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Forward note: Hey there, and welcome to the second installment of this rather antique story. It had too much of an interesting premise to leave it hanging, and even though the original commissioner vanished from sight, I decided to pick it up and continue it for the foreseeable future. I am not exactly sure how far it'll get, and if I will even finish it. This depends on the reception it gets from you, the readers, as I rarely continue commissioned stories. This one, in particular, is very different from the stuff I normally write, which is what makes it so attractive for me.

***Chapter 1 < Current chapter: Worthy Mate > chapter 3: The promise***

"You're getting better at this," Sarathra crooned, licking along Surodar's jawline.

"At caressing you?" The golden drake lifted his left hind paw off her vent, his nostrils flaring from the strong scent of their combined fluids. They coated his paw pads as well, still warm, a perfect lubricant. To show his beloved mate that she had it right, that he had indeed learned something during these five days, Surodar placed his hind paw at the beginning of her vent, sliding his smooth, meaty pads along her puffed up entrance, his toes encasing her lips between them, applying soft pressure to them.

Sarathra released a shuddering growl, her own toes clenching from that randy massage along her most sensitive area. "At everything, Surodar," she said, stroking his neck with a forepaw while her tongue bathed his snout with slow, loving licks.

"It will take you longer to become a better hunter, but no dragon ever touched me down there with his hind paws the way you do. No dragon released his seed inside me as fast as you did your first time, and since that moment, you've changed from a timid whelp into a worthy mate."

Surodar chose to remain silent, running his pads up and down along her seed drenched pussy, stoking the shudders wracking her frame, keeping his mate trapped in a state of constant euphoria.

Worthy mate...he was anything but that. Sarathra hunted for him. Sarathra showed him around. Sarathra bathed him, kept him warm during the colder nights, and protected him from a pack of direwolves that had managed to catch Surodar unawares. Without Sarathra, he was just a bumbling whelp, good for nothing.

It perplexed Surodar, how a strong, capable female like her latched onto a weakling like him. He first came to her to talk her into leaving her territory, and, being Sarathra, she chose to take his seed instead of listening to more of his words. He wasn't even Surodar back then.

He used to be...

Surodar tensed up, his mate's silken tongue too much for him to bear. He felt awfully self-conscious about his situation, that of a female human called Naya, who had transformed into a male dragon. She named herself Surodar to keep the lie going, and it worked well for the most part.

Until he mated the very being Naya had been sent to negotiate with.

It didn't stop at that. Sarathra, ever the resourceful dragoness, coerced Surodar into lingering around for a while, fully aware that her scent, the sight of her sex, and the promise of mating would be too great a temptation for an inexperienced male. And so, Surodar had mated with Sarathra more than a dozen times, enough to impregnate the lonely dragoness without the shadow of a doubt.

An ominous shiver slithered through Surodar. He whimpered softly, a cry for help, hoping that his mate would ask the proper questions.

Sarathra didn't pick his cue, so she continued to groom him, purring her delight at the way his padded toes fondled her nethers. One glance into her amethyst eyes made Surodar's scales tingle and his stomach to churn with a thousand emotions. The warmth of her wing, draped over his smaller form, warmed him better than any blanket ever did, and her licks! Those soft, wet touches had him rumble his love for her with various flowing tunes, his snout always seeking hers to bump against in loving gestures.

Surodar the dragon was madly in love with Sarathra, which troubled Naya the human a great deal. After five days spent in this form, Surodar had learned when to push Naya into a corner of his mind, and when to allow her more space, lest he lost his identity, his very soul.

This was one such moment, and it made Surodar regret every moment of it. How could he enjoy his mate's embrace, when a swarm of thoughts kept his mind off it?

"I should hunt something for you," he said in an attempt to get some time to himself and clear his head in the process.

"You're a terrible hunter. I'm not going to allow that," Sarathra grumbled, trudging closer to him.

They both laid on their side, so that Surodar could play with Sarathra's vent. Her wriggling form forced his paw off her sex, her belly connecting with his, gray scales kissing his sunlit ones. He wanted to say more, but her tongue blocked his snout, assaulting his nostrils with a series of fast, excited licks.

"Does it hurt your pride, Surodar? For a female to provide for a male?"

"You called me your mate a day ago. That should make us equal," he pointed out, even though his heart clenched at the sound of that word. Mate. A title that made Surodar want nothing more than to shrink to the size of a flea and fly away as far as he could.

But he couldn't. He had a responsibility to the mother of his hatchlings, and somehow, he had to manage.

"Didn't expect you to be so astute after emptying your essence inside me." To balm his ego, she rubbed her frilled cheek against his, emitting soft, pleasant sounds.

She had it right. If the implications behind that word didn't strike Surodar like a lightning bolt, he would have fallen asleep, lodged inside Sarathra, their physical bond mirroring the feelings they shared.

"And you expect me to just breed and sleep?"

"Would you? Nothing's more adorable in the world than a fatigued male."

"What about one who smears the product of our mating all over your folds?" Surodar asked, feeling his slit heating at the lewd thought.

"That is plain erotic, not adorable. Have you done that with all the females you mated with?"

This question. Again! Although Sarathra knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that Surodar lost his virginity to her, she kept begging for reassurance, the only chink in the armor of this great and lovely being.

"You are my first, Sarathra," Surodar said, placing his forepaws on the sides of her snout and basking her face with liquid affection. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Or maybe you are just pent-up and lonely," she teased. No--not a mere tease. Her eyes darted to the sides, her jaws set firmly in their sockets, and she tightened the hold of her wing over Surodar, as if clinging to her prized possession.

Clues like these helped Surodar piece up her past. Dragons, in this part of the land, weren't monogamous. Might have been the presence of the intelligent races. Might have been a different cause entirely. Either way, males were free to simply mate, impregnate a female, and fly off, similar to most big cats. Or, they could stick around and help raise the little ones.

Sarathra must have dealt with the former type of male. She made it a habit not to discuss her past, but at times, it still came back to haunt her.

"Humans. Two of them. Wearing those ridiculous metal outfits they call armor."

Surodar's wings jerked with the urge to fly off, but Sarathra latched her paws around his shoulder and leaned over him to lick his leathery ears.

"I'll handle them. You stay behind me. The less of you they see, the better."

He wanted to object, to let his mate know that he had more experience in dealing with humans, but Sarathra was already on her feet, her wings sprawled like protective curtains, tail swaying with practiced nonchalance.

Their booted footfalls soon reached Surodar's ears as well. A week's worth of transformation kept his senses somewhat dull, a necessary restriction to prevent certain symptoms once it wore off, like withdrawal. After experiencing the world through a dragon's senses, not even you would want to go back to that human shell.

The rattling of their armor grew in intensity, but Sarathra remained undisturbed, her head turning around to take in the highlands sprawling behind them. They chose to lay on the fringe of a copse of trees, too close to a sheep farm. Somebody must've spotted them and alerted whoever came to negotiate their departure.

Apprehension bloomed within Surodar's breast. He pushed himself up as well, nuzzling and licking at the base of Sarathra's wing until the dragoness relented, folding her wings to the sides and giving him a reassuring glance.

"Don't be so stiff, mate. No dragons died to humans. They spin whatever tales suit them."

Close enough. The mayor of Glendolvar, a town situated relatively close to the border with Jharedym, didn't have to soil his reputation, or that of his people, when it came to dealing with dragons. If negotiations to relocate them elsewhere failed, he had but send an envoy to Jharedym and have the wyvern riders dispatch the nuisance.

Surodar sat on his haunches to contain his worry, clawing at the ground and looking around the bend. A clean shaved head popped first, followed by the unmistakable curly, auburn hair of sergeant Garen, the very man who commissioned Naya's services. The sight of his burgundy brigandine raiment and stark features made his heart shrink to the size of a pebble.

Sarathra noticed his uneasiness and began licking at his cheek, regardless of the approaching visitors.

"Got yourself a mate, miss dragon," Garen said, clasping his hands and rubbing them together. "Should we bring you a shipment of twigs and fluff for the nest? Blankets, furs, pillows? Whatever it takes to make your stay pleasant."

Surodar smelled the bitter sarcasm from a mile away, the man's brown eyes narrow, focused, oozing coldness.

"I'll have you informed on where to deliver them as soon as we pick a location," she said, laying down on her side, purposefully shifting her tail away from her vent to give the two humans a glimpse of the outcome of their mating.

Surodar bit back his growl, every muscle in his body tightening with the urge to jump in front of her.

To what end? They had already seen it, for the bald one kept licking his lips, gaze dancing back and forth between Sarathra's sex and Garen's tall, imposing form.

Dear Sarathra...she fell straight into Garen's trap.

"Uhm, she's serious, sergeant, if you just uhm...take a look under her tail," the bald one muttered.

That earned him a slap across the back of his head. "I brought you as a witness, to shut up and witness in silence."

The corner of his mouth angled into an elegant smirk as Garen bowed his head reverently. "May your clutch live long, miss dragon. Why, we'll do our utmost to house not one, but a whole swarm of you fire-breathing, kleptomaniacal, moody beasts on our lands. Make yourself at home, and feel free to eat whatever you like, whoever you like."

"We don't eat people," Sarathra said calmly. "Takes too long to get them out of their clothes, and they upset the stomach."

Garen burst into a bout of raucous laughter, slapping his companion's chest. "We upset their stomach. Hear that? Or maybe they just use soldier armor for toothpicks and leave the dead for us to bury. Dragons gotta respect the customs of their host, right?"

"Why are you here?" Surodar decided to cut to the point.

Garen's features hardened, his bony, wind burnt cheeks becoming more prominent as he pursed his lips. "Leave. Go whelp in the mountains, where your kind lives. Fly right now, and I won't have to inform the wyvern riders that we have two prime specimens here that can provide them with the necessary materials for their dragonscale cloaks. They're the latest fashion in Jharedym's capital, and golden scales are in high demand."

Sarathra couldn't keep her snarl in check. "Come closer, tinman. You and your friend. I've an itch behind the ear, and would appreciate a bit of help."

The bald one took a step forward, and only stopped when Garen shoved him back so hard he stumbled. "She's a dragon, not a fucking puppy."

Sarathra let out a mellow purr. "You should take your companion's example. He's a better diplomat than you are."

That rubbed Garen the wrong way. His fingers itched to grip his sword's handle and negotiate with his blade instead of relying on his words.

"May be that he met better dragons, not petty whelps who can't hunt their own food."

"Sheep. It's always about cows and sheep with you. Very well, then. Consider them tribute."

Garen laughed in her face at such ridiculous notion, and kept doing that even when Sarathra pushed herself onto her limbs to circle him. She towered above the pitiful human, the embodiment of majesty itself, with silver colored horns and spines that ran the length of her back, united by light gray webbing. Her pitch black scales ought to have intimidated any man, but Garen held his ground, well aware that the moment news spread about the demise of a human at a dragon's talons, wyvern riders would sweep the whole countryside, killing not only the offender, but the whole dragon population in that area.

Garen was safe, comfortable, at ease, his arms crossed over his chest, head turning around to hold Sarathra's gaze.

"You're dripping," he said.

"We've mated enough times to have a clutch, don't you worry."

"So why do you keep doing it?"

Garen gave his bald companion the meanest of frowns, but Sarathra let out an excited trill, turning to face him. "To strengthen our bonds. Words do not serve us dragons as well as they serve you humans. They can be false, lead you astray, but the caress of a tongue always bears the same meaning, and no love feels more true than that of a male emptying his passion inside a female."

Garen's companion quirked an eyebrow, bringing a hand to his mouth to hide his grin from the sergeant.

"Leave. Or I'll give you plenty of reason to fly to the end of the world, where the winds will tear your wings apart and the tar pits will swallow your emaciated form."

"What about the bandits?" Sarathra countered. "Did you try the same strategy with them? Because recently, I saved five caravans, stopped a raid on a small village, burned down a cellar filled with furs and killed the poachers who thinned your herds."

She craned her head forward, snout pressing against Garen's tunic, slitted eyes bearing into his. "A sheep every now and then is a small price to pay to have a dragon dispose of the wretched scum your kind can be at times."

Something changed within Garen. His frame relaxed, his eyes shifted to the side, and his hand fell on top of Sarathra's snout, rubbing it, much to the dragoness' surprise. "There. You were looking for a pet on the snout for your accomplishments, and I gave it to you, but that's all I can do, miss dragon."

"Sarathra," she hissed, arching her neck into an S shape. "I'm glad that you acknowledge my role in keeping some of your villages safe, but I can't do that if I have to fly away."

So she decided to play safe and tickle Garen's fancy. Good call on her part. Glendolvar already had its resources and patrols stretched thin with the building of several trade routes between the villages, and the bandits Sarathra hunted were outside of Glendolvar's area of influence.

Until they got greedy and fixed their eyes on bigger prey than peasant huts. That was bound to rile up the squads under the mayor's command, unless Sarathra here decided to keep the threat at bay.

Garen inhaled deeply, his gaze no longer stern, but contemplative. "A rogue dragon is still a rogue dragon. You may be the logical sort who heeds reason, but your kin is known to be...volatile at times."

Surodar approached his mate, rubbing his neck against hers before addressing the sergeant. "So allow me to accompany you to Glendolvar and register us both as protectors of the town."

"Protectors of the town, eh?" Garen scratched at the stubble of his chin, but Surodar saw through his reason to stall. He must have wondered how in the world a dragon knew of Glendolvar's politics, and for good reason. Sitting so close to the sergeant was enough to give Surodar the shivers, but his mate extended a wing over him, nibbling on his ear, fueling his faltering courage.

"I don't suppose you've been approached by a dragoness going by the name of Naya. Am I right in that assumption?"

Marrow froze in Surodar's bones at the sound of that name, his fear of being discovered so deep breath stuck in his throat.

"Naya is not a dragon's name," Sarathra said.

"Naya is not a dragon. She's the town's spellcrafter, impatient, adventurous, and mouthy as a brat, but the only one capable to transform into a dragon."

"Can humans do that?" Sarathra's voice sounded ominous, venomous even.

"Mmmm," Garen nodded. "And that's not the best of it. A male's seed takes hold like that of any dragon, bestowing great magical capabilities upon the fortunate clutch. And if a female happens to get impregnated, well..." he clicked his tongue and licked his lips. "Then she should learn to love her dragon form, because she's stuck in it until she whelps. Or forever. Magic's not my domain, miss dr--Sarathra," he corrected himself.

An earnest man. Too bad he had the tendency to turn into an asshole from time to time.

"I would have known if a weaver of such elaborate lies approached me. I haven't met such spellcrafter, nor do I have the wish to do so." She snorted a puff of grey smoke, stomping a front paw impatiently, sneaking her head under Surodar's chin to beg for affection.

But Surodar couldn't deliver, for he was frozen stiff.

In the end, it was Garen that saved him from a most awkward moment. "Nevertheless, I'd appreciate if you notify a guard if you spot her. The squires under her charge claimed she's a green dragon. Sage, or emerald colored. Fuck a goat if I know..."

"In return for what?" Sarathra demanded.

"I'm sure we can convince the peasants that a few lost sheep are a better loss than their very lives." Without an extra word, Garen turned around and signaled his companion to follow.

"Wait," Surodar called. "I should...accompany you to the town. Seal a contract."

Damnation! His body trembled from snout tip to tail tip. Thanks goodness his mate assumed the humans made him uneasy.

"I'll go with him," Sarathra volunteered.

Or not. That was terrible!

Surodar stepped in front of her, blocking her way, unfurling his wings. "You're not going. Not this time. Their streets are narrow, and you inspire both terror and grandeur."

"Good. Should make them consider twice before loosening their mouths." She lifted a paw, which Surodar began to lick, making the dragoness chuff in surprise.

No no. No words. He made sure to keep her maw shut by bathing it with sluggish, pleasant licks, the type females loved.

"Let me do this. Just this time."

Sarathra relented, only because she loathed suppressing her mate's abilities.

"If my mate doesn't return come nightfall, I'll make sure every woman in your town will remain alone for this night, and all nights to come." She spoke with such fervor even Garen shuddered in his boots.

"He will return, he'll mate with you, and you'll forget this threat was ever made," the sergeant said.

"I never forget."

That said, Sarathra crouched and launched herself into the air, letting out a bellowing roar that made the baldie stumble and almost fall.

"Don't tell her that, but if I was a dragon, I'd keep that one satisfied using all means at my disposal," Garen said, snickering, patting Surodar on the neck. "We'll have to negotiate for your clutch. Two protectors are enough. Ten will be redundant, and the mayor won't like to see his beautiful highlands to turn into a dragon breeding ground."

"Not a dragon sympathizer, are you?" Surodar mentioned, trying to buy more time for his shivers to settle.

"I like dragons. Just not at first. Too full of themselves, borderline arrogant. I may not know much about you and Sarathra, but you're welcome to fuck on our lands day and night, so long as you remember to kill bandits every now and then. Represent your race, eh?"

Surodar mulled over the sergeant's words. His race...which would that be? Dragon, or human? Male, or female?

***End of Chapter 2***

End note: Before writing this chapter, I didn't truly realize just how fun transformation stories can be. They can stir conflicting thoughts within the hearts of characters and raise moral concerns for the readers of the story. Sure, we might not have much to go by right now, other than Surodar's final thoughts, but trust me when I say that, soon enough, he'll be confronted with some veeery tough choices. In the next chapter, we'll find out how Surodar fares on the streets of his native town as a dragon, and if he can retain his coherency while addressing the town's mayor. After all, he now has paws for hands, a dragon family, and no clue on what is to be expected of him.

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