This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.
Please note that all characters are clearly over eighteen and written as such in all stories.
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"Down on your knees, sweet pet..."
Elion shivered, bowing his head, the dragon shuddering and gasping before her, his tail lifting automatically. Of course, he left his green-scaled tail up in the air, arching over his back, pointing towards the collar that was always in place around his neck, marking his place there, his position, where he belonged. It was all for him, only for him -- and yet everything he had in him, of course, had to be given back to the dragoness mistress in spades.
He was small, only five foot tall, while she was just under six foot. She sat in her throne, resting her feet on his back, toes wriggling, her scales polished as if she had been dipped in burnished brass. Her hide gleamed, only because he'd been taking care of her, under her direction, for so long, her horns long and curved, out to either side of her head like those of a bull. Everything about her screamed elegance, though no more than when she was in a latex harness that framed her breasts, though she, very much so, was not an object to be taken for granted.
Her pussy was covered and all Elion ached for, so small and weak and subservient to her, was to dip his tongue into it. His lust was not to be set aside before Mistress Kelsea, grunting softly, rocking back and forth, his arse pushed up, knees digging down into the hardwood floor. It hurt, yes, but he would take anything, over and over again, just for her, all for her, always in the best of ways.
"You need it..."
Elion could smell her, his mistress smirking down at him. No one knew that they had a throne, the true nature of their kinky relationship, though, truly, he was happy with things the way they were. He didn't need to be anyone else other than who he was with Mistress Kelsea and he liked, rather a lot, just how he was always enough for her.
"You want it..."
Oh, but how she could play him, tease him, reminding him of the deep-seated need in his heart, how it burned for her. His cock was hard, but he'd been forced to get off so many times over last time she'd allowed him to orgasm that, in the end, he hadn't wanted to get off at all. With how that fucked with his head, a BDSM "mind fuck" of the consensual kind, he didn't even want to get off again, mentally, while his body ached for it.
No... No, it would be much better to simply please her, to show her just what his long, flexible tongue could do for her, slithering into her pussy, dipping in and out, letting her hump and grind onto his muzzle. He was not much of a piece of furniture for her, not in such a position, but he still loved being used as such, the best one ever for her, always.
That was what his mistress had told him. That was what Elion wanted to believe, day in and day out. He was hers to do with as she pleased and he irrevocably trusted her.
She'd never given him any reason to doubt.
He could trust her, always, absolutely, without question. And that was still the case when, finally, she allowed him up to meet her, his nose questing up her inner thighs, hardly able to believe that Mistress Kelsea was about to allow him to taste her sweetness.
