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The Tender and the Sire

For Dreixes

By Draconicon

Dilys smiled as she entered the temple library, ducking her head beneath the eight-foot arch that marked the entryway. The tile-stone floor stretched off in two curved hallways as well as into the atrium ahead. There was no sign of the clan's Stud-Sire, so she took the left of the hallways. They both led to the same room on the far side of the temple, and neither was any longer than the other.

The maned wolf cupped the potion that hung from her belt, each stride carrying her further forward than most would be able to manage with three. The potion inside was from the clan's witch ally, far off in the forest. The long journey to get this dose - the third for the Stud-Sire in his life - would hopefully be worth it. She could not imagine it being anything but worth it, though; the witch had never let them down, and the immortal had dosed her dear Aneirin's father, and his father, and his father before that. It was due to her, as a matter of fact, that the Stud-Sires were able to continue their duties rather than having to search for one far-afield.

The potion, after all, changed something in their orbs. It kept their seed fresh, potent, and most importantly, just different enough so that the various generations were sufficiently new and unlike each other to avoid the problems of...older times. Dilys shook her head as she imagined what might have happened with the young ones without that, and hurried on.

The red and white maned wolf was about to reach for the stone door to the library where a great crash echoed loud enough to escape the sealed room. She winced as the door thumped just after, easily imagining the heavy tome sliding down the other side.

"Again, dear?"

Shaking her head, she delicately nudged the glass vial further down her belt before opening the door. Her leather corset creaked slightly as she bowed her head beneath the door before standing up at her full ten feet of height. She loomed over the various rows of books in the library, the domed ceiling arching overhead as the aisles of books - none more than seven feet high at the top shelf and with a great deal of ladders scattered about - stretched out before her. At the far end, the Stud-Sire of the clan - a fennec by the name of Aneirin - slumped back petulantly against a pile of books that had clearly just slid out of order with each other.

A simple glance over his head confirmed her suspicions. The tanned fennec had attempted to open the window to escape the library, and had found it locked. Such frustration had probably led to a stomped foot, followed by the loud kerfuffle that she'd heard. Shaking her head, she made her way down the aisles, her steps more delicate than her homeward march had been.

"Dear, dear, must you try this every day?" she asked.

"I want to be part of the clan."

"You are, dear. But you can't be there all the time."

"I can do more than learn."

"Can you till the soil with tools more than two-thirds your height? Hunt with a bow twice your size? Ride a horse that would crush you before its knee?"

"..."

"Dearest one, you are not ready for the world outside, and you never will be. But that is fine. It is not for you to go to it, but for it to come to you."

It was clear that he didn't like that phrase. His large ears were tilted back, sad and petulant, and his arms were crossed over his bare chest. He looked at her, and then at himself, at his exposed body and everything else.

"Can't I at least be dressed?"

"And hide your glory from the clan? My dear, my dearest Aneirin, why would you punish us so?"

She knelt in front of him, the only way that they could ever see eye to eye. He refused to look at her, doubtlessly thinking she was mocking him. He always said that he felt that the praise that came from his clan was nothing more than idle flattery, a tease meant to keep him in his place.

Oh, if he only understood the awe that they held him in. So small, so soft, such a beautiful male with his gold and tan fur that was long and fluffy, so easy to run one's fingers through and so soft to feel against one's body. He was smaller than them, but that mattered not. Not with the thoughts that he shared with the children, nor with the way that he provided such children to them.

She leaned in closer, gently cupping his head. Even with her delicate fingers, they were large enough to circle his muzzle twice-over, and she tilted his head up to face her with ease. She smiled, kissing his lips.

"My Aneirin, Stud-Sire. Do you remember when we were the same size?"

"...Yes."

"Do you remember when my mother brought me to you, when you were twenty-five, and I was merely five?"

"...I do."

"I remember. And I remember what I told you, too. That you were the most brilliant fox in the entire clan, and -"

"And that you would be happy to carry my cubs, one day."

"Yes. Stud-Sire." She kissed him again, and he melted slightly into her embrace, his icy pout fading into something of an unwanted smile. "And soon, that time will come. I've reached my age of majority, and my blood has passed. I imagine you will fill me before the month is out."

"You're the one to decide -"

"No, Stud-Sire. You are. We take care of things. We care for the clan, for the food, for the borders...but you care for the future. You choose when we lay, and when my belly will swell."

She gently pulled him to his feet, though she remained on her knees. It didn't change much; he was slightly taller than her now, and that would change the moment that she stood up, too. For now, she enjoyed the view, the soft fur, the soft tail that wagged slowly, and between his legs, the prize that would be hers in some few short days.

Her hand dropped to his shaft, barely poking out of its sheath as it did so often these days. He was less lecherous than her mother had described him, something that had probably come out of age. She heard that males were less likely to leap on the females whenever they wanted as time went on, but she had hoped that he might still have some fire for her. The females talked about it so often, describing their Stud-Sire's younger years with bliss. They declared him a force of nature, almost feral in bed.

She had a hard time seeing him as that, these days. He was merely into his forties, still virile and likely to be for another decade, at least, but he had none of the fire that they described. The few matings with his daughter-warriors that she had seen had been simple affairs, where they straddled him and rode while he looked...almost pained, now that she thought of it. Pained, and bored.

Perhaps decades of sex on demand was less pleasurable for one person responsible for an entire clan than it was for the clan that benefited from it. She shook her head, lowering her nose to his groin.

The soft furs there were more golden than tan, and if his shaft was less lively, his balls still churned with the seed of a proper Stud-Sire. She pressed her head to it, breathing in the soft musk that clung to it through endless washings, and as she ground her face against it, teasingly lifting it over her muzzle, she could feel the stirring of life that such tribute gave it. Dilys pressed her ears to the side of his sac, and heard the dull sloshing of the seed within, eagerness personified, merely waiting for an appropriate vessel.

She looked up at her Stud-Sire, pleased to see his shaft rising. Slowly, the maned wolf got back to her feet, and she drew him up with her, carrying him in her arms with ease. Her hand drifted down once more, cupping his balls just as easily as her other arm supported him.

"This is important, Stud-Sire. You must care for these. We grow through your virility; we prosper through your knowledge and your care for the next generation."

"I know..."

"We love you."

"...I know."

He hugged her, and she carried him from the library through the halls. There were other females, some that were mothers to the Stud-Sire, some daughters, some that were of his generation. The various females all watched their passage, a hint of worry in some of the older eyes that she assuaged with a nod.

He would be alright. It was somewhat common, she'd heard, for males of a certain age to wonder what else there was in the world. It was so much easier when they were younger; offer them a hole, and they would question nothing. Their bodies were eager, their minds secondary. It was easier to keep them focused on breeding then than at any other time of their lives, and harder to make them focus on the actual 'Sire' part of the title.

But as they got older, they thought more. They were no longer so eager to test their limits. They had found them, and they stayed within them.

Perhaps...that could be a thing.

She carried him to the bedroom, her bedroom rather than his, and laid him upon her bed. He looked around, at a loss and so small within her blankets. She stood over him, slowly pulling off her top, her breasts falling free. The cool air stiffened her nipples as she loomed over him, the light of the hallway turning to shadow under her and upon him.

"Dilys?" he asked.

"I cannot mate with you yet...but I can give you other things."

"...O-other things?"

"Let me show you how great a treasure your seed is..."

And so, she lowered herself to her knees, stretching over the foot of her bed. Such was her height that she could reach his sac from there, and she slowly dragged her tongue across the churning orbs. It took little to get him hard, but she did not stop.

It was time to show him how much these precious things were treasured, even if he could not believe that he was as valuable as they were. Her Stud-Sire, her father, deserved that recognition.

The End

Summary: A maned wolf returns to speak to her Stud-Sire about a potion. She is quickly side-tracked.

Summary: M/F, Size Difference, Maned Wolf, Fennec, One Male, Many Females, Incest, Ball Play, Worship, Nudity, Condescension, Age Difference, Father, Daughter,