Monster Hunter: The Magala's Harlot

And so she stayed.

She stayed for a week, in the end, living bestially with the Gore Magala, serving as its sex toy the entire time. Her clothes remained safely packed away outside the cave, the thought of dressing far from Madison's mind, and she and the wyvern rutted over and over, whenever it desired. Growing familiar with its vocalizations, Madison found herself responding to what amounted to a series of orders; a rough, low growl ascending into a grunt at the end had her rolling onto all fours and raising her ass into the air for the creature. A snap of its teeth, after an initial few instances of more direct guidance following it, led her down between the Gore Magala's legs, for it had demanded a blowjob. When it ran its tongue over her, she knew to stand and allow it to lift her, moving her over its cock before pushing in.

Sometimes, between hunting trips, the wyvern would roll onto its back and rest in a somnolent heap, and Madison would clamber up the creature's bulk to find its cock and lower herself down upon it, riding the Gore Magala to wakefulness and a shuddering, gasping shared climax. Everything she did was focused entirely around pleasing the monster, and finding her pleasure in it, in turn.

But slowly, the newfound tint to her skin faded, as the mist worked its way out of Madison's system and returned her to her usual self. As this happened, the constant, aching lust began to disappear, her receptiveness to the Magala's ministrations fell back to normal, away from the hypersensitivity that the creature's scales had stoked within her. Maddie's mind came back to her, laden down with the expectations of the society she had left behind, a whole life that she had been prepared to risk on exactly this adventure, that still existed out beyond this cave.

She had to leave. She had to return. After a week of subsisting on cave mushrooms and bathing in the trickling waterfall at the back of the Magala's cave entrance, after a week of constant nudity and sleeping in dirt, it was time to go. What was downright pleasurable under the effect of the Gore Magala's sex mist- which Madison thought to be a lust drug designed to keep mated pairs of Gore Magalas together to ensure fertilization, now that she was free of it- was unacceptable once the rapture of it had faded. The next time the immense wyvern curled up to sleep, Madison crept back to the crack she had entered the cave through, what seemed like an eon ago, and slipped out into the outside air, just before dawn.

But there was one final thing she had to do, one more precious item she had commissioned, to go along with the Attraction Armor.

Digging it out from her pack, Madison slipped back into the cave, still naked, and stood at the entrance, the mist of scales washing around her ankles. It never truly went away, during all the time she had stayed here, but it had never again been so thick as it had been right before the Gore Magala's orgasm. Still, she pulled out the stopper of the little phial she had brought in, bent low, and scooped up some of the mist, which swirled through the liquid present at the bottom of the glass like ink in water. Maddie spent a moment examining the sample she had taken after re-sealing the bottle, smiling to herself as she tapped the glass and watched the scales swirl and retract from her fingers as if still alive. Palming it, she returned to the outside and began dragging her clothes on.

The trouble was time. The Gore Magala's scales, distilled as a mist, were frighteningly short-lived individually; they burnt out and vanished within a few minutes, if left alone. Without an actual wyvern to refresh it, the mist itself would simply fade away in its wake, which made sense, since the scales were a sense organ and the Magala didn't need to sense the things well behind it. But it did make transporting the mist a challenge, one that had been solved with the invention of these bottles, filled with a chemical compound in which the scales could be suspended and artificially kept alive for long enough to be chemically treated to stay that way permanently.

Madison had very particular designs on these scales, belonging as they did to her Gore Magala...

She had to wait until daytime to get what she wanted, which afforded Madison enough time to clean herself up after her extended vacation living as a cave monster. When she left her home and headed back to those fateful blacksmiths of hers, Maddie looked like a young woman again, and not the tangle-haired wild child that had wandered into town in the wee hours of the morning. Despite all the fun she had had, it was satisfying to be a human being once more, with soft clothes and real food and... not a constant chorus of wyvern roars.

'I want you to make this into a collar,' Madison said, upon slipping through her blacksmiths' door and stood before the pair, surrounded by shields and swords and rows of armored mannequins, sparing a glance for the back room, hidden by a black curtain, where the three of them had spent so much time meticulously constructing her armor.

'You're still alive. My armor must have worked, then,' The blacksmith of the pair grunted, as his chemist partner grinned in the background. 'Have fun, did you?'

'Yes,' Madison said, fully aware of the emphasis she had put into the word. 'And now I'd like you to forge a collar.'

'Gore Magala scales, eh?' The blacksmith eyes the bottle she proffered. 'Yeah, I can do that. Who's the collar for?'

'Me.'

***

It had been a passing fancy, something that Madison had wanted to try without necessarily knowing it if would work. But it had worked, which was a delightful turn of events, a wonderful bonus on top of the initial adventure.

The collar had glinted a dark purple at her neck, so deep it was almost black, and Madison wore it at all times. Once she had first clipped it around her throat, she never wanted to take it off; soft and comfortable, it signified something, without words, that Madison had longed for ever since she had first seen the Gore Magala in all its glory. It allowed the wyvern to sense her at all times, to recognize her when she re-entered its lair on the day the collar had been completed, to see her slip into the cave, to watch as she stripped out of her clothes and laid them carefully at the entrance, and to be facing her as she knelt before it, and offered herself to him, day after day.

Madison now had a link to her Gore Magala, a persistent string connecting the two of them no matter where she was. A mark of ownership, one wyvern to his lusty little fucktoy. He could see her, and she could reach up to touch the collar and, in some small way, touch him too. The path from her home to his cave became well worn and committed to memory, a journey she took at least once a week, so often that the people of the town she left and returned to began to take notice. It wasn't long before someone figured out where she was going, and for what purpose, and that was fine; Maddie never meant for it to be a secret. Let them know; why would she hide something that gave her such fulfillment?

They gave her a name, however. One that began its life being spoken in whispers, behind Maddie's back, up until the day she first heard it for herself. Her delight had legitimized the moniker, to an extent, and thus the people who were inclined not to treat the name as a negative felt free to say it aloud, to say it to her face, where it was always answered with a smile. Madison wore her new title with pride, felt her chest swell happily whenever she heard it, and she even told the wyvern of it, whispered it as they basked in post-coital exhaustion one afternoon, although she was fairly sure it didn't understand it.

She was called "The Magala's Harlot."