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Nalashar the Red
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Saphira's First Heat Vengeance

Oasis
saphira_s_first_heat_vengeance.txt
Keywords male 957860, female 841242, wolf 159102, penis 153103, cum 148383, dragon 118670, cock 103743, sex 100960, pussy 88236, feral 64098, oral 53798, paws 50699, erection 47671, vaginal 40083, straight 35862, m/f 34203, orgasm 26129, wings 23537, licking 18491, fur 17948, blood 15744, yiff 14502, messy 13815, story 10907, dragoness 10699, cunnilingus 9672, interspecies 7535, ejaculation 6982, slit 5077, mating 4775, fighting 3944, dream 3939, heat 3724, action 3630, violence 3468, arousal 3081, scales 3072, hetero 2699, fanfiction 2449, non-anthro 2369, grinding 1946, character development 1090, combat 973, revenge 950, plot development 487, wet dream 483, vengeance 67, saphira 57, eragon 33, pent-up 16

The orders thundering in her ears from the man astride her back were almost as deafening as the clashing clouds that spat lightning arcs all around the vast expanse of the surrounding skies. This Eragon was not the young boy she grew up with. No. He was harsher. Even ruthless when the so called destiny he envisioned threatened to change.

He was a stern man, one who forged his own dragon into the deadliest of weapons. One who really wanted her to put her training to use. And with little regard for anything but the vague silhouette of the prey she kept on chasing at his behest, Saphira flapped her wings frantically against the beating winds that threatened to blow her off course.

Catch up to him! Don’t let him get away from us again!

Her rider’s droning became almost a mantra that fed her single minded focus up until a fierce blast of wind sent her prey downwards.

Saphira broke through the oppressive blanket of gray clouds to chase right after him, feeling not the sting of pain in her wings or the chill of the icy rain pattering down upon her scales, but the hot, bristling feeling of closing in on her prey.

“We got you now, deceiver!” Her Eragon shouted once she steadied out her flight.  He pulled up the visor of his plated suit of armor up and pointed the tip of his sapphire colored blade at the robed figure that rode a slightly smaller, spikier, red version of his own Saphira. “Surrender peacefully and I promise we will treat you as fairly as we can.”

“Fair? As in, you’ll be giving me a larger cell to rot in? No.” A chuckle came from the red’s rider. “I think we’ll take the other path.”

The figure pulled down his cowl to reveal a man as young as the dragon he rode -a lad, really- hardened by battles won beyond his fragile age. One who was not to be trifled with.

Unsheathing his sword from a gold engraved sheath stuck on the side of his dragon’s saddle, the man said something to his dragon.

Eragon did too, only Saphira paid no attention to the customary pat on the back of her neck or the reassurances she received before any battle. Her eyes were stolen by her prey…by how young he looked, by how… undeserving of a mauling he seemed to be.

Why fight? Why, when they could solve their disputes in other, better ways, far removed from the concerns or wishes of their own riders?

Her battle raging instincts flinched a moment at the flicker of such a strange, selfish thought. She imagined it for only a moment. That perfect picture of fulfillment that haunted her every night, where she would settle down for the night next to her ideal partner. His warm tongue upon the side of her neck, his claws, grappling onto her not with the purpose to injure, but to hold her tight as he aligned his nether regions with hers... She all but shuddered with expectation for what was to come, and then…something else came.

That fateful word that always preceded the most horrid yet perfect thing she could do. Fight.

Skies wept, clouds thundered, and skyfire poured down with the rain in forms of crackling arcs of lightning, illuminating the scales of the two winged beasts that soon clashed together with a ferocity no man was ever capable of. Seeing nothing but the visage of her enemy, filled with little apart from the thrill that rushed through her veins in every such occasion, Saphira danced around her prey while the riders exchanged arrow after arrow, spell after spell. With none obtaining the upper edge at range, the fight moved into close quarters combat. At her rider’s behest, Saphira turned her evasive maneuvers into an all out flurry of attacks that quickly overwhelmed the capabilities of the younger, less experienced dragon. She caught him well. Foreclaws sunk into his sides, hind claws entwined with his own, jaws latched around the underside of his neck just behind his jaws, she rendered him completely unable to retaliate. A helpless prey caught in a deadly trap of fangs and claws. All she had to do was squeeze. Squeeze her jaws around his neck, allow her fangs to slip past his narrow, fragile scales, and it would all be over…just like her rider wanted.

Do it. End him before he has a chance to break free! Eragon kept on screaming as his feeble sword found no way to strike down his sworn enemy.

But something told her not to. A feeling unlike any other rose up from her stomach, slithering up her every muscle, spreading through her belly like a debilitating cloud of emotions she never dealt with before. Not in such raw ways. The fear of perishing at the tips of her fangs, the regret of losing his young life so quickly, the sorrow of never settling down with a mate of his own…she didn’t have to look into his terrified eyes or listen to the frantic beats of his heart to know what the trapped male felt in that moment…for she felt his own emotions as her own…

And felt disgusted for going as far as she did.

Her grip relented.

Eragon said something about grave mistakes, but at that point, Saphira no longer cared. Filled to the brim with revulsion at what her thrill of battle made her do in his name, Saphira released the red male, and the two shared a fleeting, knowing glance before they put their own unspoken plans into action. With but a swipe of her tail, Saphira sent the male’s rider crashing down into the unknown below, an action lauded by her own two-legged burden moments before he too was stripped from her back.

Nghahaaaahh! Nooo! Saphiraaaaaaa!

Gurgling words and outlandish screams rang from the mouth where commands used to sprout from before the source was severed from the body, neck and all; a grisly display, if not a fitting one for a man who turned her entire life into an eternal fight in the name of his misplaced sense of justice.

With cheerful roars, unburdened by the fetters that entrapped their now newfound freedom, the dragons flew at each other not as enemies, but as allies. They embraced in the pattering rain, caressing each other with snouts and tongues alike. For a short, precious moment, they delighted in the feeling of soaring together with the rains. Of breaking away to circle around each other like jovial hatchlings that barely left their nest before they embraced to fly as one once more.

Once exhilaration tapered off, they found refuge on the soaked ground below, under that crooked roof of a ledge that gave these mountains their name. With water dripping down their scales to wash away the blood of their injuries, the two cared for each other’s wounds as best as they could with the limited means their kin had. Still, even without her rider’s wound dressing abilities, Saphira felt happier than ever, for even if her tongue could not stitch flesh or regrow scales, her contributions coaxed out sounds she never thought she would hear from a former enemy.

Soft growls. Gentle purrs. Trills that filled her fluttering heart with joy. In that moment, he was hers as much as she was his.

It felt like a dream, almost, to feel another dragon’s warmth nestled against her own body, his protective wing wrapped around her like a velvety blanket filled with life and heat, his tongue, caressing her head ever so slowly in a futile attempt to express his appreciation. Saphira needed no reward. She already had the greatest one she could ever ask for.

Him! She enjoyed everything he offered, from the pleasant clatter his scales made when they brushed with hers to the licks he showered her with, and of course, his scent. That pleasant aroma that kept pulling onto her instincts for a while now was downright infuriating!

“Mrrr…” Saphira gently eased him on his side with a gentle growl and turned around so she could better assess his features. She started with his neck. Sinuous and long, protected by shaper, narrower scales than hers, it led towards a powerful chest where tougher scales rose to protect his vital areas. Saphira gently moved her snout further down his belly, past his gentle, grabby forelegs, past even his own haunches, for even if she admired the near perfect curvature of his sharper, smaller claws and his lithe, sculpted musculature, there was something else that beckoned her. A place veiled from the sight of any man that would look upon that particular area…

But not from the fine nose of a dragon. Saphira hovered over the slender opening where flesh replaced scales, her twitching nostrils drawing in the scents of his masculinity, of his virility, of everything that made him such an attractive dragon to stare at.

Mraaawwhhh… a needy hiss unlike any other escaped through her tightening jaws. She wanted to analyze his scent further. To savor it… To test whether this dragon could indeed make a fitting mate for her.

But another side of her just wanted more immediate results.

Closing her eyes, Saphira pressed her snout against his flesh. Her tongue snuck out to sink into the expanse of his twitching folds, slithering like a snake into the deeper reaches until she found exactly what her breeding instincts yearned for all along.

His member.

Awrr… she moaned, lapping repeatedly at his tip, suckling in his sweet, delightful juices. Dazed by the bliss of her discovery, Saphira focused on nothing but the heat of his flesh, making out with his opening far more passionately than she ever licked her own vent.

Enamored with the feeling of his quickly growing erection, Saphira continued to assault his emerging shaft with licks that would thoroughly spoil any suitor. Around and under his tip she went, parting the bulging folds of his fleshy walls greedily with her tongue in an attempt to reach his deeper places…places that made him whimper with such cute, adoring sounds. Throb after throb, thrust after thrust against her hungry tongue, his member grew, and the more defined his erection became, the hungrier Saphira grew for the precious, life-giving fluid that escaped every male at the height of their passions.

Allowing his member to slide along her tongue until his entire tip disappeared within her enrapturing jaws, Saphira suckled him vigorously, enjoying the sweet splatters of pre-seed that squirted inside her jaws as much as the throbbing of the ridges that fueled such intense spurts. She attacked those quite voraciously with the tip of her tongue, savoring the rain of his delightful taste until she found herself yanked quite violently by one of her horns.

Before she had the time to make heads or tails of the situation, she found herself nudged by him into a position that felt all too natural for her kind. Forelegs bent down on the cool ground, wings tucked at her sides, and haunches spread with an invitingly lifted tail, Saphira growled back at him, offering her approval to do what all dragons wanted in this situation.

To mate.

With trepidating licks across her form, the male clumsily fit himself around her slightly larger bulk. Clumsy as he was, he knew how to make up for his inexperience with long licks that washed away every drop of water from the back of her scaled, spike-less neck. Her throat all but vibrated with excitement, her tail, shuddering with want.

As soon as she felt him even attempt to thrust his big, beautiful member in the direction of her need, Saphira tensed and shuddered with want.

Almost there. Aaaalmost there. Looking back with large, starry eyes, Saphira licked her snout with arduous desire. His taste was still fresh on her lips…a taste she desperately wished to sample with her other pair of lips. The horny dragoness all but counted the thrusts he needed to finally find his mark. Thrice he prodded, each kiss of his cock stirring her shuddering folds into a frenzy of want. She kneaded and squelched with want, until, finally, his entire member sunk its beautiful features in her through a profound thrust that all but stole the breath out of her throat.

“Graa-Mrrrooaaaaaahhhh!” The engulfing euphoria of all those ridges rolling along her fleshy canal one after the other almost sent her flopping down on the soaked ground. So raw. So intense. So removed from anything she ever experienced before!

She…she loved it beyond any sound her choking throat could make. The enveloping tightness of his entire shaft lodged within her, his sweet, shuddering moan…it was always something she dreamed of, but never truly tasted…until now.

Roaring louder than ever, the utter feeling of completion that exploded from her grasping nethers forked along her body like lightning, dispersing into every muscle she could control. Suddenly, she found herself just as tight as the muscles that trapped him within her…

And just like his hard, throbbing erection, she leaked plentily. For she could hardly endure this torturous feast of intense feelings without spurting out some of her excess heat.

Mraaahhh! Rawwwraaaaahhh! Growls of ecstatic passion rang all around the mountains.

Thick ropes of slime splattered down their union as her cunt tried to adjust to the intensity of her first mating by fitting and refitting its flesh around his all too stimulating set of ridges. For him, this was heaven. For her…it wasn’t enough.

Pushing herself back against his soggy vent, Saphira encouraged him to keep on going. And he did. Albeit jagged and inexperienced, doused with an additional layer of unspent passions, her male started to breed her just like she always yearned. Passionately and fast, without fancy words or other goals apart from the obvious: To fill her thirsting womb with torrents of his life giving seed.

Gritting her jaws, Saphira endured the torturous ploughing of her heat-stricken folds with as much admiration as could be expected from one at the peak of her heat. Every journey his cock made in and out of her grasping pussy threatened to send her soaring over the greatest peak of her pleasure…but with the sheer might of her willpower, she held onto that sliver of resistance that promised to make her last just a bit longer…just…one thrust further…just so she could ascend the peak of her pleasure with him, not alone, as she always did in her lonely dreams.

She looked so forward to sample the heat of his seed within her needy womb, to hear his roar mingle with hers, to feel him give out every good thing he had within him….and then…it happened. His claws grasped her tighter than ever. His jaws latched around her neck, saliva as hot as the translucent fluids that bridged their vents together trickled down her scales from his weak, unsure bite. With one last shuddering thrust of his hips, her male buried himself inside her deepest reaches, and roared.

But what followed in the wake of his tremendous cry was not at all what Saphira had expected. Instead of his hot, clammy seed, what she felt was the coarse feeling of an all too familiar surface. And instead of his scent, there were sticks and grass and pelts, all cobbled together by the unmistakable stench of her own acute loneliness.

“Graaaaaarrrr!” Saphira roared to the skies as her fantasy dispersed with but a blink of her azure eyes. She was back. Back into a world of rules and loneliness.

A world where too often she awoke as alone as she had been when her young, curious snout first broke through the shell of her egg. Oh, how much she yearned to be a hatchling again. To view the world as the beautiful expanse of endless possibilities it had once been. When she took her first unsure steps into the forest that surrounded her rider’s home, she thought she could uncover all of its secrets. Yet her rider bid her to wait. Patience, he said. You will explore the world soon enough.

Then months passed. She learned to fly. To fight. To hide from the sight of men and beasts alike.

Yet even now, when she stood the size of a large horse, she was no closer to fulfill her dreams of exploring the world she had been back then when she weighted as much as a bunch of potatoes.

With a long, shuddering growl, Saphira curled around herself. She attempted to return to that place of blissful tranquility, in the embrace of her ideal mate, but the stench of her loneliness proved far too pungent to let her mind rest. Damned need! Why did SHE have to suffer through it all alone?

Burying her snout into her abnormally puffy vent soaked by the drenching slime of her first premature heat, Saphira scratched away at her burning need as best as she could with her own pointy tongue, but the debris that stuck to her lips was coarse and rough, entering into her sensitive reaches deeper the more she tried to coax it out.

Raaaah!

The nearest river provided her with a measure of the tranquility she sought. Cold and invigorating, the waters were more of a nest to her right now than her actual bed, a hastily built circle of branches topped off with furs and rags her Eragon brought over the course of her first year of life. A nest of memories as diverse as the objects strewn about, distasteful and mismatched.

Her life was not down there, but up in the sky, a realm where all winged beings could be free.

All but her.

According to her rider, she was more than special. As the only dragon born into the realm centuries after her kin went all but extinct, she had to remain hidden from everything and everyone, for even a brief sighting could allow the king’s men to find her.

How silly of a thought! Men. What could men do to a dragon? Her Eragon wove horrid tales of the trappers that would bind her and ferry her to the king’s darkened dungeons, but what awaited her there was not the executioner’s axe, nor the manacles of servitude the king would all too eagerly bind her with.

No. His only desire was more power. And the way he earned such power were dragons…dragons born out of a union between her and the last known living dragon. His own personal pet, Shruikan. A terrifying monster said to have bathed in the blood of the hundreds of dragons he had slain in the name of his King. But those were just words. Rumors spawned by fears and revulsion for an age past. There was no way to know for certain who this Shruikan was. To Saphira, the idea of finding herself alone with a male dragon, even one as supposedly deranged as the king’s pet, stirred her in ways she could never admit to her rider, for in that perfect darkness, she had no need to even look upon this beast of a dragon. Just feel his hot, huffing breath cascading down her neck and his cock spread her apart bit by bit until…until he’d…

A howl broke through the veil of her desires. One unlike any other she heard in the forest. This wasn’t an attempt for a wolf to communicate with its packmates. No.

It was a cry of pain.

With her sharp senses focused on the source of the creature’s distress, Saphira took flight in a glimmering rain of droplets without thinking twice. She soared over familiar lands, scanning the forest below for clues. Then, she heard it again. Coming from a farther distance than she initially imagined. From outside the protective area her rider told her to stay in.

There was no time for petty rules now. Saphira sunk her worries into the depths of her mind and pushed onwards, landing on a ledge far enough away from the group of hunters that seemed busy with the biggest catch of their life. A fuzzy creature that bore the shape of a wolf, yet bigger. Much bigger.

A direwolf.

Saphira hopped down the mountain, using her speed and grace to sneak through the underbrush with little in the way of noise. She learned these forests well, and, in spite of her larger size, her slinky form still allowed her to blend in within the shadow of the forest.

Carefully, she crept upon the clearing where the bustling voices of the hunters dwarfed any creak of the branches scrapping against her scales. Over a dozen they numbered, three of them on alert for other wolves that would come to their prey’s rescue, several burdened with the task of tying the great beast to their longcart, and a few more dousing the sweaty results of their distasteful work with round after round of pungent drink.

“A’ight, think he’s bound tighter than me cock, he is.” A gruffy man that seemed to be their leader in spite of his disheveled appearance thundered. “Ravi, up on the horses, Tarkleigh, you’re in the back with the beast. If he but twitches a paw, hit him with the sleepin’ spear. We need ‘im whole for the mistress, and Gavin, don’t even think of puttin’ your grabby hands on his jewels, a’ight? This is a prized specimen fit for even the king to ride. Don’ want him reekin’ of your stench once we present him in the market. That’s all there is to it. Get movin’, ye rats!”

They were talking about him as if he was just merchandise, waiting to be sold. Saphira felt infuriated. Even if her Eragon told her tales about such men, seeing their greed, their heartlessness with her own eyes, and worse, inhaling bits of their acrid, sweaty could hardly compare to any tale she heard. The beasts were real…and so was the wolf. A specimen dark of fur with burgundy shades along his head and underside, he seemed to be native to the Spine region as his colors could all too easily blend with the blackened bark of the trees in this region. Though his size made him quite the imposing beast if put next to a human, there was no trace of malevolence in the eyes that followed the movements of his captors. Quite the opposite. He seemed to have resigned to whatever fate led him to be bound with ropes and chains.

But Saphira could not so easily accept that. If half of her Rider’s tales were true, then the black Direwolves of the Northern Reaches were sons of the old world as well. Proud hunters that had been sharing these forests with dragons since the race of men was nothing more than another prey to hunt, huddling scared in their caverns for the coming of daylight when wolves preferred to socialize. Direwolves had more right to call this forest home than anyone. Perhaps more than her own kin…the same glorious dragons that paid the ultimate price for the trust they put in the two-legged races.

The creaking of the moving cart reached her ears. Gritting her jaws, Saphira tensed up like a predator waiting to pounce. Could she, against her rider’s stern reminders, let such a striking creature become another currency for the humans?

You know the price of discovery, the distance voice of Eragon whispered in her mind. They will hunt you. They will find you. They will not stop until you are either in chains…or dead.

Saphira closed her eyes. Flashes of her life zipped before her mind’s eye. Happier times, lived within the comforting sphere of blissful ignorance. Easier times when she but obeyed without questions. She owed much to the man that raised her to be the dragon she now was. For that, she owed him her trust. Her oaths. Perhaps even her life.

But…as good and kind as he had been, her Eragon was still a man. A man with an unfortunate legacy behind him. A man who could, at any point, become the vengeance-obsessed hunter from her dreams.

All it took for her to make her decision was a single image of her crimson scaled mate laying there on that cart instead of the wolf, his wings severed off, his spirit, shattered. A living carcass haunted by the spirit of the dragon he could have been if men like the dark king kept their ambitions in check.  

“Angvar.” One of the hunters on watch threw a rock at his absent minded companion’s arm.

“Aye? What’re you hittin me for?”

“Thought I heard somethin’ shufflin’ through that patch ova’tharr.”

“Could be the runt you abandoned for this glamorous job. How’s your wife? Heavy with another’s child, is she? Or has she resorted to ridin beasts like this one in the absence of a proper cock inside her?”

“Quit the yappin’ an’ go checkin’! I swear somethin’s movin in there!”

The portly man called Angvar lost his hand before he even touched the handle of his blood splattered hunting axe. While he screamed and clutched his mangled stump of an arm in vain attempt to stop his life-water from pouring out, Saphira ended three more of his stupefied companions. One fell mangled with holes where her claws were a moment ago, while his two other valiant chargers broke their spine against the trees they embraced from but a single swipe of her mighty tail.

“We’re under attaaaack! To aaarms. To--glheeaaaaghh”

Saphira pounced on the crier, her weight alone crushing the man’s fragile body. All others ran. With their wails focusing all the attention of the present men on her, Saphira frantically leapt around the clearing to dispose of all the scrambling targets before they had the chance to enforce the main bulk of the reorganized squadron bunched together like a spiny hedgehog.

“What in Garn’s name, that’s a fockin’ dragon!”

“Dragon! Dragon!” The pathetic sheep kept on chanting as they fell under her sharp, toothy wrath.

But as her Eragon often warned, for all their lack of armor or wings, men’s will to survive could rival even the toughest dragon’s. While she was busy severing off almost half of their fleeing forces, the rest of the more disciplined hunters wasted no time on screams or curses.

With their leader at the tip of their barrier of spears, the ball of death spat quick volleys of arrows that quickly forced the sapphire huntress on a defensive posture.

“Again!” A second flurry of steel-pointed sharpsticks followed at his command, hitting many parts of her body.

Hissing through her bared teeth, Saphira skulked into the shadow of the trees, breaking off the shafts of a too generous number of arrows stuck between her scales in her frantic run.

“It’ll come back. Hold this position. Harold, take two men and scour the trees. It can’t get far in that undergrowth.”

It. Half numbers strong, and they already referred to her as prey? How dare they??

With fire burning in her heart, Saphira crouched low in the brush and waited for this man named Harold to enter her domain. Here, amidst darkness and thorns, she had the advantage, for her nostrils could track their stench better than eyes ever could.

“Here?” He poked the very bush where her snarling snout hid. “I don’t see nothin’-“ were Harold’s last illustrious words before his head was parted from his body.

“What the-“ the weapons of his aides fell on the ground just like Harold’s shuddering body, useless, heavy, unable to even lay a scratch on her scales. Grabbing the heavier one of the lot in her maw, Saphira crawled until she reached the clearing, then whirled her head around to hurl the broken, lifeless man straight at the concourse of crossbowmen. A good number of arrows made a pinwheel out of the distraction, but a few smarter ones smelled her deceit. They aimed at her, and with but a command from their leader, they discharged their pointy wrath straight at her.

Saphira ducked her head against her chest to protect her eyes. The arrows stung terribly as they dug their sharp tips between her denting scales, but that sting was nothing compared to what she had in store for them. Picking her head up, with the blood of slain men coursing down her jaws, she looked like an emissary of vengeance sent here in the name of all the dragons that fell in the name of the dark king’s crusade.

“Stand your fockin ground!” The leader thundered as he wiped his dagger off the blood of the first coward that broke their formation. “We’re not about to fall to one focken lizard. Keep your spears up and reload. We’ll give it another taste of our-“

Waiting not for his monologue to run its course, Saphira swept the ground with her tail. A cloud of pebbles and dust shot in their direction like a storm, giving her the very edge she needed to break through their lines. With most of the men shielding or rubbing their eyes from the sharp debris that blinded them, Saphira ploughed through them like a storm, swatting, swiping, ripping and biting on everything she could get her claws on. Blood flowed freely on both sides, though by the end of it, she remained the only one standing.

She and the leader, collapsing down at her feet, clutching his ravaged gut with both arms.

“Kahhhh!!” the man rolled on his belly to keep his insides where they belonged. “You focken relic of a bygone age. Think this…changes anything?” he coughed blood as red as his exposed flesh. “C-cant staunch the course of fate. M’abe not today, not tomorrow…but one day the king will know, and he will send hundreds in my wake! We’ll hunt you…and we won’t stop…until you join your entire extinct race!”

Saphira flung his bloodied arms aside and crushed their bones under her weight before she turned around, letting him curse in a pool of his own blood, surrounded by all the men he brought on this foolish hunt. Mercy was too good for the likes of him. This man deserved to wither, as slowly or as quickly as fate desired.

With her vengeance soothed, Saphira ripped off whatever arrows were within the reach of her teeth. She plucked over a dozen by the time the wolf’s whines reminded her of what she fought for. She freed him easily from the bond of the ropes. Teeth worked as good as daggers on those. But for the heavy manacles that held his limbs fast against the cart’s sockets, a more clever approach was needed. One she learned from Eragon. By pulling the sockets gently with her claws, Saphira managed to free the grateful wolf from a life of slavery, his frantic licks enjoyed for only a brief moment before her battle fatigue took her down on the very place the wolf was moments ago.

“Mraarrr…” Saphira growled gently at the concerned wolf and pointed at the decent number of arrows that still adorned her neck. The wolf plucked them one after the other like he had been taught by her, with a quick, painless jab that removed the head of the arrows completely from the narrow in-betweens of her scales.

While he worked, Saphira’s tired eyes admired the desolate landscape created by her intervention. Corpses strewn about with missing limbs. Discarded armaments. And blood…So much blood. It sickened her to even smell it, for this was the first time she unwillingly tasted the life essence of men… a thing that should have never happened. If Eragon ever caught wind of this…,would he even believe the rumors? His little Saphira…capable of such carnage?

Her darkened thoughts abated with the arrival of a warm presence sniffing its way along her nethers. Saphira allowed it. She was curious to see how far the wolf was willing to go…

But as soon as his warm tongue made contact with her flesh, she immediately felt improper for allowing him to even touch her, for he was not a dragon, and definitely not the kind of male she would choose as her mate.

She pushed him out of the cart. He fell on his side, whining just briefly. When he got up, his jaws were still clattering with the potency of her heat; scents she tasted for herself when his tongue started to splatter her snout with moistened affection.

He sought forgiveness. That much was clear. But Saphira also felt something else in his arduous licks. Desire? A yearn for companionship?

She rubbed her head along his to let him know there would be no reprisal for his actions, and, before she even made sense of his temporary infatuation, Saphira followed him into the depths of the forest after the swishing of his tail along with his constant looks back at her made it all too obvious he wished to be followed.


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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Description: Trapped in the secluded parts of the Spine Mountains under strict orders from her stern rider, Saphira becomes bored with her condition. Worse, a mysterious affliction that pushes her to imagine herself taken by other dragons keep her dreaming, wanting…thirsting for the affection of another dragon, or at the very least, someone like her. A being of the wilds.

Opportunity reveals itself when a pack of hunters try to trap a majestic wolf, spurring her into action. Eragon always insisted she should never spill the blood of men, but when men prove themselves to be worse than any beast that walks the land, what can a lonely, pent-up dragon do, if not follow their instincts?

If you enjoyed this particular story, please throw it a fav and let me know what you think in the comments! On the other paw, if you wish to show your appreciation for my writing, you can Support me with tasty treats here https://ko-fi.com/siranor0720

Keywords
male 957,860, female 841,242, wolf 159,102, penis 153,103, cum 148,383, dragon 118,670, cock 103,743, sex 100,960, pussy 88,236, feral 64,098, oral 53,798, paws 50,699, erection 47,671, vaginal 40,083, straight 35,862, m/f 34,203, orgasm 26,129, wings 23,537, licking 18,491, fur 17,948, blood 15,744, yiff 14,502, messy 13,815, story 10,907, dragoness 10,699, cunnilingus 9,672, interspecies 7,535, ejaculation 6,982, slit 5,077, mating 4,775, fighting 3,944, dream 3,939, heat 3,724, action 3,630, violence 3,468, arousal 3,081, scales 3,072, hetero 2,699, fanfiction 2,449, non-anthro 2,369, grinding 1,946, character development 1,090, combat 973, revenge 950, plot development 487, wet dream 483, vengeance 67, saphira 57, eragon 33, pent-up 16
Details
Type: Writing - Document
Published: 4 months, 2 weeks ago
Rating: Mature

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