Mating Season

A mage’s apprentice is set upon by horny dragons during mating season.

3k, rated E, trans M/a bunch of dragons. A return of Tiresias Everhardt and introducing his dutiful apprentice, Anso Laden: Anso is out gathering herbs and doesn’t realise that one is a powerful aphrodisiac for local monsters.

Sex pollen and dragons in rut, loads of come inflation, cervix penetration, gaping, size difference, sex in the air, belly bulging, D/s dynamics, overstimulation. Mild consent issues at first, but then Anso gets into it.

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The morning, even before the sun has fully risen, is hot and balmy, and Anso is relieved he’d gone out of the castle proper with so much time left in the day — he’ll finish gathering herbs well before lunch, and when time comes for him to return to Doctor Everhardt’s laboratory for the rest of his work, he’ll be able to feel the relief of the cool palace stone all around him.

Moisture clings to his leggings and the skirt of his robe as he walks through the dewy underbrush, one basket slung over his arm and another on his back. He traces his steps down to the stream, and then follows it for a mile or so, stopping to clip and gather herbs and flowers along his way.

There’s thick magic in the woods around Lania — magical beasts prowl here and there, but even the predators amongst them will shy away from humans and elves rather than seek them out this close to the castle walls, and those beasts linger in the area because of precisely how many flowers, herbs, and magical plants grow and flourish along the stream and on these hills, grow thick in these valleys. As he moves through the underbrush, small beasts and tiny faeries skitter and rush off from around his feet, flying up into the tree canopy or disappearing into holes and troughs in the ground.

Anso shrugs his big basket off his shoulders and sets it down on a flat piece of ground beside the clearing’s central pool, where the stream deepens and widens before continuing its way down the hillside.

Unbuckling his cloak, he sets it aside, and feeling the weight of the morning warmth on his skin, the heat near oppressive even so close to the relief of the spring’s cool water, he takes off his robe as well, leaving him only in his chemise and leggings, and sets his clothes aside with his satchel.

Everhardt had given him a long list of plants and mushrooms to look for, several of which he’s ticked off already — he has no need of any substance in particular, Anso is aware, but it is spring, and many of these plants, from mugwort to wild garlic to dragon mint, are simply ripe to be harvested at this time.

The dragon mint particularly is thriving this year, and he feels as though he’s looking over a whole field of it as he crouches down to take cuttings of it and lay them in his basket.

It’s nice, to be out from under Doctor Everhardt’s gaze and his strict orders and instructions, to not be sitting at a desk craning over papers and reports and data, or working at cauldrons and the alembic and brewing potion after potion for the professor’s stores.

The mint is fragrant as he cuts it off at the stem, the scent rising in clouds from where he’s making his neat cuts — it’s got a sharper, spicier smell to it than common mint, is fresh but has a tingle to it, and he feels it thick in his nostrils and on his tongue, at the back of his throat.

He’s been working for an hour or so, his basket half full, when he hears a strange chittering from further upstream, and he turns his head to look.

The wyvern is a big male, dark purple with leathery red skin on the underside of its wings, and it slowly crawls forward, its wings folded back and its tail swinging slowly from side to side.

“Hey,” Anso says sharply, getting to his feet, and he widens his stance, his legs apart, his hands in the air. He waves them as he runs toward the wyvern, yelling as loudly as he can — it leans back on its clawed feet, peering at him, but it doesn’t flee like wyverns usually do from someone making themselves big or making a lot of noise, doesn’t fly off or run away. Its nostrils flare, sniffing the air, and it looks directly at Anso with its big, green eyes.

Then it pounces.

“Hey!” Anso screams as the wyvern’s weight lands on top of him, and after getting shoved onto his back he twists away, managing to slide his arm out from under the wyvern’s foot and to start crawling through the mint on his belly. He can feel the shadow of it over him, feel its huge, warm body — not as hot as a true dragon’s would be, but still pretty hot, its scaly underbelly sliding against the back of his shirt.

Wyvern’s have four pairs of limbs — two sets that they walk on, front and back, and then two sets of arms in the middle, that allow them to grab hold of their mates and hold them close — their wings, and their tails, and their bodies are thick, muscular, and sinewy. He can hear the noises the wyvern’s making, a guttural chatter from deep in its throat as it grabs him with two of its arms and shoves him down into the floor, his face pinned into the dirt.

“The fuck,” he grunts, the sound muffled as he keeps trying to scramble free, not able to get enough purchase to wiggle out from beneath the thing that’s twice his fucking size, “let me — let me go, the fuck — ”

With a spare arm, the wyvern claws down his back, and Anso yelps in pain as he feels the scratch, his shirt and his leggings torn out of place and leaving him nearly naked.

“Whoa,” he says. “Whoa, hey, hey — ”

Gods, that’s its fucking cock.

The wet, slimy, undulating tentacle sliding against his lower back, as long as his fucking arm and twice as thick, is the wyvern’s cock. Anso struggles harder, but he can feel slick sliding off it, feels his body getting warmer and warmer, feels his cunt throb in response to whatever fucking pheromones the wyvern is letting out, whatever’s in the juice dripping off its cock.

“Hnngh,” he moans into the dirt, because suddenly he feels so empty, and the very tip of the wyvern’s prick is teasing against his lips. His cunt feels raw and eager, wetness gathering inside him, and he clenches on empty air, feels his muscles working. The tapered tip of the wyvern’s cock dips just inside his entrance, and he whimpers as he tries to bear down on it, tries to keep it trapped inside him — heat is radiating out from it, where its same slickness is making contact with even thinner skin this time.

Is he really going to get off on this? Really going to fucking enjoy this, a fucking monster pinning him down and shoving its cock in him, making him its bitch? It’s one thing for Everhardt to watch him, to experiment on him with one beast or other, but this? This is different. This thing is wild.

Fuck’s sake. It’s already on him, already in him — why not just enjoy it?

The wyvern’s cock suddenly extends, spearing him on its length, and he screams as it slides all the way in him — it’s thinnest at the tip of its tapered prick, but it gets wider as it forces its way further into him, twisting and rubbing against the inside of his walls. He scrambles helplessly at the dirt beneath him, trying to grip and gain purchase on the grassy underbrush not to get away this time, but just to work out some of the tension in him, the pleasure that’s coursing through him.

It feels fucking good.

The wyvern’s tentacle-like prick is too long to easily slide in him to the root, and instead of forcing straight into him, it coils to make space for itself, doubled-up, and it’s so thick that his eyes water, whines and moans splitting the air as they work their way out of his throat. He’s gritting his teeth to keep from sobbing as he feels the wyvern’s prick get fully inside him, all the way to the root, and his belly is bulging out with it, the surface of it shifting as he looks down at it.

More slickness is coming off it, pouring out of the wyvern’s cocktip and into him, and his belly feels like it’s on fire, his blood rushing through his veins and feeling as if a magical current is running under his skin, making his hair stand on end, making his heart pound in his chest and his cunt and cock throb and tingle.

The wyvern’s middle arms get a good grip on him, two looping under his shoulders and the others banding tight around his thighs, and he grunts as he feels the wyvern’s fingers dig into the flesh, feels it gripping him tight so that his back is pressed up against the wyvern’s scaly underbelly, softer than its outer scales. It can get into him even deeper like this, his thighs held apart, rubbing at his cock from the inside, and he grunts at the pressure inside him.

The tip of the wyvern’s cock gives a savage twist, and Anso howls as it finds the end of his cunt and forces its way past his cervix, settling so deep in him his head spins with it. He can see the cock undulating and shifting in him, seeing it squirm under the surface of his skin, and as the wyvern begins to grind deep and hard into him, it spreads its wings and lifts off.

Wyverns mate in the air, he remembers distantly, so that the males don’t get distracted fighting off rivals — he’s even seen some sketches of wyvern females getting double-dicked on the ground, and the thought fills him with a momentary heady rush, the idea of two of these monsters forcing him open at once.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, hey, don’t — shit, I’m not another wyvern, no one’s going to try to take me off you — “

Maybe some of that heady rush is the speed with which he’s lifting off the ground, the sound of the wyvern’s flapping wings filling his ears as it takes high into the skies. Anso’s breathing is heavy as he stares down at the rapidly shrinking forest beneath them, at Lania Keep as it gets smaller and smaller, until the wyvern has spread its wings wide and is gliding instead.

The wyvern lets out a loud, hoarse, chattering screech that makes Anso’s ears fucking ring, and he doesn’t dare to try to struggle free, not now — its cock is bulging as it pumps its come into him, thick and hot and heavy, and Anso moans helplessly as he feels his womb forced to give way, sees it bulge.

As the wyvern veers to the right, riding a wave of wind that comes up from below, he feels his belly sloshing with it, more and more of it being pumped inside him — he’s in the sky, getting inflated like a fucking balloon by a fucking dragon (“False dragon,” Doctor Everhardt would correct him snootily), and he’s fucking coming.

His cock twitches and he feels his body spasm, and his obscene belly is swinging beneath him as the wyvern coasts on the drifts, its cock moving and shifting inside him. He looks fucking pregnant, looks more than pregnant, and his taut skin aches from being stretched, marks showing either side of him where his belly’s expanded outward so quickly. There’s so much come in him he can feel the waves of it whenever the wyvern moves, and when it gives a sudden dive, he yelps as he feels the liquid inside him gushing up against the top of his stuffed-full insides, can hear the whirl of it in him.

His eyes are still watering, tears on his cheeks, and he’s overstimulated, but there’s no escape from all the wyvern cock deep in him, all the come in him, the monster surrounding him on his every side.

He racks his brains for how long wyverns can come for, because off the top of his head, he can’t remember.

* * *

“Dragon mint,” Doctor Everhardt tells him in mild but superior tones, looking at him haughtily over the half-moon crescents of his spectacles, “has an attractive and desirable scent to dragons and false dragons. In mating season, when the male wyvern’s sensitivity to scent is at its highest, it can even mistake the scent of dragon mint for a female wyvern in heat.”

Anso burps, and tastes wyvern come on his own breath. He can still feel the weird squirm of the third wyvern’s cock sliding over his tongue and making its home in his throat, feels the ghost of his gag reflex trying to work as the tip of it snakes all the way down into his stomach to gush come into him.

Had it been the third one, or the fourth?

Another wyvern had come up on them when they’d still been in the sky, and Anso had thought he’d fucking explode as the one gripping at him had taken dives and then soared again, doing the best it could with its evasive manoeuvres, and he’d thought he’d throw up then, but he’d managed to hold his stomach — he’d been glad he hadn’t yet eaten breakfast that morning, that it was only water and tea (and wyvern come) inside him and nothing else to bring up.

When two more wyverns had begun to circle, the wyvern holding onto him had dived all the way to the ground and dropped him unceremoniously into the middle of a wheat field — its cock had slithered out of him and left him feeling near to hollowed out, and then the swarm that had given chase had descended on him.

One of the farmers had sent word up to the palace, and apart from members of the palace guard, Everhardt had of course come down to make notes and enjoy it, the curiosity of a human being mated with by half a dozen wyverns, all of them shoving their cocks into any hole they could find.

He’d laughed heartily once he recognised him, his hands on his belly and his head tipping back in mirth — he’s a jolly-looking man at the best of times, even when he’s not laughing, and at the sight of Anso filled to the brim with wyvern come and having it leak out both ends, he’d been positively jubilant.

Everhardt’d stopped the guards from chasing off the wyverns fucking him until they were finished, although he’d at least let them chase off the others waiting to muscle in and take their turns — his arse and cunt were gaping, stretched wide by the monstrous cocks that had shoved and twisted inside him, some of them tangling together as the wyverns hurried to fuck him all at once.

Anso had been so stuffed with hot, heavy wyvern come that he hadn’t been able to move, had been paralysed with his stretched, destroyed belly a cushion underneath him, none of his limbs even touching the ground.

Everhardt had had him lifted up into a cart to bring back to his laboratory at the university, but only after putting two plugs inside his ruined holes to keep the come inside him.

Now, Anso is sat back in a frame that Doctor Everhardt had rigged for him, and the old man is pulling each plug free — Anso moans at the sudden relief and the ache as he feels the drag of them out of him, his well-used holes sore and exhausted from all the abuse.

“Did you know that was going to happen to me?” he asks, his voice coming out a bit bleary and undefined — his jaw aches, and he can still taste the monstrous cock all over his tongue, feel the slickness down his throat, over his teeth.

“I recall telling you to always set warding circles when gathering herbs,” Everhardt said immediately, raising his bushy white eyebrows, and at the same time he pushes with two slender, graceful hands on the stretched curve of Anso’s gut, making him keen as his insides cramp, as come drips out of both his holes and into the trough beneath him. “Do you think I gave you that advice merely to amuse myself?”

“I thought it was to protect against bandits,” Anso mutters. “Not wyverns desperate to get me pregnant.”

“And if bandits had passed you between your cocks and impregnated you because you were too much of a young fool to do as directed, would you blame me for that as well?” Everhardt asks archly, and he flicks Anso’s swollen, aching red cock as he rubs a circle on Anso’s belly with his other hand, and Anso shudders, his body unable to take another fucking orgasm when he’s been all but wrung dry today.

“Someone needs to collect my things,” Anso mumbles.

“Already done, I sent one of the students to fetch your morning’s work when you didn’t come back by noon,” Everhardt says, walking away, and then he begins to rub some sort of balm from a cannister over Anso’s belly — it tingles, makes him grunt and twitch. “Stop complaining, boy, or do you want to retain all this excess skin?”

“You’re never going to get all of this out of me,” Anso says.

“I can assure you I am,” Everhardt replies pleasantly, pushing his palms into the flesh as he continues to work the balm into his skin, and Anso groans as he feels his insides work and shift, feels all of it drip and drip out of him and into the trough beneath him. “Wyvern semen, particularly so fresh, is a far more valuable alchemical ingredient than any of the herbs you were gathering today.”

“Well, this should last you a while,” Anso tells him, and Everhardt laughs again as he slaps the side of his belly and walks away.

“I will leave you, my young apprentice, to drain for an hour or so. You think you can be trusted to go unfucked for that time without my weather eye watching over you, or should I station a guard to keep you from whoring yourself out for another passing monster, hm?”

Anso’s cock gives a shameful twitch at that, and judging by the old man’s smirk, he notices the way it hits him.

“Fuck off, Doc,” Anso mutters, and Everhardt laughs again as he leaves him be.