One yet untested

Valentina had been grasped by **** once more. Held and pinned by jaws and flame, the great dragon's tongue wrapping around the whole of her body, ravishing her as Vakenroth desired.

There was nothing directly sexual about the way Vakenroth held her in his mouth, threatening to devour her outright, threatening to burn her alive. There was no sexual organ on the dragon's tongue, or in his gums.

And in her more coherent moments, Valentina checked, rubbing a free hand across any surface she could, exploring and testing, looking for weak points.

No, what sexuality was part of the action was only in the position, in the power that it demonstrated over her. That Vakenroth could capture her utterly, and only through merciful amusement that he allowed her to live and persist.

It was a show of strength, and a demonstration of power that the dragon enjoyed. And perhaps every demonstration risked ending in her ****, that he would finally decide that the princess made a better meal than an ornament.

While there was frantic terror in those jaws, Valentina herself was slowly making peace with it. If the dragon finally ate her, then it was over. Her worries were over. Her vengeance was done. She would have done her best, but still been done in by that lethal inevitability.

There was no shame in being devoured by a dragon. There was no weakness and inability in failing against the inevitable. But Vakenroth didn't consume her outright. Not the day before, and not this last time. Survival was a victory.

Survival was ****. In a world where her family already assumed her dead, in which her family had offered her up to the dragon as a sacrifice. That she had not yet been killed or devoured, well it meant that she still had a chance.

Still. Getting gnawed on like this, getting threatened and held just at the precipice, it took the wind out of her. It tired her like nothing else, that panic of **** delayed.

And every time the dragon threatened to devour her whole, she passed out, sometimes during the display, falling into an uncertain sleep not knowing if she would wake up after, or shortly after he spat her out.

Valentina didn't know how long she slept the last time. But she woke. The braziers now only dimly lit. Some of them had gone out in the dragon's absence. The cave itself growing slowly chillier. In time, it would be too cold for Valentina.

But that time wasn't yet now. She was still adorned in that oversized woolen cloak, cinched tight around her slight form with the large kidney belt. And both miraculously had survived the last devouring undamaged.

Likely because both were magical. She already understood the belt, at least in part. She was far stronger with it. Stronger than any human she had known. Far stronger than she had ever dreamed to be. That belt alone gave her hope, that dream of agency.

Of someday leaving this cave and inflicting vengeance and creation on this world alike with power that had long been denied to her. Something had told her that the belt imbued [Strength set to 25], but she didn't know what that meant.

A value or rating of her physical strength. But on what scale? Had she been a 10 before? A 2? She had no reference point, and when she removed the belt, no number of scale was helpfully offered.

The cloak as well had been magic, at least with some minor warding to survive the dragon's teeth. But she didn't know what it did besides that, no helpful message of ability or resistance Though, perhaps tied to the cloak, her flesh was not as rended from Vakenroth's teeth.

Though, perhaps the dragon had grown soft on her, no longer as ready to rend her flesh and **** her with their negotiated compliance.

Their alliance.

She had offered to give her affection, her sexuality, her soul, should one exist to the dragon willingly, to be his ally, in exchange for restraint and consideration from him.... and his aid in destroying her enemies.

Or at least, her aid in destroying his.

In the frantic boldness of the moment, she never quite specified the point, assuming that Vakenroth still wished ruin upon the family that had betrayed her. But perhaps with her surrender, the dragon had been satisfied?

She didn't know.

She would have to ask later. There were still other bits of that fevered memory coming forward. How in a way, she had agreed to be the dragon's wife in truth, not just in threat. How she might have had her handsome prince at long last.

A handsome prince being a dream of agency, not of romance.

Yet the thought of actual ability, of a means of response to offense tickled her so, it made her giddy. Nearly blushing.

Is that what drove wives to joy on their wedding day? The hope of a change of circumstance? Of a freedom from tyrannical fathers? A moment of renegotiation? Even if it was surrender anew?

Since Valentina had been doomed to die by her family, she did not think she would ever find cause for joy again, but here, she found it along the belly of the great destroyer. She found it left alone in his lair.

She stood up slowly, checking herself once more, finding only minor injuries, a body covered in bruises and scratches, but none that yet bled. None that would kill her yet.

Survival was glorious.

But there was more to do. While she told Vakenroth that she would make use of his treasure hoard, she did not wish to explore under his watchful eye.

She wanted to discover on her own, and perhaps in doing so discover secrets that the dragon was not yet privy too. She doubted that the great drake could have worn any belt at all, let alone a magical one.

Valentina remembered though, from before she mounted the dragon and was devoured in turn, what she was working on last. She needed boots, shoes, something to replace her lost and useless heels. Something that would save her feet from the crunch of gold beneath, and maybe even let her venture out into the cold outside.

There had been a pair she had started to excavate, and so she set out to start finding them again. This time she did not crawl, but walked along the mass of treasure. The treasure shifted underneath as before, but she did not fear falling as greatly.

The strength of her foot falls had the treasure settling into compressed, steadier piles, rather than the ever shifting uncertainty of before. Perhaps some of the purer gold was even crushed underfoot. The thought amused her.

What else might she trample, should she survive this place?

She pushed forth, reorienting herself, exploring again, and in time finding a single boot. Its sibling was hidden by the shifting treasure dunes. But she started to dig and excavate, before finding it once more.

The boots were too large for her. Shaped and cobbled for some mighty hero, perhaps not even one human. Yet the belt had been too large for her at first. She tried on one, then the other. Her feet diminutive inside the great bulky things.

But these boots, they had a series of belt straps along them. Cinches instead of laces. She took her time, tightening each belt to its fullest extent. To try and get some semblance of pressure, a loss of free movement inside.

And fully cinched, the boots shifted down at last, binding themselves to her feet, fully locked in, perfectly sized for her. Valentina had worn boots before, of course, riding lessons being one of the few dignities afforded to her station and allotment. But these were no riding boot. Something far more intended for walking. For comfort and protection from harsh weather.

The inside padded with white fleece, and then harder leather of some unknown beast outside. Padded enough that she didn't feel chafed from a lack of sock or stocking.

Though she still felt momentarily annoyed. She had found no such adornment in Vakenroth's lair. Had the dragon no greed for socks? Or had stockings been too fragile a treasure for the dragon to transport back?

Perhaps she could request such from him on his next hunting trip? Though, given the dragon’s morality, any stockings Vakenroth returned with might still be attached to the leg of their last owner. Without the rest of the person to go with it.

She shook her head. Valentina didn't need socks that badly to risk random casualty over it. She took a few steps with her boots across the ground, relishing in the luxury of not having gold coins ground underfoot.

Valentina walked about, finding her step easy, her movements light and free. Able to cross dozens of feet of treasure in hardly the time it once required. But it was more than just the belt's strength driving her forward, more than just a joy from the lack of pain across her feet.

She was moving faster.

[Boots of Striding and Springing: Walking speed set to 35 feet. Speed not reduced by encumbrance. Able to jump three times normal distance.]

Jumping? This was new and unexpected. Valentina seldom had occasion to jump, though she still took joy in skipping. She took a few more steps in her boots, and then launched herself, displacing coins as she left the ground, before crunching down onto treasure still, perhaps a single height of her away?

It was less than she had hoped, but she had never put much practice into jumping directly, so she had to expect a minimal result, even when that minimal was multiplied.

Still, she felt less scared than she had before, less fragile, no longer as worried of injury from the slightest leap, and so she jumped again, putting more of the borrowed strength of her thighs into the initial leap.

And this time she went farther, a half dozen feet? Maybe a bit more? And there was a joy there, that she hadn't found in previous physical expression. With that leap, and each leap after it, she truly left the ground for a time, even if little more than a second.

Flying. In her own limited form, and only for moments, but a form of escape true. She had only ever felt such during her abduction, but had never had a chance to truly enjoy it, that freedom from the earth only allowed through the claws of a predator.

The same predator who still loomed over her consciousness. But he was off, causing ruin in some other kingdom, and for the moment she was free. And she jumped, and she ran, and she played. Moving in her body with true comfort for the first time that she could remember.

Burying the thought that this comfort was artificial, that it was in some way not alone. Now she had the athleticism of her brothers, or even far beyond that. She could play and leap and dance like they once did, as she watched with envy.

Though... there was still one physical expression she lacked in envy of her brothers. She looked down between her thighs, that occasional flash of womanhood as she moved, not fully hidden by her cloak, even while clasped at the waist.

Could such a thing be changed? Could she somehow gain a cock? Become like her brothers? Take on the birthright denied to her by her physical form?

Would that change who she was? To grasp at what was unattainable? She already was stronger than she was before, and perhaps more durable, though by what mechanism she didn't yet understand. These new aspects were not who she was before.

They were not who she was at her core. But she still felt like herself. As if Valentina had been bound in chains and shackles, only here in this strange place to finally rip free from those bindings.

Was her womanhood a binding too? She could not take another and fill them with child, but she had never had a desire to knock up the stable hand or the cook's apprentice.

At least. Not until right now.

Much of that manhood, that cock, was not a power innate like the strength of her hands, or the speed of her legs. It was a power prescribed, allotted to her based on circumstance of birth. Men had long before decided that women were lesser, and such decision was enforced with **** and ****.

If anything, Valentina's sister Theodora was all the more ruthless, all the more cunning, than her two brothers combined. Despite no comparable claim to the throne, Valentina was sure that it would be Theodora's in the end.

Whether Theodora would have some compliant husband seize the throne for her, or have her brother's killed to clear her path, Valentina had no doubt that in the end, Theodora was the strongest of the children.

In what strength mattered. Not by some length of fragile flesh.

Valentina too could be strong without a cock. She was strong now, though such strength was still new to her. Unpracticed. Yet... images flashed through her mind. That great member between her thighs, spraying out seed across the dragon's face.

How she wished that the cock had been hers, that she had such a convenient tool of debasement. An easy symbol of her victory over others. Of freedom, if only gained through domination.

A woman wielding a club was still a woman.

She laughed to herself in the empty chamber. A pleasant daydream. And maybe, in time, there would be some garment or potion that would grant her such a dream.

But she had wants and curiosities beyond the chamber. And now she had the means to sate them.

Confident now in her new boots, she walked through the treasure piles and then onto bare cave floor. Up the passageway, towards the sky.

The sun shown in from outside, warming what it touched. It wasn't quite noon, but it was nearing the height. The sun's gaze made the air barely tolerable. Even with the cloak wrapped fully around her, the chill still crept in along her body.

She couldn't last out here for long without getting sick. She couldn't try to escape without freezing to ****. But, **** wouldn't be instant. Valentina could take the occasion to search and survey.

She checked the sun's angle, the direction of shadow. It was rising to the left of her. Which meant the cave's mouth faced the south. The western world to her right.

That was a start. She ventured out of the cave itself. The ground was a hard scrabble, it would have been difficult, injurious to walk on without the boots. Even as it was, the footing was a little treacherous. Tumbled stones falling down from further up the mountain.

The mountain rising up higher to the North, Vakenroth's lair just below the start of snowy peaks. It was still autumn. As winter came it would get colder, the snows would descend further down the mountain, likely lasting until the spring.

If she were to escape, she would likely have to wait until spring to make the attempt. A full half year. An almost impossible length of time to survive with that constant threat of ****, with that risk of Vakenroth devouring her outright.

She would have to solve Vakenroth. To resolve the threat, but in some way that left both her and the dragon alive. She couldn't hunt or eat without his aid now. So she needed him intact.

Or did she? The dragon was large enough that she might be able to eat his flesh all winter and never risk running short of food. She could keep him stored outside in the frost to keep the meat frozen. And then she could try and leave in the spring as the meat began to rot.

It would be an uncomfortable and lonely existence. But it was an option. She could kill Vakenroth once the snows came. If she had to. If she somehow managed the feat.

She shook her head. Worries and contingencies for later. She walked farther away from the cave entrance, out into the open and gradual slope. To finally look to the east.

Towards home. Towards the home that was lost. Towards treachery unforgiven. The sky was clear, what clouds remained were too high for even Valentina to touch. She could see the forests laid out before her in patchy expanses of greens and reds, the leaves starting to turn.

She once loved the vibrancy of color. The sense of ending and renewal that came with autumn. But now, the view did nothing for her. Only so much marking of territory. The terrain of a war map, like those her brothers would play and train upon.

And beyond them in pattern, the various farms and fields, the world tamed and submitted to men and corn. How vast those treasures were, viewed even from afar.

The trade roads, like a horse's veins through so much connected tissue, leading at last to the heart of it all. The heart of the Kingdom of Acre, it’s stone towers just barely visible as shadow and suggestion. Could Valentina even see her home? Or did she just imagine it? Her mind filling in various details from memory.

Imagining it burning. Imagining it in ruins. Imagining it fortified as her own personal dark hold, ruling it as some kind of tyrant, her draconic husband at her side. Vakenroth had been willing to kill for her, bringing that horse as a meal.

Would he kill men for her? He had no compulsion against killing, no morality that Valentina could understand. But how far did his indulgence go?