A Chronicles of Narnia fanfic — NSFW
Malice In Jade
I find such pleasure in tormenting this fool.
Look how he writhes, struggling in vain to break free from his bonds. His head thrashes back and forth, his pretty blue eyes roll in their sockets. His face, cleanly shaved as I prefer, stretches and contorts. A lock of yellow hair falls over his forehead. He cannot push it back. Garbled words escape his luscious pink mouth.
I enjoy it, I really do. Human suffering has always amused me. I am incapable of experiencing it myself, since I am not human.
I approach him. Though he faces away from me he knows I am there from the sliding rustle of my scales on the hard stone floor. A husky noise, like a lover’s whisper.
I encircle him in a ring of emerald and citrine, moss and jade. How proud I am of the color of my scales, their complexities of green. Green as poison, green as death incarnate, yet green also as the power of nature, of dumb growing things which need no involvement from man and which will be on the earth after sentient creatures are long gone.
I rise before him. My torso is still a woman’s, my arms, my breasts. I lean over to kiss him on the mouth. He turns his head away yet with my pale white hand I tip it back. Resolutely he clamps shut his lips.
I laugh. “Be that way. You know you’ll be begging before the hour ends.” In the back I hear my water-clock dripping steadily, marking the minutes of his captivity.
Though he will not kiss me, I can still toy with his flesh.
It fascinates me still, this smooth, silky paleness. Though we Naga can take on human form, it comes at a price; from time to time we must return to our serpent one to shed our scales and take refreshment. After all these years I still feel relief when I can dispense with ungainly, stiltlike legs and slither on the floor, as we are meant to do. Half one and half the other is a nice compromise.
I part the folds of his doublet and spread my hands upon his torso, running them down his ribs, down to the waistband of his hose. His face grimaces with disgust.
Ah, but if he knew how much his flesh would disgust one of my sisters! I am a bit of a pervert, see, to take such a pleasure in an alien male’s form.
The water-clock drips the seconds, then the minutes, as I encircle his root, making his manhood rise.
If I wanted, I might rise myself, as the dumb serpents of Narnia do before they strike, to connect with the small slit in my scales which contains the inner organs of a human woman. Upon which I might pump myself back and forth, taking his seed at the climactic moment.
Oh, but not today. I’ve other things in mind.
After arousing him I hold his head and give him a nip on the neck, with one of my fangs. He thinks it’s to render the poison that makes him so complacent.
It’s part of the game, you see. He thinks he returns to his normal senses when I bind him to the chair (or one of the Earthmen does, when I am not around) so willingly he goes, but it is all part of the mind-games I play with him. But he is always in his normal mind. I bind him with sweet words, with human sex, and with love, yes, love, for he is more than the tool to me that I planned at first. I look after his needs as I do my own. And part of them is this pretense of binding him, letting him show his disgust and outrage at his weakness, to vent it, drain it, before he becomes complacent once again. Complacent, nay, eager to be my lover and captive. To take in the luxuries of castle, my kingdom, and eventually bring me to Narnia as his Queen.
If he thinks I poison him, or others think so like the clodheaded giants we trade with from time to time, it is in his own mind.
I taste a little of his blood, make him think I have bewitched him yet again.
Then I slither off into our nursery where our eggs lay incubating in the sand, to hatch the tiny princes and princesses who will call him Father.
