An Emperor for the Empress
>Keep moving. Lure it away.
>Simple thoughts for a not-so-simple task.
>Your overworked muscles protest the continuous running while you dash to your left, a column of brilliant blue flames erupting behind you as an attack fails to hit its mark. Not even the intense heat of the cave and lava pool can match the ferocity of these flames. Even with cool drinks, you've been sweating in your fire-resistant armor.
>A short distance away, your target drops to all fours, snarling at its agile foe. A sea of hellfire encompasses the area it stands in, daring any foolhardy opponent to engage on its own terms.
>You know better than that.
>Coming to a stop, your breathing is heavy as you warily eye the elder dragon in preparation for its next move, agitated over the current turn of events. One minute it only uses physical attacks, the next it stays in one spot and forces you to sprint in circles. Your sword and shield, for all of their versatility, aren't suited for long distance combat and you quickly learned the burning consequences of trying to block erupting puddles.
>Come on....
>With a start, it bounds forward, covering almost the entire distance separating you in a single stride. Unsure of its motives, you preemptively side-step to avoid being knocked down, along with potentially placing yourself in an advantageous position.
>But no tackle occurs. As it reaches you it performs an almost graceful short hop, turning itself around mid-air and coming to a complete stop in front of you, tail raised in preparation.
>It's now you not only realize what's going on, but that you planned for this exact scenario if – no, WHEN – it occurred again. Your desire to see its rear end is at an all-time low, so you dive forward, hoping your reaction speed and positioning were good enough this time.
>Your roll brushes past a hind leg, narrowly avoiding the sharp plates protruding past the knee. As you rise, you hear the dense slap of a heavyset tail striking the ground and wince when it scrapes your sore shoulder, the contact causing you to stumble.
>The range of that thing is the bane of your existence.
>Nonetheless, you're committed to the plan. A boot digs into the ground as you put all your weight into driving your shield into the empty space near its shoulder. Having failed to mop up the trash, the elder dragon turns to face you just as your attack reaches its destination.
>It's your turn to snarl as metal noisily clashes with royal scales, your finely-made shield brute forcing its way through a dense blue mane and into the face of your adversary. For a split-second you witness layers of nigh-impenetrable natural armor cave in to the shield bash, yet its fangs remain unblemished and unharmed.
>Thanks to its facial structure, you've been hard pressed to discern any emotions beyond raw anger and maybe contempt if you squinted hard enough. Even the few other notable strikes you’ve dealt were merely met with a flinch and livid roar. But now – while its entire form recoils from the excruciating blow – you're grimly satisfied to see the unmistakable, universal expression of pain.
>Hours of fighting has left you exhausted far beyond what rations can remedy, and you're less attentive and slower to recover from the swing than you'd like. Before you can adjust your stance, a powerful force slams into you, the world losing focus as you're sent skidding away in a jumbled heap of weapons and gear.
>Damn it. There's always a catch.
>Remaining on the ground is a death sentence, so you shakily pick yourself up. While doing so, you notice your opponent's wings returning to rest. Blasted wind pressure. You're fortunate that no flames accompanied it.
>Unexpectedly, no follow-up comes from the attack. Instead the two of you share the first stationary stare-down since the hunt started, errant fiery puddles extinguishing on their own.
>Over the years, you’ve tangled with a variety of monsters, each more hostile than the last. From murderous Deviljho to rampaging Rajangs, you’ve grown accustomed to the bestial malice they project onto the environment. They despise everything, and that all-encompassing group naturally includes you. This monster, however, feels different.
>The near-tangible aura of rage exuding from it. An azure muzzle curled into a perpetual snarl, baring two rows of fangs determined to give you a fatal laceration. And the blazing fury in its eyes threatening to ignite you on the spot. That scathing glare especially....
>You're familiar with being sized up by the likes of haughty Zinogres and wary Nargacugas; beasts that merely sought to scan their target, measure your form and nothing more. Here, two scornful eyes stay affixed to yours with an unwavering presence – the careful pacing that would normally accompany similar scrutiny is absent, the elder's abnormal stillness only marred by the ragged heaving of its chest and errant tail twitches. These passing seconds stretch far beyond cursory assessment, crackling flames the only reprieve from the tense, deafening silence engulfing the cavern. Judgement. Your stomach drops at the revelation.
>This elder dragon hates you. Not the world, nor any creature unfortunate enough to stumble upon it during its time of need.
>Just you.
>From this distance you're prepared for another wave of hellfire, but it never comes. You don't know how long you've been glaring at each other, but eventually the elder dragon breaks eye contact, taking to the air with noticeably labored wingbeats. You remain glued to it just in case, but just as suspected it flies off, unsteadily retreating past a corner and into a nook you don’t recall having seen before.
>You want nothing more than to chase after it and bring this arduous and oh-so-infuriating hunt to an end, but you're in nearly as bad a shape as your target if your heavy, strained breathing means anything. Heavens above, you do NOT like Lunastra. Never met one until today, but there is zero doubt in your mind that you absolutely do not want to deal with one ever again if you can help it.
>You practically collapse to the ground as you sheathe your weapons and sit, prying off your helmet before weakly bringing your pouch around and fishing out a mega potion to consume.
>Although your minor burns and the odd cracked rib heal up, it does little to quash the aches and pains of your muscles, your arm and shoulder enduring crippling abuse from the multitude of emergency blocks forced onto them via quick claw attacks and debilitating tail swipes. Only a proper rest will save you from this torment, but that's not happening until you finish what you started.
>You allow yourself a few minutes to recuperate, but its effect is negligible. Any period of downtime afforded to yourself is also given to the elder, and the last thing you need is for it to regain strength. This hunt has been a battle of attrition since the start, interludes being kept to a minimum by both sides.
>With a sigh, you stuff the empty flask into your pouch, donning your helmet and rising to your feet with a groan that quickly turns into verbal irritation.
"Guoohhhhhhhmygoodness I am going to strangle this thing."
>Your mood is borderline angry but the aggression just isn't there. You can get riled up when you need to; the blunt force trauma recently applied to the Lunastra was only possible thanks to channeling your rage, but when out of combat the most you can muster up is exasperation. Admittedly a questionable trait to hold in this line of work, but you always pull through when it matters the most.
>You take a few rigid steps as your legs acclimatize to being used again, then break into a purposeful stride, making your way to the hidden entrance where your target fled. Passing by the lava pool, you briefly take in the newly discovered path before setting off. Magma-infused walls ooze heat, the natural corridor stretching down and around another corner to areas unknown. Just enough space for an injured elder dragon to fly in as well.
>Normally you'd be entirely focused on the hunt, but you need to vent to yourself.
>Stupid dragon. From the scarce information fed to you before setting out, you learned that Lunastra are supposed to be extremely aggressive during mating season – a detail you confirmed when it tried to maul you mere seconds after being spotted.
>So yes, she's looking for her male counterpart. An issue that solves itself – except after several days there were no signs of the elder dragon leaving the Elder's Recess. With the climate teetering towards uncomfortably warm, the locale void of wildlife and all hunters barred from entering, it became clear that something needed to be done.
>Dumb dragon. Elders are a significant cut above other monsters - you've seen sparks of its supposed intelligence with the myriad of counterattacks you've endured, along with that silent, smoldering staredown... Yet, she still can't recognize when her knight in red armor isn't coming.
>Some minutes later you're greeted with an exit, the path widening into a spacious open area almost completely surrounded by lava. A convenient rock lies in front of you, offering a safe, scorch-free method to reach the ground. In the middle of the natural arena lies a sleeping beast curled into a loose ball, snores pouring out as it slowly recovers from the fight. A snowball's chance in the Volcanic Hollow you'll let that happen.
>Your body doesn’t appreciate the two sharp drops taken, short as they are – your aches flare up, reminding you of the final bout you'll have to endure. This does not sit well with you. Right now, all you want is for the hunt to be over, to lie down and nurse your tender wounds.
>There's a grimace forming as you approach the dormant dragon, studying it while circling around. For a calamity whose very presence affects the weather, its size doesn’t quite live up to your expectations. Then again, Kirin are far smaller and monsters aren’t limited to one size. You still remember that gigantic Bazelgeuse....
>Despite all the hacking and slashing you've done, you can barely spot any significant cuts and gashes amidst its hide. 'Resilient' doesn't even begin to describe it.
>Eventually you come to a stop at its head.
>Yeesh. Even while asleep, it looks pissed. That's the curse of a wicked set of tusks, you suppose.
"Wake up."
>You don't attack sleeping monsters. Ever. Even you recognize it as foolish, giving up such a major advantage and surprise attack, but you refuse. Ridiculous as it sounds, assaulting them while they're drowsy and confused rubs you the wrong way. You want to defeat them fair and square, and it has yet to hinder you so why stop now?
>Unfortunately this sleeping Lunastra didn't get the memo, seeing as it doesn't rise. You try again, raising your voice.
"Wake UP."
>You follow that with a light kick to its crest, the action failing to budge its head even the tiniest bit as it continues its peaceful slumber.
>For crying out....
>Growling, you cross over to the opposite side of its head and bend down, opting to take a knee to ease the discomfort of crouching. A well-protected hand stretches out and through the dragon's mane to use its neck as a support, allowing you bring yourself as close as you can to a lone unguarded ear.
"Wake up so I can KICK. YOUR. ASS."
>That energy could've been better spent on the kicking of aforementioned ass, but you achieve the desired result. An eyelid flutters open as it groggily searches for the offender. Then a sharp saffron eye fixates on you, and you become dreadfully aware of the horrendous spot you're in.
>Oops.
>You practically fling yourself backwards into the beginnings of a roll, but you're not quick enough. Even with the rapidly changing scenery, you spot a large paw swinging fast and wide.
>Your blood runs cold when a single black claw slams into your helm, missing your eye by centimeters as it hooks against the viewport and jerks your head sideways. You're dangerously off-balance now, but not having your neck snapped is the biggest priority. In one heart-pounding motion, you reach up with both hands, pulling your helmet off and letting momentum carry you to the ground with a grunt.
>There's no time to marvel over the flawless execution, or lack thereof. You're hyper-aware of the furious elder that jumped to attention in a flash, your precious helm still caught on a claw. With a few short swipes, your headwear is dislodged and sent bouncing away a short distance. Hardly a setback.
>Then the Lunastra rises on its hind legs, letting out a thunderous roar that rocks your very core and reminds you of the main use for the helmet.
>You're left dazed and disoriented, still lying on the ground as you try to remember what it was like to have intact eardrums mere minutes ago. Then common sense slaps you upside the head, yelling about the dragon not even a meter away and demanding you get up before you're turned into a well-done hunter steak.
>You roll away and jump to your feet, putting some much-needed distance between you two while unsheathing your weapons. If only the soreness wracking your limbs would take a backseat in favor of more pressing matters like survival, you could better focus on the problem at hand.
>The problem which, as you properly take in its growling visage, now has traces of blue dust surrounding it.
>This... is not good. You absolutely have to slay it before that dust reaches critical mass.
>Information on Lunastra might be scarce, but if it’s anything like Teostra, you do NOT want to be in the vicinity when it goes off. Granted, you have no firsthand experience with a supernova... and maybe you’ve never actually hunted a Teostra since they’re unusually passive in the New World – BUT – you’ve seen the scorching aftermath and its massive reach. This elder doesn’t harness the blast element the same way Teostra do, but if its supernova involves those fiery puddles you’ve grown to despise... Being burned alive isn’t a pleasant way to go.
>You absolutely need to slay this thing. Running is useless; any prior attempts to disengage were met with a pissed-off Lunastra hot on your heels. The hunt only paused when it decided to change zones, presumably to recover energy. If you flee, the chance that you die tired goes from ‘maybe’ to ‘definitely.’
>At least you’re not the only one with little stamina to spare. There’s no mistaking each strenuous breath that mirrors your own, the recent respite doing little to help either party. Its stance isn't as strong and firm as earlier, and even allowing you the luxury of getting up was off-character. You're confident that despite dealing with similar ailments, you can end this before things take a turn for the worse.
>Confident. Not arrogant. You know the difference.
----------------------------
>Don't falter. It's running on fumes now.
>Of course so are you, but that's beside the point.
>How long have you been at this? Any other monster would've keeled over well before hitting this state. Despite the rapidly-worsening situation, adrenaline works but for so long; you're acutely aware of the sluggishness plaguing your movement as your weary form struggles to comply with the lone, crucial command echoing behind each thought: Survive. Parts of YOU now want to stop, to spare yourself from this seemingly endless torment, but when the alternative is death, why would anyone willingly give up?
>...Now that you think about it, that's probably what's keeping this thing going too. Sheer stubbornness and staunch refusal to die, to the point where they give it their all. You admire such tenacity. Perhaps you'd admire it even more if it weren’t trying to kill you.
>You pathetically back-hop away from a weak swipe, keeping to the side. Early on, you decided the safest spot to be was any area the Lunastra didn't roam. The second-best option was away from its face and tail.
>The elder dragon turns its head to glare at you. Ocean blue blast particles radiate from it, forming a sparkling aura that – again – you'd probably admire more if it wasn't intended to be used on you. Even its crest is glowing.
>Recently, when it began the process of charging up, you were given the opportunity to get in a few solid strikes, which you did while staying alert for the inevitable counterattack.
>But it never came. One scornful eye bore into you while blow after blow rained into unyielding scales in a desperate attempt to make it pause and retaliate, to delay the one thing that could, in an absolute best-case scenario, leave you in grave condition.
>That's when you realized this thing truly wants you dead at all costs.
>A sharp inhale. A twist of its head.
>Those tells are all you need to recognize the incoming sweeping flames. You're dimly aware of the puddles trailing behind you preventing any retreat, and you can't outrun it to the side.
>The decision is made for you as the elder dragon expels a concentrated blast of flames, simultaneously pivoting in order to catch any attempts to dodge. Down you go into a crouch and up goes your arm, presenting your shield to the incoming blaze. Even before it hits, you can feel the immense heat and mentally steel yourself for the worst.
>Fire strikes your defense, your arm being put under extreme pressure that slides you back and into the searing fringes of erupting puddles. While the shield does its job, it can't fully protect your bulky frame; your teeth grind together as errant flames curve around the shield, your vulnerable head subject to temperatures worse than any furnace.
>Once you're in the clear, you momentarily waver – your waning form remains upright thanks to an equally unsteady arm that pushes off the ground as you spring forward. The Lunastra is finishing up its attack, even a short rotation taking time to recover from as it works on regaining balance.
>Your sword swings through the air as you execute two quick vertical strikes on its foreleg, making it flinch in response. The injured limb rises, being pulled away in hopes of avoiding further abuse. Big mistake.
>Spinning on the spot, your round slash isn't as precise and forceful as you want it to be, yet it hits home regardless. The elder dragon recoils even more, and you realize it's wobbling on its remaining unstable legs.
>You're wheezing heavily now, but there's no time to question the new opportunity when your finishing stance left you in the perfect position. You spring forward one last time, keeping low and bringing your shield up to act as a guard in one last-ditch move.
>Being in such close proximity to the elder isn't without downsides; the fiery aura bears down on you, not even your cool drink enough to suppress that level of rage. Pushing past the paw that's been giving you so much trouble, you put your entire weight into your rising shoulder, shielding it from significant injury.
>A guttural, primal roar rips its way out of you as your tackle lands true, striking the Lunastra in its chest. Accompanying that is a deafening explosion that erupts from it, your view suddenly filled with blast particles that dissipate as quickly as they appear.
>In its off-balance state, your pitiful charge is too much to bear. Three fatigued legs fail to keep it upright, the elder dragon tipping over and crashing to the ground with a pained, pathetic roar. You're nearly sent falling too thanks to a flailing claw that grazes your side, but catch yourself. Barely.
>Right now you should be laying into it until it gets back up, but you're still recovering from the tackle, gasping for air as your muscles cry mutiny. This is why you could never get used to a Great Sword.
>...
>Wait a second, its aura is gone. Not only that, it isn't moving.
>The previous scenario where you somehow made it fall over was met with flailing limbs in its endeavor to get back up. Now there's only the ragged heaving of its chest.
>Your boots drag through the crust while you take several steps to Lunastra's head, attempting to get a better look at your downed foe. A distressed muzzle hangs open as it struggles to catch its breath, one visible eye half-closed in exhaustion. Its gaze weakly meets yours as you approach, but you can tell: it doesn’t even have the strength to move its head.
>You’re done.
>There's no joy to be found in your victory, but a wave of relief washes over you, nearly causing you to drop your sword and shield. No one wants to dwell on their own mortality, but when the situation grew exponentially worse by the minute, well....
>In any case, with the sobering prospect of death comfortably behind you, your mood lifts in turn. Now that it’s not trying to murder you, you can properly respect its strength and endurance. Yes, it hates you, but hatred can be a powerful motivator. This Lunastra was a tough foe, to say the least. You admire that.
>Right now you need time to recuperate, but there's one last thing that needs to be done. Before even that, however, something demands your attention.
>Your gaze drifts off to the right, and you stare at the large appendage that sent you flying more than once today.
>Hmmm....
>Sheathing your weapons, you walk over and come to a stop at the Lunastra's tail, intently studying it from top to bottom. Should you cut it? You're almost fascinated with it. The reach is deceptively long, with weight that would put an Uragaan’s to shame. The smithy could definitely find a purpose for it.
>...
>No. You're tired enough as it is and for some reason, cutting off a limb post-hunt doesn't feel right. Also, chopping it would be a nightmare, if not downright impossible in your current state. Indeed, your current gear holds up well enough.
>Finishing up your scan, you make to move when a glint catches your eye. There, near the underside of the tail base.
>Peering closer, you're disappointed to find that it's not, in fact, a gem. Rather it's the result of... wet scales? Monsters don't sweat.
>You take a knee, holding its hind leg for balance. Those scales aren't the only offenders. A thin trail extends to the side, where a larger pool forms and....
>And....
>Oh.
>You can only stare at the partially exposed slit of the elder, the rest hidden by the very leg supporting you. Unlike nearly everywhere else, the scales surrounding it are violet in color, smoothing out the closer they are to her entrance.
>Right... this Lunastra is female, isn't it.
>See, you can tell because of the fluid coating her underside.
>As you continue to gawk like a Kelbi caught in an Apceros stampede, a strand of feminine secretion leaks out like it's trying to give you a firsthand look of how she ended up in this condition. The lewd gesture is enough to snap you out of it, although you're still in shock.
>Wha–
>Why....
>When?
>During all the times she more or less presented her ass to you, not once did you catch wind of this oddity. Not that you were trying to sneak a peek at monster snatch. You, like any respectable hunter, always keep an eye out for changes of any kind in order to avoid being caught off guard. So when did she start getting... aroused?
>For heaven's sake, WHY is she aroused?!
>Your poor head hurts from more than the repeated blows taken today. All you've done is try to kill each other. Absolutely nothing has occurred over the last several hours that you or anyone in their right mind would ever view as attractive. Being incapacitated and completely at the mercy of your enemy isn’t exactly what you’d consider a turn-on... although the sight before you begs to differ.
>Well, if you think about the Black Diablos, you know they're extremely hostile to everything, even a potential mate. Exactly how their suitor gets over that hurdle is beyond you; the finer intricacies of Diablos courtship lie far outside your area of expertise, but you suspect it involves more violence than what should be acceptable for an herbivore. Do Lunastra have a similar, more life-threatening approach? Even if they do, this doesn't add up, seeing as you certainly haven't been propositioned by the handful of Black Diablos you've dealt with. They can differentiate between you and a fellow member of their species.
>So what's the deal with this Lunastra? Has she mistaken you for her crimson opposite? Or did you display such ferocity that in her view, you tick off all the boxes of the ideal mate despite the glaring lack of tail, wings, fangs, claws, glorious mane–
>Stop that, you're getting off track. This isn’t a horny wyvern you’re dealing with, but an elder dragon. It’s extremely doubtful that she sees anything other than your armored, bipedal and distinctly non-leonine form. But, that only leaves the second theory....
>In any case, you're confused. Confused because of all the scenarios that could've occurred, this was perhaps the most outlandish and improbable, and confused because you don't know what to do. Well that's not entirely true. You came here with the intention to slay or, if all else failed, repel an elder dragon. And you're all but finished with that task.
>No, what you're drawing a blank on is not the near-motionless Lunastra assigned to you as a hunting target, but the near-motionless and highly stimulated Lunastra that apparently thinks you're The One.
>And that's the problem. Things aren't as clear-cut when the monster is passive, and even less so when they display something like... this. So much for your personal rule: ONLY go after belligerent beasts that leave zero doubt as to whom the aggressor is. What a spectacular backfire.
>So what now?
>You finally tear your gaze away from her slit, glancing over to where her head lies. Somehow she's already recovered enough to lift it, head craned back to observe you. Your bewildered stare doesn’t invoke a reaction from her and as you continue gawking, you feel as though the boundless rage in the Lunastra's eyes has seemingly dissolved, leaving only the uncomfortable air of prolonged scrutiny. Unlike earlier, you can't make anything of her tired, enigmatic expression, yet her gaze again remains firmly affixed to yours with the same unnerving focus that originally caught you off-guard. Judgement. But this time, the result doesn't appear to be hatred. Is she expecting you to do something?
>Eventually she lies back down, leaving you to address the situation.
>You do not want to fuck this Lunastra, that much is certain. Something about being repeatedly slapped, burned, tackled, and occasionally bitten over the course of many hours has left an unpleasant taste in your mouth and there's no doubt in your mind that, had things gone differently, you wouldn't even be alive now. Not to mention she's a monster. Not even having the hots for you is enough to negate that.
>No, you have no interest in dicking her.
>...
>However, you're not completely sold on leaving her as-is. Exhausted as you are, her mannerisms have sparked growing curiosity in you, along with an itching desire to make her squirm for the hassle she put you through. There's no point in brooding over what-ifs when the outcome has already been decided, right? You can consider this a weird payback of sorts.
>Also... mayyyybe you’re admittedly kind-of-sort-of flattered that your hunting prowess evoked such a reaction from an elder dragon, bizarre as it is.
>Mind made up, you quickly remove your slinger and gauntlet, placing it on the ground as you awkwardly shuffle your kneeling form until her hind legs lies before you.
>Lifting the Lunastra's leg with a single arm proves to be an unexpected workout, and you chalk your mild trembling up to weariness as you sit and straddle her other leg, moving the lifted limb to partially rest on your shoulder – mostly for show, as the brunt of its weight remains supported by your arm. There isn’t anything left to hide now, and you take in the unintentionally suggestive display. There's hardly an area left untouched by her juices. Even the inside of her thighs are flecked with excitement.
>Your free hand slowly reaches out, but there aren't any naughty intentions. Not yet.
>A noticeable warmth encompasses your hand as you gently rest it on her leg, well beyond the reach of her fluids. The royal blue scales your fingers skim over have a plate-like appearance, forming rows of rough armor that can repel all but the sharpest of tools, as you learned first-hand.
>You lightly make your way to the side, continuing to silently enjoy the sensation. For all the time you've spent hunting, you've never actually felt a monster. You prefer to keep your hands well-guarded.
>It doesn't take long before you reach the liquid cause of your true motive. Only your palm lifts as you smoothly cross the amorous barrier to her underside, turning your ministrations from innocent into questionable.
>There's a hitch in your breathing as your fingertips become slick, reduced friction naturally hastening their movement. You're approaching the source and, despite your recent bravado, can't help but hesitate.
>It's not reluctance that makes you pause, but doubt. Better to take things slow...er. Slower.
>Four mischievous digits trace a large circle just outside where the Lunastra's scales begin making their transition to an alluring purple. When you finish making a full pass, you repeat the process, tightening the circle.
>By the third go, there's a notable rise in temperature within her violet territory. This time you apply a bit more pressure to your rubbing, and the leg underneath you twitches, your weight doing nothing to suppress the reflex.
>Your fingers encircle her slit a fourth time, coaxing out another small dribble of feminine lubricant, the sight sending a faint jolt through you. A slumbering part of you wants to throw all forms of subtlety out the window and dive in, but that wouldn’t be any fun.
>You're nearly at your prize now. Straying just outside where her folds begin, you perform one last circuit through the tender, glistening scales.
>There's a moment of alarm as her thighs weakly constrict around you, her leg shifting in your strained support. Once it passes – and you're certain she hasn't regained enough strength to crush you – you remove your love-stained hand from her nethers, using it to further raise the appendage that's been blocking your view.
>The elder dragon's head lies on the ground just barely out of sight. All you can see is the steady rise and fall of her chest, still more pronounced than normal. Then, likely sensing something was amiss thanks to your ceased actions, her head raises.
>You have no idea why you wanted to see her face, considering the lack of expressions that muzzle can show. Her eyes are more focused now, but you still can't discern anything. What are you searching for? A more direct sign of approval? The answer remains ever elusive, but one thing's for certain: you wish you knew what she was thinking.
>With a huff, you lower her leg back to its one-armed support. Your hand has a job to finish.
>You've nearly completed the Lunastra world tour; before you lies the finish line, so to speak. After taking a quiet, deep breath, you continue.
>Smoldering heat dances under your fingers as you carefully press down on her slit, taking care not to delve into the soaked entrance – the sensation coaxes more minor contractions from her legs. Scales fade into a smooth surface that offers no resistance while you slide across her length, keeping what you presume is light pressure applied to the engorged opening. When you reach its edge, you begin anew in the opposite direction.
>Thus begins a soft, rhythmic clenching in the two powerful limbs you're sandwiched between as you tease the leonine elder, your ministrations starting to have a noticeable effect. A steady trickle of juices flow from her, your digits painting a portrait of desire with each stroke.
>There's also a faint stirring in your pants, but you pay it no mind. You continue massaging the Lunastra's entrance, heart beating ever so quicker at the events transpiring and soon to come.
>Eventually when your hand pauses yet again, you decide to take things further. Your index and middle finger take charge as you apply just enough inward force to part her folds up to your first knuckles.
>...
>Yes, you are nervous.
>Admitting it to yourself is the small confidence booster you were looking for. Taking another deep, unsteady breath, you proceed, sinking further into her most intimate area.
>Slick, velvety walls press against your digits, sending another jolt through you that entices your fingers to delve deeper, but it's the heat that immediately grabs your attention. Admittedly you were concerned about the possibility of being scalded by her, what with being an elder dragon that more or less embodies fire itself; you're pleasantly relieved by the moderate temperature that, at worst, might make you break a sweat.
>A faint, garbled growl you can't quite place escapes the Lunastra, your busy hand reflexively twitching as you hilt at the third knuckle. Considering her size, you weren't expecting to coax out a reaction just by testing the waters, but it's encouraging nonetheless.
>Withdrawing from her, you repeat the motion, adding a third finger, then a fourth. With each caress, she continues to gently squeeze you with her legs, applying more pressure than before and bringing forth another wave of liquid arousal. On the fifth stroke, all five digits are pressed against each other while you slide in with no resistance, your hand enveloped by soft and unexpectedly snug warmth as you push up to your wrist. A dampened growl fills your ears as she lightly shakes – no, squirms from the sensation, your makeshift seat gingerly jostling you. It's getting harder to deny the embers of your own arousal now, your member twitching in response to this unusual act.
>...You can't help it. The arm that's been supporting her leg is placed under undeserved stress as you laboriously lift the appendage to once again view the Lunastra, discovering that she's already facing your way.
>Two amber eyes are trained solely on you, heavy with what you can best assume is lust. Her muzzle is parted slightly, but the new bout of heavy breathing is from a different workout this time.
>Witnessing her in such a state makes your heart jump, pulse quickly ramping up in turn. Being able to pleasure a partner has always been a turn-on for you, and it seems four legs and a snout aren’t enough to deter that. Your cock has risen to half-mast, a shameless symbol of your degeneracy.
>You're unable to keep the shivers out of your voice as you let out a deep breath, lowering her leg to return to the task at hand. Nervous? No. You realize that feeling disappeared nearly as quickly as it arrived. The trembling you're suppressing? Excitement.
>This entire time, your hand has been buried wrist-deep in her heated folds, unmoving. Pulling out induces another fidget in the Lunastra and another jolt through you. Your hand is absolutely drenched in lubricant, and for a brief second a thought flashes by before you banish it: what about oral stimulation?
>No, there's one goal here and that won't achieve anything. Besides, it's not like your tongue can offer significant stimulation.
>Instead, five digits close in on your palm, forming a tool better suited for someone of her size. Eager eyes watch as her slit parts again; your fist spreads her just wide enough for you to catch your first glimpse of her nethers, the pink walls teasing you as you sink deeper into tantalizing grounds. The act earns another shudder from the Lunastra, and you feel her squeeze against your invading hand.
>You originally planned on taking this slower: slowly introduce more fingers, get her (hopefully) worked up with all five, and then eventually proceed with the main event. Somewhere along the line those plans took a backseat, a different head taking control.
>The new arbitrary limit is an inch or so past your wrist as you withdraw, then re-enter her, producing a soft schlick from the repeated motion. You fall into the slow, steady rhythm of push-and-pull, massaging her velvet walls that gently constrict with each inward thrust. Her supported leg, having briefly lain dormant, begins to rock against you and lightly shift your figure on its own.
>After about a minute of this treatment, you notice your arm isn't moving quite as much as you thought. Upon focusing on her movements, you realize it's more than the Lunastra's leg that's been active. Her violet, love-soaked slit pushes into you with every thrust you take.
>...
>This is hot.
>The elder dragon submitting herself to you. The steady dribble of feminine lubricant as you pleasure her. Her tantalizingly warm, snug walls that grip you on every thrust. The soft constrictions of her legs around your body. The light growls that periodically send the faintest of vibrations through you. And her gentle humping against your hand, wordlessly expressing her desire for more.
>Your erection is straining against its armored prison, the self-confession sending a surge of emotions through you.
>You want more.
>There's a growing thickness in the air, the telltale musk of sex permeating your sense of smell and adding fuel to your own arousal with every passing second. Your breathing quickens, heart hammering as you steadily bring the Lunastra closer to her peak. If there even is one.
>Can she cum? You're eager to find out.
>Her hoisted leg applies a bit more pressure to your arm as it starts subtly bending with each stroke; the twinge of irritation creeping into your overworked limb goes ignored in favor of more important tasks.
>...Is it your imagination, or are things getting a bit warmer? In any case, it's not enough to cause discomfort. Your fist continues its lewd symphony of pumping in and out of stimulated elder, her own thrusts appearing to grow ragged as you dutifully service her. Her leg must have a mind of its own with how much it’s startling to jostle you.
>Is she getting close to climaxing? Just the thought makes your cock throb. You don't know what to look out for, but her growls of (presumed) passion remain as steady as your ministrations. The same can't be said for her tail. The large appendage has started to lightly thump against the ground, the rhythmic motion waving blast particles through the air in an almost graceful fashion that could resemble–
>Wait what.
>Your hand pauses to rest against her entrance as you perform a double take. Arousal is severely clouding both judgement and perception, but there's no mistaking the traces of blue dust dancing off of her tail.
>Your primitive, lust-addled mental state isn’t doing you any favors as you attempt to process the worrying development.
>That's a bad thing!
>But you're doing a good thing!
>You need to do something about the bad thing!
>But you want to keep doing the good thing! And by good thing you mean this Lunastra!
>Before you can decide on the best course of action, the precious leg you've been bolstering for so long stirs up a ruckus, threatening to knock you over as it fusses about. What the hell?!
>Your arm did not sign up for the extra abuse, so you quickly offload the burden; just in time as the erratic limb remains lifted on its own, pulling back towards its owner.
>What is she try–
>You can barely detect the well-aimed paw smashing into your torso before everything becomes a blur, tumbling head over heels as the strike sends you skidding an unknown distance away.
>You come to a stop face-up, equipment uncomfortably digging into your back. Your sexy shenanigans with the Lunastra dulled the aches and pains from your significantly less-sexy conflict prior, but the fresh fall brings everything back with a vengeance as you groan. Right, you never did get a chance to rest. In fact, you've only placed yourself under further stress when you were already at your limit. Horniness truly is an infallible motivator.
>Outside of that, however, only your pride is harmed. It was more of a shove than a kick, really. You're fortunate she didn't use any claws.
>What was that for? Any impure thoughts have mostly dissipated, leaving confusion in their wake. You need to get up, and quickly.
>Unfortunately you are in no condition to do so. The fall has left you winded and your battered body, having recognized the abrupt cancelation of your raunchy deeds, is demanding you stay down and call it a day.
>There's the sound of footfalls, and your vision is filled with blue as your former partner towers above you, coming to a stop in front of your seemingly deadweight legs. To recover from her injuries in such a short time...? You may have underestimated this Lunastra.
>A foreleg raises, the motion causing you to feebly raise an arm to defend yourself from the incoming swipe, but the attack hits home, your naked arm being slammed to the ground and roughly... pinned?
>You weakly shift to budge against the invading limb, but your free arm has little time to move before it's sharply forced against your side, earning a painful grunt from you as another paw immobilizes both it and your legs in one fell swoop.
>Two large paws bear down on you, stifling any movement from your helpless limbs as the elder towers above her caught prey. She's lost her sensual expression, returning to the default look of contempt.
>...
>Being an order of magnitude smaller than monsters has never been a deterrent; in fact, the handicap only emboldens you. Going toe-to-toe with walking natural disasters, some capable of manipulating the environment itself, is a herculean task even for groups, and shouldering the burden alone is something you take pride in – not out of vanity, but candid acknowledgement of your skill. You are strong.
>Yet here you lie, pinned with no feasible method of escape and completely at the mercy of a Lunastra. A Lunastra who, less than an hour ago, was fighting with you to the death. Hardly a distant memory in your minds.
>...Yes, you're strong. But you are not invincible.
>You're well and truly trapped, your pulse quickening for drastically less erotic reasons. She wouldn't kill you after the passionate session she so abruptly ended, right? Didn't you two already get the murderous impulses out of your systems? Or was she expecting you to hold her down the entire time in a display of dominance? Because as much as you were kind of starting to wish you could, your size doesn't allow it.
>Your thoughts aren't as panicked as they could – and probably should – be, thanks to one question: if she wanted you dead, why go through the trouble of holding you down?
>An easily refutable point, yet it helps you maintain some semblance of composure while two cold eyes stare at you, unblinking. The Lunastra lowers herself to rest with her head looming above your torso. The pressure shifts – for a moment you think she's letting you go, but she simply adjusts her awkwardly-placed forelegs. You bide your time for an opening but considering a single paw easily dwarves your torso, no limb goes unsecured for even a millisecond while she settles into a more comfortable position.
>You once ridiculed her for her lack of displayed intelligence. Oh, how wrong you turned out to be. To view her current actions as anything other than deliberate, controlled entrapment would be downright stupid.
>Her breathing has mostly calmed while yours now runs ragged. Over the last several hours, you've grown accustomed to facing an angrier, snarling Lunastra, but now – as you observe the near-symmetrical visage literally looking down upon you – her expression is neutral, devoid of rage. Or at least you think so.
>Breaking eye contact, her gaze drifts lower like she's inspecting your getup. After a few seconds her head lowers to your waist, crest dominating your view as she continues to intently study your scuffed gear.
>When you first defeated her, she was in an equally precarious spot: unable to move, with her assailant lording over her feeble form. What went through the elder's mind while you stood out of view? Did your hesitance give her the very same hope you now hold? From the fall to when you began teasing her, she had no way of knowing that your intentions would change.
>You wish you could read her mind. But from lying here, in an even more helpless state than she was... you think you understand this Lunastra's plight.
>You've been motionless and on high-alert throughout this unsolicited inspection, so when the Lunastra's muzzle begins to creak open, alarm bells start blaring in your head. What is she doing?
>Restrained limbs don't stop you from fidgeting as a set of fangs indirectly bare themselves to you, lowering even further until they're pressed against your coil.
>Uhhh....
>It isn't until the dangerous teeth start closing in on each other that you really start getting nervous. Surely she's not trying to bite you.
>You can't tear your eyes away while the Lunastra exerts more pressure with each tense second, the growing strain starting to take its toll on your armor. Both pressure points begin to crumple with a quiet groan, and you finally feel the weight of her powerful jaws bearing down on their target.
>Aw shit.
>Your heart rate is rapidly approaching milestones better suited for strenuous activity. It takes unfathomable levels of willpower to remain still, or as still as you can when she's trying to crunch into you like you're the tastiest meal she's ever seen. If, hopefully... HOPEFULLY she's not aiming for you, you don't want to squirm up a storm and get scraped anyway.
>Your gear has endured many, many attempts from monsters' desire to take a piece out of you, but nothing could've prepared it for the prolonged force of an elder dragon's bite. There's a sharp snap, a quick jerk, and you pinch your eyes shut and flinch as the worst comes to fruition.
>...You're not bleeding. There's something foreign pressed against your hip, though.
>Prying your eyes open, you discover the cause: the Lunastra's fangs have broken through the coil. In fact, not only did she pierce through the coil, but your greaves as well. You'd marvel at the incredible control displayed that spared you a puncture wound, but you're drawing a blank on how ruining your custom-made gear is a good thing. At least she's not trying to kill you.
>Yet?
>Stop that.
>Your waist jerks again when she pulls up and to the side, keeping you firmly in place to witness the horrifying sight of your armor being ripped open. Your coil and greaves are nothing more than a flimsy piece of parchment to her, a large strip being torn from one side to the other in a cacophony of grating metal that starkly contrasts the slow, methodical care used mere seconds ago.
>Imagine if she got her jaws around you earlier. Wait, on second thought, don't.
>The feeble strip is left hanging pathetically to the side, exposing most of your bare thighs and the entirety of your briefs to the world as the Lunastra again peers at your waist. A second goes by, then she squints. When she descends once more, your squirming must be more noticeable than you thought; her paws tighten their hold on you ever so slightly.
>Not even your underwear is a match for her. The final valiant line of defense falls, unveiling your naked crotch to the leonine elder. Understandably, your member did not appreciate the acts of being thrown aside and held against your will, and now lies flaccid. This doesn't seem to bother her; she must think it's the most fascinating sight in the world with how her eyes are solely focused on it.
>Despite the rapid beating of your heart, not a sound escapes your lips, your breathing heavy as you watch her every move. A cobalt nose inches forward, and you shudder as it nuzzles your cock. It's warm. Everything about her is warm, it seems.
>The air cools for a moment before a wave of heat washes over your crotch, producing a pleasant tingling. The Lunastra's eyes slowly close as the process repeats several times, and it dawns on you: she's not just breathing, she's taking in your scent.
>Unlike the rapid snuffles of an Odogaron, her inhalations are slow and deliberate as she patiently explores every inch of you. Her curious nose probes your exposed features with care, nuzzling underneath your cock and burying into the soft orbs that lie beneath – every lull precedes a warm huff that sends a small wave of pleasure through you and makes your member twitch. This display shouldn't affect you to such an extent... but having your features examined in such an intimate, instinctual manner stirs something deep inside you. For her, simply observing you doesn't appease her curiosity. Lightly tracing across your skin yet holding rapt attention to your genitals, the ebb and flow of heat unabashedly reveals the Lunastra's captivation – your musk is an unequivocal signal, more potent than any dubious sense of sight and leaving no doubt in her mind: This is a male.
>It's impossible to suppress your newfound trembling and this time it's not from distress, your cock slowly responding to the tag-team efforts of her and your own inappropriate musings. You had a hunch she wasn't trying to (intentionally) harm you once your armor was removed without a scratch. Even now you can't be entirely sure something won't go awry, but with how things are playing out you're likely in the clear. Or at least you hope.
>A deep rumbling sound fills your ears, the elder dragon opening her eyes as her delicate snout lifts from your cock.
>Waiiiiit just a second, does she want you to mate with her? Even if you were entertaining the idea – and you still aren’t – your arm easily wins in the size category. How would you–
>That thought is immediately stifled when something warm and wet blankets your half-mast cock, a subdued gasp escaping you as it slides up your crotch. The sensation departs, and you’re barely given a chance to collect yourself before it occurs again, this time making your heart jump.
>The Lunastra’s large, surprisingly soft tongue covers your cock with each stroke, trailing from your sensitive balls to the base of your chest piece. Her gentle ministrations steadily turn you into a quivering bundle of nerves as you slowly rise to attention; your member only cares about the slick, sensual organ that leaves you trembling with each caress, not where – or what – it’s coming from.
>It’s not long before your well-polished erection stands tall before her. Letting up from her work, the Lunastra pauses to stare at the sight.
>Where did THIS come from?! Is this payback for your own erotic doings? Or do Lunastra naturally pin their partner down and service them? What's her end goal here? When will she stop?
>...Do you even want her to stop?
>As if reading your mind, her tongue extends, pushing your cock away as it glides from the base of your shaft to the head, where a small drop of pre has formed. This doesn’t go unnoticed; the next lick has your tip serviced from start to finish, your length once again being involuntarily pushed back and diminishing the exotic stimulation.
>A low growl reverberates from her, eyes narrowing in some form of irritation. Her jaws part and your eyes widen in terror as your cock moves partially out of view between two dangerous sets of teeth and into the heated mouth of the Lunastra, an involuntary response you’re only moderately ashamed of. Yes, she’s done nothing but show restraint, but how could anyone NOT harbor some healthy fear after seeing their armor ripped to scraps?
>Then your eyes twitch as her tongue finds your length, continuing the act of servicing you. She’s far warmer than the already intense heat of the Recess caves, and your tip presses against the roof of her mouth as she licks you again, coaxing forth a small gasp.
>Another brief pause, then her muzzle descends, nose coming to gently rest against your gut. Your cock is almost completely immersed in her maw now.
>Each stroke from her tongue has started with your entire length being pressed against the smooth muscle, and when she starts back up, it’s no different. That is, until your cock is pushed against her palate.
>You can’t help but push into the impossibly warm embrace of the Lunastra’s tongue as it cradles and strokes your length against her maw, the surge of pleasure causing you to exhale unsteadily. Stars above, why did you ever doubt her. Never again.
>Her treatment quickly brings forth another small wave of pre, the tip of your cock swiftly brushed over in a way that makes your hands clench. Never did you think you’d receive the best blowjob of your life from a monster, but right now you don’t care at all. All that matters is the persistent tongue bathing your member.
>A particularly slow drag of her tongue finally makes you crack, a poorly suppressed moan forcing its way out and breaking the near-silence. Yet another lull, then the elder dragon lifts ever so slightly to peer at you.
>You’ve been staring at the Lunastra during the entire ordeal, but it's only now – with her head so close to yours and more importantly, not trying to maul you for once – that her features seem to come into focus: the odd strands of white peppered throughout her brilliant blue mane. The subtle creases on her smooth muzzle. Azure scales that contrast the two half-lidded saffron orbs calmly observing their partner. You're not sure if it's just the lust-addled haze but... from a head-on perspective, Lunastra are kind of... attractive.
>Your cock twitches at the revelation. You wonder what she thinks of your own reactions to her treatment.
>The Lunastra returns her attention back to your cock, or so you think. Her eyes drift up to lock with yours right as another slow lick glides along your cock, your hips desperately attempting to rise but only succeeding in burying her nose in your stomach. Deliberate teasing. Have mercy.
>Her deep rumbling returns and at this point you force yourself to break eye contact, instead staring at two regal horns as you attempt to salvage what little intelligence remains after experiencing the newfound sensation. There’s no calming your hastened breathing now, your mouth slightly ajar in pleasure.
>If she keeps this up, you’re going to blow your load in a couple of minutes, and that’s if you hold out. Each stroke applies more pressure than the last, her tongue keeping you in its intimate embrace to lap up the steady stream of pre leaking from your cock – all while periodic rumbles of satisfaction escape from the content elder dragon.
>So much for pleasuring her. This all started because you wanted to make her squirm. You beat her. You should be in control. Yet, the two heavy paws draped over your limbs strongly suggest that this Lunastra now holds the reins.
>It’s extremely difficult to maintain your thoughts while she pushes you closer to the edge, but something about ‘losing’ is nagging you. This isn't what you wanted. Heavens above, the gentle tongue bathing your cock is making you think otherwise, but you had no choice in this. Asking nicely won't change anything.
>You need to make things right, but in your current position it might be too late. You’re all but panting now, another tantalizing lick making you quietly whimper against your will. Glancing down to the elder, you find she’s completely lost in the moment, eyes closed while she works along your length.
>Sapphire Star give you strength, because you almost cum right then and there.
>Your toes are curling on their own now, marking the beginning of the end. Trembling arms attempt to move in a last-ditch effort, and to your surprise you discover your naked arm has quite a bit of wiggle room. Even more unexpectedly, your fidgeting doesn’t incur the tightening of her paw. This Lunastra must be in a different world right now.
>Your arm carefully inches its way out of her slackened grip as you make your final stand against Lust. Don't think about the heat of her mouth. Do not think about the textured, dexterous muscle relentlessly teasing your cock, sliding along your length and milking every drop of pre because this is what she wants, this Lunastra wants you to paint her tongue white and oh god you have to do something NOW.
>Your skin scrapes against the ground as you retract your arm as fast as possible. As your hand crosses the final stretch, you feel a weight press down, but it’s too late. The Lunastra stops mid-lick, your cock still nestled against her tongue while her eyes open to glare at the escaped prisoner. What will she do now?
>You’re so focused on following her reaction you nearly miss the paw readjusting to trap you again, expertly dodging it in time. Your other limbs haven't been afforded the same luxurious space, so they remain still. If she tightens her hold now, you’re not going anywhere.
>At this point the Lunastra lifts her head, your cock subjected to one last shiver-inducing caress that almost finishes the job as it departs her maw. She’s zeroed in on your elusive limb, a low growl slipping through her now-closed muzzle.
>The next attempt has her other paw join the fray, and you barely avoid the two large wardens banding together to capture you.
>...
>It takes a shameful number of seconds to realize your other arm and legs are free.
>Before she can notice her mistake you hastily scramble to your feet, legs still weak from pleasure. Your ruined coil slips to the ground as you put some distance between her with a back-hop.
>You can’t believe that happened. It’s like she briefly turned into an overgrown felyne.
>You must also look ridiculous: a large strip torn across your greaves that hangs uselessly to the side, your not-so-restrained panting, and of course the glistening, saliva-coated erection that proudly juts out like it’s your own natural Gun Lance, recent ministrations still fresh in both of your heads.
>If this Lunastra agrees, you’ll never know. For someone who made an effort to knock you down and keep you there, she’s awfully still. She remains prone, staring at you with the same expression you can never place.
“Sorry... but I can’t let this continue.”
>You can. You absolutely can. You need nothing more than for her soft, skilled tongue to continue stroking your cock until you lose control, spilling wave after wave of cum into her eager, heated maw–
>STOP. THAT.
>Your vivid lusts are doing nothing to help subside your erection. The mental imagery makes your cock jump, pre leaking from your tip. The Lunastra’s gaze immediately shifts lower, and you have to take a deep breath to steady yourself as best you can. You don’t even think you can forgive yourself for this.
“Well... not like this, I mean. Maybe after I’m done with you.”
>You don’t like how the sharp edges of your newly-formed crotchless greaves threaten to cut your skin, so you – while keeping a close eye on her – start to remove them, the process expedited thanks to the upper half more or less not existing. You manage to free one leg before the Lunastra moves, and you freeze as she slowly rises, sliding into the same aggressive stance you grew accustomed to over the hours. This both confuses and worries you, to say the least.
>She’s not about to attack you, right?
>Your other leg leaves the broken, singed armor, and you let them fall to the side while you naturally shift into a defensive stance, hands raised in appeasement as your bare feet dig into the crust. Only your chest piece and a single gauntlet remain to keep you safe. There’s also your sword and shield, but... are they really needed?
“All you have to do is lie down.”
>You don’t know why you’re talking; she can’t understand you. But attacking her object of affection after the lengths taken to NOT harm you doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. Not unless she’s trying to recapture you.
>As if responding to your perfectly reasonable demands, the elder dragon growls, her sharp gaze drilling a hole into you... but it doesn’t seem to hold the same burning intensity as when you fought before.
>In any case, your erection is diminishing fast at the prospect of having to duke it out again. With all of the abuse you’ve taken today, one stiff breeze is all that’s needed to send you sprawling. You don’t have it in you to endure a second round. There was a good thing going, and you’re reluctant to throw it aside just because she wants your dick. Admittedly, it’s incredibly hot - any other day your pants would be voluntarily removed in a flash. Doing so now, however, would mean giving control to her. Your pride doesn’t allow it.
>Your internal musings are cut short when the Lunastra snarls, wings flaring out as she rises to her hind legs in a notably slower manner than earlier.
>You need to move.
>You barely take one step before a powerful gust of wind buffets you, nearly knocking you over as you skid back several feet, arms raised to guard your face from the incoming flames. If that happens again, you’d rather fall down and roast yourself. Your legs can’t take any more repeated abuse.
>...Huh, you don’t seem to be burning alive. Where’s the hellfire?
>Lowering your arms reveals nothing but blackened crust around you, not a flicker of blue flames to be found. It also reveals the crouched form of your aggressor in the beginnings of a pounce.
>Despite the warning given, it isn’t until she’s already airborne that you start a futile roll to the side. But instead of being bowled over mid-roll, you feel the ground shake when the Lunastra lands before you, your sluggish getup broken by a heavy strike to your back that sends stars exploding across your vision as you stagger away in a winded, wheezing daze. You’d recognize that paw swipe anywhere, but it doesn’t quite carry the same lethality when claws aren’t involved....
>First the lack of fire, then the pounce, then the slap. She’s definitely holding back from causing you harm. Unnecessary harm.
>The revelation doesn’t bring much relief. Each arduous evasion wears you down more than the last – if this keeps going, she won't need to land a single hit. You'll end up collapsing from sheer exhaustion alone.
>...Which is exactly what she wants. Of course.
>Whirling around, you come face-to-face with the Lunastra. Her large chest heaves with each labored breath, revealing she hasn’t recovered as quickly as you thought. She’s just as tired as you.
>And... perhaps your degeneracy has corrupted you, because there’s no malice to be found in her gaze. Just the embers of desire.
>The corners of your mouth faintly creep up as you shake your head in disbelief. What an absurd turn of events.
“Fine.”
>You reach behind you, neatly withdrawing and equipping your shield in one smooth motion. If she thinks you’re going to figuratively (and literally) lie down and take it, she’s sorely mistaken. You won’t be satisfied unless she’s the first to become a quivering mess.
“I’ll remind you who came out on top.”
----------------------------
>Your heart beats a mile a minute, exhaustion, adrenaline, and excitement all combining into the amalgam of fuel that keeps you going. There’s far less at stake now compared to before, but it doesn’t feel that way. You’ve already proven yourself; to be forced to do so again is downright... insulting.
>This Lunastra needs a reminder: it isn't you who first accepted defeat, but her. She should be submitting to you.
>Your shield strikes its target dead-on, the Lunastra barely flinching from the blow. It’ll take a lot more than flimsy blunt attacks to induce any injuries to her head, as you know from experience, so – after some unreciprocated hesitation – you've taken to focusing the only body part where the weapon shines.
>From your peripheral vision you spot a paw coming in high, and opt to barely duck under the sluggish swipe with a strained grunt.
>Throughout your short bout, not once has she bared a fang or claw, nor produced a hint of (hell)fire. Even her tail, which alone is more than capable of putting you out of commission, has only been used to maintain balance. And while you’re grateful for the restraint, it’s drastically reduced her offensive capabilities.
>You spring up from your dodge, using the lift to deliver a shield bash that connects just behind her pointed chin. The elder dragon’s head jerks from the uppercut, letting out a weak growl as you back-hop away and out of danger.
>The first thing you notice is the trembling. Her figure struggles to remain still as she stares at you, or in your direction at the very least. You don’t think she actually sees you. Something’s off.
>Another growl escapes, though it’s less pronounced than the previous, almost pitiful in nature. Her legs don’t seem to be holding up too well either, their quaking ramping up by the second.
>Then you watch in suspense as all four limbs give out, sending the Lunastra crashing to the ground with her legs splayed out in an almost comical fashion. Her head lies on the crust, faintly rocking as she gazes into nothing.
>Oh, she’s stunned.
>That means you win. Again.
>Just like before, there’s no joy to be found in your victory, although it’s for entirely different reasons. Every individual cell in your body aches. Every muscle cries for rest. You've long since passed your physical limits - that you have the willpower to stand is a feat of its own, your labored panting only adding to your bottomless fatigue.
>But you can't stop here. There's more to come and you have no intention of stopping now.
>You shuffle over to your incapacitated rival, coming to a stop just in front of her. She’s still out of it, breathing heavily and showing no sign of noticing your approach.
>Taking a knee is not on the list of approved actions recently revised by your legs, but you manage well. Your free hand raises and you begin slowly waving it back and forth in front of her face.
>Seconds tick by with no reaction. Eventually, disoriented eyes gradually start shifting, black pupils lazily following the metronomic gesture. Not long after, something must’ve clicked for her because she finally focuses on you. She’s fine. Winded, but otherwise fine.
>You sigh in relief, using the lull to take a much-needed breather. She's tougher than you, that's for sure. Another strong hit from her and it probably would’ve been lights-out.
>But now....
>A tired, yet smug grin forms as you stare at the Lunastra. Twice now you’ve bested her.
“I’ll be claiming what’s mine now.”
>You don’t break eye contact as you rise, and neither does she. Just that simple exchange sends a jolt through you.
>The trip to her side is a short one, your shield casually being discarded to the ground in the process. Upon coming to a stop, however, the weight of the task ahead makes you balk. How in the world are you going to roll her over? You were already having doubts on merely supporting her leg, but this? You’d likely struggle to do it even if you weren’t fatigued. This was not part of the plan.
>Still, you have to try. Your triumph refuses to be thwarted by her awkward position.
>After getting both hands underneath her underbelly, you lift, and it instantly becomes obvious that you’ll need a heroic burst of strength to accomplish anything. Then to your surprise, the load lightens, the figure before you moving on her own until she’s lying on her side with little to no effort on your part. Well, that’s one way to get it done.
>...Maybe you can push this further. It’s worth a shot.
>Assuming the same stance, you once again lift with all of your might, which isn’t saying much. Thankfully your intent isn’t to lift her this time.
>Come on, take the hint....
>A few seconds pass. You’re about to give up when the elder dragon shifts, twisting further. Her back arches and you’re forced to relocate south when a large cerulean wing emerges from the nook, stretching out well beyond its owner. With the worst out of the way, the Lunastra finally comes to a rest on her back. Much better. You won’t have to hold her leg up anymore.
>It’s an interesting sight to behold and you wonder if she’s ever been in such a position before: both hind legs naturally spread wide and forelegs kept close to her chest, two paws neatly tucked in while she remains mostly still. Your only goal was to make things easier, but seeing her exposed like this – to surrender to you and oblige your unusual request – makes your cock stir.
>You slip by a row of sharp claws, moving behind her leg where you finally get to admire your prize. The Lunastra’s slit remains coated with arousal, the violet scales directing you to her entrance. In her current submissive pose, it’s the most alluring invitation you’ve ever seen, your cock starting to wake up.
>Your remaining gauntlet is removed and carelessly tossed aside, only your chest piece and sword remaining on your person as you move to straddle just past the base of her tail. Her scales are rough, but warm on your exposed skin as you sit down, her fluids rubbing on you from the newfound contact. From your new position with her legs splayed out beside you, the size disparity is made even more apparent with her head barely blocked by her chest. Neither development fazes you in the slightest.
>Instead you focus on the needy slit in front of you as your member starts to rise. Now to resume where you left off....
>Your recently freed hand takes charge as you begin to massage her slit, coating your hand with her warm juices. Her reaction is immediate, legs tensing up with each pass. She must be even more sensitive than before.
>Even you’re starting to feel wound-up, eager to proceed after the short battle for dominance. Halfway through your stroke, your hand curls into a fist, pressing firmly against the Lunastra’s entrance. The time for foreplay has long passed.
>You slowly push into her, the slick, velvety walls surrounding your hand and reminding you of the blowjob you gave up. Your cock pulses at the memory, rapidly approaching full-mast.
>A growl of approval fills your ears as you sink deeper, and you glance up to find the Lunastra’s head lifted just high enough to look at you, or the performance you’re putting on. If she wants to observe, you have no complaints.
>You pick up from where you were interrupted last time, continuing to pump in and out of her. The deep rumbling returns, sending small vibrations through you that feel unexpectedly pleasant against your balls. It’s not long until her hips start gently undulating with each thrust, silently encouraging you to push deeper. A request you’re all too happy to oblige – or would be if it weren’t for the traces of blast dust forming around her barrel, the discovery slowing your efforts.
>Bad thing!
>But how can it be a bad thing when you’re doing a good thing? When she did a good thing to you?
>Philosophical debate over, you elect to ignore the particles. There’s something more important on your mind anyway.
>With each thrust, your forearm sinks further into her warm folds, periodic growls emitting from the Lunastra. A good sign, but you want to speed things up.
>Your arm begins to carefully shift on each stroke, applying more pressure as you slowly search for her clit... if she even has one. Unsurprisingly, your copied Hunter’s Notes don’t mention reproductive anatomy, or much about her at all. You came into this relatively blind.
>Your arm, effective as it seems to be, might not be enough to push her over the edge. A pleasure button would be useful.
>After some time, you’re elbow-deep and going with nothing to show for your efforts except the heavy musk of arousal clouding the air. The Lunastra’s digitigrade legs also periodically tense up; observing them reveals all four paws clenching with each thrust. You lock eyes with her – the amber orbs exhibit the same amorous look that gave you goosebumps twice before, and this is no exception. Your erection twitches, and you swear her gaze drifts lower.
>There’s also been an increase in blast powder, the particles starting to surround more of her body with each passing second. Coupled with her gentle humping and light growls, you can tell something is changing.
>A drop of pre leaks from your cock, your pulse quickening as you guide the leonine elder ever closer to orgasm. By now, there’s no mistaking the gradual rise in temperature every time your drenched arm pumps into her.
>Your search came up empty, but your ministrations remain firm as her growls deepen, eyes struggling to remain focused. Silken walls clench your appendage on each stroke, further stimulating her and making you shiver.
>The Lunastra’s aura is impossible to ignore now, having crept up to encompass nearly every part of her and fogging your view. It’s even started to surround your lower half – the texture is akin to coarse sand against your skin, but not unwelcome.
>Your arm has been fatigued for some time, but you've come too far to stop. All four paws knead empty air, reflexively digging into nothing as her own thrusts appear to weaken. Her eyes have closed shut, muzzle parted in pleasure.
>Pre drips from your throbbing cock, intermingling with her fluids as your heart races. You’re completely enamored with this Lunastra’s bestial moans; each vocal expression is music to your ears and keeps you going, every stroke just as vigorous as the last. Almost there....
>Her growls have slowly changed, becoming less drawn out and increasingly sharp to match her hastened breathing, each intake making the form beneath you quiver. The musky air has become significantly hotter, your cool drink staving off the fieriness and letting you lose yourself in the moment.
>By now the oceanic powder has completely enveloped not just the Lunastra, but you as well – particles dance off of your bodies in a shimmering, grand display that only excites you. Her aura is a shared blanket and you’re overwhelmed by the tremendous, seemingly limitless energy caressing your figure. Such immense power in such a beautiful aura....
>Amidst your consciousness is a pestering fog that saps your concentration and demands attention; you dimly recognize the last sensible part of your brain in a near-panic, urging you to remember what likely would've occurred the last time she gathered up so much dust.
>...
>You don’t care.
>You’re too far gone, and so is she. You want to see it for yourself, consequences be damned.
>Her wings slowly curl, moving to embrace their owner. Tapered growls turn into quick, quavering snarls with varied intensity, fangs gnashing as her breathing quickens. It’s nearly a furnace inside AND outside, your arm staying strong and never letting up. Your own breathing has become shallow, lust clouding all of your senses as you focus on bringing this Lunastra to her peak.
>You feel it first. Lustful quivering lessens for a second before intensifying, claws tightening their grip on air. Radiant blue dust gathers towards your coupled bodies, her crown-like crest glowing with energy. Her cerulean muzzle wavers and an unsteady, trembling snarl forces its way out as her chest heaves.
>Yes.
>What was once a pitiful snarl erupts into a mighty, earth-shaking roar that floods the Recess, the Lunastra’s back arching in ecstasy as her wings flare out. Blast powder explodes outward in a massive, dazzling burst of extreme heat that instantly carpets the surrounding area blue with uncontrolled flames and makes you wince from the brief exposure. Her already tight walls clamp down on your arm, milking the immobile appendage with vigor.
>You’re far too entranced to keep track of the seconds – or possibly minutes – that pass as you ride out her orgasm, occasionally staring in wonder at the royal inferno scorching the landscape. Not a single section of crust is left untouched by azure flames that even smother lava, the blaze continuously reigniting itself in a flurry of fresh hellfire and wind that keeps the arena burning at an outrageous temperature.
>Earlier... There's no way in hell you would've survived. With this wind pressure? At absolute best you would've boiled to death in your armor. Actually, how are you alive right now?! Stuck in the epicenter of such a massive heatwave with hellfire licking at your shins, you should be toast, to say the least. Yet all you feel is moderate discomfort, nothing that isn't tolerable. Is it because you're near the Lunastra? No, her aura gave you first-degree burns when you fought and that was while wearing armor. But it didn't hurt when you were–
>Wait a minute. Why the hell do you care when there's still an elder dragon beneath you, lost in the bliss of her climax? You're very much alive and, stars above, this is the hottest display of passion you’ve ever seen.
>The Lunastra's body still quivers, eyes pinched shut and muzzle remaining sculpted in a twitching display of fangs as she growls. Then another, smaller heat wave washes over you, spreading wide and causing existing hellfire to briefly fan out.
>Eventually claws start to uncurl, legs going slack and wings losing tension. Her walls contract less often and you spot her head going limp as everything falls silent, save for the crackle of idle flames and her heavy breathing. Her horns aren’t glowing anymore either.
>It’s safe to say she’s satisfied.
>Your cock is harder than ever, desperately seeking release after witnessing her incredible performance. You were going to wait until she recovered to let her finish the blowjob she started, but now? It’s not enough. That won’t sate your own flames.
>You need more.
>You carefully slide your arm out of her slit, using the love-soaked limb to assist in removing your chest piece and sword. Both pieces get tossed aside, leaving you completely exposed to the near-stifling temperatures caused by the supernova.
>The sounds of clanging gear didn’t rustle her, but now the Lunastra’s head picks up as you properly clamber atop her. Positioning yourself just above her entrance, you apply a liberal amount of her warm lubricant to your aching cock with the same hand used to service her.
>You pleasured her with your arm and she returned the favor with her tongue. So, why does the mere thought of the next logical step makes your pulse skyrocket?
>Before you cross the point of no return, you glance up to the Lunastra. Her eyes have reopened – while they’re not as amorous as before thanks to her recent release, her fixated gaze on your cock strongly suggests she wants you to continue.
>Your heart is hammering as your tip presses against her heated entrance. Then you firmly push, slowly guiding your cock into her.
>Silken walls stroke your cock as you push deeper into the Lunastra, a shaky exhale escaping you. You don’t stop until you're firmly pressed against her, at which point you have to pause to take in the overwhelming sensations. Your member pulses; just the act of being inside her is enough to stimulate you.
>Once you’ve gotten a grip on yourself, you proceed, reluctantly pulling out until only your head is left, then pushing back in. You fall into a slow, steady rhythm of pumping, your breathing already starting to hasten. Thanks to the blowjob and watching her cum, you’re unbelievably worked up. There’s no way you’ll last long.
>Your thrusts temporarily halt when the Lunastra starts rumbling again, the added vibrations on your cock not doing your endurance any favors. A quick glance reveals amorous eyes observing you. If that’s from the stimulation of your cock – perhaps still sensitive from her climax – you have no idea. Regardless, it’s an encouraging, rousing sight.
>You resume with renewed vigor, letting yourself get lost in the sounds of sex. Your balls gently smack her entrance as you drive into the Lunastra, her periodic rumbling making you shiver with each stroke and bringing you closer to your limit.
>Her folds seem to contract on every thrust, hips occasionally rising in time to match your own as a low moan creeps from you. It’s getting harder to stave off the inevitable, but at this point even if you could, you wouldn’t. Abrasive scales steadily brush your skin; each thrust is a fresh reminder of the rough and nigh-impenetrable outer plates that sharply contrast with the slick, oh-so-snug walls caressing your cock and admonishing any stray thoughts of stopping or easing up.
>You catch yourself periodically looking up at the Lunastra, losing yourself in her wanton expression and steady rumbling. It’s an intoxicating position, topping the fierce, strong elder who once wanted you dead. You bested her not once, but twice. You brought her to a blistering, lustful peak. And now true to your word, here you are, claiming what's yours: her. And why wouldn't you? She came to the Elder's Recess in search of a mate, in need of a Teostra. You're no monster, but it doesn't matter. Each rhythmic growl, every sensual twitch from the powerful form beneath you, and her captivating eyes that never break from yours, more than content as you properly breed her... No, a Teostra isn't what this Lunastra desires anymore.
>She wants you.
>Your breathing quickens by the second as your shaft begins to tense up. Inhibitions melt away, sensuous moans shamelessly announcing your intimate act to the world. Steady humping shifts into stronger, less refined thrusts, your hips losing tempo as the pressure grows. She knows you’re close: a foreleg unfolds, and your body is suddenly blanketed by padded digits that gently caress your back. Her paw makes its presence known yet offers no resistance to your actions, every movement brushing you against the soft texture as a light growl wordlessly coaxes you to release.
>The warm scales on your bare skin, the velvety passage massaging your cock, the harmonious sound of hips connecting with each fervent stroke, and her quiet, alluring rumbling... The buildup is impossible to contain as you take one last forceful thrust, pressing yourself as deep as you can and finally giving in to your carnal desires.
>An unbridled, passionate moan rings out as you’re sent over the edge, shooting surge after surge of cum into the Lunastra. A deeper, vocal growl joins you in unison while her paw weighs down your form and slick, heated walls squeeze your cock to give her the young she desires. Locked into place not just by your own pleasure, but her firm hold, you can only tremble from the stimulation.
>You ride the blissful high for as long as possible but it’s over far too soon, steadily fading until the embers of your orgasm are all that remain. Overworked, jellylike arms call it quits, leaving you to collapse on top of the elder dragon in a shaking, panting heap of sweat, fluids and exhaustion. Your erection has yet to fade; it still pulses inside her as she continues to clench down on you, draining your cock for all of its essence.
>...
>You attempt to scrounge up a coherent thought but the afterglow has left your head spinning, and you have to remind yourself to breathe while periodic spikes of pleasure tease your length, further jumbling your thoughts. One less-garbled sentence manages to stand out: Indescribable passion.
>After a minute or two of basking in heaven’s lingering embrace, you become dimly aware of a weight lifting off you. Your heart rate and breathing have also descended to more acceptable levels, and the full weight of the day’s events begin bearing down on you like a hungry Deviljho. To say that you are inconceivably burned-out would be an understatement. It'll be a miracle if you can even move tomorrow.
>...Worth it.
>You half-heartedly pull your softening cock out of the Lunastra, but otherwise don’t move. You’re a sticky mess surrounded by an even stickier one, but you need to scrape up the energy to do anything that doesn’t involve passing out.
>Craning your head forward, you look at your new lover. Her resting gaze is a lot softer than you remember and, while amorous remnants remain, it’s clear your unusual romp has left her equally exhausted.
>Staring at her conjures up the very recent memory of her spectacular climax, a tired smile forming as you make the stark comparison to your own.
“I guess you win this one.”
>With an exhale that strongly resembles a sigh, the Lunastra leans back until you can’t see her anymore. Your own head drifts down, a cheek settling against cerulean scales. A bit rough, but you’ve dealt with worse.
>With your arousal starting to die down, your thoughts are granted some much-needed clarity. So....
>You fucked an elder dragon.
>Who cares. You earned it, she wanted it, and you eventually wanted it. So what if she’s a monster. By the time you were itching to go, that just made it better.
>...Wow, you’ve REALLY gone off the deep end.
>No, what’s rearing its ugly head is the assignment you came here for. What to do?
>Obviously you are not going to kill this Lunastra. Just the thought makes you grimace in disgust. Right now she views you as a mate, right? Wait, do they normally bond with Teostra for life? Or is it a hit-it-and-quit-it deal? Hold on, does that mean she's expecting kids? Cubs? Hatchlings? Does she actually think you knocked her up? Because it’s highly unlikely–
>A low grumbling sound breaks you out of your pondering. After a couple of seconds, it repeats, accompanied by soothing vibrations from the figure beneath you. Is she snoring...? She fell asleep like this?! How?
>The rumbling from her starts affecting you near-instantly. The increased temperature has yet to subside and her scales aren’t the most comfortable, but your unresponsive form has finally reached its limit and her body heat is making you drowsy. You definitely shouldn’t fall asleep here – lying on top on a Lunastra, in a sea of sexual fluids – yet your mind calmly pulls you under, insisting you’re safe and it’ll only be a nap.
>As your consciousness slips away, you think about how the assignment only came to be because she appeared in Elder’s Recess. If she were to somehow leave, there wouldn’t be a problem, right?
>Your eyes shut, one last thought pushing free before slumber overtakes you.
>You'll figure something out.