[center][b]Audience of One[/b][/center]

[center]By Kaydrien Iceclaw[/center]





“Must you be here for this?”

If Rake was making any effort to contain his smirk, it didn’t show. “Yep.”

Sechar grimaced back at him, scaled face twisting with annoyance. As one of the top racing drakes of the Sicarian Reach, he wasn’t much used to being thwarted. Then again, Sechar was unfamiliar with [i]not[/i] wanting an audience.

“[i]Why?[/i]” He snarled at the rat. Muscles worked under his scales, green speckled with yellow, claws working at the smooth ceramic tile of the floor. Like nearly all racing drakes Sechar was all lean muscle. “Can you not just stand outside?”

“Nope.” Rake seemed unperturbed by the draconid despite being outweighed about five or six times over. The anthro rodent just about met the larger quadruped eye to eye if Sechar kept to a natural neck angle. Right now, the drake was looming in offense. “Need to treat the good stuff right away or it loses potency.”

If anything the rat beamed even harder as Sechar cringed, slight but noticeable, thinner scales around the eyes tinging pink. As if delighting in this reaction Rake pressed a little further. “It’d be a real shame to disappoint the lady dragons. I hear they want some extract of champion real bad.”

Sechar’s eyes flicked back to the only real furniture offered by the stark room. If you could call it furniture. A quartet of sturdy struts supported a thick padded cylinder, perhaps as wide around as Sechar was at the shoulders and about as high from the ground. Out of the bottom hung a glass cylinder, angled at a neat forty-five degrees, graduation markings spaced along its side to measure out volume. And set into one end, the visible end from where they were standing, was a decent simulacrum of female genitalia.

A collecting bench- or if you preferred, a breeding mount.

“I must… use that… with you watching?” 

“I could collect you myself if you’d prefer that.” 

“No!” The drake flinched back from him near imperceptibly. Rake sounded much too enthusiastic about the idea. “No, I will use the mount.”

“I’m sure the females will be real pleased.”

They would be, too. The drakes of the Reach were by and large pragmatic in their approach to propagating the next generation. Nothing so formal as a selective breeding program; they wouldn’t stand for anything so hierarchical. But they were more methodical about finding the best genes for their children than anthros. Often as not they kept romance completely separate.

As a star athlete in his prime, Sechar was naturally viewed as excellent stud material. He had not seriously entertained the idea of fathering young up until very recently, preferring to focus on honing his body and skill to their peak for the brutally competitive drake races. But having won his first systemwide championship, he felt he owed something to the next generation.

That, and his agent had insisted that the stud fees would be excellent.

So it was that he had come to be in this rather sparse room, with its fluorescent lighting and tiled walls and breeding mount, with a fertility technician that seemed to enjoy his job a little too much. He was going to leave a sample (that was how he was choosing to think about it). That sample was going to be frozen and sent by interplanetary courier to a female who wanted an athletic edge for their next hatchling. Maybe split up and sent to several females- Sechar hadn’t been paying too much attention to the details.

“Do I have to do anything in particular?” Sechar asked, hoping his embarrassment didn’t show through.

“Nope.” Grunted the rat, rubbing at his neck. “Just climb up and do your thing. I lubed it up for you already.”

“Like mounting a female?” 

Really, he was just stalling now. Stalling and trying not to let on that he was, at least in a strictly technical sense, and as far as his own species was concerned, a virgin.

“Pretty much.”  

Never mind that he didn’t know what mounting a female drake was like; he’d be damned before he admitted that to this annoying voyeur. 

Figuring that the first step had to involve getting close enough to do… what he was going to do, the drake suited action to thought. He moved with a liquid grace born of muscles operating far below their limits as he stalked toward the collecting mount.

Rake watched appreciatively. Or so Sechar concluded from the way the damned rat nonchalantly adjusted his garments around the crotch area. If predators’ eyes weren’t so tuned to follow motion, he might have had the pleasure of not noticing the movement. Instead he had to make do with trying to focus on the task at hand. Task at dick. Whatever.

He reared back on his haunches before straightening his legs to put his front legs up on top of the mount. His claws dug into the tough synthetic leather it was upholstered in pleasingly. Carefully Sechar shuffled forward, climbing along until he was resting on it with his chest. 

Closing his eyes, he tried to conjure up the lovely, heated lady-drake he had envisioned now and again, putting the sweetly curved tail he imagined pressed to his haunch as she held it aside for him. Sleek flanks. Shiny scales. Rounded-off horns. Then he improvised, putting her ahead of him with legs spread and slit gleaming.

Sechar was young and vital enough that it didn’t take more than that to get his maleness stirring from his slit.

Watching from back and to the side, Rake had a good view of the cock that the race dragon was extruding. A nice one. Plump with a pointed spade tip, the shaft swelling out in two stretched bulges that curved into one another. He grinned appreciatively and fondled himself while he watched the snooty dragon push the half-hard thing forward to bump wetly against the collecting mount, just to the side of the faux vulva.

The dragon was having a little bit of trouble getting into position. His lewd prodding was never quite on target, haunches working on instinct. Once he almost caught on the upper edge of the vertical fissure, but slipped upward instead on the generous coating of lube. Rake liked to think if that was a real dragoness she’d have taken the miss up the tailhole. The slight chuckle brought Sechar’s glare down on him for an instant before the viridian racer went back to pretending he didn’t exist in a huff, face scales darkening.

For his part Sechar was going a little bit nuts. Hard now he was impatient to get his release hot and fast, but he only met the flat rubbery texture. The near-miss had smeared just a bit of slick lube onto his tip and turned the next several attempts into a wet slide over the bumpy material and made his hips buck. All the while he tried to keep the image female fertility in his head to push away the awareness of the damn rat.

A sudden touch on the side of his penis made him jump, tail swinging in a startled sweep that just missed Rake’s head. The rat had come forward while he was distracted, and taken the male organ in his hand.

“Easy there, speedy. Just giving you a little help.” If Sechar hadn’t been disoriented by the whole situation he might have tried to bite Rake’s head off for the smugness he heard. But he was, and besides the rodent had him by the dick. Rake pushed that dick down so it slid into the mount with a slick tactile pop. “There.”

“Didn’t need your help.” Sechar grumbled several seconds later, once the sudden press of wet silicone on his cockhead had passed over. He didn’t look back to see the smirk he was sure he got back. Other things caught his attention.

The mount was tight, squeezing him from all around so he felt little shifts in his own weight through the friction that he wouldn’t otherwise be aware of. This was a different experience from the self-care sessions he occasionally rewarded himself with when he’d sucked himself (as much of himself as his spine would allow) or clawed off (an even more awkward proposition  than autofellatio with his proportions). Nor was it like the one time he’d let an anthro groupie rub herself all over him, fur tickling until he soaked his more-toy-than-lover.

This was intense. A long moment devoted to getting used to the warm clasp on his tip- and wait for Rake to back the hell off- was undone in an instant when his hips turned a tentative attempt at a slow first thrust into a full-body jerk and buried him to the root all at once. Instinct continued to overrule planning for the next three humps before he got partial hold of himself again. Sensory overload both helped and hindered recovery, the synthetic canal proving to be too much.

From a few steps behind Rake watched appreciatively as Sechar found a surer rhythm. Damn it was fun to see them lose it, the high and mighty celebrity lizards. He kneeled down for the perfect view of that dragon dick sliding in and out while he reached inside his own pants. Rake was already leaking pre, using it to lube himself for a good jerk.

The mount’s vertical slit meant it pressed harder against the sides of Sechar’s erection than the sides and left a little triangular gap between the bottom corner and the dragon cock when it was spread open. A double [i]schlp-schlp[/i] was generated by every thrust because of elongated double-bulb shape of his tool, which he felt as well as Rake saw. 

Panting, he kept up the pace, torn. He was trying to finish this quickly. Or he wanted to. He wanted to get this done so that he could get out from under the eyes of the rat who, in his wide-angled peripheral vision, hadn’t backed away as far as he liked. And he definitely wanted to get off. But the amazing feeling of the mount demanded to be savored. And the very fact that he was being observed made it difficult to focus.

He was putting on a show. Not one he’d planned, but he’d done so many times on the track. The little split in concentration that sharpened everything rather than making you lose your edge. Contempt for the audience didn’t seem to change that quality, making the hot hole, fake though it was, even sweeter around him and forcing a pulsing of his internal testicles.

To his surprise, disgust, and reluctant gratification, the dirty voyeur was making this hotter.

Sechar made a pretense of adjusting his position, and lifted his tail a fraction further to let the technician see what was under it. If the disgusting furball got off on this, let him. Sechar would show him how a real drake wore out a hole.

Rake paced himself. Not that he was held back by any vestige of professionalism, but it’d be a damn pain to have to hide the stains in his overalls if any of the prudes in management happened by. He alternated between matching Sechar’s pace and just squeezing. The slacks and underwear that rubbed over his knuckles changed the angle, changed the feel the way it always did, compared to a naked wank.

The drake couldn’t hold out forever. His fucking became faster and more forceful, putting the mount’s supporting posts to the test. They creaked when, with a roar, he slammed in for the last time, erupting to dilute the pre pooled in the glass catch of the device with thick white.

Sechar reoriented himself to the room around him as he returned to reality. Exquisitely sensitive, it almost hurt when he pulled his softening cock out of the mount. A last gobbet of spunk slipped out of him to splatter the false fem-lips, released by the retreat of the squeezing walls on his urethra.

His mood was spoiled somewhat as he turned, seeing again the rat. Rake had hastily pulled his hand out of his waistband tented, but wasn’t pretending any modesty. He looked at the big feral straight on, cheese-eating grin intact. “Have fun?”

“Do whatever it is you have to do, perv.” Sechar’s snarl was real, but rounded off by the haze of recent orgasm. He stalked past, annoyance at the voyeur with a side of lowkey humiliation setting in now that he wasn’t mid-fuck.

He was out the sliding door before his dick had quite finished tucking itself away, leaving Rake with a pleasant last glimpse. 

The rat licked his lips, sighed, and went over to unscrew the collecting jar. From a premeasured syringe he squirted in the preservatives and swirled the liter of jizz around to mix it in.

“Cocky runner must have some big nuts tucked away in there.” Rake said to himself amiably. He labelled the jar carefully (one tirade from an unidentifiable sample was bad enough), and chucked it in the fridge.

Checked the schedule.

Nobody else coming for another hour and a half.

Rake pulled a step stool up behind the collection mount, dropped his pants, and pushed himself into the gooey cream pie Sechar had left. He figured he had plenty of time to get off a round or two and eat out the mix before cleaning up. “Best fucking job ever.”



[center]The End[/center]