FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

Milo drummed his fingers upon his knee, frowning as his stomach let out another tormented groan. With a frustrated sigh, he glanced at his phone to check the time. His mood sinking further when he noticed it was nearly ten past six.

"Damned girl on the phone said it'd be twenty minutes," he groused under his breath as he reached over and plucked the pamphlet off the nearby end table and glanced at its face.

There, emblazoned on the top two-thirds of the first page in a splash of colors and graffiti-like imagery in the background, an image of two snake tails coiling around a box of pizza and slipping their way inside to plunder its bounty. Below the image, more graffiti lettering spelled out the parlor's name and slogan:

Twin Tails Pizzeria

Slither On In and Have a Ssssssssssssslice!

A cute slogan, sure. Albeit incredibly corny and not at all helping his mood or hunger.

Frankly, right about now, Milo was starting to wish he'd gone with Sami's Super Speedy Special and sacrificed quality for immediate relief. Oh, what a terrible time to be a brat for pizza quality.

Maybe his girlfriend, Lana, was right to call him a food snob.

Which he'd have to hear just as soon as she came over to his apartment after her shift at the Page Turners Book Emporeum ended.

Milo flipped the pamphlet over to look at the back, where several young men and women, all around his age, all rather cute, admittedly, grinned or winked up at the viewer. And all of them to a one seemed to be wearing some sort of pseudo lamia tail costumes--all different patterns and colors, of course, and all convincing enough he couldn't even see a hint of human legs!

That or they just had a really good graphics designer do up the image. More likely. Sure, with the whole merging of the monster and human realms, he'd seen some creatures that were different, in varying meanings of the world. But lamias running a pizza parlor? Lamias in general?

Yeah. Right.

And that troupe of playful faux lamias all pointed up to a joke written in cheerfully pink graffiti letters above their heads:

You'd best tip your delivery lamia well, or elssssssssse~

Or else?

Milo snorted, rolling his eyes. Call him unreasonable, blame his own lack of attentiveness once he'd turned on a game and fired up a streaming session on Flinch, but if his pizza didn't arrive within the next ten minutes, his "delivery lamia" would be lucky to see any tip at all.

As if they'd been listening to his very thoughts, three sharp knocks rapped out against his door.

Rising with a grunt, Milo tossed the pamphlet back onto the end table and retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. Another round of knocking drew a sigh and frustrated grumbling, "Yeah, you have a right to be impatient right now." Aloud, he called, "I'm coming! Hold on!"

His sock-covered steps carried him into the foyer, where his shoes were lined against the near wall in neat, orderly fashion for all occasions. Milo unlocked the deadbolt and lock, and pulled the door open to greet the delivery person with a flat look. "Lord, man what took ... so ... l-long?"

Milo's eyes went wide as dinner plates, his mouth only just catching up with the sights his brain was struggling to actually process.

The delivery boy looked like he'd emerged straight out of that pamphlet, in fact, he was one of them. He wore a button-down green shirt with the logo stamped on his left breast, and jean shorts hugged his hips tight enough to make any eye wander to glimpse that little bit of his hips and pelvis shown like a subtle tease. His skin was a deep tan belying plenty of time spent out in the sun, his hair dyed an alternating pattern of pinks, greens, and blues beneath the red hat reading "TTP" across its face and coiled in tails. His eyes were a piercing amber with slitted pupils, and a pair of fangs actually poked from beneath his upper lip, his face settled into what could only be described as the sort of patient neutrality one adopts when dealing with customers.

But none of that tripped up the logical functions of Milo's thought processes up quite like his appearance from torso down.

Just below his hips, right where the delivery boy's thighs should have begun met with hip and buttock, a snake's body flowed forth as if he'd been cut and pasted over. Coils as wide as the trunk of a young redwood pin, and his scales a light, dusty mocha with a pattern of diamonds with pink outer border atop a bit of purple, filled with deep, royal blue spilled across the floor, flooding the cool cement flooring of the third floor landing and draping almost lazily over the railing. The tip, Milo saw, flitted back and forth.

Almost like a cat. A cat whose amusement had gradually given way to annoyance.

"Er ... uh ..." he stammered, gawking. "W-wha? You're a--you're actually--"

"Sorry I ran a little late, dude," the lamia drawled as he hefted the clunkily padded hot cast in one hand and pushed his cap back with the other. "Got harassed by a bunch of parents on the slither over. You know how it is."

"Uh." Milo blinked. "I don't?"

The lamia shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, ya do, c'mon, dude." With his free hand, he began to make mock yapping motions. "Yada yada, usual garbage about being a degenerate thug. Bunch of Spacebook post type stuff about betting I'm out on bail and working for drug money because I dye a little. And top it with some hooligan crap. That stuff."

"A-Ah. I see. Well." No one's gonna comment on the lamia delivering friggin' pizza? Really?

But then, the delivery boy grinned and showed the length of his fangs. "One tried to make a comment about my tail, buuuuut a lil' glimpse of these babies was all it took to make her go from lioness to kitten in about a second. It's eighteen-fifty for the pie, by the way," he added, casually reaching for the card reader hanging on his hip and presenting it for payment. The agent name "Marcel" read clearly across the top of the screen.

Oh, good. I'm not insane. Thank god.

Sometimes, just that confirmation was enough.

Milo started, and nearly fumbled his wallet. "R-Right. Er." He fished out his debit card with one hand and accepted the reader in the other. Eager to end this interaction quickly and escape the awkwardness, he swiped it through the reader and then glanced at the Tip field, his thoughts grinding to a halt.

Sidetracked for an argument. Not exactly this "Marcel's" fault, but ... still, engaging when you had a delivery just wasn't okay. Besides, on second glance, the lamia looked to be a couple years younger. Still in school, he'd wager, maybe eighteen.

Yeah, eighteen. You had to be to run delivery, monster or not. So, early college job.

He could take a slightly lesser tip to learn a little lesson. And it's not like he'd need it for rent at any rate.

So, with the tip set and the full charge now a nice round twenty dollars, Milo signed his name with a clumsy scrawl of finger across the line which popped up at the bottom and thumbed the green "OK" button. The reader let out an approving chime, signaling the transaction's completion completion.

Satisfied, Milo returned the lamia's card reader, his hand remaining held out to accept his pizza. But Marcel the lamia delayed, instead taking a moment to actually glance at the total.

That patiently bored look evaporated in an instant, his brow arching. Over his shoulder, Milo noticed his tail ceased its lazy swaying.

Marcel looked up to meet his gaze, his expression now one of focus and disbelief. "A buck-fifty?" he asked with a laugh. "After I slithered three and a half miles to get here? Really?"

Milo actually recoiled. Delivery boys didn't typically stop and argue. "W-Well, the girl on the phone said it'd be twenty minutes!"

"I'm, like, what? Five late? Six?"

Was the tip of his tail drifting closer?

Yes. Yes it was. Now, it neared Marcel's left shoulder, its lazy flicking now gone and replaced by a still, stiff end like a lance pointed straight between Milo's eyes. "Dude," Marcel said, jerking his attention back to the lamia's face, those slitted eyes glinted. "I slithered over here and got harassed, and still made good time. That time shit's a guesstimate anyways!"

Delivery boys really weren't supposed to argue like this.

And Milo wasn't going to take it much longer. Not from a freaking delivery boy, lamia or not.

He took a step forward, glaring down at Marcel and struck a finger in his face. "Listen here! I don't know what your culture is, kid! But here? You don't argue a over a goddamn tip with the customer!" His temper, stoked by hours upon hours spent gaming and over the top yelling at glitches, other players, and the random happenstances of games and chatters, flared.

Milo wasn't the one who ran late with the damn food.

The human stuck his wallet into his back pocket and held out his now freed hand. The implied command quite clear.

But Marcel didn't make a move to follow it. Instead, his brow arched higher, a vulpine smirk began to tug at his lips, and those slitted amber eyes seemed to gleam with hunger.

It almost seemed like those coils, those nigh endless coils were pooling into the doorway, filling the space like twenty-odd feet of pure muscular danger. All the while, though, Marcel never yelled or shouted.

"You sure that's the play?" the lamia drawled, rising not to match Milo's height, but to loom over him. The girth of his coils nearly choking the very sunlight from that small opening. "You really sure?"

Milo set his jaw. "Just give me the damn pizza, already, kid."

Laughing, Marcel grinned down at him. "You didn't bother reading the pamphlet and thinking it through, did you?"

"Yeah, yeah, I saw the stupid joke." Rolling his eyes, Milo waggled his fingers at the lamia. "Look, just gimme the damn pizza and I won't talk to your manager. I just want my food."

"Stupid joke, right. And that's funny, 'cuz, you see ..." Marcel's expression was one of wicked delight. "I was just thinking the same thing."

The lamia's body surged forward in a blur of scales. Milo was driven back into his apartment, the door slammed and locked with a few deft flicks of the tail. Bonds of thick coils and muscles as strong as steel looped around his body from his shoulders to his toes before he could blink, and held him fast. Milo opened his mouth to scream for help.

Just the opportunity Marcel had been waiting for to flex those mighty muscles and turn that cry into a choked rattle as his breath was squeezed from his lungs. The edges of his vision went black and fuzzy.

Marcel gave a low, throaty purr. "Mmm. I love a man who lets me just steal his breath away." Fixing Milo with a heated gaze, he shifted his coils, the section around Milo's knees nearly crushing his calves as the lamia moved them deeper into the apartment. With the tip, he hooked the strap of the miraculously intact pizza carrier and maneuvered it over to rest upon the bar counter looking into the kitchen.

Milo felt his lungs burning. His body squeezed to the point of breaking beneath his captor's might. "W-Wait! I ... I--hurk!" Desperate, he tried to suck in a breath, but felt he couldn't get enough.

The lamia ran his long, muscular serpentine tongue along his lips. Marcel cupped his cheek with one hand, the other tickled Milo beneath his chin, forcing him to look up. In a husky voice, he crooned, "'Bout time for another exhale. Give me another rattle, babe."

With the slightest flexing of coils, a concert of muscles which began at Milo's hips and rippled forth through Marcel's serpentine body up to the human's shoulders forced that breath he'd fought for from his lungs. And more.

He could feel his heartbeat hammering in his ears, in his finger tips. Milo tried to fidget free, his efforts only sent pain shooting forth from his shoulder, and another sputtering gasp.

Another flexing.

A fire now burning in his lungs.

The lamia then leaned in until they were nose to nose, purring once more as he slid his hands up Milo's shoulders, around his neck, and interlaced them together. Marcel sighed. "Gotta say, you're not really much of a streamer, babe. But ..." He turned his head just slightly, his lips drawing near.

Milo felt cold, smooth scales slip into his shirt. A shiver ran down his spine as it slithered down his back and teased along his waistline. But rather than explore deeper, it emerged from his shirt and plunged into his back pocket.

He felt it wrap around his wallet, tightening and beginning to slip it free.

"H-Hey! He--yeaaack!" His protests died with another tightening of coils, another breath stolen from his lungs.

Giggling, Marcel slipped his tail free and waggled Milo's wallet before his eyes. "Don't worry 'bout this, babe. I'm gonna take care of it for a bit." He shifted, angling Milo so he could see the playful turn of his hip, the curving of his ass. That loop of tail and wallet slid into the lamia's left back pocket.

The lamia released his embrace with one hand and patted his backside. "There we go. Now." He squeezed himself, timing it with another flexing of coils. He heaved a fond sigh, his lashes fluttering. "Mmm, where was I? Oh, yeah."

His eyes danced. Marcel playfully brushed his nose against Milo's as he slipped his left hand back in place and interlaced it with his right. "You're not much of a streamer, babe, but I always thought you were damn cute. So this part? Well ..."

He closed the distance, pressing their lips together in a heated kiss, humming his delight through his nose.

Instinctively, Milo tensed and tried to pull back, but those mighty coils and tight embrace around his neck held him in place. He felt the forked tips of Marcel's tongue tease his lips, the cool touch of scales returning as the lamia's tail slithered around his neck and tightened with a jerk.

Marcel parted the kiss for a bare moment. "It's just as much--" he kissed his captive again. "--for me--" and again, his hands unlocking and slid back down his shoulders, down the coils encasing his body "--as it is--" another kiss, deeper, lingering longer. Milo felt the lamia slip his hands between the coils around his belly and hips, into his pants to cup Milo's ass. The happy little hum he gave spurred a shiver. "--functional."

Those coils around his stomach tightened with an effort to exhale. Again, Milo's mouth gaped open like a fish desperate for water.

All the chance Marcel needed to slip the full length of his tongue into Milo's mouth, moaning and letting his eyes flutter shut as he gave his captive's ass a squeeze. His tongue, he maneuvered about with expert ease, exploring every nook and cranny, entangling Milo's into an unwilling dance.

The familiar tang of citrus danced upon his tongue. Milo's entire mouth felt as though pins and needles and soda bubbles danced upon the pink within, like he'd just shotgunned a can of orange soda. He felt the lamia's hands kneading his backside, squeezing tight enough to make him go crosseyed and exhale.

Marcel moaned into his mouth in the same breath he tightened his coils.

At last, Marcel broke the kiss. His hot breath ghosting over Milo's face. "Mmmm, was it good for you?" he crooned, then slathered his tongue around the captive human's face. He shimmied his hips in delight, the motion rippling through his coils. "Oh, you taste great, hot stuff! Gonna enjoy every second of you!"

"W-Wait a minute!" Milo protested. The room began to spin, the tingling spread through his veins, through his body like wildfire, and bled into everything. His muscles.

The back of his mind.

He blinked owlishly and tried to shake it free. "Muh guhfruh--huh?" Milo tried to work his tongue a bit. It felt like rubber. "Wah ... muh guhfruh--my girlfriend is guh ... gonna ... Gonna buh hum suh--be home soon."

Marcel pecked his lips. "My venom's pretty cool, ain't it babe?" Stealing another rough squeeze, he patted Milo on the ass. "Wondering why I didn't bite you? Well, I could, if I wanted to give you a pretty sweet hicky, but I wanted to make this one a bit more ... hmmhmm, personal." He opened his mouth wide, wider than any human ever could, and let his tongue loll out to show a glimpse of an odd growth on the underside. "We all got our own special little things, us lamias. One of mine is an extra venom sack under my tongue. As for the effects, well, you're experiencing them now. Weakening muscles." Another kiss, this coupled with a nip to his bottom lip. "Little tougher to hold onto your thoughts. Can you tell me how much that pizza was, babe?"

Milo tried to remember. The number was ... it started with an eight? Didn't it? It definitely had an eight and a five.

Maybe?

"E-Eighty-five ... tenty?" he slurred.

The lamia's laughter rippled through his coils, the sudden motions an alteration of tightening and releasing which came so quickly they left Milo sputtering and drooling on his scales. "That's adorable! And that face!" He felt those hands release his ass and slide out of his pants, they cupped his cheeks gently. Marcel nuzzled his nose. "I love when my prey gives me that look. So lost, so confused. And it's gonna feel amazing once you're inside me."

Inside him?

Something in the back of his mind nagged at him, trying to draw his attention to that phrase. Inside him--did he mean--no, Milo wasn't into guys. But something about it.

Inside him. Inside a lamia.

Finally, it clicked again, and the situation, for a brief instant, was clear once more.

His struggles renewed, the pain shooting from his shoulders to his fingertips, his hips burning as though they'd been set alight as he tried to force some section of mighty coils to release him. But with each second's struggle, each effort he managed to force against the lamia's embrace, Milo could feel his muscles tiring. The next twitch or strain weaker than the last.

"Ohhhh, and there it is!" Marcel leaned in and kissed him again. "It's gonna be so. Much. Better in a minute. I'm gonna savor all the energy you expend with those struggles, physical and--" he shifted up to kiss Milo's forehead "--and in here."

"Wuh--wait! No! Stop! I'm sorry! I'm sorry I--" what had he done? The memory slipped, his words failing before they could pass his lips. Milo tried to lean away, but those hands held him tight. "I ... I?"

Grinning like a lover tempting him to bed, the lamia began to rise up, up until his head nearly touched the ceiling, his coils raising Milo until his eyes were level with Marcel's chest, those hands now stroking and entwining with his hair. Those human hips rolling in slow, upward thrusting circles as he gave in to ravenous ecstasy.

Marcel licked his lips and purred, "Babe, just shut up and get inside me!" With a lustful cry, his mouth yawned open, his jaw unhinging as his hands suddenly gripped Milo by his arms. The lamia descended upon the entrapped human, his maw engulfing Milo up to his shoulders in one big bite.

The coils around Milo's chest loosened, just enough that the lamia could work his lips down his arms, over his chest. Milo screamed, his cries for help muffled by walls of pink, moist flesh and teeth pulling him toward that waiting throat, already winking open and closed, those muscles contractions eager to guide him toward his destination.

Marcel's tongue slathered his face, his lips, slipping into his mouth. With every inch deeper he was pulled, it went lower, lapping at his tongue and slithering into the collar of his shirt to tickle and tease his belly until Milo writhed with mirth despite his predicament.

Around him, Marcel moaned to his taste. The lamia's eyelids fluttered as he lifted his prey bodily from his coils and held him aloft in his mouth. And with his right hand, he touched his fingertips against Milo's bared midriff to steady him against those feebly kicking legs, each effort growing weaker. His left began a slow, sensuous stroking from thigh to belly.

Down, down into the lamia's throat Milo slid. That warm, wet embrace tightening until muscular innards smushed his cheeks like a vice grip.

His grew heavy, his muscles burning. Every effort to kick or elbow against this monster's innards delivered now with less force until he felt weak as a kitten.

As Marcel's lips wrapped around the human's ankles, he gave those wriggling little feet a tickle. He moaned, feeling his prey writhing inside him, and swallowed one last time, his lips sealing shut. His breaths came short, hot, and heavy, his hands now both kneading and stroking the sizable bulge in his human belly as it began to sink toward his waist.

Toward that tight jean skirt wrapped around the lamia's generous hips and ass.

He grunted, his face contorting in a brief flicker of pain. His hands shifted to the waistline of his makeshift jean skirt. "Oooooh! Babe, you better not stretch out the elastic on this!" With fumbling fingers, he managed to unbutton and unzip his skirt and let the waistline fall open as Milo squeezed through his hips-- those narrow, tight hips.

He could hear Milo's pained moaning through his flesh, now through the muscles and scales, he could feel the tortured human's weak, pathetic wriggling for some hope of relief.

Marcel took a deep breath, and sighed, his shoulders sagging and tongue lolling free a moment. "Hoo!" he said, huffing a breath. "Fuck me, that was close, eh, babe?" He reached down and patted the bulge just beneath his human hips affectionately, smiling at the way Milo's struggles looked. "Mmm, tighter and tighter now. And now--" his hands trailed up to his groin and slid along his bared midriff. "--ohhhhh, this is the good part! The other part of my venom's about to kick in."

From deep within his coils, a voice floated through muscle and scale, "--ovver parr? Muh vuh heww?"

"Little hard to talk with me squeezing you so tight, eh?" Chuckling, Marcel let his eyelids lower until he fixed that bulge with a smoldering gaze. "My muscles massaging every. Delicious. Inch of that body. Almost makes ya feel a little hot, don't it?" He slipped a hand into his skirt and began to caress his shaft, a twitch sent shivers down his spine. "Mmm, it does me. But this part, oh, babe, you are gonna get me off so good." The lamia thought a moment, then laughed. "Who am I kidding? You're gonna be part of me soon enough--you're gonna get us off, babe!"

Milo cursed and struggled, his efforts now little more than a mere wriggling of fingers and toes. "Vuh heww ... 'oo do a me?"

"Not so much what I did to you as what my body is doing to you. Mmm, my venom saps every bit of your energy, makes it hard to move or struggle, even makes it hard to use the energy to think. But coupled with the enzymes my body's currently massaging into your skin?" The tips of his fingers teased his balls, Marcel leaned down until he could press himself against the bulge and purr, "The first thing I get to digest is all that energy, hot stuff. And each time you try to fight me or hold onto a thought, my body saps it right out of yours, and I get it all along with a nice, hot burn beneath my skin and scales--it's like sex to me!"

He felt Milo freeze. Then, a rush of pleasure as the human tried to think.

Marcel moaned and bucked his hips! "Ohhh, you can try to figure out a way to fight it! But even your thoughts feed it, babe! We've got, hmm, about fourteen feet before you hit my stomach. Figure about ... three hours before we--hmmhmm--come together. Three hours of foreplay's good for you, yeah?"

The lamia pressed an ear against his coils, waiting for a reply.

All that came was a piteous whimper, and then, "P-Pleave. 'm s-suhrry!"

He sighed fondly and slid his hand from his pants. "Oh, I bet, babe. But I'm sure not. Now." He patted Milo and rose again, looping his tail into the pizza carrier and sliding out the box. "It'd be a shame to let good pizza go to waste, even after that sweet appetizer you gave me. So, I see a nice couch and a killer TV setup ..."

"Vuh! 'On't 'oo 'are!"

"Sorry, babe, food doesn't get a say!"

The lamia slithered his way over to the couch, eying it a moment. He grinned and slithered onto it, the supports groaning even before the full length of his coils and human body pooled together. A weight it was never meant to carry.

With a creak and sudden snap, the legs bowed inward and broke the couch sagging as Marcel propped the bulge Milo made in him against the armrest and then lay his head upon it. He gave it an affectionate pat, then set the pizza box on a neat little loop of coils and retrieved the remote from his tail. Marcel flicked the TV on and flipped through the channels. Once satisfied that he'd found something that looked mildly entertaining, he cranked the volume up to max and tossed the remote aside in favor of a slice of pepperoni.

"All right!" he cheered over the sounds of gunfire and cursing. He slipped his free hand into his skirt and began to stroke his cock. "Nice little appetizer, a good meal and wank with a movie, and three hours together. Feel free to join in if you want, babe. Ain't gonna begrudge a man his last rub off if he's feeling frisky." A wicked smirk tugged at his lips as he opened his mouth and swallowed that slice whole. "If you can muster the energy."

A whimper sounded in his ears like sweet music. "Pleave!" his prey begged again. "Dun 'oo 'is! Muh guhfruh--Wana've guhnnuh ve ..." Milo trailed off, struggling to focus--his energy sent a shiver through Marcel's body, and a throbbing through his cock. "Comin' home ..."

Marcel patted that bulge again. "Hey, good to know! Don't you worry 'bout a thing, babe!" He took another slice of pizza, grinning. "I'm not into as many girls as guys, but I'm always down for dessert!" He could feel the pressure building with his arousal, his strokes now slow and purposeful. A steady effort to build to that sweet release.

He turned over his shoulder and ran a slow, sensuous lick along the beautiful bulge Milo made in his scales. "I'll be sure to get off while I digest her. In your memory, babe. Might even need to borrow a few of your socks."