Year of the Black Dragons - Ch #3
Dragon Booster: Year of the Black DragonsIf you wish to see the full, visual designs of the dragons from Dragon Booster, Google is your buddy. ~ Disclaimer: I do NOT own Dragon Booster, its characters, locations or anything associated with it. Chapter #3 - A Wyld Rescue When Wyldfyr next awoke, he had been moved a flat slant-orientated surface to which he was cuffed at the ankle joints with metal bands. He was in a different room that was equipped with several industrial incinerators. The fiery light that poured from them spilled a daunting orange glow over a long file of raised and slanted platforms. The next one over on Wyldfyr's right side had a lanky Sonic-Class dragon locked to it. Its palish cock, sprung from its sheath, was bottled up inside a column of glass which belonged to a hanging machine that looked like a mechanical hive. A bunch of coiling tubes connected the machine to a great metal vat. The Sonic-Class dragon was drawing breath in wheezy gasps but its eyes were hidden beneath the visor of some helmet that looked like new, experimental racing headgear so Wyldfyr could not tell whether it was from pain or pleasure. The shade of a visor darkening his own vision drew Wyldfyr's attention to a helmet of his own, which sat hefty and cumbersome over his own head. It had an immediate, dizzying effect on his mind that made Wyldfyr feel strangely...needy. But he still retained full self-awareness so the helmet probably did not exert absolute control over his mind so much as guide his mood by amplifying specific areas of his brain. This was obviously no ordinary piece of racing gear. It had to be some variant of neural gear - a type of Black Draconium gear favoured for its psionic effects on both dragons and humans. The feeling of neediness gnawed at the Magma-Class dragon so badly that a cock that was as colourfully rich as a blood orange with a broad nib head sprouted out of his cream coloured sheath, poising out in the open. Above Wyldfyr's platform, a metal hive much like the one attending to his neighbor descended from high above. It arranged itself at an angle where it was pointing directly at his expelled cock. The instrument extended, each segment of its neck zooming forth with a whir, like a telescopic barrel. Then, from out the barrel protracted a long cylindrical shuttle of glass that cupped directly over Wyldfyr's crotch pouch. At first, it looked as if Wyldfyr's stocky cock would be too broad to fit into the narrow diameter of the shaft but the tube somehow squeezed over its target causing Wyldfyr to hiss at the uncomfortably tight fit. A head cap with a suction ring fitted onto the glass tube's rim dug into the supple creamy patch around Wyldfyr's pouch, locking the Magma Class dragon's glass-encased cock in an airtight seal. The instrument yanked into motion, the base of the glass shuttle dipping into the head cap. The inside of the shaft felt like it had been treated with some sort of special invisible coating - it was much more slippery than ordinary glass had any right to be, gliding up and down along Wyldfyr's cock without even the tiniest hint of friction. Against the infernal backdrop of leaping flames belching out from the roaring incinerators, Wyldfyr snaked and twisted in his restraints, making strangled gasps in the same vein as the Sonic-Class dragon next to him as they were both subjected to the same automated pumping process. The initial phase of the procedure was well underway so the machine upped the ante. It switched to a higher speed and the shuffling capsule gained momentum, zipping up and down Wyldfyr's cock like a bullet. With the Black neural gear triggering a constant chain of electrical impulses at his pleasure centre, the fireworks Wyldfyr was being overloaded with was making him giddy from the endless pops and bangs of pleasure. The machine ramped the speed up all the way to the fastest possible setting. The clinking glass skidded across Wyldfyr's cock at such a rate that it wore the special coating rapidly away. Through the pleasure, he could feel a faint streak of heat beginning to slowly build on the underside of his nib cockhead where it was scuffing the glass it was flattened up against. Wyldfyr's feathery ears flattened against the helmet and his sagging tail curled up right off the floor as he came in a gloppy explosion of sheer white that turned the inside glass opaque. The whitish tint that blotted out most of the capsule glowed with the vapourish scarlet light of Red Draconium. Smothered in a thick plastering of Wyldfyr's creamy dairy, the glass became slick and buttery, no longer chafing or burning Wyldfyr's cock. It was thicker and sloppier than the special coating but worked just as well at nullifying the friction. On top of that, a high-pitched whine stirred to life as the atmosphere inside the capsule shifted to a vacuum state. Wyldfyr's eyes all but bugged out of their sockets as his cock was caught in the full brunt of the drastic air pressure change. As the machine picked up steam once more, Wyldfyr let out a tapering sigh as his cock was pumped again by the device. It bulged, puffy and squashed inside its see-through prison where it was being violently sucked by the vortex of rushing, raging air. Before long, the device had Wyldfyr splattering the already dripping glass for a second time. It was all funneled up the capsule and into the vat via the bundle of tubes on top of the machine. The machine was finally winding down, allowing the dragon time for a breather, and Wyldfyr rested gratefully back against the platform.
"Kitt? Kitt, wake up." The pink-haired rider opened her eyes. She was back at Penn Stables and Artha was standing over her with a look of concern. "Ugh...what happened to me?" "We found you lying beneath an overpass," he told her. "You crashed during your race." Kitt groaned and raised a hand to her temple. She had a nasty headache. "That stupid pothole in the road..." "Kitt, where's Wyldfyr?" "What? He's not here? He was with me when we both fell together." "You were alone when we found you." Kitt sat bolt upright and at the same moment, Parm walked in. "Oh, Kitt, you're awake. Good timing. I just finished talking with the race organisers. They said that they did a full safety inspection of the course only the day before and there was nothing wrong with that stretch of track then." "Which means it was deliberately sabotaged," Artha guessed. "But that overpass isn't part of the official route. How did they know someone would use it?" "What if..." Kitt said, slowly. "What if, it was someone who studied my racing history and knew that I've taken that shortcut before and that I would probably use it again?" "So they were going after you?" "No...not me. They left me behind after the crash. It's Wyldfyr who's missing, not me - they were after him." She looked up at the others. "I have to find my partner." "I can get Cyrano to track down Wyldfyr by scent from some of his riding gear," Parm volunteered. "But it would be safer it we wait for the Security Council to put together a task force-" "That could take days!" Kitt argued. "Who knows what they could have done to Wyldfyr by then!" "I know! But I'm just saying, it would be recklessly dangerous for us to just charge in blindly when we have no idea who or what we're dealing with," Parm countered. "I know that Wyldfyr is your dragon- Kitt, wait!" he called, for the blue-headed girl was already back on her feet. "Fine. Then I'll go get Wyldfyr back without your help," she snapped. With that, she was out the door. Parm turned to Artha, who offered a resigned shrug, and sighed. "Well, nothing could possibly go wrong. So what are we waiting for?" Parm said, sarcastically.
By the time that Cyrano's lead eventually led them to the fringes of Down City, night had already fallen. It was hard to tell due to the eternal spell of grubby, gloomy darkness that swallowed everything close to the world's surface where the sunlight never reached. Cyrano brought them to a site that looked like a run-down ore refining facility that was sitting back to back with an expansive junkyard. "It's got the exact same Ultralocks that other place had," noted Parm.
"It's being used - I can see light inside," Artha added, pointing out something that looked like firelight through the high windowpanes. "Right...So, any suggestions on how we're getting in?" "I have a suggestion," declared Kitt. Boom! Ultralock or not, the door was still blown clean off its hinges once Beau barged it down, blazing with the golden colours of his true, released form. "Not what I had in mind," admitted Parm, as Cyrano stepped through the cleared doorway. "I was thinking of something more along the lines of stealth." "We don't have time for stealth," dismissed Kitt, who was riding with him on Cyrano in the absence of her own mount. The group trotted quietly down the passage and came out into a large hall. "What in the-?" The place was populated with dragons that had been strung up like they were being hung to dry. Below these dragons were lines of metal troughs that were collecting the juicy Draconium dribbling from between their legs. The group didn't have long to stomach the horror of the sight before them. Alarms went off, shrieking throughout the whole facility. The noise was answered by bloodthirsty howls in the distance that sent chills down their spines. "You guys go find Wyldfyr and get as many of them out of here as you can! Beau and I will draw them away!" Artha yelled over the chaos. He turned Beau around and they raced off toward where the howls had come from. Sure enough, they crossed paths with two Black dragons that snarled at the sight of the intruders. "This way!" Artha ushered Beau toward a round opening in the side of the wall, which they leapt through. Together they plummeted; turning and curving their way down what seemed like a very long and winding slide. The talons on Beau's toes left a screeching rocket trail of sparks as he kept all four feet glued to the ground like skis to steer them perilously down the sloping chute. Artha could hear more scraping from not far behind as the other dragons gave pursuit. They shot out the end of the pipe like a cork from a bottle before finally coming to a skidding halt. They had arrived in the junkyard. But that wasn't all. They had emerged right in front of two more waiting Black dragons. A third was perched atop a heap of scrap metal, nearby. They were all armoured in Black Draconium gear, ready for battle. The dragons giving chase flew out of the pipe with whooshes and landed behind them, blocking off their retreat. One of them charged right away, tanking Beau with a blundering crash that knocked Artha clean out of his saddle. The Black dragon clung to Beau and they wrestled one another until the latter was hit in the back with three Mag Cables fired by three of the other dragons. Beau's knees weakened as his energy drained out of him at thrice the regular rate. Commendably, he managed to stay on his feet but it was only a matter of moments before the strength in his legs was robbed, too. He tipped over sideways and was brought to the ground. "Beau!" Artha called out. He scrambled to his feet but there was a whack in the back of the head. The last thing he saw were the Black dragons closing in around Beau from every direction.