A Damsel and Her Dragon – Part 1 [fantasy] [mf] [dubcon] [shapeshifting] [romance]

Yasmine had made a mistake. A costly, dire mistake. She’d whispered a plea in the night to a passing knight – *save me from the dragon, and I will do anything you want* – but she’d never imagined this outcome. 

It had been a shot in the dark, a last hurrah sort of thing, her last hope in escaping the tyrant clutches of the crimson drake who had kept her prisoner in a tall, inaccessible tower in the depths of a dark, mysterious forest. It was a tale as old as time, the Princess, held captive by some monstrous, ravenous beast that could only be bested by the greatest of heroes. The dragon’s presence had always been the one thing keeping her trapped—his hunger was endless, and any time he saw her he slavered with a lust that frightened her to her core. She hid in the tower, where his size was too great to fit, and she hoped that someday she would be freed from his clutches. 

Back then, Yas had believed that anything was preferable to the dragon and her captivity. Her daydreams had been of dashing heroes on beautiful white stallions come to sweep her off into the sunset, maybe claim her hand, and her kingdom, with a quick, romantic marriage.

She’d been naïve.

The knight had not saved her, not that night. He’d seen the dragon waiting at the base of the tower, resting with his massive, armored body across the doorway. The knight had seen the corpses of the failed heroes, the ones who had less sense than he. So, he had fled, but he had spread her plea as he had gone. Save me from the dragon, and I’ll do whatever you want. 

Humans, at their core, are selfish and covetous, and she should have known that if she gave her word, someone would eventually come to collect. Not out of the goodness of their hearts, no, she had been in this tower far too long for it to be that. They came for the payment. 

They came for her.

Word of the desperate, beautiful Princess spread quickly; how could it not? A lush, bountiful woman who needed a hero, one who had a kingdom and her love to offer? One who promised anything to her savior? It was a temptation that drew attention across the land, offering even the lowest man the chance to rise to fortune and if he could but best the beast.

Yasmine noticed the watchers first, even before the dragon. There was little to do in a castle that you had been a prisoner in for years upon years, and thus many of her days were spent daydreaming out the window, wondering what life lay beyond her captivity. The still, late summer day had been hot, and not even a breeze stirred to ease the humidity that lay across the land like a damp blanket.

A trembling bush, then, had seemed odd to the daydreamer in the window. Her pale blue gaze had only barely noticed the oddity at first glance, but the repetitious rustling drew her wandering eyes back, puzzled and intrigued. 

A man watched the tower. Multiple men, actually. The more she looked, the more she noticed. One here, under the bush, another there, in a tree. A small group, wandering up the overgrown road that led to the castle and its strange inhabitants. Some were armored, some bore weapons, and all were men with hunger in their hearts.

The first were failures. The dragon devoured them with the same ravenous appetite that he had always possessed. But more had come, and more. Some multiple on the same day, some multiple in one group. The dragon was quick to notice that something was amiss, and more than once she caught his gaze lingering on her tower, his reptilian gaze curious and angry.

Yasmine shied away from the windows and that intelligent golden stare, and she listened as the adventurers came – and died. 

After a few weeks, the adventurers slowed in their coming, and routine settled in at the castle once more. A straggler here or there, journeying from across the continent in search of hope, but the hordes of adventurers had finally been bested. Her last shot, her last hope – failed. And now the dragon’s ire and suspicion were on her, creating more danger than ever before. He had taken to patrolling the battlements of the castle, watching over his domain from on high. She’d erred, magnificently. 

The princess was in the rooftop garden when, again, she heard the beginnings of a challenge. It was the first that she’d heard in many weeks, and while once she had been excited to hear an adventurer’s challenge to the drake, now she felt only dread. Another life soon to be lost due to her reckless plea to that knight. She regretted it daily, but the words were unable to be retracted now. 

Shouts echoed from the courtyard below, and the roar of the dragon that was now so familiar. A sigh slipped from her, and she rose from where she knelt, brushing the soil from the knees of her thin cotton gown. The translucent white slip hung off her shoulders, exposing sun-tanned skin and the soft swell of her breasts. The Princess’s decency was long forgotten in her years of isolation, and the cloying summer warmth had disinclined her from worrying about modesty. 

The dragon never bothered her up here, oddly, only if she attempted to leave on foot. This was where her life was—her garden, her coop full of chickens, her freshwater. If he ever decided to be cruel, he could simply starve her out.

He hadn’t. Yet. 

Yas’s curiosity brought her to the battlements, to peer over the massive stone barriers that protected her tower. Her attention was turned towards the red-scaled monster who guarded her home and the small army of men that accosted him. 

That was the only way she could describe the men: a small army, with exactly a dozen men standing in a hexagonal shape, their shields aimed towards the dragon to thwart the bursts of flame that he bellowed towards them. They all bore the same symbol on their shields: a black snarling boar on a crimson field, tusks turned outwards to gore and maim. A mercenary group, perhaps? But almost all wore the impressive silver armor of prestigious knights, and she was uncertain again who came to her aid. Noble knights, perhaps sent on a mission from a King or Prince? Or a mercenary army, acting of their own accords?

It was the first time she had ever seen someone present strategy towards the beast, and she found herself enraptured by the scene playing out below. The vegetables she’d pulled from her garden lay forgotten by her feet, and she stood on her tiptoes, breath held as she watched every move of the men and monster in the courtyard. It was like a dance, the dragon striking, then the men, then vice versa. No one seemed to gain ground, but she could tell that the tables would shift shortly.

The fight went on longer than any she had ever seen before. The sides were evenly matched, but the dragon tired, whereas the men would take breaks, allowing a small group to rest and then return to the battle so that their strength never waned for long. The tide began to turn, and the dragon began to fail. The signs were subtle, at first, a drooping of his tail and the slowed response as he whipped and turned, fighting off the mercenary knights who sought to flank or corner him.

She was surprised by how fearful she was for the beast. Years had passed since she had first arrived at the castle that was to be her prison – drugged and dragged into the tower in the dead of night by her father, a king who tired of his daughter’s presence and wished for the time to sire a proper son, instead. She had been only sixteen years old then.

Abandoned.

Yasmine had woken to a beautiful dawn, discovering a fearsome golden eye staring at her from the tower window. She had never forgotten the intelligence in that gaze, the covetous hunger that the beast seemed to hold for her. From that moment on she had not left her cage, guarded by the red-scaled warden. Her first days had been hungry and cold and frightfully lonely, but on a day when her crimson captor had been out and about, doing whatever it was that dragons did when they were hunting, she had stumbled across the lucky discovery of an abandoned cellar on the property that had been full of gardening equipment. She had wasted no time seeking to escape into the wilderness; instead, she had gathered the equipment and hauled it into her castle, setting up the base that had continued to sustain her throughout the years.

A blessing, those gardening tools had been, and the various gifts that she had discovered through the years since.

Goosebumps raised on her arms, and an uncomfortable heat rushed through her. With a start, she realized that the golden gaze of the dragon was on her now, his head turned upwards as he realized that his battle was being observed. Though the sun was behind him, the faceted amber gaze burned with light, kindled by some internal fire deep within his armored gullet. Fighting the urge to shrink back behind the wall, she met his gaze with pale-blue defiance. 

The small army of fighters had backed off for a moment, granting the drake a brief reprieve, though it didn’t take long for the keen-eyed observers to notice that his attention had wavered. The knights jeered, and she saw from the corner of her eye that they gestured towards her. The distance prevented Yasmin from seeing exactly what the gestures were, but unease crawled through her as her presence was given away. 

With a shout from the mercenaries, the battle resumed, and the drake’s golden gaze turned away, distracted by his adversaries once more. Yas pulled back, startled to realize that she had been holding her breath, her heart hammering heavily in her chest. Below, the dragon had ceased breathing fire, and she knew he neared complete exhaustion. 

The dragon’s eyes occasionally strayed to the battlements where Yasmine observed, keeping her in check. He had never spoken to her, not once in all of their years, but he didn’t need to – she read his message loudly in the citrine glare: do not move. But he was tiring. Slowly but surely the twelve-man army was pushing him back, forcing him into a corner of the courtyard where ornamental walls formed an ornamental open-topped cage. Perhaps it had once held dogs or decorative mountain cats, but soon it would hold the drake. Dark blood dripped from several slices on his limbs, and one large burgundy wing was held at an awkward angle, a long slash clear in the thin membrane between bony appendages. 

For the first time since she had arrived at the castle, the possibility of freedom seemed to loom. The dragon was losing.

Wait, not twelve men. Her eyes roamed over the figures below, a frown forming on her lips. Seven… eight… nine? Only nine? Yas’d been certain there’d been twelve at first, she’d counted the shields from above when they had been fending off the drake’s flames. Where had the others gone?

A clatter from the lower battlements drew her attention, and her eyes widened as she saw the missing trio approaching, carrying a heavy metal net between themselves. They were armored, wearing thick metal plate, and had swords strapped to their hips, while on their back were the scorched shields they had used to divert the dragonfire. One noticed her staring and pointed her out to the others. Yasmine felt uneasy as they once more gestured towards her, mimicking the movements the group had made when they had seen her earlier. They spoke to each other, but they were too far for her to hear what they said, and they continued their mission before she was able to catch any snippets of conversation. Her eyes followed their path, and fear washed over her as she saw what lay below.

They were climbing over the dragon.

Realizing what they intended to do, she had to catch herself as a warning started to form on her lips. She choked it off, wondering at her sudden madness. They were coming to save her, finally! Wasn’t this what she wanted? The offer she’d made to the knight rose to memory, sudden and unbidden: Save me from the dragon, and I’ll do whatever you want. 

She wondered if they, too, had come to claim the prize.

The gestures the knights had made suddenly seemed familiar, a memory jarring loose as she thought of it—their hands in the air in front of their hips, as if they held onto something that was squirming to be free. Before she had been exiled, there had been more than one occasion where she had seen the noble knights of her father’s court return bloody from battle, only to hoist their own serving wenches onto the tables in the great halls, taking out their pent-up energy and adrenaline on the hapless women with brutal, violent public fucking. The King, her father, had cheered and jeered, supporting his knights and mocking the terrified women. At the time, she had not understood the display, but the men now regarded her with that same mad lust that they’d had while watching the serving women, their hands held in front of their waists as if they held a struggling woman in their grasp. Bile rose – they were showing their friends what they intended to do to their prize once it was won.

“Drake! Look out!” The cry burst from her lips, no longer held back by her hope of what might come, but instead spurred by her fear of the future. At least she knew the monster that the drake was, these men were strangers, unknowns.

Yasmine did not know the name of the monster who guarded her, or even if he had a name at all, but her warning seemed to work, regardless. The crimson head jerked around, looking towards her with surprise, but only just in time to witness the massive metal net falling from the battlements towards him. He let out a screech of rage, but even he was helpless as the metal collapsed over him, heavy weights falling and pinning him to the courtyard’s marble floors. 

The nine remaining knights rushed in, certainly hoping to place a killing blow, but a wall of flames erupted from the maw of the trapped dragon, holding back his attackers with the last of his strength. Each time they tried to storm forward he would bellow out more fire, holding back his enemies for just long enough to keep his life. He wouldn’t last long, but he didn’t need to. 

The knights were tired of waiting for their prize.

With the dragon held by the metal netting and his flame only capable of reaching so far, the knights disappeared from her view on top of the battlements, entering the unguarded castle. The drake’s bellows of rage changed in tone, and for the first time, Yasmine thought he sounded afraid.

Her own fear clutched at her throat, choking her as effectively as any hands. She whirled on barefooted heel, blue eyes scanning the rooftops with a frenzy she had never felt before—she had to find somewhere to hide. Quickly. They had seen her already, so it would take only minutes for them to ascend the spiraling staircases that led to the castle’s upper battlements and courtyard. 

She took only two steps before the doors burst open, and the trio who had dropped the net appeared, clearly hunting her down.

Yasmine froze where she stood. In the late summer evening, suddenly feeling underdressed and exposed to the leering gazes of her supposed saviors, the thin cloth fluttering in the breeze and revealing the skin that had been bronzed by an unhindered sun. Her long, pale hair had been bleached to an unusual white-blonde, and her blue eyes were wide with shock and terror. She had once been described as a waif, but that had been years ago. That had been before her curves had filled in, granting her full, round breasts and wide hips, straining against the dress that was several years too small.  

She was a stunning prize, and one they had worked hard to earn. The men had stripped off their helmets during their ascent up the stairs, and their beady, lecherous eyes lingered on her with a starved hunger that rivaled that of the ravenous slavering of the beast they had trapped below. His bellows had fallen silent, perhaps realizing that no one listened to him any longer.

Yas stepped back, but her calves found the battlement, halting her. The thick stone walls prevented her escape far better than they had protected her from the gaze of her draconic guard. She didn’t dare turn around to see, but thrashing below indicated that she was directly above the trapped crimson drake.

“We’ve come to collect,” one of the knights said, pulling her attention to him. He stepped forward in front of his brothers, commanding attention, though he was shorter and plumper than the other two soldiers. His voice was harsh and rasped from exertion, but it was oddly familiar. He wasn’t an unattractive man—with blonde hair and dark brown eyes, he seemed almost warm. 

Despite his nearly-handsome appearance, it was with dawning dread that Yasmine realized it was the knight she had spoken to months prior, the one she had initially begged for aid. That night he had ridden away, spreading the word of her plea, and now he returned. The hero. He sneered, his attractiveness marred by the cruel look on his face. His brown eyes roamed over her in a way that made it clear what it was he expected from her.

Disgust coiled in her gut. “You,” she said softly, and he grinned as he heard the word, gladdened to realize she recognized him.

“Me,” he confirmed, his lips twisting with pride. “The dragon is conquered, and you are free, Princess. Free to pay us, as you gave your word.”

She shook her head, denying what she’d set up for herself. “No,” she whispered, the word caught in the wind and carried away. The men didn’t hear her, but they didn’t care, either. Whether she said yes or no, they intended on “collecting” their reward.

Could she run? A glance over the wall said not that way, not unless she grew wings. But towards the stairs? There were two entrances to the rooftop, and her heroes-turned-assailants had only blocked one. She turned, running, and she heard a curse as the knights realized her intent. Their armor slowed them, though, and their exhaustion from their fight. She made it to their stairs and barricaded it behind her, grateful for the precautions she had made when it came to the dragon. The slam of fists on the door behind her informed her she had granted herself a moment of freedom, but only a moment.

Footsteps thundered below—the other nine men? She didn’t know how many came and she didn’t dare find out. On the third floor, she slipped out of the stairwell, slamming the door shut behind her. 

A massive hallway sprawled out before her, door after door leading to various bedrooms. Guest rooms, servants’ quarters, her own bedroom. She didn’t think, merely sprinted down the hallway, not bothering to stop and try any. They were all dead ends. Terror clawed at her throat, her heart hammering loudly, the blood rushing through her ears with enough force that all she heard was her own pulse, thundering. The dragon had always been trapped outside of her home, granting her privacy and safety within the castle, but these men had no such limitations. They pursued her with a dexterity that the drake lacked. She heard the door slam open behind her and the sound of many feet following. They had found her. 

Desperation took hold, and she stopped in front of the laundry chute. Hesitation only held her for a moment – she had no other options. It was the shouts as she was spotted that finally drove her to action, trembling fingers pulling the doors open before Yasmine threw herself in. No time to think.

The tilted chute pulled her downwards, and a shriek slipped from her as she pressed her arms and legs outwards, bracing herself against the walls to slow her descent. She heard the shout as a knight reached the chute, but his armor and size prevented him from following her. She looked up and saw that he stared down the tunnel at her, a snarl twisting his lips. She glanced down, terrified of the face and the men who hunted her. She didn’t have much time. 

It took longer than she’d hoped, but at last, the basement opened below her, the clothes she had tossed down the narrow tunnel throughout the week providing a small mound for her to drop down onto. She froze in the pile, holding her breath to see if she could overhear any clinks or thuds indicating someone was attempting to follow her down. In the distance, something dripped, not unusual for the damp, dark cellar that the chute dropped into. The smell of sulfur was somewhat prevalent here, no doubt a result of the small, bubbling spring that the castle naturally tapped into. It was only about the size of a small tub, but that was exactly what she often used it for.

No immediate sounds of pursuit followed her, and she breathed a shaky sigh of relief. She had bought herself a moment; the strangers wouldn’t know how to find her right away down here, or that was the hope.

“Thought you could hide from us, Princess?” 

Laughter made her jump, the harsh, mocking bray coming from the top of the cellar doors at the far end of the basement. She looked up into the yellow light and saw the dark silhouette of a man at the end of the hall. It wasn’t one that she had met yet, she didn’t think, but he was distinctive for the black hair and scar that swept across his face. He was the first one of the group that she would consider ugly—though it was the black look on his face that made him most frightful.

“Oh, gods no,” she whispered. 

He was far, but still, too close. Yasmine had nowhere left to run. She had gone from the roof to the basement, and no matter where she turned, she was pursued. With so many men scouring the castle, it was no surprise that hiding was impossible. The man was speaking, mocking her, “We did as you asked—we freed you from the mighty beast. Where is our award? Why are you running, Princess? We rescued you.” 

Bile rose in her gut as she realized he was enjoying this. He turned his head, his eyes appearing glossy in the candlelight, and she saw that he had a flask in his hand. Celebrating their victory already? It all made sense, all her attempts to save herself were simply providing them with entertainment. Her flight was doing nothing but exciting them, like a hare fleeing a pack of hounds. 

Lifting her chin, she decided she could no longer run. The men had bested her; if she played along then, perhaps, she would gain another chance soon to flee. If she continued to run then they would only catch her tired, and they would be angry at her for not honoring her word. If she complied, perhaps she would earn their goodwill. 

The man’s footsteps were heavy as he descended the old, rotting wooden steps that led into the castle’s long-abandoned cellar. Each step creaked, and the black wood flaked away into the shadows beneath the stairs. He passed into the darkness of the basement, the yellow lights of the candles she lit every morning leaving him a dark silhouette before her; now she couldn’t even see his eyes, but she felt them undressing her.

Voices at the top of the stairs told her that the others had come—some sounded angry, shouting at her for her flight, for embarrassing them. The men from the rooftop, she realized, her heart sinking. She should have let them take her there, at least then she would have been able to watch the clouds while they claimed their prize. Down here she had only darkness.

Darkness, and the leering eyes of the knights come to take her. Anything you want. She had agreed to this. 

Hands were rough as the scarred knight reached her, towering over her in his fire-scorched armor. The cloth of her shift tore away too easily, the homemade stitches tearing in his greedy grasp, ruining the hours she had spent sewing the simple dress. He laughed, holding up the material. “You won’t be needing these.” 

The cool air of the cellar brushed over her skin, clammy and cold, and her nipples hardened into buds. Yas’s pale eyes clenched shut, unable to look the man in the face as his calloused fingers grazed over the soft, unblemished skin of her breasts. A gasp escaped her, slipping unbidden from between her lips, and a chuckle came from him as he overheard it. Shame filled her, and she clamped her mouth shut, teeth fastening into the lip until blood pooled on her tongue.

Four men surrounded her, five, eight. More and more dark, armored shapes whose faces were either cold and distant, or alight with excitement. 

“That’s better,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin, moist and smelling sharply of alcohol, “you’re going to get fucked good tonight, Princess. And me, first, just like I like it.” His fingers gripped her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his. They were brown, maybe black, and glassy from the drink she had seen in his hand earlier. She shuddered, wrenching her head free.

The coolness of the cellar seemed to retreat as more men pressed around her, the soft clink of metal and leather indicating that some of the knights were removing their armor. Nausea curled in her stomach, but she tried to focus on keeping her breathing still. You can do this, she tried to tell herself, but she could feel her body trembling against her will. If she went along with it, they might even allow her to enjoy it. How many evenings had she spent pushing fingers into herself, dreaming that it was her Hero doing it to her instead? Wishing that some dashing victor would come and slay the beast, fuck her, marry her, and then fall in love? In that exact order? 

They had come to the second part of that dream. 

A cry escaped her as calloused fingers twisted her nipples, the woman grabbing at the hand that assaulted her, trying to pry it away. As if the action had given courage to the others, suddenly hands accosted her from all sides, gripping and slapping at her slim, soft body, pulling at her thighs and breasts to expose the most intimate parts of her. 

Pain blossomed, but also pleasure. She was surprised as a soft moan escaped her, and the men laughed as if they had seen this before. Some murmured to her, whispering what they would do to her, and she was ashamed as desire bloomed between her thighs. Long, thin fingers probed insistently at her entrance, and she moaned, letting her legs part slightly. Her breath came quickly, sharply, and she realized that the men teased her clit, stirring her to the same pleasures she often did to herself at night. She clenched her eyes shut, trying to imagine it was her own fingers that plundered her sex, not strangers, but her body would not be tricked. 

A hand gripped her wrist, guiding her to grip something long and hard, though warm and almost velvet to against her fingertips. With shock, Yasmine realized what it was, remembering the violent and frenzied fucking of the knights at those parties so many years before.

“You feel that, Princess?” It was the voice of the scarred knight, the one who had found her hiding spot. “That’s my cock, hard as a fucking rock for you. You need saved? Here I am, Princess, I’ve come to rescue you.” The head of his cock pressed against her lips, and she tasted a warm, salty liquid on her tongue. 

Her eyes opened for the first time since the assault began, and she found herself looking up into the dark, shadowed faces of a dozen leering, lustful men. Most were either nude or in various states of undress, playing with themselves and watching her as men thrust fingers into her tight slit. The scarred knight was kneeling over her, stroking himself against her mouth. 

“Enough.” 

Yasmine’s head whipped around, hearing the rasping, harsh voice of the knight she had originally offered herself to. The one from the roof, who had been so keen on her. The first. His voice was quiet at first, and when no one moved to follow the command, she wondered if she was the only one who had heard it. “Enough!”

The scarred knight froze, his resentful gaze turning over his shoulder to land on the blonde man. The other mercenaries paused, too, and Yasmine realized that the blonde man must have had some sort of position of power in the army, otherwise he never would have been able to stop their frenzy. 

“She’s mine, Erroc, and you know that.” The blonde knight stepped forward, his mud-brown eyes not even acknowledging the nude Princess. He was still armored, even his gloves, and he gave no warning before he reached out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her against his cold, armored body. Several of the other men stepped back, their faces twisted in annoyance. The blonde didn’t care, his dark gaze angry as he confronted his fellows. “We all agreed, I get her first.”

The plate dug against her bare flesh, biting painfully, and she did her best to hold back the whimpers of pain. He held her too tightly, but he hardly cared about her comfort. His grip was possessive, and metal dug uncomfortable ovals into her wrist. 

Erroc, the scarred man, stared at the blonde with undisguised hatred. Yasmine had never met him before, but she knew from the look he placed on the man who held her that he would kill his companion in a heartbeat. “Share,” he insisted, his eyes landing on her bared flesh. He licked his lips, adding, “We always share.”

But whatever they always did, the armored knight who held her didn’t seem keen on following traditional. He didn’t say anything, but she felt the jerk of his body as he shook his head sharply. “No. Mine first, alone.”

For a tense moment, it seemed as if the two men wouldn’t back down. Yas, held in front of the blonde man, felt like a fleshy shield. Finally, Erroc nodded, though more it was a short, sharp jab of his chin than a true nod of agreement. 

“Fine, Derrin, only because you found her. Be quick, though, the rest of us don’t want to wait long for your sloppy seconds.” Erroc turned away, shaking his head in disgust. Yas overhead him say to another man, “Derrin is taking his piece first. Take it up with him.”

Yasmine should have been happy to see the division within the group, but instead, she felt only dread. The other men in the troupe, sensing Erroc’s battle lost, retreated to the other side of the cellar to wait their turn. With me, she realized, bleakly. Would it go one by one? She almost wished that the frenzy had followed through, that they had sated their appetites on her all at once, rather than individually as it appeared Derrin preferred. She didn’t know if she could sustain this for hours.

The blonde man shoved her down, and when she went to stand, he shoved her again. “Stay down,” he ordered, and she wished with silent spite that he had simply said that, first. 

He stripped out of the armor quickly, his hands flying over the buckles and belts with practiced ease. In moments he had stripped out of the metal, and stood before her, wearing slimming black trousers and a white, sweat-stained jerkin. A thick black belt was wrapped around his waist, with a golden boar buckle glaring balefully at her. Derrin’s brown eyes roamed over her prone form greedily, and she saw a bulge in his trousers that indicated he enjoyed what he saw.

“Do you remember me?” he asked, finally, and Yas looked up, surprised by the question, though she knew she shouldn’t be. Of course, he didn’t know that she recognized him, how could he? She hadn’t exactly said as much when the three men had approached her on the rooftop. But she did—she’d recognized him instantly. 

Licking her lips, mouth suddenly dry, she simply nodded. 

He grinned. “Good.” 

**–**

**End of Part 1.**

Good news – this story is already completed, so you don’t have to wait to finish it if you’re interested in finding out what happens next! I will post Part 2 here next week, or the rest can be found on my profile through my subreddit :) Cheers!

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/u6ebu0/a_damsel_and_her_dragon_part_1_fantasy_mf_dubcon