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posts macro/micro, feet, squashing, some vore/mouthplay, dubious consent
do not reblog to sfw g/t blogs
if you recognize these characters no you don't
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i'm really fussy about vore. it used to be a huge source of anxiety for me and i'm slowly coming around to it. if i initiate or engage with something, you can assume i'm cool with it. i don't want people to send me vore asks, draw my characters in vore scenarios, or make things i post that aren't vore-related into vore scenarios. this is a blocking offense.
mostly not into fatal/hard/crush. if i do post it it'll be under a readmore with a warning up front.
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Summary: Beth meets with Eloise Elliott for a consultation of her custom ballroom shoes. Questioning, tracing, and measuring follow. Feet people, done my best to do you proud. Got hit with the ao3 author curse, so wrote most of this in the er. Hope it's any good.
Beth got up early the next morning to finish preparations. When he set out with a cart full of equipment, the watch strapped to the wooden handle read 10:43 am. It was just noon when he arrived at the black-and-white art deco building.
A tall, round human with hickory skin met him at the side door. He was dressed all-black in a morning coat, a single-breasted waistcoat, crisp trousers, and polished oxfords, except for his shirt, bow tie, and gloves, which were stark white. His coiled, combed-back hair was also white at the temples. His face was round and full, dotted by moles from time under the sun. His pencil moustache creased as he smiled, umber eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Mr. Beth?”
The tiny shoemaker nodded.
“Excellent.” The man put a hand to his chest. “I am Mr. Cuffee. Miss Elliott sent me to receive you.” He stepped aside as he opened the door. “Right this way. Can I help you with your cart?”
Beth shook his head. He pushed the cart harder; faster. Mr. Cuffee followed with slow, careful steps to the elevator. The bellhop eyed the odd pair, but kept his mouth shut.
Up, up, up they went, down the hall, and then, there she was.
Eloise Elliott awaited him on the lounge couch of her parlor, in a sage day dress embroidered with small, yellow flowers and framed in lace. Her curly, honey-blonde hair was styled in loose finger waves, pinned behind one ear with a matching beaded clip. Pearl earrings hugged her ears, while a pearl necklace draped lazily around her neck. Her sharp cupid’s bow was painted plum again, but now her warm, fawn cheeks were painted too; a melon-pink rouge, and her eyelids a light taupe, lashes lined with kohl.
“Mr. Beth,” Eloise Elliot smiled. She made no effort to get up. He supposed she was closer to him like this, anyway. “How marvellous to see you again.”
Beth mustered a curt nod, already regretting coming. Standing before the giant woman’s intense eye, he might as well have still been naked. He felt a mad man for even daring set foot in this apartment again. Repressing his nerves, Beth wheeled his cart to the slender cocktail table between couch and chair like he had any dignity left.
The room was tiffany-blue, the shade and hue of a fresh robin’s egg in April. Velvet, eggplant-purple drapes framed the long French windows behind the couch, their tassels dancing in the sun. A wide, arched doorway led to the pale blue dining room on the right. The ceiling was as high as heaven, and looked it, too; painted with songbirds soaring across crystal skies and curling clouds, a work of art framed by crown molding dusted in gold-leaf. Tall, potted palms fanned built-in bookshelves and a grand piano with a lacquered walnut veneer. The seating was just as purple and velvet as the drapes. Two plush chairs were adjacent the lounge couch in audience of the piano; seated on either side of a cocktail table with their backs to the wall of the dining room. A turquoise and amethyst rug covered the hardwood with an orange and pink floral scene bursting from a Chinese tree.
“Can I get anything for you before you begin, Miss Elliott?” Mr. Cuffee asked.
Eloise looked to Beth. Heart furious, he shook his head. “No, that will be all, thank-you, Mr. Cuffee. Just ask Jack to pick up the refreshments for the gala on Saturday.”
“Will do, Miss.” The butler bowed his head and left.
Eloise set eyes on the borrower. “I’ve never had bespoke shoes before, Mr. Beth. Tell me, where do we begin?”
“A few questions.” Beth turned to his cart, riffling to pull out his notepad and borrower-sized pencil—a broken off piece of lead, sharpened to a point. “What style are you looking for?”
She crossed legs, setting her chin on her knuckles. “Mary Jane.”
“And the shape?”
“Almond.”
“Heel?”
“French. Three inches.”
He lifted eyebrows. “Tall for dancing.”
Eloise smiled shamelessly. “I like to be tall. A gal’s only five foot four, you know. I’m still not gonna look a fella in the eye, but.” She shrugged.
Beth ogled the woman sixteen times his size. After a second too long, he asked, “Leather or wood?”
“For the heel?” Miss Elliott thought for a moment. “Leather. Better impact.”
“These shoes will absorb shock better than your standard.” He affirmed. “Color?”
She stood. “On that, I intend to take advantage of the promise of custom.” Beth clutched his pencil and notepad as the living mountain rumbled by; beans still moved far too fast and far too loud for his liking. Eloise breezed past the front door and headed down the hall where Beth remembered her bedroom was. He shivered.
A moment later, Eloise Elliott returned with the most spectacular gold gown in the world.
The long, sleeveless bodice was embroidered with swirls of golden beads, spread like branches whose leaves were full and made of sunlight. Amber beads the shape of raindrops hung from the trim of the dropped waist, before the fabric turned to a gathered skirt with a handkerchief hem. He caught the shape of rose petals in the brocaded lamé as the skirt moved. The neckline was scooped, but Eloise turned it on its hanger in a twirl for him and revealed the deep, plunging V of the back, lined with more droplets of the beaded amber trim.
“I would like shoes to match this, do you think you can manage?”
Beth gaped at the glittering gown. He closed his mouth. “I—I’ll have to order fabric.”
“No need. My designer left me some for repairs. This should be enough, no?” She held up at least a yard of the gold brocade lamé. It would be the finest material Beth had ever worked with. His palms began to sweat just thinking of it. He bobbled his head.
Eloise placed the folded fabric on the cocktail table, setting the gown’s hanger on the coat rack by the door. She stood to admire it a moment before turning back to him. “I have some beading for it, also. I’ll have Mr. Cuffee find it before you go.”
“Yes. With extra support.” Beth wrote it down, then realized she was staring. He took a sharp breath and made himself meet her eye. “Do you think you can do it, Jimmy?”
He looked to the folded gold on the table. His cart, full of tools. The exquisite gown hanging by the door. He nodded.
“Excellent.” Eloise’s smile was radiant. His insides felt like they were made of liquid. “What next?”
Beth held up a finger, then climbed his cart to pull a roll of paper from the pile. He carried it to the hardwood behind the chairs, set weights on the curled corners, and pushed it flat. Eloise craned her long neck to follow his movements. His heart pounded. Eyes accompanied him to his cart as he pulled a sharpened, human-sized pencil and returned to the paper.
“Here,” he said. “I need to trace you.”
An eyebrow raised. “Of course.”
The weights rumbled. Beth craned his chin up. Then up. And up. He gripped the pencil to himself as a looming shadow fell over the paper. He took several shuffling steps back to the edge, but it was hard to meet her face from this angle. A gigantic pair of white, stocking-wrapped feet settled before the paper.
Toes the size of his head lifted off the hardwood. “Do you want these off? Barefoot, I mean.”
Beth glanced at the giant, then back to the paper. “If you would.”
The green curtain of her dress dipped as Eloise balanced to take the stockings off one at a time. Beth occupied himself with his pencil until she draped them over the back of a chair. Her eyes dropped onto him expectantly. Smacking lips, Beth gestured to the paper.
Eloise stepped up. “Ready when you are, Jimmy. As long as you promise not to look up my skirt.”
His face bloomed red. Eyes pointed fiercely down, he approached her right foot. It was rough and calloused, but still neatly-kept. Working feet, he supposed. Even they smelled of sweet florals and wood, over twice as long as he was and almost as wide. He’d find out by exactly how much soon.
He stopped by the side of her big toe and put pencil to paper. Careful not to wrinkle it, Beth dragged the pencil down the inner line of her foot. When he reached the arch, the muscles beside him tensed. Eloise fidgeted her toes.
He put a hand against her ankle.
“Sorry.” She relaxed. “Ticklish.”
He continued. The pencil line wrapped around the wall of her heel, all the way to the outer joint of her pinkie toe. She only wiggled a little when he got to the tips of her toes. Beth wasn’t even sure the giant woman was aware of the movement, but he could feel her eyes on him as he finished, gaze as intense as it had been in her sink. Quickly, he moved to her left foot and asked himself again what the hell he was doing. He scurried away when he was done, setting down the giant pencil to run to his cart. He grabbed his measuring tape, throwing it over his shoulder like a bundle of rope and hurried back to the towering titan, still standing on the paper.
Beth settled in front of Miss Elliott, brushing his hair back. It still smelled faintly of coconut. He dared to look up momentarily. “Clear the way, if you please.”
Giant feet rose and stepped back. “Whatever you say, baby.”
His ears turned scarlet. With a nervous nod, Beth shifted his measuring tape from his shoulder, unravelling it as he walked from the outline of her second toe to the center of her heel. He tried to straighten it.
“Let me.” The dancer descended upon him. Massive, manicured nails pinned down the ends of the tape, as effortless as she’d pinned him.
Beth collected himself, throwing a thumbs up while he ran to get the large pencil. “Hold it tight,” he called, not even sure if the towering woman could hear him. She kept it secure regardless.
Beth dragged the pencil all the way down the measuring tape, then shifted it into the crook of his arm while he pulled out his regular pencil and paper to note the length. Two-hundred-and-twenty-one millimeters. He checked the arch length and wrote that down, too.
“Great.” He directed eyes to Miss Eloise, who was still watching him from her kneel. “Thank-you.”
“Other side?”
He nodded.
Two-hundred-and-twenty-three millimeters.
Staring at the giant with wide-eyes, Beth wet his lips and hesitantly tugged at the measuring tape. Eloise released it. He blinked, relieved. He still expected her to grab him at any moment, and fingers would spread him wide and open, vulnerable and powerless again, but she never did. She was following his lead now.
He could not believe it. He made sure not to turn his back as he went to remove the weights.
“Here, allow me, sugar.” Eloise lifted hands.
He jumped out of the way of her fingers as they plucked the weights from the floor, like they were nothing. She shifted, and the paper rolled onto itself with a snap.
Before Beth could say a thing, she collected the roll and rounded the chairs. He met her by the cart, and she let him direct her to the best spot for it. It was odd, how helpful she was now. He supposed that was because he had something she wanted. He could not decide if he was better for it.
When her hands were clear, Beth put the giant pencil back and looked across the parlor. “Just, um,” he gestured, “just take a seat.”
Eloise sat on the velvet couch. The long, French windows stretched as a strip of brilliant blue sky behind her. Sunlight framed the frizz of her golden hair as the sun slipped down her shoulders, light wrapping around her like folded wings. Like an angel, his mother would say. His heart pounded like piano keys again.
“I need to take some more measurements,” he explained. “We can start with circumference. Ball of the foot?”
Eloise lifted the front of her right. Beth tossed the measuring tape over the widest point, then paused. The other end of the tape dangled on the opposite side of her foot. He could not go around and gather it at the same time without losing his purchase. He realized what he had to do.
“Hold still,” Beth said loudly, trying to push the fear from his voice. Hands over his head, he clutched one end of the tape and crouched to dart under the giant’s foot.
It did not move.
In the clear, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he joined the two ends of tape.
“That worried, were you?” Eloise asked. He stopped. The giant was grinning. “Trust; I’m a woman of control, Mr. Beth.”
He swallowed and made sure the tape was aligned with the pinkie and the joint of the big toe. “A hundred-and-eighty-seven millimeters.”
The process repeated for the waist of Eloise’s foot, the instep, and the heel, which he found the most nerve-wracking to be under; right where all the weight of her hundred-something-pound body met the floor. Right where she could crush him the easiest.
His nerves began all over on the second foot.
“Has anyone ever pinned you during this?” Eloise flexed her toes, as he tossed the measuring tape over the arch of her foot. He stiffened, afraid to meet her eyes. She bounced the ball of her foot. “On accident, or… on purpose?”
Beth fidgeted with the fabric of the measuring tape. Shaking, he reached out and stilled her jittering. His hand looked so tiny against the curve of her foot. “...It—It’s been a long time since I did this.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Beth closed his eyes. Against his better judgement, he held his breath and went under. As he lined up the tape, a knock sounded at the front door.
He sensed Eloise look up. “Come in!”
The handle fiddled and in shouldered a long, lanky man in a faded navy suit and scuffed oxfords. His coral-red tie was loose and his jacket unbuttoned. He looked of similar age to Beth, with tanned skin, a stubbly, square jaw, and a sharp, Roman nose. In his arms, he carried a large, wooden crate, unlabelled but clinking with glass. With the jerk of his head, the man flung fussed black curls out of his eyes. They scanned the parlor, landing on the scene at the lounge couch. He grinned.
“And what’s going on here?”
“A consultation for bespoke shoes,” Miss Elliott answered smoothly. Once again, she made no effort to get up.
“Ah.” The giant man said. Dark eyes fixed on Beth, still holding the measuring tape around the arch of Eloise’s bare foot. The man leaned back in his scuffed oxfords. Beth wondered if he also qualified as dirty, and if so, what was he doing in the house of Eloise Elliott. Perhaps she was about to wash him in her sink, too. His grin grew wider, crooked with amusement. “You’re the shoemaker, are you?”
Beth clenched his jaw. He nodded. “That’s right.”
Miss Elliott gestured to him. “I present, Mr. James Beth.”
He sniffled. “It’s just Beth.”
The man tilted his head and regarded him curiously. “Giovanni Lo Jacono. But you can just call me Jack.” He grinned again. “I’m Miss Elliott’s errand boy, among other things.” He took his eyes off Beth for the first time since he saw him. Raising brows at Eloise, he lifted the wooden crate. Glass shifted and clinked. “I’ll just put these in the back, shall I?”
“That would be appreciated, thank-you, sugar.”
Dark eyes settled on him again. They looked like old, dirty pennies or brown glass, he thought. Like broken bottles littering the shore, scuffed by the sea until smooth and worn. They remained fixed until Jack crossed from parlor to dining room. Heavy footsteps echoed through the apartment, followed by a loud thunk from the kitchen.
Beth remained still; hovering by the arch of Eloise’s foot as the steps returned. Hands free and weight lifted, Jack slunk lazily from the dining room to the front door. There was an air to him, the kind of careless trouble Beth hadn’t surrounded himself with in years. It raised the hair on the back of his arms.
Jack whistled at the golden gown on the rack. “That’s mighty fine, Miss Elliott.”
Eloise crossed her free leg and Beth jumped. “Isn’t it just? Mr. Beth is making me a matching pair.”
“Is he now?” Jack gave Beth a look as he pulled open the door. “Must be quite talented, keeping up with something crafted by angels.” The corner of his mouth tugged into a cheeky smile, framed by dimples. He winked. Then he nodded to the other giant. “Miss Elliott.” With that, he was gone.
Beth stood motionless for a minute.
“Are we clear to continue, Jimmy?”
“Yes, uh…” He collected himself and looked down at the tape. “Two-hundred-and-twenty-five millimeters.”
He measured her heel next. He did not know what to make of the odd feeling in his chest. It was… not just intimidation. He was unnerved, but in a way he could not describe. He finished recording the circumference and Eloise tilted her head at him.
“Done?”
Beth shook his head. “Stand up?”
“Stand up, please. Statement. Command.” She scrunched and unscrunched her toes. “Are you the one conducting this consultation, or not?”
Beth cleared his throat. “Stand up, please, Miss Elliott.”
“Oh, and how formal.” He could hear the slyness in her voice as she stood. “Thank-you for the direction, Mr. Beth. Tell me, what is it you’re doing now?”
He held up the length of tape. “Measuring your ankle. I need to know how tall it is.” He pinned one end to the floor with his shoe. The other end, he set against her skin, just where the ankle bone was.
“Yes,” Eloise said, her tone turning contemplative. “I feel that.”
A shiver travelled up his spine. Acutely aware, Beth pressed his hand to her inner ankle, the tape under his thumb. The skin was warm to his touch. Alive. He checked the tape; exactly ninety millimeters. He moved on quickly to the other ankle, but it was just as warm.
“That’s all for measuring,” he announced, binding the measuring tape.
Eloise clapped. “Wonderful. Then we can break for dinner.”
“Dinner?” Beth scampered out from under her shadow.
Thin brows raised. “A little late for lunch, don’t you think?”
Before he knew it, Beth was presented with his second feast in two days. This time, it was held in the honorable host of the dining room. Beth had insisted on making his way to the table himself. Not only was it her, but this was the first he heard of a lady of high class sharing a formal dining table with a borrower, and he wouldn’t shame his people by being carried. Eloise seemed to understand this, at least, and remained hands free. Still, she did not seem overly fond of his borrowing hook as he pulled it from his cart and latched it around the walnut arm of a dining chair. She hovered nearby as he jumped from wooden armrest to white tablecloth.
While he climbed, Mr. Cuffee came from the kitchen to prepare the table—not with food, but a set of giant dishes and a second, tiny table, complete with its own chairs, tablecloth, and ware. Beth took a bewildered seat. He turned the flawlessly sized silverware between his fingers with wonder. Everything looked as it would in a fine household magazine, shrunken and made perfect for a borrower.
“You will find I am never unprepared for guests twice,” Eloise remarked.
He didn’t know what to say. He was touched. No one had ever… to go through the effort of… Beth closed his mouth and swallowed the dryness. “Thank-you.”
Eloise gave a pleased smile and took a seat. Mr. Cuffee brought him a much appreciated washcloth to freshen up, and dinner began.
To drink, Mr. Cuffee presented the tables with ginger ale lemonade, then brought out chicken salad and tea sandwiches; perfect triangles free of any crust. They were trimmed even smaller for Beth, the bread halved vertically with an expert cut and filled with a spread of cream cheese and thinly sliced cucumber. All together, his meal barely contributed to Eloise’s single human-sized serving, but this, he learned, was only an appetizer.
The main course made his mouth water like a dam burst free. Seared pork chops simmered in red wine came with a side of roasted carrots, potatoes, parsnips, and turnips, tossed in oil and herbs, cubed and garnished with fried sage. Tomato soup, thick and creamy, wafted the aroma of sauteed onion; topped with crushed crackers and served with toasted sourdough coated in melted mozzarella, fresh basil, and roasted garlic. His head spun. His nose tingled. His mouth was busy.
Eloise watched him with an amused little smile as she sipped her ginger ale lemonade. If she had any comments about his hunger, she kept them to herself, but she seemed to enjoy watching him eat. He was not sure he could say the same about her; he only dared glances as the giant dined. She took small, polite bites, but they were still far closer to borrower-sized than not. She corrected his table manners only once, on which spoon was for soup.
Dessert was butterscotch cake, spongy and moist from a brown sugar syrup. It was frosted with whipped penuche between layers of toasted pecans, chopped fine enough for even a borrower to enjoy. Though Beth would never dare tell her, it rivalled his mother’s best cake. Mr. Cuffee even brought him a to-scale glass of cold, fresh milk straight from a bottle, and Beth could have gotten to his knees to thank the man without it being enough.
“Have you reconsidered my offer?” Eloise asked as he shovelled cake into his mouth.
“Mm?”
She took a bite of frosting and pecan. “Chicago, Paris, Sydney. The rest.”
“Oh.” He shook his head vigorously, gluing eyes to his plate.
“Hm.” Eloise shrugged and delivered herself another mouthful of cake.
While she finished dessert, Beth busied himself with his notepad. He had plenty of time; he still could not believe humans could keep eating so much. It now had to be worth his body weight ten times over, and then some. Or maybe it only seemed so because he ate like a ravenous rat.
Finally, the silver of a fork clinked against a china plate. Beth tried not to tense as the mass of Eloise’s blonde head leaned to look over the edge of the notepad. “Checking measurements?”
Beth looked up and cleared his throat. Carefully, he turned the notepad to the giant. She squinted.
“It’s a sketch.” He said quietly.
“I see that.” She brought her hand to his table. “May I?”
Hesitantly, Beth rested the notepad on her fingertip. She was mindful to keep steady as she withdrew it, turning the notepad with a long nail before holding the page up to her face. Beth drummed fingers against his table and spied the smear of leftover butterscotch on his plate. After a long, scrutinizing silence, Eloise returned the notepad to his table.
“I approve.” She rose to fetch her purse, pulling out a fountain pen and a leather checkbook. Wordlessly, she sat to scrawl pen across paper and tore a check free to set it across his table.
Beth stood so fast he knocked his chair over. He took the massive check with both hands. “I… I can’t accept this, Miss Elliott.”
“Is there a better form? Cash? Coin?”
He looked up with wide, baffled eyes. He thought he might cry. “Do not make fun of me, please, Miss Elliott.”
Eloise set down the pen and book. “I am not making fun, Mr. Beth.”
He stared at the still-drying ink, the elegant cursive.
She twisted lips and snatched the check back. “No, you’re right, cash or coin would be better. I don’t know the banks accept borrowers.”
Beth stood like a statue. Finally, he put hands on the table. “Miss Elliott, I cannot allow you to pay me a hundred dollars.”
Eloise waved a hand, riffling through her purse. “Nonsense. When a foolish client overpays you, you keep your mouth shut.”
“I can’t do that.” He shook his head. “You don’t understand. This is more than my yearly salary.”
She smacked a wad of cash onto the table. With a jingle, a handful of coins followed. “Then you’re making it up in the world, Jimmy. The polite thing is to say ‘thank-you’.”
“Thank-you—?”
Eloise Elliott stood abruptly and charged off. When she returned, she had one hundred dollars, half in cash, half in coin sleeves. She dropped it with a defiant clang on the pristine white tablecloth, next to the remnants of their magnificent dinner. “You will accept my payment, Mr. Beth, or you will accept losing my business.”
Beth stared at the pile of money. It was wider than his entire immediate family, standing shoulder to shoulder. Slowly, he collected his notepad and its open sketch of Mary Janes with French heels, teardrop cutouts, and beaded brocade. “You said six months?”
Eloise Elliott nodded firmly.
He gripped the paper. “I can do it faster than that.”
borrower w a feeder kink u slam back a double cheeseburger a plate of fries and a milkshake in their presence and they're watching slackjawed wide eyed kinda shaky and you go omg so sorry i realize why that might be scary for you and theyre like no no. keep going.
miniscule as fuck obie tuesday. bugsize obie tuesday. it was supposed to be bigsize obie tuesday but there was a celestial typo. oh well too bad you're bug now buddy boy. squashed & plastered across cherie's fingertip and she rubs her finger across her lip while lost in thought and applies +1000000 kiss damage to him
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Ohhh the scale changing is sooo mean and fun. If he fucks up particularly bad he has to extra deal with being small. I’d love to see his reaction to being even smaller than usual after an especially shitty delivery attempt if you ever choose to canonize his size shifting around 😵💫
yeah i'm canonizing it............. i think obie doesn't even bother to try and deliver a package on the extra-tiny loops, but he has no way of knowing what size he's gonna be compared til he gets there <3
[standing slackjawed & typing furiously in the airport while my boarding group is being called] cherie making obie eat rowen's cum out of her. cherie facesitting an obie of any size and making him lick her clean. cherie grinding on his face if he's not doing a good enough job [i am hit by a speeding luggage cart]
also HI. i'm going to visit my husband for a while so posting will be sparse on here. have fun take care of yrselves go scroll the backlog if you miss me. BYEEEEEE
having a huge embarrassing crush on someone that you know for a fact is not reciprocated and then ending up shrinking next to them and they scoop you up to coo over how cute you are and you know it's because you're small and there's no real attraction but for just a minute you let yourself believe
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the micro i have pinned to the pillow under my cheek started getting too wiggly so i put their whole head in my mouth for a little bit and now they're keeping still and well-behaved
recently shrunken tiny rescued from the grasp of the guy threatening to swallow them now clinging to the thumb of their savior and babbling fervent thank yous over and over. and the giant who saved them is like ohhh fuuuck i can't let them know how hard this is making me
Hello, I really love your art. Would it be ok with you if I drew some Obie fanart of him in the short skirt outfit you described? Totally understand if not. :)
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one thing about me is i get genuinely a little jealous about people with fetishes for mundane things. like i'm really picky and specific with my impossible fetish so even most of the stuff that does it doesn't do it in a way that gets me off. so i'm sitting here like man the sneeze fetish people have it made
FIC! it's under 1k words and sex is mentioned but nothing explicit happens.
~~~
Clad in black, the thief became one with the shadows as he snuck down the corridor, pausing at the threshold of the room before him. Ahead lay his goal - and, if he wasn’t careful, his doom.
The castle had been the royal family’s home for centuries before the dragon arrived. Now the only inhabitants were the beast and the princess, left behind in the desperate evacuation and presumed either dead or enslaved to the monster’s will. Many adventurers had tried to brave the castle’s dangers to rescue her, and all had failed. The few survivors swore never to return.
The man who approached the vast throne room now was not one of these brave heroes come to save the damsel in distress. He was here to make his fortune by another means: outright robbery.
The royal fortune and crown jewels were still within the castle’s walls. If he could slip in and out without being noticed, he could comfortably live out the rest of his days on whatever he could slip in the sack that hung from his belt. The dragon wouldn’t even miss a handful of coins and gems, after all, to the towering beast they were insignificant trinkets. As long as he avoided detection, he was in the clear.
He took a moment to steel his nerves before poking his head around the huge doorway into the throne room. A high domed ceiling stretched up into the gloom. None of the ornate chandeliers or wall scones were lit. The only light in the room came from the moon’s beams filtering through high windows. The thief could not help but notice the absolute lack of gold for said light to glitter off of. Weren’t dragons supposed to pile up the stuff and sleep on top of it? Where was all the loot?
The thief slid along the wall, eyes darting in every direction. No treasure. No dragon. No princess. Just a huge empty room with thrones at the back. Fine. He would make his way to the side passages and see where he could go from there. Maybe it was all kept in another room.
As he neared another tall doorway, he felt a distant rumble and grew still. The rumble was followed by another, and another, growing stronger and closer. His eyes widened as he realized what they meant, and he looked around in a frenzy for somewhere to hide. A pillar off to the side would have to do - he dashed for it and threw his back against the far side just as the dragon came lumbering through the doorway he’d been approaching.
She thudded by him without a glance at his hiding spot, and he spun around the pillar to keep it between the two of them as she passed. Her stride didn’t falter - she hadn’t spotted him. He glanced around the side of the pillar and saw she was carrying something in a clawed hand, which she set on a high balcony before slumping down with a floor-shaking THUMP in the middle of the room. She stretched out, yawning hugely, then curled up, and in moments she was snoring.
The thief watched cautiously for any sign that the beast was faking. When she did not move except for the rise and fall of her breath for some time, he finally slunk out from his hiding spot again and craned his neck up to try and see what had been placed up high. It must have been something important. Maybe some portion of the treasure? He should climb up and take a look. Quietly, he popped his knuckles one by one, limbering up for the climb ahead.
The uneven, cracked walls made for good purchase as he skittered up the rock as quick as a lizard. Ornate decorations provided little ledges that allowed him moments to catch his breath along the vertical ascent. Finally he scrambled over top of the balcony - and froze.
It was the princess, bound and gagged, unable to move or speak. Her eyes screamed at him to help her. The thief chewed his lip. He wasn’t here for her. But if he did manage to save her, would there be a ransom from the royal family in exchange? Did they still have some line of credit or favor they could call in to pay him? What about her hand in marriage, if nothing else, did that get him any kind of security?
Lost in thought, he failed to notice her gaze had drifted from him to the space just behind him. A looming dark shape rose up silent as a shadow, far too quietly for a being of her considerable size…
CLICK
Sudden light flooded the room, and the dragon and the thief threw their arms over their eyes and cried out complaints.
“Rowen! We were in the middle of something!”
“The sock, dude, the sock was on the handle!”
“Sorry, sorry, it fell off! Aw, were you guys playing dragon again?”
Cherie huffed and crossed her arms. “It was foreplay which you know very well having participated in your fair share, thank you very much. And now we have to give you a character… what about a jealous ogre who’s come to challenge the dragon for her territory…? Ooh, and you want the princess too but you’ll have to settle for this charming little rogue!”
Cherie swept Obie up in a hand and squeezed his face between her fingers, holding him out towards Rowen. He spluttered protests from his mushed mouth and she relented.
“C’monnn, we’ve been at this forever. We can’t just fuck already?” Obie whined.
Cherie sighed dramatically. “Fiiiiiine. We’ll skip to the scene where the dragon has her way with the captive princess. Get the dress off the doll, Rowen will you help me tie the knots? You’re better with the tiny ones.”
Rowen suppressed a laugh as he walked further into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. “As you wish, my dear.”
