(after the first scene of chapter 2)
Nyze’s body was not wrong for her. Far from it. The sensation of enfolding Psytalla in her embrace, the lengths of her scaly coils wrapping around her lover, was something she did unconsciously while their minds got lost in kissing. Currently, they had only gone waist high, leaving the Demon Lord’s strong arms ready and willing to stroke the muscles of the lamia’s back while their lips passionately pressed against each other, but the way Nyze’s tail was creeping up, it would not be long until they were ensnared too.
Currently, though, the thought of enfolding Psytalla up had yet to cross Nyze’s mind. Instead it was being consumed, like her mouth was, by Psytalla’s tongue. She was demonically skilled in using its length to play with Nyze’s own lamia tongue, dominating it and making her thoughts go crazy with desire as each lick stroked the tongue into a frenzy.
On and on and on the kiss continued until eventually Psytalla drew back, panting slightly but grinning in delight. “Constriction play now?” she said teasingly. “Are you attempting to show me how much you love using your body?”
Nyze took a moment to catch her breath, rolling her eyes. “Oh Psy, I haven’t even BEGUN to show you how I can use my body. Now shut up and keep kissing.”
Psytalla chuckled. “I’d love to see you try.” Then they leaned in and returned to the lovely, lovely smooching.
This time, however, Nyze decided to do something new. As their lips parted, instead of letting Psytalla’s long tongue enter, she slid her own long tongue between her fangs and into Psytalla’s waiting mouth. Her tongue was a full foot when stretched out, and Psytalla was about to feel every inch.
She saw her lover’s eyes widen as she went deeper, flicking both prongs of her tongue’s forked tip. She was hardly as skilled with it as her lover, she knew that, but she had a forked, foot-long tongue and damn if she wasn’t going to at least try to use it.
The upturned corners of Psytalla’s mouth, the evident delight she was showing at Nyze’s actions, convinced her to keep going. As Nyze began pressing into her with her tongue, her body followed up with scales on blue skin, briefly touching those rippling thighs. Then Nyze began to subconsciously rise up, using the length of her tail, as she continued to attempt to work her tongue around Psytalla’s.
Yes yes yes yes YESSSSSS. Nyze’s thought process started to haze away as she continued her kiss. How long had they been going? A minute now? Breathing was for later, breathing was for chumps, she just wanted to show her girlfriend just how great her tongue could beeeeeeee -
Nyze’s ever-advancing tongue hit the back of Psytalla’s mouth. Her face scrunched up, contorting as she gagged at the sensation. She controlled it almost immediately, preventing herself from doing anything to harm the other person, but Nyze felt the instinctive push from her lover’s mouth. Alarmed, the lamia drew back, her tongue flopping out in the open. “Whas -” she stopped before drawing it back into herself. “What was that?! You okay, Psy?”
“I’m fine,” Psytalla said hurriedly, resetting her face and grinning back confidently. “Do you think that could do anything to me?”
Nyze grimaced. “... Sorry.”
Psytalla saw the little quirks in her girlfriend’s face, the downturn of cheek, the sideways glance of her eyes. Raising an eyebrow, she raised her arm and bopped Nyze’s head. “Goofus.”
Nyze blinked, breaking out of the shame-filled torpor she had been falling into. “Goo-”
“Nyze, how long have we been together?”
“A-a week.”
“Have you ever kissed a girl before then?”
At the intense gaze her lover was throwing her, Nyze could only blush slightly and shake her head.
“Have you ever kissed even me while using that length before? Have you ever been fucked as many times as I’ve fucked you in this past week? Have you ever liked someone as you do now?”
Her face turning into a shade of crimson deeper than her scales, Nyze tried not to meep out a high-pitched, “No,” in response.
“Well,” Psytalla said gently, stroking her back, “that makes you still a beginner. And as a beginner, it’s perfectly fine to make mistakes now and again. I’ll be happy to teach you, seeing as,” - she leaned forward, breathing into Nyze’s ears as she spoke -”I like you a HELL of a lot too.”
By this point, Nyze’s insecurities had been completely blown away by how skillfully Psytalla had reminded her of how much she loved her - and now her mind was reminded of the splendidness of being kissed. Keeping her tongue inside this time, she instead focused on the passions of their lips, starting to get lost again. Her tail, previously stalled, began winding itself back up. At some point, she realized that she was now kissing Psytalla while hanging down, fully ensconcing the tall Demon Lord with her tail while towering over her. She heard a whispered, “More!” as they broke for breath - who said it, she wasn’t certain, but she was happy to oblige. She leaned forward, sealing her lover’s lips -
Then the door opened and she heard the sound of cloven hooves walking on stone floor.
***
(after the first scene in chapter 3)
Daylight could be cursed - quite literally in the case of vampires, as a certain newly-created lady of the night was coming to learn elsewhere - but especially so when you were trying to nurse a Skel-damned hangover caused by trying to compete with a Demon Lord’s alcohol intake. Anyone who had awoken to a friend violently ripping open the curtains after a night to town could attest to the agony their once-trusted companion had just inflicted. As such, normally daylight would be right at the top of a drinker’s shit-list.
Candles, however - Nyze was coming to HATE candles.
Metokai had eventually woken up and rushed-staggered away to attend to “Demon Army general duties”, which left Nyze lying alone, in bed, while Psytalla powered through the morning’s paperwork. She had offered to get her something to help, but Nyze had refused, citing the stacks of documents she had to busy herself with already. So now the only options the pained lamia had available was to either bury herself in pillows, or look around aimlessly while she nursed the hangover which had glanced at the Demon Lord, thought, “NO FUCKING WAY AM I GOING NEAR HER,” and decided to join its three siblings which were already rattling around Nyze’s tormented brain.
Glancing, however, meant candles. And do you know what candle-flames do? They move. They flicker, undulate, and swim in an already-tormented vision. Against such a horrible force, Nyze had no chance. She was forced to keep her face pressed against the plush velvet pillow in front of her and stew.
And stew she did, over the previous day’s events. Having her lover comfort her then … it had helped her avoid the problem. But Nyze was not going to let her inexperience in love ever hurt her girlfriend. EVER. Not even in the most minute way.
“Psytalla,” she groaned, her voice muffled by the mattress.
The sound of the pen - a sleek black device with a screaming metallic skull on the end - running over paper stopped. “Yes, dear?” Her voice was tinged with concern.
“That lamia swordsmaster you talked about … could I meet her?” She groaned as her headache spiked. “Just - talk … with her.”
The creak of a chair being pushed back, the clap of feet over cobbles, then a hand ruffling her shoulder. “Absolutely, dear,” Psy’s kind voice said. “Would you like anything else?”
Nyze’s resolve melted at her tone. “Some pats, please … gentle ones. And some damned coffee.”
“What’s coffee?”
***
Lysimey prided herself on being one of the greatest lamia swordsmasters in Goezia. Could she take on the likes of the Demon Lord Psytalla, or her general Metokai? No, and if she were ordered to take on her bosses she would do so - but only in the full expectation of being instantly KOed. However, she considered her technical skill in wielding the blade among the best in the land.
So it was no surprise that Psytalla went to her and asked her to aid in training a new lamia recruit, in particular one who was already skilled but was actually a “freshly hatched lamia”, recently transformed into one. Still, her precise identity was surprising in and of itself.
As Lysimey left the chambers with a quick farewell to her co-workers and began slithering in the direction of The Iron Maiden, she reviewed the information in her head. Nyze, a former human and member of the Hero’s party who had defected and become, of all things, Psytalla’s girlfriend. The lover of the Demon Lord herself. A rather unexpected climb in life, all things considered.
Still … Lysimey’s scales rustled as she shivered mid-slither. Psytalla trusted her and that was fine, but she had been a human until recently. It made her feel … uneasy. And now, she had to meet her one-on-one. Why she had requested an after-work meeting at the Demon Lord’s favorite neon skullscape bar instead of a midday sparring session, though …
She considered the strange meet-up location as she moved through the castle’s winding corridors. Maybe … she wanted to get familiar with her? As a hu- a former human, she probably didn’t know all that many demons. Maybe she was nervous? Or just unsure?
Maybe, a part of her mind whispered, maybe she’s trying to fish for information? Maybe she’s a spy who seduced the Demon Lord and -
Lysimey stopped mid-slither, surprising a passing kobold who nearly stumbled into her, and she took a deep breath. Then, she raised her fist up, leaned it back, then swung it full force in an uppercut into her chin. The resulting mini-shockwave from knuckles hitting jaw shocked several more passersby and left the lamia momentarily dazed while her brain rattled in her skull.
Letting herself relax atop her wide lamia tail, she scolded herself as she recovered, (although probably not as hard as the kobold was berating her in the distant corner of the real world). Idiot! This was a warrior she was talking about, and one who had earned at least some trust and plenty of respect! Just because she used to be a human didn’t mean she was a human now! Treat her like you would any other introduced demon. Suspicions be DAMNED BY SKEL!
Eventually resuming her coiling path forward and slipping by the still-talking kobold, she began to think about how best to help her adjust. If she had turned from human into lamia, then the problem was … probably related to footwork. So, maybe treat her like a recently-shifted elf. Their physiologies and ways of moving were probably similar.
She nodded to herself, finalizing her advice as she stopped in front of the bar, the death metal music within already reverberating out into the corridor. She pushed the door open, letting the noise and the smell of damn fine alcohol wash over her, and quickly scanned the tables before spotting a lone, red-haired and red-scaled lamia at one in the corner. She raised her hand and waved, receiving a return. Slithering past a rambunctious pile of goblins, she approached the woman before coiling herself into a sitting posture.
“Hello!” she said brightly, imbuing her tone with gentleness and positivity. “My name’s Lysimey. You must be Nyze, right?”
“Yep, that’s me” the other lamia said, grinning despite the undercurrent of nervousness in her voice. She held out her hand and they shook. Lysimey briefly noted that, although they didn’t squeeze their hands together or anything so redundant, she could easily confirm the strong muscles of her palm, alongside the rest lurking beneath her arms.
She saw a small smile form on the other lamia’s lips and, despite herself, she felt a vicious grin slip into her face with a spike of adrenaline. STRONG!
… Maybe they could arm-wrestle afterwards.
Shaking her head and dispelling her battle-lust, she continued on, “The Demon Lord said that you needed adjustment advice, correct? Let me just say that I’m always happy to give you any help you need. It’s never a bother and I’m always free for a pep talk.” And get me away from the piles of deskwork pleeeease. Grinning again, she continued a bit pridefully, “I’ve tutored other recently-shifted lamia in the past, and can recommend myself highly in that field.”
Nyze chuckled. “Well, that’s good to hear - great to hear!”
They fell into some inane chatter for a few moments, Lysimey letting herself regale her fellow lamia with a story from her teaching days while they ordered and waited for their drinks. When the two mugs of ale had been delivered, they thanked Gary and took appreciative swigs.
“Well then,” Lysimey said, licking her lips approvingly at the drink, “what do you need help with then?”
Nyze paused for a moment, then took a long, long, long draught from her cup. Then, setting it down and visibly steeling herself, she leaned forward, cupping her mouth with one hand. Curious, Lysimey bent herself closer as well, turning her ear slightly. From the corner of her eye, she saw a couple inches of Nyze’s tongue slide out as she whispered her request.
“Can you tell me how a lamia … tongue-fucks?”
***
Nyfilhe was a simple person who was fond of routines. Most demons loved to fight, but Nyfilhe - apart from the odd angry moment where they clawed people’s faces off - preferred a routine of small, everyday joys. The everyevening joys were the best. Warm milk, one of the latest mystery novels checked out from the public library, and - above all - a big, scaly lamia blanky to snuggle in.
Therefore, lacking their big, scaly lamia blanky was a very bad thing.
“An hour,” the message had said. “An hour or two” to talk with a freshly hatched lamia recruit in a bar. Not something wholly unfamiliar, to be true, and so Nyfilhe had waited, whiling away the time by absently batting their flicking, feline tail. However, when the partner of their life - and her accompanying big scaly lamia blanky - had not returned after five whole hours, Nyfilhe had decided to seek out said bar and drag her back so they could get their cat nap for the night, if nothing else.
Even if they half-dreaded what they would find. The last time she’d been on a night out, she’d come back way too flirty. They were not good with flirty.
Entering The Iron Maiden and shielding their slit eyes from the excessive colored lights, they waited for a single moment before bounding over the heads of the patrons in a single leap, landing on top of an unoccupied stool. “Gary!” they called out, flattening their ears against their head at the music’s volume - HyugthunderSmash was a truly amazing song, but not when their ears were already so sensitive.
The bubble of multicoloured hydrogen floated over and, in a voice reminiscent of ninety ferrets managing to scratch eleven thousand steel beams simultaneously through contortions and distortions unimaginable to anyone unfamiliar with ferrets, responded, “How glad I am to see you, Nyfilhe! You are just the catkin I want to see this evening.”
Oh great. Nyfilhe rubbed their forehead. “Where is she?”
“Another round!!!” a familiar voice trilled.
“The corner to your left,” Gary said, the groans of a reanimated orangutan mummy seeping into his words. “I must say, while I am fond of customers enjoying themselves, well, they haven’t even finished off their current drinks …”
Quickly thanking him, Nyfilhe turned around and, sliding along the wall, made their way to the corner table where they spotted two lamias in an animated discussion, faces red and voices high in obvious inebriation. Empty tankards littered their surroundings, alongside two fist-shaped indentations on opposite sides of the table, halfway in between the two.
“S-sho I shtepped back and didn’t do anything,” the unfamiliar one said slowly, trying to clearly enunciate each syllable. “Meanwhile, that ass - he just charged right forward, then she beat him up!” She swung her arms through the air wildly. “Vroosh, wheeee! She was sho - sho gorgeoush shwinging her shword around!”
Lysimey giggled. “The shword went vroosh?”
The other lamia nodded emphatically. “Vroosh!”
Lysimey tilted back extravagantly, heads stretched past her head. “Wheeee!” The two of them dissolved into the sort of laughter that only two very drunk people could reach after clicking.
Then Nyfilhe put their hand on Lysimey’s shoulder. “Lysy, dear,” they said gently. “How’re you doing?”
She whipped around, goggle-eyed at first and then beaming in happiness. “NYFYYYYYY!!!” She slung her arms around them and giggled. “Sho lovely to shee you here!” She began rubbing her face up against their chest. They blushed and frantically shook their head, checking to see if anyone was watching.
“Who -” the other lamia blinked rapidly, swaying as she tried to focus on Nyfilhe. “Who’s thisss?”
“Nyfy,” Lysimey said proudly, “mah lover.” Her arms clung tightly to them, strong as ever. “You wouldn’t belieeeeve how catkin tongue feels like.” Her own tongue slid out and tapped them playfully on the cheek before licking.
Nyfilhe shook their head wildly, banishing the thoughts that came to their mind at the touch. “Lysy! S-stop, you’re drunk! We need to get you home now, okay?”
“I-I’m not druuuuunk!” She bobbed her head from side to side. “I’m not dunk, am I, Nyze?” She turned to the other lamia, Nyze.
She nodded back. “We’re not dwunk!” She frowned. “Dwank.” Shutting her eyes for a moment and really concentrating, she got out, “Drank … drunk! We’re not drunk!”
Lysy dissolved into full giggle mode, pointing and laughing at Nyze. “Dwunk! You’re sho dwunk!”
“Am not! Shee?” She pointed to her mug, long tongue snaking down as if to lap at it, then she blinked and frowned. “When did it get empty?”
Lysy nodded knowingly. “Right before Nyfy arrived. Shee, you’re very dwunk!” She giggled and swayed, accidentally undulating her rock-hard abs outwards - catching Nyfilhe off guard - before leaning on the catkin. “Careful when you get up, don’t let the ground get all wobbly on you!”
As Nyze began to shakily weave herself into a semi-standing position with her thick tail, accompanied by the words of, “Not dwunk,” Nyfilhe rubbed their forehead again, trying to regain their composure. “You two have really gone overboard,” they murmured. “C’mon, let’s get you back to your place, Nyze. Where do you live?”
“The Demon Lord’s bedchamberssss,” she said woozily.
“And I’m Xlatla of the Furry Eight Legs,” they deadpanned. “Just - guide us there please.” They turned to Lysimey. “Dear, time to go home.”
She pointed to her own tankard. “Lemme finish my drank first.”
“You’ve already had too much -”
She leaned forward, pushing herself and her rippling muscles against them, and whispered huskily against their ear, her intoxicated cheek pressed against their own hot face. “Let me finish and I’ll give you a good show tomorrow. A special break from the normal~”
Nyfilhe squeaked and let her finish the drink.
***
Dropping the very drunk Nyze was not an eventful task, except for the fact they actually did so at the fricking Demon Lord’s fricking bedchambers. Psytalla Sidealestes, the actual Disaster Demon Lord, had been courteous and understanding enough, her familiarity allaying Nyfilhe’s nerves as they briefly explained what had happened; the only problem had been the fact that Lysimey flirted with Nyfilhe nonstop the entire time, which was … very distracting. But now that Nyze was back in bed, the two were left to meander off back homewards, the lamia only slightly less drunk now that she was deprived of further booze. Maybe.
“Hey!” Lysimey yelled out in an overly loud voice, stopping and turning to point. “You’re cute!”
“That’s a wall, Lysy. A mural on the wall.”
She looked at her partner and blinked before facing the extremely vivid depiction of an axe-wielding ogre standing triumphant over defeated opponents. Then she turned back to Nyfilhe. “Don’t be mean! Wallsh have feelingsh too!”
“Only the ones in Kuudar. Here, they are just walls, and you are just very drunk.”
“Party-pooper,” she mumbled, leaning into them, breath tickling their nape. “Just wanted to make you jealoush, jelly-jealoushy.”
Nyfilhe was very glad her mind was too hazy to realize how much her actions were having an effect on them, and that they’d managed to panickedly compose themself beforehand when meeting Psytalla in the ashen-coloured flesh.
“How’d you find your evening?” they asked, steering the conversation away from dangerous territory.
“Greeeeat,” she warbled, her face brightening. “I got to talk with a hasched lamia. Hash the Nyze of name. She ushed to be human, but noooow,” - she gesticulated wildly - “she’s full demon! Shtronk too. Wanna fight her shometime …”
“Yes, yes,” they said, patting her head reassuringly and hoping the exaggerated motions wouldn’t make her fall over.
She crooned at the touch, resting her head on their shoulder. “She’s good,” she murmured eventually, sounding a bit more sober actually, as if she were thinking deeply. “Actual good. Got … got good pershonality. Meshes well with usss too. She told me about her life, y’know, the problemss and shtrugglesss living with the humansss.” She paused for another long moment. “I think - maybe we can get along with shome of the nice humansss, Nyfy.”
They raised their eyebrows at her statement before smiling at her. “I’ll trust you on that. You’re a good judge of character after all.”
“I did marry you,” she said dreamily in response. Then she blinked and looked out into space, failing to see the deep blush rising to Nyfilhe’s cheeks. “It just hit me!”
“W-what, dear?”
“Nyze!” she exclaimed. “Nyfy! And Lyshy! They shound the shame!” She giggled. “Nyze, Nyfy, Lyshy! Nyze, Nyfy, Lyshy!”
They shook their head at her new drunken focus, and the two ambled on for several minutes. Eventually, Lysimey broke the silence. “Hey Nyfy.”
“What?”
“I think - I think I’m gonna hurl.”
“Oh shi-”
***
It was well into the afternoon by the time Nyze dragged herself out of bed. Two nights of heavy drinking had not been on the plan, nor had the hangover family reunion in her skull. Flickering her tail to extinguish one of the accursed candles, she groggily looked at a small, ribbon-bedecked chest left on the table, with two notes addressed to her on top. Skimming the first - from Psytalla - she learned that the chest had arrived from her new, and she quoted, “besht lamia friend EVER” from the night before.
Rubbing her forehead as she tried to recall all of the events with Lysimey from the previous night - the start was fine, lots afterwards were blurry, and she was pretty sure she had blacked out at some point - she scanned the second letter.
“Hey, Nyze!
It was amazing to meet you last night! Loved the talk, and the drinks - been a while since I had such a good time out. I’m not sure if you’ll remember what we talked about last night - I don’t tend to forget, thankfully - but I decided it was still best to send you this. I put some illustrations and good reading materials in the chest, plus a few other useful pieces to help you out. I have a good eye, so I think the sizes will be fine.
Let’s be friends! Let’s have that arm wrestling you later!
Lysimey
P.S. About damn time Psytalla got someone like you in her life!”
Nyze blinked, rereading it as she scanned her broken memories, trying to remember what she might have promised. Something about sparring practice … Well, not as if she would refuse a fight anyway.
She hummed to herself as she pulled open the unlocked lid and began rooting through the contents. There were a few books - she scanned the covers, then felt her face grow bright red with each and every title. She shook her head and set them to the side for later, and then pulled out several articles of what looked like folded clothing or other items.
She picked up a small card on top of the largest clothing item, reading out the writing on it out loud. “Lamias, like many snakes, secrete pheromones through their scaled skin and spread it through physical contact, which is why we like to wrap around people instinctively. However, there are ways to increase contact, like with this.” Blinking slightly - what were pheromones? - she examined the cloth. Giving it a rough estimate, she realized it would probably unfold to be long enough to go over most of a lamia’s body. She frowned as she began to unwind it. Was it perhaps some sort of stocking? It looked too light and airy though, not quite enough fabric …
Then she realized its design.
She blinked, her jaw dropped, and the garment fluttered from her grasp.
***
Psytalla wearily trudged through the halls of her castle, armored feet clanking on the stone below. Today’s affairs of ruling the Demon Realm, and being the Demon Lord, and generally managing the lives of millions of demon subjects had been a tad more taxing than usual, leaving her in a state where the skull lamps on the walls were cheering her up slightly, but couldn’t quite dispel the tedium in her heart.
Dutifully greeting subordinates as she passed by them, she put her hand on her head and cracked her neck, feeling her body resettle ever so slightly. She sighed contentedly, and began to consider what to do for the evening. She could go to The Iron Maiden, down a few drinks, then crash at home with Nyze, or she could use her illusion projection stone to play back a few songs, cuddle with her cute lamia girlfriend, and relax for the evening.1Using illusion magic, a demon can enchant a runestone with carved spell circles to pre-record and play back an image/sound by injecting violet mana into it. Each had their perks, but her thought process was leading her to the latter.
She chortled to herself, realizing this was the umpteenth time in a row she’d been picking the choice most involving quality time with Nyze. Gosh, she was just so … so … great, it was hard not to want her. And hard not to keep her thoughts wandering at work.
She stopped at the doorway to her chambers, greeting the guards on duty there as she subtly stretched herself, then entered.
Darkness greeted her. A smell too, a soft but powerful smell which enticed Psytalla, trying to lure her to smell it more. She heard a rustling, scales on sheets, and realized that Nyze was in the room. She frowned slightly, shutting the door behind her. “What is it, Nyze? -”
A violet light flashed on above, accompanied by the sounds of a very quiet song - violins accompanied by soft, rapturous breathing. The purple beam illuminated Nyze, stretched out on the bed, her upper body curving upwards. One hand flicked her hair out of her face, her head itself turning to look at Psytalla, her striking features piercing into the lesbian demon lord. The other hand flowed down her side and along her scaly hips. Using the same sultry tone Psytalla had used when she first visited the ex-human in the dungeon, Nyze purred, “Welcome, Psytalla.”
Now, there were several factors here which might have detracted from this spectacle. The background sound and the lighting were admittedly on the tacky side, and Nyze’s face was so red it was a wonder she hadn’t exploded - her confidence in seduction was not high enough to go through such an event without repercussions. Her embarrassment was only heightened by the outfit she was wearing - a two piece rose-pink garment with far too little fabric, ostensibly covering her private areas while being perfectly see-through enough for someone with even a small amount of focus. The first piece was a nearly transparent patterned bra clinging close to her breasts, leaving her chiseled abs exposed. The second began at the point where her scales began to emerge on her hips, the thin fabric diverging and forming intricate patterns as they ran across the lamia’s long tail, meeting and separating in numerous locations before they reached and covered the tip of her tail.
On the whole, while certainly erotic, the clothing was perhaps a bit more forward than would be expected. But, while Psytalla could certainly pull out all the stops to seduce a Nyze who was inexperienced at lesbianing, she was still at heart the same Disaster Demon Lord who had once absently brought down city walls because she’d seen a “leggy” elf.
Psytalla saw her girlfriend, an absolutely gorgeous lamia, put on this sensual display for her. As her brain dimly registered the welcome Nyze uttered, all the lesbian Demon Lord could do was whisper a reverent, “FUCK,” under her breath.
Nyze’s sharp ears caught the small sound. Smiling, she twisted on her scaly waist, looking over her shoulder as she exposed her back. Flexing her infraspinatus, teres minor, teres major, and latissimus dorsi muscles, - which she was FAR more comfortable doing - she asked in a tone meant to be teasing, “Like what you see?”
Psytalla made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a, “Yesyes.” She slapped herself, trying to regain her senses even as her legs unconsciously brought her to the bedside. “You’re being very bold today,” she murmured, getting a grasp of how to use her tongue again. “What’s the occasion?”
“There is none,” Nyze said plainly, a small blush still evident on her cheeks. “I thought you might appreciate it though~” The tip of her tail slid in and poked Psytalla’s plate armor at her hips. “I’d like to see the effects I’m having on you in detail, though.”
Reading the mood, Psytalla began to unbuckle the straps on her armor, Nyze accompanying her in the actions. The gauntlets, vambraces, greaves, breastplate, and other accoutrements were each discarded, one by one, rolling off the bed and falling onto the floor - though the two’s gazes remained locked on one another, taking their time to enjoy the slow stripping. In the end, Psytalla stood there in her undergarments, taking off her shirt and sliding off her pants to reveal the black sports gear she wore below.
Sitting on the bed, Psytalla hooked her arms around Nyze and rested her forehead on her lover’s, the bottom of her horns lightly butting into the lamia. “Well?” Psytalla asked, hungry red-on-black eyes boring into Nyze. “What’s next in the - aaah!”
The tip of Nyze’s tail had poked the demon in her side, causing her to yelp slightly. She looked down and blinked, realizing how oddly cold it had felt, before a new sensation hit her. She shuddered, inhaled sharply, tried not to bite her lip or moan. She touched her neck and pulled it away, feeling the saliva there before her eyes caught on the long tongue snaking out of Nyze’s mouth.
The tongue retracted slightly and Nyze smiled smugly. “I thought you were a bit sensitive there, but that reaction was adorable.”
“Oh shush.” Psytalla exhaled sharply, her gaze even more intense than before. “Let’s -”
She was interrupted once more as Nyze’s foot-longue tongue slid out once more, the forked tips caressing the other woman’s lips and wiggling them open. The two tongues met, twisting and twining with each other before the lamia’s positioned itself on top and pressed down. Its soft points stroked Psytalla’s gums and inner cheeks even as the wet mass pressed down on her own tongue, making her lose focus. She carefully steadied herself, but then realized that Nyze’s face was following its tongue, drawing in even while retracting the tongue, keeping it at just the right length.
Their lips met, then their bodies pressed together. Hearts thudded against each other’s chest, resonating in each other as the sounds of Nyze’s continued deep kissing filled each other’s ears. After countless heartbeats, Psytalla carefully put her hands on Nyze’s arms and drew back, breathing heavily, eyes dilated. “That was …”
Nyze smirked. “What, don’t think I’ve picked up on some of your techniques over the past week?” That damn tongue licked her lips, nearly causing Psytalla to melt again - oh fuck she was glad she was sitting down.
Psytalla grinned back. “Oh you massive lesbian, you. You should know not to let up.” She leaned in and this time it was her using her own long tongue, twisting around and delicately trapping Nyze’s - though those forked tips were still doing things to the ashen demon’s body. Her hands instinctively began roaming along the lamia’s back, feeling the muscles lurking beneath the surface. Her eyes widened in mild surprise as the other woman grabbed her hands and began guiding them, sliding down past her scaly hips and along her flimsy garment until they reached one of the intersection points of the fabric. Then, letting go, she quickly pulled it down, Psytalla feeling the cloth slide down along her stomach as they pressed together. The hand returned to Psytalla’s, and slid the demon lord’s fingers beneath the fabric.
Her eyes widened even further. It was cold, she could feel it. Not very cold, more like a small chill, but definitely a bit cold. She felt Nyze shudder in front of her, a stifled moan bubbling from her throat, as her warm fingers made contact with the cold scales. Psytalla stroked the points experimentally, causing the lamia’s eyes to roll back and her tail to flex, curling inwards towards her lover.
She increased her sensitivity! Psytalla realized. The patterns of the cloth itself form an enchantment which, when imbued with orange mana, gives a small frost effect. She’s likely using another item or potion to maintain her core temperature while doing so as well, given the lack of chill elsewhere. So, when I remove the chill points like so, - she pulled away another strip of the cloth and patted the exposed scale, resulting in Nyze’s tail jolting once more - she instinctively pulls towards me.
Shaking her head internally, she extracted herself from the smooch attachment, stared her flushed girlfriend in the face, and half-frankly, half-seductively said, “You’re fucking ADORABLE.” Their tongues each slid out again, flicked across the other’s face, before messily smooching once more.
***
Nyze half-wanted to interrupt the exchange of smooches to tell Psytalla that now was smooch-time, not compliment-time, but that would defeat the purpose and … well, being called “adorable” was nice and having her partner mean it when she said nice things inflamed the burning feelings inside her. So instead she focused on slowly, delicately winding her way around Psytalla’s tongue.
Careful was the way. Feel with the tips, try only to brush lightly against the sides of her mouth, and not push far. Even if she really wanted to push forward and enfold her lover with all her body and devour her whole, her mouth wasn’t the place to go all in.
They were flopped onto the bed now, soft mattress bending beneath them. She felt Psytalla’s fingers glide along the surface of her scales, and instinctively begin to draw more of her lamia body in, coiling it around themselves. She felt a rumble deep in her throat as the shivers along her scales intensified. It wasn’t as if the reminders of the previous chill made her lustful - it just made her get even closer and closer to her.
Nyze cupped her cheeks, drawing her in more, hands slipping up and down as she continued to wrap around and around, tighter and tighter. It was so maddening how blurry her head was getting, how hard it was to focus on anything beyond Psytalla and her tongue and her body and oh she wanted her needed her, and let her have her too -
Psytalla’s head suddenly pulled back, tongues slithering off one another. Nyze’s dangled there, stunned for a moment, before she drew her head back. Breathing hard, Psytalla nodded her head to the left. “Mind giving me some wiggle room?”
Nyze looked and realized with a start that her body had wrapped itself totally around her lover; even the free arm Psytalla had tried to keep free had been grabbed by the end of her tail. She relaxed her grip slightly - the demon lord was sturdy enough not to be hurt by her, she knew that much, but she didn’t have to try to crush her. However, before she could open her mouth, Psytalla had already wiggled her arm out, while her tongue darted forward and licked Nyze’s neck.
She shuddered and stared at the demon, flustered. Psytalla, for her part, looked back smugly. “Two can play at that game,” she said, grinning widely. With a tear, she ripped off the last of the garment and Nyze nearly moaned as the cold shock made her grip retighten around her body.
The lamia shook herself. “Bet I can play it better than you now though,” she said, mustering a brattish grin.
“Oh dear, a challenger? Guess I’ll take you seriously then.” A feral smile spread across the demon’s face. “Turn around so I can eat you up like a good little lamia.”
Nyze grinned back even as blood pounded through her head. “I could say the same to you!” She began to shift herself, repositioning so that her upper body was now behind Psytalla, before flipping her onto her back. She rose up, the sheer length of her coils giving her ample room to do so, then bent over, planting her arms on the mattress while her coils parted under her around Psytalla’s waist. Her face dug into the opening as she slowly drew her tongue around the exposed lips, drawing out an anticipatory sigh from her lover. Feeling encouraged, she slid it in further, pulling down the Demon Lord’s underwear with her lingual muscles.
She had sampled the flavor, akin to sweet-tinted meat, prior to now. However, as she dug in deeper, her tongue winding into her folds and her mouth unconsciously sinking its fanged teeth over lips, unable to penetrate the demon king’s skin but plenty enough to make her gasp, Nyze could feel her mind swimming in the taste of her lover. She carefully wiggled and pried her tongue in deeper, the prongs twitching against the sides, and she enjoyed the sounds of Psytalla luxuriating in the sensation as they reached her ears.
Then Nyze felt fingers dig into the scales of her backside and she nearly squeaked, the sound fortunately muffled as Psytalla pushed her cloaca onto her face, her horns digging into the lamia’s scaled skin as and her own winding tongue digging its way inside her. Nyze tried to stop her muscles from contracting, her tail from crushing her even tighter, but felt a reassuring stroke of her hands along her backside and remembered just who her lover was.
Her tongue, slowly pushing its way deeper, hit a sudden stop and she felt Psytalla’s bound legs twist. Retracting her tongue an inch, she began to flick the insides with the tips of her forked tongue. Letting out a groan of appreciation, she dug in deeper with her fangs around her labia, her fangs still not penetrating the skin but dragging out an alluring sound from where Psytalla’s own tongue was moving inside her. Nyze could faintly tell how much more experienced and dexterous it was in comparison to her own now, stimulating each and every region they met.
It only made her want to do better.
Nyze began to experiment, retracting slightly and extending back in, poking with her forked tips at the inner walls. It was proving difficult for her to focus on it, however, given how the sensation from Psytalla’s own tongue made her body jerk involuntarily every few seconds. The pulsing sensations of pleasure were growing stronger, stronger, stronger -
“Cmng!” the word sprang out involuntarily from Nyze’s mouth, as she felt herself unable any longer to ignore what was about to happen. She could imagine that little smirk on Psytalla’s too damn kissable lips, enjoying how she was making her - making her -
She bucked, her coils squeezing and loosening reflexively as the orgasm shot through her. Her tongue slid back out, writhing halfway inside her lover’s vagina as she gasped for breath. She hung there, letting it run through her until a feeling of exhaustion sunk into her.
She reluctantly pulled out her tongue, rising into the air and swaying uncertainly as she resettled her coils before flopping down beside Psytalla, still loosely binding her with her tail. Her lover’s fingers reached up and stroked her red hair. “Temperature change hitting you now?” she asked, her luxuriant voice slightly out of breath. Nyze nodded slightly, and Psytalla chuckled breathily. “You have to be careful with those. Snuggle?”
“Snuggle,” Nyze murmured, pushing her body closer. Getting warmer was very nice.
They pressed close to each other, their breaths brushing against each other’s cheeks for several minutes. “I did not expect that,” Psytalla said eventually. “You were adorable though.”
“It was an … interesting recommendation,” she admitted, trying not to blush too hard. “You were too, though.”
“Oh?” she raised an eyebrow, a teasing half-smile on her lips.
Nyze raised a finger and booped her nose. “Being the main giver of aftercare when you were cumming too at the end.”
“Not like I was trying to hide it.” Psytalla gave a languid smile. “You really were good.” She leaned in and gave a small kiss.
Nyze cuddled closer, giving a kiss back. It was nice knowing how she had made her lover feel good, but feeling the closeness, the affection, the trust they both had for the other … it was indescribably comforting.
It was definitely much better to be gay.
Ohohohoho, excellent work!
Very cute
ty!