I had followed the beast into the woods near my fields. I thought I would find the animal there that had been poaching my livestock. And sure enough, there it was, sheltered in a pit beneath the roots of a fallen tree.
The creature I found was not a beast, but rather a woodland drake.
I could hear its rapid breathing from thirty paces away.
My eyes fell upon a patch of dark, black bile that had been splattered across the leaves of the forest floor. My stomach sank.
It was shocking to see evidence of the blackfog all the way out here. There had been rumors of its tendrils spreading in our direction, but it wasn’t known to have reached so close to the village yet.
The drake's scaly skin was caked in the roughage of the forest floor. It barely seemed to notice me as I moved. A single glassy eye glanced in my direction at the sound of my boots crunching through the leaves, then lost focus again.
The blackfog was clearly consuming the drake. It must not have been old enough yet to survive its toll. Rather than turning the drake to one of its wandering thrall, the fog seemed it was so recklessly going to just kill it.

It was a matter of mercy, then. I raised my crossbow and stepped in closer. 

Seeing more clearly into the pit beneath the tree, I noticed that the drake hadn’t even done me the courtesy of finishing devouring the hen it had stolen from me.

I readied my aim.

The drake slowly slid its enormous head across the dirt and locked its eyes with mine. Dark clouds of fog swam in front of its pupils, making its eyes appear soulless and empty. The sight made my skin crawl; I had never seen the blackfog in a creature before.
After a beat, the drake closed its eyes again. It did so almost calmly, as though it understood. 

The crossbow grew heavy in my arms. I lowered my hands and stood there a while with just the sounds of buzzing life and the drake’s shallow, sickly breathing.

After some time I chose to leave it there. I returned home and left the crossbow at my door.

I took from my cupboard a small jar that I'd purchased from our healer and held it under the wing of my arm, along with the tools he had given me for its application. He'd gifted jars to all of us, as a precautionary measure for the day one of the fog-thrall might find its way to our lands.

I returned that same day with the medicine to the fallen tree, finding the drake just as I'd left it.

The drake's moment of clarity may have been short-lived or just imagined, as it did not respond when I squatted down beside it.
It did not resist as I pulled it out of its shelter by its horns. With some difficulty, I was able to slide it up through the dirt on its side and into the open. It was maybe twice my weight–a young adult.
A streak of red and black left in the dirt behind it told me where to find what I was searching for. Its chest rose and fell faster from the pain, but it didn't struggle.

I gripped two of its legs with my hands and hauled them up to pull the drake over and onto its other side.

There was a great mess of its dark, wrinkled flesh that flashed before me as it turned.He was male, then. The image burned itself into my eyes.

I couldn't help but to admire him for his giftedness, however fleeting the sight. It was a shame, I thought, that he had likely had so little time to enjoy the things it could offer him, if any time at all.

His rear legs had closed and my thoughts were pulled back by a far more grizzly sight.

There was a dark and fetid gash torn up high into the meat of his hind leg near where it met with his haunch. It would have been where the blackfog had first breached him. There it took root and spread through his body to his mind.

I unlidded my jar and slathered a glob of its thick, green poultice over his wound. The drake's leg trembled with pain at the touch. Fortunately for the both of us he didn't have the strength to fight me away.

Once I finished with the medicine I just sat with him there in the clearing. I'd wait to see what would happen. If he were still to pass there that day then so be it; at least he could have my company.

The hours passed and the sun started to wane below the forest canopy. And still the drake held on to life. 

I left him again before the night had set in and I trekked the quarter hour through the woods back home.

I saw that I'd neglected to pen the animals before the dusk had set, and I kicked myself for it. The chores of my farm had seemed less than important to me that day. 

I walked to the large wooden cart I kept at the rear of my barn, where it sat waiting for the crops it would haul to the city for sale. I tossed a couple cords of rope into its empty bed and squared myself up to its hitch, gripping it on either side of my head above my shoulders.

I stood and thought a moment more, before setting off and pulling the cart through the great door of the barn and toward the trees. That night it would haul something much different.

—--

I'd decided to name him Lox.

I told him that, just one day on a whim.

I'd mulled over proper names for him, while I'd been shoveling the soiled hay from his pen and spreading in new, fresh cover.

The work I didn't mind; I'd cared for animals plenty. He was the same as the others but just–more. More size, more waste, more work, more feed. And much more caution.

I'd started to talk to him. I was certain he didn't understand me, but I did it anyway. I told him in plain speech how I figured his condition each day and what I'd be doing when I stepped into his space.

He still growled and hissed at me. He'd done it all through the last several days.

He sprayed specks of that cursed, black pitch out over his hay bed as he spit and raged.

He couldn't reach the distance to the front of the barn with his jaws nor his spittle. If he could I'm sure he'd have given me a face-full of that gunk, and that it would've had no issue creeping into me through the membranes of my nose or eyes.

The rope that bound his neck, though, kept his head firmly in place, and there was little he could do as long as I kept my distance, beyond making his noises and scary faces.

Our healer's salve had been beating back the blackfog in him since I'd taken him in. It had pulled the drake back from his near-death stupor and into an earlier stage of the blackfog's affliction.

A vicious fervor had taken hold of him and drove him to rage and roil. It was the behavior we'd been warned of from the fog-thrall. We'd heard the stories of the critters seen roaming and spreading its influence.

There were those who thought the blackfog was a curse, wrought onto the land by some lich or any other of the fabled evils we'd never seen.

Most others thought it to be a plague like any other. But it was undoubtedly a nasty one. We only recently learned its poison could be fought with magic and herbal intervention. Until recent months there had been little to do beyond executing those who had been affected.

I finished shoveling Lox's pen and paused to rest my back and to talk to him.

I told him the origin of his namesake. His name I'd chosen for the species of tree under which I'd first found him. It was a great, old loxander tree that had grown tired in its roots and lost hold of the dirt, falling to the side against the uneven ground and forming the large shelter where he'd hidden.

He'd chosen that spot where the enormous loxander tree had fallen and died, where he may have done the same. I wondered if the spot held any significance to him. He certainly wouldn't tell me.

Nor would he share with me his thoughts on my name for him. Other than that he clearly hated me and wanted to kill myself and every living thing.

I told him that if he didn't like the name then he'd just have to continue recovering. That way he might soon return to the woods, and be named again by a druid or an elf. 

Lox just snarled and gnashed.

He had his long neck held in the grip of a wooden yoke that had been hoisted up in the air, suspending his head in place by his jaw. It was the same yoke I'd used a dozen times when renting a mule or a steer to pull my cart into town.

I'd tied the yoke to a thick cord of rope that I'd slung up over a pair of wooden rafters high up in the barn. The rope's free end hung down some forty paces away from the yoke. The unladen end of the rope I had tied round a wooden column near the front of the barn, the yoke hung near to the back.

I'd driven a half-dozen wrought-iron nails into a small circle in the wooden column just above the place where the rope was tied. With that I could pull the slack from the rope and loop it round the nails to hold it taut, effectively fixing the yoke in place at whatever height I liked.

I'd done the same routine that day as I had the last several days whenever I came to tend to Lox. When I'd enter I'd pull with my weight down against the rope at my end to raise his jaw up and fix it in place. It was just enough tension to keep him from lashing out.

I'd let the slack out again just before leaving him, giving just enough for him to turn and to lie. It was crude, but it was effective. And it let me tend to him without getting hurt.

I filled up the water trough I'd borrowed for him from my pigs. The well-being of my crops and my animals was suffering for all that Lox required of me. I knew it would be temporary–just until he'd healed enough to be turned loose to the forest again without threatening the village with blackfog.

I'd purchased more of the fogsbane poultice to keep up with Lox's treatment. I told our healer that I'd fallen back against my cupboard and lost the jar's contents to the floorboards. He shared some kind words to me for the misfortune, but assured me that a replacement would cost me money.

It was already near the season when I'd normally sell my yield to town, and my coffers were running thin. Nonetheless, I could afford a few jars more.

I could see between each coat of medicine that Lox's wound was starting to show signs of life. It burned red through the darkness of the infection.

He still shook with pain whenever I touched it. I tried to give him kind words, and I hoped that he'd understand. Someday soon he might forgive me for his suffering.

Before leaving I poured him out his share of the pigs' slop, then let out his slack and bid him goodnight. I could hear the violent rustling of his descent on his food as I left.

–

It'd been two weeks then since I'd taken in Lox and he was healing well.

Being a young adult, I expected he'd bounce back with a little help.

But my home and its resources were growing strained. I'd neglected the fields and my funds and my animals, and I'd started breaking into stores of food I'd kept in preparation for the winter.

I'd pilfered fresh jars of fogsbane from the healer's shop in the village at night. I was no longer able to afford them, nor explain my need for so much without raising suspicion. I was sure it was a matter of time until he would come calling for the stolen supply.

But Lox's progress had kept me focused. I could handle the strain on my household. His wound had sealed and stopped its fetid oozing, and it thrilled me and drove me to press through. It wouldn't be much longer until he'd healed enough that his burdens could be lifted from my home.

His mind, too, had clearly been recovering along with his body. He'd pulled out from his rabid mania and had taken to a much more manageable state of sickliness and frailty.

There was a growing light within him that was burning away the fog from his eyes. In its place a pair of thin and piercing green pupils cut through with their bright and steely vigor.

In his path to recovery Lox's body had begun trying to purge what remained in his system. He'd begun retching and heaving at all hours. The bile was the same horrid pitch as before. It boiled and fizzed where it met with the hay and the open air. As everything then, it was manageable. I just came to him often to clean.

I'd started loitering longer with him there each day, and I'd leave him a little more slack in the yoke each time before approaching. I knew still to be cautious with his mouth and the fiuids of his closing wound.

I spoke softly to him and pressed my hand to his shivering hide. His skin felt so much warmer than when I'd first touched him there in the woods. His body was soft–the small scales resilient enough to grant him some armor, while still flexible enough to allow him to stalk through the trees.

In those days he was something truly pitiful to watch. His body shook as he heaved and purged. It was almost as though I could feel his suffering for myself, with how near it was to me and how strongly he felt it.

I wiped away the black rivulets that ran down his cheeks where the pitch had mixed in with his snot and his tears.

Projecting or not, I did myself feel what I thought he must have been experiencing. All his frailty and his sickness were there. There was also the sense of regressing into whelphood. He felt helpless, crooning for someone to fix his ailing body.

The daylight had gone and I'd done nothing beyond care for him. I freshened the hay each time his stomach soiled it, and took care to clean his nose and his chin to spare him from the acrid smell.

I knew that I was approaching destitution. I'd left the animals out multiple times and had lost several to predators and wanderlust. If I didn't starve, then I'd be exiled–for the thefts and for exposing the village so acutely to the threat of blackfog.

But I hardly cared. Watching Lox recover gave me a sense of fulfillment that I'd never known before.

Sleep took me before I'd had the chance to leave the barn one night. Lox's stomach settled for a moment and his slow, deep breathing lulled my eyes closed. There was a feeling of warmth that came from him, as though he were appreciating my company. I believe that he understood.

—-

A month had gone by and my relationship with Lox had become something far different from what I'd expected.

Firstly, there was indeed the unexplainable phenomenon that I could somehow sense what he was feeling as he felt it. It manifested as thoughts and emotions that weren't my own, but that I somehow felt without truly feeling them. It was like dissociating–things were felt by a self that wasn't me. It was difficult to explain to Lox or to even myself. And I hadn't told a soul in the village.

In truth I hadn't seen a soul from the village since last I'd purchased the medicine from our healer.

I had no more need for the fogsbane, thank the gods. The last vestige of Lox's affliction was a long, black scar that he wore branded high up into his leg.

I had failed to make good on my commitment to the both of us that I'd turn him loose once he got better. I felt that he enjoyed my company, and I certainly enjoyed his. Though I tried at first to hide that fact from him.

I had my suspicions that Lox, too, had somehow wormed himself into my own mind, as I had done his. He so often watched my face, as though he were reading it. It seemed natural to him. He knew when I was happy with him or tired or distracted with the recovery of my farm.

He chose to follow me everywhere. I'd become so lax in penning Lox at night that he'd had plenty of chances to leave. He'd earned my trust enough to be allowed free reign of my lands and my home during the day. I taught him to respect what little of my livestock still survived, and he hunted the woodland critters that lived in the forest trees nearby.

With the blackfog gone from him his personality shone through like a beacon. He seemed so overjoyed just to run again, and to prowl through my fields and stalk his prey through the woods.

He didn't seem to think on the past, but I do think he understood just how near he'd come to the end.

His curiosity pierced into my thoughts and distracted us both with every little thing I'd do. He'd walk with me through the fields while I worked and then through the house in the evening. He carried himself next me, not behind, as though he understood where I was going and thought he had his own role to play in every task. His great snout would butt in so close to whatever I was doing and knocked things over and blocked my hands.

It would have been tiresome if it weren't so damned endearing.

He was clearly as fascinated by me as I was with him. He did nothing to hide it. He'd begun trying to play with me while I worked, slinking down low and stalking me. He'd sprint toward me, silent and low, then nip at my sunhat or my boots before slithering away.

He moved with such impressive poise for his enormous size.

He'd even started stealing my tools and then plopping his great body down in the way of whatever it was I was doing.

I scolded him a few times, though I know he saw through the angry facade. He could sense how much joy it brought me to be given an excuse just to ignore my work for him.

Lox also began to exhibit signs of a delusion that he'd developed, that he could do much of my work better than I could. It was insulting, but also very cute. He'd take something like a spade or a sack of pestkiller from my hands and haul it ahead of me to drop it down to where he read that I planned to take it. I knew he didn't fully understand why. But I sensed the pride he felt in doing these things–things he believed my smaller body did so much less efficiently than his.

He balked at me for wanting to leave him out in the barn at night. When I walked him to its doors he would huff and pace and complain. One night he chose to ignore the barn entirely and just pushed his huge frame past me through my front door and to the bedroom.

He ignored all the sights and smells and acted like he belonged there, curling into a great, big ball on my floor. Clearly in his mind there was no transgression of boundaries in his act.

I just couldn't bring myself to send him out.

With all the banality that had become our new routines together, there was another part of our mutual interest that had begun to rise to the surface.

I had been chiding him that I could overlook all his filth and grime while he had been recovering. But those days were past, and he no longer had any excuse for being so unwashed.

I walked with him to the barn one morning and fixed the yoke back around his neck. We had stopped using it since he had healed, but I needed it in that moment to make sure his burning curiosity wouldn't interfere with the chore.

He knew full well what the yoke did by then. But still he seemed to trust me enough to let me place it around his neck. I remember feeling so struck by his capacity for understanding and trust.

I left him and brought back a pail, soap and sponge to his pen. I let him inspect each with his nose, before he sneezed at them dismissively. They smelled strong and unnatural. His brilliant eyes watched me, always reading.

I could tell the feeling of the sponge was very foreign to him, as was the scent of the soap that coated his hide. He tried without success to turn his head and sniff at the sponge as I rubbed it along his side.

The feeling was weird. It was so weird. It tickled him. The soap was so strong and unnatural and it would ruin his ability to hunt.

I teased him for all his complaining, and assured him that after what he'd been through he could certainly put up with a little bath.

I also reminded him that he was at that moment a thoroughly filthy creature, and that filth couldn't be allowed to continue to enter my home and to spoil my nice rugs.

He huffed and held his head high in its restraint, refusing to take the insult to his pride.

I made sure to bathe the least sensitive parts of him first–his neck, his chest and his back.

He was growing to like the feeling of the sponge's tickling scratches against his hide. And he really liked my hands, as well. I slid them over his skin in long, smooth strokes to knead the soap with my fingertips in the grooves between the scales, and his thoughts glowed with gentle warmth.

When I moved down to bathe his softer underbelly, the way he was enjoying my touch became all the more apparent.

I kept working away at cleaning him and tried my best to hide from him how I was feeling. I focused my thoughts on anything I could, anything besides the great, wrinkled mess that unfurled there beneath him.

I took a fresh sponge of cold water straight to his rear right up beneath his tail. I'd hoped the shock of cold to his tailhole might bring him back to sobriety. And it did, briefly. His head jerked again reflexively to try to sniff at the invasive feeling.

But it was only moments before he decided that he also enjoyed the feeling of my doting on him there.

I could hear him blowing sharp puffs from his nostrils as I washed him up and down the whole of his long, thick tail. He had fully dropped, and hung low between his hind legs.

There wasn't much left of him still to bathe. I tried to hide my excitement, but I was as thrilled as he was in all of it. He was all there before me, hanging so heavily and inviting. He looked to be the size of my forearm.

I gently pressed the sponge to the backside of his hanging sack, then moved it forward up beneath him to lather over all of his ***.

He flexed tight at the touch. His penis kicked up against his belly, its splotchy black and red skin stretching and bouncing in the air.

He had clearly never been touched there before. His excitement shot red *** through his mind and arced into my own.

I worked the soap with my fingers through the sagging folds of his heavy sack. I took my time with the soft and pliable skin there. It was hypnotizing the way his testicles moved within it, rolling around with my fingers and pulling way up into his body whenever he flexed. All the excitement and taboo of touching Lox that way was thrilling me to my core.

I could feel that he, too, was reeling in the overwhelming newness of the pleasure. He didn't understand where it was leading him, nor that he was being led to begin with. He didn't know what his body was craving. He only knew how  good my touch felt, and how it stoked a heat inside his belly that made him want to burst with energy.

I moved my hands from his sack to his heavy, black prepuce that hung in front of it. His black sheath-skin felt like silk in how it slid through my fingers. I filled both my palms with all its excess.

I worked my hands into him, sliding them along the side of his penis and up into the folds of his sheath. I moved my fingers to gently spread the soap and slough away the crust and grime.

Lox's penis flagged and kicked as I cleaned him. His glans would swell with a rhythm as though it were breathing.

I kept playing in his sheath long past the point when it had been cleaned. I was teasing him. He knew I was teasing him, and felt how much it excited me, but he hadn't a clue what my teasing him was building toward. I could sense Lox was clearly already on the cusp of his climax. I played inside him for what felt to me like ages.

I savored the sight of every vein and every wrinkle, with all the subtle movements he made along his long and powerful flesh.

"You poor thing, look at you," I said.

He was far too blissed out to respond.

"Alright, fine. I'll help you out with this. Just this once. And don't you go telling anyone."

Lox snuffed in acknowledgement. I knew he hadn't really any idea what I meant by that. All he knew was that his body wanted whatever it was I was offering him, and it wanted it badly.

I grabbed a tight grip around his cock flesh with one hand at his base near his sheath and one cupping the end of his swollen glans.

I squeezed tight and pumped him fast. My hands got a response straight away.

It was almost laughable how quickly and how much it had affected him.

His hind legs bent low and quivered as they struggled to hold his own weight.

Reflex drove him to try to thrust into my hands and jerk his hips forward wildly. The yoke kept him in place but it did little to stop his thrusting.

Looking back at it, I envy Lox for that first release. I'd long since grown comfortable with my own sword in my hand and had been far from knowing the pure euphoria that he felt.

But Lox's sensation poured *** through my own awareness, powerful in its lack of restraint.

Lox grunted and stumbled through his first climax. He came as only a young virgin could, his cock eagerly spitting its very first. and his limbs trembling and throat grunting.

I felt the surge rush through him deep up inside his body before it appeared, the flow palpable through the surface of his flesh like running water through a pipe. His testicles drew up in their skin and his glans grew larger in my hand. A great jet burst from his cock and traced an arc through the air between his forelegs. More of it followed suit.

I hung tight to him through all his bucking and wrung him out, giving him all of his frantic release.

It was a wild rush for the both of us. For him there was the obvious. His body burned with his ***, pulsating pleasure.

For me there was an excitement in coaxing such a powerful feeling from such a large and powerful male. There were no words for the thrill I felt in holding his great and spasming ***, coaxing out the cum from him and guiding its path to the dirt.

With it there was the added eroticism of sensing his orgasm myself, which I felt without feeling, in all its intensity.

That drake's gods-damned climax lasted him minutes before it finally relented. I couldn't believe it. I wanted to kick him for all my jealousy. The dirt beneath us had gone frothy with his soap and cum. I figured his sexual selection favored quantity over quality, as it seemed his body was built to just completely drench his partners and then hope for the best.

Once he finished finishing, I let him loose from his yoke he pounced me to the ground. Immediately he took to frantically licking me all over my face.

I felt such a powerful swell of playful affection from him that made me laugh. I pushed him away and he pushed himself back. We wrestled together the first time that day, rolling through the soap and the dirt and the semen. Our combined giddiness was just too much for me, and I just couldn't stop laughing from the bottom of my heart. The absurdity of what we had just done together, mixed in with his brilliant afterglow was such a wonderful feeling. With it there was the tickle of his great, wet tongue lapping at me all over my face.

I asked him through all the licks and the laughter if he'd liked what we'd done. His head pulled back a moment to give him the space to read what I had asked him. Then he launched right back into assaulting me with licks.

"Alright, alright," I laughed at him, trying again to push him off. "Here! If you're going to do that, do it right. Like this."

I grabbed his cheeks in both hands and shoved his head away. He let me that time, his playful eyes watching mine carefully to see what came next.

I gently closed his panting snout and held a finger to his nose to keep him still.

I leaned in toward him and cocked my head to touch his lips with mine.

He let me hold him there, in a kiss. His nostrils blew soft puffs of warmth against my cheek.

I knew the feeling meant nothing to him, but that he would have felt what it meant for me. There was no hiding the roiling of infatuation that boiled up in my stomach as he let me kiss him. I knew he read the significance of that strange little touch.

My passion for it stoked his own excitement again. When I breached his lips with my tongue, he took no time pushing past it to fill my mouth from cheek to cheek with his own.

Holding his great, scaled head in my hands that way while we kissed, I knew that I was done. There was a sort of happy resignation in me. He had done it, he'd won me over. Over days and weeks he had burrowed his way into me somewhere deep, before I had seen it coming. Perhaps since the moment he first locked eyes with me beneath his broken tree.

That was it. There would be no life without Lox, then. 

I squirmed underneath his enormous weight and attempted to shrug my pants off below my waist. When I did, let him fully smell my arousal in the air. I could smell myself through him; the scent came with a richness and depth of color that my I could never have dreamed of sensing from my own nose. The thought of me airing myself out to him thrilled him as deeply as our kiss had thrilled me. He broke with my lips and descended on me.

He licked with all that frantic enthusiasm returned again, bathing me and reveling in my taste. I was… sweaty. It was so alien and exciting to him. My scent and taste were so heady with my body's oils and pheromones and all smells of my arousal maleness. His eyes briefly looked up and read the pleasure in mine.

I groaned and sank into the dirt beneath me. The warmth and wetness were welcome feelings after who knew how many seasons of neglect.

I brought a hand down to help him out in helping me.

I was really no better than Lox when it came down to it, then. I lasted only seconds. I groaned and clenched up tight, warned him I was close and then poured myself out into his lips and tongue.

He took all that I gave straight away. My semen tasted so sharp and bright, like nothing he'd ever known. It was a whole new flavor of my scent that he hadn't ever known.

I had no thoughts to share with him other than the ***-crazed euphoria I felt watching his huge tongue servicing my hard and twitching cock. It was the kind of deep, ennervating climax I'd had once or twice before, sweeping through my body like a wind and noticeably touching my legs and my neck and shoulders with its chemical pleasure.

I finished, far faster than he had.

His mouth still searched my body. Then his eyes flashed at me as he licked my navel and thigh, as if asking if that were all I'd give him.

"Oh I know, Lox."

His piercing green eyes glared at me with playful intensity, his thoughts accusing me of holding out on him after all he'd just given me.

"I'm no drake, bud; that's all I've got," I said with a glowing sigh. I pushed him off me onto his side and turned to hug him, gripping his heavy testicles in one hand and one of the spines of his neck in another. I rested my head on his neck.

"I'm sure you'll get more from me later. Don't you think?" I asked.

He rumbled deep within his curled himself around me.

"Besides, there's still more I've got to show you," I said, the tiredness setting into us both like a gentle swelling in our minds. 

There in the barn we basked together for some time, while his cum dried with the dirt onto our skin. We both needed a fresh bath. And there were still chores to do. But they could wait. The farm, the village; the world. It could all wait. 

The moment was just for holding Lox. It was all that mattered. His embrace felt like everything.

–


When I looked at Lox on the outside, I wouldn't imagine he'd have become such a playful and lecherous creature. I brought him into my life in the summer, not understanding the consequences I had sown.

His appetite for me was insatiable.

In the mornings I'd wake by feeling him staring at me from the floor beside my bed.

If I didn't move quickly enough then to meet him there on the floor, he'd slither himself up onto my bed like some cat-lizard and drag me out of it, pushing around my pillows and bedding and rollling me down onto the floor. Once there, he'd curl his great body around mine and hold me hostage while he delivered his morning affections.

I'd come to start just letting it happen. Knowing how strong willed he was in what he saw as necessary tasks, I figured it was hopeless. He would certainly outrun me if I tried to flee.

Besides, I enjoyed the way he'd effortlessly toss me around.

We'd hold each other there on the floor a while, his warm body almost fully enveloping me in my morning nakedness as he licked my ears and my hair and neck.

I'd wring him out in those mornings that way before we both rose. His great, eager *** stretched up along my whole torso to my neck, rubbing against my bare skin the whole way and prodding at my mouth. There was no way I could resist him. Not when he'd just touch practically the entirety of my naked torso with his ***.

I'd hold his proud testicles between my thighs, gently squeezing them against my ass cheeks and grinding my own hips against his body. We'd let my own malehood prod around through the soft and wrinkled folds of his sheath-skin.

He'd grip me tight with his forelimbs to his *** as he came, thrusting himself against me and grunting all low and lewd.

After he'd soiled us both in the morning, a tongue bath was in order, there on the bedroom floor.

After our morning chores I'd wring him out yet again while he flopped down on his back out in the fields. His long talons would writhe through the air as I milked him out onto his chest, teasing him for how useless and indecent he was for loitering so long in his own orgasms.

He had become unable to resist the taste and smell of me after an afternoon of work on the farm. He'd insist that I shed my clothes as soon as he knew it was time for a rest. The one time I argued, he threatened me with the thought of him pinning me and tearing away the clothes with his teeth.

After I disrobed he'd bathe my full body with his tongue. He took special care to snake it up thoroughly beneath the fork of my legs, running his tongue through the cleft of my ass cheeks and up to the base of my spine. Those sweaty afternoon hours were his favorite, as I'd gone just the perfect span of time since my morning bath for the smells of my loins to have gone so deliciously rich, without yet turning stale.

He taught me an appreciation for my body I'd never had, for all its world of tastes and smells.

I teased him often for being so needy. I scolded him for flaunting his nakedness to me, flopping himself open in the warmth of the sun and spoiling my thoughts when we had to work.

Motionless and content on his back, he showed to me the vision of all my hair, covering my head and my limbs and loins. I sensed just how soft and how very tasty it all was, savory with my scent. Even when clothed, the hair of my limbs and my head still wicked out the oils and scents through the air and into his helpless nose.

"No, you're right. That's fair. Here, come here, Lox. I've got something new to try with you."

I showed him all the things a pair of hands could do for his body, kneading and splaying his paw pads, etc. In turn he ravaged me with his enormous tongue.


I could only take half his length inside me. But it was more than enough for us both. His thick meat stretched me wide and left me gaping. I loved how sexual and slutty I felt from taking his cock up inside me. There was a pride that came from it.

When he came he shook and gripped me close with his forelegs. I felt his head swell and the powerful throbs kick through his shaft. There was the foreign sensation of his issue pouring deep and heavy into me and visibly bloating my belly. It drove me insane with lust for him. I couldn't believe how much I felt from the heat and intimacy of it.

I gripped myself and pumped, taking little time to meet Lox in his climax. I groaned and hugged his great chest to me as I came. My body adored the feeling of his meat still throbbing inside me and it washed me over with such powerful pleasure. Reflex tried to clench my ass to ejaculate. His meat was too huge inside me for there to be much room to clench, and all I managed was to drool out a single long and continuous stream.

I held him so close to me in that moment of afterglow that my arms grew tired from the effort. After he finished he craned his head down and busied our mouths with another kiss. We had cooled from our white-*** lusts and kissed each other with the gentle warmth of affection. The gods-damned drake, with all his adorable intellect. He'd driven me to love him. Holding our naked bodies together I felt like I was soaring.

When he pulled himself out, it felt so lewd the way it took him forever to exit my guts. Endless meat sliding through me. I broke our kiss and had to moan out of reflex. I felt his mischievous amusement for what he could do to me. His cock left me gaping and empty, and I felt his semen drool out.