In pursuit of relief chapter 2
This is a long story commission I have done for TheGrandPuppeteer
Description: The life of an elite scout is a lonely affair, a truth deeply embedded into the lonely heart and virgin member of the dragon called Zeridran. During his usual pit stop with his coyote companion, a chance to finally rid himself of his nagging wet dreams appears when his two best friends are stationed in the same town, ready to welcome him into their debauched fold. But will he accept it? Or turn tail, as he had done all his life?
The characters featured in this story are my creation
***In pursuit of Relief chapter 2***
Lardran never boarded airships, let alone skiffs. The coyote harbored great distaste for anything that required a Windcaster to maneuver it around, never one to trust others but Zeridran with his life. A waste of the few available sorcerers, he'd call this endeavor of ferrying around non-critical personnel, but not today.
Today, he backpedaled onto the landing pad of Zeridran's meager home while dragging what appeared to be a crude mounting device, ancient in its looks and uses. The brown leather wrapping its top was all scratched and cut, a testimony to the many males that had emptied their seed inside its lifeless, unappealing belly.
Lardran's partner, a wolf as dark as the night, maneuvered the contraption from its rear, making sure its little wheels did not gain too much momentum and run the coyote over. What an end that was, to fall off the bridge connecting the skiff to the metal platform hosting the barn while hugging a seed milking machine meant for dragons.
Zeridran subdued his growly amusement as he further slunk into the shadow of the barn, a single eye peering past the edge of the door to witness the procession. He knew not who the dark wolf was, or whether he was a Talonrise native. Aside from the elite scouts who had access to the safest means of air transportation, very few embarked on long trips across the shattered kingdom. The bigger the ship, the higher the chances it would fall prey to various attacks from their enemy, outlaws, bandits or even local pirates. Though he never admitted it, Zeridran half believed that one of the main reasons Lardran enrolled into the elite scout program was to no longer deal with such occurrences, as a passenger or hired protector.
The metal cart carrying the body of the seed collector rattled something fierce once it made it past the edge of the bridge, reminding Zeridran of the purpose of the stranger's visit. His snarl was quick to tense his lips, neck spines flared in consternation with yet another attempt to replace the irreplaceable, this time from his loving, most trusted father and partner. And yet, the truth behind the most recent events snuffed out whatever resentment Zeridran harbored for Lardran's attempts to soothe his wounded spirit and calm his inevitable lusts. What parent would turn a blind eye to their son's foolishness of stuffing a pleasure toy into his virgin tailhole the same day he spent his seed in his sleep for the umpteenth time?
"Mrrrrhhhhhh," Zeridran grumbled to himself, resigned to the thought of filling the role of this helpless, vulnerable creature to those that pieced together the obvious clues. Perhaps this was for the best. However rugged the mounting machine looked, a quick glance at its wrinkled entrance and smooth yet textured interior stirred subtle tingles across the grey dragon's slit, his slumbering cock nodding its approval as it twitched to life.
After they both made it across, the Windcaster offered his specific salute for those who served and guided the ship away at a brisk speed, as if relieved to put as much distance between his crew and the two bumbling canines that inadvertently set their attention on the only available roof to shelter their inane creation.
"Zeridran, scoot over here, you limp-tailed lizard. Got my claws all blunt searching the city for an alternative to your...problem." Lardran made for Zeridran's half empty water barrel to dunk his head in it, but never quite reaching his target. They both chuckled at his failed attempt to cool off, with Zeridran's rougher tone winning over.
"Climb into it, so I can fish you out like a sardine," Zeridran waggled his tail playfully.
Lardran's frustrated groan was quick to put an end to their fun, the coyote pointing his attention to the supposed mount, compact as it was on its silly squeaky wheels. "What do you make of it? I ran across an old acquaintance in The Roughs, settled for an ale to cool off our mutual thirst, and the next thing I know, Grenn's making me this fantastic deal on a gift long overdue. Now that he's retired from the scouts, him and Jarnolvosk aren't gonna need their pal any longer."
"So you'd think," the black wolf interjected while rolling the machine inside the barn, his amber eyes scouting for a suitable spot to continue with its assembly. "You aren't the only drake whose ambitions erupted out of you towards the morning while enjoying the fruits of your vivid imagination. This spot good enough?"
Had he frills webbing his spines, they'd have simmered into a rich mauve from the heaviness of this intruder's words who had no right to know such intimate details!
"I guess it's fine," Lardran shrugged his shoulders, leaning against a bushel of hay while sipping whatever his canteen held at this time. "It often takes a minute or two for Zeridran to find his tongue when approached from this more reclusive angle."
"Mmm, as if I'm not aware," Grenn stepped up to him, forcing the drake to back away from this impudent creature. "Took a bullet to the leg for Jarnolvosk to finally speak to me during our first assignment together, and his first word to me was...which was it...something about my blood smelling tasty. Cryptic skink, he used to be at first. That was before I knew what I'm dealing with, and how necessary it was for me to woo the females in his stead, otherwise we'd have no more of them golden dragons in this part of the colony."
"Tried that a few times. Would have almost succeeded, had Zeridran done his part. Guess he's more proper than the majority of us scouts, eh?"
"Your smell is equally improper, and so is his," Zeridran aimed his subtle snarl at the wolf whose lips broadened into a knowing grin.
"I'll just chalk that to your eagerness to try out your new toy," Grenn's sharp gaze and wagging tail proved, without the shadow of a doubt, that he was far more than just a haggard veteran assisting his younger protégé set a mounting station for his lonely, unsuccessful dragon. Only trained scouts could link their minds to their respective dragons, a process that took several months of adjustments. For Grenn to be privy to Zeridran's thoughts...he must have been a sorcerer himself!
The black wolf's wink had all the charm and none of the bile of those older, entitled, downright arrogant scouts who felt entitled to the most lavish of perks for losing a limb or their edge for the cause.
"I'm...I'm sorry," Zeridran raised a paw to head after him, but found it impossibly difficult to set it down and do it.
"You should be. Grenn doesn't look like much, but he outranks both of us. Fortunate that we're so far from his colony, otherwise you wouldn't have had need of this mount once Jarnolvosk invited a few resident females to meet his new friend." Lardran chuckled under his breath, signaling Grenn something only they understood.
"That is, if Grenn didn't decide to reenlist and recruit you as his partner. You'd have had no dreams of females, for he'd have breached every available etiquette to keep you satisfied."
And risk getting his status as a scout revoked, then get tried for the vulgarities committed? While every community with a governing body possessed varying degrees of leniency when it came to the intimate acts between dragon and handler, they all unanimously agreed that such practices led to emotion-based choices. Therefore, they painted them in as many vile ways as the methods of such pleasures were varied, a truth that Lardran had been stern with from the beginning.
Thankfully for the two handlers, loopholes existed, for no mayor, governor, or even commander dared restrict their dragons' freedom too much, especially when it involved their downtime. Strangely enough, a report of a dragon ramming a wood-fashioned cock into his tailhole carried no weight, but if their handler chose to replace their tail in keeping the rhythm of the thrusts...
When Zeridran ceased his musings, the landscape completely shifted. Lardran no longer sipped his aromatic water, now assisting Grenn unpacking the miscellaneous accessories from the several bags they wheeled together with the mounting device on the metal tray under it.
Rather than nose into their business, the grey drake remained on his spot by the door, approaching just enough to better hear their conversation over the racket of clanging pipes, rustling glass and wooden groans. What he next heard alarmed him to such extent it took all his willpower to refrain from charging down that deplorable machine and incinerate it together with this despicable barn.
"Maybe you should...you know...keep it within the sphere of vagueness," Grenn, of all people, took Zeridran's side, his alluding glances reminding Lardran than his dragon happened to be just a few dozen feet away.
"So that he once again overlooks the precautions we've set out to take? Better that he faces the repercussions of his folly and accepts the reality of this necessary tool, so that he plays the role his gender bestowed upon him, and not..."
"The one he feels curious about?" Grenn dismissed that for a simple, silly occurrence, but Lardran had none of it, continuing to boil inside.
Zeridran's wings shrunk, the drake slipping behind a stack of rectangular bales of hay to process Lardran's grave tone, heavy with anger, in a more reclusive setting. This wasn't the jovial, almost dismissive coyote that aided him out of his predicament, but the grim figure of a parent irate with needless risks. And he had it right! In the midst of his lust-filled turmoil, Zeridran forsook any reasonable safeties, leading to an outcome where his cock would have all but dried out and shriveled and who knew what else! The implications of that never occurred to him while bogged down by the dire need to cum. Kalrondren, Lerranya...she would...he might have never found out how her insides feel without...without a healthy member to slip through her soggy lips.
Zeridran skulked out of his hiding spot and almost knocked Grenn.
"Terledran's...you're a stealthy cat, aren't you? Never met a dragon so tame, so quiet."
"That's because you never slept with him while he has one of them dreams."
"No worries, we'll sort those out for you. As Jarnolvosk put it after a few mounting sessions, it is better to shoot your seed while you're aware than otherwise, and I've taken great care not to let his memory bother you too much. Gave the thing such a thorough wash I almost scrubbed the leather off it, and if it looks dull now, well...there's a few tricks to this pony," the wolf flaunted him a confident smirk on the way out to get the last bag of accessories.
Zeridran tried his hardest not to show any obvious sign of frustration or distaste for this foulest of contraptions, but Lardran still saw through his aloof bearing.
"Not that my confidence in you is at an all-time high, but I'll let you handle this tool in your own time, at your own pace. Unless you manage to topple it over your erection as you trip and fall at the height of your passion. Then, we'd have a severe trust issue."
Last year's gift was both more considerate and heartfelt in spite of the bleak connotation. Often one to poke fun at Zeridran's solitude instead of wallowing in his despair, Lardran got him a decently sized comfort companion fashioned after his earliest and dearest of friends, a blue dragoness by the name of Skyweaver. Their lives took them in different directions, but she had since lurked Zeridran's thoughts and dreams, a fact not easily missed by the sneaky coyote.
Were it not for the incident with the toy from a week ago, the finding of Skyweaver's likeness wearing Zeridran's lust all over herself and rump in particular after a particularly intense dream would have forever haunted him. It broke Lardran more than his dragon to abandon her during a surprise raid, his guilt so fierce he completely stopped surprising Zeridran with those stuffed, endearing companions usually meant for hatchlings to warm his scales and heart during rest.
Zeridran chose a shady nook to overlook the dull process of mounting the seed collector into place. It had four wooden, awkward legs made of crossed beams that Grenn kicked and pushed against to test their stability. That first part done, he then mounted a crude, iron frame into the sockets on the machine's side in which he placed several vials. Next to it he mounted what appeared to be a ventilation unit if the fan on the back was any indication, a curved tube connected to its intake valve that he slipped into a broader socket right next to the vials.
The process piqued the dragon's curiosity, especially the fumbling and mumbling and chuckling of those two furred fools prancing about that ugly thing. Whatever did they find so captivating about a boring, lifeless tool only the most desperate of males mounted in search of fake, unfulfilling pleasures...
Then again, he had initially said the same about the toy Kalrondren had inflicted upon him, only to find himself tied to it in the truest sense of the word.
Zeridran curled about himself, slipping a wing over his head to let its soothing darkness cool off the heat pulsing through his cheeks. He had yet to decide which part of what happened appalled him more, Lardran's cool demeanor while employing healing ointments and even a sexual lubricant to help balm the raw, abused flesh around his outstretched entrance to ease the toy out, or his final, surprisingly strong ejaculation that had lasted for but a single spurt? The nigh unbearable ache pulsing through his battered cock and the fiery throbs surging through his tailhole had kept him up all night, then reminded him of it in the morning when he tried to sit on his rump and enjoy breakfast.
Lardran never laughed harder or heaved louder.
Lerranya must have returned from her mission back into Kalrondren's embrace as well. Neither made an attempt to contact Zeridran, their teasing personalities undoubtedly expecting him to return their toy and share his experience with it while circled by those two ravenous hyenas, both stealing provocative glimpses at whether his recounting of that story made him harden in longing.
The more he dwelled on that matter, the brighter his anxiety flared. Per their agreement, Lardran stopped sharing approximate departure dates after missing his mark one too many times, the schedule of the scouts' assignments often falling into place depending on the enemy's movements. He would have at least a day to prepare for the journey, but what of Kalrondren? What if he had already received an assignment? What if Lerranya overruled her pregnant state on account of her rank and joined him?
Sickening as the thought was, Zeridran found himself unable to stop dwelling on Kalrondren's offer to mount his mate. It was obscene, to claim another dragon's mated pair, but Lerranya's attitude on it accurately matched Kalrondren's words. She even joked about it in the past, that as soon as her mate's seed took hold, her regard for the boundaries between the physical union with other dragons would thin greatly, perhaps even vanish depending on who asked.
"Aight, that ought to do it," Grenn dusted off his paws while admiring his work. "I'll leave it to you two to sort out the lubrication of that tight little faux pussy and set up the seed collection bag. Jarnolvosk always wanted it off, so I'm not about to tarnish his memory."
"Guess I can manage that last and simplest of steps," Lardran gave the wolf a parting hug, whispering one of his promises into his ear no doubt.
"Glad to do business with you. Remember about our deal, and give the drake a briefing like I taught you. Gotta scoot to the Eyrie and...well, this running into you might just have been exactly what I needed to be set to proper path. Always wanted to mentor one of them shy dragons."
"Too old for a hatchling, eh?" Lardran pointed at some greying strands on his nape fur.
"Too unsuitable for one," Grenn favored Lardran one last smile prior to his departure, saluting Zeridran on the way out.
"Jarnolvosk often pictured his sweethearts while thrusting, but there are contingencies in case of a less creative mind. Not that you'd need them!"
Lardran joined Zeridran's side after the wolf's dark form disappeared past the door of the barn, chuckling at how the slightest touch on his shoulder made his dragon tense up.
"Grenn can really get into your head when he wants to."
"I want it out," Zeridran's snarl housed both his rage at being treated in such condescending ways and his impotence as a male that had led to this outcome. "I have no use for such a crude, demeaning, lifeless...I want it gone!"
"The next day," Lardran said, his voice as cool and serene as the flow of a sluggish river, unperturbed by petty emotions. "It has to remain here for the night, at least. You understand why."
Not that Zeridran paid any mind to the wolf's possible outburst at returning Lardran's coin in addition to packing and ferrying his rugged mount away, but something about Lardran's calm demeanor perturbed him. It came as no surprise to the coyote that Zeridran immediately rejected his gift, his tail swaying in its usual, relaxed flow.
Zeridran immediately softened, his earlier hiss replaced by a low, uncertain whine. "I...appreciate the gesture, and the effort, but...I'm no longer interested in alternatives."
"All it took was a knot in the proper place, eh?" Lardran's smirk tugged at Zeridran's curiosity, convincing him to join the coyote in getting to know what he was about to get rid of. "We tried plenty, Zeri. Talonrise is as empty of females as the cities of any other colony. I may admire your resolve, support your crave for independence and do my utmost to sate your thirst for the real thing, but at the same time, I can't turn a blind eye to what happened. The fault lies with that fool Kalrondren that shall know a kick in the right place when I meet him, but in the meantime, all I wanted was to grant you an option. A possibility to quell your unrest until Midsummer comes and we can try our luck at the breeding program again."
Two months. That amounted to at least a dozen erotic dreams, most of them which would turn out wet. As the years passed and loneliness sank its fangs further into Zeridran's heart, so did his endurance to withstand it diminished. Past the safety of a city, his genital slit barely tingled with longing, but whenever the blanket of safety settled over his mind, it was as If the crave to breed ignited within him, consuming away all reason until even a wooden cock, held by his tail, felt an appealing enough alternative.
"I...I just..." Zeridran faltered, head drooping into the waiting arms of the coyote, his sigh as heavy as his partner's somber look.
"Shhhh," Lardran hushed him, the careful claws of his fingers heading to the areas that flared Zeridran's purr the brightest. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, but neither can I be indifferent to your aches. I say, let's at least give it a try. A single one. If it doesn't work out, then I promise never to interfere in such ways again."
Strange, how Zeridran felt both immensely relieved and anxious at the prospect of tending to his needs all by himself from now on. While he scouted the mount's meager looks, his thoughts drifted to Lerranya. What if something was to happen between the two of them as soon as tomorrow? Could he even maintain proper balance while inside her? Would she find his pace unsatisfying? And what if his passion happened to be expressed far too soon?
The answer to this pressing anxiety lied right in front of him, a mere tool no different than the inanimate dummies he used to bob and weave and strike from different angles to train his combat abilities. Kalrondren made it clear that females greatly enjoyed a male capable of maintaining the rhythm they cherished, and right now, Zeridran had no rhythm to speak of, barely any stamina, and complete ignorance when it came to mounting a female. What if he placed his paws wrongly or scratched her finer belly scales hard enough to tear into them?
The machine wouldn't mind nor care for such slips, designed with but one objective in mind: To fulfill a male's greatest yearning.
"Mrrhhhhhh," he finally gave the coyote his response in a grumbling, half reluctant manner. It was already mounted in place and half ready, so why not try to understand it, at the very least? Make a game out of it?
Lardran shared his view on that topic, hugging his snout to his chest, letting the fluff of his cheek warm some of the cold doubts creeping through him.
"Let's see what I paid a week's worth of select cuts that I planned to dole out prior to your hatchday, eh?"
Zeridran didn't know what shocked him more, the preposterous price that just stripped him of a week's worth of delicacies, or the size of the seed collection bag that Ladran pulled from the small storage space located on the bottom of the mounting machine.
"I suppose this goes right...here," the coyote connected the empty, flaccid, hanging all the way down to the floor opaque leather bag. It almost resembled a tube were it not for its wider bottom sizable enough to fit the seed ejaculated by ten dragons.
"There is a smaller one too," Lardran took note of Zeridran's flabbergasted expression, replacing it with a sleeker, more realistic recipient for what he could give. "Can't fault me for thinking ahead. A week is still a week."
"As far as you know."
Zeridran's japes related to his mating habits failed to capture his partner's attention as always. Far too used to this cycle of repeated failures, Lardran channeled his attention elsewhere, namely on squirting more lubricant than Zeridran ever saw into his hand and then ram it up the mount's orifice. Unlike the fantasies of his mind, there was no sound accompanying the twisting motion of his arm and its subsequent thrusts, the seed collector as boring and lifeless as he expected it to be.
Not quite.
The press of one of the buttons on the sides caused it to hum to life, a flicker of movement awakening to life within the vacated, glistening, strangely appealing hole.
"Surprised?"
The coyote's excited tone startled Zeridran, the dragon too taken with the irrational tingles rushing through his genital walls.
"There are three different intensities. I guess we should try the lowest to give it just the barest hint of life without interfering too much with the already overwhelming stimulation you'll have to handle."
While the coyote worked a towel over the tangled fur of his arm coated in strangely appealing lubricant, Zeridran took a better look at the mechanism he triggered. The light shudders coursing through the fine, lightly ridged insides of the mount had an unnatural frequency to them, orchestrated in a neat, predictable pattern unlike the spontaneous clenches of a female.
Then again, what did he know of that outside of hearsay?
"Was I the dragon, I'd hug this thing as if my life depends on it while hilted up to my base in that wet, tight hole," Lardran shrugged, nonchalant as ever as he headed over to the shelf containing the vials and the duct meant to guide their contents into the vapor-generating machine. "And it seems like the surprises keep piling and piling for you."
It took several minutes for Zeridran to recollect himself after witnessing this quirkiest of perks when it came to this machine. Whatever power source did it even run on?
The unassuming frame of the device revealed its tiny secrets to he who dared search for them. Near the bottom, on the right side, three small buttons, all a faded red, protruded through the leather, the same ones meant to regulate the intensity of the shudders coursing through the hole he was to put his member into. A fake imitation, to be sure, but not one a virgin male would know the difference of.
The vials further contributed to the mystery of this perplexing bundle. The notes, written on bits of paper glued to the iron of the miniature shelf holding them, revealed their contents, and the text alone got Zeridran's slit tingling all over.
Six vials, holding six samples taken from various females in different stages of maturity. Labeled by approximate age, three held the vaginal fluids collected during a state of heightened arousal, and three harbored the thicker, slightly cloudier secretion females constantly drooled at the height of their heat. Zeridran's cock already dangled beneath his belly, his huffs heavy with eagerness to sniff out those pheromones every male he met spoke of with infuriating reverence.
The one belonging to the second oldest female, a little past the middle of the average lifespan of a dragon, tugged Zeridran forth, tempting him with its denser texture. That must have been collected right after she had an orgasm powerful enough to squirt that inebriating honey out. His heart all but threatened to flutter out of his chest, unable to take in all that trembling excitement quaking through his body. The persistent swings of his already precum-dribbling cock lessened the sharp focus necessary to fish the vial out with his tail and bite off its cork, so the drake stepped away from the ladder of vials while attempting to calm himself.
"Exciting, aren't they? Each carrying the promise of a different fantasy."
Lardran.
Zeridran forgot the coyote was still here, his focus so narrow his presence completely slipped his mind? He should have felt great shame at how his partner stared at his hanging erection, so obvious in its desperate need built over a week, but such feelings no longer ailed him. That was the truth of it, the one he had futilely tried to hide from the only being who cared enough to do something about it.
"I'm not going to be here for the grand show, don't you worry," Lardran patted the side of his neck, his warm, gentle touch lifting more of that weight associated with such episodes of glaring weakness. "Unless you want me to."
"You have better things to do than watch me...you know..." Zeridran's verve faltered, the tightness of his erection, the surging throbs already readying his seed for expulsion merely from stealing glimpses of that lubricated hole thinning his initiative.
While Lardran's intentions to abolish his dragon's lusts in a safe, pleasurable and far more suitable manner for a male were genuine, penetrating guilt gnawed at Zeridran's stomach. It was the same that plagued him while he pondered the use of the toy, the one that often whispered into his ear what despicable creature he was to almost ejaculate at the prospect of smelling a dragoness' vaginal discharge.
He wanted it though--no, needed it. The urgency to inhale that mind-rattling aroma, the instinct to thrust and mate and rid himself of his pent-up seed raged like a tempest in his young mind. With a machine ready to turn the contents of that vial into enveloping vapors, he would be one of the very few males who could mount a female of such respectable status and age. In this war, most dragons died young, with the older, war-forged females kept under tight scrutiny and sheltered into lavish homes, all of their wants tended to in exchange of furthering their lineage.
"Guess it's clear what we go for," Lardran's sudden voice spooked Zeridran to awareness, as did his alert steps. Without even waiting for his confirmation, he picked the target Zeridran ogled, dumped its contents down into the tube connected to the vapor generating machine, and turned it on.
The smell hit Zeridran harder than he ever believed it possible. Not even a second after the device whirred to life, the thick miasma of raw pheromones, preserved in their strongest state, flooded Zeridran's nostrils, choking control and reason out of him. The dragon reeled on his feet, light coughs and hisses clashing with the lower, settling buzz of the device that now tried to draw out this overwhelming experience.
"I'll...outside while you....khhahh, this stinks!"
The coyote's fleeing silhouette was little more than a passing distraction to the dragon's abused senses. It did stink, yes, but in the greatest, most entrancing of ways. With every puff of stronger, tighter curl of mist the machine ejaculated from its exhaust grate, Zeridran discerned more of its unique touches, his brain overcome by the myriad of stimuli. His breeding instinct immediately tried to piece them together, to assess clues related to her health, species, receptiveness, an exercise in futility in the absence of a living womb to take in his life-giving seed.
Zeridran sucked in that strangling odor in a deep, ravenous breath, roaring his approval of it with wood-rattling intensity. It had so many layers to it; so many subtleties wrapped in its prickly musk or tucked deep within the rougher, staler undertones. Its sharp bite and heaviness would have upended the stomach of the soft-nosed coyote, but to a young male unaccustomed to such piercing fragrance, that smelled like the grandest opportunity in his life.
Completely caught in the vices of whichever dragoness bewitched him, Zeridran rushed to close in the distance between the two of them, his overeager paws almost tripping within one another. Once there, he wasted not a single breath in testing its stability, wings unfurling to stabilize his rearing form that guided him over his target.
"Grraaarrr!" The lust-addled dragon's feral cry burst out of him as he rammed his chest against the mount, almost tossing it forward with his might. Its legs skidded a few inches before they regained their stability, an opportunity that Zeridran used to slide the finer scales lining his stomach over it and hug his partner snug against his belly.
The gentle hold did not last. Spurred by the primordial need to seed this female as soon as possible, before any interruption put distance between her back and his belly, the drake slammed his forepaws into its sides. Claws sank halfway into the tough leather, the outline of his muscles rippling through his soot-colored scales from the strength he employed in pressing against it, all so that it stood fast in anticipation of the penetration.
Her drowning aroma smothered whatever manners and sensibilities he still possessed, giving way to a rough, almost feral creature intent on fulfilling but one need. Every time the short, barely controllable sway of his hips failed to lodge him into his target, the motion lost even more of its accuracy, the precum-smearing tip of his throbbing cock all too desperate to finally feel that sinking rush. The fallacy continued for a few more attempts, every glancing blow off his mark worsening his odds to finally make it. With the smell of heat engulfing all that Zeridran knew, even the tough surface of the mount felt adequate to ram and hump against, his overstimulated member barely registering the difference.
If only he could get that image out of his head! Of Lerranya's supple, inviting form wiggling her rump at him, drenched pussy leaking its fluids down on the ground in thick, awfully arousing strings. All he felt was her still form beneath him, conquered not by his claws pressed into her flanks, but by his ravenous need to breed. Her needy hum rippled through his ears as her scent grew ever stronger, ever thicker, stripping away the young dragon's inhibition one by one, until no more excuses kept his thick, fertile seed from her thirsty, receptive womb.
Zeridran registered her silence as the ultimate sign of approval for their union. She minded not that his claws drove tight into her scales, the thin droplets of slithering blood anointing the strength of this pair. She cared not that it took him forever to find his mark, for nothing got her purring louder than a male struck by the dire--even violent--need to cum. With each louder whimper and softening whine, Zeridran desperately tried to find his way into her, to finally taste the enrapturing feeling of her soft, wet pussy squeezing the loneliness out of his virgin cock. But his resolve dwindled, his endurance faltered, and his vocalizations dwindled down, readying for that final, earsplitting burst of primal passion.
Then, all of a sudden, it happened. Instead of tough rump, his cock met the feeble resistance of squelching lips, squeezing its way through them and into her passage, the barbs lining his shaft scratching fluids off her lightly ridged walls on the way in.
The dragon's back arched, wings coming down around him to grab his partner as he filled her to the brim with the entirety of his throbbing, erect meat. The sheer tightness of her vent, the wetness, the constant twitching motions of that dainty interior already attempting to milk him dry all came together in stripping Zeridran of every ounce of resistance.
Frozen inside the first pussy he entered, the drake's haunches shivered, claws scratching and tearing at the mount's surface in sheer ecstasy. His breath cut short, tears streaming from the corner of his eyes from the strain of bliss inflicted upon his young, untested mind. He couldn't last. His spade, his barbs, the bloating surface of his entire, far too sensitive member all to eager to unload his seed...it felt nigh impossible to try to withstand it. To somehow shrug off the smell of heavy, all too potent arousal entrapping his senses or deny the effectiveness with which the machine's insides pressed and squeezed and stroke every inch of his malehood.
To ensure that his female remained where she ought to be--beneath him--Zeridran's jaws snapped forward, teeth sinking into the cold, lifeless, dust-caked leather lining the semblance of a female's neck. He seized her good, trembling fangs searching for the most proper area to seize, only to let go in the next moment, when his yowl washed over the passion wounds inflicted upon her. Laden with the gratitude of being allowed inside and equal amounts of sorrow at surrendering to her without much of a struggle, Zeridran's cry lost its strength gradually, weakened by the mighty jets of his seed blasting into the trembling walls of his partner.
The first few spurts almost blacked out his conscience, the pleasure of expulsing his seed while having his whole shaft milked for its contents potent beyond his comprehension. He had never been so hard, nor had he ejaculated so much seed in a single burst that his cock seemed aflame with an all too pleasant, mind-reeling sting. He could almost hear his efforts patter the insides of his female like torrential rain, the pheromones swimming all around him motivating him to do better.
Zeridran's left hind paw latched on the rump of the mounting device, toes curled inward to drive his talons into it. With the extra leverage, he was afforded a shallow, thrusting motion in and out of the quaking orifice, the stimulation rushing through his grinding barbs so rich, so fulfilling, so extraordinary in the depth of its sensations. The drake only lasted for five more shots before his might wavered, collapsing on top of the mounting device. The vapor generating machine, along with the shelf holding the vials, tumbled over the floor, the glass recipients shattering upon impact to add their bouquet to the already stuffy air of the barn reeking of female climax.
"Mrahhhhhhhh," a long, fulfilled gasp fled the drake's numb but satisfied frame, the constricting motions of the machine's interior easing the last of his seed out of him. He saw it now through the gaps of his unusually heavy eyelids. He felt it against his belly, too smooth, too flat, too convenient to be Lerranya or any other female. And yet, he still slumped against it, almost ready to topple to the side into exhausted slumber were it not for the sharp sheer and jarring clapping of hands.
"Thaaat's it. That's a good boy right here," Grenn's light slap on his haunch would have sent him flying into the hay, had his tail obeyed. "Look at the size of that bag, bloated close to bursting with the thick, yellow-tinted seed of a male who needs several times inside a female to smooth things out."
Zeridran barely processed his words, his lazy gaze settling on Lardran whose arms crossed over the middle of his tunic, a concerned, almost anxious look on his face.
"I couldn't take the risk. Not so soon. And Grenn--he knows how to operate the machine in case of....you know."
How could he not?! Just how little did his partner think of him?
With what little strength Zeridran amassed from the flood of anger, the drake wrestled himself out of the still twitching walls of the seed-plastered vagina, reeling and collapsing onto his side.
"Oy, careful not to hurt yourself," the ever-concerned Grenn rushed to his underbelly, his hands quick to land on the wet surface of his cock and scoop the last thread of seed dangling from his tip to clear it. "Everything went well, I take it?"
Zeridran winced, hissed and almost snapped at the wolf, bothered by how his clean hand kneaded below his spade to milk a few final droplets of stagnant seed. Without as much as a pause, he brought it to his muzzle to sniff and lick it off, lips contorting at the pungency of it no doubt.
"Grrr, you..." he waggled a finger at him, "needed this. Desperately, I might add."
Much to his mortification, Zeridran found his cock tingling with arousal at how the wolf seemed to favor the taste of a heavy-smelling slime that often turned his stomach. While his hind paws tucked to protect his shrinking member from further assaults, Grenn unmounted the collection recipient filled close to its limit with his overabundant seed.
"I'll take care of this. You boys sort things out in the meantime. I'd start with the machine's interior, for when dragon seed gets dry....well, you two ought to know."
His parting grin unnerved Zeridran. It alluded to an ulterior motive, very likely related to the promise Lardran made him. Did it matter? Should he even care?
With their guest gone--hopefully for good--Zeridran slumped to the side, his head so light it could soar into a dream at any moment now.
"That type of male, huh?" Lardran chuckled, his mirth short lasting upon noticing the shattered vials, their fluids splattered. His stomach already heaved, tail almost fleeing between his legs.
"Go ahead. Be typical. See how that well suits you if Grenn's connections come through. Wouldn't you like this to be just the aperitif to far broader opportunities?"
The notion twisted Zeridran's gut, for if his seed took hold inside a female, the outcome would solely linger in his mind. And yet, his wing came down to shield his tip from peeking forth, spent as it was, for in the end, desire outmatched duty. Such was the life of a scout, seeking pleasure wherever it was to be found without pondering too much on it. More than anything, he wanted to feel her licks, the rustle of scales against his, the piercing warmth of her throbbing pussy begging for his seed in the clearest, most arousing of ways...
***End of chapter 2***
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