Hard As Rock

When Spike had first come to the Dragon Lands as a child, the constant heat and flame, and the sickengly rich stench of brimstone, had been strange to him. Alien even. Not as much as it had for ponies, he understood, but still, it was foreign. Now, he rather enjoyed it. It felt and smelled right, like a comforting sense of deja vu. It felt normal, and proper, and desirable.

The purple drake beamed at the arid rockscape around him, the cracked brown of the baked earth interrupted by swirls of white and black smoke, and bright orange flecks of spitting magma. Thick, acrid smoke kept the sky in a constant state of dimness, preventing the sun from glinting off the stockpiles of gold and jewels like it would in Equestria. It was beautiful all the same.

Atop one of the piles, a bunch of dragons jostled and shouted, heaving one another as they wrestled for dominance. King of the Hoard, Spike realised, watching the constant back-and-forth between contenders. He watched from a distance, his feet carrying him automatically in the direction of Ember's throne. She wouldn't be playing rough-and-tumble games; she'd be huffing at the difficulties of rulership, the boredom and nuisance it innevitably brought, and she'd be waiting for him to bring her some levity. With that thought in mind, he turned away from the boisterous display and focused on the task at hand.

THUNK!

Spike practically jumped out of his skin when a red blur dropped from the sky directly in front of him, sending the drake scuttling back several feet in panic. The impact send a deep rumble through the ground, the noise reverberating from the crater walls. The object moved, raising itself up into a standing posture, and revealing itself to be a dragon. A pair of beady black pupils fixated on Spike, beset within a scowling face.

"You," the dragon growled in a low, chesty rumble, taking a step forward. Spike gulped. "You dare come here..." The bestial man took another step, drawing closer to the immobile drake with a determined steadiness, his presence radiating assertiveness like physical heat. He closed the distance swiftly, not even rushing or hurrying his pace, just stepping forward without hesitation. A hand reached out, fingers clasping around the back of Spike's head, the pressure digging into the purple boy's scales.

"...without telling us you're coming? Dick move, bro." The dragon pulled him in close, wrapping him in a headlock and grinding his knuckles across the top of Spike's head roughly. "Good to see you, pint-sized! It's been years!"

"Y-yeah," Spike agreed, wincing at the overly rough welcome. "Good to see you too, Garble." He wriggled futilely in the drake's grasp, trying to twist himself free, to no avail. The hold was an ironclad imprisonment, keeping the purple drake pressed against the adamantium surface of Garble's chest, snout stuffed against the dragon's pectorals. He smelled of sweat and energy, a powerful mix that made Spike squirm in more ways than one. The red dragon let go after several long seconds of playful torture, though Spike wouldn't have minded staying longer.

"What brings you back to civilisation?" Garble asked, standing back and looking the younger dragon up and down. "And why are you coming here dressed like that?"

"Like...this?" Spike asked, looking down at himself uncertainly. He was dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a form-fitting silk shirt Rarity had made especially for him, which to his mind suited him well. They hugged his - admittedly feminine - body nicely, broadcasting his thin waist and lithe legs for everyone around to see. He thought they looked good.

"Yeah," the red dragon answered. "Wearing clothes. That's just a way to keep you constrained, bro. Be open and proud, like a real dragon." To demonstrate his point, he raised his arms horizontal to his shoulders and flexed, framing his grinning face between two curled lengths of steel. Spike looked on in awe as Garble's biceps, already bulging, turned from hills into mountains, rising as though forced upwards by tectonic plates. There was barely a quiver, as though his arms were a solid mass of cut metal or rock, and Spike imagined that Garble could manually part a fault line if he were so inclined.

"I-I don't think I could," Spike stammered, receiving a laugh from the red dragon, who curled his arms downwards towards his hips, flexing his abs and pecs. He eyed up the chiseled chest, caressing the tightened, taut plates of iron, fighting back a dreamy sigh. "I don't look...um...l-like you."

"It doesn't come easy," Garble admitted. "You've gotta work for it, and you've gotta work hard. Nothing good ever comes easy, and that's why the result is so good." Straightening up, he stepped towards the younger drake. "If you need a mentor, I'm your guy. What do ya say, pint-sized?" His grin was playful and friendly, as was the hand on Spike's shoulder.

"Uh..." Spike murmured, running his eyes up and down the buffed scales of the taller male's sculpted torso, packed with dense muscle. "Y-yeah...I'd like some...personal time with you..."

"That's the spirit!" Garble congratulated, patting Spike's shoulder firmly. "What're working with?" He prodded Spike's belly experimentally, pulling a wince from the purple dragon as the digit dug into his softness. "Well, we've all got to start somewhere, I guess."

"Yeah," Spike agreed lamely. "How about now? Me and you?"

"Eager and ready?" the other dragon noted, nodding in approval. "I like this side of you, it suits you as a dragon."

"Well, it helps that I've got some good motivation," Spike answered, smiling demurely.

"And what's that?"

"Uh...you."

"Me?" Garble asked, laughing in a deep, sonorous guffaw. "Damn, bro, no need to lay it on so thick! I haven't even started training you yet. How about we start with some cardio, get you ready for some real weightlifting?"

"I'm great with cardio," Spike promised, his smile turning a tad more mischievous. Summoning his courage, he locked gazes with Garble and lidded his eyes. "Want me to show you?"

The red dragon's eyes widened in surprise, and he glanced around uncertainly, caught off guard for once. "Well, uh, that'd be..." He laughed nervously, scratching at the back of his head. "Uh, no homo, right?" He didn't have time to react as Spike pranced up to him and stretched up, standing on tip-toes to reach the right height, and planted a firm, uncompromising smooch on Garble's lips. Pulling back, Spike beamed, fully and unabashedly.

"Full homo," he whispered, batting his eyes flirtatiously, and almost challengingly. For several moments, Garble froze, blinking repeatedly, before his shock wore off and a grin spread across his snout. In a lightning-fast movement, he threw Spike over his shoulder and secured the femmy drake with a firm hand on the ass, striding away with purpose. Spike giggled as he was carried, absolutely no effort required on the part of his welcome abductor. The orange spade of Garble's tail bapped against Spike's mouth, and when he gasped in surprise, it pushed past his open lips, giving the living luggage something to suck on while he was transported away.

He was too enamoured with the impromptu gag to take in the noises around him as they walked, but he still recognised the raucous sounds of dragons socialising and the abrupt drop in conversationas they became aware of him and his carrier. The tail was yanked out of his reach and he was deposited onto his feet, stumbling into a rocky wall before he regained his balance. Looking up, Spike was greeted by the sight of three more dragons, every bit as naked and muscular as his willing kidnapper. He met their curious gazes with a timid wave.

"Who's the new girl?" one of the drakes asked, his eyes roaming freely across Spike's slim form.

"And why is she wearing clothes?" another asked, his wandering eyes meandering from the purple dragon's chest to his waist. Spike felt his cheeks warm up at the unabashed leering and the shameless objectification, but did nothing to stop it. Having four hunks talking about him as though he wasn't even there - even as they undressed him mentally - wasn't a bad thing.

"This little hussy is Spike," Garble answered, smirking smugly. "And she has volunteered to be our little servant until we get bored of her. Isn't that right, slut?" He finally turned to look at Spike, his smirk broadening into a grin. The femboy's blush flared brightly at the combined attention of all four dragons, feeling the intensity of their gazes burrowing into him. He hadn't anticipated being the centre of attention of a group of ripped males, but for all his awkwardness, he was unwilling to stop what was happening.

"Y-yes," he agreed in a small, submissive tone, only daring to look at them in darting glances. There were murmurs and a wave of chuckles, the dragons looking between one another with a knowing smugness that drove Spike into an even deeper sense of shameful pride. "But I have an appointment with Ember, so I can't be too long..."

"The Dragon Lord wants an appointment with you?" one of the dragons - white with a soft pink underbelly and pink fins - asked. "How much of an ass-kisser are you?"

"Yeah, she probably needs someone who'll enjoy giving her massages and footrubs," another jumped in, this one dark grey with an olive underbelly and wings.

"Or maybe he's an actual ass-kisser," the last one suggested, a silence falling over the group as they pondered his words. The femboy's cheeks burned bright, practically a beacon against his purple scales and as hot as the lava around them.

"We can always find out," Garble spoke up, flicking his head in Spike's direction. "You like serving better dragons than you, don't you?" Not trusting himself to speak, Spike nodded. "And by 'better', you mean dragons who have turned themselves into living monuments of perfection, don't you?" Again, Spike nodded. "So...what do you think of peak performance, huh? We're right here, bud."

If Spike thought he was blushing before, being put on the spot while a manly, muscled male flexed and postured for him made him feel like he was just about ready to burst into flame. The red dragon curled his arms towards himself, kissing each of his burgeoning biceps in turn before extending his arm out straight, casting himself in a pose reminiscent of a godly statue. With an imperceptible effort, his pecs rose and fell in succession, a boastful display of his tightly wound musculature and bodily control. For a curious boy raised in a soft and safe environment, seeing such ardent masculinity and unapologetic pride was akin to a child tasting quality chocolate after being raised on a diet of bread and water.

"I love it," he breathed, nearly whining. It took actual effort to not drool at the sight and mash his face against the cocky dragon's abs. "You deserve to have everyone admiring you, a-and I wish I could be here every day to show you just how amazing you are. Y-you're the pinnacle of perfection, and I want to...w-worship you."

Garble ignored the guffaws and the cheers, the glow on his face indicating he absolutely loved the praise he'd just recieved. "That's nice and all, but words are for ponies." He snapped his fingers expectantly and pointed from the femboy to the ground in front of him. "Dragons don't care what you say if you can't back it up with action. You might be some little slut, but you're still a dragon. Get over here and show us what you really think."

The decision to obey was not a conscious one. Whereas his words were spoken with some degree of forethought, his ready steps towards the dominant dragon were driven by instinct and understanding, a simple need to fulfill the orders of his betters. Keeping his gaze centered on the waiting wonder, Spike closed in, not even needing to glance up for confirmation on what he ought to do when he reached the hunk; he pressed his snout against Garble's chest, kissing the light gold scales in soft, tepid smooches. They were smooth and damp, his lips gliding across the glistening surface, passing over the segmentations without any interruption and barely a notice. Running his tongue over his lips, Spike tasted the mild bitterness of salt, sighing in satisfaction.

"You've been working hard," the femboy commented dreamily, nuzzling one of Garble's pecs, receiving hardly any give at all. It grew firm, pushing him back a little, and Spike felt a shiver run through him. "You're all sweaty and hot..."

"Aren't you gonna do something about it?" The question was expectant, as though he already knew the answer and was just reminding the lithe femboy of his place. It did far more than that, though - it gave Spike full permission to service the stronger, bigger dragon, to fully lavish him with the treatment he deserved.

Wordlessly, Spike flicked his tongue across Garble's scales, sweeping up and down, swiping across the smooth surfaces and letting the salty taste roll over his buds. He edged sideways, licking up and down before inching to the side, ensuring that every inch of the space he was worshiping at any given moment was cleaned and polished. Within seconds, the stud's right pectoral was sparkling clean, the droplets of sweat replaced with a thin sheen of saliva, but still the femboy didn't stop, giving the area another pass, and another, to make sure that it was utterly buffed. When the flavour ran out, he shifted to the other side, relishing the strong return of wet salt and acrid masculinity.

The purple dragon travelled across Garble's chest and up to his shoulders, following the prominent ridge of his collarbone and the rugged tautness of his neck. Almost every square inch of the beastly man was adamantine, unmoving as he pressed against the scales and the toned skin beneath, so when Spike did feel a flex or a shift, however subtle, he knew the statuesque stud had done it of his own volition. When he swallowed, sigh, tensed, or made any other movement, the femboy simpered and basked in the knowledge that Garble had either reacted to his thorough tongue bath or that he wanted to show off for the cute little youth.

Spike rolled out his tongue further and further to properly conduct his work, letting the serpentine organ slide over and wrap around the solid density of Garble's extended arms. His length wound its way up the limb, coiling around the thick, obtrusive muscles, collecting any droplets or beads he encountered, the fluid melting onto his travelling appendage. The solid mass in his hold tightened, the iron firmness becoming steel and the surface rising, pulling Spike's tongue back several inches as he was given more girth to wrap around. Even constricting as tightly as he could, there was no more reach with Garble flexing, and Spike reluctantly unwrapped himself from the gloriously firm bulge and moved on to serving other unlicked parts of his better.

Through taste, Spike scouted Garble's sculpted surface, seeking out wet patches to wipe and dab dry. He was both pleased and disappointed as the briny flavour became less prevalent, proud of the results of his efforts, but yearning for more of that addictive tang. He cleared everywhere he could think to reach, slurping under the red dragon's arms and over his triceps, following the curves of his circumference and the steep rise of compacted strength and might. There was so much mass to love, but for all of that, he still ran out of delicious saltwater to lap up far too quickly. It wasn't fair.

From his arms and shoulders down his broad chest, Spike descended across the impeccable features of the adonis, revelling in how hard and unyeilding his partner's torso was. It was truly the epitome of manliness, forged through tremendous effort and dedicated discipline. How could he not admire and lust over something so great? His tongue danced over the bevels of Garble's abs, sweeping across and down until his belly was clean and the rich, heavy scent of crotch musk overpowered the airy wiff of the dragon's post-workout body. The prodding of the rigid tool against his chest, previously ignored in favour of the brick-like surface in front of him, surged to the front of his attention as it grated against his throat and the top bapped his chin. Excitedly, he pulled back, delightfully eyeing up the proud erection.

However much the submissive drake had enjoyed tasting and feeling the thick muscle of his idol, the object of his affection had been enjoying it just as much, or even more. Already impressive when he'd first laid eyes on it, Garble's rod was now a titanium pole of gorgeous proportions, wonderfully long and wide, and unerringly stiff. It look solid enough to support a weight without any aid, and it throbbed softly in time with the stud's heartbeat, the only deviation from its otherwise unmovable state. The rounded head - the most tender part of the fleshy monument - was inviting, demanding his attention, like he'd been warming up to this very moment ever since he pressed his lips to Garble's chest. Breathing in, he drank in the thick musk emnating from the turgid tool before closing the distance, drawn in almost involuntarily, and parted his lips to welcome the crown into his mouth.

The hot tang of flesh hit his tastebuds immediately as he glided down the shaft, fighting back a moan at the delicious richness he hadn't realised he'd been craving. It fit so well in his maw, the pole a perfect shape for him to embrace and allow to rest against the walls of his mouth, the heat radiating against him and the taste seeping into his cheeks like a chipmunk greedily guzzling the tastiest of morsels. By the time his snout pressed against Garble's base, lips sealed lovingly around the shaft and the tip tickling the back of his throat, Spike was salivating in deep contentment.

"All that in one go?" the hunk spoke, sounding impressed. "Not even a pause. This slut's got a real talent for suckin' dick!"

"She probably gets enough practice with dudes in the Dragonlands."

"Or maybe she just practices on Ember!"

There was a chorus of obnoxious, brassy laughter, the gaggle of dragons sharing in the crude amusement. The vibrations caused the cock to rumble in Spike's mouth, resonating through the comparatively small drake. An embarassed thrill rushed through him at their derogatory praise, his cheeks flushing hot until they rivalled the temperature of the virile length swabbing his gullet. Saliva pooled in his mouth, swamping the girth and filling the little remaining space that wasn't occupied with dragon meat. Dreamily, he let the excess spill from his maw, wetly dribbling down his chin and over the proud prick he was servicing, and without a care for the mess he was making, slithered his tongue between the dangling jewels hanging between the alpha's legs.

"Yeah, work those nuts, slut," the jacked male gruffly encouraged. "Put that tongue to proper use." He flexed again, placing his hands on his hips and tensing his muscles, showing off to Spike without the femboy even seeing the full result. That didn't matter - Spike was already enamoured with the display, and the mere hint of an exhibition was enough to send his heart fluttering. Obediently, the purple dragon slid his tongue further, grazing along his partner's taint, inching further and further with no destination in mind. "Woah, what's this?"

Spike blinked and looked up, his head pulled back to unsheath the red cock from his gob. "I was putting my tongue to use?" he tried, licking his lips. His maw felt warmer and looser from the deepthroating, and he savoured the residual taste of cock on his tongue.

"Yeah, you were," Garble agreed, grinning down at him salaciously. "But if I'd known you were gonna do that, I'd have made it easier for ya." Turning his back on the drake - a very taut back at that - Garble spread his legs and leaned forward slightly, the angle providing a better view of the carved buns of his rear. Reaching back, he spread his buttocks, exposing his dangling nuts encased in a glistening, drenched sack, and more importantly, a tight, wrinkled ring, right in between his chiseled cheeks. With a confident, subtle sway, he sent his balls swinging moderately to the side like a lazy pair of metronomes. "Dig in, you freaky whore."

The sight alone was enough to convince him, but the biting encouragement sent him forward readily, his tongue already lolling from his mouth by the time he reached the treat presented for him. His first stop was the steel caps themselves, lavishing them with broad swipes to feel their firmness and worship them like they deserved. Garble's fingers had depressed the scales where he'd touched, but Spike's tongue folded against the dense surface, unable to make them budge even a tenth of an inch, no matter how insistently he lapped. Beneath, he could feel the subtle shifts and twitches of the male's tiniest movements, each miniscule motion a reminder of just how tightly toned Garble actually was. Finishing off both buns with a kiss to their rock-hard peaks, he moved inward, dragging his tongue up the soaked scrotum, cleaning the thick drops resting on his plump balls and curling his tongue to reach every inch and angle. Burying his snout between the carved cakes for a better reach, he continued his work, taking a deep breath from his new position.

The effect hit him a scant second after he'd inhaled the musk, and this time, he couldn't suppress his feminine groan. The musk he'd smelled before had coalesced between the sculpted asscheeks, imbuing the sweat with a stronger, thicker aroma. Surrounded by steely buns, the smell had nowhere to go but up Spike's nasal, the sweat pressing against his nostrils and forcing him to breathe in the raw, unwashed masculinity. He willingly huffed again and again, the fumes leaving a delightful searing sensation as they permeated his passage, filling his lungs and fogging his brain. It was heavenly, and he left his body on autopilot as he drank in the potent odour.

Raising his head, Spike licked up Garble's crack, flicking up and down the crevice where he was sweatiest and in the most need of a proper tongue bath. The air felt cold against his nose now that it wasn't pressed into the wonderful entrapment of that glorious butt, and his mind began to clear just a little, his senses returning in clarity to a more vivid state, and he could feel and taste the unmistakable wrinkle of his superior's pucker. Happily, he doubled his efforts, lapping like a thirsty dog at a bowl of water, leaving the pink star wetter than it had been when he'd first laid eyes on its sweat-stained state. He pressed his tongue against the ring, revelling in the elastic give as he teased at the tight, vulnerable hole. He swept and lapped, licking and mopping joyfully, utterly satisfied with his snout buried in between the buns of a better male.

Without warning, as Spike was licking upwards from Garble's balls to the base of his tail, the two slabs closed suddenly, pincering his tongue mid-stroke. He was halted, jerked to a stand-still by the vice-like grip, laughter reaching his ears from the observers. In front of him, he saw and felt the red behemouth moving, shifting from pose to pose without releasing his hold on the femboy's organ. Spike whined pitifully, forced to endure the denial of pleasuring the alpha male and waiting until he'd sufficiently showed off. It took a substantial amount of time.

"You've done good, tongue slave," Garble said at last, relaxing his hold and turning to face Spike. "Now stand up and give these fine boys the same treatment."

The others jeered at the statement, goading the femboy as he rose to his feet. The white one stepped forward, eager and impatient to receive the tongue bath that he'd witnessed, a swagger to his step as he presented himself for the willing servant, posturing cockily. Without any further prompting, the dimunitive drake leaned in close and nuzzled the brick wall of a chest, dutifully worshipping the stony surface unerringly. As with Garble, the dragon tensed and stretched as he was tended to, showing off his masculinity from every available angle to anyone who would watch. Spike caught glimpses of the rise and fall of mass in between his attentive tonguing, pulling back every now and then to watch until his desire to taste the stud got the better of him.

There was no warning before rough, demanding hands tugged at his jeans, seeking the button and zipper and opening them up. Spike paused briefly in surprise, but returned to his task as his trousers were yanked down from his femmy hips to his shins. His boxers followed, pulled down to his knees and letting his erection spring into the open air, throbbing needily. Compared to the logs that the others were packing, it was pathetic, a mere five inches, but it was no less achingly hard than the other, better males around him. His cheeks flushed hot again as the murmurs began, knowing they were ogling the least feminine part of his anatomy.

"Hold up," the white dragon commented briefly, sounding confused. "So this isn't actually a chick?" His bewilderment was met by a ragged chorus of laughs, and Spike found himself giggling at the naivity of the rugged beefcake. It was quite cute, all things considered.

"Nah, man," another of the dragons answered. "That's Spike. You don't remember Spike winning the Gauntlet of Fire years ago? And helping the eggs hatch?"

"Wait, this girl...uh, guy...was that guy?"

"Yeah, bro. There's only one Spike the Dragon. Why so surprised?"

"He's just...so feminine..."

"Yeah, he is," Garble answered from behind, the broad grip of his hands running up and down Spike's curvaceous form. "He's got a killer ass, he's padded in all the right places, and he sucks dick better than any woman I've ever met. He's a better woman than most women I've met."

"But he's not a woman. He's-"

"You scared to be with a dude?"

"What? N-no! I'm just-"

"Damn bro, you're scared! You're trying to act tough, but you're too much of a wimp to let a guy slobber on your knob!"

As the others laughed at the white dragon, Spike looked up and batted his eyelashes, smiling sweetly. When he made eye contact, he winked and blew a kiss, pouring every ounce of feminine charm into his appearance. Lust oozed from his countenance as he kissed over bulging muscle, his lidded eyes exuding sensual desire, inviting the dragon to an experience he'd never forget. It worked - with a snarl, firm hands sealed around Spike's head and shoved him downwards towards the tumescence swinging fiercely below, not giving the femboy a say as he impaled every inch of burning cockflesh into Spike's accepting gullet. Instead of gagging, Spike moaned lovingly at the rough entry, his throat hugging the welcome intruder.

Weighty nuts slapped against the cockslut's chin as the hung brute sawed back and forth, making up for his earlier embarassment by reasserting himself. There wasn't so much a buildup as an acceleration, his motions rapidly increasing in speed until he was railing the femboy, thrusting deep into Spike like the purple drake was an organic fleshlight. Spike let him rail away, the wet gluck-gluck-gluck filling the air as the twink kept his maw loose and open for the deserving stud.

A sudden pressure against his backdoor pulled the slut from his reverie, eyes widening as the pressure mounted and his elastic ring gave way. With a whimper, he tensed, squeezing down on the invading digit as it pushed into him. He'd played with himself enough to know it was a finger, and the naughtiness of the situation hit him like a stark slap; he was being throatfucked by muscle-bound stud while another fingerfucked him from behind, using him to their heart's content where everyone could see him. A delightful shudder ran through him, and he moaned around the shaft in his mouth, disappointed when it was pulled away, another of the dragons stepping up to take his turn. The finger inside him didn't withdraw, though, and Spike trembled as he lapped at the chiseled abs in front of him, struggling to ignore the ebb of pleasure from his rear.

Even with the distraction, Spike continued praising the others, focusing as best he could on spit-polishing their bodies. Garble didn't make it easy, though, pushing a second finger past Spike's sphincter and exploring the femboy's receptive ass with lengthy strokes. The drake shuddered, breathing against his partner's scales as he adjusted to the wiggling appendages. When he took too long to get back to work, he'd be forcefully guided back into place, musky cockmeat dragging over his face until he fell back into his servile routine.

By the time every dragon had had a turn with the femboy, Garble had added a third finger. Spike's cock strained and leaked from the pressure against his gland, which was enough to keep him at full mast, but nowhere near enough to push him towards release. Instead, he was teased as he slobbered and lapped at the rotating platter of studs in front of him, his movements sloppy and carefree as pangs played across his nerves. He didn't care what occupied his mouth, distingushing scales and flesh only by the strength of the hot taste that flowed across his tongue, instead going through the motions to give them what they deserved, and revelling in just how good it felt to be used in every way. His satisfaction was enough of a reward, but the way his body hummed in joy at being probed was icing on the cake.

The sudden withdrawal immediately left Spike feeling empty and deprived, wanting so much to return to the feeling of being filled. A hand closed around his arm and yanked him away from the buff chest he was smooching, leaving him dazed and sluggish after the ceaseless bombardment of sensation and satisfaction. He took some deep breaths to focus himself as he was dragged, but the whack of rock against his legs did more to jerk him from his daze. Jolting alert, he yelped as he was shoved onto his back, landing painlessly on a smooth, flat surface.

"This was a bulky jut a year ago," Garble explained as he dragged Spike to the edge of the platform by the latter's legs. "It didn't do anything but get in the way, so we carved it and smoothed it out into a table for stuff. Real handy." Satisfied with the smaller drake's position, the big red brute lifted Spike's legs to the sky and spread them, giving himself unfettered access. In a few careless tugs, he discarded Spike's shoes, socks, and jeans, leaving the purple slut bare below the waist. "Normally we put food or drink on it when we hang out, but today it looks like you'll be the one doing the eating and drinking." Pursing his lips, Garble gathered up as much saliva as he could and spat noisily into his hand before rubbing the glob across his shaft in ready strokes. Dipping his hips, he guided his prick forward without any fanfare, keeping his eyes on his progress.

The rounded tip nestled against Spike's loosened tail hole, slick with the spit Garble had recently applied, before it met the barest hint of resistance, but even that was hardly noticeable. Without any more force than he was already applying, Garble pushed past the token barrier and slid smoothly into the femboy, pulling an elongated huff from the drake which rose into a meek whine. In a single stroke, the statuesque male sank his length into the femboy, stopping only when he had no more to fit into his sentient cocksleeve, leaving the lithe boy's face scrunched and his back arched for several long seconds.

Just as the vibrancy of the fullness faded into a familiar normality, Garble pulled back, sliding back the way he came and re-igniting Spike's soft vocalisations. When there was only the crown left embedded in his rear, Garble pushed in again, returning every inch to the needy passage and plugging the soft femmy ass totally before gliding out again. He kept moving, not stopping or reducing his speed for even a fraction of a second, setting a steady pace and a powerful rhythm. Spike's cock flexed and oozed a stream of pre onto his shirt, staining it with his own fluids until the fabric was saturated with and bore an ever-spreading dark patch.

With his heels resting on Garble's shoulders, Spike had an unobstructed view of the handsome hunk stuffing him full, midriff rippling with muscle as the stud sawed back and forth in confident, measured thrusts. When their eyes locked, the red beast grinned and, letting go of one of Spike's ankles, curled his arm inwards. With a casual cockiness, he turned his head to the steely swell of his bicep and planted a proud kiss on the thick protrusion, then switched arms to repeat his display. The purple slut felt a flutter run through him at the sight, prominent even amidst the exigent friction throughout his passage; every ounce of self-praise Garble delivered to himself was transferred vicariously to Spike, and every kiss felt as though it was directed at him. The crimson man was a masterpiece who could have anyone he wanted, and he knew it, which meant that his attraction to Spike was genuine; he'd been chosen. With each display of confidence and pride, Garble was telling Spike that he belonged, that he deserved to be where he was.

The thought made him light-headed, and he bit his lip to keep himself centred.

His view of the hypnotic posing was snatched away from him when a hand grabbed his lower jaw and pulled his head upwards, providing him with a new sight that was no less welcome - a moulded pair of white buttocks, tight and trim but densely packed.

"You missed a spot," the dragon said, lowering his rear to Spike's snout. Before he could say a word, the femboy was smothered by the rocky slabs, his nostrils already picking up the light burn that came from concentrated musk. "Garble seemed to like it, so show me what you've got."

He would've said something about it being his pleasure, but with his mouth wedged between the tight peaks of his assailant's butt, there was no way he could make his voice heard. His tongue snaked its way forward, creeping over warm, wet scale until it met the unmistakable texture of wrinkled flesh. The taste was thick and intoxicating, and he felt himself begin to drool with hunger as the flavour washed over his tastebuds and drifted up his nose, urging him ownwards to sample more of the irresistable nourishment. The way he was trapped was undeniably amazing, keeping just enough weight on him to emphasise his lowly position but not enough to restrict his enthusiasm as he swirled and flicked across and around the tantalising star.

It was innevitable that Spike would peak before Garble. The conqueror's cock was just too thick, too hard and insistent as it claimed his insides, forcing the femboy to mould around his tool accommodatingly, and the pressure against the buttslut's p-spot was unceasing. A tension built, bubbling and boiling until it burned hotter than the friction caused by his partner's ravaging, rising to a white-hot glow inside him. With an unabashedly feminine wail, he clenched tightly around the intruding member, wringing the dick while his own pulsed and fired off strings of cream, the mess caught by his once-immaculate shirt. His voice didn't travel far, trapped between the adamantium asscheeks as he tried his hardest to carry on, his technique faltering as the feedback zipped through his body. His breath gusted over the object of his worship, causing it to wink against his probing tongue, and when he pulled in a gasp, he inhaled a mighty lungful of unfiltered musk, the brusqueness of it sending his orgasm resurging.

Garble milked him, a constant stream flowing from his cock from the merciless pressure against his prostate. His nuts hugged tight against his groin, aching with the strain of pushing out every available drop he had stored. The demand was too great, requiring more from him than he had to give, and the pressure never seemed to recede. All he could do was squeal and writhe, inhaling the humid odour of the stud sat on him as he endured the boiling pleasure searing his buttocks, like his insides were criss-crossed with red-hot wires. The light-headedness redoubled, his eyes rolling back and his whimpers guttering into staccato gasps.

Spike didn't realise the sudden acceleration from Garble meant that the dragon was close until he felt the slosh of semen against his frazzled passage, the burn spreading through his guts as the flood surged into him. He let out a sigh of delight at the dirty conclusion, loving the way it felt, the knowledge that he'd been creamed so deeply by the hunk of a man. With a few final rough thrusts, the solid thighs smashing roughly against Spike's padded ass, Garble yanked himself out, carelessly leaving the femboy empty. The purple slut could feel the absence, the residual buzz reminding him of what he'd had just seconds prior. He knew he was gaping; he could feel how much space there was, the air - even as arid and stuffy as it was in the Dragonlands - cold against the inflamed flesh of his exposed pucker. He tried clenching down, wanting desperately to feel a return to the deeply satisfying fulfillment of being, well, filled, and felt the wet dribble as the splooge inside him overflowed. At least, some of it; the virile stud had undoutedly unloaded more than just a measly dribble into his hungry booty.

The rear lifted from his face, and Spike gasped in clean air, the feeling strange against his saturated lungs and clammy face. He felt hotter and colder at the same time, the influx of open air sending his body through a tumble as it tried to adjust to the new conditions. He didn't have long enough to get used to the comparative freedom before his vision was obscured again, and another, unwashed butt plonked itself onto his face, eclipsing his sight once again. He didn't stop to consider where the previous dragon had gone until he felt his legs hoisted up again and the sudden, sharp shock as he was stuffed once more, gasping in delighted surprise and inhaling a lungful of thick musk in the process.

Spike lost himself in the rotation, dutifully serving whichever male came to him in whichever way they wanted, lapping brazenly at their dark star or bloated balls, or swallowing the tangy cockmeat that was shoved into his maw. A hand pressed against his throat, palming the bulge that emerged as he was carelessly battered, drool running down his cheeks as the turgid tool displaced it from his throat, demanding every inch of space he had to offer. He was sure he'd been used by more dragons than there were in the group - he didn't count how many loads were spilled into him, too busy melting at the sensation to care which dragon was gifting him it, or what number in the queue they were - but the constant changing had him disoriented, and he didn't mind one bit.

"What do we have here?" a voice growled, booming even at a regular speaking volume. Spike heard it clearly, even with his head swimming with lust and his ears boxed in by steely thighs. "You hoarding this piece of ass all for yourself?" The dragon atop Spike stood up, letting the femboy breathe in a much-needed gasp of fresh air and glance at the newcomer.

"Torch," Garble greeted, sounding mildly surprised. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Where else would I go after a workout?" the older male asked gruffly, stepping towards the group. "I was gonna have a lava bath, but if you've got a slut ready for use, I might just use her..." His eyes fell across Spike's twitching, drooling prick. "...him to relax instead. He free for use?"

"If he wants," Garble answered. "He probably does; we've been using him as a seat for half an hour. He's real easy to dominate."

"You call that dominating?" Torch guffawed. "Any dragon can sit on a hoard, but only a true leader can earn that hoard. Same goes for sluts." He turned his attention to the object in question, eyes piercing Spike fiercely. "You hungry, boy?"

"V-very," Spike gulped, his voice quiet and timid, even while his tone brimmed with excitement. Torch was the oldest out of all of them, but his rugged attractiveness hadn't declined as he entered his middle years. The ex-Dragonlord had clearly been keeping himself active, if his musculature was anything to go by, his broad body drawing every eye within range. He was bigger in every way, standing a head over Garble and his cronies, and a foot over Spike himself, truly raising the bar of what it meant to be an alpha.

"Then dig in," the dilf ordered, turning around and resting a leg on the platform. The gravelly tone pulled Spike into action, compelling him to abide by the command without a second of hesitation. It didn't matter that his legs wobbled like jelly when he tried to stand, or that standing up caused thick globs of ball-batter to ooze from his gape; he had a job to do, a duty, and he was going to get it done.

Clinging onto Torch's thigh was partly necessary to keep himself steady, but the drake desperately wanted to touch anyway, his hand slipping on the sodden surface as he tried to gain a hold. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't grip properly, his hand failing to reach enough around the pillar of a leg and his fingers pressing impotently against the solid mass until they began to ache, not even making so much as a dimple in Torch's skin. The stud was dripping with sweat from the tail end of his workout, the sheer amount making him glisten and shine and sending the femboy's hands sliding over the frictionless scales. Spike's palms were drenched within seconds, accruing more fluid in the brief contact than he had from loving all the other males combined. Reaching out with his tongue, he was hit with a heightened taste of salt, the zest pouring over his tastebuds from the first sweep. The next swipe filled his mouth, and he swallowed down the substantial amount he'd collected from the few inches he'd covered.

It took time to clean the glistening glutes, every swirl met with a flood of flavour and a cascade of more droplets to replace the puddle he'd cleared. His movements became more energetic, struggling to keep up with the demand placed on him, the humid heat of the stud's iron-clad body radiating against his face as he supped at the sweaty, musky man. Inch by inch, he managed to fight back against the tide, cleaning sections of scales and leaving them buffed and glistening. Panting, he moved to the other leg, happily wearing himself down to serve the mighty man, working up and down the titantic column thoroughly, until the thick thighs and dense calves had been given a loving, tender tongue massage. Trailing upwards, he met the sharp curve of Torch's buttocks, tracing the well-defined edges in a full circle before moving inwards to the steel slabs themselves. They were hewn from rock, stacked with muscle and firm against his insistent appendage, letting the femboy mop him dry.

The reek of musk was as strong as it had been with the others just from a distance, prickling Spike's nostrils teasingly as he dried the grey arctic blue cheeks, and when he drew in closer, the stench grew stronger, until he slotted his snout between those carved buns and doused himself in the aroma. Torch exuded musk; it swirled around Spike, forcing its way up his nose and seeping into his lungs, burning slightly on the way through. The air felt thicker, hotter, and it without even breathing, the femboy filled his lungs with the concentrated element that was Torch's scent. His head swam, tendrils ensnaring his brain as his lips brushed the wrinkled ring nestled deep between the mighty plates. If smelling Garble and his friends had been like being slapped in the face, then encountering Torch was like being pummelled with a brick; it was overpowering, unapologetically masculine, and so virile that it made him less of a man by comparison.

Spike's tongue flitted out automatically, the acrid taste he'd come to love zapping through his organ and shooting like a lightning bolt through his body, setting off sparks along the way. Where there was liquid, Spike touched, dabbing and dancing his way over the tight, unbreachable ring of the alpha's ass, making sure there wasn't a molecule of sweat left for the brute to clean away himself. His movement was limited, wedged between two iron bowls that could clamp shut with a simple twitch, so he worked as hard as he could on Torch's taint and hole, side-tonguing whatever he could reach, but it was geting hard to focus. Every breath he took was beautiful agony, his heart pounding from the saturation of fumes and the fiery itch of lust. It was so thick, so potent, so delicious, and his body ached for release. His cock twitched, and-

His eyes rolled back and he slumped, whining pathetically as his dick pulsed and pushed out a thick deposit, drooling onto the ground beneath him. His face flushed red with shame, his rational mind recognising how utterly pathetic he looked, but he was taken in by the ecstasy and the glee of giving the stud exactly what he deserved. Why shouldn't he get something from that too? He was doing a good job, if Torch's mamouth erection was anything to go by when he turned around.

"Amazing," the dilf laughed, his voice reverberating from the walls. "Did being a towel work that much for you, slut?" He grinned, grabbing Spike by the head and bringing him eye-level with his monument. "Deep breath, whore."

The femboy, head still reeling from his unexpected climax, managed to get a decent look at the tool he was about to get much more acquainted with. The beastly male was a grower; he'd been packing an average-sized dong when he turned up, but as a result of Spike's service, he'd pumped enough blood into the organ to have it swell up to a foot and a half, easily, with a girth rivalling that of Spike's fist. It was criss-crossed with veins, and from its slow bobbing, it was easily as hard as the dragon's muscles.

He wasn't granted a gentle entry; Torch slid the monsterous member past Spike's lips in a single stroke, forcing it all the way down until the tip dipped halfway down his throat, and his lips were pressed against the brick wall of a pelvis. Holding Spike down for a few seconds, Torch yanked himself back to the tip, drool coating his shaft, and slammed back in, hammering without mercy. Thick, full nuts slapped like wrecking balls against Spike's chin, sloshing heavily with every impact and bounce, and the wet, garbled clucking flowed into the open air. The femboy barely had time to taste the ram as it rushed past his tonsils, but with so much to take, the richness of it trickled into his senses, his body awash with the glorious flavour of hypervirility in its purest form.

Tightening his grip, Torch shoved himself all the way into his organic fleshlight, hilting and holding the femmy drake against his groin, grunting loudly as he peaked, his engorged pride throbbing and straining Spike's already-aching jaw even more. The jets were hot and thick, hosing Spike's esophagus and splashing into his stomach like a steaming soup. Seconds passed, the weight in his belly growing heavier and denser, his airways blocked by the log lodged in his gullet, his nose managing only to drag in minute sniffs of musk-infused oxygen. Spike's toes curled, his eyes watering from the prolonged hold, his lungs beginning to burn from more than just the heady scent of his partner. His throat convulsed, clamping down on the intruder, and a flash of panic took hold of the little dragon.

Just as suddenly and roughly as he'd started, the towering man retracted from Spike's maw, leaving his passage sore and slathered with cream. The purple dragon coughed and wheezed, spluttering as oxygen flooded into his lungs again, and wiped his eyes. He managed a couple of deep gasps before his body was lifted up and set on the platform he'd been laid on before, this time resting on his hands and knees. When he tried to look back, a grip forcefully turned his head forward and kept him on all fours, and a resounding thwack against his padded behind reverberated through his body, shaking his bones and rattling his teeth. The femboy squeaked at the force of what was probably a fairly modest spank and obediently remained still, quickly learning his place.

Just like the blowjob that had preceded it, Torch wasn't gentle with his penetration, and Spike squealed as his hole was battered by the gargantuan girth. The iron-clad grip on his shoulders prevented Spike from moving or pulling away, forcing him to stay still and stretch around the momentous monolith gliding past his elastic ring. It was a tough fit, even with the abundance of spit and slathering of cum, and Spike was glad for the small mercy of having warmed up with the other dragons before taking on the behemoth that was Torch.

The insertion went on for what felt like minutes, the swift slide widening his passage as more and more turgid cockflesh filled him, reaching further into his body than any toy or partner he'd ever had before, and by the time the rest of Torch came to rest against his ass, Spike felt like he was packed to capacity. With the first inward thrust, Spike felt like he was being split in two, ready to come apart at the seams from the huge slab that was being packed into him, and with the lull following the rough friction of entry, he felt the thrill of being dominated rush back in. His own prick strained, bobbing with urgent excitement and eager anticipation.

The rest didn't last long; the beefcake behind him drew back, dragging more than a foot of tumid dickmeat from his tract in a sharp tug before slamming back in, sending the femboy's head spinning. Before he could register it, Torch had pulled back and rammed home once more, a pattern manifesting where the stud railed the lithe drake with abandon, using the petite male as a cockwrap. Each smash of Torch's groin against Spike's thighs and buttocks was like a hammer striking an anvil, casting sparks through the femboy's nervous system and resonating his body. Each thrust left him more and more dazed, each rough shove gradually melting into the next until all that was left was a constant roil of pleasure and intensity, a welcome burn spreading through him until he couldn't tell which parts of him were flushed and which parts were exposed to the severe pressure of the dilf's dominant strokes.

Words lost their meaning, all external sounds becoming a meaningless mess of noise as the slut slumped into the reverie of wonderful torment. He heard the dragons around him slinging around phrases like sex slave and total slut, but they meant nothing to him, just more sounds among countless others. He was focused - if focused was even the right word, given he was unable to do more than just passively experience the joy forced upon him - on the pressure against his prostate, the unending drilling steamrolling the gland flat and squeezing a spring of pre from his rigid member. The heat in his guarded organ sometimes boiled over and a hoarse moan tore itself from his ragged throat, a thicker flow running from his cumslit. After a while - or maybe no time at all; it was hard to tell - his peaks became detached from his ejaculations, the drake whining as the shock shot through him, and his cock feebly pushing out pitiful spurts of cockslime minutes later without any reaction from him.

Torch's guttral, victorious bellow was so strong and loud that it cut through even the tumultuous chaos of Spike's mind, signalling the alpha had reached his peak. The jackhammering rose into a crescendo before the thick spear slotted firmly into place and swelled, a deluge pouring into the femboy's guts. The flood surged into Spike until he felt bloated, his insides coated in the voluminous batch of viscous ball-batter. When the bigger male unceremoniously unthreaded himself, Spike struggled to feel how agape he was, a numb buzz replacing any vivid sensation he was supposed to have in his lower body. He barely even registered Torch coming round to his front and shoving the musky, ass-rending dick deep into his throat, casually cleaning off the cock without putting any thought into it. He must've done a decent enough job, because Torch pulled out and wiped his rod disrespectfully over Spike's face, smearing spit and residual semen over the femboy.

The purple drake felt another dribble of cum leak from his prick at the action, a final weak climax wrung from him by the deservedly arrogant male.

"That ought to do it," Torch muttered gruffly. "Next time you're here, Scales-"

"S-Spike," the near-comatose drake wheezed.

"Yeah, whatever," Torch dismissed. "Next time, tell us in advance. We're gonna want you here again. Isn't that right, boys?"

There was a chorus of agreement from around him, and Spike felt a warm glow arise in him at the demand for his presence. They plodded away to the lava baths with a final pat on the head or spank to the rear, which he barely felt, leaving him sweaty and stained with the collective coating of several virile studs. Every time he took a breath, the stench of cum reared up. Every nerve and vein in his body felt like a live wire, running hot with electricity, and the slosh of jizz rolled in his stomach and intestines. In spite of himself, he smiled, beaming at how fulfilled and satisfied he was. It was only when he remembered he was supposed to be meeting with Ember that anything other than immense gratification came over him, and even then, he pushed it aside. Glancing groggily to the side, he looked to the muscle-bound males lounging in the magma, laughing and chatting boyishly to one another. Even if Ember was mad at him, he didn't think it'd be too bad.

Besides, he reasoned, a giddy excitement rising in him, it wasn't like her dad wasn't gonna speak up for him.