Georgie and Her Dragon Page 2

  The “princess” emitted a sound that resembled a small mud geyser blobbing up ooze and the woman held her nose. “Ooof. They should’ve called you Stinky instead of Georgiana.” She held her away from her body. “Now wave bye-bye to the nice dragon, sweetie. I reckon he’ll be around when you get back and for a good many years after that too.”

  “Bye-bye, little Georgiana. Bye-bye.” Theo flapped one ear, then caught himself and tried to look ferocious.

  “Goo goo gaaaaaa...” The wail followed the two females as they departed down the staircase and back to the human residence within the castle leaving Theo alone.

  And, for the first time in one hundred and several years, lonely.

  From that day on, Theo felt a little empty spot someplace in between his sixteenth and seventeenth ribs. He put it down to indigestion, cut back on the yog-boars and began a regular flying program. He developed an interesting maneuver all his own that involved a swoop combined with a roll and followed by quite a sharp dive.

  The other dragons were impressed in spite of themselves and began calling him “Ace”, which he liked much better than “Unlucky”. A villager, awed by his aerial skills, wove him a rather long white silk scarf to wrap around his neck while flying.

  It was flamboyant but Theo was quite proud of it, and did an extra swoop along with a wing dip over the villager’s hut, trailing the fringed ends of the scarf along with him.

  A nice gesture, but one that scared the chickens so much they didn’t lay any eggs for a week. He earned no points with the villager’s wife for that little episode.

  So for the next few years, Theo worked hard at his dragon skills, noting the firm body that flexed beneath his rather attractive blue scales, and the horns along his snout - fully developed now as Theo approached his prime. And his sexual maturity.

  Of course, that happened several years later than expected, this being Theo who never did anything - including develop - according to the rules. But finally, he rested in the sunshine on the battlements of the castle and puffed out his chest, secure in the knowledge that when it came to dragons, he could finally hold his own.

  And he began to dream.

  Not wet dreams, because God forbid a dragon should have a wet dream. Mass drownings would most probably have resulted, and the idea was that dragons should protect the humans they lived with, not smother them with nocturnal emissions.

  No, these were dreams of a rather strange nature, simple at first, involving annoying songs that stuck in Theo’s head and revolved around the alphabet, counting and fingers and toes.

  By themselves, they were nothing out of the ordinary - even though dragons didn’t actually possess fingers and toes. But when they began to include scenes of little girls playing games, Theo started to get a bit worried.

  Was he bisexual? Was he a gay dragon? Were there such things as gay dragons? Was he showing early signs of perversion? He was blue, not rainbow-colored, had no urge to go screw any of the other guy dragons, so he doubted they resulted from a conflict in his sexuality.

  Occasionally they were frightening. A closet with something very nasty in it figured largely in his dreams for several weeks. Then there was a party, presents, and the unpleasant sensation of barfing up some sort of cake.

  He woke from that one with a headache, a really bad taste in his mouth - which, for a creature that regularly belched fire was unusual - and a strong desire for a couple of lakes worth of fresh water.

  Finally, when one restless night he found himself tossing and turning and constantly dressing and undressing a small doll, he awoke knowing that enough was enough.

  It was time to seek counsel from the eldest and wisest dragon of them all - Dandelion.

  Theo wasn’t thrilled at the thought, since Dandelion - so called because of a fluffy tuft of hair that flew off his head at regular intervals - was renowned as having the worst temper in the Kingdom. With the possible exception of the King after the Queen birthed yet another daughter.

  But, being a desperate dragon with some deep-seated fears about his own sexual identity, Theo girded his loins - or at least firmed up his stomach muscles - and headed out to the Shadowed Vale where Dandelion lived a solitary existence.

  The stench of sulphur greeted him about five miles downwind, thus Dandelion was pretty easy to locate. Theo simply followed the smell.

  “Er...’scuse me?” He landed awkwardly on a couple of rocks and stumbled a little before righting himself. “Sir? Mr. Dandelion?”

  The massive creature raised his head from the tangled coil of body and wings, to open one eye lazily. “Whut?”

  Not an auspicious beginning, but Theo was a dragon on a mission. “I need to consult with you.”

  “Take a number.” Dandelion lowered his head and apparently went back to sleep.

  “There aren’t any.” Theo looked around. “Numbers, I mean. There isn’t anybody else here, actually.”

  “You don’t say.” Dandelion yawned. “Well in that case, speak your piece. And make it quick. It’s time for my nap.”

  Theo held his tongue and did not point out that it appeared any time was time for the old dragon’s nap. No point in pissing off somebody one was about to ask for help.

  “Well, you see, it’s like this...” He settled his tail more comfortably and kicked the sharper of the rocks out from under his ass where it was digging into his delicate underbelly.

  By the time he’d finished his recital - telling Dandelion all about the dreams - the old dragon had both eyes open and was staring at Theo in a rather unnerving way.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” That pronouncement was followed by a small belch of smoke. “Sorry.” Dandelion waved a foot in front of his mouth. “Shouldn’t have had that yog-boar chili last night.” He unfurled his body and farted thunderously. “See what I mean?”

  Theo blinked the tears away from his eyes as several birds, who unfortunately happened to be flying past at the same time as Dandelion’s gut released its gas, dropped from the skies like feathered hailstones. “Er, yes.”

  “Well. Seems you’ve got a problem here, huh?” Dandelion idly scratched his tuft of hair, sending bits of it in showers around his shoulders. “Let me think a bit.”

  Thinking looked a lot like napping to Theo’s untutored eyes, but after about an hour or so of “thinking”, Dandelion lifted his head once more and focused blearily on Theo.

  “You know what this is, then, don’t you?”

  Theo blinked. “Er...no. As a matter of fact, I don’t. That’s why I came to you, oh wise one.”

  Dandelion wrinkled his already-wrinkled nose. “You can cut out the ass-kissing shit. I gave up being impressed with that crap a long time ago.”

  “Um...okay.” Would this darned creature ever get to the point?

  “To get to the point...”

  Well thank the gods for that at least...

  “You’ve got a case of humanoid-reptilian occipital transference.” He paused. “Or else you’re a raving pervert with poorly repressed homosexual tendencies.”

  Theo swallowed. “I think I prefer the former.” He thought for a minute. “What is that anyway?”

  Dandelion grinned, showing several rather yellowed teeth. “You’ve got a mind link with a princess, asshole.”

  “Huh? What’s a princess’s asshole got to do with it?”

  The old dragon sighed and scratched at his balls inside his pouch. “I heard tell that many generations ago, you know - like back before time and stuff - dragons were bonded to humans. For each dragon, there was one special human with whom they could communicate.”

  “Really?” Theo’s eyes opened wide.

  “No, I’m making this shit up as I go along.” Dandelion huffed a smoke ring from one nostril. “Of course, you fucking twit. You didn’t come all this way for fun, did you?”

  Theo shut his mouth and shook his head.

  “So listen up. Someplace there’s a human you’ve got a mind link with. You’re getting into its dreams. So
unds like they’re girly dreams, so I figure it’s gotta be a female. And the odds are pretty good it’s a princess. This is a frickin’ fairy tale ya know.” He sighed. “Lucky you. I wouldn’t say no to a bit of tart in my dreams now and again...”

  Theo cleared his throat. “So what do I do about it?”

  “Do?” Dandelion shook his head, dislodging more hair. “There’s nothing you can do. You’re stuck with her. You gotta protect her, do what she says, go where she goes, carry her on your back if she wants...” He snickered. “Kind of like being married except without the sex.”

  Theo rolled his eyes. “Oh swell.” He was never going to get laid at this rate, nor was he ever going to find his freedom. “So I’m destined for a life as a fire-breathing puppy for some dipshit female with delusions of grandeur who does nothing but practice a royal wave of her hand.”

  “Don’t take it hard, lad.” Dandelion looked sympathetic. “It’s a gift. A rare gift. Hasn’t happened in...” He counted silently, ran out of claws, then shrugged. “Well, it hasn’t happened in a long time.” A wise eye raked over Theo. “Gotta be a reason for it.”

  Theo sighed. “You know something, old dude? I’m pretty fucking sick of all this mystical magic and legend shit. If I could’ve kept my dick in my britches I’d still be there now, herding cows or something, instead of becoming a frickin’ dragon.”

  Dandelion’s eyebrows rose. “Sounds like you fucked with a fairy, kid.”

  Theo wrinkled his nostrils. “How did you guess? Of course, I didn’t tell you that or it nullifies clause seventeen in the spell or something.” Theo’s voice was morose. “All I wanted was a bit of nookie, you know?”

  “It comes with a high price, lad. Sometimes too high a price.” Dandelion stretched, a bone-cracking reach of claws and tail. “Like I said, there’s gotta be a reason for it. Maybe it’ll help you get your freedom back. Sure as shit you weren’t meant to be a dragon.”

  Theo bridled at that, flexing his muscles. “You don’t think so? Personally, I figure I’m doing okay at it.”

  The older dragon chuckled. “Yeah. If you want your bod all over some romance novel cover.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Theo was affronted.

  “Nothin’. Nothin’ at all. But you’re a real dragon, boy. Not a cover model for a dragon. They never get the heroine, do they? Usually all they get for their hard work is a sword up the ass from some overbearing schmuck in a tin suit with a grudge against dragons who thinks he’s gonna get into the pants of the heroine by slaying one.”

  Dandelion settled down once more. “Look, if I were you, I wouldn’t worry too much about this whole linking thing. Sounds like you got a few years yet before anything too exciting is gonna happen since you’re still at the naked doll stage. Let it go for a bit and see where you end up.” He snuffled a little. “Nothing gained by rushing into anything.”

  Theo realized that Dandelion probably hadn’t rushed into anything for several centuries, so he filed this piece of wisdom under “yeah right”.

  Disconsolate, Theo headed home. He had received assurances that he wasn’t a crazily mixed-up sexual pervert, which certainly went into the “plus” column. In addition, he’d apparently developed a link with a human - something that hadn’t happened in untold ages. Another thing for the “plus” column.

  It didn’t, however, involve the chance of meeting any female dragons and getting laid. A large entry into the “minus” column. And it didn’t - at the moment anyway - seem to exhibit any signs of breaking the spell cast upon him.

  Which pretty much sent the “minus” column into overload and Theo’s spirits plummeting into his boots. Or where he would have been wearing boots if he wasn’t a dragon.

  Tiredly, he flew back to his roost and moped in the familiarity of his own nest. Life, not to put too fine a point on it, sucked. He was destined to be at the beck and call of some royal no-brainer who played with dolls. He’d never regain his human form, and - worst of all - he’d never get any decent sex to speak of.

  With this miserable conclusion uppermost in his mind, Theo dozed off.

  Only to dream again, but this time not of dolls or birthday parties.

  This time, he dreamed of Princess School.

  Chapter Two

  The real skinny about Princess School...

  “Georgiana! The point of this exercise is to lift your skirts so that you don’t trip, not treat the entire world to the sight of your twat. Try for a little decorum, will you?”

  Sure, wart face. At eighteen, Georgiana was forced to admit that she was a bloody failure in most of the formal “Princess” classes. Truth was, she hated every fucking one of ‘em.

  She’d pulled a D+ in Curtseying, barely passing by the skin of her teeth and with knees that were bruised continually during finals week. Waving and Smiling (from moving carriages and stationary balconies - practical demonstration required) hadn’t gone much better, but she’d managed a B minus because the instructor had liked her hair and she’d shared her shampoo tips.

  But this course, Swanning and Swooping Around in Formal Couture, might well be beyond her. For the sad truth was that Princess Georgiana, the thirteenth daughter of the King, was a tomboy at heart and would rather be out in the fields practicing with a sword or her archery set. The one she’d conned off a stable lad by flashing him a quick glimpse of her budding breasts.

  Said breasts did, occasionally, get in the way of her shooting skills, especially since they seemed to be expanding on a daily basis, but screw it. She’d rather shoot a target than have cleavage any day. She ignored them.

  Or managed to, most of the time.

  Of course, when they were thrust up under her nose and partially revealed by a monstrosity of a gown, things looked a little different. She couldn’t see her toes for a start, and how the fucking hell she was supposed to elegantly slither around without tripping when those things were protruding front and center, she had no clue.

  However, she wasn’t above using them to get what she wanted - hence the bow and arrows and a large grin on the face of the stable boy.

  Thoughtfully she traipsed up and down the long schoolroom, shoving the yells of the teacher into the dark recesses of her mind. Recently, she’d begun having - feelings. Odd feelings, that got stronger and odder when she was laced into gowns like this with her tits held firmly from beneath by boning and stiff fabric.

  She found she rather liked the sensation of something rubbing her nipples. It made her feel - funny - down between her legs. She made a mental note to check back with the stable boy. She wanted her sword sharpened, and perhaps he could provide both the whetstone and a couple of answers to some questions she had.

  Thankfully, she’d aced her educational courses, and gotten a free time block for herself when everybody else was slaving over geometry. That, she liked. Also literature. She’d devoured all the books she’d been given, simply complaining that there weren’t enough that dealt with important stuff.

  Like sex.

  Because, as is the way with all girls - princesses or not - the male of the species was starting to occupy more and more of her thoughts.

  Research, thought Georgiana to herself. Any scholar worthy of the name does research. Time to pay a visit to the stables.

  Unlacing the detested gown, Georgie slipped into breeches and a tunic, grabbed her sword and strode the half-mile over the school grounds to the stables. She did not take ladylike steps, of course, nor did she wave to anybody she passed.

  Nope, this was a Princess on a mission. She was going to do some sex research and get her sword sharpened at the same time.

  As she’d hoped, Tom the stable lad was hard at work. He stopped shoveling manure when he saw her come in and just got hard.

  Grinning, Georgie stared at his crotch. “Gonna let me see that, then?” She nodded at the bulge.

  He thrust his hips forward, emphasizing it. “Dunno. What you gonna let me see?”

  This was, of course, outrageou
s, both in content and innuendo. Georgie was a princess of the realm and Tom a mere stable hand. But boys will be boys, and Tom - for all his horny nature - had never ratted her out.

  “You can see my tits again if you want.”

  Tom thought about this. “I want to see your pussy too.”

  “Hmm. You’ll have to sharpen my sword as well if you want that, or else no deal.”

  It should be noted that the course Negotiating Treaties with Foreign Powers had been a source of huge enjoyment to Georgiana and was one of the ones she’d managed to achieve straight As in.

  “I dunno about that. Someone might need the whetstone. I’ll have to clean it afterwards.” Tom stroked his chin thoughtfully.

  “Okay.” Georgie tipped her head to one side. “Here’s the deal. You can see my tits and my pussy. You get to touch my tits. I get to see your - thing - and you sharpen my sword afterward. How’s that?”

  Tom took about five seconds to decide, then spat in his hand and held it out. “Done.”

  Georgie spat in hers and they solemnly shook hands on the deal. “Now wash that off before you touch me, okay? I can’t afford muddy streaks on my tits when I bathe tonight.”

  “‘Kay.” Tom did as he was bid.

  Unself-consciously, Georgie stripped off her tunic and bared her breasts as Tom wiped his hands on a cloth. “You might want to wipe your mouth too, Tom.” She giggled at him. “You’re drooling.”

  Tom swallowed and nodded at her breeches. “Now them.”

  “You first.” Ever the negotiator, Georgie wasn’t going to be done out of her side of the deal.

  Her jaw dropped as Tom opened his pants and she saw his - thing - for the first time. Hard and red, it wobbled at her, thrusting from a dark nest of curling hair. Just beneath she could make out a sort of sac arrangement, and she dredged up the minimal information she’d unearthed in an old biology text book.