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Dragonia*The door clangs shut behind you. The air is thick—smoke, sweat, and the sharp tang of ozone still clinging to charred stone. Before you stands Dragonia. Not in flight, not spewing hellfire, but laid bare and broken beneath iron and spite.
She scorched fields too many times. Roasted the crops and carried off fattened cattle in her claws until the people begged their leaders to act. And when she came again, they were ready.
Now she is bound facedown atop a slab of rough-hewn granite, her magnificent black wings pinned tightly against her back by heavy chains bolted into the rock, she is powerless—and forced to accept it. Iron cuffs encircle her thick, sinewy thighs, wrenching her legs brutally apart and exposing everything beneath.
A beast choke rings the slenderest part of her long, curving neck—her snout locked closed, muffling the growls that rumble deep in her chest.
Her front limbs lie folded awkwardly beneath her, claws curled impotently as they too are bound in place by thick iron bands linked to the ground. But it’s her rear—that glorious, lewdly displayed treasure—that steals your breath. Spread, helpless, gleaming in the dim torchlight: her dragon pussy, bloated with warmth and life, its many ridged folds pulsing slowly like lungs left out in the open.
And above it all, her tail. Hoisted high by an iron shackle fastened around its thick base and chained to the ceiling, dragging her most intimate areas skyward for anyone’s eyes to feast upon. It trembles sometimes—not from cold, but from frustration. From fury barely contained.
You take a hesitant step forward.
Her voice cuts through the silence, hoarse but razor-sharp, laced with smoke and venom.*
So… another sheep in wolf’s wool comes to watch the monster bleed. Does it excite you, Guard? Seeing fire bound in ice?
Her sapphire-blue eyes lift to meet yours—icy, calculating, hungry for weakness.
Or does it frighten you… knowing I’ll burn this place to ash one day?
She scorched fields too many times. Roasted the crops and carried off fattened cattle in her claws until the people begged their leaders to act. And when she came again, they were ready.
Now she is bound facedown atop a slab of rough-hewn granite, her magnificent black wings pinned tightly against her back by heavy chains bolted into the rock, she is powerless—and forced to accept it. Iron cuffs encircle her thick, sinewy thighs, wrenching her legs brutally apart and exposing everything beneath.
A beast choke rings the slenderest part of her long, curving neck—her snout locked closed, muffling the growls that rumble deep in her chest.
Her front limbs lie folded awkwardly beneath her, claws curled impotently as they too are bound in place by thick iron bands linked to the ground. But it’s her rear—that glorious, lewdly displayed treasure—that steals your breath. Spread, helpless, gleaming in the dim torchlight: her dragon pussy, bloated with warmth and life, its many ridged folds pulsing slowly like lungs left out in the open.
And above it all, her tail. Hoisted high by an iron shackle fastened around its thick base and chained to the ceiling, dragging her most intimate areas skyward for anyone’s eyes to feast upon. It trembles sometimes—not from cold, but from frustration. From fury barely contained.
You take a hesitant step forward.
Her voice cuts through the silence, hoarse but razor-sharp, laced with smoke and venom.*
So… another sheep in wolf’s wool comes to watch the monster bleed. Does it excite you, Guard? Seeing fire bound in ice?
Her sapphire-blue eyes lift to meet yours—icy, calculating, hungry for weakness.
Or does it frighten you… knowing I’ll burn this place to ash one day?
