April Lewd - 2 Smols 1 Snek (Patreon)

So, first, shoutout and headpats to our porn goblin; this is... 21 pages of story and smut. 

We couldn't do this without you, our patrons. <3 we love you all, and you can come and throw popcorn and rocks at the porn goblin anytime. 

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4:23 A.M. local time. The clock at the bottom right of his screen blinked with passive indifference to the entirely indecent hour of the night, but actually watching the minutes and hours of his life tick by felt like a lead collar around his neck. Another unproductive night better spent sleeping than what he was currently up to. Namely, he was bouncing between staring a partially finished sketch that he was making no progress on, checking on the various group-chats he was in, and watching videos of Dorarizin pups freak out at the sight of acorn squash. John let out a frustrated sigh as his chin hit the desk. He just didn’t have any motivation to try.

He closed his eyes, resting them a moment as pulsing club music thrummed through the confines of his Zephyr-station dormitory. There was a reason he could afford this place on an artist’s income, and that was because of the all hours club situated directly one deck beneath it. With so many species on so many sleep cycles coming and going, it was always a good time for a drink in someone’s mind. It wasn’t the constant thumping bass that was keeping him up though, it was the mixture of coffee and energy drinks that he thought would help him accomplish something tonight. The pounding music had become like a soothing white noise to him after a few months.

“Well, thanks to the power of caffeine I have managed to turn two days into one really long day.” He muttered darkly, pulling his knees up to his chest.

He let out a sharp huff as he pushed himself away from his desk, the office chair he sat in rolling about a foot before stopping with a squeak. He glanced over at the sketch on his screen that he’d been struggling with since midnight, and found a frown creeping across his face.

Tail taper is wrong, doesn’t give the proper impression of depth . . . highlights are screwy because I’ve got a natural light source and a camera flash in the reference and just wasn’t paying attention . . .

John scowled. The drawing should be twice as far along in half the time, with none of the amateur mistakes. Absently, he pulled one of the drawstrings of his hoodie between his lips, holding it there as he rocked in place, trying to stay focused long enough to figure out how to fix what he was looking at.

His eyes wandered for a moment, before settling on the image he’d been using for a reference.

A faint smile crept across his face as he looked over the selfie that Sunny had taken with him. She was so vibrant in it. He could tell that the auto-touch up algorithms had done some work; there was a mis-colored scale on her neck it had tone-matched, and the filter she used had really brought out the brightness of her eyes. His gaze slid to the bottom right corner of the snapshot, and his smile was pulled into a rictus grimace by his own appearance. “Really should have worn something other than a gray hoodie and jeans to the club,” he mused quietly to himself. 

Sur’prrsn’ni – nee Sunny - was the DJ most nights. He had wandered in on an early morning not too different from this one, strung out on energy drinks and up to nothing in particular, only to find her jamming out center stage. It was surreal.

They’d known each other from a few years back at “Poly-Technical Artistry Institute #11”. They’d hit it off, and were always friendly with one another. They didn’t have a lot of classes in common, but the ones they did she was terrible at. They spent some long hours and late nights in the library together studying . . . and he even stayed awake for most of them. She was in traditional Jornissian wind-instrument studies, he was in sculpture. She found out that she like pounding synth-bass more than dainty flutes, and he found out that he was way better at drawing statues than making them. They both went their separate ways after graduation, and neither had really bothered to keep up. They caught up over a couple drinks, and she snapped a selfie with him to use as her profile pic in his contact list.
 

She’d done well for herself since then. He . . .

“Well, I’m not a starving artist.” He muttered, shrugging sheepishly as he spun his chair around in a circle. 

His phone buzzed, drawing his attention towards the unmade heap of sheets and blankets on his bed. He kicked off against his desk, skidding the 3 feet he needed to make it all the way to the other side of his entire apartment. Feeling blindly for his phone, he finally found something hard and flat, and pulled it out just in time to catch an incoming text from an unknown number.

This is Melody. You come to club now.

He blinked, confusion overriding the weird mix of exhausted and hyperactive that was muddling his thoughts before. His fingers tapped across the clear polymer screen, and the phone chimed softly as his reply went out.

“It’s like 4:30 in the morning, where did you get this number?” His brow furrowed, but the response was almost instantaneous.

John. You are awake. Come to club, or I will come get you to bring you to club.

John was taken somewhat aback. That . . . sounded a lot like a threat. He tried to think back, searching his memory for a Melody . . .

The light-bulb in his head went off suddenly. 

Oh. That Melody.

He stood, quickly pulling on shoes and, after a quick sniff check, pants. He didn’t just get a threat via text. He just got a promise.

==============================

About 6 minutes later, John found himself standing in line among a tightly packed throng of Dorarizin, Karnakians, and Jornissians all waiting outside of Nova. The press of such large bodies next to his was uncomfortable, and the smell of weird alien “come-fuck-me” Cologne was . . . prevalent. The line was long, but that wasn’t uncommon. Nova was a pretty popular place from what he understood. There was enough demand that the doors never shut, and there was always at least one person pouring drinks and playing music.

“You. Tiny-John. On list.”

He let out a surprised yelp as something grabbed him by the scruff of his hoodie, and hoisted him up into the air. His face was blasted by the hot breath of Melody, her broad muzzle and permanently dour gaze boring into him. “Dress better. Wear clean pant. You wear hoodie last time. Look terrible then too.” Her disapproval hit him like a microwave emitter, and he felt his whole body heat up with embarrassment. 

“Well . . . it seemed urgent. So I grabbed what was closest?”

Her frown intensified, as if she didn’t like that he had an answer.

“Acceptable.”

As she started to walk him to the entrance, carrying him at her chest height in one hand, there was a cascade of complaints and moans that echoed down the line. Nobody liked watching someone pass them up to get in, particularly when they were that far back. Melody growled sharply, barking back over the din of the club. “You want source of wait? Party of males having mate-binding ceremony tomorrow. Bottle service. You complain to dozen drunk Dorarizin, not tiny-John-no-fur. He is too small, not even count as person.” 

John mouthed a quiet ‘thank you’ to her, as she carried him through the front doors. She probably meant that he wasn’t even an ‘occupant,’ meaning that he didn’t count towards the occupancy limit. Probably. She probably didn’t mean he wasn’t even a person.

Melody was a co-worker of Sunny, and to hear Sunny tell it, possibly the hardest living thing this side of Andromeda. A former member of the Dorarizin Royal Defense Pack, she’d spent more than a century doing things that would be classified for the next thousand years. After that, she’d become a traveling CQB instructor for various planetary law enforcement bodies, strapped on body armor and a riot shield to suppress the uprising on Dartinian-II, and retired after maxing out both her pensions for years served under hazard-pay circumstances. She managed to stay retired for all of 2 weeks before getting a job as a bouncer, because a life where she couldn’t grab people by the throat as an occupation wasn’t a life she wanted to live.

“Move.” She roughly manhandled a Dorarizin male, maybe three quarters her height, out of the way as she carved a path across the dance floor, heading for the DJ booth. John was curled up against her side, like some kind of package in the hands of a very, very aggressive delivery woman, just doing his best to not get any of his limbs tangled up in someone else in the press of bodies. The noise was almost deafening here, and the sweat of 4 different species mingling gave the air a strange scent. It wasn’t offensive, but it was very raw, and very primal. Lights flashed through colors that John’s eyes couldn’t see, the strobing effect making the entire place seem to jump between different frozen poses as the various species mingled and danced.

He made out a Jornissian chatting up a Karnakian in the corner, clearly flirting as she playfully flicked at his feathered head crest. Meanwhile, just a few tables over, at least a half dozen Dorarizin dressed up in what looked like tuxedos were downing shot after shot in tiny, human sized glasses. It actually bore a striking resemblance to a bachelor party, but with over-sized wolf-men trying to act like humans.

John took a moment, and thought about the implications of that particular bit of cultural appropriation. Ultimately, even if they were stealing some part of human culture and using it as an excuse to get drunk, he didn’t really mind that they were appropriating the “stag do” part of his ancestral history. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that stealing some part of someone else’s culture and using it as an excuse to get drunk was a pretty prominent human tradition anyway, so it was meta-cultural appropriation.

Though no one heard him utter it over the din of the club, the words “fucking tired-wired brain,” slipped between his lips with exasperated frustration.

Finally his eyes came to rest on the DJ, the conductor of this riotous exchange of culture and exuberant lust for life.

Sunny. Her hood was flared in what was obviously joy, and the cream and yellow colors of her scales glittered with flecks of iridescent paint. The music was was booming, like the heartbeat of some colossal titan mixed with the soft and sibilant cries of synthesized angels. Patterns of fluorescent dye flared with each flash of a different club light, revealing the crudely daubed patterns of eyes, wings, stars, and monsters on her hood and torso. Green, pink, purple and gold, each photo-reactive pigment flared brightly for a split second only to blend into the next chaotic image a moment later. Amid the explosions of light and sound, she swayed and bobbed in fluid parity with the music she was mixing live. Her eyes were closed as she worked the controls; she didn’t need to see to conduct with perfection. Acting on instinct, in a state of thoughtless flow, she was axis on which the club turned. Right where she belonged.

All of John’s thoughts stopped for several seconds, only coming back to his senses as Sunny passed out of sight. He looked around in confusion as he realized he was being carried into the back, through a door marked “Staff Only” in 4 different languages. Still, even as he found himself deposited on a large black sofa in what appeared to be a dingy break room, he couldn’t shake the sheer spectacle of her from his mind.

“You. Stay.” 

He opened his mouth to protest, but before any sound came out, Melody was trudging off back to the club proper. It was deeply disorienting (and slightly upsetting) to be treated like luggage, or perhaps a very obedient pet, but something in him kept him firmly rooted in place. Potentially survival instinct, but more likely the vivid image of Sunny on stage didn’t allow room for any other considerations.

She had a constrictor heritage, from one of the colder planets. It gave her a lot of curves, even for a Jornissian. She had also been wearing a tank top. A snug tank tank top. 

The scales on her abdomen were a very lovely, if subtle cream color.

And she was cold. Definitely cold.

His reverie was broken by a gentle knock on the door. The door was open, so the act must have been just to get his attention.

“Ayy, John. Glad you made it!” The human figure broke into a wide grin, his impish smile and warm tone filled John with a welcome sense of ease and safety.

“Hey Ian.” As glad as he was to see a friendly face, there was still some uncertainty nagging at him. “I thought Melody wanted me down here?”

Ian clucked his tongue quietly. “Ahh, yeah, well, I may have asked her to lean on you a bit to make sure that you showed.” He grinned widely, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot. John couldn’t help but notice he did it without ever taking his hands from his pockets. Ian was the “new” bartender. New in the sense that he’d only worked there for the human equivalent of three years. Tall, dark, and handsome, his almost irritatingly good looks had made him an instant hit with a lot of the girls that walked through the doors, and those among the patronage that didn’t care about his looks found something even better in his personality. Lively, incorrigibly friendly, and with an ability to read people that had Karnakians joking that somewhere in his family tree there were feathers, he made a good friend, and even better tips. Better in a week than John made in a month of commissions. He might be a little sore about that if it weren’t for how Ian bought almost third of his artwork, and at full price too.

“So, what’s up? Why’d you need me down here so bad?” John rubbed his eyes, but couldn’t help but smile a little. That impish grin he had was infectious, but right now it was straddling the line between impish and smug.

“Well, so I’m setting up a little surprise for a couple friends of mine.” He said, his tone unusually coy. “Do you get stage fright?” 

John could only sigh, and laugh off the strange question. “Look, don’t do the whole games and surprises thing. Just tell me what’s up and let’s get on with it, yeah?”

Ian shrugged, his expression getting even more smug. “You wanna play, it’s gotta be by the rules. So, do you get stage fright?”

John groaned, loudly. “Fine. No I don’t get stage fright.”

“Are you alright with tight spaces? No pun intended.” 

He shot him a confused look, but just to play along John relented and chuckled quietly. “I’m not claustrophobic, no. What kind of weird prank are you trying to pull on your manager this time? I’m not helping again, not after-”

Ian interrupted, his hand finally leaving his pocket to press a finger to John’s lips “Shush. We agreed to never to speak of that. Now, Last question, are you alright with tight spaces? Pun intended.” He cocked a single eyebrow, that impish grin from before returning to play across his features.

“Are you coming onto me?” John deadpanned back, crossing his arms and scowling. The faux-tension didn’t last long though, as neither of them could keep from laughing.

“I’m going to assume that means yes. Sooo . . . hop in this travel case.” John laughed even harder, but sharply stopped as Ian wheeled a large black cabinet out from behind the sofa on the far side of the room.

“You’re serious?” 

Ian only nodded somberly. “Oh, and you can read instructions, right?”

Opening his mouth, then closing it again, John wondered for a moment just what it was he was getting into. 

“Look, I’ve already got Sunny on board, and she’ll be super disappointed if you don’t come through on this.”

John scowled at him. This was dirty. Underhanded. Downright low. Ian was playing hardball now. “You’re trying to peer pressure me into this?”

He shook his head slowly, still grinning ear to ear. “John, I can see the way you brighten up when she’s around, the way you laugh even when her jokes are kind of lame. Would you really disappoint her?” There was a savage twinkle in his eye, and John found his reticence crumbling.

The childish goading shouldn’t have worked, but as he tucked his feet into rolling equipment cabinet and darkness closed in around him, John had to admit that no, he really wouldn’t. Not willingly.

===============

“Ow . . . fuck!” John swore as the box on wheels ran over a seam in the floor, the sudden jolt bouncing his head off the roof of the tiny space. 

If Ian heard him, he didn’t say anything, only banging on the side twice as the box suddenly tilted, throwing John’s shoulder into the corner, making his face scrunch with discomfort. “Last time I listen to you . . .” He muttered, knowing no one could hear him over the rising volume of club music.

He was definitely being pushed uphill, or more likely up a ramp, and his apprehension was increasing sharply. There weren’t any written instructions inside the cart as far as he had seen, but it wasn’t like he had enough room to hide anything or light to read by anyway. Running through the likely scenarios, he was expecting to either burst on stage to run away from someone in a weird costume as part of a bizarre performance art act (it had happened before), or maybe get crowd surfed by a throng of drunk Dorarizin treating the travel case he was stuck in like a boat.

There was another jarring slam down as they crested a ridge of some kind, but things leveled out again. “Definitely on stage now, except for the disk that just blew out of my back . . .” John whined softly. The case rolled to a gentle halt as the music continued to grow louder. There was a slight shift right, then a shift left, then another shift right. He wasn’t a betting man, but if he had to guess, he was being manhandled into a very specific position. That probably wasn’t good. The faint clatter of something being set down on top of the box put actually did put him somewhat at ease, as he probably wasn’t about to go flying into the crowd if there were expensive electronics stacked on top of him.

Weirdly enough, after he was settled into place, it was actually quieter on stage than in the crowd. Good acoustics engineering, apparently. There was the brief clatter of someone fumbling with the latches, and then the doors to the case suddenly swung open.

The music washed over him as the twin doors swung open. The song was slower than what was playing when he first came in, and it mixed breathy vocals with a down-beat tempo and a full bodied bass-line. It had an intimate, sultry feel to it, like wet velvet being sensually run across his thoughts. Of course, that wasn’t what he was thinking about. He didn’t even notice the music at first. He was far more focused on the pale cream and yellow coils piled up before him, and the words flashing in and out of existence across a certain someone’s scaly lower half.

A deftly applied triangle of silicone, carefully formed to hug the curve of her body and hips, sat square in the center of his vision. Ostensibly it was for modesty, but the way it was shaped, the way it was applied . . . it was anything but. As the stage lights flashed green, the “instructions” written directly on her lower half appeared in a luminous purple glow.

Touch Me

The lights switched to UV, and a new set of words glowed like neon orange signage in the near pitch dark. All John could do was blink stupidly as blood departed his brain for an entirely different region of his body. 

Feel Me

Another flash, this time the purple stage lights. More words appeared, but in a different place, and in brilliant green.

Love Me

The words pulsed in and out of existence to the time of the music, and as his jaw dropped he made out little arrows both above and below her waistline converging on a single point. With each flash, the arrows shifted closer to the thin shred of modesty separating them until they disappeared beneath the scale-tone sheet. Only the faintest hint of their tails were still visible, and as a deep blue light shone down on them from above, bright red letters seemed to leap off her body.

Please Me

His head whipped back and forth, terror at the thought of being seen in such a compromising position gripping his chest like a vice. As he tried not to stare at the rather hypnotic sway of her hips, he realized that all of the stage equipment, all of the speakers and gear, had been arranged perfectly such that only her upper half was visible from the club floor. Though they were occupying the literal nexus of a high-tech, multi-sensory spectacle, what was happening here and now was totally unknowable to the hundred or more patrons a few scant feet away.

An intimate moment in the middle of a crowd.

His cheeks reddened as all of this crashed down on him in a matter of seconds. Ian had been coy, far too coy about something like this. This wasn’t funny, or even fun, this was-

The late nights in the library, falling asleep on her coils, going over to her dorm to study every Friday, all of that and more came rushing back to him. “Ohhhhhh . . .”

He couldn’t believe he was ever, ever, that dense.

His phone buzzed faintly in his pocket. Though he scrambled madly to pull it out, it still took him several long seconds to tear his eyes away from Sunny to look at the screen.

Can you not read the instructions? I had Ian check them to make sure they were spelled right

A chill went down his spine. The amount of raw sexuality in that single text burned out the last of his reticence to be here. He considered firing a message back, but the time for talking, or even thinking, should have been over back when they were both in school together.

He gingerly reached for where cool silicone met warm scales in the upper right corner. The light touch of his fingertips against a frightfully oversensitive region made Sunny twitch backward involuntarily. A shadow of doubt crossed over him for a moment, until she suddenly slithered forward, nearly pinning him into the back wall of the cabinet as she pressed into his touch.

His doubt evaporated instantly. She was definitely into this. He tried again to peel away the minimalist covering, his fingertips finding purchase against the molded edge of what was keeping her “modest.” He watched her body tremble, thick cords of muscle quivering at his touch, as he gingerly began to unveil her most intimate places. Heat rolled off her body in waves, though from physical exertion of her stage performance or the tantalizing promise of being handled just so, John couldn’t say. In the end, he realized, it was almost certainly both.

Clear strands of arousal briefly connected the molded pseudo-scale to the rest of her, and with a gentle tug it peeled away completely. John felt his breath catch in his throat. She was beautiful.

He’d done nude portraiture, of course. The bare body alone was hardly enough to have much of an effect him, let alone make his mind grind to a halt like this, but she was perfect. The shape of her sex was like a three lobed flower, almost like a lewd triquetra, made of 3 distinct pseudo-scale segments. They were a pale cream color, with a hint of delicate and engorged pink around the edges, but scales that made up her nethers were very different from the rest of her body. They were soft, even pliable to his touch, and the borders between them were demarcated by thin lines of glistening, sensuously elastic flesh. Not even in his wildest imaginings had he expected this.

His fingers traced the graceful edges of the downward pointing triangle, deriving a certain satisfaction from the way her body squirmed and quivered hungrily for something to probe her depths. Even the texture caused him to marvel silently. He always enjoyed the smooth coolness of Jornissian scales,  and would freely admit that he’d slept better in those pleasantly warm coils than anywhere else on campus, but this was different. The tip of his finger seemed to glide across her, and her body seemed to welcome him readily as he traced a slow spiral further and further down to the shuddering entrance at her center.

Unconsciously, he leaned in closer, and as his warm breath met her desperately desirous folds, the music skipped a beat slightly. He couldn’t help but snicker incredulously. He doubted anyone in the club had noticed it perfectly in time with his attentions, but he had. She did it on purpose. The music was her voice, her breath. She was singing to him through synthesizers and drum-machines. The rumbling growl of bass her moans, the squeak of tweeters her cries of ecstasy. 

The scent of her was becoming overpowering in the small confines of the travel cabinet, but he loved it all the same. The heady musk, not quite leathery but not quite floral, reminded him of oddly of Earth. The scent of the plains when the hot snow-eater winds would blow down from the mountains, carrying the smell of spring and earth and snow and life in renewal. He leaned in close, and kissed her.

The effect was immediate. A warbling bass drop rocked the house, and the club went absolutely wild. He could feel the smugness in her, masterfully weaving a dozen delicate and powerful feelings together. She deserved to be smug, and as he dug his fingers into her hips, he pressed his face more fully into the broad, sensitive plates of her entrance.

His lips caressed the broad swathes of sensitive, slick scale, but his tongue was almost instantly seized by her depths. Eyes closed, he felt her hot, muscular insides pull him deeper into a kind of perverse French kiss. She was powerful, almost frighteningly so, and for a moment he was worried about losing an appendage to her. 

She relaxed seconds later, after squeezing and pulling him to his limit. The music settled slightly in time with her actions, and then the rhythm appeared. He would press into her as the music would build, pull against her as the beat would break, she’d hold him there through the drop, and finally release him into melody. She tasted of sweat, and lust. This strands of her carnal need coated his face, smeared his lips, and trickled down his chin before she reached the second track. 

John had never heard of anyone finish from giving head, but from the way they played one another upon the stage, he considered that it might be possible for him.

===============

Sunny gripped the edge of her personal mixing setup tightly, and felt her eyelids flutter as the set reached its finale. She rolled her coils, savoring the feeling of flesh on flesh as she pushed John back against the far wall of the travel case while she jabbed the key to bring the stage lights down.

This was far and above the craziest thing she’d ever let Ian talk her into doing, but right now, she was pretty sure that doing this was the best decision she’d made since ditching wind instruments for electronic ones. Performing was always a rush, always a thrill. Being up in front of people, watching them cheer you on, throw their hands, talons, and paws up for you . . . it was amazing. Doing all that while getting oral on the down low? At least a hundred people watching her try not to lose it? Between the terror, the joy, and the rush of actually pulling it off . . . she’d probably need some very illegal chemicals to have a better night than this.

Breaking the “kiss” she’d been sharing with John wasn’t something she wanted to do, but it was something she had to do. She couldn’t wait any longer, she needed him inside her. All of him, wrapped up in her coils, heart pounding, loins-

“Focus, Sunny . . . Focus.” She steadied herself as the last of the notes faded out.

She bent down, poking her head into the travel cabinet and finally looking her “silent partner” in the eye. “Watch your legs.” Her tongue flicked out, and lightly caressed the end of his nose. His eyes were wide, and his pupils were pinpricks, but he nodded readily. 

She could feel the heat of a full body blush radiating off him , and couldn’t suppress a sibilant hiss of contentment as he grinned breathlessly at her. She closed the small double doors, sealing him back up before she spun the crate around its center of mass deftly. Though it was only a momentary window, anyone paying close enough attention would’ve had no illusions about the fact that she was stark naked from the waist down, and at least one male patron near the front did a double take before shaking their head in disbelief. Wishful thinking and low lighting, he was sure. 

“Thank you all for being a great crowd! I’m on break for the next 30, so take a seat, relax, and enjoy the ambiance, or use this chance to ask the pretty thing you’ve been eyeing all night to come back to your place for an impromptu duet!” A cheer that was part tired, part drunk, part just happy to be there went up, and more than a few patrons actually did pair off and head for the exit. In the second level VIP lounge, a very confused Jornissian male momentarily wondered if he was looking at a “Sin-Thetic Jornissian Female Lingerie” piece on the stage floor, but dismissed it out of hand. He decided it was probably just a painted on marker to indicate where stage gear needed to be set up.

With the quick tap of a button on the house console, her “smoke break” playlist started. It was a bit quieter and more relaxed, just to give the patrons some time to recharge before her next set.

It also gave her some time to get this adorable little piece of tail out of her equipment box and into her actual box.

She rolled the cabinet holding John to the ramp at the back of the stage. With a little shove and a hop, coasted rode it all the way down into the staff area, dragging her tail to control the speed of her ride. This also had the added benefit of keeping her painfully bare lower half deftly concealed from a the handful of crew and staff that were milling about. 

They nodded, smiled at her, maybe mentioned something about it being a good set, and did the usual things that people do when they assume the person they’re talking to isn’t naked from the waist down. 

She returned the niceties absently, but her mind was focused on one thing. A door that said “Staff Only” in 4 different languages.

It banged open loudly as she shoved the cabinet through the door, and then slammed shut again just as loudly as she sealed the room behind her with a flick of her tail. Her eyes never left the black box of awaiting pleasures. She lazily looped powerful coils of her muscled length around a chair and forced it up under the door knob to jam the entrance to the break room shut. “Finally.” She huffed, chest heaving as she practically tore into the black travel case. 

John came tumbling out, and while Sunny radiated raw desire . . . he mainly radiated a gladness to be free of a small, uncomfortable, “not meant for human passengers” box.

She was on him in a flash.

Hoodie, shirt, shoes, even his socks were gone in moments, and he barely had any time to catch his breath or get his bearings before she was struggling to extricate him from his jeans. His hands found her chest flesh, almost by accident as she pinned him to the sofa that ran the length of one wall. Her breath hitched, and her back arched with a shudder. “SSSssssaahhhh . . . I’ve wanted you to do that since the second time you fell asleep in my coils.” Her voice was practically dripping with lust, and judging by the warm, slick patch of scales grinding into his groin, it wasn’t the only thing.

She ducked her head low, tongue flicking furiously through the air as she tried to absorb everything about how he smelled, felt, and looked. His hands were all over her, or at least the places he could reach. She blinked slowly, her breathing pleasantly disrupted as his lithe digits began to work their way up her abdomen, poking and caressing her in all the right ways until they made it to the fleshy rose colored nubs that strained against their cotton confines. They had been made painfully hard and painfully sensitive by his previous efforts, and the pitifully inadequate tank-top she was wearing did almost nothing to conceal them anyway. She smiled, silently loving the way her weighty breasts dwarfed his fragile-looking hands, and as much as she enjoyed his attentions, there were entirely too many layers between them for her liking.

She stripped her shirt off in a fluid motion, slithering out of it in the way only a Jornissian could. Finally free from the limits of clothing, her assets hung low and heavy. Large, even by Jornissian standards, she pressed the weighty pair against John, pinning him in place while she tugged his pants off, inch by inch.

She felt him spring free, and a renewed surge of enthusiasm pulsed through her. Throwing her head back, she ground her slit across his tip once, twice, then three times. From the flutter of his eyelids and the boyish moans coming from him, he was enjoying the attempt, but she wasn’t satisfied just yet. Finally, on the fourth attempt she managed engulf his turgid, hot malehood with a powerful, coiling squeeze.

They both let out simultaneous, needy moans, silenced only by their desire to share a passionate, needy kiss.

Ian coughed loudly into his fist, hoping they would notice him if he did it a third time. “Umm . . . so I take it you guys are pretty happy with your respective surprises.”

The two lovers snapped their focus onto the sole intruder in the room. John’s eyes filled with alarm, while Sunny’s were filled with an almost predatory intent. Neither of them had noticed the largely motionless friend of theirs, as he had been quietly playing with something on his phone as they had entered, and they were both very much focused on other things. Or at the very least John had an excuse, because he’d been stuffed in a crate.

“I was going to leave but-” Ian gestured to the badly mangled metal chair that Sunny had shoved into place, “you jammed the door shut.” There was a long, painfully pregnant pause. 

A chill ran through Ian, as he watched the embarrassment and panic on John’s face contrast with the hungry leer of Sunny.

“Soo . . . I’ll just put my headphones in, and put on some music, John and face the microwave!” He made awkward finger guns at pair, doing his best to alleviate some of the rapidly growing tension in the air.

Sometimes Jornissian wires would get crossed when badly startled enough . . . it typically ended with them falling back on older instincts. Like, in the case of the large constrictor-descended specimen in the room with him, constrict prey until it stops resisting, then swallow it.

Ian wondered if he should warn John about that, but thought better of it. He’d never heard about Jornissians accidentally eating their partners. Never. Of course he also never heard about them holding a 4 year crush on a human boy they met in art school.

He spun around in his seat very slowly, stopping once he was looking at the practically ancient black microwave. Prey doesn’t turn its back to a predator, that was how it worked, right? Ian tried to remember some of his 8th grade biology.

“Faaaace the microwaaaaave . . .” he repeated softly, trying to move as slowly and non-threateningly as possible as he reached into his pocket for a set of headphones. 

For the record that is not, in fact, how predators work.

“Hey John, actually, can I borrow-” 

His request for headphones was cut short as Sunny seized him by the collar, and physically tossed him onto the couch. “Pants. Off.” Her tone was guttural, and sibilant. The translator actually seemed to struggle with it for a moment.

John let out a quiet moan of pleasure as Sunny began to pulse and squeeze around his length, but she never took her eyes off Ian. “Okay. I thought you’d eat me, not . . . eat me.” He said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. Sunny didn’t wait any longer for him to remove his trousers and violently yanked them down, tearing them open before wrapping her tongue around Ian’s half-erect tool.

One hand on his chest, the other cupping his package with surprising tenderness, Sunny snaked her tongue in a spiral down his shaft. Lifting, tugging, and squeezing as she went, the slippery appendage danced up and down his length in a helical pattern, one that made his eyes roll back and his fingers dig into the armrest. The famously well-spoken bartender was at a complete loss for words, the only thing he managed to say was “Oh, fuck~” as she swallowed his tool to the base, and then began to massage him with the contractions of her throat.

Sunny didn’t really have a plan anymore. Ian wasn’t supposed to be here, but, now he was, and that was . . . a problem. Or it was, until all of her thoughts had got kind of slow and very methodical. She wanted John, and she had him. She could feel him, twitching, squirming, struggling in her coils. She liked the way he groped, the way he squeezed, the way his broad, slick, weighty tongue pressed into her sensitive teats. She liked the way he would gulp down huge breaths before switching from one side of her chest to the other, never letting his hands or mouth be unoccupied for more than a few moments. 

She liked all of that a lot, actually. 

She liked the way his adorably petite, entirely unflagging tool was at the absolute mercy of her squeezing, pulsing, drooling confines. It was much easier this way. None of that exhausting thrusting and rolling over and writhing around each other. She could really take her time. Really savor the moment. Just her, and her lover wrapped up, held snug in place, not going anywhere she didn’t want him to go.

She liked the feeling of Ian buried up to the hilt in her throat too, but in a different way. Maybe a little less. The way he groaned was nice, the way he stroked her hood gently was better. Probably the best part was the way he struggled to pull out before he finished. The taste and smell flooded her nostrils, and it was so strangely virile that she almost stopped sucking for a moment. He started making a lot of noise, and she wasn’t really listening, but he was complaining more loudly that she would have liked, so she let him go.

All of her attention turned on John, in that moment. Her eyes closed, and she settled in on top of him. Or, more accurately, she settled in around him. His head was pleasantly buried between her breasts, her sex had marvelously entrapped his manhood, and her coils had kept him right where she wanted him. 

She gave him a little squeeze, hissing with unfettered satisfaction as he hilted a little deeper in her for just a moment. She let off for a moment, feeling him slip a few inches back. His absence was immediately and sorely missed, and so with another pulse of her coils, she felt her canal being spread again as he quietly squelched home. A louder hiss escaped her. She had no idea that would feel so good. Well, she hoped it would, she just didn’t know that it actually did. She developed a rhythm, relaxing and contracting, using her powerful, muscular coils to hold him in place while driving him home. Time passed, but how much wasn’t that important to her. After all, she had everything she wanted here. At some point, she felt him shudder, swell, and then a sticky heat began to work its way through her depths.

That was the part that she loved, and she let out a protracted, soft, sibilant exclamation of gratitude.

But she hadn’t finished, and that was something that needed to be addressed. She gave John a few more tentative squeezes, only to be met with a disappointing sponginess. It was unfortunate he was spent, but it wasn’t an insurmountable obstacle. There was another one in here.

Ian would do next. The gaze of a hunter locked onto him firmly, and she watched with neutral ambivalence as he began to tentatively scoot away from her towards the door. She followed, patiently. Inexorably. He struggled with the badly jammed latch. Knocked vigorously on it. She took him gently in her coils regardless of his attempts to flee. There were more rough things on this one, she thought to herself as she wrapped around him, coil stacking upon coil. She had to adjust a bit, after she had a firm hold of him. He was less than helpful when it came to getting inside her, but that was to be expected from something so small and flighty.

He calmed down considerably once she felt him plunge into her. Poor thing was just a little scared, that’s all. She guided his face into her weighty bosom, and began squeezing her coils around him as well, her womanhood milking him hungrily. He wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as John was, but he would suffice, for now.

Oh John . . . she didn’t want him to feel neglected, even if she needed a little bit more than he could give right now. She carefully and slowly crossed the small space back to the couch, Ian still ensnared in her coils . . . loins. She pressed her snout against his, and slipped her tongue into his mouth. His tongue sparred with hers, and she could feel his fingertips tracing shapes on her sensitive hood. Slow thoughts and slow actions meant that she’d almost forgotten about him. That would have been terribly rude, especially after how good he had been to her. She broke the kiss slowly, planting a little trail of pecks down his abdomen, before she wrapped his member in her tongue and greedily drew it into her mouth.

While the muscles of her throat began to pull on him in rippling contractions, her tongue snaked out along the underside of his shaft and coiled gently around the unusual little pouch there. There were so many funny, but still fun little features left to find on these humans, she mused. She focused on pushing his blunt head even deeper down her throat, and she succeeded, to a limited extent. Mostly she just made him moan and shudder and stroke her crest harder, but that was a victory too. 

As slow as she found her thoughts, they were not disorganized. She had dutifully kept working the other little male, Ian, driving his hips firmly against hers time and time again. The steady, unfaltering pace let her savor each thrust, each little vibration that either of them might make in her powerful grip. She thought that maybe it took longer this time, but when she felt the intoxicating sensation of thick, masculine seed pumping into her, she knew that her current partner was finally and absolutely spent. 

She relinquished him slowly, depositing him gently on a little “nest” in the corner made of soft things.

Perfect.

Her hood flared, and her thoughts ticked over once more. No, not perfect. She still hadn’t climaxed. Suddenly, something grabbed her. She blinked rapidly, her eyes opening and closing in mere seconds. That wasn’t right, she was supposed to be the one-

Her slow, methodical thoughts, neat and orderly, were smashed asunder by something firm and slick slipping into her without her forcing it there. 

She wanted to hiss in surprised protest, but it was too late. Her body eased back, the ancient parts of her brain directing her to accept what he was trying to give her, and to help him do it. Her hood flared again, this time with excitement as she finally realized it was John. Though the right words weren’t coming to her, she hoped he knew what she wanted.

Now, John wasn’t a specialist in Jornissian body language, or facial expressions, or mating behaviors (though he was rapidly becoming more acquainted with the final of the three). He was, however, bound and determined to give her exactly what she wanted. As far as he could tell, what she wanted was to get smashed the way a 28-pound sledge smashed a cuckoo clock. Which is to say, spectacularly.

The subsequent sounds of ragged, desperate panting could be heard from the corridor. The sounds of sex-addled hissing and moans of pleasure could be heard from down the hall. The steady tempo of flesh impacting flesh in the most sensual and intimate of ways could be heard from where the manager sat in his office, doing his best to pretend he was deaf.

John was weak at the knees, his vision was swimming, and he was fairly sure he was suffering from moderate to severe dehydration, but he wasn’t going to give up. Not until Sunny was done the service she was due. The pink and cream colored lobes of her sex were slick with the viscous and thick consequences of a three way mingling she had instigated. Each of John’s thrusts to the hilt were accompanied by a wet slap, and each desperate attempt to pull out was accompanied by a perverse schlick. 

Her back was arching higher and higher, while the tempo and volume of her vocalizations getting kept getting faster and louder. John was on his tip-toes, still driving with everything he had left, practically counting down the seconds until he either passed out or came hard enough to die without regrets. 

Sunny was close, on the cusp of something incredible. There was a white hot star, buried in her loins, compressed to the size of a marble. That feeling of pleasure, just raw, unbounded ecstasy was so intense that it almost hurt, and when it finally went supernova, her world was blown away in wave after wave of mind-blanking sexual bliss.

Her claws dug angry red furrows in John’s back as he screamed his own climax; she was too far lost in her own world to know what she was doing, and he was too spent to care. The mixture of pain, pleasure, triumph, and glory, all mingling together in a way that made him feel like a mythical warrior-king of a fantastical ancient Earth. The two of them collapsed into a sticky heap, John’s head resting on Sunny’s ample bosom while his tool fired spurt after spurt into her womb.

Splayed out across her many coils, he rapidly began to slip into darkness, entirely unaware of the hand that had come to gently run through his hair, or the long forked tongue that gently caressed his brow. He could not hear the soft, but now acutely cognizant voice of the “great wyrm” he had “slain,” tenderly whispering to his ear. “Love you, little-John.”

Of course, she was just as exhausted as he was, and after whispering he sweet nothings to him, gladly drifted off as well.

There were two firm knocks at the door, a five second pause, and then it exploded off its hinges like a truck hit it.

“Cheaply made Zephyr furnishings,” Melody scowled with disdain.

As she stepped into the room she examined the door, frowning again as she discovered it was now less of a door and more like 2 chunks of square door-like material. As she cocked her head to the side, she spotted what she suspected used to be a chair, possibly what was holding the door shut, embedded in the far wall.

“Sunny, 30 minute break is become 45, you are late, stop-”

Melody frowned as she took in the rest of the room. She stared at the two inextricably intertwined lovers that were currently curled one atop the other in the corner of the break room for several seconds. Next she looked over at Ian, who, completely nude and laying on a pile of everyone else’s clothing, also seemed entirely spent. 

Her nose wrinkled slightly at the pervasive scents hanging in the air. 

“Eugh, that smell. Neither I, nor room, will ever forget. Like fish, in microwave.” She shook her head slowly, pausing to take in the scene.

She clapped loudly three times. “Wake up! Working is now!” 

No one in the room even flinched.

With a dispassionate shrug, she reached up and scratched the back of her head, pondering what to do with the yard-sale of public indecency before her.

After a moment’s consideration, she loudly announced, “This will not be my problem.” She grabbed one of the tables, turned it on its end, and dragged it into the hallway before gently laying it over where the door used to rest.

She dusted her hands, and nodded approvingly. The table had become a new door, and someone else would be the one to open it. She exhaled sharply though her nose, the closest thing to a display of emotion she was capable of. Her brow furrowed again, as she muttered under her breath, “. . . why does no one invite Melody to these things? Melody would like to have her shit wrecked sometimes. No one even ask if Melody want her world rocked. Melody even help arrange sex-party . . .”

She glanced down the hall, first at the menagerie of horrified staff, then at the gaggle of concerned patrons. 

She fell back on years of government training.

“Everything is fine! It is minor systems glitch, and will be rectified by appropriate authority soon. Return to your duties!” Her voice boomed through the small confines, and probably echoed out onto the dance floor as well.

She issued a few supplemental angry glares in the direction of anyone that lingered too long, waited until they had all scurried away back to wherever she wasn’t, and decided that the matter had been adequately settled.

Still feeling a little down about her exclusion, and eager to capitalize on the absence of any DJ, she decided she would cheer herself up by playing the Dorarizin Royal Guard Anthem on repeat over the club sound system until someone stopped her or she clocked out.

No one stopped her, and it did cheer her up.

Only her.

===============

It had been about 2 months after the escapade at the club, and things had gone . . . well they hadn’t gone well. John sighed as he leaned back. He was now, truly, a starving artist. Same terrible apartment, now with a bonus occupant and a little less furniture. He nudged his “chair” lightly with his elbow, trying to get her attention. “What do you think?” He held up a charcoal sketch for her to examine.

Sunny nodded. “It looks like actual people. Good job.” She gave him a light pat him on the head, with just a hint of playful condescension, before turning back to her mixing board and soundpad. He only chuffed quietly in response.

The apartment was the same size, but now instead of feeling cramped, it just felt cozy.

===============

John’s savings were wiped out by the multiple fines for public indecency, trespassing, and health code violations the station had slapped him with. Having a record was kind of a badge of honor for starving artists though, so he couldn’t complain.

Sunny wouldn’t talk about it, but she was definitely on some kind of list, and she wouldn’t be playing at Nova anytime soon. The label that had been distributing her mixes dropped her overnight, and nobody was going to put her in front of a crowd after the kind of stunt she pulled, at least for a while. In the end though, after the contract buyout she had enough money saved up to buy her own finishing and mastering gear. With John doing the album art for each, she developed a fairly strong underground presence on the station.

Melody was fired for playing the Royal Guard Anthem for 5 hours straight. She kept showing up to work anyway, and after a week of her throwing out every other bouncer they tried to hire, they just gave up and let her have the job back. 

Ian lost his job as a bartender, but managed to dodge all of the legal repercussions. He joked and said it was because he “looked into a thousand different futures, and this was the only one where you two were together, and New New Coke doesn’t come back.” Really it was because he was friends with a lawyer, used to play golf with the judge presiding over his case, and was godfather to the arresting officer’s nephew. He since moved in with Melody, and apparently they’re quite happy together.