by T. S. Ryder
He spits on his palm and lubes up his cock.
“I think it is going to take a bit more than that,” I say, looking at his wet cock. He brings his head closer to my pussy and spits again. Lubing it up with his finger, he gets back in position.
I feel his cock touch my pussy, pushing slowly, trying to squeeze in. He continues pushing as pleasure turns to pain, yet I don’t want him to stop. He grabs my shoulders and pushes halfway in, a relief spreading on his face as I scream with pain, placing my hands on his chest, holding him back. When I remove my hands, he pushes all the way in as our bodies become one, intimately connected. My boobs press into his pecs, my nails dig into his back as his teeth reach for my neck. He holds my hands in his, our fingers intertwined, as he begins fucking me.
He thrusts slowly, letting my tight pussy adjust to his massive girth. Then he starts pounding me harder and harder, going all the way in and pulling all the way out, continuously making me beg for more. He pulls me up and we are on our knees together, facing each other, his serpentine length still inside me. He cups my ass in his hands, as I wrap my fingers around his neck, my other hand around his back for support. Then he starts fucking me again, pulling me closer, slowly falling onto his back. I start riding him as he holds me by the waist, going up and down his shaft.
“Higher,” he says. “Go higher.”
I go all the way up till only the tip of his cock is inside me, then push myself down, taking it all back in. He holds me again and pounds me harder than before. His eyes start glowing supernaturally, getting brighter as his body tenses and he comes closer to climaxing. I lean my head back as my own body tenses. Then he shoots inside me, spurt after spurt, a fountain of warm, thick, dragon cum inside me.
Chapter Ten - In Love With You
Dell
I feel her juices flow as I shoot inside her. She comes at the same time as I do, then collapses on top of me. I am still inside her as she lays her head on my chest and listens quietly. Both of us are panting.
“Can you hear my heartbeat?” I ask.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Can you hear what it says, the name it takes?”
She nuzzles her head close to mine but doesn’t respond. “If you listen closely, you will hear your own name. I am in love with you, Cyrene.”
“I know,” she says.
“So…”
“So what?”
“So where do we go from here?”
“Don’t ruin the moment,” she admonishes, wiggling her body slightly, enjoying the feeling of my cock inside her.
I let her be. I understand that she is young and needs time. There is probably a lot going on in her life. About half an hour before sun breaks, I nudge her gently.
“We should get going, Cyrene.”
“Yeah, eh, okay,” she says and gets up. We get dressed, I shift back into my dragon and she climbs on again. As we reach the human world again, I feel her head against my back as she falls asleep. I don’t want to wake her, so I take her back to my home, tuck her into bed and fall asleep next to her. I feel myself already growing possessive about her and wrap my arm around her protectively as she sleeps.
***
When I wake up in the morning, she is gone again, leaving a bare outline on the bed. Did last night really happen or was it all a dream? I close my eyes, not wanting to wake up and find out the answer. But then my eyes wander toward the bedside table and I find a note scribbled in terrible handwriting.
“Dell,
Sorry, I have to go.
My show is today, my debut. You have the pass.
I will wait for you.
Cyr,
xoxoxo”
Her number is scribbled on the back of the note. So it was real, I think aloud, satisfied. I send her a message, telling her that I got her note and look forward to seeing her, but I get no response.
It is already afternoon by the time I get out of bed. I make myself lunch and watch TV till the evening, and then take a shower and get dressed. “Casual or formal?” I wonder and then go with the latter. I know it won’t matter to Cyrene, but I still put an effort to look dapper. After all, she is going to become a model now. I have no qualms about her success. I know she will make it in the field. It is a hotbed for her species: exotic, rare, wild, and free. As the clock strikes seven, I head out for her debut.
***
As I enter the hotel, I follow a series of turns till I finally end up at a red carpet buzzing with people that seem to be of a different breed. They are dressed flamboyantly, their hairstyles in ways that are bizarre and unique, like a motley crew from the future. I follow the line into an exclusive area and my eyes search for her on an exclusive red carpet filled with models, designers, actors and actresses, familiar and unfamiliar, new and old. But Cyrene is nowhere to be seen.
I wonder if she had a change of heart and whether or not she is going to come. I make my way into the area of the show early, scoring myself a seat in the first row, right in front of the ramp. A voice echoes through the speakers telling people to get seated that the show will begin as soon as they are all settled. There are projector screens on both sides of the ramp, displaying faces of known models wearing new designs, logos of designers and brands. The background is all dark, the ramp stark white against it. There are headlights fixed above the ramp, turned off.
Music blares in the speakers as the show is about to begin, then turns down to a soft hum as the lights go down, becoming softer. The headlights above the ramp turn on, the music picking up pace, booming through the speakers. And then I see her.
She is the first one to walk in. All eyes on her, on the new face. She walks confidently, strutting in high heels, wearing a blue dress made of net, the same material all over, half the design is see-through. As she walks, a small train trails behind her, puffed up. I can see her long beautiful legs as they step one in front of the other, stop, pose, then walk again.
She stops in front of me, at the end of the ramp, two or three feet away. Her head is cocked up, as usual. Her auburn hair all tied up in a tight chignon. Her lips are jutting out, dark red, too glossy and brimming heavy with indifference. Her eyes are painted glittery blue, her eyelids heavy with long fake lashes. But her green eyes are all natural. She doesn’t look at anyone as if everyone is beneath her. She is looking at something else, something beyond. Her body looks perfect, her big breasts held firmly in the tight dress. She is glittering in the lights, her eyes and her dress sparkling in the constant flashes of the cameras. Her expression is haughty, her face tight, her eyes filled with contempt.
She strikes a pose in front of me, pushing her sweet derriere to the side. Then she turns around and walks back. The crowd gawks, wanting to see more. A man or two with cameras lean out of their seats to get another photo, but she disappears in the smoke. The other models come and go, the cameras flash, but the enthusiasm of the crowd and the paparazzi isn’t the same. She raised the bar too high, nothing else came close; no one was good enough after her.
As the show nears its end, the lights on the ramp go down and a spotlight turns on, waiting for the showstopper. Then she steps into the light again. A few people clap awkwardly as the cameramen leap from their seats and the overhead camera zooms in on her.
She is wearing a stunning dress: a simple, black suede skirt falling to her knees; a golden belt at her waist. The top is sleeveless, made up of tiny diamonds and precious stones, held together by a sheer material. It is see-through, but the precious stones and diamonds shine with blinding light. Her hair now straight, puffed up. This time, she looks at people and smiles, getting the crowd to stand up and clap. Then the remaining models join her along with the designer, Erin Vam.
Chapter Eleven - Erin Vam
Cyrene
The crowd gets up and claps as I close the show. My earlier meeting with Erin Vam was canceled due to her busy schedule, but I know I am finally going to get to meet her now. This isn't just my debut, it is Erin Vam’s debut collection as well. I saw Dell
the moment I stepped on the ramp and then saw him again when I stopped the show. I am about to acknowledge him with a smile when the designer, Erin Vam comes out.
Dressed in a fuchsia tea dress, wearing three-inch heels, I see Erin come out. Her hair bounces behind her back, the bright green neon streaks standing out in the light. She is wearing cat eye glasses, and her face looks oddly familiar. She smiles as she glides down the runway, waving at the crowd. She places her hand in the small of my back and pushes me forward along with her.
“Surprise,” she whispers in my ear.
“What?”
“It’s me,” she says.
I turn around and look at her face, taking in the details. And then I go beyond shocked, past petrified and straight to stoned. It’s the head bitch.
“Minerva,” I gasp, “It’s you!”
“Good to see you too, my wayward witch.”
Erin Vam. I turn the name around in my head. Erin Vam is Minerva, I realize as I unscramble it.
Once the show is over, we head to the backstage. I want to go talk to Dell, but I need to talk to Minerva first. I have so many questions. The remaining models flit about and disappear. Minerva offers me a ride. We head to a restaurant.
“Tell me everything,” I say, my mind still reeling. “What? Why? How? I have so many questions.”
“Sweetie, I have a life too.”
“Yes, but why didn’t you tell me?”
“That would have defeated the purpose,” she says.
“What purpose? I thought you were busy being a head witch and all.”
“Cyrene, my dear, you are a gifted young witch,” she begins. “But you have always tried to run away from who you are, never accepting yourself, never finding peace. If you focused on living a life instead of running away from who you are, your life would have been so much happier. I am a head witch and I do that well. But that has never stopped me from having a life in the world. I never stopped myself. And look at me now - I am a successful designer.”
“You could have told me all this earlier,” I say.
“Then you wouldn’t have learned your lesson,” she says, giving me another knowing look. “I know you, Cyrene. I have known you since you were a baby. You never listen and that’s okay. You learn your lessons yourself when you figure things out on your own. It is totally okay,” she wheezes, “but it takes longer.”
“So, you were the one who made Fred be nice to me?”
She nods in approval. “I couldn’t let a man change my most prized witch.”
“You are talking to me like you are very fond of me,” I say forthrightly.
“I have always been fond of you. You just filled yourself with so much hate that you couldn’t see. Hate blinded you.”
“I still dislike you for those meetings,” I blurt out. “I mean, Skype, WhatsApp, FaceTime…we have all this technology and you force us out at midnight.”
“One day, you will know why. You have much to learn,” she says.
I open my mouth to speak again but she raises a hand. “Let what I said sink in.”
“I just have one more question,” I say, joining my hands together, pretending to plead.
She smiles and tells me to go on.
“What happens when a witch falls in love with a dragon?”
“What happens when an American falls in love with a Brit?” She says, gesturing around with her hands. “What happens when an African falls in love with an Asian?”
“That’s different,” I say. “I have heard it is an abomination.”
“Oh, you watch too much TV,” she says in a slightly scolding manner. “Love comes from here,” she says, pointing to her heart. “It is the same in all beings, whether they are dragons, werewolves, fairies, witches, or humans—Love is just love.”
“So, I should go ahead with the dragon?”
“Not if you are still calling him the dragon.”
“His name is Dell,” I say.
“Cyrene,” she says, straightening her back and getting serious. “I can’t tell you what to do or what not to do, not beyond what the coven demands of you. Your personal life is yours, has always been yours and I can’t make your decisions for you.”
“I know, I know,” I say. “It’s just that I don’t want to fuck it up and make another mistake.”
“If you don’t make mistakes,” she says, “you don’t learn. After all, it is only human to make mistakes.”
“But we are not human, are we?”
“Not if you keep telling yourself that you are not one,” she said. “Cyrene, you need to change, learn to adapt, for I see a storm coming your way. If you don’t utilize the sails, you will drown.”
“So, I go ahead with Dell?”
She smiles, gets up and leaves—just like she turns around on her broom and swooshes away.
Chapter Twelve - Head In The Shitter
Cyrene
For about a week or two, Dell sent messages that I ignored. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him, but that I needed time. I told him that over a text message. He asked to meet me and I refused. What was the point? If I saw him in person, all my resolve would break. Something inside me had changed, I could feel it. Whether it was the night in the glade with Dell or the shocking revelation of Minerva’s other life, but something was different.
Both things had made me think, especially what Minerva had said: “Let that sink in,” she had said, referring to her lecture. It was about time for me to turn my life around. Did I really love Dell? Had I fucked my life up too much? Minerva was right for the most part, I have spent too much energy on running away from who I am and now is time to focus on living and embracing. I need to slow down.
Besides, I think I am coming down with a fever. Erin has given me a month off, both as the head of GMA and as the head witch of the coven. And I need to spend this time alone, away from Dell, to figure out how I really feel about him. I needed to know whether I feel the same way about him by the end of the month or not. Dell said he would wait, but that he wouldn’t wait forever. I am going to slow down…embrace who I am and go with the flow. My head has been in the shitter for far too long, now is the time to get it out of it.
Over the next two weeks, I begin to embrace who I am. I clear some space in my storeroom and set the cauldron there. I clean up my broom and get another broom for cleaning the house—this broom is sacred, enchanted and I am going to respect it. I also start learning from the grimoire, brewing more potions, practicing more spells. During the cleaning process, I also find my wand—I had only used it as a teenager and then I’d put it away forever, running away from magic. Now, I decide to keep it in my purse, with me at all times. It is part of who I am.
When the month ends, I text Dell.
“Hi, I need to see you.”
“If you want to breakup or something, just do it on text,” he says.
“No, I need to see you.”
“See you as in urgent need-to-see-you-right-now or see you in the non-urgent way?”
“Stop screwing around, Dell. I just think we should talk, sort things out, before proceeding.”
“Okay then, whenever you want.”
“Free tomorrow?”
“Yes, supper at my place?”
“Perfect,” I reply.
The next day, at around three in the noon, I wake up still feeling sick, but decide to go ahead with my date with Dell. I put on the same dress I had worn during the fashion show as the showstopper, the dress that had Dell drooling. I had borrowed it from Erin earlier. I leave my hair open, just as Dell likes it. I don’t put much makeup on, just the glossy lipstick and eyeshadow. I throw on dangly earrings, high heels and an ancient necklace from my grandmother, one that is the family heirloom.
I leave early and stop by the pharmacy, describe my symptoms to the guy who gives me a few pills and suggests a test. I purchase the test but refuse to take it. It is a ridiculous suggestion, but he had insisted so I had bought it. I stuff everything in my purse and head to Del
l’s house.
***
I knock on the door and Dell answers instantly.
“I cooked for you,” he says, swooping in and kissing me.
“Aren’t you optimistic?”
“Is there a reason not to be?” He asks, making a puppy face. I laugh and shake my head.
“You look beautiful,” he says and takes my hand. As the sunsets in the background, he leads me onto the balcony where he has set up a small table and two chairs. There are two glasses, a bottle of champagne and scented candles. He pulls out a seat for me and I take it. He sits opposite me.
“So, why did you need to see me?” He asks, reaching for my hand across the table.
“I think you have that figured out already, haven’t you?” He squeezes my hand.
Dell brings out supper, but it smells funny. He serves a dish with a steak and sautéed vegetables and baked potatoes. The smell is unbearably awful, but I don’t want to ruin our moment so I try not to show it.
“Try it, tell me how it is,” he asks.
I try the steak. It has a strange taste. Then I try the vegetables that taste even worse. The baked potatoes make me want to throw up. I almost make a joke about his cooking, but stop myself.
“It’s absolutely delicious,” I say. “You’re quite a chef!”
“When you live for over seven hundred years, you pick up skills,” he says, beaming.
I roll my eyes in my head. Seven hundred years and he can’t cook shit.
He is about to pop the champagne bottle when my head starts aching.
“Dell, I think I should go. I am not feeling so well,” I say after I finish eating.
“I thought you were going to spend the night here,” he says.
“So did I, but I really need to go.”
He insists that I stay, tells me he has plans, but relents. He drops me home.
Once he leaves, I remember what the guy at the pharmacy said. I do a calculation in my head, finding it hard to believe. “It can’t be,” I say aloud, shaking my head. Then the urge to throw up takes over me and I run to the toilet and throw up everything Dell had made me eat.