Cynder's hatchday surprise
This is a short story commission I've written for: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/rezzek789/
Description: While away on a pilgrimage meant to bring her comfort for past transgressions, Cynder is welcomed back in Warfang by a roaring crowd of adoring masses.
But she's not yet ready to face them. At least, not before pouncing Spyro to consummate their pent-up lust.
Spyro and Cynder belong to their respective franchise
***Cynder's hatchday surprise***
So many people. So many species! And they were all here not for him, but for Cynder!
Spyro's heart fluttered wildly in his chest, keeping him on top of a euphoric wave. They...cherished her, enough to bring gifts as if to appease a goddess. Without Hunter and the other three guardian dragons to maintain a semblance of order, this would have turned into complete disarray, but the cheetah had his charm, the guardians had their stature, and the temple's staff knew most of those who came by name, ushering them forward one by one.
It helped to have hands. Spyro allowed the bipeds to help with everything that his mouth couldn't grab, sharing his gratefulness in as many ways as there were faces in the crowd. Though he started with simple, one or two words sentences, he progressively enhanced his repertoire until it included blessings, a touch that the temple's higher devotees found unfit.
"Blessings are not dried figs you dole out to mellow down rowdy children," the high priestess chided him by pretending to stroke his nape, only for her claws to sink through the small gaps between scales. In one swift move, she succeeded in revealing her close relationship to Spyro to the crowd while subtly reminding him that even the savior of this city answered to someone. "Be a little less generous, unless you want this entire mob to flood your room with pleas and answers you do not have."
For a middle-aged feline, she certainly retained the sting of her claws and wit both.
"Priests..." Hunter whispered as soon as she gained some distance from them to attend the section of people who came here for religious matters rather than Cynder. "They'd rather worship a fictive dragon than the one in front of them."
Spyro chuckled awkwardly at that. He did not wish to be anyone's god or savior. He simply wanted to be ordinary; to relish all the things he had missed out on, mundane and extraordinary alike. Rather than dwell on how difficult it was to adjust to life in a society, Spyro straightened his shoulders, put on a jovial face and resumed the sharing of pleasantries, all while humbly accepting the tokens of appreciation meant for Cynder.
The longer the procession went on, the more hatchling sculptures, toys, blankets and questions related to the future of dragonkind he started to receive. Though initially apprehensive with Cynder due to her past, it did not take long for Warfang to warm up to her, as evidenced by the thick crowd came to pay homages to whom they had considered enemy only a few months back. She was also the only female dragon and Spyro's constant companion, so it was only a matter of time until they put the two and two together.
"Give this here," Hunter offered to help relieve Spyro of the awkwardly large basket his aching teeth tried to carry. "I think it's time to make a tactical retreat before those mole younglings start to take their turn at riding you around while the single mothers educate you on the wonders of caring for little brats."
"But I have to--"
Hunter's glare begged to differ. He understood people far better than Spyro. Give them too much gossip material, and before long, expectations started to bloom.
In order to stifle his guilt, Spyro made a grandiose exit, sharing his hopes on a future generation of dragons without delving too deep into the details. The cheers were deafening within what used to be the city of dragons. With this small step, Spyro and Cynder had the chance to set history in motion.
Only this time, they wouldn't repeat the mistakes of the past, nor elevate dragons high above the land dwellers. As shown by Warfang's cooperation and eagerness to rebuild their city, society always worked better when dragons were respected and loved rather than feared for their devastating power.
Within the temple, the priests interrupted their usual rituals to arrange Cynder's presents into different categories depending on their type. The biggest section belonged to boxes, covered baskets, bags, satchels and other recipients that did not immediately betray their contents. His curiosity tingled, but his budding anxiousness with how Cynder's pilgrimage fared led him to the privacy of their chamber at the top of the temple.
No servants remained inside, all of them busy with the boisterous crowd down below. Exhausted with today's overwhelm, Spyro flopped amidst the many pillows of his bed, hugging Cynder's favorite, a purple one threated with gold. Eleven days later, and it still smelled of her scales, of her plates, of her paws.
Of her sex.
Even a single whiff of it was enough to stir Spyro's underbelly muscles into a throbbing frenzy, coaxing him out of his vent, all too eager to share his building passion with her. He had had to restrain himself from humping this pillow one too many times, his sleep troubled by erotic dreams of their far too pleasant time together.
He made promise, however. Until her return, he was to refrain from spilling even a drop of his seed. It all started as a tease, one that he willingly went into, but after the first few days, Spyro realized his love for her far outweighed fleeting delights.
Cynder...his former enemy, his grudging ally, his friend, his love, his...mate. Simply thinking of her flooded Spyro's scales with shivers of fulfillment, only for them to fade away into sinking powerlessness. He should have been there with her; to help right any misconception about her current goals and standing. Cynder, however, insisted on doing this pilgrimage alone. To approach the more remote people and cultures affected by her dark reign as a meek yet resolute dragon, reformed through the grace of forgiveness.
It stabbed at his heart, the fear of not knowing whether they accepted or rejected her. Try as he might to imagine her bestowed with gifts, Spyro found himself unable to maintain such a picture within his mind's eye, its innocent purity distorted by the scars of war he, himself, had had to heal.
"She'll find a way. She always does," he reminded himself that imperative fact. While he had an air of innocence about him, Cynder carried the pragmatism of her hardships, able to relate to people even better than his dragonfly-raised self.
He remained trapped in that melancholy for a time, too anxious to sleep, too tired to jump out of the bed and work on refining his fine earth magic manipulation. What point was there to sculpting Cynder her likeness when so many skilled artisans had done that infinitely better than he could? It took the beating of her wings, the patter of her claws to draw him out of his stupor, heart lodged up his throat from how high it soared.
"Where is everyone?" Cynder said on an even, almost aloof tone, seemingly indifferent to the cheers happening outside. "And why do all those people still line up outside while their beloved savior contemplates the humping of my favorite pillow?"
"Should I hump you instead?" Spyro tossed his hindpaws forward while hugging the pillow to his chest, not at all bothered that his shaft remained half-erect and visible. "You're spiky and scalie, while this one is soft, round and inviting..."
"I'll be round and inviting before long, give or take a few months," her emerald eyes met his fiery ones, confident and unapologetic for taking the initiative to becoming the mother of his young. "So you better find some ways around those spikes and horns..."
To distract herself from growing emotional, Cynder attempted to unstrap the assortment of satchels, bags and tailbags tied to her tail and harness. They all had different colors, fashioned from different materials, some of which were quite spectacular, such as cloth embroidered with the likeness of small dragons inspired after their colors.
How would those people even...
"They expected you to visit, so naturally, they made me their mail carrier. The price for rendered services is the best and longest massage your paws can deliver."
Though he wished to tease her about the difficulty of accepting that people cherished her as well and reveal that the crowd outside celebrated her hatchday, Spyro reconsidered. First, free her body. Secondly, the massage. And third...
Spyro's mind didn't need to conceive that, for her strong scent made it impossible to overlook the elevated state of her heat. It smelled fierce and sharp, like her personality, roughened by her dislike of licking herself down there. To Spyro's addled male mind, he found the spicier odor far more appealing, to the point where he longed to clean her himself instead of letting the water wash that poignant proof of fertility.
The moment he approached Cynder with timid steps and an ever-swelling erection, the female suddenly stiffened, shifting into her grandiose pose, neck and wings straight, tail still and even but for her twitching tail tip. Spyro found it hard to fault her for her change in demeanor. Eleven days were the longest they spent separated, and a year wasn't enough to form a lasting bond, according to Hunter. Perhaps she still wrestled with the way in which she wished to approach their mateship, so that he wouldn't assault her like a slobbering mutt and profess his love to her whenever they got separated for a time.
"How...were you?" That paused to swallow her distaste in making short, meaningless conversation.
"I missed you," Spyro answered earnestly with the first thing that came to his mind while working on releasing clasps, undoing knots and unlatching buckles. "I didn't obsess over you enough to warrant the dreams in which we mated, so I consider myself unjustly tortured."
"Perhaps you deserve it for being so weak-minded. And I too, I suppose...," warmth began to return to her voice as her paw reluctantly shifted over his for a split second before she lifted it. "There have to be ways to subdue this heat; to keep it from stifling the clarity of my thoughts."
"There is the obvious solution..." Spyro released her last strap, easing the burden off her, completely disinterested in petty trinkets when in the presence of all that he longed for.
"Then why did I wake up alone and with a soaked underbelly?" Cynder teased as she began looking around their chamber for new additions or improvements. "We won't always be together, and I don't wish to fantasize about that which I cannot have. Not even while I dream."
Harsh but relatable for an independent personality like her. How she relented to Spyro's affection, he had yet to begin to grasp. Maybe Hunter's hypothesis was right all along, that he practically entrapped her into a relationship by being her sole friend and the only dragon close to her size. Had she said this prior to their first mating, he would have been shivering with every scale, but now...now, he retained his bearing, joining her rather than contemplating her state of mind.
"Aurenna can help with that. She's tethered to no male, yet she has more experience with affection than both of us combined."
"Perhaps," Cynder stated, taking an interest in various objects Spyro brought in, as well as the filling of two of their rooms with materials and implements necessary to hone his magic skills without leaving the comfort of their chamber. "And where is the fire practice room?"
Spyro pointed with his snout at her rear. "I could start tame that fire first."
"Hrrh," Cynder snarled, revolted with the pettiness of that jape. "One more, and I'll fly straight to Aurenna."
"If you're in heat, how come you are so cold?"
Cynder pounced him for that, her ready fangs drooling saliva on his exposed throat. "You can't be this dense."
"I'd offer you a massage, but you're already warmed up."
His earth barrier got between him and Cynder's aggression, forcing the dragoness to bounce back into a combat stance.
"I don't want to make you piss yourself minutes after our reunion."
"My quips are already shocking enough, so no effort necessary on my part."
That got through to her, enough so that her next pounce was promptly followed by one lick that turned into far too many to count. Spyro hugged her tight in return, forgetting about the state of his erection, too busy to focus on his kissing training to make sure he didn't disappoint.
"Urrh..." Cynder drew back, puzzled by how his tongue attempted to hold hers while their nostrils touched. "Leave those for later. If I want an experienced male, I'd get Hunter."
That never failed to irritate Spyro. Harmless as it sounded, he always had to name at least flaw of his to make him look less of an appealing prospect. Hearing him play the role of the threatened male always rose Cynder's spirits, enough to tease his shaft with the shocking warmth of her plump vent.
"No ejaculation? Are eleven days enough to break your promise?"
Of course she knew the answer from his powerful and persistent throbs, but that didn't stop her from reminiscing their first time and its surprising outcome. No matter how much they both learned in terms of lovemaking from biped friends, that first attempt would never fade from memory.
"Why wait out on you when an entire city desires me?"
"And yet here you are..." Cynder backed away, all so that she could even the ground between them and offer him equal opportunity to charm her.
"And yet here I am," Spyro said, wincing at how awkward it felt to get up with an erection at times.
She called at her mate with soft, inviting growls, shifting between the mesmerizing look of her alluring gaze and the moist, flushed state of her heat-stricken vent. Difficult, so difficult! Which one to kiss first?
Spyro strolled over to her, seeking to hug her with a wing, only for Cynder to playfully shove it aside.
"Wrong," she brought back that old game of theirs where guessing one's intention earned them a boon, while mistakes allowed the other party to take the lead. "I'm in heat. Why would I care more for silly wing gestures when my underbelly has been moist for days?" She strolled out in front of him, her silver claws tapping against the smooth marble floor, joined by the softer sounds of arousal trailing down her thighs, dripping like beads of translucent honey.
"You're not this type either, to take what you want."
In an instant, the graceful dragoness turned upon him, surprising him with a swift lick across his hard, sensitive tip. Spyro winced in alarmed pleasure, feeling the pointy nubs outlining the crown of his tip harden with the instinctive urge to thrust, to shove himself in, tricked by the familiarity of fleshy warmth.
"You make it so simple for me," her tongue lashed out for his bobbing cock like a frenzied eel, giggling at how poor a defense he mounted. "A male that doesn't act like a male."
All the better for it, to let his partner choose the best course of action. No effort, maximum reward. Yet again, this outcome proved him true, for Cynder immediately rubbed cheeks with him, leading him into their version of a kiss where they just licked at their snouts while taking turns. It did not take long for Cynder to develop stronger appetites, slowly making her way down between his legs to reanimate his softening cock by nuzzling and licking its tender surface. Droplets of precum clung to it, arching into a gooey bridge as Cynder's tongue rolled his clean fluids into her mouth while a throaty purr warbled within her throat.
"Interrupt me if you get close. I want it inside me, not on my face."
Whatever awkward reply Spyro wished to deliver, it got chocked between a soft gasp and a passion-filled moan. His breaths rolled past his slackened jaws in ragged bursts, hindpaws and tail twitching whenever his mate's tongue returned to his wet, glossy tip. Cynder caught more of his male fragrance against her tongue, rolling her eyelids halfway across her striking emerald to veil her guilty pleasure at enjoying his taste enough to keep at it for longer than just a short-lived foreplay.
"It's...it feels so..." Spyro's words got swept away by a throaty growl. Just one word. That was all he had to deliver. It was fine. It was okay. It was erotic, even!
He couldn't. Not while Cynder had full dominion over him, as in the case of any female with her forepaws flanking a male's cock, sly eyes bearing into his. She enjoyed the control; to witness how even the faintest touch of her tongue's tip was enough to rock his entire body. More than that, she savored his pent-up taste, that of unbridled loyalty to his mate's preference to only finish inside her.
Spyro's wings trembled and shook as she started to lick across his entire length, exploring more of those delectable fleshy nubs that always seemed to scratch away her itch of need. Slowly, tantalizingly, she dragged her tongue up to the tip and then all the way back to his slit regardless of his whimper. Once there, she pushed her tongue past the muscular slit, feeling around the hard flesh inside. The male growled softly, kicking a hind leg, snapping both forepaws over his muzzle to prevent an embarrassingly sharp cry.
Cynder, like always, refused to relent. She wriggled her tongue this way and that, extracting great pleasure from how she made the great Spyro squirm.
"Mmm," she paused right when his nubs and ridges tightened amidst foreboding throbs. "I think that's enough of getting reacquainted with your smell."
A long, drawn-out sigh of relief left Spyro. This got too close to an embarrassing and far too early finish. Yet, just as he expected his lust to die down, his cock shot to awareness with a wild swing, brought about by Cynder's raising form. Where she laid down, a puddle of her sharp-scented heat remained, reaching for her vent through the persistent strand of goo snapped by the calm stroll of her majestic body. Every scale in Spyro's body burned with fervent need to pin her down. To feast on her enchanting honey and push his tongue deep inside to slurp every trace of it.
Just as he was about to get up, Cynder's forepaw pressed against his chest to keep him on his back, meek and needy.
"It's my hatchday, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is," Spyro's forepaws rushed to hug and gently ease her onto her side, reverting their positions. "Which means it's my turn to take care of you."
Cynder's forepaws hugged his, pressed against her chest, as her eyes closed in anticipation.
"Don't make it too fast," she urged just as her vent twitched and shuddered, spewing a fresh wave of inebriating juices that slipped through the petite vent surrounded by overly puffy folds. "The longer it takes, the more you..."
She stopped short of that last, vulgar word, adding fuel to Spyro's arousal through her subtle teases. Few things stirred his lust more than Cynder admitting her need of him, so much so that he restrained himself from entering her by letting his tongue be the one that bathed her.
Cynder's purr grew in intensity while basking in the tingle of her scales and the shudders of her muscles under his caress. It was a slow, wonderful, intimate touch, yet she craved for the fire of instinctual passion, for the intensity of his throbs within her, for...
Cynder shook to awareness when his tongue slid across her drenched vent, disturbed from her peaceful purr by the jolt of searing pleasure. Her snarl warned Spyro to keep to the sides and avoid the middle, but with his nostrils filled with the harsh tones of persistent heat, he found it impossible to follow.
"Grawwwh," Cynder's legs spread against her will even as her wings came down around her to shield her pleasure-contorted face. Each tongue stroke teased more than the previous, like a swarm of building tickles adding to the persistent itch that only his barbs could scratch away into nonexistence. After several licks, she growled her rising lust, and when her mate pressed his muzzle against her lips to dive tongue-deep inside, her walls quivered wildly, spraying fresh arousal directly into his nostrils.
Spyro's head immediately shot back, limbs unsteady, head reeling from the hefty dose of potent pheromones drowning his sensibilities one throb of his cock at a time.
No. He did not wish to stop. Far from it. Cynder had never smelled or tasted so primal, so...intoxicating. His tongue tucked back into its meal, resuming to lick at her swollen folds with renewed vigor. He placed one front paw on the left side of her vent, fingertips dragging as much as they could to pry her vent open and loosen some of her innate tightness.
Cynder's heart pounded in her chest, the drumming growing more and more intense at the promise of the climax beginning to build within her.
"Grahh!" Spyro wrestled his soggy snout free from the fetters of wanton heat, eyes glazed, member tight and needy. Rather than share droll, lovemaking platitudes, Cynder's tail gripped his, dragging it inward to point his member right where she wanted him to be.
Inside her. Between her shivering thighs, pressed against the moist plates of her underbelly.
How was Spyro supposed to resist her inviting warble? To withstand the dizzying sight of a dragoness at the height of her heat, her sex shuddering in want of him? He could no longer deny himself this nor prolong the maddening wait of his beloved.
They roared in unison when he entered her. Cynder's frame shook with elation, every joint and limb trembling as she clamped down on his comforting tightness. The throbs cut her breaths; the scratching of barbs tugging at the ridged flesh of her walls forced her wings to flop to the sides, limp and powerless. There was no growl, no bite, to jerk of her tail to keep Spyro from fully hilting inside her. Though her clamping muscles attempted to test the extent of his desire by squeezing him tight, Spyro wriggled his way deeper into her, intent on sinking the ridges flanking the base of his shaft down to the last.
Cynder yowled as the meaty formations plopped into her one at a time. She squeezed harder, faster the more she took in, trilling in shuddering satisfaction at how wonderful it felt to be filled, to be stretched.
To be together in the truest sense of the word.
Spyro's spaded tip brushed against her innermost areas, sending jolts of fiery pleasure throughout every scale and fiber of her body. She squeezed him hard to feel every nub, every ridge, hugging him one rapid clench at a time. Her mate let out a feeble growl as he pulled out his glistening length with a wet squelch. He sniffed at his tip, drawn to the wild miasma dripping down on Cynder's belly, so much in quantity, so thick around his tip, where it gained a cloudy touch. Licking it required a much too uncomfortable stretch of his neck, so he gave up that idea to instead press his body tight against hers for a second thrust.
His eagerness got the better of him, however. In his rush to dive back in, Spyro's member missed its mark an inch shy of an inch, glancing past the swollen, all too appealing mound. The second attempt fared even worse. He slid over the slimy plates of her underbelly, ending with his tip against the inside of her left haunch, covering the midnight-colored scales in his spicier musk. Cynder angled her body to receive him, and her mate split her slit open with a quick, mighty thrust. He slid in all the way, then retreated, only to shove his weight back into her again. Her juices slipped through narrow gaps, coating her mate's belly with a glistening sheen. Some dribbled back onto her plates while the rest formed gooey bridges between her slit and her mate's member.
Cynder shuddered at the sight. At how he drew her lust out from deep within, wearing it upon the barbs scratching it off her walls. Not that she could study that for long enough, as Spyro's rigid meat once again disappeared beneath layers of constricting muscles and bubbly arousal worked up into a light foam by its sheer quantity, by the eagerness of his strokes.
Mellow, addicted whimpers resounded from deep within Cynder's throat, fangs clattering with arousal as he thrust into her, again and again. Not every attempt hit its mark, for Spyro insisted on fully pulling himself out, all so that the scraping of barbs clawing at her honey-coated walls could satisfy her fully. Cynder considered berating him for trying too hard to please her, but the missed attempts had their own allure. Watching his expression ranged from wry snarls to shocked gasps compounded upon the bliss enveloping her body, reminding her that Spyro had as much to learn on pacing as she could improve on titillating his senses.
She could help guide him, but not this time. The thought of him accidentally spurting his first wave of seed over her filled her with unexpected giddiness, for she never quite witnessed the process. She had only felt his warmth explode inside her, each subsequent wave expanding into satisfying tingles spreading throughout her entire body until she, too, found herself unable to withstand pleasure's toll.
As if to mirror her perverse desire, Spyro just happened to miss his next thrust, swaying dangerously close to a lurch that might see his belly meet up with hers.
"S--sorry," he blurted out just as his tense cock slapped against his belly. Cynder giggled at the comical sight; at how thin his usually imposing voice could get at times.
"You can always let me take the lead," she tempted him by swaying her body invitingly, aware that his male pride wouldn't settle for it.
Spyro answered by drawing his hips back, aiming lower, and thrusting again. This time, he found her entrance and pried it open with a firm push.
Cynder cooed her bliss. She rode the increasing waves of pleasure each sloppy, heated thrust brought. Her tail coiled around one of her mate's hind legs to brace herself in case her senses began to falter. Burning pleasure welled within her underbelly, deep and unfathomable. Each stroke of her mate stoked her climactic ascent, until her breath stuck in her throat due to its intensity.
Above her, the purple dragon spread open his wings. The undulating motion of his thrusts coaxed her to push her lower belly upward for better access, to ensure that his last penetration got to be the strongest, most meaningful yet. Spyro responded with a harsh, guttural growl and slammed his hips against hers.
He shoved his member all the way in, so hard and fast that Cynder shrieked in unrestrained bliss. In the past, his seed used to carry her to her peak, but her body had been starved of stimulation for so long, her lust just couldn't take it anymore. Spyro's seed begged for release as well, fiery and overwhelming, held back solely by the perverse thrill of augmenting his own orgasm to the highest reaches it could get. Her body quivered in unison with the tremors of her insides. She kneaded along her mate's length, hard and fast, until he swelled with unspent seed and stretched out her tight walls. He teetered on the edge of release. All it took was one last squeeze from Cynder.
Then, he burst with a frail whimper, unable to hold back a second longer.
Cynder roared against the hot, piercing flood. Her insides trembled and squeezed to milk his seed, desperate to stimulate its flow and ensure its richest production yet. Fiery ripples of elation washed through her, breaking her roar into stuttering whimpers. Her paws curled in on themselves, and her tail coiled around the first hard thing she grasped, which happened to be Spyro's hind paw. Each spurt of seed stung, and tickled, and burned with fiery pleasure, urging Cynder to relax, let go, and breathe.
Spyro didn't let her recover. Driven to the feral point to breed life into his female, he pulled back all the way in anticipation of a mighty shove, with only his tip meant to remain securely lodged between her folds. The momentum carried him further back than anticipated, so much so that his cock slipped completely free of those clamping insides keeping it still.
Once out in the open, violent jerks and throbs accompanied every rope of thick, pent-up seed Spyro ejaculated, his control over the impulse of his body as dim as his foggy vision. It was obscene, for his eyelids to shutter every time his cock slapped against his belly. It was alarming that all he could smell was now the salty tang of his essence, spewed all over his beloved instead of directed where it mattered most. Shock alone cut through Spyro's paralyzing pleasure, if only enough to let him witness the outcome of his mindless act.
And it didn't stop! It couldn't stop! Every time he throbbed, new reserves of seed rushed to his tip prior to their completely erratic expulsion. Creamy, drooling lines painted Cynder's plates in jagged zig zags. Round splotches welled within the creases of her wings. Ivory snakes trailed down her thighs and down to the base, its texture gooey and sticky, its smell overpowering.
It was only towards the end that Spyro regained his composure, enough so that his malehood found its mark amidst Cynder's numerous snorts of surprise. Some of it caught her across the snout, causing Spyro's stomach to lurch upon witnessing her tongue wiping it clean. It...couldn't taste good, could it?
And yet, Cynder's purr had yet to falter, her body swimming amidst the euphoric waves lapping at the edges of her conscience. He could feel from her fading shudders that she had expended all her strength, and in a way, so did he. It took far longer than before, for even those weakly, final throbs were enough to push out a few gobs more of seed or let out a delayed spurt. Excess fluids fled along her side to pool onto the clean marble floor. Though Spyro's cock fit her in a snug manner, even his girth wasn't enough to plug the trickling rivulets sneaking past his softening ridges. More spilled past her folds with each faint spurt or contraction as her muscles continued to squeeze, grab, and release her mate's member.
Cynder craned her neck to lick at his flared nostrils. His tongue met hers for a brief touch and retreated back into his half-opened maw, struck by a pang of guilt. This...wasn't how it was supposed to end, but he was too drained to think, and too awestruck by Cynder's impassiveness towards it to protest. He shivered with the strain of mating, barely able to keep his footing after ejaculating so hard, and in such great quantities. She comforted him with licks across his neck and nuzzles under his chin until his member shrunk enough to come out. As soon as that happened, he crashed on his side not a moment after, his eyes half closed and his breath sporadic.
He was exhausted. And so was she, for better or worse.
Cynder followed his example, too heavy with the seed he had pumped into her to take immediate action. What should he do? What could he offer to make it right? He could never wrap his head around the manipulation of water, nor did he possess any reasonable explanation as to why he failed to adhere to her sole request.
To keep it simple and unsophisticated.
Every second spent inhaling the tart scent of himself created new anxious thoughts that swarmed his mind, all related to Cynder's perception of this...this...
"You had so much inside you, enough to fill me twice over."
"Thanks," Spyro's mouth responded well ahead of his mind, forcing his wongs to shutter in shame.
Cynder chuckled. She...she found it...harmless?
"If this is the outcome of eleven days worth of wait, perhaps I should never leave for more than four days at a time."
"That is for the best," he once again spoke out of turn, realizing how pathetic this sounded in the next second.
But it was true. So true, that he'd do his utmost to ensure his lust never rose to such embarrassing levels.
***The End***
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