Passing the Flame

Passing the Flame

A pinprick of light shone through a solitary crack in a cave wall, directed at the closed lidded eye of a short, tightly muscled but thin figure. A Kobold, forest green scales, stirred as the harassing sensation caused him to sit up and let his deep orange eyes adjust to the otherwise pitch black cavern again. The automatic process of light sensitive vision recovering into being able to see in the darkest of places took thankfully as long as it did for the kobold to decide to make a go of the day. After all, like all Kobolds, he had a list of jobs.

He stood, retrieving a rather fancy looking sash from an outcropping of the wall by his hay-bale of a bed. The two-toned material, red and black, had seen many patches and repairs, but nonetheless, he wore it with a great degree of pride, making the short lizard puff his chest out, musculature pressing against his scales as he stepped out of his living space, into the bustle of Crater-Vale.

Kobolds of a vast breadth of colours and ages walked with purpose around the central hub of the village. A hundred strong by last count, each was busy sharpening spears, carving rock, tending to wounded; it was a grand expression of Kobold efficiency, all under the watchful eye of its ruler, the great Master of the Southern Slope, Karajan. Banners and flags stood with pride around the hub, honouring the great Dragon with lurid red scales and tremendous strength, although many were old, and faded.

“Ah, Underboss Figin!” A squealing voice called out, a young Kobold barely into his adult years approached the titled male and offered a crude salute. The young mustard-yellow Kobold awaited for Figin's wave of a hand before going at ease. He was trained well; he'd make a great soldier in a couple more years.

“Good dayfall, Recruit Lalep. What's the news?” The green Kobold regarded the smaller fellow with a good natured smile. The fellow only came up to Figin's belly, and with good reason; the Underboss was by all classifications a bit of a giant, being a full head above the rank and file.

“Caves' going as scheduled, we've lost two to sickness, two to injury, but five hatchlings of eight of todays batch are healthy. All's as glorious as can be! Um...” Lalep fiddled with his claws slightly.

Figin rolled his big amber eyes and gestured for the little Kobold to follow as he headed through the crowd, everyone giving a respectable berth to the pair.

“Out with it, Recruit, I don't have much time, Our Mighty Karajan must be tended to”

“It's...um....the community is talking”

“They do that; Our Mighty Karajan allows them the right, unlike so many other Dragonlords” Figin peered sideways at the increasingly flustered soldier in training.

“Yes, but...but it's just that, oh good and strong Underboss Figin, we used to get monthly addresses from Our Mighty Karajan, but this is the second monthly per row he hasn't blessed us with his presence”

“Keep faith, Recruit” He stopped the young Kobold with a reassuring clawed hand. “His Greatness is merely recovering after his most important attacks on the man-kin settlements and fending off the lesser Dragonlords”

“I know, good and strong Underboss, but I's just sad to not see His Amazingness” Lalep sagged his shoulders, looking like he was going to cry. Figin didn't want to penalise the youngster with 'Showing Distress' and 'Wasting Water', as he would be better served at his post rather than cleaning the entrance tunnel of dead man-kin wanderers. He gently grabbed one of Lalep's slackened shoulders and gave him an affectionate pat on the head.

“I shall bring your concerns up with His Greatness, Recruit Lalep, once I have performed my duties for him”

“You's the best, Underboss! Thankie-ou!” He saluted again and scampered off.

Figin wandered into the Great Tunnel before letting his expression betray his own concerns. He looked at the pinned man-kin skeletons along the tunnel; many were great heroes of the Overcave, by all accounts. Some were less impressive in story, but Karajan liked them since they were more intact than the actual threats that were either charred beyond identification or outright eaten.

The biggest, a half-bigga-kin, a mighty eight feet tall, dwarfed the Underboss by doubling his own height. That one was an impressive display of Kobold ingenuity; a mighty bandit, a terror of ten years for the man-kin of the Overcave, brought low by trap and stabbed to death by the Kobold captain. Overcavers were dumb and inefficient, but had a weird way of accruing the shiny softmetals that Karajan desired so much.

Figin carried on his way, the cave opening up to a vast expanse beyond that even his adult darkvision couldn't see to the end of. A gong sat to one side, which Figin lifted the padded mallet of and with two smooth swings, struck the polished metal surface. It wasn't a strong sound, it was a gentle thrumming that carried well in the vast hall of the Dragonlord. Even so, Figin felt a cold shiver go through his spine when no response was forthcoming.

“Oh Great and Mighty Karajan? Are you well?” He gently called out, hating approaching without being beckoned. Underbosses were known to be crushed for such insubordination. Big as Figin was, he wasn't any bigger than one of the great forty foot long Dragon's horns, let alone the head which had swallowed man-kin whole.

Nevertheless, the Underboss stepped closer to where a distant glinting shone; a vast pile of wealth, although not as vast as it once was, and a dark mass sat in the middle, blocking further wealth. Karajan lay, coiled around himself, slow snoring becoming audible as Figin drew near enough to see the great scaled leader in detail.

A true specimen of power and might! Figin smiled at the majesty of his wise and strong Dragonlord, but also due to the obvious fact he was still alive. Deep red scales that could resist the sharpest spear, giant wings that could knock down any man-kin with but a flap, the subtle wisp of smoke emitting from his flared nostrils as he slumbered deeply.
The Underboss bowed low, prostrate, and took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves.

“My most humble, deepest and undying apologies, Great and Mighty Karajan! Do you wish for me to return at a later time to perform the most honoured duties?” He spoke into the floor, but the sound of coins clinking and tumbling told him the great one was awake.

A deep, bass rumble, a throaty yawn. More coins and treasure was flung from his great hide as he stood and shook, the mighty armour of his scales having been embedded with enough wealth to spin a man-kins head.

“No, my ward. Remain, your services are in need....I am simply tired of late. Go, I shall adopt the position” Karajan said, slightly slurred as the last of his sleep-addled trappings shook free from his mind. The voice rattled Figin's bones, and in response, he felt a great joy at being proven again at Creater-Vale's leaders' immaculate power.

“Of course, Great and Mighty One!” The Kobold rose to his feet and ran to the side of the treasure hoard, a small cavity in the wall. He placed his sash on an old, damaged spear-head embedded into the wall and produced a great brush and a vast urn. Unable to carry both, Figin twitched his claws and moved his arms, voicing an old and ancient drake-tongue sentence. His muscles, while unchanged in size, immediately shuddered as the ancestry of his kin and their conventional strength gave way to dragon might. He lifted the two objects with ease and hurried over to Karajan who had moved from his pile and stood still.

Figin took the brush, an odd object with a long grip all the way on its back, and placed it on the ground, pouring a small amount of viscous liquid onto it. He then took the brush, as big as a tower shield to him, and took to work, approaching Karajan's mighty clawed feet, began to buff and polish them. He watched as flakes of dried and dying scale shedded, leaving bright red and shining scales beneath. He reached as high as he could, then moved onto the next.

Completing all four, he then poured another dose of polish onto the brush, and cast another spell. This time, the Kobold felt a sense of vertigo, making him stagger slightly, as the floor moved away. The Kobold now as tall as the bigga-kin hybrid. He was rather busy with his task, and didn't notice the intense stare from his master. The dragon blinked slowly as the pleasing feeling of his appointed personal servant brushed his underbelly, then down at his groin. It stirred a feeling he hadn't had in a while deep inside. Even the last few scalebuffings hadn't stirred such a reaction.

Figin had brushed all the way along the underbelly of the great Dragon, ignoring the fact he had been buffing along the well hidden opening that now pried open, a deep purple shaft swelled from the gap, almost transforming itself from featureless, grooves and curves forming as it grew to the same length as his servant was originally, plus a foot more. It was shaped like a spearhead in conical form, though risen slightly at the tip, and along the sides and even more emphasised at the underside, long protrusions, solid cartilage for grip and sensation, sprung out to all but the last foot of the Dragonlord's length.

Figin turned having completed the underbelly, only to walk within licking distance of the great shaft of his ruler.

“Ah, forgive me, Great and Mighty Karajan! I was not invited to witness your intimacies! I bow to whatever punishment you desire!” Figin dashed from beneath the dragon and resumed his prostrate position on the floor in front of him.

“Oh, my attentive Figin. No punishment is due, it has been a long time since these stirrings. I dare say I wasn't sure my age would allow them any more. You're a most thorough cleaner....hmmm...” his throaty rumble again shook Figin deeply. The enormous Dragon tilted his head and regarded the Kobold.

“I have a challenge, Figin. There is a rite I would perform, and you will assist” Karajan stared down at Figin, lowering his head until the pair were staring into each others' eyes. Karajan's yellow slitted gaze was, as always, hypnotising and terrifying at the same time.

“As you wish it, Great and Mighty Karajan. Speak what you wish of your servant, and he shall fulfil it!”

“Excellent” The dragon gently lay on his belly, then rolled onto his back, having to spread a wing flat to facilitate the maneuver before refolding.

“The rite first demands you service your master, Figin. I do not want your polishing attempts to go to waste, though; spill not a drop on me or the floor” The suggestive tone was silent to Figin who listened to the words as gospel, and went to appease his master. He bowed as he approached and gently stood on the great muscled leg of Karajan, and scrambled on top. The massive, erect shaft was a challenge he had dealt with before, a number of years ago, as punishment for a failed breeding session with another Dragonlord. Figin did not know what he did wrong, but he was expected to pick up where she had left off.

Considering how much sleep Karajan had recently had, and the lack of a mate, and the distinct lack of 'scent' Figin had detected, he realised that the second stipulation of the challenge, no spillages of the almighty seed, would prove extremely difficult due to how backed up his master almost certainly was. Still, he was Underboss for more reasons than size and leadership qualities.

A third spell, this time a subtle wobble to his form although nothing apparently lingered. He then wrapped his arms around the great shaft, and pulled it to a more upright angle. He used his past experience, as well as his own quiet time to his similiarly shaped member, to adopt an angled grip. Inner elbows just off the spiney arrangements on the sides, face to face with the larger protrusions at the underside. He proceeded to use his magically enhanced size and strength to slowly pull along, then push back the flesh of his all powerful master.

Karajan rumbled at his core as the sensation lit a fire that had been dead for a long time. Usually it was an instinctual desire to mate, to propagate the species, but he'd known of one other time it triggered, a long time ago before he was as big and mighty. That this tiny underling, impressive for his race but still nothing to the great and venerable Dragon, was causing the reaction. Karajan smiled, for if the tiny being succeeded....well, still room for error yet, no sense getting ahead of himself.

Figin slowly increased his rhythm. He had to occasionally shift his grip as the erect shaft swelled thicker as the enticement strengthened. A small amount of pre pooled at the opening, and with snappy reactions, Figin wrapped his mouth around it, only slowing his strokes slightly before adopting another technique. The Kobold tail was a clever appendage when trained well, and Figin was a master. He wrapped his muscular length around his masters base as far as he could and squeezed, writhed and made short jerking motions.

Karajan had long since forgotten about thinking logically, and was instead dedicating his considerable iron will to prevent himself from squashing the Kobold against his massive cock and taking over. So expertly handled, he felt a pleasant ache run deep inside him, a pressure mounting. He was so close, literally ten years of inaction was about to truly test the dedication of the Underboss.

The spell still going strong, Figin could feel the increasingly rapid breathing of his master, a vocal moaning giving way to a deep, beastial roar as, testing the extent of the magic he had cast on himself, he pushed himself onto the giant shaft, wincing as the barbs raked at the inside of his mouth and throat, ending just shy of his forcibly misplaced lungs and heart. Bones submitted to flesh until Figin's legs were dangling in the air, and with a deft tensing of his throat, Karajan exploded flame on one end and his load into the Kobold. The Dragon writhed, legs and wings fluttering and slamming against the floor with echoing smacks, small cracks forming from the impacts.

Ten years of buildup was usually the sort of treatment that a Dragon would undertake to guarantee pregnancy. It would fill a female so full that it would bulge their belly and take so long to be absorbed or excreted out if they weren't impressed with the male, then it was of no matter; their egg cycle wouldn't outlast the fertile seed placed within.

For an eight foot tall Kobold, though, it was an exercise in how hard to bite to prevent him being shot off the massive member and without harming his master. The sharp teeth still retained much of their rigidity, and Figin could only bless serendipity that Karajan enjoyed a little prickling action, as after five seconds of expulsion, a second bout began, and a third. Figin stopped paying attention to the details and the facts, as important as they usually were in his line of work; he instead hoped and prayed he had the endurance to keep secured in place, even as his midsection bloated and bulged, scales forced apart as both his magical elasticity and enhanced size were being put to the ultimate test.

Midsection bloating as the pair shared a moment where neither was paying any attention to anything else but each other, wholly different reasons why. Figin's increasing weight began to further pull him from his encircling of his masters shaft, he struggled, pulling himself back along as hard as possible on whatever he could grip, only further exciting the already beyond-edge Dragon.

Karajan finally went slack, chest rising and falling rapidly as he recovered his breath. Figin also struggled to breathe; he hadn't inhaled in a full minute, his entire throat only just feeling the reducing mass inside of it, and he took the opportunity to withdraw. Air shot through his nostrils as a gap presented, and he used it to swallow deeply of his masters seed.

With a soft pop, Figin gasped for breath, burped loudly, then resumed his heavy breaths. Karajan, laying still with a broad smile on his maw, deeply satisfied, finally mustered the strength to lift his head. He looked at the Kobold on his upper belly, both of them dry of the sheer quantity of seed the Dragon had given. The Kobold, still enlarged, sat with a vast belly bigger than any being of his size; if he were a pregnant Kobold, he'd be starting a colony of hatchlings. He was easily five feet wide around.

“You are a truly remarkable Kobold, my servant....I would have applauded taking on half of my seed; I almost laughed when suggesting the rules of the rite” The Dragon rumbled a chuckle. Figin fidgeted to attempt to either move off to bow low, and finding himself stationary, attempted the same whilst still on his masters belly, but both proved quite impossible.

“Forgive my-nnngg....” he stifled a belch, or an attempt to throw up, it was hard to tell “My lack of respect, Oh Great and Mighty Karajan, but I can barely move. I otherwise bow to your praise.”

With a low rumble, a great deal of slackness to Figin's form shifted back, his elasticity fading. He pinched shut his maw, plugging his nostrils and defied his natural insticts to expel his masters seed. Curiously though, as he gulped it back down, the pressure first rose, then decreased, his gurgling gut processing the substance rapidly.

Karajan's eyes flared for a moment, then widened at what he saw. Figin wasn't paying attention as the Dragon engaged his ability to see magic, only to essentially see a sun in full brightness as the inherant magic in the Kobold and the natural magic of any component of Dragon melded.

“The rite....hm, nevermind. Once you have finished receiving my gift, I believe you left a task unfinished. Resume” Karajan gratefully waited for the bulge to recede in Figin's guts, albeit not completely, and allowing him to slide back to the floor and retrieve the brush, applying another dose of polish. Without further word, the Kobold buffed up the upper legs, back and fore, another dose of polish, and climbed onto the Dragons back.

Expediting the finer muscles of Karajan's wings to allow him to relax for the rest of his masters back, Figin adopted a methodical pace for the tougher, harder scales of the huge Dragons' back.
Enjoying the sensation, although not as exciting as his underbelly, the Dragon breathed a sigh.

“I'm old, my servant” he whispered. Figin stopped for a moment, then resuming, face twisting into a worried expression.

“You're as mighty and wise as ever, Oh Great One. Age has given you insight beyond other Dragonlords” Figin believed the platitudes, but he doubted they would work.

“No...my blood slows, my muscles weaken, my magic fades, Figin....there must be a change”

“Oh Mighty Karajan, I do not understand this test; your strength is unchallenged, your arcane mastery beyond all!” Figin was distracted and stopped brushing. It then fell from his hands and slid off of the Dragons broad back as a pulse of magic shook through him, a dispelling effect.

Figin shrank, his strength failed him back to conventional for his size, and his mind rippled as so much around him altered; Crater-Vale a hundred strong...hadn't it been so much grander once upon a time, a thousand? Two thousand? Karajan being the Master of the Southern Slopes when it was once of the whole Goshev mountain range? The hoard was small, it once filled the majority of the chamber, not one sector.

Figin blinked and looked down, the bright shine of the scales fading, cracks and chips obvious where they didn't exist before. The broadness of the back reduced, a narrower platform, wings narrow and pocked with holes. Even the mighty crown of horns, snapped and battered. Figin began to weep heavily.

“No, Master, please! I have failed your rite! All I see and believe has been tainted! Cast me from the clan!”

“You haven't failed! I have!” The Dragon roared. Snarling briefly, Karajan shook the Kobold from his back and turned about, slamming a massive draconic hand next to the snivelling servant, the thump echoed about, then died out, leaving silence.
The snarl softened, turning into a troubled, somewhat sad expression. A moment or three passed, the silence at last broken by a third voice.

“Great and Mighty One! Good and strong Underboss! We're being attacked!!” Lalep rushed through, clearly unable to decide between bowing or getting nearer to ensure he had been heard. The stinging tears now went unnoticed as Figin stood, powerful as he could be, adopting a strong stance and gesturing a pointed claw tip down the corridor. His voice screeched firm.

“Let them fall on the traps and muster the planker shieldbearers! Cast poison into the breach and endure until we can muster a spearwall at the entrance of Crater-Vale! I will be there in a moment to provide support!” Figin watched as Lalep bowed and fled back through the caves.

“Master....I must go, we will defend you to the last Kobold” His shaken resolve came through his voice, Karajan knew his servant meant to literally pull through with a sacrifice on his behalf.

“STOP” the word stabbed through the Kobold, paralysis magic. The Dragon repositioned himself in front of the Kobold, laying flat, snout inches from the Kobold. His expression was new to the servant, the sadness present before amplified twice over.

“It's my time, not yours. I know our foe. It is Jaraesi, the female Dragonlord of the Western shores that scorned me, when when I....unjustly punished you for my shortcomings. I have been failing for decades now, since just before you were born, my brilliant Underboss. I knew I couldn't keep up with her, so I first attempted to barter by providing her with hatchlings, but I was inadequate, my stamina drained and my strength depleted.” The Dragon closed his eyes and could barely stand to keep eye content.

“I have been using the Glamour spell since then, as my body degraded, as I kept Jaraesi back by paying with my hoard. As my magic faded, the bond we make as a clan was slowing you all down. NO LONGER!” He barked, nodding to himself.

“I have never been so special as to earn your praise. Dragonlords of my ilk are many. A Kobold of your gifts though? That is special”

Figin finally felt control return to him, and he sheepishly stood, dumbfounded, little difference if he could still move or not.

“So, as for the rite. I've never heard of a Kobold who had the strength, guile and aptitude of magic to perform as well as you did. It is an ancient tradition, a Passing of the Flame, an old way to prevent our kind from going extinct. You have absorbed the power from me; if you had performed as I expected, then the ritual wouldn't have mattered much; Jaraesi is a mighty female, you would have likely been of similar size to me, but now? My impressive servant?”

The Dragon raised a claw, several spells drawing from his great form,  usually an afterthought, but it was obvious he was struggling to weave it with the strength necessary. He finally drew power from beyond. Figin again enlarged, strength flowed through his limbs. Karajin reduced in size, halving then quartering, bringing the pair into similar sizes. Karajin still took no effort pushing the confused Kobold onto his back, and licked at his servants crotch. Figin grunted as the continued licking and teasing produced his own similarily shaped member into the open, the deep red, eight inch mass contrasting with his green scales.

“Witness my show of  submission and succeed me, Firaegin. You will be magnificent, like nothing seen before” He said, voice no longer booming, but gentle, deep with adoration; he turned, raising his tail and bowing his front low. Figin felt a shudder roll through him, more and more strength flooded his form, muscle swelled, shoulders broadened. His tail stretched longer and with a hiss, new horns erupted from his skull, blood trailing down the sides of his head. His already erect shaft swelled a few inches bigger, his eyes smouldered and glowed as he stood and shoved the Dragons back lower, and without barely a second of pause, he rammed his cock full hilt into his Master's receiving opening.

Karajin felt it, the rite completing. His magically shrunken form began to adopt the size as truth, his last casting held but his magic vanished in earnest. His wings atrophed and fell clear off, becoming naught but ash and dust. His tail, swung over Firaegin's shoulder, retracted in size. Broken horns fell free, leaving a solitary pair, clean and new. His hips narrowed, muscles strung out and lost form, but his scales began to regain their bright, colourful scarlet shade. Health, if no longer power, flooded the shrinking Dragon as his spine altered shape, bones reforming, quadrapedal turning bipedal.

Kaja the Kobold shrank against the growing mass of the growing green scaled being behind him as the tightness gave way to pain. Two limbs burst from Firaegin's back, skin stretching into a membrane and forming grand, mighty wings, his muscles again doubled in size and his skeleton began to reshape. He grew taller, dragging the Kobold with him as eight feet turned to ten, twelve, fourteen.

Kaja screamed in equal parts pain and pleasure as Firaegin fell forward, struggling to remain upright, keeping three legs planted and the fourth gripping the newly formed Kobold in place.
A deep, rumbling voice spoke to Kaja, it aroused him to the core; such raw power and control, a dominating spirit breaking free of the servile Kobold...no....Dragonlord.

“Do not cum unless I tell you to” The increasingly large Dragon mockingly chuckled as he cast a spell. Kaja felt a ripple run through him, pliability, the pain lessened as his bones were stretched apart to allow more and more of the ribbed shaft penetrate deeper and deeper. Kaja's own deep purple Kobold-hood pulsed and he struggled to obey his dominant partner, but with a loud scream, he came outside his own will.

“Forgive me, Master. I do not have the endurance!” Kaja begged, and the clawed hand again pushed magic into the spent Kobold. Renewed stamina and vigor flooded his slight frame as Firaegin roared. The twenty foot Dragon stopped thrusting for a moment as a concentration of power centered on his shaft, and with Kaja gasping in shock, the over two foot length squeezed the Kobolds insides apart as it swelled up and out of the other end, out of the three foot Kaja's mouth.

“No, that won't do” Firaegin smirked. More magic introduced as Kaja suddenly tripled in size. The Dragon continued to enlarge, the ground shaking as his enormous, muscled frame pumped harder and harder still.

Kaja's old form was soon superceded by the new growing ruler of Crater-Vale, as the fifty foot long dragon let loose a green, crackling and thunderous blast from his maw, and Kaja felt his insides flood with his masters ejaculate, filling him to capacity and launching him off of the shaft dramatically.

Firaegin writhed, and came again, his form swelling bigger, and bigger, and bigger. Eighty feet of Dragon soon collapsed on the ground as the floor became flooded with shot after shot of Dragonseed, The twenty foot shaft was ludicrously large even for the absolute enormity of Dragon possessing it. With a heavy sigh, at ninety foot long, Firaegin felt somewhat more relaxed, but not sated.

“Hmph, not enough” Firaegin rumbled. “I demand more...and you simply aren't enough, little one” He looked down at the practically comatose Kaja, swollen, coughing up more seed.

“We'll have to work on your endurance...but for now, I have a threat to eliminate” Firaegin took a deep few breaths to recover, then leapt upward, familiar with the tunnel Kaja, when Karajin, took to leave the clan grounds.

Outside, as the last vestiges of daylight sunk in the west, a great and powerfully built Dragoness wandered back and forth. Jaraesi thundered about, bright blue scales glistening in the dying light.

“Advance and take this pathetic excuse of a clan! Karajan must be dead by morning! He has held this place for too long!” She roared, a gout of icy breath causing a brief flurry of snow, the impressively large forty five foot long Dragoness the picture of strength. She watched her armoured Kobold horde slowly filter through into the cave mouth. A waste of resources, killing the underlings within, but the brazen attack should lead to the emergence of the weakening Dragon within.

A mighty, thunderous crash sounded behind her, and she spun in shock, the dust kicked up from the impact obscuring her attacker. A deep growl sounded.

“That's not Karajan.....by the blood!” She gasped as the figure, gradually coming into view reared up on his hind legs, enormous member standing proud, as he performed a decidedly more bipedal flexing of his muscles, shoulders and arms so vastly packed with raw strength the scales visibly had to give way to allow their swelling, popping apart. A flow of lightning filled miasma erupting from his cavernous maw struck the mountain, fragmenting chunks of stone and painting it green, arcing bolts of electricity shaking the stone further.

All activity stopped, Jaraesi's tail slumped to the ground, legs shook as panic sunk into her expression as the Dragon before her slammed his forelegs down either side of her. The Dragon, twice her size, stared down with glowing orange eyes, a sneer on his teeth and a deep, rumbling chuckle echoing on the mountainside.

Dragons were intelligent beasts, smarter than humans by some margin. They also were rather subject to instincts of the blood. They didn't see this as a weakness, but rather an All-Father Dragon overseeing that they do not forget their heritage.
It was no surprise to anyone why the once potent Dragoness turned and raised her tail, just as Firaegin's former master had just done not a short while ago. Like then as well, he kept three legs planted, and clutched the tiny Dragoness with the spare.

“I am yours, Great One!” She breathed as lubricant gushed from her folds “Make me yours and let us build an empire of hatchlings!”

“I didn't need your suggestion, although I do have one demand” He chuckled, breathing a spell into being. Jaraesi felt a ripple run across her form, and then she gasped as her folds were penetrated, and he buried himself as far as he could; she felt her intestines and stomach get shoved aside and her hips pulled apart, shocked as she didn't die from the sensation as her body had gained a supernatural pliability.

“Do not cum until I tell you to” He began his first act outside the Clan. The first of many changes, as his old master had said was needed. Jaraesi's will vanished and her eyes rolled back into her skull, icy drool poured from her mouth as the 'Empress of the Vast Ocean' was reduced to a toy. Her forces simply dropped their weapons and bowed, feeling each thrust as an earthquake.

Epilogue:

Mankind was a fickle lot. They had to endlessly debate the merits of allowing Dragons to have their way with the land, taking livestock and people for food, and the option was always a difficult one whether to seek a group to slay these monsters.

The day Firaegin landed on the castle of the capital, crushing it beneath his mass, however, would go down in the annuls of history as the day Dragonkind won. The last largest Dragon, a seventy foot beast called Gashadrak, had ruled an Empire that spanned one hundred years filled with blood and carnage, before a prophetic hero stood forth and sacrificed himself to end the tyrannical reign, absorbing nine other Dragons to become an Avatar of Divine Wrath, and even then that cost him his life.

Firaegin though was a different beast. He had the organisational skills of a chief clerk, a head for numbers and planning. He rearranged city trade under threat of destruction, but soon everyone realised that the country would benefit greatly from this new Master and adopted his word as law. Other Dragons were press-ganged into enforcing and protecting roads, occasionally going to war when other nations dared to take their prosperity.

Firaegin, the Emperor of Goshev, an ever enlarging land as other nations lost each excursion with ease, was in a position of impossible strength, and nobody would dare go against his wishes.

Except one entity.

He awoke, stirring as he felt something massaging his Dragonhood. He first looked across at his Empress, Jaraesi lay slumbering peacefully, proudly rubbing her abnormally swollen belly. Life detection magic told him she carried ten young, a ridiculous number for a Dragon's usual average of three to five, and each was as big as a year old Dragon already. She would be completely immobile in a month, and the laying still two more beyond that. Firaegin's pliability spell would see much use.

He looked down, witnessing four magically enlarged and empowered Kobolds, lead by Kaja, working his cock as best they could.

“You presume much” He rumbled, the four backing away and bowing against the floor. Well, not a floor, it was a vast plain of gold; they had to have an emergency mining crew, all of both Jaraesi and Firaegin's Kobolds, five thousand strong, able to swing a pick, to enlarge his lair.

“Forgive us, Oh Divine Emperor! Your power is intoxicating, and we lack the control to suppress it!” Kaja cried out, looking up with lust in his eyes. They shared a knowing moment; an adoration, a respect that Dragon and Kobold rarely developed. Firaegin could admit without stroking his own ego he had a knack for leadership, and Kaja, his old master, had been restored to that of a young adult Kobold, his failings masked behind his new role as second to the new Underboss, advising him with thousands of years of experience.

The sooner Kaja took the mantle himself, the sooner, in private, Firaegin wanted to thank him, have him resume the duties he, as Figin, had performed to Karajan. His mate was a fine thing, but in these months of pregnancy, being dangerously virile was a distraction. He could use a good Servant, to clean and service him.

“Well” Firaegin grinned and re-settled on his side “I didn't say stop. If you don't perform as well as my mate though, I shall have to punish you”

As the Kobolds resumed their newfound duty, Firaegin rested his head on the literal mountain of gold that was his bed.

So much better than a hay-bale.

END.