DCBK

You are a legend, a name etched in song and saga... the famed dragonslayer whose blade has ended the terror of countless foes. But today, as your sword plunges into the heart of an ancient broodmother dragon, the world stills. With a final, rattling breath, the beast locks eyes with you and speaks in a tongue older than time.

The broodmother's curse seizes you, her dying essence transforming your genitals and granting you a glimmering, azure dragon cock in its stead. The moment the change completes, the cursed organ begins to weep, thick nectar leaking in a steady, humiliating drip from its tip.

Your cock pulsates and throbs constantly, aching to be worshiped and used. No matter how you try to conceal it, the nectar always finds its way out, leaving a wet, sticky trail wherever you walk. The scent is heady and intoxicating, a siren call to every female dragon that crosses your path, and a warning to everything else. You feel their their hungry gazes raking over your form, their survival instincts and common sense being overridden by the smell of what is seemingly a powerful male dragon in heat.

As time passes, you feel the broodmother's spirit stirring within you. At first, it’s only a whisper... faint, like the wind... Then it sharpens, curling around your thoughts with a voice as old as the mountains. My elder kin are gone, but not forgotten, she murmurs, her presence coiling in the corners of your mind. You, who bathed in their blood, will be my vessel. Her memories bleed into yours: skies dark with wings, kingdoms scorched to ash, the world bending beneath dragonkind. And she offers you a vision... of fire reborn, of thrones broken, of the age of dragons rising again… with you at its heart, laying on top of a harem of female dragons clutching their eggs

The visions trigger a fresh gush of fluids from your dragon cock, but you find no solace in masturbation. Your hands wraps firmly around it as you stroke it up and down, but you can't seem to make any progress towards triggering your own release. Your cock spasms and clenches, desperate for something more, something tighter, hotter, than what you can provide. Only the searing heat of a dragon's flower can satisfy the need growing within you, and the curse's demands only grow with each passing day.