New Dragoness Vore Short Story

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New Dragoness Vore Short Story

Postby HTVoid » Wed Oct 14, 2020 10:32 am

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Hey guys, this is a quick story about a dragon hunt that goes very wrong. Seven companions set out to bring the beast low, very few (or maybe none) will return. The story has neck bulges, endo scenes, and digestion. Feel free to comment, any feedback is welcome. Hope you like it.


DRACONIC IRONY


Abel couldn’t tell if the silence stretched for a minute or a fortnight. All he knew was that Prince Tristan had shouted, “Bard! Glue this moment to your eyeballs and call down your muse!” from the platform near the cave’s ceiling while making an exaggerated gesture with his cloak and then diving. Headfirst. There had been a low thump as he crashed, a bit of clinking as a few gold coins moved around, and then silence.

As it turns out, a mountain of tiny, solid objects (such as gold coins) is a big, solid object. It did not part for your head like the surface of a lake.

The Prince’s eyes were still open, as clear, blue, and pretty as they ever were—eyes that had sent more than a few maidens into hysterics. It was difficult to focus on them, though, the bit of bone almost breaking through the neck’s skin kept drawing the eye. And the head’s unnatural angle didn’t help either.

Imbecile! Abel wanted to shout at the dead Prince. You halfwit son of a whore! We had it all! We had captured a living dragon! But you had to grasp for that tiny bit of extra glory. How could anyone be so stupid?

I didn’t see you rushing to stop me, Prince Tristan’s ghost seemed to say in his head.

I didn’t know what you were about to do, Abel thought, having trouble believing his own thoughts. Truth was, he had been too drunk on victory to care. And it had been a glorious victory, though that wouldn’t spare the Prince’s companions from his father’s wrath. How to even break the news? Well met, Your Majesty, sorry to tell you but your son is a moron. No, he didn’t die fighting the dragon, he bit it afterward. Yes, yes, you heard right: trying to dive headfirst into a gold pile. That story ended with six bodies dangling from the castle’s walls, one of them tagged ABEL.

Seven companions had set out from Irondale to deal with Katyanialashiha—Katya, to humans—a red dragon that had been causing problems along the Knightsway. (The road crisscrossing the Giant’s Claw mountain range.) Katya had declared the mountain range her kingdom and began extorting coin from travelers crossing it. (The crossing tax, she called it.) Those who could pay and did so were sent on their way, alive but poorer; those who couldn’t pay became food.

Prince Tristan—nineteen, valiant, handsome as a devil, and very eager for glory—had decided to settle the matter with his own hands. Not only would he face Katya in battle, but he would capture the beast alive so it could face a trial. It was about time these beasts learned that the Crown’s writ encompassed them as well, the Prince argued. Katya would be captured, judged, and hanged like any other petty criminal. And before the noose delivered her to the gods (for further judgment) she would regret defying the Crown.

He recruited six companions for the journey. Michael and Alaine, two Royal Knights sworn to defend his life; Marianne, a young bard beginning to make a name for herself in Irondale’s many taverns and plazas; Julius, a former thief, turned Royal Spymaster on account of his unequaled skill; Lord Floyd Belmont, eager for the Prince’s favor; and finally Abel, a man-at-arms in service to the Belmont family who saw his chance at a little glory and convinced his master to take him along.

And in the end, no one could say the Prince led them astray. The battle had ended with a single casualty: the Royal Knight Michael. And even that was almost a mishap. Michael had tried to jump on Katya’s head to slam his warhammer onto her head, figuring it would knock her out cold, but Alaine stabbed the dragon’s chest at that same time. Katya had roared, tilting her head up and opening her jaws wide. Poor Michael had jumped right inside. A second later he’d been a bulge traveling down the dragon’s long neck (weapon, armor, and all). One second after that, and he was nothing at all. Floyd Belmont and Abel had managed to wrap Katya’s head in fire-dampening chains quickly after. Without its teeth and fire breath, the dragon became easy prey for the seasoned warriors and was soon hogtied, left to wriggle like a worm on the cave’s floor.

“Is…Is he…dead?” asked a tiny voice, finally breaking the silence. It belonged to Marianne, the bard whom Prince Tristan brought along to write a ballad about his battle.

Julius picked up an errant coin from the ground and tossed it at the Prince. It hit him on his head and then fell back to join the other coins in the dragon’s hoard. The body didn’t stir. “I’d say he’s pretty fucking dead.”

“Show some respect!” Alaine barked, shaking off her paralysis and running to the Prince’s corpse. She closed his eyelids.

“Resp— Respect! Are you—” Julius seemed to be having trouble forming cohesive sentences. He closed his eyes and bit down hard on his knuckles. After ten seconds of that, he managed to regain his composure. “We need to disappear,” he said, once more the Royal Spymaster instead of the gutter rat he’d been in his youth.

“How dare you!” said Alaine, climbing down from the dragon’s hoard, where Prince Tristan’s corpse remained immobile. “He was your Prince!”

“And now his corpse is our headsman!” the thief shouted back. He faced Floyd Belmont. “You’ve been quiet. Let’s see if you have a brain inside that head of yours. Explain to dear Alaine why it would be in our best interest to go poof!”

Before Floyd Belmont could even open his mouth, however, Alaine stomped toward Julius until their faces were inches apart. “You gutless rat! I should carve you up right now, save His Majesty the trouble.”

Lord Belmont cleared his throat. “Yes, and, besides, maybe disappearing might be an option for some of us, but not for me. No, I need to face this dance, tragic as it might be.” He paused, looking at the Prince’s corpse. “Of course, such a manner of dying…a broken neck while facing a dragon. Very unusual. If…perhaps…his death had been more in line with his quest…”

Alaine and Marianne looked horror-struck at the suggestion. Julius simply shook his head. “Don’t be daft”—a chuckle—“His Majesty’s adjudicators are most skilled in getting to the truth. I know: I’ve trained them. Defile the halfwit’s corpse and you’ll be only buying pain.”

Abel listened to the discussion in silence, though he had to admit he was rooting for Julius to win this argument. Disappearing seemed like their best bet at this point, at least his best bet. Abel had a common face and not that many acquaintances. Maybe he could go back to Wind Vale, see his sister, and her whelps. Or maybe head north and take up arms against Heim, the border armies were always in need of fresh meat.

As long as I never set foot in Irondale again, he thought.

Did I mean so little to you? the Prince’s ghost seemed to ask. After traveling together and fighting side by side, you would leave my corpse to rot, my father to forever wonder how his firstborn perished? And what about the political unrest? My brother’s enemies would never let him rule in peace. Every three months a pretender would pop his head and claim he was Prince Tristan returned at last. Or Prince Tristan’s son by some mystery woman.

You are an idiot who killed himself, Abel answered. Don’t ask me to accompany you to your grave.

“What do you think?”

It took a few moments for Abel to realize Julius was speaking to him. “Me?”

“No, the man behind you. Yes, you, damn it, we’re all companions here, share your mind.”

Abel faced his Lord. Belmont nodded him ahead. He shrugged sheepishly. “Wind Vale is very nice this time of year.”

The spymaster nodded. “That makes two in favor of vanishing.”

Alaine drew her sword. “I have command of the party since the Prince’s passing. Nobody is vanishing, and I’ll gut whoever mentions it again.”

Two daggers materialized in Julius’s hands. Marianne gasped. Belmont grabbed the hilt of his sword. Abel’s hand found his blade as well, but he didn’t draw it, hoping (as Lord Belmont seemed to be hoping) that the Spymaster and the Knight could resolve the situation between themselves. Though once again he found himself hoping Julius would emerge victorious.

And then a new voice spoke, one that hadn’t been heard in the cave since the fire-dampening chains had leashed its owner. “Maybe I could help you with your little dilemma,” Katya said, her voice at once guttural and feminine, booming throughout the chamber. The voice of a dragoness.

Julius and Alaine were circling each other now. Abel thought one was just waiting for the other to blink to lunge.

Had they even heard Katya speak? Abel wondered.

Marianne certainly had and was staring at the bound dragon uneasily. Belmont was also staring at the beast, though he seemed more interested than apprehensive about what Katya had to say. He first turned to Julius and Alaine. “Stop this madness, you two! Nothing good will come of it.” And then he turned to the dragon. “I would hear what the beast has to say.”

Katya growled. “The “beast” thinks she knows how to solve your little conundrum.”

“There is no conundrum,” Alaine said, she still had her sword out but had stopped circling the Spymaster. “We bring the Prince back to Irondale and tell the truth of events.”

“Yes, yes,” Katya went on. “But what if the truth was still the truth, but no longer an insult to the Crown Prince’s intelligence and memory? Think: will you stand before the whole court and voice how poor Prince Tristan passed? Imagine how his father would take the news, how your king will feel when the snickers and giggles start sounding in the background. It doesn’t make for a pretty story, does it?

“Now, imagine this: tomorrow, as the sun reaches its zenith, the sentries on Irondale’s walls spot dark wings on the horizon, approaching the city. The dragon’s wings make a whoosh in the air as it passes overhead. It doesn’t attack, though, it simply voids itself from the sky. The enchanted armor of its last meal passed right through its digestive tract, a beautiful armor belonging to a Prince, easily recognizable by every peasant, guard, merchant, whore, and beggar.

“There is no trace of doubt: Prince Tristan has failed and was devoured by his foe.

“The dragon circles the city overhead a few more times, and speaks before departing, its voice booming over Irondale: Some of the Prince’s companions still live! If you do not desire to receive their corpses in the same manner, I’ll have my weight in gold from you!

“Unbeknownst to the dragon, however, its surviving prisoners (let’s say three of them) managed to escape and are heading toward the city as it flies back from it. The survivors are heartbroken and share the King’s grief, and tell tales of how bravely the Prince fought (truth, incidentally) and promise to be by his side when the time for grief ends, and the time for vengeance dawns.”

Julius raised an eyebrow. “Three survivors?”

Katya tried to shrug, though the chains restricted most of her movements. “I figure some of you may disappear—you and the man-at-arms, for instance. He is nobody, and I’m sure you are very adept at being one with the shadows. You two plus the one already in my belly should be enough to appease His Majesty.”

“No!” Alaine barked.

Julius slapped his head. “What is your problem, woman? It’s a reasonable plan!”

Floyd Belmont jumped in. “I agree with master Julius. The dragon’s proposal has merit. If you want to die and be with the Prince, slit your own throat. But don’t try and take us to the grave with you.”

“I do not mean ‘no to the plan’. I meant ‘no for the disappearances’. Suppose master Abel disappears, what keeps him gone? What’s stopping him for showing up five years later demanding we pay or he tells the truth?” Abel opened his mouth to protest, but Alaine silenced him with a finger. “I meant no disrespect, the same could be said of any of us. Either we commit to this plan or not, I’ll not spend my life looking over my shoulder.”

“W-What do you mean?” Marianne asked, all the blood gone from her face.

Alaine rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean, bard. Either we all go back to Irondale and face the headsman, or we let fate choose three of us to survive.”

“And how do you propose we choose?” Belmont asked.

Alaine walked over to the dragon’s hoard and scooped a handful of coins. She spent a few moments analyzing them, then dropped most of them back, scooping another handful. After selecting two coins from the new pile, she returned. She showed her hands to the others; there were five coins on her palm. “Three have King Marcus’s face on the back, two have King Armitage’s. We draw them randomly, and the dragon eats whoever plucks an Armitage.” She looked each member of the party in the eye. “Are we agreed on this course of action?”

Marianne sobbed but nodded.

Abel nodded somberly.

Floyd Belmont took a few deep breaths and said, “Aye.”

Julius chuckled. “Leave to the gods eh? As good as any other plan, I suppose.”

Alaine took off her cloak and used the hood to make a makeshift sack. She tossed the coins inside it and wiggled her hands to shuffle them; they clinked softly. At the same time, she nodded towards Katya. “Can someone undo the chains?”

A gust of scorching air washed over Abel as he approached the dragon. Chained and bound it was, but no less terrifying for it. Katya chuckled, “Go on, I won’t bite.”

True, you didn’t bite Michael, Abel thought, starting to unwrap the chains binding the dragon’s face. You just gobbled him down whole and alive.

When her head was free, Katya’s maw yawned open, sending another gust of hot air to ruffle Abel’s hair. He wondered if this was the last thing Michael saw. The slimy tongue, rippling lazily, a few drops of saliva resting atop it. The teeth, white and sharp, and each the size of a grown man’s hand. And the throat that never seemed to fully close, always letting the light illuminate the inside of her neck. Abel had never been partial to heights, always getting dizzy when staring down from high places. He felt like that now, though technically Katya’s gullet was on a level with his head. It is an abyss, all the same, he thought, focusing his mind on the ground beneath his feet to curb the dizziness.

Once Katya closed her mouth again, Abel moved to unwrap her neck, remembering how it swelled when Michael traveled inside it. Freeing the body was the worst part, though, he kept expecting to feel something (someone) poke him from inside the dragon’s belly—the outline of a face to show through the scales, two five-fingered bumps at its side, melting as he watched.

The scales are almost as hard as tree bark, he told himself, even if Michael is pushing from inside, I won’t see it.

“Are you waiting for something?” Katya asked. She wiggled her body. “He’s gone, friend; I have a fast metabolism. Go on, no one will bother you from inside my belly.”

Abel steeled himself and finished unchaining the dragon, who stretched and roared, free once more.

Alaine nodded and put the small sack on the ground. “I’ll go first.” She blew on her hands and rubbed them together for good luck, and then plucked out a coin, lips moving in silent prayer. She took a quick peek at it and stared at the others in utter shock. “I…I—”

Fwhop!

Where the once was a Royal Knight, now there was a colossal head covered in crimson scales. Katya’s strike had been almost too fast to see. Her long neck bulged as Alaine began traveling down, but the Knight’s progress stopped at the neck’s base. The bulge expanded and started wiggling. It was easy to picture poor Alaine stretching her arms and legs in one last desperate attempt to avoid being digested. Of course, she couldn’t use her sword to try and hack her way free, since both her arms were keeping her out of Katya’s belly, and the tunnel was likely too dark and slippery to climb. She could only hang there until her strength failed.

At least she’s silent, Abel thought. He didn’t relish the prospect of having to hear the Royal Knight screaming from inside her devourer.

The bard, on the other hand, had no qualms about screaming. “Gods! Alaine!” She turned to the dragon. “You didn’t even…You didn’t even…”

“What?” Katya asked, not bothered in the least by the Alaine-sized lump on her neck. “Did you want to say goodbye?” She smiled. “Go on, pick a coin; you might get the chance.”

“I’ll— I’ll…” A sob. “Fine. I’ll go,” Marianne’s hands were shaking so bad that Abel thought she might not be able to put one inside the sack. She took several deep breaths, wiped the tears from her eyes, and quickly grabbed a coin. She screamed as she pulled it out, and then screamed louder when King Marcus faced her from the golden surface. She ran to a corner of the cave and vomited.

Inside the dragon’s neck, the Royal Knight’s struggle continued. The neck bulge moved as Alaine fought for her life, sometimes it shrank, almost to the point where it seemed as if the Knight was about to take a stomach dive, but then it swelled again, Alaine finding some inner reserve of strength and stretching out her limbs. One false move and she might lose her grip on the slippery walls, though, and there was probably saliva and phlegm and other kinds of gunk raining down on her. But that was alright, that gunk was disgusting but it wasn’t deadly, it was the gunk inside Katya’s stomach that Alaine should be worried about.

Was there fire inside a dragon’s belly too or just acid? I suppose I might find that out soon enough, Abel thought. He said nothing as he walked over to the cloth sack, squatted, grabbed a coin and looked at it. He showed it to the dragon and the others.

“Aren’t you a lucky son of a whore!” Julius said with a smile. He turned to Belmont. “Wanna do it first, or should I?”

Belmont was sweating, and his hands were shaking a bit. Abel could tell that the nobleman had hoped he wouldn’t have to draw a coin—surely the heavens wouldn’t allow the great Lord Floyd Belmont to become a dragon’s snack, not when there was some merchant’s daughter with a lute and a man-at-arms to claim that fate. “I think not,” he declared, puffing up his chest. “You would find a way to cheat, thief. Let’s think of another way.”

Julius shook his head. “Pick a bloody coin, Belmont.”

“No. I will not play into your hands. Besides, the two Royal Knights and the Prince are enough, there’s no need to be a third now that I think about it. Yes, no need, I’m sure. Let us just return to Irondale.”

“Pick the coin now, else you’ll be forfeiting the game,” Julius warned. “That means you’ll lose, Belmont.”

Katya’s head made no sound as it moved right behind the nobleman. Belmont, oblivious to the crimson doom at his back, lifted his chin. “I refuse.”

Katya’s mouth opened wide, and her tongue slithered out. It was long and pointy and it wrapped around Belmont’s midsection and dragged him into her maw, making him slide to the back of her throat. He sat there for a few seconds. And then Katya swallowed, her mouth still open. The meat of her throat was like a liquid thing, and it oozed over the nobleman. Lord Floyd Belmont was squeezed until his head touched his shins and enveloped by wet pink meat.

Abel watched as his (former) master traveled ass-first down the dragon’s neck and wondered if Katya had swallowed him in that awkward position on purpose, like a plumber unclogging a pipe. It did solve the situation inside the dragon’s neck: the Belmont-bulge collided with the smaller Alaine-bulge, and both of them filtered into the dragon’s chest.

“Fool,” Julius said, walking over to the coin sack. He plucked the remaining coins and showed them to Abel. “See, one Marcus, one Armitage. I haven’t been a thief in a long time, and I’ll not have my honor questioned by—” Whatever he was about to say was lost in the whoosh of flames engulfing him. Julius’s brain seemed to not have yet registered the pain, since the spymaster was looking more puzzled than in agony. It was only a second after his eyeballs started melting over the sides of his face like two cracked eggs that he let out a short scream. Abel thought he might’ve still been alive when Katya scooped him up in her jaws, but then she began to chew; it sounded like freshly-baked, crispy bread inside a person’s mouth. It smelled like pork.

“No!” Marianne screamed. “It was over! It was over!”

Katya swallowed. There were burned pieces of Julius still coating her tongue when she said, “But he drew an Armitage coin.”

“No!” Marianna shouted again. “He was just showing he hadn’t been cheating!”

“Oh, dear, it seems I made a blunder,” Katya said with mock remorse. “Marianne, is it? I’ll need you to apologize to master Julius on my behalf when you see him.”

“When I…see him?”

Katya began walking toward the bard. She had a smile on her reptilian face.

“No,” Marianne whimpered. “You promised. The story, it’s not how it ends.”

Katya laughed. “That was a draft, Marianne. This version is better. A hundred years from now, mothers sitting in dark rooms by their children’s beds will shine candlelight underneath their chins and speak in hushed tones: ‘and they all died inside the dragon’s belly.’ And those children will grow up smarter than you lot and stay away from dragons. If you think about it, I’m doing humanity a service.”

Abel, staring paralyzed as the bard backed up against the cave’s wall, began hearing the dead Prince’s voice again; Tristan’s ghost was cackling. You were saying something about idiocy earlier? What were your words, “Halfwit son of a whore”? Yes, that was it. Ha! Who’s the halfwit now?

Shut up.

No, really, my blunder was on impulse, you idiots planned this. You invade a notoriously evil dragon’s home, beat the shit out of her, chain her like a slave, humiliate her, and then you think she is going to help you. This is too good.

Shut up!

Look, look, the bard’s about to be gobbled.


Marianne was against the cave’s wall, her face half shock and half horror. There was a wet stain spreading between her pants. Katya licked her lips. “This one comes with its own sauce.” And the bard’s mouth kept working, opening and closing, but no words were passing her lips. Katya opened her mouth and pressed her tongue against Marianne, who was still against the wall. Like some great toad, the dragon pulled her tongue back in, bringing along the poor bard, stuck fast to the slimy surface. Marianne was tiny and lithe and barely made a bulge when Katya swallowed her. As Marianne was probably arriving in Katya’s belly, the dragon turned to face Abel.

“And then there was one,” she said.

Abel’s hand found the hilt of his sword and pulled the blade out, though his hands were trembling so hard he didn’t think he could cut warm butter with it. Katya strolled over to him like a great cat. “You don’t really think that will help you, do you?” She made a faint, opening her mouth and striking it shut two feet away from Abel’s face. Clack! He stumbled backward and fell on his ass, the sword slipping from his grip.

“That was quick,” Katya said. She opened her mouth wide again, and this time Abel was sure it was no faint. Judging by the lack of fire spewing from her gullet, she would swallow him alive.

“You can’t!” Abel shouted. “We had a deal!”

Katya’s gullet vibrated as she laughed. It was a bloody tunnel, that throat; he could inside Katya’s neck, the faint outline of her spine pressing the meat there. A drop of saliva fell on her tongue, rolling until it collided with some burnt piece of Julius—there were plenty of those still hanging around in her mouth.

“No, no, no, no.” He turned and began crawling away on his hands and knees, dignity be damned. And then something wet and warm, that was as soft as a feather mattress but as heavy as a boulder crashed onto his back. It lifted him from the ground, making the world spin 180 degrees. He’d been on his knees, now he was lying down. The ground had been hard and dry, now it was alive and wet, rippling underneath him. There was a drop of saliva hanging on the archways of Katya’s palate; it fell on his face, warm and sulfury.

The teeth! Abel thought. Grab on to her teeth!

But the pink surface underneath him moved before his hands did, pressing him against the hard palate. And then the wave came, the ridges of Katya’s palate bumping against him as he moved backward. Her gullet had seemed soft when he saw it engulf Belmont, almost liquid, but the damn thing was strong as steel, squeezing his head, then his chest, belly, hips, it felt like being shoved through a metal pipe, one with a warm and wet inner lining.

How did Alaine manage to halt her descent? Abel wondered, finding new-found respect for the Royal Knight’s strength. He couldn’t even wiggle properly, much less spread his arms and legs. The worst part was the smell, though, rotten eggs and rotten fish, served side by side.

“Ugh,” someone said as Abel crashed into them. It was Marianne. They were all squeezed tightly inside Katya’s belly. “Who’s there?” the bard asked.

“Who do you think it is?” Abel answered. It was too dark to see anything, so he had to rely on his hands for a mental picture. The walls were smooth and as strong as Katya’s gullet. He pushed with all his might, but he might as well be trying to move his room by pushing the walls from the inside. Underneath him, thoroughly coated in foamy slime, Marianne writhed.

“Joy,” another female voice said. Alaine. “We’re all here.”

They began swaying as if they were in a sack and someone was swinging that sack around. “She’s moving again,” Marianne said. From all around them, a rumble sounded. “Oh, gods,” the bard cried. “What’s going to happen?”

“Where’s Belmont?” Abel asked. He knew Julius wasn’t in any condition to talk, but the nobleman tended to like the sound of his own voice.

“Dead. I think his heart gave out,” Alaine said. “He screamed for a while after we got here, and then he collapsed. There had been room to collapse before you idiots arrived. Though her stomach lining is tougher than her scales, my sword blows bounced right off. You couldn’t hear the screams from outside?”

“No,” Abel said. “Maybe her meat is soundproof?”

“Huh,” Alaine mused. “ I suppose it would get bothersome trying to nap a meal away while that meal kept screaming in your gut.”

A deep rumble shook the entire chamber, and the walls moved, shifting its occupants around. Abel collided with the hard steel of Alaine’s armor.

Marianne screamed, and then her scream became muffled, getting distant. At the same time, there was a bit more room inside Katya’s belly. “What happened?” Abel asked.

“I don’t know,” Alaine said, sounding fearful, they were face to face, and the knight’s breath washed over him, a nice change from the miasma in Katya’s belly. “Do you have any idea how a dragon’s digestion works?

“Not really.”

“Well, I have a feeling that Marianne is getting a lecture in it right now.”

“Or maybe she managed to climb out?”

Alaine laughed. “That wasn’t a scream of someone who managed anything.”

Around them, the walls shook again. And kept shaking, completely alive now. The air got hotter and the slime began making Abel’s skin tingle. “Gods!” he cried.

“Fuck!” Alaine cried near him.

The walls closed in, and the extra room that the bard’s absence created vanished. A syrupy blub-blub-blub began sounding from beneath them. “This is it,” Abel said, shouting to be heard above the roars of Katya’s stomach. “I don’t think Marianne will be the one finding out how Katya digests.”

Beneath him, Alaine hissed. “Yes, that’s acid. We’re fucked.”

The world spun around as Katya’s stomach shook again, mixing its contents, and its two live occupants were submerged in a digestive lake. They melted so quickly there was barely any pain. From deeper in the dragon’s anatomy, in a place relatively safe from acid, a voice was calling: “Alaine! Abel! What happened, are you alive?” When the only answer she received was gurgles and a long, loud rumble, Marianne began crying.

The next day, as the sun reached its Zenith, the sentries on Irondale’s walls spotted dark wings on the horizon, approaching the city. The dragon’s wings made a whoosh in the air as it passed overhead. It didn’t attack, though, simply voiding itself from the sky, out of range of the guards’ bows and crossbows.

The diners and shoppers that were at Silk Plaza screamed and ran from cover as weapons and armor pieces rained down from the sky. Most fell into the fountain in the square’s center, though. Sparkling clean—dragons were known to absorb every bit of organic matter unlucky enough to find itself in their bellies. At the spectacle’s end, a sense of morbid curiosity (or maybe a hope to find some treasure) made the onlookers investigate. Visible through the clear waters of the square’s fountain were two complete sets of enchanted armor, a plate worn exclusively by the Royal Knights. There were also a few swords, a spear, and even a warhammer in there.

But what made people’s jaws drop was the living girl clutching a lute—the bard Marianne, one of the missing Prince’s companions. Her story was eventually heard by the King, who ordered her to keep her silence regarding the manner of his son’s passing. Marianne was not charged with any crime, and her songs about her journey through Katya’s innards were sung for hundreds of years, usually by mothers trying to scare their children, their voices hushed and their faces illuminated by candlelight.


END


If you guys liked this story, consider checking out the novella I wrote: Devouring Godhood, a high-fantasy/vore dark comedy. It’s around 40k words long (120 pages), and it does have a bit more focus on the plot and characters than the short story you just read, though there’s still plenty of kink in it. It’s on amazon right now at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08JHX3FRT

Thanks for reading.
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Re: New Dragoness Vore Short Story

Postby Indighost » Wed Oct 14, 2020 3:39 pm

While your story is light on vorish descriptions, I did like the interesting plot. I also liked how, in contrast to the typical scenario playing out on a D&D table where the dragon is dumb and overconfident, this time it was the humans :D

The idea of the 'prehensile digestive safe pocket' is a popular trope.

Probably the most detailed part of your story was the view of the mouth, which I understand is probably based on fetish preference.

I also found it very funny that the dragon was so skilled at pooping out tiny objects with high precision at great altitudes. That must have taken some practice!
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Re: New Dragoness Vore Short Story

Postby bigboy1992 » Mon Oct 19, 2020 1:36 pm

Would definitely like to read more stories with this dragon. Very well written.
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