Lucky Number VIII

Lucky Number VIII

---Author’s Note---
Hey hey, whaddya know…I’m back. Not really a planned hiatus, but I was gone from fic writing for a few months…so, I figure, why not do some more? This is a sequel to FFVIII—one of my favorite Final Fantasies. This one will be less sex-oriented, as opposed to my…other…fics, so I’m hoping to garner some DECENT reviews. I need to fix my writer’s block somehow so I can work on my novel!

…that means you’d all better review. And yes, there will be sex, my horny little net minions. By the BOATLOAD.

Maybe. Or at least, a bucket-load.

…I’ll stop talking now.

---End Author’s Note—

It’s appearances that deceive you. You always see the cover of the book, and that’s all you can tell about it. If the cover draws you, you read the back. 75% of the time, you put the book down again, and never think of it again. So many stories left untold.

Some stories, however, deserve to be given a fresh coat of paint. To be reborn with a new vision, a new purpose. These are the most noble of purposes, the most powerful of stories. They are so important, they are given their own unique name, and are unleashed upon an unsuspecting world like flesh-hungry hounds. These stories are called sequels.

And they tend to be very, very bad and sell poorly. Poor books—they’d done nothing wrong. True, their conception was a bad idea from the general get-go, and the fact of the matter is is that they had no truly redeemable features, but still! It was cruel and unusual to sacrifice them to their own concentration camps to rot—the section of the library dedicated to non-fiction and bad sequels. This was a dusty, barren place, empty and silent.

Diane, the pig-tailed girl who ran the Balamb Garden, felt such sympathy for these books, these brave, brave tomes who’d come into this world for such a noble purpose as that of giving us more of what we loved and trying to enrich our lives further, and had now been cast to the wayside. Indeed, at this very moment, tears were running down her face.

Of course, much to her later chagrin, those tears were not the result of indignant sympathy for the fallen crusading sequels that she’d been forced to relocate to the empty section of the library, but rather tears of something a little less literary, and by far something that books couldn’t really bring.

“Awaaaaaah!”

As Diane—and the rest of the Library Committee—had discovered was that this empty, unused non-fiction and sequel region of the library had only a few dedicated visitors. Those visitors were the committee members themselves, and this discovery of a location of unbreakable privacy, incredible solitude, and an almost magical sense of awe at the sheer mass of horribly written verses, led to a rather shocking and uncharacteristic shedding of dignity, nobility, and self-worth in favor of lewd, animalistic copulation—or as the student body called it “fucking”.

The fact that there was only one male member of the library committee and four females did little to hinder the enthusiastic embrace of this act.

Diane squished her perky bottom against the cold, dusty tabletop, spreading her legs apart and draping them on Nisara’s shoulder’s. Happily, Diane squeezed the older girl’s head between her pale thighs, kicking her pink, cotton panties off her ankles casually. Nisara’s dark-skinned face was buried in Diane’s wispy, raven-haired crotch, and her tongue was giving an excellent example of just how useful it is to be the second place winner of the annual Balamb “Master Debator” debate team contest.

Nisara’s long, powerful tongue pushed deep into Diane’s already unabashedly sopping pussy, caressing at the committee leader’s smooth, pulsing walls. Nisara’s hands ran up Diane’s legs, easing underneath the short, pleated skirt of the Balamb school uniform. Happily, those long, powerful fingers squeezed at Diane’s squishy sides teasingly. The red-faced Diane let out a whimper of shame. She wasn’t proud of the little bit of “puppy fat” she had around her hips, though Nisara often said that it added a much needed definition to Diane’s rear.

Diane’s whimpers and moans were growing in volume, and Nisara could tell she was going to reach her second orgasm soon. The only thing that disappointed her was that she could not have been responsible for the first. As it had stood, Nisara had actually come into the hallow confines of the sequel section to reshelf some new books—the 27th part of the seemingly unending “Circle of the Hours” series. This latest one was a particularly cruel example of the series’ failings—it spent three pages describing the brick in the wall of a small peasant farm. Needless to say, the book was way, way too long—and shelving 20 copies was a cruel and unusual task.

So fortunate for Nisara to have discovered Diane, sitting on this very table, her right hand thrust down her panties, her left holding a bargained snapshot of the back-end of a certain muscular fist-fighter—almost completely unclothed. Diane had paid a lot for the picture, and it had kept her company for many a lonely night—or afternoon…or occasional morning, depending.

Nisara, being a complete lesbian, didn’t see the appeal of the picture…but she certainly saw the appeal of Diane. She decided to put the book shelving on hold and assist Diane in her own shelving—only, she was shelving her fingers into their properly required entrance.

Diane let out another cry as Nisara’s sharp teeth nibbled at her swollen clit, and could barely clasp her hands over her mouth before shuddering violently, her whole body twitching a bit. A muffled shriek blared across the book section—Diana had always been something of a “screamer”, despite her quiet demeanor outside of the bedroom.

Nisara sat back happily, licking the dripping cum off her lips with a satisfied smirk. Diane was breathing too hard to say or do anything, so Nisara took the initiative and pulled herself up to her feet. She moved in quickly, clasping her lips over Diane’s with a terrifyingly aggressive force and then lowered the young librarian onto her back.

Nisara lifted up her own skirt, pushing aside the scandalously thin G-string thong that she was wearing. She quickly ground her own soaking pussy down against Diane’s, pressing their swollen lips together and letting out a soft, grunt of pleasure. Diane’s natural squeal was silenced by the invading tongue of the tan-skinned vixen grinding her, and the only thing she could do to release the building tension inside her was to grip Nisara’s shoulders roughly, digging her sharp nails into them.

All that could be heard for awhile was muted gasps, heavy panting, and the barely audible squelching of the terrifyingly aroused pussies pressing against each other.

Sweat rolled down Diane’s beet-red face, and she broke the kiss just enough to whisper to her lover.

“I can’t…take it…any long..errrrr…”

Nisara grunted once in assent and sped up, almost sadistically thrusting herself against Diane, bucking her hips in an obviously masculine manner before thrusting forward powerfully and slamming their pussies together. Both of their swollen, dripping clits squeezed against one another, and with powerful, but soft cries of bliss, they climaxed together.

There wasn’t much movement after that. Nisara slid off, sitting down on the ground, panting. She quickly affixed her thong so that it concealed her shaven pussy again. She let out a low sigh of relief, looking up at Diane. Diane was also fixing herself up—buttoning her blouse and hopping off the table to pick up her panties.

She slid them up her legs and sighed happily as she finished dressing. Quickly, she knelt to give Nisara a grateful kiss on the lips, and spoke in a tender whisper.

“I have to go over the library rules with the children, next period. I’m very nervous…I hope they understand. That’s why I was…”

“Don’t bother explaining to me. You never need to explain yourself.”

Diane blushed slightly.

“D-don’t try to romance me again, Nisara. You know…”

“Yeah yeah, I know. Best get goin’. The kids ain’t gonna learn on their own.”

Diane nodded and stood, smiling softly at the still-seated Nisara before turned down the aisle and walking away. As she vanished, she gave her new lover a playful wiggle of her rear—a final tease, and a promise of a later rendezvous.



* * *

Balamb Garden had grown incredibly over the past five years. Following the aftermath of the Second Sorceress War, and the downfall of Galbadia’s President, Deling, the world had entered a somewhat stable peace. Thanks to the new Headmistress of the Garden, Lady Quistis Trepe, and her key advisors, Rinoa Heartily and Ellone Loire, a balance has been held by the four primary world powers—Balamb, Galbadia, Trabia and Esthar.

However, it was thanks to the leader of SeeD, Squall Leonheart, that Esthar had lowered its veil of isolation and had begun to trade to the rest of the world. This gave everyone an incredible boost of technology and culture, and the following Arms Race allowed for new weaponry to be developed to eliminate the lasting effects of the Lunar Cry.

However, nobody was naïve enough to believe that such a simple peace could be held. Once the monsters were gone, what would the nations test their new weapons on?

So, in a unilateral meeting of the four nations—the Compass Rose Council—it was decided that each nation form their own unified Garden—or else, reconstruct their already-existing ones, and become a unified, independent force, acting for the benefit of their respective countries, but outside of their control or laws.

They would follow a rigorous self-appointed system of checks and balances to maintain their equality, and all of the military might of their home countries would be siphoned through the Gardens. The Compass Rose Council also decided that for the course of exactly one year, a single Garden would hold an executive branch office, finalizing new laws and proposing new law suggestions. This Garden could be vetoed by the remaining three, but it was nonetheless a position of power much coveted.

The first year, it was unaminously decided that Balamb be given the title. In order to determine who would be in charge of the next year, however, a competition was established—to be held on the Garden Festival, in the Dead Continent of Cetra. There, the Gardens would compete in a series of five various trials, contesting their best and brightest in tests of skill, strategy, intelligence and survival—all culminating in a final tournament. The Garden representative who won the tournament would win executive power for his or her respective Garden.

Balamb won the first Garden Festival—also known as the Cetra Competition—and has now ruled over the Gardens for two consecutive years. So far, everyone has been happy with the current arrangement. However, the years of decision making have gone by—in only three short monthes, the Competition will begin. This time, all four Gardens have had time to rebuild their ranks, train new SeeD and prepare for the future.
What will happen? Balamb, Galbadia, Esthar and Trabia…each has their own story, their own perspective.
The time is the first month of three. The place is Balamb Garden.

This is where all shall be begun. The sphere of the future—the desire and goals of all that live within culminate!

TO BE CONTINUED

---Author’s Note---

Hey, for a free write based off characters and locations not of my own design, I’m rather pleased with the final product.

At anyrate, this is going to be a large fic—in case you couldn’t tell. So, expect to see me focusing quite a lot on this one. I’m blending elements from FFVIII and Naruto into this—an odd mix, and one I’m hoping you’ll find interesting.

There’ll be action, drama, romance, tension, humor, and a copious amount of sex—so stay tuned, and DROP A REVIEW.

No reviews, no updates! So, if you like it, tell me why!

Seacrest out!

---End Author’s Note--