You hear a strange sound from upstairs

After locking up, you remove your gloves and sunglasses, and deposit them in a bowl on a nearby table, along with your phone. You hang your coat up, and kick off your boots... Then, without even leaving the entryway, you start shedding the rest of your ridiculous outfit. In moments, all your clothes are heaped in an untidy pile on the floor. By the stars, what a relief it is to be exposed again. Finally, you can let your scales breathe. Feeling a yawn coming on, you stretch your arms and legs to their fullest extent (feeling some of your joints popping in a deliciously satisfying way), put your fangs and forked tongue back on display, and flex your tail every way you damn please- while issuing a nice, long hiss of contentment.

For good measure, you twist your body from side to side, relishing your new, more limber serpent-inspired skeletal structure, and even have a go at touching your toes. This works so well, in fact, that you take it a bit too fast and end up bumping your nose into the sensitive patch of scales between your legs where you estimate your perineum used to be, which now forms the lower side of the base of your tail (eliciting a giggle from you). From this flattering position, you consider rewarding yourself with a sparse liquid lunch... But then you notice something that leads you to straighten back up, and pay attention.

There's a sound on the edge of your hearing, like some sort of a whirring or a buzzing, and it's coming from upstairs. You put off food for the moment, and decide to investigate. You climb the stairs, curious (though at this point, not afraid in the least of whatever surprise or red herring is in store for you), and work out that the faint vibrations are coming from your bedroom. When you twist the door-handle and look inside, the source of the disturbance is immediately apparent: the mystery-metal octahedron has somehow raised itself up onto one of its two opposing points, and started spinning on your bedside table, keeping its own balance as it moves in a lazy circular loop, like a spinning top. The sound you heard was the subtle noise of the alien alloy against the wooden surface, which might have escaped human notice, but was quickly picked up by your altered senses.

You only admire the device for a few moments before stepping inside for a closer look, thrusting yourself forward into this strange situation without any room for doubt. Something of profound significance is coming up, you sense, and you're ready for it. You begin to close the distance, carefully putting one clawed leg in front of the other, as you keep your eye-slits trained directly on the unknown. You decide you'll get a closer look, then make a grab for it, and go from there. But instead, once you're only a few feet away, the unexpected happens: responding to your proximity, the object splits in two, with the upper pyramid raising up on four spindly shafts in each of its four corners, to reveal a brilliant blue crystal sphere - the same sapphire-blue as your eyes - that was hidden in the hollow space within the octahedron. There's a light inside...

Suddenly, there's a flash! Momentarily blinded, you stagger back and rub your eyes, and when you look again, the familiar interior of your bedroom is... Fizzling, like... Static?

The furniture, the walls, the floors and ceiling... Even the world outside your window; everything crackles and fragments and falls away, and you are left looking at... Earth. That's Earth. Your home planet. The blue-green marble itself - the world as you've always known it - dominates the immense and awe-inspiring view beyond this floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall... Screen? No, of course that's not what it is. It's a window. You step forward, finding that you seem to be walking on the same strange material the octahedron was fashioned from, and reach out... And out... Leaning further... Further...

You stop yourself, suddenly scared of falling right through this 'window', the surface of which you can't touch or see, and dying out there, alone in the cold vacuum of space. You have to convince yourself that the fact you're still breathing is proof enough that you're safe, but it's a hard sell... And you can't help but tear up a little, thinking suddenly of all the online videos of dogs running blindly into glass patio doors, or all the birds that will fly smack-bang into a closed window. You feel like it must be an appropriate sort of analogy. What a stupid, stupid Earthling you are. So far from home... But... There it is. There's home, somewhere under that thin layer of whirling, dancing cloud. Your mind goes blank.

After many long minutes standing there, one thought finally does cross your mind: either Studs 'R' Us sorely undersold their capabilities... Or you have been playing along with quite a different game than the one you thought you had been playing. You don't know which is the case, and you expect you might never know. Not any more. That ship has soared, and is now hanging stationary in far-orbit, looking down on the world as you've always... No, you've already used that one... Standing here, out among the... Looking down on... Ah, fuck it.

You turn your back on the Earth, and feast your eyes on your new home... Or whatever part of it you've found yourself in, anyway. The impression you receive is one of a great chamber - you can't even be bothered guessing the dimensions - with the outer walls forming the interior of a great pyramid (or perhaps, you joke inwardly to yourself, the upper half of another octahedron). The lighting isn't absolute, and you can't see how far it extends upwards, but the surfaces you can see are fashioned out of huge, smooth bricks of golden, brassy, and bronze-like metals. This seems an aesthetic choice as much as anything else, for many of these surfaces - particularly the lofty ones continuing as far up as you can perceive - are engraved with intricate hieroglyphic representations of geometric patterns, alien landscapes, and figures (most of them Reptilian, you note) in various pictographic narratives and scenarios. You can't even begin to guess at the stories or histories or instructions they might convey, though their edges all seem to glow faintly with the colours of what they are meant to depict. It's... Indescribably beautiful to you.

What you're standing on seems to be a viewing platform that meets the edge of the strange window occupying one whole wall of this... Place. Now facing you, occupying the centre of the chamber, is... Well, yes; a pyramid of metal, though not as steep as the outer-shell of this chamber. There are still stairs in the middle, making for a much-easier ascent for a short-legged one such as yourself. You numbly approach and begin to climb, realising as you do that leading off from the pyramid at a number of levels are walkways headed towards passageways and sealed doors in the outer-wall, dotted in symmetrical arrangements and leading goodness-knows-where. Similar entrances are set into the pyramid itself, with each 'level' traversing the outside of the pyramid like a sort of balcony. There are strange alien sculptures here and there, rich crimson tapestries with unfamiliar symbols, and even plants in ornate containers (though you recognise none of them). Whatever this alien... Temple or palace of a starship is, you feel inclined not to wander off, or else you risk quickly becoming lost.

You climb, and as you climb, you stare at the ground, beginning to feel dizzy and disoriented. Culture shock, perhaps, though greater than any you might have ever known in your old life. You wonder whether you should stop, lie down facing the Earth, and have a good shot at going into catatonic shock- since it's plenty less than what most people would expect of someone in your present situation. Yet when you look up again and realise your ascent is over, that this structure in fact plateaus, what you see awaiting you in the middle of the summit puts all such thoughts completely out of your head.

On a dais at the centre of this plateau, surrounded by all manner of luxurious and exotic-looking cushions and decorations, is the most resplendent throne you could have ever imagined. But, more importantly, seated in that throne is a figure draped in what looks like a crimson and gold robe of such sumptuous quality and tearfully-intricate design that you could not fathom it being worn apropos by anything less than a king - no! - an emperor over kings. So suitable it is, then, that the towering, slender being upon whose shoulders the bulk of this royal garment rests and flows forth - the being seated in this throne, with his jade-green scaled chin resting upon the palm of his six-clawed hand whilst his astronomical and far-seeing eyes watch your approach with coy satisfaction - is none other than your Reptilian overlord.

You stand, shoulders cowed and knees bent inward, your hands crossed in front of you as you gaze upon Him clearly for the first time, with awe and reverence and fear and humbleness and devotion. His majestic, scaly hide is dense and layered, like armour, where yours (though you scarcely dare to compare your meagre self to this space-faring demigod) is a delicate and smooth mosaic, for the appreciation and pleasure of He that moulded you. Your tail is a mere dwarfed knock-off imitation, next to the heavy dragon-like specimen that descends between his feet, trails down to your level, and lies pointed in your direction (you puzzle at this, having has enough trouble of your own simply sitting at your computer, but figure that the throne must be designed for his form and comfort). You're tempted to extend the dragon simile to his head, too, to regard the proud jaws and crown of thorn-like spines that form a fierce ridge beginning at his brow and continuing around the sides of his head- but the immense and frightening serpentine fangs and drifting forked-tongue resist such lazy attempts at categorisation.

Struck dumb by his magnificence, you'd almost forgotten to breathe. You inhale weakly, and the faintest hints of a familiar scent excite your notice and imagination. It's faint, but it's definitely that smell of rightful male dominance, and of the secret inner world of the Reptile House when all the lights go out. It's power and predation and dominion, and it has you swaying where you stand while your eyes falter and flit this-way-and-that, subconsciously seeking the source. Your tiny snake-prick is already at full attention, weeping pre-cum in anticipation. You sniff the air, taste it with your tongue- and without realising it, you've dropped to your knees, as much in dumb animalistic need as in fealty to your Lord... You hadn't realised how long it had been since you'd known that scent... You're so hungry...

There's a flicker of amusement in his eye, and a smirk breaking on one corner of his mouth, leading you to think he knows full well what has captured your attention. Without breaking his relaxed posture, he adjusts his legs just a smidgen, broadening the gap between his knees, and his robe falls open. Released from its prison, the invisible miasma wafts over you, and it's all you can do to prevent yourself collapsing with the effort of your restraint. You certainly begin shaking, salivating... And you think you may have begun drooling, just a little.

Above a pair of grapefruit-sized scaly testis (huh...), is your old friend, the glistening leviathan, finally in your sights, in all its firm, fleshy glory. You remember all its edges, its ridges and spines, by tactile memory alone. Beneath the divine eye of your 'demigod', you have finally found your 'church', your 'place of worship', once more. You look up with pleading eyes at your overlord, and he answers your silent prayer with a deep 'hiss' that rumbles through the air, and echoes within the caverns of your mind and soul.

"Sssserviccccee..."

On his word, his permission, you fall belly-downward onto his tail, relishing the blessing of his scales rubbing against yours, and against your sensitive, slippery member. But this is not your prize, so you crawl forward, until you're rubbing your muzzle and your cheeks into his sack, and along his cock, like an affectionate kitten- and like a kitten, you're acting in instinct, not conscious thought. Heat emanates from his groin like a burning fire, and when you next breathe in, you feel so dizzy, so enthralled, that you moan. But you get a grip on yourself- this isn't for you. This was never for you. You block out the smell, the taste, and wrap your hands around the base of it. You can't get your fingers to meet- not by a long shot.

You look up into his eyes, those enigmatic, calculating, starry spheres, with the pitch-black slitted abysses that pull you in and bury deep within all your old doubts. In your previous life, they were a source of sublime awe and terror. Now, any glimmers or scraps of satisfaction or approval you might divine from them are all you think you will ever need to know true happiness. You pump up and down with both your hands and, remembering your experiment lying with your back on the kitchen floor, you slither your tongue out to coil around his flesh, from the tip, all the way down to... Oh. You barely made it two-thirds of the way.

You break eye-contact to concentrate on your duty, placing your hands on the floor and propping your head up for a better vantage point. It makes no difference, so with perfect control of your tongue, you revise the coil to leave gaps in each rotation - constricting his cock with all your might and lathering it with saliva all the while - until your forked tip will reach the base. You hear a powerful, intimate hiss of pleasure above you, and the thought alone that you made him do that fills your stomach with butterflies. Unexpectedly, you feel the ground shift beneath you - before you remember that you're currently laying upon His tail, not the ground - and you feel the tip of it rising up to poke and stroke at the entrance to your ass, before it slides itself inside with a more insistent prod, and starts to wriggle around, teasingly! H-He's rewarding you! But the sensation is one you're completely unprepared for; your sphincter and inner walls explode with tingly pleasure wherever his tail brushes you, like... Like... Well, you've never had a vagina, but if that's not what this feels like, then that's only because this must be hundreds of times better than that... Oh, the stars...

"H-Haa-ank Oo-ooOooo~"

You manage, barely, to express your gratitude for his attentions (your tongue, after all, is preoccupied), but know that you must not get complacent. For all you know, this may only be a test, and even if it's not, you... You must do more! Give more! In a moment of passionate devotion, you sink your head down over the tip, aiming to swallow as much of his most intimate, blessed body-part as you can. Completely unanticipated by you (though the clues were always there, in retrospect), your jaw readily unhinges to accommodate the act, while your throat stretches and bulges without issue or complaint, and you deep-throat his entire length, taking in your own freakishly-wrapped tongue and all, in one sudden dive- your wide and distorted muzzle smooched up against his body.

The taste and the scent are... Beyond expression. You're swimming in them. But that's not what pops your mind like a balloon and sends your body into shivering spasms of orgasm. Whatever He did to your lower fuck-hole to have you in sexual rapture whenever his body invades yours has been carried out in equal measure within your throat. Any way he takes you, above or below, with his phallus or otherwise, you are built for his pleasure- and built for harvesting your pleasure from him. You've stumbled upon this fact completely by accident, and the price is that you are overwhelmed. The world around you blurs away into a haze of unregarded sensory input as your eyelids flutter asymmetrically and your stoppered-lips reflexively attempt to twist into a goofy smiling analogue of your inner sensory experience. The tsunami of sexual feedback becomes the only real thing. You forget context, and forget time. You don't know where you are, who you are, what you are doing, what you are... Just the feeling... Feeling as white noise...

You don't notice when your idol rattles and roars above you in ecstasy at your sudden motion, nor when his tail dives deeper into you, spreading your scaly ass-cheeks and your reptilian legs akimbo as yet more over-amplified pleasure signals flood your short-circuiting brain. Just another bathtub's-worth in the ocean. You'll come down eventually, and your nervous system will begin to acclimatise to this sort of treatment, but for now, the lights are on but nobody's home. Lucky for us, pre-programmed reflex and muscle-memory pick up the slack. You squeeze and massage and tickle that slab of alien-lizard meat lodged in your throat with your talented serpent-tongue, long after consciousness has checked out of the building, pleasing (and, we might hope, impressing) your hyper-intelligent designer immensely.

When you begin to return from your private journey of sexual transcendence, however long that's taken, you're greeted by a foggy awareness that your Reptilian overlord's claws are gripping around your swollen throat. Luckily, you seem to be breathing in enough Reptiloid-musk-saturated oxygen in spite of all this, although 'how' is a mystery you're chronically under-qualified to solve in your current state. You realise that, in a fit of mounting sexual fury, your master has begun furiously mating your face- in addition to everything going on within that sweet neck of yours to bring him pleasure, and in addition, his efforts at tail-fucking you right back into oblivion are increasing in speed and intensity in proportion with his own excitement. Your first emotion back on this plane of existence is pride- pure, unadulterated pride. You have never felt worth so much in your entire life.

You feebly take stock of the situation, as far as you can manage, as the pounding waves of sexual ecstasy continue to pummel into you, over, and over, harder and harder. You have stopped actually orgasming entirely- you're spent; your tapered little snake-dick is soft and smearing the mess it has made up and down your overlord's tail as your body is helplessly rocked back and forth. Your first coherent (albeit unreflective and unreasoned) thought since getting back is also a species-first, for humans and genetically-engineered snakeboy love-puppets alike (of which you are, as far as you can tell, the first): 'What do you need this obsolete appendage for, again?'

You're yanked out of this philosophical quandary, and most of the way back to real life, when your Reptilian overlord's tail is withdrawn from your own tail-hole with an obscene 'Schluuurp', and you feel the welcome occupant of your throat begin to throb and pulse, and a wonderful, wholesome warmness begins to spread from your stomach to every corner of your body! Realising what is happening, and not wanting to miss out on your opportunity for a big finish, you lay both hands on your star-stud's thighs and push yourself up, unravelling your tongue as you do so.

You feel the thick, viscous goo flooding your throat as you withdraw, glazing every inch of your un-knotting tongue with... Oh, yes, thank-you, thank-you! With His twitching, clenching balls still pumping out torrents and floods of the stuff, you let the head of his magical Reptilian rod reside in your mouth until he's finished. You suckle it and gulp the pearly life-giving ambrosia down greedily, each gooey, sticky throatful bursting with salty, sugary, savoury, bliss. It's... Everything. It's all that you can eat, all you'd ever want to eat, and it tastes of... All the best things you ever tasted or could have tasted back on Earth, only all at once! That doesn't make any sense, and it sounds disgusting when you actually put it in those words, but it's... Oh, it's so good...

You take the quickly-softening member in your hands and begin polishing it with your tongue, searching out every nook and crevice for anything left over, making sure to clean it all like the good snakeboy you are. You look up into your overlord's eyes like a serpentine puppy as you do so, with unconditional love and devotion, and he watches you work with a narrow-eyed grin of... Approval? Enjoyment? Contempt? Whatever it is, he's looking at you, you've brought him pleasure and he's shown you his appreciation and fed you, and that fills you with inexpressible contentment and joy. This is your life. This is what you are. You're happier than you could ever be.

... Or so you think. You finish cleaning him and remain kneeling with your head resting between his genitals and his thigh, holding his gaze without any thought of moving from here until made to. But then, he reaches with his left hand into a compartment in the arm of the throne which is presently out of your sight, while with the other hand, he reaches down and gently strokes your cheek and the underside of your muzzle. You shut your eyes and lean into his scaly, six-fingered claw, nuzzling it as he withdraws the item.

Despite all the blessings this day has brought, there is yet another: he has a gift for you.