Mame Diene
CONFESSIONS OF A SEX ADDICTED DRAGON
I fucked the cow again. Dammit! What am I gonna eat now? Never eat what you fuck. It’s weird.
I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep fucking the villagers' offerings and then eating the villagers. It’s poor etiquette, and they’ll keep telling their kids that I’m evil and fire blazing and greedy and what not, but hell, I mean yeah, I’m massively underendowed for a dragon, but I’m a dragon. Size is a very relative thing if you know what I mean. I am severely limited as to what I can fuck.
And I cum boiling semen. What am I supposed to do?
I fucked a hobbit once. Poor thing didn’t know what she was getting into, and I went in with just the tip. Can’t do that again either.
Say what you will about being a dragon. Flames. Flight. Quasi-immortal life and a flair for magic. They’re all meaningless.
If only I could be like my cousin Smug.
Sure, all he does is sleep and roll around in gold all day, but at least that’s Ok. That’s LORE that is. Respectable. Literary damn near.
But a sex addicted dragon with a small dick? Who wants to write about that?
No one, that’s who. No. One.
I will tell you about how I fucked a unicorn once, but not just yet.
I gotta jack off first. Again. For the third time today. And I’m only halfway there. The logistics of it are not that simple, not when your jizz can burn a hole through rock. That’s why I whack off into volcanoes when I can. No harming anyone there.
I like how the fumes feel on my asshole. They’re nice and warm, like when I get the occasional desperate DILF. A Dragoness I'd Like to Fuck. A couple of centuries away from flamopause, her better days behind her, happy to blow smoke up my butt, take my pigmy cock in gleefully, and swallow my boiling nut and replenish her flame ducts for a while. But even that doesn’t happen too often.
The thing about female dragons is that they are hot. I mean smoking. In the fine sense of the term. All light shades of blue and pink, eight glorious tits just bursting for childbirth, but there’s one of them for every three of us, so it’s a lot of competing, and they have all the power. That’s what happens when your females are twice your size. Even when I win the fight, one glance at my tiny pecker and they fly away laughing.
Maybe that’s why I am the way I am. Always starving to get some but never getting enough. Or maybe it’s my sister’s fault, or my brother’s.
#
I met this elf once who told me I needed someone to talk to. She was good to me. Elves live so long they have hooked up with every species at one point or another. So they know things.
She used to stroke my scaly cock lovingly and laugh as the forest blew up in flames when I was done.
Ghettoriel. Man do I miss her. Left one day. Said something about answering the Valar’s call and sailing off to the Undying Lands.
Never seen her since. All the magic in the world won’t let you access the ethereal plains of the elf gods. That’s some powerful magic. Something elemental and older than time itself. Older than the flames that birthed my ancestors.
We would meet under the moon; sing about the old days before there were all these pestering humans. The trees would glow and she would nibble my belly as she jerked me off.
Fuck. Now I gotta whack off again.
#
Done.
Complain all they want, burned patches of forest make great fields for the humans and their crops. Sometimes I burn a few of those peeping toms, but that’s their fault, they should know to properly fear a dragon. None of them would try that shit with Smug let me tell you.
Anyway, Ghettoriel.
She told me I should talk to someone. Talking helps, Spunk, with you know…stuff. She would say.
I said girl, you’re out of your elfish mind.
Looking back, I think that’s when things started deteriorating between us.
The thing she never quite understood, maybe because she’s an elf and they’re always yammering about something or singing to trees or whatever, is that, well, have you ever seen two dragons just kicking it? We’re lone dogs us dragons, rough and rugged soloists, no dragon’s a bass player if you know what I mean.
Dragons don’t talk. If I step up to a dragon and start talking about my feelings, or duck poop for that matter, we’ll be spiting flames and clawing at each other in no time.
What I was trying to tell her is that I had no one to talk to. Maybe she had just wanted me to talk to her, come to think of it. Maybe that’s what I should have done.
I’ll be right back.
#
I think I got some jizz stuck on my wing from yanking my chain watching these two pixies fucking. Pixies change color when they fuck, they’re hermaphrodites too. Too small to fuck though.
So I fucked an Oliphant. In the ass. Twice. Oliphants got giant assholes. They barely feel the scales, and their ass’ skin is tough and thick, they can take the burn, hehehe…
And sometimes, just sometimes, I like the tip of their tusk in my asshole when I cum. But just the tip. I’m not trying to get impaled here. They also throw dung at each other. Not into that either.
So Ghettoriel left eventually, probably running with Orome or some fancy elf pastime. I tried to fuck her out of my mind with anything that would let me, but nothing gave.
I guess that’s why you’re reading this, while I’m up to my balls in some sappy crack in an Ent. Fucking it right up the bark, the filthy plant.
No one to talk to, jizz on my claws, and this stupid diary. Stupid but it helps. A little. Between jerks.
#
We all have dirty secrets. Ever since we hatch, pop out or grow, we start having secrets. Mine are just filthier than others, maybe filthier than yours. I did say maybe. Those are your damn secrets. I don’t care.
My problem is that what my siblings should have kept secret they didn’t.
Let me digress back to Smug for a second. His gold addiction is a family thing. His dad used to burn and hoard in his sleep. He was a mean dickbag. But that kept them loaded. So Smug grew up used to large, spacious caves and lots of gold and trinkets and lower species worship.
We were broke. Small, cramped up caves, and we moved a lot. Never got used to a cave long enough before I had to move again. No friends and the only people to socialize with were my brother and sister.
I learned a lot from them. Too much.
Hold on I gotta… you know…unleash the dragon, and there's a flock of giant eagles flying by. I love fucking me some eagle. Nice and fluffy…
That was nice. Some fluff is still stuck to my dick but it will blow off.
Anyway, yes…
My sister was a hottie, and she would bring in young males all the time by the time she turned four hundred. They would get it on while I was asked to sit in the corner and stare at the wall. I wasn’t supposed to look but I did. And when I grew old enough I would whack off to them banging.
My sister didn’t know that my brother was pounding some of those same young male dragons. Yup. My dad didn’t know either or he would have burned him to a crisp, the bastard. Couldn’t keep his family afloat, but had judgement in abundance. My brother was a badass though. Still is.
That’s how it started for me. Overexposure and way too young to process things. Too small dicked to get my own nookie.
Not that my siblings were mean to me. They were young too and didn’t think they were doing any harm. My sister would pat me on the back when I cried. My brother taught me how to brawl like a Balrog.
Now before you even ask, the answer is no. No fucking way. I never fucked a Balrog. That’s just nuts. Have you seen the things?
I may be fire made flesh… Well, not so much fire these days honestly, all this jerking and fucking is doing something to my flame ducts, they don’t function as well as they did. Not sure if there’s a connection, but you know.
So yeah I might be flame made flesh, but those fuckers are just pure flame. Would fry my dick right off. Next thing you know they end up fucking me, and no one fucks a dragon but another dragon. Pride. That’s all we have left in the end. In the end…or in the butt.
#
I’m almost three thousand years old now.
Hell of a long time to be dealing with this let me tell you.
Almost a thousand years since Ghettoriel left. I think about her a lot. Her hair dark and mysterious like mountainous crags. Her pointy ears, and her silk-like tongue running laps around my anus as she stroked my scaly schlong.
Did you know that elf nipples taste like chocolate? I didn’t know at first. I had chocolate accidentally while eating a human once and thought: Hey! That guy tastes like elf nipples! It took Ghettoriel to teach me otherwise.
Is she deep throating Valar dick now? Sandwiched between a giant and a centaur? Drinking god jizz and mead?
I’ll never know, but I do realize that my loneliness grew worse since she left, and with my loneliness, so did my sex addiction.
#
I love to fuck. I truly do. I’m not a predator or anything. I mean… yes of course I am a ‘predator’, just not that kind of… well…fuck you, you know exactly what I mean. I might get a little aggressive but I’ve never forced myself on any creature.
Humans don’t get it, but that’s because they can’t communicate. Just assuming that if a creature can’t speak human or walk on two feet, then it doesn’t have a soul, an awareness of self, of its role in the world. But we all do, all the way down to the sacrificial cows.
There’s this stigma when you’re a sex addict. Like you’re some kind of beast… I mean yes, I am a ‘beast’ technically speaking but...Oh fuck you!
#
It’s hard to write and masturbate at the same time. Even when you just need to think your words for them to appear.
What I’m saying is that I’m not trying to make excuses here. You can judge me all you want. Worse things have happened to better people than me, that’s not the point.
The point is: I’m not spewing all this out for you. I’m doing it for me.
Ghettoriel was right. Unloading does feel good. Almost as good as unloading all over a giant spider's face, which I did this morning. If you don’t mind that they try to eat you at the same time. Spiders will do anything for food.
Silly how small things make a big difference. But you’ve been good readers, and I’m a dragon of my word.
So here is how I fucked the last unicorn.
There’s a special kind of horniness that comes with being the last of your kind. Knowing you’ll never get that dick or that pussy again. Interspecies fun goes a long way, case in point, but I guess existential things dawn on you when facing extinction.
Unicorns more than any. They are super rare to begin with.
I spotted this gorgeous mare hopping from a cloud to graze on a rainbow, her white lustful coat racing with multihued static, and that golden tail, playing peek a boo with her rump, as I hid behind a mountain peak.
I knew she had seen me, because she kept shaking her rump at me, glancing over her shoulder the whole time.
You know how they tell you that only a virgin can catch a unicorn?
Goblin shit. A virgin doesn’t stand a chance.
I crept up behind her silently, breathing smoke her way so she could feel me coming. My prick ready to burst even before I could catch the scent of her ripe vulva.
She turned and winked, lowered her forelegs and rested her mane against the rainbow, her white rump high in the air, and closed her eyes.
I delved into her, my cock sliding into her inviting pussy. It swallowed it all. Unicorn pussy can stretch infinitely, and it did until my whole bone disappeared into her, her tail stretching and twisting, finding its way around my balls and up to my butt, caressing the contours of my hole like a feather, while I pushed my own tail into her mouth.
It could have lasted seconds, it could have lasted hours. I have no idea. We came together too many times to count. Unicorns can absorb any semen, and she did mine, her ivory horn burning bright with starlight with each orgasm.
I found my way into her bunghole. It stretched to fit me somehow, then clamped down so hard it squeezed my dick tighter than it had ever been, and I filled her asshole with more cum than I ever had before, roared a flame that seared the top of the nearest mountain, slid out of her ass, and fell asleep.
When I woke up she was gone, as a unicorn would. Hit it and quit it is the unicorn way. I had known that coming in, and respected her game.
Where she is now I don’t know. But unicorns can mate with any species. Perhaps somewhere I have a child, half unicorn, half dragon. Take that one for the legends.
#
I guess that’s about it.
There isn’t much more to say really, except that I am flying over the edge of the ocean, peering into the mist-covered horizon where Ghettoriel's ship disappeared a thousand years ago.
Why I waited until now I have no idea, perhaps I was a coward. Perhaps I was ashamed, but more than anything I think I needed to tell my story, to shed some metaphorical weight.
But I am ready now. I am going to fly into the fog and disappear. Fly until I can fly no more, and maybe, just maybe, I will find the Undying Lands. And maybe the elfish gods will make room for a lonely dragon and let me in, and I will find Ghettoriel somewhere, bend her over a log, push my forked tongue inside her gummy drop flavored pussy, and make her howl for all eternity.
And maybe, just maybe, with a little more luck, somewhere buried deep inside the mist, I will find myself.
Mame Bougouma Diene is a Franco –Senegalese American humanitarian and the US/Francophone spokesperson for the African Speculative Fiction Society (http://www.africansfs.com/). You can find his work in Brittle Paper, Omenana, Galaxies Magazine, Edilivres, Fiyah!, Truancy Magazine, EscapePod and Strange Horizons, and in anthologies such as AfroSFv2 & V3 (Storytime), Myriad Lands (Guardbridge Books), You Left Your Biscuit Behind (Fox Spirit Books), This Book Ain’t Nuttin to Fuck Wit (CLASH Books), Sunspot Jungle (Rosarium Publishing), and Dominion (Aurelia Leo). He was nominated for two Nommo Awards and his debut collection Dark Moons Rising on a Starless Nights (CLASH Books) was nominated for the 2019 Splatterpunk Award.
Twitter: @mame_bougouma
IG: @mamebougouma.diene