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My pussy grew wet and hungry nearly forcing me to I ride him harder.
Tix placed his hands on my hips to help pummel me from below when I fell tired.
After a few deliciously deep thrusts I managed to get my breath back, and start riding him even harder.
This time, I would be the one in charge.
I would be the one to dominate him.
The Champion.
My Champion.
And when he finally began to grunt in the back of his throat, I knew I had to keep on going, had to keep riding him, no matter how exhausted I was.
And when his hips began to buck in time with my frantic bouncing, I felt the hot wad of his seed course through me, as he pulled me tight to filling me as deeply as he could; before I collapsed on top of him and his arms wrapped lovingly around me.
We didn’t need the secret exit to escape this place, I knew.
We just needed each other.
* * *
The excitement and relief of Tix’s victory slowly ebbed away as we lay next to each other, our fingers interlocked.
My heart was still racing, not just from the fear and the thrill of his fights but from the intimacy of the moments we had just shared.
The warmth of his body was comforting, a strong anchor in the midst of all the chaos.
“Ready for the dreamworld?” he murmured, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine.
“I was born ready,” I said with feigned confidence, although the apprehension of facing the dreaded obstacle course again gnawed at me.
Instead of leading me to the familiar grounds of the course, Tix shook his head, his blue eyes serious. “Not today,” he said. “We need to be prepared for tomorrow’s battles. I can’t rely on luck again.”
My senses heightened as we delved deeper into the dreamworld.
The familiar shift in perception was like stepping into a painting, where everything was both sharper and softer.
Colors vibrated with life, sounds had a surreal clarity, and even the air felt charged.
We walked hand in hand through an endless corridor that mimicked the prison’s layout.
While I could feel the cold, sterile floor under my feet, there was a peculiar weightlessness to our steps.
The walls, normally plain and unremarkable, now shimmered with an ethereal glow punctuated by scattered clouds of dreams.
Each cloud was a gateway to a prisoner’s mind, some more active than others.
The sound of our footsteps echoed, creating a rhythmic pattern that seemed both distant and close, like a heartbeat reverberating in a vast emptiness.
The essence of the dreamworld was always strange to me.
It was a combination of something fresh, like after a rainstorm, and something more ancient and musky.
We approached a cell that was already alive with a dreamscape.
I could see it — a white, fluffy mass reminiscent of a cotton cloud but threaded with tendrils of black. “That’s Fleth,” Tix whispered. “I’ll be facing him tomorrow. And it looks like he’s about to have a nightmare.”
