He gasped into her mouth as she flicked one sharp tip over his nipple. Her hands moved lower reaching for the flimsy cloth that separated her from wha... she wanted, no needed, to have. She sat up and with a minor flexing of her fingers her talons shredded the kilt he wore. She didn't look at him for she knew that dragon fire had turned her eyes to glowing embers. The heat of him as she curled her fingers around his hard shaft called to her. This was what would satisfy the craving, this heat that. I saw a jaundiced eye shot rolling in its socket as a voice that was something between a whisper and a grunt said:“Little pig, little pig, let me in.”I froze. There was a pause. Then:“You're supposed to say: ‘Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.’”“Is that from ‘The King in Yellow’?” I asked.“Sometimes,” was the answer, and then a laugh. “Do you know it?”I considered this question for some time, as the answer was surprisingly complicated. But eventually I said:“Yes. In fact, I was the first.. More

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