CHAPTER 5
SYLVUS
I have two problems.
First is this perfect, peaceful creature resting in my arms. Her tangle of curls is like velvet in the crook of my elbow. Her cheek and breast are impossibly soft where they rest against my chest. The steady rhythm of her breath is a sweet lullaby.
Despite her slumber, she’s clearly aware of every place our skin touches, and she moans unhappily whenever that surface area decreases. It’s necessary to strip the remnants of my silk and her coveralls away, but I pull her close again as soon as I can.
I use my other limbs to clean up the room.
I have a distinct feeling that right now, I would commit murder before I put her down or let someone else breathe in the same room as her, let alone touch her. Which will… complicate her proposal.
My second problem is that I am… beyond aroused. My pedipalps fidget and drool, and I shudder at the throbbing itch of my semen glands on the underside of my abdomen near where it meets my thorax.
Her slick has dripped all down her legs, and the smell makes it impossible to focus.
I’ll just…
Well, next I’ll…
The solution is clearly to…
Oh, fuck, I can’t stop. My legs splay, and as soon as I rub the underside of my abdomen against my web, I shudder with pleasure. My glands spasm, squirting an entirely unnecessary amount of semen over the web.
But it’s my pedipalps, so close to her hot, ready sex, that throb the most. The small, dextrous limbs end in smooth, flexible chitin perfect for insertion and inducing pleasure. If I ever introduced semen to them, they’d be capable of impregnation.
I want so very, very badly to plunge them into her molten core. They’re lined with sensory organs, and her needy fragrance so close makes them vibrate eagerly.
Instead, I rub them against each other. My breath chokes in my throat at the sensitivity. The good thing is, I’m so thoroughly worked up that I won’t last long enough to lose my resolve.
I look like a horny fool, rubbing my web and worrying my palps. I hug her tight to my chest, burying my nose in her hair, her scent.
I’m no match. I groan and my palps squirt clear, viscous fluid across the web as I orgasm. The rhythmic clenching of my abdomen feels incredible, so full of her milk.
It’s perverse, cumming so shamelessly with her asleep in my arms. But the boundaries that matter remain uncrossed.
Barely.
Legs shaking, I push upright again, ignoring the embarrassing puddles I’ve left behind as I stumble to my sleeping chamber.
ANDROMEDA
I wake with a raging hangover. Heat surrounds me, and I paw mindlessly at what my sleepy brain first assumes is my over-hot mattress and sheets.
As I orient to the dim light and round, web-covered walls, I realize it’s Sylvus’s arms I just threw off my chest.
I freeze.
His breathing is slow, even. Though his auxiliary eyes shine unblinking, his main eyes are closed.
My breasts and throat ache.
The former, for obvious reasons. They’re perkier than I expected for how much they grew, then shrunk. Then again, I think they’ve grown again since I fell asleep.
As for my throat: fuck, I’m thirsty. I need to get back to the kitchen. The chamber I’m currently in is relatively small, and Sylvus leans back on a pile of pillows and blankets that support his odd anatomy.
Lying on his back, with his legs folded up over the spider half of his body, he looks…
Creepy is what I should think.
Creepy is definitely what I should think.
But what I actually think is…
Cute.
I shake my head. I must be delirious with dehydration. A house is a house, right? I should be able to find the kitchen without too much issue.
I crawl carefully across the web.
Sylvus stirs—the webs carry the vibrations to him.
But he just sighs and sinks back to sleep.
I continue onward over the silk’s strange texture. It’s soft and smooth, and feels slippery until I sink my fingers through the strands, which gives me a firm grip.
My body feels strange, my sense of balance different. Fuck, these tits are heavy.
I vaguely acknowledge that I’m completely naked, but that’s the least of my problems right now.
The tunnel ends at a tube so steep it’s almost vertical.
Well… only one option. Sure I have a good grip, I lower my legs over the drop and feel for a foothold. It’s easy enough.
I shift carefully out into the tube. The silk digs into my toes, especially with my new weight, but I feel secure.
The first ten feet of climbing down, I feel great. Clever. Capable.
At fifteen feet, my thighs start burning. Then my calves. Then my forearms.
The burning turns to shaking.
Oh, fuck, I’m a lot more exhausted than I realized. And the bottom of the tube is… a yawning darkness.
I speed up my descent, hoping to make it to the bottom before my muscles give out.
It happens so fast: my toes slide off the silk instead of finding purchase. The downward slip starts my momentum, and my aching hands give out. I yelp as I fall backwards, dim silk blurring by.
You’ve done it this time, Andromeda.
I squeeze my eyes shut and brace.
Something warm and stretchy catches my back, and I gasp.
Oh, thank god.
I exhale with relief and open my eyes, orienting.
Sylvus’s face is inches from mine.
“Jesus!” I startle, making the silk that caught me bounce. The springy surface is stretched between Sylvus’s front four legs.
It suddenly goes slack as he tangles me in it, then wraps me up again.
“Hey!”
“Try, ‘Thank you.’” His voice is cold.
Shit. “I was going to be fine, I would’ve landed on web, anyway.”
Sylvus’s legs shift, tugging on the silk around me, flipping me to face downward. The light above us brightens.
I hover inches from jagged stalagmites.
Oh, fuck. Fuck, I almost died. “Why is there a death trap in your home?!”
“Why on Earth would you presume what is and isn’t in my home?”
“We aren’t on Earth,” I snap.
He flips me back over roughly, then looks down at me like I’m the universe’s stupidest creature.
“It’s a figure of speech,” he says, incredulous. He turns away as he climbs up the tunnel, hauling me behind him.
Anger rankles in my chest. He could have warned me. He was the one sleeping on the job. God, my head hurts.
I lose track of the tunnels again.
When we reach the kitchen, Sylvus tosses me unceremoniously back into the hammock by the table.
This time I land on my back, at least. I try to wriggle enough to see him, but my exhausted muscles refuse to cooperate. My vision blurs, and the pounding in my head worsens.
I stifle a whimper.
Ceramic presses against my lips. “Drink.”
I’m already reflexively swallowing as the cool water flows into my mouth. The water runs dry, and I let out an embarrassing, needy noise. Another cup touches my lips an instant later, and I drink again.
Fuck, I’ve never been so thirsty.
I drink more than I thought possible, and the painful fog lifts from my body.
I see the reason for the strange pattern of cups at my mouth—three of Sylvus’s limbs form a sort of bucket brigade, refilling empty cups and bringing them to my lips as soon as the next is empty.
As my head clears, my anger turns to guilt.
My stomach finally feels full, and I stop drinking.
Sylvus sets the cups down and silently puts on a tea kettle.
I wince. I don’t have any reason to believe the guy is sentimental, but nearly seeing a body turn to splatter would be enough to rattle any sapient.
“I’m sorry.” My voice is hoarse, but my throat is no longer sore.
He doesn’t say anything.
“Really sorry. I… yeah, my brain was clearly not working. I don’t have a death wish, I swear.”
“Save your breath.” He fiddles with something else in his ‘cabinets,’ which I hope is edible for me. Now that my thirst is sated, my hunger returns with a vengeance.
“So… you’re really letting me off the hook?”
His laugh is cold, but there’s a subtle hint of warmth returning. “I never said there wouldn’t be consequences for your actions.”
“What consequences?”
“You’ve lost limb privileges for the day.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
Sylvus doesn’t answer.
I sit there and stare at the ceiling, bored out of my mind. The kettle whistles, and ceramic clinks a moment later.
I eagerly await him cutting my bonds like he did yesterday.
He tugs a few strands of thread, puppeteering me upwards, but makes no move to free me. Instead, he holds a teacup to my lips.
As an olive branch, I take a sip without complaint—then spit and gag. Bitterness clings to my tongue and throat.
“How long did you brew this? An hour?!”
He laughs to himself, peeling a violet fruit that resembles an orange. Once he’s pulled off a wedge, he holds it to my lips.
“I’m not falling for that twice—”
While my mouth is open, he crams the fruit in, then holds my jaw shut.
Sweet, tangy juice spills across my tongue.
I chew and swallow, pretending it’s not one of the most delicious things I’ve ever tasted.
“Okay, fine, you’ve had your revenge. I can take it from here.”
He holds another wedge to my mouth.
I oblige.
Two wedges later, I say, “Okay, really now, I—”
He shoves the piece in.
So this is what he meant by losing limb privileges.
My pride writhes in my chest, but my hunger overwhelms it. I dutifully open my mouth, taking and eating each piece he places on my tongue.
My body settles. Relaxes. Warm contentment spreads from my core as my basic needs are met. Lingering side effects from the transformation?
I take a deep breath, and my breasts strain against the silk, already swelling again.
Yep, definitely side effects.
Sylvus is punishing me and fattening me up so we can execute our scheme for profit, nothing more.
He feeds me two more of the lilac fruits, then three of a smaller, creamy pitted fruit that’s something like a cross between an avocado and a peach.
He offers me more water, and I’m surprised by my own thirst again.
When I stop drinking, he sets the cups aside.
“Alright, you win,” I offer. “I’ll be good from here on out. I’m ready to start earning. I’ll be allowed to cum next time, right? With a client?”