Perks of Stablekeeping
This is the full story that goes with a short comic I collaborated on with The Secret Cave. To see the illustrations, start at the first page: https://www.sofurry.com/view/1317602
Note that, since this was a gift for The Secret Cave, the story will differ a little from the comic, simply to better represent his tastes and preferences. So, give it a read if you want to discover the subtle changes from the comic :P
Artwork is done by: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/thesecretcave/
Story is written by Cheetahs:http://www.furaffinity.net/user/cheetahs/
Istaryl(c) and Swiftpaw(c) are our characters
Perks of Stablekeeping
Istaryl pushed away the oversized nose creeping from his side without even bothering to reprimand Swiftpaw. He had been stuck in here for the better part of the day while his rider did who knew what throughout the village.
"Isn't the promise of a relaxing fur brushing session enough for you? Fine then," Istaryl said, shoving Swiftpaw back a second time. "I'll bathe you as well, but only after I'm done with the sweeping and the mopping. Much easier to clean a single pen than the entire stable, and I'm not sure I'll have the willpower for that after dealing with your rowdy self."
He dipped the end of his broom in the bucket of water usually reserved for the mopping session, as Undrethyl taught him. It not only helped soak the dust and prevent it from rising, but the smaller, more bothersome errant hay strands spread all over the stables stuck to the broom, making his task much less agonizing.
"Go to your pen," Istaryl ordered the Pinestalker, who made a habit to ignore every reasonable request from the hand that fed him while stabled here. Swiftpaw settled on his belly a few feet behind Istaryl, head rested atop his forepaws, downright dismayed with his failed attempts to seize Istaryl's attention.
"If you think a pleading look is enough to change my mind, you are sorely mistaken. See these?" He pointed at several of the muddy prints tarnishing the smooth, wooden floor of the stables. "Guess who the culprit is."
A heavy sigh fled Swiftpaw's great nose, his eyes shifting to the side guiltily, his sagged ears mirroring his deflating hope of finally being awarded some attention. It pained Istaryl to voice such hard truths to an intelligent animal not at fault with their imprisonment, but right now, he simply needed Swiftpaw out of his way.
"I want to play as well. To roll together in your hay bed, to comb through your beautiful mane, to rub your belly and tease your paw pads with the tip of a claw. Heh, you'll hate that, I guarantee." Istaryl stopped his musings for a second, resting against the broom handle. What stopped him from doing that? Principle? Devotion to an employer he knew next to nothing about?
"But we have our roles in this grand society we're part of." Though sarcasm tinted his words, Swiftpaw perked his ears, excitement blazing within his eyes at having his status acknowledged by someone, even if it was a lowly stable hand. In that regard, Pinestalkers weren't exactly bright. They took words as they were given to them, too enraptured by their capacity to understand speech to detect the underlying message.
"I wipe floors, and you carry the bony arse of a drake who hasn't even seen you today."
"Hrrrrr!" Swiftpaw retorted through a snarl, flaunting his fangs as Istaryl.
Blind loyalty was another flaw of the species. Regardless of their riders' intentions, goals and means to achieve them, the creatures first and foremost responded to devotion. It mattered little to Swiftpaw that Elargar abandoned him in the stables for the better part of two days, so long as he eventually returned.
Even if that would take weeks, months, perhaps even...years.
Istaryl shook his head at the impressionable Pinestalker, disappointed with how easily they could be exploited. "I still don't understand what you see in Elargar, but have it your way. I'm not one to pry into one's personal matters."
Swiftpaw's anger dispersed in an instant, replaced by his adorable--if perhaps a bit goofy--personality. He chirped and pawed at Istaryl in invitation, the high-pitched sounds a stark contrast to the stature of the male. How could a beast big enough to carry a drake produce such curious vocalizations?
"Sweeping first, mopping after, and only then will I join you."
"Grrrrh," Swiftpaw growled in resignation, crumpling onto his left side to stare at Istaryl with big, hollow eyes.
"That's what I think of this job as well, so you're not the only one."
Now that Swiftpaw officially ceased his pestering, Istaryl confidently placed his back to him, starting from the front of the stables and continuing the sweeping down to the middle. With the hay and debris out of the way, he grabbed the mop from its rack in one hand, the bucket in the other, and started on his second task.
He always enjoyed mopping. Seeing the flaking mud and dusty paw prints give way beneath the swirling movements of his mop stirred a strange satisfaction in him. The broom relocated the dirt and straw elsewhere, but the mop...the mop simply made the mess disappear!
It didn't take long for Istaryl to fall into the rhythm of work, his swings becoming broader, faster, more purposeful. For every ten strokes of his brush on the soon to be immaculate canvas, he drenched the mop into the increasingly darker water, thus make sure that he cleaned the mud instead of simply spreading it around.
"Last round before I dump this bucket and get a clean one," he mumbled a reminder to himself. So focused was he on the floor, that he only registered the speck of beige and grey growing on the side of his vision far too late.
"Ack!" Istaryl yelped, almost tripping on Swiftpaw's oversized foot. "Why would you even...oh," the red drake cut his rant short when he realized that Swiftpaw had settled on his haunches inches away from the wet portion of the floor. He not only avoided stepping on Istaryl's work with his grimy paws, but actually seemed entranced by the miracles his mop had performed.
"What do you think?" He boasted to the Pinestalker who stared at the glistening hardwood floor. "Much better than what I found when I came in. I can tell you appreciate cleanliness as much as we do. Otherwise, this mane would be all tangled up."
He shifted the mop to the other hand to run his fingers through Swiftpaw's dark brown mane, the hairs soft and sleek. They flowed between Istaryl's claws like the lazy waters of a slow, peaceful river, neither tangled nor brittle. Was that specific to the species? Or did Elargar have a hand to play in Swiftpaw's neat, healthy look?
"Just gotta swap this bucket for a clean one and then finish the rest of the stables. Not long until I can fully dedicate myself to you, eh?"
Istaryl rewarded the Pinestalker for his patience by gently scratching under the prominent fur of his cheek, his whole hand sunken beneath the tan, silky fur. Swiftpaw's eyes began to close ever so slowly in relaxation, the mellow purr igniting in his throat a testimony to his enjoyment. Istaryl rolled his hand in circular patterns across his cheek, kneading at the fluff as if it was dough, relishing its caress against his smooth hide.
"Just stay put. I'm almost done."
Swiftpaw's purr died in his throat as soon as Istaryl's hand parted from his cheek, replaced by a displeased growl. More focused on finishing his work than on Swiftpaw's protests, Istaryl began to wipe the water surrounding the bucket, half-listening to the pitter patter of Swiftpaw's claws clacking on the floor.
Without as much as a warning, the dry, warm nose of the Pinestalker connected with his buttocks, hitting the ticklish spot right above his tail. The force of the sudden impact, the jarring sensation of having that particular area touched, and the sheer surprise worked in concert in sending the red drake stumbling forward. The shaft of the mop tripped his right leg, forcing his left to lunge forward and land straight into the water bucket.
"Reeeeeh??!!" Istaryl cried out in both shock and revulsion when the cold stabs of the icy water assaulted his vulnerable hide and paw pads. He tried to instinctively shake his leg free of the bucket, but the dark, disgusting liquid sloshed around, drenching the floor. To make matters worse, his pants turned surprisingly heavy, and...
Wait, no! His pants! HIS PANTS!
Istaryl drew his leg out in an instant, leaning against the fence of a pen, keeping the soaked leg to the side to avoid tainting his other, dry one. Dismay settled over him at the sight of the heavy, drooping cloth, imbibed with the foulest of waters.
"My...pants..." Istaryl murmured, ears pinned back, jaw hanging in shock. How could this happen? Why to him? Why to his beloved pants?
Istaryl's eyes shifted to a crooning Swiftpaw whose head inched closer to him, a forepaw hovering about the red drake's tail, ready to comfort him.
In the heat of the moment, Istaryl's ire for Swiftpaw was smothered by his growing hatred for wet clothing. Clean or not, the water made the material stick to his calf in a most insufferable fashion, the rest of it flaccid and dripping, a patter that drew Istaryl to the brink.
He hated wet clothing! So much, that he completely ignored Swiftpaw in his rush to unravel the rope and remove the devilish thing from his body.
Bad idea.
As soon as he bent over to collect the rags and keep them at a distance from his grimacing face, a familiar, slick touch graced his exposed butt cheek, sliding upward to caress the sensitive base of his tail.
Istaryl froze, the pants sliding free from his stiff fingers to pool in a heap on the drying floor. He knew what that slimy appendage was, who it belonged to, and the direction it favored. Though it wasn't his first time experiencing this eerily intense sensation, it still petrified Istaryl, flaring his anxiety to critical levels.
He should have done something, like spinning around and deny Swiftpaw access to the core of his self-consciousness. Or, he could have slapped him across the face with his tail. Instead, Istaryl remained still, the wishes of his mind and the curiosities of his body completely desynchronized.
Not that spot, not that spot, he pleaded in his mind, even as his tail rose out of its own accord to invite Swiftpaw underneath it. Shameful as he considered that area to be, his pucker shuddered in remembrance of his earlier time with Swiftpaw, further adding to Istaryl's spite for the weaknesses of his flesh.
Blessedly, Swiftpaw took interest in his slit, his hot breaths upon his nether lips coaxing a shudder from Istaryl. The Pinestalker didn't contend himself with just a whiff or two; he required a taste as well, slobbering tongue assaulting the red drake's privates with hungry slurps.
"Eh?!" Istaryl twisted his head around, eyes bulged in their sockets. Swiftpaw was downright voracious today, lapping at Istaryl's slit with unexpected vigor. Every few tongue strokes along his crevice, Swiftpaw slithered inside Istaryl to sample the stronger musk of the red drake's natural lubrication. Tender as his penetrations were, Istaryl's walls still quaked and shuddered at the intrusion, the electrifying sparks of pleasure luring his member out of hiding.
Swiftpaw only managed to greet the tip of Istaryl's cock before the red drake whirled around to kneel in front of the Pinestalker. His erection safeguarded by a thigh, Istaryl pulled Swiftpaw's head against his chest, stroking his fluffy cheeks tenderly.
"It's not your fault this happened, but mine. Of course you'd do anything to stave off boredom at this point, even if it lands me in a bucket of water."
The Pinestalker rubbed the side of his face against Istaryl's torso in agreement, a forepaw kneading at his hip comfortingly. It didn't stay there for long, however. Striking picture of adorableness that Swiftpaw was, the creature wasn't exactly subtle. Just because he distracted Istaryl with the softness of his cheeks and the warmth of his purr, that didn't mean the red drake failed to notice the forepaw enclosing upon his member.
"That being said, I expect you to know better at this point," Istaryl said as he caught the guilty paw, relocating it on the ground much to Swiftpaw's whine of dismay. "You can't--well, shouldn't--wiggle your way out of trouble through the promise of sexual release. Who even taught you this? Not Elargar, to be sure."
Swiftpaw didn't confirm nor deny Istaryl's suspicion. He idly licked at his chest, his half-hardened meat halfway out of his sheath. The sight of it didn't surprise Istaryl too much. Absent physical exertion or mental stimulation, the needs of the flesh hovered at the forefront of the mind of many intelligent beings.
Besides, Istaryl had enjoyed the exotic pleasures Swiftpaw offered a great deal, and with his impending departure the following day...
Istaryl scoffed, a sly grin forming across his muzzle. "You're a crude, bold creature, Swiftpaw, two traits that my mate shares as well. Quite the fortunate coincidence, eh?"
Without thinking too much on it, Istaryl pushed himself up, relying solely on his instinct to guide him in tending to Swiftpaw's pressing need. Normally, he preferred to take things slower, but since Swiftpaw started off with a bold move, the red drake decided to respond with an equally decisive gesture.
Once he positioned himself in front of Swiftpaw on all fours, all of Istaryl's worries and prejudices faded away. By offering himself to the Pinestalker, the red drake willingly relinquished his right to back off from this. Then again, why would he? More importantly, who would?
Certainly not one who grew accustomed to Swiftpaw, a creature whose great lust was only kept in check by his romantic side. An ordinary, trained animal would have instinctively followed Istaryl's cue to heed their mating instinct and mount him, but Swiftpaw was much more than that. Though the same urge flowed through him, the Pinestalker ignored the erection bobbing between his legs as he padded over to Istaryl's head to rub cheeks together.
"This isn't the proper position for this sort of affectionate display." Istaryl teased, melting against the fluff of his cheek, savoring the comforting vibrations of Swiftpaw's purr.
Just like the last time, the Pinestalker had no regard for the lovemaking rites of the bipedals. Even though Istaryl gave him multiple hints at the type of mating he expected, Swiftpaw took his sweet time to warm his mate up for the impending lewd act. A forepaw fell on Istaryl's shoulder, kneading the tension out of it with those smooth, overly soft pads. When the red drake arched his back to further lean into Swiftpaw's touch, the Pinestalker added tongue into the mixture, shifting his paw to his other shoulder so that he could drag that ribbon of warm, blissful moisture across the entirety of Istaryl's neck.
"Haaaah," the red drake exhaled the pressures of today, along with the doubts of tomorrow. They didn't matter. Nothing but the tenderness of Swiftpaw's touch did.
Bathed in utter relaxation by Swiftpaw's tongue, the pressing hardness of his cock slowly sank at the back of Istaryl's mind. Though Karyl had treated him to lavish foreplay sessions, Swiftpaw downright spoiled him. Given how meticulously he licked each ear in turn before alighting on each cheek at a time, the Pinestalker seemed overtaken--no, obsessed--with the idea of washing away each and every single worry from.
"Mmmm," Istaryl hummed, rubbing noses with Swiftpaw when his tongue began to follow his jawline, eager to reach the white underside of Istaryl's neck. "You've learned much since our last time together."
Swiftpaw stopped in his track at that, lifting his muzzle eye level with Istaryl, opening his mouth halfway for a kiss.
Istaryl chuckled, more to dismiss his actual desire to twine tongues with Swiftpaw than from amusement.
"Too much, perhaps," he said, directing Swiftpaw's muzzle to his stiff shoulder and sore back. That's where his tongue truly mattered, and where Istaryl wanted it the most.
"Aaarrhhh," the red drake half growled, half moaned as Swiftpaw gracefully accepted his suggestion, licking the discomfort off Istaryl's frame. The soothing properties of the Pinestalker saliva, when administered through a sluggish tongue massage, did wonders to an overworked drake. A few dashes across Istaryl's shoulder blade, and the sting vanished. A broad, singular lick along his spine removed the ache residing within it, and the repeated lapping at the base of his tail alleviated the numbness settled into that portion of his body.
"You're...too good at this."
Istaryl's heartfelt praise emboldened the Pinestalker to venture past previously explored boundaries, tongue trailing toward the dainty pucker concealed by the shadow of Istaryl's tail. The red drake's frame trembled as it swept across it, past it, and along the base of his tail. The jarring sensation of being licked down there caused Istaryl's claws to scratch along the hardwood floor as self-consciousness fought to resurface from beneath the state of total relaxation in which Swiftpaw buried him under.
If he minded it, he would've let you know, Istaryl reasoned, yet still cringed when that selfless, divine tongue returned upon the one area Istaryl held littlest control over. Why was he so fascinated with it? His slit had its own lubrication and ample room for Swiftpaw to maneuver. When paired with the self-control Karyl's mating sessions had taught him, Istaryl was confident he could accurately control the pacing and the result of this mating.
Swiftpaw begged to differ. He teased, pampered and practically worshipped Istaryl's butt, caressing his sensitive, shuddering flesh in meticulous ways that far surpassed those of Karyl. It wasn't just crude lapping, but an elaborate series of tongue twists and turns coupled with the occasional push against Istaryl's puckered entrance. Those surprising dabs never failed to make his heart leap in his chest and his member tense up at the thought of the eventual penetration.
Istaryl's eyelids began to droop halfway over his eyes from the pleasant tingles creeping through his anal muscles. The lapping sounds further added to the lewdness, emphasizing one selfless Pinestalker's efforts centered around one tiny area.
All of this, just for Istaryl's sake.
Istaryl's member hardened like it never did before from the prolonged dabbing of Swiftpaw's tongue against his secondary entrance. Lathered in a film of soothing lubricant that reflected the light of the dim crystals illuminating the stables, Istaryl's glossy ring of flesh conspicuously stood out amidst the white of his buttocks. It posed most titillating sight to Swiftpaw, who stopped his ministrations to step back and analyze the next course of action.
Insufferable creature. He had forced Istaryl's member to create a small puddle of gooey arousal underneath him, and now that his hide practically sizzled in anticipation, he backed off? What did he expect? For him to pleadingly wiggle his rear, as if female?
"Ooooh," Istaryl suddenly reconsidered his train of thought once the Pinestalker's forepaws landed on the upper portion of his thighs, the silken paw pads drifting further along his body to seek proper purchase. Istaryl didn't have to look back to figure that Swiftpaw reared on his hind legs. The patter of his claws on the wood confirmed that for him, as did the fluff of his belly that soon greeted the red drake's exposed backside.
Blanketed under the warm layer of Swiftpaw's tawny fur, Istaryl couldn't help but wiggle in his partner's embrace, his tail quickly wrapping around the Pinestalker's middle size to pull them tighter against each other.
Swiftpaw, however, slipped further down Istaryl's spine, ending the mateship of smooth hide and silken fur, all so that he could entice Istaryl's anus with light dabs from his tapered tip.
Istaryl clenched instinctively, teeth gritting, member jolting upward, ready to spill its seed at the mere thought of being penetrated by Swiftpaw's delightfully exotic member. And yet, Istary's instinct failed him, for the pinestalker gently circled and prodded at his pucker to add his own precum as an extra layer of lubrication.
Such level of thoughtfulness mellowed Istaryl in an instant, tail flagging to its limits in acceptance of Swiftpaw's treatment. The satisfying tingle produced by hardened flesh sliding against soft, wrinkled one further added to the eroticism of the situation, coaxing several sudden but invigorating shudders from Istaryl.
"I'm ready," he said to his partner, switching his weight on a single arm, enduring through the discomfort, all so that he could grab Swiftpaw's forepaw in his hand. "And don't hold back, like you've done the last time. It's not how I wish our union to be."
"Rrraf!" Swiftpaw barked in reply, shattering Istaryl's expectations of a slow, dreary, and far too careful start. This time around, the Pinestalker forced his tip into Istaryl in but a split second, helped by the hefty lubrication pulled at the base of the drake's tail.
Istaryl drew a sharp breath in his chest, then shoved his chin against his chest, eyes screwed shut in concentration to tame the wild pleasure that exploded through his lower belly. Swiftpaw's bulged head spread Istaryl in such thorough fashion that the red drake found himself gasping for breath, lest he pressure welled within his loins burst forth.
"Prrrrr, rrrrr, rrrr," Swiftpaw's purr roared in his throat, growing ever louder as his head approached Istaryl's ears to place a comforting lick on the back of his head. Ever considerate, the pinestalker dared not venture forth into Istaryl until his mate made their desire for that known. Even so, his girth proved quite daunting to Istaryl's untrained insides, as did the row of hardened nubs crowning his engorged tip.
"Go ahead," Istaryl strained to form words, his entire focus poured into keeping his muscles soft and relaxed for Swiftpaw. "I'm yours. All yours."
Though they were the same words he usually employed with Karyl, they failed to work on the Pinestalker. For the strangest of reasons, he seemed perfectly content plugging Istaryl's entrance, refusing to push himself forward. Why was that? What exactly held him back? Istaryl wanted to confront Swiftpaw on this matter, yet he couldn't deny that the thin, warm droplets of precum he leaked into his tailhole were more than enough to push the red drake over the edge. Maybe they didn't have to mate and, in the process, strain Istaryl's feeble limits. Perhaps this was enough to start with.
"Raah!" Istaryl gasped in surprise as he felt a presence probe between his legs to cradle his shaft in its soft, fulfilling embrace. He didn't have to steal a glimpse in order to see what that was, and neither could he afford the lapse in concentration. His willpower already stretched thin by being stimulated from both sides, Istaryl teetered on the edge of premature climax.
"Mrreh?" Swiftpaw growled salaciously, nuzzling Istaryl's ear and cheek, exuding pride at his initiative. Little did he know that, the more he rolled Istaryl's rock-hard and overly sensitive member between his toes, the shorter this mating would last.
Terribly self-conscious with his lack of self-control, Istaryl reached between his legs to grab hold of Swiftpaw's paw and hold it still to buy himself a moment of respite. Once his throbs subsided, he arched his head back to lightly bite on the neck of the Pinestalker, releasing a low, guttural growl employed solely during the copulation of drakes.
In that very Instant, Swiftpaw's haunches squeezed Istaryl's thighs tighter, his grasp on the red drake's hips hardening, back arching forward to drive the rest of his rod into Istaryl's unsuspecting backside.
"Khaaaaahhhhh....." Istaryl half gasped, half moaned at the unexpected intrusion that dilated him far more than he expected. The soft muscles lining his barely trained walls protested with a sharp twinge, yet the copious amounts of lubrication filtered out most of the discomfort. After Swiftpaw pulled his glistening shaft out of Istaryl, the red drake should have felt relieved, but instead, the tingling warmth blanketing his insides begged to be stoked. His trembling flesh begged to be caressed by Swiftpaw's soft barbs that crowned his tip, just as his member yearned to be engulfed by those delightfully smooth paw pads.
Istaryl's fangs sought Swiftpaw's neck a second time to grant the Pinestalker permission to claim his body in the truest, most primordial of ways. As soon as he pricked Swiftpaw's hide, Istaryl's teeth relinquished hold of Swiftpaw's neck, jaws hanging loose as a drawn-out moan rolled out of him.
With Istaryl's accord given, the Pinestalker dug himself shaft deep into his mate. The ridges flanking his base provided exquisite stimulation to Istaryl's puckered flesh, while the three protrusions residing underneath the base of Swiftpaw's shaft plopped into Istaryl one by one, each accompanied by his gasps intertwined with Swiftpaw's moans.
His slit had easily accommodated the Pinestalker's member, the flexible, looser muscles molding around it perfectly. Istaryl's tailhole, however, was a more compact place, a fact drilled into him by every subsequent thrust from Swiftpaw.
"Khhhraa! Raaaah! Rrrrrrgh!" Istaryl heroically withstood the pounding, slow and mellow as it was. Swiftpaw did a too good job at keeping himself in check. Overly concerned with Istaryl's comfort, he made sure to nuzzle and lick his scruff in between every stroke, forcing the red drake to pull on Swiftpaw's tail in order to urge him on.
"F--faster, you fluffhead," Istaryl demanded in between ragged huffs. "Mate me like you did the last time."
Swiftpaw's hips acquired a much more alert motion instantly, as if the Pinestalker just now began to mate in his earnest.
Istaryl's jaws clenched, his last breath held deep in his breast. The moment he unleashed it, his seed would burst forth due to the harder pounding working in concert with Swiftpaw's toes kneading at his cockhead. Feeling his control slip, Istaryl began to pump his hips in rhythm with Swiftpaw. Every time the Pinestalker's balls slapped his slit, Istaryl drove his tapered tip deep between the bean-shaped pads of Swiftpaw's toes, causing them to clench and knead harder and faster at his throbbing erection.
So intense. So fulfilling. So overwhelming! Istaryl's eyes screwed shut, his mind already overtaken by the bliss flooding his being. He wanted to let go so bad, but with each extra thrust he lasted, and with each shove of his member into Swiftpaw's pads, his pleasure increased twice fold, thrice fold, soaring past any imaginable limits.
Right before he surrendered to the fire churning within his loins, Swiftpaw's forepaws seized his lower belly to jerk him backwards, forcing the pair to fall backward. The jarring shock of sudden motion snapped Istaryl out of his trance for a split second, eyes cracking open, only to squeeze themselves shut the moment he landed on top of Swiftpaw. His weakened, trembling legs gave in, forcing the red drake to impale himself upon Swiftpaw's erection, every inch of rock-hard cock stretching Istaryl's tailhole in one overpowering burst.
"Yoooowl!" Istaryl cried out, whipping his head back against Swiftpaw's neck, every fiber of his being crackling with insatiable need to cum and divest himself of that immense, terrible pressure. And still, he held his seed back, the muscles of his anus far too taut and unwilling to let go of the sudden intrusion into his very being.
It was only when the Pinestalker's forepaw began to stroke and knead at his precum-drenched shaft that Istaryl began to relax, gently coaxed by his loving partner to fight his impulses no longer, and instead, to let himself loose.
With all four toes working their pads against Istaryl's tip, the red drake braced himself against his climax by grabbing hold of whatever his hands landed upon, namely Swiftpaw's tail and haunch. His control at his thinnest and his cock too thoroughly stroked by the Pinestalker's paw, Istaryl's seed burst out of his tip in terse, hearty jets. He pelted Swiftpaw's pads with the first few spurts, the gooey strands coloring his pink pads a washed ivory before the spasms wracking his shaft caused it to slide free of Swiftpaw's grasp. Although the pinestalker tried to seize hold of Istaryl's member a second time, the precum dressing it caused Swiftpaw's pads to slide along it instead, adding further fuel to the lances of seed shooting into the air in front of them.
His resources depleted, Istaryl crashed back into Swiftpaw, his weight toppling them onto their side, their bodies still bridged in that most intimate of ways. The Pinestalker's purr flared to its brightest hue as the creature hugged Istaryl to its chest, wiggling ever so slightly to adjust their erotic union.
Istaryl's breath began to return to him, along with new sensations previously drowned in the sea of pleasure. Swiftpaw's girth no longer felt as daunting; in fact, it seemed deflated, spent, mirroring Istaryl's own fatigue.
"No no, don't pull yourself out," Istaryl urged his partner. When Swiftpaw offered him an indecisive growl, Istaryl pulled him against his chest, tenderly stroking his fluffy cheeks. "This is the part I enjoy the most when it comes to mating."
Swiftpaw warbled in approval, making himself snug against Istaryl. His paws--included the filthy one--cradled the drake against his belly, the warmth radiating through his fur as comforting as the seed that lazily dribbled past the sides of Swiftpaw's half-shrunken member.
I'll clean everything in just a few minutes, after Swiftpaw falls asleep, Istaryl decided, suddenly terrified of what would happen if he accidentally joined the Pinestalker in pleasant slumber.