Sierra's fingers trembled with reverence as they moved to the buttons of his shirt—slow, deliberate, each one slipping free with a soft pop that echoed in the hushed room.

The fabric parted like curtains on a revelation, revealing the hard planes of his chest—bronze skin stretched over carved muscle, faint sheen of sweat catching the low light, the rapid thud of his heart visible beneath.

She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall forgotten to the floor, palms gliding over the heat of his skin, tracing the sharp cut of his collarbones, the ridges of his abs, feeling him tense and flex under her touch.

Her breath caught as she reached his belt—fingers fumbling once, then steadying, the leather whispering free, the buckle clinking softly. She tugged the zipper down tooth by tooth, the sound loud in the charged silence, and eased his trousers and boxer briefs down together in one slow pull.

His cock sprang free—half-hard already, thick and heavy, nine inches of terrifying beauty hanging between his thighs like a weapon forged for ruin.

Even not fully erect, it commanded worship: veins corded thick and pulsing along the shaft, the broad crown flushed dark and gleaming with a single bead of precome at the slit, balls heavy and drawn up tight beneath.

The sheer weight of it made it sway as he stepped out of the last of his clothes, length twitching under her stare, thickening further as blood surged in response to her hunger.

Sierra sank to her knees without hesitation—slow, graceful, eyes never leaving the dragon now rising proudly before her. The carpet was soft against her skin, but she barely felt it. All that existed was him.

She started at the base—hands wrapping reverently around the hot, velvet-over-steel girth, thumbs tracing the prominent vein that ran the underside like a river of fire.

Her lips brushed the root first—soft, open-mouthed kisses pressed to the heated skin, tongue flicking out to taste the faint salt and clean musk that was purely Phei. She followed that thick vein upward, mouth tracing every ridge and fork, tongue dragging slow and wet along the pulsing path, feeling it throb harder against her lips with every inch she worshipped.

Higher still—lips gliding along the shaft, kissing and licking every swollen vein that branched like lightning beneath the taut skin, memorizing the map of him.

She reached the flared crown—broad, murderous, flushed deep violet and glistening—and paused, breathing him in, the heady scent of his arousal flooding her senses until her mouth watered and her pussy clenched emptily between her thighs.

Then she worshipped the head—tongue swirling slow around the ridge, lapping at the sensitive underside, tracing the slit to taste the fresh bead of precome that welled there—salty, addictive, utterly male. Her hands stroked what her mouth couldn't yet take, fingers gliding over every veined inch in tandem with her tongue, worshipping the full nine inches from root to crown and back again.

Soft, broken sounds escaped her—moans of pure devotion vibrating against his shaft as she worked, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. She pressed open-mouthed kisses to the sides, cheek sliding along the hot length, lips tracing every throbbing vein until his cock stood fully erect—nine inches of rigid, dripping steel pulsing against her face.

Sierra looked up at him then—kneeling naked and flawless, lips swollen and shining, eyes dark with awe and surrender—and whispered against the weeping crown:

"You're perfect… let me worship you properly."

And she took him deeper—mouth stretching wide around the fat head, tongue still tracing every vein she could reach, hands stroking the inches she couldn't yet swallow, worshipping him fully, reverently, like the dragon he was.

Sierra's lips stretched wide around the fat crown, saliva already pooling hot and slick at the corners of her mouth as she tried to take more of him.

She managed only the head and an inch or two—her virgin mouth struggling with his impossible girth, cheeks hollowing as she sucked hard and fast, quick, desperate pulls that made obscene wet sounds in the quiet room.

Her tongue swirled frantically under the ridge, lapping at the sensitive slit, drawing out thick beads of precome that she swallowed with soft, greedy moans.

Then she pulled off with a wet pop—lips shiny and swollen, a silver thread of saliva and precome stretching from her mouth to his glistening crown—and blew a cool stream of air over the slick head.

The contrast made him throb violently in her hand; a fresh surge of precome spilled over her fingers, mixing with her spit until his shaft gleamed obscenely.

She dove back in—sucking quicker, messier, blowing cool breaths between each frantic bob of her head, coating him in layer after layer of warm saliva that dripped down his length, over his balls, onto her own breasts.

Her small hand pumped what her mouth couldn't reach, twisting slick and fast, spreading the mess until his entire cock shone wet and filthy.

Phei's control frayed at the edges.

He threaded fingers into her hair—not rough yet, just anchoring—and guided her rhythm. Slow at first, then deeper, pushing another thick inch past her stretched lips until she gagged softly, eyes watering, but never pulling away.

The sight nearly undid him: this pristine, virgin princess on her knees, cheeks flushed crimson, mascara smudging, mouth stuffed full of his cock, drooling uncontrollably as he began to gently fuck her face.

Each shallow thrust pushed more saliva out—thick rivulets spilling from her lips, cascading down his shaft, dripping in heavy strings onto her perfect breasts until they glistened like she'd been oiled. Her throat fluttered around the head on every deeper push; fresh tears tracked her cheeks, mixing with the mess on her chin.

She moaned around him—vibrations shooting straight to his balls—and sucked harder, tongue lashing the underside even as he controlled the pace, face-fucking his untouched queen with deliberate, restrained strokes.

Phei looked down and nearly lost it completely.

Sierra—elegant, untouchable Sierra—kneeling naked and dripping, worshipping my cock with sloppy, desperate devotion, letting me use her virgin mouth while her own arousal ran in shining streaks down her inner thighs.

His hips snapped forward once—deeper than before, lodging the head in her throat for a heartbeat. She choked, swallowed around him, and the tight ripple of her throat dragged a guttural groan from his chest.

"Fuck, princess…" His voice was wrecked. "Look at you. Taking my cock like you were born for it. So wet for me—so fucking messy."

She whimpered in answer, eyes locked on his, pleading for more even as tears spilled, and sucked harder—quick, greedy pulls that made fresh saliva flood her mouth and spill over.

He was dangerously close to breaking.

The dragon roared for release.

And Sierra, sweet, ruined Sierra, only opened wider—begging with her eyes, her mouth, her dripping, trembling body—to be utterly, completely claimed.

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