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PlayerUnknown’s Soulsborne Waifu Compendium	By : WickerMan Category: +A through F > Dark Souls (series) > Dark Souls (series) Views: 22045 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Souls or Bloodborne, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
PlayerUnknown’s Soulsborne Waifu Compendium
(A/N): Today’s entry marks a bit of a dark turn in the Compendium, as we slip away from the relative safety of Majula and into the dangerous halls of Eathern Peak!
Reeling from his revelations in the previous chapter, rather confused and in ways torn by his own disillusion, an armed Tenacious Terry ventures forth through Harvest Valley to the tower in its centre without really knowing why. What serpentine menace could he hope to find within its halls? And what could such a beast have in store for a young ranger intruding on her territory?
WARNING: Obvious sexual content, spelling errors, bad language, headless dim-witted lamia waifus with low self-esteem, weird anatomy, near-death, cringy and heavy dialogue, femdom, somehow managing to fetishise poison, light hypnotism, the product of playing a bit too much Monster Girl Quest over the years, crude jokes, protagonists with little personality, OOC behaviour, non-lore friendly events, and my first story in around six months and my first LEMON in probably four years!
Chapter Seven: Mytha, the Baneful Queen
He wasn’t quite sure why he came here.
Earthen Peak had never been on the top of his list of holiday destinations back in the day. A large, menacing tower looming over a vast expanse of desolate wasteland where the blight of industry raped the virgin soil for all its worth? Not quite his thing, believe it or not.
Probably the most surprising thing was how little it’d really changed. While he’d only ever seen it from afar in the past he could safely say that it had always looked like the lair of some calculating villain who’d laugh to the skies as his zombie hordes marched out and conquered the planet in his name.
Or maybe that was just him?
But what brought him to this wretched hive of foes and foul? In what world was it a good idea? Maybe he hoped to find some sort of purpose outside of his comfort zone? Maybe it would be something that would build upon his character? Like so many others he wandered aimlessly, never really knowing why.
Tenacious Terry navigated the spiralling verticality of the crooked spire, utilising a generous hodgepodge of stealth and marksmanship to achieve his ends. He was actually beginning to get the hang of it at this point, and that filled him with a certain sense of pride which he’d never truly partaken in in the past. He’d never really had any talents before – unless sucking up to people counted as a talent – but archery was swiftly becoming one of his finest.
As a Royal Ranger with zero combat expertise he’d shot at stationary short-distance targets whilst smiling at applauding school children a thousand times before, yet he’d never truly tested his mettle against genuine foes. Now he was with the big boys, fighting worthy prey rather than bullying braindead undead thralls.
High risk, high reward, high adventure.
Was this what they called a battle high?
His finger itched at his quiver like an abstinent cleric surrounded by jail bait girls in short skirts – just one more shot, he needed to unload.
The cryptic words of Sweet Shalquoir still snoozed and snuggled at the back of his head, much like she often did in her dozy little shack. Now that he thought about it that was probably the real reason he’d come to this miserable place; far away from the familiarity of home, his name bore neither weight nor glory. He could escape the expectations he’d levied on himself and simply be himself.
Regular Terry.
No less tenacious, mind.
It was ever so liberating to wander these halls with nothing to prove and no expectations. He was freed from his baffled conscience in the titular peak of Earthen Peak, and it must’ve been that enticing prospect that tugged him by a leash like a dog.
A degenerate little dog, on his hands and knees.
He’d done his best to forget that part.
Bathed in a thin film of sweat from head to toe the exerted archer sidled through a passage past a duo of headless acrobats, who swayed from left to right with poison-coated knives in hand. He hadn’t seen very much in his sheltered life, but even he felt that posting watchmen without eyes, ears or noses tended to be a poor life choice. No wonder a novice of the craft of stealth such as he was having such an easy time slinking past patrols.
With the sort of speed only a man with a new lease on life could muster Terry made to summit a ladder, rickety and rotten and just tall enough to get his muscles stinging. Pulling himself up like a fat skinny dipper crawling out of shark infested waters, he had about three seconds to get his bearings before three things happened.
First, although probably the least important part, was that he realised he was getting frightfully low on bodkin tipped arrows. While he’d risen to the challenge of Earthen Peak it hadn’t all been sunshine and rainbows – it had been a rough and draining journey, his impromptu lessons in long distance marksmanship having taken a toll on his reserves. You tended to grow a bit complacent with your quiver when you spent most of your time bullseying easy targets or otherwise moping about how no one understood you. Next time he’d bring more shots.
If there was a next time.
Second was a bit more important, but only a tad – one of the lean yet somehow muscular Grave Wardens of the tower had been posted at the other end of the corridor he’d arrived in, and with a silent exclamation brandished his armaments and readied himself for battle. Terry had managed to throw one of the Warden’s pals off a rafter and down into the depths of the spire some hours ago with an arrow shaft in the ankle – unbeknownst to him karmic justice was rearing its ugly head.
Thrice, and by far the largest source of worry, was that this Grave Warden was fast, and was currently mid-way through an impressive leaping lunge with his spear trained straight for Terry’s guts like he was a common bass.
That was technically four things in retrospect.
With no grace but an outstanding reaction time the tenacious ranger coiled his legs and shot himself across the dirt like a puck, sliding between the rag-faced warden’s legs to relative safety. One had to wonder how he’d managed to get so much distance; did he sweat baby oil?
Reaching for his quiver he pulled out his trusty dirk; whether or not it was trusty being the subject of its first test right this instant. Directly under the confused lug Terry brandished the blade and jammed it straight into the guy’s lower back. It took a moment for the ranger to even realise that he’d pierced decrepit flesh, the Grave Warden seemingly unfazed.
Pivoting on his heel the guard brought down the edge of his shield, hoping to crush the intruder’s windpipe with the jagged point of its silverblack form. Still slippery from years of running away from his problems – and also the sheer amount of baby oil like sweat upon his person – Terry swung to the side and evaded once more, the warden mutely miffed.
Rolling to create some distance the archer rose to a crouch and clumsily nocked an arrow, taking aim at his foe. As if needing to point out the obvious the mean, lean machine brought his shield to bear and protected his body from such an assault – stalemate.
Thinking quickly Terry aimed upwards, shooting out the chain of a dangling pot and bringing it down upon the Grave Warden’s head. In all intents and purposes what with it being a chain the arrow should’ve pinged off and Terry should’ve been skewered for lunch, but worn by decades of abuse the links were rusted and primed to snap.
He hadn’t known that at the time, he’d just gotten lucky.
While shrouded by rags it was pretty clear what sort of expression the guard had before he was splattered across the floor, his limbs sticking out from underneath the pot and twitching comedically as his life less-than-comedically faded away. Stumbling to his feet Terry approached the corpse and plucked his dagger from its gory guts.
Whose bright idea was it to put a massive clay pot up there on chains in the first place?
He’d been trying to piece together exactly what Earthen Peak was as he went, but he was pulling up blanks. Every time he spotted something that bore some semblance to logic and geometry he’d stumble upon something else and he’d spiral all the way back to square one. It was some sort of refinery, he’d concluded, that produced… Something, no doubt with the resources of the desolate Harvest Valley that surrounded it.
Gathering the last of his bearings Tenacious Terry moved onwards, anxiously feeling at his depleted quiver. If his previous spar was anything to go by his dirk was more for spreading butter than cutting meats; stealth was the only option from this point on.
The shoddy fencing of the tower’s balcony broke off to the left, a narrow path against the spire wall leading up to a rickety wooden windmill, clearly of some importance yet falling apart at the seams. Some hunch of sorts tugged at his metaphorical sleeve and urged him to set it alight and burn it to cinders, but he ignored it like he always had – ever since his first arson as a boy at choir practice he’d promised Tracy never again.
And besides, what would be the point? What would he even gain from burning down one of the Peak’s many hundred mills? It wasn’t like it would do him any favours; it’d probably draw more attention to him and make his ascent even harder than it was already proving to be.
Without reluctance he left it be, keeping his dirk on hand.
What was the worst that could happen?
Terry found little resistance as he moved on, save for the odd decapitated guardsman pacing about aimlessly. He’d definitely made the right call – the place would’ve been swarming with all sorts of creepy crawlies if he’d started a blaze below. Skipping over a pond of thick green sludge he ascended a short set of stairs that led up to a long, featureless corridor into the great unknown.
He had no idea what the sludge was or what it did, but in the perfect world he’d never need to find out. Terry may’ve been on the naïve side, but even he could put two and two together – green slime in an evil foreboding fortress was a big no no.
Just ahead was a wall of pearl white fog, rippling with some foreign force and obscuring the view beyond. The sweaty ranger clutched onto the hilt of his glorified piece of cutlery, a deep chill of foreboding rippling through his spine.
There was something very final boss-y about this place.
Terry could do this, he’d gotten this far. He’d proven today that he had the will to forge his own destiny, and no one could take that from him. He wasn’t just some pretty poster boy posing in portraits; he was a real ranger, rippling with might. His muscle wasn’t all looks, it was safe to say.
Pushing through the veil with blade braced and ego erect he prepared himself for the worst.
He wasn’t ready for the worst.
Instantly he was waist high in the green gunk he’d been avoiding up to this point, his bow and arrows soaked to the oaken root and stealing him of two-thirds of his arsenal. More to the point that boss-y hunch from moments prior was bang on the nose; bearing a lance so long that it must’ve been compensating for something was a large, jade-tinted serpent with the upper body of a curvaceous human dame – minus the head, mind, which dangled by its hair from her free hand.
What was it with this place and headless people?
“Who dares trespass in Mytha’s chamber?” the head spoke, the arm that held her reaching forward so that her head could see for itself, “Mytha – that is, me – does not take kindly to such impudence! Ready thyself for combat!”
Finishing abruptly and in her element within the muck she launched herself forward, the encumbering slime clinging to Terry’s limbs as he tried fruitlessly to roll to the side. The roughly circular chamber’s footing was obscured by the thick sludge, and the ranger found himself completely submerged for the briefest of moments.
“-low and insidious killer, my poisons!” Mytha mocked, the beginning of her sentence muffled as Terry pulled himself to the surface. “It starts at the nerves and paralyses my, Mytha’s, prey!”
He had a sneaky suspicion her name was Mytha, just a hunch.
The serpent pulled her twisted trident from the earth, her swaying body almost seeming to blur as it went. “Let us play, boy.”
It would be an embarrassment to call what ensued a fight, with it generally boiling down to Tenacious Terry frantically wading through the green waters to try and make distance as the lamiae lazily chased him like a cat would swat at flies. This was more a demented game of tag than a battle.
There was something wrong, besides that whole headless snake woman thing. The adrenaline of battle had dried up within moments, replaced by a weighty exhaustion that drained at his mind and body. Painted a sickly green Terry stumbled against a wall, fumbling for his weapon as his eyes played tricks on him.
“Oh, what’s the matter?” Mytha hissed teasingly, her expression smug. The boy’s pupils were growing wider and wider; he could see colours he never thought existed. “Distracted? Feeling tired?” her voice boomed within his brain one moment, only to become a husky whisper seconds later. “You could always give in to the beautiful Mytha, Baneful Queen.”
Wildly flailing with his knife like a child in a tantrum he exerted all of his strength, howling in anger and confusion as the titular Queen of Earthen Peak amusedly watched several yards away. To him he was slicing at malefic visions; thousands upon thousands of beasts encircling.
He was hallucinating.
Her poisons were taking root.
Eventually his struggles ceased, the knife slipping out of his hands and sinking into the pool with a disgusting squelch. Terry leant against the wall with mouth agape, his chest working overtime just to keep him standing. “W-What is this…” he slurred, his tongue strangely limp and salivating, “Wuh… What are you?”
“The beginning, and the end.” Mytha mused poetically, glad that she could finally use that phrase in an appropriate situation. Casting aside her lance the towering lamiae loomed over the young ranger menacingly; a predator with her prey cornered. “Succumb to my toxins, let them fill your every pore.”
Sinking further against the wall exhaustion gripped at his being, the thick liquid clinging to his skin and stinging at the surface like a thousand insect bites. Yet what had started as a dull sting gradually began to evaporate, and within moments evolved into a terrifying calm of a man completely subdued. The poison had been absorbed by his flesh, and taken his body hostage.
If he was in the state of mind to describe it he would’ve probably compared it to the sensation of blood flowing back into a numb limb – tingly, yet warm and pleasant all the same. This venom could’ve been dissolving his innards, not that he was even capable of caring.
Mytha’s head was hung inches away from his, her purple lips curled into a pleased smirk. “See? It’s good, isn’t it? Letting go?” the scent of her breath filled Terry’s nostrils, the heat caressing his mind, “Not fighting back…” the archer struggled to raise his eyes, gazing into the naga’s own. They were white and plain – simple, calming. “Yes, yes, look at me. Just at me. I am your world, I am everything.”
Her body sauntered and swayed forward, fair breasts like hypnotic pendulums as she came closer and closer. The pacified Terry did nothing to resist as she pressed her chest against his face, lightly brushing her dark nipples across his lips. This contact sent a long lasting ripple throughout his nerves, like a drop of water producing rings across a vast sea. It was like his entire body had been slowed down, with every single sensation that hit it being elongated two or threefold.
Mytha’s body continued to smother the man with her pert tits as a clawed hand grasped onto his shoulder, pulling him closer into her scented flesh. Her body glistened a glowing green, her very being filled to the brim with a unique cocktail of toxins and venom – the royal jelly, to the paltry slop that she and her new toy were submerged in.
Through his hazy vision Terry reached for the Baneful Queen’s breasts, his buzzing hands cupping and squeezing at them lustfully. The lamiae reeled back ever so slightly, the arm bearing her head quivering ever so slightly from such a display. His hands were the delicate sort of a noble or highborn boy, experimentally clutching at her chest as if hungry for the sweet poisons within.
Awkwardly Mytha’s arm craned forward, giving her eyes a good view from above. She’d expected him to lifelessly submit, yet here he was returning her lust with his own. “… H-How are they?” the queen stammered. Mytha had always been self-conscious about her swollen, poison bloated breasts; not that she’d ever told anyone, “Perfect, like me, Mytha?”
Terry nuzzled against them affectionately, plastering her tits with kisses and mindlessly worshipping the chest of a woman who’d been trying to run him through with a trident some five minutes earlier after accusing him of trespassing. With a blatant sense of reluctance that only an idiot with a poison-addled brain could miss Mytha pulled him away, bringing her head close once more. Her cheeks had become a darker shade of green – a timid blush for a woman whose blood was toxic.
“Good boy, good.” she hissed approvingly, increasingly enamoured by his perverted actions, “You have pleased your Queen.” the head swayed ever so slightly as her body’s free hand traced a vicious nail across his chest, “Your pretty, gorgeous Queen, Mytha.” the claw pulled away, the scratching sensation still trailing miles behind, “Right?”
Gradually at first her long, serpentine tail began to coil and constrict around the ranger’s legs, tightly binding him before raising him from the dripping muck, his clothes soaked through with liquid poison. Still the toxins continued their advance, slipping through his nerves and getting ever closer to the juicy centre. “Y-Yes, you are.” Terry agreed without a hint of irony or fear, the tremble on his tongue being that of pleasure and nothing more. “Beautiful, gorgeous, pretty, sexy…” his strained vocabulary found the word it was looking for and stuck to it, “Sexy, sexy Mytha. So, so sexy.”
Mytha laughed with a sense of anxiety, suddenly flustered in spite of herself. Some queen she was, getting tongue-tied by a mere servant. “You flatter me with these words!” she purred approvingly, only for a distrusting scowl to fill her lips. While she had never been good at spotting lies, she knew that she was a constant victim of them. “… Not like you mean it, boy.”
“I-I want to be close to you.” Terry reasserted himself with a certain sense of haste, scrambling frantically to save his queen from offence. “To see you, touch you, taste…” in a poison stupor he was telling the truth; she looked beautiful to him, the disgusting tastes he’d been trying to bury returning in full force under such extreme circumstances.
In some ways she looked beautiful even before the poison had taken root, in all his sin.
A queen of beasts and vermin.
What did that make him?
The ranger’s eyelids fluttered heavily, his spine struggling to stand straight as scaled coils tickled and caressed, “You’re my everything, my… World.”
If she flushed any deeper her cheeks would’ve sparkled a fluorescent green with bio-luminescence, “R-Really?” she gasped giddily, unfortunately lacking the feet to stomp on the floor in excitement. Her tail pulled him close, practically nose to nose. “An ugly, fat, old snake like me?”
Fat?
Ugly?
Where was she getting all of these impressions from? She was the queen of a bloody industrial empire and one of the last functioning kingdoms of a world gone mad! What had happened to her self esteem? Did she have something she felt she needed to prove?
Was she like him, paranoid of the life she’d left behind with the fall of Drangleic?
Terry would’ve given a deep and motivational speech about trusting in others and believing in yourself, but his fried brain had lost most of the larger words in its repertoire and left him a tad bit on the stupid side. “Slim, pretty… Uhhh… Hot…” he struggled to list some compliments, “S-Smooth black hair…”
Wallowing in self pity what had once been a caressing grip became more crushing and vice like, threatening to squeeze the archer to a fine pulp that would taste quite good with pineapple. “… Y-You’re lying, no one likes me.” Mytha moped, her eyes downcast. Even her body sunk in defeat, her shoulders brought low. “Everyone hates me, that’s why I never leave my chamber. You’ll probably laugh behind my back like all the rest!”
Even under the threat of being crushed the only thing on his mind was the Queen, “No, no!” he struggled to wheeze; he was pretty sure he’d just cracked the fifth rib of the day. “Y-You’re really quite sweet!”
“Between me and those tarty Desert Sorceresses, who would you rather kiss?” her tail tightened interrogatively. “Hmm?”
Make that number six.
Terry had no idea who she was even talking about, but if one thing was for certain it was that Mytha’s full lips had an allure about them. Maybe it was a side effect of the toxins, but their dark purple shades almost seemed to ripple like a fine opal. He could only wonder how they would feel pressed against his.
Or wrapped around his…?
“Well, you…” he murmured, feeling rather hot under his metaphorical collar. “I… I’d rather kiss you.”
His words had much more than the intended effect, her self-esteem skyrocketing alongside her feminine libido. A fork tongue licked at those succulent lips of hers, her spittle a lush green in contrast to the stagnant pool below. “G-Go on then.” she pushed, her coils loosening just a tad. “Kiss me…”
Neither he nor her had really kissed before - unless you counted overbearing aunts and uncles – yet that didn’t stop them for a moment. Like cheeky teens hiding under the stairs they pursed their lips and went for it, Terry’s restricted arms and Mytha’s rather peculiar head situation making it quite the amusing display.
Much of the ‘kiss’ was a flurry of tongues, the cumbersome and damp bulk of the ranger’s against the graceful and slick grace of the lamia’s. While this was his first real kiss even he was taken aback by the peculiar technique of the Baneful Queen, her tongue like her body constricting and squeezing with its incredible length.
She wrung and she pulled at his tongue firmly, the scorching heat between their lips and the delirium of her toxins overwhelming even now. It was a sloppy, messy affair, her poisoned saliva – her royal jelly as it were – settling in his mouth and slipping down his throat with every swallow. When taken directly in small doses this pure venom rapidly spread across his system and intensified the buzz in a matter of moments, in contrast to the slow advance of the stuff seeping through his skin.
Her poisons targeted the nerves at first, and as an unintentional side effect – which they discovered at that precise moment – cut the middle man and zipped straight for the brain if ingested. In essence Mytha’s saliva was its very own aphrodisiac, melting away at the brain so very slowly and gently that it did very little lasting damage to the mind. Her poisons didn’t drown you to death so much as give you a cosy bath, making you pleasantly buzzed and stupid for a few hours at most as you simmered in warm venom.
Mytha could feel the effect she was having, her toy’s stirring member pushing against his drenched chaps and straining against her coils. She pulled away with a lewd, wet sound, her tongue tasting the air. “Look at you, all big and hard.” her tail slowly ran along his bulge, the alternating bumps of her scales and smoothness of her skin sending all sorts of cute expression across Terry’s face. “You’re rather handsome, sweetie. Would you like to…?”
Terry gasped as her tail easily removed his soaked trousers, revealing his shame and releasing it from its bonds. Mytha hung her head close to thing as it poked out between her coils, an approving hiss punctuating her impromptu inspection. She wasn’t quite sure what constituted as ‘big’ what with her own large size, but it was definitely hefty enough for her voracious needs.
Raising her head to look the young man in the eyes again she pressed what stood for her waist against his hips, brushing her wet womanhood against his twitching tip. While Terry wasn’t the most knowledgeable when it came to snake anatomy – which you could forgive him for – he knew exactly what he was touching.
And he wanted it.
Still she continued to tease, letting his mind marinate in her toxins for just a little bit longer. Her tight pussy dripped its pristine poison; not a single liquid in her body was without her exotic venom. A trickle of it slipped over the bulbous head of Terry’s cock and slid down its shaft, veins bulging with the delightful mix of their combined essences.
Tenacity broken, Terry wasn’t beyond begging, “P-Put it in…” he whimpered, slowly prodding his member against the folds of her hole. Mytha tenderly swayed to and fro, caressing the very tip with her slit but continuing to deny him her entirety. Whenever he strained to push forward she’d pull back the same distance; she was in complete control. She brought her head close, her breasts bouncing ever so slightly as she crooned over him dominantly, “I’m dying to…”
Dying indeed.
Maybe she’d waited for the perfect moment, stringing the ranger along just long enough so that the feeling they shared would be at the pinnacle of pleasure? Terry would never know for certain as the naga plunged his cock into her, her walls quivering with the same lustful expectation as he. A long, drawn out moan escaped from her lips, her body’s breasts stuffed against his face and muffling the sound to a dull hum.
Mytha’s head panted for breath behind him, her body having wrapped both its arms across his back whilst keeping a firm grip on her hair. With his sense of time distorted by all the chemicals surging through his body, all he knew for sure was they were joined together like this for quite some time. His dick fit inside her like an undersized glove, the pressure within unbearable; ironically even her pussy was a tight squeeze.
“Ready?” she hissed, directly behind his ear. Sensually she brushed her lips against his shoulder, placing a soft, if sloppy, smooch on his neck. “R-Ready to pump your thick cock into my soaking snake slit?” lust could help when it came to dirty talk, but a lack of experience in the art left Mytha’s words corny but endearing in their own special way, “Let my poisons bathe your mind and body… Drown in my venom.”
Bringing her face before him to gaze into his dreary eyes Mytha’s body began the slow, awkward process of making love for the first time. Her thrusts took an eternity to find a comfortable rhythm, quickly riding his shaft one moment only to suddenly press down to his hilt and stop at another.
There were a billion facts against them – the tightness of her pussy, its peculiar shape, its position on her body, her interesting head arrangement and her large serpentine shape and size making it incredibly difficult for two people who were never meant to have sex to effectively have sex. The god of gods was cruel to degenerate young men and headless snake women indeed.
His cock basking in the pure poison of Mytha’s virgin hole, Terry’s jaw trembled with satisfaction. “My tongue, it’s…” his tongue slurred uncooperatively, weighed down by the ever growing dosage. “S-So much…”
Mytha brought her head in for another kiss, struggling to keep her balance as her body continued to ride Terry’s need. The forked end of her tongue explored the damp confines of the archer’s mouth, lovingly kneading and rubbing at his numb muscle. Every muffled moan from her was punctuated by a serpentine hiss with almost a feral hint to it; she was scratching an itch that she’d had all these years alone in her chamber without a husband to call her own.
Even fair maidens need a good fucking every now and then.
This was bliss. To be with his new queen like this, smothered by her tongue and tits as she tended to his throbbing desire?
Bliss.
Beautiful? Gorgeous? Sexy? Those words weren’t even the beginning of it. There were no words to explain the ecstasy of having her poisons fill his veins and dominate his body, mingling with his blood and muscles and even the very oxygen he breathed. He was inside her, and at the same time she was inside him – Mytha’s very essence flowed within his body. The Baneful Queen truly was his world.
Terry’s breaths were growing more and more laboured. At first he thought that he was approaching orgasm, but this exhaustion continued to grow heavier and heavier as Mytha’s dripping pussy relentlessly milked at his perfectly willing cock. At this point he wouldn’t have been surprised if half of the blood rushing to his groin was in fact her venom.
Soon every breath became a conscious thought, his pulse ringing more and more sporadically with every thrust. Their bestial kiss broke for a moment, the panting lamiae lustfully nibbling on his lower lip as her breath returned to her. “Wuh…” Terry slurred, speaking a noticeably slower pace. A strand of drool still strung between his tongue and Mytha’s – a peculiar, milky white. “W-What’s going… I can’t… Hard to breathe…”
Mytha’s voice was calm and assuring, in spite of her chilling revelations, “My neuro-toxins slow the body to a crawl. They start…” she smooched him wetly which his weakly returned, her damp breasts pressing against his chest, “On the nerves, making them sensitive to the touch.” another smooch, shorter but more forceful, “Then they bathe the brain, making it dazed and suggestible. And the- Ah!” the naga yelped cutely as the tip of Terry’s cock pressed that spot, her hips bucking approvingly as her body tugged at her hair. She growled lewdly, her breaths heavy “T-Then your heart and lungs slowly fail. Slower, and slower, making you ever so sleepy…”
The hypnotic jiggle of her tits made the desire to sleep increasingly powerful. “Slower…. And slower…” Terry sighed weakly, the coil his dick and balls rest upon stained with their combined juices. It took him longer than he should have to piece together the situation, “B-But I’ll die…”
Once again the Baneful Queen smothered her toy with her breasts, her free hand running his hair between its fingertips lovingly. “I’ll keep you just below the lethal dose, sweetie.” she promised, the foolish ranger hungrily lapping and suckling at her nipple for another taste of her pure venom in spite of himself. Mytha flushed at his forwardness, having half expected him to struggle. “It’ll feel so good… Don’t you trust me?”
The lamiae raised her head aloft, wadding a pure drop of her venom in her mouth with dextrous movements of her tongue. Eventually satisfied she opened her lips and let the long, glowing strand of green spit stretch ever so slowly down to the submissive Terry. With an anxious shudder the ranger parted his lips and let his queen complete this obscene act – a final sign that he was willing to experience this dangerous life-threatening pleasure that only Mytha could offer. She caressed his cheek as her potent poison came closer, comforting his frayed and erratic nerves.
He let it pool in his mouth.
And then he swallowed.
It tasted sweet.
The effect took hold of him in a matter of moments, his body completely locking up from head to toe as the mischievous Mytha upped the tempo and violently fucked Terry’s slippery cock with her ever constricting slit. A misty white began to cling to the edges of his vision, taking more and more as his ears began to ring. Every moan, every groan, every squeal and every yip echoed again and again as his overwhelmed body struggled to make sense of it all.
Mytha’s fingers interlocked with his for a sturdy grip, her flat stomach flexing as she pushed again and again, up and down, up and down, like a piston. She never stopped working, up and down, up and down, like the mills of Earthen Peak. Her tits bounced, up and down, up and down, to the frantic rhythm of their degenerate act.
Was that death he could see; that strange white light encroaching on his eyes? He couldn’t quite tell. He didn’t really care all that much, the fear being washed away and his mind numbed to all else but this rhythm. He could feel his queen’s venom sloshing about his stupid, empty head; her territory now, her place to think.
Up and down, up and down.
But soon even that faded. All he could feel now was his burning cock, his balls heaving with thick, manly cum that needed to be released. Somewhere along the way he had ascended to a higher plane, experiencing an eternity of inner peace every single second. His brain, starved of oxygen and blood and engorged with a treacherous dosage of toxin, was practically sizzling like an egg on a frying pan.
The Baneful Queen was hanging him over the gates of death by the length of his shaft; if she so much as shifted her grip and released but a drop more of poison he would die right there and then.
There was nothing but white now, the feeling of flesh on scale and cock in dripping pussy dominating what little senses he had left. The only sound he could hear was his own heart beat, each thud more delayed than the last.
Thud.
…
Thud.
…
…
… … Thud.
And then that sound stopped.
Mytha rode out to her own breathtaking orgasm, the very tip of her tail flailing wildly as the spasms shook the length of her body. Hilting the rock hard member she tasted the air for her sweeties’ sweat – she loved that taste, it was an intoxicating change to the singular smell that dominated the chamber; that needed no explanation.
“What was it like experiencing heaven, sweetie?” she hissed lewdly after regaining her composure, slowly grinding against Terry’s fully engulfed length with the grace of a belly dancer.
No response.
The Baneful Queen froze, all her smug flirtiness and pride in the pleasures she could provide burning away as she stared at the motionless ranger. “S-Sweetie?” she stammered, a billion and one possibilities taking root. In panic she shook him within her coils, his head lolling to the side. “… N-Not like this, no…”
Terry suddenly broke out into a coughing fit, hacking his lungs out as his breaths finally returned to him. Her terror overridden by abject joy within moments the lamiae pulled him into a crushing embrace, smothering his cheeks with kiss after kiss. With the power of her poison reaching its peak his body had finally adapted and gotten ready to deploy its own countermeasures, the poison – while still there – becoming increasingly subdued and dormant. The archer was rapidly regaining his senses, a peculiar feeling gripping his every limb and organ – while groggy, he could at least think now.
“I thought you’d left me…” Mytha whispered quietly, not entirely meaning to be heard. Quickly retracting from such worried words she held her chest high, unintentionally slapping Terry about the chin with her breasts, “… Obviously you hadn’t, because I, Mytha, knew exactly what I was doing!”
Her coils tightened once more, yet to Terry it felt more like a protective hug than anything else; she’d almost lost him once, and in spite of her brave façade she would make damn sure that something like that never happened again. With a deliciously moist squelching sound Mytha freed his member from the confines of her body, tenderly rubbing her toned belly against his slippery erection. Hanging her head close Terry was about to ask her “What are you doing?” but she silenced him with another smooch – all lip, what with the fear poisoning him again so soon.
Breaking this kiss she tried to clumsily nuzzle her nose against his, but dangling so loosely from her fist all she really managed to do was bonk their noses together. She didn’t miss a beat, “Still haven’t cum, ssssweetie?” Mytha hissed, her free hand slowly rubbing his restless need. Terry’s chest shuddered in response, maintaining eye contact. “Do you like it when I say it like that? Like a ssssnake?” the young ranger answered with a flush of the cheeks, prompting a girly giggle from the naga, “Ssssweetie? Does that get under your skin?”
“Y-You’re so ssssexy…” Terry murmured, only to pause awkwardly under his queen’s unblinking gaze, “… Was that offensive?”
Pressing the point of her talon gently into the oozing pool of precum on his tip, it was clear that she’d found his attempt amusing. He shuddered as the razor edge elegantly grazed across the flared head of his member, her controlled strokes sparing him any injury. What was the appeal of being with someone who could very easily kill you, yet ached to satisfy your every need? Her soaked coils twisted and constricted about the base of his shaft, squeezing and bullying his aching balls.
Mytha tutted, “Look at what you’ve done, ravaging my poor little snake pussy.” she purred perversely, her dripping hole stretched for all of its worth. “I-I wonder what your friends would think if they found out that you’d fucked a serpent…? I think mine would be jealous of me…”
While Mytha was far much better than him at keeping up an aloof façade – no doubt because of her status as royalty – even she wasn’t capable of completely hiding her feelings away. They gazed at eachother wordlessly, as they were wont to do. There was a certain charm to seeing her show her true colours, even for a moment; for a Baneful Queen, she could be a frightfully sensitive worrywart.
A sensitive worrywart who loved a rough bout of sex every now and then.
Don’t we all?
“H-Hey!” Terry gasped, a rather flustered looking Mytha pinching his tip between her claws and snatching him from his endearing monologue.
“You made your Queen cum, sweetie.” she reminded, suddenly releasing his member from her clutches. Both of her hands held onto her head like a ball, which she began to lower. “And a Queen must repay her debts.”
Being a rather liberated and open minded youth he’d heard about ‘face fucking’ as a boy, but he never thought it could be quite this literal. Firmly gripping onto her own head Mytha rapidly began to drive it upon the restrained Terry’s length, not even taking the time to tease and build him up and going straight for the kill. What with her serpentine disposition deepthroat came naturally, her prehensile tongue ravelling around his shaft and squeezing it as she suckled noisily.
Terry had still been rather groggy up to this point, but her sudden action quickly pulled him out of lalaland as she kept up her constant, fast paced speed. Slobber and spit drenched his balls as she willed his dick all through her mouth and into her throat – something he would’ve questioned the physics of if he wasn’t on the receiving end.
Slowly he slipped his hands out of Mytha’s bonds, his sensitive palms resting upon Mytha’s hair and brushing it between finger and thumb. The lamiae came to a stop for a moment, wondering if she’d done something wrong; not in the slightest. Holding onto her hands he slowly began to push and pull, gradually building up motion once again at his own, more affectionate pace. The Baneful Queen, trusting her pet’s judgement, released her head from her grip and relinquished full control to the archer.
Looking into her eyes Terry began to thrust into the warm confines of her mouth, Mytha’s body quietly rubbing her pussy as she witnessed such a lewd act of lovemaking – a pity she didn’t have her own eyes. Even now her tail continued to ripple about the ranger’s body like a luxurious pillow, massaging his muscles from head to toe.
His palms cupping Mytha’s cheeks he scratched at her ears and played with her hair as he went, her ebon mane straight and well kept in spite of the odds. The lamiae moaned approvingly at his playful movements, her chin continuing to slap against his balls with every push. Spending much of her time dangling by the roots of her hair she often wanted someone to caress her aching scalp, and Terry’s soft palms were ecstasy for her weary locks; about time she found someone who appreciated all the time she spent combing.
There were too many variables that led to his orgasm, but it was safe to say that each and every one contributed in its own unique way. The unwavering eye contact, the talented suckles of Mytha, her serpentine tongue coiled about his length, the sight of her headless body lustfully fingering itself, the literal act of face fucking that was ensuing, the dormant toxins in his veins, he could go on.
But if one thing was for certain it was that his orgasm was powerful, and it was large. Pushing Mytha to the hilt of his cock he held her in place, and without protest she continued to suckle as her swaying body furiously fondled her breasts with one hand and rubbed at her womanhood with the other. Terry gasped as his cum was deposited directly into his queen’s awaiting mouth, not a single drop leaving her lips – this cum was to be savoured.
Torturously slow Terry pulled Mytha’s head away, her lips never once letting go as she slurped along the entirety of his shaft. Even with a mouth full of dick she had a wry smirk; one could only wonder what sort of face he was pulling to elicit that sort of smugness. With a satisfying pop Mytha was pulled away, and flashing the thick white contents of her mouth to her sweetie and making sure that he was watching she gulped it all down in one go.
Again, he didn’t question the physics.
Licking her lips for the bitter taste of Terry’s precum, she flirted soothingly, “Did you hold all of that back just for me, ssssweetie?” Mytha bit her lower lip, lovingly nuzzling the ranger’s spent balls in a rather clumsy manner, “And I thought chardonnay was my favourite thing to drink…”
Her debts paid and the two of them satisfied, a few moments later Mytha’s body ferried the archer across the ford of the toxic pool before deftly planting his numb feet onto dry land at the entrance to her chamber. Hesitantly she unravelled her coils, having gotten quite used to having someone handsome and warm to squeeze within them.
It took quite some time for Tenacious Terry to find his legs, his tenacity as per usual rather lacking much to his chagrin. It’d felt like eternity since he’d last stood on his own feet, having had his entire weight supported by Mytha’s strong, muscled tail. Rather self aware of his clothing arrangement he tugged at his trousers and tried to gussy himself up, his garments still drenched in poison and sweat.
Mytha watched him by the edge of her stagnant pool, not entirely comfortable with leaving it for too long. “Do you still feel groggy?” she asked worriedly, holding her head in front of her navel at roughly face level. Terry nodded in a suitably groggy fashion, and she returned the gesture with a flick of her wrists, “It shouldn’t take more than an hour to wear off. You’re my big, strong sweetie after all.” that confident smirk of hers returned for just a moment, yet it quickly changed places with an anxious pout, “… Will you come back to me then?”
What else did he have, honestly? Where could someone like him even go? He’d accepted the challenge of Earthen Peak and conquered it on his own; this place had become familiar in its eldritch design. Almost homely.
The great unknown, or a place with a woman who cared about his wellbeing?
A world he feared judgement from, or a world without such things?
There was only one answer.
The lamia’s fingers nervously drummed at her chin, half expecting him to say no. Terry settled on a reserved utterance of “… O-Okay.”
This time it wasn’t a smirk but rather a beaming smile, gratitude evident even in her body language as she amusingly bounced on her tail with enthusiasm. “We can talk about all sorts of things then!” she suggested, eager for company and someone to share tales with. Regardless, she knew that her toy needed time to recover his strength, her eyes staring at the ground and her excitement tanking in mere moments. “Right, you should be off...”
Reluctantly turning Terry stumbled on the first step, his jellified legs veering him to the right as he barely managed to catch himself on the wall. Glancing back at her in embarrassment he found that she’d moved up just behind, one hand outstretched should he fall backwards.
Flushing anxiously, Mytha’s body began to twirl her head’s hair between its fingers, “… Y-You won’t be gone long, will you?”
Terry shook his head, to which she smiled sheepishly.
“Could you… Hold my head again, sweetie?” she requested; just one more for the road. There was something comforting about being held in his hands, relinquishing control for a change, “Could you… Hug me?”
Offering her head with outstretched arms the ever polite Terry held her close to his chest, resting his chin atop her brow. Mytha sighed comfortably, snuggling up against his warmth and focusing on the rhythm of his pulse. While it was still recovering from his previous experience it remained a gentle sound, soothing to the ears; very cosy.
The third member of the equation stood rather jealously a metre away, Mytha’s headless body grumpily folding its arms as her head got showered with affection. Terry glanced at it curiously only for it to turn to the side, as if looking away from him. He glanced down at her eyes, which looked right back up at him, “Does your body…?”
“Yes.” she answered matter-of-factly, before pressing her face against his chest and covering her eyes, “Yes it does.”
Holding her head against him with one hand Terry offered himself to the serpent, who without a moment of pause lunged at him and wrapped its arms around his back in an affectionate embrace. Getting a face full of her swollen breasts once more the archer rest his head against her chest, their soft flesh a natural cushion for a weary soul. There was nothing erotic about this; it was the comforting and loving hug of someone who truly cared.
Had he ever really been held like that before?
Eventually they parted ways, the dazed and confused Terry stumbling through the entrance hallway and taking an impromptu seat on a set of steps just above a pool of sludge. True to Sweet Shalquoir’s words he had pursued his hungers, straying further and further from the light and basking in the sinful allure of degeneracy.
Yet for some reason he didn’t feel particularly bothered by it. He didn’t feel guilt or remorse, not even an ounce of regret. Was that the power of sin and temptation, or had his choice been right all along?
What was wrong with finding someone who loved you for who you were?
Tenacious Terry crooned forward, staring into the toxic goop before him yet finding no reflection. He’d fallen in love with someone just now, hadn’t he? And with Mytha returning the sentiment, would that technically make them… Lovers?
The ranger placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heart thud as it busied itself. They had given themselves to eachother, filled eachother with their essence, confided in eachother, and could very well be living with eachother at the rate he was going; a queen and her sweetie.
She would always be with him.
Literally, in his blood.
X
(A/N): A lamiae AND a dullahan… Why does no one remember Mytha?
Not that happy with how this turned out, but to be fair I was sort of trying to fetishise imminent death so I suppose you could forgive me for struggling. Suddenly finding someone he has feelings for, I wonder how the dazed and unarmed Tenacious Terry will fare when confronted by a fire-flinging sorceress from a band of pyromancers known for their lovely dress sense and even lovelier kisses? Could he resist such temptation?
I guess you could say that they’re to die for! Hehheh, I’m getting good at this… See you next time!
- 6
- 7
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PlayerUnknown’s Soulsborne Waifu Compendium