Vipora
Story by skiesofsilver on SoFurry
You emerge from the inn, well-rested yet still a little sleepy. You yawn and stretch, feeling so much lighter garbed in the fine silks you are now rather than your usual heavy armor. One of the perks of a job well done and, as you blink away the last vestiges of sleep, you see that there was another perk waiting right outside of the inn.
The streets of the small little town, the capital of a somehow smaller kingdom, are lined with people, who remain quiet and focused on you. Most of them are peasants, but you see the peddlers are out along with the poets and songwriters and even some royals, set apart from the crowd and protected by their loyal footmen. You smell fresh food in the air and the sweet scents cause you to smile. These people have all gathered together to celebrate you and your accomplishments and who are you to say no to that? There’s benefits to being a dragonslayer, especially a successful one.
You start your walk down the city’s crowded streets, the common folk spaced out enough that there’s a clear path to walk. A murmur goes through the crowd, excitement rising now that their hero is here. Now that you are among them, they can celebrate. Some of the attention turns away from you as peddlers hawk what they have and those who had been holding their ale drink freely now, but you are still the spectacle of the town. Many shout your name, others hold out their hands as if you can give them something they don’t already have, and some enterprising individuals temporarily break through the crowds to offer you supposed magical trinkets before they are swallowed up by the crowd. You remain aloof to it all, walking the path ahead of you. You suspect whatever these folk might offer is nothing compared to what you find at the end when the ruling royals grant you the reward that was promised.
Even with your pleasant pace, the path is short and it’s not long before you reach the palace, if it can even be called that. It would be an admittedly tall, yet simple feasting hall in larger rulerships, but its haggard golden halls that gleam with fading luster are what qualifies for the royal seat of power here. Sitting at said seat of power, or really, standing on its stairs is the ruling family consisting of the aged king and his young daughter. The king smiles kindly and gestures you forward while the princess steps towards you holding a small velvet pillow with glittering gems upon its surface. Those assembled go quiet as you move to collect your reward, the riches of the kingdom.
Before you can take more than a single step, a figure bursts from the crowd and knocks the princess aside. The crowd gasps, the princess falling to the ground while all of the gems scatter with her. A figure stands before the princess, a bearded man garbed in withered robes. He clutches a gnarled wooden staff topped with a crystal sphere that glimmers darkly purple that he points towards you, his eyes wide and wild.
“You!” He snarls. “False! You failed!”
You frown while a murmur ripples through the crowd. Everything is still except for the madman who stands before you, shaking with his insanity. Guards approached from the crowd but the man whirled around, pointing his staff threateningly at anyone who neared.
“Back!” He screams. “Back, get back! My only quarrel is with him!”
He points at you and snarls, the guards doing as he says.
“You…” he murmurs. “I, Fendrel, say you are a fraud, a walking falsehood. A dragonslayer? Pah!” He spat. “You don’t know what a true dragon is.”
You open your mouth to refute his claim, but Fendrel resumes his rant.
“Vipora…” he murmured, the name unfamiliar to you. “She knows you and soon…” the man cackled madly. “Soon so shall you!”
The man points the staff at you and begins murmuring something in a language that makes your skin crawl. Instinctively, you raise your shield, but you realize too late that you don’t have your shield or any armament as a writhing purple ray shoots from the staff, the crystal atop it shattering into so many shards. You try to move aside, but it hits you right in the chest. You grunt as you are lifted off your feet and sent flying. Your trip through the air is soon over as you land upon a flimsy stall, shattering its flimsy construction and sending its owner fleeing. You cough and try to stand, but you feel such a coldness in your core that you can only shiver.
<What’s this?>
You close your eyes and shiver again. The voice...it originates not from any of the shocked bystander’s mouths but from within deep in your own mind. It rises from somewhere cold and dark in your mental space, a place that you didn’t even know existed.
<Hmm>
You shiver once more, the cold inside seeming to spread. You hear voices murmuring nearby, but they are so quiet compared to what lies inside.
<We are so small.>
The voice laughs coldly, cruelly, and it is distinctly feminine, an oddity for your male mind.
<Let’s change that.>
You feel something prickle painfully in your wrists. You gasp and open your eyes, looking down at your hand to see what appears to be two points of the Void itself embedded in your wrists. But...no, they aren’t the Void. You tilt your head and the spots glimmer and shiny slightly. You realize too late that the spots are scales and they’re spreading, your hands twitching as skin and hair is subsumed in favor of the cold scales. You clench and unclench your hands, shivering as you feel your fingers elongate, the bones stretching and growing with audible snaps and gasps from you.
<Just the start>
You shake your head, trying to push the voice away but it’s in your mind, part of you now. There’s you and there’s it and—
“Dragonslayer?”
You feel a hand on your shoulder. You lift your head to see a kindly cleric standing over you. He extends a hand to you and you reach to take it. You clasp your hand with his and he starts to lift you up before he frowns and looks to your hand. He screams and steps away, a look of horror on his face. Still, you manage to get onto your knees by yourself.
“His hands!” The cleric screams. “His hands.”
You stare at your hands, that malevolent laughter echoing through your mind as you watch the dark scales completely cover your hands. The ends of your thinner, elongated fingers throbs as the coloration of your nails brighten to a bright purple while they thicken and extend to cruel looking claws. You scratch at the ground and leave visible marks. You wonder what your claws might have done if you grasped the frightened cleric’s hand now.
“Cursed!” The cleric continued to show. “His hands are cursed!”
Your hands are less of a concern to you, however, as you feel the black scales start to spread up your arms, their coming precipitated by a wave of cold. You groan, digging your claws into the ground as your arms ache, your muscle ebbing away though not entirely, leaving your arms looking toned yet sleek and slender. The scales climb to your shoulders, which lose their masculine broadness. You flex your arms. There’s power in your arms of a different sort, and it feels...right?
<Yes, indeed.>
You snarl and raised a clawed hand to your forehead. That voice and the resulting laughter echoes through your headspace, but you can’t really rip it out, can you?
...can you?
You bring your claws atop your head and dig through your scalp, as if the voice is some sort of mite in your hair. It’s not though, so when you bring your clawed hand away from your head, all it holds is some hair. Actually, a lot of hair and you hadn’t even bringing grabbing for it! You blink and some more of your hair falls off your head as cold clutches at your cranium. You gasp, both hands clutching at the sides of your head and covering your ears as it feels like your brain itself is frozen. You grit your teeth even as you feel them ache, pressing differently together as they grow jagged and longer. You lick your tongue against them and wince. Your teeth are sharp now and there’s more of them growing in a jaw that’s suddenly pressing forward, your nose dwindling down to join it in its endeavors while it stretches along with the spread of scales. You groan and hiss, your abruptly elongating tongue sliding out of your stretching jaws. It wiggles and thins, forking at the end and tastes the approach of others in the air.
You look up in time to see three guards moving cautiously towards you, stopping when they see what is happening to you. You try to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a hiss as your jaws continue to press out into a draconic snout, your nose no more than nostrils at its end. They recoil and as you stare at them your eyes water, your round pupils shrinking into slits while your eyes now glow with the same bright purple as your claws. The guards shout and step away at the sight of your altered eyes. You shake your head, the last of your hair falling away just in time for the scales to spread over your cranium, the coldness nearly distracting from your other stretching sensations. Your ears, still clasped beneath your hands, shudder and shrink away at the spread of scales until you can no longer feel them, leaving you with two indiscernible holes for hearing. Still, you can hear well if not better than before, the crowd’s concern for you not escaping your attention. You look around to all the shocked faces and can only think—
<Pathetic.>
You let out a harsh roar that resounds through the streets as your draconic snout finishes growing to its full length. You listen to the echoes of your call and it satisfies you as much as the many sharp teeth that line your maw or how you can see the extent of your new snout in your vision. It’s broad yet narrowed and your nostrils flare, purple smoke spewing out of them. You aren’t pathetic like these mewling, frightened peasants, you are—
<Powerful.>
Yes. You already knew you were powerful, but this—this is something else entirely. The cold coursing through your core is no longer a stifling chill, but something akin to an energizing cold fire and it invigorates you. You snarl, draconic frills growing from your accentuated cheekbones, the frills a vibrant purple. You start to stand, but only manage to get yourself to kneeling on one knee as your head feels heavy and your feet throb. You lower your draconic head as cool scales run down a thickening, elongating neck while two points on your shorter forehead sting. You growl, the pitch of your voice rising as your Adam’s apple is swept away by scales and your throat fills with cold fire. Struggling, you manage to lift your head just as two twin horns sprout out, bony purple spires that curl backwards and complete your draconic visage. You hold the face of your enemy and yet you—
<Love it.>
You blink and hiss uncertainly. Do you love it? You look amongst the crowd and see that they do not, but—
<Why should you care? You are not like them.>
No, you are not like them and you are growing more unlike them by the second. You feel a surge of that innervating coldfire and it forces you to your feet while your cock becomes erect in excitement. You clench your throbbing toes while scales line your soles, but there’s nothing you can do as they merge together before stretching out sharper and longer into talons, shredding your simple boots. You wince and sway unsteadily as your heels lift from the ground. You’re standing taller and taller and taller still as that coldfire presses out against your increasingly scaly skin. You’re...growing? Yes, growing more—
<Powerful.>
Yes, powerful and less and less like the pathetic humans gathered around you. You’re growing not just taller but larger overall, your body growing proportionally to match the dragon you are meant to become. No, not dragon, but—
<Dragoness.>
You hiss and nod while the guards that had meant to check on you fled from your growing form. Now that you are taller than anyone in the crowd, you watch as it wavers, unsure what to make of their changing savior. You laugh at this and the laughter sounds familiar, even if it is feminine. But of course it’s feminine, you’re becoming a dragoness, you’re becoming—
<Vipora .>
You nod in agreement as the scales crawl up your legs. Though longer already than they were before, the proportions of your legs shift to match your arms—longer, toned, slender yet powerful. You especially enjoy the tingling sensation as the scales sweep over your thighs, that area thickening so much so that you can’t help but rub your thighs against your erect cock. You look down at the apparent bulge in your stretched pants and hiss your displeasure at its presence, though your coverings bother you more. Why do you still wear such uncomfortable clothes?
Luckily for you, you are soon concerned no more as the coldfire seethes once more and you experience a burst of growth. You shudder, hips aching and widening and covering with scales as you surge larger and larger, the snapping and cracking of your enlarging bones and stretching of flesh all too audible. When this spurt of growth ends, you now tower over the crowd and your fine silken clothes have been ripped to shreds, your scaly, draconic body bared to the crowd. There are gasps and shouts and you see some of your onlookers flee, but most stare in shock at you, their savior, their hero, their—
<Doom.>
You snarl, wiggling your hips back and forth as they stretch wider and wider until you are left with a pair of hips that can certainly bear many eggs even if you aren’t currently equipped to do so. You snarl again and look at that sorry thing between your legs. It looks out of place on your increasingly feminine form and you no longer want it. No, you no longer need it. With the crowd still watching, you take your cock in one hand and—
Hesitate as black scales crawl up your crotch, doing away with hair and exposed skin before becoming purple as they begin to slide up a smoothing stomach. Is this what you really want? To relinquish your human masculinity and give into your ostensibly feminine draconity?
<Yes.>
Yes. Yes, you do. You press you hand against your shaft and it shudders and shrinks even as you grow. More of your would be admirers flee, but you care little for them for now. You press hard and feel your testicles draw tight against your crotch, a new opening beginning to open beneath them. You snort purple smoke, still not satisfied and press even harder still.
The third strike seems to do the trick as your shaft shrivels significantly and your testicles slide into that opening, shrinking smaller and switching roles as they travel through your tunneling inner passage. You let out a gasping hiss, bucking your widened hips as your scaled slit forms, already wet and outlined by fleshy feminine folds for your very female cleft. Your shrunken shaft, little more than a nub is still hard and throbbing even as is slides slightly down to take its place as your clit. You brush a claw against it and shudder, the touch pleasant and oh so pleasurable. You moan, forked tongue flicking out as you stroke your claws across the entirety of your already slick, scaled sex. You shiver as your pussy pulses, hot and hungry and practically wet for attention. You consider quenching your heated sex, but not now, not yet. You’re close but you aren’t perfectly powerful yet and those pathetic humans should see the extent of your majesty first, yes?
Indeed. An image floats to the forefront of your mind, that of a large dragoness that is busty as she is beautiful, curvy as she is cruel, with a wide wingspan that complements her wide hips, thighs that rival the thickness of her tail and scaled so darkly that it almost matches her heart. You recognize that dragoness, no, know that dragoness because she is Vipora. Soon you will be her and soon she will be you.
You place your hand on your widened hips and embrace that image of that vicious Vipora, that dread dragoness that is you. You hiss softly, digging your talons into the ground and let that coldfire flow through your as the scales continually creep up your midsection, your waist pressing in and in to lend your developing figure a more hourglass shape. The cold scales move up to your less muscled, more toned stomach, your underbelly a softer vibrant purple than the rest of your dark scales, but it is warmth you feel as the scales spread around your still existing nipples. Soon the scales cover around your collarbone and meet your shoulders, ensuring you are smoothly scaled all over. You look to your chest and consider, but decide not now, not yet as you move your hands around your delectable hips to lie on your disappointingly flat scaled rear.
No, no, no. Vipora--you deserve better. With your eyes still closed, your direct the coldfire to your rump and are immediately rewarded with sensation of your rear filling out, rounder, plumper, and much more pleasing to the eye. It swells out increasingly rounded and heart shaped while at the same time you experience another surge of growth. Instead of gritting your teeth, your let your jaws hang out, nostrils pouring out that purple smoke as you grow larger and larger, the distressed cries and shouts of those watching you becoming smaller and smaller. You peek one eye open and see you nearly stand over this kingdom’s pathetic place of power, that harried hall that you see the king and his daughter flee into. The man who did this to you, the man who unleashed Vipora, you, onto this weakling world gawks as he stares up to you, the staff still clutched in his hand. You smirk.
You will deal with him later.
For now, you enjoy the sensation of your rear filling out and you can’t help but look over your shoulder at your plump, delectable rear. You squeeze a cheek and hiss, your swollen sex growing hotter and needier. You wiggle your rear and admire how it goes so well with your wide hips and yet there’s something missing. A--
Tail. Yes, that’s it. A tail, your tail. You need it, a thick tail for balance and flight, a thick tail you can use for pleasurable delight. You shudder at the thought of inserting its tip into your folds, self serving love but what was wrong with that? Only Vipora deserved you, only you deserved Vipora.
Only you deserved you.
You smile when you feel a sharp tug right above your rear, the coldfire pressing. You watch with excitement, your arousal sliding down your legs, as a sharp purple tip pressed out. You lift one hand from you rear (though not before giving it a slap that makes it wobble) and carefully cradle the tip of your new tail. The end is sharper, sharper than your claws, and yet you feel no fear as you tug at your tail. You shudder at the slight pang of pain you feel as your tail stretches longer, but it’s all worth it. You desire--no, deserve--a thick tail and so you take your other hand to get a better grip on its thickening base. You pull again and roar, fire rising in your chest as you feel yourself grow along with your tail. You’re still slender and smoothly scaled, but you tower over the hall now and your tail now hangs over your rear, the tip tucked between your cheeks. You wiggle your hips and the tip comes loose, falling further away from your rounded rump as it stretches by itself. You hiss your pleasure, glad things are growing so well, but you are distracted by shouts below. You look down just in time to see a contingent of archers loose arrows at you. They reach no further than your smooth stomach and they bounce harmlessly off your scales. You snarl and take a deep breath, drawing all your fire into yourself. In the next moment you retaliate, spewing bright purple fire near the archers. They flee, only slightly scorched but terrified. You follow their retreat with a stream of flame, the fire licking at their heels as you breath out more and more of your wrath, your black scaled tail stretching longer and thicker, the underside purple and surprisingly sensitive. Even when the archers have fled out of your sight, you continue to spew fire, enjoying the sensation of growth, of swelling and stretching as the tip of your tail touches the ground then more of your tail falls to follow it, writhing against the ground and battering away abandoned stalls and wares. Soon, your tail completes its growth and so you cease spewing fire. Though it feels a little alien initially, you can control the movement of your tail, swaying it this way and that, its sharp tip slicing into the ground and nearby buildings. It’s just what you wanted, just what Vipora desired, a thick tail tipped with your cruel intent.
Your nipples tingling remind you of what else you would like, for what is a dragoness without a well endowed chest? At the same time, your shoulder blades ache, reminding you of something else a dragoness should have. You hiss, the coldfire surging one final time. Your nipples suddenly stand stiff and hard, your pussy pulsing as erstwhile wind brushes against both. You growl, bending over slightly and holding a chest that is softening, the scaled flesh beneath your swelling nipples spilling out into the beginnings of breasts while two new appendages burst from your upper back, nubby, bony little things that flap weakly even as they stretch and grow. Your growl softens and soon you’re moaning as the increasingly sensitive, swelling flesh presses against your hands. They’re still small but they’re aren’t done yet, but just the fact that you can feel and squeeze them, sending tingles of electric energy directly to your slick slit, is very promising. You dip your snout, solely focusing your sight on watching your bosom swell and swell, even as you yourself grow larger and larger. You can see onlookers on the edges of your vision, but they are smaller now and even less important than before? Were they ever important? What sort of validation could you seek from such mere mortals? Vipora doesn’t need them and since that is you, you don’t need them either.
Soon, your swelling breasts are large enough to fit in your slender palms and you give a satisfying squeeze, shivering at the sensation but they don’t stop there. They jiggle as they grow larger, the sensitive scaled flesh threatening to overwhelm your hands, your fingers sinking into the soft flesh. You hiss lustfully, maneuvering your fingers to rub around the edges of your thickening areola. The contact causes you to rub your thick thighs together and you feel your nascent wings stretch, still mostly bony but the membranous webbing is starting to grow in, a shining purple in stark contrast to the black bone. You flap them and feel a weak wind from them. It’s a start, the progress to power that you, Vipora, hold.
Finally, your fingers can’t take it any longer and you release your hands to let your breasts bounce free. They’re heavy and bountiful, but your back is strong enough to hold their heft and they’re not finished yet. You stand up straight, watching as they jiggle and bounce, your now purple nipples sticking out prominently from your black scaled breasts. They’re big and that pleases you greatly, but still you demand more and so they swell slightly larger, hanging huge and ripe upon your chest. You flap your wings in excitement as you grope your chest, alternating one breast after the other and it takes you a moment to realize that your wings are no longer weak. Rather, as you turn your head, you see they are wide and wonderful indeed. You stretch your purple wings and give them a strong flap, causing not insignificant whirlwinds of dust to swirl beneath you, followed by shouts of surprise. You smile, dropping your hands to your hips and letting your big breasts hang free as you look over yourself.
You now matches you, that image in your mind of that powerful dragoness both terrifying and alluring. You have all her reptilian features: her mostly black scaled hide, her powerful wide wings, her thick tail with its sharp tip, her cruel claws and taloned feet, her long draconic snout and its smoke spewing nostrils, her imposing horns, and her glowing purple eyes that dripped with her scorn. You also have her feminine features: her wide egg bearing hips, her thick, squishy thighs, the curves that paired well with the slender form, her plush rump, her large breasts that hung enticingly, almost asking to be squeezed, but most of all her scaled slit, wet and wanting. You have all of this because you are her and she is you.
That cold in your core is gone, replaced by a warmth you feel deep in your chest, your fire, your power. That feeling of something else inhabiting your mind is gone, because in here is you and only you, no one else. You smile, showing so many teeth, for out here you still have a few onlookers, but there’s only one you care about specifically. You look for that mad mage, seeming so tiny now and see him sitting on the stairs of the hall, the staff laid across his lap. Seeing the staff, your nethers pulse with excitement and an idea comes to mind. You go down on your hands and knees, the rest of your onlookers fleeing to a safer distance before you lie down, propping your arms under your breasts while your tail drapes over your plump rump. Fendrel stares at you, looking simultaneously aroused and anxious.
“H-hero!” he sputters. “I p-promise I had no idea...I didn’t mean to, I--”
“Hero?” you say, your voice high and feminine yet the ground shakes with your menace. “I am no hero. I am Vipora. And you…” You narrow your eyes at him. “You have something of mine.”
He holds out the staff.
“Y-yes,” he said. “It...it’s really you! I didn’t think…” he gulps. “Take it, my mistress. Please! It is yours!”
You take it between two talons. The mage shakes uncontrollably as you stare at him, smiling toothily again.
“You did me a great service,” you hiss and he looks up at you hopefully. “And for that--”
Fendrel lets out a surprised scream as you flick him away. You hear him land, groan, and scamper away, but you no longer care about him. You only care about Vipora now, about yourself now, and the heat you’ve waited so long to quell. You look to the staff clutched within your claws and concentrate. It's yours, a piece of your power, so it's no surprise when the stave grows in your hand, it’s wooden length taking on a black, shining surface while the crystal on top twists into a purple phallic shape. It’s still rather small compared to you, but it’s now about a third the length of your arm. It’s not so good for actual use as an aid for walking, but you have another purpose in mind for it.
You transition to your hands and knees, your talons dug deep into the ground while you clutch the lewd looking stave in a clawed hand. Your raise your rump, wiggling it a little for show to those few left to watch while you lift your tail, exposing your slick sex. You flap your wings, causing wind to rush around you and over your sensitive sex. You shiver at the sensation, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough.
You let your head drop so you rest it on its side on the ground, your lower hand reaching back to bring the stave near your puffy pussy while your other hand gropes at a breast. You moan hotly, your tongue flicking out and tasting your rising heat as smoke pours out of your nostrils . Your arousal drips from your slit, soaking into the ground, and your scaled lips tremble as you hold the phallic head of the staff so close to your slit. You want to go in now, but you decide to take it slow, pressing in gently so as to slowly spread your lips. You hiss at the sensation, your tail trembling. Experimentally, you tweak a nipple and that only heightens your arousal so that you can longer wait any longer. You shove the makeshift shaft in.
You screech, the sensation of something so deep in yourself so good, so right but this is only the beginning. You move the end of the staff out and then press in again, deeper this time. Your tail lashes out, slashing a nearby structure apart while your inner walls clamp hungrily on the welcome intruder. You hiss and do that again and again, jostling the staff a bit as you move it in and out, in and out. You pant, your body warm with pleasure but you don’t forget about the rest of yourself, your other hand alternating squeezing at your ripe breasts, their sensitive soft flesh squishing pleasantly between your slender digits. You give attention to your nipples as well, the touch of your fingers upon their stiff surface sending shivers down your spine that you try to coincide with your thrusting. However, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to stay completely in control for the mounting pleasure is overwhelming and the desire for greater pleasure even more so. You move the shaft back and forth harder and faster so that it presses deeper and deeper, your pleasure likewise deepening as your body shakes and your breasts jostle. You moan, nearly there but not quite there yet and you try everything you can to be there. You squeeze your swollen tits again and again, while you maneuver the staff to bump against your clit with every thrust, intensifying the pleasure. You snort, digging your snout into the ground, your vision filled with your arousal-released smoke. You’re so close, so close, so--
You pussy pulse, tightens, and then you are there at the peak of pleasure. You raise your head and roar, flame spewing from your jaws and lighting up the sky before letting your chest and breasts fall to the ground. Afterwards, you ride the pleasure, gasping, hissing, shaking, your wings flapping with every wave of seemingly ever increasing ecstacy. Your tail flails, lashing about over your raised rear while you slowly, ever so slowly remove the soaked staff from your slick slit. Your tight pussy doesn’t want to give up your makeshift shaft so easily, but every effort of extraction is rewarded with even greater pleasure. You huff, spewing out more smoke and flames and, when you finally remove the staff from your slit, you let out another blast of vibrant flame. You throw the staff to the side and lay there, slowly dropping down from your knees, the aftermath of your heated arousal dripping down your thick thighs on the ground.
You are relieved and most pleased. Though the afterglow is coming to an end, this is only the beginning for Vipora, for you. There’s more to this form than pleasure--there’s also power, something you are reminded of now that you can hear the sound of this township’s pitiful people coming together to try to solve what to do with you, Vipora, the lusty, busty darkly scaled dragoness who just pleasured herself in their midst without a care why they were there. And why would you care? It is in your power to do so and they are just insects, nothing to you. Let them come. And after you’ve dealt with them? You smile and hiss. You might just come yourself afterwards. After all, there is so much more to explore to your sensual, scaled form.