FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Ah! There you are! Come closer, my friend. Take off your shoes, doff your robes and make yourself at home. I apologize for the lack of proper sized seating, but please take some pillows from the cabinet over there and make yourself cozy on the carpet. Give me a moment to fetch you some mezze and teas. Doubtless the journey has left you famished, and that is no state to be in. We may have matters of great importance to discuss, but there is no need to hurry. If anything, we should address our business with an abundance of care and thought.

Mmm, here we go. Sultanas and figs to your left, pocket bread, hummus and olives on the right. I have a gyrebird roasting in a lemon yogurt sauce for your meal, with saffron rice and lamb rolls on the side. Please help yourself to everything; I've already had my evening meal. Oh? A half-dozen barbecue roasted armadillo, actually. A delicacy even a human could appreciate- if only I could persuade one to try. Yes, yes; I'm sure you've heard that my kind serve vulture meat in a similar state, but I'll have you know I actually find the taste quite disagreeable myself. Moreover, they are such lovely creatures I find hunting them a repulsive activity. I enjoy having some company in the thermals, and few birds fly at the height a dragon soars at.

Would you like some tea with your meal? I have several drums of sweetrose and mint tea down in the larder; drink as much as you'd like. Very refreshing, those teas. I sometimes wonder how you can stand the heat of the sun at all without scales. I've read that human sweat glands serve to cool you down through evaporative cooling, but to me it seems like one would be poached in their own juices in desert heat. Anyway, I also have Ishivii mead, Orcish ale and iced coffee if you'd prefer any of- heh, yes! Yes, there are Ishivan monks in my territory, and I do have occasion to visit them every so often. But I did not have to spend any coin on this particular barrel of mead. In fact, thereby hangs a tale.

There is an Ishivian monastery not far from here- well, it isn't much of a flight, I should say. You'd be hard pressed to find it without proper guidance because most of it is underground and the entrance is regularly covered by the shifting of the sands. Anyway, in addition to their scholarly work the monks there produce all manner of fine goods in their tunnels, including cured meats and aged cheeses that are of superior quality. I assume there is an apiary down in one of those tunnels, because their mead is as tasty as anything a tavern to the south-west will serve. As fresh as mother's milk as the dwarves say, though I think the price they charge for it is high even so.

Anyway, the barrel I possess now came into my ownership not by trade but in a rather circuitous fashion. I was out for my nightly flight a moon ago when I saw a monk quite far from the monastery, pulling a fully loaded cart without the benefit of a beast's labor. The smell of the comestibles inside was enough I knew of the cheese long before I saw the man. I had a good laugh at the spectacle of the overburdened traveler and the winding trail his struggles left behind- like two drunken rattlesnakes it was- before tucking my wings in to have a closer look. I thought it most likely he'd lost his animals to heat or predation somewhere along the way, and intended to offer him my assistance.

Before I even spoke to the man I should say that I found the scene to be rather odd. The Ishivian monks may be fanatically devoted to their order, but it only shows in matters of orthodoxy. In more practical affairs they show an abundane of caution and would never be so reckless as to send off a cart so laden without proper crew and guard. But I am neither human nor the adherent of any religion, so I did not question the possibility of such an arrangement- possibly as a test of the man's faith or punishment for his lack of it- and landed to inquire further.

I was not at all surprised that my landing frightened the monk half to death. Wyrms of the desert like myself are not exactly the largest representatives of draconkind, but the impact of my descent was enough to shake the sand out from under the monk's feet. I should say I often find it necessary to adopt human guise when speaking with the monks, primarily because their dwellings are simply not built to accommodate a dragon, even one of magically-reduced stature. But it is also the case that our appearance and mannerisms- there is no mistaking a dragon for anything but the paragon of apex predators- puts most people in a very uncomfortable state of mind. So I took my time introducing myself and offering pardons for the startle, waiting for the monk to calm down... and in the meantime, took my measure of the man.

I know only a few of the monks by name and sight alone, and he was not one of them. After the shock of my arrival wore away and he realized he was in no immediate danger, he told me quite the story. He said he'd been traveling in a trade caravan with three others of the Ishivii- four being a small number but not unheard of- when sickness overcame one of their number, forcing him to return home. Naturally enough, they'd sent off an escort to make sure he made it back safely, owing to the man's age and the unusual severity of his illness. But that was not all the ill-fortune the monk claimed! He said that a scorpion had killed one of their pack beasts the next day while they rested at an oasis, and the other had bolted. The remaining monk, he said, had set off in pursuit of the lost beast and never returned.

Now, anyone who has read widely from history and fiction knows that the former is full of anecdotes and characters so absurd that no writer worth their craft would dare put them to pen- were it not for the fact they actually occurred, with all of the evidence, witnesses the like to confirm beyond any doubt their existence. I myself find it hard to believe that thousand-year reign of the Mettenarch line was ended not by the sword but by a poorly designed flour silo, but nonetheless there is a crater to prove it. But the story given to me by the monk that night did not ring true to my earholes. To paraphrase an elven proverb, falling prey to ill-fortune once is a sorrow, twice a tragedy and thrice the work of a clever enemy. The monk laughed and sighed and spoke with the bitterness of a man who had endured the travails he claimed, but the improbability of it all stuck with me.

So I decided, in my own way, to test the man.

"Well!" I said to him, "If you wish to travel through my territory, then you know the toll. Either your goods are forfeit or your flesh is mine"- here I paused to let the words bite- "to partake of in my bedchambers, of course."

It was plain from the horror on his face and the smell of his fear that neither proposition met with his approval! He stammered and tried to bargain on more favorable terms, but I demanded his answer in a fashion that brooked no debate and his answer gave away the game. He offered me his body.

Of course, it was not his reply to my demand that gave away his game, but the fact that he judged it reasonable at all. I might not know all of the Ishavii, but I would bet you my own blood they all know *me*. And I would never, *ever* have made such a demand to those under my protection! Only an outsider would be so ignorant.

Well, no, it isn't that I like the Ishavii, or agree with any of their ridiculous doctrines. It is that their monastery is a part of my territory, and to a dragon territory means... everything. The Ishavian order and I have a clear understanding on this subject. It is complicated and rather hard to explain to a human, so take me at my word when I say that an outsider violating the sanctity one's territory is an offense no dragon can ignore. So you see, the purpose of my demand was three-fold. A real monk would have rejected the demand as absurd and proved his innocence. A thief, on the other hand, could only satisfy me by returning that which he stole or becoming mine himself.

I picked up the thief's cart with my talons and took him into my claws, prodding him further with barbed words aimed at Ishavii doctrine as I flew off. He shook in my grasp while he struggled to defend the beliefs of an order he clearly knew little about. The man was rather quick-witted and clever, but of course it is nearly impossible to defend against an attack on an unknown target. His hastily-constructed arguments crumbled into flat denials and assertions, and then silence. Twice I asked him with dead-straight if he was truly of the order in the most threatening tone I could manage, and twice he denied me with the certitude of a true believer.

By the time we landed back at my lair, I'd had my fill of sharp practice and was ready to speak to him on proper terms. Again I gave the thief a chance to surrendered his ill-gotten goods. Again, he refused. I saw his mind was set, and so I bade the thief to strip, and went through the usual suite of magical preparations one must when...

Well, yes, it does take quite a few. One of the reasons why I usually stick to my own kind when it comes to carnal relations is the bother of it all. It takes magic to reduce my size to an appropriate degree, and more magic to cleanse the human body of sweat, filth and hair. Then, enhancement spells to thicken the skin, toughen bone and bulk up muscle. Without such magic I wouldn't even entertain the thought of sex with a human, even one of superior constitution.

I should say that once I was done and he had disrobed himself, the fear had faded from him and was replaced with a... sense of curiosity. His curiosity was curious to me. As I said earlier, dragons tend to inspire fear even when we don't want to. But I saw why. Underneath his robes the man had a body tanned by sun and wrought by work, and bore deep scars all up and down his chest, back and legs. He looked shamed by them, but made no move to hide them. Nor could he. His body had been worked over by crude torture everywhere I could see, and had healed imperfectly if at all.

It was clear enough to me why the thief was such an able liar, why he thought little of dragging twice again his weight through the sand by himself. Why he was not scared of me once he knew he would not come to harm. I did not need to ask. His scars told me enough.

He stood there, naked and proud and curious, realizing for the first time that I was not there to draw screams and blood from him for my own pleasure. He stared at me and I stared at him, our mutual curiosity displacing everything else until all that remained was the longing to know more than our eyes could tell us. Nonetheless, I can say with certainty he was quite surprised when I threw him into the pillows I usually rest my tail on, and then pounced on him.

Oh, don't look at me like that! I'll have you know the only screams I drew from his lips came from pleasure, not pain. Frankly, there is no way that a dragon can be too gentle when copulating with a creature as small as a human. It is a simple matter of fact that our size and strength are what they are, and humans do not- can not- measure the same. You know, your kind are far too squeamish when it comes to discussing sexual congress. There should be pride, not shame, in discussing love made with great passion and skill!

And besides, what alternative would you suggest? Should I have added my own mark to the thief's tormented flesh? Bound him in iron? No, I think you misunderstand what I mean by territory; I shall have to elaborate soon. We dragons use sex not merely when consummating love or enjoying friendship, but to settle disputes, repay debts and show lesser beings their place. I did not deceive the scarred thief about my intentions, I assure you. But I would not be terribly surprised if the thief deceived himself in his desire to leave my lair with his stolen goods.

I began by mantling my wings over the thief and pinning him in place with my claws, showing him my strength. And then pressed my slit against his face until he stopped struggling and knew my musk well. There is something I always find delectable in the time it takes for my conquests to realize they are mine, all that frenetic twisting and turning and useless activity slowly dying down as they realize all they are doing is wasting energy and breath they'll soon need...

Sorry, again, pardon the laughter. I am simply trying not to arouse myself overmuch as I convey the story to you.

Anyway, the thief caught on sooner than most, and when I told him to lick my slit he listened. When I urged him to press deeper and proceed with greater zest, he complied. It took slightly longer to persuade him to attend to my tailhole in the same fashion- I believe I had to hold him in place with my tail for the first few minutes- but after that he put his mouth to good use. I slowly pushed him further and further back with nothing more than my backside, thoroughly enjoying the sensation of his soft lips around my tailhole and his tongue pressing in and out of my tailpassage, such that by the time he was on his back my member was fully everted and stood proud.

Ah, the look on his eyes when I turned back around and he saw the size of my dragonhood at full mast is not one mere words could do justice to! It is a reaction a dragon quickly becomes familiar with. In addition to being much larger than anything between a human male's legs, my member has a prominent head to it- much like a human member when you peel back the sheathe- but I also have very large knot, both of which were on full display. The poor thief looked ready to renege on the bargain he'd insisted upon, but I pushed the head of my maleness past his lips before he could summon so much as a word.

I must admit love the sensation of having the head of my member sucked and suckled upon. Dragons are at quite the disadvantage when it comes to providing oral care to the male member. There is only so much sensation one's shaft and knot can derive from a tongue, whereas it is quite safe to push the whole of one's phallus into a human's mouth without much fear. Even your teeth are blunt and soft enough the sensation of being bit is actually quite a pleasant one. The scarred thief clearly had no experience with the act of pleasuring a male, but even his forced, half-desperate sucks and licks were enough to bring me to an extraordinarily pleasant peak.

I purred to let him know I was close, but I think the thief interpreted my vocalization as a growl of displeasure because he rapidly redoubled his efforts and began to push his pursed lips down the length of my shaft. It was quite an enjoyable surprise for me, but I could tell my partner didn't expect his labors to bear fruit quite so soon. I came very quickly after he took me deeper, and the first spurts of my seed filled his mouth before my otherwise quick-witted guest realized quite what was happening.

Well, yes, as you might have guessed dragons are an extremely productive species. Our seed is rather thick and sticky, especially when we've been without release for some time as I had been then. I was forced to withdraw my member from the man's mouth because his cheeks swelled fit to bursting and he refused to swallow my come, but I was quite happy to paint the thief's face with my seed instead of filling his gullet. A viscous waterfall of my come poured from his open lips and down his naked chest as he struggled to spit out what I'd left in his mouth, while fresh spurts of my seed lanced against his lips and cheeks. My release was sufficiently energetic come was forcing itself back into his mouth and splattering over the whole of his head, leaving the thief quite white from the neck up before I was even spent. He shuddered and sniffled as my climax ebbed, wiping thick strands of seed away from his eyes and nose. But for good measure I took hold of his head and pushed my dragonhood back past his lips, giving him the opportunity to have a taste of seed at a more manageable flow. Sadly he tried to decline the offer, and I was forced to persuade him to swallow and enjoy the seed rather than waste it.

By the time my release had been spent, the thief was thoroughly coated in a rich layer of my musk and come, and no longer of an obstinate disposition. I gave him a moment to rest and catch his breath, guiding him here and there with my tail, wiping the last of the come on my member onto his chest and genitals. Then I flipped the human onto his back and laid myself down on top of him, rekindling my arousal by grinding my dragonhood across his back and between his thighs.

While the thief made no attempt to dissuade me as I marked and slickened his flesh with my sex, I was far from satisfied. He held himself stiff and straight, but went limp whenever prodded. He accepted my dominance with equanimity, which was a good beginning but not what I really wanted. There is more to showing a human their place as yours than merely drenching them in come, you see. It certainly isn't about 'breaking their spirit' or humiliation or anything so vulgar as mere scenting. Dragons do not mark their territory in as crude a fashion as wolves or kings.

When a dragon must assert their authority, the proper course of action is to act in such a manner than those in your demesne think of your sovereignty as the natural state of affairs. When it comes to sexual dominance- especially with a tempered soul like the thief- only an ill-mannered wyrmling would act the part of a rapacious beast. Rather, they should be treated like... well, there is no proper human concept for what I must describe. The closest approximation I can manage is, say, a favored pet. They should be mated lovingly, but be totally under your control. When done properly, they will accept their place unconsciously and willingly both. They will be grateful- nay, eager to share your bed- but only when called. They should feel a stir in their loins and a shiver through their bones when they smell your musk, and their belly should roil with anticipation when you show them your favor.

And so when I was done marking the thief, I made love to him. I held him close to my underbelly and snaked my snout towards his front side, pressing it here and there on his bare flesh and taking in the human-smell where my own was not overwhelming. Then, very gently, I slid my tongue from my muzzle and turned nuzzles into kisses, and then licks. He seemed greatly confused at first, but I felt his muscles relax wherever my tongue traveled. I licked his scars with the tip of my tongue, tracing the valleys and canyons of tortured flesh until I knew them all. I teased his nipples and armpits with long, slow licks, drawing titters of laughter, and then shivers, and then soft moans from the thief. His tanned skin took on an ocher flush of his skin as he grew aroused, and his taste grew stronger and richer on my tongue.

I said earlier that a dragon is disadvantaged by dagger-sharp teeth when it comes to pleasing a male with our muzzles, but this is not exactly fatal to our endeavors. After all, dragon's tongue is at once powerful and dexterous, sensitive and strong. Desert breeds of wyrm like myself are fond of eating cactus whole and raw, and find spines and thorns no more bothersome than the seeds of a melon. We may have a reputation for lacking the skill with our tongues other dragons do, but I assure you there is nothing to such hearsay. To wit, the thief's body was like honey when I let go of it, pouring into place when directed by nuzzle or nudge.

I laid him on his belly and licked his feet, slicing the thin tip of my tongue between his toes before massaging the soles and arches. I pressed my tongue into the thick muscle and soft flesh of his thighs as I worked my way up his body, until I slid my tongue into the cleft where they met. Here the rogue tensed with a powerful shiver, the sensitive and seldom-touched flesh of his inner thighs and lower body mine to taste all at once. His flavors were rich here, and it was little strain from there to slide my tongue further and lap at the man's genitals. The sack holding his testes was taut, and his shaft was turgid by this point in our lovemaking, a state that only intensified each time I teased it from between his thighs. But that was not the prize I sought.

I slowly eased my licks north from the thief's thighs, towards his ass. At first, doing nothing more than favoring one cheek or another with a kiss, or swirling my tongue against the small of his back and letting it drag between them as I pulled it back into my maw. But slower than the man seemed to notice, my tongue ventured further and deeper into the valley of flesh formed by his rumpcheeks. He was still as soft between my claws as churned butter after I began taking licks from his rump's inner flesh. It was only when I pushed the tip of my tongue past the tight, virgin ring of his tailhole that I felt the man again tense and cry out, and I had to hold him in place, to keep him from struggling overmuch.

My muzzle spread his cheeks apart as I slowly forced the rest of my broad tongue into the depths of his body, wiggling it into the taut passage while the overstimulated male underneath me made sounds ranging from hysteric laughter to hoarse sobs. I would not have replied with words then even if I could, but let my tongue speak for me nonetheless. I found his sole prostate gland and held my tongue inside his rump to massage it, until the thief was tensing in eager anticipation instead of violated horror. As he grew accustomed to the feeling of my tongue sliding into, and through, and out of his ass, I began using more and more of it's length with greater force and rapidity, readying him for a proper mating.

It was most gratifying to see that when I fully withdrew my tongue and prepared to mount him, it took no prompting to direct him onto his hands and knees. By then he sensed what I expected, and more importantly desired it himself. I nestled the head of my dragonhood against his tailhole and let it rest there, and again without any further cue from me he pushed his well-prepared hole over it. The tightness and warmth of his ass around my maleness was divine, and he surely found the opposite sensation exquisite to judge by his sighs and moans.

There truly is no way for a dragon to be gentle when mating with a human, but gentleness was surely the last thing on either of our minds by then. As eagerly as I thrust myself into his small, squeezing depths, the thief burned his strength and energy to meet my motions. When the timing was just right, the rhythmic slapping of scale on skin resonated though my bedchambers wonderfully. But the human's endurance was not the equal to my own, and he soon stopped meeting my thrusts. Not long after, he buckled under the strain of my weight and the ferocity of my thrusts, collapsing bodily onto the silk of my bedding. I drove my dragonhood deeper and deeper into his body using the floor under him for leverage, until I felt the fleshy cheeks of his rump around my knot. I knotted him slowly, savoring every squeeze around my swelling flesh before pressing it deeper. It was not easy- I realized then I had probably not shrunk myself enough to properly match the thief's size- but it was extremely pleasant work.

There is no exaltation like hearing another cry in ecstasy when your knot locks inside them. I've never heard any prayer as sincere, nor any song as sweet. What it lacks in grace and nuance as far as vocalizations go, it more than makes the measure in passion and intensity. You would not believe the words that came from the lips of the scarred thief, and moreover it would be rather boorish of me to share them. But between those rapturous cries, the tensing of his muscles in orgasm and taste the bitter, sea-salt flavor of human come erupting from his member I was soon pouring my own seed into his bowels by the pint. My thrusts were slow and shallow as I came; I was tied so tight to the thief's ass I could scarcely move my haunches before I ended up pushing or pulling the whole of his bulk with me. As I said, I had left myself a little too large. We ended up tied in such a fashion the motions of my knot inside his rear stimulated both his prostate and tailhole at once.

His arousal stoked mine, and mine his, and if there was any pause between our first and second matings I missed it. I rolled over onto my back and hugged all four of my paws around his body, using my forelimbs to pull him up and my hindlimbs to pull him back down. The thief caught a second wind sometime soon after, because I recall him riding my dragonhood rather vigorously around then- though he lacked the strength to pull himself up much from where he was knotted. I helped him with the motions, then stood up on my hindpaws, rocking the human up and down on my shaft while holding him in place with a hug. Of course, even my reserves were tested by this awkward position after a while, and again I took him on the ground with his rear raised high and his head buried in silks, until we had each had our fill of pleasure and the thief was so stuffed with my come it was beginning to show in his belly.

When I was spent and my guest's battered body could take no more, we fell asleep like lovers, me holding him with his back pressed to my underbelly, him holding my tail curled up between our legs. My knot never quite softened inside his warm, taut rump, and when I awoke the next morning I was pleased find the thief rocking back and forth against my dragonhood while slowly stroking his own member. I removed his hand with my forepaw and replaced it with my tongue, and then mounted him once more.

Of course, the true test of my dominance came shortly before I saw the thief and his hard-won if ill-gotten goods from my lair. A dip of my tail, the subtlest smiles and the veiled hint of a desire was all it took to bring the scarred rogue to his knees, where he eagerly sucked my wyrmhood while stroking himself with manic energy. The look of pleasure on his face when I again graced it with my seed, the way he licked come from his lips and cheeks...

That, you see, is what it means to make a human yours. It is the furthest thing from cruelty or the issuance of ultimatums.

Oh, what of the mead? Yes! I mentioned offhandedly to the thief that I was fond of the taste as he was leaving, and he left it with me and twice refused my refusal of need. So that is the story behind why I have that particular mead in my larder.

Ah! If my snout does not deceive me I believe your gyrebird is ready. I shall fetch it, and a measure of the mead so that you can judge it's quality for yourself. After you have eaten, we can attend properly to the matter at hand.