Posted on 2013-11-21 06:32:39
Score: 0 (vote Up)

Flamedramon tilted his head at the tiny sprite zipping around. It was a tiny sphere of light with wings, or at least that was what it appeared to be. The light that it gave off slowly shifted through the spectrum and was so bright that if there was a form between those fluttering wings he could not tell. Still, it was pretty to watch and harmlessly alternated between darting speeds and a meandering hover. It was a change of pace from the gloomy forest.

After pressing into the woods for a while longer Flamedramon was happy to find he had a small gathering of these tiny sprites to keep him company. The once dismal muted colors of the forest were a wash with a gentle throb of hues. A broad smile materialized on the digimons’ face on it’s own accord. Flamedramon slowed his pace feeling his sense of urgency wane as it was pushed aside by his good mood. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he exhaled in tranquil bliss. When his lids leisurely opened again a duo of pixies were hanging in front of him at eye level. Their light radiated in a lazy spiral, colors complimenting each other in a fascinating display. Flamedramon let his journey slip his mind for a while to watch them.

His placid smile grew as blithely stared at the twin sprites, their radial colors reflected in his wide eyes as his moth fell open in an open grin. Every part of the digimon was at peace. He wavered on his feet, the effort of keeping balance was a thought delegated to some distant part of his mind not enraptured with the colors. One by one the pieces of his armor dropped to the ground. The sprites moved subtly, luring the entranced digimon to follow in a willowy snaking stumble. His arms moved on independent puppet strings pulling his half shirt over his head and then dropped down to free his maleness form its confines. The bit of cloth pooled on the ground discarded to become the finality in his trail of red and orange garments.

The tight spirals were the only thing Flamedramon could think about now. His legs moved on poor muscle memory until he stumbled. By some stroke of luck he caught a low broken branch to keep himself from falling and then remained in that forward leaning posture. He was to captivated to consider moving any more. Straining to look up and watch them Flamedramon began to pant openly. His euphoric vacant state blossomed into delighted arousal. His shaft grew rigid between his legs, and limp tongue slipped farther out of his maw. With his conscious mind drowned out by spiraling colors only his simplest most feral instincts remained.