Turnabout

"GOD FUCKING DAMMIT, JOHN. WHAT DID YOU DO THIS TIME?"

John winced at her sudden assault, far too tired to deal with this kind of shit. Sister Agatha never missed an opportunity to abuse him, probably envious that he had actually succeeded in becoming a knight. She was only a few years older than he and already an insufferable hag. Failing her qualifications sent her into a spiral of depression and misanthropy never seen before in a woman under thirty. Had she not become such a spiteful bitch, she may well have been an excellent wife, or at least a favored bed-mate of the other knights.

Seemingly in spite of her calling, she was intoxicatingly beautiful. The white robes of her order barely disguised her almost-matronly form, hanging like sheets over her voluptuous bosom and yet still hugging pleasantly her wide hips. Unlike most of her sisters, she elected to leave her head uncovered. Well-tanned skin and lustrous black hair contrasted nicely with the bleached white of her robe. If forced to part with her vestments, she could easily be mistaken for a high-class courtesan rather than a clergywoman, much less a knight.

Abusive as she was, she probably had a point this time. With a sigh, he excused himself to get cleaned up before what was bound to be a long and uncomfortable conversation. With unpracticed talons, he began ripping the bits of torn plate armor from around his legs and shoulders, impressed at their craftsmanship -- not that he would need be patronizing their maker anytime soon. John regarded his new armor -- his very own shining brass scales -- as he did his best to wipe off the thick crust of dried semen that coated his limbs and belly. He paid careful attention to avoid his half-engorged and incredibly sore member. Trained to fear their breath, bite, and claw, John never knew that the true terror of dragons was their sex drive. How dragon kind had not completely overrun the world in their spawn he would never know.

Content with his relative presentability, he returned to find an uncharacteristically patient Agatha waiting for him near their fire. She regarded him with genuine interest and concern and more than a little bit of something he could not quite place. To his surprise, she waited patiently as he struggled to lower himself to a more comfortable position, unsure how exactly one sits with so many limbs. Perhaps he should have studied anatomy a bit better. With a deep inhale, the dragon launched into his story.

The morning before had been a tense one, the long preparation time not making the delicate art of throwing yourself at a dragon four times your size any more appealing. John rose before Agatha, intent on having a trophy to wipe the smug off her face before he had to see it again. Donning plate armor was not designed to be a one-man task, though the prospect of needing to ask her for help was enough of a motivator. The soft light of the rising sun illuminated the vast desert. With any luck, he would be underground during the hottest part of the day, inspecting and sorting his spoils. Polished up and ready for ass-kicking, John began the trek to the dragon's lair.

Twenty paces away, he slipped into the cliff face and into a narrow path through the stone. Hiding is pretty much impossible in the desert, so it seemed advantageous to set up camp as close to the target as possible. Agatha raised an objection to camping immediately outside of a dragon's lair, but John carried the tent and most of the water. Blue dragons weren't likely to attack them in their sleep anyway, probably curious who would approach so brazenly. Scarcely a minute into his journey, the narrow passage opened into a grand chamber. The darkness of the cave did little to hide the shining mound of gold that dominated the room. No more than a head shorter than he and easily forty paces across, it was certainly the greatest treasure he had ever seen. For such a young dragon to have accumulated a horde this size, his target must be quite the upstart. Speaking of which, where was it?

Coins ran down the mountain of gold like an avalanche as a massive figure rose from the horde. Twenty feet from shoulder to hip and nearly twice that in tail, the dragon was a sight to behold. Thick, spin-covered scales did little to hide the mounds of taught muscles underneath. Its hide was a rich blue that faded to parchment on its belly and wings. An enormous, spined head turned to face him, the single bifurcated horn between its eyes stealing the knight's gaze. Slowly, its maw opened, revealing row after row of canines, the mouth of an apex predator. To his surprise, the dragon spoke.

"I have been here scarcely a month and already men seek my head? I must have made quite the stir."

Her voice, while powerful, was distinctly feminine and surprisingly placid. Not a hint of violence seeped into her voice, as if she was entirely disinterested in fighting. John, prepared for a fight to the death, faltered as he appraised the situation. She was too far for him to attack: he would surely be struck by her breath before he could come to grips, putting him at a distinct disadvantage. If he wanted to stand a chance, he would have to get much closer. He approached cautiously, intimately familiar with the trickery of chromatic dragons.

"My name is Sir John and I have come to pass judgment on you in the name of Saint Cuthbert. Your reign of terror ends here."

His advance was halted as a deep rumbling came from the center of the cave. Fearing that the cavern would collapse, the knight raised his shield while searching for the source of the sound. It grew louder and louder until if finally occurred to him: she was laughing. Furious, he pulled himself upright and puffed out his chest.

"I want to see you try to laugh without a head, dragon."

Her entire body trembled as she laughed without restraint.

"Do you really believe you could defeat me? Men with twice your skill have fallen to my claws. Fine, then. Come at me. I will not even defend myself. If you want my head so badly, take it. Aim right here, the scales are thinner and no bone will block your blade. Come now, I do not have all day."

What a bitch. If that was how it was going to be, so be it. He would teach her not to underestimate him. Or not, because she would be dead. It would make a nice story, though. Legs pumping, he ran at her with all he had, grasping his sword in both hands. With a shout, he drove his sword straight into her throat. His blade pierced her hide without resistance, driving through to the hilt. With a hacking cleave, he drew his sword straight across the length of her neck. Blood flowed in thick spurts from her severed neck, rivers of her life spilling on the ground and -- wait, where was the blood going? With an agonized sigh, he turned just in time to see a huge claw impact him straight in the chest, throwing him a good thirty feet into a wall.

"If you are going to fall for such simple tricks, this fight will not last very long. How does this sound? I will turn you into a dragon so that we can fight on equal terms. Killing a man as pathetic as you would hardly be entertaining."

Oh, shit. John recovered just in time to see the scroll in her claws disappear in a flash of colorful flame. Moments later, agony wracked his body as the spell struck home. Bones shifted, growing and twisting under the not-so-gentle had of transmutation magic. His knees twisted backwards as thick, bony talons erupted from his fingers. Skin turned brown as it stretched and hardened into thick scales. His armor screamed in protest as it shredded, bits of his once-glorious plate armor stretched past bursting over his new frame. Even as his body twisted into its new form, his senses sharpened far past those of an ordinary human. He could feel everything around him even with his eyes shut and hear the every breath of his draconic foe. Were it not for the incredible pain, he could have come to appreciate his new form. Strength flowed through his limbs as his muscles bulged and strengthened. He felt the power and vanity of dragon kind as his body took shape. Soon the pain abated, leaving only the pleasant warmth of growth.

Before he knew it, he had grown large-enough to challenge the dragoness. His scales had brightened to a shining brass, thick and hardened for protection against all but the most powerful attacker. He stretched his new muscles, appreciating their strength and cat-like flexibility. Wings erupted from the ruined plate about his shoulders, their scaly membrane extending all the way to the tip of his spined tail. He felt stronger than he ever had before, certain that with his skill and this new form, he could easily slay the dragon. With a roar, he lunged at her throat, the strength of his new body apparent as he moved to deliver the killing blow -- and missed. Unused to his new bulk and strength, his body carried on without his mind, tripping up his feet and landing him in a pile on the floor.

He struggled to regain his footing, but she was far faster. Thick scale met thicker bone as her snout slammed into his side horn-first. For all the force of the blow, it hardly measured up to taking a solid blow with his human body. Still, he was at a distinct disadvantage. She was faster and much more skilled in her current form. As it was, he could barely walk, much less fight a century-old dragon. She could end the fight and any moment, whenever she tired of mocking him. If he gave up now, she would likely kill him immediately. He had to do something, quickly. She was already over him again on two legs, prepared to put her full weight into the blow. He could not possibly dodge as he was now and blocking the blow was likely impossible. He would have to knock her off course somehow, hurt her before she killed him.

Think like a dragon. Gold. Murder. Wings. Breathing fire. Actually, that last one seemed like a pretty good idea. He had seen many a dragon unleash its deadly payload, but being on this side was an entirely new experience. Still, it couldn't possibly be that different from smiting, right? Get angry, blow hard. Nice and easy. As he focused his anger on the dragon above him, a part of him realized how much time he had spent contemplating and how little she had moved. Was she waiting for him to fight back? No matter. Time to breathe fire. He blew at her with all his might, abdomen contracting to put as much power behind the blow as possible. A mass welled in his throat as he exhaled, ready to bathe her in fire. The power of the ancient gift of the dragon burned his throat like acid as it shot from his mouth with the fury of his humiliation and desire to survive.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU ASSHOLE?"

Breathing fire is apparently difficult. Vomiting while stressed and disoriented is easy. Breakfast, some trail rations, and a few gallons of water blasted the dragon with incredible force, splattering and staining her vibrant scales. She drew back, claws up to block the torrent from dirtying her any further. Fire or not, an opening is an opening. He lashed his tail into her legs, quick to take advantage of her unsteady stance. The blow lacked the force he hoped, but was enough to break her tenuous balance. She struggled to regain her footing as she backpedaled, step after unsteady step bringing her closer to her horde. A metallic crash heralded her arrival, gold and silver splashing in every direction to escape the path of her enormous form. Fortune clearly favored the knight this day.

Roaring with anger and more than a little excitement, he pushed his body forward. He had yet to master the intricacies of being a quadruped but he did consider himself something of an expert on running with two legs. And so he charged, hind legs pumping while fore flailed midair to maintain balance. Overall, it was not his proudest moment. If Agatha saw him now, he would literally never hear the end of it, even after death. Regardless, he charged with all his might, scant feet separating him from his foe. For the first time in the fight, he had the advantage. She had no hope of dodging his blow now and his momentum was far too great to stop. Nothing could stop him now.

Unfortunately, that assumed she intended to stop him at all. To John's surprise and chagrin, he realized about the time his hind talons met the giant pool of magical grease that stopping him hand never been part of her plan. He fell immediately to his back and slid, trajectory set on a collision course with a giant mound of gold and dragon. Ass first. For the second time in less than a minute, the mountain of gold shook with impact, dislodging his foe and sending treasure to all corners of the cave. Amid the explosion of gold, she found her footing and pounced.

"I SWEAR TO TIAMAT YOU WILL PAY."

In a flash, he found himself pinned by his much stronger opponent. He knew enough about dragon anatomy to know that a pinned dragon is a dead dragon: soft underbellies and inflexible legs made them little more than flying, magical turtles (no offense meant to actual flying, magical turtles). Exposed as he was, the deathblow never came. John peeked out through clenched eyes he to see the dragon mounting him. She was panting as hard as he, though the look she gave told him it was not from exhaustion. With a dull thud, her body met his, pinning him to the floor by the hips. She stood tall as she straddled his prone form, looking him up and down with barely-contained hunger. She craned her short neck to look him in the eyes, her nostrils flaring scant inches above his own. With a foretalon, she forced his head back, exposing his scaled neck.

"Much better, don't you think? Pinned beneath a superior being. Don't worry, I won't kill you. I have something much, much better in mind."

Her hot breath splashed upon his neck, the faint smell of ozone accompanying it. Slowly, almost gently, her mouth closed around him, her fangs digging lightly into his neck. John gasped in surprise as her jaw tightened, the slight pain of her bite more exciting than he would admit. Across his stomach, claws raked across his scales, drawing tiny lines of blood as they went. Despite his thick plating, he felt her every movement above him. Her scales scraped against his as she ground her body against his, sliding back and forth with a steady rhythm. Surprisingly soft scales ground against the underside of his fleshy member. He jumped at the sudden contact, taken aback at his sensitivity. Every scale that touched him was a point of pleasure, his entire endowment as sensitive as his human glans.

"So excited already? I expected little of a human, but this is something else. Dragons mate for hours at a time, you know. Do you think you can last? Do you think I will stop if you cannot?"

He felt himself harden under her ministrations, his manhood jumping noticeably with every heartbeat. Unlike his human penis, this one grew almost exclusively thicker, the pressure of her gliding scales almost unbearable as it swelled. His entire body grew hot with arousal as she slowly stimulated him. Back and forth and side to side, she rubbed against him, laughing to herself as she felt a small lake of pre collect between them. Before he knew it, he found himself pressing into her, arching his back to feel even more of her body. A sharp impact tore through his gut as a foot struck him, talons digging sharply into his flesh. Her prior bites and scratches had been gentle; this was anything but. John roared in pain as she dug in, reminding him of her dominance.

Distracted as he was by the pain, he barely noticed her taloned foot grasp his cock. Hundreds of fine scales tickled him as two of her long digits surrounded and squeezed his length, her heel pressing against his base as she stroked him. Her foot felt like nothing he ever felt before. The soft, wrinkled flesh of her toes enveloped his length like a pocket as her tough heel scales scraped and prodded at his base. Her toes twisted and squeezed with every stroke, rolling his cock around in her grasp. Hard talons traced around him, occasionally flicking across one of many small nubs covering his dick, sending a sharp wave of pleasure each time. It was as if he was being serviced by a dozen different, skilled hands at once. Lost in the sensations of his new body, John was quickly brought to the edge by unfamiliar pleasure. He felt an incredible pressure build in his groin, his climax rapidly approaching. Careful to not buck, he groaned as her foot brought him ever closer to the climax. Moments away from release, the dragoness stopped, driving her heel against the base of his penis with incredible force. His body screamed with need, cock throbbing uselessly as her heel stopped his orgasm in its place.

"So sensitive. Don't worry, I will let you finish. Eventually."

With deliberate slowness, she resumed stroking him. So much pre coated her foot that it passed without resistance over him. So close to orgasm, he felt his climax coming almost immediately. Again, she stopped, basking in his pained expression as though it alone brought her satisfaction. Before he could even recover, she started again, rubbing him quickly while squeezing him between her toes. He gathered his resolve, ready to bear with the pleasure and hoping that she would not notice his oncoming climax. Each stroke brought him slowly closer, a hundred scales slipping across him, stimulating every sensitive spots indiscriminately. Despite the pleasure, he held fast, biting his tongue to suppress his voice, hoping against hope that he could fool his dragon mistress. Again the pleasure mounted, the need to feel more suppressing all other thoughts. He felt his seed well up as his muscles tensed and readied for his first orgasm. His whole body shook as the first shot collected in his root, his cock swelling with blood. A sudden, sharp pain shook him from his reverie as her heel again held him back, her foot moving entirely off him as she ground against his base.

"Submitting already? If all your knights are so pathetic, I should see if you can send more. Still, you learned your lesson. I think I will be generous and let you cum now."

Her foot gripped him, still save for the toes squeezing and rolling around the tip of his pointed shaft. John writhed as she forced pleasure upon him, keeping him on edge while never providing enough stimulation to grant him release. Her every motion felt incredible, centuries of practice guiding her toes with delicate precision. Slowly, her foot began to move, twisting side-to-side, her grip about him firm and constant. Trapped between the sandpaper texture of her foot and the soft, smooth scales of his own belly, his cock jumped and stiffened, more than prepared for his long-denied climax. Lost on the edge, the knight almost did not notice when she stopped abruptly, raising her foot a mere few inches above his pulsating dick.

"I changed my mind. If you want to cum, you're going to have to work for it. Use my foot to get yourself off."

Pride and reason hold little sway in the mind of a man being raped by a dragon. Her pronouncement was met immediately with the wet slap of his cock against her foot. Back arched, he drove himself upwards, fucking her foot with all the strength of his new form. Her foot stood still before his voracious lust, neither avoiding nor aiding his rising orgasm. Deprived of her skillful footwork, John flailed wildly as he thrust, desperate to find again the spots she so masterfully stimulated. Even his inexpert thrusts were enough for his pleasure-wracked body. Occasional flashes of ecstasy as he found his mark only hastened his orgasm. Every muscle in his body tensed, his back now feet off the ground as every stroke brought him closer to the edge. With a final, incredible push, he came. His mind went black as a veritable fountain of white escaped, pulse after pulse visibly distending his cock as his first orgasm as a dragon overwhelmed him. Shot after shot of his seed, potent-enough to impregnate nearly any creature with a womb, spilled across his belly and onto the floor. A thick waterfall of white ran down his sides as the pool of cum grew, easily enough to fill a wash basin splattering around before it stopped.