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She reads about the Dragon Witch, Maleficent, Fire-Eater, Dark Enchanteress of the Waste Lands, Bane of Kings and Men.
She reads, and each word is both a soothing balm for the hidden sores of her soul, and a banderilla poking at her restlessness. Regina is tired of waiting. She is sick of Rumplestiltskin's slow and cryptic teaching, of his endless taunts and useless presence. She wants to learn. She wants her revenge now. Her heart is crying out for ruin. And every morning, at the royal table, while Snow White chirps happily in her father's ear, Regina daydreams of scarlet-blood petals slowly melting on the snow-covered steps of the palace, staining the world in red.
But that night when she closes the book, Regina flies in her dreams.
The scaly body between her legs is serpentine and so strong, scalding hot, scorching her bare thighs, but each vigorous stroke of the giant wings sends delightful vibrations up to her very core, makes her teeth chatter and her breasts bounce. She is naked and terrified, riding bareback on a huge, black, impetuous monster, her eyes are closed and she is holding on for dear life to the mane of thorns and spikes on the beast's neck. She is bleeding, the scales cutting her tender flesh, blood leaking along her legs, but she feels no pain. Her breath has been stolen from her by the raging wind, but she can still feel her wild, maddened pulse, her frenzied heartbeat defeaning her ears to all other sounds, until a low, sepulchral voice rumbles in her mind.
Open your eyes, human child. You have nothing to fear.
Regina yelps, the voice ripping through her and tearing her apart and turning her into a puddle, but she does open her eyes.
At first, she sees nothing, only a blur of grey smoke and red lightning, a mist of purple clouds and cloying fog, the whole world is rushing towards her, and the earth is spinning awry.
Then, she sees, and it takes her heart away.
The dragon slows down and the clouds fade out. The largest sun she has ever behold comes to greet them above the mountain tops, circled by dark and bright flames. Her face is instantly ablaze, her whole body heating up so fast her head is spinning. The dragon pauses in midair, level with the sun, her powerful wings holding them in place. Regina finds her breath again, it burns her lungs.
I am waiting for you.
Suddenly, the dragon rolls over and Regina falls, falls into the sky, down along the mountain side, crushed by the blazing eye of the sun, she falls like a meteor, like a shooting star, consuming herself in her flight, her heart screams in her ears, and while she rushes to the earth, something rises in her, a powerful wave, warm like the dragon's scales, heavy like its wings, and she goes down, down, and the wave goes up, up, her body writhes and bucks, legs opening of their own accord, belly tensing, neck arching, mouth gaping, her eyes flutter open, and she stares at the dragon's shadow above her, far, far away, sheltering her, and she never touches the ground.
Soon, she is flying on her own, and the pleasure is more blinding than the sky on fire.
When she wakes she is shaking, breathless. Sweat has matted her hair and tears are leaking from her eyes, drying on her cheeks. Her nightgown is sticking to her skin, straining against her chest. There is an unusual wetness pooling between her legs. Shyly, she reaches the top of her thighs, and caresses the quivering skin there, her mind wandering back to the fearsome dragon beast of her dream.
She's exhilarated and doesn't sleep a wink for the rest of the night.
.
When her husband demands her presence in his bedchambers the following night, she goes without a sound, as always, and when he parts her thighs with rough and uncaring fingers, she calls forth the wonderful images of her dream, and as he grunts and sweats above her while she stares at the ceiling, for the first time in long, painful years, she escapes on dragonback.
.
.
.
No one has dared disturb her rest for what seems like centuries.
No one.
She who once was most feared in all the green kingdom is now left rotting in misery and madness with nothing to feast on but ashes, a threat to no one, no one but the fool who would have the presumptuousness of breaking into her castle.
She is a dragon but she feels tired and old and worn out and in no mood to play with her food.
She wants to kill it as soon as it sets foot in her lair.
But years of isolation and poisoned concotions have softened her claws and eroded her fangs.
Maleficent is curious about the lovely, lively young girl, brave or stupid enough to seek her out and invade her retreat.
She is curious and that's her first mistake.
The girl, the human child, brings with her legends and stories, she comes in with sparkles in her eyes and praises in her mouth, with hope and young strength and naïve beliefs and spring fever, and she should crush her spine right now and pick her teeth with her little bones. She sees how disappointed the foolish child is, how her worshipped monster doesn't measure up to the larger-than-life tale, and the little thing has the gall to judge her and it makes her old blood stir like nothing else has for a long time now, and an appetite for supple flesh rises in her cold belly.
She pounces on her, and the girl is frightened but she doesn't fight her off, she steps back but she stares, and she doesn't reek of cowardice, she smells of warmth and sandalwood and honey milk and her eyes are too big and they see too much.
She makes her leave.
But when she sits next to the small fire in the hearth, Maleficent feels her dormant flesh prickling awake.
.
She comes back.
The girl with sweet-smelling hair and fresh-scented skin, plump cheeks and soft, small hands, seething about her revenge with bloodlust on her baby pink lips, murder in her warm, bright eyes.
She comes back and she cares.
Poor wretched thing.
She oozes heartbreak like others ooze fear.
Maleficent can see all the shards of broken glass on the little queen's skin, but amongst them her heart beats loud and hard and she is still alive.
But she's so vulnerable. So willing to lay herself bare for scraps of tenderness. She is too thin-skinned for revenge and darkness, her heart is strong but it is too raw, too sensitive, too exposed. Ready to be taken and crushed. She doesn't protect herself as she pushes hard and rushes headlong, trampling gracelessly over Maleficent's misery, failing to understand how deep the scar runs until a broken I can't escapes her mouth, her too human mouth, she is becoming human again, emotional again, hot again, she sheds her dead monster's skin and gets the woman back. She looks at the little queen like through a misty looking-glass and she sees someone close to her.
You had someone taken from you too?
The girl thaws under her touch, her voice is drenched in sorrow, her whole being melting and drowning. Maleficent understands. She does. She has her own loss to deplore. Her wings have been clipped and her breath smothered. She is pinned to the ground like a vulgar insect on a wall. Spread out for everyone's pleasure and enjoyment, the laughing stock of her enemies, a (barely) living example warning other sorceresses against hubris. She's a joke. She is done. There's nothing left. Nothing left but that annoying little spark, that wild and zealous firefly who refuses to leave her alone, who bosses her around like she isn't the most formidable evil of all times, like she isn't still able to crush her like a bug with her bare hands.
The queen tells her to get dressed, she urges her to move, she opens the curtains and rekindles the fire in the hearth with her tiny, laughable fire balls, she is trotting around the castle, frowning at the mess and harrumphing about the dust, and she clears her rooms with casual flicks of her wrists, leaves the windows wide open for the fresh morning air to blow in.
Maleficent thinks lazily that the queen has an uncanny ability to shine and illuminate others for someone who is surrounded by so many shadows.
Then let's get that fire back.
.
.
.
She has remembered how to be a woman and how to be a dragon. She is whole again, her two halves at peace. She is whole and she has her revenge, and the fire burns high, and it wants to feed on the girl, the eager little queen with the smoldering smile who has freed her and given her back the sky.
.
“Tell me, dear child, since I am now in your debt, what can I do for you? What wish could I possibly grant you that would equal the gift you gave me?”
The little queen curves her neck away from the headrest of her armchair with considerable effort, eyes blinking and eyebrows shooting up in curiosity at the unexpected question. She gently lowers her glass of wine on the small round table to her right, her aim a little unsure, she has drunk and drunk and drunk while she was excitedly gushing over Maleficent's evil deeds and last feat, and the dark enchanteress had indulged her, watching with the hint of a smile how the the queen was becoming more and more tipsy as she talked. But the little thing is gauging her, now, wondering about her angle, and the dragon is glad to realize the young girl is not as stupid as she had first appeared to be, and not nearly as intoxicated as not to be cautious around the enchanteress who's just cursed the child of her enemies to an ever-lasting slumber.
Maleficent watches with rapt attention how the little queen moistens her lips before she talks, how the small, red tongue slides out to gather a drop of wine, and she licks her own lips in reply and almost misses her words.
“I don't want anything. I only ask for the permission to come and see you again.”
The voice is clear and high, the words sincere and kind, but there's an edge to them, a darker shade of black in the huge brown eyes looking at her so innocently, and Maleficent knows there is more to it, a favor she will be asked someday, something to do with this blood feud that the girl seems so impatient to launch. But she'll pretend to believe her, for now. The girl is no threat to her, and she doubts she will ever be.
“You did without my permission before. I'm sure you will have no qualms about visiting me again unannounced.”
The queen bites her lips, bats her eyelashes, the expression on her face falsely repentant, and Maleficent's laugh is booming in the room.
“Coyness doesn't flatter you, dear. You were brave enough to break in here and face me in my madness and I respect that. Don't turn soft on me now.”
“I am not soft,” scowls the queen with an arrogance that sends shivers through the blonde woman's spine. Leisurely, she rises up from the couch, and swaggers with deliberate slowness to the armchair, enjoying how the young girl's eyes widen at her approach. She bends forward, resting her hands on each side of the queen, until the girl is pushed flat against the back of her chair, craning her neck to look her in the eyes.
“Yes you are,” drawls Maleficent, hunger rumbling low in her stomach, seeping through her lust-filled words, “you are soft and fresh and sweet-smelling like anything I've tasted in... years...”
She gasps, closing her eyes, and inhales deeply, filling her nostrils with the young and fruity scent of the human child, who is now perfectly still and holding her breath. Maleficent notices how the chocolate-brown eyes drop down to the plunging neckline of her negligee, before quickly looking away, cheeks blushing, and she chuckles darkly.
“I can't wait to have you dancing on the tip of my tongue.”
“You... you're going to eat me?”
Maleficent's laugh is high, shrill, a hiss of uncomparable glee and delight, and she lovingly cups her cheeks, black-painted nails digging into the flesh.
“Oh my dear child.”
The kiss lands on Regina's lips before she has time to blink.
It's only a surprise at first, awkward tension and cold unease, but it melts away quickly under each stroke of the skilled woman's tongue in her mouth, and Regina gasps, holding on for dear life to Maleficent's shoulders, the thought of pushing the woman away never crossing her mind, until the feeling of lips pressed upon lips becomes too overwhelming; while a deep, aching heat pools low in her belly; and she jerks her head away, eyes wild like those of a frightened filly.
“W...What was that?”
Maleficent keeps calmly caressing her jaw with her knuckles, her smile aloof and her eyes amused.
“A kiss, sweet Regina. Don't tell me you've never had one of those?”
The queen blinks and blinks, worrying her lips so hard with her teeth she might starts to draw blood soon. Maleficent frowns and tuts severely, stilling the nervous mouth with her thumb.
“No, none of that. If you want to bite your lips so much, let me do it for you.”
She leans in and Regina's head tilts back instinctively, accommodating her for the next kiss, and she digs her fingers hard into the arms of her chair while the pressure builds and builds and Maleficent all but devours her mouth, she has pratically climbed into her lap and her hand is squeezing her throat so fiercely it's becoming hard to breathe. But just as Regina's lungs start screaming for air, the sorceress breaks the kiss and relaxes her hold, fingers soothing the red marks on the olive skin of the little queen. Regina tries not to whimper at the loss, lips tingling with need.
“What do you say, your majesty? Is it something you want as much as I do?”
“You want me,” whispers the queen, her eyes terribly bright, the cold tip of her nose brushing against hers.
Maleficent looks at her, hard, knowing, and she reads everything, the love-starved child, the lonely queen, the violated girl, the wounded woman. The soon-to-be monster, brimming with rage and hate, pales before those realities.
Maleficent brushes her forehead with her own, and breathes against Regina's lips:
“I do. I wanted you from the moment you set foot in my castle. From the moment I grabbed your throat to choke you to death and you didn't flinch.”
She tilts her head to nuzzle Regina's hairline, breathing her in, lips pressing against her brow.
“And you, my dear child, do you want me?”
The queen opens her mouth wide, desperate for her flesh, and suddenly she yanks with force on her tangled blond mane and pulls her head back, assaulting her throat with an endearing enthusiasm. Maleficent smiles and moans, loud and pleased, and she knows the queen is embarrassed by this unabashed display, but she has every intention to cure her from this shyness.
The queen is bolder than she gives her credit for, however, and soon the little thing is pushing against her chest, forcing her to step back and stand. Regina follows her, her body molding to the witch's, her mouth finding plum-colored, fleshy lips. Her kiss is awkward, she never had much practice, never had time with Daniel for nothing but stolen, rushed kisses, and she is always too happy to evade Leopold's mouth whenever she can, so she makes up for her inexperience with strength and teeth until Maleficent's arms wrap around her waist, her hands begin to draw soothing circles on her back, she slows her down, takes the lead again, guides her, her mouth pressed firmly, chests colliding until Regina can't breathe, and Maleficent makes a dissatisfied noise when she sees her about to suffocate.
The dragon releases her lips for a few seconds, just the time for her to make quick work of the tie of her cloak. It falls onto the floor, leaving her in a puffed-out white shirt and a buckskin, plain, high-waisted skirt most royals would frown upon, but Maleficent has no care for her clothes, doesn't give a damn if she is proper or not, she only cares that she is overdressed for the occasion, or so it would seem considering the way her hands are slowly tucking her shirt out and sliding under the hem to reach for her bare skin. Her heart starts pumping erratically in her chest and she grabs Maleficent's shoulders to steady herself.
The dark enchanteress is thrilled by the young creature's reactions. She is basking in her warmth and her scent. It's been ages since she'd had something so lovely to sink her fangs in, either to devour or to fuck (sometimes it had been both... she has an appetite), and she relishes every second of it, every little sigh she wrests out of the not-so-poised queen as she tears open her shirt, the sounds vibrating in the back of her throat as she latches her mouth onto a painfully erect nipple sending sparks to her core. Her breasts are a wonder, hard and sweet as a rosebud, but full and heavy, the nipples dark as dusk. She licks and sucks thorougly, and the queen becomes quite loud in her pleasure, but it's not moving fast enough for Maleficent's taste.
The young girl is nervous and jumpy (Maleficent's fingers are not patient), yet she is trying very hard to please. She offers her mouth willingly, presses her body hard against her own, welcomes eagerly her heavy petting, but when she sneaks a hand down to cup her mound, Regina emits a noise of protest and breaks their never-ending kisses, staggering back.
“Would you dare tell me to wait?” growls Maleficent, reaching out for the girl and pulling her flush against her, grinning viciously at the defiant glare and raised chin she gets in return.
“No,” whispers the little queen, in a breathless voice, and she looks like she means it. Maleficent inclines her head, and with careful fingers she brushes back from Regina's face the loose curls falling from her elaborated bun, locking arctic eyes with ebony ones.
“What is it, then? Surely you are no maiden. Your husband would never have left such a beautiful flower unplucked?”
“Of course he hasn't,” Regina snaps, her mouth curling in distaste at the vulgar implication, slapping Maleficent's hand away and wriggling free of her embrace. She stands, tall and hurt, only a feet away, her eyes blazing, challenging the icy orbs of the dragon woman. Maleficent blinks, and sees the unspoken scar still dripping with stale blood.
“Yes, he has claimed his prize, hasn't he,” Maleficent comments quietly, “you poor little thing.”
Something dark and ugly obscures the queen's face, and her eyes seems to shrink into her head, two slits of untamed rage, her teeth are bared and gritted, she snarls at the sarcasm and pity she hears in the dragon's tone.
“I am not a poor little thing. I am not some victim to be pitied. I am a queen. I am the Dark One's apprentice. I am the daughter of Cora the heart-ripper. I am evil. I am not small. And don't forget that I returned you to fire and wind, dragon. Don't forget that you owe your revenge to me.”
She is magnificent in her pride, chin up, hair coming undone on her shoulder, shirt wide open and perky breasts heaving with labored breathing, and Maleficent's heart soars with joy when she finally realizes she has not been given a prized prey, but a true adversary, a powerful match for her old dragon's soul.
“Indeed I do.”
Her smile is so wide Regina can see fire sparkling between the woman's teeth, she can glimpse the flames roaring in the back of her throat.
“Then come, human queen, come and collect your reward.”
There is a lifetime of pause, a blink of waiting, and Regina throws herself into her arms, and this time she is the one reaching for her bare skin with hungry fingers.
.
.
.
She is dreaming again, the same dream, she is naked, her back drenched in sweat, she's riding the dragon, but her sky is the bed and and the sun is in her and she is sitting on her face, being fucked by her tongue, black nails are digging in the flesh of her rear and her thighs are aching under the strain, but she rides on, relentless, and the moans spilling forth from her mouth sound like a war chant.
“I told you I'd make you dance,” smirks Maleficent against her sex as the queen moves up and down, back and forth, and two fingers slide into her hot slit and Regina pulls at her own hair, desperatly searching for something to hold on as her legs begin to quiver and her belly tenses.
“Oh please, please,” she begs with broken cries, not knowing what she is asking for, but knowing that it isn't enough, that she wants more, she needs more, the wave is rising again inside her, and she is dripping, her juices thirstily lapped up by the blonde sorceress, she is floating away, but not flooded yet, she is not consumed, she hasn't gone far enough, fast enough, high enough.
“Please,” she rasps one more time, and Maleficent hushes her, and with her beastly strength (one she has been quite pleased to demonstrate several times already), she rolls them over in a blink, Regina's back hits the mattress, hard, the harsh action leaving her winded, she can only gaze with heavy-lidded eyes at the glowing woman looming above her. Then she feels her legs being spread open, Maleficent hooks her arms behind her knees, and suddenly her lower body is lift up in the air, and the woman's tongue goes back to torment her again, lazily sliding along her soaked folds, or quickly pushing in and out of her cunt.
Regina tries not to buck into her face, the strain in her shoulders and back as she holds the position is unbearable, but the tide has returned, warmth is flooding her flesh, she is swallowed by flames and waves, and she is keening, low at first, then louder, and louder, Maleficent's nails are leaving red-blood marks on her thighs, her nose is bumping against her clit, causing her whole body to shake madly each time, and finally, the dragon closes her teeth around the throbbing bud, and her voice echoes in Regina's head.
Now, fly.
She does.
Her whole body tenses and archs impossibly, she is about to break, she is dying, she doesn't know what's happening to her, she wails and sobs and screams, calling for Maleficent, and the blonde sorceress holds her hand, and Regina's shoulders are no longer touching the bed, in fact the only thing touching her is Maleficent's mouth, she is floating in the air (magic), she is levitating (magic), and Maleficent is laughing and murmuring “what a quick study”, and Regina opens her arms, laughing, moaning, laughing again, pearly white teeth so bright in the candlelight, she is a vision, Maleficent thinks, spread-eagled in the air, hips undulating, hypnotic, breasts bouncing while she rides her first orgasm, midnight hair curling wildly around her head, her face is screwed up in pleasure and soulful dark eyes are widen open, unseeing, she is flying, she is flying.
.
.
.
She is insatiable, and when they finally settle back on the bed, both breathing heavily, bodies sticking with sweat and bearing proudly scratch marks and burns, Maleficent throws an arm over her eyes, almost asleep already, sore, exhausted, vanquished by the fiery little queen and her wicked fingers so willing to learn and so averse to stop. Regina nestles against her side, stretching luxuriously like a satisfied cat, and Maleficent grunts as the queen begins to rave about revenge and murder, about bringing the world to its knees and making her enemies dance in the dragon's flames, her mind is feverish, worn out by pleasure and bliss, she could go on forever, and eventually the sorceress slams her mouth against Regina's to shut her up.
“Tomorrow, darling one,” she growls in a bone-tired, gravelly voice, “the world will still be here tomorrow for you to destroy. Tomorrow, it can go down in flames. Now, sleep, before I set you on fire.”
The queen chuckles and yawns and burrows her face in her neck, mumbling dreamily against her too hot skin:
“They will all burn, won't they?”
Maleficent begins to stroke the long, raven hair, relieved when she feels the girl's eyelids flutter close, and she agrees just before sleep overwhelms her:
“They will, impatient child, they will.”