Heart Of The MountainChapter 7: The Journey free porn video

Iden listened to her read for what might have been hours, quickly losing track of time. The tales of this de Mercier person were amazing, even if his poetry was a little flowery for Iden’s tastes. He had lived a long and fruitful life, exploring foreign lands, and fighting for noble causes rather than for coin. He was well-to-do, the heir to a noble house, and so putting food on his table was of little concern.

Iden had to admit that he envied the man. Not for his devotion to justice, or for his skill with a quill, but for his ability to do whatever he pleased with his time without having to worry about food or lodging. De Mercier’s age was a prosperous one, far moreso than modern times. He spoke of extravagant gardens hanging from the battlements of castles, vines blooming with flowers winding their way along the stonework, forests of trees that blossomed with colorful petals. The climes were warmer back then, more suited to growing grapes, and so there were rows of carefully tended vineyards carpeting the fields for miles around the estates and manors. Wine and revelry were the order of the day, rather than beers made from the hardy wheat and barley that now occupied the farmland.

When he had inquired about the change in climate, Isabelle had explained how it mirrored the decline in magic. The world became sicker with each drop of the divine that left it, its soils yielding fewer nutrients, its winters growing longer and colder. Such changes happened over generations, imperceptible to mortals, but it was far more apparent to a dragon.

Somehow, it made Iden wistful, nostalgic for a time period that he had never known. Did those same keeps still stand, or like their builders, had they been lost to the ages? He had come across ruins in his travels, the crumbling remnants of watchtowers and walls out in the wilderness, seemingly far from anything worth defending. He had always written those off as casualties of war, rather than of age.

“Was that really how he died?” Iden asked as Isabelle closed the book on the final chapter.

“It was,” she replied. “A solitary arrow struck him in the thigh, and the wound became gangrenous. Not a week later, he died in his bed. Had he been able to see a healer or a dragon, then they might have been able to cleanse the rot from his blood, but alas, such magic was a lost art by that point in time. It’s not a very fitting end for a man who lived such a heroic and illustrious life, is it?”

“It does put a bit of a damper on the story,” Iden admitted.

“De Mercier is a fine example of a man who was at once fierce, and sensitive,” Isabelle continued. “He took up the sword and fought his fellow man, but he also appreciated the arts, and he sought to expand his knowledge. After hearing the story of his life, would you say that he was not brave, that his artistic pursuits diminished him in any way?”

Iden thought for a moment, scratching his stubbly chin pensively.

“I would not,” he finally replied.

“And so now you see that brains and brawn are not at odds, that even a brutish man can stop to smell a rose, or write a sonnet to express his love for a woman?”

“I suppose,” Iden admitted, a little more reluctantly this time. Isabelle laughed at his reaction, hopping deftly from her perch on the mountain of treasure and landing beside him on the sheets.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you write me a song. But if you wanted to learn about history or the arts, then I would be pleased to teach you. If you’d like to learn to read, or even to write better, then just let me know. I could even instruct you in calligraphy if you wanted,” she added.

She shuffled a little closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. It was late, Iden realized. Even without a sun by which to tell the time, he was starting to feel the onset of fatigue. Were he and Isabelle to share a bed once again? Would she subject him to another night of passion? He didn’t know whether the prospect frightened or excited him.

“You’re so tense tonight,” she said, moving around behind him. “Let me help you relax before bed...”

Before he had time to comment, there was a flash of cold fire, the tunic that he had been wearing vanishing into a cloud of ash to leave him nude from the waist up. Isabelle wasted no time, and he felt her hands on his shoulders, beginning to rub and knead. He leaned back into her, her touch soothing him. She had noted his reaction to her massage in the pool, and she was exploiting his weakness.

“Try to relax,” she whispered, her warm breath tickling his ear. She brushed his curtain of long hair out of the way, running her fingers down his spine. “I want you to feel at ease here, I want you to be comfortable around me. There’s nothing to fear...”

She seemed to sense his apprehension, but it wasn’t Isabelle that he was afraid of, not exactly. It was more the promise of her violent lovemaking that made his heart race.

“That feels good,” he muttered, all of the tension draining from his body as she kneaded with her deft little hands. They felt so soft, her fingers thick and padded, her pointed nails pricking him. Wait...

Iden opened his eyes and looked down to see a long, tapered tail snaking its way along the sheets by his feet. It seemed even larger and thicker this time, and it was still growing. The bumpy, blue scales grew larger and rougher, sharp points sprouting from their midst to become the patterned quills that she boasted in her draconic form. She pressed closer to him, and Iden felt her bust squash up against his back through the silky fabric of her blouse, her thighs cushioning him to either side like the armrests of a chair. They too were expanding in size, thickening as they emerged from beneath her gown. They grew until they must have been as long as his torso, and almost as thick, tall enough to raise his arms from their resting position as they lay atop them.

The larger they became, the deeper Iden began to sink into their sheath of fat, making him feel as though he was shrinking in her lap. Beneath it, her firm muscles bulged, but there was an inch or more of what felt like down pillows sheathed in satin. On their outer surface, the skin cracked and took on a blue hue, becoming the hard scales that he was now so accustomed to seeing. On their inner surface, however, they took on the appearance of her beige underbelly. He couldn’t be sure, but to him, it felt even smoother and softer than skin.

He was pressed deeper and deeper, even the weight of his arms was enough that they sank into her yielding flesh, the meat of her thighs seeming to spill around his waist like molten metal filling a mold. Her tail was similarly round and padded, packed with enough fat that it wobbled when it moved. The sharp quills had not taken on the impressive length that they had when Isabelle was in her true form, they were shorter and finer, more like bristles.

There was the sound of tearing fabric. Apparently, Isabelle had not seen fit to let the magical flames consume her own clothes, preferring to let her expanding body tear them apart instead. Iden felt her breasts spill out of her shredded blouse, resting against his back, already larger than his own head. As her stature increased, her bosom slid up his back, until its considerable weight came to rest across his broad shoulders.

They continued to engorge, like a pair of gigantic waterskins slowly being filled with fluid, sagging down his chest and cushioning his face. The skin that covered her breasts was like that of her inner thighs, inhumanly silky as it brushed against his cheeks, covered in fine scales like the tiles in a mosaic. Their weight increased along with their abundance, giving even Iden pause for thought. His sturdy back was in no danger of buckling, not yet, but their heft made him feel as though he was carrying a milkmaid’s yoke. By the time her growth ceased, each of her boobs was as voluminous as the pack that he had lugged up the mountain.

Iden tried to look back at her, but found that the mounds of flesh to either side of his head obscured his view. When he craned his neck to look up, however, he saw Isabelle peering back at him.

Her transformation had proceeded much further this time. Looking back at him was a face somewhere between that of a human and a dragon, with a dull snout, completely covered in scales now. There was none of her human skin left in sight, it was all the delicate beige and the rough blue. Her four gnarled horns were larger, and they were nestled amidst the patterned quills that had taken the place of her hair. Her sharp teeth were covered by scaly lips, her nostrils flaring as they exhaled a puff of dark smoke.

She must be nine feet tall at least now, her neck long and slender, her fat tail adding another six or seven feet to her overall length. Iden felt an impulse to flee, but she wrapped her long arms around him, her hands now large enough to encompass his head entirely. She pulled him tight against her body, Iden finding himself almost completely enveloped by flesh and scales. Her tail coiled around the both of them possessively, her snout coming down to nuzzle his hair.

“I have other ways to relax you,” she said, her voice so much more powerful than usual. It was lower, gruffer, but it still had the feminine inflections that so reminded him of the young woman that he had first met in the foothills.

Isabelle pressed her claws against his bare chest, Iden arching his spine as she dragged them slowly down towards his belly, leaving red trails in her wake. The talons were even longer now, but she was just as careful with them, only ever applying enough pressure to tickle him. He felt her warm breath blowing his hair as one of her fingers roamed close to his belt.

She hooked the black claw into the fabric of his leggings, tearing it open, splitting the fine material with the ease of a knife through paper to free his erection. His member bobbed in the air, at full mast, the sight of it surprising even himself. Why was he so excited by this? Hard scales, sharp teeth, hooked claws. He should be terrified right now, but her body was so soft and inviting, feminine in all of the most alluring ways.

She reached down and pressed the tip of her finger against his glans, her digits almost as thick as his shaft, a pulse of pleasure making him swell. He couldn’t believe how soft it was, squishy and padded, reminding him of a gambeson.

“Now lie back, and let me soothe you,” she whispered. She closed her fist around his length, burying it entirely, letting it throb against her palm. She waited for Iden to grow impatient, watching him with a smile as he began to fidget, his resolve crumbling as her warmth permeated him. He finally thrust, bucking into her fist in search of stimulation, Isabelle taking that as evidence of his willingness.

She began to stroke, her pace torturously slow, running her scaly fingers up and down his shaft. Her scales were as smooth as glass, the gentle pressure that she applied sinking him deep into her fleshy padding. Iden gripped her forearm with one hand, as if holding on for dear life, her limb so thick that he couldn’t get his fingers around it.

Isabelle wasn’t trying to bring him to completion, her stroking motion was too leisurely. She was merely teasing him, seeming to delight in the way that he squirmed in her grasp, unable to stop himself from trying to fuck her hand.

He shivered as something slimy and warm brushed his neck, realizing that it was her tongue. It was even longer than it had been before, leaving a smear of her saliva as she licked. She caught his ear between her puffy lips, nibbling it with her sharp teeth, the contrast between the two extremes making his head spin. It reminded him of the dripping maw of a beast, with jagged fangs designed to tear flesh, strands of saliva escaping to dribble down his neck. Yet at the same time, he felt the soft, gentle lips of a woman. They were impossibly full, so much larger than those of a human, covered in the same delicate scales as her palm. He felt a primal fear as those wicked teeth neared his neck, her hot breath washing over him, a deep rumbling in her throat resonating within him like the growl of a monster. Instead of a killing bite, she planted a sucking kiss that made his member bounce in her grasp. He didn’t know what to think, what to feel.

“I’m sorry to have robbed you of your moment,” she whispered, pausing to nibble at his ear again. “I know that you like to be on top, you like to be in control, you love to awe your lover with your sheer physicality. But I love how you react when I take the lead, how flustered you become, your every shiver tempting me further. As a dragon, I can sense things that you humans cannot. I can hear the quickening of your pulse, I can feel the blood rushing through your veins, I can smell the arousal leaking from your very pores. Oh, how it excites me...”

Her grip on his member tightened, Iden gritting his teeth as the pressure sank him deeper into her fleshy palm. It was like fucking a silk pillow, her scaly skin was dry, but so flush that there was almost no friction.

“Dragons can see heat, you know,” she continued. “It’s a wavelength of light, one that’s invisible to humans. A warm glow seems to radiate from your body, your cheeks are burning, your member is bleeding heat into my hand like I’m holding an ingot of molten iron. If only you could see what I see, it’s beautiful...”

“W-why do you go on about such things?” he muttered, his voice faltering as she gave him a gentle squeeze. She laughed at his question, as if the answer should be self-evident.

“Is the act of lovemaking synonymous with rutting to you?” she asked, pausing her pumping to circle the tip of his manhood with her thumb. “Have you never taken the time to appreciate the artistry of it? Not all encounters need be fast and brutal, the two participants racing to the finish like galloping horses. The lightest of touches can be as pleasurable as the sternest of thrusts, a gentle kiss can be as arousing as the most depraved and wanton acts. Tenderness, intimacy, the burning desire to give pleasure as well as to receive it. These are things that can bring one to new heights.”

She resumed her stroking again, Iden sinking into her pillowy bust. He wasn’t accustomed to foreplay taking this long. Even when he went down on a woman, it was more to get her ready than for the joy of it, merely a prelude to the main event. He couldn’t remember the last time that someone had given him a handjob, it was such a mundane act, pedestrian. And yet the feeling of her soft fingers gliding up and down his erection had him so aroused that he could scarcely keep himself under control.

“Let’s take things slow this time,” she whispered, Iden shuddering as he felt the tip of her slimy tongue probe his ear. “I won’t allow you to climax, not until I give you permission. I’ll bring you to the very brink, and then I’ll back off again, over and over. I’ll keep you trapped in the state of wonderful bliss that precedes the release of orgasm for longer than you ever thought possible, and when your delicious agony comes to an end, you’ll experience a pleasure far greater than any that you’ve felt before.”

“What do you expect of me?” he grumbled, her sordid whispering making his head spin. “What’s the goal of this game?”

“There’s no trick,” she replied with a chuckle, “I merely want you to enjoy it. Is the idea that one can revel in giving pleasure without the expectation of receiving anything in return so foreign to you? You’re so focused on reaching the finish line that you don’t stop to appreciate the path that leads you there. I’m going to teach you to revel in that journey...”

What could Iden say to that? He couldn’t refuse her. If even half of what she promised was true, then he didn’t want to pass up the opportunity, but why had she chosen this new form? Was it simply to give her even more power over him, or for some other purpose? She hadn’t had any problems wresting the reins from him during their first encounter, after all. What was her interest in him, if not simply as an outlet for her frustrations, or as a salve for her loneliness?

“Show me,” he mumbled, and he felt her grip on him tighten.

She began to pump faster, the pleasure robbing Iden of his faculties, and he leaned into her inviting body like he was sitting in a living armchair. He pushed his face into one of her breasts, feeling it deform around his cheeks, softer than any pillow that he had ever encountered at the inns that he frequented. There was a subtle smokey scent about her that made him think of burning wood, almost like the oak or cherry that was burned in a smokehouse to cure and flavor the meat.

Her stroking was so relaxing, it was almost enough to lull him to sleep, but the sparks of pleasure kept jolting him back to his senses. Isabelle was an artist with her hands, alternating her grip and speed so that he could never grow entirely accustomed to the sensation, making him writhe in her lap. She nibbled and licked at his ear all the while, pinching his neck in her teeth, her free hand roaming up and down his torso as she drew shapes on his skin with her claws. She whispered to him, little of it coherent to him in his fugue state, but what he could pick out was sordid and shameless.

She kept it up for what must have been minutes, until Iden felt the familiar pressure of an orgasm welling. Pleasure rolled over him like a tide crashing against the rocks, tied to the deft movements of her soft hand, each more powerful than the last. How could such a simple act make him feel this way? It was almost like being drunk, he couldn’t concentrate, every throb of sensation scattering his thoughts to the wind.

“Are you ... casting some kind of spell on me?” he asked, his voice wavering in time with her stroking.

“No,” she laughed, the motion making her bosom wobble around his head. “At least not a magical one...”

She delivered an especially cruel thrust, Iden’s spine arching, his hips pushing into her silky fist. She let him fuck her hand for a few moments, watching with a satisfied smile as he tried to glean the stimulation that would send him over the edge. His climax was so close that he could taste it, and yet Isabelle’s grip was loosening, the pleasure beginning to fade.

Iden loosed a dissatisfied sigh and sank back into her embrace, the sound of her seductive chuckling emanating from somewhere above his head.

“I did warn you of my intentions,” she purred, letting one of her hands rest on his belly. It was tantalizingly close to his loins, his member throbbing in the air, aching and needy. “Stop fixating on your climax, and take a moment to enjoy how you feel right now. Do you feel that sweet ache permeating your muscles? The euphoria?”

“I feel ... dizzy, drunk,” he muttered. She dragged her claws across his chest again, and this time his senses were heightened, the dull sting of her talons sending a burst of pleasure coursing through him like a bolt of lightning. He was so much more aware of his own body now, as though his nerves had escaped the barrier of his skin, even the air itself seeming to stimulate his swollen erection.

After letting him stew for a few moments longer, he felt her hands closing around his wrists like a pair of padded handcuffs. He tried to move them, but she was far too strong, planting them firmly atop her thighs.

“What are you doing now?” he asked, his heart starting to race with anticipation again. She was so unpredictable, he never knew what she might do next.

“I noticed that you were admiring my tail this morning,” she replied, leaning in to give his ear a gentle bite. “I didn’t realize that it was a source of attraction for mortals.”

“I-it’s not,” Iden insisted, his cheeks flushing. “I was just curious.”

He remembered what she had said about her ability to see heat. Not only could see his face reddening, but she could sense the warmth that he put out. There was no hiding his feelings from her.

Her tail caught his eye as it slithered towards him, its tapered tip winding along the sheets like the head of a snake, an instinctual pang of fear distracting him from his embarrassment. She was doing it on purpose, he could hear her stifled giggling.

The long tail rose up between his thighs, rearing back like a cobra preparing to strike, its beige underside facing him. It was tall enough to be at eye-level to him, not that it had any eyes. There was still a significant length trailing up and to his left where it connected to Isabelle’s rump, vanishing behind her and out of sight. It grew steadily girthier as it neared her body, so thick around near the base that he could only just have gotten his arms around it.

The appendage brushed against his thigh as it drew closer, sending a shiver crawling up his spine, the pointed tip poising above his member as if waiting for some kind of signal.

“Are you ‘sure’?” Isabelle cooed, watching his manhood beat like a second heart. She maneuvered the tapered end closer, as delicate and as precise as a finger, wetting it with the bead of excitement that was leaking from his swollen member. The tail made lazy, teasing circles, stroking his glans with its silky underside. The sharp bristles and the rough scales were kept mercifully clear of anything sensitive.

It began to slowly wind around his shaft like a blue anaconda encircling its prey, piling its plump, chubby coils on top of him until he was entirely buried. It was surprisingly heavy, sinking him deeper into Isabelle’s lap, the smooth underbelly just as soft and as inviting as her hand had been.

Iden had to stifle a yelp as he felt the brawn beneath the layer of buttery flesh harden, squeezing him in a vice grip. Every roll moved independently of the rest, squirming and slithering, as if his length had been buried in a sheath of liquid muscle. When they released him from their tight grasp, they seemed to wobble in place, just as her breasts did.

“How do you like it?” Isabelle whispered, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from his own lips. “Does it feel good?”

“As if you needed to ask,” Iden grumbled, struggling to get a hold of himself. “Of course it feels good...”

“Communication is important,” she chuckled, giving him another squeeze. He lurched reflexively, but her hold on him was tight enough to stop him from wriggling free, her hands so large that they almost entirely encompassed his forearms between the wrist and elbow. “Tell me if I’m being too rough,” she added, “my tail is very strong.”

Iden recalled how the appendage had smashed through a rock pillar like it was no more sturdy than a sapling. She wasn’t quite that large yet, but he could feel the strength that radiated from her. She could probably have crushed a man’s life out of him with nothing more than an errant twitch. Was it even safe to have this thing so tightly wrapped around his most intimate anatomy? Probably not, but he wasn’t about to tell her to back off.

She began to move, sliding her tail up and down his shaft, the coils serving as soft ribs. They spiraled around him all the while, creating another dimension of sensation, tightening and loosening seemingly at random. It was so much more complex than the simple stroking of a hand, her scales flush enough that they glided against his skin, the pressure sinking him into her fat layer. All that he could see from the outside was a pile of bumpy, iridescent scales and sharp, jutting quills. It looked so lethal, but it made him feel like he was floating on a puffy cloud.

“Would you like to release inside my coils?” Isabelle asked, her lurid suggestion rousing him from his trance. “Do you think that your emission might seep between them?”

“Keep squeezing, and we can find out,” Iden snarled.

“Ever the warrior,” she chuckled, amused by his defiance. “I wonder how long it will take us to drain all of that energy?”

She released his arms, reaching up to hook a finger beneath his chin, angling his head up so that she could see his face. She peered down at him from on high, his head still nestled comfortably between her breasts, her reptilian eyes shining as though they were reflecting a roaring fire that only they could see. She drew closer on her long, flexible neck, her head already rivaling that of a horse in size. Her dull snout bumped against his nose, her scales cool against his skin, the dragon exhaling a cloud of dark smoke that stung his eyes and made them water.

Her lips were so large and full, reminding him of a slice of ripe fruit, parting to reveal her rows of intimidating teeth. He would have expected a dragon’s breath to smell of carrion, or something equally unpleasant, but all that he could pick up was the same smokey scent. A strand of her saliva escaped her maw to drip to his cheek, warm and wet, and he watched with wide eyes as her tongue wound out of her mouth.

Iden had thought that her tongue had been monstrous before, but now it was even larger. It was almost as long as his forearm, and nearly as wide, narrowing into a point at its tip. It glistened in the torchlight, slick and wet. The more draconic she became, the more bestial her mannerisms, and Iden thanked his stars that her demeanor did not change in the same way.

“Do you mean to kiss me with ... that?” he asked, his heart hammering in his chest as he watched a rope of her drool sag from her lips. She was like a wolf poised to feast on its kill, all pearly fangs, and slavering jaws. But behind her eyes was a hunger of a different kind.

Rather than reply, she simply pressed her lips against his, holding his chin between her thumb and forefinger as if there was any possibility that he might attempt to pull away. They were so large and fleshy, completely unsuited to embracing someone of his stature, but she made the best of it regardless. She mouthed and kissed, teasing him with titillating licks and placating strokes from her limber organ, even the merest tip of its dizzying length large enough that she could reach the back of his throat.

She was voracious, feeding him more of her length as she gauged his human limitations, her hand sliding down to rest around his neck. She licked the roof of his mouth with the flat of her tongue, using the pointed tip to tickle and stroke, her fleshy coils filling his cheeks and bulging them outwards. In the same manner that her tail was wrapped around his member, she cocooned his tongue in a prison of slimy, swirling flesh. Her bubbling saliva escaped from their joined lips, dribbling down his burning cheeks, his eyes losing their focus as she subjected him to her bawdy attentions.

She broke off with a wet smack, her tongue winding back into her mouth, Iden taking in a gasping breath as the glistening rope of drool that linked their lips broke. Isabelle left him dizzy and wanting, the kiss had dragged on so long that he was almost out of breath. Before he had a chance to recover, the squeezing of her tail intensified, her appendage undulating around his buried member.

He felt like a ship at sea, and Isabelle was the ocean, buffeting him with her crashing waves. She kept him so off-kilter that he could never get his bearings, all that he could do was cling to her like a sailor to the rigging, lest he be thrown from the deck and into the churning maelstrom.

“I can feel you getting closer,” Isabelle cooed, “the way that you flex and jump in my grasp. You’re aching right now, aren’t you? It almost hurts, but not quite. I can see the heat radiating from you, feel the blood pumping, making you swollen and sore. You’re so ready...”

They watched together as the rolls of her tail tightened and flexed, Iden’s body contorting with every subtle movement, Isabelle’s glowing eyes switching between the mound of coils and his red face as if trying to gauge how close he was to climaxing. Would she let it come this time, or would she deny him his relief once more?

Her pace quickened, Iden able to do little more than sink into her body as the sensations grew more intense, points of light floating in his vision like motes of dust. His fingers clawed at the rough, blue scales on her upper thighs, and he pushed his face into one of her breasts as though it might somehow block out the stimulation.

“Look at you writhe,” she murmured, her voice laden with arousal. He wasn’t even sure that she was addressing him directly, she was merely talking to herself, almost as overcome by the sight of his pleasure as he was by the sensation. His body was drenched in sweat, his skin shining in the torchlight, his muscles gaining definition as he struggled in her lap. When women admired his physique, it was usually in awe of his masculinity, his physicality as Isabelle referred to it. But now, he could feel her covetous eyes drinking in every contour of his squirming body, lingering on him, appreciating him in an entirely different way. She was like a cat starved of the hunt, toying with a mouse, prolonging the chase rather than delivering the killing bite.

Iden felt another orgasm welling, the tormenting ache taking on a more satisfying, blissful quality as her tail continued to wring him. The muscles in his lower abdomen tensed, his toes curling, his back rising from the soft paunch of Isabelle’s belly where it had been resting. He opened his mouth to loose a cry, but instead sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the folds of his draconic lover’s tail tighten around the base of his manhood. It felt like someone was squeezing it tightly between their thumb and forefinger, swiftly cutting off his rising climax, a stab of discomfort replacing the swells of pleasure.