The Decisive Rout of Ra'Khit and The Fall of A Dynasty

The vast ocean stretches out before Menkauhor, glittering beneath the frozen setting sun like countless sapphires. His lips twist in a wry grin. If he ever made it out of this, he would fill his coffers with such gems in immortal homage to this moment, this life defining scene. After all, such a trifle would be nothing before the god-king.

A seaborne breeze licks at his bare, muscled chest and runs its salty tendrils through his manicured beard, scaled waistcloth protecting his legs from the chilly winds. Strands of his long dark hair shift with the force of the breeze but it isn’t enough to stir the golden ankh hanging resolutely upon his chest, suspended from his neck by a gold chain. He grips his tall sceptre tighter and leans more of his weight upon it. The carved eagle’s head mounted upon it glares at him balefully. The Pharaoh’s holy gaze drifts from the glimmering sea to the port town of Ra’khit and a short wave of nostalgia washes over him.

The city where he grew up, the streets he played on. The land that birthed him would now take him back into its bosom. Slim arms wrap around his chest and his hand moves reflexively to pat the head of his daughter, Netti. His fingers sink into her soft black hair and she looks up at him with her cheek squished against his chest. There are traces of red around her eyes, deeper than the winged black eyeliner and he could feel the dampness of her cheeks against his skin.  He could all but hear the swirling rush of words running through her mind but ultimately she chooses not to say anything and only holds him tighter.

He smiles at her softly. “Netti. The sun must set. You can’t hold it up in the sky forever.”

He feels a fresh wetness slide down his skin, “No! I-I won’t let it. Today… will not end without my permission!”

Laughing gently, he takes her chin between his fingers and tilts her head back. The godly tattoo around her right eye glows faintly, throbbing with her heartbeat as she strains to hold back the tide of fate. It shines with enough intensity to have a slight filter of gold flash across her cheeks. Her skin is beginning to tear at places and the sheer broiling power below shimmers.

He brushes her straight fringe aside and plants his lips to her forehead. She gasps as she feels her strength leave her and the tattoo about her eye fades dully and the one upon her father’s begins to shine.

“B-but!... Why?”

His lips part from her forehead and he caresses her cheek, “To see the sun set is also our duty, Netti. Just as it falls upon us to make it rise once more.” He smiles at her with a father’s indulgence, “But… today is a special day. I suppose it can remain a few hours longer.” His soft expression takes a grave tone. “But Netti. When it finally falls, do not look back. Do you understand me?”

She presses her lips together in a firm line and nods. “Yes father.”

He looks at her solid determination and smiles once more. “You are so beautiful. Like the gods chose only the best parts of your mother and I and blessed you with them twice over. Netti. You must make the sun rise once more.”

Just as Menkauhor finishes speaking, his winged servant descends, flapping her wings powerfully as she lands into a kneeling position.

“Lord. It is time. The sands will arrive shortly.” He nods at the griffon and turns to a red-scaled lamia some distance away. The woman perks up at his attention.

“Take care of Netti, Hesat. Remember, leave for the tomb once the sun sets.” The lamia nods and slithers up to the pair,

“My lady, Netti.” The young girl’s eyes flick to her eternal companion. She nods solemnly and holds her arm out. The lamia takes her hand and morphs into a small crimson serpent, coiling up the female Pharaoh’s arm and taking her place as a part of the god-queen’s regalia. Netti’s gaze drifts back to her father.

Menkauhor feels a certain calm still his heart, knowing that his daughter could not have a more stolid protector. He turns to the Griffin, “Anat. I call upon your loyalty one last time.” The woman bows her head gracefully and the man taps his sceptre upon its crown. A sun-lit glow surrounds her and the winged woman’s form shifts to reveal her more bestial self. She goes from kneeling to all fours as her spine twists from that of a bipedal creature to a quadruped.  Her wings remain the same, but fur grows from her hind legs and flows up her lion back until it merges with the feathers of her eagle half.

She gives her wide wings a flutter before folding them up and kneeling. Menkauhor mounts her, swinging his leg over her back and runs a hand through her feathers.

“Father! I love you.”

He turns to his daughter and gives her a brave grin. “I love you too, Netti. Stay safe, my only daughter. May you inherit a better world.” With those final words, the griffin rises and turns. She pads a few steps away, unfurls her wings and leaps, pushing down at the air in the same motion, taking her lord high into the skies.

With monumental effort, he wrenches his gaze from his only daughter and brings it to the fifteen thousand soldiers lined up along the plains outside Ra’khit. Two hilly, almost mountainous ranges stretch on from either side, forming a natural funnel. The soldiers stood in the centre are all that remains of his once vast armies. One thousand, five hundred chariots. Two thousand archers. Five hundred war-priestesses and eleven thousand infantry. No generals, no tacticians, no strategists.

Only he, his loyal subjects, their arms and armor and the countless arrows they packed onto the chariots shortly before leaving the capital and making the trek to this sole, remaining city. The only loyal and free men and women in these vast lands, all he could gather as he fled the fallen capital with his daughter and their most needed retainers.

To the east he could see vast clouds of sand storm. “Anat. Fly us low.” It wasn’t entirely without hope. His war-priestesses were trained leaders of men, knowledgeable in the arts of combat. He had five hundred of the fearsome women mixed throughout his army in the roles of captains and commanders. His infantry were split into eight columns with around a thousand and three hundred men each. Three hundred and fifty of these war-priestesses were within the ranks of the infantry. Sixty were in the ranks of archers and a further forty within the chariotry.

The remaining fifty were an elite unit. They would be protecting him if he were on the ground but as it was, they were a unit of experts moving at their own discretion, capitalizing on the moment, driving a deeper wedge into enemy lines or swooping in to claim the head of an enemy commander.

The griffon descends partway before them and Menkauhor straightens upon her back, ten or so meters elevated from the restless sands. He holds his staff out and addresses the remnants of his army.

His voice comes out booming, magically assisted so that it would reach every ear. Power laces his words, lending to them a holy decree with a subtle secret weaved in. “My people. /It is a dire situation we find ourselves in/.”’ The magic throbs in their minds, “But alas, /there is still hope/.” And again, “Not /in life/,” and again, “but in death. The devil sands of the Witch Queen Nitocris will arrive shortly. But we have had a gaze upon us long before the Witch Queen set hers. The ancestors that built this kingdom. The ancestors that sustained it. And, in its fall…” His out-held staff twists in a ray of gold and reveals the distinctive shape of a hopesh, “We will show them a spectacle.  We will turn the sands so red that the Duat will be filled with the blood of our enemies. It will drown the demons and /when the sun falls/,” once more his holy words engrave into their minds, “our spirits will /leave/.” His final secret spoken, his will was carved into their subconsciousness in holy hieroglyphs, “Leave this world behind and together we will sail above the gates on a raft made of the courage we show today. Our pride will make our hearts lighter than a feather and we will meet once more in Aaru. They built a glorious empire. Let us show them its glorious fall!”

A wordless cry roars out from his ranks as soldiers beat their shields. Countless lights glimmer like jewels in the lines of his army as his war-priestesses bless his soldiers with fortitude and bravery. The thunderous and chaotic beating falls in to a steady rhythm even as the sand clouds descend.  In his mind, he begins speaking orders to his war-priestesses.

The two thousand archers begin to move to the back of the left flank of the infantry and the chariotry moves to the right flanks, wooden wheels churning through the sun-baked dirt and sand, leaving a small plume of dust in its wake. The eight columns of infantry remain in a straight line.

He watches with keen sight as the sand clouds thicken and rush along the earth to the remnants of his armies. The unnatural storm falls just short of his front lines and he sees mangled silhouettes form in the shadow of the sands. The cloud clears, leaving in its wake a sea of lewd, lascivious forms. Forms his men had grown accustomed to fighting, forms right out of the furthest reaches of the vast deserts and the deepest depths of forgotten lore.

Ragged corpses shamble in her masses, for the shape of the Witch Queen’s army could hardly be called ranks. Burial wrappings dangle off the sacred mummies. A powerful psychological weapon, and a very very low blow against Mankauhor’s men. It would not be strange for his soldiers to recognise a face here or there. Wretched desert cultists peppered the rabble, reinforcing it with their magics. Low creatures slip between the dead, loyal servitors of the Witch Queen, taken from the reclusive girtablilu tribes. Each one wielding a small recurve bow tipped with envenomed poisons and wicked curved daggers dripping with their very own venom.

The God-king even recognises the twisted, debaucherous forms of his own sacred beasts: lewd Anubi commanding the dead masses, predatory sphinxes and luscious khepri whose once golden chitinous plates now shone a dull purple. A cold fist clutches at his spine as he senses older beasts writhing deep underground. There is no knowing what manners of darkness the Witch Queen has awoken.

A fatalistic kind of dread sets in to the god-king’s bones. Her numbers are limitless. There is a brief, pregnant tension. The masses part and a single figure slithers out to the forefront, a large serpent that seems to embody the very notion of health, fertility and bounty, if taken down a dark and lusty path.

Her long snake coils are a purple so dark that at a glance they almost look black and hold enough length and thickness to ensnare a man from head to toe thrice over. From the top of that very thick and very long tail grows the wide and shapely hips of a woman with light purple skin that appear so smooth and perfect that the finest oil from the lands to the south would only serve to tarnish it.

Countless amethysts stud her silver regalia, a fallen imitation of a Pharaoh’s own golden jewellery. Long silky hair falls from the Witch Queen’s head, cascading down her back and shoulders in a gradient from a deep and luscious dark purple at the top down to a lighter amethyst at the tips. Long, pointed ears part her hair, adorned with silver studs. They stick out rigidly, upright and proud like the rest of her posture and body language.

Her glowing yellow irises floating on an inky black sclera bore into Menkauhor’s own. He gazes back at her, face blank, but the tight thundering of his beating heart betrays him. Her full lips twist into a smile as she produces a long silver horn. Her eyes lock with his and her slender fingers stroke the sterling silver instrument before curling about the base near the mouth piece. She places her lips to the instrument and blows.

An historic, even mythic pitch rings out across the sands and though the sun remains where it is, the day seems to grow darker for it. A pitch of war that had long since gone unheard for centuries bore into the hearts of his men and even as the Witch Queen blows, her limitless masses course forward in a monumental, crashing wave.

The Pharaoh’s own forces begin to move. The straight line of infantry broke up to meet the monstrous forces. Two columns moved to the left and spread out diagonally, while two more remained in the centre. The remaining four columns spread out towards the right flanks.

The chariots charge forward, followed in close pursuit by the two rightmost columns of infantry. Volley after volley of arrows from the chariotry slam into the advancing masses, so tightly packed that each arrow finds its mark. The unlucky ones would strike a corpse that keeps on moving, but the others strike true and drop body after body. The right flanks of the masses slacken, falling behind the centre and left flanks and tripping over its own.

The roaring mass gives way to a distinctive wedge shape that drives towards the centre lines. The archers on foot at the left flank of the pharaoh’s army then unleash their volleys, shaving off the left flanks of the Witch Queen’s army, turning the wedge into a sharpened, brittle point at the centre force.

Black spheres of destruction fly out of the mass towards the chariotry and one slams into their back, shattering chariot and bone alike. The war priestesses amongst the chariots react swiftly and the remaining spheres smash against a resolute, golden force field. Light-tipped arrows pierce the gloom and shoot back into the Witch Queen’s ranks.

The two columns of infantry trailing behind the chariotry slam into the flagging right flanks, cleaving flesh with their bronze blades and blocking claw with solid wooden shields. The remaining two columns on the right drive forward too, the chariotry just barely slipping past their flanks and out the back of their forces before the four rightmost columns meet in a defensive line, reinforcing the shape of the brittle wedge.

The chariots wheel around behind their defensive line of infantry and pepper the monstrous forces with another three volleys before moving towards the centre. The archers on the left flank have a similar effect and surely enough the honed masses break upon the receiving defensive lines of infantry.

The battle wages on like this for some time with the mobile chariotry manoeuvring about behind the lines, sending volley after volley at places where the mass grow too thick. For no matter how many fall, there are constantly more pushing against their lines.

Menkauhor watches over all this from the air, watching her forces, his forces, ordering the chariotry about and searching for the Witch Queen. She had long since vanished though.  Constantly, boulders of black destruction hurl at his lines, but the shielding magic of his war-priestesses negate them entirely. When the priestesses weren’t defending the lines, they were healing the wounded, and bolstering the strength and courage of Menauhor’s men.

“Magnificent women.” The gryphon conveyed her agreeance with a nodding of her eagle head. “I fear we won’t see their like ever again. The Witch Queen won’t care for the institutions that raised them. This may be the last time the world gets to witness their might…” The sombre thought takes him and he spends a moment surveying the fight in silence. “Anat. If the situation grows dire, I order you to drop me and flee. If I fall, I don’t intend to have every one fall with me. The same goes for you. Save yourself at all costs.”

Before the griffin can show any resistance or protest, the ground shudders and splits under the rear lines of the Witch Queen’s force. A monolithic worm rises from the earth and opens its maw gigantically wide. It swallows thousands of the Queen’s fighters in a single mouthful and dives back into the earth. Menkauhor’s eye widen as he realizes the ploy.

“Anat! Fly me above the centre now!” The griffon lets out a shrill cry and dives towards the centre of his forces. He grips his sceptre tight and it begins to glow with power, already fainter than when he turned it into a khopesh to address his soldiers. He looks at his diminishing strength and smiles wryly. “I wonder if she has noticed yet.”

He reaches the centre of his forces just as the ground splits once more and the huge sandworm emerges right under his centre front lines, showering rock and debris about the surrounding men and effectively demolishing their formation. It opens its monumental maw and the thousands of soldiers it swallowed begin to pour out.

Menkauhor grits his teeth and strains his muscles, his sceptre glowing as bright as the sun. Anat carries him high above the worm and with a cry he swings the staff and the colossal figure of a sun-bathed golden sword shoots out from it. The sorcery is so huge that the sword reaches the ground and carves into the earth, demolishing vast swathes of the Witch Queen’s forces. But more importantly it severs the head of the worm and the creature writhes in agony before the head falls back into its own army.

The inside of the beast is revealed, as are the remaining hundreds of soldiers that hadn’t yet left its mouth. And as he looks into it, he realizes with horror the true nature of the ploy. The head was cut off but the main, pink fleshy body of the beast remains, surrounded by robed casters. And the very distinctive shape, of a deep purple lamia. The yellow eye winks at him and a lance of pure black is formed in the middle of the circle of casters.

The lance points directly at him and before he can react, it’s launched. The dark spear shoots through his mount and high into the sky. The griffon screams and begins to fall, the lance having obliterated her stomach, severed her spine mere inches away from where Menkauhor sat and shot through a large portion of her left wing.

“Anat!” The pharaoh grits his teeth as he begins to fall and wrenches his ankh from his chest. The metal glows and forms into a bolt of sunlight which the pharaoh hurls at the fallen griffon. Her womanly form is revealed in her throes of death, spilling blood across the battlefield. Her glazed eyes fall upon the pharaoh and in seeing the glowing light, widen in horror.

“NO!”

“Flee!” The light slams into her chest and spreads out across her in a flash, her wounds vanishing in an instant. With it goes his final unassailable will as a god-king and against every fibre of her will, the griffon turns and soars off into the distance.

His hair waves about him in an unruly mess as he plummets and he turns out towards the sun and the sparkling sapphire ocean. He takes back the last dregs of his strength, for his last act of spite.

And the sun begins to set.


*	*	*

The red lamia stands next to her mistress and looks at her. The girl has tears in her eyes yet again, but she sees the resolution there too.

“My lady.”

Netti’s eyes first follow the flash of light as it strikes the fallen griffon, then they track the small shadow of a man as it falls. Lastly, her eyes turn to the sun, once again put in motion and beginning to slip beyond the horizon. She can already feel the gifted strength growing within her.

“I know, Hesat.” She holds her left hand out and the snake hands her a small ball of crystal that fits snugly within it. With her right hand, she takes the snake’s other and crushes the crystal.

Her vision goes black and all five of her senses swirl. She begins to fall, but is caught by Hesat.

“My lady, are you alright?” Netti opens her eyes weakly and looks around the dark chamber that would be pitch black if not for the dimly fluttering torches. Her gaze falls upon the empty and open sarcophagus.

“I’m fine.” The woman sighs and a wry, defeated smile comes to her lips. “I just need some rest.” She turns to the crimson lamia, “Enjoy being my pillow for the next few thousand years.”


*	*	*

The masses below him part and he strikes the earth with bone shattering force. The air rushes out of his lungs and he gasps wordlessly, eyes going wide. He lay there for what feels like an eternity until the remnants of his strength can mend the damage done. The encirclement of monsters around him gives way and the Witch Queen herself slithers up to the fallen man. She strips off the jewellery clinging to her, removing the more bothersome ones first like the silver caps clinging to her nipples. A faint cent of perfume rolls over him as she nears, smelling more natural than not, a gentle fragrance similar to grapes. It reminds him vaguely of wine.

He looks up at her, finally getting a closer look now that she’s only within a pace or two. Her tail seems just as black as it did, especially in the fading light, but he can make out the almost iridescent purple sheen of her scales. A small part of him wants to watch her sun bake, watch the rays play off those smooth scales. Her skin is just as smooth. Almost more perfect up close, but now he can make out the layer of toned, defined muscle that only a lamia could get.

She was plenty soft despite it though and her hips looked as thgouh he could just squeeze them and have his fingers sink in to the knuckle. That fertile bounty is only further exemplified by the twin, giant, yet perky breasts resting atop her chest imperiously like mountains peaked with a slightly darker shade of purple. Her arms had a similar strength to her core yet were lissom all the way to the tips of her fingers which ended in long, elegant dark purple nails. She crosses her arms under her breasts, making them jiggle pleasantly. Her nails tap lightly against her skin and she looks down upon him, eyes alight with a bemused kind of satisfaction. “The sun sets at last.”

His eyes meet hers. “It will rise again.”

Her expression changes from one of victory to one of concern. Gingerly, she lowers herself and scoops him up in her arms; taking so much care that it’s obvious she thinks he could break at any moment. She reclines upon a bed of her coils and carries him with her, sitting him upon her lap and propping his back and head up on a length of her tail.

“If you’d used the ankh on yourself, you might have had the strength to put up a fight, but as it is you have just enough to keep yourself alive after that fall. I have to say, I’m a little glad that you haven’t changed.” Her fingers stroke through his hair as she looks down upon him, a smirk playing upon her lips “And now you will see your army crushed, your men raped and your last town sacked. What a lovely conclusion.”

He laughs weakly, “Your evil bitch routine needs work, Nitocris. Besides, you aren’t the only one to command the desert. This last stand, I wasn’t really expecting to win. None of us were.” As he finishes speaking, a familiar storm of sand rolls in and engulfs everything, the tattoo about his eye shining, then splintering and ultimately fading. A whirlwind of sand whips about the two of them, and the apophis holds the man tighter to protect him from the lashing of the wind.

The storm fades and the Witch Queen looks around, utterly alone except for the man in her arms. The last dregs of sunlight fall behind the horizon and the night shadows claim the desert. Her lips twist into a small grin and she allows herself a light laugh.

“And you use the very last of your godly power to scatter both your armies and mine. And I doubt your men feel especially compelled to return, do they?”

He shifts in her bed of coils and sits up a little straighter, smiling. “Not especially.”

“And my forces are scattered and I don’t get to enjoy watching debauchery fall upon Ra’khit. How vexing. What now?”

“With my kingdom fallen, my daughter sealed away and my power gone…” He reaches a hand out and cups her cheek, rubbing at the base of her long ears in a way that makes her practically purr. She presses her head against his hand to get him to rub at the base of her ear harder, “All I have left is you, my love.”

The man leans forward and kisses the apophis, her soft lips pressing flush against his own. The smell of grapes and the elusive, intoxicating hints of wine are stronger now. He can taste it on her lips. Her eyes widen in surprise at first, but it doesn’t take long for her lewd nature to prevail and her arms wrap about him, pulling him closer.

She grabs the back of his head with a hand, her other clasping his own free hand and she tugs it to her breast. With her fingers around his, she makes him give her soft fleshy tit a squeeze. His heart flutters as he feels a trickle of warm wetness roll over his fingers. Her mouth opens in a quiet moan and he slips his tongue inside, his warm, fleshy organ soon met with her own, far larger, far longer one. It coils around his and with her holding him in place, her tongue slides down his throat.

His eyes widen and he tries to gasp as the organ blocks his windpipe. Her eyes sparkle with mirth as he tenses, a very evident joy taken from toying with him. Her tongue withdraws and they break the kiss, leaving him gasping. “Mmm, smooth as ever, Menkauhor.  But you won’t get off that easy. What should have been a quick conquest took nearly a year. And whose fault do you think that is? You need to be punished.”

“You don’t get to go missing, turn into a demon snake and return to usurp the throne a year later. I was hardly going to let you slither in and take it all without a fight.” The hand on the back of his head tightens, “I had a duty to m-mph!” and she forces his head to her unoccupied breast. The hard nipple presses insistently against his lips, cutting his words off midsentence. The thick milk he felt before spreads across his lips and dribbles down his chin. Opening his mouth and taking the hard nipple between his teeth invites a deluge of the warm, grape tasting snakemilk that, by the heat searing through his body at the mere taste of it, isn’t all that it seems. A small part of his mind notes sardonically, that he found the hints of wine.

It fills his mouth almost as fast as he can swallow, and he has to swallow fast because the iron-like grip on his head won’t let him move an inch to breathe or otherwise. He hadn’t realised how parched his throat was, addressing his soldiers, ordering them about the battlefield and fighting. Not at any point had he slaked his thirst and now a seemingly unstoppable flow was pouring into his mouth, sliding down his throat and settling hotly in his belly. He feels his member stiffen uncomfortably against his waistcloth.

Almost as if she was counting on the effect her milk would have on him, the hand not currently forcing his head to her bosom begins to trace lines down his chest, reaching ever lower, until they play and tug at the band of his scaled waistcloth. She hooks a finger under it and tears the garment made of leather and metal plates apart like it were paper instead.

Freed from its confines, the ex-pharaoh’s semi-hard cock reacts to the desert night air and the sudden liberation by twitching, his member filling with blood. Her lithe fingers curl around the base of his shaft and she gives it slow strokes, encouraging it to fill with blood faster. With a hand wrapped around his cock and his mouth latched onto her breast, she gives a happy, satisfied hum, her tail flicking through the sand leaving cute little trails that look suspiciously like hearts.

“You don’t seem too concerned with this new form of mine.” She giggles, “I guess this part of you still remembers me. Did it miss me?” She gives his manhood an affectionate squeeze and it throbs in response. “So… our daughter is sealed, huh? I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where?” He grunts a refusal and shakes his head, making her tit wobble and a little milk leak from his lips. “Shame. I wanted to get her in on thi- Ahnn!- Kidding kidding.” He stops biting down on her nipple and goes back to sucking it, running rings about the smooth and soft areola with his tongue. Flicking at it with the organ and nibbling at it lightly has her arc her back and press her soft breast to his face more forcefully, followed by a low throaty purr.

She shudders then takes a deep breath and sighs, “Still. I would have liked for us to have been together as a family once more.” He starts to push back against her hand and she lets him go. He swallows the last mouthful of milk forced into him and wipes his mouth before speaking.

“She’s gone, dear. And even if I didn’t stop you, she would. She belongs in the future now, far away from us.”

“But… together we could rule for an eternity, love. We could have a kingdom ready for her when she wakes up and then she would only have to join us!”

He laughs, “Oh, no you don’t. I’m going to make sure you’re far too drunk on pleasure to be able to organise anything resembling a kingdom.”

She grins, “Oho? Big words from the fallen Pharaoh.”

The man smiles at his wife “Just a man now.”

“I’m still going to punish you like the god-king you were, dear.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

She taps her chin with her free hand as she thinks. “A year. I’m going to confiscate your sanity for a year.”

His eyebrow rises, “And how are you going to do that?”

Her coils begin to shift and an evil grin splits her face, joined with a low laugh. “How indeed. But first,” She puts her hand back to his head and forces it back to her leaking nipple, “I think I prefer what your mouth was doing before.”

He mumbles something insensible and goes back to licking and suckling. The soft hand wrapped about his length begins to pump a little faster, up and down joined with a little, familiar twist of the wrist. She lets go of the hot meat and it twitches forlornly. Her lips curl affectionately at the response and she grabs her free breast. She lifts it up to her mouth and Menkauhor’s dick throbs as he watches her drink her own milk.

She only gulps down a mouthful or two, swishing the last about and mixing it with her venom and saliva. He suddenly feels his centre of balance shift and nearly chokes on the milk in his mouth as her tail lifts his hips up higher until the head of his cock pokes at her lips. She smiles mischievously and presses her lips to his cock. They form a tight ring and slowly engulf the head. She guides his cock into her mouth, not spilling a drop of the milky liquid inside.

He feels it swish around his length, guided by her long and dextrous tongue. Her soft lips continue their trip down his cock until he feels the head poke at the back of her throat and then breach it. She hums softly as a bulge begins to distend her throat. Then her lips touch at the base of his cock, all of his length crammed inside her hot mouth and about half of it lodged in her tight, wet throat. She seems far more comfortable taking it than she ever did before.

He doesn’t get long to think on it though before he feels a sudden prick at the base of his prick. He gasps and this time he does choke a little, as a searing heat assaults his cock.  Suddenly she swallows, draining the mouthful of spit, milk and by this point, pre-cum.

Her lips begin to retreat, leaving his cock slick, spit stained and engagingly hot. He asks questions with his eyes and she only returns a grin before opening her mouth and two large dagger-like fangs extend, dripping with rich, deep purple venom. He doesn’t have long to ponder the implications before the searing heat seeps into the rest of him and he finds his cock growing harder, thicker and before his disbelieving eyes, longer.

“Fufu… I had no idea what this venom does. Interesting.” Her hand finds its way back to his cock and he finds his hips lowering again, but he can’t sit still as he was. Almost of their own volition, his hips begin to thrust against her hand, the smooth skin now wet and slick to boot. She chuckles softly and squeezes tighter, letting him fuck her hand while he suckles milk from her.

“Who is milking who, I wonder?” He bites down on her nipple and she squirms in delight, the hand on the back of his head stroking through his hair. She starts to roll her wrist as he fucks her hand, adding a coiling, twisting motion that has him bracing himself against her tail and using more leverage to thrust against her. His pace quickens, until his thighs jerk and he falls slack upon her, cock spurting cum high into the air to cascade down upon the purple snake like rain, dropping ropes of thick cum across her hair, face, breasts and hand, each individual impact making her jump slightly.

She gasps and the delighted sounds twist into a giggle partway through, “Oh! I-is that normal? I don’t remember you cumming this hard before. Were you pent up, or is my venom more interesting than I first thought?” She grins like a cat before cream and licks up as much of the cum as she can. Menkauhor releases her breast and watches as she cleans herself, dick staying hard partially thanks to the venom, partially thanks to the very sight before him.

“So? How will you do it?”

His question snaps her out of her cum-slurping reverie and she looks at him before grinning. She grabs his shoulders and throws him back, making him land on his back, spread eagled out in the middle of her coils. She rises up above him and lowers her womanly hips between his legs, resting her chest against him, pinning his cock between her belly and his. She grinds her hips against the throbbing length and he feels her slick snake slit press against the underside of his shaft.

“By the same method,” her long tongue slips out and runs a warm, wet ring around his nipple before retracting back into her mouth. He watches as she opens it wide. The corners of her lips curl into a smile and those two dagger-like fangs extend. Quicker than he can react, she chomps down on his chest, fangs sinking in and pumping ungodly amounts of the drug-like toxin into his body.

She draws her fangs out of him and moves up to his face, “That you were going to use to stop me from building a kingdom. By making you so drunk on pleasure that you can’t tell reality from me. For the next year, I will become your everything. I have waited so long for this. Open up.” Her fangs slide out as he opens his mouth and her lips descend upon his. Her arms wrap around him and hold him in place as the long appendage slithers out.

He gives a half whine half grunt as her fangs slice into his tongue, but her own tongue quickly moves to ease the pain, lapping at the blood. Thick venom oozes out of her mouth and mixes with his blood and her saliva. The intoxicating cocktail slips into his bloodstream through the wound in his tongue, adding to what was already there and almost instantly clouding his mind in a hazy, lusty, rich kind of purple.

Arousal and need rocket through him as the venom surges. She breaks the kiss and gasps slightly as she feels his manhood thicken and lengthen under her. Lifting her hips up, she sees the sticky mess of pre-cum it smeared across her belly and her eyes beam as she takes in its enraged size. An almost nervous smile tugs at her lips. “I hope it still fits.”

She slides her hips forward, relishing in feeling the head of his cock trace down her tight almost athletically defined belly. Her husband’s nose twitches as he notes the heady scent of lust, need and heat mixing in with the fragrant grape. The haze only grows murkier and all that manages to pierce it is the sensation of his glans rubbing against her soft skin. He writhes at the contact, but she pins him in place with relative ease. Sparks alight in her mind as the fuck-stick rubs across her clit before finally settling before her slick, tight entrance. She lowers her hips slightly and whines in pleasure as the thick, throbbing head of his prick presses into her twitching, sodden lips.

She reaches for his hands and grabs them by the wrist, placing them around her hips with his fingers laying limply across her thick scaled rump. With an orgiastic cry she thrusts down taking her beloved, enlarged cock in a rapid hilting motion that leaves a prominent bulge upon her stomach. She gasps and cries out at the same time, resulting in a strange, strangled squeak of pure bliss. She traces the outline of the bulge with her fingers.

“S-so… huge.” She tries to move a bit and winces as a tiny trickle of blood seeps down Menkauhor’s shaft.

Something about her sense of pain and discomfort rouses him from the hazy mess of his mind and he looks at her in evident confusion, “Wait… what?”

She smiles coyly and shrugs, “Dunno. It just kind of grew back after the change. I wanted to give it to you again but… you have no idea how hard it’s been to not just fuck myself stupid with my own tail.”

With glassy eyes he looks down at the cock-shaped bulge on her belly and the confusion bubbles over even further, “Why… is my…”

“Uh, uh.” She shakes her head, making her silky hair bounce and her long ears flop about. Then she lowers herself down near his chest, “Naughty god-kings who stop my conquest don’t get to be lucid.” Then, quick as a striking cobra, she sinks her fangs into his shoulder and pumps more venom into him. The haze takes him quickly once more and she writhes as his cock throbs large inside of her, his head already pressing insistently against her cervix, with an inch or two left to slam in yet.

She licks her lips and hugs his head into her chest as she begins to roll her hips back, dragging his length through her walls, the head scraping against every nuanced ridge and fold, stretching her as wide as she can ever remember being. Inch after inch of pussy-slicked cock is met with the cool night air upon its wet skin. She takes a quivering breath, readying herself before she slides it back in to her twisting, warm depths.

She relishes in the slow motion, feeling it stretch her out all the way and push aside organs. Before, she would have just slammed her hips against him wildly and rammed his length into her deepest parts over and over again. That is exactly what she did, at first. But now that she slowly grows accustomed to his size and girth, an inexplicable urge to take it slowly strikes her. To eschew violent, bestial pounding for a prolonged session of constant writhing pleasure that long transcends the bounds of human stamina.

Utterly of their own accord, her coils begin to shift and move as her body takes the active role in the long awaited re-consummation between he and she. Her face takes on a colour of surprise as her tail starts to twist through the sand and wraps the two of them tightly, its pressure on her firm, bubbly butt pushing their hips together. She lets loose a lascivious cry and wraps her arms around his chest and under his arms. He grunts a hazy moan as one hand digs furrows into his back. The head of his thick, raging erection breaches her cervix and spills hot precum into her womb.

The other grabs the back of his head and she squishes his cheek to hers as her tail finishes engulfing them, like a one-woman matingball. She tips her head back and cums from the deep penetration and the incessant twitching and throbbing of the slab of cock occupying her. Head tipped back, jaw slack, she stares unseeingly out into the night, deep purple hearts pounding in her irises. Her long tongue rolls out, slick with venom and spit, drooling onto the sands. It’s a long moment before she regains enough of her senses to pull her tongue back in and shut her jaw.

Rolling waves of contraction beset the couple, from without and within. Her tail flexes to squeeze their chests together, so tightly that she can feel his heartbeat reverberating off her own. The pressure rolls down her back and squeezes at her belly, massaging the girthy bulge from outside before forcing their hips tighter together and rolling back upwards, providing the slightest, most imperceptible thrusting  in and out.

The writhing and constricting of her tail is mirrored and reversed with the tightening and coiling of her cunt, stroking Menkauhor’s shaft from the balls-deep base to the womb-breaching head. Her cervix contracts rhythmically about the glans in a way that has her mind thundering with pleasure, leaving her half about as hazy as she made him, without the use of venom.

She whines softly and her lips seek out his in a desperate way that is less for the act itself and more to coil about and possess him in every manner she is capable of. Her long venom-soaked tongue wraps about his and slowly explores though his mouth. He isn’t composed enough to demonstrate any form of resistance, even as her tongue snakes its way into his throat, but that doesn’t mean her ministrations don’t elicit any reaction at all.

The sensation of pleasure assaulting him without the accompanying smack of flesh on flesh is entirely foreign to his nerves, a measured and deliberate coupling that is in no way inferior or more subdued. With every odd squeezing contraction, she’ll feel his limp fingers unconsciously grips as he takes handfuls of her thick rear and pulls her in closer. Or his tongue would twitch and wiggle in her coiled clasps. The contractions continue and her arousal soars to lofty heights. Her drenched pussy drools with need and the roiling motions squeeze out the precum that his cock so liberally coated her walls with, making a slick and sticky mess of his thighs, dripping down and coating his balls. Leaving slick streaks and stains upon her purple scales.

Slowly but surely the tension builds up within him. Cracks begin to spread across the dam that withstands the gradual build-up of massaging pressures. But hot, lifebearing water begins to leak from the cracks and the foundations clench in a last ditch effort before bursting. Unnaturally thick gouts of cum rush up the length of Menkauhor’s cock, coaxed, milked out by the lusty snake. She gives a coo of unadulterated bliss into his mouth as she feels it distend his dick and by extension, her over-stuffed, overstretched cunt.

The hot spurts of baby-making seed undergo one last monumental pressure as her pussy squeezes in climax, cervix acting as an impromptu cock-ring as it clenches around the head of his manhood. But even that isn’t enough and before long the pressure can’t overcome the tides of ball-churning semen. It courses out, dick-throbbing twitch after twitch and splashes heavily off the walls of her uterus. In hot rushing waves it inundates her fallopian tubes and when the pressure in her womb grows too great, it flows out her cervix and through her wringing, hungry passage before splashing out and staining her dark purple scales a sticky, messy white.

She breaks the kiss and takes gasping, shuddering breaths as the aftershocks of her quaking orgasm thunder through her. Even as she pants and then falls slack, even with her being far too insensate to begin to think, whatever drives her subconsciously does so without relent. His shaft isn’t allowed an instant of softness so long as it resides within her and the writhing coils don’t let up for a moment, carrying them both through the first orgasm and towards the next.

“Hah. Hah. Mmm,” She bites down on her bottom lip, clipping the end off of her moans and looks down at the man beneath her, his mouth agape, eyes gazing into hers through a clouded haze. She smiles and grabs his face in her hands affectionately before leaning down to plant a chaste kiss upon his lips, even as her hips begin to rock back and forth once more.

“Fufu… See you in a year, darling. I hope you aren’t too surprised.”


*	*	*

Menkauhor opens his eyes slowly, feeling hung over despite the lack of pain. His throughs exit in a hazy, mucky mire for him to dredge his mind out of. He takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his face, feeling a thick beard that he didn’t remember having. He frowns in confusion and piece by piece sensory information trickles in. A dim chamber. Faintly flickering sconces with purple flames writhing about. A sweet smell reminiscent of grapes. A soft bed with sheets made out of the finest linen.

A feel both solid and smooth. He hears a rustling and an ocean of dark purple coils begins to move. “Good morning, dear.”

He rolls over onto his side and comes face to face with the soft, love-laden eyes of a purple snake. A gentle, motherly smile of content on is her lips. Some vague part of him insists that he’s seen this kind of smile on her before. Her upper body is half buried by linen sheets and he can see her long tail rising up above them in places and sinking beneath them in others, like a sea serpent in an ocean of linen. “Nitocris. Where are we?”

“Home,” She giggles softly, “Where else?”

“My punishment?’

“It’s over now.”

He breathes a sigh of relief, “So? What happened in this past year?” She grins widely and takes his hand in hers. She guides it to her chest and then slowly guides it lower. His eyes widen as his fingers dance down her smooth perfect skin towards the large bump on her belly.

“Lots.”