Kass
Iwake wrapped in serpent coils with my face pressed against cool scales.
The rage hits before my eyes fully open.
That bastard carried me here. Again. I remember passing out at the pool's edge after last night's breeding, exhausted and overfull.
Remember nothing after that. But here I am, surrounded by thirty-three feet of serpentine muscle that kept me warm through the cold swamp night.
“Let me go.” My voice comes out scratchy, throat still raw from screaming.
“Female can leave anytime.” His voice rumbles through the coils, vibrating against my skin.
He's right. The coils aren't tight, just... present. I could wiggle free if I tried. But when I attempt to sit up, the world spins. My muscles feel like water. The chemical aftermath of last night’s proto-eggs has saturated my system, creating a withdrawal that makes me weak without him, desperate with him.
“Fuck.” I collapse back against him.
“Food by your head. Water too.”
I turn carefully and find both within reach. The meat is fresh—something he caught this morning while I slept. The purple fruits that dull withdrawal symptoms. Clean water in a hollowed gourd. He gathered all this without waking me, without moving me from his coils.
“Stop taking care of me.”
“Female needs strength for breeding.”
“Female needs to be left alone.”
“Female was shivering. Skirlings were circling. Could smell them marking trees nearby.”
I want to argue but my teeth were chattering when I woke, even wrapped in his warmth. The swamp gets bitter cold at night, and my modified body runs too hot during the day to handle the temperature drop well.
I eat in sullen silence, still surrounded by his coils. Each breath he takes shifts them slightly, rocking me like a boat. It should feel like imprisonment. Instead, it feels... safe. Which pisses me off even more.
“I'm going back to my shelter.”
“Female can barely sit up.”
“Watch me.”
It takes three attempts to stand. My legs shake like a newborn colt's. The proto-eggs are doing their work, creating chemical dependency that makes me weak without him, desperate with him. I make it four steps before my knees buckle.
He catches me with his tail before I hit the ground. Doesn't comment. Just sets me on my feet and withdraws.
“I hate you.”
“Known fact. Shelter that way.” He points the opposite direction from where I was heading.
Bastard.
My hands won't stop shaking.
I'm trying to repair a trap the skirlings triggered last night, but I can't tie the simplest knot.
The need crawls under my skin like insects.
Every cell screams for what only he can provide.
The proto-eggs are almost fully dissolved now, flooding my system with chemicals that make my pussy clench on nothing.
I've been fingering myself for an hour. It doesn't help.
Makes it worse actually. My body knows the difference between my fingers and his cocks.
Won't accept substitutes. My clit stays swollen, jutting out, so sensitive that even my torn pants rubbing against it makes me gasp.
My nipples are hard as stones, visible through my thin shirt, aching with each heartbeat.
When I return to my shelter, there's more food waiting. Placed exactly where I usually sit. He knows my patterns, my preferences. Has been watching long enough to know I favor my left hand, that I sit with my back to the tree, that I arrange things in specific order.
The violation of being known that well makes me want to scream.
But I eat the food. Drink the water. Take the purple fruits that will make the next few hours bearable.
By evening, I'm crawling more than walking toward the pool.
He's already in the water when I arrive.
Both cocks fully emerged, ready. The sight makes my pussy gush so much wetness it runs down my thighs like I've pissed myself.
The primary is thicker than I remember, ridges swollen and pronounced.
The secondary coils in that pattern that makes my insides clench in recognition.
“Don't carry me again,” I say as I wade in. The warm water—he's heated it somehow—immediately makes my pussy throb harder.
“Female was cold. Skirlings—”
“I don't care about skirlings. Don't carry me. Don't coil around me. Just fuck me and leave me alone.”
“Female protests but sleeps better in coils. Observed fact.”
“Fuck your observations.”
He moves closer. The water between us heats further from his arousal, from mine. I can see his pre-cum leaking, making the water shimmer with pheromones. “Female wants breeding?”
“Female needs breeding. Different thing.”
“Is it?”
I launch myself at him rather than answer. This time he's ready, catches me without the restraining coils. I wrap my legs around his lower body, positioning myself over his primary cock. The tip is already leaking steady streams of pre-cum that make my entrance tingle where it touches.
“Slow—” he starts.
I drop down hard, taking half his length in one motion.
“FUCK!”
The stretch burns, borders on damage. Each ridge catches and drags against my entrance as it passes, the sensation like being turned inside out.
My pussy floods with wetness, trying to ease the way, but it’s still almost too much.
The ridges are designed to lock in place, to prevent withdrawal.
Going in, each one has to force past my entrance, stretching me wider than seems possible.
“Female will hurt herself.”
“Female will hurt you if you don't—”
He grips my hips and thrusts up as I push down.
The primary hilts completely, the base—swollen thicker than my wrist—stretching my entrance to its absolute limit.
I scream, but not from pain. From relief.
From finally having something inside me after hours of crawling need.
My pussy clenches around him so hard he actually groans.
“Tight,” he hisses. “Tighter than yesterday.”
“Shut up and—oh fuck!”
The secondary joins the primary, its spiraling motion a disorienting counterpoint to the solid pressure.
The sensation is indescribable. Where the primary fills me with solid, ridged mass, the secondary threads through whatever space remains.
It coils immediately, creating loops inside me that press against different spots.
Three coils. Then four. I feel each one form, the secondary threading through my cervix, anchoring in my womb.
“Now we wait,” he says, but his voice is strained. I can feel his primary pulsing inside me, ready to deposit.
“I know how it—ahhh!”
The first wave of proto-eggs releases. I can feel each sphere as it travels up his length, passes through the primary's tip, and deposits in my womb.
They're warm, almost hot, and I count them as they enter.
Ten. Twelve. Fifteen in the first wave alone.
My belly begins to swell visibly, skin stretching to accommodate.
“Why?” I pant between waves. “Why proto-eggs first? Why not real ones?”
“Body needs preparation.” His coils wrap loosely around me, supporting my weight as my legs shake. “Human anatomy not meant for serpentine clutches. Proto-eggs train the womb, teach it to expand, to accommodate.”
The second wave hits, another deposit of twenty eggs that presses against my already-full womb. I watch my belly expand further, becoming visibly rounded.
“Also ensures female returns,” he continues. “Creates biological bond before emotional choice.”
“That's fucked up.”
“That's evolution. Ensures strongest offspring from pairs that stay together.”
The third wave makes me come. Not a regular orgasm but a breeding climax that starts in my womb and spreads outward.
My whole body convulses, pussy clamping down on both cocks so hard he roars.
The pressure makes the fourth wave release immediately, thirty proto-eggs flooding into my already swollen womb.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Too much!”
“Body says different. Still pulling me deeper.”
He's right. Despite the impossible fullness, my pussy won’t stop clenching, won’t stop milking his cocks for more.
A deep internal pressure builds as my womb contracts, struggling to make space for the impossible volume of proto-eggs.
The fifth wave comes with another breeding orgasm an orgasm born in the core of me, radiating out to every trembling limb.
“A storm’s coming,” I pant as the first proto-eggs release, the change in pressure a new sensation against my skin.
I can smell it. Feel it in the pressure drop. “Again?”
“Season for storms.”
By the fifth wave, the sky has opened up, rain hammering the surface of the pool around us. He shifts, extending his hood to shield me from the downpour, a living umbrella.
“This is becoming a pattern.”
“Female needs protection during breeding. Natural instinct.”
Waves six, seven, and eight blur into a single, rolling climax, each one a direct response to the deposits. My pussy won't stop spasming, milking him for more. The proto-eggs fill me beyond capacity, my belly swollen tight as a drum.
“Why are you protecting me?” I ask through wave nine.
He’s quiet through waves ten and eleven. My belly is enormous now, skin stretched tight and shiny.
“Female is first in forty seasons to stay angry,” he finally says during wave twelve. “Worth protecting.”
“That's it? I'm entertaining?”
“Female is... unexpected.”
Waves thirteen and fourteen blur together. The final wave, fifteen, comes as the rain stops. My belly looks like late pregnancy, impossibly round.
His cocks begin to soften, but we're still locked by the secondary's coils.
“Too tired to move,” I explain when he starts to carry me to shore later.
“Observed fact,” he says quietly.
I'm too exhausted to bite him for it.
I don't remember him settling us on the moss bank. But I wake briefly in full darkness, surrounded by his coils, warm and inexplicably safe. My pussy still throbs with need, still drips constantly, but the edge is dulled by exhaustion.
The skirlings are calling to each other. Closer than before. I can hear at least eight distinct voices.
“Tomorrow they'll try,” he says quietly.
“Try what?”
“To take you. Pack is hungry. Female would feed them for days.”
“Let them try.”
His coils tighten slightly. Possessive. “No.”
“Worried about your breeding female?”
“Worried about angry female who throws rocks at shadows. Would miss the entertainment.”
I want to be offended, but I'm too comfortable. Too warm. Too satisfied from the breeding to fight.
“I still hate you,” I murmur against his scales.
“Known fact,” he replies. “Sleep now.”
And I do. Wrapped in the coils of my enemy, my captor, my protector. The thing I need and hate in equal measure.