Untamed Cynder

This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.

All characters are over eighteen and clearly written to be so, as in all of my stories.

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Cynder swung her head back and forth, spreading her gigantic, bat-like wings that had, before, struck fear into the hearts of so many souls. Her heart panged for that time - not because she wanted to go back to it but because it was a time when she had not been herself, under the control of another, and yet there were still those that blamed her for all that she did. Her black scales held the souls of so many, the armies that she'd commanded marked in the crimson of her belly, the deaths in her wake so far behind and yet so close that she sometimes felt as if she was back in the moment, trembling as pain rained down.

The only thing that got her away from that broken reality was flying and, so, Cynder flew, chasing her tail and beating a path from the death and horror that had become her past, as much as she had tried to evade it, at the time. Things beyond her control had come to pass, however, and it would have taken a much stronger dragon to stand up against the darkness when, of course, she'd only been a hatchling. But she could have done something...

No. Don't think like that.

She turned sharply, cutting down low across the river in Avalar Valley, although the cheetahs still ducked from her. They hadn't minded her as much when she'd been smaller, but a hatchling, and working with Spyro to, as it was, save the world, but it was different now that she was an adult, stretching her wings out. She was nowhere near as scrawny as she had been as a young adult either or an adolescent, having filled out but gained a regal, leonine air, her body long and sensual, tail flicking back and forth as she flew. The blade at the tip was good for more than just cutting a path through the air, proving its worth in attacking too, and she was careful to keep it clean and polished of a night when she set down from her flight.

For all Cynder did was fly, gnashing her jaws and letting the gleaming white of her horns strike fear into the hearts of all, even though that was not her intention. She knew that it happened solely from her being out, flying, but if the other option was locking herself away and meditating or secluding herself in the worse fate of teaching hatchlings what it was to be a dragon (but not a hated one) in the world...well...she wasn't about to take that on her head. She wasn't much one for hatchlings, even though she'd found great pleasure in the act of mating and egg-laying.

Ah... Yes. That was a better thought. That was a thought that she was happy to run with, skimming the tops of the deciduous trees as birds chattered angrily beneath her. But they were beneath the dragoness' regard as she soared on, barely needing to flap her wings at all as she relished in her strength, the security of her power. And it was a good kind of power too, what thrummed through her body and made her who she was, her breath abilities licking at the back of her throat, yearning to be set free.

Oh, what the hell. With a wicked glint in her eye, she called on the power of the wind, her lungs inflated, expanding massively. Sometimes, it surprised even her just how much they could billow out, her chest taking on more and more, all for the purposes of one of the rare abilities that she could never be sure whether were due to her being a black dragon or because she had been touched by the darkness. It was not something that she particularly wanted to delve too deeply into herself but she had found more than a touch of magic at the tips of her claws as she matured, learning more than the four breath abilities that she had been graced with too: poison, shadow, fear and, of course, her favourite, wind.

There was nothing like the power of the wind licking at her scales, teasing her, begging her, goading her on into a flurry of furtiveness, showing her the power of nature. Poison was delightful and something that was a fierce talent to hone during battle but it had not proven to be all that useful after the war had ended, their foes defeated where they had risen. Wind, however, could shape the elements, cut through the sky, send her tumbling and turning in a shrill keen of joy, bringing just a little bit of life back to her wings when she wondered if she was turning into a monster again.

And, so, she let loose, working up a twister that stayed high in the air, hurricane-strength winds bringing in fresh air, air that was ripe and fertile with rain. The crops needed to be fed and they could not linger in such dry weather for long, fields of wheat waving gently below. But her winds did not need to touch those when she had such divine control over them, shaping the air with her wings and sending it forth to do her bidding.

Crack!

The wind toppled a tree - an old one that was threatening travellers with weak, hanging branches, branches that could have dropped off and struck anyone at any time. It was huge with twisted, gnarled roots that had sunk into the ground, anchoring it deeply, but it had proven to be no match for the dragoness and all that she was in the world to represent. Her winds were shaped and pulled, sending a touch of shadow into them too so that they more aptly slipped around one another - something that should never have been possible when it came to controlling the very matter of the air itself but, ah, for Cynder the impossible had simply been laid into her claws. And who would she be to complain about such a thing as she brought a moderate downpour to the crops, fat, greedy droplets of rain sinking into the dry earth?

She smiled. The crops would grow. Her maw parted, a howl in her throat, triumph begging to be ripped free in the scream of her breath, her wind and her storm, caressing and tingling down her scales. She'd earned that much.

"Oi! Demon!"

Jaws agape, she paused, wings beating, keeping her aloft as she hovered, looking down. Below her was a seemingly exceptionally angry mole farmer, hopping about from hind paw to paw as if he couldn't keep himself still, eyes blazing even from such a distance. Before she could even close her maw and ask him, as a friend, what had gotten him so worked up when she was merely playing with the elements, he launched into a tirade.

"There may have been an alliance, you she-demon, but we don't want the likes of you around here!" He howled, throwing his fists in the air, though he was hardly intimidating in his diminutive stature. "Laying waste to our villages, destroying Warfang city... Have you no shame?"

Cold sank into her stomach, a chill that hit her as if she had gulped down a hunk of ice without considering the after-effects. It was sudden but not unexpected as she stared numbly down at him, feeling as if her body was being held perfectly still even though she was, quite clearly, in flight, hovering. She had to stay there, not allowing her body to drop, her twister spinning itself out, fading without her energy to hold the wind. Her breath caught in her throat, tightening there, but she could barely breathe let alone find the breath with which to let words out into the open air between them. Never before had there been so much space between her and another creature, the mole screaming. Was he infuriated that she was still there or that she was who she was? Something else? There wasn't the nuance in Cynder left to care, words washing over her, each one coming with a tiny barb that latched into her soul amongst all the others that had come before.

It didn't matter that she'd been one of the ones trying to protect Warfang city. They still saw her as a monster and the tales that had been spun had unravelled out of control, painting her as something even worse than what she had been. He didn't care. He was just one mole. But one mole was like the cheetahs that avoided her, like the dragons that didn't know what to make of her, like the hatchlings that cowered and told tall tales of her worst sides and none of her best.

Cynder's chest tightened. Would that always be all she was to them?

She hung her head. There was no sense hanging around while such lies abounded and she turned her tail on the mole, still screeching and flailing, yet his words were all ones that she had heard before, the insults the same. She had to get away before the burning anger in the pit of her stomach melted the ice, however, seared right through it from the inside out, glaring out in a seething roil of molten fury. It was coming, Cynder knew it was, and that was just why she had to get out, to get away, why she had to fly and fly and fly, all just to keep the monster inside her pinned down and tamed.

Away. She left him behind, the world that she knew, the luscious, fertile fields that she had brought fresh life to, far behind. There was only one place she could go that she knew no one would roam, no one would come, for it was barren and not even she had been able to study it enough to learn just how she could bring life back to it. The rocks called her, the crags and the shadowy hollows: perfect for a dragoness like her that had lived her life in the shade of those better than her, stronger than her, always more than her.

The flight there passed in the blink of an eye, scales crawling and itching white-hot, rage searing through. She didn't see what she was doing as she poured fear onto the land, scraggly trees that bore no leaves and had not done for many years crumbling into dust as if they had never existed. The ground there was hard and cracked and yawning into open canyons, the type of land that could have been something if not for the wars, the conflict between the darkness and the people who populated the kingdom back at that time.

It was perfect for her, the very place that a beast should have slumbered, lain in wait, only to fell the brave travellers that crossed it. Maybe she was that, maybe she'd never changed, but all Cynder knew was the outpouring of pain as she scorched the land in an acidic splatter of poison, corroding all that could have been fertile and rich and destroying all in her path. Whether or not she was truly present in the moment did not seem to matter when she threw all caution, all that she'd held dear, to the wind, her tail flying out behind her as she pounded through rocks, smashed up cliffs, strength lacing her muscles in a way that it only did when she was expounding her rage unto the land.

She didn't know if she meant to do it, only that she did. Later, she felt better, just a little, but it was all she could do, all she could try, her eyes taking on a blazing, red sheen through which her natural irises could still be seen. Maybe there was hope for her yet or maybe she was already gone, a monster in name and monster in ability, the kind of creature that should have been locked up deep underground in the tunnels, hidden from passionate reality while pain tormented her muscles, ripping fat from sinew and carving out her core.

Cynder flung her head back and roared, framed against the sky, a seductress of desolation, the fallen angel who came with a smile and a slice across one's throat. The land was for her to lay waste to, a place that no one ever went, the fallen lands uninhabited and one place where she could, at the very least, spend a little of her pent-up anger.

She liked to think it helped. It helped less than she wanted to admit to herself. But it was something and something was better than nothing at all.

Yet what she did not know, even then, was that she was being watched by a larger beast, one that she would have remembered from years back if she had taken a moment to look and see. But she was too caught up in her destruction to care either way, hefting up huge boulders larger than even she was with the force of her wind-breath, a feat in itself but not one that many believed she could do. But they would believe the tales as her body ached, guts clawed out and innards spilling - or at least feeling as if they were, for there could be no pain so great, she thought, without causing her such intense injury that there was no coming back from it.

Xigfeldo, the silver-black drake who had travelled to study the deeper arts of their type dragon-magic, the power that resonated primarily in their breath-abilities but had other applications too, a good few years back, watched the dragoness lay waste to a land that was already lost. He doubted that she was interested in causing any harm, considering the spot she had chosen, though the power in her body was breathtaking, the dragoness that he had taken, for the very first time, when she matured into her first heat stronger than he could have ever imagined.

He licked his lips, tail swinging, the tip tingling as if he ached, even then, to do something with it. Yet he did not see a dragoness that was lost to the world, a monster, as he had never known her like that. The only frame of reference he had of her was the young adult that had moaned so sweetly beneath him and the dragoness who craved learning even when all others thought that her studies should have been well enough complete, considering her age. Yet she had wanted to know more and more and even lain down with him on the eve of a moonlight night to learn of his lands and his ways, even though they had both known that he would have to leave soon, back then.

There had been gentler times then too, Xigfeldo showing the dragoness just a little of what a dragoness could do in more ways than one, considering that his cloaca held both sexes within. He preferred male pronouns, where needed, but moved fluidly between both as he pleased, his shaft thick and smooth-skinned and perfectly poised to slip into the cunny of a needy dragoness as quick as one could blink. The mating was nice but what had brought more of a bond to life between them had been how he'd shown her how to please her needs, not having other dragonesses aside bar a similarly positioned pink lady, Ember, who didn't know what to do about coming into heat when there were no fetching males around to satisfy that itch.

Many laughs were had but she had matured even more than she had back then, her body strong and powerful, tail lashing the air as if even the scythe of her body ached to cut through it. And yet the silver-black drake with scales that were dulled in the dismal light of the wasteland, the sky grey-washed and brown, though the underbelly of the roiling, seething clouds merely reflected what lay below. There were no rivers but there were the tracks of where they had run, Cynder hovering above one as she filled it with a leaping, twisting mass of shrieking shadows, the demons of her own creation under her power but flowing like water.

Xigfeldo shuddered. Some things were too far, even for him, and there was no war to warrant such fury.

He lunged for her, calling speed to his wings, pummelling the air, crossing the distance between them.

"Cynder!"

His cry cut through the air, slamming into her with the force of a body, and yet she did not see her old friend as she whipped around, a bone-shaking snarl tearing from her lips, jaws slavering. He would have drawn himself up short if he had not known the dragoness she truly was, holding fast and staying the course as he reached for her with his claws, forelegs outstretched. Xigfeldo's wings billowed, catching him as he halted his flight, trusting them to hold while he crashed into the dragoness, tangling with her in mid-air.

And yet he could never have been prepared for the strength that met him there too, the roar that blasted him in the muzzle, bringing tears to his eyes. As much as he gasped and tried to drag words to his lips, she was too strong for him right then, perhaps the older drake having under-estimated her. But no one who had seen Cynder at the peak of her evil reign should have ever have underestimated what she was capable of as she roared and snapped, going for his throat as if she didn't recognise who she was.

There was no staying aloft as their claws locked, Xigfeldo fighting, snarling, lashing at her, though a part of him didn't want to hurt the dragoness either. He had taken for granted what was happening, that he could cut through whatever daze she was caught up in without batting an eyelid, though that was his young, male pride at work there. He was not yet as experienced in the world as he would come to be but the dull thud of his body impacting the ground was a stark reminder to him that there was still more to learn.

Strong...yes... He groaned, rolling his head, but not struggling up instantly, for he still knew that there was no true threat there, no danger that could come to him. But he wasn't invincible and the pain lancing through his wings in particular where they had been twisted under him shot through with a scream that would never be heard.

His healing magic leapt to his aid but the dragoness was on top of him before he could do anything but work in the background, mending the aches and pains, though he could count himself lucky that nothing had cut through his scales. That was a good fortune indeed but the dragoness that sneered down at him held her breath at the ready, the leaping twist of fear curling and simmering around the edges of her teeth and lips.

But she wouldn't hurt him.

"Xigfeldo," she hissed, head snaking dangerous back and forth. "And I never thought I'd see your muzzle around here again."

"I thought..." He wheezed, squirming under her. "You... You weren't at the temple... I..."

She pressed down, making it harder to breathe, but that was a bit of a faux-pas on her part, considering just how long the dragon could hold his breath. It was something that his body was slowly morphing into the ability to breathe underwater, for he was not born with every last one of his talents innately in hand, though there were some too that could simmer down a tense situation as quick as one could blink.

Cynder snarled, the stark pink of her maw drawing him in, but the drake had a trick up his figurative sleeve that she should have remembered, even though it was one thing that he had not explained to her. The sweetness of his oil teased from his cloaca, something thick and heady, designed to draw in any other dragon - and a number of other beasts too beside them - without them even knowing. His body, as it always was, even borne down into the hard, cracked earth, was primed for lust and his shaft slid out without her seeing, pushing with it a glistening slick of tantalising oil, flooding the air with his pheromones.

It was a tiny shift, a blink of her eye and a softening at the corner, though he knew that one truly deranged would have never have fallen for the lure of his lust. That was one way that Xigfeldo knew that Cynder was not that far gone, though the wrath of a dragoness tempted into such fateful pleasures was not something that he could have said that he'd experienced before. Her nostrils twitched and she leaned down, tongue sweeping against the length of his neck even as he tipped his head back, chest shuddering with, finally allowed, blissful breath.

Distracted, the dragoness nuzzled at him, confused, swinging her head back and forth. What was she doing there? Something still tightened every muscle in her body, holding them in a state of contraction that was painful, to say the least, and she growled, twisting back and forth, although nothing allowed her that release of tension. Yet there was something, something that she could scent in the air, grunting as she raked her teeth down the neck of the blurry dragon beneath her, blood lingering on her tongue. It had not been more than a scratch but it was enough to bring a shuddering gasp to her lips, hip sinking, her body knowing what to do even if her mind, right there and then, was lost to the moment.