Page 63 of Dragon's Captive

"Your body disagrees," Nezzar interrupts, his melodious voice now jagged with lust. "Your scent is triggering my rut. Alpha responding to omega. Primal law reclaiming what chemistry denied."

His coils shift against me, scales rasping over my hypersensitive skin through sweat-soaked clothing. Every point of contact sparks fresh arousal I don't want yet can't resist. My nipples harden painfully, my empty channel clenching around nothing as more slick gushes in humiliating preparation.

The chamber itself might as well be a fever dream—clearly designed for claiming. Living walls exhale moisture into the already saturated air, making me feel like I'm drowning on land. Bioluminescent plants cast everything in unearthly blue-green light, their glow reflecting off the iridescent scales spreading across Nezzar's body as his rut intensifies. Bubbling pools release mineral-scented steam that somehow amplifies both his musk and my omega sweetness, creating an olfactory feedback loop that's short-circuiting my brain.

I try to hold onto scientific detachment—cataloging symptoms, reciting chemical formulas in my head—anything to maintain some control. It works for exactly three seconds before another savage wave of heat obliterates my thoughts. This one buckles my knees completely, a gush of slick soaking through my pants. Only Nezzar's supporting coils keep me from collapsing.

"Your heat acceleration is remarkable," he hisses, his tongue flicking out repeatedly to taste my escalating pheromones, vertical pupils dilating with predatory focus. "Five years of suppression creating perfect biological storm."

"I'm not your fucking test subject," I snarl, clinging to rage as the only emotion that might save me from begging.

His smile reveals teeth too sharp to be anything but terrifying. "No. You're my omega."

Before I can form a retort, his coils tighten with brutal efficiency, repositioning me against his massive lower body. I find myself partially reclined, legs forced apart by powerful coils that wrap around my thighs. When I struggle, the pressure increases just enough to leave bruises, a silent reminder of how easily he could crush me.

That's when I see it happening.

A concealed slit in his lower body opens, and from it emerge twin cocks that make me freeze in primal terror and unwilling fascination. They extend from their sheath like nightmare and fantasy combined—thick, ridged in patterns designed for internal stimulation, and glistening with some viscous secretion that catches the bioluminescent light with an opalescent shimmer.

"You can't possibly expect me to take... that," I choke out, renewed panic giving me strength to fight against restraints that don't budge an inch. More slick soaks between my thighs, betraying everything I claim to be with humiliating enthusiasm. "This isn't happening to me. I'm not what you think?—"

My protests cut off as Nezzar's coils constrict brutally, stealing my breath. One powerful loop forces itself between my thighs, spreading them with violent efficiency that will leave bruises I'll feel for days.

"Your body is made for this," he hisses, voice transformed to something barely recognizable. Emerald scales ripple across his chest and shoulders like a living infection, eyes burning gold with vertical pupils so thin they're barely visible. His tongue flicks rapidly, tasting my fear and arousal with equal hunger. "It will stretch you, fill you, and mark you from the inside."

He tears my clothing away with savage impatience—fabric ripping, buttons scattering across the chamber floor. I'm suddenly, humiliatingly naked while he looms over me, inhuman and overwhelming. The misty air slithers across myexposed skin like countless unwanted touches, my nipples hardening painfully, my empty channel clenching around nothing.

"Don't," I manage, my last pathetic attempt at dignity while my body makes a mockery of the word. Fresh slick gushes between my thighs, the scent filling the chamber with omega submission signals so potent even my dulled human senses can detect them. "Please, not?—"

"Begging already?" His laugh holds no humor, just predatory satisfaction. "Save your pleas for when my cocks are inside you. You'll need them then." One scaled hand grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Your heat cannot be denied, only satisfied. And I will not waste your potential by sending you to a breeding center."

Before I can process this twisted version of mercy, his coils reposition me with brutal efficiency. I'm bent forward, ass raised, face pressed against his scales, presented like an animal for mating. The position should mortify me, but all I feel is another rush of slick between my legs, my omega biology overriding years of dignity with primal readiness.

I feel them then—twin cock tips pressing against my entrance, cool and slick with some alien secretion. They're massive, ridged in patterns designed for internal torture, and there are two of them. My rational mind knows they can't possibly fit. My omega body weeps slick in eager anticipation.

"Wait—" The word dissolves into a scream as he drives both cocks into me with one brutal thrust.

The invasion is violence made physical—twin shafts stretching me beyond capacity, filling spaces inside me I didn't know existed. Pain and pleasure blur into something unrecognizable as my body frantically accommodates what should be impossible. Every ridge and texture along his cocks scrapes against nerve endings evolved specifically forthis claiming, sending contradictory signals of violation and satisfaction to my overwhelmed brain.

"Fuck!" I shriek, the word torn from my throat as he bottoms out inside me, the cool bases of his cocks pressed against my ass. I'm speared, stuffed, stretched to breaking point—his twin shafts so deep I swear I can feel them in my throat.

"Still fighting?" Nezzar growls, beginning to move with deliberate, punishing strokes. "Your body has already surrendered."

He's right, and I hate him for it. Hate myself more for the way my channel grips his invading cocks, for how each thrust draws shameful, needy sounds from my lips. My inner walls ripple around him, squeezing and releasing with omega biology's instinctive knowledge of how to please an alpha.

When the secretion coating his cocks seeps into my tissues, everything fractures into terrifying new dimensions.

What starts as strange warmth explodes into neural wildfire. Every sensation amplifies to unbearable intensity—the texture of his scales against my skin, the weight of his coils around my limbs, the impossible stretch of my inner walls around his twin cocks. My vision splinters into prismatic fragments, colors too vivid to process. Scents assault me with information overload—his alpha musk, my omega sweetness, the mineral tang of the pools, the green life of the walls, all suddenly screaming with information my brain was never designed to process.

"What—" The question disintegrates into a broken moan as pleasure crashes through me like a tsunami. "What did you?—"

"Venom," he answers, driving deeper, his thrusts gaining force as my body yields completely. "Specially evolved to break omega resistance."

Naga venom. The chemical weapon disguised as pleasure, designed to create addiction in human omegas. I'd researched it clinically, analyzed its components in sterile labs. Nothingprepared me for this reality—the feeling of it burning through my veins, rewriting my brain chemistry with each pulse of his cocks inside me.

"No," I whimper, even as my hips buck backward to meet his thrusts, my body begging for more of the poison destroying my autonomy. "I don't want?—"

"Liar," he snarls, coils tightening cruelly around my thighs as he increases his pace. His cocks drive into me with punishing force now, the controlled claiming giving way to alpha rut aggression. "Your mind lies. Your body speaks truth."

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