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Alchemical Shortages by Gwydion78

To His Illustrious Majesty:

Re: Alchemical Shortages

My liege,

Though I am afraid this season's production will be far below targeted amounts, I am pleased to inform you that the Summer's bounty will easily exceed even the Spring Harvest of three decades ago, thanks to my own intrepid planning and quick thinking. As you are well aware, our glorious kingdom's trade relies heavily on the trafficking of alchemical ingredients, though our most profitable is derived from emerald dragons, nearly all of which have been raised at our alchemical facilities since hatching.

While the shed scales and clipped claws and chipped teeth have proven useful to our armorers and weaponsmiths, dragon's blood has always been a primary ingredient in the most potent of Elven elixirs, though in recent years our livestock's population has plummeted, largely due to overharvesting to meet quotas (which I am fully aware is my own issue to address, Your Majesty, and not of your concern), as well as those which escape captivity.

This is why, in my previous letters, it was with great pride that I informed you of the alternative, as through the dedicated research of the finest Elven alchemical minds, we were able to determine that the blood of dragons is more a carrier of the vital substance for our workings, an *essence* of emerald dragon, which thanks to our diligent trials and experiments, we have determined can be harvested from dragons without the need for blood-drawing, and instead distilled from draconic semen.

Though we were all shocked at first, the sheer potency of the essence, particularly derived that source, increased the strength of our potions tenfold, and, according to our testers, vastly improved the taste. The side-effects have been negligible, and even preferable to some of the attendants, as essence harvested from draconic testes can produce a positive effect on the libido. As requested, Your Majesty, four quarts of distilled essence will be sent along with this communiqué for whatever uses you see fit.

Our source, a mature emerald drake, has been wonderfully cooperative since we've altered the harvesting regimen, allowing himself to be collected thrice per day as opposed to the now less efficient daily blood drawings that produced a lower yield of essence. Our attendants have been working diligently on producing more sophisticated techniques, and I'm sure you'll take no small amount of pride in learning that the most effective method was devised by your nephew, Zarinol, who devised a mechanical means of stimulating the source by repurposing a smaller battering ram, wrapping it in supple leather, and using a steam-powered engine, a design he claims he learned from gnomish engineers, to provide the source with constant stimulation in its anal vent. While the source was difficult to restrain at first, once the device was aligned properly the beast became quite feisty if any attendant attempted to turn the machine off.

My apologies, Your Majesty, as I was forced to delay the writing of this missive, as since we've altered the harvesting regimen the libidos of the staff, including my own, have increased three to fourfold. If you'll forgive my slipping into a baser dialect, I'd be happy to continue, though the remainder of my letter will be written one-handed, as I find myself unwilling to remove my hand from my phallus, stroking it smooth and easy, imagining your regal cock painting my face with your noble bounty to show your approval of the work I am honored to do for our kingdom.

Your nephew, a fine young elf with a simply magnificent staff between his supple legs, has shown particular interest in the source, often giving it manual stimulation to aid in the milking of that massive dragonmeat, sometimes slathering his sweaty, naked body against the veiny tower, rutting his elfpole against the dragon's ebon cockskin. The dragon allows this attention, as it intensifies his lab-shaking orgasms and increases his yield of gooey drakespunk, essence we've since had to resort to using a vat to store as opposed to the casks that had been adequate until recently. The staff here only laments that the dragon is all that can hold your nephew's attention, as the sight of him arching his back in climax and adding his own seed to the ocean of semen he brought the drake to produce...

I apologize for the stain on the parchment, Your Majesty, but my own climaxes have attained much greater force since we started experimenting with the essence. I cum like a pent-up satyr at the thought of your nephew, and of Your Majesty, please take the splotched stain of my semen as the highest compliment of your arousing capacities. Should you ever wish to experiment with a male, I would humbly offer my ass to be claimed by you, as if your nephew can inspire such maddening lust in a scholar like myself, I can only imagine what Your Majesty will do to me.

However, there is something I must inform you of, while my mind is still clear enough to articulate it before the thought of your phallic spear impaling me countless times clouds it once again. I have both a setback and a wondrous triumph to announce to you. As you are aware, the Elves of Dawnwood, the Eastern Kingdom, have long regarded both our nation and our alchemical work as "revolting", "a perversion of nature and the soul", and let us not forget "a kingdom of rump-diddlers and..." I won't use the rather derogatory term, Your Majesty, as I would never refer to you in that fashion. Our rival, King Faranel, sent his son, Prince Avantial, to "cleanse us of our corruption", his words, as he shouted them when he galloped into our laboratory in gleaming armor and a shining sword and proceeded to destroy several barrels of essence, all of which could be replaced, but at the sight of the dragon, who was oblivious to the happenings as he was too addled from anal stimulation, he saw his purpose. I am afraid to say that the source is no longer, Your Majesty, though the fair Prince did slip in the slipped raw essence and knock himself unconscious while attempting to flee.

Your nephew was heartbroken upon learning the fate of the source, and demanded, using your authority, I might add, that the Prince be executed immediately, but thankfully cooler heads prevailed, as at the time I possessed an inkling of an idea of how we might replace the source while allowing your nephew some measure of justice. As I've reported in previous missives, our laboratory has made excellent progress in the field of transformative elixirs, and from our starting point of augmenting our warriors with literal catlike reflexes and the strength of bulls, we have finally crossed the species barrier. We've neglected from trials testing anything greater than the traditional rats and vermin, as transformation has resulted in greatly diminished intelligence, but in the case of the captive Prince, with your assumed leave, we decided to move into full Elven trials.

Prince Avantial has prided himself on his purity of virtue, likely instilled in him by the paladins of the Northern Kingdom, as humans particularly seem to cherish self-repression and denial. As a result, his body is relatively toned and lacking any of the traditional branchwork designs the Eastern Kingdom tattoos onto their nobles, and while His Highness spat in my face, I was able to confirm that while his phallus is a pitiable in size, adequate stimulation, in this case a gentle tickling of his testes, will bring him to erection. I took care not to bring him to climax, as he vehemently assured us all he'd never submit to such perversion, and I must admit I'm curious about the alchemical properties of virginal semen. As enjoyable as it was to watch him squirm in his restraints whilst I tongued his nipples and thrust my phallus between his delectable thighs, as well as the look of sheer disgust on his face when both I and your nephew gave his torso a good soaking with our cum. (Forgive me, Your Majesty, but your nephew and I were caught up in the moment when we kissed during it, I would never presume a place in his heart or his harem, or yours for that matter.) Once finished, we marked his blank canvas of skin with the proper glyphs, the ink rich in essence, and began the work.

Thankfully the vat of dragon seed was not damaged by the Prince's previously murderous tantrum, as we purchased it from the Dwarves, the vat originally intended for brewing instead of simple storage and distillation. After adding the primary transformative agents to the vat, we drained the vat just enough to prevent escape, and pitched His Highness into the vat. The sight of him thrashing and splashing in that beautifully etched mithril cistern, his nude body writhing in the sea of semen, his perfectly white-blond locks matted to his face and skin by his victim's last ejaculation, forgive me, Your Majesty, but your nephew could not help but bend me over the railing of the cistern and have his way with me. His cock speared me again and again, spreading me wide as a searing heat flooded my body and I heard him grunt at my tightness, though I knew he would've preferred more. When he finished inside me, gifting me with his bounty of elfspunk, his fat barrels of malewine slapping against my willing ass, he moaned the name he'd given the source, but I took no insult, as I was in no position to complain about my place or standing.

In the meantime, His Highness the Prince was still struggling, but unfortunately the intended effects of him being unceremoniously kicked into a vat of dragoncum had yet to manifest. Luckily, the cistern walls were too slickened by the semen for him to find any purchase, and all of his thrashing had only served to stir and mix the fluid into greater viscosity, preventing any heroic leaps to the lip of the vat, though we planned to post guards to disallow any attempt regardless.

I have faith that our experiment will bear fruit, though, and production will return to and exceed its previous level within the next season. As always, Your Majesty, I will keep you apprised of any progress.

Your Servant, Grand Alchemist Garathel *signature blurred by semen*

To His Most Illustrious Majesty Re: Alchemical Progress

My Liege,

I am deeply appreciative of your faith in me, and your appreciation of my admiration of you and your elegantly magnanimous phallus. I am deeply honored that you saw sit to milk your mighty testes upon receiving my previous letter, and, as per your request, I will endeavor to be more descriptive regarding His Highness's progress into our new source, as well as your nephew's insatiable lust. To be perfectly honest, I am currently dictating this letter to my assistant, as at the moment my cock is buried deep in the most wonderful Dwarven rump, his ass hairy enough to itch my thighs, and he begs me to hammer his anvil until his smelter is ready to pour.

Your nephew has taken it upon himself to guard the cistern, adding his own dollop to the mix whenever he sees fit, and he's remarked his accuracy has improved, as he can hit His Highness's face at will with his cum. It was during one of his sessions of "target practice" that... Squeeze my cock you drunken mineslut, if you want to spill that seed on my rug you had damned well better earn it Damn it, Boromel you're not supposed to write THAT down!

Forgive the interruption, Boromel will be disciplined for that slip, and not in a way he'll enjoy. As I was relating to you, your nephew noticed during one of his sessions that progress is finally being made. Our virginal Prince was rather unprincely when he made a rather vulgar hand gesture with a definite derogatory meaning at your nephew, but it was that reveal of his hand that showed, much to his horror, that his delicate and beautifully creamy Elven skin had dried to the point of cracking. Into scales.

Yes, His Highness's arm is thickening both in skin and muscle as it converts into a proper draconic foreleg, the hue of it already leaning toward a rich verdant green, his manicured fingernails split open as claws are growing out. I will admit that it is comical to see, as so far only his arm has submitted to the change, though we're yet to see his lower body, and doing do would require removing him from the vat. Your nephew remarked that since we've merely tossed bread into the vat for him to eat, he's taken semen soaked loaves into his system, which may be catalyzing the effect. Boromel will include a sketch of His Highness's progress that I will detail once I've adequately filled my Dwarven guest.

I have advised your nephew to begin feeding His Highness more semen-infused food to see if any additional progress is made. As always I will keep you apprised of any developments.

Your Servant, Grand Alch

Your Majesty I must continue this letter, pardon the interruption, but already there has been progress. Out of simple curiosity, I offered the Prince a moment's respite from his prison by way of securing him in a harness and hoisting him out, a deed that, much to our delight, required the efforts of nine attendants and an elaborate pulley system to reveal that much had been occurring beneath the surface of the pool of dragoncum. Prince Avantial is only recognizable as Elven now if only beheld by his face, as his stature has increased from six feet in height to fifteen feet in length, which likely accounted for his foul mood as the cistern was likely quite uncomfortable. His legs, or shall we say hind legs, have only expanded since we've removed him from the vat, swollen with muscle and carrying a thick coat of verdant scales, his middle expanding as I write even now, his bones cracking and shifting loudly enough that were I not beholding his transformation, I would believe someone was tearing apart a tree.

"What have you done to me?" has been the most repeated sentence from him, though speech is quickly leaving him as his face stretches, his neck elongating and rendering his vocal chords useless. His ears have receded into his head, though a magnificent argent crest has grown to replace his previously luxuriant mane of hair. As with all emerald dragons, ridges are sprouting forth from his back, the sensations appearing to confuse His Highness, as his day long bath in the vat has likely dulled any sense of pain. The bewilderment is most present in his eyes, which have shifted to golden yellow, slitting the pupils, a gaze that implies a need for something he can't quite explain. His forelegs have fully grown in, his great rump twitching and quaking as a hump above his smoothly scaled anal vent is growing outward, blessing him with a tail that will rank his length with that of a young adult drake, one on the cusp of sexual maturity, and thankfully without his poisonous breath.

But his phallus, Your Majesty, you'll find most impressive. Dragons often keep their cocks inside their bodies, but as the fair Prince was not born a dragon, and transformative methods are yet to be perfected, his penis still resides on the outside of his body, his foreskin converted to a scabbard of ivory scales, his testes grandly expanded and sagging in their leathery sack. His length is several feet, not as large as the previous source, but its constant exposure will certainly aid the harvesting process. A deep red, it juts at least seven feet from the opening, already pulsing out a steady stream of arousal.

Your nephew has taken it on himself to stimulate the Prince, who jerked away and growled at his proximity, but once your nephew's skilled hands were upon the newly-changed dragon's shaft, he calmed quickly, his middle panting, the Prince making almost comically confused noises, given that this is likely the first time his phallus has ever been touched in such a way. As the dragon is distracted, the machine is being wheeled over and aligned at that virginal vent.

It's going in, Your Majesty, by the gods, that tightly sealed haughty Eastern ass is taking that leather-wrapped battering ram for every inch, Avantial roaring as he's filled for the first time, but your nephew has already stripped his body, lathered himself with essence, and has climbed onto the Prince's massive cock, rubbing his entire body against it, the dragon crooning as lust overtakes him, just as we start the machine's ramming. We know that our aim was true, as he's trying to vocalize the feeling of his secret place being bludgeoned by the ram again and again while a nubile Elven noble tongues the slit of his cock.

Thankfully, harvesters are ready to slip the catcher over his cockhead just before he starts thrashing in bliss, his mind likely overwhelmed by the onslaught of pleasure and bliss of being fucked and stroked, his Elven brain forced to process the sexual ecstasy of a dragon, which will likely wipe away any resistance in the future.

P.S. I'm pleased to inform you that eight barrels were filled before His Highness passed out, one of which we'll be sending to the palace for your personal approval. Your nephew will also be sending a request to be converted into a potential source as well. As for me, my liege, I'm afraid that the next time you visit for an inspection, I'll be in the paddock as opposed to my office, as my transformation has already begun in earnest. Know that every barrel I fill will be in your honor, and that even in my lust-addled draconic state, I will forever remain

Your Servant, Grand Alchemist Garathel