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The trip into the village in the valley below Caltoras' peak was a quick one--gliding down through the frigid winter air towards the lights of civilization took almost no time at all--though Caristos found himself lingering in the sky above. His wings flapped lazily, and he took the time to really consider every movement of the muscles running along the limbs; the stretch and flex, the snapping and relaxing of the membrane, and the twitching and shifting of the digits extending from his wing-knuckles. Faint crackling and tinkling reached his ears even over the gusting of the winter wind; the piss--the marking from his brother--coating his face and chest and running down his neck to his nape freezing, cracking, flaking off of his scales in shining yellow crystals even as it left the rank, raunchy scent of Caltoras' virility behind. And as he flew, his thoughts whirled in a maelstrom that rivaled the roaring winds of the sky above the valley; what he and his brother had done, and what his brother had planned for him.

He clutched the scrolls--the schematics for the bindings that Caltoras' requested for both Caristos' wings and drakehood--in his forepaws as the dragon landed in a high snowbank on the village outskirts. He sniffed the air, and immediately the fresh, clean scent of sky--and the stench of his brother's urine--was overpowered by a distinct odor of coal, iron, and fire; the smithy Caltoras had directed him to find. The building was large; almost the length of two barns put together, and had a wide opening that lead into the interior. The sounds of metal hammering metal rang through the air, followed by the hiss of water steaming and boiling.

Caristos drew himself up. He was a dragon; a crimson dragon, no less. A proud drake--even if he'd suffered more than a few setbacks, and had been easily dominated by both his brother and that thrice-damned blue, but details--and had to keep up appearances in front of the lesser races. He would go in there, demand that the blacksmith cease everything he was working on to perform the tasks he set, and be back at Caltoras' lair before the moon reached its peak. Simple. Easy. He wouldn't think about the bindings Caltoras had planned--the humiliation, the degradation, the loss of his ability to touch the sky with his brethren--nor what actually being measured for and fitted with said bindings would entail. Allowing a man--even if said man had made a pact with his brother--near his hinds. Lifting his hind leg--perhaps even his tail--to bare himself. Feeling the lesser's small, nimble--admittedly dexterous--fingers on his wings and scales and steaming genital lips and pulsing, throbbing, needy drakehood; probing, pushing, pressing into his slit and working into his pucker and stretching his inner flesh as he submitted to the other male's touch.

The drake shook his head, dislodging those thoughts and flinging them into the dark recesses of his mind. He ignored the burning under the scales of his cheeks and, with a rumbling cough, cleared his throat while padding towards the smithy. The pounding of metal on molten metal grew louder, echoing in the cavernous space as Caristos stepped through the large entrance--perfectly-sized for one of his stature to pass through with minimal effort--from the chilly outside to the warm--pleasantly-warm for a dragon, though it must be sweltering for a lesser being--interior. He coughed. He cleared his throat once more. He called out. "Tremble, for you are in the presence of Caristos, Crimson Dragon of the Hennae Mountains! I have need of your services, smith, and you will present yourself to me that I may tell you your task!"

One last ringing clang before the smithy grew quiet. The figure hunched over the anvil near the forge snorted, and Caristos heard the man's--the blacksmith's--answer. "Always barging in here demanding this and that. Fucking dragons, I swear to Bahamut." The invocation of the dragon-god's name made Caristos pause and his brow twitch upwards. The drake took another good look at the blacksmith as the man--no, that wasn't one of the furred men of the village--turned and gave him a fiery glare to match that of any elder patriarch's.

The other male stood on two legs, and his arms hung by his sides--both sets of limbs corded with thick muscle, and the massive smith's hammer clutched in one clawed hand was hefted as easily as a feather--but that was where the similarities to the furred villagers milling about in the nearby streets ended. Scales, thick and leathery down his back and sides and shifting to softer, smoother pebbles down his front, adorned every inch of the smith's burly, built body; the soot and smut smeared over his form made it difficult to tell their color. His neck arched up, crowned with a horned, long-snouted head and face that resembled Caristos' own. A thick leather apron was the only stitch of clothing on the other male's body, and even that only seemed necessary to shield his front half from the sparks and flames of his work. And last, but certainly not least, were the long, lashing tail hanging from the smith's hinds, and the--admittedly impressive for a male of his size--wings rising from his muscular back.

A half-drake. One whose veins ran hot and molten as the iron in his forge with dragon blood; blood that hadn't been diluted by very many generations, at that.

The blacksmith crossed his arms over his chest, and gave Caristos an impatient stare. "Well? Did you come here to gawk at the half-blood freak, or did you actually want something oh great dragon?" The half-drake's voice dipped into caustic sarcasm at that last bit.

Once more, Caristos found himself clearing his throat. The dragon would allow the lesser's arrogance to slide, due to the blacksmith's ancestry; he was magnanimous like that. "Ah, yes. I've need of your services." Why were his cheeks still burning under his scales? "Well, really, Caltoras has need of your services, but the adornments are for me." Why were his eyes scanning over the half-drake's nearly-bared form? "Uh, the plans are here, and I need you to... well... make these devices. And put them on me." Why were his haunches shifting like those of a nervous drake before his first courtship while his nostrils flared in an attempt to catch the other male's scent? A cough. A flick of his tongue. He lifted the forepaw clutching the scrolls Caltoras had given him to offer the parchments to the other male.

"Oh, Caltoras. Why didn't you say so?" The half-drake's expression shifted, his scowl softening into a small, barely-visible grin as his stance relaxed. He padded toward Caristos, his own eyes running over the dragon's form in consideration. "Can't tell if it's something real important or just busywork if the old bastard's sending an errand-boy in his stead." One half of his mouth twitched upwards into a smirk along with the blacksmith's own brow. "Or are you his latest conquest?"

Why was Caristos' throat suddenly so dry? He let out yet another cough as the dragon drew himself up to stare down at the smith; the other male only came up to about the dragon's shoulder, but somehow the lesser's presence felt like that of a fellow drake. "I am his brother."

"That doesn't answer my question... Caristos, did you say your name was?" The smith guffawed as his fist struck Caristos' shoulder in the same spot that Caltoras' wing-knuckle had hit earlier, and the dragon both winced in pain and felt his mind stutter in surprise; was the spot merely sore from his brother's tender affections, or was the half-drake just that strong? "Wouldn't be surprised to hear that raunchy old fuck started rutting his flesh and blood."

So the tales of Caltoras' 'conquests' had spread even to the village; or the blacksmith was just that familiar with the elder drake. "I... well..." Caristos' tail lashed behind him as he felt that same shame that had curdled in his breast under his brother's teasing and degradation; and that same pulsing and throbbing between his hinds starting up once more.

The blacksmith's smirk widened, and his gaze grew knowing--appreciative?--as it dragged up Caristos' form to meet the dragon's own wide, embarrassed stare. The half-drake held a hand out expectantly. "Well, let's see what Caltoras has in mind for his newest bitch."

Bitch. That word--that declaration of what he'd asked to be for his brother--sent a thrill down Caristos' spine even without the rumbling of the older dragon's voice saying it aloud. He nodded, offering the parchments to the blacksmith, and settled back on his haunches one more. "I ask that you work quickly so that I can be outfitted in due time, ah...?" He paused, realizing he hadn't caught the smith's name; and having the other drake, even if he was only half-blooded, working on such intimate adornments without an introduction seemed wrong to Caristos.

"Hm?" The blacksmith had already unrolled both scrolls, eyes widening--and was that a waft of arousal Caristos could smell under the soot and sulfur of the forge?--as he looked the schematics over. "Oh, the name's Tristan." The smith--Tristan--cleared his own throat before letting out a low hum. "These seem pretty elaborate, but doable. Although, these wing bindings..." The half-drake's own wings pulled tight against his body; in sympathy? "The holes for the rivets would have to be pierced, which I haven't done with something as thin as wing membrane before. And once everything's fixed in place, it'll be pretty much permanent." He glanced to Caristos, brow lifted. The words remained unsaid, but they still hung in the air; was the dragon sure about this?

"Could they..." Caristos gulped. He shifted. His wing-digits flexed and relaxed. "Could they not be removed? Even by a blacksmith such as you?"

"Hm..." Once more, Tristan's eyes glanced over the parchment--the plans for the bindings that would take Caristos' flight away, and cement his dependence upon his brother; his master, and the sire of the brood he'd be giving birth to--as he considered. "The rivets in the diagram are at least two fingers thick. I'm not sure something like that could be broken once they're in place." He shrugged. "It may be possible, but your wings wouldn't ever be the same. The membrane would probably tear around the piercings at the very least. And with holes that large in your wings, I'm not sure you'd ever fly again."

Caristos tried very, very hard to not let the half-drake see the shiver that rocked his body. His wings. Flight. The touch of the sky. His brother, Caltoras, grinning at him as he whispered all the degrading, humiliating, exciting plans he had for his new breeding bitch into Caristos' ear. Once more, the dragon drew himself up and gave Tristan a nod. "Do them exactly to Caltoras' specifications."

"Alright, if you're sure." The blacksmith set the scrolls down on a workbench near the wall, and then reached back to undo the tie of his apron. Once the cloth was pulled aside--once the half-drake's body was completely bared--and hung on a nearby hook, Tristan opened a drawer in the workbench and began to rifle through it. "In that case, I'll need to take your measurements. Get on your belly and spread your wings." He turned, a measuring rod gripped in one hand and a pair of calipers in the other, to give Caristos an expectant stare.

"Of course I am. A dragon is always sure." Yes, that was the way; keep the pride of his drakehood in his voice and the set of his limbs. Even as he moved forward, pressing his underbelly to the warm stone floor. Even as his wings relaxed, the digits stretching out to bare his full wingspan. Even as his eyes locked onto the package between the half-drake's thighs; the heavy, full, low hanging testicles settled in their soft-scaled sack, and the plump sheath bobbing and bouncing with Tristan's every step. Caristos knew--had heard--that lesser beings had their manhoods on the outside, but seeing it for himself was oddly thrilling. It was large, at least for Tristan's small stature, and bared completely by the other male's upright stance. And, as the smith approached, Caristos could see--smell--the faint sheen of sweat on his balls and the crusty flecks of cock-smut clinging to the opening of his sheath.

"See something you like?"

Caristos jerked. He turned his gaze away, ignoring the burning under the scales of his cheeks; ignoring the low chuckle rumbling in the blacksmith's throat, the pat on his shoulder, and the pulse of heat between his hinds. He let out a noncommittal grunt.

"Big, tough, strong dragon like you like looking at males?" Caristos shuddered as the blacksmith's fingers--just as nimble and dexterous as he had imagined them--brushed over his scales. Tugged on the arms and digits of his wings to get them into position. Poked and prodded and stroked the sensitive membrane stretched between the bony lengths. "Like seeing their bare crotches? Their drakehoods?" A laugh; not in his ear, but the dragon could easily imagine the blacksmith's breath--Caltoras' humid breath--on his jaw. He felt the half drake crawl onto his back, and the male's plump, soft--hot and throbbing; aroused?--package pressing against his trembling spine. "You like staring at cocks?"

"Maybe..." Caristos' voice was strained; a whimper caught in his throat, and he tried desperately to swallow it down as Tristan worked. But even the cold hardness of the measuring rod and the sharp jab of the calipers couldn't distract him from the half-drake's body atop his own.

"These hips of yours aren't saying 'maybe'." Tristan slid backwards, down the dragon's back, and Caristos finally let that low, soft, whimpering groan he'd been suppressing drop from between his slack jaws as the half-drake's crotch pressed against his rump. It was humiliating. Shameful. This was a lesser being--a half-blood, but still--and Caristos' hips were lifting and hiking upwards against the contact just like they had for his brother. "Caltoras probably loves having a needy little bitch like you for a brother, huh? Bet you present yourself for anyone--anything--with a dick, huh?"

"Yes..." Another whine. Another moan. Another shudder of mingling shame and pleasure as Caltoras felt the floor pressing against his underbelly grow wet; soaked with the precum spurting and dribbling from the erections pushing out of his slit.

Tristan laughed, and Caristos yelped as an open palm--just as strong as the stinging whip of his brother's tail--smacked against his flank. The half-drake slid off the dragon's prone, shaking, shuddering body, and the blacksmith turned to give Caristos a wide, toothy grin. The drake could see the heavy rise and fall of the half-drake's own chest, and the angry-red, sharply-pointed tip poking from the blacksmith's sheath. "Well, I'm done with your wings. Now... we need to get the measurements for the other bindings." The ones that would go on Caristos' drakehood. Tristan's voice was low and rumbling--sounding for a moment like Caltoras'--as his eyes flashed. "Get that tail hiked up and that hind leg lifted, bitch. Show me what I've got to work with."

Strong. Powerful. Domineering. The half-drake's tone tickled something deep--something instinctual--in Caristos' mind, and his body responded. The dragon's hips and tail lifted--hiked up high to bare his taut, virginal pucker to the other male, as though preparing to be rutted--and the nearest hind leg to the half-drake pulled up against the drake's side to reveal his crotch to the other male. To let Tristan see the flushed, moist lips of his slit and the twin lengths twitching and bobbing and dribbling between his hinds. He lay his head down, chin pressed to the smithy floor--dust and soot smearing over his scales--as he looked to the other male in submission. This was his place. He was a bitch. A slut. His brother's broodmare, yes, but Tristan had been right; Caltoras had been right in his teasing of his eager cumdump of a brother earlier.

Caristos was happy to submit to--present himself and be rutted by--any male; any strong, powerful, dominating male who could send those shivers and pulses of arousal to the clenching hole at the base of his tail.

The dragon watched, jaws parting while his panting breath quickened, as Tristan squatted down to shuffle up under Caristos' lifted hind leg. Those nimble fingers finally wrapped around one of his lengths. Brushing. Stroking. Squeezing. Caristos' eyes clenched shut, and he felt a shudder run through his bared, open, vulnerable form at the sound of deep breaths from the half-drake; Tristan was taking deep sniffs of the full-blood's scent. "L-like it?" Caristos coughed, ignored the way his lolling tongue stumbled over the words, and pushed forward. "I know it's probably the biggest you've seen. Gaze upon it, and feel how virile Caristos of the Hennae Mountains is-"

"Quiet. I'm working." A rough squeeze around the base of his drakehood forced a whimper from Caristos' slack jaws--and sent a pulse through the clenching, puckering hole under his tail--and the dragon silenced himself. A low, considering hum as the half-drake's hands continue to feel up his twin lengths drew the dragon's lowered gaze back to the blacksmith. "Are you fully hard?"

Caristos gulped. "I am." A glance from the half-drake twisted the knot in his gut tighter, and made his drakehood and his pucker both twitch with need. "...Presenting myself to you has... made me completely erect."

Tristan laughed, quiet and sneering, and gave the dragon an indulgent pat on the flank; his fingers brushed just short of the dragon's hot rim, and Caristos' couldn't help fantasizing about those nimble digits--that broad hand and long, thick, muscular forearm--sinking into him. "Good boy. I see Caltoras has you trained up already." Another hum. "Pretty damn small for a full-blooded drake. Hell, I'm pretty sure my dick's bigger than yours."

Caristos blinked. He looked to the half-drake. The air grew thick and cloying around the two.

"...You want to see?"

For a long moment, Caristos stood still. Frozen. The same sensations--hot, nauseous shame slamming into his stomach and pushing up into his throat, and perverse pleasure at degrading himself for another male so thoroughly--that had fogged his mind with lust under his brother's hard stare and body now washed through him once more. He nodded.

"Not trained well enough to answer a damn question, huh?" Another rough squeeze around his drakehood made the trembling dragon's breath hitch in his throat. "You want to see how much smaller your pathetic little dicks are compared to a half-blood's cock?"

"Yes!" The word was drawn out of the dragon--dragged from deep within him--by the insistent throbbing of his erection in the blacksmith's grip.

"Good boy." Tristan nodded, patting Caristos' flank again; this time, a single fingertip brushed the stinging, itching ring of the dragon's pucker, and Caristos sighed with bliss at the touch. The half-drake's other hand, slick and soaked with the full-blood's ample precum, dropped between his legs to grasp at his sheath. He pumped the tube of scaly flesh around his emerging shaft, and a low groan escaped the males own jaws as he pleasured himself. And Caristos watched, attentive, as more and more of the blacksmith's cock pulsed and throbbed and rose from between his thighs. Long. Longer. Longer still. Fat and virile and adorned at the base with an already-forming knot that popped in and out of the taut opening of his sheath; Caristos had heard that some lesser beings--those with canine forms--had manhoods shaped like that, and wondered for a moment if the half-drake had inherited it from such an ancestor.

Finally, the blacksmith's cock stood at full erection. "Get a good look at it, bitch. See? It's at least half again as big as yours." Caristos was getting a good look, alright. He was staring, open and lustful, at Tristan's shaft. Watching it pulse and dribble thick streams of the half-drake's own precum as the blacksmith leaned in close to his crotch--taking more measurements or getting another lungful of the dragon's musk; perhaps both?--and lined the measuring rod up with Caristos' drakehood. Seeing every throb of the girthy, virile flesh. Watching the length bob and Tristan's full ballsack bounce against his firm thighs with every movement.

The drake's cheek ground against the stone floor as he shifted. Arched his neck. Moved his snout closer to that smut-coated, pungent, twitching erection.

"Mm. Alright, and done." Caristos blinked, coming back to himself as the blacksmith pulled away from his crotch. Tristan stood, stretching and bouncing on his calves--and sending a splatter of precum across his thighs and stomach--before quickly moving back to the workbench. "The mechanisms aren't really all that intricate, and the size isn't really all that substantial,"--a barely-suppressed snicker--"and so it shouldn't take all that much time. Now, about payment for all this..."

"Payment?" The dragon's reeling mind tried to follow the turn of events. He lifted his head and upper body off the floor--and quickly lowered his rump, hind leg, and tail--to settle back on his haunches.

"Yes, payment." Tristan's voice gained that sharp tinge of sarcasm once more as he looked to Caristos. "I know you dragons are used to taking things as you please, but here in civilization we offer compensation for services rendered. All told, it'll probably come to..." The half-drake's eyes flicked up to the ceiling for a moment as he considered. "...twenty-five gold sovereigns. Some of the material will be difficult to come by, especially for these enchanted gem locks. Though Caltoras usually pays for the toys I make for him with trinkets from his horde, so..." The blacksmith trailed off while raising an expectant brow.

Caristos almost let out a derisive snort. Such a price was a pittance compared to the horde that he'd left behind in Hennae. Of course, that was the problem; his horde was back in Hennae, left in the claws of the thrice-damned blue who'd stolen his territory and his dignity. And Caristos may have been desperate, but he wasn't so pathetic as to return to his brother--empty-pawed and without having followed the older drake's direction--to beg for some 'trinket' with which to pay this lesser. The dragon let out his own low, rumbling hum of consideration, trying to think of some compromise; if only his mind and eyes would stop turning to the erection still rising like a pillar of flesh from the half-drake's sheath.

Tristan really was big; it only took a brief glance between his own hinds to confirm how much thicker, and longer, and harder the half-blood's cock was compared to his drakehood. The rich aroma of it--thick musk tinged with the acrid, faintly-fishy odor of stale piss and cum and smegma--has already filled the air to overpower the iron-and-fire smell of the forge, and as Caristos breathed in the other male's scent he found his tail wanting to hike up once more. For one breathless moment, he almost offered to present himself and let the half-drake rut him; to lower his hips to the level of Tristan's own, push his rump back against the half-blood's crotch, and let the blacksmith take his virgin hole as 'compensation for services rendered'.

"Your cock." The words were out from between Caristos' jaws before he could swallow them, and yet another twist of the knot in his gut lowered his gaze to the smithy floor.

Tristan's other brow shot up to join its fellow. "What about my cock?" From the upward tick of his lips, and the way the lesser reached down to grasp said cock--pump and squeeze and point the pre-and-smut-smeared shaft towards Caristos; offering it to the dragon--the half-drake already had an inkling of the thoughts swirling through Caristos' mind. But the flash of his eyes and the set of his jaw made it clear that he wanted the full-blood to say the words himself; to beg for it like the eager, slutty cumdump he was.

But no. He was a cumdump, true, but he was his brother's cumdump. Caltoras' bitch and broodmare. It was only right and proper that his elder brother should be the first to rut his virginal flesh; to give his passage--his womb--its first taste of virile drake seed. However, his mouth still watered at the sight of that thick erection; and once more, Caristos spoke without allowing time for his thoughts to linger. "I can... pleasure it. With my tongue."

"You want to suck my cock."

Caristos' tail lashed as he shifted on his haunches--as his drakehood pulsed and dribbled a slowly-growing puddle between his hinds--and nodded. "Yes. I..." The other male would wait for him to say the words himself. "I want to suck your cock."

The blacksmith smiled--a faint, one-sided, tight-lipped thing--and leaned back against the workbench. His stance shifted and widened, legs spreading and hips pushing forward to let his package bob and swing and hang freely before him. His hand continued to pump the shaft, and Caristos could see the half-drake's nimble fingers occasionally play over the spaded tip crowning the length. That knot at its base had only inflated further, pushing the filth-crusted opening of the male's sheath down behind it. "Been a long, long while since I've had anything but my own hand on it, so excuse me if I get a bit... enthusiastic."

"Please, be enthusiastic as you want." Caristos crawled forward, his chest brushing the stone floor. He kept his head low, below the other male's waistline, and gazed up at the lesser in submission as his snout pushed between Tristan's thighs. The dragon sniffed. Brushed his nose and lips over the half-drake's ballsack and sheath. Both smelled and tasted the briny sweat soaking Tristan's crotch and the unwashed grime gathered in acrid, off-white flecks at the base of the blacksmith's shaft; the stench of old piss and smegma curled into his nose and tingled on his lolling tongue.

Was that a flash of embarrassment in Tristan's eyes as they met Caristos' own? "Haven't bathed today either. I hope you don't mind."

A snort of humid breath puffed out of Caristos' nostrils. "I've tasted worse while bathing myself, I can assure you." He gulped. He took another lungful of the half-drake's scent. He flicked his tongue out over the soft scaled flesh. Again. And again. And again. "I'm... happy to taste your manhood. Even fouled as it is."

Another short bark of a laugh. Tristan's hands moved to grip the backswept horns crowning the dragon's head; Caristos jerked at the contact, unable to keep a snarl off his lips as the lesser held his snout down at crotch-level. It was degrading for a dragon--a crimson dragon at that--to be put into such a position. Humiliating. Debilitatingly arousing. The drake's hinds pushed upward once more even as he began to lap over the half-drake's balls, caressing the sweaty sack with his moist, working, hungry tongue. "You are, are you? Good boy." A smirk. "Good bitch. I've half a mind to see if Caltoras won't let me keep you. I could use a good cumdump to clean my body and drain my balls after a day in the forge."

Caristos groaned and sighed and hiked his tail up at the thought. If his brother--his master--wasn't waiting for his return, he may have accepted. Caltoras' earlier words rang through his mind as his maw opened to accept the musky length of the half-drake's cock; he was a pathetic, weak little bitch of a dragon who'd lift his tail for any drake. Any male, even a lesser. The throbbing of his own shafts between his hinds as he felt that thick cock grinding on his tongue--long enough to reach the opening of his throat and make him gag--was proof enough of that; proof that, even with the knot of shame twisting within him, he was proud and eager to show off. As his jaws closed around the erection in his maw, he turned his body to lift a hind leg and show the lesser how aroused he was.

"Mm... that's right. Sucking cock gets you hard, doesn't it bitch?" With a wide, toothy grin--a grin that looked all too much like Caltoras'--Tristan began to thrust into the humid pit of Caristos' mouth. Again, and again, and again. Slamming his pubic scales into the dragon's nose and filling it with the rich male scent of his crotch. His heavy ballsack swung and slapped against Caristos' chin, adding to the humiliating reality of the dragon's submission. The drake worked his tongue over the shaft--stroking, caressing, tasting its virility--with inexperienced frenzy. And as the pace grew quicker, drool began to dribble from Caristos' jaws while he tried--failed--to keep up with the half-drake's thrusting and pumping and rutting.

That thick cocktip, spaded and tapered, popped in and out of the entrance to his throat, adding a sharp jab of pain to every forward thrust from the blacksmith. And that knot at the base of the half-drake's length only grew larger as Tristan threw his head back to snarl in pleasure. Larger. Larger. Filling his maw and straining his jaws. Caristos tried to pull back; tried to open his mouth and let Tristan's cock bounce free. But the other male's grip on his horns only tightened, and Tristan hunched forward to push his knees up against the dragon's lower jaw; he kept Caristos in place as he went faster and faster, breeding the drake's throat like it was a dragoness' heat-damp cunt.

His heat-damp cunt; flexing and clenching and eager for a load of thick, potent cum--from his brother, from Tristan, from any male that could push him down for a good, hard rutting--within it.

As Tristan roared out his orgasm--as his knot caught in Caristos' maw, keeping the half-drake's manhood locked in place, and his cocktip pushed into the clenching opening of the dragon's throat to drain his balls directly down the drake's gullet--Caristos' mind swam. His thoughts scattered, slipping from his grasp like grains of sand through his claws. The world around him faded, narrowing down to the throbbing, pulsing, musk-stinking expanse of Tristan's crotch, and then winked out.

---

Caristos groaned as he slowly came back to himself. The stone floor was cold and hard against his chest and under his chin. His limbs trembled and shook with fatigue. He choked as the dull ache in his throat sharpened into a stab of pain when he tried to swallow down the bitter, briny taste of seed in his mouth. Something soft-scaled and supple--pawpads?--pressed to his snout and pushed, rousing the dragon and making his eyes flicker and blink open. "Wake up, bitch. I've finally got everything done."

The dragon looked up to meet Tristan's flashing, impatient gaze while keeping his head lowered under the half-drake's foot. A pulse through his crotch--a throb in the still-twitching drakehood pressed between his thighs--as he realized the position he was in sent a low groan rumbling in his sore throat. "How... how long was I out?"

"Long enough for me to get your bindings made." With a derisive snort, Tristan ground the pawpads of his foot against the dragon's nose and then stepped off to make his way to the workbench nearby. "Thought for sure the shaping would wake you up, but I guess bitches like you need their rest after taking a load of cum."

The words--the teasing tone, and the smirking glance over Tristan's shoulder while the half-drake gathered up a tangle of thick belts and coiled chains and folded leather--sent a fresh surge of heat through the scales of Caristos' cheeks, and another clench through his guts--between his hinds and under his tail--as the dragon pushed himself up onto his haunches. "I trust the payment was... satisfactory?"

"Oh yes. Best load I've blown in ages." Tristan gathered the materials for the wing bindings under one arm while his free hand moved to scratch at his balls and sheath shamelessly. "Tell Caltoras that he can start paying for his toys with your mouth from now on, would you?" A--flirtatious?--wink as one nimble digit traced the opening of the half-drake's sheath, and then Tristan reached to gather up a pair of long rods and rings. "Now, which do you want bound first: your drakehood or your wings?"

The dragon's wings flexed, stretched, and then pulled against his sides. He hesitated, and then finally spoke. "D-drakehood. If you please." He stood up onto all fours, lifted his hind leg--and his hips and tail--and presented himself the blacksmith once more.

"Suit yourself. And, just a word of warning..." Once more, the half-drake moved in close to the dragon's bared, vulnerable crotch. Once more, Caristos both heard and felt the deep breaths the lesser was taking of his musk; the air brushing over the twitching flesh as Tristan sniffed at it slowly and deeply and breathed out a humid puff over it. Once more, the half-drake's hands closed around the drake's dribbling shafts. "...this is going to sting."

And it did. Caristos whined and whimpered and jerked as he tried to keep himself still while the half-drake pierced his members; a long, thick needle was first heated to a molten glow in the forge, and then slowly pushed into and through the flesh just under the head of each length. Then tears pricked the dragon's eyes, and his jaw clenched with a suppressed hiss while a pair of long, thick--thankfully blunted this time--rods were slowly fed into each piss slit. Deep. Deeper. Deeper still. Stretching the lips of his urethras as the cold metal pushed into his drakehood to the base of each shaft. His cocks tried to soften and retreat into their hiding place from the pain, but Tristan's fingers--his tongue stroking and lapping around and into the lips of Caristos' slit--kept him erect and aroused through it all. "I thought-" The dragon winced as his tender flesh throbbed around the stiff metal. "I thought the point of the bindings was to... keep it tucked away."

"Oh, they will." Another hiss escaped Caristos' jaws as the rings were threaded through the still-stinging holes pierced into his flesh, arced out to push through the hole at the tip of each rod, and secured with a gem-headed spacer that was screwed into place. "Once the enchantment's placed on these gems, they'll keep your cocks tucked away nice and tight. Now." The half-drake crawled out from under Caristos, reached for the wing-binding materials, and paused. "...You sure about this? It's going to hurt, and once this thing's on it's not ever coming back off. Not without a lot of damage."

"It's what Caltoras has ordered." The dragon kept his gaze firmly on the space between his forepaws. Once more, he tried very hard not to let the other male see the nervous flicking of his tail, or the trembling of his limbs, or the way his wings pressed tight against his sides.

"Really, are sure that you want your wings to be-?"

"Just do it, damn your eyes!" A growl. A snarl. A snap of his jaws, and a sullen glare in the lesser's direction.

"Alright, alright." Tristan sighed. "Get yourself ready for it, then."

Over the next few minutes, the two stayed in a deep, uncomfortable silence while the blacksmith worked. Again, Caltoras winced as his sensitive flesh--the thin membrane between each wing-digit--was pierced with a hot, sharp needle; it hurt so much, and every time the burning metal passed through the flesh he tried--failed--to gulp down his whimpering and whining. He flinched and pulled away from the sensation every time, and eventually Caristos had to ask that his wings be secured so that he could stay still. His gut twisted with shame at showing weakness to the lesser, but Tristan merely nodded. The half-drake tied ropes around the talons at the tip of the farthest digit on each wing, pulling and stretching the limbs tight and fully extended, then knotted the temporary bondage around hooks set into the smithy walls. Caristos was left completely trapped and defenseless, and Tristan could finally complete his work no matter how the dragon squirmed and jerked.

Then the limbs were untied, and twin broad leather belts--one near each wing-knuckle, and then one near the tips of the digits--were wrapped around the dragon's bent wings and fastened tight; bending and flexing and stretching for the final time, never again to brush the sky. The belts were further supported by chains that were fastened just as firmly, and then the entire setup was covered with a leather sheath specifically fitted to the size of each wing.

The blacksmith's silence was finally broken as he looked to the dragon. A gulp. A slow intake of breath. A grunt. "...Are you sure?"

His wings. The sky. The frigid embrace of the winds upon his body. He'd be giving all of it up; and gaining the scent, the taste, the embrace--hard and domineering, perhaps, but no less desirable--of his brother. His master. Not his mate, but close enough. Caristos, shuddering and shaking and racked with arousal, nodded. "A... a dragon's always sure." His tear-pricked gaze dropped from the blacksmith's eyes to the other male's hands. To the holes marring--torn through--the wing membrane; how much more would the sensitive flesh tear--how thoroughly would the limbs be destroyed--if he ever tried to remove the infernal device? "...Do it." He watched the rivets be fed through each piercing, holding his wing-bindings in place. He watched as, one by one, they were pounded into shape to lock him into his bondage. He watched as his wings were taken from him, replaced with the symbol of his complete and utter submission under Caltoras.

Tight. Unmoving. Permanent.

When all was said and done, Tristan moved away to let Caristos stand. The dragon pushed himself to all fours, feeling his bound, aching wings strain against the contraptions trapping them against his sides; no matter how he flexed the limbs, or pushed against the firm bands and fitted leather, they remained locked in place. He turned his focus away from the now-useless weight of them, and to the bouncing and bobbing of his drakehood as his lengths were kept stiff and exposed by the shafts buried in each one; it hurt, yes, but both the dull throbbing and the way they forced to stay erect felt faintly, shamefully pleasant. Caristos turned to the half-drake. He gulped. He nodded. "Thank you, smith. Tristan. Your services are greatly appreciated."

"Yeah, yeah." The half-drake waved away the words of gratitude, and then offered the scrolls--the schematics for his bindings--back to Caristos. "You'll want to take these back to Caltoras. They've got the spell for that getup on your cocks, which I'm sure he'll need." The blacksmith's eyes continued raking over the dragon's form; examining his handiwork, or staring in appreciation at Caristos' bound, exposed body?

"Indeed." With another nod, Caristos accepted the parchments from the lesser. He turned and--lifting his tail to give Tristan one last good, long look at his rear--began to pad out into the cold outside the smithy. "Well... farewell."

Was that an aroused moan from behind? "Yeah, farewell... little bitch." A spark in the dragon's gut. A throb in his crotch and under his tail. A rumble in his own chest. Caristos took a moment to stretch--to hike his hips up, spread his hinds, and present himself like the eager, slutty cumdump he was to the other male--and then finally took his leave.

The fresh, clean, frigid winter air brushed over his scales; and the hot flesh between his thighs. He didn't think about the trek back up the mountain--climbing and struggling like a lesser up the sheer cliffs, instead of soaring through the sky as he was accustomed to--nor what awaited him in the depths of his brother's lair. Instead, Caristos focused on the sensations in his steaming drakehood; the sting of the piercings, the dull ache of the metal stretching his insides, and the throbbing in the tender, abused shafts. He glanced toward the village, and a fresh wave of nauseous humiliation--a fresh surge of heat to his groin--washed through him as he saw a few of the milling citizens looking his way.

What a sight the dragon must be: his wings bound in leather coverings that were riveted in place with shiny metal piercings, and his similarly-pierced shafts exposed and fully displayed; dribbling hot streams of precum that left a slick trail of puddles in his wake. He could see the sneers of disgust and derision on a few of their faces, the curious gazes a few others were giving him, and one large, burly bear--literally--of a man stare with open appreciation while cupping and rubbing the bulge in his trousers. What would it be like to submit to these lessers? To present himself for the men right there in the middle of the village? To have them push him to the snow-covered ground, pull their manhoods out, and pleasure themselves with his maw and slit and hole?

The thought was degrading. Humiliating. Debilitatingly arousing.

As Caristos--formerly of the Hennae Mountains, and now slave and bitch and broodmare to Caltoras of Speartip Peak--made his way back to his brother--his master--he thought that perhaps all this wouldn't be quite so bad.