The Rebel's Gambit
Forward Note: Oh gosh, I haven't written Sci-fi in suuuuch a long while, but
For the sake of immersion, some dialogues and cusses have been written in the spanish language. Keep a translator close by if you wish to learn how to swear in spanish :)
Note: I have opened an idea market for those who are looking to commission stories based on premade ideas at reduced prices. Check it out here
Chapter 1: The Rebel's Gambit (Commissioned by
They called themselves independent entrepreneurs, a more innocent term for the not so innocent elite traffickers. Before Oraka's failed rebellion, they used to own towns, maybe cities if two or more of those influential scums pooled their resources and sicarios together. These days, however, they owned entire moons, bought and paid for with the same money allocated to their capture. You heard that right. The Intergallactic Alliance paid the traffickers to fuck off from influential planets and galaxies and relocate themselves to shitholes forgotten by the universe itself. After all, what meant a lost battle if it helped them win the war?
For Oraka, these dirty politics were just another nail in the coffins of those who had died to prevent this from happening. Turning a blind eye on the most dangerous criminals of the galaxy? Handling them strategic points to develop their nefarious business? The United Suns Confederation would have come down on them like a proverbial sack of bricks, destroy them from the inside out through strategical infiltrations and drawn-out, fake negotiations meant to destabilize these bandits. Then again, the United Suns Confederation had been extinguished, snuffed out by the brighter, more influential Intergalactic Alliance.
And, just like every other Alliance, these people only cared for their central solar systems while those on the far sides of the galaxy were slowly smothered by the inevitable grip of banditry. Fighting an all-out war against outlaws drained resources and cost the lives of trained, noble soldiers. Letting them own moons here and there, however, only charged the Intergalactic Alliance the lives of locals, invisible--nonexistent--on their radar. After all, why bother taxing and protecting these people when the effort to do so cost more than the actual benefits?
It sickened Oraka, to witness such depravation, such blatant disregard to the Sapient Species Rights. She prowled through the streets of Cali37, aptly named after Don Sanchez' ancestral city in Colombia, her tattered brown coat stirring up a curtain of dust in her wake. Decrepit shanties flanked her, the frayed prelates serving as roofs for the poor wretches huddled inside fluttering in the brisk wind of late afternoon. Barrio 59 looked like any other Barrio on this desert moon that knew no rain, no storms, no clouds: small but suffocating, a conglomerate of dilapidated buildings held together by the sheer willpower of the local, suppressed population.
What a shithole, one whose creation she had indirectly contributed through her failed rebellion. Try as she might to put her past behind her, being on moons like Cali37 inadvertently triggered a sense of debilitating guilt within her gut. It tore at her from the inside, coiling around her heart and squeezing it of its lifeblood, until it shriveled into the empty husk that mirrored Oraka's soul.
Why was she here? What did she hope to accomplish by taking on Don Sanchez all by herself? Cut the head of a Mafioso, and another would take his place.
I'll deal with him as well, Oraka thought to herself. Him, and whoever follows afterwards, until this moon is liberated from their clutch.
A noble but futile endeavor. It made no difference in the long run. Don Sanchez was but one of dozens of independent entrepreneurs, so why bother? Oraka hoped Jhon, her contact on Cali37, could provide her with an answer.
She found him seated in front of a street kitchen, slurping a desert slug out of its shell and giving her his most charming smile.
"Siéntate, por favor. Guillermo here cooks one heck of a marinated desert stew."
Guillermo, a disheveled young coyote with benevolent amber eyes tipped his punctured hat, muttering a silent hello under his breath.
"Is good to meet you, senora Oraka," the coyote said louder as Oraka took a seat next to Jhon, his heavy Spanish accent almost causing his words to stumble into one another.
Oraka's crest frill perked between her horns, her honey colored eyes drifting to Jhon. "You made yourself at home here, haven't you Jhon? Soon, we will all be one big happy family, as I have no doubt the whole Barrio knows who I am by now."
Jhon shrugged his shoulders, folding his wings tighter against his back. "Only Guillermo, and only because he's one of Sanchez' spies in this Barrio. Look around you, mi amor. We're sitting on the side of the main street, the only one wide enough for vehicles. Sure, the food is seasoned with dust, but that's not what we're here for, aye?"
Oraka gave Jhon a plaintive scoff when Guillermo slid a bowl of this disgusting sludge her way, the spiraling shells of desert snails breaking through the tan surface of whatever the hell this was.
"Gracias," she murmured, swirling her spoon through the house specialty.
"De nada," Guillermo said, turning off the stove and sliding a stool over to sit between her and Jhon, hands clasped on the counter. His nervous gaze darted from one dragon to the other, his ears standing upright at every yell, shout, and distant gun shot. "Jhon told me you wish to work under Don Sanchez' employ."
Jhon knew too much for her liking. Though he tried to disarm her with a smug smirk, Oraka saw past that shallow layer of pretense.
"Actually, no. I'm just visiting. It was nice to meet you, Guillermo."
And with that, she got up, wrapped her brown leather coat tighter around her frame, and left those whispering sods to their own devices. It didn't take long for Jhon to pull her into a narrow alley and give her a hard, disappointed look.
"I thought I knew you better than this."
Oraka swatted his hand off her shoulder. "Curious. I don't know this reckless asshole sitting in front of me at all. What in the bloody hell are you getting yourself into, Jhon?"
"I'm...actually helping you get yourself into a possibly suicidal and nonsensical mission which I heavily disagree with while being completely aware of the fact that you are going to do it anyway, with or without my help. Therefore, it is to our mutual advantage that I provide all the aid I can offer."
"Mutual advantage? Mut--" Oraka cut off her train of thought, a thin, silent growl replacing her words. "There is nothing mutual about us, Jhon. We fought for the brown coats. We fucked while we were brown coats, and now that we are..."
Fuck. What were they again? Rebels? Outlaws? Certainly not upstanding citizens. In the end, it didn't even matter.
"Now that we are here, we both do what we must. Comprende?"
She jabbed a finger into the laughing dragon's chest. Though she snarled and growled in the face of his defiance, his laughter overpowered her frustration. Malparido.... Don Sanchez, as well as several other independent entrepreneurs had a bounty put on his head. She had expected him to be discrete, silent, the ghost of a past that still gave the traffickers nightmares. Sharing her name with a cook and laughing his guts out directly clashed with the little common sense Oraka had hoped Jhon still possessed.
"I can't be like you, Oraka," Jhon said, cupping her finger in his warm, padded hand. "I tried letting go, and to a certain degree, I have succeeded, but I can't simply put everything behind me. You, the war--they are all I've known... all I have left..."
Oraka swallowed back the dread clogging her throat. It had been two years. Two empty, unfulfilling, but nevertheless good years, knowing that Jhon kept a low profile.
I shouldn't have asked him for help. I should have never done that. What the fuck did I expect to happen?
For him to move on and stop caring about her, just like Oraka herself did. She had almost succeeded, too, before the asshole destroyed her progress, his mere presence filling her with that too familiar pang of fear that she had desperately tried to cage in a dark, forgotten corner of her mind.
His hand alighted on her cheek, the padded tips of his fingers fondling the base of her ear fin, amber eyes bearing into her glazed, unfocused ones.
"I have a bounty on me. You crawl into the buffalo's den. If we are to die, let us at least die after we take down a couple of independent entrepreneurs. That gordo malparido Don Sanchez recently bought a dragon from Navegante. I don't have to tell you about him."
He didn't. Navegante was next on Oraka's list, a lion with the heart of a shrew whose notion of success was to lock himself in his fortified space station and wait out the war. His strategy worked, but Oraka's weapon of choice these days was deceit rather than missiles, and her portfolio of smuggling missions made her a prime candidate for interdependent entrepreneurs. They couldn't trust their sicarios for fear of betrayal, should they get caught, but a third party who asked no questions and who hadn't been caught once in her numerous smuggling trips? That was too ripe an offer to resist.
Plus, the dragon now interested her more than Jhon's involvement into all of this. She fished out a cigar from a pocket, lighted its head with a wisp of flame, leaned against the scabbed wall of a hut and motioned to Jhon to do the same.
"Tell me more about the dragon. Color, magic, size--everything that you have on him."
"Oh, so now that another male appears into the scenery, I'm suddenly disposable?"
Oraka blew a cloud of smoke in Jhon's face. "You didn't tell me he is a male, so don't flatter yourself, lover."
That got Jhon all flustered. He cocked his head, threw Oraka an offhanded smile, scoffed, and then took a deep breath as he mentally prepared himself for the heavy task ahead. Letting her in on this information meant sealing the invisible contract between them. Oraka would go after Don Sanchez, and he was powerless to convince her otherwise.
"Hrelmalkian Pronghorn, bronze colored, with--"
"Pronghorn?" Oraka tried to force back her giggle, but her amusement ultimately bested her. "He's a dragon, not a fucking antelope."
Jhon quirked an eye ridge. "Digame, por favor. Have you been to the Hrelmalkian system? Neither have I, but they are right in the heart of the Intergalactic Alliance territory and they have as many dragons as Cali37 has antelopes, which isn't many, but still a damn impressive number. Don Sanchez had two of them shipped over, but only this specimen survived the trip, which from my knowledge, went pretty fucking bad, so let's not joke about his species name, not while he's in the hands of Don Sanchez."
"Sorry," Oraka waved her cigar. "Carry on."
While Jhon painted a vivid picture of the feral dragon in her mind, she focused on Jhon's features. Most of him still looked like the young, ambitious and idealistic dragon she had met more than two decades ago, his slim features accentuated by the hard, prominent lines of his jaw and face. He had a gaunt, wedge shaped head, adorned with symmetrical sets of spikes protruding from the back of his jaw, fanning outward in all their ivory glory. The middle spikes were the longest, while the ones that flanked them grew smaller towards the extremities, where they acquired a stubby and downright cute look. Unlike her, he boasted three sets of horns that crowned his head, straight and beautiful, the middle ones twining with the top, longer horns. Spines of a similar ivory color embellished his otherwise bland back, fading towards the base of his simple, tapered tail. Though he boasted no frills, his expressive eye ridges and warm, tawny eyes had the habit of drawing Oraka in with their contrast amidst the sea of black that his scales resembled.
His feet were his one distinguishing feature, akin to a cat's, equipped with similarly cushy and silent pads. The soft, warm tissue also lined the underside of his palm, making his caress much more pleasant and meaningful compared to the rough scales of her hands. Oh, and his skill with those fingers! Oraka's blood heated at the memory of his fingertips crawling along her crevice, coaxing her into a relationship she loved and regretted at the same time.
"Oh, and his name is Krahl'Ghralshlehs, but everybody calls him Kral or Kralgar for obvious reasons."
"Wonderful." Oraka tossed her cigar into a gutter and nodded to Jhon. "Let's go back to Guillermo and pick his brain on how we can get into Don Sanchez' employ."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Jhon interrupted, stepping into Oraka's way. "Why the sudden enthusiasm? It's just a dragon," he said with a wink.
He had that right. Oraka had always been fascinated by feral dragons. She never had the pleasure to spot one in the flesh, but part of the reason she fought along the brown coats had to do with their stringent laws on animal exports. If they would have won, dragons like Kralgar remained on their planet to mate and form families on their own. But since the brown coats lost, traficantes como ese malparido Don Sanchez used their influence to seize anything they desired.
No longer. First, Oraka intended to steal his dragon. Then, she would sow discord among his ranks, after which Don Sanchez' life was forfeit.
And what about Jhon's life? Fear tainted her thoughts. One slip, one reckless decision, and he'll be lost to you forever.
Oraka paid no heed to her emotions, steeling herself behind an impassive façade that Jhon knew far too well. Strange, how they both needed a mere glance to understand each other's thoughts, but failed to keep their relationship intact. Oraka feared that her crusade might endanger Jhon, while Jhon...hell, who knew what Jhon feared?
They both returned to Guillermo, who made himself much more useful to their cause than Oraka had expected. After failing to tame the dragon, Don Sanchez now sought to attenuate the cost of his investment by selling him off to the highest bidder, and not just any bidder.
"You have to be kidding me," Oraka said, curling her tail around a leg to keep herself from flying off to assassinate that gonorrhea hijo de puta after she heard that last tidbit of information.
"I wish I was, Oraka, but this is Cali37. Is a market for everything, yes?"
Guillermo and Jhon shared a look, after which the black dragon passed him a fake ID card. "You've done well. Get yourself out of here, as we agreed."
Obvious relief washed over the coyote's face, eyes gleaming with genuine happiness. "Gracias patrón. Estos sicarios...están locos hermano! Is only a matter of time before Don Sanchez starts culling everybody from las comunas. Already thinks brown cloaks are encroaching on his moon."
It made Oraka smile to hear that the name of the rebels still sowed fear into the hearts of those assholes. With Guillermo headed back into his shack to arrange his departure, Oraka grabbed Jhon's wrist and dragged him back into that shady nook from before.
"A multipass. You gave a scrawny scavenger a multipass!"
Jhon's nonchalant shrug made her wish to slap the insolence out of him. "It took some serious digging to come across that bit of information. Laugh it all you want, but you arrived on Cali37 yesterday, while I've been here for over a year."
That was it. Oraka slammed her knee into Jhon's crotch, fuming from his blatant deceit. "That is for assuming that you can lie your way out of every situation, escamoso maricón!"
Jhon's eyes crossed in his head, muffled whimpers wriggling their way past his gritted teeth as he slowly crumpled to the ground, his wings a shivering mess. His balls might have been internal, but a blow to his genital slit still hurt enough to take his breath away. The nerve! To accidentally say the truth in such carefree way!
Oraka prepared to administer another kick to his pride, but Jhon stretched forth a hand to stop her. "Fine, ffffine, fffuck this hurts," he said through slow, strained breaths. "How long...did I say...I've been here?"
"One month."
"Shit. Bad lie. Tragic, in fact."
"Your death will be equally tragic if you don't grow the hell up. I don't want to have this on my conscience, Jhon. I don't want you to die while setting up the most ridiculous and convoluted plan in the history of the brown coats."
Jhon looked at her from the corner of an eye, a smug smile coloring his still wrinkled muzzle. "That's why it works, because it's so unexpected."
The dots began to connect in Oraka's head, the big picture finally presenting itself to her. Jhon chose Don Sanchez as his target due to his recent import of a feral dragon. Afterwards, he prepared the ground for Oraka's appearance, a vital key in his puzzle, as he needed an anthro dragon female for his plan to work.
It took all of Oraka's self-control not to laugh during Jhon's explanations. Sure, at its core, her mission involved smuggling, but she didn't expect to attend a private erotic auction, nor wear a dress for such an aristocratic traficante gathering.
"You gotta be fucking kidding me," Oraka said, crossing her arms under her voluptuous breasts. "Me in a dress? ME?!"
"Pues, aún eres una mujer, no?" Jhon teased with his pristine and quite alluring Spanish. "I have a safe house marked for us, but I expect you to be followed, so we'll meet in an alley that I know it's safe. I shall wait you with your trusty brown coat, don't worry. Just make sure that you get Don Sanchez's contract on this mission. The moment that happens, we have him by the balls."
Oraka flicked her hand dissmisively. "Or maybe he rams a carrot in both of our arses. Works both ways, amigo."
Jhon shook his head, flashing his infuriating grin. "Nah. I've been spying on him for a long while now, and you're a better pilot than he deserves. Trust me on this, Oraka. It'll work."
*****
The plan was simple. Bid a ridiculous amount, obtain a private interview with Don Sanchez, agree to smuggle whatever he wanted smuggled, wherever he wanted it smuggled, in exchange for the dragon and, more importantly, his friendship. Don Sanchez had the bad habit of keeping his allies close and stranger the closest, believing that money could buy everything. And, if worst came to worst and Oraka got caught, she wouldn't give the police more than they already knew, for Don Sanchez kept his lips tightly sealed on delicate matters.
Without her concealed guns and gadgets, Oraka felt naked while walking through the densely-packed streets of Cali, the capital of Cali37. Her attire, blessedly, consisted of only an indigo gown to bring out the azure nuance of her scales, without any shoes to hinder her movement more than the lace cake already did. The gemstones of her several wrist bracelets shone a radiant vermilion in the waning light of late noon, and the diamond inlaid ebonstone tiara she had worked around her horns and frills gave her a more regal appearance than she deserved. Numerous bystanders paused to gape and whistle at her, the gentleman clad in fine suits, their ladies wearing similarly lavish clothing.
Fucking traficantes...indulging in the wealth of their illegal activities while the outskirts of their moon slowly got buried under the sands of time. Tall buildings breached the clouds, their broad windows made of Chameleon glass, tougher than steel, with its opacity adjustable depending on the viewer's liking. Lines of trees colored the sidewalk, the fruits piled at their roots providing free refreshments for everybody. The wide streets were also separated by a continuous line of fountains depicting dragons and other mythical creatures.
It surprised Oraka that, of all the places Don Sanchez could choose for his auction, he settled for a big tent erected in the middle of his courtyard. Two of his henchmen, a brown and a black bull, escorted Oraka to her seat in the makeshift amphitheater. Where a dais should have been, there was naught but a dirt pit with a mare tied to a wooden beam. At first, Oraka assumed that the animal fulfilled the role of prey for a gory spectacle, but the skimpy outfits of the other women settling themselves into their seats reminded her of the real purpose of that horse.
To mate with a dragon.
Oraka took a deep breath, drumming her claws on the velvety cushions of her armrests. The mare simply stared ahead, black tail flicking impassively over her grey rump splotched with widening patches of a fine black. Her femininity bore a rich pink color, chosen to create contrast with her coloring and stand out for the audience. After all, Don Sanchez had but one focus for his show: gloat about the mating prowess of his dragon in the hopes that one of the perverts in the audience bid with their dick or pussy instead of their mind. Sex sold better than drugs, and a well-endowed sapient dragon with an exotic looking member was certainly going to stir interest among the richest people on Cali37.
The whole crowd hushed to dim whispers when several armed sicarios took the stage, occupying the corners of the dais--or pen, as it should be called. It unnerved Oraka, to see so many guns while she wore naught but a gown, her combat instincts honed throughout a two decades long war urging her hands to reach behind, above her tail, for a pistol that wasn't there.
With his guards in place, Don Sanchez took the stage, radiant as ever. He wore a flamboyant white tux that barely encompassed his massive form buttoned with golden dragons and cuffed with flame-shaped lace. A massive platinum necklace dangled from his neck, weighed down by the dragon who swallowed a moon, the sigil of his trafficking empire. On his gently curved horns rode fierce, roaring silver dragons and, like every other gentleman, he made sure to put a top hat on his oversized head and a monocle over an eye.
Fancy maricon....
"Friends, acquaintances, perverts from nearby and unknown solar systems, be welcomed to my humble auction."
Don Sanchez raised his arms to the cheers and applauses of the crowd to stifle their budding enthusiasm.
"Some of you have traveled a long way to make it to this event, so I'll cut the bullshit and get straight to the point. Quién de ustedes caballeros y señoras quiere aparearse con un maldito dragón?"
His rich, smooth, captivating voice had almost half of the audience shout their desires for all to hear. Those who didn't respond with a simple yes detailed the things they would do with the dragon, ranging from vanilla sex to sucking him off to putting the proud creature in bondage. Oraka clenched her jaws as more and more perversions flooded her ears, trying her best to restrain herself. Gordos, feos malparidos....
"Pero eso no es todo," Don Sanchez' voice boomed through the amphitheater. "Kralgar, my dragon, hasn't mated before. He hasn't yet tasted pleasure which, as you all know, is more addictive than my finest cocaine to the mind of a young, easily excitable male. This leaves you free to teach him cualquier perversión que usted quiera," he said with a slow, measured tone, emphasizing each Spanish word to increase the sexual tension of his crowd.
"So, what does this mean?" Don Sanchez pointed his finger at a tigress with resplendent orange fur, the fluff of her cheeks so finely combed it gave her a rather cute appearance. "Arriba, arriba, so that we all see you. Now, señorita gatita, qué es lo que le encanta a usted?"
The tigress' jittery eyes darted around for a moment, her hands kneading at her purse. "I'd like him to lick my pussy."
The crowd chuckled, while Sanchez grinned. "Simple desires are often the most meaningful ones, but let's get a little creative. If you owned a dragon, senorita, how would you make him yours?"
Previously loud voices dimmed to feeble hushes in anticipation of her response. The tigress licked her muzzle, desire sparkling within her flaming eyes.
"I'd strap a leather collar on him, engraved with his name and the name of his mistress. I would guide him over my body with the leash, have him suckle my toes until I climax from the sheer pleasure of that tongue, and then have him tongue fuck me while I jerk him off with my paws."
Several whistles and cheers floated through the amphitheater, dwarfed by Don Sanchez' furious applause.
"That, senorita, almost got me hard while thinking of it."
The audience erupted in raucous laughter, after which Don Sanchez got several more people pour out their heart's desires. A wimpy jackal wanted to worship the dragon's anus. Two married wolves wished to invite the dragon into their relationship and fuck him in every possible way. Other dragonesses wanted him to ravage their pussies and arse, while a seemingly innocent otter wanted naught but to fuck the dragon's dick by thrusting himself against his spire.
"What about you, miss?"
Oraka froze. Don Sanchez' stark, mahogany eyes bore into hers, his waving hand forcing her up. "I--I want him to be my mate."
Certain people in the audience boo-ed her for her simple and uninteresting desire, but Don Sanchez merely nodded.
"Excellent. We have many enthusiastic people here, and before I introduce the dragon and let him demonstrate unequivocal proof of his virility, let me assure you of one thing. Esto puto dragon is going to lick every ass, eat out every pussy, fuck every part of your body, or let every available hole of his get filled by everything you desire. All you require is creativity, and the dragon will bow down before your genius. Pues, vamos a empezar!
People began to shift and fret in their seats as Don Sanchez whistled to one of his sicarios to bring Kralgar over. Gasps, murmurs, even moans flared to life. Hands pointed and waved at the dragon as he made his appearance, face clad in a bridle that was fashioned for horses, not proud creatures like him.
Don Sanchez patted the pebbly, bronze scales of his neck, seizing the bridle and jerking his head towards the audience.
"See them? One of those fine people is going to be your future master. Show a little enthusiasm, eh?"
The dragon flexed his wings, sharing an uncertain glance with Don Sanchez, his forest green eyes swimming under a layer of fear and confusion.
To calm him down, Don Sanchez stroked one of his ear frills, insisting on the white streaked edges of the smooth, leathery membrane. Still, the dragon didn't relent. His ears remain pinned along the back of his skull, paws shifting.
"Ah, he's shy. Perdonalo, senores y senoras. It might take a couple of days for him to adjust to his new reality, but rest assured that the buyer will get his tongue, cock, wings, the whole package, to do with him as you please."
His piece delivered, Don Sanchez kissed the dragon's cheek, slapped the side of his neck, and said, "At least you know what cunt is and what's it for, eh?"
The whole crowd hushed to an eerie silence as Don Sanchez let go of Kralgar's bridle, leaving him to his own devices. The dragon fluttered his wings, tossed his head back, growled and hissed and paced around like a caged animal, unwilling--uncertain--whether he should follow his master's bidding. Don Sanchez settled in a corner, signaling to one of his sicarios to bring him something.
A whip?
Smoldering growl ignited in Oraka's throat as Don Sanchez hefted the whip playfully, making sure to give Kralgar glimpses of what awaited him if he didn't get to it fast. Of course, it wouldn't do any good to whip a dragon. Their scales would simply absorb the sting of the impact.
The message the whip conveyed, on the other hand, was a matter only Kralgar understood, and it must have been terrible enough to force the dragon closer to the trained, well-behaved mare. She gave off an inquisitive whinny as his snout alighted on the pink flesh of her generous folds, nostrils twitching and flaring to absorb that delightful, feminine fragrance.
"Hrrrrrrrr," came his rumbling, lustful growl, like a brewing storm waiting to be unleashed. His tongue dabbed at her folds, keeping to her lips for the time being, stroking that pink, vulnerable flesh. Having found her taste appealing, Kralgar snaked his tongue into the mare, bucking his snout into her cunt as primal instinct took hold of his senses.
Oraka had never seen a dragon grow erect as fast as Kralgar did. One moment, there was only the bronze tinge of his scales. The next, a pole of crimson flesh dangled awkwardly between his hind legs, bobbing in unison with his frenzied heartbeats.
Wet, lewd, slurping sounds filtered through the uneasy air, eliciting moans from the females and groans from certain males. More than one spectator reached into their pants or under their dress to treat themselves to a sample of what Kralgar could offer them.
More of Kralgar's meat spilled from the sanctuary nestled between his legs, his tapered tip already leaking gooey strings of precum, the bumps lining the underside of his member already taut with purpose, the noticeable ridges furrowing the thickening base of his shaft swollen to their refuse.
And then, the mare winked, right into Kralgar's face. It was a curt, sudden motion that took Kralgar's naïve mind by surprise. He jerked his head back, his eyes absorbed by the involuntary twitches of the mare's cunt. She stomped a foreleg once, twice, swishing, and then lifting her tail high in the air to make her intentions to Kralgar known.
Oraka's blood simmered. Claws curled inwards, grabbing fistfuls of smooth silk, crumpling it in her fists. She coiled her tail around the leg of her seat, the grip of her muscular appendage growing ever stronger in her failed attempts to distract herself from the heated dampness traversing through her canal and finally kissing her lips.
Fuck! To make matters worse, she refused to strap underwear over her genitals. It hindered her movement and made her lips raw. Her lack of insight, however, now threatened to make her look like a damned fool, should her body rebel against her.
For the time being, Oraka remained glued to her seat, painfully aware of the dampness seeping into the inner layers of her dress. She could have averted her gaze, or better yet, close her eyes, but something held her back, spark--no, a flame of perverted fascination with feral dragons that had only grown more potent with time.
Oraka covered her muzzle with a hand to muffle her sudden moan when Kralgar hoisted himself onto his hind legs, impaling the mare in one whole, sudden thrust. Oraka's toes drew thin scratches along the wooden floor as they curled, and her folds rippled with the same quaking intensity that wracked the mare's pussy. As if by its own accord, her body leaned forward, neck craned to absorb the vigorous thrusts of a virgin dragon desperate to pump his overly sensitive erection into the first pussy big enough to fit him.
With morbid curiosity, Oraka absorbed every detail of how Kralgar took his first female. She heard not her whinnies, growing louder and more desperate by the second. She saw not her grey, muscular body blotched with dark patches. All she had eyes for, all she focused on, were Kralgar's jerky, erratic thrusts that spread the mare's smooth, pink pussy to its limits.
The dragon had his chest pressed upon her back, forepaws clenched around her to hold his female still while he moaned and whimpered his guts out. His wings flapped every now and then for balance, and his hind paws scampered through the sand for leverage, searching for the best position that could add extra might to his strokes.
He didn't just mate her. Kralgar practically lanced through her folds, stabbing the mare's tunnel in the most thorough and erotic fashion possible. Whereas Jhon had taken things slow with her in the past, inserting himself one ridge at a time in Oraka, Kralgar had no regards for foreplay. He sunk entire sets of ridges into the mare in deep, pounding strokes, causing the mare to wobble from the sheer strength put into the desperate pounding of a virgin dragon whose sole desire was to cum.
When the moment finally came, Oraka's breath hitched. Her chest tightened, her heart fluttered within her chest, and her gaze clouded from the shroud of pleasure veiling her senses. Shudders traversed through her muscles, forcing her pussy to clamp shut and relax as rivulets of scalding female cum wet her thighs.
Unlike her, Kralgar didn't keep silent. He trumpeted his orgasmic cry with all his might, dancing on his hind legs with swift, sudden steps as he sought to keep his body aligned with the mare's. Due to his tapered shaft, the quantity, strength and temperature of his spurts shocked the mare. Though his swollen ridges almost plugged the mare's cunt, a river of seed still exploded out of her cunt, the white goo drooling down her pink flesh and trickling onto the ground.
Kralgar remained inside her for several, tension-filled moments, holding onto her like a prized lover as he emptied his pent-up loneliness inside the only vagina given to him up to date. It didn't take him more than a few seconds to taper off inside his equine mate, yet to Oraka, the smoldering heat of her folds, along with the ubiquitous wetness, made it seem an eternity.
A gasp escaped her agape maw when Kralgar dismounted the mare, a wave of thick, fertile cum fleeing her pussy in the absence of his flesh. Dizzy from his first orgasm, the dragon reeled on his feet, eventually collapsing onto his side, tongue lolling past the side of his muzzle, panting from the toll of his first mating.
"He's got quite a lot of love in him, this scaly bastard," Don Sanchez said as he patted the dragon's haunch. "As the winner, you shall receive not only the dragon, but my own, personal guide on how to take advantage of his moods to your benefits. As you can see, keeping him pent-up can result in quite the....messy outcome."
The buffalo strolled over to the mare's folds, switching his whip over to his left hand so that he could dip his fingers into the pool of cum Kralgar had ejaculated into her pussy.
"This seed," Don Sanchez said, rubbing his fingers to show its viscosity and texture. "Has a great many benefits tied to it as well, which I shall tell you all about, provided you win. So, without further ado, let's hear just how much you want this wonderful specimen."
While the bidding ensued with a storm of offers, Don Sanchez' sicarios took Kralgar away, offering their patron a handkerchief to wipe the seed off his hands. Every now and then, Don Sanchez fiddled with the whip, emphasizing the control the owner would have over their new pet.
Oraka bided her time, flushed from the unwanted climax she involuntarily experienced. Her shame tainted her seat, a slimy patch that ceaselessly taunted her, reminding her of how miserable she's been these past few years without Jhon, without a living, breathing companion to touch her, stroke her, mate her.
But now....right now, she could have them both, if she played her cards right. Jhon had always wanted to be part of her crew, requests which she had stubbornly denied on pain of his wanted status. Still, if a brown coat could survive a year or longer on Cali37, one of the worst communities for a brown coat to find themselves amongst, then they could surely evade the unwanted attention of more ignorant moons and solar systems. After all, the war had ended more than a decade ago. Everybody--traficantes includes--moved on with their lives from it, more or less.
The dragon, too, had its uses. Magic sometimes trumped the most advanced of technologies. Together with Jhon, Oraka could help Kralgar hone his spellcasting abilities, maybe even teach him some new spells to help them in their smuggling missions.
"Five million Alliance credits," Oraka offered. Now that the bids began to die down, she had a real chance at sweeping the dragon from under Don Sanchez' leash and also earn his benevolence in the process.
The sicario who led the auction did the customary countdown, announced her as the winner much to the visible and rude chagrin of the other bidders, and escorted her out of the tent and into the grandiose mansion of Don Sanchez. For the first time in her life, Oraka felt grateful to have a squad of armed sicarios flanking her, given the public present at the auction.
Once they reached his chamber, the sicarios left Oraka in front of the door, backing away only a few feet from her.
"He's waiting for you, miss," a confident looking badger said to her.
No shit. She had hoped to visit the bathroom first, but that would rouse the suspicion of Don Sanchez' men and, by default, stoke Don Sanchez' paranoia. After all, assassinations always began with the proverbial bathroom visit.
And so, Oraka entered the buffalo's den, wet and flustered as she was. The extravagance of a traficante of Don Sanchez' status greeted her first. A chandelier shaped like a cloud with serpentine dragons bursting dangled from the painted ceiling, their colors and proportions realistic, their anatomy life-like. He also had a fountain in the middle of his chamber, numerous paintings and sculptures that outlined his obsession with dragons, along with furniture hewn from gold spotted wood, one of the rarest types of wood in this galaxy.
"Senorita Oraka." Don Sanchez rushed to meet her with a glass of rich, slightly opaque drink that oozed a pleasant, spicy fragrance that she politely grabbed. "Thank you for attending my auction. You wanted a mate, eh? Well, you certainly got one now."
Oraka sipped the aromatic nectar. It poured down her throat like sharp, delectable honey, enflaming her senses from its sting. "He is a lovely specimen, and males of my kind have the habit to disappoint, so I am trying new alternatives."
Don Sanchez perked his bushy eyebrows. "Ah, almost forgot." He went to his desk to grab the whip, proffering it to Oraka. "This is yours now. I didn't hit the beast once with it, as I am a lover of dragons, as one like you can witness, but the tragedy surrounding his supposed mate left Kralgar....difficult to control."
"Oh, I won't need a whip. I have my own means," Oraka said with the hint of a smile.
"I'm sure you do." Don Sanchez threw the whip on the ground, clasped his hands to his back and began inspecting his grand bookcase.
"I tried offering him every cunt in existence to relieve himself into, pero este galán malparido necesita amor, no solo sexo, and I am a businessman more than I am a lover of dragons. Seguramente entiendes mi situación, si?"
Oraka certainly did, and since he brought it up himself, she simply swallowed back the lump formed in her throat and joined him in caressing the spine of the books he owned, pretending to be enthralled by their titles.
"I surely do, which is why I propose a trade. Your dragon in exchange for my services."
Don Sanchez eyed her suspiciously at first. Then, he broke into a fit of bellowing, raspy laughter. "No cunt in the world is worth more than a dragon, miss."
"No, but my smuggling services can even the odds."
The buffalo's features turned stern in the blink of an eye. His muzzle scrunched, hand sliding towards his hip where a visible handgun lay holstered.
"A strong buffalo like you can kill me in a number of ways that do not require a gun. Are you certain you wish to go down that route?"
And so, Don Sanchez ran a hand through his short, slightly curly mane, throwing Oraka a sharp glare. "How much do you know about who I am and what I do, miss? Be straight, or be dead."
Oraka knew she treaded on thin ice. No creature in this world was more dangerous than a cornered traficante. Lucky for her, Jhon's intel, together with an intimate knowledge into Don Sanchez' character, evened the odds for her as she explained herself to him. She knew who he was, what he required, and that he hated questions.
Don Sanchez grunted at her proposal, inviting her to his desk to check her credentials. With the brown cloak part erased from her past for obvious reasons, Oraka appeared in the criminal database as one of the top-rated smugglers, and in the police database, she didn't appear at all.
Of course Don Sanchez couldn't help but grin. Whatever he wanted smuggled, it was of critical importance to him, and he must have waited a long while to get his hands on a smuggler fit for the job. He filled a second glass for Oraka, which he slid her way, signaling her to seat.
"Siéntese, por favor. For how long have you been on Cali37?"
"A month and six days," she lied. She arrived here yesterday, but even a smuggler of her expertise couldn't be expected to find so much on Don Sanchez without outside help.
"Aha...." Don Sanchez hurled the rest of his drink down his throat, then slammed a fist on the glass surface of his desk. "That's one month and six days during which my boys failed to find you."
Oraka swirled her brandy, inhaling its delightful fragrance. "I wouldn't fault them. They did their job, but I am more of a personal interaction kind of smuggler."
"An ingenious one too, or maybe a very reckless one. A mission that costs me a dragon in the flesh is not something that one should take lightly. Why, every top-rated smuggler denied my offer."
Naturally. One didn't simply climb up the criminal list by taking risky missions. Then again, Oraka had Jhon at her side, the head of the intel division for the brown coats."
Oraka drained the contents of her glass in one go, snarling through gritted teeth. "Consider it done."
"Are you sure?" Don Sanchez leaned forward, his bovine muzzle and horns adding to his menacing glare. "You don't even know what it is I wish delivered to me. You don't know where it's from, the distance, the risks, or what's in the package, nor will I supply this information to you. Comprende?"
"Claro que si, Don Sanchez. Esto es mi vida. Ninguna pregunta, éxito garantizado."
In response, Don Sanchez stretched his hand. As soon as Oraka shook it, his grip tightened to hold her in place.
"Róbalo, y te voy a enviar la cabeza de tu dragón como un regalito, sin importar el mugre agujero en el cual te escabulliste. After that, I will have you killed. Can be the next day, the next week, the next year, but one day, you will simply...poof out of existence."
Oraka held his gaze. Better yet, she placed her other hand on top of his, throwing him off guard with her smile. "Relajate, Don Sanchez. I like your establishment, especially your chandelier and sculptures. Wouldn't they make a fine addition to my ship?"
"Only if you take the whole ceiling as well."
With Don Sanchez in good disposition, the rest flowed easily. He gave Oraka a multipurpose bracelet containing all the known smuggling routes, police patrols, police influence in various systems, traficante influence in every known system, and lots of other handy knowledge acquired from his traficante buddies. Then, he requested that she brings the ship to his dock for a routine inspection and upgrades on the house. Finally, he made her memorize the galaxy, solar system, planet, city, contacts, and everything else related to the actual smuggling mission. After rehearsing it with him for the better part of an hour, Don Sanchez let go of Oraka with one final promise. Arrive one hour earlier tomorrow to his premises, and she would spend it together with her mate in whichever way she wished.
Because of that, Oraka couldn't help smiling on the way to the rendezvous point with Jhon. She barely noticed the change in scenery, the diminishing number of people, the brisker wind of late evening ruffling her dress. All she dreamed of were scenarios--possibilities--that she could spend with a living, breathing feral dragon, and some of these warmed up her blood and heated her folds.
"Took you long enough." Jhon mentioned, walking at her side like a veritable passerby, guiding her through labyrinthine alleys winding between tall and twice as wide factories. The mechanical whirring of engines died down in intensity when they reached the fringes of the comuna that housed most of these workers, stopping in a narrow, rectangular nook crammed between two abandoned houses.
Oraka glanced at the sand lichens growing on their cracked walls and their broken windows. "Charming place for a date, Jhon. I'm definitely in for restarting our relationship."
She half meant that, but Jhon had shrugged off hope a long time ago. From the duffel bag he carried, he pulled out Oraka's brown coat, waving it enticingly.
"Don't worry. I didn't forget the pants. Now you can rest easy."
"Good good. Now help me out of this dress before I tear it to shreds. Don Sanchez waits for me at eleven AM, and he promised to give us some upgrades on the house."
"More like tear your ship upside down in search of whatever his paranoid mind is looking for. Waaaaaaaaaait a minute. Us?" Jhon chuckled as he moved behind Oraka to help unzip her dress. "You have to tell me about your romantic relationship with your ship. I'm all ears, and we have nothing but time."
For the time being, Oraka remained silent, simply savoring the touch of Jhon's deft fingers upon her body. He took great care with every cuff and sleeve, helping Oraka out of this infernal piece of clothing with charming patience. She smiled wryly when Jhon purposefully evaded her breasts, as if afraid to touch them.
"I'll first pack this up, as I don't believe our buddy Don Sanchez has a sense of humor to accept a smuggler wearing a brown coat into his establishment."
"You'd be surprised. He's actually quite charming for a gonorrhea malparido," Oraka said to Jhon's sprawled wings. Without their cover, he would have taken a peek of her naked body which, for some reason, he actively avoided.
Blind fool.
Oraka wrestled the coat he tried to offer her out of his hands, grabbed his wrists, and gently guided him behind her now naked body, just like before. Jhon rested his chin on her shoulder, massaging her slender but muscular arms, sighing.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Oraka. I haven't mated at all since...well, since our last mating."
Oraka burst into laughter, nuzzling his cheek between her fits of giggling. "You're....fucking with me. Please tell me you are."
Jhon licked the tip of her snout, shaking his head. "I mate my paw. I mate my toys, but I can't bring myself to mate others. Pathetic, I know, but some of us have a harder time letting go, and I...I probably never will."
Oraka turned to face him, maintaining eye contact while guiding his hands over her breasts. Jhon squeezed her mounds in his firm grip, grapping her erect nipples between thumb and index, applying soft pressure that got a shuddering moan out of Oraka.
"What happened there?" Jhon inquired, nipping and licking along her neck, working a breast with one hand while the other slithered between her legs. A surprised growl escaped Jhon when he found her flesh moist and a tad warmer than the rest of her body.
"Just the usual," Oraka said, her voice shuddering from the blissful sensation of those smooth pads sliding along her sensitive lips. Her hand slipped on top of Jhon's, pushing him through her tight walls and into herself. "He had his virgin dragon fuck a mare, held a bid, I joined him in his office, and then I memorized the destination of our smuggling mission. We pick up whatever they give us, fly back, voila."
Jhon's snout teased her crest frill, his sensuous tongue treating it to slow, affectionate licks. "It's kinda creepy to talk of your ship like that, but what am I if not a tolerant individual?"
"You silly scalehead. I'm talking about you. Unless you are fine with being a lone wolf and mating your paw and toys."
Jhon pulled his head back, blinking back his surprise as her meaning finally settled into that thick skull of his. "Oh...oooooh," Jhon moaned, and not because Oraka licked the length of his jaw. "So you want not only to mate with me after god knows how long, but wish to join forces with me? As in, be together again?"
Oraka grinned. Warm shudders rattled her bones and shook the very core of her being, her heat swelling like a desert bloom at the mere sound of that word.
Together....together...no longer alone, but together with him.
She couldn't look him in the eyes; not without crying. So, Oraka kept nibbling and licking the pebbly scales of his neck while working on his pants.
"Stop. That's not how you unbutton the pants of a fully erect male. Also, claws near my malehood are a huge no, but you are a returning customer so I forgive you for this slight."
Oraka giggled, watching Jhon free his shaft from his jeans with growing interest. The fact that the meaty ridges lining the base of his member swelled to their maximum width pleased her greatly, as well as his bulged, spaded tip. Nothing said 'I missed you' to a female more than a fully erect cock.
While Jhon slipped free of his pants, Oraka fished a beach towel out of his duffel bag, the very same one they had used the last time.
"No fucking way..." she murmured, more to herself than Jhon. Butterflies swarmed her stomach at the sight of those two happy ducks running through a grassy field. She hated this towel, which is why Jhon had always carried it around.
Even after she left him...
"What can I say? I am one to preserve tradition."
Oraka didn't trust herself with words. Not in her state, where she felt light-headed, almost drunk from the onrush of emotions a single word, and a single towel, brought to her. Instead, she laid down on her back, spreading her legs for Jhon's delight, licking her muzzle in anticipation of long forgotten kisses.
Jhon set himself beside her, cradling her breasts in each hand, nuzzling, then licking at her snout. "I apologize in advance if I finish too fast, but know that I am perfectly willing to--"
Oraka blocked his muzzle with her own, putting an end to his words with the help of a passionate kiss. With their tongues engaged in their erotic dance, Oraka slipped on top of Jhon, aligning her folds with his shaft, then receiving all that he offered inside of her.
A feral, whimpering growl burst from Jhon's maw, his eyes scrunching from the too intense pleasure of being trapped inside a wet female down to his last ridge.
"It...it feels much better than I remember..."
"Only because you haven't mated in years."
Oraka began to undulate her hips, pushing herself against Jhon's shaft, then pulling herself up to his spaded tip before forcing him to sink back into her slippery, trembling confines. To keep things romantic, her fingers unbuttoned Jhon's jacket and shirt, scratching at the layer of scales lying underneath. Her tongue traversed the top of his scrunched muzzle, jaws playfully encompassing one of his horns.
On his end, Jhon was being anything but romantic. He let go of her breasts to hug her instead, and all for the sole purpose of thrusting himself inside of her deeper, faster, more desperately.
"Take...take it slower..." Oraka whined, her voice distorted by the pleasure fettering her senses. "You're going to cum too fast."
"I'm...I'm already there, Oraka!" Jhon half-growled, half-roared. With one final shove of his hips, he hilted himself into Oraka slit to slit. His spade and ridges flared to their limits shortly before her lover erupted inside of her with the might of a volcano. The first few spurts splashed so hard against Oraka's walls that her orgasm hit her in full force, making her collapse on top of him in the least romantic and dignified of manners.
Caught in the throes of overwhelming pleasure, they both hugged each other, wings flared, toes fanned out, muzzles furrowed in carnal delight. Just like in Jhon's case, it had been too long since Oraka felt the warm, comforting seed of another blanket her inner walls. Too long since she shared the embrace of another, and far too long since she made love to the one being she never wished to be parted from again.
If only she could bring herself to say this...Saying it would make their relationship true, which is why Oraka closed her eyes, surrendering to the dizzying feeling of her afterglow.
"I'm sorry for--"
"Shut the hell up before you spoil this moment further."
"But...isn't it already spoiled?"
"Not if you remain inside me and keep silent."
Oraka cracked an eye open. The first thing she noticed was Jhon's serene smile that oozed fulfillment. Though she wished to play hard to get for a while longer, Oraka's inner happiness got the best of her, her lips shifting into a witty smirk.
"That's one face I'd like to punch right now."
Jhon cocked his head. "Really? Because yours is a face I want to kiss until morning."
Oraka trailed her tongue up the length of Jhon's muzzle before arching her back to force his shrunken cock out of her depths. Trickles of cum slithered down her thigh, pattering onto the towel. Jhon, gallant as always, reached for the duffle bag to bring out a tissue, which he used to wipe the surplus seed from Oraka's lips.
"This is so unlike you, my dearest. Not asking me to pull out, recruiting me into your crew, rescuing dragons from the pleasures of a mare's cunt..." While he spoke, Jhon caressed Oraka's crest frill, his smile widening as her purr grew brighter.
"Somos banditos, Jhon," Oraka snarled in his face. "We won't live long lives. Besides, I would rather keep you close and in check before you do something stupid, like staying on Cali37 for more than a year. Mentiroso malparido...."
Jhon shrugged, shifting his attention to one of her nipples, twirling his tongue around the isle of pale flesh. "The only part I got out of that is more sex in the near future for me."
Oraka punched his shoulder, snapping her jaws at him. "Keep up this childish attitude, and it's my kicking foot that has sex with you."
"But that's part of my charm!"
It was, but Oraka would die before she admitted her weakness for his jovial attitude.
** ***End of Chapter 1*****
End note: Why the spanish, you ask? Well, that's what usually happens after you watch too much Narcos. You pick a few things up XD And since I wrote this story shortly after watching season 2 of Narcos, I decided to give it some spanish vibes because reasons. Firefly did it as well, only they had chinese as their secondary, cussing language! If you are not familiar with these two TV series, I strongly recommend them to you.
Anyways, the adventures of Jhon and Oraka are just beginning. I am incredibly pleased with the groundwork I laid out for future installments in this first chapter. We reunited two estranged lovers, set up the rescuing of a cute feral dragon, and we are putting the first nails in the coffins of those pesky outlaw traficantes. There are going to be sequels, but since
Which parts did you like? What do you think of Oraka's motivations? Is there more to Jhon than it meets the eye?
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