Page 25 of Connor and the Dragons

By day seven, I had resigned myself to an endless life of sexless boredom and snacks. I lay in bed eating candied nuts and glaring at the little arrangement of cushions on the floor where Kessrin had slept every night since we arrived, when he could very sensibly have been sleeping naked in this bed with me buried deep inside his pert ass.

I was very much trying to respect their lack of interest in me, but this form was built for sex. That was its purpose, its craft, its entire design brief. And this form had now spent the better part of a week with the two most attractive men anywhere, watching them work on an infiltration plan when they could very well have been infiltrating my body in any way they pleased. Oh that was a good one.

“Instead of infiltrating the Liminal Order, one of you could infiltrate your dick into my person,” I said.

Connor shot me a look.

“What, it’s what this form is built for! It’s driving me crazy.”

Kessrin ignored me completely, leaning over Connor’s shoulder. They looked quite delicious together, and I could not stop staring at Connor’s muscled forearms and slim waist, the elegant line of Kessrin’s neck when he bent over a page, and the thick muscle of his thigh.

The unfortunate situation with the cock cage was not helping.

Connor teased me twice a day, without any relief in sight. He was all business about it, making sure I stayed just this side of rock hard, trapped in my cage and unable to orgasm. And yes, fine, I could barely even sense the dragon at this point, I was so far gone in lust-addled delirium. But come on. A dragon had to orgasm occasionally, didn’t he?

“Tell me what we know,” Connor said, from the table.

“We know a dragon has to orgasm occasionally or his dick falls off,” I offered.

Connor, who was sitting in the middle of a pile of papers and transcriptions fanned around him, glanced my way, assessing. “Doesn’t show any signs of detaching at this point, so I’ll assume we have time.”

I flopped back on the bed with a dismayed groan.

“We need to find words that might be repeated in order to break the cipher.”

“There is a lot of mention of doors and mirrors.” Kessrin scrawled something on a paper. “These are the Liminian words that relate to that.” Connor slipped off his aetherwoven bracelet, counted the letters in various words, frowned, and put it back on.

I had a bracelet of my own, braided leather and amber, which Pip had tied onto my wrist the morning we left. He had a whole small box of them, because the Grey Guard had an elf on staff who made them.

Kessrin, like the overachieving kissass he was, didn’t need a translation device. He had learned Liminian for fun as a child, and he was currently writing something for Connor in the language like it was native to him.

Connor picked up the paper and stared at it.

“Those words are too short in Liminian. They may well be in the code, but this process will be easier with a longer word, or word grouping.” Connor tapped the pencil against his teeth. “Somewhere in this soup there are words we could predict. Titles. Places. Names. Short words are slippery, and unique words generate fewer possibilities.”

“How is Sky and Moerrven’s list coming?” Kessrin asked.

I watched Kessrin over the rim of the nut bowl. When Connor talked like this, working, building the problem in the air with his hands, Kessrin leaned in. He lapped it up. He sat straighter, his eyes went bright, actual color rose in that winter face, and he asked little questions in a voice half a note lower than usual.

Clearly Kessrin got off on watching people be smart.

I lay back and let my imagination do what it had been doing all week, which was to assemble the obvious: Connor working Kessrin the way he worked a cipher. Patient, thorough, undressing him layer by layer until his composure came thoroughly undone. Connor fucking him slow across that table with the notes still under his hands. And me, if I had been very good, ordered to kneel where I could take Kessrin’s cock in my mouth and be useful. The leather straps reminded me that the path my imagination had taken was not particularly helpful.

I wondered if it was time to ask Connor to adjust the straps yet, because that treat gave me a full delicious moment of Connor handling my cock. And at first it had felt awkward, but at this point, I could tell he was enjoying it. Or, at the very least, enjoying the begging little slut his contraption had turned me into.

“Here,” Kessrin said, sliding a page across the table. “This is an entry from that diary Moerrven found, by a submissive who wrote in plain Liminian. Upon further examination, it seems like the diary was created by someone with a sexually submissive nature, a willing sexual plaything to a grand wizard. From her description, it seems the Order’s members keep beautiful submissives, and they keep them on display. There are two varieties for the most part, the ones referred to as consorts are beautiful, finely dressed, and treated as lovers with a more gentle, emotional affair. The ones referred to as pets are like this submissive, people who enjoy being degraded and used sexually, fucked raw and put away wet. Walked on a leash, forced to be nearly naked in public, restrained, spanked, that sort of thing.”

Was I a pet?

Connor read the passage, and smiled, slow, and looked from Kessrin to me and back.

“And a wealthy wizard would have both,” he said. “One of you gets to be the consort, one gets to be the pet.”

“I’m the pet, I’m the pet!” I said, bouncing to my feet.

“No one would have guessed that,” Kessrin muttered.

“I could practice being a pet, just so you guys can make sure I have it down. Who wants to spank me?” I cleared my throat. “For purely spying purposes, of course. I wouldn’t want to look startled when spanked for the first time in one of the Liminal Order sex parties, I’d want to look like this was just an ordinary Tuesday.”