A short story imagining what it might be like if Dragonien were a real muse, flickering between existence and imagination
Old content, Originally posted July 23rd, 2010 via Furaffinity ||
A Day With my Muse
I decided to write this journal to try and chronicle what an average day of my life is like. I know many people still don't believe in “imaginary friends” or “muses” as they call them. But one day, eventually, they might finally become common knowledge, and accepted as real universally, as mine certainly is real to me.
His name is Dragonien. A real sweetheart. He acts the big, tough, sometimes egotistical muscleman that he looks like, but beneath that he’s little more than an oversized teddy bear. He'll pose for me. Flexing, and teasing me with the sight of his perfectly sculpted muscles. Hard, tight slabs of meat, sculpted as if from some living marble rather than the flesh of another sentient creature. He knows I'm a sucker for it, every time. He’s a horrible tease. He’s never 'mean' about it, per-say. But he utterly loves riling me up. And then keeping me that way, sometimes for minutes... sometimes for days. Most of the time I really can't complain... I love watching and experiencing it, just as much as he loves doing it. The way he shows off that almost supernaturally sculpted body, strong enough to bench press the couch - with me on it - and flexible enough to bend over backwards and grab his own heels. The way he flashes me that devilishly handsome grin of his, that speaks in milliseconds what would take hours to describe in words... a playful, coy smile. Showing his intent to tease, and his love of doing it... with an undertone of a gentle caring beneath, that shows he loves doing it because he knows I will like it, more than because its what he wants to do... and how he uses that long, slender tail of his to brush over me in such subtle, coy ways as he poses for me.
Oh yes, I should probably explain the tail.
I've never actually met anyone else with a muse... at least, not one that I knew about. I might have run into dozens of them, or none at all. If they're anything like Dragonien, I doubt I’d have any way of knowing without simply asking. But regardless, I really have no basis to compare Dragonien to anyone else's Muse... so for all I know he could be a dime a dozen. Or the only of his kind... but to me he feels like the latter.
He’s big. Real big... we measured him once and he was just a fraction over eight foot four inches in height. He’s big, and beefy. But not ripped, or bulky like most bodybuilders. Powerfully built, and probably less than 1% body-fat, but every ounce of muscle on him is perfectly proportioned. So much so, that were he a normal human people would probably accuse him of either being unnatural, a miracle, or a victim of intense plastic surgery. Few other explanations are able to describe the uniquely 'perfect' form he possesses. His skin is red, bright red. Ruby colored, though not crystalline and transparent like a gem. Smooth and supple to the touch, like the rump flesh of a newly born baby. Hairless across his entire form, leaving no 'flaws' or friction-stops to rough up the otherwise silken smooth feel of his flesh.
His head doesn’t truly have a face, but more of a muzzle. Like an animal. Reptilian to be precise. Or rather, as far as movies have depicted. Draconic... I guess that's the best way to describe him. A dragon. A living, breathing, towering 8 foot tall bipedal humanoid dragon. With long, flowing shoulder length black hair, two thick ivory horns jutting from the back of his head, sharpened ivory claws and fangs ready to tear through nearly anything with ease, and Those slitted reptilian eyes... so brilliantly blue. Crystalline and bright that you'd swear that they were two bright sapphires, each with a shard of obsidian for his pupil rather than eyes. Eyes that you could get lost staring in... eyes that could pierce a person’s soul and hold them in place, or convey dozens of feelings with a simple glance.
And that tail... God I love that tail. It’s long... very long. Probably six feet or so in length from base to tip, maybe more. Every time I've tried to measure it, he'd tease me and wriggle it around, or distract me with various distractions to keep me from measuring it. I think he likes it being a mystery, something to always keep me guessing, and to always keep me curious. And it is STRONG. Incredibly so. And very flexible... it is like a third arm, but so much more malleable and useful. I've seen him do something as simple as picking up a coffee cup with it, and sipping at it, as it held the cup aloft, and swung around, effortlessly flexing or writhing around at any point along its length, seeming to have nearly endless flexibility. And other times, he’d literally picked me up with it. The powerful length wrapping around my middle, and hefting me up off the ground as easily as he could have done with one of those muscular arms of his.
He is a sweetheart. A big, lovable, muscular lug of a handsome, hunky slab of man-meat. With an added bonus of that powerful, ferocious animal aspect. That only adds to how masculine he can be, adds to how ferocious he can be... how protective he can be. And how Exotic he can be. He is human. And he is an animal, all together in one... and I love it.
But I think I'm getting a bit off subject. See, even when I'm just writing about him, he finds ways to distract me.
The mornings can very greatly, solely dependent upon his mood. See, I'm an early riser. I always have been. I conditioned myself as a kid to wake up around 6 or 7 in the morning everyday, so I wouldn't have to use my alarm clock to wake up for school. Dragonien is... sporadic, at best. Some mornings, he wakes up earlier than I do, and is up and about hours before I awake. Other days, he can sleep well towards noon or even further. And the problem is... Drago is a big guy. A real big guy, as I've stated before... we share one bed. A bed, mind you, he refuses to let me replace with a bigger one. He says he likes having his feet and lower legs hanging off of it... that he likes feeling big in comparison to it. When we sleep, he is very cuddly... I don't think I've gone to sleep once since I met him where I wasn't either being hugged up against his front, like some kind of oversized stuffed animal, or at the bare minimum sleeping with his legs interlocked and tangled with my own, and one of those heavy arms of his draped over my chest… and when you've got a several hundred pound muscular dragon-man clinging to you while he sleeps... there’s not really a whole lot you can do to get free, without him letting you up.
So some days, I'll just lay there. Laying on my back, with that heavy arm draped over my chest. Weighing me down into the bed, and radiating that soothing, constant warmth he lets out like a mini space heater. Those powerful, muscular legs intertwined with my own, letting me do little more than squirm around a bit to try to readjust his arm's weight atop me. Sometimes it’s enough to simply let me drift back off to sleep... He’s so warm. Sometimes I marvel at it, how he seems to let out such intense, constant heat that his body alone can keep the bed toasty, like the whole things been in the dryer for a few minutes, and yet I never get 'hot'. Like the heat stops just short of making it uncomfortable. Another one of those subtle marvels of Dragonien.
When finally I am able to rouse him to get off me so I can get up, or when he has awoken long before me, I see him standing across the island that separates our living area from the kitchen. Living in a small economy apartment, there's not really anyplace I can’t see him, or vice versa, unless one of us is in the bathroom. He stands there, sometimes already fully dressed, or sometimes stark naked, but usually somewhere in between, letting the sweet smell of breakfast start to fill the room. He loves to cook, and loves to cook for other people, namely me, all the more. It's funny to think about... from what I've read on the internet, muses are creations of their owner's imagination... if you could call me his owner, and I've sometimes thought that, if that's true, maybe him cooking for me is some subtle, unconscious way of the creation trying to create for his creator, as if some kind of repayment of sorts.
But regardless of it all, he’s an amazing cook. It’s like having my own personal gourmet chef at my disposal. Chocolate chip pancakes, with hints of honey in the batter, seasoned sausage links cooked in the bacon grease to give them that extra flavor, Blueberry muffins made from scratch, or even more exotic dishes he likes to experiment with. I swear, I don't think we've gone to the mall, or even near it for that matter, where he didn't end up making me buy him a new cookbook.
But I would just sit there and watch. Sometimes just sitting on the bed, legs crossed, other times watching as I dug around for clean clothes to wear and put on, or even peeking out of the bathroom door around the corner as I brushed my hair and teeth. Watching that long, powerful tail of his swing happily back and forth behind him as he cooked, smell the delicious, stomach-taunting scents that he would release from his latest 'creation', letting my mind wander, as I watched something so unnatural, so unrealistic, do something so casual as cook for me.
When it was done, my breakfast's method of being eaten was entirely up to his whim, as usual. Sometimes, he'd simply set the plate down in front of me as I settled down in front of my computer, and he’d stand behind me, or sit beside me to just watch me eat, staring and smiling at me the whole time. Other times, he would simply lift me up from my chair, setting himself down in it, usually causing the chair to groan from his weight, before he'd set me down in his lap, arms reaching around my middle, and he would feed me himself. Nibbling at my shoulder and neck the entire time... and causing my cheeks to burn with a blush every time.
The rest of the morning was usually up in the air. Spent by surfing the internet or chatting with some friends online. Usually to the background of him doing either something silly, like standing on his head and trying to balance on top of it alone... once or twice coming crashing down onto the bed which, after the frame had been almost broken the first time, now sat on the floor, or he'd do something more... unique... trying to tease me by playfully dragging a claw tip down his front, slowly tearing open his shirt to expose the muscle within... again sending a furious blush down my cheeks. After the first time I had tried to ask where he even got his clothes, I gave up. As when I would try to poke an answer out of him, he would usually silence my curiosity by making out with me... It’s rather hard to try and figure out why his part of the closet seems to never run out of clothing no matter how many times he rips or tears them when you've got half of a 12 inch tongue in your mouth, and a pair of lips half again as big as your own pushing against your face.
And on that note... I might as well go into some of the other 'unusual' things he seems to be capable of. Things... happen around Dragonien. Things that normally wouldn't be possible in reality, or at least, as far as I know. He’s invisible to everyone else, that much I learned pretty quickly. We go out into town all the time together, and he can walk right by people, and no-one even glances at the 8 foot dragon-man following me around. I've even seen people walk through him once or twice, as if he weren't even there. Like some kind of ghost. And its made me ponder if he really is just a figment of my imagination... then I see him interact with things. Picking up cans in the grocery store, cooking me breakfast at home, once or twice I've even seen him do something that caused a response from someone else. He'd pick something out from a shelf and put it in my shopping cart, and someone would double take and see, at least I assume, a can falling into my cart of its own accord. Yet another thing that makes me constantly wonder whether he exists or not, and how he does what he does.
He can change size too. And seems to love doing it. Sometimes his clothes come with him. I’ll look over and suddenly see him, not more than 6 inches tall, sitting on my shoulder like it were a bench of some kind, still fully clothed and perfectly proportioned... just tiny. Other times, I’ll go take a shower, and come out to him blatantly teasing me, by growing inch after inch taller and larger, his clothing starting to rip and tear in just the right places to send blushes burning across my face... he knows I’m a macrophile, and loves teasing me with it. Once or twice, he’s even done some more... extreme things. Once, when I was driving to work he was sitting in my car beside him, just humming to himself. Idly rubbing one of his 4 fingered paws over my thigh or arm. And the next time I’d look over and he would be gone... then I’d see a foot. A single, bright red, 3 toed foot, slam down into the field a few yards to the side of the road... the foot bigger than my car itself. And he would walk beside my car, making his own way towards my destination. Stepping over intersecting roads, climbing down and wading through the river I had to take a bridge over, and leaping over buildings that stood in his way. It was yet another one of those things I couldn't possibly understand. I could feel his footsteps shake the ground with each step, but none of the other drivers seemed to notice. I could see his paws smashing to the ground with enough force to crush homes, but left no mark in the ground from what I could only assume was his immense weight. Sufficient to say, I was squirming in my seat the entire drive... He’s so evil. And I love him for it.
His realism is so inconsistent. His existence is in constant question. Able to pass through solid objects and people like he’s not there, or able to pick things up and toss them around as easily as I could. Some days he leaves me thinking I've gone crazy, imagining magical dragon-men clinging to me as affectionately as a pet would, or as caring as a lover would. Other days I feel as if I'm the luckiest man in the world. A creature unlike anything else in the world, seeming to have the sole purpose to make me happy, to care for me, to spend time with me, yet not because of some strange notion of he 'has to' or he 'was made to', but simply because he wants to.
But I'm going off on a tangent again. Regardless of all the strangeness, all of the eerie abilities, the questionable existence, and everything else, the mornings are always 'interesting'. Never a dull moment, as the saying goes. Especially when he gets... erm... 'playful'. Not in the sense of just teasing me, tickling at me or chasing me around the house, whipping at me with his tail or a towel. More... 'ahem' playful. I'll be sitting in my chair, typing away at the computer when I see a shadow cast over me, a pair of thick, muscular red arms wrapping around my upper body... that broad, handsome red muzzle of his leaning down over my shoulder, and giving a nibble to one of my ears. Immediately I’d seize up, a blush exploding across my face - he’s good at making me blush if you haven't figured out- and I would probably start mumbling something like “W-what are you doing, draggy?...”
He'd lean forward a bit more, and give me this big, coy grin that showed off those fangs of his. A smile that would look innocent on the outside, but at the same time blatantly told of his guilty intentions, yet a further tease of his purposefully failed attempt to act innocent. He'd lean his head in, and rub the side of his muzzle over my cheek, nuzzling affectionately at me, as my hands groped around the keyboard and the top of my desk, trying to find something to do with themselves, as my face practically lit aflame from my embarrassed blush. He'd murr some innocent response in that quiet, huskily growled voice of his, something like “Nuthin...” or “just bein’ playful...” as his fingers would rub over my chest, tracing and brushing along it and shifting the fabric of my shirt. His paws would start to slide lower, only making my blush all the more intense, stuttering a bit more incoherently as I tried to form words, and would find none that I could coherently portray. I’d feel those plump, powerful fingers stroking over my belly, teasing the sensitive flesh with the sharp, yet carefully wielded tips of his claws, as his fingers would slide yet lower, and then push up under my shirt. Starting to push it up a bit, and expose my bare, light-tan colored flesh... his paws getting all the more 'exploratory' as they pushed my shirt further and further up, exposing my torso to his wandering grasp.
Even in his more 'intimate' affections, he was a terrible tease. Touching, stroking, and brushing along the most sensitive areas of my body, as if he knew them as well as if they were marked with a bright red marker. My arms would find themselves lifted up, as his broad hand-paws tugged my shirt gently up over my head, leaving me exposed from the waist up, and causing a shiver to go down my spine, as my now bare back pressed into the cool leather of my computer chair. His hands would then once again begin their exploration of my upper body, now with no cloth to hide it from his grasp. Fingers brushing over the faint, near nonexistent curve of my bicep. Over my smooth fleshed stomach again, or combing those plump fingers through my hair... I'm such a sucker for such simple affections. Then he'd say something that would make me gulp audibly, and squirm more in my seat than ever, something like…
“Let me help you get comfy...”
Then I would find his paws sliding down my torso, his index finger and thumb gently grasping at the button of my jeans, as the other paw would slide its way over my thigh, giving it a gentle, teasing squeeze. His fingers deftly undoing the fly of my pants with such ease that I barely felt his fingers moving over the cloth so dangerously close to the, what would always be by now, throbbing swell of my blatant enjoyment of what he was doing. He'd feel that plump hardness, and simply grin at me, using it simply as 'incentive' to continue on his work. His powerful arms moved me around as easily as if I were nothing more than a rag doll. Gently lifting me up or shifting me around, as his thumb undid the zipper of my jeans. His tail sliding up to grasp at the bottom of one of my pant legs, and would start tugging on it... and within moments, soon those too would be gone. Leaving me feeling oh so very small in the grasp of my computer chair. Bare legs from mid thigh down pressing into the body-warmed leather of my chair beneath them, back pushed up against the back of it... left in just my underwear now, with that looming, towering drake of a man grinning down at me.
Affectionate, teasing words would pour from his lips like honey, sweetening my ears with their tone and meaning. Coy phrases like “Someone’s happy to see me...” or something a bit more subtle, yet more provocative like “Got something specific on your mind?...” or even something almost laughably corny like “If I’d known we were supposed to be at 'attention' then I’d have put on my military uniform...”. Phrases that made me want to push at him, playfully of course, with how bad they were. Like, when someone uses a purposefully terribly corny and over-used pickup line on someone, and it just makes them look all the sweeter.
And from there, things would just go 'downhill', in a sense. His fingers would become more adventurous, wandering closer and closer to my arousal. Stroking, rubbing, even squeezing at it and eliciting soft moans from me, as I tried to fight the physical symptoms of how incredibly worked up he had me. He called it cute afterward, said that it was adorable and sexy at the same time. And despite him teasing me with my little submissive actions, he had a few of his own... though ultimately, even when he was submissive for me, it always felt like he really was the one in control... he just knew me too well, and could overpower me so easily.
He could nibble at my neck, my biggest weak spot, and from the first contact of his lips I would be shuddering and moaning loudly, little more than putty in his hands, as he ground the 'monster' that was his own endowment against my back. And what an endowment it was... he let me measure it before, seeming to enjoy showing off how massive it was... though mostly I figured it was because he knew how incredibly sexy I found it. It was, like everything else about him, 'almost' human, and yet at the same time it wasn't. Just like the rest of him, save for his head, he was fully hairless. There were no pubes, no strands of stray groin fur to obscure any of it. It was human in shape, a long, faintly curved shaft, and a thick mushroom top head, even circumcised so he lacked a foreskin. The only notable difference between his and mine besides the lack of hair was that his was jet black in color, both the shaft itself and his balls. Well, that and the fact that his was eighteen inches long. Eighteen inches was big... very, very big. When he was fully hard, his shaft was nearly as thick around as a can of soda, so thick I couldn't even wrap my fingers entirely around its girth, and the head, the thick, plump, mushroom head was almost the size of a fully grown apple.
God, he was huge.. even in the throes of passion I couldn't help but dwell on it. How thick, how massive it was. And I was such a sucker for seeing him strutting around in tight underwear, with it stuffed within the front of them, pushing out so prominently against the fabric he might as well have gone naked.
But I had learned a few of his weak spots as well, and surprisingly we shared many of them. His neck was incredibly sensitive like my own, though mine was a bit more so... or maybe it was just that his lips, and his teeth could stimulate my neck better than my blunter human teeth, and his powerful draconian jaw far out-shined mine in raw power.
He would use my neck to get me riled up, nibbling and suckling on it lovingly, his fingers wrapped tightly around my own shaft, slowly squeezing and kneading at my rock hard girth through my underwear, my body practically writhing under his touch, able to do little more than thrust against his paw and groan against the onslaught of his muzzle on my neck. Then I would find myself standing. Staring ahead at him... my face not even level with the top of his chest when he fully stood up. Staring up at that grinning muzzle of his, then looking down his broad, bare chest, powerful muscles swelling and flexing with his breaths, and down to that massive bulge of dragon cock that strained against his own underwear... his shaft so simply massive that when it erected, it pushed up his belly, pulling his waistband open and pressing against his abs, hanging several inches out of it. He would give me that sultry grin of his, and give a playful push forward of his hips, letting that massive groin bump against my front... and I would take his invitation, and grasp it. My fingers wrapping around as much of his massive cock head as they could, and squeeze it... eliciting a moan from the towering hunk of a dragon... and a glob of wetness from his tip.
Dragonien was very messy.
The two softball sized orbs that were his testicles were in constant states of overproduction. Churning out literal pints of the thick, heavy seed of their drake owner, both pre and actual... in a single 'session' Dragonien could produce as much pre-cum as a half dozen men could cum. And as such, I had taken to washing the sheets nearly every other day... not that I complained. The powerful, masculine scent he let off was oh so delicious... and after a while I became accustomed to it, even washing everything often, the smell filling the apartment constantly.
My hand would slide up and down the heavy top of his shaft, my fingers soaked in his pre in mere seconds... he would start to reach out for me, to return the favor, and I would simply grin, and take the initiative... an act that, nearly every time I did it, surprised him to no end... but he never complained... in fact, he seemed to love it, quite a lot. We would find ourselves shuffling into the bathroom, me pushing at him and leading him within, with his acceptance of course. I highly doubt I could force him anywhere, for any reason if he didn't wish it. It was very out of character for me, at least around him, but I would try to be more 'dominant' for him... I'm normally a pretty confident guy... but its hard to try to tell someone half again your size and several times your weight what to do... but he loved it when I did, and I admit it’s quite a thrill when I get to.
“Strip” I would command, grinning playfully up at him, as I would try to imitate the playful growl of his voice as best as I could, my hand reaching out and pointing 'commandingly' at his now pre soaked underwear. His method of removing them would vary from time to time. Sometimes he would reach down and remove them slowly, teasingly. Whether facing towards or away from me, to expose that throbbing slab of black man-meat, or to tease me with the sight of that deliciously enormous and muscled ass of his. Other times he would simply reach down and, with a flex of his arm, shred his underwear off of him, throwing the ripped remains of cloth to the trash can before grinning down at me as if awaiting my next 'order'.
The shower would be turned on, and cold water would pour from it, waiting for the water heater to warm up and be able to turn the water to the pleasant warmth we both enjoy. Continuing in the spirit of things, I would grin at him, and give his chest a playful push... feeling how ungiving it was, and rather easily recognizing him moving in response to my touch, rather than being moved by it. My butt would find itself sitting on the cool porcelain of the toilet seat, my legs spread to either side of his towering legs, and I would raise my finger, and wiggle it in a playful 'come hither' gesture, and murmur out “Now, me...” before pointing down to my own underwear.
I loved seeing that look on his face when he would comply. That big, toothy grin of his, the same teasing coy undertones of it, but with that hint of self satisfaction, as if he got some enjoyment from this more than just having me telling him what to do... as if he was enjoying the fact I had the confidence to 'order' him around, rather than simply the sexual thrill of him being ordered. And again, his method would vary... sometimes he would simply reach down, and tenderly undress me with the careful touch of his powerful paws... folding the fabric down my legs and daintily setting it down on the sink, other times he would be more 'ferocious' in his actions, and would grasp the waist of my underwear in his fangs, and simply shred them off me... or somewhere in between. He would use that powerful, fang filled jaw, and teasingly peel my underwear off with just his muzzle... always leaving me guessing what he would do next.
I'd find him going down on me without me even asking for it, and immediately moaning out loudly in surprised bliss as his powerful lips and that deliciously strong and prehensile tongue of his worked its way along my endowment. Moments would pass with me simply sitting there, leaned up against the back of the toilet, grasping at his horns for support as he sucked on me as if he were some kind of living vacuum. Then we would find ourselves in the shower, hot water splattering down over the both of us, sleeking our hair down and dripping to the floor of the bathtub in long, loud streams. His tail would raise, and be draped over one of my shoulders, his paws grasping at the wall for support, as I 'had my way' with him, eliciting groans of bliss from me, and animalistic growls and snarls of lust from him.
Seconds would seem like minutes, minutes like hours, and then time simply lost meaning entirely. Too wrapped up in our own combined pleasures to notice anything more than the feel of each other. My hands on his powerful, muscular hips and around his front to squeeze and rub that massive shaft of his, his tight, muscular rump squeezing around my girth and gyrating against it with my thrusts. Climaxes coming and passing, with hardly a step missed, as his seeming insatiable lust and over-productive hormones would keep him going, and his raw sexuality keeping me aroused enough to continue. We'd barely waste any time drying off before I'd find myself carried by him to the bed, and left to sprawl out atop him on it, my legs squeezing around his enormous shaft, as my lips met his muzzle and we would start to make out. The fiery sexual passion given in the shower dwindling to a more docile, loving affections. Gentle, loving kisses. Soft, affectionate touches. Fingers brushing his chest, my butt, his shoulders, or my legs brushing his shaft, while his abs flexed against my own...
That could last anywhere from minutes to the rest of the evening... and when we finally found ourselves, or at least myself, spent, and him contently sated, we would simply lay together. Basking in each other's company... me basking in the soothing, blissful warmth he radiated, and him in my affectionate, caring presence. Whispering sweet-nothings to each other, both radiating blissful smiles... my finger would trace small circles over his chest, as we would talk about things... anything ranging from simply what we would do tomorrow, to getting to know each other better... despite many of the questions being asked every night. Simply enjoying the conversation, rather than the repetitive answers. Occasionally I’d ask him something playful like for him to flex for me, or he would say something teasing to make me blush. But soon we would fall asleep... nestled in each other's grasp. Me curled up happily against his chest, and him content with his powerful arms wrapped around me, letting the bliss of sleep take us both, and letting our minds wander through the dreamscape of our imaginations...
And then it would all start again the next day.