Attempt 3! lmao XD

I abandoned the original image and started from scratch. I spent a good bit of time on her visible eye and teeth. To the mods, the eye is as intended: an amber eye with a slit pupil. She is currently blankly staring forward, not focused on anything in particular, as she and her partner reach climax.

I really hope this one makes the cut. I like this one. I fully admit the others had errors, and I do appreciate the mods pushing people to post only the best. I felt a bit of inspiration and couldn't sleep, so I wrote a short story to accompany this image.

If this is still up tomorrow and i don't have to do a attempt 4 XD I'll post a animated version. XD

And for those in the Savage Eclipse [v0.45] [Aurostatic] Discord — yes, I know you are aware of me. I have infiltrated your server. Mwaahahaha! Lmao.

I was tickled pink when I saw the goat image noted. Dragons would be a lot of fun in the game, too... just saying. Lmao. XD i was thinking of the pigs at the start, i think i'm going to make a image of the games protagonist getting a bit to close to the livestock XD.

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The Dragon's Claim

The forest canopy filtered midday light into scattered gold across the battlefield, or what remained of it. Breastplate flung against a moss-covered stone. Gauntlets half-buried in disturbed earth. A sword, still humming faintly with enchantment, jabbed point-down into the soil a dozen paces away like a gravestone marking the death of a knight's resolve.

He lay beneath her now, stripped of every chain and buckle, pale skin pressed against the cool forest floor. His breath came sharp and ragged, chest rising and falling beneath the dark, scaled paw she kept planted firmly between his collarbones. Not pressing hard enough to hurt. Just enough to remind him exactly where he was.

"I...I did not come here to..."

"To what?" she rumbled, her voice a low, vibrating thing that traveled through the clawed foot on his chest and into his very ribs. Her muzzle dipped, nostrils flaring as she inhaled the scent rolling off him in waves, sweat, fear, and beneath it all, thick and unmistakable, the musk of arousal she knew he couldn't hide. "To slay me? Clearly not." Her serpentine neck curved, bringing one luminous amber eye level with his face. The vertical pupil dilated as she studied him. "To *submit* to me? Now *that* I believe."

His jaw clenched. His hips, traitorously, twitched upward.

"I am not...*submitting*," he managed through gritted teeth, though the word fractured on his tongue when her claw traced a slow line down his sternum, parting the sheen of sweat on his skin like a river carving through a valley. His body arched, *involuntarily*, he would swear it, following the path of that razored tip as though drawn by magnetism.

"No?" She let the question hang, smokecurl-rich with amusement. Her massive form shifted, black scales catching the dappled light in iridescent shimmers of deep violet and oil-slick green. She adjusted her weight above him, the powerful hindquarter muscles bunching and releasing as she positioned herself. The shadow of her wings stretched over them both like a canopy, a second forest roof, this one made of leather and membrane and quiet, terrible patience.

Her vent, hidden beneath overlapping scales along her underbelly, began to part. The flesh beneath was softer, darker, slick with heat that had been building since she'd first watched him stumble into her clearing with his ridiculous shining armor and his trembling, righteous sword. She'd smelled him then, too. Youth. Vigor. The particular sweetness of a body that had never been used by anything *other* than its own hand.

She lowered herself with the deliberation of a predator savoring prey she had no intention of killing.

The first touch of her slick heat against the head of his cock drew a sound from him, sharp, bitten off, half-growl and half-groan. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white against the leaf litter and disturbed earth. She watched the tendons in his neck cord tight as bowstrings, the Adam's apple bobbing with a hard swallow.

"S-stop..."

She did not stop.

She lowered herself further, and the breath punched out of him in a ragged burst as the head of his cock pushed into the tight, clenching heat of her vent. The sound that escaped him was not a word. It was something more honest than language, raw, strangled, involuntary.

"There it is," she purred, and the vibration of it traveled through her scales, through the claw resting on his chest, through the very ground beneath him. Her vent was slick, molten, and it gripped him with a pressure that was nothing like a human woman's body. The internal muscles rippled along his length in waves, each one drawing him deeper, swallowing him inch by inch with a patient, inexorable pull. "That is the sound of a body that tells the truth, even when the mouth lies."

His hips betrayed him again, a jerking, involuntary thrust upward that drove him deeper into her, and the moan that escaped *her* this time was no performance. It rolled up from her chest in a low, resonant rumble, vibrating through every scale pressed against his skin. Her vent clenched around him in response, the internal walls rippling with a muscular precision that drew a shuddering gasp from his parted lips.

"Unwilling," she repeated, tasting the word like a joke she was still deciding whether to laugh at. Her free foreleg shifted, planting beside his hip for leverage as she raised herself, slowly, so slowly, the friction of her slick, scaled walls dragging along his length until only the tip remained nestled inside. His breath hitched, a thin, desperate sound. His hips chased her upward, lifting entirely off the ground before she pressed the claw on his chest just hard enough to pin him flat. "Stay."

"I didn't...you're *reading* into..."

She pushed back down.

Not slowly this time. She dropped her weight, taking his full length in one smooth, devastating motion that buried him to the hilt inside the clenching, molten grip of her vent. The sound that tore from his throat was somewhere between a curse and a sob, his spine arching off the forest floor, hands flying up to grip the nearest thing they could find, which happened to be her foreleg, fingers wrapping uselessly around scales harder than any steel he'd ever worn.

"*Oh...gods...*"

She held him there, fully seated inside her, and let herself *feel*.

The stretch was exquisite. He was modest by draconic standards, of course he was, he was human, but what he lacked in proportion he made up for in rigidity. The shaft of him throbbed inside her vent, hot blood pulsing against her internal walls, and she clenched around him in slow, experimental pulses just to hear the sounds he would make. His head fell back against the earth, tendons in his neck pulled taut, eyes squeezed shut as though he could simply *will* this not to be happening.

"Open your eyes," she commanded. Not a request. Her voice carried the weight of centuries, of patient, predatory authority honed across a hundred conquests far more dangerous than this trembling boy with his righteous sword lying forgotten in the dirt.

His eyes did not open. They stayed shut, lashes trembling against flushed cheeks, and she watched the war play out across his face, shame and sensation and something rawer underneath, something that might have been wonder if he'd let it breathe.

She rolled her hips. A slow, grinding rotation that dragged his cock against her internal walls in a slow circle, and his mouth fell open on a soundless cry, fingers tightening on her foreleg.

"I said..."

"I said *open your eyes.*"

This time, he obeyed.

His eyes snapped open, and the look in them nearly made her clench around him again. They were glassy, unfocused, the pale blue of morning frost cracked through with something molten, a hunger he clearly despised himself for feeling. His pupils were wide, dark centers swallowing the color, and his lips were parted, wet, bitten raw from where he'd been trying to silence himself.

"Better," she breathed, and the word came out lower than she intended, rougher. She held his gaze, those frost-blue eyes drowning in heat, and began to move.

Not the slow, torturous descent of before. This was a rhythm. She raised her hips and dropped, raised and dropped, each thrust a measured claim, her vent swallowing him with a wet, rhythmic sound that filled the forest clearing louder than birdsong. His cock dragged against her scaled inner walls, and each plunge drew a fresh sound from him, grunts she could tell he was fighting to swallow, breathless curses that fractured into moans halfway through.

"You came to my clearing," she said between thrusts, her voice steady while his crumbled. "With your shining armor. Your trembling sword." She ground down on him, rolling her hips in a tight circle that made his fingers spasm against her scales. "You told yourself a story...that you were the brave knight come to slay the wicked beast."

She raised herself again, held at the peak just long enough to feel his hips jerk upward in desperate, unwilling pursuit, then dropped...*slammed*...her weight down, burying him so deep that the impact rippled through both their bodies. His back arched clean off the forest floor, a choked cry ripping from his throat, and his hands slid from her foreleg to grip the earth itself, fingers clawing into the dirt and leaf litter as though searching for something to anchor him against the tide of sensation she was dragging him under.

"The wicked beast," she repeated, savoring the irony. Her vent clenched around him in a slow, possessive squeeze, and she watched his jaw go slack, a thin sheen of sweat catching the dappled light across his heaving chest. "And yet. Here you are. *Inside* the beast."

"I didn't...*ah*...I didn't choose..."

"Choice." She let the word roll through her chest like distant thunder, her rhythm never faltering, a steady, devastating cadence that punched the breath from his lungs with each descent. "You keep using that word as though it means something here."

She leaned down, her long neck curving with serpentine grace until her muzzle hovered beside his face, close enough that each exhale washed hot across his cheek. He turned his head away, but that only exposed the flushed column of his throat, the pulse hammering visibly beneath the skin, rabbit-fast and entirely beyond his control. She pressed her jaw against that pulse, not biting, just *resting* there, letting him feel the impossible size of her teeth against the most vulnerable part of him. His cock twitched violently inside her, and a strangled whine escaped through his clenched teeth.

"*There*," she murmured against his throat, the vibration of her voice pressing into his skin like a brand. "Your body chooses. Your *flesh* chooses. It has been choosing since the moment you walked into my forest and your heart rate spiked, not with fear alone. I could smell it then. The wanting. Buried under all that righteous armor like a seed waiting for rain."

His hands released the earth and came up, not to push her away, but to grip the curve of her jaw where it rested against his throat. His fingers curled around the edges of her scales, trembling, uncertain, and she felt the exact moment the last thread of his resistance snapped like a dry twig beneath a boot heel. Not because she had forced it. Because he had finally, *finally* stopped forcing himself.

"There," she whispered. "There you are."

He turned his head back toward her, and his eyes, those frost-blue eyes, now completely undone, met hers. The shame was still there. But beneath it, rising like heat from sun-baked stone, was surrender. Not the defeated kind. The *hungry* kind.

His hips moved first.

Not the involuntary twitching of before, those desperate, traitorous little jerks his body had staged in rebellion against his mind. This was *deliberate*. A slow, uncertain roll upward that pressed his cock deeper into the molten grip of her vent, and the sound he made as he did it, low, broken, a sound that had been locked behind his teeth for what felt like hours, filled the clearing like a confession.

She watched it happen. The last crumbling wall. The moment a knight who had come to slay her chose instead to *bury* himself in her, willingly, while his scattered armor lay around them like the wreckage of a faith he would never wear again.

She did not move.

She held perfectly still above him, that massive sable body poised like a sculpture of dominion, and *let him work*.

His hips rolled beneath her, uncertain at first, then with growing confidence, each thrust a small rebellion against the pride he'd worn like that armor now scattered across the clearing. She watched it all. Every flicker of expression. Every clench of his jaw giving way to parted lips. Every time his eyes fluttered shut before snapping open again, as though he couldn't bear to look at what he was doing but couldn't bear to stop feeling it either.

And she *enjoyed* it.

Not the physical sensation alone, though that was considerable, his cock sliding through the slick, rippling channel of her vent with a warmth that spread through her underbelly like honey poured into water. No. What she enjoyed was the *watching*. The slow, gorgeous unraveling of a man who had marched into her forest wrapped in conviction and steel and was now writhing beneath her, naked and gasping, fucking upward into her with increasingly desperate strokes while his fingers white-knuckled her scales.

She let him set the pace for a time, let him believe, in whatever small corner of his mind still capable of thought, that this was something he was *doing* rather than something being done to him. A kindness, perhaps. Or cruelty. She'd never been certain where the line between those lived, when it came to matters of flesh and surrender.

His thrusts grew bolder. Longer strokes, his hips lifting higher off the forest floor before driving back up into her, each one punctuated by a sound he'd stopped trying to suppress, raw, gutted little groans that broke from him like stones tumbling from a collapsed wall.

But she could feel it building in herself, too.

A heat that had started as embers, banked, controlled, a predator's patient warmth, was now climbing toward something hungrier. Her breath came faster, the great bellows of her lungs expanding and contracting in a rhythm that had stopped matching her control and started matching *his*. Each thrust of his hips sent a pulse of heat deeper into her core, and her vent clenched around him in involuntary little flutters that she could not, for once, entirely command.

Her claws dug into the earth beside him. The forest floor split beneath her grip, roots snapping, soil welling up between her talons. She felt the change in herself, the predator's stillness cracking, the measured dominance faltering, and she did not fight it.

She moved.

Her hips dropped to meet his next thrust, and the collision of their bodies sent a shockwave through the clearing, a crack of scale against skin, of scaled haunches against bare hips, that scattered birds from the canopy and sent the half-buried gauntlets skittering across the leaf litter. The sound he made was not a groan this time. It was a *shout*, raw and startled, as though he hadn't truly understood what he'd been playing at until the game had turned and swallowed him whole.

"Ah...*gods...*"

She set the pace now.

Not his desperate, fumbling rhythm, hers. Deep, rolling thrusts that drove him into the earth with each descent, her powerful hindquarters flexing and releasing with the controlled fury of a predator who had finally stopped *playing* with her prey. She met every upward jerk of his hips with a downward plunge that buried him so deep the impact shuddered through both their bodies, and the wet, obscene sound of their joining echoed through the clearing like a drumbeat.

His hands flew from her scales to the ground, clawing at the earth, at roots, at anything, leaves shredding between his fingers, soil packing beneath his nails. His head thrashed from side to side, mouth open, sounds pouring from him that were no longer words or even attempts at words. Just noise. Raw, animal, *honest*.

She felt it coming, felt it building like storm pressure behind her ribs, in the pit of her belly, in every scale that pressed against his sweat-slicked skin. Her breath had abandoned all pretense of control now, great heaving gusts that tore from her lungs in ragged, rumbling exhalations, each one vibrating through the claw still planted on his chest and into the bone beneath. Her tail lashed behind her, whipping through the undergrowth, snapping saplings like kindling.

Beneath her, he was gone.

Whatever remained of the knight, whatever shred of identity still clung to the name he'd been born with, had dissolved into the raw mechanics of flesh meeting flesh. His hips bucked upward to meet her with a desperation that had stopped being voluntary several thrusts ago, his body operating on something older and more honest than thought. His cock throbbed inside her vent, swelling, and she felt the telltale pulse of his release approaching, a tremor in his shaft, a hitch in his rhythm, his thrusts growing erratic, shorter, harder, *chasing*.

She felt him reach the edge before he did.

His entire body went rigid beneath her, spine arching, fingers buried to the knuckles in earth, every muscle pulled taut like a bowstring about to snap. His mouth opened wide, but no sound came. Just a silent, breathless instant where the world seemed to hold still, suspended on the knife's edge of release.

Then it hit.

His whole body seized, a convulsion that started in his hips and ripped upward through his spine like lightning through a conductor. His cock pulsed inside her, once, twice, and then *erupted*.

The first hot jet of his seed hit the deepest wall of her vent and she felt it like a brand. Thick, scalding, pulsing in wave after wave as his body surrendered everything it had been hoarding. His shout finally broke from him, wordless, wrecked, a sound that belonged to no language and needed none, and she swallowed it with her flesh, her vent clenching around him in rippling, milking waves that drew every drop deeper.

Her jaw fell open.

Not in triumph. Not in dominance. In *undoing*.

The first pulse of his seed against her inner walls triggered something ancient and involuntary, a cascade that ripped through her body from vent to skull in a torrent of clenching, rolling heat. Her vent seized around him like a vice, the muscular walls collapsing inward in rhythmic, crushing waves that milked his twitching cock with a possessiveness that had nothing to do with intention and everything to do with *need*. She felt his heat flooding her, hot, impossibly hot, thick ropes of seed painting her inner walls in pulses that matched the hammering of his heart, and each one sent another shockwave through the climbing pressure in her core.

Her maw hung wide, the full array of her teeth bared to the canopy in a grimace that walked the razor edge between agony and ecstasy. She felt it, the peak, crashing over her like a wall of molten iron, and every scale on her body flared with heat that turned the dappled forest light to fire behind her eyes.

The orgasm tore through her in waves.

Each pulse of his cock inside her vent sent another crest rolling through her body, her internal walls clenching, releasing, clenching again in a merciless rhythm that she could no more control than she could control the tide. The muscles gripped him with a crushing, undulating pressure, milking his shaft in long, undulating waves that drew every last pulse of seed from his spent body. She felt him twitch inside her, felt the final weak spurts of his release pushed deep into her by the sheer force of her body's demand, and a sound rose from her chest that she had not made in centuries.

A roar.

It split the forest air like a thunderclap.

Not the roar of a beast in rage, something rawer, older, a sound that belonged to the deep places of the world where dragons had first learned what their bodies could feel. It rolled through the clearing and into the trees, scattering every living thing within a quarter mile. Birds exploded from the canopy in shrieking clouds. Deer bolted through the undergrowth miles away.

She didn't care.

The roar faded into the trees, swallowed by distance and the slow settling of disturbed leaves. The clearing went quiet, not the silence of emptiness, but the held breath of a world that had learned, in a single sound, to give wide berth. No birdsong. No rustling of undergrowth. Just the ragged, synchronized breathing of two bodies still joined in the wreckage of what they had been before this afternoon.

Her vent pulsed around him in weakening aftershocks, slow, lazy contractions that drew small, oversensitive twitches from his spent cock each time the muscles rippled. He had nothing left to give. She had taken all of it. She could feel the warmth pooled deep inside her, thick and heavy, settling against the innermost walls of her vent where it belonged. The heat of it spread through her underbelly like a secret kept beneath her scales.

Her breath slowed.

The great bellows of her lungs settled from ragged gasps into long, deep draughts, each exhale a warm gust that stirred the hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Her body trembled with fading aftershocks, tiny, involuntary clenching pulses of her vent around his softening cock that made him flinch and whimper each time, the oversensitivity turning pleasure into something almost unbearably sharp. She didn't pull off him. She didn't move at all.

She simply... settled.

Her head descended.

The long, serpentine curve of her neck bowed low, bringing her muzzle down alongside his throat, the same throat she had rested her jaw against while she'd shattered him. But the gesture had changed. No longer the weight of teeth against pulse. Something softer. Something that, in another body, in another shape, might have been called tender.

She pressed the side of her jaw against the curve where his neck met his shoulder, and she *nuzzled*.

The scaled jaw dragged slowly along the damp skin of his neck, a rasping whisper of horn and muscle against the frantic pulse beneath. His breath hitched, a small, broken sound, and his body tensed for a moment beneath her claw, then released. Not resistance. Just the last involuntary stutter of a heart that hadn't yet learned it was no longer in danger. Or perhaps had learned that the danger was something else entirely, something he would carry back to the city in the secret architecture of his own bones.

She nuzzled deeper into the hollow beneath his jaw, her muzzle pressing into the warmth pooling there. His scent was different now. The sharp tang of fear had bled away, replaced by something muskier, heavier, the particular smell of a body that had been wrung out and filled with something it couldn't name. She breathed him in with slow, deliberate pulls, cataloguing the change. Filing it away.

Then she moved her muzzle upward, the blunt tip of her snout tracing the shell of his ear. The warmth of her exhalation rolled across the damp skin, and she felt him shiver beneath her, a full-body tremor that had nothing to do with cold.

"You will go back to the city," she murmured.

Her voice was barely a whisper now, not the low, rumbling command she had used while breaking him apart. Something quieter. Something meant only for the space between her muzzle and his ear, carried on breath still warm and ragged from the roar that had emptied the forest.

He lay still beneath her. His eyes were half-lidded, glassy, staring at nothing, the canopy above, perhaps, or the wreckage of his armor scattered across the clearing like the ruins of a temple he no longer worshipped in. His cock had softened inside her, slipping halfway free of her vent, but she hadn't moved off him. Her weight rested along the length of his body, her scaled underbelly pressed against his bare skin from chest to hip, and she could feel the faint, exhausted flutter of his heartbeat against her scales.

"You will go back to the city," she repeated, her muzzle pressed close enough that her lips brushed the curve of his ear with each word. "And you will tell them you found no dragon."

A small sound escaped him, not protest, not agreement. Just breath. Just the shaky exhale of a man who was no longer certain where the borders of his will began and ended.

"You will tell them the forest is empty. Old ruins. Scattered bones. Nothing worth the march." Her tongue, narrow and serpentine, flicked against the edge of his ear, tasting the salt of his sweat, and his whole body jerked beneath her with a soft, wounded sound. "They will believe you. You have the look of a man who has seen nothing worth reporting. They will see it in your face and ask no further questions."

His lips parted. The ghost of a word formed there, some shapeless, half-formed objection that died before it reached the air. She felt it in the tension of his jaw beneath her muzzle, the brief tightening of his throat. Then it dissolved, unused, and she knew she had him.

"You will come back tomorrow."

Not a question. She pressed the words into the sensitive skin behind his ear like a seal pressed into wax, each one a small, irrevocable stamp.

"And the night after."

Her breath hitched, just barely, just enough that he might have felt it through the scales pressed against his chest. A crack in the command, the briefest tremor of something that was not authority and was not hunger but lived somewhere between them, in a country she had no maps for.

"Again. And again." Her muzzle drifted lower, jaw pressing once more into the hollow of his throat, and she felt his pulse stutter beneath the pressure. "Until my belly grows heavy with what you have given me today."