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“It wasn't my best day. Well, I suppose that's putting it mildly."

The light of his lamp was a steady flame, confined within glass and emanating a consistent yet meagre illumination. The radius of its glow was expressed broadly enough to encompass only the reclining man, and the great monster against which he set his weight, “Nothing could be done. Over years, I'd slowly get worse. And in my future was a wheelchair as a certainty, a strong possibility of blindness, and it wasn't unlikely that my mental faculties would degrade as well. What are you supposed to do when you're told something like that? I was a Soldier, an Officer. My career was over, my future was in ruins."

His voice was sonorous in its depth, yet the tone meandered as much as the words. This was a man unloading his burdens, placing his thoughts in order by venting them to the air, “I just wanted to die while I still could be called a man."

The silence was long, and in that quietude his body shifted. His hair was dark as night and of a moderate length, requiring the sweeping motion of his fingers to keep it from obscuring steely grey eyes. He bore upon his chin, cheeks, and upper lip the facial hair not of style but of neglect, yet his pale form was muscular and sturdy, the result of diligent daily training and no shortage of pride. He gave the slightest huff, as one might when considering a ridiculous notion, and then continued, “Next thing I know I'm standing in front of some lecherous looking old geezer calling himself a World God. A second chance? Sign me the fuck up. I imagined it was just a dream or some sort of hallucination from the meds. But it was a good dream and I wanted to see how it played out. I was fantasising I was the protagonist of some garbage isekai."

His eyes closed, and he suppressed the twitch of distaste. His hand had drifted from his face to gesticulate to the air, and in the gloom behind him, reptilian eyes captured the flickering light of the flame the man delivered his story to. The voice lightened, the weight of his tone subsumed in mirth, “So, what's my completely broken overpowered ability? It's cliché at this point, so I asked it right off the bat. He told me everyone he sends gets some sort of Apex Skill. If he gives them [Fire] for example, then they have absolute power over flame. And really, properly 'absolute'. They could burn the whole world with a snap of their fingers if they wanted. So, this World God says he only gives out quite specific skills to stop things getting too wild, now. Never something as broad as [Fire], but maybe [Fireball]. Apparently, he learned his lesson after he let the last guy have [Creation], but he wouldn't elaborate much and started getting all haughty, so I let it drop."

He lowered his arm, and he tilted his head slightly, looking mildly proud, “A bit of a technical explanation for a daydream. I was pretty pleased with myself for verisimilitude. Maybe it'd be a while before I lost my mind after all? I should scribble this all down somewhere when I wake up, I thought." And he chuckled, almost without care.

“I asked if I could pick the Apex Skill, but he shot me down. He gets to decide, and he's decided mine already."

“Of course I was excited. Whatever it was, there was bound to be way to exploit it and live out a power fantasy. That's what tended to happen in these stories. Well, except for the ones that subvert the trope, but this didn't feel like one of those tales. Not entirely" And his expression darkened, and for a time again the story ceased, leaving behind only the sound of the torrential rainfall beyond the half-collapsed tomb in which he sheltered.

The creature gave a slight huff, as if prompting him to continue, and after taking a slow breath, the man indulged them, “I get geared up with some appropriate clothes. As a freebie he pours the languages of the new world into my head. Since it's a fantasy medieval style setting, I asked for a sword or spear or some other weapon to protect myself. He said no. I'd have to use my Apex Skill creatively if I wanted to survive. That sounded reasonable enough." The final sentence was almost a groan.

“And there I am in the middle of Anorak Village. I'd say the name was pretty on the nose, since the mountainside was in the midst of a downpour much like the one I find myself in now. I quite would have liked such a garment, that was my first thought. It felt like the World God was trying to show off or something. That should have been my first clue as to what sort of being I was dealing with."

Much of the pale skin of his chest was exposed, bloodied by a few shallow scratches, and his fingers briefly interacted with the wounds. He scowled, “I had a nice cloak, though. Had. Because you shredded it. But before my clothes were rags, I cut quite the gallant figure. The rain felt real. The cold felt real. It was night and my eyes couldn't penetrate the gloom. But the sky was full of stars I'd never seen. I accepted that the dream was my new reality rather quickly. Maybe it was just wishful thinking."

“It took a little fumbling around, but one building particularly had signs of activity. A bar or tavern – I'd call it a pub. What that lecherous old World God was angling for became apparent pretty quickly after I walked in." His gaze trailed upwards, towards a ceiling replete with mosaics mostly scoured by the passage of a great many years, “Maybe I gawked a little. There was an eclectic mix of fantasy races just like you'd hope to see. And a few that looked a little outlandish as well. Though, I suppose I can't really judge what is and isn't outlandish by the standards of this world. What troubled me was that I could tell that every single one of them was susceptible to my Apex Skill."

Another self-deprecating chuckle, and his gesticulation to the lamp resumed, his shoulders rubbing against scale as he accompanied the raising of his hands with a shrug, “I asked where the Adventurer Guild was. They asked what such a building is, and I felt like a jackass. Don't these isekai settings usually have an Adventurer Guild? Parties? Heroes? The latter two got some results at least, but it looks like there's no governing body for iterant warriors in this world."

“Well, the difficulty level for gathering information went up. And finding quests. And party members. I was advised to present myself to the Alderman in the morning and spent the evening potwashing to pay for a meal and a corner to sleep in." The explanation was delivered offhand, mere connective tissue for the grand exposition of his tale. It lacked the weight of his sonorous misery, the lightness of his good humour, and the scathe of his distaste, “Yeah, I could have used my Apex Skill. But I didn't want to give the World God the satisfaction. This was the secret behind that lecherous grin. I was sure of it."

“The next day, I greet the Alderman. Pleasant fellow. Could tell he really cared about his village. He says that he was visited in a dream by God and had seen a terrible vision. Of course he had. Maybe the World God was throwing me a bone here? Maybe I'd misjudged him after all. Because this sounded like a pretty appropriate starter quest."

He cleared his throat and quoted, “A roaming monster has moved into the tomb of an ancient hero and its hunting grounds would overlap with Anorak Village. Well, this was perfect. My Apex Skill is ideal for this. It was only half a day away, I had a promised reward from the Alderman for neutralising the creature, and there was bound to be some treasure or equipment left over in this dungeon." He looked from side to side, “I was expecting a dungeon, not a hole in the ground filled with broken statues and crappy mosaics."

“I made sure to ask the Alderman if I could take what I picked up here, and he assured me that I could. The tomb was ancient, and had been picked clean by the villagers a very long time ago, but you never know what you might find if you search enough. They couldn't even tell me who this ancient hero was, so there was hardly any disrespect involved either. Excellent. It's always a little hazy exactly how old a tomb has to be before grave robbing becomes adventuring."

“Half a day over moderate terrain. Plenty of mud since it had rained through the night, but I've a good sense for direction, and the kindly Alderman had described the route well and even provisioned me. Not a problem considering my previous profession." He patted the mass of scale lightly upon the stomach, “I made it to your lair before midday."

“You, I was not expecting. A roar from the depths of the gaping maw of the cavern. I thought you were some sort of lesser dragon when your head poked out. It wasn't until I saw the rest of you that I realised what you are."

He took a slow breath, and he looked to his side to take in the body he was using as a sofa. Jet black scales armoured rippling musculature, the body enormous and tail vanishing into the darkness beyond them. Steely horns curved upwards, their pointed tips as vicious as any of the jutting plates of chitinous scale projected from shoulders, back and forearms. The claws were unfathomably huge. Overlarge in comparison to what would be reasonable for such a body, but that is perhaps what was behind the name of the being.

“Deathclaw. Honestly, I froze up. It's ridiculous. This was supposed to be a fantasy medieval style world, and you're not exactly suited to that. Aren't you supposed to be some sort of genetically engineered monstrosity? Or have something to do with radiation? I don't know. I only played the fourth Fallout game, and that was quite a while ago. Regardless, you don't exactly fit in this setting."

The pace of his tale increased, “You bowed your head and charged. I finally regained my wits and used my Apex Skill." His hand swept out into the air, “[Tame]." A small laugh, “And… it did not stop you."

He relaxed again back against a scaled abdomen, “Maybe if I'd been quicker on the draw, I wouldn't have gotten slammed by all of your momentum. I'm glad the horns didn't catch me though, or I'd be back in front of the World God. I must admit, I thought that [Tame] had failed and I was pretty much screwed. I pulled myself to my feet and put up my fists. I used to box for the Regiment, and even if it was futile, my blood was roaring in my ears."

His voice was filled with drama, the wavering tone of an orated battle, “We squared off. You, three times my size, with horns and claws and fangs. Me, with a shredded cape, staggering around with the wind knocked out of me, and my stance up like I thought I could do anything. I doubt I looked particularly impressive. Just an idiot that knew he was dead, but didn't want to go out without swinging his fists. A smart man would have fled."

Quiet for a few moments, and those reptilian eyes followed him in the gloom, “It felt like we were stood there for minutes. It probably wasn't more than a few seconds. Then you turned around, dropped to all fours, and put up your tail."

He laughed. True, genuine laughter rippled through him, and the creature chuffed, confused by the sound of it, “That's when time properly stood still for me. I figured that [Tame] would make me some sort of Beastmaster. I got an idea of how things really were when I saw that it would work on people, too. That lewd World God's doing, no doubt. Like hell I was going use this on a person, I've got my morals. But against monsters, it should be fine, right?"

“No, this made no sense. Taming was one thing. This Apex Skill of mine is supposed to domesticate the target. Make them subservient. This was a step further. Was it something to do with squaring off? Aggression plus a dominant position was some sort of Deathclaw mating ritual?" He voiced now words which had echoed in his mind in those seconds of hesitation, every analysis and half-thought.

“No offense, but I wasn't exactly interested. I should have known better that tamed or not, turning down such advances would have consequences. Like an idiot I looked away. And I've hardly mastered this Apex Skill power. You tore open my shirt, dragged me inside, and now that there's another downpour, I'm stuck here cuddling with a Deathclaw for warmth while spilling my story."

He gave a grumble of displeasure, his tone one of annoyance, “You damned horny lizard. And while I'm at it, fuck that World God, too!"

The Deathclaw gave a small growl, a movement of her head, and the meaning was interpreted by the languages imprinted into the man, “Talk more."

“What nonsense. An entirely one-sided conversation. I can understand Deathclaw grunts and roars and body language, but I can't replicate it. I don't have a tail, or that sort of shaped mouth, or a massive tongue. At least [Tame] lets me get orders across to an extent, but even those are somewhat vague when I can't communicate them properly…" He took a deep breath, and sighed, “So, you like hearing me talk, huh? Even though you don't understand a word I'm saying? Good for you. I can vent all night long."

“Though, I can't deny that I'm interested in you. How can you possibly exist?" He looked the creature up and down, at least as much as he could in the darkness of a cave lit only by a small, borrowed lantern, “I'm out of my depth with this world. The way that the World God explained Apex Skills, I expected some level of reason in the setting. But a Deathclaw is an arbitrary presence. If everything is nonsense, then how am I supposed to understand the stakes? There must be a reason that Deathclaws exist in this world."

The universe was quick to answer, as if it was displeased that the man was poking holes in it. A bolt of lightning beyond the cave mouth set the world into bright white for an instant, long enough for the mosaics to be unveiled. The hero of this ancient tomb, a man who created from nothing but his imagination, “…No way. The [Creation] guy? The [Creation] user filled this world with bullshit using his Apex Skill!? Oh, fuck me!"

The Deathclaw squirmed, some semblance of the expletive finding its way into their [Tame]. “No, not you. You stay put. Stay." Motion ceased, and he continued, “This is all the fault of this fool World God and his Apex Skills."

In her wordless voice she spoke with her growls and the twitch of her tail, “Strong male. Breed." The conveyed meaning was insistent, with no small amount of frustration behind it, accompanied by a musky scent which made his head swim.

He coughed and swept his hand through the air in front of his face, “By what possible standard am I strong? You're thrice my size. The weakest Deathclaw male would be many times more powerful than me."

The great head lowered, subservient, and the meaning flowed, “Powerful." That was the word she was aiming for, despite having naught to convey it but growls and the motions of her body.

“I wonder. Perhaps it's subjective? Thanks to [Tame], I suppose my power over you is far greater than even the most strong and aggressive Deathclaw male. You're completely subservient to me."

Her tail flicked, and the demand was clear, “Breed."

“But not so mindless that you don't have your own wants. What does [Tame] do, then? I thought it might make the target into some sort of thrall. But while it seems to invoke subservience, it doesn't exactly erase the will of who I use it on. You're compelled to follow my commands, but I can tell whether you like doing what I tell you or not." The creature grumbled, highlighting the point of not enjoying the restraint of his command to stay, and he huffed in response, unyielding.

“You wanted to hear me talk more. I've a logical mind. Everything needs to make sense to me – there has to be an answer for everything. I reject an arbitrary world. So, little by little, I'm going to figure out this place. I'll understand the limits of my power, what I can and cannot do. And you're going to help me."

“Let's see what I'm working with. Having you hold your position with [Stay] works. I suppose holding up my hand and demanding that you be still is about as universal as it comes even when contending with monsters." He sets his fingers to his chin and thinks, “But, when I swore earlier, you mistook it as a command. So, it's hardly so clear cut. What determines the difference? Was that interpretation based on your own want, perhaps?"

He turned, pushing up from the tattered remains of his cloak and bringing himself to his knees to better survey the prone Deathclaw, “Raise your hand and splay your fingers." He spoke the words to no avail, but then extended his own hand outwards, palm upright, “[Hand]."

“Well, that worked." A primary claw as long as his forearm was delicately placed in his grasp. The density of it was absurd, that much he could tell by even the small amount of weight she had relinquished to him. He assessed the killing implement carefully, “So, as long as I keep commands simple and accompany them with gestures with a reasonably understood meaning, I can guarantee some results. I suppose time and affinity will allow me to broaden this to some extent." He made a thoughtful sound, “Perhaps you will eventually come to understand every word of my speech. Though, I don't want to get ahead of myself and set expectations too high…"

He set down their hand, and placed his own over the back of hers, “Five digits. Opposable thumbs. The claws are smooth. The scales are rough." He gave voice to his thoughts as they came to mind, a stream of consciousness as he traced beyond her wrist and upwards, “A spike at the elbow. Though it seems to be mostly an extension of the armour plate of her forearms. I suppose I would liken it to a vambrace. Perhaps it's defensive against the claws of a rival?"

His hands roamed higher, “Powerful muscle at the bicep. There's more meat up here than my leg." He hummed, “Dorsal spikes at the shoulder. I can't see too well with only this small flame, but I think there's a symmetry here." His fingers reached her throat, where scales were softer, and the entire body to his side jolted.

This time the meaning was more than body language and a stuttering growl, but in scent as well, “Breed. Please."

The man paused for a moment, drawing back his hands, “Look, I'm very flattered. But you're not my type. Whatever mating ritual I've stumbled into, you'll have to suppress your need." He gave a slight grunt of frustration himself, “And I can't imagine how I could possibly put that into a way you would understand. So, I'm sorry. But you're going to have to withstand it until you figure it out."

His roaming hands returned, to the side of her face, “Powerful jaws. Large fangs. Face is a little skull-like. But not offensively so. It may be strange to say, but I suppose if pushed I would call them cute? I don't dislike the reptilian eyes, and these horns are quite impressive." He grasped at them both, and the small application of his weight had her tip back and bare her throat. The creature again twitched, “Tongue and soft tissue are greyish. Ah, the breath leaves something to be desired."

He chuckled, assessing then the other arm, “No real signs of battle damage. No scars that I can see in this light. Though I imagine the only thing that could really leave those behind is another Deathclaw." A sigh, “No, scratch that. Who knows what nonsense the [Creation] user called into this world. My common sense is invalid as far as ecosystems go." Without hesitation, he moved to sit upon her abdomen, “Warm. Pleasantly so. Which is good for me, as if you were cold-blooded, I would be in for an unpleasant time. I'm relying on you to keep me from freezing while we wait the storm out."

Lower than her neck, he felt now the muscle of pectorals, “It's like armour plate. But there's a little pliability. I wouldn't call her underside soft, but it's not abrasive like the arms and shoulders. A slightly lighter colouration – grey like the horns. The abdomen craters a little, leaving the ribcage prominent, and…"

He had shuffled back as his assessment continued, but now he trailed off. Before his eyes, scaled armour parted to reveal soft flesh, a similar shade to the ashen colour of her tongue and the inside of her mouth. It amazed him how he had not noticed, so caught up in his own evaluation of the creature. Her thighs were drenched, as though he had emptied his entire waterskin into her crotch, and as he observed, her femininity twitched, revealing for a brief moment an engorged clit not dissimilar in size to his thumb.

“Ahem…" He pushed himself further down, taking a seat now on her tail, and again he witnessed that twitch, one which ran throughout her entire body. But the power of his [Tame] was absolute. So long as she understood the command to [Stay], she could do nothing to rebel against it.

“Breed. Please." The whine was one of desperation, and he must admit that it pained him to witness the sheer level of distress communicated with every twitch, the flick of her tail beneath him, and the twisting of her head against the ground.

Another slow breath, and he choked on her scent. There was something feral in it. And while he found her breath offensive, this was not an odour outside his tastes. His hands grasped a thigh, “Ahem!" He repeated, gathering himself, “Upper legs as large as my torso. Until the scales reach the digitigrade parts, I would liken them to cuisses, greaves and poleyn." Lower, “Three claws to each foot. Including one raised rending claw. It reminds me of a karambit, though I suppose it should be the other way around. About as sharp as a knife, too."

The man coughed, attempting to clear his senses, “That's certainly… pungent." His hands grasped at the base of her tail, “Underside of tail is similar to the chest and stomach. But sides and top are abrasive as the forearms." He chuckled, attempting to break his own tension, “Nobody is getting on your back unless you want it, eh?"

“And then without thinking, “Ass is surprisingly clean. Pussy is less reptilian than expected. I wouldn't say that it's human-like, though. Prodigious amount of lubricant. The scent is- Ah!" He realised what he was doing, and rolled free, finding his feet and nearly knocking over the lamp, “Lost my head for a moment there." He swallowed, almost swore with 'fuck', and managed to stop himself in time, “Hah, I probably wouldn't have been able to rescind it if I said that word now, would I?"

The Deathclaw whined desperately, a river of lubricant pooling at the base of her tail, her hips bucking slightly into the air, “Please. Please. Please."

He tried to think, and brought his fingers to his chin, sputtering when realising that he'd thoroughly doused them in her fluids while feeling her thighs without even noticing, “Ah, f-drat." He snorted at how ridiculous his chosen replacement curse was, and it cleared his mind for a moment, “I have a hypothesis." He declared, “[Tame] forced absolute subservience. I have emulated the process of advertising myself as a powerful male Deathclaw. And it seems to have induced some sort of breeding instinct in you. An enforced estrus, perhaps?" He paced back and forth, “I suppose it makes sense. If you had a season, then Deathclaws would breed in waves and the presence of a peaceful village like Anorak would be impossible. So, for this world at least, the conditions for reproduction must be more individualistic."

He snapped his fingers, pleased with his theory, though his joy was no solace to the squirming Deathclaw. Every breath was a panting desire, her tongue lolling out over those vicious fangs as her head twisted from side to side, her tail thrashing, legs spread and hips straining. He gulped, “Well." A burst of breath in his exhalation, “I suppose that doesn't help you much. I can't exactly command you to be satisfied or quiet down, can I?" He gestured his hand, “…orgasm? Satisfy? Sleep?"

“Either the commands are unreasonable within the framework of [Tame], or there is a lack of understanding. And why the hell was my first attempt a command to orgasm? God, what is wrong with me?" Another heavy sigh, and he was reduced again to coughing by the scent overwhelming his senses, “Well, maybe you deserve to be tormented and in pain? Maybe you've killed a hundred men."

“Please." The Deathclaw continued to squirm, the language of their body, the persistence of their whine, it was as if the request was screamed, “Hurts."

The silence that followed was not a short one. He found it hard to look at the pained creature, grinding his teeth together and wringing his hands as he tried to figure out what to do. Logic had done nothing to kill his empathy, and after another convulsion he arrived at a decision more resolutely than he would have liked to.

“God. Damn. It." He threw up his hands, “Are you watching, World God? Is this what you wanted you dirty old man!?" His shoulder slumped, “Fine." And he repeated, “Fine. Have it your way." He removed what remained of his ruined shirt, determined not to make a mess of it, and he rounded on the thrashing creature, “I was warned not to use my real name in this world. Apparently there are types of magic which can take advantage of such things. But I don't think it matters with you. If we're going to do this, then I want you to know that at least." He gestured to himself, “Raphael."

He was about to make a comment about the meaning of the name before realising how on the nose it was, “'God has healed'? Really?" Raphael laughed, “Destiny is a cruel joke. Was I born to be your plaything?" He shook his head, “Screw it all. I don't care anymore." He approached the Deathclaw, and knelt at her side, “It's not like you can repeat my name. But I suppose, since I tamed you, you're my Pet. If you're going to call me anything, I should commit and have it be 'Master'. Granted, you can't say that either…"

A hand was placed at the inside of each thigh, and he imparted the slightest weight, drawing apart the softer scales and spreading her open before him. The potency of the scent increased, but at least her thrashing had ceased, the opening flexing slightly to disgorge a steady trickle of fluid, “For you to be this… productive… I suppose the mating process for Deathclaws is quite vicious. Not much time for foreplay, huh? He huffed, “A good thing you seem to like the sound of my voice, because I'm not planning on shutting up while I do this. It's just about the only way I'll keep control of my senses, I think…"

The light was too dim for him to get a clear look inside her, despite his curiosity, and it annoyed him that he found that fact to be disappointing, “If I'm going to be doing this, I at least want to make the most out of this opportunity to gather information." He shook his head, attempting to justify things to himself, “No helping it, I suppose." He gathered some of the slick from the pool at the base of her tail, and splayed the fingers of his right hand, testing the fluid, “It's rather viscous. There's a consistency of sorts to it… I suppose I would say that in slipperiness and feel, it's like olive oil."

He brought his hand to his face and inhaled, “Smells like… leather in the rain, perhaps? But there's a bite to it. The sort of shock that comes when you pour vinegar over hot chips. It's harsh, but not unpleasant. If I were pressed, I'd maybe even call it intoxicating." The scent did much to banish his senses after all, but the unending monologue kept him focused to an extent. There was one thing left to test, “The taste is…" His tongue lapped a droplet from his wrist, “A little salty, a little bitter. I'd hardly want to down a cup of it, but I couldn't call it unpleasant." That was a relief.

Raphael set that soaked hand at her entrance, he parted her flexing folds, and slowly sank his first two fingers into her. The Deathclaw rumbled, the sound from them an indicator for joy, a desire for more, “Tighter than expected. Much tighter. Perhaps the result of such powerful abdominal muscles? There's a reasonable level of pliability, and she's drenched. With her being three times my size, I thought this might be somewhat silly, but…"

His head shook, “Not that I intend to use any more than my hand." Raphael swallowed, steadying himself against that heady scent, “I'll get you to orgasm. That will settle you down. Then, you're going to be my sword and my shield in this nonsense world." His fingers flex, “[Tame] really is limited in scope, isn't it? Even if it makes you subservient, I still have to be the one to master you or I'd just feel like an asshole issuing commands you can't refuse." His palm pressed against her oversized clit, and he curled his fingers upwards, “Fine. I'll make you want to work for me."

The Deathclaw thrashed under the ministrations of his fingers, the tip of her tail quivering, her cheek matted in the drool of a lolling tongue, her chest rumbling in a stuttering growl, “More. Yes. More. Please. Harder. Yes. Like. Please." A jumble of expressions, all of the half-thoughts of pleasure.

“Oh, you like that? I suppose Deathclaws can't exactly masturbate." He ran away with the errant thought, “The claws you can't even begin with. The tail is long but too crocodilian, and rather abrasive. You're not bendy enough to reach it with your tongue. And with so much lubricant produced, I think it's likely that mating itself is quite a rough and quick affair." He shifted his palm in a gentle circle, flickering his fingers inside her, “This is only a one-time thing, so I may as well put my all into it and teach you pleasure." He huffed, “Don't think that I'm getting into it or anything. I'm simply being… thorough."

He found a repetitive arc for his fingers, increasing the speed and pressure of his movements. While the motions were rather shallow from the difference in size, the press of his palm did wonders for pleasure – at least judging from the noisy, squirming creature below him. The amount of femcum was prolific indeed, “I can feel you flexing in time to my fingers. You've learnt that rhythm quickly, haven't you? Are you close to orgasm?" He suppressed the slight disappointment that it was over so quickly, “Go on. Cum."

It was no command, but the Deathclaw delivered all the same. She roared, an echo within the confines of the tomb grand enough to have Raphael flinch and cringe into his shoulders, though he did not remove his hand from her quivering femininity. Her back arched, dorsal spikes screeching as they scraped against the stone, her tail slapped the ground hard and swept wildly enough to nearly take out his legs, and from her spread pussy came a rush of juices grand enough to completely soak his whole arm.

Raphael toyed with her until the thrashing stopped, extending the orgasm through her afterglow and then at last drawing back his hand and collapsing into a seated posture at her side, “Well, then…" His heart was beating fast, not only from the effort, “That's that, I suppose." He swallowed, and closed his eyes for a few moments, “Rather messy. I'll have to sacrifice what's left of my shirt to clean my arm. But, worth it, I think. You seem to have settled down, and I can't say that the process was unpleasant. A learning experience, I'll call it."

Again, he rocked himself to his feet, but as he turned, he again read the body of the Deathclaw. Her eyes were half-lidded, a terrifying countenance twisted into pleasured bliss. Cute. This time there was no denying that word, “Please… breed… like… breed… mate…"

With his clean hand, he swept back his hair and groaned, “Look, I… I admit, I got into it a little bit there. But any more than this would be crossing a line." He snorted, then he laughed from the ridiculousness of it all, “Really? Are you trying to seduce me or something? I'm the one with [Tame], you know? And you might be cute. And I can't argue that I have a wide strike zone. But, damn…"

His fingers came to his chin, and he began to pace, “I'm not going to lose my mind just because there's a chance here to get my dick wet. I'm a rational, moral person. That's why I didn't use [Tame] on the people back in the pub. I don't want to be that guy." He took a deep breath, and found that the scent of Deathclaw estrus did little to make his situation any easier, “I need a role in this world. Limiting my [Tame] to monsters makes me a Beastmaster, I suppose. If classes or jobs even exist here. I suppose I can just have that word to myself if they don't."

“[Tame] makes the target subservient. As long as I can communicate orders, the target is compelled to follow them. But I can't control the mind of the target, and honestly, I think it would be pretty awful to surround myself with creatures that hated me but couldn't defy me." He shrugged, “I suppose by that logic, I wouldn't control minds even if I could."

He span on his heel, marching back across the tomb, “So, while subservience and direction may be compelled, I should work to win loyalty and affection by my own merit. It's not like I want to have sex with a Deathclaw, after all. I'd just be satisfying the needs of my Pet in order to gain their favour… right?" He gestured towards the prone creature, “Right?"

Of course no answer came to the query, only the squirming movements of a body which translated into language inside his brain, “More… please… mate…"

“Damn that World God!" He threw up his arms in resignation, “I've not been here for a day, and I can already guess that just about every problem in this world is going to be traced back to his bad decisions! What am I supposed to be? Another one of them?" Raphael sighed, “Well, it's hardly your fault, is it? You just came down from the mountains hoping to find something to eat and now you're my Pet. I waved my hand and made you into my slave. And you're too valuable for me to let you go."

He sighed, “Loyalty and affection is up to me. That's what I just rambled off, right? The common sense of this world isn't the same as mine. So, damn it all. Fine. I've got a responsibility to take care of you, haven't I?" Raphael advanced, and took a knee again beside the Deathclaw, “Okay, I can make this work. But before we do this, there's something important. You need a name."

“Everything in this nonsense world is pretty on the nose, isn't it? Naming conventions especially. What will it be? Talon? Claw?" He shook his head, “That's maybe a little too much." He ran through some synonyms in his mind, but then recalled his own previous assessment of her claws, “A name has power in this world, doesn't it? So, you're Karambit. That's your name. And I can call your Kara for short without making you vulnerable to whatever magic messes with names."

Raphael grinned, “Yes, I'm rather pleased with that. Kah-Rah. Maybe with a little practice you'll be able to say it one day." His fingers flexed, and some of the fluids of his hand dripped to the ground, but he waved it upwards, “You don't have to [Stay] anymore. Act freely. Do what you want to do."

If he were smarter, he would have been prepared for the sudden movement. The Deathclaw rolled immediately onto all fours, her tail clipping him and sending the man sprawling as she raised it high, and backed towards him forcibly, forcing him to retreat almost to the wall “Ah, easy, easy!" His hand found the rough scales of her thigh, then trailed to the softer scales of her rump, “Fuck, steady there..."

The light was dim, the radius of the lantern glow small, and he was blessed by a full reservoir of oil supplied by that kindly Alderman. He stood, “Careful, Kara. The rough scales hurt, you know? So long as I only touch the inside of your thighs and the underside of your tail though…" He trailed his fingers upwards, and with his thumbs parted their near-reptilian pussy, “Well, this is pretty soft, too."

The motions of her flicking tail were clear to read, the desire of a look over her shoulder, the thrusting of her chest to the stone beneath them, the flex of her claws, and the thrum of her growl, “Breed. Please. Mate. Want. Like. Keep."

He loosened his belt, and stepped out of his lightly armoured pants, left in only his boots. The aesthetic was awful, but he had no desire to put his bare feet to the scree of ruined mosaic littering the floor without Deathclaw level pads, “I'm pretty well endowed. Rather proud, I must admit. But, you're three times my size, so I can't promise this is going to be some cervix busting rut." Raphael chuckled, “What I will do though is put a load in you and make sure you cum again."

His maleness was broad, a little beyond eight inches, and despite his protestations, he'd been as hard as steel for quite a while now. Long enough for the precum of his desire to have left a patch of damp in his underclothes. But he wasn't about to give voice to that as he stepped back finding a ledge of raised stone to compensate for the differing height of Kara's helpfully lowered hips, and with his hands pressing her tail to her back, he hilted in the Deathclaw in a single thrust.

“Fuck. Ah-“ There was a sharp intake of breath as her eagerness pressed his back to the wall, her weight crushing him for a moment. But in her eyes was then an apology, “Just leave this to me, okay?" There was no order, but by this point, an understanding of sorts had been reached, and each of them was in accord, “I don't know if you're a virgin, or if that just there was your first orgasm. But I'm going to imagine it, because the idea of claiming you for myself feels pretty damn nice."

He growled softly, finding that he quite liked the idea. If he'd gone so far as to talk himself into fucking a Deathclaw, he was at least going to have some fun with it, “It's nonsense that you're so tight. Is it really the muscles, or do your males just have small cocks?" He thrust his hips, and as he did, his orbs slapped lewdly at her slickened clit as it twitched beneath them, strings of that once pooled femcum drawn back with the parting, “I don't suppose it matters. If I've resolved to keep you, then I'm not giving you to anyone else. So, I'll be taking responsibility for that from now on…"

Raphael focused on his pleasure, indulging himself while voicing his evaluation, “Very wet, very soft. There's a grasping sensation to it every time she does that twitching clench thing and her clit flares out. I think mares wink like this?" His fingers pressed into the grooves of her scales, forcing her tail down further, “I can tell I'm not fucking a human, just from the feel of it. She's leaking so much that it's already all over me." He swallowed, “Is this marking, perhaps?"

The Deathclaw was hesitant, for the swinging of her hips may have been appropriate to mate with a male of her own kind – not that she had any experience, for his wishful thinking of an evaluation had struck its mark – but being proactive would likely injure the human behind her. Fortunately, he seemed to have resolved to be vigorous enough for the both of them, and in her growls, he parsed into language only a single repeated word, “Yes."

“What the hell happened to me? I tumbled from a hard no, to only my hands, to balls deep and demanding ownership of you pretty quickly, didn't I?" He moaned softly, signalling his own enjoyment, an expression of pleasure that Kara could understand, “It's your scent. Fuck. Pheromones or something? That must be the reason." He huffed, “Either that, or I'm as much of a fucking degenerate as the World God."

Nothing was without purpose, nothing could be arbitrary even in a nonsense world, his own actions included. So, he found the Deathclaw to be rather cute. Perhaps alluring, even. The truth was that whether she held some power in her scent or not, Raphael was of rational enough mind to reject what he did not desire himself. He'd named her and he'd claimed her because this is what he wanted. And now he increased his pace, much to the joy of Kara beneath him.

“The rumble of her pleasure is like a purring kitten. There's a threat to it, though. A sort of suppressed aggression that makes it feel like it would be dangerous for me to stop now that I've started." He adjusted his stance, and ground his hips against hers, the underside of his shaft pressing down on her engorged clit, “She's sensitive, too. Not just the clit. I can tell from how her breath catches, even though I can only go so deep. I think she's the type to cum easily…"

He tested the theory, increasing his pace to a frenzy for a dozen or so thrusts, and he was rewarded with a rush of fluids and a reverberating roar that this time he was ready for, shouting a hearty, “Rah!" of his own to counteract the pain in his ears with his own noise. Hardly the roar of a Deathclaw male, but it had Kara's tail-tip dance with excitement.

Raphael bit his lip, slowing his pace lest he get too carried away. This was a moment to be savoured, “I'd like to say something lofty about bonding with a companion, or the relationship between Master and Pet, but the truth is… this just feels fucking amazing." He stirred the mess of femcum leaking from Kara, and after taking a breath he resumed his rut, thrusting forth with all of his weight in his best effort to rock that vast and muscular body. The results may have been limited, but their squirming desire and demands for more buoyed his manhood.

Communication came from Kara in the form of growls and body language, but with her breathing in tatters and the motions of her tail purely reactive, it was hard for the man to read anything. Merely fragments from the tone of her exhalations, and that her tail worked now to fight instinct and drape itself over his shoulder, “Mine. Mate. Keep. More. Please. Keep. Mine. Want. Like. Mate. Keep."

It was desire melded with affection, and precisely what had Raphael bury his load deep with his balls twitching against her swollen clit, and his legs weak beneath him. He was thankful when she pressed back, careful application of her weight pinning him to the wall and leaving no escape as he unloaded his essence into her. Until after a time, with a gentle squeeze of her tail, the Deathclaw advanced in a crawl and released him.

But there was no time to bask in the aftermath of pleasure.

From the darkness beyond the lanternlight, came the sound of applause, immediately destroying the afterglow in its abruptness. Human and Deathclaw each shocked into motion, though Raphael was quicker to react, “[Stay]." He ordered, and then covered his crotch with his hands as an old man clad in a hooded grey robe stepped into the light. His great white beard was fantastic in scope, and he reminded Raphael of depictions of Greek scholars he'd seen in textbooks. Though whenever he focused and tried to describe them more keenly, his attention would always shift as if deflected by an unknowable power, leaving behind only the vaguest sense of a person.

“Bravo. Good show." The applause ceased, “Very enjoyable to watch. I Think my favourite part was when you talked yourself into submitting to your own desires." They smirked, “No, actually, it might have been the moment when the thought that the creature you enslaved might like you made you blow your load!" He laughed uproariously, but came to a stop when the growl of the Deathclaw eclipsed it.

Raphael scowled, “You voyeur bastard! You were aiming for this from the start!" He grabbed his armoured pants, dragging them on while the World God pretended to look disinterested.

“Oh, quiet down boy. You had fun, didn't you? You can think of entertaining me as reimbursement for healing that disease of yours and giving you a fresh chance at life." He reasoned with a pleasant smile, “And to be honest, what I was aiming for from the start was for you to assemble some sort of harem-party of adventurers. But, you didn't use [Tame] to make the tavern serving girls into your Pets. You didn't even notice that lady elf fighter drinking alone in the corner. So, I had to reconsider my expectations!"

He snapped his fingers and a large wooden staff tipped with a formation of three diamonds appeared, against which the World God leaned for support, “This works too, though. Fortunately for you, I've quite broad tastes!" Another winning smile, “After you resupply in town, you should take the road South next. See what you run into." He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Raphael was unamused, setting his fingers to his chin. His mind worked quickly, assessing again all that he knew, and his tone was accusatory, “There has to be more to it. You're driving me to gather a party. To what end? What are you playing at?"

The World God shrugged, “Oh, you reject all that is arbitrary, don't you? Maybe this is precisely that? Nothing but the whim of a God that wants to be entertained?" He swept his staff, giving no opportunity for a rebuttal, “You will find your reward behind that wall. Get your Pet to destroy it. I look forward to next time!" He turned his back, “Cheerio!" And the World God vanished as if he was never there.

Raphael sighed, deflated, and waved his hand, “You don't need to [Stay] anymore."

The sudden appearance of the World God had sapped the energy from him. What could have been a rather enjoyable afterglow had been ruined by their tomfoolery and a sour taste was left in his mouth. He had understood from the start that he was being used, but the sheer extent of this manipulation was disconcerting indeed. Doubly so when their assessment into 'favourite parts' revealed some insights into his mind. He watched Kara recline, seemingly unphased. Whatever threat had appeared was now gone, after all. If only he could be so carefree.

He sighed, and sat at her side, placing his hand on her armoured belly. The rain had ceased at last. It wouldn't have surprised him if the World God had been keeping up the downpour until this very moment, “Fuck. I'm in over my head." The man slumped, but found a smile when the large reptilian creature curled herself around him. There was no order, no correlation to subservience. Kara had given this affection of her own will.

It was enough, “Okay. No problem. Nothing has happened that was not of my own will. I even acted outside of His expectations." His fingers teased her underside, “So the old man wants a show? Let him watch. I'll master this nonsense world. And you're coming with me!"

~ SevenWingedDragon ~

Note: This was something of an experiment with a more active writing style to get me out of a funk. I'm hoping to build quite an esoteric monster party for our protagonist, with a collection of creatures both male and female under his control. Next up is Skaven (and I've an outline already with the hopes of keeping up momentum). Beyond that, I'm hoping to hear some suggestions in the comments.

I've dabbled a little, but not written much in quite a long time now. This particular piece was churned out over the course of a day, and I had quite a bit of fun with it. Really, it's been a good piece of stress relief following some rather difficult medical news. I hope that you found it enjoyable.

Have a most excellent day.