Listening DragonWritten by AtheneCopyright © 2002 by Athene, all rights reserved. Reproduction and distribution of this work by any means without the expressed written permission of the author, or hotlinking from another website without the expressed written permission of the author and BondoFox, is expressly forbidden. Similarity to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.Author's Disclaimer: This story depicts acts of nonconsensual sex between adult creatures who are not human. I repeat, THEY ARE OVER 18. And you should be as well before even thinking of reading this. This story is secured under copyright (© 2002 by AtheneWdr@aol.com); any reproduction requires that you keep my attribution on it. Karma is an ugly thing. So, read and enjoy. If this type of material offends you, stop reading now. Author's Note: The reader may encounter terms and prejudices alien to a reader in the 21st Century, since this story takes place towards the close of the 19th Century. These are not in any way the views of the author. BondoFox's Note: This story involves opium use. BondoFox strongly condemns drug use, and while stories depicting it are not normally acceptable, it is historically accurate to the content and for that reason only permitted to be posted here. 11th March, 1889 Your Excellency, I would like to take this opportunity to thank you in the sincerest possible terms for the kindness your staff have shown to me since the unpleasant affair of January last. Despite all of your staff’s assurances to the contrary, and despite the fact that I am currently embarked upon the H.M.S. Lancer bound for England and home, I find I cannot shake off the persistent feeling that he is still alive, and looking for me.” Lady Fiona O’Donnell laid down her pen just then, and clasped her right paw in her left to stop the inevitable trembling that passed through her slightly-built frame whenever she thought of her ordeal. Her long, pendant ears lifted slightly and her rust-red coat of curly fur stirred in the breeze from the open porthole as the ship, now three days out from Hong Kong, steadily chugged its way homeward. The Irish setter finally stilled her shaking fingers and gazed out at the water, remembering. Her father, the Earl O’Donnell, had finally relented and agreed to let eighteen-year-old Fiona take her Grand Tour in the Orient rather than in Europe. “But Fah-therr,” she had protested, “simply everyone goes to Europe to poke around stuffy old ruins and argue about whether the Germans or the French are going to declare war first! I want to go somewhere interesting!” The old Earl couldn’t argue with that, but his youngest daughter needed some protection to safeguard her virtue. He assigned two maids to attend her, and employed a bodyguard -– an ex-Marine sergeant named Fiske –- to watch over her physical and moral safety. Fiona’s itinerary was ambitious for the two years and a half she would be gone; Cairo, Bombay, Calcutta, Singapore, Hong Kong, Peking, and Manila, then back to England. She was eager to go, and kissed her parents several more times than was seemly before practically hopping onto the train that would take her from London to Southampton. Months later she was at a hotel in the Peking Legations compound, bored and tired. Egypt had been a hot, dusty place with history thick on the ground and the streets full of sullen Arabs and a smell little short of indescribable. India had been worse, full of people with manners and customs so exotic she despaired of ever understanding them. Singapore was still very much a raw frontier port, crowded with English enervated by malaria and the tropical heat, and Chinese and Malays who seemed to make it their mission in life to cheat her. Hong Kong seemed civilized, but many of her countrymen there were filled with a tradesmen mentality that, quite frankly, grated on her nerves. She sat glumly on the bed in her shift, raking a brush through her headfur while her maids displayed several dresses for her selection. Fiona stared from one to the other, finally nodding at the one on the right, a white linen frock that reached to her ankles and included an embroidered blue jacket. “I’ll wear that one today, Mary,” she said. “I want to take a look outside the compound this afternoon.” The Manx maid raised a shocked paw to her muzzle. “Lady Fiona!” she gasped. “It’s not safe out there, full of foreigners and –- ” “And we’re in a foreign country, Mary,” Fiona snapped, getting up from the bed and snatching the dress from the maid. “Goodness, London’s full of foreigners as well, but you don’t hear of any trouble there, do you?” She got dressed then while Mary and the other maid, Clarice, stepped forward hesitantly and assisted her in getting dressed. Fiske was waiting for them in the lobby as they came down the stairs. Good, solid, stolid, utterly boring Fiske, Fiona thought to herself, trying to keep the smirk off her face. The retired Marine sergeant always seemed to be waiting for her, always a step ahead. The canine nodded and touched his forelock as he said quietly, “Good afternoon, ma’am. Stepping out, are we?” “Yes, Fiske,” Fiona said as she pulled on her gloves and accepted her parasol from Clarice. “I thought we might take the air outside the compound and see what there is to see of Peking. After all,” she said, raising an admonitory paw as Fiske opened his mouth to protest, “I am here on my Grand Tour, and I must see the sights. So, we will go.” She said this last in what she fancied was Queen Victoria’s imperial tone of voice. “Very well, ma’am,” Fiske said, taking his hat and leading the three females out into the crowded plaza of Legation Square. Good old Fiske, Fiona thought; he might not like it, but orders are orders. The air was brisk, a bit on the chilly side, and Fiona recalled that it was November, and soon it would be time for her to start thinking of heading back home. The square was filled almost to capacity with Europeans walking and talking and everywhere there were Chinese, talking in their strange language, haggling and gossiping. The quartet stepped past the gate to the legations compound, returning the frank stares of the natives as they walked along the street. Fiske walked before them, as he always did; her maids flanked her, one step behind. The streets were paved in cobblestones, and they had to skirt the occasional pile of offal or refuse. Beggars importuned them, and criminals chained into large square stocks begged for a scrap of bread or a sip of water, unable to fend for themselves. Fiona gave out a few coins as they stepped down a side street. “Very dangerous,” said an accented voice, and Fiona turned to see a male looking at her with a strange intensity. The feline had peculiar sloe eyes and his headfur was pulled back into a long queue. He wore a quilted peasant smock in dark brown, his paws concealed in the sleeves. “What do you mean, 'dangerous'?” Fiona asked as Fiske rejoined the group, fairly towering over the smaller figure. “Very dangerous for English lady ... bad joss, very bad joss,” the male said, and started to walk quickly away, nimbly dodging Fiske’s grab at his queue. “Lady Fiona,” the canine said, “I really insist we head back to the hotel.” He nodded at the retreating feline. “That little chap’s right -– it’s not safe out here for you –- ” “I say it’s safe,” Fiona said with some asperity, closing her parasol with a snap and marching down the street. The bodyguard and the two maids shrugged at each other, and went after her. The street narrowed, becoming little more than an alley; an odd, sweet smell seemed to fill the air from an open doorway at the far end. Fiona’s firm purposeful steps slowed and finally stopped as she turned around. Fiske, Clarice and Mary weren’t behind her. She’d left them behind. Two felines masked in red and black kerchiefs were behind her. Fiona’s eyes went wide and her ears lifted slightly as she gripped her parasol crossways across her chest. “Stay back,” she warned, her voice starting to betray her apprehension as the two masked figures stepped toward her. Strong paws wrapped around her waist and a moist rag soaked in something pungent was slapped over her mouth and nose. She struggled briefly, then seemed to fall into a dark, deep well. * * *Sounds first, just a muted susurrus; then her eyes opened and the lights were dim, making it somewhat difficult to make out who else was in the room. Fiona smacked her lips and grimaced at the foul taste on her tongue. “Ah, I see you are awake, my dear.” The voice was Chinese, speaking English with very little accent; as her sight cleared she made out a shape seated in the shadows across the room from her. At a word from the figure the lights rose gradually, and she gasped. Seated on a beautifully lacquered chair upholstered in silk embroidery was a dragon wearing robes of silk and cloth of gold. A cap of red silk trimmed in fur and bearing a piece of jade on the band perched on his head. He himself was cloaked in scales of a deep brown hue, shading to a lighter yellowish-tan at his exposed throat and the palms of his paws. His talons were short and polished, and two tiny diamonds adorned each of them. “I am Mandarin Wu,” the dragon said, vertically-pupilled eyes of deep gold opening to gaze at her. “Be welcome in my home.” Fiona looked down, relieved to find that she was still dressed and seated in a chair the exact twin of the one Wu sat in. While she never expected anything bad to happen to her (she was an English citizen, after all), she had been scared and now she was angry at having been frightened. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded in her ‘Queen Victoria’ tone. “Where am I?” The dragon smiled and clasped his paws, his talons clicking together slightly. “As I say, you are in my home, and I have saved you from bandits who would surely have killed you after ... violating you,” he said in a soft, steady voice. “I will summon a guard to escort you back to your legation, but first ... ah,” he said as two felines came forward, their headfur immaculately coiffed and wearing ankle-length robes of deep blue. They bore small tables and trays and set them down before Wu and Fiona. “It is my custom to take tea this time of day,” he said as one of the females poured a cup of steaming liquid into his cup. “Please do me the honor of sharing with me.” Fiona watched as the tea was poured, and she reached out and gently raised the cup. It had no handle, and it bore a pattern of interlaced geometric designs and various characters. “Thank you for your kindness, Mandarin Wu,” she said, “and I shall share your tea with you. The English also take tea in the afternoons,” she added as she sipped at the beverage. It was a bit stronger than she liked, and rather sweet, but she felt a bit refreshed by it. “I know,” Wu said as he sipped at his own cup. “I spent several years in England, and have fond memories of London. But now I live here, where there is an opium den.” Fiona blinked. “An opium den, sir?” she asked, eyes widening. She’d heard of such sinks of wickedness, but never saw one before. Wu smiled, showing just the barest points of his teeth as the two felines took up positions flanking him. “Indeed, so,” he said softly, putting his cup down. It was quickly and elegantly refilled. “It is said that when one takes opium, they can hear the Celestial Dragon sing,” Wu said, still smiling. Fiona accepted a second cup of tea. “How interesting, sir,” she said as she started to feel a bit lightheaded. She shook her head in an effort to clear it, but she instead felt woozier. She looked at the cup and set it down as Wu said, “Can you hear it, my dear girl? A gentle sound in your ears, like a breeze through the willows, or the gentle babble of a stream?” Fiona nodded as she started to feel disconnected, as if her head was about a foot above her body. She swayed in her seat, her vision starting to blur slightly. “Good, my new pet,” Wu said as, at a gesture, both felines opened their gowns and lowered them to the floor, leaving them both unclothed. “You hear the Dragon now, and soon you will obey the dragon.” He pointed to Fiona and hissed; the two felines stepped to her and assisted her to her feet, urging her to walk with them into another room. She struggled, albeit feebly, murmuring, “No ... you can’t ... ” “I already have, my pet,” Wu said with obvious satisfaction. Fiona, still weakly struggling, was led into a room illuminated by a candelabrum that bore five lit candles. Despite her soft protestations and the fear in her glassy eyes, the two naked felines stripped away her clothes, throwing them in a heap on the floor and tying her wrists together. The binding was then attached to a rope, and her arms pulled up and over her head. A noose was slipped around her tail, and that was attached to the rope binding her wrists. A wooden bar with stout leather shackles at each end was attached to her ankles, spreading her legs wide apart. Fiona started crying as the two females walked out of the room, leaving her bound. Her ears perked as she heard the scuff of slippers, and Wu entered her line of sight. “Please,” she whined. “M-my father will pay you ... ” He silenced her with a gentle slap across her muzzle. “Hush, pet,” he hissed softly. “Your father has nothing I want. I already have his daughter. Yes,” he whispered, his jeweled talons sliding into her curly red fur and drawing lines through it along her shoulders and up her arms, “and his daughter is a beauty. Red fur is so rare, and yours is so soft.” Fiona shivered and tried to struggle but was off-balance from the awkward spread of her legs and the tension on her wrists. Wu chuckled and brought the candelabrum closer. The dragon started to sing, a strangely soothing croon as his free paw stroked her breast, the strong fingers squeezing the base of the fleshy globe, then pulling outward, the flesh sliding through his fingers until his talons pinched her nipple. He released it as she cried out, only to repeat it, again and again, singing the same gentle song. The Irish setter squirmed in her bonds, trying to escape or elude that grasping paw or to at least shut out that soothing, almost hypnotic tune. “No, no please,” she whimpered, shivering as she felt her nipples harden and her breasts feel strangely full. There was an odd, almost sinking feeling deep within her loins as she squirmed again when Wu moved his paw to her other breast. The strange feeling in her belly turned into a strange, hungry heat as he continued to sing and stroke her breasts. Her head hung forward and he neared her, then recoiled as she weakly tried to bite him. “I think,” Wu said as he drew the candles near, “that you are not listening to me, little pet,” and a fat drop of molten wax landed squarely on her left nipple. Fiona’s head snapped back and she howled in pain as her sensitive nipple reacted to the hot wax. She howled again as Wu dripped more wax on her other nipple, then set the candelabrum aside and stepped back away from her. Unbidden, the two naked felines stepped forward and reverently removed his hat and robes. “Look at me, little pet,” he ordered. She lifted her head, her vision swimming as she blinked, focusing on him, and she gasped, trying to shrink back. Wu stood before her naked, his shaft erect. Fiona, who had never seen a male without his clothes, averted her eyes as Wu stepped forward, again taking her breasts in both paws, stroking them as he brought his muzzle close to hers. “I will have you, little pet,” he whispered, his tongue, long and thin and forked, slid over her muzzle and into her mouth, teasing and coaxing at her tongue while he still pawed her breasts. She protested at first but he was insistent; her muzzle opened and her tongue touched his hesitantly. He tasted of spice and tea and a strong masculine musk caressed her nose. She squirmed again in her bonds, trying to pull down on the ropes that held her paws stretched to the ceiling, her paws gripping each other as Wu withdrew his tongue and smiled at her. “Now, I shall sing again, my little pretty one,” he said softly, ”and you will listen.” With that, he started to croon his odd song again. This time her ears perked, and she whimpered as his paws strayed from her breasts, drawing deep lines in her fur with his talons. The song seemed to wrap her in velvet claws, dragging her downward as he walked around her bound form. Fiona could feel his talons glide down her back and she shivered as he traced the gentle swell of her buttocks. Finally he knelt on a thick silk cushion, facing her sex, and sniffed deeply. Fiona cried out as his moist tongue slid over her mons, feeling her entire body throb in time to the wave of warmth that spread outward from his tongue. She felt moist down there, and it wasn’t all his saliva. She moaned as he teased and tickled along the lips of her opening, coaxing them to open and unfurl for him. Like a traitor, her body obeyed even as she sought to rebel against what he was doing. “No, please no,” she sobbed, tears starting to seep into the fur of her muzzle, “I’ve ... never been ... ” “No, you have not, my pet,” Wu hissed against her sex, his talons gripping her arse to steady her while he lapped. “I can taste your maidenhead, my pet, and you will offer it as tribute to your master.” His tongue slid into her, deep into her, and she felt its sinuous length stroke against her hymen, her hips bucking spastically as she groaned. It felt so good, but it must be wrong, a tiny part of mind shouted. Nice girls don’t . . . but she moaned again and shoved her loins against his muzzle as he stroked her, dragging his tongue upward and she shuddered, feeling a liquid warmth surge through her. “Yes,” the dragon said as he stood to face her. Her scent muttered in her nostrils as he drew closer, and now she could smell the spice of his musk. “I almost have you, my pet. Look down at me, and tell me what you see.” Fiona looked, and she gasped. Wu’s penis was a glossy tan like his belly scales, but so smooth it glistened in the candlelight. It was maybe seven inches long, but to Fiona’s novice eye it looked gigantic. “You see my lance, pet,” Wu said softly. “I poise my lance, so,” and he moved closer to her, nestling his penis against her opening, “and I pierce your defenses ... thus!” He shoved hard with his hips and Fiona threw her head back and howled as the tearing pain swept through her. He took her then, hard and mercilessly, his talons gripping her flanks as he thrust deeply into her, several times rubbing against her core. Fiona’s reactions ranged from tears of pain and horror to eventual moans and tremors as she felt the first hot edge of an orgasm build in her like a wave. When she did finally climax it was as if an electric arc had stung her; she contorted and screamed as Wu roared and his seed spewed out to coat the inside of her sex. Wu pulled out of Fiona and smiled as the two felines came forward, both dropping to their knees and licking his shaft clean. He was soon hard again and he stepped forward, stroking Fiona’s face with one paw. “My essence now fills you, my pet,” he crooned, “at least in one orifice.” One feline knelt behind Fiona and started to rub something slick and oily on her tailhole. She moaned in fear and tried to struggle as the other feline anointed Wu’s cock with oil and he moved to stand behind the helpless canine. Two ropes were attached to the bar that held her legs apart and she was hauled up so that her knees almost touched her breasts. Wu’s talons stroked her flanks as he positioned himself, and Fiona’s eyes went wide as she felt his oiled shaft probe at her tailhole. “No! You can’t!” she protested, doing her best to squirm away from him. Her next protest died in her throat, eclipsed by a scream of pain as the dragon started to penetrate her rear entrance. The pain was an excruciating, tearing thing as he slid himself fully into her, talons sliding up her sides to cup her breasts, assisting his motions by pulling her down onto him. He held her like that, buried in her to the hilt, for several minutes as Fiona hung slackly from the ropes, sobbing softly. Then he started to sing again, and she moaned, feeling his song touch her deeper now even as he started to move within her. She shivered as one of the servants -– slaves, she corrected herself –- knelt and began to run her sleek, raspy tongue over her sex. Fiona moaned and writhed as best she could while Wu took her gently, pumping into her as he whispered in her ear, “You are mine now, my pet. You will learn to serve me and you will be rewarded.” He gave a short, hissing moan as he thrust up into her one last time and arched his back as he came in her ass. They left her there, for how long she did not know; when they finally loosened the ropes she fell to her knees before the dragon. “My pet,” he said softly, then pointed at her and nodded to the two slaves, who gathered her up and took her to another room to be bathed. Fiona lost all track of the days, being kept in a windowless room lit only by candles. She was bound most of the time, forcing her to become physically dependent on Wu for her food, drink, and to clean herself. Every time she was fed she had to beg for it, and to allow him to take her; her mouth, sex and tailhole felt raw and abused, but she was still alive. She was on her knees when they finally removed her ropes, and she stayed there, whimpering softly as Wu caressed her headfur and ordered her to lick his feet. Fiona complied, a tiny part of her wondering still why she did it. An unknown amount of time later she awoke to hear what was unmistakably gunfire, followed by a confused babble of Chinese and English voices. As she sat up, the door to her room shook in its frame, then fell in, revealing Fiske framed in the doorway, a rifle in his paws. “Lady Fiona!” he exclaimed as he stepped into the room, dropping the rifle and hurriedly taking off his coat. He wrapped her up in it and scooped her up in his arms like she was a child. “Leftenant!” Fiske shouted. “I’ve found her!” A burly Marine officer poked his head into the room and nodded. “Good work, Sergeant,” the squirrel said. “Get her out of here, double quick. There’s a doctor waiting for her back at the Embassy.” “Yes, sir,” Fiske replied, and he hustled his young charge out of the building into bright winter sunshine. Four Marines took up flanking positions as he carried her all the way back to the Legations compound. At one point they passed a crowd of curious onlookers, and Fiona cowered at the alien sound of their voices, snuggling as best she could against Fiske’s chest. A doctor examined her and pronounced her fit, albeit malnourished and exhausted (aside from the abuse she suffered, which he could do nothing about). Fiona slept for several days after being examined and bathed, attended by her two servants and the watchful Fiske. The revelation that she had been held captive for nearly two months stunned her so badly that she refused food for two days and spent the time shaking, covered by blankets. On the tenth day since her release from captivity, Fiona sat up in bed, propped up by pillows, as the Consul of the Embassy was admitted into her room. “Lady Fiona,” he said, “I’m Mr. Talbot, and I want to convey our sympathies for your situation. I trust you are feeling better?” Fiona smiled softly as she set aside her cup of tea, her right paw shaking slightly as she replied, “I am f-feeling much better now, sir. I was afraid that I might be lost forever.” The fox smiled. “Thank your man Fiske,” Talbot said. “He and your maids found their way blocked, and he guessed what might have happened. He came straight here and told us.” He smiled, and it was a tight, almost professional smile. “Her Majesty’s Government takes a dim view of her citizens being kidnapped in daylight. It took some time to persuade the Chinese -– that is, bribe enough officials and informants –- to assist us in our search for you.” “What ... what h-happened to the Mandarin?” Fiona stammered, her paw shaking a bit more. She clasped her paws together to quiet them as Talbot replied, “I am assured that he did not survive, my Lady. A dragon matching his description was discovered hiding in a room above yours and Leftenant Marbray tells me that he was shot by the local militia.” Fiona laid her head back on the pillows. “That’s good,” she said softly. “I am glad he’s dead, Mr. Talbot.” Talbot gave a slight bow. “I’m arranging for you to be put aboard HMS Lancer at Hong Kong. The captain has orders to take you back to England as soon as possible. If you’re up to it, you can take the train tomorrow.” Fiona smiled up at the Consul. “Thank you, sir. I w-want to go home.” * * *“...I find I cannot shake off the persistent feeling that he is still alive, and looking for me.” Fiona stared again at the last line of her letter to the Ambassador. What if Wu was still alive? Would he track her all the way back to England to reclaim his ‘pet?’ What would he do to her if he caught her again? She shuddered, and pressed her thighs together as she started to hum a soft tune to herself. She lifted her skirts, gathering them up to rest in her lap as her paw slid between her thighs to stroke her sex. A soft moan eased past her parted lips as she felt herself growing wetter while she stroked. She gasped as she plunged two fingers into her opening, working her paw back and forth as she leaned back in her chair, humming quietly to herself. Fiona came in a series of gentle shudders and whispered moans, knowing with a firm certainty that if he found her, Wu would only have to sing to her to force her to her knees. Fiona had listened to the dragon. The End |