The story tells of a young woman who leaves her father’s Dark Night celebration to wander on a distant hilltop. She meets a dragon there who convinces her to let him kiss her. That kiss changes her… and Irish history… forever. As with all of my Celtic stories, some of it is based on history, some on myth, and some just springs from the depth of my twisted mind. I leave it to you to figure out which is which.
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WARNING! This warning is possibly not needed for this particular story, but I am including it because it is needed for most of my stories. If you decide to read other of my stories make sure that you read the disclosures and warnings at the beginning of each story.
All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age of 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
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It happened on Dark Night, as all such extremely magical things must. It was a long time ago… long before the invaders came from England… long before the invaders came from the north… even before the invaders with their iron weapons and shields that locked together to form the shell of a turtle came from the south and conquered Britain before invading the green isle.
It was the invaders with their turtle shells who took the practices of Dark Night back to their homeland. But the calendars of Rome and the calendars of the green isle were not the same. And the Romans didn’t recognize the purpose or power of Dark Night. So they lit their fires and celebrated with dance and revelry on the last day of their harvest month. But those who remember still light their fires on the first dark of the moon following the day when the sun stops its march across the heavens and begins to return to shine with warmth upon the green isle.
On that true Dark Night so long ago, a young maiden left the fires of her father, Eochaid Feidlech, the High King of the green isle, and walked out into the darkness. None of her sisters would have dared such a thing, but she was not like her sisters. Despite being called a lamb by her father, she was brave– almost fearless– and the darkness, even the darkness of Dark Night when the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest, held no fear for her.
No one knows how far she wandered or exactly what hilltop she was on when a voice called to her from the darkness. “Come this way, little lamb,” the voice hissed softly.
“I am not a lamb,” she replied. Then, not knowing why, she added, “I am the drink of kings.”
The voice laughed slightly and the hilltop was wreathed in fire and smoke.
“You are a dragon,” she said firmly. “Come forth so I may see you.”
The dragon crept forward slowly until it was at her feet. It wasn’t much bigger than one of her father’s hunting dogs.
“You are rather small for a dragon,” she said with a light laugh.
“I am not yet what I could be,” he hissed back. “And neither are you,” he added as he let a small stream of fire come out of his nostrils.
The light revealed that she was wearing a short robe which ended about midway down her thighs.
“Let me see you,” the dragon hissed and she stood with her arms outstretched and slowly turned around.
“No,” the dragon said with a burst of flame, “let me see YOU!”
She laughed. It was a deep laugh that seemed unusually powerful for a woman. Then, without shame or hesitation, she reached down to the hem of her robe and pulled it up over her head. She untied her sandals and kicked them to the side and then stood naked before the dragon.
As she turned around, the dragon said slowly, “You are indeed beautiful… and brave… and powerful. But if you let me kiss you, I will make you even more beautiful and more powerful.”
He blew a long stream of fire to one side and then said with a growl, “You will become a queen.” After another burst of flame he added, “And I will become a prince.”
“I am not afraid of you,” she said firmly, “but I already will become a queen when my father marries me off. You offer me nothing.”
“Beauty,” the dragon said in a long smoky hiss. “Your beauty will be unmatched in all of the green isle. And you and your beauty will be remembered in all of history.”
She shrugged and laughed slightly.
“Power,” the dragon said with another hiss. “Your beauty will give you power like no woman has ever had or will ever have again.”
She continued to look at the dragon with no expression on her face.
“Protection,” the dragon finally hissed. This time small tendrils of flame rose from his nostrils.
“Kings and queens have many enemies,” he said evenly. “Nothing will be able to kill you except old rancid or dried out food. And then only if it is delivered to you by your own blood.”
“Can I trust you?” she asked warily.
“I swear on the heart of a dragon… my own,” he said very slowly and clearly, “that every word of what I have promised to you is true. You shall have beauty, power, and protection. All this is yours if you just let me kiss you.”
“And what do you get in return?” she asked.
“I told you,” he hissed almost angrily. “I will become a prince.”
She looked down at him for a few moments and then said, “We have an agreement.” Then she reached down to pick him up.
“No,” he said firmly. “A dragon’s kiss is not like that of a man. You must come to me. Lie down upon the soft grass of this hillside.”
She lay down on her side along the dragon.
“No,” he said wearily, “on your back… with your legs spread.”
She rolled onto her back and cautiously spread her legs. The dragon slowly walked to her feet and began to creep upward between her legs.
She was about to leap back to her feet when she felt his warm tongue upon her thighs. It was almost hot upon her skin as it slid from just above her knee to the top of her leg and then back down the opposite leg. It almost felt as if it were pulsating as it slowly dragged itself across her skin.
As that warm slithering dragon tongue slid across the crease between her legs, it was as if lightning had entered her. A loud gasp escaped her lips as the tongue retraced its path. She gasped again and again and again as the dragon sped up the pace of his tongue.
She lifted her body slightly into the air. Her fingers were digging into the green sod of the hillside. Her gasps were now becoming moans. Then she felt the dragon’s tongue sliding across her breasts.
Surely she should feel his claws if he had crept up onto her belly. She looked down to see the dragon still on the grass between her legs. But he was bigger. And his tongue was longer… a lot longer… and it seemed to glow almost as if it were on fire.
The tongue curled around her right breast and squeezed slightly. The tip raised up above the breast and flicked at her nipple. She screamed out into the night sky.
Then the tongue stretched further and also enclosed her left breast. Now the dragon was squeezing both breasts. Normally it would have hurt for her breasts to be squeezed that tight, but now it was only building a fire within her. The tip of the tongue flicked her left nipple… and then her right… and then continued back and forth between the two now turgid nubs.
The fire within her was growing hotter and hotter and she was arching herself high into the air. Her fingers were now dug deep into the sod. Her heels were forcing deep dents in the soft grass.
“You are ready,” the dragon hissed.
His tongue retracted from around her breasts. He pushed his smokey snout deep between her legs. Then his tongue once again shot out of his mouth.
She screamed as what seemed like an impossible length of the dragon’s tongue buried itself deep within her womanhood. She had often thought about how she would lose her virginity. Would it be to some brave soldier in her father’s army? Would it be to some clumsy youth in a hidden glen? Would it be to a stranger along the road?
Tonight she knew the answer. It would be to none of them. She would lose her virginity to a dragon in exchange for beauty, power, and protection.
After what seemed like an eternity, the wriggling and pulsating tongue withdrew from her and her breath slowly returned to normal. She looked down, expecting to see a handsome prince, but instead the dragon remained. It was now a very large dragon with huge scales overlapped on its deep green body, but it was still a dragon.
“I thought you would become a prince?” she asked in surprise.
“I did,” he hissed. “I am,” he exclaimed with fire streaming from his mouth. Then he roared loudly, “I am the Prince of Dragons.”
“So this was all a trick,” she said angrily.
“The Prince of Dragons keeps his word,” he said softly, but angrily. “Look at yourself!”
Then he blew just enough fire through his nostrils to illuminate the hilltop. She looked at her body. Gone was the soft baby fat which caused people to call her a lamb. Her breasts had grown larger and were firm and round. The hair between her legs seemed to be on fire. The soft brown was gone, replaced by a deep, coppery orange.
She lifted some of her hair from beside her ear and pulled it over so she could see it. The hair on her head was now also a fiery copper orange.
“They will not recognize me,” she said. “I am no longer their little lamb.”
“No,” the dragon said, “now they will call you the intoxicating one. Your name shall be Medb.”
And the rest, as they say, is history… or at least mythology.
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END OF STORY
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