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***Story description***

The Brightmoon night is a time for young dragons to spread their wings and soar to faraway lands in search of mates, yet for a young male fettered by the promise he made to his parents, the situation is not all that bright. With no viable partner in sight and increasingly annoying urges tempting him at every turn, Siranor can either resist...or succumb into the sweet temptation of release.

Story is written by Siranor

All characters featured in this story belong to Siranor

***** Brightmoon Ch1: A Flame in the Night*****

The warm winds of the brightmoon night whispered through the leaves of the boreal forest, where fireflies and other nocturnal creatures skittered below the canopy of the great fir trees. There, under the permeating light of the shifting aurora filtered by the forest's leafy arms, one of its greatest predators left his mark on his territory, enacting his name right on the bark of the trees. Splinters danced around the shearing white claws wielded by mighty black paws that raced along the bark of a tree. The dragon -a young specimen with black fur kissed with iridescent sapphire colors that simmered under the moon's suave touch- curled his lips with concentration. Although mundane by ordinary standards, the purpose he wished to accomplish carried importance only known to his kind. His hooked tips dug gashes that would easily set him apart from the smaller predators of his domain. After all, it was in his best interest to attract the attention of the opposite gender. Want was the reason that stole him from his nest at this late hour.

And want was also why the tips of his four clawed fingers found themselves burning with the aching pain of a most restless night. After a few more horizontal swipes along the sides of the tree, Siranor stumbled back to lick at his aching paws. The comfort of his tongue provided great relief to his claw sheaths up until something sharp got a pained growl out of the dragon's throat. A thorn seemed to have lodged itself in the meatiest part of his paw, the central pad that was so soft, so vulnerable to anything with a sharp enough edge.

The dragon rolled swiftly on his side, his feathery wing splaying lazily across the cool earth to offer a measure of balance to his sleek, furred body. Siranor was not blessed with the durable scales of the traditional dragon, and as such, there were times when even something as mundane as a tree that had been rooted in the same place for dozens of years struck back against the paws that dared to inflict harm upon its bark.

"Mrraarrrhhh." The dragon hissed through bared fangs after his licks failed to deter his burden. The thorn was more stubborn than he imagined, shifting this way and that along with his licks. Never budging an inch. Always resisting every nipping attempt made by the dragon's sharp teeth, until the taste of metallic blood forced Siranor to apply a different strategy. With the tip of another claw, he pushed against the thorn, slowly pushing the splinter towards his spread fingers until it finally came out of his soft pad.

The dragon unleashed a moan of relief. Finally, something good happened this night. He licked his paw with a few long strokes of his lubricated tongue, enjoying the pleasant caress upon his bare pink pads. In many ways, they reminded him of his parents. Of how he snuggled against similar pads that seemed so much bigger when he saw the world through the eyes of a hatchling. His brothers and sisters always found the cozy place between their parent's forepaws the best for licks and affection. The belly was not bad either.

But Siranor had a different opinion. One that earned him quite a few names, and a more than nefarious reputation throughout the forest.

That had been so long ago....

Siranor shook his head and slowly got up on his fours, testing the ground with his wounded paw before he found the courage to apply his full weight to it. The wound still stung, but it hardly stopped him from walking over to the next unmarked tree. The dragon reared on his hind legs, hooked his claws upon the tree, then proceeded to scratch it all over again. The sound of scraped bark, the feel of the wood giving way before his claws, the satisfaction that his action bore meaning was all too good at keeping him distracted from the real issue.

Siranor slowly lost himself in the plethora of stimuli. His forelegs scribbled the language of his desires along the bark while his mind ventured closer and closer to the enthralling reward that awaited him. He pictured her emerging from the depths of the forest, dark as the night, with streaks of ethereal green dashed along her wings as beautiful as the flames of the everlasting aurora. She would greet him with a fond lick over his snout, and he would return that affection tenfold. He'd shower her with his gratitude. Impress her with his abilities.

And when she'd finally give herself to him, raising her tail high above her drenched heat-stricken folds, he would surround her form with his forepaws to pull her tighter against him, kiss her nape with a few fond strokes of his tongue, then bury himself down to his very vent within her hot depths to finally fill her with the might of the passion that had been welling inside him for long, heated days.

Siranor's winced as part of that burning need slithered into his nethers. Ever since the mating season started, his muscles shuddered with sexual need every time he imagined his sweet, life-giving seed spurting inside the receptive embrace of a female.

Even if she was not here, with him, in this very moment, his wings still trembled briefly before they spread to their full span. Behind him, his tufted tail tip swung from side to side with excitement. His hind paws dug their claws deeper into the soft soil to strengthen his balance.

And in spite of his obvious loneliness, he thrust. A deep, powerful surge hardened his member to full mast. One throb. That's all it took for the needy male to splatter the tree with two sharp streams of his cloudy desires.

Siranor growled, snarling at his inability to withhold himself. The smell of his own desperate need filled the air within seconds. The dragon dislodged himself from the tree and paced around with his member throbbing just as quick as his heart leaped within his chest. He came here to distract himself from the lust, yet it seemed that even marking his own territory could not keep him forever distracted from the primal desire that burned within his flesh.

He needed something else.

Unfurling his broad, feathered wings, Siranor took to the skies. He emerged into the open sky through one of the canopy gaps large enough to fit him and soared over his territory with the colder winds of the high skies filtering through his fur. Oh, it felt good to be up in the skies. And in some ways, irritating too. The few minutes it took for his member to fully retreat behind the sleek walls of his vent were nothing but a bother to the young, aroused male. If only his parents told him more about the pains of his first mating season, then maybe he could have prepared better for this permeating annoyance that-

"Sreeeeeek!"

The faint cry of what seemed to be a younger predator made his ears perk up. Siranor followed the noise to the edge of a river, where two members of his favorite species of prey drank in the cool water, completely oblivious to the threat eyeing them from above. The dragon flexed his claws in anticipation. Fresh stag was just the thing he needed to balm his sour feelings.

Yet the fine buck had other plans tonight. He started to circle the antler-less doe insistently, often poking his nose at her tail to get a taste of her flavor while his muzzle still dripped with fresh water. He was checking her receptiveness, and, right after she squirted a splatter of urine in his face, the stag speared her quickly with a sharp jet of masculine seed.

Siranor turned his attention from the pair. It felt wrong, to end their lives right after they achieved what he could not. The dragon found a comfortable refuge on the stony bank of the whispering river. He watched the sky for a few minutes, then, when he felt the heat of his instincts slither back into his flesh, he crawled into the slithering waters that hardly reached past his belly.

Siranor let out a growl of contentment once he settled comfortably on the bed of rocks. The water was warm, befit for the rainless week of the half moon season. In his realm, the sun never challenged the moon's authority. Every day was basked in the pleasant darkness of an eternal night; a curtain of shadow he grew accustomed to. Stars were the only source of light during the moonless nights, yet even their luster paled in comparison to the flaming radiance of the aurora, a shifting display of brilliance that shifted colors when the moon changed its face. Tonight, it basked the land under a blanket of indigo streaked with emerald hues that sent his mind wandering to other places.

A growl of longing escaped from Siranor's jaws. His perfect mate had the same colors woven in her feathers. If only she was here, to watch the sky with him...

He needed a partner more than a mate. Someone to share the abundance of his territory with. Somebody to warm beneath his wing, and lick, and share his affection with. Many times Siranor had been challenged to leave his home behind. But how could he? This land was more than trees and rocks and whispering waters.

It was the last and greatest gift given to him by the dragoness that brought him into this world.

Siranor reflected on his life amidst the trickling waters. It was only when his flesh started to go numb that he walked back on the river's bank to shake the water out of his fur.

The dragon coiled around himself to warm back up, his fur all spiky and clumped together. Fond memories from his younger days filled his mind. He remembered fondly the many times he sought his mother's warmth after a heated hunt along the river's berth. The dragoness weaved beautiful tales with the same tongue she licked him with. Oh, how she slithered over the damp paw pads of her hatchlings with that warm, caring tongue. Siranor always loved how careful she was. Her tongue never tickled him without intent, and, unbeknownst to him, his own tongue found itself slithering over the pads of a forepaw, further stoking the embers of his memories. It trailed over the pads of his paws, up to the white, well curved claws recently sharpened upon the bark of the trees, repeating the cycle several times before it found another damp paw to warm up. By the time he finished with all of his four legs, Siranor purred like an excited feline, and, just like one, he began to groom other parts of himself. He washed his tongue over his damp, silky fur of his belly, losing himself in that feeling of comfort and safety up until something much more nuanced latched upon the surface of his tongue.

The dragon murmured softly and licked again, this time applying more pressure upon the soaked fur surrounding that wet, fleshy area. It felt so good, to lick himself there. Almost like a drink of fresh water after days of thirst.

Siranor slowly closed his eyes as his tongue continued to clean up the translucent wetness of his moist desires. He didn't stop. He...could not stop. Once he touched the root of all his lusts, he became enraptured by the waves of euphoria that rushed over his shuddering body. His toes flared out when he accidentally pushed deeper than intended. Muscles embraced him from all sides, quivering with the gentle thrums of sexual bliss, begging him to reach even deeper.

"Hraawwrmmm..." The dragon's purr gave way to a warm growl as Siranor retreated briefly to lick his own wetness off his twitching lips. His vent shuddered just like his tear-shaped nostrils, stoked by the moist breath of the excited dragon. Siranor panted over his own vent, and the tingling heat of his body made even the air around him feel hot.

Was this what he really needed? Every lick across his nethers felt more than deserved, but this was exactly the trap his mother warned him about. To spill his purest essence on bare rocks unable to sprout forth life from their lifeless cores.

"I...shouldn't. It's not how it is meant to be." The dragon growled at the air. For the next few minutes he contemplated whether to heed the flame of his instinctual desire, or snuffle it completely. Meanwhile, his nethers kept on twitching, producing an overflow of juices that started to trickle along his side.

Without giving it a single extra thought, Siranor rolled his tongue over his vent to scoop up the excess discharge. The surge of pleasure that accompanied such act unfurled his shuddering wings and spiked up his mane all the way to his splayed, tufted ears, culminating with a growl so sweet it could only be described as a moan.

Siranor gave himself another fond stroke of tongue, then another, and when the heated shudders became too much to bear, he huffed over the surface of his vent, inches away from the bare, furless folds that tensed with eager anticipation.

Of course, it hadn't always been such. In his younger days, he never got quite so stimulated from a couple of licks in that area. The excitement was all absent. But things took a change for the weirder once he started to grow into a fine, young dragon. A good sleep always saw him rising up unsheathed, and just as many times he got scared by the tingling pleasure racing up his malehood from his attempts to push it back from whence it came. It got so infuriating that he confessed everything to his mother, who not only taught him the basics of mating, but showed it to him in a way no young male could ever prepare for. Siranor still remembered the sweltering heat of her gentle maw. How she wrapped her moist tongue around his entire shaft, and, with soft tugs as gentle as her eyes, started to work him closer towards the edge of that strange, unstoppable feeling. Siranor still remembered how he lost control of his body when that first surge of mind-bending pleasure spilled over from the depths of his vent. His member stiffened harder than it ever had before. Siranor desperately tried to hold back the strange, exhilarating pressure welling up within his underbelly. It felt so wrong to unleash himself inside his mother's mouth.

But there was nothing he could do against the impending tide of instinctual lust. With tears of strained bliss falling from his eyes, Siranor parted his jaws and roared his heart out exactly when his member delivered the first rope of fresh, sticky young seed upon his mother's tongue.

It felt so inexplicably good. So incredibly intense.

Without a flicker of a thought, the dragon scrunched his snout with lustful determination and dashed his tongue over the crease of his vent to sample more of his own sweetness; a colorless nectar that clouded his judgment and made him crave for the same sweet release. With nothing but the thrill of mating lodged in his mind, Siranor pushed his tongue against his vent and penetrated himself with a deep, satisfied rumble. He found his puffy muscles all too receptive to a deeper caress. They parted before him like water, welcoming him inside with a tight, gooey hug that had the dragon all but tremble with sexual excitement. Siranor groaned with bliss, his claws scraping over the rocky shore of the river. Behind him, his tail found a leg to coil around that kicked at the air with restless jerks.

The pleasure was spiking towards the same incredible ending, and just like last time, Siranor knew there was nothing he could do to hold it back.

His hindquarters pushed his slit against his muzzle to invite deeper thrust....

And Siranor obeyed with a hungry moan, delving his tongue into his realm of forbidden pleasure, lapping at his own heat-stricken flesh for several times until he touched the very thing that made him male.

Pleasure blazed through his frame once that happened. Sharp, tingling electricity made his muscles tighten with unspeakable bliss. Even with the tip of his snout up into his own vent Siranor managed to blurt out a strangled moan that could hardly express a fraction of what he truly felt in that moment, when his tongue connected to the sensitive tip of the very vessel of impregnation. His barbs burned with sensitivity when he rolled over them, and the tighter he squeezed, the better it felt.

He throbbed. Hard.

And with each surge of hot blood pouring into his nethers, his member grew harder, bigger, increasingly sensitive to the fleshy walls that pushed it further into the dragon's slavering mouth.

Siranor slurped the juices with noisy licks of his tongue, panting hard while he stared at his own, fully grown member; at how it jumped into the air on its own volition to leak its crystalline load down upon fur impregnated with liquid heat. The dragon licked the fluid all over again, trembling with pleasure at the feeling of his own smooth tongue catching upon his own barbs. They were meant to stimulate his mate, of course, but at the moment, his own tongue felt just as able as a female's beautiful insides.

Drunk on his own pleasure, Siranor pulled back just enough to give his needy member time to cool off. He didn't see it for what it was, a barbed menace that could undo everything he achieved up to this moment. All he wanted was more of the fire that laid claim to his flesh. To taste the sweetness that started all of this madness.

Without thinking of the repercussions of his actions, the dragon rolled his entire tongue over the surface of his member. Every barb, big or small, flared up like a hedgehog's spine. The pleasure brought by such unspeakably pleasing act made his trembling paws kick at the air while his wings beat against the stony shore of the river. His mounting instinct pushed him into another thrust. His member burned with delicious sensitivity that had been forced back for days.

Until now.

Panting with bliss, the dragon looked back at the snout-long pole of flesh that angrily throbbed before his eyes. Trickles of cloudy fluid started to seep into his fur, adding further to the soaked mess that impregnated the wet fur around his vent.

He had to clean it. Had to...lick all of it.

Siranor pressed his snout against the tip, opened his mouth just enough to let his member in, then thrust. His cock flowed along his tongue like a log along the river, the embrace of hot flesh all too enticing to an organ that was meant to thrive in such humid environment. Siranor twisted his tongue around his member, trying the same technique his mother showed him all those years back, only to find himself whimper and thrash. Pheromones rushed into his nostrils with every breath he took from the rich scent of his moist vent, and the trickles of his own precum only added to the permeating bliss of sexual fulfillment.

He throbbed, harder than ever. This new breed of pleasure hit him like a bolt of lightning, and Siranor growled out his pleasure as well as he could with his own throbbing member splattering precum all over his tongue. There was a tightness welling within the depths of his vent that begged to be let out, but it was too much. Far too much.

Scared by the intensity of something that soared so much beyond his control, Siranor spat his member out and rounded his tip just as it squirted a burst of cloudy fluids. His nostrils took the scent in all too eagerly, filling his head with the miasma of his own fertility. He blinked several times to wake himself up from the haze that took hold of his senses.

Why? Why was he doing this? This wasn't mating.

Siranor pressed a paw down upon the wet head of his member. He snarled in discomfort, as his pads were much colder than his tongue, then pushed, forcing his cock back into its slick home.

The dragon thought he was making progress. But then it all started to feel far too good. The kneading walls of his own vent brushing over the largest barbs at the base of his member. His soaked pads sliding over his tip. The dizzying throbs latched with the promise of ejaculation...they all tricked his senses into believing he was inside a female all too eager to receive his seed.

In his panic, Siranor pressed his other forepaw down upon the head of his member, yet the added pressure unleashed the very thing he tried to stop, and with a strangled moan of both panic and bliss, the dragon curled around himself, shoved his cock right in his face, and splattered his snarling, moaning snout with the very first rope of his cream.

It came, again and again. The pressure that pushed him into involuntarily surrendering the very essence of life he saved for his future mate. The pulsations that sent the very same essence hurling out of his throbbing penis one wave at a time. The strange taste of his gooey seed was nothing like fresh meat, yet, in his euphoric state, Siranor wanted nothing more than to receive as much of it as he could over his fur, mounting jagged thrusts against the pads of his paws that achieved that very purpose.

By the time the stream of his essence ended, Siranor's fur was more white than black.

"Mother...please, forgive me." Was all he said before he allowed his panting head to rest against the rocks of the whispering river. Strands of seed still clung to his panting snout, but Siranor just didn't have any strength left in him after he poured it all out in the weakest, most shameless of fashions.

***End of Chapter 1***

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