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“Vengeance…"

Any moment now, the Emperor would awaken from this nightmare. It must be a nightmare, for the idea of being brought low by a mere Human, even if they were a Saint, was simply absurd. Any millennium-old legend of Apex Skill Users shaping the world could be nothing more than hyperbole, [Creation] and [Curse] were simple bit players in a universe that only a Dragon could truly master; whatever part they may have played in the origin of his species.

His race was superior, with a grander capacity for physical might and magical power than any other. He was vast, armoured in perfect jet-black scales, with sharpened claws and fangs, deadly Evocation as his breath. The greatest of all of his kin, the strongest, the hungriest. It was the place of every male to submit to his rule, and no female could resist him if he decided that he would have her as his plaything. His hoard was a glittering trove of gemstones, and he would weave them into a lattice of precious metals to wear them as a waistcoat. He was majestic. Perfect. A God.

Such thoughts made his current predicament all the more incomprehensible. He was consumed in seething indignation, unable to come to terms with the reality of his captivity. It wasn't real. It was just a dream, brought about by an overindulgence of fine wine. Or perhaps a fantasy of fear found inside a blood-intoxicated rampage. His narcissism smothered the cold dread of defeat, and his ego created a narrative in his mind in which he was the victor. But, if this was not a dream, then what was it?

Of course! He was only in this dungeon because it was precisely where he wanted to be. The Saint had not defeated him – he had let them win in order to serve some grander design. Yes, he surprised himself with his genius sometimes! He didn't lose, because he wasn't even trying! His pretender son could play at the role of monarch for a while, his whore daughter could lay with his enemy, but it was all part of his plan! A plan so devious that no mere mortal could possibly comprehend it! So intricate that even with his profound intelligence, he could barely even grasp the idea himself!

The Emperor relaxed, and slumped against the inside of his cage, overcome with relief.

Yes, that was it. This was all part of the plan. This is exactly where he intended to be, and some unparalleled gain awaited him at the end of the road of hardship, he was sure of it! What could the plan be? The endgame? Why couldn't he remember? To think of that hole in his logic had that cold feeling of dread return to his heart. So… he simply looked away from it. There was a plan. It was his plan, which meant it was perfect. Even if he didn't know it yet – the moment that he turned things around, he would claim that it was his objective all along!

His nostrils flared, and he was denied the ability to give some utterance of relief by the power of [Tame]. The Beastlord had stripped him of his voice, issuing a directive under that irresistible power that prevented him from speaking, removing his ability to form words and reducing him to the grunts and growls of an animal. How dare he! If this was not part of his grand design, which he definitely had and certainly wasn't fixating on to prevent a complete breakdown, then the inability to use his magic would be terrifying indeed!

Even more worrying was the condition of his body. It seemed that the ancient treasury of the Jade Palace had contained quite the number of artefacts that no Dragon Emperor had ever paid much attention to, each monarch only really interested in the subject of their own Hoard. Amongst these, the Saint had procured a potion bottle marked by the [Curse] user, with the imbuement making the effects of any elixir quaffed from that vessel permanent.

Several vials had been forced on him following this revelation, and the once enormous Emperor now found himself small enough to be captured inside a bird cage, the dimensions of the feral western Dragon now not dissimilar to those of a large housecat. He recognised as well some of the cocktails of drugs that he had used on his own harem. Combined with Shrink was a Malleability which made his scales soft and stretchy, and an aphrodisiac imbuing him with an arousal which needed to be consciously sublimated lest his maleness emerge from his slit.

His physical power was decimated by this reduction to his size, once overwhelming might made into something helpless and feeble. The loss of his voice stripped him of magic, and took away his presence of command. And the aphrodisiac shamed him, crawling into his thoughts whenever he allowed himself to drop his guard and twisting ideas into obscenities.

It was weakness. And weakness did terrible things to a Dragon, especially a Dragon male. The instinct of such a male was subverted from ideas of domination and the acquisition of a notable hoard to instead focus on submission to a grander power. It was the poison which made the knees weak, the chest lower, and the tail flag high. Such lowly faggots were for nothing but raping into further submission! It was the place of the mighty Emperor to have them all bow, that he may properly enslave them – not to feel such things himself!

The room in which his cage had been placed was dark, a rather simple cell used for test subjects back when he had employed the services of the travelling alchemist which made all of these potions for him to begin with. It brought him a sense of satisfaction to see claw marks on the stone and match them to the Renamon siblings he had acquired all that time ago. The idea of their fear and suffering reinvigorated him, granting him a sense of dominance which he used to quell the feelings of weakness caused by the state of his body.

He pondered sleep, for rest would make the time pass more swiftly, but he feared his dreams. As Emperor, his reverie would be blessed with visions of hedonism, crowned by the feeling of fulfilment which came with the demonstration of his power. Upon a mountain of precious gemstones, he would pin a pretty Dragoness, fuck her grateful vent hard and fast, bury his knot deep, and tear out her throat at the moment of his own completion. He would crunch the gore between his jaws and sear their dying expression into his mind, overcome with the bliss of his supremacy.

He still remembered doing exactly this with the mother of his hatchlings.

But now his dreams were different. He was no longer the mighty Emperor, but small and weak. Even if he refused to acknowledge it, his instincts knew it, and they betrayed him with visions of submission. More powerful males would use him for pleasure, raping him into submissive bitchgasms. No. Not raping. In his dreams, he had surrendered and become a willing participant, a whore for the free use of his betters, as much the pathetic faggot he had endeavoured to mould his son into. Accursed Sirrush! How could he possibly still have ambitions of leading the Empire? Clearly, he should have raped him much harder, and much more often. Perhaps crippled him for good measure, as well. Yes. It would have been ecstasy to pin him down like an insect and tear off his wings.

The Emperor gave a slight huff of discomfort, finding that the idea of mutilating and raping his son, combined with the memory of murdering his mate, had roused his cock to full mast. His cheeks burned with further indignation, his breath coming in bursts as that hateful drug fogged his mind and put his body into heat. He bit his tongue and suffered, and again sublimated cold dread with the satisfaction of knowing that he had forced his own harem to endure this suffering for years. Of course it would only be temporary for him – as he would soon escape! He was not like them!

They were nothing but whores. Feeble minded sluts that he'd taken a fancy to and broken to entertain himself. Of course such inferior species would be overcome by the effects of this aphrodisiac cocktail, their weak wills would cave to depravity immediately! It didn't count when he came all over his own chest in his sleep! He was better than those pathetic faggots and useless whores!

Having long since collapsed against the golden bars of the bird cage, he looked down at the dark spire of his own segmented cock, as uniformly black as every scale on his body and every inch of soft tissue, thrice ridged and covered in small bumps, with a small knot at the base where it met his slit. Exotic and superior. Just like him. A bead of precum had already emerged from the tapered tip, and now ran as a droplet down the length of his shaft.

The Emperor growled, infuriated. This arousal was maddening, his whole body feeling itchy beneath the scales in the warmth of it, his head swimming in a desire which he fought to suppress. He was not weak! He would not break like those lesser species! No drug was the master of his body! Another bead of precum joined the first, and he howled with frustration, his cock twitching as if on the brink of an untouched orgasm. Most shamefully of all, his undertail twitched with a desire his pride sternly rejected.

He swallowed. The Emperor had been confined here for over a week now, tended to by the Saint twice each day – at dawn and dusk – to be fed, watered, and bathed. His internal clock told him that it was early afternoon, and there were several hours yet before the next visit was due. Perhaps he should take care of things while he had the chance? He could diminish this arousal, clean up the evidence of his pleasure, and not present himself so shamefully when his hated enemy appeared before him later in the day.

Yes. He was not submitting to the drug. That would be losing. The Emperor never lost. He never had, and he never would. This was a tactical decision, a relief which would clear the fog from his mind and restore his senses so that he may better contend with the Saint at their next meeting. And with that firm justification in mind, the feral black dragon leaned forward, opened his maw, and with surprising ease he swallowed his own cock all the way to the knot. His eyes widened, the Potion of Malleability responsible for this impossibility, the capacity of his throat made sufficient for the autofellatio of his own ample cock, no pain at all to the bulge of his neck and even the clip of his teeth somehow diminished.

The Emperor despised his own taste. For a Dragon, their own seed on their tongue was the flavour of submission, delivered there only when one was too weak to acquire some lesser creature to fuck it into. But, if he kept his cock deep, then he could swallow his cum without tasting it at all! Clearly, he was a genius, and absorbed by the revelation of that knowledge, he immediately began to give short and sharp thrusts of his hips to work himself towards an orgasm.

He came quickly. Thick and potent Dragon cum was pumped into his stomach, and he closed his eyes to not look at the twitch of his own undertail as he reached a quivering climax. But, arousal persisted, a desire stoked not only by the drug but by the submission of his autofellatio, and the shameful feeling of taking a cock into his maw. Closing his eyes was a mistake, for the darkness he enshrouded himself in was quickly filled with visions of other males, his maw sealed around their greater cocks as they- No!

His eyes opened and he drew back, a little too quickly as the final ropes of thick and syrupy Dragon cum came to rest on his tongue, the final burst across his muzzle. The Emperor was forced to lick his lips to clean them, dismayed at the flavour of submission, and demoralised that the adjustment of his instincts had made that flavour delectable. If his own cum had made the switch from vile to delicious, then how addictive would the taste of another male be? A more powerful man, that would own him and – No!

An awareness slowly dawned on him that while entertaining these thoughts, he had come to be gently suckling at the topmost third of his cock, his lips sealed around that first ridge and his tongue lovingly basting the tapered tip of his maleness. He burned with shame once more, his eyes cast to the door in vigilance, his body tensed to pull away from himself, but no interruption came. No interruption would come for some hours yet.

What did it matter if he sucked his own cock for a while? Nobody would ever know. He was only swallowing his own essence to remove the evidence! He was not savouring every drop on his tongue, he was ensuring that his maw was cleansed and no cloying scent remained upon his breath! And he certainly wasn't fantasising about submissively suckling the cum of a superior male! Certainly not the one which had defeated him! He would never imagine a mere Human taking him by the horns, forcing his face into- No!

His hips bucked, and another orgasm was deposited into his maw. The Emperor was so focused on rejecting his fantasy of being used as a plaything by his enemy that he was scarcely aware of how he lovingly swilled his essence around his own mouth, as if it was a wine of the highest vintage, dividing the load over several swallows so that he might hold it in his muzzle all the longer. His eyes opened to again survey his own twitching undertail, and now they lingered on the sight.

He'd not been fucked since his own father had forced him to submit. He himself had been a slave as well, the plaything of a greater male as all Dragons were. But not for long. He grew larger, stronger, and was driven away out of fear. Only to return one day to tear out their throat and take the throne for himself. Now, those memories returned, the weakness and submission of being the lesser male, and the instinct which would make him push back his hips and moan. Perhaps the Saint would also- No!

Again, he glanced to the door, and saw no signs of life. He'd heard nothing from the Jade Palace all day, and his superior hearing was sharp indeed. Since he was alone… nobody would ever know. Nothing that he did in this room mattered. The Emperor reaffirmed the thought, and swished his long tail from side to side, the appendage now missing the blade he'd once worn there. He'd trained with his tail, made it as dexterous as a limb, and found it useful in his day to day life to manipulate small things. Now, he placed the tip of it up against his entrance and held his breath.

Was he really going to do this? The Potion of Malleability was potent enough for his puckered rim to stretch slightly only from the weight of it, the scale lined undertail giving another submissive twitch. This was… just a way to more efficiently relieve himself! Of course! The cursed bottle may have made the effects of the drug permanent, but if he were to fully sate his desires, then he must be permitted some reprieve from this maddening lust, right?

The cold weight of terror pressed on his heart again. What if the arousal didn't go away? What if the best that he could ever hope for in the rest of his life was the desperate sublimation of want that he'd managed to barely sustain over the last few days? What if he became a submissive little cocksock that the Saint would bend over and- No!

This time, it was not his ego which sublimated his dread, but the pleasure of impaling himself on his own tail, his unlubricated insides stretching around the girth of it as every rough scale left its own impression. The sheer amount of stretch that the potion had gifted him with made pain an impossibility, and along with the sensation of wonderful fullness came the submissive pleasure of his male pleasure spot being pressed down hard by the undulating intruder.

A male Dragon came hard, fast, and often – and another load was immediately delivered into his throat as the former Emperor reached his most potent climax yet, all of the toes of his quadrupedal limbs curling, his whole body shaking with desire. His tail tip swished back and forth inside him, and he pulled his muzzle from his own cock to deliver a hearty moan to echo in the empty space around him. The cage rocked back and forth as his tail began to slowly pump.

The pleasure was tremendous, rather than drive away the heat of the aphrodisiac cocktail, it instead made the sensation of warmth and lust a comfortable one, as if he'd stepped into a hot spring that was just a little bit too blistering – only to now finally get used to it and be immersed in pleasant heat. The feeling of need was amplified by his own male Dragon instincts, and he abandoned autofellatio to instead vocalise his enjoyment, fucking himself with his tail in earnest.

If he was going to have fantasies, then of course, those fantasies could only be about the most powerful creature he could imagine. The only one to defea- No! He was allowed to win! For some greater purpose! But… what could that purpose be? It couldn't possibly be for the desire to be transformed into his living sex toy, could it? But, that would make sense. Wouldn't it? Why else would he let him win but to achieve this fate?

Following that train of thought – if all that he hoped for was to be dominated by a more powerful male and made into their slave, then… everything would make sense! Yes! He was a genius, after all! Not that he ever doubted it for even a second. And it certainly wasn't the effect of the aphrodisiac and his own traitorous instincts! It was all so clear – he'd lost to the Saint on purpose so that he could surrender everything to a worthier male! He'd be put on his back, and a superior cock would be placed under his tail and – No!

The last bit of sense remaining in the former Emperor rejected the fantasy as it took root – but not before the thought of the pale, muscular man leaning over him had brought him to yet another quivering bitchgasm. He moaned, his voice taking a higher feminine pitch, his orgasm delivered across his neck, and to stripe his own muzzle. His tail never stopped pumping, the tip twitching inside him against that spot of pleasure, pressing hard on his bitch button to make him cum harder and harder as the climax extended.

Why did that piece of him keep screaming defiance? Being a dominant male was so much hard work. Wouldn't it be easier to surrender to his instincts, and take the Dragon path of male submission? That way, his ego could justify the memory of him being knocked out by a mere Human, his internal plan could make sense, his own narcissism could be served. Inside his Soul, he inscribed a new truth: He desired to submit to a superior male. And with that new truth, all was right in the world, all was correct, and the universe returned to following his design.

The defiant scream of 'No!', the last piece of the entity that could be called the Emperor died, scoured away by submissive instincts and arousing drugs, howling with anguish. But the creature left behind didn't care. To him, it felt like victory, the achievement of the goal that he obviously always had! It was natural for his knees to go weak at the thought of his Master. They should feel like jelly, every step made with tremendous weight, as instinct demanded the submissive male to fall forward and present himself. His tail should flag naturally to show off what his dominant male owned, his hips swing from side to side enticingly to invite the cock that his life would be dedicated to. His chest should be pressed to the floor in a bow of reverence, for leverage to push back against a superior maleness.

Another orgasm striped his muzzle, some of it scattered across his tongue as his moans became all the louder with this final loss of inhibition. Before his eyes, his cock was a useless ornament, nothing but entertainment for a real male to observe and make sport of while fucking him. How could he have ever thought it to look regal and majestic and powerful? It was the cock of a faggot slut, an owned pet bitch, a living sextoy that squirmed with the desire for the seed of a superior male in his muzzle and under his tail.

He moaned whorishly, thrusting his hips back and forth as he sought leverage against the bars of his small cage to press his tail deeper. His stomach was bulging from the mass of it, his tiny body stretched painlessly and gifted with the wonderful feeling of fullness. It would be nothing compared to the cock of his Master. If his own seed was so tasty, his must be ambrosia – if his tail felt this good, then a true manhood, and a gift of essence to his core, would shatter what remained of his mind. And he hoped for that shattering, he yearned to be broken, to fall into the abyss of pleasure, his own ego had demanded that he relinquish his grip on the ledge to cast himself into the darkness willingly!

The former Emperor was scarcely aware of time passing, and not at all able to notice that his seed seemed to never run dry nor his pleasure diminish. An hour went by, and then another, the Dragon rolling onto his back and propping up his hips to simulate a mating press against the bars of the cage, his own seed pooling against the spread leather of his wings, his limbs helpless in the air. His mind was filled with endless fantasies as his submissive instincts zeroed in on the one person that he had deemed worthy of them.

Orgasm ran into orgasm, each outcry met with a voice which had turned from the gravelly rumble of a dominant dragon to the soft and sweet whine of a faggot in heat. His fantasies turned ever more potent, a litany of imagined pleasures and acts of submission. He was so absorbed in his own pleasure that he didn't at all notice the entrance of the subject of those fantasies, Raphael stepping into the chamber and setting aside a bowl of food, a bowl of water, and a tray of sand.

“Well, that's the lead I was hoping for - arriving just as the World God promised. The alchemist that passed through here must have been the [Creation] User – or you wouldn't be able to climax without me being here. Only a God power can defeat another one, and you can't use Magic or Skills…" He seemed amused, if a little uncomfortable, the Saint first taking stock of this valuable information as he observed the former Emperor. It was certainly an arousing sight, the Dragon having finally surrendered after this time of captivity, requiring nothing more than a few hints during their meetings to help him along his way.

When Sirrush had first presented the idea to him, he had some doubts of how effective it would be. And the level of depravity and cruelty felt antithetical to his own knightly aesthetics, despite the need to punish the former Emperor - and to do so severely. All that he would have to do was ensure that the defeated Emperor was aroused and isolated, and the Dragon instincts of the defeated male would do the rest. Submission was the fate of those brought low, and when aroused it would only be natural for those thoughts to some to focus on the one that placed them in such a position. For such a Monster of ego and narcissism, it seemed to have been particularly effective against the former Emperor.

The small creature became conscious of him, immediately withdrawing his tail with a lewd wet noise, rolling onto his chest, raising his ass high, and shaking his hips to show off their gaped undertail with the obvious need of a dripping cock swinging below. It was a presentation of desire, a willing slut that hoped to be mounted, their gaze cast over their shoulder one of glassy eyed arousal, his head full of fantasies of submission.

Raphael now wore robes, having dressed himself in the unfamiliar finery of the East Island after his marriage to the Dragon siblings, Sirrush and Moiral. Despite his formal position being that of consort, with his Pet in the position of rulership, the people had taken to calling him the Beastking, and having started as Beastmaster and then Beastlord, it was a title that he'd come to accept. His Monster Harem was now split between the Jade Palace and his District Five Mansion, with another forgotten artefact of the treasury – a Magic Door – linking the two of them.

Considering how truly broken the cursed potion bottle alone was, Raphael found it absurd that so many relics were just gathering dust in the vaults of the monarch's lair. Though thoughts of dealing with them all were for another day. Right now, he reached into a pocket and pulled out a collar, regarding it for a moment and firming his own resolve, “I never asked for your true name. Frankly, I don't care what it is. Names are for people, after all."

He unlocked the latch of the cage, grasping the little Dragon by the neck and pulling him out, the small creature limp in his grasp, whining with submission as the collar was attached. Unlike the elaborate collars of his Pets, this was simple fare, a small leather band from which dangled a circular tag inscribed with a name, 'Emperor', a final mockery for this weak thing he had become.

“Now that you've finally surrendered, I'll spell it out for you. [Tame] has put all sorts of restrictions on you. You're ging to live as a pet. Not a Pet with a capital P like my Monster Harem, but a pet like a feral creature. You're going to eat and drink from bowls, and shit in a tray. You're forbidden to speak or cast spells, you're confined to the grounds of the Jade Palace, and now that your body is altered, the whole point of your life from this day forward is to be a cocksock for me and whoever I put you in the lap of."

This is the fate that Raphael had decided as punishment for Emperor, the only fate that he could sell to the people that was not death. He would live his life like an animal, denied language, as cut off from the world as he could be, with a body twisted into that of a living sextoy. Every day would be spent in a state of arousal, with conscious thought required to suppress it, and with a draconic instinct poisoned by the aphrodisiac cocktail, he would be compelled to play the part of cocksock to his Master.

He'd turned Emperor into a loving slut, a creature that he would keep like a pet cat. Just one that he'd fuck. As hard and often as he liked. They'd certainly have contest with a Monster Harem of eighteen others to jostle with for position. Emperor would be the lowest in stature of them all, for while Hiro would one day atone for his crimes through heroism, it was hard for Raphael to imagine a future in which he ever cleansed Emperor of the effects of the [Curse]ed potion bottle.

The reverie into thought, his own internal justification of this dire punishment, had robbed Raphael's attention, and he now glanced down to see that the delivery of his verdict has been sufficient to compel an untouched orgasm from the faggot in his arms. It astounded him how on the mark Sirrush's guidance in taming the Dragon had been, for this squirming whore moaned sweetly in the wake of their own feeble release. It felt strangely undeserved, and invoked a need for domination in the Human, a want to take full possession of this broken slut.

Raphael pinned the creature down by the throat, a yelp drawn from their cumstained muzzle, “You're a fucking animal now. You don't get to live as a person anymore." He reaffirmed their place, though hoped that his wince in the wake of such words could not be seen, “Serve me well. Play the part of the devoted beast. And if you do, then maybe – just maybe – I'll be enticed into fucking you. You follow me around the Jade Palace in my shadow, and when I want to drain my cock, you present your cunt and thank the gods I thought you worthy. You got that?"

The question was rhetorical, and just as well, for Emperor no longer had the capacity to answer. He was pinned to the ground by a bigger and stronger male, owned and enslaved, cast into wilful submission to a grander masculinity. This is what he wanted, wasn't it? His place of submission confirmed with absolute authority, his personhood stripped of him and replaced with a set of restrictions that made an animal out of him.

He squirmed beneath them, nodding furiously against their hand, his collar jingling slightly as the tag clinked against its own small chain. Yes. Yes! It was the right of his dominant male to decide how he lived his life! That is what an owned submissive male did! Nothing but a slave, nothing but a toy, a plaything, to be used, that is what his instincts demanded, that is what he wanted! That was the only thing that made sense! He couldn't have lost a fight or made a mistake! This must be his true desire!

Emperor was a small and weak creature, a pathetic whore that preserved his ego by choosing submission as his truth. His hindlegs spread wider and he showed off his undertail as best he could, his maw opened and he displayed the soft flesh within. These things owned to his Master now, and were simply places where he could relieve his superior cock. As soon as their hand released him, he immediately rolled back onto his front and adopted the draconic mating posture, thrusting his hips high and needy, swaying his ass back and forth in the hope of enticement.

His Master was considering him carefully. Why wasn't he fucking him yet? Could it be that he was going to be denied? Was he going to be placed back into the cage and tormented further by this mind-bending aphrodisiac? Would he be restrained so that he could not even tend to his own pleasure? His instincts would surely ruin him, his need to submit to the one that owned him would drive him insane!

He whined desperately, his cock leaking thick draconic precum in a line to connect it to the stone, his tail flagging even higher over his back. Please. Please. Please. His inner voice begged so desperately. He needed to be fucked, he needed to be owned, he needed the affirmation of this new place that his Master had demanded of him. He would be a good little pet, an animal that was not a person, nothing but a sweet and affectionate little thing that existed for nothing but to be his cocksock.

How fulfilling such a life would be!

Emperor just needed to be claimed. His heated body screamed with the need to have the essence of his Master fucked into his core. He wanted their cum inside him, a thick and ruinous load to make his toeclaws curl and his tale twitch and his mind to break! He wanted it pumped under his tail until he vomited it from his maw! He wanted to drown on their essence shamelessly, showing off his faggot cunt in absolute submission, enticing a better male to use him until he was spent.

The Human had dropped to lean back against the stone wall, removing his sash and pulling aside his robes to reveal a pale cock that had only the beginnings of arousal in it, “You know what to do." There was no command by [Tame], but Emperor still jumped to attention. He span on the spot and dove into their lap, his tongue immediately applied to their orbs, his lips kissing along their shaft. It was an honour to service their cock, a blessing, the fulfilment of their wildest dreams!

The scent made his body quiver, the muted taste of their skin weakened his knees and had him fall to the floor completely, unable to support himself. To see them reach their full hardness was bliss, to feel a hand carelessly grab one of his long, straight horns was affirmation of his place, and for them to be dragged down to the hilt was proof of their submission. Emperor moaned, his nostrils flaring, his throat bulging.

He was denied agency completely, the Human dragging their muzzle back and forth to make the oral sex sloppy and ruinous. The bulge at his throat moved back and forth, his head made a toy of as his Master began to leak precum into his maw. Ambrosia. Just as he had imagined, the taste of even this prelude to a true load of essence was enough to have his wings shake and his tail flick.

Raphael was using him without care, trusting to the potions that had warped his body into that of a living sextoy to permit him this roughness. Teeth that were once razors were now like rubber, and the malleability of his throat always allowed him to take in air when needed. His nose was pressed into the hair of his Master's groin, and an upward buck into his throat signified the beginning of a long sought orgasm. The first vulgar ropes were released into his throat, but Raphael was quick to drag their horn away from him, delivering some cum to his muzzle to be savoured, and the rest across his face.

The scent was cloying and heady, electrifying to his instincts and driving him deeper into heat. Emperor panted and whined, the taste melting his mind, and his faggot cock erupting below him to deliver an untouched orgasm to the ground. Yes. This is what he was for now. This is his place. The essence of a superior male gulped down, with more of it to mark his submission. The scent, the taste, the heat – he whined and shook as his climax deepened.

Nothing of the proud former Emperor remained, the dedicated slut that had usurped their consciousness again adopting their draconic mating posture as their owner released them. Their submissive mind swam in an ocean of heat, and more fantasies overwhelmed him. He'd heard rumour of a potion in the Western Kingdom which could change the sex of the drinker. If he consumed it from the [Curse] potion bottle, could it become permanent? Could he become a submissive little breeder? Would his Master fuck some eggs into him?

Raphael was on his back, placing his hands about their narrow shoulders and compressing his wings, pinning down their tail as his iron-hard cock lined up to its mark. His undertail twitched with submissive need, his heart soared with the fulfilment of desire. Yes! His whine was as sweet and high as the brooding female he fantasised himself as, the cock that he belonged to thrust to the hilt in one mighty lunge. In this small form, it had his midriff bulge ridiculously, his insides stretched out by the Potion of Malleability as everything compressed to make space for the superior maleness.

His lungs crushed, the thrust drove the breath out of him, and he had to take in air in submissive little squeaks each time that Raphael pulled back. His body was almost entirely concealed beneath the much larger Human, his world nothing but darkness as their arms wrapped around his body and his hips pistoned down hard.

It was nirvana, his own draconic cock leaping against his scaled abdomen to deliver another load between it and the stone, Emperor forced down into a puddle of his own cum. A voice was in his ear, “I'm going to empty out every last bit of masculinity left inside of you. That faggot cock of yours is going to cum blood before I'm done! I'll fuck everything that makes you a man onto the floor." Raphael growled, committing to his position, “And then I'll keep fucking you. And you'll be fucking grateful."

The snarling Human finally rewarded them with the essence Emperor had craved for so long, his hips pressed deep, and a powerful orgasm delivered to his core. His submissive instincts were overwhelmed, his mind went white and his remaining thoughts shattered like a pane of glass. There was nothing left but his Master, nothing but pleasure, nothing but the feral drives of an animal. He surrendered everything, conscious thought stripped away by a climax which never seemed to end, the thick puddle of Dragon cum below him growing all the larger.

Thrusting resumed, crushing power from above, fucking every last drop of creamy white from the broken whore that was being claimed. The Emperor persona was sublimated, and now even the pleasure-addicted slut that had replaced them was being devoured by their Master. Of course he wasn't a man. It wasn't a matter of gender – it was that only a person could be a man. And Emperor was no longer a person. He was a feral creature, an animal dedicated to his precious Master.

What was he before? Was there a plan?

He couldn't remember. If he couldn't remember, then is mustn't have been important. And if it wasn't important, then it was beneath him. Another orgasm rocked his body, his throat raw from his own moaning, his insides pummelled by the cock reaming out his undertail. Yes, he was nothing but a submissive little faggot pet. An owned animal. Exactly as he had always wanted. This is what victory looked like. This pleasure was his triumph!

Raphael showed no mercy, with sexual stamina made limitless by the power of [Tame] and competed with by an aphrodisiac wrought by [Creation]. He fucked Emperor until dawn. Until their faggot cock had been drained of every ounce of masculinity and the pool beneath them had come to bear some traces of crimson. But still they moaned and shook their hips wantonly, never ceasing to demand more as this pained pleasure seemed to make them cum all the harder.

Their stomach was gravid beneath them, their altered body a great receptacle for his own essence, and it amused the Saint to squeeze his midriff and force their head down to have the Dragon choke on the waterfall of cum forced up his throat. Emperor had lost consciousness several times, but the rut had never ended, their limp body continued to be made sport of in any position which came to mind. Though mostly, Raphael had decided that he liked that of a presenting Dragon the best.

Finally, he pulled out, surveying a well fucked undertail which immediately quivered and divulged a river of pearly cum, their insides gaped lewdly to give him a view of the dark flesh of their core. Against the jet black scale and flesh, his essence looked all the more potent, and he considered to himself what was next in store for the broken slut he'd turned into an animal. Would it even be possible to redeem him now?

Perhaps it would be cathartic for Sirrush to fuck a load of essence into his father as well?

“Hmph…" It almost felt like too much of a good thing for a creature that he was obliged to punish. He had entered this chamber intending to emulate the Dragons, carrying out their justice no matter how cruel it was - and by their standards, this entire process had been far too kind. As a vessel of pleasure, the Emperor was getting off easy, wasn't he? “Well, we can't have that…" An idea emerged, something dark and antithetical to his own nature but irresistable, and Raphael found himself caught in that moment, grasping at their horned head and intoning an Enchantment spell. He dove into their subconscious, he found the shattered pieces of the creature which was once the Emperor, and he put them back together.

He reconstituted them entirely, every last ounce of their pride and indignation, their ego and narcissism, their hatred and fury. Raphael reformed the psychopath in all of their glory, the creature that could not acknowledge defeat, the hedonist that cared for nobody. And rather than offer the redemption he would to any other Pet, he instead sealed that consciousness away, relegating them to be a passenger in their own body, observing their diminished form live as an animal, a sextoy for their hated enemy, a faggot slut of a submissive male, mastered by their instincts and their own drugs.

Emperor awoke to find his Master looming over him, and despite the condition of his body, he lovingly raised his hips and shook them once more. But there was something else behind their glassy eyed lust now, a second personality hidden beneath this broken slut. Looking into them, Raphael could see inside his [Tame]ed pet, the sharpness of that once superior gaze, and the absolute horror of observing what had become of them, “[Watch] me. Don't look away."

He resheathed his cock into the mess of cum beneath their tail, and while their face wore an expression of rapture, and pleasure watched over them, he saw the humiliation and the shame of the Emperor inside. The sealed away consciousness would feel just as much pleasure, share in every last quivering bitchgasm, and slowly, little by little, he would subdue them until even their rational self was reduced to mirror the hopeless faggot of an animal that squirmed and pushed back under him. Two personalities, two egos, both inside a single body - but the Emperor would never again have control of it.

Their ego would likely never break. He knew this, and the sadistic part of him which he had embodied in order to emulate the Dragons revelled in it. The punishment of the Emperor was more than to live as an animal, a faggot cocksock sextoy. But to be conscious of every moment of it, entirely dedicated to him, unable to live without his Master, “Raped into submission like a lesser Dragon male should be…" If that was the culture of their species, then he would adhere to it. Just as he would adopt their other ways as well at the compelling of Moiral and Sirrush.

In their eyes was the most perfect humiliation when their rejuvenated cock gave it up into the sticky puddle of essence beneath them. Horror at the loving pushback and grind of their own hips, and disgust for their tongue hanging from their muzzle, panting in unintelligible noises like a feral animal. Perhaps one day, Raphael would show clemency. Perhaps one day, he would make Emperor a Pet with a capital P rather than this ruined whore beneath him. Maybe then, he would reconcile with them. But if that day would ever come at all – he imagined that it would be a very long way off.

He looked into their eyes. Snarled his final victory. And came as hard as they did.

~ SevenWingedDragon ~

Note: This absolutely did not go the way I imagined it going. I sat down with a big idea of having the whole inherited harem dominated one by one in front of the former Emperor before he himself was broken and made to submit. And then as soon as I started writing and got into their head, Emperor kinda... defeated himself. Brought down by his own ego and narcissism. It all came out in one sitting, and was quite fun to put together. And as for a big Epilogue orgy - I'm gonna kick that to the end of Arc Three. Which makes Arc Two officially complete! Huzzah!

It ended up a lot darker than I intended. Raphael is a bit of a hypocrite this time around, abandoning his own knightly aesthetics and the theme thus far in which he has helped to transition each Pet into their best self to instead focus on punishment entirely. The former Emperor has done a lot of bad things, but damn, this is a pretty rough fate - and when the fugue of lust has faded and Raphael can reflect, he's not gonna be happy with himself. By trying to emulate the Dragons, he's played the part of a bad guy today - and he'll reckon with that in the next Dia Short, and in the next arc!

Special thanks to... User Vulcan21 for the vote, User Etnom1 for the idea to use them as a mount (they absolutely will at some point - just gonna take another perma-potion!), User NamelessOne for *finally* solving the mystery of what '2koma' means. User DragoonMan10 for a note on the orgy (sadly pushed to end of Arc Three, but it'll have an even bigger cast). User Drakoman for the note to go hard on this guy - I hope you like his punishment in the end. User OddReptile who I hope is feeling better. User NewKing who guessed the size idea in advance. User Prop85 who got me to reread this and add more on his self-perception. User NoNoNope for the temptation to do a daily life series. And User TheMemesWantMemes for the note on dependence.

Thank you to everyone reading this for sticking with this series as we finish up Arc Two. For what I originally intended to be a six entry piece, I'm amazed that it ended up as long as it has with this being my 24th piece. I'm very grateful for everyone that's dropped a fave, vote, comment, subscription - and every last read as well. I was in a rough place when I started this series, and churning through it has really helped me a lot. Thank you to everyone that's come along - from the bottom of my heart. Truly.

I have an outline in mind for the first two entries of Arc Three - User OddReptile has given me some great stuff for a Male Kig-Yar for the first shot, and the second will probably be a Female Unicorn. After that, I'm counting on the comments for suggestions as always. But, before I start, I want to take a little break. I've lost my momentum on these last few entries, and I want to try another little project while I renew myself before Arc Three. Having recieved a decent amount of suggestions for pokemon as potential Pets, I want to do a seperate series focused more on that - with the same 'vote for the next creature to lewd' thing going on that this has had. So, if you have any favourite pokemon that you'd like to see - please don't hesitate to post them up in the comments. I've still not quite decided on the creature for the first entry, and I've been back and forth a few times on all of my contenders.

One last time - thank you for reading. This whole series to this point is over 215k words. I'm overwhelmed that people have enjoyed it enough to sit through and reach this arc conclusion.

Have a most excellent day.

Update: This series is on ice for a little while. I want to have a more complete idea of what I want a third arc to look like before I pull the trigger on it. Despite having the first two entries pretty solidly in my head, without an overarching narrative, there isn't much of a story to tell yet. If you like this sort of series - take a look at the Pokemon/Human Breeding Guide which at the time of writing this update is currently in progress! Thank you for the support.