To Slay a Dragon
$60 commission for an anonymous commissioner.
Nesarin the mighty dragon is greedy and unscrupulous. He demands tribute from the wrong man.
CW: Gore, blood, castration, penectomy, genital destruction, revenge
Nasarin basked in the heat of the summer sun. The light rippled over his scales as the massive bronze colored dragon stomped over the grassy hill. His huge, heavy feet and curved claws left huge ruts and indents in the ground with every step. His dun-colored, leathery wings cast broad swaths of shadow beneath him. They could carry his bulk, but not for long. Nesarin was immense, the bronze behemoth three-quarters the length of his brethren, but twice as heavy in girth. He was a boulder, almost as big around as the hill he crested. His great back was like the deck of a ship, armored with plates and spines like great jutting fangs. Not a scar, not a scratch marred the glimmering copper-gold sheen of his scales. No weapon, no spell, had ever breached that mighty armor. Not even his sail-like wings bore any sign of injury or age. Nesarin was perfect, and he knew it. Even now, the awesome giant was heading to receive his due tribute.
The village was not far now, he could see the smoke of their chimneys rising against the blue sky in the distance. Beneath the hill, the grazing lands of their livestock spread out like a green blanket. Perhaps he would snack on his way to collect the maiden. She would be his main course, delivered to him on a palanquin of gold. No sheep could match the sweetness of a virgin’s flesh. Nesarin rumbled, the enormous scaly sheath between his rear legs swelling at the thought of that meal. It was huge, like a great barrel swinging loosely between his haunches. Behind it, the dragon’s gargantuan testicles almost touched the ground. Each was gigantic, the huge kegs swaying like suspended boulders in his impenetrable scaled scrote. Nesarin could barely contain himself, the dragon’s desire for proper tribute raising both lust and hunger in his great broad belly. Perhaps he would play with her, this virgin, to slake both desires.
Eager, Nesarin strode a little faster. His thoughts of a mutton snack were forgotten in his haste to claim this newest maiden. He bounded down the hill, the ground shaking beneath his incredible weight, grass and earth ripped up under his claws. It would not be long now.
Adan lowered his spyglass, the bearded human perched atop a thatched roof in the village. Even without the telescope, he could see the sunlight glinting off of Nesarin’s glimmering hide. “He’s coming!” he shouted down, quickly descending a ladder to the ground. His wife, and his daughter, waited for him at the bottom.
“Father…” his daughter said, her pale features cast in fear. “...are you sure about this?”
Adan touched his daughter’s cheek and kissed the top of her head. Her mother wrapped her arms around them both. “I will not let this monster take you from me, like he did your sister. I believe the trap will work.”
“Are the dwarves finished preparing?” Adan’s wife asked, her raven hair blowing in the warm summer wind.
“I believe so, they were nearly done before I climbed up to watch for the beast,” Adan answered, squeezing both his wife and daughter in a tight hug before he stepped away. He was a tall man, broad shouldered, and unlike his wife, his hair was the color of fresh straw, just like his daughter’s. Adan stepped out from around the house, into the village street beyond. The village was alive with activity, both human and dwarvish. They were burying the trap, hiding it beneath the dirt street leading to the village square. It was the only road in the village wide enough to accommodate Nesarin’s bulk without destroying any of the houses.
Adan found Raddun, a red headed dwarf with steel plates woven into his fiery beard. “Is it ready?” the man asked. The stocky dwarf nodded.
“Et is, ah finished the enchantments just a tick ago,” he answered, confidently.
“And you’re sure that this will do the job?” Adan asked, not for the first time. The dwarf smiled.
“Don’t you worry none, laddie. Dragons, we been killin’ tha bastards fer centuries. They think wit their pecks when they’s comin’ fer tributes. This’ll putta end t’yer dragon problem. I promise ya that.”
Nesarin ran faster. The bronze dragon leapt and bounded, shattering fences and tearing through barns and sheds on his way toward the village. His blood surged, the dragon’s jaws already slick with drool. Between his legs his immense cock was swinging freely from his sheath, swelling more and more with every step. It was almost as long as his entire body, the sturdy, gargantuan dragon’s brownish prick bouncing like an oak trunk between his haunches. Its long, tapered tip was ringed with ridges and bumpy with spines, the swell of what would be a boulder-sized knot already standing out against the edge of his sheath. He felt his balls swaying and slapping his thighs, the colossal orbs sloshing with spunk. Already his mind was racing with what he was going to do with that maiden. He remembered the last time, and how sweet it was. Slobber coursed down Nesarin’s jaws.
The dragon rounded the side of a silo, skidding into the street leading into the village. He could smell her, the maiden, his fiery, smouldering eyes locking onto his prize. She was bound, lying on that pile of gold in the middle of the village square. She wore only a pale slip, her milk-white skin shining in the sunlight. Nesarin’s long, reptilian tongue coursed over his teeth. The titanic beast slowed his bounding to a confident, measured stride. He wanted to watch her fear as he approached, menacing and mighty. He made sure she could see his immense cock swinging with every step, its pointed head drooling sticky drops onto the dry dirt of the road. The rest of the village was nowhere to be seen, hiding in their homes, and Nesarin knew they too were watching him in terror. That made his massive prick pulse even harder.
From their hiding place, Adan and his wife stood watching through the slats of their shuttered window. Adan held her, watching as the horrible beast approached their daughter. Once before he had watched Nesarin take away his youngest. This time, he prayed to all the gods that his vengeance would be granted. Behind them, Raddun sat smoking his pipe, his boots up on the table.
“It’ll work, laddie,” the dwarf said, confidently. He swigged from an elaborate golden flask. “No dragon can resist a pile ‘o gold and a maiden. Ye’ll get yer revenge.”
Adan appreciated the dwarf’s confidence, just as he appreciated he and the dwarf’s brother’s help. It was their gold that lured the beast, and their trap that they had set to end his reign of terror. Adan tried to be confident, but that was his daughter out there. He hoped, and he prayed, and he waited. Nesarin was close now.
“Well well, little morsel,” Nesarin said as he neared the helpless girl on her palanquin bed of gold. “Are you afraid? Terrified? You are mine now. I promise you, you will slake every desire I have before you meet your sister in my belly. If you have any gods to pray to, I would do so--”
As the dragon spoke, his next step was accompanied by a shift in the ground and a metallic clack. His words caught in his throat, the surprise of the noise and the shift making him look down. Under the loose dirt, there was a broad iron plate, depressed beneath Nesarin’s immense bulk.
What happened next happened in a matter of seconds to the dragon. To the watchers, however, it all happened with divine clarity and detail. The dwarvish trap sprung on well oiled hinges and tightly coiled springs. Eight immense enchanted sledgehammers sprung from the ground, four on either side, like the jaws of a bear trap. They were huge, forged of runic iron and ensorcelled with magic especially created to deal with dragons. The trap had been placed precisely, the hammers aimed at the massive cock and dangling balls that swung under Nesarin’s broad belly. The first hammers smashed together just behind the head of the dragon’s cock. The wide, pointed tip bulged as the shaft behind it was smashed flat, before it split like a banana peel. Gobbets of flesh and blood spurted from the split, the tip of the dragon’s prick exploding like a grape beneath a careless boot. The sensitive tip splattered the ground in a shotgun radial of gore, reduced to a fine red mist by the hammer. However, as the iron heads smashed together, not only did they crush the dragon’s penis, fire and light exploded from the heads as they met. This combination both flattened and obliterated Nesarin’s cock in thirds.
After the head was exploded, the shaft remained. The second set of hammers crashed into it, flattening the long shaft of dragon dick between them. It ruptured like an overcooked sausage, the ensuing explosion slinging smoking, smoldering chunks of dragon virility around the dragon’s legs. He could feel his cock being destroyed, the agony unimaginable for the huge beast that had never even felt pain in his life. The third pair of hammers splattered his knot. The huge bulge of flesh dimpled under the heads of the hammer, swelling around it before it burst in several places like a waterskin. The chunks of his erectile tissue splattered free, coating his gut in the crimson mush his prick had been reduced to. It was like a melon being destroyed, that humongous knot bursting on every side before the explosion erupted. Whatever remained of Nesarin’s cock, trapped between the hammers, was incinerated, reduced to so much smoldering ash after being pulverised like rotten fruit between the runic iron heads. The force was so great that it traveled up along the root of the dragon’s cock, scrambling the deepest regions of his penis into so much red jelly that drooled from his sheath like honey from a beehive.
The fourth pair of heads, and the last, these smashed together on the dragon’s balls. His mighty testicles squashed together, for mere milliseconds jostling for space within his scrotum as the hammers closed in. They shattered, their inner shells cracking like glass before the innards of the huge draconic nuts were forced out like putty. His testicles erupted, bursting within his sack before the hammers closed together. His formerly impenetrable scrotum burst, ripping at the bottom, at the sides, and liquefied grayish paste sprayed from within. All of the great dragon’s impossible masculinity splattered around his feet, worthless as mud. Then came the explosion, and his scrotum, cords, and whatever remained of his jellied testicles was obliterated. All along his ballsack, it crumbled to ash and bits of scale, his cords carrying the explosion up into his body to shatter his prostate like an egg. The force of it was so great it blew the dragon’s hips out of joint, his haunches shooting out to either side of him like a whore’s legs. Everything male about Nesarin was utterly, completely, irreversibly destroyed. With his maleness reduced to so much red paste, and ash, the formerly perfect dragon’s body couldn’t handle the shock, the agony, and the loss. He dropped where he stood, draped over the hammers with his legs spread wide, and his rump in the air, looking for all the world like a cow waiting to be bred by the bull. Dead.
“Toldja, laddie,” the dwarf chuckled smugly. “Ain’t no dragon yet that can’t be slain wit ‘is own peck.”
Adan and his wife were ecstatic. They had watched it all, the pair of them seeing their prayers answered as the monster was slain right before their eyes. They hugged, laughing, crying happily as their daughter’s safety was ensured. The village was safe at last, the great beast slain in a humiliating manner befitting his smug pride. Adan hurried out to free his daughter, the villagers gathering around the slain beast to examine his destruction. His features were frozen in shock and agony, eyes bulging, his tongue bitten through by the force of the explosions. It took help from the dwarves, but the dragon’s preserved head, still bearing that expression of shock and indignant agony, was hung above the tavern’s bar for many years to come.