Blood Bite
#3 of The Vile
Whitric leaned against the wall and yearned to be inside again. It was not as if he was really outside though; rather, he at the back of a large room. Stairs in front of him led down to a set of wide double doors that were sealed shut. The only glimpse of outside he could get was from a window to his left. Behind him was a small door, the entrance to "inside" where the others resided.
The guardsman shook his head. He hated guard duty. Still, he hadn't always. For a small portion of time it was practice to have two at his post, and that one other person was enough to keep boredom at bay. When nothing ever came at the door, however, the royals no longer deemed it necessary to have two. One could provide warning enough if something really were to happen, and they preferred to keep as much protection as they could close to them. It was fortunate for them, but unfortunate for Whitric. All he had to do was to sometimes glance out the window and think of the past.
Ah, the past--a much better time, when he truly was a guardsman. Then he was not confined to one space. He would patrol the streets of the city with the rest of his squad. In such a place they could always find something to entertain them, whether it was coaxing mead out of any number of tavern owners for their lawful protection or cleaning the streets of filth, "filth" being poor, unfortunate souls that Whitric and the others gained great pleasure from driving away with threats both verbal and physical, threats that often turned real.
Now the city was gone, or really it was still there, but it existed in unlivable conditions. Whitric was always uncertain where it started. There had been disease first, but he had always wondered whether that was considered. Whatever the case, the plague had weakened the city enough that what came next easily overwhelmed it.
"What came next"...what had really happened? He wasn't really sure. Everything...well, everything had become terrible all at once. The sky had darkened with terrible clouds and the rain that fell hurt. The air too had gotten thicker, still breathable for a time. Then it hurt to breath too. Most of those diseased or weakened by it died, and this was a significant portion of the city's populations. By this time, the rain and air didn't hurt--it killed. The only choice was to flee, and he had done so. He had left with the royalty, his skill with sword and profession gaining him a spot in one of their sanctuaries hidden in the mountains. He had, in a sense, traded protection for protection. The protection the royalty offered was far more passive and thus far Whitric had not gained so much from it. He was alive, sure, but neither was he privy to their riches or hearty food. The protection he gave was a bit passive, true, and also very uninteresting. Standing for hours with nothing to do but--
The guardsman sighed. He was thinking how bored he was of boredom. How much more tedious could this get?
The door behind him suddenly creaked. He turned his head and watched as it opened. A young woman garbed in fine cloth stepped out and smiled at him. She held a pigeon in between her cupped palms. Around the pigeon's left foot was a band with a small piece of parchment attached. She held out the bird.
"Would you let him out?" she asked.
Whitric nodded and took the carrier pigeon.
"Thank you," she whispered, reaching into one of her pockets. She brought the hand out and pressed it into Whitric's open one. "I'm sorry, what is your name again?"
"Whitric," he said, tucking the taken coin away.
"Well, thank you, Whitric."
He nodded. She smiled and closed the door, disappearing inside. Whitric turned away from the door and walked up to the window. Though she had brought him the pigeon a countless number of times, she always forgot his name. It wasn't really a surprise to him; not only was he a commoner and she royalty, but she was in love. He put the pigeon by the window and took the note. He unfolded it and read the only part he found somewhat interesting about guard duty.
Dear Calunoth, it began. I write to you with an aching heart. If only we had run when we had a chance. Alas, distance and family separate us. I am not sure how much longer I can stand being here. It is so dull. I miss the sun, I miss the outside, but most of all I miss you. I hope all is well with you. Perhaps when this terrible weather passes we can meet again.
Your Love,
_ Begilda._
"How sweet," Whitric muttered. He reattached the message to the pigeon and opened the window. When it fluttered out, he took a breath of the air and immediately coughed. What little he had inhaled hurt his lungs--toxic air. He grimaced and slammed the window shut. He watched as the pigeon flew into the distance and wondered if it would survive its trip across the mountain to another of the royalty's sanctuary. He prayed that it did, if only so he could read Calunoth's reply.
With little more to do and a few more hours left on his shift, Whitric had nothing better to do but wait for the man's reply. Thus, he waited. In that time, the day turned to night and soon it was dark outside the window. Whitric knew it didn't used to grow so dark so fast, but it was just another change brought on by "terrible weather." Despite what he believed, Whitric sincerely hoped that the poisoned air and ravenous rain were something that would pass eventually. They couldn't stay cooped up here forever, not unless serious compromises were made, choices that Whitric did not look forward to making if they were required.
When Whitric heard a tap at the window, he stood up straight and walked over to it. Without even thinking, he eased it open. Immediately something that was most assuredly not a pigeon burst in. Whitric turned his head and watched as it flitted past him and onto the top frame of the door behind him. An impish winged lizard gaze down at him, its yellow eyes sparking in the semi-darkness. In its claws it clutched the motionless body of the pigeon Whitric had let out earlier. The creature chittered and let the bird's corpse fall from its grip.
The guardsman was unsure what to do for a moment. Then he shut the window and drew his sword with his other hand. With a yell he charged at the creature, swinging his sword in a motion that would have chopped the diminutive flyer in half had it not leapt over the swing. It hovered above him for a moment and then zipped down, latching onto his neck. He yelled and dropped his sword as it bit into his neck with its fanged mouth. While it drained his blood, he dropped his sword and grabbed at the creature. For such a small thing, it proved stronger and hardier than he had anticipated. He was barely able to make it budge and pulling only extended the pain its fangs inflicted. After a few seconds more, the flyer removed its fangs and launched off of his neck and back onto the top of the frame.
Whitric stumbled back and clutched at the wound. Surprisingly, no blood trickled from the wound, though he wasn't sure this was a good thing. He lurched towards his sword and almost tripped in doing so. A haze had come over his senses and mind, clouding his thoughts and movements. He reached for his sword or really where he thought his sword was; his distorted vision caused him to fumble at naught but the ground. Before he could try again, his legs gave out from him. He fell back onto the stairs. He grunted as he rolled down them, wincing as he step stabbed into his side. He had little time to worry about the ensuing bruises, for he was unconscious by the time he stopped rolling at the last step.
Whitric awoke to crushing pains in his upper chest. Still lying prone on his chest, he fluttered his eyes open and glanced down. The top portion of his leather armor jutted out far more than usual. When he reached down to investigate, he yelped in panic with an oddly high-pitched voice at the sight of his hands. His hands weren't really his hands anymore; rather, through his torn gauntlets were claws, not fingers. He awkwardly tore the gloves off with his new talons and saw that the skin on his hands had been replaced with dark red crimson scales. Before he could do anything else, his whole body suddenly throbbed and ached. His armor felt scratchy, uncomfortable, and hot.
The guardsman scrambled to his feet and gasped in pain when he stepped on a new appendage that protruded from the base of his spine. He lost his balance and fell forward onto his chest. He groaned as the crushing pains returned, worse this time. He got to his knees and undid the straps for his chestplate, sighing at the relief the loosened armor brought. He pulled it off and tossed it aside, returning his gaze to his chest. What he found caused him to freeze: under his undershirt was the undeniable outline of a pair of large breasts that currently strained the coarse fabric. He slowly removed the undershirt, shuddering when hard nipples rubbed against the cloth. When the undershirt was off, he nearly sobbed as two scaled breasts bounced free. He found the rest of his abdomen likewise covered with the same dark crimson red scales. He had not only lost his skin and hair, but he lacked the same mass of muscle as before.
Whitric's attention from was draw from his breasts when he blinked and noticed something that he wasn't quite sure why he hadn't seen it before. On the fringe of his vision he could see part of his face protruding. He brought his taloned hands to his face and felt a very inhuman visage: a reptilian snout complete with fangs that showed even with a closed mouth. His nose was gone, it's place taken by two holes at the end of his snout, and his ears were nowhere to be found.
A sudden hot throb in Whitric's crotch reminded and intensified the discomfort with his clothing. He stretched his legs out in front of him, noting that his feet were altered much like his hands, though of course less useful for adroit techniques. He kicked off his ruined shoes and as an afterthought he reached back and touched the thick tail that grew out above his rear. It moved away at his touch as if of its own accord. The throb pulsed again, deeper and stronger this time. Whitric gasped and immediately set to removing his pants. They came easily off his widened hips, revealing scaled legs. It took a little bit longer to peel off his wet underwear, but when he did he found an altered crotch. Whitric's eyes widened as he lowered his right talons to the unfamiliar folds. When he touched the slickened slit, _she_shivered in pleasure as she realized she could no longer refer to herself as male. The altered sex certainly explained the breasts on her chest, but little else.
The hot throb resonated again and this time Whitric realized it originated from her crotch. It awoke a carnal need within her, a want for mating that she could not ignore. In fact, it was nearly all she could think about. It was unfamiliar and alien, but it was tantalizing, her lust for something to fill the new void between her legs and to seed the fertile eggs in her womb. Unconsciously she reached for her sex with her left claws and groped one of her breasts with the other. She teased her clit and squeezed the breasts, looking around desperately for her mate, anything that had the requisite--
"No..." she whispered, removing her hands from her erogenous zones. She stumbled to her feet, hating the feeling of moistness between her legs. There was some other influence on her mind, a reason she was hyperaroused as she was. She wasn't normally this horny! Then again, she normally was a man, not some sort of female reptilian female.
Whitric climbed up the stairs and came to a sudden halt. What could she do? She didn't look like herself anymore. Going inside probably wouldn't be for the best. She doubted she would even have a chance to explain herself before someone ran her through. Ran her through..Whitric shivered at the thought, her hand drifting to her slit once more. Would she really mind that, especially if it was--
The former man shook her head and continued up the stairs, unbound breasts bouncing as she moved. She looked to the door and saw that the flying lizard was gone. She looked around for it and saw that it rested along an overhang on the ceiling, out of reach. It was no doubt the cause for her condition, but she doubted it was also the cure. She touched the leftover marks from its fangs on her neck and then her own fangs. Her eyes suddenly caught sight of the dead pigeon. She rushed forward and bent down and picked up the fallen bird. It hung limply in its grasp. She took the message from the pigeon's leg and gently laid the dead avian down. Then she unfolded the parchment. It was covered in blood and splotches of some undeterminable substance, but she tried to read anyways.
"Dearest Begilda," she read aloud. "Distance is naught but," she paused and squinted. "...father is not well. Family may have to...my heart will always shine for you like the sun. Unfortunately, all is not well. Bats have taken residence in the high tower. We have not seen Griswer since he entered. I fear that...my love is all with you. Much love..."
Though there was no name written, Whitric knew it. She didn't care that she knew it, though. The thought of love, much love had distracted her from the contents of the letter. Where could she get that? She needed it. Her body demanded it. She had to have it, just as much as she had to resist. She could not give in...she had to--
Whitric shifted her gaze from the parchment to the door. She knew her shift was almost over, that the next guard would be here soon. His name was Ordgar. She would just wait at the door and when he came out, she could just explain. She would restrain him if she had to. They had to understand that this wasn't her, that she was Whitric, not this scaled and sex-hungry creature. He had to understand, and if he didn't...Whitric honestly wasn't sure what she would do.
So Whitric took her place by the door and waited. While she stood, she began to feel a little thirsty and the heat in her crotch only grew. Soon enough she was playing with herself intermittently, if only to keep the arousal at a reasonable level, not because she liked it...
Whitric had one claw within her folds when the door opened. It came ajar towards her so that she was obscured from whomever stepped in. She crouched low and waited for the door to close. As soon as it did, she saw Ordgar, as expected. His gaze was away from her, but she knew it would not be for long. She thought of what to say, what to do, but no coherent thought could pass through her arousal-addled mind. Thus, instincts took over.
When Ordgar turned his head towards her, he took a step back.
"Wha--" he muttered.
The guardsman reached for his sword. Before he could grab it, Whitric leapt at him. She grabbed him by the torso and though her transformation had left her with a smaller, weaker body, surprise was on her side. He fell with a cry to the ground and then screamed when she sunk her fangs into his necks. He struggled as she thirstily drank his blood, though he his efforts grew weaker and weaker with each passing second. In a matter of moments, he lay still on the ground, unconscious. Whitric pulled away from her prey and licked her muzzle with a flexible forked tongue. Next, she knelt by his side and began to undo his armor. She started with his breastplate, though she would have preferred beginning somewhere lower. After she threw that piece of armor aside, she tore his shirt aside, revealing a broad chest that was already becoming covered in black scales. She removed the man's gloves before they could be torn apart by changing hands and then moved to his legs. She rushed through removing his pants before gingerly pulling down his undershorts. Then, almost reverently, she began to fondle his manhood. She attempted to coax it into an aroused state. Just as she managed to get it erect, Ordgar suddenly sat up and opened his eyes, revealing them to be slitted reptilian pupils. Whitric looked up and their gazes met. They maintained eye contact for a moment before Ordgar abruptly growled with a primal tone and pushed her away with strengthening arms. She fell onto her back and he pushed forward so that he was nearly straddling her. In the next moment he was actually pushing into her ready sex with his erect member. She crooned and lay back as they moved into a form of rhythmic mating.
While Ordgar attempted to breed Whitric, his body altered. His hands grabbed at Whitric's breasts were already claws and his feet soon joined them. Black scales crept all over his body, though among the blacks were small patches of a red lighter than the female's. With a thrust and a roar his face pushed out into a harsh draconic muzzle. When he grunted with his next particularly hard thrust, a thick tail burst from his spine, extending into an appendage much longer than Whitric's own. Forsooth, Ordgar was growing into a more feral form that Whitric, larger, more powerful, though still distinct reptilian. This increased mass, particularly down below, initially proved a bit difficult for the small female. However, he repositioned himself in the midst of their mating so that he was not harming her and Whitric found her folds stretched wide enough to accommodate Ordgar's enlarged member. This change proved to be only more pleasurable for both, resulting in a quicker journey to climax. When they simultaneously orgasmed, large wings erupted from Ordgar's broad back even as his member erupted inside of Whitric. Whitric's body shook tremulously while his seed filled her womb and then again when he pulled out.
Resembling a larger version of the lizardlike flyer that had originally bitten Whitric, Ordgar walked away from the female in his now preferred quadruped pose. His member sucked into its genital slit, where it would wait until it was needed again. He stood by the door, leaving Whitric to bask in the afterglow alone.
When Whitric came down from her sexual high, she awkwardly scooted back, any excess sperm oozing down between her thighs. Her arousal was sated for now, if only because she had been impregnated. Already her stomach started to swell as the eggs grew within her womb.
Though she had recovered from her tryst with the male, Whitric knew something had been lost in the act. She had performed as she did because it had come so naturally, which would have been unthinkable before. Now, she cared not. In fact, she looked forward to her next go with him, even though she knew it would mean something else would be lost whether it be her name or memories or inhibitions. This should have scared her, but it did not. Humanity was something she had already lost.
Whitric waited as what remained of day shifted into night. She was well into what would have been half of Ordgar's shift when the first egg of her swollen belly began to make its way out. The process of pushing out the egg was painful and uncomfortable; she cried out a little as it traveled through her birthing canal and sighed in relief when the slimy ovoid plopped out. The second was already on its way at that point and then the third and the fourth. By the time she was pushing the fifth, the first was starting to hatch. A small lizardlike creature emerged and mewled hungrily. The sight and sound of it caused a reaction in Whitric's body: her breasts swelled a size larger while they filled with milk.
As it's sibling hatched, the firstborn crawled over to Whitric and mewled again. She picked it up and held it to her right breast. It clamped down not entirely painlessly as it drew blood and began to suckle. As it did so, it grew larger and she pushed out the fifth egg. When the sixth and final egg was on its way, it clambered off of her, having grown wings and mass so it was kin to the one that had originally bitten her. The second and third of her offspring came to her and she fed them both simultaneously. The final egg came out as she finished feeding them and then she spent the next few minutes nourishing for the rest of her children. Once this deed was done, she shakily got to her feet. She walked to the window and her offspring followed. Her sex felt sore and used and her legs were little better. She opened the window and four of the impish flyers left, flying in air that wasn't toxic to Whitric as it once was. In addition, she could see in the darkness and the clouds that hung above the mountain. No longer did she fear the ravenous rain they brought.
Whitric turned away from the window and towards Ordgar. The more feral reptilian regarded her with keen eyes. Though they did not speak, they were both of the same mind. They would wait for who was to come next and take their fill of their blood. This new convert and the flyers would no doubt give them the numbers they needed. Whitric just hoped it would be Begilda who came. Once she had been appropriately eased into her new role, they could go together and seek her love, Calunoth, whom Whitric suspected would be ready for her. Hopefully, Whitric thought as the arousal began to build again, ready for them both.