As the night wore on, the celebratory chaos of the Dolorian Dorm reached its peak. Most everyone was a drunken mess. I saw Selyra and Gianna already fast asleep, collapsed wherever they'd landed. My own body buzzed with a potent mix of alcohol and lingering arousal. As I stumbled towards my room, I passed Genta and Temo, both looking utterly disheveled, their hair even wilder than usual, their goggles askew. Genta was gesticulating wildly, slurring, "But the temporal displacement! It must be factored into the Aetheric resonance, Temo! The very fabric of space-time bends with excessive bind accumulation!" Temo, remarkably, seemed to be taking notes on a crumpled napkin, her eyes still holding that distant, calculating focus, though she occasionally mumbled, "Inefficient. Recalculate, Genta. You're missing a variable. Or perhaps... a dimension." Their debate about "bind accumulation efficiency" had clearly devolved into a drunken, philosophical wrestling match, utterly incomprehensible to anyone else.
I opened my door, and there she was: Erika de la Bletilla, standing in my room, clad in a sheer Iskiran nightgown. My body, despite the late hour, responded instantly to her presence. Her long, white-silver hair, usually pulled back, was now loose, flowing around her shoulders like a silken cloud, catching the dim light. Her pale blue eyes, usually serene, now held a deep, smoldering intensity, a silent invitation, a challenge. She smiled, her arms open wide, inviting me into her embrace. I walked to her and hugged her tightly.
"You like Iskiran nightgowns, don't you, Void Prince?" she purred against my ear, her voice a low, knowing murmur.
"Yes," I breathed, my voice thick.
She then tied her hair up, a simple gesture that nonetheless sent a fresh jolt of excitement through me. "You like this also, don't you?" she whispered, her fingers lightly tracing the line of my jaw.
"Yes," I confirmed, my voice thick with desire.
She smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes, a subtle triumph. "As expected of Sigurd's descendants." She then gently pushed me onto my bed and began to undress me, her movements deliberate, almost a slow, tantalizing reveal. When she moved to undress herself, I stopped her. "I prefer you wear it," I said, my voice husky, "I like to feel the nightgown."
"Alright," she chuckled, a soft, amused sound. "A man who knows what he wants. I can appreciate that." Though I could still see the soft outlines of her breasts through the sheer fabric, a captivating sight. She leaned in, her lips finding mine, a deep, exploring kiss. Her tongue began a slow, deliberate journey down my body, a teasing, tormenting path, until she reached me.
The pleasure was agonizingly intense, fueling my arousal further. I tried to reach for her, to touch her, but then I realized my hands were tied to the bed by a series of thin, silken ropes. Erika smiled at me, a teasing glint in her eyes, a silent challenge in her gaze. Her voice dropped to a low, commanding purr, "Oh, my Void Prince, you want to touch, don't you? You want to take it? But you can't. Not yet. You're mine tonight, and I decide how you take your pleasure. You'll learn to obey." Her eyes, pale blue and piercing, held mine, a subtle, intellectual dominance in her gaze that promised both exquisite pleasure and absolute control. "Beg me," she whispered, her voice a silken thread, "and I might let you." She then slipped her nightgown up, guiding herself onto my erected body, her body enveloping me, a warm, tight embrace. She began to move, a slow, sensual rhythm, her hips swaying with a deliberate, almost hypnotic grace. The inability to touch her, the sheer stimulation combined with the frustration, was almost unbearable. I came in an instant, a shudder ripping through me, but my erection remained.
Erika leaned down, her breasts just inches from my face, their soft fullness brushing my lips. "You want it, don't you?" she whispered, her voice husky, a direct, undeniable invitation.
"Yes," I gasped, my voice raw.
"Then beg me," she commanded, her eyes holding mine, a subtle, intellectual dominance in her gaze.
And I did. I begged, the words tearing from my throat, my arousal soaring even higher, a desperate, aching need. She drove me to another climax with her skilled movements alone, her body a relentless, tantalizing torment, her control absolute. Then, finally, she offered her breasts to me. I bit lightly at her nipples, feeling their exquisite softness, a sweet, sharp pleasure. After that, she took me inside again, and I must have come at least ten times that night, each time a wave of intense, frustratingly controlled pleasure.
As dawn finally broke, I found my hands miraculously free, the silken ropes now lying loosely beside me. Erika lay sleeping on top of me, her body a warm, contented weight. "Good morning," I whispered, gently running my hand through her hair.
She stirred, opening her eyes, and a soft smile touched her lips. "Good morning," she replied, her voice husky with sleep. She looked at me, a teasing glint in her eyes. "You like to be dominated, don't you?"
"Not really," I chuckled, already pushing myself up. I picked her up, still naked, and carried her towards the bathroom.
She gasped in surprise. "What are you going to do?" she asked, a playful apprehension in her voice.
"Obviously, we're taking a shower, duh," I said, a mischievous grin on my face.
Under the warm spray, I pulled her close, kissing her deeply, hugging her as her body grew hot against mine. I turned her around, pressing her back against the tiled wall. My erection, already rock hard, teased her, brushing against her but not entering. She moaned, arching into my touch. I grabbed her hair, pulling gently. "Say please," I whispered, my voice rough with desire. "You want it."
She resisted at first, a stubborn defiance in her eyes, but I continued to tease, knowing her longing. Finally, with a soft whimper, she begged. I then pushed inside her. She screamed, a mixture of pleasure and surprise, as I began to thrust, fast and deep. After a few powerful strokes, I pulled out, leaving her wanting more. She tried to grab me, to guide me back inside, but I held her hands, preventing her. "Say please, Erika," I demanded.
"Please! I want you inside me!" she gasped, her body trembling.
I put it in, and we continued, each climax punctuated by her pleas, until she was utterly spent. When we were finally done, I whispered, "Can you put it in your mouth?" She complied without hesitation, and I came once more.
Afterward, we dressed in silence, the lingering haze of pleasure still clinging to us. Then, together, we walked to breakfast.
As we walked down the hall towards the dining hall for breakfast, I wrapped an arm around Erika's waist, keeping her pressed in front of me. She could feel my still-aroused body against her, and her cheeks turned a deep red, a vivid flush that seemed to glow in the dim morning light. I saw her nails dig into her palms as she walked, her white hair tied up, a single strand escaping to brush against her neck, a tantalizing detail.
"You still want it, don't you?" I whispered into her ear, my voice a low rumble, my fingers subtly digging into her hip, a possessive claim. She simply nodded, her breath hitching slightly, her body tensing, almost shivering, against mine. "No kissing, okay?" I added, my voice firm, a clear command. She nodded again, her eyes wide with a mix of desire and playful frustration.
My hand then moved to her bottom, and she reacted with a sharp gasp, her body arching slightly into my touch. My other hand reached under her tight dress, gripping her hard nipple. She moaned, a low, guttural sound of pure pleasure, her head falling back against my shoulder, exposing her neck. I could feel her pussy growing wet beneath my touch, a warm, insistent pressure against my fingers. "This is my gift before the Gauntlet," I whispered, my voice rough with suppressed desire, my lips brushing her ear, "A taste of what's to come. If you want more, wait for me after. You'll beg for it."
"Ah, yes!" she gasped, her voice thick with pleasure, almost a scream. "I'll wait! I'll wait!" She came then, a soft shudder through her body, simply from my hand, her hips pressing back against me with a desperate, involuntary movement. She tried to kiss me, her lips parting eagerly, but I pulled back slightly. "No kissing, you promised," I reminded her, my voice low and firm, a playful challenge in my tone that bordered on command. She pouted, a surprisingly endearing expression, but we continued our walk to breakfast.
Everyone was already there. Yue, ever the showman, led a final cheer as we all walked together to the Gauntlet Hall. The walk to the Gauntlet Hall was a spectacle in itself, a chaotic procession of our Dolorian family. Everyone was already there, but we were at a parade. Yue, ever the showman, led the charge, his arm slung around a still-groggy Jove, who occasionally stumbled, his hair even wilder than Temo's, muttering about "too many variables in the ale." Henry, surprisingly, was helping to prop Jove up on the other side, a faint, exasperated sigh escaping him, but his hand was firm on Jove's back. Gianna, Yor, and I walked together, a silent, comforting presence, our shoulders occasionally brushing in shared support. Behind us, the senior Dolorians—Thoden, Aldo, Genta, and Temo—walked in a loose formation, their powerful figures a reassuring presence. Thoden, despite the early hour, looked as stoic as ever, but Aldo was booming with laughter, clapping Genta on the back as Genta continued his slurred, fervent debate with Temo about "gravitational constants in post-dimensional displacement." It was a family of misfits, certainly, but a family nonetheless, bound by shared trials and an unspoken understanding.
As we arrived, the vast Gauntlet Hall was packed, a roaring amphitheater of stone and light. Professors, the Headmaster, and all students from Merlin Dorm and Armania Dorm were present – first, third, and fourth years alike. The air thrummed with anticipation, a low, excited murmur that swelled as we entered. All eyes, hundreds of them, turned to our Dolorian Dorm, a collective hush falling over the crowd.
The fourth and third years from the other dorms barely glanced at us; they were clearly used to the eccentricities of Dolorian tradition, their expressions a mix of knowing amusement and weary acceptance. But the first-years from other dorms stared, their expressions a mix of open-mouthed confusion and disdain, their whispers carrying clearly across the suddenly quiet hall. "Look at them. They're a mess!" "Are they drunk?" "This is a disgrace to the academy!"
My gaze swept the crowd. I immediately spotted Professor Dianna, standing near the faculty section, her elegant blue dress a striking contrast to the more somber robes around her. She caught my eye, and a slow, knowing smile spread across her lips, her pale blue eyes gleaming with that familiar, possessive glint, a silent promise of "kidnapping" that sent a shiver down my spine, both terrifying and undeniably arousing.
Then, I saw my cousin, Enchidna, in her crisp white robe with the lion crest, standing with the Armania group. Her eyes, bright with amusement and excitement, found mine. She waved, her whole body seeming to vibrate with energy, and then, with a mischievous grin, she jumped up and down, her ample breasts bouncing visibly beneath her straining uniform, a clear, playful challenge in her eyes.
Professor Inka, however, stood tall and unyielding, her sharp crimson eyes scanning the Dolorian contingent. A rare, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips as she caught Monika's gaze, and she gave her a discreet thumbs up, a silent acknowledgment of a job well done. Professor Dianna just smiled, her gaze lingering on me, a silent promise in her pale blue eyes. Headmaster Gallahad, on the other hand, looked at us with a tense expression, his brow furrowed with concern, but then a flicker of profound relief crossed his face, seeing his son, Henry, finally amongst a new "family," a true sense of belonging in his eyes.
"We're misfits," I thought to myself, a wry, defiant grin spreading across my face, "and we don't care. We're going to crush the Gauntlet."
Headmaster Gallahad finally stepped forward, his voice booming across the vast hall, officially opening the Gauntlet. Then, Monika, a force of nature in her Drakarian uniform, her crimson eyes burning with a fierce, almost primal intensity, lined us up for the first-years. One by one, she delivered a powerful, open-handed strike to each of our guts, a bone-jarring THWACK! that echoed like a thunderclap through the vast hall. The sound resonated loudly, making the very air vibrate, yet we all remained standing, a testament to our brutal training.
A wave of stunned silence, thick and absolute, fell over the entire assembly. Faces from Merlin Dorm and Armania Dorm, initially curious or disdainful, now contorted in shock and disbelief. Some students gasped, hands flying to their mouths. Others recoiled, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and horror, as if they'd just witnessed an act of brutality, not a ceremonial welcome. Even some of the older seniors from other dorms, who usually maintained a poker face, showed faint flickers of surprise or grim respect. The whispers, which had been so loud before, died in their throats, replaced by a collective, stunned hush.
"Just make sure you all go back," she commanded, her voice fierce, her crimson eyes burning with an unyielding intensity. "Don't leave your family. If not, you will face this fist every day."
We saluted Monika, a synchronized, military-sharp salute, our bodies aching but our resolve unbroken. The scene was straight out of a battleground, not an academy exam. Everyone else looked at us in fear, their whispers dying in their throats. Always Dolorian making some kind of scene, I mused, a sense of grim determination settling in. We were ready.