THE GRYPHON’S CAPTIVITY 2

Curran usually liked to linger and touch after sex, but the sudden opening of the wagon door, the snap of a wintry chill in the refreshed air, and the disapproving stares of a fellow elf and two humans prompted him to disengage from his partner with less gentleness than he preferred. The gryphon underneath him gasped in pain at the sudden withdrawal, but Curran was too busy snatching his robe out of the straw and yanking it back on to apologize.

While the elf fumbled with his now-rather-sticky garment, Quess blinked at the slave broker and his two assistants, as though looking at them from a much greater distance than half the length of the wagon. He realized that he seemed to have missed part of a conversation.

"...the buyer we’re here," the slave broker was saying. He regarded the pair of slaves with distaste. "Unload them and do what you can, but don't take too much time: he’ll want to see them as soon as possible, whatever condition they're in." The elf turned on his heel and walked away, leaving his employees behind. The humans shrugged and worked for a few moments in silence, kicking soiled straw out of the wagon and organizing equipment.

"So who is this, uh, buyer?" the gryphon asked, as the woman placed metal shackles on his foretalons again and ran the neck chain between them."What are we going to be expected to do?"

"Quiet!" she snapped. "No talking. I'm not here to answer your questions," but as she spoke, Quess's keen ears just barely picked up what her cohort mumbled under his breath. It sounded like "probably some more of what you just did." Quess subsided into silence as his talons were hobbled, and his free wing was once again bound. He had enough slack in his chains to walk, provided he did so slowly and with care, but bringing either his fore or rear claws to bear on his handlers was quite out of the question, and the heavy collar already limited the angles at which he could use his beak. The slave handlers had him firmly under control: he couldn't help but be impressed at how efficiently the humans had checked his formidable weapons. 

Curran was brought out first, after being scrubbed roughly with a fistful of straw, a procedure that poked and abraded him without doing much to make him less sticky. Leaning against the side of the wagon, he shielded his eyes against the sunlight, trying to get a feel for where he was. "A long way from anywhere" was the inevitable conclusion. The countryside was both hilly and rocky, strewn with tumbled boulders and carved with strange crevasses. It was amazing that there was even a road in this desolate place. The wind was biting and constant, and had twisted the sparse and stunted trees into peculiar shapes. Aside from the wagon track, there was no sign of habitation: no fences, no fields, no flocks of grazing animals anywhere in sight. Shivering from more than the wind, Curran wondered who or what would even need slaves this far from anything resembling civilization.

After unloading the gryphon, a multi-stage process, they merely hooked Curran's collar to the gryphon's with a short strap, almost as an afterthought. They didn't even bind his hands. Clearly the shivering elf wasn't accounted much of a threat. Quess wondered a bit at that; he had felt Curran's wiry strength, which suggested a lifestyle more active than arranging flowers and writing torrid elvish poetry. But now they were being prodded forward -- one handler leading them by Quess’s collar, the other with a crossbow, walking behind.

A narrow path off the grassy wagon track led them down along a dry creek bed, which turned into a ravine. Hidden in the folds of the land was recessed walkway leading to a stone door. Uneasily, Curran wondered what else was concealed in this puzzle landscape. The door opened silently to some unseen cue, and the slaves were marched through it, into a simple stone passageway with a smooth and even floor.

As the door closed behind them and their eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, Curran became aware of a scent on the air: heavy, sour, slightly musky, with a faint tang like hot metal. The smell wasn't strong, but it was pervasive, and seemed to settle into hair and onto skin. He recognized it instantly, and tightened his grip on Quess's hackles. "Dragon," the elf whispered. Quess, whose eyesight was better than any creature's and whose hearing was almost as sharp as his eyes, could just about manage to smell burning feathers if you put his head in a sack and lit it on fire. He made a questioning sound. Curran leaned close to the gryphon’s ear and hissed, "It smells like dragon in here. I think we've been bought by a dragon." His gaze flickered wildly over the dim corridor. "Quess, we have to escape."

The gryphon had, of course, heard tales of the great dragons of the southwest, but never actually met one. Nor was he as conversant with the intricate legalities of the slave trade as Curran clearly was. "It's that bad?" he murmured, puzzled. 

The elf's grip on his mane clenched into painful tightness. "Dragons can legally kill and eat slaves here," he said, and this last was loud enough for the handler to hear. A sharp jerk on the chain made Curran stumble.

"Quietly," she said, "or you can be gagged as well as collared. And don't try anything stupid or my friend back there will have a bolt in both of your skulls before the first one of you to make a wrong move can look surprised."

Curran shuddered. Quess thrummed a reassurance, deep in his chest. Realistically, there was nothing he could do, trussed like a calf for branding. He rationalized: surely this was an awful lot of trouble and expense to go to for an exotic meal, so whatever their new owner had in mind, dragon or not, it wasn't that. He wanted to try to reassure Curran with this observation, but the slave handlers were listening, so he walked alongside the elf in silence, trying to radiate calm and courage.

The procession was brought to a halt near a fork in the corridor: the wider path led up to a sharp curve, and the other appeared to slope gently down. They stopped just before the curve in the wide fork, and waited. The gryphon shifted in his bonds -- the movement of air suggested a large open space ahead, and it took him a moment to become aware of a voice so deep that it was hard to register as a voice. Curran had to struggle to pick out the words. "...was not the order I placed," it was saying.

The slave broker interrupted smoothly. "I think that you will be pleased, nonetheless. They will more than suit the needs you outlined in your letter to my employers."

"We shall see," the deep voice conceded. "Please attend to my instructions, while I examine the paperwork. Will the usual payment arrangements suit you?"

"Very well, sir," the broker's voice said, in tones of repressed elation. After a pause ticked off by quick footsteps on a stone floor, the elf came around the corner, no longer bothering to suppress a broad smile. "He'll take them," he informed the handlers, "sight unseen."

The woman holding Quess's collar chain made a startled sound. "Really? He always..." but the broker cut her off with a sharp hand gesture, and addressed the two slaves.

"Your new master wishes you to be bathed and presentable before he sees you," the elf explained. "He asked me to explain the terms of your contract and secure your agreement on his behalf.

"If you accept the contract, you become the property of the Northern Red Dragon," the broker continued in the singsong tones of a memorized litany, "the fourth highest-ranking male dragon in this region. He sent to my brokerage house for body slaves, and his instructions were very specific. As his intimate personal retinue, you would be expected to attend to him as he requires, for companionship and sexual satisfaction.

"In addition, you will perform other intimate tasks for your master, such as massage, grooming and bathing, and adorning him when required to receive guests, and attending upon such gatherings. You may be asked to do some light maintenance, such as cleaning your own chambers. He will provide you with two meals a day and a private sleeping area, appropriate to your species." Curran started to make a protesting noise as though to interrupt, but a collar-jerk cut him off. The broker held up his hand and continued. "Your master, if he is displeased, may punish you, either by inflicting pain in a non-disabling and non-disfiguring way, or by confinement. He may not withhold food as punishment, and you cannot be punished for refusing a sexual encounter.

"If as a result of non-compliance or extreme misbehavior, your master the Red Dragon sees fit to terminate your contract, he may either sell you back to my brokerage for half the original price, or pay your full price again to purchase a license to have you humanely killed for his table or to hunt you in open country. This is his right as a dragon, as I'm sure you're aware. However, your contract is only for three months, from now until spring. If you serve him adequately until then, your contract will be fulfilled, and you will be free to go. If you refuse the contract, you will be taken back to the city, and re-sold.” The broker continued in a more normal tone: “This is a very good deal, as you should know.

"The dragon requires that you both agree; he has no use for only one of you. Since you are, as it were, a package, you may discuss acceptance or refusal with each other. But be quick, it's a long trip back to the city." He turned to his employees and began discussing details of the return trip with them, pointedly turning away from Quess and Curran -- although Quess didn't fail to notice that the human man kept his crossbow to hand.

Quess spoke first. "I say we do it," he said. "Three months, our own rooms and sex with a dragon? That’s not indenture, that’s practically a life goal."

Curran leaned in close, his head against the gryphon's. "He can have us killed and no one will care. We're out in the wilderness, and he's a dragon of rank. It doesn't matter what's in the contract, he can do anything to us. There's no one here to see."

Quess flicked his ears toward the humans and their employer, making sure they weren't listening, and said quietly, "No government overseers is an advantage, too. If we don't like it here, no one's coming after us if we escape. And he won't keep us yoked and chained when we're not working, either, like they do in the city work camps; body slaves only wear collars." The gryphon raised his voice. "Remember what you said in the wagon? Everything you never got the chance to do? 'Make love to a dragon' is definitely a once-in-a-lifetime experience." 

Curran gave his companion a serious look, unwilling to be distracted, but Quess was insistent. "Three months is nothing. It’s just a season with a dragon, and we can go back to our lives." The gryphon sighed. "Look, I don't know how you ended up in the slave pits, and it's none of my business, but I have a debt to pay off, and if I don't take this contract, I'll probably be stuck for five years pulling a plow somewhere. If you have better prospects, now's the time to say so. Where do you think they'll send you, if not here?"

To Quess's startlement, Curran went ashen, all color leaching from his already pale face. Even his hands turned white. "I... I hadn't really thought about it," he admitted shakily. The statement hung in the air. After a moment, he said, "You're right. I'll accept."

Quess flicked his ears up and parted his beak in a gryphon smile, rousing his mane as much as his heavy collar would allow. He caught the broker's attention. "Sir," he said, "we agree."

The elf nodded, a thin smile appearing on his sharp face before he wiped it off. "Both of you?" he asked. Curran nodded. Done speaking with the merchandise, the broker turned his attention back to his handlers and gestured. "You, come with me; you, take them to the baths and get them started. We're finished here." He and the woman turned back the way they had come, presumably to conclude the transaction.

Thrilled at the prospect of a bath, Quess followed the male handler willingly, accidentally jerking Curran after him. The elf, still lost in horrified contemplation of his other possible fates, stumbled, but caught his balance with belated elven grace. He put his hand on the gryphon's collar again. 

They went back to the fork and took the downward-sloping path. Fortunately, it didn't appear to be far to the baths -- Quess heard the distorted echo of water ahead. The light brightened as they went, which at first Curran took to be merely their eyes adjusting to the gloom, but it soon became apparent that the glow from the walls was actually increasing. It was almost to daylight levels by the time they reached a wooden door, set snugly in the stone. Their escort opened it. Beyond was a bright, round stone cavern with a deep pool of steaming water at its center. 

The slave handler stopped and waved them past. The gryphon peered through the billowing steam. "You're not coming in?" Curran said to the handler, as he and his companion were prodded through the doorway. "Aren't you even going to unchain us?"

"No," he replied. "This place freaks me out." With that, the door swung closed behind them, and the two slaves were alone in the bath. Quess shouldered the door, but it didn't budge.

Before Curran had time to worry about what "freaks me out" meant, there was a snap, and the collar around his neck broke in two and fell to the floor. He made a soft sound of alarm, and rubbed the raw spot under his chin. There was a clatter as Quess's heavier yoke fell to the ground. He roused out his mane with a squawk of surprise. "What's going on?" said the elf.

The invisible ministrations continued. The gryphon groaned in relief as his wing binding also split neatly down the middle, straps unbuckling apparently on their own. He shrugged out of his bonds and stretched both wings out with a happy sigh. "Oh, that's wonderful," he said, "I haven't had that off since I was arrested." With his wings fully extended, he suddenly felt a warm breeze from behind, a push of air that made him lurch forward. "Did you feel that?"

Curran had taken a step forward as well. "Must be a draft," he said, but the wind came again, stronger and more insistent, buffeting them from behind. 

Quess shipped his wings and started to walk. "I think it wants us to get in the water," he said.

"This is a little unsettling," said Curran, keeping a hand on Quess's hips as they went toward the pool. The elf closed his eyes for a moment, reaching with his non-physical senses for whatever magic was being wrought in the chamber. He could detect nothing, as the unnatural wind continued to play around him like a delighted kitten.

"If there's a hot bath involved, I'm not going to worry about the automatic dryer," said the gryphon, decisively, and Curran felt Quess's haunch tense under his hand. That was all the warning he got before Quess's full-bodied plunge into the pool sent a tremendous sheet of scented water back over him, drenching his robe and plastering down his hair. Curran wiped water out of his eyes, swearing, as the gryphon splashed joyfully. The water was about chest-deep where Quess was standing, and the gryphon crouched to dip his forequarters, then shook his wings from the shoulders, shattering the water into droplets and throwing them into the air: a comically up-scaled version of a sparrow bathing in a municipal fountain. "The water's fine!" he crowed, mane streaming, the feathers on his face and shoulders sticking together in clumps.

Curran pulled his damp robe over his head and stared at the water. "Something strange going on here," he said. “It doesn’t feel like an enchantment; it’s something else.”

"It doesn't seem dangerous," Quess pointed out, from the pool. "And it set us free. I don’t feel anything now, anyway," he added, as Curran spotted some clay jars of various sizes arrayed on a plain shelf along one wall.

The elf turned away to examine the contents of the jars, and another tremendous splash and a sluice of water sheeted over him and most of the room. He whirled around to see Quess erupt out of the center of the pool, ears pasted flat to his skull. Curran couldn't help laughing. With his fur slicked down to reveal the exact contours of his bulbous head, giant beak, and spindly neck, Quess was anything but regal. However, as the gryphon ascended the scalloped steps leading out of the pool, Curran noticed that his slicked fur revealed the musculature of his tail base and hindquarters in a most flattering way, and brought out the faint pattern of rosettes on his thighs and heavy scrotum.

The gryphon appeared to realize he was being ogled. He reclined at the pool’s edge, curving his dripping wing along his flank and stretching one hindleg languorously back to reveal his sheath. "Come on in," he invited, "I'll wash your back."

Curran smiled. "I don't know if we should," he said.

"This bath? All to ourselves?" The gryphon purred a deep chuckle. "No one said 'don't have sex in the bath', which is as good as permission in my book. And if one of those jars doesn't contain massage oil or something, I'll be very surprised." 

"All right, let me wash my hair first," Curran laughed. He gathered a few likely-looking jars, brought them to the pool's edge, near the steps, and set them down. Stripping off his robe, he dipped a foot into the water. And immediately yanked it back, hissing. It was warmer than he expected -- not quite hot, but warm enough that he wanted to ease in gently. It probably DID feel cool to the gryphon, he reflected. He took a few deep breaths, and lowered himself carefully in. The water had no sulfur or acid smell, and when he experimentally ducked his head under, his eyes didn't sting. He wondered how the pool was heated.

He swam over to Quess, and opened a jar of what seemed to be soap, although it was disturbingly soft, like butter, and not the hard-caked round lumps he was used to. He began working it through his long hair, grateful for the opportunity to finally be clean after what seemed like weeks. "You're beautiful," Quess said from behind him, suddenly.

"What?" he said, pausing in rinsing the soap out of his hair.

"Beautiful," the gryphon repeated, "The way you look when you're wet, with the water streaming over your skin. One would almost think you furless people were meant to be aquatic."

Curran felt a warm flush that seemed to start in the pit of his stomach. "Thank you," he said. Wringing his hair out, he grabbed another of the jars he'd brought, and waded over to the gryphon. "You, on the other hand, are entirely wretched-looking." He combed the fingers of his free hand through the gryphon's damp mane, eliciting a rumble of deep pleasure. "Now get out of the water," he said, "because this" -- he held up the jar -- "appears to be oil."

Quess obligingly rose to his feet, following Curran to the far door. "What did you have in mind?" he asked. 

"On your back, like you were before," Curran said. He blushed again. "I want to see if we can do it the other way around." 

Quess's eyes pinned, and he started to pant, dripping wet though he was. "Yesssss," he hissed. He felt his sheath becoming heavy as he stretched out and rolled onto his back on the clean stone floor. "Are you sure?" he asked throatily. "Most elves..."

Curran chuckled. "Consider it unmanly, I know," he said.

The gryphon wriggled, shrugging his wings into a more comfortable position. "I was going to say 'aren't built to be receptive to a gryphon,'" he corrected gently. "But I certainly won't stop you from trying," he added.

The elf smiled. "Good," he said. He knelt, as before, between the gryphon's thighs. The pointed, blood-flushed tip of his partner's cock was already visible, poking out from the furred sheath. After opening the jar of oil and lubricating his fingertips, Curran discovered that he was easily able to slide a finger into the sheath opening, and stroke the gryphon's penis that way. He ran his finger around the inside of the sheath, rapidly encircling the swelling head. Quess writhed and gasped, bucking his hips. "Too much?" Curran asked.

"No," the gryphon panted. The elf smiled, and did it again. There was an answering throb under his fingertips, and more of Quess's cock slid out of the sheath, leaving no room for fingers alongside its burgeoning girth. Oiling the palm of his hand, Curran began a slow version of the stroke that had been so effective at their last encounter, working the sensitive shaft and encircling the pointed head in long, easy, gliding fingertip movements. When he estimated he had the gryphon fully erect, he gently pulled the skin of the furred sheath down to the base, like pushing up a sleeve. Trapped in place by the slight contour of the gryphon's shaft, it stayed put.

Quess kept his forelegs clasped to his chest, obediently letting the elf take control. Shuddering as the full length of his penis was exposed, he closed his eyes and felt the elf straddle him. There was a slick sound of skin on skin, and Quess knew Curran was anointing himself. He tried not to whine in anticipation, but couldn't keep from quivering. A cool, oily hand lubricated the length of his shaft and gripped it tightly, and he opened his eyes.

Curran, his brow creased in concentration, placed a hand on Quess's chest for balance, and was carefully lowering himself onto the gryphon's cock. He shifted back and forth for a moment, trying to find a good angle, and Quess felt the tip of his cock press against the elf's asshole. There was a long, timeless moment of careful breathing, as the gryphon's thick, pointed erection sank into the elf's anus and eased past tight clench of banded muscle. Quess gasped at the exquisite barrage of sensation, and had to struggle not to thrust against his fragile partner. Curran had engulfed almost a third of the gryphon's shaft before he stopped, taking a sobbing breath. He held the position just a second longer before leaning forward and letting the gryphon's cock slip from him. The gryphon flicked his ears forward, questioning.

 Curran straightened his legs. "Can't do it," he panted. "I think... you're not too big, but the angle's wrong." He stepped back, and Quess could see that the elf's cock was erect, bobbing with every heartbeat.

"It's all right," the gryphon said. "Would you like to try another position, or... something else?" 

Curran smiled. "Did you have something in mind?" 

Quess rolled onto his chest, lightly shook water from his wings, and stood foursquare facing away from Curran. Looking over his shoulder, he flicked his tail to one side, exposing the tender dark skin beneath.

"You wanton thing," the elf laughed. "Again? Very well, I will oblige." He ran his still-oily hand over his own cock, and got into position behind Quess, gripping the base of the gryphon's tail. Quess lowered his hindquarters slightly, and thrust backwards as soon as he felt Curran's cock against him, engulfing him totally. The elf gasped in pleasure at the gryphon's wringing warmth, and gently pulled back for a slow thrust.

"Oh, yes. Hard," Quess growled. "Remember you won't break me." Curran leaned forward and began pounding the gryphon's ass with what would have been bruising force on a fellow elf. Quess seemed to register this assault as pure pleasure, moving his hips urgently and making soft chirruping sounds in his throat. The elf felt a climax building almost instantly, and stroked the fur of his partner's hips to center himself. The gryphon growled again, a deep reverberation that Curran could easily feel as well as hear, and swung his head around to fix the elf with one gleaming eye.  "Harrrrder, do it harrrrd."  

"I won't last," Curran gasped. Quess merely growled again, a sharp fierce sound that seemed to squeeze the base of Curran's spine. The elf's rhythm faltered, and he stared into Quess's rapidly pinning eye. Curran gasped a breath and held it, and the gryphon felt the slippery rush of Curran's climax, as the elf’s cock twitched inside him. Quess rumbled again, a much gentler sound, and raised his hips, allowing the spent elf to collapse over his back. "Oh," Curran sighed, a smile playing with the corner of his lips, "I am embarrassed. I promise I will last longer next time," he said.

Quess chuckled. "'Next time?'"

"Of course. We're stuck with each other for a whole season, aren't we? Plenty of time to get really good at this. Now I'd better clean up again," the elf added, turning back to the pool, where the water seemed to ripple invitingly in response.

--------------------

In the audience chamber, the slave broker turned to his patron. "You see? They're perfect."

The dragon stared into the scrying bowl, lips pulling away from sharp teeth in a smile. "It would appear that you have, as usual, provided what I desired, if not what I asked for. You may find that the payment loaded onto your wagon includes a generous personal tip. Have a safe journey."