The Brogda Sídhe continues to gather allies for the coming confrontation. This time, he turns to an eager old friend he knows will be chomping at the bit for a taste of revenge against their common enemy.
Nestled in the heart of a jungle, between the towering trees, the soaring vines, and the sweltering heat, lay a small but prosperous kingdom. At its heart was a glorious jewel, a golden palace that rose from the jungle floor to the upper reaches of the canopy, glimmering in the dappled sunlight that streamed in through the foliage.
This was the kingdom of Annatar, and it served as a home to the many monstrous races of the old world, protected from the interference of humans and their destructive ilk by the Old Lore. It was a sanctuary, a place of peace, where the monstrous races could pursue their desires without fear of persecution.
At the center of the kingdom was a single man, a sorcerer of near-unfathomable power. He sat with his back to a stained glass window that depicted the erection of the barrier around Annatar, cradled by a massive throne that soared toward the ceiling, far taller even than the man himself. This was the Witch-King of Annatar, or, as he sometimes liked to style himself, the Bitch-King of Annatar.
Accustomed to wearing no clothing in the humid heat of the jungle, the Witch-King reclined in his seat. He adjusted himself, working his muscular glutes over the ivory cock that protruded from the center of his throne. His dark hair was slick with sweat, strands plastered by moisture to his forehead, parting around the two small horns that grew from his temples and curved back over his head. The sound of his deep, throaty moans echoed in the chamber and inspired many a member of the royal guard to adjust himself as they watched their king pleasure himself.
Lying behind the throne, its neck craned to watch the Witch-King closely, was a dragon with sparkling silver-green scales. Its tail wrapped around the front of the throne, the tip draped over the steps that led up to the dais. Its eyes sparkled with amusement as it intently watched the Witch-King’s self-pleasure for it could see the scene that was playing out in its master’s mind.
The Witch-King was reminiscing about earlier days, long before mankind had its monstrous machines, fed by the long-buried remains of long-dead creatures. He had cast his mind back hundreds of years, to when mankind thought it could conquer the world with nothing more than steel armor and faintly-enchanted blades.
"I have made it here at long last!" declared the paladin that strode unceremoniously through the front doors of the Witch-King’s throne room as he was busily pleasuring himself, much like he was in the real world.
"You and your deviant kind have corrupted the world for long enough! With the power that my lord and master has imparted upon me, I shall vanquish you and rid the world of your taint!" said the would-be slayer, raising his sword and shield, both marked with obsidian-black crosses.
With their barely-contained erections, and an all-encompassing desire to protect their master, the royal guard leapt into action. Their enchanted blades whirled in a clash of steel against steel, but they were no match for the deep black lines of fire that the paladin wielded with his weapons. The Witch-King watched with growing annoyance as his faithful royal guard were enchanted and promptly became disinterested in sex. Particularly, sex with men.
"Your guardians are no match for me, Witch-King," declared the paladin, leveling his weapon at the Witch-King. "Let us not delay any longer. Fall upon my blade and I shall promise you the mercy of a quick death."
The Witch-King smiled, his emerald-green eyes gleaming with sardonic glee. "I cannot promise you the same, little knight," he said. "But I can promise you a life of pleasure beyond compare if you become mine, right this instant. I will own you eventually, but it will feel so much better if you surrender already."
"With the power of my god inside me, his righteous fury and indignation, I will smite you where you stand, wretch!" said the paladin. "I shall not be defeated by the likes of you!" The paladin leveled his sword at the Witch-King and charged. But perhaps he should have paid more attention to his surroundings as by focusing on the king he entirely missed the dragon behind the throne.
By the time that the paladin saw the claw swinging for him, it was much too late. The force of the blow swept him off his feet and sent him flying across the room into one of the pillars of the throne room. "Vethrixx," said the Witch-King, bemused, "try not to kill our newest plaything, darling."
The dragon walked out from behind the throne, its every footfall making the floor shake. It descended the dais, its form shrinking away, scales disappearing into silvery petals that turned to glittering dust in the shafts of sunlight that streamed into the throne room. By the time that the dragon had reached the base of the dais, it had taken on the form of a naked man.
Vethrixx approached the paladin, who was struggling to pick himself up off the floor. He still had a tail, though smaller than the one he had in his dragon form. Silvery-green scales protruded from his elbows and his shoulders, as well as around the back of his neck. His teeth were sharp and filed into points. His ears were long, like an elf’s. Silvery hair fell in waves over his back, and two large horns each at least a foot and a half in length curved up and over the back of his head from his temples.
Holding his hands out to either side of him, Vethrixx conjured two balls of silvery-green flame. He pointed one in the direction of the paladin’s sword, and the other toward the paladin himself. With a whispered command word, the flame shot from his palm in a continuous, rippling cascade.
Vethrixx burned away the sword, destroying both it and its enchantment. He also burned away the paladin’s armor and underclothes. He destroyed the obsidian cross that was the man’s holy symbol and left him wearing nothing but the hair on his head.
With another whispered incantation, Vethrixx summoned vines to wind around the wrists, waist, and ankles of the paladin. The vines around the paladin’s waist kept him pinned to the floor, while his arms were pulled up over his head. The vines around the paladin’s ankles only pulled taut when Vethrixx had insinuated himself between the paladin’s legs, his large, imposing cock freely dripping draconic pre-cum onto the paladin’s sensitive skin.
Vethrixx’s cock was decidedly inhuman. It was covered in soft scales and tapered to a point. His master, the Witch-King, had told him that it was a pleasure unlike any other, that the ridges were rather pleasant to feel inside. It was his pride and joy, especially when the Witch-King availed himself of its pleasure.
The paladin was shaking with fear, something that Vethrixx did not appreciate. He looked into the paladin’s eyes, his deep green irises incandescent with power as he spoke a long and ancient incantation. When Vethrixx was done, the paladin’s eyes were glassy, his expression perverted, and his not-inconsiderable cock were standing between his legs.
Seeing his opportunity, Vethrixx pressed into the paladin’s eager hole, enjoying the tightness and the way that it spasmed around his cock. The paladin grimaced from the indubitable pain, but the paladin also moaned from the pleasure of it.
When he was firmly seated inside the paladin, Vethrixx began to thrust. With each pump of his hips he envisioned his cock thrusting into the paladin’s brain, mashing it against the insides of the paladin’s skull, turning the paladin’s mind into pulp for his master to remake.
Vethrixx obliterated knowledge, memories, personality, destroying every aspect of the old paladin to make way for the new. When he was done, the Witch-King approached and straddled the paladin’s waist. Then, the Witch-King took the paladin’s ramrod-cock into his hole and rode it, taking his luxurious time.
Vethrixx continued his pounding, helping his master remold the paladin’s mind, the paladin’s very essence. Together, they worked the Old Lore into the human’s body, turning him into something more, but also something less. When the Witch-King commanded Vethrixx to cum inside the paladin, he did so with glee, and watched as scales broke through the paladin’s skin, and a small tail emerged from between the paladin’s legs.
The seeds of the transformation had been planted, and would continue to grow over the coming weeks. When it was done, the paladin would be a dragonkin thrall, a slave aware of its past, but now all too eager to throw away its previous values and convictions all in the service of the Witch-King of Annatar.
"Ahh…" said the Witch-King, as he stroked himself to completion, painting his chiseled stomach and chest white with his cum. He did not pull off the ivory dildo and instead lowered himself onto it, spreading his legs as he lounged on his throne. "Those were the days, were they not, Vethrixx?"
The dragon made a small sound of assent but quickly noticed a strange ripple in the fabric of the wards that they had established around the palace. The Witch-King sat up, suddenly alert. The royal guard readied their weapons.
Stepping out of the swirling portal that opened in the heart of the Witch-King’s throne room was a handsome gladiator. His body glistened with sweat. His bulging muscles put to shame the biggest of the Witch-King’s guards. A crown of golden laurel rested upon his brow and he walked forward with confidence, as though he owned the place.
The dragon and the Witch-King both relaxed. "To what do we owe the pleasure?" said the Witch-King. "It has been a while, my lord. I should like to give your divine cock a ride once again."
The Brogda Sídhe grinned. "I’m already here," he said, letting the gladiator skirt fall to the ground to reveal his massive, straining erection. "Might as well, old friend," he said.
The Witch-King clambered off of his ivory dildo and walked to the Brogda Sídhe. He knelt in front of the godly member and licked it, shivering at the rapturous taste. "But I have come not for sexual pleasure," said the Brogda Sídhe, running his broad fingers through the Witch-King’s soft hair. "I have come to call on the banners. An old enemy has resurfaced and it is time to join war against him again."
The Witch-King looked up at the Brogda Sídhe with wide eyes and a gleeful grin. "You mean it, my lord?" he said.
The Brogda Sídhe nodded.
"Then it will be my utmost honor."