Dominance Fury

by Dominance Fury (lit)

  With a yawn, Sydney's lids closed heavily and her mind began to drift, a downward spiral into peaceful oblivion, to a place of rejuvenating rest, or at least it should've been.

  Lips touched her neck and then someone nipped her left butt cheek. A hand cupped her breast while another slipped between her knees before meandering along her inner thigh wandering closer to where she was suddenly feeling a grave and lusty need. Fingers rubbed her pussy through the material of her underwear, moisture seeped and she moaned. The pressure was perfect despite the fact she was still wearing her underclothes. It never felt this good when she was playing with herself before.

  Sydney's eyes popped open. She wasn't playing with herself.

  "Oh my god." She dragged her fingers through her hair. "It was dream."

  One she'd had many, many times before, one that left her with a frustrated yearning, and screaming for more.

  "I'm so damn horny," she mumbled.

  Sydney drew up her knees and spread her legs open. Slipping her hand down the front of her panties she rubbed her pussy vigorously, the intensity of her arousal pushing her to a rapid peak within seconds. She gasped and then moaned at the needed release, though less than completely satisfying.

  Rileste!

  Ijrka fe shou!

  Sydney sat straight up in bed. She clenched at the covers blinking several times. It had been ages since she'd dreamt about them, but right now…"Oh snap, oh snap!"

  She wasn't dreaming.

  Her heart began pounding in her chest, and she sucked in and released several breaths as if she'd just run a marathon wondering how long it would take to banish them this time. Sydney's reaction to the thought took her by surprise.

  It hurt.

  Sweet Tina…

  "Do you miss me, too?" she whispered.

  A soothing, familiar feeling of love and protection wrapped her as snugly as the blanket she huddled under. Unbidden, they used to only come to her in dreams--her handsome rivals. Not that Sydney even knew what they looked like. They emerged more as shadowy figures than tangible forms, but she just knew they had to be handsome. Eventually she began hearing them while she was only resting, during times when she was awake but engaged in little activity, like during meals or when playing on a swing. When she was little, Sydney had enjoyed their company. In fact she enjoyed their company to the point of distraction at times, which was particularly inappropriate in places such as school, during lunch, or taking notes--during exams when she murmured to them aloud and she was given detention for talking in class. Once she'd even been accused of trying to cheat on a test. Not to mention the laughs and teasing she received from her classmates and the very few friends who loved her despite herself. Still, Sydney couldn't help it. They made her feel good inside. They just felt so…so nice. Mmmm, nice, she murmured as one by one her taut muscles relaxed. Sydney exhaled, releasing the anxiety she held and reclined, nestling under the covers.

  "Yes," Sydney took a deep breath and began to drift to sleep. They'd returned. Her childhood, imaginary friends had come back, trying to worm their way back into her life once again.

  And they were still fighting!

  ?

  Chapter Two

  "Qia qrau!" Calem roared and swung his talon arc, the blade nearly scraping the side of Arjim's neck, but the warrior ducked. In retaliation, Arjim swung his weapon low and with like skill Calem jumped, springing off of two feet and avoiding the pass of the blade. At the same time he swept his talon in an arc and it circled downward, aimed directly at Arjim's chest, but Calem's opponent blocked it with his weapon. Frustrated by his inability to disarm him, Calem slammed his talon to the dirt and lunged at Arjim who responded in like, tossing his weapon aside and lifting his arms to brace against the force of Calem's body driving toward him.

  They both rolled to the ground to the hoots of the other warriors around them who were backing further away, creating a wide circle around the two brawling men to watch the fist to fist battle that ensued.

  Rubbing his chin, Tren, High Chief of his planet's regiment and respectfully titled Commander ot Alea, observed his two sentry as they threw angry fists at each other, wondering what concern lay between them that they acted in such a way--wondering if there was any issue at all other than a severe personality conflict.

  It had been going on for many phases.

  Both Tertani men came highly recommended and Tren was immensely pleased to have their loyalty and their membership amongst his warriors. But ever since the dawning of their arrival, the animosity that marred their relationship was keenly apparent. The taunts they tossed at each other from the very beginning seemed inexhaustible. In fact, of late, the ferocity between them seemed to be getting worse. Adding to that, a good number of Tren's other sentry warriors had chosen sides.

  What do you make of this? Tren mentally asked Rjant, who stood at his side.

  I'm thinking that it's a good thing the blades are blunted. Rjant returned in unspoken words.

  "I get the sense they would kill each other if it was permitted," Tren responded aloud, his voiced tight with concern.

  "I don't believe they require anyone's permission, Commander."

  "Hmm," Tren nodded in agreement. "Your belief is likely factual."

  They watched as both Calem and Arjim sprang quickly to their feet, and just as they did Calem buried his fist in Arjim's gut. A woosh of air escaped from Arjim's mouth.

  Ka! That had to hurt. Rjant winced.

  The battle ensued and Arjim retaliated kneeing Calem in the groin that drew a pained yelp from him. With a twisting maneuver, Arjim then threw Calem to his back. He landed with a thud that was accompanied by a grunt. In concurrence with the grimaces from the warriors who watched, the sight drew a frown from Tren's lips. Have you any notion as to why they fight as they do?

  Both are from a long and pure bloodline of Tertani descendant--the ancients. Their clans live across the Bay of Jewel, north of here. Rjant folded his arms as he watched the scuffle and shook his head. From what I understand both clans breed quite arrogant warriors, but they've always been cordial to each other. There seems to be no apparent reason for this, particularly since they share family ties.

  "What family ties?" Tren asked, his brow wrinkling with inquisition.

  "They're cousins."

  "Hmph," Tren grunted. "Discord is an unusual thing in common bloodlines, yet this dispute that lingers between them, was it rooted from a childhood conflict?

  Having no answer to Tren's question, Rjant shrugged just as Calem sprang to his feet and cuffed Arjim with a backhanded fist to his jaw. The smack from the impact drew several more groans from onlookers and a few mumbled words of instigation.

  It's ridiculous that they hold such hostility toward each other, especially over an unknown concern. Tren inhaled a long, hardy breath, his chest expanding as his longs filled. He released it slowly. At least one unknown to us. They fight as though they are enemies.

  They fight like two brethren in the throes of the Dominance Ritual.

  An interesting observation, Tren looked at Rjant, his expression pensive. But one would think the Changeover would've occurred by now--if they were brethren that is. As far as it seems they haven't linked, and they speak of no woman.

  Nor have I seen or heard that they were seeking to locate the one whose heart summons them. Rjant concurred.

  "No better moment than the present to humiliate yourself." Arjim retaliated, answering Calem's strike by slamming his fist soundly to the side of Calem's jaw. The impact caused his head to snap sideward.

  "Your face is your humiliation, warrior," Calem rasped out as he swiped at the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "The ugly imps must favor you."

  He reciprocated with another punch.

  "Then you should feel right at home." Ducking, Arjim dodged the strike. He laughed heartily.

  "Enough!" Tren's patience thinned. When there was no response he stalked toward them while signaling his other sentry, irritated tha
t the men, preoccupied with their issues were ignoring him. "Cease and desist!"

  Approaching Calem from behind, Tren snatched the warrior's arms, looping his own through them, and yanking Calem's arms behind his back, thus restraining him from attacking further. Two of Tren's other sentrymen stood to the front ready to take Calem down should he break free and attempt to continue his scuffle. Rjant in like restrained Arjim, and the warrior kicked out his feet in resistance forcing the sentry who stood in front of him to grab his ankles in order to subdue him.

  "If I was as ugly as you, I would need to go into hiding." Calem pulled against the hold Tren had on him. "Lest I traumatize small children and squeamish men."

  "Don't let your mouth run faster than your feet, nebula brain!" Arjim yelled. He, too, struggled to free himself.

  "The only thing my feet will be doing is burying themselves up that big black hole in your ass where your skull resides!"

  "I said cease!" Tren bellowed. "Stand down this instant or the two of you will be reporting to the gridmaster for zapping!"

  Ignoring his commander, Arjim continued to spew his insults. "I hear your cock went flaccid while you were trying to fuck Jezil on last eve."

  "Damn, nattering wench," Calem murmured and then more loudly, "From what I hear, your dick was in a coma when you tried to fuck her two eves ago."

  To the laughter of the warriors who continued to stand around watching, Arjim's face flushed red. Though it was difficult to determine if it was anger or embarrassment, Tren sensed it was the latter. Their claims caused him concern, for lack of his warriors to be able to satiate their lusts could affect both physical and mental well-being. It might explain their recent increased aggression toward each other. Or not, he wasn't sure. As to their bantering however, Tren had listened to enough. "This is my final warning warriors. Stand down!"

  Though Calem and Arjim continued to wrench against their Commanders' grips, neither of them uttered another word. Their eyes however, remained locked with heated glares and sneers that revealed their heightened provocation.

  "Settle this conflict peaceably or there will be consequences." Rjant added and then gestured an order to release the grip on Arjim's ankles.

  Arjim's feet slapped to the ground and Rjant eased back his grip on the sentry's arms. He was prepared to restrain Arjim once again should he decide to do the opposite of what was commanded.

  Pulling from Tren's now slackening grip, Calem pressed his lips into an angry frown, but reined in his ire. He brushed himself off and moved to retrieve his talon, sheathing it behind his back, his heated glare remaining firmly fixed on Arjim as he did so. Arjim in like, glared back but was the first to break eye contact when he turned to face Tren and Rjant.

  "My apologies Commanders." He nodded to each of them while respectfully presenting the delta salute.

  "Your feeble attempt at kissing ass is pathetic, Arjim."

  "No more pathetic than your feeble attempt at pretending to be a man," Arjim growled in return.

  Tren's eyes shifted back and forth between the two of them. The anger in their expressions was still apparent. His attention then swept around the training field and to the warriors who stood by. Some silently watched, while others continued to murmur. Inhaling a deep breath he kept his face stern as his gaze returned to Arjim and Calem. Discourse between his sentries wasn't good for morale. "Two full dials of zapping is warranted for this insubordination, warriors."

  Calem gulped and Arjim shifted with discomfort.

  "Report for one full dial. This time…" Tren paused. "As long as the two of you can find a way to abstain from further temptation to avenge your hatred toward each other or the next punishment will be more severe."

  "Thank you, sir," Calem returned.

  You thank him for punishment? Arjim growled inside of Calem's brain. What a pucker-hole sniffer.

  "Don't make me regret my decision." Tren rolled his shoulders attempting to ease the muscles tension building in his neck. He then turned to his regiment and barked. "Fall in!"

  Immediately the warriors fell into line, rigid in their stance and composed, their sights trained forward with steadfast gazes. Tren scanned the formation, twenty men aside and ten rows deep. They were only a fraction of the sentry under his and Rjant's command. Calem and Arjim stood amongst them, taking obedient attention within the ranks, their tempers seemingly under control.

  At least for the moment, Tren considered. "Take an interval for the midday meal and be back on the platform in two dials for space flight training!"

  With that Tren began to stalk away, but realized that none of his men moved. He cast a glance over his shoulder. "Dismissed!"

  The warriors dispersed immediately.

  Rjant came to stand at Tren's side. "I'll contact Arjim's and Calem's fathers to relay our concerns."

  Tren nodded in agreement. "See if you can get their feedback on how we might remedy this situation."

  "Separate duty assignments likely," Rjant answered as he turned to exit the practice field.

  The suggested solution was far from a resolution, Tren sensed. Putting distance between the two would resolve nothing. There was more to his warriors' hostility than met the eye. They were stirred by more than arrogant pride. The animosity between them rang of a familiar tune--dominance--and yet there was no female.

  Perhaps she died and the link between them is yet unbroken, Rjant transmitted the answer to his brethren's silent thoughts.

  Unlikely. Tren returned. The transdelta link between them would've been instantly broken.

  Perhaps they suffer a genetic disorder that has kept the link intact? Rjant pondered as began walking away from the training field. Then again I have never heard of such a thing.

  It may simply be that they hate each other's guts.

  * * * *

  It was a strange thing really, the way they fought all of the time, except with persistent concentration on Sydney's part. When she did this she could attract their attention, and they talked to her directly. Singing a soft tune, she quickly discovered, calmed them, quelling the conflict that seemed to always be simmering just beneath the surface, a conflict that seemed to have something to do with her--rivals for her heart, maybe jealousy? All she ever wanted was for the three of them to share a good friendship. It was exasperating that they played tug-o-war with her when she had enough in her heart for both of them.

  "Now what was that tune?" Sydney wracked her brain trying to remember what she sang to them. She drew a blank and frowned at the forgotten memory. The last time she sang it, she was so young, age seven or maybe eight.

  "Strike group in formation."

  The voice of the combat squadron's leader tossed Sydney back into the task at hand--back to reality.

  "Shit," Sydney cursed at herself. Quit the daydreaming and concentrate on what you're doing!

  She looked around as four jets passed over her, billions of stars as the backdrop to their space war games. Not that there was anyone to fight, but damn! Space was such an awesome training ground.

  Could life be any better? Sydney smirked. She felt great. Everything was great. Even her hair had turned out pretty damn great today, and nothing could beat a good hair day.

  "SJ one-one-four, all systems ready."

  The voice, Captain Ellie Pratt came through on her radio.

  "SJ three-nine-one, ready."

  Sydney too, was double-checking her controls and coordinates in preparation to take up position as part of the group of star jets that would take up the rear. She chuckled silently before reciting her identification number. "SJ two-four-one, check."

  She'd fantasized all of her life about the two for one. Them being the two. She being the one. How ironic.

  "Aces from where I'm parked," Major Thomas reported. He, too, was flying but only to monitor the practice. "Cover squad in formation."

  That was Sydney's cue. Maneuvering toward the target position, she along with three other fellow pilots began to converge. It would be a tric
ky feat with their wing tips coming to within a hairsbreadth from each other, at least in terms of space jet proximity. One wrong move and kaboom!

  "Way to go, Sydney." Claire spoke from Command Control. "You're in perfect align … what the hell is that!"

  A blinding flash caused Sydney to reflexively jerk and her star jet went into a roll. My god! Had she just hit somebody? Alarms pierced her earpiece. Her console buzzed and blinked bright reds warning her she'd executed a dangerous maneuver.

  "Lieutenant Laurens … what the fuck!" the Major cursed.

  Scrambled voices, panicked voices shot through her earpiece. Her vision blurred as she fought with her controls but it was as if they had a mind of their own.

  "Mayday! May ... oh my god!" Sydney's muscles seized, including those controlling her tongue. She couldn't speak. Paralysis stole her hands leaving her helpless to do anything except hold on for dear life!

  Oh this is so not good.

  She was spinning … round and round .…

  "Shit!" Sydney's insides shifted and smacked and compressed and bounced. "O-o-o-o-o-o-h sh-h-i-i-t!

  Colors burst forth--a rainbow of colors corkscrewing inward, drawing her, sucking her vessel toward it like an oversized straw.

  "Two-four-one, retreat!" Claire screamed, the shrill of her voice pricking Sydney's eardrums.

  "Eject?" Sydney responded lethargically.

  "Oh hell no, I said retreat!"

  Yes, hell no. Ejecting into outer space was not an option.

  "Pull back Laurens!" Major Thomas ordered. "Retreat!"

  "Sydney!" The voice of Lieutenant Claire Mariana Thomas echoed, and then Sydney heard it fade.

  Oh snap. Her ship was heading toward the lights, and there was nothing she could do about it. What had the doc said about ghosts? God I'm so not in the mood to die today.

  ?