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.
All work is fiction intended for fantasy only, regardless of content, and consent must always be acquired when engaging in any sex act with another adult.
Please note that all characters are clearly over eighteen and written as such in all stories.
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His time there continued much in the same vein, sometimes out in the training courtyard where he got to see other dragons being trained, everyone that he was in proximity to in the early stages. The owner of the facility did not seem to have much time for him, though he did not expect them to spend time with him: they had far more important things to do, probably with the more skilled breeding drakes and dragonesses, ensuring a steady supply of dragon eggs for the British Isles.
He was beaten, whipped, caned, tortured, bound within an inch of movement, chained with his cock buried inside a dragoness for what felt like days. And that was only some of it, for his body was restricted, denied the ability to spend his seed, even when he was inside the dragoness.
"Do it..." She'd snarled, a dominant sort with fiery, red scales (a Bright Copper?) but with tired eyes. "It might...make them stop. I don't... Ooohhhh..."
But she was bound in her own torture, a fat toy rammed up into her tail and her body sent into a true heat, panting, heaving, though she was not allowed release. Where it made Temeraire's heart sing, it brought her down lower and lower, to a level that she had never thought it was possible for a dragon to fall to.
Even if the dragons there did not start out enjoying the ways of how they were used and bred, brought into line, they would live good, long, healthy lives with more freedom, of course, once their training was complete. It was just like training to go into the air corps and the flying regiments or even to be a mail delivery dragon: the training had to be stringent and complete, either way. Afterwards, when they were calm and compliant, seeking to serve, they would be able to do more for themselves, even if in Temeraire's case he would most likely spend all of his time when he was not being used by his human masters and mistresses being used by dragons instead.
He didn't spend a single night or moment alone since he arrived there, his services in use, drakes and dragonesses using him, even as they denied him orgasm. A red line had been painted on his harness, demoting him to the rank of orgasm denied, and even the dragons training there respected that.
One day, however, he was taken to a new room, a large barn with a complicated suspension bondage system hanging from the ceiling. He was hefted up into it, with his stomach facing down, his cock hanging out as always, though an attendant had cleaned it for him, as the dragons had forced him to grind his dick through the mud down by the recreation area before his training that day. He shuddered at the memory of how they had used him, how they had made him whimper and moan more and more degrading things, letting them mark him with their bodily fluids, reeking of them.
He needed it more than they realised.
But he took everything anyway, pleading, whimpering, doing what his trainer wanted of him while he was hauled up with his forelegs bound to his sides, pointing forward as if he was flying. His hind legs, similarly, stretched out behind, wings tucked down, for they could not afford him to be injured if any harm came to him by flapping. His body ached for orgasm, but he did not expect it, whimpering and letting his jaw drop submissively, tongue hanging out in case it was needed for the next serving session that they wanted him to perform.
Temeraire groaned, though he didn't know what to expect, not as words slipped from his lips like water.
"Please..." He panted. "Use me. I want to serve, oh... Oh, a dirty Celestial...no longer noble..."
"Oh, you'll be saying more than that soon, lizard, don't you worry."
His trainer lubed up his hanging cock, which the dragon had not realised until that moment was at the perfect height for him, the chains cranked to lift him so that his body was no longer at all in contact with the ground. Rolling his eyes in pure, ardent lust, the dragon crooned and groaned, merely enjoying the moment, the stimulation, for it was not as if, even then, he could shut off his pleasure receptors, his senses that throbbed on high alert for someone to serve.
Even then, he was more of a submissive slut than he had been when he'd begun, schooled in the art of blowjobs, giving pleasure, how to hold his body "just so" while a dragoness ground back on his cock, not to blow until he was allowed. Of course, he had not been allowed to orgasm in days (weeks?) and moaned through the tingling throbs of pleasure, a sense of urgency building in him.
And yet the cruel moment fell away as he was brought to the edge and...left hanging. Thrashing weakly to tip his weight from one side to the other, he was forced to gasp and groan.
"You can say anything you like, lizard," the trainer said, their voice floating in and out of his shaky consciousness. "Anything at all... Be depraved, be disgusting, be nothing more than a dragon. You will not evade this."
For it was one lesson that Temeraire was yet to learn, all in that he would never be good enough to escape his torture, that he was there for good, that any freedom that he was afforded was still due to their "kindness", if it could even be called that. He had to learn that he was bound in more ways than one, that his life would never again be the same, that the depths of his depravity and use, truly, would know no bounds there. Even the trainers would only see what public, sordid uses their new favourite slave could be turned to, all in time. Temeraire, after all, was only an amateur slave, at that point, with so much more ahead of him to learn, despite his submission.
Again and again...pleasure built. Each time, Temeraire dared to hope, whimpering, moaning, drooling, wanting them to hear him, to see him, to know that he would do everything and anything that they could ever have wanted from him. He dared to hope that they would allow him release as a hand pumped him, two hands, stroking the length of his cock methodically. It was decidedly unromantic, but that was not something at all that bothered the dragon. He didn't need anything more than methodical stimulation, not when the tight grasp of bondage gave him all the kink he needed.
The heat in his cock, the throbbing drool of pre-cum, his lower stomach, where his testes were, aching so very wonderfully... It built to a head as he groaned and twisted his head to the side, and yet...
Of course, it slipped away. Of course, it was not for him, not as the trainer stepped back, making yet another note on him.