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Fernor landed by a small lake to take a quick drink before returning to his hunt. He was the most important male of the surrounding area, and he was on the trail of a smaller, less powerful male who had been trying to make moves into his area of influence.

Fernor was a well-built dragon, his green hide allowing him to blend in easily with his forested surroundings. The two proud horns sweeping back from his head marked him as a mature, but still relatively young male in his prime.

The chase had turned into a hunt as the smaller dragon had managed to pull away, but Fernor wasn't worried. He would outlast the runt and put him in his pace. The hunt had taken him fairly close to the anthro city, however, which would normally be a call for caution since Fernor had been hearing strange rumors and tales about the anthros and dragons recently. Still, he knew that his quarry was unlikely to head much closer to the anthros, so he wasn't overly concerned.

As he lifted his head from the lake, a glimmer on the other side of the water caught his eye and he stared at the spot for a moment, curious. Then a sharp pain blossomed in his shoulder and he snarled, looking down to see the small dart that had pierced his scales. As he pawed at the dart, he began to feel woozy and off-balance. He stumbled around for a moment, lifting his wings as if to fly away, and then fell onto his side. He couldn't get his foggy mind to move his limbs properly as a darkness seeped in from the edges of his vision.

Just as he was about to slip away, the runt he had been hunting landed with a thump nearby and looked down at him with an evil grin.

"This is goodbye, Fernor you gullible idiot. Have fun with the anthros while I take your territory."

A dull sense of worry and fear was the last thing Fernor remembered as the darkness finally blotted everything out.

--

The ratting and banging of the wagon on a dirt road woke Fernor from his unrestful slumber. He groggily lifted his head to see that he was being carted along by an anthro wearing expensive-looking clothes driving a four-horse team down into the large anthro city. Looking at the anthro's back as he was, Fernor was unable to get a good look at the creature, but it seemed to be a fox.

Fernor attempted to open his mouth to speak, but quickly found that he was wearing a muzzle that kept his jaws clamped shut. This new realization startled his brain fully awake and as he tried to pull the muzzle off, he found that he was chained to the bed of the wagon, unable to move more than a foot or so in any direction.

The noise from his startled shuffling caused the anthro to turn around and smile at Fernor. He was definitely a fox.

"Hello there dragon," the fox said, tipping his wide-brimmed hat to Fernor who only snorted angrily in response.

"I bet you're a bit upset, but there's not much to be done about that, I'm afraid," the fox said before turning back to the horses and snapping the reins.

That's when Fernor realized that the beasts pulling the cart down the road weren't horses at all. They were dragons.

Fernor stared in wide-eyed horror at the four dragons trotting along in front of the cart, hitched up and geared out like horses would be. Each one was about his size and had been stuffed inside a sturdy rubber suit that covered their entire body, including the head, wings, and tail. Their paws had been padded into hooves, and their wings were strapped tightly to their backs. Padded leather straps encircled their limbs and thick buckles and locks kept them permanently restrained. Their unnatural gait for dragons proved that they had been trained to act as horses, and the tight fit of their suits forced them to keep the upright posture of a working horse.

The anthro turned back and noticed Fernor's stare.

"Ah yes! These are my ponies. Well trained and domesticated for anthro use. I captured them all myself. Slip Daniels is my name, professional dragon hunter."

Fernor seethed with fear and anger and fought against his bonds to no avail besides a lot of rattling and shaking.

"I remember these four were a lot like you when I first brought them in. Snarling and biting, trying vainly to justify that they were free creatures and should not be submitted to the humiliation of pulling wagons for the rest of their lives... But! They all calmed down and submitted to their new lives as ponies eventually. I'm sure you'll do the same, though you won't be a pony and you won't be owned by me, oh no," he ended with a chuckle, turning back to the captive dragons pulling the wagon.

As the wagon entered the city, Fernor looked at all the anthros passing by, going about their daily lives. Occasionally he would see a dragon being led by a leash or working as a pony.

"I don't train the dragons myself, you see." Slip Daniels started up again. "Someone else does that. I just provide the stock. But you won't end up like these four, here. Recently there has been a rising interest in keeping dragons as pets. My current client is going to make you into quite the trophy dragon. At least, that's what he told me. I have to admit, your rival out there was very useful in getting you to come closer to the city. Maybe I'll tell his new owner that after I go back out there and pick him up too."

Fernor couldn't believe it. His mind was having trouble fathoming it. The anthros were turning dragons into pets and ponies and who knew what else. Why? Why were they doing it? What sort of sick justification could be given for it?

The fox must have noticed the angry, questioning look on Fernor's muzzled face as they passed a house with a guard dragon chained out front and turned back again.

"Lots of anthros like seeing big scary beasts like yourself trained up, broken, and domesticated. It gives a kind of pleasure to see dragons working for anthros. Or a once-proud dragon pulled around on a leash. It's just good fun."

Fernor rattled his chains again and even swayed the wagon with his struggles. He wouldn't be some anthro's pet! He wouldn't be trapped in this sick place! He was a thinking, sentient, intelligent creature! He had rights!

"Oh settle down. No dragon alive could break out of those bonds. Besides, we're almost there."

Up ahead was a large mansion dominating the end of the cul-de-sac. As they reached the end of the street, the gate swung open and the dragon ponies led the wagon up the gravel path to the front of the giant house.

Fernor had been so busy looking at all the dressed up anthros standing on the steps outside that he barely noticed as Slip held up a pistol and checked if it was loaded.

"Well, this is our stop, dragon. Can't have you struggling while you get settled in."

With that Fernor turned to face him and felt another dart shoot into his neck. He snarled, but suddenly lost control of his body as the drugs worked through his system and left him conscious, but paralyzed.

Slip Daniels hopped down off the wagon and greeted a well-dressed, rich-looking falcon carrying a tumbler of brandy. As several servants dragged Fernor off the wagon and onto a sort of trolley, Fernor saw another servant step forward and offer Slip a glass which he took and toasted with the falcon, laughing and conversing.

As Fernor was wheeled away around the side of the house to a smaller entrance, his trolley passed by the four dragon ponies and Fernor realized with dread that his situation was even worse than he had thought.

The dragons were arranged two by two, with the two in front covered fully in latex except two small holes to let them breathe from their noses, two to let them see, and two to let them hear. Otherwise they were completely encased in their leather and latex prisons. They panted and heaved in the sun, standing as still as possible and avoiding looking at Fernor. The ones behind them, however, were even worse off.

Fernor could see nothing of the back two dragons' identities. Their heads and bodies were entirely covered in latex, including their eyes and ears. Only the most basic defining features showed through, proving that they were indeed dragons. Each had a single small hole poking from the middle of their mouths, through which they drooled and panted heavily, fighting for each breath from within their silent, dark, hot prisons. Fernor had no idea how long they had been like that, but he expected it had been a while. All four dragons also had heavy metal chastity belts strapped over their back hips, keeping them pent up for as long as they were captives.

With this harrowing sight stuck in his mind, Fernor was carted off and entered the mansion, still unable to move.

--

After passing through several rooms and hallways and up an elevator, Fernor was brought to a medium-sized room that was empty except for a large, dragon-sized plush bed in one corner. He was pushed off the trolley and left to lie alone on the carpeted floor.

After what felt like ten minutes, the door he had just come through re-opened and most of the party from the front steps entered, all still sipping and chatting. They circled Fernor and poked at his body, commenting on his physicality and the rigors of Slip's job. Several servants began measuring each of his limbs in every possible way, taking down notes on a small pad. This went on for a while, and Fernor was able to listen in on the conversation.

"So, Kordan," Slip said, addressing the Falcon who Fernor guessed was supposed to be his new owner. "You never really told me what you have in mind for this one. You certainly paid a hell of a lot for him, so I'm curious. You're not getting him trained. What then?"

Kordan took a sip and the rest of the anthros besides the busy servants waited patiently.

"I told you 'pet' before, but I really think it would be more accurate to say trophy toy. Maybe just toy. Maybe just trophy. Something like that."

Fernor fumed. He was not a trophy or a toy. He was a proud dragon. If only he could move! He would still fight whatever that sick bird had in mind.

"He is the most impressive specimen you could find, correct? It's been four months since I made the order, so I certainly hope so."

"Best within four hundred, five hundred miles," Slip replied. "Certainly the best in the Great Forest and the Tall Mountains."

"Good. I've found that I quite enjoy the idea of having a pet dragon. Look at him. He's at least twice the size of me, and yet I now own him. I want to show off the power of the anthros by putting him to heel."

Everyone looked down at Fernor.

"I'm going to make him helpless and useless. Bound and broken with no training, my little captive dragon pet forever. My punishment trophy to show off to everyone who comes to see me."

Fernor's eyes widened and he fought as hard as he could against the drugs, but it was no use. He was stuck. Trapped in his own body.

"I can't wait to see the results," A tiger said, taking a sip of his drink and stepping away from Fernor's prone form. "You said he'd be ready by sundown tonight?"

"I did indeed. I purchased a whole self-contained manufactory for this. I'm very serious. I intend to have the most impressive, most... exciting dragon pet of any anthro in this city."

Kordan moved toward the door, the rest of the group slowly following him. "Still, we have until sundown. Can I interest you all in a walk in the garden? It's a beautiful day."

With that, everyone left except for the servants who quickly finished measuring his body and then withdrew as well. Fernor was left alone in the room, still unable to move.

--

After a few hours of stewing in his own fear and outrage, Fernor was jabbed with yet another needle just as he began to feel the drugs wearing off. The frustration of his rage and helplessness almost choked him as the servant left and he was alone once more. The falcon had been vague, and he still didn't know exactly what the bird had in store for him. One thing was for sure: Fernor refused to give up. He would not be a trophy toy for some rich anthro just because the falcon thought he could do whatever he wanted.

However, despite his conviction, some of the fight in him left when the cocktail party finally re-entered the room flanked by a dozen servants carrying large bundles of latex and tough, padded leather straps.

No! No! Fernor thought and tried to move. He wouldn't end up like those dragons outside! He wasn't a pet! He wasn't a trophy! He was a dragon! He was Fernor!

But it was no use. As the anthros talked and laughed and looked on, the servants began stuffing Fernor's paws into tough rubber mitts that left his claws and toes completely useless. The booties came up to his knees and were secured tightly with leather straps. Then, to his utter shame, his tail was forced up and a large dragon dildo was lubed up and shoved into his tailhole.

As the anthros looked on approvingly and made a few jokes at his expense, Fernor began to even more fully realize the twisted nature of his future. The large knot near the base of the dildo stretched him horribly as it went in, and as it slid inside his virgin tailhole tried to return to its normal size and locked the dildo inside of him. Now, every time the servants moved or jostled him, Fernor was reminded of the burning shame of the dildo as its thick tip bumped and poked against his g-spot.

Next, his jaws were forced open and he could do nothing but watch as another large dildo was pushed into his open maw, its lengthy girth settling well into his mouth and tickling the back of his throat. He quickly found out that the urethra of the dildo actually ran all the way through, and that if he tried, he could breathe through the dildo. More fear lanced through him as he remembered the poor state of the pony dragons he had seen. It also didn't help as the strap attached to the dildo's base was stretched back over his head and locked behind his horns, keeping it securely in place.

Then, beginning with his tail, the servants began pulling a dragon-sized catsuit of plain black, strong latex over his body. He could tell it had been made specifically for him, because the fit was perfect and skin-tight.

Fernor fought harder than he had ever fought anything before. He tried to struggle, call out, plead, threaten, fight, or even whimper. But he could do nothing as his suit was pulled over his back legs and his wings were folded against his back and stuffed into perfect bulges in the suit that kept them well-defined and tightly restrained.

As his front paws began to be forced into the suit, the latex covering his already useless mittens, Kordan walked over and bent so that he loomed over Fernor's panicked face.

"Welcome to your new home, dragon. You belong to me now. You are my pet, my toy, my trophy to be tormented and displayed however I like. You are nothing. Your old life doesn't matter, and neither do your desires. You are a dragon in name only, just a plaything to amuse me. A featureless, generic black dragon. No identity, no connection to the world, no past, no future, no one to save or find you. You mean nothing to anyone except as my toy. I'm going to keep you bound up in this suit, your hobbles, and your sensory deprivation permanently. Welcome to your new existence."

Kordan continued to watch Fernor's face as the servants inserted small wads of black latex into the dragon's ears that rapidly expanded after a few seconds, completely nullifying Fernor's ability to hear. The total silence was so complete it was disorienting and terrifying. It didn't help that soon after, the latex hood of his new prison was pulled up over his helpless face.

All Fernor could see as the servants worked and pulled on the suit was a rising tide of black that slipped over his chin and his dildo-filled mouth as his face slid perfectly into the contours of his mask. Then his world was encased in a total darkness to match its total silence as the hood covered his eyes.

Fernor's mind almost broke with terror as he couldn't hear, couldn't see, and he found that there were no holes for his nostrils. He could smell nothing but the latex surrounding him, and he couldn't breathe except through the dildo. Unseen to him, the servants lined up the hole in the dildo with a hole in the latex and screwed a small, short tube onto the base of the dildo so that the tube hung out of Fernor's mouth. The tube also had a small bulge near the end that contained a pressure valve, forcing Fernor to fight for each breath he took in his silent, immobile darkness.

The servants finished with the catsuit, pulling it over his clogged ears, his horns, and down his neck. It was then sealed up tight, and the servants took a short break to step back and allow Kordan and his friends to look.

They all stepped forward, looking down at the once-terrifying dragon now reduced to an impersonal, latex-covered heap on the floor with dildos stuck in both ends. All of Fernor's identity was gone, replaced by the shiny latex suit he was imprisoned in. No longer dangerous, now completely helpless, Fernor was at the mercy of his anthro captor.

Kordan looked at the encased limbs, the covered face, the powerful body suited up and reduced to a squeaky, shiny toy, and smiled.

"Carry on," he said to the servants, stepping back to let them approach the dragon with armfuls of padded leather straps painted red to offset the black latex.

Within short order, the servants had further restrained Fernor with a wave of shiny silver buckles and leather straps. One loop went around his snout to prevent all movement once Fernor regained control of his body, one loop went around each front leg, binding his forearms tightly up against his shoulders so that only his paws could move, one loop each created a similar effect on his back legs, four loops bound his wings fully in the folded position, while his tail was hoisted up over his back and was bound along his spine by a loop just behind his crouched front legs. Two servants stepped forward and clasped a heavy metal chastity belt over Fernor's crotch and back legs, firmly sealing his cock inside his slit and guaranteeing that the dragon would never climax again. Then his front paws were chained to each other with a short length of shiny steel chain, greatly reducing the amount of side-to-side motion the dragon was capable of. A similar setup was used for his back paws as well. For good measure, a tough blindfold with thick padding was secured over Fernor's latex-covered eyes and fasted with a strap below his jaw and a strap behind his horns, all just to make sure that no light whatsoever would ever reach his eyes again.

Finally, a large, thick collar was locked around Fernor's latex-covered neck. The collar had four tough steel rings set in it to allow for leashes and ropes to be attached and silver plaque on it that read "Kordan's Dragon."

With everything finally done, the servants left the room and Kordan stepped forward once more to survey his newly completed trophy toy.

What crouched before him had lost all self-determination and dignity. Fernor had become a faceless, senseless latex toy of a dragon with a living, breathing center. No identifying characteristics to prove that it really was Fernor underneath all that bondage remained. Not even his closest friend would be able to tell that Fernor was Kordan's captive, and as such, there was no one who would ever think to rescue or help him.

Kordan thought that the crisscrossing red straps accentuated the black latex very nicely, and he admired the little shiny hints that the steel buckles and fastening studs gave his new trophy. Its face was his favorite part, all bound up and blindfolded, the dragon within completely shut off from the world forever, forced to stumble and crawl around blindly with no context or sensory input to help him. The small breathing tube with the pressure valve hanging out of the latex-covered dildo in his mouth also gave Kordan a trill of pleasure. Due to the difficulty of breathing, even the slightest movements would cause his pet to pant and wheeze, making him fight for each breath for the rest of his life.

Kordan also had a remote control linked to the dildo stuffed in the dragon toy's ass, allowing him to cause the artificial cock to vibrate and stimulate the toy's g-spot and prostate up to almost unbearable levels of pleasure. But the toy would never cum, because Kordan held the only key to the chastity belt and he had no intentions of ever unlocking his pet's cock for release.

Kordan's watch beeped and he looked down, nodding in satisfaction as his guests walked around his new trophy, admiring the excellent work. The beep meant that the drugs in the pet's system were now wearing off and the pet would soon be able to move. Or, at least, move as much as his permanent restraints would allow him. Kordan ginned widely and set his hand on his pet's head, savoring the power of having complete control over such a prideful, powerful beast.

--

Inside the suit, there was nothing but darkness in all meanings of the word. Fernor couldn't smell anything, he couldn't taste anything, he couldn't see anything, he couldn't hear anything, and he could only dully and faintly feel whatever touched his new latex shell. He was swimming in an ocean of helpless darkness and there was nothing he could do about it. Each breath he took was strained because of his breathing tube, and he didn't know if he would ever get used to the aching in his lungs.

Then, faintly, something touched his head. In his totally deprived state, the sensation was at once completely distant and incredibly near. He flinched at the contact, and that was when he realized that he could move again.

He immediately tried to use his booted paws to pull his blindfold and mask off, but it was no use. He was crouched down on his bent legs and as he tried to move his shoulders up to get his paws to touch his face, he tipped over in the darkness and bounced his snout off the ground. He couldn't see the ground rushing toward him, so it was a complete surprise when he hit, causing him to jerk and reel, utterly disoriented with no sensory input at all with which to map his surroundings. He didn't even hear the laughter that his antics caused in the anthros standing around him. He didn't even know they were there, except for the one that had touched his head. Not even the faintest hint of sound would ever reach him again.

It didn't help either that each small movement made the dildo in his ass poke at his g-spot and send powerful sensations through his lower body and into his chest. If he hadn't been in a terrifying situation, it might have been pleasurable.

Something slapped his ass through the latex, and Fernor tried to jerk and get away from it, but he could not rise from his permanently crouched position. His binds would only allow him to shuffle around on his four paws, with no help from his leg muscles. It was a slow, tiresome process and he quickly became hot in his suit and panted heavily through his breathing tube, trying desperately to get enough air.

Kordan laughed with the other anthros as he watched his pet begin to inch away after Slip slapped his ass. It was going to take the dragon at least ten minutes to get to the other side of the room. He felt an excited trill of pleasure when he heard the dragon begin to pant heavily and fight to breathe after just a few tiny steps. He was elated. The process had been a complete success. The dragon was now totally helpless and a slave to his wishes. The falcon knew that soon enough would come proper domestication, submission, and a completely defeated attitude as the bondage and sensory deprivation and humiliation went to work on the dragon trapped in the latex and leather.

Kordan felt a shiver of pure bliss as he pet his trophy's head and neck and caused the trapped dragon to try to look for him while giving out small muffled grunts and moans of pleading.

As one final torment before heading downstairs for dinner, the anthros worked together to spin the weakly struggling trophy pet around and around, destroying whatever orientation the pet might have retained from being in the room before being suited. They left the room laughing at the sound of the desperate "Mmmmhh! Mmmmhhhh!" coming from the helpless toy.

--

Fernor had absolutely no idea how long he had been trapped in his latex and leather prison, but it had felt like an eternity before he eventually bumped into a wall with his nose, blind and panting, and collapsed in a heap. He thought he might have fallen asleep then, but the difference between sleeping and waking was so minimal that it was hard to tell. He had no idea how many anthros were in the room with him, if any. He didn't know if he had been moved while he was sleeping or not. He couldn't smell anything or hear anything. There could have been an anthro right next to him and he would never know.

That was how Fernor lived his life from then on. Blind, confused, deaf, alone, scared, and humiliated. After six hours Fernor found his way out of the room and inched blindly down the hall, trying to explore the house he was trapped in. Kordan sometimes stood or sat at the other end of rooms or hallways and watched his pet bump into furniture or walls, forced to explore his surroundings by running into things or stumbling over objects with his short, tiny little steps, panting furiously and straining blindly in the silent darkness. It was a huge difference from the powerful, confident dragon Fernor used to be.

The servants gave him a wide berth, and only Kordan interacted with him. Sometimes petting him or forcing him out of a room he had stumbled into. Every now and then Fernor would be washed and cleaned, polished to look like the word's most presentable dragon pet trophy.

It didn't take long before Fernor's mind was completely broken and whenever he would bump into something or someone that he thought was his owner and master Kordan, he would begin to whine and beg to be released. But he was never let out of his restraints. Never allowed to see, hear, smell, taste, or touch again. His sensory deprivation was total and eternal.

After several weeks, what to Fernor felt like several years, he found what he was pretty sure was Kordan's office. He would often retrace his steps back to the office as he learned the floorplan of the house a little bit better through trial and error and literal blind guessing, and would sit next to Kordan while he worked and place his head in the falcon's lap and beg. He was never released, though Kordan did pat his head and tell him what a perfect pet he was. Not that Fernor could hear it, and he could barely feel the petting anyway. The muffled "Mmmmh!" coming from the pet at regular intervals was stimulating to Kordan. He didn't mind the helpless pet's presence. It made him feel powerful to have such a frightening creature turned into a useless, identity-less trophy begging to be released from its bondage.

Sometimes Kordan would attach a leash to one of Fernor's steel collar rings and take him on a slow walk through public, showing off his trophy for everyone to see. Fernor only knew they were outside because the texture of what he was walking on changed slightly and the sun beating down on him made him nearly pass out, especially since the slow pace of the walk was basically a sprint for Fernor now and he was panting and gasping through his tube the entire time. Still, his latex and leather-covered face showed nothing of the discomfort that the captive dragon was in.

Sometimes Kordan would drive them by car to some high-class event and reporters would get pictures of the falcon standing next to the crouched form of the bound dragon, his thick blindfolded face with the silly breathing tube sticking out of the mouth rarely ever pointing in the right direction for the photographs. But no one really minded. Fernor was the best dragon pet that anyone had ever seen, and soon enough, other rich anthros were achieving similar things with their own pets. Slip Daniels was never out of business.

Though Fernor would never know it or see it, the little runt dragon who had tricked Fernor into the trap that had caught him all that time ago was eventually caught himself and turned into a trophy pet for an old lady Doberman living down the block.

Increasingly as time went by, Kordan began to turn on the vibrating dildo on Fernor's ass and would eventually just leave it running at different intervals and speeds. He loved the sight of the bound pet unknowingly trying to rub against the floor in front of servants and guests in a desperate, futile attempt to get off through the locked chastity belt permanently over his slit. The sight of a dragon brought to such a humiliating and low state as a black, shiny, blindfolded, panting pet trying to hump the carpet because his bound paws and tail couldn't help was amusing and stimulating to Kordan and his guests.

And that was how Fernor lived his life: the trophy pet toy of an anthro, permanently locked in sensory deprivation, always confused and desperately horny, unable to do anything for himself, helpless, submissive, domesticated, short of breath, and permanently bound. His days were spent stumbling and inching blindly through the falcon's mansion, begging Kordan for release from his bondage and captivity and trying anything he could think of to finally climax or to alleviate the maddeningly arousing buzzing in his rear.

But nothing ever worked, and Fernor remained a faceless, unidentifiable, horny bondage pet for the rest of his life.