(18+) [This story contains the good stuff. To be enjoyed only by mature adults. Sorry.]
TAGS: Transformation, TGTF, Dragons, sex, straight, gay, oral, petplay, chastity, mental changes, submission/domination, trickery.
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The kingdom of Andranor buzzed with excitement. Flags fluttered from every window. Confetti and rose petals filled the air like snowflakes. Merchants, musicians, and prostitutes swarmed the streets in a mass feeding frenzy of commerce, and a legion of young, drunk soldiers, pockets bulging with pay and minds on celebration, flooded through the city's gates into her inns, taverns, and brothels.
King Andrew The Third's royal army had returned from campaign.
The Roost Tavern was the busiest it had been all year. Derek DeAmond sat at a large, circular table, one hand holding a stein of beer, the other gesturing dramatically.
"The mercenary had a hold of my stirrup, see, and he raised his dagger to deal a lethal blow," Derek explained to the woman sitting on the table in front of him. "Thinking fast, I yanked an arrow from my quiver and slipped it through his visor. Needless to say, he let go."
The lady gave a theatrical gasp and slid her foot up his thigh.
"Pah!" scoffed a musclebound soldier across the table. "Nothing a good sword and a strong arm couldnt'a done!" The pair of women sharing his lap giggled.
Heavy infantry. How Derek despised them, always shouting and throwing their weight around. This tavern was lousy with them. Before he could make a comeback, his own lady-of-the-night leaned between them.
"You must have been awfully scared," she said, turning Derek to face her with a finger on his chin.
Derek took a swig of his beer. "Naw. See." He pulled his sleeve up to reveal a tattoo of a violet, the royal flower, on his shoulder. The whore gasped, this time genuinely, and he smiled. "We who take the blood oath have no fear of death. Our lives belong to the King."
The heavy slammed his fist against the table. "Ah the King! Now there's a worthy warrior!"
"They say he stands seven feet tall!" shouted another brute.
"I hear he rode a gryphon into battle at Tergramesh!" cried yet another, pounding the table so hard a plank jumped and toppled Derek's beer onto his lap. He leapt to his feet.
"You spilled my brew!"
The table-slammer lifted a prostitute from his lap and stood. Had they been belly-to-belly, the tip of his beard would have tickled Derek's forehead. "Yeah? and what are you going to do about it?"
The tavern went quiet.
Derek clenched his fists. He bit his cheek, huffed, and sat. "Find my on my mount, then try acting tough."
"Well if I ever visit the stables, I'll give yah a wide berth," chuckled the heavy, sitting. His comrades laughed and clapped his shoulders.
The tavern keeper appeared out of nowhere and replaced Derek's mug with a full one. The beer was less bitter than he was.
Once again, his woman leaned to block his view of the others. "You're strong without your horse. Strong enough to hold me down." Her fingers trailed down his shirt toward his crotch. "Strong enough to use me however you want."
Derek sighed at the prostitute's attempt at seduction. If only she knew. . .
"If it's strength yah want, yah better let him bring his horse to bed!"
"Aye! I doubt he'd have it any other way!"
The infantry broke out in roarous laughter.
That did it. Derek leapt onto his chair. The infantry were laughing too hard to see him slip the bandanna from his head and fit it with a pebble. A flick of his wrist sent the shot flying, bearded heavy's mug exploded, showering the lot with beer.
Another silence.
"Grab that cavalry twerp!"
Derek ducked under meaty, grabbing arms, vaulted over a table, and rolled behind the bar. A fist aimed for him connected with the back of another infantryman's head, and soon the entire tavern broke into a brawl. Derek slipped out the back door and hustled down the cobblestone alleyway.
If starting a brawl was a victory, it sure didn't feel like it. He felt small and weak. He'd ruined his own night too, and the lingering arousal from the woman's touch only stoked his frustration. She was skilled, picking up on his desire for strength, but she'd missed the mark. The infantry were even further off-base with their mount-fucking jokes. Real original. Thankfully, he knew one place he could find the exotic brand of eroticism he craved.
The Bee's Flower had done its own dressing-up for the army's return. Fresh silks fluttered in the doorway, glowing with the warmth of a hundred candles. A pair of young women almost too beautiful to be whores welcomed Derek and relieved him of his cloak and boots. Madam Lune recognized this one. She whispered an order to a nearby courtesan, sent her off with a jerk of her head, and returned Derek's gaze with a knowing smile.
Derek glanced furtively, looking for other soldiers. He did not relax until a girl took his hand and led him to a private room. There he saw her.
"Precilla. It's been-"
"Did I say you could speak, boy?" Precilla interrupted. She was beautiful. Fair skin and golden curls down to her shoulders. She wore thigh-high boots and elbow-length gloves, all black leather. A tight corset lifted her breasts and guaranteed her posture.
Derek smiled and ran a finger over his lips.
"Good. Now sit."
He started toward the bed, but Precilla stopped him with a click of her tongue.
"Not there. Sit the way that suits you."
Slowly, he lowered himself to his hands and knees, sitting his bottom on the ground. Precilla nodded in approval, sashayed forward, and fastened a thick leather collar around his neck. A silver chain leash connected it to a loop in her hand.
"Good boy. Now get undressed. Clothes are for humans."
Derek undid his buttons, trying to stay seated on the ground like a good boy. He stripped off his pants, freeing his erection, and stole a few guilty strokes.
"No touching." Precilla hissed. "Not unless I say. Did you forget the rules while you were playing war?"
She tugged the leash, leading him to the bed. She sat on its edge with her legs crossed, then raised her right foot slowly, hovering her boot in front of his face a moment before pointing it over her head like a dancer. She set it down far from the other, opening her legs and revealing her sex. Its glisten betrayed how much she too was enjoying this.
"Lick. If you do well, I'll reward you."
Derek pushed his head between her legs and set his tongue to work. As he lapped the fragrant fluids from her folds, his unattended cock throbbed so hard it ached. He did not touch it. He was a good boy, after all.
Mistress Precilla coached him between moans: "Higher." "Slower." "Eaaaaasy."
His tongue made little circles around the hard pearl of her clit. She gasped, and the hand on the back of his head grabbed a fistful of his hair. "Keep going!" she squeaked. A toe-curling fit of pleasured spasms wracked her body. He still had it.
Precilla pulled his head away from her crotch. "Enough! Enough," she said between pants. Her leatherbound fingertips wrapped around Derek's eager penis. "It's time you were rewarded." She stroked his length twice, then withdrew. "But first, I have one more order."
He looked at her with puppydog eyes and gave a high-pitched whine.
Precilla crossed the room to a large object under a blanket. "No worries. This is an easy one." She pulled it away with a flourish, revealing a kennel. It was one of the ones made for the fighting dogs, with thick steel bars. "Get in."
Derek had no idea what twisted sexual games Precilla had in mind, but his cock demanded him to obey. He crawled inside. She closed the door behind him and threaded a heavy, iron lock through the latch. Click.
Precilla's coy smile melted into an expression of utter relief. She pulled a string on the back of her corset and breathed a heavy sigh as it sprung loose. Then, she gave a shrill whistle.
Something was very wrong here.
The room's door swung open to reveal a tall, thin man. He wore long, purple robes of the finest silk, trimmed with black and emblazoned with the sigil of a half-lidded eye. A matching fez was perched atop his bald head. His neck pitched forward in a wrinkled mass, giving him a distinctly vulture-like stance.
Mordred, the court sorcerer. Few had seen the man. Derek only recognized him from descriptions in terrible, frightful tales the soldiers whispered amongst themselves.
"What in the-" Derek sputtered, hands scrambling to both cover his erection and remove the collar from his neck. "Get out!"
