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Aren didn't feel at home. He missed the forests of his youth. Where he could roam without fear. And with his current destination looming into view, he cursed his choice to venture beyond what he'd known.

Led up the long stairs, dull stone painted 'gainst the canvas of night, the wolf held his knapsack tight against his exposed chest-fur. Guards, clad in solid metal plate, knocked and jostled the assembled crowd — those who were headed likewise. Aren glanced sideways, wary of cutpurses exploiting the closeness of everyone in motion. The wolf's belongings were few, and certainly wouldn't afford one much for bartering. Small splinters of carved bone, marked and polished by a village craftsman. Of sentimental value. Nothing more.

"Move!" He heard a cry ring out as a guard whacked a traveller. The cloaked person struck the stone steps with force, weighed down by the heavy load on his shoulders. Bright metal spilled onto the path. Ingots, cast for transportation — though Aren knew aught of the concept — jingled loudly, summoning enterprising souls from among the shifting masses to snatch and grab. “My tribute! My tribute!" Aren heard the man cry, guards surrounding him and forming a wall of armoured flesh.

He pressed on.

Caution shadowed his every step. Bare paw-pads pressed down on the damp stone. It had been raining, and the mossy smell of wet hillside filled his nostrils.

Aren's fur bristled, visible to all bar the small amount of cladding acting as trousers. The crudely-sewn leather patches chafed. A sign of wear. He sensed a gloomy presence in the back of his mind, the reason he'd come this far. Enter the palace of the Great One, the beggar-merchants in the streets miles below whispered to each other in the mist-cloaked evenings, and prostrate yourself before her.

She will have use of you, and your offerings.

The Great One.

Aren avoided any thoughts about her. She had many names. Addressed by many titles. Empress, by those in these lands. Kadon Aur, by the pale-skinned half-apes ten seas away. Miznak, by the beasts of the vast Southern Jungle. Queen Of Queens, Master Of The Mountain Keep, Mistress, Supreme One, Qordas, Eleusthron, Gardiel, Gahrukh Mor, Divine Fazeema...many names, all for one being: the ruler of many lands.

Aren looked ahead. There, at the crest of the next hill in his mountainous trek, was a gatehouse. Marble arches covered the path, hanging tall overhead. Braziers hung from iron mounts, their glimmer visible to Aren, far from the structure. Red-hued dots of flame flickered in the wind. A breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees, and lifted under the robes of weary walkers.

Still, the gatehouse was some time away. Aren dug into his knapsack, fishing out a strip of dried meat. He devoured the morsel, insufficient for the gnawing hunger that had set in yesterday, after his rations dwindled to almost nothing.

He climbed — come rain or storm — climbed and climbed some more. All to scale the mountain. His journey started two days prior, such was the enormity of his task.

He had nothing to his person. Not a shred of anything. Except hope.

Hope that he would survive, and carry on.

* * *

Vast gates parted. Fires burned, and the well-worn road carried him — and the restless throng — inside the legendary palace. At last, Aren was closer than ever to finding his way home.

The crowd was large, and seemed to grow larger with each passing minute. New people surged into the grand keep; clambering, clattering cacophonies of peasant, burgher, and noble alike reigned. Another entrance, far smaller, lay ahead. Over time visitors entered, and exited...their eyes filled either with hope...or despair...

Aren waited patiently for his turn. Hours later, his rumbling stomach sated with the last of his rations, it was his turn to pass through the inner gate. Inside, after breathing a sigh of relief, he looked out over a wide hall. It impressed him — as did much of the architecture he'd seen on his way here. Beyond that, and the mingling of soldiers and ministers, he spied a solitary white spot — a veiled cradle, draped in silk finery. He chest tightened as he realised the one everyone spoke of was near.

He advanced past several broad columns, getting lost in the hall's sheer size, before meeting the gaze of a uniformed lackey.

“Approach," boomed the majordomo — leading Aren's eyes with a sweeping gesture. The wolf stepped forward, cautious. He'd seen others make the long walk, weighed down with offerings to give to their divine ruler. He had nothing to offer, except his pleas. Still, he continued unperturbed...the slow nagging in the back of his head crushed by the sheer scale of the audience chamber. It was too big to comprehend, let alone worry about.

Nearing the isolated throne, he heard another voice: “supplicant," it said, tinged with surprise and...interest, “you approach with little on your person."

“A fool. Or a wretch," came the counsel from the majordomo.

“Now now, my lord," the feminine voice said, “that is no way to treat someone...new..."

Aren bowed his head as he approached, unsure if they knew he heard their whole conversation. The expression of the man's face told him everything he needed to know about their disagreement. This one — this 'Great One' — controlled her own will, and would not be told otherwise.

“Majesty—"

“Enough, a man approaches the throne. Come, supplicant, and make your entreaty."

The young wolf felt very naked in the eyes of the court. His top half a mess of ill-kept fur, and his simple clothing signalled a primitive origin. Despite his apprehension, constantly trying to escape its containment, he held together.

Aren looked up from his bow. Several yards away a shining throne perched atop many wide steps — immaculately decorated stonework; tiered in slices of marble, obsidian, and plain sandstone. Behind a veil sat the most powerful being in all creation. He glimpsed scales in the partial openings created by the slightest movement of her imperial majesty. Scales of green and dull yellow. Sixty silent sentinels — towering men and women bound in armour — surrounded the throne. Beyond the entrance he'd walked through, no others remained. No supplicants stood waiting nearby. Nobody, except the Great One and her entourage, faced him.

He gulped.

“State your name, and province," the majordomo demanded.

Aren cleared his throat, and spoke: “my name is Aren. I do not know what such a 'province' you speak of is."

The sneering courtier raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? Can you name your realm, your...people?"

The wolf shook his head.

“From where do you hail?"

“I come from a forest, a great ocean of trees — the greatest I know of. Many, many months from here."

Confusion turned to understanding as the majordomo conversed with the Great One in confidence. Aren waited, dutifully standing still. He waited for a few minutes, until they finished talking.

“You hail from outside the known lands, it seems."

Aren didn't respond.

“It appears you are indeed from 'many, many months' away. This forest you speak of, this immense sea, skirts the realm of our divine majesty. Though we assumed it a wasteland, barren...devoid of thinking peoples."

The Great One spoke from behind the veil: “it seems we were wrong."

In a flurry of action, she swept aside the curtain hiding her from sight. The silken veil glided softly through the air, revealing her to the lowly lupine.

Aren stepped back, in awe. He beheld a dragon — a creature of supreme power — taking its time walking toward him. Each step she descended brought him closer to a deity in the flesh. Those with knowledge of her kind would see that she, from her appearance, belonged to the wisest of dragons — secreted away in high mountains and among the lakes and rivers of the vast Orient. Those knowledgeable would tell you that it was an aberration to see one of her kind so brazenly taking what her might entitled her to take...to seize. This was no creature of knowledge and seclusion — this was a ruler, an Empress...

Yet her supplicant, meek in appearance and growing more and more frightened in her presence, knew none of this. All he saw was one bearing immense power. Truly a 'Great One', the Great One.

She reached him, standing opposite. Guards crowded around the pair, prepared to act in case of aggression from their guest. Aren suppressed his panicked breathing. She called him, not by given name, but by his uncivilised demeanour: “barbarian. You stand in the presence of one who rules everything. Almost everything," she gave him a secretive wink, leaving little time between words for him to react at all, “I am Empress of these lands. And many things to many others. You intrigue me. You come with nothing to my palace, and I wonder what is it you seek?"

Aren had time to get a good look a who he was speaking to. The Empress (a word that was new to him) stood shy of his full height, surprising the young wolf. Her scales were — true to his earlier fleeting observation — a soft emerald ensconced within a refined, golden flesh. Her body resembled many a female he knew, but smoother. Less curved, but just as feminine. Regal. He caught his eyes wandering and moved them to meet hers. Around her gaze he studied her draconic snout. Ridged with faint bumps and points. Whiskers sprouted from her snout and trailed back across her mouth, decorating her fearsome maw. Serpentine slenderness flowed through her whole figure. Her clothing was exquisite also, of quality unknown to him.

She moved closer, so close he could feel her breath brush his fur. Her attendant lunged forward. “Majesty!"

“Be still, I am examining our 'friend' from outside civilisation."

Aren watched as she circled him, making several round trips studying his appearance. “Barbarian," asked the Empress, “you have come to beg me for some favour: what is it?"

“I wish only for a means to get home."

The dragoness smirked. “That is all? Nothing else? You have seen the legions of devoted citizens outside who bring every gift under the sun for a sliver of my beneficence...and all you ask for is help to return to the great wilderness you hail from?"

Aren stalled, but eventually answered with a meek 'yes'.

“My my," the Empress tutted, “and what do you offer?"

He paused. This was the moment he'd begun to dread ever since entering the court. Blood rushed from his extremities, leaving him cold. A shambling, sinking feeling ate away at his state of mind. Aren pushed through the pain and doubt, however, and stated his case: “I have nothing to offer but myself."

The Empress paused her wandering. “Is that true?"

Her majordomo interrupted: “your majesty, this is a waste of time!"

“I will be the judge of that," she replied, snapping at the air in front of him. Her attention returned to Aren. The green dragoness leaned in close and whispered: “I do have some use for you. You who would devote themselves to me as tribute. So I ask again...is it true that you offer yourself to me, to be used in whatever capacity I deem appropriate? All for supplies, directions, perhaps and escort to aid your journey home?"

Aren paused. The gnawing feeling in his gut hadn't quite gone away.

“Yes...Empress...I offer you myself..."

* * *

“Follow."

Aren trailed a short distance behind the Empress, the long halls they passed through emptying of life; the closer they got to her private chambers, the fewer people dared to show their faces. In place of servants — cleaners, maids, scribes — there stood rows upon rows of guards. Polished metal reflected the burning wall-braced torches. A sheen shimmering so bright it could be mistaken for the surface of the sun.

Aren averted his gaze, preferring instead to follow the flow of the Empress' long gown. From the rear, he saw it scoop low off of her shoulders, plunging towards her lower back, before coming together and leading his eyes past obscured limbs and across the floor. Great attention must be placed on cleanliness, he thought, as no dust or dirt accumulated on the silk weave as it glided along the marble floor.

“Your eyes betray you, barbarian," she announced, startling him. Aren stood rigidly, to no avail. “I feel them scouring my body, begging to see beneath my royal outfit."

Aren flew into a panic. He fell to his knees. “Empress," he said in a strained whisper, “please forgive me. Please don't grow tired of me, for my transgression was not intentional." He felt relieved after speaking, but also worried.

He waited for her response.

A small chuckle reached his eyes, which twitched when the sound struck. “My my barbarian...you learn quick. I might mistake you for a regular courtier given how fast you ape their manners."

She beckoned Aren to follow, her smooth-scaled hand reaching out and curling seductively.

“Your politeness has won you a reprieve," the Empress said, approaching him, “but it is not the perfumed poise of a palace sycophant that drew me to your plea. Come..."

Aren resumed walking. The hall twisted and turned, gradually shrinking to a corridor of sorts. He glanced at the walls around him, replete with images of history — pomp, pageantry, and...conquest. The wolf gulped. Here he was, in the bowels of the mightiest palace in the world. In the presence of the mightiest ruler it'd ever seen. There was every reason to feel small. Few, however, held him in fear for long before a usurper came a-knocking.

There was always a new sensation at each turn.

The Empress hurried her pace. Aren moved to match it. They now rushed past ornaments set upon fabulous pedestals, antique and contemporary alike. Aren had never seen such wealth, nor could comprehend the power this elegant dragoness commanded.

Her tail swept 'round a corner, and Aren — afraid of getting lost in the maze they'd entered — broke into a run. He turned the corner, and stopped...

Reaching the height of three men, he beheld a mighty ruby door. It rose proudly from the floor, where no seam could be discerned, and formed a wide circle — bulging at its greatest width with complex hinges and locks. Presenting a yawning invitation as it spread. Light danced across it. The great barrier stood in the middle of a long perpendicular annex, set into the milky stone and inlaid with finely-carved patterns. Monsters and magic, depictions that leapt from the hewn surface and retold their origins in the frantic imaginations of those who came across the door to the Empress' quarters.

That light...the shine of the million rubies bound together...a fitting threshold to the home of a goddess...

Long, coiling serpents slithered 'cross the tableau. Sinister, world-eating creatures. Sigils of godhood.

Aren's jaw slackened. He couldn't move. The world he came from seemed so dismal...so primitive compared to this. He pictured the village carver attempting something of this scale. This one, unifying work of art. Generations would pass before an inch of this beautiful entrance was ever finished. How many must it have taken? How many people, broken by her will...?

The Empress approached the gemstone door. Out of seemingly nowhere six soldiers emerged, equipped according to the same standard Aren had witnessed during their walk. She spoke to one, who ordered the others to take positions around the crimson-jewelled gateway.

Aren spied the Empress looking back at him while she talked with her subordinate. Subtly, not the kind of thing that a brusque military man might notice. But he did. He saw the twinkle in her eye, and felt the butterflies in his own stomach.

“Barbarian," she declared, dismissing her captain, “I invite you to see a place few have ever seen. Or ever spoken of."

She raised her hands. The door creaked and groaned, the immense weight of its construction straining as it opened. The seamless connection to floor and ceiling never faltered, so perfect was the masonry that the whole entrance appeared like one, organic body — writhing...stretching like skin as it contorted into its new form.

Aren could see past her a certain distance, but beyond that no lights were lit to illuminate his curiosity.

His attention was diverted to the soldier who had been conversing with the Empress. He strode forward, and barked an address towards the nervous, half-naked wolf:

“You have been summoned to grace the chambers of Her Divine Majesty, Empress Mei. Ruler of the Known World. Master of All Peoples. Inheritor of All Creation. Queen of the Heavens and Lady of Time and Space."

“That is enough, guardsman," she said, taking charge again. “Barbarian, enter..."

* * *

Aren clutched his knapsack. Think of the tribe, he told himself, think of the village. You will return to them, and your ordeal shall be at an end. For endless days and nights he cursed and doubted his choice to leave the comfort of the woods. To explore. And now his decision had brought him here — the inner sanctum of the most powerful being anyone had ever known.

Perhaps fortune would smile on him, and allow him to impress.

Ushered deeper, he could only admire what he saw. The beauty of what was arrayed before him. The Empress had long been conquering, for her halls to be decorated so. She indeed deserved every title and affectation bestowed upon her...

Standing silent, motionless in recessed stations, were more armoured behemoths. Tall, broad guardians of the Empress' personal abode. Aren gave them a wary berth, their charred armour helping them blend in to the dark and dimly-lit hallways. Their helmets were styled like the skull of a dragon — fortunately not in mockery of their divine mistress. Aren also noticed, when he passed close, that they did not have visors. Sight was forbidden. They'd had theirs stricken. To gaze upon their goddess as she walked her home was a taboo so great, that only the most loyal of guardsmen were chosen to protect her.

And loyalty demanded sacrifice — which they willingly gave.

Aren shivered; a cold chill ran down his spine. He hurried to find the Empress, praying she did not have a grotesque fate in store for him.

“Empress..." he half-whispered, tempted to shout but cowed by the motionless figures nearby.

“In here," she replied, her voice soft and light. Aren felt like closing his eyes and following the saccharine trail by ear alone. Her words dripped with favourable tones. He got giddy.

The wolf stumbled through a silk curtain, rustling the gold pendants that clutched at the base of the sheets. His vision was filled with light. Warm, cosy fire burning 'neath a jade mantle. He looked around. A small living area surrounded him: chairs, rugs, a table bearing a jug of sweet-smelling liquid.

Beckoned further by her voice, he moved through the room and entered another. He paused.

Empress Mei stood in front of a large bed. It was sized for two of average height. Aren, despite his lankiness, rose a foot or two higher than the denizens of the civilised lands. And Mei, despite her species, came to little more than five-and-three-quarters feet. The emerald-scaled madame smirked at the blushing wolf, the sublime appearance of her ridges and whiskers enhanced by the lighting.

“You have come from very far away," she said, slowly pushing aside the straps of her gown, “and are of a kind I do not recognise. A champion among canines. They tell me — my courtiers — tales of wild lands, filled with wild beasts, and thinking creatures as feral as their prey."

She tilted her head. “You are more than I expected." Both sides of her outfit rested just below the shoulder, ornate jewels clattering as her upper body swayed.

“W-what did you expect, Empress?" Aren asked, beginning to shake.

“A wild, bucking hound. A monster of tooth and claw, who needed to be caged and trained by my beastmasters. Perhaps put on display in my menagerie."

“But...I surprised you?"

“That you did." The Empress brought a finger to her maw, and touched her lip. “I do not want anyone else to see you."

She smiled and spoke again: “...and I have more in mind than a mere pet..."

Aren's eyes widened as the regal dragoness raised her arms, letting her clothes fall. The delicate, immaculate gown slipped past her breasts, belly, and hips with otherworldly ease. It was as if her clothes were liquid — gossamer soup that simply flowed from the body. When the whole ensemble lay at her feet, she stepped out of the ring of luxury and towards her wolf.

“Barbarian," she uttered, breathless...and beautiful, “take me like one of your kind. Show me your strength. Give me a taste of the wilderness..."

She enjoyed watching him squirm, his leather trousers too tight for comfort.

“...and I will offer you the means to get home."

Aren stalled for a moment, thinking of trickery. Was she being genuine? Her eyes spoke to him, golden irises hypnotising him. He tore away, but everywhere he looked he was tempted. Small but pert breasts, flowing hips...her figure dazzling to the wolf, who only had the ruffians he'd met on the road to compare. Scoundrels, all of them. Men and women alike.

This was not that.

This was beauty. Majesty. And even without her promise of aid he'd been captured by her naked body. Ensnared.

“Empress..." Aren stammered, “y-you promise?"

The dragoness placed a hand over her heart. “On my word. Whole cities have burned for less."

He growled, and moved swiftly. A short bark accompanied his taking of the diminutive monarch into his arms. Her scales felt cold, missing a dragon's heat as he had been led to believe. There was evermore he did not know.

“Our kind prefer the heat of others," she explained, sensing his confusion, “the fire in my chest wreaks havoc and havoc alone." She took his hand and ran his palm across her bosom. “You do not want that to be unleashed."

Her sultry whispers grew more lurid, more...visual. Aren cupped her breast, feeling the contour of her scales and where they buckled and ridged plates burst forth between her cleavage. Another hand was guided around by the Empress, visiting her soft and vulnerable belly, then travelling behind...to grasp the base of her tail.

“Ooooh!"

Mei gripped the scruff of fur on the back of his neck, and pulled Aren into a kiss. Her jaws trembled, and lips parted — taking the wolf's with ease. Aren's heart beat, thundering through his skull. Pounding...screaming...

The next few seconds slowed to an eternity. Mei's sharp, serpentine tongue dived into his mouth, rustling with his own. A sopping smack of lips announced another bout — mammal and reptile meeting mouths and sharing touches. Her hard nipples scraped his chest. Fur parted along their path, and a thin red line marked where her callous peaks had shorn their way. Aren moaned into her mouth, locked tight as her hands held him, claws raking his back.

The strain between his legs grew unbearable. Mei, however, was one step ahead. The Empress' claws found their way to his waist, and tore ecstatically at the primitive leather trappings he wore to hide his maleness. They came apart easily, disintegrating when pitted against the polished claws of a goddess. He felt free, air breezing past his nethers.

“Now that is what I seek from your kind, barbarian."

Aren's sheath pulled back. He could contain the tightness no longer. A red spear jutted out from his furry groin, swelling to a pleasing size. “My, barbarian," the Empress cooed, “your kind are built to impress!"

Sheepishly, he muttered an acknowledgement and moved closer. His meat stiffened, the blood-filled shaft desperate for a home. He flinched at her touch, Mei's sharp digits dangling dangerously near his member. The dragoness chirped, pecking his cheek in a quick kiss, and giving him a little bite on the chest. “I have a remedy for that," she said, pointing to his cock, “something to soothe the pain you are feeling as my form delights you."

Aren watched her lower herself, falling to her knees, scales glittering solid green. He looked at the crowned formation on her head, a natural diadem — was there any doubt this one was born to rule all?

Mei ignored his stares, and arrived at his red meat. Peckish. Her palms rolled across his thighs, eliciting pained groans from her toy. Next, she reached under his sheath, to his sac. The soft, fluffy pouch bounced in anticipation, jiggling with every minute movement of Aren's hips. The wolf's orbs nestled into her palm, squishing slightly. Empress Mei smiled as she admired him. Every couple of seconds she sent his body into spasms with a squeeze of his precious stones. These would remain where they are, she joked to herself, and not decorate one of the palace walls.

Done messing around, she opened her mouth. Savouring the fear she spied in his eyes as all those sharp teeth came into view, the sultry dragoness breathed. Warm air caressed his flesh. It blew in heated waves, drying the surface of his exposed skin.

Aren grunted. His 'captor' merely laughed.

The first flicker of real pleasure began when the tip of her tongue glanced his shaft. Like a bolt of lightning, he went rigid...motionless. Another lick and he begged for a quick release. She denied him this, torturing the poor lupine with long, drawn-out motion. Her flexible tongue swirled and coiled, entwining his length. She tasted the salt of his skin — the musk of the wilds. The reek of fresh meat, tender and at her mercy.

“See? You ache for it."

“Yuh-yes...Empress...I do...please..."

“Please what?"

Aren bit his lip. “Puh-please don't stop."

With a flourish, she withdrew her tongue, letting it whip around his shaft. A coarse, stinging pain remained as she did so. Aren felt it, and sniffed to bolster his composure.

He was surprised, though, to see the speed at which she engulfed him. A jolt of shock stunned his senses, and the feeling of the warm, spiky cavern he'd entered only reached him several seconds later. He felt weak, and bent over. His muscles twitched, and toes curled — their rough pads squeaking on the polished stone floor.

“Urrgghhh!" he mewled like a helpless rabbit. “Goddess!!!"

The wolf felt a pang of shame as he addressed Mei. To have so rudely stolen the honorific of the Forest Spirit! He lowered his head, conflict raging within.

Oblivious to his concern, the Empress rejoiced in hearing him come to realise her majesty. She held him in her mouth, sucking...and sealing her lips to the base of his cock.

With the bobbing head of the Empress between his thighs, Aren banished all thoughts of other things and threw his head back. The suction...the sensation, rocked his uncouth mind. His manhood tingled, surging with pleasurable impulses. Her lips, her tongue; each aspect of her draconic lineage amplified his ecstasy.

Aren stumbled forward, knocking her back. He apologised profusely, but the luxurious eyes of the Empress met his, and she broke her ministration for one sentence: “no barbarian, this is what I want to experience, treat me roughly."

There was no need to repeat her instruction. Aren howled and grabbed her head, finding purchase amongst the intricate ridges that trailed from her skull to base of her neck. He roared and growled, reckless abandon taking over. Mei's eyes glowed, betraying a hunger, and she remained attached to his aching flesh.

Aren dragged the naked monarch, using his hips, to the edge of the large bed. With force, he thrust, lifting her up onto the soft bedding. His strength waned quickly thereafter, and after a moment of breathing and enjoying the suckling she administered, he was ready to take the next step. He lifted his right leg and carried it over her body. His broad foot-paw planted itself next to her head as he squatted, his tall frame dwarfing the Empress'.

A wicked grin crossed his muzzle. He started to thrust again, this time using the bed to stabilise his assault. His hips rocked, and buttocks clenched, as he cycled his thrusting. One leg raised, one leg lowered, both working overtime to ram his cock down her throat.

The Empress was more than pleased with this course of action. She signalled her approval by gently stroking his chest, feeling it rise and fall as he grunted, expending every effort to force himself deep down her throat. “Ggrrraaaggnnnhhh!" he bellowed, hips bucking. The wolf winced as his balls slapped her chin, the pain of his tender jewels the only thing moderating his pace.

Pressure welled at the pit of his stomach. He felt his groin flex, and sac tighten. He was going to blow. Instinct drove him wild, giving his flesh-drunk host a taste of his 'primitive' ways. He sensed the path of her gullet, narrow and damp, as he pushed. His throat-fucking kept him desperate — as if there was some special place far past his reach down her maw that he wanted (nay, needed) to find.

The seconds grew long again, interspersed with blissful agony. Aren panted. He was burning up. His cock pulsed, its shape maintained only by the physical barrier of Mei's throat. The wet channel opened wide, wider than he'd ever felt before, and her claws returned to his groin.

“Y-yes!" he cried. “Almost..."

His spine curled upwards. Aren pulled his upper body off of the bed, and howled his heart out. He erupted, sending a torrent of virile essence into the waiting gut of his new mistress.

“AAAAHHHHAAAAAGGGHHHH!!!"

His balls throbbed painfully, unloading their contents without regard for the rest of his manhood. Thick jets spilled out, and yet more was still coming. To her credit, the greedy dragoness swallowed every drop, flexing her jaw to keep a seal on the decadent libation.

The wolf shivered. His whole body was on fire. Pleasure shot through him, exhausting every limb and draining him of energy. Aren let out a dying growl as his cock spurted from the Empress' mouth, spraying as it went. He fell back, landing to the side on the comfortable bedding. Glancing at Mei, he watched her recover from his pounding, face and snout slick with his seed. The dragoness closed her mouth, and swallowed the last of his milk. Aren lay silent, awestruck as the last blast of his hot seed descended her throat — the bulge flowing down, straining the scales as it went, until it passed her collarbone and disappeared from sight. No doubt to reach the creamy bath that filled her stomach and distended her petite belly.

The Empress rose, similarly impressed. She crawled on her knees onto the bed fully, reaching out and stroking Aren's tired frame. The slight bulge above her waist reminded him of a pregnant bitch, who would soon be filled to bursting with pups. That image filled him with pride, though his mind told him that if that was his goal, then he'd gone about it the wrong way...and picked the wrong end...

Aren chuckled as Mei approached. There was still pale white dollops on her face, proof of his prowess. She wiped some off, but left the underlying stickiness. No doubt she had someone to bathe her later.

“Barbarian," she croaked, her throat still recovering from the onslaught, “you are everything I want, and more."

“Thank you, E-Empress."

“I will soon regret sending you home," she sighed, “if I have to lose this true beast of a lover to share my nights with."

“Well...you promised."

“That I did," she huffed, her tail swaying seductively behind her, “and I intend to keep my promise. You need not worry."

“But," she continued, licking her sodden lips “you have not completed your end of the bargain."

Aren groaned, exhausted. Mei hissed, her tongue flicking the air, inches from his arm. “You took great pleasure in enjoying my. Now your 'Goddess' demands her tribute."

Their closeness enticed him; short breaths and slight touches served to tickle Aren's lustful spirit. Even though he'd spent the bulk of his energy, a part of him kept going. Kept reciprocating. For each touch, there was a counter — deployed swiftly and without conscious thought. A bite...a nibble...a soft, sweet caress...he lay on his back as the Empress moved around him, hips and shoulders twisting and turning.

She crawled over him, her scaly body a tiny distance from his furry one. The stains of his ejaculation were still visible on her face. Her snout glistened with stickiness, the product of her virile supplicant. The dragoness' tongue flicked — first around her lips and then over Aren's wet nose. He was close, so very close to her divine form. He could smell her — a regal scent, enhanced with perfumes of untold rarity. Summer fruit and Winter chill met an Autumn musk with a hint of Spring's early dew. His senses told a story all of their own. Of the Great One who stole his breath and perhaps his heart.

Mei's body lowered onto him. Aren felt the hard scales matt his fur, closing his eyes and letting touch guide him. Through his tiredness he mustered a measure of strength, enough to hold her divinity tight against him. The Empress chuckled. Her barbarian toy was exhausted, so she decided to take the initiative...

The dragon-monarch straddled her wolf, his tingling cock nestled below her rear, tail jutting out and sliding next to his legs. Her ass rubbed back and forth, her cheeks rubbing his swollen length to stay its softening. Aren groaned, his mouth parting to let a whine slip past his salivating lips.

“Empress," he growled, hoarse.

“Yes, barbarian?"

“I can't hold on much longer."

Mei smiled, and looked down at him. “Have I really been such a challenge for a wild one like you?"

Aren returned her mirth, but his lethargic movement said more than his words. The Empress let her body fall towards him, ending her descent with a kiss. “Very well, barbarian. I will take what I am owed!"

In a flash of green-hued scale, Mei returned to her sitting posture — dragging her claws across Aren's chest. Sinking them deep and raking his soft, fleshy body. As he coughed and sputtered, lines of thick crimson formed, tracing the path of her talons.

“That is for your disobedience," she tutted, “your Empress demands dutiful pleasure — and a hard cock to grasp!" She took his manhood into her hand, and stroked. “A collapsing tower will not do!"

Aren was quick to return to full hardness with her violent encouragement. The cuts on his chest ached, the flow of blood slowly stemming as he healed. Ignorant of his pain — at least on the surface — the Empress gyrated atop his waist. Confusing signals of pleasure mixed with pain rocked the wolf as she played with him.

“Now barbarian...enter a place you will never wish to depart!" She slid his rigid shaft next to her entrance. His tip brushed against the thin lips of her dragon-pussy. Soon, she moved her hips and took him, drawing him inch-by-inch. His whole body went stiff. He couldn't breathe.

“YES!" she exclaimed. “Yes...feel yourself sinking into my body. Feel my gorgeous flesh swallow you...seal you to me...ahhh! Barbarian!"

“EMPRESS!!!"

Aren's body heaved as she began to bounce up-and-down. His lungs filled with air once the tension of the moment had burst. A sublime moment, his cock entering her silken innards, where none of his kind had ever ventured — or dared even conceive of.

She was right — it was a place he refused to leave.

...

The bed of an Empress.

Mei rolled her body around, flexing muscles in her thighs and waist. Her moist pussy wrapped around the foreign lupine cock with a tight grip. Constricting. All-encompassing. Her small figure became overwhelmed by the size of the barbarian monster battering down her gates. Each bounce, each rise-and-fall of her hips left her feeling astonished as his tip poked deep inside her.

The dragoness' toes curled, and she lost some of her speed. Aren was able to push back, lift himself off the soft sheets and thrust upwards, plunging into her depths. Mei squealed. He coughed as a sharp sting ran through him. The wounds on his chest were still tender. Occasionally, Mei would scoop down low and draw her tongue across his torso. Tasting the blood of her captive wolf.

Their fucking carried them through the night's passing. The captivating form of the Empress — the Great One spoken of by the masses in terms of fear, awe, and fiery retribution — writhing atop a nobody from beyond the civilised world. Scales flexing. Snout curled back and hissing. Shallow tear-drops quivering on her chest. Tail thrashing about as her bare bottom clenched with each deep thrust...

Their lovemaking was timeless. Neither knew how long they'd spent in a fit of blind ecstasy. Lust fuelled Mei's motions, and Aren's battered retaliation.

“Empress..." he whimpered, trapped by physical sensation.

The wolf's hips pumped. His cock and balls pained him — they burned with the heat of her insides. That warm, wet, velvet pocket that kept him loyal — honouring her majestic body with his. Empress, Empress...

His thoughts spurred him on, and the rich sensation between his thighs only grew. She gyrated, swaying hapless and hedonistic. He grunted, adding his feral flavour to the sounds of their coupling. Mei moaned, her voice peaking and almost breaking. Set all aquiver by the early onset of her orgasm, her walls squeezed, applying merciless pressure to his cock. Her vagina winked, flesh rippled, muscles losing their finesse. The shivering sensation reached its peak — sending her falling limp with a cry:

“AaaAAAaahhhh!!!"

“Gah!"

“My...hah...barbarian..."

Aren kept thrusting. Kept pumping his hips. Even as her body shook, riddled with orgasmic bliss, he persevered. The wolf's stamina served him well. Having climaxed already, he could exert himself without regard for premature ejaculation. The warmth of the dragon-monarch's insides were a welcome home for his raw flesh. Aching. Itching. Tingling with each mighty thrust.

Mei gripped his pecs, piercing skin once more. Aren lapped at her snout, tongue-bathing her face and neck as he bucked. Not once did she relent, despite the tiring influence of her climax. The Empress bounced and shivered, jerked and shook — her body capturing Aren's lust. The slow ache spreading from his groin reached every fibre of his being never faltered. His spent cock burned, as each rocking motion left the sloppy blend of fluids thicker, and wetter.

Together, after much slavering, they came close to a mutual second climax. The fine sheets of Mei's bed rumpled as their bodies contorted. Winding themselves up until...

A roar ruled over the once-silent ambiance. A great, guttural roar from Aren — his exhaustion prominent in the hoarse dwindling of his cry. The Empress, riding him like a broken stallion, roared also. A shriek that could cut through the fog that clouded their minds, and all of a sudden the world lurched forward, catapulting Aren up into her arms. She faltered, her mind shaken, and flesh afire. Broad strokes of her wolf's padded fingers, and the crisp bite of his claws between scales, brought her to orgasmic encore.

Blinded by their pleasure, the two fell to one side. Aren felt his cock throb, but emit little, as his spent body slowly lapsed into a stupor. Mei cradled her head and shoulders, and lay beside him, sighing. The faint taste of his essence still on her lips, she now nursed a different pair. Sensitive to her touch, her nethers braced for the rolling thunder that rocked her nervous system, cleaving its blissful path 'cross her. The Great One, Empress, Queen Of Queens...laid low by her ravenous companion...

She chose not to ask him to stay. She was a woman of her word.

Carefully, the small dragoness shuffled closer to Aren's furry chest. Her head found a place between his bony shoulder and neck — an idle flick of his ear swiping across her skull. She sighed again.

“Barbarian..."

“I am more than a barbarian, Empress, I am Aren; a wolf."

She drew a finger across his chest, carving a deep chasm in his messy fur. “Rest easy, wolf." Her head settled by his own, and the sound of her breathing slowed as sleep took hold.

It was done, Aren noted. He would leave, very soon, supplied with provisions to make his journey home.

He would leave...

...

...but he would miss her.