Scald and Soothe

When you’re busy, time tends to be a funny thing. It can either go by in a flash, as if someone decided to speed things along to get to something else, or take seemingly ages to pass by. Whichever was more enjoyable an experience tended to dictate how long something seemed to last in comparison to how long it actually did.

Spike and Asalah’s kiss, or kissing, given that they needed to draw apart every so often for a breath, could have been going on for a good hour, for all they cared. In all likelihood, it had not, but hey, they were enjoying the moment, so why rush by and waste a good thing?

“Spike,” Asalah whispered, as they pulled apart once again. A part of her was upset with that, but they were married, and they could do that again. Right now, she needed something on an entirely different level. “You’re my husband.”

“I know,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “Is there anything else obvious I’ve missed?”

“Maybe later, but now, I want to fulfill one of my duties to you, as a wife, as has been dictated by ages past throughout the world’s history,” she whispered back, gazing deep into his eyes. Some might find a mindset like that offensive, but historically, it was nothing but true. Besides, Spike didn't make anything seem laborious for her. He encouraged her to be herself, to make her own path, and this was a route she wanted to take. “But for that to happen, you need to fulfill one of your duties as my husband, as my mate, a duty as ancient and primal as life itself.”

“I need to breed you.” A simple enough statement, but with such profound importance and meaning that it the both of them tremble. Despite Spike having already successfully impregnated Trixie, Maria and Chrysalis, Asalah was the odd one out, and in a family as interconnected and loved as theirs, it was something they both sought to rectify.

Especially given on how badly Asalah wanted foals. “Exactly. There will be foals in our future, strong and handsome and courageous like their father.”

“Or beautiful and kind and unerringly wise, like their mother,” he countered, the pair rising from the bench. “Most of the Tsar's books I’ve read say mixed dragon descendants often take after their scaly parent in looks, but I can’t imagine there wouldn’t be traits or temperament carried over by their mate.”

“What do think? A colt or a filly?”

“Well, given the others,the chance of either is alright by me,” the dragon replied, kissing her again. “Whichever we have, you’ll be a great mother to them, I know it. All of my foals are going to have wonderful, caring, loving mothers to look after them.” What would the term be for Asalah to the other foals, anyway? Stepmother? Herd mother?

Asalah smiled as she stepped out of his arms. Shedding her dress as if it were merely smoke, the fabric pooling beneath her full figure, the zebra kneeled onto the soft grass. Her body growing ever more aroused by their simple talk, as well as the sight of her husband’s smoldering eyes, her fingers undid his own clothes, exposing what she’d long desired since that time in the showers of the Tsar. There was always time to suckle his length, lap from base to tip, but not now, not tonight. No, the pleasure they sought, which she craved, would not come from the foreplay, but from the act itself.

From the events that would arise from their coupling.

Her cherished duty, as self-imposed as it was socially expected, finally coming into its own. Conceiving Spike’s offspring, a foal, a show of their union and love. Coming from two different worlds, strangers made spouses by circumstance and chance, yet uniting in purpose and care.

It truly was a tale older than the sands of her homeland, older than the tales of distant, illustrious ancestors. Their deeds may have helped to shape the world around them, bring about her family’s long line, and bring about her very own existence, but in a way, that was all lesser. Let her continue their line, their tradition, by giving rise to the next generation of their descendants.

Let her line and Spike’s own mingle and become bound together, as equal parts of an ever-growing tree of interconnected destinies and lives.

To say that she was becoming so aroused just by the sight of her husband’s hardening cock and all that they were going to do with it was an understatement worthy of song. As the pair stared in silent lust, she lay back and let her legs open wide, her hands hooking under her knees to spread as fully as she could. Her already-glistening marehood, spread for her husband, was as swollen as it had ever been inviting him in as easily as could be. No sense in letting him need to do more of the work, they had all night and she was going to make it easy for him.

Maybe some other time she’d make things difficult. Not now.

“See something you like?” she asked, taking on a faux-innocent tone, batting her eyes playfully.

“Always,” Spike replied, his mutter more of a deep, throaty growl that sent shivers up her spine. His own clothes, either pooling beneath his feet or being cast aside, were the only other source of sound other than the magical babbling brook beside them.

“Well?”

“Well what, Asalah?”

“Have you given any thought to a name?”

He kneeled down in front of her, positioning himself above her gorgeous frame. “A little early for that, don’t you think?”

“Well, I want us to plan this out,” she replied as he hooked her legs under his arms, her knees sliding into the crooks of his elbows. “There’s no telling how many foals we’ll have, Spike, and I don’t want us rushing to find a name days before they’re set to arrive.”

“Names will come later,” Spike muttered as he leaned forward, bracing his legs beneath so that he rose slightly above his herd wife.

“But-,”

“As will I,” he continued, and with a cheeky grin, began pushing himself into her.

Rather easily, at that. He hadn’t needed to get her ready, but then again, she’d gotten as ready as she needed before they’d stopped kissing. It wasn’t like she was loose or anything from him cramming himself into her depths so many times since their marriage, no sir.

“Gah!” she cried out at the position, which to her seemed like he was trying to squat literally into her. As it was, the more his length sunk in, the deeper it reached inside, and she could have sworn that, somehow, he was reaching deeper than before. Almost dangerously so, if those medical diagrams she’d found in the Tsar’s library were anything to go by.

“Speaking of names,” Spike said as he finally bottomed out inside of her, the tip of his flared cock brushing against what felt like a tiny, suckling mouth deep within. “This is called the mating press.”

His cock feeling like it was trying to escape through her sternum, all Asalah could do at first was attempt to catch her breath, as rapid and shallow as it suddenly was. “H-H-How did y-y-you find this one?”

“I read about it… in a book.”

With that, he started moving, and Asalah’s sudden urge to neigh in delightful shock was choked by a need to whinny and whimper. By the holy oases of the deserts of her homeland, why hadn’t they tried this position before! It was like having his entire engorged length crammed into her and pressing itself against every nook and cranny of her being, on top of him more or less dragging it against her insides like he was trying to clean them! She’d never felt his length rub against near this many creases and folds, some of which she never knew existed!

She’d have to tell Chrysalis and the others about this. Something for them to look forward to once the foals were born and they could safely have sex again.

“So?” he asked, watching her reaction intently. “Do you like this position?”

“Oh FUCK yes!” Asalah cried, her arms snaking up around his neck, pressing him as close to her chest as she could, her large breasts cradling his face, her puffy nipples just begging to be flicked and rubbed. “Oh, fuck Spike! Fuck me deep! Just like that!”

Not being one to need encouraging from a gorgeous zebra begging for a dicking, Spike picked up his pace slightly, just enough to ram harder into her, yet not try and go deeper. How could he, after all? She’d swallowed him up right to the base with every stroke, and unless he could magically increase the size of his cock, there was no means of going any deeper!

Besides, that might hurt her, and he didn’t want that, not now, not ever.

“That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one of these days,” he replied, arching his back enough so his legs supported him better. With every down stroke, he could feel his groin make contact with her, their legs spread enough to give each other as much access as physically possible. His tongue snaked out every now and then, tasting the tip of her tender nipples, and with every squeak from his wife, it only encouraged him to do so more and more.

“Are you going to have to punish me again?” she retorted, a playful smirk somehow forming despite her heavy breathing. “Is daddy going to have to spank me?”

She never knew she could feel such a rush talking dirty. It was like there was another side to her, one that she’d only just discovered back in Marescow, and-,

“Rah!” Spike called out, slamming into her faster than before, his squatting becoming a blur to her as his tail supported his weight.

All thoughts of continuing to egg him of were cut off by a veritable explosion deep within her. It felt… it felt like an orgasm, but no, this was different. Was her body innately responding to his mating? Or was the magic buildup she so frequently accumulated beginning to make itself known?

It was hard to tell when her husband was seemingly trying to fuck her right into the ground. An act the zebra wholeheartedly approved of, and hoped he would never tire of.

Minutes ticked by as he continued to pound into her, his tongue continuing to snake out between her breasts, mercilessly tickling those sensitive, erect nubs. Asalah’s moans and whinnies mixed with his grunts and groans into a cacophony of lovemaking, the sounds echoing throughout the room as the trees stood in silent vigil over them, and the brook babbled unceasingly.

Then, her body, unbidden, clenched hard on his member as it plunged back in, and with a loud grunt, she felt his seed spill into her. It was hard to describe just how she knew, but this seed, it felt… different. Thicker, lesser, yet still the same amount of virility only a dragon could possess. Was it, perhaps their attempt at conceiving changing things, rather than just the two of them having sex? Was it possible that a dragon’s reproductive success could have something to do with their mindset, whether intended or innate?

A question for later that, hopefully, would be answered. Moaning, she felt him pull out, rolling off to the side as a trickle of his seed leaked from her. Catching her breath as best she could, it was all she could do right then and there to not immediately roll on top of him and begin the act all over again.

Such a laborious mating was nowhere near as long as their previous couplings had been, but then again, they’d drawn those out, seeking to make them last as long as possible. Not now: they had a goal in mind, and giving it all they could was far more taxing than either must have anticipated.

“Spike?” she whispered, as their blood cooled slightly and their breathing returned to relatively calm levels.

“Yeah?” he replied.

“That was… intense.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” he muttered. “I don’t think I’ve ever cum that little before, yet I feel like that was a whole two loads from when we normally have sex.”

“I could tell. Much thicker than I remember, and while there’s not as much, I don’t think there’ll be much room left in me for more than another batch or two at this rate.”

“Again?” he asked.

“Of course,” she replied, leaning up and over him. “Only this time, I get to be on top.”

He smiled as he lifted and slightly parted his legs, his tail balancing him as she slipped onto his length once more.

“You see,” she said, her voice catching as she slipped further and further down his cock. “You weren’t the only one reading up on sexual positions.”

“When did you have the time to research that? I doubt the Tsar had any books in his possession available.”

“Oh, it wasn’t from the Tsar, it was from his wife,” the zebra replied, settling as the last vestiges of his cock were swallowed by her depths. “She had a small book originating from east of here, deep within the realms of the Raja, and while it looked a bit dog-eared and worn, inside was a true treasure trove of ideas.”

“Such as this position?” the dragon asked, exhaling softly as he became nestled within her once more. “Can’t say this one ever crossed my mind, even though it feels… familiar.”

“It is a play on what we just did, dear husband,” the zebra replied, planting her hooves solidly on the ground beside them, assuming a squatting stance as she did so. “There are many names for it, just as there were for yours, but there was one name that I liked more than most.”

“What was that?”

“They call this the Amarezon mating press.”

Eyes watched the mating pair from behind a copse of trees nearest the steps, the sounds of the brook and the pair’s active rutting masking their already-silent approach. Fitting, given just how long the pair of them had been going at it.

Watching such an act was far different from reading about it, or even hearing about it second-hand. Many of the other youngsters who fashioned themselves old enough to at least peep in on such displays often ran their mouths incessantly as to what acts they may or may not have witnessed. Such places for couples to engage in such lewd acts were common throughout the world, ranging from grand courtesan manses to the upper rooms of many a tavern or inn.

Eutropia had never herself witnessed an act before, despite the goading from many of her female friends. Nor had she ever partaken in the act itself, for her mother had told her time and time again that running the risk of becoming laden with eggs was far too likely than not. Even with precautions taken, a heat of the moment choice could change her life forever.

Come to think of it, her mother’s orthodox ways were likely the reason she was here to begin with. She hadn’t feared the dragon despite knowing him and his family for so short a time, and yet was willing to trust him with the safekeeping of her daughter, knowing full well that remaining in Istanbull was a death sentence at worst, or imprisonment at best.

“Mother,” she whispered to herself, the words so quietly leaving her mouth that barely a breath followed them. “Why didn’t you want me to know?”

Keeping her cloistered and unaware of sex was as much to protect Eutropia as it was to maintain some form of control over her daughter’s life, and in the end, the young griffin couldn’t help but feel thankful for that. How many of her friends that she had known, some of them a near decade older, had wound up laying eggs because they took one too many chances? How many had died in childbirth, or been rendered sickly from complications with the egg carrying or laying? How many had she just stopped seeing and grew afraid to look for whenever their former flings showed their faces?

The city of Istanbul was not a place for the commoner to find success simply by becoming the object of desire of a rich or noble person. There were tales of nobles who would seduce young pretty women, of any race, to then either dispose of them once the fun had worn off, to be used as pawns in great games of intrigue, or to be spirited away to quaint but isolated cottage homes, to sire bastard heirs to slight rivals or just because they could. It did not matter who, it only mattered why.

Eutropia had been blessed with intellect as well as her griffinic beauty, even if she lacked the curves so many other women seemed to carry with such grace and ease. Spike’s family was no exception, with each having curves from just slightly more than hers to incredibly above what she could ever hope to achieve. Her mind, as well as her body, was her weapon, and with both working tandem, she was hard pressed to find a warrior she could not match, given enough time. She had honed what she had until she was a dense core of muscle and endurance, made to run and fly and fight with the best of them. She’d certainly used this to her advantage in training Spike to fight more than just “dragon smash” his way through everything. After all, a skilled opponent could outdo a stronger opponent most of the time.

This intellect also allowed her to see things for what they were, moving through deception and illusions with surprising accuracy. She saw Spike and his family as an actual family, not as one hopelessly naive drake gathering hopeless mares to his side through simple deeds or just by being friendly, but by changing their lives for the better, and changing with them. She saw their love, deep and primal, and seemingly growing by the day. Yet, now, as she watched Spike and Asalah rut each other’s brains out in the tower-top oasis, she began to feel something else creep in beside that genius, pushing away her assertions that Spike truly was a dragon of character, and not just blind luck. Something else nestling its way into her brain, an infection of the most natural kind that never before she had experienced.

Desire.

Not for Asalah, nor for Spike, as far as she could tell, but desire nonetheless. To have what these two had, what Spike and his family had.

Not just lots and lots of sex. That was always there, though her reservations, alongside her mother’s many warnings, were always at war with that. She had been told by countless friends that sex was great, felt good, especially if both parties were in love. Her mother had only told her sex was best for making children and a family, nothing more. Whether her mother had simply been uncomfortable with the idea for sex outside of reproduction, or because she had never seen it that way herself, she’d never know.

Eutropia wanted to know now, more than ever, what all this sex “business” was all about. Clearly, from their frenzied movements and passionate moans, Spike and his zebra were enjoying themselves. They’d switched positions, what, three times now, only doing so whenever he’d finished inside her? She had no doubt his dragon virility and stamina were behind this, seeing as most others she knew of never had a partner last like this before.

Yet not only did she desire sex, she desired the love she could almost feel radiating off Spike and his family. Love from conflicts overcome together, internal and external, of tragedies overcome, of nights of deep exploration of each other’s souls and from countless acts of acceptance and forgiveness. She did not know the full story, and barring something extraordinary, likely never would, but what she could piece together was something incredible.

Not only was Spike building a family, a harem the likes of which any harem member could only wish would be the case, one of untold love and equal care, but he was creating a posse that brought change, minute and great, wherever they went. She’d already seen with her own eyes him and his family’s assistant with the settling of refugees fleeing from the Marengol’s rampage, of his time with the Tsar and Tsarina giving them an insight into tried and true governance from his own lands, of the peoples he’d shown favor to and those he had overcome with diplomacy as much as tooth and claw.

She’d also heard of the stories of the bandit gangs of the deserts, of African warlords and pirates, of royal feuds leading to new unions and of evil lords being toppled from their perches. Of riches and rewards being doled out, of kindness changing nations, of destruction overturning old, rotten governments, aiding in monsters slain, and whose mere presence could change the future of an empire.

She’d only just joined their little group, becoming a part of something greater long after it had already become great in its own right, and already, she desired to be a part of it from now, until they returned home.

Home.

Istanbull was gone to her now, of that she was certain. Wherever her heart took her, Eutropia knew she would settle far from the city, from the lands she had once known.

Yet, as she retreated from the tower, the magical masonry around her eventually swallowing up the sounds of the couple’s frantic mating, she couldn’t help but wonder, just where would she end up? The world was a big place, after all, and with how far yet Spike and his family had left to travel, there was no telling where she might see them off.

Yet, as she crawled into bed, and drifted off to sleep, her dreams, as before, began to change once more. No more was she simply flying with a faceless, yet familiar stranger, a name always at the tip of her tongue, but never being able to speak it. No, now she was held close, in his strong arms, their bodies entangled in clouds and silken sheets and warm water, high above all else. Then, when they kissed…

All was relatively quiet within the great tent, the barest of breezes flitting along the flaps of the entrance. Heavily armed guards stood within and without, like statues of stone, keeping watch. Even in the safety of being a general surrounded by his army, one could never be too careful.

General Sukhbataar rested his great ax against his pile of cushions. His chair would normally suffice, but the aged wood was beginning to rot, and it was off being replaced. Personally, he preferred the cushions, they were far more comfortable.

His war map lay spread across the assembled table, and peering in the light of the lit braziers, he gazed upon the other realms. To the west lay Baghdad, the great city of scholars and science, nestled between the two greatest rivers at the convergence of the world. Emirates and sultanates lay hither and yonder, some allied, others rivaled against each other. The great city of Istanbull lay deep within the peninsula that separated the two great continents, with the third not much further south.

His mission was to trade or conquer all of this. If these rulers were wise, they would acknowledge Marengol might, and seek trade and nonaggression deals, if not outright tribute. Becoming established as a satrap was no worse than being a vassal elsewhere, save for the freedoms that would exist afterwards. After all, the Khan neither cared for what one worshiped, nor who hated who, so long as tribute flowed, and peace was kept. At worst, they would spit in his face and vehemently oppose his offerings, and receive the same death knell that so many others had experienced before them.

Would they unite against him? With so many scattered kingdoms, an alliance of sorts would undoubtedly attempt to arise, but would it? While many were still disunited for many varying reasons, there were others that stood unified, and indeed could lead such a coalition. The Rus were not to be trifled with, not after the initial conquest several generations ago, which they had long since overthrown. Now, they ruled themselves, and a mighty empire they had become indeed, learning from the mistakes of the Kiev and Novgorod. To assail them would take more than one army, and with the numerous others scattered across different fronts, Sukhbataar had no doubt such a feat would not happen within his lifetime.

As it were, however, these lands, they were ripe for the taking, provided his mission remained. Yet, he felt this campaign would be his last. He was no longer as young as he used to be, and he’d long known that his army was growing tired. Many had wives and children awaiting their return, and every day they were gone was another day that something might happen. More than one soldier had returned from war to find his family dead of plague, or for surviving families to lose their loved ones on a war march.

Yet it was something that was as inevitable as the rising and setting of the sun, as the tides and the storms, as life and death and all cycles of renewal.

There was a noise from the tent flaps, and a trio of guards strode in, escorting a figure.

“A messenger,” the front said, a captain from the look of his rank.

“From the Khan?”

“From Karakorum,” the messenger replied.

“Are they not one and the same?” Sukhbataar replied. “Your name, son?”

“Turgen, my lord.”

“I am a mere general, messenger Turgen, no titles other than those bestowed for my courage and skill. Let’s see this message.”

From his small pouch, Turgen retrieved a roll and handed it over. Unfurling, and stepping closer to the light of a brazier, Sukhbataar gave them a wave of dismissal. “See to it that he is fed and watered, he is undoubtedly in need of rest.”

With them gone, the general continued to read. Events and decisions took time to be distributed from the capital, as few of the unicorns within the Marengol service were capable of teleporting scrolls, and even then, those that could were often were reserved for diplomatic needs. The necessities of armies marching upon enemies had been determined to be too straightforward an order to require a scroll-binder unless the circumstances were most dire. As it was, the scroll-binder in his employ was only ever sending and receiving the words of whatever realms they made deals with or subjugated, being the only line of communication directly between the Khan and said rulers.

Bongheet, or whatever his name was, as Sukhbataar couldn’t bother to remember, had a great taste for many of the substances that were grown in this region of the world. Whether he merely liked to partake in them for the narcotic high they produced, or if they “totally helped his connection with magic, man” as he would so ostentatiously put it, the general neither knew, nor cared. So long as his performance did not suffer, he was left to his own devices.

The scroll’s message, however, was one that he thankfully did not have to receive in person, else he might have fallen into a fit of rage. It was easier to be angry at a direct messenger rather than the message itself.

He had marched all this way… only for his task, his sworn duty, to be yanked out from under him so unceremoniously.

In his controlled anger, all he could do was roll the scroll back up and set it on the table. His commandants would need to read this as well. Simply telling them would do them no good, for some might question it. No, a true message from the capital was needed to spur them into action once more.

The scroll-binder’s talents would be needed on the morrow, it seemed. Sukhbataar hoped that, for his sake, he did not decide to overly indulge in the various substances he kept with him this night. It would be an early morning march for all of them.

Another pair of brush strokes finished, another day gone by, and with that, the painting was nearly complere. As a father to two of the most highly esteemed bodyguards of the previous Khan, Tsakhiagiin Tsokhikh, as he was known by many, was afforded one of the better homes within the central portion of Karakorum. He had earned it on his own, of course, and even now, with the wounds of the rabid tarragons almost healed, he would be once again within the grand halls of Karakorum’s palace, as would his children.

They were set to return any day now. He, as one of the few hereditary officials within the entirety of Marengolia, had received word of the death of the old Khan, and the arrival of the new. The generals and their armies would have to return to swear loyalty, and with that, would come a new age for the Marengolian way of life. Only, would it continue to be one of war, or become one of peace?

There was a knock at his sturdy door. Clambering over to it, wincing slightly at the old wounds of years gone by, the low light of his candles casting the only light that dark night, he opened it to find a pair of tall soldiers awaiting him. While certainly not the most unusual visitors for him to have, being such an integral part of the Marengolian history and foreseeable future, soldiers coming to one’s door usually meant trouble. Then again…

These were soldiers he knew with all his heart.

“Father!” one cried, throwing their arms around him as they all stepped further inside. The second joined, wordless, as they usually were these days. Being a soldier tended to do that to you in Marengolia, making you as hard and unforgiving as the steppes themselves could be.

“Narantsetseg! Sarantsatsral! When did you return?”

“Only a few hours ago, father, though we needed to attend a meeting before we could come home. The… former Khan’s remains needed to be attended to by ceremony, and we had to be a part of his funeral guard.” Narantsetseg smiled, a bundle of energy and joy, like a sunflower, but only for their father, and even then it was a rare thing these days. Being a soldier, especially so high ranking as the two of them, was important and serious work, and letting these emotions out now was likely a great source of relief.

“I trust he is not yet interred?” While never a great believer of the former Khan, Tsokhikh had been a faithful servant of him and his family now for… how many generations? Three? Or had it been four already? Being older than the line of Khans was difficult to put into a timeline when you spent long stretches in contemplative meditation, or out in the wilderness battling vicious foes.

“No, the official ceremony will be in several days’ time, when more have arrived. The swearing in of the new Khan will not begin until all of the necessary generals have arrived with their hosts.” Sarantsatsral was no smiles, and offered no hug, but a deep, respectful bow, as cool and collected a clear night’s moonlight. The far more serious of the two, even in the presence of their father.

“Come, sit with me, we have much to discuss,” Tsokhikh said, shutting the door behind them. “I’ve been waiting to hear from both of you. Naran, Saran, my boys, would either of you like some tea?”

The pair nodded, both resisting the urge to roll their eyes at their nicknames. A journey as long and tiresome as theirs never allowed for luxuries, even if they were guards to a Khan, and they would gladly take time with their father to enjoy some tea, even if some of his… eccentricities shined through.

Silver Lining often roamed the halls of the palace at night when she could not sleep. Oh, yes, there were plenty of guards to make sure she was safe, and really, need she fear anything else? Her husband ruled a mighty and ancient land, and while they had not loved one another in the beginning, in time, their love had become a true and deep one, like those of the stories she had listened to in her younger days. Yet despite that, she fretted, and lost sleep over a great many things.

How could she not? Despite all of the war and death, her family remained strong around her, but that was supposed to change. Her last daughter was growing older by the day, her little filly now a young mare in her own right, and yet she had not caught the eye of someone of note, despite all of the royal invitations and the sizeable dowry to her name. Come to think of it, Afarim seemed more inclined to spend time in the royal library than in whatever political gatherings were able to be mustered.

Hence why she strode into the library, pushing the great doors open. The library was a more public one than the king's personal, private one, but it was no less filled with splendor and knowledge. The spells that kept so many books intact and safe from the elements were some of the same that had saved so many from the capitol's burning thousands of years ago. Indeed, what few had survived were more precious to many a scholar than some entire libraries.

Within sat her daughter behind one of the largest desks, the woodwork detailing a great number of battles from antiquity.

“Afarim?” she asked, smiling as a mother would. “Still up so late?”

Her daughter, to her credit, gave her only a slight look of surprise, but nodded fervently. Ah, she must have snuck out past her guards to read again.

“Yes, mother, I was just… just getting in some more studying of the Raja’s ancestors. With Bahram gone there, I thought it pertinent to study up on the cultural history of his lands, as well as some of their traditions. If I wished to send a gift to my new sister-in-law, I would want it to be a heartfelt and non-insulting one, now wouldn’t I?”

“Indeed,” Silver Lining chuckled. “Be sure not to stay up too late, Afarim, your father will be upset if you fall asleep midway through morning breakfast again.”

The princess rolled her eyes, shivering slightly.

“Oh, are you cold?”

“No, mother, I am fine,” she replied, a tad more forcefully than the queen anticipated. My, she must really be beginning to value her privacy. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Afarim.” With that, the queen left, the large door swinging shut behind her.

Afarim leaned back in her chair and sighed, looking down. “You almost got us caught!” she hissed quietly, glaring daggers down under the desk.

Underneath the sturdy furniture, in front of her sopping, exposed marehood, a pair of tongues retreated. “Well, I couldn’t help myself, you just looked so inviting,” Lila replied, her face bunched up against another.

“Yeah, and Lila shoved me in!” the librarian replied.

“Oh come now, Draco, you know you like eating princess pussy.”

“Dammit Lila, I told you, this was the very first time I’ve done this! Afarim and I have never done anything more than heavy petting and some subtle groping. We still haven’t moved beyond that, and that’s because I know her father will have my head on a pike if he finds out!”

“As if, he wants his daughter safe and happy more than he wants more grandfoals. Besides, at that rate she’s going to get your cock in twenty years.”

“Lila, that’s not nice,” Afarim said. “Draco has been a very welcome relief to my busy days and lonely nights, especially since you haven’t been here.”

“I was on a mission from your father.”

“Well I can’t have the mare I love arguing with the stallion I love any more than I can stand not having either of you near,” the princess hissed. “So, after you two finish me off, and I lock that damn door, you’re going to finish each other, and I’m going to watch!”

“What?” the two asked, blinking in surprise.

“You heard me,” Afarim replied with a smirk.

“But, but your highness!” he spluttered.

“Draco Nightstalker, are you defying a royal order?”

The unicorn lowered his gaze, which just so happened to be right in the direction of her swollen pussy. For a newcomer to this game, his tongue was as talented down there as it was teaching her new languages. A very good “cunt linguist” as Lila had put it one night; maybe those two skills were related?

“No,” he whimpered, like a stallion who had realized he’d fallen right into a trap of his own making.

“As for you, Lila,” Afarim added. “I’ll be hearing nothing but moans coming from you once he’s inside you, you hear?”

“I would never defy an order, even from you, princess, but… but it’s been so long since I’ve been with a stallion!” the batpony whined. "How will I know if I'm doing this right?"

“Batponies never forget to how to fly, and you won't forget this either. Now, no more buts, or else he’ll be in yours! Now, both of you, get up on that table, and don’t worry, Draco, Lila’s a little rusty, but she has experience to make up for it.”

“Never thought I’d have sex with you by way of a royal demand,” the librarian muttered as he stripped his clothes.

“Never thought so either,” Lila said.

“I mean, I always thought you were hot,” the librarian continued, slipping onto the table. “But you always seemed so out of my league, and, well, when the princess first told me of the two of you…”

“Gods Afarim, you told him?” the batpony groaned, shedding her own clothes.

Locking the door, Afarim chuckled. “Of course! How else was I supposed to get him interested in the first place? I won’t be putting in the work to seduce somepony I love if there aren’t any feelings already there, you know. It’s taken me this long just to get Draco here comfortable with some fondling and kissing, not like you, you little minx.”

“Wow, this is weird,” Draco muttered.

“On that, we’re agreed.”

“Okay, new rule,” the princess added as Lila, also now naked, climbed atop the table. “First one to finish loses, and the winner gets to make love to me next! Oh, and the loser has to watch!”

The two opponents glared at one another, sparks almost literally flying as they sized each other up. “No way am I losing to some bookworm, even if he’s way more chiseled than he should be,” Lila muttered.

“I will not allow my professional integrity to be challenged by a mere spy,” Draco replied, looking as determined as he was aroused. “This is a one-off thing, by the way, Lila. As hot as you are, and as much as it pains me to say this, there’s no way I’m going to fuck you after this, so enjoy taking my virginity while you can.”

“On that, I can agree,” Lila replied, seating herself enough for him to begin to penetrate her. “No way are we doing this again, no matter how long it takes.” With that, they were as one, and as the princess watched with lustful glee, her fingers already knuckle-deep within her marehood, her two lovers began to rut.

As it turned out, that night, it was determined by the princess that their declaration was perhaps the biggest lie to come out of Persepolis in several thousand years.

Author's Notes:

(This took about three days to write.)

Just like the last one (though nowhere near as much), this chapter was long overdue. Job interviews, a hectic bout of winter storms (I think we had, like, 4 or 5 between this chapter and the last one), a serious addiction to computer games and listening to podcasts at the same time whenever I'm not working, and a horrendous case of writer's block really stuck this chapter in development hell for weeks. I mean, while I've never stopped writing it, nor stories with similar scenes, it's been, what, almost 3 years between this lemony, cloppy chapter and the last one?

I felt my skills had transitioned into a different sort from the very old, original "put penis in vagina, have sex, cum, repeat lololol" with some erotica added. Now I think more in terms of what they do and why, rather than just them doing it. Instead of being direct, I'm becoming somewhat of a fan of letting the reader imagine it, as I also don't want to fall into the rut of writing sex the same way each and every time. Does that make sense to anyone else?

On top of that, I still have several of the previously-published chapters on here to transfer over to Fanfiction, so both sets can be caught up. Yay for formatting changes.

As it were, the passing of this roadblock has, in the meantime, meant that this chapter is going to give rise to a very, very interesting, and dare I say important, upcoming chapter arc. Fan OC's will be introduced, lots of stuff will happen, the most action in a long time will rear its head, and a lot of readers will likely be surprised! Hopefully I can still pull fast-ones on my longtime readers and give them a gasp or two, or maybe even an ear-to-ear grin?

Also, if you've made it this far, I did publish another story the same time as I did the previous chapter. It didn't receive the attention I anticipated it would, likely because I'd been gone for so long, and I attempted to write this one in a slightly different manner than previous stories. I can't actually link it, I think, because it's technically NSFW on this site.

It's a Braeburn and Little Strongheart story, by the way, if that interest anyone, titled "Lightning and Thunder".