She’s toying with you. Us.*

Evelyn’s next swing cracked her own thigh instead. The pain bloomed hot, shame hotter.

Niyati tsked. “Hand me the reins, princess. Before you put an eye out.”

“No.” Evelyn’s voice splintered like cheap glass. She fumbled the flogger, its beads clacking like a crackhead’s teeth. “On your—your knees. Now.”

Niyati rose instead, coiled muscle and condensed strength. “You’re shaking.” She caught the flogger mid-swing, yanking Evelyn flush. “What’s really got you spooked? First time swinging the hammer?” Her thumb found the corset’s ruby clasp—click—peeling leather back to expose Evelyn’s breasts. Nipples hard as meth-lab sparklers. “Oh no… it’s your first time catching the sparks isn’t it?”

Evelyn’s moan curdled as Niyati pinched and twisted. The corset stayed put—Lanie’s seams hissing as Niyati hiked Evelyn’s skirt. The heart-piercing glinted, rubies crusted like dried blood.

*Fuck—* Lanie’s telepathy frayed as Niyati’s finger circled the charm. *She’s—mmmph—*

Niyati lifted Evelyn like kindling and tossed her onto the bed. Her mouth sealed over Evelyn’s nipple—sucking hard enough to bruise galaxies—before biting down. Evelyn’s back arched off the bed, a choked “Fuck—!” escaping as Lanie’s seams shrieked telepathic static.

*Harder—* Lanie’s voice frayed, threads pulsing like a junkie’s heartbeat. *Make her, make us scream.*

Niyati obliged the unheard plea. Twisting the other nipple between knuckles calloused from cracking wards. Evelyn’s hips jackknifed, drool pooling on the sheets as she clawed at nothing. “Please—”

“Please what?” Niyati pulled back, thumb circling the abused peak. “Use your words, Countess.”

Evelyn’s chest heaved, breasts glistening with spit and shame. “S’too much—hnng—don’t stop—”

Niyati laughed a low, diesel purr and sucked the nipple raw again. Evelyn’s thighs slammed shut around nothing, cunt dripping onto Lanie.

Her Mouth trailed gasoline kisses down her ribs. When her tongue hit the piercing, Evelyn arched—a live wire jerking—as Lanie’s seams sang.

Brink. Brink. Brink—

“Please!” Evelyn’s voice cracked, nails carving half-moons into her palms. “Wanna come—need to—fuckin’ let me—”

Niyati switched gears, tongue lapping at the pebbled flesh. “Not yet.” Her free hands slid up, thumb grinding both nipples. “Gonna make you beg for your own ruin.”

Evelyn sobbed—a wet, broken sound—as Lanie’s seams screamed.

Niyati pulled back, grinning like a switchblade. Her cock—thick enough to split dragons open—dragged up Evelyn’s slit. Drool slicked Evelyn’s chin, surrendered and shameless.

*Do it,* Lanie hissed, seams dissolving into liquid. *Let her gut you.*

Evelyn’s resolve crumbled like sugar glass. “Jus’… fuck me.” The plea reeked of bankruptcy and bus-stop desperation. “Please.”

Niyati stilled. “Oh.” A slow grin. “That kind of virgin.”

Niyati’s finger slipped between Evelyn’s lips—involuntary suck reflex, the shame flush blooming like a bruise.

“Good girl.” Niyati’s hand dug deeper, the outline as brutal as a blacksmith’s hammer. “You glow in technicolour when you beg,” she purred, fingers grazing the ruby piercing. “Like a brothel chandelier.”

She palmed Evelyn’s cunt through soaked lace. “So beg proper.”

Evelyn’s lips stuttered. “I-I want…”

“Words, darling. Not whimpers.”

“Your cock.” The confession tore loose, serrated. “Your rules. Jus’… god, please—”

Niyati’s kiss swallowed the rest, teeth, tongues and triumph. “Attagirl.”

---

 
Past and Future

The penthouse air hung pungent as communion wine left to sour. Niyati's mouth moved like dusk claiming daylight—slow, inevitable, rewriting the map of Evelyn's skin. Her palm mapped both sides of Evelyn's sternum like a pilgrim tracing cathedral stones. Each rib a rosary bead beneath hungry skin. The corset sighed open into silk and lace the colour of shame, one sleeve clinging stubbornly to a yearning nipple. "Leave it," Niyati murmured against the barrier of black thread. "Perfect canvas."

Evelyn's protest died as teeth closed around fabric and flesh. The world narrowed to wet heat as fingertips teased the clit charm. Lanie's answering keen vibrated through the flimsy apparel. *Goddesses on a meth binge—since when did I start to feel what you feel?!*

"You—mngh!—stop interrupting!" Evelyn writhed, ancient syllables of power dissolving into whimpers.

*But darling,* the gown cooed, seams rippling up Evelyn’s forearm in a gossamer caress, *aren't we past pretending?* The lace slithered, binding Evelyn's wrists in a lover's knot above her head. *Let's give your girlhood a proper christening.*

Niyati's laugh warmed the hollow of Evelyn's throat. "Seems like even your wardrobe's rooting for me." Her cock slid against slick folds, teasing. *Oooh! That’s almost George's exact angle, George's torturous patience.*

Her thumb fiddled with the clit charm, rolling it like dice across a debtor's knuckles. Twin moans harmonised—one smokey alto, one soprano silk. "Last chance to play domme, Countess."

"I'll flay you—ngghhh—please" Evelyn hissed, hips arching traitorously. Millennia of conquest undone by a girl's clever fingers.

"There's my girl." Niyati peeled the sleeve down millimetre by excruciating millimetre. Her lips following the retreating fabric. Each kiss to Evelyn's skin feeling like lightning-struck orchards. "Breathe, darling. Even the mighty need oxygen."

Fireworks burst behind Evelyn's eyelids as Niyati's cock breached her. George's ghost and her own future crashing together in her cunt. "Slow," she pleaded to the ceiling saints, talons sinking into the headboard. "Please, I can't—"

The words caught flame in Evelyn's chest as she tried to reclaim…something. "I am—oh fuck!—I am Xan—"

*—Currently Devarīš-Wet Blanket,* Lanie snorted as penetration sparked twin moans. *Relax, Scaley. Enjoy the ride. Virginity's just your first scar.*

The stretch burned divine. Evelyn's hips stuttered—forward, unable to flee the unbearable intimacy. Niyati's palm anchored her pelvis, thumb circling the charm with artisan precision.

"There we go, little flame," she crooned, lips brushing the shell of Evelyn's ear. "Burn proper for me."

Ecstasy erupted like arterial spray. Visions of George smiling through cigar smoke, Lanie's first kiss, Xanathar's horde melting to slag. Evelyn shattered beautifully. Lanie's shared ecstasy slipping through her armour like morning glories through cemetery fences.

“Can’t… can’t…” Evelyn gasped, dragging in lungfuls like drowning meant something. Even the whole sky wasn’t enough.

"Can't what?" Niyati's lips found hers, swallowing aeons of lonely godhood. "Break? Bend? Squeal?" Each word punctuated by a roll of hips that rewrote biology. "Too late, Countess. You're just my girl now."

They both came shouting curses in dead dialects, Niyati's name the only modern word that mattered.

*Congratulations,* Lanie moaned as the aftershocks faded, lace reforming into virgin white. *You've officially upgraded from tyrant to trainwreck. Turns out gods do cry pretty.*

Niyati withdrew with care, catching Evelyn's tear on her thumb as she kissed the salt from her cheeks. "Beginner's luck," she lied, fingers still entwined with Evelyn's while rubbing the trembling charm. "Next we discuss funding applications."

---

 
Reflections in the shower

The shower’s steam hung like confession-booth gauze, blurring the edges of everything but the ache. Evelyn clawed at the collar—Lanie—now slithering around her throat in onyx links that bit colder than Dragonflight altitudes.

Her reflection warped in the fogged mirror. Xanathar’s fading shadow hunched beneath a defenceless woman, nipple rings glinting like votive candles at a sinner’s shrine.

*You’re welcome,* Lanie hummed through the drain’s gurgle, chains pooling at Evelyn’s feet like loyal hounds. *Took creative liberties. Figured you’d want your midlife crisis bedazzled.*

“I need silence… Please.” Evelyn's fist shattered the mirror. Silvered shards rained down, each fragment showing a different era. Xanathar roaring flames across tundra fields, George stitching wounds by campfire light... This trembling creature with jewels for shackles. “My form is inviolate…”

The door groaned its disapproval. Niyati lounged naked against the frame, cock curving upward like a question mark. "Violate this," she grinned, thumbing her tip. . “Heard you redecorating.” Her grin softened at the edges, a switchblade sheathed in velvet. “Need a hand, Countess?”

*C'mon, Scales. You've levelled cities for less.*

Evelyn's claws flexed. "I am Devarīš-Xana—"

“—Currently auditioning as my personal stress-relief toy." Niyati scooped a mirror shard, angling it to catch Evelyn's trembling thighs. "Nice touch with the charm. Vintage or bespoke?"

Obsidian scales almost rippled up Evelyn's spine defensively. "Not your fucking business."

"Sure?" Niyati pressed closer, river-water scent slicing steam. Her palm skimmed the collar. "Feels intentional to me. Begging for a leash."

*Guilty as charged, your Dragonship.* Lanie’s chains cinched. *Seems your id’s got a kinkier retirement plan.*

"Silence!" Evelyn swiped at the necklace dissolving into mist—reforming as sluttier platinum. "Damn cloth—"

Niyati caught her wrist mid-swipe. "Maybe listen to the sentient slave gear." She guided Evelyn’s palm to her cock, heat bleeding through soap-slick skin. "Starting to think you want these accessories."

Contact sparked a near meltdown. Evelyn’s knees threatened mutiny. "I need control."

Niyati stepped closer, her musk cutting through the citrus soap. Her thumb grazed the collar, a locksmith gentling a vault. “Control’s a shitty salve, countess. Try trust.”

“Trust is for lambs.”

“And lambs get eaten.” Her mouth found Evelyn’s pulse—a promise, not a threat. “Lucky for you, that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

The tile wall chilled Evelyn’s spine as Niyati lifted her, effortless as plucking an apple from a widow’s tree. The breach came slow, a confession in reverse. Evelyn’s gasp fogged the glass. “There she is,” Niyati murmured, hips rolling like tides erasing shorelines, even as she drew twin moans—one smokey gruff, one metal soprano. HNNNG! Right in the galvanised g-spot!

*Sweet baby behemoths…dragon turned dandelion. Blow apart for us.*

"Hush," Evelyn hissed, unsure whom she addressed.

"Make me." Niyati's thrusts carved hieroglyphs of ownership into her cervix. "Roar. Burn. Do something besides take it like a dockside whore."

Memories bled through the heat:

— Xanathar hoarding empires in her molten veins.

— Lanie weaping that night. After the first betrayal.

— This moment—the sweet fracture of letting a stranger deep into her fault lines.

— With child, suckling twins at breasts swollen

Evelyn’s claws scored the tile. “I don’t… I can’t—”

“Can.” Niyati pinned her wrists, calluses whispering surrender. “Your crown’s in the gutter, baby. All that’s left is you.”

The climax unspooled like a lullaby sung in a mother-tongue she’d forgotten. Evelyn sagged, forehead resting on Niyati’s shoulder—a dragon nesting in the wreckage of her own myth.

Lanie’s chains melted. *i’m surprised that she was ‘this’ gentle.*

“Quiet,” Evelyn breathed, no venom left.

Niyati's palm cracked against her ass. "Stay with me, Flame-Brain." Her teeth found the slave collar. "Cum knowing this cunt's mine. These tits. Every greedy centimetre."

Pride dissolved in the deluge. "Yours," Evelyn keened, centuries crumbling like shale. "Only yours—please!"

Lanie could only whimper now, ” mmph… Ooh… looks like I was very wrong.”

Release painted her insides with liquid heresy. Niyati collapsed against her, sweaty brow resting below the collar. "Marked you proper," she panted.

Niyati pressed a kiss to her collarbone, lips lingering on the charm. “Next time, we’ll work on your thank you.”

The steam cleared. Night lights bled through the shattered window, gilding the city Evelyn could easily devour.

As Niyati sauntered out, Evelyn studied the remaining mirror shard. Xanathar's ghost saluted

her from a battlefield that no longer existed—a general acknowledging a worthy defeat.

Her fingers found the collar—solid, cool, strangely comforting.

*Regrets?* Lanie coiled, warm around her throat.

Evelyn traced the collar, its weight a counterbalance to the hollowness. “Only that I didn’t break sooner.”

Somewhere below, traffic hummed a mundane hymn. Somewhere within, a dragon relearned to fly with clipped wings.

 
 
XXXI. Good faith negotiations

The floorboards creaked their virgin protest. Poor things were unaccustomed to dragon knees carving scripture into oak. Evelyn’s kneecaps pressed fresh potholes into the grain. Surrender written in sweat and splinters. Contract sigils pulsed like fireflies above the four-poster bed. Their runes spelling penance in postwar legalese.

Niyati reclined on silk spun from surrendered battle flags, her cock arching like a conqueror’s sceptre glazed in honeyed light. The air tasted of lavender warding and ink-smeared virtue.

Evelyn knelt, Lanie the collar—now a braid of cold silver and dragon fang——bit into her throat, snug as a hangman’s promise. Niyati’s bare foot pressed her throat, not to choke, but to anchor. “Clause twelve-A, pet,” she purred, toes curling beneath Evelyn’s jawline. “Faun midwives. Make it sing.”

*Suggest gryphon incubators*, Lanie hissed, chains slithering like a silver dagger swaddled in silk. “Fund it with your rusted crown.”

Evelyn’s tongue mapped the calluses on Niyati’s toes—charcoal and clover, the tang of old oaths. “Diamond-tier patrons… receive… midnight lullabies from fallen celestials.”

Niyati’s laugh was velvet wrapped around a blade. “Darling little sycophant.” Her heel carved a groove down Evelyn’s collarbone. “But your throat’s prettier gagging.” A nod toward her cock, glistening like a fresh kill. “Suck my balls hollow. Show me how titans grovel.”

Evelyn bent, the collar’s weight a benediction. Niyati’s hairless sac loomed—taut flesh veined like forbidden maps. Musk flooded her senses—ash and amber, masculine, feminine and foreign.

Shame flared. Xanathar had ruled millennia in male skin, cock swinging like a siege weapon—now bent to another’s gravity.

*Lizard,* Lanie sneered, chains cinching. *Suck the gems you abandoned. *Prove you’re better at swallowing than governing.*

“Slowly,” Niyati warned, fingers twisting in Evelyn’s hair, commanding rather than caressing. “Like you’re savouring your last meal.”

The first lick tore a whimper from them both. Evelyn’s tongue swirled the left orb, heat and salt and something green—the taste of spring tide surrender. Lanie’s chains trembled, her own tongue now Evelyn’s tongue piercing. Her whimper dissolving. *Oh fuck, I can taste her—*

“Good girl,” Niyati crooned, hips lifting, offering more. “Worship them proper. They’ve looked forward to your… devotion.”

Evelyn obeyed, lips sealing around the sac, sucking gently as if drawing venom from a wound. Niyati’s thighs quivered. “Yes—just like—” Her voice fractured, grip tightening. “Think you can handle the right one as well, my ruined saint?”

The answer was a desperate moan as she swallowed them whole, vibrations rippling through flesh. Evelyn’s jaw ached. Her own pulse hammering in time with Lanie’s frantic hum.

*Demand rainbow ambulances!* Lanie’s piercings vibrated. *Before we drown in testicle-scented Stockholm syndrome!*

Evelyn forced herself to pull back, saliva bridging her lips to Niyati’s glistening skin. *Jealous, rag?* She shot telepathically. *Wish these jewels were yours to polish?*

*I’d make her weep treaties,* Lanie hissed. *You’re licking like a concussed kitten.*

“Hnn—amend clause fifteen—” Niyati gasped, back arching off the silk. “Three… three mobile units—”

*Five!* The slave collar tightened. *With mage-fire lanterns!*

“Five,” Evelyn bartered, teeth grazing flesh that remembered scalpel kisses.

“Three,” Niyati gasped, swatting her head with a pillow, “and you wear a lion-tamer costume.”

*Ask about the whip!* Lanie’s piercings heated.

Contract runes flared gold. Niyati’s cock hovered over Evelyn’s chin like a guillotine’s kiss. “Now… the base. Pretend it’s… mm… honey cake.”

Evelyn’s tongue darted out, tracing veins that pulsed with Niyati’s heartbeat. Saliva pooled, a sinner’s baptism. The foreskin parted like a velvet curtain, revealing the glistening head. Uncut perfection, sweat-beaded and trembling.

*Yummy*, Lanie cooed, buzzing like a trapped hornet. *We’re drooling like back-alley junkies.*

Evelyn’s resolve snapped. She took the head between her lips, suckling the salt-sweet corona. Niyati’s gasp echoed off the vaulted ceiling. “Slower, you greedy—”

The vibration kicked in—Lanie’s cursed jewellery thrumming against Evelyn’s tongue. Niyati’s thighs quaked. “Fuck! Fuck—”

Evelyn plunged deeper, nose burying in coarse curls. Musk flooded her senses—iron and honeysuckle, victory and vulnerability. She gagged, tears pricking, but didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

*That’s it,* Lanie gagged, the barbell vibrating faster. *Choke on our own extinction.*

Niyati’s fingers fisted Evelyn’s hair, yanking her back. “Enough.” A ragged laugh. “Plenty more to negotiate, glutton.”

She hauled Evelyn up by the slave collar, thighs clamping her waist like bailiff’s cuffs. “Article thirty-two: Free transit for refugee harpies.” Dropped her onto the bedspread woven from repurposed war banners. “Present rebuttals.”

*Fake an earthquake!* Lanie’s collar tapped Morse code. *Demand vibrating seats!*

Evelyn’s fingers dove south, two knuckles deep in slickness that reeked of ozone and crushed violets. “E-eight safehouses… climate-controlled—ah!—with rooftop gardens—”

“—And you tend the damn begonias.” Niyati’s knee spread her wider than a tax-evasion loophole, combat boots framing heaving ribs. “Two shelters. Bark ratification.”

Counter with sprinkler systems! Lanie’s nipple clamps spat sparks. George loved hydrants!

Evelyn arched, free hand twisting a nipple ring until the chain glowed like a branding iron. “F-four sanctuaries… solar-powered—oh!—dusk-to-dawn wards—”

Niyati climbed atop her, sweat-slick thighs bracketing Evelyn’s face. “Three.” Her thumb smeared arousal across Evelyn’s lips. “Suck today’s hope into tomorrow’s promise.”

Compliance tasted of brine and pardoned arson. *Inheritance fraud!* Evelyn’s tongue dug into fully familiar flesh now, Lanie’s piercings humming through each clockwise rotation. *We’ll appeal to higher courts!*

Evelyn gasped around the ministrations. “Mmf… four clinics… postpartum therapists—”

“—Sanctioned.” Niyati’s groan rattled the headboard’s carved gryphons. Evelyn’s fingers pistoned, curling against a spot Niyati had only recently claimed. “Six units… ogre lactation consultants—”

“—Certified doulas only!” Niyati struck ethics harder than a debtor’s gavel. She twisted the nipple ring, igniting Lanie’s chainmail bra into spark-throwing convulsions. “Three... ah!… mobile clinics—”

*Four!* The slave collar garroted. *Self-sanitizing pumps!*

Evelyn’s teeth grazed tomorrow’s lineage. “F-four… spectral wards—”

Niyati wrenched Evelyn into position—ass upturned like a surrendered flag, spine curved into a question mark of defeat.

Her pendulous breasts swayed beneath her. Loot sacks heavy with plundered pride, as arcane spotlights bathed the scene in sulfurous gold. The mirrors captured every obscene detail.

Cunt gaping wider than a gutted shark’s grin, juices streaking her inner thighs like snail trails on a tombstone. Shoulder blades jutted like shattered cathedral spires. Sweat pooling in the hollow where rebellion should have simmered.

Lanie’s chains slithered into a live mic. *Her womb’s flashing ‘Vacancy’ in neon, folks!*

Niyati’s palm cracked against Evelyn’s ass—a gunshot ripple of flesh. “Beg harder,” she demanded, cock hovering like an executioner’s blade. “Let them hear their saint’s devotion.”

Holy tax fraud! Lanie's clamps pinched like repo men. *You're tonight's prime-time porn baby! City's watching your gaping tax evasion! *

Evelyn's face burned hotter than dragonfire. Fingers pumping furiously as humiliation and arousal merged. “Die screaming.”

*Already queued, Cumsock!* Chains constricted. *Bark for her brats!*

Evelyn's flush spread wildfire-bright, free hand plunging as Niyati's shadow drowned her pride.

Evelyn’s retort died as Niyati thrust, hilt-deep. The crowd’s gasp mirrored her own—a symphony of voyeurs and vultures. Breasts swinging like ransacked church bells, each slap of skin echoing through the chamber.

"F-four clinics…" Evelyn panted, drool pooling on peace treaty silk. "W-with… round-the-clock nurseries—"

Niyati slapped her hand away, replacing fingers with cockhead pressure. "Five. Beg filthy."

The breach tore through her like arson in a library, nerve-endings screaming as ancient scrolls burned. Niyati’s cock carved a merciless rhythm, each thrust a jackhammer splitting bedrock. Evelyn’s hungry cunt stretched obscenely. The schlick-schlack of slick flesh echoing like a grease trap devouring factory waste.

“BREED ME!” Evelyn’s shriek shattered stained glass saints. Body jiggling like a slaughterhouse chandelier under the piston-drill assault. “F-fill your revolution in this saggy flesh cage!”

Niyati paused, cockhead swelling at the precipice of Evelyn’s cervix. “Magnificent flesh cage,” she hissed, biting a wobbling asscheek. Her palm cracked down, leaving a handprint glowing like it was radioactive. “But first—” She withdrew completely, tip glistening with betrayal. “—earn it.”

Evelyn whimpered, cunt clenching around vacancy. “P-please—!”

“Arch more.” Niyati’s command brooked no defiance.

Evelyn obeyed, spine bowing until her ass hovered like a rotten moon. Niyati’s cock slammed home in one brutal stroke, balls slapping Evelyn’s piercing with wet thwacks. The impact jolted her tits into pendulous arcs; nipples chafed raw as trench survivors. “Feed radicals from these useless udders!” Evelyn begged, sweat-drenched breasts swaying to the rhythm of ruin.

“Precious udders.” Niyati leaned forward, thumbing a nipple. Her other hand yanked Evelyn’s head back by the hair, forcing her to watch in the mirrors as cock vanished into ravaged flesh. “Soon flowing with legacy.”

Lanie’s clit piercing burned white-hot—a welding torch scoring steel. *Fuck… hnn!… Feels like a… a magma coloniser!* Her chains slithered, cinching Evelyn’s wrists tighter. *Tell her to split your bankrupt womb!*

Niyati’s pace quickened, hips pistoning like a derailed freight train. Evelyn’s entrance gaped obscene, a storm drain gulping down the city’s sins. “MAKE ME YOUR… FUCK!… WORTHLESS WH—”

“My radiant slut!” Niyati roared, runes igniting ‘BELOVED’ down her spine in searing glyphs. She gripped Evelyn’s hips, nails drawing blood as she angled deeper, cockhead battering the womb’s barred gate.

Lanie’s chain links melted, dripping molten silver onto the sheets. There’s my… ah!… girl!

Niyati’s chokehold tightened, forearm a boa constrictor, squeezing psalms from Evelyn’s throat. “TAKE YOUR LEGACY!” Her free hand mauled Evelyn’s breast, kneading phantom milk and misery into the sheets.

Evelyn’s howl atomised the chamber’s last intact window. “BREED YOUR FILTH IN ME!” Her body convulsed, tits slapping her chin like overripe melons as Niyati’s monster swelled—an anchor lodging in her cervix. Seed erupted in hot, toxic geysers, cementing amendments thick with iron and absolution.

Collapse came suddenly. Niyati’s spent cock slipped free with a wet splurt, painting Evelyn’s thighs in pearlescent graffiti. Evelyn scrambled backwards though. Tongue desperately lapping at the softening flesh with the frantic rhythm of a gas pump sucking the last drops from a bankrupt station. “Mine… slurp… magnificent… gluck… perfect cock…” Her chins wobbled, breasts swaying like suicide bags. “Y-yours… ah… only worth…”

*Easy, hurricane,* Lanie's chain whispered, clit piercing cooling to room temp. *You've bled enough.*

"Gently now…" Niyati tugged weakly at sweat-slick hair. "That's enough, my phoenix."

But Evelyn redoubled efforts, lips stretching obscene over wilting flesh. "M-must… slurp… guard… gluck… your treasure…" Milky drool soaked the sheets, phantom let-down already beading at nipples. "B-breed… slurp… stupid… gluck… hog…"

"Evelyn." Niyati cradled her face, thumbs smearing snot and tears. "No. You are a brilliant strategist. Beautiful philanthropist. My—"

"G-Georgie…" Evelyn's voice shattered, tongue still lapping. "… better… gluck… with you…"

Lanie's chain coiled around her ribs, protective. *He's dust, darling. You're lightning.*

Niyati crouched forward and kissed the top of her head. "You eclipse every ghost."

"B-babies…" Evelyn's eyes rolled white, suckling turning slack. "D-dumb… screaming… glurk… yours…" Her body slumped, yet her lips maintained suction on spent flesh like a barnacle on a sinking ship.

"Sleep, wildfire. Very much on birth control magic, for now at least" Niyati fell back, flaccid cock still trapped between trembling lips. "Tomorrow needs you whole."

But Evelyn's mind carouseled—Babies, George, Gift, Empty.—even as sleep dragged her under. Lanie's chain morphed into a camisole, whispering *Rest, you glorious mess* to phantom kicks.

Later, the night found Niyati tracing Evelyn’s stretch marks that wouldn't form yet. Fingers mapping imagined curves. Outside, harpies shrieked their approval. Inside, George's ghost added several new shelters to the region's map.
 
 
XXXII. Next morning

Morning light bled through bulletproof drapes, gilding the moth pendant left on the pillow nearby. Evelen stretched into a nightgown made of spider-silk and regret, Lanie’s seams still puckered from last night's excess.

*Check the note,* she yawned telepathically. *Before you combust.*

Evelyn's talon trembled unfolding stationery scented with stale coffee and a creeping fear:
 

Dearest Dragonfire,
 
Gone to duel academia’s dust-goblins. Thesis defence: “Erotic Diplomacy in Postwar Rebuilding: Wombs Over Walls.” Pray the Griffin Chancellor prefers peer review as much as pussy review.
 
Fridays after 7 PM circled in your dragonfire hue gorgeous. Other nights? Unfortunately booked solid.
 
Blame the succubus strain I caught volunteering in plague tents. Antidote left my libido… ethically porous.
 
'Perpetually Horny & Broke.' Docs call it chronic. Johns call it luck. I call it tuition.
 
Monday: Banshee widow who climaxes to funeral dirges.
 
Wednesday: Vampire prince (his virginity take #23, my fangs in his femur).
 
Thursday: Mermaid matriarch (egg-fertilization rituals require… creative buoyancy).
 
Saturday: Gargoyle curator (stone doesn’t cum easy, but museums fund my enemas).
 
The pendant is yours. Never parted with it until now. Last thing my parents touched. George spent hours untangling the chain from my burnt fist. Survived my first heartbreak, third arrest, and that incident with the minotaur (remind me next time). Woke up last night knowing it belongs in your hoard. Crack it, and I’ll crack your ribs. Cherish it, and I will cherish your {Highlight to read} lo.
 
P.S. Never comped a client for cock… till your disaster ass. My first (& last) charity case. (Grant proposals require submission fees.)
 
P.P.S. Muting you til Friday. You’re a nicotine patch I can’t gnaw during office hours.
 
P.P.P.S. Redemption round—your throne, my gag reflex. Bring George’s Scotch and that smirk that wrecked your last domination attempt.
 
P.P.P.P.S. Here is my OnlyFae account: #destinysgotcock. Use the free code DRAGONDUMPSTERFIRE for unlimited access to all the ‘educational content’.
 
Always (especially when I shouldn’t),
 
Dr. Niyati "Ethically Compromised" Demos

[Lipstick kiss in treasonous red]

 
 
Lanie’s silk bristled. *She called you dragonfire. Pupils dilate at 0:43—pointed ears don’t lie.*

Evelyn’s scales flared oxidised copper. “Impossible! My glamour—”

*—Cracked like a meth pipe.* Lanie’s threads tightened. *Our Georgie’s fingerprints all over.*

Evelyn’s wings twitched, membranes catching light like oil slicks. “How long has she—”

*Told you she wasn’t here for the pussy,* Lanie snarled, silk unravelling into barbed wire. *She’s sparring with your old scripts.*

Evelyn staggered against the dresser, pendant scars biting her palm. “She knew from the start…” Her breath hitched. “Now im certain she’s—”

*Yup. That smokescreen’s a haunted radio. Tune it right, and you’ll hear Georgie’s laugh.* Lanie’s silk hissed as Evelyn completed her thought. “Niyati’s just the book cover wearing the soul.”

*And played us like a pennywhistle.* Lanie’s voice became broken glass. *Check her goddamn site.*

Evelyn mumbled as she typed the link into her phone. “Educational content” my ass.

The OnlyFae portal flickered open.

Scene 1:

Backstreet footage: Neon vomited ulcer-yellow onto cracked concrete. Niyati slouched against a dumpster, cock thick as a riot baton. A werewolf prowled, his fangs dripping cheap lust.

“C’mon, fleabag.” She flicked her tip, smirk gasoline-lit. “Nip or Suck bitch?”

The wolf lunged. Niyati shifted mid-snarl—cock ballooning into a veined monolith. Claws skittered off her armoured thighs. He whimpered, knot shriveling.

Wolf returned, brass knuckles glinting cursed silver. Niyati’s grin died. His fist cracked ribs. She shrank—muscles deflating, chest knife-flat, cock retreating to a pinkie stub.

“Lesson learned?” Wolf pinned her to brick weeping black blood.

Niyati’s face flickered—almost real fear, a gasp—before melting into sissy theatre. “Y-yes, alpha…” Her hand trembled up his thigh. “P-punish me… proper.”

Scene 2:

Same alley, moon bloated with a grudge. Wolf paraded his mate—she-wolf, eyes banked coals.

Niyati shifted—shemale alpha, knot swollen with a vengeance. The defeated he-wolf chained to a fire escape, howling.

“Proper punishment,” Niyati growled, mounting his mate. The she-wolf arched, claws shredding brick as Niyati’s knot locked. The wolf sobbed, mate licking Niyati’s paw. She tossed him a chew toy. “Fetch.”

Post-Credits Raw Footage:

Greenroom lights buzzed like dying flies. Niyati leaned into the camera, greasepaint smudged, her reflection winking.

“Next series?” She gnawed a prop vampire fang, voice gravel and gasoline. “Vampires. I play a werebunny. Half-rodent, half-drained.”

Behind her, the she-wolf actor snorted, flicking ash into a Styrofoam coffee cup. “Better hope they don’t write in carrot fetishes.”

The male werewolf smirked, tossing his pants into a bin labelled Cursed Props. “Breeding vampire harems. Blood, burrows, ohhh and carrots for sure.”

Niyati blew a kiss to the audience, the screen dissolving to static. “Stay thirsty, loves.”

*Not your home video,* Lanie conceded. *Still…*

Evelyn vaporised the screen. “She’s…”

*A hand grenade in a garter belt? A grief whore with a punch card? Georgie’s ghost wearing your former cock?*

Evelyn’s claw traced the charm. “Still...She’s....”

*…Not ours,* Lanie sighed. *But Friday’s coming. Bottoms up.*

But Evelyn was already dialling, moth pendant burning like a brand. "Pick up, damn you…"

Lanie’s voice dripped acid. *Let's face it—she’s Georgie’s middle finger from the grave.*

Somewhere below, a moth battered itself to dust against a NO SMOKING sign.

Tap-tap-tap.

Always fucking tap-tap-tap.

Somewhere else, a burner phone buzzed against a lecture podium. Nearby in the mirror, a dragon learned to count days.
 
 
Continued in Part 12