Chapter 62 Irena
IRENA
… find myself standing in a darkened room. In the center, is a large, round bed. Well, not so much a bed as a platform of polished obsidian, smooth and cool under the phantom light that seems to emanate from nowhere. And on it I see myself—or a girl who looks exactly like me, anyway.
I am naked in this vision—my heavy breasts hanging down like ripe fruit, the pale, soft weight of them swaying slightly as I rest on hands and knees, my back arched in a deep, submissive curve, like a beast waiting to be bred.
My long hair is a tangled curtain over my shoulder, and my skin gleams with a fine sheen of sweat or possibly anticipation. I feel shocked…and a hot, shameful lance of arousal spears through my own body, mirroring the posture of the girl on the stone.
What is the Door showing me now? And why is it showing it?
Then I see a movement in the shadows—a liquid shift of darkness and heat. Something is coming to meet me—to breed me. It comes out of the gloom towards the platform, and I suck in a breath as I see it.
It’s Valen’s Drake.
He’s been made small somehow—well, smaller than his usual cavern-filling size. He’s not quite as small as he was when I used the magic of the ring on him in the Sorceress’s banquet hall, but he’s not too big to climb onto the dark platform with me—which is what he does.
His movements are sinuous…powerful, each muscle coiling beneath scales that glow like banked coals—a deep, pulsating crimson. His wings are folded sleek against his sides, and his long tail lashes once, a whip-crack of contained energy.
The Irena on the platform turns her head and sees him in all his glory. Her eyes—my eyes—are wide, not with fear, but with a dazed, hungry wonder. She watches as he bends his long, elegant neck, bringing his massive head down between her splayed thighs.
He presses his warm, scaled muzzle against the soft curve of her bottom and inhales deeply, a shudder running the length of his spine. The sound is a low, rumbling purr of pure male appreciation.
Irena on the platform doesn’t try to get away.
Instead, to my shock, she spreads her thighs wider, tilting her hips up and back in an unmistakable offering.
I can plainly see that her pussy is on full display—pink and glistening wet—the outer lips already swollen and parted, revealing the darker, needy flesh within.
A single bead of moisture gathers at her entrance and drips onto the dark stone below.
The Drake responds to her obvious need with animal lust, but I can feel the sentience beneath his beastly exterior. I can feel his desire for her—for me—and his sense that she is offering herself to him.
“Mine!” he growls, the vibration palpable even across the room.
His forked tongue—long and surprisingly agile—emerges from his mouth.
It’s a deep, dusky pink, and it flicks out once…
twice, tasting the air just above her heat.
Then he lowers his head and licks her—a broad, flat stroke from her entrance all the way up to her clit that makes the Irena on the platform jerk and cry out—a sharp, wanton sound.
He does it again, and again, bathing her exposed pussy with long, slow, deliberate laps of his tongue that have her moaning and writhing—pushing her hips back against the relentless pressure.
He fucks her with his tongue, the forked tips probing her entrance, spreading her open, lapping up her slickness with greedy, wet sounds.
As I watch, I feel wetness between my own thighs. Watching this reminds me of how Valen tasted me last night…of how hot he made me before he let me come.
But there is more to come. Tasting me—or her—seems to have aroused the Drake even more. The scaly pouch between his hind legs quivers, then distends. I watch, mesmerized and horrified, as his cock emerges.
It’s a slow unveiling of primal anatomy.
The thick, ridged shaft is a shade darker than his belly scales and it’s already fully erect—jutting out from its sheath with a formidable, veined weight.
The head is a pronounced, flared plum shape, slick with his own lubricant.
It’s monstrous…impossible for someone my size—her size—to take.
I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper.
How can she—I—possibly accommodate that thick club of flesh?
But the Irena in this vision doesn’t seem worried.
In fact, a low, desperate moan is pulled from her throat, and she pushes back against him, rocking her hips, presenting her dripping slit directly for his broad crown.
It’s more than an invitation…her gestures are a wordless plea.
She wants him to fill her.
The Drake needs no further encouragement. He mounts her in one fluid, powerful motion. His huge forepaws—claws carefully sheathed—come to rest on her shoulders.
I can see that he’s being gentle—or as gentle as such a huge beast can be. He’s not pinning her down—he’s claiming her.
His weight settles over her, not crushing, but enveloping her much smaller body with his own. I see the enormous shaft, bobbing heavily, nudge between her spread legs. The slick, plum-shaped head finds her entrance—his wetness against her own—and begins to press inside.
I bite back a gasp as I watch her take him. The stretch is visible—almost obscene. Her tight little hole spreads wide around the invading girth, straining to accommodate him.
A thin, high whimper escapes her, but she doesn't falter.
She pushes back—meeting the pressure, taking more and more of the thick club of flesh into her tightly stretched channel.
Inch by impossible inch, he sinks into her—the ridges of his shaft sliding one by one inside her as he buries himself deeper in her pussy.
I watch in disbelief, a hand flying to my own stomach, as I see her belly bulge with the outline of the monstrous cock penetrating her. A distinct, rounded shape presses against the soft flesh of her lower abdomen—living proof of the depth of his possession of her.
The Irena on the platform is utterly impaled…filled beyond reason.
“Mine!” the Drake growls again. “All mine, Princess!”
And then he begins to move.
It’s a slow, deep, rolling rhythm of pure animal coupling. Each withdrawal drags the textured ridges against her oversensitive walls, making her sob. Each thrust home is a solid thump that jars her entire body forward and makes the visible bulge in her belly shift.
I swear I can feel the huge cock inside me as I watch—my fingers curl in sympathy as I watch her clawing at the obsidian platform, tilting her hips back and trying to make herself open enough for him.
Her cries are continuous now—a ragged symphony of pleasure-pain. She’s meeting him thrust for thrust, fucking herself back onto him. Her breasts swing heavily with the force of his rutting.
The Drake’s growls are guttural, possessive. He increases his pace, the slapping sounds of scale against flesh—of wet, tight friction, filling the silent room.
I watch in mingled fascination and horror as his thrusts become harder…faster, until he’s driving into her with a piston-like intensity that has her crying out with pleasure, her back arching and her toes curling.
She’s so close. I can feel it—an echo in my own throbbing pussy. Even though I know I shouldn’t be excited by this terrible scene, I can’t seem to help myself. I’m panting, my own hand pressed between my legs, over my gown, applying a frantic, shameful pressure.
With a final, brutal slam that lifts her knees off the platform for a moment, the Drake buries himself to the hilt and holds there. A roar—deafening and triumphant—rips from his throat.
I can see the intense, rhythmic pulsing at the base of his cock where it joins her body. He’s coming—pumping his hot, draconic seed deep into her womb in torrential jets.
The Irena on the platform comes too, her own climax clearly triggered by the feeling of being filled so completely. Her cries are raw moans of pleasure—her body convulsing around the massive invasion, milking him for every last drop of his seed.
As the last pleasure fades and the Drake slowly turns his great head. His molten gold eye seeks the Irena beneath him, but then, as if sensing another presence, his gaze shifts. It turns toward me—toward where I stand watching in the shadows.
And as he turns, the vision changes. The draconic features melt…reshape. The scales recede…the muzzle shortens. The glowing gold eyes soften and deepen in color.
I bite back a gasp at what I see—it’s Valen’s face looking back at me from the body of the Drake!
His expression is one of fierce, sated possession, his human lips curved in a wicked, knowing smile. Sweat mats his dark hair to his forehead. He is the beast and the man—both at once—claiming the woman who is me in every way possible.
The eye contact holds for a heartbeat—his gaze boring into my soul, acknowledging that I saw everything, that I felt everything.
The eye contact holds for a heartbeat—his gaze boring into my soul.
Then, slowly, he pulls out of her. The thick, ridged shaft emerges from her well-used pussy with a wet, sucking sound, glistening and slick.
I see his seed, which isn't milky white but a viscous, shimmering liquid the color of molten gold, as it begins to pour from her.
It spills out in a heavy, gleaming stream, dripping from her pussy lips to coat her inner thighs. It flows so copiously it pools on the dark obsidian beneath her knees, a growing puddle of radiant, metallic seed.
More of it trickles out with a soft, wet sound, painting her skin and the stone with the undeniable evidence of the Drake’s—and Valen’s—possession.
The Irena on the platform shudders—a final aftershock—and a fresh rivulet of gold joins the puddle, running down toward the back of her knee.
She is utterly claimed—filled and marked inside and out by him—and the Door of Uncertainty holds me there, forcing me to watch the last, glistening drops fall.
I stumble back, gasping, my legs nearly giving way, my body humming with unmet need, my mind seared with the image of his face—Valen’s face—wearing the Drake’s satisfaction as he filled me to overflowing.
A brilliant flash of purple light can’t erase the images burned into my mind.
Why did the Door show me that? What does it mean? What—