In the land of Dira, there lived Dragons for many centuries. They ruled the skies, they had set out kingdoms for millennia, and their culture was vast with many wondrous tales that interlocked each other's mythology.  For the longest time, they had never known another species as intelligent as them, who could question the greater mysteries of life.  Until they met the Stilreen.
For the past 2000 years, none of the dragons had known their world was hollow, a vast uncharted realm in the very depths of the earth, through which metal beasts lived in sprawling steel towns.  A gaggle of archaeologists became the first ambassadors, and after the first few decades of a rough-shod negotiation, they both flew the skies together.
The Stilreen discovered a new age, a new world, an endless expanse where clouds of thick smog did not wrap around ancient stalactites.  They had houses the same as dragons, they had family rituals though their beliefs were vastly different.  But always they shared the same skies in peace.  A peace that would soon end.
In a small city known as Merhof, Scira woke up from her bed with a surging energy.  School had been cancelled for all of the week, and the 9-year old was bursting with excitement for all the time she suddenly had.  The pink dragoness with white-bellied front and yellow hair, almost flew down the stairs with her pale wings to land at the kitchen door.
	"MORNIN'!" she squeaked.
	"Hahah, morning dear," her mother waved back, "sleep well?"
	"Oh yeah, I'm suuuper excited to hang out with Fortean!"
	"I'm glad to hear, is he coming over?"
	"Yahuh!"
The mother had purple scales and orange mane, her wings tucked behind her back with pyjamas and an apron.  With a stove designed to be lit by dragon breath, she cooked up some bacon and roasted potatoes, handing a plate to her daughter dressed in in a long t-shirt.
They ate together at a round table, surrounded by homely stone cupboards and a window showing a suburb of brick houses placed randomly across the land, without any roads to connect them.  As they enjoyed their breakfast, a cloudy day suffocating the sun, the radio was crackling on with the news of something that Scira was too bored to listen to.
	"The third anniversary of the Steel Sky Party's inauguration has been a rousing success.  After winning with 63% of the votes on their first ascension, they were the first victors of the controversial "Hollow Lines" method, passed by the Dira Diet Council.  Despite protests from critics, the DDC assured it a balancing point for the new political arena, allowing young parties to start afresh with radical policies."
	"Uuuugh I'm fallin' asleep again," she muttered mid-feast.
	"For the past three years, their domination of the Circuit has met some resistance from other parties, namely Dragons for what were called 'isationalist' and 'pollutory policies' with concern for aerial territories.  These were addressed by the Steel Sky's founder, Martius Hedlin, who had this to say-"
	"I'm gonna go play!" Scira shot out of her chair.  "What you gonna do?"
	"Mmm?"  The mother was listening to the airwaves.  "Oh, sorry dear, I'll just be around the house, making calls, you stay in the backyard okay?"
	"Okayyy!"
Scira had never known discomfort, thanks to her mother's job in the council which also made her somewhat-addled anytime the radio was one.  The backyard was the girl's own little adventure, a jungle gym with a slide, and monkey bars that she could grip with her wings.  Today's adventure was the deep jungle, as she put on a ten-gallon hat and picked up a small toy gun.
	"Here it is, the fabled temple of Sook-Ra.  According to the map, the Dungeon of Evils is riiiight, there."
She pointed under the slide then tracked her eye across the gym.  A nod to herself, she scurried up to the monkey bars and clambered through with meticulous dedication,  then swung her way over the long horizontal ladder.  Hooking her wing-claws between, she wriggled her body fast to dodge the imaginary darts of the temple's devious traps.
Then she felt something real hit her side, a plastic dart causing her to squeak and quickly vault herself forwards to the top of the slide.  Ducking behind cover, she peeked out over to the fence surrounding her home, and saw a mischievous little bonce, a glassy dome with steel cheeks and a pair of peeking eyes.
	"No!" gasped Scira.  "My rival's here already?!"
	"INDEED I AM!" the metal creature shot up.  "That treasure is mine, Scira, you'll have to race me for it!"
Launching over the fence with a burst of his jets, was a young Steeren slightly older than the dragoness.  Steerens resembled anthropomorphic planes, with metal-bladed wing-arms and glass-like faces containing their silver eyes.  Their mouths crept along the sharp-snouted front, and their legs were a twisting pillar of pneumatic cables.
Her best friend was Fortean, the rival now shrieking over the sky with a burning flame from his lower back.  He was wearing a flame-proof pair of shorts and a red vest, as Scira would join him in the sky, circling like vultures as they shot each other with their toy darts.  While Steerens were much faster than Dragons, the reptiles had better turning radius, Scira dipping her wing one side to quickly evade him.
The leathery flap of a drake's wings was drowned out by the hissing shriek of jet engines, the jet-plane turning sharp in a wide arc to come chasing her down and fire his darts at her butt.  She cackled and squealed, trying to roll and evade his shots, before one of her wings got "clipped" and she made a slow descent down to the backyard.
She landed safely, but rolled in an exaggerated "explosion" of dirt, smashing through the vines and mud of her imagination.  Fortean landed on his feet as his jet thruster turned off, his gun staring down upon her face whilst Scira turned breathless.
	"Always bet on steel," said the stilreenn with cocky grin, "you shoulda quit the game a long time ago, when there's better folks like me."
	"Mmm-mmm," the dragoness shook her head, "you mighta got speed on you, but I gots the smarts!"
	"Hah, smart?  You're a wingback, and yanno what we say about 'em?"
	"Uh...what?" she squinted out of character.  "What's a wingback?"
	"Oh, my dad's friends say it," Fortean shrugged, "that's what they call dragons."
	"OH, okay sorry," she cleared her throat to slip back IC, "yanno what they say about steerens?  They get ROCKED!"
She fired past him towards the slide and hit a small target on its roof.  This opened a small tray to unload a few rocks that came tumbling down the slide, straight towards Fortean who ran past Scira.  She dodged past the deadly pebbles and scooped up the relic from beneath the slide, a cheap-looking totem with a price tag half-torn on the bottom.
	"SEE YA NEXT TIME, FORTY!" she poked her forked tongue.  "Hehee, that was fun!"
	"Yeah, nice trick!" the stilreen stretched his metal arms.  "So uh, you hear we got no school all this week?"
	"Yeah it's great, we're gonna do so much stuff, down the park, down the stone ditch, OOOH we could play the new Scrape Fighter!"
	"Totally!  Hey uh you...you know I got a buncha new games, and maybe you wanna sleepover and play?"
Her face beamed with three Os for a mouth and eyes.
	"Yes.  Totally, we haven't done one in aaaages aaaaah that'd be great Forty!"
	"Heheh, cool."
She tried to high-five him but he stepped back with a wave.  For the rest of the morning they would play in the backyard, switching from jungle adventures to a space odyssey where they pretended to float in zero-gravity, zapping each other with space blasters which were also just plastic darts.
	"SCIRA, LUNCHTIME!"
	"KHHRRT, GROUND CONTROL, THIS IS SCIRA!" she muffled her voice.  "COMING TO LAND NOW!"
Fluttering down like an angel, she was joined by Fortean who just flumped on the dirt and waved to the mother.
	"Sup, miss?"
	"Hello dear," Scira's mom bowed, "would you like some lunch too?"
	"Sure, I like your food."
	"OH, MOM!" the girl took her hand.  "Forty wants to do a sleepover when we got no school, can I go?!"
	"Oh that would be lovely!" she squeezed her daughter's fingers.  "What day is it?"
	"Uhhhh...dunno, was checking you first!"
	"Well, actually this is perfect!  See, I have to go to do some boring adult things, and I was just thinking of getting a babysitter for you-"
	"She can sleep with us!" Fortean beamed with his steel teeth.  "I got lotsa plans fer Scira, it's gonna be great!"
	"That'd be...plans?"  Something ticked in her mind like a warning beacon.  "You mean, plans WITH Scira."
	"Uhhh, yeah, that's what I said."
	"He's got a BUNCHA games!" Scira squeaked, hopping on her feet.  "We gonna play 'em all night, it's gonna be great!"
	"Well...Mr. Lock has always been nice to us," the mother crossed her arms, "sorry, I'm a little muddy-headed today, if your father says yes, then I will let Scira go to the sleepover, and we can arrange a good time this week."
	"Oh he will," Fortean nodded, "dad says every dragon's gonna agree with him."
	"I...see."
That strange warning again blinked in her brain, but other concerns pulled her away.  They ate up a lunch of meat steaks, the stilreen munching it down where his mechanical body burned it in a stomach-furnace, then melted it down into fuel.

By the third day of no school, Scira was bored in her room, star-shaped in her bed and staring at her posters of kung-fu unicorns.  She had watched all her DVDs, her RPG save was just before that dungeon, and the few books she had were not distracting enough from the sunlight beaming through her window.  Everything else became grey and dull, compared to the excitement of The Sleepover.
In her own little world, Scira was oblivious to her mother's growing concerns, as she spent most of her days in front of the radio or TV, jotting down notes and making calls.  The daughter avoided the news out of sheer boredom, and came down after 1pm when all the good stuff was on, such as her current favourite, Angry Adolescent Armadillos.
	"No, I know," her mother said on the phone, "this is not paranoia, I've been seeing reports, I've seen the language they use, this is going to be bad."
	"Come on gang, let's ROLL UP!"
	"Yeah, it's time to kick some shell!"
	"They're already mobilising in East Dunes, my cousin works there, she has seen them!"
	"Watch out, Caardvark's got a trick up his sleeve!"
	"He always DOES, that's like his thing!"
	"Just, get me the Commissioner, we need to organise something, just call it precaution!  You've seen what the Steel Sky voters have done, it's not a few bad apples, it's more than that!  Thank you, get everything ready for tonight.  No, my daughter's fine, I have someone to look after her."
She put down the phone and redialled once more to the next colleague, Scira sitting oblivious with the great battle against the Caardvark, a demented magician whose powers of prognostication befuddled the protagonists.  But their heroics always shined through, balling up to form a pinball pincer method to roll up along the walls and crack his head between two orbs.
The battle was over, and good triumphed over evil in a neat-and-tidy 27 minutes.  The sleepover loomed in her mind, as she bounced on the floor with increasing velocity, her mother's smile turning sadder as the day went on.  They had their lunch, and she let her daughter waffle on about the latest episode of the 'Dillos.
	"And then, Tironcello, did a BIG DUNK and slammed on the guy's head, it went PSSSSH like a coconut!"
	"Hahah, is he your favourite?"
	"Yeah, he's the party dude!  ...you okay?"
	"Mmm?"
	"You got that weird look in your eye," Scira pointed past her mother, "got that wandering look when you feel bad."
	"No, it...it's fine."
That short delay confused her daughter, the mother brushing her orange hair and straightening out her shirt.  But Scira smiled expectantly, her pinkish scales shimmering in the light from the kitchen window.
	"I've been a little too busy, haven't I?" the mom grinned bashfully.  "Sorry, Scira."
	"Is something going on at work?"
	"Sort of, but it's nothing for you to worry about, I know my work is very boring."
	"Noooo it, um, it," the daughter licked her lips, "it's very interesting, it's just, a lot of the words are hard and I'm only nine."
	"Hahaha, you're so honest," she stroked Scira's golden hair, "you might hear some things in the past few days, about dragons and stilreen."
	"What kinda things?"
	"Bad things.  But don't worry about it.  Just be safe with Fortean and Mr. Lock, and then when I get back...we might have to plan a big trip."
	"Ooooh, where we going?!" the girl drake flapped her wings.  "We going to the beach?!"
	"I was thinking your grandmother's house, it's lovely this time of year, get a nice break from my work and the city."
	"YESSS, I love grandma!"
Finishing their lunch, they watched TV for the next few hours with Scira filling up her backpack, a quilt and her favourite pony-shaped pillow with a few snacks just in case.  They left their house in the late afternoon, flying together across the dimming sky.
The city had certain limits on flight, civilians forced to fly low between buildings through ordained corridors, whilst those with licences got to fly above the roofs.  Scira had not noticed there were more stilreen than usual in the air, flying much higher than them with most dragons fluttering down the streets.  Banners showing the new party were hung from the lights, showing silver trails streaking across a red sky.
Fortean's home was a granite-block house in prime real estate, on the sunlit uplands across the fields behind the industrial district.  Stilreen houses were shaped more like hangars, a wide front door and a single floor with several rooms reaching back.  They landed and knocked on the door, opening to reveal Fortean's silver-bullet face.
	"YO, Scira!  Ya made it!"
	"Hiii Forty," she waved, "ready fer the best night ever?!"
	"You bet!"
She tried to hug him but he stepped back, instead offering a sweep of the hand to allow her in as she cocked her head weirdly at him.  But she walked in regardless, heading down the polished-blue hall to meet his father.
	"Hello Scira," he nodded politely, "we're very glad to have you."
	"Hi Mr. Lock," she bowed to him, "how's you?"
	"Ohhh, wonderful thank you, much moreso now that you're here."
Despite being dressed in a polo shirt with tie and slacks, The F-14 father had a terrifying presence, his shadow looming over the little dragon.  His smile was patient from a long bold snout, and his glassy face had fogged over here and there.  His body was tall and strapping, his arms sturdy with gleaming biceps that had slightly rusted from the passing of age.
	"Now Scira," her mother handed her a card, "if anything happens, call me, I will come right here if needed-"
	"You need not worry," said Lock placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, "Scira will remain here safe and willing from any outside troubles."
	"So you know about that, hmm?  I didn't want to say, not spoil their sleepover an-"
	"It's unavoidable.  You do what has to be done, I am sure things will fix themselves accordingly...and the skies will be clear again."
A heavy sigh came from the dragoness, one of relief as she hugged her child tightly whilst doing her best not to tear up.
	"Goodbye Scira.  Mommy loves you, okay?"
	"I knoooow," said the daughter squeezing back, "see ya soon mom, g'night!"
	"I'll be back soon, and then we...we go to grandma's, alright?"
The girl nodded with an eager grin as she watched her mother leave.  Scira did not see her tears when she turned away, a sob choking up before she took off in the direction of her office.
	"Now, Scira," the father offered his hand, "have you had something to eat?"
	"Yeah, I'm good," she grinned up at him, "I been super excited for this, I love sleeping over with Forty!"
	"It's awesome," her young friend smiled, walking past, "it's gonna be the best one ever."
	"I quite agree," said Mr. Lock, leading them to the living room, "there won't be much chances for us to do this, once our kind start mobilising."
	"Wh-whuh?" Scira looked up.  "Mobilising, whussat?"
	"Oh, you'll see, in fact that's exactly why I wanted you here, a personal project."
	"Mmmmmm, is this work?" she reeled back, suspiciously.  "I didn't sign up fer no work."
	"Hahaha, typical dragon, never wants to work eh boy?"
	"Hah, yeah!" Fortean jabbed his snout at her.  "Yer just lazy!"
	"There's no SCHOOL, Fortyyyy!" she threw up her hands.  "I don't need to work, that's fer school and that's boring!"
	"Well, thankfully this won't be," the father winked at his son, "this is something my son and I have been wanting to do for some time, but we need a third...player."
	"Oh, yeah, okay!  You shoulda called it a game then, not a project, that makes it sound like homework!"
	"Hmhmhm, yes, well...anyways, shall we relax first?"
A stilreen house was always metal on the inside, specially-treated shades of stainless steel for the walls.  A lavish chrome blue covered them, but the furniture was still cozy with soft couches and smooth-stone chairs.  To settle into the mood, Fortean brought out a board game, his father joining in to see who would race to the end of a dangerous path full of traps.
Fortean won first and Scira managed to reach second, but when she tried to high-five her friend, he pulled himself back once again.  Dinner and TV was a quieter affair, a classic adventure movie with some steak cutlets, but all the while the dragoness felt an odd tension between the Locks.
That would be forgotten when she finally got a chance to play Fortean's new videogames, including Scrape Fighter where she was certainly not good enough to win, but enjoyed trying to pull off the many exaggerated moves of bursting fireballs, and summoning animal spirits through the power of one's fist.
Hours would pass as they fought through tournaments, battled to the depths of forgotten kingdoms, and shared stories they half-remembered of other kids from school.  Finally, it was time for bed, and the young jet went to his own fire-hardened steel bed, with Scira on the floor propped up on duvets.
	"Didya see the new Dillos today?" asked the girl.
	"Oh jeez was that on?" Fortean slipped under his covers.  "I forgot about that, don't tell me what happens."
	"I won't...hey, why didn't you hug me?"
	"What?"
	"When I came to your house, you didn't hug me, or give me high-fives, did I...do something?"
	"Uh, n-no?"  The F-14 grinned with a shrug.  "I just didn't wanna get dirty."
	"What, dirty?"
	"Yeah, from like, dragon stuff?  You didn't hear what they were saying about you?"
	"Whatcha mean?" she sat up, twiddling her fingers.  "Who said stuff about me, is it Jemmitha again?!"
	"No, Scira, it-"
	"I told her that was smoke dust, NNRRRGH I'm gonna kill her, what did she say about me?!"
	"It wasn't her!" Fortean snapped.  "Sorry, it's late, can I tell you tomorrow, it's kind of a whole thing."
	"Mmmm, okay."  She frowned, turning over.  "Are we still friends?"
	"What, yeah, I mean...you're in my house, right?"
	"So you're not mad at me?"
	"Pffft, no," the stilreen shook his head, "why'd I be mad at you, you're just a dragon."
	"I mean, yeah, course I am."
	"But like, you never thought what your life would be like if you were a stilreen?"
	"Mmmm...kinda?" she rolled back towards him.  "It's weird how you guys fly way faster than us, and your flames come out the back, and your wings are so stiff, but...I think you're really cool."
	"Heheh, thanks," he smiled, leaning close, "you think all us stilreen are cool?"
	"Yeah, totally."
	"Better than you dragons?"
	"Uh...I-i dunno," she looked down, fiddling with her claws, "just, wondered what it'd be like if I wasn't one."
	"Right.  Okay, g'night Scira."
	"Night Forty."
As they fell asleep, the rumbling drone of jets overhead shook the house, their proximity to the financial district making Scira feel the world was never asleep.

When morning broke, the faint smell of steel oxide rippled through Scira's nostrils, forgetting where she was briefly as she stared at the walls of aluminum round her.  She had not noticed the posters from last night, but now in the light of day, they were so much more different than when she had last been here.
Once there had been sports banners and cheering proclamations for the Merhof Mashers, but now there were posters for the Steel Sky party with various slogans.  "The Skies Belong To Us", "Testing Our Metal", and "Steel Heil".
Wandering through to the living room in just panties and a bra, she found the father and son setting up a camera and aiming it towards the couch.  Fortean did various odd poses, showing his ass and wiggling his stiff rudder-tail.
	"This good, dad?"
	"Perfect," said Mr. Lock manning the camera, "now we just wait for her to wake up an-oh, speak of the dragon."
	"Mornin'!" she waved at them.  "Watcha doing?!"
	"Ohhh, just setting up that proje-I mean, game, we mentioned."
	"OH RIGHT, yeah what is it?!" Scira bounced forth in her skimpy nightwear.  "We gonna be dancing?!"
	"No but it is a very physical thing, my son tells me you're a very fit little drake."
	"Yeah, I got a jungle gym in my yard, I use it a lot!"
	"Perfect," the stilreen senior walked over to her, "I just want to make sure my son doesn't miss his chance of committing a great service to the world.  Have you ever heard of the Steel Sky Party?"
	"Uhhh...s-sorta?"
He motioned Fortean to take over, clicking the camera on discreetly as the young aeromorph approached.
	"They're the guys in charge now," he began, "my dad an' me go to all their meetings an' they said that, your kind are poison."
	"Puh...poison?" squinted Scira.
	"Yeah, like your vermin, you make the country worse an' you been takin' our jobs."
	"But, I don't got a job."
	"Well yeah, but your mom does, and a stillreen coulda had it.  Remember when you said you thought what it'd be like if you a stillreen?  Maybe it's cuz dragons are uh, uh...f-filthy cockroaches!"
	"C-cock...roaches?" she frowned a little confused.  "What are you saying, that...Forty you been so weird lately, what's wrong?"
	"You're wrong!" he proudly said, stepping back.  "You're a dirty dragon, a filthy, nasty wingback an' I wanna be the one that...that ecks...eckstramin-"
	"Exterminate," said his father off-screen.
	"YEAH, exterminate, I wanna exterminate ya, and do stuff to ya, cuz it's what ya deserve!"
Whilst Mr. Lock felt a swelling of pride in his heart for his son's severing of friendship, Scira was stumbling to try and even respond.  She felt somewhat hurt at such words, but half of them she didn't quite understand.
	"But I'm not, filthy," she smirked, "I got clean clothes, look!"
	"Nah nah, I don't mean yer clothes," said the boy waving his hand, "I meant like, you, all of you, you dragons and yer scales and eck-stinkence."
	"Existence," Mr. Lock stepped in front of the camera, "your souls are tainted, your presence pollutes the sky, of which our kind should dominate.  You see my wings?  My son's too?"
They both stood together spreading their thick metal arms, a split triangle of rippling fuses running underneath to form a beautiful wingspan.
	"Look how splendid they are, thriving so thick with steel supremacy.  And then there's yours."
He walked over to Scira and gently gripped her wings, feeling along the soft leather as she whimpered with a trembling gasp.
	"So fragile.  So weak and borne of flesh.  Your family's lives are not worth clogging up this beautiful earth with.  You understand that your race is inferior, yes?"
	"I...I-i don't know, what does inferior mean?"
	"It means ya don't deserve to live!" Fortean bounced close.  "S'okay Scira, it's not yer fault, you were just born that way."
	"Mmmm...I-i mean, it's not BAD being a dragon but...you guys always seem so cool with your steel bodies."
	"Because we're better than you."
She shivered from the father's touch.  His cold fingers slipped between her wing membranes, feeling along her waist and rubbing the inside of her thighs.  Scira had never felt this sensation, and she looked down at Fortean to see something bulge in his crotch.
	"We know you never asked to be born inferior," said Mr. Lock, "it's a terrible thing to be a dragon, that is why we wanted you here.  To cure you...help you, help us.  You want to help us, don't you?"
	"M-mmmph, m-mmhmm," she whimpered feeling her crotch tighten, "i-if I don't deserve to live then...what should I do?"
	"I want you to make a message, to your other dragons.  Tell them how worthless, how primitive your species are, and let us stillreen take the skies with our superior steeldom."
	"Yeah," the son rubbed down her chest, "and then we're gonna rape ya."
	"R-rape?" she stuttered.  "What...wh-what's that?"
	"It's a game I wanna play...the best game ever, I get to be your rival and I kill ya, so you never suffer again being a dragon."
	"Ummmmm...th-this is kinda weird," Scira giggled nervously, "is this like, a sequel of the game we played at my house?"
	"Yeah," Fortean hugged her at last, "a real special game...for my favourite drake.  Can I rape you, Scira?  Can I rape you, and kill you, and make our world pure again?"
	"U-uhhh, I, I-i-m-mmmmph!"
Her head was fuzzy with emotions, feeling hot all over when a finger slipped into her virgin cunt.  Mr. Lock felt around her soft, sensitive walls, breathing exhaust on her face to make her shiver at his heat.  Something hard bumped against her lower back, a throbbing warmth that made her eyes widen, as her friend kissed her cheek.
She was just happy to be hugged again, her mind swarming with confusion and her first sensation of lust, by the dexterous fingers of the senior stillreen.  Their sultry moans and deeper touches made her wet, Lock helping his son fiddle her pussy as the aero-cub felt a warm, wet slit for the first time.  Her newfound arousal tipped her ignorant mind to a drunken smile.
	"Mmmmm...y-yes, I uh...I wanna play rape with you, wh-why am I sticky?"
	"Cuz you love it," Fortean whispered, "you want me to rape you, Scira?"
	"Yessss," she gasped, "aaaah, j-jeez, I feel so hot and, like, like weirdly happy?"
	"That's your body telling you what you deserve," said Mr. Lock returning behind the camera, "when a girl lubricates, that means she is happy, and knows her place well, especially if they're a dragon."
	"Sure does," moaned Fortean pushing his fingers in her snatch, "I wanna rape you Scira.  I wanna kill you so bad...like the f-filthy cockroach you dragons are."
	"AHH, MMMPH!" she squeaked with a little gush.  "O-okay!  Okay...th-that sounds, f-feels really good, I-i'll let you r-rape me!"
	"Then let's begin."  The father swept his hand.  "Step up to the camera, tell the world how you feel and what your kind deserve."
The boy stepped away from her, showing his finger slick with glossy pre as Scira trembled before the camera.  The way he had spoken to her felt like a love confession, made all the more intense by her first intimate contact.  Then she saw him slip off his shorts, sporting a stiff, steel, 6-inch cock that slipped free from a compartment.
She had never seen a boy erect before, a vent of steam from his slit as he panted with a growing depraved lust.  A clearing throat from Mr. Lock brought her back to the camera as she clenched her toes, her pink face turning red.
	"I-i...um, hi.  I'm a worthless...f-filthy dragon, and I....I deserve to die cuz I'm just a dirty wingback.  I-i deserve to be raped and, and killed, by the su, s-superior stilreens."
	"Lovely," the father fiddled with his crotch, "go ahead son.  Do what she begged for."
Fortean stepped up to her again, pulling her over to the couch and shoving her onto her back.  Climbing on top of Scira, he lined up his little dick, tore off her panties, and stuffed deep to the hilt in her virgin cunt.
	"A-AAAH, OWWUH!  TH-that hurt!"
	"MMMPH, yeah!" he gasped, panting above her.  "You like that you filthy drake?!"
	"NNNGH, HAAAH!  I-it...nnngh, k-kinda yeah, f-feels good?!"
	"It should, cuz you deserve it, you rape-loving bitch!"
Blood trickled out from her little pussy, her hymen breaking apart as he drilled deep into her body.  A raw flossing pain scrubbed her walls, causing her to wince and squirm, trapped between her awakening pleasure, and the disturbing agony that grew from her rape.
The steel hips slapping her thighs would hurt as well, thunking stiff against her fleshy legs that spread apart, a panting squeak of painful moans and tears in her eyes watching her friend use her.  She was happy to be touched again, but the throbbing in her belly made her clench with dripping pre and mixing blood.
Mr. Lock kept the camera on them, zooming in on his son's shaft diving into the sweet dragon twat, punching it hard to bruise the lips and a delicious crimson flowed through.  Her whimpers flipped between painful and sensual, her mind entranced in a twisting mire of new emotions.
	"How does she feel, son?" said the father licking his lips.  "Does your little whore obey you, like all dragons should?"
	"M-MMMPH, she does!" Fortean gasped.  "Ohhh, S-scira, you feel so hot, I love raping you!"
	"Don't stop now, girl, keep telling the world what you vermin are!"
Never would she imagine losing her virginity to her former friend, who pounded into her scaly cunt with a vicious hunger.  His eyes pierced into hers, his tongue slathered close to her face, the sound of his pneumatic joints creaking with every smack of his steel crotch, like hammers on her legs.
Despite being the same age, he was far stronger than her, and a natural urge to submit made Scira moan even louder.  She bucked against him with a rising squeal, her soft insides being forced apart for his blunt spear, hurting her slit but making her crazy with lust.  All of which the camera recorded in brutal, bloody detail, a fleshy hole not meant for coupling with planes.
	"H-HHHH!  A-AAAIIIGH!  I-I BELONG UNDER YOU!  I-I, OWW, OW IT HURTS, IT HURTS SO GOOD, I'M WORSE THAN YOU, I'M A FILTHY DRAGON, A FILTHY COCKROACH!"
Fortean grinned with his new supremacy, this power of domination inspiring him to his new cause.  The way her cunt squeezed around his metal lance, her hips bucking against his as if begging him to rape harder, causing more pain for his pleasure.
His fingers played along her flat chest, feeling along the scales and hooking under the bra where the smallest of nipples could be felt.  He tickled her as she bucked harder, pinching the teats and making her squeal with legs wrapping round her friend, urging him to go deeper.
At this point, Mr. Lock stepped into the camera's view, unzipping his pants to bring out his own telescoping length, of nine solid silver inches.  He grabbed Scira's head and shoved into her gasping throat, a coughing choke in surprise when she stared up at him.
	"Suck it you little cunt," he snarled with gleaming eyes, "don't worry about your teeth, your pathetic fangs can't even scrape our perfect steel."
	"Mmmph, dad's right Scira," he licked across her cheek, "remember when we played, a-and you couldn't hurt me one bit!  But I can hurt you."
He stabbed into her womb with his length, her cries vibrating through his father's dick.  Her eyes watered as she deep-throated him, the taste of oxide so cold against her tongue.
	"I wish you were dead," her friend gasped, "I wanna kill you, your family, e-everyone you know, f-filthy smoghead BITCH, MMMPH!"
	"Ohhh son," Lock shuddered in his thrusts, "you make me so proud to say that...you'll make a good craft, of a scale-cleanser yet."
The child dragoness was in hell and rapture, the long thick spear raking her throat and causing her chest to heave with struggling breaths.  Her tongue rang over the metallic rod, the tasteless steel like ice on her teeth.  The son was getting better at angling his shaft, raking against her walls and tearing the skin like he was using a blunt knife.
She tightened her legs round him, silently begging for more, until he felt her breach her womb.  More of her blood came pouring free, a gasping sob of a heavenly anguish, a scarlet puddle pouring down onto the floor.  Leaning forwards to drive deeper, the F-14 cub punched into her innocence, ravaged it apart, and felt her life start to slip away.
All whilst his father raped her throat, punching the breath from her lungs while her neck turned thick with his halberd.  A slickening pre filled her mouth, an odd chemical taste like cheap cough medicine that she scrunched her face from.  Her eyes were flickering, her hands grasping for Mr. Lock who gripped her wrist, and slammed his thighs into her snout.
	"Say it," he gasped, "say you want to die, tell me what a worthless shitscale you are."
	"GHHRRKH, HRRRKH!"  She coughed when he pulled out.  "P-please...k-kill me...kill me p-please, I don't wanna live anymore, you're superior to me!"
	"Good."
He shoved her back down, breaking her throat with a punching thud of his steel head as she choked even harder.
	"See that, Fortean?  These wingbacked vermin just need to understand their place."
	"Y-yeah," the son gasped, mid-rape, "this is so much better than playing with you, I love raping dragons!"
	"Are you happy to exterminate your friend, son?"
	"She's NOT my friend!"  He spat on her face.  "Sh-she's a filthy, vermin, SHITSCALE!"
The father laughed with such pride at his son's words, spitroasting the drake between them with such ruthless thrusts, her throat became bruised and her cervix was twisted like a daisy chain.  Lock's thickening piston choked her through, the taste of oxidants cold and bitter on her tongue as his metallic semen began to spurt.
Bending over her, her grabbed her scalp with both hands and ravaged her with hissing shriek.  Pumping to the hilt, and grinding his vented slit against her snout, he felt her tears trickling down his crotch, which made him throb even harder.
	"When your mother...c-comes back...she will taste you on my cock.  And she will thank me for your death!"
	"M-MMMMHHH, MMHHRRRRGHH!"
	"CHOKE YOU WHORE, CHOKE FOR YOUR MOTHER, STEEL HEIL YOU FUCKING RAT!"
	"Y-YEAH, YEAH, STEEL HEIL!" screamed his son.
As she squirmed beneath the planes spit-roasting her little body, she wheezed with her last breaths just before they came.  Blood pooled inside of her, and at their proclamation of supremacy, she gave her first and last orgasm.  A thick, beautiful spray of sweet dragon jizz, lubricating her former friend, who pumped with rabid lust in his own climax seconds later.
The camera kept rolling as father and son raped her to death.  The first of many dragons they would end together, her eyes glazing over as they roared in unison, saluting to each other, as hot silver cum began flowing from her lips and her pussy.
She blacked out before then, the burning taste of icy-hot seed filling her stomach, as well as scarring the walls of her womb.  She was right where she belonged, their oily jizz dribbling out her body, as the father felt her last breath was over his sterling lance.  He pumped to the hilt with a shuddering sigh, whapping her face as liquid silver dripped down her chin.
	"Ohhhhh fuck...by Mechar, that felt good."
He pulled out as her head slumped forwards, spraying the last shots on her dead eyes.
	"One less dragon in the world to deal with, right son?"
	"Mmhmm!" said Fortean, pulling out with red strings of cummy blood.  "She felt awesome, is she really dead?!"
	"She most certainly is...how was your first cleansing, son?"
	"H-haaah...haaah...I wish we raped her sooner."
	"That's a good boy," he kissed his son's head, "I'm so very proud of you, Fortean.  You'll make a wonderful cleanser for the skies, when we erase those filthy wingbacks...the land shall be nothing but steel."
	"Oh yeah, steel heil!" he gave a proud salute.  "What're we doing now?!"
	"Let's rest for a bit...then we'll play with the harlot again."
After turning off the camera, they kicked her to the floor and sat on the couch, watching TV together as Mr. Lock put an arm round his son's shoulders.  The dead Scira became a foot-stool for her new masters, drooling their semen onto the floor.  Her only blessing, or perhaps sorrow, was she had never lived to see the great genocide, of her worthless inferior race.