Egg End
A story written for a friend who quite enjoyed the ruin
The man stepped forward into the darkness because he had no other choice. They waited there at the entrance with their distrustful eyes and, more importantly, their weapons of which the man had no doubt they would use. The nick on the back of his neck attested to this, the man wincing as he touched the still bleeding spot.
"Hello?" He called out and there was no answer out there in the dark, not yet at least. He knew there was something there, waiting for him. After all, he was the sacrifice.
He sighed and continued on forward, bare feet barely making a sound as they touched the smooth, cool floor. They had taken what was his and left him only in tatters that did little to ward away the cold. He shivered and his teeth chattered. He wondered if he would succumb to the cold first, if whatever was in this case preferred its prey chilled.
Though the dark remained, suddenly there was also warmth and also sound. He stopped and listened to something hissing and bubbling. It was close, but he couldn't see it. It was still so dark. He shivered again for different reasons, but kept on walking. He lowered his gaze, but he couldn't even see his feet. He might not know if he was to fall or step into what was presumably acid until it was too late. At least, he supposed, it would be an end to the dark.
"Ah."
The man stumbled to a halt. The world has come out of nowhere, but it did not remain there. It echoed and echoed, the tone of its originator amused and deeply powerful. The man thought to speak, but just as he opened his mouth, there were more words.
"So. They've sent their saint."
The words were no less powerful and the man couldn't help but shiver as they echoed in the darkness. Still, his heart held.
"What do you mean?" He asked the darkness.
"That you are their savior." The voice chuckled darkly. "Their saint. You are Saint."
Saint frowned. He shook his head.
"I'm an outsider. They--"
"Adore you, I know. I have been observing you, Saint, ever since you arrived here."
"I didn't mean to--"
"Come here?" The voice laughed, and it was harsher this time. It snarled and Saint coughed as hot, smoky breath washed over him. "Don't lie to me, Saint. You meant this. Traveling as you do...no, no, no. It is not accidental."
"I don't--"
"Silence!" The voice snarled. "If I, Zarthos wanted to hear your words I would ask for them. Still..." Saint heard a snort. "You are what I've been waiting for, Saint. You carry much inside you. Knowledge, but most of all a spark of something special. One does not merely march through a gate. No...you are perfect." There was that snort again. "Perfectly pathetic."
"What do you want, Zarthos?"
"Your silence," Zarthos huffed. "Did I say you could speak?"
For this, Saint had no response.
"Good. Now, what do I want? I want what you hold, Saint."
"I..." Saint almost didn't finish, but he grimaced and pressed on against the dark. "I hold nothing."
"You hold everything. You fool. Did you think you could intrude in my realm without knowing you were here, with your gift? I know what you are. What do you think you are?"
"A man lost in the dark. Please, I-"
"NO!" Zarthos shrieked and Saint screamed as black became white, the dark worn away. He stumbled back and fell, landing squarely on his rear. He held up a hand as he white washed all around him. He wasn't in a cave or cavern, but a vast white room that seemed to stretch on into infinity. Large pools dotted the smooth, sterile vastness, include one nearby that bubbled and hissed as an orange liquid churned in its confines. There were other moving shapes too, but they were too distant for him to make out. More concerning, however, was the huge dark shape that loomed over him, a dark scaled dragon that stared down at him with hateful yellow eyes, his snout set in a toothy grimace. Saint, a man of average height and a little extra girth, was nothing in comparison. The dragon flapped his great wings and Saint felt the air rush around him as he stumbled to his feet.
"There," Zarthos rumbled. "You are no longer lost or in the dark. Do you see the path now?"
Saint shook his head and Zarthos's snout twisted into a cruel smile. He tilted his head and flicked a talon absentmindedly. Immediately, the vast room became so much smaller, the white disappearing into black so all that remained was a much smaller circle, encompassing Saint, the dread dragon, and the pool so close that Saint could feel its warmth.
"You see? This place is mine. I can't claim to have created it, but I am its master. It obeys me, and so shall you. Do you understand now?" The dragon paused and regarded Saint, but the man didn't say a word. "Good. You are learning. I see your path. Soon, you will be so much less and..." The dragon's eyes flashed. "Much, much more."
"I don't understand."
"Still you feign ignorance!" Zarthos hissed, tail lashing behind him. "Still you speak. You know, Saint. You know." That smile returned. "That is why this will work."
Before Saint could protest or ask the dragon what he meant, Zarthos lunged forward and swiped him with his an outstretched foreclaw. Saint cried out in pain and surprise as he was lifted and flung into the air. He flailed, but he was not a creature of flight, just a helpless human that found himself temporarily airborne before he was falling and falling and falling right into the waiting pool below.
When Saint landed into the glowing orange liquid, he didn't so much as sink because gravity demanded it; instead, he was accepted by the pool, the swirling stuff caressing him, Saint shuddering as it began to dissolve his tattered clothing and hair and cling to his skin. He felt himself be dragged down by it, deeper and deeper until he was engulfed by the stuff and all he could see was that pulsing orange. It enveloped him and he squirmed, futilely fighting against its hold on him while doing his best to keep his mouth shut and a hand squeezing his nose. He couldn't breathe but at least it wasn't getting into him, at least until he gasped as he was tossed and turned around. Then the warm liquid rushed into his open mouth, pressed aside his fingers to enter his nostrils, and softly sank into his ears while the rest no longer caressed, but pressed into his body.
Saint screamed, or meant to scream, but all that came out was a muffled gurgle as the liquid enveloped him completely. His vision swam with orange with specks of black and grey and in his state he wondered if he had come here to be drowned by a dragon. Perhaps, he reasoned, this was merely seasoning. He would have chuckled darkly at this if he could, yet he wanted to save his breath because--
Because he could breath. Despite the warmth that rushed down his gullet, the substance that invaded every orifice, and the stuff that clung so stubbornly to his skin, he could breathe, his oxygen seemingly supplied from within and without. Still, he was being dragged deeper and deeper down, so he struggled again and this time moved, but not without resistance and the feeling of extra weight to his form. Surprised, he managed to crane his neck and see how the stuff stuck to him, no, not merely clinging, but attaching itself to him, subsuming now smooth, hairless skin in favor of more muscular mass enveloped by pale scales. His struggles soon became awkward and ungainly, not only because of the added mass, but also due to how his limbs were starting to stretch, longer and lankier and out of synch with the rest of him. He gasped as his face and neck began to adjust as well, though in different ways. The remaining hair on his head proliferated into a black mane that fell over and around his thickening, stretching neck. He gurgled out a cry as his visage compressed briefly, nose melting into mere nostrils, ears twitching and lengthening long and pointed, while his eyes spread further away, pupils becoming dark reptilian slits while iris shimmered silver just as spread jaws pressed into the start of a snout. He felt the stuff to surge inside his skull, seemingly sinking into his very mind. He flailed more desperately now, the warmth in and all around, as the digits at the end of his more muscular and longer limbs stretched and ache, five melding into three as what remained thickened and shivered, each shuddering second met by a thick talon pressing out of each ever so slowly.
Abruptly, the orange liquid clutched at him more pressingly and Saint cried out as more and more of the stuff clung to him, especially his torso. His chest widened and heaved, barreling out broader and smooth scaled, the organs within ever adjusting to support a frame that grew larger and more draconic by the second. His spine stiffened and snapped and for a moment Saint was paralyzed. Stiff and powerless, he could only feel as his spine pulled and wriggled in ways it was meant to just as a wriggling growth emerged from his broader back. Then he could move again and so he resumed his struggle, the wiggling of an extending tail joining his endeavor. He rasped with his stretching snout, wide open jaws aching as sharp teeth lined their interior and his twitching, thinning though larger tongue twirled and tried to taste the stuff that began to vacate his throat. He talons too twitched as his limbs twisted and adjusted with the snapping of bone, his arms and legs not so different now, long and strong enough to support his ever adjusting weight on all fours instead of merely two.
Then there was some relief to the pressure of the stuff, but only a little as it began to lightly caress him again, making sure his hide was white and scaly. More importantly, however, was how it caressed at what was now his hindquarters, Saint shuddered as the liquid encouraged slightly wider hips before it touched around his genitals. Still more focused on the snout that stretched in front of him, Saint could only feel as the warmth did the opposite of what it had done so far as it pressed his genitals in and in and in, his manhood dwindling with every prod and push. Saint shivered, his still existing nipples migrating and thickening down his broader chest while what remained of his masculinity retreated into a newfound opening, an orifice the warmth took the time to press into, caressing and encouraging the development of a dark, tight lipped slit that it funneled itself into, digging deeper and deeper to provide an adequate passage for the egg chamber it connected to deep within. The new female shivered again as his nipples stopped their migration near to his slit, sensitive scaled flesh bubbling beneath them into a pair of slightly swollen mounds, nipples puffier and perkier, stiff and ready to feed when the time was right. Saint shook his head, his snout experiencing one last surge of growth, while his tail did likewise as his other orifice tucked itself other his thick, alien limb that swayed slowly in its liquid confines.
The pressure ceased to be but also with it the oxygen that the new dragoness so desperately needed. He gasped and tried to swim up, but he wasn't used to his adjusted limbs and the orange liquid that surrounded him was still thick and heavy with a mind of his own. Saint struggled and still sank and sank and sank, his vision darkening and his thrashing talons and tail slowing. Something tugged at his tail and Saint felt himself being dragged, though he was only just aware of it and couldn't rightly tell if it was up or down that he went. He barely moved now, the bright of the orange giving way to darkness as he let himself be pulled elsewhere. Down or up, he didn't care, for this was the end.
Then he surfaced, orange substance quickly dripping off him as he emerged from the pool, hind legs on its edge while he still looked down into his churning confines. He gasped for air and it came, but not before he was pulled once more and pushed away from the pool. He landed on his side and felt something loom over him, but for now he lifted his elongated neck and looked over himself. He stared at what he saw, a smooth, white scaled form slender and graceful with long, slender limbs, white talons that scratched softly at the ground, a torso that shuddered with every gasping breath, a thick tail that feebly flopped in front of him, a snout that stretched ahead of him almost imperceptibly in his vision, nostrils that flared and smelled a nearby male, and ears that twitched and lowered as they felt hot breath upon him. He would have looked up had he not caught sight of what lay between his hindquarters. There was no trace of his masculinity, only a puffy slit and a pair of teats situated nearby. He was not merely a dragon now, but a dragoness.
"Broken already?" Zarthos rumbled.
Saint glanced up and Zarthos loomed over him, large though not as large as before. Still, Saint was the smaller dragon, no, dragoness, and he shied away from him even as Zarthos lumbered forward, regarding him those hateful yellow eyes, though now there was a certain sense of lust in them.
"Too pathetic to even save yourself, hen?" Zarthos said. "Pathetic."
"H-hen?" Saint rasped, still panting for air.His eyes widened at the sound of his voice, so soft and weak and high in pitch. "I'm...I-I'm..."
Saint's head swam and he gasped not for air, but strength. Exhaustion overtook him, set deeply into each scale that covered his body.
"Mine," Zarthos hissed. "You're mine."
Saint wanted to protest, but he had no more strength to do so. He murmured something, eyes rolling in the back of his head, before he collapsed and darkness took him.
Saint awoke to feel something prodding at parts he didn't even know he had. He was dazed, his mind muddled still. He sat up and found himself elsewhere. No longer was he surrounded by black and white. Instead he sat on stone in what appeared to be a cave, a dark cavern with a clear pool of water nearby. He shivered again as his teats were touched and he shifted to gaze to see Zarthos standing near, one arm extended to prod at him with his talons. Zarthos looked to him and a smile came over his jagged snout.
"These are perfect," he said. "Perfect to feed the hatchlings. Usually hatchlings must fend for themselves as I did, but you..." His eyes twinkled. "You will nurture them."
Saint trembled. Unsure what to say, he stumbled onto four feet and found his stance solid thanks to his tail. Zarthos watched him and that smiled deepened as he began to pace around the smaller dragoness, his dark bulk like a shadow looming over his white scales.
"Yes, you will be a mother," Zarthos continued. "A broodmother, my hen. You are built for that, such as these hips." He tapped at her hip and Saint stumbled away, tail lowering to hide his slit. Zarthos laughed. "What are you trying to hide from me? I have already seen it all. You slept well, no?"
Saint didn't answer. Had he even slept at all? There were no dreams he could recall, and this seemed like a nightmare.
"Good," Zarthos said as if he had answered. "You needed your rest, hen. You will need more. I will not pretend that the path ahead of you will not be arduous, but it is what you deserve. It is what you desire. To be a mother, yes?"
"No," Saint answered, realizing to late that he had spoken. He had meant to listen more, to gauge his captor, and perhaps figure out how he could get out of here, altered or otherwise, but now he had spoken and something flashed in Zarthos's eyes. The dark dragon snarled and surged forward, pinning Saint on his side before the dragoness had a chance to react. He whimpered and struggled, but he was so unfamiliar with his form and the other dragon was far stronger. Not only stronger, but he had wings and flames, of which Saint was reminded as smoke poured from the dragon's nostrils.
"No?" Zarthos rasped. He licked at Saint's neck and the dragoness shivered, especially as Zarthos laughed again. "No is right. You are pathetic. Too weak to save yourself. Too weak to resist. Too weak to carry my kin. Isn't that right, hen?"
Saint whimpered and tried to look away, but Zarthos caught his snout in his claws and forced him to look in his eyes.
"I asked you a question, hen," Zarthos growled. "You may answer, for now."
"Y-yes," Saint said, nodding meekly.
"Yes indeed. You are weak. You are pathetic and yet..." Zarthos's nostrils flared. "I will let you carry them. Do you think you deserve that, hen?"
"I..." Saint murmured and felt a flare of anger. "I'm not a hen!"
"You're not?" Zarthos asked. "Then what are you?"
"I'm...I-I'm..." Saint stuttered trying to recall just what he was. He knew he was a man, yes, or had been a man before but everything prior to his entrance to the dark seemed so murky now. Why he had even come here? He felt as if it had been under duress, but would he have even done so under duress if he had known this would be his fate? No, he would rather have perished, but that hadn't been the question, had it? He winced as Zarthos pressed harder down on him. What was he? He wasn't a dragoness and currently not a man, but he wasn't a hen either. He was--
"Saint," Saint said, yet even that word was wrong. Saint wasn't really his name, but what other name did he have? This was the only proper name his mate had given him.
Mate? Saint shuddered at the thought. No, Zarthos wasn't his mate. He was a dark scaled dragon, large and looming and powerful, and most certainly male if that scent that filtered into his nostrils meant anything. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that he was his oppressor, his dominating drake and father to be, the one that would give him the seed that would--
"Saint?" Zarthos laughed. "Where did you get that idea?"
"You," Saint answered shortly.
"Me?" Zarthos chuckled and shook his head. "No, no, hen. You are mistaken. I would never give you a name. You don't deserve a name."
Saint stared at the drake in confusion. He swore Zarthos had given him that name. Were his memories failing him? He whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall anything of identity, yet there was no name but Saint in his muddled mind. Well, that and hen, but he was no hen. He was...he was Saint. Yes, he was sure of it.
"You don't deserve a name because you have a title, a role." Saint opened his eyes to find Zarthos still staring at him, smiling. "And that role is broodmother, hen. You are a broodmother."
Saint shook his head and Zarthos was upon him again, this time clambering atop of him as if he--Saint shuddered--as if he meant to mount her! No, him, Saint reminded himself, because he was a man which meant he was male even if his current form was feminine, no, female with a slit situated between her hindquarters that even now Zarthos poked and prodded, not with his shaft but the tip of his tail. Saint whimpered and Zarthos growled above him.
"Don't deny the truth, hen, for I am the truth," Zarthos hissed and Saint shivered as he was once again prodded, the sensations electric and oddly elating. "You are a broodmother. You will carry my kin. You are mine."
"N-no!" Saint protested.
"Y-yes!" Zarthos mocked. "Now, since you seem so insistent on it, why don't you speak?"
"I--" Saint began, only for his snout to be shoved into the stone.
"No!" Zarthos roared. "Speak as I say. Think as I say. Repeat what you know. You are a broodmother."
"I..." Saint whimpered, then growled. "I am Saint!"
"No, hen," Zarthos growled and Saint shook as his folds were slightly parted by the tip of the dragon's tail. "You are a broodmother."
"I..." Saint started, whimpering now as Zarthos's talons dug into her scales while his tail begin to dig into her pussy.
"You are a broodmother. You will carry my kin. You. Are. Mine."
"I...I..."
"Yes? What is it?" Zarthos asked ever so sweetly even as the pressure on mind and body both increased.
"I...I am a...a broodmother. I will...will c-carry your kin. I am..." Saint sobbed. "Yours."
"Yes," Zarthos hissed. "And you are nothing more, hen."
With that the drake was off her. Still Saint remained against the ground, whimpering and shivering, only slightly turning her head to watch her oppressor lumber away. Her eyes widened and a heat flared in her nethers as she caught sight of hung stiffly between his hind legs. The drake turned and she lost sight of it, now caught in his yellow eyes.
"Think on that, hen," Zarthos hissed. "And speak no more."
Then the drake was gone, disappearing into the dark. Saint knew he couldn't be gone just like that, but the only sound she could hear in the cave were her gasping breaths and the beating of her pounding heart. She sighed and laid her head against the ground, splaying her limbs out as she tried to get a sense of herself. Her body still felt so strange and she desired to become more familiar with it. After all, if she was to be a broodmother then--
NO!
She hissed and stumbled to her feet. She wasn't going to be a broodmother. She was going to escape from him, get back to--
What? She paced around awkwardly as she thought through this. What was she trying to return to? The dark? She shivered. The pool? She shivered again. She doubted she would be reshaped again or even could survive being reshaped again, but even if that were so, what would she be returning to? She struggled to recall her previous shape, so small and scrawny, without scales and garbed only in rags. Could that have really been her? Yes, because she was a man except--
Except she now realized she had been thinking of herself as female because...because she was female. It was undeniable now, not just because of what lay between her hindquarters but the warmth that was beginning to build there. It was an arousal, a desire for her mate, her master and--
Saint paused. Her mate? Her master? No, no, Zarthos was none and neither. He hadn't even call himself her master and here she was thinking it. Why? He was her oppressor and her tormentor, surely not someone she desired to couple with. No, as a broodmother she desired--
No one, because she wasn't a broodmother. She was a...a dragoness, a still exhausted one at that who had no idea where she was or how she would escape. She could try, she supposed, to explore the cavern but she hadn't the energy now. She merely desired to lay down, to sleep, to dream of a time when her belly was swollen with eggs while other hatchlings nurtured at her teats. Yes, that sounded nice until she realized it was just the thought a broodmother would have.
She growled and stopped pacing, falling on her side and curling up as a cat. She frowned, tail softly flicking as she stared off into the dark. The truth was that she was a former muddled man with an even more muddled mind and she needed some rest to ease her mind so that that she could think about this clearly. She huffed and set her snout between her foreclaws, closing her eyes and setting to sleep.
Saint awakened to a some enticing smells, one that got her mouth watering while the other excited her loins and aroused her imagination. It was the smell of a virile male, a large one at that, but more importantly it was her master, the drake whose seed she would bear. She panted and found herself snout to snout with Zarthos, a large hunk of meat between them. She recoiled and stumbled back and he laughed.
"I'm sorry, hen," he said. "Did I surprise you with dinner?"
Saint shook her head and snarled, but that anger quickly fell away to fear and arousal. As much as she wanted to shrink away, she desired something of the male in front of her and judging by the shaft stirring between his loins, he did too. She stared at it as it throbbed and emerged from his slit.
"Already wanting it, aren't you?" Zarthos asked. "You can have it now, if you'd like." His nostrils flared and he smiled. "A little early in your cycle, but it might take. I am virile and you are fertile. A broodmother."
Saint shivered. She wasn't his broodmother, she wasn't his mate, she wasn't his, no, no--
"No!" she cried out, the forcefulness of the word fading almost as soon as she had uttered it. She looked away, ashamed but Zarthos had already stepped forward, overshadowing her as he always did, his stiff member rubbing against a quivering leg.
"No? Was that a word? Was that speech? What did I say when I last left, hen?"
Saint whimpered as Zarthos looked down at her. Though he wasn't pressing down on her as he had done so before, now she felt another sort of pressure. She lowered her head, unable to meet his gaze. A part of her screamed for her to fight and defy, but why would she? She had talons and teeth, true, but she was smaller than he, a diminutive dragoness to a dominating drake. He could take her now and here, pin her down and thrust into her, have his way with her until the only thing she could be was gravid. Is that was she wanted?
"N-no..." she murmured and heard him stiffen. She whimpered and recalled his last words. "And speak...speak no..."
She fell into silence. Zarthos snorted and she looked up at him meekly. He was so much more powerful than her. Even if she spoke, his voice would overpower hers. She had to resist in other ways.
"And speak no more," Zarthos said, smiling. "Yes, hen. That's right. Will you speak any more?"
Saint shook her head and Zarthos's cruel smile deepened. He snorted and she shivered as she felt his draconic member press into her scaled side now.
"Are you ready then, hen? Ready for me?"
Saint almost nodded, then remembered she meant to resist. She hissed and scowled at him and Zarthos recoiled with a snarl.
"You're not ready? You don't want it?" He punctuated this with another press. "Don't want to fulfill your role as a broodmother, to carry my kin, to be mine?"
Saint froze. She almost nodded this time, almost turned herself around and lifted her tail to invite him in, but she remained resolute. She wasn't a broodmother, not now, not yet.
"Ah. So you're wasting my time then, hen." Zarthos growled and stepped back, flapping his wings in annoyance. "You could have enjoyed this time. I could have enjoyed this time. Instead, I'm wasting my time when I could be in my lair enjoying another dragoness who knows what I want, what I desire. Why do you think you can say no to me, your master? You are mine, hen. You are my broodmother and you will carrymy kin. Do you understand what is important here, hen?"
Saint shivered. She was unsure of herself now, unsure of her resistance of why she had said no. Why had she denied the drake? He could have her if he really wanted to and yet here she stood with a throbbing need, denying herself and him, but most of all denying him because...why? Because she was Saint, a name that wasn't truly hers? But wasn't it? Wasn't she Saint? If not, who was she?
A broodmother? A mate? Zarthos's possession? All of the above, or none? She wasn't sure, couldn't be sure. She gazed up at Zarthos pleadingly, tail lifting.
"Bah," Zarthos hissed. "You want it now, don't you?"
Saint stiffened, but nodded. She did want it. She wanted her to be his so that she could be his mate and then his broodmother. Her body demanded it and why was her mind, a mere part of her body, any better than the rest when it came to these decisions? She panted and hissed needily.
"No," Zarthos said and sauntered away.
Saint stared, shock as the male once again retreated into the darkness. What had she done? Now she was alone. No, not alone. It was just her and her heat.
Saint had meant to plan on how she was going to escape, to explore her surroundings, to find some hope in the stone and dark, but it all went wrong when Zarthos left. Her heat, her need, her desire to breed had overwhelmed her. She had barely remembered to drink water from the pool and eat the meat Zarthos had brought. After she did, there was no doubt in her mind now that she was a dragoness, a needy one at that, one that had to be bred lest her heat drive her mad. Or was she already mad? She thought of before and there was only blackness, like the darkness she had originally stepped into. There was a figure, but it was small and slight and certainly wasn't her, a dragon, no, dragoness, one built to be a mate, a mother, a broodmother. The figure faded away along with so much associated with it. Faded names and places she had already struggled to recall before were of no matter then and their complete erasure was of no consequence either now. Even the thought of being male only brought thoughts of the only male she recalled instead, that of the dreaded, dark scaled dominant dragon known as Zarthos, except he wasn't so dreadful now. No, he was what she wanted and why wouldn't she? She was his, his mate, and the one who would carry his kin. She was built for it and though her heat was at its peak and she hadn't been mated yet, her teats had already started to swell slightly with milk. She whimpered, hoping he would come soon, come fast. She needed him.
But, Saint had to wait and wait she did. She paced around in endless circles, no longer uncomfortable in a form that felt entirely natural. She was ready and waiting, thoughts so filled with Zarthos that by the time he actually did appear, she wasn't sure if he was real or not.
"Ah, there she is," he growled, his scent trickling into her nostrils. "The dragoness who denies."
Saint looked behind her and there Zarthos was. She almost turned, but this was the perfect position to--
To what? To submit herself? Yes, it was true, but did she want to?
Yes.
"You bitch," Zarthos hissed. "Do you think you are important to me? Do you think you are someone special? Something special? You disappointed me greatly, hen."
Saint shivered. She lifted her tail and presented her rear and Zarthos laughed.
"You slut," he said. "So eager now, aren't you? What would you do if I said no? It's what you deserve, because you deserve nothing, hen. You are only anything because you are mine."
Saint nodded, pussy pulsing as her tail waved enticingly. Why wasn't he taking her? She hissed out a moan.
"I should leave you," he said. "Leave you like this. Needy and wanting. It's what you deserve, don't you agree?"
Saint nodded again and she shivered as she felt a huff of hot breath on her rear. She wiggled her rump now, hoping that would work.
"Then I should leave, hen," he said. "I should, but I want and why? I don't deny my wants. I don't deny my needs. And I don't deny what is mine."
Realizing what he meant, Saint readied herself just as her confidence in what she wanted faltered.
W-wait, she said, or thought she said for no words slipped past her snout. She only stared at Zarthos and tried to muster her courage to speak, but why would she speak? He had told her not to and she would obey him. She was his, and he was her master. There was no room for her, only him, and already he dominated her thoughts. She lowered her head and stared forward, ready for him to enter her. Why would she resist now more than ever? The dragoness knew she had to submit, had to give in, lest she lose what little was left.
"So, hen," Zarthos hissed. "I see you understand now. You are my slut to fuck when I please. You are mine and you are unimportant to me. Though..." his tone softened, if only slightly. "You will carry my kin. They will be strong and powerful like their father, not meek and useless like their mother. They will be what you cannot. But..." Zarthos chuckled. "At least you have me."
And in the next moment, Saint did indeed have him, have him inside of her, thrusting, grunting, hissing, pushing deeper inside as she gratefully took it all in. They rutted and rutted and he was a hard and firm lover and soon Saint lost herself to the mixture of pain and pleasure their mating brought. And in those moments, what she wanted faded away.
Saint regained some sense of herself, for it hadn't taken but one coupling to sate her heat, but many matings. It was only when Zarthos had left, leaving behind more meat for her to eat, did she realize what had happened and she was ashamed. He was a rough lover to and had left many markings on her from their many matings, including some that still bled. She slowly ate her meal while she did her best to ignore the soreness of her slit or how some of his seed still trickled down her hindquarters. At first, she couldn't believe what she had just done, but why was that? She had done only as she was meant to do. She was his, after all, and more than that his mate, and his broodmother.
She squirmed. Her heat had dissipated, but now her stomach stirred. No, not her stomach. Her womb. Deep down, she knew she was seeded and deep down she knew there would soon be eggs swelling in her stomach. His eggs, for she was carrying his kin and it was--
Frightening. She had never wanted to be a mother because...well, something told her that she would have been a father, but that was foolish. She had never been male. She had always been a dragoness, right? A dragoness named Saint.
Name? No, no, no. This was all wrong. She was...she wasn't allowed a name. She was only a hen. Why would she have a name and what sort of name was Saint? She didn't deserve that name. She didn't deserve any of this, let alone the miracle of being a mother. She should be grateful Zarthos had even let her bear his seed, yet--
Still she doubted. She curled up as her stomach stirred, trying to ignore it as she tried to make her way through her still muddled mind. There was less of it now but it still seemed so complex. She knew it was easier to shed some of it, yet she was terrified to do so and she wasn't sure why. She was certain there was something important to the moniker Saint, to the visions of an orange pool, to fleeting remembrances of eternal darkness, but all that did was remind her of sleep. Yes, sleep. She should sleep. Her unconscious mind could sort out what her conscious could not.
The dragoness's worries were forgotten the next day and the day after that and even the day after that, for her stomach had started to swell. The prospect of the growing eggs in her womb excited her as did the increased swelling of her teats. She was to be a mother soon, a broodmother if her already large belly meant anything. The thoughts of eggs, laying eggs, and the hatching afterwards overwhelmed any past fear, so all she did was stare at her stomach for hours, guessing how many eggs there would be and wondering of those how many would take. She supposed all of them since their originator was so strong.
It was when she was drinking at a nearby pool that their originator reappeared. She didn't notice himself until she felt him nuzzle her stomach.
"They are growing," he murmured as she turned to wordlessly stare at him. He smiled, not at her, but at her stomach. "See? That engineered meat is doing you good. Ah, but perhaps it is because you are suited for this, hen."
The dragoness nodded. Some part of her wanted to speak to deny that this wasn't her, but that made no sense, especially now. She was suited for this, her hips and limbs strong enough to carry a full clutch and then some. She wasn't strong enough to fight the dark dragon, but why would she? He was her master and she was subservient to him.
"They will be strong, confident, intelligent," Zarthos murmured. "So much unlike their mother."
This stung and the dragoness almost hissed. She thought better of it. If she angered Zarthos, then she risked her eggs and though they were his, they were also hers. She owed it to the hatchlings to keep them safe, but most of all she owed it to him.
"Perhaps," Zarthos continued. "They will have what you once had. Do you think they will be able to travel as you did?"
The dragoness continued to drink, not understanding. Perhaps her master was right. Perhaps she really wasn't that intelligent. What did he mean by travel? She didn't have wings.
"Hmm," Zarthos said. "Perhaps that gate will still stay closed. Even then..." He hissed. "This world will be mine and I suppose I owe some thanks for that."
The dragoness lifted her head. Praise? From her master?
"No, no," Zarthos chuckled as if reading her mind. "That gift wasn't yours. It was mine. All you are is because of me. Do you understand that?"
The gravid dragoness stared at him blankly. Zarthos snorted and started to saunter away, but he paused and she saw that gleam in his eyes.
"It's still there, isn't it?" he asked. "Well, I can fuck that out of you."
The dragoness lowered her head and lifted her tail as he approached, then she was taken once more.
Saint was ashamed. She had just been bred without needing to be. Her stomach was already swollen with eggs. Why then had she let herself be mounted and taken like an animal in heat? She snorted. Why would she not have? She was not the one to deny her master? But no, he...he was her master. If not then, certainly now.
It was tougher to remember. No, it was more difficult to think, at least how she had before. Whenever she tried to think of a time before, her thoughts inevitably drifted back to what currently burdened both body and mind: her round, firm belly so swollen with eggs, her clutch, no, his clutch. She stared at her belly, sighing deeply at the thought of so many hatchlings chirping and weaning at the teats situated at her hindquarters before she realized with a start what she had been thinking about. Feeding young? Laying eggs? When had...when had such thoughts became so right, so normal? She was...she was a mother.
No!
Well, yes, she was, at least a mother to be, but something else as well...right? But what else? It was in her mind and yet so distant, so unlike her. She had just thought it too, a name and yet names were not meant for creatures like her. She was a docile, diminutive dragoness meant to carry eggs, feed her young, and do little else. A name, speech, even thoughts looking so far forward and back were beyond her. So then what else choice she be but a draconic broodmother?
It was easier to accept what she was than deny what she was meant to be. She just had to...had to let go of some things. She needed more room for the eggs and a little more milk wouldn't hurt either. She was--
She was ready for this. She was already his. She had already mated. All she had to do was accept that she was a broodmother. Wasn't she?
Yes, she decided. She was.
Her stomach growled and it was because she was hungry. She ate some meat to sustain herself and her growing hatchlings, all conscious thought now on them and him.
He returned from time to time and when he did, he brought meat and sometimes sweeter things that she always readily ate, though only after he had his way with her. It was one of those times when her belly was so heavily swollen that it was hampering her movement that he merely watched her eat. She had presented herself, but he had seemed disinterested this time.
"You're so far along, aren't you?" he said. She paused and looked up to him, but he merely smiled. "So many eggs. How many do you think, hen?"
She merely continued eating, not sure how to answer because she wasn't sure what the question was in the first place. His words no longer had much meaning, save for a few. She knew hen meant her, and that was mostly it.
"What's that, hen?" Zarthos asked. "Nothing to say?"
The dragoness looked back to the drake, confusion in her eyes. Zarthos chuckled and ran a claw along her swollen belly. She shivered, her prodigious belly shaking as her teats began to trickle a little milk. She felt concern rise up, but it was only because of the eggs, not because she lacked an answer to a question she didn't understand. She lifted her tail and and Zarthos shook his head.
"No, no, no time for that," Zarthos purred. "You should get some sleep. The laying will be arduous."
Laying? A surge of panic swept through the dragoness but it quickly faded away. Eggs, Laying. It was what she was meant to do. Why panic about doing as she was designed to do? She was a broodmother, nothing less, but perhaps something more. She wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn't help but stare at her belly, so firm, so large, so full of eggs and soon to be hatchlings. She shivered, her teats dribbling out milk as she thought of the hatchlings. There was going to be so many and that was just fine.
She was going to lay his eggs soon.
Laying. Oh gods, she was laying.
Saint squatted with tail lifted, shuddering as the first of many eggs crowned. She hissed and pushed, wondering how it had come to this. The memories were there, yes, of her many matings, her belly's slow swelling, and her feeding and resting to keep her strength up, but how had she allowed this? She wasn't... she was...
She howled, and Saint slipped away this time forevermore as a particularly tight contraction wracked her body and the egg moved, if only a little. The dragoness blinked. Her name was gone just like that, but she didn't need her name, just like she didn't need the things that had been kept away deep inside her, hidden from the simple mind of a brooding dragoness. No, no, she wasn't a simple minded mother, she was--
"Hen?"
The dragoness turned her head and there Zarthos was, staring expectantly at her. He scowled and lumbered forward, eyeing the egg that so far had yet to come out.
"Why do you delay, hen?" he asked. "Are you really so weak that you're unable to push out one egg by yourself." He hissed. "Should I push it back in you until you are stronger still?"
The dragoness whimpered and shook her head. She wanted the eggs out, not in, and with a start she realized she had understood what master had said. Then that realization and understanding too slipped away as another contraction ran through her and this time she pushed with all her might. The first egg plopped out and rolled across the smooth white floor, into Zarthos's eager claws. He smiled and lifted the egg up, the dragoness hardly noticing the illusion of the cave had fallen away to that vast white room again.
"Aha!" he crowed. "You are worth something, hen. More than nothing, at least."
The dragoness opened her snout, but she wasn't sure why. Did she intend to hiss at her mate?
She shivered, the second egg on its way and other things with it. They clung tightly, but it was their time to go. Such strange thoughts of gates and travel and things impossible for her mate, things now impossible for her, simply didn't belong in her head. She pushed them out along with the second egg and was relieved as burden left both body and mind. She sighed in relief, but the alleviation was only temporary for the third egg was traveling down her inner passage. She shivered. How many were there?
Not enough, she decided. And there could never be enough. This was her purpose. To be bred, to carry a wondrous burden, to lay the eggs, and to nurture what hatched from them. It was more than she deserved and she had her marvelous mate to thank for it. He was smarter, stronger, and definitely the better half of the pair. She? She was just some slut of a dragoness. A broodmother, yes, but he had her when he wanted and she had no qualms about that. Why would she?
She was his.
The dragoness trembled and the third egg plopped out. Her eyes glazed over and those deep thoughts no longer needed contractions or her effort to leave her. They simply meant nothing to her anymore and so they left intermittently, slipping out between eggs and Zarthos's compliments, not her for her, but for her eggs, his eggs. She set to laying and only laying, her instincts guiding her to a more comfortable position. After all, she was a broodmother. She knew how to lay and how to love.
Egg after egg left her and by the time she was done, she was exhausted and satisfied and without those bothersome thoughts that would have kept her from gathering her eggs into a proper clutch. Instead of feeling revulsion at the sight of so many of them, she felt pride and joy, but not for her, for her master and his kin that she had carried, kin she would nurture and tend to.
"Ah, so many," Zarthos said, examining the clutch. He snorted softly. "Do you even know how many there are, hen?"
The dragoness looked at him blankly. She knew of course, her maternal mind conscious of which egg was which. She huffed, exhausted.
"No matter," Zarthos chuckled. He tilted his head and for the first time she saw something different than hate in his eyes. No, that was just lust again and she felt it rise in her too. "Are you ready to make more?"
Of course she was.
Sometime later, the dragoness lay on her side, her belly slightly swollen and her teats certainly so. Grey scaled hatchlings shrieked and hissed and crawled all over her scaled frame as they waited impatiently to suckle on her teats as two of their siblings did so now. The dragoness shivered, but let them feed uninterrupted. Though they were his kin, they were also hers, and she couldn't help but feel love for them. It was in her instincts, it was in her mind, for she was a broodmother and that was that. No, not quite--she was his, his broodmother, and his mate. She cooed as she gently rubbed at her belly, wondering how many there were in this clutch, not in hard numbers, but simply if there were more, less, or just the same. She bore small scars all over her white scaled frame, nicks and scratches she had acquired from her master's love when she had displeased with what little remained of that fight surged up, but most of them came when she pleased him in their wild ruttings. She bore these scars with pride too, for it marked her as his.
She looked to the side and there he was, the dark dragon staring intently at a slowly churning orange pool. He suddenly lunged forward and reached into the pool, tugging and tugging until a bronze scaled dragoness emerged, sputtering and gasping. The broodmother stared at her in deeply set content. Another hen then, which meant more eggs, more hatchlings, and that sat well with her. After all, she was a mother, a mate, a broodmother. For a fleeting moment, she feared these roles and her lack of choice in the matter, but it was swept aside by larger instinctual fears, those of being empty, without eggs, and also alone, without a mate or hatchlings to nurture and love. She was as she was meant to be; as he wanted her to be. A broodmother, maybe something more, certainly nothing less.