by sheepwave and S13-rra
CW: affirming forcefem
demon transformation, forcefem of a repressed trans prince
The city burned outside the windows. The Prince drew his curtains, panic setting in, nervously fidgeting with the family pendant hanging from his slender neck. His royal guards were nowhere to be seen, having abandoned their charge alone in the throne room hall. Typical humans- the young elf had only been of age to rule for a few years, but had never liked them much. His family had sent him to rule this rural land to keep him “out of trouble” and it was not going well.
That damned 'Warlord of the steppes' had been making the Prince's duties difficult for a long time, and it seemed their ongoing political disputes had escalated into open warfare. The Prince reflected on the words shouted across a negotiating table just days ago, "I will have my Prize. The walls will fall, and she will be mine." He hadn't been sure what they meant at the time, but it seemed clear now that the Beast wouldn't rest until they had this kingdom.
A crash of splintering wood, and the locked door flew open. A towering figure strode through the broken frame. Rippling yellow and orange scales clad in tight combat leathers, obsidian blade hanging from their hip. They saw him, and with wings spread and a feral grin on their face, they closed in on the boy like a hunter.
“Well, well, we finally meet on my terms, little Prince. None of your weak diplomacy now.”
The Prince drew himself up and mustered his courage. “Are you done with your unlawful, uncivilized ransacking? Finally come to face me?”
“Ransacking? Dearest Prince, this is war; and to the victor go the spoils. Your armies lie tattered in the streets, the gates to your castle broken down. So then, what do you think that makes you, Prince?”
He knew he must be the last bastion, ready to plunge his dagger into this monster’s strong... Powerful… Leather clad…
The Dragonkin chuckled. “Is there some fight left in you? Ready to fight off your Conqueror yourself? Well go ahead, take your chance.”
His frail body trembling, the Prince drew a dagger whose blade was less polished than the audacious gemstones along the handle. It had never tasted flesh.
The Warlord stepped closer, baring their chest, heaving with each breath, breasts pushing against their armor, a predatory grin on their face as they eyed the terrified royal brat before them. “Where has all that resolve gone, little Prince?”
He shakily took a step back, up to his throne, trying to take the high ground, not that an extra two feet of height counted much against an adversary four feet his superior. The dragonkin flexed, wings opening wide, muscles bulging out against their scales. “Do I intimidate you, Elf? So determined you were, to strike down your conqueror, and now you've yet to lift that little dagger.”
“I-i, I-” The frail boy stammered, anxiously fidgeting with his pendant once more.
“Or is it something more humiliating than that?” The Prince blushed and shook his head, banishing an intrusive muse with the skill of one used to pushing thoughts away.
He took a deep breath, and lunged forward, bringing the ornamental knife towards the dragon’s chest in a clumsy stab. The dagger pierced through their combat leathers, right between their breasts… before stopping, just barely scraping the scales on their chest. A clawed hand was wrapped around the elf’s thin wrist, stopping it from pushing any further.
“Well look at that, you finally found your resolve. and here i thought you only knew how to hide behind dignitaries.”
He stammered and froze. “I…”
The Dragonkin’s hand squeezed around his wrist, pulling the dagger out of their armor before yanking to the side and forcing the Prince’s body up against theirs. Their other hand grabbed him by his long, flowing hair, and forced him to look up at his Conqueror. “What a pitiful attempt, no wonder your kingdom crumpled so easily.”
He tried to shake free, frantically flailing in the dragonkin’s grasp, breath heavy, like desperate panting. The Warlord leaned down close, a deep chuckle rumbling through their chest, hot breath upon the elf’s sensitive neck. Their tongue flicked out and ran over the shell of their prey’s pointed ear. The Prince let out an undignified soft whimper. “Savage... Lowblooded uncivilized…”
“Savage, hm? Would you like to see just how savage I can be, Prize?”
He squirmed helplessly under the dragon's powerful grasp, pride welling in his chest. “I... I am no prize to be captured, you, monstrous beast!”
“Mmm, you say that, and yet here you are, writhing in my grasp, unable to escape. What's running through that little head of yours, I wonder? Are you afraid of what I might do to you? Or perhaps, are you excited? Dreaming up what you'll look like in servitude to your Warlord?”
The Prince's face turned bright red.
“Such a feminine little thing you are,” They continued, releasing his hair and poking a claw against the elf’s flat chest. “We'll have to make some changes to you, make you a bit more... agreeable”
This was met with an angry, sullen glare. “Do your worst monster. I am still Prince of this land, and will die as such if that is my fate.”
“Oh what I have planned for you is much more fun than death”
He frowned, trying to wriggle free. “Pressed into hard labor, then? There is still honor in that.”
The Warlord’s hand grasped the golden pendant around the Prince's neck, a priceless heirloom passed down through the royal family. “So caught up on honor. Would you really think me so banal as to make a mere laborer out of you? You've hardly got the muscle for it, little boy.”
“I- of course I don't! Why would i? My role is here. To be the… Man… in charge.”
The Prince looked down to the side, oddly distracted by inner thoughts for one pinned to the chest of a monster twice his size. “What I've always been destined for. Decided at birth. My place.”
“Oh but destiny is such a fickle thing, isn't it ? Pampered all your life, given everything you should want or need, that hardly makes a man of you. I've known who you really are since the day we first met.”
“I- we live the life we are born to.” The Prince’s tone turned angry, retorting with ridicule, “I assume you didn't choose to become a mongrel warlord after being born a florist.”
The Warlord let out a deep, menacing chuckle. “Life is what we make of it, little Prince. And yours... is going to be what I make of you.” The Dragon crushed the royal pendant in their hand, glowing orange magic swirling between their claws.
The Prince winced as the tiny embers clung to his skin. “It's... Hot, burning… what is this sorcery?”
“That's the feeling of Dragonfire, boy… and you're about to get very familiar with it.”
The Warlord opened their hand, the molten metal that the pendant had been reduced to slithered out, mixing with the magic and curling around the elven boy’s neck. The searing heat pressed against his skin as it settled in place, rapidly cooling into a lovely new collar around his neck, lines of orange dragonfire cutting through the gold.
His mouth opened in a silent scream, body limp, as the magic sank into his mind. His eyes grew heavy. A serpent's voice coiled behind and around his pointed ears. Heat tunneled through mental walls of stone the prince would not allow his thoughts to cross, shattering them into dust.
“Hello, little prize. So nice to meet you.”
She greeted her host with a tone somehow both sinister and welcoming.
“She whispers to me…” The voice was familiar- the Prince realized with horror that she was speaking with his own mouth, in a feminine voice he had stopped practicing years ago, when father-
“What was that, little Prince?” The Prince tried further in vain to get out from his captor’s grasp until his mind drained of willpower to resist, pulled in by the calming whispers of a side of himself he could no longer repress.
“She… speaks in my voice. She remembers things I made myself forget…”
The Warlord's face curled in a knowing smirk. “She? Hmmm, how interesting.”
The prince found himself again, pushing back against the comfort soaking into their thoughts. “Your magical abomination on my neck, Demon!” He tried again to escape, a nerve clearly touched. It was met with a guttural laugh. “I didn't give that collar a voice, little one… You did.”
The voice escaped from the elf’s lips once more. “Master will let you become what you want to be…” She continued her spreading, flashing images, desires, into the captive mind she curled around.
“I can hear… see her. In my head.” The heat of the dragonfire flared. Whispers of deep, dark desires. Shameful wants, incompatible with the life he had been born into…
“What.... Master wants me to be... What I want to be”
“That little voice in your head is just trying to tell you what you really want, little Prince. Or should I say... Princess.”
Complete limpness, a look of horror beyond what threats of violence had brought. Face to face with the scariest thing possible, the truth. “N-no-” His head shaken furiously. “My... My duty is…”
“Yes. You've always known.”
“No? Curious that you called that part of yourself 'She' then.” The dragonkin stands, no longer needing to physically restrain their captive, as truth continued to spill from an enchanted mouth.
“You want to submit, be claimed, be ravaged. let someone else take duty away from you, give you the freedom of binding.”
The elf allowed a single drop of true desire through. Frail body submitting to the one he recognized as Master.
“the Prince wants you to treat their body like a proper Princess, Master.” He blushed at the words that came out of his own mouth.
“That's what I thought.”
Finally, the conquered royalty spoke what he truly desired in his own voice. Freely admitted what the Dragon had known the entire time.
“I want to be.... Treated like a Princess.”
Claws raked down the elf’s sides, tearing his silken royal garments to shreds and exposing a clean shaven, slender soft body beneath. Clothes padded to make the Prince look bigger than he was, tossed to the side without care.
“Not a hair on you, hmm,” The Warlord observed, “It's almost like you weren't even pretending to be a Man.”
There were no words for the desperate sound that escaped the elf’s mouth.
“Such an eager little thing. You want this so badly, don't you?”
“Yes Master. Power... Taken away from me, I never asked for it, never wanted it.”
The elf’s new Master leaned in close, a hand on his neck, and whispered in his ear…
The elf let out a moan like none before. She knew what she was. Words she had wanted to hear, what she had wanted to be.
“Mmmm, there it is. You want this, don't you Princess?”
a desperate, bitchy squeak escaped her lips. “Y-yes… Feels.... So good…”
“It feels good to submit to your conqueror, doesn't it? To your Warlord?”
“Oh how far you have fallen. Do you want me to claim you, My Prize? To mark you as Mine?”
A deep, guttural growl from the dragonkin, “Then beg for it.”
“Please.... Mark me as yours. Make me your Princess.”
The Warlord's breath was hot upon the Princess’ face as they leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Who do you belong to, Princess?”
The dragon spun thier new toy around, pushing her nude body down onto her hands and knees atop her own throne. “This is what you were destined for.”
“Destined to be.... Masters…”
A predatory smile split the dragon’s face, their hot breath poured onto the back of the Princess’ neck. “Yes. Mine. No more little negotiated games neither of us enjoys. You know what you are.”
The Princess’ whole body shook as acceptance washed over her. “Your Princess.”
The Dragonkin’s eyes glowed like embers, reveling in their victory. “My pet Princess.”
She squeaked, as the new title seared into her mind. The magic of her Conqueror rushed through her, heating up her body. “I feel.... Destiny shifting in my body, Master.”
She could feel her hips shift, ass plumping, body becoming a more hourglass shape under the guiding magic of her owner. “Reshaped by Master to what they want me to be…” A wave of warmth shot through her chest, her nipples suddenly becoming incredibly sensitive.
“Do you feel that? You're finally becoming what you were truly meant to be.”
“Changing… What I was meant to be… Your Princess… Master’s sculpted pet…” Each passing second pushed the changes further, shaped the Princess to better serve as a pet, to live as she truly wanted to.
“I want to be your pet. to decorate your lap. I want you to schedule visits from other heads of states and have them walk in on you using my body for your pleasure.”
The heat in her chest spiked, small breasts growing. The Warlord's hands curled around the soft skin appreciatively. “My little Princess, to use and show off. My Prize to display. Admired, beautiful, free from duty she never asked for.” The dragon's own breasts pushed against the Princess's back as they scratched and groped their property. “It feels so good to finally be what you were always destined to be, doesn't it, Princess?”
“Your Princess… Your political setpiece… Your leashed and caged pet… Your arm candy… Imagine how fast other kingdoms will fall when you parade what a whore you've made a Prince into.”
They bit down hard on her shoulder, essence flowing into her, merging with the collar, expanding it out into a proper Pact mark, curling around her neck, down her chest, and around her ear. It awaited only one thing.
Words for her to read aloud flashed across her vision, telling her how to accept the contract wound around her neck. “I pledge myself to your service. I am your property to mold, forever yours. Your word defines my being. I surrender myself to you. I request nothing in return.”
As she spoke the final words, tiny nubs on her temples grew, horns of a pactbound taking shape. She felt a strange tingle, as her spine curled, a new tail forming. Tears of joy rolled down her face, tasting true freedom from her destiny for the first time in her life. There was no going back this time. No pretending it had just been a passing thought or a shameful fetish. This was reality.
"This.... is what I wanted."
The feminine voice, recognized as her true self, felt like a song reflected on the walls of the hall she had now abdicated. The Conqueror let out a possessive snarl, grabbing the Pactbound's tail and pulling her by it. “because you're mine now, little girl.”
It was pleasure like she had never thought possible. The emphasis placed on the word “mine” made her go completely blank. She did not know how long it had been when her Master was finally satisfied. Scratches, bites, and bruises covered her, fluids running down her face and body. Some hers, some her Masters, she didn't know or care which was which. Each had been delivered with a roar, heat melting her from within, body reshaping itself with each new position to better serve.
Her Master cradled their exhausted possession in strong arms, surprisingly gentle for one so rough not long ago. The princess spoke in a voice hoarse from pleasured screaming.
“I dreamt of this. I was too cowardly. Thank you, Master. For freeing me.”
“Of course, it's my responsibility to take care of my Princess, after all”
She could faintly see out the crack of the curtains she had closed minutes- or was it a whole lifetime ago. Smoke billowed from rooftops of a city that she once ruled, but she didn’t care one bit. (link to part 2)