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A Love Eternal

Heaina was feeling rather miserable. The blond-maned palomino mare had quite a bit of experience with that, granted, but she had to admit that she was rather out of practice. Still, once you developed a knack for slouching ahead despite the black cloud hanging over your head, you never really forgot how, and she most certainly had. First, there'd been the misery of growing up in the midst of a ragged band of refugees as they all wandered from place to place, scrambling just to survive and often failing even at that - a nightmare, to be sure, but at least one she'd shared with many others at the time.

Then, after they had - by sheer fortune - found their way to the Dragon Utopia, and gradually grown to accept that they were not about to be either kicked out, nor devoured anytime soon, there'd been the more_private_ misery of feeling like she didn't belong. A rather stupid thing to get so worked up over, in retrospect, but it seemed to come with the territory of adolescence. Her peers had been squarely focused on imitating Melora, the Equus mare who had preceded them all to this mystical location and, as everybody knew despite it never being stated outright, had secured her people's ability to stay there. So of course, they'd longed to follow her up to the grand Citadel that towered so high above the humble settlement their parents were building, to become personal servants to the fearsome and awe-inspiring dragons that dwelt there.

Young Heaina... well, she hadn't been any different in that regard, really, just in her approach. While the rest sough to train their bodies and stamina, seeking to become strong and reliable servants, she had sought the path of beauty. Her mother had been a weaver and seamstress - a trade she'd been able to resume with great relief once they were settled in the Utopia - and while the clothes she produced were simple and utilitarian, they'd given her daughter all manner of ideas. While other Equus balked at making any requests for resources beyond the most necessary to survival, Heaina dared to ask for fine damask cloth, silks, and golden thread - making from them spectacular garments cut for an Equus figure, finery the likes of which could not have been even imagined back in the Herdlands.

And it had worked! Except not. Just as she'd hoped, her beauty and elegance had made her stand out among her peers, drawing the eye of one of the rare and spectacular Golden Dragons, second only to the Blacks in terms of power and authority - and of course, back then there'd been but one Black in the entire Utopia, namely the Champion himself. She'd been very proud of herself at first... but as adolescence soon began to give way to maturity, and her peers gossiped incessantly about the amorous attention they drew from their own draconic masters, she found herself neglected - treated as a servant and nothing more. Or, perhaps more accurately, a servant and a decoration. She understood why, now, but back then she'd been confused, increasingly horny and... well, acutely miserable.

Which was how she'd met her true Master, Keltinor, of course - in a series of events that still sent a stab of sheer, emotional agony through her if she dared reflect on them. She... hadn't been happy with the state of things back then either, of course - that much, she could at least console herself with. Even with Keltinor providing her with all the sexual pleasure she could wish for, it wasn't_fulfilling_, it didn't feel right, and on some level she was always aware that her ideas about the majestic Bicorn _enjoying_her abusive behavior were nothing more than a convenient self-deception. Alas, that didn't change the fact that she'd continued anyway - nor lessen the measurable increase of miserable-ness she'd experienced when Tiffany had found her out and confronted her.

But, merciful and gracious as she was, Tiffany had neglected to assign her the punishment she'd so richly deserved - exile, from the wondrous and magical realm of the Utopia, to face the harsh and unforgiving world outside its borders on her own - and instead offered her a chance at redemption. To serve the very being she'd previously forced to serve her, for the same span of time, in order to thus nullify her sins. She'd done so, eager to grasp this way out of her desperate situation... and, all of a sudden, she'd stopped feeling miserable. In service and submission, she'd found... joy. Fulfillment. Even love, though she knew better than to imagine that she was worthy of sharing that kind of bond with her glorious Master, Keltinor. She was his devoted servant, his ever-ready cocksleeve and, for a long time, she'd been happy and content with that role.

Even when the other females had begun to appear, gathering around him - his new 'squad', as well as, inevitably, his harem - she hadn't minded. They were on a different level than her. A demonic assassin, an ageless vampire, a deadly nature-spirit... they were his colleagues, powerful agents of the Utopia in their own rights. Her only real peer was the most recent addition, the werewolf Tirena, but she was mostly Kirsten's pet, and still didn't see much attention from the Master. Besides, they couldn't serve him the way_she_ did. They couldn't glory in the pain he so masterfully dealt out, as she did - nor had they tailored their bodies to his needs and desires the way she had.

She'd had her throat remodeled so that she could breathe even with her gullet full of cock, ensuring that there were no pesky physical limitations to her blowjobs. Her tongue had been lengthened significantly to assist in both those and rimjobs. Her labia had been pumped up to a permanently swollen and sensitive state which, in combination with the rings that constrained them and an alchemical modification that made her lubricate both copiously and continuously, left the hole permanently gaping, ready to be used by her Master's huge cocks without any preparation. Deeper inside, her womb had been remodeled, stretching it open so that it could welcome even an arm-thick cockhead inside, adding several more inches to any penetration. Meanwhile, her two extra sets of breasts, along with a size-increase for her original, reasonably sized, pair enabled her to provide proper tit-jobs even to tools as large as her Master's - especially when the thick rings that pierced her permanently erect and engorged nipples were chained together.

There was also her tailhole, of course, which had been trained in more...mundane ways, stretching her sphincter and straightening her colon to ensure that she could take well over half of one of Master Keltinor's cocks up there with little difficulty, perhaps two-thirds at best - though it still hurt_intensely_ if something that thick was inserted without preparation. She loved that pain - the ability to feel His tool so_completely_, so vividly. Of course, she loved any pain He saw fit to give her. Loved the sense of having his full and undivided attention when he tortured her. Even when His attempt to alchemically grow her clit to several times its normal size and sensitivity had... worked somewhat better than anticipated, that had not changed.

The pressure had been unimaginable,blinding, as her clit swelled, then swelled some more, and finally exploded. So intense and agonizing was the pain, that she couldn't even faint. Yet, feeling his eyes on her blood-spattered groin, his hands holding her limp body as he poured the healing-potion down her throat... it had all been worth it. Given another chance, even knowing what would happen, she would spread her legs for him again... and take that injection right into her clit without hesitation. She wore the ruins of it proudly, still - stretched out like a three-pointed star, down to her thighs and up to her pierced belly-button. The inches of dark-red scar-tissue this exposed remained enormously sensitive - so much so that all but the most feather-light of touches would send shivers of pain through her body. A marvelous gift.

All the others... her erstwhile 'peers', even her own mother, they didn't understand. They couldn't see that these changes had only made her more beautiful - after all, was beauty not in the eye of the beholder? And the only beholder she cared for was Him. Her Master. Keltinor. As long as _he_beheld her body with such heated eyes, that was all she needed. They could turn their heads away, sneering or retching, or look at her with pity if they liked - she did not care. She did not need them. Only him. Always him.

After entirely too much time had passed, the door finally opened. Heaina glanced over at it, and felt her face twitch as she resisted the urge to scowl, sneer, glare, and various other unpleasant things. Melora was emerging, clad in the same simple, yet flattering dress she'd shown up wearing - one that nicely showed off her softer curves, while simultaneously accentuating her well-muscled limbs. Picked out, no doubt, by her Master. She was also walking rather gingerly - in a way that struck Heaina as instantly familiar. As did the vaguely bemused expression on her face. Master Keltinor had been good to her, all right. While she sat here, abandoned and neglected!

The other mare sauntered through the lab in a slightly off-balance way, giving her an absentminded nod as she made for the exit. It was a... thoughtless thing, a rote pleasantry, a simple acknowledgment of her existence... but somehow, to her, it felt like an insult, a mockery - and before she knew it, she was on her hooves and moving. Anger boiling in her blood, she hit Melora full-tilt just before she reached the door that led back out into the Utopia's corridors, slamming her into the wall beside it.

Somehow, though, despite the attack taking even the attacker totally by surprise, the muscular mare managed to roll with it, softening the collision by moving into it and ending with her back to the wall, her hooves spread for stability, and her arms outstretched with open hands, ready to intercept any follow-up attacks. However, when her brown eyes - briefly sharpened with intense focus - saw the face of her assailant, her face softened and she made no attempt to prevent Heaina from grabbing her by the front of her dress, fingers shaking. Heaina knew why, and hated it. She could feel the tears on her cheek, the thickness in her throat. Toys didn't cry. And they certainly weren't pitied.

"Stay away from my Master. You've got your own." She nonetheless managed to growl without hiccuping. She had to say something, after all, in a situation like this. Melora sighed and nodded. "My Master is currently away, and he left me orders to seek out_your_ Master if I required... attention." She knew that already, of course. She'd been there when Lord Blake had asked Master Keltinor to handle the matter. But somehow, right now, that didn't matter. It did, however, mean that the only rebuttal she could deliver was a low, whinnying growl.

"I... did not know that you would feel this strongly about it." Melora continued, still looking unconcerned, still with that pitying look in her eyes. "Rest assured, now that I have carried out my Master's orders, I will not return again. I have no desire to cause... conflict between you two." With a deep, shuddering breath, Heaina managed to master herself, forcing her cramping fingers to relax - releasing the now rather wrinkled front of Melora's dress. "Good." She said, between clenched teeth - after all, what more could she really ask for?

And yet, that mocking pity was still in her eyes, and in her voice as she straightened her dress. "If you feel that your Master is not paying you sufficient attention, you should talk to him." She remarked, without meeting Heaina's eyes. "He... seems to be a good and caring Master, so I do not believe that he would _knowingly_neglect your needs." Feeling her face once again pull itself into a sneering grimace, Heaina's hands balled into fists. "I don't need your advice!" She spat. "You don't understand what we share! Nobody does!"

"Do you really think us so different?" Melora replied, sounding more bemused than anything else. Heaina's eyes narrowed, the seething in her blood that had briefly ebbed rising again - though she was at least able to restrain herself from another physical assault. "I know we are!" She instead half-shouted. "You're here, aren't you? Instead of being by your Master's side! You're already handing your duties over to your daughter, preparing to abandon them!" This, at least, made the other mare show a somewhat pained expression, which Heaina saw as a sign that she'd scored a direct hit.

Those wrinkles, however, smoothed themselves out after just a second. "It is true that I've trained my daughter to take my place..." Melora admitted readily, shrugging. "I do not consider that a failing. Rather, I have taken the path to immortality that is accorded all us mere mortals. I know she will serve him well, as will her daughter and her daughter's daughter in turn, long after I am gone." Now it was Heaina's turn to wince, and one of her hands automatically moved to her abdomen - sending a slight shock of pain through her as a finger brushed across the topmost part of her torn clitoris, where it attached to her belly-button piercing.

That path to immortality... was no longer open to her. It had seemed such an easy, simple decision at the time... Alchemically remodeling her womb to make it a fuckable extension of her pussy had made her a better sex-toy, able to take another handspan worth of Keltinor's cock in that hole. But it had also, unsurprisingly, rendered her uterus incapable of performing its original function - and even if the alteration was undone, her fertility would not return. Keltinor had made that much clear well ahead of time, but she hadn't thought twice about it. Being a mother wasn't something that she'd ever really considered, so it had seemed a small thing indeed to sacrifice for a far greater cause.

Such a brief surge of sadness and regret, however, was easy to channel instead into anger as she snapped back at her nemesis. "And what of you, then? Will you just fade away into uselessness and obscurity in some corner once your daughter has taken over? Or live off your Master's generosity as you enter your dotage, growing old and ugly?" Melora's nostrils flared, and her face took on a serious cast as she straightened up, squaring her shoulders and, for a moment, Heaina thought she was about to get punched in the face. Not like she could do much about it, if so.

The blow that followed, however, was not a physical one. "No." Melora bluntly declared. "I will neither abandon my Master, nor become a burden on him. Do not question my dedication. I already know where my path ends." As she explained - in short, clipped terms - Heaina found herself rendered speechless. Once Melora had said her piece, she turned on one hoof and stalked out the door, closing it behind her, leaving Heaina standing there, wide-eyed and gaping as she wondered at the short-sightedness of her own devotion.

After all, she was every bit as mortal as any other Equus. Her Master's alchemical concoctions could perhaps ward off some of the outwards signs of aging, for a while - already, they were preventing her upscaled and multiplied breasts from developing any noticeable sag - but eventually, she same question she'd just asked would be thrown back to her face as she aged into a useless, wrinkled_thing_, a toy that no-one in their right mind would wish to play with. And _she_didn't have anything like the answer that Melora had arrived at.

But as she stood there, mind reeling, a piece of it snagged on a memory. Mortal. Path to Immortality. Many wizards and alchemists had sought a Path to Immortality other than the one Melora had suggested - passing on your legacy to your offspring. The Philosopher's Stone, the Elixir of Life, Lichdom... all failed attempts and partial successes. She was no sage, but working in the laboratory of a masterful Alchemist, Mage and Sorcerer like Keltinor, and riding along on the often esoteric missions of the Red Hand, had taught her a thing or two.

Right now, one thing in particular came to mind. The first mission she'd gotten to go along for, before her carrying-case had even been finished - it had been quite close to home, after all. In fact, it was one of the first actions of the Red Hand, years before it earned that moniker - it had just been Keltinor and Vanthia, back then. And her, of course - the tag-along cleaning-lady and all-round 'assistant'. Their target had been a crazed necromancer who'd set up shop in some caves near the border of the Utopia's lands. The dragons had been worried that some undead horror might escape from there and wander into the Utopia - apparently, there was a fair bit of uncertainty about whether their illusion-based defenses, which were mental rather than visual in nature, would work on a mindless undead, such as a zombie. Also, the neighboring kingdom within whose borders the necromancer was operating was bound to take notice and send someone to investigate at some point - be they official agents or hired adventurers - and_they_ might wind up noticing something strange about the nearby 'wasteland' in the process. The Rakshasa were working hard to ensure that the Utopia's neighbors didn't take notice of it, so it would be rather inconvenient to have all that labor undermined by some random, overly-curious band of underpaid adventurers.

It had been a simple and profitable affair in the end. By the time they arrived, their target was already dead - killed, as was so often the case with such people, by his own creation. She'd seen it herself - a creature with the body of a beautiful, healthy woman, albeit sprayed with blood - but with dreadful, bony claws for hands and feet, and a face twisted into a muscle-tearing grimace of mindless hatred and pain. Keltinor had made short work of it, then left her and Vanthia to collect any spellbooks, notes, or other materials of note from the dead wizard's laboratory while he searched through the rest of the small cave-system to make sure that there weren't any other similar horrors locked away somewhere there.

There'd been another horror in there, all right - though she hadn't seen the moment he encountered it, of course. A vampire, captured and confined by the necromancer, seemingly for study - left to starve after his death. Yes... that was how Kirsten had joined them, once she'd drunk her fill of Keltinor's vibrant blood. But, that was besides the point! The notes, the diaries, the scribbled rants she'd collected in the lab - she hadn't been able to understand them, of course, but Vanthia had read from them and commented on how brilliant the wizard's ideas had been, albeit applied towards such insane ends. He'd been trying to resurrect his dead lover, apparently. Not just reanimate her body as a mindless zombie, but to bring her soul back from the hereafter and sealing it in a carefully-preserved vessel of flesh.

Considering the condition of the creature that had killed him, he had at least_partially_ succeeded. It had hardly looked dead at all! And Vanthia... she'd said something about the real impossibility being the returning of a soul that had already departed, and that it might actually have worked if the process had been performed at the moment of death, similar to the process that created a Lich. So... presumably, it could be done, yes? Using that process, a person could become an undead with a soul - immortal and possessing vastly increased strength and stamina, yet retaining the appearance of the living. A toy that never broke, never wore down, never decayed! One that could be modified and adjusted far beyond mortal limits... it was perfect!

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PREVIEW ENDS - and there may have been some bits missing somewhere in the middle, too! See the whole thing on the 'Dragon Utopia' Discord server, link is in my profile.