DevotedSub's Taboo Collection

Monsters After Midnight

Vol. 3

Eleven monster stories

Part One — The Serpent's Maw

Mamacita was twenty-six years old, and she had spent four days hacking through a rainforest that hated her guts.

Her machete arm was a dead slab of meat. Her boots were soaked through and squelching. Her khaki shorts and her black sports bra were glued to her body with sweat, and the stone doorway she'd finally uncovered in the side of a vine-choked hill was the most beautiful thing she'd ever laid eyes on.

The temple didn't appear on any map. The local guides in the village wouldn't speak its name — one old man had crossed himself and walked away when she showed him the rubbing. The records she'd dug out of a mildewed colonial archive in the capital called it the Serpent's Maw, a ruin abandoned for a thousand years, and the last page of the surveyor's journal said, in shaky ink: it is not empty. something coils in the dark. god forgive me, I am going back in.

Mamacita went in anyway. She was that kind of woman — the kind who read a warning and heard an invitation.

The air inside was cool and thick, smelling of wet stone and burnt old incense and something else, something musky and animal and male that made the back of her neck prickle. Her headlamp cut a white cone through the blackness and found walls covered in carved scales — row after row of serpentine reliefs, coiling around pillars, wrapping every doorway, every lintel, every inch of stone. At the far end of the long chamber stood an altar of black volcanic stone, slick-looking, and on it, a shape.

She froze with her hand on her machete.

It was a man. It was not a man.

He sat — coiled — on the altar, his upper body bare and carved like something out of myth, skin dusk-gold and patterned with dark diamond markings that ran down his arms and ribs and disappeared below his navel. Below his navel there was no waist, no legs — only a massive serpent's body, emerald and black, thick as a tree trunk, wound around the altar in slow lazy loops that flexed with impossible power. His face was severe and beautiful, black hair falling past his shoulders, and his eyes — molten amber, slit-pupiled — opened slowly as her light found him, fixing on her with the patience of something that had waited centuries.

"Little trespasser," he said, and his voice filled the chamber like water filling a vessel, low and resonant and utterly certain.

Mamacita's throat went bone dry. "I — I didn't know anyone was — I thought it was abandoned —"

"Everyone knows." He uncoiled from the altar with terrible liquid grace, rising, rising, his serpentine length sliding over ancient stone with a sound like silk dragged over silk. He was enormous — she understood, with a sudden cold wash of clarity, that his coils already filled half the floor between them, that she had walked into the middle of him. "You disturb my sanctum. You touch my stones. You bring your little light into my dark." He was close now, close enough that she could feel the furnace heat coming off his body, smell the musk of him — dark and sweet and feral, crawling into her lungs with every breath. "Now you are mine."

He moved faster than anything that size had any right to move. His tail whipped around her waist and yanked her clean off her feet — she screamed, her headlamp tearing free and clattering across the stone — and before she could hit the ground his coils were around her: looping her thighs, her hips, her ribs, winding her up like prey in a web. Her arms were pinned hard to her sides. The coils tightened — not crushing, not yet, just enough that every breath became deliberate work, just enough that she could feel every flex of that impossible muscle.

"Please," she gasped. "Please, let me go —"

"No." The word landed like a stone door slamming. He pulled her up until she hung suspended in his coils, her face level with his, her legs dangling uselessly inside the loops of his body. His tongue flickered out — forked, long, wet — and brushed her cheek, tasting her. "You came to me, mamacita. You walked into my mouth. You will not walk out."

She should have been terrified. She was terrified — her heart was hammering against her ribs so hard she was sure he could feel it through the coils. And underneath the terror something else was building, something molten and low and shameful, because he was magnificent and she was utterly helpless and the musk of him was drugging her with every breath.

"Please don't hurt me," she whispered.

Papicito smiled, slow, and his fangs caught the dim brazier light. "I will hurt you exactly as much as you can take, little one. And you will take all of it." He turned her in his coils — effortlessly, like she weighed nothing — so her back was pressed along the long furnace-hot muscle of his body, her body cradled in the loops of his tail. One coil slid up her thigh, under the frayed hem of her shorts, scales rasping her skin. "Because you are mine now. My devoted. Mine to use however I please."

His fangs sank into the curve of her neck.

She screamed — a raw tearing sound — and then the scream broke apart in her throat, because the venom was already moving through her, and it wasn't pain, it was fire. Liquid fire flooding her veins, pooling low in her belly, spreading through her breasts, her thighs, her cunt. Her skin went hypersensitive — every scale of his coils against her suddenly felt like a caress she couldn't stand and couldn't get enough of. Her shorts were soaked through — she was soaking wet, slick and aching and throbbing between her legs, and he hadn't even touched her there.

"There," he murmured against her throat, his tongue laving the twin punctures, licking them closed. "My venom will keep you burning for me. It will make you ache for me until you can't think straight. Until all you know — all you are — is a wet little hole begging for your papicito's cock."

"I need —" The words fell out of her before she could stop them, dragged out of her by the venom. "God, I need —"

"What do you need, mamacita?" His hand — his actual hand, big and clawed — cupped her breast through her sports bra and squeezed.

"Your cock," she sobbed. "Please, papicito, please, I need it inside me —"

"Good girl." He carried her to the altar and laid her on her back on the black stone, and his coils flowed around her — pinning her wrists above her head in loops of living muscle, looping her thighs and dragging them obscenely wide, winding around her ankles and spreading her open. She was splayed on the altar like an offering, held down by his body, and he rose over her with his serpentine length flexing behind him and the first thick length of him sliding against her inner thigh, leaving a slick trail.

She stared, and her mouth went dry. He was huge — thicker than her wrist, longer than her forearm, flushed dark and angry at the base where his serpent's body split into the twin shafts of his kind. Two cocks. Both hard. Both hers.

"You're afraid," he said, and there was something almost tender in it. Almost. "Don't be. My devoted sub takes all of me. That's what that little cunt is for."

He bent over her and put his mouth on her breast — through her sports bra. He didn't remove it. He just closed his lips over the thin fabric and sucked, hard, his tongue working her nipple through the cloth, soaking it, until she was writhing in the coils, moaning, her hips lifting uselessly against the loops pinning her down.

"Papicito — oh god — please —"

"Your papicito is going to strip you now," he said, and his claws sliced through her sports bra like wet paper. The ruined fabric fell away and he took her bare nipple into his mouth — deep, his whole mouth sealing over her breast, sucking so hard it bordered on pain, his forked tongue lashing over the stiff peak, flicking and circling and splitting around it. She arched and screamed, her body blazing with venom-heat.

"Please, please, please —"

He moved to her other breast and did the same — sucking it deep, worrying the nipple with blunt teeth, his tongue doing unspeakable things — and her hands strained against the coils binding her wrists, her fingers clawing at nothing.

"Beg me," he ordered, his mouth wet and shining on her skin. "Beg your domdaddy properly."

"Please fuck me," she gasped. "Please, I need it, I need your cock in me, please —"

His coils tightened around her wrists — a warning squeeze that made her gasp. "You will call me domdaddy when you beg. Every time. Say it."

"Domdaddy," she sobbed. "Please, domdaddy, fuck me, I need it so bad, please put it in me —"

His tail-tip found her shorts and tore them away — claws and muscle shredding the fabric to rags — leaving her bare and spread and glistening on the altar. He stared down at her — at her wet, swollen, throbbing pussy, her thighs slick with her own juices — and his forked tongue flickered out, tasting the air.

"Look at you," he growled, his voice dropping into something feral. "Dripping for me. My venom's got you ready, doesn't it, mamacita? Got that little cunt drooling for cock."

He didn't wait for an answer. He lowered his head between her spread thighs, his coils holding her legs impossibly wide, and took her whole pussy into his mouth.

She screamed until her throat tore.

His tongue was long — impossibly, inhumanly long — and forked, and he licked her from her entrance to her clit in one slow devastating stroke, then split the fork around her clit and worked both sides at once, lashing and circling while his lips sealed over her and he sucked. He sucked her clit into his mouth and pulsed on it, relentless, while his tongue drove up into her channel — thick and strong and alien — and fucked her with it, deep, curling, finding the spot inside her that made her see white behind her eyes.

"Oh fuck — oh FUCK, papi — PAPI —"

He growled against her cunt, the vibration shaking straight through her, and pushed his tongue deeper, licking her walls, lapping at her juices, drinking her. Her whole body convulsed in the coils. She was going to come — she was right there, right on the edge —

He pulled his mouth away.

"NO," she screamed. "No, no, please —"

"You come when I say," papicito said, rising over her, one enormous shaft nudging at her entrance. The blunt head was slick with his own pre-come, weeping. "You come on my cock, mamacita. Like my good devoted sub. Not a second before."

He pushed in.

The stretch was obscene. She felt herself opening around him — felt the thick blunt head force its way past her entrance, felt her walls clenching helplessly around the intrusion, felt him keep coming, deeper and deeper, his coils flexing around her and holding her perfectly still for it. He didn't stop until he was buried to the base, until she could feel the second shaft pressed hot and hard against her thigh, hungry and waiting.

"That's it," he breathed, his face inches from hers. "Take all of me. Take your domdaddy's cock in that tight little cunt."

He started to fuck her.

It was brutal. Each stroke dragged the thick length almost all the way out and then slammed it back in to the base, his coils squeezing her in rhythm — around her ribs, her waist, her thighs — the altar hard and cold under her back. The venom-heat turned every thrust into lightning arcing through her. She screamed with each one, incoherent, begging —

"Yes, yes, domdaddy, fuck me, harder, PLEASE, harder —"

"Harder?" His amber eyes burned into hers. "You want it harder, little devoted? You want your domdaddy to wreck that cunt?"

"YES —"

He flipped her. His coils unwound and rewound in a heartbeat and she was on her hands and knees on the altar, her wrists still bound in loops of his tail behind her back, her ass high in the air, and he drove into her from behind with a force that knocked the breath clean out of her lungs. His clawed hand clamped onto the back of her neck and shoved her face down into the stone while he pounded her, his hips slapping against her ass, the wet sounds of it filling the sanctum.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK —" she chanted, drooling onto the black stone. "Domdaddy, please, I'm gonna — I'm gonna —"

"Come," he commanded, his voice like a whipcrack. "Come on my cock, mamacita. NOW."

She came so hard her vision went black at the edges. Her pussy clamped down on him, spasming violently, gushing around his shaft — and he roared and thrust harder, fucking her through it, driving her face into the altar — and then his own climax hit. He drove in to the base and she felt him swell inside her, felt the shaft pulse, and then he flooded her: load after load of thick scalding seed pumping into her, so much of it she felt it filling her up, felt it leaking back out around his cock and running down her thighs.

"Take it all," he growled, grinding deep, his claws digging into her hips. "Every fucking drop. You're going to carry my young, mamacita. That's what you're for. Bred and kept and full of me."

He pulled out of her slowly, and she whimpered at the empty loss of him, at his seed spilling out of her in a white stream onto the altar. He gathered her up in his coils — almost gentle now, possessive — and licked the sweat and tears from her face with his long tongue.

"Rest," he said. "You'll need it. I'm not done with you. Not even close."

Part Two — Worship

She woke wrapped in coils, in the dark, in the heat.

The sanctum breathed around her — braziers burned low in niches she hadn't seen before, throwing serpent shadows across the carved walls. The air was thick with incense and musk and the raw smell of sex. Papicito was coiled around her in a nest of his own massive body, her head pillowed on the broad furnace-warm muscle of his tail, his arms around her, one clawed hand resting possessively on her bare breast.

"How long —" Her voice was shredded raw.

"Hours." His thumb brushed her nipple and she gasped — the venom was still in her, a low banked simmer under her skin, and everything he did lit it up. "You slept in my coils, full of my seed. You looked beautiful, mamacita. Leaking me."

Heat flooded her face — and lower, instantly, molten. The memory of him splitting her open made her cunt clench on emptiness.

"Papicito," she whispered, turning into him. "I want —"

"I know exactly what you want." He rolled her onto her back in the coils and loomed over her, his amber eyes burning. "But first, my devoted sub is going to worship her domdaddy's cock with that pretty mouth. Open wide, mamacita."

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She opened her mouth.

He reared up, his serpentine body flexing in great slow waves, and brought the first thick shaft down to her lips. It was still glistening — with her juices, with his seed — and it wept pre-come onto her lower lip. "Suck it," he ordered. "Clean your domdaddy's cock with your tongue. Show me how devoted you are."

She took him into her mouth.

He was too thick to take deep — she could only get the blunt head and a few inches past her lips — but she sucked like her life depended on it, her cheeks hollowing, her tongue swirling over the broad head, licking into the slit, tasting him: dark and musky and salt-sweet, the taste of him flooding her mouth. She moaned around him and the vibration made him groan.

"That's it," he growled, one big hand tangling in her sweat-damp hair. "Fuck, that's it, mamacita. Suck your papi's cock. Take it down that throat."

She relaxed her jaw, opened her throat, and took him deeper — past her lips, into her throat — and she gagged, her throat convulsing around him, and swallowed, and he slid deeper still. Spit ran down her chin. Her eyes watered. She loved it — loved being used like this, loved his groans rumbling above her, loved the obscene power of him filling her mouth.

"Good girl," he panted. "Good fucking girl. You were made for this."

He started to fuck her mouth. Slow deep strokes at first, his hand guiding her head, his shaft sliding in and out of her throat — and then harder, faster, his hips working, his cock hitting the back of her throat over and over. She drooled around him, choked around him, swallowed around him, her hands gripping the base of his shaft and stroking what she couldn't fit.

"I'm going to come," he warned, his voice ragged. "And you're going to swallow every drop, devoted. Every drop down that throat."

She moaned around him — desperate, hungry — and he thrust deep, burying himself in her throat, holding her head down — and his cock pulsed and kicked and flooded her mouth with thick scalding seed, jet after jet, more than she could hold. She swallowed and swallowed, choking, seed leaking from the corners of her stretched lips and running down her chin, and he didn't pull back until she'd taken it all, until her throat was full of him.

"Clean it," he ordered.

She licked him clean — her tongue working over every inch of the long shaft, over the head, into the slit, licking up every drop — and he shuddered under her mouth, his coils flexing.

"Now the other one," he said.

Her eyes widened. The second shaft rose beside the first, just as thick, just as hard, weeping. "Domdaddy —"

"You heard me, mamacita." His hand tightened in her hair — not cruel, just absolute. "Worship both. That's what that mouth is for."

She took the second shaft into her mouth and sucked it with everything she had — deep-throating it the way she'd learned with the first, her throat opening for him, her tongue working the underside, her hands stroking the first shaft at the same time. Back and forth she went — mouth on one, hands on the other — drooling, moaning, utterly debased and utterly his.

"Fuck," he groaned, his whole massive body shuddering. "Look at you. My devoted little cocksucker. You love it, don't you? You love having your domdaddy's cocks in your mouth."

She moaned around him — yes, yes — and he came again, the second shaft erupting in her mouth, and this time he pulled back just enough to paint her: thick white ropes across her tongue, her lips, her chin, her cheeks, dripping onto her breasts. She licked her lips, catching the drips, swallowing, and he groaned at the sight.

"Beautiful," he breathed. "Covered in me. Now —" He flipped her onto her stomach in the coils and sank his fangs into the meat of her shoulder, deep — and the venom-heat surged back to full roaring blaze. She screamed into the coils, grinding her hips against the muscle beneath her, her cunt aching and empty and drooling.

"Please," she begged, writhing. "Domdaddy, please fuck me, please, I need it —"

"On your knees," he commanded. "Ass up. Legs spread. NOW."

She scrambled into position, shaking, and his coils wound around her — around her thighs, her waist, her wrists pinned behind her back — holding her perfectly still, perfectly open, her dripping cunt presented to him. The first shaft pressed against her entrance — and then the second shaft pressed against her too, side by side, both blunt heads at her stretched opening.

Her eyes went wide with terror and want. "Domdaddy — both? I can't — I'll tear —"

"You'll take both." His voice was iron wrapped in silk. "My devoted takes everything I give her. Every inch. Both cocks. Now open for your domdaddy."

He pushed.

The stretch was beyond anything — two thick shafts forcing into her together, her entrance stretched obscenely wide around the double intrusion, her walls screaming. She screamed too — wordless, raw, her body shaking violently in the coils.

"Take it," he growled, pushing deeper, inexorable. "Take both of your domdaddy's cocks, mamacita. Let me split that little cunt open."

Inch by brutal inch he worked both shafts into her, until both were buried to the base and she was impaled — stuffed impossibly full, her cunt stretched around twin girth, her body impaled on him. She was sobbing with it — with the fullness, the burn, the impossible pleasure of the venom-heat turning every inch of stretch into white-hot fire.

"Now I'm going to fuck you," he said, his claws digging into her hips, "and you're going to come until you can't see straight."

He moved. Both shafts dragged out together — the drag of twin girth against her walls was indescribable — and slammed back in together, to the base, and she screamed so loud her voice broke in half. His coils squeezed her in rhythm — around her waist, her thighs, her bound wrists — and his hand clamped on the back of her neck, holding her down for it.

"FUCK, fuck, FUCK —" she screamed, drooling onto the coils. "Domdaddy, it's too much, oh god, it's too fucking much —"

"It's exactly enough." He pounded her harder, the whole nest of coils shaking. "This is what you're for, mamacita. Taking both my cocks. Come for me. Come on both of them."

She came — and came — and came. Wave after white-hot wave, her cunt spasming violently around the twin shafts, gushing, soaking his coils beneath her, and he fucked her through every single one, relentless, his breathing going ragged and feral.

"That's it — that's my good devoted sub — take it all —" He drove in to the base and held her there, impaled to the hilt on both shafts, and she felt them swell inside her, felt both of them pulse — and then he flooded her. Two loads, back to back, an impossible drowning volume of seed pumping into her, filling her until it was forcing its way back out around the twin shafts, running down her thighs in white streams, pooling in the coils beneath her.

"Bred," he panted, grinding into her, his fangs bared. "Full of me. Stuffed with me. MINE."

He pulled out slowly — both shafts, slick and glistening and still hard — and she collapsed into the coils, trembling uncontrollably, his seed spilling out of her in a steady white stream. He turned her over, spread her shaking legs wide, and lowered his mouth to her ruined cunt.

"Papi — I can't — I just — please —"

"You can." He sealed his lips over her swollen, seed-filled pussy and sucked — hard — drawing his own spend back out of her, licking her clean with long strokes of his forked tongue, driving it into her and working her clit until she was screaming again, her hips bucking helplessly in the coils. He didn't stop. He licked and sucked and devoured her until she came again — shuddering, wailing — and then he licked her through that too, his tongue relentless, until she was sobbing his name into the dark.

"Domdaddy," she whispered, wrecked, shaking. "Please — I can't take any more —"

"You'll take what I give you," he said — but he gathered her into his coils and held her close, his tongue flickering gently over her tear-streaked face. "Rest, mamacita. The night is long, and I'm just getting started."

Part Three — Every Hole

She lost track of time. There was only the dark, the heat, the coils, and him.

He took her against a carved pillar — her legs wrapped around his serpentine body, his tail supporting her weight effortlessly, one shaft driving up into her cunt while his mouth worked her breasts, sucking her nipples until they were red and aching. She clung to him, bouncing on his cock, her nails raking his shoulders, screaming with every upward thrust.

"Look at you," he growled, pounding up into her. "Fucking yourself on your domdaddy's cock. You can't get enough, can you, mamacita?"

"Never," she sobbed. "Never enough, domdaddy, please —"

He carried her — still impaled on him — to the altar and bent her over its edge, her cheek pressed to the black stone, her ass in the air. A loop of his tail wound around her throat — not tight, just a constant living reminder of exactly who held her life in his coils — while he drew back and slammed into her from behind, his hips cracking against her ass, his claws digging into her hips hard enough to bruise.

"Whose cunt is this?" he demanded, pounding her.

"Yours!" she screamed. "Yours, domdaddy, it's yours —"

"Whose mouth? Whose ass? Whose whole fucking body?"

"YOURS!" she wailed, coming hard around him, her cunt clenching violently on his shaft. "All yours, domdaddy, everything's yours —"

He roared and came inside her — another massive load, pumping her full — and held her there, bent over the altar, his cock throbbing inside her, his tail around her throat, until the last pulse faded.

And then he laid her on her stomach in the nest of coils, spread her ass cheeks with both hands, and stared.

"No one's had this, have they?" he said. It wasn't a question.

"No," she whispered, her face burning. "Never, domdaddy —"

"Good." His forked tongue flickered out and licked a slow stripe from her cunt to her tight rear entrance, and she jolted. "Every hole is mine, mamacita. Every single one. I'm going to take your ass now, and you're going to love it, because my venom won't let you feel anything but pleasure."

"Please," she breathed — and didn't know if she was begging him to stop or to start.

He bit her — high on her inner thigh, close to where she throbbed — and the venom hit her like a detonation. Then his mouth was on her ass: his long tongue circling her tight entrance, licking, pressing, working her open with slow relentless strokes. She moaned into the coils, her hips pushing back against his mouth wantonly.

"That's it," he murmured against her. "Open for your domdaddy."

His tongue pushed inside her — thick and strong — and fucked her ass with it, loosening her, stretching her, while one clawed finger worked her clit. She was moaning continuously now, high and desperate.

"Domdaddy, please — I need —"

"What do you need, mamacita?" One thick shaft pressed against her rear entrance, the blunt head nudging, slick with her juices.

"Your cock," she sobbed. "In my ass, domdaddy, please, fuck my ass —"

"Good girl." He pushed — slow, inexorable — and the blunt head breached her, stretching her wide. She screamed into the coils, her fingers clawing at the muscle beneath her. "Take it. Take your domdaddy's cock in that tight little ass."

He worked himself into her inch by inch, and the burn gave way — under the venom's alchemy — to a deep devastating fullness that made her wail. When he was buried to the base in her ass, he reached under her and drove two clawed fingers into her cunt, fucking her with them in rhythm.

"Oh FUCK — domdaddy —"

"That's it. My devoted, taking it in the ass like a good girl." He started to move — slow deep strokes in her rear, his fingers pumping her cunt — and she came apart, screaming, her ass clenching around his shaft. "Come for me, mamacita. Come with my cock in your ass."

She came — hard, shaking — and he fucked her through it, his strokes getting harder, faster, his fingers working her clit now, and she came again, sobbing.

"Please — domdaddy — come in me — please —"

He roared and drove in to the base and flooded her ass — jet after jet of scalding seed filling her rear, so much she felt it leaking back out around his shaft. He held her there, impaled, until the pulsing stopped.

Then he pulled out and flipped her onto her back, spread her legs, and drove the same seed-slick shaft straight into her cunt — and she screamed at the filthy shock of it, at feeling him fill her cunt with the cock that had just been in her ass.

"Filthy girl," he growled, pounding her. "You love it. You love being my filthy little devoted."

"Yes," she screamed. "Yes, domdaddy, I'm yours, I'm your filthy girl —"

He fucked her like that — hard, deep, relentless — until she came screaming around him, and he came again, flooding her cunt on top of everything else, until she was overflowing, seed leaking out of both holes, soaked and shaking and his.

"Tell me what you are," he demanded, his shaft still buried deep in her, his coils squeezing her in slow waves.

"I'm yours," she gasped. "I'm your devoted sub, domdaddy —"

"Louder. The temple wants to hear it."

"I'M YOUR DEVOTED SUB!" she screamed, coming hard around him again, her body convulsing. "I'm yours, domdaddy, I'm yours, breed me, please, breed me, fill me up —"

He roared and flooded her again — and she felt it, felt the impossible fullness, the deep heat of him — and she knew, with the venom singing in her blood like a choir, that it was working. That he was filling her with his young. That she was becoming exactly what she was made for.

Interlude — The Pool

Behind the nest chamber, down a short throat of carved stone, lay a pool — black water, steaming faintly, fed by some hot spring deep under the temple. He carried her there in his coils when she could barely walk, her legs shaking, her cunt still leaking his seed down her thighs.

"The water will soothe you," papicito said, lowering her into the heat. "And then I'm going to use you again."

She sank into the water with a moan, the heat soaking into her abused muscles. He slid in around her — his massive serpentine body filling the pool, coils winding around her under the water, holding her upright against his chest.

"My poor little devoted," he murmured, his hands roaming her body under the water — cupping her breasts, squeezing, rolling her raw nipples between his claws until she gasped. "So sore. So used. So full of me." One hand slid down her belly and between her legs, his fingers finding her swollen clit. "And still so wet for your domdaddy."

"Always," she whimpered, spreading her legs wider in the water, offering herself. "Please, papi —"

He turned her around in the water — facing away from him, her back against his chest — and lifted her, his coils supporting her weight, spreading her thighs wide above the waterline. Then his tail-tip rose from the water between her legs — the tapered muscular end of him, slick and strong — and pressed against her cunt.

Her breath caught. "Domdaddy —"

"Ride it," he commanded. "Fuck yourself on my tail, mamacita. Show me how bad you need it."

She sank down onto the tail-tip — and moaned, long and low, as it filled her, thick and smooth and hot. She started to move — lifting and dropping herself on it, riding it, the water splashing around them — while his hands held her breasts, pinching her nipples, and his mouth found her neck, his fangs grazing her skin.

"That's it," he growled in her ear. "Ride your domdaddy's tail. Fuck yourself on it like the filthy little devoted you are."

She rode harder — bouncing on the thick tail, her cunt stretched and aching and blazing — and his tail-tip began to move inside her, thrusting up into her in counter-rhythm, fucking her back. She screamed, her head falling back against his shoulder.

"Please — please, I need your cock — domdaddy, please —"

"You have something filling you," he said, cruelly amused, thrusting the tail deeper. "Isn't it enough?"

"No," she sobbed, grinding down on it. "I need your cock, domdaddy, please, I need it inside me —"

"Beg louder. Let the temple hear how much you need your domdaddy's cock."

"I NEED YOUR COCK, DOMDADDY!" she screamed, her voice echoing off the wet stone. "PLEASE, PLEASE FUCK ME, I NEED IT —"

He pulled the tail from her cunt — she wailed at the empty loss — and in one powerful motion turned her, lifted her, and impaled her down onto one of his thick shafts. She screamed at the sudden brutal fullness, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"There," he panted, holding her impaled, the water lapping around them. "There's your domdaddy's cock, mamacita. Now bounce on it. Fuck yourself on it."

She did — rising and slamming herself down on his shaft, over and over, the water churning white around them, his coils holding her steady. He met every downward slam with an upward thrust, driving into her with devastating force, his mouth on her breasts — sucking her nipples hard, biting them — and she came screaming, her cunt convulsing around him, the water splashing over the pool's edge.

"Again," he ordered, and fucked her harder. "Come again for your domdaddy."

She came again — wailing, shaking — and he roared and erupted inside her, his shaft pulsing deep, flooding her with another massive load, the hot seed filling her while the pool water lapped at her thighs.

He held her there — impaled, shaking, full of him — and licked the water from her face.

"Mine," he said simply.

"Yours," she whispered. "Forever, domdaddy."

Part Four — The Claiming

After — she didn't know how many times after, she'd lost count of his loads, lost count of her own screams — he carried her to the altar and laid her on her back on the black stone.

This time was different. She could feel it in the air — in the way the braziers flared, in the way his coils moved with ritual precision, in the way his voice had gone deep and old.

His coils wound around her with ceremonial slowness: pinning her wrists above her head, looping her thighs and spreading them obscenely wide, winding her ankles. She lay naked and spread on the altar — sweating, marked with his bites, her cunt swollen and dripping his seed, her breasts heaving.

"This is the claiming," papicito said, and his voice resonated off the carved walls like something ancient waking up. "The temple claiming. The rite of the guardian's mate. After this, you are bound to me — body and blood. Forever."

"Yes," she whispered, tears on her face, her whole body aching for him. "Please. Claim me, domdaddy. Bind me."

He bit her — deep in the inner thigh, a hand's breadth from her cunt — and the venom hit her like a tidal wave, hotter and harder than ever before, and she screamed, her back arching clean off the altar, held down by the coils.

Then he was inside her — one shaft, deep and thick and perfect — and he began the slow grinding rhythm of the ritual. Around and around his coils squeezed in time with his thrusts — ribs, waist, thighs — and he spoke over her in a language older than the temple, words that vibrated in her bones and her blood.

She couldn't think. There was only sensation: the coils, the cock, the venom, his voice. She was coming — she was always coming now, the venom wouldn't let her stop, wouldn't let her be anything but a writhing, screaming, climaxing thing impaled on her domdaddy.

"Papicito — domdaddy — papi — PLEASE —"

He leaned down and took her nipple into his mouth — sucking it deep, his forked tongue lashing the stiff peak — while he fucked her deeper, harder, the ritual rhythm building. His free hand found her clit and worked it — thumb circling, pressing, relentless — and she shattered, screaming, gushing around his shaft.

"Come for your domdaddy," he growled against her breast. "Come on the altar. Be claimed. Be BOUND."

She came until she was empty and then she came more — her body had nothing left but pleasure, endless and white-hot — and he drove into her and held, buried to the base — and she felt him swell, felt the deep heavy pulse, and then the flood: the claiming load, the deepest and hottest he'd ever given her, pumping into her in long scalding waves, filling her to overflowing, seed leaking out around him and running down the altar stone.

"Mine," he breathed, his forehead pressed to hers, his coils holding her like the world. "My mamacita. My devoted. Claimed and bred and bound and kept. Forever."

The coils loosened — just barely — and he gathered her against his chest, her body spent and trembling and soaked, his seed still leaking out of her onto the black stone.

"Did it work?" she whispered, her voice broken. "Am I —"

"You carry my young," he said simply, one big hand spread over her belly. "I can feel them taking root. My venom doesn't lie, mamacita."

She stared up at him through her tears — and smiled, radiant and wrecked. "Then I'm yours. Really, truly yours."

"You were mine the moment you walked into my dark, little explorer." He licked the tears from her cheeks with his long tongue. "Now you'll never leave. You'll live in my coils, in my sanctum. I'll keep you hot and full and bred for the rest of your life. My devoted. My mate."

"Yes, domdaddy," she whispered, and pressed her face into his chest, and let his coils close around her like a promise that would never break.

Epilogue — The Nest

The temple had a chamber behind the altar — a round warm room lined with silk and furs, braziers burning in niches that never went out, the air thick with incense and musk. Her nest. Their nest.

Mamacita lay in the coils — twenty-six years old and round and swollen with her papicito's young, her belly heavy and full. He was wrapped around her, as he always was — one great coil pillowing her head, loops cradling her thighs, his arms holding her close against his chest, his forked tongue flickering lazily over her shoulder.

"Are you happy, my devoted?" he murmured, his big hand spread over her swollen belly, feeling the life inside. "My little explorer. My mate."

"Yes," she said — and meant it with everything she had, with every drop of venom singing in her blood. "I'm exactly where I belong. With my domdaddy. In his coils. Bred and claimed and bound and kept."

He bit her — gently now, a lover's bite on the curve of her shoulder — and the venom-heat washed through her, familiar and beloved as breathing, and she moaned and arched into him, her cunt already aching, already wet.

"Please," she whispered, turning in his coils, spreading her thighs for him. "Papi — please —"

"Always," papicito said — and turned her in his coils, and spread her wide, and took her: slow and deep and endless, one thick shaft filling her dripping cunt while his mouth found her breast and his coils held her exactly where she belonged.

He fucked her with the slow devastating patience of a god who had eternity — long deep strokes that dragged against every nerve, his coils squeezing her in rhythm, his mouth moving from one breast to the other, sucking her nipples until she was sobbing. His hand slid between them and found her clit, working it with his thumb in slow circles, and she came — hard, shaking, her swollen belly bouncing with the force of it — and he fucked her through it without breaking rhythm.

"Domdaddy," she gasped, clawing at his shoulders. "Please — harder —"

"Harder?" He flipped her — onto her hands and knees in the nest, her heavy belly hanging, her ass high — and drove into her from behind with a force that made her scream into the furs. "Like this, my devoted? You want your domdaddy to breed you harder?"

"YES — fuck me harder, domdaddy, breed me —"

He pounded her — his hips slapping against her ass, his coils winding around her thighs and belly, supporting her weight — and she screamed with every thrust, her cunt spasming around his shaft, coming again and again, wave after wave, until she was incoherent, until there was nothing in the world but his cock and his coils and his voice growling her name.

"Come for me, mamacita," he commanded, driving in to the base. "Come on your domdaddy's cock."

She came — violently, gushing around him — and he roared and erupted inside her, his shaft pulsing deep, flooding her with load after load of thick hot seed, filling her already-full cunt to overflowing. He ground into her through every pulse, his fangs bared, his coils squeezing her like he would never let go.

"Bred," he panted. "Full. Mine."

He pulled out slowly and she collapsed into the coils, trembling, his seed spilling out of her in a white stream onto the furs. He gathered her against his chest — her swollen belly pressed between them — and licked the sweat from her face, her neck, her breasts, his long tongue worshipping her.

In the warm dark of the sanctum, while the braziers burned and the carved serpents watched from the walls, her domdaddy held his devoted mate in his coils — and she screamed his names into the dark no more, only whispered them, spent and full and his: papicito, domdaddy, papi.

She had walked into the Serpent's Maw a trespasser.

She would never walk out. She was the guardian's mate — claimed, bred, bound, and kept.

She was his. She would always be his.

And she had never wanted anything else.

Some nights, when the braziers burned low and the jungle screamed beyond the stone, he would wake her with his mouth between her thighs — his long forked tongue licking her awake, lapping at her until she was moaning and spreading for him in her sleep — and he would take her again, slow and deep, whispering her names against her skin: mamacita, my devoted, mine. And she would come apart in his coils, and he would fill her again, and she would drift back to sleep wrapped in him, full of him, his.

Forever his.

Dragonbound

Mamacita was twenty-six years old, and she had been told a hundred times never to climb past the tree line on the black mountain. The village below called it the dragon's mountain. She climbed it anyway, because she was stubborn and restless and tired of being told what to do with her own body — which was, she would learn within the hour, the last free decision she ever made.

The air thinned as she went. Her thighs burned. She wore hiking shorts and a thin tank top and boots with the laces coming undone, and by the time she reached the shelf of pale rock above the treeline the sun was dropping and the wind had teeth. That was when the shadow fell over her.

It was not a cloud. It was wings — vast, leathery, blotting the sun — and then he was standing in front of her, and he had not been there a breath before. In his true shape he was enormous, scaled black-red like cooling lava, but what stood before her now was a man. A huge man. Seven feet of him, barefoot on the rock, wearing dark trousers and nothing else, his skin marked with faint scale-patterns at the temples and throat, his eyes molten gold with slit pupils.

"Little trespasser," he said. His voice was low and it vibrated in her ribs.

Mamacita's mouth went dry. "I — I didn't know —"

"You knew." He stepped closer and the heat rolled off him in waves. "They tell every child in the valley. And still you came. Do you know what I do with thieves who walk into my territory, mamacita?"

She hadn't told him her name. She decided not to ask how he knew it.

He circled her slowly, and she stood frozen, her whole body prickling. "I take them," he said. "I claim them. You walked onto a dragon's mountain, little girl. Everything on this mountain is mine. That includes you now."

"I'm twenty-six," she whispered, some stupid defiant part of her clinging to it. "I'm not a little girl."

His laugh was dark. "No. You're a grown woman. Good. I don't take children — I take women, and I keep them." He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could feel his breath on her face, hot as a forge. "I'm Papicito. You will call me Papicito. Or domdaddy. Or papi, when you're begging. And you — you are mamacita. My mamacita. My devoted sub. Mine."

Her knees nearly gave out. Part of her — the sane part — screamed to run. The rest of her was already wet.

He saw it. Dragons saw everything. His nostrils flared and his grin turned feral. "I can smell you, little hoard-bride. Already dripping for me and I haven't touched you yet."

"Please," she breathed.

"Please what?" He caught her chin in one huge hand, tilting her face up. "Careful. The next word out of your mouth decides how this goes."

"Please don't hurt me," she whispered.

He bent until his mouth was a breath from hers. "I won't hurt you, my devoted. I'm going to ruin you — there's a difference." And then his mouth was on hers, devouring, his tongue forcing past her lips, and she moaned into him because his kiss tasted like smoke and power and she had never been kissed like she was prey.

His hands were everywhere — spanning her waist, sliding under her tank top, finding her breasts and squeezing hard enough to make her gasp. He tore the tank top straight down the middle like it was tissue. Her hiking shorts followed, his claws — real claws, she saw them glint — slicing the fabric away until she stood naked on the mountain rock with the wind on her skin and a dragon's gold eyes raking her body.

"On your knees," Papicito commanded.

Mamacita dropped. She didn't think. Her body obeyed before her mind caught up, and the look on his face — pure triumph — told her he knew it.

"Good girl. My good devoted sub." He unfastened his trousers and freed himself, and her eyes went wide, because he was enormous — thick as her wrist and long, the head flushed dark red, already leaking. It wasn't fully human. There were ridges along the underside, and the base was thicker, flared.

"Suck it," he ordered. "All of it. Show your domdaddy what that pretty mouth is for."

She took him in, and he was so thick her jaw stretched immediately, aching. She worked her tongue along the ridges, tasting salt and heat, and he groaned — a deep draconic rumble — and fisted a hand in her hair.

"Deeper. Take it deeper, mamacita."

She gagged as the head hit the back of her throat, tears springing to her eyes, drool running down her chin. He didn't let up. He held her head and fed her his cock in slow, relentless thrusts, his hips rolling, and every ...