FSE

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Oh. There is one last thing I should write down, yes, although this I will do out of sight and on my own, as I'm sure it'd distress Scorch. Progress will be slow without any assistance, but I have to get this out of my memories and down on paper as well.

The black dragon. Although I was rather consumed by feral instincts after our meeting with him, I never forgot about him. How could I, with what he'd all but demanded in return for his help? For the longest time it felt like a distant storm I'd have to weather. But until that storm reached us, we simply lived, as any two dragons would.

Scorch and I took turns hunting and taking care of the newly-hatched whelps. Most of them looked just like their "father", with azure blue scales, but each had some kind of wolf-like traits. Some had triangular ears, others black noses rather than simply nostrils. My favorite was a female with a black, hyena-like mane. We didn't give any of them names. It wasn't that we didn't love them, but draconic tradition dictated that each whelp name themselves when they first develop the spark of sapience. Although they were born rather developed - quickly able to hunt things such as mice and bugs - they were little more than ferals. I'd never really understood how that worked until then.

Effectively, when a dragon first hatched, it was merely a lizard, guided by instincts and unable to speak or communicate any more than an animal. As they aged, they'd become more aware, more sapient, but it was a slow process. Around their teenage years they'd be able to form rudimentary sentences and make decisions, which is the age at which I'd really gotten to know my mate. They also left the nest quickly to strike out on their own. Most wouldn't survive, but such was the way of things. It hurt me to let my own offspring wander off so early, so vulnerable, but Scorch insisted that it had to be done. Even when he laid his own first clutch, he didn't seem any more attached to them than he was to a tasty meal or a pleasurable mating. It's hard to explain. It wasn't that we didn't love them, but the love between a dragon and its offspring was different to the love between mates.

Other than taking care of our offspring, I had to learn to hunt again. Yes, I knew how to hunt as my former self, but my new body was altogether different. Many times I angled my wings wrong and crashed into the treetops. Several more times I tripped on my own massive tail, leaving my prey to escape. It took months to truly figure out how every strange muscle worked, to truly start to think of them as my own, rather than something borrowed. At least Scorch was there every step of the way, helping me as best he could. Oh, and he helped me in many different ways. Mating was such a different experience as a feral, without too many thoughts getting in the way.

But the winter wasn't easy, not with two half-grown dragons. In days past I could've survived by just catching a rabbit every other day, but this body demanded more fuel. As the winds of winter howled through the mountains and forests, covering every exposed rock and plant in thick coats of snow, we sat huddled together at the back of our den, sheltering our children from the storm while barely having enough food to survive. For everything we'd gone through, nothing compared to that. You have to remember that while we were both dragons, neither us was terribly used to fighting for our survival like this. Scorch was a farm dragon, and I was even newer to it, having only lived a few easy months of summer and fall in the wild.

I was more resistant to the cold than my mate was, we discovered. My body burned hotter, more attuned to fire than my mate's, presumably thanks to the ancient black wyrm's influence. While we were both capable of at least attempting to hunt, Scorch would only handle this weather for perhaps an hour. I could keep warm for at least three times that, and so the duty to hunt fell on me, the less experienced of us. Make no mistake, going outside was miserable, the biting cold chilling me to the very bone despite the draconic fire within me, butwe had no options, and so I gave my mate and our offspring a quick nuzzle before leaping into the icy storm.

The winds quickly numbed my wings, and I had to land, but it was just as well; there was no real way of spotting prey from the skies in a blizzard. So I landed into the clearing where I'd first learned to fly, feeling some kind of residual echo of the summer's warmth, which seemed to strengthen my resolve, but I didn't even know where to start. What did deer do in this kind of weather? I was better equipped to withstand the cold than them, and so I reasoned that they'd be huddled somewhere, in hiding, if not frozen still. I could smell wildlife, but the storm scattered every scent everywhere, and I couldn't tell _where_any given scent came from.

Ipushed through the snow, every sense on high alert for even the faintest sight or sound of something that'd let us survive another couple of days. If it wasn't for it being a life or death situation, it'd have been a rather beautiful moment. The snow crunched between my splayed-out toes as I tried to keep from sinking to deep into it, visibility was perhaps a dozen meter, the trees dead and bare, the atmosphere one of isolation, even desolation. Of course, these thoughts were all faint tingles at the back of my mind; just like Scorch, I was running mostly on instinct.

Wandering the frozen landscape inspired a lot of emotions. One part of me just wanted to curl up in the snow and fall asleep. Not out of any angst or depression, nothing like that, but because it felt so cozy, and the Cocytean temperature had my body numb and tired, and my mind fuzzy. I forced myself to move faster, thinking of Scorch and our sharp-toothed little whelps, imagining them gnawing on me instead of I didn't bring home anything to eat. Even when I _did_bring meat to them, they'd sometimes gnaw on me, as their teeth grew in. For some reason, dragon whelps were born with a set of (incredibly sharp and painful) baby teeth - perhaps to eat their brothers and sisters in times of crisis - but they quickly fell out and were then replaced by their typical fangs.

My head hurt with how cold it was, but then I noticed something, a brown shape in the snow. I froze, no pun intended, tensing up and ready to pounce, but as you'd expect, nothing moved but the snow. I approached it after a few seconds, and discovered it to be a dead moose, frozen solid. It wasn't surprising to see the wildlife succumbing to the chill, but it was both good and bad news. There was no way I could carry a stiff corpse that heavy with me. Maybe a part of it, but how would I manage that? I tapped the carcass with a claw, only to realize that I almost certainly wouldn't be able to cut it up in any reasonable amount of time.

You might be wondering why I didn't simply thaw it, being a dragon. Well, I didn't really know how that worked, yet. Sometimes I'd cough out a plume of smoke, or sneeze a gout of flame, but not intentionally. It was one of those things with no equivalent in any other species. Every muscle in my body had a rough equivalent in a mammalian body. Even the wings roughly matched the shoulderblades. The "fire gland" as I'd taken to thinking of it, was something wholly different, perhaps unnatural, and while I could feel those muscles and nerves somewhere inside me, I didn't know _where._Of course, there's no motivation like impending starvation. I knew what I had to do, I just didn't know how.

I drew a deep breath, and then exhaled. Nothing but my breath billowing out into the winter air. I tried tightening my stomach, clenching every muscle I could sense of imagine until I was actually starting to feel warm again, either from the exertion or from the onset of hypothermia. Nothing happened, and I begun to feel frustated. Frustrated at first, and then enraged. What was the point of all of this, if I was just going to starve or freeze to death now? I growled, trying to tear off at least one leg from the moose, and then roared when it wouldn't come off, and almost toppled over as an enormous stream of sticky flame erupted from my mouth and nostrils, melting the snow off the trees near instantly and blanketing the wood with devouring flame. It was raw, primal destruction rather than merely fire, a gelatinous inferno that covered what it stuck to, burning so unfathomably hot that the snow around me became rain before it hit the ground. I was awestruck and terrified. I'd witnessed Scorch do the same, but his flames were merely flames. What I produced was a choleric yellow bile, devouring rather than merely burning. I'd have to talk to Scorch about it. Him, and the black dragon. It couldn't be a good th

What was good, though, was that the intense heat of the burning trees quickly thawed the carcass, allowing my claws to slice through it with little resistance. I took the legs and haunches, leaving the rest to hopefully freeze again, and carrying two in my maw and two with my front legs, I quickly set off back towards home. Climbing up the cliffside with my legs nearly frozen solid wasn't easy, but at least dragonscales were effectively impervious to the rough rocks. I wasn't even scratched by their sharp edges. A fall would still be disastrous, but I wasn't going to let that happen. I slammed my claws into the rocks, gouging and scoring them with all my might to create footholds. The meat I was carrying only made it harder, and several times I felt myself nearly slipping. Eventually, though, I made it to the mouth of the cave, tasting blood from how hard I must've been gritting my teeth. I crawed over to Scorch and the whelps, and collapsed.

Thankfully, the crooked entrance to our cave shielded us from most of the wind, allowing the combined heat of two adult dragons to keep it warm enough for the whelps. They, of course, weren't terribly concerned about me, instead running for the food I brought, screeching and squeaking, tripping over each other as they ate. It hadn't been that long since their last meal, either.

Scorch, thankfully, opted to cuddle up to me to share his warmth.

I wondered if we'd gotten a little too eager with the mating. Keeping almost a dozen whelps alive for the entirety of the winter would be difficult. Of course, we weren't entirely alone. The black dragon would probably share some of what he had in exchange for... favors. That's what he had told me. He'd help us, in exchange for claiming my next heat. I would let him mate me when I was at my most fertile, and I would carry and lay his eggs. The thought excited me, although Scorch had expressed some measure of jealousy. Being mated by another was one thing; that much, dragons were known to do. Being_bred_ by someone else was another matter. It was too intimate, too invasive. One never intruded on another dragon's hoard or mate.

Of course, the idea was also rather exciting. Letting someone else spill their warm, sticky virility into my body, their eggs swelling in my belly. Forbidden fruit was my weakness. That's how I ended up in this situation to begin with, being unable to control or moderate my lusts. The fact that my higher, critical faculties were reduced to pseudo-feral levels didn't help any.

The strangest thing was that I didn't know why the black dragon wanted to use me as a breeder. He had no whelps and no mate, and no apparent interest in raising any, but regardless he wanted the eggs, once I'd laid them. I suppose there's no such thing as being too old to start a family. That, in turn, made me wonder how old dragons actually get. Certainly more than a hundred years. Two hundred, perhaps? But with how worn and scarred the black ancient was, he seemed closer to a thousand. I didn't know what to make of it.

For the moment, I simply laid there curled up around my mate. That kind of moments made almost freezing to death worth it, feeling his affectionate embrace and watching our hungry, hungry babies eat. They were much like piranhas, rapidly devouring flesh and even fur. Mane - as we'd decided to call her until she named herself - even gnawed on the bones until they cracked and revealed the tasty marrow. Luckily, despite their seemingly ravenous hunger, they were small, and not physically capable of eating much more than I brought, which left one moose-leg for each of us. Plus one frozen carcass for later consumption, assuming that my strange breath of hellfire hadn't incinerated it.

I wanted to bring up with Scorch, but I couldn't find the words, something I found endless frustrating. I'd have to meet with the ancient drake, he'd surely understand, given that it was his doing. His gift, effectively. That, and I didn't truly know if we'd be able to survive this first winter without his assistance. That much, I could communicate.

Scorch, of course, didn't really like the idea.

"Grrf, old one is evil," he grumbled. "Wants to take you from me."

"Only... one clutch," I replied. "We will survive."

"Mrrrh, can survive alone," Scorch replied, scratching my back idly. Regardless of how calm he appeared, I could hear doubt in his voice. Doubt and anger. I felt it too, his muscles twitching, as if with anxiety or barely contained rage.

"No prey," I said. "All dead, hidden by snow."

Scorch merely grumbled in response. I could tell he wasn't happy, but he didn't seem dead-set on risking starvation, either. More or less, the lack of response meant that he was leaving the choice up to me. While he might not have cared if most of our whelps didn't survive, I still had some of the mammalian instincts left in my mind, like echoes of a different time. I cared about them more than he did, and I'd have to do whatever I could to keep them alive.

Truth be told, the threat of starvation wasn't the only reason. There was also the fact that staying in our den for hours, days, weeks and months on end - only going out when and if the weather cleared, or if we needed to hunt - was excruciatingly boring. Scorch seemed fine with it, and maybe one day I would be too, but not then and there. At least when I'd still been a wolf I'd been able to draw and write, on cave walls certainly, but nonetheless, even when heavy with eggs. Now, our den, home as it was, was beginning to feel more and more like a prison. Even while sleeping, I dreamed of staying in the cave, and it was driving me insane.

As the day dragged on, the weather began to ease up its merciless assault It was still snowing, but the wind, at least, had died down, which made it easier for us to stay warm. Not that there was much to do. I'll spare you the tedium of telling you about how we passed time, because truthfully, I'd rather not remember it myself. It was a kind of zen-like boredom that eventually became almost meditative.

The next morning, the snow had stopped falling, as well. We fetched the rest of the once more frozen moose for our whelps to eat. It was_heavy_, certainly, but between two adult dragons it was doable. Even with the clearing weather, however, we couldn't spot any traces of more prey. It seemed like everything had migrated somewhere else, gone into hibernation, or simply given up and died a cold death in the snow. The winters weren't that much milder at the farm, if milder at all, but the wonders of modern technology made it little more than a nuisance. In the wild, we had nothing but our bodies. I wondered if we should raid some farmhouse for blankets. Not that they'd last long with our sharp-toothed children gnawing everything in sight.

Regardless, after eating again, I set off for the black dragon's lair. Without the wind and driving snow, the cold was merely biting_rather than _outright ravaging, but it was still a rather exhausting walk, since it was too cold to use my wings for long. Still, exhausting as it was, it wasn't particularly remarkable.

I could feel the air growing warmer as I approached his lair. The snow had melted in a wide radius around the entrance, in fact, revealing dead grass and mud. I wondered if I'd ever burn quite that hot. It was certainly more comfortable than our den, and I got the feeling that it had to do with the gelatinous fire that I could produce.

I waited at the entrance for a moment to see if there'd be any reaction to my presence. The ancient dragon didn't miss anyone entering his domain. I took the lack of a greeting to mean that I was allowed inside, and it didn't make any sense for him to refuse anyway. Given what he wanted to do to me, simply entering his cave wasn't a terribly intimate intrusion in comparison.

Unlike our den, his seemed to have been intentionally dug out. The path into the main chamber was a winding one, with plenty of twists and turns to keep would-be intruders away. Not that such things happened much, except in fairy tales. Dragons had hoards, yes, but they weren't necessarily things that would be valuable to civilized people. Ours was mostly fool's gold and quartz, a few bronze pots left in the wilderness god knows how long ago, and our crown jewels were a few pieces of amber that I'd accidentally unearthed while washing myself in a river. It wasn't any kind of monetary worth that we coveted, but rather simply having a large pile of shiny, sometimes sentimental objects. The way a fire's light was reflected in our hoards was arousing, on some strange primal level, the same way that perhaps revealing clothes would be to humanoids. Sometimes, I found myself hypnotized by it, simply laying at the back of the cave and staring at our modest pile of treasures. While I'd always found Scorch's shimmering scales to be pretty, I never realized just how attractive they were before my... transformation.That's why we had hoards, to attract mates. Or to get existing mates into the proper mood for mating, in our case.

I'm telling you this because the last time I'd been in the black's lair, I'd been far too preoccupied with my new body to really pay attention to what surrounded me. As I reached the inner chamber, I found the ancient curled up on top of a veritable _mountain_of gold and other glittering things, illuminated in a smokey haze by a few fires. Smoke didn't bother us any, of course, and as a bonus it made our dens inhospitable to other creatures.

The black unfurled his body, stretching out, lazily flexing his legs, tail, and then neck. He took one look at me, and with a pleasant upwards flare of his head-frills - a greeting - he curled up again, but this time so that he was facing me.

"Oh queen, oh queen," he began, and then yawned, baring his extremely menacing set of fangs. "My utmost apologies, this winter has me in a rather lethargic state. What-" he spoke. "I'd ask you what you wish of me, but if you would afford me the pleasure of guessing..." he trailed off, staring at me. "Oh queen, I am rather bored," he stated, apologetically.

I didn't reply. I didn't really need to, and I enjoyed listening to someone speaking so eloquently after almost half a year of hearing only Scorch. Not that I didn't love him, but I also loved words. So no matter how long-winded the ancient got, it was like music to my ears, and I let him carry on.

"I would presume that you'd like some assistance with surviving the winter, yes? Not that you'd need it, oh queen, I understand fully and would not dare imply that your abilities are lacking," he grinned, "But of course, being a shrewd queen, you see that I am but a servant, eager to satisfy your needs," the dragon continued. I sat down, watching his lips move and dreaming of the day I could speak fluently again. Although I might not be quite as wordy as the ancient.

"Oh queen, I'd happily share of my bounty, and I would happily take care of your heat when it strikes you," he continued. There it was, of course. Even in my rather feral state I wasn't dumb enough to think he'd help me for no reason. Although I didn't really mind the idea of him scratching that heated itch. After all, Scorch and I already had enough whelps, and it was his turn to lay them again in the spring. And we wouldn't even have to take care of the ones I laid for the ancient. In a way, he would be helping me. Either that, or he was weaving some subtle magic to make me think that. I was feeling rather warm, although that might've just been my body trying to adjust after these days out in our own freezing den.

For dragons, heat was a peculiar thing. We could breed any time of the year, but we went into heat, or rut, in the very late summer, all but ensuring that we did indeed breed to sate that maddening itchy warmth. Almost impossible to resist, it'd have us horny enough to raise our tails for simple beasts, all but ensuring that we'd be thoroughly fertilized by the end of summer. It didn't help that the scent drove every other dragon wild with lust. Typically, females - and breeder males, or "queens" like myself - would be the ones getting mounted, but the males and "studs", like Scorch most of the time, were equally drive to bury their erections in any warm, willing hole. It was only the intense taboo of the act that prevented more cross-species mating at farms and similar.

Occasionally, I wondered why it was at such an inopportune time. I remember reading about it somewhere. Supposedly, it was an evolutionary strategy to make sure that only the whelps strong enough to endure the biting winter cold survived. It didn't make much sense to me; almost every other species had their mating season in the spring, so that the offspring would be old enough to survive winter on their own. Our cycle more or less guaranteed that we had to take care of them for the first one.

As for the black's question, I simply nodded, smiled, my tail half-raised and slowly moving from side to side. I didn't know what the signs were, but my body did, and it communicated agreement.

"Splendid. Oh queen, you may come here at any time to take what meat I have stored. All dried, so none of it will spoil. That reminds me, have you mastered your breath yet?" he asked, a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.

"Yes. Was... more than fire," I replied.

"Good," the black dragon replied. "It is a gift, a nearly unquenchable flame. Burns through solid rock, given enough time. Burns through other dragons as well," he spoke, his voice soft but increasingly menacing. He stood up and stroked my head with a paw. "Something you have that your mate does, oh queen. Do not trust our kin, not even your mate. All of us are far too eager to snap your neck when you turn your back. Use my fire to fend them off."

"Even you?" I asked.

"Especially me, oh queen. There is a reason we have no empires and no cities like other species, despite being more than a match for them in intellect. We only love what we can profit from, or breed with," he murmured. "But you will discover all of that in due time, 'tis merely a warning," he grunted, and flopped back down into his wondrous pile of treasures.

"Take what you came for, and come back to me when your heat comes," he grinned, shifting and seemingly rubbing his underside against his bed of gold. "As for now, I shall sleep most of the winter away. I am drained and tired, oh queen. Leave me to rest."

He said no more, quickly dozing off as I explored his cave. His explanation of my strange fire wasn't really satisfactory, but at least I knew why I had that ability. I wasn't sure about his ominous warning about not trusting dragons, either. Scorch had always been reliable. He might not always have told me the full truth, but he also didn't seem like the type that'd simply _use_me. I doubted he was even intelligent enough for that. Him, and myself as well, at that point, tended to be brutally honest, our emotions hard to hide when our bodies displayed them so readily. That, and I loved him, although certainly love and lust have a way of blinding you even to the obvious.

In the ancient's den I found quite a bit of meat, most of it hung up to dry on various rocks in his natural heat. Some was even salted. Probably stolen, or perhaps brought to him by worshippers. The dragon cults, men and women who treated us, or at least the oldest of us, as some kind of deities, trying to incur our favor, and particularly, wishing to be dragon-bred. I'd never known about them in the city; while mating with dragons was taboo, there were semi-organized cults, far away from prying eyes, that did more than just that. They sought to fully hybridize every race with dragons. Too much, even for me. I_loved_dragons, and Scorch in particular, but there was no mad plan or religious zeal to it, merely nature. Just as well; I wasn't old enough to draw their attention anyway, but they would explain the ancient's massive hoard and larder. These days, stealing anything beyond the occasional cow or horse from farms was entirely too risky.

When I returned to Scorch, he gave me a reflexive, disapproving look, one tinged with jealousy, although he seemed to accept that the food I brought would make our winter much easier. So it went; every few days, I'd go back and get more. Sometimes I spoke with the ancient, other times he was sound asleep, opting to hibernate as much of the icy end of the year as he could. Occasionally I "helped" him fall back asleep, if he was awake, by taking his sleep-drunk erection into my mouth, or by simply licking and rubbing him until he reached a messy climax. Even Scorch didn't feel jealous about that, it was natural for dragons to be a little more open, and so I enjoyed every thick, warm, and virile load that I gulped down or lapped off his matte, black scales, and each time I did I felt a little more of his strange energies effuse my body, leaving me warm or even outright hot for a few days. Between that and the bountiful food he so freely offered, the rest of the dark season passed quickly, although the near-constant boredom was still hard to bear.

Eventually, it was spring again, and the first "generation" of our whelps - now about as big as dogs - left our den with little fanfare. I knew I wouldn't see most of them again, except perhaps Mane, who had been the first one to hatch, bigger and meaner than the others. As they left, I lost the last connection to what I had once been. The other generations were pure dragons. I wondered if one day in the future the wolf traits would spread across the population, or if they'd die out. That did leave me rather moody for a couple of days, though. While I ultimately preferred my new, feral body, there was this nostalgia, even saudade, for what was lost. A vague, diffuse yearning for the old, regardless of whether it was better or not. For my old physical form, for my old home - even though I barely remembered it, now - for lazy summer days, which I now had no time for, for feeling the wind on my fur. Some of it made no logical sense; I'd certainly not reasonably want to be back in my old life, trying as hard as I could to suppress my natural desires, but it was all brought to the forefront of my emotions by our whelps leaving the nest. I wondered if this was how all mothers felt. Or fathers. I still didn't know what to consider myself. Perhaps neither, perhaps both.

But such episodes of the blues only lasted a few days. The return of warmth and sun was reinvigorating, and wild game returning to the valleys and forests was exhilarating. Not to mention how now that the winter was over, our sex drives were returning. Granted, with so many whelps still left to take care of, both of us were rather hesitant to mate, despite our ever-growing needs. There was no protection for dragons, and with how virile Scorch was, letting him mount me was too risky, but we both also knew we wouldn't be able to resist for long, and then we'd be saddled with two more clutches of eggs and subsequently another litter of little drakes to feed.

That, and I needed to be ready for breeding in the summer. We didn't talk about my pact with the black much, even though both of us knew what I had to do.

Of course, that didn't stop us from pleasuring each other with our tongues and mouths. Scorch had finally relented and learned to enjoy oral sex, probably out of overwhelming sexual frustration at not being able to hump me. I remember the first time after the long winter. My mate was so pent up that the tip of his cock was constantly peeking out of his genital slit, or occasionally fully hard while doing completely different activities such as hunting or sleeping. While I enjoyed seeing his wonderfully thick and long draconic member lewdly bob beneath him, I couldn't help but feel a little guilty. I knew how frustrating it must've been, so one evening when we were napping, his erection pressing rigidly into my flank, I decided to help him with it. Without saying a word, I turned so I was facing his crotch, nuzzling his length and taking in his musky, electrifying scent. Then, knowing what he liked, I took his entire member into my mouth - easily, now, having a bestial muzzle - and wrapped my tongue around as much of it as I could to prevent him from scraping against my fangs.

I felt his claws scratch my side as he inhaled sharply, letting out a warbling, sighing moan. Normally he'd be protesting at not getting to pump his seed under my tail, but with how pent up he was, it must've felt amazing, the promise of some sort of wet, warm orifice wrapped tightly around his needy length too much to resist. So his hips twitched once and his tapered tip pushed against my rhroat, then again and the head slipped inside. I focused on breathing through my nostrils, pulling on his flanks to encourage him to hump my muzzle, and it didn't take much to get him going. Soon, he was laying on his side, clutching my sides and thrusting, almost violently, into my muzzle. Leaking, too, and although I couldn't taste much of, I felt the slick warmth sliding down my throat. I loved the feeling of his positively hot cock sliding over my tongue, throbbing and twitching as my mate snorted with growing arousal, his tail thumping against the cave floor. With how pent up he was, it wasn't long at all before he was frantically thrusting, enough to make my throat sore, but I was determined to give him this small measure of release.

Finally, he trembled, and thrust his cock as deeply into my throat as it'd go, and with heavy throbs, spurted his seed down my gullet. I couldn't taste any of it, but I did feel the thick, slimy warmth being deposited into me, and if I hadn't been fully erect already, that would've surely gotten me there. I still swallowed around him, despite not needing to, finding the way he squirmed as my throat squeezed around him incredibly adorable, as well as sexy. He came for almost half a minute, and I couldn't help but wish all of that seed would've been used to fertilize another clutch of eggs in me, but I knew we couldn't. Not yet.

After that one time, he was more eager to facefuck me, having learned that it was, in fact, a decent substitute for a real mating when we couldn't afford more whelps.

By the time my heat came, all of our whelps had flown the nest. Just as well, I didn't particularly want them to see me gradually turn into a mindlessly horny beast. I had to fend off Scorch several times when he attempted to mount me. Several times I caught him sticking his muzzle under my tail while I slept to take in my scent, sometimes waking me by licking my tailhole. When the itch grew unbearable in my belly, I finally set off to meet the ancient again, my legs feeling weak the sheer prospect of getting bred. It took every ounce of willpower that I had to stop myself from simply letting Scorch seed me, but thinking about what might happen if I broke our deal was enough - barely - to resist. Hell, I was desperate enough that I was considering letting wild animals mount me.

The fact was that I was in such deep heat at that point that I could feel my legs grow weak from just the sight of the ancient's den, before I could even set foot in there. Just knowing what was going to happen had my heart beating rapidly, and that was long before I could smell his scent. It was like pouring gasoline on a fire, the virile masculinity of it burning in my nostrils, sensitized as I was to any male pheromones. Oh, I wanted to mount someone too, but the urge to be filled was stronger, the doings of the mysterious womb, my eggs desperate to be doused in rich, thick seed.

When I finally reached him, he was laying on his side, lewdly presenting his erection for me to feast my eyes on, undoubtedly having heard me coming. We didn't need any words to convey what we wanted. I leaned in to nuzzle his length, inhaling that wonderful musk of his in greedy lungfuls, my hips raising themselves as if they had a will of their own, my entire body securely in the iron grasp of my instincts, my desire to breed, the heat now so intense that it burned away all coherent thought.

With me in the proper position, my tail raised high and baring my freely offered hole to the ancient, he chuffed, like a cat, lazily getting onto his feet, taking his time. He was clearly enjoying watching me squirm in desperate need, and he had the perfect opportunity to do so. As long as he was there, I couldn't move even if I wanted to; my legs were frozen, my body refusing to do anything before I was properly, thoroughly bred.

One thought fluttered around my skull, like a hummingbird, never really landing but nonetheless present: I wondered what Scorch was doing, how he'd react if he saw me like this. The black dragon circled around me, churring and rumbling with appreciation for my submissive form.

"Oh queen, all winter I've waited for this," he whispered. "This opportunity to mount someone as attractive as yourself. It's been a long time..."

Beyond the raging wildfire of arousal in my loins and belly, I did feel a little guilty. But this had to be done, or we'd be far worse off in the future, and despite the guilt, I did look forward to my belly swelling with eggs again, particularly since I wouldn't have to take care of the clutch this time. Farm dragons had it so easy, enjoying all the pleasures of breeding but suffering none of the stress of raising a dozen unruly whelps at once.

He reared up with a mighty beat of his wings and mounted me, his heavy body pressing down on mine, with his legs on either side of me to avoid crushing me under his bulk. His cock slid against my tail, then my flank, and then, with a growl, he drew his hips back and slammed it into my body. I let out a warbling cry of joy as he spread me wide open, each ridge popping through my sphincter sending vibrations of pleasure throughout my body. The fact that my body could accommodate someone of his size - and the fact that he sighed with pleasure - filled me with a sense of erotic pride. To think that a teenage runt like myself could pleasure such an ancient beast. I could feel his length throb somewhere deep inside my belly, and I imagined the tapered tip leaking precum into me, even that probably rich with sperm if he'd really not had any relief since the day of my transformation.

Then, he made a tentative first thrust and nearly sent me flat on the cave floor, but I managed to dig my claws into the rock and hold myself upright, even despite the sudden surge of pleasure. It was as if my whole body had changed - I'd felt it with Scorch too, but the ancient was so much bigger - the inner lining of my ass just as sensitive as the hole itself. Almost like a cloaca, although I still had my cock too, proudly jutting out of its slit and bouncing up and down to the rhythm of my lover's thrusts. He was so thick, and so long, I couldn't think about much except how it felt, the intoxicating heat, the ridges rubbing every inch of my insides, and the fact that before long he'd pump me full of his thick, sticky seed. Every time Scorch did it felt like the very first time, and this was even better. Not that I'd ever leave Scorch, but the ancient knew how to mate, more gently that Scorch, with less feral intensity, and he had me panting and drooling with need soon enough, the gentle thumps of his hips slamming against mine building up the resonating pleasure I was already feeling.

And not just that, but the way he clutched my chest with one foreleg, the way his weight pinned my tail to my back so he had easy access to my eager hole, ramming his maleness deeper and deeper. I was nothing but an animal in heat at that point, and it felt like this was my entire purpose in life, getting mounted and bred by these strong draconic males.

Despite it feeling like an absolute orchestra of ecstasy, though, I had the underlying notion that something was wrong. It was nothing I could focus on, especially not while I was getting pounded,claimed by the much older, bigger dragon, but it was there in the background. I felt him throb inside me, heralding his impending release and the quickly approaching moment of my breeding.

And then, my climax crashed over me. I roared our in absolute euphoria, blasting the wall of the cave with violently burning liquid fire as my whole body tensed up, the delightful pressure in my hidden testicles and deep inside my belly quickly building to a climax and then exploding outwards in a series of spasms, my cum spraying all over my chest and even chin. I felt my body milking the dominant male's cock, squeezing every ridge and curve, hard, physically begging for his seed. He slammed his thick cock as deep into me as he possibly could and held himself there, grunting and growling.

"Oh queen..." he grumbled, and then shuddered, clutching me tightly, his legs giving in and his whole weight forcing me down onto the ground. He throbbed violently inside me, and then that wonderful telltale warm wetness of seed blossomed in my core, heavy spurts of his sticky essence spurting into me heavily, almost instantly soothing the itch and stress of my heat, and I went limp beneath him, my tongue lolling out. I could only breathe and sigh happily as he bred me. It's hard to describe for species that don't experience heat, but it felt like an addiction being satisfied, like rest after several days of being awake, a massage when your muscles are impossibly tense. A sense of loosening, of total and utter contentedness. A fuzzy warmth enveloping my whole being as I imagined his virility fertilizing my eggs, my belly subsequently swelling fat with his offspring.

Of course, all the future clutches would be with Scorch, because this was my debt repaid with each spurt of his thick cream pumped under my tail. Each throb relieving me both of my heat and of my duty towards the ancient. His seed tingled inside me as it soaked into every crevice of what I assumed was my womb, bathing my eggs in it, and I couldn't have been happier.

When he finally dismounted, having sprayed what felt like a gallon of semen into me, my belly was already bloated. The ancient laid next to me on the cave floor, panting as he cradled my body.

"Oh queen, what a wonderful mate you'd make. It's a shame you already have your young partner..." he grumbled. "Let us hope my seed takes root."

I nodded in agreement, eventually dozing off, subconsciously clenching my gaping breeding hole to prevent as much as I could of his precious cum from spilling.

The next day, I returned to Scorch, and we carried on as usual, although he was somewhat distant to begin with, smelling the other dragon's musk on me, but he understood - on some level, at least - that it was a necessary evil, and it wasn't long before we cuddled up again each night. The black's potent seed, of course, did indeed take root inside me, the sheer amount of it that still remained inside me leaving previous little risk for anything else. In only a few days, my belly began to grow rounder; first a mere bump, slowly protruding into a firm dome of obvious pregnancy as the weeks passed. It seemed faster than when Scorch and I bred, probably connected to whatever magic the ancient used.

Along with the eggs growing in my body also grew a certain sense of foreboding, however. My ability to think returned, and with it, all the questions. I found myself sharper, more like my old self mentally thanks to the ancient's influence, and my speech even became more eloquent, as if I absorbed some of his magic each time he fucked me. But rather than joy, I felt worry about what would happen to our eggs. Granted, I had no choice, and soon enough I was in his den again, laying them like a good breeding hen while he watched with approval.

After I had laid the eggs, I never saw them again, nor any whelps that would've been born from them. At first I thought they were merely slow to hatch, but they never seemed to. I can begin to guess at what happened to them only now, but back then it _unsettled_me. I couldn't explain why, though. Breeding with Scorch felt natural, but with the black ancient, it didn't feel like we were creating life at all. No, our mating had been for some different purpose; he didn't create, only consumed. That was something else I came to discover.

Scorch's breath would burn, yes, but it left the ground fertile for new growth, like a natural wildfire. The place where I'd found the frozen carcass in the winter was still blackened, as if the earth had been salted. Nothing new grew there, and no scavengers came for the charred leftovers or bones. My breath - and that of the ancient who had gifted it to me - was something far worse than simple fire. Some aberrant, chaotic magic, lingering and rendering the earth barren for years to come. The gnawing feeling I had, I now realize, was an understanding of how exactly the ancient had grown so old, far older than any dragon truly should've been, and why his gifts were so destructive. I didn't know the specifics, nor do I ever wish to know, but the fact that I never saw our offspring again spoke volumes on whatever was going on.

So Scorch and I moved. In the last few weeks of fall, we once again abandoned our home, and ventured deeper into the wilds, far enough that we couldn't be found by anyone. Too far for helicopters to reach and too deep in the forest for any other vehicle to get us. We still had to worry about other dragons, of course, but at least this time we carefully scouted a few miles around our new den - this time at the base of a cliff and hidden by trees and bushes - and found no trace of others of our kin. While I trusted Scorch, I took the ancient's warning to heart. We couldn't trust anyone else. Such was the life of dragons.

Although at first we remained alone for a good few years, just us and the whelps, it's impossible to not get involved into the politics_of our kin. I was determined to make a change, if only for myself, to speak only truth, to approach other dragons with honest intentions, even though I couldn't trust _them in turn. I only hoped that one day my approach would rub off on them.