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This is a long story commission Nulkurrak has done for TheGrandPuppeteer

Description: The life of an elite scout is a lonely affair, a truth deeply embedded into the lonely heart and virgin member of the dragon called Zeridran. During his usual pit stop with his coyote companion, a chance to finally rid himself of his nagging wet dreams appears when his two best friends are stationed in the same town, ready to welcome him into their debauched fold. But will he accept it? Or turn tail, as he had done all his life?

The characters featured in this story are Nulkurrak's creation

***In pursuit of Relief chapter 1***

"I...don't think you should..."

"Shouldn't I?" Lerranya shifted one of her forepaws over Zeridran's soot-grey muzzle, her padded toes separated by his smooth, greying nose horn. "It's my choice, isn't it? My turn. You've already taken yours."

Yes. Yes he did. He chose to surrender to the cream of her belly, to inch his nostrils further into her pads, to breathe in the soft smell of dust mixed with the heavier aromas of her vent, slick against her pink-mottled paw pads.

She cheated. Whenever she coated her pads in her leaking fluids, Zeridran's limbs gave in, the grey of his belly shadowed by her supple form, her trickling juices pelting his achingly erect cock. They drooled on the swollen spade of his tip right now, little translucent webs reaching for his jerking spire, his breaths as erratic as its movements.

"Now lay still," Lerranya said--no, commanded, for her hips buckled down, swallowing the entirety of his length faster than the wide-eyed drake could scrunch his eyelids shut in mystifying pleasure. "Can't have your cock swinging this way and that, spreading your virgin musk all over my recently washed scales."

Not that he could contest that, let alone whimper his submission and earn reprieve from the onslaught of her swaying haunches. Lerranya's smooth, constant, deep thrusts permitted her ridged walls to tug at every barb coating Zeridran's length in five neat, parallel rows growing sturdier and meatier towards the underside. Those looked like little fleshy nubs, more prominent and stiffer to the touch, yet awfully susceptible to the scalding heat of her wet insides.

Zeridran's breaths hiked along with his immense, unstoppable desire to ejaculate into her. He wanted to warn her, to roar at her, to shove her off him before his seed burst forth. The clench of his jaws couldn't suppress it. The clamping of his butt failed to diminish the molten pressure surging through every barb on his cock, each primed to fulfill its primordial duty to the hungry, shuddering insides of the female Zeridran desired with all his heart.

"Rrrhhh, I....raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarhhhh!"

"I know you can't," Lerranya churred as her ripe, swollen, heat-stricken folds sucked the entirety of Zeridran down to his very slit, the terse squeezes of her strong muscles bringing about Zeridran's immense, pent-up release.

A spurt. It always took a single spurt for Zeridran's bleary eyes to snap open; for his quiet, lazy moans to roll out of his stiff, sluggish muzzle while his seed shot all over himself. The length of his neck often protected his face from those musky, humiliating blows while the surging motions of his cock splattered his essence on the membrane of his wing, flank, throat, chest and belly. The light grey inside of his haunch was the last to receive that sludgy curse, his still, spent member resting in a shallow pool of thick, ivory slime that had spent too long inside his body.

Zeridran's head flopped back on the hay. A long, weary, defeated sigh fled him along with a few pathetic whimpers he immediately culled short. It happened again. And why shouldn't it, when he had done nothing to tend to the need? Kalrondren, his senior and his only dragon friend stationed in Talonrise at this time, undertook enough critical missions to be paired to no other than Lerranya, whereas he...because of Lardran...

No. It was wrong to put this blame on his friend and father, especially since Zeridran withheld this closely-guarded secret of his. Lardran understood this world and its intricacies better than Zeridran could ever hope to, for the society of bipeds was a quagmire of requirements, subtle and apparent, more so for the rebel side.

With practiced fluidity, Zeridran got onto his limbs, shuffling over to the stack of velvet kerchiefs he hid under a ballot of hay for this precise reason. Tying them to his tail in the simplest of knots came as second-nature to him after the umpteenth occurrence of this scenario, where the erotic nature of his dreams ended with the expulsion of his young, far too eager seed. Compared to his paws, his tail easily reached every gob, snake and droplet of seed, with the velvet texture doing the rest.

Once adequately clean, the soot-grey drake padded over to the barrel of water by the barn's exit to dip his head in it and dispel the last of his lingering anxiety. The clean kerchief tied to his tail, when soaked, eliminated most of the lingering, musty fragrance of his essence, but it did not completely wash it off.

For that, he had to roll in the farthest pile of hay, sodden with dust and dirt. The dampness of his scales caked the grime to them, holding it there enough for the more natural scents to impregnate into them.

His morning ritual done, Zeridran stepped out of his larger-than-expected room for the night into the breezy morning of Talonrise, the ugliest, most unique town their profession as elite scouts sent them to.

At its farther edges, Zeridran was spared the humming noise of the zeppelins, the air platforms reserved for the taller, central parts of the town where the density of buildings and people was at its thickest. Though it did not rise to breach the clouds like the cities on the other side of the border, the worthy parts of Talonrise had risen from the polluted ruins of Old Vrashdrell on beams and platforms of sturdy steel. On the outer reaches, the single, smaller buildings lingered on what appeared to be a russet amalgamation of matchsticks prone to blow in the wind, their space limited to tiny islands barely enough for a dragon to land, united by as many swaying bridges as there were people living here.

The center portion was far more impressive, dominated by the artful spire called the Talonrise Eyrie, where the leaders welcomed elite scouts like him and Lardran to bask in the sumptuous offers of their fine town. Lardran never accepted the lofty invitation, a fortunate kindness to a dragon like Zeridran, unable to hold his seed when he most needed to.

From up here, where some of the sun reached down on the smog-covered below, Zeridran could hear the noise of the Old World. It rattled his very scales to think that people could live in such filth, another half-forgotten remnant of a war as old as the crumbled stone buildings from down there. Lardran told him not to pay attention to them, to those forsaken by a society they rejected, but the dragon found it curiously difficult to shake his mind off them while the clean, cool morning breeze swished against his scales.

Kalrondren. He needed to find that smug, arrogant skink before Lerranya returned to rob him of the opportunity to even speak, let alone enter their lair. With a few flaps of his broad charcoal wings, Zeridran joined the winds, veering in the lonely direction of the Silent Peaks guarding the left flank of the town. Without air contraptions to impede his flight by following the distance rules set out to protect both dragon and those they carried, Zeridran made it to the lip of Kalrondren's cave before the noon bell rang, earning himself a few good hours to entangle the knots of both mind and stomach.

The strong, biting currents whipped against his folded wings like so many frozen needles, the air above the clouds thicker, harder to suck into his nostrils. An eerily smooth and precisely carved disc of smooth, polished stone stark against the dark, jagged cliffs protected the entrance into Kalrondren's home. Lerranya drew holes in specific locations, a gem embedded into each precise incision united by a pattern mean to further bewilder unwelcomed guests. Though her magic could activate and open it at will, Zeridran, just like her mate, had to use their claws in the corresponding sequence to slide it to the side. As always, the grey drake leaped rather than stroll into the darkening tunnel, ever afraid of being squeezed to a pulp by the monolithic block of sturdy rock.

Despite their few days lead on Zeridran and his coyote partner, Kalrondren and Lerranya already converted smooth, cold, uninviting stone walls into a home. Tapestries, charms, wind chimes--they set up all of their favorite embellishments in the exact spots they needed to be, the mosaic of multi-colored carpets welcoming to both eyes and paws. Hints of Kalrondren's heritage, that of a wild dragon, stared at Zeridran through the beady eyes of a hatchling sculpture sat next to a miniature valley hewn into the stone itself by Lerranya's magic. They appeared to him in the strangest of objects, like the gathering of drying, ornamental flowers plucked from the distant lands of Velnavrann, curious in both color and shape. Lerranya's exotic magic belonged to a nobler blood cultivated in the world of bipeds, yet she had no qualms forsaking her people--the very ones she now fought against--in favor of earning a mate.

The mystery of why the two had yet to desert and assume the life they dreamed of puzzled Zeridran as much as the silent moans wafting from the sole chamber of their temporary den.

No. Not moans. Maybe at first, but with every timid step, the softer tonalities gave way to huffs, grunts, growls, ascending into a blood-seething roar that quaked Zeridran's very member with the intimate knowledge of what transpired. Frozen, his toes stiff and curled around fistfuls of carpet fuzz, the young drake's heart pounded louder than the subsequent panting breaths of the spent male. Had he Lerranya's expressive frills, they would have turned cherry red from the heat surging through them, crumpling along his scales in mortifying apprehension for catching his friend during the moment when he...when he was tending to the need.

"Come on in, Zeridran," Kalrondren's elegant, confident voice beckoned him forth, the rustle of a velvet cloth signaling that he already began wiping himself. "Scoot over here. Have something to show you."

The only reason Zeridran's wide, shocked eyes held Kalrondren's cool, friendly aquamarine gaze was because his body completely stiffened, petrified to the very tips of his claws. Unable to help himself, his attention skipped to Kalrondren's ridged shaft, flopped against a swath of pale brown cloth smeared with his seed. In front of his tip lay a bundle of crumpled kerchiefs, their leaking fluids suggestive of their use.

"A little lower," the squirming tip of Kalrondren's tail caught his attention before it swiftly coiled around the lacquered, wooden pleasure toy buried into him up to the two great, swollen lobes that defined its knot. "Good enough."

Kalrondren's eyelids fluttered as he pulled it out of himself. It came out unexpectedly clean, given...where it had been...

"Know what this is?" He flaunted the strange object for Zeridran's perusal, chuckling at his friend's snarling, disgusted muzzle. "It's a pleasurer. A penetrator. A lodger. It has as many names as there are cultures out there, but I simply refer to it as a knotter. Though for you, it's better that we call it a...toy. For that is what you should treat it as. No more."

Had ice not formed throughout all of Zeridran's limbs, the drake would have hurried out of the cave in an instant! But a perverse curiosity rooted him in place; a repulsive need to understand if what Kalrondren did felt good. If he could...do it himself...

"I see you're interested," the tawny dragon's crest frill flared with such obvious excitement it all but made Zeridran's heart stop in his chest from the penetrating horror of being considered a dragon of such loose morals.

"Sit down," Kalrondren's tail signaled him to a bed of furs and pillows that belonged to Lerranya. "Make yourself at ease. Feel like I'm talking to one of those stiff wings from the eyrie, their tails as limp as their languid steps."

A full minute passed, and the rest of Zeridran's body had yet to make it past the entrance to the main chamber, with only his shocked head showing.

"Fine," Kalrondren swept the toy under the sumptuous furs making up his bed. "It's gone. You can come in now. Your undertail is safe from the deepest, most piercing pleasures you've ever experienced."

Now that the object of his most guilty and shameful of torments was gone, Zeridran's paws shook off the frost holding them chained to the carpet in the tunnel leading into Kalrondren's home, his claws pattering on the unusually smooth stone floor. He avoided Lerranya's secondary bed that Kalrondren pointed him to, her lingering scent already enough to tug at the tip of his peeking malehood.

"My, but you're endearingly vulnerable to her scent. A pity that she is not here. She would have immensely relished the thickness of your virgin seed soothe her wet, needy walls, just as I would have enjoyed watching that select spectacle."

Zeridran hurried to the pile of tossed pillows intertwined with an assortment of soft pelts stitched together into blankets, realizing that what he thought to have been a secondary bad was something as salacious as Kalrondren's revolting act. It reeked of spicy arousal, of hardened fluids embedded into the pleasant textures caressing his scales and hugging his growing, needy erection, tugged forth by both smells and impossibly arousing words.

Kalrondren rolled onto his back like a serene hatchling, pawing at the tail hanging between his limbs dreamily, his purr genuine in its sharp, excited pitch. "She's been carrying my eggs well before our arrival here. The moon after the next, I'll be a father, but until then, I'll remain a concerned friend mated to a dragoness who is equally aware of your situation. The third time it happened in two days, all while being an hour's flight away from us. Stubborn specimens, you soot-snouts."

"I...I don't..." Zeridran's haunches shifted to conceal his full erection, forepaws anxiously kneading at one of Lerranya's smaller, harder pillows.

"You do," Kalrondren's playful, upside down eyes found his, mischief dancing within the cerulean pools. "But she's not here for another night, so we'll leave the tedious task of convincing you to enter her for when it becomes relevant. Erect yet?"

Just as Zeridran's jaw dropped, Kalrondren swung back to the side, his paws finding purchase on the edges of his makeshift bed. The fur muffled the sound, but as soon as it gave way to cold stone, the soft squelches of his pads reminded Zeridran of his most infuriating lack. Soft pads that could grope and knead at his tip, and claws tucked into elegant sheaths to ensure that they never nicked his member.

"This stiffness of yours is unbecoming," Kalrondren said, kicking aside some pillows to make room for himself and to eliminate any barrier that might have blocked the view of what his tapered tail tip clutched.

Zeridran shied away from the pleasure toy like a berated hatchling, but that only convinced Kalrondren's tail to stretch even closer to him. "Don't dismiss it outright. When handled in the right way, it can help you experience a meager portion of the bliss females lose their voice to while roaring."

He set the toy between them, the musk imprinted on it gut churning in its intensity to the untested male's nostrils. Kalrondren immediately snatched it away, hurrying to a low, elegant barrel of water to rinse it, then meticulously wipe it in three different towels.

"Forgive my crude manners," Kalrondren resumed from where they left off, placing the toy in that exact same position, as if his slip never happened. "We have several stages to go through before you're ready for the more select pleasures. Lerranya mentioned it the other day, prior to her departure, that I should let her start with the beginning. To let her fulfill your foremost, most innocent and truthful of fantasies in order for us to embolden you for what comes next. But it seems you've already mated her in your sleep."

Zeridran's spittle felt like tar to his throat, thick and ridiculously hard to swallow. There was no point denying his impulses. Not to a dragon whose kindness, sympathy and amusement shone through his empathic eyes. Though the lump in his throat prevented him from speaking, the young drake managed a weak nod, enough for Kalrondren to shift closer to him and push the pillow covering his erection aside with his hind paw.

"Look at those barbs," Kalrondren paused to lick his snout in that slow, lustful way a male ought only to employ with a female. "All tense and eager."

The tawny dragon's head shifted back to Zeridran, the grey drake tensing up instinctively at being caught in such a surreal situation. "I'm perfectly equipped to handle your hardness in quite a number of ways, starting with the basest, least exciting yet alluring in its own way for the both of us."

One of Kalrondren's hind paws reached for his snout so that his tongue could bathe and lubricate his smooth, pink pads with arousing, glistening fluid. A gasp slipped Zeridran, his fantasy of having those silky, short, bean-shaped toes cup and squeeze his cock's head in their careful clutch washing over the shores of his mind. The tawny drake's devious gaze sparkled with naughty intent, snout pulling away to coyly play with a forepaw while his other, drier hind paw pushed its way against Zeridran's snout.

He wanted to lick it. To confirm his burning need to his friend, to receive the very help he came here for. Almighty flames, this was so much better than that horrifying toy that made his very tailhole constrict in fright!

But his lips remained shut, sealed by mounting trepidation. This...this was obscene! Unbecoming of an elite scout partnered to a coyote considered by many to be the next in line in receiving the Blue Operative award! Though his hesitation lasted but for a few seconds, that was enough for Kalrondren to rescind his offer, his sagging crest and visible gulp stirring a mystifying guilt within the grey drake.

"Then again, I often get ahead of myself," Kalrondren said, tucking his hind paws together and sheltering them beneath a wing to keep them at bay. Zeridran's stomach lurched in fright at having offended his friend in some way, given how appealing the scent and texture of his pads was, smeared with the faded scent of a dragoness he couldn't stop dreaming of!

"Lerranya, she--" Kalrondren chuckled nervously, the tips of his claws showing as the tip of his tail abandoned the dildo to curl around his lithe yet powerful body. "It is how she melted away the same doubt and fear that hold you captive just now. She held me tight against her throat, whispering to me how this is the first and last time she brings a deviant to orgasm during the course of a mission. I finished into the pads of her moist hind paws faster than it took her to say her whole piece, which was the only reason she did not betray me to our guardian. Like in your case, my innocence at the time saved me a lifetime of loneliness..."

Zeridran's tail shifted an inch off a pillow, timidly pointing at his friend, yet failing to take initiative. That was who he had always been. A silent coward, forever subdued by shame and perpetually held back by timidness.

"You're right," his friend recollected himself in the next second, denying him the chance to seize initiative yet again. "Too intimate. Too addictive. Improper for a scout like you who could leave the next day on a mission. But this..." his tail seized the toy, shaking it enticingly. "This is a small, portable companion that never leaves your side. Assuming you get your own later, for this one bears special meaning. Buuuut, I maaaay be inclined to let you try it once. Given that you'd never get one otherwise."

The same surreal terror washed through Zeridran's, forcing the stiff toes of all paws to bundle together and clench around each other, tail coiling so tight around him even Kalrondren's crest deflated.

"It's....not for everyone, yes," a low, uneasy growl added to his shifting wings, tension visible in their stiff frames. "Certainly wasn't for me. I bought it for Lerranya in case she would let me inside her, keenly aware that I'd...need a cock to remain stiff and eager to keep plunging into her, even if it wasn't mine. I'm quite certain I owe my mateship to this toy, for she held me against her for an entire minute before shoving me away. A big improvement compared to how quickly she got rid of me the previous times."

"It's..." Zeridran sucked a deep breath, and with it, a surprising amount of courage. "It's for females. You said it yourself. I need to..."

His wing immediately covered his face, the scales of his cheeks searing something fierce from merely entertaining this line of thought.

"Mount something, yes. But the truth is..." Kalrondren's wing eased Zeridran's to the side so that his gentle gaze could calm him down. "Seed collectors are big, cumbersome, even frowned upon contraptions. Good luck finding a skiff to ferry you one on the outer reaches of the town. You'd sooner find a dragoness eager to lift her tail for you."

At times, Zeridran felt like Kalrondren could reach into his very soul, to unravel all his frustrations, dissect every reticence that kept him from taming recurring urges he had forever fled from.

"This need...it will never go away on its own. With every erotic dream, your confidence falters, your self-esteem sags, your very initiative to even pursue those bold scenarios withers. What's the point, right?" Kalrondren's paw swept his away. "No whimpers. No excuses. No more delays."

Every time he spoke one of those heavy, all too demanding requests, his wing talon kept pushing Zeridran's head back into place, unwilling to let him look away, to once again allow him to flee to whatever convoluted reason he'd find.

"You will look at it. You will listen. And if you later decide to use it in the privacy of your home, then that is entirely up to you. But you came to me to find a solution to what ails you, and you will give me the courtesy of at least pretending that I have your attention."

Zeridran's unenthusiastic nod was enough for the tawny dragon to prop the toy between his forepaws, his oval pads rested on its twin lobes. "This one is the knot. Bulky, stiff, all too demanding to any untrained orifice, it stretches you so effectively your roar thins into that of a female. I'm not prepared for it myself, but these...."

His soft, appetizing pads that Zeridran shuddered at the simple thought of having them stroke the back of his head glided along the bottom of the shaft, gently running over the plump ridges etched into the smooth wood. "These ridges are like the sea. Treacherous, enthralling, ruining, they carry you into the depths of your mind, blotting out your surroundings, washing away your thoughts until all that remains is the raw pleasure searing through your tunnel."

As he said that last word, Zeridran's nether walls clenched, the shudder lancing through his pucker ominous, strangely...exciting. He tried not to dwell on it, yet as his friend's presentation continued, the grey drake found it eerily difficult to dislodge that perplexing feeling still tingling within his intimate depths.

"Then we reach the head, which happens to look exactly like yours, shaped after the tip of one of those ancient arrows, only plumper, smoother, and far more delicate. The way it knocks against your....mrrrr....not even worth wasting words on what has to be felt in order for it to be understood."

Though Kalrondren's words faded, his paws cupped, stroked, fondled the toy that all but matched Zeridran's girth when fully erect, guiding the young dragon's mind to his earlier offer, of those very paws trading away cold, rigid wood for warmer, softer, wetter, yet equally hard meat. His member surged at that alarming proposition, immediately stifled by the haunch draping it, the pang of seething shame diminished by Kalrondren's gleeful smile.

"And that is just the basics. For me, the best thing is that I no longer have to stretch and curl my neck so much it hurts while reaching for my member, and for what? To nick my most precious part against my fangs when my control slips? With this, I can just..." he feigned a few thrusts that almost touched his eager, trembling tailhole, "while my paws slide and slip over myself, controlling the pace in the most arousing and elaborate of ways."

Short, alarming spasms continued to pester Zeridran's tailhole, the familiar glow of arousal permeating his scales far too familiar to the young drake to neglect it. Despite the slow, gentle pulses coursing through his progressively shrinking malehood, Zeridran omitted the first and foremost rule of attempting to subdue his body's eagerness, that of staying put. The simplest touch against any surface, no matter how soft, sent his cock into a pleasured, upward arch, the arousal-caked tip slapping against his belly scales with a soft yet audibly wet sound to Kalrondren's keen senses.

"That is the sound of the inevitable," the charming drake pushed the wooden offering towards him. "I know how quick you are to conveniently forget things, but this...this is too precious to discard it based on bias. You may not possess my pads to stroke yourself, but you can wrap your tongue around your tip and squeeze it, similar to what I did. And when it hits you..." Kalrondren's drowsy bulk collapsed back on his side, pawing at the air like an entranced hatchling. "I'll let you be the judge of that."

Zeridran's forepaws reached for it, grabbing its smooth, polished frame for a split second before he tucked it under a wing to rid himself of it. Compared to Kalrondren, it was cold, rigid, lifeless. Why even make use of it when he had...when he had...him...

Zeridran scampered onto his paws that very instant, that thought so outlandish it set every scale of his on edge. "l'll...consider it. I better return before...Lardran..."

"You should," Kalrondren flaunted him that alluring, conceited smirk of his. "Don't want him to catch you in the middle of it now, do you?"

Heart pounding, dildo clutched in his tail, Zeridran's rushed steps carried him to the opening of Kalrondren's home, the disk sliding out of its own accord when approached from the inside. Not trusting his tail to hold onto such a peculiar possession, the grey drake slipped it into one of the saddlebags set by the entrance, then slid his head through the circle-shaped loop formed by its straps meant to tie it to a more complete saddle. Did Kalrondren put this one here? Its straps already fashioned for a neck carry?

Zeridran chuckled at his friend's ingenuity, futile as it was. To him, this toy was a memento; a curious keepsake to remind him of what transpired here, of how intense the rush of his seed felt when guided forth by Kalrondren's divine tongue.

It served no other purpose.

As noon bled into evening and the setting sun gave way to a tranquil night devoid of the hum of flying machines, Zeridran's thoughts carried him back to that one moment in Kalrondren's home, to the vulnerability he had felt while being assaulted by all of those wanton thoughts. Whatever flickers of shame and embers of guilt dabbed at the corners of his mind quickly vanished before the flames of lust once again ignited within him. His earlier ejaculation lasted so little; barely enough to savor it! Yet the simple thought of asking Kalrondren for a favor, to interfere with his paws or tongue stabbed the drake in the gut, twisting it into a tight, painful knot that wouldn't let go unless he snarled his disgust for such abhorrent weakness.

His seed...it must've tasted so...so...and to ask that of Kalrondren...

The heave of Zeridran's stomach convinced him to put that matter to rest, but resolve alone could never quell that urge to have more, especially after how intense his earlier orgasm proved to be while dreaming of Lerranya. Lardran had yet to return from the Eyrie, invited to spend the night in far better quarters than a barn filled with meager amounts of hay and the bare minimum of comfort. Though brushing himself with wet straps of cloth to erase the scent of arousal did not amount to a bath, Zeridran did the best he could with the single barrel of water he had at his disposal for such uses. Anything more required Lardran's presence, for not even the dragon of an elite scout had access to other facilities while not accompanied by a biped to pay for possible damages.

Never leave your appointed lodging without the formal colors. In public, maintain your rider's pace and avoid taking the lead. When approached by strangers, let your rider come forward and the trespassers. So many things he couldn't do on account of his species, with several dozen other requirements accompanying these former ones.

Was he in Kalrondren's place, Zeridran would have deserted as soon as he convinced Lerranya to join him. Better to die in the wilderness, set upon or poisoned by some conniving bipeds who took their sweet time to analyze his patterns, than succumb to the grimmer alternative. Whenever wars dragged on for too long, rebellions tended to falter. Cornered, with their options limited and their allies ever fewer, it was only a matter of time until the western empire assimilated whatever pockets remained of a civilization that was ancient when theirs was young. Was it hubris or determination that still kept Lardran's faction going? Zeridran pondered on that for a while, his thoughts dancing between his intricate relationship with the coyote and the promise of a far simpler life, far from cities raised to breach the clouds, from those they had abandoned down below.

Slumped into the hay, his thoughts spinning into a tempest of undecipherable emotions related to the earlier events, Zeridran found his attention inevitably drawn to the discarded saddlebag. To beat his inane fear of a mere piece of wood, the young male fished it out with the tip of his tail, finding it mundane, purposeless, almost laughable when tucked in the safety of his lone barn. Whatever feelings the toy had bred in the heat of the moment had long since faltered, confirming Zeridran's fleeting musings.

It was Kalrondren, not this bit of wood fashioned into a fake cock, that got his heart pounding, his blood boiling, his tailhole shuddering as if...as if he...

Zeridran's tail whipped the damned thing so hard into the hay that curls of dust rose from the explosion of dried wheat stalks. His gut immediately sank, the cold dread of potentially ruining a precious keepsake of his dearest friend overpowering the nauseating grip of shame. How could he even conceive such despicable scenarios, where Kalrondren's tawny form blotted the grey of his haunches, erect shaft aimed at the only available orifice of the male panting in need below him?

Breath heavy, limbs shaking from the adrenaline coursing through him, Zeridran's forepaws frantically dug for the toy, the weight settled over his chest vanishing as soon as it rested in the light, awkward clutch of his four-toed forepaw. No signs of battering marred its surface, the ridges presenting no chipping, the knot absent of any deformities. Though his first instinct was to shove it back in its leather shelter, Zeridran found his toes twisting and turning it in his grip, the rap of his claws along the ridges not only distracting, but strangely calming.

The novelty of his inspection slowly dwindled, the drake's virgin, curious mind reaching for the forbidden, scale-tingling scenarios that always made his tail stiff and his paws tight against the wooden boards of the barn. One by one, he buffeted those wanton desires to the corners of his thoughts, but it was all in vain. Lust already enkindled his senses; its gentle, stirring flames flowed through him, a pulsing rivulet of blood-curdling interest in a topic that Lardran never truly explored with him.

But Kalrondren....Lerranya...they wanted to teach him, their willingness overwhelming to a drake awash with sudden and incapacitating embarrassment. If they invited him into their home, if Lerranya teased him the same way Kalrondren did, he had to be prepared; to shed the unappealing hesitation of his rigid frame and strike picture of a modest male enraptured with her all too generous offer.

Nobody liked bumbling fools, least of all Lerranya, and as Lardran's companion, he had his status to uphold.

Properly motivated to start his foray into the life of a courageous dragon capable of making his own decisions, Zeridran tried to comfortably lounge on his side and attempt to regulate his panicked, off-putting huffs prior to slowly easing his eyelids shut. With the toy held firmly in his tail, the first image his lust-addled mind conjured was of Lerranya stretched in the same bed that had caressed his scales just earlier. Soft, wet, barely perceptible squelches wove their way past her silent moans, produced by the hefty ridges driving through her moist, puffed up lips. Though her eyelids fluttered with the strain to keep herself rooted in the present, the golden dragoness beckoned him to share her bed with a trembling forepaw, her plea torn to shreds by the guttural sounds of pleasure rushing past her throat.

Zeridran's tongue flicked over the tip of his muzzle, his breaths still as if to accentuate the heavy pounding of his hammering heart. Every fear he ever harbored begged him to keep away, to avoid falling into this elaborate trap, but he didn't. He settled next to her, the brown toy trading her golden tail for his slate grey one just as their bodies closed in on one another. While his erection grew, Zeridran guided the toy in and out of Lerranya's pussy, her strained, pleasured pleas to keep it going more arousing than her hot gasps washing over his throat scales.

Then, when his shaft almost hardened to full mast, her warm, humid lick completed the cycle, his barbs tense and ready to fulfill her request, seductively whispered into his ear. His tail was to cease its movements. The toy was no longer needed. Now that she overflowed with desire, he was to be next.

"Mrrih!" Zeridran yelped, brought down to a world of loneliness and musty scents by an untimely slap of his erection against his belly scales. The sensation of that hit, bothersome as it was, almost triggered his boiling point, his seed so painfully eager to fill his first female it cared not whether it all happened in his head.

It took the drake a few moments to wind down while dealing with the shocking truth of how utterly infatuated he became with the mate of his best friend. This...this wasn't right. No amount of reassurances from the two would ever wipe away this sickening feeling of scale-rattling disgrace. Whatever their reasons, Zeridran couldn't help but feel they did it out of pity, stirred by unimaginable guilt for a dragon who might die without knowing the soggy depths of a female molded around his tense, eager cock.

His fantasy all but ruined, Zeridran prepared to put the toy away, but his tail paused. Head heavy, temples pulsing with unfulfilled need, his cock hard enough to rival the tautness of the toy, Zeridran's thoughts skipped to Kalrondren. Ever fearless in the face of danger, strangely acceptant to experimenting with things other dragons would dismiss outright and always willing to share the exotic pleasures he discovered with others, the tawny male was not only a friend to Zeridran, but a mentor.

The things he said...the way he talked about the toy....the sounds he produced, filled with such genuine bliss unperturbed by Zeridran's visit...

No matter the stinging embarrassment seeping through his limbs weakened by lust, Zeridran lowered himself against a mound of hay, fighting through his inadequacy one lick at a time over the soft, light grey underside of his forepaw. Once properly lubricated, he stretched the stiff, timid limb towards his arched hips, pulled inward to shorten the distance between his reaching toes and his member. The imagery of Kalrondren's hind paws engulfing, gripping, squeezing and stroking his length vanished after the third rub, the uninviting surface of his forepaw too great a contrast to the silky, warmth-oozing pads of Kalrondren and his mate.

His tongue tried to make up for his failure, flicking over his engorged spade, grabbing it behind the arrow-shaped swell, then pulling it towards his snout. Right before it entered his outstretched jaws, a fearful, instinctive yelp burst out of the grey drake, the memory of his barbs catching against his fangs still fresh in his mind.

The toy. That was his sole option at this point, just like Kalrondren had predicted. Zeridran's belly lurched at the thought of putting that fake...thing into himself, his distaste for the toy almost overpowering his lust-filled state. Only...it didn't have to be the toy. At least, not to his mind. It wasn't only panic and revulsion he felt while Kalrondren outlined its virtues to him, but also intrigue, and something more. A feeling--no, a furtive desire to be claimed by the kindest, gentlest dragon Zeridran had ever known.

Was it not for Lardran's prolonged absence, Zeridran would have bolted out of the barn in an instant and take to the skies, erect as he was, if only to escape the gripping terror stemming from the coyote's inevitable conclusions. But loneliness did things to a dragon; it flared his boldness, fanned the flames of lust, bestowed the naïve confidence upon him that this would happen but once. A single try, never to repeat, meant to forever quell this maddening unrest.

Zeridran exhaled all his pent-up nerves, toy clutched in the swaying tip of his tail. Its agitation reflected his interior struggle, that of a dragon who willfully buried these most obscure and shameful of fantasies into the deepest recesses of his thoughts, never intending to awaken them. Several years of struggle, and all it took to tip the balance was this single, fateful day.

Keenly aware that this curiosity would forever taunt him in the dead of his lonely nights, Zeridran seized upon every ounce of willpower to go ahead with...whatever this was supposed to be. The further his eyes lidded, the stiller his breaths grew, and the nimbler his tail became. He was no longer in the barn, but sharing Kalrondren's bed, awash with the scents of his previous matings with Lerranya. The sandy colored dragon loomed over him, fangs flashed in that daring, challenging smile. He told Zeridran of what Lerranya might make of his trespass, then asked him if he would hold his ground while confronting her.

When Zeridran's timid lips remained sealed, the alluring male drew closer, his following words as soft as the licks along his cheek. He'd protect him from her possible wrath, as he had always done in their lair or otherwise, so long as he wouldn't piss in their bed from terror. Then, not even he would manage to hold Lerranya at bay.

Zeridran's gruff laughter had a dab of sick desperation to it, specific to a male who lived more in his mind than outside of it. The truth of his situation, with a toy hovering just above his constricting tailhole, hurt far less after the visit to his friend. It did not take a lonely wretch to do what Zeridran was about to. Kalrondren, a mated and fulfilled dragon, pleasured himself in this unique way not out of need or while overtaken with his solitude, but for the sheer pleasure it provided him with. So what if Zeridran's mental portrayal of his friend turned out to be seamlessly accurate to his personality? Who would see him and chide him for it?

Kalrondren would, for as soon as the dry tip of the dildo pressed against the ruddy, wrinkled flesh of his never explored orifice, the obvious made itself known to Zeridran. His heart a flutter of nerves, limbs barely coordinated in their hurry to dunk it into the water and lubricate it in the most impersonal of ways, the grey drake rushed to fulfill this prerequisite before attempting to do it right this second time around.

It was cold. It dripped, it trembled in his panic-stricken, uncoordinated tail. This was appalling! To try and swap a living, breathing creature for...for that...

Then again, why shouldn't he? What stopped him, the floating motes of dust? The still hay? The wood boards groaning under his shifting bulk? Knowing Kalrondren, the pervert would grow to full mast while simply listening to Zeridran's accounting of his experience, padded paws soon to follow in the rhythm dictated by him. While the grey drake's throat tightened and gagged whenever the fleeting thought of lubricating the toy by taking it in his maw crossed his mind, the same couldn't be said for his tail, or the hole placed at the base of it.

To his puckered flesh, the coldness of the water felt like a bizarre prickle, exciting in its novelty. A few softening yelps accompanied the timid dabs of the toy's tip against his entrance, dwindling down into a nervous growl as he became more familiar with those mysterious sensations. The fires of shame surging through his pounding temples would have frozen him stiff this past morning, but not now. Not anymore. Not after Kalrondren's lecture on what the toy could achieve, if handled to its maximum potential.

The motion of moist, hard, lacquered wood knocking against his entrance soon became familiar to Zeridran, not at all different from Kalrondren's teasing strokes in that area Zeridran used to detest. The grey drake kept at it, his breaths increasingly shorter, the kicks of his hind legs wider once the toy no longer sought to just knock, but to weave its way through and into him. Its hardness daunted him, for it lacked the warmth, throbs and flexibility of a real penis, but that was also the reason it captivated him, for once it was in, the toy wouldn't soften. It would retain its girth, unaffected by a male's innate need to shoot his seed once entrapped in the shuddering grip of a tight, constricting tunnel.

As his apprehension gave way to the reassuring glow of scale-tingling lust, Zeridran's eyelids draped over his eyes, trading the sight of his modest barn for the lavish lair of his beloved friend. Kalrondren's snout no longer hovered over his. It strayed between his legs, uninterested in his flexing erection, his attention taken by the clamping motions of his taut tailhole. At times, his look alone conveyed thoughts better than words could hope to. Kalrondren had every reason to be smug, for he understood what dwelled under a male's tail far better than Zeridran dared to previously discover. Aware that the time for foreplay passed, his tongue wasted no moment in wetting his already worked-up flesh, thus worming its way into him without as much as a warning.

"Kraaarhhh!" Zeridran yowled. It hurt. It burned his panicked, pulsing walls that had never been stretched before. And yet, the fire surging through him carried little of the specific sting Zeridran had always anticipated. What his inner muscles registered felt akin to an intense, ravaging flame burning away his trepidation and stiffening his cock like it never hardened before. Every barb on his shaft attained its clearest, sharpest form, his spade swollen to its limits, barely able to withhold his molten seed from exploding all over him.

Zeridran pulled the toy out of himself, putting an end to those surreal waves of almost unbearable delight. With his tailhole emptied of the very thing it clutched, everything dimmed to that bleak, numb state, an oppressive fog meant to smother his potential, as indicated by his already sagging cock.

He...he actually...longed for it to make its way back in? For that bizarre sensation of being filled, of going against the very order of things? Males mounted, whilst females were to be mounted, but what he just experienced completely shook him, turning his world upside down.

There was no going back, now that he had unearthed this curiosity that demanded proper exploration.

Strangely addicted to the acuity of those waves of sharp, biting pleasure, Zeridran eased the toy's head back into himself, the tight, involuntary squeezes of his flesh sending surges of untamed pleasure through the rest of his frame. The more of it he managed to wriggle into himself, the sharper everything became, his sensitivity as great as that of his virgin shaft, if not more so. Though only the toy's spade made it into his canal, it felt far bigger than just a few inches of wood, its hardness unparalleled to that of a real cock, as was its sluggish advance meant to let Zeridran feel every millimeter of it.

The first ridge that popped through the puckered entrance of his quaking orifice felt as if a boulder entered him. His head shot upward in unison with his member, the feral cry building at the back of his throat stifled by mind-reeling bliss laced with just the right amount of pain to flare his adrenaline levels higher than he ever expected.

More. More!

Zeridran robbed himself of breath, teeth gnashing against one another in a foolish attempt to stand against a tide of carnal impulses that could never be quelled. The second ridge felt just as demanding as the first, the third more so, and by the time the fourth plopped into him, the drake saw nothing but bustling stars. Struck by instinctive fear of losing his mind to this enrapturing feeling, Zeridran pulled the toy out, the same ridges that had gone in now tunneling their way out, causing his member to jerk in attention with every soft squelch out of him.

"Nrrrhhhh!" his faltering cry cascaded out of his maw, his insides the battleground of fiery serpents lashing at one another. Too quickly, too eagerly had he taken more than half the toy's girth, his logical thoughts swept aside by the mystifying promise of an orgasm unlike any other. Instead of taking it slower like Kalrondren had suggested, the virgin drake shoved the toy back into himself, its shapely tip and hard, textured ridges ploughing through him in waves of mind-bending ecstasy.

The desperate throbs of his cock hinted at the inevitability of his climax, but instead of pacing himself, Zeridran seized the opportunity to stretch himself to the fullest; to feel the toy reach where no tongue or cock had ever been, a small spot the size of a button that, when pressed, completely obliterated his self-control.

Paralyzed by the most potent orgasm he ever experienced, Zeridran couldn't even let out a single sound, trapped in his own mind and body by that deep, drowning pleasure that never seemed to end. It was as if the entire world shrunk into this singular moment, stretched into infinity by his strained, primitive senses lacking in the capability of processing this level of visceral fulfillment.

"Grrr.....graaaaaaarrrrrr!" His cry finally exploded out of him when his gasp for breath could no longer be contained. A sharp inhale had to make do, for in the next instance, the knot shoved deep into him robbed him of his control again, barbs stiffening to refuse while his cock continued its messy rampage, the spurts scalding as they burned their way out of him.

After a few more squirms and several frail attempts of his trembling tail to put an end to the too taxing orgasm that now threatened to rob him of his senses, Zeridran conceded to the stiff girth of the toy lodged into him. Weak, faltering moans rolled past his taxed, drooling maw, his chest as tight as his cock with the breaths he could barely let out, with the never-ending streams of seed his abused shaft still kept ejaculating.

Just when the darkness of exhaustion began creeping in, a familiar cry revived him to awareness, the one he had been waiting on all along. Panic, raw and strong, spiked through every one of his scales, making the painful situation of his pleasure-depleted tailhole all the more apparent. His afterglow, seed and strength all but spent, the hardness of his cock began to hurt, as did the persistent tightness of the knot that spread him apart far too well.

Curled into a moaning, defeated ball sprinkled with sticky musk all over, Zeridran tried his best to compose himself, to subdue his pounding, terror-filled heartbeats and regain control over his rebellious, pleasure-stricken body.

"Zeridran! Oy, come out here....see what....brought you!"

The grey drake's head would have immediately swerved in the direction of Lardran's voice, had it the ability to do so. The canine's footsteps carried little in the way of sound, the patter of his claws undistinguishable over the thunderous thuds of his temples that seemed to drill their way into his skill.

Lardran. He was home, he...he would find him, twisted in a loop, face all contorted and smeared with all that...

Every fiber of Zeridran's being brimmed with the urgency to get up, to assume his best behavior, to greet his father and partner with due respect. Only...he couldn't. It was as if the knot plugged his very senses, its demanding thickness keeping him trapped in an orgasmic state that tapered off far too slow. A wide, cloudy pool of seed mixed with precum lingered under his still throbbing shaft, broken into small, thick, sticky gobs made all the more apparent by the thinner fluids slipping between the floorboards. It reeked of raw solitude, the smell of sex so overpowering Lardran must have already picked it up.

"Khhhrrrrr!" Zeridran groaned, struck by a flash of pain. The warm, pleasure-inducing pulses meant to keep him trapped in that bliss filled statis began to weaken within his walls, making room for the other, more nefarious sensations due when stretched in such a persistent fashion. Zeridran's tail tip futilely tried to dislodge the toy from his anus, its base handle too narrow, its knot too meaty, his flesh too tight to simply surrender it. Two tugs was all it took for Zeridran to yelp as if he just had his first orgasm, the delight of having his taut tunnel stimulated in such exotic ways still present.

"Larnkroth's breath!" Lardran rushed to kneel right in front of his throbbing tailhole, unbothered by the puddle of seed he just stepped into. "What did you...how on Jelnevrann's spear did you...all the way in?"

"Please," Zeridran mouthed in between his sharp, pained squeaks now that his cock had no more to give. "Take...take it out..."

"Or what? Gonna stab me with that?" Lardran chuckled nervously at a joke Zeridran would have swatted him away like a fly, had his tail weak, trembling tail obeyed him. "Give me a minute. Got just the thing."

"Don't leave me!" Zeridran wanted to roar, but the comical sight of the coyote's paws fashioning themselves some hay shoes due to the stickiness of the seed covering his pads took away what little breath he held.

He did this to himself. He deserved the outcome. Excruciating as it felt to still be stretched past the faltering of his anal shudders, his body still clung on to the memory of his orgasm, the trickling tip of his cock now leaking a few droplets of cloudy precum. If he waited a few minutes longer, Zeridran had no doubt another orgasm would overtake him, unless his conscience gave in first from either strain or mortification upon Lardran's return.

Larnkroth's breath....what did he get himself into?!

***Chapter 2***

Lardran never boarded airships, let alone skiffs. The coyote harbored great distaste for anything that required a Windcaster to maneuver it around, never one to trust others but Zeridran with his life. A waste of the few available sorcerers, he'd call this endeavor of ferrying around non-critical personnel, but not today.

Today, he backpedaled onto the landing pad of Zeridran's meager home while dragging what appeared to be a crude mounting device, ancient in its looks and uses. The brown leather wrapping its top was all scratched and cut, a testimony to the many males that had emptied their seed inside its lifeless, unappealing belly.

Lardran's partner, a wolf as dark as the night, maneuvered the contraption from its rear, making sure its little wheels did not gain too much momentum and run the coyote over. What an end that was, to fall off the bridge connecting the skiff to the metal platform hosting the barn while hugging a seed milking machine meant for dragons.

Zeridran subdued his growly amusement as he further slunk into the shadow of the barn, a single eye peering past the edge of the door to witness the procession. He knew not who the dark wolf was, or whether he was a Talonrise native. Aside from the elite scouts who had access to the safest means of air transportation, very few embarked on long trips across the shattered kingdom. The bigger the ship, the higher the chances it would fall prey to various attacks from their enemy, outlaws, bandits or even local pirates. Though he never admitted it, Zeridran half believed that one of the main reasons Lardran enrolled into the elite scout program was to no longer deal with such occurrences, as a passenger or hired protector.

The metal cart carrying the body of the seed collector rattled something fierce once it made it past the edge of the bridge, reminding Zeridran of the purpose of the stranger's visit. His snarl was quick to tense his lips, neck spines flared in consternation with yet another attempt to replace the irreplaceable, this time from his loving, most trusted father and partner. And yet, the truth behind the most recent events snuffed out whatever resentment Zeridran harbored for Lardran's attempts to soothe his wounded spirit and calm his inevitable lusts. What parent would turn a blind eye to their son's foolishness of stuffing a pleasure toy into his virgin tailhole the same day he spent his seed in his sleep for the umpteenth time?

"Mrrrrhhhhhh," Zeridran grumbled to himself, resigned to the thought of filling the role of this helpless, vulnerable creature to those that pieced together the obvious clues. Perhaps this was for the best. However rugged the mounting machine looked, a quick glance at its wrinkled entrance and smooth yet textured interior stirred subtle tingles across the grey dragon's slit, his slumbering cock nodding its approval as it twitched to life.

After they both made it across, the Windcaster offered his specific salute for those who served and guided the ship away at a brisk speed, as if relieved to put as much distance between his crew and the two bumbling canines that inadvertently set their attention on the only available roof to shelter their inane creation.

"Zeridran, scoot over here, you limp-tailed lizard. Got my claws all blunt searching the city for an alternative to your...problem." Lardran made for Zeridran's half empty water barrel to dunk his head in it, but never quite reaching his target. They both chuckled at his failed attempt to cool off, with Zeridran's rougher tone winning over.

"Climb into it, so I can fish you out like a sardine," Zeridran waggled his tail playfully.

Lardran's frustrated groan was quick to put an end to their fun, the coyote pointing his attention to the supposed mount, compact as it was on its silly squeaky wheels. "What do you make of it? I ran across an old acquaintance in The Roughs, settled for an ale to cool off our mutual thirst, and the next thing I know, Grenn's making me this fantastic deal on a gift long overdue. Now that he's retired from the scouts, him and Jarnolvosk aren't gonna need their pal any longer."

"So you'd think," the black wolf interjected while rolling the machine inside the barn, his amber eyes scouting for a suitable spot to continue with its assembly. "You aren't the only drake whose ambitions erupted out of you towards the morning while enjoying the fruits of your vivid imagination. This spot good enough?"

Had he frills webbing his spines, they'd have simmered into a rich mauve from the heaviness of this intruder's words who had no right to know such intimate details!

"I guess it's fine," Lardran shrugged his shoulders, leaning against a bushel of hay while sipping whatever his canteen held at this time. "It often takes a minute or two for Zeridran to find his tongue when approached from this more reclusive angle."

"Mmm, as if I'm not aware," Grenn stepped up to him, forcing the drake to back away from this impudent creature. "Took a bullet to the leg for Jarnolvosk to finally speak to me during our first assignment together, and his first word to me was...which was it...something about my blood smelling tasty. Cryptic skink, he used to be at first. That was before I knew what I'm dealing with, and how necessary it was for me to woo the females in his stead, otherwise we'd have no more of them golden dragons in this part of the colony."

"Tried that a few times. Would have almost succeeded, had Zeridran done his part. Guess he's more proper than the majority of us scouts, eh?"

"Your smell is equally improper, and so is his," Zeridran aimed his subtle snarl at the wolf whose lips broadened into a knowing grin.

"I'll just chalk that to your eagerness to try out your new toy," Grenn's sharp gaze and wagging tail proved, without the shadow of a doubt, that he was far more than just a haggard veteran assisting his younger protégé set a mounting station for his lonely, unsuccessful dragon. Only trained scouts could link their minds to their respective dragons, a process that took several months of adjustments. For Grenn to be privy to Zeridran's thoughts...he must have been a sorcerer himself!

The black wolf's wink had all the charm and none of the bile of those older, entitled, downright arrogant scouts who felt entitled to the most lavish of perks for losing a limb or their edge for the cause.

"I'm...I'm sorry," Zeridran raised a paw to head after him, but found it impossibly difficult to set it down and do it.

"You should be. Grenn doesn't look like much, but he outranks both of us. Fortunate that we're so far from his colony, otherwise you wouldn't have had need of this mount once Jarnolvosk invited a few resident females to meet his new friend." Lardran chuckled under his breath, signaling Grenn something only they understood.

"That is, if Grenn didn't decide to reenlist and recruit you as his partner. You'd have had no dreams of females, for he'd have breached every available etiquette to keep you satisfied."

And risk getting his status as a scout revoked, then get tried for the vulgarities committed? While every community with a governing body possessed varying degrees of leniency when it came to the intimate acts between dragon and handler, they all unanimously agreed that such practices led to emotion-based choices. Therefore, they painted them in as many vile ways as the methods of such pleasures were varied, a truth that Lardran had been stern with from the beginning.

Thankfully for the two handlers, loopholes existed, for no mayor, governor, or even commander dared restrict their dragons' freedom too much, especially when it involved their downtime. Strangely enough, a report of a dragon ramming a wood-fashioned cock into his tailhole carried no weight, but if their handler chose to replace their tail in keeping the rhythm of the thrusts...

When Zeridran ceased his musings, the landscape completely shifted. Lardran no longer sipped his aromatic water, now assisting Grenn unpacking the miscellaneous accessories from the several bags they wheeled together with the mounting device on the metal tray under it.

Rather than nose into their business, the grey drake remained on his spot by the door, approaching just enough to better hear their conversation over the racket of clanging pipes, rustling glass and wooden groans. What he next heard alarmed him to such extent it took all his willpower to refrain from charging down that deplorable machine and incinerate it together with this despicable barn.

"Maybe you should...you know...keep it within the sphere of vagueness," Grenn, of all people, took Zeridran's side, his alluding glances reminding Lardran than his dragon happened to be just a few dozen feet away.

"So that he once again overlooks the precautions we've set out to take? Better that he faces the repercussions of his folly and accepts the reality of this necessary tool, so that he plays the role his gender bestowed upon him, and not..."

"The one he feels curious about?" Grenn dismissed that for a simple, silly occurrence, but Lardran had none of it, continuing to boil inside.

Zeridran's wings shrunk, the drake slipping behind a stack of rectangular bales of hay to process Lardran's grave tone, heavy with anger, in a more reclusive setting. This wasn't the jovial, almost dismissive coyote that aided him out of his predicament, but the grim figure of a parent irate with needless risks. And he had it right! In the midst of his lust-filled turmoil, Zeridran forsook any reasonable safeties, leading to an outcome where his cock would have all but dried out and shriveled and who knew what else! The implications of that never occurred to him while bogged down by the dire need to cum. Kalrondren, Lerranya...she would...he might have never found out how her insides feel without...without a healthy member to slip through her soggy lips.

Zeridran skulked out of his hiding spot and almost knocked Grenn.

"Terledran's...you're a stealthy cat, aren't you? Never met a dragon so tame, so quiet."

"That's because you never slept with him while he has one of them dreams."

"No worries, we'll sort those out for you. As Jarnolvosk put it after a few mounting sessions, it is better to shoot your seed while you're aware than otherwise, and I've taken great care not to let his memory bother you too much. Gave the thing such a thorough wash I almost scrubbed the leather off it, and if it looks dull now, well...there's a few tricks to this pony," the wolf flaunted him a confident smirk on the way out to get the last bag of accessories.

Zeridran tried his hardest not to show any obvious sign of frustration or distaste for this foulest of contraptions, but Lardran still saw through his aloof bearing.

"Not that my confidence in you is at an all-time high, but I'll let you handle this tool in your own time, at your own pace. Unless you manage to topple it over your erection as you trip and fall at the height of your passion. Then, we'd have a severe trust issue."

Last year's gift was both more considerate and heartfelt in spite of the bleak connotation. Often one to poke fun at Zeridran's solitude instead of wallowing in his despair, Lardran got him a decently sized comfort companion fashioned after his earliest and dearest of friends, a blue dragoness by the name of Skyweaver. Their lives took them in different directions, but she had since lurked Zeridran's thoughts and dreams, a fact not easily missed by the sneaky coyote.

Were it not for the incident with the toy from a week ago, the finding of Skyweaver's likeness wearing Zeridran's lust all over herself and rump in particular after a particularly intense dream would have forever haunted him. It broke Lardran more than his dragon to abandon her during a surprise raid, his guilt so fierce he completely stopped surprising Zeridran with those stuffed, endearing companions usually meant for hatchlings to warm his scales and heart during rest.

Zeridran chose a shady nook to overlook the dull process of mounting the seed collector into place. It had four wooden, awkward legs made of crossed beams that Grenn kicked and pushed against to test their stability. That first part done, he then mounted a crude, iron frame into the sockets on the machine's side in which he placed several vials. Next to it he mounted what appeared to be a ventilation unit if the fan on the back was any indication, a curved tube connected to its intake valve that he slipped into a broader socket right next to the vials.

The process piqued the dragon's curiosity, especially the fumbling and mumbling and chuckling of those two furred fools prancing about that ugly thing. Whatever did they find so captivating about a boring, lifeless tool only the most desperate of males mounted in search of fake, unfulfilling pleasures...

Then again, he had initially said the same about the toy Kalrondren had inflicted upon him, only to find himself tied to it in the truest sense of the word.

Zeridran curled about himself, slipping a wing over his head to let its soothing darkness cool off the heat pulsing through his cheeks. He had yet to decide which part of what happened appalled him more, Lardran's cool demeanor while employing healing ointments and even a sexual lubricant to help balm the raw, abused flesh around his outstretched entrance to ease the toy out, or his final, surprisingly strong ejaculation that had lasted for but a single spurt? The nigh unbearable ache pulsing through his battered cock and the fiery throbs surging through his tailhole had kept him up all night, then reminded him of it in the morning when he tried to sit on his rump and enjoy breakfast.

Lardran never laughed harder or heaved louder.

Lerranya must have returned from her mission back into Kalrondren's embrace as well. Neither made an attempt to contact Zeridran, their teasing personalities undoubtedly expecting him to return their toy and share his experience with it while circled by those two ravenous hyenas, both stealing provocative glimpses at whether his recounting of that story made him harden in longing.

The more he dwelled on that matter, the brighter his anxiety flared. Per their agreement, Lardran stopped sharing approximate departure dates after missing his mark one too many times, the schedule of the scouts' assignments often falling into place depending on the enemy's movements. He would have at least a day to prepare for the journey, but what of Kalrondren? What if he had already received an assignment? What if Lerranya overruled her pregnant state on account of her rank and joined him?

Sickening as the thought was, Zeridran found himself unable to stop dwelling on Kalrondren's offer to mount his mate. It was obscene, to claim another dragon's mated pair, but Lerranya's attitude on it accurately matched Kalrondren's words. She even joked about it in the past, that as soon as her mate's seed took hold, her regard for the boundaries between the physical union with other dragons would thin greatly, perhaps even vanish depending on who asked.

"Aight, that ought to do it," Grenn dusted off his paws while admiring his work. "I'll leave it to you two to sort out the lubrication of that tight little faux pussy and set up the seed collection bag. Jarnolvosk always wanted it off, so I'm not about to tarnish his memory."

"Guess I can manage that last and simplest of steps," Lardran gave the wolf a parting hug, whispering one of his promises into his ear no doubt.

"Glad to do business with you. Remember about our deal, and give the drake a briefing like I taught you. Gotta scoot to the Eyrie and...well, this running into you might just have been exactly what I needed to be set to proper path. Always wanted to mentor one of them shy dragons."

"Too old for a hatchling, eh?" Lardran pointed at some greying strands on his nape fur.

"Too unsuitable for one," Grenn favored Lardran one last smile prior to his departure, saluting Zeridran on the way out.

"Jarnolvosk often pictured his sweethearts while thrusting, but there are contingencies in case of a less creative mind. Not that you'd need them!"

Lardran joined Zeridran's side after the wolf's dark form disappeared past the door of the barn, chuckling at how the slightest touch on his shoulder made his dragon tense up.

"Grenn can really get into your head when he wants to."

"I want it out," Zeridran's snarl housed both his rage at being treated in such condescending ways and his impotence as a male that had led to this outcome. "I have no use for such a crude, demeaning, lifeless...I want it gone!"

"The next day," Lardran said, his voice as cool and serene as the flow of a sluggish river, unperturbed by petty emotions. "It has to remain here for the night, at least. You understand why."

Not that Zeridran paid any mind to the wolf's possible outburst at returning Lardran's coin in addition to packing and ferrying his rugged mount away, but something about Lardran's calm demeanor perturbed him. It came as no surprise to the coyote that Zeridran immediately rejected his gift, his tail swaying in its usual, relaxed flow.

Zeridran immediately softened, his earlier hiss replaced by a low, uncertain whine. "I...appreciate the gesture, and the effort, but...I'm no longer interested in alternatives."

"All it took was a knot in the proper place, eh?" Lardran's smirk tugged at Zeridran's curiosity, convincing him to join the coyote in getting to know what he was about to get rid of. "We tried plenty, Zeri. Talonrise is as empty of females as the cities of any other colony. I may admire your resolve, support your crave for independence and do my utmost to sate your thirst for the real thing, but at the same time, I can't turn a blind eye to what happened. The fault lies with that fool Kalrondren that shall know a kick in the right place when I meet him, but in the meantime, all I wanted was to grant you an option. A possibility to quell your unrest until Midsummer comes and we can try our luck at the breeding program again."

Two months. That amounted to at least a dozen erotic dreams, most of them which would turn out wet. As the years passed and loneliness sank its fangs further into Zeridran's heart, so did his endurance to withstand it diminished. Past the safety of a city, his genital slit barely tingled with longing, but whenever the blanket of safety settled over his mind, it was as If the crave to breed ignited within him, consuming away all reason until even a wooden cock, held by his tail, felt an appealing enough alternative.

"I...I just..." Zeridran faltered, head drooping into the waiting arms of the coyote, his sigh as heavy as his partner's somber look.

"Shhhh," Lardran hushed him, the careful claws of his fingers heading to the areas that flared Zeridran's purr the brightest. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, but neither can I be indifferent to your aches. I say, let's at least give it a try. A single one. If it doesn't work out, then I promise never to interfere in such ways again."

Strange, how Zeridran felt both immensely relieved and anxious at the prospect of tending to his needs all by himself from now on. While he scouted the mount's meager looks, his thoughts drifted to Lerranya. What if something was to happen between the two of them as soon as tomorrow? Could he even maintain proper balance while inside her? Would she find his pace unsatisfying? And what if his passion happened to be expressed far too soon?

The answer to this pressing anxiety lied right in front of him, a mere tool no different than the inanimate dummies he used to bob and weave and strike from different angles to train his combat abilities. Kalrondren made it clear that females greatly enjoyed a male capable of maintaining the rhythm they cherished, and right now, Zeridran had no rhythm to speak of, barely any stamina, and complete ignorance when it came to mounting a female. What if he placed his paws wrongly or scratched her finer belly scales hard enough to tear into them?

The machine wouldn't mind nor care for such slips, designed with but one objective in mind: To fulfill a male's greatest yearning.

"Mrrhhhhhh," he finally gave the coyote his response in a grumbling, half reluctant manner. It was already mounted in place and half ready, so why not try to understand it, at the very least? Make a game out of it?

Lardran shared his view on that topic, hugging his snout to his chest, letting the fluff of his cheek warm some of the cold doubts creeping through him.

"Let's see what I paid a week's worth of select cuts that I planned to dole out prior to your hatchday, eh?"

Zeridran didn't know what shocked him more, the preposterous price that just stripped him of a week's worth of delicacies, or the size of the seed collection bag that Ladran pulled from the small storage space located on the bottom of the mounting machine.

"I suppose this goes right...here," the coyote connected the empty, flaccid, hanging all the way down to the floor opaque leather bag. It almost resembled a tube were it not for its wider bottom sizable enough to fit the seed ejaculated by ten dragons.

"There is a smaller one too," Lardran took note of Zeridran's flabbergasted expression, replacing it with a sleeker, more realistic recipient for what he could give. "Can't fault me for thinking ahead. A week is still a week."

"As far as you know."

Zeridran's japes related to his mating habits failed to capture his partner's attention as always. Far too used to this cycle of repeated failures, Lardran channeled his attention elsewhere, namely on squirting more lubricant than Zeridran ever saw into his hand and then ram it up the mount's orifice. Unlike the fantasies of his mind, there was no sound accompanying the twisting motion of his arm and its subsequent thrusts, the seed collector as boring and lifeless as he expected it to be.

Not quite.

The press of one of the buttons on the sides caused it to hum to life, a flicker of movement awakening to life within the vacated, glistening, strangely appealing hole.

"Surprised?"

The coyote's excited tone startled Zeridran, the dragon too taken with the irrational tingles rushing through his genital walls.

"There are three different intensities. I guess we should try the lowest to give it just the barest hint of life without interfering too much with the already overwhelming stimulation you'll have to handle."

While the coyote worked a towel over the tangled fur of his arm coated in strangely appealing lubricant, Zeridran took a better look at the mechanism he triggered. The light shudders coursing through the fine, lightly ridged insides of the mount had an unnatural frequency to them, orchestrated in a neat, predictable pattern unlike the spontaneous clenches of a female.

Then again, what did he know of that outside of hearsay?

"Was I the dragon, I'd hug this thing as if my life depends on it while hilted up to my base in that wet, tight hole," Lardran shrugged, nonchalant as ever as he headed over to the shelf containing the vials and the duct meant to guide their contents into the vapor-generating machine. "And it seems like the surprises keep piling and piling for you."

It took several minutes for Zeridran to recollect himself after witnessing this quirkiest of perks when it came to this machine. Whatever power source did it even run on?

The unassuming frame of the device revealed its tiny secrets to he who dared search for them. Near the bottom, on the right side, three small buttons, all a faded red, protruded through the leather, the same ones meant to regulate the intensity of the shudders coursing through the hole he was to put his member into. A fake imitation, to be sure, but not one a virgin male would know the difference of.

The vials further contributed to the mystery of this perplexing bundle. The notes, written on bits of paper glued to the iron of the miniature shelf holding them, revealed their contents, and the text alone got Zeridran's slit tingling all over.

Six vials, holding six samples taken from various females in different stages of maturity. Labeled by approximate age, three held the vaginal fluids collected during a state of heightened arousal, and three harbored the thicker, slightly cloudier secretion females constantly drooled at the height of their heat. Zeridran's cock already dangled beneath his belly, his huffs heavy with eagerness to sniff out those pheromones every male he met spoke of with infuriating reverence.

The one belonging to the second oldest female, a little past the middle of the average lifespan of a dragon, tugged Zeridran forth, tempting him with its denser texture. That must have been collected right after she had an orgasm powerful enough to squirt that inebriating honey out. His heart all but threatened to flutter out of his chest, unable to take in all that trembling excitement quaking through his body. The persistent swings of his already precum-dribbling cock lessened the sharp focus necessary to fish the vial out with his tail and bite off its cork, so the drake stepped away from the ladder of vials while attempting to calm himself.

"Exciting, aren't they? Each carrying the promise of a different fantasy."

Lardran.

Zeridran forgot the coyote was still here, his focus so narrow his presence completely slipped his mind? He should have felt great shame at how his partner stared at his hanging erection, so obvious in its desperate need built over a week, but such feelings no longer ailed him. That was the truth of it, the one he had futilely tried to hide from the only being who cared enough to do something about it.

"I'm not going to be here for the grand show, don't you worry," Lardran patted the side of his neck, his warm, gentle touch lifting more of that weight associated with such episodes of glaring weakness. "Unless you want me to."

"You have better things to do than watch me...you know..." Zeridran's verve faltered, the tightness of his erection, the surging throbs already readying his seed for expulsion merely from stealing glimpses of that lubricated hole thinning his initiative.

While Lardran's intentions to abolish his dragon's lusts in a safe, pleasurable and far more suitable manner for a male were genuine, penetrating guilt gnawed at Zeridran's stomach. It was the same that plagued him while he pondered the use of the toy, the one that often whispered into his ear what despicable creature he was to almost ejaculate at the prospect of smelling a dragoness' vaginal discharge.

He wanted it though--no, needed it. The urgency to inhale that mind-rattling aroma, the instinct to thrust and mate and rid himself of his pent-up seed raged like a tempest in his young mind. With a machine ready to turn the contents of that vial into enveloping vapors, he would be one of the very few males who could mount a female of such respectable status and age. In this war, most dragons died young, with the older, war-forged females kept under tight scrutiny and sheltered into lavish homes, all of their wants tended to in exchange of furthering their lineage.

"Guess it's clear what we go for," Lardran's sudden voice spooked Zeridran to awareness, as did his alert steps. Without even waiting for his confirmation, he picked the target Zeridran ogled, dumped its contents down into the tube connected to the vapor generating machine, and turned it on.

The smell hit Zeridran harder than he ever believed it possible. Not even a second after the device whirred to life, the thick miasma of raw pheromones, preserved in their strongest state, flooded Zeridran's nostrils, choking control and reason out of him. The dragon reeled on his feet, light coughs and hisses clashing with the lower, settling buzz of the device that now tried to draw out this overwhelming experience.

"I'll...outside while you....khhahh, this stinks!"

The coyote's fleeing silhouette was little more than a passing distraction to the dragon's abused senses. It did stink, yes, but in the greatest, most entrancing of ways. With every puff of stronger, tighter curl of mist the machine ejaculated from its exhaust grate, Zeridran discerned more of its unique touches, his brain overcome by the myriad of stimuli. His breeding instinct immediately tried to piece them together, to assess clues related to her health, species, receptiveness, an exercise in futility in the absence of a living womb to take in his life-giving seed.

Zeridran sucked in that strangling odor in a deep, ravenous breath, roaring his approval of it with wood-rattling intensity. It had so many layers to it; so many subtleties wrapped in its prickly musk or tucked deep within the rougher, staler undertones. Its sharp bite and heaviness would have upended the stomach of the soft-nosed coyote, but to a young male unaccustomed to such piercing fragrance, that smelled like the grandest opportunity in his life.

Completely caught in the vices of whichever dragoness bewitched him, Zeridran rushed to close in the distance between the two of them, his overeager paws almost tripping within one another. Once there, he wasted not a single breath in testing its stability, wings unfurling to stabilize his rearing form that guided him over his target.

"Grraaarrr!" The lust-addled dragon's feral cry burst out of him as he rammed his chest against the mount, almost tossing it forward with his might. Its legs skidded a few inches before they regained their stability, an opportunity that Zeridran used to slide the finer scales lining his stomach over it and hug his partner snug against his belly.

The gentle hold did not last. Spurred by the primordial need to seed this female as soon as possible, before any interruption put distance between her back and his belly, the drake slammed his forepaws into its sides. Claws sank halfway into the tough leather, the outline of his muscles rippling through his soot-colored scales from the strength he employed in pressing against it, all so that it stood fast in anticipation of the penetration.

Her drowning aroma smothered whatever manners and sensibilities he still possessed, giving way to a rough, almost feral creature intent on fulfilling but one need. Every time the short, barely controllable sway of his hips failed to lodge him into his target, the motion lost even more of its accuracy, the precum-smearing tip of his throbbing cock all too desperate to finally feel that sinking rush. The fallacy continued for a few more attempts, every glancing blow off his mark worsening his odds to finally make it. With the smell of heat engulfing all that Zeridran knew, even the tough surface of the mount felt adequate to ram and hump against, his overstimulated member barely registering the difference.

If only he could get that image out of his head! Of Lerranya's supple, inviting form wiggling her rump at him, drenched pussy leaking its fluids down on the ground in thick, awfully arousing strings. All he felt was her still form beneath him, conquered not by his claws pressed into her flanks, but by his ravenous need to breed. Her needy hum rippled through his ears as her scent grew ever stronger, ever thicker, stripping away the young dragon's inhibition one by one, until no more excuses kept his thick, fertile seed from her thirsty, receptive womb.

Zeridran registered her silence as the ultimate sign of approval for their union. She minded not that his claws drove tight into her scales, the thin droplets of slithering blood anointing the strength of this pair. She cared not that it took him forever to find his mark, for nothing got her purring louder than a male struck by the dire--even violent--need to cum. With each louder whimper and softening whine, Zeridran desperately tried to find his way into her, to finally taste the enrapturing feeling of her soft, wet pussy squeezing the loneliness out of his virgin cock. But his resolve dwindled, his endurance faltered, and his vocalizations dwindled down, readying for that final, earsplitting burst of primal passion.

Then, all of a sudden, it happened. Instead of tough rump, his cock met the feeble resistance of squelching lips, squeezing its way through them and into her passage, the barbs lining his shaft scratching fluids off her lightly ridged walls on the way in.

The dragon's back arched, wings coming down around him to grab his partner as he filled her to the brim with the entirety of his throbbing, erect meat. The sheer tightness of her vent, the wetness, the constant twitching motions of that dainty interior already attempting to milk him dry all came together in stripping Zeridran of every ounce of resistance.

Frozen inside the first pussy he entered, the drake's haunches shivered, claws scratching and tearing at the mount's surface in sheer ecstasy. His breath cut short, tears streaming from the corner of his eyes from the strain of bliss inflicted upon his young, untested mind. He couldn't last. His spade, his barbs, the bloating surface of his entire, far too sensitive member all to eager to unload his seed...it felt nigh impossible to try to withstand it. To somehow shrug off the smell of heavy, all too potent arousal entrapping his senses or deny the effectiveness with which the machine's insides pressed and squeezed and stroke every inch of his malehood.

To ensure that his female remained where she ought to be--beneath him--Zeridran's jaws snapped forward, teeth sinking into the cold, lifeless, dust-caked leather lining the semblance of a female's neck. He seized her good, trembling fangs searching for the most proper area to seize, only to let go in the next moment, when his yowl washed over the passion wounds inflicted upon her. Laden with the gratitude of being allowed inside and equal amounts of sorrow at surrendering to her without much of a struggle, Zeridran's cry lost its strength gradually, weakened by the mighty jets of his seed blasting into the trembling walls of his partner.

The first few spurts almost blacked out his conscience, the pleasure of expulsing his seed while having his whole shaft milked for its contents potent beyond his comprehension. He had never been so hard, nor had he ejaculated so much seed in a single burst that his cock seemed aflame with an all too pleasant, mind-reeling sting. He could almost hear his efforts patter the insides of his female like torrential rain, the pheromones swimming all around him motivating him to do better.

Zeridran's left hind paw latched on the rump of the mounting device, toes curled inward to drive his talons into it. With the extra leverage, he was afforded a shallow, thrusting motion in and out of the quaking orifice, the stimulation rushing through his grinding barbs so rich, so fulfilling, so extraordinary in the depth of its sensations. The drake only lasted for five more shots before his might wavered, collapsing on top of the mounting device. The vapor generating machine, along with the shelf holding the vials, tumbled over the floor, the glass recipients shattering upon impact to add their bouquet to the already stuffy air of the barn reeking of female climax.

"Mrahhhhhhhh," a long, fulfilled gasp fled the drake's numb but satisfied frame, the constricting motions of the machine's interior easing the last of his seed out of him. He saw it now through the gaps of his unusually heavy eyelids. He felt it against his belly, too smooth, too flat, too convenient to be Lerranya or any other female. And yet, he still slumped against it, almost ready to topple to the side into exhausted slumber were it not for the sharp sheer and jarring clapping of hands.

"Thaaat's it. That's a good boy right here," Grenn's light slap on his haunch would have sent him flying into the hay, had his tail obeyed. "Look at the size of that bag, bloated close to bursting with the thick, yellow-tinted seed of a male who needs several times inside a female to smooth things out."

Zeridran barely processed his words, his lazy gaze settling on Lardran whose arms crossed over the middle of his tunic, a concerned, almost anxious look on his face.

"I couldn't take the risk. Not so soon. And Grenn--he knows how to operate the machine in case of....you know."

How could he not?! Just how little did his partner think of him?

With what little strength Zeridran amassed from the flood of anger, the drake wrestled himself out of the still twitching walls of the seed-plastered vagina, reeling and collapsing onto his side.

"Oy, careful not to hurt yourself," the ever-concerned Grenn rushed to his underbelly, his hands quick to land on the wet surface of his cock and scoop the last thread of seed dangling from his tip to clear it. "Everything went well, I take it?"

Zeridran winced, hissed and almost snapped at the wolf, bothered by how his clean hand kneaded below his spade to milk a few final droplets of stagnant seed. Without as much as a pause, he brought it to his muzzle to sniff and lick it off, lips contorting at the pungency of it no doubt.

"Grrr, you..." he waggled a finger at him, "needed this. Desperately, I might add."

Much to his mortification, Zeridran found his cock tingling with arousal at how the wolf seemed to favor the taste of a heavy-smelling slime that often turned his stomach. While his hind paws tucked to protect his shrinking member from further assaults, Grenn unmounted the collection recipient filled close to its limit with his overabundant seed.

"I'll take care of this. You boys sort things out in the meantime. I'd start with the machine's interior, for when dragon seed gets dry....well, you two ought to know."

His parting grin unnerved Zeridran. It alluded to an ulterior motive, very likely related to the promise Lardran made him. Did it matter? Should he even care?

With their guest gone--hopefully for good--Zeridran slumped to the side, his head so light it could soar into a dream at any moment now.

"That type of male, huh?" Lardran chuckled, his mirth short lasting upon noticing the shattered vials, their fluids splattered. His stomach already heaved, tail almost fleeing between his legs.

"Go ahead. Be typical. See how that well suits you if Grenn's connections come through. Wouldn't you like this to be just the aperitif to far broader opportunities?"

The notion twisted Zeridran's gut, for if his seed took hold inside a female, the outcome would solely linger in his mind. And yet, his wing came down to shield his tip from peeking forth, spent as it was, for in the end, desire outmatched duty. Such was the life of a scout, seeking pleasure wherever it was to be found without pondering too much on it. More than anything, he wanted to feel her licks, the rustle of scales against his, the piercing warmth of her throbbing pussy begging for his seed in the clearest, most arousing of ways...

***End of chapter 2***

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