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A Hiking Mishap

Written by Amethyst Mare (Arian Mabe)

Glyn turned his muzzle up to the clear blue sky and beamed as the mountain breeze played across his fur. The anthro lynx's fluffy grey coat boasted an underbelly of snowy white and he brushed the flat of his paws back over his skull to briefly flatten his black tipped, smoothing the fur in the correct direction. He grinned fiercely as he stared back down the path he had travelled up the mountain, a winding route through evergreen trees and his own footsteps betraying where his boots had trodden. Fresh ground. Kicking a sod of mud from the underside of his boot, Glyn's tail lashed and he hitched his worn backpack more comfortably upon his shoulders.

He could not think of a better way to spend a Saturday than clad in his comfortable beige hiking trousers, loose enough to allow him flexibility of motion, and a light jacket. Summer was coming to an end and it was only constant motion that kept the nip of Autumn from stinging his lungs, cold air tantalising upon his fur. He knew it would not be long before snow covered even the lowest slopes of the mountains he so loved to lose himself in and each and every hike would become ever more treacherous. But that was what picks and ropes were for, along with his extensive set of winter gear. His whiskers quivered as he imagined the new valleys and beauties he would discover, crouching in the snow as a wolf pack howled, playing with the knife edge of danger.

It was all Glyn knew and the only way through which he knew how to live. Carrying on, the lynx strode up the slope, gradient ever increasing. His legs burned and he relished in the challenge for his body, jaw set firmly against the harsh landscape he traversed. His blue eyes were sharp in a nest of slashed black markings and he stroked the tuft of fur beneath his muzzle as he pondered, mind at peace to sift through the happenings of the week. Sarah had asked him if he had wanted to go to club - a club? ­- that Saturday night and, of course, he had had to decline. Besides having hiking already on the agenda, Glyn always chose his own company over that of somebody else's.

He could have invited Sarah to come along with him, that was true, he thought as his pace up the mountain increased with the flurry of his thoughts. But hiking was only fun to him if there was not another soul around. And, as it was, he could have been the last fur in the world with but nature for company.

Stepping up on to an outcrop of rock, Glyn's tail swung lazily from side to side as he stared down into an impossibly green valley, a river cutting straight through the centre as if it had been placed there by grand design. Trees of lesser courage dotted the valley, taking advantage of shelter where it was offered, and the lynx's nose twitched as he scented smaller animals amongst the greenery, small mammals in abundance. A herd of deer drank from the stream but they were too far away for Glyn to discern what type they were from such a distance, as much as he squinted.

The deer raised their heads as one, white tails flashing. Glyn stilled, muscles tense. What had they spotted? He scanned the valley, yet could sense no danger. Even the wind had stilled, bar a low whistle that echoed through the valley with a strange persistency. The fir trees shivered.

Otherwise, the land was perfectly peaceful. The lynx shook his head. Perhaps the deer were frightened by a lingering scent by the water, or a pack of wolves in the distance. It would not be the first time he had encountered wolves and he knew well enough how to deal with them. Stroking his whiskers, the lynx smiled.

The whistling died and chaos erupted.

The deer scattered and the peace was shattered by a deafening roar that shook Glyn to his very bones. The lynx staggered, eyes wide as a crimson dragon - however had that beast concealed itself for such a time? - plummeted from the sky, flaring its wings out a few metres above Glyn's head. Curving across the valley, it angled a wing and spared the fleeing deer a passing glance, sunlight glinting off scarlet scales. The lynx scrambled away from the ledge but it was too late: the deer had never been the dragon's true target.

Hissing as the beast dove at him, the lynx turned on his heel and fled, only to be knocked bodily into the ground by the swipe of a claw. A line of pain flared across his back and the metallic stench of blood stung his nostrils. The lynx crashed to the dirt and rolled, heart hammering in his chest, lungs searing with flashing pain as he strove to rake in lost breath.

It was a lost cause. With a rumble that could almost have been laughter, the dragon landed heavily on all four legs a pace away from the lynx and lowered its head to Glyn's level, one amber eye staring unblinkingly. The pupil was but a slit and Glyn shoved his body back over the ground, kicking out wildly as if that would do any good. Blood roared in his ears and the dragon folded its leathery wings in to its back with a creak of supple flesh and hardened muscle.

The size of a draft horse, the dragon was small for its kind with a tail tapering off in a spade-shaped tip. It stalked boldly over the lynx and shoved its muzzle into the feline's chest, huffing a warm breath, which stung of smoke and burned flesh, over him.

Glyn closed his eyes and waited for the end.

The end, however, did not come. Chuffing, the dragon nosed down his body, nostrils flaring as it took in his scents. The backpack pressed awkwardly into the lynx's back as he shrank away, a steel travelling flash digging in between his shoulder blades. Appearing more curious than aggressive, the dragon nipped at Glyn's trousers, cutting a hole from one jagged fang in them, though not touching flesh. Chest tight, the lynx watched the beast carefully, legs drawn up so that his boots were flat on the ground. Perhaps he could ease away if the dragon was not intent on killing him immediately? Rolling on to his stomach in slow motion, Glyn crept to his knees, tail trembling yet otherwise still and quiet. He had much to lose by any sudden movement.

Growling, the dragon planted a paw between Glyn's shoulder blades and shoved him back to the ground, snout running down the line of the lynx's back. Glyn spat out a mouthful of dirt and froze, unwilling to do anything to anger the dragon further or prompt action on its part. If it had not bathed him in flame already, there was a good chance that it did not see him as prey, possibly due to his feline heritage. Glyn struggled to put his thoughts in order even as adrenaline seemed to slow down time around him. The dragon rubbed the side of its muzzle against the lynx's leather boot and crooned.

From beneath its stomach came movement and Glyn craned his neck so that he could see around the dragon's massive foreleg, claws digging into his back. What he saw made his blood run cold with icy tendrils of fear. He would rather face an entire wolf pack on his own than what he suddenly had reason to believe the dragon had in store for him. Death would have been welcome.

Oh no, the dragon had other things on its mind than killing him. Beneath its stomach, right up by the hind legs, swung a formidable cock. Though smaller than an equine shaft, for that was the only feral reference the lynx could call to mind in the moment, it was tapered to a point and ridged as if to stimulate a female. But the lynx was not a female. The dragon's tail swung sideways into the rocky outcrop with an almighty crack, visibly demonstrating his power and strength. He had no way to escape, whatever the dragon wanted from him. Who could deny such a predator?

Glyn swore under his breath and flattened himself to the ground, paws splayed. His mind raced, seeking any possible avenue of escape, though none presented itself to him. Eager to 'feed' on a manner of prey unanticipated, the dragon clasped Glyn's leg gently between his teeth, fangs cutting in as it made easy work of his trousers, shredding them along with his undergarments until nothing but bare fur remained. Though the dragon had no wish to harm the lynx, its teeth still caught and yanked out tufts of fur from his legs, pricking into skin and drawing points of pain. Blood trickled down the lynx's back from the slash across his shoulders and he tried to ignore the throbbing pain, grit already in the wound.

The dragon would give up when it realised he was not a female, he told himself, though his whiskers trembled. It would try to thrust, slide that obnoxious cock across his rump and back and find no feminine warmth to spear. A tail hole would not be lax enough to permit a _dragon_entry. Pressing his muzzle into the dirt, he pretended that tears were not staining the fur on his cheeks. He would never be caught crying. Fuck it! He should have gone to the god damned club with Sarah and had a good time, anything better than death or rape. The truth of the matter shone through the lies, what remained if he was fucked...or not.

Licking his fluffy rump, the dragon's tongue lashed under Glyn's tail and the lynx stiffened, tail arched up as if he was afraid to lower it in the moment. If the beast did not think he was a female to be bred, he would be killed in an instant. Glyn gulped. He knew what he had to do and he did not like it. He did not like it one bit.

When the alternative was death, what choice did a lynx truly have?

Shifting beneath the pin of the dragon's paw, Glyn pushed himself to his knees, chest crushed to the ground. With his rump in the air, he squirmed in humiliation, cheeks crimson, as he reached back to spread his cheeks, baring his tail hole to the dragon's attentions. The beast seemed to approve with a series of chirps that seemed like they should have come from a bird and not from a terror of the skies. Nuzzling the lynx's backside, the dragon flicked its tongue and teased over Glyn's tail hole, assuming it to be the opening of a female of his kind, welcoming him in.

There was little preparation or foreplay to be had when it came to draconian rituals. Once he was certain that his 'female' was not going to fight back or flee, the creature stepped over the lynx and hunched its backside down, jabbing and stabbing wildly with its ridged cock. The slimy appendage dripped with strings of pre cum, which slathered over Glyn's rump and tail hole, lubrication that he found himself to be grateful for even in the terror of the situation. The dragon snarled, the sound sending tremors through Glyn's body, instinct calling him to submit to the greater predator.

Glyn steeled himself.

Catching the narrowly tapered cock tip in Glyn's tail hole, the dragon thrust in viciously. Each ridge popped in with force, driving in the full length to the lynx's unprepared tail. The slick member eased its own passage as much as was possible, but Glyn yowled and arched in pain, jaws strained wide in a scream that faded to silence. Paying him no mind, the dragon thumped the ground with its tail and drove into him again and again, hindquarters rolling into an erratic series of thrusts and jabs.

Every thrust felt like he was being torn open and the lynx could not tell if the moisture soaking his backside was the dragon's pre cum or his own blood; he wagered some of both and the thought made his stomach roll sickeningly. Roaring its conquest, the dragon spread its wings wide and flapped, pumping down against shapeless air in a downdraft that flattened Glyn's fur to his skin. His tail twitched and lashed anxiously - he no longer had any reason to keep it still with the dragon focused on its own pleasure - and Glyn's claws pricked into his rump, though he kept them in place, holding his cheeks apart. As much as the pain made him want to spill the contents of his stomach, what would happen if he gave in and struggled was a far greater terror.

The lynx ground his teeth together and pressed his forehead into the cool dirt, sullying his coat. Above him, the dragon groaned and grunted, its huge barrel vibrating with what Glyn could only assume was suppressed draconian delight at the beastly act. Tail swinging, the dragon thrust brutally, huge balls that Glyn had not taken note of before, slapping the lynx's jewels and thighs every time it drove in. To his shame, the lynx could not deny the reaction of his body as it adjusted to the huge invasion and the dragon ground its cock into his prostrate, forcing the lynx's barbed, pink cock into the open air beneath his stomach.

Glyn panted harshly, torn between pleasure and ripping, blood-curdling pain. His cock drooled a clear string of pre cum into the dirt, unlike pre cum he would normally spill. He shuddered with the realisation that the dragon's barbaric, ferocious thrusts were milking his prostrate, going beyond forcing pleasure upon him. It was driving him to unwelcome orgasm, strange inklings of ecstasy tugging at the corners of his mind. The ridges even began to feel nice (that was the furthest he would go with regards to their description) as they popped in and out of his abused tail hole. The lynx howled, tail shuddering, as his hips jerked forward in time with the dragon's thrusts. Maybe it was a good thing that there was never anyone else on the mountain besides him.

It was better than death and all he had to do was hold out through the mating until the dragon was good and done with him.

Being a beast like any other animal, the dragon had no sense of restraint. Hammering into its victim, it snarled and swung its tail without care for harm as it neared climax. Its huge jaws parted somewhere above Glyn's head - he only knew because the stench of rotting meat suddenly became overpowering, a distraction for traitorous pleasure and dulling pain. Cock slickening its own way with tell-tale pre cum, the dragon's balls throbbed as it prepared to unload its seed into its not so willing mate.

After all, what did it matter if its partner was willing or unwilling as long as it seeded the next generation in its line?

Roaring, the dragon spouted a jet of fire to the sky as it ejaculated, burning ropes of seed that felt as if they were born from flame itself pouring into Glyn's abused rump. The lynx bore the onslaught and finally released his rump, trusting the dragon to finish as any animal would. Driving in hard one last time, the dragon shook its head, smoke pouring from its nostrils and balls twitching as it spent itself. Its massive balls had more and more to give and Glyn feared briefly that his stomach would swell with the sheer volume of cum being pumped into him. Yet that was not the dragon's natural way and the spurts of virile cum eventually came to halt, cock blissfully softening within the feline's rump.

Stepping back with a snort, the dragon yanked its member without ceremony from Glyn's tail hole, drawing a startled yowl from the feline's lips before he could swallow it. The dragon did not care and merely shook itself, loose scales flicking off its hide. Shuddering, the lynx stared straight ahead of him at the ground falling away into the blue, blue sky and wondered if the end was coming after all. The dirt beneath the lynx's stomach was damp with cum that was not from a true orgasm and, even after the rape, his body ached for more, tail hole suddenly empty and wanting.

Terrified to move, the lynx kept his aching body still as blood cooled upon his skin, suddenly cold now that the warmth and bulk of the dragon moved away. Shaking itself one more time, the dragon flapped its wings and took to the sky, cock swinging and bobbing beneath its stomach as it slowly receded into its leathery sheath. Exhaustion reverberating through Glyn's body and his ears twitched, hearing the echoes of a hiss tremble through his mind before he fell into unconsciousness, body crumpling to the ground in a heap of feline. Against the strain, his mind shut down and his eyes closed, cock still hard and wanting, trapped between his stomach and the ground.

And the lynx's drained mind dreamed of dreams that blurred the line crossing the impossible and reality until only the ache in his backside told him the truth of what had happened several long hours later.

Later, he would crawl home and learn that bachelor dragons sometimes were known to seek males as mates and relief from breeding frustrations. If he had known that before, he would have been more careful on his many hikes, as rare as he knew dragons to be. For the lynx learned that he did not know everything of the mountains and some dangers were better left well alone. Glyn would wash and wash under the hot stream of the shower, burning himself with the too hot flow as the days ticked by and he failed to attend work, nightmares of the dragon sinking claws into his nights.

And, even later again, the lynx would pad through the mountains with a wary eye, searching out his dragon mate for pleasure briefly felt yet never forgotten.