ΔV Pt. 10

Qasim himself felt his own orgasm rushing towards him -- skyrocketing, really. He hadn't been with Ning in what felt like months, too wrapped up in the politics of the Imperial court and in his training as a wizard. Magician. Whatever. His balls tightened and a low, husky groan escaped his lips as he rocked his hips despite himself. Ropo's nose bent ever so slightly with the pressure of his forward motion, and his balls slipped from Hua's eager little mouth, slapping against Ropo's chin. The Tengu swallowed the first blast of his cum with clear relish, moaning as she sucked and sucked sucked.

Hua, making a tiny whiny noise, leaned forward and nuzzled at Ropo -- forcing her back and off Qasim's cock. A last spurt of his seed splashed against Ropo's face, smearing her cheek, dripping from her chin. Hua grabbed her before she could escape, the more slender girl pressing to her, their breasts mashing together, Hua's tiny breasts completely enveloped by Ropo's pillowy chest. Hua's tongue darted out and she lapped cum from Ropo's chin, which slid smoothly into a deep, eager kiss, the two of them moaning as Ropo shared the cum that still filled her mouth with the lusty dragon. Hua trembled and Qasim felt a tail bumping against his ankles.

He frowned -- and called upon the magics he had been taught. It took a tiny coaxing of the sphere of fire to bring the lights of the room to their full strength and in the warm, orange glow, both girls took on an almost angelic luster. And he could see that Hua had shifted to be a girl, yes. But where a girl would have pubic hair, she had scales, glittering and tiny. And where a girl wouldn't have a tail, she had on -- long and sinuous and scaled. Her forehead had a pair of horns that curled, like that of a ram.

Hua and Ropo broke the kiss and Ropo changed -- her body flowing like mercury in a dish. Her skin darkened. Feathers grew. Her nose smoothly took on the shape and length of her beak and she clicked the tip, happily. "You taste quite good, Glorious Prince of Heaven. Though..." She giggled. "A little saltier than my man."

Hua scoffed. "Did I not tell you to eat the fruit of pleasant seed, Qasim?" she shook her head, sadly. "I have to really teach my companion more."

"Did you at least teach him how to pleasure a woman with his tongue?" Ropo asked, her voice playful. Then, hurriedly, she added. "N-Not that I mistrust you, Glorious One!"

Hua giggled. "I don't know. Can you, Qasim?"

Qasim frowned. He felt as if he shouldn't be the one with ruffled feathers here, not being the Tengu. And yet, he had them. And so, he rolled his shoulders, snapped his fingers, then pointed at the bed. "Bed. Now." He said, then tried to hide his smile as Hua sprang to her feet and did a little dance, before whispering to Ropo -- loudly enough for the whole room to hear her: Aha! It worked!

Then Hua grabbed Ropo's arm and dragged the blushing, black skinned governor to the bed and bent forward. Suddenly, Qasim found himself looking at something that he knew his imam would have had words with him about: A married woman, bent forward above her marriage bed, her sex dripping with arousal as she waggled her hips from side to side. The fact that she had tail feathers, a beak, and black fur would have likely only made his imam purse his lips more. Qasim sighed, then spread his hands. He had tried his best, and still, ended up here.

Now, he might as well enjoy it, while it lasted, no?

He stepped forward and called up the magic he had been taught. He used the sphere of wood to form the root of the magic, then started to thread more spheres of wood and fire and air -- to provide motion and life and heat to what he was envisaging. The magic came easier than he expected...and Qasim, for a moment, forgot that two women were waiting for him. He instead was focused entirely upon the shimmering spheres, the growing sense of power in his breast. His eyes closed and he remembered what the teachers in the Imperial court had taught him.

Intention. Imagination. Imagio.

His fingers made the passes.

He breathed out and as he breathed out, he breathed out a glowing green fog of magic, which coalesced beside him into...him. Another Qasim, perfect to the last detail, standing opposite him. The other Qasim held the same expression Qasim had -- curious attentiveness. It was like looking into a reverse mirror, the mole that he normally saw on his 'right' side was on its proper left side. He touched it and his mirrored copy touched it as well. Ropo had swung her head around and gasped. Her eyes widened. "B-But how?" She whispered.

"He's been learning magic," Hua said, cheerfully.

"I've heard of such spells..." Ropo stood up, her knees quivering. "B-But I thought only the most skilled arcmages could cast them."

"Well!" Hua puffed up her chest, her tiny breasts thrust out proudly. She then cupped her breasts, as if she was trying to draw as much attention to her breasts as she possibly could. "Firstly, the Glorious Prince of Heaven is a chosen of prophecy to defeat the Dark Lord. He'd better be innately good at magic and all the other things that a Glorious Prince of Heaven should be. It'd be kind of silly for the chosen of prophecy to fail." She rolled her eyes slightly. "Secondly...um, he's tied to me." Hua stepped over to Quasim, touching his chest and smiled. "So, he can draw magic from me. And being a celestial dragon, I've got huge tracts of...magical prowess."

"That joke doesn't work while you look like a malnourished teenager," Qasim said -- his voice echoing faintly as the second Qasim spoke at the same time as him.

"I am offended," Hua said, crossing her arms over her chest and sticking her nose into the air. "Offended! ...well, not that offended." Then, cheerfully, she turned and threw herself back onto the bed. The cushions of the mattress squeaked and she bounced, rebounded, and settled next to the curvaceous Tengu governor. She thrust her rump into the air and waggled. "Nom nom!"

Qasim rolled his eyes -- his copy rolling them at the same time.

Then he stepped forward and knelt in stereo and leaned forward and two pairs of lips pressed against two warm, eager cunts. His tongue darted out and he tasted both of them at the same time, the connection between his copies filling his mind with a shared awareness. Hua tasted like the sweetest juice he ever had felt on his tongue. Grapes, apples, oranges, every kind of fruit in the whole of the world paled next to what Hua tasted like. Ropo was more earthy, more familiar -- her scent and her taste was musky and familiar. Like Ning. Like the few other girls that he had laid. His eyes closed and he gripped both of their asses, squeezing and playing and fondling them. He felt the tightness of Hua. The soft squish of Ropo's married rump.

"Oh yes..." Hua whimpered.

"Glorious Prince!" Ropo moaned louder, her beak lolling open, her eyes closing to slits. She rocked against him and Hua thrust his tongue into both of their cunts, crooking it up and grinding against their G-spots. Well. He ground against what made Ropo moan in bliss -- and then felt Hua's cunny shifting and changing shape around his tongue. Mildly disquieting, but in the end, when his tongue caressed Ropo's pleasure, Hua squealed in purest delight, her tail lashing from side to side so fiercely that the knuckles that gripped Ropo's black ass felt the sting of her. When he drew his tongue back, both girls had been reduced to quivering, whimpry messes.

Qasim stepped up and pressed his cock against their sex. Their moisture slipped and beaded along his member and he ducked his head forward and saw, at the same time, both of their bodies. Hua was craning her head backwards and giving him a great big grin. "Isn't this way better than being all stoic all the time?"

"Still stoic," Qasim grunted, grabbing onto the base of Hua's tail -- and his fingers also closed around the base of Ropo's tail feathers, bunching them up in his grip. Her feathers rasped against one another and she let out a little mewl of excited pleasure. Then Qasim slammed into both women at the same time, his hips driving into them. Their bodies reacted in similar -- and distinct -- ways. Both tightened. Both moaned. Both arched their backs. But where Hua was all lithe muscle and whippy tails and eager, peach-shaped rumps, Ropo was curves and jiggles and a husky groan and an shocked: "Gods."

Qasim nodded, curtly, then began to absolutely destroy the both of them. He slammed into them, his cock and his balls pounding against their cunts, their bellies, their thighs. Hua grabbed onto a pillow and bit into it to muffle her moans, while Ropo managed to choke herself off through sheer willpower, her bright gold beak hanging open as she rocked back against him. But that willpower broke down as she started to let out soft 'yes yes yes yes yes yes!" in a syncopated pattern with his thrusts, with the pap pap pap pap of his balls.

Qasim thought of a dozen things to growl or snarl or purr.

Bigger than your husband?

How do you like that, you eager little minx?

You feel so fucking tight.

He said none of them. He just clenched his jaws, closed his eyes, and felt the sweat beading along his body -- dripping down his back, gathering on his balls and flinging free with every thrust. He breathed shallowly through his clenched teeth and he gripped the two of them even tighter. Hua clenched around him, the pillow turning to tatters under her claws and her teeth -- even as a humanoid, she had both and they were wickedly sharp. Ropo wailed her bliss with utter abandon, so loud, so eager. Her eyes fluttered shut and her cunt tightened around his cock like a silken fist. As she squeezed him, Qasim let himself boil over.

He pumped his cum into the two of them.

Blast.

After blast.

After blast.

And then Qasim fell forward, his body feeling as if it had been wrung out and left hollow and empty. The copy -- the one inside of Hua, as it transpired -- shimmered and faded into sparkles of green and red and blue light. Then he was sprawled on the bed and Hua writhed up against him, her body moving with sinuous grace. Ropo crawled over more carefully and pressed herself to his other side and Qasim felt sleep stealing up on him, creeping faster and faster and faster. The last thing that he managed to hold to, the last thoughts in his head, was...

That was better than I expected.

When Qasim woke, it was to the creaking of the bed, and the eager moans of Ropo. Her beak was mashed into the bed, her head turned to the side, and she was on her hands and knees once more. Hua, in a form shockingly similar to his feminine form -- save he lacked breasts and was clearly equipped quite prodigiously -- grinned at Qasim with a tooth smile, his clawed hands planted on Ropo's hips. "Hey, Qasim," he said, casually, his scaled balls rebounding again and again off Ropo's belly. "Want a round once I am done?"

Qasim pursed his lips. But then Hua thrust deep and threw his head back, hissing in pleasure. When he slid back, hot cum dripped from her well fucked black cunny. Qasim knew he should say no. But...in the early morning, his body still aching pleasantly from last night, he felt his own eager arousal. And it wasn't as if doing it again was more sin. He had already sinned once, right? And so, he crawled up and, worldlessly, slammed into the married Tengu.

Ropo mewled.

And Hua slapped his palm against Qasim's.

Despite the number of times they, in Hua's words, 'pounded' Ropo, the party still set out on time, and Hua flew even straighter and even truer than before. Ning teased Qasim. Qasim kept his stone face on. But as they flew, the terrain became less and less mountainous, growing flatter and flatter, until they were soaring across a landscape that looked as if it had been scraped flat by the largest ironing pan in the universe. Forests spread like great, grasping oceans -- and between them, isolate and small, villages sent up thin, almost invisible bits of smoke. The whole place felt desolate and alien, and looking down at it made Qasim feel a strange sense of nostalgia.

Then he realized the strange nostalgia wasn't entirely strange.

A part of his mind had noticed the sound, out of the edge of his attention, and when he swung his head around, he recognized it even more clearly. China and Russia both used shuttles modeled on the workhorse of the space program for the 21^st century: The Soyuz. The modern variation was designed to be reusable -- ironically making it more similar to the American space shuttle than the Soyuz lifter that had persisted long after the shuttle was reduced to obsolete junk. But in the end, he had heard the sound of a shuttle screeching down through orbit often enough to recognize it.

"Hua!" he said.

"I see it! And hear it, gods it's loud!" Hua snarled as the shuttle arced down towards the east.

"Where are we?" Qasim asked.

"Near the drakelands," Hua said.

"Siberia..." Hua frowned. During summer, the taiga would thaw and turn green, just as it did down here.

"The drakes are all ice drakes -- they're hibernating now," Hua said, nodding as the shuttle threw on its retro rockets. It slowed and hovered in the air, settling down VTOL style. Qasim frowned. Chinese shuttles couldn't do that. The doors of the shuttle opened and Russians began to emerge -- and Hua started to fly towards them.

"Hua!" Qasim barked.

"We're just going to say hello," Hua said.

But the Russians had seen them. They were flurrying around their landing site -- which was in a particularly large clearing near a lake that seemed to explode from the taiga like a bombshell of blue. They were throwing open crates and Qasim started to draw together spheres. Earth. Air. Void. He weaved the spell together with the panicky haste he'd normally use to drop the dead man switch in his old place in the laser turret on the People's Shield.

But dropping a switch was fast.

And the Russians were bringing up their anti-aircraft weaponry. A guided missile flung itself into the air, zipping up towards Hua, guided by laser and its own intelligence.

Nothingness.

When awareness returned, Qasim was kneeling on the ground, Hua standing beside him in his humanoid form. The gazebo was on the ground behind both of them, half propped up by a tree that it was leaned against, as if there hadn't quite been enough room and Hua had tucked it there. Hua had his hands on his hips and was scowling at a stunned pair of Russians -- one holding the control unit for the missile launcher, the other holding the missile tube proper.

"That's so rude!" Hua snapped. "Firing a fire bomb at someone, just because they're coming to say hello. You're lucky I'm-" distantly, the missile exploded having reached the limit of its fuel and having lost its target. "-a celestial dragon! I wish to speak to your leader, so I might have some very cross words with them. Why, next, you'll be..." He scowled as Russians in power armored exoframes stepped out -- aiming their AK-47s at him and Qasim. "Of course. Honestly, Qasim, are all Russians this rude?"

"Qasim?" one of the Russians asked, sounding confused.

Qasim stood. In what Russian he knew -- not sure if the translation spell was active currently -- he said: "I am Spacer First Class Jianhong Qasim off the People's Shield, of the People's Liberation Army Astroforce."

The Russians exchanged glances.

And their officer -- a grizzled looking, round cheeked man who was nearly as Asian as Qasim -- stepped forward.

"Lets talk," he said.

Qasim breathed a slow, slow sigh of relief.

But then the com on the man's wrist squawked on and, as it transpired, the translation spell was in effect. He had set the communicator to verbalize, and so, the entire camp heard: "Lieutenant Commander Sobol, strike the camp, the mission is scrubbed."

"Sir!" the officer -- Sobol, presumably -- exclaimed.

"Now."

The flat voice over the communicator...

Despite being Russian, despite being translated by magic, Qasim had heard that same tone of voice before, many times. It had been spoke by officers in the Chinese astroforce as well. The tone of someone trying to sound calm and collected -- but under the grim, stoic tones, there was terror. Panic. Confusion.

Hua shifted to his small form and leaped on Qasim's shoulder.

Qasim frowned.

***

Lucas would have found returning to the Enterprise as pleasant as taking a claw hammer to the face even without the extenuating circumstances. The weeks on Arcadia, learning what he could of magic when Isabella wasn't being distracted by the rest of the science team, had been...amazing. But that might have had more to do with Helen and him being essentially stuck together like they had been welded that way. Lucas still found it faintly hard to believe that Helen was actually interested in him. That she was happy with him. And that he was able to learn how to wring pleasure from her with everything from his finger to his tongue. They had fucked with her on her back. With him on his back. With her on his face. With him on her face. In the bath. In the shower. In the woods, sneakily. And between it all, he had barely gotten half a lesson of magic in.

But what was magic next to Helen?

And then...

He had been roused from bed by a hammering on the door. One of the marines -- he forgot who -- bellowed: "Get out and get ready -- we're being recalled to the Enterprise. Right now. Captain's orders."

Helen, who had been tangled around him like a lithe net, had grumbled the whole way -- but she hadn't been slow about getting out of bed and to her feet. She had gotten dressed in a fraction of the time it had taken Lucas, and then she helped him the rest of the way. Then, it had been a quick rush out of the manor, past Squire Fireheart, who had seemed oddly reduced and tentative compared to her attitude yesterday.

The shuttle had roared into orbit and they were dumped into the Enterprise within the hour. Helen, despite her low rank, and Lucas were then situated in the meeting room with the rest of the bridge crew, a fact that was explained by Lucas' status as the logistics expert and one of the few humans who had been taught some moderate amount of magic, and Helen as the current Lord Winsom of the Sunset Lands.

Captain DuPont, though, looked more grim than Lucas had ever seen him. Even when he had been considering using magic to launch a preemptive strike against the Russians in Arcadia orbit, he had still not looked like this. In fact, the closest thing that Lucas had ever seen in his life was the look on a coworker after they had gotten word that their family had been killed -- a shuttle crash. A freak accident. The kind of fluke that would only happen once in ten thousand flights. Ten million. Lucas felt the slow coldness in his belly growing deeper and deeper as Captain DuPont drew in a slow breath, then spoke -- the words coming out clear and untroubled, despite their content.

"As of 1140 today, we have received a com from the out-system MAD alert systems," DuPont said. "They are designed to go off only if Pearl Orbital at L2 gets wiped and we get no communications from the Pentagon, NORAD or any of the other secondary sites."

Murmurs came from the officers. Helen's hand found Lucas' under the table and tightened. Lucas, though, stammered. "W-What does that mean?"

"It means the fucking Russkies nuked us!" the missile commander snarled, her voice dark. "We have a pre-programmed launch system, lets hit them back -- they're already trying to grab Arcadia."