Limitless Evolution As a Snake

It was soft at first, then hardened into a pebbled peak against my scales. I retracted my fangs, opened my jaw wide, and took the hardened nub into my mouth, not to bite, but to gently nibble and lick a deep, claiming pull. I work it with slow, deliberate laps, each one drawing a low, unconscious moan from the dark elf’s slack lips. Her chest rises and falls in shallow breaths beneath me.

From my spot on top of her breast is a mountain range. A dark, warm, impossibly vast landscape of flesh that I, a snake roughly the length of her middle finger, am attempting to conquer through sheer will and adrenaline.

That’s it. If I die here, I die happy.

sensation of stretching my mouth around that hardened peak sends a cascade of new nerve signals through my tiny, inexperienced body. Every scale on my belly tingles where it presses against her skin. My forked tongue flicks against the underside of the nipple, tracing the ridged texture of the areola, and I feel her body respond even though she’s barely conscious; she’s not flicking me off.

Right. Okay. So this is what I’ve been missing for thirty-five years. Cool. Cool cool cool.

The nipple sits in my mouth like a marble made of warm silk. I roll it gently between my fangs, retracted, careful, so careful, and the elf shudders beneath me. Her hand twitches at her side, fingers curling into the fabric of her robes, and a sound escapes her throat that is not quite a word. Something between a sigh and a whimper.

I should feel guilty. I know I should feel guilty. She’s barely conscious; she doesn’t know what’s happening, and I’m a pencil-length snake treating her breast like my personal playground.

I don’t feel guilty.

I feel alive.

My tongue works in slow, rhythmic circles, and I discover through the kind of methodological research that would make a biologist weep that alternating pressure between the tip and the flat of my tongue produces the most dramatic results. When I press flat and drag upward, her breath catches. When I flick the very tip against the peak, her back arches. It’s a feedback loop, and I am learning it with the desperate focus of a man who spent three and a half decades never touching another human being.

Thirty-five years. Thirty-five years of nothing, and now I’m a snake, and I’ve got a nipple in my mouth, and this is somehow the best day of my life. The System was right. I am a disaster.

The nipple has swollen to its full hardness now, a stiff, sensitive peak that responds to every micro-movement of my jaw. I can feel the blood rushing to it through the thin skin, the pulse of her heartbeat transmitted directly into my skull through the contact. I open wider, take more of the areola into my mouth, and use the gentle suction of my throat muscles to draw it deeper. The sensation is electric for both of us, apparently, because the elf makes a sound that is absolutely, unequivocally not the sound of someone who is unconscious and unaffected.

Her eyelids flutter. Not open, no, not yet, but the veil between unconsciousness and waking is thinning, and I can feel the shift in her body’s awareness. The muscles beneath her skin tense with new intention. Her breathing deepens, and her free hand rises from the floor, fingers drifting upward toward her chest.

Towardme.

I freeze. My jaw still full of nipple, my body still coiled around the curve of her breast like a decorative ribbon on a gift I absolutely did not earn the right to unwrap.

Her fingertips brush my scales.

She moans lightly, ”Yes, haah- just like that.”

Huh. What, did I win the lottery or something?

Her fingers close around me, not hard, not grabbing, just... holding. Like she’s found something warm and interesting in her sleep and her body decided to keep it. Her thumb slides along the length of my body in a slow, exploratory stroke, from the base of my skull down to where my tail curls against the swell of her breast.

I go rigid. Every scale on my body stands at attention.

She strokes again. Slow. Deliberate. The pad of her thumb dragging across my crimson scales with the kind of absent, rhythmic pressure that makes my tiny snake brain short-circuit entirely. Up and down. Up and down. Like she’s handling something she’s trying to figure out the shape of through touch alone.

I am, for the record, being stroked like a cock. By a half-conscious dark elf. While I’m still attached to her nipple. Ah, I can’t wait to evolve.

The absurdity of it doesn’t even register because her thumb hits a spot just behind my jaw and my entire body curls involuntarily, my mouth tightening around her nipple, and she lets out a breathy ”haah” that vibrates through her chest and directly into my skull.

”Mmm...” Her fingers keep moving, that lazy up-and-down, and I feel her lean into it, her body tilting slightly toward the sensation, her free hand coming up to press against her own stomach, fingers splaying across the dark skin. ”Okay... okay, whatever you are...”

Another stroke. My vision whites out for half a second.

”I forgive you... for taking the shroom...” Her voice is thick, syrupy, words sliding into each other like she’s talking through warm honey. ”If this is... hah... if this is what snakes do now...”

Her thumb circles the base of my skull, and I lose all motor function.

”I guess I’m not... afraid of them... as much anymore...”

She says it like she’s making a note for later. Her body is doing one thing, and her brain is doing another. Her fingers don’t stop, just keep going up and down, and I’m a snake having the best moment of my life. I can’t move. I can’t think. I’m just there, in her hand.

Heat pooled low in my belly, building with every lazy pump of her hand, edging me right to the brink only to ease off just enough to leave me throbbing and desperate.