Dragon Training

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.

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Dragon Training

"Get back!"

Cilia threw her paws up in the air and bared her teeth at the dragon that defied her. The size of a large draft horse, he towered over her small stature and swung his long tail defiantly. Sunlight glinted off his green scales and he lowered his head threateningly, smoke curling from his nostrils. A traditional western dragon standing on four legs, he boasted a pair of leathery wings that were currently bound to his back, defying flight that would grant escape. Cilia, the tawny furred coyote, had already had one escapee - thankfully retrieved - within the last month and she certainly was not angling for another. Perhaps she should not have taken the job at the training farm after all.

The dragon tossed his head defiantly and advanced on her, wings strained against the bondage. Coolly, Cilia uncurled the long whip and flicked it out against his side - a training device more commonly used around horses. The very tip of it kissed his scales and sent the dragon scuttling to the side, claws tearing great rifts in the sand. His neck and back spines rattled against one another - a stark, vibrant yellow that told of his poisonous nature, if he ever managed to sink his teeth into another, that was. Don't eat me! The colour screamed.

That did not bother the coyote. Adjusting the hem of her pink shirt so that it fell more comfortably over her stomach, she flicked the whip at his shoulder, encouraging him to walk on. The dragon would have to learn to respond to aids if he was ever going to have any kind of tack upon his back. His tail thumped the sand.

He reared up on his hind legs and clawed at the air, smoke roiling from his nostrils. As he was not one of the fire breathing breeds, Cilia was not intimidated by his display: she had seen it all before. The coyote sighed and pressed a paw to her hot forehead. If he did not behave, it would be the death of him. She could not have mounts on her farm that could not be ridden. Though she would be sad to see the dragon go, he was becoming dangerous. Frowning, she slid her gaze away for a split second. She would not have blood on her paws from the dragon's reckless, rude antics.

Spotting his chance, the dragon lunged for her and she snapped back to reality, leaping backwards to avoid his claws. He huffed and snorted smoke, parting his jaws to show off a threatening row of gleaming, razor-sharp teeth, amused at his own plot. He had very almost had the coyote. Cilia threw her paws in the air, whip snaking out without planned course. The dragon easily avoided it, kicking up sand in the arena, and chuffed softly.

"Jesus Christ, Lancelot!" Cilia snarled and hurled the whip aside.

It hit the fence with a wooden clatter and tumbled to the sand in a flurry of sand, yellow settling back to the ground a few moments later. She pressed her fingers into her eyes, keeping a warier eye on the dragon than before. There was nothing malicious in him, truly, but she tired of his tricks and bursts of fury. He was the reason her last assistant had left the dragon training business, scars mauling the beauty of her equine muzzle forever.

The dragon, Lancelot, moseyed up to her with his muzzle lowered, licking his lips. Bopping her on the arm with his nose, he smiled a draconian grin and flicked his tail. There was no possible way the coyote could stay angry at him, oh no. She pushed his nose away and turned up her nose at his attempts at friendship.

"Lancelot, back the fuck off," she grumbled. "Poking me for treats is not going to get you into my good books again."

He blinked and nuzzled her bicep, a low crooning emerging from his barely parted jaws. She sighed and ran her paw down the arch of his neck, feeling the scales and the definition of each one. The dragon was a spectacular specimen, it had to be said. He could be the ideal mount if only he would respond to training and listen to her. Would he ever? Lancelot rumbled with pleasure, pushing into her touch.

"Not now," she said, ears drooping dejectedly. "Come on. Back to the stable with you."

Her tawny coat struck through with brown and black was lacklustre in the early evening sunlight. She clicked her fingers, calling Lancelot to her, and turned her back on him, heading towards the red barn that housed the remainder of her charges. Maybe tomorrow would bode better for her prize dragon and the field of dragon training...

Lancelot moved like her whip, too quickly for the anthro eye to follow. Swinging his blocky skull into her side, his horns caught under her ribs and tossed her to the sand. She hit hard and rolled, the breath knocked from her. The coyote's head spun. Rolling on to her front, she wheezed and trembled, tail rigid as she strove to regain lost breath.

The dragon approached with his head hung low, scenting the air as his red eyes narrowed, pupils but slits. Glancing back at him, she was abruptly aware of the predator he truly was, beneath all the tack and finery she garbed her more willing mounts in. He planted a paw between her shoulder blades and leaned.

"Oi! Get off!"

Squirming, the coyote snarled and twisted like a creature possessed, though nothing would move a stubborn dragon if he had set his mind to a certain track. Chuffing what could have been the draconian version of a laugh, he brushed his snout over the back of her head and snorted, ruffling her fur. She groaned and pressed her muzzle into the sand, cheeks burning. The dragon would be the death of her, she swore it to the gods above!

His paw lifted and she rose to all fours, intending to salvage whatever shreds remained of her pride by crawling from under the dragon. To her shock, however, the dragon grasped her trousers between her teeth, uncaring of the fur he tore out along with the removal of her trousers. Making short work of the light brown fabric - designed for comfort in the warm weather, not durability - he yanked her clothing free and tossed it in the air like a toy, leaving the coyote nude from the waist down, bar her plain blue panties.

Cilia did not think it was possible for her cheeks to burn any more and thanked any listening gods that she had no assistant. No one else would be on the yard to see her same. Stripped by her own dragon! Whatever would they say? But it was okay, she thought as she crawled away, tail tucked low over her rump to protect what little modesty she had left. The dragon would have his fun with her clothes and no one had seen anything, so it was all okay, regardless of his insolence.

Or at least that was what she thought before she caught sight of the red pole of dragon flesh hanging beneath his belly, usually only seen when she was grooming the dragons more intimate areas. The ridged cock pulsed, a globule of pre cum oozing from the tip. Her breath caught in her throat and Cilia froze, hackles raised in self defence. Wrestling with her trousers, the dragon threw them on the sand and locked his gaze upon her, a thin tendril of smoke curling upwards from just one nostril.

Lancelot was young - he was merely being playful - she tried to reason with herself, heart hammering in her chest. There was no way he was attempting to mate with her, it simply could not be. Males and females were kept separate, he would not even know what to do. There was one thing the dumbfounded coyote knew, however, seeking out an escape route with her eyes alone, body utterly still. With his wings bound, Lancelot was grounded. All Cilia had to do was escape from the arena and she would be golden.

She moved in the blink of an eye, scrambling for her hind paws and racing for the fence. Paws pounding the sand, she launched her body to the brink of what it could achieve, speed thrumming through her form. Her gaze locked on to the fence, the grain of the wood a familiar touch to Cilia's young paws. Behind, the dragon hissed, lumbering after her - at what pace, she could not tell. She slapped her paws on to the fence and lifted herself up, triumph blossoming in her chest, a victorious howl bursting from her lips. If she could just get over -

The coyote was half over the fence when the dragon landed on top of her, chest crushing her down to the top bar. She snarled, scrabbling for purchase as he forced her forward, vibrating with a low growl that even her loudest snarl could not rival. Trembling beneath his power, Cilia scratched the fence and struggled for space, shuddering at the jab of his cock against her thigh, slimy and slick with his own arousal. His forepaws curled around the bars of the fence, which shook but held. Cilia wished her carpentry was worse - then it would have collapsed in on itself.

There was no doubt as to his intention as he shifted his body, keeping her carefully in place while he pressed the tip of his cock against her pussy. She shuddered bodily, tail pressed down as much as his bulk allowed, shoving it aside forcibly. It seemed that instinct told him what to do with an 'unruly' female. It did not matter to him that Cilia was not a dragon, only that he had identified her as a potential mate.

"Lancelot!" She tried one final, desperate time, her voice like the crack of the whip. "Down! Now!"

True to form - he was consistent at least - the dragon ignored her. There was no hope. Her stomach plummeted and she scrabbled against the fence, claws leaving narrow gouges in the wood, hind paws kicking out uselessly. The dragon's cock was firm and unyielding, digging into the fabric of her underwear, woefully thin; it would not last long with his persistence, she could tell. Cilia's eyes widened, breathing shallowly through her nostrils, not able to draw a full breath with him pinning her down. Who could argue with the strength of a dragon of his size? What could one little coyote do?

The tapered head of his cock nudged into her panties and she hissed between clenched teeth, wriggling in one last fell attempt to escape his attention. Lancelot, however, was insistent and bore down on his temporary mate until her underwear gave out and tore, hanging useless around her hips as the head pushed into her too tight pussy. Cilia yowled like a cat and curled her paws into fists as the dragon growled and thrust in roughly.

She twisted and gasped, words and cries failing the coyote. Pain and pleasure, intimately entwined, lanced through her pussy, sensation forced upon her whether or not wanted the attention. The dragon groaned, whole body shifting, and squeezed in to the hilt. He did not know that the coyote was not built for his size and popped the ridges in one by one, grinding them inadvertently over Cilia's clit, one by one. She moaned, startled by the rush of pleasure, unwanted in its immediacy.

It was not supposed to feel good to be raped.

For that was what it was, was it not? Lancelot huffed and snorted smoke above her, scales coarse upon her back as he thrust. He hissed dangerously, only caring for his own pleasure, instinct driving him to thrust - to mate. She was his female. Cilia could only cling on to the fence and bear his thrusts as the sun sank below the horizon, casting their illicit liaison into tainted twilight. The dragon's wings strained against their bonds; if he had not been bound, he would have flapped them hard enough to produce gusts to blow a fur off their paws. Throwing his scaled head back, he roared his claim to the listening world, startling birds from the meadow.

Breathing harshly, the coyote gave a strangled yelp, each scrape of those ridges over her clit driving her towards unwelcome climax. Thoughts came in fragments, one chasing the other out of her mind before she had opportunity to register the first. What had prompted Lancelot to fuck her? Would she get away with it? Would she have to explain everything to a doctor? Would he ever be trainable? She closed her eyes and grimaced, whimpering as the dragon struck a particularly sensitive spot deep inside her pussy.

Was she going to cum?

The dragon shifted his hind paws for greater stability, sawing into her like a demon. She panted heavily and squirmed, barely aware that he had lifted his chest from her back, allowing her space. The coyote was too well impaled to run away, using every nuance of her body to bear the thrusts, orgasm trickling in with greater and greater force like a creek rushing towards the falls. Stiffening, Cilia rolled her head and howled, orgasm hurling her body under the water and pounding it mercilessly. There was no escape from brutal climax as much as she could not tear herself away from the dragon's grip.

As her pussy twitched around his cock - the perfect sleeve for his meaty shaft - Lancelot snarled and thrust viciously, driving her hips forward. Erratic and desperate, he snorted a stream of smoke that dissipated in the air and pounded her pussy with the feel of a true feral. There was no intelligence behind his thrusts, only rocking, furious need. Cilia gasped for breath that would not fill her lungs and curled her toes into the sand as the dragon tensed: the moment of calm before the dam broke.

Dragons could not impregnate coyotes...could they?

He hit climax with a roar and slammed the tip of his cock into her cervix, ignoring her yelp of pain and sending thick spurts of fertile dragon-seed into her pussy. Muscles twitched beneath scales, uncontrollable in the moment, and the dragon ducked his head, eyes closed as he rumbled above, power rolling through his stature, his success in breeding. He was the alpha male! His cock formed a tight plug in her pussy so that the only cum that was forced out was purely from his own continued thrusts. If the dragon had had mind to stay still, not a drop would have escaped.

Dismounting with a self-satisfied growl, the dragon withdrew his cock from her abused, gaping cunt with a squelch of cum. Cilia moaned, soreness draining her in the absence of pleasure. It seemed that she was still intact, though she could not tell what damage had been done from the harsh ridges. Leaning further over the fence, the coyote spread her legs to relieve some of the pressure, calves trembling under her own weight. She wished she could crash into bed and sleep for a week. It had been the best orgasm of her life, completely wiping her out.

As if concerned for his owner, or mate, as he now saw her, the dragon pushed his snout against her thigh, startled by the vicious fluid that drooled down her leg. He did not seem to realise that it came from him. Cilia shifted but found herself too tired to move away. There was nothing worse that could possible happen, surely? A dragon had just fucked her. There was no lower point than that a dragon trainer could reach.

Yet she moaned as the dragon nuzzled between her thighs, lapping up his cum and her feminine arousal spilling down her legs with his long, slim tongue. Flicking the tip over the puffy, blood filled lips of her pussy, he crooned, sides rumbling as he enjoyed her taste. His tongue caught her clit and Cilia convulsed, over sensitive from orgasm, clit engorged and peeking out from beneath its natural hood. Wantonly, before she could stop herself, she thrust her hips back like a street walker, tail wagging over her rump to brush against the dragon's curious muzzle.

Cilia held on to the fence for support, breasts leaning heavily upon the top plank. A splinter dug through her shirt but she hardly noticed it, legs trembled and tail shamefully lifted high. It felt too good to shoo the dragon away. As he lapped, a notion flitted into her mind - an idea that had the potential to become something great much further down the line. Though her pussy ached, sore and abused, the coyote smiled wickedly, amber eyes sly. Oh, it was too good.

Maybe her dragon could be trained for something else after all.