by Dante King
There’s a time for a bit of the slow, steady and sensual foreplay, but this was most definitely not it. The palm of my hand slammed against Saya’s clitoris and pelvis as I finger fucked her as hard as I could. I nuzzled her neck, every now and again kissing my way down to bite playfully at one of her perfect, pink nipples.
Saya’s mouth contorted in a grimace of animal pleasure and her breath came in ragged gasps as I plowed into her with first one, then two, then three fingers. She grew so wet that her girl juice started flicking up onto her stomach and mine, coating us in natural lubricant.
Saya’s hands had been resting on my chest as I finger-blasted her. With an abrupt burst of sexual strength, the blonde bombshell of a warrior pushed hard against me with a drawn out cry of, “Fuuuuck yes, fuuuuck me!”
She didn’t just flip me off her, she propelled me about six feet into the air and backward across the room.
Thankfully, I landed on one of the couches in the sunken fire pit. I bounced, feeling the springs under me take the strain as all my weight fell on the poor sofa, and landed on the floor with a dull thud.
I got unsteadily to my feet, had just enough time to get my bearings and say, “Whoa” before Saya was on my again.
It was my first taste of sleeping with a dragonmancer, and it had almost been my last. Still, the thrill of what pain, what potential injuries I could suffer, only made my cock harder.
Sure, I was a sucker for punishment in the arena and in the bedroom. Sue me.
This time, I grabbed Saya as she launched at me and coiled her legs around my waist. Her momentum, however, drove us backward so that I stumbled and wobbled, trying to keep my feet, before we crashed into the far wall. A mirror shattered behind me as we slammed into it, but I would have gladly traded seven years bad luck for what happened next.
Saya used my broad shoulders to boost herself up a little, and then brought her box down, right where my cock happened to be standing firmly to attention. My rigid member slid into her tight sex like a sword into a scabbard.
Saya let out a scream of lust, and I gasped as her walls clenched around me.
I spun and—I hoped—canceled out the seven years worth of bad luck by plonking Saya on a conveniently placed walnut dresser and touching the wood with my thighs once...and again...and again….and again, and again, and again, ad infinitum.
With her ass resting on the dresser, Saya lifted her legs so that her ankles were almost touching my ears while I fucked her as fast and as hard as I could. My balls slapped against her asscrack, which was slick with the juices running down from her coochie.
I grabbed a handful of her blonde hair and forced her head to the side so that I could kiss her throat.
“Harder, Earthling, harder,” Saya grunted.
As the new kid on the block, I figured I should do as I was told. I thrust into the leggy blonde faster and faster and—
— then found myself flying backward across the room once more as Saya shoved me with a foot in the chest. I crashed through a spindly coffee table, flailing, before I landed on the poor old couch. If the couch hadn’t been sunken, and thus wedged against solid stone, I would have undoubtedly gone head over biscuit off the back of it.
There was the sound of Saya laughing with delight before she pounced on me. She reached down, guided my cock inside her, and began to ride me like a drunk white chick on a mechanical bull.
I sat back and enjoyed the sensation of having a pair of huge, sweat-covered tits bouncing around in my face.
The tempo picked up. Saya ground her crotch into mine, her nails clawing at my shoulders as she drove herself against me with ever increasing desperation.
Just like the moment before a zombie apocalypse in the movies, I could feel that the end was nigh. In truth, I was amazed I had lasted as long as I had, what with having the amalgamation of the top ten hottest Playboy bunnies writhing around in my lap.
Happily, it seemed that Saya was in the same boat. She was breathing hard now, rocking backward and forward with an eagerness that communicated the obvious.
The Orgasm Express was arriving at the station.
“Yes,” she said, her perfect ass smacking into my lap as she reached down to rub her clit. “Yes, yes, yes, yes!”
The muscles of her thighs tightened with delicious pain against my hips, her knees digging into my sides. Saya leaned back and stared up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes as she came. Her stomach contracted, and she let out a strangled cry as her sex quivered and spasmed uncontrollably. That quivering then set me off, and I thrust hard up into the gorgeous warrior, once, twice, thrice, more.
My load shot up into the warm, moist depths of her soaking box.
To my astonishment, a light suddenly flared just under Saya’s navel. It brightened, and then died suddenly away.
“What the fuck…” I managed to say, though my breath came out as a whisper.
Saya didn’t hear me, being too caught up in the throes of her orgasm. Nor did she see my surprise because her eyes were screwed shut in ecstasy.
I only had a brief chance to wonder if that was some sort of magic at work, before we collapsed across the sofa in a tangled heap.
We lay sprawled on the couch by the firepit; butt-ass naked, sweaty and panting. I felt like I’d been a participant in the most enjoyable fight of my life. A fight-fuck if you will.
I could feel the lines of fire across my shoulder blades where Saya’s nails had dug into my flesh. I could feel bruises blooming across my back, my asscheeks, and my sides. I could taste blood in my mouth.
My imaginative mind conjured up images of how I might have felt had I tried to have sex with someone in a barrel that had just been pushed over Niagara Falls.
I sat up with some difficulty and propped myself on the couch, so that I looked a little less like a crash test dummy. The naked form of Saya lay beside me, and I couldn’t help but regard her with more than a little wonder.
“I have heard sex referred to as thunderfucking before,” I said, “but that, right there, takes the cake. I’m going to be limping for a week, you bad girl.”
Saya smiled widely. Her ash blonde hair was all over her face and fanned about the couch like some sort of Greek goddess, Aphrodite perhaps—although maybe Freyja, the Norse goddess of sex, magic, war, and death might have been more accurate for a woman such as Saya.
“Like I said, I have not been with a man for many, many moons,” she said.
“You could have fooled me,” I said, running a hand up her silky, muscular thigh. “You were incredible.”
“You were not so bad yourself, Michael Gilmore.”
I turned to face the Amazonian blonde and said, “Right, now that we’ve got that out of the way, where were we?” I ran a teasing finger around the woman’s navel as she stretched her legs out over my lap. “Oh yeah, we were talking of babies—dragon babies, to be precise.”
The smile faded a little on Saya’s attractive face. “Dragons do not procreate,” she said. “There are a set number of dragons in our world, and no way for their numbers to increase. They live to a great age but, with battle and sickness, their numbers are dwindling.”
“So, no dragon eggs?” I asked.
“No dragon eggs,” Saya affirmed.
“That’s a shame,” I said. “I liked the idea of raising a dragon from an egg, you know.”
We watched the two dragons, who had been totally unconcerned with our fucking, playing for a few more moments. Then, I said, “Look, I might be way off, having taken most of my education from Nat Geo and the History Channel, but surely dragons had to have come from somewhere.”
“They are, or were, birthed out of pure magic,” Saya said, running a finger through the jizz that coated her flat stomach. She placed a finger to her mouth and sucked it clean. She shivered a little, as though it was the most exquisite morsel to ever touch her taste buds. “Even the greatest lore-masters profess to know little about the actual process, and I know far less than they do, obviously. Any real knowledge th
at we as a people ever had about how dragons spawn was lost many years ago, around the same time that male dragonmancers stopped being born.”
This didn’t really make much sense to me, and I said as much.
Saya sat on the arm of a velvet armchair and looked at me. She sighed. “Look,” she said brusquely, “it’s not really my job to fill in the gaps in your knowledge. You’re here to learn all that from the Preceptors—the teachers.”
“C’mon,” I said, nudging Saya’s knee with mine, “give me the layman’s version. The Earthling version. Just so that I don’t go into whatever the hell comes next completely clueless.”
Saya sighed again. “Fine,” she said.
I winked at her and coaxed a small smile out of her.
“Dragonmancers have something special within them,” she said. “They are part of a unique and magical bloodline that enables them to bond with dragons. It is a latent power, you know. It cannot be taught.”
“What, you can be as clever as you like, but if you don’t possess this inherent ability, you can’t make a dragon trust you?” I asked.
“That’s right. Only one such person can represent a people at any point in time. Do you understand that?”
“So, I’m not just the only male in this Empire, but also the only Earthling?” I said. “I’m not going to run into some other jackass from, like, Fresno or San Francisco or something?”
“I don’t think so,” Saya said. “When a person from a specific bloodline dies, that bloodline is hunted and sniffed out by special agents and the next most potent holder of the magic of that bloodline is brought here. It means that every dragonmancer that you see in the Crystal Spire has been especially picked out from amongst countless other candidates within their race.”
“But what about the sergeant and the lieutenant. They’re both elves of the same race, right?”
“Yeah, but they’re twins,” Saya explained. “They share the bloodline equally between them. That is the one and only exception to the rule of a single representative of each race’s bloodline.”
“So, everyone here is representing their homeland and their own people, and hopes to do them proud. Is that about the shape of it?” I asked.
“Yes, there’s the aspect of pride to it, undoubtedly,” Saya said. She toyed, rather distractingly, with one of her nipples. “But we can earn currency—loot and treasure from missions and raids, for example—and other things which we can send home to our family and people. Then, of course, there is the great honor we have in serving the Empress and the Empire on behalf of all peoples.”
I nodded slowly. The notion of fighting for anyone other than myself or my close group of friends back in L.A. had never been one that I had really had to consider before. Now that I came to think about it, I quite liked the idea of putting myself on the line for something that was bigger and more important than myself. The thought of fighting for the men and women on either side of you, while they did the same, was one that struck a chord within me.
I can do this, I thought. I can really make something of myself in this world.
“Okay,” I said, fixing Saya with my most determined gaze and squeezing her ass in a cheeky way, “fill me in. How does this Academy work? Give me a rough outline as to what to expect day-to-day.”
“Well,” Saya said, “it’s like any other educational facility, I imagine. Here though, you’ll typically spend your day like this: up at dawn for physical training. Then it’s martial classes until noon, followed by combat theory and the study of tactical leaders through history until dinner. After we have eaten, it’s arcane practice throughout the evening.”
She paused there, and I guessed it was to see whether all that was going to scare me off. However, she had no idea how seriously I had been taking my MMA training over the past few months. I had seen fighting as the means to get myself out of the crumby neighborhoods I’d been running in and into some serious, life-changing cash. With this in mind, I had seen more dawns break over the past few weeks than I ever had in my life. I’d come to cherish the feeling of falling into whatever fleapit I was staying in with all my muscles aching, but knowing that I was that little bit faster, that little bit stronger, that fraction more agile or enduring than the day before.
“And?” I asked.
Saya grinned at my obvious resolve and gave me an openly admiring look. “Missions come at random. When they take place, we go out into the field and do what we are ordered to get done. However, you won’t be put on active mission status until you’ve passed through the Transfusion Ceremony. Even then, if you pass through that, you’ll have to prove that you have mastered the fundamentals before you’ll be given permission to embark on missions alone.”
I leaned forward, untied my long brown hair, which had been mussed up during our coupling, and let it fall about my shoulders. I ran a hand through it, and this action suddenly brought another question bubbling up to the surface.
“When do we get time to let our hair down?” I asked.
She frowned, and I could almost see her brain try to work out what I meant. Then, she smiled, clearly pleased that she’d deciphered my expression.
“We get the weekends off,” Saya said.
“Unless I’m very much mistaken,” I said, “today is a weekend. What do you say, fancy taking me on a tavern tour?”
Saya laughed and took me by the hand, pulling me to my feet. “I’d like nothing better than to drink your Earthling ass under the table,” she said, “but you have to come with me now. You have a squad to select.”
“My squad?” I asked. “Oh, yeah, that’s right. Elenari said something about dragonmancers having a squad. She got roasted by those higher ups for not bringing them along with her to Earth.”
Saya nodded. “Elenari’s a very headstrong recruit. Only more so after she completed the Transfusion Ceremony herself.”
I shrugged. “I like her.”
“As do I,” Saya said. “Which is why I was so harsh on her earlier.”
“I get it,” I said, “Tough love, and all that.”
“Back to the task at hand,” Saya said. “One of your many privileges is picking out a trio of fighting men or women to act as your crew and bodyguards. Once picked, these men or women will be one-hundred percent loyal to you. They will kill at your lightest word, and die if you command it. Having a squad of such fighters is a powerful weapon in anyone’s arsenal, but—”
“As Uncle Ben said, ‘With great power comes great responsibility,’” I cut in.
“Your uncle sounds like a wise man,” Saya said.
“I… He wasn’t actually… Yeah, he was,” I said, finding myself unequal to the task of explaining to this woman who Spider-Man was. “I guess I should ask, how do I go about selecting this squad of mine?”
“Anyone you choose for your squad, any soldiers that step forward to be a part of your squad, you have to beat in combat. That’s the requirement. It’s an age-old martial law.”
“Unarmed combat?” I asked.
Saya nodded. “I hope you know how to handle yourself. Otherwise, you’ll get a shitty squad, or you’ll get dead.”
I grinned. “Saya, I’m happy to say that unarmed combat is somewhat of a specialty of mine.”
Chapter Ten
Before I could elaborate on how I had learned how to fight and in what sort of style of combat I was trained, there was a sudden flash of bright orange light in the center of my quarters, over the sunken fire pit.
I jumped to my feet, still completely naked, and spun, my fists rising to my chest with a fighter’s reflex, but Saya just laughed and slapped my bare ass playfully..
“Go easy there, Earthling,” she grinned, “it’s just a messenger-drake.”
There was a little dragon hovering in mid-air over the fire pit. It was about a foot long, with a short tail that flattened out horizontally and reminded me of the empennage of a Cessna plane. Its wings were a blur, like those of a hummingbird, as it hovered in mid-air. Its little b
ird-like head was fixed in my direction, the jewel-bright eyes glittered unblinkingly.
“And, presumably, this is like a carrier pigeon, is it?” I asked. “You know, the pigeons that people used to use to carry little message scrolls during the olden days.”
Saya considered this. “Yes, I suppose they are similar. Messenger-drakes can either fly to those they are tasked with delivering their messages or else use the fire pits, which can be found in most rooms within the Crystal Spire, to transport themselves directly from one room to another.”
I looked at the little dragon hovering quite unconcernedly in mid-air. It was a deep, coppery brown with feet that ended in three taloned toes, which were not unlike those of an eagle or a hawk.
“I can’t see any sign of a message,” I said. There was no obvious scroll or anything like that tied or fixed to any part of the little messenger-drake. “Who does this little guy belong to anyway? Is he bonded to someone in the same way that me and Noctis are?”
“No,” Saya said, “you’ll encounter lesser dragons like the messenger drakes all over our world when you go exploring. They are dragons certainly, but don’t have the… the…” she snapped her fingers a few times, as if she was looking for a word.
“Pedigree?” I tried.
“Yes, in a way,” Saya said. “They are not as intelligent, and don’t come from the same lineage as the dragons that we dragonmancers ride. Some, like the messenger-drakes, can be trained in certain tasks—the same way that a hawk can be trained to catch rabbits.”
I nodded. “I still don’t get where the message is though. It doesn’t have, like, a little pouch or anything like that, does it?”
Saya smiled. She got to her feet and started busying herself finding our clothes. She seemed to be enjoying the fact that I knew nothing at all about her world.
“You’ll see. First, you need to ask it to report its message.” Saya tossed my pants and shirt to me, from where she had retrieved them from the floor.
“Asked it to report?” I asked.
“Yes,” Saya replied. “You have to ask it to deliver its message.”