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“Take me to the priest,” Reyk says to the temple guards before him. One particular fool darts his hand towards his sword.
Reyk hisses, and the metal shifts into a molten mass, returns to its primal form. The man howls, staggering back, his hand charred black and smoking, and Reyk turns his attention to the other guards.
The heads of their lances crumble into dust and blow away in the wind of his compatriots’ wings.
“The priest. Now.” Svartr rumbles from behind him, the heat of his breath palpable on Reyk’s shoulder as Svartr’s great black head snakes past him. His tongue flicks out to taste the guards’ fear.
“Follow me,” one of the guards says, and Reyk does, turning long enough to say, “Hath, Vind, feel free to entertain yourselves.”
It’s their first raid for a breeder; why not allow them a little fun while he finds the one in question?
The temple is near-empty, the sensible humans having fled the moment wings were sighted on the horizon. Hardly defensible either, with its great windows overlooking the sea, the wide hallways leading to pavilions where furniture and musical instruments lie overturned and forgotten.
His wings itch to spread from his human guise, and he rolls his shoulders, settles for allowing his great crown of curling horns to sprout through his hair.
The guard glances at him, then halts, gesturing at another hallway. “Down that hall to the left, through the double bronze doors.” Credit to the man: he manages to say it with only a minimum of stuttering.
Reyk can respect bravery. “Good. Run.”
The man whirls and obeys, his footsteps fading into the labyrinth of the temple halls, and Reyk presses on. The bronze doors fall to nothing at merely a glance, and yes, there-
The young man. The priest. The one that Hath had returned to the mountain telling tales of: how he smelled ripe, fertile, how delicious he’d look round with their eggs and seed, how he’d-
Reyk smiles, the expression slow and awkward on his human mouth, and savors the fear and rage suffusing the air.
The priest resembles his home: hair and skin the same gold and ivory as the temple floors, his pursed lips the pink of a conch shell on the beach, his narrowed eyes the pale blue of the sea where it foams around the walls. He wears a white robe of some flimsy material, and Reyk’s claws itch to rip it.
“What are you doing here, beast?” The priest crosses his arms as he speaks, and Reyk tilts his head at the jingling of light golden chains about the man’s thin wrists. His smile grows when the man’s gaze drops to his cock, fear-scent growing stronger, and he takes another step in.
“I should think, princeling, that would be obvious.”
The man straightens, lifts his chin, all stubborn pride, all useless against the fact that Reyk is near a foot taller than him, that he can take what he pleases. “My name is Prince Aron, and my father-”
“Your father will be too late,” Reyk interrupts him, and his cock twitches at the helpless anger on Aron’s face. “Your guards have abandoned you.” He circles closer, curls a claw-tipped finger, and the golden chains about Aron’s wrists and ankles pull the boy towards him.
Aron cries out, plants his feet, leans away-
“Now you are ours.” Reyk steps into place behind Aron and lets his hand settle on Aron’s heaving chest. His hand spans Aron’s bird-thin body, and Aron’s heart is bird-like, too, frantic and frail, trapped. He makes a high, prey-like noise as the tip of Reyk’s cock presses against the small of his back.
“How many-?” Aron starts, only to clench his fists and swallow the rest of his words as Reyk drags one fingertip over to circle a nipple.
“Three others here.” The bud, a delicate pink beneath the white veil of the robe, tightens beneath Reyk’s fingertip, swells and stiffens, and humiliation rages red on Aron’s cheeks. “Many others at the mountain.”
Aron sucks in a breath. “You can’t.”
“Can’t I?” Reyk draws his claw up from Aron’s nipple, curls his hand, finger by finger, about Aron’s jaw, and forces his head around. He smiles down into Aron’s furious face, lets his eyes flicker back to their true form, and bends down to kiss him.
Aron tries to fight, of course, but Reyk’s forked tongue forces its way between his lips, pries his teeth open. Tastes his terror, his fertility, licks the back of his teeth and then presses deeper.
Honey-thick, smoke-dark, Reyk pours his poison along the grooves in his tongue, coats Aron’s snarling mouth with it, urges it deeper, into the wet tight cavern of his throat, cock jerking at the feel of his tongue bulging within Aron’s body. Aron quivers against him, chest quivering futilely against Reyk’s forearm. His hands slap at Reyk’s sides.
Reyk ignores him. Better the lesson sink in now. He waits until Aron’s throat softens, until his body begins to sink. Then he curls his tongue back into his mouth, tasting Aron, and holds his limp form up with one hand while Aron coughs back to waking.
Hath and Vind’s lust perfumes the air. They must have found someone to play with, then.
Reyk bends and scoops up Aron, calling his ankle and wrist chains into his hand to weld them together with a thought, but-
More metal, at the junction of Aron’s thighs. Balancing him easily in one arm, he flips the robe open above it, ignoring Aron’s blunt nails scratching at his chest.
“Hm, pretty.” The chastity cage is well-wrought, a mix of gold and silver encasing Aron’s flaccid cock, a finely-woven sac attached to encase his balls. Behind that, a metal panel covering the entrance to his womb. “Why?”
Aron’s stiff as a board as Reyk’s hand explores, weighing and measuring the tiny weight of his cock and balls, dragging a questing thumb across the panel. His jaw clenches, then he spits,
“My chastity is sacred to the sun and sea, just as I am, foul serpent, and they will have their vengeance.”
“They are welcome to try.” Reyk lets go of Aron’s genitals, amused when he instantly tugs his robe back into place, and turns, carrying him out of his room.
Hath and Vind are easy to follow, their presence a bright flash of enjoyment, cruelty, and desire. Aron goes quieter as Reyk carries him through the halls, gaze darting through empty rooms, chambers of desecrated oils and dropped platters of grapes and fish, then stiffens as he hears what Reyk has been hearing all along:
Gasping. Moans. Hissing. Claws scraping. The wet noises of sex.
“What-” Aron starts, and then goes silent as Reyk drops him onto his own feet in the doorway.
The room must have been some sort of refectory, with its long tables and benches. Hath has pinned a serving maid down atop a table, her sweat-sheened body trembling between his upper and lower jaws, her long dark hair hiding her face from Aron’s shocked gaze. Her knees slip in the overturned wine, in the liquid of her own climax, and she gasps, pushes herself upright to keep from the dragon’s teeth, and moans aloud.
Hath’s tongue fucks into her, a sinuous ripple of slick poison-stained muscle rolling and flexing within her cunt. Spreads it white and taut, makes her bulge from the inside as Hath coils his tongue inside her and forces her open. She cries out, fingers scrabbling at the tabletop, and comes, spilling across Hath’s tongue and jaw. Thick droplets roll down across the blue darkness of Hath’s scales, and his deep rumble of satisfaction makes her shudder. Her tears burst in the air as salt.
Vind has taken mostly human form, though his golden tail thrashes about his ankles with every lift and drop of the man he’s fucking onto his cock. The man groans with each fall, his own much-smaller one pressed to Vind’s stomach. His back is streaked with blood where Vind’s claws dig in, and Vind’s lips bear the red cast as well.
Vind’s claws flex, and the man gasps, goes limp, head falling forward to loll onto Vind’s shoulder. The man’s flat belly, well-muscled, bulges each time he takes Vind fully into him, stretched hole white and trembling as it kisses at Vind’s swelling knot.
Aron sways in Reyk’s grip, and his terror and anger and shame tastes of delight itself.
“Let them go,” he whispers. “They- they’re temple workers, they have nothing to do with this. Let them go, and I’ll- I’ll cooperate.”
“You would cooperate regardless,” Reyk says, and Aron turns to him, fury burning as two bright red spots on his cheeks. “The poison in you will have you begging for our cocks before long.” He glances up to watch the girl work her swaying hips back onto Hath’s tongue, her mouth open around a wrenching moan. “Just as they did.”
Aron draws in a hard breath, lifting a hand to touch his mouth, and Reyk smiles.
“Still. Your sacrifice is kind, if foolish.” He grabs Aron by the waist and tosses him up over his shoulder, then calls,
“Hath, Vind, finish up and let them go. We have a new breeder to take.”
Before they can respond, he turns and heads for the courtyard, taking the time as he walks to fondle Aron’s ass.
The man bites off his sounds, but the subtle motion of his body back into Reyk’s palm, the rock of his hips against Reyk’s broad shoulder - all is proceeding well.
The courtyard is wide, filled with broken benches and dropped offerings, and to the west a vast circular window overlooks the cliff edge and the sea. A throne of gold and coral sits just before the window, and as Reyk starts towards it, Aron stirs to life.
“No, no, not there - not my throne - the gods-”
“The gods have not heard your cries yet,” Reyk says as he swings Aron off his shoulders and tosses him down onto the throne. A twist of magic, and the metal of the throne and Aron’s chains bends to his will, twisting and melting until Aron’s knees are spread wide over the arms, his wrists tugged up over his head until he has to arch his back. The thin white cloth of his robes strains around his thighs.
“I’ll kill you!” Aron snarls, his voice echoing off the empty space that had once been his to rule. “The gods and my father, they’ll have your-”
His voice dies out as Svartr emerges from the outer courtyard, a great beast of shadow and scale, his silver-blue eyes burning.
“I smell him,” Svartr says, and the ground beneath Reyk’s feet shakes with his approach. “Reyk. Let me have him.”
Reyk glances aside at him. Svartr’s the eldest of them all, and has become more somnolent with age, spending long years asleep and unmoving in the deep caverns of the seamount. Even now, lichen and sea-salt encrust his sides. Great and terrible, Svartr has been, but it has become harder to rouse him in these years; Reyk had barely believed Svartr willing to come with them on this raid until he’d leaped from the upper cliff.
“And in return?”
Svartr rolls his shoulders, flares his wings in display of his strength. “If you let me taste him first, open his body upon my tongue, then I will lay.”
“You have-?” Reyk hardly dares to finish the sentence, it has been so long since Svartr showed any interest in procreation.
“Aye.” Svartr’s cock emerges from its sheath, the head dripping and flushed, and where the folds of his future knot join his body, there’s the barest suggestion of a curve. “Likely my last, but I see no one finer to breed with them than the boy.”
Aron’s breathing speeds, his wide eyes fixed on the massive curve of Svartr’s cock. He throws himself back against the throne, chains rattling, and strains to close his thighs as the two dragons turn their attention to him.
“You may open his womb,” Reyk decides, “but carefully. We need not break him.”
Svartr blinks slowly, tail coiling, and folds his wings in acceptance. He stalks behind Reyk towards Aron, and watches with burning gaze as Reyk claws open Aron’s robes, stripping the flimsy cloth away from unblemished skin until Aron lies naked and bound.
Aron’s jaw trembles. His blushing chest heaves. He refuses to look as Reyk says, low,
“Already so silent, princeling? After all your threats?”
The chastity belt is easily unmade, the metal falling into Reyk’s palm, and Svartr closes his eyes and rumbles greedily at their treasure. His cock drips onto the no-doubt-sacred tiles beneath.
Aron’s cock lies half-hard, pink and porcelain, along the cut of one hip, and his balls draw tight to his body in the hot wind of Svartr’s breath. Below, a taut little seam, glistening, and below that, a trembling pale hole.
“We can smell your arousal,” Reyk says, low, and draws his thumb down the entrance to Aron’s cunt. “Wet, and warm, and ready.”
“You think I want your foul dragon cocks? You did something to me!” Aron shrieks, twisting, and the motion only presses him harder against Reyk’s thumb, glossing it in slick fluid. “I’d rather-”
He silences again as Reyk slides two fingers between his lower lips and spreads him wide, a pale pink bud opened, a silvery membrane glistening just within. “Oh, no,” Reyk murmurs, dipping his middle finger down to collect some fluid and then dragging it achingly slowly up to the top over trembling tender flesh, up over Aron’s taut balls, up to cradle his cock in his palm and stroke the flushed damp head, “you do want this. Svartr will only make sure you want it more.”
He steps aside, hooking a chair with his foot and dragging it to sit by Aron’s side.
The princeling glares at him, wet cheek pressed against his arm, tears threatening in the blue of his eyes. “You have to have someone else do the- the fucking?” Aron tries. “You can’t get it up?”
The slight stutter over the vulgarity draws a smile to Reyk’s lips. “I am quite capable,” he says, almost gently. “You would die if I had you first.”
Aron’s mouth quivers, and he barely resists as Reyk cups his jaw and turns his face to gaze at Svartr. His chest jerks. The hint of tears perfumes the air with a salt even sweeter than that of the sea.
Svartr’s head is as tall as Aron, and his shadow nearly blots out their captive, yet Reyk can still see Svartr’s pale forked tongue slip forth, coil up along one quivering thigh.
“Ahh,” Svartr sighs, licking a long, slow stripe up Aron’s cunt that has him arching and gasping, thighs straining against their bonds, “ripe.”
He draws back, licks again, the slick wet slide of him on Aron’s untested cunt making him cry out again, and then presses within.
Reyk leans over to swallow Aron’s cry, toying with his unbruised nipple. Most of his attention is on Svartr’s tongue, sliding deeper, retreating, marked with virgin’s blood, then fucking in. The width forces Aron’s cunt wide, makes flushed skin pale, and the sounds are-
Ravenous. Wet and warm and hungry, and Aron joins them, panting against Reyk’s mouth, nails scrabbling against his chains. He whines when Reyk twists his nipple, lifts up into the pain, and then slips further down the seat and onto Svartr’s tongue, gasping.
“Crying in earnest now, are we?” Reyk says, and savors the poisonous glare Aron manages to give him, hazed with tears as it may be. “How does he taste?”
Aron’s feet kick at the air as Svartr pulls his tongue from him, cunt left red and empty. “Fertile,” Svartr rumbles, and tilts his head. “His womb is lush, and his body gapes to be fed.”
“Make him come.”
“No!” Aron gasps. “I can’t, I’m not-”
His protests cut off in a moan as Svartr fucks back into him with his tongue. Whatever gentleness Svartr had given him is lost now; his gasped denials are hardly audible over the wet noise of Svartr thrusting into him, the rattling of his chains, the thud of his body back against the throne.
“What shall I do with the remnants of your chastity?” Reyk muses, spinning the metallic remains of the chastity belt over his fingers as he strokes his other hand through Aron’s hair. “Pierce these pouting nipples?” He draws his hand down, flicking at Aron’s bruise-purpled chest, and then down to Aron’s cock. “Put a ring through this useless cock?”
Aron’s cock bounces in his palm with each of Svartr’s movements, dripping wet across his thumb as Reyk circles the exposed head. No doubt the man’s body, confused with sensation and poison, is striving to bring him whatever pleasure it can.
Aron’s breathing reaches a fever pitch, his body arching into a straining bow. His toes and fingers curl, white-knuckled. Whatever foolish prayers he was reciting break down into a wailing, terror-filled sob as he shudders, thighs twitching, and spills clear liquid over Svartr’s tongue in an endless spray, increasing with each twist and thrust of Svartr’s body.
Salt tears, and salt seed, and in the shadow of the dragons Aron, weeping openly, falling limp as Svartr draws his tongue out.
“Receptive,” Svartr says, and licks up the thick droplets of ejaculate coating Aron’s thighs and the bottom of the seat. “He will make a fine home for our eggs.”
“Let us see.” Reyk stands, transforming the chastity belt into a slender metal rod, and circles around.
Aron’s thighs, spread wide, shine. His stiff cock sways with each helpless shudder. Beneath it, opened to the air and Reyk’s avaricious gaze, his cunt: gaping, the walls slowly tightening shut about emptiness, liquid soaking every surface and pooling at the bottom. And there, at the end, twitching and exposed, the tiny door to his womb.
“What,” Aron slurs, lifting his lolling head, “what are you doing?” He licks his tear stained lips, seems to struggle to focus, and then goes stiff, paralyzed as prey, when he finally sees the rod. “No,” he breathes.
Reyk slips fingers up into him, baring his teeth at the wet-satin clench of Aron’s body, and spreads them apart, his cock leaping at Aron’s low moan, the futile tightening of his walls against Reyk’s knuckles. He rolls the rod, silver and sleek, between the fingers of his free hand, and slowly presses the tip inside.
“No,” Aron begs, and Reyk’s body pulses with vicious delight at the sheer plea in this man’s voice - how far he’s fallen from the haughty priest of scarce time ago. “No, not my womb, it’s not meant to-”
“You will hold more than you think,” Reyk says, and maneuvers the rod home. Finds the trembling edge of Aron’s cervix, and pushes the rod within, steady and slow.
Aron groans, lifts up into the air as if to escape, and Reyk follows, gaze fixed on the rod as it sinks deeper. Fixed on Aron’s cervix as it flutters around the metal, helpless to do anything but accept the penetration. The violation.
“Take it out,” Aron pleads, desperation suffusing every word, “I can’t bear it.” His cunt clenches and ripples around Reyk’s knuckles as if to push him free from his body, but makes no progress.
Reyk turns his fingers within and eases the sound deeper, feeling for that point of resistance. There. He marks it with a line on the metal, then draws it out, holding the sound high for Svartr to see as well.
“Wonderful,” Svartr rumbles, sea-dark eyes gleaming with avarice. His cock drips clear fluid onto the tiles and overturned offerings, and Reyk has a thought.
“Take his mouth while I ready him for Hath and Vind.” He gets up to help, dragging Aron off the throne and flipping him to his front, then sealing his chains back to the metal. Now Aron is forced onto hands and knees, mouth at the level of the tip of Svartr’s cock, the wet pink flash of his cunt a brazen sign for anyone walking by.
“Gladly.” Svartr coils about the throne, twisting onto his side to bare the pale blue of his cock to Aron’s horrified eyes.
“You - you can’t make me defile my mouth with a beast’s cock!”
“We will make you take far more,” Reyk says, fisting his hand in Aron’s hair and shoving the other between his teeth. His stubborn mouth is easy to pry open, and all his thrashing does nothing against the metal restraints or Svartr’s cock, nudging at his lips, then sinking within.
It fills his mouth completely, makes his cheeks bulge, his eyes water. The air resonates with filthy sound.
Svartr moans, a low, rasping noise, and rocks his hips, uncaring of Aron’s stuttering breaths, the precome spilling freely over his trembling chin.
Excellent. Reyk lets go of Aron’s head, watches the boy begin to suck, helpless against his own body, and walks down the length of Aron’s body. He thumbs at Aron’s hard cock, bouncing with each slow thrust of Svartr’s cock into his slender throat, and then takes up position between Aron’s spread thighs.
He can be kind. He takes up the bottle of sacred oil beside the throne and pours it over his hands before tossing the empty container away.
Aron’s cunt, pink and puffy, hot to the touch, yields easily to two fingers. Welcomes them, even, rippling tight and hungry about Reyk’s knuckles. Reyk feels forward, hooking his fingers down, and locates a spot that makes Aron shudder and moan, body clutching hard.
“Again,” Svartr says, turning his head to lick at Aron’s tear-stained face. Poison smears black over flushed skin, and Aron’s wet sounds have Reyk dropping a hand to his own cock. Not yet, not yet.
He retreats, returns with more fingers, Aron’s cunt stretching white and taut and shivering around his knuckles as he curls his fingertips down and begins to work them hard and slow.
Aron’s groan is despairing, and yet he falls anyway.
His thighs shake, his toes curl and spread. His eyes slam shut. His limbs jerk against their chains. Warmth sprays across Reyk’s chest, forced out from Aron’s twitching cunt, and then again, harder, when Reyk jerks his fingers free and slaps them down hard across his wet gaping hole. Again, and again, harder, the sound wet and filthy and loud, until Aron screams around Svartr’s cock and comes again, drenching Reyk’s hand and chest.
Reyk gives no quarter. He presses four fingers into that trembling canal, folding them together, and then tucks his thumb in too, rocking them against the white rim of Aron’s cunt.
Svartr hisses and jerks back, spilling thick seed across Aron’s face. It hangs from his open lips, paints silver rivers across his cheeks, falls in loops and strands from his once-divine mouth. Marks him, indelibly, as theirs.
Aron chokes, licks dumbly at his laden lips, and only manages a thready sound of protest when the widest part of Reyk’s hand pushes through the weakening resistance of his body.
“You’ll need to spread further for my knot,” Reyk says, low, menacing, and Aron only quakes in reply.
Reyk folds his hand into a fist, forcing Aron’s narrow canal to stretch and take him. It’s hot, wet, clenching and rippling in a futile battle to expel him. Aron himself might as well have given up, lapsing into his restraints and rocking with each thrust of Reyk’s forearm into his body.
“Scarce an hour ago, you claimed chastity,” Reyk says, leaning down to stroke Aron’s cock until he writhes and spills white over his own precious throne.
“And yet you wear my seed like a crown, and climax on a dragon’s tongue,” Svartr hisses, and then groans, hips twisting. Svartr’s egg drops into his cock, bulging at the top of the shaft, and Aron’s gaze falls on it.
His entire body seizes with crushing strength against Reyk’s fist as he finally understands what he is meant for. Strength that means nothing, for Reyk only twists his fist until his knuckles rub over that spot within him.
With his other hand, he parts the cleft of Aron’s body, and begins circling the dry, taut hole he finds there.
Aron, at last, has moved beyond futile protestations, and only reacts with a gasp.
“We must open you well in all parts, for there are many of us to enjoy you,” Svartr says. His satisfaction perfumes the air when Aron, shame and unwillingness drawn in every line of his body, tips over into climax anew.
“Ah,” says Reyk, looking up from where he’s working two fingers into Aron’s flinching body, “here are Hath and Vind. They will have the first choice.”
Beneath him, Aron goes still. The air is salt with seed and tears.
Hath remains in dragon form, and Vind, cleaning his cock with a wet rag, tosses it aside and flows into his own, a gleaming gold that far outshines the temple’s paltry throne.
“He smells delicious,” Hath says. His wings fold and rustle as he coils behind Reyk, the heat of his tongue rasping over Reyk’s knuckles and flicking down to explore where Aron is stretched white and twitching about Reyk’s wrist. “Give me his cunt. My eggs ache within me.”
“Eggs?” Aron croaks, and then thrashes, gasping, choking out pleading denials.
Reyk tugs his fist and fingers out, taking a moment to admire the stretched and puffy gape of Aron’s cunt, and then stands back, considering.
“Vind, take his ass, as I recall you laid last year. Hath, you may have your wish after Svartr and I.”
The eggs closest to the human’s heart, kept in the warmest recesses of their body, have a greater chance of hatching. Strength takes precedence, even here.
He breaks the chains binding Aron to the throne with a wave of his hand, then seizes him and tosses him to the other two. The throne molds to his own form as he sits down.
Aron totters into their grip with a startled sound. He’s plucked right off his feet by Vind, the gold of the dragon’s claws a counterpoint to his own pale hair, and moans as Vind’s unsheathed cock prods at his hole, Vind rolling onto his side to allow the rest of them to appreciate the sight.
The open horror on Aron’s come-covered face, the tears building in his eyes - all drown before the savage delight of his mouth dropping open around a moan as Vind bullies him open on his cock. The stiff golden flesh pries him open, renders him limp and gasping as he dangles in Vind’s grip. His cunt shudders around empty air, spilling fluid onto the ground.
“Your cunt is so wet and hungry,” Reyk muses. “Hath, go on and fill it. Svartr, take his mouth.” He waves the other dragon forward, then leans back in the throne to enjoy Aron’s terror as Svartr and Hath stalk closer, shoving at each other for position, before he’s lost among the coiling bodies.
The air is redolent with tears and sweat and seed, the spice of aroused dragons and the musk of well-fucked human. Between the wings and claws and scales, Aron bounces with each thrust, his taut belly bulging with their cocks. One hand feels at the swell before falling, defeated, to dangle against the stone. His tears streak over sunburned skin, fall with tiny sounds against Svartr’s thigh.
Aron comes, shuddering. Comes with a wail. Comes, tearful and begging. Comes, hanging limp, drenched with sweat and his own seed, his face sticky with Svartr’s silvery fluids.
At last, Vind pulls away, and then Hath, and Sartr. They rumble and circle, their bodies roused, their eggs sliding down to bulge at the base of their cocks, ready to be laid.
Reyk stands from the empty and defiled throne, teeth aching to devour, and paces down to where Aron sprawls across the temple tiles.
Aron’s breaths rasp. His limbs have gone limp, his eyes half-shut. His ass and cunt gape pink and wet, inviting the press of tongues, fists, cocks. He can only moan as Reyk rolls him over to his back with a delicate claw.
Aron sobs when Reyk kneels down to run a falsely gentle hand through his hair, tangled and corded with sweat and other fluids, lying heavy against the crown of his head.
“No, no more, please.” His voice is a ruin, the words hardly understandable.
“Their foul dragon cocks pleased you well,” Reyk whispers against his burning ear. “Your seed gleams on their scales.”
The others hiss with amusement.
Aron’s groan is thick with shame, and then rises into a shriek when Reyk leans down to slap hard across his raw and puffy cunt, wet and ruined canal open to the air and Reyk’s greedy gaze. He tries to curl up to defend himself, trembling thighs half-lifting into the air, and then groans when he fails. His thighs fall back against the stone. His heels drum and kick in silent helpless protest, provide a perfect counterpoint to the relentless rain of Reyk’s palm against his cunt.
He squirts, gasping and choking, helpless to do anything but try to find what pleasure he can, and Reyk pauses to watch the jet spatter against Aron’s own wet thighs. Another spank, palm hard against the soft and swollen skin, and Aron comes again, clear liquid puddling beneath him, trickling down over his ravaged and twitching hole, formerly taut rim now red and wide.
“Oh, treasure,” Reyk croons, watching Aron’s head loll against his own hand. “What a delight you are. How thrilled the others of the seamount shall be when we bring you home, freshly bred and full.”
Speaking of which… “Svartr, the piercings.”
The forgotten metal of the sound rocks on the tiles and rises with Svartr’s call. While Svartr begins the work, and Aron’s whimpers grow ragged and taut, Reyk finds an open space.
His human guise sheds as easily as an old scale, the world growing small around him. His tail thrashes and knocks several benches into the courtyard walls, shattering them. His claws rend the stone as he flares his wings and arches his back, sighing at the stretch.
Ah. Yes. Between his hind legs, there’s a deep, pleasurable ache of eggs sliding into his sheathed cock. He swings his head around to see where Svartr is backing away from Aron, where Hath and Vind have coiled together about the throne, and growls, approaching.
Aron stares, wide-eyed, helpless. He doesn’t even try to run. Piercings to enforce his chastity decorate his cockhead, the lips of his cunt, spanked near to closing as possible. Easy enough to chain shut with only a flicker of thought, to keep their eggs safely tucked away inside his warmth.
Svartr lets his cock drop, rumbling at the bone-deep relief of it, and reaches out to turn Aron onto his front, using the remnants of his chains to bind him to the metal between the tiles for safekeeping.
He covers Aron with his bulk, lowering his hips, and closes his eyes, seeking. The narrow tip of his cock prods at the base of the human’s small one, trailing silver-sheened liquid, and beneath him, Aron’s heart thunders.
He’s shaking, and Reyk trembles with arousal. Shifting up, and there, yes - wet-hot-silken-shivering, and with a low growl, he slides forward. Presses the swollen flesh aside with hardly an effort, Aron’s body wrapping taut and slick about him as he forces his way in.
Beneath him, Aron gasps, the noise thick with shamed arousal and panic. His cunt clutches tight.
“Ah, there,” Reyk sighs, the tip of his cock pressing against the tiny aperture at the end of Aron’s cunt. “I can feel you. Ready. Ripe.” The narrow head of his cock slips in, and Aron wails beneath him, spine arching up against his belly as if to push him off.
He might as well try to lift the temple itself.
Reyk hisses at the pressure of Aron’s cervix around him, then levers his hips forward and up. His tail rolls and coils, lashing, as he presses further in, into that damp receptive heat, that soft garden that will cradle innumerable offspring.
Aron pants. Stiffens and manages a raw, shaken sound, high and taut, when the base of Reyk’s cock settles within him. His sweat slicks Reyk’s belly scales where they press against his back, and Reyk closes his eyes at the scent of him.
Then, another cry, a babbled, “It’s too big-” that breaks off into moans as Reyk’s egg slides further down his cock, into the pressure of Aron’s body where he trembles and fails to tighten about the sheer weight and width of Reyk. The human’s gasps are pressured and reedy. All his weight hangs off Reyk’s cock as his limbs give out.
The egg slips further, propelled by the pleasurable contractions of Reyk’s climax, the sheer pressure and weight of it making Aron’s body ripple about it in unwanted pleasure.
Then, a scream, high, despairing, as the egg nudges at his cervix.
Reyk thrusts, Aron’s entire body quivering beneath him, and forces the egg through. He roars, claws tearing tiles up, tail thrashing, wings snapping out and rigid, as he pours the egg free from his cock and follows it with a great gush of seed to fertilize the others’ own eggs.
His knot swells, catches easily within the helpless weak walls of Aron’s cunt, and Reyk bends his neck down to see their treasure. What a delight it will be to see him stumble, hands cradling his stomach, through the cool tunnels of his new home, to sit atop the seamount in the sun, to drowse in his bed of moss, awaiting his next breeding.
Their treasure’s head lolls against the cool tile, mouth open, tongue lying against his lower lip. Thick strings of silver tremble lightly in his hitching breaths. Seed streaks his thighs, foams white over the straining curve of his belly where his cock bounced and came, helpless to resist. His belly is round and taut, the skin twitching as it comes to terms with its new weight.
Reyk’s wings flare with satisfaction as he watches Svartr approach, ready to take his place.
Yes. This breeder will be good.