Serve him in his lap.

Tiela dwells upon the illusion of choice and the ethical implications of various motivations she might cite for defaulting. The issue is a bit difficult for her to rise beyond the pressing weight of the dragonman's foot upon her midriff, and she's never had a varied philosophical education beyond her religious training. She can feel his toes kneading at her, his claws a hair's breadth from cutting her, and yet the sensation is strange in its sensuality. She recalls her priestess apprenticeship, during which she was taught to endure constant physical strife through the exercise of mind over matter. "I can survive anything you do to me," she says.

Shoukyaku has already anticipated her sensible lack of antagonism. "We shall see." He slides his talon-baring pawfoot down towards her loin cloth, and then steps off of her. His tail slips around her neck as he walks around her, and he pulls her into an upright position on her knees. He tugs her face against his groin with a lazy gesture, only using enough **** so that her cheek slumps against the side of his musky girth. She whimpers in disgust, feeling that fleshy nut sack alone dwarfing her face, and she pushes back onto her knees to regain her balance. His tail draws her face back into his loins again, this time holding her there with her nose and mouth smothered by his ample scrotum. As she's formally introduced to the propensity of his member, her brow furrows in shock at his size. In her head, she recants her earlier confidence as she tips her feline ears back against her skull. Her hands press to his thighs to keep from being knocked over again, and she stares in total awe at the base portion of his gargantuan black cock. By now, he has grown so impatient that she can see every vivid twitch of his pulse through his meat. She pulls back from his balls very slowly, grimacing in fear at every inch of his long, solid prick, and the horror on her face is plain to see as she realizes his length exceeds her head. She can scarcely focus on a single point at once.

The dragon chuckles at the expression on her face. "Amazing, isn't it?" He has no need to add an extra layer of smugness to his voice. His tail, being used like a leash, forces her eyes into his ball sack again, blinding her with the expanse of his enormous, scaly dragon fruit. "And don't forget these. Your future children wait." Shoukyaku laughs again at the seething glare now upon Tiela's face, and he buries it back into his dangling draconic balls. He almost can't feel her trying to push away from him. Flexing his tail, he rubs every inch of her face against his potent orbs, rolling them across her forehead, under her chin and from cheek to cheek. She grunts and groans in protest, but can only gasp in his virile scent when she tries to catch her breath. Soon his musk lingers in her astute nose and her face is warmed by his contact.

“Get sucking.” The rich bass of his timbre reaches the pit of her loins. She’s grossed out by his vile reptilian member, and he grabs her skull with both paws and pops the slightly spongy tip of his glans between her lips. Despite threats that would be redundant to speak of, she wrenches her head away, but a bitter strand of preseminal fluid remains. Quick to respond, he jabs his brutal cock back into her mouth, silencing her protests. His arms cross over his chest, letting his tail do the work for them both in yanking her jaws around his dick. Bobbing her head back and forth, he says not a word and looks bored as he works her saliva over his throbbing fuck muscle. She tries every direction she knows to push him out of her mouth, with the only effect to slide her tongue across his glans, flicking along his spout to the ridge of his crown. When she realizes her teeth have little to no effect on his tough draconic being, she deadens her offenses and glowers up at him in degraded antagonism.

Another sardonic chuckle emerges from the depths of his flat gut, and a delicate smirk is enough to remind her of the draconian’s vicious fangs. Any will be hard-pressed to find a single person in all of Brachyr who has not grown up on the horror stories told by his or her peers. Such tales are tests of courage in children who are warned of the terrible searing breath that can raze a person to ash in a single puff, and of the equally lethal razor-sharp teeth that can clip through bone like butter on a summer’s day. But the worst part of it all, for Tiela, is not in thinking of such gruesome demises for herself, but to consider that this self-proclaimed tyrant knows of his own capabilities, that he has lived them, and so even being aware of the personal atrocities he could wreak, he is still sexually aroused for her. Civilizations have been wiped out for an inability to vanquish such ideas, and to think that the survival of the fittest could provide an excuse for such debauchery is beyond repulsive.

Shoukyaku pipes his terrible meat through Tiela’s scowling face, the latter of which soon degrades into a pained look as her lips stretch and her jaws tire. “Hmph. Good job,” he says, showing that his slumber had not kept him out of touch with sarcasm. “Perhaps next time, you can do it yourself.” Whether the water priestess appreciated such morbid humor was doubtful. He slackens his tail from around her throat, and Tiela slumps over backwards onto the rocky floor with no mote of dignity. She expects him to leave her there, but he reaches down and grabs at her arm as though to yank it out of its socket. He carries her over to his make-shift obsidian throne and sits her down atop his lap, facing him.

The dragon nudges Tiela’s tan ass until his heated prick was situated smack dab along her cleft. Her loin cloth was shoved aside, and her bare thighs were pinned in between his muscular, scaly legs and the rough arms of his carved throne. Face to face with his placid demeanor once more, she cannot forget the ferocity that dwells within him, in spite of how calm he appears. She dares to lash her tail in anger and to point her ears in his direction, demonstrating her bravado. Her annoyance only grows when his paw smacks against her leg and caresses up along her hips and ribs before fiddling at her skimpy top with a claw. She yelps when he snaps her gold-threaded top off of her breasts, exposing the stiff nipples jutting at the fore of her round, tan flesh. She throws her arms around her bust, and the indignation does not leave her face even when she looks ready to cry.

Ferocious orange eyes gaze in apathy at her welling tears. Fire and water. The dragon’s steaming, rigid prick rides her ass in creeping affection. At last, his tail seizes around her midsection like a coiling serpent, squeezing on her abdomen, then lifts her up to position her blessed sanctuary atop his spiring, draconic spout. His flaring, enormous dragonhood throbs there, threatening a painful intrusion. “Well then,” he says. “Are you ready to take the reins yet, or shall I continue at my own pace?”