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*This is an illustrated story commission that Nulkurrak wrote for Mazrogal: *https://www.furaffinity.net/user/mazrogal

Oh gosh, I had a ton of fun with this one. It was very difficult in some places because the limited length didn't let me add as much wyvern lore as I wanted, but I still insisted in creating some difference between wyverns and dragons that allow for some similarities between them while emphasizing the differences these two species share. If you are curious to know how a female wyvern smells and tastes from the perspective of a dragon, here is the story for you ^^

Description: Not yet ready to settle for a family life at the side of a dragoness, Mazrogal ventures into wyvern territory in search of a female companion that he can mate without fear or worry of impregnating her. But despite the burning lust of months spent outside of a female's folds, the wyverness is too beautiful, and she smells too rich for Mazrogal not to sample her first.

AsharyaC) belongs to Nulkurrak

Mazrogal(c) belongs to https://www.furaffinity.net/user/mazrogal

Artwork is done by: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/styxandstoned

***Savoring a Wyverness***

The faded but distinctly sharp scent imprinted upon the boulder made Mazrogal's muzzle crease and his underbelly muscles tense due to its exotic, distinctly female fragrance. Thoughts began to churn through his mind once again now that his wings stilled and his paws sat on solid ground, each chipping away at his bravery, slowly but surely turning his fantasy into the most foolish plan a dragon could ever concoct.

Dragons didn't belong in wyvern territory. Not alone, and not without a death wish. So everybody who had advised Mazrogal claimed, spurring the black dragon forth to find the truth of this matter himself. Fortunately for him, the first of the wyvern territories he encountered belonged to a female. A lone one, if his nostrils weren't mistaken, either defensive or eager for company given the way she soaked the boulder in her scent to make sure it lasted for as long as possible.

Rather than turn back like his instinct advised him to, Mazrogal continued on foot through the exposed highlands, head high in the air to catch as many tendrils of her scent trail as possible. The slow, arduous trek stoked his anxiety with every step he took and tied the knot in his stomach ever tighter. For a dragon, nothing was worse than the conscious choice of remaining grounded, of posing as prey to the predator who would swoop down from the sky upon them. If his ploy was to succeed, however, he had to appear as harmless to the owner of the territory as possible, even if it ended with his wings torn off by her vicious talons.

Despite his alert state and sharp senses, the resident wyvern found him first. Her shadow glided over him so fast that he barely managed to force his paws into a full stop when it materialized in front of him with uncanny silence.

"What did you expect, for me to roar my arrival? Or perhaps sink my talons into those limp, vulnerable wings of yours?" The wyverness snorted indifferently at him, tucking her wings and turning her behind towards him as she began making her way to the smoother parts of the outcrop-littered plateau. "No dragon who sniffs my scent marks so thoroughly deserves to be humiliated such, so we'll have a fair fight to determine whether you are worth my time, or if you are a deplorable outcast tossed aside by your kind desperate enough to seek the affection of your fiercer and more imposing cousins."

"There won't be a fight," Mazrogal said, his voice surprisingly smooth and even in spite of his painfully tight throat. "I am here because I seek to fly away from that life, not find it in a different form."

"A coward then. Or perhaps simply an elder bored of life." The wyverness stopped when the ground evened, turning around to face Mazrogal. "I am Asharya. I want you to carry my name into the life after, to tell the other, better dragons what a terrible choice you've made to come here."

Mazrogal closed his eyes and dipped his head in feigned reverence. "I am Mazrogal, and unlike you and your pristine scales, mine have known claws, fangs and dragonfire. Today, however, I choose the role of prey, so do with that what you will."

He didn't truly mean that. If Asharya attacked him in her earnest, his will to live would compel him to defend himself, but he dearly wished it wouldn't come to that. The female he happened upon seemed torn out of his fantasy, with a fan of elegant spikes embellishing the end of her jaws and the crest of her head and neck. Softly curved, ridged horns wove their way across the back of her skull, dark grey like the storm clouds, emphasizing the stark color of her piercing navy eyes. Plates of similar color protected her throat, chest and belly, while the smaller, lighter grey ones defended her wing frames and limbs. And her scales bore the richest, most alluring of blacks, as dark and imposing as his!

He didn't wish to harm that cute, slender snout of hers, especially when it creased quite the endearing way. "You will fight, dragon, or you will die the most insulting death imaginable. I will tell my kin of how fierce the battle was, of how my agility allowed me to escape unscathed from the kinslayer outcast who has slain dozens of his brethren in a fit of madness."

Mazrogal couldn't help but chuckle at what passed for a taunt among wyverns most likely. "Tell them the real story, of a dragon scared of commitment and the responsibilities it brings who no longer wanted to play the game of the females who sought to bind him to them. Instead, he decided to spend a few seasons in the company of a wyvern, to mate and cherish absent fear of a clutch."

From the way Asharya froze for a moment, Mazrogal realized she shared a similar fantasy, if not the same. Rather than deny or obscure it like a dragon would, she leaned forward on her wings in a more relaxed position and regarded him with curiosity rather than enmity.

"An interesting story, yet still a tale of failure and impotence." She snarled and hissed at him, her aggression merely mirroring her own frustrations.

"I may be seen as a failure by some, but it takes courage to admit that I'm not ready for a family, and even more so to seek a wyvern for company instead of a dragon."

"Why?" Asharya snapped at him? "So that you can shoot your weak, watery seed into her whenever you please? So that you don't have to foul your mouth with your disgusting essence?"

"I greatly prefer to mate, and if you haven't done so before, here is your chance to find out how it feels without worry of bearing a clutch."

The moment he said that, the wyverness leaped at him with a single flap of her massive wings, talons forward. Instead of jumping to the side, Mazrogal crouched and rolled to protect his wings, aware that the first attack would be naught but a diversion. Asharya changed her course with another flap and banked sharply to land on his flank, her unfurled wings helping her precarious balance as her talons pressed against his scales and pierced between them.

"I always wanted to mate a dragon," she admitted, her voice brimming with elation. "But one whose seed is thick and strong and pent-up due to months, years, or perhaps a lifetime of solitude."

Mazrogal whipped his tail in an upward arch to catch one of her wing membranes, the sting so harsh and sudden she had no choice but to fold it halfway and renounce her footing in the process. Advantage seized, Mazrogal pounced on the still staggering wyverness, ramming into her to send her crashing on her side but avoiding straddling her and steal her verve in the process. Instead, he placed a quick lick on her neck before withdrawing, ducking under her tail swipe.

"It's been months, and given how beautiful you are, I wouldn't last a thrust."

"Pathetic!" Asharya roared, buffeting her wings at him, their superior reach to those of a dragon catching Mazrogal unawares. This time, Asharya tried to match her strength and weight against him, but when Mazrogal's footing and bulk held, she leaped into the air after drawing a few short and burning rakes across the membrane of one of his wings.

"Defend yourself, dragon, else you will never know the pleasure of mating again."

"Neither will you," Mazrogal barely managed before the wyverness descended upon him in a flurry of snapping jaws and slashing talons. Thanks to his combat expertise and the lack of an additional set of limbs, he managed to stay ahead of her more often than not, earning most of his cuts, scrapes and bruises from the overly quick and surprising slashes of her wing talons. She employed them to much greater success than most dragons, and as the fight dragged on, the increasing amounts of pain made it increasingly difficult for him to lick rather than bite her.

After a well-placed dash of affection right across her nostrils, the wyverness' ferocity began to diminish. As her stamina depleted, so did the frequency of her attacks, and instead of taking the opportunities Mazrogal gave her to end this quicker rather than later, she refused to fall for his obvious attempts at playing prey.

"This isn't a fight," Asharya said once she towered above Mazrogal, a paw planted firmly onto his face in an act of utter humiliation. "I don't even know what it is."

As her toes clenched around Mazrogal, he felt the tips of her talons drive into his cheeks and press against his softer scales. He didn't feel humiliated, for he wasn't a wyvern. More like...intrigued by the leathery surface on the bottom of her foot, speckled with the softest of scales, if any.

Completely dissatisfied with his reaction, Asharya relinquished her grip, regaining her footing so that her fangs latched around his throat instead. The top row did little to bother him, the ebony plates lining his nape shielding him against their menace, but the same couldn't be said for the teeth on her lower jaw. They bit into his softer, more vulnerable scales, their sharp sting drawing droplets of blood that slithered their way down to paint his silvery stomach plates with crimson speckles.

"Hrrrrrrh," she thundered her disapproval with his nonchalance, thoroughly unable to accept his impassiveness and greatly irritated by his hubris. As the pressure of her jaws increased, so did Mazrogal's determination to stay put, do nothing, and trust her with his life. If she truly was as bored and lonely as he thought, then she would undoubtedly find his courage inspiring.

Or so he hoped.

She also spoke of other wyverns, but aside from her, Mazrogal hadn't encountered any so far. And why would they attack him without being provoked into such aggressions? Surely he could reason with them, and if not, he'd simply fly away in search of better prospects. After all, no mere territory was worth the hassle.

Not unless they housed an attractive, capable female worth bleeding for such as Asharya.

Mazrogal noticed the pride sparkling in her eyes, as well as the satisfaction woven within her purr at the impressive male she undoubtedly considered him to be. As a scaled, dark colored wyverness bearing elegant yet intimidating features, she seemed fascinated by the nigh impenetrable plates adorning his chest, belly and undertail, as well as his back and the superior portions of his limbs. Perhaps she enjoyed the similarities between their coloring and features, or maybe she just relished the opportunity to fight a dragon who she might not accidentally disembowel with her sharp, menacing talons.

"Rrrrrrr," she trilled in excitement when he began fluttering his wings just to get a reaction from her while caught in her vice-like grip, providing the wyverness with an additional opportunity to share her wisdom with him. "I may not bite through your plates, but I can easily tear through your wings or flanks. Consider yourself fortunate for catching me on a day where your companionship is worth more to me than your carcass."

Just when Mazrogal was about to seize the chance and turn the tables on her for choosing words over her hold on him, Asharya swept her tail tip across his side to emphasize her point, causing Mazrogal to flinch and yelp when she playfully whipped him harder than he anticipated. He instinctively reared on his hind legs and whirled, unfurling his wings, ready to descend upon the smaller yet more resourceful wyvern that harmed him in such devious way.

Asharya remained in place, unfazed, not even bothering to fold her wings to protect them.

"Stop it. Am I the only one to see through this performance?" she said, her voice oozing satisfaction rather than disappointment when his claws failed to swipe at the many openings available to him. "I thought males who refuse to harm a female are naught but tales of dragon impotence shared by wyvernesses intoxicated by their grandeur, yet here you are..."

Mazrogal fell on all fours, settling back onto his haunches to prove Asharya right. He had a much better chance at besting her in combat, should he ever summon the courage to harm her, than help her see the reason why dragons behaved the way they did.

"Here I am, a male who isn't interested in being better than another."

"Then why should I even consider spending my time in the presence of a coward?" Asharya said, her lips pulling up in irritation at his lack of initiative. "You won't put up a proper fight, you will probably get killed by another wyvern if caught hunting in my territory, and you most likely haven't even mated, given how you elevate a stranger above you solely because of her gender."

Mazrogal shrugged his wings, flaring her indignation further with a confidence that even Asharya knew to be true. "Then leave my cowardly self to die a deserved death, for I'm not turning back and I'm not harming you just to prove a point. I fought enough."

The moment he said that, Asharya's eyes skipped to his scar, her curiosity wrestling with the suppositions she wished not prove false so soon after voicing them. "I fought other males. I hunted beasts more dangerous than dragons to impress females for a chance at affection, and I have mated enough times to cherish them the way they deserve to be cherished."

The wyverness scoffed in mocked admiration, circling him like a predator would its prey. "Is that what you are doing right now? Cherishing me in an attempt at finding your way inside me?"

Mazrogal's smile took her aback, as did his gaze that followed her wherever she went without flinching. "You want me inside you, otherwise you wouldn't try so hard at convincing me to fight you. You are looking for reassurance that I am the right choice; that other wyverns won't think you weak for surrendering your belly to the first male dragon that entered your territory."

Surprisingly, Asharya settled down as well, tucking her wings and straightening her neck with utmost nonchalance. "My kin can argue my choice with my talons, but if they ambush you while I'm not there, I need to make sure you can hold your own in a fight."

"I can, and I will. Aren't my words, my scar, and our earlier scuffle enough to convince you?"

Asharya didn't answer. Instead, she continued to study him, stubborn as ever. "You can win right now, and if you do, things will become much better and simpler between us. You have an additional set of paws compared to me," she said as she settled her wing claw over one of his forepaws, looking at it from different angles to analyze its structure. "Your wings are smaller and thus more difficult to strike, your haunches look sturdier than mine and I'm the wyvern, and your plates are thick and resilient. You are better suited for combat than any other dragon I heard about, and yet, you hesitate."

"Because you're a female," Mazrogal filled in her reply, then hesitated when Asharya shuffled closer to him so that her snout stood inches from his, patiently waiting for him to discover the real answer on his own. "And also the one hunter that will keep us both fed if you share this territory with other wyverns. I simply cannot risk causing you harm that might impede your hunting capabilities."

She fondly rubbed her neck against his, the soft midnight scales rustling against his dark plates. "Coward or not, you have a way with words that other wyverns lack. And the proper seed, of course."

Asharya needed not say anything more, especially when his shaft began to slither its way out of his genital slit, tempted forth by the lascivious fantasies that drifted through Mazrogal's mind like a gust of biting winter chill, fleeting yet enough to make his bones rattle. Unbeknownst to Asharya, Mazrogal had wished to mate a wyvern since the very day he heard about them. To experience the bliss of mating absent worry of a clutch, and to spend his time in the company of a beloved friend who wished not bind her life with his just yet.

The wyverness drew back as Mazrogal shifted on his feet when his erection grew noticeable enough to poke at the grass, her neck lowering to steal a peek of it. "The shape and size doesn't matter to me, nor how long it takes for your seed to burst. All I wish is to feel your warmth flood me, nothing more."

Pleased with her assessment and completely ignorant of the courtship rituals prior to a mating, Asharya leaned back onto her haunches and licked her snout as if to wipe away the last remainders of doubt from her lips. "I don't trust you, and I don't fully believe you, but you're the first dragon who made his way into my territory, and I won't let this opportunity slip my grasp."

"You speak as if I have no choice on the matter," Mazrogal noted in a smug, haughty way that rubbed Asharya the right way, for her neck stretched slowly, tantalizingly towards him so that she could whisper, "Do you?"

Her gaze lowered suggestively to hint at the erection growing under him, then returned to him, warmer and more inviting than ever. "You've already waited months for this moment. Do you truly wish to delay it further?"

As she said that, the wyverness sprawled on the ground before him, her haunches splaying to reveal the spot of his deepest desire. His breath stuck in his throat at the mere sight of it, and his member hardened with purpose, all too eager to sink inside and ejaculate months of pent-up loneliness into her.

But he didn't. For reasons that befuddled his senses, Mazrogal chose to look at her than at her sex, and at the way her lips twitched and her eyes half-closed in anticipation.

Mazrogal planned to start at her snout, but the wyverness turned her head away from his affection, planting her dexterous paw into his face to push him towards her hindquarters.

"We aren't mates, dragon," she said, her toes clenching around him ever so softly, the underside of her paw surprisingly soft and bearing no scales. "We aren't even companions. The only thing we share is a temporary and mutual interest in--"

Her words abruptly cut off when Mazrogal's tongue snaked between her lithe toes to tickle the vulnerable tissue there. Unaccustomed to such sensation, the wyverness withdrew her foot in an instant, shaking it to get rid of the bothersome itch. She snarled at him for his devious tactics, but the drake went to her other paw to nuzzle it gently, chuckling when it fled equally fast from his reach.

"Rrrah!" She growled at him, baring her fangs. "Your malehood stands fully exposed, yet you are in the mood for games?"

"You wished for us to get acquainted with each other in a more thorough and insightful way, and I obviously wish to start with the more interesting parts of you," he said, eying her clenched, reluctant toes. "I heard tales of how wyverns use their paws for hunting, affection, courtship, and many other surprising and wondrous purposes in the absence of forepaws."

Asharya lashed out with both of her feet at him, toes fanning out to slash her curved talons inches from his face. "You heard right, and you heard wrong. Only mates put snout upon feet as a sign of equality and devotion towards the one they cherish the most. For every other wyvern, it is a most demeaning act."

The wyverness tensed, her eyes widening when Mazrogal's jaws seized her left paw, holding it gently between his fangs. Before she had the chance to free herself, his tongue wrapped around two of her toes to hold them captive in its slimy embrace before letting to drift over her smooth sole.

"As a dragon, I consider myself exempt from that rule," he said, spitting out a frayed leaf that his tongue gathered by accident before continuing his ministrations that the wyverness clearly enjoyed. While holding her gaze, his tongue traveled between the bottom of each toe, dwelling on the soft, small padding mounds that provided cushioning for her feet, all too similar to those of a bird. Her sole had a similar texture, somewhat soft rather than bony, and smoother than he expected from such a spiked, fierce creature.

"Prrrrrrr," a vibrant thrum awakened within Asharya, her expression softening, eyes growing narrow and focused. "Males who are good with words are less so with their cocks. Is this a strategy of yours? To delay the inevitable, no matter the toll on your pride? To do your utmost to buy a few more precious minutes during which you concoct a way to impress your partner, whichever that may be?"

As she spoke, her paws alighted upon his neck, the smaller, opposable toe allowing her to grab and massage him in quite the surprising way. He expected her touch to be crude and unrefined, yet her control over the kneading motion of her toes greatly surpassed what his hinds could achieve.

The drake slowly settled onto his haunches, slipping his tail under the base of his slit to gently lean his knot against it and keep it from resting on the cold, humid forest floor. With that distraction out of the way, he now fully invested his attention into the sensuous strokes and caress of his wyvern partner. Thanks to her longer toes, she had quite the broad grip, and their bottom surface had that slightly cushy feeling to them that made their softness all the more alluring.

Immersed in this exotic ritual of hers, Mazrogal closed his eyes when one of her paws glided over his cheek to cup his snout while the other found purchase around one of his horns. Rather than stay put while she did all the work, the drake's tongue poked out of its confines, eager to give Asharya a taste of what it would feel like when it would eventually find its way between her legs.

She was right. He did mean to surpass her expectations. Not by withholding his seed or prolonging their foreplay until they both burst from the overwhelming anticipation, but by cherishing her in ways that other wyverns haven't.

At first, the wyverness fought against it, pulling back and sliding to the sides to free herself of Mazrogal, yet the agility of his snout and the reach of his tongue never gave her peace. Not when he had a point to prove. The more he persisted, the more curious Asharya grew with that foreign touch upon the smooth, sensitive surface of her paws. In the absence of a mate, she never had the chance to explore this type of interaction, and Mazrogal opened the way to pleasures not yet unexplored.

Confident that Asharya's paws carried the importance of hands in the eyes of wyverns, Mazrogal first licked at the underside of each toe, enjoying the way they shuddered under his touch, as well as her reflexive clenching motion. The middle of her paw was the most susceptible to that, and he made sure to spoil it with long, sluggish motions, savoring the way it instinctively grabbed and loosened in quite the endearing rhythm.

After he finished treating one paw to his liquid affection, Mazrogal switched to the other, his heart fluttering when her toes fanned out in eagerness to receive him. As soon as his snout alighted in their middle, she embraced it with the tight yet careful hold that a mother would employ on her hatchlings, confirming that he definitely made the right choice to surprise her like this. He never considered his paws--or those of other dragons--worthy of such lavish attention, but when he told Asharya that he planned to explore every part of her, he meant it, and the dexterity of her toes intrigued him to no end.

Despite the long, sharp talons tipping her toes, Asharya kept them at bay all the while, avoiding as much as a tap on the pebbly scales lining his face. The more accustomed she became with his licks, the more she began to enjoy them, and the braver her paws became. They no longer sat idle to wait for his nuzzles and licks, but stroked him like a wyvern would his mate, both of them too lost in the euphoria of the moment to acknowledge the closeness they now shared. Mazrogal would have, was he not enraptured by the caress of the wyvern, a deadly predator who used her lethal weapons in ways that he never deemed possible.

"Rrrrrh," Asharya's throaty purr sailed to his ears, becoming brighter and more prominent with every poke and prod against her soles. He didn't think much of it when her paws clambered up to his horns, nor did he mind that her toes locked around them in quite the strong grip. Females that showed initiative had an innate charm to them, an appeal that made him wish surrender to their whims and let them carry him wherever they pleased.

In this instance, his partner pushed him further down her body, then pulled him in as far as her hind legs allowed to guide the tip of his snout on top of her sex, where his nostrils connected with her slightly swollen lips and the puddle of arousal surrounding them.

An electrifying surge shot through his system when he instinctively breathed in her characteristic musk, the abundant pheromones coating it rousing his mind from the stupor of foreplay and jolting his cock to the pressing awareness that his partner was ready, that he needed to breed her right here and now.

But the wyvern gave him no moment of respite. Having experienced the blissful, flexible nature of his tongue, Asharya kept him locked against her nethers, wiggling her body this way and that with the help of her tail to rub herself against him, her paws tugging at him insistently in quick, bucking motions.

His temples and heart pounding with the urgency of his task, Mazrogal tried to poke his tongue out and give Asharya the relief she desperately craved for, only to accidentally drive the teeth of his upper jaw down on it during one of her forceful tugs. The sharp discomfort blew away the haze of lust clouding his mind, forcing his forepaws to intervene and grab her feet.

The wyverness' head tilted in a playful, provocative way, eyes aflame with mischievousness. No matter how hard Mazrogal tried to dislodge her from his relaxed position on his haunches, he couldn't, so he brought his tail around to help.

"Hrrrrrrhhhhhh," he whined when his cock flopped onto the ground in the absence of its cushion, wrinkles deepening across his snout as the wyverness' own tail intercepted his, brushing it aside.

"No," he muttered between the short, quick breaths he managed. Asharya's strong, muscular haunches surpassed the might of his sinuous, draconic neck, which left him at the mercy of her jerky motions that forced him right against her crevice. Part of him craved to heed her dire need for pleasure, to taste and sample her exotic aroma, but he deserved better, and so did she.

Just when he was about to protest further, the wyverness' grip relented, her left hindpaw sailing over his head so that her haunch neatly folded over her right one as she shifted onto her side to cover herself and deny Mazrogal access to her sex.

"It's..." she paused to lick her snout, as if to dispel the trance that took hold of her. "It's fine. Us wyverns don't lick each other down there. Not in that way," she added, her eyes fleeing him as her tail curled between her legs for an extra layer of protection.

"We find the practice demeaning, but you seemed so eager and I...I wanted to sample that which a wyvern would never provide me with."

"You will." Mazrogal insisted, pushing himself up on his fours to nuzzle her neck reassuringly. He barely managed a nudge before the wyverness' wing pushed him away, her lips pulling up to reveal the tips of her fangs.

"There is no need. I am aware that I smell and taste different compared to a dragon, and this game has already gone too far. It's one thing to willingly demean yourself for my pleasure, and another to do it solely for my benefit."

Demean himself? What?

Mazrogal's mouth opened to quell her unrest, but no reassuring platitudes came. He had so many things to say, so many ways to explain that he wanted--no, craved to taste her and feel her clench around his tongue--but none seemed proper for the moment at hand. She believed herself unworthy of his ministrations, perhaps even embarrassed with the state of her overly wet pussy, so Mazrogal had to approach this matter from another angle.

"I bit my tongue."

Asharya perked her head, regarding him with an incredulous look.

"You rammed me so insistently against yourself that my fangs pricked my tongue." He chuckled at the silliness of it in an attempt to lighten her mood, but Asharya snorted dismissively, turning away from him after blinking in acceptance of her failure.

"I'm not a dragon, Mazrogal. This is what happens when you treat me like one."

Mazrogal instinctively lifted a forepaw, intent on making his way to her and turning away at the same time. Humor might have been a subjective matter where he came from, but the more he regarded Asharya, the more enigmatic she appeared to him. She made it clear from the very beginning that wyverns had their customs and mentality, and the last thing he wanted was to disrupt her balance, to corrupt her demeanor, to make her more a dragon than a wyvern.

For once he introduced her to the pleasures of his tongue, she might not want to adhere to her rigid beliefs any longer.

"However..." Asharya's smooth, even tone broke Mazrogal's musings. "I have never met a dragon, brawled a dragon, or allowed a dragon to lick me in the way you did, so I'm not opposed to mating a dragon."

Her wings splayed to the sides to expose her strong, prominent chest, just like her haunches parted to reveal that which made her a female. Some of her translucent arousal now smeared over the inside of her haunches, making the blacks deeper and her belly plates lustrous against the dying light. Her flesh stood out the most against the blue-grey background, ripe and prominent with lust that had yet to flee her.

"Only mates lick or nuzzle each other during mating, so simply clamber over me, then breed me like you would another dragoness without breaks and pauses in between. Our males shoot their seed when they're ready, without bothering with needless delays."

Mazrogal gulped down the nudging curiosity at the back of his throat, unwilling to contest her opinion on this matter, especially when his months of solitude had left him particularly eager down there. Asharya noted that too, her eyes dwelling on the erection that had subsided only a bit, with only the knot, spade and ridges diminished somewhat.

"I've never seen a male remain unsheathed for so long. Doesn't it get...uncomfortable?"

An instinctive whine fled the drake before he could stifle it, the sight of her appetizing sex too tempting, the promise of relief too close for him to still maintain his air of chivalry.

"I haven't been with a female in months, so the only discomfort I face is my inability to simply mount you and loosen my seed in just a few thrusts, if that."

Asharya's toes twitched as a pang of desire struck her, causing her nether muscles to quiver at the mentioning of penetration. They've both lacked or refused the company of another for so long, that every second spent without indulging in that utmost release felt torturous.

"You must be the strangest dragon I could've met," Asharya said, her lips pulling into a fulfilled smile. "You were supposed to be a distraction, then a guest in my territory, and finally, a chance for me to savor the pleasures of mating absent threat of a clutch, but you're neither. You're...I don't even know what you are."

She knew. She just didn't want to say it, lest she betrayed her growing interest in him. Mazrogal noted the several instances where the wyverness subtly expressed her desire for him to linger, to share her den, and to be more to her than just a guest. Not a mate, of course; not even a lover, but something more than just a friend. The way she looked him over proved as much, as did the excited twitching of her tail tip and the talons that beckoned him to approach her and do right by her.

Mazrogal closed his eyes and took a deep, fortifying breath heavy with the aroma oozing from her crevice. Courage and cowardice alike flared within him, followed by an amalgam of other emotions at complete odds. Rather than sift through them in order to make sense of his choice, the black drake approached Asharya and licked her cheek, trying his hardest to maintain his demeanor when she recoiled and snarled at his outburst of unnecessary affection.

"Is it strange, for a male to put the female's needs above his own? Is it strange that, despite what your mind says, you are aware, deep down, that you wish to be licked down there in ways befitting of your grace, instead of merely shoving me against yourself? It takes a great and well-groomed self-restraint for an eager male to avoid entering you the moment you offered yourself to them, and the reason I seem strange is because I want to savor you, just like you wish to enjoy me as more than just a snout or cock that humps you to completion."

He stepped away from her after finishing his thought, paws clawing at the ground anxiously, wings shifting in their sockets, tail curling and softening around his hind leg due to nerves. From the way Asharya regarded him with her blank, almost cold expression, he expected her to lash out at him and force him to fly unsheathed for speaking on her behalf, but the moment her tongue slid over her snout in an eager, almost provocative way, his heart settled back in his chest.

"Fine. Have it your way. Enjoy me." As her wing talon pointed to her crevice, Mazrogal's cock hardened with the eagerness to find its way inside her, but the drake steeled himself against that urge while he positioned himself in front of her hindquarters, his head towering above her nethers.

"And if I...over your face, say nothing and keep licking until...a second or third time, mrrrrmmmm," the wyverness' shuddering voice drowned into her lustful purr, her tailhole clenching and her pussy shuddering in anticipation of his tongue alighting upon that exposed, vulnerable flesh.

"I won't lick you just yet. I plan to savor you, remember?"

The wyverness nodded, then turned her head away to hide that look of apprehension that Mazrogal caught only a furtive glance of. Not that it mattered. Once committed, nothing could deter him, and from his earlier episode against her sex, Mazrogal knew her taste and scent, although foreign, had the same potency and effect on him as those of a dragoness.

Mazrogal's nostrils hovered a few inches above her lust-drenched flesh, breathing in the potent, pheromone-ridden miasma wafting from her crevice in short, eager bursts. Too deep a breath, and his cock might lurch and slap against his belly in its eagerness to find its way inside her. So, Mazrogal tried to pace himself from the very beginning of his act, starting with the acclimatization with Asharya's foreign yet mighty enticing fragrance.

Unlike a dragoness, her scent had a spicy, prickly aroma that matched her personality in the strangest, most alluring of ways. An earthy undertone seeped from the clear juices that began dribbling down her plates due to their abundance, laden with an almost inviting staleness that bespoke of her terrible longing. There was no sweetness to her nectar; no milder hues. Only a raw, unsophisticated, almost primordial tang that carried the basest and most effective means to lure a mate, unburdened by the smoother and more elegant touches that made dragonesses taste so appealing, addictive even.

"I wash myself daily, after every hunt, but I do not lick myself down there," Asharya mentioned, her words softer and devoid of her usual verve, weakened by the barely perceptible fear of rejection hovering about her stiffening form. "If you consider my habits repulsive and my scent unappealing, then there is no reason to bother with the foreplay, so mount me and be done with it."

Her tail attempted to shift together with her body, but Mazrogal stepped with a forepaw onto its base to prevent her from doing that. Slowly, teasingly, he lifted his snout from between her legs, his heart swelling upon noticing her fleeing gaze, or the twitch of a shoulder that she barely prevented from bringing down a wing over her face and shield her rising anxiety stemming from a situation of her own doing. She did not take him for granted, at least, and that made her worries all the more endearing to him.

"You smell rougher and wilder than a dragoness, that is certain," Mazrogal said, closing his eyes and inhaling a deep breath filled with her very specific odor, the intensity of her pheromones causing his ridges and spade to visibly flare with unspent lust. "But that is what stirred our mutual interest in each other, yes? The differences, the subtleties, the refusal to clean yourself properly."

"Rah!" The wyverness growled, slapping his flank with her tail tip. "My sex is cleaner than my paws, yet you still degraded yourself to prove a point I still don't understand."

Mazrogal smirked, pleased that he led her where he wanted. "Depending on where they live, dragons are less rigid with the use of their tongue, and when you are by yourself, it can often become a worthy replacement for a companion."

As soon as he finished speaking, Mazrogal slid his tongue from the bottom of her slit and took it all the way to the top, feeling her lips shudder as he passed through to collect the dew gathered upon them. Her strong, pungent taste forced his lips to tense and crease into a lustful snarl, the flavor so exotic it invigorated his senses far more than he anticipated. He had to squeeze his eyes shut in focus and fight back the fire building within his knot, lest it slipped free from his shockingly thin grasp.

The wyverness' previous rumble smoothed into a playful trill, her narrow, skeptical eyes immediately warming with the amusement of seeing a male fight back his lust with such determination. "Perhaps that is the reason. If I pleasure myself, then what need have I of a male?"

"Especially one that might shoot his seed as soon as his member fully slides into his partner," Mazrogal added, his chuckle enriched by the wyverness' gentle tail strokes over his haunch. Given the fondness with which she regarded him, it became obvious that she mistook his uneasiness for confidence.

"There is no greater fulfillment for a female than to be filled within seconds by her overly excited partner. The honesty of a quick climax tells me more about my partner than their words can ever hope to match, and a male who elevates his female to a fantasy that overwhelms their senses is definitely one I'd like to spend the rest of my life with."

"I should have hatched as a wyvern," Mazrogal said, his laughter blending with her softer, increasingly nervous purr. From the way her wings twitched and her toes clenched, he knew the wyverness' thoughts fled to the possibility of sharing a life together. However improbable, and despite the pressing truth where they knew precious little about each other, neither could deny the attraction they felt for each other, as well as the innate instinct to make the other theirs and never risk having another steal it from them.

"But then you wouldn't have licked my paws and...mrr...down there, for I wouldn't have allowed you."

"You wouldn't have been able to stop me either," Mazrogal said, trailing his tongue over her cleft a second time, then a third, and a fourth. Every stroke deepened the creases on his snarling snout and forced Asharya's eyelids closer to the bottom of her eyes, until they finally shuttered, defeated by the waves of pleasure coursing through her.

She had such a soft and beautiful sex! The roughness of her plates contrasted with the smooth, heated surface of her lips in the most wonderful of ways, and their puffiness made them a joy for his tongue to explore, especially when the spreading of her legs partially opened her canal to him. At first, Mazrogal remained on the surface, using the thicker middle of his tongue to scoop her juices and stimulate the least sensitive part of her slit.

Or so he thought, for as he prepared for a fifth lick after tasting and swallowing her zesty nectar, the wyverness' paws latched onto his horns as they did before, forcing his snout against her wildly quivering entrance. Before he had the chance to release as much as a surprised whimper, Mazrogal's mouth and nostrils filled with her more viscous, stronger, and infinitely more arousing climax.

The wyverness kept him pressed against her while she yowled and growled her ecstasy, each of her sharp cries accompanied by a contraction of her strong muscles that forced more of her pent-up essence to the surface. Mazrogal tried his best to slurp and swallow it, but its wild, untamed taste, together with the sheer warmth of her flesh, brought him dangerously close to the verge of ejaculation.

Instead of giving him the chance to tame his fire and recover, Asharya kept him pinned against her, rubbing herself against the sensitive, pebbly scales of his nostrils and forcing him to inhale the spicy, fecund scent that she wished no wyvern, no dragon but him to savor. Together with the increased temperature of her nether flesh and the potent state of a climax delayed for too long, this experience overloaded the young male's senses and imagination, causing his cock to throb and lurch with the inevitable motions of his own orgasm.

Too far away, and trapped into a mighty improper position to somehow find his way inside her, Mazrogal pressed his snout against her and whimpered in defeat as his seed burst out of him far stronger than he anticipated. Devoid of proper hilting, his shaft bobbed up and down erratically, sending ropes of thick, pent-up ejaculate flying into the air, painting his forelimbs, chest, chin and the wyverness' underbelly with gooey, ivory strings. Every time his sensitive spade connected with his plates, his whines grew harsher, until they mellowed into a constant, fulfilled mewl as a tight presence wrapped itself around his knot, squeezing it in a comfortable, reassuring grip that elevated his orgasm to much greater heights.

Thanks to their small and soft surface, the fine scales lining Asharya's tail tip felt as good around him as the tip of his snout must've caressed her flesh, their pebbly texture adding just the right amount of friction to enrich and prolong the unexpected but mutual elation coursing through them.

More of Asharya's tail began to wrap and hug his member as the shudders coursing through her sex began to die down, the dexterous appendage milking him with a steady, constant motion that left Mazrogal breathless by the time his cock began to still and his knot started to shrink.

"I'm...sorry..." Mazrogal mumbled, nuzzling her gentle, inviting folds with both fondness and regret for not pushing his cock through them and into the slightly ridged canal spreading beneath them. "I...I couldn't hold back."

"Neither could I," Asharya said, her jaws parted halfway to let in fatigued, panting breaths. "It...I never expected it to feel so good. For somebody to cherish my sex, meant only for the shaft of a male, like that."

Mazrogal lifted his soggy snout to face her, the weight of her paws surprisingly manageable now that they no longer forced him down upon her. "What about a second and a third time?"

"Later," she said, letting go of Mazrogal to spread one leg to the side and lift the other towards the sky, like a lioness who has been thoroughly bred by her mate. "Let me...just a moment..."

Her eyes lidded slowly, almost tantalizingly as her features softened into a fulfilled, serene expression, completely uncharacteristic of a spiky menace such as her. Now that his cock had fled into its sanctuary, Mazrogal lowered onto his belly, his forepaws placed on the sides of her female rift while his tongue traveled its length in slow, soft, motions, enough to keep the fires of delight going without stoking them into a blaze. He knew who he wanted to be, and in time, so would Asharya.

***THE END***

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