The Turquoise Legacy

Here’s a bit of NSFW fiction I just free-associated into a text window. First draft, very much about ‘things that make me horny’, probably owes a lot to Anne Rice’s version of ‘Sleeping Beauty’ and maybe something to admiring the fashion sense of the heavy of Disney’s version as well. Seriously don’t read this if you don’t want a thought-dump of the dirty fairy tales I tell myself while I’m touching myself. Also contains a smutty drawing.
A story, my sweetlings? Gather round, and let me tell you of the Cerulean Emperor.

The Emperor was impotent. Everyone knew it. Nothing came out of his big fat prick but the tiniest trickle. But the Emperor had his children. As blue as his own shining scales, each and every one.
His favorite wife laid openly with beasts and monsters. Hypnotized them into submission, rutted with them casually in the palace garden while bored guards looked on. Sometimes she’d let the guards join in, too, their hands caressing over her black scales, her mouth eager for their loins and their lust. Sometimes she’d wander the streets of town, looking for the winner of this month’s Lottery. (Tickets, it should be noted, were mandatory for anyone old enough, and and everyone had a friend who’d benefitted from the favors due a winner, from both Crown and Country.)
And every night, without fail, the Emperor would stuff his thick knot within her eager sex, and make tender love to her. Or take her roughly. It depended on both their moods, you know? They were dragons.
As his body shuddered in pleasure, the Emperor and his favorite wife would chant these phrases: Let this child belong to the Emperor. Let this egg be suffused with his spirit, his identity, his legacy. Let it grow strong and cunning, let it grow powerful and wise, let it be fit to be the child of the Emperor of All The Sands.
Or words to that effect; consider that to be a theme they riffed endless variations upon.
And every egg was taken away by the nurses, and raised with all the care and reverence due one of the Emperor’s children.
Some of them were dangerous monsters. Some of them were wise scholars. Some of them were both. And the raising of them, the training, and the shaping of them into a force that would continue the Emperor’s laid-back, sensual rule (for the Emperor in his wisdom knew that a chilled-out populace is one less likely to depose its head, and did his level best to keep the poorest among his people within an order of magnitude of the comfort he enjoyed, and considered much of his otherwise-humble hoard to be the loyalty of those he ruled) is a story I may tell you some other time, concerning a particular winner of the Queen’s Lottery.
And that, my darlings, is why the Cerulean Empire’s scales are largely blue to this very day.

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