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'When did he finally cross the line?' you might find yourself inquiring, having read my previous missives. Being a magi of philosophy and introspection, I have asked myself that very question, and, after much internal deliberation, arrived at an answer.

But to fully appreciate my enunciation on the point, you'd have to understand something about the history of dragon kin. You see, we were not always the social animals you see today. In point of fact, our population has risen dramatically over the last three hundred years, as we've changed and adapted our customs and social norms. A thousand years ago, however, you'd find dragons staying well away from each other, for the most part... only rarely meeting briefly for passionate bouts of mating or, more often, fighting.

Back then, each of us was the sole master of our domain, which was oftentimes many square miles. Sturdy of body and sound of mind, we not only had no need for the communal life known to the furred kind of those years, we preferred solitude. There was something truly noble in looking out over the land surrounding one's lair, and knowing that there was not a soul around who could contest your claim.

'Then,' I can hear you asking, 'just what did these ancient dragon kin do with their time?'

But you already know the answer to that question, don't you? It's in all the history books, after all, and the stories are told to every child of these lands in the form of fairy tales and bedtime stories.

We hoarded.

The dragons of old spent the entirety of their substantially long lifetimes collecting all manner of valuables: jewels, furnishings, gold... slaves.

Does that last one surprise you? It shouldn't. Before the Aridean Federation even existed there were furred kind who struck out in all directions from their point of origin, some of them finding their way near this coastal region. And, while the furred folk would eventually settle in and become the dominant population in this area, at first there were only a handful.

Pioneers. Scouts. Entrepreneurs. People looking for a new life.

Well, the early explorers who traveled west found their new life... often chained to their new master's bedside. That is, if it wasn't cut tragically short in the belly of a dragon.

This part of history is consistently glossed over in the texts, but I assure you, most of the initial settlers who came into our territory did not find the adventure they were hoping for.

Imagine, if you will, that you yourself are one of these brave, independent souls some thousand odd years ago. Town life has become intolerable for you, for whatever reason. Perhaps you were not the first born, and so you stand little to no chance of inheritance. Perhaps you have been exiled from your village for some alleged crime, real or imagined. And so you head west, towards the coast. You've previously heard tales of some villager having struck it rich out in the wilderness. The most amazing thing happened: they uncovered the tomb of an ancient beast -- its sizeable skeleton surrounded by the most exquisite treasure imaginable. More than the lucky fools could have possibly spent in their lifetime.

You feel a hunger you can't describe. The promise of a better life whispers to you. Greed beckons.

And so you set out, with your boots and your pack and your stolen, frayed map. West, to the coastline you've heard about in stories but have never seen for yourself. The entire time keeping your eyes out for secret, hidden entrances that, behind which, might contain untold riches.

But, the journey proves far harsher in reality than it had played out in your head. You're tired. your bones ache, and you hunger. The last of your food is but a single apple and some moldy bread -- the ocean-air taking its toll -- when, at long last, you stumble upon a consciously artificial cave entrance.

It leads underground.

Driven by the siren song of a life of pampered luxury, you press through the forest brush and into the cavern. Heart pounding, you light the single torch you brought with you for just this occasion. Placing one pawed foot in front of the other, you descend into the darkness. At first you see nothing but damp, twisting walls as you go deeper and deeper.

As the seconds draw into minutes, a voice in the back of your head begins pleading with you to turn back... that you've made a mistake. But it's too late. You've spotted it. Turning a corner you see a vastness of riches the size of which no one in your family would believe, not having seen it for themselves.

You can't help yourself. Gleefully you begin pocketing treasure until your garments weigh heavily down upon you. Then you begin to fill your mostly empty leather pack, which is no longer encumbered by the seemingly unimportant, space-wasting food that it previously held.

The noise you make as you prance around the stone-worked cavern is thunderous, the sound waves bouncing off the chiselled walls, only to reverberate back again, and again, and again in the enclosed area.

But, being an unworldly, youthful peasant of a small village, you don't appreciate that something is amiss. There's no skeleton of the long-dead monster who used to rule these caves. There is fresh meat on a table in the far corner of the room. There's candle light cascading over the room from metal-worked devices, the likes of which you've never seen. Your subconscious is screaming at you now, that you have what you came for and that its time to leave.

But you do not notice, so overwhelmed by the splendor before you, and now it's far too late.

The Master has come home.

Hearing the heavy footsteps behind you, trinkets and precious jewels slip from your furred hands onto the tiled floor as you turn your head in alarm. In a flash, he is upon you.

Teeth and roars and muscle and scales and--

Your immediate instinct is to piss yourself and cower, holding your hands up above you in a pitiful attempt to fend off the blows that you expect to rain down upon you any second. Clenching your eyes tightly, you tremble at the feet of the huge, winged beast.

Britches soiled, the dripping wetness brings you back to your senses as a few long seconds pass. Nothing has happened, as of yet. Hearing the panting breath of the monster, you know he is still right there, mere inches from you.

You can't help yourself. You look.

Arms crossed, the red-scaled beast glowers at you... judging you harshly with his eyes, and finding you wanting. He smells the fear-piss on you, and senses your weakness. You are no challenger, come to slay him... to steal his territory and his horde.

You are nothing but a contemptible thief.

Eventually, you find the shredded remains of your courage and begin begging for your life. You tell him how sorry you are, how you have friends and family back home. That, if he'll only forgive you and leave you with your life intact, you'll happily go back to your village and never venture out again for the rest of your days.

The dragon hears you... but he does not understand your words. But from your tone and body language he knows that you are begging. Pleading for your very existence.

After a few moments longer, he passes judgement. You will be spared your life. In return, it has become his, to do with as he pleases.

Still rambling your inane appeals for mercy, your words slow and then come to a stop as you watch something red, ridged, and veined push itself out from between his hips. You recognize it immediately as the beast's arousal and find in yourself with a newly discovered sense of dread. You resume pleading as your words take on a different quality and fervor, all the while staring at the winged-monster's length as it elongates and thickens.

It has long surpassed the maximum size of your own erect flesh, and yet it continues to telescope outwards in dimensions as vast as the beast's treasure reserves.

Placing yourself on your knees, you clasp your hands together in front of you, and beseech the cavern's Master as adeptly as your silver-tongued mouth can. But the dragon has no use for your wit or your words, and he has a different use in mind for you mouth.

Stepping forward, he presses the tip of thick, long, precum slick shaft against the side of your muzzle, and utters a single syllable, the meaning of which is clear. You try imploring him one last time, but the beast simply takes advantage of your open mouth to press himself between your lips and over your tongue, finally silencing you.

The potent taste floods your taste buds even as the musk assaults your sensitive nose. Too fearful for your life to pull back, and too intimidated by the absurd thickness of the ridged, veined arousal to contemplate attempting to appease the lord of the cave so that he'll allow you to leave, you freeze in place.

The deep rumbling growl of the beast convinces you that inaction on your part will not be tolerated, and so you begin to tentatively tongue along the bottom of the red dragon's crimson pole. Still on your knees, you look up to see that the beast is looking back down at you, and you beg him once more. Only this time, with your eyes.

His scaled lips curl into a smile, and he repeats the same syllable he uttered earlier.

"Sak," the dragon rumbles.

A taloned hand grips the back of your furred head and pulls you an inch or two closer to his crotch, reinforcing the message. The intent is clear. The muscle-bound monster will partake in the pleasures of your muzzle, and your wetted pants are proof that you will not stop him.

At last you come to terms with your situation and begin to provide oral service for the Master of the cavern. Sensing your obedience to his wishes, he relaxes his grip on your skull and allows you to work your lips and tongue back and forth over his meat.

Fresh words pour from his toothy muzzle that are as exotic as they are incomprehensible. From his more relaxed demeanor and slightly-drawn out manner of speaking, you assume he is letting you know that your actions please him. The beast's arousal corroborates this, consistently flooding the back of your throat with a constant stream of potent pre-seed, forcing you to swallow every few seconds.

Eventually, he grows bored of this approach, and takes a more hands on role in your debasement. Pulling himself free from between your lips with a wet smack, he takes your chin in hand and forces your face upwards as he dangles his cock tip a foot above your still open muzzle.

Smiling lewdly, he drips clear precum all over the long bridge of your nose and your cheekbones, using his other hand to rub the liquid roughly into your wet, matted fur. You sit there passively, feeling dirty and claimed, as he generously avoids dripping into your eyes. Your debauched look pleases him greatly, arousing his lusts further as he pours the testiment of his libido across your face.

Using his taloned fingertips, he forces you to open your muzzle so wide it the muscles ache as he moves his erection so that it points towards your stretched lips. The dragon's deluge now pours into your mouth, the monster's pre copiously flowing onto your teeth and over the surface of your tongue. Feeling your muzzle start to fill, you instinctively swallow, only to earn a swat to the face from the dragon's other hand.

Dazed and pained, he continues his salacious act and begins filling up your mouth once more. This time you know better than to swallow. Inevitably the salty liquid overflows from the corners of your muzzle and begins to drain, dripping down your chin and your chest.

A deep chuckle resonates from the dragon's chest, followed by a new word. "Swalou."

You have no idea what the scaled monster desires, and so, take no action. Growing impatient, he grips your mouth closed and forces your head back painfully, forcing you to down the large amount of pre as you try not to choke.

Pulling your head back down, he presses your lips underneath his cock and to its base and then reaches into your muzzle with two fingers and extracts a goodly length of tongue. He roughly handles these few inches of your wetted muscle to rub up and down his pole, until understanding dawns on you as he repeats the word, "Lik" over and over, his agitation growing with every repetition.

Taking over for him, you run your tongue back and forth his immense shaft, now noticing that the precum is simply dripping back down over the erection, which you can't help but taste yet again as your tongue glides over wet patches of it.

After a few minutes of this, the dragon again decides he's being too passive of a participant, and begins to slowly move his hips and arousal away from muzzle, forcing you to give chase with your muzzle and tongue in a manner that shames you intensely. He belly laughs as he moves his hips back and forth, left and right, and you in turn struggle to stay in contact with the massive shaft.

A small (but incredibly embarrassing) amount of time passes in this manner, before he has you stand and strip of clothing. Running his hand through your fur, he talks softly to himself in a manner you are hopeless to decipher. Suddenly, your breathing stops and your muscles freeze in sudden panic as you feel him cup your sensitive southern bits. Soon you relax somewhat as he begins rubbing your sack and the area around the entrance of your sheath... a sensation that starts off as merely tolerable but over time becomes more and more pleasurable.

A few minutes of this and you cannot help but grow erect directly into the hand of your winged captor. Having reached your full length, he continues to stroke you near the entrance of your sheathe, becoming more and more annoyed, until eventually he begins pulling harshly on the root of your cock. In a pained voice, you yell out fresh pleas for mercy and grab his wrist with both paws in an attempt to prevent him from pulling off your dick.

Seemingly confused, he cocks his head and pushes a single finger along the cock and into the sheath, only to pause and look at you in silence. Suddenly he bursts with howls of deep laughter, pointing at your pole with his other hand and grinning with derision.

When he catches his breath, he repeats the same word over and over, and your ears go flat against your head as you realize he's making fun of you.

"Taini! Taini, taini, taini!"

Pushing you to the ground and laying down beside you, suddenly the dragon is much more interested in your length than he is in having you work with his own. Peering at it intently as if it were some never-before-seen spotted, furred worm in the forest, he then begins playing what can only be described as 'games' with your flesh.

Pinching it... slapping it back and forth between his hands... stroking it as fast as he possibly could in a manner so vigorous as to be borderline painful. But, being young and easily aroused, given fifteen or twenty minutes of these attentions you couldn't help but feel the signs of an impending orgasm.

You try to warn the beast in advance, afraid of angering the cave monster, but, if anything, your words seem to encourage him to redouble his efforts. As you climax in the most roughly milked orgasm of your life, he points the tip of your modest arousal towards the cupped palm of his other hand, collecting your jetted seed.

Again and again you squirt into his palm, but even as you ride the high of your pleasurable/painful ejaculation, you can tell from his face that he is once again amused by something.

"Sou taini," he pronounces, with a chuckle as he examines and sniffs at the contents of his hand.

Your ears go flat in shame once more as you pant to regain your breath. Then, offering you his cupped hand that contains your still fresh, still warm seed, he uses a word you've heard him say before, but in a different context.

"Lik."

At first you are simply confused. Does that mean tongue? What about your tongue?

But, unfortunately for you, living alone has not created many opportunities for the dragon to work on his patience, and so, he once again squeezes your muzzle open and up with one hand as he begins to pour your own seed back into you with his other.

Never before -- not once -- have you had occasion or cause to taste your own output, and now that you are forced to do so you find it particularly repellent. What you long viewed unambiguously as biological waste is now coating your tongue all over and flowing toward the back of your mouth and down to your throat. Fully understanding that there's no escaping the dragon's wishes, you begin swallowing as rapidly as you can to clear your mouth of the contemptible taste.

As you lay on the ground, coughing to clear your throat, the dragon stands up and fetches what looks to be a silver bowl from one of the many piles of treasure surrounding the two of you. Kneeling down in front if front of you, he ensures you are watching before setting the bowl before him. As he starts to rapidly stroke himself, you feel unable to look away, entranced by his odd sexual antics.

Only now do you realize he was going out of his way to treat the flesh between your legs in a relatively gentle manner, as he tightly grips his own large arousal and beats it off roughly and with abandon. But from the dragon's expression and panting, it's fairly obvious he finds it to be a purely pleasurable experience.

Back and forth his taloned grip glides over the red ridges ridges of cock, until, with a mighty roar that seems to shake the cavern, he begins an orgasm that in its first couple seconds produces more cream than you did throughout your entire orgasm. And yet, his goes on and on for what feels like the better part of a minute until, at long last, the silver bowl is nearly overflowing with the monster's seed.

Catching his breath for only a few seconds, he pushes the bowl towards you across the ground and repeats the hateful word.

"Lik."

Now you believe you understand what the beast desires, but the act itself is unthinkable. While you are no alchemist, it is obvious from the volume produced by the fearful creature that there must be at least ten ounces of dragon seed in that bowl.

It is nearly unbearable to demean yourself in that way, and so you shake your head 'no' while crawling backwards, towards the chiseled cave wall. Instead of giving chase, though, the dragon simply stands up and walks away out of sight.

Too terrified to take the opportunity to even consider running naked out of the room and into the pitch black labyrinth of the cavern beyond, you simply wait until the beast comes back. As so soon he reappears, now with sword in hand.

Not even bothering to raise the blade in a threatening gesture, he repeats the word, one last time.

"Lik!"

Realizing that it is either the bowl or your life, your shoulders sag as you crawl on hands and knees back to the silver container laying on the ground.

Picking up the alarmingly heavy bowl up in both hands, you look pitifully up at the dominant creature, hoping for a last second reprieve. Instead, he flashes you a toothy smile and offers you a new word.

"In'dgeoi."

You can't begin to guess at the meaning of the word, but the intent is clear. He intends to watch as you drink down the entire musky contents of the container.

Even as you tell yourself to get it over with as quickly as you can, you realize that this tactic is not only impossible, it is ludicrous. There is simply too much dragon seed in the bowl to put it away with any speed.

Bringing it closer to your face, you can't help notice smaller details that had previously escaped your attention. The fine golden etching on the bowl. The subtle polishing that the silver container has received not too long ago. And... the way that the liquid contents were not a single solid white color, but were instead a swirled mixture of clear and creamy white fluids. You almost dry retch as the potent smell hits your nose.

As you lift the bowl up to your lips you watch the dragon warily. He takes no action and offers no additional words. This is proof enough that the lewd path you find yourself on close enough to what the beast had in mind.

The bowl makes contact with your lips and you begin tilting both it and your head back, unable to prevent yourself from watching as the congealed contents flooded towards your muzzle... before it finally makes contact with your tongue.

As a small mercy, the taste is not nearly so bad as you had feared, but after downing what feels like several large sips, you observe that you've hardly made any kind of dent in the volume at all. In a moment of clarity, you understand the beasts true intentions. Or, at least, you imagine that you do.

You came here to take from the dragon that which he had no intention of giving freely. Now he insists that you take that which he would freely give... and that which you find yourself unable to decline.

You gulp and swallow and gag down the creature's jism time and time again. Not far from you, he has taken a seat in a large wooden chair and has begun leisurely stroking himself again, keeping his pole worryingly hard. As you finally near the bottom of the now mostly empty bowl, what truly worries you is that he has taken to holding a silver chalice in front of his length... only to release strong acrid stream of piss directly into the cup as you moan mournfully into the bowl around yet another mouthful of cum.

"Wans a'gen, sleiv."

I will, ahem, end my small story here, if you don't mind. I do feel compelled to... apologize, however. It was not my original intent to get so carried away while expanding upon the history of my people. Specifically, in this case, one of my ancestors.

You see, this was not some fiction that I created. These events truly happened... at least, they did according to the dragon who wrote the journal. It goes on for many, many more pages, after the point I left off at. All from the dragon's perspective, of course, rather than the furred one. That I did for matters of dramatic flare, to make for a more entertaining story. I beg your indulgences on this.

Regardless, I read this journal a long time ago as a young adolescent dragon and, I must confess, it had a profound impact on me. The dusty old tome told of a story that spoke to parts of my nature that I had previously been entirely unaware of. The need to dominate. The need to horde. The need to master.

Having discovered the journal, I teared through the pages in a single, long sleepless night. I read the thoughts and musings of this long dead dragon, who lived in an age where there was no one around to contest his will. His rule was indisputable... as his furred slave learned all too well.

Shackled with an ankle cuff to the center of the room with a chain long enough to wander a fair distance through the cavern, the pet became his Master's favorite piece of treasure. The author of the journal described in rapturious detail precisely how often and in which ways he commanded his new toy to service him. The inked words talked about his favorite parts of his furry pet's anatomy, including his tongue. It detailed the tongues many uses, including how he often commanded it to probe its Master's slit, ass, and armpits.

The book explained that with every new additional humiliation the same cycle would repeat itself. The slave would resist. The slave would capitulate. The slave would grow use to it. And finally, the slave would provided the service on demand in more or less happily fashion, as if it had never even been a burden or a concern.

For example, the first time he fucked his slave's ass, apparently the selfish creature screamed bloody murder. But later, less than a year into his lifelong servitude, the pet would bounce himself up and down on the dragon's cock with a smile on his face even as his own mostly-ignored arousal flopped around wildly from the momentum.

I've heard from a few other dragons I've spoken with on the subject that their ancestors too knew the joys of owning the flesh of a sentient furred pet. Male dragons with male slaves. Male dragons with females slave. And even female dragons with male slaves... though in this circumstances the slave often lost the use of their primary sexual equipment due to the female dragon's uniquely evolved reproductive canal. I can only assume that it must have been an intensely unpleasant experience as the life was squeezed out of their manhoods.

I myself grew up knowing full well that, living in this modern society of ours, I would never experience the indescribable pleasures that my forebearers enjoyed throughout their whole lives on a daily basis.

So now perhaps you can see why I was compelled to warn the human off, even as he voluntarily offered his very freedom for an apprenticeship. At last, perhaps you might understand why, ultimately, I was unable to decline the deal he pitched. And, perhaps, now you finally appreciate how things might have ended up the way they did.

It is the human's fault as much my own that we are here in this situation today.

But what was I originally planning on discussing in this letter? Ahh, yes. The exact moment I crossed the line with my apprentice.

I remember it well.

It was a hot summer night in my residence as I lay half-asleep in bed, too lazy to bother getting up to activate the climate control runes on the wall. My human was out at some party, socializing with his fellow students as they enjoyed the last few days off before classes started up again.

Apparently this particular night he had imbibed a bit too ambitiously, and so when he stumbled into our shared quarters he was quite out of sorts. So much so that he crawled into my bed, perhaps in a drunken haze believing it to be his own, which was only a single room over from his.

Still more or less unconscious, it was not until he curled up next to me and pulled my wing so that it draped over himself, like a blanket, that I noticed his presence. In silent curiosity I observed him as he finally took notice of me, and with a laugh that smelled of mead, pressed his chest against mine and kiss me fervently on the mouth.

Shocked at his behavior, for a long minute I simply allowed him to kiss and nuzzle me, as he drawled out a few half formed thoughts. While I wasn't able to understand most of what he said, some parts came through clear enough.

He said he found me handsome, and that's why he asked to become my apprentice before any of the other magi. He told me how hard I made him, and how much he hated how I kept him chaste . And that he loved it. And that he hated it. And loved it. He was quite clearly of two minds on the subject. Between wet, almost slobbering kisses he breathlessly confessed that he was falling in love with me.

I was caught entirely off guard by this. Never, not once, had it occurred me that the human might develop feelings for me in this fashion during his apprenticeship. I layed there, mute in surprise, as the two of us began making out while his hands wandered up and down my chest, rubbing me as they went... and eventually finding my sheathe.

"Maaster Eboonhiiide... I looove youu," he drunkenly slurred. "I love your cock... even when it hurts my throat."

As his fingers drummed gently against slit, I was couldn't help but become aroused -- my full dragonic length pressing up between our two stomachs. Mine scaled and black... his fleshy and tanned pink.

"Sir... I'm so hard right now. I can feeeel it. Even if, I can't, you know... feel it. You know what I mean, I mean. What... what do I mean? Oh... yeah... I mean, you can feel it too, yeah? You must always know how hard I am..."

Part of me wanted to put an end to his inebriated rambling by pressing my length into his mouth and down his throat, as had become my custom when he was expressing opinions or thoughts that were of no interest to me. But another, kinkier, darker part of me wanted to see how far I could encourage the horny human's dirty talk.

And so, I said to him, "You're hard for me, pet? Well... I am hard for you, too. But only one of us is getting to cum tonight. Tell me, which one of us do you think that will be, hmm?"

He paused in his lapping of my neck and jawline to mumble, "You, sir. It's always you..."

Pressing the point, I ran my fingers gently over his male tit nubs and continued on with, "And you like that, don't you, human? How I use your wonderful body to achieve big, wet, powerful, wonderful climaxes... while you stay hot and bothered... achy and needy. You like needing me, don't you?"

Taking one hand, I cupped his ass cheeks, and with the other I rubbed the flat pubic mound of his crotch, where you would have found his length prior to him becoming my apprentice.

"Oh, god... I need you so much, Master Ebonhide. My balls are killing me. And your cock is so big."

I haven't the foggiest what those two thoughts had in relation to one another, but apparently it made perfect sense to him at the time.

"Yes, it is it big, isn't it? And you love how much cum it shoots too, I bet. How it shoots enough for the both of us... how there's no need for you to get off, because my cock is more than enough for the two of us. Doesn't it make you so happy when you get to taste my seed? When you swallow it down? When I rub it into your skin and into your hair? And don't you love getting to stay hard, even as my shaft slowly goes soft and retreats into its sheath? You love staying hard for your Master."

"I love you, Master... I love staying hard for you." He chose to emphasise this point by gripping my length with both hands and stroking it in an irregular pattern. I had no complaints.

"Me too, pet. Me too. So, don't you think we should make a promise to each other? A magical promise that is destined to never be broken?"

I could see his eyes light up at the thought, even in the dark. The wonders of magic still had a special place in his heart, which is one of the reasons we had excelled so during his first semester at the academy.

"Yeah... a magic promise...!"

Softly, I chanted a quick incantation to summon the oath stone from its hidden place amongst my most valuable treasures. It wasn't too terribly far from where I was keeping his cock and balls, now that I think about it. And, in a flash of light, the rune-covered jade stone appeared in my hand.

Taking his hand I grasped it in mine, and told him, "Now, my lovely apprentice, channel your thoughts and ley-lines into the stone, and let us make an oath to one another."

I confess to not thinking clearly at the time, but I still had wits enough to know that, should he swear something that would be a detriment to me, I would have an opportunity to cancel the oath spell before it became sealed, as the spell would not be complete until both of us had our say.

But, full of beer and bravado, he pressed on fearlessly, as he was wont to do.

"I swear... I swear I will always love you! Always, Master! And I'll... I'll never do anything to hurt you!"

I was worried there might be some hidden ramifications that I wasn't noticing due to my dreamy state or the fact that the boy was distracting me mightily as his fingers played with my rod, but I suppressed my concerns and focused on my part of the oath.

"I swear that I will never intentionally allow you to climax, human. Likewise, I swear that tonight you will lose your anal virginity to my arousal, my pet. This I swear!"

And then, without me having to tell him to do so, he responded in kind, "This I swear!"

In a powerful surge, the powerful relic shown bright green light in between our clenched fingers and bound us in a way I'll never be able to describe adequately. Needless to say, it was an overwhelming sensation.

Only when the heat of the moment had passed had I realized what we had done.

We had each given up a portion of free will in a magical ceremony the likes of which hasn't been practiced for hundreds of years. Even I hadn't the power to break the bounds we forged that day. And even destroying the jade artifact would have no affect on our magical oaths, as the words lay etched within our very minds and souls.

In case it was unclear to you, it was at that moment when I crossed the line.

In a drunken moment of youthful indiscretion, my furless apprentice shared with me some of his most intimate thoughts and desires. And, in return, I did the unthinkable. Finally, and far too late, the ramifications of our oaths began to become clear to me.

"Apprentice... I shouldn't have done that. We... we shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."

Leaning against me, and with love in his voice, the youth said, "I'm not sorry. You shouldn't have to apologize for love. That's what they say in all the books I read growing up."

I kissed him on the cheek then, as way of silent apology, and decided that I needed to take a walk outside, to clear my head.

But then, having stood up without issue, I found my body moving of its own accord as I tried to step away. Instead, I turned around... only to lean over and grab the hips of my human pet and flip him around so that he laid on his chest. I began to feel alarmed as my arms began tugging down his pants, exposing his rounded ass cheeks to the room.

Laying myself down over the boy, I felt gravely concerned with my lack of control as I grinded my length up and down the soft valley created by his ass mounds. The boy, caught up in his own private romantic fantasy, moaned appreciatively as he felt my considerable length press up against him.

"Ooohh, sir... that feels so good. I'm ready for you..."

I reached down and adjusted my arousal so that its precum coated tip sat just outside his anus, my cock's head pressed up firmly against his virgin ring of muscle. Then I managed to pant out, "No, apprentice. You are not. I'm sorry for what I must do."

With a mighty thrust, a scream rang out through the night, only to be muted as it crashed into the silencing glyphs surrounding the residency. As I ravaged his hole pre-slicked hole, I couldn't help but feel a terrible, wonderful pleasure as his ring gripped me with its silky tightness.

At this point, the oath left me no choice but to savagely, passionately ravage my apprentice. And despite the pained moans he made through clenched teeth, his magically-reinforced love for me could still be heard.

In that moment, I could not decide if things were spinning totally out of my control or if I was, at last, taking ownership of the birthright passed down to me by my ancestors.

Yours in the pursuit of knowledge, Bradshaw Ebonhide, Magi Adeptus -- Fifth Rank