FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The long halls of Scraz'vindar ran for hundreds of miles. From the Skywatch observatory at the peak of the fifteen thousand-foot mountain to the magma forges and thermal reservoirs at the very heart of the vast range, the fact that the entire stronghold city rested in a dormant volcano was of little genuine concern to those who managed its administration. The mountain's spirit had long been shackled to the will of the dragon clans, and its fires gave warmth and power to their mighty home. Networks of pipes ran along the ceiling of nearly every public passage, sending power to the furthest installations.

Gabbroscale didn't pretend to understand the underlying mechanics of the tremendous industry. It was utterly beyond his grasp. The dull-silver-scaled dragon made his way through the main thoroughfare, which shot like an arrow through the hill to the artisans' quarter, passing beneath the gargantuan stone arch that marked its outer edge.

A sing-song voice like coins tinkling their way down a hoard pile interrupted his transit, and a pretty ruby-scaled female waved from her storefront. It was a premier location, assuming one noticed her clothier's business before the very forward-thinking dragoness, of course. She was an eyestealer and a stunning sight for sure, with a figure that would have aroused desire even among the other species of the world. She fancied him as well, or so he suspected. As it happened, he fancied her, too.

"Gab! Good morning! Off in a rush?" She called in an almost playful and perhaps teasing lilt of the draconic tongue, particularly the dialect used among close acquaintances.

He couldn't help but smile and gently gestured to the rolls of parchment tucked under his arm.

Perhaps there would be time for a catch-up with the ruby-scaled dragoness after. For now, though…

"I can't stop Restyke! I have a very special order." He apologized and continued on his way, venturing off toward his home forge.

"Then be on your way, oh soon-to-be Lord of the forge! Don't let me hold you!" She giggled and waved him on his way again.

Here were the sounds he was familiar with. The noise of industry, the cacophony of creation. Hundreds of thousands called the mountain home, the free workers and the indentured alike, and it was here the grandest of dragon treasures had life breathed into them.

His trade, as it was, was as old as the mountain city itself, older even perhaps. He followed the winding paths between carved stone buildings, navigating the labyrinthine maze as surely as birds flew south when winter arrived. His home forge was ancient, supposedly set up in the first wave of tunnel construction to allow quicker access for the work crews with tools and materials.

He arrived just as the wyrm curled around his forge was waking. The massive dragon cracked a lazy, sky-blue eye the size of a dinner plate. Stretching out and craning his long, sinuous neck, the giant feral dragon let out a yawn that made the ground itself rumble.

"Mrhmm… and I was having such pleasant and lucid dreams as well. A pity you could not have been delayed another ten minutes." Baelthorn, the scion of the Flame Kissed and Cloud Maker, rumbled with a voice that punctuated the air like a bass drum with its force but ended with a lilt-like sweet birdsong in the springtime. It always left a most curious impression on Gabbroscale.

Compared to the dark patina that Gabro's silver scales had gathered over the years, Bael's were absolutely resplendent and glittered with the brass and gold hues of his lineage. Even for nearly a millennium old, he still seemed every bit the young elder, especially to some of the great wyrms beneath the mountain.

The 50-foot-long dragon's tail rasped across the polished stone of the high vaulted ceiling of the forge space with a sound like ice across gravel. He rose slowly. The large gold was not hurried at all, but of course, once one reached such sizes, the goings-on of the small oft became trivial matters. Fortunately for the forge master, Bael also very much enjoyed his craft.

"You are here early, youngling. What work could possibly invoke such haste?"

"A special order…" He started, unrolling the parchment tucked beneath his arm upon the top of his anvil.

The wyrm leaned in close, scrutinizing the details of the drawings and specifics of the order. A loud, thoughtful rumble filled the air. It took Gabbroscale a moment to realize the other dragon was chuckling. The sound was reminiscent of a distant earthquake.

"Quite a sum to pay for a fancy toothpick, wouldn't you say?"

"Then it shall be the fanciest toothpick you've forged, but forge it we shall. 5 rods of gold and a central one wrapped in aluminium. Cast the blade over it in dragon steel. The hilt, a basket. The pommel stone, sapphire, no less than 5 karats... Diamond stud rows in the hilt… the list goes on…"

The elder dragon rumbled like the mountain itself was giving way.

"Hmm. Quite. We had better get started then."

The bed of flame below the crucible was lit, ingots of precious metals slowly turning liquid and running like tears. It was poured into the moulds for the blanks of the blade, each made to exact specifications, never a one reused on these sorts of projects. It took an hour alone to carve the thin rods into the dense stone and another to ensure they were perfect.

While they cooled, they were wrapped per the specifications, each strand coiled around the middle rod of lighter, more flexible metal that would make up the heart of the blade. A powered hammer beat the metal together firmly before it was reheated and beaten again. Each time, the rods became more and more intertwined. There was no room for imperfection. Every piece that left these forges had to be as flawless as the heart ruby, a precious stone on display in the geode quarter. Many pilgrimaged there in hopes of finding their own love before the massive gem's majesty.

The elder's control of the flame was commendable. Many forges had moved to the easier and more controllable gas models that came from the technomancers in the core of the clan's territory. Still, Gabbroscale had no doubts that Dragonfire heated steel was vastly superior. In a way, his own art was dying. There were few truly skilled and reputable masters of Dragonsteel these days. It was one thing to use the powered hammers and steam-driven hydraulics that made folding and shaping the steel far less of a tedious process, but the source of the blade's core and the fire it was forged in mattered more than most realized.

Any foolish smith could pound out a sword that would last a year. Only a Dragonsteel blade could last generations without so much as want of sharpening. They were, without doubt, each and every blade, the best swords, spears, bows, knives, and blades to have ever graced the world, and they forever would be. He had seen the new weapons coming up en masse from the forges.

The sun was rapidly setting on the age of the sword. Soon, they would be naught but a ceremonial trinket or an heirloom passed from one generation to the next, a flickering relic in remembrance of greatness. Gone were the days when a thousand glistening dragon blades could have struck terror into the lands, and their will would have been mightily imposed by force.

Now, with practice and skill, one could take the head off a sparrow at two hundred paces cleanly with but the pull of a trigger or mow down ranks and files without ever releasing it. There was a good reason the Elders had chosen to withhold the full knowledge of their power and wares from the world. Better to let such tools of destruction trickle into the larger world slowly so that all would know and understand the horrors they could unleash if abused.

Even now, the weapons that were shipped off and provided to market for the caravaners who came to and fro with news and trade were nearing sixteen decades old. By his species' standards, they were practically antiques. Promising prototypes and proof of concept weapons were thrown into mass production for the 'lesser species' to at last try their hand at war with.

There was an adage about giving cavemen such weapons. Perhaps dragons, in their arrogance, were correct in viewing the lesser species they coinhabited the world with as such. They were rowdy. Undisciplined. Prone to infighting and largely lacking honour when it came to the field of battle. Victory for them came from only the utter destruction of their enemy. With such weapons, their foe would soon become the world if their ambitions were left unchecked. At least when his kin had fought generations past with the Gryphons, both sides had seen no further sense in making the other extinct, and thanks to the forebearers, peace had been struck and enforced.

The dragons would only expand within their mountain and the Gryphons their mesas.

No, it was better to restrict such knowledge to help prevent such atrocities from occurring.

Already wiser minds than his had taken steps to ensure that the balance of power did not tip too far in anyone's favour but the elder species. The responsibility of safeguarding and controlling the world fell to them. Every dragon learned that lesson at a very young age.

The blade glowed as they immersed it in the oil to temper the steel. Baelthorn hummed softly, and as the steel was drawn out, Gabbroscale began to sing to his tune. The rasp of a sharpening file timed to his strokes set the slow, rhythmic tempo.

"Oh, come all you soldiers,

Sent out to the field.

Come forth warriors,

And fight without yield!

Know that you strike

with the finest dragon steel,

That to the ages shall never condemn."

Bael's deep, mountainous rumbling seemed perfectly in tune with the old Wyrm smith's work song, and beneath Gabbroscale's dulled silver claws and Bael's steady stream of Dragonfire, the blade began to glow, hair-thin streaks of red appearing across the metal where the cords that made up the rapier's core had been wound.

As he had with the steel, the ancient magics began their work, wrapping and warping around the sword, seeking out every imperfection and making them whole, bonding the metals closer even than one could see beneath a magnifying lens.

Bael's breast scales began to glow in synchrony, the same vivid red as he poured his own magic into the sword, continuing to thrum in the heart of the mountain while his apprentice sharpened the edges, his tools taking on the same mystical glow. Perfection was needed in this stage.

Once the blade was set, refinishing the edge would be near impossible, even for one of his skills. It had to be done right the first time.

Such ancient magic did not come undone without a tremendous and costly undertaking, and the process could take days. Even then, it was impossible to predict how the steel would react to such stresses. Even if it survived, a new edge might well end up warping or deforming the magic-diffused steel. One could not rip the heart from a blade and expect to restore it just as vibrant.

The hilt itself was wrapped in silver, and each diamond was set exactly apart to complete the sword's symmetry. The basket took another two days alone to perfect. When the sapphire was set for the pommel, it radiated its brilliant blue across the floor from the reflected firelight.

Experimentally, Gabbroscale gave it a swing. It sang as it curled through the air, the blade flexing and flicking to and fro with his motions. It was a sword whose art was in precision, not brute strength. Baelthorn nodded slowly in appreciation.

Then, gripping it in both hands, Gabbroscale slammed it into the ground. And again. And again. The mournful peal of abused metal clashing on stone rang out until, finally, he ceased, the dragon panting with the exertion. He examined the blade, glistening perfectly in the forge light.

It was as flawless as it had been upon the moment of completion. New scars dotted the polished stonework at Gabbroscale's feet, along with hundreds of marks from the blades that had come before this one, but upon the blade itself, not so much as a blemish was visible.

"There. It is done." Gabbroscale nodded, letting out an almost relieved sigh.

"Mmm, yes. And it shall be the finest and most expensive toothpick in the land. You should be proud. It is a very nice toothpick." The wyrm rumbled with unmissable sarcasm.

"The blade hungers. I can feel it. It longs for the swordsman who shall wield it. This is a dancer's blade. An artist, not a butcher. I've made many swords, Baelthorn, but few pieces that held true beauty. It is as deadly as it is elegant." He marvelled at his craftsmanship before giving the blade a flourish and returning it to its matching sheath.

"Who is the client?" The elder rumbled his question.

"Hmm? A vulpine, the trader who now owns a mass conveyor." He answered, rolling the planning parchment up around the sheath. He tucked both under his arm, ready to deliver.

"Hmmmm. I name it Foxbite, then. May its foes feel it keenly." Bael nodded sagely. The sapphire on the pommel of the sword seemed to glow for a moment as if reacting to the words.

The sword had a name, and thus, the magic they had imbued it with over the last few days was bound fully. There was much power in a name, after all.

"A fitting title, for sure. Do you require anything else from me, Bael?" Gabbroscale asked, flexing his silvery wings out. With the vertical access tunnels that ran through the mountain, flying would be the most expedient way to reach the trade sector, where outsiders were permitted. So much of the mountain was off-limits for them, and with good reason. Dragons' secrets were like their gold and were guarded just as jealously.

"A dragon my age requires naught but to have less interrupted rests, young whelp. Go and deliver your toothpick. The sun has risen and set four times since we began. You have earned the praise that will no doubt be heaped upon you for it." He nodded approvingly before curling his tail back around his forge as the whelp took to the air, rapidly soaring up and away on the natural updrafts created by the heat of the forges.

He vanished from sight a scant few moments later, swept into one of the light-lined tunnels connecting between levels. Before he had even let his eyes shut for a minute, a sweet, sing-song laugh from nearby drew his attention.

"Hmmm… Gab was certainly in a rush this last week… Every day, I saw him almost sprint past my storefront without so much as stopping to admire the roses" Restyke half-laughed at her observation.

"And I am cursed to have naught but a single rest a year uninterrupted by ambitious younglings, it seems…" Baelthorn sighed and craned his neck out, scales rasping noisily as his throat dragged across the stone floor, snaking towards the small ruby-scaled dragoness. His eyes lazily crept open. He did not raise his head. His position and status meant the first move of their discourse was on the dragoness.

"Go on then…" He said, fully expecting her to appease his draconic nature. One forepaw lazily rolled in a gesture for her to get on with it. He was an elder, after all, and that by itself demanded her respect. She curtseyed formally, lifting the corners of her silken silver dress, and touched her brow to his snout as she stepped closer.

"Praise be heaped upon you, great Baelthorn, Master of the flame. At least your apprentice isn't easily distracted by the whims of rouge females. He's dedicated to his duty and art if nothing else." She laughed, reaching a single paw out to brush across the mighty dragon's cheek and horns in a tender, fond gesture.

That earned a chuckle from the massive drake. He could have easily lain out atop any of the younglings, and they would have vanished from sight. Perhaps then he might have gotten that damned rest he wanted.

"He's still the finest smith I have trained, and his dedication to his job is unwavering. Soon, there will be few like him in his trade left. The things that they introduce below are faster and better at automating many things, but forging a weapon should be done with care. It is a tool to take life. It should be made by living hands. Such has always been the way before this latest war…" He rumbled like a mountain coming down on itself, almost ominously.

"Those in charge worry too much for the size of the hoard and not the means by which it was grown."

"Do you worry for our kind's wealth? I'm certain Gab will have no issues with his hoard once he starts gathering properly." She asked as she lay a single hand upon the bridge of his muzzle in a way that spoke of their familiarity. This was far from her first visit, after all. They knew each other well by now.

"Hah… When Gabbroscale sets his mind to something, he does it with all of his being. I'm certain his hoard will gather quickly and greatly. He will make a fine partner for you one day, young Restyke, Daughter of the Gem-scaled and Red Moon." He returned her formality in kind, at last lifting his head. His body shifted as he sat up more properly, dwarfing her in his mass. He knew why she was here.

"But one day is not today… Gabbroscale must get his head from the clouds, or else he'll miss the opportunity. And he is not my partner, yet."

Bael's eyes narrowed wickedly as the dragoness licked her lips, and the tip of his tail gave a flick. Sly. Devious. Very, very feminine. Restyke was no stranger to their arrangement. It had been she who had approached the Forgemaster after she had seen some of the works that Gabbroscale had produced under his tutelage. The Golden-scaled Forgemaster had even gifted her with an artisan platinum rose, the petals inset with Ruby, much like her scale's natural, vibrant hue.

After all, when trying to learn how to woo the apprentice, who better to learn from than the Master? Gabbro might have caught her eye, but the Golden Wyrm had caught the rest of her with the ease of a fisherman casting a line.

"Not yet, little one, not yet. If you wish to serve, fetch the Venthurian Wax and a polishing cloth. You may then see to my paws and muzzle where the soot from your Paramour's project settled." He commanded. The elder would hear no complaints from the young dragoness.

She bowed low, placating herself to the dragon's whims. While the urges of the young may have trended to rougher, primal, more carnal acts, Baelthorn was ancient compared to the pretty ruby dragoness who was so cheekily infatuated with him. He was also, however, wise enough not to pass up a good thing when she literally and figuratively presented herself to him. His own mate had flown to the forever skies many, many decades ago.

Having the little scarlet dragoness to scratch certain itches was a boon beyond words. When dragons grew to Baelthorns size, such physical acts became far less convenient, and impulses could be acted upon far less subtly.

He rolled to his side as she returned with a broad swath of fine silk and dolloped a glob of wax onto it, working it into the cloth. He extended a single forepaw almost regally, as if he expected some peasant to kneel and kiss it, like he'd presented his hand for a show of dedication and allegiance.

In a sense, he had. He expected her to submit herself to him.

And he knew little Restyke would always answer that call, whether she had been intending to court Gabbroscale or not.

She knelt by his massive foreleg, her tiny little skilled paws working to rub around the tender flesh and scales that edged his talons while she worked the cloth along each one slowly in turn, polishing and buffing his scales until they once more shone with a resplendent radiance like the hoard of golden Draskar coins he had to match his stature hidden away in one of the mountain's many vaults.

Dragons were nothing if not vain creatures.

"Mmm, you must take better care, elder. It would not do to have you present yourself before a courtable lady in such a state." She huffed softly while she worked with focused dedication like his apprentice, just in their own unique arts.

Miniscule scarlet scaled paws rubbed along his digits upon his massive paws like she was polishing a precious artifact, shining each scale until they gleamed in the dim light of the embers of the forge.

Baelthorn purred like a cat in the warmth of his fading yet ever-burning fire. Much like the fire in a dragon's heart, the forge never was truly extinguished. He flexed his claws while the tiny ruby treated him like a professional servant, but her cheek was not appreciated the same as her slender, appealing figure.

Even being as massive and mature as he was, the mighty gold elder still knew a fine dragoness when he saw one.

She had a full figure, voluptuous and curvaceous in the ways that would turn heads in a royal court among the other species, even if she hadn't been a dragon. Among dragons, on top of those traits, she had an air of the high-born and wide, egg-bearing hips that would cradle a clutch from her respective chosen mate.

Her tail was long, but not so long that she dragged it across the polished stone floor. Delicate ivory spines trailed along her spine, with soft, leathery frills raising and connecting the graceful protrusions.

Importantly, though, her scales were kept polished to better show off her natural splendour in a dazzling show of ember-like sparks when the light caught her coat just right. It was a small detail, but much like the Forgemaster, he was naturally drawn to such details.

Like the way one of her teeth snagged briefly upon her lower lip as he chewed on her cheek to muffle pleased little sounds huffing from her nostrils while she worked over her paw with the cloth.

He neatly and smoothly rolled his wrist as she gave a nudge, holding his forepaw out pads up, and she started her work once more.

"Then it is a good thing that there are no ladies actively courting in my forge right now, isn't it? Besides, this little one seems to have a thing for larger and older drakes of distinction." His throat shook the floor with his low, bass chuckle that vibrated through the very bones of the mountain around them.

"The other forepaw now, my little ruby wyrmling, and then you may do my hind paws and chest before you get my tail." He instructed her as if he was teaching a class on how to properly polish scales. The great dragon was no fool. He knew she was enthralled by him, infatuated, even if she claimed to be waiting for his apprentice to court her properly. He had snared her on her first visit to his forge to visit Gabbroscale with the scent of a real dragon, the power and poise he held.

"And be sure to get in between the talons too. I expect them to be gleaming, young Restyke."

Restyke might as well have been an obedient little pet with the way she followed his instructions without hesitation or question. She nodded as she shifted about. He stretched his opposite forepaw out towards the ruby 'ness. She draped the waxed cloth across the dark keratin of his claw, buffing it back and forth to polish the thin layer of soot and grime that had accumulated over the course of his work.

"Mmm, you shall have scales that are polished and worthy of praise, Elder, just as you and your works are worthy of it." She smiled as she worked, not at all put out to be doing such tasks for the massive elder. It was an honour in her eyes, and they sparkled up at Baelthorn like twin amber gems as she shifted again, moving her attention to his next claw in need of cleaning.

Then she leaned down and delicately kissed the mighty wyrm's foot, pressing her lips to the middle of his forepaw.

"Mmm, flattery will only get you so far, little ruby…"

"Well, it's gotten me this far, hasn't it? How far should I go before I try something else?" She teased him with a swish of her tail that seemed almost sultry in its nature, her gaze lingering and roaming across the wyrm's body between her diligent polishing of his scales.

That drew another chuckle from the massive gold dragon, his long tail flicking as it uncoiled from his forge with a rasp like silk being dragged over stone. She chanced up at the elder with a demure little smile before she stood, finished with his forepaws, and trailed a hand along the scales of his side as she approached the massive dragon's flank. Her claws clinked along his scales with a sound like the metallic clinking of coins shifting in a pile.

He rolled slightly onto his side with a relaxed sight, his head resting on the stone behind Restyke so that he could comfortably watch the little red dragoness.

His nostrils flared as he inhaled, taking in the scents all around him.

There was the forge, the earth-tinged scents of molten metal and charcoal embers, fire, smoke, and ash. There was the cold tang of steel, copper, and gold, metals all, as cold and polished as the stone floor. And then there was the scent of the wax upon his scales, closer to home while Restyke worked. Sweet but heavy, the wax was smoothed into his lighter chest scales with the cloth like a polish settling into the grain of wood.

And then, though…

Then there was the scent of the little ruby as she worked. She'd clearly used some perfume that caught in the breeze, tickling his nostrils with floral delights from the surface above or underground gardens within the mountain.

But there were richer smells there, headier and more primitive yet. Her own unique scent made his chest thrum like a struck harp chord and drew a low, rumbling growl from the elder, like teasing out a loose thread. His forked tongue slipped past his lips, scenting the air.

Restyke looked over her shoulder back to Baelthorn, giggling softly while she worked the cloth along the scales of his chest and torso, polishing the lighter yellow scales until they glistened like hoarded bullion before a firelight.

"Everything alright?" She asked between passes of the dragon's scales.

He puffed his chest before he exhaled, curls of smoke clinging to his breath as it left his nostrils. Just how far would the little scarlet dragoness go, he mused…

"Fine, little one, though perhaps if you wish to advance yourself in my standing… Kneel." He instructed without explanation or preamble, his fiery gaze fixing her like a hawk staring down a rabbit.

Restyke blushed a moment, tilting her head down as she did as asked. Then, she lowered herself to the floor on her knees, the polishing cloth held in her lap.

"Like this?" she asked, but the sultry spark in her eyes told the elder wyrm that she had no ambiguity about what he was up to or what she had been teasing him with during her visits all this time.

"Good. You can polish my entire underside, then. Make sure not to miss anything… Maybe I'll reward you if you do a good job." Baelthorn rumbled, feeling a certain tingling thrill he hadn't felt for quite some time.

It was electric in its naughty thrill, perhaps playing to his very draconian nature. What dragon did not want to be worshipped and praised by an eager devotee? Dragons were vain creatures, after all, and Restyke knew how to play to his vanity.

He looked to the door of his forge. He had no other visitors today that he expected, and Gabbroscale would not return until much later…

A mischievous growl started in his chest. He played his hand off with all the bluntness one of the younger dragons would expect of an elder.

Somehow, he thought that was exactly what the little ruby seductress wanted from him.

"And take your dress off, little thing. Such fine scales are useless for displaying your worth if you hide them behind silks… Elder dragons have no use for them. Neither do you while you are here. Understood?"

The order came with the authority of his age and station as Forgemaster, a low growl that reminded her of her place in the pecking order. Meekly, she bowed her head and began reaching to pull her dress down.

His tail tip shot out of nowhere, and he slapped her paw with a firm enough whiplike motion to make her startle and stop.

Baelthorn, the last true Master of Dragonsteel, Forgemaster undisputed by no less than twelve of his peers, scion of the great house of Flame Kissed and Cloud Maker, growled at the grovelling little ruby dragoness, snaking his head in closer with a purr in his throat that sent a shiver through her supplicating figure.

"Slowly. Like the far sea dancing slaves might. I have no need for a hasty dragoness…" He rumbled the instructions with no room for deviation.

The dragoness faltered.

"But Baelthorn-"She started, only to be cut off by a second swipe of his massive tail that missed her by a finger's breadth.

"You wish to placate me, little ruby? To serve me? You may call me Master here…"

She corrected herself quickly, bowing her head.

"Yes, master." She said quietly, her own tail tip twitching, not in trepidation, but with excitement.

"Yes, Master." He instructed again, more firmly.

"Yes, Master." She bowed, and more slowly, with a delicate and yet seductive sway to her broad hips like a wildflower in a summer breeze.

Dragons were not slaves. Those who tried often had found themselves on the wrong end of a gout of fire.

But that, in turn, had created a particular… oddity among Dragons. Sometimes, there was a thrill in playing the slave, the dedicated servant. No dragon worth their scales would ever submit themselves thusly before the other races.

But in private, sometimes the most thrilling thing for those who had unlimited control was to have it voluntarily stripped from them. To submit. To serve…

She stood slowly, undoing the delicate clasp behind her neck with a stretch that put her slender neck and spines on full display. The silk rippled like a waterfall as it slipped from her body like oil. She kicked it aside with one talented foot. The elder wyrm shifted, his tail and neck curling as if to form a screen to greedily hide her beauty from the world.

"Is this more to your liking, Master?" She said with a sultry tone. Baelthorn rumbled, nodding his approval.

"Very much. You may continue polishing me, little ruby." He spoke the name with authority, and she visibly shivered in no uncomfortable way, bending at her waist as she lifted the wax cloth in her paws.

"You may use your tongue if you prefer…" He made the salacious offer to the submissive little dragoness, his sky-blue eyes narrowed on her as she leaned over, one paw supporting herself against the softer scales of his belly.

Hesitantly, at first, her tongue flicked out, taking in the deep and earthy aroma of the dragon. It was powerful, like the tools he built, and earth, and powerful and ancient as the stones they stood on. It was distinctly masculine though, a rich, deeper undertone of his natural musk and virility that made her delicate senses tickle and sent a ripple down her throat, muscles twitching in reaction. It drew a sultry purr from the elegant dragoness's neck.

Her tail swished upwards, curling up and along her spine as testingly, she let her tongue drag along the much, much larger male's ventral scales, recoiling as if her tongue had been shocked. The forked tip of her purple, oral muscle flickered in the air near the male's vent as she sorted through the unique aromas and tastes before she went back for another, more curious lick, the elder dragon rumbling all the while.

With a groan of contentment, the mighty Baelthorn lay his head down right behind the dragoness, nudging the end of his rounded snout against the base of her tail. His tongue flickered out, catching the sweet taste of her scales against his tongue as it flickered over the base of her tail and her pert and shapely rump.

"Spread your legs, little gem. And then get to cleaning… Those scales will not polish themselves." He commanded. A flash of deep crimson cockmeat had split his ventral scales at their base, pulsing in time with the massive dragon's pulse. A second pass of Baelthorn tongue forced her legs apart, and the third, his forked tip caught against her own scales that parted around the lips of her feminity with a faint inwards dip.

Her flavour was unlike any he had sampled in his hundreds of years, tickling his tastebuds with a tantalizing sample of the pretty little female's nectar while she huffed and shivered in pleasure at the brief contact. His ear fins twitched at the faintest hint of a moan on her hitched breath.

"Y-Yes, Master." She nodded quickly, cheeks burning even more red than her scales. She dipped her petite muzzle towards that exposed flesh, closing her eyes as she took a breath, inhaling the rich, masculine scent so close to the source here. After but a moment's hesitation, she extended her tongue out to sample the Forgemaster's favourite tool with an agonizingly slow drag of her tongue along his exposed length.

The sensitive flesh twitched at that first contact, the dragon's shaft twitching and growing as more and more of the great drake's maroon spire spilt out, standing in stark contrast to the rest of the elder wyrm's golden underside. Veins threaded along the outside of his shaft faintly, and a messy dribble of precum leaked from the narrow tip of the mighty tapering spear. The girth easily outmatched her forearm in raw length, and that wasn't even including the bulbous bulge of a forming knot at the base of the dragon's cock.

"Use your tongue, girl. You are a dragon, not a housecat licking at a saucer." He growled quietly, though truthfully, perhaps he was treating her too brazenly.

If she had any protests, though, she didn't make them. If her scent was anything to judge by, they were just exciting her further, to be used like a common whore to the mighty Forgemaster, a dragon easily twenty score her own size.

His rough words and treatment of her as he curled a broad digit around the front of her hips to pull her back onto his snout just encouraged the little ruby. He shifted his entire torso, pinching her waist completely between his paw's fingers, trapping her between his snout and her rump and his ventral scales against her face, where her nose was buried against his rapidly engorging member. He'd effectively trapped the little red dragoness against himself, forcing her to breathe deep of the thick, musk-laden scent of a male primed for breeding.

For a dragoness old enough to match him, they might have struggled to resist the urges such hormones brought forth. For a dragoness the size of Restyke, she had no hope, moaning quietly and clenching around the probing tip of his tongue as a flood of wetness dripped down her scales. Her body was already priming her, not that he would have been able to rut her like that, even if he'd wanted to. It didn't stop the primal hindbrain part of her body from wanting it any less.

"Mrhmm, that's it, little ruby. Serve your Master well with that mouth of yours, and you'll be rewarded." He rumbled, the tone of his voice filled with all sorts of wicked promises.

She nodded dumbly, obediently, like a good little slave would, thoroughly intoxicated from the scent of the wyrm as she parted her lips and took his maleness into her waiting muzzle with a quiet moan. Baelthorns tongue parted her folds, intent on hollowing her out the much smaller dragoness with the thick and forked oral muscle. Eagerly, she wriggled her hips back against him, just a good little servant caught in a giant, fierce dragon's paws and forced to serve his every whim…

She played along with the little fantasy in her head as the massive golden-scaled male ravenously ate her cunt out like a stray mutt trying to get every scrap from the bottom of his bowl.

It had been longer than he cared to recall since a female had last been on his prick. It was simply a reality of being as large as he was. The opportunities simply weren't there unless you were willing to pay for such services, and Baelthorn knew better than to trust the local escort services not to keep a little black book.

Her muzzle was warm and silky as she wrapped it around his swelling girth, and it was impossible to resist the feral urge to hump just a little bit, shifting his entire torso with a low groaning rumble as he pressed his spear into her mouth. Her paws rested against his scales, propping herself up as she moaned and bobbed her head against him, doing her best to time herself with his gentle thrusting.

She nursed on his cock like a whelp at the teat, feeding inch after inch down her throat as he throbbed a steady leaking trickle of watery precum down her slender throat. He was thick enough that he could feel the tightness of her muscles constricting and rippling around his prick as she tried to draw him deeper still.

His tongue rasped across her slit, forcing her to pause and pull back so she could mean properly as the elder dragon so thoroughly violated her body, parting her folds with a firm press of his tongue. He rumbled, vibrating his tongue's forked tip against her clitoris.

Restyke huffed through her nostrils, her claws scratching futilely at the scales of his underside.

"Easy, little one. Don't choke yourself now…" He cautioned, one talon brushing down the length of her spine. His claws simply dwarfed the poor little doll, and he shifted back, moving his head to provide himself with a better view. That talon, though, that he trailed down and over her pert rear before he twisted the digit and brought it up between the ruby dragoness's thighs, almost lifting her with the firmness of his claw pressed right up against her cunt.

"You may grind on that if you wish, little one, but I expect you to finish me before you do yourself, understood? Do you wish to be the obedient pet? You must earn your pleasure through service."

Restyke nodded as best she could as she sank down again, doing her best to try and kiss his swelling knot as the dragon's pleasure rose with a steady and constant trickle like the precum he fed down her eager little throat. He mused as he watched her swallowing, a wicked grin forming on the Elder Dragon's lips. He teased her with the idea as she polished his cock with her tongue and his talon with her slick cunt, little pants and moans escaping the ruby.

"Perhaps I should have you a collar made if you wish to play at being my plaything and treated like property properly, my sweet little ruby… You would look fine in a collar of platinum, a fitting mark of your servitude to me." He growled the words out lustily, hungrily, his tongue flicking out with a wet schlick as he moistened his lips. The mighty Forgemaster's eyes were on the dragoness all the while.

The taste of her arousal tinged the air as he sampled it, a rich, fertile aroma of need that made his cock throb in the aching want of a dragoness big enough to take him properly. Now that he'd acquired this little plaything, he didn't want to break her trying, but there were… Other ways to make a dragoness gravid.

He could feel his internal testes churning with a pent-up load of his seed where her paws were busy massaging around the base of his jutting spire of flesh. The gold knew he would not last long under his skilled tongue's lashing of his cock, even if she could barely get halfway down him.

"Good little pet… Soon, Restyke. I don't want you to spill a drop, or else I'll have to punish you. Understood, little gem?" Perhaps it was the way that he rumbled the words with such desire, the way he grumbled his want for her with an absolute possession and authority that left no room for the diminutive red dragoness.

She froze her hips where she'd been grinding at once, and Baelthorn grinned as he felt her shaking upon his single digit like a canine quivering on a seat with excitement. He watched as she drew a single drop of pure maroon blood on her lip with how hard she bit herself to keep from cumming before he told her she could.

It was the sort of dedication one would be hard-pressed to find in even the most dedicated of indentured servants or the most willing slaves. She would sooner bring herself harm than disobey the firm instruction he provided.

Baelthorn purred.

"Good girl… Now finish me off, and then you may have your pleasure." he rumbled the command like an avalanche slowly gaining momentum down a snowy hillside.

Restyke redoubled her efforts, the dragoness purring around his cock and vibrating her neck as she relaxed her muscles as much as she was able, trying to cram every last inch of the quadruped elder wyrm's massive, tapering spire into her muzzle as she could.

She nearly gagged when he twitched and hosed the insides of her throat with a voluminous splattering of hot precum and obediently swallowed as much of it as she could, gulping loudly around the elder's throbbing shaft.

A low growl had begun building in the broad barrel of Baelthorn's golden-scaled chest, the force of his own purrs shaking her teeth slightly along his cock as she did her best to take him down to his knot.

She made it about two-thirds of the way down him when his talon started shifting between her thighs, rocking back and forth. A desperate, pleading groan passed her bulging, stretched lips as her eyes rolled backwards. The delicate little ruby's legs trembled at his teasing touches, daring her to disobey him and cum her sweet little brains out on his paw digit all but holding her up by her sex.

She held herself on the very cusp of orgasm by sheer force of will, not wanting to disappoint the Forgemaster; her Master. She corrected herself mentally, eyes clenching shut as she bobbed her head up and down, moaning and huffing needily while she worked his shaft with her lips and tongue, coiling the length of her dexterous oral muscle around his length and squeezing him tight.

That did the trick.

"Oh, Little Ruby… Ngghh, grab the knot in your paws, and start swallowing early-"He warned hurriedly, and it was the only warning Restyke got!

With a groan that shook the forge itself, Baelthorn's pent-up lust was excised. The Forgemaster bellowed as pulse after pulse of cum raced along his swelling cock. Restyke's delicate throat bulged as each shot travelled down her gullet. At least she heeded his warning! Her throat rippled as she swallowed, hurriedly trying to keep pace with the feral dragon's load!

She hadn't a hope of containing it all, and his climax seemed almost unending. Who knew when the last time he'd felt relief had been! She choked soon after it began, though, sputtering and forcing herself to pull back just a touch so she could breathe between the throbs, but by that point, the creamy white dragoncum was dribbling from her chin and muzzle, staining against her glistening red scales.

To her credit, she did her best to keep up, but when he dipped his rounded talon inside of her vent and past her pouting, arousal-dripping sex lips, she lost all composure and had to pull off of him entirely, moaning and writing as her entire body went into a nerve-wracking spasm of orgasmic bliss.

By the time both of them were thoroughly spent, Restyke was collapsed on the polished stone floor in a puddle of the elder dragon's cum, and Baelthorn's head had settled between her thighs, tasting the mess she'd made when she'd orgasmed her way out of his hold entirely and slipped down.

He growled his approval of her rich, feminine flavour. There was nothing like a fertile dragoness's lust to quench one's thirst. But…

This one had disobeyed his command.

His eyes narrowed wickedly as Restyke slowly tried to sit herself up against his belly, his still-leaking prick bobbing lewdly by her face.

"Dear Little Ruby, I told you not to spill any. I expect you to clean this mess up when you have recovered but for now… Catch a palm full of it while my cock still provides…" He ordered with a low growl that was hungry with lusty intent.

Restyke nodded slowly, reaching her hand out and stroking her curled fingers along the top few inches of his mighty cock's length, catching the seed that spilt from his tip in a warm, gooey puddle that filled her paw to overflowing. Her throat rippled in a sultry rumble as she flickered her tongue towards it like it was an offering from the old gods themselves.

"Good. But you've already tasted that plenty." He purred, those sharp, staggeringly blue eyes meeting her own with a stare that utterly locked the diminutive female in place.

"Now spread yourself open, and work that into yourself with your fingers, nice and deep. You've not been taking any contraceptives, no? I would smell it. This is your punishment, little ruby. If the fates deem it so, you can repay your disobedience by laying me a golden clutch."

Restyke froze for a moment, looking into Baelthorns eyes for any hint that he was still playing. She did not see anything but expectation that she would be a good little pet and obey him.

This was what she had wanted, wasn't it? Her mind reeled at the implications. The dragon was correct. If she let herself just pour that warm, creamy mess into her slit, she would almost certainly be gravid in weeks. Her season wasn't entirely upon her, but within the week for sure.

She could feel the needy pull of her instincts that drew her hand lower. It wouldn't matter. In her, his precious seed could last a month, waiting for her to ripen and be ready.

"M-Master?" She asked as if he would somehow change his mind.

"Was something I said unclear? Go on, my little ruby-scaled pet... You wanted to play at being my obedient little pet. How willing are you to commit to such a role?" He rumbled the question with a flicker of his golden tail tip.

"Certainly, you would be well looked after, contingent, of course, on your willingness to serve my wishes…"

Without realizing it, her paw had begun to tremble, though if it was with fear or with excitement, she could not say. Her mind was still filled with the lusty, demanding fog of the elder wyrm's musky scent, clouding her thoughts as she looked at the palmful of warm cum slowly lowering along her belly.

This had to be a test, but nothing in the elder's tone or intense gaze told her he was anything but absolutely serious in his demand. If she went through with it, doubtless it would change a lot, not least of all her ambitions with Gabbroscale… But, he would understand, right?

Submitting to the whims of an elder wyrm, let alone one of such repute as the Forgemaster Baelthorn himself, was nothing of shame among dragons, even in the role that he asked of her…

The last vestiges of resistance in her mind fled as her fingertips brushed like feathers down her clit and across her slit, threatening to breed herself on her fingers at the massive staring dragon's demands. Baelthorn's tongue flickered out, tasting her excitement in the air.

"Go on, little gem. Do it. Fill yourself with my whelps, and I will collar you in precious platinum that none may dispute my claim on you."

Her entire body trembled as she parted her nether lips with her fingertips and plunged the dragons warm, life-giving cum into her sex with a moan that tore from her lips as her fingers curled and pressed in deep, swirling inside of her to give his seed the best chance of taking root in her womb.

She willingly submitted herself to the golden elder's will, taking the course of her life in an entirely different direction than what she had imagined it would be that same morning.

——————————————-

Restyke giggled as she felt the eggs growing in her belly shift about, cradling the bump in her scales with her paws where it protruded gravidly between the parts of her dress, elegant red silk to match her scales.

"Morning Gab! Off in a rush?" She called out as a familiar silver-scaled male approached her, huffing from a rapid flight up from the forge levels.

Gabbroscale nodded, pausing in front of her, an elegant, dark-wood jewellery box tucked under his arm. He offered it out towards her, and opened the lid.

He'd taken to the news with some roughness, though they had reached a… Well, a compromise of sorts between herself, the silver, and the golden-scaled elder they both called Master for entirely different reasons.

Gabbro could have his turn once she was done tending to Baelthorn's newest scions.

"Couldn't delay. Very special order we just finished up. Your Master wished it delivered post-haste to you."

Inside the box was lined with green velvet, but that wasn't what caught her eye.

The platinum collar within sat ajar, elegantly simple. It was a plain metal loop hammered flat at the front and edged with rubies in flowing, looping patterns that formed a Mobius loop motif in the platinum. A V-shaped gap was open in the back of the piece where it would close together, and no doubt, once closed, powerful magics bound to the collar would weld it fast, ensuring it could never be removed.

She lifted it daintily in her fingers, turning it over in her paws. The back was marked with a few simple draconic runes, as a real slave collar would be.

The first was Baelthorn's maker's mark, denoting that the wearer was under his indentured servitude. His property. The implications made an excited shiver run down her tail.

The second was her pet name. Little Gem. She traced her fingertips over it, careful not to leave a streak on the immaculately polished surface of the metal.

The last made her cheeks flush warmly, averting her eyes away in the hopes that Gabbroscale wouldn't notice. The silver drake just grinned.

Breeder. One who has shown they can carry young. She huffed, feeling the eggs inside her, seeming to react to the excited little thrill that shot through her.

She giggled quietly, purring. "Mrrhmm, it is beautiful indeed."

"Our Master requests you wear it when you attend to him this evening. He wishes to seal it on you himself."

She carefully set it back in the box, nodding, when a playful little smile crossed her lips. She looked up to Gabbroscale with a lick of her lips as he closed the box once more, tucking it under his arm.

"He wouldn't mind if perhaps I came by early today, would he?" She asked, playing her best wicked little smile.