Tag Archives: A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy

Three dragon lords saved me. Now they plan to make me their own.

When the ShadowFell dragon destroyed my village, I alone survived the slaughter. A Drakoryan rescued me from where I clung to life in the bottom of a well. From the moment Lord Turin saw me, he was determined that he and his brothers would take me for a mate.

To do so would mean breaking the rules. Drakoryans bring mates to the empire only by special permission of the witches. But as war begins with the ShadowFell, everything has changed. The villagers from across the mountains have been brought here for protection. The time of sacrifice is at end, and the Lords of Za’vol are being allowed to take me as a specially designated mate – a War Bride.

I should be grateful that the Drakoryans saved me. But I know what they are. They are drake shifters. How can I accept their dragon side, when it was a dragon that robbed me of everyone and everything I held dear?

The Lords of Za’Vol are determined to mate with me, to form a lasting bond despite my fear of them. But I want something in return. I want to be brave, so brave that no man or beast can ever hurt me again. If the Drakoryans are to claim me, they must train me to fight.

“What do you know of coupling, Isla of Branlock?” His voice is thick with desire. His cock bobs towards my hand, as if encouraging me to reach for it. I think of my mother, who raised me and my sisters to be of good character, and how she would chide me for my boldness. Still, I was always curious, and prone to eavesdrop on the young wives who went to the well to draw water.

“I know that is a cock.” I nod towards the eager rod of flesh. “It goes between my legs. Some of the women of the village said the first time hurts.” I feel my brow furrow with sudden misgiving. “Will it be worse for me? The men of my village were not so large as you, so their cocks …”

He sits up, his eyes flashing. “What do you know of their cocks?”

I pull my hand away, angry at his tone. “Women talk. All I know I learned from listening.”

Turin sighs. “Forgive me. Dragons are jealous of what is theirs.” He lifts a hand to cup my face. “There may be pain, but it will be lessened if your body is properly prepared.”

He raises himself to his knees. His cock juts from his groin like a fleshy sword. Turin reaches for the hem of my shift and lifts it over my head. His eyes caress my naked body. He trails a finger from the top of my shoulder downward, mimicking how I touched him. I feel a tingle along the path of his finger. The soft throb between my legs increases. I am wet.

“That feeling is your woman’s desire.”

I look up at him curiously. “How do you know where my desire is hidden? It is easy to see on a man.”

He chuckles. “A Drakoryan’s sense of smell is as strong as his sight. I can scent your sweet arousal, Isla of Branlock, the ambrosia of your honeyed musk. It’s but a trickle now. Let me make it flow.”

Turin wraps an arm around my waist and lowers his huge head. I feel a sudden hot, wet pressure on the right nipple of my breast. Pleasure tears through me like a spear that lodges in my quivering core. I understand now. I feel a ripple low in my belly and a steady throb that corresponds with the pulses of his mouth. The room resounds with a woman’s lusty cry. I realize the cry is mine. My head is thrown back. My long hair tickles the back of my calves as I arch my body towards the huge man holding me. The pad of his forefinger slips through the seam of my pussy, stroking the swollen folds of my inner flower. At the apex of my cleft, Turin’s deft touch finds a spot that has me moving hungrily and mindlessly against his hand.

I want to ask him what he is doing, but the words don’t come. While the women of my village spoke of pleasure, nothing could have prepared me for this. Turin’s lips press against my neck. He moves around to clutch the pale mounds of my buttocks, squeezing and spreading them. A finger slips between to caress the rosebud of my anus.

His hands are everywhere. His mouth is, too. I am helpless again as he lays me on the bed, but this is not a fight I want to win. I think of Jayx’s words and realize he was right. In this moment, the burdens of my past are lifted as I find solace in pure, feral pleasure that drives everything from my mind, even if for just a moment.

Turin spreads my legs. He is between them, peering down. His finger presses against the entrance of my virgin pussy. He looks at me with slight concern. “You are well guarded here, too, my little warrior. You will have to be brave as I shatter this shield.”

What does he mean? He does not give me time to question it. Turin slides between my legs. I feel the head of his cock press against the sensitive bud of flesh. It nudges and moves like a finger, hot and quivering, teasing the need from within. He takes my hand and lowers it so that I grip the length of his cock. I feel the surface change from smooth to ridged under my hand. I feel his girth diminish, compressed under my touch.

“I don’t want to hurt you any more than I have to.” Those are the last words he speaks before pulls both my hands above my head, before the cock teasing the tiny pleasure center of flesh slips down and slides into my need-slick pussy. My vision goes red from a sharp, unexpected pain and I scream into the mouth that has found mine.

I’m angry. I feel betrayed. He hurt me. I pull my hands from his grasp and he rises up on his arms, absorbing my pain as I pummel his chest with my clenched fists.

“Sssshhh,” he says, even as he allows me to thrash him. “Wait, my little fighter. Wait.”

My blows grow less violent as the pain recedes to be replaced by the soft throb that made me open my legs in the first place. Hands that struck now move to claw at his back with renewed need. I am mewling like a hungry kitten as Turin begins to move, his deep, certain laugh mingling with my animal cries of desire.

There is a shadow of soreness, but it is eclipsed by the pleasure as his cock soothes me with its first strokes. I feel my hips move of their own accord, following his motions with clumsy sweetness. Turin is smiling down at me. His golden eyes are gray again, and filled with caring. I close mine, unable to take all of what he offers. It feels like too much.

“You are in mourning,” he says.

I don’t reply. Instead I strain my eyes to find a shape in the fog, a peak, a raven, anything.

“I will not pretend that you have not suffered great hurt, Isla of Branlock. I will not pretend that you will ever fully heal from your loss. But neither will I pretend that we can go on like this. Lady Lyla told you what would be expected of you here.”

“I know what is expected.” I peer into the swirling mist. “You and your mighty brothers will take me to your bed chambers and fuck me. I will endure it, because that is what I have been taught to do as a villager, isn’t it? To endure the rule of the great Drakoryans, or suffer the consequences?”

There’s a sigh in the fog. “What we did…”

“…was your right as rulers. I know.” I look over at him. “Lord Jayx, I will not pretend to want any of this if you will not pretend that your patience is kindness. In the end, you will get what you want. Dragons always get what they want, whether it is the daughters of villagers or the destruction of a village itself.” I pause. “Regardless of what the Lady of Fra’hir says, you are all the same.”

I can now make out enough of his features to see a spasm of hurt cross his face.“No.” His tone is still kind, but there’s steel in it now. “We are not all the same.” He pauses. “But you are right. We do get what we want.” He looks away. “Tomorrow, my brothers and I will battle in dragon form for first rights to your body. In the past, this battle decided which brother claimed a virgin from Altar Rock. No villager has ever witnessed this combat. We want you to see your lords fight with flame and tooth and claw, so that you may know what we risk for the privilege of taking one so precious. We consider lying with you to be an honor, Isla of Branlock, an honor so great as to temporarily turn brother against brother.”

The mist is starting to clear farther out. I can see the mountain peaks, the craggy depths of the ravine below. I try to imagine dragon fighting dragon over me, a woman pulled half dead from the depths of a well.

I can feel Jayx staring at me. His gaze caresses me like hands. He is close enough that I can feel the heat from his body warming me through the mist.

“And after that?” I ask, although I know what will happen. I shudder. It is easier to imagine these men warring as dragons than to imagine them taking me with anything other than roughness.

Jayx doesn’t immediately answer.

“Afterwards, the victor will take his ease in the healing pools of our castle long enough to mend his wounds and regain his strength. Then he will come to you, Isla of Branlock. He will lay you on the bed and fight a new battle, one that has him control his lust, which is stronger than any dragon. And he will, for it will be his duty to introduce you to the carnal mysteries, to show you how a masterful lord can play the strings of your body’s instrument to perfect pitch, to use his fingers and tongue and cock to draw you away — even for a moment — from the awful pain of your loss. You will drift on an ocean of sensation. You will rise and fall on waves of pleasure. And the only cry you utter will be for your lover to end the misery of your virginity and to fill you with his cock.”

His words have the strangest effect on me. My legs feel heavy, as if rooting me to the mountain under my feet. I gasp and realize that I had been holding my breath. Yet, it is the soft, curious throb between my thighs that is most unnerving. It as if Lord Jayx has stirred something in me that had died the day the dragon destroyed my village.

I know what it is. Desire.

Oh, yes, I have felt it. In my village, we were discouraged, from experiencing such feelings. We were to stay as untouched maidens for three years after the age of claiming, to give the Drakoryans time to take or pass us by. If we weren’t claimed in that time, we could mate with one of our own. There were village boys who would return from the fields, their sleek, ropy arms and lean torsos glistening with sweat. I would draw water for them, and when I handed them a cup they would fix me with slow, easy smiles and hungry eyes. I remember their faces. I remember the tingling pulses of budding need I felt in their presence.

Those boys are dead now. Only I have survived, along with a need that feels like a betrayal of their memory. It is a need as primal as the dragon lords who plucked me from the well where I used to draw water for hopeful village lads.