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Sexy Serpents


Wicked Wyverns

A collection of dragon erotica

Alis Mitsy

This work is copyrighted under the pen name of Alis Mitsy as of 2018.

This story may be published under other pen names belonging to the author.

All acts and characters are works of fiction and any resemblance to real people or events is coincidental.


  1. Draconian Romance: Fighting to Claim Her as His Mate

  2. Loving Her Dragon: A Virgin Pleases the Beast of Legend

  3. Mated to the Dragon Lord: She Lusted After His Gold and Found a King

  4. Draconian Enrichment: Their Bound Toy

  5. Servicing the King’s Dragon: Taken by a Beast in the Palace Stables

  6. Transformed in the Laboratory: Humanity’s Survival Lies with a Hybrid Monster

Draconian Romance

Fighting to claim her as his mate

What makes you think I would ever mate with you?

The white dragon pulled her head back sharply, tiny nostrils flared at the end of her long, delicate muzzle. A leathery fan lifted up from her cheeks, hiding the row of spines trailing down the back of her neck, if one stood directly in front of her, admiring her beauty as she was due to be admired. She spread her wings out, enjoying the play of burning sun on the leathery folds of skin, stretching translucent between the spines that allowed flight.

But it was not her beauty that was currently under the course of speculation. A drake flailed on his back before her, wincing as his horns clacked against the rocks. A wound gaped on his side, telling tale to the line of blood trickling down from a single one of the white dragoness’ claws.

Please, Lyra...

The mud-scaled male squirmed in the dirt, flipping himself back on to all fours with a practiced twitch of his wings and tail.

I’ve waited so long for you to come into your first heat, please don’t make me wait any longer.

He gulped and exhaled a puff of smoke, head bowed before her splendour.

It’s been so long... I’ve known you since you were a hatchling. You’ve known me. We’re perfect for one another. We can be mates and never have to worry about the mating rituals ever again.

Lyra snorted, twin spires of flames shooting from her nostrils, and slapped her tail against the dirt. The male bobbed and wove his head close to the ground, wincing as sharp stones and grit flicked into his eyes and sensitive muzzle. Yet still he prostrated himself, fluttering his wings like a hatchling waiting for its first feed.

Turning her body side on to the male, Lyra rested her wings flat against her back and sat on her rump, tail coiling neatly around her feet. As still as the stone on which she sat, she regarded the drake with a cool, calculating glare. To anyone watching, it would have been strange to think that her body was prey to the fires of heat at that very moment.


She looked down her muzzle at him, lying the fan arching out from her cheeks down flat against her neck.

You are weak. I need no further reason than that to refuse to mate with you. Only the strongest are permitted to breed. You know this already.

Lyra huffed as Folmar jerked back as if he’d been stung, eyes narrowing.

Males battle for breeding rights, but it is the dragoness that chooses the drake in the end, Lyra. I’ve seen more mating seasons than you.

She laughed, throat vibrating as she cackled in a series of sharp, harsh clacks.

The grand total of three more, Folmar, and only because females mature more slowly than drakes. It’s not as if I haven’t been watching what happens when mating season rolls around.

She puffed a cloud of grey smoke, letting it curling sinuously from her nostrils as if from dramatic effect.

There are all the same, never any change as the years go by. Frankly, I find them rather tedious.

Folmar raised his head proudly, neck arched to show off the shinier scales lining the underside of his neck, which gleamed like polished copper.

That’s because you didn’t have me, Lyra. I could be your mate. He paused, looking down at his claws as he shuffled his feet. I’ve been waiting for you... I don’t know if you know that...

I know this truth.

Lyra stood and shook herself, head rolling from side to side as she worked out the kinks in her long neck. She made him wait for her answer, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if he could be impatient enough to drag it out of her, if she chose to conceal it from him.

That does not mean that it is a truth that I shall be accepting as my own at any near time.

Folmar shuddered as if he’d been struck, head swinging around to examine his wound. The gouge lanced through his scales down to the skin in a straight line across his side. Thankfully, his skin was tough enough that, though it stung and bled something terrible, it would not cause him any long term harm. Perhaps a little stiffness, at worst, to accompany the one between his hind legs.

The white dragon tilted her head to the side, blue eyes cool as she examined him like a specimen she was picking out for dinner. His pink cock hung from the hidden slit in his belly like a target, tapered to a point and smooth enough that she was sure, if he ever had the chance, that it would slide right into a dragoness’ vent like a claw into the finest hunk of venison she’d ever had the pleasure to dine on. It was a pity he would never find a female small enough to allow his meagre weight onto her back. Lyra chuckled privately to herself, sides reverberating softly. Yes indeed... He’d be better off trying to sink his cock into a deer, for all the luck he’d have there.

Even your size there is lacking, she snorted. Just how did you ever think you would be drake enough for a dragon like me?

Flaring her wings, she reared back on to her hind legs and beat the air with her massive wings with enough force to buffet the smaller male, knocking his head to the side. She bared her teeth in a feral grin, lungs expanding in a roar that sent tremors through the earth. Folmar’s head dipped marginally – enough to notice – yet he met her glare with steel behind his eyes. The brown dragon’s tail slapped the ground, a growl building deep in the back of his throat. Lyra laughed, shaking her head. What a show... He couldn’t intimidate her even with his best attempt. Their days as hatchlings were long behind them.

You would never have been strong enough to take me under your wing.

With that, she hurled her body into the air, trusting her own strength to propel her skywards without the aid of a ledge to drop from or a helpful updraft. Power surged through Lyra’s body and she screeched wildly as she pounded her wings into the air, forcing it to form to the shape she desired.

Leaving her suitor on the arid rock with not a scrap of foliage for cover, she soared into the cool embrace of the sky. Air rushed past Lyra’s scales and she hissed in the face of the wind, challenging it to bear her down. It had not overcome her since she’d been a hatchling, however, letting her pass through more storms than she could count. She flapped higher and higher, catching an updraft at last and letting it lift her wings, taking some of the strain from the muscle. As well honed as her skill was, power gradually built over many, many years of practice as a younger dragon, a rest from time to time was still very much appreciated.

Once she had reached what she deemed to be a suitable height, the dragoness levelled out, stretching her wings out as far as they would go and pushing herself through the air with only the lightest of strokes. There, in the clear, blue sky, her thoughts were finally free to wander, air caressing the frill falling back against her neck. Her eyes softened and she exhaled as she looked down, eyes scanning the bare, harsh land so many leagues below. Life was better in the air, she could not contest.

What a fool, she thought with a sad little shake of her head, frill tapping lightly against her scales. He should have gone for another dragoness. Harian, perhaps. No, he should have come better prepared for the season.

Her jaw tightened, teeth locking together as her muzzle shook with restrained tension.

He just expected me to roll over and let him mount me like a wild animal! She lamented to herself, thoughts loud – too loud – in the confines of her own head. Why didn’t he watch the other season – why didn’t he learn? If he’d learned, perhaps he could have had me.

She rolled her eyes bitterly, sapphire orbs disappearing into the back of her skull for a split second.

Or maybe not. Folmar always was a dreamer. But who shall I take as a mate now that he has fallen so dismally short?

Something twisted in her chest.

Oh, Folmar... You could have been strong. You could have been mine. She snapped at thin air, taking out the rising fire in the pit of her belly on nothing at all. And yet it has all come to naught. You did not become the drake I thought you would be.

She sighed, spines rattling against one another on the back of her neck. Stretching down the full length of her body, they raced to the tip of her tail, which cumulated in a spade-like tip. There the bone grew hard enough to pierce a dragon’s armour scales, if directed with the correct amount of force behind it. Sensing the play of wind over the narrow point, she angled it back and forth, letting it change her direction subtly as she flew aimlessly without any meaning behind the beat of her wings. Heat burned fiercely enough in her belly – did all females have to put up with this every single breeding season? – that she feared it would burn a hole in her scales and she twisted her head down more than once to check that nothing untoward had happened to her body while her mind proved otherwise occupied.

Hunger nipped at her stomach, the only other need her body seemed to possess the capability of sensing in the throes of heat. Casting her eyes down, she scanned the landscape with a huntress’ gaze, picking out nooks and crannies between the rocks where larger prey may be hiding, sick to her back teeth of stringy hares. Game had been scarce of late and showed in the leanness of her form, only acceptable due to her status as a female. They were supposed to be slimmer than the males and Lyra had to admit that it really lent her a turn of speed when chasing down deer, the additional lightness behind her scales.

Deer. She licked her lips, a long, black tongue snaking out to slap wetly against the side of her muzzle. Now that would be a delectable treat indeed. Hopefully, she allowed her body to sink, losing some height, in the hope of finding a morsel more suited to her old palate, refined to enjoy prey in a more bountiful time.

Lyra tensed, a flash of red swiftly approaching from the shadow of a mountain clad in rust-coloured sand. That wasn’t wildlife. That was far from the scraggy bound of a mountain deer, hunting for drops of moisture where the sun did not reach. She sucked in a sharp breath, cold air stinging her nostrils. That was a dragon. The shape bulged, swelling by the second, and her eyes grew wide, appearing as if they would pop out of her skull. A very large dragon.

She hid her discomfort behind her usual, calm mask as he flew closer, drifting over the air as if it took him no effort to fly at all. Pulling her head back, Lyra hissed distrustfully, watching him like a hawk out of the corner of her eye as he circled her, an orange gaze sweeping over her body from nose to the tip of her swinging tail.

The male rumbled a greeting without words, sun shining through the leathery flaps of his wings and casting a ruby glow over her as he flew above, gaining the advantage of height. She grunted and beat her wings, not allowing him the advantage for a moment more than necessary. In a fight, the winner was usually the dragon higher up in the air with teeth and claws better placed at their disposal while the defender could only beat away. If they could get away, that was.

She drew level with him and took in his measure as firmly as he had done hers. Muscles rippled beneath his gleaming hide, blood staining the corner of his lips as if he had just come from a fresh kill. Lyra’s stomach growled and she flung out her thoughts, barging into his mind without a moment’s consideration for whether or not he would like her to establish their mental link to communicate.

Who flies there?

The crimson beast hissed, spiralling lazily around her in midair. Lyra shivered. Twice her size, the drake dwarfed her.

You do not need to know my name, little hen.

Hen? Lyra bristled. Hen? Her tail twitched in midair, wanting to slap the ground – anything to physically convey her anger.

You call me by a gryphon name? I am a dragoness! She snorted, smoke jetting from her nostrils and gaping maw. Are you blind or has some other sorcery overcome your senses?

Her words thrummed bold through their mental link even as her heart fluttered in her chest, missing a beat as she tried to split her attention between flying and keeping a wary eye on the male. Acutely aware that her vent was puffy under her tail with the continuing tingling of heat, she fought the urge to pin her tail down. Her lungs tightened. No, that particular appendage was needed for flight, to balance her as she adjusted her direction with subtle twists and flicks. She blinked slowly, affecting an air of nonchalance the best she could. There was no way to hide herself from him.

The drake slowed in midair, twisting in front and running his tail beneath the line of her jaw. She trembled away from his touch, a warning hiss rolling from her lips.

Stay away!

He chuckled.

Actually, I shall impart my name to you, the drake mused as he beat his wings backwards, forcing her to slow and hover in front of him so as to not slam straight into his hide. Arthion. I should have you remember the name of your first mate, little hen.

Lyra hissed and twisted away as he reached for her, claws swiping harmlessly through thin air.

Arthion? She beat away, tail striking his side in a stinging crack as she flew past. That’s a poor name for a drake that fights dragoness’ with words. Have you not some other dragon to annoy now?

Arthion laughed, a low, reverberating rumble that pounded the inside of her skull like thunderclouds on a lake.

Oh, little hen... Such spirit.

The croon in his voice sent chills down her spine that she tried to play off as an effect of altitude; the higher they flew, the cooler the air droned. He kept pace alongside her, sparing fewer wing beats to stay slightly ahead of her shoulder, seeming to know where she was going to fly a moment before she knew herself. Lyra clenched her jaw, veering away as he dragged the tip of his wing down the edge of hers – an embrace that should have been reserved for mates.

You shall be beautiful to break, he whispered in the back of her mind, refusing to allow her respite. I do so look forward to listen how you squeal when you are taken.

Lyra screamed, hurling her voice out to anyone – if there even was any other soul in their patch of sky – for help, though she knew in the pit of her heart that no help was coming. Dragoness’ were taken sometimes, whether they liked it or not. It was why most of them stayed around the breeding fields, open expanses of land, where other males or females could step in to assist an unwanted suitor without a scrap of tact in his left hind foot. In a flash, she saw herself back on the ground, screeching like the gryphon hen he saw her as while he took her over and over again, a thick spire plunging into her sex until she was surely taking heavy with his clutch of eggs.

The dragoness bit back her screech, not wanting to give him the satisfaction as he watched her with a hunter’s eye, hungrily raking her body with his gaze. She shuddered and turned away, inadvertently turning her swollen vent towards him. The drake licked his lips, saliva drooling from his gaping maw in long, slick ropes that broke and flew wetly to the ground, miles and miles below. He growled, a low, rasping sound.

You’re mine now, hen.

Lyra set her jaw. Not if she had anything to say about it.

Shaking like a leaf, Lyra pummelled the air cruelly with her wings, forcing herself up and away from the dragon with as much strength as she could force from her lithe body. But she had not eaten in so long and her strength fell weak, shorter than what she would have normally managed with a fully belly and her muscles worked to the point of draconian perfection. Too easily, he caught up with her and laughed, draping his wing over her back as if to give her a taste of exactly what his body felt like over hers.

This is it, she thought, not even caring how his thoughts lingered along the edge of hers still, listening to her every word. This is how I find my mate. And I’ll have to meet with my mate for every breeding season henceforth to let him seed another clutch in my belly.

She clenched her jaw. She should have just gone with Folmar. At least then she would have had herself a drake who wouldn’t leave the moment the deed was done.

Belching a cloud of smoke, Arthion soared higher, his shadow falling over her back, casting her into his icy shadow. She quelled her shivers the best she could, eyes closing in the moment before she was sure he would slam into her back, forcing her down, down, down, down to the ground so that he could clamber up on her back and show her what mating was all about.

A drop of moisture squeezed out from the corner of her eye. It was not what she’d imagined. Wind whistled and she tensed, bracing herself for the impact that was surely coming.

Stay away from her!

Her eyes snapped open and she gaped, whirling about and nearly falling from the sky herself as she beat her wings furiously. Tilting dangerously to the side, she fought not to fall and shot a stream of red hot fire from sheer shock at the dragon barrelling his way towards her with urgency gleaming in his eyes. Her heart leapt.


The brown dragon shot past her, a roar breaking his lips with enough force to send the crimson monster rearing back in the sky, missing Lyra’s side by mere inches as he swung about. It took longer for him to turn than it did for either Lyra or Folmar and she grinned fiercely, hope rekindling as she flittered to Folmar’s side. Swinging her tail lightly into his, she joined the dragon as he stared up at the greater beast, maw open as he drew in massive breaths, chest expanding with every gulp.

Looking between her old friend – could she really call him that anymore? – and her agitator, so much larger, stronger and better fed, fear stirred in Lyra’s heart, a disturbing tickle at the back of her mind. She nudged Folmar’s cheek urgently, snout digging into his scales.

Folmar, he’s too big, she said. You can’t do this! You’ll get yourself killed, you fool!

Parting his maw in a draconian smile, the brown dragon widened his eyes – the closest he could get to raising an eyebrow like those funny looking humans they sometimes saw scrambling around.

So, you do care after all, Lyra. He puffed out his chest, only one eye on Arthion. I knew it. I knew I was right all along!

He spun, pivoting on the point of his tail, and roared happily to the sky, muzzle tilted up to take the full brunt of the sun over his bronze scales. It poured over him like water, showing the smaller dragon in a new light as his scales sparkled with health and virility. Even as Lyra’s jaw dropped, basking in the reveal of his inner splendour, muscle rippled beneath his scaled hide.

It was a second of self-admiration too many and Lyra balked as the crimson dragon, bored of their exchanged, dropped like a stone, claws outstretched for Folmar’s head. She hissed and lunged for him.

Get away!

Arthion slammed into her, hurling her smaller, lighter body away with as much effort as he would flick away a single feather. She spiralled madly, paws and snout rolling through the sky over and over again until she didn’t know which way was up and which way was down. Folmar roared.

Helpless, Lyra fought to right herself and came around to her normal orientation just as the larger dragon closed his jaws around the base of Folmar’s neck. Lyra’s heart chilled and she was halfway through darting to his aid – though it was not customary for fighting dragons to be interrupted, much less by a female – when he agilely twisted from Arthion’s grasp. Shooting away, he claimed the advantage of height and drove his tail into Arthion’s side with the force of a sledgehammer. The crimson dragon roared, pain lacing the sound.

Lyra’s heart pounded, every breath raking through her windpipe with more difficulty than the last. Did they have a chance? Did she? Did Folmar? She couldn’t decipher who she was more concerned about with both of their futures at stake. Her life was safe – that much was certain – yet she could not say the same about her friend from times gone by, a dragon that she should have paid greater attention to while she had the chance. Folmar wheeled and dropped onto Arthion’s back as the dragon strove to recover, breath wheezing from the blow of the smaller dragon’s tail. Yet Folmar still looked shockingly small in comparison and, for all his evident skill in the air, there could be no possible scenario in which he would emerge from battle alive.

Too far away for her to help, the dragoness hurled her tired, aching body into action, muscles slow to respond. Horrified, Lyra tried to match their height, wings beating furiously, but could not hope to keep up. Her wings drooped and it proved a struggle to even remain airborne as she keened after her old friend, watching him hopelessly drive two sets of claws into his doom. His jaws parted in pre-emptive triumph, snarling as if victory was already within his grasp. She whined. How could he, such a little dragon, think that he could win so easily? Or win at all?

Her head spun. Arthion whipped around in midair and she tried to pull Folmar’s thoughts to her in warning, yet the dragon evaded her mental touch. She growled and whipped her tail back and forth, fear melding sinuously with anger. There was no hope. What could he possibly hope to do? Arthion batted Folmar aside, ready for the attack this time, with a low hiss and followed, teeth snapping at the tip of the drake’s tail. She screamed at nothing, yelling to the empty sky for help, another dragon – anything at all! Yet it was no longer for herself that Lyra feared.

You can’t do this, Folmar, she begged, casting out her mind link to him as much as he tried to dodge it, concentrating on his opposition. You’ll be killed! Get back down to ground! What is done is done and we can’t do anything about it now!

He shot her a perturbed look, smoke rolling from his nostrils.

You don’t want to mate with this drake... That is all I need to know.

Yet, in their interlude, they’d forgotten the seething drake.

Take your leave, hatchling! Arthion bellowed tail slicing through the air all too close to Folmar’s head as the dragon ducked hastily away. This fight is not for you! And neither is this hen!

Folmar snorted a plume of smoke.

This dragoness is her own dragon and not to be taken like a lesser beast. What right do you have to treat her as such?

He beat his wings darting past Arthion’s flank and slicing a neat gouge into his belly scales. Twisting like a snake, the crimson dragon shrieked and hissed, an unearthly bellow ripping itself from his lungs. He followed closely on Folmar’s tail, gaining speed with every powerful downstroke of his wings, so much larger and heavier than the little brown dragon’s. Lyra shook herself and followed, as afraid to leave them as she was afraid to watch the outcome. She couldn’t even help! What hope did she have against a dragon the size of Arthion? The drake in question snapped his jaws shut a fraction from Folmar’s neck, the click of teeth audible even as Folmar circled and spun agilely away.

I am no longer a hatchling, Arthion, he hissed, eyes narrowing. I’ve seen you on the breeding fields. How many broods have you sired? How many dragoness’ have you left to raise their young along?

Arthion snarled and lunged, eyes flashing as fire flared in the back of his throat, an orange lick of flame pouring through his fangs.

That is none of your concern!

Folmar screeched and suddenly there was no way to distinguish where one drake began and the other ended. Arthion roared and Lyra squealed, darting back and forth as the dragons dropped like stones, wings hanging uselessly as they snapped and clawed at one another with the ferocity of caged beasts. Arthion’s tail slammed into Folmar’s ribcage and the younger drake squealed like a hatchling, eyes bulging as he gasped for breath that was suddenly a great deal more difficult to acquire.

Wheezing, Folmar broke free of their crude embrace, but not quickly enough. A moment of weakness, uncertainty flashing in the brown dragon’s eyes, was all that Arthion needed to strike. Head whipping out with the speed of a snake claiming its prey, he tore into Folmar’s chest. The dragon screeched and tried to break away, but there was no stopping the crunch of scales as Arthion made short work of their meagre defence. Older and stronger, he spat out a mouthful of copper, letting Folmar’s protective armour tumble to the ground, as much use to him as skin would have been in the pit of battle.

Folmar twisted his head back and forth, bringing his hind legs up to kick – yet was never able to complete the motion. Too swift for him, Arthion dug his claws into the wound and ripped it wider, blood spilling and splattering copper scales with hot drops to match Arthion’s splendour. Folmar shook himself, jaw falling slack, and Arthion thrust him away with a crow, tail cracking into the side of Folmar’s head for good measure. Lyra’s heart leapt into her throat.

And the young drake fell. Wind whistled past his scales as Lyra gaped.


Forcing every last scrap of strength into her burning muscles, Lyra darted beneath the tumbling drake, buffeting him with her wings to give him a moment of updraft, just enough for him to pause his headlong fall. Heaving his body over, he did not spare a moment to nod his thanks and, blood streaming from the wound in his chest, shot for the older dragon with renewed determination.

Arthion’s eyes widened and he hissed, backpedalling furiously through the air as Folmar barrelled into him. Using his smaller size to his surprising advantage, he hung on to the dragon’s wings and tore at them, sinking his teeth into the leathery flaps and ripping with as much power as he could put behind his weakening muscles. It was enough, however, if barely so, and the drake writhed in pain as his wings lost the scoop of air beneath them.

He dropped and snarled, lunging for the dragon on his back, but the damage was already done and Folmar darted away with speed at his back, gaining height that the older dragon now couldn’t manage. Arthion flapped and dropped his length in height, eyes wide and straining. His jaw parted as he struggled, flapping with the ungainly strokes of a hatchling on their first flight, but he dropped lower and lower as he fought, his wings unable to cup enough air to keep his massive form aloft.

Folmar bared his teeth victoriously and the older dragon snapped his jaw shut. Weaving his head furiously back and forth, Arthion growled, tail flicking up against his own hind leg as his eyes burned.

I’ll be back for you, hatchling! He hissed, turning his back on the younger pair, tail stiff as he turned his nose down to the ground. This is not the end and I will have that precious hen off you whether you or she likes it or not! You cannot lay claim to a female!

Folmar panted, blood trickling down his scales as his teeth shone with Arthion’s blood.

Return. We shall send you on your way just as we did this time, Arthion. Folmar puffed up his chest and roared, flanks vibrating with the power behind it. Your status means nothing to me! Nothing to us! Be on your way and out of our scales!

Arthion shot them a look, but ducked his head and continued his downward descent, seeking softer currents of air to carry him to a safer location. Perhaps one of the mountainside caves would serve him well while he healed? Folmar and Lyra watched him retreat, the figurative dog slinking away with its tail firmly tucked between his legs.

Blinking after the red dragon’s back, Lyra shook her head.

Folmar... You won.

She shook her head, eyes following the tail of the retreating, defeated dragon as he slunk away the best a dragon could through the sky. Shooting a pillar of flame straight up into the sky in abject celebration, she flitted back and forth, throwing herself up and over in a loop for the sheer joy of winning. Though it was not Lyra who had truly won the battle. No, she had someone else to thank for that pleasure.

She licked her lips, tongue running along the edge of a set of terribly sharp teeth as she looked at Folmar in a new light indeed. She had thought he’d been weak, a drake to be scorned. As a friend, he had been the closest she could have asked for, yet he’d always been the runt of the flight, always trailing behind while the stronger, growing drakes, jostled with one another for the lead. Yet all that had changed. Her heart beat faster, pulse tickling at the base of her throat.

He had become the dragon she needed him to be after all – a drake strong enough to sire her clutch and help her raise her brood. She shook her head, heat niggling at her belly. No. Then it would be their brood. Their clutch. Her heart jumped, pulse pounding at the base of her throat.


Folmar lifted his head up as the dragoness wound her body sinuously beneath his neck, arching softly against his chest as if she had become the very image of an affectionate feline.

Folmar...I was wrong about you.

He blinked.

I’m the same as I’ve always been, Lyra.

The dragoness hung her head, hovering with only enough power beneath her wings to keep herself airborne and level with him, her head just below his. She couldn’t meet his eye and slid her gaze away as he tried to catch hers.

Then I have done you a great injustice.

She shuddered, tail curling and uncurling in the air as she bobbed unstably.

I did not see you as you truly were, Folmar. And, for that, I am deeply sorry.

The brown dragon chuckled and bopped her kindly on the muzzle with his nose, a smile brightening his eyes as his fierce maw could not form the same expression.

Lyra, you have nothing to be sorry about. You were simply looking for the best dragon to sire your clutch, to be your mate.

He rolled his eyes, appearing abashed for a fraction of a second. The look disappeared as swiftly as she caught it, however, leaving Lyra wondering if she’d even seen it at all.

Perhaps I did not conduct myself in the most drake-like manner, he grumbled. It is no wonder that you saw me as such.

He met her eyes then, boldly drawing her gaze up to his own.

I am glad that you now see me as I truly am, Lyra. It is all I ever wished for.

The dragoness regarded him with a flick of her tail.

Then there is only one thing left that I wish for. And perhaps one way that I may make up this entire debacle to you.

He tilted his head to the side.

What do you mean?

Lyra did not answer with words. She nuzzled down the length of his neck and nipped his throat playfully, teeth only barely catching the thicker, protective scales.

Will you fly with me, Folmar?

She invited him with a flick of her tail, slipping into a gentle dive before the other dragon had ample time in which to react. There was little truth in her invitation to fly, but the drake followed her all the same, just behind her shoulder as he let her lead. She flicked her tail, draping it softly against his, and he shuddered, nostrils expelling a puff of smoke. Laughing, Lyra angled herself more viciously, driving towards the ground with a reckless howl that Folmar mimicked, following closely on her tail. There was not even a second of hesitation in the flap of his wings as he trusted her aim and powered towards the ground.

Wind caressed her scales and she screeched for the sheer joy of it as she flared out her wings, trusting the air to hold her as she slowed dramatically. Her hind feet slammed into the ground and she ran on two legs for a few seconds, teetering as her tail failed to balance her. Twisting, she pounded her front paws too into the dirt and found her balance, laughing at the exhilarating thrill, that moment of not being entirely in control of her own body.

Folmar landed a heartbeat behind, darting to her side and looking her over from head to tail as if she had suddenly grown a second head or something equally disturbing. Giggling like a hatchling, she flicked her tail at his shoulder, catching him playfully above his foreleg. Rumbling, the drake studied her carefully.

What is it, Lyra? He nudged the arch of her back, eyes brimming over with concern. Are you quite well?

She snorted and shook her head.

I could ask the same of you.

She inclined her head, indicating the gaping wound in his chest. Yet the blood was already congealing – dragons were hardy enough to survive worse battles. Folmar shrugged the best a dragon could, wings shuffling down modestly against his sides. He paid the slowly dripping wound little to no attention and blew smoke softly from both nostrils, a curl of it licking out against his maw.

It is only a scratch, I shall be more than fine.

That was exactly what the dragoness wanted to hear. Lyra’s heart pounded and she slowly turned about, slinking her tail softly around his neck. As it curled, it did not squeeze, and Folmar trembled, eyes wide as she lifted her tail higher and higher, showing off why exactly she was suddenly so giddy.

Her vent pulsed, hormones flooding the air directly in front of his snout as a trickle of her juices made her slit gleam, an inviting flash of pink nestled between the softer scales. Folmar froze, eyes wide, and inhaled against his will, pupils dilating as her scent clouded his senses. Growling so quietly that the drake had to strain to catch the noise, Lyra arched her back, pushing her rump up higher for Folmar’s attention. Certainty settled in her heart and she parted her jaw in a draconian smile, head twisted around to catch every second of her old friend’s reaction, as still as a dragon who had been turned into stone.

There was no second guessing what the dragoness wanted. Folmar swallowed hard and took a step back as she purred, tail sliding up and up his neck in a sensual caress.

If you are certain you are strong enough then, she said, tickling the underside of his chin with the tip of her tail as she pulled it back. If you are not so badly injured, you shall have no trouble in making good on your earlier desires then, will you, Folmar?

She pushed her tail off to the side as the drake groaned, claws digging into the dirt as he shook his head. Something shifted beneath his stomach and Lyra bobbed her head back and forth keenly, a rolling hiss slipping from her lips.

Lyra... His nostrils flared, sucking in greedy breaths full of her scent. Are you sure? You didn’t want me back on the mating fields. Why do you want me now?

Did he really have to ask? Was that how it was going to be, after all? Her jaw clenched, setting into a hard, tense line. All this time and so many hours of nerve-wracking heat, expecting a rogue male just like Arthion to snap her up and rip away her virginity while she had no power to stop them and Folmar was hesitating? She inhaled sharply. Did he think she didn’t really want him? Could he believe that?

Well, she’d just have to make it exceptionally clear to him then.

Groaning, the dragoness lowered her chest submissively to the sand, letting her forelegs bow beneath her as if she was inviting her drake to play. But what she desired was far from hatchling entertainment. Her tail arched up over her back as her vent twitched, lips spreading as if to entice the drake in. Like a four-legged equine’s sex, it pulsed up, winking at him even as he gaped, not knowing what to do now that he was presented with the object of his desire.

I was wrong about you, Folmar, I’ve already told you that.

She whined and pawed at the ground, tail quivering. Her brain clouded as she swiped her own muzzle, claw catching and drawing a drop of blood at the corner of her lips.

I want you, I want you to be my mate, Folmar, she whimpered, swaying her rear back and forth as if that would be enough to get him up and over her back. I’ve always wanted you, I just wanted to make sure you were the drake I needed.

Her eyes watered and she dipped her nose to the sand. It was all going horribly wrong – he wasn’t going to take her as his mate after all! Snorting, she winced as stinging, hot grains of sand shot into her nostrils on her inhalation, hindquarters still plaintively raised in wordless begging. She growled and snapped at herself mentally, her whole body shaking, though the sun baked her scales to a warm sheen.

And then she felt it, a warmer, sentient tickle of breath upon her scales. Shuddering bodily, the dragoness growled as Folmar tentatively pushed his snout along the underside of her tail, so slow that it was as if he didn’t know if he was allowed to do what she was begging him to do. Huffing, he rumbled softly as he took in her scent over and over again, mind falling prey to a haze of instinct and hormones that no drake could resist. His nose slid down her tail towards the base and her muscled rump, tongue flicking out to better taste her on the air. Breath coming in short, needy pants, Lyra hissed and arched her back to an even more vicious angle.

Please, Folmar!

The dragoness twisted her head back and forth, clawing at the ground as his tongue swiped over her puffy vent, from the bottom to the top in one lustful lap.

Make me your mate!

The drake didn’t have to be told twice, as much subject to instinct as she was. Any watching dragon would have said that the two of them had lost their minds, but it was a good kind of losing one’s mind. The very best way, in fact, if a dragon had to take leave of their senses. The first mating was always the most memorable for drake and dragoness – that was one thing that no one would dare contest.

It was certainly proving memorable for Folmar and Lyra, the dragoness gasping as he pushed up over her back, nudging her tail aside with the bulk of his body. She growled and wrapped her long tail around his waist, glad that he had no spines down his back that would have prevented her from holding him so closely

For she wanted him close – for as many days as they had left in the world to fly together, always by one another’s side.

Folmar nuzzled the base of her neck, angling his nose away from her spines, and gripped her in front of her hind legs, claws lightly scraping over her scales. Awkwardly, for he had truly only ever seen dragons mating before and never partaken himself, he shuffled his hind feet in closer, tail slapping the dirt. Trembling near off balance, he grunted as he righted himself, something hard and solid bumping up against his belly scales as he jerked violently to plant himself back on two feet.

Lyra’s frill fanned out eagerly. Twisting her head around, she trembled, catching sight of Folmar’s shaft hanging beneath his belly at long last. It grew before her eyes, purple at the base and tapering to a pink point that made her tremble with longing. Perfectly designed to spear open a dragoness, it gleamed with his own slick lubrication, something that the slit at the base of his belly naturally produced in anticipation of mating. Not that they would require it, she wagered, as her vent drooled, further flooding the air with her heady hormones. Their cocktail of scents – so potent in the crux of the moment – made their heads fog over with uncontainable desire.

Lyra exhaled in a rush of hot air and pushed her snout between her paws. She’d wanted him so long...and now all their time together was finally coming to fruition. Spreading his wings out, the drake growled as he adjusted the angle of his hips, cock sliding wetly over her rump as he sought her entrance. Whimpering, she rolled her head and tried to push her hips back to force him into her, but he only slipped higher, cock bowing lightly against the base of her tail. The drake and dragoness groaned in unison, flanks heaving for breath that they could not quite seem to get enough of into the their lungs. They had more important matters to pay attention to rather than the otherwise simple act of breathing.

She growled, ready to whip around and demand that he breed her properly – as if that would help his aim – eyes wild with lust and feral need. She flapped her wings, slamming them into the ground to raise a cloud of dust, teeth bared desperately as she dragged in breath after breath, chest heaving. And then the tip caught, the drake pushing forward with a lustful shove of his hips.

Lyra snarled, hips jerking back on to his shaft as the drake crooned and drove in, sliding inch after inch into her hungry vent. Her passage twitched wantonly around him, sucking him deeper and deeper with the rippling of muscles that had to be sated, her juices easing his entry. She rolled her head from side to side, vaguely surprised in the back of her mind at the complete absence of pain. Hadn’t all the other dragoness’ warned her of the sting of her first time as her vent was spread and stretched? Was Folmar just too small to draw that sensation from her? Or was she simply too wet, too aroused and wanting him, already?

She trembled. Maybe that had just been a warning against dragons like Arthion. But that didn’t matter anymore. She had Folmar and nothing else could have completed her life, him as her mating partner for life and beyond, like he could.

Tail squeezing around his back and sides, she hissed through her teeth, clenching her jaw as pleasurable sparks reached further and further into her body, vent opening up for her mate as easily as she would devour a sweet fruit – a rare treat in their land.

More! She cried. Make me yours!

Folmar rasped a breath, chest shuddering against her back.

And I yours, Lyra. Always yours.

The drake’s claws dug into her flanks, slipping lower as he ground his crotch up against her rump. With his entire length buried in her snatch, she huffed and clawed the ground, slicing deep gouges that would remain until the next rains swept them away, leaving no physical evidence of their lusty liaison.

Groaning, the dragoness gave a croon that she could not believe even came from her own lips, squeezing her tail tighter and tighter around Folmar’s waist. The drake nipped happily at her neck, teeth catching her spines, and pulled back, slowly dragging his hot length from her. Whimpering, she stamped, words failing her. He thrust back in to his belly slit, pressed up against her rump, and gave the dragoness exactly what she craved.

Rolling his hips, he thrust slowly, building up to the pace dictated by instinct. Lyra’s eyes rolledback into her skull and she exhaled a stream of smoke, fire crackling at the back of her maw. She groaned with every thrust and rocked back on to him, legs shaking so badly that she wondered if she would collapse in a heap, a yearning bundle on the ground that Folmar could only thrust into over and over again until their mating was complete. She was sure she would lie there all day long if it only meant she got to feel him inside her, filling her up with a cock that seemed to hit all the right spots in her needy passage. Even if she did not quite understand what those ‘spots’ were at that time. She would learn.

Harder, she hissed, drawing out the sound. Take me harder, Folmar!

He did not reply, thrusts speeding up instantly, all too eager to satisfy her demands. He slammed into her, a snarl tearing itself from his muzzle as he succumbed to instinct, pupils dilating as the need to breed his dragoness overcame all else. Lyra gasped and spread her wings – careful of his claws – flapping them and rising clouds of dust that would have half-hidden their interlude from watching eyes. Yet there was no one there to watch as he drake growled and drove into her hard enough to shove her claws through the dirt, ripping up bare clods of earth as she squealed her delight. There could be nothing like it – nothing like being bred good and hard by her drake, his smooth length driving furiously into her vent as if it was the last time they would ever mate.

Yet it was the first and Lyra knew, with a lick of pleasure, that there would be oh so many more in her future. The best was yet to come with a clutch of eggs at her feet and then a brood of chirping dragonets, clamouring to be first out of the nest.

Oh, yes... Lyra closed her eyes, letting her thoughts run wild, wings fluttering weakly. That was all she wanted. A clutch of little ones of her own, her bloodline continuing into the next generation. She’d teach them to fly, Folmar by her side, as her own mother had taught her, sending them forth into the world as strong as she could make them.

And to be bred by her drake. They’d just have to have many more broods to make sure that kept happening. She grinned, baring her teeth, and snapped joyously at thin air, tail shifting and squeezing around his scales.

But as the pleasure rose, it came with an unfamiliar stirring, something as brand new as their first mating. She rocked forward, dust marking her scales as their rutting made the dust rise, feet scraping through the dirt. Lyra’s head shot up, eyes wide and bulging, as her drake nudged her back, rumbling softly.

Lyra? Even his mental link was fragile, trembling on the edge of desire through their bond. What’s wrong?

Folmar... Lyra rolled her head, nostrils flaring and tongue lashing out against her muzzle. I...I’m...

She whined and shoved her head between her paws, not understanding the strange feeling building inside the, something winding itself tighter and tighter deep in the pit of her belly. And then that pleasure suddenly drove itself to an abrupt peak without any sense of warning or gentle build up. Her tail fell free of her partner and she bellowed as she hit a high she did not understand, ecstasy wracking her body. Tail slapping the dirt weakly – for she could not put the full power of her body behind it as she so wished in the moment – Lyra’s bellow rose to a roar, sides vibrating.

The dragoness’ mind reeled. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before! Better than soaring over the highest peaks and diving under the steepest stoop, wind rushing past her muzzle with a viciously daring caress. Her sex twitched and clenched, rippling as if it was trying to draw his thick shaft in deeper, a flood of slick juices making his passage abruptly slicker. Her juices splattered out around her vent, squeezed out around his shaft, and she exhaled sharply, delight playing at the corners of her mind, drawn out and out until she feared her mind could take no more of it.

Folmar groaned above her, reminding her sharply that she was not alone there – her pleasure was very much shared. The drake’s hot breath washed over the back of her neck as he took it, with surprising gentleness, between his teeth. Pressing down, his teeth pricked through her scales and she arched into his maw, shrieking as the drake slammed in one final time and found his own climax with a roar that could have toppled mountains. His teeth cut in a mating bite as he shot spurt after spurt of cream into her vent, filling up the dragoness as she so desired.

Lyra’s front legs buckled and she slowly sank to the ground, the drake on top of her, as her strength finally gave out. Hunger yawned more ferociously in her belly now that her initial need was sated, heat dampened by the presence of her drake’s seed – at least for the moment. It would return until he had impregnated her and the breeding season had been concluded for another year, driving the drakes to a peak of breeding frenzy until their dragoness’ could no longer walk or take to the air from delicious sexual exhaustion.

She chuffed a laugh as his cock twitched inside her, softening as it released its final few spurts of potent dragon semen. It seemed that she’d reached that point a little quicker than most dragoness’. Could she have expected anything else from her first time?

Releasing her neck from his mouth, the drake purred and lapped away the tiny rivulets of blood trickling from the puncture holes in her scales. Although he had been as careful as possible in the course of his mating bite, some blood was to be expected. It was the way of draconian mating. His shaft slipped from her vent as she growled and turned her head, snaking it far over her back to nuzzle the side of his, snout dipping under his cheek. The drake closed his eyes, rumbling happily as she pushed her head beneath his, necks entwining in a warm embrace, sharing breath and warmth.

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