Istaryl drew a sharp breath in his chest, then shoved his chin against his chest, eyes screwed shut in concentration to tame the wild pleasure that exploded through his lower belly. Swiftpaw’s bulged head spread Istaryl in such thorough fashion that the red drake found himself gasping for breath, lest he pressure welled within his loins burst forth.

“Prrrrr, rrrrr, rrrr,” Swiftpaw’s purr roared in his throat, growing ever louder as his head approached Istaryl’s ears to place a comforting lick on the back of his head. Ever considerate, the pinestalker dared not venture forth into Istaryl until his mate made their desire for that known. Even so, his girth proved quite daunting to Istaryl’s untrained insides, as did the row of hardened nubs crowning his engorged tip.

“Go ahead,” Istaryl strained to form words, his entire focus poured into keeping his muscles soft and relaxed for Swiftpaw. “I’m yours. All yours.”

Though they were the same words he usually employed with Karyl, they failed to work on the Pinestalker. For the strangest of reasons, he seemed perfectly content plugging Istaryl’s entrance, refusing to push himself forward. Why was that? What exactly held him back? Istaryl wanted to confront Swiftpaw on this matter, yet he couldn’t deny that the thin, warm droplets of precum he leaked into his tailhole were more than enough to push the red drake over the edge. Maybe they didn’t have to mate and, in the process, strain Istaryl’s feeble limits. Perhaps this was enough to start with.

“Raah!” Istaryl gasped in surprise as he felt a presence probe between his legs to cradle his shaft in its soft, fulfilling embrace. He didn’t have to steal a glimpse in order to see what that was, and neither could he afford the lapse in concentration. His willpower already stretched thin by being stimulated from both sides, Istaryl teetered on the edge of premature climax.

“Mrreh?” Swiftpaw growled salaciously, nuzzling Istaryl’s ear and cheek, exuding pride at his initiative. Little did he know that, the more he rolled Istaryl’s rock-hard and overly sensitive member between his toes, the shorter this mating would last.

Terribly self-conscious with his lack of self-control, Istaryl reached between his legs to grab hold of Swiftpaw’s paw and hold it still to buy himself a moment of respite. Once his throbs subsided, he arched his head back to lightly bite on the neck of the Pinestalker, releasing a low, guttural growl employed solely during the copulation of drakes.

In that very Instant, Swiftpaw’s haunches squeezed Istaryl’s thighs tighter, his grasp on the red drake’s hips hardening, back arching forward to drive the rest of his rod into Istaryl’s unsuspecting backside.

“Khaaaaahhhhh…..” Istaryl half gasped, half moaned at the unexpected intrusion that dilated him far more than he expected. The soft muscles lining his barely trained walls protested with a sharp twinge, yet the copious amounts of lubrication filtered out most of the discomfort. After Swiftpaw pulled his glistening shaft out of Istaryl, the red drake should have felt relieved, but instead, the tingling warmth blanketing his insides begged to be stoked. His trembling flesh begged to be caressed by Swiftpaw’s soft barbs that crowned his tip, just as his member yearned to be engulfed by those delightfully smooth paw pads.

Istaryl’s fangs sought Swiftpaw’s neck a second time to grant the Pinestalker permission to claim his body in the truest, most primordial of ways. As soon as he pricked Swiftpaw’s hide, Istaryl’s teeth relinquished hold of Swiftpaw’s neck, jaws hanging loose as a drawn-out moan rolled out of him.

With Istaryl’s accord given, the Pinestalker dug himself shaft deep into his mate. The ridges flanking his base provided exquisite stimulation to Istaryl’s puckered flesh, while the three protrusions residing underneath the base of Swiftpaw’s shaft plopped into Istaryl one by one, each accompanied by his gasps intertwined with Swiftpaw’s moans.

His slit had easily accommodated the Pinestalker’s member, the flexible, looser muscles molding around it perfectly. Istaryl’s tailhole, however, was a more compact place, a fact drilled into him by every subsequent thrust from Swiftpaw.

“Khhhraa! Raaaah! Rrrrrrgh!” Istaryl heroically withstood the pounding, slow and mellow as it was. Swiftpaw did a too good job at keeping himself in check. Overly concerned with Istaryl’s comfort, he made sure to nuzzle and lick his scruff in between every stroke, forcing the red drake to pull on Swiftpaw’s tail in order to urge him on.

“F—faster, you fluffhead,” Istaryl demanded in between ragged huffs. “Mate me like you did the last time.”

Swiftpaw’s hips acquired a much more alert motion instantly, as if the Pinestalker just now began to mate in his earnest.

Istaryl’s jaws clenched, his last breath held deep in his breast. The moment he unleashed it, his seed would burst forth due to the harder pounding working in concert with Swiftpaw’s toes kneading at his cockhead. Feeling his control slip, Istaryl began to pump his hips in rhythm with Swiftpaw. Every time the Pinestalker’s balls slapped his slit, Istaryl drove his tapered tip deep between the bean-shaped pads of Swiftpaw’s toes, causing them to clench and knead harder and faster at his throbbing erection.

So intense. So fulfilling. So overwhelming! Istaryl’s eyes screwed shut, his mind already overtaken by the bliss flooding his being. He wanted to let go so bad, but with each extra thrust he lasted, and with each shove of his member into Swiftpaw’s pads, his pleasure increased twice fold, thrice fold, soaring past any imaginable limits.

Right before he surrendered to the fire churning within his loins, Swiftpaw’s forepaws seized his lower belly to jerk him backwards, forcing the pair to fall backward. The jarring shock of sudden motion snapped Istaryl out of his trance for a split second, eyes cracking open, only to squeeze themselves shut the moment he landed on top of Swiftpaw. His weakened, trembling legs gave in, forcing the red drake to impale himself upon Swiftpaw’s erection, every inch of rock-hard cock stretching Istaryl’s tailhole in one overpowering burst.

“Yoooowl!” Istaryl cried out, whipping his head back against Swiftpaw’s neck, every fiber of his being crackling with insatiable need to cum and divest himself of that immense, terrible pressure. And still, he held his seed back, the muscles of his anus far too taut and unwilling to let go of the sudden intrusion into his very being.

It was only when the Pinestalker’s forepaw began to stroke and knead at his precum-drenched shaft that Istaryl began to relax, gently coaxed by his loving partner to fight his impulses no longer, and instead, to let himself loose.

With all four toes working their pads against Istaryl’s tip, the red drake braced himself against his climax by grabbing hold of whatever his hands landed upon, namely Swiftpaw’s tail and haunch. His control at his thinnest and his cock too thoroughly stroked by the Pinestalker’s paw, Istaryl’s seed burst out of his tip in terse, hearty jets. He pelted Swiftpaw’s pads with the first few spurts, the gooey strands coloring his pink pads a washed ivory before the spasms wracking his shaft caused it to slide free of Swiftpaw’s grasp. Although the pinestalker tried to seize hold of Istaryl’s member a second time, the precum dressing it caused Swiftpaw’s pads to slide along it instead, adding further fuel to the lances of seed shooting into the air in front of them.

His resources depleted, Istaryl crashed back into Swiftpaw, his weight toppling them onto their side, their bodies still bridged in that most intimate of ways. The Pinestalker’s purr flared to its brightest hue as the creature hugged Istaryl to its chest, wiggling ever so slightly to adjust their erotic union.

Istaryl’s breath began to return to him, along with new sensations previously drowned in the sea of pleasure. Swiftpaw’s girth no longer felt as daunting; in fact, it seemed deflated, spent, mirroring Istaryl’s own fatigue.

“No no, don’t pull yourself out,” Istaryl urged his partner. When Swiftpaw offered him an indecisive growl, Istaryl pulled him against his chest, tenderly stroking his fluffy cheeks. “This is the part I enjoy the most when it comes to mating.”

Swiftpaw warbled in approval, making himself snug against Istaryl. His paws—included the filthy one—cradled the drake against his belly, the warmth radiating through his fur as comforting as the seed that lazily dribbled past the sides of Swiftpaw’s half-shrunken member.

I’ll clean everything in just a few minutes, after Swiftpaw falls asleep, Istaryl decided, suddenly terrified of what would happen if he accidentally joined the Pinestalker in pleasant slumber.