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Alvar was King Harald’s firstborn son.
And he was bad at it.
Yet again, he was watching Bjorn, his younger brother, take home the top prize at a dueling tournament. Alvar had entered – at his father’s insistence – and handily lost in the first round to a scrawny peasant boy. Alvar tried to hide among the crowd, watching as Bjorn gave his victory speech.
“On behalf of the royal family, I thank you all for giving me this chance to bring honor to our kingdom. However, I am not the only one of us here today…”
Bjorn’s eyes scanned the crowd, and eventually found Alvar.
“Alvar, my dear older brother! Bring him up here, so that all may see his face!”
Alvar wanted anything but this. The humiliation of losing was enough. Whatever Bjorn was about to pull was only going to be salt in the wound. Bjorn wrapped an arm around Alvar, pulling him in for an aggressive hug. Bjorn was strong, and Alvar could hardly breath as his brother squeezed him tight.
“Now, I want to sing to Alvar’s praises for a moment. Alvar, it takes such confidence to come out to a tournament while still developing your skills. I am sure that soon enough, you will have a victory to boast about! Any year now!”
Bjorn was always pulling some shit like this – backhanded compliments, shining a spotlight on Alvar’s failures, making sure that all knew who the superior brother was.
Their father – the king – looked down from upon the field from his viewing position. Alvar knew that look. Disappointment.
–
“Alvar, my son Alvar...what am I going to do with you?”
This had become a familiar talk for Alvar. He would fail miserably at some manly task, and his father would remind him that as next in line to the throne, he’d have to shape up his act soon.
“I provide you with suitors, but you turn them all away. I offer you martial training, but you turn it all away. And your appearance? How can someone of my line put so little care into his appearance?”
Alvar shirked away, mumbling.
“Dad, I don’t know, I’m sorry…”
The king grabbed his son's face, bringing Alvar’s gaze to meet his.
“You will address me with proper respect.”
“...King Harald, I am sorry. I try, but I just don’t seem to have the knack for these things like Bjorn does…”
King Harald let Alvar go, and let out a sigh.
“You’re right, you don’t. And despite years of trying to help you, I have made no progress. I am left with no other choice.”
“...father…?”
“Come the end of this year, you will be stripped of your title. It shall be given to Bjorn, so that he may inherit the throne instead, when the time comes.”
“Father, I -”
“That is King Harald to you, you miserable wretch.”
“King Harald, please, let me try one more time, anything - “
“You’ve had enough tries. Spend this year preparing for whatever sort of life you can scrape together. I can’t help you anymore.”
--
Alvar spent the first week of this new normal wasting away in bed. It was time ill spent, but Alvar didn’t know what to do. His father was truly disowning him. He knew there was always a tension – Alvar had always been closer to his mother, gods rest her soul, and felt more drawn to her crafts – but this had come as an utter shock. Surely, his father was just trying to scare him into action?
And yet, King Harald remained firm. He was actually sticking to this.
During the second week, Alvar considered running away to a monastery. Perhaps a life of quiet solitude, living with the monks, would suit him. Time spent meditating on the gods, transcribing old tomes, and brewing various potions. But...Alvar had little experience with such things. And besides, something about the thought of growing into a quiet old man, long beard sweeping the floor, bristled against Alvar.
Finally, during the third week, a new thought occurred: what if instead he tried? Maybe, just maybe, he actually could be more. Go out there, and achieve a great deed. Really make a name for himself. Perhaps his father's disdain and his brother's mockery were good after all; clearly, intrinsic motivation had failed. Alvar imagined how good it would feel to one day return triumphant. To finally put his brother in his place. Maybe it would even be enough to earn the king’s – no, his father's – love.
--
Alvar overheard the guards talking one day of an ongoing disaster. A dragon had been menacing the country side for some time, kidnapping villagers and eating livestock. The bounty ran high, enough to make a lord of whoever claimed it. Moreover, whoever killed this dragon would become renowned across the land.
Alvar knew what he was going to do. He was going to slay a dragon.
At least if he failed here, he’d be dead. A swift end to a life spent toiling in his brother's shadow, trying to earn anything other than his father's scorn. Years of bullying, for being so small and soft, would be coming to a close, one way or another.
“King Harald. While I am still your son, I humbly request training from Lord Wulfgar.”
King Harald let out a chuckle.
“Lord Wulfgar? What manner of business do you have with the renowned hunter himself? Why should I entertain this?”
“Sir, I have heard there is a dragon spreading chaos in our kingdom. I wish to train to slay this miserable beast.”
“...Alvar, are you serious?”
“Yes, sir. I will either die trying, or collect the bounty, and have the means to establish myself outside of these castle walls. Either way, I won’t be a burden on you anymore.”
King Harald paused, hand on his chin.
“...fine. You will get your training, for the remainder of your time here.”
--
The fruits of that day’s hunt were brought back to Lord Wulfgar’s manor. A lesser drake, handily slain by Alvar in a single swing. The two would eat well that night.
Alvar had spent ten months now with Wulfgar, fighting all manner of beasts. He learned how to stalk deer. Not long after, Alvar hunted wolves, then bears. And finally, Alvar was hunting drakes – one step below fighting a dragon itself.
Lord Wulfgar examined the kill. A clean cut, as skillful as one he might have made himself. He examined Alvar – no fresh wounds to speak of, armor untouched.
“Alvar, it’s time. You're dismissed, boy.”
“Lord Wulfgar…?”
“You are ready for your task. I can prepare you no further.”
Ten months. Ten months, and Alvar was ready. Soon, he would head out to the eastern mountains. But first, he would visit King Harald.
--
“My son, Lord Wulfgar wrote to me of your progress. But I scant believe it myself – why, you look as strong as Bjorn!”
Alvar remained stoic. He would betray no joy to his father - such an emotional display would be unbecoming of a man, after all.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Before you go, please take this.”
King Harald handed off the family sword – passed down through generations – to Alvar.
Months of preparation were coming to fruition. Finally, Alvar would prove to them how strong he really was. That he could amount to something.
“Do us proud, son.”
--
After days of travel across rough terrain, Alvar finally found the beast's lair. A cave at the base of the mountains, entrance strewn with bones, housed his quarry.
Confident in his training, Alvar approached the cave. He held his ancestral sword in hand, the blade hungry for dragon blood. Gallantly he strolled onward, head held high. What a handsome, chivalrous figure he cut!
...he moved on from that thought quickly. There was work to be done. Alvar was not here to preen: he was here to kill.
He played out the fight in his head - dodging a plume of fire, a slash to the leg! A gaping maw snarling as his lunged forward, blade thrust into the vermin's throat. Or maybe he'd charge in on the dragon before it could react, severing its wretched head with a single powerful swing. Or maybe -
Alvar had barely crossed the threshold when she pounced. In one fluid motion, the dragon - graceful as she was powerful, blue scales gleaming gloriously - ripped off his armor, pinning Alvar to the ground by his arms under her massive talons.
Alvar mustered all his strength, flailing his legs at the monster, to no use. After one last resigned kick, the dragon let out a derisive laugh.
"My, my, how convenient...a morsel delivers itself right into my jaws!" said the dragon, licking her chops.
This was it. Soon that toothy grin would crack open, revealing her cavernous maw. Her open throat would be the last thing Alvar saw before those jaws snapped shut, her gut his tomb, and -
The dragon paused. Her gaze shifted, and her eyes lit up. There was a hunger still, yes, but of a different sort.
"Hmmmm..."
Her smile dripped with a different emotion.
"Perhaps, there is some other use for you..."
Lust.
"I can see the worry on your face, my little jewel." (Alvar blushed at being called this, and felt a warmth between his legs. What the fuck?) "But you see, there's a funny thing about dragons: reality itself shifts to our needs, in small ways. A sort of aura we have. And why, your body is already shifting in ways that tell me exactly what I need from you…"
Alvar had been so focused on his impending death, that he hadn't noticed his body transforming. His once smooth chest now rounding out, graced with new tissue. His dick shrinking down to little more than a useless clit. And his perineum split, his – no, her - new hole already slick with wet.
The dragon smiled evily.
"My eggs do need an incubator, and why...it seems fate has delivered me the perfect broodmother!"
No, no, fuck no, anything but that, thought the soon to be egg host. "No, please..." she whimpered out, her voice reduced to a pitiful little squeak.
“From now on, you are Princess,” growled the dragon. “My Princess...”
Alvar’s Princess’ eyes wandered, and noticed the growing bulge between the dragon’s legs. From the dragon’s slit emerged her shaft - an ovipositor, already leaking fluids.
The dragon was going to stretch Princess on her cock. And worse yet, she was going knock her up.
The dragon wasted no time forcing her ovipositor into Princess’ new cunt, snarling in triumph. Princess’ new pussy ached from the fullness, but this soon gave way to a rush of pleasure and heat spreading outward from her pelvis. The dragon’s massive shaft should have split Princess in two; instead this felt good. Really good. In fact, it felt correct. The dragon’s cock belonged inside her. Princess wondered: was her body stretching specifically to accommodate her girth? Her clit leaked at the thought.
Fuck, no, this wasn't right, she was supposed to be the heir apparent, not an overgrown lizard's cocksleeve.
Slowly, the dragon began thrusting. Each thrust, each twitch, sent shocks of pleasure dancing across Princess’ nerves, pangs of bliss traveling up through her abdomen. Princess wanted to hate this – this grand humiliation, the final punctuation mark on a life spent mocked. Instead, Princess looked down to see her belly distended with the outline of the dragon’s dick.
With dawning horror, Princess realized she had never been more turned on in her life than she was right now.
It wasn't long before Princess felt a new pressure, the dragon’s ovipositor bulging at her entrance. Princess quickly realized what it was. The egg was beginning to pass thru. The dragon grunted and huffed, as she pushed the egg further down her shaft, further into Princess’s vagina.
Fuck, how big was it? How could Princess’ body possibly accommodate ever more? She’d barely had a womb for five minutes, and here the dragon was already fucking an enormous egg into her.
Worse, each thrust wracked Princess with more and more bliss, her desperate breaths giving away to louder and louder moans. Between each pulse, she ached for more and more. And worse still, the dragon’s ovipositor seemed to be perfectly shaped to hit Princess’ g-spot.
...no. The dragon’s anatomy was not designed to pleasure her Princess. The dragon’s aura had changed the once-prince; her body had been perfectly reshaped to be pleasured by, to crave even, the dragon’s.
As the dragon continued fucking Princess’ needy hole, it became apparent that the beast was getting more than just reproduction out of this. She ran her forked tongue up and down Princess’ body, the tips flicking at her now sensitive nipples. One of her claws traced circles around Princess’ lower abdomen.
"I can't wait to see you swollen with my spawn, my little brood princess..."
Princess imagined it for just a moment, the image of herself heavy with the dragon’s child; fat leaky tits sitting atop her taut, stretched belly. She couldn’t hold it in anymore; the floodgates burst open. Wave after wave of ecstasy radiated through her whole body, streams of clear fluid leaking from her clit. All she could do was scream and scream as the dragon pounded away.
The dragon’s face betrayed a sadistic smile. She was playing with her Princess, and thoroughly enjoying it.
The dragon’s thrusts came faster and faster. With each one, she screamed in agonizing bliss, her orgasm still going. The dragon’s breath quickened, hot on Princess’ neck. Her snarls grew into full growls, and then draconic howls.
Finally, the dragon roared in ectasy, cumming in her Princess. Princess felt the egg erupting from the dragon’s pulsating ovipositor, stretching her new cunt even further.
And then there was a pause. At last, Princess had a break from cumming her brains out. She tried to catch your breath.
It was to be short lived. The egg was in her cunt, yes; but it needed to be in her womb.
The dragon resumed her thrusting, pushing the egg deeper and deeper into her Princess. Each thrust pushed it harder against Princess’ cervix, dilating her further. This was supposed to hurt; Princess knew that from the way her father had talked about his escapades with women. Instead, as her cervix was forced further and further open, Princess only felt more and more pleasure at the steadily increasing pressure. Princess moaned and moaned.
It felt like ages as her egg worked it's way into Princess, her womb slowly stretching to accommodate it. With one final thrust and grunt, the dragon fully pushed the egg into Princess, and her cervix closed. Princess screamed herself hoarse, orgasming again as the mass settled into her uterus, its weight heavy on her already widening hips.
"Don't worry, my brood princess."
Barely conscious, Princess looked into the dragon’s eyes. A twisted mockery of something resembling love stared back.
"I'll take such good care of you."
--
The dragon brought Princess back to her hoard, gently carrying her limp body. Between the weight of the egg on her pelvis and the lingering aftershocks of body wracking orgasms, Princess was pretty sure she couldn't walk, even if she wanted to.
The dragon placed her down on an ornate pillow fit for such a beast. For Princess, it was a grand bed. She looked around at the dragon’s treasures; piles of gems and gold as far as your eyes could see. Pieces of armor, axes, lances, swords - trophies from other would be heroes.
After some time, Princess finally worked up the energy to stand up. The task was arduous. Her center of balance was so different; it took her a long time to gain enough balance just to stand.
Finally, Princess waddled over to an ornate body length mirror within the dragon’s hoard. She looked at herself, and she was forced to accept her new reality.
Just thus morning, she was a strong, dangerous man clad in armor, wielding his family's blade. An heir ready to reclaim his title. Trained by Lord Wulfgar himself, ready to kill the most dangerous beast known in the realm.
Now? Princess had been pregnant for barely an hour, but already looked nine months in. Her round belly distended, decorated with stretch marks. She put her hands to her growing, aching...leaking?..tits. Oh fuck, thought Princess, will I have to nurse the dragon’s spawn??? She shuddered at the thought.
And yet...was all of this so bad? No more brother to bully her. No more disappointing father. No more disappointing everyone. And besides, it beat being dead. Maybe the dragon wasn’t lying – maybe she was to be a pampered, pregnant, princess.
Maybe, just maybe, this was what she was supposed to be all along.
A swollen broodmother princess for a majestic monster.