A Timely Benefactor - Roleplay Log
The Characters:
Agarus Greaves - Male-herm Centaur
Arthit: Arthit's partial to days like this one. Overcast sky, with plenty of rain-laden clouds abound. The sort that seem ready to dispense their payload at any moment, they loom enough to make the Earth at ground level feel a little humid, but they never quite do begin to pour out until some arbitrary time later. It does favors for a creature that likes to fly at that level. That is, the level where billowy cumulus clouds fill the sky. Those sky and sea-blue scales somehow manage to adapt or reflect those colors. And the curvatures of his body, even as it undulates with the rhythm of flight, seem masked by the inherently curvy and amorphous features of a cloudy sky. See, where he comes from, the superstitions surrounding dragonkind are intense. Any time he risks revealing himself, he risks another fellow with just the right aim leveling an arrow for the promise of bringing down one of the rarest creatures on this Earth, just for its own sake. In a pinch, though, it takes an osprey-eyed fellow to pick him out of the sky at all. But still he prefers traveling those great lengths on a day like today. Pleasantly, the last time he'd flown over a human settlement was some fifty miles ago. Human folks and their culture, it's funny; they and their culture look so incredibly different, and yet, he feels the same sentiments from them. It might be fun to sneak in with some tall tale, proposition someone, and leave again before things become dangerous, but, at this stage in a centuries-old thing's life, that's lost its charm. If he's going to stop anywhere this time, it's going to be somewhere certainly more safe and with something a little more interesting and exotic than humankind.
Perhaps that's the tertiary benefit of traveling via cloud. All that water vapor... it's the reason why a dog's nose is wet, isn't it? Makes a much more effective sense of smell? As for the mechanics of how a nose works, a little blue dragon couldn't say a whole lot. But he's always taken it to be the reason why, after the rain, the ground can be smelled with such relative ease. But only when the Sun's out, evaporating that water again. His thin and diagonal slits of nostrils, around that hefty, golden nosering, flare a little. And just like that, his eyes go wide. Transfixed on some five square meter patch of land beneath him. That's as specific as he can be, but, that's gotta be where it's coming from. Somewhere beneath the tree canopy-- through a tree canopy! And a couple hundred feet off the ground, he got a whiff of it. It's distinctly... equine. That's not the most promising out of hand. The non-sapients have always been a very, very gray area for him. But something so strong, that absolutely warrants investigation.
The blue creature capers, turns his body sharply and angles it down, at a nice, steep angle. Like the way an eagle might circle its descent, although with the sometimes whimsical motion of a kite bobbing in a strong headwind. Small droplets of water begin to form, and come down along with him... how fortuitous. The nearer he gets to the surface, the finer his power to pinpoint becomes. 'Here, definitely', he thinks, 'or a little closer to...' That's around the time he dives through the leaves and branches of some tall redwood or whatever it may be. Nah, it's more like a cypress or something... even the trees here are weird. But they're easier to hide in! The blue drake nimbly steps out on a branch, thirty or so feet off the ground. He wasn't exactly silent, but anything looking for him at least shouldn't /really/ notice him immediately. That would be, of course, the time that he realizes that what he's just begun pursuing isn't just equine. And it certainly isn't just an equal part human, either. Finally, it feels, he's found something different.
Agarus Greaves: Agarus was having the most terribly unfortunate day. Well, then again it had really been the most terribly unfortunate week, all things considered. The big centaur's estrus usually came like clockwork - a week after the rains turned cold - and had done so for most of his life. This time, though? This time he was almost a month early, and this time it had really come over him in force.
The region of the forest he roamed was something of a backwater. There were a few benign tribes of dull-witted beast-men in the thicker copses, but for the most part there was little else. That was mostly why Agarus had chosen the place. He had no time for the politics and rivalries of centaur herds - young, raucous studs challenging the hierarchy of power, and the constant fight for the right to mate. He'd left all that behind years ago and struck out on his own. It had turned out to his benefit, too. Though his new life could be lonely, this place was safe and tranquil. The primary, major downside, however, was now quite starkly apparent.
The stallion's usual method of dealing with his season was to make the long, difficult journey back to his original herdland. There he'd linger on the outskirts, letting his scent attract some eager, outcast stud who would be willing to satisfy his hunger. This time, however, he had been caught by surprise. His heat had come on rapidly, without warning and was so strong that it almost crippled the huge stallion with need.
His hooves thudded heavy on the root-hewn ground as he tottered and stumbled through his territory. Even though he knew explicitly that there were no centaurs for hundreds of miles, he couldn't help but indulge in feral behaviour. As he went he flicked his tail, purposely wafting his powerful reek all over - advertising himself for a suitor that wasn't to be found. His equine body was so heated that the recent rain steamed off him visibly, and he panted with each step along the route. Why was he doing this? It was an act of desperation. He hadn't been satisfied for many seasons previous, and this one was incredibly potent with a backlog of lust. Though there were no centaurs to find a part of him held out the smallest amount of hope for anything at all. A feral stallion, perhaps. Or a sentient creature who might take pity on him and, though they could not fill his womb, at least bring him a few climaxes to ease his need.
Arthit: Spying has always been one of his little specialties. It came especially in useful in other eras, when he actually took some interest in the affairs of human folks, their politics, and which warring party wins what. When he felt that one land was the underdog and best fit to rule itself, or the more supported by their mutual gods or more populous with convincing spirits or whatever the case may've been, there wasn't a single piece of information that didn't come into his claws and get carried right back to the opposing general. Not that he's reminiscing right now; right now, he can think of very little. Just fair to say that if he doesn't especially want to be spotted, he won't really be spotted. And for now, he's hunkered down low atop that branch, neck half off to one side of it and head tilted. Gathering as much info about this horse-man thing as he can. If it's armed, it doesn't seem at all ready to wield it. If it's aggressive, well, it can't pursue him more than ten or twelve feet off the ground, even if it gets a running leap at him. Which is to say that he doesn't feel threatened.
In fact, threatened is the last thing he feels. Right now he feels like he's at a tremendous advantage, in fact. That heat is almost palpable. And is, in the sense that it transcends just the sense of smell; it's like something he can taste on his tongue. That may or may not be because the slender, forked thing'd sneaked out and waved briefly in the air. He's been with a great enough variety of things to know that it's powerful like nothing he's encountered already in the past. There've been things cloistered or isolated without the ability to breed before. Maybe consecutive years in a row. He'd once revived an entire race that way, and still, this is one hell of a competitive smell. It's with a great deal of difficulty that he regulates his thoughts, and pulls his eyes away from that flagged and waving tail... or the puffy, inflamed lips it's meant to demonstrate. As in, he's having trouble keeping himself from simply gliding down, grabbing onto those hindquarters and...
Arthit shakes his head and closes his eyes. A little tremble once more goes down his spine and he's forced to count to ten or something. 'Have some tact', he tells himself. 'That's always been your routine. Approach with tact, improve your odds. Even if it's in heat, it might find you repulsive unless you romance it first.' Incidentally, that's not the language his thoughts are in. But yes, when his eyes open again, his vertical pupils are noticeably more narrow and feral. He's gone through what he's got to say, but it's going to be hard maintaining his composure the entire time. Hopefully, he doesn't make a fool of himself. And hopefully, he'll prove how articulate a creature he really is when they've both calmed down. Whenever that happens to be. The drake gets the sneaking suspicion that, if they successfully pair up, he'll be slaking that need for hours and hours, if not days.
So, once the centaur passes beneath him, he gets a little bit of air and a little jump beneath him, and he glides straight to the nearest tree ahead. Catches onto a slightly lower branch, slowly and easily, and circles around underneath it, turning in the process, to face his latest love interest. First order of business, he thinks, is to prove that he's intelligent. A grin will accomplish that. Now, say something sweet... or at least something sufficiently romantic, try to spare some of the lechery: [Placeholder! Dragonic hissing.] ... Welp. It dawns on him a full ten seconds later that there is literally no chance that that's the language he speaks. Does he even speak the common language from these parts? They seem so far removed from their human... is counterparts the right word? He can't be certain. There were none of this particular creature in those human settlements. Not one that he'd seen.
His grin fades a little, he sits up a little higher. If the other hasn't spoken sooner than himself, he'll try again: "... You're in great need. I can tell it; anything could tell it. ... It's a beautiful scent. What else but your own kind would you let indulge in it?" His tone, the words he chooses, the way he pronounces them-- they're archaic. Not impossible to understand, but difficult to understand. Of course, he learned from spice thieves ransacking villages along his coasts a century ago.
Agarus Greaves: The centaur's mind was on another plane entirely as he wandered about on his meandering path through the trees. He was entirely preoccupied with one sole subject, and that was fairly easy to guess. Horsecock. Sleek, powerful stallions and ripe, straining horse cock. Those images jumbled through his thoughts in general examples at first, but then focused back on one particular memory that he held dear. A visit back to his homeland a few years ago had yielded the most arrogant young stud; a handsome, chestnut brown thoroughbred that was so overwhelmed with rut that he could hardly keep his dancing forehooves on the ground. Everything about him, from his incredibly aggressive demeanour, to his volatile, belly-slapping prick was the epitome of centaur sexuality. Agarus longed for a repeat of that day, but he never met the youthful firebrand again. The cocky little shit was probably kicked out of the herd not long after.
The memory was no relief to the lust-addled 'taur, and in fact brought another lance of painful arousal. He cringed and couldn't help but wink his sloppy equine cunt with a quite 'sqirch' of juices. This in turn sent a long shiver down his flanks. Goddamn, he was so incredibly turned on. A lesser mare might have been in tears at that point.
Fortunately he wasn't left to his self-pity for long. A sudden breath of wind on his back, and a blur of cobalt scales overhead grabbed the centaur's attention. A dragon! His first instinct was prickling fear, but that was rapidly quashed when he took note of this new creature's size. Still, it was an extremely rare sight indeed and Agarus could only stare open-mouthed as the small reptile hissed those words.
"Muh-" He grunted, huskily. His reply seemed a little hesitant. Not only was his voice tempered with the cautious awe of meeting such a creature, but also the words seemed to come slow from his mind. "My scent?" He paused, "You're tempted by it?"
Arthit: Surprise is a good response! Usually, the little dragon can take surprise and mold it into something agreeable. Really, it's one step away from immediate consent. That's a strange way of putting it, but it's the truth. It's only a little more capricious, and can go either way if he presents himself the wrong way. But he's striking and he's exotic and wildly convincing, people don't know how to distrust that kind've thing in general. Unless their excessive piety associates his image with some evil iconography if theirs. At which point his best pet is to make himself scarce. Well, that tangent aside, he can tell immediately that if he were to drop a hint that he's interested and then vanish, this creature would be absolutely furious. Or depressed. Or something. So he's not going to do that!
Instead, he starts by turning and outstretching his front half along that branch, while keeping his squatted hindquarters facing forward. The result is a casual, but enticing pose. One that should make it abundantly clear that he is, indeed, interested... by virtue of the draconic phallus that's upright and twitching discretely between his thighs. It's certainly no horse cock, that's for sure. And yet, he doesn't reckon the other will be tremendously disappointed. Perhaps he can find the value in getting to experience something altogether exotic; something that developed half a world a way, and that few creatures in this realm would ever get to experience. It's a bright, creamy orange kind of color. Something that, curiously, matches the hair that's placed here and there on the drake's body. Like his whiskers, the hair on his head, and the anterior ridges of long, straight hair on his tail. And also, a small patch above the thing's prick. It's rowed down the backside of it with little inch-long barbs... those might be frightening, at a glance. But the whole thing flexes when he, in his arousal, clenches the muscles down there. Those barbs inflated a little, and curve with the shape, so they look fleshy...
Arthit remains stationary. Lets the thing be stared at and admired. The grin on his face says that he just knows it's being admired, and, in fact, he seems very proud of it! "Your scent", he rumbles, "Is... sumblime. I'd relish to assuage your need." His claws, grip the branch, his hind ones, and he winds with serpentine grace down it 'til he's at a hang, and then he lets go. The quick drop to the ground seems to bother him very little, and he hardly leaves a sound nor an imprint when he lands. The only trouble, though, is he comes up to the centaur's knees. Giving up his height advantage might make him seem puny. Puny, yes, but his demeanor makes him look giant. The arrogant stance and the way that his tail end hasn't stopped making these shallow, wavy undulations. It could only get more pompous of he compliments the look with a puff of fire or something.
Agarus Greaves: It was an incredible, mind-boggling circumstance that the centaur found himself in. The entire day had been so hazy and dampened with overpowering arousal that he vaguely wondered if he was currently dreaming. Indeed, the sleek little dragon looked as though it was something ripped out of myth as it slithered so smoothly down towards him. That was not even mentioning the cock on the small beast. Though it wasn't quite the powerful, vein-riddled battering ram he was used to on his mates the thing was still immensely enticing. The curve of it, and those pulsing barbs - it looked like some kind of torture device, and yet the sight of it set off a deep-rooted tingle in the equine's belly. He needed it in him.
If Agarus himself didn't make his enthusiasm clear, his equine body certainly did. His back-end squelched lewdly, then again and again as he couldn't stop himself from winking his clit in receptive lust. A moment later and the soft patter of his overflowing juices became apparent as they trickled down his massive thighs, and dripped from his clenching sex. Finally he had found a partner, and it seemed his horse-end was kicked into overdrive in preparation.
"Yeah." He rumbled, his eyes still wide. In truth he couldn't believe his luck, but neither did he care to question providence. The pagan gods were notoriously fickle, and it seemed today they had dealt him an incredibly kind turn of fate. Without any further words - it was easier to submit to the mind-scrambling fog of his estrus - he turned his vast rump towards the small dragon and hiked his tail as high as it had ever been. His sloppy, drizzling cunt was an absolute mess of greasy fluids and the sheer heat washing off it was stifling. He winked again, before the reptile's slitted eyes, as he broadened his rear legs slightly to bear his aching lips down. His knees were trembling slightly as he stood there in the perfect stance to receive a stud.
Arthit: It might be that he approached thinking more about tact than was ever necessary. In fact, it seems in hindsight to have been exceedingly needless; his initial impulse of just floating on over to that equine derriere and shoving his cock straight in could've been accepted. Still though, he doesn't waste any time regretting it or feeling silly. It was wise to hedge his bets on 'it won't accept some strange creature just because it says to', and even if it proves superfluous now, he pats himself on the back for his self control. Right before he turns the rest of his composition over to his own feral lust, instigated by that intense heat. That's, the intense heat in general. As everything about it has proven incredibly appealing. At times, dragons are mistaken for aesthetic and pristine creatures. Fantastically unnatural, as they're likely something that nature itself didn't have a hand in. And their peculiarities are many.
But make no mistake, the ludicrously sexual nature of this mare-end strums a very resonant chord for the drake. It's gorgeous, even before he turns around to present that gender to him. He's still got the image of it from behind etched perfectly into his memory, and from up front, he can peak and watch the equine pussy positively pour. Gods almighty, he could even hear the damn thing! It's such an excessive sexuality that the serpent-like thing's tongue lolls out of its mouth to wave and taste the air again, and his prick starts drooling precum forthright. Spilling into the dirt, foliage, and grass beneath...
"You'll love. Nothing's ever not", he starts, snaking his way forwards swiftly and scaling his considerably larger mate's backside. He spares him those claws that he usually uses for climbing. It's a little clumsy at first, and he goes up one outstretched leg alone, but then he transitions himself into a really rather broad stance. Either hindclaw on either of those broad hips. His long, slinky body reaches far enough for him to rest along the centaur's horse body, his chin coming down somewhere before the sapient-half's body. With just a little slack. It's such a big thing, he thinks to himself. That's something else he likes... getting to mount something so many times his size. So masculine, as well! That really enhances it! He's been with the manlier sexes before in the past, but not like this, and not nearly as often. It's so rare that this is really a treat... well scratch that, it's something he's never gotten to experience before at all!
His on hindquarters are raised, but they're going through the small beforehand motions of finding their mark. Not that it takes very long or is very difficult, but perhaps the fog in his mind is why it's drawn out. The tapering, pointed glans on it prods here and there at his lover's ass. Between that puffy sex and a hemisphere of equine hip, then sliding upwards, tracing its way around another, more puckered orifice, but that's definitely the wrong direction. His hips raise again, and he knows precisely where he's going this time. It prods testingly at those lips, at the heated moisture leaking from it... but he waits for just the right moment. Gyrating those hips in shallow motions. It's cruelly tantalizing. The poor beast is probably overcome with desire for it, and it's just mere inches away... but still, it's not 'til that next wink comes that he very sharply and roughly slams his hips downwards. The resulting smack sends droplets of equine juice spraying out in little droplets in the small crevice formed between the drake's groin and his mare's cunt. It also gets a sharp hiss followed by a loud and very, very happy purr from the dragon.
Agarus Greaves: The tension was absolutely agonising as that narrow little creature clambered up his back end - graceful enough that it did not slip on his overabundant leakage - and lay across him as it lined up their mismatched genitalia. 'Sqirch-sqirch-sqirch', he couldn't help it, the centaur's hungry pussy clenched again and again, drawing his clit up as though desperate and reaching for contact. Those sharp, probing pokes were just the prelude and it almost made the big stallion groan out in frustration, if he had the time to do so. Fortunately, however, his trembling anticipation was violently cut short.
Absolute rapture. The timing of that violating plunge was so adept that those barbs scored across his bulging clitoris and sent the horse-man's inner flesh into absolute spasms. The squeeze of that lewd wink didn't abate, but instead tightened in an unstable tremble that was echoed right up the centaur's body. A strained noise hissed between his clenched teeth and his humanoid torso arched back more than a little. The relief was so powerful that it almost sent him rocketing to climax right there, but as the stars burst before his eyes the sensation ebbed just slightly, and his searing, succulent cunt slackened gently into the most deliciously soft grip. Part of him was glad. The intensity was almost too much to bear.
Beads of sweat trickled anew down his chiselled front, and when he caught his breath again he cast a bleary look over his shoulder. He couldn't quite see the dragon's head, but he could see that snaking body draped over his back and down his rump. He could definitely also feel that incredible little prick inside him. What it lacked it size it certainly made up for in texture, and Agarus was more than eager to have it rut him proper.
Arthit: Arthit, under different circumstances, would have happily taken his time and introduced his admittedly strange phallus to a new partner with care and timing. Or, at the very least, he would've helped them adjust to being penetrated. The same way any creature would. There's numerous reasons why he didn't bother with that this time, though. This time was incredibly and altogether different, and slamming himself right on in was the only way that he really could have done it. More importantly, it was the only way that he cared to do it. That mare pussy was prostrated and waved right in front of him, and buy the time he seized it, he's been sniffing those overpowering pheromones for a solid two minutes or so. He wasn't in any position to restrain himself. Then he thought about whether or not his lover'd have it any other way... if he's half horse, then the answer would seem to be 'no, he wouldn't.' There's horses in the lands that he comes from as well, and yeah, he's occasionally been bored enough to watch them go at it. He's been bored enough before to fall asleep for a decade at a time. Anyway, foreplay doesn't seem to be much of a concept to them. They just go straight for it... and in comparison to an equine member, Arthit's, well, a little underhung.
That's not to say that it's inconsiderable, though. Oh dear, it's quite possibly the epitome of that 'size of the ship' idiom. Consider a dog his size and what they'd come equipped with, though, and he'd outclass them. But what he lacks in size as compared to a horse, he makes for in excess with contours, ridges, textures-- his anatomy in general. Everything about it seems to be put together by only the most clever minds to suit absolutely anything he'd care to mount. The slight, upwards curve of it; the pointy tip; the steep, but soft ridges along its sizes, and most curiously, those barbs. They're less like barbs and more like, well, thorns, really. But they're blunted. And then bend, indeed rubbery and fleshy. Now what they do to that poor, winked clitoris while he's ramming in should be beyond words. He'd clenched as well before shoving down, so there was all that excess blood flexing his cock, which in turn made those barbs really /stand out/. Six of them in total, shortest up front and longest in the middle, all battering that most sensitive of places in turn. It's really no surprised that the mare climaxed just like that.
It turns out that there's some little mechanism in the dragon's subconscious that says 'did she just cum? Now's YOUR TURN too.' But ah, even as incredible as that cunt feels, with all the steaming juices in it and that incredible, strong musculature inside clenching on him, he just hasn't stimulated himself enough to trigger that response. But he knows the solution! He withdraws his hips just as quick as he'd shoved in, and into that climaxing sex, he humps viciously. Hard, shallow humps, quick like the beating of a hummingbird's wings, making sharp, wet 'slapslapslapslapslap' sounds. One more feature of that draconic phallus makes itself known: the swelling near the base of it, the three lobes of knot, one positioned downward for the love of quadrupeds, rapidly expanding. There's approximately three or four short thrusts before the thing's fully erect, and his mentality tricks him into thinking that he can't withdraw it when it's trapped behind that tensed clit and those outward lips. Another hiss and a little, high squawk, and the eager little breeder's cock erupts, spraying with such velocity and volume that it feels like a stream and a splash of ludicrously thick, tingly seed. It goes straight through that cervix it's so strong, and splashes delightfully into that fertile chamber.
Agarus Greaves: The big stallion hadn't climaxed, but Arthit could have definitely been forgiven for thinking so with the way the horse's box had squeezed and chewed toothlessly on the first thrust. That said, however, the situation was quickly remedied. Those sharp, mercilessly rapid pumps of the dragon's hips set Agarus's broad and muscled rear ablaze with overstimulation. There was a lot of depth that the small dragon wasn't plumbing, but that didn't matter. The stallion's most sensitive spots were shallow in his body, and Arthit was hitting them all just right. Those slippery barbs buzzed across his clit just right when he clenched - which he did as often and with as much strength as he could summon - and every now and then the head would jab a deliciously pleasurable spot just a couple inches in. The sheer, cunt-churning barrage stole his breath, then made him grasp blindly for a solid tree trunk just ahead before he was forced explosively into an intensely cathartic orgasm.
The shudder that rippled up his powerful body was so strong that it shook droplets of sweat from him, and his jaw hung agape in mind-numbing satisfaction. To think that something so small could elicit that kind of feeling in something so big was incredible. He barely registered the bulge of that tight knot, and only became aware of the slick friction against his clit just a moment before the handsome little dragon blew inside him like a geyser.
The first shot was so strong that it stung the stallion's pleasure-loosened cervix and spattered in a wide spray on the other side, tainting his womb with fat droplets of nigh-gelatinous spunk. The sensation made the centaur start, his whole body jerking almost off the ground. He barked too, with a sound that trailed off into a desperately needful groan when he realised what it was. His heat was a raging inferno, and in his mind that injection of reptilian seed might as well have hissed and steamed as it doused his rampant fertility - so potent was the reaction inside his egg-laden belly. More, long jets of the slimy, powerful stuff were deposited in him and the heavier, and more dense his equine under-gut got the greater the flood of hormones and feel-good chemicals that washed through his body.
The result was pure, unadulterated gratification and the centaur just closed his eyes and soaked it all in, finally finding relief.
Arthit: If it's true that the first, initial response that he'd gotten after his initial entry wasn't actually the other climaxing, then the actual climax would've, it would seem, been enough to buck the little dragon right off the centaur's equine half with its intensity. Were he not secured so strongly by convulsing and gripping muscle, and by the topography of his own prick doing it's job and making sure he's not going anywhere 'til the guy's completely and utterly seeded. Not that he actually would've gone flying or anything, but suffice to say on something that's shuddering so hard, and with legs that're only as long as his own, keeping a grip had become a struggle of its own. So maybe he'll be forgiven when his pointy claws're added to the mix. They don't cut, but it's a feeling like dragging the dull eye of a needle across one's skin. Perhaps the fellow will appreciate it as an enhancement to all the other powerful feelings that're running through his body.
It'd seem logical to hold on to one of the horse legs underneath him with his long tail, but no, the long thing's high up in the air as leverage to keep his hips down nice and secure, to keep him balanced and to keep his hips, like a fulcrum, positioned upwards just right. That perfect angle, the one that lines the tip of his phallus up with the destination of his seed. As a matter of reflex, the little drake's hips continue to shudder and pulse, to shove down blissfully against the plump, swollen lips and be repelled by the force of plain soft tissue when he lets up. Not that there's really anything plain about it, but... in any case, if the mare's only getting more heated with an orgasm, he's not slowing down one bit either. That first blast, of course, will always be the strongest. But the subsequent ones are damn close, and each one adds to the overall volume of spunk being sprayed deep inside. So, the ones prior that'd left some outside of that womb? The seed from the next washes it right inside.
Of course it must necessarily not sit for too long. The stuff comes out steamingly hot, and despite its viscosity, it runs nice and easy. Albeit much the same way that syrup will run, even if it's reduced a little too much. But, and mercifully, it cools relatively quickly. And once it does, well, suffice to say it's neither moving nor coming back out. Only washing off from the internal walls that it clings to when comes another wave of draconic seed to blast it off. Apparently, whatever base that stuff's composed of, it doesn't much care for the feminine liquids inside. It'll repel it outright and hold its ground. It's a tough thing to describe, but it's fierce, and it's just made, much like the cock that it came from, to get whatever needs breeding bred.
Once things calm down a little, Arthit himself is allowed to calm down and loosen his grip. Resign into the rhythm of pulse after slightly weaker pulse. Already, he can feel the other's cooling down as well, and he feels good about himself for being the one to provide it. Like he's some kind've philanthropist or something, doing the horse-man a favor. It dawns on him that he might not be held so secure as he thinks, so, he tests the grip that those internal muscles really have on him by withdrawing his hips an extra couple've inches... a loud, wet pop and presumably a rush of mixed liquids spilling over is the result, but still, he'd managed to tug that knot out so soon. Drake grins to himself, redoubles his grip and shoves it right back in with some effort, but oh is that something to keep in mind for next time. "T-there you have it... your need salved, eh? Or isn't that enough
Agarus Greaves: These were the moments that Agarus lived for - primal satisfaction - and it made the week-long build up almost worth the struggle. His distended womb radiated warmth, not heat, through him and tingled a deep-bass note from the strange quality of that dragonic seed. "Ugh- Fuckin' Gods..." He cursed under his breath, yet the dopey smile on his face stood out in clear contrast.
By the time he was getting filled to capacity, however, that smile had slackened and instead his brow furrowed anew. Just how fertile was this slender, scaly godsend? The stallion's belly grew uncomfortably bloated, then achingly so as more and more of the sludge was packed into him and sealed inside. His greedy cunt gulped every drop, though, and all of it went exactly where it was supposed to. Mostly, anyway. The final few pulses proved to be the straw that broke the centaur's back, and his overstuffed cervix was puckered out so lewdly with pressure that it couldn't help but burp and burble a morsel of the pearly ooze back into his pussy, which then gushed out with his slick fluids as the dragon slurped that knot free.
"No it's- It's enough." He huffed, planting a palm back on his equine flank. There were no visible outer signs of his swollen womb, but the massive male could definitely feel it in there. The tingling, too, was growing in a way that made him slightly uneasy. "For now, anyhow." He grunted, then turned his head to try to peer back. "Yer a surprisin' lit-" Ag paused there, hesitating on using the word 'little'. He didn't know just what sort of creature he was dealing with, after all. "Yer a surprisin' fella, eh? Last thing I expected to meet out here was a dragon."
Arthit: It's surprising that he'd came enough to fill that womb. Very surprising, in fact. True enough that with partners closer to his own size category, a significant amount of the stuff ends up somewhere other than inside. On the ground or wherever, or on the partner themselves. But this is the first time he's been with something of this size and he's actually felt like he's completely fulfilled the needs of the thing's womb, much less done so in excess. He'll chalk this one up to the astounding and overwhelming heat that he's been huffing all this time, and to the centaur's incredible way of doing things. Inside, outside, the way he looks, everything. It might just be that they come from two very different worlds and were made of very different persuasions, but oh dear if that did anything but make it a thousand times better.
Perhaps it really was the primal aspect of it. The vast majority of Arthit's partners, despite the superstitions and the way he's rather hunted for capture in his homeland, are humanoid. If they're not humans, then they're certainly human/oids/. And those're the kind of people that pay so much formality to the act. Everything has some kind of time and place, and there's such an emphasis on the understated and the romantic... it frankly gets very tiring, although not tiring enough for him to quit doing it, after a number of decades and centuries. It was definitely a different story here though. It was incredibly more raw and feral, everything about it. It's why he still hasn't completely pulled out, although there's just the thinnest drops of spare seed leaking from the end of his phallus now. Even those barbs have softened and gone flaccid by now. Knot's beginning to soften up a little... eventually, he pulls out, and the softness of his shrinking cock lets the rest of it fall free on the slickness of excess liquids. It's another lewd, sexual noise, and a dull slap against the marebits when he tries to correct and pull out more slowly, only succeeding in smacking the already out thing against them.
Usually, around this time he'd dismount and, if there was nothing left to say, he'd just be on his way. But he's not going to do just that, this time. Instead, he climbs forward a little. Perched with a little more restfulness and leeway low on but atop the centaur's back. He grins though, apparently having caught the inclination to call him 'little'. He doesn't mind it so much, although, not for the reasons expected. He likes it because being small means he's ofttimes underestimated. It's easy to exceed expectations, especially when they start so low. "'S there even dragons at all here? ... I came from another land, wherein I'm a unique thing. There're similar things, but nothing exactly alike. You're precisely what I came looking for, though." Smalltalks hard when one doesn't speak the language with the same familiarity, and they've just done something like that. But he's trying
Agarus Greaves: It was another relief when the little dragon pulled out and left Agarus's raw, spent pussy to steam and leak all by itself in the cool autumn air. His tail remained high exactly for that sensation. "I ain't ever seen one, no." He rumbled, then shuffled on his hooves to turn slightly. It was no use, really, since the creature was perched on his back. He was never going to catch sight of it's face that way. "There's stories, though. An' not just tall ones, I gather." He stopped then for a moment, then heaved a long sigh to re-centre himself. Gathering his wits wasn't easy in the aftershocks of such a sudden and violently potent mating. That, and the tingling deep in his gut was even now still creeping up in intensity. It was like the stuff was effervescent, even though he would quite firmly assume otherwise. Who knew what lurid characteristics dragon-spunk had, though?
"Thanks fer, uh, helpin' me with that. I was really at the end of my rope." His tone wasn't awkward, yet still held the slight tentativeness of making a new acquaintance. "Yer a real firecracker, huh? Ain't come so hard in years..." He strained to look back with his usual grin, "Yuh wanna come up front so I can see yuh?" Though the big stallion had been bred as thoroughly as he ever had been he assumed the load wouldn't take. In his experience his trysts with reptiles and other wildly-differing species usually didn't bear any fruit. Mammals were a different story, of course, and his gut was always receptive to warm-blooded seed. Memories of a certain canine were proof of that.
"Ugh. My gut's ticklin' like hell. Don't suppose that's normal fer yuh?" He grunted, somewhat sheepishly. It was a definite understatement. His broad belly was absolutely fizzing, and it made his thick hide prickle with cold sweat.
Arthit: Sometime around when he cranes his neck around and takes a gander at the literal steam rising from around the long, straight for of the equine's tail, he thinks to himself about how he should've prolonged the act. This isn't the right time for a round two, even if he's completely capable of one, and oh does he want to take advantage of his own libido. There's just something about the bestially salacious that's so very much more enticing than the pristine and delicate sex that he's usually presented with. Picturing it was definitely not the right route to self control, painting for himself a mental picture of what it looks like now after he's done the deed with it, but somehow, he maintains his composure anyway. Although in the future, when they're familiar with one another, that may not be the case.
So, dragons are rare in this land to. And from what can discern, they're different in form and factor. Decidedly different. The depictions he's seen, while crude, described something he wasn't expecting, and something that he doesn't quite have the wherewithal to describe as a familiar 'dragon'. Not something unlikable, certainly, but still something unfamiliar. Of course now that he's heard, from possibly the most worldly creature he'll meet in these woods, that they're incredibly rare, his secondary goal for visiting these lands has gone on hold. If he happens upon one, maybe he'll take the opportunity to introduce himself. But until then, he feels decently certain that he'll be satisfied with the likes of this centaur and its ilk. "Yeh... I haven't heard hide nor hair of them. And I'm further inland than I'd anticipated to not find their trace." The little thing shrugs, although the gesture will be lost to Agarus, and then he obligingly turns to face off the side of the equine's body, and hops down nimbly.
He slips up front so the two of them can face one another. When he rears onto his hind legs and plants his tail for support, he comes up a little further. At right about four and a half feet tall, his neck and head included. His tall horns give the impression of a slightly larger creature, but to anything that is really analyzing him, they'll know to account for the illusion. "'S what everyone says. Some get frightful for some reason, but it's just what it feels like. You'll acclimate to 't, but 's not going away for a day or two-- it just means it's working", he says through another grin.
Agarus Greaves: Arthit was a decidedly beautiful critter in comparison to the muck and dull, moulting trees in that stretch of the forest. When Agarus set eyes - cleared now from their haze of lust - on the slender thing he couldn't help but feel a stab of something in his chest. Awed aesthetic appreciation? Perhaps. Then again it might have been a more instinctual affection for the creature that had deposited an intimate part of themselves inside his body. Though not the romantic type the centaur did often indulge in those feelings of attachment to his partners, and always held a special disposition for them. That was certainly not to say he was against traditional, lasting love - it was just exceedingly rare that he met anyone who was suitable for such a bond. He was a creature of the wild, after all, and his brazenly indulgent behaviour wasn't shared or sympathised by many. On the flip-side, there were few who met his own, stringent standards.
"Aye. Yuh'll have a tough time findin' em. Yer best bet is prob'ly to head deeper into the woods. All sorts of things can be found in there. Dangerous, though. Real dangerous." His tone was mildly distracted as he spoke, and his forehoof scuffed slightly at the ground in an absent display of agitation. There was no doubt about what was keeping the 'taur worked up, and his next words confirmed it. "Workin'? Aw, damn. It's definitely doin' somethin' in there." To his surprise his sweat hadn't abated. He dripped with it, and frowned desperately in discomfort. The realisation that the feeling was his belly being actively fertilised sent a shock of prickling heat up his spine. "Shit. I'm gonna get knocked up?" He grunted, brow knotted as he continued to fidget. The intensity of it made him feel vulnerable, slightly ashamed. For such a large and powerful creature that was certainly something. "How many?"
Arthit: It's entirely possible that Arthit only exists as a result of attention to aesthetic, in fact. His likeness, in varying styles, is frequently carved and used to adorn the streets, houses, and shrines of his homeland. Which has frequently come in useful, when in the evening hours he needs a place to hide, all he'd have to do is strike a pose and hold it adamantly. Some would stop to marvel at the realism of the newly erected sculpture, but none would suspect anything 'til it went missing. There's also just something intrinsically likable about him. His mannerisms, the surprisingly soothing tone of his voice or the comforting look that he's sure to keep in his eyes. A large part of it's his silver tongue which, even if he's not trying to be persuasive, often is at least convincing or placating. And then there's the, er, paternal aspect. Perhaps Agarus' draw to him his partially instinctual. Far be it from him to think less of that; he'd never look a gift horse in the mouth, no pun intended.
"... 'Real' dangerous? That's... foreboding. I'll abstain for now." He says, his grin fading. What could be more dangerous in there? Crossing overland the most threatening thing he'd encountered thus far was some curious wolf which, however giant it may've been, was only just curious and easy to tell of. Then there was that one bear, which he'd squawked at viciously and sent up a tree. That was around the time, of course, that he'd decided to make like a kite and spent the majority of his time well above the forest floor.
Between his thighs, his dragonhood's gone decidedly more flaccid, although it's only just beginning to withdraw back into its internal sheath. When it does, that's when he stops displaying it openly. He plants his front legs again and it can only just be spotted through both front and hind legs. His grin, which was just fading, at least becomes a smile again. Something tells him that the other doesn't altogether mind having his young, but it wasn't expected. 'Surprise', he thinks to himself, but he definitely wouldn't say that aloud. "I~'m not the limiting thing. 'S many as you've got the... uh... fecundity? --To have. You've had some seasons that went unfulfilled though, 's gonna be lots." What he won't mention is that a part of all that tingling is some very active seed doing its thing and helping to kick those egg-making organs into overtime. It's like tea or coffee for the womb, and it's why the humans he's spent times with are inordinately likely to have twins, even triplets.
Agarus Greaves: The stallion, at first, seemed somewhat dismayed. Lots? Pregnancy was a bothersome burden at best, and horrendously crippling at worst. It sounded, and felt, like this one was pushing firmly towards the latter. His libido was always kicked into overdrive, too, when he bore foals. Nothing near the intensity of his heat, of course, but it was a nagging itch that grew with the size of his gut. Certainly not something that could be remedied with some desperate rubbing against a tree. Considerate sires had, in the past, stayed with him to assuage his needs. Something about this creature seemed to suggest their motives were otherwise, though. Despite his reassuring smile Arthit seemed a flighty sort of sprite on the outside. Many stories of dragons painted them as fickle, too. Agarus didn't fancy his chances too much.
"Ah." He grunted, a little abrupt. After a moment he growled a sigh, "Yeah, I s'pose it's been a couple years since my season last got done." His gruff demeanour didn't last too long, though, before he settled into a slightly tired smirk. It was hard to stay too down with a belly full of seed and in the face of the dragon's own upbeat tone. "Are yuh settin' off now?" He rumbled, with his usual good nature. "Or did yuh wanna stay fer somethin' to eat? I live pretty near here, an' I was 'bout to grab myself some grub. Plenty goin' spare, if yuh feelin' up fer the company." In truth he was really quite curious about just what Arthit might be, and where he had come from. Agarus had seen plenty of very strange things in the wood, but this critter was different in a way he had never witnessed. He was eager to pry the dragon for his story. Sloppy seconds would just be an additional benefit to conversation, of course.
Arthit: Those stories are right. It's exceedingly uncommon for them to be loyal or considerate, even and especially the things that they've just spent time in bed with. Or not in bed, but out in the middle of the forest, well, the point remains that if this were an ordinary partner, he would have bid the fella adieu and hopped off looking for his next paramour. Hoping that it was better than the previous. But since he's encountered something of a wall- the woods ahead are dangerous and he's tempted by the notion of getting to repeat that mating again -he doesn't feel entirely ready to proceed in his quest. And frankly, the sex was just too spectacular for him to not show his appreciation by sparing his company. Besides, there's a secondary motive. One that he's not altogether certain of himself, one that doesn't seem conscious, but definitely one that he'll possibly want fulfilled of Agarus does, indeed, prove to be just the right kind of person. The criteria are indeed stringent. But he's met so many of them already.
So, the little drake nods deeply and rises to a stand again. Between his thighs, the dragon's shaft is completely withdraw. Something tells him, though, that if he's to let the centaur take point and walk behind him, from his perspective he'll be staring right at those lovely parts. It might not remain hidden for long after all. "Yeh, I'd like that. You're the best thing I've met out here so far, so, I won't be on my way so soon. I would visit either way... it'll be a surprise what the product of today is. 'Aven't met anything that makes dragons yet." He says, sounding like his hopes are up.
Agarus Greaves: As he trotted on ahead Agarus made no special effort to display his rut-sloppy pussy. Occasional glimpses were inevitable, though, and the trickling warmth of their leftover fluids eased their way down the centaur's inner thighs along the way. Truth was that he, too, was pondering slightly on the nature of their offspring. Less pondering though, and more touching on the thought with apprehension. He was the one who would be carrying them, after all. "Heh, well thanks I s'pose. Yer certainly the 'best' thing I could'a hoped to bump in to, too. Yuh'know, considerin' my condition." It was mildly curious, really. His heat wasn't usually quashed so abruptly. It often dragged on for a little time after his seeding. 'Usually' and 'often', in this case, meaning 'always'. Somehow, though, the dragon's intense fluids had doused it entirely. In its place was left an itch that was almost as maddening. One that made him sweat no less, at least.
"Jus' 'round here." He rumbled, scraping grooves into the soft dirt as he crested a small ridge. On the other side Agarus's home could be spotted. It was nothing too impressive - a broad, leather canvas of sorts stretched between a couple of trees and nestled against an outcropping of rock. Perhaps it was traditional that centaurs resided in tents. It was suited to their bulky form, and there was only one individual to sample from, after all. The stallion didn't pause as he led Arthit down towards it.
"Here we go." Brushing the front flap aside he stepped in. Once the dragon followed he would see that the place was rather well-equipped for such a flimsy-seeming structure. A large fire pit took up the centre, which fed its smoke up through a hole at the apex of the conical 'ceiling'. A couple of pieces of rudimentary furniture lined the wall, too; all pretty robust, and yet some surprisingly well-crafted. The centaur busied himself with a rack of dried meat, then fussed over some sacks of vegetables. "Make yerself at home. Don't s'pose yuh could light the fire?"