'Juice' - by Amethystine, inspired by Shadow71693 [aka Mason / Mr. Mase]

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DISCLAIMER/WARNING:

This story contains subjects of an especially strange and sexual nature. Do not read if you are under-aged or made uncomfortable by fetish material. Be prepared for M/M, M/M/M, M/M/M/M/M/M, etc. Lots of males on males! Also: Servicing your tribal brothers, being a good snakeboy, cocksucking, cum drinking, being the village's boytoy, some slight degradation, admiring the male serpentine form, learning new things all the time, being told what's what and what to do, orgasm denial, a variety of cocksnakes, growing without knowing, sexual TF dreams, kinky rituals, size/attribute transfer, CTF in flavours both partial and full, and devolution. (So, all-in-all, the usual weirdness written by Amethystine!) The author takes no responsibility for any offence or unease caused by the material found within, you have been warned.

Do Not Distribute

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Chapter 3 - The Week Unfurls

~

In the steamy hours of increasing heat that defined the long afternoon in the jungle, the whole snake-village participated in a tournament of wrestling. The sight of those powerful bodies engaging in complex twisting and flexing, the unending undulations of those sleek, scaly forms, knotting and gripping in ever-shifting, morphing manners.. it was a stunning, mesmerizing spectacle, to Smano.

His arousal felt like it built for hours, watching the tawdry tournament of thick, powerful male-snake bodies, each more impressive than the last. Their natural glossiness and the humidity of the summer day, it made them glisten in the sun, mighty muscles appearing as if oiled. Ophidian perfection, on display. Smano's mind fluttered, his body flush, wanting so badly to drink a sample of each and every rousing, reptilian wrestler. Many times throughout the event, some friend or another brought him fresh cups of juice, to help cool him off.

The fog in his head persisted, and even deepened, his desire expanding, as if the wetness of everything was causing his brain to rot from the inside out, an arousal that could never be dislodged - nor did he want it to be, truly.

When it came time for him to wrestle, he realized he was the one to beat. It seemed he was the champion. Had he forgotten? The cheers of the crowd reminded him. He loved to wrestle! He was great at it, with his impossibly malleable and massive coils.

The victor of the rest of the tournament faced him, and was nearly beaten, when another opponent joined the fray, and another, and another. Some part of the rules he had surely forgotten. If he didn't know better, it seemed like all the top contenders in the competition were working together to best him, five or six against one.

He struggled valiantly, but was brought down by the sheer wall of snake-muscle surrounding, cocooning him.

Another tradition came to pass, and Smano was made to recall it, as it unfolded around him, there in the waning light of the evening that had come to pass, during the lengthy tournament of strength, guile and slithering style. The age-old rite was how his victorious opponents had the right to service from their vanquished foe. Smano found himself in a tangled knot of naga-flesh, a veritable mating ball, with hemi-shafts flowing forth from so many vents, all at once.

Sublimely slick were the veiny double-spires stemming from each of the six bodies, thickly layered with moisture from within those delicious depths, those colourful, coily hunks' heated holes. The aroma was ambrosial to Smano, who felt as if he were sinking into a sticky swamp of sex, thanks to the tantalizing, tasty, musky miasma of the various wrestlers' coil-borne crotches. Pre flowed as if from a phalanx of faucets; there were a dozen dicks for his tongue to flick against and lick over, his heart and mind and stomach and maw all entirely aligned with how much he wanted his latest filling, from the six victors.

A sextet of sensual serpents squeezed in around his snout, surrounding him. He was blind to anything but them, but he knew the whole village was watching. Everyone could see what a willing toy he was, for the ones who had bested him, as the event morphed from brawny bout to breeding ball.

Every attendee could hear as the ring of wrestlers all profusely praised his suckling snout, his swallowing throat. They all loudly declared him to be a good boy, or a perfect toy, or the best maw - many more moaned superlatives and a cascade of compliments coming from the cadre of cumming constrictors. His mind lapped up the praise with rabid rapture, much as his maw did, for the cum captured therein.

Quickly, a carnal coating of cream was cast over Smano's head and snout, his thick neck and shoulders all drizzled in the deluge of love-liquids.

As a team, the swiftly sexual six rippled their coils over the length of his enormous body, massaging Smano's scales, as he shivered and shuddered with utter bliss. He was beyond happy, an ecstatic erotic elation erupting from his mind as he felt so well-loved. Most importantly, though.. he _knew_, beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was of such excellent use, such high value, to his partners, his tribe-mates, these achingly arousing athletes.

Of course, to anyone else, he may have seemed to be the lowest of the group, an omega of this pythonic pack, a convenient container for endless cum. A sloppy, slobbering semen-soaked slave-slut to the slew of snakemen who used him, and his moaning mouth.

Truth is a matter of perspective, as always.

Although one thing that was objectively true was how Smano could be seen to be - upon emerging from the celebratory cluster of fucking that served as the end of the wrestling event - just that much bigger than he had been, after vanishing beneath the writhing flanks of his former opponents.

This time, the creamy coating of cum upon his uppermost scales was not hidden behind some trees, after lunch. This time, it was in the middle of the village, and _everyone_ saw it.. saw the depths of his submission, to the team of wrestlers. Inky, nebulous shades of shame that hovered on the edge of his mind were shattered by the beaming pride bursting out from within him, seeing how happy the other wrestlers had been made, and the wide grin upon Dasiek's snout, who had ensured he had the best view of the match, and the ensuing eroticism.

Led by Dasiek, the crowd cheered one last hurrah for their combatants - and the gangbang that had just ended.

As the tournament-observing throng dissolved, the six who had been Smano's opponents-turned-lovers, ushered him along with them.

Apparently, according to one of them (the one who had been the semi-final-victor of the tournament before the match against Smano), it was tradition for the victorious ones to have all night with their defeated foes.

All of the other five (and a few more participants of the tournament besides) all seemed to remember this fact as they all swiftly agreed, while Smano's foggy mind gradually helped him to remember how true this was. Given that he was pretty sure he had been a champion in a past event, and had his own pet, or pets, for the night, of course. It was just his turn now, that was all.

And so, the night extended, as the six became ten friends, all of whom were very kind to remind Smano just how he could best adhere to the traditions of the post-tournament revelry.

Juice, and seed, and scales, and tails.

An orgy of excitement, and pleasure, and 'filling' for the betrothed Smano. What a lovely thing, to have the tournament take place in the week before his ceremony! Very fortuitous, indeed.

In thinking on fortune further: All in all, he could scarcely believe his luck to have been born into being part of such a supportive tribe of nagamen, who would use so much of their time in teaching him things he should probably already know.

He could scarcely believe how good his body felt, every single time he was on the receiving end of their donations to his love-stockpile. The tribe, as a whole, was overflowing with love, and liquids.. wispy whiffs of Dasiek's medicine on the breath of his peers never quite registering as notable, to Smano's very busy tongue.

~

Late that night - so late that it was actually morning, a faint hint of renewed light creeping into the sky above the tall trees - Smano returned home, to Dasiek's large hut.

Dasiek was waiting with a kind smile, a teasing word and a final pair of juice-cups, for his big, sleepy snakey.

-

Hours later, upon Smano's awakening, there Dasiek was again, with more juice.

"Having fun, my big musk-ssstinking lover?" asked Dasiek, as Smano took the pair of morning cups from his much smaller husband-to-be. Did Dasiek seem somehow smaller? No, no.. surely not. He just hadn't seen him in so long, and had been in the company of such huge hunks, it must have been that his betrothed _seemed_ smaller, comparatively.

Dasiek had not changed size, it was true.

Smano, on the other hand...

He didn't recall exactly how low he had needed to duck his head to exit the chieftain's hut, the previous morning. He didn't realize or remember that it was a lower, deeper dipping of his upright portion at the head of his slithering form, when he had returned after his exciting night with the rippling, reptilian wrestlers. He lived in the moment, and each moment seemed normal, the current circumstance told him he had always been just exactly how he was in that eternal present instant.

"Oh yesss, Dasssiek, sssir, yesss~" gushed Smano, breathlessly, joyously.

"Mmm, good boy~" cooed the shaman Dasiek, petting over his companion's thick neck, having once more crept his little body up and around the bulging bulk of his beautifully beefy boytoy. "Godsss-above and devilsss-below, I love your body ssso much. I want it now, I want it already, I want it to be mine, forever. I can't wait, I can't wait to have your sssweetly ssswollen ssssize~" Dasiek almost sang as he hissed and kissed the fabulously fit sculpture of snake-strength that was his partner.

"I can't believe what an open mouth you are, for everyone. Never in my wildessst dreamsss of you, did I think you'd take thisss week ssso.. seriously," Dasiek remarked, in the middle of groping the grandiose girth of his groom-to-be.

Smano pondered over that, and slowly asked, "What do you mean, my love?"

"Well, you're just such a.. an amazingly easy partner, for everyone. A vent kissser like I've never seen before. A real tribe-toy." These remarks held a hint of disapproval, of deprecation.

The word 'whore' whirled around in Smano's mind, but he didn't actually know what it meant, and it was soon forgotten as quickly as it had been conjured, as if from nowhere at all. The tribe did not have money, after all.

"Have I done sssom--" Smano began to ask if he had misbehaved, when Dasiek cut him off.

"Oh! No no! My love, I'm just jealous. I wish I could spend as much time with you or with the tribe as you've clearly been giving to them. I feel a little bad that I haven't gone around, collecting love, being filled by the love of our peers, as you absolutely have.. because I'm meant to do that too! For you! For our big night, at the end of the week. You're out-doing me, with that silky slit-sucking snout, that marvellous maw of yours."

Dasiek went on, having wormed his curling body around Smano's torso, so the smaller was cuddling up against the tall, upright chest of the much bigger naga. Dasiek massaged the plump python pectorals, and kissed up Smano's chest as he spoke. "I'm just a little sad I can't be out there, with you. The law says we must wait, and I'm too busy with my medicine-making to make merry as you have been, with such admirable fervency."

"Huh?" Smano grunted, confused at the flowery language, and distracted by Dasiek's sweet lips and fleet fingertips.

"I mean you've been really going hard at love-drinking, darling. It's like you're a..dic..ted to it~! And I love that about you. You're the most loving, giving, generous perssson. And so great at receiving too! I just cannot wait to have such a heavy, thick, love-stuffed m-- mate-- with me, forever. I can't wait until you give me your all, and I have it all, and give you so much love, forevermore."

The smaller naga's body was almost making love to Smano's form already, the way the shorter length was curling tight around the muscle-bound torso, and grinding a curve of smooth strength into the tightly sealed vent on Smano's front. Pulses of pleasure were radiating out from that sweet, slick friction of scale on scale. 
Even in that heavenly massage to his week-long-forbidden hemi-phalluses, though, Smano's mind caught on something.

"You mean, once again, right?" the huge hunk asked.

"Huh?" Now it was Dasiek's turn to be confused.

Smano scooped his diminutive Chief up, to kiss his cheek. "Well, we weren't always kept apart by the pre-Rebirth rules. We shared our love plenty before now, as far as I can recall."

Dasiek was quite quick to agree. "Oh yess, yesss! Of courssse we did, honey-tongue." Rapidly, the runtish reptile wriggled up higher in his hunk's hold, to kiss Smano's snout, drawing that so-called honey-tongue out, to delight the well-built male with some advanced tongue-tangling techniques. Very _distracting_ techniques.

As soon as the kissing came to a close, Dasiek again asked (or ordered, honestly) Smano to go out into the village. Just as with the prior day, the strangely little chief and shaman of the tribe used the excuse that his lover was too arousing, too beautiful. Dasiek would surely not be able to keep to 'the rule,' if his 'big, beautiful betrothed' remained with him a single moment longer.

Almost immediately, a well-wisher approached Smano with more juice, and a leering, unblinking eye. A hungry stare.

A trace of special medicine was on the air around the juice-offerer, not to mention musk and lust seeping from a swelling slit, amid shining scutes.

He mentioned, by chance, that he was a neighbour to the hut where the post-tournament revelry took place. Surely, he had smelled and heard much, and could hold back no longer.

~

And so it went.

As the days went on, more and more such situations arose, with other 'brothers.' All manner of reason or contrivance led to the same exact thing:

Fabulous, felicitous, flood-force fluid-flowing face-fucking.

Again and again, Smano was obedient, over-joyed and orgasmic in his service to his tribal peers, and slowly learned more of the traditions he was engaging in.

Aside from 'strengthening' the two grooms for their rite of passage into married life, the 'excess love' that they were both meant to be collecting was said to bestow upon them both a lifetime of love to give unto one another. With a surplus of love for each other, both to give and to receive, neither would ever stray from their chosen mate. There was a logic to it, certainly.

The tradition also seemed to be a way to let the pair of soon-to-be-mated males have some last free-wheeling fun, before committing to a single love, for the rest of their lives.

Of course, it never occurred to Smano that he was receiving 'love donations' from every single member of the tribe, many of whom were supposedly mated to one another. It was a common occurrence for two married males to both bless him with the blissful blasts, together, after all. The blue and purple pair after lunch on the first day had been a joined couple. Were they not all engaging in adultery, breaking their bonds of matrimony? Smano never once reached that conclusion, for he was too busy being a good boy, a sublime slit-sucker, a constant cock-kisser, a delightful dick-drainer, an ecstatic erotic-equipment emptier, a fantastic fellow for fellatio, feeding on phallus-fluid from sunrise to sunset, there in that most juicy of jungles.

Even if he had come to the question of why married males were allowed to 'donate' to him, he would have absolutely been told that this week of love-contributions to the two engaged men was the single exception to the law of faithfulness to one's mate.

But, he never did come to that question, or any others.

There was always an answer that immediately satisfied the dulled, foggy curiosity of the himbo's mind. He was in his home, in his element, why would he ask any questions?

Why, indeed?

Pleasure was ever-present, distraction and delight were his constant companions.. in addition to the always-alluring and amply attractive animalmen forever foisting themselves upon him, flicking their forked fuckflesh forth at a moment's notice, precum trickling hot and heavy in an instant. Everyone told him how handsome, how hot he was, how much they wanted to give him all the love that they could, for the nearing nuptials. Their words were evidence enough, but the proof was really in how aroused everyone seemed to be, around him, suddenly getting hard, leaking so much liquid, just for him.. him and his perfect mouth, his talented tongue.

What questions could there be, when one was faced with such a steady, seemingly endless supply of sensual, serpentine suitors, this flawless family of physically fit and fluid-moving males, this endlessly elegant and erotic nest of naughty naga?

They all blurred together, his tribal brothers.. all the scaly tails that clasped his muscular contours and bound him in so many invigorating and innovative ways.. all the sleek, scute-lined chests hanging just above his eyeline.. all the the vents he had seen hovering, shoving forward in front of his snout.. all the slightly different but ultimately similar claws that caressed his cranium, those hands that held his head and guided it in sliding his smooth, toothless jaws and maw up and down upon their throbbing, pre-pumping poles..

It was heaven, for him. The feeling of those tails and those hands upon him, using him like that, it was as though it got better, each and every time. What had been a fondness had become a true addiction, to dick. A compulsion.. for cum, pulsing in.

Perhaps the best part, though.. it was all their sibilant, sensual voices cooing to him. He could recall them all in a hissing cascade of compliments and praise, all of them saying what a perfect mouth he had, what a good boy he was, the best toy, the most useful tool, for their greatest pleasure.

He was reminded, over and over, just how much he loved doing it, and it became somehow more and more true. More and more blissful, to hear their heavy heaving hisses as they loosed their loads, letting him suckle and nurse on the enormous naga nuts, over and over again. Nirvana neared, on an hourly basis, as he was basted, blasted by the boa boys, the powerful pythons that surrounded him so much, so often. His body lived for the vast variety of virile viper viscousness and creamy constrictor cum, and the jumbo jugs of jumbled jungle juices those huge hunks kept feeding him, over and over. The juice and the cum also ended up blurring together, in his mind, at times.

One thing stood out in the cavalcade of carnal chaos, though.

While there were a great many hemipenes that came and went without truly being remembered, there were a handful that stood out, in Smano's lust-addled mind.

There was a cobra, whose cock was singular, and sizable. It seemed twice the size as his hemis would have been, as if the mass of both manhoods had merged, to make one unified unit of maw-overfilling length and girth. It went through maw, into throat, and was a delight to behold. A delight to drink from, as well.. feeling the strong swelling waves of fluid flowing through the impossible length. So big, the cocksucking Smano could easily sense so much, writ large.

There was a rattlesnake, whose hemis flexed and moved on their own, the veiny pink flesh alive, like tongues or tentacles, in Smano's mouth, twisting with his own talented, subservient ophidian oral organ. Smano loved the sound of that rattler's tail shaking with the sheer bliss that he provided pleasure unto the undulating, writhing hemi-flesh.

There was a python who possessed a boa in his vent: a thick, hissing, living snake pouring forth from the horizontal cloacal opening. It had draped itself around Smano's head and neck as he had marvelled at it.. before it shoved its thickly precum-drooling snout into the awestruck and speechless Smano's maw. That was one partner who left Smano's hands free, and he used his freedom to feel over the mighty, lengthy, living phallus, caressing the rippling, squeezing cock-coils as it pumped through his lips, down his throat.

There was even a viper with twin spitting cock-cobras, which were quite a handful, leaving quite a delicious mess all over Smano.

It never came to mind that Smano had never seen a serpent without arms, a naga without a mind of its own. And yet, the concept of a snake as a limbless beast had not seemed odd at all to him, as if he had seen such a thing before.

In trying to apply what little logic he had to the topic, he thought that the combination of naga and shaft was why the resulting beastly boner had no limbs, or intelligence: A cock had no arms or mind, so surely that was how it came to be as it was.

The living shafts were slaves to their owners, of course, just parts of their body, acting on the instincts and lust of their possessors, their masters.

He never asked about those various males' unique anatomies, for his sense of politeness wouldn't allow it. Surely he had simply forgotten about this sort of thing. He was so very forgetful, so silly, so dumb, he told himself. He didn't want to cause a fuss. Surely that was just how these particular tribe-mates were, and had always been. Lovely friends and partners, who had been born with these sensual augmentations, which perhaps made them better than their peers. To have a python [or two!] instead of the normal hemis, surely it meant that the gods had smiled upon that individual, had blessed them above all others, marking them for greatness.

Of course, if he HAD asked, all of those males would have said that their augmentations were 'blessings from the shaman,' not from any higher power or their respective births.

The obedient Smano was always too smitten with the sexual situation, to ask anything of any importance. His mind buzzed and his body ached to have more of that marvellous, man-made (and man-making) material.

Each time he drank of his brethren, he was so very aroused, so very needy, like his body might burst, as if his hemis might come rocketing out of his vent, at any moment. All of him ached for attention, but no spot moreso than his vent, so dangerously close to where his hands were usually bound to his body. Thank the gods that most of his tribe-mates tied his body up in their rippling tails, or he may have faltered, and plunged his hands into his vent, gripping and ripping his cocks free from their confines, to jerk himself off with a devilish desperation.

But, he never did.

Because he was a good boy.

Everyone said so.

He did what he was told.

Even if doing so was forever pushing him toward the edge of his ability to resist, the edge of his endurance, the very precipice of a passionate plunge.

It was a miracle he didn't simply explode inside his own slit - or was it? He hardly thought about it. The one time it came to mind, he simply thought 'my body is obeying the rules as much as I am.'

In any case, his time to cum would come.

There was an end in sight, after all.

It helped to have a predefined end point, and to have a structure to the sensual march toward mateship, with Dasiek.

Each night, he would eventually return to the chieftain's hut, to sleep - after extracting himself from the clinging cluster of sleeping snakebodies that had wound around his bulk in that night's overwhelming orgy of ophidians and organs.

~

Upon the dawning of each new day, Dasiek lusted after his mate's swelling body, his greater size, snidely remarking upon how fast Smano was getting through the whole tribe's worth of hemi-loads. The love for his groom's girth and greed about how he would soon be the only one to possess Smano's body, it was forever tinged by those teasing comments about Smano's simplicity, his forgetfulness.

Every day, the shaman seemed more excited to be married to Smano, to 'have him, all of him' to himself. Repeatedly, he said something about how happy he was that Smano would never leave. Never leave the tribe, never leave Dasiek's side, never be outside of arm's reach, for the smaller snakeman. "I want to touch you all over, squeeze you, please you and myself, forever, feel your size, for the rest of my life~" he had cooed, one morning.

Smano didn't even bother to say 'the rest of _our_ lives, right dear?' for he knew what the over-excited Dasiek meant.

Instead of asking for reassurance that Smano would never leave him for another man, though, it appeared like Dasiek was increasingly certain it would never happen, that his lover would not or could not ever actually depart. It wasn't a command, like so much that came from his lips was, but a prediction. A preordained, predestined knowledge of the future.

"You're never going to leave, never, neverrr.. you're going to be all mine, mine, all thisss sssweetness, all thisss amazing anatomy.." Dasiek murmured, in half sleep, kissing dreamily over the current state of the ever-evolving expansion of his pet, his toy, his lover, his Smano.

Rather than ever pondering it too deeply, Smano was simply affected by the infectious nature of Dasiek's desire, his excitement leeching, attaching to Smano, making him seemingly symbiotically exhilarated by the oncoming event that would redefine their lives, their rapturous Rebirth.

The kind, cheerful Smano was, as ever, trusting to a fault.

Every day, Dasiek seemed cuter, seemingly smaller, as Smano unwittingly grew. In a way, it was adorable how the little one commanded the large lunk.

Smano loved his little Dasiek.

Why?

Because that was just.. the truth.

A fact.

It was something Dasiek had said on that first morning of the pre-ritual week.

It was something all the tribe remarked upon, now and then, reinforcing the truth of it.

It was something the compact shaman reminded Smano, each morning.

So much so, that Smano dreamed of his Dasiek, most nights.

~~~