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Deep within the water-carved caves of the mountain, something stirs in the darkness, the sound of moving bodies and a deep rumbling echoing through the cavern. Unseen, at first, the forms involved reveal themselves by degrees as the light reaches the lair through thin shafts punched to the surface, polished to a mirror shine. A bulking body coated in deep blue scales resolves itself first, as Antar rises for the morning, the line of onyx-black scales running from snout-tip to the end of his tail causing a strange drop-shadow effect as circles of reflected light pattern his body. The smaller creature, dwarfed by the male dragon, is only visible once he shifts enough that his shadow no longer covers the form of his feminine servant, her profile obscured at first due to the black scales patterned around her red chest, belly, and undertail. Moments later, a voice like water crashing and cascading over stones...

"Wake up, Des. You've got chores to do," the hulking draconic male states. At his words, the smaller dragoness rouses herself, blinking blearily. Though the larger of the pair bears himself on four legs, Desmond stands on two, though size difference between them is obvious in the instant she's still sprawled out alongside Antar's body - at twelve feet, she's only half as tall as the male is long. The amply-endowed dragoness doesn't question what he intends for her to do - she knows her task, and knows it well. She simply glides into the position she needs for this task, soon kneeling beneath the blue-scaled behemoth that towers over her. Her head tilts up, one hand resting on each of Antar's hind legs, the thickly muscled limbs framing a quartet of heavy breasts that jostle and bounce with each breath, her gravid stomach resting against her thighs. Lips soon meet the slit of the blue dragon's internal sheath, the dragoness' split tongue probing gently against the slit there, until they sink in to caress his flaccid length.

Antar's grin as he feels the dragoness' mouth and tongue against his loins is simply feral, his upper lip curled to display far too many teeth. "Good girl," he mumbles, his posture relaxing. One hind leg lifts off the ground slightly, hiking to the side - the result is obvious, the nonmorphic blue's girth spilling into Desmond's open maw. Inky-black, ridged flesh juts forth, still soft, inch after fat inch sliding down her gullet, and the well-endowed dragoness doesn't choke or gag, her throat rippling as she greedily swallows the glistening shaft she's presented with. Her neck begins to bulge before too long, her eyes slitting and rolling back to expose the whites of her eyes as he continues to drop free into her welcoming gullet, the ridges studding the cobalt-scaled drake's masculinity clearly defined and visibly distorted the taut scales of his plaything's throat. She doesn't pull back in the least, keeping her snout sealed firmly against the vent his girth erupts from, her dexterous tongue lashing deep within to clean the soft flesh hidden within. Eventually, that bulge in her throat dips bellow her collarbone, the black and red dragoness shuddering as she's temporarily deprived of air. It's for a good cause though - Antar's leg lifts a little higher, and her dutiful attentions are rewarded - his girthy cock may be buried too deep for her to taste it, but her belly swells beyond the girth of her pregnancy as he empties his bladder almost directly into her stomach. Even as she grows lightheaded, though, her split tongue continues to wind and lash, Desmond's throat squeezing and milking that draconic cock for every drop of the musky fluid draining from his loins.

Of course, all good things must end, and the pleasure of pissing in a dragoness' clutching throat can't last forever. Antar doesn't bother to pull free, though - instead, a foreleg lifts, long talons cupping the back of the dragoness' head, and he simply starts to thrust. Desmond doesn't resist this - if anything, her suckling attentions only grow in fervor as the hulking drake rapidly erects in her throat, her scales rippling as thickening ridges saw back and forth through the silken, squeezing passage he's enjoying. Only five or six of those broad ribs pop through her suckling lips with each pass, though - even when he pulls back, the whorish dragoness beneath him presses her head forward, ensuring he gets to enjoy that lengthy tongue caressing the underbelly of his dick all the way to the hidden root of his shaft, though she does quite a bit more than simply slurp at it. With her tongue split to the base, she's got plenty of dexterity with each half, and they twist and wind in serpentine patters, sometimes lacing together in a helix around the pistoning dick, applying an additional squeeze, as though the pregnant slut's throat wasn't quite tight enough, or simply probing deep into the cavity that houses his cock when retracted.

The grunts and groans of the dragoness mean nothing to the blue drake, facefucking her with casual ease, Desmond's head bobbing in time with his thrusts with a practiced grace - she doesn't even need the encouragement of the grip on her head, though he makes his claw tips known from time to time, the spikes of pain she receives when they dimple her scales an indication of his approval of her efforts. In time, though, Antar simply drives forward, mashing her face against the fine scales of his loins, letting out a trembling growl that accompanies his release. Several minutes (and likely a gallon or two) later, he pulls back. Simply pulling out of his fucktoy's throat is a process that takes long moments, Des' jaw stretched to the point her eyes tear up as it threatens to dislocate, well over two feet of black dragonhood glistening with her saliva drops from her lips, allowing her a much needed breath. The half-suffocated dragoness inhales in an audible gasp, remaining in her kneeling stance beneath Antar, the position ensuring that the breath is tinged with the scent of both his urine, and his semen.

He's kind enough to let her bask in his musk, and the simple ability to breath, before his cascading voice comes again. "Alright, Desmond. You've had your breakfast. Now get your ass in the air like the slut you are," he rumbles. Her dazed expression doesn't change at his words - and the speed with which she obeys shows that she expected the command, moving before he's even finished speaking, knowing exactly the routine each morning follows. She turns to face away from his groin, settling first on her hands and knees, and then getting her feet under her to lift her ample rear into position, the motion leaving her cheek against the cool stone - and her breasts are mashed against the rough sandstone beneath her, pierced teats scraping against the floor. Her tail lifts and flags out of the way in the same motion, revealing the female dragon's groin, her thighs still brushing against her egg-heavy stomach as she holds the stance. Her sex is steaming visibly and swollen, the play of light in the cavern causing the droplets of feminine nectar to glisten and shimmer as they drip from a series of labial piercings, the splay of her asscheeks displaying a girthy stone dildo buried deep in her puffy, muscular tailvent.

Antar doesn't bother to warn her, or wait for her to brace herself - he simply waits the few moments he knows it takes for her to get into position, and steps forward until his broad glans slap against her rump, shifting himself until he feels the moist warmth of her cunt, the size difference causing his slick cockhead to dwarf her drooling slit. That doesn't stop him, though - forelegs clasp around her waist, and he leaves Desmond squealing as he bucks forward, spearing into her with a single smooth motion. The drake doesn't stop until he feels his tip brushing against her cervix, pausing to relish the intense heat - there's nothing quite as enjoyable as a fertile firedragoness, after all. Her inner muscles squeeze and flutter, the dragoness whimpering beneath him as her body adjusts to the intrusion, far too slowly. Less than halfway buried in the pregnant lass, he pulls back far enough for a pair of ridges to distend her slick labia, and then he bucks atop her again.

That second thrust hammers against her cervix, and the dragoness cries out once again as the wide taper of Antar's cockhead dimples the slim, pliant muscle inward. He knows what his toy is capable of, and this time, the pressure doesn't let up. He just grinds forward against the entrance to her egg-laden womb, growling as he gives short, quick forward lunges, refusing to pull back. It doesn't take too long before that nearly-elastic muscle gives way, and the force he exerts causes him to slam heavily into her already-occupied egg-chamber, splitting Desmond's gripping sex open until sky-blue scales clap against her broad rump, leaving the thick half-moons wobbling around the toy in her backdoor. The poor girl's just thankful that her eggs are fairly durable, really, because she can't do anything to resist as the drake she serves displaces them, causing round lumps to show in several areas of her heavy stomach. The most obvious bulge, though, is where his immense length distorts the shape of her uterus, his glans clearly defined by a lewd bulge that pushes out from the upper curve of her pregnant gut towards her breasts.

The only words Antar utters as he pulls his flanks back are nearly lost in the sound of ridge after ridge popping free of the red and black dragoness' cunt, growling out his dominance. "Good girl..." It's as much praise as she ever expects, bringing her thighs together to clamp that slick, silken tunnel down around his dick, her pelvis creaking with the strain. The blue's cocktip threatens to escape her womb before he's done forcing her cervical muscle to expand over and over again as swollen ribs tug free. It's easier from there, really - the next thrust leaves his loins colliding with her ass once again, a staccato squelching accompanying the passage of his bestially textured girth as he hammers into her cunt once again. And again, and again, the dragoness' body rocking beneath his towering form as he exerts his dominance. Those savage thrusts leave her chest scraping along the floor, the texture of the stone rasping over her nipples and catching the heavy rings studding her fat teats, the pressure of Antar's body atop hers, crushing her quartet of tits beneath her, eventually causing the pregnant whore to begin lactating, dribbles of milk forming beneath each breast as her body is jostled back and forth.

A similar slickness runs down her inner thighs as the drake takes his pleasure from his toy, the scent of mingled cinnamon and honey filling the air as her arousal dribbles from the tight seal of her straining netherlips. That scent grows into a sense-tweaking haze as the lewd noises of a nonmorphic dragon ravaging a willing girl echo off the walls of the cavern, both losing track of time as their world shrinks to the sensations they provide each other. It ends in time, though, Antar's groin mashing against Desmond's plugged rump as he unloads for a second time, anointing her already-fertilized eggs with his seed, simply because he can. The the scales of her stomach strain as he floods her womb, separating slightly, before the pressure within grows to be too much - thick, virile spunk cascades from her overfilled sex, the dragoness' legs giving out with the pleasure it's escape causes. She drops to her knees in a pool of mingled fluids, the weight of her body dragging her off Antar's dick before he's finished whitewashing her eggs, the last few spurts gushing over the curve of her buttocks and the small of her back.

Displeased, Antar brings a foreclaw down to grip one of the dragoness' massive, dribbling breasts, gripping a nipple ring before twisting and pulling at the same time - there's a jet of milk, and then a sharp cry of pain. "You know better than to pull of my dick before I'm done, Des," he snarls. "You need to be punished." A statement that cannot bode well for the girl, despite it's simplicity.

The dragoness' face contorts from the ache the abuse to her nipple causes, unable to respond for a moment. "Y-yes, Sir," she whines, the first words to escape her lips of the morning. She hunches against his gripping talons slightly, trying to ease the strain, but that just causes Antar to tug a little harder. His next words alter her expression completely, a look that somehow combines dread and eager anticipation.

"Get the harness," the azure male instructs his toy, before releasing her piercing. He waits for her to reach the iron-bound wooden chest that contains it before he speaks again. "Push out your plug, too. No hands. Your ass belongs to me for the rest of the day," Antar intones.

Desmond peeks back over her shoulder as the drake she's indentured to elaborates his commands. She nods, knowing not to speak aloud. Half-a-dozen words a day, all she's allowed - and she only has four left. She's learned to choose wisely, over time. She decides to fulfill both instructions at the same time, squatting down as she opens the chest. Her tail remains curled against the small of her back, exposing her backside as she uses her inner muscles to begin forcing that toy from her well-trained asshole. The contractions she uses are similar to those she knows she'll endure during birth, though she's careful not to push too hard - gooey spunk drools from her gaping quim as her asshole yawns open around the rear face of the heavy stone she's been forced to use to stretch and train her backdoor with. Shaped like an egg with a handle, she's whimpering as she slowly forces the football-sized stone from her rim, never stopping her rummaging in the box until the dense, heavy, polished rock slips free. By then she's got all the straps and buckles that compromise her harness slung over her shoulder, glancing back before she begins assembling her half of the bindings - thick lengths of leather that encircle her shoulders and thighs, joined together by additional straps that hug the outer curves of her belly before clasping onto what almost looks like a four-square of glossy leather - which she pulls onto her chest, tightening it until each of the bindings cinches tight around a breast, causing them to jut out obscenely.

The whole time, Antar watches his fucktoy's actions, his loins twitching as he watches her squeeze out her plug. He uses the time she takes to truss herself up to gauge the results of the training he's put her through - her swollen, muscular asshole gapes lewdly wide, enough that he can tell that it's time to up the size and weight of her plug. He growls at Desmond once she's finished arranging the straps on herself, which causes her to scurry over to his side with quick, waddling steps, her inner thighs stained with his semen. He holds still while she arranges his half of the harness - easier than hers, a pair of broad, padded straps slung over his back, one each fore and aft of his wings, a thinner thong of leather on either side of the long straps clasped together beneath him to keep them from slipping off. Once they're in place, a quick, harsh swing of one foreclaw leaves the dragoness' backside wobbling and welting. "Back in position, you disobedient whore."

Of course, Desmond can only comply with the command - though the position she takes is slightly different. She shimmies herself into place with Antar's cockhead pressing up under her tail - even with the gape her training has provided, his glans is still broader than her entrance, the puffy muscle of her rim twitching in a lewd kiss against his tip. He reaches down and across to the opposite shoulder, clasping first one side, then the other, of the straps that hang from his half of the harness, to the steel rings behind either of the dragoness' shoulders. His next move is to hunch forward, chest bearing down on her back, driving his massive, brutal drakehood into the dragoness' ass, hissing with pleasure as she cries out with each ridge that passes through her sore sphincter. He doesn't go quite balls-deep, though - instead, he's grinding her face and chest against the ground once again, snarling above her. "Get the lower clips, Des." He doesn't bother to tell her what happens if she doesn't. He doesn't need to, either - she obeys quickly, knowing full well the torments he can cause her. Once she's finished buckling the clasps in place, Antar grunts in acknowledgment, before standing up at his full height, all four taloned claws resting on the ground.

Which leaves Desmond in an awkward position, dangling beneath the drake with her nipples brushing the ground, biting her lower lip as she tries not to whimper. There's a good two feet of dick buried in her guts, and another six inches that isn't, along with just enough slack that when Antar takes a few steps towards the exit of the cavern, she sways forward and back, the jiggling half-moons of her ass clapping against her groin with a lewd squelch, before she swings forward to reveal a girth foot of ridged dick that dimples her buttocks on either side, the purple-fleshed rim of her asshole reduced to a paper-thin ring around his massive shaft. He only goes about halfway to the arch of rock that leads towards the rest of the underground complex, the dragoness' abused body leaving a trail of milk as her teats drag along the stone, the bouncing of his gait leaving her breasts mashing against the ground at the bottom of each pendulous swing, before he pauses, though. "Scratch that. I'd forgotten how good it feels to use a firedragoness as my personal cockwarmer." His one hindleg hikes, jostling her body into an awkward angle, ribbed dick scraping against her inner walls. "And you make a decent urinal, too." His words are all the warning she gets, before Antar relieves himself again, sighing contentedly as he empties his bladder once again, the dragoness gasping a little at the rush of stinging heat that washes through her guts. "Yeah, that's it. Nothing quite like taking a piss after a good fuck," the drake mutters, grinning as he replaces his hind foot on the ground. His head dips down, curling his long neck so he can hiss in the dragoness' ear as he savors the sodden heat caressing his dick, giving Des an upside-down smirk. "You're gonna have my dick in your ass until it's time for you to lay." With that, he begins walking again, heading towards what passes for a dragon's larder and kitchen - a spring-fed pool stocked with enormous fish of various species, the dragoness beneath him bouncing with each step. He doesn't stay there long, though, snagging a slow-moving catfish from the shallows of the underground pond and gulping it down for a quick breakfast, dipping down afterwards to wash it down with a few swallows of water, the latter motion dunking the bound dragoness' head in the water for several long moments before he's finished, leaving her gasping once again when he steps away. "There we go. Now, I need to go into town and ensure the locals aren't rounding up a band of dragonslayers again. You'd think they would have learned by now that I'm not going to sack and pillage the town."

A short time later, Antar's standing on the broad cliff ledge that serves as a landing platform for the entrance to his lair, gazing out towards the pass in the Jaggered Mountains that will bring him most easily where he wishes to go. His muscles tense and bunch - and with a lunge that leaves the dragoness beneath him howling, he takes to the air, his expansive wings snapping open after a few seconds of freefall, gravity's acceleration ensuring that he has enough lift for an easy takeoff. The trip takes an hour or so by air, though it seems to be an eternity to Desmond, dangling under the airborne male, every pump of his wings jostling her with more force than the smooth gait of his strides. At least she has a good few of the countryside - heavily forested until they reach the farm-studded outskirts of Nendenwoth, the nearest settlement. His landing is as equally jarring to the bound dragoness as the rest of the flight, her body swinging forward to the limit of the harness, exposing more than a foot of ridged dick, before she sways back until her backside collides with Antar's loins, the motion causing a obscene squelch before she settles back into the resting position beneath him. Gooey, white semen drools from her straining rim, the result of the male casually dumping a load in her guts during the flight, trails of it running over her gaping labia.

Antar's destination is near the edge of the town, a massive structure comprised of a weatherproof canvas exterior, a palisade tent held upright by ages-old trees stripped of leaves in the place of the more common poles. Ducking inside, he surveys the room - a group of ogres in one corner, throwing dices and swigging from bucket-sized steins of mead, a pair of giants sitting on the bare dirt as they converse in a rolling, booming tongue. Along the length of one wall runs a bar, staffed by members of various species, the tavern appropriately desolate for the early hour. Spotting a face he knows to be friendly, the dragon strolls towards a half-orc, half-ogre woman, the gravid female bouncing on his dick the whole way barely drawing a glance - such things are not uncommon on the edge of civilization, though not as commonplace as in the great cities.

"Lekeesh! It's been far too long since I've seen you," he intones, flashing teeth in a smile. "I trust the lack of adventurers risking the mountains is thanks to you?" The monstrous female nods with a grunt, pausing her cleaning to lean on the bar, ample cleavage on display as she rests her elbows on the polished surface.

"Yar, ah've been keepin' mos a' tha mongrels at bay fo' ya. Ah ken alwa's tell ya dun care fer tha interruptiens, nor fer tha means dat mus' be tuk to drive 'em off." Lekeesh' accent has always been an odd one, caused by both upbringing, and the oversized tusk she sports. Pointing it out never ends well for those who feel the need to be observant. Antar settles down on his haunches before the bar, the motion causing Desmond to sink down on that fat shaft until the last of those broad ridges pops through her sloppy rim, the bulge in the upper curve of her gravid stomach evident once again. The large dragon takes no notice of the soft whine that escapes her lips, though Lekeesh raises a brow. "Ah see she's ben nahtee agin, eh?"

"Yes, indeed she has. You'd think she would've learned by now." Antar chuckles, tail lashing behind him as he relaxes, though his hindlegs flex in response to each of the rippling clenches the dragoness provides. "So, have there been any new developments since I last stopped by? I know the local Magistrate was nervous about something the last time I dropped in." Lakeesh serves the dragon with a large, wide-mouthed bowl, the handle on the odd mug appropriately sized for the large talons of his foreclaw. The contents of the bowl is spring water, lightly flavored with a few herbs - the ogress never serves any of the sentient nonmorphics with alcohol, knowing the results of a drunken dragon's escapades. Fire, pillaging, casual rape are the more common consequences of such a thing!

"Ach, yer spo' on wid dat. Seems ee's ben tell'd ta git da place reedy fer ah vis't fram da King's men, belike. 'S gut 'im all up 'n ahrms to cleen da place up." Lekeesh's head bobs as she speaks, swaying from side to side with a smirk on her face, Antar nodding in turn. "I take it he means to keep all of the less... Cultured elements of our local community out of sight?" Desmond is, admittedly, rather unaware of the words passing between the two, the massive spear of flesh stretching her bowels keeping her thoroughly distracted, trembling with each convulsion that leaves her flexing and squeezing around Antar's dick. For all the good it does her - he doesn't seem to even notice! The conversation stretches on, punctuated by laughs from the other patrons, and groans from the bound-and-stuffed dragoness, until dusk begins to fall, Antar giving his thanks to Lekeesh for his drink and the provided information, stepping from the oversized tavern and heading for the nearest clearing to take off and return home...

A month or so later, Desmond is finally released from her bindings, dropping heavily to the floor with a moan. She manages to brace herself enough that she keeps about half of Antar's length gripped in her much-loosened tailvent, whimpering softly and hunching beneath him as her muscles tense. "Ah, sweet thing, I see the time is here. Ready to lay your clutch? Well, your body is, whether or not you are," Antar states, a lecherous grin on his face. He knows full well what those rhythmic contractions mean, after all. One large claw grips her shoulder, pushing the dragoness down until her cheek touches the floor, the weight of the drake bearing down on her hard enough to squash her tits against the floor until they bulge out on either side of her chest, leaving her aching, pierced teats gushing milk. "Now, you stay put, little girl. I'll be back in just a moment, to help you lay."

With that, Antar pulls out of Desmond's ass abruptly, the dragoness' wrecked backdoor loosing a cascade of mingled semen and piss that runs down over her ring-studded labia, coursing down her inner thighs until she's left half-sprawled, half-kneeling in a pool of musky slime. He can't help but pause and study his handiwork - the next contraction that wracks her body makes her buttocks flex with a pleasant, wobbling bounce, though it does absolutely nothing to help her devastated asshole close up, her swollen, broken anus hanging open in an obscene gape, nearly as wide as the base of his shaft, that shows of plenty of inner flesh, and the pool of jizz still sloshing around in her guts. With a pat to her ass, though, he strides away, returning moments later with a bundle of silks dangling from his mouth as he approaches the dragoness from behind. That's fabrics are irreparably stained and ruined a moment later as he drops them into that filthy puddle, pushing them until they're arranged just /so/, creating a small nest for the eggs to drop into.

He doesn't warn her before he steps over her back again, his larger body eclipsing hers in his shadow, his still-erect shaft pressing against her ruined asshole and sliding in with the ease of a bamboo skewer into a steamed dumpling. He sighs contentedly as he feels that loose, sodden backdoor trembling around his length, the dragoness crying out as he slips back into her body. Those inner walls cup and caress his shaft in a way that she'd never been able to do before - the prolonged penetration has caused her body to end up healing around his dick in a manner that has left the muscles of her tailpassage permanently imprinted with the shape of that heavy cock, the larger dragon stuffing himself into her backdoor as though she were a tailored glove, a perfect fit that ruins her body for any other male. "Good girl," Antar mumbles, savoring the fluttering spasm that greets him as his slit presses against her undertail. "Now, just relax and let nature take over, hm?"

Desmond can't respond properly, the dragoness shuddering beneath the far bigger male. All she can do at this point is sob as he prepares himself to savor the contractions of birth. She doesn't leave him wanting for long - he can feel the eggs within shifting over the half-hour or so before he feels her body begin to writhe beneath him, her motions stirring her shaft deep within. It's only moments after she starts to squirm that he feels the first of those eggs sliding downward, crushing the membrane of muscle and silken skin against the underbelly of his dick as it breeches her cervix, plump cuntlips bulging out after a dozen or so powerful contractions that milk his shaft within her blown-out asshole. Those straining nethers yawn slowly open around the first egg, the shell blue-black speckled with red as it emerges. The clenching around his shaft only grows in strength as instinct causes her to bear down harder and harder, until the first of his unhatched young falls free into the impromptu nest, the egg more than twice the size of a cantaloupe.

It continues for hours, the dragoness shuddering despite the fact that naturally produced endorphins dull the pain of birth somewhat, egg after egg sliding down her birth canal and causing her violet pussylips to splay, leaving the pierced flesh horribly distended and gaping, the process made all the more difficult by the fact that she's forced to squeeze them out past an impossibly large cock making itself at home in her colon. There's a dozen of those eggs in total, blue as the night sky, the pinpricks of red across their surfaces making the illusion of the star-filled dome of space all the more vivid. Though it all, Antar is there above her, occasionally thrusting, mostly just relaxing and enjoying the sensations, occassionally patting her cheek as he utters words of encouragement. And, of course, further flooding her brutally used asshole with further gallons of his spunk, until finally, the dragoness lays limp and slack beneath him, panting and dazed. She hardly registers the fact that he lifts his leg and pours yet another round of hot, fresh urine into her colon - in fact, she doesn't react until he pushes her forward several feet, away from the still steaming eggs.

"There you go, Des. All done, for now." Clawtips trace over her throat as he speaks, the dragoness' eyes glazed over as he pulls his girthy cock from her bowels once again. "You should be proud, too. Soon enough, we won't have to worry about the King hiring knights and mercenaries anymore," Antar rumbles, even as he shifts his angle above her, aiming his sloppy cocktip for her stretched, sore labia, her pussy gaped to the point her cervix is visible from behind - similarly ruined and hanging in a slack oval. It'd take a light to see deeper, though it's obvious her womb is exposed to the air. "After all," he mutters, "you're going to provide me with the army I'm going to use to overthrow him." And with those words, he's seating himself in her brutalized cunt with a single firm thrust. And after that - for many, many hours - all that can be heard echoing through the cavern is the wet slapping of flesh against flesh and the slick noises of sex...