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It has been years since Foxtaglia had given birth to his first (too large) clutch, years since Foxtaglia had learned about the true nature of his Papa’s perverted games. Years more for him to become used to his new status as the Fox Empress, and his Papa’s little wife.
Foxtaglia himself was still young. He was barely an adult but already with clusters of children entering their breeding years, and, from the way his Papa’s hunger had tripled in the past few days, it appeared that Foxtaglia would have many more children to come.
“Really, Papa, What has gotten into you as of late?” Foxtaglia chided as his husband finished inside of him in a loud, satisfied groan. This was the fourth time that evening that the lord dragon had claimed him and from how hard that cock felt inside, still twitching with interest, Foxtaglia knew they weren’t quite finished yet.
“Hmm, my apologies, dear one,” Papa said, nuzzling into the nape of his neck and kissing at the claim mark. The light touch sent shivers running down Foxtaglia’s spine. “I am a bit more on edge as of late. Our children are growing up and soon, the eldest will be entering his first rut.”
“Do we need to make arrangements for Morax?” Foxtaglia asked, his voice breaking into a gasp when his husband bucked his hips forward once more. “P – papa!”
“We will need to send him away from home,” Papa growled, his thrusts starting to quicken, “once breeding season hits, dragon children, even hybrid ones, will stop at nothing at finding their perfect mate: someone who could bear them plenty of progeny, who could care for their young while satisfying their hunger. We will keep our son in a secured room far away from here once his rut passes.”
Then, Papa began rutting his thick length into Foxtaglia and Foxtaglia succumbed to the familiar pleasure singing in his blood, so much so that he forgot to ask why their son needed to be sent away from home rather than keeping him locked in one of the hundreds of rooms of the grand palace.
Foxtaglia hadn’t known, and the Dragon Lord had refused to tell, that little Morax had already set his sight on a perfectly good mate – one who had demonstrated his ability to bear clutches upon clutches of dragon eggs, who could raise those children to breeding age and who had demonstrated his ability to satisfy a dragon’s hunger.
Although calling Morax “little” was an understatement, one that Foxtaglia found out rather painfully when he found himself pinned to his marital bed as his son’s thick cock burrowed its way deep inside his cunt, his insides frantically pulsing against the intrusion as if unsure whether to reject it or embrace it.
“M – Morax! Stop! Stop! You mustn’t! You – ah!” Foxtaglia gasped as the cockhead nudged deeper inside, as deep as Papa’s and just as thick. The familiar strained feeling of his walls forced apart by a warm girth was making his cunt go wet, his body so used to his mate’s rough claims that it turned sluttish and accommodating. And his mind, oh his mind was starting to go foggy from the hot pleasure zinging up his spine at each harsh buck of his son’s hungry hips and the way that length rubbed against his insides with no regard to slowing or being gentle.
This was so very wrong. His son. His son was claiming him.
Morax tightened his grip on his mother’s hips. “Mother,” he panted, and Foxtaglia whimpered. Archons above, he even sounded like the Dragon lord. “Mother, you feel so perfect. So warm and wet. Would you be my mate too? Would you bear my clutches like you did Father’s?”
Foxtaglia felt his body go cold. “N -- no. Stop. Stop this instance. Morax, you are my -- my son! You can’t. We can’t!”
His protests broke into cries when fingers reached for his nipples, groping, pinching, playing until the buds became raw and sensitive. All the while, Morax continued to fuck into him with long, hard strokes, plundering his insides and making everything so hot and wet and so, so good.
Why did Morax have to feel so much like Papa? H – his cock, the shape of it, the way it was stuffing him full, the way the length curved up just so, hitting Foxtaglia in all the places that were making him see fireworks, those were things Foxtaglia’s Dragon Papa did to his body to make him feel good. Morax fucked him in the same way that Papa did too, filling him with each greedy grind forward, making sure he went balls-deep inside before pulling back slowly, only to buck in and feed his hungry cock deep once more, his action controlled, deliberately, forceful even as Foxtaglia pleaded for him to st – stop! Stop! Morax, please – urgh!
“If Mama wanted me to stop, Mama shouldn’t be crying out with such a slutty voice,” Morax rasped out, chuckling. “Something tells this lowly son that Mama’s pretty pussy enjoys being stuffed full.”
Another buck forward and Foxtaglia’s hands flew over his mouth to cut off the sound, but he couldn’t completely muffle the wild, slutty moans from escaping his lips.
Nor could he hide the way he was panting, how his muscles were going weak from the drowning pleasure. He couldn’t keep his toes from curling or the way drool was starting to run down his chin from how good he was being taken.
His son. His darling son. Foxtaglia’s body was completely under his son’s mercy.
“Begging Mother’s pardon but this unfilial son does not believe that you want me to stop.” Morax chuckled once more at the fresh cries Foxtaglia let out. “Mother’s body is so much more honest than his words. Mother will have to forgive this one for what he is about to do.”
Foxtaglia’s eyes went wide. “No. Morax -- Morax!”
He was pushed further into the bed, his face buried firmly in the silk pillow his Papa had gotten custom made for him, as his hips were pulled up. All too late he registered his position -- lordosis, perfect to be mated -- when his son’s cock sank all the way to the root once more except this time, it was hitting deeper than before, deep against that little spot inside, nudging against that needy depth that made him wail as his hands grasp frantically at the sheets under him.
“M – Morax!” he squealed out, “n – no, not there. Please not there. I’m your mother. I’m – please I’m begging you, not there!”
But Morax did not care. Foxtaglia’s words clearly fell to deaf ears.
“Mother, I’m going to give you so many eggs,” Morax gasped as that cock continued to pounding against that deep fold that had only ever been breached by his father. He was pounding into the furl like it was his right, and all Foxtaglia could do was sob and beg some more, hopelessly aroused by the way his son was forcing him to take it, forcing him to stretch to the point like Papa did. Making his pussy into a loose, wet gape.
“I heard that Father used to play this game with Mother, a Counting Game. Shall we play it now?”
“Uh – uh – M – Morax – ah!”
In the next thrust, Foxtaglia could feel the little fold cave to the pressure and he tossed his head back with a loud cry. There was a pressure in his belly, and then, the fold opened and Morax sank to the deepest part of him with a loud, satisfied groan.
His son. His son was inside. All the way inside. He could feel the ring straining open for the cockhead as his son finally conquered the last sacred space in his body.
“N – no. No, no - !”
Then, the base of Morax’s cock swelled up and Foxtaglia cried out in alarm. He c - could feel the way his pussy lips were being forced further apart to accommodate an all too familiar shape.
“Mama is going to be a mama once more,” Morax chuckled. “Mama is going to be carrying my children. So many children right here.”
“No, no, no, no, please. No eggs. Not inside. Please!”
But Morax refused to budge. With a growl, he rolled his hips and thrust forward and the bulge popped inside, and Foxtaglia screamed once more at the overwhelming fullness fucked into him. He could -- he could feel the bulge travelling deeper as it carved out a spot against his sensitive fluttering walls while it moved, stopping only when it reached that second entrance, knocking against it.
“Open wider for your new egg, Mama.”
“M – Morax!”
With another harsh thrust, the egg was forced through the battered opening, prying apart the once tight hole to nestle deep, deep inside in the very same space Morax was birthed.
Foxtaglia screamed at the crash of pain and pleasure lit up his nerves, at the way his body was surrendering despite the wave of shame from being impregnated by his own son. But he couldn’t fight. Not when - the egg, it felt so good. Its warmth and weight was such a deliciously familiar sensation, and Foxtaglia’s belly was nice and full. Oh, oh, this was like all the times Papa had filled him to bursting, all the times Papa had made him come over and over again as egg after egg was deposited into his womb, stretching his stomach out so much that he couldn’t even walk properly –
“One,” Morax growled out as Foxtaglia’s cries taper to gasping whimpers and needy moans.
His reprieve did not last long. Foxtaglia’s pussy lips were forced apart once more by a second swell.
“Two,” Morax grunted. This time, the sound Foxtaglia made was a needy keen of a whore vindicated. Oh, it felt good. It felt so good. Everything felt so hot and wet and tight and Foxtaglia wanted more. More dragon eggs to fill his little belly. More babies to birth before he was filled to bursting once more.
“Mother is taking my eggs so well as expected. The perfect dragon’s broodmare. Tell me, when Father had put his first clutch inside of you, how many eggs were there?”
“F – Five,” Foxtaglia whimpered. The second egg had shifted and was settling nicely next to its sibling, the warmth and heaviness of it making him shiver. “Papa had put in five a – and all of them had hatched – urgh!”
“Perfect little mother,” Morax purred. “I shall endeavour to put in at least twice that number.”
“Ung – M – Morax!”
Like his father, Morax kept his promise. Egg after egg popped inside of Tartaglia, sending non-stop waves of pleasure through his body. He came after the fourth egg, his walls tightening around his son’s length as his cunt gushed, his eyes unseeing and his mouth dropped open in a long drawn-out cry of pure lust and wanting.
Still, his son did not stop. More eggs followed, travelling through his oversensitive walls despite his weak pleads for Morax to stop, and by the tenth egg, Foxtaglia could no longer register his surroundings. His mind was only on the way his belly had swollen larger than ever, and how stuffed he felt, and the satisfaction of carrying new life once again.
There may have been a few more eggs that followed, but at that point, Foxtaglia was fully done, only whimpering as a deluge of warmth flooded into his womb, a sign that his new mate was finally finished.
That’s your Papa, he thought in a drunken haze as he reached a shaky hand to stroke against his to swollen belly. Grow strong for your Papa.
“Mother,” his new mate growled out. “My wife. My mate. Mine.”
The last thing Foxtaglia felt before succumbing to his exhaustion was the pinch of teeth biting down on his nape on the opposite side of the first claiming mark he had received so long ago. And then, he knew no more.
Eventually, Papa came back from making living arrangements for his son and it was to the shocking sight of his wife, freshly impregnated by his eldest on the very same bed that he himself had taken Foxtaglia those long years ago. Father and son fought ferociously before settling down and making a deal.
Because the truth of the matter was that dragons were a dying breed. Not many beings could successfully carry dragon eggs. The number of eggs that managed to hatch was depressingly small.
Finding a mate compatible to dragons was like finding a needle in a haystack. It had been pure luck that the Dragon Lord had come across the fox child, which was why he had not hesitated to breed him the moment Foxtaglia could conceive.
To expect the Dragon Lord’s progeny to have that same luck and find that same satisfaction and happiness may be a bit unrealistic.
And if the goal was to ensure the survival of the species…
Lord Dragon, in all of his infinite wisdom, was willing to share not only with Morax but to the many sons who would soon reach their first rut.
Yes, he supposed that this arrangement would be tolerable. It even has an added benefit, which Morax helpfully pointed out.
“Honourable Father. Perhaps you would be interested in a little experiment? I have always been curious about whether Mother can take multiple dragons at the same time. Do you also suppose his belly has room for multiple clutches of eggs?”
Without saying another word, both father and son turned towards Foxtaglia, who was deep asleep with his hand over his pregnant stomach.
Yes. The Dragon Lord supposed that this arrangement could work quite nicely.
The answer came some months later shortly after Foxtaglia had birthed Morax’s children. Father and son were happy to discover that yes, Foxtaglia could, in fact, carry two clutches at the same time. The sight of Foxtaglia drooling, eyes vacant and fucked stupid as his tight pussy was wrapped around the twin dragon cocks pumping eggs straight into his bloated womb was a sight to behold.
“It will be your turns the next time,” the lord dragon commanded to his second, third and fourth sons watching from the sidelines, the front of their pants tenting from the shameless display before them. “And when the time comes, be sure to fill your mother well. You wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you?”
“Y – yes, Honourable Father!”
“Do you hear that, Mama?” Morax whispered. He sighed at the way his mother’s walls clenched around both of his and his father’s cocks and continued, “You are going to have more dragons to service you in the near future. How spoiled!”
“M – more eggs?” Foxtaglia moaned weakly.
“Yes, many, many more to stuff that greedy pussy full. When it is time, our children and their children will help as well. Mama will truly become the one to save our species.”
Foxtaglia did not doubt those words. His Papa and his sons weren’t ones to break their promises.