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To Be a King	By : RotSeele Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 11142 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft. I do not make any money off this story.

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Nozdormu

The first thing Nozdormu, the Aspect of the Bronze Flight, the Aspect of Time, noticed when he woke up was that he was bound to a table by thick iron chains. They wrapped around his arms and legs and waist and held him fast. He strained his arms, but the chains didn’t give. They didn’t even move an inch. It was the same with his legs. He angled his head to look around the room he was in, but he saw nothing but a dimly lit cavern. A large cavern, enough to be a lair for two adult dragons. He frowned, trying to figure out how he had ended up here. The last thing he remembered was flying back from Wyrmrest Accord to the Bronze Dragonshrine when he was attacked by a pair of zeppelin manned by goblins. They had dogged his every move, driving him away from the shrine and then bearing him down to the ground. They had attacked him, knowing that they went to their doom when they did so. It bothered him slightly that he hadn’t seen the zeppelin attack coming, but he had seen himself being victorious over his attackers. He swallowed more than a dozen, each one wearing two or three vials of strangely colored liquid. Goblin poisons would give him indigestion, of course, but they wouldn’t kill him.

He wasn’t sure when he had crashed into the ground. Perhaps between one heartbeat and the next, after his body suddenly felt leaden and his vision blurred. He’d hit head first and tumbled tail over head into the cold permafrost that was the ground of the Dragonblight.

And now, he was waking up here.

At last Nozdormu looked at his own body to ensure that he was not wounded. What he saw made the Aspect of Time roar in confusion.

He was naked.

She was naked!

Two round, perfect, rosy-tipped breasts moved with every breath Nozdormu took. He stared, unable to believe what he was seeing. His muscles strained, giving him scant few seconds to allow him to peer southwards. His head fell back against the table he was bound to with an audible thunk and he moaned in confusion and fear. What was happening to him? Why was he this way? What had caused him to become... to become this?

“Ah, I was wondering if it would work. You know, you make a stunning image, for a male forcibly turned female.”

Nozdormu jerked and managed to crane his head toward the far wall of the cavern. Neltharion - no, Deathwing - leaned nonchalantly against an iron-bound door, his arms crossed over his chest. There was a slight lift to one corner of his mouth, a smirk that betrayed the Aspect’s madness. “This,” Nozdormu growled, “this was your doing?!”

“Who else would be psychotic enough to capture an Aspect?”

“How dare you be so presumptuous? How dare you believe you can hold me captive! When the others learn of my disappearance-“

“Save it. I’ve heard the speech already.”

That made Nozdormu stutter to a halt, his mouth half-open. Deathwing grinned wider then, and he pushed away from the door to stalk toward the bound Aspect. He moved slowly, predatorily, circling Nozdormu and eyeing him as if his new shape was a particularly tasty morsel. The bronze dragon growled, hating being oggled like he was prey, hating that he was bound and helpless, hating that his new form felt incredibly unfamiliar.

“When I am free,” Nozdormu growled, “I will make sure you pay for this.”

“Oh, of course. You and everyone else.” Deathwing replied, entirely uncaring. He reached out and caressed Nozdormu’s breasts, making the Aspect of Time hiss in hatred. He flinched away from Deathwing’s touch, but couldn’t go far. Deathwing’s fingers slid along the soft flesh of his breasts and then pinched his nipples, making them rock hard within a few minutes and making Nozdormu snarl in hatred. “Now, now. If you’re a good girl, I’ll make sure you get all of my attention.”

“I want nothing of yours, Destroyer!”

Deathwing’s dark eyebrow rose and his teeth were bared in a wide smile. “Oh, I’m sure of that. But your tune will change. The others said the same thing, but their attitudes became much more... agreeable.”

Nozdormu laughed. “Am I supposed to believe that Alezstrasza, Ysera, and Malygos are here, your captives?”

“Captives is such a harsh word. I prefer slaves.”

A shiver ran down Nozdormu’s spine. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Deathwing’s smile vanished, moving away from Nozdormu’s chest and head and closer to his bare legs. “Come now, do you really think I’d lie about something like that? I like to gloat about my victories, Nozdormu. I’m sorry, excuse me. Nozdormi. What pleasure is there for me in lying about them?”

“Don’t call me that.” growled Nozdormu.

“Why not? It’s your name. Nozdormi. It has a nice ring to it.”

“Your foul potion will wear off. Whatever you have planned for me, it won’t succeed.”

“You’re making many assumptions about my plans, Nozdormi. Have you seen something? Why don’t you be a good girl and tell me all about it.”

Nozdormu snarled, his voice filling the cavern with violence. Deathwing ignored the sound and merely trailed his fingers up the outside of Nozdormu’s left thigh, then over it to his inner thigh, and then up to the wiry thatch of hair and the soft folds of flesh between his legs. If his legs hadn’t been chained down, Nozdormu would have landed the kick he tried to make. Deathwing laughed at his futile attempt and continued to tease at Nozdormu, making the bronze dragon hiss and writhe. Then, suddenly, Deathwing pulled away from Nozdormu entirely, still smiling.

Nozdormu snarled, the sound breathy and weak even to his own ears. “You won’t win. You won’t. No matter what you do to me, I won’t break. I won’t succumb. Even if the others fall, I will not.”

Deathwing’s smile seemed to disappear at that statement, and his golden-red eyes sparked dangerously. “We’ll see, pet. We’ll see.”

Then he was gone and Nozdormu was alone.

He was alone for hours. Maybe days. Even as the Aspect of Time, he couldn’t sense its passing. Maybe it was because he was bound in a static room, a chamber of stone, forever unchanging. He could hear nothing save for his own breathing. When Deathwing did return, it was accompanied by a heralding roar, a voice Nozdormu recognized as Ysera’s. Despite the audible evidence, Nozdormu still couldn’t believe that he had managed to capture She of the Dreaming or anyone else. It had to be a trick. It had to be. Then Deathwing shut the door and all sound was cut off. It was just the two of them.

At first, Deathwing did nothing. He simply circled and stared at Nozdormu, as if inspecting him for any sign that the potion was wearing off. It wasn’t. Nozdormu feared that the potion was permanent, that he was stuck this way for the rest of his life. He didn’t let his fear show, though, because he didn’t want to give Deathwing any more ammunition with which to torment him. Deathwing tormented him anyway, teasing his body with featherlight touches and caresses, arousing him to the point of pain before stopping entirely and letting Nozdormu fight to control his breathing and bring his body back under his own control. Deathwing left after that and didn’t return until hours - or maybe days - later.

Nozdormu came to fear Deathwing’s return. Constantly chained to the table, unable to move, Nozdormu was forced to endure the pleasure Deathwing’s touches elicited from his body. He was forced to endure the fuzziness that came over his mind when the pleasure became too much. He was forced to endure the pain that came from not being able to come and release the pressure that was building up inside him. He couldn’t fix his problem on his own. He had to rely on Deathwing to do it for him, and he hated that.

Deathwing seemed to know how to play Nozdormu’s female body like an instrument. Each touch of his fingers - and sometimes his mouth - created a blaze of fire within Nozdormu’s belly that spread out along his bound limbs and settled between his legs. He bit his tongue and clenched his teeth and fought to keep from making sounds that Deathwing would only take for encouragement. He had to hold out just a little longer. He had to stay strong until Deathwing became complacent enough to believe he was victorious in breaking him and freed him from his chains. That, though, seemed long in coming.

Just as long as it was taking for the potion to wear off.

Deathwing also continued to call him ‘Nozdormi’ while he was suckling Nozdormu’s breasts or fingering his labia and clit or his insides that became slick with fluid at the first bass rumble of Deathwing’s voice. If Nozdormu fought back, either physically or verbally, asserting his sense of self or trying to avoid Deathwing’s touches, the black dragon would stoke the fire in Nozdormu’s blood until it was a wildfire and he would leave him like that for hours, days, weeks before his next visit. The wildfire would subside into a smolder, but it would never really go away.

Nozdormi began to associate the unbearable fire with the name ‘Nozdormu’. If she insisted that was her name, then Deathwing would bring her to the peak and leave her there, suffering, until he returned to play with her again. That would be days, maybe. She couldn’t tell, even as the Aspect of Time. There was no sense of the flow where she was being held. No sun, no light save for the dim illumination that never changed, not even a fresh breeze that would carry the scent of changing seasons. Everything about Deathwing’s touch was painful and Nozdormi wanted to avoid what was painful. She thought about the others, if it was true that Deathwing held them captive like he held her captive, and if they were being subjected to the same torture she was. Perhaps one of them would be stronger than she, and one of them would be strong enough to break free and rescue them all.

That was the hope she held to. And the hope that the potion that was affecting her body would wear off. Because only then could she call herself ‘Nozdormu’ and believe it.

But time was her enemy, for all she ruled over it. It worked against her, torturing her just as much as Deathwing did. He never inflicted any physical pain, only caressed her and made her feel the fire that rushed through her blood and made her crave more, just enough to put the fire out for a while. But he never did. Whatever he saw in her eyes kept him from quenching the flame, kept him from touching her further, kept him from freeing her from the chains that bound her to the table. He wanted her broken, and damn it, it was working.

Perhaps it was months, maybe even years, before Nozdormi felt something in her body beginning to shift and change. She watched in perverse glee as her body began to revert to its natural state. His strength returned too, and he was able to shift his head enough to look at the chains that bound his arms. Time was his enemy, yes, but it was also his weapon. Nozdormu inhaled deeply and then blew the breath onto the chain across his right arm, accelerating time for the iron. It rusted immediately, becoming weak enough for him to break with just a flex of his muscles. He twisted to do the same for his other arm, then his waist and legs. He slid off the table and stood on wobbly legs. His body felt weak; it was still reeling from everything Deathwing had done to him, and from the torture of his mind from both the pleasure and the potion. It would take time (he laughed, unable to stop himself) before he recovered fully. But in order to do that, he needed to escape.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing, Nozdormi?”

Deathwing’s voice radiated out of the darkness, seemingly coming from everywhere at once. Nozdormu’s head snapped up and his eyes darted around, trying to find the black fiend but unable to locate him. He bared his teeth in a vicious snarl. “I told you before, Destroyer, that you weren’t going to win. I’m free now.”

“Are you? You’re still stuck inside your room, and you can barely stand. You should just lie back down, Nozdormi. You’ll feel better.”

Nozdormu’s snarl became more vicious. “Try all the tricks you want, Deathwing, but you haven’t broken me!” His skin began to ripple and change as he shifted from his elven form to his dragon one.

And then he immediately realized something was wrong, at the same time Deathwing began laughing.

While his elven form may have recovered and reverted back to its natural state, his true form, his bronze-scaled self, hadn’t. His draconic form was still female. That shock was enough to stall his movement. It was enough that his mind was sent reeling.

A great weight suddenly landed on top of her, and teeth sank into her throat, just behind the base of her skull. The weight bore her down, pinning her to the floor. Deathwing’s scent filled her nose, triggering the fire, the impossible to quench blaze. Her body immediately reacted to his presence, as did her mind. Nozdormu - Nozdormi, whoever she was - reeled immediately as she smelled him, as she smelled his desire and intent and her body answered his in the most incredible way possible. Deathwing’s laugh vibrated against her throat, even as she thrashed and fought to escape his grip. The two dragons wrestled and fought, but for all of Nozdormi’s attempts, Deathwing still held tightly to the back of her throat, not allowing her to turn her head and breathe the sands of time upon him, nor allowing her to twist enough to gouge her claws into anything important. The scent of blood filled the air, but she couldn’t tell if it was hers or Deathwing’s.

He pinned her once, using his considerable strength to lift her up high enough that he could slam her back to the floor and stun her. Nozdormi felt him behind her, felt him nudging her tail out of the way, felt the heat of his flesh against hers. The head of his cock pressed against her and she clenched, roaring in fear and frustration and denial. If he answered her, then he would have to release her head. Then she could fight back.

He answered her, all right. Answered her by ramming into her as hard as he could, past her clenched muscles, past her last line of defense. She could feel him inside her, hard and thick and burning. Her body rejected him, but he forced it to accept him. There was nothing she could do. Nozdormi cried out as he pulled out and thrust back in, driving her open wider. Over and over again, deeper and deeper each time. He drove himself into her, pinning her down as he did so, telling her that she was weak, that she couldn’t fight against him, that she couldn’t do anything but accept his dominance and his strength. She didn’t want to accept it, but his pounding flesh wouldn’t allow her to do anything but. Nozdormi cried as she felt him release his seed inside of her, and only then did he release her. But instead of fighting, she lay supine on the ground, her eyes closed tightly. She felt his presence before her and gazed upon Deathwing, his black scales glittering in the dim light.

His lips drew back, displaying sharp teeth stained with her blood. “Are you still willing to fight?”

She shook her head.

“Who are you?”

“I... I am Nozdormu...” she breathed out.

A rumble escaped Deathwing’s throat. “I see we still have work to do.”

He batted her head as a cat might bat at a dazed mouse, and she had no strength left to fight him. He circled her again, and as much as she tried to get to her feet and turn to fight him, she couldn’t stop him. He mounted her again, stoking the fire to the point of unbearable pain. His cock stroked the flesh deep inside her with obscene gentleness; his teeth bit at her throat, lower this time, in a display of dominance rather than a move to keep her from fighting back. She couldn’t anymore. She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t do anything but let it happen.

When he was finished with her this time, he left her. She didn’t change, unsure what would happen if she did. She could still feel him pounding inside of her, filling her with his essence, and leaving her to stew in it. More time passed, and when he visited her again, she cringed away from him. But Deathwing wouldn’t allow her to avoid him, and once more she was subjected to his weight, to the sensation of him inside her. The fire continued to build, continued to burn, and this time he left her unfulfilled. He had his pleasure from her, but wouldn’t give her any in return. Why? Why? Why?

When he visited her again, but didn’t touch her. Didn’t mount her. She cringed away from him, watching him with fearful eyes. He asked her, “What is your name?”

“Noz...” she hesitated. If she referred to herself as ‘Nozdormu’ he might leave her. He might ignore her again, and who knew how long it would be before he visited her again? “...Nozdormi...”

A pleased smile appeared on Deathwing’s draconic visage. It made her stomach flutter pleasantly. “And who am I?”

“Deathwing.”

The smile vanished, making her panic. “It seems we need more education.”

Nozdormi surged to her feet and prostrated herself on the ground before him, making a noise low in her throat that was almost a whine. “No! No, Master! Forgive me!”

“What was that?”

“I... I’m sorry... Master.”

That pleased smile appeared on Deathwing’s face once more. He almost purred, a sound that made her happy. “Very good. It seems I ought to reward you.”

She twitched, but made no noise escaped her. If he rewarded her, it was because she deserved it, not because she begged for it. He knew what was best, after all. His claw caressed her snout, starting at her nose and heading upward to her cheek. She fought to keep still, knowing that if she moved, he would leave her. He paced around her, nudging at her sides with his nose until he was right behind her. His tongue snaked out and licked her hole, delving inside of her and igniting the fire that burned her blood and made her maw part to release a low moan. His rumbling laughter sent vibrations through her that made her arch toward him and beg for him to continue.

His weight covered her. She felt his hard flesh press against her, then slide into her. He filled her with his cock, pulled out and thrust in, slow and leisurely. Nozdormi knew she had done something right then, because her master was stoking the blaze into a wildfire. He brought her to the very edge and at last pushed her over. Nozdormi clamped down hard on Deathwing’s cock as she came, milking him with each ripple of her orgasm. He bit down gently on the back of her neck and thrust deeper into her than he ever had before. He came after her, rewarding her with his seed. He pulled out of her and allowed her to curl up against him, nuzzling him and thanking him for being so benevolent.

Deathwing gazed down upon his newest conquest and laughed with all the power of an avalanche.
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To Be a King