Content Warnings: BDSM ❤ Pet Play ❤ Maledom ❤ Femsub ❤ Master/Servant ❤ Size Difference ❤ Prior Sex Work Implied ❤ Sex Work Roleplay ❤ Sex in Public ❤ Petticoats ❤ Praise ❤ Narratophilia ❤ Frottage ❤ Irrumatio ❤ Facefucking ❤ Submissive-as-Fucktoy ❤ Penis-in-Vagina Sex ❤ Unprotected Sex ❤ Swallowing ❤ Big Scary Monster Man/Small Cute Monster Girl
Penelope could—and sometimes would—spend hours shopping for things she didn’t need. The biggest trouble was in the artisan’s district, shops that sold the supplies necessary to make all manner of wondrous things.
She was not an artisan, nor clever with her hands. She could not sketch tolerably, or paint, or do anything impressive with thread or yarn. But she liked to imagine being the sort of person who could, and so she would admire skeins of yarn and jars of paint and pencils made of exotic materials of all kinds. She looked at all the hand-carved knitting needles, and the supplies to hand-carve knitting needles, and books on how to turn a hunk of wood into something with a passing resemblance to waterfowl.
If she asked, she could have all of it. She could buy so many things that the various artisan guilds would demand to know if she was running some kind of unlicensed operation, and she’d have a whole room just for all the pretty things she never used.
She had rules about this kind of thing, and so she only ever bought what she was able using her own money. It was important to have boundaries.
There was a camera shop in the more upscale half of town, which she still marveled at being allowed to visit. She was an Attendant, and that made her fancy—possibly even the fanciest. She still felt like an imposter, looking at all the lenses and plates and rolls of film and jars of chemicals.
She’d worn a knee-length long-sleeved blue day dress with black trim to match her collar. The neckline was distant from the collar to emphasize its existence, since it was what marked her as fancy, as someone who could belong in a shop like this. Her black leather boots laced up to her knees, leaving only a slender strip of her dark stockings visible beneath black petticoats, and she’d kept her hair in loose ringlets.
The shop was run by a Dwarf that Penelope assumed was a woman, although she’d never asked. She wasn’t the chatty type. She seemed a little judgey, in fact, and so Penelope had no desire to give the woman a reason to open her mouth. Quietly accepting her coin would work just fine.
Stepping outside with her new purchases, Penelope squeaked in alarm as she was unceremoniously lifted off the ground, large fingers wrapped around her arms.
"What do we have here?" asked a familiar voice, familiar enough that she only squirmed instead of making a genuine attempt to kick someone in the face. "Someone has left their Attendant unattended!"
"Sir," she protested, unable to help struggling at least a little despite the fact that the Drake in question was well within his rights to handle her as he pleased.
"Hm." He nuzzled at her hair, carrying her into a secluded side street before setting her back down. He swatted at her ass, and she squeaked again, stepping out of range of his hands and turning around to face him. He’d had to bend to do it, being almost twice her height. "Have you been having fun?" he asked. His scales looked black in the shadows of the surrounding buildings, a vibrant purple in stripes of sunlight. Light glinted off the gold rings decorating his horns, an otherwise unrelieved black.
She gripped her paper bag tighter. "Yes, sir."
"You are done, aren’t you?" he asked. There was a touch of anxiety in the question. "I can leave you alone if you’re not done."
She hesitated to reach toward him, but he laced his fingers with hers automatically, cluttered with rings. "I was done," she assured him, and his relief was palpable. He was always careful not to encroach on her free time or personal space. Still, he preferred to minimize the amount of time she spent out of his sight.
It was his nature. He liked things that operated along clearly-defined guidelines and on timetables. It took work to compromise with her need for a certain amount of freedom, and his conviction that the instant she left his sight she would become horribly injured in some way.
"You got everything you wanted?" he asked.
"Not everything," she admitted, looking into her bag. "I got the things I was planning to get, anyway, and they had a little tintype camera that I decided to buy—I know I don’t need it, but I couldn’t help myself—but they have a new lens that I think I’m going to save up for, for next time."
"I could buy it for you," he suggested.
"No," she said firmly. "I can pay for my own hobbies."
He made a trilling little sound, cocking his head to the side in a manner distinctly bird-like. He would be offended if he knew she thought that. Dragon-like, he would say, and birds too for that matter. Then he smiled, or half-smiled, the corner of his mouth turning upward with a small flash of sharp teeth. His lips could always send goosebumps up her spine.
"Are you new?" he asked, teasing, and the question made her breath catch. A familiar question to any Kobold striking out on their own, not as much a question as an offer. Young Drakes in dark alleys offering no permanent positions but many uncomfortable ones, enough gold for a good time but not enough for an Attendant of their own. Kobolds of low breeding and reckless dispositions, not good enough for the Attendant’s Guild but good enough for a good time.
Slowly, she set her bag down.
The way he rolled a heavy gold coin over his knuckles suggested he knew too well how this game was played; the way she opened her mouth without prompting revealed that she’d been taught. If he hadn’t known before that she’d been that sort of woman—but then, of course he knew.
Her face still felt hot as he set the coin in her mouth, biting down just hard enough on the unpleasant taste of metal.
It had never even occurred to her that he’d ever been that sort of man, but she supposed she should have known.
The game was that a dropped coin was forfeit, regardless of how hard she worked to earn it before it fell; the game was not to bite down hard enough to ruin the stamp; the game was not to swallow it unless she desperately wanted her mouth free, and that would be desperate indeed.
"I’ll be very gentle," he assured her as his claws caught in her hair, pressed her cheek against his trousers and the heat of his cock. His tone was a syrupy sort of sweet, familiar in its mocking tone. That was also part of the game—that she was fortunate to have met someone so kind, that this was practically charity compared to what others might do with someone unfamiliar with the ways of the world.
Maybe there really were Drakes out there torturing new adventurers, but she’d never met one that didn’t enjoy pretending to be magnanimous instead.
The points of his claws pressed against the back of her neck, heat and weight nearly pinning her to the bricks as she felt his cock getting harder against her face. She whimpered, a low flutter in her stomach of excitement and uncertainty and something like fear.
"You’ve been spoiled, haven’t you?" he asked, as if he hadn’t been the one doing the spoiling. He unbuttoned his trousers to pull his cock free of it, delicate scales lining hard ridges along the length. "You’re much too soft," he said, a running theme that her lack of scales made her seem delicate to him. He rubbed the underside of his cock against her face, and she made a muffled sound, trying to move away to keep from opening her mouth out of habit. "Don’t be shy," he said, as if he did not know the problem. "What’s wrong?"
She huffed. Of course he’d be one of those, trying to trick her into dropping her coin.
"Open your mouth," he said, and she shook her head with another huff. "I mean it—hold the coin between your cheek and your teeth. It’ll keep."
This was new to her. An order was an order, even setting aside the game they were playing, and so she cautiously used her tongue to push the coin into her cheek. It stretched her mouth out and made her feel ridiculous, but it was enough that she could open her mouth a little.
"There," he said, satisfied, forcing the head of his cock between her lips and turning a little into a lot. She made another muffled sound, pressing her palms against the velvet on his thighs. "What a useful trick I’ve taught you." She had to stretch her jaw to accommodate him at the best of times, and the coin did not improve matters. Her canines grazed his scales, and she worried that her mouth was too wide, that the coin would pop out through her teeth and his cock would force it down her throat.
He angled his hips and thrust into her mouth a little, and she could feel the ridges of his cock sliding against the ridges of the coin’s face. Her muffled sound was one of surprise. "There’s a good girl," he said, rubbing at her ears so that she’d groan. The head of his cock pressed against her throat as he thrust into her mouth, massaging at her ears.
He had a great deal of experience by now in fucking her face. He knew exactly how to pet her ears to make her go just slack enough, exactly how to time his thrusts to introduce resistance. The coin was a new element, but he seemed well-versed in that, too. She was just a mouth for him to use, a toy that allowed him the novelty of stroking himself with gold. Even the payment became something for his own pleasure.
Of course he’d find a way to make this game even more decadently self-indulgent.
He slid out of her mouth before he’d finished, rubbing saliva and pre-cum against the skin of her cheek. Then he picked her up all at once, an arm around her waist and a hand beneath her knee. Her sound of surprise was muffled, moving the coin back onto her tongue where she could hold it more comfortably.
"You don’t mind me getting my money’s worth, do you?" he asked, as if she could protest without risking her pay. This was still more intimate than she was used to, for nothing more than the fact that she’d put her hands on him to steady herself. Her palms were on his biceps and he wasn’t objecting, she could see the black of his eyes looking her over and it made her shiver.
"What a pretty girl you are," he sighed, his cock pressed to her thigh. Her panties were moved to the side so he could push inside her, and she groaned, pressing the coin against the roof of her mouth. "Careful not to bite," he reminded her, all sing-song sweet as he stretched her open. She whimpered and squirmed, trying to find an angle more comfortable as if such a thing existed. Her nails dug into the velvet on his arms, hard muscle and thick scales beneath.
He kissed her, a sudden and brief press of his lips to hers, and she squeaked in surprise and alarm.
"Sorry," he muttered. "Couldn’t help it." He seemed so chagrined that she had to fight a giggle. His spine was an awkward curve to rub his cheek against hers, the ridge of his brow and the crook of his nose. The collar got in the way of her neck, and he nipped at the skin above.
She’d already been wet and willing, and gravity had impaled her on him, sliding over the ribbed shapes his scales made. He let her leg go, and she wrapped them around him as best she could. Her petticoats were all fluffy around their thighs.
"I think you’ve earned a treat," he said, more a threat than an offer, and her eyes widened. He pulled out another coin, rolled it over his knuckles.
Tentatively, she held out her hand. He pressed it firmly into the middle of her palm.
Couldn’t open her mouth. Couldn’t open her left hand. Her right hand gripped his arm tighter than ever, held up by nothing but her own legs and his hand on her back.
They were also still, technically, in public.
He really was just incapable of doing anything halfway.
Without warning he bit one of her ears, just hard enough to hurt. Her one free hand let him go to cover her mouth, desperate not to shriek, her whole body gone tense and her legs nearly crushing his hips. He grunted, thrusting deeper and his teeth not letting go; her other ear was flat against her hair.
He moved her back and let her go, pinning her to the wall by her neck instead. She let her mouth go to hold his wrist, her fist full of coin pressed uselessly against the bricks. She couldn’t see anything but the brocade of his coat and the folds of his cravat, and she groaned as he started to hammer her into the building.
He kissed her hair, rubbed gently at her ear to get her sighing and soft; then he thrust deep, tweaked at it to make her tense again as he pulled out. It was exhausting, getting played like an instrument; she’d given up on doing anything he didn’t make her. It was a struggle just to breathe, and all her clothes felt too small, like they were the only thing holding her together. Every thrust rocked through her, pounded in her veins.
Her back arched, her throat pressed against his hand. It felt like everything burst against the inside of her skin and behind her eyes. He came almost immediately after, filling her uncomfortably full as his cock spasmed.
When he finally let her go she nearly collapsed on the cobblestones. She stood unsteadily, and took the gold coin out of her mouth, setting it in her hand with the other. She scraped at her tongue with her teeth.
Gold was not one of her favorite flavors.
"Oh!" She was surprised when his hand tangled in her hair, pulled her forward without warning to press his cock against her face again. She didn’t need to be told to start licking it clean, coated as it was in their mingling arousal. It was the same heat rolling down her thighs, staining her stockings.
"There’s a good girl," he said, patting her hair when she’d cleaned him to his satisfaction, tucking it back into his trousers.
She was a mess all over, petticoats soaked; her whole face felt sticky, which made it hard to tell if there was any obvious semen on her.
There probably was, and she wasn’t thrilled about it.
"Will that be enough?" he asked.
"For your thing."
She looked at the two gold pieces in her hand. Once upon a time it would have been enough to keep her going for months. "… no."
"It’s not?" He was genuinely shocked. "Are you close?"
"Close-er," she said, trying to be gentle about it.
"How expensive is this thing?"
"Lenses are much more expensive than cameras," she said defensively, retrieving her paper bag and clutching it close to her chest. "I’ll be able to afford it in a few months."
"A few months?" he repeated, doing mental math on how much he paid her. "That’s—I’m just going to buy it."
"No!" She wrapped her arms around his tail and dug her heels in, bringing him to a stop. "Your schedule is delayed enough, Sir," she said, pulling him in the opposite direction.
"The only thing I’m going to be late for," he protested, "is dinner with Daniel, and I don’t even like him." He was stepping backward anyway, because the alternative was that his boots would drag along the ground, wearing out the soles.
She let him go all at once, clutched her bag tight again and lifted her nose in the air. "Then I’ll just go greet him without you, Sir," she said, leaving the alley to head back toward the house with only a small amount of concern regarding the hypothetical semen on her face.
"What? Nononono, don’t do that, get back—don’t run, why would you—Penny! Penny you get back here this—"