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Before anything is said and done about this piece of writing, it should be noted that this is a log of a roleplay by Diablo and Me of our respective characters Dras and Timanth. I have his consent to post this log, and have had the great honor of being able to play with such a talented writing tyrannosaur.
Disclaimer: This log includes trampling, paw-worship, massages done sensuously by raptorian talons, and a delicious foot job. If any of the above cause you to turn your head in detestation, please do not read on! You have been warned.
And without further ado, onwards!
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Cold night air rustles through Dras' dark feather crest as he strides up the hill towards his home. Muscles tense and scales tingling with exertion, the big alpha-caste deinonychus feels unusually tired and in need of some well-earned relaxation - as chieftain of the city, it wasn't often he got the chance to take part in one of the ceremonial hunts, but it was always fun to do so whenever his duties allowed. After pausing outside to wash his talons in the iron trough placed there especially for that purpose, he noses under the thick leather doorflap and stalks into the den. Warmth and the mild scent of incense wash over him and he half-closes his yellow eyes in homely satisfaction. The main room consists of a largely circular space, walled by boulders, wood and clay, and lined with animal skins. The soft blue-green glow of crystals illuminates the darker corners of the room, and a central fireplace sits directly below a moss-covered hole in the tapered roof to allow smoke to escape without letting in rain.
"Hey, Timanth," the raptor says, yawning as he looks around for the dragon. "You in here? Heeeere draggy draggy draggy..." He smirks as Timanth appears from one of the side rooms of the den, and tosses his head towards the fireplace. "Get that fire going properly, then just lie down next to it and wait for me. Shit, you won't believe how far I ran today," he adds, half to himself as he ducks under another doorflap and out of the main chamber. He rattles around in the other room for a while, then returns, carrying a drink bowl in his jaws and a clay jar full of squeaking things in his foreclaws.
Timanth hums to himself as he slowly pads around his raptorian master's dwelling, neatly tidying up the space around him. It had become his little time-waster, since he knew that by tomorrow, Dras' habbits would leave those things in the same state that the copper dragon had found them in when he woke up today: disheveled. Regardless, it had developed into an odd sort of habit, the hut's furniture cycling between neat and messy. His crest twitches slightly as his ears pick up the sound of the approaching azure raptor, the slight sloshing sounds of hind feet briefly dipping in cool, clean water which the bronze drake replenished from the chilly spring once a sun cycle. The blue theropod had told him he was going on a hunt today, and the sounds were evident; a panting, not of exhaustion, but of excitement and exhiliration, and the rustling of crest feathers as he shivered at remembered pleasures of taking down the huge brontosaurus.
He is already heading towards the front entrance when the deinonychus calls for him, the dragon wincing a little at the demeaning tone used at him. After all this time, he still couldn't get used to Dras treating him like an unintelligent being, servant he may be. But there was really nothing he could do about it; all thoughts of venturing outside had vanished the first time he had attempted to do so...and had found himself shrunken back to the size he had been in the execution pit and at the...rather tender...mercies of a red-scaled female. Needless to say, he had not made another attempt. The copper dragon bows to his master and pads over to the fire, his long form giving him an elegant appearance even as he bends down to lightly breathe on the logs, clicking his claws together. His natural affinity with the fiery element allows him to quickly coax sparks out of his hands, stirring the embers to life as a small blaze cheerily starts in the fireplace. The warmth is welcoming to the drake, and he lies down obediently with his back to the fire, simply enjoying the feeling of the fire as he watches the raptor return with his snacks and drinking vessel.
Dras pads around the fire to where Timanth lies, carefully staying on the lush fur rugs that carpet most of the den and avoiding circle of dry earth that surrounds the fireplace. "Nice one," he says, crouching down to deposit his bowl and jar on the rug. "You're better than a shaman at that fire stuff - I wouldn't mention it to any of them though, if I were you." The large azure deinonychus collapses onto his flank and stretches thoroughly, then begins to sprawl about, rolling from one side to the other and enjoying the feel of the rug rubbing at his dusty scales. Finally he settles on his flank, facing the small dragon, and adopts a well-practiced posture - one hind limb stretched out away from him and the other tucked up against his underside to carefully expose the black-padded sole of his foot - and he subtly observes Timanth's reaction with an intelligent, yellow-eyed gaze.
"You eaten yet?" the raptor asks, and he reaches into the clay jar to pull out two squirming rodents in a clawed forehand. One of these he tosses to the dragon and the other he dangles above his own maw, opening his jaws to let the tiny mammal brush against his scaly lips and the tip of his tongue before dropping it into his jaws and beginning to crunchingly chew as he resumes his inspection of the dragon's reaction to his lazily exposed talon.
Timanth allows himself a very soft chuckle at Dras' compliment, the dragon secretly appreciating it, knowing how rarely the raptor gave out praise. He watches the raptor's rolling on the furs and smiles dimly with some empathy, himself remembering the times before he had been taken into the raptor's custody, when he had performed similar actions on cool, crisp grass. Finally, however, his sprawling master settles onto a familiar posture, one that the copper dragon knows well. But no matter how many times he has found himself looking into those black soles, the...fascination he had with them never seemed to decrease in intensity. The thick, leathery ball pad, and the long, flexible toes with the terrible sickle claw on the inside. Over time, although he could not say where, he had even developed an attraction for them, and he felt the stirring in his loins even now, the copper dragon jerking away from the tantalizing sight to catch the proffered vermin in his jaws.
He allows himself to savor its squirming a little, rolling it around inside his mouth with his tongue before adeptly snaking the agile muscle around its neck and choking it quickly to unconsciousness, saving it from pain before snapping its neck with the same oral muscle. However, try as he might, the dragon can't help but let his attention drift back to the hind foot so casually held out in front of him. Despite knowing that his deinonychus master was purposefully doing this to tempt him into action, the copper dragon could just barely resist, trying to keep his expression calm even as his eyes involuntarily half-lidded, his tongue licking out along his lips, attempting to make that action look like an aftereffect of eating the rodent while he subtly attempts to turn his hips away, twisting his body to hide his physical reaction, which he is still able to keep in check...for the moment.
A sly smile spreads across Dras' scaly lips as he sees and smells telltale signs of Timanth's discomfort and arousal, and he notes the incremental increase in his power over the dragon. It had been two seasons since his experiment began and the results were pretty remarkable, however you looked at them. "Remember when we first met?" he says, testing again. "And I stomped you to mush in one of the execution pits? How do you feel about that?" He stops Timanth from answering by holding up a foreclaw, then rotated a single clawed digit, instructing the dragon to roll onto his back. As Timanth does so, Dras stretches out his powerful hindlimbs and stacks his big, alpha-caste talons upon the dragon's chest, exposing his padded soles in front of the fire and splaying his long sleek toes luxuriously. "You were saying...?" the raptor says, settling comfortably on his flank and lifting the bowl to his muzzle to lap from it, and he eyes his draconian servant steadily over the rim of the bowl while the crackling fire warms and dries his newly-washed talons.
It is as if an effect had been triggered in the bronze dragon. The memory of being trampled to death and beyond on the cool stone floor suddenly fills the dragon with fear and disgust, and he gives a shudder at the mention of that painful ordeal. His harsh, angry retort is bitten off as one deadly claw raises up to silence him, the rotating digit almost seeming like a puppet string, the way Timanth shiveringly turns onto his back as he is instructed, the dragon's malesheathe bulging slightly before. A light blush spreads over the dragon's muzzle as he wonders whether his master has noticed, and prays that he has not. A light "oof" escapes the copper muzzle as the large hind paws stretch forwards and descend upon his ribs, momentarily driving the breath out of him. When he inhales, it is of the lightly reptilian scent of Dras' paws, his vision suddenly filled with the sharp, deadly claws, the deep toecrotches, and a hit of black-leather pads as the toes splay and curl in front of his vision. The deep pink tongue darts out again, licking along his lips as the copper dragon struggles lightly, not from discomfort at the talons resting upon his body, but at the uncomfortable, strange feeling of arousal he feels at having the deinonychus' feet so close to his face.
He attempts to divert his focus to keeping his rebellious body in check, but all he can see when thinking about the execution now are those large, wide ballpads descending upon his muzzle, the long toes slowly caressing his body, intruding into his most sensitive areas with their dextrous, long tread. Another shiver escapes him, and he finds his mouth opening, letting out words that he could hardly believe he would be saying if he were asked those long seasons ago. "I hat...ernngh...It...it was quite pleasant, seeing your pads descend upon me, master. Although I can't help but feel I would have serviced you better had you left me in one piece."
Dras smirks at this, his big princely talons still stacked casually upon Timanth's chest, weighing the dragon down with their surprising weight. "Yeah, but it was supposed to be an execution, remember-" he breaks off to spit a lump of gristle and bone into the fire where it crackles and snaps. "I didn't know you were gonna slither back together once I'd gone. You were supposed to stay dead. But anyway," he adds with an enticing splay of his sleek, lengthy toes alongside Timanth's head. "You're turning into a pretty good servant now I've tamed you a bit." An amused half-smile curls across his muzzle and he holds the dragon's gaze until Timanth is forced to glance away. With a complacent sigh, the big raptor turns his attention to his lounging feet. He lifts one and slowly runs his warmed toe pads against the sleek azure scales on the top side of his other long, digitigrade talon, applying just enough pressure to depress the firm scales slightly. "Okay, they feel dry enough to me. They look dry to you, draggy?" And he lifts his hind leg to expose the large, perfectly-proportioned and now warm and dry sole before Timanth's eyes. The whole talon is strong and handsome - a smoothly designed object of propulsion, a frighteningly alluring tool of domination and powerful weapon of war. As the dragon nods his ascent, Dras yawns deliberately and rests his head down on the rug, taking his other foot off Timanth's chest and laying both alongside the dragon. He stacks them neatly, stretching both out to their full relaxed length and crossing his ankles so the side of his upper foot's walking section rests against the side of the lower one's sleek, scaly arch. "Go on then - let's have a massage. And make it a good one; I've been sprinting all over the place today."
Timanth's blush deepens at his raptorian master's disregarding attitude at his words, recalling that fateful day. After his blood had thoroughly stained the stones of the execution pit, various bits of his anatomy lying around the black rock depression, the individual pieces seemed to melt and reassemble until the shape of a dragon formed once more. It had been very disorienting for the copper drake, not used to having things that could maim, much less kill, him. But his thoughts turn away from that grisly night when his lord once more shifts his talons upon him, slowly teasing his face with those long, beautiful toes. He shifts uncomfortably, his legs attempting to turn his groin area away from the raptor to conceal it while trying to keep his chest still enough so as not to displace the clawed feet upon him. He succeeds, to a limited extend. But suddenly, those amber eyes are upon him again, and he looks back at them. It has happened quite a few times now, the dragon attempting to stare down his captor, trying to convince himself that he was not utterly at the mercy of this sleek, blue raptor. But once more, he is forced to avert his gaze, losing the contest of wills.
The words of the deinonychus cause him to turn his head, and once more, the enticing foot is held in front of his face! He looks with almost entranced fascination at the widely splayed toes, the thick ballpad covering the well-scaled sole, and the sleek walking section to the heel behind it. "Yes, my lord," he replies, nodding his head slightly. Letting a breath he didn't know he was holding when the other paw lifts off of him, the drake turns over at Dras' command, still lying on his side but with both arms held out in front of him now, "Of course, my lord. I hope your hunt went well," he comments as his hands seek out the upper sole. The nimble, yet strong fingers of the smaller dragon quickly settle into a familiar place around Dras' ball and he begins to rub with firmly applied pressure, his thumbs rubbing slow, deep circles into the two halves of the black pad. The foot feels warm and fire-dried against his palms, the pad thick and leathery, and he can't help but let out a very, very soft purr of pleasure at the feeling.
"Yeah, it did," Dras says, his stiff tail swaying slowly through the thick fur rug as he settles comfortably into the dragon's massaging, relaxing his hindlimbs to let Timanth lift and hold his heavy raptor foot. "It was a big old sauropod, but we got the sucker. The hunters were just playing with him in the end, seeing how far they could climb up his neck to slash." He brings a foreclaw up to pick at his teeth. "Should make the Summer sacrifice more tasty, and those rexes love sauropod." As he speaks, the big deinonychus absentmindedly plays up to Timanth's massaging, splaying and flexing his two-and-a-half toes to stretch open the warm groove in his thick ball pad and admit the caressing fingers of the dragon into it. The big scaly soles are sleek and firm to the touch, their pads rough and coarse, but slightly conforming, and their scales glossy and smooth, like fine mail. As always, Dras finds himself taking pleasure from the size difference between himself and his servant. At his new size of 4 hunter-spans, the dragon was a little under two thirds his own height, but his upright stance made him considerably smaller even than that. He was, the raptor had to admit, a perfect size for casual trample domination: a single one of the athletic blue chieftan's large alpha-caste feet could cover Timanth's head completely, but it was still practical and comfortable to place both upon the dragon's face for the link.
"Yeah, you can greet my pads properly now," the raptor says as he sets his second foot down atop the first and presents both broad, padded walking sections side-by-side, one on top of the other in front of Timanth. "Come in close and worship them like you should've done the first time. And put your hands down," he adds as Timanth shuffles closer, and he reaches out to lift another rodent snack from the jar. "Then maybe I'll let you lick them if you look like you want it enough."
Timanth presses gently yet firmly, his skillful hands slowly kneading out the harder parts of the raptor's foot, grown tense with the strain of running. He listens to the raptor's words with interest and some awe, never having experienced pack hunting himself. The dragon, when he had been larger, had always been a solitary hunter, swooping in to carry off his prey, relying on the aerial surprise to allow him to stun his meal long enough to snap its neck. Shuddering slightly at the mention of the rexes, he recalls their majestic beauty, the city being the first time he'd seem so many of them grouped together. It comes to him again how well he has been treated, all things considered. It was more like he was a servant of Dras' than an actual trample-toy. The raptor had taken him to see some of the other victims who had been taken in by the raptorian city. One, especially, came to mind: a red-striped white raptor, about the same size as his azure master, who, he had been informed, possessed similar regenerative abilities as himself. A slow shudder comes over the dragon as he briefly remembers the metal shackles, the heavy rings used to secure the screaming half-demon to the ground before Dras and several others mounted him, quickly reducing the raging deinonychus into a whimpering mass of bruised flesh, and then into a mostly-red pulp of extruding organs and blood. He had seen, too, how the raptor was forced beneath the multi-ton tread of the tyrannosaurs over and over again. Those were horrific sights, and yet...
Another memory one time, of the raptor stretched out before him, the dragon having been allowed to mount the raptor himself. "To know why you service me," Dras had said with a smirk. And in truth, feeling the cloacal flesh bulge between his toes, feeling the face slowly squirming pleasantly under his wide feet and rough ballpads, the tongue lolled out, licking limply at his toecrotches, the copper drake had understood at that moment why exactly he was the servant of the blue raptor.
His vision returns to the present, and his attention back to the large feet before him. Giving a few last rubs into the crease of the ballpad, the copper drake withdraws his hands. He rumbles softly at the command, moving closer, almost instinctively now. In a far corner of his mind, he notes that just a few seasons ago, he would have raged in protest and anger at the raptor's words. But now he moved forwards willingly, setting his forepaws on the ground on either side of the stretched-out talons, his muzzle leaning forwards, taking in the lightly musky reptilian scent before his snout presses firmly against the top ball, leaning into the leathery pads and nuzzling in, his eyes half-lidding.
Dras lets a slow, broad smile spread across his reptilian features as he watches Timanth nuzzle against his soles. His jaws quickly crush the life out of the second rodent and he swallows down its blood, thinking about the success of his latest venture into trample-oriented domination. Under normal circumstances it took the most skilled shamans the best part of three seasons to convert a tribal prisoner, but through the chance discovery of Timanth's mind linking ability, Dras had been able to turn the dragon from a hostile and dangerous creature into a willing and obedient pad bitch, helplessly aroused by the raptor's own feet. It had only taken him two seasons and it was his first attempt at any kind of mental coersion - something to be proud of!
The deinonychus swallows down the remnants of his snack and continues to smile broadly as he watches the dragon lovingly nuzzle into his soles. It had always felt good to plant them upon the face of a lesser creature, but something about having the creature willingly press its face against them was even better. Even if it had only been achieved through cunning and insidious mental conditioning, it was an achievement to be respected: he hadn't just defeated Timanth - he had trampled the dragon's spirit out of him and reforged it to his own liking. And now he had a dragon that willingly served him and doubled up as a passionate admirer of his paws. Life was good.
Dras picks more tiny mammal bones from his teeth and continues to hold his big, sleek sprinter feet still for Timanth, watching as the dragon nuzzles along his warm, finely-scaled arches, fitting his small head into their curvature, and kisses his narrow digitigrade heels, then the raptor says, with a note of warning in his voice, "Keep going. I like you this size, but if you don't put enough effort in, I'll happily have you shrunk again. Then you'll be really fucked when I trample you."
Timanth shudders a little, knowing that that command is one to be answered with actions, not words. He continues to nuzzle along the raptor's outstretched feet, some part of his mind badly wanting to be aroused, the other, tiny part of his mind filled with fear at the threat of another time of brutal, shrunken trampling. After that first time in the execution pit, he had never experienced that dreadful, mind- and body-crushing pressure upon his being again, and hopes that he would not ever. This, combined with his induced affinity for the paws of his captor, drives him on.
The dragon continues to nuzzle, beginning at the heel of the foot on top. He presses his snout against it slowly, dragging it down towards the arch, which is almost large enough in an of itself to fit the dragon's head into its finely-toned curve. Briefly pausing there to press the side of his face into it, knowing the raptor likes to see it, he continues downwards, his tapered muzzle nosing open the crevase in the black ball pad, slowly pressing against all areas of the thick black pad, inhaling its dusty, reptilian scent before moving on, the dragon showing his subservience by dipping his muzzle between the azure toes, sliding his snout deep into the toecrotches of his master, the long toes reaching past his jawline almost down to his shoulders as he does so.
He finally can't help it anymore. A small moan escapes from his jaws as his bulging sheath begins to extrude the very tip of his pink member, the dragon quickly biting his lips to prevent that embarrassing sound from uttering forth from his jaws. But his body continues to react, and he twists away shamefully, trying to hide it beneath himself as his lower half turns onto its front. He withdraws his muzzle quickly, sucking in a breath of non-intoxicating, free air before resuming his worship at the bottom foot, slowly pressing his muzzle against each toe and letting it curl dominantly over the top of his head.
"Good dragon," Dras says, curling his toes to grip the front of Timanth's small skull with one sleek, dexterous sickle foot and laying the other casually over the side of the dragon's face, its sturdy scaled side weighing down the head of the smaller reptile and restricting his movement. The princely blue raptor feet exude regality and power as they begin proactively manipulating Timanth, holding his head down under the heavy scales along the side of one long talon while at the same time pushing the richly-padded walking section of the other to the dragon's head and firmly holding it there. The complacent raptor laps from his drink bowl again and feels the ghost of arousal begin to tingle at his own body as he feels Timanth breathing quickly against his sole, the dragon's poorly-concealed cloaca already parting steadily between his twitching legs.
A toothy sneer spreads across Dras' handsome alpha-caste muzzle and he slowly rubs his warm black foot pads upwards against Timanth's muzzle, his keen yellow eyes glancing over to confirm a violent throb in the dragon's extruding member. "You like that, huh?" He pulls his large, sleek sprinter foot from Timanth's face and returns it downwards to administer another slow upward rub. "How's it feel knowing these are the same talons that stomped the shit out of you back in the pit? The same pads that popped your head like a seedpod and rubbed you into the stone? You can start licking, by the way," he adds, pulling his sole from the dragon's muzzle and resting it down on the ground alongside.
Timanth closes his eyes, feeling the toes slowly curling over his muzzle, claws rubbing dangerously against his mouth. His vision is partly obscured in one eye by the azure talons, the only thing it can see are the two walls of finely scaled toe-flesh rising up to either side of his face. The copper dragon does not let out a sound as a second foot comes into play, lying heavily against the side of his face. He twitches a little as his head is weighed down against the ground, the disturbing memories of being crushed to death still rising up even after such a long time of familiarity. He can smell the raptor's lust beginning to rise, causing him to pant himself, the musk of the deinonychus much stronger than he own scent.
The copper dragon lets out a soft groan of surprise as the thick black pad presses up, the warm, beautiful sole slowly rubbing against his snout pleasantly, the feelings and sight too much for the dragon to bear. His rapidly-growing member gives a powerful twitch, a single, translucent drop of pre forming at its tip as he pants into the ebony, leathery pad. A powerful blush spreads its way through the entire face of the drake, the raptor's words almost harsh and grating on his ears. But he cannot deny it, and can only offer his silence as resistance. But even that is not enough, as his muzzle opens, his eyes half-lidded, and the agile tongue snakes out, immediately swiping a long, wet swathe along the exposed heel. He licks, worships, and bathes the proffered foot, the dragon's tongue sweeping slowly down the arch, his arousal clear now that the alpha-raptor's taste has entered his maw. Across the black ball pad he works, the tongue slowly digging into the crevasse and licking along it, savoring its reptilian taste before moving on to the long, agile toes. Once more, he rests his muzzle between the digits in subservience, his tongue extending into the deep groove to slowly lick out its scales, even managing to curl halfway around a toe before the copper dragon drags it up, slowly lapping at the pad at the toetip.
Dras closes his eyes and lets a mild smile settle across his handsome scaled features as he relaxes to enjoy the dragon's passionate ministrations. Nothing else that he had discovered even came close to achieving the same mixture of mental satisfaction, physical pleasure and arousal to which he had become accustomed - and possibly even habituated - in the evenings after his duties in the city. Feeling Timanth's tongue and hands against his powerful sickled feet was very relaxing, but it was more the mental sensation of having his paws so lovingly worshiped that did it for him - the pride at feeling himself elevated above the dragon by Timanth's own willing subservience. Ego stroking, Scorch would call it, and Dras snickers at the thought, but a glance downwards reveals that Timanth is too busy nuzzling into his warm scaly toe crotches to notice.
"Yeah, sorry I keep bringing it up," the raptor says, splaying apart his sleek toes against the small attentive snout of his servant. "I just need to check you're not faking. You were a pretty cunning dragon back then and I'm no shaman. I can only tell what's in that little scaly head of yours by how well you lick and the way you react to shit like that." While he speaks, the big deinonychus casually swaps feet, lifting the first from atop Timanth's head and splaying out its warm, dry sole before the dragon's face, and resting the newly-licked one across the upward-facing side of his face. Saliva runs down the resting sole and pools quietly on the bronze facial scales beneath the heavy sprinter foot, and Dras absentmindedly mops it up with occasional dabs of his padded toes while he continues, "But you don't get to be chieftain without being a pretty fucking good judge of character, and I reckon you really are a changed dragon. So keep this up and maybe I'll start letting you out more. Maybe even get rid of the charms around this place." He lifts his head and gazes around the den, then smirks. "Course, it's not like you WANT to leave now, is it. You've got a pretty good job right here." And the big raptor pauses to squeeze his thick, moist foot pads against Timanth's face and hold them there for a long moment, before giving the panting dragon another firm, slow rub and finally pulling them away to let him continue.
Timanth licks quietly at the Dras's proffered foot, his silence the only thing that he can use to tell himself that he still has some ounce of will left in him that was not completely controlled by the whims of the azure raptor's paws. But he can not deny, even to himself, that a large part of his mind enjoys and is aroused by this, wants the agile blue toes in his mouth, desires the thick black pads warmly pressing against his face. His groin is clear indication of that fraction of his mind, even as the more prudent parts of his conscience cause him to blush deeply in embarrassment, struggling fiercely with the ever-increasing urge to give himself wholly to the chieftain.
That part of his mind lets out a chuckle at Dras' comment, briefly savoring the comment, however idly it might have been made. He was able to keep Dras from reading his thoughts...when he was not underpaw. The mental link seemed to strengthen then, and the copper drake seemed to lose all control he once had over it, his very mind laid bare to the prying, untaught mind of the blue raptor. Having his master, untrained in the ways of mental manipulation, poke at his thoughts was much akin to having his brain bashed in by the microscope of a creature infinitely larger than him, the objective lens of the blue deinonychus pummeling at his mentality like a blunt object. But he had learned over time, and as the paw-lustful side of his mind had grown stronger and stronger, the mental intrusions became more bearable, especially since Dras was usually interested not in plucking thoughts from his brain as he was in forcing his own emotions down upon the dragon.
The copper drake lets his tongue linger in the toecrotch of the up-lifting foot, knowing his master enjoys the feeling a tongue dragging slowly along his finely-scaled paws. Still holding silent, but barely, he extends his muzzle to begin licking anew even as the warm, wet hind foot splays out against his face, the saliva-coated ballpad slickly sliding a little from the reduced friction. He quivers as the toes slowly stroke across his cheek, even the sight of the deadly claws not enough to prevent the lustful part of his mind from giving a strong struggle, briefly making the copper dragon tense up as he fights a sudden strong urge to stroke himself. He's just finished choking that feeling down as his azure master's words graze upon his hearing when suddenly the warm, leathery pads press down hard against his face, engulfing him in their light scent, amplified by their moistness and stroking down almost sensually against his muzzle. The copper drake can't help it; a loud moan escapes unbidden from his throat, his muzzle surging forwards once it is free to begin passionately pressing against the other ball, his tongue tracing slow, eager lines across the black pad.
The deep yellow eyes of the raptor slide open again and his smile broadens as Timanth's lustful moan shudders over and above the crackling of the fire and the chirping of insects in the night outside. "You couldn't leave even if you wanted to now," he says, and casts an amused glance at the tense and throbbing shaft of the dragon, fully exposed and aching for attention, despite Timanth's obvious mental struggling to resist the arousal. "Come to think of it, if I let down the charms now, you'd probably just trot around after me all day." He snickers at the thought of this and lifts his big sickled foot from the side of Timanth's head, keeping the other still for the dragon to lovingly nuzzle into. Quietly, his eyes narrow with grim amusement, the athletic blue deinonychus extends his powerful hindlimb and teasingly brushes the licked pad of his sickle toe up the length of Timanth's tense shaft, laughing openly at the dragon's shocked reaction.
"Yeah, I think you're pretty well warmed up now," Dras says, carefully pulling his sole pads from Timanth's face and letting the dragon stretch forward to remain in contact for as long as possible. "But I feel like a bit of trampling before we start," he yawns, pulling away and sprawling onto his front to stand up and stretch his powerful limbs. "Shuffle onto the rug here and lie still, okay?" The princely raptor straightens up to full height and looks down while Timanth obeys, moving over to lie down and stretch out at the raptor's feet. Dras casually lifts one and sets it upon his servant's belly, the big padded sole very nearly covering his width and spreading nearly as broad as it is wide. "Thats fine, stay there," the raptor says, and eases his weight onto Timanth, leaning forward to plough his warm, firm sprinter foot deep down into the soft guts of the dragon. The other foot stretches, the weight leaving it, then it lifts from behind Dras and swings forward to plant down directly beside the first and assist in flattening Timanth's belly. For a moment the big raptor is still, his tail swaying out behind him as he enjoys the sensation of a warm, organic body deforming under his feet, then the left foot steps back down on the rug and so does the right. Dras quickly begins an athletic step-up routine, using Timanth's unprotected belly as his platform: right foot on, left foot on, right foot off, left foot off - the raptor bobs up and down as his strong, streamlined limbs pump rapidly, treading deep furrows in the dragon's soft underside as he jogs quickly on the spot, stepping on and off his living platform with swift, energetic movements.
Timanth dimly hears his raptor master's comments through the haze of lust threatening to descend upon him at any moment, the copper dragon focusing all of the attention not devoted to pleasuring the foot in front of him he has on pushing the veil back, knowing that once he let it fall over him, he would lose all dignity altogether. He may be addicted to the feet currently pressing against his muzzle and stroking over his face, but he could at least still retain some shred of self-esteem, however small it may be. His devoted concentration proves to be his downfall, as so concentrated he is at fighting his list and in slowly curling his tongue around the base of an athletic blue toe, he doesn't even notice the saliva-slicked foot lift off of his face and reach lower. He doesn't even have time to prepare himself before a wave of exquisite pleasure crashes upwards through his body from his groin, the drake forced to stop licking for a moment as the feeling surges up through his being, his teeth clenching tightly as a strangled howl hovers at the back of his throat, just barely audible. Several moments pass before the pleasure subsides, leaving the copper dragon shaken as his muzzle darts forwards again even as the foot recedes, his tongue stretching out to its full long length to tease one last lick down the crevice of the ebony ballpad.
He knows what is coming, the blue deinonychus liking to trample at least once at the end of the day. Almost as in ritual, the copper dragon shifts over on his side, spreadeagling himself on top of the soft furs. As he gazes at the azure chieftain above him, he once more can't help but marvel at his rather handsome body, from the sleek claws all the way to the fit, finely-toned athletic build, to the proud crest standing tall on the back of his head and neck. But all thoughts of raptorian beauty are driven away as one newly-wet foot plants on top of his belly, his supple hide quickly fitting to the contours of the sole under the weight of his lord. The feeling starts as a light press, almost pleasant and warm, really, but grows to an uncomfortable weight, then a large pressure as the raptor lifts off his left foot, his entire weight on his right. Despite his best efforts, the copper dragon finds his upper body and legs curling up automatically under the pressing, his muzzle almost seeming to reach towards Dras' calf as his toes clench at the sensation. He lets out an "oof!" as the second foot plants down next to the first, feeling the toes curling slightly over the side of his body as his belly slowly compresses to half its original thickness. The drake can feel his hide bulging slightly through the splayed toes, his flesh forced into odd contortions due to the raptor standing upon his body. He lets out a quick breath of relief as the crushing pressure is released, but only for a moment as the blue deinonychus steps forwards again! Once more the thick ballpads plough into his body, leaving two more deep imprints on his pliable hide. He quickly adopts a regular rhythm along with his captor, one that he knows will please his master, as well as granting pain relief to himself. When the raptor steps up onto him, he exhales in a large gust of air, his body becoming more pliable and thin as a result, allowing Dras to feel his body compressing, his hide bulging more easily between raptorian toes. He takes quick breaths as the sickled talons step off, readying himself for the next two-step of stomps.
Dras continues this energetic warm-up for several long minutes, relentlessly trampling the guts of his subjugated servant until Timanth curls up around his sleek, muscled legs, spluttering and gasping under his weight and able to take no more. The big raptor eventually slows his steps and simply stands on Timanth, allowing the dragon to grab around his activity-warmed calves while he coughs. After allowing his servant a moment's recovery, the princely deinonychus turns through ninety degrees and begins carefully walking up and down, covering Timanth's small body length in five neat steps and being careful to avoid treading on the throbbing shaft as he goes about softening and bruising the dragon. Dras tramples firmly, his weight gracefully flowing from side to side as he sets the sturdy toes and balls of his sleek, firm raptor feet upon Timanth and casually walks over him. The big padded soles of the deinonychus splay and stretch as they tread on their attentive servant, taunting with their grace and beauty even as they bruise and wind the dragon. Seen close up in action, the sleek sickled feet are breathtakingly handsome: their long, thick toes, broad, sturdy balls and thick, rich foot padding all screaming out their purely-bred perfection. They are large and the sight of another living creature beneath them simply looks right and natural. It is as if the big sickled feet were sculpted specifically to dominate - both physically and mentally - and they perform their job with slick, fluid grace and utter flawlessness. The long, graceful arches and narrow, scaly heels of the big azure feet dip and bend as the walking sections tread over and over, flattening out as each sleek talon lifts, and bending into a neat, compact angle as it descends again.
Dras avoids both the face and the cloaca of his draconian trample mat, instead catwalking up to stand with his broad, firm raptor feet side-by-side across Timanth's collarbone, then turning around to present their sleek, scaly back sides to the dragon as he casually strolls back down the stretched-out body beneath him. Occasionally the athletic raptor chieftan pauses in his catwalking upon a certain spot of Timanth's body and simply tramples there for a while, swaying side to side as he lifts and treads his big black-soled talons on the spot until he is satisfied. When he finally steps back down onto the rug, Timanth is heavily bruised all over, his formerly-firm hide discoloured and softened to an unnatural squishy consistency, like a bag full of warm mud, though which his bones can plainfully be felt under the keenly probing soles of the raptor. "Did you pretty good that time, didn't I?" Dras smirks, holding a well worked-out sprinter foot above Timanth's grimacing muzzle for the dragon to kiss and lick while he surveys his handiwork. "Did I break anything?"
Timanth attempts to remain silent, knowing that an inability to endure the firmly trampling soles of his master would lead only to contemptuous taunts and even more treading upon his body. He can feel his organs being compressed and shoved aside by the intruding feet into his midriff, his originally gleaming copper hide beginning to bruise to shades of blue and purple under to pulping tread of the blue raptor. Even trampling "gently," the athletic alpha-caste's weight is enough to sink deep prints into the copper canvas of his belly, the imprints staying there far after the foot has lifted, slowly bruising to deeper shades. The copper dragon is somewhat used to the heavy pummeling of the thick pads into his stomach after so many days of enduring the same treatment, but his body does have its limits, and can only toughen itself to a certain extent. His breathing becomes labored, his timing slowly slipping as his mind is diverted to the increasing pain of his hide, which is quickly growing tender under the continued tread of the azure deinonychus. Soon the dragon begins gasping for breath, his chest rising and falling irregularly as he loses rhythm altogether and just attempts to grab whatever air he can before the next set of two crushing steps piles up upon his body. His body has curled up so much now that his legs are standing almost straight in the air, only at angles because they are spread and flexing, his toes splaying and curling with the pain as his muzzle bumps up against Dras' calf with every step, the whirling blue eyes dimmed to a pained yellow and beginning to glaze over.
But suddenly, relief! As the trampling exercise of his deinonychus master slows to a stop, the copper dragon lets out a sigh, taking deep, labored breaths as he struggled to breathe, using the muscled calf of the blue raptor for support as he coughs out, his belly cramping slightly, the flesh bulging up much more than before, reaching almost up to the tops of the blue raptor's sturdy toes. He does not beg for mercy or plead for a respite, partly because he knows he will not get one, and partly because he still retains enough draconic pride to resist whimpering. The only words he lets out is a pained, quietly gasped "oh gods..." as his master turns and begins to move again. His curled-up front is pushed down, his arms pulled off from around the muscled calf as it lifts and plants the thickly-padded sole upon his chest, its companion soon following, driving all the air out from the copper dragon's lungs. The new flesh is less pliable, but no less bruisable as two large three-taloned footprints rapidly appear on the copper dragon's chest even as he looks up at the regal muzzle of the blue raptor. He coughs, groans, and even permits himself a small whimper as the deinonychus turns around again and tramples heavily back down on his sensitized belly, the blue soles purposefully lifting and showing off their leathery, warm pads before burying them on another yet untrodden-on section of the dragon's body. A slight groan comes from him as Dras begins to walk down his tail, his talons forcefully ploughing wide print-parts on the dragon's once-proud tail. He reaches its end quickly and begins to step back up again, but he stops at the base, the widest part, and at a low growling groan from the dragon, he tramples there on the spot, quickly lifting and bashing his wide soles down into the tail until it is a mixture of purples, blues, and blacks. The same process happens with his chest until the copper dragon is sure that his front side could be sold at an art exhibition as a piece of tribal work, his flesh bulging unnaturally between the toes of the sleek hunter with every step, softened like hide becomes after extensive folding and pounding. The dragon is walked upon, stomped all over, for what seems like hours to him, until suddenly, like before, relief arrives in the form of the pausing of the crushing weight over his body, although nowhere as welcome as before as the raptor's continuing weight, shifting slightly here and there as he kneads downwards with his warm pads, draws groans and gasps of pain from the dragon, even as he lifts his muzzle to slowly, painfully lick at the foot, just thankful that his muzzle is still whole to perform this action, his head pantingly reaching into a toecrotch. "Yes..hsssss!...my lord...." He answers the first question in between hisses of pain. "Not anything particularlyssssss! Important..." the dragon continues as he winces. Indeed, Dras has not broken any of the bones in his body, but has bruised him so heavily and thoroughly that the surface and area just below his hide feels like as if it were on fire, sensitive even to the air brushing against it.
"Good," the big raptor says simply, and silently holds his talon up for Timanth to lick for a moment, before whipping it away and turning to stride off across the room, picking up the empty drink bowl on his way. "You always take longer to do your mind link thing when you're moaning about this being broken or that being burst..." And with a snort of amusement, he noses through the flap into a side room and begins rummaging around again. "Hey, get the chair, will you?" the raptor's voice calls back. "And stick it by the fire, then get in position. The fuck has the oil gone?" he adds, mostly to himself as the sound of pots and jars being moved around and looked in drifts back into the main room. After a moment he returns, carrying a new clay pot in his foreclaws and the refilled drink bowl in his jaws.
"That's my dragon," Dras praises with a toothy grin as he comes back to the fire to find his wooden raptor chair hefted into place and with Timanth lying meekly on the ground in front of it. The chair itself is a finely-carved piece of furniture, its deep, slanted-back seat is perfectly shaped to fit the contours of a raptor body and even has a broad tail cut-out in the middle of it. With the casual air of one who has done this many times before, Dras steps over Timanth, curls himself backwards into the chair and casually stretches out both legs to cross his ankles and rest his warm scaly heels on the dragon's chest. The long, unfolded raptor soles splay and stretch luxuriously as they face the fire and their owner heaves a deep sigh, propping the drink bowl on one broad chair arm and dexterously lifting the jar of rodents from the ground nearby using his tail.
"So this'll be... what, the forty-seventh time?" The raptor says, setting the rodent jar down on his other chair arm and hissing air through his sharp teeth. "Sheesh, that's a lot of mind moulding. I guess there's no going back for you now." He smirks down at Timanth, deeply enjoying the sight of his own large scaly talons resting so carelessly upon the small dragon: eighteen-inch raptor soles arced casually above him like complacent predators toying with their prey. He leans forward and looks up and down Timanth's length, saying, "Let's just wait for those bruises to heal before you do your thing." And he yawns, settling back in his chair and lifting the drink bowl to his muzzle to lap from it. One powerful hindlimb quietly uncrosses from atop the other and stretches out, long toes splaying out tantalizingly in front of the fire, before it bends again and the strong, alpha-caste foot descends to settle its warm toes and ball pad casually over Timanth's bulging cloaca and the regrowing length of sensitive dragon flesh within. Through his thick sole pads, the athletic raptor is easily able to feel the violent throbs of arousal that this causes, and he smirks to himself, placing his drink bowl back on the chair arm as he settles back to wait for the enhanced dragon's bruises to fade.
Timanth licks once, twice, his tongue traveling over the leathery pad of his master. He's always thankful when Dras'...ministrations...avoided his face. It was much less painful to raise his head and lick at the hindpaw than it was to twitch even a portion of his torso or tail. Perhaps that's what he wanted, for the dragon to choose the less painful route of worshipping his soles instead of tending to his own injuries. A large gust of breath escapes his muzzle as the big raptor finally steps off of him, allowing air to once more flow back into his lungs unencumbered. He breathes shallowly, aware that deep breaths will only stretch his, at the moment, hyper-sensitized hide, causing him any amount of pain. But he can already feel the deepest imprints beginning to shallow, the bruises healing from the inside out as the copper drake's rather unusual body begins to repair itself, muscles knitting back together, blood vessels closing.
Eventually, he finds enough strength to stand up, wincing at the residue bruising that sends throbs of dull pain through his body, making contact with anything but air painful. However, he obeys his master, padding slowly over to the alpha caste's wooden throne. It might not be big by raptor standards, but at the dragon's small size, it is more than a moderate weight to him, and he lets out soft hisses and grunts as he hoists the chair into his arms, leaning it back against his body and using his tail and wings for balance as he slowly sets it down, facing the fire. Once more, he has to marvel at the construction of the thing. Even though it was just wood, it was wet wood, which reinforced its strength and gave it a very solid feel to the touch, not like it would splinter into a thousand pieces at any moment. The elaborately-carved structure seemed just perfect for the alpha to recline upon, making the copper drake wonder for the umpteenth time just how powerful his lord was in this city, and whether he should be grateful for that.
The mention of the oil prepares the dragon's mind for what's next, and as he lies down, mincing his movements to disturb his remaining bruises as little as possible, he takes a moment to examine his mind, the analytical part of it able to concentrate now without the, as much as he hates to admit it, alluring feet of the raptor so close to his body. It had began the fourth or fifth time the deinonychus had steadily trampled on top of his face, draining the energy from his mind and body. When he had recovered, there was a new fragment of...of BEING within him, one that seemed to have its entire purpose devoted to serving the thickly-padded warm feet of his raptorian master. With every session after that, the other consciousness had grown, and the copper dragon often found himself wondering "what's happening to me...?" Indeed, he thought that now as he lay there on the carpet, shuddering a little at how large, and almost dominant, that portion of his mind had become.
Indeed, with the sound and sight of those large talons splaying out on the ground, thumping towards him, the small portion of the dragon's mind that remained true to his original heritage was rudely batted aside by the much-larger consciousness, filled with foot-lust and the urge to please. He chokes down a low purr as the talons lift past his face, settling with their heels upon his chest. Breathing becomes limited and difficult once more, but that is more than compensated by his, by now, relatively unbruised body as he is able to suck in deep breaths once more, causing the sharp-clawed feet to rise and fall slightly with his breathing.
He nods at both of Dras' statements, knowing that it was true. What remained of his rational mind was now fighting for survival, and perhaps the best thing it could hope for now was to meld with its other part to imbue it with some logical properties, those properties that kept the drake from descending into the void of salivating, purring footlust. He can't help but look at those large soles resting so teasingly in front of his muzzle, at the casually-splayed toes even as the corner of his eyes note the new drink bowl, and the ever-present jar of rodents. But all thought of his surroundings is shoved aside by his mind as his his eyes focus on the sole lifting, the ballpad and its companions on the azure toes slowly drifting down towards his cloaca. "Oh gods no.." he whispers to himself, very, very softly even as the warm foot settles over his groin. He is prepared this time, but still, nothing can brace him very much against the waves of pleasure slowly emanating from his loins, crashing over his mind. His back arches upwards slowly as his eyes close, his teeth grinding together as his head turns to the side in embarrassment, the very large hit of a moan building up in the back of his throat, the dragon unwilling to give voice to it. He can feel his body responding though, his genital lips spreading to allow the, for his size, generously-sized pink shaft to slide out, its faint doubly-curved shape pressing against the leathery sole. His injuries have long since healed by this point, leaving him pristine and ready to service, although his muzzle tries desperately to reject his arousal.
Dras' tail sways fluidly from side to side as he lounges in his chair, a calm expression of easy, contented dominance settling over his well-defined azure features. He feels the hot flesh of Timanth's shaft slide out to throb eagerly under his heavy foot pads, but he keeps his leg still, tantalizingly denying his draconian servant the release that he needs, and only tilts and splays his other talon, enjoying the heat of the fire against its thick black sole. Several hideously long seconds drag by, the big raptor sprawled comfortably into the smooth wooden chair, one sleek azure foot stacked upright on Timanth's chest and the other resting smotheringly over his pulsing shaft while the small dragon trembles and radiates with an excitement far too strong to suppress. The months of conditioning have done their job.
Finally Dras leans forward and a satisfied smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he notes the fresh, clean, fully-healed body of his draconian footstool. "Yeah, that's better," he says, and pulls his talon from Timanth's cloaca, letting the tense flesh beneath it spring free to pulse tensely against the dragon's heaving belly. "Time for you to do your thing, draggy. Here, look - I'll give you some motivation to get you started." And the princely raptor hefts his other hindlimb too and brings both sleek, strong alpha-caste feet above Timanth's face to steadily hold them there, drawn close together to present the dragon with a single great expanse of richly-padded raptor sole to stare at while he works his mental abilities. The big athletic feet are incredibly handsome - sturdy and powerful looking, but with a sleek, fluid grace that indicate great agility and dexterity. They are both beautiful and terrifying at once, and the casual pride with which their owner wields them suggests that he is all too aware of their high callibre. The soles are sturdy and broad at the balls, but taper off to narrow heels at the ends of long, smoothly-scaled arches, which remain raised slightly as the raptor chieftan deliberately emphasizes the toes and balls of his perfectly-formed alpha-caste feet: the walking sections, each an easy nine inches in length and seven in width.
Very slowly, and with deliberately flaunting flexes and undulations of his big black toes and soles, Dras lowers his talons in unison and makes contact with Timanth's muzzle - the soles are dry and very warm from the heat of the fire. Leaning forward to prop his chin on his fist and rest on the arm of his chair, the smirking raptor slowly pushes Timanth's head down to one side and buries his face under both big, black-soled talons. The warm, thick foot pads sink down and conform over the skull of their servant, firm, supple flesh creeping over the contours of Timanth's head while the great heavy toes and balls lift and resettle slightly, seeking out - as always - the best areas of contact while the dragon opens a mind link.
Timanth can feel his resolve weaken with every passing second that the magnificent thick-padded foot rests against his groin, the leathery pad warmly pressing his shaft against his belly. The waiting is almost agonizing. He wishes the raptor would just do something, either get off, or begin to stroke. This sense of sitting in between, with the idle paws covering his chest and shaft, is almost unbearable, the dragon fighting intensely with himself, a large part of him longing intensely to thrust his body up against the foot covering his throbbing member, his tongue almost darting forwards to lick along the regal blue arch. But his logical mind uses all the weapons at its disposal, laying a chokehold on its paw-lustful counterpart. As a result, the copper dragon's body convulses and shudders, the internal conflict gripping his body in its throes.
Finally, the foot causing so much exquisitely pleasuring agony finally withdraws, and the dragon lets out a huge whoosh of breath, panting heavily as he fights to regain control of his body. He could no longer deny his arousal, and can only let it bob against his belly openly in the warm air of the hut. However, the copper's eyes are at least more vivid now, cleared of the haze of lust that descended when his master teased his most intimate parts so casually. He takes refuge in the familiar, and manages to gasp out a "yes master" as he begins to open the mental link. It has been getting easier as of late, perhaps because he has overcome his internal reluctance to doing so. The sight of those two talons above his muzzle act as a guilty incentive as he feels himself subconsciously working faster, what he still regarded as the sane part of his mind touching its lustful other half, and at that second, a shaft of terror slices through the copper drake as he realizes that his logical faction, too, was slowly becoming tainted by a desire to have those thick, black pads upon his face.
He looks up into those blue soles with their ebony pads, and can't help but let out a quickly-muffled purr, the sight of the handsome raptor's hind paws becoming more and more alluring as the link slowly opens, emotions and thoughts shared between master and servant as the agile toes draw closer, the copper dragon's heavy breathing creating some moisture on the leathery pads. The drake pants as the large, thick pads tease him, slowly bending and flexing as the toes splay and curl in a tantalizing dance above his muzzle. He keeps perfectly still, both with the fear of accidentally scraping himself upon one of those razor-sharp claws, and of the fear that if he moved towards them even one inch he would be lost forever to the throes of paw-lust.
Right as the mental link fully opens, the paws descend upon his face, and his vision fades to darkness. He can still feel the thick pads, slowly burying his head beneath them, more than enough to completely engulf his face as they slowly sink his muzzle into them, even as the slightly different scaly texture of the regal deinonychus' arches fit comfortably over the underside of his jaw. The thoughts and emotions flow freely now, the raptor's casual, slightly pleased amusement mingling with the suppressed arousal the dragon feeds back to him. But even without thoughts, the single, strangled moan emanating from beneath the blue hind paws is enough to tell Dras exactly what his servant is feeling.
And the big raptor gives a hissing sigh of pleasure as he feels Timanth's mind begin to open up to him - eagerly, Dras notes with the barest flicker of a smile: the dragon wanted him there. He closes his eyes and exerts his will through the strengthening mental link, pushing back against the buffeting waves of barely-controlled arousal that emanate from Timanth's facially-buried head and entering the mind of his moaning servant. "Well done," the raptor projects, his thoughts forming simple words inside the dragon's head. "That was fast." And to further indicate his approval, the big alpha-caste deinonychus strokes the side of Timanth's face with the warm, black sole of one foot, then snorts out loud in tolerant amusement as he feels the dragon's answering surge of burning lust. "Relax," he projects, carefully repositioning his great talon. "Easier for me... to drink... pull..."
"Fuck it," Dras growls out loud, breaking the eerie silence in the room. "Gonna have to work on that mind speaking some more next time." He opens his eyes a narrow slit and lifts the drink bowl to his muzzle. "It's too easy to get distracted while you're bubbling like a pet compy down there." He drinks, then sets the bowl down on the arm of his chair and settles back again, relaxing with a slow, deep breath and closing his eyes. It was very pleasant to feel the skull of the dragon so completely buried under his sickled feet; his toes curled around the back of the small head even while his padded balls spread over Timanth's snout and muzzle. Timanth was an excellent size for casual physical domination: held thusly underfoot, the dragon was forced to utterly and intensively experience the soles of Dras' sleek talons - blinded in the warm darkness of their pads, feeling their coarse, firm flesh and the smooth, heavy weight of the scales that coated them, smelling and tasting nothing but raptor, and even hearing the steady throb of blood through Dras' own veins.
As he feels his reluctant admirer calm down from the initial breathless arousal of having his face settled upon by two large raptor soles, Dras begins to feel for Timanth's energy, extruding his personality further into the buried, trampled dragon and seeking out his life force. As always, it was far harder to do with dry soles, but it was important to ensure that Timanth was still a willing victim, and dry contact made it almost impossible to take energy without it being freely given. "Give it to me," Dras projects, feeling the ephemeral wisps of Timanth's life force curling and undulating inches from his mental grasp, and he adds vocally, "But keep enough so you don't pass out this time, yeah?"
Settling back in his chair with the fire crackling and the soft, muffled grunts of the dragon murmuring around the den, Dras closes his eyes and drops a forepaw to stroke himself as he feels Timanth offer up his energy, and begins to absorb it.
Timanth can sense the words forming in his head, less grating than they had been at the beginning of the raptor's exploration into the mental link they shared. They were less blunted, more easily inserted into the copper drake's consciousness. He can feel the raptor's presence, slowly pressing into his mind. Dras had learned finesse, and this intrusion is the least painful yet. A mental silhouette of an azure raptor forms into his mind, smirking with smug satisfaction. The projected words of his master help the calm the drake's emotions, giving him something to hold on to in the midst of his maelstrom of foot-induced lust. But all the sudden, he's lost again, the other part of his mind lustfully surging up, eagerly pressing against the raptor's consciousness as the sensation of the warm, leathery pad stroking over his face washes over his mind. The answering moan of pleasure is both mental and audible, the bronze-hued body shuddering on the ground as his erect shaft gives a heavy throb. It was impossible to even control his lust like this, having to fight both with physical and mental arousal alike. The drake had learned early on that trying was not only futile, but left him exhausted and drained. At a time like this, he can only cling onto the paw-lust-driven part of his mind, hoping that it will retain enough sense to keep from doing something reckless.
The spoken words of his raptorian lord make it easier to concentrate, again, and the copper draconian form slowly calms down, his mind getting a grip over his ever-growing primal passion again. His chest rises and falls in deep breaths as he attempts to steady his body, but every breath is heavily laden with the scent of his master, reeking of male dominance. Not able to keep his tongue from slowly uncurling out against the black pads, Dras' taste firmly imprints upon him as well. The copper drake feels like he will be able to tell those blue-scaled soles apart from any other simply by their taste and scent. His eyes are vision-less, blinded by the smothering blackness of the azure chieftain's warm pads, but he can still feel the soles slowly molding to the shape of his head, the toes curling behind it, slowly stroking along, even as the ballpads sink down against his mouth and nose, completely burying his head in a vast expanse of black-and-blue, warm soles. But after a few moments of stillness, the bronze drake's breathing evens, no longer ragged and harsh as he slowly fights down the arousal.
But he could feel the raptorian mind questing, reaching out. He wanted more, as always. And the bronze dragon could not deny to himself that a large part of him wanted to give it to Dras as well. To offer up his energy to what that part of his mind already recognized as his undisputed master. Slowly, with a shudder, he reaches out, even his mental image smaller than that of the raptor, and touches the muzzle of his consciousness against the shadowy feet of the alpha-caste's projection. The effects are immediate as the energy flow begins. As always, after he has had a chance to recover, the drake is full of energy, and it washes forth in large, pleasurable waves, tingling slightly as it travels upwards from the large, splayed talons of the deinonychus up his legs, a warm feeling spreading upwards from his groin then, saturating his body in a feeling of aural power. Timanth lets out a groan, feeling his body slowly start to weaken. He'd learned how much he could give without seriously damaging himself in the past, and notes that limit even as he controls the outflow of energy, letting it smoothly, slowly wash into Dras' body. He gives it willingly, succumbing to that large part of his consciousness that wants to offer himself completely to his master.
Dras' jaws creep open a leisurely crack, creamy white fangs glinting in the firelight as he takes Timanth's energy, both large alpha-caste feet burying the face of the small dragon and weighing down his skull with lusty enthusiasm. It felt good. Like the first sip of water running down a parched gullet and cooling from within. Like basking on a warm rock in the sun, or plunging into cold water after a day spent hunting on the plains. It was both invigorating and calming at the same time; he could feel the life flowing into him, strengthening him from within, feeding his willpower and allowing him to probe further into the mind of the dragon breathing meekly into his soles. A hissing sigh escapes through Dras' teeth as one forehand clutches around the arms of the wooden chair, claws clenching, drawing furrows in the wood as if physically pulling at Timanth's lifeforce; the other hand moves to grip the impressive bulge between the raptor's legs and slowly massage it.
A tiny portion of the alpha-caste chieftan's mind twinges with mild unease while Dras drains his servant - a faint warning not to enjoy the energy drain too much at risk of becoming addicted to it - but as always, the thought quickly fades away amidst the raptor's soft growls of pleasure, and is soon forgotten. It was easy to ignore such thoughts during a mental link as there were always new and interesting avenues of the recipient's mind to explore. The unease probably came from Timanth's mind anyway. It certainly wasn't worth paying attention to - so what if he was hooked on the energy drain?
Dras snorts in self-satisfied amusement and opens his eyes a narrow slit to glance down and observe the state of his servant. The dragon had already begun to tense himself upward, arching his back as though trying to push up into the padded soles that rested upon his face, and the raptor smirks at the familiar sight of it. Definitely not something that could be faked - Timanth was genuinely stimulated to be under his feet, his own malehood bobbing tensely against his belly while his hands gripped and clawed at the rug. The dragon was clearly burning with desire to stroke himself, and Dras absent-mindedly slides his tail over Timanth's torso as a firm reminder not to do so. Controlling the victim's arousal and time-of-release was pivotal in a mental conversion - he didn't need to be a shaman to know that much.
As he feels the flow begin to dwindle, Dras closes his eyes for concentration and begins to carefully lift and replace his sleek, handsome talons upon Timanth's face, pushing his thick pads to different regions of the dragon's skull in order to draw out the last ebbs of energy that are on offer. The warm toes and padded balls of the raptor's feet curl and splay in rapturous, possessive pleasure as they press and tread, soaking up what little of Timanth's lifeforce remains to be taken, and finally the dragon lies exhausted and oddly cold under the paws of his theropod master, emptied of everything he gave. "Good dragon," Dras says, slowly opening his eyes, then, "Fuck me, that feels good. Now let's work on that conditioning some more." The big blue talons pull reluctantly from Timanth's face, lifting one after the other and searing the dragon's eyes with the homely illumination of Dras' den once more. Never touching the ground, the sleek feet come to rest sole-down upon Timanth's chest, covering it generously before the weight of the raptor surges down through them as Dras curls forwards out of his chair and climbs on top of him. Fully trampled under the big raptor, Timanth is barely able to breathe until the big talons step forward and plunge his face into their warm, padded soles once more as Dras begins to firmly face-trample his ownership into the regenerating mind of the small dragon.
The mindscape playing through Timanth's mind is...interesting at best, almost torturous at worst. As his energy progresses through its several stages of exhaustion, the scene changes; first is the shadowy indigo raptorian form holding his right foot out, his own dim copper silhouette reaching forwards with its muzzle to lick at the presented foot. As more and more energy flows from him to the other, the dark blue form of his master's consciousness leans down, teeth nipping at parts of the body, drawing thin strands of what was the energy equivalent of blood from his incorporeal form. As the drain continues, the wispy strands of energy grow larger, streaming from his body. There is no pain, but the copper drake can feel himself weakening both mentally and physically as more and more energy flows from his body to his master's.
Somewhere, lost in the blackness, he can feel his own body responding, and as he shifts within his mind, something else stalks out of the shadows of his consciousness. This form is much larger, still smaller than that of the azure deinonychus, but noticeably emanating energy. He knew what it was, of course: the other part of his mind, what he had always regarded as the darker, more primal half. It dipped its head briefly to the large shadow of the blue raptor, before turning its head and biting harshly into the form of the copper dragon. The violence of this self-inflicted mental attack shocked him; never before had he so completely lost control over that lustful part like this. Suddenly, his energy was streaming out of him, the flow augmented by the projection of his more primal form, which was now guiding the smoky flow of energy up to the muzzle of the blue deinonychus' mentality.
He could feel his energy draining fast, almost unable to check its flow. The wounds on his astral body did not hurt, but his physical body in the real world was visibly weakening. As he struggled desperately with his other half for control of the energy flow, his body in the raptor's home had tensed up, his back arching almost painfully as his foreclaws dug into the furs beneath him, just barely able to resist the urge to stroke his throbbing member. The energy drain addiction went both ways, and with each session, he found himself wanting to give more and more to his master, wanting to present himself wholly to the azure chieftain at the expense of his mind and body. But his owner's tail does a fine job of maintaining his sanity, albeit inadvertently. The touch of the strong, limber appendage causes his lustful half to back down for a moment, his logical mind slamming back against it with a last burst of energy to hold it down, the incorporeal energy swirling viciously around in the mental landscape before the wounds seal shut, the last traces of the wispy material snaking up the shadowy raptor's muzzle.
The dragon's eyes slowly open to a scenescape of black; he hadn't even noticed that he had closed them. But he can certainly feel the movement above him, the warm, leathery pads pressing onto different parts of his muzzle, catching what little energy had managed to leak out while he was closing his mental gashes. He lets out an exhausted breath at the praise, part of him wanting to show his affection, but too tired and drained to even speak, much less nuzzle. His back slowly folds back down on the ground, his limbs relaxing as his body cools down, heat retreating to core functions while it waits for his surprisingly resilient form to regain its energy.
But he knows his master is not going to give him rest simply because he needs it. In fact, to condition his mind, the blue raptor had taken to steadily trampling his face even while he recovered, tinging the energy with his own so that each time, the copper dragon had grown just a little bit more addicted to the hind paws of his new master. A bright flash of light causes a hiss to escape from his mouth as his eyes find light for the first time in what seems like an eternity, suddenly freed from the smothering black soles of his captor.
"Oof!" The air rushes out of his lungs as his chest is completely buried by two very well-formed, sleek raptor paws, the full weight of the deinonychus slowly sinking into his body. Instantly he can feel his elevation lowering a few inches as the bronze body compresses, his muzzle wheezing desperately until the black pads once more reach over to cover his face, and he is enveloped in darkness for another time. But the darkness doesn't last long as one foot lifts, putting all his dreadful weight on the copper dragon's muzzle before trampling back down on the back part of his head, ploughing into his face and burying his vision in blackness. As the other hindpaw gracefully pulls upwards, he breathes deeply, feeling his lungs press up against bruised ribs before another groan of pain escapes the muffled muzzle as the black pads press downwards again, the blue alpha-caste slowly moving all over his head, making sure not an inch remains untrampled.
Dras rears up and stretches his princely body, taking a moment to add his own strength to the mental link as it threatens to collapse in the face of Timanth's exhaustion. He smirks and looks down at the dragon, feeling the short, gasping breaths blow against the exposed arches of his scaly feet. "Good job, draggy. I reckon that's the most you ever gave, except for that other time." He snorts in amusement and looks down as a limp draconic forelimb lifts slowly and touches his big scaly talons, brushing against them as though confused as to where the dragon's face is. The raptor watches, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his muzzle, and he lets Timanth continue feeling for a while before slowly beginning to ease his weight from side to side, swaying his powerful body and forcing squeeze after squeeze of pressure against the dragon's muzzle.
Since the toes and ball of a single, decently-sized raptor talon were sufficient to cover the majority of Timanth's head, it was pretty impressive that he could withstand having it fully trampled on, Dras muses, not for the first time. He had seen feral skulls crumple and explode under the treading talons of hunters and alphas alike, and Timanth was smaller even than a feral raptor. Quite remarkable.
With his head pushed to the side, Dras' paws easily engulf the dragon's face, plunging it deep into an ample expanse of smooth scales and rich, black, alpha-caste sole padding. The big raptor continues swaying until he feels the initial resistance of his servant die away, then he draws himself up and begins an intensive, full-on and prolonged trample routine, ploughing his big, shapely feet into Timanth's facial scales and coming as close to treading on the very mind of the dragon as is physically possible.
"That's it," he says, eyes half-lidded as his hindlimbs pump rhythmically. "Just lie there and take it. Soak it all up. We'll see how much of a pawslut it's possible to get out of you. I reckon you've still got a way to go yet." He grins, yellow eyes glittering in the light while his feather crest dances to the rhythm of his trampling. The wholesome invigorating high of the energy drain still pumps through his veins, lending skill and enthusiasm to his steps which, while firm and bearing all of his considerable weight, never lapse into stomps, and only approach the limits of Timanth's skull integrity - never quite reaching it. Even so, the big raptor tramples hard, treading all over every inch of Timanth's muzzle with neat, precise figure-of-eight patterns that walk his sleek alpha-caste soles firmly over the dragon's face one way before turning to walk them back the other. Capillaries burst and rupture under the heavy compression of the raptor soles, leaking blood beneath Timanth's scales and staining his hide with broad, severe bruises, but through the mental link, Dras serenely projects his own arousal and crushlust into the moaning dragon, creating bizarre conflicts within Timanth's mind while the padded feet trample relentlessly over his battered face.
In one particular moment of moaning weakness, Timanth's jaws are cracked open by one of the treading talons and splayed wide apart to loll limply against the ground, whereupon the observant raptor pauses his trampling to curl his long, thick toes down into the dragon's jaws, grip the warm, fleshy tongue they find there and slowly pull back to slide the wet organ between them. As the feet begin to trample again, a bout of energetic raptor laughter comes from above and saliva spreads over Timanth's face, evapourating quickly as friction warms his scales. For a quarter of an hour Dras continues to steadily trample the face of his servant, pausing every now and then to lift and check the soles of his talons for signs of blood or other severe damage, but as he feels Timanth's mental strength recover, the raptor chieftan slows his steps and eases off to simply stand upon the small head of the dragon, once again feeling Timanth pant against his arches and between his padded toes. Finally, with his limbs tingling pleasantly and his slick, black raptorian shaft unable to hold itself back from the outside world, Dras steps back onto Timanth's chest and settles into the raptor chair again.
Timanth lets out a deep groan as the full weight of the raptor settles down upon his body. The feeling is incredibly heavy, the mass of a creature heavier than he is settling down upon his skull. He can feel even his unusually strong bones creaking under the pressure, just barely keeping from cracking under the strain. Short, shallow breaths come from his body, the copper dragon attempting to keep from hyperventilating, to force more oxygen into his exhausted form. But it's rather hard with a multi-hundred-pound raptor standing on one's face, and it's all he can do to maintain his current rate of breath. His hand slowly wanders upwards, attempting halfheartedly to find what was exposed of his face. But all it encounters are sleek, blue-scaled talons and cold, sharp claws. Still, it continues to stroke along the well-formed toes until a shifting of weight causes it to fall back to the ground as the dragon lets out a heavy groan.
As the chieftain begins to sway from side to side on top of him, his head lets out ominous scraping and crackling sounds as the leathery black pads rub smoothly against the copper hide beneath them, the dragon letting out a low cry of pain as his face is completely smothered by the handsome soles of his master. His skull puts up quite a fight at first, attempting to hold up under the firm ministrations of his raptorian captor. But it is a losing battle, and after a few minutes of discomfort and heavy pressing upon his face, the bronze neck finally relaxes, muzzle lying back limply on the ground underneath the dominating paws of the azure chieftain.
A cry of pain is forced from his mouth as suddenly the raptor leans his full weight onto one foot, sinking the firm ebony pad deeply into his face before the other sleek talon comes ploughing down, the sprinter foot completely burying his shut muzzle, pressing it into the warm, engulfing blackness. The routine quickly establishes itself, and the copper dragon suddenly finds himself embroiled in pain as Dras begins to steadily trample him, each wide talon lifting high before pounding down upon the hapless face of the copper dragon. His limbs twitch and jerk with each step, spasms of agony running down his body as his head is slowly bruised and broken. Even though his bones never crack and crunch, they come dangerously close to it, and his skin deforms dangerously, compressing against his resilient skeleton underneath. The blue raptor can feel his round, firm skull pressing against his foot, forcing his pads in. His skin, however, is not so tough, and slowly begins to color a brilliant blue, black, and purple under the less-than-gentle ministrations of his raptorian master.
Again and again the feet descend upon him, moving, shifting, never in the same place, but causing brief surges of pressing, crushing agony whenever they descend. The right side of his face is a mosaic of bruises by now, his sensitized skin causing him to cry out weakly, the words of his master lost among the miasma of pain. But a lance of pleasure jabs through it, stabbing directly down into his groin, and a moan escapes him as his other presence surges up to contact the mind of his raptorian captor, taking a sort of masochistic bliss from being so pressed beneath the broad walking sections of his lord.
His jaws slide open, almost subconsciously, driven apart by a sudden touch of thickly-padded soles against the joint that keeps them together. The pink tongue lolls out, his eyes whirling almost milky in a combination of pain and sick pleasure. A shudder runs down his body as suddenly he's engulfed in the taste of the blue raptor, the musky, dry reptilian taste engulfing his taste buds, sending a throb of pleasure through his shaft. He can't control it, and the mocking laughter of the blue deinonychus shames him almost as much as the saliva raining down upon his face. But there is nothing the dragon can do except bear out the treatment, his limbs curling upwards in pain as his arms resist the urge to grab around the ankles and attempt to pull them off. Occassionally he shudders with a sudden crushing pressure as the deinonychus pauses with one foot lifted to check his soles, and a grunting groan passes through him as his skull threatens to give way. But there is no blood except for a small trickle running from his nostrils, the drake's resilient body surprisingly tough even under the penetrating tread of his captor. But his mind is split and almost broken, caught in the chasm between pain and pleasure.
Finally, the seemingly endless torture comes to a halt, the copper dragon's body somehow feeling stronger as it recovers its energy, despite having his face firmly imprinted with raptor footprints, the energy tainted with the blue alpha's own sick pleasure. But the stopping seems almost like a relief, the bruises no longer being pressed heavily into his skullbones, only a dull throb of internal bleeding, and his ragged breathing calms, slowly taking in the light scent of the reptile as the breaths blow softly between the toes and up the arches of his owner. Finally, even the heavy pressure is taken off his head, and the dragon gives a sigh of relief, heavily aided by the broad raptorian talons that once more expose his glazed eyes to the light by treading upon his chest, the servant severely bruised and not just a little dazed as he slowly comes to again, detecting the scent...and sight...of raptorian arousal.
Dras allows a quiet, restful moment to pass while Timanth lies panting beneath his warm, scaly heels and the fire heats his pleasantly worked-out soles. The big raptor relaxes back in his chair and casually tends to his own erection while he feels the breathing of his servant against the sides of his princely alpha-caste feet: deep and exerted at first, but quickly becoming shallow and excited as Dras reaches for the clay pot beside him. "Good job none of this is reversible, huh?" the raptor says, turning his amused yellow eyes from Timanth to the pot as he takes off the lid and sets it on the arm of his chair. "If you ever changed back into that proud, defiant dragon I trampled to death in the pit, memories like this one would sting a bit." He uncrosses his ankles and bends one hindlimb up to turn the sole of his foot upwards, then, after a brief, satisfied glance over the impressive appendage, he dips his hand into the pot and draws out a fistfull of thick, clear, oily liquid, with which he begins attentively lubricating his padded sole.
The quiet, slick sound of foot pads being liberally slathered seeps around the warm room, mixing with the crackle of the fire, the chirping of crickets in the night outside, and the tense breathing of Dras' draconian footstool. The raptor takes his time, carefully oiling each thick, long toe and rubbing the thick lubricant into his rich, black pads until they glisten darkly. When he is finally done, he stretches out his muscular hind leg again and rests his heel back on Timanth's chest, then lifts his other leg. Instead of repeating the process however, the lounging chieftain simply holds his big talon before the dragon's muzzle. "Okay, your turn," he says. But do it properly this time. If you fuck up and I have to redo it, it's just gonna mean you have longer to wait before..." He tantalizingly brushes the slickened pads of his lubricated toes up the length of Timanth's throbbing shaft. "...Testing time."
With an amused snort, the alpha-caste chieftain passes the clay pot down to Timanth, then slants himself comfortably in the chair to cross his ankles over Timanth's collarbone and proudly presents both huge, sleek raptor soles before the dragon's eyes. One sparkles enticingly with the oily lubricant and the other remains a dull matte, its dry pads hungrily devouring the light. As if Timanth needs further clarification, Dras conspicuously splays the long toes of his un-oiled talon and begins to idly grip his extruded shaft again as he settles back to watch the dragon work.
Timanth pants lightly, somehow feeling his body recover faster now that his master is not drawing off the energy from his being. After a moment, the heavy bruises fade from his pained muzzle, but the three-toed prints still remain. Those deformations of his skin would remain for quite awhile before his body finally fleshed them out again, as previous sessions had shown, leaving the copper dragon completely healthy after he had a chance to heal, but still leaving the deep hindpaw imprints in his hide for most of the following day, bearing the mark of his owner upon his body. He can hear Dras slowly stroking himself, the sound of scaled foretalons stroking over jet-black meat drifting down to the prone copper drake. The dragon's chest rises and falls, slowly pressing the hindpaws upon it up, then letting them sink back down upon his body as he exhales. Just as he thinks he has his breathing under control, the all-too-familiar clink of a clay pot causes his body to tense in a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. He knows what's coming next, and the words of his raptorian lord do nothing to assuage his feelings. In the beginning, it had been so easy to hate the blue raptor, the malevolence he felt towards his new "owner" so strong that if looks could kill most likely the entire city would have been set ablaze with its intensity. But over time, as the first seeds of the paw-lustful part of his mind were planted, and began to grow larger and larger, it had been harder to defy his master, and he could no longer deny to himself that the exquisite pleasure he found under the black, warm pads of the azure chieftain was like no other he had experienced in his life.
Being treated like such a toy at these times still irked what pride the dragon had left, but he knew that sooner or later, in fact, not very long from now, he would have to either let the primal part of his mind turn him into a slobbering pawslut with barely enough intelligence and civility to ask for more, or – he shuddered at the other choice, but knew it was the better option – merge the two halves and hope that enough sanity remained within him to keep the forced fetish under control.
The sudden shifting of weight on his chest causes him to let out a small "oof" and look upwards, where the raptor has readied the open clay pot and is inspecting his soles. The bronze drake can't help but let out a small murr as he sees the deinonychus' agile hand-talons begin to massage the thick, viscous oil into his own sole, the healthy blue scales adopting a glossy sheen, the leathery hindpad shining with its oily coating as the chieftain's hands expertly rubbed the oil into every inch of his sole.
It comes as a surprise to the dragon when the second, dry sole is presented to him. The raptor had only once requested such an action from him before, and back then he had done a rather poor job, hurling insults out from his muzzle even while rudely spilling the oil over the floor. That had...not been a good night for him, and he was certain that after that the blue raptor would be doing his own oiling. That he now asked his slave to once more perform this action bespoke of something, but the slender drake could not exactly tell what. His eyes widen a little and the clay jar almost falls from his grip as the oiled toes stroke once at his pulsing erection, a large ripple of pleasure running through his body, the moan coming unabashedly from his throat. Even the logical part of his mind could not deny the pleasure it felt, however humiliating it was.
Hands still shaking from that one single stroke, he dips in his forepaws and thoroughly coats them in the thick oil, taking one look at the dual soles presented to him, one oily and glistening, one still rough and matte, both handsome walking sections exuding dominance and possession. Taking a deep breath and suppressing the urge of his primal thoughts to simply bury his small bronze muzzle within the smothering expanse of the black pads, he lifts his hands and presses them to the uncovered sole. The oil quickly warms up between the fire-heated raptor sole and naturally warm dragon-paw, running slickly down the blue scales. The copper dragon rubs thoroughly and deeply, kneading as he had to the dry soles before, working the oil deep between the scales and into the leathery flesh of the black pads, his paws rising up to almost caress each individual toe, curling them downwards in their splay to press the oil into every crack of the toecrotches, slathering the contents of the jar thickly down the arches, only stopping at the heel, slowly and methodically rubbing the warm fluid in and covering the wide, smothering sole with a sheen that glistens and dances in the firelight.
Dras yawns, exposing a fresh pink tongue and rows of sharp, strong fangs as he settles back in his chair and enjoys Timanth's attentive massaging. It was easy to forget how good it felt to have his paws not just rubbed - that was something he experienced fairly regularly as a well-connected alpha caste raptor - but oiled too. It was a similar sensation to having his war paint applied by one of the gatherers, but felt far better due to the obvious attraction Timanth felt towards his talons; the dragon looked to be struggling to hold back from burying his muzzle in the azure soles before him. Dras smirks and fluidly splays and flexes his long toes and sickle claws, feeling his servant's answering gasp of breath as a cold tingle of air against his sleek, glistening arches. As always, the big raptor revels in the size difference between himself and his pet dragon: Timanth's hands were dwarfed against the walking sections of his feet, the entire span of a draconic hand unable to stretch from Dras' toe tip to ball base, or even across the width of his impressive, padded walking section. It made his casual domination of the dragon all the more poignant to have him such a good deal smaller.
The azure chieftan waits until Timanth slows his massaging and lifts his gaze to peer inquiringly at Dras, then he hefts his big hindlimbs one after the other to check their undersides. "Yeah, that should be okay," the raptor says, briefly rubbing his lubricated soles together with a slick, sliding sound and testing the friction between them. "Do your thing and let's get down to business. Looks like you're about to pop already," he adds with an amused, if slightly derisive, toothy smile, nodding towards the dragon's searing erection and stacking his big clawed feet tantalizingly close alongside it.
The mental link opens up more easily this time, practice and desire both lending speed and accuracy to the conditioned dragon as he forges a pathway into his mind for Dras. The unmistakable presence of the raptor quickly begins to build, growing in strength and volume until it is the dominant personality within Timanth's thoughts. Silently, Dras uncrosses his ankles and places the warm, moist sole of one sturdy sprinter foot over the snout of his servant, weighing down his small head and pushing it into the fur rug. Instantly the proximity of Dras' mind grows, physical contact adding strength to the mental link. The raptor's thoughts enter Timanth's head, forming words clearly and precisely through the enhanced contact of a lubricated sole. "Good dragon," Dras projects, a wave of warm, wholesome approval flowing into the dragon as the sleek azure toes splay slightly over Timanth's snout. "Hold still," he adds, and the weight of the remaining resting talon lifts from the dragon's chest as Dras brings his other oiled talon to hold it over the exposed portion of Timanth's face. "Just relax and let me take it. You're not going to be able to stop me this time," and a surge of raptorian amusement creates a smile on both reptilian faces: master and servant sharing the thought.
The big azure foot descends; Dras pushes it to Timanth's face and firmly holds it there, locking the dragon in warm padded darkness and sealing his facial scales under a single huge expanse of firm, oiled foot pads. Dras closes his eyes and quietly lifts the drink bowl to his scaly lips, then, after dipping his clawed hand into the clay pot again, he grips his sleek, black shaft and begins to smoothly massage it, steadily absorbing the life energy of the dragon under his big, handsome talons.
Timanth keeps himself calm as he continues to massage the thick oil into the now well-lubricated soles. Part of his mind keeps imagining those warm, slick ballpads upon his face, slowly kneading his hide beneath their heavy tread, pressing more bruises upon his features. But the other half pushes back with an image, just as vivid, of the powerfully broad hind feet of the blue raptor pressed against each other with his throbbing shaft in between, firmly stroking the deep pink flesh into utmost ecstasy. And a third part of his consciousness keeps telling him that it's inevitable that both will happen tonight. After all, that's usually what the big blue deinonychus did whenever he performed a conditioning session with his new pet, and that was practically every night. Slowly, he finishes his sensual massage, his dextrous, but relatively strong forepaws ending with a firm, steady circling across the entire ballpad, making sure the oil has seeped into the nooks and crannies of the leathery flesh. Having finished his job, but somehow still reluctant to take his hands off of the...handsomely muscled foot, he looks up at the chieftain, the question framed in his eyes and expression.
As the foot pulls away, he finds his forepaws almost unwilling to detach, as if they had a mind of their own. More shocking to the copper drake is the disappointment that suddenly wells up in him as the deinonychus' slight compliment to what, in the deepest part of his mind, he thought had been an excellently vigorous massage. The emotion was intensely disturbing. Did his other self truly want to give itself up fully to Dras, to become his pet? Was it not just only pawlust that drove it, but also a hidden desire to submit to the larger raptor? Even as these worrying thoughts drift through his head, he finds himself suffering another unpleasant, but definitely familiar emotion: embarrassment and shame as the taunting words, accompanied with the slick rubbing noises coming from between Dras' soles, flushing his cheeks a deep brown color.
As his azure owner's feet press down on his lower belly, so close to his groin, a sudden spasm seizes the dragon, his crotch jerking upwards once, straining heavily towards the wide, black pads before he lets out a strangled cry and slams his body back down onto the rub, breathing heavily and shaking badly. Where had that come from? He knew exactly where it came from, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a deep fear that he could no longer fully control his other self anymore. Tentatively, with a shudder, he opens the link, feeling the brooding presence of the primal, lustful part of his consciousness shoving forwards insistently to press it open. Relenting, he fully opens the link, once more seeing the dark indigo silhouette of his raptorian lord stalking into his mindscape. And it does not only remain a silhouette this time. As the copper dragon lets out a low groan into the heavy hind paw pressing against the tip of his muzzle, the scent of the oil flowing into his nostrils and the slick feel quickly lubricating that part of his face, the outline slowly begins to fill with color, fleshing out, the mouth opening to form the words, "Good dragon..."
And the dragon's other self, the large, almost vicious portion of his mind standing next to his diminutive, logical faction, positively glows with approval, its silhouette strengthening into a deep healthy bronze, unable to be kept back in the face of such praise, such warmth and approval. And for the first time, as his master's amusement flows between the two minds, one powerfully dominant, one shattered and at war with itself, his primal form takes over his body completely, a reptilian smile curling up on the copper drake's physical lips before that half of his face, too, is buried in the complete oily blackness of Dras' ebony ballpads.
This time, the fully-fleshed mind-raptor pads forwards, sliding his mind deeper into the copper dragon's than he had ever before, reaching out to both his silhouettes. One eager, one involuntary, they both bow down before the predator and touch their muzzles to his hind talons. Immediately, the energy begins to flow, thick and powerful and welling up quickly, no longer able to be regulated by the copper dragon's tight control. It streams out in thick gushes, surging up the blue raptor's legs, saturating his entire body in warmth and pleasure, his toes curling over the sides of his pet's body, massaging his face to continue drawing the rich, sweet energy from him.
Dras lets a long pleasured sigh hiss through his teeth as he feels the tingling heat of the transfer creep up his powerful legs and engulf the tense length of his slickened shaft on its way up his sleek azure body. It was incredibly easy to drain Timanth like this - with the mental link strengthened so enormously by the intimate oily contact formed between his own pads and the facial scales of the dragon, Timanth's energy simply flowed into him like water running downhill - taking it in was effortless. For several long, slow minutes Dras keeps his impressive soles planted firmly over Timanth's face, holding them still upon the small head while the current stays strong, but as he eventually feels it begin to dwindle, the big raptor begins to take more proactive measures. Keeping one foot still upon Timanth's snout, he begins to slowly slide the slickened sole of his other sleek sprinter foot up and down the side of the dragon's face, drowning out the quiet moan of his servant with a pleasured growl of his own as a second wave of tingling heat begins to creep through his muscled theropod body.
The slick sound of oiled foot pads against soft facial scales prickles intimately through the den as Dras' heavy alpha-caste feet alternate between weighing Timanth's head down against the fur-covered ground and sliding steadily back and forth over it. Strictly speaking, the chieftan didn't need to hold his servant's head down - the dragon would probably sooner hack his own tail off than pull away from Dras' talons so deep into the conditioning - but it still felt right that he should exert his physical dominance by keeping Timanth's head pressed to the ground under his sickled feet, even while administering such a mutually agreeable treatment. The raptor smirks to himself and opens his eyes briefly to locate the clay jar, before dipping his clawed hand in again and re-coating his glistening shaft as he settles back in the chair and begins to concentrate on the drain.
The warm toes and balls of the chieftan's large talons adopt a more firm, intricate style of rubbing as Timanth's lifeforce is gradually absorbed - the sleek, glistening pads of the raptor's feet running smoothly and precisely over the dragon's facial scales to carefully draw out the last ebbs of his energy. The big raptor continues to masturbate throughout the process, doing so slowly and to the rhythm of his own slick facial strokes, and eventually a combination of physical pleasure and mental satisfaction slows the sliding of his talons, his powerful legs easing off their smooth, fluid pumps until the feet of the raptor once again rest heavily over Timanth's face, warm and motionless, and almost buzzing with energy. Dras emits a long, slightly shaky sigh, his yellow eyes creamy with pleasure as they slide open a contented crack, and he pulls himself forward in his chair slightly, looking down as he slowly uncovers Timanth's glistening muzzle, the dragon's jaw slack and lolled open. He had taken pretty much all he could without extinguishing his servant's life completely but there was still a slight sparkle of energy left within him, Dras observes through the gorged mental link. In the next minutes and hours Timanth would regenerate his lifeforce almost from scratch, and all the exposure he had to the impressive talons of the chieftan would permanently imprint upon him: it was not a time to be wasted.
Repositioning himself comfortably in the chair, Dras settles back and takes a deep, contented breath, teasing at his own erection with careful claw strokes so as to prolong his climax. Taking his feet from the shallowly rising and falling chest of his servant, the raptor quietly surrounds Timanth's throbbing organ between his slick, padded soles, then firmly pushes them together and begins to smoothly massage the dragon into warm, creamy bliss.
The energy continues to flow, a warm welling of the most delicious sensations flowing upwards from the pinned Timanth's face, through the black, smothering solepads of his raptorian master, and up the length of his sleek, handsome body. His master's approval rolls over him like a wave of sunlight from above, the warmth of the unspoken, mind-felt praise washing through his being. It was frightening how easy it was to give up his energy like this, almost as if allowing the azure deinonychus to take his life force was easier than retaining it himself. As if the floodgates of his mind and body had been opened, the pure, thick essence of the dragon continues to flow, almost his entire body's worth channeling into the raptor. The silhouette that embodied the primal part of his mind didn't even have to gash its unwilling partner this time; the solidified mental body of the chieftain simply took what he wanted, completely overpowering any resistance that the copper dragon might have put up.
And indeed, that resistance would barely have existed, for at this point of the conditioning session the paw-lustful part of his consciousness was in control, forcing muffled moans of pleasure from his throat as the warm, leathery pads of his raptor lord completely bury his small copper skull beneath their dominating presence, able to almost completely form a seal around the bronze dragon's head. But the drake is rapidly running dry, his stores of energy quickly depleting as, much more rapidly, Dras reaches the point where the copper dragon had held back before. The psychological as well as physical failsafe triggers, automatically damming the flow to a slow trickle. But he knows his master has ways of working around this, and indeed, the stroking begins.
After many long sessions, the dragon had grown used to many of the rituals and motions the blue raptor went through to drain every last drop of energy from him. But the treatment still made him gasp in exhaustion, and later pleasure as well, no matter how many times he had to endure it. The blanketed groan from his muzzle, shadowed by the own lustful growl from above, signifies the second stage of the draining, as each stroke drew up another well of energy, steadily pulsing in time to the slow, slick wiping across the side of his face. Soft squelching noises reach the ears of the prone dragon as his facial features are thoroughly coated in the viscous stuff, the black ballpad and toes slowly dragging back across his crest before pressing forwards again, wiping themselves upon his being. Somewhere, in the very corners of his mind, what remains of his logical self lets out a cry and shudder of shame and humiliation, but that only bolstered the strength of his lustful half, the baser consciousness reveling in the dominance exerted upon it through the sheer use of the powerful, scaled talons.
And then the talons on the other foot repeat the actions of the first, the dragon's vision now covered in black-padded darkness as the right hindpaw of the theropod slowly strokes over the lolled-open maw, the toes slipping in and pressing against his tongue as they stroke, drawing spasms of almost sensory overload from the open muzzle, unabashed sounds of pleasure coming openly from the wide-open mouth as Dras continues to extract the last drops of energy from the tip of his snout. Even as both feet slowly begin to stroke in unison, reaching around to firmly sandwich his upper and lower jaw between them before rubbing up and down, flexible toes gripping his crest and sliding slickly along it, the energy continues to flow, and the copper dragon's movements become weaker and weaker as the last bits of essence retreat to his core to keep his vital functions running.
Of course, the chaired deinonychus can feel this, the mental silhouettes of the two copper draconian forms beginning to fade blacker and blacker, and the sensuous, almost painfully arousing strokes stop, both feet coming again to rest side by side along the bronze muzzle, utterly burying it beneath their combined bulk once again. Before his capture, the copper dragon had held enough energy that simply attempting to absorb it all would have killed the one who made the attempt, and ever now in his reduced size, the sheer depth of the energy well stored within his small frame is enough to completely gorge Dras' body, his aura almost shining with power. It is a completely heady feeling, and not all of it is completely psychological. With this much energy, the alpha-caste could easily bring down a very large hadrosaur single-handedly, and even had a hope of striking down a long-neck if he hit the central artery with enough force.
Timanth's breaths come harsh and shallow as the black pads slowly roll off of him, his lack of muscular control, combined with the sheer pleasure his other half had forced upon him, cause his mouth to remain open, tongue limply out to the side as he pants, the normally alert blue eyes clouded over with a tinge of white, a sign that his energy has been severely depleted. But even now, so soon after the draining has stopped, his body is beginning to recover, albeit very slowly at first. The breathing becomes labored as the heavy talons once more settle upon his chest, forcing his weakened ribcage down as the blue alpha-caste looks down upon his body.
Without a word, the three-toed feet reach down, and the copper dragon barely has enough time to ready himself, knowing what's coming, before a wave of the most exquisite pleasure grips him, and unlike the slow teasings of before, it doesn't stop. Surge after surge of arousal immediately rockets through the bronze drake's body, his body curling up even in its severely weakened state to lean over, his forepaws feebly clasping around the blue-scaled ankles, although he's not sure if they're trying to pull the black, warm pads closer or push them away. The lustful part of his mind lets out an inaudible feral growl and shoves his tattered, sane self aside. Before he had always managed to regain control, but with the amount of energy his chieftain had taken out of him this time, it might be a choice of merging, hoping to retain some sanity, or lose himself completely in the slobbery paw-obsession of his primal half. But these thoughts washed away as the deep ebony padflesh begins to knead, drawing a weak howl from the crested dragon, his head leaning back, mouth yawning open, eyes closing as he's consumed with ecstasy.
The sly eyes of the chieftain narrow to gleaming amber slits as he watches Timanth strain and contort in weak, semi-paralyzed ecstasy under the ministrations of his sleek, handsome sprinter feet. As the initial blissful howling dies down into shaky silence, Dras settles back in his chair and summons to mind the now-familiar pattern of stimulations upon which the dragon's conversion had been - and would continue to be - built. He begins by enclosing Timanth's rock-hard length between the thick soles of his talons and applies several long, slow squeezes of pressure, introducing the excited flesh to the big, sleek walking sections of his soles and demonstrating their dominance over it and their power to manipulate. A long moan drifts up from the open jaws of the drained dragon and Dras allows an amused half-smile to spread across his scaly features: the earlier massage had done its trick - his servant was more receptive than usual tonight.
Still playing precisely to the intricacies of his Timanth's conditioning, the big raptor unclasps his slick soles and begins slowly working Timanth's throbbing shaft with firm, massaging rotations of his impressive talons, a motion that floods the body of the small reptile with slow, undulating waves of softened, deeply wholesome pleasure. Dras' own erection firms as he feels the low-level stimulation ease into his mind through the link, and he hisses out a deep breath, reaching to lap quietly from his drink bowl before continuing. The smooth grinding of the big raptor feet lasts roughly two minutes and thoroughly lubricates Timanth's flesh with the oil that was rubbed into them earlier; eventually Dras begins interspersing his rotary motions with a steady splaying of his warm toes, sliding the longer two of the big scaly digits down to push against the base of Timanth's shaft and the lips of his swollen cloaca, and splaying his sickle toes upward to rub the head of the dragon's organ between them. Since his alpha-caste feet are more than large enough to engulf the length of Timanth's shaft between his rich, firm ball pads, Dras has to introduce a new motion to his ministrations in order to work either the base or head of the dragon's flesh with his toes: One after the other, the powerful clawed feet slide down its length, splaying the long outer toes over Timanth's hips so the inner ball and sickle toe can massage against the dragon's aching organ.
Several times the raptor pauses, taking his talons from Timanth's swollen flesh and placing them sole-down over the dragon's hips and tailbase to casually stroke at his prostate while Dras tends to his own erection or drinks from his bowl. Whenever the big, sleek feet lift to resume, Dras teases his pleasure-stricken servant by making Timanth wait while he agonizingly slowly re-oils his soles, or by stroking the tip of the dragon's organ with his claw tip, or with light brushes of his toe pads, but eventually he always plunges the tingling draconic flesh back into the warm grip of his padded soles and begins to massage it anew.
Gasping, his breath coming in shaky, unsteady rattles, Timanth tries to hold himself still, desperately resisting the forceful urgings of his primal half to shamelessly hump against the black-padded soles that held his shaft, to worship them with his body and spill his draconic seed all over them. But there is absolutely no denying the pleasure that courses through his body, spreading as a blissful wave outwards from between his legs as the sleek, ebony pads come together with his throbbing member in between, slowly and methodically squeezing it between their powerful, dominant tread. Even as a shaky moan issues forth from the copper lips, his mind is afire in lust, the more powerful portion of his mind finding just enough energy to utter these sounds of pleasure. And despite the fact that what he still considers his sane self has been thrust and smothered into a deep corner of his mind, that part of him can't help but watch with a sort of morbid lewdness as his animal lust strips his mind bare, lays it open for Dras to see, pumping the sheer pleasure and paw-fetishism back into the blue deinonychus' mind so strongly that the tinges of humiliation and shame, while still there to stoke the chieftain's arousal, are overshadowed by the thick upwelling of sheer desire.
And then the massaging truly starts, the blue-scaled soles of his theropod master moving in slow, firm circles around his sensitive flesh. As the oil begins to coat his erect length, mixed with some of his own pre-fluids that the rubbing, stroking hind-paws have forced from his body, the friction decreases, but that only serves to remove any and all discomfort that had been present, not there had been much, and allow a warm, almost viscous pleasure to begin completely soaking into the copper drake's body. The very dim danger of those sharp, slicing claws occasionally arises as he feels their cold presence sometimes touch against his organ, but those thoughts rise up only briefly, his primal mind disregarding that warning of danger with the excuse that the paws those claws resided on are currently providing him with exquisite amounts of stimulation. The bronze dragon has often wondered after these conditioning sessions how his raptorian lord attained such dexterity and skill with his toes and walking section, for the steady splaying manipulation that is currently driving him mad with ecstasy is surely also a hugely impressive feat of talon control.
Again and again the dragon arches his hips in pleasure, finding the energy now as it slowly recovers to brace himself with one forepaw as he leans back, the other keeping a steady hold on one of the azure-scaled ankles. And the pauses...oh gods the pauses. Every time those stroking black pads stop, he feels as if he would go mad with the need for release, even as the toes deftly rub at his prostate, causing his shaft to throb higher for a moment, standing straight up as the pressure manipulates it into almost over-arousal. And still, the blue raptor will not grant him the relief of resuming his stroking, kneading pleasure-massage, instead choosing to tease him with his toe or claw. Once, and just once, the copper dragon breaks and lets out a low whimper, as if pleading with his master to resume the treatment before it turns into a low groaning moan, the black pads having once more buried his pink shaft between them. Even as he feels his energy returning to him, it only increases his lust and heat, his body spasming strongly now whenever Dras sees fit to change his motions unexpectedly, the copper dragon only held back from orgasm because of the periodic pauses that the blue alpha-caste uses to further prolong his need and imprint him further upon his handsome, powerful hind-paws.
Growling in quiet dominance, his own arousal starkly manifest and gleaming black in the firelight, Dras seals the slick balls and toes of his sleek alpha-caste feet together around Timanth's shaft and begins slowly stroking it into the sole of one talon with the padded walking section of the other, plying firm, smooth rubs and a fluid splaying of his long, thick toes. As best he can, the azure deinonychus also makes generous use of several stalker-caste sickle toe techniques to prolong Timanth's stimulation and delay his reflex to orgasm - at this late stage, with the innermost energies of the dragon's lifeforce regrown, this potent arousal was the best way to keep Timanth's conscious mind suppressed and allow the imprinting to penetrate as deeply as possible into his subconscious. Or something like that... Truth be told, Dras didn't care as much for the purity of imprinting as for the grim, dominant pleasure he felt at seeing the smaller reptile arch and squint and gasp in sheer heavenly bliss under the smallest splaying of his warm, slickened toes; hearing the dragon moan in love and ecstasy under his feet when before he had done so only in anguish and hate. It was so easy to hold power over someone by inflicting pain, Dras muses, but to do so through inflicting pleasure was far harder and resulted in a bond far stronger. Power gained through pain could be broken by the smallest change in circumstances - a prisoner breaking free of his chains or a mind descending into insanity - but power gained through driving unstoppable, undeniable pleasure into your victim's mind until it saturated and possessed him - that kind of power forged bonds between dominator and victim that could never be broken. He might resent Dras, even escape - break free of the city itself - but Timanth would never be able to find satisfaction anywhere but under his master's talons. It was a very pleasing thought.
Another surge of orgasmic bliss surges through the mental link, interrupting Dras' thoughts and coaxing him to look down at his gasping servant; Timanth was clearly on the very verge of a hefty climax, his eyes rolling back in his head and his lower jaw trembling amusingly. The big raptor skillfully plies his practiced stalker techniques again and firmly grinds down the bubbling wrath of impending climax with smooth motions of his sickle toes before returning the howling dragon to a more serene, deeply wholesome massaging motion: both large, powerful soles sliding moistly against Timanth's tense, sensitive flesh, smothering and surrounding it in rich, slick foot padding and warm, smooth scales. He feels the dragon's suppressed orgasm sink back down to join the slowly-rising tide of stimulation that already flows freely through the linked minds of both reptiles - a metaphorical ocean of pleasure. But while Timanth flounders within it, utterly immersed and struggling to stay up, Dras floats serenely on top of it, casually dipping in as he sees fit. An azure clawed hand grips the stark shaft of glistening black raptor flesh and Dras pushes back in his chair, stroking himself steadily while he tentatively feels through the mental link to survey Timanth's state: it was almost time.
As he prepares himself for the inevitable mess, neatly moving aside his drink bowl and the two clay pots, Dras feels a sudden wave of lucid longing surge from the mind of the dragon and break against his own mental barriers, and he strengthens his concentration. He was not going to be able to hold the dragon for much longer. Leaning to one side in his chair, the big raptor firmly grips Timanth's burning shaft in the thick black pads of his walking section and begins to finish the dragon off with swift, smooth thrusts of his muscled legs. The angle and pressure of the big soles create a deep, slick pocket of warm pad flesh, glistening with oil, into which the aching rod of draconian flesh is finally allowed to thrust unashamedly, aided by the sleek, muscular power of the azure chieftan as his limbs pump with endless, fluid strength, driving lances of sheer electric pleasure through the arching body of the dragon. The instant before Timanth loses control, Dras forces his way back through the link and into Timanth's mind, opening up his own as he resonates calmly, "You're mine," and the weight of arousal blasts through the defenses of both reptiles simultaneously in a moment of pure stuttering bliss and heavenly release.
Yet another strangled howl escapes Timanth's lips as Dras holds him back from climax yet again, the thick sickle toes slowly grinding down his shaft against his belly, forcing the rising tide back down, quashing it firmly down into the ocean of pleasure. A slow moan of frustration escapes the lolled-open copper maw, his eyes open but unseeing, the sapphire orbs glazed over with the drake's sick pleasure. The pleasure was there, crashing through his body again and again, so much so that the copper dragon feels like he might burst before his master allowed him release. He could feel the blue raptor's mind in there too, the strong almost corporeal form of the deinonychus looking at his own silhouette, a slow, satisfied smile on his face, even as the dragon gasped and flailed around in the reservoir of lust. Or, at least, his logical half did. The lustful portion of his mind stroked powerfully through it, reveling in its thick, viscous warmth, soaking the huge waves of ecstasy into itself.
As his master smoothly kneads and strokes his sensitive, aching member into the black pawpads, all logical thought vanishes from his mind, his "sane" half finally giving in to the irresistible surges of pleasure that rippled through his entire being. And it is in that moment of admission, that concession of bliss, that signals to Dras that his little pet dragon is ready. Even as the deinonychus' mind slides almost fully into his own, his handsomely muscled hind legs begin to stroke quickly and strongly. Unable to control himself at all any longer now that he's finally given into the pleasure the blue-scaled soles have to offer, he grips the ankle firmly with one paw and supports himself with his other, arching his back and powerfully thrusting his hips against the engulfing, leathery ebony pads. Thick schlking sounds come from between the oiled hindpaws as the bronze dragon worships, makes love to those warm pads, his pleasure amplified by the shared mental link, and the ecstatically pleasurable pistoning of those sleek, muscled raptor legs.
He can feel himself letting go, the primal part of his mind gnawing at the rest of his mind even as the presence of the azure raptor solidifies completely into a mental replica of Dras, the mouth opening and speaking those words, "You're mine." And through the widened hole between their minds created by the intrusion of the blue raptor, the ocean of pleasure crashes. As if the floodgates of a dam had suddenly been opened, all the bottled up stimulation, all the pent-up lust rushes out in a huge tsunami of ecstasy, crashing over the copper dragon's mind and flowing backwards to engulf the blue alpha-caste. In a heartbeat of sheer, unbelievably aching release, the copper dragon's vision, both real and mental, fades, only barely aware of his lord's own climax as his shaft throbs powerfully, thick ropes of dragon seed fountaining out against the blue soles, coating them with the dragon's essence, the powerful orgasm shooting the fluid up Dras' leg as all the pent up energy released in one huge burst. But he himself is only dimly conscious of his body's motions as the animal part of his brain finally rises up, like a gigantic serpent in the sea of lust, and swoops down, consuming what remains of the original mind of the dragon called Timanth, breaking it against the unyielding scales of his own mental struggle...and then his vision, both mental and physical, fades to white.
***
He awakes slowly, vision extremely blurred as he finds that his eyes have closed sometime between...between then, and now. The drake is lying sprawled on his back on the furs, his wingspines spread out in disarray and his arms akimbo. Head aching, body weak and spent, even though his internal energy has almost all recovered, he shakily raises himself onto his forearms, quickly pushing off and hunching over in a cross-legged position, not trusting his own muscles at the moment. What had happened to him? He certainly does not feel any different, although the last thing he remembers is the primal part of his mind completely engulfing him, consuming him, plunging him into the deep abyss of paw-lust and slavery to his deinonychus master. And yet...he still retains his normal mental functions. Nothing feels out of place, and his mind continues to operate with almost impeccable logic. And for some reason, something was missing...
His eyes widen as he gasps in disbelief, probing his entire consciousness frantically. It was gone! The animalistic part of his mind, that which he had always hated and despised...had vanished. Pausing a moment to digest this latest development, the copper dragon turns his head at the sound of approaching footsteps. With his lowered head, all he can see is a pair of sleek, handsome, sexy...holdon, sexy? Yes, that word had indeed surfaced when he saw the blue-scaled talons of his raptorian master come into view. And although he is late to realize it, along with those thoughts came a purr of pleasure as well, almost unbidden from his lips. Eyes whirling in mild alarm, he examines his mind again, and finds that even though he is no longer burdened with the split mind, the two halves have fused, instead of one or the other disappearing. As a result, he carries the traits of both, the keen logic and thinking of his mental half, but the paw-lust and sex-drive of the newly-created animal portion. It was an interesting turn of events, and the copper dragon doesn't quite know what to think of it. All he can feel now, though, is relief that a heavy burden has been lifted from his consciousness, and that he can finally think clearly once more. Perhaps the attachment to his master's hind talons would not be such a terrible thing.
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