Kass #2
“That's it,” he encourages, watching my face intently. “Let go of thinking. Just feel.”
His cocks have fully emerged now, both dripping steadily into the water. The pheromones are so thick I can taste them—musk and ozone and pure sex. My body responds by gushing more wetness, preparing for what it thinks is coming.
The third orgasm builds slower but deeper.
Starting in my core and spreading outward like fever.
His tongue pulses inside me, that alien rhythm my body has been craving.
When I come this time, I actually sob. Not from sadness.
From relief. From finally, finally getting something close to what I need.
“Still empty,” I whimper when it ends. “Need... need more...”
“Tongue can't breed you,” he says, vibrations carrying through his extended tongue into my pussy. “Can only prepare. Only promise. Watch.”
He demonstrates by curling both forks inside me now, stretching, testing. My body accepts it eagerly, pussy flooding with fresh wetness that has nothing to do with the water we're in. The stretch is perfect, just enough to satisfy without tearing.
“Your pussy grabs my tongue,” he observes. “Tries to milk it. Looking for eggs that aren't there.”
“Shut up and—ahhh!”
The fourth orgasm is almost painful. Too much stimulation on tissue that's been hyperactive for a week. But stopping feels worse. The empty ache screams louder when he pauses, demanding more, demanding everything.
“Please,” escapes before I can stop it.
“Please what?”
“I don't... just... more...”
His tongue withdraws completely. The loss makes me thrash in his coils, genuinely trying to escape now. Not from him. From the abandonment. My pussy clenches on nothing, actually hurting from the emptiness.
“No! Get back here! Finish what you—”
He slides me through the water, coils repositioning.
Now I'm facing him, still spread but vertical.
His head level with my pussy. This close, I can see the heat patterns in his eyes, the way his pupils dilate as he tastes my scent directly.
Can see his cocks fully—the primary thick and ridged, the secondary coiling in that pattern my pussy mimics.
“Four more,” he says. “Then rest.”
“Then breeding?”
“Then choice. Watch what wants to fill you.”
His cocks pulse, spurting pre-cum that makes the water between us cloudy with pheromones. My pussy responds by clenching in the exact spiral pattern his secondary makes.
His tongue returns with purpose now. Both forks inside me, pistoning at different speeds.
The fifth orgasm breaks something in me.
Some last wall of resistance. I stop fighting the restraints, stop cursing him, stop everything except feeling.
My body goes limp in his coils, surrendering to sensation.
“There,” he murmurs. “Finally honest.”
The sixth builds immediately after. His tongue finds a spot deep inside that makes my whole body electric. When I come, I actually laugh. Hysteria maybe. Or just the absurdity of my situation. But my pussy clenches harder than ever, trying desperately to hold his tongue inside.
“Two more,” he warns. “Your body shakes. Almost at limit.”
Seven is transcendent. Every nerve firing at once. The empty ache momentarily silent, fooled into thinking it's being filled. I float outside my body for seconds, watching myself writhe in alien coils, pussy clenching around a forked tongue while bioluminescent trees pulse overhead.
Eight breaks me completely.
I'm sobbing when it ends. Not sad. Not happy. Just overwhelmed. Seven days of need crashing into eight moments of almost-satisfaction. My pussy is so sensitive that even the water feels like too much. Every nerve is raw, oversensitized, electric.
He withdraws slowly, gently. His coils loosen but don't release. Instead, they support me, keep me floating while I shake through aftershocks that seem endless. I'm completely wrecked—pussy gaping open, clit so swollen it's visible above my lips, whole body flushed and trembling.
“Look at you,” he says softly. “Thoroughly pleasured but still empty. Still needing.”
“Can't... can't take more...”
“Not now. Too sensitive. But tonight...”
The coils release my wrists first. Then my ankles. But the ones around my waist stay, holding me steady while my legs remember how to work. My pussy won't stop clenching, still trying to hold something that isn't there.
“I should go,” I say, though I make no move to leave his embrace.
“Should?”
“The young males—”
“Won't approach. Not after what they heard.” There's dark satisfaction in his voice. “You scream beautifully when you come.”
Heat that has nothing to do with arousal floods my face. “You did that on purpose. Made me scream so they'd know.”
“Yes. They know you're mine now. Can smell it. Hear it.”
“Asshole.”
“Yes.”
He starts to withdraw the last coils. The loss of contact makes me panicky in a way I don't understand. My hands grab at his scales, holding on.
“Tonight?” The word comes out small. Vulnerable. Nothing like me.
His massive head tilts, studying me. “When the moons rise. If you choose.”
“I just let you...” I gesture vaguely at the water, at my wrecked body.
“That's accepting. Choosing is different. Choosing means understanding what comes next.”
“Which is?”
“Breeding. Real and complete. Both cocks. The lock that won't release for hours. Eggs. Bond bite. Everything your body craves but your mind fears.”
My pussy clenches hard at the words alone, so sensitive that even that internal movement makes me whimper.
“And if I choose not to?”
“Then you survive twenty-three more days. Live with permanent need that will never be satisfied.” He pulls away completely now, heading for the shore. “But you'll be alive. Free. Your choice.”
“That's not a choice. That's torture either way.”
“Yes.” He reaches the bank, coils already starting to dry in the morning sun. His cocks are still visible, still dripping. Ready for tonight. “Welcome to the hunt.”
I float there, abandoned again. Empty again. Pussy throbbing with oversensitization that feels like need. Between my legs, I'm so swollen and sensitive that even treading water makes me gasp. Eight orgasms and I'm already wanting more, already craving what only he can give.
“Get back here!” I shout at his retreating form.
“Tonight, angry female,” he calls back without turning. “When the moons rise. Be in the pool or be gone. Your choice.”
“I'll find those young males! Let them try!”
“No, you won't.”
He's right. My body shaped itself for him specifically. Accepted the modification but imprinted on his scent, his rhythm, his specific anatomy. Anyone else would be settling.
I float spread eagle in the aphrodisiac water, pussy clenching on nothing, already missing the weight of coils around my waist. The sun climbs higher, and I have hours until the moons rise. Hours to decide. Hours to pretend I haven't already chosen.
“Fuck,” I whisper to the alien sky.