Dragon Becoming
#1 of Becoming
Dragon Becoming
By Von Krieger
Traz moaned softly in his sleep, he instinctively curled up and reached for a blanket that wasn't there to fend off the imaginary chill that he felt. It was imaginary for he dripped with sweat in the tower's heat.
As remote and isolated as the tower was in the northern tundra, it should have been cold. Traz should long since have frozen to death. He almost had. The young elf opened his eyes suddenly, sitting up and gasping in terror. He awoke from his dreaming nightmare into the waking one that had become his life.
He had been foolish, adventuring as far north as he had. His people had spoken often of the Tower of Dessarra, and of the cult the resided within. The northern forests and wastes were said to swarm with dragons and the twisted monstrosities that the Devoted of Dessarra created in their goddess' image.
Whoever ventured into the range of the dragon's flight was ripe for the picking. Few bothered them, as far from any kingdoms of power as they could be. An army to fight them would find no food and no shelter from the cold and the hellish snowstorms that appeared without warning.
On occasion bands of dragonkin ventured south, raping and pillaging as they went. Nests of the creatures dwelt in the evergreen forests, their caves and tunnels filled with a small portion of the riches that the Devoted had stolen over the centuries.
It was these tales that had lead Traz in search of such a den. He did not expect to have a full sized dragon swoop down and snatch him up off his mount while he was miles from the nearest nest that he knew of.
The terror of being at the mercy of a creature hundreds of times his size, clutched tightly in talons with claws almost as large as his own body, several thousand feet up in the air had made Traz pass out. He had awoken much as he just had, placed in a room that seemed equal parts stable and cell block.
The tower, or at least the parts of it Traz had been in, were swelteringly hot. He hadn't stopped sweating since he arrived. Thankfully there was a continuous supply of water. Each stall was separated from the other by a wall of iron mesh, but at the rear wall between the two cells had a small basin between the two. Water continuously poured into it in a narrow stream from a fountainhead shaped like the face of a dragon. It flowed over the sides and into a narrow depression along the rear wall, until it poured into the privy hole.
Traz scooped up some water in his cup hands and splashed his face, the cool water a sweet relief on his skin as it trickled over his almost naked form. The dragonkin had tossed him in his cell, the only scrap of clothing a loincloth that they'd placed atop a stool, along with his bread and broth for his first meal.
His lunch was waiting for him on the floor just inside his cell. The small tray was narrow enough to be pushed between the gaps in the iron strip lattice. He'd never heard of a prison that offered three meals a day. And it wasn't moldy bread and water that had a piece of chicken dipped in it either. It was quite tasty, and bread and soup were only what was offered for lunch. Dinner so far had been a portion of meat, vegetables, and usually bread and butter, or some sort of potato preparation.
Having such luxurious meals was crueler that just giving him something that had been scrapped off whatever had gone bad and tossed in a bowl. Imprisoned, one was essentially ignored. But in this place? The Devotees paid him far, far too much attention. Usually it involved pouring various potions down his throat twice a day. They'd had to bind him to a table, gag him, and run a tube down his throat at first.
Now Traz drank them without resistance. He just wore himself out by struggling and trying to resist. He was no match for a half dozen dragonkin twice his weight. His struggling amused them, all hard scales and muscle; his strikes didn't phase them in the slightest, and only served to hurt his hands.
It was maddening. They didn't torture him, they didn't feed him rubbish, they treated him pleasantly and politely. If it weren't for the whole abduction, experimentation, and the whole being locked in a cell thing, Traz would have actually LIKED his captors. He was given books to read when he asked for them, he was taken out of his cell twice a day for exercise, and had the opportunity to bath after his second exercise period, just before bed.
The straw was fresh, and replaced once every few days. One of his guards had apologized about the straw, the place was so humid that mattresses got moldy or mildewed or something very quickly. They were being so damned nice to him, it was incredibly frustrating. He'd been trying to put together an escape plan, but so far he hadn't even seen a window.
Traz walked over to the front of his cell, bending down to pick up his lunch, and stopped short as he looked at his hands. Things were... wrong. His elfin body already slim and graceful, his hand's shape had become even more so. His nails had darkened, and seemed in the process of being drawn into his fingers while growing longer, thicker, and thinner; the beginnings of draconic claws.
The elf sighed; the slight lavender hue of his skin didn't help matters in the slightest. He knew what often happened here, where all thinking creatures the Devotees could lay their scaly mitts on were transformed into the various species of dragonkin. He had hoped to get away before they could manage to do something to him.
He picked up his soup bowl and gulped it down; having slept through breakfast he was famished. The bread quickly followed it. The elf sighed again and returned to the bed of straw, flopping down into it.
The rough, scratchy straw had bothered him at first, but now it felt quite comfortable. Traz now knew why, his skin was in the process of transforming into draconic scales; no doubt it had grown tougher the past few days.
A look down at his feet confirmed that the same changes had taken place, his entire body ached slightly, and everything looked just a little bit off. He closed his eyes, his mind wandering, reminiscing of places he wished he could be now, of past amusements far removed.
He smiled and remembered the one love of his life, the half-orc warrior, Nirack, he had shared a few adventures with. Larger and stronger than he as most of her race, she was in fact quite fair and beautiful, even by the lofty standards of elves. Ancient enemies had lain together many times. She had, sadly, been lost at sea. A sea dragon had dragged the ship down beneath the waves. Traz had mourned her loss for a year, taking no other woman out of respect for her memory.
He did not dwell on her death, but instead fondly remembered the portion of her short life that she had shared with him. The press of her muscled, powerful body against his; heavy, thick, beautiful in a way no elfin woman could ever be.
The elf's arousal stirred beneath his loincloth as his mind grew wrapped in a muzzy fog, consciousness and reason detached. It was like a dream, his body responding in a way that left him an observer in his own skin.
Traz began to slowly stroke himself as he heard his cell door open, a scrap of claws on bare stone as a dragonkin stepped in, leading a quadrupedal beast on a leash. The guard stooped and detached the creature's leach from its collar, and then closed the door again.
The elf didn't mind sharing a cell, and the dragon didn't look at that dangerous. It was a smaller, wingless variety; a drake. Its forked tongue snaked from its mouth, tasting the scents of the air. Its silver eye fixed on Traz and approached him slowly.
The drake purred, nuzzling the elf, giving him a few affectionate licks on the neck and belly, its head dipping beneath the elf's loincloth. Traz chuckled softly and removed the bit of cloth, allowing the drake to do as it pleased. He was horny, and if the creature wanted to have a bit of fun with him, then so be it.
Traz lay back and stopped his stroking, curious as to what the drake wished to do. It licked tentatively at his member, tongue slick with saliva. It opened its mouth, taking the member into its toothsome maw. It wasn't aggressive, and was rather gentle, well aware of its fearsome fangs.
It lay in the straw at the elf's feet, head between his legs, licking and slurping like a pro. Traz moaned and reached down, gripping the beast's head so he could more easily thrust into its skilled mouth. The creature had positioned itself so that each thrust ran the head of his cock over the ridges at the top of its mouth, resulting in a delightful sensation.
Horny as hell and disconnected from any sort of sexual inhibition, Traz let the creature pleasure him. At this moment the only thing on his mind was his own pleasure, the impending release that he knew was coming. The beast was good, pent up need and spiked soup combined with the creature's skill and soon had Traz pumping his seed down the creature's throat.
The sensation was strange, as if some tap inside him had been turned on and something began to leave him with every thrust, leaving a void where the substance was now absent. Traz was sated, and felt sleepy. He closed his eyes and attempted to sleep. But the creature nuzzled at his side; its muzzle trying to get underneath him.
Traz figured it wanted to lie next to him, so he rolled over onto his belly. The creature lay down atop him and the elf made no effort to stop it; the creature's warm, smooth scales felt wonderful on the skin of his bare back.
Something wet, hot, hard, and slimy rubbed against the elf's thighs. He thought nothing of it and spread his legs to give the dragon more room so it would stop poking him. He gasped as the dragon's cock slid into him. He hadn't been expecting that. He didn't struggle or resist. After all, the drake had given him pleasure, so why not let it feel the same in return. It wasn't as if it was hurting him. In fact it felt kind of good.
In fact, it felt very good. Better than having his cock sucked, as a matter of fact. Traz pushed back against the creature, his sleepiness fading, his desire rising once again. The drake's member was longer than his own, but about the same thickness. It penetrated deep into him, scratching a sexual itch that Traz hadn't known he'd had until that point.
The dragon had no trouble thrusting into him, its member seeming to secrete enough precum to keep the thrusting in and out smooth and easy for the both of them. The dragon's member didn't catch on anything, nor did Traz suffer any discomfort.
So much pre that Traz felt it drip from him. There was not going to be any sort of mess. Either the diet he was on, or the potions that had been given to him, had made it so that defecation was extraordinarily clean and resulted in solid pellets. Traz had thought it weird, but could now see the utility in such a thing. Anal sex was now a clean and pleasurable act.
The elf moaned, long and loud, as the dragon's hot seed pumped into him. The strange emptiness that had appeared was filled quickly. An equally hot pleasure bloomed deep inside of Traz as he climaxed in an unfamiliar way, and a familiar way as well; the leaked pre and his own seed making a sticky mess in the straw.
The drake nuzzled his neck, shaft buried in Traz until the elf milked every last drop of seed from him, and beyond, apparently not wanting a single drop to escape. The elf murmured in sleepy protest as the drake withdrew.
He had fallen asleep by the damn the dragonkin guard came back to collect the drake, its duty done for the day. Traz moaned in his sleep, dreaming of dragons in a more pleasant light rather than the terror that had gripped his previous dreams.
Much as it had over the previous night, Traz' body changed every so slightly as he slept. The heat was no longer stifling but quite comfortable, lavender skin slowly losing its slick sheen of sweat.
The guard chuckled as she led the drake back to its pen. The little elf had a momentous day ahead of him, though 'her' would soon be more appropriate.