The Dragon Hunter

The sun beat down cruelly upon the amply proportioned woman as she trudged along the lane. She wore a backpack and carried a bottle of lukewarm water, occasionally taking a brief sip to keep her generous mouth lubricated against the dry air. The hedgerows were short and offered no relief from the celestial furnace above; sweat had already stained the front of her t-shirt, accentuating her heavy, pendulous, breasts.

"Really, Jemma," she murmured to herself as she rounded a bend at the summit of a hill, "Why did you choose such a blistering hot day to go exploring?"

She honestly couldn't answer that question. As a rule, she kept out of the sun as much as possible, but on that morning the day just demanded that she take herself outside; so, dressed in jeans, a baggy t-shirt, and an old pair of trainers that had frankly seen better days, she'd packed her backpack with a few essentials and headed out.

She was beginning to regret her impulse when she was brought up short by the promise of respite. Revealed before her, previously concealed by the blind downward bend in the lane, was a large area of woodland. The soothing shades of green beckoned invitingly; she took a quick mouthful of water and set off toward it with a new determination.

Oh, how blissfully cool it was beneath the canopy! There was a well defined path for her to follow, and she wandered dreamily along, savouring the sounds of the birds and the scent of the flowers, which she recognised as Lily of the Valley that wafted tantalisingly from an unseen location.

Determined to find the source of this luscious fragrance, she wandered off the main track and followed her nose, carefully picking her way between trees of oak and beech, stopping every few minutes to gaze about her hoping to catch sight of a squirrel, or even a deer, but luck evaded her. This very typical English woodland, which should have been brimming with mammalian creatures (heard if not seen) suddenly seemed to Jemma to be eerily devoid of life. Even the birds that had filled the air with sweet songs and flashes of colour, had fallen silent.

It was during this momentary pause in her wanderings, as the strangeness of the situation began to seep into her brain, that Jemma realised she could no longer detect the floral scent on the gentle breeze. Instead, something else, something a little tangy... salty... metallic even, was tangible.

Then, she saw it.

A large tail, scaly and adorned with spikes, was poking out from behind a collection of sandstone rocks carved out of a small ancient quarry.

Jemma stood as still as one of the abandoned stones, and gazed in a mixture of fascination and disbelief as the owner of the tail emerged from behind its rocky shield and revealed itself in all of its colossal glory. A dragon, dark green in hue, with a rippling wave of scales that enhanced its muscley body, turned its head, snuffing the air with questing nostrils, and stared at her with penetrating amber coloured eyes.

For a fleeting moment, she was frozen. Then, the dragon took a step in her direction and she fled, dodging between the trees, trying to find a hiding place small enough to prevent the dragon from entering, yet large enough to hide her ample frame. She could hear the lumbering beast crashing through the wood behind her; in desperation, she ripped the perspiration soaked t-shirt from her body and flung it away from her, in an attempt to throw the dragon off her literal scent. Rivulets of sweat coursed down her skin and between her breasts; her bra was the next article of clothing to be cast wildly aside. Sobbing and gasping for breath, she found herself against the same sandstone rise that had provided earlier generations with the means to make quarries, and she ran along the base of it, a fifty foot solid wall, desperately seeking a crack, or small cave, in which to hide.

Salvation appeared in the shape of a crevice, just wide enough for Jemma to insert herself into. It was a tight squeeze, but she was able to wedge herself in by a good few feet. She stood there thus concealed, shivering with fear and trying to hear over the sound of her frantically beating heart if the dragon had been able to locate her hiding place.

Silence.

Jemma strained her ears, listening. No, there was nothing- wait! A branch snapped and a silhouette

filled the narrow entrance.

"Hello there." A voice, deeply masculine, rich and smoky, was NOT what she was expecting. "Are you having trouble, my dear? Maybe I can help you."

A hand reached out to her. In a moment of intense relief, Jemma clasped it, and found herself being drawn back out into the mottled leafy light. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust and then she noticed that her rescuer was regarding her naked breasts and large belly with appreciation. He was, she also discovered, a well-built man, about six feet tall, with untamed hair and a full beard. He was dressed in what she could only describe as practical clothes, ideal for outdoor pursuits, if not perhaps the most comfortable for hot weather, and the style was a little unusual.

"Is that- is that leather?" she asked, reaching out to touch his gilet.

"Yes, specially commissioned. Made up of plates, like armour."

"Armour? Are you a re-enactor, then?"

He laughed, and replied, "No, my dear. I'm a dragon hunter."

Jemma considered this and gave a smile of approval. "May I have your name, please?"

It was the dragon hunter's turn to look approving. "I like a girl who asks nicely," he said, "My name is Drake."

"It's very nice to meet you, Drake," she said, holding out her hand to shake his, "I'm Jemma."

He kept a firm hold of her hand and studied her face, running his eyes over every feature then dropped his gaze to her breasts with such intensity that she could almost feel it. Her nipples, already semi erect in the open air, stiffened further under his scrutiny and, feeling suddenly embarrassed, she made to cover them with her free arm. As quick as a snake, Drake caught it and pulled her into him. Jemma gave a squeak of protest as his mouth descended onto hers, his lips forcing hers to open and yield, his tongue plundering her mouth with increasing passion until, with a moan, her legs buckled and the dragon hunter swept her up into his arms and carried her to a small clearing, carpeted with moss.

He laid her down and purposefully took off her trainers. She, still half swooning, stared up at him.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked.

"Relieve you of your virginity, my dear," he chuckled.

"But I- wait. How do you know-?" she enquired.

"The dragon only stirs when there's virgin flesh to be had," Drake replied. "Now, little innocent, remove the rest of your clothes."

"But I- please, I don't WANT to," she protested then her speech faltered as she noticed the steely glint in her would-be ravisher's eyes.

"It would be easier for you to obey me, girl," he growled. "With or without your consent, you will not be leaving here until you've been thoroughly fucked!"

Even in her despair, Jemma found something thrilling in his masterly ways. Almost as one hypnotised, she undid her belt and slid her jeans slowly down her long, shapely legs. She baulked at removing her knickers and Drake with an impatient hiss ripped them from her and tossed them aside like rubbish. Then he stood back and studied her afresh.

"Very nice," he murmured. "You are deliciously plump. No need to look peeved, my dear, I prefer my ladies with a little more meat on them. You have rather good legs for a fat girl- I'm impressed. Now, I want you to show me your cunt."

Jemma gave an outraged gasp. She wasn't used to such language, and it both horrified and delighted her. She shot a look of enquiry at him. Show him her cunt? He could see it, couldn't he?

"Spread your legs and labia, girl! Let me see your tight little hole!" he snapped out.

She gave a start and did as she was bid.

"Wider!" Drake ordered. "Come on, you're not trying. Here, let me do it." He dropped to the ground between her legs and grasped her flesh, pulling and stretching as she squirmed and protested. "There we go," he said, sounding satisfied, "That's better. Now I can see what I'll be fucking. Yes. Very nice indeed." He stood back up to divest himself of his clothing.

Jemma watched as he stripped. She was terrified and excited in equal measure; then, as Drake turned and she saw his penis, which seemed to her to be the most monstrous appendage, terror gained the upper hand and she was up and running, naked, barefoot, through the trees again.

She didn't get far. A pair of strong arms caught her and carried her back to her mossy bed. Before being allowed to settle back on it, though, Drake bent her over a fallen tree and gave her backside a hiding. Jemma gasped with every slap and wriggled, trying to free herself.

"One...you shouldn't run...two...especially from me...three...because I am the dragon hunter...four...you'll never be free...five...six...damn, girl, your arse is perfect for this sport! Seven...eight...nine...ten," Drake ceased his punishment and took a moment to appreciate the fine rump displayed before him. Then, as if a switch had flipped, his mood changed to something darker.

There was an urgency in his handling of her. He kissed her hard, and nipped at her shoulders and neck. His hands caressed her breasts, fondling and lifting them, weighing them in each hand, then he flicked her nipples first with his fingers, then with his tongue. Jemma moaned at the sensation, only to shriek when he suddenly pinched her or nipped. His hands were brutalising her body and his words were raping her soul.

"Oh yes, you have such sexy tits, girl. They feel good and taste better. How hard shall I squeeze them? This hard? Or THIS hard? Yes, my little slut, you love it, don't you?" as Jemma groaned beneath his ministrations. "I know you can't wait for my cock to be in you. Shall we see how your pussy's doing? Mmmm, it's wet for me, little slut. A hot piece of fuck meat just begging to be stretched by my cock."

Jemma shuddered at his words. She hated herself for feeling excited at this degradation. He was on top of her now, she could feel the head of his penis nudging up against her hole and she tried to clamp her legs together. In response, Drake reared back, grabbed her ankles, hooked her legs over his shoulders and, staring her in the eyes, with a single agonising thrust, deflowered her.

Jemma screamed. His fingers were biting into her shoulders as he held her tightly, better to brace himself against as he drove again and again into her. The look of fear, replaced by pain, seemed to inflame his lust further. He thrust harder with every cry, every tear. Jemma, her face contorted in distress, tried in vain to dislodge him until eventually, after what seemed to be hours, he slowed to a gradual halt, and just lay on top of her, looking down at her with an unexpected tenderness.

"The worst is over, my dear," he murmured.

"Is it- I mean, have you done?" Jemma whispered timidly.

Drake threw back his head and bellowed. "Noooo, nowhere near. But, I have taken your virginity so before I continue you can lick your virgin's blood from my cock."

He withdrew from her, stood up and hauled her to her knees. "Now, lick it. Once it's clean, you may suck it, and let me tell you missy, ANY sign of teeth will incur my wrath!"

Jemma hastened to do as she was told. She ran her lips and tongue up and down Drake's shaft, lapping at his cock like a cat in the cream. Once satisfied that all signs of her deflowering had been erased, she took the head of his cock into the moist recesses of her mouth and began a combination of sucking and rubbing that seemed to please him; plus, she thought, this was much more pleasant than what she'd just endured.

Until Drake grabbed her hair and began to face fuck her.

"Oh God, yes, your mouth is good to fuck. Watch those teeth! Otherwise my cock will knock them down your throat!"

Jemma, choking and gagging at this unexpected onslaught, thought she was going to pass out until thankfully Drake stopped again. He pushed her onto all fours, grabbed her hips and plunged back into her tender ravaged hole. Jemma noticed that this time the experience wasn't nearly so painful, especially when Drake pulled her up against him so that he could flick her clit. His fingers worked with such purpose that she could feel an orgasm building, and began to moan, gyrating her pussy against his cock and fingers.

"Do you like that, little bitch?" he asked.

"Mmm, ohhhh, yes," she sighed.

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to cum."

"Ask me nicely, then."

"Please may I cum?" she asked.

"No," he said, pushing her abruptly away from him, "No, you may not."

Jemma, sprawled face down on the moss, beat her fists upon the ground in frustration. The need that pulsed between her legs was so great that she felt suddenly angry at being denied. Drake must have sensed this because his voice sliced through the air like a sword, halting her before she had a chance to utter a single word.

"Do NOT. I am Master here, and your body is mine to use as I see fit."

Jemma gulped and ceased her pummelling. Drake reached down and grabbed her hair, forcing her to her feet. Lazily, he began exploring her pussy with capable fingers, drawing circles around her clit, bringing her to the edge of orgasm and then stopping. Soon, she couldn't help herself, and began to plead with him for release.

"Please, oh please, Drake..."

"Master."

"...please Master, PLEASE let me cum, oh, my Master MAY I cum? May I cum, Master? Please...."

Her words were caught up in a tangle of sobbing breath, she was barely aware of what she was saying, Drakes fingers were causing such exquisite sensations as he teased and tormented her hot, wet woman flesh. Still she begged and pleaded, still he denied the orgasm she so desperately needed.

His hands moved. He was fumbling with his cock behind her, and she readied herself for the pussy pounding that she thought was coming; only to feel his penis pushing between her buttocks. She tried to twist away from him, but he had a firm grip on her hips and the more she struggled the more cruelly his sharp finger nails dug in.

"Aren't you going to scream for me, little slut?" he whispered in her ear. "I know you crave my cock in your arse, you're a horny piece of fuck-meat, but this will hurt you more than when I first took your cunt."

Jemma resolutely bit her lips and squeezed her eyelids shut as she felt her anus being rent by the solid man-meat that was inching its way in.

"No?" the devil in her ear continued, "Still being stubborn, are we? Scream, girl."

The woman impaled on his cock, faint with pain, said nothing.

"I. Said. SCREAM!" Drake roared as he thrust deep into her arse in fury. At that point, Jemma couldn't hold back shrieking as waves of agony flooded her body. She felt like she was being ripped in two and let the world hear her debasement at the top of her lungs. Drake, raping her with such authority, released her hips which were showing signs of being bruised, and instead grasped her breasts, using them to hold her where he wanted her. He squeezed and pulled on them, twisting her nipples, kneading her mammaries with no mercy, ignoring her cries.

"Damn it, you little bitch," he gasped, "I'm going to cum in your arse!" And with that, he shot her full of his hot spunk with a loud series of groans.

His breathing regulated, and eventually he slipped out of her. Jemma gave a soft despairing moan and fell to her knees but before she could curl up into a ball of self pity, Drake ordered her to lick his cock clean again. A blood and fecal streaked cum cocktail awaited her. She tried not to think about it too much, closed her eyes and set to.

Drake seemed pleased by her servile attitude and he directed her to a small brook where she was instructed to wash herself, after which she was to present her body for an inspection. She performed her tasks like one in a dream, on autopilot. The water, icy cold under the Sussex trees even on such a hot day, made her skin tingle and goosebumps appeared but it was soothing on her sore, ravaged body and Jemma relished in it but she dared not linger for fear of reprisals.

Standing before Drake, she felt his eyes roam over her. He ordered her to turn this way, then that, to spread her pussy lips, her recently defiled buttocks. Once satisfied, he gestured that she should kneel before him to receive a blindfold, which she accepted meekly; thus denuded of sight, Drake led her to a large flat rock, that resembled an altar, with straps and fixings at each corner and at intervals along the sides. He placed her upon it, lay her back and fastened her ankles each to a corner, adjusted her body position so that her pussy was just overhanging the edge of the rock and then strapped her thighs in place so she was splayed out like a frog. Her hands were secured not at the opposite corners to her ankles, but downwards to the sides.

She ventured a question.

"Please, Master, might I ask why my hands aren't above my head?"

"Because when I'm ramming my cock hard into you, you may wish to have something to hang on to," was his reply and with that surprised her by gently guiding his monstrous man-flesh into her, withdrawing, teasing her hole and sliding slowly back in, filling her with his length and flicking her exposed clit as she writhed against him, begging to cum.

Drake savoured the feeling of the still tight cunt on his cock, the way it gripped his shaft as if scared he'd pull out and leave it unfulfilled again. The woman laying and moaning before him was so ripe, so delicious that he allowed himself a moment to enjoy her little whimpers of need. He was in total control; she knew it, and was giving herself so obediently into his supreme power that it seemed a shame to disrupt the rhythm of their mating, but disrupt it he must and thus he began to pound her, hard.

Jemma clung to her restraints wishing she could look upon the man who was brutalising her body with such expert precision. He sometimes held her waist, grasped her generous belly, as he rammed his penis home. Every time her orgasm approached, he eased off, not letting her hit the peak; she cried out in frustrated torment and then fell silent because it appeared her protest had made Drake stop his fervoured fucking.

In some trepidation, she waited. He was still inside her, still as hard, but he'd ceased moving. What was wrong? Was it something she'd done, had she overstepped the mark with her begging demands?

She felt him kissing her breasts and gave a sharp gasp as his tongue fluttered over her nipples. The heat in her cunt was becoming unbearable, she HAD to cum, and as if he read her mind Drake ordered that she do just that.

"Cum NOW, slut!" he demanded, "Cum HARD," and his fingers worked their magic as she came in waves, her cunt gripping and releasing his cock in ecstasy, her cries of pleasure seeming sweeter than the most heavenly of music.

Jemma emerged from her blissful state, aware that Drake still had her impaled on his cock. He began to move inside her again, her cunt was so slick with her juices that at first she wasn't aware of anything different although she felt properly filled by him. Maybe her pussy lips had swollen after their exertions? He definitely seemed bigger.

He growled and thrust as deep as he could go. Jemma gave a squeal of pain as her cervix was bombarded by a determined battering. Was he trying to get into her womb? His breath was coming in short, raspy bursts, and he kept making low guttural sounds that unnerved her. Her cunt was being stretched now, properly, painfully stretched and pounded and ruined.

She had the sense that Drake had reared back from her, and then her blindfold was ripped from her eyes and she gazed up in horror at the dragon raping her body. Its eyes were half closed as it took its pleasure, until it switched its focus to her and stared deep in her eyes as jet after jet of hot, really REALLY hot, dragon spunk flooded into her.