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A Kingly Pet by Gwydion78

Commission for Xakrai

The last blast of dragonfire had nearly done him in, the warrior rolling out of the way of the following barrage of flame as his shield had taken the brunt the previous time, and now lay melted on the floor of the cavern. The elf had been fighting the crimson dragon for nearly a quarter hour, the strikes of his meticulously enchanted blade doing naught more than shattering the occasional scale. It was evident that the beast had merely been toying with him, treating the knight as little more than an amusing diversion amidst the monotony of sitting upon its hoard, a vast treasure that the Elf knew could save his kingdom (as well as bring him a title).

Overconfidence might be the downfall of many, but so far Verendiel had seen few chinks in the dragon's armor outside of those his sword had made, which would require the luck of the gods to find once again. The size of the dragon was *supposed* to be its disadvantage, as the cavern was not to large to allow it flight, and its hoard's close proximity requiring it to be selective with its gouts of dragonbreath. He should've been able to use his mobility to bring down the beast eventually with shallow cuts that would open the dragon up for the coup de grace. No such luck.

"How long will we continue this charade, Elf? I suspect soon you will become more an annoyance than entertainment." The dragon's voice boomed and reverberated off the cavern walls, rattling piles of coins and causing smaller treasures to tumble over into the gold. "Did you truly believe you could face one such as I? Alone?"

Veren flung a jewel-encrusted vase in the opposite direction of the dragon's gaze, which elicited an amused snort from the beast. "Now you just insult me. I can clearly see, hear, and smell where you are, Elf." A few seconds passed. "No response? An Elf that does not wish to converse nor inundate me with frivolous claims of his haughty superiority to all other life. Was this your plan, Elf? Make it so that I have now truly witnessed *everything* so that I could be comfortable with dying?"

"I shall slay you, beast, your hoard shall belong to the Kingdom of Dawnwood!" Veren cursed that his bowstring had snapped during the descent through the caverns to reach the dragon's home. He had left himself open to a bowshot and...

And there was likely a bow in the hoard somewhere, he merely had to keep the dragon talking.

"And the economic state of your kingdom concerns me how? I gathered this wealth through my own skill and work. I am hardly benevolent but I *am* intelligent enough to know that flying off with a tax wagon will only attract undue attention. No one, however, will miss a band of brigands, a ship of pirates, or a vaulthouse filled with thieves. They are just as tasty as a dusty farmer and far better funded." The dragon peered behind a natural pillar, as if to check for the location of Veren. "Perhaps your kingdom should look into similar ventures and leave those such as I alone."

"Then why collect wealth at all?" Good, the dragon apparently long-winded, which allowed Veren to duck behind a massive hill of riches, inspected the pile for anything that looked usable. Nothing so far. "It's not as if you can spend it on anything. I've never seen a dragon at market."

"Elf, you will someday learn that there are only two things that a dragon loves. One is the decadent and luxuriant sensation of sleeping upon what an entire kingdom would struggle to produce in a year, and the other is-"

"The sound of their own voice?" A long hard leather case was revealed by the dragon's room-rattling voice. He carefully pulled it free, opening it to find what he'd hoped for: a longbow and some particularly vile looking arrows. He snuck along, slinging the bow and quiver over his back and tossing the case the other way, knocking over several pots that caused a cacophony of clattering and clinking, which seemed to get the dragon's attention long enough for him to draw one of the arrows from the quiver, draw a bead on one of the larger patches of missing scales his sword had created.

"Clever. Eventually every Elf, I suppose, must insult. Perhaps it is like breathing for your kind." Veren drew the arrow back as far as he could, adjusting for the movement of the beast. "But before I was so rudely interrupted, the other thing that a dragon loves is to-"

Veren loosed the arrow, the ebon shaft whistling softly through the air, but finding its target before the dragon could react, the venomed tip releasing its toxins into the beast's system. It worked quickly, the dragon stumbling a few seconds, and then glaring at the Elf, appearing to be about to jet a final gout of flame at his slayer, but instead he crashed down into the pile of gold, unmoving. Veren quickly scaled the hill of treasure before him to get a better vantage of the fallen dragon, not whooping in joyous victory just yet. His shot had been excellent, that was to be sure, but it was better to be sure in the case of dragons. He drew his sword and advanced on the beast, the drake still, no sign of breathing, eyes frozen in a look of anger, hatred. It was a look that Veren was certain would draw plenty of dinner conversation when he had it mounted on the wall of the manor he was sure to receive when he returned to Dawnwood victorious.

He positioned himself at the dragon's neck, raising his sword with both hands and preparing to bring it down hard enough that it would cleave through cleanly. Instead he was knocked onto his back by a mere flick of the dragon's head, leaving him dazed, vision blurry, though aware of an immense pressure on his chest that he soon discovered was the dragon's foreleg, pinning him down. "Gnomes, if you're curious. The poison on that arrow was meant for *gnomes*, an interesting though ultimately small race with a low body weight, thus only needing limited concentrations. I doubt it would have even made *you* drowsy."

Veren struggled to no avail, spitting on one of the claws that held him firmly in place. "Then be done with it! Cease your mocking and take your victory. I only wish you choke on my armor."

Smoke was snorted in his face, making him cough violently. "Kill you? You've been most entertaining, Elf, and I've decided that you will continue to provide me with entertainment for years to come." The dragon's mouth then moved, as if making words, but distorted syllables that were unrecognizable to Veren's ears emerged, the sounds like corkscrews turning in his brain. The dragon then exhaled the lightest puff of smoke, the cloud not ashen or sooty, but a vibrant purple that crackled with sparks of energy, a cloud that began to descend toward the trapped Elf, settling around his head.

Veren struggled to fight off breathing, but the pressure on his ribs and diaphragm was making breathing in or out almost impossible. For the briefest of seconds, the foreleg began to lift, and the Elf's body betrayed him, his lungs taking in the enchanted mist. He squirmed and took advantage of the unstable pile of coins beneath him to worm free of the dragon's grasp, but it appeared to be too late, the dragon doing nothing as the Elf staggered away, coughing, appearing sick.

"Now, if I may *finally* finish my statement, there are only two things that a dragon loves. One, I've already told you." The Elf hunched over, grimacing in pain, his innards feeling ablaze as the magic fought his race's innate resistance, eroding his body's resolve. "The other, is that despite our size and rather impressive intelligence and economic acumen..."

Veren's armor began to feel tight, the leather keeping his legplates secure and correctly positioned now digging into his skin, his waistguard painfully constrictive. He cried out in first agony and then relief as his previous flat and firm Elven buttocks broke free, his spine cracking audibly as an alien appendage seemed to worm outward. When the Elf looked over his shoulder, a large posterior was swelling outward, his creamy Elven skin drying, cracking, hardening, thickening, and turning red, a spade-tipped log of scaly muscle attached to the base of his spine. He tumbled back onto it, his legs still largely humanoid, though his thighs were already twitching madly, losing contact with his brain as they were wired into his new, still-growing, red dragon's ass. An ass that the dragon flicked his tongue out to gently lick.

"Dragons simply adore taking every opportunity to rut. Not mate, rut. Shove our cocks deep in whatever fiery, scaly holes we can find and *fuck*. And you, good Elf, will be addressing a need that has been eluding me for several seasons. It's proceeding not in the manner I expected, but you do possess a fine rump..."

Veren felt something warm, wet splash against his ballooning buttocks, the dragon behind him making a strange, almost crooning sound, a sound that impacted his mind, made him want to lift his tail and... "No!" He grit his teeth, trying to stand, or at least escape, crawl away, anything to get away from that alluring, libido-stoking noise. "I... I won't do this, I won't be your... your..."

"Lover? Worry not, Elf, I'd never grace you with such a respectful title. You will merely be a hole to fill, a recepticle for my bounty, an empty vessel to slake my desires. Nothing more." The dragon slipped his forked tongue beneath the thrashing crimson tail, jabbing the quivering star of flesh that marked the Elf's now draconic entrance. "Give in. Once you've taken my cock, deep inside, you'll be mine. Only mine. And you will no longer care for anything but serving my lust and guarding my hoard."

"NO!" Veren shouted, dragging himself forward, strangely feeling punched in the gut before he landed, his impact lessened as his middle suddenly exploded forward, his breastplate clattering into the gold coins below. He stared in shock at his belly, which retained it's creamy, near white color, but was clearly drying, growing softer scales, his sides thickening with muscle as they turned as red as the rest of him, his legs still quite Elven, but rendered immobile by his surge in mass and weight. Ever so slowly his viewpoint grew further from the floor, dull, almost hollow clunking sounds coming from his back as his midsection lengthened as much as it widened.

"Mmmm, what a handsome drake you're becoming." The dragon crooned again, Veren's head buzzing at the sound as the beast nudged him gently, causing the changing Elf to tumble onto his side, pinned by his weight and the smallishness of his limbs. "And there's the prize." A scaly snout snorted what felt like pure, yet arousing heat on his groin, adding another layer of confusion for his mind to push through. "As you'll be my servant, you may call me Muritrex." Another gout of heat suffused his groin, a passionate cry escaping Veren's lips, the pleasure far too intense to be anything but a divine gift from the gods.

Muritrex rumbled a low chuckle at his victim's reaction, but his true reward was the observation of his former spike of Elfmeat becoming a true tower of draconic virility. The fleshy pink colored had vanished almost immediately, and careful stimulation had insured his spell would be too focused on enhancing the cock to let it slip into a genital slit. No, his servant would always be out, erect, ready, needy. Already it had grown its ridges and bumps, the obsidian organ standing in stark relief to the ivory underbelly with a thickness that insured any female would stagger for days after mating, his testes kept on the outside, insuring flying would be less speedy, but Muritrex didn't plan on letting Veren outside any time soon. The simple nuts had plumped, bloated, nearly creaked with their burgeoning weight to insure any clutch of eggs would be his own, and only his own, as well as flood his body with hormones and pheromones to make rutting his only priority.

"Pl-please stop... No more..." The Elf managed to croak it out, but the dragon's ears were sensitive enough to pick it up. He looked comical, honestly, an Elven neck and head, arms, and legs sticking out of the growing body of a crimson dragon. His mind strained to fight off the urges, the commands this new body assaulted him with with every breath, the sound of his giant heart pulsing in his ears. "I'll do whatever you ask, just..."

"My good Elf, in a few minutes you'll do that for me regardless, and you'll be far more useful to be as a fellow dragon." The dragon exhaled a gout of fire along Veren's side, the sensations... odd, but not painful, even strangely relaxing if the Elf just let himself feel it. "Did you know that the Crimson Clan, that's the clan you're becoming part of as we speak, we're regarded for, well, our hedonism, to be quite honest. Our fire that makes us so well known, most believe it to be magic, or perhaps a manifestation of our anger, and that would be correct, but another fire burns in a Crimson, a fire I'm certain you're beginning to feel." The Elf only whimpered in reply, letting Muritrex continue on. "For example, did you know that for most dragons, if I exhaled a torrent of flame on their genitals, they'd be quite cross with me. But a fellow Crimson?"

Another surge of heat, but the sensation was like a thousand tongues licking playfully at his organ, every spot and ridge and bump stimulated, heated, tickled perfectly, the tidal wave of sensation so intense his brain begged his phallus to climax to spare his sanity. While he couldn't see his prized pecker discharging its first draconic orgasm, Veren was able to see the gout of blue flame that roared from his still Elven mouth, surging out at least thirty feet as his throat burned and altered, his eyes wide as he observed true dragonsbreath rocketing from him. The bliss was all enveloping, his toes and fingers curling as the scales reached his neck, the same odd hollow clunking sound reaching his ears as the sound of his heartbeat grew further away, his neck lengthening inch by inch with every hard pulse of his heart. He was able to crane his head forward enough to behold his still enduring climax, an ebon phallus the size of a tree trunk bucking and shooting sticky globs of burning blue semen that fizzled and bubbled when the hit the piles of gold, melting the metal in seconds.

"Enjoying yourself, Elf? Well, you're hardly an Elf any more. No Elf could ever command a climax so impressive. You are a dragon, you shall have a draconic name. You shall be named..." Muritrex lowered his snout to the slit in his scales beyond his mammoth malesack, and slipped his tongue inside, Veren thrashing at the stimulation that his altered body wanted, nay, *demanded* more of. He felt on the verge of breathing fire yet again when Muritrex pulled away, lingering to lap the slit with his tongue. "Gorthon. Yes, that will be *quite* appropriate for you." He returned to teasing the dragon's ass, Gorthon, no, no Veren. Veren! Veren continued his mental campaign of resistance, but it appeared that returning to Elven form was likely impossible. He furrowed his brow as he watched his face extend outward, turn red, his teeth falling to the floor as new, dagger-like fangs grew in, his hair following as a grand crest began to extend from his head, almost regal in appearance.

He knew one thing was apparent, he was still growing, and had already exceeded Muritrex in size and likely strength. Since fire was no longer an issue, it was merely a matter of pinning his captor down and showing him who exactly the servant was going to be. After all, he couldn't let all this wealth go to waste, and those gold coins looked decadently comfortable. But first, he'd have to wait for his arms and legs to allow him movement, at least before his rump was taken and his station was set for good. He tried to will them to grow, but given the Muritrex's thickening erection, it was only a matter of time before he was pinned fully and became a vessel for his masculine fire.

He came up with a plan, a distraction, a way to keep his captor occupied, or delaying him at the very least. He inhaled discreetly, craned his neck to aim his snout at Muritrex's magnificent cock, and attempted to summon the fire.

Nothing.

Lust, it had to come from lust. Thoughts of nubile elven maidens did little for him now, they were so tiny and squishy and seemed more like a snack than something to stimulate his perfect phallus. A dragon would be more appropriate, though at the moment the only dragon in sight was his captor, though his body had no issue with trying to stoke his lust at the sight of the drake. He could behold Muritrex's anal vent, imagining plunging himself balls deep in the male, making him scream as his rump was ruined for all other males, made his and only his, so that the drake would croon out his name and *beg* for permission to cum and...

The blue flame burst from his snout in an expanding cone that bathed the other Crimson's groin in dragonfire, Muritrex yanking his snout back to bellow out a gout of flame himself as deep red fireballs were shot in rapid succession from his fleshy cannon that hammered Gorthon's sides, his balls, his rump, enough to stimulate his cock back to full attention. Thickly muscled draconic hind and forelegs were suddenly able to get Gorthon onto all fours while Muritrex was held prisoner by his first climax in decades. He didn't waste any time, launching himself onto the still spurting drake and clumsily ramming his painfully wide and ridged dragoncock at the dragon's slit, finding it... easier than he thought, his claws digging into the piles of wealth to gain traction as he pinned Muritrex under his weight, opening him and working his way in.

Gorthon's snout parted as he penetrated further, his Elven brain the last vestige of his former self and completely overwhelmed as the abundance of nerve clusters residing in his phallic bumps and ridges gave him no quarter, blocking out all sensation, all sense, all reason as pleasure was all he could know. A line of drool dropped from his snout, landing on Muritrex's chest, the drake under him reveling in the flood of bliss as he was treated to a marvelous array of bumps and flicks and nudges and stretching heat and the most life-affirming fullness he'd felt in ages. He met Gorthon's eyes, grinning toothily at the overeagerness of the newly-minted Crimson. "You like fucking, don't you." He punctuated it with a rolling squeeze of his ass, a short gout of blue flame erupting from Gorthon's nostrils.

No words, just a frantic nodding from his partner. "Yes, Gorthon, that's right, just give in to the ecstasy. Your body is teaching you everything you need to know." Muritrex grunted, a thick stream of burning semen shooting from his cock as the beast inside him hit the exact right spot. "A dragon who tops must be a King among dragons, yes?"

Gorthon blinked several times, his lust-addled mind attempting to find the fault in that logic, but nothing he could imagine could ever refute it. Besides, it was distracting him from fucking, and he liked fucking. "K-king. Yes! I King! Big King!" He grinned, and Muritrex matched it, as an Elven brain was hardly the size of a dragon's, and far from being as intelligence. "Big King, big cock! You tight servant. I want cum. King Gorthon want cum." He'd started to thrust, which while quite enjoyable for both of them as Muritrex felt his prostate get battered like the village gates and his ass getting ploughed like a corn field, Gorthon's mind was further focused on fucking, and only fucking. As long as his cock was hammering the anvil deep in Muritrex's ass, everything would be fine. Anything else he needed to know his servant could tell him. That's what servants were for, after all, to do the thinking for you so you could just fuck and sleep on piles of gold, as was your regal duty.

The cavern veritably shook as Gorthon slammed his monster maleness into the Crimson's tailhole again and again and again, hundreds of piles of treasure toppling over. Muritrex laid back, letting the dominant dragon do all the work, slam his prostate, sheathe him in lust-based flame, all according to his nudgings and suggestions. "A bit harder, Your Majesty, a Dragon King would fuck his servant in such a way that no other male could satisfy him as His Majesty does." "Faster, my King, surely you need to cleanse my ass with your regal fire as soon as possible to remove any trace of any other rival." "Yes, pull all the way out and then all the way back in with all of your strength, that'll teach me to respect your station, my liege." "Now, now, Your Majesty! Use my body as your vault for your secret, noble fire! Let naught a drop escape where others might steal your bountiful wealth! Bathe me in your triumphant fire, claiming me as your servant with my servitude signed with my cum!"

Gorthon's eyes glazed over as he shoved himself in deep enough that his balls tickled the ridge of Muritrex's slit, the last of Veren vanishing in a firestorm that erupting deep within the servant's body, the drake's belly swelling slightly from the sheer output of Gorthon's burgeoning balls, only Gorthon remained, and Gorthon was pumping his spunk into his servant's ass, which had earned his servant a gout of his lustfire his neck uncomfortably contorted to shoot his flame onto the Crimson's exposed shaft, a conflagration gouting from Muritrex's knob, the two males locked in climax for what seemed like an eternity before Gorthon, exhausted, pulled himself free, still showering his servant in his flaming azure semen.

"You were excellent, my King. Any servant would be honored to have you." Muritrex took a moment to catch his breath, his middle painfully swollen and warm with the liquid wealth of his "master". "I should set to guarding the hoard, my liege, though I can only hope one as small as I could guard it adequately."

"No!" Gorthon snorted, annoyed. "You small. Servant. No good guarding. I guard wealth. My wealth!"

"Oh, of course, Your Majesty, I apologize. I only thought it proper to offer. I will endeavor to preserve your wealth then. And prepare myself for your lust once again." He got on all fours, his belly wobbling with heaviness of Gorthon's climax. "Only with your leave, though, my King."

"You rest. I watch. I guard. MY wealth. You rest. I fuck servant later." Gorthon then tromped to the cavern entrance to keep watch while Muritrex made his way toward a particularly comfortable pile of coins.

"Oh, of course, Your Majesty. Whatever my King wishes." The drake smirked to himself, and curled up on the pile, his rump well stretched, his lust satisfied, and his belly filled with the cream of a magically enhanced set of dragonballs. He closed his eyes, prepared to sleep. "I am, after all, merely your servant."