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Slivers are not meant to live alone. She was an apex predator; food was not a difficulty, rarely did any beast think it wise to challenge her, rarer still did a human think that so. No, she didn't live a challenged life physically, but mentally. Solitude is a unique form of hell to a sliver, the oppressive silence, the constant feeling of blindness, of feeling tiny in a massive world. For the first few months, she had attempted to simply adapt,; that hadn't worked, and thus the search for new avenues arose. Beasts were not the same, nothing she could hope to establish a Bond with, and so she turned to sapient beings for companionship.

Most were, of course, utterly terrified of her and fled on sight. Beyond the physical appearance of a sliver -- a massive serpentine creature with a head that's too armored for a sword to hope to pierce, and scything limb that's almost as big as you.Slivers were not unknown among much of the populace. A single sliver was a herald to more; and more meant you were going to be driven out of house and home soon by the encroaching horde. Some had tried though, and in them Skistsk was able to find some level of comfort. It was never the same to share the mind of something that wasn't designed to, and most of those who weren't driven away by her appearance or reputation didn't keep around her for long, but it was enough to keep her from losing her mind and becoming little more than a feral beast.

Alas, not even these relationships could last. Humans had so many material concerns and couldn't mentally afford to be the anchor for a sliver's sanity, and so she had to discard them too, to move on, to find others who could share in her mental burden. For a few years she repeated the process of finding the scant people who she might Bond with, of becoming one with them, of extracting herself from their minds and of their lives. Her actions didn't go unnoticed; after some time, she became something of an urban legend: the hiveless sliver seeking companions. After some time, important people began to notice too, government officials looking into the matter and seeing how much truth there was to it. Then, if it was of particular concern to the state -- or if this creature could be of use. A bounty was placed on her head, a very healthy sum of money to any person or community who gave information that led to the capture of this lone sliver, with the warning to under no circumstances attempt to capture her alone.

Reports came back immediately from various towns. Many of them were complete fabrications, people attempting to gather the bounty without any evidence, but occasionally held weight, and a small group was dispatched to apprehend Skistsk once they figured out roughly where she was. Traps were strewn on the outskirts of the village, simple snares and alarms that would slow her down if tripped, letting the team catch up to her. This was something new to the sliver; she hadn't been hunted in so long, had someone actually attempting to fight her. While she was able to recognize that something was wrong when these new people started showing up in the town, and especially once they started asking questions about her -- she wasn't fluent in the common tongue, but by now had picked up enough to understand when people were talking about her -- she decided it was time to make herself scarce.

Her scales changed pigments, texture, helping her to blend into her surroundings as she went along, but the traps were nearly invisible. Nets dropped down to ensnare the sliver, alarm bells rang. While the nets didn't last long, dodged or cut away by her scythe, they lasted long enough for the team to move in to her position. Hunting dogs were released to harry her, to buy more time for the slower men to catch up. One of the dogs went down quite quickly, taking her scythe head-on and dropping to the ground with a pair of wet thumps, but the rest were agile enough to avoid her swipes. A dart, two, three, hit the sliver, injected their contents. Her fighting slowed, swings became more laggard, and eventually she went entirely still, unconscious.

It's dark. Cold. A single lamp lights the room, mostly shuttered, but she can at least feel some of her surroundings. She's on her back, lying on some stone surface; five leather bands loop around her tails, belly, chest, neck, and end of her head, keeping her from having much in the way of motion. A cursory shake reveals the same of her scythe; not only is that chained to whatever surface she's lying on, but a makeshift sheathe covers most of the blade. She might be able to hurt someone with it through raw force -- at least, were she not chained up -- but cutting was entirely out of the question. She clicks several times, getting a view of the room through sound, while her body squirms about to test just how strong these bindings are. Too strong for her in this position. It's not a very big room, hardly more than a cell for someone her size, and the extent of the furniture is some kind of table she's lying on, a desk for that lamp, and a chair near that desk -- with a man sitting in it.

He grabs the lamp once he hears her noises, removes the shutters, starts making his way over to look her over. "Looks like you're finally awake, huh?" Whether or not she could understand what he was saying didn't seem to matter much to him. "Bosses say you're for... some kind of program. Didn't ask many questions. Not my problem." He sets the lamp down near her with a clunk, then both of his hands on her body, feeling along her hide. "Can't say I'm usually into... uh, snake things. But it's been a while, and they didn't tell me I couldn't." Skistsk's squirms against her bonds only grow as he feels her up, his intentions awfully clear by now. His hands leave her for a few moments, only for one to return shortly after, exploring down her midsection, belly, down towards her tail -- and stopping once it encounters her slit. "There we are. Wondering where the hell you kept this." He shuffles forward, up on top of her with most of his body pressing against hers, dips a couple of fingers inside of her to spread her open, then guides his dick on in with his other hand.

It'd been a while for her. While certainly not her first time, having laid with other slivers before the destruction of their hive, she'd gone the vast majority of her time alone without any sexual partners. While few were willing to share their minds with her, fewer still were interested in fucking her, and she rarely interested in them. Still, despite her lack of recent experience, the utter lack of any sort of foreplay, and the awkward positioning, she's big enough that he has an easy enough time working his way on in and getting to a slow, leisurely pace. Her scythe jerks upwards, rattling the chains binding it to the stone, and many aggressive clicks escape her throat, but she's helpless. "Ooh. Feisty one. I'm real scared, y'know." Lazy thrusts accompany his words, "Scared of the stupid animal that can't even tell it's been bound up." He reaches up, swats against her faceplate with one hand, immediately recoils with an “Arck!" after realizing how much slapping a surface that hard can hurt.

The sliver's struggles only eventually cease as exhaustion sets in. She's still going through his fucking -- even as he finishes, spurts his seed inside of her, leaves his mark within her. "Not as good as a normal girl, but good enough. Wish you didn't squirm so damn much, but maybe you'll tire out eventually, eh?" The sliver's anger at being in this environment, at having this done to her, eventually burns her energy into exhaustion as she throws herself against her bindings, eventually weaning her consciousness away into uncomfortable, barely restful sleep.

By the time she awakens once more, she's in yet another new room -- no, a new building entirely. This is clearly a barn, or stables of some sort, she's enough experience with humans before to know the differences between some of their buildings. She's alone in her stall here, but the smell of musty hay is in the air, and of humans nearby. Mumbling from beyond the partitions, too quiet and far away to hear.

After some minutes, the gate to the stall finally opens, and a few men step through. "Ah, there she is," one of them begins, making his way up towards her. He jumps back a little bit once she jerks out towards him, but once he's clear her bindings hold, leans down over her, inspecting. "Yes, a fine enough specimen. So rare to see these out away from their hives -- you say she's apparently been out here for years?" Spoken to one of the other men, much less officially dressed. "Something like that. Rumors, you know how it is. My boys brought her in last night. You got a price?"

The first man grasps at her scything arm, tries to lift it, utterly fails as she brings it back down to the table. After some grumbles, an awkward period of silence follows as he measures various areas of her body -- until he finally stops, offers up one last confirmatory nod. "Let's discuss price elsewhere. She's good to start while we talk." With that, the two men and their entourage depart. She's not left alone for much longer though; a pair of men lead a horse into her stall after a few minutes, closing and latching the door behind them.

"She's smaller than I expected. You sure this'll go well?" One of them hooks the horse's reins up, moves to one side of her chest. The other follows suit, taking some various tools off of the wall and passing a few over to his partner. "Should go well enough. I sure as hell don't want to do this manually. C'mon, let's get her set up." Skistsk's head follows between the two of them, and once they start to touch around her scythe and chest she gets much more active, squirming against their touch. The first one speaks up again, "Woah, calm down a bit, just helping you out here. Don't want Alphus over there to crush you," a nod to the horse. His words go right over her head, but with teamwork the two of them are able to put a few bars down over her chest, a couple of platforms for hooves to rest on under her. "There ya go. Ready as she'll ever be. Lead him over, will ya?"

The other handler grabs the horse's reins, leads him to the sliver, while the first fishes out a little jar, opens it up and starts to smear the contents on the sliver's tail, down near her slit. "No way he'd be doing this normally." A smear of it near the horse's nostrils too, a snort and whinny from the beast. "Alright. Go get 'er boy. Don't break her, alright? She's expensive." There's a few steps from the horse, not getting much closer to the apex predator before him; then, as his body breathes in the scent of whatever was smeared on his snout, on the sliver's crotch, his dick hardens up quite a bit, the horse gets much bolder. His snout moves downwards, snorts about at Skistsk's groin -- and then, a second later, he surges forward, mounting the sliver and settling down onto the breeding stand they set up for her. His dick flops downwards onto her belly, smearing it with fluids while the sliver tries to twist herself away, angle herself so the equine couldn't get any purchase. One of them holds her more still, not that her bindings were able to give her much room anyways, while the other handler grabs the horse's dick and guides it towards her pussy.

The flared tip kisses her lips, and with another forward surge, she's filled with an unbearable amount of dick. Her body juts upwards, jerking and thrashing, while the handlers grab at the horse's sides, slowing him down. "Woah, slow up boy! She ain't big enough, give her less." For Skistsk, it's impossible to tell whether they're actually helping or not; she's filled with pain and discomfort, spread further than she was ever meant to and violated deeper than she's ever had someone inside of her. The horse pulls his haunches back, adjusts, then bucks forwards once more, barely any slower. The searing pain doesn't leave the sliver, but the handlers seem pleased enough, pulling off a little bit and letting the beast do its work.

Unlike her last partner who was slow, leisurely, barely seeming to have a care in the world while he raped her, the horse is relentless. His hips bore into her, his dick's certainly not able to fit all the way in her but he's still cramming as much of it in as he can, her body gives out well before it did last time. She's flat against the table, scythe pressed to her side while she angles her head away from the horse, keeping its dripping slobber out of her eyes. The pain never leaves, but exhaustion creeps in with it to make her unable to try and fight any more. Her only real solace here is the stand set up by the handlers earlier; at least she doesn't have to worry about the horse crushing her chest and suffocating her.

How fast Alphus goes at her also proves to be a bit of a relief; while it certainly makes things more painful and stretches the sliver out beyond her limits, it does mean he's finished fast enough. Equine cum pours into the sliver, fills up her womb and leaves her stomach distended; the horse doesn't keep on top of her for much longer, pulling himself off and free of her slit with a wet pop as the flare breaks free, another spurt of cum or two splashing over her belly and chest, painting her green scales white. The sliver's forced to look downwards, look at herself covered in his sperm and at what oozes -- no, pours -- out of her slit onto the table and ground below, while the horse moves a few more steps back and softens up.

"Fuckin' hell, that stuff's always stronger than I expect it to be. She look good to you Frank?" "Well, she certainly looks bred. You clean her up, I'll get Alphus back to his stall. Sound good?" With a silent nod, he walks off with the horse, leaving only the first handler and her in their little pen; he grabs some towels, starts to wipe down any of the sliver's particularly cum-covered spots. "God damn he did a number on you. Look at all this mess." She's unconscious well-before he's done with the cleaning.

The next week at the site are relatively uneventful for the sliver; she's moved into yet another new containment cell, this one a bit more permanent-looking than the others, with a little for food, almost enough space to do minor exercise, and some attempt by her captors at bedding. For the most part, she's left to her own devices, with food dropped off daily, the occasional check-up from inspectors, a rotating shift of guards that look more bored than attentive of whatever she's up to. Skistsk is simultaneously left alone and under constant watch, isolated but surrounded. Still, at least she's not pulled out of the cell, not forcibly bred by another beast of burden. The soreness from the horse takes some time to fade.

During this week, she's able to feel – and the inspectors are eventually able to notice – the swelling of her belly, the feeling of an egg or two inside of her growing. There's a good amount of dwelling on her own thoughts in this time; is this the work of her first guard, who raped her the night she was brought here? The horse that filled her up until she passed out? Some other, unknown suitor who took advantage of her while she was unaware and unconscious? There's no way for her to know, no way to check, no way to get surety; hell, she probably wouldn't even know after the egg hatched who the father was.

The lingering thoughts don't last forever. One night, after most of the site's staff has gone to bed, the sliver wakes up, the feeling within her growing to a peak, to its fullest. Even if it were the first time she had laid, she'd know by instinct alone what this meant. Slithering over to one corner of her cell, she braces her back up against the wall, punches her scythe into the ground to steady herself. Her cloacal lips part, her walls flex, push on the objects within. Of the pains that Skistsk has felt in the past week orso, that of laying is one of the least noticeable. One egg makes its way down her belly, to her slit, starts to push out – and with a wet pop, a convulsion in her walls, out onto the softness of the floor, caught with her tail from rolling any farther away from her. There's a huff from the serpent, a few chittering clicks, and another egg follows the first, then a third. Mottled white, almost identical to one another – but they're hers. The sliver relaxes her body, pulls over some of the bedding within the cell, and drapes herself as cozily over her eggs as she can. She's not happy, but this is the closest she's been. Sleep comes easily.

She's awakened by the sound of keys rattling, the door to her cell being unlocked. Multiple humans are crowded around the room, watching her from the other side of the clearwalls, while a single man, wearing more padding than a lot of the other staff, bearing a bag, makes his way into the room, obviously trying to be quiet. Once he's about halfway in, the sliver rouses, moves off of the eggs and puts herself in-between them and the man, pushing herself up on her scythe to look bigger, more intimidating, more in the way. The man instantly freezes, mutters out a “Shit," the guards outside and through the doors tense up and place the fingers on their tranquilizer guns.

“Easy girl… Boys in the coats just need to have a look at those eggs, okay?" His hands are up by now, bag hanging loosely around one elbow and showing that he's unarmed. He takes a step forward; the sliver's body tenses on itself, she pushes her heads forwards towards them, the spike at the end of it armed right at his stomach. A low, threatening chitter escapes her throat. The man takes a step back. “They just want to have a look at them. Take some measurements, and you can have them right ba-"

She doesn't give him time to finish his second sentence, lunging forwards, scythe swinging downwards while aiming to impale him on the faceplate. He's able to lunge mostly out of the way, getting clipped on the hand by the scythe as it comes down but at least not dying. Not sustaining more injury than two fingers and a bleeding wound. “Fuck, shoot her!" The guards outside fire, two darks stick into the sliver's chest, others deflecting off of the top of her armored skull. She lunges again while he's trying for the door, knocking him down to the floor, keeping her plated head in-between her and the guards outside. They keep firing, but none of the other darts are able to land. The man sent to gather her eggs is alone with the sliver, the help outside unable to do more than watch – less they risk trying to pull her off of him.

“Please no…" He's sputtering now, looking up at the beast atop of him. “J-just doing my job, I don't want to d- AH!" Her scythe slams down next to his head, slicing some hairs off. It drags downwards, meets his shoulder, the blade of it pressing in against his shirt, jamming into the padding. “No no no no. Don't hurt me, please!" A sawing motion, slowing over time, until she cuts through the shirt, finally biting into his skin. Blood is drawn. Wordless except for sobbing, there's little the man can do but watch as she gradually slows, stops entirely – and collapses on top of him, almost crushing him with her weight.

He, the men outside, and the eggs are gone by the time Skistsk wakes up.