A Father’s Love
A journey takes an unexpected turn for a lone father when his son, a juvenile dragon, experiences his first involuntary ejaculation.
Do majestic gryphons stir your interest? Or perhaps is it dragons that have always fascinated you? If you're like me and often dreamed of a world where these gorgeous creatures can coexist with humans, *then check out my story market here and help me fund a couple of exciting stories. https://www.sofurry.com/view/1341827 *
Plenty of adventure, romantic moments, as well as lewd ones await your support, brave adventurer!
***Story Description***
A journey takes an unexpected turn for a lone father when his son, a juvenile dragon who has just reached the age of adulthood, experiences his first involuntary ejaculation.
***A FATHER'S LOVE (Commission written for: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/thedragonsnest/ )***
The heat of their twin flames slowly melted through the deceased dragon's scales. On one side of the pyre stood Drac, a purple dragon whose cerulean eyes simmered with purpose in the blaze of his hyacinth flame. A veritable inferno shot out of his gaping maw that had long melted the ice off the snowy ground, now a scorched desert of crisp blackness, just like his mate's charred body.
On the other end of the burning dragon was Renthor, his son, a dragon twice smaller in every aspect, yet an adult in his own right. The stream produced by his young fire glands had the consistency of a trickle of water, dispersing upon the winds at every opportunity. He still tried, though, for the young dragon knew his father favored determination over weakness, now that he had reached the age of sexual and mental maturity. Planting his feet further in the muddy ground, Renthor drew his head back again and launched his maw forth. A gust of flame potent flame burst forth that fizzled out within seconds.
"Grarrrhhh," The youthful drake shook his head to try again, then again before the watchful eyes of his parent.
Drac interrupted his torrent with a snap of his jaw.
"I am trying, just like you told me to," his son snarled after another frustrating attempt to emulate his father's blazing breath.
"You are trying, yes...but your focus is absent, just like your heart. You're no longer a hatchling, son. Otherwise, I wouldn't have had you here."
Renthor took a step back. A scowl darkened his face. His wings tensed, and his claws tore gashes into the ground softened by the licks of the flames. "My-my heart? I loved her! She...she kept me warm while you flew in the night to chase pointless dangers away from our home. She taught me to fly, to hunt, taught me everything I know because my father was more preoccupied with humans than-"
"That's enough!" Drac growled. "This is no time for sentiment. Steel your heart, add your flames to mine, and think only on the task at hand. If you truly loved your mother, you will not dishonor her passing by letting the frost cling to her charred scales."
With a submissive nod of his head, Renthor resumed his failed attempts at maintaining a proper flame. He resembled his mother far more than Drac wished to admit. The same onyx spikes sprouted along his plated spine, and he had a frilled tail unlike Drac's tapered one. Apart from that, Renthor inherited his mother's emerald eyes, along with her flair for disobeying rules. Farya allowed the neighboring wyverns to borrow prey from her territory, mated with dragons outside her heat cycle, spared the lives of the brigands that sometimes came to cut lumber from her forest. She was not a proper dragon by any means.
Yet Drac loved her all the same, even with all her imperfections, just like he loved the hatchling that sprouted from their union.
The older dragon increased the intensity of his blaze. He watched his mate's once-beautiful onyx scales shatter and crumble into dust. The sizzling of her flesh, the snapping of her charred bones, her body, slowly disintegrating into nothingness...Such grisly sight failed to unman the determined male. No tears fell down his cheeks. No wrinkles of regret made his snout curl with agony.
The violet dragon closed his maw and padded around the pit of blazing ashes. "Come with me, boy," his scales rattled as he rubbed along the smaller body of his son. "There is something else we must do."
He took his offspring atop the Sky's Talon mountain, one of the tallest peaks in the region. Within the depths of their humble cave resided a plethora of supplies. One last gift from Fraya before she passed onto the realms beyond.
Drac was interested not in the armaments or the clothes of the humans. His eyes set on the two clay jugs, and the contents they carried. He grabbed them both. One in his mouth, the other with his paw, propping it against his chest and limping back on three legs until he placed both containers at the feet of his curious son.
"Open them."
The young dragon settled on his haunches to stare at the sensitive corks that kept whatever the jugs contained safely within.
"With my maw? They look...frail."
"However you desire."
Renthor inspected the human-made objects, looked up to his father, then smashed his scaly paw through the clay, smearing it within the white paint that spilled from the jug.
"Graawwh! Why didn't you tell me?" The hatchling shook off his dirty paw.
"Not everything comes with a warning. Sometimes, it is best to heed your head before instinct." Drac returned to the supply pile and came back with a large brush inside his maw.
"Another lesson?" Renthor shifted his tail from side to side, clearly annoyed by his father's pointless actions.
"Your mother's last wish."
That calmed the youngling's irritation. Drac had him sit on his fours, with his wings spread to his side so that they remained out of the way of his brush. Slowly, carefully, the purple male slashed stripe upon stripe of white paint over his son's indigo body.
"Your turn now," Drac pushed the brush over to his son once his young one looked like one of the frost tigers of the far north. "Dip into the jar, then swipe straight."
"Does it matter how I grab this...whatever this is?"
"No."
Renthor worked his scaly fingers around the base of the brush, grabbed, dipped, then laid his first uneven stripe upon his father's shoulder.
"You moved," he snarled at the rumbling, older male. "Stay still next time, like I did."
Drac did. Still as a boulder, he sat on his belly, not even twitching an eye while his son smeared the white paint over his purple scales in shaky, uneven lines.
"Boy."
"I'm almost done," Renthor laid another strike at the base of his father's tail. "Did mother even ask this? She had no love for the human arts."
"The paint is a symbol. Snow. She lived her entire life in it. Surrounded by it."
"Then...why are we wearing it?"
"To remember where we came from, once we reach the Everlasting sea. Your mother...she never forgot her roots, nor should you. A dragon that has been born in a land, molded by it, will forever call that land home."
"Is that why she asked us to take her ashes to the other end of the world? Because she loves her home?"
"Boy," Drac hissed.
The hatchling took a step back, defiance burning in his emerald eyes. "What is so wrong about settling in a better land? You came from-"
Drac twisted his neck around to snarl at his disobedient son. The younger dragon panicked. In his rush to protect himself, the brush-wielding paw slashed a line of white paint along his father's right eye.
"S-sorry! I thought you-"
"Be silent," Drac blinked a couple of times while his son poked his snout around the mess he made.
"It didn't go in. You would've growled if it did."
"Bring me a mirror. Hope you know what that is."
As his son left to rummage through the stockpile, Drac settled onto his side and waited, relieved that no burning or odd sensation could be felt inside his eye. Human alchemy could be dangerous if wielded improperly. Drac heard of potions that could melt through the hardest of scales, for as pitiful as they might have been, furless, scale-less, wingless, the human intellect rivaled even the ancient wisdom of dragons.
Renthor returned shortly after with a small, hand-held mirror the human nobles used to admire themselves.
"Is it...bad?" he poked his snout around.
Drac gave no answer. The only straight line his son managed came from a mistake. Sure, he looked rather odd with that white line dashed from the base of his snout all the way to his forehead, but Drac was never one to care too much about appearances.
"You won't...paint me green or something odd like that...right?"
His son's innocence almost put a smile on Drac's face. "We have no time for such games, boy. Our preparations are almost at an end."
Whatever enthusiasm clung to his son's face drained once Drac equipped him with his first leather saddle.
"I look like one of those horse things," he complained between the failed attempts at picking apart the straps that held the saddle together. Drac worked his claws between the delicate things, clasping them together with the expertise of a leatherworker "We can fly unburdened by these things. Why do we have to look like horses?"
"Because the humans adhere to customs far older than you." Drac explained. "This saddle marks you as a traveler. As long as you wear it, no human will raise their blade against you."
"Except for the brigands."
"Some brigands." Drac corrected. "Even lawless men can cling to their honor. There," he took a few steps back to admire his work. "Not too tight, is it?"
"I suppose," his son mumbled.
"Good," Drac motioned towards the larger saddle. "Put this on my back. Make sure to keep all of the straps intact, or-"
"You'll give me another one of your lessons, same as always."
Instead of a lesson, Drac told him about the journey. He wanted his son to be prepared, even if knowledge came at the cost of a wrinkling snout and a sea of complaints. What if the dragon slayers attacked them? What if this or that happened? What if, how, where, when?
Drac tolerated his son while he worked, but as soon as the last strap clicked in place, he forced his offspring back out in the coldness of the snow and forced him to pluck his own mother's ashes from a ground that still smoldered.
"My paws aren't made for this."
"Is that so?" Drac showed his blue, sensitive pads, very different from his offspring's slender fingers. "Be thankful you bear your mother's paws, or the ground would smell of singed pads."
"Whatever," Renthor hissed. Most of the ash flowed through his fingers, though he did manage to slowly fill the pouch.
"You must show strength. Not for me, not for you, but for her." Drac picked up the pouch and secured it against his saddle. "She brought you into this world. The least you can do is fulfill her last wish. Do you understand the importance of the journey we are about to embark on, boy?"
"I..." the young dragon bowed his head under the might of his father's stern gaze. "I understand."
As soon as those words came out of his son's maw, Drac took to the skies. The frozen winds of the north relentlessly bit at his wings, but he never faltered. Never slowed down.
And always looked behind to make sure his son followed him no matter how much frost clung to his membranes.
The two dragons soared over the mountain chain that kept their home valley in a perpetual cycle of frost and darkness. They glided over the boreal forest that spread as far as the eyes could see. The smell of freedom was upon the air, filled with the scent of fresh prey and pine needles. Any other dragon would have descended upon one of the many sharphoof stags that inhabited this grizzled region.
Not Drac. His eyes soared not below or above. They remained focus on the line where the sky met the earth. The slit of the world, as his mate called it. When the light of the sun started to fade, Drac took his son east, towards the Bear's Paws mountains, where dragon territories met human lands It was night when they found a cave big enough to hold them at the fringes of the boreal forest.
"Really? We came from our home, to...this?" Renthor twisted his nose at the foul smells that came out of a hole uninhabited for what appeared to be decades.
"Comfort should not be your main concern." Drac brushed past his noisy hatchling to enter the cave. "We are here on a quest, not to sleep on a bed of heated hay like a hen."
"I wouldn't mind being a hen right now..." Renthor mumbled. He followed in the footsteps of his father, shielding his eyes with a wing every time his father unleashed his scorching breath upon the stone walls. The two dragons advanced inwards little by little, with Drac's flames cleansing their new home of sludge. Moisture evaporated in an instant, and whatever murk and sludge existed sizzled into nothingness.
"I'm going..." Renthor choked. "to get a breath of..."
Drac lashed back with his tail to grab him, but the hatchling was gone before he could catch him.
"Stupid boy," he growled, unleashing another gust of flame.
Once the cave was fully cleansed, he joined his son on the small ledge that formed at the mouth of their temporary home. Renthor was watching the flickering lights of the human settlements spread in uneven patches between the clusters of trees.
"Do you really think humans will have no qualms with us?"
"Yes." Drac grunted.
"Mother never spoke much about them. All the tales that she spun have been her own adventures, if I can call them such. The world is so big a place. Why did she never leave the frostlands?"
Drac contemplated the same conundrum. A breaker of rules like Farya settled for the most ordinary of lives. Where was the sense in that?
"Father?"
Drac released a soft growl as his son snuggled under his broad, leathery wing.
"How long will it be, until we return home?"
"Not long." He nuzzled his offspring between his two sharp horns, then stared with him at the human settlements. "Missing the frost, are you?"
"Not exactly. I was thinking of this tale mother told me when I was younger, about a stag that made a pact with a hunter. He allowed the human to saddle him, like you've done with me, and took the hunter into the hunting grounds of his enemy, a fierce white tiger that killed many of the stag's kin."
"A quest for vengeance?"
Renthor nodded. "The stag no longer feared the tiger. He had nothing to live for after his family died. He walked for days, trying to find the tiger, but neither he nor the hunter could track the elusive beast down."
"Vengeance gets you nowhere? Is that the lesson of your tale, boy?"
"No," Renthor said. "The hunter used the stag's speed to kill many other creatures. Wolves, snow prowlers, dragons, even other deer."
"The stag." Drac growled. "Did he not object to the killing of his own kin?"
"After he had been around death for so long, he no longer cared for the needs of the living."
"He gave up..."
"Not us, right?" Renthor looked up. "We will see this quest to its end."
Drac placed his warm padded paw over the scaly fingers of his hatchling. "Have I ever taught you how to give up, boy?"
The hatchling shook his little head, and Drac gave him one long lick over his tender neck.
They lingered there, under the blinking gaze of the stars and the silvery veil of the moon for a while. The song of the crickets instilled a sense of peace within Drac, yet the purple dragon could not shake off the tale of the pale stag. What did it truly mean? Why would Farya share such a grim thing with her own son?
Drac got no answer to that riddle even when he retreated inside the warm comfort of the cave to ponder this mystery on his own. He allowed Renthor to snuggle in his own separate chamber. The little one needed to learn responsibility sooner better than later.
Drac closed his eyes. His last thoughts were of his mate, and of the frightening beauty of her onyx scales basked in the moonlight of the far north.
He woke up to the rippling yowls of his son. The purple dragon jerked up, growling as his spine frills flattened against the ceiling. He could not let a slayer, a brigand, or any sort of danger touch a scale from his son's hide. Drac rushed towards the nesting spot of his offspring, heart thrumming in his chest, expecting the worst when an overwhelming scent wafted inside his nostrils.
The dragon's vision flickered, his alert senses immediately mellowing under the rolling waves of his son's potent scent. He could make only the vaguest outlines in the darkness. The form of his son, writhing and twisting in the cramped space of his chamber as splatters of thick fluid mixed with his ragged breath and trembling groans. It came, again, and again, and Drac blew a short gust of flame to gaze upon the young dragon, his son, covered in splatters of fresh ivory essence.
Drac dashed his tongue over his twitching nostrils. His son was in danger...just not the sort of danger he expected.
"F-father," Renthor's suave voice made the purple male tense up.
"I'm here." Drac crawled closer.
"I'm covered in this...this weird sludge. Is the cave bad? What...what happened to me?"
"Come to me, son." Drac turned around to wrap his tail tip around one of Renthor's hind legs. "Follow my tail. I will explain everything outside."
"Father, no! Please...don't leave. I want to see you."
His son's desperation tugged at Drac's heart. He could not leave him alone, in the dark, scared senseless by what he did not understand. Drac unleashed another gust of flames, and almost immediately, the scratching of his son's claws upon the stone brought his offspring closer.
"Like that." Drac nuzzled the smaller dragon's neck. "You're doing fine. Follow me, boy. Use your ears."
"This thing smells so weird..."
Drac kept his thoughts to himself. He saw it, in that short flicker of light. The confusion brewing in his son's eyes. The fear of the unknown.
He emerged on the ledge, then settled comfortably on his belly to wait for his son. Renthor's snout emerged first, dripping wet, covered in the thick, milky, uneven splotches of his first release. "We must have missed something. Your fire...it failed to kill the creature."
"What creature?" Drac tilted his head.
"The one that did this to me. I saw it in my dream."
"Settle down. Let me look at you."
The hatchling avoided looking into his father's eyes as Drac moved his head around to see the full extent of his son's first orgasm. Renthor's body fared no better than his head. Thick, icicle-like formations clung to his trembling wings like stubborn cocoons. His sides too carried the wet sheen of semen on them, but not his belly. Renthor crawled on his way out rather than walking, leaving behind a line of sludge that led back into the chamber where he experienced his first wet dream.
"Is it bad? Will I...die?"
"What nonsense is that?" Drac hissed at his offspring. "Still your maw if you want to be cleansed by this sludge."
He pretended to be stern, while inside, Drac burned with parental pride. There was nothing more important for a parent than to know their offspring bore the ability to create hatchlings of their own. Even now, when it lost part of its heat, Renthor's essence brimmed with the potency of life. So overpowering the smell of his release was that Drac could not bring his tongue to touch it until he calmed his racing heart with a few breaths of fresh, cold air.
The first flick of his tongue over the lukewarm seed of his son tested his control. Drac prepared for such a day. He just failed to anticipate how overwhelming it would all be.
"Father...your lips are shaking."
"It's cold out here," Drac rounded his son's snout with a broad swipe of his tongue. "Stay still. The quicker we're done, the faster we can return to the warmth of our cave."
"Alright..."
Lick by lick, Drac advanced further along his son's body, cleaning the cold ivory snakes from the wings and hide of his confused hatchling, while trying to keep the pull of his own instincts in check. Each bit of seed he swallowed warmed his blood and tugged at that certain part of him that was responsible for the conception of the very dragon he licked.
"Mrrrhhhh," Drac shifted on the ground.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he wrapped his tail around his legs. "Lift your leg."
Renthor did, revealing the glistening form of his semi-erect member that still worked splatters of seed through a series of dull throbs.
"I don't know why it's out. It never happened before. Not this much."
Drac quickly cleaned his son's penis, then licked his toes, his belly, and finally the soft membrane of his wings.
"Done." He retreated far on the ledge to look upon a less stimulating sight.
"What about my nest?"
"You'll sleep with me tonight, boy. Whatever's in your nest cannot be cleaned by fire."
Renthor said nothing. Drac kind of hoped his hatchling would keep it at that, but he was not just Farya's son. The same blood that coursed through Drac's veins ran through his.
"What can it be? A disease? Something in the air?"
"It is none of your concern, boy. Tomorrow we shall leave this place behind."
"Yes, but...what if it happens again? Father. Father. You look tense. Almost like-"
The clicking sound of his claws drew too close. "Boy...do not-"
It was too late. Renthor touched his warm snout to Drac's flank just in time to feel the shivers course through the purple male's sturdy muscles.
"Grawwrr, no! Father, you have it too!"
"Have what? Don't be ridiculous, son. Am I not allowed to be cold anymore just because we are at the base of the mountains and not living in the heart of them?"
Renthor accepted none of that. He crawled next to him, and when Drac tried to kick him back, the young dragon grasped his hind leg and pulled, long enough to expose the throbbing tip of his father's much larger member.
"It's there. I knew it. You caught it too!"
Drac let out a long, growly sigh. "Let my leg free, son, and I will tell you what I know about this...condition."
He had Renthor splay on his back. A few bits of seed still remain trapped between the scales of his messy belly; a visual reference that helped Drac make the explanation easier to understand.
"That sticky, strange smelling thing that came out of you is called seed." Drac trailed his tongue over his hatchling's cold belly, growling, savoring the unique taste of liquid fertility now that he had no more reasons to hide. "We males produce it in here," Drac tapped his snout against the hatchling's genital opening.
Renthor tensed. Half of his penis still remained out, and in the coldness of the night, a warm breath was all it yearned for.
"Does it feel good, when I do this?" Drac nudged the little protrusion. He watched his son tense up, barely able to move his head with all the ripples that converged around his clenching rift.
"Wh-why does it feel so nice? It never...felt like this."
"Because you never touched yourself this way," Drac moved his snout below the protruding cock. "Seed is produced here, deep within your vent by two little stones called testicles. In some species, like humans, tigers, or wolves, they are visible, dangling beneath the creature's legs. Ours, however, are located deep inside here." Drac nuzzled the wet rift of his son, harder this time. "Protected. Sheltered. Safe."
"I'm...feeling this strange urge to pee," Renthor hissed. "Please, father. Make it stop."
Drac failed to realize just how sensitive his son still was. He quickly allowed the cold air to fall once again over his son's cock, providing Renthor with the relief he needed.
"Better?"
"Yes...I think. Tell me more about these rocks."
"Testicles. They produce part of the seed that came out of you."
"But why? Why do we have these rocks in us? What is seed for?"
"Life, boy. It creates life." Drac once again resumed his licks. His tongue trailed like a snake over Renthor' shiny scales, cleaning dust and seed alike. "When a dragon becomes mature -that is, reaches a certain age- their instincts urge them to produce new life. It is called mating, and the way for a male dragon to mate is to put his penis inside the female's vent."
"That's...strange. How does it feel like, to mate?"
Drac let out a long, steamy growl of desire. "Good...better than anything that you can possibly imagine."
"Did I mate? When I released my seed?"
"In a way," Drac explained. "Your instincts care not for how you achieve release. Imagine seed is stored in a little sack inside your vent. As days pass, that sack slowly fills up, and when it gets too full, like it happened this night, it spills, producing...what you've already seen."
Drac moved his larger snout to give his son a long lick under his jaw. "What have you dreamed of, boy?"
Renthor looked towards the human settlements "We were back in our home. Mother was gone, but you...you were there, and you started to bathe me, only...you went lower. Lower than you ever had. I...I don't want to talk about it." Renthor shielded himself with a wing.
Drac pushed his head under the membrane to give him a few more loving licks. "Say it, my son. You can trust your father."
"Don't you already know? Why are you like this?"
"Because..." Drac snuggled closer against the shuddering form of his hatchling. "I love you, son. You are everything I have left after your mother passed away."
The two dragons stared at each other. A long, unspoken moment passed between them, then Renthor slowly moved his smaller snout to nuzzle and lick at his father's lips with his smaller, bifurcated tongue.
"Alright. I'll tell you. In the dream, you kept licking my penis. It felt so warm, so good that...that I erupted, just like you said." Renthor pushed his head back. "Why is this happening to me? Please, father, can you make it go away?" The hatchling squirmed and clawed at the air. "I can still feel it inside of me. The tightness, the heat...it wants to come out again."
"Fight it, son. Don't let it consume you."
Renthor tried, yet his discipline was wavering at best. Drac remembered how overwhelmed he was by the sheer urge to mate once he reached sexual maturity. He had released several times per day, pleasuring himself in the ways his parents told him. Renthor lacked such knowledge. All he could do was endure, hope, and wait.
"I...I am sorry for putting you through this trial, son. Truth is, I never expected to be the one to teach you about mating. Usually, it is a mother's duty to teach her male offspring about reproduction."
"That makes no sense." Renthor shook his little head. "We are both males. We have the same penis, the same sack, the same...seed. You can understand me better than mother, right? Right?"
"Too well, son. All too well..." Drac sighed in the cold winds of the night.
"Then free me. Please...It feels strange for me to ask something like this, but you know so much. Please, father...I don't want this seed. Take it out of me."
To see his young, fragile son exposed like this, with his unsheathed member hardened by the overpowering lust of his youth...it was too much. Too quick. Too difficult to rationalize.
"It will pass, my son. You just have to be strong a little longer."
Renthor whined helplessly, powerless before the choking grip of his instincts. As both a father and a male, Drac understood perfectly what his offspring went through. He bathed his son again, showing him the love and support he desperately yearned for in this moment of confusion.
"Better?" he nudged the little one's horned head.
"Yes," Renthor said with a lick of his own under his father's chin. "I think it passed."
"Told you," Drac smiled and led his happier hatchling into the depths of the cave, where he settled on the lukewarm ground and curled protectively around the creature he loved most in this world.
The light of the sun fell over the small ledge with the coming of morning, reflecting off the ground enough to cast a simmering radiance into the sleeping chamber of the two curled dragons. Drac blinked open his eyes first. He looked at the sleeping form of his son, then slowly disentangled himself from the pile of scaled limbs. Renthor loved to sleep on his back, yet after last night, Drac could no longer see him for the bumbling, innocent hatchling that he was. Not when his member poked out more than halfway out. His genital region was absolutely soaked in sticky lubrication, filling the air with a haze that made Drac's blood warmer by the second.
The older male went out to refresh himself with a breath of fresh air. He hated how hard his own member throbbed. The passing of his mate had left him void of many things. Drac wanted to think back on the utter sensation of fulfillment that filled him once he tasted her lips, yet, instead of her, his own son Renthor haunted his mind, crouching with his tail lifted high above his clenching tailhole, begging with a look of lustful desperation on his face to be mated. Filled with his sire's seed.
"No," Drac shook his head. "He is my son. I...cannot...shouldn't think of him that way."
"What way?"
Drac whirled on his paws, almost tripping off the ledge in his haste. "That," he pointed towards a settlement in the distance. "The village of Whitebrook will provide us with directions for our journey. We need to make haste. I heard the brigands of these lands stalk their prey in the morn."
"Aren't...we going to clean my part of the cave?"
"No." Drac answered simply.
"What if a female sleeps on my seed?"
"That is not how mating works. I told you this last night, boy."
Luckily, that's all it took to get Renthor off into the winds. Drac took his son to Whitebrook, as promised, then soared further inland to the port town of Jasperlode. From there, it was a linear flight to the shores of the Everlasting sea.
Drac figured he had it all planned, until a conflict on a merchant's path winding through the forest drew his attention. The dragon crashed into the ground behind the terrified merchant, eyeing the several brigands that surrounded him with a fierce snarl on his face.
"What seems to be the problem here, trader?" Drac asked.
"These no-good urchins wanted to liberate me from my goods." The middle-aged trader, a ragged fellow with a bushy mustache pointed over the thugs responsible for the harassment.
"Goods? What goods?" One of the scruffy men said.
"Musta' mistaken that for gold. Here!" another, probably the leader of the gang judging by his better outfit, fished out a few coins from his pouch and handed them to the trader.
"You...you're paying m-me?"
"Aye! Said we want to do good. Didn't we, lads?"
One by one the thugs came to give the trader a few of their coins before Drac's austere gaze.
"See that, good dragon? Not all of us are thieves 'round here."
"Wise," Drac growled. "Now scatter before I burn you all to cinders."
The brigands dispersed into the forest.
"Thank ye, kind dragon. Thank ye," the merchant counted his coins. "Here. Have a few...where do I put them? In the bag?"
Drac backed away from the man. Kind as he was, he could not allow such a lowly creature to defile the ashes of his mate. "There is no need for repayment. Me and my son will help you on these roads."
"Son? You're not alone?"
Drac's roar summoned the younger dragon from his hiding much to the trader's delight. "Two of them. There's-There's two!" he went over the quadruped wing-less drake mounted at the head of his cart to pat her enthusiastically on her haunch. "Say hello, Nvedra. Oh, this is such a blessed, blessed day."
"Bit weird, isn't he?" Renthor whispered over to his father.
"Humans often are, boy."
During the journey along the merchant's path, Drac engaged in a dialogue with his grateful friend. The topic of conversation was a thug called Delthoraz the bold. Once a noble knight who swore to serve and protect the people of his lands turned his cloak, becoming a shadow of his former self; a brigand whose main goal became to lie and collect from those too weak to defend themselves. The lone merchant had no strength to fight. His beast of burden, even less so, tied to a cart that slouched her once-proud form.
But even dragons, with a all their fierceness, could find themselves susceptible to this curse of weakness. Drac noticed how his son tended to look at nothing but the wingless beast. At first, he mistook it for fascination. But after hours of threading on the roads, the signs became all too obvious.
"Boy," Drac bumped into his son on the neck to get his attention. They made a temporary stop near a lake formed by the last week's heavy rains, and even when the merchant pulled his beast away from the cart to quench its thirst, Renthor' eyes remained ever focused.
"Boy!"
The young dragon stumbled back from the force of that second, more powerful nudge.
"You are not thinking of copulating with that mindless beast, are you?"
"Father! That's...how can you even come up with something so vile?" Renthor coughed and spat. "It turns my stomach, to even think about...graaaahhh. I need to clear my mind off his foulness."
He flapped off before Drac had the chance to stop him.
"Young ones," the merchant shook his head. "All the same, no matter the species."
"You have sons?" Drac approached the man.
"Oh yes. Three of them. The oldest is the captain of the guards in this rather respectable village, and he..."
The man spun a long, intriguing tale that expanded upon the achievements of his offspring. After the events of last night, Drac easily fell into the web of distraction. The enthusiasm in the merchant's voice, the happiness oozing out of him...he felt that too whenever he talked about his own son.
"Renthor..."
"Your son?"
"Yes, he's-" Drac looked around to see no traces of him or the wingless creature. "Stay here."
Wings tucked, Drac ran through the trees, tracking the smell of the wingless female. He found her in a clearing, shuddering, snarling, and snapping her jaws at the dragon that voraciously feasted on the juices of her cunt. The grass underneath Renthor carried hundreds of translucent beads spurted from the cock that savagely slapped against his belly, and, before Drac had any chance to intervene, his son hoisted himself on his hind legs, grabbed onto the female's scale-less hide with his foreclaws, then pushed his squirting, rock-hard member towards the sloppy hole he had been eating for the past half hour.
"Boy, no!" Drac growled just as the female twisted her lengthy neck around. Her teeth pierced through the scales of his foreleg, sinking into the softer flesh that hid beneath.
Renthor howled not in pleasure, but in pain. His legs skidded on the slushy ground impregnated with their combined lust, and he fell, with the vicious female returning the aggression ten times worse.
Intervene? Let his son learn his lesson? Drac remained frozen in space and time until a roar filled with pain kicked his parental instincts into overdrive. The purple dragon headbutted the green pest off his son, then ended her miserable existence by cleaving her neck with a single shattering bite.
"Boy..." he crawled over to his wounded son.
He was bleeding. The pest inflicted dozens of cuts with her sharp claws and managed a few bites around his throat.
"Scratches," Renthor whimpered. "Mere scratches."
Drac still felt compelled to lick every wound clean.
"No..." A familiar said from behind. The merchant, a previously happy man, now scowled with shock, his face pale with fear. "Nevra! My Nevra..." a pointy finger hovered towards the dragons. "You killed my Nevra!"
Drac roared at the man with all the might he could muster, pointed his snout towards the skies, then flew with his son immediately following on his tail, away from the man that mourned for his loss.
"You killed her. Pay! Pay! You will all pay, wretched, lying, twisted sons of the devil!"
There was no lecture. Not while they flew. Drac first led his son to safety, and once they found virgin rock under their claws, he pinned the youngling under his bigger, stronger paws.
"Why did you not protect yourself, boy? She could have killed you. Why?!"
"I wanted to mate with her. To fill her with my seed." Renthor gulped whatever scant amount of saliva he still had left inside his trembling, clattering maw. "That's what you said about instincts and sacks and..." his voice softened. "I have this need that's clawing at me from within. How else can I stop it, father? How can I, if mating is the only choice I have?"
"By thinking before you act." Drac snarled. "These wounds. What kind of dragon lets a wretched beast maim him such?"
"A desperate one," Renthor exposed his belly to the eyes and fangs of the larger, better male. "Do what you must to punish me."
"P-punish you?" Drac blinked. Water formed in his eyes, too abundant and hot to keep inside. "I love you, son, more-more than anything in the world. These wounds," he licked over the scrapes and punctures. "I feel them as if they are my own."
Renthor hissed and snapped, but Drac cared not one bit. He licked every trace of blood, balmed every dented scale, and cleaned his son of every speck of mud until his scales returned to their radiant glory.
"Father..." Renthor pointed a shaking claw towards the tail end of his body. "it's...it's back."
Drac had known what 'it' referred to. He smelled his son's lust for so long, it almost became second nature. That haze of desire, his desperate need to breed created a pit in his stomach, a hole that grew larger every time Renthor whined and pleaded for relief.
"We shall avoid settlements from now on." Drac pushed himself on his fours. "Keep away from humans. Stay away from any beast, save for prey...that is how we shall complete this quest."
It seemed like a good plan. The only plan Drac could come up with that would satisfy the last wish of his mate, and keep his son away from temptation at the same time.
It hadn't been easy. After he had tasted female for the very first time in his life, Renthor constantly peeked out of his slit. The spaded tip of his erection refused to go down even while he soared over the forest, kept warm and lubricated by a never-ending stream of fluids that poured from his puffy vent. On the ground, he grew even further, growling and snapping in tandem with the harsh throbs that slammed his erection against his belly. Drac kept telling him to focus on the scent of prey; to cling onto the hope that this need, like all things, would fade.
He was wrong. That night, in a forest clearing far, far removed from civilization, Drac pondered upon his son's suffering while he watched him sleep fitfully under his wing. His little one clawed at the ground, whimpering every so often when his member tensed and spurted its fertile lubrication. He was in heat. In need. What would his mate do, faced with this situation?
Drac focused on her. His eyelids grew heavy, his muscles, relaxed, until he lost himself in an ephemeral realm where no problems could reach him.
"Hrrawwwrrr!"
"Boy!" the purple father licked his son's trembling snout. "Is it the wounds? Has any of the gashes opened?"
A squirt of heat splashed against his own lips, warmer, far sweeter than blood could ever be. Drac flicked his tongue to taste his son's fresh pre-seed, then he too snarled with fierce parental passion as he watched his son splatter himself once again with the results of his own lusts.
"Ffffaaaaaatherrrrrr!" Renthor' half closed, glimmering eyes stared at Drac with utter need. "It feels so...feels so...mraaaaaarrrhhhh!" he clamed his jaws shut to thrust his erect member towards his head, desperate to empty himself of the heat that coursed through his spasming nether regions.
"It will pass, boy. It will pass," Drac consoled his young one by keeping his snout clean of the splattering fluids. It wasn't seed. Just rich, prostate fluid filled with pheromones meant to attract the attention of the other gender. With dragons, either gender could initiate courtship, and even though he was male, the richness of his son's pre-ejaculate tugged at Drac's instinctual side, filling him with the same burning need he felt before, when he feasted on his son's first release.
Fortunately, Renthor's fit of splattering stopped at pre-ejaculate. The hatchling fell on his back to spread his wings along the grass and pant with exhaustion.
"I can't do this anymore..." Renthor perked his head up to look upon the source of his problems. His hard, aching cock that still throbbed with the same relentless fury. "Please, father...I need to spill my seed. Is there nothing you can do to help me?"
"Patience, young one. You have the strength. I know it."
Renthor snarled at that. "I'm tired of fighting. Look at me. Look!"
Drac pretended to, for the crimson lines that marred his beautiful hide was too painful a sight.
"See what it made me do? I don't have a female to mate with. I don't have my mother to tell me what to do. There's only you. Please...take this need away from me."
"I...you are asking me the impossible, boy."
"But you're a male too! How can you stand there and do nothing? You know how this feels better than anyone. Please...you must know something to-"
Drac's growl put an end to the young one's mewling. He needed time to put his thoughts in order. Drac sought the serene solace of the forest, but every gust of wind carried his son's potent scent back inside his nostrils. He knew what he had to do. Deep within him, he had always known.
"Father?" Renthor looked at him when he returned with big, hopeful eyes. "Will you help me?"
Drac settled on his haunches next to him. "There is a way, yes," he gave his son a long, loving lick along the top of his head. "I will take you inside my maw. It is not mating, but it feels exactly like one. Boy...the ascent of your seed. It will feel more intense than anything you ever knew, and it might overwhelm you with its intensity. However, it is the only way to be rid of this need. What say you?"
"In...in your maw?" Renthor cocked his head. "But there's teeth that can- Are you sure about this? Your paws are softer and better suited for this...whatever you are about to do."
Drac dipped his head and dragged his moist tongue over his son's scaly neck. "My maw will suit you fine. Relax. Focus on my tongue. It will feel good. I promise."
Renthor tucked his trembling forepaws against his chest. He licked his snout with anticipation, eager to finally let out the pent-up seed that had been welling inside him for days. Drac smelled his need with every breath he took on his way down between his son's legs, yet he first helped the hatchling relax by bathing him like he and his mate used to when he was the size of a small pup. Oh, how big he grew. What a beautiful dragon he became! Sailing across the sensitive membrane of his wings and licking between his toes, Drac enjoyed every part of his son, apart from one place.
The source of Renthor' greatest troubles.
"Ready, boy?" he sniffed over his son's erection.
His panting tongue splattered beads of saliva as the hatchling nodded his head a handful of times.
"Tell me if it gets too intense." Drac said, then poked his tongue through his half-parted jaws.
Renthor' vent immediately clamped shut as Drac's thick tongue touched the sensitive scales that grew around the rift. His penis spurted not one, but three lines of clear fluid, all from this simple touch.
"Tight. It feels like...a grip. A grip around my..." the hatchling crossed his hind legs, his penis leaking a continuous line of fluids towards his vent.
"It's normal," Drac continued his circles around the rock-hard cock. "The heat of my tongue stirred your mating instincts, and your body is preparing for the greatest thing a male can ever accomplish in his life."
"I feel weak." Renthor squirmed on the grass, whining, thrusting his needy erection inside a nonexistent partner. As a male, and a father, Drac knew exactly what his son craved for, allowing his tongue to envelop the base of his son's erection.
Renthor hissed at that. He latched his nimble toes around his father's forelegs, grabbing and clawing with the rising need to mount something -anything that could bring him relief. Drac rolled his tongue along his son's tapered penis, trailing over every ridge that adorned his base until he found slick, perfect smoothness all the way to his spaded tip, which he cleaned with utmost pleasure before releasing his son from the coiling grip of his tongue.
"Mraawwhhhh....raaaaaaahhhh," the young dragon flapped his sweaty wings to cool himself off the heat that dazzled his senses.
"How was that?" Drac asked.
"Warm. So warrrmmmrrrhhh...lick me more. Please, it feels so good..."
Drac flicked his tongue over his son's penis again, and again, staying away from the ridges that flexed and burned with sensitivity. In a perverse sort of way, he wanted his son to enjoy this for as long as possible. To remember his first ejaculation as the best moment of his life.
"How's this?" Drac pulled his son's spaded tip inside his slavering jaws. His hatchling had no voice to speak. So tense he was that all he could do was whine and spurt bead after bead of sweet pre-seed inside his sire's suckling maw. Drac spat his member out after a few minutes of torturous bliss, then slowly, teasingly advanced towards Renthor's ridges.
"How about...this?"
Renthor' little crests flared with blood at the first sign of friction. With his snout pressed against his son's cock and his nostrils breathing nothing but the sharp scent of arousal, Drac missed the impending signs. He was not aware of how hard his son became. Of how tight his vent squeezed around the base of his cock. All he wanted was to feast. Lick the precursor of fertility from the tightness of his lubricated vent for one more tongue stroke.
"Mraaaaahhhh!"
Drac's clear eyes fixed on the young dragon's snapping jaws just in time to see Renthor slam his head, tail, and wings into the ground. All the tension flowed along his spine to pool up into his hips that bucked with a savage thrust intent on impregnating anything the young male could find. Spurts of clear pre-seed flew in arcs over Renthor's indigo belly to trail down on the grass.
Drac could not allow such bounty to go to waste. Gaping his slavering jaws, he wrapped his tongue around the base of his son's tense erection just before he had the chance to waste his precious seed. He enveloped the lustful hatchling within the careful confines of his jaws and gently, carefully pulled his penis back towards his tail, where he began to suck the thrumming heat out of that tender, virgin cock in a way only a loving parent could.
Renthor hissed, growled, writhed and snapped at the air. It must have felt incredible -for a dragon that never mated- to find himself bare before such raw stimuli. His member throbbed in rhythm with the frenzied beats of his heart, filling Drac's maw with the pleasant sweetness of virility. The purple dragon gently tugged against his penis. His son's pleasure was the utmost concern, even as thick strings of translucent goo made their way down his slavering jaws. A mouth wasn't exactly a female's vent, yet, by squeezing his tongue around the entirety of his son's erection, Drac made his son feel as close as he could ever get to a real mating.
"Fatherrrrr...I'm..." Renthor' breath hitched in his throat. "I think I'll..."
Drac knew what was about to happen. He tasted the encroachment of the big finale in the slivers of seed that accompanied those last few spurts. The purple dragon's large padded feet pressed down upon his son's haunches to hold him in place, then he began bobbing his head up and down along the rock-hard frame of Renthor's penis, suckling with his jaws, embracing his son as tightly as he could with his tongue, and even pressing down upon his hardened slit with the tip of his tongue.
Renthor gave up with the sharpest yowl of his life. His thick, fertile seed erupted in a sharp, relentless stream that flooded the entirety of his father's enormous maw.
"Mrruuurrhhhmmm," Drac raked his claws along his son's sturdy scales with utmost pleasure now that the virile, bittersweet taste of fresh ejaculate filled his maw to refuse. He had tasted it before, but never this fresh or hot.
Renthor throbbed, again and again, pelting his father's throat with increasingly thicker streams. He had no care for how much mess he made, or the teeth that surrounded him. He just thrust, desperate to empty himself of the maddening lust that gathered within his cock for days.
Like the magma of a volcano, his son's virgin produce heated Drac's instincts hotter than ever. His cock had been out throughout the whole licking session, but now it raged in rhythm with the pulsation of his son, spitting its own brand of cloudy fluids upon the grass.
Eyes half lidded, with the same needy rumble coming from the depths of his throat, Drac feasted on his son with all the lust and love of a father. Milky snakes poured down from his drippy maw like the teeth of a waterfall. The creamy, overly thick taste of the abundant ejaculate, and most important, his son's roaring pleasure involuntarily forced the older dragon into an orgasm of his own. Squeezing his eyes shut, Drac spat his son out to roar his own brand of pleasure. Lances of cloudy, pearl-white fluid poured out through the throbbing frame of his rock hard erection, and Drac thrust, roared, and consumed whatever remnants of cum remained inside his maw while he coated his son's bottom half in a blanket of his own bubbly fluids.
"Father..." Renthor perked his head up, stained just like last time with the strings of his own ejaculate. "You spilled it too."
Drac needed a moment to process what just happened. He...couldn't have. Not without heat to stimulate his member. Not from swallowing the seed of his beloved son.
"That is not seed," he flung off the white substance off his son's trembling haunches. "My prostate fluid is richer than yours due to my older age. Now put mind to purpose and clean yourself, boy. You're free now."
Renthor began to lick the milky strings off his scales, yet his eyes never left Drac who retreated a short distance away to deal with his own problems. He was unnaturally hard, and when he tried to clean himself, he snarled and tensed as if his seed was just about to burst.
Drac looked at his messy paw. He hadn't released his full seed. Not yet, at least.
"I need to. For my son. I...have to."
The purple dragon warmed his pads with a few licks, then pressed down upon his knot. A shudder of bliss washed through him, just as hot and intense as the moment when the heat of his son's cum exploded inside his maw. Drac thrust his hips forth, readying himself to have his own definitive orgasm.
"Father?"
He fell on his side, covering himself with both forepaws.
"Rraaarrhhh, yerrrhhhs?"
"Do you want us to sleep together? I can understand if you need to...you know..." the hatchling poked at his tense haunches.
"Find another clearing, boy. I will follow you shortly."
After Renthor left, Drac tried to recapture the heat of that moment, only to find himself unable to waste his potent gift on bare grass. He traced his son's scent to a smaller, cozier clearing, where he cleaned his young one before sheltering him under his broad, warm wing.
That night, Drac suffered the consequences for his actions, waking up soaked in the warm strands the pearl-white semen he tried to contain. Drippy and embarrassed, the older male ran off to clean himself in the nearest lake before he returned to his hatchling. Renthor had never slept more peacefully than he after his release, curled around himself, limbs twitching every so often, lost in the realm of his dreams.
Drac curled a short distance away. He too had a dream. The wet kind, where Farya was still alive and most eager to fulfill her motherly duties. She just returned from a hunt when the smell of her son's erection attracted her far more than the blood of her kill. The female pinned her offspring down, then, just like Drac, she made him writhe and cum within the suckling embrace of her jaws. The sound of his mate's juices splattering upon the ground of his cave was an enticing sight, yet that wasn't what broke through Drac's iron-like resilience. Shortly after he ejaculated, while his penis was still hard, his son jumped upon his mother's back to push his needy erection into her soaked vent and thrust, thrust, thrust until he yowled just as loud as he did when he exploded within Drac's mouth.
The desperate bliss of his son's crackling maw. His virgin, fertile seed pouring inside the womb of his own mother. Drac never imagined, never believed something so wrong could arouse him so much.
He had climaxed instantly at the sight of their copulation, waking up spent, yet fulfilled, just as Renthor had been when he pulled his own shrinking penis out of the flooded depths of his mother.
Drac exhaled a long, tired sigh. He knew his son needed to satisfy his instincts through a proper mating sooner rather than later, but Drac was not ready to lose him to a dragoness. Not before they reached the climax of their journey.
THE END
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