Lovely morning

As light washed over the eyelids of our red-pink drake, she stirred from their potion-induced slumber.

She gave a cute, sleepful grunt as consciousness penetrated her sleep. She felt as rested as ever, plunged into an abyss of comfort and dreams. She refused to open her eyes, wishing to remain in the comfort for forever.

She raised her arm to scratch an itch on her snout. A taut rope stopped it in its tracks. What?

Her eyes shot open. In an instant, the comfort of sleep was cast off and she remembered where she was.

Metal shackles bound her arms and legs, chains connected to the stone walls of the room. A leather band was strapped around her stomach, and a muzzle was fastened around her snout.

Panic danced in her eyes and shot into her heart. She twisted and turned, but found herself unable to move. She panted like a dog, and found herself muzzled like one.

She closed her eyes and cast her eyes to how she found herself here. She was captured by humans, and asked this archmage to help with the condition that led her to be captured. And then... and then she drank a potion and ended up here.

Maybe it was part of the treatment, she rationalized. But why would she need to be all shackled up? Maybe... maybe she needed surgery! The thought struck new chords of fear into her heart.

The wooden dungeon door opening interrupted her stream of panicked thoughts. The old archmage shambled in, carrying a box with contents she couldn't see. Surgical tools?

"Good morning, my drake." He said cheerfully. "I'm sure you slept well. The potion should have ensured of it."

She stared up him, unblinking, wishing she could open her mouth to speak.

"Oh, you must be awful scared," he said, petting the top of her scaled head. "I don't wish to hurt you. Quite the opposite, in fact."

He explained that dragons had very valuable ingredients for potion-making, and that none was more valuable than what he termed, "your juices."

"Have no fear," he reassured. "You will enjoy the extraction."

Her mind raced at the implications. Juices? Extractions? What horrid experiments would be done to her?

Her legs were jerked apart by the shackles. She found her legs spread wide open by the chains, exposed to the archmage like a woman giving birth.

Fingers danced across her sex, and she saw the archmage produce a strange, elongated metal device from the box.

And then she understood.

"Yes, nice and wet," murmured the archmage. "I knew you would enjoy it."

The cold shaft sent chills throughout her body as it was pushed through her lips. It slowly oozed further into her, its massive size struggling against her wet lips.

She squeaked in protest behind her muzzle. Its size started to strain her.

"That should be enough," said the archmage. A blush came to his face. "Oh, look at you. If only I were young!" He turned around and fiddled with something in the box.

_Look at me, _she thought. In an old human's dungeon, strung up by chains and legs exposed, a massive rod sticking in her cunt. But the chills turned to tingles of pleasure... and she, shamefully, admitted to herself that she _enjoyed _the situation she found herself in.

As much as she tried to push it out of her mind, the image of herself sitting here, strung up and legs wide open, conquered her mind and made her all the more hot. She wouldn't even have found herself in this situation if she hadn't had a tryst with those humans in the first place.

A jolt of ecstasy shattered every thought that she had in her mind, as the iron rod began to move. _It moved. _She could hardly process it—the rod began to vibrate—

She squealed beneath her muzzle, and thrashed against the chains. It was too much. Too much. It felt too good.

The archmage said something, but she couldn't fully process it. "Just like that..."

She breathed deeply through her nose, thrashing her head back with open eyes, the rod flooding her with immense sensation. She continued to elicit muffled squeals through the gag.

Few thoughts were able to manifest in her mind, but the one that most clearly did, was the image of her, here, bound and thrashing in the throes of pleasure like a harlot, not a dragon.

And with that, she came for the first of many times that night, to the great joy of the archmage.

He left the room, but left the door open.

She stared at the open door in disbelief, hoping that he would come back, as the rod continues to burn with the pleasure of a hundred suns. She couldn't take it. It was... too much, just too much—

And she slipped into her second orgasm.