I have been taken.
I have been stripped.
I have been chained.
“Princess,” my captor hisses, the tip of his tongue playing delicately down my belly, twin tips of the forked organ fiery hot against my skin yet leaving no damage. I am writhing between him and a cool stone wall to which I have been affixed. There is a stone ledge beneath my cheeks. You could call it an altar. I am either here to be worshipped, or sacrificed. I do not yet know which. All I know is that I am helpless, and that a monster is feeding on me, tasting the dew running down my body, perspiration mixed with tears of apprehension and fear.
The thing in front of me is not a man. It is an alien, though we have a word for the kind of creature he appears to be.
He is monstrously large, and absolutely unfathomably terrifying. He is a beast in every sense of the word. I quiver in my bonds, not entirely knowing how to respond to the overwhelming sensations of fear and arousal, both of which compete to course through my veins. Silken ties are no less effective than harsh metal cuffs when they are tied with absolute alien expertise.
He keeps calling me princess, but I am no princess. I am nothing more than an unlucky abductee, a girl who happened to be out on the wrong night and catch the eye of the wrong creature. I am a victim of fate, circumstance, and raw animal hunger.
His hot tongue flicks lightly over my sex and finds a second source of wetness. My body goes taut as he explores me there with careful motions of that agile appendage, finding the tight entrance to my body that remains hidden in maidenly fashion between my thighs. I have never felt anything inside me before. I have been so concerned with conserving my purity, or rather, so afraid of what it might be like to lose it.
I never thought I would lose my virginity this way. I thought it would be some fumbling encounter with a drunk college boy. I thought it would be awkward and uncomfortable and I thought it probably wouldn’t be worth it. That’s why I’ve saved myself, and that’s why this monster has come to me with his royal lust so intensely displayed.
The dragon’s tongue slides away and he rears up, the lower parts of his scaled form somewhat distant from me, but he is like a cat or snake in how he can curl around on himself. He shifts and he morphs, his form sometimes more fantastical, other times closer to human. This creature is tormented, and dark, he is broken and he is in a state of dangerous hope. When I pull at the bonds keeping me in place here on the altar of our joining, a true wedding of the flesh, I am reminded that my presence here is not voluntary. I am part of his plan, a soft, virginal chalice that he will inexorably defile.
“My beautiful princess,” he purrs again, the vibration going to the very core of me. He resonates with me, not just physically, but in other, less definable ways. He feels familiar, but not in a necessarily cozy way. He feels familiar the way a recurring dream feels familiar, with the potential for everything to become very strange and very bad at any moment.
His body contorts again, wrapping around me, caressing, teasing, tasting, touching, and while I am absolutely enchanted by his seduction, I am still a virgin and I am still a captive, and no matter how good this feels, or how much I melt when he touches me, I know that pain or something very much like it is coming. Fang and claw promise that, even if tongue is so very agile and tender.
There is something weighty lying against the inside of my bare thigh, the male part of him is so much larger than I could ever have imagined. Even the tip of it is an imposing prospect, the underside of it obviously ridged. Every part of him is scaled, and some parts are even more defined than others. I can only imagine how it will feel for my virginal flesh to be stretched inexorably around all those hard alien intrusions.
“Breathe, lovely,” he growls encouragingly.
“I know,” he says. He is trying to be soft and perhaps even gentle, but he is rough by nature, and there is no holding back not now that girthy monstrosity is pressed against my leg, damn near as long as my femur. This may not be a tryst I survive.
“You are capable of taking me, princess,” he assures me, his voice guttural and thick with lust. “You were made for me.”
I don’t think anybody was made for him, not with the way he is made, so very much larger than me I feel like little more than a living flesh doll, a human toy for an alien monstrosity wrenched from the nightmares of our collective consciousness.
His cock slides forward to find the molten core of me, the tight virginal hole protected by a laughable scrap of tissue that will not do anything to stop him from entering me over and over.
“Breathe,” he reminds me again, his concern for me so evident in his voice, but lacking in the lewd and vulnerable position he has trapped me in. I am very much captive as the dragon spreads my thighs with large claws, opening my body to him. The sight of the huge scaled rod pressing against the soft dark down of my sex is absolutely perverse. It seems certain he will not be able to fit inside me, that I will never be able to stretch wide enough to take him.
But I do not have a choice. I am a virgin, and the purpose of a virgin in the arms of a dragon is to be deflowered. And so he surges forward, and the strange yet perfectly made cock of the alien dragon king parts my outer lips, and my inner lips, rends the soft tissue of virginity and begins to spread me wider and deeper than I ever thought possible.