Hollow
Copyright© 2026 by Dragonpig
Chapter 9
Science Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 9 - Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Those iconic words from Dorothy as she eases on down the yellow brick road. Hellooooo, this is Dragonpig, your friendly neighborhood weird dude. Have you ever wondered who will inherit the Earth if, for some reason, humanity destroys itself in a global war? Would it be algae, cockroaches, or John Stamos? Come on, readers. John Stamos is inevitable. He’s like Thanos. Well, anyway, you don’t have to wonder anymore. I think I have the answer.
Caution: This Science Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Age Gap Consensual Romantic BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Mystery Science Fiction Post Apocalypse Furry Incest Father Daughter Anal Sex Masturbation Oral Sex Violence
Gerald could see his passenger’s reflection in the rearview mirror of the limousine as he drove the prince to the airport after his show. Two lanes, fields to either side. The airport was fifteen minutes away. Lead car ahead, follow car behind, a motorcycle reaction team to his left and right.
The Lionkin sat back against the door, his scarlet robe open. Beside him, the two fangirls he had picked out of the crowd had started making out the moment the limousine door shut. In the mirror, Gerald watched the Foxkin kiss the Rabbitkin while running her fingers through her friend’s long blonde hair, down her back, to her butt. Her friend kissed back eagerly, rubbing her pussy against the Foxkin’s upper thigh. Neither of them wore a stitch of clothing.
The prince watched with a pleased grin on his face, one hand busy between his legs.
“That’s good, Michelle, Sally. Don’t stop.”
Some men have all the luck.
A headlight showed up in the mirror, behind the follow car.
“Contact rear,” the driver of the follow car said over the radio. “Silver and black bike, closing fast. Rider wearing all black, mirrored visor and helmet.”
“Prince Rakeem, you and your companions might want to put on your seatbelts,” Gerald said.
The sound of automatic fire reached Gerald a moment later. The follow car swerved. It had tried to cut off the motorcycle, but the assassin darted past.
In the back, the girls were both looking out the rear window. The prince sat up.
“What the hell, Gerald?”
“Get on the floor, sir.”
The reaction team dropped back. Gerald focused on his driving, listening to the security detail over the radio. Gunfire. The roar of engines.
Mirrored Helmet kept shooting as he reached the reaction team. Armor-piercing bullets punched into the back of the limo. The right motorcyclist fired. Both rounds hit Mirrored Helmet square in the chest. He kept coming.
Mirrored Helmet brought his own gun to bear, a squat black thing, but nothing happened. He looked at it a moment, then flung it into the face of one of the approaching reaction team members.
His gun’s jammed, and he must be wearing some sort of body armor under the motorcycle leathers.
Mirrored Helmet’s gloved hand dropped to the side of his bike, to a long sheath strapped along the tank. It came up with a sword in it, long, curved, and black.
“Is that a sword?” the Foxkin asked.
“Get down!” the prince yelled at the two girls.
In the mirror, Gerald saw the rider lay the long blade horizontally across his chest, edge forward, one hand steering the bike. He gunned the engine and drove straight between the two reaction team members. For a second, he was parallel with them.
Gerald didn’t see the cut. He saw the results. The right rider’s bike kept going, its rider headless. The body sat upright for one beat before the bike drove off the road into the field. The left motorcyclist swerved to the left, clipped the shoulder, and went into a ditch.
Behind Gerald, someone threw up.
The lead car’s driver’s voice came over the radio, calm. “Package, floor it.”
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