Big Dragon – The Boyfriend Upgrade
by Esperanto Grrl
Originally posted on www.epiclust.com
Morgan always dreamed of a big, strong, magnificently muscled stallion being her lover. Hard to the touch all over, brawny, able to protect her so she’d feel safe in his powerful arms. She longed to strum his cut abs like a banjo, abs that were armor-hard plates that could shrug off a sledgehammer to the gut without a wince.
Her boyfriend, Roger, was nothing like that at all. In fact, he was really into the Sony Playstation...the mortal archenemy of all girlfriends everywhere. Morgan fantasized about picking up a Louisville Slugger and bashing that damn thing like the caveman with a bone in 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY.
After dating since freshman year, their average date night conversation went like this:
“Hey baby, what do you wanna to do?”
“I dunno, baby, what do you wanna do?”
They would go back and forth like this for a while before finally going bowling like every other week, and then, that night, they would go to Roger’s place for dry, old person sex Morgan had to endure, making sure not to make enough noise so that Roger’s Dad wouldn’t wake up. There were even some times where Roger nearly got her to orgasm! Morgan could fake it like a pro: she whispered in his ear that she craved his mighty pork sword.
Morgan loved Roger, however. They’d been dating so long she couldn’t imagine what life would be like without him. Also, he wasn’t a bad guy. He was very nice to Morgan’s black cat, Pagan, and didn’t bat an eye when she explained she spent her Tuesdays trying to contact the spirits of dead celebrities.
But man, Roger let himself GO. He was barely 5’6”, yet he had a puffy, Michelin Man body and cone-shaped man-titties. He had a scruffy neckbeard and wore t-shirts with Japanese cartoons on them. During sex he had to shift his belly up out of the way to let his woefully undersized chee-toh dust covered pecker prick up. It was thin and thumb-short, unsatisfying, with orgasms made by his marble sized balls that were an almost negligible piddle that could fit in a thimble. It was as if his sexless body shaped without testosterone. Under his pasty blubber was bone alone.
Their sex could best be described as two hardboiled eggs dipped in salad oil imitating whale calls.
It was on a Thursday night that Morgan discovered how unsatisfied she was with the relationship. The pair of them went to a keg party they were invited to by an older friend in college.
Morgan wiggled up to the iron keg to pour a paper cup of brew, when she looked up and noticed the shadows of three or four men had fallen over her, all wearing identical red fraternity t-shirts. The smallest guy was two heads taller than Morgan was. They were blonde and had arrogant sneers, their eyes glazed over drunk. Morgan guessed one of their names was probably “Chad.”
“Hey baby, check it, is it true what they say about you freak girls...that you’re all easy?” The frat guy said, leaning way, way too close to Morgan to the point where she could make out the beer stink on his breath.
Morgan was in a bad place to be for a girl like her. She was a petite five-foot-three, slender as a mink, with a button nose. She wore white makeup that made her intentionally pale, and she wore bright purple lipstick on her thick, bulbous lips. She had piercings in the eye and ear, and her raven black hair was done in thin dreds, some black and others "Bride of Frankenstein" electric white. Her eyes were a shocking grayish blue, and on her graceful and pale arms were tattoos, as was on her thigh and the small of her back. She wore a black collar on her neck, and her slim legs were covered in jet black fishnets.
Morgan was cornered by the four against the keg. In between the frat guys’ bodies she could see her boyfriend watching with a face like a skittish ferret. Morgan looked at her lover for support and aid, as men were supposed to provide to women in danger...but Roger only looked back, paralyzed like a doe in truck headlights.
Morgan gritted her teeth. If she was going to get out of this, she was going to have to do it herself. “Move aside, asswipes.”
One Frat guy laughed a sloppy drunk laugh. “Jesus, chick, you got spiderwebs all over your cooter or –“
The frat guy didn’t get to finish his sentence because Morgan pounced her five-foot-three body on his like a bobcat, her tiny fists pounding his skin like hammers. Another frat guy peeled Morgan from atop his body, with Morgan kicking and flailing like a mad dog. The scared target crawled away, his shirt torn in places as if by teeth.
“Help! Jesus, that chick is CRAZY! S-stay away from me!” The six-foot-one fraternity guy said, his eyes filled with primal terror as he kicked away from Morgan as quickly as if a lit grenade had been placed between them. “She’s like a wolverine or some shit!”
The other fraternity guys were too startled to move. Morgan brushed past Roger angrily. “Roger, I wanna go home now.” She said glacially, taking a ripped piece of red t-shirt from out from her mouth.
Roger followed closely behind Morgan, his head held in shame. Morgan had a distinct feeling there was no way Roger was going to touch her naked tonight.
Even the next day, Morgan fumed angrily while she was at her part-time job, cleaning out samples for scientists at a geology lab in a large metal sink with rubber gloves. No water was used; she scrubbed with fine brushes and solutions to prevent damage to the rocks. After cleaning them, she marked their position on a clipboard. Behind her was an enormous geode split in half, sparkling purple, along with a sabertoothed tiger skull.
Morgan wasn’t angry at her boyfriend. She was frustrated with his lack of assertiveness, with his manliness itself. She wasn’t dating the kind of man her loins secretly longed for, and she was taking it out on those poor African rocks.
According to the signs, they were earmarked for potassium-argon dating, and were flakes of basalt and quartz from the Great Rift Valley. They were estimated at 2.5 million years old.
Morgan lusted in her wettest dreams for a hardbodied, hot muscle god. Morgan dreamed of a strong man that would protect her, a confident guy that she could be proud of and show off, make her catty girlfriends green-eyed and jealous. She always pictured her dream guy as being somewhere that’s a cross between a young Harrison Ford, with the “latin lover” animal magnetism of Fabio, with the studly, beefcake heat of Paul Telfer with the raw mass of a young Lou Ferrigno.
Morgan sighed, and did not notice that the cleaning solution made the rock slippery. One stone slipped from her hand and crash on the ground, broken in half on the lab floor.
“The department’s going to have my ass for this.” Morgan said. But she forgot her panic because something else caught her eye.
It was a gleam of silver that had fallen out of the 2.6 million year old broken stone. It was a ring made of platinum. In the center was a stone like glass that shimmered like a diamond.
“Holy frijoles.” Morgan said.
Morgan pushed aside one of the pewter Celtic jewelry she wore on her fingers, and donned the ring to see how it looks.
In that instant, Morgan felt something like an electrical jolt and her entire body snapped. The ring was talking to her, streams of pure information thousands of times faster than thought.
In an instant, Morgan knew what it was. The ring was just platinum, but the gem inside was an extraterrestrial supercomputer using lasers reflected inside of the gemstone. The ring used advanced mathematical calculations to alter reality. It could change history retroactively and only the person with the ring would know.
In fact, the ring had changed history once before. The ring’s extraterrestrial owners had used rings like this one to evolve Homo habilis, the earliest ancestors of the human race, from Proto-Humans in Africa’s Great Rift Valley.
“Wow.” The freak girl’s gray eyes glinted evily. She knew exactly what she was going to do with this ring. She was going to give herself diamonds and furs and a European castle and a flatscreen TV and her very own pet cheetah, and a bigger, thicker ass, and...
BZZZZZZZZT!
The ring vibrated on her finger with a noise like a game show buzzer. Morgan wanted to cry. Nothing had changed. The ring seemed to thought-wave beam to her that the ring computer could affect all of reality...EXCEPT the ring wielder themselves or anything they own. This made sense as a limitation, to make sure that every use of the reality altering supercomputer was somehow unselfish.
Morgan's horny brain turned to her boyfriend, Roger. Holding the ring up, she commanded the ring to hypnotize him into coming to her place. She was going to have some fun with him. Morgan watched the geology department offices spin around her like water down a drain, before the world reformed itself. She saw she was in her own house.
Morgan was startled to hear there was a ring at her doorbell, electronically blaring the notes to “Chopin’s Funeral March.” Morgan bolted downstairs and opened the door to see her boyfriend Roger.
“Hey baby.” Roger said. “I was at home with the PlayStation when I had this strangest urge to come over to see you.”
"Hey, baby. Wassup?" She kissed him on the lips. "Nice of you to come visit me. You have something for me, don't you? You always have a present for me every time you see me." She said. The ring buzzed on her finger.
“You got it, honey.” He said, and he pulled from behind his back a small stuffed toy that looked like a Chihuahua in a Mexican hat holding a box of chocolates. “Nothing says ‘I love you’ like a Mexican dog that sings ‘La Cucaracha’ holding chocolate.”
Morgan squeezed the paw and watched the head bob back and forth. "Aww, you're so sweet, baby...well, now you are, anyway." She said, taking the dog and pecking Roger lightly on his cheek.
"Won't you sit down? I insist." Morgan said. The ring glowed and made it so. “And let me take your clothes off.” With that, his shirt peeled itself off of his torso, his jeans unbuttoned by themselves and his zipper lowered as if by gravity, his pants wriggling off him like skin off a snake before flying aside, leaving Roger’s painfully pale, blubbery, sexless, hormone-deficient body in the buff.
“Today’s my lucky day, baby. Today I’m getting the biggest boyfriend upgrade of all time.” She said. Roger was paralyzed by the beam of light that sprang from the ring. “Think of it like an extreme makeover.”
“First, we take care of your personality and motivation." With a concentrated thought, Morgan gave him an outgoing, friendly personality: she edited the life experiences that made him shy and withdrawn and put in ones that encouraged him to open up. She made him a popular guy, and the life of the party. She thought beamed spontaneity to him.
"Now for that gut of yours." Morgan's ring blasted acidic foam, one that ate away the excessive flab around his stomach and turned it to a syrupy liquid. When the fat dripped off on the couch it left behind a flat, hard waist remaining around his midsection. Morgan placed one of her black-nailed fingers in between the groove and marveled she could place it inside of him up to the finger’s first joint. His body was wiry and stringy, his chest shaped like a pair of pancakes.
"I've always wanted two things from a guy: he has to be a winner, and he's got to be strong and protect me. Now, let's do the second one first...yeah baby, I'm gonna make you a stud." She said with a laugh.
She concentrated and rewrote reality and his genes at birth...he was born mesomorphic, with muscle-building genes and additional hormones that encouraged growth. He became an easygainer that barely put on weight with a minimum of effort, born with extra muscle mass.
She increased his height...six-foot-eight seemed about right. She concentrated and made his face handsome and flawless and his pale skin a flawless and deep golden sepia bronze, his jaw lantern huge and strong. She laced osmium and titanium in the calcium of his bones, giving him an extra 20 pounds of weight but dense and indestructible bones. She made him bigger and stronger than the strongest bodybuilder, bigger than most men, a World's Record Holder for size and strength. He could lift a car up by the bumper single-handedly if he had leverage.
The tiny, fragile body of Roger started to thicken as if he was a balloon that was filling with air. He felt his motionless body become thicker and heavier. There was a slight wince as Roger felt his bones lengthen and stretch to give him greater height. It was as if he was on an elevator that was going up, the floor becoming further and further away.
Roger’s neck became barrel thick, the kind that could pop collars with a flex, flanked on either side by a pair of trapezius muscles that looked as if footballs had been stuffed below his neck, sloping like a pyramid at 45 degree angles to either side. He felt his center of gravity shift, as he had to balance on a now narrow waist a heavier torso above it. The mass of his torso was given by a v-shaped pair of lats like the hood of a cobra.
Roger’s shoulders widened, becoming bowling ball sized, giving his entire body the shape of a T, their deltoid shape wide enough to cause the sleeves of any short-sleeved shirt to roll up powerfully. Roger’s arms were as thick as telephone poles each, most of the mass given by grapefruit-sized biceps that even when his arm was held straight, bulged at the same size as a heavyweight bodybuilder’s when flexed. The bicep’s top was lined by a pulsing, powerful vein over the surface. Most of the mass of the arm was given by the horseshoe-shaped tricep. Holding his arm straight, the tricep alone could pop a measuring tape wrapped around it. Roger’s forearms were several inches in diameter wider at the elbow than at the wrist.
Roger’s pecs looked as if it was built granite block by granite block, jutting out six inches from his sternum. Even when sitting normally his pecs clenched with a force like two stones crashing, sending a ripple through them. Morgan slid her finger in the line of separation between his pecs. She pulled it out with a giggle – the flex of his pecs had “bit” her!
Roger’s narrow, tapered waist was lined with abs that looked as if a bowling ball thrown against it would shatter like glass. His six-pack had transformed into an eight pack surrounding his cute belly button. Roger was so cut that even the tiny chicklet muscles that surrounded his abs were clearly delineated, the size of grapes.
As her eyes bounced from his flawless face to bulging pecs, Morgan felt herself get weak in the knees, and her jaw started to lose its strength. She had no idea any man could look so perfect: his chin strong, his cheekbones high, more perfect than Greek statues, better than male models and yet he had character in his face, and a rugged masculinity.
“Stand up so I can see all of you.” Morgan said. The glow of the ring made it so. “And turn around.”
Roger vaulted up with surprising grace to his now incredible height: a forehead taller than most doorways, his body wider than most at the arms and shoulders. He just kept on rising and rising up. Morgan was sure he would stop “standing up” a couple times. Roger’s thighs had teardrop-shaped muscles that caused his knee to appear sunken, each thigh as thick as a tree trunk.
The ground crunched under Roger’s powerful feet as he shifted his great weight around in a circle to show Morgan his naked back. Morgan fell down to her feet at the sight of it as if the ground below her was ice.
Roger’s back was cut and ridged like an anatomy chart, each knot and valley delineated, exploding out like a pair of wings from his narrow waist. His ass was bulbous, bubble-shaped, perfectly smooth and when he shifted his leg, Roger’s ass dimpled. Under Roger’s sepia-bronze, rhino-hide thick skin, the ridges that composed his gluteous muscles moved with a shape like aluminum siding.
Roger’s calves were as wide as most men’s waists, popping behind his leg – huge, mooing cows. Morgan was filled with the urge to lick them, on her knees to cling to his wide thighs.
Morgan shook off the intoxicating effect of his presence. “Alright, turn and face me now. Kay...” She said, breathing hot and hard, her pulse thumping in her little body until she could hear it in her ears. She could not wait to coat the body of the god she had in front of her with her purple or black lipstick.
As a final touch, Morgan blasted his throat, and she bulked up his larynx to a point where he had a deep, Barry White esque voice that growled sexx with every bass word.
“Hmmm...” Morgan said. “I wonder what you’d look like as a black guy.” She said, as if she was telling her lover to take some outfits to the dressing room to see how he’d look. With a blast, the ring darkened him to an ebony shade, mocha dark. His Adonis features were straight, his lips thicker, his hair short and cut close to the scalp. His coal-dark eyes were smouldering with hot sex.
“Ohhh. Damn.” Morgan said. Suddenly, a light came in her gray eyes. “You know, I just had the craziest idea. What if you were Asian? I don’t see many Chinese guys with lots of muscles.” She amended her statement. “Well, there was that one Japanese guy, Ken something, from the seventies, but that was like, a billion years ago.” She blasted him with the ring again.
With that, Roger’s skin turned a dusky, golden bronze and his features assumed an angular, straight exotic cast, with almond-shaped eyes, his hair straight and black and reaching his shoulders like a lion’s mane. His face had the cutest dimples on either side of his small, perfectly formed lips.
“Whoa. Hey, I just thought of a nickname for you. Big Dragon.” Morgan smiled to herself. She was inspired tonight! With that, she blasted on him a huge tattoo along his back, of a spiraling Chinese dragon, going from his shoulder over the cut crevasse canyon of his back, the tail ending halfway at the curved bounce of his distinctly un-Asian bubble-butt.
"Man, I am on a roll! Now...hee hee, to make you first the ultimate athlete and fighter...THEN the ultimate lover." Morgan said with a gleeful giggle.
Morgan covered her lover’s brawny body with a red spotlight blast from the ring. Her first step was to change his stamina and density; his lungs grew as large as a gallon jug of milk each, and his heart beat like a metronome. The ring gave him the endurance of a marathon runner crossed with a Tibetan Cherpa.
At the will of the ring, Big Dragon was born with the talent beyond Michael Jordan level in every sport, a natural athletic gift to compliment his muscles. He could hit a bullseye with darts after a few moments of practice. His reflexes were so quick, Big Dragon could catch a paintball in mid-flight. She gave him beyond professional sprinter level speed; he could run as fast as an Olympic speed skater only on foot. This was possible with his powerful legs, which punched the ground like pistons, almost jet propelled. She made him flexible and elastic despite his muscles. Big Dragon could do a split or enter into pretzel positions only possible for contortionists.
Morgan popped him again with another thought. She had made him the strongest, brawniest man that ever lived, able to crush any other man Big Dragon touched like paper. She made him the greatest all-round athlete that ever lived. Finally, she settled for making him a fighter. With a burst from the ring, Big Dragon knew 250 varieties of Martial Arts at black belt level or greater, from Leopard Fist Kung Fu, Viet Vo Dao (the Martial Way of the Vietnamese), Pao Chichuan (Leopard Fist Kung Fu), Savaté, Tai Chichuan, and Jeet Kune Do...whatever the hell that is. Morgan heard it mentioned in a movie somewhere.
“Uhhh...the Martial Arts thing is not because you’re Chinese or anything. I mean, of course not! I mean, I’d do that even if you weren’t Asian. I’m not giving in to stereotypes here. This is because I’ve always wanted my man to be a fighter and a lover too.” The slim, petite Goth girl was telling the truth, but her Guilty White Liberal instincts popped up.
“Now to make you a lover.” Now here Morgan just grinned from ear to ear.
The ring glowed again. Slowly like a python slipping down a vine Big Dragon’s petite member started getting heavier and heavier until it dangled between his knees as heavy as lead, expanding in girth and length like an animal balloon inflating. At last, his big beefy zucchini terminated its growth, the head dangled nearly between his knees, flopping and tapping either inside thigh when he moved. More important, his balls started to gurgle and fill up with virile, hot seed, shifting inside their contents, each ball the size of an orange.
His endowment was accompanied by various modifications, sexual in nature: his tongue lengthened and became like a Gila Monster’s. And with her ring, Morgan beamed lovemaking knowledge from the Kama Sutra, to cyclotronic cunnilingus.
Morgan concentrated. "Now to make you a man." She said. With a blast from the ring, he went from a dopey teenager to a 26 year old adult. Morgan scratched her head wondering about the ramifications of something so retroactive. Finally she decided to make Big Dragon’s Mother his spinster older sister, and his grandparents Big Dragon’s adopted American family.
"Hmmm, now to make you a winner." She said. "Okay, first, you are a millionaire...no, make that BILLIONAIRE." At that, reality changed with a fuzzy blur and the ring became especially hot on Morgan’s finger. “And you didn’t inherit a cent, either. You made your money with patents and slick investing. And you made most of your money as a teenager so you're mostly retired, spending time as a sexy, rugged adventurer. You’re the first Asian-American to journey beneath the North Pole in a submarine of your own design. Your hobbies include cave diving, bow hunting, motorcycles, and swimming the English Channel.” With that, it was so.
Morgan’s voice turned gravelly serious. “I could never be with any man that does not share my love for hovercraft.”
"Alright, alright, what am I forgetting? Oh yeah: you have a huge brain, too...IQ of 250." She thought about this one for a minute. "You were a prodigy that graduated medical school at age 12. And instead of being some nerd, you're a bad boy. A tall, handsome muscle stud even MENSA types would never, ever want to sit across the board from at chess.” She said, with a shudder at the thought. “You don’t like busybodies and people that tell you what to do.” She said.
Morgan suddenly realized with a shudder that if his life was as radically different as stated, it’s likely the two of them may never have met, and if he did why would he date her when Penelope Cruz is single?
Morgan held the hypnotically flashing clear diamond up to Big Dragon’s eyes. “Alright, here’s how we met...you saved me from a fire in Astoria, when you were passing by.” Morgan especially relished this detail. She loved heroic alpha men, cops and firefighters.
She imagined the details of the rescue so thoroughly it was as if it actually happened (and now did). She imagined herself trapped and licked at by hot flame at her feet, her burgundy-red skirt singed, her brain delirious from the smoke. Then, she saw something that moved among the fire like a bronze smoke, walking through the wall as if it was papier-mâché, with the wall behind leaving an imprint of his body, before wrapping her warmly in his arms, that were strong like steel, with a gentle grip that could hold eggshells, but firm like a steel vice that left her breathless.
She imagined his sweat and grime covered body pressing her to his, lifting her up with one arm as if she was weightless, the other mighty column that he calls an arm supporting the crushing, flaming ceiling above, and his arms pushing aside antique wooden drawers as if they were made of styrafoam from his path. He hurled a chair through the glass of a window, shattering it as he moved towards the fire escape.
The bricks that supported the fire escape dropped away, letting the lifesaving passage out clang to the roof of the shorter building beneath it.
Big Dragon thought quickly and leaped from the window, free-falling, his athletic body twisted in midair, headed for a rooftop-placed pool beside it. Morgan’s stomach moved to her neck from the lurch. Making a negligible splash in the water, Big Dragon rose, coughing vigorously. A hospital visit would be required for the pair, but no permanent damage.
“Hell yeah.” Morgan felt her quinny bubble, positively berserk with hot lust. “And the moment you saw me, something clicked and you loved me more than anything. And if you do TRY to touch any other woman, you find your dick just won’t get hard at all.”
“Is that it?” The cute little goth girl couldn’t shake the feeling she had forgotten something. Something very important. But it looked like she had gotten everything. Morgan was ridiculously exact, yet she couldn’t shake a feeling she had left something off.
“Alright, that’s it.” She said.
The world started to fuzz and blur around Morgan as it had when she beamed herself back to her room. Morgan wondered if she had made a mistake.
When the world settled down, she came to, and she was alone. Roger – now Big Dragon – was nowhere in sight. And she was in very strange surroundings.
The first thing she noticed was the ring was as hot as if it had been inside of a car on a Guatemalan Summer Day. It had gotten hotter as a result of her using it, and thus she pulled it off, tossing it in an antique dresser that held some books.
The room she was in was lit by sunlight through colossal panoramic windows. She looked and saw the Manhattan cityscape, tiny and small, the yellow of taxis merely ant blips below. The height made her dizzy. Morgan was from Queens, not Manhattan, but she made a shrewd guess she was on or around Lexington or Third Avenue, north of 42nd Street and Madison Square. She knew of no building as large as this one in that area; the EmpireStateBuilding was on 34th and 5th Avenue.
The room was lined with bookcases. There was an enormous glass case of trophies that covered nearly a whole wall. Diving, Tae Kwon Do, Speedboat Racing. One wall was made entirely of plaques featuring the Guiness Book of World’s Records award. “Longest Aerial Free-Fall.” “Longest record for breath-holding.” “Greatest number of one-arm pull-ups.” “Greatest number of three-point shots in a single game (amateur).” “Greatest amount of weight pressed with a single arm.” There were many more, but if it was to be believed, at least a third of the Guinness Book belonged to Big Dragon’s.
There was a wall of narrow magazine covers that featured Big Dragon on them. They were everything from COMPUTER TECH WEEKLY, whose headline was “CAN A WHIZ KID SAVE ONLINE BUSINESS?” And there was another, HOVERCRAFT ENTHUSIAST, which sported the Asian muscle god, leaning his brawny build against the deck of one slick black model speeder, shirtless with his dragon tattoo prominent. Another magazine was, predictably, MUSCLE AND FITNESS, with Big Dragon shirtless, oiled, hoisting dumbbells with weights each the dimension of trash cans easily. The article read “WEIGHT TRAINING TIPS FROM THE WORLD’S STRONGEST MAN.”
Morgan found herself clenching her fishnet-clad legs together at the sight of him. Most models in magazines were computer airbrushed and their skin treated with photogenic makeups. She knew for a FACT that Big Dragon really, really looked like his picture.
Morgan backed up into one of the larger bookcases, her hand absentmindedly pulling a book out. Suddenly the bookcase revolved around on a joint, revealing the other side as a wall with weapons strapped to the side. Silenced Uzi submachineguns, polished sportsman’s bows with various arrows topped with different heads, as well as a collection of pointy and deadly objects, some presumably antiques: Indonesian Kris knives and Chinese Fire Wheels, Hindu “punching daggers” and a Malaysian version of the Nunchaku, the three-part sa tjat koen, among others.
Morgan wondered if she even lived here at all. She hadn’t asked for this, and it was obvious the ring had made changes she hadn’t asked for, possibly extrapolating from her own desires.
Morgan turned to hear a familiar sound. It was a meow by a black cat. “Pagan!” She said. She definitely lived here. Pagan wore about his neck a thick collar studded with sparkling diamonds.
“Hey baby.” A voice growled, deep and bass like James Earl Jones and Barry put together, and shook the freak girl from her head to her toes.
Morgan turned and saw Big Dragon in the doorway. She had yet to see him move. His movements were as graceful as a big cat, his muscles moving under his bronzed, golden skin like pythons under silk sheets. Big Dragon’s hands were behind his back. He was completely naked, except for a bare loincloth made from cheetah skin. That, and a look he gave her with his almond, exotic eyes. The loincloth had the clear salami-like outline of Big Dragon’s member clearly delineated. His mighty meat pumped with blood below, as if a beating heart had been stuffed below the garment. His mass started stretching until the tip of the head had cleared the base of the animal loincloth, peeking from below it. It stiffened as Big Dragon looked at Morgan hungrily with want, the way a panther looks at a zebra.
“I got you something. I was in Sri Lanka this morning...and you know I always have something for you every time I see you.” He said, as he opened the hands he had behind his back, which contained a black box. “It’s a necklace. I know how much you love pearls.” Each of the pearls was the size of a quarter, and was a lustrous greenish black. “You know there are seven different kinds of shades of black for pearls. I told him I wouldn’t have anything but ‘peacock black’ for you.” Big Dragon said.
Morgan could say absolutely nothing but leave her mouth open. “T-thank you.” Morgan loved five things in this world: 1) her boyfriend, 2) hovercraft, 3) her family, 4) her cat, and 5) pearls. To drop what could only have been half a hundred thousand on gems...
With a burst of speed, the brawny Asian muscle stud was right beside Morgan. His arms, thick as her entire body, wrapped themselves like anacondas about her, his titanium hard biceps digging into her perfumed, soft skin. Morgan put up no fight, she pressed against the underside of his vast chest like butter melting on a hot skillet. Every touch that Big Dragon gave him, Morgan felt goose pimples pop all over her body.
Morgan dropped the pearls. Big Dragon pushed her black dreds aside with his hand and whispered in her ear.
“The Icarus II still has some fuel left. I know! Let’s take it to my bungalow in Nairobi tonight.” He said, with a purr at her ear. “I know how much you love the idea of making love on the tigerskin rug...we’ll be back in time for your spa appointment tomorrow morning. We travel light. Hey, no need to pack pants!” He said.
To the touch, every muscle in her huge Chinese stallion’s body was like a pillowcase placed over stones. His muscles even when unflexed vibrated with his potential strength like standing next to a washing machine.
With that, Big Dragon kissed Morgan. Instantaneously, both of their mouths went concave as a fish. His thick, rough catlike tongue filled her mouth, tickling her smaller, pierced tongue. Morgan, despite her tiny size, when her passion was aflame, she was no delicate blossom: she kissed back as hard as she got. She shut her gray eyes tightly, her kisses hungry and wanton – it was like she wanted to eat his face, her hands trailing over his sexy dark mane of straight black hair. When they broke the kiss, Morgan felt as if he was going to pull her tongue out of her mouth.
What a kiss! Morgan was left in a state of swooning euphoria. She could barely stand up on her own.
Nairobi? Black pearls? She wanted a “spontaneous” guy, and by God, she GOT one.
Morgan could scarcely contain her body, whose temperate had risen so greatly beads of sweat formed on her clear and pale skin. Her nipples went Ker-SPLINK! Ker-SPLINK! Hard enough to cut glass. She had plotted this from start, but now, the reality of it, the feeling of her perky, youthful breasts pushed against the unyielding hard muscle of his body...she turned her purple-lipstick clad lips in an O-shape...and she felt her vagina clench like a vice and something like hot lead glide between her legs and on her burgundy red panties beneath.
Big Dragon smiled a sexy smile that showed his dimples, the kind of grin that could melt the frostiest of hearts.
“I know what that face means.” He said. “Would you like some clean-up?”
With his great, strong hands that seemed to cover the entirety of her body, Big Dragon glided Morgan’s skirt from her slender, curving hips and he dropped to his knees, still almost as tall as Morgan herself, but able to look her in the eye. With that, he fell to his back and using his teeth, he skillfully dragged Morgan’s panties off. What was behind was black curly and unshaven. Big Dragon pushed his face against her quinny. He kissed it.
Morgan dropped down and spread her fishnet clad, dancer’s legs out, allowing him to curl above her.
The Chinese superstud extended his lengthy gila monster tongue, rough as a cat’s, and licked the inside of her thighs. He pushed his tongue inside, between Morgan’s lips, a sensation that shook her body. His tongue then started whirling and turning like a cyclone inside of her, roughly licking and squeezing her in cavernous reaches no other man’s tongue reached. Her back instantly popped into an arch. Her black-nailed hands clutched her Asian lover’s head for dear life, pushing him into her cavern. Morgan screamed loud and hoped that Big Dragon’s apartment was soundproof – she had never gotten cunnilingus like this before. His tip could bend and touch places the length could not, sloshing and rolling inside of her. Big Dragon’s head rotated on his brass corded neck. Big Dragon had the world’s record for breath-holding; he could stay down under for minutes and minutes.
It was like electricity, more intense than a vibrator. It was as if every single nerve in her skinny body concentrated inside the walls of her snatch. He tapped points of skin that made her exhale.
“OH GODDDDD, I’M GOING TO COME! UHHHHhhhHHH...” She screamed. Big Dragon and his powerful lungs sucked her juices as well as if she had placed a vacuum cleaner tube up her pussy.
Big Dragon helped Morgan to her back, where she started to hyperventilate. Morgan had gotten so much pleasure she was literally paralyzed and could barely feel herself move. Big Dragon kissed her tenderly on the lips before he got up to load the Icarus II.
When she could move again, Big Dragon led Morgan out to a sumptuous private elevator. The elevator whizzed upward several floors before coming out at the roof of the skyscraper. Morgan could look down and see Manhattan; whatever building she was on, it had at least 90 floors. There on the roof, was a takeoff strip for a vehicle of a curious sweeping shape, like a boomerang or the experimental “flying wing” designs. It was painted at the prow with the name “ICARUS II.” Big Dragon popped the door open, extending a hand to his delicate love gallantly, his strong grip on her waist nearly lifting her effortlessly up into the minivan-sized passenger cabin.
Before boarding the plane, Big Dragon gave her a tiny derringer with a mother of pearl handle. It was a lady’s gun – the kind kept in a holdster above stockings. To her surprise, Morgan found she had one such holdster right in her fishnets.
“It’s rough out there, cutie.” Big Dragon said, as she playfully swatted her ass.
Morgan was grinning from ear to ear. She had a feeling life with the 20th Century’s greatest superstud was not going to be boring. A mother of pearl handled gun in the stocking? It’s like being a Bond girl. She pushed her skirt up and placed the gun where it belonged.
During the flight, Morgan pressed her head against Big Dragon’s hard, hot, powerful pec, her arms wrapped around his waist, as hard as the bronze metal it resembled. There, she could feel his mighty heart beat. She could feel the Chinese muscle stallion’s cut abs right through his flight shirt.
Big Dragon started to talk about the function of the Icarus II and how it worked. Most of it was complicated avionic terms that she didn’t entirely understand. She didn’t care. Morgan could listen to the sound of Big Dragon’s voice forever.
She did glean a few interesting facts from the technobabble. The Icarus II was designed by Big Dragon himself. It was a smaller, four or five seat vehicle capable of supersonic travel. Big Dragon got around the restrictions of supersonic speed in the U.S. (which for instance, caused the Concorde airlines to close down) by moving at non-supersonic flight velocity until he hit international waters, 200 miles out to shore. This slowed down the time it took for the jet to travel – but it still meant they’d reach Nairobi between three to four hours. Morgan also learned firsthand that she was not to touch the hull or windows of the plane while it was supersonic. Because of the friction, they were hot enough to nearly burn her hand.
Morgan busied herself by leaning on Big Dragon’s manly chest and reading an issue of PEOPLE magazine kept in a pocket. To her great astonishment, it mentioned “Big Dragon and Morgan Tatopolous” and featured photographs, with the huge height of her Asian lover dwarfing her in the photograph. Overall, the magazine had vacuous praise, but Morgan could read between the lines.
She detected a hint of absolute bafflement that the 21st Century’s greatest superstud and most desirable batchelor had taken a cute but mostly ordinary Greek girl from Astoria, Queens when he could have been out banging a latina telenovela actress or an Austrian Duchess.
“Does this one talk about us?” Big Dragon asked. “Here, let me see.” He switched a lever that activated the autopilot and took the magazine from Morgan.
Morgan grumbled. “I liked it much better when PEOPLE magazine was about people that weren’t me.”
“No, wait, this is good. Listen to this: ‘Billionare stallion and world’s strongest man, Roger “Big Dragon” is going to be in Sri Lanka this week with an experimental treatment to cure the last known cases of Black Death on the globe. At the same time the Bollywood production of “Bajrang Bali” with “world’s most beautiful woman” Aishwarya Rai will be using the AnuradhapuraCave rock temple in Dambullahas a filming location, not far from where Dragon has set up his camp. The question is, will the 6’8” inch, 400 pound Chinese powerhouse stay true to his little leading lady and rein his legendary libido?’ Wow, when they put it that way, they make me sound pretty interesting.” Big Dragon said.
“Oh, stop...” Morgan said, “Hey...baby, you’ve got the autopilot on now and it’s 20 minutes to African airspace. PLEASE tell me you’re thinking what I’m thinking...”
“Damn, you’re a horny little minx! Those PEOPLE magazine assholes must have been crazy thinking I’d leave you for some Indian babe. But no, let’s wait ‘till the bungalow, I have a surprise for you. I promise.” He said.
“Aww, I can’t wait that long!” She said, undoing his top button and kissing the powerful muscle underneath, leaving purple lipstick on his muscle. “I’m so hot right now, if you place an egg on the small of my back, it’ll start frying.”
Two things nagged on Morgan’s mind: the first was, in the whirlwind that was this new and wondrous existence, she had forgotten the computer ring back in New York, now thousands of miles away. This sent a chill like ice water down her spine. What if someone finds it and figures out the truth about Big Dragon? He – and she - would lose everything. Worse, what if someone really nasty found it? Morgan had neglected to find out if the ring could be used to hurt or kill.
The second thing on her mind was more vague and indistinct...the niggling feeling in designing her new boyfriend that she’d forgotten something.
Not long after, the Icarus II touched down with a bump on a black asphalt landing strip in the midst of verdant, green jungle, beside which was a colonial building of the Spanish style. Because of the time zone difference, when it was day in New York, in Nairobi it was approaching midnight.
Big Dragon wrapped his pythonlike arms around Morgan’s waist and hoisted her up as if she was made of styrafoam, picking her up with one forearm at her back, the other between her knees. Morgan hated to have others do things for her, but she could get used to being carried this way, cradled and pressed to her lover’s big chest, almost like a child to an adult in proportion to Big Dragon’s size. Morgan leaned her blackhaired, dredlocked head to Big Dragon’s shoulders, her tiny hands clinging to his chest like a person clinging to the rails of a roller coaster.
The bungalow appeared empty; if there were servants or workpeople they had been cleared away. In place of a lock, there was a groove. Big Dragon placed his bulbous, can of drano-shaped ass cheeks deep into the groove. When he did, there was a pop, and the door snapped open.
Morgan grinned when she realized what this was. A lock keyed to the distinctive shape of Big Dragon’s muscled ass. It would for the most part be foolproof: by the looks of things, if a two-inch thick lead pipe was to be placed between Big Dragon’s ass, with a squeeze and clench, he could crush the pipe like a can of cola.
Big Dragon’s finger flicked on the lights. The bungalow was lavish. There was a cobblestone fireplace, along the wall there were six-foot tusks of elephant ivory. On the ground was an orange tigerskin. Big Dragon placed Morgan down, letting her feet touch the ground. He emerged for the first time perfectly naked.
Morgan’s jaw dropped in astonishment. This was the first time she had gotten a really good look at the huge anaconda that her Chinese sex pistol called a member. Intriguingly, there was a tattoo along the side. “PROPERTY OF MORGAN TATOPOLOUS.” Morgan giggled at the sight of it.
From behind his back, Big Dragon produced a small compact device. “It’s a digital. Twice the battery length of anything on the market now, it’s an invention of mine.” He said in his smooth, masculine deep voice. “I thought we might tape ourselves tonight to have something we can watch later. Maybe we can leak it out and act surprised...” He said, his mouth turning at the corner and an impish grin at his corner. He placed the camera on top of a drawer, the red light flashing on.
“You’re so kinky!” Morgan said approvingly.
Big Dragon glided like a bronze cloud without making any sound. “You know it, baby. Oh God, Morgan, I love you so much...” He said with a staccato, before he tore her shirt off with his hands as if it was made of wet tissue paper. He placed his finger under her skirt and pulled it off, using it as a boxcutter, and he pushed her naked back against the fur of the tigerskin rug. Big Dragon’s huge body covered her entirely like a tent; he held his 400 pound powerhouse body over her slim body with a single arm. His other arm slid behind her back and covered it entirely like an octopus; his skillful fingers knew precisely where Morgan was sensitive. She was already starting to be pushed to the bring of orgasm.
Big Dragon twitched one of his powerfully muscled pecs, then another, then another in a dance, until his pecs flexed so rapidly that it was like the vibrations of a massage chair.
Morgan watched as his telephone pole member started to inflate and thicken, stirring between them, hot to the touch. Big Dragon was a tripod; it looked like he had a third leg.
With an oxlike grunt, he thrust his member directly on Morgan’s velvety soft quinny, and stretching her out with the Pittsburgh steel girder he had between his legs. Morgan screamed loudly, a bestial roar like a lion. She went cross-eyed, her toes and fingers immediately curled. His powerful baseball bat filled her insides as tightly as a finger inside of a glove that was too small.
Big Dragon’s member didn’t stop there. He pushed and popped and shook Morgan’s entire body, crashing against her as rapidly as a pounding surf against the shore in a storm. It was like masturbating with a construction jackhammer. Morgan was being pounded deep into the ground, and she could feel the wood underneath the tigerskin rug start to splinter and give way.
The heated friction between their bodies was eased by sweat that pooled on her. Big Dragon wrapped his tree-trunk thick legs around hers in a vice like a twizzler, in a tangle of elastic naked limbs.
Morgan’s rational brain had been deactivated and replaced by that of a cat in heat. She screamed loud enough to shake the room. The little goth girl gave as good as she got: she rolled and pressed fiercely to the person above her, popping her hips and her body back and forth as ferociously as a mechanical bull trying to throw off a rider. The pair of them moved together and with each other in a rapid, friction-heated, piston-pumping rhythm as if they had been lovers for years and years.
Big Dragon’s powerful battering ram so thoroughly filled Morgan that where it was inside of her was actually visible from the outside, as a log shape on her ordinarily flat stomach. Morgan’s gray eyes started to welt up with tears, and she bit her lip. She felt like his powerful stiffened girder was going to split her in half. And astonishingly, there were still at least six or seven inches sticking out of her that couldn’t even be placed inside!
With a display of Big Dragon’s incredible elasticity and flexibility, he then wrapped his powerful, lengthy legs in a crab grip around Morgan’s waist; the feeling of his thighs squeezing her and his titanium-hard calves pushing into her back literally took Morgan’s breath away.
In this manner the pair started to shake from side to side, as together they rolled over the bungalow floor like a hurtling comet. They smashed into a drawer, knocking a tiffany lamp down with a crash. They hit a bookcase, causing the entirety of it to fall and crash down in a rain of hardcovers. Thankfully, Big Dragon was on top at the time, and the heavy books fell like raindrops on his wide back which was as hard as the bronze metal that it resembled.
Morgan’s eyes were still crossed, and her toes curled. Her body temperature was as red-hot as an oven. She could feel the drippings of his powerful pre-cum sliding inside her, each pop or dribble the size of a grape. Finally, she held back nothing: her kegels clamped down on Big Dragon’s big beef as if for dear life, as she shook for a moment as if she was having an epileptic seizure.
Big Dragon roared as his balls bubbled. The slit on the tip of his protein cannon turned wide enough so that a pencil could slip through – and the Asian muscle stud came, gushing like a fire hose. Big Dragon was almost rocketed out of Morgan’s quinny by the force of his release. Each burst of his steaming hot bone slop was like a roaring faucet, sploshing loudly inside of his lover. Parts of his vast, white seed slid out from between the pair of them and pooled below them in a puddle the size of a welcome mat.
Big Dragon pulled out of her with a squishy sound and a loud popping. This left Morgan sore and aching. She could not even feel her numb vagina anymore. She was gasping for breath, her ribcage expanding like balloons. Morgan was on such a natural high that she could hardly move, her mouth open. Morgan had never been quite so exhausted than after a few minutes of sex with Big Dragon.
Morgan coughed. She had screamed so loud and so much during the session that she was now hoarse. Not that it mattered; she could probably not form rational sentences at this point.
Moving her head felt like moving a planet, but was able to bob her head up and she saw that instead of having a flat stomach, she had a cute little gut. Apparently, Big Dragon had come like an elephant. She was able to look around, and she saw the interior of the Bungalow was trashed like a rock star’s hotelroom from their lovemaking. She had to have been at least 10 feet away from the tigerskin rug.
More astonishingly, she looked at Big Dragon himself. She was exhausted as if she had run a marathon while wearing cement blocks, but Big Dragon’s naked, brawny body wasn’t even breathing hard. His balls were slightly smaller than they were previously, but astonishingly and incredibly, between his legs, his powerful penis was still stiff. In fact, he was so hard that it looked like his mighty meat could hammer nails. Morgan hoped he wouldn’t walk around like that; if he did, it could be dangerous to everything around him. His king sized cock would slap things like a club.
Morgan was astonished. Big Dragon’s member snaked up like a pillar between the cut surface of his abs, touching the tip of his pecs. She noticed a glob of cum drip from the tip the size of a quarter. The Chinese stud wrapped both his hands around his beefy girth. He then gave one of his dimpled, irresistible sexy smiles as he strode over to his satisfied lover.
“Say cheese, beautiful.” Big Dragon said with a wink of a smoldering black eye. His powerful meat was so vast that when he stood over her, it cast a shadow that totally enveloped her.
The Asian super-stallion grunted with a sound like an angry bull as with skillful fingers he polished his lengthy pole with two hands, rolling it up and down. Morgan watched as even the muscles that surrounded his member tightened and popped, the veins throbbing and beating on the surface. At last his tip opened and his cum burst out like a high-pressure watergun, missing Morgan entirely and splashing in bursts along the wall. Big Dragon leaned down and each gushing, steaming hot ribbon of his powerful, potent seed splattered on Morgan’s skin as if she had been hit by a water balloon, coating her naked body, her breasts, shoulders and stomach enveloped until her skin below could not be seen, her raven black and dyed white streaked hair wet as if she had just gone swimming.
Morgan was sure at least five or six times that each burst would be the Asian stud’s last. But finally, he ceased. Morgan’s face was completely covered as if she was taking a spa facial and her body was wet with more than a gallon of his seed as if she had a bucket of hot water splashed all over her.
Astonishingly, after all that, Big Dragon was quivering but still rock solid. Morgan wondered what it would take to satisfy him.
She found out.
Seven or eight hours later, Morgan was lost on her twentieth or thirtieth orgasm of the evening. They had attempted every position – some only possible because of Big Dragon’s strength, such as him standing up, supporting and lifting her entire body on his member as if it was a sturdy tree limb. She hadn’t even noticed the sun coming up hours past. Everything was a blur. It was like Morgan was drowning in an ocean of pleasure. Morgan doubted her senses...but there were some occasions where she could really hear and see fireworks.
After their lovemaking, the pair of them showered together. The bungalow had a pipe that connected to a nearby village well, providing them with water. The steam dripped from Big Dragon’s body like water off a duck’s back, beading and forming into pools over his glistening sepia skin. Big Dragon at his full 6’8” height was so tall that the showerhead only reached his neck and pecs. When a bar of soap was given to him, he placed it between the cut trench that divided his pectoral muscles, a divide so deep even the soap didn’t touch his sternum bone. With a twitch, he flexed his pecs and caused the bar of soap to fall to the shower floor as flat as a pancake and as thin as a penny.
Big Dragon picked Morgan up like a child and set her down in the bed. He was shirtless, and wrapped his khaki pants on, pants whose behind was filled out by Big Dragon’s strong and tight peach-shaped ass that popped behind him. The shirtless stud draped his sportsman’s aluminum composite bow and quiver over his big shoulders.
“Hey, while we’re here in Africa, I’m going to try to cram in some first class shooting. I’ll be back in a couple hours to fly us back to New York, lover.” Big Dragon said.
Morgan was disappointed that he had to leave. She longed to fall asleep in his strong arms. “No, no, baby, I don’t want you to go. Stay with me and hold me.” Morgan said firmly.
Big Dragon’s exotic oriental eyes showed a craftiness in them. “I’ll tell you what...I have something for you. It’s the surprise that I told you about. If I give it to you, will you let me go out tonight?”
Morgan assented. She had a feeling that arguing with Big Dragon was pointless as he was so much more mentally stronger as he was physically.
Big Dragon opened his sportsman’s suitcase, and clicking a hidden inner button, he opened a secret compartment. Inside was a brassiere, one made entirely of glistening, glass-polished black opals.
“I know how black is your favorite color.” Big Dragon said. “I must say, it took some doing to keep a win like this out of the newspapers or gem journals.”
Morgan grasped it and pressed it to her body greedily. With a snap, she started to place it on her naked body, her extreme sexual exhaustion forgotten.
“Oh my God. I don’t think there’s another like this in the whole world.” Morgan said with her hoarse voice. “I’ve got to know how you got it.”
Big Dragon only smiled in his nile-dark, sexy and mysterious way.
The Chinese muscle god opened a window to move out. This was despite the fact their bedroom was on the second story. He blew a kiss. Morgan could almost feel it hit her like a dart. “Thanks baby. I’ll be right back. I love you.”
“And I love opals. You! I mean you.” She said.
Morgan grasped Big Dragon’s shirt. On him it clung to his cut brawn like a second skin, but it fit her like a tent curtain or a deflated Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade balloon. His sleeves alone were wide around enough for her to fit her entire torso through it, and it came down to her knees. Morgan loved it; it was rich with her Asian lover’s manly pheremones that drove her mad. She eased gradually off to sleep.
Morgan was startled to hear a sound like breaking, crashing and rumbling. She bolted up and openend her door a peg. She then heard an explosion that shook her off her feet. The downstairs safe had been dynamited.
Tiptoeing downstairs Morgan saw men in safari khaki. A good half were white, the other half were black. They were scruffy, scarred, tattooed, had knives in their boots, and there were dozens around like ants. The largest was six-foot-six with a body like a gorilla and a great black beard.
One of them was a slim black boy sitting at a table with a laptop.
“I thought you said that damned Chinaman lived here.” The great black bearded man said in a Dutch accent.
“He does! According to computer records. Believe me, Hans, those opals of yours have to be around here somewhere. When I hacked into U.S. customs, it said he hadn’t declared them in the U.S. yet.” The youth said.
Morgan buttoned Big Dragon’s shirt so that her black opal covered brassiere was not visible.
“If I were to kill Big Dragon...” A bald black African man said, “I would be the most famous fighter in the world.”
Morgan’s grip on the rail of the steps caused an antique Ming dynasty vase to fall and crack like eggshell. The heads of the dozens of angry men turned towards her direction.
“What a break!” The big bearded man said. “It’s that ‘tragic’ girl he dates. He’ll give me back my opals for sure if we have her.”
Morgan pulled out her small mother-of-pearl handled derringer from the cuff of her fishnets. “Don’t come any closer. Touch me and I’ll feed you a bellyful of lead!”
The large bald black African man laughed as he slowly but surely approached Morgan fearlessly. “Come on, girl. Kill one of us? Put the gun down. You wouldn’t dare shoot me in front of all these people.”
Obviously, he didn’t know Morgan very well.
“You want to bet your life on that?” Morgan said. Her gun roared and the bald man collapsed facefirst on the steps as if he was a marionette whose strings had been cut.
The mercenaries were paralyzed with shock at what just happened, but only for a moment. Their hands reached for their weapons. Morgan’s hand was shaking. She had never had a gun pointed at her in her entire life. She wondered if she had changed reality and come all this way only to die here.
Big Dragon suddenly burst directly through a glass window. He ran and tackled one of the henchmen on the shoulder with the force of a freight train, knocking the mercenary off his feet. Big Dragon was shirtless and Herculean muscled, larger than even the tallest of the men that surrounded him. His astonishing appearance caused the men to freeze, unable to bring their revolvers to bear.
“Morgan, run upstairs!” He said. Morgan didn’t need to be told twice.
Big Dragon grasped one of the couches at the base with his powerful hand, lifting it, and he swung the entire couch like a club, striking five men in a mighty swoop. A bullet rang from a gun and buried itself in the couch.
A mercenary shot at him, but instead only hit air, as Big Dragon moved so fast he appeared to be in two places at once. Big Dragon grasped two heavy men by the collar, one in each hand, easily able to lift them a foot in the air. He watched them wriggle helplessly like worms on a hook. Big Dragon tossed them as if they were made of straw, shattering furniture that broke under their weight.
At first, Big Dragon getting in the midst of armed men was deeply stupid. However, the Chinese Hercules’s powerful brain was clocking as ever: the mercenaries could not use their guns if he was in the midst of them, in such cramped spaces, because they might risk shooting each other. Many of them put their guns away and drew their sharp Bowie bush knives. Also, it’s a common theory that large numbers of people trip over one another. Bruce Lee once said he’d rather fight ten men than two men.
Big Dragon’s huge hands snapped as quick as a cobra’s snap, his arms gulping the knife a mercenary held. Grasping the man’s arm with one hand around it, he squeezed and caused the man to scream. Big Dragon had crushed and cracked the mercenary’s fibula and tibia as if they were made of glass.
Big Dragon leaped with the skill of a world class gymnast onto his hands, then back to his feet, each time he landed shaking the earth with his great strength and weight. While he stood on his hands, his powerful legs split, striking two men as hard as cannonballs fired from a pirate ship, sending both of them to their backs in one blow. When Big Dragon ran, he knocked down men in front of him like a bowling ball hitting pins.
Big Dragon was not only strong but blindingly quick. To him, the movements of the men were in slow motion, their fists easy to catch as floating soap bubbles. His thick arms blocked the blows of six men at a time, moving so fast that they were almost transparent, like blades spinning inside of a blender. His arms were like a shield of steel. He caught the fist of one inside his larger hand and crushed it with a squeeze. One man did manage to get the only punch in against Big Dragon: the lucky mercenary struck a tattooed and muscled back as hard as bronze metal, and found the bones of his hand shattered.
In barely forty-five seconds, the majority of men in the room were on the ground, moaning in pain and screaming. The room’s furniture was mostly reduced to splinters. Big Dragon stepped over them towards their black bearded leader. Hans, the black bearded Afrikaan, pulled a mauser from his pocket holdster.
“Don’t come any closer. You muscled freak of nature. Each of these slugs has your name on it!” Hans said.
“Hello, Hans. Is this about the opals?” Big Dragon didn’t need to be told. He had already noticed the blown safe and guessed at the motivation. “I won those from you fair and square in that card game. Nobody likes a bad loser.”
Big Dragon moved so quickly that even high speed cameras could not record his movement, drawing an arrow, placing it to his bow and shooting it – striking with the accuracy of an Olympic archer and knocking the mauser from the black bearded man’s hand.
Removed of his gun, he felt as helpless against the powerhouse Chinese man as a mouse in the paws of a huge cat. A trickle of yellow fell down the huge Afrikaner’s pants. “P-p-please don’t hurt me, I – “ He said in a small voice.
Big Dragon sniffed. “You disgust me, Hans. Take your men and get out of my sight!” He said, his voice shaking the bungalow like thunder.
Hans meekly dashed away, holding back tears of fright.
Big Dragon grasped a table with both hands. Despite the fact it was bolted to the floor, when he yanked the table up the iron hinge tore and bent like papen. Beneath it was a short black youth with a laptop.
He looked up at Big Dragon like a nest of baby mice looks up at a hawk.
“Say...are you any good with computers?” Big Dragon asked.
The youth nodded.
“I think I might have a job for you. Go to this office in Nairobi. Do you like fiber-optics?” The huge Asian superman started to write something on a sticky pad, and stuck it to his forehead.
Big Dragon climbed up the stairs and opened Morgan’s room. “Baby, are you okay?” He said. “Remember the camcorder we put to tape us? It was still running. I had a wireless connection between it and my palmpilot watch.” Big Dragon flashed on his wrist a watch with an oversized colored dial. “I came as soon as I heard men’s voices.”
Morgan looked displeased. “What was all that about?” She asked.
“A really bad loser. I have a feeling we’re not going to see him again.” He said.
Morgan undid several buttons from Big Dragon’s huge shirt. She slid her hand down to her quinny and stroked it. “I love how you really HURT those guys. That got my juices flowing. Turns me on like anything.” At the sight of the fight she had been dripping like a leaky faucet. Her body temperature was so warm that if water was sprayed on her from a hose, it would hiss off into steam.
“Really?” Big Dragon said, sliding his mighty arms around her waist and picking her up a foot and a half from the floor, until the two stood at eye level. “Then maybe I should get jumped by mercenaries more often.” He said. “C’mon, let’s head for the jet and go home.”
The three hours on the Icarus II passed by in a haze. Morgan was angry with Big Dragon for the battle, and this showed in the angry, hard way she made love to him. She was above him, vigorously bucking him, trying to break him in like a wild mustang.
Morgan swore that even though she was thousands of feet above the ground, thanks to Big Dragon she felt the earth move and shake. Being on top with him on top was like being at the epicenter of an earthquake. She was tossed about as if by tidal waves.
When the jet touched down, the cute, slim goth girl felt deeply sorry for whatever poor janitor had to take a mop to the inside of the Icarus II.
Morgan had never been so exhausted in her life. When the pair made it from the ceiling to their personal elevator, she flopped through a door, and intended to sleep as soundly as a corpse. Big Dragon said she had a spa appointment today, but that surely had to be canceled, because she could sleep three months and that would not be enough. Morgan was so sore and her muscles all so cramped that she walked like an old lady.
Morgan did not entirely know the layout of their apartment, however, and she only guessed where the door to the bedroom was. Her first guess was right. And it was obviously theirs: their bed was huge and Big Dragon-sized, half the length of a tractor trailer and just as wide, with legs that were clearly made of titanium or some harder material. On the other side was a television that dominated the entire wall – it was a flatscreen over eight feet in length, easily the largest television in the world.
Morgan flung herself upon the bed. She still had on her black opal brassiere; she was going to sleep in it...and nothing else. The moment she touched the bed, however, she saw something right below the television that jolted her with dread. She immediately realized what it was that she had “forgotten” to take care of when she had upgraded her boyfriend.
Beneath the colossal flatscreen was the latest model Sony PlayStation.
Morgan tried to scream...but nothing came out but blood.