Dragon's Bard

She smirked slightly, lazily stroking over the springy hair on his chest as she watched him continue to pant heavily. The exertions of their love-making filled the air with a scent that was both musky and sweet, with an underlying tang of the perfume she had worn and the mingled fluids of their loins. Limp and useless he may have been, and exhausted, but she took a measure of delight in how his cock twitched at the sensations caused by the slow, feather-light drag of her claw along his length.

"Insatiable."

"Come now, word-singer, you were the one boasting that you were capable of... what was it you said? 'A night of nothing but desire and passion, pleasure along every nerve'?" As much as she was mocking him slightly, he couldn't argue back - he had said that.

He opened one eye to regard her lazily. Purple-grey flesh with darker lips, golden horns and with thick, wavy hair that went from light grey to black, she was nothing short of striking. Her feathered wings had proven to make quite the handhold...

...thrusting, grasping hold of the base of those feathered appendages and then the top, using the muscular leverage to drive himself ever deeper into her, taking her shrieks of pleasure as encouragement even as his abdominals burned from the effort...

Thankfully he had not damaged them. He didn't have to look to know that her tail was lazily swatting at him, curling around his leg almost possessively. Driven off by her looks as some might have been, he had found her enthralling. Compared to him - long dark hair, a short-trimmed beard and the beginning of crow's feet in the corner of his eyes - she was grace embodied. But, he had words on his side, and they had well and truly ensnared her.

She leant forwards across the table, presenting an impressive view of her cleavage while equally drawing his attention to those compelling gold and dark grey eyes that seemed to penetrate his very soul. "So tell me, riddle-weaver, what is it that you would do for me?"

"I would caress and lick those gilded horns of yours until they sparkled. I would run my fingers through your hair; to untangle, to caress, to grip, to pull..." He let his voice take on a huskier note at the last before carrying on. "...Every inch of your flesh would have my attention, my hands mapping your every curve and muscle, giving the long-forgotten aching parts of you the attention that they deserve." He had not been so bold with a woman in ages. Most human women seemed to prefer a shorter 'transaction'. But no; this one was certainly not human, and her tastes certainly seemed to run more towards building tension to a breaking point rather than getting down to business. Which he was honestly finding harder to do with his erection painfully pulsing against the woollen trousers that he wore.

"Oh but, for all your attention, could you match me? Could you meet me at every peak, ride me at every turn?" Then he felt the light trace of claws over his thighs, and forced himself to respond.

"I am more than confident that I could. I will ensnare your senses as I am ensnaring your mind now... taunting you with what we can be together, caressing your mind as I will ever fold of your hidden places with my tongue and fingers, treasuring your presence and attention as I will every gasping breath.."

For someone who had been starting to lose attention in the poetic circuit, he was inwardly pleased that he still had some talent elsewhere, even if it was not one that he was going to advertise publicly.

Not that he had expected the wordplay to go anywhere. He was married, after all. He guiltily eyed the ring on his left hand, as discreetly as he thought possible, and paused when he felt her move... only to lift up his hand to examine the band.

"What is this?"

He coughed quietly. "My wedding ring."

"Oh? How many mates do you have, yet you wear only one ring?" His eyes widened slightly and for once, he managed to sit up slightly, his hair askew in the process.

"How many? Just the one. Not many cultures embrace the idea of having more than one."

She snorted gracelessly. "Why limit yourself?"

He had tried to explain the point, but had soon found himself succumbing once more to the ravenous spellstorm mage's hunger for male flesh. When he had dressed in the morning, she had regarded him from her reclining position on the bed, her tail swaying slowly, as she basked in the sunlight streaming in through the window.

"Will I see you again?" That he asked without looking round.

"I may linger, I may not. I may pass through again, I may not. Take this for what it was, so then the next time is more of a pleasant surprise."

The next time she returned, the bard had not just moved on in location but had passed away - that was what she got for leaving it a century. But she never forgot the way he had played her with his words, as eagerly and expertly as he had with his hands and tongue. And who had said that human mortals were useless?