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Something was broken in Gyutan, the Oni.

Had to be. It was, at any rate, the only explanation for contemporary happenings Gyutan would drink to. He was not a man or, rather, Oni who took especial pleasure in being brusque and forceful on women. “Good lad” was the term applied to him often by the older Oni, which tended to translate in the younger, streetwise ones’ vernacular as “schmuck.” And a schmuck, rhyme such as it might, did not tend to fuck.

Half-right, they were. Gyutan was by no book definition a fucker, but he did have a girlfriend. They had met in the vast construction yards of the Underworld’s New Capital and, via his aforesaid schmuckery, had leased to her the vantage point of his shoulder and the foghorn of his throat. Her name was Yamame Kurodani, and she was the architect of the (to be) grand (future) city. They’d gotten on like uncles, which was to say they’d spent evening after evening sequestered in Yamame’s workshop – away from everybody else though very much nearby a vat of moonshine that kicked like a horse with a bee up its bunghole. The tiny earth spider could hold her booze like no bottle’s business and, to Gyutan’s thrilled horror, got hopelessly randy when drunk.

Half-right because, owed to her modest persuasion in the spatial area, Yamame could fit at the extreme wettest Gyutan’s middle finger, and not even up to the third knuckle. She’d fitted it, however, with much fervour and almost shameful frequency, in return enlightening the callow, young Oni on why the earth spiders, Yamame included, were fabulously able to swallow a man whole.

And they’d drunk. Oh, how they’d drunk.

They’d drunk their treacherously undulating way into the preliminary years of the New Capital, always arm-in-arm, always sharing a cup and a spot on the floor in the mornings. They’d been silly, in love and, as these things go, inseparable. Up to a point.

Then, the Ministry had called in. The mighty Ministry of Right and Wrong which, having an aeon in the past fled the realm for greener pastures, had let their hounds slip into their whilom estates to find them overrun by Oni, earth spiders and other wretched strays. Now branding it their own.

War had hung in the magma-warm air. Then, war had walked.

Alongside it walked had Gyutan, the “schmuck,” shoulder-to-shoulder with his brethren, brandishing a cudgel against those who would steal the idyllic life he and Yamame had sewn for themselves (and others) from the tatters of Old Hell. He’d cracked skulls, chipped horns, smashed spines and drunk himself insensate each night to the memory of his earth spider girlfriend.

And then, an unknowable count of those later, the war had sat down to talk.

At the end of it, war had packed and gone home, leaving Old Hell in the three-eyed vigil of one Satori Komeiji, a dreadful mind-reader, and the Oni to their accustomed devices. So long as they had the Komeiji’s rapport, the mighty Yama had ruled, and the Law they upheld, then the Oni may nest among the scraps the Ministry had left behind in its flight.

No besotted and bloodstained head had stopped to wonder, back then, why the Komeiji – a youkai, same as them – had been chosen by the Yama to shepherd Old Hell’s dregs, but… wondering meant inevitably to draw the mind-reader’s attention, and this, the honest, neighbourly Oni could do well without.

Gyutan had marched with his confounded brethren therefore back to the New Capital, which he’d found largely unreformed from its marble-and-torchlight ways, but for its marked abatement in the earth spider department. He’d learnt quickly that the light-disinclined architects of the New Capital had moved to make warrens in the caves extended by the city’s great, subterranean chamber. And, that Yamame had gone with them, if but to keep an eye out of eight on her mercurial sisters.

As it was often done in these cases, Gyutan had hemmed and even hawed for a not insubstantial number of days, celebrating his battle-deeds and, somewhat uproariously for one who’d lived his life a schmuck, their well-earned respect among his peers, ahead at last he’d drunk enough courage to face the lover whom he’d forsaken in favour of the frontlines. Inside that day he’d braved pitch-dark tunnels and scaled cliffs which would’ve been a cinch had he a spare pair of legs or two, and arrived at the opening wherein Yamame, it had been joked, had spread her spinster webs.

There’d been a human-fashion cottage occupying the middle of the chamber. There’d been shroomwood in a rack stacked against the dry-side wall. There’d been hearth-glow behind the milk-glass windows and a general air of orderliness Yamame was wont to emanate when out of the arm’s reach of a bottle.

And there had been a woman sweeping the porch. She’d waved at him cheerfully once he’d resolved from the darkness.

Only… she could not have been Yamame. Whereas the earth spider in – or, more accurately, behind – the shady bar cabinet of Gyutan’s Oni heart had been a diminutive thing, apt to snap like a twig if sat upon, this woman’s body had the mass and density of a subterranean star. Where Yamame had worn her dress brown and baggy to distract from her shortage of figure, this woman had opted for a black, ribbed sweater which equatored her curves with the punctiliousness of a manic topographer. The bright yellow miniskirt, which was a terrible disproportionate misnomer, barely covered the spider-woman’s ass which, conversely, had given the fig to space-time continuum and seemed to go on for hours. Where Yamame’s beautiful hair had suffered in a prissy bun most of the dust-and-plaster-filled days, whoever it’d been who’d apparently sat her house for her had tied hers in an unsubtly grabbable ponytail.

They’d both been honey blondes, but this one had worn the stereotype like erotic lingerie.

Something about this compound of sights, regret and the loneliness of the previous… however long it’d been… broke the schmuck inside Gyutan over its knee. He’d stamped up to the porch and snatched a hold of the spider-woman’s (which she had to be; he could well sense it) unworkmanlike arm.

“I’m going to knock you up,” he’d growled over his shoulder, hauling her away, “so shut up and come along.”

There’d been no resistance whatsoever. Only a confused, “What? Um… What? What?” repeated over and over.

Gyutan had dragged the spider-beauty behind the firewood rack, where he’d stood her firmly facing the windowless wall. He’d ordered her arms raised over her head and roughly grabbed her sweater-wrapped mammaries, which had easily filled his large, Oni palms with plush left over to contend with for his fingers. He’d pushed his rising bulge up the cleft of her stupendous ass, now rubbing, now prodding the peak at where her plump, luscious thighs had barred the even obscener destination.

“Undo your bra and take it off,” he’d commanded and, to whatsoever no moral avail, watched the spider-slut nod, reach under her sweater and unhook what’d turned out a black, lacy bra once tucked out through the collar. Her massive tits had slumped in their elastic packaging, even more malleable than before in Gyutan’s greedy hands. He’d kneaded their flesh and pinched their unprotected nipples to the vocal accompaniment of a gasping, obedient spider-blonde.

In no time, and it’d still been altogether too long of it, Gyutan had smelt the familiar tang of an earth spider ready to mate.

Sex might have been something to tease about and deny to the horn-dog Yamame, only yielded once she’d grown enough adorably desperate for it but, with this woman, waiting hadn’t as much as written beforehand, let alone visited on the soggy space between the Oni’s ears. He’d unhanded the huge, drooping mammaries, hitched the woefully inadequate skirt up and then pulled the skimpy, black lace panties, single-handed, off her ass and halfway down the pudgy thighs. With the remaining, he’d plucked at the ties of his loincloth, freeing his erect, studded, Oni cock.

The busty spider-slut had fidgeted, even trembled in her excitement when Gyutan had wedged his thumbs in between then spread apart the chubby thighs, unveiling the passage to her cunt. Her copious, slippery spider-lube had made the task an exercise for his knuckles. He’d thought he’d heard a slurred plea to “put it in, alreadyyy” once he’d no-handed his tip to the opening, though it could’ve been wishful schmuckery on his part.

Any way it was, it’d taken one precipitous push for the head of Gyutan’s cock to glide past the squeezing thighs and ass-cheeks – and to plunge fast into the spider-woman’s silky depths.

From her loose, brown labia to her obviously well-used cervix, the spider-slut’s cunt had been a hot, cock-hungry mess, eagerly lapping up every last one of his engorged, vein-streaked inches. Creases, folds and what almost had to be pygmy feelers had stimulated his bared glans like Yamame’s smooth gullet never had, extracting from him a grunt and a gush of thick pre-cum that’d only get pushed farther up toward her womb as he’d slid deeper and deeper into the capacious spider-cunt. Gyutan had sheathed himself to the swollen jewels in a single, continuous stroke, gripping the woman’s immoderate hips and being himself gripped at the wrists by her dainty, silk-spinner’s hands. Her excessive ass hadn’t as much bumped into his waist as it’d sunk ponderously against it.

And now, with his cock berthed to the root in her drooling, spider baby-maker, spewing pre-cum straight into her womb with every throb of his hilted shaft, Gyutan thought something truly was broken inside of him. The fat spider-slut, who could only have been his Yamame in a singularly imaginative dream, breathed hard in the wake of the long, womb-deep insertion, wholly compliant in the sudden impregnation sex behind somebody else’s house.

It was laughable. Only nobody was laughing and, aware it was really she who’d have him by the short and curlies by the end of it, Gyutan withdrew his cock, stretch by pulsing stretch, from the spider-woman’s ravenous cunt. His raw glans quit her clinging lips with a smack like a grandmother’s kiss. Spider-lube – warm, white and slick – dripped from his upright length, scooped out by the competitive feature of the male anatomy a little below the tip. Gyutan wiped it on a hemisphere of earth spider ass hovering before him on tubby legs then put his blunt cockhead up to the triangular dimple in her backside.

And he pushed.

Notwithstanding the lack of help from his fingers, the Oni’s rigid cock pried apart the fluffy thighs and thrust right back into the loose-lipped, oozing spider-cunt. His bare glans rammed into its front wall before it was slipperily redirected up toward the spider-woman’s baby-room. Up in the area which would’ve been Yamame’s least impressive, this took its toll in the currency of a startled, horny yip. Gyutan guided the tortured, feeler-molested head of his cock up to the spider-slut’s cervix, whereupon he let it stay and throb its weakness, while the woman herself turned an amber eye and half a wobbly grin at her future children’s father.

“Mmnn. Mnhaa. That was my pussy’s secret spot, right there, yunno?” she part-praised, part-accused him. “Get it on your first time, will you? Mm. You sly Oni, you…”

She had a vibrating, guitar-twang voice that put him in mind of campfires and standing, doggystyle sex behind the tents after everybody else’d hit the proverbial hay. Tents would have been overromanticizing it, but he could replicate the sex part down to the tiniest, stickiest, sordid detail. He did, too. His cock smeared her vaginal walls with even more hot, rich pre-cum as he backed it out to half-length then crammed it up again to her defenceless cervix, working out a pace that’d let the ridge of his glans to iron out her sultry creases without prematurely wasting his seed.

The blond spider-slut moaned out loud from his riding his stiff curve against and along the weak-spot she’d gleefully betrayed to him not minutes into their sexual acquaintance. Gyutan and his cock swelled with savage satisfaction at the deep, aroused timbre of her voice.

“… Gladda know,” he sniffed, smushing her enormous, cushy ass against his hips. “Thing I dunno is who you are. Clearly an earth spider; this smell, I’d not mistake. You smell like Yamame, but are not she. This is her house, also. Are you by chance her mother?”

The spider-woman looked back, blearily. “Wha—? Um.”

There was a drawn-out standstill in the interrogation as her loose cunt was brought on another tour of the length of Gyutan’s cock. Her brown, frilly labia lustred his every vein and bump on the way out then swallowed them back into her soft, moist goodness on the upstroke. Gyutan revelled vowelly in the sensation of rear-ending his waist on her bubbly ass while reining the spider-slut’s broad, child-bearing hips from behind with soldierly hands.

“… Are you Yamame’s mother?” he asked again, cock-lube pumping into her womb from the raw tip of his hilted rod.

The fat spider-slut startled out of her ecstatic throes. “Oh. Um… Oh. Ye—Yes, I’m… I’m Yamame’s mum. That’s me. Yamame-mama,” she snickered. “Haha. Um. I assumed… Since you jumped me like that, I assumed you’d known who I was. If nnnot,” she drawled, “then you must be from Yamame’s city—”

“I’m her boyfriend.”

“Right! You’re… You’re so big and harrrd, mmm… Your name was, let me recall—”

“Gyutan,” said Gyutan, reintroducing his studded cock to her tamed spider-cunt, down to its girthy base, as he did so. “Sorry,” he said next, pulling out. “Yamame hasn’t talked to me about you… er, a lot.”

The young Oni caught the elder spider-woman’s expression. It had a lot to say about strained mother-daughter relationships. “Mnn. Haa. Unsurprised,” she admitted. “That girl, your Yamame – she resents me. Um, probably. Our earth spider commune is distinctly matriarchal, and I am its matriarch; Yamame, though, she’s an elemental leader. She took charge whenever my pedipal— um, my eyes were turned. I imagine she’s never told you, then, how she’d stirred up a pack of her sisters and ran here from Kurodani – her brood’s home?”

“… Can’t say she has, ma’am.”

“Haha. Of course not. Nnh. Maybe she has some growing-up to do yet, mmm…”

For a moment, they enjoyed the overtly grown-up back-and-forth of their lower bodies, with Yamame’s self-professed mum now jigging herself by the Oni’s wrists to every one of his breeding thrusts. The opulent, sweater-constrained tits bounced along, conspicuous even from directly behind. Gyutan recalled, even as he bottomed out her mother’s luridly drenched, eager baby-maker, how Yamame would sometimes go wild in his lap, drunkenly floundering in an effort to push the knuckles of his finger at her vagina’s most sensitive places. He was put in a mind of apples and trees; although, having not seen either for quite a while from anywhere except far below, the metaphor’s savour was a tad bit understated.

“What,” he asked, by that way, of the elder earth spider, “is your purpose here, then? Where, guh, is Yamame?”

Yamame’s mum gave a witless little titter, which rounded out to a slutty moan as her cunt filled up again with hard, Oni cock. “I came,” she gasped; “that is to say, haaah, I came around to visit! Get under her skin for not writing home. Yamame, nnha, she wasn’t here, though; I’ve been waiting around a couple of days now, actually, but she hasn’t been by. So, I’ve kept the house. Cut the wood, scrubbed the chimney, threw out her old shoes, rearranged her kitchen, peeked in her unfinished projects. That sort of thing. Haha. Nnh. And now—” she smirked a one-eyed smirk back at the young Oni, “—her boyfriend is knocking on my womb with his stiff, leaky prick. Nfff. She’ll be livid, will our girl when she gets back.”

Gyutan screwed up his face, which would’ve been followed by the rest of him if he hadn’t already screwed himself up by jumping the elder earth spider’s thick bones in the first place. Some Oni lived indeed by the mantra of punching first, asking for a drink later, but, in this particular event, Gyutan foresaw more than a dry throat in his near future.

Still and all, one place wasn’t going any drier tonight if he had the say, and that was the slutty spider matriarch’s cunt. Gyutan half-unbridled her hips, which at any rate didn’t look about to run. He skimmed a coarse hand up her dumpy flank, the flank of her enormous breast and then the slope of her neck to finally grasp at her happy chin. Her lips were plump, moist and easily parted for his questing middle finger. Up to the second knuckle the Oni wormed it in, sucked on and lapped by the spider-slut’s tongue; until, with an all-too-familiar gurgle and an unladylike absence of a gag reflex, she swallowed the finger into her throat.

Gyutan’s cock stiffened furiously from the punch of arousal to his loins, and not alone for the tight, hot, velvety smoothness engulfing his longest finger. The firm, pushy tongue wresting against the inside of his palm could’ve factored in but wasn’t even the wetter short of it. Yamame was. The hangovers he’d borne up against with his morning wood plunging in and out of his girlfriend’s uncannily spacious throat as she’d had her “power breakfast” of several, long courses – were. Once, he’d had the naivete to ask the petite, orally-fixated genius whether she’d wanted to get caught. To no relief of his, Yamame had said – in a low, semen-thick voice – that already her sisters had been sneaking over to watch through the window and been in fact watching even as he’d posed the question.

It had taken the best of Gyutan not to peek. It’d taken his worst to agree to splurge on Yamame’s face so that her sisters may bear first-hand witness to an Oni’s copious orgasm. Had it not been Gyutan’s fourth inside the hour, never mind the morning, he might’ve been readier for when she’d dared the bravest of her siblings in for a hands- and tongue-on experience.

Two had answered. Two, they’d been – married to Yamame.

Never before then had Gyutan featured that Oni-kind might have had limits. Never after had he doubted it where earth spiders were in the picture.

Sure as she was one, Yamame-mama was testing his. The chubby spider-matron suckled the young Oni’s finger harder than her daughters had sucked on his aching cock, the crimson skin throbbing and swelling from the abuse. No rapid-swap, triple blowjob with occasional deepthroating could’ve held a candle to, he had the hunch, what this woman could do to him all by her lonesome. That finger was going numb.

Gyutan wrenched it free among a filthy, choking noise, saliva trailing after his whole hand. The spider-woman coughed; and, full of vim, vengeance and hot blood, he did… exactly nothing which would’ve prevented her clearing her airways or then peering back with a thankful yet electrifyingly knowing shine in her amber eyes. He was a schmuck, not a prat. Subtle difference of a few letters and life lessons.

“… Yunno,” said the spider-woman, huskily; “I can do your prick like that. Suck on it till you blow – then keep suckin’ until either your prick or your balls give out. Imagine these lips slipping all over that meaty shaft. I could rouge them and kiss your crotch like a lover while you cum straight into my stomach. Goodness, but I’m salivating just talking about it. Mmm. Well? Want your girlfriend’s mum to give you a big, sloppy suck-job? Want her to yummy down on your runny prick?”

Gyutan slapped the spit-wet palm on the side of her prodigious ass. The spider-slut winced – but eased back into full, purring obedience as the lewd, happenstance sex stalled by their exchange was recommenced with double the insertions per moment. Sounds of reckless copulation: the moist squishing, smacking of skin on skin and wordless, mutual consent reverberated throughout the cavern.

“… Now I can tell,” wheezed Gyutan, barely keeping purchase on the great, jiggly derriere arresting his thrusts, “whence it was Yamame got her mouth. She makes my, guh, ears wilt, sometimes.”

“You dodge, nhaa,” moaned the spider matron, clutching his forearms like climbing holds, “the questionnn!”

Gyutan jammed the overstimulated head of his cock up to the entrance of her womb as he felt another jet of pre-cum surging up his shaft. The corpulent she-spider smushed her ass into him, sensing perhaps why he wasn’t moving… or, perhaps, because he wasn’t.

“Maybe—” Gyutan sucked in a hanged man’s breath, “—later. Got some’n more important to do first…”

Yamame’s mum laughed, only to cry out lustily as her much-travelled baby-maker was vacated then filled up again to its puffy brim of young, hard, Oni cock. “Haha. Hnn. So, you’re really,” she managed to say, “really, haaah, going to do it? Going to knock me up? Your, mmm, dear girlfriend’s mother?”

“That was the—” Gyutan groped for a word more truthful than “plan.” “… Instinct. Will bloody well try, anyhow.”

And a lie it wasn’t. No storied fruit of earth spider slash Oni romance existed of whom Gyutan would’ve heard said stories; although, in its fairness, much the same could be said of youkai at large. Tengu mated exclusively with Tengu; Oni bred with Oni alone; and earth spiders coupled with earth spiders, no one else. Only humans, who were to hear it told champions of the world in getting everything and themselves pregnant, slid the rule.

A rule which, nevertheless, was held in little regard by Gyutan’s cock, slathered as it was in an elder earth spider’s vaginal excretions. There was a hoarse and, he thought, smug sort of moan once he slammed it to the pulsing base into the similarly ignorant and horny spider-cunt. Her feelers and folds whelmed around his shaft as pleasure twitched down her whole, wonderfully rounded body. He let himself acknowledge, now wedging her labia with his purple cockhead, now buried to the teeming balls and cosying up to her womb, that everything about the spider matron, from her courtesan’s voice to the bodacious figure, was whipping his Oni libido into a stampede.

If Yamame were to look like this – to fuck like this – in her later years, then Gyutan feared she’d need to pack five extra pairs of undies every day for all the stealthy, come-inside quickies he’d whisk her away for while she was on the job.

“In thaaat case,” proposed the earth spider, short of breath from the harsh jostling, never mind the persistent, womb-deep scouring of her loose cunt, “want to, mmm, throw me on Yamame’s, nhaa, bed and put me in a mating press? You’re already, nff, reaching right where she was made, but…”

Gyutan snapped off a bearish snort. “Not disrespectin’ your, guh, husband, ma’am,” he groaned, “but I’ll not need a special position jus’ to aim a load where it needs to go.”

Yamame’s sex-bomb of a mother burst into a hearty laugh. This then hitched once Gyutan’s hips were struck mightily against her phenomenal behind. “You, hnn, said it!” she lamented. “You really went and said it! Mmm. Now you’re honour-bound to put a baby in my belly. Stupid Oni! What, nhaa, what were you thinkinnng?”

“Would that I knew…!” murmured the stupid Oni.

And, with the slightly fraught air of one who’d lost a moralistic debate and was seriously contemplating recourse in fists, he shoved the fat, blond spider-slut up against the cottage’s limewashed wall. He’d gone too long without Yamame, that was the trouble. His voluptuous mother-in-law had simply slotted into that hole in his sex life. Greasily so.

He shook off her anyhow feeble hold and looped her sleek ponytail around one forge hammer fist. The sleazy grin on her lush, cock-sucking lips once he’d jerked her head back to meet her gaze could have lit the midnight sky with nobody the wiser. It certainly lit up Gyutan’s desire with little wisdom involved.

He thrust that desire, up to its manfully overgrown base, into the spider-slut’s drenched, sex-impassioned cunt. The Oni and the earth spider all but chorused their base, animal fulfilment, gasping together as Gyutan’s pumping hips picked up a spurt of speed. Clapping and squelching and grinding of rock under busy feet overtook their shameless vocalisations, although not for want of effort on their part. Gyutan grunted and swore with the beat of his bare glans on the spider-slut’s cervix, whereas she whined up a lusty operetta as her cunt toured his studded length in fast-forward. The noises ran together, no longer mistakeable for lovers’ sex but sooner a wild, pheromone-spurred orgy.

And then, unavoidably, someone’s overstressed legs faltered.

They could have been either of the present and wearied pairs, though it was Gyutan still who’d find himself stumbling forward and pinning the fat, spider matron to the cottage’s wall. Over and above an effect of this, he found his swollen, fatigued cock plunging, hard and out of rhythm, balls-deep into her wet, palpitating baby-maker – smashing her weak-spot and grinding along it, pitching them both, by impure accident, over the edge.

Squirt splashed the painstakingly whitewashed wall at about the same time as the first, potent jet of Oni seed rushed into the earth spider’s womb all the way up from Gyutan’s tight, long-neglected testicles. Knees crumpling from the suddenness and intensity of the orgasm, he flattened the cumming, yowling spider-slut against the plaster with his bulk, desperate not to note how much she sounded like Yamame while he loosed rope after rope of thick, virile spunk into her mother’s baby-room.

And if the stories disputed the matter of Oni and earth spider compatibility then they’d have their work cut out explaining why, once he’d emptied his balls and extracted his cock to ride up her abyssal butt-crack, trailing cunt-juice and cum in profusion, he was stiff and erect still, ready to knock up the spider matron a second go.

There was a sharp intake of breath and a distressed twitch once he set about that purpose, stuffing his hard, unquelled cock back up the sperm-slick thighs and spider-cunt, up to its flooded womb. Only this stayed the young, rash Oni from racing her to another, successive orgasm as he would do sometimes with his girlfriend’s throat when she’d edged and goaded him too far.

Only this… and the familiar, teary glower of the large, amber eyes, so close it stung in its epiphany.

“Gyutan, you morooon,” whimpered Yamame. “Wait at least till I’m done cumming, you bruuute!”

And he felt a right schmuck, did the Oni, and everything in the Underworld was in its place again.
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“So what happened?” he would ask later, from atop a soft bed and under a face-full of sumptuous, brown-peaked mammaries, on account that no one trip-up could’ve dissuaded the Underworld’s celebrated architect from making the most – the most children, it had to be guessed – out of their overdue reunion.

Yamame, she bearing the aforesaid lofty title, sat up to attention astride him, although failed to quit either swaying her hips to and fro or rubbing her weak-spots on his docile, upright length. She had, exacerbated now she was in the nude, a bust which could drive any she-Oni to envy, in addition to a cute patch of blond pubes where his girth bulged her abdomen the most. The rest of it was lost beneath a pudgy and, he was surprised to hope, happily pregnant belly.

“Mmm. I moulted,” said Yamame, keener to be sorry than safe. “Several times! You were, nhaa, a long time away. Soldier-boy, you.”

“And you got like this…?” asked Gyutan, barely encompassing “this” with just a once-over.

“At some point,” offered Yamame, leaning back and twirling her waist for a change. “Haaah. Knew I would, soon or late, really. So’s not that shocking, from where I’ve sat. My old mum’s always been four handfuls and then some, even under my age. Hnn.”

The Oni blushed an ardent red, although, assorted circumstance considered, you’d be forgiven not to notice.

Yamame noticed.

“… That turned you on, did it,” she purred, stooping, drooping and smiling in one destructive merger of events. “Shamming a sloppy, casual fuck with your girlfriend’s strumpet mum? Going to far as to give her, mmm, a few more sisters yet? Your prick was the hardest it’d ever been, wasn’t it?”

She brought her whole weight down on the abovementioned instrument of betrayal as she dealt out the allegation, pushing its bare tip up against the womb he’d believed sincerely to be her mother’s. An Oni though he was, he was soberer than to argue a physical palpability.

“… Something moony, it was,” he confessed, adding on, “but only ‘cause she was your mother,” for a fair trial.

“Haha. Scoundrel.”

There was a soft, pardoning kiss, though not a very long one. The sole bed of Yamame’s house, hewn of rare tree-wood, so precious in the Underworld, squeaked the precarity of its existence as the chubby earth spider dismounted her not-inconsequentially-sized, Oni boyfriend. Surmising a swap of places and further angering the bed’s restless spirit, Gyutan levered himself up on his elbows.

Yamame, however, simply seated herself behind his slippery cock and took it in her hands. Speculative, another smile began making home on her full lips, which anyhow were built for primarily three things, smiles among them, and Gyutan had the prescience to swallow.

“Saaay,” crooned the earth spider, ringing her deft fingers round the base of his shaft and tugging; “what if I told you I weren’t… grossly exaggerating back there? What would you say then?”

The Oni mulled it over while she gently wrung his cock. “… I’d say: par-don?”

“I mean—” Yamame flicked his exposed cockhead by way of establishing dominance, “—that my mum really is like that. With sex. She’s the matriarch; she’s tasked with maintaining the brood. That translates, in Oni, to lots of sex and giving birth. The more varied the better, so she’s picked up some habits. Comes with the station… and she comes with it, so to say. Haaah.”

Trepidation stiffened Gyutan’s upper lip. “And…?”

Yamame beamed. You could have braced a mineshaft with it. “And,” she said, “she is visiting in a fortnight or abouts to check over my latest moult. Motherly prerogative, seeing how my dad bred through, yadda-blah-cetera. Here’s the rub, though. Old mum, she’s only ever slept with male earth spiders. All of my childhood friends, actually; I learned oral sex – and how to schlick – from peeping on her sucking off the boys I brought home for sleepovers. I had many, many male friends for some reason, if you’ll imagine. Never, however—”

The iota of IQ stirred in Gyutan’s brain-meat. “An Oni,” he supposed.

Yamame’s was a brilliantly innocent stare, as real as her likewise reputation among the Capital’s folk. “Whaaat? Nooo. An Oni, what? A boyfriend,” she stressed; “a boyfriend is whom I’ve never brought home to spin the thing around on her. With that top in mind, I want you to stay over while she’s in. So that she’ll have to be the one kneeling outside the door masturbating while I’m getting my pussy creamed. Tit for tat, yunno?”

Gyutan groaned. It’d been a day fraught with emotional swerves, and he was beginning to feel the deficit of hard chemistry in his bloodstream. He was nonetheless persuaded to nod, not unlike a cornered rabbit youkai, as Yamame was jerking off his fifth erection of the afternoon to the promise of sex with lookers-on. This time her mother, rather than her sisters.

Gyutan and patterns were frenemies at the very best of times, but he thought he’d caught one twinkling somewhere behind his girlfriend’s eyes. It winked at him in that over-clever way patterns had.

An age’s difference hadn’t changed Yamame. It’d filled her out, like yeast rising, but left the insides the same cheeky, smart, slightly bossy earth spider he had fallen for. And it hadn’t changed him whatsoever from the schmuck who’d wanted nothing more from life than to play into her little hands. Among other unsavoury verbs.

Yamame smiled as Yamame only could: a face of sinlessness above a messy, squishy handjob.

“Of course,” she trilled, “she’s like as not to try and ‘sample’ you herself. Occupational thing, whatnot. If you’d like to let that happen, mmm… it’s an open discussion.”

Gyutan tipped his head back and sighed to high heavens – or, in this instance, the rafters of Yamame’s cosy bedroom.

An age’s difference hadn’t changed his lovely earth spider. But, as things went in Hell, it was a blessing and a pinch of doom wrapped in one leggy, blond package.

For his lifespan, he hoped, they wouldn’t be two.
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Fucking nice.
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Another excellent and wholly depraved story, really tickles my heart and somewhere below there.
How's Paran going to feel? You monster.
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Ah, I see you took the fat spider thing full well to heart.
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And it's not good for my cholesterol levels.
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>write m:netorare with only the conceit of a dumb oni averting the premise
does me a thunk
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You read it; you don't get to criticise me!
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