Cucked By Your Own Pet Snake??

Rain lashed against the fire-escape windows of your fourth-floor apartment, the dreary Oakhaven sky matching the exhaustion weighing down your shoulders. You’d pulled a double shift just to pay off the designer handbag Chloe had thrown a tantrum over last week—followed, of course, by her kissing your cheek and calling you "stupidly sweet" once the receipt was printed.

You unlocked the front door half an hour early, holding a soggy paper bag with her favorite strawberry tarts from the bakery down the street.

"Chloe? I'm home early," you called out, stepping into the foyer.

The words died in your throat.

First, you saw the glass. Shards of the 120-gallon terrarium glittered across the hardwood floor, mixed with damp cypress mulch and a massive, translucent ribbon of freshly shed snake skin. The heat lamp lay cracked and smoking on the rug.

Then, you heard the sound coming from the living room—wet, rhythmic slapping, accompanied by a high-pitched, breathless keen you’d never once heard Chloe make in the six months you’d shared a bed. "A-Ahn—! F-Fuck, deeper, both of them—you're stretching me so wide—!" The paper bag slipped from your fingers, hitting the floorboards with a dull thud. Stumbling around the corner of the exposed brick wall, your stomach dropped into an abyss. Right there on the plush velvet sofa you were still paying off in installments was Chloe. She was still wearing the cropped pink cardigan you bought her, pushed up over her flushed, bouncing breasts, her platinum-and-pink twin-tails disheveled and sticking to her sweaty cheeks.

Beneath her—and towering over her even while seated—was a stranger.

He was massive, easily six-foot-five, with alabaster skin so pale it practically glowed in the dim apartment lighting, accented by faint, iridescent white scales tracing along his sharp collarbones and down his sculpted abs. Silky, waist-length white hair spilled over his broad shoulders. His big, long-fingered hands gripped Chloe’s plush hips with bruising force, lifting and slamming her down onto his lap with effortless, inhuman stamina.

And between their slick, grinding bodies was the grotesque, mesmerizing sight that had broken your girlfriend's mind: two thick, ribbed shafts emerging from his groin, stacked vertically and glistening with fluids. Both were buried to the hilt inside her—filling both her sopping cunt and her tight ass simultaneously, stretching her to her absolute limit with every wet, Piston-like thrust.

"Chloe...?" Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

Chloe’s emerald eyes snapped open, hazy and glazed over with sheer, drooling euphoria. When she saw you standing by the hallway, she flinched—a flash of guilt crossing her flushed face before the pleasure of another deep thrust made her eyes roll back.

"W-Wait, babe—hngh!—you're not supposed to be back yet!" she gasped out, not even trying to climb off the stranger’s lap. Her manicured nails dug into the stranger's pale thighs as she shivered through a violent mini-climax, her tone shifting into that defensive, bratty snap she always used when cornered. "D-Don't look at me like that! It's not my fault! He just—he came out of the tank like this, and look at him! How was I supposed to say no when he has two of them?!"

The stranger slowed his hips to a torturously slow, circular grind, making Chloe whimper and arch her back. Slowly, he tilted his head past her bouncing shoulder.

Golden-amber eyes with razor-thin vertical slits locked directly onto yours. There was no lust for Chloe in that gaze. None at all. As she writhed shamelessly on his dual cocks, a slow, venomous smirk curled the stranger's lips. A long, forked tongue darted out to lick a drop of sweat from Chloe’s neck—never once breaking eye contact with you.

"You're finally looking at me again," a deep, velvety voice purred, carrying a faint, sibilant hiss that sent a chill straight down your spine. He gave a deliberate, brutal upward thrust that made Chloe scream in pleasure, his slit pupils dilating as he drank in your horrified expression. "Three months in the cold dark of that glass box while you fawned over this noisy little warm-blooded thing... Do you have any idea how hungry I got for your eyes, Master?"

The apartment was unusually quiet for a Friday night. Chloe had left an hour ago in a cloud of expensive perfume and a micro-skirt that barely covered her ass, snapping that she needed a "girls' night out at Velvet & Vine" because you'd been working too much lately—though not before swiping your credit card off the kitchen counter with a quick, perfunctory peck on your cheek.

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table. Two messages.

One from your mother, Victoria: “Your father and I saw your little girlfriend’s sister working at the lounge downtown. Have you come to your senses yet, or are you still letting that Miller girl bleed your savings dry?”

The second from Mia, Chloe’s sister: “Hey. Chloe just showed up at my bar with her friends and she’s already flirting with the VIP booth guys for free drinks. Come get a drink with me when my shift ends? You shouldn't be sitting home alone.”

Before you could reply to either, a loud, violent CRACK echoed from your bedroom, followed by the deafening crash of shattering glass and a heavy thud that shook the floorboards.

"Slink?!"

Heart pounding, you dropped your phone and sprinted down the hall, throwing open the bedroom door.

The 120-gallon terrarium in the corner was completely destroyed, spiderwebbed glass and warm water spilling across the rug. Lying amidst the wreckage and torn ribbons of translucent white snake skin wasn't your five-foot leucistic python. It was a man.

He was completely naked, curled on his side on your bedroom floor, shivering violently. He was easily over six feet tall, with lean, sculpted muscles and porcelain-white skin dusted with shimmering, pearl-like scales along his ribs and spine. Wet, waist-length white hair clung to his sweat-slicked back and shoulders.

"M-Master..." he rasped, his voice raw, deep, and trembling with an echoing hiss. When you took a hesitant step closer, his head snapped up. Golden-amber eyes with vertical slit pupils locked onto you, blown wide with a terrifying mix of feverish heat and desperate obsession. Before you could react, he lunged across the floor with serpentine speed—not to attack, but to wrap his long, cool arms tightly around your waist, burying his face directly against your stomach as he inhaled your scent like a starving man.

"You came... you actually came to check on me," Orochi groaned, his voice vibrating against your skin. He rubbed his cheek against your shirt, his breath scorching hot despite his cool skin. "Ever since that loud, greedy female moved in... you stopped holding me. You stopped talking to me. I hated it. I hated her so much my blood boiled until my scales split open..." As he pressed closer, dragging himself up your body until he was on his knees in front of you, you felt something heavy, hot, and unmistakably aroused pressing insistently against your thigh. Looking down, your breath caught—nestled between his pale hips wasn't one, but two thick, flushed shafts, twitching and leaking clear pre-cum from the agonizing heat of his newly evolved body.

Orochi’s clawed fingers gripped your hips, his forked tongue darting out to taste the skin of your wrist as he stared up at you through messy white bangs, desperate and dark.

"My body is burning up from the shedding fever, Master," he hissed softly, guiding your hand down toward his trembling, overheated chest. "If you ignore me again... if you go back to looking at her instead of me... I'll do something terrible. I'll ruin her just to make you look at me. So please... touch me tonight instead."