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Arga's New Problem

By Draconicon

The black and red Argonian stumbled through the streets of Riften, groaning with every step. His head pounded, his eyes were barely open more than slits, and he struggled to find his footing. His leathers, pulled tight to his body, were stained with the mud from the road and the rain from the last storm, and he looked exhausted, ready to fall over. Yet, despite that, the thieves of the well-known rough and tumble city gave him a wide berth, almost as if they were afraid to come close.

They were right to feel that, though probably for the wrong reasons. Arga wasn't sure what he'd do to them if they did, and he didn't want to find out.

He reached the edge of the street, near a bridge. Grabbing the wooden railing with one fumbling hand, he leaned over it, his guts trying to creep up his throat and jump over. Gripping the railing all the tighter, he swallowed hard, trying to force everything back where it was supposed to be, knowing that there was no chance anything would be the way that it was supposed to be anymore.

They...they...

Arga shook his head. He'd just gotten away. The mud...wasn't all mud. The rain wasn't all rain. Some of it just hid the stains that -

"Nnngh..."

More pain than just nausea and lack of food hit him. Heat. Burning heat anywhere that the leather touched. His fingers curled, claws sinking so deep into the wood that it cracked beneath his hands. He wanted to...needed to...

No...no...

He gritted his teeth, waiting until the heat subsided. Or, as much as it ever did. It was like fire anytime that leather, silk, cotton, anything that was more than a loincloth touched him. He reached behind his head...then stopped. Stopped before his fingers could press to the back of his neck. Despite feeling the tingling power back there, he couldn't bring his hand any closer.

Hand shaking, he finally brought it down with a thump against the railing, shaking his head. This...This wasn't getting better. This was getting worse.

Not gonna fix it out here. Go inside. Get something...something to eat.

Fumbling through his pockets, he found a couple of septims. The bandits that had been on the road must have been hoping to spend that themselves before they tried to take him down. They'd paid for that mistake. Well, they could pay for a room, too.

#

He was still shaking, still in pain as he sat at a table in the Bee and Barb. His hands trembled over the plate of meat, cheese, and hunk of bread that he'd been able to afford with the little bit of money that he'd had. The Argonian that owned the place, Talen-Jei, had been kind enough to give him a discount. Maybe he saw something that Arga had gone through; maybe he just thought that there was something good to be done for someone that was obviously down on his luck.

Or maybe he's just setting a trap...

Arga shook his head. No, no. Not everyone was...

Okay, most people were shit. A lot of people were shit. But most of them weren't monsters. And his own kind probably were better than most. He hoped.

He forced himself to take a bite, and then another, and another. The soothing feeling of actual food hitting his guts rather than -

Not thinking of that. Not thinking of that.

He pushed that down, focusing on the relief that the food brought him rather than the pain that the memories wanted to offer up. Not the best way of dealing with things, but better than some. The dark-scaled Argonian wolfed down all the cheese first, then worked on the bread, saving the meat for last.

He knew that there were people watching him. The Bee and Barb was mostly populated by other humans, rather than the beast-folk that he had hoped to find. Humans, and a couple of elves, including one Dunmer, but no Altmer. That was the biggest relief. No High Elves, no gold-skinned bastards. He had never thought that the Dunmer could be outdone on matters of cruelty, not after growing up under the Telvanni, but after being held by the Dominion, after what they did to him...

No, no, no, no! He had to stop thinking about that. His hands were already shaking, and he was already drawing enough attention for being filthy, being barefoot, being a stand-out in the bar. He had to be normal. He had to stop drawing attention to himself.

As he shook his head for the third time, motion out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He whipped his head to the side, and -

Oh no...

The leather around his waist and groin pulled tight as a certain part of his anatomy surged in response to the Argonian female crossing the room. She was dressed almost as badly as him, though not so militantly. She had a dress that showed off a chest that looked like it was magically enhanced, like someone had given her a 'gift' to allow her to appeal to the more mammalian species, and she walked with a sway in her hips that was meant to show off her egg-laying traits. He bit his lip, looking down.

Thoughts were popping into his head, thoughts that he didn't want right then. Not ever again, if he could help it, but definitely not then. His cock throbbed between his legs, running down his pants, and it was not right. Not right.

Pin them down, fuck them. Use them. Fill them. Breed them. Breed more slaves. Breed more animals. Breed more beasts for us, Arga.

"Nnngh..."

On their backs, their legs spread, shackled apart. His mind gone, his thoughts shredded. Nothing but his cock. All that mattered, his cock. His balls. Their hole. Fluids spilling, screams turning to moans, minds melting, bodies molding. Inside, outside, inside.

He gripped the sides of his head, squeezing it so hard that he felt like he'd burst. Yet, the images kept coming, reminding him of everything that he'd done. Everything that he had been forced to do. Everything that he had been made to enjoy -

"Hello there, handsome."

No, no, no...

"Don't see someone like you around here too often. You new to the town?" the soft, rasping voice of another Argonian whispered in his ear.

"Go away," he whispered.

"Heh, I don't think you want me to do that, do you? Come on, you just arrived. Why don't you let me show you around...let you see all the dark corners...if you've got the septims...or the equipment..."

She reached around, her hand going for his crotch. He knew that it was meant as a flirt, something that was trying to get his attention. It wasn't meant to show interest, but -

Breed them. Breed more animals. Breed more beasts. Breed more slaves.

He threw the table away, stumbling back in a desperate attempt to keep her hands off him. The whole room turned to stare at him, but he didn't care. Food fell to the floor, but that didn't matter any longer. What mattered was getting away. Getting the hell away before it happened. Before -

"By the Hist, what is wrong with...you..."

He stumbled backwards, hindered by the same piece of anatomy that she had been reaching for. All eyes were turning towards him, staring, and Arga couldn't think of anything to say.

Breed.

"NO!"

And he ran, stumbling through the doors. He hit the railing just outside, stumbled over it, and fell into the waters just below. He kicked as soon as he felt the waters envelop him, swimming under the walls and into the lake outside. And after that, he just kept swimming.

#

Arga finally came to a stop at the far end of the lake, dragging himself from the waters and gasping for breath. He didn't even need to gasp; he wasn't tired, had barely exerted himself. And that was what scared him, among so many other things.

The Argonian stumbled from the water to the shore, pulling off the leathers. The heat had come back, and the pain was too much. He threw them to the ground, the fire on his scales easing as soon as they were exposed. Forcibly exposed. Forcibly shown off, like the slave that the nine-damned Thalmor had tried to make him.

He fell to his knees, shaking, crying as his hands went to the back of his neck again. Once more, he tried to reach for the tingling magic back there, but his hands were held at bay by commands that he had yet to break, hovering over...over...

He could see it so clearly in his mind's eye, the same thing that he had seen when they'd made him look at what he'd become. The row of soul gems running down his spine, each one forced between his scales, 'healed' into him so that it would take ripping his spine out to actually get rid of them. Whimpers of pain that he could barely feel anymore escaped him as he kicked his pants off, falling on his back, trying to bury himself against the mud, or at least hide the abomination that they had made of him.

As he fell on his back, another of the Thalmor curses on him made itself known. Argonians were meant to be no longer than six or seven inches, at most, with some well-endowed males stopping slightly over that. The Thalmor had 'gifted' him with fourteen, and had altered it, giving it a dog's knot at the bottom, the flared head of a horse, and little barbs here and there along the shaft. 'A beast should not look like a man, or even an elf,' they'd said before changing him.

Breed, he heard their command, even as his cock throbbed in response. Arga gritted his teeth, shaking his head, pulling it down and refusing to look at it.

"No...no...never...again..."

He cried, but he didn't cry for long. His tears had no point, and they served no purpose. They didn't make him better, and they didn't keep him safe. Or anyone else. If the guards heard about what happened...

He had to keep moving. Riften had been a bad idea. Time to keep moving. He gathered what was left, a belt and his gear, and started walking. The magic pulsing through his spine would keep him alive against the elements, for now. Until he could figure out something else. Until...

He didn't know until. Just that he had to keep moving.

The End

Summary: Arga, an Argonian of exceptional bad luck, suffers from some serious trauma after escaping the Thalmor.

Tags: M/solo, Prostitution, Argonian, The Elder Scrolls, Trauma, Breeder, Beast Cock, Humiliation, Escape, Arga, Magic, Curse,