She leaned against the wall, pressing her forearm flat, and holding one palm outstretched, gripping the wall for balance. Snap! She shivered, and felt the tail of a dragon bite her left hip. She didn't have time to regain her composure, Snap!, before it bit her again, just barely breaking a line of skin across her ass cheek. A mark would only show up less than an inch long, but she felt more like 8 inches of contact. She whimpered, trying to stay upright, shifting the balance of her weight to one foot as her other knee buckled from under her. Oh, it turned her on; she moaned as much from being turned on as from the sting of the...Snap! Her shoulder burned as the stinger lashed across her flesh there. Oh God, she pressed into the wall, waiting for it to come again, a hundred shooting stars leaving burning trails of cosmic fire across her pale skin.

He said not to look, to keep her eyes shut and face away, but she glanced over her shoulder and back at him anyway. She shouldn't have. It was scary to see him, his weapons spread out in array before him; his stance as he prepared to lash her again, the calculating look he had in his eye, as he chose the next patch of unwelted skin to mark bitingly, as his. She kept her chin up and met his eyes, his eyes bore into her, but she refused to give. Somewhere, there was this one strand of her that burned more brightly than all the others, and it would not let her drop her gaze. He challenged her, and she took little joy in her slight but existent win. He drew his arm back, and she snapped her face back toward the wall. But she hadn't lost.

Bruises had begun to form under welts, and he admired them; enjoyed going over every inch of her flayed body, running his fingers across her tender flesh, pointing out this one and that; his love marks left as territorial visualistic memories. He kissed her deeply, roughly, bit her. She melted into him and he bit her jaw, held her still, his hand in her hair, and bit her harder, simply because she was his to bite. For the next week she wouldnt be able to rest her chin in her hand without getting wet over the thought of him.

The welts and bruises would remind her of him for weeks to come. She wouldn't sit, lie down to sleep, shower, or dress without inhaling the him that he left imprinted on her with his whips and crops. Deer hide, bison hide, bovine... She couldn't remember which was which or their proper names... They were all like a dragon whispering fire across her thighs, calves, hips, ass, and shoulders. Her tummy hadn't been spared, and the inside of her thigh was raw. It made her wet, trying to describe the beauty in the purple of her flayed skin. Every mark was empowering, each raised welt proof in the height of her exstasy, and his.

Well, then, make me yours she had said to him defiantly, petulently. And so he had; though it may not have been his intent. She would be wraped in his breath, his fire, his power, for weeks to come. She would be wrapped in the lashes of her lover, welted by his passion, bruised by his desire, cut by his blade and burned by his fire. Ultimately, she would be his, he had made sure of that years ago, and she had come back, as free as his slave could be. She had come back to revel in the cosmic fire of dragons breath, and it whispers across tenderness. She had come back to him.