Hot, she was so hot. The chills had stopped and her blood was boiling, turning her skin slick with perspiration. The material of her sweater itched abominably, as if the fibers of the cotton-wool blend were scraping against her skin. Swearing under her breath, Gina stripped the thing off and flung it carelessly into a corner.
Not enough. The T-shirt chafed as well, too much against her scorching skin. She pulled the light garment off and threw it after the sweater, then undid her bra for good measure. Her breasts, full C-cups, quivered as she uncovered them, her nipples puckering into tight knots.
Her legs were too warm. She felt as if the denim were the heaviest of snowsuits, thick fleece pressing against her skin and scalding her flesh. Acting on impulse, Gina struggled with the fastener and zipper and wriggled out of the jeans, kicking them aside. She removed her panties as well, releasing her suddenly throbbing pussy to the cool air of the apartment.
She felt better -- for a minute. But no sooner had the relief come than it faded, leaving Gina shaking with heat as if she had malaria. If she’d had the strength, she would have shambled back into the kitchen for a glass of water, icy cold, just what she needed to slide down her dry, parched throat and give her some ease.
She couldn’t walk, though. The most Gina could find the strength for was lowering herself slowly to the padded comforter on her floor, one shaky leg at a time. She wobbled for a second, balanced in a sitting position, and then collapsed backward in a free-fall.
Her head hit the pillow, but the impact still stung.
As her eyes fluttered, trying their best to stay open, a vivid picture flashed through her mind. The taloned, blue and white man, leaning forward eagerly in his stone chair, a cruel smile on his face.
Look what I can do to you with the merest hint of magic
, he hissed. His tongue flickered out, forked like a snake. Burn with the dragon flame, Georgina. Burn without being quenched, all for my amusement
“Hell -- hell with you,” Gina gasped even as her arms twisted and her hands fisted in the nubbly fabric of her makeshift bed. “Oh, God.”
The heat -- it was unbearable. The inferno rolled and rippled through her body in spasms, each sheet of fire hotter than the last. Gina fought against the need for a breath of fresh air, when all she could draw in was thick and stuffy. Her lungs began to work harder, seeking more oxygen... and then, in a mixture of panic, she sought something else altogether.
Even if she had no one in her life, Gina was a healthy young woman, with all the natural urges a person could have. On long and lonely nights, she’d given in to the need to touch herself, to bring herself to climax for some ease of mind and to stave off the loneliness. A handful of times, she’d managed to become excited enough she even cried out something that wasn’t exactly a name but wasn’t a sob of relief, either.
The feelings coursing through her now made her feel as if she were ablaze, but not with regular flames. Her pussy throbbed with the need for a touch, wetness dampening her inner thighs. Both breasts ached, begging for someone to manipulate them, suck them, knead them with a rough caress.
Hands shaking, Gina lowered her fingers to her cunt. They were all but useless, trembling too hard to slip between her folds and start stroking in a pattern designed to bring her some relief. When she tried at her breasts, once again her fingers refused to cooperate, fluttering over the swollen tissue as if they were butterflies, the brushes enough to fuel her flames but not anywhere close to satisfying the deep, aching desire.
Rolling and tossing on her comforter, Gina cried out in frustration. The need for orgasm tore at her, but she could do nothing about it. Her body pulsed, on the cusp but hovering there, tormenting her more and more relentlessly, making her heart race and her muscles shake.
“Help me,” she choked, feeling herself start to black out from the overwhelming demands of her body. “Please,” she begged, not knowing who she was asking even as she was aware there was no one to hear and lend their assistance. “Help me.”
There was a pause in which Gina writhed, helpless against herself.
Do you really want me to?
The voice might have come from inside her mind. Gina didn’t know. She seized at it like a lifeline, though, clinging to whatever hallucination or new madness this was. The voice had sounded real, if whispery-soft, not quite there. “Yes,” she begged. “Please.”
This is dragon flame. The beast is toying with you, enjoying watching you in the throes of agony
Gina felt a light pressure of hands on her thighs, but she was too far gone to question their presence.
Will you hold this against me if I help you defeat the attack? A woman like you is not one to surrender herself lightly
She felt the brush of lips against her inner thigh.
I mean you no harm. Randall is with me. He is not yet strong enough in magic to aid in this, but I am able. Will you let me help you?
None of what she was hearing made sense, but Gina couldn’t bring herself to care. “Yes!” she cried out, raising her hips in the hope of some pressure, some friction, anything. “Do what you have to. Just help me.”
As the lady wishes
Gina felt another kiss on the inside of her leg and then the slick glide of a tongue along her skin. This was madness, but having something to fight against the flames made her almost weak with relief.
She needed more, though. Moaning, she reached out without thinking -- and encountered a pair of solid shoulders. Mostly solid. If she concentrated on them, they faded beneath her touch, her fingers sinking through as if there were a ghost between her legs. If she just let go and accepted, though, this man was real... and he was helping.
The weight of the spectral man’s mouth traveled up Gina’s leg, pushing her thighs far apart. She opened them like a wanton, not caring who this was or how he had gotten there.
, the voice said, gentling her. Good. Go with this. Let it happen
“Randall,” Gina rasped, struggling after her earlier fantasy of the sparkling white beach and the soft blue ocean. “Where’s Randall?”
, came the familiar voice. Gina felt another presence in the room with her, even more ephemeral than that of the man between her legs who was busy with licking up the dewy moisture on her thighs. Dakarai is pushing as hard as he can. I’ve ridden in on his stream. I can’t touch you, like he said, at least not more than a little, but you can use your mind to help me.
The flow of words skimmed through Gina’s tangled thoughts, only a fragment or two making sense. She got the gist of it, though, and in a supreme act of will, even as the unknown being drew closer to her throbbing pussy, she focused on Randall as she’d seen him in her visualization. When she closed her eyes tightly she could see him, naked, a thick erection hard against his stomach.
“Randall,” she breathed.
. In her mind, Randall reached out to cup her breasts. She could almost, almost feel
the roughness of his skin as he laid hands on her, squeezing and kneading, thumbing her aching nipples. It’s been so long
. His head descended, and then his mouth was on Gina’s breast, lips sucking at her nipple and biting down lightly with his teeth.
Gina screamed as an orgasm ripped through her, sending her convulsing on the floor. “Randall,” she pleaded, “more. Please.”
Her envisioned Randall drew up and shook his head. Leave it to Dakarai. Trust in him. But I’m here, Gina. I’m not going anywhere. Hold my hands
Reaching above her head, Gina imagined she felt Randall’s strong fingers grip her own.
, Randall urged. Finish it
The man between her thighs -- real? not real? -- nodded, the wiry texture of his hair tickling against Gina’s weeping pussy. Only with the lady’s consent
“Yes,” Gina panted. “Whoever you are. Do it. Now.”