FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

There is no wisdom to be found in surprising a dragon, so the mage named Danathius raised his brilliantly blue guiding light high in the air to signal his twilight approach. With the help of a quick spell to amplify his voice, he called out in a strong tenor, “Torvanskir! The mage Danathius approaches with tribute!" He rummaged around in a satchel, then lifted out a pristine, glass bottle that was so large and filled with such a dense liquid that his arm and shoulder struggled to hoist it. Nonetheless, it wouldn't do to make a half-hearted gesture to his - client? host? liege? - and so Danathius hoisted the bottle high so the light from his torch could shine through it. The potion inside was crystal-clear, but such a deep shade of violet that it swallowed half the light and turned the rest that shone through it a faint, grayish purple hue. No light at all, however, was able to penetrate the deep, gloomy blackness that hung within the gaping maw of Torvanskir's cavern. “As agreed, I bring an offering of power!"

For a few moments, there was no response. Danathius shivered in the chilly, dim, fall air. He was a traveling scholar, and as such not as frail as those who did all their studying in high towers and deep dungeons, but cold was cold, and his gift was heavy. His short, chestnut brown hair fluttered with the wind, especially the two unruly tufts of it in front that overhung his forehead and gave his otherwise chiseled, tall, noble features a boyish look. He was covered head to foot in signs of his profession: sturdy, cloth traveling boots over forest green trousers were the least of it; overhanging those was a cream colored breechcloth with teal, patterned trim; a belt with an ornate buckle of lapis and copper held small potions; it cinched close a deep blue robe trimmed in ornate crimson and gold that was embroidered across the chest with a golden triangle containing a stylized flame; and topping it all off was a burgundy cape that fell to his heels. His affects were thin, black gloves and an ordinary satchel slung about his waist. It was all befitting a mage of his status and breadth of experience, and it had all been recently cleaned. With his aquiline jawline and studious expression, the young prodigy cut an imposing figure.

“Ah, my little apothecary returns at last," came a sudden, booming voice from the looming darkness of the cavern. Twin golden globes of light flashed open in the black and swiftly resolved into thin, reptilian eyes.

Danathius had sworn to himself not to let the beast startle him, but there he was, tripping backwards onto his rear end and clutching his torch and bottle. He should be used to dragons acting this way by now, he thought, but they made it damned near impossible to keep one's composure. Regardless, he carefully heaved himself to his feet and muttered a prestidigitation spell to dust himself off. “I'm not 'your' apothecary, great and terrible Torvanskir, but I do have what I promised." He steeled himself and walked forward, towards the cave and those shining eyes. His heart thumped hard in his chest. No amount of experience or confidence ever made visits like this one casual.

“You've changed the recipe," the great voice murmured in amusement. “What did you add? A soporific? A paralytic?" White teeth the length of Danathius' shins flashed, cast a faint blue from the torch. The sound of a great weight shifting accompanied a hypnotic, snake-like motion from the beast's head. “An aphrodisiac?"

The mage felt his ears go crimson despite himself. He refused to respond until he could at least see to whom he was speaking. Once he was in the mouth of the cave, his torchlight finally found purchase on the high walls. It was flung backwards, deep into a long corridor of naked rock, to bounce off shelves upon shelves of ancient artifacts, weaponry, and, notably, a neatly kept collection of flasks similar to the one Danathius carried. He snorted, feeling suddenly like the milkman making rounds. “Left out the empties for me, did you?"

The encompassing voice rumbled in return, “I have enjoyed great and hedonic repast with them, little mage." At last, Torvanskir's body came properly into view. The quadrupedal dragon was over twice Danathius' height at the shoulder. His scales were a bold, brilliant blue dorsally, where they cascaded from broad, ornamental facial scales to overlapping plates on a serpentine neck, to hundreds of thousands of tiny, dense, opaline scales that wrapped his intensely muscular body so tightly that no facet of his imposing physique was hidden. Ventrally, he was like yellowed ivory across pectorals each as broad as a wagon cart and over the stratified topology of his abdomen. Without a perceptible movement, the dragon commanded torches in gem-encrusted sconces to come alight. The light played over his tremendous self and forced Danathius to appreciate each detail, each hard line, each curve, each swollen mound of draconic musculature. Great wings stretched as well as they were able to in the space - just enough to bring attention to the thick cables of muscle binding those wings to the dragon's cannon-like shoulders.

It took Danathius a moment to realize his mouth was open and that he was staring. He gulped once and finally doused his light. It was a wand, which he quickly pocketed before Tor could become interested in it. “Ahem. You'll enjoy this. I've concentrated the formula, is all, so I don't have to keep carrying you a whole backpack each time."

“Ah, mages. Ever finding better ways to weaken themselves. No hauling for such a talented mind." He stood to all fours at last and reached out a hand the size of Danathius' body to receive the potion.

Danathius held it out, but didn't put it in the dragon's paw. He remembered the first time they had met and the only time they had exchanged more than curt acknowledgements. That same paw had held his body down, helpless, and then it had grown, and grown, and grown… He shook his head to clear it of the sense memory of that weight. “Well, speaking of scholarly pursuits, Torvanskir, in exchange for increasing the potency of the brew, I have a request." Anger flashed, hot and open, in Tor's eyes. “A-a humble, a-an even worshipful request! To record, and measure your greatness?"

“Aaahhhhh. Yes. Of course, in our first meeting, you were far too distracted to generate a proper record. Have I truly let no other scholars survive a meeting with me? Is my majesty not written of with trembling hands in gilded pages?"

It was a trick question if Danathius had ever heard one. And he had, of course, because Danathius was familiar with dragons and the way they spoke. Their blood coursed through his veins. It was why he was here. His fascination with the species was a fascination with his own ancestry. And so, he answered, “In stories, people shudder to even speak your name. However, for grimoires, we like to have numbers. Facts and measurements."

“Naturally."

“So I would like to measure you."

“You would like to become more intimately familiar with this form." Tor pulled back his hand and wiggled his fingers, slowly, pretending to watch as tendons that could have been used to rein horses went tight in sequence under his skin. “I suppose this is the only fragment you truly experienced in our first meeting."

“It was memorable."

The great maw grinned. Twin long, backswept, onyx horns gave every expression from Torvanskir an unsettling, but mesmerizing intensity. A smile was triumphant or devilish; a frown was a knee-shaking scowl. The horns were matched in color and material by smaller spines framing his face, and yet smaller ones marching from skull base to spine that turned his long, muscular tail into a devastating, shredding weapon. “You're a curious one among humans, little Danathius, but far be it from me to deny you your request for worship."

“Thank you, great one." The mage reached inside his robe pocket to withdraw a heavy, leather-bound journal that could not possibly fit there, followed by measuring tape and a perfectly flat, polished slab of steel, and set them all before him in preparation.

Torvanskir cocked his head curiously. “Pocket portals? Why carry the potion here at all, then? Why risk damage to my tribute when it could have appeared here instantly?"

“It's unwise to pass magical items of a certain potency through magical portals. The mathematics of it makes my head spin."

“You're in need of a better teacher, then. I only collect items of such potency and I can summon them on a whim."

Danathius tried not to show how staggering it was to him to comprehend the spell work required to trivialize portal magic to that degree. “What?"

“I've never watched a human blink that many times in such rapid succession," the dragon chuckled. “Now. Proceed with my examination."

The mage swallowed and took a deep breath in, then out. “Yes. Of course." He got to work.

There were a few features Danathius knew would distract the two of them far too much to be able to finish the measurements in a reasonably amount of time, so he started as chaste as he could: Wings.

He murmured as he worked, half to himself and half to Torvanskir. He walked around Tor's head to his right shoulder. His fingers found a crease of muscle binding the wing into the back, though he had to stand on tip-toes. “Anatomical studies usually measure from just medial to the scapula out to the tip of the second digit, so… Um, can you please fully extend this wing?"

Tor bunched the muscles under Danathius's hand like he was coiling a spring, then launched the wing out and ducked that same shoulder low, so the wing would have more space to expand in the cavern. The young mage gulped audibly. Up close, it was truly awesome how much power went into a single wing beat. Even unfolding it stirred the air in the cavern enough that Danathius had to mind his footing. After collecting himself, he took his measuring tape and, bone by bone, went about the tedious, but satisfying process of collecting each dimension. He was thorough: diameters, lengths, degrees of taper, and angles, from root to tip. He also pressed firmly into the joint itself to feel the clever articulation allowing two limbs to sprout from the same musculoskeletal girdle. His hands passed over the membranes, noting that unlike the delicate structures of birds, these wings were heavy and powerful. They were broad enough to help Tor glide, but dense enough that when that muscular body demanded, they would be able to pummel gravity into submission.

“I expected them to be… lighter."

“My mass would tear them if they were. Beings my size already defy conventional physics in a number of ways. A physically strong body helps to contain the magic necessary for lift."

Danathius merely nodded and ducked under Tor's neck to get to his other side and repeat his measurements. As he passed the dragon's throat, it rumbled low, then stretched and moved and gave off a loud swallow, before resuming the rumble. The human shivered with half terror, half excitement.

The second wing was near enough to perfectly symmetrical for it to not matter. “Horns, facial features, and spines next. May I climb atop you?"

Tor merely lowered his head in response. Danathius climbed aboard his broad shoulders with as little trepidation as he could manage. The two main horns measured close to a meter apiece with diameters tapering from twelve centimeters to sharp points. There were three symmetrical pairs along the sides of his neck. A row down his spine started just above his forehead before splitting into three at his lumbar spine. Danathius carefully measured every single one and took sketches to portray their glassy, onyx appearance, then ran a string from the tip of Torvanskir's nose to the tip of his tail. “Eleven meters… nearly half and half exactly," he muttered. And Danathius knew that was the smallest Tor could be.

At last, he could no longer distract himself with these less intimate measurements. The mage sighed, then took a breath to steel himself. He went to Tor's upper arm and began wrapping his measuring tape around the thickest point. The mound was far bigger than his own head. He could watch the muscles slide under the smooth, scaled skin like restrained pythons as Tor flexed fiercely. Each one was bigger in circumference than Danathius himself was. He felt his mouth start going dry as he moved to the shoulder breadth. If he were curled up, he could fit inside these deltoid complexes. And the act of measuring forced one hand to rest on the dragon's throat, which moved under his hand as Tor swallowed again.

“O-okay," he said with a shuddering breath. “Hands?"

“I thought you'd never ask," Tor chuckled. He lifted one enormous forepaw - heel to middle fingertip the same height as Danathius - and just as the mage had readied himself to start measuring, folded it down on top of him to pin the human to the ground. “You can do it from there, right?"

Danathius yelped in surprise and blushed furiously, finally letting his shaken composure show. “Of… course, if that is what is required…" he mumbled. Wiggling himself about under Torvanskir's huge paw, he freed his hands and began squirming to use his measuring implements. His quill began writing down observations on its own, to make his task easier. He soon was able to relax into the clinical nature of the task, though Tor's great golden eye looming over him and the dragon's hot breath spreading over his face every few seconds did not make it any easier on him. Still, he ran his string the length of each finger - each phalange, even - and each claw. The dragon started to hum pleasantly as the stroking measurements drifted across his digits and palm and the quiet sound of the quill scratching echoed lightly against the stones. It was a relaxing sort of stimulation, to be the subject of such focused, intellectual curiosity. He began to present each digit in turn after the first two, first to push the mage's body down until he squirmed with the pressure, especially his face, and then to lift up slightly so Danathius could press firmly into the flesh with his own small hands, both to test the hard, but pliable meat and texture there and to locate the metacarpals beneath the skin to be as thorough as possible.

“The, um, next one?" Obligingly, Torvanskir replaced one paw with the next - of course taking a few brief moments to compress the mage's torso and push the air out of him, just to tease - and let Danathius about his business. There was a faint scent of gravel, he noticed up close, as though… he shuddered slightly. It was as though the dragon carried the permanent signs of crushed stone with him wherever he went, due to his literally earth-shaking power and mass. Even so, Danathius never skipped a step or cut corners. The second paw got exactly the same treatment as the first, no matter how Tor tried to distract and awe him.

“The hind ones now?" Tor practically purred with a smirk and a glint in his eye.

“Actually, if you don't mind," Danathius said breathlessly, a little worried to deny the dragon and so speaking quickly, “the slab I brought measures physical force. Just, push it between your hands as hard as you can?"

“What?" Tor snorted. “You spend all this time pressing your body along mine and then suggest something so sterile?" Danathius blushed. He was trying to control his… interest, in his subject, as much as he could, but there was simply a limit. He somehow brightened even further when he realized that yes, after having felt the majestic power of those paws, he was pitching the beginnings of a tent. “No," the dragon continued. “I have a better idea. How well do you know the force vectors of your own spells?"

“Perfectly," the mage answered proudly.

“Then all you need to do to measure my output is simply survive it."

“What? The musculature of the shoulders is divided into easily six vectors, and with wings, we need to optimize the different angles of…!"

The dragon grinned, then gathered Danathius in both hands, sat up, enclosed the mage against his chest, and started crushing him. Pectorals the size of bales of hay swelled magnificently around Danathius on either side. The breath rushed from his body and only reflexes managed to put up a forcefield in time. He grunted with effort. He couldn't help rolling his eyes. Of course the dragon would test his powers against the mage's. He couldn't deny, though, that being this close to the heat-radiating, boulder-crushing power of Tor's chest muscles was a special treat, to say the least.

Danathius was no hatchling when it came to magic, though. As soon as he'd created enough space around him to move his hands and gathered enough air to speak, he began muttering and weaving his way through layer upon layer of reinforcement and amplification. The light around him twisted and shuddered as he summoned an elipse of protective force, then etched sigils into it to stabilize it. Finally, he could get a good look at the dragon's palms. While underneath them, he had regrettably not had much chance to visually observe the fine textures that allowed for gripping, though perhaps having had them flush to his face and chest should have been enough.

With extreme effort, the mage shouted and spread his hands and legs out to expand his forcefield into a sphere. The sphere distorted and wobbled as Torvanskir squeezed it, and all the while, that great maw loomed above, vaguely amused. Wisps of magic wafted off the surface of the sphere. Danathius realized soon enough that Tor was inhaling them. The dragon was feeding off the magic he was exerting to protect himself. “Ah," Torvanskir rumbled, “it looks like you may need to take your measurements quickly - you appear to be running out of juice, little mage."

The dragon inhaled sharply and the pressure felt like it suddenly doubled. Panicked, Danathius released the sphere. Torvanskir's paws clapped together as the resistance dropped away. The dragon sniffed at his paws and lapped at the residual magic there with a low purr, then tilted his head curiously and looked over his shoulder behind him.

Danathius was panting where he'd slipped through space in a short-range teleport. “We'll… record that as… in excess of twenty tonnes, I think? Yes. And now your hind feet, if you please? I am ready to continue." He was lying. He wasn't certain Tor would have pulled back. He might have simply died there and been deemed unfit for this research quest by dint of being dead. But it was never correct to show weakness to a dragon as long as it was still possible to show strength. They were so easily bored.

The dragon's nostrils flared and his lips curled in a small smile. He lifted one leg to show the enormous palmar side of his foot and teasingly bring it up against Danathius' form. “Mercy," the mage gasped before he could be pinned again, despite his assertion about strength. “Your magnificence needs me at… my best mental capacity and…" The dragon relented this time, but left the foot where it was to be measured. As with the forepaws, each joint and each talon and each digit were carefully measured and described before moving to the second. This went only slightly faster, because though the dragon was for once complying without attempting to overwhelm Danathius, there was another distraction:

Back here, every time Danathius looked up, he could see the hanging, pillow-sized nuts and bedroll-sized half-sheath, half-pouch of the very male dragon, dangling above him. And while he touched the sensitive pads of feet and tips of toes, he heard the pleased rumbling of the great beast and saw a glistening, onyx member begin pushing its way free of that sheath. The dragon, it seemed, shared Danathius' response to their physical closeness and the intimacy of such an investigation.

At last, they could be ignored no longer. Ears crimson, Danathius stood straight and said, “Torvanskir, I have to measure your cock."

The dragon promptly backed up and sat down on top of him. He landed face-down on the ground with a few feet of hot sheath to his lower back and thighs and the first half of Tor's length drooling precum over the nape of his neck as it throbbed its way towards full erection. There was no verbal teasing, anymore. Instead, with no ceremony or warning, the Blue Beast simply began thrusting his length across Danathius' robes and the back of his head. Unlike humans, his precum was early and copious. It dripped down the mage's neck and throat and over his head like drool, thick and pungent. The two nuts covered his legs completely. The mage was rapidly rock-hard against the floor beneath him. He wanted to roll over, but he was dizzy with arousal at what was happening to him.

At last, Torvanskir growled, “Disrobe and tend to me, if you desire these metrics, mage." He looked down between his forelegs and raised his hips. Danathius scrambled to do as he was told while hot breath washed over him from one direction and heady heat radiated against him from the other. His body was lean and hardened from a life on the road, but the whole of it was immediately smothered and rapidly soaked in sticky, salty precum as Torvanskir returned to using the mage's entire form as a masturbatory aide.

“I have to… somehow…" Lust began soaking through Danathius' consciousness. How could it not? He summoned two mage hands, at first to get his measurement tools for him, but they soon simply became extensions of his own hands. Hopefully, this would be accurate enough. While his mundane ones each grasped to either side of the great, onyx shaft's head to tug and spread the viscous fluid across its surface, the giant, ghostly blue hands mimicked the motion, but were able to properly grasp around Tor's cock. The dragon rumbled in approval and pleasure while the two pairs grasped and massaged him. And Danathius… well, it wasn't the first or only time he had used magic for sexual purposes. Though he knew the dragon would gradually feed off any spells he cast - and could in fact see tendrils from his summoned hands dissolving away into Tor's flesh - he also knew that all he wanted was to pleasure the glorious creature.

His own body trembled ecstatically as it got stroked and squeezed by what was easily two meters of heavy, ribbed, eager, throbbing dragon cock. He was able to see each pulsating vein in the webs of vital vasculature and feel each ridge of the hot, rubbery flesh against his own. He summoned fire and lightning into his fingertips and used it to send trickles of searing heat and electricity through that titanic shaft. Whenever he did, it grew and Torvanskir let out a low moan of pleasure. Those two meters swelled while above him, so did the rest of Tor. Another wave of electricity, designed to radiate out through the point of touch, entered the dragon's glans, and then another just behind his roiling nuts, under his armor-plated tail, where the hidden, internal base of the penis was. A rush of precum flowed over Danathius' face, making it hard to breathe, but he gulped it down greedily, feeling the syrupy consistency fill his mouth and throat. He was weakening as he burned spells in the pyre of the dragon's pleasure, but each time he did, he could feel the approval flood the cavern in sound and scent and motion, and Torvanskir's size in the confined space made it feel like this was Danathius' entire world: a tremendous, overwhelming dragon and his hoard. Two and a half… three meters of this flesh, and above it, swelling, strengthening haunches and mountainous abdominals. He summoned his power and zapped it through the dragon's loins again, then swiftly conjured a portal in front of the dragon's tip and prayed this roughshod plan would work.

Torvanskir bellowed out his bliss. The sound swamped everything. Danathius could feel through his mage hands - which got shoved apart by the jet of cum suddenly powering through Tor's loins - the way the ribbing on that cock rhythmically constricted and slackened to support the meteorological event of a true dragon's climax. Danathius tried to keep his wits about him, but his naked body was pinned to the earth by this spasming trunk of a phallus, soaked in its fluids, almost seared by its heat, permeated by its scent, and he felt his own senses give way to climax, as well. His was lost in the storm of Torvanskir's as gallons rushed past him in enormous pulses that bloated the shaft against his body again and again. When Danathius' was finished, he scried back to his holdings, hoping his understanding of portals and the interaction with a dragon's potent seed hadn't led to any disasters.

Torvanskir was basking in the final moments of his climax when he realized two things: First, he had not made any preparations to preserve the little mage's life from his orgasm, and second, he was hearing… laughter? He backed up on his haunches - leading, of course, to a few final spurts of cum that entirely soaked Danathius' body - and glared down curiously. “What has happened, little mage? Have I driven you mad with my virility?" There was the barest hint of relief in his tone that he had not crushed or drowned the poor man, but it seemed the fellow was lost in some giddy joke.

“Hah! Ahh… sort of, I suppose. I… should not have tried to transport something as - hah! - as potent as your essence without your help. My house… my house." Taken by a fit of senseless giggling, he refused or was unable to elaborate.

The dragon, though, was not interested in where Danathius thought he lived. Instead, with the tidal wave of his pleasure retreating from him, a great hunger that had been awakened first by his sips of power as the mage resisted his raw strength, then kindled as the same mage supplemented his size and amplified his pleasure, now raged within him. And there was a defenseless, apparently manic, little mana battery lying in a pool of his spunk and hedonistic afterglow on his cavern floor.

“Open your eyes, little mage - you'll want these measurements as well, even if they're a little… inflated." He leaned his head down to the ground. His tongue came out, thick in every direction with muscle and prehensile, so that it coiled under Danathius' naked body as it lapped him up. The wet strength engulfed the mage completely as it squeezed around him, slippery flesh sliding along his cum-soaked skin. It basked in the flavor and scent of his physical essence and magical strength while it explored each inch of his bare, hardened physique. The thick tip of it pushed its way into Danathius mouth, then down his throat, making him moan and shudder, before his head was closed inside those great jaws. Then, in a favorite maneuver for prey this size, Torvanskir lifted his head up in an arc - careful now of the ceiling - and released the human upwards. Danathius' eyes widened as he felt that release. His fingers brushed the ceiling of the enormous cavern. He twisted in the air to look down. Jaws like their very own cavern gaped before him. Teeth longer than his legs made way for him, flashing in the yellow light. A throat that seemed far away and yet so very, very close opened. And the mage Danathius disappeared into Torvanskir, the Blue Beast with a single, satisfied gulp.

Tor ambled outside, leaving a trail of glistening after-cum in his wake. He stretched his wings properly in the night, pleased at how they couldn't quite fit in his current abode - it was nice to feel too grand for things. The mage had gifted him with wondrous size, of course, but there was more to take. He felt the squirming inside him as Danathius recovered from his afterglow and began attempting to cast spells. There… gulp there was a growth spell and there… gulp went a teleportation spell (how juvenile!). There gulp was a strength amplifier, and there gulp went some sort of telepathic communication.

With each swallow, Tovanskir grew. He relished it, reveled in it, basked in his ability and his size. His tail lashed side to side as muscle rippled down its length in layers and it extended behind him. He squeezed one tremendous biceps tight, then watched musculature pulse through it again to swell from the size of a small cart to the size of a millstone. With his shaft still dangling from its sheath, he easily felt each pulse of growth through it, as well, and through the heavy, hanging nuts that were already roiling like great cauldrons to produce another batch of seed whenever it was needed next. He rolled onto his back so he could feel the earth against him seem to shrink, and so he could look at and tease with his fingers the little bulge inside his belly that was this generous little mage. It writhed under his skin in patterns: weakening, weakening, weakening, and then an explosion of effort that sent size bursting through the dragon's ravenous body and made him roar in abject pleasure… and then again. He felt his heartbeat thrumming powerfully through him as he surged with vitality, and beneath it, could feel the little mage's. It pulsed, getting fainter, though faster and more panicked. He closed his eyes and concentrated on that small life, listening to it and feeling it gradually diminish, gradually become simply a husk as what it had been became a tribute to the dragon_._

And with a snap of his fingers, he summoned Danathius' nude form from within his chest to atop it. The mage sucked in air in a panicked gasp. He could barely move, but he still tried to, pushing against a body like molten granite beneath him and trying to get purchase on the smooth scales. The dragon chuckled in amusement and let out a low rumble that vibrated the tiny human and froze him in place. “Your terror is appreciated, though it is misplaced, mage. I would not waste such a talent for a single meal. You will feed me many times more."

“Does it have to always be like that?" Danathius shouted, though it was more of a prolonged gasp. He shivered in the cold night where he was, still attempting to summon enough strength to move.

Torvanskir ignored him and instead stretched lazily, testing out his new breadth. With a well-pleased sigh, he rested one paw on the human form, which closed him off entirely from the chilly air and surrounded him with draconic warmth. “Once you have your wits about you again, I insist that for the sake of accuracy, you repeat your measurements." He lifted one finger to direct Danathius' attention to his gargantuan grin. “They have become obsolete, and I would not have you misrepresent me."

Danathius sighed, but despite his weakness and irritation and fear, felt his loins stirring anew. He was walking a fine line, but… he supposed it would be remiss of him to reject the dragon's demand. “Just give me… a minute?"

“Mmmm. I suppose I can allow that," the great voice pronounced, echoing through the earth.

And so they rested there a while, looking up at the stars.