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Twisting Timelines with Desires

Is Nozdormu’s Son ready to face Murozond?

There was a knot in the timeways. One of such things that couldn’t be undone by merely sending the whelps to handle it. It was a tangle, a fixation in time reaching for many points. Which meant only one thing: the Infinite Dragonflight.

The Bronze Dragon advanced through the Caverns of Time, watched over by his fellows, his form again reduced to a bipedal form more suited to exploration.

In a way, he was… A perfect copy of his Sire.

Bronze scales, lean body. Yet, he seemed more youthful with smaller bags under the eyes, with a goatee, whereas his Father wore a full beard. Even his nose horn was more different, more prominent. Yet, Anachronos looked exactly like his Father.

The same poise, the same slow motions, the same eerie calm he exuded as his steps kicked up more sand while his progress in the timeways was both physical and… Temporal.

His sight, accustomed to such exploration, noticed the trail of Bronze and Infinite magic stretching ahead, like silvery strands in the thin air. Through the epochs as he walked, not only backward but sometimes forward.

Whoever wove those changes and modifications hadn’t done so in a methodical manner, or perhaps they did so by following the trail of causality. Nevertheless, the more those strands united, the closer Anachronos was.

Those events were focused on… Kalimdor. No. Tanaris, the Desert. No… The Caverns of Time? All those changes in history, those little modifications through the timeline Anachronos watched over coalesced onto the Caverns.

It was not a loop or a trap, but as if a multitude of changes, of alterations over time, had always focused on one point inside, and then…

Anachronos stepped in.

The ground under his feet became more rigid as he arrived at his destination. The sand portal closed behind him while he dusted off his robes and observed what his home was. An immense network of grottos that had been intertwined with Time Magic to house representations of the timeline.

Yet, here, it was different. The caverns were less populated, and the immense sand clock in the middle had not been built yet. But more than that, as Anachronos stepped, guided by his senses, he entered a side tunnel, only to stop.

“Father?” he asked, his voice full of inquiries.

He looked, he glanced, he even squinted.

He faced the source of that knot, the tangle itself. All those changes he’d felt came from that one point, and as Anachronos saw the Dragon turn, he saw it. The faint blue glimmer in his eyes, the satisfied grin, the robes unraveling at the edge.

Father was the Timeless, so prompt to project an image of constancy, of cleanliness. But the broken teeth, the scars atop that body… It couldn’t be his, and yet… They vanished.

“Anachronos.”

The reply came with a smile as they faced one another. ‘Nozdormu’ and Anachronos. So very similar, so close in height, in body shape, even in scale coloration.

And… Anachronos recoiled.

He took one step back, his arm raised as if to defend himself. For a moment, ‘Nozdormu’ remained still with a thin smile. Smile that vanished as he joined his hands behind his back.

“So you saw me,” he said, his voice stiff while the tangle and knot seemed to vanish from Anachronos’ eyes. It was as if it had never existed. “I’ve been getting sloppy.”

“Murozond. What you are doing here will be undone as soon as I chase you,” said Anachronos.

Now he was ready.

Now he was prepared.

Now Anachronos bared his teeth while power gathered at his fingertips, powerful, electrifying, exhilarating. Sands swirled around his hands, twisted between his fingers as he was ready to battle the Bronze Dragons’ sworn enemy, the leader of the Infinites, the Tyrant-

“Nozdormu. Why did you have to fill our Son with such frivolities?”

‘Nozdormu’. No, Murozond. Murozond shook his head while the glamour vanished. The scars reappeared; so did the clearer hue of bronze scales. So did the fraying robes he wore as he remained still… Not defending himself at all.

Not even when the first salvo of magic flew onward, orbs composed of sand and temporal magic that would undo anything in their contact.

A salvo of a dozen orbs, all vanishing with a flick of a wrist. “Enough.”

Yet, Anachronos raised his arms, more orbs appearing following his movements before he joined his hands, clasped them, and another dozen darted onward, only to be stopped and erased by another flick of Murozond’s hands.

“This is pointless,” said Murozond, blocking another salvo.

“You are wasting your energy.”

“Will you talk to me?”

“You and I have much to discuss.”

Each time, the salvos were intercepted while Anachronos’ casting became more frantic. He didn’t expect such a fight. In fact, he had never faced an enemy that made him feel so powerless. One that overpowered him so easily, it felt like he was an insect being toyed with.

“Begone, Murozond!” roared Anachronos, spit flying as his hands raised again.

“I tire of this.”

The orbs vanished, the sand dropped. Anachronos looked at the hand holding his left wrist, then his right wrist. Murozond. More of him holding Anachronos. They were another… They were fragments of him, of the original currently facing Anachronos.

One who approached, his composure the same as Nozdormu. Yet, with a bored expression, Anachronos yanked at the hands holding him still.

“Why are you still acting like a whelp, Anachronos?” asked Murozond, his voice calm.

“A… A whelp? What is wrong? You are the enemy. You aim to undo the order of the timelines, to unleash the horrors onto Azeroth, to-“

“Shh.”

The index finger was pressed onto Anachronos’ mouth in a way that was familiar yet demeaning. More so as Murozond’s fingers then danced on Anachronos’ face… Only to end by stroking his cheek, the palm pressed against them.

A warm… Familiar… Soothing with the paws pressed against Anachronos’ scales. For a second, the younger Bronze Dragon felt inclined to lean against that hand.

“Anachronos. Why would I hurt my Heir? My blood. My most private confidante.”

The voice was suave, soft, tempting.

That mouth was moving closer, their muzzles in a trajectory where they would meet, and kiss, and meddle. Anachronos felt the temptation to give in before he shook his head and recoiled.

“What do you know? You are not my Father, Murozond. You are only a pale copy.”

“Are you sure?” asked Murozond, chuckling as he stepped back. “You are still wearing the cage, from what I gather.”

“The… Cage?” asked Anachronos, his jaw dropping.

As the word slipped through his lips. He felt it. The coldness under the robes, the slight pressure. He looked down and then felt the copies’ grips ease, allowing his hands to drop as his mind was captivated by that sensation.

What was inside his robes? What was pressing against his genitals? What was squeezing his jewels? He gulped as he dared… He dared to open his robe a little to peek inside.

Meanwhile, Murozond remained calm, his arms behind him, while his head tilted left.

He had been waiting for this. Waiting for the moment, Anachronos’ eyes widened when they met the stainless steel, with the flat surface crushing… Crushing his organ. And the ring around his taut, leathery testicles. He gasped.

“What… How could this happen? When-“

“You are almost as confused as the day you reached maturity, and I offered you your first cage,” said Murozond, taking one step and then passing a hand over the front of Anachronos’ groin. The claws were close, so close to touch and poke the steel.

But the moment they were to touch it, Anachronos recoiled, pounced back with his wings unfurling.

“No!” he roared, his throat crest inflating. “I- This was a trap. You made me wear it when I entered that epoch.”

Murozond? He retracted his hand, stroked his wrist, and then tilted his head forward.

“Are you certain? Remember your first day with a cage… Or our last night together.”

“This is absurd. I-… I… I…”

Anachronos froze.

His fingers twitched while his robes’ folds dropped, revealing his naked body. Revealing his genitals caged in steel. He remembered… The blue eyes of his Father, so devious and earnest, when he presented him that cage. A gift.

Then… Their night, the moment with Anachronos’ hand running against his Father’s scar-riddled chest while he could feel that Dragonhood throb inside his ass. For a moment. For an absurd moment, Anachronos’ eyelids twitched before he felt a hand grab his.

“What is this?”

“Can you even remember… How it looked without a cage?” asked Murozond.

Anachronos’ eyes met with Murozond. Saw the same gleam as on the first day wearing the cage. Saw the desire… Saw the lust. Then he looked down. His eyes drifted over Murozond, seeing that he’d stripped off his robes in that moment to reveal his genitals. To reveal that cock that was half-hard and throbbing with low-hanging genitals.

Then, he looked at his own cock… At his organ. At his Dragonhood, now that the two were so close yet so distinct. Murozond’s testicles were even bigger, and he wasn’t wearing a flat chastity cage at all. Underneath? It… It had to look like Murozond?

“I- I can’t.”

Much to his surprise, Anachronos couldn’t remember the time his cock was free. He remembered something else, then…

He remembered riding his Father’s cock day and night. He remembered the moment when those fingers would dig into his asshole and make him ‘squirt’ like a good concubine. Or the moment where he sat on his Father’s muzzle to get ‘eaten’… Even the exploration with other members of the Bronze Dragonflight.

But nothing else, as his chin was lifted and raised, so the two were meeting eye to eye.

“No. Because I have caged you the first day I came here,” said Murozond, his voice suave.

“But… You... Why?”

The question came. But it got an answer: a kiss. A long, luscious kiss, their muzzles meeting and their tongues intertwining. It was the same, the same as usual. The same kiss when Anachronos rested on his father’s body, his ass leaking on the sheets.

It was the same kiss when he discovered he preferred to keep his Dragonhood in a cage than to release it for breeding. It was the same kiss when he begged his Father to breed him.

It was a salve for his soul as he sucked on that tongue, swallowed that saliva.

He gulped it down while he sensed Murozond… His Father’s hand onto his genitals, felt them hefting his testicles before the fingers went under and then reached between his legs… Wiggled between them to force Anachronos to spread them… And to allow a clawed finger to stroke his taint.

A caress, a touch, a circle on the soft scales that elicited a warm feeling through Anachronos’ groin and a constant drip from his cage.

“It would take so long to explain, Son. But on the day I came here and met you, I knew your purpose was lost. That your Father, the one who sired you, wasted your talent.”

“My… Father? My purpose?”

“Your Father is fine and happy,” whispered Murozond, by Anachronos’s ear hole. “He has become one of my Concubines. But you? You were made to be bred.”

“To be… bred?” hiccupped Anachronos, feeling that sensation in his groin grow even more, encompassing his genitals, making them flare with heat. “But-“

“You are not a female?” asked Murozond, with a chuckle. “That could be true. But remember when I bred you and filled you with my semen. Remember when I used that spell while fingering you. Do you remember?”

Anachronos closed his eyes. He remembered. He remembered the warmth well. The burn. The itch. The ache. And he felt it, sensed it as his asshole clenched. Again… Burning. Aching. Craving. Why he couldn’t have found any pleasure unless it was from riding that enormous cock.

His mind was slipping further and further while he let himself breathe in his Father’s scent, to feel that throbbing length pressed against his groin, to feel the blood rushing in while… While his own erection was crushed, hidden away for what could have been… Millenia?

He gasped.

“I remember,” whispered Anachronos, his voice breaking.

Breaking as that finger pushed against his back entrance, forced against his sphincter, explored the rim that was… Clean. And sleek. And lubricated. And yet, so earnest to take him. So easily.

No trouble, no resistance, no fight. Anachronos gasped, the finger going inside and then pumping in while the friction was right enough to make him shudder and claw the ground.

“I remember… How… What,” he mumbled, unable to find his words.

He was grasping at the wind, grasping at the nothingness of fleeting memories.

Females he’d shared his nest with? Partners he’d tangled with through time again and again?

He had the inkling he should have something similar. Instead, his mind was solely dedicated to Murozond. To the embraces in secret while they explored and regulated the timeways.

The moments spent, like eternities, with their bodies and tails tangling together, whether in their bipedal or quadrupedal shapes.

So many memories made Anachronos gasp and moan as they flashed before his eyes.

Then… They stopped.

He stopped thinking about the moment spent wearing a toy during a conclave with the other Dragonflight, just to please his Father.

He stopped reminiscing about the hours spent getting bred until his belly was bloated with semen and his asshole dripping for days.

He stopped dreaming about the nights spent in the dark, bound and waiting to be a good ‘Son’ for Murozond.

He stopped as his eyes went on Murozond, on those blue eyes, glimmering with lust.

Then he leaned forward. A kiss. A mere simple kiss. One with their lips meeting, their beards joined… And their tongues coiling while Anachronos moved his hips, impaling himself on that finger. Then on the second, then on the third.

“You remember all we shared. Our moments,” said Murozond, his voice suave.

“Is it all true? My memories? You wouldn’t-“

“Have changed them? Not for anything,” whispered Murozond, having a suave chuckle as he grabbed Anachronos by the hips and made him turn, twirl, and then land on the floor, on the sandy floor.

No bed. No bedroom. No careful environment.

Only pleasure as Murozond leaned and kissed Anachronos while passing a hand between Anachronos’ legs, forcing them to open and spread.

“All those events have and will happen because it was my desire, Son,” said Murozond, his hand going to stroke Anachronos’ cheek, then pressing one thumb against those lips.

The musky scent was obvious, as was the flavor on his lips. The flavor of the lubricant, slightly fruity. Something Night Elves prepared for their first nights.

“Moonberry lube. You know it’s my favorite,” said Murozond, letting Anachronos suck on that finger, then the other. Despite the smell of ass, he wouldn’t have done otherwise.

“It is mine, too.”

“This is why,” replied Murozond as he straightened his back, knelt between Anachronos’ legs, and then grabbed his own cock. His shaft, now hard and throbbing, was waved before the length smacked against Anachronos’ scaly and squeezed testicles. He smacked them, hit them. But it wasn’t as violent as it ought to be.

No, it was almost sensual as Anachronos felt his groin electrify from the constant hits and his testicles being pulled closer from the flashes of pain.

“But even if you are prepared for me… There’s something to address.”

“To… Address?”

Anachronos tilted his head while Murozond smacked those testicles again, delivering a slew of small hits that left the younger Dragon gasping and moaning… And certainly dripping. His cage was tight, tighter than usual somehow. If there was any ‘usual’ in that situation.

But the tightness made Anachronos aware of his own excitement while his hands were on his chest, the thumbs brushing his nipples.

“Even if you were misguided… You attempted to attack me.”

“I did it because-“ mumbled Anachronos. But the ‘why’ eluded him.

It eluded him when Murozond’s breath was on his muzzle, their faces almost touching while fingers danced on the inside of Anachronos’ thighs.

“Because?”

“I… Don’t know,” mumbled Anachronos, his head low. He was ashamed. And more than that, excited. Needy. By the mere presence of his Father’s Dragonhood, his asshole. No, his ‘cunt’ ached and winked. It clenched, desperate to get what his Father could have given him.

A breeding, a brood, eggs. Anything that might have eased Anachronos’ mind and body, appeased the fertility enchantment he’d been given so long ago.

“So, you had a tantrum because I didn’t breed you, yet?”

Anachronos gasped, fumbled, and had his mouth open and close in consternation. But in the end, one word came out: “Yes.”

“I understand,” chuckled Murozond, giving Anachronos’ posterior a firm spank, enough to make the Dragon gasp, inhale sharply, and have his asshole clenching tightly.

Murozond’s laugh continued as he delivered a second smack and then sighed, stopped, and yet bore that smile.

“You are such a slut, you’d rather fight me than wait to get fucked… Like a proper broodwhore.”

“I… Wouldn’t want you to forget me since you have your Concubine Sor-…”

“Who?”

“Nothing,” said Anachronos, shaking his head. “I was thinking of someone else. But I wouldn’t want you to forget me with your hunt for Neltharion and your… Breeding with Nozdormu.”

“How could I?”

Murozond leaned forward, his presence heavier, much heavier.

In the corner of Anachronos’ mind, he could feel that presence in the tangles joining Murozond. Everything and nothing were joined to the Infinite Dragon. To the one whose scales shimmered with all the possibilities as he united Malygos and his former self, Nozdormu, to become his concubines.

Who punished Deathwing for his crimes and would continue to do so.

For a moment, Anachronos gasped as he caught sight of something. Something impossible, somewhere, some timeline where Murozond wasn’t and was reaching for.

But that… That sight vanished, and so did Anachronos’ worries as he smiled and then felt his Father’s cock press against his asshole.

“How could I forget my favorite who decided he’d give his body to me? To his Flight?”

“C-come on,” mumbled Anachronos as he gasped, felt the tapered end press against his entrance. Felt the ridge brushing his rim… Felt the pinkish length sliding inside him. Nothing but one inch, but far enough to make Anachronos crane his neck, throw it back… To have his horns press against the sands while Murozond’s breath and teeth grazed his skin.

“It is true. You forfeited your Dragonhood. Told me it was worthless, too small compared to me. Do you remember when I offered to take the cage off? Instead, you told me to have it be smaller.”

Anachronos’ eyes closed.

He drifted, he drifted on the moment, then returned to Murozond when he felt another inch slip inside. Another inch that made his asshole warm up. That made his body tremble. Dragonkins were around, watching, observing the coupling of the two Dragons… At the center of the Caverns.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. You can say it,” purred Murozond, his voice suave.

“Say… What?”

“That you are my… Broodwhore. My… Tiny endowed Son.”

The way Murozond spoke, there was a tremor in his voice, the purr of a predator about to bite and take his weight in flesh.

But the teeth wouldn’t sink into Anachronos’ throat. The tongue danced on it, coating the scales with saliva while another inch slipped inside… The tip nudged Anachronos’ prostate.

It poked at the glans, at the organ that had been trained to release its due dose in pleasure. And the reward was intense, brutal, magnificent. Anachronos’ groin burned brighter than usual.

That fire wouldn’t vanish on its own either.

It could only grow, fed by the sensation of Murozond’s hips pushing that length deeper until their tails intertwined and their bodies were at unrest.

Even now, Murozond’s breathing was fast as he leaned forward, as he had his teeth gently poking at the scales without digging inside. Not a mating bite, not yet.

“Say it.”

“I am… Your broodwhore,” mouthed Anachronos between his gasps, unable to resist as his big toes twitched and raised, while his tail-tip smacked the sandy floor.

“Louder,” purred Murozond, his hips pushing and more than half of that length going inside.

“I… Please. Not in front of them.”

“But they know.”

A glance around, and Anachronos noticed it indeed.

All eyes were on him, all the Bronze Dragonflight currently present. But they were not surprised or outraged. Rather, they watched with intent curiosity. An anticipation much like Soridor… Much like on the day Malygos was brought to the caverns to find solace.

Solace and a family, one Anachronos could see in the bronze and blue scales, in the familiar faces. The familiar names.

Then he looked at Murozond. Not his Father, someone else. Another Father. Someone who’d raised him as such, while Nozdormu became one of his consorts, a concubine.

A partner, but whose duty and role was subservient to their true Lord.

He gasped, feeling he was slipping further. Feeling the weight of Murozond’s tangles, of his own tangle in the situation.

He was surrounded by all the events that had brought him to this moment. From the cage to the enchantment, to the nights together, to their frolicking needs.

Then his mouth opened.

“I… I am Murozond’s Broodwhore!”

“Louder!”

“I am his concubine! I- I need his eggs!” roared Anachronos, before hiding his mouth.

“Good. My dear Concubine,” said Murozond, licking Anachronos’ neck before blowing into his ear hole. And then grunting inside it when that cock went fully inside. When their hips met, when Murozond’s testicles smacked against Anachronos’.

For a second, Anachronos gasped and blanked. But then, he smiled. He groaned. He gasped. He kissed, the tongues intertwining while Murozond fucked him.

Bred him, pummeled his prostate while his groin was lit afire, nothing more but a barrel of powder near a fire.

And it felt perfect.

It felt divine. It felt adequate. It felt like everything the younger Dragon desired as his fingers twitched before they were brought, guided to embrace Murozond. To hold on to the older Dragon as the hips pumped, as their thighs clapped, as Anachronos’ back rubbed against the sandy ground, with moans and groans following the thrusts.

That cock, that organ, felt so good… So wondrous and from Murozond’s grunts… His Father, his Leader, his Husband, was close to cumming.

“Your… Your eggs,” moaned Anachronos as he felt that apex coming near.

“I will give you a brood like no other,” whispered Murozond.

He whispered, chuckled… Then grunted.

His eyes closed, his arms and legs twitched. And with a final growl, the larger Dragon's hips gave one fateful thrust. One intense, one with a purposeful movement that struck Anachronos’ prostate. Left him with wide-open eyes as the interior of his cage was wet.

As his orifice was suddenly swarmed, filled, flooded with Dragon cum. By Murozond’s cum, by his Father’s cum.

Perhaps it was the enchantment. Perhaps it was the expectation.

But the feeling of fullness, of fulfillment. Of completion was something that left Anachronos blissful. Yet, able to roar. To cry, to shout.

Not coherent words, but one primal cry any other Dragonkin could understand.

“I am Murozond’s Broodwhore. And he claimed my eggs!”

-

Their mouths tied again, though it wasn’t only their mouths and tongues.

Their tails, too, were intertwined, though it wasn’t stopping there. Not as Murozond’s hands dug into his ass, dug so much it squeezed the muscles and scales.

The moans continued, the groans were exchanged… Even another mouth met with Anachronos’ neck, inciting him to turn ahead and to face that blue muzzle, to feel the lips pressing against his in another type of kiss. Softer, gentler… But as intense as the young Dragon was forced to bounce on the lap, he was guided while feeling that cock rummage his guts and lovingly nudge his prostate.

Was it?

Was it his third orgasm? Anachronos couldn’t tell; he could only feel the wetness from his cage as his lips were finally let go, and he smiled.

So smiled Malygos as the hands went on Anachronos’ belly, stroking the distended skin, the scales stretched thin.

“Already the first brood for our Broodwhore,” said Malygos, his left brow bouncing.

“Come… Come on. It’s not a real title,” mumbled Anachronos, ashamed while he gave half an ear to the grunts from Murozond… The voice was deeper, and soon, after a few gasps, so came the shot.

So came the intense flood that filled his guts, pushed against his eggs, pushed against the numerous oblong shapes hitting one another inside his round belly. Right under Malygos’ palm. Malygos, who stroked it, joined by Anachronos. By Murozond.

“Maybe it should be,” commented Murozond with a joyful smile as his tongue flicked and collected Anachronos’ chin. “You’d wear it well. Ready?”

“No. We have to finish this conversation, and… HRMPH!”

The emptiness was raw. So was the pain from his asshole clenching and trying to close up, to have that nice donuthole attempting to fight the pressure inside. A losing battle, but one that went over perhaps… A minute?

It felt as such for the grunting, huffing, and snarling young Bronze Dragon before his sphincter gave up, and so came the flood with a loud spurt.

Then, as the spurt lessened, something else appeared. Much like a plug, the first bronze egg had crowned. The soft spikes on it were rubbing and slightly hooking on Anachronos’s asshole. Yet, as much as his sphincter winked and his inner walls pushed, the egg remained still.

“Ah… The first egg. I remember how difficult it was,” purred Malygos.

Then, despite Anachronos’ wishes to lay his first egg alone… Malygos’ hand was on his rim, nudging, pulling, yanking ever so slightly on the hole until the sphincter opened up enough for the first egg to slip, to land, and roll in the sand.

Followed then a cheer, a roar, not only from Murozond or Malygos, but from the attendants there, from those who wanted to see the ‘crowning’ of the first Broodwhore for the Flight.

Anachronos?

He would have cheered, too.

Yet, his face was covered in sweat as he felt another egg slip and stop the spurting cum… Stopping and plugging the flood until Anachronos’ asshole widened enough for… The egg to pass. And so was the third, the fourth. All under the cheers of the crowd who watched the new Heir… Pushing what would be the next Generation for Murozond’s flight.

“No. We definitely need to make it official, Son,” said Murozond, poking at Anachronos’ squirt dripping from the cage, all smiles. All lust. All perversions for his Son.

Soon enough, Anachronos would bear another brood. And another. A Broodwhore’s work never ends.