Boa III (Patreon)

Note: This is a story-prompt for Alex.

$20 Patreon Directory

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It wouldn't have been Camille's first pick for a bar, but she was on the job, so she hadn't had a choice on the matter. She honestly hadn't expected much from a venue that was open at noon on a Wednesday and exclusively sold alcohol.

The furniture was dusty and the glasses were foggy, but the drinks were strong, at least. So it was tolerable.

Camille sat on a stool at the bar, head down, trying not to bring too much attention to herself. As such, she was in her human form. The place was small and scattered with a dozen other so regulars. Mostly drunks, but she wasn't there to judge. She had her own vices after all.

Despite her recent beach holiday, Camille could feel the snake part of her simmering near the surface, yearning to let loose. Her breasts were heavy and pulsing where they sat high on her chest.

Perhaps her time off had been insufficient. Camille was still learning to slow down and take breaks when she needed to. She thought that when she finished this assignment, she would spend as much time in her boobaconstrictor form as possible. She would sleep in the form, allowing her body to twist and stretch as she luxuriated.

Now though, for the time being, Camille was still waiting for the contact she was supposed to be meeting. She didn't know who it was or what they would be wearing, she just knew that there would be a signal of some sort.

"Hey there, sweetness." A man with slick hair and blue eyes slid onto the bar stool beside hers. He adjusted his glasses and took a long look at the swollen mounds on her chest. "You look too good to be sitting here all alone."

The agitation was growing. The snake wanted out.

The man went on, "How about you and me..."

Camille was hardly listening. She knew that she couldn't properly “deter” the man unless he did something as bold as touching her. That didn't seem a long way off, with the way he was leering.

"Best out of nine?" said a middle-aged man across the room. He was playing a game of darts with a guy in a baseball cap.

"A deal's a deal. Now own up," said the guy in a cap.

"Man, you were too close to the board. Let's have a fair game. C'mon, rematch."

"That's not how this works," said the guy in the cap. "Now pay up." He got in the older man's face.

As Camille received a fresh drink she could hear a scuffle starting up. It was admittedly hard to focus on anything aside from her heaving breasts as they strained her top.

She hardly got any effects from alcohol but she still liked the taste. She knew how to appreciate the nuances in flavor. There was a choking noise, and as Camille turned her head, she could see that Baseball Cap had his challenger in a choke hold.

Two loud booming noises echoed through the bar. Everyone's attention turned to the dart board, which was now cracked and hanging askew, still smoking from gun shots.

Slick, still seated beside her, raised his brows and took a sip of his gin.

Camille turned her pistol on the two feuding men. "Time to go home," she ordered.

The middle-aged man looked ready to scamper off, but Baseball Cap swiftly drew his own gun, aiming it right back at Camille. "I think you should take your own advice, mega-tits."

Camille felt herself standing, unable to control herself anymore.

She felt her legs and hips extending, her body elevating to tower over everyone else. Her breasts tremored as they swelled forward, a green tint beginning to form on her skin.

A light tapping on her waist pulled her out of her trance.

"I was hoping for something more discreet,” said Slick, still seated at the bar. “We should get out of here.”

Camille's eyes widened. He was the contact.

She shrunk back down to her full human form, absently cupping her left breast as she allowed the slick-haired man to lead her out of the bar. She didn't care about the stares. The darts fight had at least broken up.