Milking His Seed

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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.

Please note that all characters are clearly over eighteen and written as such in all stories.


The ruins loomed around them, Kyrrai wiping the back of his hand across his face. His black hair fell forward, a little longer where it brushed his shoulders, though they had been adventuring for a few weeks at that point, laden down with treasure. Well, it could have been considered “pillaging”, if one was being uncouth, though it was not as if anyone either had given the man and the wyrin Paladin any kind of permission to take what they had claimed for themselves.

“Come, Kyrrai,” Drogoz grunted, never as eloquent as Kyrrai would have liked him to be. “You will bathe me.”

A wyrin of few words, Drogoz rumbled, though he must have known something that Kyrrai did, for he had not thought that there had been anywhere to bathe at all around the ruins, thick jungle surrounding them. Still, he obediently followed the reddish-bronze tail of his master, tipped with spikes, away from their hoard, though he did not doubt at all that the wyrin would have him jealously guarding it in no time at all.

He needed his attention, however, for what other reason could he possibly have to use and to train a human underling as part of his hoard? The wyrin knew where his inclinations laid and ignored the gasp of wonder that the man gave as he showed Kyrrai exactly where the hot springs lay. The ruin, of course, had once been a strong holding, though it had long crumbled, even though it still held the natural features of the earth and land around it. Where a castle fell, the springs remained, bubbling out in a stone-rimmed pool, rising with steam.

They stripped, Kyrrai more interested than ever in seeing what the wyrin wanted to do with him, though being naked before Drogoz was hardly something that he minded at all after spending so much time with him. The water only came up to the wyrin’s hips as he sank into it, though Kyrrai quickly found a shelf further down, under the bubbling, steaming surface of the water, which they could sit on. It allowed them to sink all the way down to their shoulders, water lapping around their necks, but the grooming that was to begin, Kyrrai was sure, would only end one way.

After all, he had a lot to do for his master, the Paladin who had trained him ruthlessly and relentlessly after he had all but insisted on it. He hadn’t taken “no” for an answer and it had ended up to the benefit of both, which was exactly the way Kyrrai wanted it.

There were sponges and cleaning clothes, natural fibres, from their travel bags, though Kyrrai Çankaya Escort had set it by the side of the pool. No soaps were needed with the freshening swell of hot water, luxurious for them, but not so hot that they could not ease into it deeply. They allowed it to swell over them, soothing the tired aches from sore muscles, yet Kyrrai had a job to do as his hands moved skilfully over the wyrin, cleaning sweat and grime from his hard scales with the cloths and sponges.

The wyrin rumbled, relaxing into the attention, though it should not have come as any surprise to them that Drogoz’ cock hardened quickly under the water, as if it had merely been waiting for the right moment. It was not something, always, that Drogoz controlled, yet all was well and good as his servant’s hands roamed lower, spreading his thighs.

“Let me serve you, master,” Kyrrai all but purred — hardly a sound that was common at all coming from the lips of a human. “You’ve been working too hard…”

Drogoz would not have quite agreed with that, but he allowed the service and attention regardless. Whatever got Kyrrai’s rocks off when it came to that kind of talk, really, though it was nice to be praised too. He usually ignored such things from those that were looking to catch him unawares or find a vulnerable edge to him, but Kyrrai was a person who was under his control. That meant there were no vulnerabilities in the wyrin that Drogoz had to worry about, the man’s hand closing around his cock, pumping and stroking.

He took his time, though the wyrin would have and use him any way that he pleased. Squeeze after squeeze of his hand on Drogoz’ cock brought a bubble of pre-cum forth, pumping his shaft while the skin moved lightly over the firm rod of flesh. Yet Kyrrai should have expected to be hauled up and pinned down, face first, over the edge of the stone shelf, the higher edge of the pool rather than what Drogoz had been sitting on a moment before.

No permission was asked of the man when he had already given all the permission he could ever have needed, scrabbling to brace himself. The rocks of the pool were slippery, even though the warmth eased the passage of the wyrin’s cock into him, penetrating him deeply. It happened as if it was an everyday occurrence — and it pretty much was by that point.

“Oh, fuck…”

Kyrrai moaned aloud, not caring for anyone that might have heard them. Drogoz would have taken care of them in a moment if he might have thought it something to damage his reputation. Kyrrai’s reputation was not something that he spent any time considering at all, however. All he needed to do was to thrust and to grind, to pound into his human toy and servant with all the raw force that a wyrin was known for.

Yet his servant had a few things on his mind too… It was all Kyrrai could do to catch his Keçiören Escort breath and shove his torso up from the stone, damp with their splashing, steam rising around them, but he managed to get his hands under him, pressing up. Fuck, his arse was so full…

“Mm… May I milk you, Drogoz?” Kyrrai asked, reverently begging, though his stuffed arse clenched down as if he thought that there was still something more to be taken from his length. “Keep fucking me, using me… Fuck me so hard that there’s not a drop of seed left in your nuts!”

Drogoz grunted. It was not something that the wyrin dignified with an answer, pinning the human more firmly over the edge of the hot springs, the stone shelf that was worn smooth, splashed with water, by the passage of so many feet in brighter times for the ruined castle. He thrust and thrust, grinding deep, taking the man, though his first orgasm was quick to rise.

Never had the wyrin had any need to hold back from climax, after all, not when it was something he could take repeatedly for himself. There was no reason to not spend a load, nothing for him to prove, not when he had a willing servant wanting to “milk” him. Drogoz rumbled a growl, thumbing a smirk from his lips as he crammed deep, muscles tightening across his abdomen. More and more, he took what he wanted, his cock throbbing, aching to spill a load of cum.

Like the slut he had become for the wyrin’s cock (among other things, a trained fighter being one of them), Kyrrai took every drop like a pro, the wyrin’s roar echoing off the ruins as he thrust and thrust. Yet there was no defined end to Drogoz’ orgasm, Kyrrai forgetting his pleasure in the heat of it all, not as the wyrin kept on thrusting and thrusting, pounding his already sore arse with a slick slop of cum framing it.

Kyrrai cried out, yet he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, heaving, grunting, panting. His chest was flat to the smooth stone all over again, water cooling on his skin, though some of it was sweat too, gleaming and glistening. It would be washed away soon enough by the water as he ground back weakly onto his master’s cock, wanting even more, though he might have already had enough.

There was no option for him not to enjoy the moment, not to please his master. It was his reward, yes — that was how he thought of it. That was what he wanted, only the reward of pleasing Drogoz after their successful pillaging, taking treasures that did not belong to them. Yet every throb of the wyrin’s cock, aching on the edge of another orgasm, was his to claim, a servant’s right, moaning and whimpering, grunting, losing himself. There was no reason to hold onto himself, not as the rest of the world had known Kyrrai, and he moaned eagerly, eyes half-closed, barely even with himself.

All that lingered for the man was sweet sensation, Etimesgut Escort pulsing over him, his arse dripping with cum, lifted from the water while the wyrin positioned him as he pleased. He was rutted, he was fucked and he was taken so roughly and coarsely that it was quite as if the rest of the man, other than the hole that gave the wyrin so much pleasure, had ceased to exist. Yet Kyrrai knew how to take what was his due too, what made his heart pound and his cock rise even in the dead of the night. He had to take it, for such things were not freely given.

He had to ask and that was something that he had learned as the wyrin slammed in, bellowing as he spent another load and then another into Kyrrai’s backside, letting him feel the true will and might of a wyrin. He was more than a wyrin, he was a Paladin, power thrumming in every muscle, devoid of his armour and no less impressive for it. His muscles bulged, adorned by his scales, even the larger plate scales that framed his chest.

Kyrrai moaned, clenching down, though he had to take every stroke, every thrust, as much as his hips ached. There would only be so much more he could take, but all he had asked for was to milk his master of every drop, his arse sore and desperate, though not every drop, even as the wyrin began to slow, grunting, hot, panting breaths washing down over the back of Kyrrai’s neck and shoulder blades.

“Getting tired, human?”

Drogoz mocked him, but that was nothing that Kyrrai was not used to already. He was only distracting attention from his own state as Kyrrai squirmed from under him, surprised that the wyrin allowed him to be free. Maybe he was sorer than even Kyrrai had realised after their day of “work”…

His arse was too sore to take any more from Drogoz, though he knelt in the water before the wyrin, warm water swilling softly around him, lapping at his chest while he jerked the wyrin off, again and again, milking him thoroughly. Every last drop of cum in his balls had to come forth, allowing the wyrin to be renewed, refreshed, naturally as he was.

Only when he had taken two more loads from the wyrin with the use of his hand did Kyrrai climb up on him above the surface of the pool, close to the edge but not caring if they slipped in during their lust. For the moment was shared, even if it meant no more than the passions of the body between them, the heady rise and fall of delight, thrumming through with every beat of their hearts pumping blood around their bodies. He took the wyrin one last time into his anal passage while Drogoz gasped, shuddering on the precipice of being spent, Kyrrai taking a shard of power back for himself.

For as he took the last orgasm from the wyrin’s aching, spent balls, not a drop left in him as he was milked dry, he moaned aloud, head tipped back, steam curling around him. His time with the wyrin had been more enlightening than he had initially hoped for, in training, in fighting, in lust. And only with all three in hand could he truly learn all that he wanted from Drogoz…

With the wyrin’s cock throbbing inside him, Kyrrai smirked.

Still, he hoped he had more to learn from the Paladin, for he wouldn’t have liked to cut short their agreement too soon…

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