Curse of the Snake God

By Nocturne13
published May 7, 2021
7847 words

Two art thieves in 1930s Cairo steal an idol for their wealthy patron, and discover that it is cursed.

A note to my usual readers, this story is a bit of a departure for me, as it’s sort of a request piece. This story is inspired by old-time creature films, hence the setting. Artistic license has been generously applied.

CAIRO, 1934

“We did it, Carleton old chap!” exclaimed Croft as he sat down the valise and it’s precious cargo on the table in his hotel room. The night was heavy with the heat of Cairo wafting in the open archways leading to the patio, and Carleton was grateful the place he was staying at included fully closed windows instead of relying on netting over the bed to keep out surprises in the night. For that matter, the ceiling fan was just moving around the night’s hot air and not providing any cooling; Croft didn’t seem to notice. But then, Croft had always been virtually immune to physical extremes. He could probably jog five miles in the hot noon sun wearing a worsted wool suit if he had to.

Carleton exhaled, the warm night air surprisingly moist. But then, nothing in this city had been what he had expected. “Yes, well, stroke of genius coming to Cairo to steal the statue. The British Museum could never have been cracked by just the two of us, but the Cairo Museum of World Art was practically a candy shop.” Croft preened at the compliment.

“Well that’s what you get when you have a rich man just itching to show off his wealth. A vanity museum. The real shock is that they even got the loan in the first place!” Croft nearly cackled. “Now we just need to get a good night’s sleep, lay low tomorrow, and then tomorrow night meet our pilot and fly out of Egypt.”

“I can’t wait to meet our buyer in Italian Libya. I intend to take my share and head directly to the Riviera for the rest of the season,” Carleton enthused. “My sister-in-law has already rented a villa with an advance drawn on Father’s accounts, and has made it known that I’m there recovering from a bad fall off horseback. When I arrive, I’ll simply put on a cast for a week or two, start seeing visitors, and then fully recover. Voila!”

“Excellent, excellent,” agreed Croft. “Say shall we take a quick look at the prize before you head to your room?”

“I don’t need to look at the pagan idol again old boy,” Carleton said with a sour look. “I can jolly well do without ever seeing it again. And I would suggest you not handle it; it’s a very delicate prize and we wouldn’t want our buyer to be unhappy with his package’s condition.

“Too true, too true,” Croft said. “Well, I shall just have a nightcap, put it in the hiding place in the wall we prepared, and then to bed. Be a good chap and put the notice on the door for me?”

“All right,” Carleton agreed, tipping his hat to his old school mate. “Once I’ve recovered from my ‘injury,’ you’ll come visit me in the Riviera, won’t you?” Croft smiled warmly and nodded. Carleton reluctantly headed out the door of the suite. Parting from Croft was always difficult. He was a man’s man, and Carleton had cut his heart out and given it to his friend two years before they finished forms school and went to university. They had been roommates, adventurers, occasional business partners. Carleton had held Croft’s head as he sicked up after excessive drinking more than once, and Croft had nursed him through a bad case of the influenza. Carleton was unsure if Croft was aware that he was a homosexual, but he was sure that Croft understood that he had a manly love for him and his complete admiration and devotion. And so, when their respective estates clearly were not going to divest the largess the two men thought they deserved, they put their degrees and connections to the nobles and nouveau riche alike together and became thieves. Not common thieves, of course, “Art Thieves.” They dealt in rare artifacts, paintings, statuary, and occasionally gems and adornments made with precious metals and stones.

Their latest score was an idol of a snake god, disputed to be either the snake god Apophis, or possibly the crocodile god of rivers, Sobek. It had been in the British Museum for the last five years until it was loaned to the rich man’s folly just a month ago. And now, after a raid using their wits and athleticism, as well as some well-placed bribes, a grappling hook, and a reliably rowdy camel, the statue of the snake god was secure in their clutches. It was 1 am, and the city was asleep. There might be some small furor tomorrow over the museum intrusion, but they were betting that the private museum would hush up the loss. Carleton hung the do not disturb sign on the door on his way out, left his friend’s hotel, and headed toward the more modest lodgings he had engaged.

Croft poured himself a glass of sherry and sipped it. In the dim lamplight of the room his curiosity was undiminished. He sat his glass down on the table and opened up the black leather valise. Inside was the gray stone statue of a god. His upper body was that of a well-muscled man, but below the waistline and hips his legs fused together into a huge serpentine coil which spooled into a cone and supported the figure when it was standing up. The eyes were set with small but intensely bright rubies. The statue only weighed around five pounds, so Croft easily picked it up out of the valise with his right hand and reached over his own arm to pick the cordial of sherry up with his left hand. As he examined the statue he sipped the sweet alcohol.

“No no, you don’t look Egyptian at all,” he mused out loud. “The Egyptian gods are depicted animal-headed and human below and you’re the reverse. Sobek? Poppycock. No, more like things I’ve seen in India, like a naga. Oh but a kingly naga, not a female.” He set his vial down and ran his left index finger over the statue. He had considerable expertise in gems and stones, and he was unsure what this idol was carved from. It felt very pleasant to the touch. What he had taken as rough stone was actually very careful texturing in the carving. While the detail was too tiny to feel individual scales, he could feel the separation in the main plates of the body as the human top spread into the serpentine bottom. The chest was heroic, to say the least. His finger traveled up the chest to the throat, across the closed mouth and over the eyes. The twin rubies glinted in the low light and–

“Damn!” Croft cursed, carefully setting the idol down before turning to examine his left index finger. Two tiny droplets of blood pooled on it; he’d felt sharp stings as if the finest of lancets had pierced his finger at a touch. While he could see the blood welling, no cut was visible. Turning to look at the idol, it seemed as if there were no needle or sharp extrusion on the face of the snake god. The only thing that could have caused the cuts were the twin rubies in the eye sockets. They were tiny stones, though, simple brilliant cut pieces. The flat table was the exposed part, just as you’d see in any common piece of jewelry like a ring.

The alcohol seemed to be rushing to his head, as the room felt particularly warm. He looked at his finger and saw the thread-like rivulets slowly running down it, not a serious wound at all and clearly self-cleansing by the flushing action of the blood. Fatigue hit him heavily and he shrugged off his jacket and undid his tie. He pulled his crisply-starched white shirt off and carelessly threw it on the chair of the writing desk as he staggered to the bed. He barely pulled off his boots, which felt like they were too tight and pinching his feet, and then threw himself down on the bed. A pleasant numbness started to rise through his body and he drifted off to the sound of a snake hissing.

The next evening Carleton arrived at the hotel room sharply at 7. He had, as per their plan, engaged a reliable driver and transport to the private airfield — really just a stretch of space in the desert that could be reached easily from the city. He knocked on the right hand door to the suite, but didn’t hear an answer; the do not disturb sign was still hanging undisturbed. The hallway leading to the suite was empty, but he looked around one more time before just trying the door. To his surprise it was unlocked; he parted the doors and quickly slid inside, guiding them closed behind him with minimal sound.

Carleton took only a few steps in to the vestibule before what he saw ahead of him made him gasp and run forward. The valise was open and the snake god statue was sitting out on the table, just sitting there next to a mostly empty cordial glass. Nearby, some of Croft’s clothes were haphazardly discarded.

“Croft! Old man! Are you in the WC? Why didn’t you answer me! Where are you?” he asked, trying to project his voice clearly without actually shouting. He heard a rustle from the bed area and turned to look at it. The bed was positioned in a large alcove off to the side, allowing the majority of the room to be used as a sitting room/parlor. There was a generous amount of space on each side of the four poster, which had a canopy of netting over it. The netting was still open, hanging half-unscrolled as it had the night before. The bed was technically made up, but the covers were badly disarrayed from the proper state of neat smoothness. They were also dark as if they were wet, perhaps with sweat. He immediately wondered if Croft had fallen to a fever and spent the day thrashing on the bed; he fervently wished he could have been there to nurse his friend instead of getting boiled water for their canteens and having extra food delivered to the owners of the reliably mulish camel who’d facilitated their heist.

There was a sound of sheets being pulled, and on the far side of the bed, a bit of blond hair suddenly popped up. Carleton sighed, relieved to see Croft getting up, even if he had apparently rolled off the bed and fallen onto the floor. But as Croft’s arms grasped the top of the bed and levered him up, Carleton gasped. He was shirtless, which was unusual but not a shock for a man suffering fever. But he was huge. The muscles on his arms had become swollen like some Greek statuary of Hercules; Carleton felt a stirring in his loins far greater than the normal pangs of desire that assailed him while in his handsome friend’s presence. Something about the cast of his face under his shock of golden blond hair was different as well. It was like the fat in his face that gave Croft the soft look of a typical well to do young lordling had been reduced, and under the dissipated puffiness which he had grown to know and love, the face of a hardened, masculine warrior emerged. Croft tilted his head to the side at a weird angle as if he were trying to work out the kinks in his neck, and then turned and shifted it the other way, darting to a new position with an unsuspected fluid grace. He straightened up and rolled his shoulders as if everything needed to be stretched out after hours perhaps passed out on the floor. Carleton was struck by his bare chest and wide shoulders and his mouth parted in appreciation. He briefly considered the possibility that the man might need a massage and closed his mouth and swallowed at the thought of working the knots out of those heavy muscles that somehow Croft had come to possess since the last time he saw him swimming.

“Carle-ton,” Croft said in a sibilant voice, recognizing him. At least it seemed like it was recognition. It was almost said the way you say the name of a chap who you know by picture instead of remembering him at school, that sort of greeting. And while the voice was low and rumbled in a masculine way, it was also sort of airy and, for lack of a better way of thinking of it, hissy.

“Old chap are you all right?” Carleton inquired, his voice rising and falling almost musically, a softer and higher voice than the one he normally made himself affect to project manliness. His worry for Croft had suddenly turned into something else, as the sight of Croft’s unexpectedly heroic chest made him forget himself. Moreover, as he glanced at Croft’s unabashed display of nakedness, he realized that the slight golden tuft of hair he had between his pectorals had vanished, and that his abdominal muscles were somewhat different. He knew from skinnydipping in the Mediterranean waters off Santorini that Croft had stomach area muscles that were in a zipper pattern and not a ladder. It wasn’t a deficiency or lack of muscle tone, it was just the natural shape of the muscles that he possessed. Or had possessed. His abdominals were now even rows that rolled over each other like a series of horizontal bars, with barely a divot separating them. The top ones were clearly a left and right but by the third row they were barely distinguishable and in the next two rows they were… Carleton stopped as he realized something. Human beings normally only have three rows of abdominal folds, rarely four. Michelangelo’s model for the David was blessed with four rows. But five? Five distinct rows? And how could Croft be so easily swaying back and forth? Even if he were unsteady on his feet from fever, he should not be able to easily sway like that. “Croft?” he asked again. “Stephen?” he said, imploringly, his true voice coming out.

His friend parted his mouth slightly, and he sensed delicate movement within. Carleton started to really worry; despite the size of his friend’s muscles, the changes in his body were worrisome. And now Croft started to rise further, no longer needing any support from the surface of the bed. His columnar torso surmounted by his redoubtable chest with its wide flaring V-shape lifted up and revealed that after the fifth abdominal row, his torso smoothly fused together with what should have been his pubic area and legs, and that was where the glittering rows of scales began. Where once Croft had legs, he now sported a serpentine tail easily thick as a man.

Carleton screamed as a huge coil of snake tail lifted from the floor beside Croft, a few bright scales glittering in contrast to the darker prominent ones as the serpentine flesh flowed like water in a corkscrew pipe. Croft hissed, his mouth open wide. This revealed the tiny forks that now extended past his tongue, as well as the extension of his canine teeth, which now seemed to be fangs.

He had, quite simply, turned into the idol. In fact as Carleton looked on in horror, the sclera of his eyes became suffused with blood, and turned red right before him. Croft was huge. He was no man with vestigial fused legs. He was now a muscular torso sitting on a column of equivalently muscular snake as thick as a stout man’s body that at quick estimate must be at least a dozen feet long. Carleton spun on the ball of his foot and dashed toward the vestibule. There was a sound like an angry horse ramming into its stall and the snake god Croft flew past him, propelled over the bed and past his friend by springing off the wall. He reached the double door to the suite and doubled back in a display of fluid athleticism that stunned Carleton.

“No leaving,” he hissed.

“Oh God Oh God what have we done?” Carleton moaned, looking at the cursed — probably literally — statue sitting on the table.

“I hunger,” Croft announced, gathering the coils of his body behind him and positioning himself at the mouth of the entry vestibule. Carleton gulped and backed up toward the sitting area of the suite. Even without his snake body, Croft was now more than a match for him. His arms were clearly unbelievably strong, the biceps were now somewhat approaching his pre-transformation calves in mass. Carleton was horrified to realize that despite his friend’s alien transformation, he still found him handsome and even desirable, and could not believe that his humanity had been ripped away from him since he last saw him. As he backed up further into the room, he glanced at the idol sitting on the table still and wracked his brain for ideas.

“Croft, Stephen, listen to me. This is not you. It’s the idol, there must have been a curse on it. Maybe if we give it back you can turn human again.” Croft seemed to listen, he did the strange “stretch all his parts” movement which had the benefit of flexing all the muscles of his chest and torso. Ugh, his entire upper body was now a wonder, not just the abdominals. The shoulders had become rounded caps, his biceps and triceps looked like they belonged on a wrestler, and the pectorals were manly rectangles that bulged outward with rounded muscle. Idly, Carleton appreciated that in addition to transforming half into snake, Croft had apparently experienced a surge of muscularity all over first. It even looked like his thighs had swelled up with muscle just like his arms, and then fused together. In the flash when Croft had propelled himself past Carleton, he had even seen that Croft’s buttocks had become generously rounded with muscle and padding, and though they were covered with the same sheathe of fine scales that covered the rest of his lower extremity, he had appreciated the flash of snake bum. Croft was a bit like a mer-man like really, except instead of his lowers ending in a cute dolphin tail, it ended in banded rows of serpentine muscle coil that looked like it could crush the life out of a camel if he had a mind to.

“No. Going. BaCK,” Croft hissed, his human and serpentine voice qualities merging to odd effect on the last word. He slithered forward, carefully, slowly. Directly at Carleton, with no chance for him to dodge to the side and run past. Carleton suddenly started thinking that maybe jumping off the balcony might be a good idea. What were a few broken limbs compared to whatever this creature would do? Crush him? Eat him? Cornered up against a settee, Carleton spotted Croft’s gentleman’s cane, which he knew had a sword concealed in it. He snatched it up as the snake moved forward with a hiss.

Croft adeptly slipped past the small table the idol still stood on and cut back to keep Carleton in the center of his gaze. Carleton drew the sword. “I’m so sorry Stephen. If there’s anything of you still in there, please know I’m so sorry,” he said almost tearfully.

Croft scowled and as his mouth opened the forked tongue flicked out and tested the air briefly. He seemed surprised as the tongue came out again and stayed a few more moments tasting the air.

“WaYTe,” he said snapping off the T. “You smell diffffereNT. You smell like PREyy… you also smell like MaYyTe,” Croft announced as he slowly slunk forward, taking his time and allowing his huge winding coils to follow him.

“M-m-mate? You mean school chums!”

“Noooo,” Croft hissed. “You smell like you waNT Ttoo maaaaayyte!” He paused in his advance, slid his arms across his muscle banded abdomen down to the flat portion of his abdomen above his tail. He gently drew open a slit in about the spot about where Croft’s manhood should have been, and from it a penis emerged. A penis, not Croft’s penis. In keeping with its position on the body of a snake man, it had a distinctly serpentine appearance. The head of his penis was reminiscent of the diamond shape of a snake’s head, but otherwise appeared to be a normal human glans of flesh surmounting a healthily thick shaft; however, a few inches below the glans, the thick shaft swelled into a thicker area that reminded him of a cobra’s hood before tapering back to the original width of the shaft. Below that point fine soft scales and the serpentine banding of the snake’s body took over. It appeared to be more than a simple human sausage, and it was a thing of beauty. Carleton boggled as he thought about what a penis with that shape and that ability to coil like a snake could do to a man’s insides. For just a moment he could not help but imagine Croft, so handsome and human looking in the face still, holding him down with those big boulder-strong arms, while he fucked him with his thick, long, possibly prehensile snake dick, and Carleton could tell he got a little moist.

“Yesss,” Croft said, nodding in confirmation. “You want to mAYte. This one is your mAYte. But breeding season had not come yet. You’ve been waiting too long.” Croft suddenly sprang forward, his coils allowing him to move as fast as a flash of lightning. Carleton shrieked and flailed toward him with the sword cane, all his fencing lessons forgotten in the face of his friend, the monster. Croft easily darted within his reach and slapped him on the underside of the wrist with enough force to stun his hand and force his grasp to release the weapon. Croft’s coils were too big and too far behind him to enter the fray but Carleton could see he was bringing them around with graceful, hula-dance like swayings of his hips. He tried to slip under Croft’s grasp but the man’s beautiful strong arms grabbed and held him. He felt himself lifted up in the air in Croft’s grasp as he gathered his tail under him. He gaped in horror at his friend, this most beautiful monster, and then Croft opened his mouth and dove forward, sinking his fangs into Carleton’s shoulder near the collarbone.

Carleton screamed, or at least tried to. His voice broke off as the venom from Croft’s fangs rushed into his body, and it reached his throat almost immediately. His voice became paralyzed and his breath caught in his throat. For a moment he actually thought the venom might completely paralyze even his autonomic functions, and kill him quickly; but seconds later he managed to gasp for air, and with some difficulty, keep breathing. Croft meanwhile adjusted his position and finally was able to bring some of his lower body to bear. Carleton felt the coils begin to wrap around his lower legs and realized with a perverse surprise that the snake felt rather like the fleshy underside of a man’s penis, just slightly powdery and slick due to the scales.

He felt Croft’s snake tongue start to flick his ear; the forked ribbon turned out to be an extension off his original human tongue, several inches long and anchored below the original tip. It seemed to be both smelling and tasting the skin of his cheek, ear, and the back of his neck. Even as the paralysis swept through his body, he felt his cock stiffen with an unpleasant hardness. His balls began to seethe as if they were full of boiling water. As the hardness of his cock increased to the point of near-painfulness, he gasped. Croft turned him in his grasp and slid his right hand behind Carleton’s back and shoulders. It almost felt like Croft had thrown his right arm across his back in a brotherly hug. But it was his coils around Carleton’s legs that truly held him in place. With the side of Croft’s face close to Carleton’s, Croft slid his free left hand down the front of Carleton’s shirt, tugging open the buttons as he passed, until he reached the pants. The buckle was swiftly undone and then the trousers opened up. Croft’s coils then somehow depantsed him without releasing him, and he found himself hanging there in his friend’s embrace in socks with garters, boxer shorts from which his tumescent phallus now extruded, and his own dress shirt which was open like a dissolute wastrel in a gambling den.

The initial sense of paralysis began to recede and while he could only move slightly, he mostly felt weak and relaxed. Croft was continuing to flick his tongue on his neck and God help him Carleton felt like his friend was almost kissing him.

“Give me back Croft,” he whimpered.

“We are Croft now,” the snake man whispered. “We are reborn. Croft does not understand you. Croft could not understand maYTying you, but we understand. All things can be prey, but not all things can be maYytte.” With that, the snake man retracted his secondary tongue and kissed Carleton on the cheek.

Carleton wanted to scream. It was Croft’s body, sort of, but it wasn’t Croft. Not really. The feeling of weakness continued move lower, supplanting the feeling of paralysis, until the effect came level with his nethers. Simultaneously his painfully hard penis felt like it was swelling even larger, possibly petrifying the tissue felt so strange and frozen, but his ass relaxed so much he almost thought his hips would move apart. As the sense of weakness moved through his legs and reached the tips of his toes, Croft glided across the room toward the bed where he slid across the top and laid Carleton down at an awkward diagonal.

“What’s happening?” he asked, his face half smothered by the bedding. He felt fever beginning to rise in him, the strange molten hardness in his shaft beginning to infuse outward as if an infection was spreading through him releasing heat and swelling.

“Your body is getting ready to mayte,” Croft’s sibilant voice answered, his speech becoming easier and less distorted, though still somewhat sibilant, with each sentence. “I will assist you.” A coil of Croft’s body suddenly slid across Carleton’s back, somehow removing his unbuttoned shirt as it passed over by dint of pressure and remarkable dexterity. Croft used his human hands to paw at the cotton boxers concealing Carleton’s plush bum, but found it difficult to slide them over Carleton’s hips. Undeterred, the snake man simply ripped a hole in the fabric, giving him full access to the anus. He paused just for a moment as his tail knocked a pillow close to hand and slid it under Carleton’s upper chest to ensure he could breathe. Then the body-thick coil slid down past his shoulders and put weight on him; Croft’s tail essentially encircled them on the bed like an @ symbol. Croft slid between his legs, took hold of them with his human hands, and spread them apart. He moved forward and his tongue began to tickle Carleton. With some dim sense of horror, Carleton realized it was the snake tongue seeking to gain access, and that his buttocks were so completely relaxed he could not keep it out. Furthermore the sense of heat in his body was ramping up greatly though Croft felt somewhat cooler; but not cold. No this was a snakeman with nearly the same heat as a human being. He could feel his lust rising to the point he no longer really cared that Croft was now the spitting image of the snake god. He wanted to be opened. He wanted a man—or at least a male—within him. He had had brief frolics with other homosexuals here and there in his travels, but he had kept the last mystery sacred because in his heart he knew no one but Croft would ever satisfy him. Now that Croft was gone and he might be the snake’s next meal, he wanted to at least experience whatever scrap of pleasure he could, and give himself over to whatever was left of Croft’s fit body.

Croft began to rim Carleton, and while Carleton did not exactly understand what was happening, he knew that he could offer no resistance beyond the fading hesitation in his heart and he began to moan as he felt like his nethers were opening up like a chimney.

The venom still coursing through his veins left him weak and pliant, except that it also increased his arousal. That he could even think and reason at this point was a testament to his iron will, or perhaps his iron self-denial.

“Who are you?” he cried out between moans.

Carleton withdrew and answered him. “We are the king of snakes, and we are Ssstephen CroffT. We are renewed and we are your maaayte.”

“The king of snakes? The raja naga?” he asked, surprised he wasn’t being had by Apophis or Apep or some such Egyptian creature.

“We have had many names, in many places, and have wandered this world. Far to the west half a world away, we were known as QueTzalocowAtl…”

“Quetzalcoatl? But he was the Aztec god, the feathered serpent… you don’t have wings.”

“Not … yet. We have the potential of several formssss.”

Carleton lay there and gasped as Stephen/Rajanaga/Quetzalcoatl resumed rimming him. In the end, he was going to be fucked by a literal god. The snake god finally felt his intended mate’s virgin ass was sufficiently lubricated and loosened. He relaxed his coil which was pinning Carleton down and slid his manly torso onto Carleton’s back instead. He hissed in his ear, “Thaddeus, this might hurt a little. This is your first time maeyTTeing I can telll. The venOMm should help you. But relakss and don’t fighT, I don’t want to hurttT you more than I have toooo.”

Thaddeus? Croft still was in there, somewhere? Maybe?

“Ok Stephen. I saved myself for you, you know.”

He felt something wide, hard, warm, and fleshy gently probe at his entrance and he knew it wasn’t fingers. Croft’s chest was pressed down on him and his hands were running across his sides, feeling his own lean, wiry muscles. “Stephen didn’t knowwww. Stephen couldn’t understannnnd, even though he was never satisfied being with anyone but youuuuu,” the snake god hissed. “Butttt now we’re one and Stephen understands everything. And soon you will ttttooo.”

With that Croft’s serpentine penis began to slide within Carleton. It was nothing like he’d ever imagined. The penetration felt violating and liberating at the same time. The sense of power in the penis, strong like a snake’s coil. Croft was stroking him, holding him, he didn’t need to spread Carleton’s cheeks or steady his member; the member simply wormed its way in defeating any resistance. He gasped as cool relief drenched him like water that the penetration was over and quite painless, inch after inch slid inside him, making him feel more excited with each inch. Then, the flare. He gasped as the easy length entering him slowed as the cobra hood flare in the shaft reached his tender cherry. Croft slowed down almost to a stop. He moved with extreme carefulness feeding himself in a fraction of an inch at a time while licking and flicking Carleton’s cheek, neck, and upper shoulders. Idly Carleton wondered if his penis came out of his concealed pouch lubricated or somesuch because it felt like the member was silk-wrapped it slid so easily. But he also suspected there was so much of it, the length he’d seen exposed seemed like a good eight inches and if Croft was simply feeding inch after inch of it into him, perhaps there was a lot more inside whatever internal pouch concealed and protected it normally. He shivered with perverse fear and delight at that thought.

“Oh it feels good,” he announced. “It feels really good, and the stretching now, it feels really stimulating. You’re so big. You’re SO big,” he muttered. Croft rewarded him with a generous kiss on the back of his neck. He reached down and adjusted the position of Carleton’s hips slightly and adjusted the angle his tail-hip area was aimed at. Carleton’s legs were nearly limp but there was something erotic about the muscular snake column laying between them. Despite the imperfections of their alignment, the violation continued unabated; in the end, Croft’s penis was something along the lines of prehensile, and while he was firmly erect, he remained somewhat flexible. “Oh put it in me, please god put it in me!” Carleton cried, his insides caressed by the flexing and coiling member. With the equivalent of a rolling hip motion, Croft slowly drove the thick part of his shaft forward to maximum stretch, held it there a moment, and then pressed on, allowing Carelton’s anus to shrink to the average thickness of his shaft. Carleton moaned, teetering on the brink of insanity from the sensations not only of the thick snake cock penetrating him, but of the heavy muscular form bearing the extra weight of the tail column pressing down on him with potentially crushing force for a few moments. Croft fed more and more of his length into Carleton, literally coiling his dick inside him to judge the fullness he needed, and then slid around inside to find all the delicate nerves and the prostate. Though it was one continuous coil, to Carleton it felt like multiple dicks inside him were pressing against each point that felt good, and a rapturous ecstasy filled him.

He made guttural sounds in his throat, unable to form words, and then Croft pulled out until the cobrahead flange retracted, and then he slammed back in. Carleton’s body stiffened as his nerves, primed by the venom, fired in unison. Croft pulled out and then back in. While his tip never left the cavity, his twice as thick flange pulled out and slammed back in. To Careleton, it felt like being fucked by a club or perhaps a clenched fist.

Croft was unrelenting. As a newly resurrected god, his hungers needed to be satiated, and Carleton was the perfect offering. In return, he bestowed a transcendant pleasure, letting the human understand what it was like to be claimed by a god. The venom had relaxed Carleton’s nethers completely while tricking his heart and brain into racing to the limits of human capacity for sensation. After pounding away using his thick spot to bring Carleton to a point where his eyes were rolled in his head and he was on the verge of foaming at the mouth, Croft re-entered him more gently and once again fed his filling length into Carleton while giving the man’s heart a chance to slow once more.

At the point of nearly passing out, Carleton felt himself rolled over and lifted. As his swimming head cleared slightly, he found himself seated on a throne of serpentine coils, Croft holding him in his arms from behind and nibbling at his neck. Croft didn’t even need to thrust, his coiled penis was making a vibration like a rattlesnake, and it was sending rhythmic pulses through Carleton’s body and massaging his prostate. Carleton pressed against Croft’s muscular chest and clung onto his mythological lover with desperation as the god made great strides in making up for Carleton’s nearly thirty years of anal chastity.

The torturous ecstasy continued on and on until both the passing of time and the serpentine nature of Croft no longer had any meaning. There was the man holding him and literally shaking him apart from inside, unending pleasure in different textures and feelings playing the fibers of his body like the strings of an instrument, and only the venom numbing his throat keeping his moans and screams from being heard across the hotel. Carleton no longer could feel his own penis; the stone hard inflammation had passed beyond sensation and he could not release his load. Eventually Croft coiled around him. “Are you ready to sacrifice your humanity to me?” he asked, his hands reaching from behind and taking hold of Carleton’s balls and cock.

“Yes my god!” he replied, unable to do anything but comply with the source of his feelings of completeness. Croft began to stroke his shaft, his touch registering on Carleton’s overloaded mind, and at the same time nuzzled his prostate with his penis. As Carleton felt his heart race to pound so mightily he thought it might burst, he came with an orgasm that felt like his soul was being ejected from his body. The little death indeed, he thought, and passed out in Croft’s arms.

Sometime later he roused to half awareness. His body felt hot and he was laying on cool but damp bedding. He tried to move his legs but his hips felt strange. His penis felt warm and protected, as if it had drawn up underneath an overhanging tummy to hide. He could see mounded pectorals when he looked down, but little else. Weakly he tried to sit up and Croft was there in an instant with a gentle hand pressing on him. “Thaddeus,” he whispered, his speech sounding much more human. “Please relax, I’m sure you realize what is happening to you already.”

“You’re transforming me,” Carleton said, fearfully. “You’ve joined my legs together already.”

“Yes,” Croft said. “Just relax and allow the transformation to run its course.”

“I’m scared.”

“I understand. Lay here quietly and I’ll tell you all the ways Stephen loved you but couldn’t say.”

“Ok,” Thaddeus Carleton said, sniffing once. “Can I just … can I see them before they go?”

Croft sighed and helped him up. Carleton’s gaze swept down past his beautiful chest and abs, now expanding into similar muscular perfection to Croft’s. He looked cross the flat crotch area to see his thighs had a coating of snakeskin forming across them, still outlining the separate thighs, but his lower legs and feet seemed to have melted and flowed into a single long tendril. He gasped with revulsion.

“Here,” said Croft, reaching toward his groin. “This is your pouch, look at your new member.” He deftly teased open the hidden slit and gently withdrew part of Carleton’s snake dick.

“Oh it’s beautiful, it’s like yours, and it’s so sensitive!” Carleton hissed as Croft’s hands slid along it. “Oh gods that is nice,” he blurted. Croft grinned and tucked it back away.

“It’s not fully grown but it is, yes, beautiful. Now. Save your energy for your metamorphosis, my mayte.” Thad laid back and relaxed on the bed, and as the hours passed, Quetzalcoatl-Croft revealed all the dozens of ways that Stephen had cared about him in his own way, but also regaled him with anecdotes of the ancient world.

The transformation was completed by pre-dawn, and Thad Carleton arose as a naga much like his lover, just a slight bit smaller. He took only fifteen minutes to gain basic mastery of his tail, but found himself still much more awkward than Croft. Croft explained that he simply recalled his motor skills from his past lives, since Carleton was newly reborn he would need time to master his body.

“We must go, into hiding until you masster your body my Mayyte,” Croft hissed. “And you must feed. My power has transformed you but you need sustenance.”

“I am hungry … do we feed on animals, or people?”

“Either, but I do not prey on humans indissscriminately. For now, we need a large aNiMAl for you.”

“Oh,” said Carleton, swaying his hips and enjoying the play of his incredibly muscular and powerful tail. “I know where we can get a camel, and honestly that beast is a real piece of work.” Under Quetzalcoatl-Croft’s direction, they hid the idol in the compartment in the wall the art thieves had previously prepared, and slid out onto the balcony and down the side of the building, using the window trim and balconies below to descend the several stories.

Meanwhile, in Italian Libya, the wizard Hiram Applebaum waited for the arrival of the intrepid jewel thieves. A delay was not unexpected, but when they had not arrived by dawn, he knew they were not coming. In the weeks that followed, discreet inquiries met with some small success. The museum concealed the theft for two weeks before admitting its security had been breached. Many of its best exhibits were on loan, so those attractions were pulled from it, one after another. Applebaum’s Pinkerton man found that while Carleton had checked out of his hotel room when he was supposed to, no one had seen Croft depart. When the hotel finally ignored the do not disturb sign and opened the room, they found it wrecked as if a fierce altercation had taken place. The official story was that the well-to-do British gentleman had been robbed and kidnapped, a story the hotel insisted was false. The manager spread another rumor, one of a falling out between friends over drink and gambling debt. However, the local people who lived in the poor neighborhoods just out of the light cast by the glitzy hotel had a different story. In a tale spoken of for weeks, months, and even years after about that night, they said two ancient gods walked the land again, and took as a sacrifice an extremely unpleasant camel, then headed out into the desert. The Old Gods walked once again.

Applebaum was furious. He could understand if one of the Art thieves had accidentally become a vessel for the entity slumbering within the snake god statue, whatever ancient spirit or beast it might be; but both of them? Regardless, it was a lost cause. With the statue awakened, the chance to steal its magic, its vitality, and its life force was lost.

He was surprised, though, that two giant snakes were able to avoid detection. As the years turned into decades, nary a further whisper emerged from the desert and Hiram Applebaum eventually forgot about that particular attempt at extending his life, eventually passing away a few decades into the twenty-first century.


CAIRO, 2022

The desk clerk at the Regent Arms frowned sourly as the latest customer strode up to the desk with the grace of a dancer and the body of a rugby player. His jet black hair was shiny with health, his face was perfect like it had been sculpted, and his relatively plain suit was actually impeccably tailored and of a brand that didn’t advertise itself because the rich people all knew it.

“Hello fellow,” the man said with a hint of an English accent; probably an American trying to sound posh, the clerk suspected. “I’m Thad Barlowe, and my husband and I have the Premiere’s suite on reservation,” he said with just a tiny bit of a hiss, or, the clerk corrected himself, a lisp. He was one of those.

“This is not America, we do not approve of your kind here,” he nearly spat. The man tilted his head sharply at the retort and glared at him.

“I am your customer and I have a reservation. My husband is paying the cab driver now and bringing in our luggage. We met at this hotel, a long time ago, and we’re here for our anniversary. I strongly suggest you keep such comments to yourself,” Thad snapped.

The clerk squared his shoulders and threw down the pencil he had been playing with. “Your kind cannot threaten me,” he said rudely, throwing in a few curse words in Arabic. Thad’s face clouded and his eyes began to turn red.

“I don’t like it when your kind talks to me that way, either!” he almost hissed.

“And what kind is that, dirty butt man?” the clerk sneered.

Thad’s hand lashed out and caught his neck, nearly crushing his windpipe. His eyes became luminous and the man’s mouth opened in shock. “Prey…” Thad said and began to drain a measure of life force and will from the clerk, his eyes becoming bright shining ruby red. The man was such a piece of trash he had no significant resistance, and his mind crumbled immediately. Thad quickly let him go, disliking sullying himself by ingesting even a bit of such rabble’s life. “Now do your job and book our rooms,” he snapped.

From the revolving front door, a dashingly handsome blond man entered, pushing a cart bearing several pieces of luggage. Like Thad he was impeccably dressed and simply stunning in every matter of appearance. Stephen Gates was dismayed to see the slack-jawed clerk but moved across the intervening space unhurriedly.

“That’s a surprise, my mate,” he said smoothly, his fangs fully retracted and his voice fully human.

“Just a random homophobe, not enough to spoil our anniversary. I can’t wait to get up there. I suppose it’ll be a different bed but I want to do it with you in our human forms and our god forms. I might even grow a pair of wings this time I’m so excited.” Stephen stepped away from the luggage cart and smoothly slid his arms around his lover from the back.

“Reincarnating in Stephen was the best thing I ever did. Immortals can’t learn new things easily, thus fusing to a new life form once every several centuries provides a chance to grow. Even though Stephen didn’t have physical love for you, he had a deep emotional well that I completely lacked. Thus you are my one and only mate, through all eternity.”

Version 1.2 May 6, 2021

Mind Control
Wanking material
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