Page 5 of Naga’s Mate (Prime Omegaverse #2)

CHAPTER 4

VENOM'S FIRST KISS

Heat. Not the gentle warmth of sunshine or the comforting glow of a lab burner, but something primal and consuming that tears through my veins like a sentient force. It radiates from my core in merciless waves, each more powerful than the last, my biology exacting revenge for five years of chemical rebellion with catastrophic intensity.

Imprisoned within Nezzar's muscular coils in this vapor-shrouded chamber, I'm suffocating in my own treacherous flesh. The suppressants aren't merely failing—they're violently collapsing, triggering a hormonal backlash that feels like being flayed from within. Every nerve ending screams with hypersensitivity, my skin burning beneath his cool scales.

"Let me go," I rasp, the words scraping my throat raw. Another surge of heat crashes through me, drawing an involuntary moan as wetness floods the junction of my thighs. "God—I can't?—"

"Your body contradicts you," Nezzar interrupts, his melodious voice now rough with desire. "Your scent is triggering my rut. Alpha responding to omega. Evolutionary law reclaiming what chemistry suppressed."

His sinuous length shifts against me, scales rasping over my hypersensitive skin through damp clothing. Each contact point ignites fresh arousal I mentally reject yet physically crave. My nipples tighten painfully, my inner walls contracting around emptiness as more slick forms in humiliating preparation.

The chamber itself resembles a fever dream—clearly designed for claiming purposes. Living walls exhale moisture into the already saturated atmosphere, creating the sensation of drowning on dry land. Bioluminescent flora cast everything in ethereal blue-green illumination, their radiance reflecting off the iridescent scales spreading across Nezzar's form as his rut intensifies. Mineral pools release scented vapor that somehow amplifies both his earthy musk and my omega sweetness, creating an olfactory feedback loop short-circuiting rational thought.

I attempt to maintain scientific detachment—cataloging symptoms, reciting molecular formulas mentally—anything to preserve some control. It succeeds for precisely three seconds before another violent wave of heat obliterates coherent thought. This surge buckles my knees entirely, wetness soaking through my pants. Only Nezzar's supporting coils prevent complete collapse.

"Your heat progression is extraordinary," he observes, his tongue flickering repeatedly to sample my intensifying pheromones, vertical pupils expanding with predatory focus. "Five years of suppression creating optimal biological response."

"I'm not your laboratory specimen," I snarl, clinging to anger as the sole emotion potentially saving me from supplication.

His smile reveals teeth too pointed to be anything but terrifying. "No. You're my omega."

Before I can formulate a response, his coils tighten with ruthless efficiency, repositioning me against his massive lower body. I find myself partially reclined, legs forced apart by powerful muscular loops encircling my thighs. When I struggle, the pressure increases just enough to ensure bruising, a silent demonstration of how easily he could crush me.

That's when I witness it happening.

A concealed slit in his lower body opens, revealing twin organs that freeze me in primal terror and unwilling fascination. They emerge from their protective sheath like nightmare and fantasy combined—thick, textured with ridges designed for internal stimulation, glistening with viscous secretion that captures the bioluminescent light with pearlescent shimmer. At their bases, I notice a subtle bulge on each shaft—currently only slight swellings, but my omega instincts recognize what they'll become: knots, designed to lock an alpha inside his mate, ensuring successful breeding.

"You can't possibly expect me to accommodate... that," I choke out, renewed panic lending strength to fight against restraints that remain immovable. More wetness forms between my thighs, contradicting everything I profess with humiliating eagerness. "This isn't happening. I'm not what you think?—"

My protests terminate as Nezzar's coils constrict abruptly, stealing my breath. One powerful section forces itself between my thighs, spreading them with merciless efficiency that will leave evidence for days.

"Your body was designed for this purpose," he hisses, voice transformed to something barely recognizable. Emerald scales ripple across his torso and shoulders like living armor, eyes blazing gold with vertical pupils contracted to hairline slits. His tongue samples the air rapidly, tasting my fear and arousal with equal hunger. "It will expand for me, contain me, and bear my mark internally."

He tears away my clothing with savage impatience—fabric shredding, fasteners scattering across the chamber floor. I'm suddenly, humiliatingly exposed while he looms above me, inhuman and overwhelming. The humid air caresses my bare skin like countless unwanted touches, my nipples hardening painfully, my empty passage clenching around nothingness.

"Don't," I manage, my final pitiful attempt at dignity while my body contradicts every syllable. Fresh wetness forms between my thighs, releasing omega submission signals so potent even my limited human senses detect them. "Please, not?—"

"Begging already?" His laugh contains no mirth, only predatory satisfaction. "Reserve your pleas for when my cocks fill you. You'll require them then." One scaled hand grips my jaw, forcing eye contact. "Your heat cannot be denied, only fulfilled. And I refuse to waste your potential in a breeding center."

Before I can process this twisted version of mercy, his coils reposition me with ruthless precision. I'm bent forward, hips elevated, face pressed against his scales, presented like wildlife for mating. The position should mortify me, but all I experience is another rush of wetness, my omega physiology overriding years of independence with primal readiness.

I feel them then—twin tips pressing against my entrance, cool and slick with alien secretion. They're massive, textured with ridges designed for internal stimulation, and there are two of them. My rational mind knows they cannot possibly fit. My omega body weeps in eager anticipation.

"Wait—" The word dissolves into a scream as he drives both organs into me with one merciless thrust.

The invasion feels like violence incarnate—twin shafts stretching me beyond capacity, occupying spaces inside me I didn't know existed. Pain and pleasure blur into something unrecognizable as my body frantically accommodates what should be physically impossible. Every ridge and texture along his lengths drags against nerve endings evolved specifically for this claiming, sending contradictory signals of violation and fulfillment to my overwhelmed brain.

"Fuck!" I shriek, the expletive torn from my throat as he sheathes himself completely, the bases of his cocks pressed against me where I can feel the knots beginning to swell. I'm impaled, filled, stretched beyond endurance—his twin organs so deep I swear I can feel them in my diaphragm.

"Still resisting?" Nezzar growls, beginning to move with deliberate, punishing strokes. "Your body has already yielded."

He's right, and I despise him for it. Hate myself more for how my passage grips his invading lengths, for how each thrust extracts shameful, needy sounds from my lips. My inner walls undulate around him, contracting and releasing with omega biology's instinctive knowledge of alpha pleasure.

When the secretion coating his cocks absorbs into my tissues, everything shatters into terrifying new dimensions.

What begins as unusual warmth erupts into neural wildfire. Every sensation amplifies beyond bearable intensity—the texture of his scales against my skin, the weight of his coils around my limbs, the impossible stretch of my inner walls around his twin organs. My vision fragments into prismatic shards, colors too vivid to process. Scents assault me with information overload—his alpha musk, my omega sweetness, the mineral tang of the pools, the botanical life of the walls, all suddenly overwhelming my sensory processing.

"What—" The question deteriorates into a broken moan as pleasure crashes through me like a tidal wave. "What did you?—"

"Venom," he answers, driving deeper, his thrusts gaining momentum as my body yields completely. "Specially evolved to dissolve omega resistance."

Naga venom. The biochemical weapon disguised as pleasure, engineered to create dependency in human omegas. I'd studied it academically, analyzed its components in controlled environments. Nothing prepared me for this reality—the sensation of it burning through my bloodstream, rewriting my neural pathways with each pulse of his cocks inside me.

"No," I whimper, even as my hips rock backward to meet his thrusts, my body craving more of the toxin destroying my autonomy. "I don't want?—"

"Falsehood," he snarls, coils tightening around my thighs as he increases his pace. His cocks drive into me with punishing force now, the controlled claiming yielding to alpha rut aggression. "Your conscious mind deceives. Your body reveals truth."

I want to scream denials, but what emerges is a broken moan as another wave of venom-laced pleasure tears through me. Each brutal thrust sends his textured cocks dragging against internal zones that make my vision blur. The dual invasion should be unbearable, but the venom transforms everything to ecstasy so intense it borders on torment.

I fight with everything I possess—biting my lip until I taste copper, focusing on my hatred, my fury, my humiliation—but my body betrays me absolutely. Five years of suppressed omega biology erupts in violent surrender, accepting Nezzar's claiming with enthusiastic compliance. My inner walls clench around his invading cocks, pulsing with hunger I cannot control. My hips move to meet each thrust without conscious direction, my spine arching to present myself more completely. My scent gland throbs at my neck, swelling and pulsing in submission display I cannot suppress, releasing omega pheromones that saturate the humid air.

"Cease fighting what you require," Nezzar hisses against my ear, his forked tongue caressing the sensitive shell in teasing counterpoint to the brutal invasion below. "Your resistance only enhances this experience."

"I hate you," I manage between gasps, the words losing all venom as they dissolve into moans. "I hate what you're—ah—doing to me."

"Do you truly?" One scaled hand encircles my throat, applying just enough pressure to make breathing deliberate. The constriction shouldn't arouse me, but my passage floods with fresh wetness at this display of dominance. "Describe how intensely you despise this," he challenges, punctuating his demand with a particularly vicious thrust that drives his twin cocks against a spot so deep inside me that stars explode behind my eyelids.

His other hand finds my breast, scales rasping against sensitized skin as he captures my nipple between thumb and forefinger. The pressure is precise, perfectly calibrated between pleasure and pain, extracting a broken cry from my throat.

"That's it, little scientist. Let me hear how thoroughly you reject your pleasure."

His coils shift beneath me, muscular undulations changing the angle of penetration with each thrust. The twin textured shafts rotate inside me in opposite directions, stretching and stimulating my passage in ways no human anatomy could possibly replicate. Every ridge and texture drags against nerve endings evolved specifically for this claiming, sending contradictory signals of violation and ecstasy to my overwhelmed system.

When the first climax hits, it annihilates me.

I come screaming around his twin cocks, my body convulsing in violent spasms that would be agonizing without the venom flooding my system. The orgasm doesn't peak and recede like normal pleasure—it continues building, fragmenting into multiple waves that crash through me with increasing intensity. I'm distantly aware of feral sounds emerging from my throat—pleas, curses, omega submission whines I didn't know humans could produce.

"Please," I sob, no longer certain if I'm begging for mercy or continuation. "Please, I can't—it's too much?—"

"You can," he counters, his coils tightening around my thighs, spreading me wider for deeper access. "Your physiology was designed for this claiming, this pleasure." One massive coil wraps around my waist, lifting me slightly to alter the angle, driving his twin cocks impossibly deeper. "Feel how perfectly you accommodate me."

He's right—my omega passage expands to receive his alien dimensions with perverse eagerness, tissues reshaping themselves in real-time to optimize the friction of his cocks against my most sensitive zones. His venom has triggered some evolutionary adaptation mechanism I never knew existed, my body literally reconfiguring itself for his specific anatomy.

His hand slides from my throat down between my legs, finding the swollen bundle of nerves with unerring precision. His cool, scaled fingers circle my clit in methodical, relentless patterns that propel me toward another climax before the first has even subsided.

"No," I whimper, overwhelmed by the dual stimulation. "I can't experience another orgasm so quickly—it's physiologically impossible?—"

"Everything about you is being reconfigured," he growls, his fingers increasing their pressure as his thrusts gain brutal force. "What was impossible before my claiming is now inevitable."

His pace becomes relentless, punishing—all pretense of restraint abandoned as my ongoing pleasure triggers deeper rut response. His scales now cover his entire form, no longer just patches but a complete transformation. Golden eyes blaze with alpha possession, tongue repeatedly sampling the surrender in my scent. His cocks expand further inside me, the bases swelling noticeably now, the knots beginning to form.

The contrast of textures overwhelms my venom-enhanced senses—the cool smoothness of his scales against my feverish skin, the rigid heat of his cocks splitting me open, the slick movement of his fingers against my clit, the humid air heavy with our combined pheromones. Every sensation amplifies the others, creating a cycle of pleasure so intense it approaches agony.

"Look at me," he commands, one coil wrapping around my hair to pull my head back. "Witness who claims you."

I force my eyes open, meeting his predatory gaze as he towers above me, his upper body now more serpentine than human, iridescent scales reflecting the bioluminescent light. The sight should terrify me, but instead it hurls me toward another climax.

"Mine," he roars, the declaration vibrating through his coils and into my restrained body. "Mine to claim. Mine to breed. Mine to possess."

The words should provoke resistance, but instead they send me spiraling into another shattering orgasm. My consciousness fragments into pure sensation—his twin cocks pounding into me with inhuman strength, their textured surfaces creating friction so perfect it feels engineered specifically for my body. His coils reposition me again, bending me forward while keeping my hips elevated, the ideal breeding position my body recognizes instinctively. His venom transforms every brutal thrust into transcendent pleasure that dissolves barriers I never knew existed in my nervous system.

"Say it," he demands, voice guttural with rut. "Acknowledge who you belong to now."

"No," I gasp, clinging to this final fragment of defiance even as my body surrenders completely.

In response, his coils tighten everywhere simultaneously—around my thighs, my waist, my throat—just enough pressure to demonstrate his absolute control without causing injury. One particularly clever coil wraps around my ribcage, scales rasping against my nipples with every thrust, adding another layer of stimulation to my already overloaded system.

"Your body recognizes the truth," he hisses, reaching beneath me to press his fingers against my clit again, rubbing relentless circles as his cocks pound into me. "Admit it and find completion."

The pressure builds to unbearable levels, pleasure compounding upon pleasure until I can't distinguish between sensations anymore. Everything merges into one overwhelming tide threatening to submerge me completely.

"Yours," I finally sob, the admission torn from somewhere primitive within me. "I'm yours, alpha."

His answering growl resonates with primal satisfaction, vibrating through his entire serpentine form and into mine. His thrusts become impossibly deeper, the ridged heads of his cocks pressing against places inside me that have never been stimulated before. The pressure on my clit intensifies in perfect synchronization with his penetration, pushing me beyond what I thought were the physiological limits of pleasure.

Then I feel it—the swelling at the base of each cock expanding dramatically, stretching me in new ways that should be painful but instead sends me careening into yet another climax. The twin knots grow larger with each thrust until, with a final savage drive forward, they lock completely inside me, sealing us together.

"Knotted," he growls against my ear, his voice barely recognizable. "Locked inside you, ensuring my seed takes root."

The sensation of being stretched beyond capacity by the dual knots, anchored in place by evolutionary design, triggers pleasure so intense it borders on unconsciousness. My inner walls spasm around the intrusion, squeezing rhythmically as my body recognizes what's happening—being bred, claimed in the most primal way possible.

When he finally climaxes, the flood of cool seed triggers yet another orgasm, my body milking his release with omega biology's desperate need for insemination. His ejaculate feels like liquid nitrogen inside me—cold yet burning, carrying additional venom that spreads through my system in pulsing waves of chemical submission. It fills me completely, so abundant that I feel it pooling deep in my core, my body eagerly absorbing everything he provides. The knots ensure not a drop escapes, trapping his seed where evolutionary design demands it remain.

"Perfect," he murmurs against my neck, his tongue sampling the submission now permanently encoded in my scent. "You were created for this purpose. For me to breed and fill completely."

His cocks remain knotted inside me, the swollen bulges maintaining our connection even as tiny aftershocks of pleasure ripple through me. His coils loosen just enough to position me more comfortably against him, but never enough to permit escape—possession made physical in their unyielding embrace and the biological lock of his knots.

"How long?" I manage to ask, my scientific mind somehow pushing through the haze of pleasure and submission.

"The knots?" He sounds almost amused at my question. "For a first claiming, perhaps an hour. It varies based on compatibility and heat intensity. Yours is... exceptional."

Gradually, the intensity recedes enough for coherent thought to return. I become aware of my position—still wrapped in his coils, firmly impaled and knotted, my body damp with perspiration, slick, and alien seed. Reality returns with humiliating clarity. I've been claimed. Conquered. My five years of careful chemical deception undone in minutes of biological imperative.

"What have you done to me?" I gasp when speech becomes possible, feeling the venom infiltrating every cell, altering something fundamental at the molecular level. Even as I question, my body continues trembling with aftershocks of forced pleasure, inner walls still embracing his invading cocks and knots as though they belong there.

"I've merely awakened what already existed within you," Nezzar replies, his coils shifting to reposition me without disturbing our locked connection. His twin organs remain knotted inside me, keeping his venom and seed contained where biology demands it stay. "Your omega nature cannot be permanently suppressed, only temporarily masked. Now it has discovered its intended purpose."

I want to curse him, to reject his assertion of ownership over my body and future, but another wave of heat crashes through me—impossibly, my body already preparing for more despite the intensity of what just transpired. The venom has triggered something beyond normal heat progression, accelerating and amplifying the cycle beyond anything my research indicated was possible.

"This can't be happening," I whisper, more to myself than to him, as my inner walls contract involuntarily around his still-present cocks and knots, my body already craving more of what my mind continues to fight.

"It is happening," he counters, his twin organs maintaining their swollen state, ensuring the connection remains unbroken. "And it will continue until your heat reaches satisfaction. Until my claim becomes absolute."

His coils shift again, repositioning us for comfort during the extended knotting period. The venom coursing through my system transforms every point of contact between us into a source of renewed arousal. I can feel my resistance crumbling beneath the onslaught of chemical manipulation and biological imperative. Five years of calculated control dissolving in hours of targeted neurochemical warfare.

As we remain locked together, his knots ensuring the deepest possible connection between us, I realize with piercing clarity that my life as I knew it has ended. In its place begins something I never anticipated despite all my careful planning—existence as a claimed omega, body and mind permanently altered by naga venom, bound to an alpha whose possession seems absolute by both chemistry and physical design.

"Please," I gasp, though I'm no longer certain what I'm requesting—release from this connection or deeper fulfillment. My body knows precisely what it desires, inner walls gripping his invading cocks and knots with eager need while my mind fractures between rejection and surrender.

"Your heat persists," he observes, his voice impossibly composed despite our locked state. "When the knots subside, your claiming will continue. Until you're thoroughly marked as mine."

As we remain tied together in this most intimate of connections, I close my eyes against the reality I can no longer resist. My carefully constructed defenses—chemical, psychological, physical—all demolished by biology's demands and Nezzar's absolute dominance, sealed by evolutionary design in the form of knots that ensure his claim is complete.

The scientist in me has one final coherent thought before pleasure drowns everything else: I've become my own most fascinating experiment—the human omega's response to naga claiming, documented from within. Then even that analytical distance vanishes as my body surrenders again to what my mind still struggles to accept.

Venom's kiss, burning through my veins, rewriting everything I believed about myself. Knots locking us together, ensuring the claiming reaches its evolutionary conclusion.