It was a hot day, and hotter still beneath the many layers of
armor Dahala wore. Her polished plate mail armor attracted the sun,
and while it reflected its light it trapped the heat and baked her
within. Under the mail, she wore a tight leather shirt, smooth yet
sticky against her skin. She loved the feel of leather, but on a day
such as this it was hard to enjoy. She spurned her horse onward,
digging her spurs sharply into its sides. The steed whinnied in
protest, so deeper still she dug the spurs.
She hated horses. Hated their size and their filth. She had
rode once with a column of Knights, and had watched in disgust as their
road became thick with the piss and crap of the dumb brutes. It
sweated below her, almost as much as she, and the reek of it angered
her. She jabbed it again, just for good measure, and then looked
onward.
The land here was burnt and torn apart. Cottages smoked and
half-eaten cattle dotted the pasture land. Five days before, a great
dragon had settled upon the land, and the Knights of her Order had been
called forth to face it. Three had gone, young and proud men, and none
had returned.
She snickered softly to herself. All three had vied for her
attention, and though she her Order demanded that she be virginal, she
led them on nonetheless. Many nights, she knew, the three of them lay
sleepless in bed, their pricks hard and aching under the covers. Like
her horse she thought: big, dumb, and only good for as long as they
could carry her.
From an early age, she and her sisters, all golden haired and
blue eyed, had loved to torment men. Well, truly said, Alysa, her
youngest sister, hadn’t enjoyed as much as Dahala and Laurel, but all
three played the game nonetheless. None had ever been with a man, and
Dahala never would. Laurel spent her time healing sick and wounded
animals (a worthless profession, Dahala felt) and Alysa spent all her
time in a tower, studying old books and prophesies. Only Dahala lived
a worthy life, fighting, questing, and gaining fame. Plus, here under
the sun she could tan her skin until it looked like burnished gold.
She kicked her horse, and it reared up. She kicked it again,
and it moved forward at a gallop. She pulled her helmet over her head,
and steadied her shield. She saw the body of a horse by the side of
the road; a mare. She remembered how they’d passed by a farm with
mares in heat two days ago. Her horse had gone mad, and she’d laughed
at its torment. She thought that the mares were like her, teasing
their men, until she saw a great stud mount one, ram its huge cock
deep, and then bite fiercely down on its neck. She’d shuddered,
wondering it the three knights who had gone forth before her had longed
to take her in the same way. She enjoyed teasing them, but had no
interest in ever fulfilling their lusty fantasies.
She felt the horse restive beneath her, and smiled under her
helm. She knew it chafed at her dominance, and that suffering made her
control it all the more. She yanked hard on its bit and then spurred
it on over the rise. Below her she saw spreading destruction: a keep
burnt to the ground, gold and corpses piled in a great mound. Atop the
mound rested a great platinum dragon, looking just as she had been
told. Once, they said, it had been a good creature, until dark arts
had turned its mind and will. She lowered her lance and charged,
whispering prayers to the Goddess of Light. The dragon still slept,
and her horse thundered toward it with great leaping strides.
Her lance slammed into its armored hide. The skin was like
iron, and was hardly pierced by the strike. Dahala was thrown off the
horse and to the ground. The dragon awoke and raised one claw. In a
flash, her horse was turned to a statue. Dahala whipped her broadsword
out of its sheath and charged, screaming defiance. The dragon swiped
her to her knees with a simple motion. Down its claw swung, but she
rolled quickly to the side. Deep gouges were carved in the dirt where
she had lain.
She lept to her feet but the dragon’s claw cuffer her across
her face. Her head snapped back, and her helm flew over her back. She
fell to her knees, stars spinning before her eyes.
“What have we here?” roared the dragon. “A wench?” It pulled
the lance out of its skin. Black bload fumed forth, but the wound
quickly closed. One of its long-nailed fingers lifted her chin. “A
fine wench indeed. More interesting still.” Dahala swung her sword at
its claw, but it shattered on impact. “Tsk,” the dragon laughed,
lifting her up.
It opened its mouth to breathe fire, and Dahala closed her
eyes, praying for a swift end. Instead, she felt her breastplate torn
from her body. She opened her eyes and found a draconian face admiring
her. “I like a bitch who can appreciate leather,” it hissed. “I too
like the touch of animal skin.” It rubbed its claw against her face
and she shuddered. In the valley around her, she saw statues of full-
figured women, naked and stretched as if in pain. The dragon followed
her glance. “You need to join them.”
It tore open her bodice with its claw and smiled. Her breasts
had been constrained under its tight weave, but now the sprung forth,
full and firm. They were as large as any in the valley, larger than
most. The dragon admired her long, golden hair, her small, pert nose,
and full lips. It looked into her blue eyes, and whispered, “You will
be mine.” She shuddered.
“I will never serve a beast of darkness!” she cried, tears
running down her cheek. She knew not what it meant, only that its
meaning was foul.
“Yes, you shall. Let me remove the rest of your lobster
shell.” It peeled off the rest of her armor, until she was dressed in
just her leather breeches. It tore these off in a fury and she crawled
back away from it. “Try to run, slut. I have wings!” It spread them,
and a shadow fell across Dahala. It opened its mouth once more, and
she quivered. Claws grabbed her legs and forced them apart, and cold
fire caressed her inner lips.
She looking down, expecting to find herself ruined, but instead
the thing had only burnt off her hair. Her cunt was bare as a child’s,
and lizard smooth. She shuddered. Before her the dragon shrunk in
size, diminishing until it was a mere nine feet in length. Still,
before her it was huge.
Dahala, though well lithe and muscled, was only five and a half
feet, and just above one hundred pounds. Her body seemed slight and
weak before the powerful dragon. “Please…what do you want?” she
begged, crawling to her feet. The dragon stood on its hind legs before
her, and she had to lean back to see it. She realized that her posture
forced out her full breasts, and they seemed to strain upwards towards
the dragon’s mouth. It smiled and sharp-toothed grin.
“I want you, slut. Bahamut is my name, but you may call me
master.” She shuddered again. “Come now, come close.” She made a
small step toward the dragon. “Touch me,” it ordered. She came
closer, and it grabbed her in its arms and pulled her close.
Bahamut smiled, as he felt the woman tremble against him. She
began crying. “Enough!” he yelled. “On your knees!” She did not
move. Bahamut pushed her back and lowered his head to her face. His
forked tongue slinked out and wrapped around her nipple. She shuddered
as it became hard and long. “Slut,” he hissed. Suddenly his tongue
snapped tight and constricted around her nipple, pulling it out from
her breast. It stretched until it felt like it would tear, and she
sobbed. Bahamut released her and she fell to her knees. “That’s
better, cunt. Now ask your master to fuck you.”
She shook her head and he took her nipple between two nails.
He began to gouge in and blood trickled out. Dahala’s nipples had
always been sensitive and small, and she felt like she would pass out
from the pain. Her Knight’s training had never prepared her for
this. “Fuck your slut, master,” she whispered.
“Louder!” roared the dragon.
“Fuck you slut, please, master. Your slut needs you.” She
wept and knelt to all fours, pushing her cunt in the air like a bitch-
dog. She heard him drop to all fours behind her, and wept openly.
Cold scales rubbed against her back, and sharp claws dug into her ass.
She winced in pain, and then winced again as she felt a smooth lizard
cock rub against her lips.
She looked between her legs and saw the cock. She gaspsed. It
was at least a foot long, smooth and black and sharp at the end like a
spear. Red liquid dripped from its tip. “Yes, slut. Look at your
master.” Suddenly Bahamut thrust forward and she screamed. Her cunt
stretched madly to accomodate him, and he tore through her hymen with a
single stroke.
She wept. Without her virginity she could never again be a
knight. Of course, being free, let alone a knight, seemed an
impossibility to her. The mastery of the beast above overwhelmed her.
She understood now, the power of the dragon, the weakness of her female
flesh. She sank into the soft grass and moaned in pain as his cock
drove deeper and deeper still.
“Beg me to rape you, cunt.”
“Rape your slut, master, rape your cunt.” His claws slashed
her back every time she grew silent, so her cries grew more desperate
and impassioned as the beast continued. Soon her body began
responding, and she pushed her ass back against his scaly crotch.
Bahamut laughed a terrible laugh.
“Now we see your true colors, slut.” And she knew it was
true. Now that she had felt the power of this male, this alpha male,
she lost all will to resist.
“Cunt, cunt, fuck your cunt, fuck your bitch, master, master,”
she whined, until she simply whinnied and woofed underneath him. He
simply laughed and laughed and she wept, knowing in a corner of her
mind that at one time she had been more than just a slut. Suddenly his
cock swelled inside her, and flooded her cunt with burning sperm. That
finally pushed her over the edge, and she orgasmed around him,
screaming, “Master, I am just a cunt!” as loud as she could.

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