Captive to the Dragon (Banished Dragons)

by Leela Ash

  "Nope, no glove, no love," Fawn replied.

  Good for you, Cass thought, stick to your guns girl.

  College boy was too excited to protest, so he clumsily slipped on the rubber. Then he slowly pushed his cock into her pussy. Fawn moaned in pleasure as he penetrated her fully. He pumped his thighs as she shook her hips in time, almost dancing in place.

  The tempo increased, as his breath became shorter. Fawn made little singsong panting sounds, then moaned uncontrollably.

  His thrusting stopped, muscles tensed.

  "Oh yes," Fawn moaned.

  Cass was happy to hear Fawn was having a real orgasm…’cause a girl can tell.

  College boy suddenly pulled out, yanking off the condom, pumping a load of cum across Fawn's ass.

  "Oh shit, yeah, that's it!" He yelled, smearing his cum across her ass.

  "Did you just cum on my back?" Fawn asked, sounding a little grossed out.

  "Oh yeah, just like in the movies. I figured you porno chicks were into that." And with that he slapped her ass and hopped out of the water. He wrapped the condom in a cocktail napkin and tossed it aside. "That was awesome, I have to go find my buddies. Man, they won't believe I banged a real porn chick." He gave her a kiss on the cheek, grabbed his swim trunks and sauntered off to brag about his conquest.

  Fawn sat alone on the edge of the Jacuzzi trying to wipe her back off with a towel.

  Cass felt bad for her. This was probably Fawn's first taste of how people in her business were perceived. She considered walking over and saying something to cheer her up, but remembered that she had someplace to be.

  Chapter 2

  Cass skipped the locker room, heading straight for the bike rack where her battered Vespa waited. She'd wasted precious time peeping on Fawn and the frat boy, and knew the manager was still on the prowl. She undid the chain, tossed it into the back compartment and hopped on. After three kicks the little engine finally kicked over. The Vespa was probably older than her twenty-five years, but bikes like it were precious commodities on Tortura. She pulled away just in time to see Eric walking to the exit gate.

  "So Eric, you're trying to head me off at the pass," She mumbled to herself.

  Thinking quickly she turned the Vespa and shot down a small construction path entrance, waving to the manager as she left the grounds. She'd made her escape.

  She bounced down the unpaved path, eventually coming to what passed for the main road. The sun had set and there were no streetlights, rendering the coast road pitch black. Cass had learned to be on the lookout out for the usual obstructions like donkey carts and stray cattle.

  She was rounding a corner when a pair of headlights suddenly blinded her. She cut to the right, barely avoiding an oncoming local bus. It was one of the rainbow painted antique vehicles that the island was famous for. It was strange to see because the local buses almost always stopped running at sunset. It was just too dangerous with the roads as narrow as they were.

  Her mind quickly went to the fact that in twenty minutes she would be in Talin's arms. He was the island's most revered Voodoo priest, a "Mambo" in the local parlance. Years ago Cass had written off religion as fairy tales for the gullible. While serving in Afghanistan she'd seen too much horror to believe any benevolent spirit watched over mankind. If there was a god, he was kind of an asshole she’d figured. Talin had changed all that, reawakening her spiritual beliefs and opening her heart to love. His soft words, affection and devotion pulling her back from the brink. Seeing her potential Talin had taken her under his wing, teaching her unbelievable things. When locals discovered she was Talon's protégé their respect for her had grown enormously. Somehow, despite all her running, she had discovered life and love on this tiny island, of all places.

  Chapter 3

  Colonel Hector Marcos knelt in prayer. He enjoyed the solitude of his private chapel, filled with candles, human skulls and a squawking chicken as it was. The centerpieces were a small collection of lovingly carved statues of skull faced, top-hatted deities. As a devout practitioner of Voodoo, the colonel had selected "The Barons" as his personal spirits. Baron Samedi- Lord of the Dead and Baron Krimenel- brutal enforcer of the spirit world. He would need their malevolent power for his plan to succeed. With practiced skill he decapitated the chicken in their honor. He followed up with an offering of fine cigars and vintage rum. The spirits would surly smile on his sacrifice. But his true offering was yet to come. Tonight there would be bloodshed and death carried out in their honor. What more could a spirit want?

  He rose to his feet, shirtless, his skin stained with the blood of his sacrifice. He left the small room he'd converted to a private chapel. His servant would clean up the feathers and blood, but knew better than to touch the rum or cigars. Stealing from the spirits carried severe penalties in this world as well as in the next.

  It annoyed Marcos that he could only afford one servant. He surveyed the home granted to him by the Prime Minister of Tortura. It was an opulent Chateau once belonging to a French Plantation owner. But Marcos had always found it too dark, too confining and most of all, too French for his tastes. Hadn't the frogs ever heard of the term "open concept?" He was convinced that the Prime Minister intentionally kept Marcos living in these humble circumstances, shutting him out of the island's highly profitable narcotics traffic and smuggling rackets – businesses that were essential to a military officer's financial security. He could barely afford to pay his one servant on his relatively meager salary and what he earned shaking down the local shop-owners and bordellos.

  For ten years he'd stood by the Prime Minister's side, watching as heads of state fawned over him. All Marcos got were condescending looks from foreign diplomats who assumed his uniform and medals were some self-aggrandizing costume. But he had earned his rank doing an officer's duty… tracking down dissidents and killing labor leaders. Any dirty deeds required to keep his boss in power fell to him. As the Prime Minister sipped champagne with the elite, Marcos was up to his elbows in blood.

  But over the years Marcos quietly built his own cadre of dedicated men, all eager for change. He'd also made a mental note of those who might present a threat to his new regime. A virtual Who's Who of Tortura's intellectuals, teachers and local officials would disappear shortly. Above all he would eliminate the Voodoo Priest Talin. Not only did the priest have too much influence over the population, he also possessed something Marcos wanted… voodoo's most powerful book of magic.

  An angelic female voice drifted through the air, singing a song Marcos knew by heart. He followed the voice up the stairs like a child drawn by the pied piper. Silently he crept through the master bedroom, peering through the half open bathroom door.

  His mistress Novia was lying in the bathtub singing in the melodious voice that enthralled thousands. They'd only been together for five years, but she'd already transformed his life. He'd done countless terrible things in his life, each brutal act chipping away a piece of his soul until he had at times felt that nothing was left. But he felt Novia had given him back the soul he had traded for what until now had been a tiny bit of power.

  Like Marcos, Novia had clawed her way up from the gutter using her beauty and talent the way that he had used knives and bullets. Both suffered through degradation to rise above their lowly origins. There were nights when he woke up and heard her downstairs, crying softly. He knew the memories had come back to haunt her, just as they sometimes haunted him. Novia deserved to be a queen, and tonight he would give her that crown.

  "Are you enjoying my song?" She asked without looking up.

  "Of course, it's the one you sang the night we met." She had been the island's most beloved singer and dancer, performing for thousands. But that night he felt she sang only for him. It was the evening the spirits rescued him from darkness.

  She glanced up at him, "You have blood on your chest,"

  "I made sacrifice to the Baron's so they'll smile on us tonight."

  "Come here," She said smiling, "I will wash it
off."

  He stripped off his clothes and approached the oversized tub, the one thing the French had done right. He closed his eyes as she gently ran a sponge across his chest… how many times had she washed blood off of him?

  The warm water on his chest and the sight of her lean dancer's body made his heart beat faster. She smiled knowing how much this excited him. Her hand moved the sponge lower until it was almost touching his erect cock.

  "I can't reach any lower if you stay out there."

  And he happily obliged her, quickly stripping out of his loose pants and climbing into the tub. He knelt down, leaning forward, pressing his lips against hers. Their tongues entwined as the sponge finally slid down to his erect cock. His body twitched at her touch just as it had their first night together. He ran his hands down her body, stroking her firm breast. Her nipples were already rock hard.

  He looked into her eyes, "There will be danger tonight, and I would prefer it if you would stay here where it's safe."

  She leaned forward putting her lips to his ear, "If there's danger I will be at your side my love, and when I am to die it will be at your side as well."

  His heart beat faster. What had he done in life to deserve such a rich reward? Surely the Barons had sent Novia to rule at his side.

  She ran her fingers across his back, sending tingles through his body. She never avoided touching the knife wounds or other scars that crisscrossed his body like a roadmap. She embraced his wounds as evidence of his inner strength. He kissed her deeply, knowing her scars were on the inside.

  He leaned forward kissing his way down her beautiful chest. Her nipples were hard against his tongue as he sucked on them, her breath heaving in time to his.

  "Oh yes, you are like a lion my colonel," She sweetly whispered in his ear.

  From anyone else it would have sounded like a cliché, but Novia was sincere. She sometimes addressed him as colonel because she thought it sounded so strong, and because she wanted to give that strength to him.

  He lifted her hips up, resting them on the edge of the tub. He kissed his way down, savoring the taste of her skin. He parted her legs and stroked her jet-black pubic hair. The colonel knew her body like the back of his hand. But he never tired of it, never wanted another woman. His mouth finally reached her beautiful pussy… so wet and warm. His tongue danced across the pubic hair, then deeper, rolling across her wet lips. Novia's clit was stiff, like a button. He wrapped his lips around it, dabbing at it with his tongue.

  "Oh god, that feels so good," She moaned as her hands roamed through his thick hair, nails raking across his scalp.

  He had never gone down on women before he met her, always considering it a sign of weakness. But with Novia he wanted to take the time to please her, knowing the rewards were incredible. He sucked harder, running his tongue across her pussy, feasting like a starving man. Her small, powerful hands squeezed his skull as she climaxed.

  "Oh yes… please, I can't wait any longer, fuck me colonel, fuck me now!"

  She pushed him back into the water and climbed on top. Grabbing his cock she slid the head inside her pussy. His body trembled as she lowered herself down the shaft. She tossed her head back in ecstasy. Then she began to ride up and down, the speed and intensity building. She leaned forward, smothering him in those beautiful breasts, never losing the tempo. His strong hands embraced her as the pumping built.

  She stretched like a cat as another orgasm washed over her. Her pussy muscles quivered and he couldn't hold back a second longer. Her satisfaction increased his own pleasure tenfold. How had he lived before this woman? How empty had his life been?

  His cock exploded, shooting hot cum inside her. Every muscle in her body flexed as she shared his pleasure. His explosion inside of her had set of a new wave of pleasure throughout her core and her entire body. And then they lay still, exhausted, content to melt together in the warm water.

  He wished they could have lay there all night, basking in each other's warmth. But there would be plenty of nights for that. First they would take what was rightfully theirs.

  Chapter 4

  Colonel Marcos donned his finest dress uniform. It was impeccably tailored, each medal gleaming from endless polishing. He would be the model of a professional military officer. But the most beautiful ornament would be Novia. She'd spent hours choosing her jewelry ensuring it perfectly complimented the Chanel gown he had bought for the occasion. Marcos watched in admiration as she put the finishing touches on her hair. It wasn't vanity; Novia knew she had to look radiant, outshining the society women who considered her nothing but a high priced whore.

  A chirping digital phone broke the mood. They weren't ordinary phones; these were specialized items he'd bought from a successful drug smuggler. Untraceable, scrambled lines that would be tossed into the ocean by morning, eliminating any record of their plot.

  The colonel looked at the caller ID and took a deep breath. It was his brother Marco. Aside from Novia, his brother was the only one in the world he fully trusted. But he was more like a faithful, but vicious guard dog than a confidant. Part of the problem stemmed from his brother's sub-par intellect. But the real blame fell on their parents for christening him with the regrettable name Marco Marcos. Years of childhood ridicule had festered, creating a violent hair trigger temper. He knew there had been more to it that the name, but it was easier to focus on that. The colonel answered, "Yes Marco, what is it?"

  Captain Marco Marcos was squatting in a patch of jungle with six other mosquito bitten soldiers, "We are almost in position. Brother, why can't I just kill this priest now, so I can join you in the most glorious part of the night?"

  The colonel's fist clenched involuntarily… they'd been through this fifty times, "Listen to me and try to understand. This is very important. I don't want any action taken until exactly midnight. Everything must be timed to the second. We don’t want a panic. The priest is an important target and you are my best man for the job. He's powerful, so kill him quickly and obtain the ancient book he possesses immediately." The Colonel could almost hear the tiny wheels in his brother's dim mind spinning, "Do you understand?"

  "Yes brother I understand."

  "Oh, and remember I want you to bring me a trophy to prove he is dead."

  Captain Marco Marcos swatted at a gigantic mosquito, "Don't you trust me to carry out the mission?"

  The colonel's frustration grew. It was like talking to a three year old, "Of course I trust you brother, but I need it to show the people proof that Talin is dead! I'm very busy, so goodbye." The colonel clicked off the phone and sighed. You really couldn't choose your family.

  His servant, having paused, cautiously entered the room. He knew that a conversation between the brothers always ignited the Colonel's temper. "The car is waiting for you downstairs sir," He carefully backed out of the room.

  The Colonel looked to Novia and smiled. Assuming all went as planned, in a few hours they would be the rulers of Tortura. He silently prayed to the Barons not to let his brother fuck up.

  Chapter 5

  Cass Steered the moped off the road onto an ancient cobblestone path. The thought of being with Talin combined with watching Fawn's little sex show had really gotten her juices flowing. Riding a motorbike down the bumpy trail wasn't helping a bit either.

  The path took her through the islands oldest cemetery. Initially it seemed odd that a graveyard rested on prime beach real estate. But Talin politely explained that the beachfront meant nothing to peasants because crops don't grow in sand. Most of the graves were above ground monuments, miniature crypts tilted and battered by decades of hurricanes and flooding. Cass cruised through the rows of graves carefully, hoping her engine didn't wake up the inhabitants, she joked in her head. She could see a bonfire flickering through the foliage ahead. She was almost there.

  Talin had built his hut at the edge of the cemetery. Initially Cass found it creepy but Talin knew the spirits felt most comfortable there. Cass saw his evening bonfire burning up ahea
d

  She pulled in slowly, avoiding the minefield of monuments and icons that dotted the compound. Talin was dancing around the bonfire with feline grace, performing a ritual dance older than written history. He'd stripped down to a pair of shorts, and the sweat on his muscular body gleamed in the firelight. He reverently picked up an ancient sword, adding it to the dance. He spun, pointing it at the idols surrounding the bonfire, paying tribute to each spirit. Then he knelt down before the fire, completing the ritual. Finally he turned to Cass.

  Like most of Tortura's population, Talin was of mixed race, he had dark skin but it would be impossible to identify him as black or Hispanic. Centuries of intermarriage had made the islander's into their own unique and beautiful race.

  "You escaped," He said, smiling with perfect gleaming white teeth.

  "They wanted me to stay of course, but there was no way I was going to miss tonight."

  She approached him and he put his strong arms around her. They kissed and Cass ran her hands across the taught corded muscles of his back.

  He looked into her eyes, "Are you ready to be mounted by a spirit?"

  "I'm ready to be mounted, that's for sure."

  He had the mischievous eyes of a child. "This is no small thing, allowing a spirit to enter your body is a major step. That spirit may embrace you and become your protector. It is a wonderful experience."

  Talin slipped into his hut momentarily and emerged carrying an ancient black book. He handed it to Cass, "You're holding the original book of voodoo spells, passed down through countless generations. You're the first novice, and may I add, the first white chick to touch it,” he laughed.

  Cass carefully opened the ancient text. It was hand written in an African symbol language lost to time, "It's beautiful."

  "It is bound in flesh and written in human blood," Talin said solemnly.