FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

He found them in the back alley of the strip mall, close to a nearby street, where graffiti stained a row of metal doors, and a neighborhood fence crumbled above the concrete.

“Hey!” Michael shouted, jogging over.

Summer leaned her back against the fence, watching the traffic. Daisy talked into her phone. Above, the sun was cresting down toward the horizon, already hidden beneath the urban sprawl. Trees and powerlines became silhouettes against a pinkening sky.

He slowed his jog to a fast walk, still slightly dizzy. “Hey, look, I. . . .”

Daisy glanced at him, said something into her phone, and hung up. Summer kept her gaze on the street.

Now that he had closed the distance, his mind was a blank. He hadn’t actually thought of anything to say, and a feeling of awkward tension crept between the three of them, forcing him to scratch his neck and stare at his shoes.

He remembered Kaylee, alone in the parking lot. Tears in her eyes.

Michael shook his head.

“Look,” he said. “I didn’t mean any of that. I’m sorry.”

Daisy glanced at Summer. A sea of brake lights tinged the edges of their fur. “Austin’s coming to pick us up.”

“. . . alright.”

There was a moment of silence. Summer said nothing. Out on the street, engines roared and throbbed.

“Mike,” Daisy said. “You know we don’t want to hurt you, right?”

He closed his eyes, sighing. “Yes, I—”

“It’s just how we are. You know? Instinct. Like, we have the pack, we have rank, licks and bites, whatever—right, I mean, YEEN’D is supposed to be what people want to see. We don’t mean it.”

He nodded, looking away.

“It’s the culture,” she said. “Every mom wants a little matriarch. And I . . . really don’t like that stuff. Being mean. Aggressive. A lot of my sisters are just awful to their mates, and—and I promised I wouldn’t be like that, because I like being nice, and doing cute things, even if I still have the instinct, and . . . and if I’m really hurting you, Mike, then I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“You’re fine, Daze. Really.”

Her ears swiveled like radar dishes. “It . . . sounded like you’ve been upset. For a while.”

He looked up at the setting sun, illuminated through rooftop HVACs and creeping power lines. Nausea curled through his belly.

“It is me,” Summer said, still leaning against the fence.

Michael glanced at her.

“It’s gotta be me. Right?” She waved a hand at the back of the strip mall. “That bitch saw it, the second she looked at me. You just threw it in my face. Fucking everyone knows it but me, I guess.”

“What?” Michael asked.

“Schoolgirl!” Summer wheeled out from the fence, voice rising above the traffic. “The little brat! The whiny bitch! Blowing bubblegum out my cunt! Only thing I’m good for is wearing skirts and giving pawjobs!” She threw up her hands. “Fuck me, man, you have a crush on one human, all the way back in high school, and no one lets you forget it!”

He kept his ground. “That’s . . . not what I meant.”

“You just threw it in my face.” She leaned above him, her face outlined by powerlines and traffic signs. “‘You sure are a fucking schoolgirl, Summer.’”.

He turned away, cringing. A dog barked in a neighboring yard.

“Oh, yeah,” Summer said, glaring down at him. “Right? I’m just trying too hard. Austin’s the one people actually trust, and look up to, and expect to lead the pack. All I can do is threaten to call her. If I try anything else, it’s just a joke. Just. . . .” She growled at the concrete floor. “God, I can’t do anything right.”

“Yeah,” Michael said, softly. “Same. All I do is fuck things up.”

Summer looked down at him. Daisy cocked her head.

“This isn’t where I wanted to be. Porn was only supposed to pay the rent.” He gave a small laugh. “I wanted to be an architect. Go to college. I mean, imagine, right? Being respected. Imagine doing something that mattered.” He blew a raspberry. “Yeah, well—porn’s all I do anymore, and now that I’m actually kinda famous, it’s all these studios and deadlines and contracts and producers and just the weirdest people you’ve ever met in your life, and it’s just. . . .” He opened his palms, didn’t find the words, and let them fall to his side. “You guys treat me a lot better than everyone else. Trust me—it’s not you. It’s just . . . everything.”

All the words came out of him at once. When they were done, he kept his gaze on the strip of sidewalk behind Summer, feeling as if he said too much. Traffic crawled in a sluggish sea of lights. Palm trees swayed in the breeze. Both hyenas stayed silent.

“Hey,” Michael said, looking up. “Thanks for coming today. I don’t think I said that.”

The two girls glanced between each other, ears beginning to cock.

“Guys, come on. I’m trying. Cut me a bone, here.”

“You’re welcome,” Daisy said, regaining a smile. She glanced over at Summer. “For the record, I’m not mad at you.”

There was a pause, filled with lights and traffic.

“Sure, Mike,” Summer said, making half eye contact. She now seemed more flustered than angry. “You’re our boyfriend. That’s how it works. Point a finger, and the pack responds.”

“I am not your boyfriend.”

“We didn’t ask your opinion, bitch.”

“Can I ask you to wear some deodorant?”

“Oh, okay—just for that, our next vid is gonna be scent marks and brat correction.”

Michael flipped her off, turning his attention to Daisy. “You still need that workout partner?”

Her ears immediately perked. “Always.”

“Cool. Let’s do it. Been meaning to for a while, but, hey—let’s actually try it, this time.”

“Hey! Yeah! Awesome!” She clapped her paws together, grinning with predator teeth. “Ohhhhhh, I know just what to start you on! Stretches and squats! Get that rump nice and pumped!”

Michael turned his attention back to Summer. “And you, you stupid bitch—those schoolgirl vids are doing numbers. Best metrics we got.”

Summer rolled her eyes. “I guess.”

“Better than Austin’s biker chick, actually. You’re kicking her ass.”

A smile began to worm through her muzzle.

Michael reached up, cupped her black-furred snout in both hands, and looked right in her eye. “You know what that means? People like that shit. They want it, and you got it.” He shook her face for emphasis. “As a matter of fact, I like that shit. You’re my favorite series to shoot, because the dialogue’s pretty fun, and I know you’ll treat me nice.” He hooked his thumbs under her chin. “There is nothing wrong with being the shy girl.”

“Yeah!” Daisy said, pumping her fist.

Summer lowered her chin, trying to shy away from his grip. He gently pulled her back to his gaze. When eye contact was made, he stood up on his toes and gave her snout a gentle peck on the lips.

“Thank you for being a schoolgirl, Summer.”

Her ears flattened. A whine escaped her throat. Like a flood of instinct, Summer lurched forward, licking him across the face. When he tried to shield himself, she came in harder, nearly bending him off his feet.

“Awww!” Daisy said, stepping in. “I declare a group hug!”

The buff hyena came in behind him, wrapping her arms around Summer and trapping him in a furry wall of breasts, all while the young hyena continued to aggressively lick his face, painting his cheeks and matting his hair. The strip mall disappeared. He couldn’t see anything but tufts of spotted fur, and he couldn’t feel anything other than two massive girls pressing him together, licking and whining and cackling.

He let it happen. As Daisy nuzzled her snout into his hair, and Summer dragged her tongue across his nose, he felt a gentle blush coming across his face, something that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

Eventually, a car honked its horn.

Down the alleyway, someone was driving towards them, the headlights cutting through the gloom and shadow. Austin’s old beater. He could just make out the curve of her ears behind the windshield.

“I call shotgun,” Daisy said, separating.

Summer pulled away, her paws moving to his shoulders. Their eyes met again. Michael got the feeling that, if her face wasn’t covered in fur, she would be blushing a cherry red.

“Hey,” he said, face covered in saliva. “Thank you. Really.”

She smiled, looked away, cleared her throat, and wiped something from her eye. “Yeah, anyway—uh—I think Vee’s gonna be back from her audition. We’ll get a board night going. New campaign. Wanna join?”

“Oh, no,” Michael said. “I’m staying.”

“. . . what?”

“Yeah. Sarika’s preparing another session. I wanna see where it goes.”

Summer continued to blink. He could feel something draining out of the air, right between them. “Mike? Really? I mean, what the fuck?”

“I told you—it’s my choice. I want to see it through.”

“She choked you out! God, she stares at you like a freeze-dried mouse!”

He shrugged.

Summer bent around him, prodding the small of his back with a paw. “Dude, you look fine. Is your back still hurting?”

“Not at all, actually. That’s kind of the point.”

“What? What point? If your back is fixed, why are you going back?”

He opened his mouth, couldn’t think of anything to say, and gazed off toward the street. Behind them, Austin leaned out the window and tapped her horn again. A dog barked in response.

“Look,” Michael said. “She’s a professional, right? It’s not like she’s going around eating people. Clients come to her with problems, and she fixes them. She wouldn’t have a business, otherwise.”

Summer folded her arms, glaring down at him.

“She fixed my back,” he continued, feeling the need to say something. “She gave me these visions. I really, actually saw something. Right on the edge, I could almost like. . . .” He opened his hands, as if ready to grab the air. “It was there. My soul, kundalini, whatever. There was a glimpse of it, right there, but you guys kept interrupting, and if I just went a little deeper. . . .”

Summer stood beneath the darkening sky, her fur illuminated in the harsh glow of Austin’s headlights.

“I’ll be fine,” Michael said. “I just . . . want to see it through.”

Summer sighed, unfolded her arms, and headed back to the car. Empty space remained. With a similar sigh, Michael fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lit the end, and took a deep pull. By the time Austin drove her car up to meet him, he was leaning against the stucco walls of the strip mall, blowing smoke into the sunset sky.

“Hey,” Austin said.

“Hey,” Michael replied.

The shaggy-haired hyena glanced at the two girls in her car, then back out to him.

“Gonna stay a little longer,” he said. “Maybe a few hours.”

Austin gave a slow nod.

He took another drag, tapping ash against the edge of an air conditioning vent. “Can I still get a ride, later?”

“Well,” Austin said, “we were gonna have a board night. You were invited. I’ll have to cut it short to get you.”

“Ah. Shit. Sorry.”

“No worries. I’d rather know you’re safe.”

“I can take the bus. . . .”

“And I could go into that gift shop and turn your fuckbuddy cobra into a pint of tequila, but I’m not going to do that, now, am I?” She flexed her paws on the steering wheel. “I’ll pick you up. Don’t worry about it.”

For a moment, they both watched each other.

“You gonna say something else?” Michael asked.

“Nope,” Austin replied.

“Is this one of those ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ things?”

“It’s whatever you think it is, dude.”

There was another silence, broken only by the hum of a beat-down engine. Michael found it increasingly difficult to meet her gaze.

“Tell you what,” Austin said. “When you’re done, we’ll all come back and hit an IHop or something. Late night bacon platter.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good. I can pay for myself, this time.”

She shifted the car into drive, jerking the lever. The engine clanked and struggled. “Call any time, Mike.”

“Thanks, dude.”

The car lurched forward. Michael bent over, trying to wave at Summer and Daisy through the window. Neither of them replied. Soon, the brake lights of Austin’s car crawled out of the alley, waited for a car to roll by, and flopped out into the street, gaining a sluggish speed as it disappeared into the traffic.

He was alone. The concrete alley stretched on either side of him, full of graffiti and bits of trash, growing cool in the dying light of day. Michael wiped the saliva from his face and took another drag.

He listened to the sound of roaring traffic, watched the headlights flash across a sagging wooden fence. In the distance, deep in the neighborhood beyond, a dog continued to bark. Somehow, the night was both loud and empty, at the same time.

Summer’s voice played in his mind.

If your back is fixed, why are you going back?

He sighed, took one final drag, and flicked his half-finished cig away, heading back inside.

---

Sarika was waiting for him.

She had returned to the high perch of her basking rock, far above the cliffs and sand of the terrarium below. All around the wire ceiling, the orange UV lights had been replaced with deep blue bulbs, as if day had slowly shifted to a moonlit night. Ferns whispered through the gloom.

“Mr. Man,” she called, beckoning a hand. “Approach.”

He walked across the warehouse. When he reached the edge of the basking rock, he realized that she had dangled her body off the edge of her perch, with a thick segment of her tail waiting for him at a bottom, like a rope waiting for its climber. She was such a massive creature that she still had length to spare.

“Cling to me, little mouse.”

Michael looked up at her face, tracked his gaze all the way down the length of her body, and gave her tail an awkward hug. It felt like wrestling a tree. Before he could worry about getting a better grip, the rest of her tail curled up between his legs, forming into the back seat of a chair. Muscles began to flex.

Slowly, with a gentle lurch, he was lifted up the rock. Waves of muscle flowed beneath him, contracting in rhythmic waves. Above, at the top of the cliff, her body began to pool upon itself, forming a layer of overlapping rings. Rivers of scales glimmered in the light.

Above it all, Sarika kept her torso raised, unmoved by the spooling of her body. She watched him with the stillness of an ambush predator.

Michael resisted the urge to wave hello.

Eventually, she pulled him to the top of the basking rock, where her body had fully collected into an obstacle course of coils and scales, all beneath the blue halo of a warming light. He let go of her tail and crawled toward the head. It felt like an ant journeying across the rings of a garden hose.

“Join me,” she said, patting a section of herself.

He flopped down next to her torso. Coils flexed beneath him. Just as he was about to gaze up at her face, he began to smell a familiar, smoky scent.

“Is that . . . weed?”

She displayed a burning joint, locked between her fingers. “It is ganja.”

“Yeah. Weed.”

“It is a traditional medicine of my people.”

“Dude, same.”

She looked down at him, the smoke from her joint curling into a vivid blue.

“Uh,” Michael said. “What I meant to say is—can I have some?”

“Of course.”

She passed the joint. He took a deep drag, passing it back. Smoke began to fill the air around the terrarium, drifting in lazy clouds, and Michael quickly discovered that her “ganja” was hitting him like a truck. Slowly, he relaxed into the bed of scales beneath him, his muscles losing their aches, his thoughts growing fuzzy and scattered.

Of all the things he expected to do today, smoking weed with a giant snake lady was not one of them.

He stared up at the UV lights, feeling a gentle warmth radiate across his limbs. Above, Sarika pinched the joint and lowered her torso across the bed of her own body. When she breathed smoke through her fangs, he caught a glimpse of leathery-skinned breasts. An olive-scaled belly.

For a moment, they laid beneath the lights, watching the smoke dissolve into a smooth haze.

“So,” Michael said. “You wanna fuck now?”

A growling hiss travelled down her body, like a vibrating mattress. “A bold question.”

“You’re the one that offered.”

“Perhaps I misspoke.”

“Lady, you ate my cum an hour ago.”

She twisted her entire torso to look at him, flexing the coiled lengths below. Their eyes lingered. Smoke drifted away.

“Mr. Man, I must say—I knew you would return to me.”

He raised an eyebrow. Slowly, with an awareness that only weed could bring, he realized that he could feel her heartbeat traveling through her coils, pounding through one segment and flowing into the next. For a moment, he thought she had a dozen hearts, all beating at once.

“You crave the release,” Sarika said, staring into his eyes. “The loss of control. The kiss of oblivion.” She trailed a hand across her chest, dipping through the valley of her breasts. “It is quite pleasurable to submit, is it not? To stop fighting against the current, and let the river carry you away, wherever it wills?”

Michael licked his lips, blinking. “Not really. That’s not what I—no. I came here for the treatment. I had to.”

“I can feel you lying to me.”

Beneath him, coils began to writhe, squeezing and flexing. He was adrift in an ocean of scales, blue light on black waves.

“I can sense the heat of your face,” Sarika said, drawing closer. “I can taste the quiver of your heart. You are not nervous. You are excited.”

His heart was pounding. His throat was dry. In front of him, the cobra swayed from side to side, flexing her hood, dipping through the smoke, moving like a creature in a dream.

He had made a mistake.

“What do you want, Mr. Man?”

Michael tried to lean an elbow on one of her coils, hoping to gain some balance. Instead, the coil flexed away, leaving him falling into the river of scales below.

“Why have you chosen your path?” Sarika asked. “Why do you seek the pleasures of flesh?”

“The—the bills! I need money!”

“Another lie.”

He was lying on his back, sagging into her depths, feeling like there was no end to her body. Above, Sarika loomed in a haze of smoke and light.

“You want something more,” she said. “You are suffering because of your want. Ignorance, deprivation, endless cycle. This is the nature of samsara.”

“I didn’t ask for a fucking lecture, lady.”

She lunged forward, quick as a whip. In the blink of an eye, there were hands on his wrists, breasts on his chest, and a triangular mouth on his neck, sucking at his sweat. The lower half of her torso pressed between his legs. It was heavy and wet.

He had definitely made a mistake.

“Be honest with me,” Sarika said, breath in his ear. “Let us share something deeper.”

Michael stared up at the wire ceiling, passed the UV lights and the warehouse ceiling beyond. His mind struggled beneath a haze of ganja.

“What do you want, Mr. Man?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

There was a growling hiss. Her tongue darted across his throat, settling on the rapid pulse of his artery.

“God,” Michael said, shivering, “okay, look, I came back because I want you to fuck me up. Bite me. Choke me out. Turn me into a toy.” He exposed more of his neck. “I want to go all the way.”

The hiss grew stronger. Below, the sea of coils began to writhe upon itself, like dozens of swarming eels.

“Why?” Sarika asked.

“W-why?”

“Yes. Why?”

Michael twisted his arms, trying to break free, but Sarika pushed them down between her coils, burying his hands beneath slithering walls of muscle. She was impossibly heavy. Smooth and warm.

There was nothing but her, in every direction. Above and below.

She had become the world.

“Answer me,” Sarika said, hissing.

“I don’t know! Okay? It’s what I do! It’s all I do anymore!”

“Why did you choose pornography, Mr. Man?”

He breathed, staring at the ceiling. Her torso writhed against his groin, wet and hot, smothering his erection.

“Perhaps,” Sarika said, “you seek companionship. Perhaps, in a world of uncertainty, you desire the safety of a firm, guiding hand. More likely, the sex is a crutch for your loneliness.” She lapped his sweat again, forking a black tongue. “Or perhaps you are a weak-willed man, who has found no success, and made many mistakes. The degradation fuels your inner shame. Perhaps all you’re truly seeking his punishment for your sins.”

The tip of her tail wormed between their groins, seeking the hem of his jeans. There was a tug. A snapping buckle.

“I am not sure,” Sarika said. “To know the truth, I must ravage you.”

Her tail pulled his pants away, all the way down to his shoes. Her hands raised his shirt, pulling it up and over his head—with his own hands still buried beneath her coils, it ended up as a tightened flag on the back of his neck, binding his elbows together.

His erection popped free. She thrusted her weight against him, pressing his dick to his belly, creating a wave of smooth, heavy scales. Pre-cum smeared between them.

Somewhere below, her pussy was drooling wet.

“Give me permission,” the cobra said.

She raised her torso above him, hands on his shoulders, breasts swinging free. The smoke and light swirled around her.

“I want your consent, little mouse.”

Michael looked into her eyes, sweating hard, breathing fast, feeling the ganja heighten every touch. A tingling passed through his spine.

The cobra waited, poised and silent.

“Ravage me,” he said.

Her entire body flexed, turning the bed of scales into a writhing sea. Slowly, she began to tighten around him, twisting and rolling, searching and pooling, turning perfect circles into leaping folds. It looked like every coil was a sentient creature, and all of them wanted a piece.

“Exquisite,” Sarika said. With little ceremony, she reached down, gripped the base of his cock, and raised it to the leathery entrance of her pussy. Flesh began to kiss. “Mr. Man, before we begin, I will ask a single favor from you.”

He gazed up at her. She leaned down, eyes inches away.

“Struggle against me. To the very end.”

He swallowed. His throat was very dry. Eventually, he nodded.

“Excellent,” Sarika said. “Now . . . experience nirvana.”

She thrusted down, fast and hard, her entire torso lurching, taking his cock to the hilt in a single strike. His flesh recoiled. His breath was knocked away. If he hadn’t been resting on her coils, the thrust might’ve chipped her basking rock—instead, just at the moment of impact, the muscles flexed to support him, and, when she rested on top, they immediately relaxed away, letting him sag into the bed of her own body.

At the same time, her pussy was a tight, drooling hole, pressing all the way down to his pubic bone. The friction was unbelievable. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve said that her inner walls were actually a hungry mouth, coating him with saliva, ready to suck his dick into a sea of mystical depth.

Or maybe he was just really high on ganja.

Either way, Sarika released a growl, so close that it vibrated through his spine. He realized, dimly, that his cock was flexing inside her. With a merciless stare, she began to raise her hips, dragging his shaft back to the light, making him feel every groove and contour that her tunnel had to offer. By the time his head reached her lips, Michael was squirming beneath her, trying to arch his back and spear back inside.

“Divine.”

She slammed again. This time, when she reached his base, she began to move her body around his dick, circling to the side, swaying like a branch in the wind. Heartbeats throbbed together. Somewhere below, the tip of her tail was winding around his leg, forming a tight spiral, reaching for the curve of his ass.

“Struggle!”

He thrashed his arms, and her bed of coils tightened down, pressing his knuckles into the rock below. When he tried to kick her tail from his leg, it lurched to the opposite limb, forming a lasso around his thigh. His legs were clamped together. Knee to knee, ankle to ankle. In a stroke of luck, his balls avoided being crushed between his thighs, mostly by bouncing under Sarika’s thrusts.

Meanwhile, above him, the cobra was unhinging her jaw, sounding a loud pop through the rocks and ferns. A triangular mouth yawned into the light, deep and pink, flanked by two massive fangs. Venom dripped from the hollow points.

Michael began to struggle harder.

Sarika hissed and moaned.

By now, her tail had worked its way along the groove of his spine, like water through a gutter. It began to reach around his chest. Breathing became strained. He could feel her body growing in thickness as it wrapped around him, from the tip of her tail, now poking at his neck, all the way down to the hefty walls of scales, now binding his legs in place.

She thrusted in an undulating wave, faster and harder, her excitement giving way to an uncoordinated assault. Flesh collided. Friction screamed. With every limb struggling against her coils, Michael started to moan.

“Little mouse!”

Without warning, she clamped her serpentine mouth against his shoulder, sinking fangs into meat.

“Gah, fuck!”

There was a sharp pain, a sucking pull, and a feeling of coldness, beginning to leak into his chest. The numbness wasn’t as strong as before—she hadn’t aimed for an artery—but the venom was still working fast, seeping through his muscles, spreading up to his neck and down across his arm. Anything it touched was left weak and tingling.

Sarika raised herself above him, jaw unhinged, fangs tipped with blood. Her hood blocked out the lights, and her eyes searched his face, looking for any sign of fear.

“Harder,” Michael said, yanking an arm free.

She hissed in his face, almost feral. The tip of her tail formed a seal around his throat, and she pinned his rebellious arm to the basking rock below, using one of her actual arms. By now, almost her entire body was wrapped around him. Everything squeezed.

Her face was close. Her eyes were golden and round.

The venom surged through his neck.

“Harder!” Michael shouted.

She stopped, the lips of her pussy smearing across his groin, and flexed her entire body. Every segment became a solid, coiling wall. Before Michael could ask what she was doing, Sarika raised her hips, used all twenty feet of herself as leverage, and slammed down harder than she had ever slammed before.

The shock left him gasping—limbs spasming, air knocked from his lungs, pleasure forcing an arch through his back. She tightened her tail on his throat and slammed again, her torso rolling, her walls sliding, her every movement as graceful as water, free from the awkward leverage of a limbed creature. She was a being of pure muscle, and she was no longer holding back.

Slickened.

Pounding.

Every muscle going limp.

He had not truly realized the depths of his mistake.

While her hips hammered him down, her face remained locked to his, drinking his expression as she choked him with her tail.

He tried to struggle. He could barely move his arms.

The venom was taking hold.

“Yesssssssss.”

Her rhythm grew merciless, rising and falling just fast enough that he couldn’t recover from the previous swing. Every attempt to hold his breath was interrupted by a crash against his bones, a pleasure through his skin, a spurt of venom on every pulse of his heart. The loss of composure forced him to start gaping his mouth like a fish, trying and failing to expand his lungs against her coils.

His chest was tight. Darkness grew at the corners. Every struggle was harder than the one before.

“Push your limits, Mr. Man,” Sarika said. “Feel the kundalini.”

With his body screaming around him, he tried to imagine the ball of energy in his back, surrounded by a coiling snake. It wasn’t there anymore. He focused his mind, just like he had during the pranayama, and nothing seemed to emerge. Only physical sensations remained.

Throbbing.

Squeezing.

Coiling.

He was a sailor in a storm, lost in a sea of scales, each of the coils like black waves on a moonless night. There was no navigation. Not anymore.

Fuck, man.

Had he only imagined the kundalini? Had he only been tricked into seeing something spiritual? Now that the injury was gone, he couldn’t feel the same revelation he had before, no matter how hard he tried.

Was it ever really there?

Why did he come back at all?

Far away, drifting with the loss of oxygen, Sarika continued to watch him with a sharp, reptilian gaze.

Suddenly, she loosened the binding on his throat. When he took a desperate gasp for air, the cobra slammed down on his cock with all the weight of a falling tree, forcing the oxygen back out of his lungs. Her walls milked him like a fist, and the coils on his throat grew tighter than ever, leaving him worse than before.

“Mr. Man.”

God.

Shit.

Shit.

“Admit the truth.”

What truth?

“You want to be controlled,” Sarika said, swaying beneath the UV lights. “But you cannot accept this desire. You are embarrassed. Ashamed.”

Tingling skin. Pooling blood.

“You are only hurting your friends.”

He made a small, pitiful noise.

“And your ignorance will only serve to deepen your woes, until you admit the lie.”

He looked up at her—with his vision almost gone, and her body outlined by the lights above, she almost seemed like an olive-green nebula, drifting between a dozen shining suns.

“Release,” Sarika said.

She relaxed her coils. When he breathed, she drew closer, riding the wave of fresh air and renewed sight, growing into focus at the speed of the world. Everything disappeared. There was only a round muzzle, a curving hood, an intricate mosaic of scales.

Golden eyes, peering deep.

“Give in, little mouse.”

He realized, almost absently, that he needed to breathe. His lungs wouldn’t inflate. His chest wouldn’t rise. The venom. . . .

“Accept your desire. Give up the struggle.”

What struggle?

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

He. . . .

Sarika pressed her forehead against the top of his head, bringing their eyes directly together. Leathery hands caressed his cheeks. In the distance, her pussy continued to piston along his cock, the rhythm slowing, the pleasure as gentle as a blooming flower.

“Imagine,” she said, softly, “that you are an eddy in a river, a lone whirling of water, one that refuses to move along its path. The current surrounds you. It threatens to pull you away. All you have known is struggle, cycle, and resistance.”

In her eyes, he almost saw a deep blue river, lurking within the rounded pupils. In his ears, the pulses of blood became a gurgling stream.

“Feel the current.”

There was something rushing within him.

Blood.

Pleasure.

He churned upon himself.

“Embrace the river, Mr. Man. Embrace your change.”

His muscles were weak. His body was heavy. Somewhere below, a wave of pleasure was coursing through his spine, snaking through his groin, building into a well of energy, like water cracking through the walls of a dam.

With the last of his strength, he focused his gaze on Sarika.

“Embrace eternity.”

And something cracked inside of him, some inner wall, some unconscious sense of self, and the walls of his soul released, and he came into her with a gentle throb, a softening cry, a fluttering pulse, some yawning sense of clarity that spilled from his body and into hers, blooming out, blooming wide, blooming until there was nothing left of the person he had been, and the trembling of his orgasm became a flattened wave, and the wave was already fading away, and, when it passed through the shell of his body, there was nothing left behind.

A scaled muzzle kissed his lips, as if saying goodbye.

And he was gone, like water in a river.

---

The world returned, painful and true.

Michael opened his eyes, gasping, choking on spit, flinching from his bruises, rolling on the floor of the basking rock until his vision was solid and his mind was aflame and the feeling of reality soaked back into his bones.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He laid on his back, covered in sweat, breathing deep. The blue glow of the UV lights washed over his naked body, and stacks of shipping crates loomed in the shadowy distance, across a misty canopy of ferns.

The Sacred Womb.

He was still in the warehouse.

Still alive.

Fuck.

He dragged a hand across his face, feeling like a skull wearing a mask of human skin, and pivoted up onto an elbow, squinting through the humid light. A few feet away, Sarika was meditating beneath a heating lamp, her body coiled into a pyramid of perfect rings.

He stared at her for a moment, blinking and breathing. There was a whirlwind of emotions. With a low flick of her tongue, the cobra opened her eyes, as if sensing his gaze.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

Michael didn’t answer. Slowly, he noticed an empty hypodermic needle lying by her side. There was a sharp pinprick in his neck, somewhere below the bruises.

The antivenom.

“Mr. Man,” Sarika said. “Please speak. Your breathing has been very shallow, and I must assess for damage.”

He opened his mouth, felt his stomach clench, and scrambled over to the side of the basking rock, vomiting in a stream. Chunks rained across the sandy floor.

“Repeat after me: we meditate.”

Michael wiped his mouth with his hand. “We—meditate.”

“On the glory.”

“On the glory.”

“Of that being who has created the universe.”

“Of that being—” His stomach clenched. Acid burned his throat. “Who created the universe.”

“May she enlighten our minds,” Sarika said.

“May she enlighten our minds.”

He remained on his hands and knees, dry-heaving, every muscle weak and shaking. Whenever he swallowed the taste of vomit, it bulged through the ring of bruises on his neck.

“Come,” Sarika said, flexing her body. “Rest with me.”

Michael wiped his mouth, took a deep breath, and began to crawl along the basking rock. Sarika spread herself into a waiting bed. By the time he reached her, she had created a floor of her own coils, so wide that he was able to spread himself across its length. He was reminded of crawling through the floor of a bouncy castle, way back when he was a kid.

He really didn’t feel like a kid anymore.

The head of the cobra leered around the side, dragging her body like a curtain on a hospital bed. A pearl of cum leaked between her pussy.

“Sign these,” she said, holding out a stack of papers.

“Liability waivers?”

“You are familiar, I’m sure.”

Michael snorted, took the papers, laid them flat against one of her coils, and signed the documents without reading. “Shoulda had me sign these beforehand.”

“Smash Queen studios assured me of my liberty. In any case, I was . . . eager.” She took the papers and offered a bottle of water. “Hydrate.”

“Yes, sensei.”

“That is not the correct term.”

Michael drank greedily, washing away the vomit and replenishing his bodily fluids. He had spilled many things today. “So, is this the part where you ask me what I’ve learned today?”

She flicked her black tongue. “Knowledge is an island. It exists alone.”

“That’s a funny thing for a teacher to say.”

“I am a guru. I heal the injured, and I guide the lost. Nothing more.” Her torso swayed to the side, dragging a river of her body across his knees. “Your experience is your own. To say it aloud—to force the event into words—would be a diminishment of its power. You should keep your truth within.”

Michael blinked, leaning his head against a coil and staring up at the UV lights. An odd feeling crawled through his chest.

What had he learned today?

He knew how to control his breath. He knew the effects of cobra venom, and the history of its use. He had developed a healthy respect for every mouse trapped in the coils of a snake.

He knew that he really enjoyed pushing his limits.

For a moment, the feeling of the river reasserted itself, as if he was nothing more than a short-lived eddy in an endless tide. He tried to examine the feeling, but it wasn’t as strong as it had been before, and it quickly began to slip from his mind, as if his thoughts could never truly capture the experience. Eventually, he was only staring up at the ceiling, trying to force a sense of enlightenment. There was nothing but reality.

It all seemed so fleeting, now that it was over.

“Mr. Man,” Sarika said, laying her torso beside him. “Will you be returning for a second treatment?”

“Would I have to pay?”

“Yes. Two thousand dollars.”

“Two—” He stuttered out of his thoughts. “Two thousand dollars? Are you serious?”

“This session was free,” Sarika said, tweaking one of her nipples, “because Ms. Tamsen is a preferred client, and she asked for a favor. Otherwise, my services command a high price.”

“. . . I can’t afford that.”

“Hm. A shame.”

Michael watched her play with her breast, feeling his heart suddenly begin to pound. “Does it . . . have to be business?”

She paused. Slowly, her hand fell from her chest, and her eyes raised to meet him, fixing him with the same predator stare he had felt while walking through her door.

“I mean,” Michael said, blushing, “hey, maybe we could work out a discount? Some kind of . . . favor system?”

She didn’t answer.

He waved a hand at her coils, encompassing the entire circumference of the basking rock. “You’re a lot of woman. You know? And it seems like you got some kinks, like the rest of us. I could . . . help you out. With them.”

A silence settled across the terrarium. The rocks baked with a cool heat, and the canopy of ferns casted long, pointed shadows across the sand.

“Hey,” Michael said. “Listen. I really enjoyed this. What we did today.”

She flicked her tongue.

“We could keep it going, maybe? Off the books? Just—you know—you and me?”

“Your offer is appreciated,” Sarika said, her voice softer than her expression, “but I’m afraid I must decline. I think it would be best if we kept our relationship professional.”

Michael didn’t know how to respond.

“Mr. Man,” she continued, raising her torso like a blade of grass. “Today was something of an . . . indulgence, on my part. You had awakened in me a feeling I had not felt—or acted upon—in quite some time.”

“That’s what I was hoping for.”

She gave a growling hiss, her eyes drifting along the curve of his naked body. Flesh contrasted against scales. “Kaivalya.”

“Kaivalya?”

“It is a form of moksha. Enlightenment. I suppose, in your language, it would be translated as ‘isolation’ or ‘detachment’—in mine, it means the separation of the mind from worldly substance. One who achieves kaivalya is eternal, blissful, and pure. Free from all attachment.”

Michael nodded, slowly.

“Mr. Man,” Sarika said. “I was not always a guru. I have lived many years, and I have learned my greatest lessons from my most terrible mistakes. The sins of the flesh. The throes of a lover’s quarrel.” She took one final look at his body before meeting his eyes. “After my worst suffering, I made the decision to dedicate my current vessel to the pursuit of kaivalya. I have tried to shed all earthly desire. I have sacrificed everything to break the cycle of samsara. Today, with you, I have failed. And for that, I am sorry.”

Michael opened his mouth, blinking. No words emerged. Sarika flicked her tongue, lowered her gaze, and was silent.

Time began to pass.

“Mr. Man,” Sarika said, her voice quiet. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Good. Then I must ask you to leave.”

He took a breath, nodded, and began to crawl over her coils. His clothes were scattered at the edge of the rock. He put them on slowly, every movement feeling awkward and mechanical, the bare rock warm beneath his feet. Dried cum flaked against the fabric.

When he was done, he turned back to Sarika, and he found her staring back at him. Both opened their mouths. Neither spoke.

With a small wave, he began to climb down from the rock.

“Mr. Man,” Sarika said.

He paused, halfway down the edge.

“You have a burdened soul. Do not give it freely.” Her eyes looked him over, once more, then fell away. “Attachment leads only to suffering.”

He didn’t answer. He focused on descending the rock. His back was as healthy and limber as ever.

Solid ground. Footsteps echoed across the warehouse. The door slammed open. He was in the front of the store, with statues and knick-knacks crowding the shelves, and kiosks dangling with threaded beads. Beyond, orange streetlight streamed in through the window, bathing the rugs and ferns.

He pushed open the door. The night air fell like a blanket, heavy and warm, full of roaring traffic. On the other side of the parking lot, someone was idling in their car, blasting heavy metal through the radio. Somewhere, a neighborhood dog was still attempting to bark.

He walked toward the sidewalk, pulling his phone from his pocket. He saw several missed calls. Unread messages.

Austin: Pick up dude

Austin: Been a while

Austin: Let me know youre alright

He sat down on the edge of the curb, feet in the gutter, watching the distant crawl of brakes and headlights. He scrolled through his recent texts. Eventually, he dropped his phone and leaned his back against the sidewalk, staring up at the night sky.

It was a uniform shade of black. Barely any stars. A streetlight shined an orange halo to his left, a crescent moon waned to the right, and the blinking signal of an airplane disappeared behind the roof of a nearby building. Different colors—orange, white, and red—all crawling through the black, like eddies in a river.

It felt like it should mean something. The connections were there, but he didn’t know how to put them together.

He didn’t know what he was looking for.

The concrete was hard. Cars travelled through the night. Minutes passed, and the sky remained the same. Nothing revealed itself.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he began to call his friends.