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The Fall of Fratley

for Justacritic

by Draconicon

Sir Fratley Irontail woke to the sight of stone walls, rough and cracked and strewn with flaws. His back ached, one particular jutting piece of stone grinding into the base of his spine over his tail, and his fur was matted flat to his skin. The smell of sweat burned in his nose, and he gritted his teeth against the rank odors that every breath told him came from him rather than his environment.

It was certainly a state that ill-befitted a dragon knight such as himself. The Burmecian gritted his teeth as he reached out, huffing at the soreness that ran through his limbs as he dragged himself to his feet. His legs shook, his thighs and calves burning as if they'd been working for days, weeks, pushing him on a charge that had been unending, yet...

Yet he couldn't remember where he was, or how he had gotten there. The stone walls were rough, natural, like those of a cavern, but there was only one way in or out, a tunnel that seemed almost unnaturally smooth. It ran off into darkness, and from it came a different scent. A far, far more powerful scent than his own.

He realized that he was panting, and he forced himself to stop. He held his breath, counted to five, then slowly let it out. As it slowed, so did the budding panic trying to climb out through his chest.

This was no different to any other mission that he had carried out. He was a heroic knight of the Burmecian people, and in a cavern like this, the only thing that he need fear was fear itself. He may not have his weapon - he could not feel its weight and there was no sign of the great spear in the cavern with him - but he had his wits and he had his strength. That would be sufficient until he could arm himself. No foe could stop the brave Sir Fratley from freeing himself.

Even if -

He took a step, and found himself...restrained. Not by chains, but by something else. As the chill in the air wound through his fur, he felt its cold caress further down, and his eyes widened. No, no, that would be far past the point of dignity. But...but was it...

Fratley looked down, and his already wide eyes widened further. Not only had he been completely stripped, but his shaft, his Burmecian pride, had been caged within a metal tube. The tube itself was pressed down against another metal ring that encased his cock and balls from behind, pushing the latter forward and keeping the former more than adequately restrained. His mouth fell open at the sight, and no sooner had he laid eyes on it than he felt his shaft trying to twitch upwards, fighting futilely against the cage.

"Nnngh!"

The rodent slumped forward, sweat-soaked white fur falling down his body, blonde hair over his face. He hissed through clenched teeth at the pain and discomfort and...

And strange pleasure that came with the feeling of his shaft being trapped like that. He didn't understand, didn't want to understand how this could feel good, but on some level, somewhere deep down inside, there was a part of him that took pleasure from this. His muscles tensed, his eyes closed tight as he tried to put it out of his mind, but already he could feel his shaft throbbing harder, almost as if the steel bindings made it want to be hard, as if the frustration and the humiliation of being caged so in his sleep made him want to feel it that much more.

"Nnnngh...mmmph...mmmmph..."

Fratley kept forcing himself to take deep breaths, hoping that the reek of his own sweat, of his own slovenliness, would take away the pleasure. Slowly, it did, and he managed to stand normally again. As he took control of his own body, he swore an oath.

Someone would pay for this degradation, this...humiliation.

The Burmecian took one step, then another. To walk with his pride trapped between his legs like this meant learning a different cadence to his steps, a different way of moving. His legs had to slide out and around his sac when he moved like this, and it made his hips sway more, his rump swinging back and forth like some maiden from his homeland that was trying to attract a mate. The thought burned in his mind, and he growled in his throat.

As he followed the smoothed corridor from his cavern chamber, though, a different scent caught his nose. Not the musk of a sweaty rat, such as he had become, but something heavier, something thicker and warmer. Something...something that stirred a worrying thought in the back of his mind.

Dragon...

It was almost like the scent of the great feral beasts that he had hunted across the world during his mapmaking quests, but there was something different about this one, something almost...heavier, stronger, more...male, rather than bestial. He didn't understand it, but if there was a dragon here, that meant that it would have his spear. When he found his spear, he would find his freedom.

Thus decided, he walked with greater purpose...and greater sway, much to his embarrassment. Every time that he tried to walk normally, his thighs pinched his sac, and he was ever more aware of the way that the cage squeezed around his shaft. Any slight tension down there reminded him of how his cock was forced downward, forced against his sac so that it could only grow to the slightest of extents, filling the cage and curving down rather than rising up as it had been conditioned to do over the course of his life.

Just keep walking, he told himself. Keep walking, and he would eventually find where he needed to be.

Sure enough, he did. The tunnel took him to a greater cavern, one that opened up and expanded through a greater internal space. It was more suitable for habitation than his own cavern, though the smell was certainly stronger. The odor seemed to permeate the very stones around him, soaking through them and saturating the earth itself. He grimaced, even as he felt something twitching inside him, his shaft trying to strain against the cage.

Surely...surely he couldn't be aroused by the scent of the very beast that he had been tasked to destroy? No, no, that was foolish. That was impossible, surely.

He stepped inside, moving cautiously. A bed lay against the wall near the tunnel exit, and past that, four distinct bookshelves, each one glowing with the power of magic and arcana. He dared not move near them without knowing what the different runes meant, lest they blast him away, but he marked them nonetheless.

As he moved past them, Fratley stepped around a circle of magic carved into the floor. It looked almost like some sort of summoning sign, something meant to call out to the ether and pull in some creature of the dead or the demonic sort. He shook his head, skirting the edge of it and barely keeping his toes from touching it.

A hoard of treasure awaited him past that, gleaming with coins and gems, but he knew better than to touch it. Such a trap would call the dragon immediately, and then -

Fratley froze. Not at the exit, which lay just past the hoard, but at the thing that had been placed beside it. His spear, his great spear, had been plunged into the stone floor, the earth pulled against the blade and sealing it into place. From the wooden shaft hung a dancer's garb, clear and transparent, blue and purple cloth that was linked together with gold strands and filigree.

Some girl had been captured by the dragon and forced to dance for him, Fratley realized. There was someone else in the tunnels that was awaiting rescue.

He rushed for the spear -

"Now, what do you think you are doing with that, 'Lady' Fratley?"

The Burmecian froze, his hand an inch from his spear as he heard that deep, gravelly voice. His eyes went wide as he realized that his body was refusing to move, no longer straining for the spear, but rather frozen that inch away. He could not pull back, he could not push forward. He could not even turn to face the speaker.

"I suppose it's not surprising that you woke before-time. The commands clearly haven't settled in fully...but partially, at least. Otherwise, we wouldn't still be talking."

Fratley hissed, something under his tail already warming up, already heating and clenching from the voice alone. He had never, ever felt like this before, as if...as if he was experiencing the heat of a female.

Click, click, click. The soft clicking sound of claws on stone got louder as the voice came from somewhere closer, the speaker approaching him from behind.

"Heh...the 'great' Fratley, once come to kill me, and now, nothing more than a naked rodent wandering my caves."

"..."

"Can you not speak? Of course not. The 'Lady' Fratley has been bound to speak nothing but praise for her master."

"..."

"You are trying to insult me, question me...but you can't say it, can you?"

He could not. And it terrified him. His mouth worked, yes, and he could feel that it wanted to move, but something seized hold of his throat every time that something that was not abject devotion tried to escape. He pressed forward, trying to break the magical barrier that had hold of him, but he could not. No matter how hard he strained, he could do nothing...nothing but blush and shiver as his shaft strained against steel and the unwanted heat grew beneath his tail.

As he strained helplessly, he realized the clicking had stopped. Whatever was approaching him was no longer moving. Which meant that either it had gone away, or -

"Ah!"

Fratley's eyes went wide as he felt a scaly hand on his ass. Bigger, thicker than anyone else that he had ever had the experience of traveling with, that hand rubbed along one cheek. He wanted to turn, wanted to strike, but something held him pinned where he stood. He couldn't move. No matter how he tried, no matter how he strained, his body refused to obey. He might as well have been paralyzed by some poison.

Perhaps he was. He had no idea what had happened to him since he had been unconscious. Maybe he had been drugged, or -

"Lady Fratley. What are you doing out of your clothes?"

"...My...clothes?"

The words came slowly, but they came. At least they came, though they were pitched higher. He gritted his teeth and tried to pull his voice down, but even as the new words left, they were soft, high...almost lady-like.

"Nnngh...what...what is wrong...with me?"

"Nothing that I did not make that way, little rodent."

"Nnngh...let me...go...fight me...fairly..."

"Mmmm, it seems that the commands are slipping without - ah. There's the problem."

The scaly hand pulled away, and he groaned as he felt the support leave him. The clicking resumed, the stranger moving out of his sight. Fratley glared at his spear, wanting nothing more than to lay hands on his weapon. Even naked, he was sure that he could win whatever fight lay before him if he could just arm himself, but the fact that it was somehow repulsing him meant that something far worse had happened. He didn't know what, didn't know how, but it had.

What...what is...

"There it is. I knew I should have left it in you overnight."

Left...what...in him?

Fratley still could not move, his body frozen in place, one foot on the ground, the other stretched behind him in mid-step, his arm outstretched, his tail pulled -

His tail pulled high, as a matter of fact, as the stranger returned and yanked it upward. The Burmecian couldn't gasp, couldn't groan, couldn't even complain about the treatment as it was handed down to him; all he could do was suffer it, gritting his teeth and glaring forward. Something cool pressed against his cheeks, then between them -

"Just a moment, Lady Fratley...and then you will remember..."

The pressure of something cold slid between his cheeks, pressing against his hole. Just the feeling of that chill smoothness sparked a memory. A hazy thing, something of him pinned on his stomach and his rump in the air. He screamed in the memory, his mind burning, his body on fire, and the chill plug was the only thing that could put it out. He remembered, remembered fighting against it, lashing out, putting every bit of his strength against the beast that had pinned him to the ground. His cock had throbbed at the time, spitting pre-cum across the floor, his body as sensitive as any beast in rut, but there was no way that he would allow -

His mouth hung open as he felt the plug pushing in, taking the stretch as his hole opened, strained against the thick, heavy piece of metal as it slowly worked its way inside of him. The stranger pushed, pulled, pushed again, the smooth metal forcing the Burmecian's hole to strain and stretch, to widen to the point of near-pain from just how large it was. He would have screamed, but as it slid inside, his voice failed him, reduced to nothing more than gasps and soft whimpers.

The stranger chuckled, turning, twisting the cool metal, and the torment dragged his hole side to side, twisting it, drilling it around. He gasped, he whimpered, and...

And some part of him...

Some part of him wanted to moan.

Fratley could feel his shaft rising, only to be pushed down. No different to his spear, his shaft was made to submit, to lean away, to be useless to him. He was allowed to feel it in the same way that he was allowed to see his weapon: as something that he had once owned, but was no longer allowed to touch or use.

In, in, in went that cool metal, slowly grinding past his rim, then pushing it to a point of expansion that almost made him scream. His mouth hung open, his hole feeling as if it was on the verge of ripping, and then, finally, the little thing popped in.

He gasped as it went inside, his mouth hanging open, his breath coming in short, quick pants. His eyes rolled back in their sockets as he felt the weight of the metal plug against that little nub inside, the way that it ground down on him...

And then the magic struck him.

Fratley moaned, arching his back as he fell to all fours, no longer able to hold himself up. The magic crackled through him, a lightning storm of sensation. His eyes rolled back as he remembered.

Caught in a storm, he had come to the cave.

Coming to the cave, he'd found a robed figure.

The figure called his name, and cast a spell.

They fought.

He lost.

The figure, a dragon, though one that walked on two legs, had caught him, bound him, caged him, and plugged him. The plug, the source of many magics, had conditioned him. The clothes on the spear were not from some dancing girl.

They belonged to him...

To 'Lady' Fratley...

"Nnnnnnnnnngh..."

A long, low moan escaped him as his mind went warm, fuzzy, the pressure of the plug inside encouraging that slow fall. His steel cage filled with pre-cum, oozing through a hole in the tip. He moaned, whimpering, his eyes closing tightly as the little elements of Sir Fratley warred ineffectually with the spell that had been restored. There was no fighting back against that, particularly as the dragon pressed down on him from behind, one great sole pressing against the back of his head. He was driven to the ground, his mouth hanging open as he moaned again and again.

The spell alone brought him to the point of near-orgasm, his hole tingling, his tail twitching, his mouth hanging open. The feeling of...of being brought low...of being caged...

A knight is not a knight without a weapon...and your spear is gone...

His spear was gone. His spear was bent down, useless between his legs. His other spear was embedded, nothing.

"Who are you, little rat?" the dragon whispered.

"Lady Fratley," the Burmecian answered with a dull haze over his mind.

"What are you?"

"A Burmecian slut."

"Who do you belong to?"

"The great dragons..."

"And who owns you?"

"You do, master."

"You remember where you belong...your spear is broken..."

He gasped, his throbbing shaft trembling as some of the great, throbbing need went out of it. No, not the need, for that never diminished, but rather the hardness that had filled it to the brim. The humiliation and hunger that it had to be hard went away as he was told it was broken. His cock, his 'spear', had been shattered.

"You will be remade...again."

"Yes...master..."

Some deep part of him fought against that humiliation, against the requirement to be broken, but the plug and its weight on him, and the spell that it carried, kept that part quiet. The plug, the plug pulled at him, dragging at his hole. It was so heavy, made of pure metal, pure steel, and it carried the magics of his master, keeping him from pulling away or wanting to fight back.

This was the fate of Lady Fratley.

"Stand."

The dragon's command was as good as a thought of his own, and the rodent got to his feet. He panted as he felt the weight of the plug shift, rubbing against that happy spot inside of him, and then dangling against his hole. Fratley squeezed down hard on it, unable to help himself, and the squeezing only made him all the more aware of the plug's weight, of the way that it pulled on his hole, of how it could make him feel so good if he just kept it in. There would be no need to take it out as long as he was being a good girl, a good lady.

"Turn."

He did, finally getting the chance to see his master, his owner once more. The dragon loomed over him by a head and shoulders, at least, and perhaps more if the dragon were to stand up at full height. Dark scales, perhaps a true black, adorned the great and powerful being along his arms and legs, and everywhere but his underbelly and parts of his face, where a fiery red took its place. Two horns came from the side of the creature's face, swinging down and forward along the sides of his jaw like unconnected fins.

And the dragon's eyes gazed at him like burning fires, infernos that would consume him if they had half a chance to do it.

"Heh...much better, 'Lady' Fratley."

He shivered, humiliation and pleasure warring in time with one another, with the latter being the stronger and the former being a disconcerting little noise in the back of his head. The Burmecian bowed, unable to stop himself.

"Thank you, Master."

"Go to the pole, dress yourself."

"Yes, Master."

As he turned, his world became a sense of pleasure and little else. Not only the plug, but the tight caress of the cage around his shaft became a reward in and of itself, giving him what he wanted, what he needed, and he moaned more as he swayed his hips. What had been a humiliation, a punishment, a great horror, had become a pleasure to enjoy and indulge himself in. And the fact that he was obeying was its own sort of thing, its own bliss that rewarded him with a tingle that ran from head to toe.

So it was that he approached the pole - not a spear, now, but a pole, broken as surely as his shaft had been - with a smile on his face and a throb between his legs. He took the clothes from it, and then slowly began the process of adorning himself with them.

A transparent pair of leggings, long and sheer, which ran from his waist down to his ankles. He could feel the way that they restricted his movements, pulling on his legs, ensuring that he could not fight, but he could show off. His sac hung into the pouch at the front, as on display as it had been when he was fully naked, but subtly teased by the transparent silks. Anklets of gold helped secure them at the base, keeping them from rising and sliding too much, or bunching into places that might have made his body less exposed.

Another wrap, one that went around his chest, implying things that he didn't have. He leaned forward, wrapping it tighter and tighter, and he shivered as he felt a strange sense of pleasure from being made to display himself like a female rather than a proud male. It sent a tingle to his cock, but not tightness, not hardness.

Not yet.

A veil followed, one that hung from the edge of his muzzle, one that enhanced the illusion of a 'lady' Fratley rather than a 'sir'. He could feel himself becoming more and more a dancer, more and more a piece of entertainment, and the depths of his mind rebelled.

He paused, one hand over his shoulder, touching the spear. It reminded him of what he had been, called to mind his leaps of prowess, his battlefield might. The Burmecian turned -

Only to find himself snared by the beautiful eyes of the dragon. No longer mere fire, they glowed purple with his might and magic. The bursts of purple light held him, leaving him staring straight ahead. The edges of his vision took on the same hue, as did the rocks around him, the bookshelf, the dragon's scales...everything turning a hint of purple, stained with the bright, magical light.

"You are a caged toy," the dragon said, and it was nothing more and nothing less than the truth.

"I am...a caged toy," Fratley said.

"And you will remember that."

"I will remember that."

"You are caged...but I can make this worse. So much worse. And you don't want to be put back in that place, do you, Lady Fratley?"

That place.

That place.

That place.

There was an echo of something, a moment of utter humiliation, a place of utter degradation. He remembered in a flash, a second of insight, a brief moment of clarity -

On his back, screaming, two cocks in his ass, one down his throat, a fourth pressed against his side, two more staining his feet. He screamed as they carved their magic across his flesh, turning him, warping him, threatening to turn him into a true female, to rip his mind out like a toy. He was trash, he was rat, he was nothing before them, nothing but flesh that their magic could change and alter to suit them and them alone -

The moment passed, and while the memory faded, the fear did not. Lady Fratley stood tall, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open.

"I don't want that...I don't want that..."

"Then do as you are told."

"Yes, master."

"Enjoy yourself."

"Yes...Master..."

Lady Fratley smiled, a sense of pleasure coming over her. There was a different feeling, a warm, hazy, floating thing, the purple light in her eyes dragging her back to the place where she belonged. The fearful, screaming, whimpering part of her that had been fighting against the light faded against the back of her mind, disappearing into the depths where it belonged. There was no place for it here, not in this happy place of servitude.

"You are happy."

"I am...happy."

"You enjoy your place."

"I enjoy my place."

"Heh...and where is your place, rodent?"

"Wherever you choose to put me, Master. I am nothing. I am the dirt beneath your feet. I am where you want me to be, and nowhere else."

"That's right. Nothing but a piece of my collection. Nothing but a tiny toy that has caught my eye...Fratley. Dance."

There was no need to command her to do that, but she was pleased to be given the order, regardless. She reached both hands up and behind her, grasping hold of the pole. She remembered that it had been something else, once, but that was far in the past. Once, once, once. It didn't matter what things had once been, she decided, but only what they were now. It was a pole now, as she was a dancer, now. She would dance, and she would show off.

She lifted herself up, swinging herself to hang upside-down with her ass showing towards the dragon. Her arms clenched tight, every muscle in her body put to work to show off. She pressed herself flush to the pole before her, sighing in pleasure as it slid between her legs, pressing against the cage.

A caged toy.

Just like her.

The softness faded, replaced with heat and warmth. She was caged down there, the pressure of the cage on her shaft dragging her further down rather than lifting her up and out of that state of mind. A caged toy was not harmed. A caged toy was kept safe. She was good. That was good. As long as it was caged, she was good.

She wrapped her legs around the pole, the flexing making her ass jump, her ass pop. She moaned as she swayed and teased herself against the pole, not quite grinding on it, but grinding away from it.

Sliding down, she caught herself, turned, spun. She landed on her feet, squatting on the balls of her feet as she arched her back. Breasts that were not there but were implied to be thrust forward, her hips pushing back, then forward. The rise, the fall of the cage between her legs came with a slow stroke of her silk clothes against her sac, a reminder of what she had, a reminder of what she was showing off and enjoying ever so much.

The more that she danced, the more aroused she became, her mind filling with a great heat. She rolled her hips, feeling the plug shifting as much as she felt the cage sliding back and forth along her shaft. Her head rolled back, her hair rolling along the back of her head.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

This was where she belonged. This was why she had been so sweaty when she'd woken up. She had been dancing for hours, working up a sweat for her master. There was something else that had happened, something that would probably happen again as she saw the master's shaft rising beneath his loincloth. It was getting larger, thicker, more insistent, and as large and heavy as the plug was inside of her, she knew that the master's shaft was larger still, meant to break her, shatter her, shove her down where she belonged.

The purple light in her eyes kept her dancing, moving despite the soreness returning to her limbs. That didn't matter. She didn't matter.

Nothing mattered save for the dragon's pleasure.

"Fratley, would you bow before me and lick my feet?" the dragon asked.

"Yes, master. Anything for you."

"Would you say that you are nothing but dust beneath me?"

"Nothing but that, master. Less than that. I am nothing before you."

"A weak little rat."

"Nothing but the weakest of rats," Lady Fratley agreed.

To admit such things troubled the lady not a bit, but there was something inside her that made a great complaint against it. Yet, that thing was so far away, and as long as the purple light glowed, as long as the plug remained inside her, that thing was too quiet to listen to. It was something that need not ever return. She could enjoy herself far more with it being quiet, with it being a useless, lost thing.

She swung her hips down and up, down and up, turning around so that she could raise and lower her ass for her master. She could feel his eyes on her, could feel the plug shifting with each rise and fall. There were times when it almost felt like it was about to fall right out of her ass, when it felt like it might hit the floor if she didn't clench down harder and harder still to keep it where it belonged. She barely managed it, so far, but she didn't know how much longer it would go for.

Even as she clenched, she could feel the master's stare all along her body. Her ass, her barely-hidden balls, her feet. He stared at her feet, even, his eyes running along her soles. Dirty, just like the rest of her. He savored her body, savored her like some cheap jewel that had his attention.

And in that moment, Lady Fratley knew that she would do anything to keep that attention, and would commit any humiliating act that he desired so that she could keep feeling like this.

Her ass-bouncing took on a sway, wriggling up, almost like a serpent rising from the earth as she swayed for him. Up, down, up, down, each time showing off that little bit more, each time giving him the offer of her body in a slightly different way. She wanted him, needed him, and every time that she shifted her weight, that plug reminded her of the way that he could fuck her. Of how it felt to be filled.

She needed it again.

Not just wanted.

Needed.

She moaned as she dropped to all fours, wrapping her tail around the pole to lift herself again. She was halfway up when the dragon snapped his fingers.

"Come."

Lady Fratley did as she was told, releasing the pole and crawling to her master. He sat on a chair that had not been there mere moments before, and he smiled down at her. His loincloth was gone, his adornments many. She had not seen the various amulets and rings and more that lay across his body in lieu of clothes, but they were secondary, barely noticed in contrast to his other gift.

His cock jutted forward, a massive spire of flesh that consumed her attention, drawing her eyes to it and refusing to let her go. It almost seemed to glow at the tip, as if his magic flowed even from it, calling to her, demanding her obeisance and submission.

"What do you wish, master?" she asked, unable to think of anything else.

"You."

"You have me."

"I own you."

"You own me," she repeated, panting softly, her hips still twitching in forgotten urges, in needy wants.

"You are mine...no longer a dragon knight...just a dragon rider..."

"Dragon...rider..."

"And you will earn every ride."

Her master extended one leg, pressing his sole against her face. She knew what he wanted, knew what he desired. Memories came to her again. Memories of being underfoot, memories of being pinned to the ground beneath this very sole until her head spun and her mind bled out her ears, lost to his scent and power.

How many times had she come out of this? How many times had she fallen again? How many more times would she go through it before she could no longer rise again?

The questions meant nothing before the expected service. Fratley, no longer even 'Lady', but merely property, extended her tongue and began the long, slow task of licking the dragon's sole. It would take a long time to reach the heights to properly ride a dragon again...

The End

Summary: Sir Fratley Irontail finds himself in a rather difficult situation that he can only half-remember.

Tags: M/M, Crossdressing, Mind Control, Foot Fetish, Stripping, Pole Dancing, Demasculinization, Humiliation, Corruption, Butt Plug, Nudity, Burmecian, Sir Fratley, Rat, Dragon, Rule 34, Final Fantasy, Chastity Cage, Chastity, Body Control, Sweat,