Jack Chick was right: role-playing games will turn you into a monster. A sexy, sexy monster.
tags: commission, corruption, dragon, gender bender, girl penis, hellhound, nsfw, transformation
The armored woman groaned and lumbered to her feet. “Emad,” she called out, “are you here?”
From nearby, a robed figure stumbled from a copse of trees. “Ivy?” he shouted back, confused.
“Yeah it’s me, in the… flesh?” She panned down to take herself in, trailing off as she got the first look at her new body.
“You got big,” Emad commented, his voice filled with a mixture of admiration and envy.
Ivy chuckled, feeling the laugh reverberate through her unfamiliar, muscular chest. “I guess I became my paladin character.”
“And I look like… me?” Emad replied, clearly disappointed in his own diminutive frame.
“Well, that’s what you get for always playing the same mage character in every one of Robin’s games. Hell, this time you even wrote on your character sheet, ‘he looks like me, except he’s a mage.’” She flexed a brawny bicep. “The rewards of creativity are getting ripped.”
“Man, if I’d known that—” Emad stopped, then began to frantically swivel his head around. “Where—where the hell are we? What’s happened to us? Why—why aren’t you freaking out more?”
Ivy set a calming hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I think the easiest question to answer is the last one: I’m not panicking because I specifically wrote my character to always be calm and collected. I am reacting like Ivy, paladin of the Holy Order of Exidar, would react. On the other hand, your character was just you wearing a wizard’s robe, so you are reacting how Emad, college student, would. You’re even wearing a watch and sneakers.”
“Maaaannnnn,” the wispy mage groaned, calming enough to return to his earlier complaints, “if I had known that characterization was so important, I’d have put more time into it.”
Ivy scoffed. “No, you spent all of your time min-maxing your character into a glass cannon. What’s your dexterity, 6?”
“Hey, that’s not nic—” Emad started, only to trip as he turned too quickly.
Ivy, ever helpful, reached out a hand to pull him up. “And to answer your other questions,” she gently continued, “I seem to recall that Robin was really excited about a new dungeon master book she found. She said something about it being ‘incredibly real’ or ‘true-to-life.’ Not that this looks real.”
She panned a hand over the rolling countryside, taking in an alien landscape. The sky was a too-dark blue, almost purple, and the uneven ground scorched ash. The trees that surrounded them were a dying grey, and the air left a metallic tang on the tongue.
“None of that answers my questions! How’d we get here? How do we get back?”
“Emad, I have no idea. Maybe Robin’s Extreme Mountain Mist was rancid, we’re all poisoned, and this is our dying fever dream. Maybe magic is real. Maybe this is some sort of mass hypnosis or hysteria. Whatever it is, we might as well enjoy it for as long as it lasts.”
“Bah,” the mage scoffed, dissatisfied with Ivy’s analysis. “This is a game, right? Games operate on rules and logic. You know the kind of DM Robin is. Everything has a place, every line has meaning. She puts clues everywhere. So what was the last thing we remember her saying to us?”
“She was… talking about how excited she was for this session, that she thought it would be… what were her words?… a ‘transformative experience’ for our characters.”
“Right, right. And she said we’d finally get some answers about this ‘tainted magic’ subplot she’s been building up.”
“But the very last thing I remember,” Ivy added, furrowing her brow, “was Robin picking up that new book of hers and saying…”
They looked at each other, speaking in unison: “Roll for initiative.”
On cue, the air echoed with a bellow, and the two heroes turned to see, in the distance, the trees of the dead forest begin to shake and splinter. Something massive was rapidly coming toward them, ripping up the ground as it did.
“Oh shit—” Emad started.
“Mage, get behind me!” Ivy shouted. She unclipped her shield and drew her sword, seamlessly slipping into the role of paladin. “I’ll draw its attention, you need to—”
The rest of her instructions, as well as Emad’s continued cursing, were drowned out as a massive arachnid burst from the tree line, splinters of grey wood showering the pair.
The spider towered above them, a horrifying mass of chitin suspended on too many, too long legs. It used its height and mobility to swoop down toward Ivy, its venom-coated mandibles crashing against her suspended shield. The paladin successfully blocked the attack, but in her rush to brace she dropped her sword, both arms fully committed to keeping the shield between her and certain death.
“Emad!” she called out, her feet sliding back across the ground, “hit its legs!”
Somewhere behind her, Ivy could hear the mage still cursing, panic in his voice. “I don’t know how to cast spells!” he stammered, floundering. “I’ve never done this before!”
Ivy gritted her teeth and braced into the shield. For the time being, she would have to fight this beast alone. Fortunately, she could feel something inside her chest—a growing power coming just within reach, rising to face this challenge. As a paladin, she had access to Exidar’s light. It would give her the strength she needed. Even as her feet began to sink into the ground, driven by the unrelenting pressure of the spider’s massive frame, she closed her eyes and visualized holding that light, channeling it into her arms, into her voice…
The paladin’s eyes snapped open, and with a titanic effort and an ear-splitting shout, she shoved back, pouring her newfound power and magic into the shield. The spider shrieked in surprise and the pressure on the shield lessened, buying Ivy the space and time she needed to roll out from under its mandibles and retrieve her fallen sword. She stabbed blindly upwards and felt the blade connect with a satisfying squelch. The beast screamed again, even louder, and frantically pulled back to reassess the situation.
Frost now coated her shield, and wisps of condensation were forming around her sword. She had struck, not with the radiant holy power she had expected, but with something bitterly cold, almost dark. Shouldn’t Exidar’s power to be warmer than this?
Ivy pushed the doubt out of her mind. What did she know? She had been a paladin for five minutes.
The spider was regrouping, hanging lower now, its wounded underbelly closer to the ground. Ivy wouldn’t get in another cheap shot. “Emad, I could really use your help here.”
“I got it!” Emad suddenly shouted, drawing up beside her, now all smiles and confidence. “I just had to remember that I already knew how to use magic, you know?”
Ivy gave him a sidelong glance, her frustration building. “Could you please hit one of its legs with magic missile or something?”
“Okay. Okay, watch this.” Emad hoisted a large tome from his belt, struggling to keep its weight steady in his hand. “I knew I knew the language, you know? It was just a matter of remembering that this is High Tagran, which—”
“Now, Emad.”
The mage said a few gibberish words, and a ball of flame materialized in front of him, floating over his open free hand. “See, there we go. Now, fly!” he commanded.
The flame did not fly; it stayed before them, roiling in place.
“I said—ahhh!” Emad yelped in surprise as the fireball leapt down onto his hand, wreathing the exposed flesh in flame. “It’s not supposed to do that!” he wailed, more in embarrassment than pain. In fact, the magical fire wasn’t burning his skin, just enveloping it, lapping away at the edges of his robe but otherwise leaving him unharmed. “Go, fire! Burn the spider!”
Ivy sighed. Of course. Of fucking course. What a useless partner. “Then stay behind, mage,” she ordered, a chill in her voice. If he couldn’t put out his own fire, that was on him. She had more pressing concerns.
She turned away from him and toward the monster, defiantly advancing, denying the spider its initiative. It charged her all the same, more scared than anything, realizing too late it was committed to a mortal fight. She didn’t brace this time, instead knocking its mandibles away with a powerful backhand from her shield. The shield, brittle from the intense cold being channeled through it, shattered like ice. The arachnid returned the favor with globs of venomous spittle, which landed on Ivy’s armor and began to smoke.
Unfazed, the warrior switched to a two-handed grip, bringing her sword down and through the spider’s carapace; for a moment, it dug deep, only for the hilt to snap away in Ivy’s hand.
Still she fought on, the cold fury growing inside her, fortifying her like diamond. Stripped of her weapons and armor, the warrior roared at the monster, a scream laced with her power and magic. Ice began to crystallize on the spider’s hide, thicker and thicker, slowly trapping it in place.
And then a lithe figure vaulted over Ivy, using the warrior’s height to propel itself upward, toward the spider’s temporarily immobilized mandibles. With a resounding crunch, the interloper brought a flaming fist into the spider’s head, exploding it in a geyser of chitin and goo. Just as quickly, the supple fighter vaulted away, landing in a gentle crouch as the spider collapsed behind them.
“That was my kill,” Ivy snarled at the kneeling figure, the cold anger in her chest fiercer than ever.
The figure stayed hunched on the ground, head low, breathing hard. “The magic…” it gasped, “it’s… it’s changing us.” And for a moment, Ivy thought it was Emad who knelt before her
But then it stood, and it became clear that it was she, and she was not Emad. She was a shapely hellhound—taller than Ivy, and broader too, an imposing monster of svelte muscle and sinew. Ethereal flames flickered from her hands and feet, and her eyes burned bright gold. Graceful, shapely, and dangerous, she looked every bit like a predator from hell.
And then she smiled.
“If the spider was your kill,” the hellhound replied, her voice a warm smirk, “then you should have killed it.”
Under the beast’s ruined vestments, Ivy thought she saw the hellhound… change. A trick of the flickering light made it seem as if the hellhound was still growing, muscles and breasts filling out a soft, enticing pelt. But it was hard to tell, hard to look away from this monster and her glowing eyes.
“What did you do with my friend? The mage that was just here.” Ivy wanted to turn and look for him, but she couldn’t risk taking her eyes off this new threat. “His spellbook is tied to your waist.”
“Oh, this?” The hellhound casually picked up the tome in a flaming claw, vellum and leather burning away at her touch. In a moment, she tossed away the ashen carcass with a scoff. “I don’t need words to tell me how to wield magic.” She smiled, taking a step forward. “ I must have found it… somewhere. I’m certain it was a good trade.”
Ivy felt the hellhound’s heat seeping into her, like light glittering through ice. She was losing control of this situation. “Then who are you?”
The hellhound shrugged, smirking. “I’ve never been given a name. No one has ever been able to speak once I was done… sparring with them.”
Something stirred under the monster’s loincloth, leaving little doubt as to what sword the hellhound spared with. The opposite of little, in fact.
Ivy scowled. “I know your kind’s tricks, beast. Lascivious, domineering, always seeking new conquests, new challenges to prove your virility against.”
“But that won’t work on me,” she added, still unable to look away from the hellhound’s beautiful eyes.
“I know,” the hellhound said, ever disarming, making a show of raising her paws, pads out and claws sheathed. “I would never dare doubt the queen of dragons.”
The paladin swayed, a wave of vertigo leaving her unsteady. “I… what?”
“You are Ivitze, the ice queen of the north, yes?” The hellhound sashayed closer, her tone seemingly polite, even subservient. “Though you wear a disguise, I can see your strength, your power.”
“I don’t… you have the wrong…” Her thoughts were melting under the hellhound’s gaze, and her skin felt uncomfortably warm. “I’m not… this isn’t a disguise, it’s my… armor?”
“Please, my queen.” The hellhound now towered over the erstwhile dragon, finally breaking eye contact so she could stoop and whisper in the paladin’s ear, hot breath against cold skin. “Such modesty is unbecoming of your station. I heard your azure scales once repelled the strength of a full orc legion.” Her paws slipped along the cracked, cold steel Ivy still wore. “You and I both know that these sheets of forged metal serve no purpose but to hide your beauty.”
The praise felt… incorrect, but it was difficult to disagree. The hellhound’s words were in her head, confusing. Soft paws now roaming across her exposed flesh, talons carefully cutting away cloth and armor. Then her breastplate began to crumble, the sigil of Exidar turning to dust under the hellhound’s gentle flames. And underneath…
Ivy glanced down, and clarity returned. Her hide was—no, hide wasn’t the correct word. Or was it? The beautiful blue-white scales spreading across her body were new? Her muscles were melting away, replaced with a thin regal beauty, the haughty form of a true queen. This isn’t right, she tried to think, concentrating on the pain she felt—in her shoulders and back and feet—to dispel the warmth filling her thoughts. This is… not… right…
Then the hellhound transitioned from gentle nuzzling to a firm press on her neck—not a bite, but an open jaw exerting pressure on her all the same. Ivy felt her knees buckle, as if they weren’t her own, as if she were watching someone else—a toy, maybe, or a dragon playing at being queen. The hellhound led her down, down to the ashen ground, the fiery beast using its body to pin her.
Under that warm, svelte weight, Ivitze’s thoughts splintered, a frozen lake giving away under a misstep. How could this wonderful hellhound be danger to her? The monster’s heat was warming her, filling her, remaking her into the pet she deserved to be.
It was wonderful.
The dragon queen’s thoughts were flowing like meltwater now, pooling in her mouth and her pussy. “Please,” she murmured up at her mistress, drool slipping from her lips. “Please.”
The hellhound cupped the dragon’s face in a loving, padded paw. “Don’t worry, I’m not cruel.” Her other paw untied her loincloth, allowing her massive, hard cock to slide free. “I won’t deny you, pet.”
Ivitze gasped for breath, lost to the world as the hellhound slowly slid her cock along the dragon’s slit, then firmly but gently pushed inside her pussy. The dragon clutched at the ground, at the hellhound, at herself, mewling and twitching and groaning as she was completely, utterly filled, achieving a level of pleasure she had thought impossible. She felt her sabatons give away, her previously constrained claws digging deep into the ground, anchoring her twitching body in place.
Pressed into the soil, her dominant mate on top of her, a magnificent cock driving every thought of strength or independence from her mind. This was appropriate. This was right.
And yet…
She could feel the warm precum beginning to dribble from the hellhound’s cock, its heat bleeding into her, promising a flood of warmth to come. But there was a small core of ice, an irreducible frozen nucleus, that refused to melt. Each thrust from her hellhound mistress brought with it pleasure, but also clarity.
She was Ivitze.
She was an ice dragon.
She was the ice dragon.
She was… strong.
Powerful.
In command.
But she wasn’t any of those things now, was she?
Had she been?
Could she be again?
It would be so easy to let go, to let this be her life, to accept her place as the pet of this strong, virile beast.
Her mistress’ thrusts were growing faster now, and the hellhound’s cock blazed with ill-contained heat. But the pleasure had grown muted.
Ivitze had a choice.
She reached up and touched the hellhound’s face, and her mistress flashed a genuine smile—kind, even loving, in her victory. Hot sweat dripped from the hound’s matted fur, falling and smoking against Ivitze’s cold scales.
And then Ivitze’s hand crept down, and her fingers closed around the hound’s throat.
With a titanic effort and an ear-splitting shout, she shoved back, pouring her power and magic up, into her would-be mistress. In one fluid motion, the dragon queen rose, her hand still around the hellhound’s throat, and chokeslammed the beast into the ground.
The dragon queen roared in triumph, her wings and tail shaking the earth. Now she was on top, a cold and malicious smile starring down at the stunned and disoriented hellhound.
“Did you think,” Ivitze began, low and cold, “that you could simply fuck me into submission?” Her hand stayed closed around the hellhound’s neck, steam rising where ice scales touched flaming pelt. “Did you think me so weak that your cock could control me?”
Her other hand reached for that cock, more steam rising from their contact. “But unlike me, you are controlled by this cock, aren’t you?” She began to stroke it. “All your thoughts and power, pooled in this… stick.”
The hellhound whimpered.
“But it’s not your cock anymore,” the dragon hissed. She tightened her grip.
The hellhound squirmed and cried, trying to escape Ivitze’s vice.
“Your cock is mine.”
“Please,” the hellhound mewled.
“You are mine.”
“No!” the hellhound tried to reply, only to interrupt herself with another moan of pleasure.
“Your name is Ember, and You. Are. MINE.”
“I…”
“Come,” Ivitze ordered.
Ember’s body immediately betrayed her, coming the instant it was ordered to. She howled as her burning cum splashed over herself and her new queen, eyes wide as the reality of her station smashed into her and through, an implacable avalanche that extinguished the resistance that sputtered before it.
She shuddered and spasmed, wracked by ecstasy, content to have finally found a mistress worthy of her. And finally, slowly, gasping for air, her tensed body settled back into the ashen dust.
Ivitze watched, her cyan eyes glowing with a mixture of pleasure and contempt, never moving, never relenting. Only when Ember finally stilled did she release the iron grip on her pet’s throat, using her magic to leave a collar of cold steel in its place.
She pulled ever so slightly on the gossamer chain that sprung from the hellhound’s new adornment. “Clean,” she commanded.
Ember rose, weak from her orgasms but unwilling to disappoint her mistress. She eagerly did as she was told, first cleaning the cum from the ice dragon’s hands, then her abs, and only then turning to her own coat.
“What now, mistress?” she asked once her ministration complete, adoration in her voice. She had gone up against the most powerful being in this world and had failed. There was no shame in that. And in turn, Ivitze had rewarded her with a name, given Ember purpose and a place at her feet.
Ivitze brushed a hand along her pet’s mane, contemplative. “I’ve heard rumors of a great storyteller in a distant land, a singing bird whose tales can shape reality. I’d very much like that power, Ember.”
Her loyal hellhound smiled up at her. The ice dragon might be her mistress, but Ember was second only to her mistress. Everyone would need to learn their place, beneath them both.
“That power will be yours, my queen.”
As always, the art was provided by the amazing Jill. A special thank you to CorruptionSeduction, for commissioning this story!