Don't Have To Dream Alone (Patreon)

In the dream, Sokka was on a beach the size of the Si Wong Desert, the coastline stretching out to either horizon, the sand going as far as the eye could see and the rolling waves doing the same in the other direction. It was a pleasant place: cool breeze rolling off the water, clouds and sun balanced in equal measure, and he didn’t feel hurt or hungry or even thirsty. But there was nothing much to look at once the sea and the stretch of sand grew monotonous. Nothing, that is, except the other person there.

Azula. Dark hair teased back from her forehead, a long tail of it draped down between her shoulders. She was a tall woman, almost eye to eye with Sokka, and her muscular flesh was packed compactly and seductively into the curves of her lithe body. He could see that her breasts were a wet dream, while her flaring ass enthralled, hugged tightly by snug trousers just the way he wanted to do to it.

He automatically undressed her in his mind until she suddenly turned and looked at him, realizing he was there. Her amber eyes held the icy fire of a pristinely cut gemstone. And while her features were lovely—as lovely as her lush body—he could see with her gaze focused on him that her face was sharp, angular, almost animalistic. She had a bestial air; a woman who lived with as much passion as fury.

“What are you doing in my dream?” she asked in a bored tone, as if not so much surprised to see him as affronted.

“Your dream?” Sokka retorted. “This is my dream. What do you think I’m doing here—of course this is my dream!”

“Never mind. I never much cared for symbolism. Whatever you’re doing here, at least I get to imagine killing you.”

Azula held out her hand and Sokka flinched, wondering if the pain of being burnt alive would wake him from a dream if it was part of a dream—but nothing happened. Her hand hovered there like a hummingbee that couldn’t find a flower to pollinate.

“Hey!” Sokka erupted. “You’re trying to kill me!”

“Yes,” Azula replied. “It’s not going well.”

Sokka smirked, his amusement increasing as Azula grew incensed over it. For such a stoic, her face could be very expressive when she did feel something. “Aww, did someone lose their bending? I thought Zuko just stuck you in a hole somewhere, but I guess taking away your bending would be a lot funnier.”

Azula’s face turned red as if to compensate for the flames she couldn’t summon. “Insolent peasant! I’ll have you strung up and disemboweled while you’re still alive so you can watch the ravenflies eat your entrails!”

Sokka stomped toward her, his footfalls hitting the beach so hard that sand exploded from every step. “Yeah, yeah. As long as I’m digesting whatever cheese I had that made me think of you, at least I can pay you back for some of the trouble you’ve caused, it being my dream and all…”

Azula’s face fell, if only slightly before she arranged it into a cruel scowl. She balled her hands into fists and adopted a ready stance. “Don’t come near me! I won’t take this attitude from a figment of my imagination!”

“Oh, you’re gonna take a lot more than my attitude, your highness.”

As soon as he was within range, Azula struck. Even without her bending, she was a skilled fighter—which was why it surprised her so much to find Sokka’s defenses impeding her so effectively. He had training, good training, firm arms blocking off her blows, then a flat palm whipping through the air to collide with her cheek.

She’d been slapped! Not only that, but it hit with such force that she was knocked off her feet. Sokka was bigger than her, stronger than her—without her bending, she had nothing to counter the hardened warrior that apparently lurked beneath his oafish speech. Still, her anger at being touched outweighed the thought that she was at a distinct disadvantage to this combative Water Tribesman who hated her so.

“How dare you lay your hand on me!” she said from the divot of sand she’d made with her falling. “I was going to let you die when I got bored of you, but I’ll keep you alive for decades now, just so the thought that you’re out there somewhere, suffering, can keep me warm at night!”

“Man, it’s like you don’t want me to feel guilty about this at all. Okay, subconscious, let’s work out some issues…”

Sokka’s hands clamped down on Azula’s slender waist. She shrieked as he lifted her of the ground, kicking futilely, but when she scratched at his arms, he threw her with all his strength into the air. Azula landed in the sand with a thunderous whump, then felt his foot drive into her back, holding her down helplessly.

“Get off me! Don’t you dare—disrespect—“ Azula snarled, not that it was easy with him driving her face into the soggy sand, making it impossible for her to get up no matter how she clawed and scrabbled at the ground.

Sokka rolled up his sleeves. “Hope you’re ready for this, lady. I’ve got a lot of sleep to catch up on.”

“Fuck you!” Azula finally spat as he sat down beside her and wrestled her across his lap. She kicked and fought, but he was all muscle and either her reliance on bending or the leisure of court life had made her soft.

In seconds, Azula was draped face down over Sokka’s pelvis. He held her there, one strong hand locked in her hair. He was ready to wrench her head back painfully if she started to get away. Ignoring her kicking and screeching, Sokka yanked her trousers down, exposing the toned flesh underneath her ornate attire. Her creamy, flawless skin stood out in delicious contrast to the red and black clothing that otherwise covered her from the neck down.

All but her underwear. It was white, but it still offended the aesthetic of her bare skin. Sokka hooked his fingers in it and dragged it down, baring her firm, round ass. It, along with her lowered trousers, hobbled Azula’s legs, tangling more around her slender calves the more she kicked and struggled.

The first stinging, open-handed slap on her ass cut off Azula’s ferocious stream of curses. She seemed shocked that such an audacious touch had actually taken place—that her imperial person had not just been assaulted, but actively humiliated. And before she could process it, the second smack came, making her jerk convulsively.

“OWWW!” Azula wailed in unfiltered distress, not able to muster up much dignity when she was so startled by this punishment. She bucked fruitlessly, Sokka’s hands keeping her firmly in place.

It was ironic—he was never so rough with Suki, not in the bedroom, but they did spar together. It had become more or less foreplay, and that was exactly how he was able to keep Azula so effortlessly where he wanted her. With Suki… assuming he was lucky enough to outwrestle her in the first place… he’d simply hold her in place until she admitted she wanted to be kissed, and they’d drop the martial outlooks along with their armor, with all their clothing.

Azula, though—Azula he was going to have to fight all the way through, like bathing a cat-monkey. But Sokka looked forward to it. He knew he could take her. And he knew she deserved it.

“Okay,” Azula wheezed, shifting from her usual imperiousness to a simpering plea with surprising ease. “Alright, that’s enough, you’ve made your point. You can stop now. Let’s be mature about this why don’t we?”

Sokka wondered if losing to Katara had done a number on her arrogance. Well, it was his imagination. Whatever he thought was probably how it was.

“I don’t think I have made my point,” Sokka said. He reached for his belt and was gratified to find that, even in the world of dreams, his boomerang always came back to him. He took it out and gently rapped its metal heft against Azula’s pert ass. She stiffened, feeling the cool, weighty metal touch her sensitive flesh—already flushed and throbbing from just his hand. “I think you’ve just decided to tell me what I want to hear; that you’re pretending to be submissive until you can get out of this, then you’ll kill me as quick as you can and pretend nothing ever happened. Is that it, princess?”

Azula pressed her lips together thinly. Then she exploded in a bellowing roar, redoubling her efforts to get clear of Sokka’s hold: “FUCK YOU FUCK YOU I’LL KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER YOU’RE DEAD!”

Sokka was ready for her. Not only did he hold her in place, he brought the flat of the boomerang down on her ass like a blacksmith’s hammer. “I’ll teach you!” Smack! “What happens!” Smack! “To naughty!” Smack! “Fire Nation!” Smack! “Bitches!”

He punctuated almost every word with a blistering swing of the boomerang. In short order, Azula was frozen by the sheer force of the pain she’d been subjected to. It’d overwhelmed her—shocked her into silence that she was actually capable of being subjected to such mortification. Then the humiliation gave way to the actual searing physical pain and she let out a wrenching cry.

“AHHH!” she wailed, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“Get used to it, honey,” Sokka said implacably. “I’m planning on sleeping in this morning!”

He kept spanking her with the flat of the boomerang. The ringing slaps echoed far into the distance, rolling out with the tide like the sound was carrying news of Azula’s embarrassing defeat to the four corners of the world.

Azula had never felt such excruciating pain in all her life and she had never been so humiliated either. The flinty metal of the boomerang felt like it was raising welts with every blow that fell. A branding iron would’ve had to have hurt less.

But, astonishingly, there was a depraved kind of pleasure winding through Azula’s insides, as if her body were trying to compensate for all the pain by balancing it out with some weird satisfaction. Her sex felt warm and wet and excited, the way it did when she touched herself—usually Azula had to strive to get these feelings, but now they were here unbidden, filling her up along with everything else she was feeling. It was like Sokka was making her feel so much pain that some of that intensity had to go elsewhere, into the parts of her mind that could only register pleasure.

Maybe it was that underneath her, she felt the swelling hardness in Sokka’s lap. She knew what that was. Usually, she would’ve mocked the man’s arousal, or at least tried to use his attraction to her to her advantage, but her own burgeoning passion robbed her of words. Azula was in too much pain, too shamed, to react in any way to Sokka’s excitement. She could only wait for him to act upon it, use it on her—hope for it, because even having her body defiled would be better than this embarrassing pain.

There was no more honor, no more morality, only sensations. She knew instantly that she would prefer being honestly fucked by him to the lacking, halfway feeling of being punished. It wasn’t enough. It was the most immense thing she’d ever felt and it still wasn’t enough.

She grew more thrilled the more she felt his growing cock, and he gave her more and more to feel, while every burning blow of the makeshift paddle made her cunt throb hotly. His cock thrust against her stomach with more and more hardened demand, and Azula wanted it herself, wanted to give into it, surrender to it, be punished by it instead of some damn boomerang.

Crying and moaning and sobbing and wailing, Azula kicked and threw her body around until her trousers were gone, finally kicked off by all her struggling. The sudden freedom of her legs caught both her and Sokka by surprise. As luck would have it, her next wild kick knocked her loose of his lap.

She dropped to the ground in a dirty embrace, grains of sand sticking to her sweaty legs and face. She rolled over without thinking and her scorched ass touched the ground. Azula wailed in pain, heaving her hips up off the beach, clutching her buttocks with both hands. Her pussy was thrust up into the air, as if she were making Sokka an offer in exchange for the pain stopping—or the pleasure starting.

Sokka didn’t waste time in accepting that offer. He didn’t even think about it. While Azula was nursing her wounded pride and pained ass, Sokka ripped his pants away, baring his monstrous erection. He dropped to his knees between Azula’s open legs and fell on her, ramming his cock into her sex.

She was already wet, her cunt flaring with readiness. Azula took his thrust as if she had any choice in the matter, feeling a blinding rush of delight in return. Her ass clapped down on the rough sand, filling her again with brutal pain, which made her heave her hips up. Sokka’s prick was driven even deeper, even more savagely into her dripping snatch. He followed through, rutting her at the pace she had unknowingly set, assuaging the lust that her abused body and grudging submission had filled him with.

It was an insane, rampaging fuck. When Azula’s ass touched the ground, it was like spurs had been pricked into her flesh. She bucked upward in a maddening attempt to evade pain, but it seemed Sokka wouldn’t let her. Matching her fury, he slammed himself into her animalistically, jamming her down against the earth, uncaring of whether she felt pain or pleasure, which was perhaps why she felt so much of both.

It was the greatest sex Azula had ever had. Her clitoris was mangled between their crashing bodies. Her folds were ravaged by the burning friction of his pumping cock. And the pain on her blistered buttocks was the final goad to force her to orgasm. As she spasmed and jerked in the throes of ecstasy, Sokka finished her rapture for her, unloading thick ropes of his seed into her singing pussy.

Azula dug her heels into the sand, kept her ass up off the ground as Sokka drenched her cunt. Her back was arching, straining painfully with the difficult position. Her clenched muscles quivered, then uncoiled, forced away from their tension by the voluptuous lassitude of how thoroughly she’d been fucked.

She relaxed until her ass touched the burning sand and then she convulsed, thrusting herself up into Sokka’s body. The slap of their flesh together seemed to restart the fire inside Sokka, if it had ever gone out, because he began ramming himself into the cunt he himself had flooded.

His thrusts pumped a thick, creamy river out of Azula’s opening. Azula’s eyes flickered upward as her pain drove her like a whipped slave to a second climax. It was mortifying how she gave into it, drooling and crying out in broken ecstasy.

This dream she never wanted to wake up from.