FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The humble drake was the backbone of the kingdom. Powerful and modestly tame, they were ideal for pulling plows or carts. One could even ride on such a beast directly. However, because of their ungainly stride, the serpentine nature of their bodies, most did not have the stomach to sit atop a drake. Those that did could only be comfortable with riding a drake if it stayed below a jog. It took dedicated practice and determination to learn to sit on a drake at a full run. It took even greater practice to learn to do so without bruises.

Willet was more than just practiced. She was one of the voles of the plains, hearty riders who were placed on the saddle almost before they had mastered the use of their own two legs. For her, the ground was just as naturally felt beneath her feet as a series of violent, rythmic undulations as it was solid and unyielding. She half-stood in the saddle, hunched over, gripping at the reins with her hardened palms while her shins clamped to the heaving mass beneath her. Her small, pointed face was comprised of hard eyes and a soft smile, thrilling at the sight of the world screaming past her, even as the act of doing so demanded her strict concentration.

Just below her was her most trusted companion. Zephyr was a mighty beast, even by the standards of drakes. His taloned paws clawed furrows in the hard-packed dirt road. His every bound was explosive in its strength, as if he planned to push the entire world away from him. His expression was, in a way, the opposite of his rider; eyes joyous at being able to exercise to the fullest, even as his maw hung open, honking with delightfully labored breath.

Their arrival into the lands of Count Thrake was hardly a surprise. Lookouts knew they were coming by the mighty plume of dust they kicked up, long before Zephyr's body came into view. It was a while, however, before anyone could make out the creature bouncing atop the beast, recognize the distinctive purples of one of the King's trusted messengers that Willet was draped in. Of course, since the only people brave enough to ride a drake at full gallop were either bringing messages or war, this meant that, for a brief moment, many poor guards and villagers were convinced they were under attack. Citizens rushed to one side of the road or the other, hands resting on sword hilts or brandishing walking sticks.

Neither of the King's messengers would be stopped, however. Not until the walls of the Count's estate came into view. Not until Willet was in comfortable shouting range to a pair of wary looking guards, atop the parapets. Then, and only then, did Zephyr scrape and scrabble to a halt.

"Raise the gates!" The vole cried. "I come bearing a message for your master from the King!"

She did not have to wait long. Within minutes, she was being ushered to the Count's audience chamber as though she were carrying a message of apocalyptic import. At least, that was what the Count had been expecting, when he broke the seal on the envelope. When the message inside was nothing more than a routine bit of state business, he was confused. Confused, and more than a little annoyed.

"Is this it?" he asked, curtly. "Have you nothing more substantial for me?"

Willet offered the traditional curtsy of reverence, though the rest of her bearing remained as business-like as ever. "Nothing, sire. What you have is what I was given."

"Why the rush, then?" With a scoff, the old fox tossed the letter to his nearest attendant. "This business certainly could have waited. There was no need for you to come screaming in here like you did."

She kept her head low. "His Majesty gave me a commission, sire. I merely fulfilled it to the best of my ability. Besides, yours was the last delivery on my route, and my drake is eager to be done with the work."

Count Thrake chuckled, bitterly. There was something unkind in his expression. Perhaps it was a thought about voles and how they seemed to be ruled by their beasts of burden. However, for all his surliness, he was clearly not foolish enough to say such things out loud, especially to one of the King's trusted couriers. Instead, he waved her away. "I shall keep you and your mount no longer, then. Go and be well."

"Thank you, my Lord."

Willet wasted no time. Even on foot, she moved as though getting to her destination was a matter of utmost importance. She weaved through guards and courtiers, making her way to the stables. There, she saw her companion, waiting eagerly for her arrival. The stable-hands had not had time to remove his saddle. Perfect. She gripped at his reins and patted his flank, signaling that they were to prepare to ride again.

"Beautiful creature," a voice called out behind her. Willet turned to see a tall, work-hardened cat, leaning against the wall with a crooked grin on his face.

She smiled. "He is, isn't he?" The vole ran her fingers across Zephyr’s dull brown scales, which drew a contented grunt from the beast. "This one was the pride of his clutch. I won him from a clansmate in a race, not long ago, but he has been my partner for far lo-"

"I'm not talking about the drake," the cat interrupted, a hint of fang in his widening grin. "I'm talking about you, lass."

The vole's smile faded quickly. Turning around, she began to check the straps on the saddle, in preparation for climbing atop the drake, once again. She heard the crunch of straw, the approaching footsteps of the cat, and paid them no heed.

"Is it true what they say about Plainsmice women?" the cat asked, his voice tinged with a noxious strain of desire. "That you all ride your menfolk as eagerly as you ride a drake?" Soon he was directly behind her, a pace or two away from being within arm's reach. "You'd certainly be a fetching sight, straddled atop-"

All of a sudden, Zephyr's breast pressed against Willet face. His long neck extended over her head, fangs snapping the air in front of the intruding cat. A noise of warning shrieked out of his throat, a sound like two large boulders shearing against one another. Willet still did not turn, even to see the cat quail and retreat with a panicked yap. She did, however, hold both her hands against her beast, dutifully playing the role of the experienced handler and pushing Zephyr away.

"Best be careful," she said, far too late and far too mild to sound genuinely concerned. "My partner here is a bit more beastly than any drakes you might be familiar with. He tends to get a bit territorial."

Willet heard the cat stammer out something that might have been asking leave, and then she heard the sound of his boots retreating on the straw-covered floor. With a sigh, she took a step back, looking up into one of her partner's golden eyes. "I did not need your help, bull," she chided. "You're going to put yourself in danger, if you keep antagonizing people like that."

The drake had a rather infuriating habit. He could understand his rider, or at least understand the general meaning behind the noises she made. At times like this, however, he seemed to take a childish glee in pretending as though he didn't. Beaming down at Willet, he lowered his head and extended his tongue, eager to give an affectionate lick by way of saying "You're welcome."

Unfortunately for him, Willet had long since stopped treating such behavior as a funny little game. She leaned her head back, away from the encroaching tongue, and then slipped back around to grab the reins. She gave them a sharp tug downard. Zephyr's expression sobered, immediately, as he dutifully straightened up and prepared to be led. "Come on, you silly lizard." She turned and began to walk. "We've finally finished our deliveries, so now we're free to return to our village. You're ready to go home, I hope."

The feeling of the reins tugging at his snout prevented him from perking his head up. Even so, Zephyr's expression brightened, considerably. He definitely recognized the word "home," knew that it meant that he would soon no longer be expected to work so hard. It meant they would be taking the long and comfortable routes, deep in the woods and away from the uncomfortable warrens of the furs. And it meant that, once the sun went down, he might be able to... Another pull against his snout brought him back to reality, but only just. With an anxious, excited flutter in his broad flanks, he happily let himself be led out into the sunlight.

A gathering of about five or six furs had come to watch the King's courier as she prepared to leave. They marveled to see Willet climb atop the saddle, almost leaping into the stirrup before swinging her other leg over the top of the beast. As small as she was, and as large as her mount was, she almost had to fly to clear Zephyr's back. She seemed almost weightless, as she settled in to her seat. Then, with a snap of the reins, the two of them were off for the gates, at a liesurely canter.

"A rare beast, that one," said one of the guards to the stable-cat. "Absolutely magnificent."

As the gates lumbered open, just enough, Willet flicked the reins again, with a sharp "Hei!" Instantly, Zephyr burst into a powerful, loping run. He blasted through the opening between the large doors and was off like a shot, bugling triumphantly. The sight of the rapidly vanishing drake, with the small rider atop, her coat whipping and cracking in the wind and her long tail waving with each rise and fall, was like something out of a fairy tale.

The stable-cat watched the retreating plume of dust, then turned to the guard and said "Perhaps. If you care much for that kind of creature."

---

"Home" was actually a ways away from where the two of them were headed. The wide open plains of the Southlands, where the rest of her clan made their dignified living, was too far away from His Majesty. He required those who were tapped to be his couriers to be within easy riding distance, and close to those lords who received his missives most regularly. And so, for the past two seasons, Willet had been made to learn the paths through the inner kingdom's rich forests, where a stable and grazing area was carved out alongside a humble cabin. It was scenic, and pleasant enough when one was alone. Even so, she often found herself missing the wide open expanses of her homeland.

As night began to fall, the two of them settled up to a small clearing. Breaks in the trees here were rare. The rider was pleased to find a ring of stones, the skeleton of a campfire, already set up and waiting for tinder. Wasting no time, already anticipating the moment when she could stop and sit in front of a roaring flame, she hopped off of her partner's back and began the familiar work of freeing her drake from the lattice of leather that clung to his body.

Zephyr stood still, with the practiced restraint and patience that could only come from years of conditioning. At least, he was still and patient until the moment the harness was loosed from his head, and the saddle slipped free from his long back. Then, he shook from snout to tail-tip, reveling in his newfound lightness with a dopey, full mouthed glee. Eagerly, his head darted forward, slathering the vole's face with loving lashes from his long tongue.

"Hey, now!" Willet cried, trying in vain to pull away from the advancing beast as her fur was further assaulted. "Stop that! Silly hatchling, you act as if you've never been released from the saddle befo..."

She sobered immediately, as he rushed forward. Suddenly, she felt warm scales against her cheek, the rasp of a long neck as it slid against her fur. Zephyr's body rumbled with the sound of husky, all-too-familiar coos. They were deep, stacatto, somewhere between a growl and a pant pushed out as fast as his fluttering lungs could push them. Willet had been around these creatures for as long as she had been around her own kind. She knew what this closeness, those noises meant. The knowledge made her cheeks burn and her heart begin to pound.

"Typical male," she chided, halfheartedly. "That and food are all you ever think about." Putting her hands on his broad chest, she pushed herself away. "In case you haven't noticed, I am not one of your hens. There are a number of them back at the stables, so you can just keep your..."

She flinched, as she felt a long, hot tongue snake its way behind her jacket from the back of her neck. "Hey, no," she muttered, pulling herself away. Try as she might, however, she could not escape her drake and his long, serpentine neck. Zephyr lavished her face, her neck, whatever bits of fur he could get to by tunneling beneath her shirt. His nose flared and puffed, heavy pulls of air bringing with it the subtle, alien, but unmistakable scent of a two-legged female in season. Still, Willet tried to retreat. "That is enough, bull," she admonished. "Stop that! I have already told y-"

Zephyr pushed even further forward. His flank pressed against the vole's, head snaking around to rub against her back. He lifted a leg, just a bit, to draw attention to the slowly growing, tapered pink mass emerging from between them. Willet swallowed, nervously. This was far from the first time she saw an erect male drake. Ever since the first time she saw a mating pair on the plains, she had always had a morbid fascination with the act. In particular, whenever she saw a riled up bull, she found her eyes naturally drawn to it. She could not look away, helplessly frozen in place as Zephyr warbled a song of shameless animal desire into her shoulder-blades.

Then, she collected herself. And she scowled. Rearing her head back and taking a deep breath, she let out a shrill approximation of the drake warning call. Zephyr scrambled backwards, terrified. He froze, however, when he felt a small hand reach up and snatch at one of his horns. He was wrenched down to eye level, where an angry Willet threw an eerily accurate stone-scraping rebuke directly into his face. The drake, his libido instantly blunted, lowered his head and stared up at his rider with one soulful, apologetic eye.

With her mount sufficiently cowed, she released him. Dusting herself off, she said nothing else to the drake, for the rest of the night. She set up the campfire, laid out her sleeping roll, and threw her purple courier's jacket over a low-hanging tree bough, in preparation for sleep. Zephyr, for his part, busied himself with finding something to graze upon, and a patch of ground flat enough for him to curl up. The two of them settled in to their respective sleeping quarters, neither willing to look at the other.

Willet pulled the covers over herself with a scowl. There was nothing else for it. She was going to have to nip her drake's troublesome behavior in the bud. The two of them would be all business, no distractions until they made their way home. There, Zephyr would be put out to stud. Hopefully a few days with willing hens would get those thoughts out of his system. She would have to trust a clansmate with the task. Let someone else watch the horny bull as he...

She stared at the leaf cover, overhead, images burning in her mind and an itch forming between her legs.

Then she rolled over, burrowing inside her sleeping bag.

She was one of the King's couriers, damn it!

---

The area of the woods that Willet had chosen to make her camp was a dangerous stretch of trees known by the locals as the Choking Wood. Few furs lived within it, fewer still who were in good standing with the kingdom. It was a land of strange and unspeakable magicks, of creatures that created those magicks, and of those few furs stout-hearted or mad enough to try and master them. Late in the night, while the King's courier slept, a deep and sultry fog rolled in from the forest's heart. It crept along the forest floor, over hills and around ancient tree trunks. It curled around the edges of the campsite, circling around as if in appraisal, before closing in on all sides.

Zephyr awoke, disturbed by that curious nothing that put beasts on edge and heralded danger. The air around him was thick with moisture, though none fell upon his scales and the fog did not carry with it its usual coolness. Ahead of him were the guttering flames of the campfire, now a vague glow of orange. From that direction, a shadow passed in front of the fire, and it was then that he first saw the intruder.

She was a fox, grey-furred from head to toe but otherwise in the height of her youth. A black dress hung from her body that, once upon a time, might have been stately. Now, it clung to her like an afterthought, tattered at the hem and repaired just enough to maintain her modesty. She held a stick of gnarled oak in one hand. A pink jewel hung from a leather cord around her neck, uncut and clearly visible in the mist. Her mouth moved, silently muttering words of arcane power, as she passed around the campfire and made her way closer.

Zephyr rose to his paws, mouth open. Instincts screamed in his head, telling him to shout, to snarl, to let out the warning bugle that signaled a danger to the herd. At the same time, however, other instincts pulled him back. When he looked upon the stranger, he couldn't quite make the jump to thinking she was a threat. In fact, he couldn't decide exactly what feelings she was inspiring. She was an intruder, yes, but she was also a herd-leader, or a hatchling, or a hen with eggs about to lay, or any one of a dozen other things that a well-behaved bull like him knew never to attack. He knew none of those other things were true. He could see the fox walking on two legs, emphatically not burdened with child. Still, the thoughts froze his voice in his throat, kept him standing there dumb and disoriented.

At least, they did until the stranger got just one step too close to his rider. Then, suddenly, he lurched into action. Putting himself between her and Willet, who was still curled up in sleep, he let out a noise that was growl-like in tone, but not in volume.

"Oh, dearest beast," said the fox, her voice airy and sibilant like the whisper of a ghost. "How noble of you to protect your mistress. You need not worry, however. I am not here to take lives, merely my tolls for your passage through my domain." She reached out to put her free hand on Zephyr's angular cheek, safe in the knowledge that he would not snap at her for it. "I promise you, she will not even feel my presence."

Understanding slowly began to dawn on him. At first, the words themselves were as incomprehensible as any of the other noises the two-legged creatures were fond of making. He had to rely on the constant thrum in his mind, the waves of calm that told him that the fox was not a threat. Then, however, he began to digest her words. Their meaning slowly became clearer and clearer. It was disorienting, at first, as if some part of his mind were awakening for the first time.

The fox watched as Zephyr stared up at the sky, mouth open and eyes squeezed closed in thought. Then, she slipped past him, silent as the fog that surrounded them. "Now, then..." Taking to one knee, in front of Willet's body, the fox reached out her hand again. "...I do not need much from you, traveler. The froth of your dreams are enough for my spells. Let us see if we cannot make them pleasant dreams, at least." Curling her fingers, she muttered words of power under her breath. Mist began to cling to her fingers, smoke-like, glowing pink in the light coming from the gem around her neck.

Willet's lips parted, slightly. Her breath started to become heavier. It started out as a nervous puff, before it became a series of pants. The start of a moan warbled in the back of her throat, becoming louder with each pull of air. Soon, she was squirming in her bedroll. Her thighs rubbed together, body seeking to press itself against the covers as she writhed within them. A dark spot began to form in the crotch of her pants.

The fox's smile was warm, even as her eyes were as cold as a corpse's. "That's it," she cooed. "Do not fight it, little one. Speak to Ciupani. Tell her your heart's desire. Tell her what it is that lights this fire in your loins."

Zephyr shook his head, snapping back to attention. Quickly, he looked down, danger-sense still screaming to be heard. He stopped, however, when he saw his rider. He stared down at the two furs, eyes wide. Willet was uncontrollable, making noises the drake had only ever heard from hens at the height of their season. It made his scales shake, and a warm tingle spread through his body. His tapered member began to tunnel out of its sheath, throbbing shamelessly in the night air.

The witch Ciupani lifted her head, as visions came to her. She saw the scattered thoughts that bubbled out from the sleeping vole, watched in her mind's eye as they formed into something coherent, if only in the world of dreams. What she saw made her brow knit, just for a moment, before her muzzle split open in a delighted grin. "Oh! Oh, how very daring of you!"

Willet whimpered, as her dreams intensified. Her long tail twisted and flexed, trying to thrash behind her and being unable to. Garbled half-words spilled from her mouth, plaintive cries to no one.

Ciupani put a hand on the vole's face, brushing aside her short head-fur and making the gentlest of shushing noises. "Dearest child," the fox whispered. "Oh, how long have you suffered with these thoughts? To think that a desire so pure should be left to wither on the vine..." Leaning back on her haunches, she drummed her thigh and nodded to herself. "It is settled. Little one, you are not leaving this forest with mere dreams." Then, she turned to regard the drake. "You must be the lucky beast, then."

Zephyr tilted his head, questioningly.

"Your mistress needs you," Ciupani explained, slowly rising to her feet. "But first, you must come here." Planting her staff in the ground, she stretched out her arms, hands open towards the drake. Confused, but still placated by the fox's strange aura, Zephyr stepped forward and allowed the stranger to take his head in her hands.

"I have already given you the gift of understanding," she said, bringing his face close to hers. "You may keep that. I shall also give you the gift of words. With any luck, you will find the right ones to soothe our little one's troubled heart."

She leaned forward, placing a kiss on Zephyr’s lips. The beast stood there, obediently, unsure of what was happening and curiously unbothered.

When she broke away, her face was a mask of conspiratorial glee. "The rest shall be in your talons, noble bull. Do not disappoint." Then, without another sound, she slipped back towards the brush. In moments, she was nothing more than a shape in the mist, and shortly after, nothing remained.

Willet's breath warbled in desperation. Despite the fact that nothing was touching her but her clothes and her bedroll, the force of her fevered dreams alone were threatening to send her tumbling into a sharp and violent climax. It felt like all she needed was one touch, one caress, one husky breath from a large and scaly muzzle... and then, as quickly and inevitably as it came on, it subsided. Not by a lot, but by just enough to deny her her final prize. In frustration, the young vole snapped awake, frantically looking for her imagined lover, half a beg on her lips.

However, when all she found was a misty night, a mostly-dead campfire, and Zephyr staring blankly into the woods, she quickly remembered where she was and what she was doing. Ears flat against her head, she sat up, struggling to ignore the spasms that still shook her thighs. "What is it?" she asked her companion. "Is someone out there?"

Zephyr opened his maw, hesitantly, and then he said "I am not sure. There was something out there, but I think it's gone."

The courier's eyes widened. "What? What are... did you just talk?"

Zephyr looked down at her, confusion in his eyes. "Yes?"

"You can talk?"

"I could always talk. I've been talking to you since the day we met." He leaned his head in closer, concerned. "Are you feeling all right?"

"No, wait..." Willet shook her head. "This is different. Why can I understand you?"

"You could al..." The drake paused, as his snout got closer. The smell came to him, potent and unmistakable. "...you could always understand me." He took deeper breaths. The scales along his flanks jutted upward, sensitive and longing for the feel of another creature's body. His member, having retreated a bit back into its sheath, now surged back out with renewed vigor. He groaned, in shameless pleasure. "Oh, rider. I don't think I've ever smelled the heat on you, this strongly. I've only ever smelled this on the mating hens, back home."

Willet was petrified. Her eyes darted over her partner's body, taking in every inch of the thing that had caused her so many sleepless nights. She had never seen Zephyr like this. Not in his full might. Not this closely. She could practically feel the heat radiating off that tapered, slimy, throbbing... her mouth moved, struggling to say the words she knew she had to say.

Zephyr could feel the eyes on his maleness. He did not blame his rider, in the slightest. He was the best drake in the stable, and the admiration of mating hens was his birthright. It was different, however, when it was his rider’s eyes on him. Very different. He could not claim her, could not clamp his jaws on her neck or lap at her rear or do any of the dozens of things he could think to do to get her to present. She was too strong for such things, her rebukes too powerful and her hands too deft at pulling him away. All he could do was turn up a hind leg, make sure she could see the effect she had on him in the clearest light possible. He could only puff at the fur under her linen shirt, honk at her small breasts with naked, unabashed lust.

It took longer than she would have imagined to compose herself. Too long. Eventually, however, her hands rose to push at the drake's questing snout. "We cannot," she gasped. "I already... I already told you. We will go home, and you can go rut with your own kind."

The bull lowered his head, looking small in a way that his actual size belied. "I don't understand," he said. "You always look so sad, when you send me out to stud."

"Sad? Who's sad?" Willet squirmed in her bedroll. Why wouldn't the blasted itch subside? "You mistake my frustration for sadness, dumb beast. Always having to send you off to drain yourself into a hen's backside, or else you'll be running around with your cock waving like a battle standard."

"It's waving now," whined the drake, lifting his leg again as if it were not blatantly obvious. "And the hens are a day's run away."

"Is that what I am, to you? Something to mount when the hens are a day's run away?"

"No!"Zephyr turned his head, twisting his serpentine neck around the hand that blocked him. He rested his head against the side of hers, throat-scales flaring, his whole body rumbling with the deep, husky rumbles of a mating bull. He spoke, the words coming in through volcanically hot breath. "You are better than the hens, rider! I only think about the hens when they're in season, or when it's feeding time, or when the green one chases me around the field and tries to bite at my hind end. You... you're different. You take me out to amazing places. You know where to find the good apples. You don't whip me like my last master did and you let me run as fast as I'm able to. And ever since..." he paused, his emotions overwhelming his vocal chords so much he could only manage a lusty bugle. His member waved, dangling over Willet like a hot dagger. Eventually, the drake could speak words, again. "...and ever since I first heard you, alone in your room, panting for a mate, I wanted to be that. I wanted to claw open the walls between me and you and give you what you need. The other two-legs aren't good enough for you, rider. I want..." Another bugle. "...I want to rut you so badly, rider!"

The air was deathly silent, for what felt like an eternity. All the young vole could hear was the sound of her heart, pounding and rattling in her chest, and the honking pants of her drake. Her drake. The beast she fought for and won. The only companion she had ever had, on long and lonely stretches of road. Before she knew what she was doing, her hand was brushing against the raised scales of Zephyr throat, tickling at their sensitive undersides. The groan it drew from her companion sent a fresh spasm of pleasure through her body. Something hot and musky dripped onto her bedroll, right above her left thigh. She followed the trail of pearly fluid up to its source, finally allowing herself to look at it, head on. She licked her lips, knowing that she was damned.

And then, suddenly, the hand at Zephyr's throat pulled itseslf up to the side of his head. It clasped on to one of his sweeping horns. The drake's eyes widened, half a question on his lips. Before he could voice it, however, he was suddenly being wrenched to the side. He flopped to the ground, rolling onto his back. There he lay, forepaws curled in, hind legs spread, member hanging in the air like a flag.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm..."

"Easy," Willet murmured, in the placating tone she used to stop a Drake from getting too rowdy. "It's all right, Zephyr. Just... just stay there for a moment." She pulled herself out of her bedroll, unsure what it was she was going to do, once she was clear of it. There was a dark spot between her legs, her smallclothes soaked through. Beneath them, she was positively seething. It was so distracting, she felt her lips as if they moved on their own. "We can't have you running around with your cock out. We're gonna have to... take care of it."

Zephyr looked up, hopefully, before starting to lumber to his feet. A whistle of warning from his rider, however, caused him to squirm right back down onto his back. "I don't understand. I thought we were..."

"We are not rutting," Willet shouted, more to herself than to her companion. "With how large you are, you'd almost certainly hurt me. I don't even know if we could get you to... reach." She stared down at the drake, trying to banish the mental image of her, on all fours, while Zephyr towered over her... she shook her head. "I'm just gonna tend to you, partner. Just... stay like that."

Nervously, she crawled forward. She put a hand on a hot, scaly thigh for balance, as she pulled her pants and smallclothes down to mid-thigh. Then, she leaned forward, putting herself directly in front of Zephyr's eagerly twitching member. She was close enough to smell him, all musky and earthy and undeniably male. She all but salivated at the sight and the heat, but the smell...

Zephyr had put the crown of his head against the dirt, patiently waiting even though he found this position to be incredibly awkward. He felt hot, sharp breaths against his sensitive drakehood and his own chest heaved in anticipation. "Rider?" He ventured a lifting of his head. "What's happening? What are you going to... ohhhhhhhh!"

When the last dregs of her willpower ran through her head, she descended. The bull's tool was more long than thick; Willet found her mouth filled after dropping down on just a fraction of it. The tapered tip pressed at the roof of her mouth, spongy as it curved into the space. A little bit more and her companion would be invading her throat, but... no. This was enough. She had everything she wanted, right here. As her tongue flexed, lapping against the underside, her eyes rolled in her head. Zephyr tasted even better than he looked.

She lifted her head. Then she descended again. A lift. A descent. The fingers of her right hand traced a languid circle of her glistening sex, as she began to pleasure her mount in earnest. The first third (the only thing she could get her lips around) was flexible in a way that she could not have expected, just by looking at it. It turned and twisted with every bob of her head, searching for new bits of cheek to scrub against, new avenues to worm in and push down to her throat. She almost had to fight it, had to struggle to keep it under control. Of course, what she was really fighting was the desire to cry havoc, to push down until her nose was in the scales of her drake's pubis region and not come up until she could smell his musky crotch in her dreams.

"Rider..." Zephyr pawed at the air, trying his best to keep still but finding it more difficult with every pass of her velvet mouth. "This... this feels so good. I..." He twitched, letting out a squawk of pleasure.

The cock in Willet's mouth twitched, writhed, and finally spat. A glob of hot salt landed in her mouth, filling it with her first taste of drake seed. It was only the one, and she was so stunned to feel it drumming against her soft palate she stopped in her tracks. Dumbly, she stared down at Zephyr scales, helplessly watching as something white and creamy escaped her lips and dribbled down his length. That was the moment when her resolve cracked. She had to pull herself up. Her mouth needed to be free to give voice to the strangled cries that were pouring out of it. Her hand was frantic, her body trembling as she all but dragged an orgasm out of it.

"Wow." Zephyr stared at his rider, with wide eyes and flaring nostrils. Everything about how she expressed her pleasure was strange to him. She did not bugle or honk or even have scales to rub against his. Even so, he understood exactly what she was feeling. He could smell it, if nothing else. It felt like an eternity, watching her twitch and hump on all fours on top of him. She looked so beautiful, in the dim misty moonlight. His eyes were glued to the outline of her toned, saddle-hardened thighs and rear, marveling at how they shook. She thrust herself out to the open air, open and glistening. Her body practically begged to be mounted, and had it been anyone other than his rider, he would have sprung to his feet and claimed her, then and there. Soon, even that power would not be enough to keep him in place. Anxiously, he shuddered. "Rider... d-don't stop. Please. That thing you were doing with your mouth felt so good. I was so close to..."

He chirped in alarm, as he watched Willet leap up his body. She scrabbled with herself, all but clawing her way out of her pants and small clothes. She gripped at his tool like a creature possessed, turning it this way and that as she clambered herself further forward. The drake had half a question on his lips, but it was drowned out by pleasured squawks as he realized what she was doing, where she was pointing his drakehood. He had only the slimmest moment to appreciate her: naked from the waist down, panting hot enough to steam, the tip of his cock nestled between the sodden lips of her warm and still-twitching sex.

Then she dropped.

She did not feel any reason to fear Zephyr’s member. Years of her life spent riding had claimed her maidenhood *long* before this moment. She pushed herself down on her mount until it started to hurt, and then she forced a centimeter more. He throbbed inside of her, flexing and writhing like some kind of infernal eel. Her mind was completely blank, as she placed a hand down on her stomach. She could feel him. She could feel him through her fur.

Stretching herself out on Zephyr's broad chest, she tried an experimental motion. Up, and then down. And then she tried it again. And again. In no time, she found just the right angle, just the right way to screw herself onto the fleshy rod that impaled her. She was crazed, unable to voice a coherent thought. All she knew was that she wanted more, that she needed more.

Zephyr pawed at the air, yapping in pleasure. His rider was so hot, so tight. It didn't seem possible that she should be able to scrape herself along him so fast, and yet the far half of his member was glistening with the proof. His hind legs kicked at nothing, trying to work his hips forward. The lack of control he had over his rutting was torture, but in no way did he want it to stop.

"Rider," he gasped. "R-rider! I'm... I'm gonna..."

"Yes!" Willet cried. "Do it! Fill your hen!"

Zephyr groaned. He squirmed. And then, with a cry, he went over the edge. His body snaked up, hips undulating with every pump. His tapered tip wormed its way into the vole's womb, painting her insides with an almost continuous stream of seed. He thrashed his head to and fro, breath steaming forth in labored honks.

Willet panted, her body paralyzed. She could only twitch, in second orgasm, as the mass inside her made her body hotter and heavier. In seconds, thick and creamy seed was dribbling out of her. Delirious, she forced her arms to move, but only to rub soothingly against the flared scales of Zephyr’s flanks.

"I'm never putting you to stud, again," she promised, almost drunkenly. "Never. You belong only to me, bull."

Zephyr didn't hear. He was still squirming out the last of his lust into his rider's exhausted body.

She would have repeated herself, but she couldn't. The pace of her frantic rutting had finally caught up with her, and the only thing she was aware of was how warm and comfortable her mount felt, at that moment. Sleep began to claim her. She did not bother to fight it.

---

She awoke the next morning with a heavy head, as if she had been drinking. Her limbs were stiff with exertion. As she moved, she was aware of a resistance on her thighs. Blearily, she looked down. The first thing she noticed was her own vulva, exposed to the open air. Her thigh-fur was matted and caked with dried seed.

The bed underneath her groaned and shifted, and she just barely had her wits about her enough to not completely roll off into the dirt. A serpentine head rose up, one eye staring into hers.

"Zephyr?" she breathed, with dreadful anticipation.

The beast grunted, in annoyance. "Lemme up," he said, sleepily. "I need to pee."

Slowly, she slid off of the drake’s body and rose to her feet. She watched as her mount rolled over and stood. He trotted over to a nearby tree and rose a hind leg, casual and shameless as any beast. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "You can still talk."

"I could always talk," Zephyr replied, over the drumming noise that rang out from the tree trunk. "I told you that, last night."

"I thought..." She looked down at herself. "...I thought that was a dream."

Suddenly, Zephyr's large head was pressed against her chest. He crooned into her jacket. "Last night was great. Can we do that, again?"

Willet stared down at her drake. She traced her way down his long neck, his rumbling flank, his long and powerful legs, and down to his playfully swishing, muscular tail.

And then she grabbed one of his horns.

"Ah?" Zephyr froze in place, turning one soulful eye up to her. "What is it? Did I do something wrong?"

"Take it easy, you dumb randy lizard." She smirked. "We've got a whole day's run between us and home. There's a bushel of apples there waiting for you, you know."

Zephyr's eye twinkled, in excitement. "Apples? You got more apples?"

"Aye. I was willing to leave it as a surprise, but since you seem to understand me, now...” She sighed. “Yes, there are apples waiting at home. And there’s your stable, with a proper bed of hay, and a promise from our Lord that we will have some time to sleep and eat as we please.” And there is also my bed, she thought to herself, and the barn, and any one of a dozen places where we can be alone. I just have to pray that none of my clans-folk are there, so we...

“Apples!” Zephyr honked for glee. He would have hopped and cantered, as well, were he not held in place. “We have to go, then! We should go!”

“The house is at least a day’s ride.” Willet released the drake’s horn, turning to try and figure out where she had discarded her pants. “We can make it if we’re quick.”

Zephyr wasted no time. Immediately, he was bounding off for his sleeping spot. He clamped his jaws around his saddle and all but hurled it towards the campfire. “Let’s go! Let’s go home, rider!”

She contemplated taking just a moment. She could use her waterskin, wash out a little bit of last night from her fur. She looked at the linen breeches in her hands, and then to the purple jacket she’d hung from a nearby branch.

She shook her head.

“Aye. Let’s go home, Zephyr.”

She clambered into her pants. She ignored the burning in her legs, as she bent down to loop the straps of Zephyr’s saddle. She ignored the burning on her face, as she found herself staring at the drake’s underside. Tucking the jacket into her bag, she leapt up onto her partner’s back in only her thin linen shirt. She cracked the reins...

“Hei!”

...and drake and rider were off.