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Lawrence walked along his handlers back from the mill. Despite the chilly weather, his body felt hot from the effort. A large pearl of sweat ran down his neck, and along his shoulder, where it slowed down. The stallion blew sharply, and watched the translucent globe fly off his golden body. He attempted to track it, but the droplet lost itself into the air long before he could see it land in the corridor.

There was a thwack as the riding crop landed across his naked cheeks. Lawrence barely managed to repress the urge to jump ahead. Usually, that's what such a strike on his ass meant. Forward, faster. Obviously, not this time, though, since they had him on a lead. His escorts laughed at his uncertain and fearful reaction. The ranking soldier moved ahead, and shoved the palm of his feathered hand against Lawrence's chest, bringing him to a stop.

— Eyes ahead, spy! Don't you want to take in all the details for your report?

The birds and lizards laughed once more, but Lawrence knew what they wanted. His attention was supposed to be on the masters at all times, ready to obey. Such were the rules. God forbid his mind might drift upon anything else than his degrading fate. So, he looked up and straight ahead, waiting for the painful sting of the correction to fade. The soldier pressed the tip of the riding crop under the horse's chin with a frown. He examined Lawrence's face more closely, searching for defiance, for an excuse to dole out further discipline, and break the boredom of his job. Lawrence lifted his chin just a bit more, making absolutely sure not to stare back. The bird waited, for no reason, or perhaps to test his tolerance to being kept at attention, but Lawrence had learned better than to show irritation. Any one of his escorts could smack his rear like cattle, then order him around in the name of discipline. That was simply a power that they held. Contesting that would make things much worse for Lawrence, and more fun for the guards. That was to be avoided.

At last, the disappointed trooper relented with a nod, gave the leash a tug, and they were back on their merry way. The burn upon Lawrence's rear reminded him to keep his stance, this time.

To the horse's surprise, as the group made their way through Terralgar's manor, he discovered they weren't heading to the hoard, where he spent most of his time on display among the dragon's other favorite prizes. He pictured the lonely metallic post to which he was usually shackled by the neck and thighs, wedged between the tyrant's empty throne and a large decorative urn. He failed to miss the cold steel against his back, but that didn't mean he felt no apprehension for whatever special activity had been planned for him on this day.

The lead escort guard lowered his hand holding the leash, slowing down, so Lawrence came to a halt with the others. They stood near the door to the War Office, which was protected by a pair of toothy crocodiles. When he'd first landed in Gambitia, Lawrence had been intimidated by the presence of so many avians and reptiles, whom were viewed with suspicion back home, but he'd gotten used to it after a while. Since he'd been captured on top of that, he'd discovered that getting used to them owning his ass was a different challenge. They looked stern to him. Early on, he'd sometimes failed to read their expressions properly. No longer.

The escort soldier and door guard saluted each other, in a far less rigid way than what their superiors would've liked to see.

— Looking for Lord Terralgar? dully asked the door guard.

— Yep. Are they all still in there?

— Nah, not anymore.

The reptile—who looked like he was trying to save as much energy as possible—pointed further down the corridor with his thumb.

“The lord went to the Crown Room a few minutes ago with General Oizar and Talok... I think they're having a drink."

— The meeting's already over?

— He cut it short.

— Who?

The door guard chuckled. His shoulders shook in slow motion, taking them a good five seconds to return to their previous stillness. The other soldiers were entirely unbothered by this.

— Who do you think? Lord Terralgar was in a bad mood the whole time. He wanted the meeting moved to later, but that didn't work out. Sounded like he took it out on pretty much everyone in there.

The escort soldier hummed musically, then jerked his beak toward Lawrence.

— So, that's why he missed the mill! He usually loves seeing this stud strapped in a tight harness, and worked hard under the whip.

— Sounds like you should hurry, then, and deliver him, said the crocodile at the door.

The mean eyes of the sluggish reptile stopped on Lawrence's golden nakedness. It seemed that they grew even slimmer than usual as he hungrily focused. Lawrence shivered, knowing that, in his mind, the crocodile was already impaling his beaten horse rump with his cock.

Luckily, the escorts moved along the corridor, freeing Lawrence from his imaginary submission, until they reached the tyrant's personal office. The guard for that room knocked, and after a brief wait, opened the door. The ranking soldier pushed Lawrence inside, then shut the door behind him, but not before one of them seized the opportunity to give his naked rear a stealthy slap.

There was a wooden desk at the back of the Crown Room, in front of a brave and wide window which let in as much cold winter light as it could, in a vain effort to enliven the workspace. The desk wasn't in use at this moment. Instead, a dragon and a lizard sat around a small circular table, pouring themselves drinks, while a bird stood at their sides. Lawrence quickly became the point of convergence for their stares. Talok's, the tyrant's avian head of security, pierced all with sober menace, while the lizard general Oizar's moved gluttonously over Lawrence. As for the ruler of Gambitia himself, the red dragon Terralgar's eyes lit up with a savage glow at the appearance of his prize. Lawrence remained immobile before them, pointlessly self-conscious about wearing only a collar with a leash hanging from it, and wondering once again how his life could have culminated with this. He anxiously waited for them to decide what they wanted to do with him.

— There he is! exclaimed Terralgar, raising his glass. A brand new donation for my collection, and from the FOD, no less!

The general whistled admiratively, standing up without thinking. His hip bumped into the edge of the table, tipping over his glass. He barely seemed to notice while the amber puddle covered more and more of the table's surface. The bluish scaled lizard was, quite simply, taken aback.

— I'd heard about the golden aspect, he said, but I couldn't imagine. I thought the rumors were exaggerated!

Terralgar couldn't have been more pleased with the general's shocked reaction. He gestured for Lawrence to approach, waving two of his dark-clawed fingers.

— Impressive, isn't he? Look at that shine when he's fresh from the mill.

Lawrence buried his shame, and forced himself to step ahead. He'd always been proud of his handsome virile body before, but here, captive to the Gambitian regime, it played against him. As he discovered, people liked few things more than degrading a defeated male.

General Oizar repressed an obvious urge to touch, and fiddled with his medals instead.

— And he's like that all over?

— Hmm hmm. Solid gold. Show your other side, my pretty pony. Arms up!

Lawrence took a deep breath, attempting to slow his rising heartbeat, while he turned to face the door, and brought his hands together above his head. He hated that. Showing his armpits made him feel particularly helpless, though he wasn't sure why. Some instinct to protect vulnerable areas, undoubtedly. He also expected that the tyrannical dragon would soon demand he swished his tail, and bent to exhibit the crack of his ass. Nothing demonstrated Terralgar's power over the stallion like obscene humiliation. He waited, though, in case he'd be spared that part, this time.

— It's like you guys painted him in gold, front and back, mused the general.

Behind him, Lawrence heard Terralgar's chair being pushed back.

— It's no trick. When I say his whole body, I mean his whole body.

Increasingly tense, Lawrence followed the sound of Terralgar's heavy steps until he sensed the fiery reptile's presence all over his back. He heard the dragon's wings extend a bit, as they did when he was excited. Then, the tyrant's hand showed up under his right thigh. It lifted his leg to the side, until his knee was waist-high. The sudden movement startled the horse, who thought he might lose balance for a split second, finding himself standing on one hoof, but the dragon held him stable. His other hand went around Lawrence's stomach, pressing him tightly enough against Terralgar's clothes that the horse could feel the hard scales underneath. With his equine trophy well under control, the tyrant spun, purposefully blowing his burning breath into Lawrence's neck.

“Observe. He's got nothing to hide. Not for me, anyway."

Terralgar stopped turning when they faced Oizar once more. Lawrence looked down at himself with the others, out of masochistic curiosity for what detail of his anatomy Terralgar was showing off. Still keeping him outstretched, the dragon flicked his ballsack to the side, exposing the intimate valley between his groin and his thigh. All gold.

Oizar approved with measured nods. As for Talok, he finished wiping the table clean for his superiors, yet at no moment had he broken eye contact with the equine captive. This was far from his first time seeing Lawrence's body in fine detail. The head of security scrutinized the stallion's face for hints of frustration. As he slicked the bright yellow feathers of his neck, his other hand twitched toward his sidearm. All he was interested in, was that horses were physically dangerous, and he didn't like potential dangers being close to his godlike ruler, especially agents, and especially especially agents from the FOD. Collared or not. Nude or not. Obedient or not. Lawrence genuinely thought that, one day, the bird would lose control and shoot him, just to be on the safe side. It'd be an appropriately absurd conclusion to his humiliating existence as Terralgar's amusement. The Gambitian tyrant would probably just have him stuffed, and not much would change.

At last, Terralgar relaxed his hold, letting the horse captive bring his leg down. Before he returned to his chair, he combed through Lawrence's black mane with his claws, straightening a few strands of hair. The slave tried to ignore the prickling sensation on his flesh.

“There. That's a nice male who knows his place."

Lawrence endured the comment from the tyrant that was now also his master. He tried to regain what little composure he could.

— Can I lower my arms, now?

Terralgar didn't turn to answer, and simply sat down, letting slide the discreet touch of annoyance in Lawrence's tone.

— Sure, go ahead.

Oizar rubbed his chin.

— You allow him to speak to you this way? Perhaps his spirit isn't quite as crushed as you think it is.

The dragon smiled and poured himself another drink.

— What? He asked for permission.

The general frowned.

— He was clearly giving you attitude, and didn't even call you master! I'd never tolerate that from my slaves!

— For a cold-blooded person, you're highly impatient, Oizar. The training of such a special prize should be savoured. He'll proudly wear his collar at my feet soon enough. Besides, you should've seen him at first! He yelled at me through the bag on his head while my guards walked him through the streets.

— Ugh, these foreigners. They must be taught respect for their betters. How they even keep order in their countries is beyond me.

A devious grin formed on Terralgar's face. Smoke came out of his nostrils, and that was seldom good for Lawrence. The dragon ruler gestured toward his worried property.

— Say that thing you used to say to me almost every day, like it was a point of honor. Remember how strongly you felt about it?

Lawrence remembered. He fought a flush of shame. Since it came to this, he realized it might actually be more dignified to bend over and display his asshole.

— I remember, master.

— Say it.

Cold uncomfortable sweat covered Lawrence. His reluctance only drove up the expectation for that hateful dragon tyrant. He was trapped, so he decided to get it over quickly.

— ... you'll never make me talk...

Terralgar guffawed and shook his head, wagging a clawed index left and right.

— No, no, no. Don't mumble. Shout it with the same defiance you had before, when you thought you were a superhero, or something.

Lawrence stared at his hooves. If he ceased moving completely, perhaps he could disappear. Be forgotten.

— I'm not like that anymore...

But the taste of true shame had already whetted Terralgar's appetite.

— Say it like a proud stud who knows he'll never bend to the will of an evil tyrant!

Oizar struck his own thigh.

— Hahahahaha! Now, that's harsh! Those FOD agents always think they're too important to fall.

— For such a shitty spy, he seemed utterly convinced he was in some kind of action flick. I swear, the first time I had him stripped and spanked, I could witness the illusions in his eyes shatter with each hit of the cane against his red hot buttocks.

— Did you?

— It was the funniest thing. He was so confused that we weren't interrogating him, so he could honorably resist us! The collar and days spent in a small cage seemed to help him rethink his position, but when I offered him to my loyal soldiers for a night... well, he wasn't so haughty after that.

— I can imagine.

Lawrence however, didn't have to imagine, for he remembered all too well being spit-roasted in the middle of the guards' room. Brutal men took turns shoving their raging dicks down his throat, and stretching his anus. They grabbed him roughly, pulled his mane, his tail, and splattered his face and his back with layers of their reptilian and avian semen as each of them reached a cheap climax, then quickly pulled out to make room for their fellows. They shared his bruised golden body, beating his helpless cheeks and legs. He missed the beatings, though, once one of them thought of tying a rope with a sliding knot around his balls. They held it while they fucked him, and pulled on it with more or less strength to keep him motivated, or simply for the thrill of letting him know they were completely in charge. He'd learned to moan desperately as he serviced and swallowed their meat, and to wiggle his soiled rear impatiently between taking their loads, since this made them take it easier on the rope. They were free to interpret this as appreciation or submission, according to their preference.

Compared to this, going back to Terralgar's hoard to live as the tyrant's personal trophy appeared immensely preferable, but the Gambitian soldiers never looked at him the same, after that night. They merely hungered for their next opportunity. Lawrence hoped that might never come.

Yet, he found that he couldn't really bring himself to obey that latest command of his master's. Playacting as himself, as he used to be before he was reduced to a dragon's sex toy, that was too real for Lawrence. He wasn't sure he could even muster the energy to imagine it. It felt, quite literally, impossible. Lawrence found nothing convincing to say, no way to beg, so he merely slid down to the floor, and grabbed one of Terralgar's legs, rubbing his lowered head against the calf.

“What's wrong with him?" asked Oizar, surprised by the horse's sudden collapse.

— He doesn't want to do it, so he's groveling for my mercy.

Terralgar's claws reached down for the curbed body, and gently scratched the golden shoulder. That was a surprisingly encouraging response, so Lawrence hugged the leg a smidge tighter, and waited with renewed hope. The reptile general scoffed.

— Such a pussy. What's so hard about standing up and saying a few words?

Terralgar patiently shook his head, the flame behind his eyes seemingly sated by the broken stallion's submissive display.

— You're not a people person, general. Put yourself in his place. You were a proud agent, but your enemies defeated you and bound you. You then thought you'd engage them in a great battle of will, where you'd maintain your dignity and demonstrate your endurance, but you never get that chance. Instead, they humiliate you for fun. Every day, little by little, they train you into their broken plaything. Turns out you severely overestimated your own importance to the world. I suppose the best way to survive this cruel transformation is to pretend it never happened, and only think of now, the new rules, the servile little pony you need to be for master, not the embarrassing superspy you thought you were. And here we are, shoving it in his face, telling him to be that again, for our entertainment. Of course, he doesn't want to do it.

Oizar shrugged.

— What a slave wants is irrelevant, so they require no understanding. You gave him an order. He obeys. Anything else is lenient.

— General. You wouldn't know fun if it kicked you in the tail. I'll show you.

Terralgar allowed his fingers to trail along the horse's arm, shoulder and neck for a few more moments. Lawrence held his breath. It seemed to him that perhaps the dragon would give him an out.

“Alright, my loyal prize. Since you've behaved, lately, you don't have to show us the superspy."

Lawrence breathed in relief, but he also gave the tyrant a wary glance. It would be very much like Terralgar to announce the price of his mercy.

“Are you happy?" asked the dragon.

Lawrence gave a weak nod.

“Then, let go of my leg, and get up. General, do you know what horses do when they're happy?"

The lizard detected that this was headed into an amusing direction, and played along.

— No, what do they do?

— They prance. It might be in their nature, as energetic sprinters, to express part of their emotions with their legs. They hop around excitedly, but without anywhere to go. I'm told it's adorable, so we've been practicing.

Regretfully, Lawrence stood. He kept his head low, looking dejected as his leash hung pathetically.

— Master, as I've explained before, this isn't really something that can be faked...

— Nonsense. You want to avoid doing the superspy, and I want to watch you prance. You choose: the shameless, arrogant horse, or the happy submissive horse. It will be one or the other.

Terralgar burned with the pleasure of bullying his captive. Oizar looked on with interest, while Talok, who'd witnessed “prancing training" before, looked at his watch, then feigned profound interest in the ceiling. The bird did everything to avoid staring at the poor stallion. There was no escaping it. Lawrence felt himself melting.

— ... I'll try to prance, master, but it won't make for a good show...

Terralgar grinned cruelly.

— I think it will.

And then there was nothing. They waited silently for Lawrence to get started. To “prance," naked before them, in the middle of this room. It was absurd, of course. There wasn't a damn thing the horse could do that wouldn't result in absolute, world-shattering embarrassment. Every self-conservation instinct he had screamed at him to just stay there, immobile, but then he thought of the guards in the corridors, waiting for him to displease the tyrant. He'd already tested Terralgar's patience once, that day. Twice would be begging for cruel discipline.

So, he moved his weight to one leg, and hopped, then moved to the other. Trying to mimic a state of heightened excitement, Lawrence thought of using his arms, but he didn't know what exactly to do with them, and raised them hesitantly. He told himself to swish his tail, but already, the fake prancing was awful, his every movement plagued and subdued by his awareness of the cringeworthy farce he was making of himself. He knew the visible lack of confidence was bad, so he decided to try even harder, and hopped faster in an incoherent circle, throwing his hands up higher, desperately trying to think back to the last time he'd pranced out of genuine silly enthusiasm, to recapture some part of that memory...

Everything was immediately worse.

— Oh, my god, gasped Oizar.

Lawrence's public couldn't take their eyes off this morbid trainwreck. Talok covered his beak with his hand, recoiling from the utter cringe. He hated every second of this with an emotional high that only birds were capable of. Terralgar, in sheer contrast, was getting precisely everything he'd wanted, enthralled by the perfect disgrace of his plaything. Oizar looked on, stuck between surprise, disgust, and the need to laugh out loud.

For Lawrence, it felt like torture, straight up, and it wasn't getting any better as he bounced up to never-before-witnessed levels of awkward. He prayed for this slaughter to end.

— For fuck's sake, make him stop, implored Talok.

In this one moment, Lawrence forgot his dislike of the paranoid bird. Terralgar roared with pleasure.

— You don't like my pony's little dance? It's a work in progress.

Oizar finally escaped his torpor.

— Even I have to admit, it's hard to watch.

— Fine, fine.

The dragon finally gestured for Lawrence to stop. It was over. The horse hugged himself tightly, looking at his hooves. Strange how he was feeling far more naked than before. Meanwhile, Talok, recovering from the near lethal dose of secondhand embarrassment, pointed an accusatory finger to the tyrant.

— That was wrong, sir. There is now a special spot in hell, for you.

The dragon laughed.

— So, Oizar, do you think my cute prize still looks defiant?

Before the lizard could answer, Terralgar snapped his fingers for the stallion's attention. Lawrence threw his master a defeated glance, fearful that the tyrant might imagine some new refined defilement for him. Terralgar sustained this eye contact, then nodded to his side. There was little Lawrence wanted more than to curl in a ball, out of view, so he complied without hesitation, and sat his golden bum down on the floor. Playful, Terralgar pointed to his knee.

“Like a nice pet. Go on."

What dignity was there to lose at this point? Lawrence leaned toward the dragon and placed his chin flat upon the dragon's knee. Terralgar petted his head, squeezing his short soft ears without malice, for once. The tyrant turned his other hand palm up, awaiting a response from the general. The latter waved, conceding.

— I suppose my judgment of your methods might have been hasty. Still, the capture of an agent of the FOD deserves emphasis. You should give his training the attention it deserves, then show off whatever vile, broken thing became of him. It'll send a strong message to our enemies.

Terralgar pressed on Lawrence's head and neck a bit harder, as if to keep him in place.

— And to our people, added Terralgar. It's not so easy to fool the ruler of Gambitia!

— Precisely. Can you imagine how frustrating it must be for the bigwigs of the FOD to watch us have our fun with their guy? They'll think twice before sending another one.

General Oizar got up, and from the way he did, Lawrence guessed that he was leaving.

“As enjoyable as this has been, I'm afraid a soldier always has work to do."

There, getting his mane caressed by Terralgar, Lawrence had begun to breathe easier, and was startled to see Talok spring into action.

— No, you don't.

The bird was already halfway to the door, clearly intent on blocking access, when Terralgar called him off.

— Talok, don't be rude and let the general leave as he pleases.

— What? But...

The head of security stopped in his tracks, he seemed genuinely confused when he turned around. So did General Oizar. Both looked to the dragon.

Terralgar shrugged apologetically.

— Ignore his overzealous attitude. Talok doesn't like it when people leave without my permission. He thinks I'm some sort of divinity.

The lizard's scales seemed to turn more blue when he was worried, yet he nodded graciously before leaving.

— Of course.

When the door shut, Talok directed a helpless and infuriated glare to his ruler. Terralgar, on the other hand, remained calm. The horse felt puzzled about the meaning of this strange scene, but he was also overjoyed that it wasn't about him at all. The longer he could stay safely against Terralgar's leg, getting distractedly stroked, the better.

— You were supposed to talk to him about his appearances! exploded the bird.

— No, you said I should do that, and I said I didn't care about his stupid press conferences. It was true, and it still is.

— Well, you should care. Why do you think he's throwing these media events whenever we make a troop movement, or a drill, or literally anything? He's trying to become the face of our military. It makes him look in charge, instead of you. I don't like it.

— It's irrelevant. So, some of my underlings have an overinflated ego. What a shock. My people know who's in charge.

Terralgar cupped the back of Lawrence's head, and with a firm grasp of his dark mane, brought the horse's face up.

“What do you think about this, pony? Am I in charge of your shiny ass, or is it Oizar?"

With prudent submissiveness, Lawrence nuzzled the dragon's arm, which caused Terralgar to release him and let him return to his previous position on his master's leg, as uninvolved with this argument as he could be. The peaceful petting resumed.

“See? He agrees I'm the boss."

— This isn't funny, sighed Talok. Oizar isn't making these moves without reason.

— No, it isn't, but it's a joke nonetheless. You and Oizar are both overestimating his popularity. I made a big show of our friendship when I named him, so now the people view him as my proxy. They love me through him. He has no real support on his own, and would require major resources to set up a coup against me. Look me in the eyes and tell me that sounds realistic to you.

Talok folded his arms. He looked like he was defending a hill.

— It's not, but you're jumping to the most extreme scenario, skipping a dozen more probable ways he could cause trouble. What if he's targeting some of your other generals, angling to improve his standing? Do you want factionalism in your army?

— This isn't going to happen, and I don't care.

— The point is, there's no reason to let him hog the spotlight. None at all.

— Stop it, Talok, I said I don't care! roared the dragon. Stupid useless meetings already made me miss mill time, today. Mill time, for fuck's sake! We're not going to create another three hours worth of a pointless argument with Oizar just because you don't like his face on TV! It's beneath me! Beneath!

Terralgar had gotten up violently, flipping the table for good with his waist, and sending glasses and bottle into the wall. He and the bird both went silent, and Lawrence, pushed aside, was definitely not going to be the first to make a move. Terralgar stared at the broken glass, on the other side of the room.

“Damnit. This table is too easy to knock over."

Talok's shoulders dropped. For a moment, he was shaken, afraid not of what might happen, but of what had already occurred. A child, sad that they disappointed their parent. A monk, fearful they insulted their god. He gave up, and slowly went to pick up the overturned table. Seeing that the matter was concluded, Terralgar calmed down swiftly.

— I'll take care of the mess, sir, said the bird. What do you plan on doing for the next three hours, then? I hope it's good.

— I was thinking of something along those lines...

Suddenly, a rough tug on Lawrence's leash dragged him on his knees alongside Terralgar, as the tyrant moved away from the broken glass, and then shoved the unbalanced horse down on his back. Unsure what was happening, Lawrence reflexively tried to push himself up on his arms, but the dragon, crouching down to his side, pinned him down with one firm hand on his pectorals, until the horse obediently kept in place. Sharp tips of dragon claws pinched his golden nipples, cruelly enough to make the helpless equine gasp from the hurt, yet clement enough to release the sensitive bits of flesh before the pain could set in. With his other hand, the conquering tyrant reached between the captured male's thighs, and grabbed his testicles. Two fingers extended down, and began to rub along the path between Lawrence's balls and his tailhole. This was no gentle caress, but an expert assault upon the stallion's senses in this intimate spot. The stallion plaything had been trained better than to resist this, and shamefully opened his knees, having a pretty good idea where this would lead, and already detecting a response in his loins. Somewhere deep within the mythical creature of earth and flame, a lava-fueled engine was turned on at the sight of his prize so offered for him, so sexually submissive, and the tribute was accepted. As the rumbling was heard, Terralgar's hard edge turned smooth and insistent, his movements rhythmic and precise; his nasty streak consumed by his draconic taste for absolute dominance. He directed his impossibly focused gaze to Lawrence, who felt himself turn to soft shiny clay.

“Let's have you beg, today, my pretty pony."

This was no idle threat. Lawrence knew from experience that before the dragon was finished playing, he'd be erect and broken, squealing for release, and this would last for exactly as long as-

— Come on, not in the Crown Room, complained Talok.

Terralgar sighed in frustration, his stride fatally interrupted. He grasped Lawrence's flesh very tightly in anger, which was unfortunate because he was still holding his balls. The stallion squirmed, and Terralgar swiftly punished this by squeezing even harder. The agony drove Lawrence to a practiced state of passivity, very useful to avoid discipline while under Terralgar's control. Some pressure was released, and beyond that, the chastised slave accepted his master's hold as it was. Luckily, after a few more seconds, the dragon tyrant released his orbs, aware that no part of this interruption was Lawrence's fault, and turned to Talok instead.

— You... you're a killjoy, Talok, nothing but a killjoy!

The bird shrugged, looking not particularly sorry as he kept removing glass shards from the floor, his back turned to them. Terralgar wrapped a few loops of the leash around his fist, and smacked Lawrence's butt while pulling him up. Now, this was the kind of ass-slapping that the horse understood. He hurried up and was ready to walk.

“Move it, pony. We're headed somewhere more private, so Talok won't have to stay and be the fucking killjoy that he is."

A dragon's hoard is a sacred thing, and Terralgar's occupied roughly half of the total living space in his manor, given that he had an entire nation to pilfer. None but him were allowed inside any of the interconnected rooms, with the notable exceptions of his slaves, who lived in the harem section of the hoard, a few elite guards handpicked for their discretion, and, occasionally, the killjoy, though Talok was temporarily unwelcome. There was no staff — the slaves were assigned chores — and even less members of Terralgar's government, whom the dragon semi-trusted at best, downright loathed at worst. It was the ruler's own little pocket dimension in Gambitia, where he was, indeed, a god.

Lawrence entertained mixed emotions about becoming part of the hoard. The all-male collection of harem slaves were kind, and the horse liked them, even if he found their total devotion to their master unnerving. Most of them were from agencies less reputable than the FOD, located in countries neighboring Gambitia, but all had been spies sent after the fiery tyrant, tamed and trained for sport after their capture. Whenever he saw them interact, he witnessed his own future, and wondered how long it would take for him to learn to enjoy working for their master, and cajoling him, and servicing his needs in the same prideless way they appeared to enjoy those things. The stallion wondered when it would be that Terralgar would deem him sufficiently domesticated to be fucked, and consequently, to be added to the harem, and whether that would be a good or a bad thing. In the meantime, Lawrence had to live as a humble trophy of gold, on display by the dragon's throne. It was a wretched existence, undoubtedly meant to crush his spirit, and it did a fine job of that. Only visits from the harem slaves, to water him, or Terralgar's presence broke the oppressive strings of hours of nothing. Just standing in shackles, his naked defeat looking probably pretty good in a dragon's eye. He waited for the chance to be put to some humiliating training, then he was returned there. Paradoxically, the harem slaves roamed the confines of the hoard in complete freedom.

Terralgar led his prized horse past the throne. They also passed Lawrence's display post, and when the horse glanced at the metal pole with the hanging shackles, he challenged himself in thought. What if he was given the choice, right then, to lick Terralgar's dragon balls and shaft, and take his hard dick up the ass? Would he submit to this, perhaps regularly? Would he be able to endure living only to satisfy the urges of Terralgar the tyrant, of all people? Lawrence found that the answer, vile as it might be, was pretty conclusively positive. He'd be a spiritless sex slave of a horse if it meant never being bound to the pole again. He'd swallow come, and spread his cheeks on command. Yeah, he was fairly broken already. It was merely a matter of time before the dragon realized it. Game over, he thought. He was nothing but a new, shiny round butt for the tyrant of Gambitia to pat and cream.

These were Lawrence's musings when Terralgar halted their little walk. They were in a place that the horse had never seen from the inside, yet he'd heard of this chamber. He'd heard of it literally, since the chamber was within earshot of the throne, where he was on display. Terralgar collected as much gold as he could, and minted his own coins with it. In this chamber, he piled it all up in mountains tall enough for him to bury himself under them. Lawrence was pretty sure, based on the sounds coming from the chamber, that, every once in a while, the dragon did exactly that. He could remain under his gold for hours, moved by some strange draconic sensibility.

Just as Lawrence wondered what they were doing in there, Terralgar handed the leash over to him, and approached the closest mound of coins, only to turn around and recline into it, wings spread wide over the shiny clinking bits. He rubbed himself into the coins, in a manner extremely reminiscent of what felines did with certain plants.

— Aaaah... that's more like it. Look around. Don't you see how you belong, here?

It wasn't a real question. Lawrence watched silently, appreciating the odd sentiment of holding his own leash. He wasn't sure what to do, but he didn't doubt that further instructions were incoming. The dragon was giving him the look.

“I said we'd make you beg, and we will. You'll be hard and adorably desperate before I allow you to climax. Come on over to your ruler."

With the tip of his reptilian toes, Terralgar poked the floor before him for Lawrence to take his proper place. The trophy horse went and sat down, knees splayed and hands to the cold stone surface. At least, this time, there was no one to witness his spineless submission to the enemy. Not that it was still very practical to think of Gambitians as enemies. Whether he liked it or not, his life would be here, from this point on.

On all fours, arcing his back, he looked up to Terralgar, attempting to invite leniency. The dragon smiled and reached for a gilded box that had been among the pile of golden coins. It didn't stand out, and Lawrence hadn't noticed it before, but he recognized it. Terralgar cracked the box open and took the toy stored inside, silver and cylindrical, with one rounded end, and the other wide and flat. He sent the toy rolling to his broken pony.

“You know where that fits on a failed spy. Put it on the proper way, then join me. I'll enjoy your body against mine while I teach you who owns your pleasure. Since we're here, without disturbance, there's no reason to rush."

There was no point in causing any delays. Carefully, Lawrence picked up the silver toy, and placed it upright, in front of him. For the dragon's viewing pleasure, he opened his legs wide to expose his sex as much as possible as he squatted over it. Very slowly, he lowered himself upon the toy until he felt it nudge his delicate hole. Then, he kept going, making sure his conqueror saw every moment of his stretching for the cylinder's entrance. The dry toy created resistance, so he wiggled his cheeks, softly, to keep sliding down, as he'd been trained to do, until he reached the floor, and the large anal plug completely filled him. He turned his rear to the side so Terralgar could observe that it was well-slotted, and only the flat end remained visible.

“There's a well-mannered trophy. Even this isn't remotely as undignified as that prancing you did. At least, you look good doing this."

Poor Lawrence's mood, which already wasn't super cheerful, grew even more sullen. He didn't deserve this, he was totally submitting! He threw Terralgar the perfect glance: resigned, yet sadly resentful. The dragon took the blow.

“It was a joke, don't give me that look! Fine, I'll stop reminding you. Just bring your obedient butt here."

Terralgar tapped his waist. Lawrence crawled up the mound of coins, and lay to his side, halfway on top of his master, who swiftly took hold of him. Never before in his life had the stallion been the partner that lies on top, but with his dragon master matching his size and build, that had been his place. He found it somewhat emasculating, but he also knew from experience that he'd get used to it after a few minutes. Terralgar's embrace was firm, and he patted the golden cheeks, regularly nudging the plug between them. His other arm made its way between the golden legs, and resumed where it had been so rudely interrupted before, seizing Lawrence's malehood, and rubbing beneath it. Tingling shivers of arousal gradually did their work, and eventually the horse would be erect and teasable, exactly as Terralgar desired. Nothing to do but let it flow, accepting the dragon's touches, and doing his best to enjoy the physicality of them. This was far easier when the tyrant was calm and reassuring, letting his pet stallion get used to his dominion.

As Lawrence relaxed, allowing himself to move through these vulnerable moments, subserviently mingled with another male, he experienced a pang of self-awareness. Reflecting on some of General Oizar's earlier words, he thought back to his agency, the Foreign Operations Division, and the people he used to know and work with. Though they hadn't seen Lawrence since the tyrant had paraded him on national TV, the day of his capture, the agency was fully aware of what the flame tyrant of Gambitia made of his prisoners. They had to know the horse wore nothing but a collar, anymore, that he was being trained as the tyrant's new livestock, that there was nothing for him to do but give up on his ambitions, accept his humiliating fate, and, like all the other enslaved agents in the dragon's collection, to become pitifully loyal to him. How embarrassed would they be to know, right then, as Terralgar's fingers gently pressed the plug up his ass and handled his balls, that he could already feel it happening?

It was a quiet day at the agency for all but Lawrence. He couldn't find much of a point in trying to focus on his analysis of Gambitia's latest troop movements. The rogue nation hadn't done anything particularly unexpected. They shuffled some forces, conducted intimidating exercises near their neighbors, run of the mill stuff that their power-mad ruler ordered to get other, freer nations to talk about him. It made him look stronger to his people when other countries worried about what he'd do. With much luck, Lawrence's analysis would be read maybe once by some agent with a real job, preparing for a covert operation.

Then again, he thought with a spike of satisfaction, perhaps that agent would be him. Earlier, Lucas had informed him that something was brewing on the upper floor, and that his name was coming up a lot. Even in the business of spycraft, no force in the world could prevent assistants from gossiping, and Lucas had heard it from Director Adams' secretary. This was as sure as gossip could get.

Lucas knocked on his door, and the horse immediately ceased pretending to work. The flat-eared dog passed his head into the room.

— Anything? eagerly asked Lawrence.

The dog brandished a newspaper.

— Not yet, sorry. I brought you the crosswords, since it seemed unlikely you'd be able to get anything done.

The horse sighed, closing his laptop in frustration.

— I really can't. Give it here. Thanks, Lucas.

The dog stepped in merrily, pleased to be of help. Lawrence split the papers open on his desk, but he couldn't imagine how he'd be able to focus on that any more than he could on his analysis.

“Listen, when you spoke to Shirley, did she mention anything at all about when..."

Before he could even finish his sentence, Lucas was already shaking his muzzle left to right.

— All I know is that it's being discussed right now.

— And it sounded like an operation? With me in it?

— She said it was big, confirmed the assistant. You know Shirley doesn't exaggerate.

— Okay.

Lawrence sighed. There was nothing he could do. He wasn't even supposed to know about it. He'd been an agent for almost three years, and this might be his first real job, after months of begging. Sadly, it wouldn't be the first time he got excited over possibilities that never materialized.

“Please, let this not just be hot air," he mumbled. “I can't be a joke in this building, forever."

— You'll get your chance, said Lucas. But nobody here thinks you're a joke. You're a highly reliable agent, and everyone likes you!

— Yeah, on this floor.

— What's that mean?

Lucas looked vaguely insulted. Most of the people working on that floor were assistants and secretaries. Lawrence got up, and walked up to Lucas. He hadn't meant to be condescending, and the last thing he wanted was for his assistant to be mad with him.

— I love that you guys are comfortable with me, and you know I'd never look down on the vital work we're doing here, but it's just not what I aim for. I want to do field duty; I always have.

— You do field duty, though. This last month, you went and got agent what's-his-jerk out of Sambali after he blew his cover with the mob.

The horse sighed.

— Sure, I support and extract. I do a lot of that, but I'd like to be the one who gets extracted, for a change. Also, please don't talk this way about Special Agent Benson. I know he's kind of a dick, but completing your objective doesn't count as “blowing your cover." Sometimes, I feel like I was hired as an ornament for the FOD.

Lawrence paused, then continued:

“Look everyone, we trained an Akhal-Teke agent even though we believe he's completely useless! Aren't we quaint and non-threatening? Please, don't hurt the budget!"

The dog chuckled. He was so easy to amuse.

— You know things are dire when Lawrence starts doing voices!

Making his assistant laugh helped the agent feel a little better, but in truth, he wasn't in a cheerful mood at all. Among Akhal-Teke horses, some individuals inherited the bright, metallic lustre of gold. This property was particularly intense in Lawrence. His natural coat gleamed with the warm color of the sun, his black mane and tail recalled endless fields of wheat as soon as any ray of light hit them. He became the center of any room he entered. It was entirely impossible to ignore the stallion that looked like he'd been forged from bricks of the purest gold. Not a huge advantage for a spy.

“You'll get your chance," repeated Lucas with a reassuring smile.

Suddenly, the dog's brown ears perked up. Lawrence barely had time to hear the sound of the phone before Lucas disappeared, as if he'd been sucked out into outer space. The supreme assistant was answering before the end of the first ringing. The horse listened through the opening of the door, petrified.

“Desk of Agent Bennett," went the voice of Lucas. After multiple seconds of silence, the door flew open, and Lucas stood there, phone in one hand and receiver squeezed between his head and shoulder. He stared at his boss, eyes wide. The horse couldn't breathe.

At last, Lucas' expression broke into an enthused smile, as he pointed frenetically to Lawrence, then up toward the ceiling. This was really it! It was terrifying, but there was no time to dwell on that. In panic, the horse picked up his laptop, marching so fast out of his office that he might as well have been running.

“He's on his way," said Lucas.

Facing the elevator, the horse pressed the call button with more force than necessary, then sprinted up the staircase without waiting when the door failed to slide open. He was fast, he was strong, and his hooves didn't touch half the stairs. As soon as he showed up, Shirley grinned and glanced to the director's office. She knew he knew. Lawrence charged right by the rabbit's desk. Only once he faced the large door did Lawrence bother to breathe. But he only had time for one, maybe two mouthfuls of air. He knocked.

— Come in!

Inside waited Jack Adams, the pale, gaunt kangaroo in charge of the Foreign Operations Division, and Liam Benson, a tall wolf with rust-and-grey speckled fur, who'd personally conducted well over twenty successful operations. Lawrence nodded to his direct superior first, then to the wolf.

— Sir. Special Agent.

Liam nodded back, remaining silent, though he stopped picking his claws clean. Director Adams gestured to a chair. As Lawrence sat, he realized he had no place to put his laptop, and it didn't feel right to drop it on his boss' desk, so he put it in his lap.

— Gambitia has been making moves we don't like.

— Uh, yes, said Lawrence. It's what they do. They like pushing the envelope with their military maneuvers, but they won't attack unless they sent specific threats through our back channels. Their strategy is to keep draining the defense budget of our allies, until they stop going into high alert all the time. That way, it's advantageous to them if they actually launch a surprise attack, and it heightens their negotiating power as long as they don't. They win either way... though it also makes everyone hate them, which creates opportunities for us. I'm finishing my analysis right now, if that's what this meeting is about.

Lawrence exhibited his laptop, as proof, but he couldn't help feeling terribly disappointed. The kangaroo waved that concern away.

— These aren't the moves I'm referring to.

Adams paused, and gave the machine in Lawrence's lap a confused look.

“Why'd you bring your computer to a meeting?"

— Security blanket? snickered Liam. He seems real comfy behind a computer.

Lawrence darkened. The wolf struck where it hurt.

— I'm not sure, sir. I guess I felt like I should bring something.

Luckily, the director wasn't interested.

— Whatever, he said. This is what I'm talking about.

Adams threw a thin file in front of Lawrence. As he opened it and looked at the numbers and places, the agent understood he was looking at transactions. All dates had been redacted, however. Large amounts of funds were being transferred from countries of their own coalition, even from within their borders. The names of the recipient corporations were often in Gambitian. A chill ran along the stallion's spine. He traced a finger along the names.

— These are all dummies for the Gambitian regime, I'd say. Why are the dates redacted?

Liam puffed up his chest. He loved being in the know.

— That's above your pay grade, said the wolf, but they're all very recent.

— Less than a month?

— Yeah, sure.

— What's your take on this? pressed the director.

They were putting him on the spot. Was this a test?

— I'm not really certain without more information, admitted Lawrence. How is the tyrant Terralgar getting so much support from our side, even from us?

Briefly, Director Jack Adams and Special Agent Liam Benson shared a glance. Together, they stared back at the horse.

— We have no idea, said the kangaroo with gravity.

— Then, what's the money for?

— We have no idea, repeated the director as he made his point increasingly clear.

The wolf stepped forward, folding his arms.

— We're already investigating the sources on our side, but most of those funds transited through uncooperative third parties, like mobs and such.

— Oh! Is this what you were doing in Sambali?

The wolf seemed caught off guard. Perhaps he was even a little impressed that Lawrence made that connection.

— Um, well, something like that, possibly. You know I can't confirm...

— I'll cut to the chase, interrupted the bossy kangaroo. You're an expert about this region, and you speak Gambitian perfectly. We want you to pose as a potential contributor to Terralgar's regime. You'll travel to one of his casinos and throw money around. You'll be ideologically close to him, some disgruntled heir to a massive fortune, or whatever, bitter about the fall of the monarchies. When the regime recruits you, you'll find out what hell is going on, then call for extraction.

Lawrence's guts tied themselves into a knot. A real infiltration mission, all for him! His boss had made it sound terribly simple, yet he knew what it really meant. He'd be alone in a foreign, hostile country for weeks or even months, with nothing to rely on but his own wits and training, and no way to know the challenges to come. It was the realest, scariest thing he'd ever envisioned. He felt like he was about to get swallowed by some ancient, planet-sized monster.

— Oh! Yes, of course, that makes sense, but it'll be my... you know... my first solo mission.

Adams frowned.

— And?

— Well, boss, I thought, maybe, I'd start with something no so high-stakes.

Lawrence saw his boss getting angry, and he knew he'd stepped in it a little, but the wolf was faster.

— You've gotta be fucking kidding, right? he spat. With all those times you've begged for a real mission? Now, you don't want it?

— No, no, I want it! said the horse, desperately trying to backtrack. It's just that it doesn't feel safe for me to-

— It's never safe! shouted the special agent.

The kangaroo hammered his desk thrice with his fist, calling for order, and it worked. The wolf and horse settled down, in silence. The director stared straight at Lawrence, and stood up. The horse followed suit.

— I know what you're saying, said Adams. But this is the Foreign Operations Division, and Gambitia is your area of expertise. We don't have easy missions.

The weight of that reality was sinking in, for Lawrence. Of course, his boss was right.

— I understand, sir. It's so sudden, though. I thought... everyone on this floor told me an Akhal-Teke can't be a spy. You always said I stand out too much, that I don't have the experience to own it. What changed?

Director Jack Adams stared, evaluating his agent.

— Nothing changed, he said. This time, you getting noticed will be an asset, if you can manage it. Play your role. I'll grant you access to any resource you need for your prep.

Lawrence steeled himself. He remained afraid, but he knew he could handle it. He could complete this task, and become a real spy, just like Liam Benson. He'd make Lucas and everyone else proud.

— In this case, sir, I accept the mission. I'll begin preparations immediately.

The director nodded, and Lawrence turned around, ready to leave. He stopped when he heard the wolf.

— It feels like you're getting in over your head.

The stallion spun, ready to pick another fight.

— Excuse me?

But the wolf wasn't being a dick, for once. He looked almost contrite.

— That's what it feels like, all the way until extraction. So, don't freak out when things go south, it's never as bad as you think it is.

Lawrence and Liam locked eyes. Perhaps, the horse felt a bit reassured.

— I'll keep it in mind.

— Good, said Director Adams. You may go.

When Lawrence left, the two remaining occupants of the office waited until they couldn't hear the hooves moving away. Then, they waited an extra minute to be sure.

“Why the taunting?"

— I wanted to make sure he'd take the job, explained Liam Benson.

The kangaroo nodded.

— I thought so. Well done.

The wolf leaned against his boss' desk.

— What if it doesn't work?

— Asset Blue11 is rated ninety percent cooperative. We're confident.

— I mean, what if Bennet doesn't get caught?

Adams sat back deeper into his chair. Rubbing his fingers as he thought. He waved that concern away after only a few seconds.

— It's his first mission, and we're sending him straight into Terralgar's claws, who's famous for catching spies. If anything, I'm afraid the tyrant will realize it's too easy, but I doubt he'll be able to focus his attention on much of anything other than his fun new present. A handsome stallion like our good Lawrence, with the gold thing, and a chance to prove his superiority over the FOD? We couldn't have possibly imagined someone more Terralgar's type.

The wolf grunted.

— Still, I feel bad. I mean, we can't control what kinds of sick stuff he'll do to him. What if it's too late when we're ready to move, and Lawrence is mindless for good? Or worse, what if the operation fails completely, and we can't even recover him at all? Will he just have to live out his days as Terralgar's nameless fuck-toy? Imagine the nightmare.

— He wouldn't be the first to discover what kind of life that is. If we're successful, no one else will have to, so I'd say it's a sacrifice worth making. Besides, Lawrence would never just end up as one among Terralgar's collection.

— No?

— Of course not. He'd be the crown jewel. You, on the other hand, would be a nameless fuck-toy.

Liam Benson recoiled, a shiver going up his spine as his imagination ran wild, and forced him to consider all the things an evil horny dragon could do to their low-value lupine pet.

— Let's not screw this up.

A harness was a brilliant tool, Lawrence had to admit. From a mere bundle of strong black leather straps, it not only spread tension around the bodies of livestock, but it resolved and channelled all possibilities in one single direction. It was difficult to get traction against the wooden floor, and the effort demanded from Lawrence's legs was great, yet, with the tight harness wrapping his muscles, letting Terralgar lead him forward in a silly circle felt like a natural response to pretty much anything. In fact, silenced as he was by the bit gag, it was the only response. The first few times he'd been brought here, reduced to wordless cattle for his fiery tyrant, the stallion had found it mortifying. It'd been a terrifying shock to understand how much of his agency could be taken away, and how easy it was to be constrained to the role of a work beast. Without doubt, this intimidation had been on purpose, but now, Lawrence didn't mind it so much. When he stood in place, obediently accepting the harness, preparing to exhibit his naked efforts, his physical limits, it was free of the fear that this situation would be his evil end. He knew with absolute certainty that mill work was temporary. The dragon brought him here not because he actually needed massive amounts of freshly ground flour, but for the pleasure of holding the reins, of deciding on a stern or merciful pace, while gazing at Lawrence's laboring butt, tethered to the vertical grindstone. After the dragon had had his fun and the horse had shown his docility, Lawrence was always allowed to return to his master's side, or to wander the hoard. He hadn't been tied to a post for months, but he still awaited full integration to the harem.

— Whoa, whoa.

Walking leisurely at his side to keep up, Terralgar applied some pressure to the reins. The gag dug uncomfortably into Lawrence's mouth. His head tilted backward as he tried to relieve the pressure, and he slowed down. The reins loosened as their holder drew a bit closer. With an open hand, he gave the back of Lawrence's shoulder a firm tap. He loved touching his stallion hard at work, and his hand ventured greedily between the shoulder blades, playing in the sweat.

“How disgusting!"

Terralgar sounded everything but disgusted, but still, it was an opportunity to switch to a more restful pace, so Lawrence slowed down even further. Sweat and saliva dripped beneath the gag, and some landed lower on his body, but Lawrence had long moved beyond self-consciousness about that. It was the simple reality of working with a bit gag.

“Hey! Bad, lazy pony! I didn't tell you to keep slowing down."

With a threatening grin, Terralgar reached low with the riding crop, and applied it to Lawrence's balls. The latter hurried and sped up.

Talok scrolled down to the next page of his book, some distance away, sitting in the three short steps leading to the millstone. He'd been there the whole time.

— Actually, you implied that he should sweat less, so yes, sir, you did.

— Well you both read too much into that, didn't you?

— Wouldn't he get punished if he didn't read enough into your implied orders?

— Of course! And I reserve the right to give confusing orders, and then to do this.

Again, the tip of the crop poked Lawrence's shiny orbs. It pushed against them, gently. Twice, three times, then let them go unharmed. The horse relaxed. His master was just playing.

The bird shrugged.

— Whatever. Let me know when he finally has enough, and tries to kill you.

Talok picked a pebble from a tiny pile that he'd prepared, and waited for the golden horse to be coming around his way. He aimed carefully and threw, but Lawrence, with a sharp movement of his snout, hit the pebble away. It fell clean outside the area where Lawrence stomped. It wasn't a clever game, but Lawrence sure was getting good at it. Talok grumbled, but not as loudly as Terralgar complained.

— One morning, I'll be munching on some bread, and I'll bite on a stone because of your stupid game. When that inevitably happens, I'll spank both of you.

Talok shook his head, and went back to staring at his phone.

— You can't seriously believe the kitchen is using the flour you send them, can you?

— Of course, why wouldn't they?

— I assure you, sir, that they don't. They throw it away and buy industrial flour. Ours has your plaything's sweat, I'm sure, and as you noted, the occasional pebble in it, not to mention all the random contaminants coming from the fact that we never bother cleaning up the grinding area. Nobody in their right mind would bake with this.

— I see.

The dragon seemed genuinely disappointed, which was a bit funny, but it was also an opportunity for Lawrence to show his loyalty. He brought the grinding to a halt, and leaned consolingly toward his master as far as the harness allowed. He bowed his head to offer his soft mane. Terralgar grabbed his head and neck with both arms, smirking as he petted them.

“Look at my handsome treasure, eager to prove himself. Such a nice stallion."

— Yeah, I wonder what he wants, said Talok, sarcastically.

Terralgar didn't take the bait. He kept stroking his subby pony with long, peaceful motions, forcing Talok to answer his own question.

“He wants to part his cheeks, and officially be made yours, so he can join the harem, and have his own space, and a little time to himself every day. Why are you messing with him?"

— I'm not messing with anyone.

Terralgar's burning gaze locked upon the horse before he continued. He looked damn serious for a moment.

“All males in my collection earn their place. Spies are deceitful, and must show true loyalty."

Lawrence heard his imperious dragon, but truthfully, he was at his wits' end trying to demonstrate that he accepted his new place in life as the tyrant's humble property. He submitted to every order, tried to please at every opportunity, and lately, he'd even taken to more aggressive ways of requesting his master's sexual attentions, as Talok had pointed out. Nothing ever worked. Terralgar toyed with him in many ways, but he refused impose his final mark. He wouldn't take Lawrence the same way he took his other broken slaves, filling them, working their shameful space... making them moan and cry for his robust thrusts. Lawrence often imagined how it would happen to him. It would be right after he dutifully endured yet another sort of great disgrace for his master's pleasure. He'd crawl low at his tyrant's feet, nuzzling them as a proper trophy slave ought to, and, at last, the lord of flame would accept his surrender. His warm scales would rub Lawrence's golden forms, grasping his arms, covering his round rear, and then pulling his tail. Lawrence would spread wide and angle his meek hole upward, ready for his master's length. He would stretch nice and tight, servicing his master's desire, his force, and undoubtedly, some vestiges of the agent he used to be would rebel against this betrayal, but even this resistance would melt into additional pleasure, feeding his humiliation, feeding the thrill of his conqueror, and heightening the value of his supple, dominated ass. Terralgar would take grand pleasure, owning him, marking him with his lava-hot seed, as Lawrence would tremor with the final shoves, and once the dragon's orgasm would recede, the stallion would know, once and for all, where he belonged. At long last, he'd join the harem, and everything would be easier.

Lawrence was ready. He'd found and stoked that part of himself that knew how to work with complete submission. He'd learned how to silence his pride, and to find arousal in being a hot, servile stud for the ruler of Gambitia. What more could Terralgar possibly want?

While Lawrence tried to figure out a path to a more comfortable slave life, the dragon unhooked the harness from the grinding stone. Talok stood up, and moved to assist his ruler with freeing the horse, but Terralgar gestured to stop him. The bird cocked his head to the side, puzzled.

— Huh?

— There's something about a harness, isn't there? Black strips on golden flesh. All bound and ready to obey, fresh from the work. Let's leave him that way.

Terralgar slipped his claws under Lawrence's bridle. The stallion, too, was surprised, but didn't have much time to ponder where his master was going with this, before the dragon led him gently yet firmly away from the grindstone.

“My ancestors didn't live around populated areas, much less in the middle of prosperous cities, with thousands of worshippers attending them every day. They hid their hoards in desolate places, dangerous and lonely, for they were formidable and feared, and their treasures were sought after. They used ambush and fear to isolate adventurers or knights who ventured too close, and made any captured prey last as long as possible. They broke them cruelly and thoroughly, for pleasure, but also quite simply to pass the time. My life is ridiculously easy in comparison, and I know how fortunate I am, but sometimes, my predatory side envies them, and the singular relationship they must've had with their pets."

Lawrence watched his tyrant carefully, but the strong dragon seemed content to walk him aimlessly for a bit. Gagged and with his arms trapped together behind his back by the harness, the horse didn't have any other option but to follow the slightly erratic path traced by Terralgar, as the dragon walked away from the milling area, then went around and drew a full circle around it. Occasionally, he turned to enjoy the sight of his defeated spy.

“I have a country to manage. Mine is a busy boredom. I wish I could experience theirs, and the joyful savage greed they must've felt when a particularly handsome prize landed in their lap, to entertain them every day, for months, for years... Of course, I don't have stalwart knights coming to slay me for honor and glory. Instead, I get you bunch."

Terralgar put his hand to Lawrence's bum, fingers stretched possessively. He pulled down on the bridle, and made his harnessed trophy kneel, before tipping him forward, face and pectorals against the floor, rump up. Terralgar sighed.

“I never get to play very rough. And then I get a vigorous stallion like you, dumb yet spirited, and I think: this one will fight. Here's my shiny knight. I'll savour him."

With one hand, Terralgar grabbed Lawrence's maleness, exposed beneath his offered rear. The poor horse neighed through the bit with shock, but the scaled fingers quickly moved to his shaft, already hardening from their humiliating little walk, and stroked it, stopping every few strokes to squeeze the large tip. Seized by dictatorial inspiration, Terralgar jammed his other thumb up Lawrence's ass, which created another shiver that ran throughout the harnessed flesh, and culminated into a humiliating twitch of the ex-agent's erection, captive within the scaly grasp. The dragon scoffed, pressing in and withdrawing harshly, reminding his fateless trophy of his place, while the rest of his fingers clawed the golden cheek with measured force. The sharp claws didn't quite hurt, though they certainly did their job of making Lawrence feel like he was under strict control. Gradually, pleasure got low, shameful masculine moans out of him, not that there was any dignity to be had before his fiery master, anyway.

“But then I collar you, I harness you, I give you just a touch of discipline, and how does my shiny knight respond? You cry and beg like a housebroken pet. You bend to my every whim, and you display your complete. Lack. Of spine."

With each of those few last words, Terralgar shoved his thumb with punishing force as he kept stroking the golden cock, milking helpless groans out of Lawrence. His face glowed red-hot as he took the comments with complete sexual submission, knowing what a pathetic trophy he'd become, and what a prideless slut he'd be for the tyrant.

“Well, it'll do, my pony. It'll do."

Terralgar took the horse's leg, and flipped him on his back, brutally, before returning to attend his abandoned erection with greater frenzy. The hand owning Lawrence's butt also accelerated dramatically, the dragon's large thumb moving back and forth at full speed without relenting. Lawrence curved backwards with violent arousal, exposing his throat as he let his master finish him without any pointless resistance, legs open wide, indulging the instinctive part of him that wanted to get lost in this intense need, uncritical of the dragon's complete domination, if it resulted in this kind of explosive pleasure. Why should this be fought? Why shouldn't master Terralgar harness him, and break him, and train him in thorough obedience? He reached climax with his ass invaded, his golden forms tightly restrained. Under the tyrant's claws, he came, a volcano ignited by the god of flame. He came hard and thick, moaning his desperate rapture through the gag, staining his abs and chest with messy white streaks. He gasped and panted, and shook, because it was so good, in this brief moment, and a tiny, nearly silent part of him knew the shame would be next.

Terralgar wiggled his thumb for a while, then removed it. He considered his Akhal-Teke laid bare before him, in physicality and vulnerability. All his.

Lawrence looked up, slowly, feeling so incredibly meek, so used and emptied out, entirely aware of the humiliating stream flowing down his chin, and the warm gooey sensation on his torso. He couldn't get up without help, bound as he was, and his master seemed to read his thoughts. The dragon took his defeated spy, his prize, by the bridle, and helped him up. Lawrence rested on his knees, closed tightly this time, bowing his head. He semi-expected some more mean commentary, some additional gloating about how easy it had been to break his spirit, which would've been especially devastating now, as he knelt covered in his own sperm. Instead, the red dragon took a tight handful of his mane, and simply held it for several seconds. He made him look up.

“Tonight, you'll be in my chambers, clean. You'll wear the slaves' nightly garments, but not for very long. You won't display any pride, only your slavish loyalty to me. You'll lick my cock up, and then you'll bounce on it. When I'm done having my fun with you, you'll thank me for the honor, and you'll wait in case I feel like cuddling in the night. Either way, morning come, you'll join my harem, permanently, with all the benefits that entails."

That was it. A wave of calm washed through Lawrence. He would be admitted to the harem, he would-

“And you'll prance, for me. You'll prance so much that you'll get good at it."

Lawrence's snout fell a little, but then, of course, nothing could ever be easy with Terralgar. Sure, he could see it. He could manage some more “prancing training," alone with the dragon. Lately, he'd barely been feeling the embarrassment, anymore. At least, when only his master was there to witness it. Although... Lawrence pondered. Terralgar desired unconditional loyalty from the members of his collection, that was his whole thing, and he loved to test his playthings by making them choose between obedience to him, and their dignity. Perhaps there was one thing he could try to avoid the worst of it. One thing that would definitely prove his loyalty.

Lawrence produced three muffled grunts, in cadence. He gently shook the bit gag at the dragon.

— I think he wants to speak, said Talok, barely interested.

Terralgar grinned. He began unlocking and loosening the bridle. Over the mill, a helicopter flew, and the sound briefly caught the tyrant's attention, and then he went back to what he was doing.

— Why not? I enjoy hearing my treasure's voice, and he can't always be moaning in ecstasy.

The gag came out, and it was a relief. Lawrence wished he could wipe his chin, but failing that, he gratefully settled for stretching his jaw, and finally being able to close his mouth.

— Thank you, master. I understand that my life is here, now. I'll behave for you.

The dragon nodded.

— Yes, I know.

— I'd like to demonstrate it.

— Really. How?

— May I ask... what might be a strange question?

— A strange question, for me? Well, now you've got me all curious, pony. Ask away.

Even Talok lowered his phone, and glanced their way subtly. Lawrence gathered himself.

— Why did you never interrogate me about my mission?

— It didn't matter. You were caught, and I already knew what your mission was, because I know what your agency wants from me. They don't like that I don't fear them, so they fear me in turn, but they can't replace me without throwing the region into complete chaos. Gambitia worships dragons. You were tasked with gaining my confidence, so you could observe and perhaps even, in time, influence my decisions. Why else select someone that's so attuned to my taste? It was completely obvious.

— That wasn't it.

Terralgar froze. He'd expected to watch Lawrence's eyes go wide, impressed that he'd known everything since the very beginning, yet instead, Lawrence stared back, contradicting his theory. For a spell, the dragon truly seemed unsure how to respond. The silence was broken by yet another whirring of rotor blades, outside, which swiftly faded. Terralgar frowned.

— It wasn't?

— No, master. But I'll tell you what it was, if you want.

— Are you sure? asked Talok. You'd betray your friends, and it looks like your master doesn't actually care at all.

— Well, I care a little, now that he brought it up, protested Terralgar.

Lawrence's short equine ears drooped at Talok's words.

— It's true that it doesn't feel good, but I don't think it would really hurt them, at this point, and I want to show that I know my place... I'm not an agent anymore.

The dragon grunted thoughtfully.

— I'm starting to like the idea of him spilling the beans, if he's going to frame it as a display of submission, especially after all that chatter about never talking. It seems exciting, now. Also, I'm getting rather curious about the mission. Alright, my shiny little stud. Reveal your final secret. Master is listening.

Lawrence took a deep breath. He bowed forward completely before his master.

— I was sent to investigate money transfers between my country and Gambitia. The FOD knows you're gathering a lot of funds for something, and that you've recruited help among the wealthy of our allied nations. They wanted to know how it happened, and what you're preparing. That was my task, and... I've failed, at this point, irredeemably. Please, be merciful with me.

Bowed and harnessed, having betrayed everything he ever stood for, Lawrence suddenly felt at his lowest point. A worthless wretch, but at least, there was no going back. Now that all was destroyed, he could rebuild here, loyal to Gambitia, and its mythical ruler. He'd never do anything complicated anymore. He'd a be happy to just live. Just submit. Just be one of Terralgar's sexy pets.

When he looked up, however, the dragon and bird were sharing a confused look. No one broke the silence. Terralgar rubbed his horned chin, meditating the information. He eventually got moving, heading further from the milling area, and into his workspace. This mill had been restored specifically so he could enjoy putting his prized stallion to work, and a large part of it had been transformed into a mini-office where the ruler could read the endless briefings and reports that were necessary to govern a nation. From the mini-office, he enjoyed a perfect view of his livestock obeying the whip, even though he preferred to hold the reins himself, most of the time. The dragon searched through his desk, swiftly going through multiple files, until he found the one he was looking for. It wasn't very thick, and when he opened it and showed the contents to his obedient horse, Lawrence's face lit up with recognition.

— Is this what you're talking about?

It was a nearly identical file to the one presented to him many, many months earlier, inside his boss' office. On this one, critically, the dates were visible.

— Yes, master. This is exactly it. However, the one I saw had the dates redacted, but my superiors assured me that all those transactions had happened over a short period of time. I can see that these happened over years and years.

— There's only this. Your own government, as well as any secret agency would be fully aware of these transactions. They're nothing new, and barely worth keeping hidden. Your nation has had deals with Gambitia for a very long time.

— But... why would we trade with our enemies? You guys want to destroy us!

Terralgar laughed out loud.

— We say that a lot, don't we? You're a corrupt fake democracy, coming to take our lands and resources, and we're an insane dictatorship bent on spreading our power all over the region, destroying freedom! None of that is even completely false, and that's what makes the real lie so good, so useful.

Lawrence felt like he was sinking into a whirlpool, and the effect was made even worse by the sound of yet another flock of helicopters flying over the building, this time, accompanied by the sound of a fighter jet.

— What the hell is going on out there? grumbled Talok as he began punching a number on his phone.

— What... what's the lie? asked Lawrence, almost too afraid to hear the answer.

— The lie is that we want to destroy each other at all, winked Terralgar. Can you imagine how terribly convenient it is, for the political power of both our countries, to forever be able to brandish the scary threat of the other, and assure everyone that power must remain in our strong, capable hands, despite some petty little injustices, don't pay any attention to that. It's all about the inner politics. Find the right enemy, stay in power forever. Sometimes, send a little money to your enemy, send some resources, to make sure they'll stick around, stay scary. I must say, I expected better than such a reductive worldview, from an agent of the FOD. You guys are usually competent.

— But that's impossible! I've been at the agency for years, I swear, they really worry about what you'll do!

Terralgar placed his open hand against his chest.

— Me, personally, yes. Your boys don't like me at all. They love my regime, though. I'm a bit too clever, too independent for their taste. I'm not even anything special, you know. They feel threatened by anything that's not a complete moron. See, they like the appearance of threat, only. They'd love to swat me aside, but they know better than to destabilize the region. I'm not likely to break our unspoken truce, and attack their little friends around Gambitia, but my angry headless people? Fuelled by fear after their beloved leader was slain? Could happen. That's why I thought they'd sent you to influence me, but what you're saying doesn't make any sense. That mission you described sounds like total bullshit.

— What the fuck!

Talok gripped his phone like he was trying to crush it. Whatever he was hearing, it nearly made his yellow feathers turn white. He gazed at his glorious leader, and the urgent look on his face made Lawrence and Terralgar understand that something serious was happening. With visible effort, he regained composure. Far away, was the approaching sound of yet another helicopter. The bird spoke in his phone.

“Confirmed, he's here with me at the mill. Scramble them, now. Start with whoever you think is still with us. Bring a weapon in case they're not."

For once, mighty Terralgar didn't look invincible.

— Talok? What's wrong?

The bird placed his hand on the phone, so there'd be no confusion as he responded to his ruler.

— Our airspace has been invaded. There's been a very weak response from our military, in fact, almost none at all.

— Is it over? Where?

— It's ongoing, and here. They're fighting above the city as we speak.

Talok stopped for a moment, and listened to his phone. He darkened, and couldn't stop staring at Terralgar. Suddenly, he whipped out his sidearm, and hung up.

“It's Oizar, sir. He's paralyzing the Royal Wings, but it doesn't seem he's the one attacking. I'm not sure what's going on, but it's coming this way. It's coming for you."

At this moment, as the ominous whirring of blades drew nearer and nearer, Terralgar considered his golden, marvelous prize. At last, he put the pieces together. Lawrence saw him relax, as confusion abandoned him.

— It appears I owe you an apology, my brave Talok. Oizar was indeed scheming, because he had support. Not from the inside, though. It was someone cleverer than him, with far more resources, and a keen understanding of my mind. Someone who sent a potent distraction, so I wouldn't bother with such an apparently minor threat while I had far more pleasant activities on my mind. A masterful play, truly, worthy of the FOD.

The noise now nearly prevented all communications, as the assault helicopter hovered over the nearly defenseless mill. Gunshots resounded as the guards in the yard fought. Talok moved between his ruler and the door leading outside, aiming his weapon at the entrance.

— They won't get close to you while I live!

Terralgar gently lowered the bird's arm.

— No, Talok, he said over the noise. We've already lost this, and we need to prepare for the next phase. Stay here. Everyone knows of your unquestionable loyalty to me. Rally my followers, and make Oizar's rule a living hell.

The bird looked utterly shaken.

— Sir, I can't let them...

— You can't stop them either. Your death here would be a pointless waste of my precious resources. If anything, resisting right now might endanger me more. Stand aside. You too, my treasure. Stay clear of the door.

The helicopter had landed in the yard. A massive blow was heard against the door. Upon the second strike, it flew open, and Lawrence witnessed as heavily armed FOD operatives flooded the mill, led by none other than Liam Benson. When the wolf saw Lawrence, broken, used, harnessed, his expression changed, but he soon returned his attention to threatening the dragon tyrant and his avian guard. The horse did nothing at all. This all was a surreal dream. Nothing that Lawrence thought he knew about the world made sense any longer.

— We have orders to take you alive, yelled the wolf without any emotion, but I'm authorized to kill you, if you resist.

— Of course, responded Terralgar. No violence will be necessary. I'm ready to go. We're taking my adorable pony with us, aren't we?

— He fulfilled his role, and now he's going home. He's not yours, anymore.

Slowly, Terralgar leaned toward the wolf.

— We'll see about that.

Liam spat on the floor.

— You'll never have any power again.

— Power is imparted by others. You can't stop me having it.

The agent grinned meanly.

— We'll see about that.

On this, the FOD seized and pushed the tyrant of Gambitia outside, while Liam crouched near the numb stallion, locking his shoulder under the golden arms, bound together by the harness.

“I'm sorry, but there's no time. We have to leave the Gambitian airspace. Can you walk?"

— Yeah...

Lawrence glanced at Talok, who watched the whole scene with helpless despair. The yellow bird merely stood.

Outside, the rotor blades were deafening. It sounded like the end of the world, yet Lawrence's capacity to process emotions had been entirely overwhelmed. He felt nothing at all. He couldn't believe the FOD had returned for him. He couldn't believe the FOD had set him up in the first place. He let Liam carry him to the large evac helicopter. Once inside, they put a helmet on him to protect his ears. Despite the size of the machine, they were cramped. Terralgar was sat down as far away from Lawrence as possible, getting shackled by two agents on his sides. Despite everything, a dog found enough space to rush the stallion, and hug him, as they all took off without wasting any time.

— You're safe! cried Lucas through the helmet's speakers.

— He insisted on coming despite the risks, shrugged Liam. All of our assistants mysteriously started giving us the cold shoulder until we granted him permission to join. The whole agency.

Ethereal. That's what it was. The agents managed to cut Lawrence out of his harness. Lucas was there. The horse hugged him back. When he sensed his friend's warm body in his arms, and ultimately grasped that he was going to be fine, he felt a little something once more. He stared at Terralgar, through the forest of agent heads. Terralgar stared back, when he noticed. There was no specific message in those eyes. A soul of flame that responded to its horse's gaze. As long as Lawrence maintained the eye contact, the dragon returned it. Terralgar wouldn't sever that connection first. That's when Lawrence knew that nothing was over.

— I guess you did get your extraction, at least, said Lucas.

The underground levels of the FOD were a mess. The building was old, and they hadn't been part of the original layout. Instead, they'd been dug gradually, one area at a time, as necessity dictated, and that made them a bitch to navigate. Lawrence had been practicing a lot, lately, and even he could barely remember his way. Gloomy hallways connected to rooms, connected to hallways, all without an underlying logic, save for the fact that certain areas had been safer and more convenient to dig through. At least, the accidental maze made escape improbable for the prisoners. It was the perfect place to be lost, and to wonder where you were supposed to be. Lawrence could've sworn some of those rooms moved around.

Eventually, the stallion recognized his surroundings, and took a right through a creaky door. The dark panther guard, nearly invisible in the purposefully poorly lit detention block, called for Lawrence as soon as he entered the feline's line of sight.

— Visiting the prisoner again?

— You know it.

The guard whipped out the appropriate keycard, and gave Lawrence his usual wary glance. Sometimes, Lawrence wondered how much he could hear through the door. It was fortunate that the agency hadn't posted a canine. Felines had better night vision, anyway, which made them great for the detention block.

— Are you even making progress with him?

— Oh, yeah. Massive progress.

— Such as?

Lawrence considered the guard. It was the first time he got in the way.

— Are you a special agent?

The panther frowned.

— ... No.

— Then, I can't tell you. Sorry, buddy.

The panther guard grumbled, but unlocked the cell. The door shut heavily behind Lawrence, and the horse found himself alone with Terralgar. The dragon sat on his bunk, reading a historical book about famous trials, for the inside of the cell was well lit. Lawrence knew about the book because he'd brought it for him.

— You're late, my treasure, said the dragon.

— I'm not.

— Well, you're not early.

— I have to be early?

Terralgar sighed.

— You have no idea how awfully boring it is, in here, without you. Your superiors are nowhere near as fun as you are.

— Yeah, I wouldn't know, because I've never been locked to a post for months.

The ex-tyrant of Gambitia went silent for a moment. He closed his book and put it aside.

— I see your point, and I retract my previous statement. How are things?

— Exactly as you expected. Oizar is in control of Gambitia in name only. He's virtually besieged in the capital, and the population is furious, blaming the neighboring countries for the FOD intervention. They really like you. Can't imagine why.

Terralgar shrugged.

— It's a cultural matter. They've always had a dragon in charge. They think we have an innate ability to handle power, or something. I don't know if it's true, but I'm not complaining. What about you?

Lawrence was a lonely Akhal-Teke, standing in an underground prison. Lawrence was a secret agent that had been sacrificed by his own agency. Lawrence was the bitch-slave to a mythical tyrant.

— I'm confused.

Terralgar nodded.

— That's only natural for someone in your position. All I can say is that you belong to me.

Lawrence snickered.

— So I should swear allegiance to you forever?

— You already kinda did that.

— I guess, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't count if you have no choice.

— The FOD, they've had their win, so they don't expect anything from you anymore. I do. I expect you to return where you belong, with me, in my hoard. We won't be equals, and your training will resume. You won't be glorious. You'll be my trophy, there to live in service. And you'll be fucked. That's right, I said it! You'll take it up the ass regularly, and eagerly, when I'm done breaking you. You might not like it all of the time, but you'll love it, though. That's my promise. You'll know what your place is.

Lawrence stared, waiting for a hint that this was a joke, but it wasn't.

— That's... quite a sales pitch.

— You decide. If that doesn't appeal to you, you can stay here, free. I'm sure the FOD will pay you generously for the rest of your life, with nothing to do. No one will seek to put you in a harness. But your harness will always be waiting for you in Gambitia, if you change your mind. I'll never not want you.

— Because I'm your knight?

The dragon grinned, and Lawrence folded his arms, perhaps in defiance to the flood of subby situations invading his imagination, all delightfully cruel, all humiliating.

“What makes you so sure the trial will go well, and you'll be returned home?"

Terralgar shrugged.

— The trial is about your government proving that they're the good guys, but there's little content to it. In short, they'll say I was nasty, and my regime was brutal. I'll admit that's true, but I'll point out that I needed to correspond to Gambitia's expectations. If I'd showed a kind, forgiving face, I'd have been pegged as weak immediately, and power brokers in my country would've been afraid to throw their lot with me. Without support, I'd have been assassinated within weeks, dragon or not. No Gambitian ruler gets to be kind. But then, I'll admit that I could've done more to break, or at least diminish that vicious cycle. That'll be the message for your leaders, that I'm willing to play ball, a little. I'll remind everyone that I'm the legitimate ruler of Gambitia, and that the instability can be resolved by simply sending me back to my courageous people. Given the current situation, I guarantee you that your bosses are already considering it. All they want is reassurance, a little bit more input into my decisions. They've played well, and I'm at their mercy, currently, so they get to have that. I return home looking like I made even my enemies respect my legitimacy, and flatter my people's ego by letting them know their righteous anger saved me. I go back to being the useful bad guy, but I let the FOD handle me a little, behind the scenes. I'm not as prideful as I'm practical. Everybody wins. Maybe they even task you with being my handler. You know me best, after all.

The dragon stretched his wings, then sat deeper onto the bunk, back against the wall. That freaky draconic mind reader patted his lap, as if he knew precisely what was going on in Lawrence's head. Frustrated to be read so easily, the golden stallion began to take his clothes off. Terralgar's eyes shot up toward the ceiling.

“Camera?"

— It's turned off.

Lawrence removed everything down to his underwear, then removed those and stood naked while the dragon undid his pants, freeing his growing erection, the color of earth and lava. Lawrence took a step, then hesitated. He pointed the palm of his hand toward Terralgar.

“Gentle?" he sternly asked.

The tyrant acted wounded, as if the notion that he might be rough was out of this world.

— Obviously!

Lawrence climbed on top of the dragon, straddling his groin, as Terralgar stabilized him with his two strong hands under the round cheeks. The horse spat, and stroked his master's proud cock, before riding it, grinding back and forth at a slow cadence. The scales were hot, comfortable, yet Lawrence shivered with pleasure as his hole stretched and filled up tightly.

“See, my pretty knight? You know exactly where you belong."

Lawrence shifted from gold to red, and pressed his hands onto Terralgar's chest, repressing a plaintive gasp when Terralgar exploited that opportunity to give a little push with his waist.

— Sh-shut up.

Terralgar's hands waved together with his obedient stud's perfect ass. He missed slapping it, but he was confident those cheeks would be nice and red, back at his hoard before long.

— Oizar's dirty traitors better not be touching anything in my fucking hoard.

Terralgar panted, pushing regularly now, in rhythm with Lawrence's intimate grinding. The horse laughed, between moans, then he stopped.

— Think... the harem slaves are okay?

Terralgar darkened. There was a flash of pure hatred, brief, but potent.

— They better be.

Before Terralgar's thoughts went to a sadistic place that would kill the mood, Lawrence grappled him closely, pressing his shiny chest against his dragon's, and shoved with more energy, working the fiery dick harder as he himself neared climax. The dragon gasped, and reached instinctively for Lawrence's malehood. To touch it, hold it, control it, while Lawrence took him in.

When Lawrence felt his master's orgasm, minutes later, sensing the pressure of the potent spurts against his walls, he came in turn in Terralgar's hand, like a good bitch, again and again. He yelped pathetically, every last drop of pleasure squeezed out, and rested there for a while, with his divine dragon inside him.

He was pretty sure what his decision was going to be.