Months bled away in hazy bliss. The dragon’s existence had started to blur with the myriad of creatures that had made their home inside him. His body was burning with a searing need, and he could no longer remember how it felt to not feel that ever-present reminder of heat as each rocking motion sent frissions of pleasure running up his spine.

So Full.
Had he had a name? He couldn’t remember anymore. He vaguely remembered that he had been proud, he had been strong, he had been powerful. All he could remember was how good it felt when half a dozen of his dear tendrils fit themselves inside of him at once. He could feel them all through him, they had become a part of him now. He had been hollowed out, his insides made into a breeding ground for the tentacle monsters.

*Breed me**
The bandit leader had stopped by to check up on him a few times, and he had been briefly given a new attire that would help him adjust to his new position. He could not understand what that meant, but as the sigils crept up and branded his body, he found that he no longer cared. Every moment fueled the dragon with blissful, overwhelming pleasure. Every moment felt unbearably good that the dragon would not want to escape even if he could.

So good.

Every day he was filled with gutful of thick, creamy slime until his stomach bulged, heavy with eggs. Every day he would feel his belly grow larger and larger, until he would finally feel the eggs start to move, helping themselves out under his tail. His body has gotten so stretchy that it felt as if he was made out of living latex, his very scales taking on a stretchy, pliable texture. His insides felt as malleable as rubber, and the tentacles soon found that they could reach deeper and deeper inside him.

As if to reward him, the dragon could feel his throat bulge and distent, clogging up and filling up his airways. He no longer lost his breath no matter how full his throat got, breathing through the tendrils having become a second nature. The thick, heated pressure worked its way up his throat from within his stomach. He no longer tried to fight it, letting the obscenely thick sensation force his jaws wide apart as the tentacle started to pour out of his mouth like an oversized tongue. He lapped at it weakly, comforting and massaging the soft, squishy surface, and it dragged its slick, oily tip against his cheek, as if returning the affectionate lick.

Happiness.

His dick ached. When was the last time he had finished? It didn’t matter. Each time his fat cock throbbed, he -felt- the tendril squeeze it back, both rewarding and punishing it. Each rippling massage made the blood flow and the jet-black flesh engorge as it was caressed, but with its inside plugged so completely, the nerves sparked jolt after jolt of never-ending pleasure, never getting to ease up, forcing the dragon to ride the edge of climax without being permitted to reach over the edge. Not a single drop managed to spill, leaving the dragon to leak only the tendril’s own slime.

So close.

His stomach gurgled, and he could feel his body repositioned so that his belly hung downwards, pulled by the weight inside him. It would always be time to lay another batch. Finally. Maybe he would get to finish this time.

He could hardly wait.