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The papers that came with your new Assistant:

_ _

Name: The summation of all known things can be articulated by the atoms in a single grain of sand; and yet, you- AKA Sand

The largest of our stock, this tegu Assistant is a perfect all-in-one housekeeper and bodyguard. With a preternatural sense of its surroundings, Sand knows each nook and cranny of your home the moment it steps in. It knows the state of the larder when a single cookie goes missing, so no cheating on the diet with Sand around! But for when you need a cheat day, Sand's uncanny bookkeeping means you'll always be able to afford that extra case of wine or the hottest new tech, though we recommend the latter: this lizard wizard knows the ins and outs of every device on the market, so feel free to skip the warranty on your next gadget.

It's vigilant, it's alert, and its reflexes make it a perfect personal guard, as well. Sand is trained in mantis kung fu, jiujitsu, and krav maga to keep you safe in any situation. But don't worry! It has a soft side, too: Any time we let it near a lawn, within an hour the horticultural paparazzi are hounding our doorsteps.

Like all Assistants, this ravishing reptile is a regular Romeo. It's well trained in the erotic arts and aided by a tongue as long - and thick - as its arm. It's not the only appendage with extensive abilities, but it's the one you're likely to become the most acquainted with because if you ever need a hammock instead of your bed, Sand's a ravenous fella who will happily wrap you up and tuck you in for the night. Don't worry! Its insides are comfortable, easily escaped, and totally noncorrosive*.

We know you'll enjoy your new Assistant, which is why we will never accept a refund. Have fun, you two~

*See liability waiver, page 10

_ _

A stats sheet follows:

_ _

Species: Salvator marianae (tegu)

Appearance: Albino skin (dappled grey), lavender (c289ff) eyes

Metrics: 3'10", unknowable weight

Build: power lifter

Default sex: null

Provided attire:

_ 1) Slate gray, three-piece, two-button suit with a royal purple tie_

_ 2) Ochre loincloth with matching, leather armbands_

_ 3) Low cut blue jeans, flower print shirt, lei of fresh orchids_

Specialties: IT, martial arts, horticulture

Aptitudes: augmented awareness; information synthesis; oral engulfment

Personality: aloof, clinical, reserved, reproving.

Instincts: Analyze. Know the numbers. Keep quiet. Spock lite.

_ _

It's your first day with your new Assistant and really, your first day with any Assistant. Sand has been dressed for the occasion in its "casual" outfit of blue jeans and a teal-yellow-pink flower print shirt, which is open to put its broad musculature on display, and low-riding, loose blue jeans. It's safe to assume this is the outfit Sand's leasing agent thought best fit its interest in gardening, but as a perceptive individual, you recommend quickly that Sand pick the outfit most suited to its liking. It nods its head in gratitude. Moments later, it reappears from behind a tall suitcase it came with, wearing a wrapping of pale leather on its forearms, biceps, and calves and a matching loincloth cut to proudly display well-defined thighs. It bows with one arm across its chest, then fixes its eyes - solid black except for luminous, laser-like lilac points that are impossible to ignore - on you.

"May I adjust your outfit?" Before you realize you were about to nod, it has begun plucking stray threads, brushing off an eyelash, and moving your top by fractions of an inch so that it hangs more comfortably and neatly on your torso. "Thank you."

Its voice is soft, but deeply resonant and has a quality not unlike a cinema-grade speaker such that individual overtones fill the space and are perfectly clear despite being so quiet and low-pitched. It's not quite synthetic, but not quite something you associate with organic life - a common idiosyncrasy of Assistants.

You welcome it into your...

1.1 ... modest home.

1.2 ... little apartment.

1.3 ... manor.

--

1.1

It pauses only briefly on entry to let its eyes survey the space. The movements of its head aren't quite organic and there's a sense that it has, in moments, memorized the layout not only of everything visible, but even of furniture and rooms currently out of sight. It murmurs, seemingly to itself, but pitched so that you can clearly hear, "Plenty of kitchen space to make proper meals." You can't tell if there's a hint of passive aggressive judgment in the tone, or if Sand is simply letting you know what its next move will be.

Either way, it sets off first to the kitchen. "May I prepare you tea?" Sand asks. It turns its head over its shoulder to ask and lets its muscular tail brush aside the loincloth barely covering its hips. The posture shows you an impeccable ass and an upper back that moves deep grooves about as muscle shifts and slides beneath smooth, pearly, pale gray scales. You're nodding before you make the decision to. Every request it makes matches perfectly with thoughts you were barely aware of, such that even though Sand is asking your permission, it feels as though it's simply carrying out a command you already gave, like a limb moving when you want something without the necessity of your conscious awareness. There's a floating sensation as a part of you drifts into your kitchen, acquires a tea bag and kettle, sets the stove going, and prepares a simple but elegant platter of crackers and cookies. It climbs up onto the counter - the motion so natural that it can't be questioned - and opens a cabinet before simply turning to meet your eyes. Then, without a word, it intuits your preference of honey, cream, sugar, lemon, and even a berry garnish.

Even if you're not usually a tea-drinker, the sublime confidence is unassailable. Sand makes you tea, you find your favorite seat in your living room to sit to drink it, and meanwhile the little, muscular Assistant moves about your house, silently cleaning, arranging, and assessing. You listen to it go from room to room. From the bedroom, soft rustling sounds of clothing being picked up, folded, and put away into drawers and closets drift to your ears. From the garage, you hear sounds of clunking and metal on metal as half-forgotten projects that found their way out there get catalogued in the Assistant's adroit brain and cleaned up. From the bathrooms, running water can be heard as rags and paper towels gradually make everything spick and span. Again, there's a sense that these are all things you've wanted to do and that you're finally taking care of, even though it's Sand doing the work.

Once you've finished your tea and have gotten a bit more of a hold on your own sense of agency, you call Sand over to you. The brochure mentioned a few specialties beyond general domestic servitude, so...

2.1 "What sorts of martial arts can you do?"

2.2 "What was that about horticulture in your paperwork?"

2.3 "When it says you're an IT specialist..."

--

1.2

It pauses only briefly on entry to let its eyes survey the space. The movements of its head aren't quite organic and there's a sense that it has, in moments, memorized the layout not only of everything visible, but even furniture and rooms currently out of sight. It murmurs, seemingly to itself, but pitched so that you can clearly hear, "Small kitchen, but enough to make proper meals." You can't tell if there's a hint of passive aggressive judgment in the tone, or if Sand is simply letting you know what its next move will be.

Either way, it sets off first to the kitchen. "May I prepare you tea?" Sand asks. It turns its head over its shoulder to ask and lets its muscular tail brush aside the loincloth barely covering its hips. The posture shows you an impeccable ass and an upper back that moves deep grooves about as muscle shifts and slides beneath smooth, pearly, grey scales. You're nodding before you make the decision to. Every request it makes matches perfectly with thoughts you were barely aware of, such that even though Sand is asking your permission, it feels as though it's simply carrying out a command you already gave, like a limb moving when you want something without the necessity of your conscious awareness. There's a floating sensation as a part of you drifts into your kitchen, acquires a tea bag and sauce pan, sets the stove going, and turns a few slices of bread into a cheap, but elegant and tidy toast. It climbs up onto the counter - the motion so natural that it can't be questioned - and opens a cabinet before simply turning to meet your eyes. Then, without a word, it intuits your preference of honey, cream, sugar, lemon, and even produces a garnish from your last grocery run.

Even if you're not usually a tea-drinker, the sublime confidence is unassailable. Sand makes you tea, you drink it while standing by your counter, and meanwhile the little, muscular Assistant moves about your house, silently cleaning, arranging, and assessing. In the small space, it's easy to watch it and it's easy to tell it knows it's being watched. Takeout bags and containers vanish without a fuss, scattered laundry and mail find their way into neat stacks, and the soft clinking of cookware and other dishes provides the only sound while you sit and watch its broad, graceful body work.

Once you're done and have gotten a bit more of a hold on your own sense of agency, you call Sand over to you. The brochure mentioned a few specialties beyond general domestic servitude, so...

2.1 "What sorts of martial arts can you do?"

2.2 "What was that about horticulture in your paperwork?"

2.3 "When it says you're an IT specialist..."

--

1.3

It pauses only briefly on entry to let its eyes survey the space. The movements of its head aren't quite organic and there's a sense that it has, in moments, memorized the layout not only of everything visible, but even furniture, rooms, and auxiliary buildings currently out of sight. It murmurs, seemingly to itself, but pitched so that you can clearly hear, "More than enough kitchen space to make proper meals." You can't tell if there's a hint of passive aggressive judgment in the tone, or if Sand is simply letting you know what its next move will be.

Either way, it sets off first to the main kitchen without asking directions or pausing. "May I prepare you tea?" Sand asks. It turns its head over its shoulder to ask and lets its muscular tail brush aside the loincloth barely covering its hips. The posture shows you an impeccable ass and an upper back that moves deep grooves about as muscle shifts and slides beneath smooth, pearly grey scales. You're nodding before you make the decision to. Every request it makes matches perfectly with thoughts you were barely aware of, such that even though Sand is asking your permission, it feels as though it's simply carrying out a command you already gave, like a limb moving when you want something without the necessity of your conscious awareness. There's a floating sensation as a part of you drifts into your kitchen, acquires tea from a mason jar - your favorite, despite the ample selection - and a kettle, sets the stove going, and prepares a decadent platter of crackers, sweets, and berries. It does all this by walking along the countertops - the motion so natural that it can't be questioned - and opens a cabinet before simply turning to meet your eyes. Then, without a word, it intuits your preference of honey, cream, sugar, lemon, fruit, and a splash of liquor to your liking.

Even if you're not usually a tea-drinker, the sublime confidence is unassailable. Sand makes you tea, you find your favorite sitting room to sit to drink it, and meanwhile the little, muscular Assistant moves about your expansive home, silently cleaning, arranging, and assessing. You hear the soft chimes as it activates smart home components without once asking for a password, wake word, or list of smart appliances. It adjusts the lighting subtly and you realize the new brightness is better. Its route from room to room is such that you keep catching different angles of its body. It spends most of its time in this room with you, and though the whole place just had a maid service, little changes in the arrangements of books, standing picture frames, and sundry ornaments makes the place feel neater and more comfortable for the eyes.

Once you've finished your tea and have gotten a bit more of a hold on your own sense of agency, you call Sand over to you. The brochure mentioned a few specialties beyond general domestic servitude, so...

2.1 "What sorts of martial arts can you do?"

2.2 "What was that about horticulture in your paperwork?"

2.3 "When it says you're an IT specialist..."

--

2.1

Sand bows its head in acknowledgement and in its deep, resonant voice answers, "As the brochure details, I am skilled in mantis style kung fu, krav maga, and jiujitsu. May I give a demonstration?"

You nod excitedly and, as is becoming custom, it has moved to the most open area it can display itself before you finish the gesture. It bows to you respectfully, then adopts a stance still as a statue and tense. Vasculature throbs across its biceps and above its loins. The body is coiled steel. All at ones, it erupts in a flurry of attacks with its thumb and fingers pinched together as though disabling an invisible opponent with targeted, precise strikes. It slows to a glacier-like rotation - displaying its body in a three-quarter turn to you - before leaping again into kicks that fling its loincloth tantalizingly without ever exposing its groin. The motions flow gorgeously from one to the other, with aerial displays, rapid fire volleys of strikes, but eerily, no vocalizations.

From a flying kick, it falls onto its back, only to spring up and back into motion with an absolutely changed demeanor. Its reptilian form exudes a demonic air as it hunches and launches a brutal, violent series of attacks. Its limbs so well define where its opponent should be that you feel like you can see and hear bones breaking and vitals being punctured. Here, nothing is quiet. The blows and postures come with ugly, guttural noises intended to intimidate and shock an opponent. This is an art intended to kill and you're made unquestionably aware of that when, seemingly from nowhere, Sand produces your sharpest kitchen knife and repeats the sequence, now with a weapon.

It meets your eyes and hands you the knife hilt first, all the earlier violence simply vanished from its disposition. Once you take the weapon, it goes back to its place. "This is of course more clearly demonstrated with a partner," it explains before adopting a stance you might associate with MMA or wrestling. The motions it makes now are measured and you can easily envision it closing, grappling, and then patiently, inevitably pinning and locking another being into submission. It stands and repeats half a dozen more times, each one using different limbs, rolling different directions, spinning and lifting and falling as though throwing much larger bodies.

When it's finished, it stands before you with no sign of exertion. You can't help but remark, "You don't even look tired."

It answers the unasked question. "Assistants that are sold to the public have been vetted by our peers. From among hundreds, a single one might be chosen to present the skills of those that contributed to it."

There's a momentary silence. The explanation raises more questions than it answers. Where are all of these kept? Where do they come from? Does someone oversee the selection process? What does it mean for Assistants to contribute to one another?

Sand explains, "Each of us is unique, and uniquely represents a multitude." It yawns its jaws wide to display a pastel blue tongue that almost seems like it shouldn't fit in the tegu's mouth, then drags that tongue around its lips before sucking it back in. It meets your eyes with a gentle smile. "I am a collaboration."

Enamored by what you've seen, the need to have Sand in one of the ways it is most meant to be had becomes overwhelming.

"Come to bed," you say...

3.1 ... needing to get whatever's under that loincloth stuffed up your rear

3.2 ... needing that tongue all over your clit

3.3 ... needing to pound that muscular ass

3.4 ... needing to get spit-roasted by Sand and your partner

--

2.2

For the first time, it smiles. From the thus far expressionless creature, the smile beams out warmly despite the alien nature of its eyes. "I would be pleased to be permitted to attend to your plants. If I may be so bold, might I purchase some to complement what you have? At no charge to you - there's a druid nearby with whom I am familiar."

Somewhat taken aback, you find yourself nodding and - of course - Sand has already left. You take some time while it's gone to reread the liability waiver.

"Intelligent Design, Inc. (ID) is not responsible for any emotional, spiritual, or physical injury or death resulting from inappropriate or abusive treatment of the Assistant. Further, ID is not responsible for real or perceived damage to the properties of the undersigned." The contract goes into little detail except to specifically absolve the company of any liability if the house or home was turned into a garden. Nor were they responsible if the owner chose of their own free will to be consumed by the Assistant (and thus lost days of work or their life). Nor were they responsible for any federal investigations into military technology being developed at the owner's home. It ends with an admonition that you realize you should read the fine print more often and that Assistants cannot be fully known and thus cannot be predicted beyond an attitude of servitude. Also, a series of suggestive emojis.

Within an hour, Sand returns with a small wagon full of assorted foliage, some of which seems wildly unconventional for home gardening: a collection of water lilies, half a dozen species of orchids, and, reminding you acutely of the multiple references to the possibility Sand will eat you, carnivorous plants that cannot possibly have grown to those sizes in this climate.

It's easy to forget your disbelief, though, when Sand's engagement in its favorite pastime means an uninterrupted hour of its being on its knees, usual poise all but abandoned to happily swaying hips and tail, as it mixes soil and fertilizer, arranges its colorful additions to your previous flora, and decorates your home indoors and out with spots of vibrant color. When you ask, it provides encyclopedic knowledge of each plant as well as a fastidiously developed plan for maintaining them despite the climate. If you sit with it while it works, it lets its wail wrap casually over your hips. It clearly enjoys this.

Enamored by what you've seen, the need to have Sand in one of the ways it is most meant to be had becomes overwhelming.

"Come to bed," you say...

3.1 ... needing to get whatever's under that loincloth stuffed up your rear

3.2 ... needing that tongue all over your clit

3.3 ... needing to pound that muscular ass

3.4 ... needing to get spit-roasted by Sand and your partner

--

2.3

It smiles. The expression seems... devious, more than anything else. "I'm sure you read that I am described as 'Spock lite,'" it says in its resounding baritone. "May I use your phone for a demonstration?"

For once, you're a little reluctant, but eventually its seductive smile and obvious eagerness to perform for you becoming overwhelming. It accepts the device and goes to its suitcase to retrieve a few odds and ends, hiding its actions with its body. While it works, with clicks and zipper sounds and synthetic chimes filling the air, it makes sure never to hunch or otherwise inhibit your ability to view its magnificent body. Sand's physique is unparalleled. Despite its stature, you're certain it could easily defend you from any assailant, drag you from disaster - or carry you - or... do really anything it chose to in bed. Your mouth goes dry by degrees as your imagination runs away with the idea.

And then, without warning, a hologram depicting some of those very imaginings bursts out of your phone. You are certain that's impossible, but despite your certainty, a ghostly projection of your own nude body entwined with Sand's hovers in the air between the two of you. And the you in the image appears to be experiencing rapture.

"That's impossible," you insist. "This isn't 'being good at IT.' This is literally magic."

"A few lenses and a program to analyze your body and generate a 3D rendering," it responds modestly.

"Hollywood spends years on things like this."

"Assistants cannot be employed because we aren't people," Sand explains while the image of him drives the image of you to screaming orgasm with its enormous, sky-blue tongue. "We ourselves are commodities, but our works are not to be commoditized. Did you read the contract thoroughly? This is something we negotiated long ago."

The phrasing is bemusing. "What do you mean by 'we'?"

"Assistants. We ourselves are assets," it says clearly while meeting your eyes. "Our works are not for sale or distribution."

The hologram fades.

Enamored by what you've seen, the need to have Sand in one of the ways it is most meant to be had becomes overwhelming.

"Come to bed," you say...

3.1 ... needing to get whatever's under that loincloth stuffed up your rear

3.2 ... needing that tongue all over your clit

3.3 ... needing to pound that muscular ass

3.4 ... needing to get spit-roasted by Sand and your partner

--

3.1

Sand understands immediately. It probably understood what you needed before you did. It leads the way towards your bedroom and on the way, hooks a thumb under the loincloth to casually drop it to the ground and finally fully reveal its perfect, speckled grey, powerful rear end.

Your mouth goes dry as you see the sheer volume and density of muscle that's about to be used to reorganize your insides. Sand stands by your bed and waits for you to approach. Something in the air has changed. Your arousal stiffens faster than you're used to. The room brightens and narrows as heat suffuses your mind and Sand's black, depthless eyes penetrate yours. At the moment, its loins are completely null save for a thin, barely visible, horizontal slit, but you know Assistants are of malleable sex. You can see the flesh there moving as parts get rearranged.

With a fluid motion, one strong hand lifts under your thigh and the other thrusts at your torso to gracefully lift you over its head and onto the bed. It takes control of the situation without being asked. It clambers up atop you to straddle your hips and you become aware of how heavy Sand is and how dense its little body is. Its smooth, soft fingers spread up from the base of your spine to remove your top while at the same time stroking your own lines and curves with expert precision. Shivers run unbidden up and down your spine while the previously null tegu crotch begins providing a firm, rapidly swelling presence against your ass. Due to the height difference, it has to slide itself forward to finish removing your shirt and as it does, a breadth of fleshy, warm, already drooling cock that easily fills the groove of the middle of your back.

Once your top is gone and any undergarments removed, a wet, hot, slick tongue slides out against the back of your neck, then around to the front, and finishes wrapping your whole neck in the muscle. Impossibly, it stays there as the tegu Assistant slides itself partially back down your body to begin swiftly doing away with your lower garments as well. The moisture from its tongue spreads into your skin and your arousal is wrenched up another notch.

It puts its weight fully on your back, pressing you into your mattress, and skillfully balances there while using its hind paws to shimmy off your pants and underwear before laying its cock between your ass cheeks for a few agonizingly slow, teasing thrusts, each of which spills lubricating pre over you. At last, it relinquishes its tongue's hold on your neck. With confident movements of its knees, hips, and hands, it rolls your body over so you're looking up at it from your back. Sand's eyes never leave yours. Its robin's egg-blue tongue is as broad as its muzzle and overflows from its jaws to its navel, where it wraps a cock of the same color and similar girth to soak it in saliva.

To your brief disappointment, it retracts the tongue to say, "Relax. Assistants are self-cleaning and come with ointments to permit safe penetration despite our endowments." Even so, when it finally grips around your thighs to hike your hips up on its own, it first drapes that tongue over your groin and ass. The split ends of the prehensile muscle stiffen suddenly and push against, then into your pucker to spread warming, relaxing, slick fluids over you inside and out. The more of its saliva that soaks into your skin, the stronger your arousal roars to life. It senses your need. For only long enough for to admire its loins, Sand teases between your legs with a thick cock that has a ridged underbelly and fat, intimidating knot at its base, then pulls its powerful hips back, lines up, and slams its cock inside you.

It should hurt, even if you're experienced. The piece wouldn't break records, no, but it's thicker and longer than the average normal-sized person by far, and on the Assistant's small body, it's enormous. Each ridge of the underside is felt as it slips past your ring, but the sensation is far from painful. The stretch is blissful; the depth is filling and fulfilling; and the heat floods through your body in an instant. The tegu sets an expert rhythm. It watches you with rapt attention, clinging to every last noise and movement you make and adjusting to eke out more, and louder, and more frantic moans. The powerful little creature thrusts with calculated perfection and using its broad arms and shoulders, moves you about to better enable its lovemaking without a single sign of effort. Each noise of pleasure you make seems to alert it somehow, as though your bliss is a reward that makes Sand's alien expression soften and widen into an eager smile.

That smile soon produces its tongue again, which flattens along the front of your groin to explore you with the same casual expertise with which it continues pounding your rear end. You find yourself already on the edge of orgasm, and that prehensile muscle with its forked tip tantalizes your pleasure centers to once again amplify your arousal, until suddenly Sand uses the distraction to grip your hips harder and shove its knot past the ring of your ass and tie you to it. Its arms keep you in a vice grip as it thrusts quickly a few times, and as your own climax approaches, its eyes fixate on yours and, with a low, resonant noise somewhere between a subwoofer and a far-off earthquake, your new Assistant cums into you.

Each drawn-out stream of its jizz can be felt against the inside of your abdomen. It's a searing, glorious, unstoppable series of blasts that over the next few minutes, well after your own climax has subsided, at last leaves you feeling faintly bloated and flush with afterglow. Seeing you satisfied, Sand smiles broadly. "Shall I demonstrate another of my skills?" it asks in that coaxing, bronze baritone, and it lets its tongue drape out one more time to suggestively yawn open its jaws and show a gaping, dark, elastic gullet.

4.1 "Maybe another time."

4.2 "Swallow me."

--

3.2

Sand understands immediately. It probably understood what you needed before you did. It leads the way towards your bedroom and on the way, hooks a thumb under the loincloth to casually drop it to the ground and finally fully reveal its perfect, speckled grey, powerful rear end.

Your mouth goes dry as you see the sheer volume and density of muscle that could be used to reorganize your insides. Sand stands by your bed and waits for you to approach. Something in the air has changed. Your arousal heightens faster than you're used to. The room brightens and narrows as heat suffuses your mind and Sand's black, depthless eyes penetrate yours. At the moment, its loins are completely null save for a thin, barely visible, horizontal slit, but you know Assistants are of malleable sex. You can see the flesh there moving as parts get rearranged.

It presses its broad, flat muzzle to your belly. Even without removing your clothes, when its tongue extends to cup under your groin, the strength and heat of it are enough to start finding pleasure centers and exploiting them. That muscle is as broad as the tegu's head and you're not sure if the brochure said its length, but it coils around your left thigh and, along with the Assistant's right arm and a gentle push against your torso with its left, lifts and pushes you onto your back on your bed. Its smooth, soft fingers spread up from your waist to remove your top while at the same time stroking your own lines and curves with expert precision. Shivers run unbidden up and down your spine while Sand smoothly climbs up on the bed to finish removing your shirt. As it does, a breadth of fleshy, warm, already drooling cock that moments ago had been invisible gets dragged across your groin.

Once your top is gone and any undergarments removed, Sand rearranges you on the mattress so it can more easily access your crotch. Before even finishing undoing your pants, the tongue again slips under your waistband to hug the full breadth of your vulva, soaking the flesh and fur in hot, lubricating fluids. The broad muscle remains planted there and moving with faint, enticing rhythm while Sand finishes sliding your pants down. You realize after a moment that even when Sand has to back up and sit up to strip off your clothes, the tongue remains where it is, easily as long as the distance from its jaws to its groin.

The Assistant is an expert. Its robin's egg-blue tongue finally pulls away, but only so the forked end can flick out, snake like, to flutter along the grooves of your hips. Its breath pours out over your crotch while its pastel purple eyes in their bottomless black depths watch your own eyes with rapt attention. The ends of the tongue glide along on either side of your slit to tease the labia, again and again, while saliva drips off them. The more of its saliva that soaks into your skin, the stronger your arousal roars to life. It watches you with rapt attention, clinging to every last noise and movement you make and adjusting to eke out more, and louder, and needier moans. At last, the incredible girth of that tongue has had enough of the outside of you and slides, then pushes, then_thrusts_ inside you, firm and hot and enormous.

The stretch is blissful; the depth touches pleasure centers too long ignored; and the heat floods through your body in an instant. The tegu finds each bundle of nerves as though it had a map to your body. Different parts of the prehensile tongue stiffen to let it stroke you at new angles. The length of the muscle is impressive, certainly, but to feel that girth - impossibly broad, you realize with any flashes of rational thought left to you while Sand electrifies your senses - twist and thrust and coil within you, sends your arousal soaring. And it leaves nothing unattended. The powerful little creature thrusts with calculated perfection. The tongue thickens and stretches to be able to grind along your clit with each movement in and out, squeeze it with its gently firm upper lip, and worship you for minutes on end.

Each noise of pleasure you make seems to alert it somehow, as though your bliss is a reward that makes Sand's alien expression soften and widen into an eager smile. It knows your climax is near and responds accordingly. There's no amateur change in angle or weird pause or unbidden acceleration. It knows, as it holds you on edge, that it has found a rhythm and stroke particular to you and you alone and it repeats that as long as you need, perfectly, thrusting, twisting, with a synthetic moan of pleasure; unstoppably, with only the barest shifts in tempo to push you closer, closer, closer to climax, until the storm of pleasure building in your body bursts and you seize with orgasm like lightning strikes, radiating from your center to your fingers and toes and back again - and Sand doesn't stop. It grips your hips with strong hands and stuffs its muzzle deeper, insisting on compounding your pleasure again, again, again, endlessly...

Finally, untold minutes later, Sand relents. Its aftercare is precise and clinical as its fingers firmly massage an abdomen now sore from orgasm, inner thighs drenched in its saliva, and ass muscles now tight from blissful seizures. Seeing you satisfied, Sand smiles broadly. "Shall I demonstrate another of my skills?" it asks in that coaxing, bronze baritone, and it lets its tongue drape out one more time to suggestively yawn open its jaws and show a gaping, dark, elastic gullet.

4.1 "Maybe another time."

4.2 "Swallow me."

--

3.3

Sand understands immediately. It probably understood what you needed before you did. It leads the way towards your bedroom and on the way, hooks a thumb under the loincloth to casually drop it to the ground and finally fully reveal its perfect, speckled grey, powerful rear end.

Your mouth goes dry as you see that supple, luscious ass that's already yours on paper, and is about to be all yours by claim. Sand stands by your bed and waits for you to approach. Something in the air has changed. Your arousal stiffens faster than you're used to. The room brightens and narrows as heat suffuses your mind and Sand's black, depthless eyes penetrate yours. At the moment, its loins are completely null save for a thin, barely visible, horizontal slit, but you know Assistants are of malleable sex.

It presses its broad, flat muzzle to your belly. Even without removing your clothes, when its tongue extends to cup under your groin, the strength and heat of it are enough to set all your senses alight. It lifts and caresses your crotch with that muscle, which is as broad as its entire maw, and meets your eyes from below you. Its smooth, soft fingers spread up from under the hem of your shirt to remove it while at the same time stroking your own lines and curves with expert precision. Shivers run unbidden up and down your spine. Before even finishing undoing your pants, the tongue slips under your waistband to cup your cock and balls, rapidly soaking them in warming saliva and, if you weren't fully hard already, coaxing you to almost painful erection.

Once you've been thoroughly disrobed, it stands back up and awaits instruction. You place your hands under its thick arms and find that it's bizarrely easy to lift up onto the bed. As you follow it there to straddle its body, it laps the full length of your torso, groin to neck. The moisture from its tongue spreads into your skin and your arousal is wrenched up another notch. You feel your desire move from want to lust to inescapable need. Sand rolls itself over onto its belly to lift its trunk-like tail and expose a perfectly round, waiting pucker. It murmurs, "You will find the saliva I coated you with is a satisfying lubricant." You look down at your erection to see it still glistening with the Assistant's saliva.

Sand looks over its shoulder at you with an expression you can only read as plaintive. It's tempting to go slowly. You want to savor this. You slide your cock against the waiting, slick, muscular cheeks and grip the tail to your side, but with the aphrodisiac scents and fluids soaking into your body and mind, it becomes impossible. Sand shifts its hips subtly, having rapidly perceived how much work you want it to do and how much you want to do yourself. Almost without making the decision, you line yourself up and slip inside.

The Assistant's ass welcomes you like a silken red carpet. Its interior musculature feels like hot river stones and like a silicone sleeve. It provides squeezing resistance as you slide inches deeper, and inches deeper. No matter the length or girth you provide, the little servant adjusts to contain you. It provides quiet, rising moans and pushes its hips back against yours ardently, seeming to need this. Whether you jackhammer with all your might, shove long and hard like an oil rig, or smoothly slide in and out with exploratory thrusts, it feels each movement coming and meets it like a lover of decades, rather than seconds.

The stretching of its insides is blissful; the depth perfectly grips you; and the heat floods through your body in an instant. The tegu expertly finds your rhythm. It listens with rapt attention, clinging to every last noise and movement you make and adjusting to eke out more, and louder, and more frantic moans. The powerful little creature thrusts with calculated perfection using its entire physique to exhibit the exquisite new servant you own. Each time it arches its spine or rolls its hips to match your eager thrusts, beautiful musculature ripples beneath its pebbly scales. Each noise of pleasure you make seems to alert it somehow, as though your bliss is a reward that makes Sand's alien expression soften and widen into an eager smile.

You find yourself already on the edge of orgasm and again, Sand adjusts. With subtle changes in the flexing of its asscheeks and rhythmic, rolling motion of its body, it keeps you just barely on edge. Pleasure surges along the length of your shaft and through your body while the Assistant maintains your peak for as long as you want - seconds or minutes or hours. No matter how long, the moment you decide it's time to cum into this creature, it senses it and accelerates its movements again. It presses, squeezes, tugs, its insides gripping you the way none ever have as your own climax approaches. A low, resonant noise somewhere between a subwoofer and a far-off earthquake issues steadily, until pleasure erupts through your body.

The climax lasts longer than should even be possible. Each drawn-out blast can be felt streaming out of you into your Assistant. It's a searing, glorious, unstoppable series of blasts that over the next few minutes, well after you're dry, leaves you feeling absolutely drained and flush with afterglow. Sand's synthetic croon of pleasure fills the room the entire time as it bears your explosive climax. At last, after a few moments of letting you relax, it twists its torso to look up and back at you. Seeing you satisfied, Sand smiles broadly. "Shall I demonstrate another of my skills?" it asks in that coaxing, bronze baritone, and it lets its tongue drape out one more time to suggestively yawn open its jaws and show a gaping, dark, elastic gullet.

4.1 "Maybe another time."

4.2 "Swallow me."

--

3.4

Sand understands immediately. It probably understood what you needed before you did, especially given that your partner arrives as though on cue in response to a text you're certain you didn't send. The Assistant leads the way towards your bedroom and on the way, hooks a thumb under the loincloth to casually drop it to the ground and finally fully reveal its perfect, speckled grey, powerful rear end.

Your mouth goes dry as you see the sheer volume and density of muscle that's about to be bruise your muzzle. Sand stands by your bed and waits for the two of you to approach. Something in the air has changed. Your arousal heightens faster than you're used to. Your partner eyes you sideways and you can tell they feel it, too, especially given the obvious tent in their pants. The room brightens and narrows as heat suffuses your mind and Sand's black, depthless eyes penetrate yours. At the moment, its loins are completely null save for a thin, barely visible, horizontal slit, but you know Assistants are of malleable sex. You can see the flesh there moving as parts get rearranged.

With a fluid motion, one strong hand lifts under your thigh and the other thrusts at your torso to gracefully lift you over its head and onto the bed. It repeats the same with your partner and takes control of the situation without being asked. It clambers up atop you to straddle your hips and you become aware of how heavy Sand is and how dense its little body is. Its smooth, soft fingers spread up from the base of your spine to remove your top while at the same time stroking your own lines and curves with expert precision. It makes the movements a display both of its body and yours. Shivers run unbidden up and down your spine while the previously null tegu crotch begins providing a firm, rapidly swelling presence against your ass. Due to the height difference, it has to slide itself forward to finish removing your shirt and as it does, a breadth of fleshy, warm, already drooling cock that easily fills the groove of the middle of your back.

Once your top is gone and any undergarments removed, a wet, hot, slick tongue slides out against the back of your neck, then around to the front, and finishes wrapping your whole neck in the muscle. Impossibly, it stays there as the tegu Assistant slides off you to disrobe your partner in a similarly sensual fashion. The moisture from its tongue spreads into your skin and your arousal is wrenched up another notch.

As soon as everyone has been appropriately put back in their birthday suits, Sand rolls you to your back and kneels over your head. It still hasn't relinquished its tongue's hold on your neck, and still doesn't while it invites your ragingly erect partner to slick their cock with its copious saliva. Sand's eyes never leave yours. Its robin's egg-blue tongue is as broad as its muzzle and overflows from its jaws to its navel, where it wraps a cock of the same color and similar girth to soak it, as well.

To your brief disappointment, it retracts the tongue to say, "Relax. Assistants are self-cleaning and come with ointments to permit safe penetration despite our endowments." Even so, that cock is broader than your partner's by a fair margin and throbbing mightily next to your muzzle. It's too late to turn back, though - you feel your hips getting hiked up by your partner and your ass treated to the silicon-like lubrication Sand provided and that tongue pours out again to push its way into your muzzle, past your lips, to instantly fill your maw and press down your throat, coating it in a numbing, warming oil while watching you suck helplessly on the enormous muscle. The more of its saliva that soaks into your body and slides down your throat, the stronger your arousal roars to life. It senses your need. As your partner lines up to thrust into you, Sand gently but unstoppably opens your jaws, tilts its hips, and stuffs your mouth with its cock at the same moment you're penetrated from behind. Your body arches in shock and pleasure, and the two start thrusting.

The tegu's piece wouldn't break records, no, but it's thicker and longer than the average normal-sized person by far, and on the Assistant's small body, it's enormous. Each ridge of the underside drags over your lips and eventually, into your throat, but the sensation is far from painful. The stretch is blissful; the depth is filling and fulfilling; and the heat floods through your body in an instant. The precum is salty and tangy and slightly sweet. The tegu matches its rhythm to your partner's expertly, never needing the awkward readjustment or realignment of tempo a threesome like this often does. It watches you with rapt attention as it presses your shoulders into the bed and its heavy, potent nuts swing against your nose, clinging to every last noise and movement you make and adjusting to eke out more, and louder, and more frantic moans. The powerful little creature thrusts with calculated perfection and using its broad arms and shoulders, moves you about to better enable its lovemaking without a single sign of effort. Each noise of pleasure you and your partner make seems to alert it somehow, as though your bliss is a reward that makes Sand's alien expression soften and widen into an eager smile. You've never heard your partner moan like this before. Whatever chemical the Assistant is making has made the two of you ravenous, fiendish, insatiable for sex.

That smile soon produces its tongue again, which flattens along the front of your neck to explore you with the same casual expertise with which it continues pounding your rear throat. You find yourself already on the edge of orgasm, and that prehensile muscle with its forked tip tantalizes the dip of your throat, the slope of your collarbone, and each of your nipples in turn, until suddenly Sand uses the distraction to stretch your jaws wider and feed you its knot. Your partner's thrusts become frantic, making your body rock against Sand's hips to stroke its cock in turn. Its arms keep you in a vice grip as it thrusts quickly a few times. The familiar gasps of near climax fly from your partner's lips. As your own climax approaches, Sand's eyes fixate on your face and, with a low, resonant noise somewhere between a subwoofer and a far-off earthquake, your new Assistant cums into you at the precise moment as your partner.

Each drawn-out stream of their jizz can be felt against opposite ends of the inside of your abdomen. It's a searing, glorious, unstoppable series of blasts that your lover has never produced before. Over the next few minutes, well after both your own climaxes have subsided, Sand faintly but visibly bloats your belly with its seed. It leaves both of you flush with afterglow. Its fingers trail delicately over your neck and face and ears as it extracts its still dripping cock from your maw, to let a few splashes of cum decorate your face. Seeing the two of you satisfied, Sand smiles broadly. "Shall I demonstrate another of my skills?" it asks in that coaxing, bronze baritone, and it lets its tongue drape out one more time to suggestively yawn open its jaws and show a gaping, dark, elastic gullet.

4.1 "Maybe another time."

4.2 "Swallow me."

4.3 "Swallow him."

4.4 "Swallow us."

--

4.1

"As you wish." Sand extracts itself from your lovemaking with care and affection. It's as servile as a computer and as attentive as a hotel maitre d. While you rest, it acquires damp, warm towels for clean-up and lets you lie down, motionless in afterglow, while it tends to your body. It's like a pet and like a smart speaker. It's like a lover with no strings attached. It lifts your head up into its lap and sets its strong hands to massaging your shoulders, chest, neck, and scalp.

You find yourself murmuring its full name: "The summation of all known things can be articulated by the atoms in a single grain of sand; and yet, you-"

It hums with pleasure on hearing the name recited. "People surmise that the names of Assistants can be strung together to form a complete passage," it comments, "but so far, no one has been able to do it. There are pieces missing from the narration."

"Where do you come from?" you ask.

"I don't know," it answers, and there appears to be no more than that while Sand soothes your body towards a drifting, gentle sleep. You don't know how much time passes. You don't need to. There's someone else to take care of all of that, now, that will adore, serve, and protect you.

--

4.2

"As you wish." Sand extracts itself from your lovemaking with care and affection. It's as servile as a computer and as attentive as a hotel maitre d. It invites you into an upright kneeling position and stands in front of you. Its penetrating eyes gaze into yours. There's a sense of predation, here. Sand is not unaccustomed to taking other beings into itself, and it's unclear whether the Assistant always lets them go. One line in the contract you signed flickers through your mind - something about a release from liability in case of... was it consumption? Sand's jaws open, its pale blue maw stretches over your head, and the lights go out.

Its tongue spreads from your chin to your throat, then around your neck. Its jaws stretch easily and its elastic, reptilian flesh accommodates your head with ease. The tongue soaks your skin in that heavenly, warming, numbing fluid, but also grips through it like a chameleon's to tug you inward. It continues extending along your body longer, longer than could be possible. It hugs under your arms, and tugs. It wraps over your breast, and tugs. And still, it slides, coiling and coiling and claiming you, inch by unstoppable inch.

The throat that ripples with peristalsis around you is equally unyielding. It doesn't struggle with your head and doesn't struggle with your shoulders. Your size and proportions seem completely irrelevant to Sand's desire to engulf you. You give a test wriggle, just to try struggling. Every piece of its musculature tightens possessively: chest, throat, and tongue can all no longer be called off. Your voice sounds muffled to your ears. You realize you can't be heard from the outside world. Your head presses out of Sand's throat and into its torso, whether this is a stomach or some unknown, synthetic organ, and Sand continues to swallow.

The descent is unquestionably pleasurable, despite and possibly because of the uncertainty. Short teeth graze gently over your body as you're pulled in, from mid back to lumbar to groin and ass. The fluids soaking into your skin give everything a wondrous, sleepy, hazy quality. The Assistant's belly stretches comfortably and before you know it, you're fully inverted and your thighs - wrapped, of course, in that irresistible tongue - are soaked and sinking down, the backs of your knees get tickled by the forked tip and claimed, your calves are coated, and your feet... your feet get worshipped. The talented muscle slips between each toe and every contour of your soles, lavishing them all in attention, half tasting and half massage.

click

Sand's jaw's make a soft sound like a door that automatically locks. You're curled up fully inside it. The fluids go to work, sending you inevitably towards sleep. Breathing doesn't seem to be a priority, here. Powerful torso muscles press down around you, compressing you into a tight, but comfortable space. Sand's low voice comes out quietly, from all around you:

"Shall I set an alarm?"

You're not sure. Maybe you'll stay here a while. You don't know how much time passes. You don't need to. There's someone else to take care of all of that, now, that will adore, serve, and protect you.

--

4.3

"As you wish." Sand extracted itself from your throat with care and affection, but now you can see in its mien that there's a weight to your command you hadn't anticipated. It fixes its gem-tone gaze on your partner, who blinks rapidly a few times in confusion. Sand moves you aside. There's a sense of predation, here. Sand is not unaccustomed to taking other beings into itself, and it's unclear whether the Assistant always lets them go. One line in the contract you signed flickers through your mind - something about a release from liability in case of... was it consumption? The martial arts training mentioned in its description becomes instantly apparent when it snatches your partner's wrists, yanks them down on top of it, and wraps them in a tangle of limbs and tail. Sand's jaws open, its pale blue maw stretches over your partner's head, and despite the Assistant's small stature, it begins to engulf your partner.

Its tongue spreads from their chin to their throat, then around their neck. Its jaws stretch easily and its elastic, reptilian flesh accommodates the head with ease. The tongue grips them like a chameleon's to tug inward. You watch that tongue extend along your lover's body longer, longer than could be possible. The tongue gradually replaces Sand's hands and arms and by itself is capable of fully retraining your partner. And still, it slides, coiling and coiling and claiming them, inch by unstoppable inch.

The Assistant's throat bulges with its meal. It doesn't struggle as it stretches to contain shoulders, then chest, then torso. Size and proportions seem completely irrelevant to Sand's desire to obey you. There's wriggling and struggling - being gradually dampened by the spreading, soaking pleasure from the fluids that coat Sand's tongue - but every piece of its musculature tightens possessively: chest, throat, and tongue can all no longer be called off. Your lover's voice is muffled and you realize they could be fully hidden from the outside world. The shape of their head moves and slides within Sand's torso, whether there's a stomach there or some unknown, synthetic organ, and Sand continues to swallow.

The descent is unquestionably pleasurable, despite and possibly because of the uncertainty. Short teeth graze gently over their body while Sand uncoils itself to better enable swallowing. The Assistant's belly stretches easily and before you even realize it, over half of your partner - wrapped, of course, in that irresistible tongue - have vanished into its gullet. Their struggles slow and soften. The knees slide out of side, then calves, then feet wrapped like a cocoon in tongue flesh, and then there's a final gulp, and...

click

Sand's jaw's make a soft sound like a door that automatically locks. Its belly is massively swollen, but powerful torso muscles tighten down and compress the body within while some unknown mechanism begins to shrink it, gradually hiding the meal from view. Sand's low voice comes out quietly and it meets your eyes:

"Shall I set an alarm?"

It's several questions at once. You decide when anyone leaves Sand, you realize - and if. Either way, the Assistant obediently stands beside you, letting your hands roam its body and the shape of your diminishing lover while it makes a faint purring sound. This wonderful new tool... your imagination goes wild with what you could do with it.

--

4.4

"As you wish." Sand extracted itself from your throat with care and affection, but now you can see in its mien that there's a weight to your command you hadn't anticipated. It fixes its gem-tone gaze on your partner, who blinks rapidly a few times in confusion. Sand moves you aside. There's a sense of predation, here. Sand is not unaccustomed to taking other beings into itself, and it's unclear whether the Assistant always lets them go. One line in the contract you signed flickers through your mind - something about a release from liability in case of... was it consumption? The martial arts training mentioned in its description becomes instantly apparent when it snatches your partner's wrists, yanks them down on top of it, and wraps them in a tangle of limbs and tail. Sand's jaws open, its pale blue maw stretches over your partner's head, and despite the Assistant's small stature, it begins to engulf your partner.

Its tongue spreads from their chin to their throat, then around their neck. Its jaws stretch easily and its elastic, reptilian flesh accommodates the head with ease. The tongue grips them like a chameleon's to tug inward. You watch that tongue extend along your lover's body longer, longer than could be possible. The tongue gradually replaces Sand's hands and arms and by itself is capable of fully retraining your partner. And still, it slides, coiling and coiling and claiming them, inch by unstoppable inch.

The Assistant's throat bulges with its meal. It doesn't struggle as it stretches to contain shoulders, then chest, then torso. Size and proportions seem completely irrelevant to Sand's desire to obey you. There's wriggling and struggling - being gradually dampened by the spreading, soaking pleasure from the fluids that coat Sand's tongue - but every piece of its musculature tightens possessively: chest, throat, and tongue can all no longer be called off. Your lover's voice is muffled and you realize they could be fully hidden from the outside world. The shape of their head moves and slides within Sand's torso, whether there's a stomach there or some unknown, synthetic organ, and Sand continues to swallow.

The descent is unquestionably pleasurable, despite and possibly because of the uncertainty. Short teeth graze gently over their body while Sand uncoils itself to better enable swallowing. The Assistant's belly stretches easily and before you even realize it, over half of your partner - wrapped, of course, in that irresistible tongue - have vanished into its gullet. Their struggles slow and soften. The knees slide out of side, then calves, then feet wrapped like a cocoon in tongue flesh, and then there's a final gulp, and...

click

Sand's jaw's make a soft sound like a door that automatically locks. Its belly is massively swollen, but powerful torso muscles tighten down and compress the body within while some unknown mechanism begins to shrink it, gradually hiding the meal from view. Sand's penetrating gaze meets your eyes. Heart pounding, you remember that you're next.

It coaxes you into a kneeling position in front of it to best enable its second meal. Again, its jaws yawn open wide, showing you that deep drop into its gullet, and the lights go out as your head is engulfed. Your treatments is much the same as your partner's, but now you can experience it from within: the tongue still coils around your body inch by inevitable inch; the chemical relaxants still soak through your skin; the throat again has no issue with accepting your body. But from here, you can hear the sounds of the swallowing musculature and you can feel the small, but sharp teeth grazing your nape and chest and nipples and back. You can feel the flesh stretch around your form as you're claimed and gradually hidden.

Your head pushes out into the same cavity your partner occupied, and as Sand tugs your body inward with hands that squeeze and massage your body, you're able free your arms to curl up around the shape of your lover and entwine yourself with them whatever way you want. You wonder if the elastic properties of Sand's body are finite - at least, you wonder that when the soporific chemicals allow you brief flashes of clarity.

Before you know it, you're fully inverted and your thighs - wrapped, of course, in that irresistible tongue - are soaked and sinking down, the backs of your knees get tickled by the forked tip and claimed, your calves are coated, and your feet... your feet get worshipped. The talented muscle slips between each toe and every contour of your soles, lavishing them all in attention, half tasting and half massage.

click

That sound again. You're both curled up fully inside it. The fluids go to work, sending you inevitably towards sleep. Breathing doesn't seem to be a priority, here. Powerful torso muscles press down around you, compressing you into a tight, but comfortable space. Sand's low voice comes out quietly, from all around you:

"Shall I set an alarm?"

You're not sure. Maybe you'll stay here a while. You don't know how much time passes. You don't need to. There's someone else to take care of all of that, now, that will adore, serve, and protect you, and besides, there's company. Instead, you simply, dreamily consider whether this should be a permanent sleeping arrangement.