On the slopes of the Goddesses’ Mount, inside the outlet tunnels of the Underworld, a spider had made her home.
It had not been her first one – not even the second, nor third. It had not been her best one; though, positively, nor the worst. A ways down the winding entryways, the spider – to her wit, the eldest of her kin – had fashioned a place to (once more) call her own. Two rooms and a kitchen, an ice-box by one of the walls outside, and a wooden shower cabin behind the house were all to count toward it. Not near so decorous like the spider’s previous such house. Not at all.
And yet, it was everything she needed… and wanted, in her day-to-day life. A kitchen and two rooms. A study and bedroom in one, a lounge in the second. A low table for eating, drinking and the like. A cupboard of shelves – cluttered with trinkets from both above and below the ground. A moderately threadbare couch – swathed in a collection of throws and wraps and scraps of castaway fabrics. A big, warm pillow atop. And the spider laid out over it.
The maker of the house – and wraps, and scraps – presently shifted in her cosy spot. She, whom fearful humans had once styled the mother of plagues, breathed in then out, pleasantly. The eldest of the earth spiders, Yamame Kurodani, craned up her neck… and brushed a soft, perfunctory kiss on the pillow’s bristly chin.
The pillow grunted. It moved, in turn, underneath her – folding its arms close on Yamame’s back – and pulling her in tight. The spider sighed her happiness into the pillow’s fuzzy bathrobe case. Her legs – naked from the thigh down – wrapped snug around the pillow’s own. The bathrobe, which she had sewn after another of her old designs, felt tickly on her bare skin. The filling – warm, slightly pliable (but only slightly) – pushed back against her, as if in response. Yamame giggled at the odd sensation.
The pillow lurched. It rose, gently, below the giggling spider. A few heartbeats – the pillow’s as well as her own – ticked by before it spoke its uncontainable thoughts.
“… What’s so funny?” it wanted to know.
You, Yamame answered inside. You are. You are funny, and comfortable, and sweet. And I love you.
On the outside, she said nothing. Smiling, gleefully bypassing the pillow’s questioning frown, Yamame slid herself up, and kissed her comforter fully on the lips. The comforter made a grouchy sound… then, a less grouchy one, once Yamame put more animation into the kiss. The big hands, until now clasped about her waist, quested up and under the thin, button-up chemise she used for sleepwear. Their long, masculine fingers probed up the spider’s naked back. The fabric strained on the front from the added volume of body parts.
Yamame, moaning, broke the kiss.
Her human pillow paused in feeling up the rear of her body. “… Yes?”
“If you’re going to do that,” the spider spinstress complained, “then watch the buttons. They’re about to snap off.”
“… Is that my fault?”
Almost, and Yamame would have missed the jibe. “… Snake,” she scolded.
Then, with somewhat more force, she resumed the suspended kiss.
Her human, Naoto, did not idly receive her affection. No. He kissed right back; and then – still doing so – pushed both himself and the lighter spider up to a sit. Yamame, now seated in his lap, had almost to lean her head all the way back to keep her lips accessible to her human. And, idiotically, she loved it. She loved the requisite of gymnastics the position imposed on her. She loved the vague, compromising hint of surrender. She loved that her human dared do it all to her. Her: the deadliest earth spider of all.
The months since the incident with Naoto’s godling had changed him; of course they had. The half-year of hospitalisation had wracked his physique; his figure had become rather more wiry than the muscle Yamame had found to appreciate on him. His palms had begun to go soft; and the wintering in his family home afterwards (with only accounting and Yamame to work) had fulfilled that promise.
However, the traces of the man he had been had never disappeared in full. His face had been the same, hard thing it had always been – apparently impervious to humour; and his shoulders hadn’t lost their width. And now, on the cusp of Spring, back in Yamame’s immediate employ, Naoto had set about his convalescence in earnest. No later than a month after returning with the spinstress to her (new) house, the human had once more scaled the stairs to Gensokyo above. To find for the great architect of the Underworld the next outlet for her talents.
Another project. Another spoke in her creative web.
At times, Yamame Kurodani had felt a silly fool for falling in love with the first human whom she had come to know. But, that day, she had remembered her feelings for Naoto hadn’t threaded in her heart simply for the convenience of proximity or time. They had, because Naoto had known who Yamame was – really was – beneath the titles, legends and hearsay:
That he had won in extracting these desires out of her – against Yamame’s best resistance – had been a feat of incredible dedication. Almost as incredible, truthfully, as it had been to persuade him afterwards he was not forbidden to love her as well. Naoto could be as bull-headed as an Oni when he put his mind to it, and had made an expert use of the skill. But the run-in with death at the fangs of his nascent god had torn down that particular wall. Naoto these days told the spider spinstress how much he loved her often and in variably intimate ways.
Naoto. Not Paran.
That name had been excised from his life. Only then, after much too long, Yamame had been made privy to his true one. Naoto. The name bestowed to him at birth by his parents. One parent – whom Yamame had inadvertently killed; and the other – who had accepted her even so. Accepted, and – like son, like mother – unlocked before the earth spider yet another venue by which to exercise her gifts over the frozen, inert season. The household, in which her human had spent his formative years, earned its subsistence from fabrics and textiles for later processing; without a committed team of clothiers, this had been the breadth of its business. With Yamame’s practiced fingers, however, and her illimited supply of time… Well, things hadn’t changed greatly. Still, a few women of the Human Village had definitely been dazzled by their friends with new, uniquely fashioned winter coats in those cold months – and that had been satisfaction enough.
That, and the tacit approval of the person important to the man she loved.
Yamame drew back, out of the kiss. Naoto’s lips trailed after hers – holding them for just that moment longer. The spinstress caught – and tied up – the yearning urge to stretch it even further. She kissed back one last time… and one last more… and then sat up straight on her human’s lap.
Straight off the road, out from under the cold Spring drizzle, Naoto had cut a sad, waterlogged sight. A hot shower and a change of clothes had refitted him into something Yamame might – and did – want in her bed. The front of his bathrobe had pulled open down the front somewhere in their cuddling; and Yamame was thrilled to find out the insides – while nowhere so appetising that they used to be – still tugged at her attention. Naoto’s hands slid out from under Yamame’s chemise as she drew back, and settled in their favourite place atop her thighs.
The spider spinstress smiled. Then, she tucked a stray wisp of her long, blond hair behind an ear.
“So-o?” she drawled, imitating a particular one – more headstrong – of her younger sisters. “What have you got for me?”
It took a few blinks of his wonderful, dark eyes for her human to pull himself free of the web Yamame had cast. But even with her flimsy sleepwear, even past her kisses, even with her full (really, though, not that terrible) weight on top of him, Naoto was too ardent about his work to forget why he had left Yamame’s den five days before. Why he had returned no more than two hours prior. And, finally, why – rather than take his sleep at once after showering – he had let himself be shoved onto the couch, fed, watered, worried over and cuddled in exactly that order.
Now, appropriately tended to, the envoy of the earth spiders gave of his professional secrets with no restraint.
“… Well,” Naoto said, “I got you… something.”
At least, he had begun.
Yamame egged him on with another smile. “Something, as in…?”
“As in to build,” returned her human. “It’s a… Hmm. Well, it is something, all very good.”
The great architect rolled her eyes. “Please.”
Naoto shifted below her a bit. “All right,” he indulged. “To start, you’ve seen the fields of grain and orchards beyond the town’s wall, yes?”
“Mhm.” Yamame nodded. I’ve dragged you across them, she added in her head. That was a nice evening.
“All nice fields,” Naoto went on, “fertile, rotated, neatly laid out… and very, very big. With very, very long highways for the farmers to cart the produce from the fields to the town proper. Too long, if you’ll listen to some very, very discontent voices. Which is why this. Someone complained about it at the town council. Someone else proposed a solution. Someone else still was there and had a… recommendation they wanted to share.”
Yamame frowned. “So… roads?”
Her human swivelled his chin left and right. “The roads were what they complained about, Yamame. What they want is a way-station somewhere afield. A place where the farmhands could store the produce from the surrounding plots, while someone else picks it up. So they can keep at their work – rather than the long trip every time.”
Yamame’s heart sank. “A barn?” she moaned. “You want me to build a barn?”
“More or less.”
“But that’s so boring!”
Naoto shaped a teasing smile. “Actually, that’s the boring half. See, Yamame, you underestimate the laziness of humankind. Only granted, I guess… since you are what you are.”
“… Is that a compliment?”
“It’s a fact.” Her human shrugged it away. “The less boring half is this. They want some sort of… contraption, in that barn, that could unload whole sackfuls of stuff at a time. Then, when another wagon rolls in to take it to town, they want to be able to load it just as nimbly. A pivoting crane, maybe, or winch, or… something.”
“And I would have to design that?” Yamame asked.
“Yes. There were suggestions that the Kappa had similar machinery for sale, but… The Kappa want coin for their work. The town council, though – they are opposed to releasing physical currency outside of the walls. The metals are a sight difficult to come by, if you’ll believe. And, someone would still need to nail together the barn around the machine.”
“Better to bore the earth spiders, then?”
Naoto grinned. “You’re the ones who take barter.” The grin stiffened over the moment, and the envoy of the earth spiders regarded their eldest with a mounting consternation. “… No good? You don’t have to take it. There’ll be other jobs. Snows have barely thawed last week.”
“No.” Yamame shook her head. “No. It’s fine. Well, the barn is… a barn. But, that crane thing. That’ll be interesting. We’d have to organise it so the goods can be stored with sense, too. Hmm. Maybe tiered shelves? Maybe build it over the road, and have platforms on the sides…”
“So, you’ll take it?” Naoto wanted to confirm.
“Yes,” confirmed Yamame. “Yes, silly. I’ll take it. Geez.”
Her human sighed his relief. He made to punctuate it with another grin – and a lame jape, no two doubts – but Yamame stole the whole sentence by lifting herself up on her knees and kissing his mouth shut. Then, she sat back down… and smiled when she did. The emotions behind her human’s eyes were delightfully confused between two quite different things. But, still, he managed his thoughts admirably – and went on about the project.
“… You will, of course,” he explained, “have to work at night – so as not to disrupt… tilling or whatever else it is they do out in the fields in Spring. Also, I mooched an old ledger off the teacher in the history school. It should tell you how heavy those sacks and crates can get. If you’re going to need steel for the moving parts – or even ready-made parts – then I know a blacksmith with a knack. There’s no rush; I was told two weeks to give a reply. Also-also, I visited on my mother. A few more of the dresses you made over the Winter have found buyers, but one was – apparently – a really picky lady. Wanted a slightly modified trim on the skirts. Slightly. Mother doesn’t know anyone who laces as good as you do, though, so she packed me the dress and asked to… ask you…” He trailed off. “… Um, Yamame?”
The eldest of the earth spiders gave a smile a thousand years her junior… and kept plucking the gap in Naoto’s bathrobe wider.
There had been a… stitch of disappointment the first time she had done the same to him following his hospitalisation, months ago. The impression of having somehow been robbed had not, upon reflection, been Yamame’s brightest or most selfless of that time. The lesson sounded even keener, now that Naoto had been recovering for a while. The steady, coherent changes in his physique had been no small fascination for the aesthetician Yamame. They had also been no small opportunity for the Yamame who simply wanted to see her human naked.
This, latest examination was proving little otherwise than the previous dozen. Naoto was still – slowly – filling out. His ribs hadn’t been visible in weeks; his stomach was more flat than concave, and his muscles were piecemeal beginning to shape a more familiar landscape. His body hair was growing out in wide, curly patches. His skin was flush and opaque.
But, among everything that had suffered from Naoto’s affliction, there was one that had never been diminished. It was there, waiting as always, when Yamame parted the bathrobe all the way down.
And it was really, really happy to see her.
Naoto tensed all over when the spinstress wrapped her smooth fingers around his stiff, eager thing. He hissed under his breath. Yamame smiled, shifting closer – trapping both her hands and the thing inside a tight, intimate pen made up of her human’s belly and her own thighs.
“Were you really,” she cooed, not letting go, “really going to talk about your mother? While you’re like this down here? Really? Sloppy, Naoto. Sloppy.”
Her human grunted – but not un-happily. “… Whose fault,” he returned, “do you suppose that is?”
“Whose is it?” teased Yamame.
As she spoke, she tugged her hand down Naoto’s length. His thing’s head peeked out – pink and shameless. It twitched when Yamame extended a thumb and brushed it on the exposed underside. Naoto held his breath. Then, he released it – in a clipped, unintended sigh – when she began to rub the thumb back and forth on his sensitive spot.
“Well?” the spinstress prodded on. “Whose fault?”
“Well—” Naoto groaned. He tried again, softer, “Well… there is this girl. Sitting on top of me. Wearing clothes I very much like on her. How’s that for it?”
“What else do you like on her?”
Her human gave her a blatant once-over. Not at all incredibly, his eyes caught a moment on the affairs happening below his waist. Yamame, pointedly, slowed her rubbing – until her human’s gaze was dutifully returned to her own self. Naoto swallowed.
“… I,” he rasped, “I like her hair… when it’s down like this. And, uh... her legs. I love her legs.”
Yamame tilted her head at a playful angle. Her hair spilled out from behind her ear. “You’re like this – because of her legs?”
Naoto breathed in. “Gods, no,” he panted. “No, Yamame. I’m like this because she has been grinding herself on me ever since we started kissing. That’s why. The legs didn’t help, though.”
The spinstress thrilled at the words. “… Do you like it when she does that?” she asked. “When she grinds on you while you’re kissing?”
“Take,” scoffed her human, “a wild guess, you girl.”
The girl was glad she didn’t really have to guess. Nor was she allowed to, even had she wished. Naoto gave up the answer on his own: first, by cupping one of Yamame’s cheeks, and then – by pulling her in for another kiss.
The sense of being compelled – grabbed, drawn in and kissed by force – sent confused, aroused thrills down her back. The spinstress shut her eyes, and let her human pry her lips apart with his tongue. She let him twirl it around her own: picking it up, nudging, goading it to join in. She moaned around the warm, pliant intruder in her mouth… and accepted the invitation. At the same time, she started jerking her hand up and down Naoto’s stiffest part.
Neither of them said anything for the next minutes – less the immodest, muffled sounds of frantic kissing. Nor did either of them feel the need for words. Not until quiet smack-smack-smack sounds down below announced that Naoto’s thing was having perhaps too much fun with Yamame’s hands. Only then, and not before, did the spider spinstress slip her tongue out of her human’s mouth. Only then did she swallow their mixed spit, shivering as it went down. Only then did she look down – to study the effects of her handiwork.
The effects were a mess. Her deft, spinstress’s fingers were slimy all over. Underneath them, Naoto’s thing was hard, hot and more slippery than a freshly waxed floor. Yamame squeezed her hand around the shaft, then dragged it up. More glassy liquid oozed out and dripped over her fingers. The sensation was at once obscene and deliciously hypnotic.
“… Getting close?” she whispered, still mesmerised by the fruits of her own work. Out the top of her vision, she noted her human dip his head in a mute nod. “… Want to finish?” she asked him.
Needlessly. Naoto grunted, then gasped his reply. An obvious one. “… Yeah.”
Yamame felt a judder of excitement pinch the inside of her chest. She licked her lips. “… Mouth?” she offered.
Naoto sighed and shifted underneath her. “… I was kind of hoping,” he rasped, “that you could put it in… and ride me.”
A brief, dejected twinge warped Yamame’s sticky lips. She liked making him feel good with her mouth. Her human must have seen the dissatisfaction meshing behind her eyes. He stroked his palms, gently, up and down her thighs. Yamame’s rejected mouth tweaked into a small, despondent smile.
“… I just don’t want you to get off,” Naoto explained. “That’s all. I love this feeling. If I can choose… I want you to stay right here.”
Yamame made a sulky sound. “… I’d have to prepare myself,” she reminded. “You know?”
“I’ll help,” her human put forward.
It was a step above “I’ll wait.” But still, the spinstress had another opinion. “No,” she told him. “No, you won’t. This is your welcome home gift. I’ll get myself ready. You… You just sit back and relax. Maybe touch my legs, if you want. But don’t help me. Very good?”
Somehow, Naoto’s replying nod was one of impeccable seriousness. “… Very good,” he replied, very seriously.
Though, of course, he was not about to give a miss to Yamame’s one compromise. His long, rugged fingers gripped around her thighs – even as the spinstress scuffed back in his lap to give herself more space. She let go of Naoto’s rearing, slippery thing. Slimy, viscous threads stretched – then snapped – between its length and her palms. The thing twitched – visibly distressed over leaving the warm, snug embrace of Yamame’s hands. The spinstress spared it a sympathetic smile. Then, she moved on to slip her thumbs under the band of her panties.
But then, she thought differently. Her today’s pick of underwear – not without accident – had been satin and black. Naoto’s favourite colour. To remove it altogether would have done both him and her choice a disservice. Thus, instead, Yamame stuck a thumb under the front of the panties – and tugged it to the side.
The act of exposing her private parts so boldly worked a wave of heat up her cheeks – and a thrill of excitement down her spine. Though she had trimmed it this very morning, before Naoto’s return, the clump of blond hair above her groin managed all the same to stick out a bit from under the rearranged panties. Yamame leaned back, slipping a hand down between her spread legs.
Using her own fingers was still, relatively, a new skill to Yamame. When Naoto had first introduced the ancient earth spider to these things, almost a year ago now, he had given Yamame her first, eye-opening orgasm in precisely the same manner. The following nights, spent in the quiet, private guest rooms of Satori Komeiji’s mansion, had sewn together a swathe of other discoveries. Naoto had learned the eldest of the earth spiders loved being held down and pinned during sex; Yamame had found using her mouth before it was fun for her – and intensely satisfying for her lover. That she could feel good with her own fingers, however – rather than mounting and humping Naoto’s – had never quite registered in her genius mind.
At least, not until after the accident. Not until her beloved human had been hospitalised, and she – consigned to months of guilt and crushing loneliness.
At first, Yamame had weaved around her wounded emotions by focusing wholly on rebuilding her home. This, for a while, had diverted her waking thoughts from less embarrassing threads. Once, however, her new house (of two rooms and a kitchen) had been finished, outfitted and cleaned (five times over), her evenings had become long and empty. Her mind, occupied in her clock’s day hours by either Yamame’s sisters or her Oni friends in the Capital, had sorely lacked for company once those had left. The absence of Naoto’s smell, voice and touch had become sorer the longer she sat the nights – her face buried in the blindfold her human had left behind when he’d escaped Lady Satori’s mansion to chase after his poisonous god.
Those nights, her thoughts had wandered to things she and her beloved human had done together. The nice things. The pleasant things. And when, inevitably, her frustration, grief and loneliness had spilled over, Yamame had desperately attempted to emulate those experiences by herself. The first time had seen her go to sleep turned on and unfulfilled. The motions, which Naoto’s fingers had made seem easy, had been tricky to replicate from Yamame’s peculiar angle. Over the next few sessions, though, a competence of a sort had stitched together.
Soon, and Yamame had had her first success – and the first, blissful minute of release in a long, long while.
Shamefully, this had matured into something of a habit. The blindfold had held just trace enough of her human’s scent to get Yamame started; and once she’d run over the memories to thread and re-thread in her mind, the clever spinstress had found she could easily re-sew them into new, even more exciting scenarios. She had imagined tying Naoto up until he could no longer move – then teasing his sensitive part for hours and hours. She had imagined herself – arms bound halfway to the elbow, her knees around her head, her hips roughly pressed into the mattress of the bed by Naoto’s own. Once, she had even pictured Lady Satori walking in on them one of those nights in her mansion – and watching, with three critical eyes, as the spinstress slid her mouth up and down her human’s rigid thing for the first time.
And then, after each evening spent this way, she would lie there – sweaty and exhausted – feeling as if she had cheated on her lover with her own hand and thoughts.
When, however, she’d confessed this – after their reunion – Naoto had only scoffed at her worries... and asked to be shown. As he was being shown right now.
A stupid, self-conscious smile plastered over her face, Yamame Kurodani, the eldest of the earth spiders, pressed the index and ring fingers of one hand around her lower lips. Then, gingerly, she spread them apart.
It was, perhaps, her favourite technique: stretching herself open with those two fingers, while rubbing the middle one up and down the tiny nub a little above the warm, yielding slot that Naoto’s thing loved going in and out of. It was easy, trouble-free, and the pads of her longest finger bumping the nub made Yamame’s belly tighten with pleasure. It also gave Naoto, who was massaging her naked thighs, a full, indecent view of one of his favourite parts of her body.
For a distracted moment, Yamame felt sorry for making him promise not to assist. But the tingle from his big, coarse hands gliding along the sensitive skin of her legs made her heart thump and her knees go soft.
Yamame shut her eyes. Her spider’s mind skittered down habituated threads; and the eldest of the Underworld’s spinstresses slipped back for a bit into her self-involved routines.
As she continued to bully her small, tender nub, Yamame roped up one of those sticky, lewd memories she had made with her human since his recovery.
( ) The first, pent-up sex in his family home. ( ) The day she’d promised to give him as many blowjobs as he liked, any time he liked.
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.
Yamame scrunched her hand into a fist as she fought the orgasm down.
At her sides, her toes curled. A wicked cramp quaked up from her suddenly jilted privates, seizing her stomach taut. Her chest pinched. Her breathing throttled down to shallow, nasal gasps. Her shoulders jerked an errant twitch. The soft chiffon of her sleepwear chafed the stiff tips of her breasts. She squeaked.
The whole naked, bottom half of Yamame’s body ached for release. Her crotch was begging for her nimble spinstress’s fingers. Or, failing that, to use the other long, stiff tool in front of her. It was still up (thanks, in no small probability, to the show Yamame had put on) and altogether ready. It was even pre-lubed. All Yamame needed do was lift herself up, scuffle forward, tip the fantastically hard thing a little straighter, and sit back down – until her puffy lower lips were draped around the meaty root. Naoto would love it. He loved it when Yamame was sitting on top him. He loved it when the pudgy earth spider was trembling and moaning in pleasure in his lap. He loved it when his thick, sturdy cock was sheathed to the hilt inside her warm, quivering, lonely—
No, no, no. No! Yamame squeezed her fangs around the ball of her thumb. You’re thinking like a pervert. Stop thinking like a pervert!
The pique of it was, she was a pervert. Sex was wonderful; making her lover feel good – and feeling good doing it – satisfied Yamame on a base, almost primal level. There were no three ways about it. Once this instinct had been roused, the eldest of the earth spiders was forever stuck inside its net. But she hadn’t needed the alcohol-laced conversations with Naoto’s brusque (but sincere when she felt trusted) adolescent love – Akari – to know her fancies weren’t stitched out the average, human way. She hadn’t needed Naoto’s self-deprecating chuckle once she’d told him a few of them to know her human would accommodate her had she but asked… yet doubted his ability to deliver.
The hidden spider-web truth was, he already had. When he had yanked her into that vacant room in his family home; when he had squished her against the wall with his own, heavier body; when he had crammed his long, masculine fingers down her panties and up into her fretful little hole. When he had shoved them in and out, in and out, with sadistic relish, right until she had helplessly come around them. That was when one of Yamame’s deepest-sewn wants had been thoroughly fulfilled.
It was the latter half of her fantasy that had had to be embroidered. The real Naoto hadn’t a tongue half that needle-sharp. He was sensational at being big, rough and silently forceful; bullying Yamame into filthy sex talk, however, had only featured in his repertoire once. After he had done it to her the first time – back in Lady Satori’s mansion – and finished that particular round of sex with Yamame’s mouth, her human had simmered down, sighed, and apologised for having gone out of line. Yamame hadn’t had the courage to tell him she’d liked some of the words he had made her say.
Cock. That one was nice. Say it in a certain way, and it sounded as though her mouth was cock full of it. Also provoked a nice throb of reaction out of Naoto’s actual cock when she’d breathed it with her lips hovering above the tip. The other words she had never been that keen on, but she liked this one. She liked “cock.”
You’re a pervert, Yamame told herself. Stop it. Calm down.
Then, there was the other time. The second time her human had weaved right into her secret fixations. The day he and Yamame had moved once more into her underground house – after their wintering in his family estate.
The move had been made less than effortless by the iced-over snow deposits on the mountain trail, and Naoto’s still-imperfect health; and Yamame’s human had resigned to bed – Yamame’s bed – almost immediately, once their luggage (mostly of clothes and food) had been settled in. The spider spinstress had used of that window to furtively do some rather unneeded Spring cleaning around her still-new house. Then, she had happily joined Naoto in her – now their – shared bed. A kiss later, and Naoto had been awake from his restorative nap. A whispered confession, a few stray touches, and a flimsy suggestion of “catching up” – and he had been peeling her out of her ruffled dress.
The excuse had been as thin as Yamame’s threads; it had been impossible to keep their hands out of each other’s clothes after their stint in the estate’s vacant room, and they had since cast for opportunities to be alone together while Winter had slid by. A quick blowjob in the storeroom here; a session of rough fingering under the heater table there. An hour of slow, quiet, grinding sex under the blankets every few nights, when Naoto’s work had left him with enough fortitude to sneak into Yamame’s given rooms. “Catching up” had seemed a misnomer when they had been more intimate in the preceding months than… well, any other preceding months of their acquaintance.
But perhaps Naoto had meant something else only he’d had a web around; for he had spent the remainder of that night bringing Yamame to climax after climax after climax – without an expressed care for his own relief. The spinstress had counted four big ones and about six smaller ahead she’d turned silly, and rode out the rest in carefree bliss on Naoto’s fingers, under his tongue, and – near the end – around his mercilessly stubborn thing. Her final, wilting, dying orgasm had seen her drift off, still nude, into exhausted, dreamless sleep.
All the same, she had stirred before of her human – who would wake not much later with Yamame’s lips slipping up and down his morning erection. That was when the spider had made the bid: to give him as many blowjobs as he should like throughout the day, on account she could not do the same to him as he had done to her the previous night and give him twelve in a row. Adequately hedged, Naoto had OK-ed the deal in the end. He’d sat up – pushed her long, blond hair back from her face – and watched as Yamame had diligently polished his cock with her tongue until the seed he hadn’t released at night had been gushing in long, vigorous spurts up between her pouting, sucking lips.
This. This was the part of why she loved making him come with her mouth that she had never – and would never – tell to her human. Naoto’s seed tasted good. Not palate-wise; the cloudy, white liquid itself had actually an alkaline, bitter tinge. But to roll a sticky glob of it to the back of her tongue, to let it dribble into her gullet before viciously forcing it down… That gave Yamame a powerful, belly-deep tremor of satisfaction. As if she were doing something meant to be – but taboo; at once necessary and forbidden. Something odious and delightful.
You’re worse than a pervert, Yamame chided herself now. You’re an insatiable pervert. Fine! Fantasise! But at least don’t touch yourself.
It had been the second blowjob of the day that had seamed this particular memory. After breakfast, after they had showered together in the cabin which Yamame had recreated – with improvements – from the last, destroyed one, her beloved human had commandeered the next hour toward rearranging the kitchenware and stocks to his own propensity. The spinstress had seized the same – and dedicated it to cataloguing the scraps and half-spun projects she had deserted at the Winter’s onset.
Attention had done as attention did – wandered; and Yamame hadn’t even been aware that Naoto had returned to their bedroom – not until a big, affectionate hand had snaked around and clasped her shoulder. Surprised – but not displeased – the spinstress had muttered something about approaching an earth spider from behind. That lesson delivered, she’d purred – tilted her head – and rubbed her cheek on the hand’s warm, craggy top.
Naoto had permitted her a moment or two of such fun before he’d wormed his hand around and grasped Yamame by the chin.
Then, he’d wrenched her head around to face him.
Her eyes had met with the front of her human’s trousers. Naoto’s other hand had jerked free the belt holding them at his waist; and the cloth had fallen away to unveil a full, towering, unabashed erection. Her human’s thumb and index finger had jabbed into Yamame’s cheeks on both sides, pinching the nervous grin her mouth had begun to shape at the sight and popping her lips open to a narrow O.
Naoto had gripped his manhood and pressed its chubby head against that opening. He’d met her exasperated, upturned gaze, even as his rigid thing had prised her lips wide and begun to fill her mouth. She’d mounted a token fight: pushed her tongue out and clamped her lips around his veiny girth; but… thankfully… neither had stopped his cock from plunging in all the way back to Yamame’s throat. It’d paused there, its tip gently held tight between her soft tonsils.
But then, Naoto had braced… and Yamame had felt a judder of aroused panic as the head of his cock had squeezed past the tonsils and thrust into the snug, wet passage of her gullet. Her nose, stuffed roughly into his crotch, had flooded with the scent of her human’s raw, after-shower skin. Her throat had clenched in a vestigial gag reflex, which had done little except made Naoto grunt somewhere above. Her head had begun to swim. His smell had been mouthwatering.
A few heartbeats had beat past, the final of which had seen Naoto grab a hold of Yamame’s ponytail and use it to yank her head off of his cock with a gurgling noise. The spade-shaped head had scooped the drool out of her salivating mouth: some of it dribbling down her chin and spattering on her skirt. The brutal thing had burst free, covered in a sheen of viscous spit. Naoto had stared at the panting, glaze-eyed spider pushing her face into his manhood, as if to settle whether he had touched a sticky thread by daring to stress Yamame’s limits. He hadn’t asked this out loud because he’d been, after all, himself as well as out of breath. Besides, his hazy, hopeful expression had said everything anyway.
Yamame hadn’t replied. Not vocally; instead, she’d stuck out her tongue, and dragged it obscenely up the underside of his spittle-sheened cock. Her hands had sought out his; and she’d dragged those up to her head – pinning them there until the message had stuck and they had gathered a hold of her long, silky hair. Then, the earth spider had hinged her jaw as wide as she could to present the moist, dark red ring of her throat.
A handful of minutes later – messy, noisy, slurping minutes – Naoto had finally struck his own limit. The first spurt of his delicious seed had shot down Yamame’s gullet, straight into her stomach. With a not-so-mighty groan, her human had jerked his hips back, pulling his throbbing manhood free. He’d instead shoved it up Yamame’s face – smearing it all over with the warm semen still gushing out of the tip. Mired in his orgasm, Naoto had fluttered in indecision, and suddenly pushed his cock back into Yamame’s mouth.
There, he’d spent his last shot, and slowly gone limp – nursed all the while by Yamame’s loving tongue.
At the hangover end of the next minute, both their heads had aired out enough that they had noticed the embarrassing aftermath. Naoto had stepped out of his discarded trousers, mumbling something about towels – and had quit the room apace with his worn-out manhood dangling about.
Yamame had leaned back in her chair, and sighed. Not quite satisfied; but her satisfaction hadn’t been part of that day’s design. She’d tucked a thumb under the band of her panties, peeking inside. A gooey, sticky mess had been her find. She’d definitely had to change those.
But still, that had been only the second time she had made Naoto explode in her mouth that day. Come nightfall (on the clock’s arms, anyway), she would have done him all of seven. And each following would see the eldest of the earth spiders work her mouth longer and harder for the promised result.
But those, perhaps, were memories for another spin.
Naoto’s voice was calling her back to the present.
Naoto swirled into focus in front of her. The five days of scrub on his chin was capped by an amused half-smile. His eyes – dark, edged with fatigue, of an unimportant shade – were trained on her own alone. His broad, shaggy chest was gently swelling up and down inside his loosened bathrobe. His hands, which hadn’t moved since Yamame had ceased teasing her little nub, were rested comfortably on her bare thighs. Yamame’s tangled, flustered mind clung to his details.
He was so handsome. It was the eldest earth spider’s undisclosed shame, even now, that she had never realised this until… well, until she’d had it kissed into her head. A younger spider, with whom Naoto had someway allied – Hachiashi – had branded the human dull, overgrown and clumsy. Compared to earth spiders, perhaps; but Hachiashi had matured in different environs to Yamame’s Oni-ruled underground Capital. Naoto was of cloth similar to an Oni, but tighter-twined – compressed, less red, and infinitely more gentle than the exiled horned giants of the Underworld. A miraculous pleat of features which spoke as well to Yamame’s visual usances, as to her more inward needs.
And then, Hachiashi had never had the opportunity to see the human out of his clothes, which was when he was at his most attractive. At least, Yamame assumed she hadn’t.
Stupid thoughts, the eldest spinstress told herself. Would you seriously flaunt him nude in front of your sister – just to hear her admit the mistake? The answer shadowing the idea in her thoughts might have embarrassed Yamame herself – never mind Hachiashi and Naoto.
“Ya. Ma. Me.”
A sing-song vocalisation of her name jarred her back into focus. Naoto was smiling at her distracted antics. You’ve ruined me, Yamame willed out at him. You were so long gone from my home, I am still fantasising about you out of sheer habit even after you’ve returned.
She pawed the hair from her face with the cleaner hand. “… What is it?” she mumbled.
Naoto’s smile turned a little warmer, now that he’d been noticed. “All done, then?” he wanted to know.
The earth spider combed her thoughts for a relevant reply. None combed out. “… Um?”
“You were coming, weren’t you?”
Oh, Yamame thought. “… Oh,” she said. “Oh! No. I… I got carried away. Was... trying to calm down.” Imagining you going down my throat. Was she that dense of a pervert? “I… kind of couldn’t,” she admitted, cheeks growing hot. “But no. I didn’t come.”
Her human frowned his smile away. “… Why?”
“We—” Yamame swallowed. “… We haven’t put it in, yet. Have we?” A brief check – but they hadn’t. Naoto’s neglected thing was standing out of his crotch, woefully away from hers – and, somehow, still bolt upright. Still plastered with cloudy lube. Still ready to go. I’m sorry, Yamame thought at it. Give us one more moment. I need to make an idiot of myself. “… We haven’t,” she resumed out loud. “We haven’t – and this was supposed to be for you. So, I thought… I thought I shouldn’t go ahead and come, by myself, before you’ve even had the chance to put it in like you wanted to, but… I couldn’t quit remembering how good it feels to have sex with you, and I went way overboard, and—”
“Yamame.” Naoto stopped off the purl of words with a finger across the spider’s lips. The upper ones. “… Maybe you haven’t realised,” said her beloved human. “I like watching you come. It’s great fun.”
“… Is it?” the spinstress mumbled around the finger.
“Yes,” Naoto confirmed. “I love it. You make the cutest faces when you come. Can’t stop myself kissing them.”
Which was something he liked to do. There was no lie to refute here. “… Mm.”
“And, unlike me,” continued her human, “you can leap back into it in a few shakes. I’d have needed a… How many shakes about is twenty minutes?”
Yamame gave him a diffident smile. “Too many.”
“Too right. So, Yamame, next time… don’t go dry on my account. I love you. I want you to do whatever you want to do. Maybe I bull you into things sometimes, but… well. We know. Yes?”
That I’m an irremediable pervert? she wondered. “… Mhm,” she agreed. “Yes. We know.”
“Damn us that we do,” grunted Naoto. “But, I guess that makes this all right.”
And then, he seized her by the ample buttocks – and lugged her forward in his lap. The pervert inside Yamame thrilled at the treatment: the pressure of his fingers digging into the meat of her butt; the feeling of her thighs scraping on his coarse skin. The sensation of his stiff manhood resting against her belly.
Yamame peered down. A familiar sense of awe surfaced over her less awesome excitement. When placed like this, the head of Naoto’s brutish thing thrust up just a little under Yamame’s bellybutton. It looked at the very least improbable that it could fit inside her precluding a lot of awkward, likely painful shoving. But, that part of her fantasy hadn’t been exaggerated. His long, burly thing could slide right up her slick, plush tunnel until there was no more of it to go in, and it would do so with smooth, uncontested liberty. Almost as though Yamame’s privates had been tailor-made to hold it inside.
Which, in a way, they were. That’s how sex worked, wasn’t it?
Naoto parted her hair with his nose and kissed her ear. “That said,” he breathed, his lovely voice strained, “I would really, really like to put it in, now. Can we? I’m going slightly wild downstairs.”
Yamame thrilled all over. A string of confidence twisted back into her mind’s laboured threads at his tone. Suddenly, she felt like teasing.
So, she did. “So-o…” she whispered back. “You want to put what, where?”
Her beloved human’s reply was as desperately amused as it was just desperate. “I… thought I’d apologised for that prank?”
“Well, you did,” granted Yamame. “Twice. But I’ve still had to go through the experience. You haven’t. It’s only fair, isn’t it?”
“… The experience?”
“Talking,” explained Yamame, “about our… parts. Your cock. My… My pussy.” So stupid. “Have you any idea how embarrassed I was? Well. It’s your turn. Be embarrassed.”
“That’s what this is about?” Naoto questioned.
“Yes. That’s what it is.”
Naoto paused. Then, however, he vented his restlessness into a sigh which told the spinstress her human had picked out more from her irrational demands, perhaps, than she had intended. His mouth pressed against her fever-hot earlobe. And then, in a low, husky murmur, he indulged Yamame’s dirty request.
“... I want your wet pussy on my dick, Yamame,” he confessed. “I want to feel you squirm around me when I push it all the way in. I want to lie back and watch you bounce your hips up and down like you do your mouth when you blow me. I want to keep sticking my dick in your pussy until we both come. Satisfied? You weird, amazing woman?”
She wasn’t. The knit of words hadn’t been the best; and Naoto’s own term for his thing didn’t sound nearly as salacious. But, she felt that, with time – and another excuse – she could work out this particular kink. In more meanings than one. Naoto was still redder than an Oni when she extricated him from her hair and pushed away. That was to the good. He’d got embarrassed.
But, unlike her human at times, Yamame Kurodani wasn’t a sadist. She didn’t stall anymore what they both explicitly wanted. The eldest of the Underworld’s spinstresses tucked her legs around Naoto’s hips, and lifted herself on her knees. She reached down between her thighs to grasp the slimy tip of his thing between two practiced fingers, and aligned it with the slot between her even stickier lower lips. She let her hips sink – until the lips parted and her pussy was wrapped around the entire, slippery head of Naoto’s cock.
Another sigh wheezed out of her beloved human’s throat. Impatient, relieved and thankful, somehow all at once. Yamame smiled like an Oni in their cups at the reaction. Then, coquettishly, she leaned back, propping herself on one of Naoto’s knees – both to give her lover an unobstructed view of what was happening below, and so the tip of his cock would scrape the vulnerable front wall of her vagina as it slid in.
Naoto’s fingers dug covetously into her buttocks. The Oni smile on Yamame’s face just got another drink.
“… You can push me down,” she offered.
Naoto gave a weak nod. His hands pulled up from her butt, and snaked around her hips. Whatever prudence had kept him from sticking his disregarded thing into her while she’d been engrossed in her fantasies, it was willed out now – and Naoto curtly pushed Yamame’s hips down his neglected erection.
Yamame squeaked – writhing all around him – when the tip of his hard thing slammed into the spot in her inner wall that made her go crazy, then passed on. As it always did when excited, Yamame’s pussy slipped around her lover’s thing with hungry eagerness. Soon, and the long, rugged cock was encased to the root in her warm, quivering walls. The spider spinstress couldn’t quite sense the stripped, chubby head prodding her bellybutton from below; but she very much felt her puffy lower lips gently sucking and coddling the meaty base.
Naoto laid back his head and moaned; and Yamame, the happiest spider in the Underworld, wiggled her hips around so that his cock settled even more comfortably in its favourite place. A less romantic aspect of her lamented she hadn’t come from the penetration; that one nudge at her sensitive spot was a hundred too few – but Yamame smothered it down.
Karma must have worked; for then, Yamame herself was smothered when Naoto pulled her close and stuffed his silly face into her chest. The stubble around his mouth pricked the skin of her breasts through the fabric of her chemise. Without waiting the request, Yamame tugged open the buttons which held the halves of the gauzy sleepwear together. Unrestricted, her breasts spilled out, their plump nipples standing firm on the ends.
A twinge of an old shame spoiled the moment in Yamame’s mind.
Her body, which hadn’t been at all outstanding among the Oni, had always been a source of chagrin when she was amid her own. Other earth spiders were sleek, compact, with assets no bigger than what wouldn’t get in the way. Only Yamame was round, soft and plentiful – like a tubby matron among lithe juveniles. Her sisters had joked of envying their elder’s feminine charms, but Yamame had known these jokes for what they were – jokes. No spider worth its thread wanted to be fat. The one saving stitch of it was that, somehow, for some reason, Naoto found the curves of Yamame’s figure wonderfully irresistible to touch. It had, like as not, been this very stitch which had sparked what had become their current relationship.
A relationship where her human was fearless in grabbing at one of her plump, slightly droopy breasts, and roughly pinching its nipple.
Yamame squeaked; and, in response, she drew her hips back in his lap – then swayed them back forward. Naoto’s thing trembled as it was pulled out, then stuffed back inside her velvety hole. Her lover himself clutched at her other breast – lifting it up, taking the plump, pink nipple into his mouth, and lapping his tongue in a teasing circle around the tip. The spinstress was helpless to do anything – except rub her pussy up and down his cock in revenge.
But, even distracted by the sex – which had started before she’d realised – the spinstress inside Yamame was dimly aware of a looming snag. That, at this point in their intimate play, neither of them had overmuch endurance to rely on before a more or less moderate break was compulsory. Yamame had nearly come while fantasising of past orgasms; Naoto had all but exploded in her hands even earlier. And while, any other evening, she would have been plenty happy to let him come while molesting his favourite pair of (they really were a bit saggy) breasts, this one…
… This one, she really had to mistrust his ability to go for another shot.
The Hell of it was, she had a pair of fresh ideas in her genius mind on how to dress up their sex a bit ahead she inevitably had to let Naoto go and sleep off the five days he had been at work. The Chirei-den of this Hell was, however hard she tugged at her imagination, no way to seam the two was shaking out.
Which was why, at the end of the minute, Yamame quit grinding her hips into her human’s, and—
( ) Asked him to bend her over and take her from behind. ( ) Laid him down and bounced her hips on top of him until he came inside.
(X) Asked him to bend her over and take her from behind.
—And determined herself even more selfish than the evening had proven by now.
Not that much so as to proceed with her scheme right away; she would, generously, give Naoto a few more well-lubed strokes. She would tow her waist back – extracting his long tool to the point where her lips were smooching the tip; then, she would push onto him again – causing the shaft to disappear inside her plush hole. Naoto’s cock would give a contented throb each time it bottomed out and felt her tender lips squeeze lovingly around its root. A few more trips up and down between her sticky walls, and the crude thing would start squirting its delicious seed into Yamame’s deepest place. The place where it was meant to go. The place that was – but wasn’t – her stomach. Where babies were conceived. Her womb.
But Yamame was not about to let that happen. Not yet.
And so, at the apex of the next stroke, she missed the proper stop, and let Naoto’s cock spring out of her smooth, drooling pussy. Her human hissed a breathless curse into her breasts, scrambling to shove his twitching manhood back where it belonged. The spinstress weaved, spider-slick, out the way of his clawing hands, skidding off the side of his lap to land on the couch beside him.
Ahead Naoto might swear twice, the eldest, most dignified of the Underworld’s earth spiders shinnied up the couch on her elbows and knees, her butt stuck out high in the air. Her copious breasts hung below her, stretching to an almost reverse-teardrop shape, which left her nipples to brush on the wraps strewn about the daybed. She grasped for the pillow propped on the far armrest.
A prowling hand raced out beside her. It grabbed at one of her arms and jerked it back.
Unsupported, the top half of Yamame flumped down onto the pads of the couch: face, breasts and all. When she dug her nose out and cast back over a shoulder, Naoto was there, kneeling at her exposed rear: red, puffing, and dragging her slimy panties down her thighs.
Yamame’s fangs gnashed together. A flurry of base, animal excitement stiffened her back into a bow. Naoto gripped one of the fat, hand-filling buttocks the spinstress had put on full display, and tweaked it to the side. His other hand took hold of his stiff tool – and brought it up to Yamame’s half-spread pussy. He slapped the head on her pulsing outer lips a few times – each causing her pussy to fidget in response. Then, having placed himself square in the middle, he slammed his whole cock inside her in a single, brutal lunge.
Yamame yelped between her gritted teeth. On purpose or no, the high angle at which Naoto had stuffed his hard tool into her pussy had rammed its tip right into her special spot. His long cock plunged in as far as it reached, tensing in delight at her returned embrace. But then, even once his hips had been smushed into her cushiony butt, Naoto did not pull out. Nor shown any intent to for a long, long moment.
For a web-stressing heartbeat, Yamame feared he might have peaked from the abrupt assault on her rear. That she had missed out altogether on participating in his precious, only orgasm. Yet, when the spinstress had starched her resolve and glanced behind, her lover wasn’t turned out in the slack-jawed look which Yamame had come to know intimately across the previous months. No. Naoto was braced by her rear, ruddy from arousal, panting from the same – but still very good in control. His eyes, indeed, matched hers; and in them, Yamame saw her own naughty face reflected back. Naoto scoffed, grinned… and raised one of his hands high.
Then, he brought it down, sharply, on Yamame’s right buttock.
A dry smack cracked the air of the room. The great architect of the Underworld, eldest of her kin, Yamame Kurodani, let go of a surprised, high-pitched yip. It clipped off to become a vulgar moan when Naoto smacked the other half of her rump. Her spine pulled taut in a spontaneous arch, ruining her posture, causing her to trip again face-first into the pads of the couch. Naoto paddled her a third time, and Yamame’s pussy clenched: hugging and kissing its thick, male stuffing all over its immodest length. Her butt hadn’t quit jiggling when her human, at last, pulled himself all but fully out. He spanked her one more time with a powerful swipe – the issuing noise so loud Yamame’s ears rang in its wake.
And then, barely as she’d begun to seize, he drove his cock back into her pressing, squirming hole.
It didn’t enjoy her slippery choke-hold long; for no sooner had Yamame’s abused pussy started to calm down, than Naoto climbed the earth spider’s chemise-covered back, and began to poke his stiff tool in and out, in and out, in short, shallow thrusts… All of which were aimed, without pity, at that vulnerable spot on her pussy’s front wall.
Mounted like a Tengu female in rut, her butt smarting, her precious spot prodded again and again, Yamame Kurodani, the mother of plagues, could do little but moan ineffectually into the pillows of her couch. Her human growled close to her ear. His voice was so low, so bestial, almost Yamame wondered back to her Oni simile. A startled flutter popped the thought out of her head when Naoto reached underneath her and cupped one of her dangling breasts. His fingers sank into the soft, pliable flesh as it slumped against the inside of his hand. The sensation must have torn his focus; his next thrust saw his cock slip all the way to the base into Yamame’s obliging pussy. Naoto grunted, cursed, pulled out, and then resumed his last angle of attack.
He released her breast – that momentary passion spent – and snaked his venturesome fingers down the earth spider’s chubby front. They caught, with brief interest, on her sunken bellybutton; they stroked along her (it wasn’t that fat, was it?) belly: describing an affectionate circle above the deepest part of her vagina, where he had been moments before. But, their grand destination was unambiguous; and Yamame didn’t at all surprise when the fingers grazed, past the damp patch of hair, down to her crotch. They hadn’t as much as to feel around for her sensitive nub. It stood, hard and proud, no more than half an inch from the place Naoto’s cock was pumping in and out of.
The kinkiest two of the fingers slid down either side of her little button. Naoto’s hips ceased slapping rhythmically against her butt, and the earth spider released a dissatisfied whine. But no, her human hadn’t forgotten out of nowhere how to make her moan in altogether different ways. What he did do, instead, was stoop over Yamame’s bowed back, and blow an angry whisper into her throbbing ear.
“Come already, you damned pervert!”
All but, and Yamame would have complained that she was, and had been, about to do that very thing. That her poor pussy had needed but a handful more thrusts to push it into a climax ahead he’d stopped. That she would kiss him and pamper him all day if he would only, please, make her come right now. Only then, Naoto’s cruel fingers began to flick, violently, left and right over her stiff nub – and stole her voice together with her mind.
In the same heartbeat, he speared her pussy with his savage, merciless cock. Yamame cried out as her most sensitive parts were brutally stimulated from both inside and out. She hauled close a nearby pillow, and pressed her face into it to drown out her shameful, ecstatic cries.
In no time at all, she climbed back up and tumbled over the edge of her orgasm.
Naoto sensed her vise around him. He grabbed at her ample buttocks, steadying himself – then plunged his overstrained cock as deep as it could fit once… twice… three excruciating times. Then, he groaned – buried himself to the hilt – and began to spurt his warm seed all over the spider’s twitching vagina. Arms and legs gave out below her; and Yamame, gasping, crumpled onto the wrap-strewn pads of her couch, Naoto collapsing on top.
Squished underneath his virile weight, his heated breath torturing her ear, Yamame enjoyed her first, long, wonderful orgasm in almost six days.
Afterwards, as they lay in a bodily heap, Yamame would feel vaguely unfulfilled. Oh, the finish had been great, that it had; and there were few perversions which the eldest of the earth spiders had taken to more satisfying than coming – and being come inside – while held down. The mathematics of it, however, had left her imbalanced. The five days of not seeing nor touching her lover felt hardly fair an equation to one (fantastic though it had been) bout of sex.
How had she ever held out six months?
Yamame Kurodani, purring, swelled up beneath her human. Naoto sensed the motion. He levered himself up to a half-rise on his arms. An effect of this disturbance, his limp, spent manhood flopped out to rest between the earth spider’s thighs. A trickle of warm, milky seed followed its example. It leaked out, clinging to Yamame’s loose lower lips.
This used to be such a fear, Yamame marvelled. Once they’d first had sex, after two whole days of tiptoeing, Naoto had spun a barring web around what he’d uninventively termed “finishing inside.” That web had lasted no longer than their second night of exploring which bits of their bodies could fit into other bits to feel really good. Though, he would re-thread that same promise at the end of each such “finish;” still, the allure of letting Yamame take the fruit of his orgasms had simply been too… well, alluring to properly resist, even then.
But, once the godling accident had happened… once Yamame had reunited with her human lacking for a baby-filled belly… That fear, too, had been dissolved like bare foundations in the rain. These days, the returns of Yamame’s work on her human belonged to one of three places. Yamame’s mouth, Yamame’s womb, or – on those clumsier occasions – her face. None of that, “I’ll pull out and come on your legs” business. Her legs had better things to do. Locking about his waist, for one.
A part of Yamame, in truth, envied Lady Satori and her plain enjoyment of motherhood. That part of her was silly. It was ignorant of the reality that Satori Komeiji was rarely – perhaps uniquely – equipped to tending other, more dependent lives. Were her pets not a sharp enough mark? Was not her sister? Might this have been why Lady Satori had been able to get with child in the first place? A conviction powerful enough to budge the edges of her youkai’s core – to include this aspect of existence… That, and cunning enough to seduce her partner into try after try after try for, in her words, “an entire Winter.”
Could Yamame do the same?
No, she heard a voice whispering inside. Not yet. Not as fresh at this as you are right now.
The answer was nothing else; and, when she thought it over with care, neither did she wish otherwise. The eldest of the earth spiders simply wasn’t threaded for nurture. All her life, even before Naoto, her pursuits had been those for her own sake. The same curse of selfishness which plagued the denizens of the Underworld had not been spared the mother of plagues herself. Old Hell was by purpose such a place: a haven for those weary of obligation, of responsibility. The misfit and the outcast. The free souls.
Was it freedom? After a fashion. But no one had said it was pretty.
More pertinent to Yamame, she had no wish to deny Naoto the obvious pleasure of trying to get her pregnant. Were those attempts to actually succeed, they would by need soon have to stop. Neither of them was ready to give up on the frequent, carefree sex. Or, at least, Yamame wasn’t.
A self-satisfied smile bloomed out onto her face as the logic seamed tight in her spider’s mind. Yes. This made sense. No need to feel guilty over what she was. What she couldn’t give. What she withheld from those who had given her both love and passions. Not for a while still. Not for a few years more. Maybe then…
But not now.
Now, Yamame Kurodani wormed onto her back under her exhausted lover. Naoto was a study in dishevelment. The spinstress giggled, feeling warm and happy simply from seeing how handsome her chosen partner was. Naoto gave her a mild frown. Then, ahead any dry comment might tuck his wits, he wobbled backwards onto his seat when Yamame pushed out at him with a despotic hand.
Her human watched, faintly resigned, as she crawled between his naked legs.
He didn’t object – not even when Yamame stuffed her face in his groin and took his shrunken manhood into her mouth. A low groan did grind out of his chest when the spinstress twirled her tongue all around the flabby thing in order to swipe clean the traces of semen which still clung to its diminished length. She wrapped her lips around the bottom – then sucked all the way up to the withered head. She peeled it out of its skin sheath and licked around its ridge. There was no reaction. Naoto’s manhood was spotless… but wasn’t getting any bigger.
Wiping drool from her mouth, Yamame sat up on her haunches. Her human eyed her helplessly. Her lush, sweat-sheened breasts were arrayed before him – never mind the soft, inviting place between her thighs, which yearned for nothing more than to be stuffed full of him again. Still, Naoto could merely oblige the idea inside his head. The necessary tool lay limp and uncooperative in his lap.
“… Sorry,” the human told the pouting spider. “That… drained probably everything I had left in me.”
Yamame puffed up her cheeks. “… Is that so?”
“That it is,” explained Naoto, “when I’ve to arbitrate with my mother, skip town, trudge up the mountain, descend the tunnels half-blind, and then sate one ravenous earth spider all in the wings of one evening. I’ve limits, Yamame.”
“Surely didn’t look to be the case ten minutes ago.”
“To be blunt,” sighed her human, “I likely held on as long I did because I’m tuckered out. Couldn’t feel half of it over my lungs trying to evacuate.”
Yamame gave him a thin smile. “We should get you tuckered out more often.”
Naoto faked a wince. “Oof.”
That lance of venom delivered, her face full of grin, Yamame silently fanned out her arms. Her human looped her unspoken request a moment later; he took the demanding earth spider by the hands, then drew her up onto his lap. No simpler than that, they were back again in their original arrangement. An abiding stitch, as Naoto had remarked once, in the weave of their intimate moments. Her beloved human gave up her hands, embracing her instead: pressing their naked bodies close together. Yamame sighed her happiness into a dimple in his shoulder, which seemed to have been fashioned for expressly this purpose. It was the perfect height.
“… Yamame?” his chest rumbled in front of her. It made her breasts tickle.
“Mhm?” she asked him.
“If you’d like,” Naoto murmured, quieter, “I could… do you with my fingers. Want me?”
The spinstress allowed the suggestion to wrap her thoughts. Someway, the image of him pushing his long fingers into her while his seed was still inside did not immediately make her moan her consent. Not because the image was nasty; it was, actually, somewhat rather absolutely the hottest thing she had imagined all evening. But, she pushed it away. Not too far. Just a few hours to the side.
“… No,” she replied. “Thanks, but no. It isn’t near as good if you aren’t having fun, too. You know?”
Naoto didn’t cover up his relief. “… Very good,” he wheezed. “Then, Yamame – if you won’t mind terribly—”
“I won’t,” she told him. Not too terribly, anyway. “I’ll let you rest. The bed is made; you can go and sleep it off. I’ll… um, tidy myself up and take a swing at that dress. Where is it?”
Yamame nodded, mouth warping. “… All right. I’ll get my needles and hunker down here. Wouldn’t want to wake you up with my swearing.”
“I’ve… never heard you swear, Yamame.” Naoto sounded amused.
The spinstress jabbed a finger into his flank. “Nor will you,” she told him. “That’s why I’m going to work here, and not the bedroom.”
A patch of silence sewed in between them. Naoto whiled it away petting the spider’s back under her chemise. Yamame purred.
At the end, however, it was she who undid the quiet moment.
“… Mm. Naoto?”
“… We’re going to have sex all day tomorrow. OK?”
Her human spat a clipped chuckle. “You’ll kill me, Yamame.”
“Well, it’s not going to be all-all day,” protested Yamame. “Ashi wanted to come by in the morning to talk about something. I’ll shunt her, then we can start. I haven’t had you for five days. What happened to catching up? Remember that? I’ll give you breaks, no worries. I just want to… I really want to feel good with you. That’s all.”
You’re incorrigible, a sensible voice in Yamame’s head accused her. You’re an incurable, greedy, shameless pervert of a spider.
All the luckier she, that Naoto was no prude himself.
“… Very good, Yamame,” he grunted. “Very good. A condition, though.”
“Yes? What is it?”
“Wake me up with a blowjob.”
The spinstress wrestled down her perverted grin. “All right,” she gave. “Very good, Naoto. Anything else?”
“I…” Naoto hesitated. “… With you on top. No bra, and your dress pulled down.”
“Great. And then?”
“Between your breasts.”
“And… I want to watch you lick them clean.”
“… Yeah,” Naoto returned, his voice somehow doused. “… Deal.”
A wonderful look of bewilderment adorned his shaggy face when Yamame rose up to seal the compact with a kiss. The look of a builder who had set the door into its frame only to hear it snap when shut.
Had it merely popped into its designed slot? Or would it fly like a spider out of Old Hell next time it was pulled too hard?
And yet, if Naoto had meant these mildly demeaning conditions to discourage the proud eldest of the earth spiders, he had a very different thread incoming. There were few things the spinstress wouldn’t do to satisfy her study of this, newest, of her passions. But, there were even fewer she wouldn’t do to satisfy him.