30 comments/ 64666 views/ 35 favorites Karna By: Colleen Thomas They came for her while the sun was still high. Proctor Vesle, Constable Varlet, and the town elders. She saw them coming long before they arrived and her sobbing mother begged her to run, but it wasn't in her nature. Someone would have to die today, and she couldn't allow this mantle to fall onto one of her friends. She made tea and had it poured and ready by the time the men arrived. She could smell the sweat, see the stains in their somber attire, and sense their fear and hate. It no longer bothered her. She knew very well she was signing her own death warrant when she refused the Proctor's advances at the Yule celebration. "Your time has come, Gwyneth, daughter of Chubo," he intoned. His pig eyes glittered in malevolent triumph. Proctor Vesle was not a man accustomed to being denied, and he was taking obvious pleasure in assuring himself that no man would have her, since he could not. Gwyneth almost laughed at him, but she merely watched impassively as Elder Teeg threw a thin white shift at her. Gwyneth's poor mother broke down into tears and her father turned his head. "Get on with it," the Proctor ordered. With a single, fluid motion Gwyneth whipped her father's blade from the table and closed on Vesle. Before he, or any of the others could move, the cold steel was pressed to his throat. "I am condemned and I accept my fate," she said quietly, "but I'll not be dishonored in such fashion. Leave me, and I will join you outside when I am ready." "You will not..." he began, but she drew the blade slightly, sending a rivulet of blood down his neck. "No. It is you who will not. I go to my death a virgin. I go because I refused you. If you really believe in the gods you so often quote, then try me. I am betting Mighty Haggor will not reach down and stay my hand. Nor will Sulika make your skin as armor." She could smell his fear and she knew, in that moment, she would triumph over his kind. Even if her triumph was only to save herself from their lecherous inspection. They filed out, then, heads down and faces averted. They were not ashamed to be sending her to her death but ashamed that a girl had cowed them. It was a triumph almost worth her life. They would never speak of it once she was gone, but in the long watches of the night, they would know she had won. And when their turn came to die, she hoped fervently the gods, whatever gods really existed, would take a terrible vengeance on them for their callousness and cowardice. "Run, my daughter. I beg of you," her father said once the door was closed. "Nay. You have long stood as they do, my father, and watched as other young girls were sacrificed. I cannot have the life of some other innocent on my head. Do not mourn me. I go to a far less gruesome fate than serving one of those vile men as brood mare, concubine and slave." "You know not what you say child. It is life and life is preferable to death," her mother sniffled. "Nay. It is life in death. I prefer death. No man shall beat me. Nor possess himself of my body. Nor grind my soul down with work and childbearing until I am little better than a beast." "Always you were different, my beloved," she said through her tears. She nodded, then stripped naked and donned the thin shift, leaving her clothes as her final gift to help her family. When she stepped outside, she could hear her mother wailing and her father trying to comfort her. He was a good man and cared for his wife, but a weak man, who could never find it in himself to stand up against the weight of the villager's beliefs. She followed the men down into the valley and up the slope of the sacrificial mountain. Half way up, the path opened into a small glade and there, three huge stakes were driven into the ground. She suffered herself to be bound to one. The men then departed in haste, glancing fearfully upwards again and again as the sun was now setting. Alone with her thoughts, Gwyneth waited for her doom. It was swift in coming. The wind picked up, the trees bent, the sky darkened and the dragon descended. Gwyneth watched with a combination of curiosity and fear. It was a magnificent beast. Fully three times as large as the village church, it towered above her. Its wings were small and reminded her of gossamer, so incongruously delicate were they. Its scales were silver, flecked with black, and blazed like a suit or armor in the waning sunlight. Claws as big as the watch rock and as sharp as a peregrine's beak decorated each massive paw. A long, seemingly prehensile tail swished back and forth as it approached her. The ground shook with each step and despite her resolve to die with dignity, she felt tears well in her eyes and fear clutch at her breast. It lowered its face to her, the maw filled with many sharp teeth. She could smell rotting meat on its breath and see pieces of decaying flesh between many of them. Yet its eyes caught and held her attention, dimming the horror with wonder. They were dark orbs, that seemed to dance with inner fires and occasionally, a halo of lightening surrounded them. It reminded her of a storm, venting its fury on this very peak. "You seem unimpressed," it hissed, amusement dancing in those strange eyes. Gwyneth was stunned. She had of course heard all the legends of talking dragons and such, but had always discounted them as fantasy. Dragons were wild beasts, and acted as other beasts, following their instincts. "You can talk?" "Of course, I can talk. Think you I am no different than an ox or dog?" it replied testily. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude," she said automatically. "Hmm, well, you are forgiven. I'm used to screaming and imploring the gods. I must admit, I'm a little taken aback by actual conversation." "No more than I," Gwyneth said, smiling shyly. "Are you not afraid?" the dragon asked archly. "No. I came here to die. I was a little frightened when you arrived, but after looking into your eyes, I cannot seem to find any fear, as strange as that may sound." The dragon chuckled. At least, she was pretty sure it was mirth. It was hard to tell when any expression exposed those murderous rows of teeth. "Few have looked into my eyes and not been paralyzed with fear. You are a strange human. Tell me, why do you not fear me? I could crush you, with ease," it said, brutally squashing a full grown tree, as if to prove its point. "I do not know. I should fear you, but I feel only curiosity. Perhaps I am simply reconciled to my fate," she said with as close to a shrug as she could muster within her bounds. "None may know their fate, child. And none is ever reconciled to it. Even the fated calf bleats and cries before the axe falls." "Perhaps, but the calf looks forward to warm days and sweet fields and thus has something to lose. I have only hell to look forward to, should I be spared. Death is preferable." The dragon snorted derisively. "Death is death. There is nothing in it. Neither joy nor pleasure nor hope. Only a fool greets death with anything other than bared fangs." "Perhaps it is so for dragons." "For all the peoples of the world, little one. Including you humans, who live so fast and die so quickly. Even more so for you, because you have but a little time in the best of circumstances." "If life eternal were an option, I would not take it. Not even if youth were granted with it." "You speak like a fool. Yet I don't think you are a fool. Tell me, what do you see that makes you talk of death as a nun does her secret lover?" As it spoke, the dragon dropped onto its belly and curled up, keeping its face to her. "I see pain. Dishonor. Abuse. A life bereft of good. I see only the loss of freedom. The loss of any chance for love. Servitude. Servitude to a man who will treat me as he wills, be it kind or cruel, it maters little. It's no life, but simply existence." "Then you observe with a veil over your sight child. The world is full of sound and beauty. There is good everywhere and pleasure to be had around every turn in the road. The life of a slave is terrible, but only one who is fit to be a slave can ever truly become a slave. You choose the path you follow. No man chooses it for you." "Perhaps that is true for dragons. It is not so for women." "Is it not?" the dragon said in amusement, "did you not make the choice that brought you here?" "I..." Gwyneth began, but she paused and cocked her head. "You did. And the truth of my words should become more apparent to you as you ruminate upon them." "Dragons are notorious liars," she observed. "Oh? I thought we couldn't talk?" "Just because I didn't believe you could talk doesn't mean I haven't listened to the legends." "And did you take pleasure in their telling?" "Yes. I loved to hear stories of dragons and maidens and knights when I was young," she said quietly. "You are still young. Among my kind the freshest hatchling is ancient compared to you. And your dark world apparently has some pleasures in it." "Had." "Bah. The pleasures are still there. It's only the jaundiced eye that refuses to see them." "What would a dragon know of my life?" she asked defiantly. "More than you might expect, Gwyneth, daughter of Chubo," the dragon said, laughing gently at her stunned expression. "How do you know my name?" "Does it matter?" "Yes!" The dragon chuckled again and relaxed. She found herself fascinated at the way its huge muscles could be seen beneath the shimmering skin and how it could project its mood so easily, when its expression was so inscrutable. "What do you see, when you look at me?" it asked, apparently avoiding the question. "I see...a dragon?" she replied uncertainly. "When I look at you, I see much more than your physical mien. I see a proud heart, one that refuses to be chained. And a dark mind, buried in dismal fears and doubt. If I look hard, I can see the child who loved to listen to stories of dragons, when she was too small to understand the world in which she lived wasn't always a happy place. I see a hopeless love, for a darkly sultry girl, who is now an old woman before her time, beaten down by childbirth and a drunken husband and a thousand other cares. And I see a growing horror of that fate, closing the shutters and blotting out the light." "You see all that?" she asked in wonder, not even bothering to deny the vision's clarity. "All that and more. Dragons do not see as humans do. We do not dread time, for it is to us no enemy." "So you can see a person's past?" "If I try. I can also see the person you are, rather than the façade you present. I can see your hopes, your dreams, your wildest fantasy. I can see your fears, and that which disgusts you. I can see, for example, Proctor Vesle, holding onto his engorged...manhood and demanding you satiate his lust. And I can see how you recoil, even now, at the memory of it." "You can see everything?" she asked in a small voice. The dragon smiled its toothy grin. "No, though I can see much. I can see, for example, that you fear I know the full story of why you rejected his advances and not the simple answer you tell to yourself." "Can we get this over with?" she asked, blushing furiously. "No. I'm rather enjoying this. It's been ages since I actually spoke to a human." "Can we at least change the subject then?" "If you wish," the dragon said with another toothy grin. Gwyneth shivered as a breeze began to blow. The sun had faded, and twilight was upon them. Stars were slowly becoming visible, as the last of the sunset had faded. "Are you cold?" the dragon asked. "A little. Funny isn't it? I never expected to see another sunset when I rose this morning, but when given the opportunity, I didn't even notice it." "Do you regret it?" "Yes. I do." The dragon rose heavily, and she paled when it reached out with a massive paw towards her. She closed her eyes and held her breath, but all she felt was a sudden tightening of her bonds. She heard a ripping noise and they loosened. When she opened her eyes, she was standing there, the ropes now in tatters at her feet. The dragon reached out, seized her gently in one massive paw and spread its wings. For all their delicacy, they raised a huge cloud of dust and trees bent almost double as they began to beat and slowly raised the creature's bulk from the ground. Gwyneth had the strange sensation of falling and kept her eyes tightly closed as the wind whipped past her. After a scant few moments, the Dragon settled into a glide, the wings no longer beating and the wind fell away. Much later, it settled to the ground and gently placed Gwyneth on her feet. It was only then she opened her eyes. It seemed impossible, but it was daylight again. She was standing in a mountain meadow, and the sun was sinking below the horizon. "How?" she stammered. "Does it matter? I've granted your wish. You may enjoy the sunset you regretted missing." Gwyneth didn't question the seeming miracle. She just demurely arranged her skirt as she sat and for the next hour, the two of them watched the sun set in utter silence. She was lost in her thoughts, reliving happy memories, and she never even noticed when the dragon laid down. Nor did she notice when she leaned back against it. Only when the sun was gone and the chill of the night crept back into her limbs, did she leave the happy world of memory. "You're cold again." the creature observed. "Yes. This shift provides little warmth." "I don't know. I suspect it provides observers with quite a bit," the dragon said with that toothy smile she had come to recognize. "If I didn't know I was to be your dinner, I might get the idea you were trying to flatter me," she said. "Does one preclude the other?" "I suppose not. You're a strange creature. You've chastised me for seeing only darkness, given me pause to consider what I was so afraid of, and given me a second chance to enjoy my last sunset. I should be afraid of you, but you have treated me far kinder than any human I have ever known." "Nay. It seems so only because your expectations were so grim. Your father has been much kinder. So too your mother. And your friends. You have been surrounded by kindness. You simply could not see it for the despair." Examining her fond memories, Gwyneth realized the dragon was right. She felt a pang of regret for her final words to her father and mother. For not saying thank you or telling them that she loved them. "I've sent that expression before. It's the same one all humans get when they are offered a view unfettered by time. It is followed immediately by a crushing knowledge that time has passed them by. And then by regrets. But I tell you little one, time is not the enemy. Nor has it passed you by. Nor will it. Only your earthbound perceptions cast it so." "What are you saying? That I can go back and change the past?" "Nay. Even for a dragon that is impossible, but you need not die with your regrets." Gwyneth looked curiously at her captor as he extended his paw and grasped her again. This time she did not close her eyes as they took to wing. All was dark below them, but as he gained altitude, the sun rose in the far west. She saw it briefly, but the dragon turned back east and soon darkness returned to the land. Gwyneth felt a rush of excitement, the chill of the wind, the warmth of the dragon's paw and the hardness of its scales. More than anything she felt alive. She experienced the wonder of flying and at some point in that flight, realized she was really feeling what it meant to be alive. With that realization, her determination to die withered. Yet she knew a sadness too, for she realized she would not be able to cheat death. Her captor was too powerful to be denied. Eventually, they began to descend. She wasn't sure how she knew, but the lazy spirals in which the dragon was gliding and its now still wings made her sure of that feeling. When it touched down, she saw lights in a house and only belatedly realized it was her own home. The dragon spoke then, so quietly she could barely hear. "Time, little one, still runs. Go now, to your parents and make amends. Carry not the regrets of having failed to say to them what you feel. I ask only that you promise to return to me, as quickly as you may." "I...I don't want to die anymore, but I will return." The dragon eyed her closely, then nodded and placed her on the ground. Gwyneth made her way to the front door and bit her lip. She waited moment longer and then walked in. Both of her parents looked up from their meager meal. The color drained from her father's face and her mother burst out into tears. "Be gone specter. Do not torment us more than we already are," her father shouted. "Chubo! Do not send her ghost away!" "Peace. I am neither specter nor ghost, but your own daughter," Gwyneth said. "How can this be?" he father asked suspiciously, while edging towards his sword. "I have been...granted a short reprieve. The dragon waits without. My time is so short and I must make the most of it. I'm sorry father, for my harsh words at our parting. Ever have you been good to me and ever have I refused to recognize it. I must go, but I would part, knowing that you know how much I love you and how much you have meant to me." Chubo seemed taken aback. As she watched, a tear formed in his dark eyes and his face slackened. Gwyneth felt his pain so keenly she rushed forward without thinking and threw her arms around his stout shoulders. He hugged her fiercely, but tenderly, as he had when she was a child. Both cried and her mother soon joined them. "I love you too, mother. So many times you were there for me and so often you understood me better than anyone." Her mother nodded and held her tightly as she sobbed. In time, all three mastered their emotions and an awkward silence descended. "I must go," she said ruefully. "Don't. I will defend you while you escape," he father said. "You have not seen he dragon, father. It's not that I do not believe in you, but it has powers beyond mortal ken. And I promised him I would return. I cannot refuse now, he has given me this time to set things right. Be well, remember me with a smile. I left here with darkest winter upon my breast, but even at this late hour, the spring has come." She hugged them both again and walked out, with no regrets. Her sorrow was only that she would not see them again and even that was joyful, as it was so much better than the stony indifference she had felt when she departed the last time. Outside, the dragon waited patiently. "Thank you, my friend. I am ready now," she said as she allowed herself to be picked up. They flew again, this time to the north, and when the exhilaration of flying gave way to exhaustion, she slept. Karna "What does that mean?" "Young dragons--well, relatively young, to you they would be very old indeed--have the great desires. It is they who kidnap princesses, crush knights, sack towns and generally make nuisances of themselves. Not unlike young humans, they have to find their way and that often includes some temper tantrums and fits of pique. Over time, they mature and the need to prove their potency to themselves diminishes. Like old humans, they get set in their ways and a nice long nap in the sunshine seems a much better way to spend a day than burning knights to a crisp or gobbling up maidens." "I don't mean to be rude, but I thought dragons were evil? Don't you...do things just to be bad?" The dragon laughed then, so deeply and completely that small flames shout out of his nostrils and smoke curled up. When he had mastered his mirth, he at last spoke. "We're no more evil than any other race. There are good and bad among us. The good can be very good. The bad...exceptionally so. But it's not our natures to be either. We only seem so evil because we have the power to wreak such havoc on you poor humans. I, myself, haven't done anything more evil than filch a sheep or two from an unsuspecting shepherd in many a long age." "Um, you did show up to eat me." "And if I did, I am taking my time about it, am I not?" "Speaking of which, just when do you plan on doing the deed?" He chuckled again, this time a more measured laughter. "Has it not occurred to you yet that I have no intention of devouring you? Do you usually spend time in conversation with your supper?" "But?" "I have no taste for human meat. I far prefer mutton or fish, when I'm not too lazy to go out to sea and scoop some up. That doesn't apply to all of my kind, and I'm sure some youngling is rather put out that I deprived him of a free meal. In fact, I know he is. I saw him skulking before we left." "So you don't?" "No, I do not usually haunt the Cris. You people have no couth, raising cows rather than sheep. I mean, why? All that beautiful pasture and not a fleecy morsel to be had." he said in mock outrage. She wasn't sure how she knew it was mock, except that she was coming to be able to read her host's face better and she was developing a picture of his sense of humor in context. "Then why did you show up?" He chuckled again. "Because a certain young black dragon was getting too big for his scales. I don't haunt the Cris, but neither will I have my access to its wide plains cut off at some youngling's prideful whim. And well he knew he had bitten off more than he could chew when I arrived. So you could say, your survival is an accident of fate. Or you could say, I took you from him, simply to assert my dominance. Or, you could say he actually saved your life, because he just had to issue a challenge." "You didn't appear to have been in a fight," Gwyneth offered. The dragon laughed again. It was derisive, but she had the odd feeling it wasn't derisive towards her. "He's young and dumb and in a mating mood, but he's not that great a fool. His father wouldn't dare face me in an open trial of combat. Perhaps, his great grandfather might, but Crylos is like me now, more interested in a sunny rock, some fresh mutton and a cool stream than getting his skin carved up to prove a point. Besides, most young males hold out hope one of us mature females will be in the mood someday and past transgressions might hurt their chances." "You're a female?!" "Of course," she said, glancing meaningfully between her hind legs, "you don't see any evidence to the contrary do you?" "I hadn't looked," she said with a small laugh of her own. "I don't know if I should be insulted or admire your manners," the dragon laughed. They were quiet for a time, before Gwyneth found the exact words she was looking for. "Is it...unusual for you to get in the mood?" "Indeed it is, and lucky for the rest of you. I've mated twice in the nine hundred years I've been an adult, and most of my own kind find me a bit of a strumpet for it. The younglings do so all the time, but once we mature, the desire comes upon us very rarely. I suspect that's the gods' way of keeping us from taking over." "I guess I should have known," Gwyneth said pensively. "Known what?" "That you're a female, too." "Why is that?" "I've never met a male who was so nice to me." "Men want something from you little one. Their nature is to take what they want. You are a very handsome creature." "Thank you. You're kind of impressive yourself," she admitted. "Some females will want something from you too, but they will use different methods to try and obtain it. It always comes down to what is in your nature." "And what do you want from me?" Gwyneth asked curiously. "The same thing males do, of course," she said with a big grin, but Gwyneth couldn't tell if she were speaking in jest or not. "Are you serious?" she asked when no further information seemed to be forthcoming. "Yes. I rule supreme in my domain, but I am like any other creature. I sometimes crave companionship and diversion. Even mutton and sunshine get old if they aren't shared." "I...I'm flattered. And I have to admit, I enjoy your company. But wouldn't you be better served with a female of your own kind?" "You obviously didn't pay much attention to your grandfather's tales little one. Even mated pairs remain together no longer than it takes to see the hatchlings arrive. Two dragons in the same local for any length of time is an invitation for a fight. We cannot stand the company of our own kind for very long. Why do you think we kidnap princesses? Surely there are easier meals to be had?" "But you said..." "I said the younglings eat people. To be sure, some elders have acquired a taste for human meat and hunt them, but they are a rarity. Perhaps part of our reputation for being evil comes from the company we keep, but it really isn't our fault that orcs and trolls are more accepting than humans is it?" "I'm so confused." The dragon sighed heavily and very tenderly used the flat of its tail to stroke her cheek. "I like the female of the human race better than the male little one. And I like humans better than orcs and trolls, male or female. And I like you, above many others I have known, because you have courage and kindness, mixed in good measure. You are also quite handsome, and I feel stirrings of something I have felt not at all in a long age of the world. I would like to get to know you better and to know your body intimately. But you have no need to fear. I do not take what I want, as a male would do. That is not my way and you are no prisoner here. I will deliver you to whatever destination you choose, if you ask it of me. Even back to your home, if that is where your heart lies." "Do I have some time to consider things?" "Of course, child. I need to take a nap. Wake me when you know your heart's desire." Karnal Combat Spring was a time of great change for me. I'd just moved into a sweet, little apartment in an up-and-coming neighborhood not yet taxed by gentrification. I was on extended leave, with full workmen's comp, and without any truly worrisome injury. And, I was having the greatest secret sex with Denise, the woman who bullied me throughout our shared childhood. It's really just a haze: one minute, I'm sitting round the apartment, nursing a bruise that didn't even show anymore, but did raise holy hooplah in the legal department of the company where I work shipping and handling; the next minute, I'm buzzing up Denise, who I haven't seen for about seven years, who'd heard, through her father who's friends with my uncle, about my circumstances. "You came to see how I was doing?" "I came because I'm bored, and everybody else works," she replied, brushing past my attempted friendly embrace. Denise was free in the daytime because she'd just recently left some high-level Sacramento job. Returning to our hometown of Chicago, she was taking it easy while multiple career offers hounded her. "So, what've you been doing?" she asked. "This week? playing Mortal Kombat, trying to get through to the end with every character." "Wow. Feeling nostalgic?" "Naw. I got it out the parentals' attic. I was thinking to donate it, or something." "To who? a time machine operator, so he can send it back to 1990?" "You're still so funny—looking." With Denise settled on the sofa, I made us vodka-tonics, then re-seated myself in the chair closest to the TV. I asked if she cared to play, but she declined, preferring to sigh heavily, and criticize the game's violence. "You get that big playing video games?" she asked, referring to the blue-collar muscle surrounding my t-shirt. "... Yes." Glancing at her, Denise was sexy. At six feet, and at every stage of our acquaintance, she was two inches taller than I. Her limbs were long, her legs, coming out linen shorts, so toned and shapely. I could just perceive the lacy bra beneath the white blouse she wore. But, most noticeable was her chest. Stretching the blouse, pulling out and away from her body as if by reverse magnetism, I don't know why the buttons didn't pop. Glancing at her expression, a perpetual frown since adolescence, she was mean as a snake, totally unaware of her looks, and uncompromising like a feminist. I was afraid to stand and further raise any potential ire by the expanding bulge in my sweatpants. Damned if yesterday wasn't the last day of clean boxer-briefs! "C'mon, how you gonna learn if you don't play? And, you'll just be bored, sitting there. We could play for money. I'll even use characters I'm not so good with." "Brian, I'm not gonna just fork over money to you." "We could play ... strip Mortal Kombat." Awaiting the customary cursing out, my cock almost burst through the fabric covering it as Denise made a pshaw sound, then said, "Okay." This was no true contest between seasoned warriors. Although I ended up lopping off her characters' heads, I did throw every other fight, just to keep her interested, just to give her a glimpse of what I'd matured into. And, when Denise lost, she lost like a kid, by saying "Aw". But, she honored our bet without complaint. At her very first loss, she removed her shorts, just kicking them off without fully standing, revealing simple white panties, and smoothly muscular thighs. On her second loss, she removed her K-Swiss; and, wriggling her toes, dug them into the rug. Next, came the blouse—and, barely contained in the bra, she exposed the two most flawless baubles ever beheld. Then, she removed her panties, and moved to the floor, but sat knees folded on her side, farthest from me. I could just detect a red tuft of hair surrounded by a canvas of flesh. Winning our final battle, I leapt up, cheering. As I did so, my heavy dick, already full of cheer, bounced against my sweats, so easily on display for my visitor. Falling back into the chair, I slumped down, anticipating a champion's reward. "You done?" asked Denise, sitting up on her knees. She removed her bra, leaving such swollen tits to slump not much more than a fraction. Each nipple was golden brown, perfectly round. She sat still, though wrapping the bra round her hands. "I think you cheated." I could only grin, and stupidly, I'm sure. Denise then sashayed over, on her knees, her full meaty breasts barely moving throughout the exertion, the slightest sound of manipulated velcro down past her navel. She cupped the waist of my sweats in either hand, yanking them down, revealing my favorite joystick, finally free to stretch out fully. "Aw, shit! where'd that come from?" she exclaimed, expecting, I guess, the same image of me at nine, when she'd cruelly pulled down my swim trunks at the Y. Anyway, from shock to determination, my bully engulfed me with her brooding, beautiful mouth. She engaged her duties steadily, her head bobbing, circling round that sickly boner I thought would be bleeding through its skin. Humming the game's music, she knew how to relax her stimulation without ending it, without ending me. Her tongue riding round such engorged veins, she removed my sweats, then strapped my hands under hers, preventing my massage through her hair. Eventually, I pulled her up, by the shoulders, desperate to palm those creamy cakes mashed against my knees, insane to have her sink onto my polished pole. Grunting along the way, Denise settled down cautiously, facing me, at first doing controlled squats, her shaved triangle pulling at parts of my kinky pubes. She slid me in smoothly, the slippery lubricant of her nature like camphor. But, when she raised up, there was a suction which tugged my tender member along, drawing everything with her—my hairs, balls, my sanity. Her arms secured across my shoulders, I finally took her fat rack in my hands, swirling them clockwise and counter-, so puffed and weighty, but still springy and strong enough to remain forever suspended upwards and onwards. On closer inspection, her nipples were like marbles, firm and smooth, hot and slick in the mouth. My juggling such giants, and nibbling those nipples, Denise emitted the first of many unrestrained groans, her hands rubbing my shoulder blades raw. Legs quivering with fatigue, she kicked the right one over my shoulder, while setting her palm against my knee. Taking her muscular ass in my hands, I drove the rest of the way. My fingers sank round a rump hard like ungiving Playdoh. I wrenched Denise up and down, creating a V pattern, banging myself against the insides of that lacquered twat, all faster and more ferocious than she'd dared. I had the veins in Denise's neck throbbing, her face reddening in a permanent grimace, and her growling half-intelligible variations of "fuck" through breathless shudders till she could only gasp gurgles. Finally, I pulled her up, and turned her round. At first, I sat her back atop me, still plugging away at that snarling, juicy pussy. She lay back against me, the both of us captivated, marvelling over the visual of me fucking her—drilling deep, steering my dick with my hips one way, and shifting her slit by tugging her tits the other way. Whenever Denise appeared too complacent—absently licking my ear, muttering "shit" with sweetly nonsensical euphoria—I pinched her nipples sharply, stretching those balloons till they popped loose. Then, I pushed her forward, onto her knees, and decided to enter her domain from the rear. Before she could object, I drew apart her shiny, cherubic cheeks, withdrew from my previous work, and inserted myself slowly and fully into that dark, fudgy furnace. Though clenching tight, at first, it obligingly softened like worn leather. Looking back, Denise, flushed in the face, exhaled softly through puckered lips, then turned away as I filled her gap. I moved in and out, slowly—alternately deeply, shallowly. Pulling that firm, full moon high, I gripped it hard with my fingers, rolling the tight flesh, spanking it a few times, just to produce that brief hiss through my little bully's clenched teeth, that brief quake throughout her system. Taking her by the shoulders, and thwacking faster and harder, I matched Denise's strained whimpers with my own struggling grunts of hard labor. Feeling the end near, but not ready to release, I lay Denise on the rug, on her side, thinking to spoon her from behind for the finale. I stabilized her against me, one forearm strapped across her barreled chest, the other holding her one leg up and out the way of my sliding a fierce cock into that swollen, vulnerable cunt. But, Denise, after several seconds of having no control to do anything but endure the luscious tremors I caused her body, rolled us over, flipping herself towards me. Pulling me atop her, her hand searching frantically for my member, and screwing it within herself, she encouraged me to proceed at our newly set course. Slightly ticked off, I slung her legs over my arms and pulled them up till her knees went just over her head. Then, I ground in, rocking her pinned body from side to side, sawing through that waxed, elastic chasm. After only a matter of seconds, her body went rigid, beginning its sustained spasm. So angry had I become, it wasn't till I noticed the smiling, soundless scream in Denise's face, did I feel myself explode. Pumping three repetitions of semen into her, she forced me out, taking my dick, still active, and jerking me, smearing cream all through her pudenda, stinging my wrinkling skin across her slick hairs, yet keeping me satisfied by the warm gyration of her hands, which permitted me to grind within their greasy stranglehold. Then, I fell atop her, crushing myself upon her, heaving her heavy tits together and kissing them. Denise, embracing me round the waist, one warm, moist hand massaging my cooling ass, chuckled exhaustedly: "I know you cheated, Brian." "Oh, game over." Karnal Combat Her interior was so neat, it looked unlived in. The kitchen and bedroom were her most used areas, she said, kicking off her shoes and leaving me in the livingroom a few minutes. When she returned, I was examining the framed photographs on the mantel over a defunct fireplace. "You have a picture of us," I marvelled, lifting one from amongst those of Denise's family and friends. Captured on film, the kids smiled—the girl brightly, deceptively innocent; the boy half-heartedly, a residue of dread in his eyes. "Of me, about third grade. I liked the blouse. It's a clear picture." "Yeah, those are some snazzy Toughskins I'm wearing, but I don't want a copy." "Okay, give it here." Seconds passed, as she tried to snatch the frame I kept maneuvering out her reach. Then, straightening up, she went expressionless. After a pause, she slipped to her knees, unbuttoning my pants. "Hmf! I was beginning to think you couldn't afford drawls," she said, wrenching all down. Cuffing my ass, Denise steered my half-mast into her mouth. Guided so well by just tongue and lips, her hands rarely aided her oral; the most one ever did was rattle my balls round like dice. She usually sucked me deep, but now her envenomed lips rolled slippery round my bulb. Sitting back on her heels, and casually unbuttoning her blouse, she didn't lose me once. Though a little too fucking playful, I nevertheless solidified. I grew so hot, I started peeling out my clothes. So weak and reeling, I had to hold onto the mantel. Denise's adjusted position strained my full cock down to a four o'clock angle. Delirious from agonizing pleasure, I slowly realized I was thrusting myself, fucking my old buddy in the mouth. As gradually as I bent over her, so she leaned back, till laying on her forearms, on the rug. Holding myself over her, in push up formation, I continued to grind deeper into her mouth, more frantically every time she hummed for less aggression. But, instead of forcing me out, her one hand clutched my balls, tickling the fire throughout the nerves of my aching johnson. When finally I faltered to one knee, Denise assumed control, craning her neck and twisting her head wildly, her hair whipping round my waist, the sound of sloppy slurping accompanying the full of my tenderest skin being scraped along the scaly roof of her mouth. Then, she pulled off—a slow suction as her lips slid from my base, along the shaft, and popped off the dome. Such a wreck, I mindlessly obeyed commands to move down to her exposed tits. The center of the smooth ovals had checkered with goosebumps; and, a glistening perspiration highlighted a smattering of freckles, while accentuating a perfume's fragrance. Denise sat up, as I knelt in front of her. My silky rocket, aimed to the ceiling, fit right between her grand mams. When she closed them round it, only the tip showed, and she tongued it when possible. Alternating between my scrubbing and her crushing, I reached behind me, under Denise's skirt and panties, and curled three fingers into her pulsating pudding. Her every muscle contracted, and a forced intake of air choked her. I tugged on her a little, and she had to rise with it. To counter it, she drew back, bending my own flexed muscle, still secured between her mashing rack, then released it, leaving it to bob violently, slapping me across the gut. Stinging enough to send me falling back, she laughed, her jugs jumbling to a halt. She removed her skirt and panties, then lay back completely, her knees bent, stockinged feet flat. Her spread legs revealed the full of her dewy fresh fruit. Denise tweaked her nipples as I crawled over. Kneeling over her right leg, I hauled the left over my shoulder, and swung my petrified lumber into her hollowed-out hole. A burrow so finally forged for me, by me—the exact key for such a temperamental lock—I slid in and out with just enough resistance to sustain a fluid motion. Denise liked this more than anything, the steady and constant friction shredding her salad. When not smiling crookedly with each transaction, and breathing peacefully with that slight crackle in her throat, she whispered my name softly, affectionately, one hand caressing my muscular thigh. I carved her open with nice, even strokes, and cooed back at her like a bedtime story. It was work for me, because Denise's potential spasms were strong in her legs—I had to control that raised one, or risk a sudden seizure tossing me clear. Otherwise, it was gentle music, my stick slick across the bridge of her violin. Our every essence numbed against the other's. Jolted by forthcoming paroxysms, I fell scalding belly to belly as I sped up the tempo. Both of us teary-eyed, Denise hitched up her lovely breasts, and I dove into them, sucking the salt of their nipples. Her legs clamping my waist, I knew she was ready. I flushed myself into her system, straining to remain entrenched, continuing to pump my slowly shrinking member. Simmering to a sweet purr, Denise stretched her arms over her head, and accepted all the dwindling punishment I could muster. Finally, I collapsed, utterly spent, into our first session of cuddling. "Oh, y'know, I think your frame broke when I dropped it." "Wha? you're such a dumb ass! you broke my shit? get the fuck out!—I said, get the fuck out!"