The ropes (thick, unyielding, joyful) melt away into... perhaps smoke. Yes. That is the sort of thing that other things melt into. Rose may use her mouth again; it is time for her to be able to speak. That is what Sai a’Niz commanded of her, after all.

When the Dragon shows up, you are to do exactly as you are told. And you are to say exactly as you are told. And obeying makes you [i]so[/i] happy.

A shiver runs through Rose as she speaks, her voice dreamy and breathy and just this side of a moan. “In the name of the Goddess, I offer you these treasures, noble dragon: a helpless princess and the noble knight who tried to save her... and myself, the High Priestess of Omnibenevolent Sai a’Niz.” (Surely that is not a squeak from someone who is realizing that she was much cockier than she should have been, somewhere distant. Surely not. Goddesses do not squeak through the hands cupping their face, eyes peeking horrified through splayed fingers, tails constricting as if trying to shrink down out of sight. In a locked dungeon cell, something made of coils and scales and petals laughs huskily to herself.)

“Please spare them your wrath,” she continues, cupping the talon in her hands. Despite the dissimilar shapes... no, they’re nothing alike. These are the hands of a helpless woman giving herself over to a dragon. They’re not weapons and Rose is not dangerous at all. “Take us and tie us tighter and carry us off to your lair, where you will of course offer the Goddess a reward for her generous gifts: two precious cinnamon rolls and a silly, air-headed holy woman who does whatever she’s told.”

One command cleared, the next slams roughly into place. Clean the Princess’s foot? Which one? The one whose foot she’s holding. Not a cute, dainty... no, Princess Jessic is not dainty. She is large. Powerful. Strong. Beautiful.

She drags her hot tongue along the back of one powerful talon, not caring how her gag must have made her mouth so wet. That, that’s why... why she’s drooling. Yes. Built up by... by the things that the Goddess had told her she’d used. So many! Frilly and lacy and stretchy! Until her cheeks were stuffed and packed full! But now her mouth is magically empty, as the Goddess wills it, and what better use could she put it to?

Her world narrows, focused on the task at foot. How her fingers need to adjust, tilt the great claw, so that she can get every inch. How she needs to use her long, clever tongue just so. How she needs to nuzzle and pat her cheeks against the talons that could shatter stone with a simple flex, to make sure the princess’s noble foot is dried off, no matter what it might do to her own face. How a pressure and heat builds up inside her, even deeper than a simple positive reinforcement feedback loop made by a very clever and smart and talented Goddess.

The part where she smushes her face against the soft pad of the foot, for example, as she serves the “heel” of the dragon with her tongue: unnecessary, mortifying (for onlookers prone to embarrassment, which she’s sure describes... somebody she knows?), and possibly capable of making whatever lies imprisoned at the bottom of Rose’s heart thrash and shriek and gnaw at herself in helpless flustered frenzy. The sort of thing that powerful, self-conscious, and complicated monks would never lower themselves to doing; the kind of thing that makes Rose purr as she marks herself with a dragon’s scent and a high priestess’s shame.

Rose sits back on her haunches, cheeks a mess, hair (...”hair”?) beginning to frazzle, eyes half-lidded, shoulder straps frantically trying to hold on and not slip down uselessly, with eyes only for Princess Jessic. She lets her tongue loll out of her mouth as she sits, waiting for her next order, managing to only squirm a little bit with needy expectation.

Whatever it is, she’ll do it. For the sake of her Princess and Knight, and for the sake of the pressure throbbing in her chest, and for the glory of the Goddess.