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It was the heat that finally woke Teleros.

Brutal and all-encompassing, it crowded into the corners of the young dragon's unconscious mind, scorching his dreams, and charring the half-formed thoughts that were beginning to take shape within. There was no escaping from it. The heat invaded him, penetrating the cool, quiet dark of his restless sleep, pushing him forward into wakefulness, back into the reality that he'd sought to escape from. The fire chased him out of the fog, running across his scales, singeing his wings. Burning, with a roaring fury.

Her fury.

It was only to be expected; fire was, after all, the last thing that he'd seen before he fell. It was rational to expect it to be there to greet him when he awoke. Fire, and pain. The strong, lean muscles of his young body were sore from countless bruises, and pinpricks like needles danced upon the scorched flesh of his golden scales. He'd been badly burned before falling unconscious. As his waking world began to form around him, those dreams of fire fading, Teleros tried to take stock of his new injuries. Dully, he came to realize that he'd awoken upside down. His soft, gilded belly was upturned, exposed to the burning air of whatever place it was that he'd wound up in.

Stifling a groan, the gold dragon forced himself to open his eyes. It wasn't the wisest decision that he'd made that day. The brilliance of his new surroundings immediately dazzled him, and he quickly closed them shut once again. The brief glimpse that he'd caught of his new environs had been enough for him, however. Fiery red lava surrounded him on all sides: viscous, molten rivers, covering the entirety of the floor and running down the blackened walls in slow, heavy falls. That explains the heat, he thought grimly to himself. Taking a moment to breathe and properly awaken his senses, he looked around the place once more. This time, he cracked open his eyes only by the slightest of slivers.

It appeared as though he was on an 'island' of sorts amidst the glowing lava flows, and likely somewhere below-ground by the rough look of the cavernous, rocky walls which surrounded him. Casting a wary, golden eye about the vast chamber, he estimated that the place must've been an air pocket in some vast, subterranean volcanic system. More interestingly, the little 'island' that he found himself sprawled upon was covered in gold. Thousands upon thousands of shining, precious coins were piled up beneath and around him, minted from the various nations of the Sword Coast. Shameful, draconic greed - hot and insatiable - immediately filled his belly as he saw the gleaming masses of wealth stacked before him. The greed didn't last long. Fear quickly overshadowed it, leaving only the brief weight of guilt in its wake. He suddenly realized exactly where he was, and just how he'd gotten there.

Among the great nations of the Western Heartlands, he was known as Teleros the Just, the gallant only son of Halaxer the Mighty and Tefrayn the Wise. He was only a young gold dragon as far as their kind was concerned, just shy of his first century, and yet his name was already spoken of with great praise up and down the Sword Coast, famed as he was for his valor and his commitment to the causes of goodness. Like all gold dragons, he was a gorgeous specimen of draconic majesty. His scales were lustrous and perfect in formation, his sail-like wings arced regally down from his shoulders to the tip of his tail, and long, flexible whiskers covered his snout, giving him a distinguished appearance despite his youth. Even at his tender age, his loveliness had already been regaled by countless bards, nobles, and courtiers. Perhaps such praise had given him an abundance of foolhardy confidence, for he'd sought to add yet another feat to the list of his lauded accomplishments: the defeat of the fearsome red dragoness, Vuur the Slatefire.

Of course, Teleros hadn't approached such a daunting task without due preparation. He'd spent long weeks practicing the daring dances of aerial combat with his father, mastering strategies for dueling with dragons larger than himself. He'd learned much of Vuur's sorcerous powers through conversations with his mother, herself a prominent sorceress, and in study with the great mage-scholars of Candlekeep. He'd interrogated her minions, kobolds and bandits, discovering the hidden location of her volcanic lair. He'd accomplished all of this, and more, and yet there he found himself all the same. A brief attempt to move his scorched limbs confirmed what he'd already come to fear since first waking. She had bound him in chains. He'd been placed there purposefully upon the heap of her hoard, another treasure for her to gloat over.

Teleros suddenly recalled, in aching detail, just how it'd all occurred. How boldly he'd flown to her lair - full of schemes and clever strategies - and how brazenly he'd challenged her there upon the volcanic ruin of her mountainside. He remembered how furiously she'd raged at his audacity, and how he'd tried to take advantage of that infamous temper to outwit her. Red dragons were known for their ferocious dispositions, and he'd naturally included that weakness into his plans. A sudden streak of pain along his flank reminded him of how well that'd turned out. He couldn't inspect the injury from his current, bound position, but the discomfort was enough of a reminder. He'd underestimated her superior strength and size. He'd neglected to take into account just how powerful an ancient dragon's fury could be.

He'd lost to her.

Quite against his will, a single, shining tear welled up in the young dragon's eyes as he considered his inglorious defeat. In his arrogance, he'd allowed Vuur's evil to overcome him, and now he was trapped within her lair. Helpless. He struggled briefly against the chains which held him, flailing weakly within his constraints, only to feel the solid, unyielding strength of the metal as it resisted him. The scent of the chains was strong in his nares. Mithril, perhaps. He closed his eyes, murmuring words of magic to loosen the chains, but to no avail. He'd already exhausted the greatest of his magics in combat against Vuur, and the shining, elvish metal resisted all of his attempts to confound it. A brief curse slipped from his fangs. He was truly at the mercy of his enemy now. Considering the nature of red dragons, he expected nothing less than a gruesome and cruel death.

Teleros's parents would have been proud of the brave display that their son put on in that moment, as the first thoughts of death began to cross the young dragon's mind. He sniffed away the beginnings of his tears, taking on a resolute face despite his humiliating position. He could never, never, allow Vuur to disgrace him. Even though he'd been defeated, utterly and without remedy, he knew that he had the strength to die with honor and dignity. He'd commit himself to it, even if it were the last thing he did.

It was in the midst of such thoughts that Teleros first heard the sounds of visitors. Small, yapping voices began to echo down the rocky walls of the cavern, speaking shrilly in the ancient tongue of dragons. Kobolds, he realized. Craning his horned head as far as he could within the bounds of his restraints, Teleros turned to look upon them.

There were five of the diminutive little things. Small, squat, and built very much like tiny dragons upon two legs, they chatted amicably amongst themselves as they entered the vast dome of Vuur's hoard chamber. They nimbly navigated amongst the small streams of lava which surrounded his island, hopping over the lethal flows as though they'd been doing it all their lives. Two of them carried a large, earthenware bowl between them, and they moved carefully behind the other three, being cautious not to spill its sloshing contents.

Teleros did his best to growl menacingly as they approached him, but it was a muted and defeated sound, even to his own proud ears. He knew that he'd be helpless to stop the little fiends if they had mischief on their minds. Vuur's chains allowed him only the barest degrees of movement, and it certainly wasn't enough for him to defend himself. To make matters worse, his rumbling warning only seemed to encourage the kobolds further, and they yipped excitedly as they finally stepped onto the main island where he'd been bound. They gawked at him openly, apparently fearless of any repercussions as they surrounded him. One of them - larger than the others, and dressed in soiled, red robes - was even bold enough to approach his head directly. Teleros simply glared at the tiny creature as it came close.

"Great gold," it said in passable Draconic. Its voice was shrill and agitating. "Welcome, welcome. You sleep well, yes? Awake now?"

Teleros didn't even bother to give the kobold's question the privilege of his response. He'd met plenty of their kind before. They were servants of Vuur, no doubt, and likely just as vile and cruel as their master. They might've seemed harmless on the surface - being small in stature and petty in nature - but they could accomplish terrible evils when guided by a greater being such as a red dragon. He had nothing but contempt for them.

Snorting in disdain, the young dragon spat out a hot puff of smoke, engulfing the little wretch. Teleros might not have been mean-spirited by nature, but he couldn't deny that there was some small sense of satisfaction in watching the thing as it coughed and sputtered indignantly, laughed at by its peers. After taking a moment to wave away the oily smoke, the kobold gave out one last wheezy cough before grinning back up at him. Its eyes were fiendish, almost predatory.

"Oh yes... very awake," it said slyly. "Good. Good. We paint you now. Don't move too much, or great red lady become upset. Right? Bad for us. Worse for you."

Teleros blinked in confusion at the kobold's words. Paint? Had he heard the thing correctly? He'd expected torture, or perhaps some other form of cruelty, but painting was the last-

"Huh? Oh, stop! Get off! Off, you wretched things!"

They were upon him before he even realized what was happening. Sudden and unexpected, the ticklish prickles of kobold claws darted up the sensitive, charred hide of his left flank. It was the two kobolds who'd been waiting nearby; they were already clambering up his ribs, climbing swiftly towards his upturned belly without so much as a word of permission.

The urge to throw them off was immediate and overwhelming. With an outraged snarl, Teleros began to thrash as much as he could within his bonds. There was some slim pleasure in hearing their little shrieks of panic as they grappled onto his sides, but it didn't last for long. The amount of effort that it took even to wiggle that much was exhausting, and he was already tired after his battle with Vuur. After only a few hopeless attempts at shrugging the loathsome creatures off from him, they finally managed to climb safely atop his slim belly. A low, displeased growl rippled from his maw as he heard their pathetic sighs of relief.

At his side, the talkative kobold did its best to act appeasing. "No big trouble," it said in a slick, placating tone, gesturing up towards its companions. "No trouble there, see? No harm. Only paint."

Teleros wasn't comforted in the least. These kobolds had red scales... red, just like Vuur. In draconic beings such as themselves, red was always a color to be mindful for. It meant greed, a murderous temper, a lack of pity or decency, and a complete disregard for the rights of others. The fact that two red kobolds were presently standing atop his sensitive, exposed abdomen was a cause for great concern. Their clawed feet tickled at him.

"See? No hurt. Just paint. Good, great gold. Stay still now."

The robed kobold didn't seem to be lying about the overall objective of their endeavors. True enough, the two little trespassers were already busily painting his long, golden body, clambering across his chest, belly, and neck in their efforts to decorate him. They'd pulled brushes from pouches kept upon their hips, and dipping them into sacks of dark, red paste, they used them to paint various symbols onto his hide. The largest of these was traced upon his breast, a few more upon his inner thighs, and one right below the protective plates of his navel. The chains wrapped around his neck and forehead prevented him from observing them properly, and so Teleros had to crane his head forward against the cold metal in order to see what they were painting. When he finally recognized the symbols, his eyes widened in shock. A puff of indignant smoke burst out from his nares.

"What? What is that?" he yelled out. "Stop that! Don't you dare paint that on me!"

The kobolds were by no means skilled in their craft, but Teleros readily recognized the Draconic symbols that they'd painted onto his scales. They were fertility emblems, of all things. Runes and magical icons designed to channel the virility of their wearer. It was an absurd form of magic - the kind that superstitious little creatures like kobolds might employ - but that didn't mean that he wanted it painted all over him! He renewed his struggles once again, but the diminutive lizards were already safely atop his belly, and he could do little but imbalance them as he writhed in place. The mithril chains showed no signs of letting up, and all of his struggles only served to make him weaker. Finally, exhaustion forced him to cease once again.

"Why are you doing this?" he finally asked, huffing from his exertions. Indignation had transformed his usually-rich baritone into a far more pathetic, pleading tone. It didn't help him. In fact, seeing that he'd ceased his wriggling for the moment, the kobolds upon his belly only hurried to continue on with their painting. A burning sense of embarrassment flushed through him as he saw them inscribe little depictions of eggs upon the sensitive scales near his slit.

"This is so humiliating... just... stop!"

The kobold near his head smiled up toothily at him. Despite the devious glare in its eyes, its expression seemed 'almost' apologetic. Teleros recalled that kobolds usually worshipped dragons such as himself; even if they were evil, these vile creatures likely still venerated him... at least to some degree. Clearly it wasn't enough to keep them from refraining in this sort of debasement, but it was at least enough to inspire some form of pity in them. In some ways, that made him feel even worse.

"Can't stop," it said in contrite tones. Looking back at its peers, the robed kobold watched as the work continued. "Big red lady told us to. Gotta paint you real good. It's not bad. Not bad. Promise."

Suddenly, this whole ridiculous affair made sense to Teleros. Of course, it was Vuur that put them up to this. It would only make sense for the red dragon to want to humiliate and demean him as much as possible. Red and gold dragons were natural enemies, and always had been since the ancient war between Bahamut and Tiamat in ages long past. Vuur would likely spare him no end of petty tortures before she finally did away with him. This was just one more embarrassment that he'd have to stomach. Settling his mind on the matter, the young dragon took up a resolute expression, doing his best to ignore the kobolds as they scampered atop his belly.

All the same, Teleros couldn't help but watch out of the corner of his eye as they continued to paint him. Now that their unwilling 'canvas' had finally settled down, the kobolds took their time refining their hastiest works, scooping large globs of that dark, red paste and working it into their earlier symbols. The young dragon had to admit that they were creative little buggers, if nothing else: drawings of red and gold dragons entwined in obscene poses, depictions of red and gold eggs lain lovingly in a nest, symbols of fertility, of egg-laying, virility, stamina, and potency, all tenderly painted onto his body. The most egregious of these was an icon of Tiamat, the dark Goddess of Chromatic Dragons, surrounded by smaller symbols associated with fecundity. They put extra attention into that particular drawing, placing it directly beneath his slit, between the two thick lumps in his hide that denoted the location of his internal testicles. A mortified frown slumped across Teleros's muzzle as he watched them put in the finishing touches for it.

How humiliating, he thought. But I can't let them see that it upsets me. I have to stay strong.

It was easy to say that, of course, but far harder to maintain such a mindset as the kobolds went on with their work. Not satisfied with simply painting him, it didn't take long before the two artists decided to push their luck even further. Seeing that their massive guest had truly given up on the fight, one of them suddenly leaned down and - to Teleros's utter revulsion - lovingly licked at the mound of his left testicle. It was a swift, sneaky movement, so fast that he may not have even noticed it if he wasn't looking at them. The slick sheen of the kobold's spit upon his hide was more than enough proof of what'd occurred, however.

Don't let them see that it bothers you... don't let them get to you... don't let them get to you...

Even with such a mantra going through Teleros's head, the dragon still couldn't contain the low, hateful growl that resonated out from his chest. It hardly helped him. The little runt was taken aback only for a moment before it recalled how powerless he was. Then another lick came. A tingle of pleasure rippled across his genitals, unwanted. Another soon followed suit. Then the other kobold eagerly joined in, unwilling to sit out on the fun. Soon both of the little monsters were worshipping him there, licking and kissing at the soft, delicate lumps of his egg-makers, quietly praising him with their tongues. Their audacity was so offensive to the prudish young dragon that smoke began to steam out from his nostrils. The slits of his eyes narrowed venomously. Seeing that their prized guest was about to fly into a fit, the talkative kobold intervened once again.

"Great gold!" it yelled, waving its tiny arms about in a vain effort to distract Teleros. His eyes were still glued to the two impudent kobolds crouched over his privates - females, he now realized - as they continued to desecrate his body with their tongues. He felt the savage heat of furious flames beginning to boil inside of him. If he just focused, he was sure that he could summon enough fire to punish them. The chains couldn't stop him... his jaws parted-

"No mind them!" the speaker squealed loudly. "No mind! Please! They get off soon! You thirsty, yes! We have water for you! Good water! Drink!"

At this, the robed kobold gestured urgently to the two others of his kind standing nearby. They'd been patiently waiting at the edge of the island, loitering alongside the forgotten bowl while they watched the scene unfold before them. Seeing that they were needed, they recalled themselves and hurried to pick up the large container at their feet. Its dark contents sloshed about messily as they scampered forward.

As much as he longed to blast the offensive creatures off from his belly, Teleros realized that he was indeed parched beyond belief. Even if he managed to breathe fire in his current condition, it would only serve to make him thirstier, and all the weaker for when Vuur herself decided to show up and torment him. He needed to maintain his strength... and admittedly, there would be no justice in murdering the little savages just for this single, grotesque offense. Resignedly, the young dragon gave one last growl to the kobolds still happily lapping away at his concealed egg-makers, before finally turning his head towards the bowl. Light, teasing flicks of pleasure continued to tickle him from between his legs, reminding him that the painters had no intention of ceasing their newest 'work'.

"Very well," he said quietly, mustering as much dignity as he could manage. "I will drink."

With nothing else left to say, Teleros bent his horned head down towards the bowl. Unfortunately, he didn't make it more than half a meter before the cold metal of the chains pulled tightly upon his neck once again. A fresh wave of humiliation rolled across him as he stared down at the kobolds waiting just outside of reach. He realized that he couldn't bend his head down properly to drink while he was chained belly-up; they'd probably have to pour the water down his throat. Mercifully, Teleros was spared the indignity of having to ask such a mortifying favor.

"Oh. I see. No worry," the speaker said coyly, urging the two bowl-bearers to begin their climb. The little creature sauntered up to Teleros's head in the meanwhile, patting at his chained neck in an offensively-amicable manner while his companions hoisted the bowl up. "We get you water, real fast. You just stay there. Good water coming for you. Yes."

So it was that Teleros was forced to wait while the two bowl-bearing kobolds made the difficult trek up his hide, balancing their burden between themselves as they maneuvered scale-by-scale up his flank. The speaker continued to pet him happily - as though they were old friends - chatting about how "good" he was and how "pleased" he'd make their mistress. On top of all this humiliation, the painters continued to lap at his testicles, gleefully covering them with a thin sheen of kobold saliva while their peers worked to give him his drink. To his dismay, their efforts didn't go unrewarded. A slick dribble of pre-fluid was beginning to leak from the reddening lips of his slit. Horrible as it was... it did feel good, in an animal sort of way.

He was relieved when the bowl-bearers finally managed to make it up to his chest. From there, he could just crane his head forward enough for them to tip the contents of the bowl over into his waiting jaws. He pursed his lips eagerly against the clay, and then relief washed over him. Cool, thick waves of fluid rolled across his parched tongue. He swallowed without hesitation, and great gulps of the stuff ran down the long length of his throat, one after another. It wasn't until the bowl was nearly empty - with gallons of the stuff making their way into his body - that he noticed the thin, chemical residue in the basin of the bowl, and the strange, fruity scent of the liquid as it washed across his tongue. Suddenly, he spat out in horror. This wasn't water!

The bowl-bearers quickly fled from his torso as he blanched and heaved, trying to get the fluid out of his mouth. Drops of it still clung to his dignified whiskers and frills, hanging heavily before splattering to the ground. He could still feel the strange, slick aftertaste of it upon his tongue and cheeks, aromatic and strangely chemical. It'd been just cool enough, just refreshing enough to put him at ease. He tossed a furious glare at the bowl where it lay discarded on the rocky ground nearby. He'd drained almost every drop of the stuff, whatever it was.

"What did I just drink?" he hissed, directing his ire at the speaker, who at that point had wisely fled back alongside the bowl-bearers. The robed bastard wore a cheeky grin on its draconic muzzle. It shrugged.

"Great gold was thirsty, yes? Good water. Help you get ready."

Ready? Teleros's mind raced as he thought about the implications of the kobold's words. Perhaps it was a poison meant to weaken him before Vuur's arrival? Maybe some sort of truth potion to force him to reveal the location of his hoard, or worse still, the vaster hoards of his mother and father? These options, and several others besides, passed through his mind in a panicked rush before reality made itself apparent to him in the most urgent, humiliating way.

He was getting hard.

It didn't happen all at once. Busy as he was considering the possible poisons that he might've just ingested, he barely paid any further attention to the two kobolds still kissing and lapping between his thighs. By that point, his slit was already plump and reddened from arousal, even if its owner refused to acknowledge the sensations they were giving him. Hardly a full minute had gone by before the first few inches of his glistening shaft began to emerge from those puffy lips, and Teleros didn't even realize it until one of the painters grabbed at it eagerly. A horrified squawk burst out from his throat chest as he felt his proud dragonhood being touched by another creature.

"Ooooh!" the painter exclaimed happily, running her tiny claws up and down the swiftly-emerging length, marveling at its size and the heat that radiated off from it. Her paws were so tiny that even his flared, ridged tip seemed massive in her grip. "So big! Red lady gonna be very happy!"

Teleros was too stunned to even respond. The sudden arousal that he was feeling had come about so swiftly that he hadn't even recognized it for what it was. Less than a minute had gone by since he'd drunk the potion, and yet that undeniable heat was already spreading throughout his body like fire. It raced outwards from his belly to every extremity, lighting up the nerves along his wings and limbs, curling his tail, and pooling in his internal balls, filling them with weight and unbearable heat. Drool began to fill his mouth almost immediately, and his shaft slithered out from the confines of his slit with such urgency that it may as well have had a mind of its own. It towered over his belly, nearly as tall as any of the kobolds, a perfect pillar of unspoiled, draconic masculinity.

Any pretense of civility that the kobolds might have had disappeared as they all saw it. At once there was another mad scramble to get on top of him, and no amount of thrashing on his part could prevent the other three kobolds from joining the painters. They swiftly swarmed between his legs, eagerly grabbing at his cock and chittering excitedly between themselves.

"No!" Teleros begged, pleasure thrumming from his shaft like a drum with each worshipping touch that they gave him. He'd rarely ever even touched himself, let alone allowed another to do so. He wasn't used to so much stimulation. "Please, please stop! Don't do that, ugh... don't..."

His protests were, as ever, ignored. The young dragon was forced to watch as they venerated his helpless body, eagerly running their small, clawed paws up and down his rigid length, admiring its size, its proud ridges, its virility. The slick, squelching sounds of their unwanted reverence rang loudly in his ears. Thanks to whatever drink it was that he'd ingested earlier, he was leaking pre-seed like a fountain. Thick, viscous rivers of the stuff drooled down his own length, pooling onto their waiting paws. If anything, this only encouraged the little monsters further. Reaching up, they seized pawfuls of the stuff, and to Teleros's horror they brought it down to their own bodies.

No...

He'd underestimated the extent to which the kobolds revered him. Ignoring his pleas, the females eagerly stuffed the slick, warm liquid between their legs, pushing his potent pre-seed into their own fertile bodies, shuddering in their eagerness. Teleros had never seen anything like it... by Bahamut's heavens, he didn't even know if he could fertilize a kobold's eggs. Whether or not he could didn't seem to matter to the females, and he stared on in shock as they continued to push more and more of him into themselves. All the while, the males simply drank the stuff, yapping happily amongst themselves about how a dragon's fluids would make them more potent. The robed kobold seemed most adamant about the fact; grabbing a pawful for himself, he opened his robes and slid it between his legs, sighing happily as he rubbed it against his own unseen member. Teleros could do nothing but watch.

This was his fate then... to be worshipped and used, shamed beyond repair, and utterly powerless to fight back as the chains held him in place.

No!

It was when his body was just poised on the brink of release - his slender, golden hips instinctively thrusting upwards against the chains, with rivers of pre-seed flowing down the slick length of his turgid shaft - that a great tremor rolled throughout the scorched walls of the lava dome. Panic gripped Teleros as the thunderous sound reverberated in his chest. At first, he mistook it for an earthquake of sorts. Then it happened again, louder, and the attention of the kobolds was finally pulled away from his body. They hurried to leap off from him, with the females only taking one last, desperate pawful of his fluids to stuff between their sopping thighs before slipping away. By the time the third rumble shook the cave, they'd already snatched their bowl and scattered to the shadows. Then Teleros realized that it wasn't an earthquake he'd heard. It was a growl.

Vuur the Slakefire was ancient, even among the venerable ranks of their own kind. She'd been terrorizing the mountainous regions of the Sword Coast for centuries, harrowing the good people of the realm, plundering their wealth, and killing thousands in her fiery rampages. For many decades she'd done battle with his father and mother, and with countless other metallic dragons aligned alongside the cause of goodness. Through strength and wit, through sorcery and deceit, she'd overcome them all. Vuur was a true and terrible evil in the world, and as she at last stepped forth into the cavern, Teleros was reminded of what a fool he'd been to challenge her.

The vast span of her crimson wings stretched nearly from one side of the dome to the other, tattered with age and flecked with hot, black soot. The blood-red coat of her scales was covered in scars both new and old, and her powerful muscles rippled beneath them with every step forward that she took. Two vast, curling horns stood proudly above her piercing red eyes - each a pool of hateful, molten crimson - and her regal aspect was only heightened by the wide, fan-like frills which spread out from below her jaw. She walked like a predator, lean and powerful. Hungry. Spread out upon his back for her, painted and wrapped up like a gift, with his shameful erection jutting out and leaking onto his belly, Teleros felt infinitely vulnerable beneath her gaze.

The dragoness took her time coming to stand beside him. When at last the great majesty of her form came to rest beside his own, he realized how large she truly was; she was easily half again his own size. A weak growl rumbled out from his throat as she looked down upon him, and smoke fumed indignantly from his nostrils. It only seemed to amuse her. Vuur's lips pulled back, revealing pale fangs that glinted in the molten light of the cavern. Were she not so terrifying, Teleros might have even thought her beautiful, in the same way that a great storm could impress viewers with its danger and majesty.

"Why don't you just kill me?" he offered brazenly, knowing how ridiculous he must have sounded. Shame burned across his muzzle as her eyes roamed over his prone form, but he still managed to find the courage to speak. "Why bother with this outrageous affair? You've already won."

Vuur's gaze narrowed cruelly as she regarded him. Slowly, she raised the razor length of her claws to his neck. By that point, Teleros had heard so many stories of her brutality that he half expected his life to end there, cut short with a swift jerk of her paw and a shower of hot blood. Instead, she merely stroked him, gently caressing the smooth scales of his neck before curving her palm up to cup at his chin.

"Kill you?" she finally said. Her voice was knowing, deep and smooth, like the molten flow of the lava which coiled around them in lazy rivers. "And why would I do that, Teleros the Just?"

It took all of Teleros's restraint not to snap at her. "Because you hate us," he said, his fangs gritting together painfully. "You hate gold dragons."

Vuur's eyes glinted briefly at his words, and she took her paw lower, trailing it down the smooth scales of his throat, down towards his heaving chest. She hadn't even looked at his erection yet. It baffled him that the thing hadn't gone down. He'd never been an amorous creature, after all. The potion must have been an absurdly powerful aphrodisiac to have this kind of effect on him.

"Truly," she replied, just as her claws began to circle the lean muscles of his chest. "Hate plays into it, surely. Hate. I despise all those who would come into my domain and challenge me... and all the more so if they do it without being worthy." She nicked him with that last sentence, scoring his scales and watching as a small rivulet of blood dripped down to hiss upon the heated rocks.

"But hate isn't the defining attribute of a dragon, little one. Greed is."

Teleros watched her warily. "Greed? You want my hoard?"

She smiled at him again. Her claws began to move down the line of his slim belly, tracing the little symbols that the kobolds had drawn upon him. Color began to flash upon the icons as magic stirred within them. His erection surged once again, spurting a glob of fluid up and onto his belly. The sudden rush of pleasure was enough to make him gasp.

"Yes, I want your hoard... and I'll have that too, in time. But by the nature of my greed, I want everything. I might derive some narrow satisfaction in ending your life here, but that would be a waste of your potential. A young, gold dragon in the prime of his life is a far greater treasure than the thrill of a kill. I want all that you have to offer. The long centuries of your life played out for my pleasure, and at my discretion."

She bent her colossal head down to his body then, whispering words of power and magic against the symbols painted upon his scales. They stirred into life, their collective magic making his shaft firmer and more desperate with every second that passed. Further below, his internal testicles roiled with need, fattened so much that they bulged out against the supple scales beneath his slit. Another weak sound escaped from him as he felt the magic seep into his body, much as he tried to prevent it.

"What are you doing? Stop!"

Vuur didn't bother to acknowledge him. Her claws arced up and down his torso, weaving life into the magic that the kobolds had planted upon him. It was only after each sigil had been awoken that she finally met his gaze once again. Her eyes were afire with some indescribable emotion, pride and hate written upon her terrible features. Desire.

"I am going to mate with you, Teleros."

The young dragon froze as he heard the words. Disbelief was stamped upon his muzzle.

"I am going to take from you the greatest gift that your body can offer me. Life. I wanted it as soon as I saw you, when you first made your ridiculous challenge out upon my mountain. Your audacity was exhilarating... it thrilled me, even."

The red dragoness leaned her head forward so that she could examine his pride up close. "I haven't had a male throw himself at me so desperately since my last mate, centuries ago. He was a jealous, greedy beast, a red dragon like myself... it will be so much easier to have a male that can't steal from my hoard... one that is, in fact, a part of it. A treasure that I can admire and take pleasure from... gold upon gold."

Reaching forward, she took ahold of his shaft, and a tremor ran along his young muscles as she slid her paw up and down its length. The slick sound of it filled the bubbling quiet of the cavern. She watched his reactions smugly as she worked, admiring how he squirmed when she squeezed his pointed tip, or when she went lower to rub at the enflamed lips of his slit. She played with him like the well-earned toy that he was, and all the while his body danced with fertility magic, preparing him for her. His egg-makers swelled with life-giving seed, sperm-rich fluid leaking copiously down his cock to pool in his sensitive slit.

"No," he begged weakly, powerless. "No... no please. You can't-"

"I can," she replied darkly. "And I will. Once every century, when the urge to lay eggs comes upon me, I will come to you here and claim the life that you hold within your body. You are a golden dragon, Teleros. You will live another thousand years, if I'm careful. I will take clutch after clutch from you, and our children will ravage the earth. And all of this because you, foolish little hatchling, thought yourself _my_equal."

Because she could, Vuur tasted him before making her final claim. Reaching her muzzle downwards, she bent and swallowed the curved extent of his dragonhood, bringing an involuntary moan from Teleros as his length was swallowed by wetness and heat for the first time. That fiery tongue of hers swept across every inch of him, curling along his crown, dipping into his slit, running over ridges and the sensitive edge of his crown. She drank deeply from him, and Teleros could only watch in terror as great gulps rippled down her throat, pulling as she swallowed his pre-seed.

How long she spent there - lapping and suckling at him - was unknown to Teleros. She was careful never to take him too far, only teasing him to the brink of that pleasurable ledge again and again before pulling away. When at last she'd finished with him, she smacked her lips and grinned devilishly. Impatience was stamped across her every feature, from the drool that pooled from her fangs to the anxious twitching of her tail.

"Mine," she growled.

Then, without further ceremony, Vuur mounted him, crawling atop his prone form and positioning her hips squarely over his own. He was old enough to understand how mating worked, though he'd never done anything of the sort himself. Looking down the length of his belly, he could see how she worked her hips over his, aligning the swollen length of his shaft so that it pointed directly between her legs. There, a puffy, red slit much like his own winked at him. There was nothing to stop her.

He already knew that struggling would serve him no purpose, and yet he tried once more all the same. He threw himself against the mithril chains with renewed vigor, hoping against hope that this new burst of strength would be enough to free him. Then he could challenge her again, or even flee to pursue the fight another day. He pulled and pulled, snarling ferociously, and she just stood above him all the while, grinning. Occasionally, his efforts caused his hips to push upwards, just narrowly rubbing the tip of his cock to push against her slick, inner thigh.

"Admirable," she rumbled. Reaching down with a heavy paw, he watched as she rubbed it against her own slit, gathering her wetness against her claws and palm. "You continue to fight, even when you have no hope of victory. Indeed, this was the right decision. You'll sire a worthy clutch, little gold."

For a moment he considered tossing back some witty retort at her: that any dragon with golden blood in their veins would never succumb to evil, that he would find the will to resist her even with the poisons and magics that they'd used against him, or promises of vengeance upon the day that he eventually freed himself. He prided himself on his wordplay, and yet in that moment words failed him. Vuur brought her paw up and clamped it down ruthlessly upon his sensitive nose, smothering his whiskers in the scent of her estrus. The shock of it caused his body to immediately tense, ceasing his struggles.

By Bahamut's mercy... she's in heat.

He'd smelled such a scent before on his own mother, and upon lesser dragons whose company he would occasionally deign to upon occasions when their aid was useful in some quest or another. He knew what it was and what it meant. Female dragons entered their estrus only once in every few decades, generating anywhere from one to six eggs in their bellies. They'd remain fertile for several weeks afterwards, and during this time even solitary dragons such as reds and golds would become more sociable, allowing males to enter into their territory in the hopes of attracting a mate. Teleros gulped nervously as her paw rubbed against his sensitive whiskers. He was to be that mate.

Vuur made sure to cover every inch of his snout in her scent, reaching down to grab another slick pawful before rubbing it over his whiskers and nose. He wanted so desperately to bite at her, but his body refused. His teeth chattered noisily - an instinctive reaction to her scent - and his tongue ran out quite on its own will to slurp at the thick fluid as it was lathered upon him. He could feel in agonizing detail as every part of his body began to react to it: his heart began to beat faster, his pupils dilated, his tail sought hers out and curled around it, and worst of all, his cock continued to leak, pumping out a steady stream of pre-seed to coat his saturated length. By that point, it'd already begun to pool out of his slit, and little rivulets of it ran down his thighs.

"I'll have you know," she hissed down at him, giving his snout one last coating before pulling her paw back. "You're not the only one wearing a bit of magic right now." She grabbed one of his horns and pulled his head down, forcing him to look at her. There, right above her slit, upon the lower section of her belly where her egg-chamber would be, was a symbol that he hadn't noticed earlier. It was painted in that dark, red paste much like the ones that he'd been covered in, and it blended so well into her hide that he'd missed it entirely until that moment. His eyes widened in horror as he looked upon it.

In many ways, it was similar to the mark that he'd been given earlier by the kobolds. Her emblem however, depicted the patron deity of good dragons, Bahamut. It was far more detailed than the crude drawing placed upon his own groin; his deity's aspect was clearly recognizable, with his normally-severe expression drawn into a face of tormented pleasure. Surrounding his visage were lines of Draconic script, with each symbol weaving together to form an arcane seal around the deity's face. From his current position, it was difficult to read all of the lines, but Teleros recognized many even from a cursory glance. They'd been drawn upon himself as well. It was undoubtably some form of fertility magic. With Bahamut's iconography present amidst it all, he suspected that the magic was specifically designed to improve her chances of conceiving with the deity's children... with gold dragons such as himself.

"It's a pity that you're not educated enough to appreciate all of the work that's gone into this little union of ours," Vuur continued. By now, she was teasingly rubbing her slit against the tip of his cock, bringing shudders down his frame as her slick entrance glided over his ridged crown. "This magic takes no small effort to conjure. It warps the very nature of our bodies, much like a polymorph spell, and it enhances some elements that were already present. You'll see the nature of that, soon enough."

The slick heat of her vent rubbed over him once again, causing Teleros to squirm in his chains. He tried not to let it distract him. No small effort, he said to himself. This magic must've been costly for her. Perhaps, if I'm lucky, she might be just as drained as I am. I might be able to escape after all, if I can just get out of these chains!

That was easier said than done, of course. Vuur was, if nothing else, perceptive. She watched him carefully as he squirmed beneath her, those blood-red eyes observing as he tested the chains bound upon each limb. Her teeth flashed in the lava's light.

"One would think that you'd be honored, little gold," she said smoothly. Taking his chin in her claws once again, she forced him to look at her. Greed shimmered in her eyes. "Your life, once destined for pointless pursuits of some moral vanity, has now been given a greater purpose. There will be no more struggles, no more thoughts of freedom. You are mine."

With that, she bent her horned head down and clamped her jaws firmly over his own. The kiss of a red dragon was by no means an act of intimacy. It was simply another act of greed, a claim over another's body. Her scorching tongue sought his own out and swiftly wrestled it into submission, and his pathetic cries of denial were eagerly swallowed down her throat. Her breath was hot against his own, her saliva burning into his gums as though he'd just bitten a desert pepper. He tried in vain to pull himself away from her, but her claws held his chin in an iron grip. Her fangs clenched against his jaws, painfully locking him into place. His mind rebelled at the clamor of all these new sensations, but it was only going to get worse.

When she finally sank herself down onto his length, both dragons reacted with sheer, guttural pleasure. It manifested in both of them differently. In Vuur, it caused her wings to splay out dramatically, fanning over her pinned prey while her claws wrapped themselves around the gold dragon's smaller form, sinking into his pristine scales. Teleros responded with a muffled cry of pain, his tail twisting hard against the unyielding mass of her own. He wasn't nearly as large as Vuur's previous mates, and her body swallowed him eagerly and with little effort. Her sweltering depths enveloped him like warm silk, and with a single, downwards motion she continued until their slits met. Deep within her, his tip pressed up snugly against the enflamed ring of her egg chamber. As though to greet it, his shaft spat out a sperm-rich glob of pre-seed, right against her barrier. Vuur practically purred with delight.

The mating itself was quick, brutal, and one-sided, much like their battle had been. She rode him with practiced ease, and Teleros was certain that she must have done this very thing with many other males before him. Each pump of her hips brought a swell of pleasure coursing throughout his body, and with every motion, the symbols painted upon his body glowed with renewed vigor. He'd never experienced pleasure like this before. Every slight gyration and touch sent fire coursing through his nerves. He was inexperienced, utterly unprepared for this type of battle, and she was, once again, better.

Concentrate on escaping, he told himself. Her jaws were still clamped against his own. Her searing kiss made it almost impossible to think about anything else, but he tried. She's more distracted than ever. Think!

But his body didn't want to think. It wanted to breed the dragoness writhing atop him, to ravage the female that stunk of heat and desperately wanted his seed to quench her inner flame. Instinct was overriding his rational thought at a rapid pace, and any plans of escape were swiftly dashed before they could even properly form. She was already panting against him now, making high, trilling noises of pleasure against his lips. Then, suddenly, he felt a terrible dampness flow down along his length. Her folds shuddered and clenched upon him, and her wings fluttered. A tremor went down the powerful muscles of her body.

With a wrenching motion, Vuur pulled her muzzle away from his, breathless. She panted in his face, looking back down at him with obvious satisfaction upon her muzzle. Down below, her hips had slowed in their pumping motions, now only gingerly riding him. It was no less pleasurable than before, and Teleros grimaced as he fought to keep himself from releasing inside her. The thick drizzle of pre-seed which leaked from her was already too much, and he knew that her orgasm had only drawn it all up deeper into herself.

"That was good," she whispered against his lips. Her dark, sultry voice resonated within his chest. Blood dripped from her fangs, proof that she'd bitten him harder than he'd realized. "You're smaller than my last mate, but no less proud. I'm pleased that you've held out this long... I was worried that I wouldn't have time to finish before you. Youth, and all that. But no matter."

She lowered herself down to him again, and he flinched as she swiped her tongue along his sensitive whiskers. Down between their legs, she raised herself so that just the tip of his cock was embedded within her. She squeezed him then, watching deviously as his face contorted in pleasure.

"We must end this now. The fire in me rages."

He knew. He could feel it, wrapped around the crown of his dragonhood. When she descended again, it was with speed and urgency. Pinning his chest with a paw, she rode his hips now with quick, savage movements, snarling at him, hunched over like an animal. His cock plunged deeply into her, again and again, each time bringing their slits together with a wet smack. His tip kissed the fiery ring of her cervix with every motion.

There was no more room for strategy now. No room for thoughts of escape. He was once again as desperate and hopeless as he'd been at the moment of his earlier defeat, and he could do nothing but look away from her as she rode his body into its first climax. There was no magic or strength left in him to deny that fate. Instead, as pleasure surged up and down his cock, he tried to find the last shreds of his dignity, to stoically push through the waves of pleasure she forced upon him without giving her the satisfaction of seeing how it affected him.

In that, at least, he earned some minor success. The end came to him swiftly and unexpectedly, a shuddering, electric bolt of pleasure that built in his testicles and washed up through every nerve in his body. It shot like lightning through his wings, his tail, and his limbs, drawing a muffled cry from his throat as his hips desperately tried to thrust up. He forced himself to deny the instinct, gratefully, but it didn't save him. Just as that first powerful, life-giving rope of his seed began to shoot out from his engorged tip, Vuur roared and slammed herself down upon him, forcing their slits together in a wet slap, and jamming his crown directly against the opening of her egg chamber.

Crammed tightly into her inner entrance, there was nowhere for his seed to go but directly where Vuur intended it. A visible pulse worked its way through the main channel of his cock, swiftly pulled upwards by both dragons' contractions, until eventually it unloaded itself deep within the female, splattering the first of many hot, virile deposits directly against the wall of her egg chamber. Another quickly followed suit, and then another, each bringing along millions of sperm into her welcoming heat to search out and claim one of the red dragon's eggs for itself. Neither knew it at the time, but no less than six eggs were swiftly claimed in this way, with each egg finding its match in the younger dragon's seed. After a dozen such pulses - with Teleros pinned and squirming beneath her all the while - Vuur was thoroughly seeded. She'd defeated him again, now in an entirely new form.

In the aftermath of their union, Teleros was left as little more than a panting mess, sprawled out upon the vast, golden hoard of the red dragoness. Vuur still crouched down atop him, keeping her body low against his own. Their slits remained much the same, pressed wetly together. A small dribble of seed leaked from their conjoined openings, but it was only a little. Teleros knew that the vast majority of it had gone on its intended course. Above him, Vuur's wings slowly spread once again, flaring out dramatically over him. Claiming him. He could feel the fiery pressure of her gaze burning into his skull, but he refused to meet it.

"Don't look so distraught, Teleros," she said hotly against his throat. "One would think you didn't enjoy it."

Her breathing was still heavy. Each hot blast struck the sensitive scales of his neck, singeing his frills. He could still taste her. Her saliva was iron and cinnamon, spiced blood and wine. Occasionally, he felt her internal muscles contracting against him, greedily drawing out the last precious remnants of his seed into her folds.

"It is no small thing to stand against me and live," she continued. "You have proven yourself most worthy of my attentions. There are many red dragons who would have killed for such an honor."

Lowering her paw, she gently stroked at the muscular plane of her midriff. Her eyes lidded heavily as her claws traced over her scales. "I can feel it, you know... the fire of life. I've done it enough times to have certain intuitions about the matter. They've taken."

Teleros said nothing at that. His head was tilted off to the side, away from her, and his golden, tear-filled eyes had fixed themselves stoically upon some faraway detail upon the walls. Anything to avoid looking at her. This monster, which had claimed victory over both his life and the future of his line. He was defeated. So much so, in fact, that when she turned his head to look back at her, he found no strength to resist. When she opened her mouth to kiss him once again - a deep, grateful kiss, if gratitude was even something that a red dragoness could have - he did not fight her.

Together, the two dragons coiled upon one another in the fiery depths of the mountain. Teleros was never seen again, although it was said that in the centuries to follow, a great host of monstrous red dragons swept down from the lands of Vuur the Slakefire. Some said that they had eyes of gold.

Covetous eyes.