# Year of the Black Dragons - Ch #3

Author: FBtH
Tags: Beau, Bondage, Dragon, Dragon Booster, M/solo, Machine, Male, milking, wyldfyr


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. 

Source: https://sofurry.com/view/992857