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Jess and I both met when we started university, both of us were studying to become pharmacists with a focus on starting our own company to sell what we dreamily described as Fantasy Cures; formulas to fulfil your wildest desires. I of course met my Mistress and schooling meant nothing to me afterwards, money being no issue either because of Mistress’ substantial trust fund and connections. “What did you make this time?” I ask“It’s easier to show you, come over to mine as soon as you can”“I’ll leave right now”I grab my purse quickly and jump in my car, taking the quickest route to Jess’ house. As I get to the door and knock, Jess appears quickly to pull me inside. When I knew her at university, Jess was a short, curly-haired, flat-chested quiet girl but over the years through the use of her own formulas, she’s grown her breasts to D cups, an ass you could bounce coins off and is now 5’10” with pixie-cut blue hair. “So you know how in uni we got really drunk and fucked with the. Two smooth, curved horns adorn his head with far more imposing display than any king's crown. His eyes are set like golden embers, and whether they impose a cunning intellect or shine impending fury, they are discerning jewels of treacherous observation. Adorning his skull is a mane of hair-like, downy feathers, hued gray like fading smog and flowing down the back of his neck to a wide spread just below his shoulders. While dragons are found in limitless variations of color, this killer beauty bears a particular palette of somber aggression. Overall, the very portrait of him reads like the baleful flames of a forest fire that is completing its consumption of fuel down to the roots. His dorsal scales flourish scarlet from the tip of his chin, wandering down the fore of his chest and stomach, fanning out from his exquisitely molded loins to taper off down the insides of his calves. Slipping hidden between his buttocks, these thicker, brighter scales meet his tail and course along the.
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But he is way ahead of that. His hands have now slid under my bra. ‘What did his mouth taste like?’ So, this is our game, each of us trying to outdo the other with a fantasy of some sort. I remember playing it with Mark several times before. I guess we were too good at it. We finally decided to find that perfect person in our stories. The air washes over us and a leaf floats to the ground. Once more should be OK, but this is no fantasy. ‘His mouth was so warm that I couldn’t breathe when he kissed me. His tongue tasted sweet and soft….until it tasted like me.’ I look up into Mark’s face as I state the last few words. They have the effect I hoped they would. His eyes close and I think I can see his lower lip tremble. He inhales sharply. ‘What did his hands feel like on your skin?’ Mark is moving his mouth down to my neck as he speaks. His lips are warm and explore the flesh behind my ear and down to where my shirt now falls open. ‘His hands were soft, the fingers short and strong. He.

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