Son of Set

			Son of Set

Across the deserts, buried beneath the sands, lie many monuments to peoples who once dwelt in those lands. Mayhap there was a time when desert was fertile and wet, and when where rivers now run there was just sand. The desert is like a living thing, moving about, the shifting sands ever moving the borders of arid and wet regions, swamps drying, wastelands drowning, lakes becoming inland seas or shrinking down to bogs, and as the march of the years went on, tribes became nations, nations became empires, empires fell and splintered into kingdoms and tribes, and so on and so forth, leaving behind maybe oral traditions, quirks of language and the tombs of their rulers, cracked pots and ominous feelings in those with a spiritual sensitivity as they crossed a spot where once two armies had clashed.

Ever since the invention of written language, men and women kept records of things that passed, the changing of the seasons, the movement of the celestial bodies, harvests and cattle, of people born and dead, the years or the rule of a specific despot, and the many battles their heroes fought against the fiends of the others who in turn recorded the same things from a different point of view. In this desert land many such records were buried beneath the sands, and though the tongues in which they were written may have been forgotten in time, there have been those who made it their business to decipher them and to learn of those who once wrote them, what their hopes and dreams and systems of governance were. To discover such records will, I hope, one day, be worth more than the gold and jewels that scavengers and grave-robbers often quest for. This is a tale from a time which cannot be accurately measured, as any event in the desert is only remembered for so long before those who remember it disappear, and those who come later will measure their days and seasons and record their years from a different major event. Time is as transient as the sand dunes themselves, tossed about by the wind and the passing of the Sandworm. Where then, did this tale take place? As with time, place is difficult to measure. North can be known from the star of the North, East from the rising of the Sun, West form the setting of it, and little of value can be found in the South. But to follow any direction will only help you if you know where to begin, and wherever you begin, how could you find the place that is no longer there? No, there is no place either, the very name of it passed on from all memory, impossible to find.

But if the when and where have passed from knowledge, how can it be said that the tale is true? Is it a chronicle of what took place, or fabrication and fantasy? There is no way to prove the events recorded ever passed, no witness to speak to, but the truth of things is found within themselves, whether the reader believes that the Son of Set ever walked the desert sands or that he loved and was in turn loved by Mephala or if the reader does not believe it happened is not important; that it happened in the record and is true to itself is all that matters.

The Son of Set was an orphan, one of many left behind by a war that no longer is remembered. On the streets of the city he plied the trade of the thief and ran with a gang of other orphans, waging their own wars of territory and honour against other such gangs. Eventually he was captured by the guard and taken to the slave market, where he was sold to the snake Mephala. It is what transpired once he was taken to her house that the tale is concerned with.

			***

Anon took a deep breath before taking the final step over the threshold of the open gateway and into the courtyard. High walls surrounded the abode, and there was a willow growing by a pond, surrounded by grass, flowers, bushes and vines on pillars all about the courtyard. A winding path of gravel led from the gateway through the garden, and along the walls was a shaded terrace. It was a beautiful sight, and there were butterflies and small birds there, and Anon could see fish in the pond, but he couldn’t see the bottom of it.
The hand of Mephala, cool to the touch, with long, sharp fingernails, descended onto his shoulder. Her hair brushed against his cheek as she leaned down to whisper in his ear.
“Go on, it’s your home now”
Anon swallowed and began to walk along the gravel path, witnessing the beauty of the garden. The bloom of the flowers was unnatural to his eyes, the butterflies fluttering about gorgeous and the birds entirely unknown to him, their songs otherworldly. Had he died and passed into the afterlife when passing the gate? The Apophis were known to be sorceresses and warlocks; maybe it was all an illusion? Maybe there were crocodiles hiding in the water, waiting to devour him and his soul?
He passed the pond nervously, but was not attacked. The Apophis Mephala slithered behind him, humming to herself. He turned to look and saw that small birds with fast-fluttering wings had landed on her outstretched arm and seemed to be listening to her humming. Anon regarded her body. The tail stretched out to a length that made her total size four times that of his. Her hips were wide, her belly rippled with muscles the likes of which even soldiers rarely had, her breasts… he turned his eyes away quickly when he noticed Mephala turning to look at him.
“Am I beautiful to you, boy?” she asked.
This question made Anon take a step backward and he felt totally naked under the gaze of her yellow-on-black eyes. He was mostly naked to begin with, only wearing a loincloth and a slave’s collar. He felt himself blush. He didn’t know if he would be offending her by saying yes, but he would most definitely be offending her if he said no, and disobeying if he didn’t answer. So…
“…es”
“Hm?”
“Yes”
“Yes… what?”
“Yes mistrs” he mumbled.
“Try that again, and look me in the eye this time”
Anon tried. He lifted his gaze – witnessing her barely concealed bosom on the way up, her parted lips, the flicker of her tongue between her teeth, her sharp nose… and finally settled on her eyes. Like two little oblong suns in the dark of the night.
“Yes mistress” he managed. Her pointed ears moved up and down ever so slightly when he said that, and Mephala smiled, slithering closer to him, the birds departing.
Standing right before her, his head reached the height of her breasts. This close he could practically see through the silk gown. He could smell her again, like he had before when she’d inspected him and put the collar on him at the market. She smelled… purple. There were small trickles of sweat running from her chest down along her breasts. An arm extended, deft fingers undid his loincloth and let it drop, revealing his half-erect state. He tried to turn his head away in shame and cover himself, but one hand turned his chin so he had to face her again, and another parted his hands gently.
“There is no shame here” she said, a finger caressing his shaft.
“This is why I bought you, boy” she whispered, leaning down so their eyes were on the same level. Anon was feeling weak in the knees as she coaxed him fully erect. She grasped him firmly by the cock and the back of his head and then kissed him, her lips tasting of purple – there was no other word for it, it was odd – her tongue entering his mouth, wrapping around his twice, her two fangs brushing against the inside of his upper lip, not biting, merely making their presence known. Anon couldn’t close his eyes, his gaze was locked with that of Mephala, who stared into his eyes unblinking, her tail slowly wrapping around his legs, her breasts pushing against him, her belly pushing against him, her hand guiding him inside her, the sensation of tightness constricting his body, his penis, his tongue, she broke off the kiss with a deep moan, fell slowly, with far greater control of her body than any human could have, onto her back, pulling his gasping mouth to her breasts, her gown now open, her tail wrapping in his hands and arms, and soon Anon was enveloped up to his neck in the flesh of the Apophis, his mouth licking away the sweat from between and under her breasts, her fingers ruffling his hair, the song of the birds elevating to a frenzies concert as if celebrating the carnal union of their mistress and her new slave.

			***
The sound of a harp being played caused Anon to stir from his sleep. He was in a bed softer and bigger than any he’d ever seen, let alone slept in. How’d he ended up here? Oh, right. He must’ve passed out during the sex. He scratched his head and looked out to where he heard the harp from. Mephala was there; her tail wrapped in neat coils around a massive gilded instrument as tall as herself, and that was the harp she was playing, humming to herself with her eyes closed. Her hips gently swayed to the rhythm of her playing. She wore nothing, and Anon couldn’t help but stare at such a sight. Though An Apophis might be greatly feared and distrusted in the world at large, he’d found his introduction to this household an enjoyable experience. He had no intention of staying, of course. He’d escape, get rid of the damn collar – though it was soft and he could barely feel it, it chafed his soul – and be back on the streets as a free man soon enough. In fact, the snake seemed distracted enough now…
He lowered his foot onto the floor, and as soon as he did she turned to look at him, opening her eyes and smiling.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked, her arms and fingers frozen in the pose of the last note she’d been playing.
Swallowing Anon nodded.
“You wouldn’t know how to play a flute, by any chance?”
“No…. uhh, no mistress”
“Shame. This song is really written for two instruments… well, don’t just stand there boy, come here, you must be thirsty”
Anon approached. He certainly was thirsty, but he didn’t see anything that she could offer him a drink from.
“Hmm. How’s it going down here?” Mephala asked and brushed his genitals slightly. He reacted immediately, to his great surprise. He didn’t feel that horny…
“Don’t be shy, come lie down in my lap” she urged and moved about her coils in such a manner as to create a sort of couch out of her snake-half. Anon lied down on her, nervously.
“Now fold your hands over your chest”
He did so.
Mephala then guided his head to one of her breasts.
“Drink up” she said.
Anon didn’t expect much to come of this but to his surprise some greasy liquid did in fact come out. But Mepahala wasn’t pregnant… or was she? That quickly? How long had he been asleep? But didn’t snakes lay eggs?
“Close your eyes please, it’s embarrassing if you keep staring at me like that”
Anon closed his eyes.
And then she started to stroke him again.
“There’s a good boy” she whispered.
“Just drink your fill”
Caresses at his crotch, petting on his head.
“And don’t you go spurting anything out until I say so, hm?”
She squeezed his tip.
“Understand? I want you to savour everything”
She resumed stroking.
“I don’t want you to think that staying with me is terribly unpleasant”
He squirmed a little when she moved her hand more forcefully.
“And don’t you go thinking about running away”
He opened his eyes.
“Eyes closed boy”
He closed his eyes.
“But you know, it really won’t do you any good to run”
His toes curled from how good he was feeling.
“Because as long as you wear that collar, I’ll know where you are”
He froze.
“Keep sucking boy”
He did.
“And just so you know, if you ever leave my property without me, the collar will just knock you out”
So that was that. If the magic was real, he couldn’t escape unless he got the thing off…
“And if you try to take it off, the same will happen”
Rats.
“You just forget about freedom now, boy”
He didn’t.
“Now why don’t I show you why staying with me is worth it, hm?”
All of a sudden she tore his head back from her nipple on he opened his eyes by reflex. He saw her mouth stretched out and her fangs, dripping with the purple venom, extruding. Then she moved faster than he could see and bit into his neck. Her hand covered his mouth and nose, keeping him from crying out or breathing. A numbness where the fangs sank in, a warmth spreading with every beat of his heart, he felt so hot, and light-headed, and he couldn’t breathe, and…
She withdrew and let her fangs sink back in her mouth, mowing her jaw to and fro to let it settle back to human proportions. There was no pain where he’d been bitten, and as far as he could see no wound, either, just two spots of purple, and veins of purple coloration in his skin, fading to lilac, fading as the venom spread to his body, his testicles suddenly feeling firmer than ever, his nipples hard, his cock jutting up like it had only now reached its full size, so hard it ached, and at all this Mephala smiled, a little saliva dripping from her mouth, and still she was covering his mouth and nose, why, why was she doing that, he tried to mumble something but she hushed him and started to stroke him again, wrapping her tail around him so that his legs and arms were helpless again, and at the slightest touch he feared he would explode all over her hand…
“Now you hold it until I give you permission, remember what I sa-“
She was cut off when he did in fact explode all over hand. Mephala’s face was flushed, her hood engorged, she licked her lips, then her hand, then turned to stare into his eyes. At least she uncovered his nose...
“That wasn’t very obedient, was it young man?”
He couldn’t reply but he was very afraid.
“I’ll just have to keep trying until you get it right, won’t I?”
Her hand returned. His back arced and his toes curled at how powerful the sensations were just after he’d finished.
“No matter how many times it takes, hm?”
No matter how many times it takes. Anon was not on good terms with any of the gods worshipped in this land, but he remembered one from the land of his ancestors, and silently, in his mind, he offered a prayer, asking for strength from Crom.