by Willa Okati
Turning blindly, Gina stumbled out of the kitchen. She didn’t have many places to go -- the hallway, where there was nothing to cushion her fall if her legs gave out from underneath her, the grotty bathroom where mold and mildew were threatening to take over its crumbling tiles, and the room where she slept.
The thought of going back to her sofa made Gina quail. But if the spinning of her aching head kept up, she was going to collapse -- she wasn’t superhuman, she wasn’t -- and it had better be on something soft.
Gina gave in and let her body move as it would. She watched as if from a distance as she walked to the couch and stripped off the well-washed comforter, shook it out, and laid it on the floor. Her flattened pillow went next, placed at the head. Not the couch, but a comfortable place to lie until she stopped shaking.
Hot, she was so hot. The chills had stopped and her blood was boiling, turning her skin slick with perspiration. The material of her sweater itched abominably, as if the fibers of the cotton-wool blend were scraping against her skin. Swearing under her breath, Gina stripped the thing off and flung it carelessly into a corner.
Not enough. The T-shirt chafed as well, too much against her scorching skin. She pulled the light garment off and threw it after the sweater, then undid her bra for good measure. Her breasts, full C-cups, quivered as she uncovered them, her nipples puckering into tight knots.
Her legs were too warm. She felt as if the denim were the heaviest of snowsuits, thick fleece pressing against her skin and scalding her flesh. Acting on impulse, Gina struggled with the fastener and zipper and wriggled out of the jeans, kicking them aside. She removed her panties as well, releasing her suddenly throbbing pussy to the cool air of the apartment.
She felt better -- for a minute. But no sooner had the relief come than it faded, leaving Gina shaking with heat as if she had malaria. If she’d had the strength, she would have shambled back into the kitchen for a glass of water, icy cold, just what she needed to slide down her dry, parched throat and give her some ease.
She couldn’t walk, though. The most Gina could find the strength for was lowering herself slowly to the padded comforter on her floor, one shaky leg at a time. She wobbled for a second, balanced in a sitting position, and then collapsed backward in a free-fall.
Her head hit the pillow, but the impact still stung.
As her eyes fluttered, trying their best to stay open, a vivid picture flashed through her mind. The taloned, blue and white man, leaning forward eagerly in his stone chair, a cruel smile on his face.
Look what I can do to you with the merest hint of magic, he hissed. His tongue flickered out, forked like a snake. Burn with the dragon flame, Georgina. Burn without being quenched, all for my amusement.
“Hell -- hell with you,” Gina gasped even as her arms twisted and her hands fisted in the nubbly fabric of her makeshift bed. “Oh, God.”
The heat -- it was unbearable. The inferno rolled and rippled through her body in spasms, each sheet of fire hotter than the last. Gina fought against the need for a breath of fresh air, when all she could draw in was thick and stuffy. Her lungs began to work harder, seeking more oxygen... and then, in a mixture of panic, she sought something else altogether.
Even if she had no one in her life, Gina was a healthy young woman, with all the natural urges a person could have. On long and lonely nights, she’d given in to the need to touch herself, to bring herself to climax for some ease of mind and to stave off the loneliness. A handful of times, she’d managed to become excited enough she even cried out something that wasn’t exactly a name but wasn’t a sob of relief, either.
The feelings coursing through her now made her feel as if she were ablaze, but not with regular flames. Her pussy throbbed with the need for a touch, wetness dampening her inner thighs. Both breasts ached, begging for someone to manipulate them, suck them, knead them with a rough caress.
Hands shaking, Gina lowered her fingers to her cunt. They were all but useless, trembling too hard to slip between her folds and start stroking in a pattern designed to bring her some relief. When she tried at her breasts, once again her fingers refused to cooperate, fluttering over the swollen tissue as if they were butterflies, the brushes enough to fuel her flames but not anywhere close to satisfying the deep, aching desire.
Rolling and tossing on her comforter, Gina cried out in frustration. The need for orgasm tore at her, but she could do nothing about it. Her body pulsed, on the cusp but hovering there, tormenting her more and more relentlessly, making her heart race and her muscles shake.
“Help me,” she choked, feeling herself start to black out from the overwhelming demands of her body. “Please,” she begged, not knowing who she was asking even as she was aware there was no one to hear and lend their assistance. “Help me.”
There was a pause in which Gina writhed, helpless against herself.
Then --
Do you really want me to?
The voice might have come from inside her mind. Gina didn’t know. She seized at it like a lifeline, though, clinging to whatever hallucination or new madness this was. The voice had sounded real, if whispery-soft, not quite there. “Yes,” she begged. “Please.”
This is dragon flame. The beast is toying with you, enjoying watching you in the throes of agony.
Gina felt a light pressure of hands on her thighs, but she was too far gone to question their presence.
Will you hold this against me if I help you defeat the attack? A woman like you is not one to surrender herself lightly.
She felt the brush of lips against her inner thigh.
I mean you no harm. Randall is with me. He is not yet strong enough in magic to aid in this, but I am able. Will you let me help you?
None of what she was hearing made sense, but Gina couldn’t bring herself to care. “Yes!” she cried out, raising her hips in the hope of some pressure, some friction, anything. “Do what you have to. Just help me.”
As the lady wishes.
Gina felt another kiss on the inside of her leg and then the slick glide of a tongue along her skin. This was madness, but having something to fight against the flames made her almost weak with relief.
Almost.
She needed more, though. Moaning, she reached out without thinking -- and encountered a pair of solid shoulders. Mostly solid. If she concentrated on them, they faded beneath her touch, her fingers sinking through as if there were a ghost between her legs. If she just let go and accepted, though, this man was real... and he was helping.
The weight of the spectral man’s mouth traveled up Gina’s leg, pushing her thighs far apart. She opened them like a wanton, not caring who this was or how he had gotten there.
Good, the voice said, gentling her. Good. Go with this. Let it happen.
“Randall,” Gina rasped, struggling after her earlier fantasy of the sparkling white beach and the soft blue ocean. “Where’s Randall?”
I’m here, came the familiar voice. Gina felt another presence in the room with her, even more ephemeral than that of the man between her legs who was busy with licking up the dewy moisture on her thighs. Dakarai is pushing as hard as he can. I’ve ridden in on his stream. I can’t touch you, like he said, at least not more than a little, but you can use your mind to help me.
The flow of words skimmed through Gina’s tangled thoughts, only a fragment or two making sense. She got the gist of it, though, and in a supreme act of will, even as the unknown being drew closer to her throbbing pussy, she focused on Randall as she’d seen him in her visualization. When she closed her eyes tightly she could see him, naked, a thick erection hard against his stomach.
“Randall,” she breathed.
Here. In her mind, Randall reached out to cup her breasts. She could almost, almost feel the roughness of his skin as he laid hands on her, squeezing and kneading, thumbing her aching nipples. It’s been so long. His head descended, and then his mouth was on Gina’s breast, lips sucking at her nipple and biting down lightly with his teeth.
Gina screamed as an orgasm ripped through her, sending her convulsing on the floor. “Randall,” she pleaded, “more. Please.”
Her envisioned Randall drew up and shook his head. Leave it to Dakarai. Trust in him. But I’m here, Gina. I’m not going anywhere. Hold my hands.
Reaching above her head, Gina imagined she felt Randall’s strong fingers grip her own.
Hurry, Dak, Randall urged. Finish it.
The man between her thighs -- real? not real? -- nodded, the wiry texture of his hair tickling against Gina’s weeping pussy. Only with the lady’s consent.
“Yes,” Gina panted. “Whoever you are. Do it. Now.”
Remember you gave me permission. Fingers parted the swollen lips of Gina’s labia and, finally, finally a tongue began to stroke her in long, soothing stripes.
“Oh, God,” Gina panted. “More. Please, more.”
The arousal punishing her felt just as intense as the flames, but with someone there to push against, to clamp down on when two long fingers thrust inside her channel, it provided a deep, deep relief. She had something to work toward now, not an endless cycle of ever-increasing torment.
The man’s lips and tongue were busy as he thrust his fingers in and out of her pussy. He found a rhythm matching the thrumming beat of her pulse, flicking her clit with the tip of his tongue until Gina thought she would stop breathing altogether.
Close... so close...
Now, the shadow man whispered, his breath warm against Gina’s inflamed skin, and bit down on her clit.
Gina’s body arched into a tight curve, her hips clearing the comforter, all her weight resting on her shoulders and heels. The man’s hands were suddenly there to support her, to keep her from breaking her neck, to hold her as she pitched and tossed through an orgasm that seemed to have no end.
Slowly, though, and with an immense, blessed sense of peace, the madness faded from Gina’s body. The man lowered her onto her comforter, then began to stroke the tops of her legs.
You’re all right now, he whispered. The battle is won for the moment.
Gina’s eyes fluttered open. Kneeling between her spread knees was the same man who had stood in the shadows when she’d visualized the beach and Randall. He looked a little clearer to her now, his features serious and face long boned, his hair curly and overgrown. A heavy wooden ankh hung down over his taut chest, balancing directly between his nipples. His expression was still hazy, but Gina thought she could make out both a sense of relief and of urgency.
“Are you... are you real?” she asked, the heady afterglow of climax making her limbs heavy and her mind foggy with drowsiness. “Am I crazy?”
He shook his head. No. Not crazy. Everything you’ve seen tonight, the good and the bad, it’s all been real.
Gina couldn’t help sobbing. “Then it was a dragon. The last, he said. He really did find me.”
The man nodded. It was, and he did. He filled you with this desperate passion, trying to break your mind and body for his amusement. But it’s my job to look after you, Gina. It always has been. Even if you’ve never seen me before. He kept up the gentle rubbing on her legs. This is a vicious foe, one who I sense has a powerful hatred for you. He would not have let anything get in the way of his path until you were dead. Gina made out a smile on the man’s face. But he didn’t count on Randall, or me. We will be your guides and your aid.
Gina sank more heavily into her comforter. This was all madness, all too much like the past had been, but if it was real... and she had to face it... “Stay with me?” she asked, hearing her voice come out needy and pleading. “In case he comes back?”
The man sighed. We cannot. I am at my strongest inside the shields I have put around my shop. Venturing out physically would be dangerous, as the wards I have in place could slip. And I dare not maintain this link for fear of bringing more of the dragon’s cruel games down on your head. But you are strong enough to find this place and join us in the flesh and blood world. Randall and I are in the shop I mentioned. Dakarai’s Place. You can find us without any trouble. Now sleep. He reached out to smooth his hand down Gina’s stomach. Sleep, and regain your strength. Hunt for us tomorrow.
Gina found herself yawning. “But the dragon... what’s he’s going to do while I’m asleep... what if he goes after someone else?”
In the morning, the man -- Dakarai -- insisted. Rest now. Rest.
His voice was hypnotic. Despite her best efforts, Gina could not seem to stop her lids from fluttering closed or from slipping into a deep, dead slumber even as the shadow man and Randall’s faint presence faded into nothingness...
Chapter Four
The slowly creeping light of day crawling across Gina’s face was what woke her up at last. She made a complaining noise in her throat, reaching out for the comforter that usually covered her body, meaning to drag it across her eyes.
Nothing there.
Gina opened up, squinting in the harsh beams coming through her east-facing window with its haphazardly broken blinds. Her mind felt fuzzy, as if she were swimming through a thick soup, not instantly on edge as per her usual when she woke up.
What time is it? And why am I lying on the floor?
Slowly, her legs feeling as heavy as if she’d been running races, her back sore from lying on little more than the hard linoleum, Gina sat up and peered around herself, trying to make sense of things.
Whoa. Why am I naked?
She reached up to rake a hand through her hair. It was still in the remnants of the neat bun she’d fashioned for work the day before, now a tangled mess. Grunting in displeasure, Gina pulled the red-black strands loose and finger-combed them until they fell in waves around her face.
Odd. She felt more natural like this.
Puzzled, Gina got up on her knees and, resisting the urge to wrap the comforter around herself -- she was alone, after all, wasn’t she? -- fumbled toward the small table that held her phone and a cheap plastic alarm clock. She grabbed for the clock first, then stared in amazement at the glowing red 10:05.
She’d slept in. How? Gina couldn’t remember sleeping past sunrise in... well, ever.
Still dazed, she grabbed the phone and punched in the digits for the temp office where she worked. They were going to be so pissed. She’d never not shown up on time, was usually precisely on the dot, dressed in a suit and ready to face whatever job she’d be tackling that day.
The woman who answered the phone did sound annoyed. “Temp-Help, assistance in a flash. This is Marie. How may I direct your call?”
Gina felt absurdly naked. “Marie,” she said slowly, trying to remember the woman’s face. A vague picture of someone fortyish and plump floated into her mind. Yeah, right, Marie. She wore thick-framed lenses and tangerine lipstick and bore a distinct resemblance to a bulldog, but underneath it all she was a kindhearted sort. “Marie,” she repeated in relief. “It’s Gina. Gina D’Anglini. I’m so sorry. I overslept.”
“Gina?” Marie snapped. “Gina who, again?”
“Gina D’Anglini. I work there. I’m a roaming temp.” Gina frowned at the phone, her confusion deepening. She had dialed the right number, hadn’t she? She wasn’t remembering Marie from a previous job?
“Gina. As if I don’t have anything better to do than remember all the faces that walk in and out of here.” Marie clicked her tongue sharply, clearly irritated. “What do you want?”
Gina blinked. Given that everything was right and she was calling in to the correct work place, this Marie had never been known to be curt about anything. “I’m sorry,” she tried slowly. “It’s just my alarm clock didn’t go off. I didn’t make the morning assignments.”
“Are you crazy?” Marie demanded, definitely irked. “It’s Saturday, on which, in case you weren’t aware, most offices aren’t open and we don’t provide services. There were no morning assignments. So why I have to abandon my family to come sit here in this empty office and answer calls from pissed-off clients who can’t get anyone to help because
they keep crazy-ass hours, I don’t know.”
The puzzle was growing. Marie had gone from pissed to raving mad, barking out her syllables as if she’d have liked to start pushing Gina through a pencil sharpener. “I’m sorry. Saturday.” Gina pressed a hand to her forehead. “I should have realized.”
“Damn right you should have. Don’t call back until Monday.” The phone disconnected with a sharp click that rang in Gina’s ears.
Confused, Gina sat carefully down on her comforter. Why it had been arranged on the floor was still a mystery to her. This wasn’t right at all. Marie the Gentle had gone foaming mad, Gina had forgotten herself so far as to think it was still the work week, and there were great big holes in her memory refusing to provide answers to her questions.
What had happened the night before that had left her naked and spread out on her floor? Gina took a careful whiff of herself and smelled the unmistakable scent of female arousal.
Weirder and weirder. What had she had, a woman’s version of a wet dream?
Running a hand through her hair a second time, tugging at the strands for comfort, Gina stood up. Her legs shook for a moment and then held firm, balancing her slight weight without any danger of toppling her over. As she moved, she felt her body ache in places where it shouldn’t have. It’d been a while, but Gina was able to recognize the pleasant soreness of sexual gratification, which to be frank, even if she couldn’t remember, she’d probably really needed.
This made no sense at all.
And, standing up, she was revealed to the world through her broken-down blinds, so she really, really needed to put some fresh clothes on. The garments scattered around her on the floor would need to be laundered before she would be willing to wear them again -- God knew she tried to keep the place clean, but yuck.
Taking slow, shuffling steps, Gina made her way into the shower and washed as quickly as she could under the chilly trickle of water it provided. After drying herself off, she headed into the hall and pulled open the curtain on her closet.