The Dragons Dairy Cow

Note: This story dips between maledom and malesub, and contains characters getting brainwashed by suckling at a holstaur's breasts. Catgirls, goblin maids, cupids and kitsune are also involved.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Thirsty, are we?"

Longyamen looked up at her, questioningly, his silver eyes blinking transparent eyelids. She watched his scaly pale-rose tail flicking behind him.

Edith gave an indulgent smile and wink. "Go ahead," she said, almost conspiratorially. She barely held in a giggle. "It would be rude not to, wouldn't it?"

He nodded slightly and raised the teacup and saucer to his lips.

He drank. Edith beamed.

"I'll bet you were surprised when I showed up at your cave," she said, trying not to bounce her knees with excitement—it would make other parts of her bounce, and the holstaur needed to be decent for now. These lovely blue laces wouldn't stand a chance at holding the corset together if her assets got too active.

"Mm." He lowered the cup, blinking at her. His irises were serpentine, his pupils narrow slits. Two twisting gazelle horns spiraled from the sides of his head, a contrast to her short but hefty bull horns. He was slender, and dressed in fine crimson silks. Pink scales, as fine as a hummingbird's feathers, covered his arms and climbed across his brow, turning the two horns into a scaly crown. "We don't often see holstaurs around here," he said.

She glowed with pride and tried not to squirm too much. "That's

such

a shame," she said, leaning in slightly, her eyes and jutting lower lip the very picture of sympathy. "I've always

longed

to meet a true dragon."

He smiled shyly. He leaned back in his armchair. They were in the dragon's foyer, a lavishly-decorated cave with many-colored salt crystals glowing at the tip of every stalagmite high above. The old sea cave was now miles from the sea, but the sandy floor remained decorated with shells and smooth stones, the walls gleaming with abalone mosaics. Two women stood at the exit behind him, great batlike wings folded behind their backs, their expressions imperious. They were made of solid, gleaming salt, but they could move quickly when they wanted to.

There was no way out, save through the Saline Spine Longyamen, regardless.

And he was setting his teacup down, seeming surprised at it already being empty.

"Allow me," Edith purred, leaning in. "Lon" seemed inclined to argue, but it was customary in the fey tea ceremonies to allow the guest to pour, signifying trust. And she planned to be a very welcome guest indeed. She raised the kettle and poured the steaming tea at a slow, steady trickle, allowing the steam to fill the chilly cavern chamber—and conceal what she was doing as she daintily popped a breast out of the corset, took a nipple between her fingers and gave it a little tug, squirting a stream of holstaur milk right into his cup. Squeezing it back into the corset was not easy, but a holstaur made do.][

She then made a big show of smiling and applying the sugar cubes, the cream—he watched her closely on the cream, she noted with an inward grin. He thought she was going to switch her milk for it. Well, a growing boy like Lon needed all the milk he could get, so he was going to get a creamy treat indeed.

She slid the teacup back over, and he smiled and accepted it. Again, he seemed to hesitate.

"This tea is delicious," she said, taking a long sip from her own cup—it was a little lukewarm, as she'd barely sipped from it all of teatime. "Don't you think?"

He took a small sip, then a longer one. "Mm-hm."

"It's

so

sweet," she said, batting her eyelashes, "and so

rich

."

"Mm-hm." He was still drinking. She giggled as his teacup passed over his eyes, blocking his gaze as he eagerly emptied it.

"That's right," she said, her voice not

quite

a coo as she leaned in and took the creamer. "Must drink it all down. Such a shame to waste such decadent delights, isn't it?"

"Mm..." He was ndding, greedily drinking. He didn't notice as she poured the remaining cream into her own cup—and quickly pumped her own into the pitcher with a few exquisite squeezes.

Her lip quivered with pleasure—not just the pleasure of being milked, but the pleasure of knowing what her milk was doing to him. The mighty dragon was slipping right under for her.

He lowered the teacup at last. She giggled. "All done? Here, I'll-"

"I'll... pour," he mumbled, fumbling for the creamer. He moved as though drunk, and Edith was almost too happy to help him, putting the cream pitcher in his hand, guiding him to fill his cup up with cream, then with tea, then with sugar, then with more cream.

"Yes, you will," she said soothingly, finally releasing his hand and allowing him to pick up the cup and keep drinking. "You'll just pour that all down, won't you? Mm, yummy! Is that yummy?"

"Mm... mm-hm..."

She noticed his eyes were settling on her, drifting down, admiring her form. Oh, and what a form he had to admire! Edith's breasts were almost as big as her head, and her blue corset concealed very little—the delicate laces visibly straining to hold them in, squeezing them just right to make it visually plain how very

soft

they were, how supple and

smooth

.

Of course, there was more to a holstaur than her tits—like her pretty brown eyes, thick lashes fluttering with every little blink, and her plump, lush ruby-red lips, and her long, flowing skirt betraying wide hips and the hint of a curvy bubble-butt. She was a little taller than him, but not by much. But with his head lolling like that, his eyes affixed to her...

... oh, he was

adorable

. She bit her lip, and allowed herself a little jiggle, grinning widely as his eyes followed the motion dreamily. She giggled. "Aw, are we already getting... sleepy?"

"Nn... no..."

"

I

think we

are

," she cooed, leaning in and plopping her breasts right on the table. This close, their leakage was evident—popping them in and out of the corset had been a kind of torture, and she licked her lips, relieved to finally have them free. "Or maybe... just a

little

thirsty?"

The dragon blinked at her slowly. The mighty Saline Spine licked his lips.

She giggled, and reached to take his cup. "Aw. Let me help you with th-"

His hand took hers.

She froze in place.

Edith shuddered as warm, soothing waves—like the most wonderful massage, like a bath in the most calming, relaxing hot spring—rolled over her. Her lips parted. "O-Oh."

She stared at Longyamen. How had she not noticed how...

pretty

his scales were? How muscular and yet supple his frame. How... how warm his hand, so gentle as it caressed hers, delicately plucked the cup from her fingers...

The dragon smiled. "Why don't you come over here?" he suggested, patting his knee.

The holstaur quivered. She stared at his knee, at his beckoning hand. "N-No," she whispered, but the waves of relaxation, the overpowering awe at the dragon's form, was like thousands of heavy wool blankets falling onto her, one after the other. "H-How can... I won't..."

She realized she was already seated on his lap, staring down at him. She bit her lip.

He beamed up at her and patted her head. "Good cow," he murmured, reaching up with his other hand and running a finger around one nipple. She whimpered. "That's a

good

cow, isn't it?"

"I - I -"

"

Isn't

it?" he stressed, smiling up at her. Gods, he had... had such a pretty smile, such nice, kissable lips, such lovely shimmering eyes...

"Yes," the holstaur whimpered, arching her back with pleasure at his subtle touches.

He leaned in, forked tongue snaking out and tickling a nipple. She cried out softly. "Silly cow," he cooed. "Don't you know dragons are immune to that sort of thing?"

She didn't want to answer, but his eyes, his tongue, his fingers, his...

everything

seemed to force the words from her, as easy as he was easing dripping milk from her heaving tits.

"Heard... stories," she said softly, wriggling helplessly now as he started to gently squeeze her breast in his hand, his tongue growing more daring, lapping her up. "B-But... if you... willing..."

"If I lower my defenses," he whispered, planting kisses on her breast. "But silly cow, a wyrm's resistance isn't something he must consider. It is a part of me." She whined as his lips gently kissed her nipple, and his tongue briefly tickled and tormented her. He gave her a wicked, toothy grin. "Even if I'd been fooled by your cute little tea display, I would have needed to willingly suppress that resistance. Little cow, you wandered into the dragon's lair..."

She squeaked as his eyes bored into hers. She was quivering, helpless, overcome with awe, wonder... adoration...

"And now," he purred, "would you like to stay forever?"

The sound slipped from her lips as he licked her, barely a squeak, barely a whimper.

"Uh-huh!"

He moaned happily and leaned in, and began to suckle. Pleasure poured through her like dripping syrup, and she trembled as his tail pulled her by the waist to him, as she squirmed and wriggled on his knee, into his lap, eyes wide as he sucked, and sucked, and sucked...

At some point, she found herself in Master's arms, squealing in pleasure as he fucked her, as he suckled her, as he whispered praise in her ear. She cooed and nodded and babbled and obeyed and came and came and came...

... until at long last, He told her to let the mephits take her to her new bedroom. She happily obliged, with one last loving kiss on Master's cheek, allowing the mephits to tug her off and lead her, the three of them giggling like fools, to her new home.

She wasn't sure what her plan had been anymore, but Edith was sure it had worked perfectly.

~ ~ ~ ~

Lon lounged back in his armchair, happily watching the cupid's ass sway through heavy-lidded eyes. Life was good for a sin-collecting dragon.

Every dragon had something they liked to hoard. Some hoarded gold, or hypnotic crystals. Some hoarded different kinds of alcohol, or poisons, or princesses. Lon hoarded wicked mindweavers, and he adored his collection. And they adored him.

The cupid was humming, her hot pink hair bouncing behind her in a thick braid as she half-danced through her work. She wore little more than a pink apron, some lacy lingerie, and a swishing pink skirt, and as she bent all the way down to retrieve something from the oven, Lon smiled.

"What's for dessert tonight?" he asked, stretching and yawning. The dragonboy half-curled up in his chair, enjoying his position by the second oven—the goblin maids liked to have their own for cooking, and he didn't mind the extra heat one bit. Neither did they, with enough kisses and petting.

"Lady's Slip pastries," the cupid sang, spinning back to face him—her apron and skirt swishing behind her. Her eyes were a brilliant pink, her lips almost absurdly plump and a deep red-violet—and, he knew, as sweet as Thriae honey. She was shorter than him, and had curves to make a goblin maid jealous. February the cupid had been assembling quite the lovestruck harem when she'd set her sights on one of Lon's villages. Her pastries, her cookies, and most of all, her sinful, decadent puddings had rendered many a man or woman helplessly infatuated with her, begging for the honor of sucking her fingers or touching her hair. And that was to say nothing of her kisses.

"Do they have raspberries? You know I like raspberries." He craned his neck over the edge of the chair, trying to see to the tray. But her ass barred his view. He didn't quite mind.

"Of course!" she sang, prancing over. She moved like a ballet dancer, like an angel. Cupids were sometimes called 'kissing angels,' though those that focused on kissing tended to be much less indulgent than February had been. "Open wide, Master!"

He opened wide, and let her slip a pastry into his mouth. He moaned in pleasure—it was crispy and sweet, with just enough tartness to disguise the unbearable levels of sugary cupid's poison she'd no doubt drowned it in.

"Is it good?" she asked, bouncing in place with excitement.

He smiled up at her and stretched again. He was practically backwards in his armchair. A dragon's laziness was something to behold. "Good girl," he purred, reaching up and tracing a finger over her side. She squeaked and shivered from the touch.

"Would you like another?" she whispered, eyes wide. "I - I'm almost out of milk, but I can make more for tonight, if you'd like me to -"

"Out of milk?" He grudgingly sat up. "Silly angel, didn't I just tell you ten minutes ago about your new hoardmate?"

The cupid blinked. Her mouth opened in a delighted grin. "Ooh! Ooh, Master, good idea! I'll go milk the cow!" She giggled, already twirling to retrieve a jar from the shelf. "And can I bring her some treats, since we're making more anyways?" Her fingers tapped over a smaller jar, this one containing three large chocolate truffles.

"Yes, but only one," he said warningly. "Unless you think she needs it. You know how silly the girls get when you attend to them."

"Yes, Master!" the cupid sang, and bounced out of the room. He didn't hear her on the stairs, but that was a testament to her grace. He knew she would take care of Edith.

Lon sighed happily, idly rubbing his hand between his legs. Life was easy. He licked his lips, savoring the raspberry flavor. Soon, the goblin maids would come back to get supper out of the oven. He rubbed a little faster, imagining their hot bodies practically fainting into his lap, clinging to his arms, kissing and bouncing and jiggling...

Time blurred, hazy and warm and happy. Left alone, a dragon could sleep in a perpetual half-trance, edging themselves into a drooling catatonia, pretty much forever. It was easy to slumber. To edge. To drift into the rosy trance of dragonsleep.

But he sat up and smiled smugly as he heard clumsy footfalls on the stairs. He reluctantly got to his feet, ready to have some fun with his cupid.

February reentered the room, swaying slightly. She had a sloshing half-full jar of milk clutched to her bosom with both hands, and the smaller truffle jar was nowhere to be seen. There was a glassy look of bliss in her eyes.

"Is that all?" he asked, blinking.

"Hm?" she blinked back at him, her eyelids heavy, lashes curtaining those pink orbs. She looked at the jar, then giggled. "M-More than enough."

There was a funny quality to her voice, dazed and dreamy. She sighed and cooed and rubbed against him as he took her in his arms, shakily setting the jar on the counter. She mumbled something under her breath as he started to nuzzle and kiss her neck, sliding his hands down her soft, smooth form and slipping her skirt up for his access.

Her lips were as sweet as ever. And they were still dripping a little with milk. He didn't really mind. She fucked him as eagerly as ever, and by the time the goblin maids arrived, he was quite occupied already. But they were happy to kiss and encourage, to profess their love for their Master.

February kept moaning something between kisses.

It sounded like a moan.

But it almost sounded like 'Mama.'

~ ~ ~ ~

Dinner was a lovely affair—as always, he invited his hoard to attend if they chose. February was far too tired, but the goblin maids were happy to stay close to him. The catgirl and kitsune were occupied in each other's arms, as always, and the holstaur was still recovering from earlier.

Lon didn't modify his captives' minds more than he had to. He was wicked by dragon standards, but not too wicked to enjoy good conversation. So he, Lik and Arulki had a nice conversation about the new captive—interrupted only when they got a little too playful and he had to remind them that dinnertime was

no

time for foolery.

"She's cute," Lik said, fiddling with her fork and knife. She had already eaten. Goblin maids rarely ate during regular meals, instead snacking between so they'd be free to work mischief on their prey—especially goblin maids like Lik, who had with her partner Arulki run a wicked tavern-and-brothel business for many years before he'd managed to track them down. Nobody who entered the tavern was ever able to resist some sort of indulgence, and steadily, the goblin maids had assembled a vast network of brainwashed slaves, desperate for Lik to settle into their lap while Arulki fed them spicy treats and told them what to do.

It had taken him a long time to bring them in and undo the damage. Lon was wicked by dragon standards, but he hated messes.

"She's

very

cute," Arulki agreed, licking her lips. "And so nice to have a cow of our very own. May we ask her to help us cook sometime Master?"

"I don't see why..." Lon paused, remembering the trance February had been in. He looked between the puppydog pleading eyes of his two favorite cooks. "... oh, very well. Just don't let her nurse you. I don't need my cooks to be in the same state my baker's in." He winked.

They giggled, exchanging sly looks. They knew how to handle mischief makers. The Mindweaver's Guild had come after them three times, supposedly, though never into his territory. Lon wasn't sure if the Guild knew he was here—a dragon's presence on the continent would be a difficult secret to keep, but the Guild was good at keeping secrets. Arulki and Lik had 'handled' the Guild agents every time. Lon wasn't worried.

After supper, he had them take the tray of raspberry Lady Slips to their bedroom, and he followed close behind. Dinnertime was no time for foolery. Dessert, on the other hand...

~ ~ ~ ~

The next morning, he was awoken by an eager mewing in his ear. The goblin maids had left to cook breakfast, but he smiled and wriggled as he allowed the catgirl and kitsune to squirm into bed with him. They were nice and warm and eager as ever.

The licks started along his sides, and he squirmed and felt around, feeling the catgirl's twitching fuzzy ears. His eyes half-opened to watch her moan and writhe deeper under the covers. On his right side, the kitsune was already out of sight, only her tail swishing free of the covers as she lapped at his chest, teasing him.

"Good girls," he mumbled, allowing a wave of dragon awe to slip over them like a fifth blanket, savoring the feeling of them shivering against him despite the heat. Drowsily, he peeked beneath the covers, eager to admire the kitten at play.

"Master," sighed the catgirl, her rough tongue lapping delicately along his inner thigh, tickling his scales. She beamed up at him, showing slightly-sharp teeth. Lottie's jet-black hair spilled over her shoulders like shadows, her eyes a brilliant blue-green like rare stones. The Oscillant Ocelot had slunk from the Northern Isles, drifting from town to town and captivating all, only to make off with their valuables—and sometimes their favorite strapping young men and women—all to make more mischief elsewhere. She had evaded Lon for a long time before her curiosity got the better of her and she'd snuck right into his lair, aiming to steal one of his prized pets—his fox, in fact. Dragons took ill to that.

"Kitten," he said softly, and she shuddered with bliss. She started planting kisses along his thigh, making her way slowly toward his growing erection. Soft mews and whimpers accompanied every kiss.

A pair of bright orange tufted ears poked out from the blankets, and bright orange eyes met his. The kitsune grinned, her lips smacking over his chest, bathing him in her kisses. Her tail waftedfrom side to side. "She told us you were cold, Master," Tuff cooed, nuzzling his neck. "Are we keeping you warm?"

He sighed and stretched, and they gave little sounds of bliss at his increased exposure, eagerly covering the new area with more strokes and licks and kisses. The catgirl's tongue started to delicately play with the head of his cock, wet sounds and whimpers accompanying every little lick.