Kass
The withdrawal wakes me before dawn, as usual. Proto-eggs dissolving, releasing their poison into my bloodstream. Creating need that will drive me to the pool by evening, where I'll beg with my body for what I claim to hate.
But today, lying in Vhaz's coils while he breathes steadily around me, a different thought takes root.
Twenty more days until the portal opens. Twenty more days of this degrading dependency. Unless...
The purple fruits dull the withdrawal. Not completely, but enough to function. If I stockpiled them, found somewhere defensible to hide, maybe—just maybe—I could white-knuckle through the remaining time. No more breeding. No more proto-eggs. No more needing him.
His coils shift slightly, and I freeze. But he's just adjusting in sleep—or whatever passes for sleep with serpents. I've noticed he never fully relaxes, always partially alert even when resting. Predator instincts.
When the sun rises enough to see, I carefully extract myself from his coils. He lets me go, though I know he's awake. This is our routine now. He provides warmth and safety through the night, I pretend I don't need it in the morning.
“Food by the rocks,” he murmurs without opening his eyes.
Always food. Always care. Always knowing exactly what I need before I ask. The violation of being known that well makes my teeth clench.
“Thanks,” I mutter, because starving out of spite would be stupid.
While eating, I map my plan. The purple fruits grow in three locations I know of.
The sulfur springs to the east have the biggest cluster.
If I harvest carefully, take only what I won't be immediately missed, I could build a supply.
Water is trickier, but there are rain pools in the rocky areas that should be safe enough.
The real question is where to hide. Somewhere defensible but not obvious. Somewhere he won't think to look.
I spend the morning pretending normalcy. Checking my useless traps. Gathering moss for bedding I won't use. All while secretly collecting purple fruits, hiding them in various locations to retrieve later. My hands shake constantly—the withdrawal building—but I push through.
By afternoon, I've identified the perfect hiding spot. An old root system from a massive dead tree, creating underground caves. Multiple exits if I need to run. Dry enough to store supplies. Hidden enough that casual searching wouldn't find it.
I stash water gourds there, wrapped in leaves to prevent evaporation. Half my purple fruit collection. Some dried meat I've been saving. Not much, but maybe enough.
The pool water is perfectly heated when I arrive. He's already there, of course. Waiting. Both cocks emerged and ready, that damned secondary coiling in the pattern my pussy mimics without my permission.
“Female is distracted tonight,” he observes as I wade in.
“Female is tired.” Not a lie. The planning, the gathering, the fighting against withdrawal—it's exhausting.
“Too tired for breeding?”
We both know that's not possible. My pussy is already clenching desperately, dripping so much wetness into the water that he can probably taste it. The proto-eggs demand their replacement. Biology doesn't care about my plans.
“Just do it.”
He pulls me close with his tail, positioning me over his primary.
The entry is practiced now—my body knows exactly how to accept him.
Each ridge sliding past my entrance with that perfect stretch that makes me hate how good it feels.
The secondary follows, coiling immediately.
Five loops tonight. Getting tighter each day.
The first wave of proto-eggs releases, and I count them. Need to know how long the withdrawal will last. How many are dissolving inside me to create tomorrow's hell.
“Female's mind is elsewhere,” he says during wave three.
“Female's mind is none of your business.”
Wave five makes me come—a breeding orgasm that starts in my womb and spreads outward. My pussy clamps down on both cocks, milking them for more poison I don't want but can't refuse.
“Planning something,” he states during wave eight. Not a question.
“Planning nothing.”
But he knows I'm lying. I can see it in how his coils tighten slightly around me. How his hood extends just a fraction. He knows something's different but can't identify what.
Waves ten through fifteen blur together. My belly swells with proto-eggs, skin stretching tight. Each deposit another chain that will try to drag me back tomorrow. But tomorrow I'll be gone. Tomorrow I'll be free.
When we finally separate, when the flood of fluid escapes and my belly deflates, he doesn't immediately carry me to shore. Just stays there, studying me.
“Female should be careful,” he finally says. “Swamp is dangerous alone.”
“Noted.”
He coils around me for sleep, and I force myself to relax into it. To maintain the pattern. To not give away that this is the last night I'll spend wrapped in serpent coils.
I wait until his breathing deepens into the rhythm I've learned means actual sleep. Wait another hour beyond that to be sure. Then, inch by careful inch, I extract myself from his coils.
He shifts once—my heart stops—but doesn't wake. Or pretends not to wake. With him, I can never be entirely sure.
I've already stashed supplies at the entrance to my shelter. More water, more purple fruits, the knife he doesn't know I kept. Everything wrapped in leaves to mask the scent. I gather it all silently, breathing through my mouth to stay quiet.
The withdrawal is manageable for now. I ate three purple fruits before sleeping, and their effects last about six hours. Enough time to get distance between us.
I head east first—toward the sulfur springs where he'd expect me to go for purple fruits. Leave obvious tracks for about a mile. Then double back through water, masking my scent, and head west toward the dead tree root system.
By the time the sun rises, I'm underground. Hidden. Safe.
The caves are darker than expected but dry. I arrange my supplies carefully. Water in the coolest corner. Purple fruits wrapped to prevent premature rotting. Dried meat hung where air circulates.
Twenty days. I just need to survive twenty days.
The first real wave of withdrawal hits around noon. The proto-eggs from last night have mostly dissolved, flooding my system with need. My pussy clenches in that spiral pattern, seeking something that isn't there. Won't be there.
I eat two purple fruits. The edge dulls but doesn't disappear. My clit throbs constantly, so swollen it's visible through my torn pants. My nipples ache against my shirt. Everything is hypersensitive, desperate, angry.
But I'm free. No serpent coils. No breeding schedule. No pretending I don't need what I hate.
I organize the cave to keep busy. Create a sleeping area with gathered moss. Set up a basic alarm system using vines and rocks—it won't stop anything, but it'll warn me. Map out the exits, memorizing each turn in the dark.
By afternoon, I'm proud of myself. I did it. I escaped the cycle.
The withdrawal is worse as night approaches. This is when my body expects breeding, expects relief. Instead, I'm curled in a cave, eating purple fruits that barely touch the need.
My pussy won't stop clenching. Won't stop dripping. I've soaked through my pants completely, the wetness pooling beneath me. I try fingering myself, but it's pointless. My body knows the difference. Wants those specific cocks, that specific stretch, those proto-eggs I'm trying to escape.
Outside, I hear movement. Large. Deliberate. Him, looking for me?
I hold my breath, hand over my mouth to muffle any sound. The movement passes. Continues on. He didn't find me. Didn't even come close.
I win.
The cave is freezing. I didn't account for how cold it gets without his coils warming me. I curl tighter, shivering, teeth chattering. The withdrawal makes it worse—my body burning too hot during the day means I can't regulate temperature at night.
I eat another purple fruit. Only fifteen left. Need to ration better.
Every sound makes me jump. Skirlings? Other predators? Him? But nothing enters the cave. Nothing finds me.
I try to sleep but can't. The proto-eggs are almost fully dissolved now, creating maximum need. My pussy throbs in time with my heartbeat. My skin feels too tight. Every nerve screams for what's not coming.
But I'm free. Suffering but free.
Tomorrow will be easier. Has to be. The withdrawal will peak and then fade. The purple fruits will be enough. I'll survive until the portal opens and go home with my body my own again.
I curl on the moss, alone in the dark, pussy clenching on nothing, and tell myself this is victory.
Tell myself I don't miss his coils.
Tell myself I don't need what my body is screaming for.
Tell myself twenty more days is possible.
In the darkness of my hidden cave, trembling from cold and withdrawal and isolation, I almost believe it.
Almost.