by Cameo Brown
Nioral’s Quest
Cameo Brown
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Copyright ©2008 Cameo Brown
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ISBN 978-1-59596-933-4
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Editor: Chrissie Henderson
Cover Artist: Reneé George
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Nioral’s Quest
Cameo Brown
Nioral, healer dragon of the Kilsh Brood, spends his days collecting roots, mixing potions, and having human sex with as many women as possible. The evidence of the human females’ desire produces strong medicine for the dragon kind, and Nioral is determined to pay back his broodmates for taking him in when his own brood, the Lynial, was wiped out during the Great Change. The gods are sometimes unkind, though. Nioral is genetically coded to only know desire when he finds his bonding partner. He feels nothing when he mates and believes he will spend his life alone, the last of the Lynial line.
A trip into the forest changes Nioral’s life forever when he rescues Merigone. The bewitched beauty has been injured while trying to escape greedy villagers as well as the advances of Fudalon, the amorous King of Snakes. A healer herself, Merigone awakens in Nioral a deep passion such as he’s never known. He finds himself torn between keeping the dragon secret and loving the only woman he’s ever truly wanted.
Chapter One
“Don’t stop!”
Nioral glanced at the wench writhing under him, her cheeks tinged pink and her eyes glazed with desire. He moved himself deeper inside her, wishing he could feel some kind of sensation, some kind of connection. But, as usual, he felt nothing. The wench, on the other hand, definitely felt something.
“Fuck me harder, milord! Harder,” she begged, spreading her legs wide.
Nioral increased his thrusts. Her cunt clamped down on his hard length, spasming against him, and warm liquid coated his cock. She lifted her hips and grabbed at him, yelling with every other breath. Meeting each of his thrusts eagerly, she bucked and thrashed about until she screamed with her final release.
He pumped harder as she came, making the orgasm last as long as he could. This usually produced the best quality ejaculate, and one that would, when properly mixed with the petals of the land anemone, heal many types of tooth infections that plagued dragons in their old age.
The wench’s movements slowed, and Nioral let his cock slide out of her pussy before collapsing beside her. He needed to rest, just for a moment, before he continued on his mission. So far today he’d pleasured three women -- a brunette and two redheads -- and he’d managed to gather quite a bit of their special cream for his apothecary. He still needed to copulate with a black-hair and a blonde before he could quit for the day. Nioral sighed inwardly. What he wouldn’t do for his brood!
While most of his dragon kind would be delighted to switch to human form to collect precious healing liquids by copulating with as many females as possible, Nioral found it frustrating. Being of the Lynial Brood originally, his genetics dictated he would not feel any sexual urges until he found his one true mate; an impossibility since all his brood were lost in the Great Change except him. So, in all the many encounters he’d had, he’d never climaxed. Never felt like he wanted to.
Ever.
Nioral only knew what to do by the way his donors moved against him and by listening to them holler encouragement when he hit the right spot. As far as feeling anything, though, he didn’t. His cock just seemed to go flaccid after the women came.
A tiny snore next to him signaled his latest contributor had drifted off to sleep, so Nioral set about his task immediately. It always progressed much more smoothly if the woman slept; otherwise, he might have to perform again. Taking great effort to remain as quiet as possible, Nioral spread the maiden’s legs and slid his fingers into her well-lubricated pussy.
When he pulled them out, coated with the dewy evidence of her climax, he wiped them on a special cloth he’d designed himself from the pulp of the hano tree. It kept the ejaculate pure until he could process it into whatever medicine it would become.
Tucking the cloth into his medicine sack, he pulled his clothes on and left the sleeping woman alone to enjoy her time off. Working in a brothel took its toll -- Nioral had seen it in the eyes of the women he’d paid for to further the health and well-being of the dragon kind. At least he felt like he gave them something in return. From a physical standpoint, he observed the telltale signs of their release. Mentally, though, he feared they would always be tied to the beds in the brothel, and secretly he detested being one of the ropes that bound them there.
Shaking heavy thoughts from his mind, Nioral made his way toward the next house of sexual delights a few miles away. This time he chose a comely blonde, her hair golden like honey, and once the price he offered suited the keeper of the ladies, she led him to a room with only a bed and a chair and nothing else. Light streamed in from a tiny window, illuminating the filthy sheets on the bed and a variety of small bugs crawling where at least one pillow should have been.
Nioral shook his head. This would never do. He’d not risk the wench’s health for his medicinal needs; trading the health of one creature for the health of another simply wasn’t in his code. He had no fear of human disease, being one of the dragon kind and a healer as well, but those born human, it seemed to him, were quite fragile. No, he would have to take her on the floor, against the wall, or in the chair. Yes, the chair held interesting possibilities.
“What’s wrong, milord?” the wench asked. Well-trained in the arts of exciting a man, she loosed the ties on her blouson and opened it slowly. “Do I not please you?”
If only you could, Nioral thought, but responded in kind. “Nay, lovely creature, it is I who have come to please you.”
The wench raised one eyebrow and closed her top. The suspicion etched in her expression confirmed her wariness. Nioral sometimes wondered if he’d ever grow accustomed to such distrust. He doubted it. In a kingdom where one life depended upon being able to trust the rest of the brood, the lack of trust that characterized and led to the detriment of the human condition would have no place.
“You’re not a strange one, are you? Wanting to smack me and such?” she asked, her tone cautious. “We’ve other girls here for that.”
Nioral just shook his head and nodded toward the chair, which appeared practically pristine compared to the shabby bedding. He removed his clothes, noting the blonde’s gaze stayed on his cock as he strode to the wooden seat. He smiled. He’d heard compliments about his length from many of the women he’d bedded. Usually, he’d laugh it off. All dragons knew the length of the cock only need be long enough to reach his mate; the pleasure came from how he used it. Sometimes Nioral truly felt sorry for humans and their archaic notions about primal needs.
Hanging his clothes across the back of the chair, he settled himself comfortably and motioned for the blonde to come to him. She hesitated, but ventured forth. He lifted her skirts, running
his hands up and down her thighs, front and back. He cupped her mound and found it pleasingly damp, probably from the idea she might actually get pleasure from her customer. One thing he’d noted in all his encounters was that these women had needs too, and bringing them pleasure ensured the highest quality product. The higher the quality, the more potent his medicines.
Nioral pulled the wench toward him, settling her on his lap, her skirts up and his hand nestled between her thighs. She remained stiff and wary, but Nioral gently moved the tip of his finger against her mons. The wench moved a little and wrapped her arms around his neck for support, inviting his fingers lower. He slid one finger against her clit, already hard, and a small sound escaped her. He moved his hand lower until he touched her opening, and, breathing more heavily, she opened her legs to accept his exploration.
He dipped one finger inside her and stroked in and out, putting pressure against her clit as he moved. At this point, he mentally willed his cock to inflate, and when it poked her, a nice burst of wetness rewarded him, coating his fingers to ease the way for his hardness.
He kept fingering the wench, sliding in another finger and using his thumb on her clit until she threw her head back and moaned. Lifting her up, he spread her legs to straddle him, and placed the head of his cock at her wet opening. He gently eased the blonde onto his hard shaft, letting her adjust to his girth as she slid onto him.
Clinging to his neck, the blonde took over for him from there. She positioned herself so that her clit rubbed against his cock and moved up and down on him. Slowly at first, then faster and faster and faster. Nioral watched her expression change as she neared her release. How beautiful human women could be when they sought the joys of mating. Did human men ever get to see this?
Her eyes closed, the effort to please herself showed in her concentrated expression and suddenly changed to pure bliss when she found her release. This one laughed when she came, and Nioral laughed too. He’d heard quite enough screaming and yelling today, although he knew he’d hear more. Right now, he enjoyed the blonde’s guffaws and giggles.
When her orgasm finally ebbed, she laid her head against his shoulder, and, as he knew she would once her breathing returned to normal, dozed off. He reached beside him for a cloth from his medicine sack and took his prize. There was plenty of evidence on his cock she had enjoyed her ride and he gathered all of it, careful to not disturb her. Once he had safely tucked the cloth away, he remained there, letting the wench sleep in his lap for many minutes until she awoke, thanked him, and they parted ways.
Nioral set out again for another brothel and his last stop for the day before heading into the forest. That is, if they had the type of woman he needed. Hair color determined the type of moisture he’d collect, and he needed some from a black-hair to concoct a medicine for deeproot cough. The season for it was almost upon them, and it could cause terrible problems, especially for the younger dragons.
It took him a long time to get to his next destination, but it was worth it. After entering and offering coin, it took him only minutes to find a black-haired wench. In a small room with only a bed, albeit at least a clean one, they disrobed and he unceremoniously planted himself between her thighs, rubbing the head of his cock at her opening. She turned her head and winced, biting her lip to keep from crying out, but, ever the professional, remained open to him.
Aah, too dry.
Nioral knew what to do. He pulled the black-hair to the end of the bed and secured her thighs around his shoulders.
“Wh-what are you doing?” the wench gasped, her eyes filled with fear.
“Making you wet,” Nioral responded simply, as was his way, and placed his tongue against her pink folds. Her fear turned to surprise, and her surprise to curiosity.
Nioral’d learned long ago that licking the pussy of the human female often produced copious amounts of fluid, enough that he might be able to continue with his task. If this failed to lubricate her, he feared he’d have to give up and look for another, which might embarrass the wench. He would rather embarrass her than hurt her, though. Such was not his way. He was a healer, not a brute.
At first the wench, dark eyes wide, watched him as he worked between her thighs using his tongue to stroke her clit. As her nub hardened, she threw her head back and finally fell back on the tiny bed, breathing hard. Nioral took his cue and slid his tongue into her, letting it glide up and down between her lips.
The black-hair squirmed and moaned as she moved against him, lifting her pussy and wiggling against his face. She pulled at his hair as he feasted on her, licking her hard before entering her and tasting her woman’s sweetness. At least he could enjoy the flavor of the hot, salty liquid, even if it didn’t excite him.
In seconds, the wench’s pussy blessed Nioral with the reward he sought -- her fragrant, warm moisture. It thickened around his tongue, and he considered finishing her this way. By her movements and sounds of encouragement, she enjoyed his attentions very much and probably wouldn’t mind climaxing against his face.
However, it had been his experience human females liked the feel of his silky skin inside them and the hard flesh of his cock penetrating them as they came. The combination of friction and the feeling of being full gave most of them the greatest pleasure, at least as far as he’d observed.
After one last nibble on her clit, Nioral slid up her body and entered her fully, gliding into her slickness with ease. The black-hair grinned at him, wrapping her legs around his waist and locking her ankles. This drove him deeper, and she groaned. Her eyes closed again and she seemed to focus on her own pleasure, fondling her left nipple with one hand while she sucked her index finger of the other. Nioral watched her with great interest as he sped his thrusts up in time with the rocking of her hips, wondering how it would feel to have someone pleasure him this way.
He didn’t have time to ponder it, though. The black-hair’s release, or rather her loud yell because of it, interrupted his thoughts. He brought her to completion, thrusting more slowly until she sighed and unhooked her ankles, letting her quivering legs fall to the bed. Nioral joined her there, placing his arm behind his head and crossing his feet at the ankles.
“Thank you,” the black-hair said in a drowsy voice, turning her back to him and snuggling into the scratchy pillow. Soon she fell into a deep slumber.
“You’re welcome,” he answered, and solemnly reached for a new cloth.
Chapter Two
The solace of the forest never failed to ease Nioral’s troubled thoughts, and today he needed the forest’s respite. It had been a busy morning, but that didn’t bother him. It was just a part of his job. No, today, though he seldom heard them, the voices of his long dead ancestors sang in his ears, chanting songs of long ago conquests and tragedy, of lives lost and loves found, as he trudged through the forest.
Mayhap he sensed some great change in the forest, a birth or death coming to one of its denizens. Sensing change was a gift of the healer kind, though sometimes the gift did little good. Nioral learned that terrible lesson long ago: while he could foretell change, he could do nothing to stop it. Good or bad, he could do little else but watch it shape the lives of those around him.
Such a change he had predicted for his commanding officer, Reiz, when they set off to find Reval, Reiz’s younger brother and second in line to the throne of the Kilsh Brood. Not only did they restore Reval to his family, but Reiz found his bonding mate in the lovely Sahwen, now his queen. More than likely, their bonding ceremony and the coming birth of their first offspring had his humors out of balance.
While he loved them both dearly and would die for either, his being ached at the constant knowledge he represented the last of the Lynial Brood, the rest of whom disappeared when the earth shook, the mountains spewed fire, and the rivers overflowed during the Great Change.
Ah, the Great Change. How odd he could predict only tragedy for himself, yet joy for others, he mused, picking a bright red blossom from its place at the base of the willan bush.
Willan blossoms cured dragon’s talon ache and enhanced scale thickness and rigidity if crushed and properly worked into a paste.
A purple petal caught his eye next. Well -- the beautiful snapflower. Good for aiding digestion and soothing heat rash around the nostrils. Quite a find! He dug it out with his teeth, careful to not damage the roots. He could never get enough snapflowers to keep up with the demand.
Finally, too tired to hear even the voices of his ancestors chanting in his ears anymore, Nioral ambled to his favorite gypsilius tree and plopped down. He rolled over on his side, curling his tail between his immense thighs and situating his scales just so. His legs comfortably adjusted, he set his head on his front legs and let his mind drift far, far away.
Unfortunately, his mind didn’t drift quite far enough. Images of his brood kin flashed through his mind. Glittering brown scales like his own carried aloft by massive wings filled his dreams. Red fire, orange fire, yellow fire. Blue flames. Nioral craved the warmth of his family. They appeared quite happy in his dream, but they all bellowed at him. He couldn’t understand their sounds, though they grew louder and louder. And louder.
And louder.
Nioral woke with a jolt and a snort. The noise in his dreams now interrupted his waking as well. Someone yelling, human words as much as he could make out, shook the leaves above him. One drifted down, floating past his snout, and he watched it mix with the underbrush on the forest floor, which, to his surprise, moved. Nioral blinked, unsure if his drowsiness caused an illusion or if the floor of the forest had just come alive. Fascinating.
“Get it! Those eyes alone will make us rich!”
“The silver skin will make us kings!”
Yes, Nioral thought, definitely humans. From the spiritual etchings in the vocal emanations and their harsh words, he determined they were greedy young ones at that. Nioral harrumphed. He wondered if they realized waking a sleeping dragon couldn’t possibly be in their best interests. He doubted it. They would soon figure it out, though, when they crashed through the trees into the clearing in just about ten seconds.