Markus approaches the dark castle. The dragon adventurer grips his trusty sword in his hand. The two-pronged blade crackles with electric fury, ready to be fully charged and to strike down the oppressive mistress of the keep, the great, terrible, and powerful Cynder.
His march through the dungeon is a thing of epic legend—a one-adventurer show of facing off against guardians and magical traps. His cloak is singed, and his armor dinged, but there’s no real damage that the simple chugging of a healing potion can’t undo.
And he chugs it down, standing before the massive double doors that lead to the throne room. Of course, such an evil monarch would hold herself in a place of power even while all her defenses are falling down. The dragon steels himself, his weapon at the ready, and with a hefty kick, he knocks the doors open.
In the massive chamber, a carpet leads toward an ostentatious throne, much too large for anyone to sit on, dwarfing the magnificent size of the queen sitting upon it. It is Cynder, her dark scales gleaming, one leg crossed over the other, toes wiggling expectantly. Her claws clack on the arms of the chair and tap upon her bored cheek, a bemused smirk spreading over her face.
Her body is draped by an inky black dress that covers her up in all the right places, showing off the scales at her sides and her thighs and plunging oh-so-low to show off.
Her
Massive
Fucking
Tits!
Markus’s grip loosens slightly as he stares at her, his jaw slack and eyes wide. When she presses her claws to the arms and pushes herself up to a standing position, he shakes himself out of his tit-induced stupor. He grips his weapon tightly, gritting his teeth. “I won’t let you continue your evil plan!” he shouts with the conviction of a hero.
She blinks, scowling. “At least let me have my villainous speech, you little peon!” she scoffs at him, stepping down from her throne, her tail and her hips swishing, her breasts bouncing.
“Ah, right, I thought you were ready to fight!”
She rolls her eyes, hands on her hips. “It seems like someone is so wowed by the enormity of this situation. I might as well end you right here and now,” she says, spreading her wings and rushing toward him.
Markus leaps back, using his sword as a shield as she spins and slams her tail at him. Sparks crackle from the blade, and he parries her, sending her spinning around, but she dips down and swipes up with her palm, striking him on the jaw.
Markus stumbles back, but he puts up the defensive again as she comes in, swiping and slashing with tail and claw, staring down at the male with a smug look of superiority with each and every strike. “Is this the best the kingdom can do to send against me? I thought you were a great hero, not some novice swordsman! Are you nothing but some little baby!?” she leaps up, spinning forward, whipping her tail down at him with the force of her momentum!
He leaps out of the way, the tail crashing at the tiled floor, sending fragments flying upward through the force. They float through magical power, which she manipulates, sending forth with a wave of her hand.
Markus deflects each of them, the last one he infuses with the magical sparking of his sword and sends, striking her right upon the cheek.
She stumbles back, rubbing her cheek, growling, staring at him through an unscathed eye. “You are a mighty warrior, indeed!” she snarls.  “Your trickery won’t get you far, though,” she says, holding her hand out and forming from the black ether her blade of dark magical energy.
Rushing forward, she clashes with him, the two dragons staring each other in the eyes as shadows and sparks clash, their muscles aching, their focus wavering as they press against each other, one blade bound to break before the other.
And it is the blade of shadow that yields!
Markus follows this attack with a swift kick, sending Cynder stumbling back, clutching at her stomach.
“How dare you make a mockery of me!” she snarls. “Don’t think you’ve won yet!”
“It’s time to give it up,” Markus says, holding his sword to the side. He brings magical energy to it, swirling through the blade, sparking and crackling in the ether.
He grips it with handles and slashes, sending an electric streak of energy that goes straight for the stunned Cynder, striking her. The flashing explosion of the ultimate heroic strike fills the room!
Markus stands there, breathing heavily, lowering his weapon and his shoulders, staring off at the smoking remains where the hit struck Cynder. But through the magical mist, the dragon's form appears, stepping through, chuckling low, her hands on her hips.
She’s unhurt, save for some smudges from the magical explosion that hit her, her scales unmarred, her face as confident as ever.
There is one difference, though. That black dress has been slashed and shredded by the attack, the straps holding it over her shoulders destroyed, leaving the tattered fabric to lay by her hips.
And with the material no longer covering her body, it reveals quite a surprise.
Not only are her breasts massive, held by the fabric through hopes and prayers alone, but something drips from them. For a moment, Markus thought he might have cut her. No, the fluid drips straight from her nipples, dripping onto the floor, a creamy white substance that keeps spilling, even as she walks forward, not paying attention to it.
But he pays attention to that milk, licking his lips.
His stomach growls, and his eyes lock on it.
Seeing all this, Cynder chuckles. “Well, now… isn’t this interesting…”


Cynder was once afraid that the tearing of her dress would lead to her having to suffer the indignity of leers and jeers from the lewd machinations of men. Upon seeing Markus’s expression, she no longer fears that.
Markus’s eyes are so transfixed upon her full, red, lactating breasts that his own eyes almost look like tits. He practically drools, lowering down his weapon, staring transfixed.
“So,” she says, sighing gently, placing a hand on her cheek, squishing her boob up against her, letting the milk run over her arm. “You know my secret. I suffer from a curse of continuous lactation. Only my dress can keep me from continually leaking everywhere, dripping this warm…”
“Uh huh…”
“Sweet…”
“Yeah…”
“Milk.”
“Oh… oh no…” Markus shakes his head, tightening his grip on his sword. “You’re messing with me. I will not be swayed!”
She opens her arms, closes her eyes, and tilts her head back. The milk trails down her sides, highlighting her feminine curves.
He licks his lips, then shakes his head, growls, and splits his sword into two smaller blades, sparks shocking each of them.
She smirked, opening one eye and watching this battle in his mind.
“Perhaps, there is another way?” she asks, tilting her head down, her smirk now superior to him, hands slipping to press up against her tits. “Perhaps we don’t need to fight anymore? Perhaps, if you put your silly little weapons down, then you can have your fill of my tits and all the milk that comes out of them?”
She steps forward, squeezing those breasts. Milk shoots out, spattering onto the floor.
He steps back, one sword lowering.
“Imagine, oh great hero, having all you could ever drink, laying on my soft lap.” She strokes her hand down over her thigh, leaving a glistening trail of the sticky, sweet substance as her fingers stroke over herself.
He gulps.
“You can have it straight from the tap, nice and warm.” She coos.
His knees rock and knock together, and he swallows the salivation in his mouth.
She’s right in front of him now. He could cut her so simply like mowing the lawn, but instead, he remains still, save for those eyes, which follow her nipples as she sways in front of him.
“Imagine it,” she says, a purr in the back of her throat. “All this sweet warmth deep in your belly, and you’ll never have to worry about not having what you desire ever again. You’ve won!”
She adds to this point by squeezing again. This time, she aims herself correctly, her milk splashing the dragon warrior in the face. It trickles down his nose and snout, pooling at his mouth. He shudders, then closes his eyes, his tongue shooting out, licking over the precious liquid, slurping it up, a gasp rising up from his face.
His swords clatter to the floor, his hands open, weak, his mind unable to force him to grip them anymore.
“What are you waiting for?” she asks, her voice husky.
He leaps forward, grabbing at her, his hands grasping for one tit, holding that massive mammary, squeezing, and opening his mouth wide.
The milk splashes at his tongue, his eyes roll back, and his voice is nothing more than a satisfied groan as he tastes what he has been denying himself for so long.
Deep in his mind, the warrior screams at himself, chastising him for falling for the temptations of his enemy. But this voice inside him is drowned as waves of white flow over him, completely enrapturing his mind, flooding him with the delights of the simple pleasure that is the taste of a dragon’s most perfect teat treat!
Cynder places a hand on his head, rubbing his hair, growling tenderly as he squeezes and plays, laps, and licks. “Oh, aren’t you the hungry hero?” she says, her tail lashing back and forth. “That’s okay, baby. You can have as much as you want. Why are you holding back?”
His eyes brightened at that, and he stared deep into hers before he blinked, tears running down his cheeks. He wraps his lips around the tip, sucking on that nipple. The suction is enough to coax out a steady stream that fills his mouth, swishing around inside him, washing away all concerns and all of his desires. After all, what else could he possibly want when he is filled with such the perfect fountain?
He gulps down the perfect milk. It’s an almost constant flow from the evil queen to his waiting tummy. He practically stands on his tiptoes to get as much of her as he can, all while her arms reach around him, pulling him up close to herself, gentle coos rising from her, whispering sweetly for him.
“There we go,” she says, sighing. “You found a compromise… a way we could live together without any more bloodshed. The only fluid spilled today shall be milk, and for a woman so cursed with it, it is something I thank you for.”
He responds in an acknowledging hum, his eyes closed, his mind shut off from the world around him.
As he drinks, she leads him back to the deeper depths of her keep, staring up with a smirk of absolute evil as she sighs happily. “Oh, my dear little dragon warrior. Together, we shall have such a wonderful, ah, time. Mmm…”
Somewhere, deep in the depths of Markus’s mind, his sense of right and justice gasps and floats in a sea of milky turmoil. It stares up, defeated, surrounded by his deepest desires.
________________
A week has passed since Markus has left to take on the dangerous dragoness. And although Cynder’s reign of terror has not poured out upon the world, the tension of having to deal with the possibility of her creating chaos has everyone on edge.
And so, two more adventurers, soft-scaled dragons like Markus, venture to her keep. They brave the many dangers and finally arrive at the final door. The first of the two pushes the door open while the other readies a magical spell to fire off against the vile temptress.
When the light strikes the inner chamber of Cynder’s throne room, the two would-be rescuers freeze, staring in disbelief at the strange and unnerving sight before them.
Cynder sits upon her throne, smirking and looking upward. One elbow rests on the arm of her chair, her palm supporting her cheek as she looks with smug boredom toward the two newcomers.
It’s what she holds in her other hand that has the two of them so stunned. Her dress is removed and hangs off her hips, leaving her top exposed for the express purpose of the creature that sits upon her lap, cradled in her other arm.
It is Markus. He lies there on her throne. The dragon dresses in a simple tunic. No longer does he need to fight against anyone. No longer does he need armor. All he needs is to happily suckle away at his mistress's teat, hungrily lapping and slurping as some of her milk dribbles down his cheeks. His eyes are closed in a hypnotic delight filled with the knowledge that he has everything he could ever want.
“And just who are you?” she asks, frowning even as Markus continues his meal, “interrupting my precious son’s feeding time… how rude you are.”
The first of the two adventurers falls to their knees, staring in disbelief at the state of their hero and friend. The second places a hand on their shoulder and stands up, clenching their fist. “Unbind him from that spell of yours, you foul witch!”
She snorts. “What spell?” she says, patting his head, petting him gently. “My precious baby is delighted where he is. Isn’t he?”
Markus coos, snuggling up against it. He pulls his lips free from her tit for just a moment, gasping and licking his lips, lapping up the last remnants of the milk before he turns to face the two. “Y-yeah… This is perfect. It’s paradise here. I get as much milk as I could possibly want!”
“But…” the fallen rescuer says, rubbing their head. “We did so much to… to help you… we thought… that you and… she… and…”
Squeezing their shoulder, the second rescuer then turns toward the two, pointing at Markus. “You betray your people… for milkies!?”
“It’s so good!” Markus says, latching onto it again, sucking hungrily, the slurping sounds echoing throughout the chamber.
“If it makes you feel any better,” says Cynder, fluttering her eyes. “I haven’t had much inclination to do any villainy since my dear boy showed up. He gives me all the stimulation I need. It kicks in that missing maternal instinct I’ve been looking for.”
“I can’t believe this isn’t some trick!” says the hero.
“Well, why don’t you come here and find out?” asks the sorceress, slipping her hand from the head of her baby boy and to her free tit. “There’s enough milk for another one here, but I”m afraid I only have two tits.”
The new interloper growls, their tails mashing against the ground.
“As long as your precious Markus is here, you have nothing to worry about,” the dommy dragon says, showing her teeth. “He was the only one capable of facing off against me, and he decided to join my team, latching to my breast for all time. Just go home, enjoy your lives, and pray I don’t grow bored of him.”
“I won’t allow it!” The warrior says, pulling out their staff and pointing it toward Cynder. Their eyes glow as magic swirls around the tip of the implement. As they speak the magical words, Markus unlatches from the tit and leaps off, his sword flying to him from behind the chair.
He clashes with the staff, sending it to the ground. He then spins around, kicking his would-be rescuer in the chest. They fall back and land next to their morale-destroyed friend, staring up at Markus as he looks down at them with disdain.
When neither stands back up, he turns and walks back to his surrogate mother, dropping his sword to a clatter on the floor and crawling right back on her lap. There, she leans in, allowing him to reach and take that breast and bring it right back to his lip.
She coos and gives him sweet nothings before she looks right back up at the two dismayed heroes. “There you have it,” she says. “He’s too far gone to be useful to you.”
The heroes have no choice that evening but to turn away with their heads hanging low and the shame welling within them. What they thought was a rescue mission turned into their greatest failure, as even though they were so-called heroes, they couldn’t bring themselves to do anything about their friend turned into a milk-drinking fiend. Perhaps they were the greatest failures in the land? Maybe it is Cynder’s time as the greatest ruler? They are anxious about what they will do in the future; they can only hope that Cynder will stay complacent so long as Markus remains with her.
Back inside her palace, the two of them continue to sit there, the motherly dragoness cooing and leaning in, placing a kiss upon the baby’s forehead, and the fallen warrior, happily drinking from her never-ending lactation, the two of them completing each other like some evil circle of debauched delight.
And he doesn’t care. All that matters is the sweet, warm liquid that pours out of her breast and into his mouth, which will provide all the comfort he will ever need forevermore.