DRAGON SLUT
by Mitch Havel
----
Long ago, in a village whose name no one can now recall, there lived a young woman by the name of Petra. Now in those days, most people were not considered quite human enough by their social betters to bother with having last names, and so Petra was usually just Petra to those who knew her, or went by Petra the Miller's Daughter in more formal situations. It was a dinky little place after all, with only one miller and only one Petra, and thus she was unlikely to be confused with anyone else. And not that anyone would want to be confused with her, mind you, for she was described by even the most sympathetic of her neighbors as a thoroughly miserable specimen. She was a willow-thin, flat-chested girl with hardly any meat on her poor bones, with pale skin that spoke more of her convalescence from frequent illnesses than from the refined abstinence of labor enjoyed by people of condition, and with a long face that bordered on the equine in its loveliness. Although not faulted for being unlearned, as nearly everyone of station in that time and place was so, she was not particularly bright, and in addition had been nearly uninstructed in the useful arts of the household by the early death of her mother, and the general indifference of her father. One of the few things that she was actually good at was delivering bags of flour to customers, as despite all appearances her stick-like body somehow held within it reserves of strength that often astonished those who saw her on her trips about the village with her little wheelbarrow when the weather was nice, or beheld her labouring within the mill when it was not. The miller himself was not a popular man, as millers generally were not, and was thought to be a terrible cheat in addition to his other endearing qualities such as being a drunkard, and this scorn extended down to his daughter as well. Thus young Petra had grown up to be a rather forlorn and solitary figure, who found more enjoyment in the pursuit of carp in the millpond and snakes in the stones of the village wall than she did in speaking with her peers, many of whom regarded her as ugly as the things which she pursued. Indeed, even the most homely and desperate of the village boys would look longingly in the direction of the stable before even considering the thought of fornication with such a hideous girl, and even the village pervert pretended not to see her if they happened to meet on the road.
And so aside from a few oblique references or overhead conversations by those who summoned enough charity to tolerate her, Petra grew to adulthood largely without knowing what sex or the art of love truly meant. She certainly had feelings, of course, and might sometimes dream of the snakes that she caught in the fields, and grow wet as she thought of running her hands along the length of their smooth, cold bodies, but she had certainly had enjoyed not even so much as a kiss from the opposite sex. In this way life continued year-after-year, with the miller becoming more and more of a drunk as time went by, and the little hut that he shared with his daughter becoming increasingly  squalid. Petra did what she could to keep up with its maintenance, sweeping up the mud that her father tracked in heedlessly during his now frequent debauches,  but to little avail. The thatch roof was molded and falling through in places, the walls sagged inwards, and the miller would not lift a finger to do anything about it. To make matters worse, they were poor,  and it was a rare day when they had more than simple oats in their pottage, with the formerly thin Petra becoming little more than a walking ghost. What money her father made went either into the pocket of the brewer or their lord, Count Mulgren, who as the owner of the mill naturally charged rent for the use of his property. The Count was not an inordinately cruel man, but he had recently faced a terrible conundrum: his son, Jervis of Mulgren, had recently gone on crusade and gotten himself captured by the infidels somewhere or other on the road to the Holy Jerusalem, and was being held for a rather larger ransom than many who knew him thought he was worth. But a son and heir is a son and heir, skillful warrior or not, and the Count began to squeeze every silver penny out of his holdings that he could to one day save up enough to free him. The rent that the miller paid for the use of the town mill went up, as did the rents the other villagers owed to their lord, and the miller began to charge more for his service as a result. A great deal of grumbling was caused by this, with Petra sometimes being pelted with clods of mud as she went about the streets through no fault of her own, but once more there was little that she could do.
But one day, life for her was forever changed.
Near the town stood an ancient tower that had been built long before the ancestors of the residents of the town had ever come there, and which had been abandoned for many years. Yet one Summer, it became known that a scholar named Claudius Minor had taken up residence there, a man who some said had the reputation of being a wizard. The shire reeve, always a great gossip, spread it around that the man was a sorcerer of some sort, and who had learned strange arts from the Moors and Jews at Cordoba. Many other stories were told of him, with much of the better sort of people in the village shunning his company when the muttering old man would come in for some purpose or other. But the miller didn't mind: the scholar always paid in good silver, and gave him much more than the rest of the penny-pincher villagers ever did, for the scholar cared not at all for wealth. Thus it was that on a sunny day towards the end of Summer, Petra found herself wheeling several bags of flour out to the wizard's tower, quite unaware that her life was about to change forever. It was a long journey on the dirt road that led out of the village, with the sun hot overhead and most of the men from the village out at work in the fields. Petra noticed that many of them tried their best to ignore as she went, with none of the whistles or solicitations that usually greeted the passage of the other young women being sent her way, and she frowned as she noticed several of the men grouping together and laughing as she went past. Pushing faster, she eventually crossed the little bridge and the stream that marked the boundary of the Count's lands, and spied the ancient stone tower in the middle of a field to her right. It was an ugly thing, a square-topped stone ruin that was rumored to be haunted by demons and other hideous things, and it was with trepidation that Petra forced her cart up the thin path between the tall weeds that had been beaten down through the field. There was nobody around, with no sounds or hints of life audible or visible through the barred windows far above her, and she wondered if perhaps the scholar had gone somewhere. Still, it had been a very long and hot trip, and she couldn't just leave without risking a beating from her father, and so she decided that it would be a good idea to knock. The door to the tower was a thick construction of ancient vintage, a tar-covered thing that looked as if someone had tried and failed to burn it in some distant age, and it was with real reluctance that she balled her hand into a fist and pounded on the wood.
Nothing.
She knocked again, and then again, even adding in a shout, but to no avail. Crickets chirped mockingly in the high grass around her, and the heat of the day combined with the laughter of the young men at her ugliness earlier provoked something of her temper. Petra had enough waiting, and boldly seized the ring handle to force the door open. As she did so, a cold gust of air came rushing out like bats escaping from Hell itself, and she could see within the benighted interior a set of stairs. Calling out once more that she was the delivery girl come with the flour, she was given no answer save her own voice coming back to meet her, and for a moment felt her resolve slip away. But there was nothing else to do: would she stand here all day shouting for a deaf old man, or would she go home to face the blows of the drunken miller upon learning that she had left sacks of precious flour unattended? After a minute or two of cogitation, she made the sign of the cross upon her breast, and then stepped into the darkness. At once, she felt a sense of relief in the cool interior of the tower, and in spite of her fears she thought that living in a stone building might not be so bad at times. Before her loomed a great staircase that curved sharply at the top, and at the bottom of which lay a stout door that had been torn from its hinges by some incredible force. Cautiously, she stepped across this fallen sentinel, the thin leather of her shoes barely audible upon its scarred surface, and began to climb the stairs. To her surprise, the darkness was not as total as she thought as she rounded the bend in the staircase, as many tiny holes in the roof and in the casement allowed streamers of light to surge through in a fashion that was actually quite pleasant for her to behold, and it was with a sort of wonder that she proceeded. Yet, something told her that she should be cautious, and it was as she climbed that she realized that she had been instinctively listening for something without realizing it. Petra, always sharp-eared, began to hear small noises above her, as if someone or something were moving around. Carefully, she lowered herself into a crouch, and continued on as quietly as she could.
To her astonishment, as she rounded the final curve of the stairway a shimmering light illuminated all that she could see, with every color of the rainbow shifting and gleaming like stars in the sky. The stairs led up to a great room from which the strangest smells wafted, and within which Petra could hear a sort of muttering sound as if someone were talking to themselves. This was Claudius Minor, not quite mad as the proverbial hatter from his glimpses into the realms of forbidden knowledge, but pretty well getting there. He often conversed with himself and with the minor spirits that he sometimes summoned to aid him in his studies, which today centered upon a most curious book that he had acquired from Sicily. It was a baleful thing, an Arab translation of a text written by inhuman hands incalculable ages in the past, but powerful indeed. Claudius chuckled to himself as he thought of the strange transformations that he might be able to affect upon himself and upon others once he had fully unlocked its secrets, and wondered how soon he might be able to do so. His train of thought was interrupted by the chatting of one of his spectral servitors, who babbled a warning in the mental language of such creatures that a stranger was near at hand.
"Hmm? An intruder?" Asked Claudius aloud with a laugh, after which an evil grin spread across his features "Well well, come on in! There's nothing to fear from old Claudius! Come here, and let me see you!"
The strange cacchinations of that ancient scholar provoked a surge of horror within Petra, and without a thought for the sacks of flour or her father's anger, she turned to flee down the stairs, only to be stopped dead in her tracks. Some force had taken hold of her, and against her will, she found herself turning and starting to climb back up the stairs. Unable to control her body or even to scream, she entered into the study of the wizard as if she came there willingly, and beheld the man staring at her with unwholesome intent.
"Hmm, miller's girl. Well....." Said Claudius as he looked her over, his deep eyes full of malicious intention "You will do, you will do."
Clauius made a strange gesture, and she knew no more.
-----
What followed had the quality of a dream to it, with strange shapes and shadows dancing around her in a dark chamber of infinite size. Whole worlds swirled and pivoted about her in that empty space, and as they moved she could feel a strange wind that passed over her body, which she realized was naked and covered in some sort of sticky oil. Far away, there came the sound of a bell, and then from all around her a chorus of voices could be heard to raise their voices in song. But this was no wholesome song of the church or of the tavern, but something else, and Petra swore that the singers made noises that surely could have come from no human throat. All the while, she felt as if the eyes of the old scholar were staring through her, with their sharp orbs boring a hole into some secret, private part of her that no one had ever before touched, and which lay deep within her. She tried to cry out for help, to call for someone to save her, but could not, with the sound of the bleating chorus growing louder and more hideous with every second. Something within her was changing as well, and there came a sense of tugging or pulling upon her limbs as if she were being stretched apart by hands of incredible size, and she felt as if she might burst. The chorus of voices grew louder still, with the words becoming nothing but awful shrieks and the screams of things not of this earth, things enormous in size and terrible in their weight and power. Petra felt an incredible bulk settle upon her, and felt cold, sharp talons part her skinny legs in a way that was impossible to resist, with gusts of hot breath that felt as if they might have blown from Hell itself caressing her naked skin. Her mouth opened in a silent squeal of pain as the gravity of that terrible shape pushed upon her, and she felt something hot and covered in slime brush against her thigh. There was a terrible wind as that thing settled itself upon her, her cries unheeded as she begged and pleaded to be let go, to be left alone. The invisible weight shifted, and shoved something enormous into her that was wet and smooth like a snake.
----
The moon was shining through the holes in the thatch as she awoke, cold sweat upon her brow, and cold fluid dripping down her thighs. She sat up, the wool blanket falling to the old straw that she rested upon, staring with horror into the darkness of the hut. There was no one there; her father was still out carousing, and she must have had a nightmare. But it had all seemed so real, she thought to herself, and that terrible thing.....
Petra lay awake for hours afterward until her father came stumbling through the door, smelling of the mud that he had fallen into along the way. He flopped onto the straw without removing his shoes, left out a grunt, and was soon snoring loudly. The room stank hatefully of ale now, and Petra rose from her bed with the blanket around her and walked quietly outside. The full moon shone like a silver lantern across the earth at that hour, with every tree and blade of grass becoming lovelier under its gaze, and Petra soon found the atmosphere of her strange dream beginning to fade away. Eventually, she sat down against the damp outer wall of the hut intending to watch the moon until dawn, and fell asleep. The next day she awoke to find her father still fast asleep, and set about making some porridge for him to enjoy later when he awoke. This was something that she did often, and today she found herself to be strangely hungry. Yet, after she had gathered the water and the oats and began to cook them, there was something about her creation that she found repulse. It smelled sharply, and she found herself unable to contemplate the prospect of eating what seemed to her something better suited to horses and donkeys. When it was ready, she set it aside to cool, and wondered what she would do with herself today. In bygone times, her father would have been awake to march her off to the mill, but not so much anymore. On days after drinking bouts such as these he might sleep the day away without stirring, and would be cross if she tried to wake him, and thus she felt free to do whatever she wished. And strangely, the first thing that came to mind was to lie in the darkness beneath the bridge over the millpond.
What a silly thing, she thought to herself with a laugh, am I to lie in the mud like a dog now?
But the more she thought of it, the nicer it sounded: the cool dampness, the gentle brush of the grass upon her flat stomach, the squelching of the mud beneath her scales.
Scales?
Petra shook her head as if to clear away the thoughts that lay within it, and resolved that she would go to the mill, but only to clean up. There was really nowhere else to go, and seeing her wheelbarrow sitting in its corner within that familiar setting would set her mind at ease after such a strange night. Thus, shutting the door of the hut carefully behind her, she went on her way singing a song appropriate for the summer sun. Yet, as she walked, she found that she could think of naught but carp....
It was close to sunset by the time that she had finished, her stomach bulging as she settled into the wet reeds that grew alongside the millpond. How great her hunger had been, and how she had been unable to restrain herself as she beheld the plump, grain-fed carp swimming within the pond! They were the property of the Count, of course, but she no longer cared. She had sniffed the air like a hound before removing her clothing, and having sensed that she was alone, she had leapt in, her lithe body gliding smoothly through the water in pursuit of fish. Once, long ago, her father had dared to poach one from the pond, and she could remember well how it had tasted that night after it had been roasted upon the hearth. But that taste, once so special, now seemed dead and insensate compared to the genuine issue; real, living meat! How strong she had felt, how alive as she chased her prey from one end of the pond to the other, feeling in their panic a sort of delight. Now sated, she had bedded down in the soft weeds to sleep, a feeling of satisfaction that she had rarely felt before in her life filling every part of her body. She felt powerful, larger somehow than she had before, and thought not at all of her father or anyone else as she fell into a dreamless sleep.
Later, long after most of the village had bedded down to take their rest, the night had been rent by hideous cries that set the dogs to barking and babes to screaming in their cradles. Only a creature of Satan himself could make such unearthly sounds, the peasants told themselves, and it was only the very bravest or the most foolhardy that ventured forth to investigate their origin. A party of young bravos eventually gathered together with the reeve at their head, and set out with lanthrons and whatever crude weapons they could get around at short notice. Their search centered on the eastern edge of the village where the cries had first been heard, with the cottars there cowering in fear and swearing that something terrible had been heard screaming down by the mill. By that time, whatever was making the noise seemed to have moved off, and it was decided to wait a few hours until sunrise to pursue it. Later, after the more timorous of the village folk had joined the hunt following the break of day, no living creature could be found in the woods and fields that bordered the settlement. Yet, upon a search of the vicinity of the millpond, an ominous sight was discovered there that would be the talk of the village and its surrounding region for a long time to come: a set of prints in the mud, half of which were those of an ordinary human handprint, and the rest those of some novel animal that not even the Count's huntsmen could identify. The old whispered among themselves that this was surely a sign of strange things to come, and were eventually proven right.
---
For her, there was no longer such a thing as fear.
Surely, it had been terrifying to awaken beneath the bridge so terribly altered in the space of a few hours' rest, but Petra had grown used to the changes in time. That first, horrible night had been the hardest: running hand-over-foot like a beast, braying in a voice that was both human and not, screaming for someone to find her and help her as the terrible moon showed its face. She had fled deliriously into the wilderness, wandering through hollows and dales all night until, at last, she had come to a place of safety. A great, chalky mount had risen from the midst of the forest, and there she had slept in a cave of rock and sand that smelled faintly of ancient bear, and which she would eventually begin to enlarge. Her body grew day-by-day, her skin becoming squamous and red, elongating and gaining mass, her hands changing to sprout terrible claws. She slept during the day, and would emerge by night to hunt the deer that belonged by right to the Count, and would return after gorging to her burrow to dig and later to sleep as the sun rose. Petra thought often of the dream of the wizard's tower, and had returned there only to find it crumbled to ruins as if swept to the earth by some terrible force, and had laughed in her new way at the sight of it. Once so frail, she had become hardened in many ways, and had grown used to the new sort of living that she enjoyed. Her breasts had sprouted, swelling out from her now armored chest, and she wondered what the men from the village would think of her now. The worst part had been the change of her skull: a shifting and cracking of old bones and cartilage, a terrible elongating that had filled her with the most incredible pain that she had experienced. She had been unable to eat for days after, her gums a mass of blood and pain as long, serrated daggers began to push themselves through that pink earth, and even now she still felt the pain of it at odd moments.
Trying to understand what had happened to her was something that had seemed impossible those first few days, and she considered many times that she had gone mad. But madmen now and then must slip loose from their delusions, or so she understood, and she would feel her body over and over, day after day, to find only the same alterations as before. She would say her name aloud over and over again, hearing in the terrible, deepened tenor of her new voice something that was deeply familiar to her, but something with which she had in some ways already ceased to identify. She was no longer simple Petra, the Miller's Daughter, but something.....else. She had become a beast; cursed by the wizard in his awful tower, cursed by that thing that had penetrated her, cursed perhaps by God. No, that wasn't correct - a beast was a foolish thing, acting only on instinct alone; something lesser. Petra was not that, as despite her new and awful form, her mental faculties had returned to her following the awful shock of her metamorphosis had subsided to a degree. She was something greater, something stronger than man. She was a dragon!
But not totally devoid of instinct, or desire.....
----
It was at moments like these that Brother Patrick wondered what he had done in life to so deserve God's displeasure. All of his life he had kept himself pure, and had prayed and fasted so often that his brothers at the seminary joked that he would be canonized before his death, and for what? To be carried off like a kitten by some hideous beast!
It seemed that he had come to the area at a bad time. He had thought the forest perfect for a solitary hermetic retreat due to its remoteness, and had approached the Count about the possibility of using his lands as a place of meditation and solitude, to which the nobleman agreed. Yet, he informed Patrick, a horror had begun to stalk the earth, driving off the game and destroying livestock by the dozen, and that he was well advised to stay away until his knights could hunt the beast down and destroy it. Patrick felt the situation to be a test of faith, and despite the Count's warnings had gone into the forest anyway. His first day had been spent in the construction of a rude shelter of wood, in which he had later rested until it had become quite dark. Trusting in God for his protection, he had left the lean-to and had gone into a clearing near his new home to pray, and had been ambushed by something out of the darkest depths of the pit. An enormous, blood-red monster had swept him up in its flabby claws, his prayers and pleas both unable to dissuade it from its course, and had stuffed him into its mouth to carry away. He had been astonished to have not been devoured on the spot, but he knew deep down that such creatures only carried off folks for a worse fate, and had begun to cry.
Patrick himself was quite young, being only nineteen when he had first taken Holy Orders, and had the fair complexion of a blonde, gentle angel. It was considered quite a shame by the women who knew him that such a man would pursue a celibate course of life, but Patrick was insistent that his was the right course, and left home without regret. His brother monks had sensed an intense faith behind his soft blue eyes, and were impressed enough by his devotion to allow him to seek a place of solitary exile as the greatest of their number were sometimes trusted to. If only I had kept a humble heart, thought Patrick to himself as he rolled about in the mouth of the great demon, I might have come to a better end.
It felt like a great deal of time had passed between his abduction and the arrival at the lair of the beast; but by the time of their arrival, Patrick was liberally coated with saliva, and had been so buffeted by his journey that his mind was somewhat taken off of his impending death. The creature had climbed a hill and stuffed itself into a great cavity in its side which Patrick thought to be its nest, and had finally lowered its enormous head and to gently spit him onto the ground. The heat from its body was incredible in that confined space, and Patrick backed away from it in terror as he made the sign of the cross and muttered prayers that he thought might be his last. He beheld in it a sort of mockery of the human form, noticing its long, thick legs and hips, it's enormous muscular upper body and breasts, and the long, horned head with its piercing eyes that glowed even in the dim light of that cave. Patrick could feel the workings of its terrible lungs, and feel the draw-and-release of its breath, which washed over him with such force that he was nearly toppled over. It would be any second now that the beast would strike, tearing him to shreds to feed the teeming hordes of young that were likely hiding somewhere out of sight. He told himself that soon he would feel the embrace of the Lord, and shut his eyes to await a swift and merciful death. Yet, to his great surprise, that is not what happened at all. Instead, the monster extended one of its enormous clawed fingers, and began to stroke his soft hair, once again grown long after his tonsuring some months again. It did this for a time, apparently content with the softness that it felt, and then lowered itself down with its elbows on the ground and its head propped on its hands to study him closer. Perhaps God really decided to save him, although not quite in the manner that Patrick might have been comfortable with.
There was something odd about the way it was looking at him, with a sort of gleam in its eyes that Patrick had beheld before in the gaze of certain women of his village who used to ask him to pray with them. In spite of the rather strange circumstances, Patrick found himself blushing as it continued to stare at him, and tried to do his best to pretend that he hadn't noticed it. But the longer he looked, the more that he began to feel that there was something feminine about it; long, sultry eyebrows above its oil slick eyes, a sort of pouty grace about the features of its snout, and not to mention the enormous breasts that he had regrettably noticed protruding from its chest. He began to sweat profusely, and tried to slowly back away only for his rear to come up against the thick soil of a cavern wall. He laughed nervously as it reached out again to touch his hair, and then began to stroke his body.
"H-ha, well...I uh, had better be going now. " He stammered out as the giant finger slowly felt him, doing his best to hide what had risen beneath his robes.
"You're not going anywhere." She said in a voice that was fit to shake the earth. "You are my property by right of conquest, and you're staying right here with me."
Before he could even begin to protest, she seized hold of his robes between two of her fingers, and split them apart as easily as a child separates a blade of grass. Patrick uttered a screech of terror and tried to cover himself, asking politely for her not to look, and protesting that he was a virgin.
Not for much longer she replied with a diabolical smile, and gently pried away his hands from his genitals, forcing his cock to flop freely between his legs. Patrick, always uncomfortable with the merest suggestion of intimacy, grimaced and tried to pull away, unable to hide the shameful erotcism that he felt at being so humiliatingly treated. God preserve me and stop this, he thought insincerely, how I despise it!
"You're a very lucky boy." Petra said huskily as she lowered her head closer to him. " I could have left you back in your tree fort to jerk off, but now you'll get what you really wanted all along."
Patrick felt a rush of hot air as her giant muzzle opened, and then her long, red tongue snaked out to taste him, licking in one careful motion from his ankles to the tip of his cock. He moaned as it slid along his balls, so hot and moist that it was nearly steaming, and he bit his lip as a shiver of pleasure coursed through his body. Stop, he gasped, please stop!
Petra chuckled, and said that she was just getting started with him.
She picked him up as the little man kicked and whined in her fingers, and then lay on her back, opening her mouth wide as if she were going to drop him in. He screamed, begging her to spare him, and that he would do whatever she wanted if she let him live.
Anything, she said with an evil laugh, well, if you insist!
Petra spread her legs, her tail twitching in anticipation, and slowly lowered Patrick to the sensitive flesh of her pelvis. Please, he begged once more, I have to stay a virgin, please....
Ignoring his protests, she lowered him to the perfect height, and pushed him forward to make his cock thrust inside of her. It wasn't quite a match for size, but it felt quite nice nonetheless, with Petra groaning as she forced him to thrust in and out. Patrick, meanwhile, felt intense pleasure despite doing all that he could to distance himself from it, his hands pinned to his sides by the giant fingers of the dragon. He moaned and begged God for forgiveness as she forced him against her, sinking in so deep that the inside of her vagina could be felt against his legs, and he began to writhe as if struck by lightning as he felt her soft insides against his penis. She pulled him back once more, and then thrust him with all of her might into her, and he shivered with delight as he splattered her insides with cum. She let him spend himself inside of her, keeping him there for a minute or so, and then slowly pulled him back, shivering as he did so. Petra drew him up and plopped him onto her belly, where he fell breathless against her warm scales.
He hugged her tightly, feeling it was the right thing to do, and shut his eyes as he felt her titan finger once again stroking his blonde hair.
Well, she said with a laugh, it was a start.
----
By the time that morning came, Patrick was well and truly exhausted. The lust of the dragon seemed to be insatiable, and it seemed that she paused only to allow him to regain his stamina rather than out of a sense of satiety. He had lost count of all of the times that he had spent himself inside of her, collapsing at last with part of one of her giant breasts in his mouth, unable to continue. He had thought throughout the night that perhaps he would be allowed to leave once she was done with him, but a short time after they had finished she had made it clear that this wasn't the case. Petra had picked him up, and had placed him gently on top of the one of the giant moss-covered boulders within her lair, and from which there would be no escape short of growing a pair of wings.
"Be a good boy while I'm gone." She advised him with another stroke of his hair.  "If you do, maybe I'll let you sleep on my stomach later instead of inside of it."
Then, feeling hungry after her long night, Petra prepared to leave the cave to find something to eat as Patrick collapsed from fatigue.
----
The ambush had been a carefully-planned one: crossbowmen, pitfalls and dogs, and as many men-at-arms as could be arranged on short notice. Jervis of Mulgren, newly returned from his captivity at the hands of the Saracens, had insisted on leading the hunt despite his father's protest, and had lived up to his reputation as a warrior. Unfortunately for him, his reputation was a poor one, and now a section of the Count's hunting preserve was nothing but a blackened section of scorched earth. Petra had feasted that day upon the flesh of men, dogs, and horses, and had been about to return to her lair triumphant when a strange sound caught her attention. It was a sort of sniffling, sputtering sound, and Petra wondered at first if perhaps she had distrubed a nest of squirrels until she noticed the man trying to conceal himself in a mulberry bush.
Well now, she thought as she stomped over, what have we here?
Pulling the bush from its roots, a fire-scorched knight in blackened armor tried to get to his feet without success, and soon Petra had him hanging upside down by his feet. There was something strangely familiar about the figure that writhed and cried in a most unmanly fashion in her grasp, and she tilted her head to examine the design that was embroidered upon his tabard. It was the sunburst and eagle of Count Mulgren, and she surmised that this could be none other than his miserable son, Jervis.
With her other hand, she reached up and casually pulled the visor off of his helmet, revealing a face that was surprisingly unlike that of the Count's. Jervis had inherited his mother's good looks, being a thin, aquiline figure with black hair and stunning amber eyes, with all of the refinement and grace that one would expect from a well-born Latin knight of the period. Petra smiled, having briefly considered eating him, and then suddenly getting a much better idea.
---
Patrick had been trying to repent for his sinfulness with Petra came stomping back into her lair bearing something in her teeth. He tried to crawl back so that she couldn't see him in what was an entirely futile gesture, and gasped with astonishment was the dragon hunched over, and spat out a knight onto the ground. Before he had time to say anything, Petra picked up the newcomer and placed him on the rock next to Patrick, whom she began to caress once more.
"Hello my little pet." She cooed sweetly as she stroked his hair as she enjoyed doing "Did you have a nice rest?"
He began to sputter something, and realized that the knight was staring at his nude body, and tried to cover himself out of a renewed sense of shame. Petra laughed heartily at this, a sound which threatened to bring the rocks on the ceiling down, and told him not to worry, that they would be seeing a great deal of each other in the nude very soon. She reached up, and daintily sliced the armor of the knight as if she had been peeling a cheese, and by some miracle managed not to break any of his limbs as she did so.
"There now, no need to be shy." Petra teased "After all, you don't see me wearing anything, do you? Now you two boys get along, and try not to wake me up if you know what's good for you."
With that, she bid Patrick good-night, stretched and yawned, and lay out for a well-deserved nap. Both men waited on tenterhooks for the breathing of the dragon to deepen, and then as she began to snore, quietly began to whisper to one another. Out of an abundance of caution, they spoke to one another in the Latin language that they shared as educated men, so as not to allow the least chance of the dragon understanding their plans if she overhead them.
"I suppose death awaits us?" asked Jervis with a tremor of fear in his voice "And that there will be no escape from yon sleeping beast?"
"I'm afraid that you have somewhat misunderstood the situation." Replied the monk "For though I cannot promise otherwise, I believe we are being kept for...."
He gulped, and tried to continue.
The face of Jervis became livid as his new companion struggled for words, and visions of the worst heathen sodomy and torture came to mind. At last, Patrick mastered himself, and spoke the words that a monk would fear about all else
"....that we are being kept only for unclean relations!!"
Jervis, unable to comprehend how exactly one could successfully copulate with such a beast, decided that Patrick had gone insane during his confinement, and closed his eyes to try and think of a plan of action on his own. He tried for hours to come up with some idea of how to escape from the rock, but to no avail. As day turned to night, the knight found himself becoming quite sleepy, and had just settled down to rest when the dragon began to stir, and sat up with a yawn
"My my!" She said as she rubbed her giant eyes "That was quite a nap! Time to wake up, my little pets!"
Jervis could hear the monk muttering prayers as Petra roused herself, and cowered as she reached up to take hold of the young cleric once more. She pulled him down to her, and let him rest on her big belly as she stroked and coddled him. Intrigued, the knight watched for some time as the dragon lazily enjoyed the presence of her captive, and then turned her attention to her newest acquisition.
"Good morning up there!" She called to him "Are you the sort that just likes to watch, or would you like to come down here with us?"
"I would think" replied Jervis "That my horse would be more suited to your proportions, if only you hadn't eaten him."
"My apologies" answered the dragon "Although if I had seen you naked first, I would have saved the horse, and eaten you instead. Now then, let's get you down here so that we can see if you make for a better lover than you do a warrior, as I tire of your blathering."
Petra sat up somewhat, cupping her left hand to make sure that Patrick didn't fall, and reached up with the other to grasp the knight. He stood stock still, afraid that he would be knocked off of his perch by her hand, and felt her enormous fingers coil gently around him. Something about their rubbery smell made him aroused against his will, and he thought to himself that perhaps good things indeed could stem from defeat. The dragon drew him down to her, and carefully placed Jervis on the balance of her wide tail, where he sat as if upon horseback as he gazed at her anus. Petra's thighs splayed out beside him as she lay back, and the knight sincerely hoped that she would not forget that he was down there, as he would likely be killed instantly were she to sit up. Patrick, once again begging God for forgiveness, was being placed back in his old position on her thighs, which he now did with somewhat more enthusiasm and skill than he had before. The young monk found that after a short rest his fleshy desires had reared their head once more, and contemplated that it might take many years for him to become sated with carnality. He had denied his true feelings for too long, and now that he had no other choice than to serve the dragon, he figured that he had might as well make the best of it. To this end, as Petra had helped him to attain the right angle to enter her giant dragon vagina, he had pushed himself somewhat farther down than he had before, as he had noticed that Petra seemed to gain more enjoyment from him rubbing his cock against the walls of her cunt than within its midst. Jervis grumbled below him and did his best not to look up, thinking that one giant asshole was enough to deal with without having to see the monk's.
"Well boys!" announced Petra rather impatiently " I'm waiting! You had better impress me, or I won't have to walk far to get my next meal! Now fuck me hard you little worms, or else!"
With that, she pushed Jervis and Patrick against her, relishing their double entry into her orifices as she did so, and groaned with pleasure as she felt their hot cocks grind into her. Patrick was learning well, and thrust in and out with all of his might, flesh shivering as he felt every ridge and suggestion of bone within her as he pushed. Jervis, although bruised from his earlier encounter and somewhat fatigued, was far more experienced with sex than his formerly celibate cohort, and acquited himself well despite the somewhat smaller size of his cock. With the help of her giant hand, he mounted himself up higher and began to thrust furiously into the warm, tight muscle of her ass, gripping at the flesh of her thighs with his fingers as he did so. A shiver of satisfaction coursed through the dragon as her prisoners fucked her soft flesh, and a river of hot fluid began to trickle from her cunt to Patrick's alarm and secret joy. Petra lay back further and lapped at the air with her tongue as the monk redoubled his efforts, grinding again and again into her, and even reaching in to rub the interior with his free hand. Jervis cursed in anger as freshlets of vaginal fluid coursed down the thighs and asscheeks of the dragon, partially soaking him and provoking him to thrust with a redoubled fury. Petra began to positively roar with delight at this, and pressed her living toys against her all the harder for it, with the men being threatened with a momentary total envelopment to their mixed alarm and enjoyment. Feeling herself on the edge of orgasm, the dragon pushed them as hard as she dared against her pussy and ass, her legs curling as she emitted a screech of angry pleasure. Informed by the intensified thrusting of her prisoners that they were still alive, she held them in this position for as long as she dared to, pushing Patrick in so far that his entire body thrust like a dagger into the center of her cunt, and then began to spasm with joy as a white-hot orgasm burst out of her, pelvis shivering and mouth snapping at the air mindlessly. She shuddered with joy as she felt herself cum again and again, and did not feel the warm loads of her slaves splatter against her insides as the vibrations of her body forced them to orgasm with her.
It was almost as an afterthought that she helped Patrick from her steaming vagina, where he had fought for his very life in a river of dragon cum. She lay him on her big, comfy belly, where he lay sputtering and gasping for air as she tried to wipe him somewhat clean, and was soon joined by Jervis, who was his equal in ecstasy and misery. They all lay together for a few moments, with Petra enjoying the closeness of their bodies, and the men the unearthly warmth of her stomach scales as they dried off. The girl who had recently been nothing but the daughter of a drunken miller was, for what felt like the first time in her life, rather happy with the state of affairs, and thought to herself that things were starting to look up for her.
"Take a few minutes and rest" Cooed Petra as she stroked the slimy bodies of her little pets "That wasn't a bad warmup for worms at least, but  it's going to be a long day."
And indeed it was.
-----
Time passed, and eventually Petra's cave became the home for many more stolen men, most of whom were rather nice to look at; though she did take pity on a few others out of rememberance of how she had been treated early in life for her looks. Great knights and heroes from faraway lands came to do battle with the great dragon, only to be defeated and carried off to her cave for breeding. But of them all, Patrick and Jervis were her favorites, as you never really forgot your very first brood slaves, and long did they live in happiness together. As the years went by, Petra's cave was expanded, and she came to fancy the collection of riches as she collected males. Her hoard became stuffed with treasure as wealthy women and queens paid enormous sums to have their sons and husbands returned to them, many of whom left with a touch of what might have been reluctance. But that was OK: for Petra eventually became quite pregnant, and laid a large clutch of eggs for her many husbands to care for. These eggs would hatch to produce more slut dragons, each sluttier than the last, to the point where it became the new normal for human men to become the property of dragon matriarchs. Thus, when the men of the future thought back in pity to the males of the past who did not have a slutty dragon to care for them, they would always be grateful to the great Petra, the original DRAGON SLUT.