MEANWHILE, ON THE OTHER SIDE OF
THE WORLD...
Rupandra knew the change had
happened. She had begun her second cycle, her second
life. She opened her eyes.
At first, her surroundings were a blur. Slowly...
everything came into crystal sharp focus.
Rupandra knew where she was. She was home, the Outer Lair
of the Red Dragon Clan, a honeycomb of chambers, galleries, and
tunnels carved into the depths of the Dragon's Claws, a cluster
of jagged peaks of a mountain range in Central Asia.
Specifically, she was in one of the chambers of the Creche, the
place where "younglings," adolescents in the early phase of
their first cycle, received instruction.
Most of the Outer Lair would be considered quite dark by a
normal human. A few chambers were lit by oil lamps, but
most by the dim glow of lanterns containing carefully tended
colonies of bio-luminescent fungi. The Incufumarae have
keen night vision and don't require a great deal of light.
This instruction chamber, however, was an exception.
Numerous tall, narrow windows were carved into one wall.
Glazed with thick panes of glass, they provided a panoramic view
of the Dragon's Tooth, the neighboring peak that was the Lair of the Red Dragon,
the abode of the most senior Elder of the Clan.
Indirect light flooded the roughly circular space, glinting off
the ruby eyes of the countless decorative dragons carved into
the stone window casings, walls, ceiling, and mosaic floor, as
well as the wooden furnishings. Outside observers might
think the fanciful reptilian motif was Chinese in style, but
they would be mistaken. The art of the human kingdoms that
came together to form modern China were influenced by the Red
Dragons, and not the other way around.
Directly in front of the windows and the curved walls to either
side was a wide arc of comfortable chairs and couches.
They were upholstered with red fabrics and the wooden elements
were carved with more dragons. They were reserved for
observers and teachers. Next came a wide expanse of red
cushions and pillows scattered on the floor. They were for
students. Finally, in the center of the chamber was "The
Dragons' Nest."
The Nest was a machine of bronze, iron, and steel designed to
restrain a single captive. It could take on a variety of
configurations. Levers could be thrown and dials turned,
massive gears would grind, lever arms would extend or retract,
chains would turn onto drums, pistons would rise and fall, and
steam would vent from relief valves carved in the form of (what
else?) fanciful dragons—and the device would lock into a new
shape. The Nest could take many, many forms, each of which
restrained its hypothetical captive in a different pose.
It is said the first draft of the Kamasutra was based on the instruction manual
for the earliest version of the Nest, but that may be
apocryphal.
At the moment, the form was "the Pinned Butterfly," and the
butterfly in question was Rupandra, herself. She was
spreadeagled on her back, supported by small cushioned pads
under her buttocks, the small of her back, and her
shoulders. Her forearms and lower legs were encased in
massive cuffs the equivalent of steel casts. Yet more dragons, this time in
bronze and dark iron, crawled over the outsides of cuffs and
other elements of the machine. The interiors of the cuffs
were well-padded and closely followed the contours of the
anatomy of Rupandra's limbs, making them at once comfortable and
totally inescapable.
Arms spread wide and legs splayed, Rupandra was utterly
helpless. She was also naked, but for long, narrow, red
silk cloths draped over her loins and breasts. Her hair
had been braided, intertwined with red ribbons, and coiled into
a complex bun. She couldn't see the details of the
elaborate coif, of course, but the hair of a female victim of
the Nest was always arranged in this manner, to keep it out of
the gears—and that's what Rupandra knew herself to be—a victim
of the Nest, and she was here to serve an important purpose.
Younglings need to be taught proper table etiquette.
Without guidance, they can drain the life force from any humans
on whom they fed. It was as much a matter of maturity as
manners; but the Clan had long recognized the danger posed if
soulless corpses were found littering the landscape. The
local human would invariably rise up in arms and track down and
destroy "soul-sucking monsters." It was folly to simply
hope that younglings would learn self-control on their
own. The Creche was the answer. Under the tutelage
of selected Elders, younglings learned to dine on their natural
prey without doing harm.
Slaves were "recruited" for the purpose. Male and female,
they were restrained on the machine and a class of younglings,
also male and female, would learn to sample their auras.
The Nest would be set in one of its countless configurations and
the slave would feed the class, each student taking the
equivalent of a light snack under the teacher's attentive gaze,
one after the other. Needless to say, this could be quite taxing for the slave,
and most served in this capacity for no more than a few months.
Even more taxing was advanced instruction, in which
nearly mature younglings were taught to repeatedly take a slave
to the edge of release and then keep them there as they
fed. This was usually one-on-one instruction
(one-on-one-on-one if you count the slave) and a single session
could last for hours.
Some slaves, the lucky few who demonstrated unusual stamina of
body and mind, were chosen for the breeding program, and might
become the father or mother of a newborn youngling.
Incufumarae were, in fact, of the same biological species as
their prey, and the Elders of the Five Clans understood the
dangers of inbreeding. Clans who had clung to the
Pureblood philosophy of ancient times had long since declined
and gone extinct.
Rupandra surmised her promised punishment—the judgement of the
Elders Irena had warned her about—was to serve as a feeding
slave for the Creche or as a brood-mother of the Clan, or both.
She heard the tap, tap, tap of heels on the stone floor—and a
silk-robed figure sauntered into view. Rupandra's eyes
popped wide and a startled gasp escaped her lips.
The figure was the Red Dragon, herself!
The Red Dragon was ancient, in fact and appearance. No one
knew how many cycles comprised her long life (or lives), no one
but the Archive Elders of the Clan. Her hair was long and
silver-white, but for an auburn forelock. Her features
were beautiful—old and beautiful. It was a beauty unknown
among normal humans. Her skin was wrinkled, but the
delicate creases were symmetrical and were anything but
flaws. Her body was athletic and well-toned, her stature
straight and radiated strength and health. She smiled at
Rupandra. Her incredible, golden-amber eyes danced with
good humor—and radiated wisdom—and engendered arousing thoughts.
Rupandra lowered her gaze to the pointing toes of the Red
Dragon's black leather thigh boots and the train of her red,
gauze-thin robes. "I am yours in all ways, my Mistress,"
she said. It was the required formal greeting, and the
literal truth.
"Yes you are, youngster," the Red Dragon chuckled. "Change
often comes with confusion, but leaves with added clarity of
thought... or so they tell me."
Rupandra couldn't help but smile. "So I was taught in the
Creche, and so I now know to be true. I was a fool.
I was a great fool."
"Emphasis on 'great,' youngster," the Red Dragon purred.
"You showed extraordinary promise as a student, and the Council
agrees that you show extraordinary promise, still."
Rupandra blushed. She could think of nothing to say in
reply.
"That said," the Red Dragon continued, "great folly required
equally great punishment. You shall serve as first meal
and advanced training slave for seven classes of younglings."
Rupandra gasped. Seven
classes? It would take something like the first
quarter of her second cycle for seven classes of younglings to
complete their training.
The Red Dragon stepped forward and placed her right index finger
on Rupandra's navel—causing the spreadeagled captive to shudder
in response. The lightest touch of so senior an Elder was
instantly
electric. "It will be a formidable challenge, but just as
your instructors shepherded you through your early years, they
shall see you through this trial. I see a wonderful future
before you, Rupandra. Enduring this punishment will purge
your reputation and prepare you for further service to the
Clan."
"I... I understand, my Mistress," Rupandra gasped.
Pleasure was rippling through her loins, up her spine, and exploding in her brain—but
she dare not cum—she dare not cum before the Red Dragon without
permission. The Red Dragon lifted her hand and Rupandra
shuddered in relief—and frustration.
"Do you remember your first feeding?" the Red Dragon inquired.
"Yes, Mistress," Rupandra answered. "The slave was female,
a Polynesian, and she was very
beautiful... and delicious."
"Was she gagged?"
Rupandra was confused by the question. Feeding-slaves were
never gagged. "No, Mistress. She was not gagged."
"And why is that?"
Rupandra swallowed. "So she could scream. So the
students and instructor could hear her beg for mercy and monitor
her distress."
The Red Dragon nodded. "A new class of younglings—your
first class of younglings, Rupandra—will be here in an
hour. Scream well, youngster."
Rupandra watched as the Red Dragon turned in a swirl of red silk
and walked away, her heels tapping the floor, as before.
Rupandra sighed and stared out the windows, gazing at the
Dragon's Tooth. Dazzlingly bright sunlight reflected from
the snowfields and stoney crags. The sky was a brilliant,
cerulean blue, with delicate tendrils of snow blowing from the
summit like a banner of icy ribbons.
This is going to be bad,
Rupandra mused, in an erotic,
orgasmic, insufferable way.
