by Dante King
“First-hand experience,” she muttered. “It would seem that you were right, Dragonmancer Noctis—there’s no experience like it.”
She began to rock in my lap, rubbing her quickly moistening sex against my cock. It was infuriating—but in the best way possible—the way that the tip of my spear would graze and rub along her slit but not slip inside her. It drove me wild with longing, but I allowed the Seer to play the game her own way.
At least for a while.
I sat up and, in one smooth motion, tossed the Seer gently out of my lap so that she landed on the couch on her back. I grabbed the woman by her hips and flipped her over, and then pulled her up so that she was on her hands and knees.
“Even as one who can look into the future,” Claire panted, “I did not see that coming!”
“How about this?” I asked, and thrust into the Seer’s gaping sex from behind.
She was painfully, fabulously tight. With that insertion, a surging tingle of energy flowed through me, from the tip of my cock all the way to the ends of my toes and the crown of my head.
“Yes!” Claire cried out in shocked approval as I began pumping away at her doggy-style, occasionally slapping her smooth ass at Saya’s behest.
“Show her, Mike,” Elenari said, coming to stand by the couch so that she could watch the Seer and I fucking from a front-row seat.
Saya came to stand at my shoulder as I penetrated Claire fast and hard. She reached out, put her hand under my ass, and squeezed my nuts while I continued to piledrive the Seer’s tight box.
It was the sort of rough and ready sex that hearkened back to the times of our bestial forefathers, to when men and women lived in caves. We ground against one another, and the only sound was the slap and hiss of skin on skin, the grunt and rasp of our breathing, and the wet sucking noises as we fucked on the velvet couch.
Saya and Elenari played minor roles in the proceedings, occasionally reaching out to slap an ass or run tickling fingers across skin.
I smacked Claire’s buttcheeks as she began to buck vigorously backward to meet my every thrust, and my hands left red prints, as if they were brands that I pressed into her.
After a quarter of an hour of this, the Seer, with a shrill wordless yowl, reared back, her spine arched, and pressed herself to me. I cupped both her tits in my hands, pinching the nipples as she shuddered against me.
With the knowledge that Claire was climaxing, it was as if the dam inside of me suddenly broke. I thrust up once more, lifting the Seer clean into the air, as she wrapped her legs backward around my waist.
From where I held her, I was able to see Claire’s face, was able to see that her mouth was open and her eyes wide.
And her eyes, usually blue and red, were glowing white.
The two of us collapsed backward onto the velvet in a tangle of limbs, sweat, and mess of Claire’s silver braided hair.
“I’ve… I’ve had a vision of the future—no, that’s not correct, that’s too strong a word,” the Seer gasped, her eyes fading back to their usual colors. “Perhaps not the future. More a future—though one more powerful and more likely than any of the others, maybe.”
“What did you see?” Elenari asked, sitting up on her knees on the velvet sofa across from us, where she had sat back down.
“Yes, Seer, what did you see?” Saya asked. She was dressed in her shawl again and was pouring cups of wine for everyone from a jug on the table.
“While it is true that the potency of Mike’s seed has reached its limit and will require recharging,” Claire said. “I have seen the means for this to be accomplished. Or, at least, where this feat can be accomplished.”
The way that Claire said this filled me with a sudden foreboding.
“It’s in the subterranean depths, isn’t it?” I said, without quite knowing how I knew this. “The way that we can give my swimmers the shot of life; it’s down deep, where the Shadow Nations pissed off to at the end of the last war. The same place where we can find the crystals to turn the dragonlings into dragons. Isn’t it?”
The Seer nodded slowly. “Well guessed, dragonmancer,” she said.
“But surely an expedition into the subterranean realms is too risky for a dragonmancer who has only just passed through the Transfusion Ceremony?” Elenari said, looking at Claire with concern in her eyes.
The Seer nodded. She reached for her dress and slipped it back over her head. In an instant, she went from raunchy, perky breasted older woman, who wouldn’t have looked out of place twirling around a pole at Cheetahs or 4Play, to ethereal farsighted goddess who had never so much as imagined a penis.
“Yes, unfortunately I think that, in time, the Martial Council will have to be let in on this,” Claire said.
“That means the Lorekeepers finding out about Mike too,” Saya said, and there was an unfriendly gleam in her eye.
The Seer nodded again.
I sat back in my chair and cast about for my breeches.
“Great,” I said sarcastically, locating my pants under an end table. “The Lorekeepers. I hear such good things about them.”
“They will probe your mind to find out what you are, Mike,” Elenari said.
“So long as they’re gentle,” I said. “And use lube.”
Chapter Nine
When it was time for me to head back to the Drako Academy, I left Saya and Elenari with the Seer. The two female dragonmancers were due to come back with me to the Academy for our Combat Theory class, but Claire said that that would be impossible at that moment.
“For one thing,” the Seer said as she walked me outside toward the pond where Noctis was having a drink, “their skin has not faded back to its usual color.”
That was true enough. Elenari and Saya’s skin was still very much imbued with that faint golden sheen, which gave them that high-class Vegas showgirl look. They glittered eye-catchingly in the sunshine filtering down through the clouds that ran across the early afternoon sky.
“So, you think that will fade, do you?” I asked.
The Seer nodded. “Oh, yes. Women sometimes suffer from changes in pigmentation during their pregnancies, of course—this is usual even among conventional gestations. The golden hue that currently colors your fellow dragonmancers though, that is unique to dragonlings. Even in our world, where there are men and women with skin colors as versatile as a palette of paints, that golden hue is unmistakable. Anyone who sees it will recognize it as magical, and while they might not know what it means, it will inevitably lead to questions that we are not yet ready to answer.”
I nodded as we waited for Noctis to drink his fill from the clear pool. “You really think that it could cause that much trouble? The fact that there’s someone out there—e.g., me—that can produce dragonlings?”
“As we discussed before,” the Seer said, laying an unafraid hand on Noctis’ snout when he prowled over to stand at my shoulder, “this is, in a way, another resource for the Mystocean Empire. You would be hiding your head in the sand if you think that the Empress Cyrene is not going to be very interested in this once she gets to hear of it. And, if the most politically powerful individual in the Empire makes something her concern, you can bet a cauldron of scales on the fact that there will be those who oppose her looking for ways to use that concern to their advantage.”
I nodded thoughtfully while I stroked Noctis’s long neck.
Sounded to me like there was the potential for friction here. The potential for some considerable friction somewhere down the line.
“And the other thing?” I asked.
“What other thing?” the Seer replied.
“When I asked whether the girls were coming back to class with me, you said ‘For one thing’, so I assumed there’s a second thing.”
“Ah, yes, indeed,” Claire said. “The other reason that they should not go back to the Academy just yet is that the maternal bonds with their dragonlings are still extremely fresh and strong. If they were to go back now, they would not be able to c
oncentrate. There would be… an itch that they would not be able to scratch. After only a little while, they would be drawn back here, as certainly as a bee is drawn back to its hive.”
“Well, that sounds like that bond could prove to be a bit of a problem down the road, and not even that far down the road,” I said.
“The bond between dragonmancer and their young is not like that of a normal mother and child,” she said. “Dragonlings are born with the seed of knowledge in their minds that they are—or very soon will be—the apex predators of their worlds. Their reliance on their mothers does not last long.”
“But what about the mothers? What about Elenari and Saya?” I asked as Noctis stretched his wings in a not-so-subtle sign that he was eager to hit the thermals.
“There is no greater joy to any mother of dragons than to see their young flying free,” Claire said simply. “No greater sense of satisfaction than to see a dragonling making its own way in the world, dependent on nothing and no one but itself.”
“I guess that makes sense. But in the meantime, won’t Saya and Elenari get into trouble by being here?”
“I will ensure they do not receive any reprimand for staying in my grove,” Claire said.
“Elenari got torn a new asshole for coming to Earth to fetch me,” I said.
“Ah, yes, I heard about that. Do not worry; I have spoken with the Martial Council, and the sergeant and the lieutenant were given a stern speaking to about that. It has been so long since I have interfered with the affairs of the Empire that many have forgotten the power I wield. If I wish for Elenari and Saya to remain here, then that is what will happen. No one can say otherwise, save for the Overseer herself.”
I climbed onto Noctis’ back. “That’s good to know. I’ll be seeing you, Claire.”
The beautiful silver-haired woman smiled. “And I you, Michael Noctis.”
I turned Noctis, and he walked through the beautifully fragrant orchard of Augury Grove and headed for the cliff edge.
And so, that is how I came to be sitting all on my lonesome at the back of a large classroom somewhere in the bowels of the Drako Academy.
I wasn’t actually on my own, of course. I was surrounded by at least thirty women of different races—of a plethora of shapes, sizes, skin tones, and hair colors—all of whom were wearing the crimson and black uniform of Rank One dragonmancers.
To say that there were a lot of hot pieces of ass in that room would have been like saying that there were a lot of leaves on a tree, or that two plus two was four, or that Baldur’s Gate 2 was the best isometric CRPG of all time—it was an obvious fact for those with a working brain and eyes.
The room we were all gathered in was a typical medieval affair. It was the variety of classroom that conjured images of Game of Thrones, Harry Potter, and The Tudors all at once. It was high-ceilinged with stone walls constructed of enormous blocks of masonry. A week ago, I might have wondered how anyone set about building with such massive bits of stone, but now I imagined that the builders simply got a few dragonmancers to carry the things and called it a Physical Training class. The stone had been lime-washed white.
Up in the shadows of the ceiling beams of dark wood crisscrossed. A large chandelier filled with about a hundred candles hung from a central rafter. It was not lit at present, but I imagined that it must cast a golden glow when it was.
I was sitting at an old, battered, and scarred desk at the back of the room, facing three large windows. The positioning of the windows, and of the long, polished desk in front of it, meant that the class was illuminated by the gray light of the gloomy day. Behind the aforementioned long, polished desk, stood a woman. Because she was standing in front of the windows, with the light streaming in behind her, she was merely a tall, curvaceous silhouette. One thing that I could tell straight away though, was that this woman was as bald as an egg.
“For the new students present today, I shall introduce myself,” said the woman behind the desk, leaning forward to peer intently at the gathered class so that the light shone off the back of her pate. “My name is Preceptor Tang, Bearer of Fyva the Eel Dragon. I am your assigned tutor for Combat Theory. Welcome, class.”
There was a murmur of greeting from the gathered students.
“Afternoon, Preceptor,” I heard myself saying a little stiffly.
Preceptor Tang raised a hand. As she did so, the gray light from the large windows shone through her fingers, and I saw that she had webs of translucent skin stretching between each digit.
She must be unbeatable in the Academy swimming carnival, I thought drily.
A dull green glow emanated from the middle of the Preceptor’s forehead and, a moment later, a thin snake-like creature emerged from one of her sleeves. It was her dragon, Fyva.
The Eel Dragon was only about a foot long in its current form. It was as long and sinuous of body as I might have expected for something that was named an Eel Dragon. The light was dim, so I couldn’t make out much of its appearance, but it had a long body, short legs, tightly folded wings, and a bullet head. All in all, it looked extremely streamlined.
The little dragon snapped its wings open and, at a nod from Preceptor Tang, flew up into the air. It circled the chandelier once, and then let out a long, thin twin stream of flames from its nostrils. By the time that it had completed two circuits of the chandelier, every one of the candles was alight and glowing with a soft radiance that illuminated the room.
In the light of the now glowing chandelier, I could make out our tutor far more easily. She was tall and curvaceous—as her silhouette had already proclaimed—and was dressed in the all-black fighting array of the fully qualified dragonmancer. Over the standard sable breeches and long shirt, she also wore a black velvet waistcoat; cut long, in the double-breasted style and with tails.
The woman had curious—curious even for the Mystocean Empire—skin of mottled green and blue. The way that it shone in the light gave the impression that it was incredibly smooth. As I had previously seen, she was bald, but I also noticed now that she had no eyebrows or eyelashes either. Her eyes were large, liquid, and dark like those of a sea lion. Under those big, dark eyes there was only the very slightest suggestion of a nose. It was the merest suggestion of a raised ridge with two slits on either side of it. On her head rested a circlet of silver, in the middle of which was a large green stone.
Preceptor Tang’s dragon, Fyva, alighted back on her shoulder, twined its way down her body, and disappeared back up her cuff.
The Preceptor clapped her hands, and the class, which had been muttering amongst themselves, fell silent.
“Now, all of you here have passed through the Transfusion Ceremony and are now bonded fully with your dragons,” the tutor said. Her voice was as relaxing and calming as waves breaking on the shore. “You are at the very start of the road that will lead you, hopefully, to standing where I am now; in the all-black raiment of the fully qualified dragonmancer.”
There was a shuffling as a handful of the gathered Rank Ones looked around at each other. The sense of excitement was palpable.
“You have taken the first step in your training,” Preceptor Tang continued, holding up a webbed hand to silence the class once more. “Some of you will get further along the path than others. You are all reaping the physical benefits of your dragon-bond—more stamina, greater strength, magnified senses, increased speed, enhanced reactions, and augmented healing abilities. However, even though being a warrior is a major facet of being a dragonmancer, we can’t only focus on the physical fighting aspect.”
I held up my hand, and she nodded at me.
“You have a question, Dragonmancer Noctis?” she asked.
“Is this the part where you tell us that the strength of a warrior lies in their head as much as in their hand?” I asked.
“I hadn’t planned on using those exact words, but the merit of what you say cannot be ignored. Even if you were being sarcastic.”
“I wasn’t being sarcastic. I was just c
urious if you think of fighting similarly to how we do back on Earth.”
“You trained to fight on your homeworld?” Tang asked me.
“Yes, Preceptor,” I said. “In MMA—that’s a sort of mix of fighting styles we had on Earth.”
“And during this fight training, was mastering your mind, knowing the history of your opponent, and of the fighting style that you were practicing impressed on you?” the Preceptor asked.
“Yeah, I guess,” I said. “I mean, my trainers always told me that you fight with your brain as much as your fists. If you fight smart then, most of the time, you don’t have to fight as hard.”
Preceptor Tang nodded her bald head in agreement.
“Well put,” she said. “The rest of you,” she said, sweeping her liquid gaze across the class, “take heed of Dragonmancer Noctis’ words.”
A few of the women in front of me turned to sneak a look at me. Most of them smiled shyly before turning back around.
“You may be wondering what we’re going to touch on in this first lesson,” Preceptor Tang said. “Well, allow me to tell you. In this class, we will learn what is expected from a dragonmancer. I will tell you about what the Mystocean Empire expects from the coteries—the small squads that each of you have selected to act as your bodyguard. I will touch on the types of missions that dragonmancers—specifically dragonmancers of your rank—might be required to carry out.”
At the mention of missions another ripple of muttering swept through the classroom.
That was what everyone wanted to know really, wasn’t it? It was the question in the forefront of my mind. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I had played enough RPG games to know that the training and the accumulating of knowledge and the gaining of experience was bound to be a blast, but there was also a reason that movies made use of montages to sum all that up.
