THE GRYPHON'S CAPTIVITY 3

When Curran emerged from the bathing pool a second time, he was unable to locate his robe. His bare feet slapping lightly on the stone, he walked over to where Quess reclined by the pool's edge. "Did you see where my robe went? I meant to wash it before I put it back on." 

The gryphon, nearly dry, shook his head. "I was a little distracted," he admitted, with a sly flick of his tail. 

Curran smiled. "Me, too. It's unfortunate about the robe, though; it's probably too cold out there to go naked. I hope someone brings clothes."

"I'll happily keep you warm," the gryphon offered immediately.

Curran reached out to stroke the huge curved beak, and Quess lidded his eyes in bliss. "No doubt," he said, working his fingers into the hollow under the gryphon's lower mandible, and scratching gently. "Are all your people this insatiable?"

Quess parted his beak in a gesture that the elf was coming to recognize as a grin. "No, most of us are worse. By gryphon standards, I'm very shy," he replied. "How about you? What are things like where you come from?"

Curran's hand stilled in mid-scratch. "I... don't really want to talk about it," he said after a moment. He laid his hand heavily on Quess's shoulder, and the gryphon made a soft chirruping sound. 

Curran looked into the other's nearest round orange eye. "How can you stand it?" the elf said. "A week ago, my life was so different... and then, so many things happened at once. I haven't been able to even think about it... and here we are, sold to a dragon. It's so surreal. In the ancient stories of my people, the ones we all hear as children, the dragons are like god-kings, revered and feared." The elf laughed quietly, a sound without humor. "What's he going to do with us?" He stroked the gryphon's feathers to calm himself. "I'm sorry. This is the first moment of peace I've had since they came for me and told me I was a slave, and I wish I could enjoy it without thinking about..."

Quess trilled the soft brood-whistle that she-gryphons used to soothe their young. Curran settled into silence, the line of his mouth thin with worry. 

"I don't think we're in any danger for now," the gryphon said, quietly. "I admit I was pretty hung over when the whole thing was explained to me, but we can't be damaged, right? He has to return us, in three months, in the same condition he received us." Quess remembered, with a flicker of embarrassment, the detailed physical inspection of every part of his body he had received almost immediately after the brothel owner unlocked the basement and let the gendarmes in. There was a file somewhere describing the groove in his beak from a bad landing when he fledged, the talon he'd broken last year that was still growing back, the exact number of spots on his scrotum.... The gryphon snapped his attention back to Curran. "The dragon can't starve us or damage us, or kill us without getting an expensive permit, or there'll be an inquisition. We're safe, or at least as safe as we could possibly expect to be -- slaves who work in the quarries or orchards are in far more danger than we are here." Quess clacked his beak. "Look at us now! We're not chained to a wall, no one's yelling at us to move, and I just had the first proper bath I've gotten in weeks. Besides, however we end up spending our time, it's only for a season. I think we'll be all right."

Curran gave Quess a despairing look, although it was unclear whether it was directed at the situation, or his cohort's hopeless naivete. He was unable to clarify, because at that moment, the sealed door to the bath chamber eased open. The two slaves stared: no one stood in the passageway. The door had apparently opened by itself.

Curran quietly cleared his throat. "Is that an accident, or are we meant to go through it?" As though in reply, the door closed itself and opened again. "Unnerving," the elf said. 

"Clear enough, I suppose," the gryphon said. "Must be time to meet this dragon, eh?"

Quess was already moving toward the door. Curran hastened to follow, and almost ran into Quess's flank when the gryphon stopped abruptly in the corridor. A piece of fabric was sitting in the middle of the empty passageway, carelessly, as though it had been blown there by some errant wind. Curran stepped around Quess to pick it up. It draped neatly in his hands: a simple robe, smooth and finely-woven. It was a dusty grey-purple color, and not new, but infinitely superior to the garment he had been given at the auction house. Curran stared at it thoughtfully for a moment, then shrugged and slipped it on, tying the sash around his waist. Quess, of course, had no use for clothing, but he admired the way the sheer cloth and the tight cinch set off the elf's waist and shoulders. The elf took the lead, as they retraced their steps to the audience chamber.

The chamber itself was immense, and lit as brightly as day, although the light did not emanate from any particular source. The details of the space were rather lost on Quess and Curran, however, because the dragon was waiting for them.

Curran thought: Northern RED dragon? Quess thought: gods above and below, he's the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

He occupied a raised platform on the far side of the room. His sharply keeled scales were a dull rose-pink, paler on his throat and belly, with a thin line of crimson along the ridge that marked his spine, visible between the tips of his scooped, backswept wings. He was long and low-slung, with thickly muscled legs ending in heavy talons. His head was a blunt wedge, topped with short, curving horns, and fringed along the jaw. Neither Curran nor Quess had any idea how to judge the age of a dragon, but they both would have guessed that this one was not young. The scales at his throat and joints of his legs were ruched into baggy folds, and there were deep gaunt creases in the curves of his body and the hollows of his neck. However, his gleaming eyes were bright and arresting.

The coils of his body and tail made it hard to guess his size, but Quess had heard tales of dragons the size of whales, whose wings could shade elephants. By that standard, this one was not large. However, as the dragon watched his slaves approach, golden eyes glittering in his scale-encrusted head, he was more than imposing enough.

"Welcome, my slaves," came the bone-shaking voice of the dragon. Almost without thought, Quess extended one foreleg and fanned his wings, Curran following suit immediately with a graceful bow from the waist. They straightened warily in unison. The dragon's expression was impossible to read. "Do you know why you are here?" the great creature asked.

"To serve your pleasure, sir," Quess said, at the same time that Curran said "Yes, my lord."

The dragon rumbled, a sound which, while nothing at all like a laugh, at least seemed to contain no threat. "'Dragon' is honorific enough, my slaves, and I will call you 'gryphon' and 'elf' until your contract is fulfilled. Do you understand?"

Quess could easily hear Curran's heart hammering, but no sign of stress showed in the elf's face or posture. "Yes, Dragon," the elf replied promptly. 

The dragon's tongue flickered. "What do you know about dragons, little ones?"

Quess spoke first. "Very little, si-... Dragon. Some members of my clan traded far to the south, but only a few claimed to have seen dragons, and none have spoken to one of your kind as far as I know, sir. Dragon," the gryphon concluded, awkwardly. Curran only shook his head.

"It is understandable," the dragon said in his uncomfortably deep voice. "My people limit their dealings with outsiders, and we are rare in this country. We breed slowly and seldom. Female dragons come into readiness for mating perhaps once in a decade. One of the females on this continent will be in her season soon, and it will last until the end of winter. Every male within a thousand miles is aware of her, and she will try to fly with as many as she can, to increase the chances of a fertile egg." The dragon paused in his recitation of natural history, and Quess and Curran exchanged a quick baffled glance before the deep voice continued. "Dragons mate in the air. Successful mating cannot happen on the ground.  It is exhilarating, to plummet entwined, but dangerous. Many male dragons are crippled or die that way. The call to the mating ground is strong, but I choose different pleasures. 

"I have an arrangement with the slave brokerage that purchased your contract, to provide me with an alternative: my standing request is for two willing male gryphons, a configuration that I have enjoyed in the past. However, it seems gryphons have become more lawful of late. You, gryphon, were the only one of your kind to be seen at the slave market in some time, and my agent, rather than permit his company to fail to complete my order on time, offered a substitution."

The dragon uncoiled in a languorous serpentine motion. Standing on four legs, his shoulders were about level with Quess's eyes. Not counting the neck or tail, his body length no more than twice as long as the gryphon's. His huge, horned head swung toward Curran, to address the elf directly. "I would not normally accept one of your kind, but from what I have been told about you, I think it is a fair bargain we can offer each other. Is that correct, elf?"

"Yes, Dragon," Curran said tightly. 

The dragon drew himself up to his full height, his head towering over the elf. "I am glad we are in agreement." The reverberation of the dragon's voice made it hard to judge the tone; it could have been sarcastic or sincere, condescending or affirming.

Quess, trying not to fidget, caught a glimpse between the dragon's hind legs as the large creature leaned back onto his scaled haunches. He could see no external structures. Did they just have discreet holes, like birds? Could the dragon be hiding two cocks somewhere, like a naga? Unbidden, Quess felt his own very visible sheath growing heavy, and a twitch of his thigh to attempt to conceal his protruding cock-tip did nothing but call attention to his predicament.

The great reptilian head swung toward him. Nothing Quess had ever met in his life had made him feel so small and vulnerable. The large, round draconic eye gave him an appraising look. "Are you that eager to serve me, gryphon?"

Quess laid his ears back nervously, and decided to be honest. "Yes, s-... Dragon. I... It would be an honor." His own heartbeat was hammering in his ears now, and it was hard to think of anything except how much he wanted to explore the scaled creature's body.

The dragon rumbled again. "Indeed. Have patience, pet. There will be time enough. For now, I will show you to your quarters, and explain what freedoms you are permitted to enjoy, and what rules I require you to follow." Quess tried not to show his disappointment as the dragon turned away.

The dragon turned toward a wide archway, opposite the one they had entered. Quess and Curran obligingly fell into step behind him, on either side of his stiffly-carried tail. "First, the rules," the dragon said. "I will tolerate no attempts to escape. You have given your word to stay here and serve me, as I have given mine to care for and protect you, and permit no harm to befall you. If you break your word, consider mine also broken." Quess looked quickly at Curran, but the elf appeared to take the implicit threat in stride. The dragon went on. "That is most important. There are two more rules that I expect to be obeyed perfectly: one, come at once when you are summoned. Two, show respect. I hope that we will enjoy each other, but I am not your friend, I am your master, and a dragon of rank. You may ask questions when I give you leave to do so, you may speak out of turn if the need is urgent, but I expect deference from you, overall. Is that clear?" The dragon was moving more quickly now, and the passage was growing dimmer as it continued its shallow descent.

"Yes, Dragon," the slaves said in near-unison.

Their path suddenly widened abruptly. "My sleeping quarters," said the dragon, ducking through a rough split in the rock into what may have originally been a natural cavern, though the floor of the chamber was almost glass-smooth in places. Watching the dragon walk, and set his feet just so, the gryphon quickly realized that the dragon himself had worn this path in the rock over decades. Or centuries.

Despite the loose stones and dimness, this room was nevertheless more inviting than any other part of the dragon's lair the slaves had seen. In stark contrast to the audience chamber, this wide cavern looked thoroughly lived-in, though an array of cabinets saved it from being cluttered. There were musical instruments, carefully stored, and books on heavy shelves, and the far end was piled high with large mismatched cushions.  The dragon moved with surprising delicacy among the oversized furniture, and opened a small sideboard neatly with his heavy talons.

The dragon reached into the drawer and hooked two glittering chains on his claws. He turned. "Come here."

The slaves stepped forward. Quess had a moment of mild alarm at how easy and natural if felt to obey his new master. He shot a glance at Curran, but the elf was staring calmly ahead and would not meet his eyes. It was to Curran that the dragon spoke next, extending two simple necklaces draped over his claw. "Put these on," the dragon said. "One for each of you. I do not like my slaves to wear collars when not in attendance." Curran took the chains, fastening one around his own neck and looping one over Quess's, where it was immediately lost in his mane. "I ask that you wear them at all times, even when sleeping and bathing. They are wrought to chime when a certain bell is rung, and that chime will be your summons. Come and find me immediately when you hear it." 

Quess shifted uncertainly, and the dragon looked at him. Taking that as permission to speak, the gryphon asked, "Sir-... Dragon, how will we know where to find you?"

Curran made a shushing motion, but the dragon answered anyway. "Knowing where I am likely to be found at any time of the day is part of the service I expect from you. You will learn. I suggest you spend your free time exploring, until you understand the layout of my caverns. For now, the most important place for you to remember is through here." The dragon crossed the chamber and entered another passageway, and the elf and gryphon hurried to keep up. The passage forked almost immediately, with one path leading up and the other down. The dragon paused and indicated the downward path. "That way leads to my own bathing chambers. When next I summon you, I will await you there. Follow me." The dragon took the upward slope, which turned a corner and went past another chamber, this one fitted with a wooden door.

"Your personal quarters," the dragon said. "Elf, you will have to make do for now, but blankets and a proper mattress will be furnished to you no later than tomorrow. Food will be brought to you here, and if you continue down this passage, you'll reach the bathing chamber you used before, which is yours whenever you wish. I will leave you here for now. Make yourselves comfortable, or explore, as you will, but expect to be summoned soon."

There was a rustling of scales as the dragon turned back in a sinuous serpentine motion, leaving the slaves standing in the hallway. The huge, scaly pink tail disappeared around the corner, and Curran and Quess were alone. Curran released a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding as Quess nudged the door, and it opened silently inward. 

Unlike the bare stone of the rest of the dragon's lair, this room had been floored in wood and paneled in clay with a pattern of vines. It had two large raised sleeping alcoves built into the wall, and a politely screened archway containing a trough toilet. Quess had been half-expecting a dim, straw-padded stall, like the slave quarters in the city, but this was more like an inn room than a gaol. Someone had gone to some trouble to make the room comfortable on a gryphonic scale. The ceiling was built high enough that Quess could rear up to his full height and stretch his wings, something he had never been able to do in the inns on his journey south.

There were a few simple furnishings, including a low table and a chest containing some writing implements and a lamp. One of the sleeping alcoves had a thin rolled cushion, which the elf spread out and smoothed down. "This... is much nicer than I expected," Curran said, sitting down with a sigh. 

Quess crossed the room, talons ticking against the wood. "So what do you think of the dragon? Our master?" he asked, settling himself at Curran's feet like an immense hound.

Curran rubbed his temples wearily. "He's not really what I expected a dragon to be like. They're... you know they're almost sacred, to elves?" Quess nodded, thinking of all the dragon statues and friezes in the city, and the elf continued. "They control magics that we can't even perceive, and when they deal with elves, they only speak to the highest officials of our government. When they interact with us, it's all shrouded in ritual and mystery." The elf sighed. "Except for one thing. Their appetite."

Quess flicked his tail. "I don't believe we're in danger. All we have to do is please him," he said. "He's gone to some trouble to put us at ease. I think he just wants some companionship for a season." 

Curran gave Quess a heartrending look. "From you, perhaps. What could he want me for, other than a light meal? I don't want to die, and I really don't..." the elf's voice broke, "want to killed... by a dragon." A sob escaped Curran, and Quess immediately enfolded the elf in his wings, crooning his brood-whistle. 

"It won't happen," the gryphon promised. "I won't let it happen." He held the Curran in his feathered embrace for a long, tender moment, until the elf stopped shivering and relaxed in his grip. Quess thrummed deep in his chest, trying to think of something reassuring to say, something that would put the elf more at ease for the summons that was sure to come soon. "You know, I'm three times your size and you please me just fine," he said. "Don't underestimate the value of a small partner; you soft-skinned types are very clever with your hands."

Curran smiled weakly at the gryphon's predictable change of subject."That reminds me of something I meant to ask you earlier," he said. "Since I've met you, I've been wondering: how do gryphons pleasure themselves?" 

The gryphon gaped his beak in a wide grin. "How do we masturbate, you mean? Well, female gryphons use a lot of different methods, but it's easy for tiercels. I could show you," he offered. 

Curran scooted back into the padded alcove, leaning into the corner with his legs gracefully folded. He still felt a little shaky, but sex with Quess was a welcome distraction, and knowing what, exactly, a creature with sharp  talons and a flesh-tearing beak did to get himself off would only help with the dragon, he rationalized. "If you'd like to," he said, graciously.

"I would." The gryphon stepped onto the sleeping mat, curling his body into the space opposite Curran: an unconscious imitation of their wagon ride. Settling on his side, Quess lifted his hind leg, displaying himself to the elf. His furred sheath hung flat to his belly, his faintly-spotted testicles nestled in the hollow of his thigh. "Ready?" the gryphon asked, wickedly, and the elf nodded. 

To Curran's surprise, Quess kept his foretalons outstretched, and made no move toward himself with his beak. Instead, it was the sheath itself that moved, the retraction muscles tightening, pulling back to reveal the head of the gryphon's cock. It nestled, pale and flaccid, against the gryphon's creamy belly fur for a moment before Quess relaxed and let it slip back into its sheath. He tensed again, and the cocktip peeked out briefly before vanishing once more.

"You can do that voluntarily?" the elf asked, impressed.

"Mm-hmm," the gryphon affirmed, maintaining a slow rhythm of squeeze-and-relax. His penis was beginning to flush pinker with each emergence, swelling in its sheath, but the movement stayed measured and deliberate. The gryphon's inner eyelids fluttered as he spoke, and his voice took on a thrumming edge. "I can't get myself as hard as I can with a partner, and it takes longer, but it gets the job done." The gryphon let out a soft trill. "It's nice to go slowly sometimes." He continued to stroke himself, and Curran felt an answering pressure in his own groin. He shifted position slightly, and the gryphon's eyes flicked open. "So. How do you ‘pleasure yourself'?" the gryphon asked, suddenly, tail flicking upwards.

Curran smiled, slim fingers pulling apart the sash of his robe. "Surely you've seen how my people masturbate," he said, letting the garment fall open. Flushed against his pale thighs, the elf's cock was straining erect, bobbing with his heartbeat.

Quess thrummed at the sight of the effect he was having on the elf. "Your people, yes," he admitted, a little breathlessly. "Not you."  Curran hesitated, and Quess's tone took on a pleading edge. "It would be wonderful to watch you while I do this," the gryphon said. "Indulge me, please?"

"You might be right." Curran looked down at himself. Watching the gryphon's increasing arousal was certainly affecting him. Shrugging entirely out of his robe and tossing it aside, the elf licked his own palm and ran his slick hand over his rock-hard cock. The gryphon groaned. As he began to touch himself, using almost the same stroke he had used on the gryphon twice before, the elf noticed that Quess was starting to thrust his hips with each pelvic squeeze, and that his cock no longer retracted fully into its sheath with each stroke. 

There was a long intimate moment of heavy breathing and the whisper of skin on skin. Curran was watching the gryphon watch him more than he was paying attention to his own sexual responses, and the point of no return came upon him suddenly. He gasped the gryphon's name, and come splattered between his fingers. Panting, he wiped his hand on the mat, and looked up to see Quess staring at him glassily, the base of his tail pumping. The elf dived out of the way just as Quess emitted a triumphant SCREE-EE. 

The gryphon's orgasm was, if anything, even more copious than in Curran's previous experience on the slave wagon. Jets of ejaculate splattered the corner where Curran had been sitting, and pooled on the sleeping mat.  The gryphon shivered, spent, his cock retreating from view again, then stretched, with a happy sigh. "Oh, Curran," he whispered. "You have the best ideas."

The elf eyed the mess. There were no slave handlers to clean up this time, and no rags or soap to take care of the sticky aftermath. "New rule," he said. "No more gryphon sex in enclosed spaces."

"That's very fair," the gryphon agreed, dreamily. He rolled onto his chest, and backed out of the alcove, placing his feet carefully. "Sorry, I think. I'll go find something to soak this up."

"No need to be-..." Curran started to say, but a sudden muffled ringing sound, like distant bells, echoed around the room. The slaves stared at each other, and Curran put a hand to the necklace at his throat. 

"We're summoned," Quess said.