- (1.13MB, 800x1022, 36601069_p0.png)
(X) The first, pent-up sex in his family home.
One stuck faster than its siblings. Yamame reeled it in, reclining on her human’s lap – thrusting her unoccupied hand behind to prop herself on his knee.
The memory was some four months old: stitched into the harshest patch of the winter she’d been invited to spend – and work – in Naoto’s family estate. The motion had struck her life’s web from the least likely of all vectors; for it was Naoto’s mother – who had scarce little cause to love Yamame – from whom it had originated. The ageing, somewhat portly woman, with silvery threads in her hair, had nonetheless a spider’s eye for everything cloth-wise. The very first the two had met, it had recognised instantly the intent and effort gone into the coat Yamame had worn at that time. A pair of skilled hands passing through her domain could never be let pass idly by such an industrious soul as Naoto’s remaining parent. A few tests away with other styles and fabrics, and the eldest of the earth spiders had suddenly found herself in an apprenticeship to an even older-looking, human woman.
A woman whose husband Yamame Kurodani had unwittingly taken away. A woman whose son the mother of plagues had nearly stolen as well.
A woman whose heart was big enough anyway to forgive the spider… and let the artist inside her sew out her potentials.
When Yamame had heard this, she had burst into tears, and grabbed the woman in a hug which could have put a fiery blush under her old Oni mentor’s eyes. It was, when she thought back, perhaps the only time she had seen Naoto’s mother not quite certain what to do.
The weeks in consequence had shown the less pretty undercoat of their compact. Oh, the work had been absorbing, and no mistake; and Yamame had learned more of ingenious new techniques in handling and processing fabrics in a fortnight than she would have in months from those books Naoto had collected for her as part of their arrangement. But, as her days vanished in a blur of explanations, trials and inspections of this or that previously unseen method, a problem had begun coagulating at the edges of said blur.
The problem’s name was Naoto.
Though he had ultimately breathed easier once Yamame had been accepted by his mother; still, his own work as well as hers meant they hadn’t overmuch time to themselves and, subsequently, for each other. This, for a long while, hadn’t been too troublesome; and yet, as any piece of clothing scuffed too long and hard, so the not-troublesomeness had soon developed a nasty hole. Naoto had stared it through.
A usual point in the schedule saw Yamame take a visit in the room where Naoto – and sometimes other clerks – kept the estate’s records and ledgers. Any material or materiel commandeered for Yamame’s lessons had, lest it cause misalignments down the line, to be adjusted in the figures at the close of each day. Yamame would come in, hand her human a list of items his mother had deemed pertinent that morning, exchange a few more or less joking comments, and leave to her ahead established tasks. Later, they would sit next to each other at dinner, which the servants, the workers and the head of the house all took together in a common dining room.
Later yet, Yamame would turn in any remaining adjustments, say her good-nights, and retire to the rooms she had been given – nearby those of her new master. Naoto would finalise his work – and retreat to his room, in the servants’ section of the house. That had been the stitch of things, day-to-day. Usually.
But the day Yamame now recalled hadn’t been usual at all. And as she switched her middle finger from rubbing up-and-down on her stiff button, to flicking it left-and-right, the spinstress recalled what had unravelled that regular stitch.
It had been a look.
When she was handing in that day’s list in the records room, Naoto gave her a look. A long, intense, yearning look from his wonderfully dark eyes – which the preoccupied Yamame had never figured out, until well after she had quit the paper-stuffed room. Almost, and her heart would have leapt out through her mouth when understanding struck her mental web.
The look had said things. Several things. Maybe just one thing, when she picked apart the threads. But she had seen that look before – too long before – had the genius spinstress, and knew the words that it contained:
I love you. I’ve missed you. Come closer.
I want you.
There was no wrapping it up; and once it had stuck, the thought wriggled in her mental web – vexing and distracting – as she went about the day’s now not-as-riveting schedule. It was no great shock, then… though it was still a light one… when, while she was running an errand for Naoto’s mother later that afternoon, an arm burst out of a door she had been passing by and, roughly, dragged the earth spider in.
Naoto slammed the door shut. Yamame had but the slightest break to note the room was empty and unused before her human slammed her against a nearby wall.
His strength. It was the real shocker of the circumstance. When Yamame had seen his devastated shape, upon their reunion, she had anticipated his strength would have been gone as well. But his arms had no apparent issue pinning her shoulders to the wall with enough force that she would need draw on her youkai’s core to resist. The twine of surprise and treacherous excitement startled her mouth wide open.
Naoto seized on her reactions. He tied the gap shut – mashing his lips against her own and shoving his tongue into hers. Yamame squealed, but her voice came out weak and muffled. Her human pushed in harder, roughly tasting the inside of her mouth – tipping her head an awkward, almost unnatural angle. He pressed his broad, masculine body at her smaller, female frame, flattening Yamame against the wall. One of his knees dug into her groin below her modified household servant’s robe. The spinstress squirmed inside the hold. She was trapped, distressed and in pain.
And she was more turned on that she would ever admit to herself afterwards.
Naoto was still cruelly sucking on her mouth when Yamame’s daze had thinned enough that she started clumsily kissing back. It did nothing to placate his brutal, greedy tongue; it didn’t even convince him to stop and refill on his breath civilly – rather than puffing through his nose like a wild beast. But it did give him something. A hint. A measure of affirmation that his rampant, hungry lust was not… not entirely, anyway… one-sided.
So emboldened, Naoto unlocked one of his strong, cruel hands which were pinioning Yamame’s shoulders. He slid it down the earth spider’s front, onto her heaving chest. He grabbed and crudely groped her left breast through the cloth. Then, he reached lower – under the skirt of her robe.
Yamame twisted about in his arms when he scratched his dull fingernails up the bare skin of her thigh. Naoto switched his feet around, releasing some of the pressure on her groin. His trespassing hand slithered up and under Yamame’s clothes – until it was resting on her soft, naked, trembling belly.
Then, without warning, Naoto shoved his hand down her panties.
The touch of his familiar, rugged fingers on her sensitive parts sent ecstatic jolts up her lower body. It was instantly better than her own fingers had ever been – even after evening upon evening of rigorous, slimy exercise. Without a hitch or pause, Naoto began to re-explore all of his favourite spots to tease – or be teased inside – between Yamame’s thighs. He slipped two delightfully thick fingers into her already slick hole. He wormed them around in her moist, plush depths – as if checking if everything was in place, and no one had been inside and made a mess in his absence. Satisfied no one had, he extracted his fingers halfway out – curled them – and pushed them back in, scraping the tips on the front wall of her vagina.
Yamame’s back arched. The spinstress moaned around her human’s ruthless tongue – but to no mercy. Naoto began to move his whole hand up and down inside her increasingly damp panties: fingers slipping in and out of her velvety hole, while his palm mashed against her small, delicate nub. The earth spider thrust out her hips, presenting her crotch, begging her human to torment her more. Naoto felt her quiver needily around his fingers… and obliged.
The earth spider now tamed and docile in his clutches, he set Yamame’s remaining shoulder loose. The second, impudent hand, now freed to do its like, closed around her right breast, and gripped. Yamame squeaked – writhing in pain, shame and rogue pleasure all at once. Naoto released her plump, malleable breast and refocussed his attention on the parts of her that weren’t hidden under layers of cloth.
The hand rooting inside her and toying with her tiny button never slowed – even when its sibling began to roll Yamame’s soggy panties down her thighs. Somehow, somewise, a less excited piece of Yamame muddled through, reminding her that her underwear was in thin supply where she was. Weakly, the spinstress squished her legs together – to prevent the flimsy fabric stretching too wide even for her un-spiderly wide hips. Naoto tugged the panties down, until they reached halfway to her knees – and left them there.
For a few heartbeats, his fingers paused their merciless ransacking of her warm, squirming insides. Naoto, at large, stilled – even his tongue slipping out of Yamame’s mouth – as he appeared to savour the feeling of his hand being squeezed inside her plush hole and between her chubby thighs at the same time.
But then, Naoto grunted – something short and impatient, which Yamame didn’t quite register. His fingers hooked viciously inside her.
And then, he began to plunge his hand, back and forth, brutishly under her crotch.
Yamame yelped from the abrupt, vicious stimulation. The yelp was killed off when Naoto clapped his free hand over her careless mouth. He stared into her misty, unfocused eyes – glaring a reminder that they were not, as a matter of fact, in Lady Satori’s grand, mostly uninhabited mansion – or in Yamame’s underground home, with no soul around for hours to witness sudden, impassioned screams. The rebuke in his wonderful, dark eyes made the spinstress go soft in the knees.
There was something else making her knees soft. The tips of Naoto’s crooked fingers weren’t as much poking the vulnerable spot on the inside or her belly as they were ramming into it without mercy or reprieve. The earth spider gasped under her human’s hand each time this happened. Her thoughts were mush. Vaguely, she became aware of her nails jabbing into Naoto’s wrists – pretending to resist, but not actually trying. The impression of being overpowered – pinned to a wall, brutally fingered and made to climax against her will – was degrading, wonderful, shameful and intoxicating. Yamame shuddered, moaned and struggled to suppress the orgasm building up between her legs. She wanted to keep riding his fingers. She wanted to be groped, held up and stripped. She wanted to be forced to kiss. She wanted her upper mouth gagged and her lower one wedged wide. She wanted—
Naoto leaned in.
“This,” he whispered in her ear, “is what happens… when you ignore me, Yamame.”
Then, her human shoved a third finger between her swollen lower lips, and tugged all three up inside her – as hard as he could.
Yamame started to come. The sound of Naoto’s husky voice driven into her ear and the shock of pleasure from his fingers pushed her over the edge. A star-burst of pure, white bliss exploded behind her eyes, and Yamame blinked, shuddering, spasm after delicious spasm trembling up the length of her spine. Her legs flopped; and Yamame would only later realise, when she re-threaded the scene in her mind (and with her hand down her panties), that it had been only Naoto’s deft reaction which had spared her lasting out the rest of her orgasm on the floor.
Her human easily trussed her up by the waist – even despite his vitiated health. His fingers had never quit her; they were still there, stuck as far in as they reached – forcing the spinstress to climax around the obstruction they made inside her. The sensation was galling. Her tender, feverish walls squeezed down on the hindrance, but were helplessly unable to push it out. Not without Naoto stooping to remove them himself. Which he very pointedly wasn’t doing. Another contraction clamped her down on his fingers, and Naoto breathed somewhere around her numb ear. He whispered something she couldn’t understand; and then, as if in response to her insistent squeezing, he began to very lightly nudge his fingers around inside her.
It was the best feeling ever. Light enough that her overstimulated walls didn’t clench and hurt; distinct enough that it added a layer of soft, arousing undercurrent to her hitching and hiking orgasm. She breathed in short, shallow gasps – her face buried in her human’s chest, and her head full of his delicious, musky scent. She wanted to keep coming like that forever.
Forever wasn’t for her. Her long, wonderful climax had but started to fade, when Naoto peeled the clinging, mumbling Yamame away. He propped the drunken-looking earth spider against the wall, and – miraculously – the eldest of her kind managed someway to stay upright even after he had let her go.
Coasting on her afterglow, Yamame Kurodani barely noticed it when Naoto’s fingers had been at last removed, and her human had knelt to slip her panties all the way down to her ankles. Then, righting up, Naoto stepped back… and undid the front of his own, drab gown.
Yamame felt a stab of regret at seeing her human’s diminished condition. His skin was pale from the lack of Sunlight; and the pills prescribed to him by the Moon’s exiled doctor in the Bamboo Forest clinic had caused his body hair to stop growing as his vitality was rerouted to more pressing tasks. The pills had run out a week before; but Naoto’s chest and stomach were still as bald as a new-born’s. Below them, a little under Naoto’s waist, something else as well was smooth, creamy and hairless. But, unlike his emaciated torso, this part of Naoto was firm, fit and full of life.
And it was rearing to go.
Yamame watched her human’s exposed, upright manhood nod up and down in the air when Naoto once more closed the distance between them. Her mind hadn’t quite threaded out of her post-orgasm stupor; and she stared down at her human’s hairless tool, wondering what it would feel like to take it in her mouth and slide her lips down its length. It looked like it would slide in veeery smoothly.
Which was, perhaps, why she felt a jolt of surprise when Naoto reached down, grabbed her left leg under the knee, and raised it to his waist. He scuffed a little closer, and pushed the head of his long, wonderfully thick thing against the lips of Yamame’s entirely other mouth.
The spinstress trembled when he began to prod apart her slimy, warm opening.
“Um—” she murmured.
Naoto rubbed his tip up and down between her sticky, puffed up lips. “… Mhm?”
“You—” the spinstress swallowed against her will. “You… shouldn’t, nn… Not yet…”
Her human gave her a teasing, cruel smile. He pushed in – until Yamame’s lips were wrapped snug around the head of his thing.
“You shouldn’t put… it in!” gasped their helpless owner. “I’m still—!”
“What was the word I taught you?” Naoto interrupted. “For that thing?”
Yamame blinked. A memory – of an evening in Lady Satori’s mansion, when her human had requested she say seemingly random words, only to then reveal what they referred to – flickered through her clouded mind.
Against all spiderly logic, the spinstress managed to flush even deeper than before. And Naoto saw it.
“So?” he prompted. “What is it I shouldn’t put in, Yamame?”
The spinstress licked her teeth. “Your… Your cock,” she whined. “You shouldn’t put your cock in, yet!”
“And where shouldn’t I put it?”
The earth spider winced. “… My pussy,” she mumbled. It was stupid. Such a stupid word. “It’s still… not ready, all right?”
“And from the top?”
Yamame chewed on a lip. “Please,” she moaned, “Please, don’t put your cock into my delicate, tender puss—iee?!”
Naoto put it in.
Yamame could only stare at him with upturned eyes and gritted teeth as he stuffed inch after inch of his long, hard cock into her hot, entirely ready and eager pussy.
The fat, mushroom-like head parted her velvety walls with slick, dominating ease. The shaft followed it in; and the way Yamame’s pussy hugged its girth all around gave the obvious lie to her claims. Naoto hitched up her leg and slid the last remaining inch clean inside. His wonderful cock bottomed out with not a single snag. Yamame’s scrambled, aroused mind congratulated itself on a proven theory. It really had slid in very smoothly.
But someone with Naoto’s bull-headedness wasn’t to be fulfilled with only one dummy run. Her human yanked his hips back for a second evaluation. Yamame’s pussy lips clung to his departing length, unwilling to let go of their prize. Naoto pulled fully out, his cock plopping free, revealing itself to be shiny all over from Yamame’s lewd juices.
Her human shoved its engorged head back inside her hole – then pushed in the entire rest of his manhood in one mighty thrust. It slid in even easier that time. Yamame’s pussy welcomed its invader back with a gleefully perverted squeeze. The humiliation of being forcibly mated with – and made to love every second of it – was vile, debasing, and the biggest turn-on she had ever fantasised about. Naoto continued to ram his thing… his cock… in and out of her privates – oblivious of the orgasms that have been wracking her body on and on ever since they’d begun. He had to hit his own peak soon; there was no way even this Naoto would last too long inside an earth spider’s terrific, otherworldly—
… Oh no.
A twitch clinched the muscles of her left thigh, warning. She was getting way too close.
No. Not the fantasy Yamame. That one could – and would – get however close she liked.
The one in actual. The one seated atop real Naoto’s lap in the lounge of her quiet, underground home. The one with her panties tugged perversely to the side. The one stroking her sensitive… parts, a touch too hard for what it should have been. The one making gross shambles of what had been a really precious memory.
That Yamame was, unfortunately, about to come.