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This is an illustrated novella that I have written for Crytrauv: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/crytrauv/

Description: This 6 chapter novella is the tale of Crytrauv, an arctic fox in search of his mysteriously-vanished tribe whose journey takes him through a mythical forest. Where there is magic, there are dragons, and the one who first finds him charges an extravagant toll to safely escort him through it.

But Crytrauv has his own sly plans, one which includes charming one of the dangerous, majestic, elusive beasts.

Rynthara the furred dragoness (c) is my character

Crytrauv the arctic fox (c) belongs to Crytrauv https://www.furaffinity.net/user/crytrauv/

Cover art done by https://www.furaffinity.net/user/gardeaalgedo/

***A trek through the Nightwood chapter 6***

Crytrauv's silence appeased and disturbed Rynthara both, for the fox had not been quiet for a single instance since he first pleaded for her aid. Was it newfound respect for her desires? Or perhaps a rediscovered sense of propriety? His composed gait offered subtle hint, for it oozed the confidence of a male who needed not go to any great lengths to lure his female closer to him, for he already had her just where he wished.

Beside him. Unusually close to him, so much so that their limbs almost bumped into one another on the short path worn down by paws and hooves through the Falahrovian woods.

This portion of the Nightwood was basked in a constant, lilac-hued shimmer filtering through the semi-transparent leaves of the broad, intertwined canopies. For a land named after its preference for the dark, these woods boasted the brightest parts of the Nightwood, the green-tinted vegetation more familiar to the stretched hand of the fox.

"I used to read about trees like these in fairy tales," Crytrauv said, touching every stem, leaf, flower as if to make sure the ivy, ferns, moss and everything else felt no different than plants he was already accustomed to.

"Your people tell tales of the Falahrovia saplings? Are they so fascinating as to stir the imagination?" Rynthara brought her wing about Crytrauv's slender frame, guiding his stuttering steps forward. They had barely crossed a tenth of their proposed route, bogged down by one too many unnecessary stops, such as the one under the waterfall, in the clearing and later at night, in one of her temporary dens. Best that they did, for Crytrauv fashioned himself what he called a vest by puncturing one of her Moondoe pelts to make room for his arms to slip through. He also covered his privates with a flap of fur, tied together with strings of dried Thornbloom.

"That? A sapling? It's...it's bigger than..."

"Your imagination? Certainly!" she let go of him once his pace acquired its usual rhythm. "No need to remind me of your limited intellect every few minutes. I'm starting to miss the stiff, bumbling, panicked fox of the earlier days who trailed behind me like a certain male that comes to mind."

"Which you obviously won't tell me about," Crytrauv hurried after her, unbothered by her demanding strides.

"Finally putting your wit to the only use I wish for it."

"At least for the next few minutes. You won't be able to help yourself, especially while in this state. Our study of each other goes both ways, my dear."

My dear. What a loathsome thing to say. Still, he had it right, and no retort conceivable could deny the truth of it. Though bothersome--infuriating, even--at first, the fox' presence delighted not only her mind, but her unusually feverish body. Her pads seemed damp more often than not, radiating bottled excitement that she found nigh impossible to contain after all those mind-reeling discoveries related to her gender. Throbbing warmth pulsated through her underbelly, converging upon her constantly puffy folds soaked in raw desire. She felt it every time it trickled down on the grass, an agonizing reminder of the perils of one's instinct.

Perils. Even with him, a biped whose seed would only stain her if it ever came to that, Rynthara's first instinct still urged her to keep him at bay, to shutter herself from all that he offered.

Not any longer. With her acceptance of his ways, banking on the necessity of judging something only after experiencing it, came new understanding, shining a ray of light on a part of her that had known naught but darkness. What she used to despise now brought her giddy comfort, her plumes flared, primed to take her into the sky and roar her joy at shedding a crushing weight that had suppressed her for far too long.

"Hmm. This is the only time when your wings shift with an intention other than whacking me over the back of my head OWW!"

The strength of the blow sent him scampering forward, laughing--laughing!--instead of scowling at her treacherous blow.

"That all you got?" He dared her forward, hunched and ready to evade her. Or at least attempt to, for he never quite managed to retain his footing and keep his back clean of debris.

"Careful what you wish for, fox," the dragoness walked past him, swinging her tail for emphasis. "You don't want my nethers to engulf that petty muzzle and rob you of words and breath."

"You forget who you're addressing," his unconcerned, almost attractive wink had her all but shudder with lust at the thought of pinning him down and having his way with him right here.

"It's only now, in this section of this freaky forest, that I feel at peace for the first time. Those trees may grow a hundred times thicker and taller than the one back in my world, with their eerily smooth, ivory colored bark, but they unnerve me not one bit. It's actually quite beautiful."

The fox continued to take in the landscape, unusually excited with the low growing grass and the absence of many bushes and plants that could conceal one from view. Only the slimmer vegetation persisted around the stark pillars that were said to support the entirety of the Nightwood, as if the land itself conspired to feed most of its life into them.

"If only we could remain here for a single day, to lie down in the moss and recount whatever experiences come to mind without dwelling for one second on the responsibility I harbor. I pray that you never know the weight of doubt, of how it grows, spreads and festers, turning all your wants against you. They become distractions--impediments from that one thing that consumes every waking moment of your remaining life."

"We have distracted each other plenty from our purpose, betraying our tenets for the sake of..."

Of what? Discovery of a glaring weakness that other males might exploit, just like Crytrauv did? This new her--the open, acceptant one--relished the chance to use these newfound discoveries to her advantage, something that her past could never approve of. She exposed herself. She allowed Crytrauv to infiltrate, corrupt, manipulate her very perception of him. If he could do it, why not others?

"A moment of peace? A drop of respite previously denied to us?" Crytrauv gave her yet another of his nonchalant shrugs, as if keenly aware of her thoughts, of her lack of remorse when she would abandon him to whatever fate awaited him.

"It counts for something. For me, it was the second time in my life where I felt truly...fulfilled..."

"That is reassuring to hear, for there is no shortage of promises you still have to fulfill," Rynthara pointed her muzzle at a clear pond bathed by the silver shimmer of the surrounding moon lilies growing around its edges.

"Can't we stop at the next one?"

Crytrauv went ahead to study the treacherous descent, for there were more roots than ground on the way down. The slimmer saplings often reached for whatever source of water, growing around it like eternal sentinels, shading that precious resource from view.

Rynthara needed only a single leap and a few flaps of her wings to land on the flatter patch of twisted wood, claws biting into it for purchase. "This one suits our needs just fine."

"Says the one who won't even get a teasing shudder down there from how fast I'll wash you."

He had that one right. Whether it was due to the pressing weight he spoke of earlier or simply because he wished to keep things simple, Crytrauv's mind dwelled solely on the task at hand, as did hers.

"I wonder how you'll manage such thorough cleaning when I'm gone," Crytrauv said as he flopped down on a grassy patch basked by a dapple of warm, constant light, his sigh filled with relief at finally starting to dry. He did not appreciate the coolness of the water, nor its threads of silver-hued sap leaking from cracks in the roots of the trees. Ignorant fool. The sap of the Falahrovia trees was once said to be the blood of the Nightwood, and one of the reasons for the protective and renewing magic permeating it.

"Perhaps I won't have need of it." Rynthara found herself an equally bright spot, letting the aqueous sap slowly, almost unnoticeably slither into the weaving stripes of her coat, seeking to merge with the same magic attuned to it. Crytrauv suspected something foul was at play, but propriety restrained his muzzle, unwilling to make a fool of himself more than he had already done so far.

Crytrauv's knowing smile and sly glance confirmed that he got her meaning, much to her hide-tingling disquiet. Spurring him on could upset the dynamic of their relationship, for the more she depended on him, the lesser her dominion over him grew.

"I've watched you while you milked your eel," Rynthara decided to unearth a sensitive secret for good measure, spreading her great wings to give her silver-bordered feathers a chance to fully dry. She tried to keep her limbs relaxed, to revel in the sun's caress upon the clumped fur of her belly and savor the absence of that pestering warmth under her tail, but Crytrauv's jarring silence kept her annoyingly on edge. He always had a clever remark tucked under the tongue, a witty retort meant to take the fight back to her.

Not this time. His ears visibly pinned back over his skull, as deflated as his crestfallen gaze aimed at his feet.

"Mhm," he chuckled, meeting her confession with a fleeting, almost panicked glance. "I guess...I suppose your trust in me wasn't developed enough to just...let me take care of the issue. I didn't really...I mean...you have to understand that I...yeah...." a nervous laughter filled the gap in his thoughts.

Nobody in his position could have remained stretched on the grass, all peaceful and serene, so Crytrauv did the one thing every other dragon resorted to when accused, strolling to the first distraction they could find and pretend it was beyond interesting.

The naked artic fox chose the ridged trunk of one of the smaller trees, suddenly interested in the almost symmetrical threads of faint, shimmering silver embossed in the shallower parts. "What gives it its glow?"

"Isn't the magic of the Nightwood part of the forbidden topics you banned since our first day together? For an asinine reason I couldn't comprehend but accepted for your sake?"

"I...suppose so, yeah, but it does look harmless enough. Enchanting, even."

Finding no respite in that line of thought, the fox wound his way back to her, tail tucked between his legs, a hand kept to his muzzle to fondle his whiskers. He often did that when thoughtful or puzzled, as if it could somehow get him out of his predicament. His constant pacing reminded Rynthara of a frenzied hare cornered by predators, able to skip past any of them, yet unable to decide in which direction to go, thus giving them the perfect opportunity to pounce him.

Once he found a suitable portion unmarred by debris and decaying leaves, the fox laid back against his elbows, his feet kneading at the grass, as if to sift away the anxiety that engulfed him.

"I kept my word to you, though," he made sure to meet her eyes, to reassure her that he still had the courage to confront the truth. "I buried my rags--my only remaining coverings, mind you-- so deep your claws would go blunt searching for it."

"Would they?" The dragoness entertained his folly, curious to where it might lead. Much as she enjoyed keeping him boiling in his own guilt, Rynthara rested her head back, preferring the caress of warm rays over the visage of a skittish fox. "They are quite durable unlike your blunter, duller sort."

"Since they're so rarely used," he added, undoubtedly trying to shift the topic away.

Seeing him like this sparked a fire within Rynthara. It spread its embers through her system, rousing her from the deep slumber of apathy in which she dwelled thus far, awakening her to the liberating and satisfying feeling of finally being truthful with Crytrauv, and also herself.

"It wasn't my little confidence in your abilities to properly conceal those rags that pushed me to follow you. It was a simple curiosity that I wished to indulge, as I have never witnessed a male tending to himself before. I did not think it possible, given the limited possibilities of my kind who prefers to dump their sexual frustration into a female foolish enough to take it into herself. But you...you took care of it, relying on no other but yourself."

Crytrauv met her honest response with a laughter. Not the conceited, offensive sort, but full of genuine amusement. "The Nightwood truly is a special place if the females here are willing to let males hump them whenever the need strikes. And it often does, sometimes twice a day."

The fox' thumbs began twiddling, pondering on whether to say more or stop here. "You'd be surprised at how creative your own kind gets when confronted with the choice of finishing in their sleep while under the influence of a most pleasant dream, or in a controlled, pleasant environment, the pace dictated by their flowing thoughts. The very males you interacted with might have employed tongue, paws, soft lake rocks, or who knows what other curious methods to unburden themselves of their pent-up seed. Maybe even while breeding you in their mind."

Rynthara immediately rolled to her right, hissing her disgust at this unimaginable vile practice. "They wouldn't! To stoop so low, to reach down to their basest craves, just for..."

Her harsh, discordant growl ended her train of thought, the dragoness splaying back, her belly welcoming the sun's warmth seeping into fur and flesh. "They wouldn't."

"I do. And I am not ashamed of it, for I have no custom, reason or tenet to prevent me from it. Especially here, in the Nightwood, where I might die the very next day to a threat you can't predict. So I try to savor whatever pleasures are presented for me as if the next moment could be my last."

His gracious remark on this offensive display of glaring weakness lessened Rynthara's rage with it somewhat, enough to at least consider his point of view.

"You used me," her whispered words had no enmity to them, just a silent, acceptant resignation that the fox truly was as wily as she had always suspected. "You used me to fulfill one of your perverted fantasies."

She dared not look upon Crytrauv, her fluttering stomach a battle between guilt and contempt for reminding him--and herself--of a trivial matter that had only served to bring them closer. To grant her a new, much-needed perspective.

To bestow upon her the fortitude to acknowledge and even relish the impulses of her body instead of exhausting herself day and night in her fight against them.

"I didn't think of it this way, but...depending on the angle, my malehood might have all been covered from view, wrapped in that nice, brown, moist bundle of...wetness...so perhaps it didn't look so...wrong, yes?"

She suspected the reason of his faltering words, but she remained still, with her eyes closed, not yet willing to intimidate him by stealing a glimpse of his growing member.

"How did it feel? Compared to one of the females you have been with?"

She gulped down the ball of nerves clogging the back of her throat, the weight of this topic she pretended to understand yet knew so little of far more demanding than she anticipated. In order to keep the tendrils of anxiety from crawling up her limbs, she began to playfully roll from side to side, waiting for Crytrauv to pounce upon the opportunity to educate her on this matter, as he often liked to do.

But he remained silent, contemplative, almost...aware that he was in the lead here, and not her.

"Here," he said, patting the sunny spot next to him. "Sit next to me and I'll tell you, for otherwise, I'd feel like I am talking to the sky."

"Can't you face me?" she challenged him to shift to his left and meet her austere silver gaze. "Or must you always ply me with your massage while weaving your words together?"

"Assuming you won't claw out my vulgar display," Crytrauv did as was told, the two lobes marking his knot swollen against the outline of his plump sheath, more than half of his member spilled into the open, alive with throbbing need.

Rynthara lashed out with her tail at him, the feathered tip stopping a few inches shy of it, causing the fox to jerk on the spot in fright. "I can. But I won't."

Heavy, anxious breaths rolled out of the fox' nostrils while his heart settled back into place, his right hand visibly itching to reach for his erection and pump pleasure into it, instinctively tempted by Rynthara's raised haunch.

"You vile temptress."

"You petty creature of wanton morals," she snarled back, her ears simmering with the same intense warmth as those of the fox, both of them inexplicably drawn by each other's gender.

"That's the loftiest praise you could have delivered, for if I knew you watched, I'd have finished far sooner."

"Not that it took long," Rynthara idly said, her attention fixated on how well-defined his tip became as more blood pumped into it. "Your heart must have pounded close to bursting in fear of what I might do, had I caught wind of your perversion."

"You did though. You were there. You witnessed me giving your intoxicating arousal its due respect by sniffing, licking, and only then mounting the soaked rags. I do that with every female, for it is a ritual called foreplay."

His head cocked, eyes narrowing in that way which could only mean one thing.

"Your turn. How did it feel watching a male extract such delight while overwhelmed with your scent and taste?"

Instead of swimming in circles around this matter, however, Rynthara took a deep breath and with it, she expelled all her pent-up thoughts on this matter that had puzzled her for days.

"First and foremost, I craved to know whether you find my arousal appealing, yet ultimately, that wasn't enough. I wanted it to stir your senses, to drive you wild with lust, to force you to mount your rags as if you would a female, because only then would I know for certain that there is nothing...repulsive about it. About a detestable slime that flows out of me unbidden with no regard for my approval of it."

"Approval?" Crytrauv's chuckle carried a snide touch to it. "Must you ask your body for permission to make your water? To drop dung? To eat, to drink? Or do you do it because those pressing needs have to be fulfilled? So it is with the more reclusive need from your perspective, the need to breed."

"I do not need to breed!" Rynthara roared the core principle of her struggle against the weakness plaguing her gender. "I do not wish it, ever!"

"Fine, fine," Crytrauv tried to mellow her down with those surprisingly effective motions of his hands. "You do not have to breed, ever. But you can tame the need, just like I did."

"With my paws? My tongue? Against the soft rocks of a river?" Rynthara stormed onto her feet, her unfurled wings casting their ominous shadow over Crytrauv.

"Or with your help? Say it," her encroaching snout with its bared teeth dared him to bring to light the sole reason he initially put hands to her hind paws, all so that he could worm his way further and further through her vulnerabilities. "I wish to hear it."

The fox held her glare with his usual poise, not even bothering to deny it, his silence as condemning as whatever words would break past his manipulative muzzle.

"Dry like the earth worm you are. I have better means."

With a mighty flap of her wings, the dragoness sprayed diaphanous droplets all over Crytrauv as she launched herself into the air, seeking the thinnest point to break through the canopies. It took tight, demanding maneuvers and more flaps than she could count to break through the twining limbs supporting the roof of the Nightwood, their height as deceptive as it was grand. Still, at the end, she emerged into the same blue sky that basked the entirety of the world, the sun as white, stark and blinding as the one Crytrauv described. Was she to describe this barren landscape to him, so bleak compared to the colored expanse stretching below, he would still hold onto his unbending prejudices that the Nightwood was a mystical, timeless realm filled with the unexplainable.

Such a small mind with small goals, focused on finding a people he knew, deep down, that were gone.

Rynthara angled forward, tucking her wings in for a sharp dive, the rush of humid air ruffling her fur and feathers into a disheveled heap. She broke through tight gaps in the canopies, meandering between limbs as thick as her body, embellished by equally colorful leaves that her feathers slashed through during her maddened descent. Maneuvering through the top layer of the canopies was something every dragon mastered in due time. What few could do was navigate through The Sloughs, as Rynthara liked to call the middle and lower parts of the canopies. The numerous boughs and limbs formed labyrinthine corridors barely large enough for a dragon to slip through. Twice as many species of vines dangled from them or curled around every surface they could find, hindering both sight and space. The blanketing leaves of the very trees hid tall, jagged spikes drenched in poisonous sap, an ancient defense mechanism from the times when Kandralyr imbued The Nightwood with the will to repel every aerial invader other than a dragon.

By extending her wings just enough to still glide through the air and strategically flapping to regulate her altitude, Rynthara meandered her way through the deadly maze. Her Withering magic allowed her to temporarily shrivel certain traps that might impede her flight, but today, she refrained from using that particular ability. Only the threat of grievous wounds or death could hope to clear her head from the thoughts plaguing it, and only maximum focus had the ability to douse the liquid flames clinging to her nethers.

Rynthara's nictitating membranes draped over her eyes to shield them from the onslaught of azure leaves battering her face. Her forepaws tucked inward, along her chest, while her hind legs stretched as close into a horizontal position as she could manage. Every feather along the fan of her tail flared to guide her trajectory between the narrow crevices. She had to carefully position her wings so that they slipped between branches. Her tail feathers strategically deflated and unfurled to avoid tearing them, every single one part of the grand mechanism that made Rynthara into one of the most agile dragons living inside The Nightwood.

She only exhaled her breath once her paws found purchase on the blanket of humid, decaying leaves littering the ground. For the first few steps, her balance wavered, her senses overcharged with the thrill of risking her life for a meaningless reason. Her mother would have scorned her to no end for perpetrating this foolishness even after leaving her nest, and half of her siblings would join her. The rest preferred to judge her in silence, appalled by her lack of self-control. Was it any wonder she left them sooner than she intended?

Rynthara found herself a dry, grassy portion bathed by the dying sun's faltering rays to curl into a ball. Fatigue settled over like a veil wrought by her own magic, reminding her that her muscles had their limits, that her body was, indeed, vulnerable.

"Rarrrh!" she growled, exasperated with that word. That was the second time it floated through her mind today. Her mother's favorite, Rynthara had last heard it the day prior to her departure, several summers ago. To think that Crytrauv, of all beings, forced it to resurface...

"Mrah..." Rynthara conceded, head toppling on top of her forepaws. She billowed a great sigh, ill at ease with the wet, inadequate feeling between her haunches. Its heat extinguished, the slime now glued to her fur, cold and bothersome. Rynthara despised it, reviled the cause of its emergence, and more than anything, she simmered over its outlandish trigger. It was one thing to lose herself to the sluggish rhythm of claws combing through her fur. She was even willing to accept the pleasure that Crytrauv bestowed upon her as a necessity sorely needed in her fight against her instinct.

But this time, Crytrauv did not caress her sex, nor did he employ a new and surprising technique that no dragon could be prepared for, let alone her.

He just....spoke to her, and she spoke back, and that was enough.

Her mind inadvertently skipped to the second most embarrassing episode, during their very first attempt at what he later called intimacy, employing what he referred to as a massage. He simply took her hind paws, one at a time, and gave them a hefty rub despite the film of moist nervousness clinging to their surface. The slightly pungent tint did not bother him, and neither did the oily texture meant to preserve her specific scent marks. In fact, he included this newly discovered boon into his technique, working on her paw pads with twice the previous vigor. It was as if he had known of Rynthara's vulnerability from their very first encounter, and now planned to fully exploit it while wearing that meek, caring visage of one who knew exactly what she needed.

Just like Arnalvost did at times.

"Arrrrh," Rynthara released a plaintive cry, her irritation with Crytrauv's methods souring into stinging doubt. Sly as the fox had been, his means to collect this undoubtedly bawdy story of how a mere paw massage made a dragoness purr her heart out only worked because Rynthara had allowed him to reap it so easily. In her rush to prove him wrong, she led him straight where he wanted. Try as she might to justify the foulness of Crytrauv's ploy, she couldn't, for she willingly offered her paws to him, almost certain that he would find their sogginess as foul as she did.

And so, the rest happened, every attention bestowed upon her more pleasurable than the last, culminating in her very orgasm, accompanied by spurts of her innermost essence that Crytrauv tasted and suckled on two different occasions.

It will never happen again, Rynthara promised to herself, glaring at the indigo, padded underside of her toes. Memories of her siblings poking their claws at the smooth, sensitive surface filled her mind, along with the calm strokes of her mother's tongue upon them. While her brother and sister insisted that no dragon should flinch at the mere touch of claw upon toes, her mother approached this matter differently, pushing Rynthara to accept this weakness rather than fight against it.

Unwilling to dissect the past further, Rynthara shifted her focus to her nethers. Neatly tucked between her muscular haunches, her previously clean and barely perceptible sex was now outlined by gooey patches of soggy fur, the conspicuous dash of pink coloring her usually concealed lips adding extra insult to her situation. As a dragoness who took pride in her impeccable plumes and sleek, neatly groomed coat, Rynthara snarled at the disheveled look of her slit, given that she had bathed just earlier today. Oh, how she wished that vile coating didn't belong to her. That...sullied and overly dark blotch, surrounded by jagged clumps of fur all pointing in a different direction, their unruliness only serving to expose that which forever had to remain hidden.

Rynthara's snout darted straight to it, tongue already rolled out of her muzzle, ready to undo that which her curiosity had wrought. She stopped a few inches from the object of her anxiety, the earthy tang mixed with sweet undertones giving her pause. Her scent no longer bothered her, and neither did the musky, bittersweet taste of her arousal. What fettered Rynthara in place now was the trigger--and more specifically, the reason. Why should she be the one to clean after another? One of the reasons she left home was to avoid tending to the nests of others, and her justification persisted to this very day. Crytrauv put her in this undoubtedly inappropriate situation, so it fell to Crytrauv to make it right, just like he did by the waterfall and in the clearing.

Spurred by a jolt of satisfaction with her plan, Rynthara pushed herself up onto all fours and hurtled forward, flapping her wings with all her might to ascend among the canopies. Her lithe body meandered through the makeshift, wooden corridors, her dexterity amplified by the burning desire smoldering within her breast: that of responding to Crytrauv in a way befitting his impertinent nature.

I am most curious to find out how eloquent a fox can be with when his muzzle is smothered by my nethers, Rynthara thought, snickering in glee in spite of the chill crawling through her spine. Sweet as retribution might be, her well-groomed, lifetime reluctance to let males approach that particular area flared to life, reminding her of her priorities.

To never let one under her tail.

Crytrauv wasn't a dragon, however; in fact, he ranked lower than any beast calling the Nightwood its home. It was a punitive measure, plain and simple, against a being with a cock so tiny it wouldn't even tickle her, most likely.

The winds cooled off the fervor fueling her flight, and the calm, warm light of the sun shone upon her immature gambit, revealing the flaws marring it.

He wanted this. Probably planned for it long before he had set foot inside the Nightwood, per his own admittance. And once he had scrutinized her personality like the pervert he was, Crytrauv began this elaborate manipulation game, meant to lead her straight into his muzzle...or on top of him...or wherever he wanted her, really.

Rynthara's keening roar pierced the skies, the very canopies trembling below as birds scattered around in panic. By getting her into the air, Crytrauv obtained half a victory from afar, without uttering a single word. Quite impressive, for a sneaky fox to rattle Rynthara such, yet still futile. Now that she understood the rules of his game, Rynthara had to respond in kind, perhaps in the very ways he would.

"Back so soon?" Crytrauv said to her approaching form, not one least bothered by her alert, purposeful steps. "I expected the night to fall before you made up your mind about me."

"I did," Rynthara walked up to his lithe, lounging body, his muzzle pointed upward, just where she wanted it to. She first lured him in with her gentle purr, her approaching snout giving him reason to timidly reach toward her, to place a hand upon her sleek fur, to brush it ever so softly.

"It's not something I'm going to like, is it?"

Rynthara beamed at that. "Quite the contrary. Your witty, talkative muzzle will get exactly what it deserves."

In a blur of violets and indigo, Rynthara's backside replaced her head, the nether regions Crytrauv had praised and worshipped with words, hands and tongue now swallowing his muzzle whole. The dragoness held him there for a few seconds, her eyelids fluttering, haunches quaking with undeniable weakness at having her slick passage filled so wholly, so suddenly. The more he struggled, the further she pushed against him, letting go of him only when his claws pressed against the inside of her haunches, refusing to draw blood.

"Ghaaahhh!" A monstrous gasp exploded out of Crytrauv's muzzle, followed by deep, panting breaths. The entirety of it was coated in her translucent slime, his tongue hard at work in sweeping it into his mouth, the quaking throbs rushing through his member flaring his erection to full mast in a matter of seconds. "That was....that was...so...."

"I'm not done," Rynthara straddled the fox from the front, her forepaw cupping his face, the pads engulfing his pointy muzzle denying him the right at words. "You were right. The need to breed is inevitable, but if I am to explore it--if I am to rid myself of this maddening curiosity that keeps me constantly moist under the tail--I shall do it at my pace, and in my way."

Almost dried from the rush of air against it, the surface of Rynthara's sex caught against Crytrauv's petite sheathe, her nether lips pushing down the furred portion, peeling it away to expose the wet, hard, throbbing meat locked within, guiding it into her scalding depths.

"Oh my ghh...." Crytrauv's head whipped back, his muzzle scrunched as if pained by the warm, constrictive wetness of her lightly ridged insides possessed by uncontrollable shudders. But for a shallow presence inside her, Rynthara didn't feel a thing compared to his tongue, its visit upon her vaginal walls a thing of indescribable euphoria.

Almost instinctively, her back arched further, hind paws pushing against the ground to lift her off him, then push back down. Up, then down. Though tense and rigid, her pumping motions managed to rub some pleasure into her, the glancing thrusts of Crytrauv's cock hitching her breath whenever he happened to hit a particularly sensitive spot. She had to have more than just a tantalizing tickle, though, her frustrated, barely coordinated strokes catching her partner's attention.

His trembling hand, struck by the shock of this sudden development, reached for the base of his member, pulling on the rest of his rolled-back sheath hard enough to unwrap his swollen, meaty knot for her pleasure. The moment it was free, Rynthara plunged herself against it, taking it all in one swift thrust, her deep, seething growl aflame with that burning bliss she sought.

Below her, Crytrauv squirmed and squealed, hands clutching his muzzle to undoubtedly hide his pathetic whimpers of raw joy at finally finding his way inside her. Rynthara found his efforts to preserve his dignity endearing, if not unnecessary, her own gasps erratic while sheltering Crytrauv's knot inside her.

She did not wait for the fox' high to wind down before lifting herself off him, knot popping free of Rynthara's strangling warmth, only for it to come crashing down against him with a wet, squelching pop. Now that the entirety of his malehood was at her disposal and her greedy depths, pulsing with ominous need for more, understood what made mating so addictive, the dragoness tried a few slow, uncertain strokes. At every shove, she ensured to insist on his knot, to add that last subtle push necessary to force that stiff, swollen girth past her tight, unaccustomed lips and into her.

That was all that mattered, she realized from the deep, bubbling waves of eye-shuttering bliss cascading through her whenever her lips stretched to welcome it. The rest of him, although novel, felt minuscule, unnoticeable, barely a tickle compared to the searing blaze lashing through her lips every time she forced him into herself. Guided by the torrent of insatiable lust that had only trickled its meager drops from her previous climax, Rynthara began mating Crytrauv's knot, pumping against him with the same increasingly rapid motions borrowed from a male.

Whatever protest Crytrauv tried to wail was lost amidst the flurry of wet, plopping sounds and feral growls bursting from Rynthara's gaped maw. All of her claws pierced the ground in search of much-needed stability while the entirety of her being teetered on the brink of unconsciousness, her senses soaring past any limit imaginable. She never imagined pleasure burning so hot, so bright, dizzying in its rippling intensity. Her tight chest and clamping insides begged her to slow down, but instead, Rynthara increased the frequency of her thrusts, the quaking shudders of her flesh reflected upon the mad throbs rushing through Crytrauv's shaft.

Keenly aware that this was the moment, the dragoness slammed her hips against his, the pressure exerted upon his groin as intense as the clutch of her walls as they squeezed him so hard she almost felt his first spurt sear its way through her.

And then, nothing. Or close to nothing, for Rynthara had no real way to unravel that state where her entire focus converged upon the depth of her sex, channeling into that single spot, held there by the tight, unrelenting squeeze of her nether muscles around Crytrauv. A moment later, when her body could hold it in no more, that pressing, ubiquitous weight burst into an ocean of dizzying pleasure. Her balance reeled, her muscles faltered, her very focus threatened to collapse into darkness from how intensely she squirted that condensed pleasure out of her, lest it drowned her senses. With every sharp, sudden spurt squeezed between the intermittent ripples of her clenching vent, surges of mind-addling euphoria spread through the rest of her being, carrying her to the highest, most secluded peaks of raw, unbridled satisfaction.

Crytrauv's terse, sudden pulses heightened the sharpness of her pleasure, the motions of his shaft, the tightness of his knot triggering Rynthara's instinct to clamp, squeeze, milk all that he had to give, unnoticeable as it felt amidst the deluge of her own release. As the intensity of her orgasm began to falter, so had the grasp of her nether depths began to relent, the immense, indescribable fulfillment of her climax giving way to penetrating fatigue.

Thoroughly spent in body and spirit, Rynthara disentangled herself from Crytrauv, leaving the moaning fox' member swing in the warm, humid air, his weak, cloudy spurts trickling over his crimson length and raining over his fur. A puddle of thicker, slimier, silver-tinted dragoness climax soaked the fur of his groin, diluted by the copious amounts of clear arousal leaked prior to her rarer and far more pungent release. The sight of it in such a great quantity compared to the previous tiny rivulets unsettled her, yet no more than Crytrauv's still erect, still bobbing member. His orgasm lasted so long the first half of his member began to shed its color, the veins entangling his length growing more and more apparent.

Through unfocused, hazy, half-lidded eyes, Rynthara watched him squirm, moan, grab onto himself and squeeze the last of his lust out, her sheer curiosity keeping her on the edge of awareness through the long, laborious process.

She needed to see, needed to process and understand how such a small thing could spur such a tremendous tornado of mind-reeling sensations through her, yet her focus gave in nonetheless, falling prey to the very fox she set out to claim.

***The End***

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