Dragon Princess in Captivity

The sound of the high quality, hard sole elven boots worn by Prince Boricker of the Elven Kingdom of Grandleon could be heard through the empty Royal Dungeon wing that Forja had found herself the guest of for the past two weeks.

True to his word, the King had her fed, and he had her spend her days chained up, with all of her mana and power being drained from her, ironically powering her very shackles with it.

Each and every time, when he brought her stale bread, warm water and sometimes a piece of overdone meat, he would look down upon her with an evil eye. She felt disgusted, feeling his eyes roving over her naked form. However, as much as she wanted to tear his eyes out, rip them from his skull, and crush them like grapes, it was simply not to be.

She couldn't even lift her arms that high, chained and shackled to the ground as they were.

Prince Boricker, for his part, was a bit of a different beast, as he entered her cell, carrying a tray with a far more palatable meal. Though simple, it was enough for her to enjoy, elven cuisine, even for these simple meals, did not disappoint, and the warm soup that the prince fed her, spooning each bit into her mouth little by little, was pleasant and gave her some spirit back.

He finished feeding her, and looked upon her, an expression of guilt upon her face.

"Free me," she said, simply and clearly. "I will go. I won't even tell anybody about any of this... I'll just tell my parents I got lost in some cave, just, just let me go..." she muttered, a bit weakly still.

Boricker shook his head. "Alas, I would be trading my life for yours. My brother is an ambitious, and cruel, man," he said, "when there's anything that stands between him and the betterment of the kingdom, he would not hesitate even to slay his own parents, or indeed, his brother," he explained, closing his eyes. "Forgive me, but this is all I can do for you."

"I could kill him," she said. "Slay him where he stands, and then the crown would be yours."

"Perhaps," Boricker said, "but then I would be no better than he, an usurper, hanging onto my throne by virtue of fear and violence," he said, "a throne I don't deserve, nor am I suited for. I will speak to my brother, perhaps he will relent, he fears you, fears your kind, fears your power," he said.

"As well he should," Forja responded, bringing forth what little strength she could, even as the shackles on the base of her wings prevented her from puffing out her chest to show her pride in her race. "My parents will find me. Even if they must search the world over... they will come for me."

"We know," Boricker said, sighing. "I know you can keep a secret," he began, knowing that Forja had survived many sessions of interrogation. Boricker frowned, doubting himself, but finally nodded as Forja seemed expectant. "He intends to slay you soon. He intends to plant your body in the neighboring country, and to plant the corpses of their soldiers around you."

Forja's jaw dropped. "So he wants... he wants..."

"He intends to use your death to spur your clan to destroy our enemies," Boricker explained. "I'll... I'll try my best to convince him otherwise, please, hold strong. I will do my utmost, I will ensure your survival... but until then, please, I beseech you, play along with my brother's schemes. Each rejection hastens the date of your execution that much!" Boricker pleaded.

Closing her eyes, Forja thought about it.

Ultimately... she didn't want to die. She hated the elves, hated what they did to her, but she could pin all that hatred upon their King. Boricker treated her almost kindly. He, ultimately, was much like her - afraid for his life, afraid of his brother, and yet, unwilling to defy said brother.

But he was her only hope for survival. Her only ally in this kingdom.

And she suspected, he was her only way out of this.

"Alright... I'll listen to him," she finally relented. "Your brother wishes to lay his hands on my body..." she muttered.

Boricker nodded. "Yes... I believe my brother believes that he will make use of your body, one way or another. As long as it is this way... you can continue to live," he said. "I implore you... hold strong, hold to your faith, to your courage and to your spirit... hold them tight, and close to your heart, and know that your pride cannot be tarnished," he said, "that the body is transient, but the mind, the soul, the spirit, stays clear and clean," he said, "no matter how much filth covers them!"

"I... I see, I understand," Forja said, nodding. "Even if... even if it disgusts me..."

"Sometimes we have to crawl through the disgusting muck, if we are to reach the bright light at the end of the tunnel," Boricker stated.

Forja nodded, firmly. "Yes... I understand!" 

Boricker nodded. "Good. You'll make it out of this yet," he said, grabbing the bowl, the spoon, and the platter, and discretely making his way out.

It would not be until several hours later that the King of Grandleon himself would deign to make his appearance, not wearing much in the way of finery, merely a blue shirt and fancy pants, a belt with a gold buckle holding them to his waist.

The servant that came with him opened the door to Forja's cell, using the key that Boricker had long since copied for his own personal use, and then retreated, the sound of the far door slamming shut behind him as he entered the warden's office almost shaking Forja out of her half asleep state.

"Eyes up," the King called, sporting a self satisfied smirk as he loomed over her, almost making her feel small, but she nevertheless remembered her earlier chat with the Prince, and so marshalled her courage and her spiritual strength.

It was time...

"It's the usual, girl," he said, hands on his hips as he stood in front of her, clearly delighting in the situation. "I'm running thin on patience, and only so much tolerance for your rejection," he said.

Forja said nothing, kept her lips tightly shut, and tried to maintain a neutral expression, no matter how much she wanted to snarl. She had to be convincing. She couldn't be a firebrain right now, she had to be more, she had to be better.

She had to be not just a dragon but a Princess, a Queen, a leader willing to walk through hell to get through the darkness, and return to her people triumphant and, most importantly, alive!

"I understand," Forja said.

King Borick grinned. "So what'll it be?" he said, hands going for his belt, undoing the buckle, and letting his pants drop, revealing their contents.

For an elf, Borick was quite hairy. She had thought of the elves as these lithe, svelte creatures, of grace and majesty, but any such ideas were dispelled by the sight of the King's hairy, wrinkled ballsack, or the angry red, veiny cock that pulsed strongly, waving a little to the left and right as he laughed to himself. 

It was slightly bent upwards, and at this size, it looked quite imposing and scary indeed. She gulped, and tried not to think of the stench. Not dirt, not grime, but the stink of male. Unlike dragons, she remembered, the smaller, lesser races lived in permanent heat. Male dragons mated once per year, at the most frequent, and less so as they aged.

Males who could get it up at any time whenever their partner wanted to get frisky was a strange thought to even think of, but it wasn't one that helped her right then and there. No, thoughts of her ally's words, of his advice, played in her head, and she realized, it was now, or never. If she backed down then, if she rejected the King then, she likely would not be able to gather the courage to do this.

"Suck me off," the king ordered, simply and clearly.

"R-Right," Forja said, taking a deep breath and trying not to think of the stinging sensation that his cock's scent left on her nose, all the way through to her core. She tried to ignore the warmth that was spreading through her body.

"Well? I don't have all day girl!" the king demanded, impatiently, one hand grabbing his prick and shaking it in front of her.

"I can't exactly move forward..!" Forja rebutted, glaring up at him.

The king stopped for a moment, then laughed, before taking a step forward, almost shoving his dick in her face. It stank, of male musk, of erotic maleness, of sexual power and lust... and Forja hated that she felt it. Hated that when she opened her mouth and let her tongue slip out, it was out of sheer curiosity for its taste.

And even worse, the fact that she was not immediately disgusted. On some level, she would have preferred to taste something foul, unclean and horrible, but the truth was, it didn't taste like much of anything. A bit of sweat, a little salty, but not much else. 

"Good, keep that up," the King said, as his hand descended between the horns on top of her head, and began to guide her as she licked at his shaft, "that's good, do it well, and I'll have meat for you more often," he said, grinning down at her. His teeth were infuriatingly perfect, no matter how much she wished to see a crooked, rotten smile, she could not curse him without her power.

She continued to lick at his shaft, and ignored the sounds of satisfaction he was making, as his breathing hitched. If she thought she was licking a bone, it was better, she had done so once or twice, and though her tongue was smaller in human form, she could project her mind to better times as she lavished the cock before her with the attention she had paid to the bones of large meaty creatures before.

"That's it girl, that's good, keep going," the elf groaned, his hand guiding her head higher as she licked up his shaft. "Ugh, that, right there!"

She flicked her tongue at its tip, and resisted the urge to bite down on it, she knew that if she did, if she hurt the king like that, it'd hasten her date of execution, possibly to immediacy.

And so when he grabbed her by the horns, no matter how deeply insulted she felt by the gesture, how much she hated that a lesser existence was treating her like a toy...

"Open your mouth now!" he ordered. 

She did as he asked, and opened her mouth, 

"Stick your tongue out," he added.

She glared, but said nothing, only making a sound as she stuck her tongue out. She felt the taste of his pre-ejaculatory fluid, the thin, runny liquid tasting salty and bitter as she had suspected, but weak and not terribly bad. She'd had worse, and it infuriated her to realize that he didn't even taste disgusting, yet again!

He began to push his cock into her mouth, which remained open, eyes wide, tearing up a little as he reached her limits, forcing her to gag.

He laughed, pulling himself back, as she sputtered and coughed. "Right, right, a maiden, how quaint," he said, chuckling a little to himself as she frowned up at him. "Very well, I'll let you take the lead this time. The King's mercy is great, is it not?"

She wanted to tell him where he could shove his so called 'mercy', but ultimately, she merely waited in silence as he put his dick before her again, and she took him into her mouth, leaning forward as far as she could, and as far as she could take him. 

"Back and forth, girl, go," he said.

She began doing so, making sure not to go beyond her own ability, stroking his cock with her lips. She was not entirely new to the act, per se, she was not so sheltered and naive. The human servants of the Red Wing, sometimes she saw them engaging in similar acts, and once or twice she had read a novel that described the act.

It had been described in flowery language, but she felt no great, hot passion from the rod in her mouth.

She didn't feel like she had her partner's throbbing heart beating in her mouth, nor did she think the tool in her mouth tasted like some glorious bond of love, or whatever stupid and flowery language the novel had used. She had a penis in her mouth, it tasted vaguely of sweat and an indescribable, slightly salty, slightly bitter, but primarily boring taste.

She hated that she didn't even hate it. Even as the cell was filled with the sound of her efforts, of her swallowing and breathing quickly, of the elf king's amused pleasure, of her lips slidding and slipping on the kingly rod, she felt little but shame, shame upon herself.

The King groaned. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna bless you with the King's semen," he groaned, "ugh, you're way better at blowjobs, than I thought, for a maiden, you're quite the pervert, huh!"

She was making him feel good, and she hated it, she hated the satisfaction deep within, the heat spreading around her, the fact that her body betrayed her, hated everything about this, hated the King, and hated the shackles and hated his cock, and the way it throbbed and pulsed in her mouth.

She hated it all, even as she felt him grab her horns and push her against his hips, as she gagged, choked and sputtered around his dick at the same time as he, with a shout of satisfaction, unloaded the contents of his balls down her gullet, feeding her cream to accompany the soup she had eaten earlier.

She didn't even taste his seed, as he had forced his way into her throat, and poured it directly down into her stomach, even as Forja tried her hardest to lodge him off.

Ultimately, she found no purchase, and with her airway blocked, she found herself fading out of wakeness, vision swimming, growing black.

As she regained consciousness, the elven King's servant closed the door behind himself, and left. 

Forja had survived, for the time being, and as long as she lived... as long as she kept her head, she'd be able to get out of that dungeon, and get back. She would remain strong. She swore, for all that was holy, for all of her ancestors before her, she would keep her strength, and make it out of that dungeon alive!