CHAPTER 6
SYLVUS
I’ve always been proud of my work. Efficient. Clever. Effective. I thought that was all the satisfaction I could ever need in life.
It all pales in comparison to this. How she leans into me. How she relaxes, soothed.
The music of her laugh when a capuchin monkey steals a grape from its sibling.
Andromeda smiles. “That reminds me, I used to go to the zoo a lot. There was this one time…”
She tells me stories. Her eyes are faraway, and memories pour from her lips. Memories that have been locked away for twenty Earth years.
Precious treasures nobody else has ever heard.
Selfish, possessive satisfaction settles over me as I stroke her hair and listen.
Hours pass. Gradually, her shifting becomes uncomfortable.
“What do you need?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says. “I’m fine.”
I grip her jaw and twist her face toward mine. “Don’t lie to me.”
Her eyes unfocus and her breath quickens. She blinks, grappling for composure.
Fuck, I’m enjoying this too much.
She licks her lips and swallows. “I’m hungry.”
“And?”
A gorgeous blush spreads across her cheeks. “My boobs hurt. These things are heavy.”
I laugh softly, then run a gentle hand over her swollen breast. They’ve grown fifty percent in size since we sat down. Faster than average. Her capacity would make her an incredible earner if I were ever willing to let her out of my sight.
Andromeda trembles.
“Is that alright?” I ask.
She nods. “It feels good.”
I adjust her to free both my hands, then gently knead her breasts.
Andromeda’s sighs gradually turn to moans.
My pedipalps twitch.
Her moans deepen, getting needier.
While I’m still capable of self-control, I stop my massage.
Her eyes blink open, and she pouts up at me.
“You need to eat,” I remind her. “You said you were hungry.”
“Not anymore,” she lies.
I raise a brow. “So horny you’re willing to starve?”
“Ye—No. No. Food. Yes. Fine.”
I continue to hold her to my chest as I step over to the food stores and gather a bowl of seeds for her. While she starts eating, I weave a silk sling for her, then pull it around her breasts.
“Hey, what are you—”
“Does that help with the weight?” The sling distributes the excess weight across her shoulders and back.
“Yeah. A bit.” She hardly stops eating to answer. Her bowl of seeds is soon gone, and she stares at the bottom, contemplating.
“Still hungry?”
“N… yes…”
I lean down and kiss her forehead. “Good girl. See, being honest isn’t so bad.”
Andromeda shivers against me, and I scent her arousal.
I fill her hands with fruits, nuts, and greens. “Eat.”
She obeys.
“Fuck. The more I eat, the hungrier I get…”
“That’s good. It means your homeostasis systems are recovering. The transformation consumes an extreme amount of energy.”
Something about watching her shovel all that food into her face makes my pedipalps twitch. Maybe it’s the knowledge that the food will soon become more of that sweet, creamy milk. This is the diet we feed all the hucows—optimized for milk production.
Her breasts grow almost fast enough to see.
I weave a silk bag and fill it with more food, then carry her back to the watching area and resume the documentary.
I could take her to the milking area, tell her that I can scent her arousal, that she’s very bad at hiding how she presses her thighs together and wriggles against me.
But I meant it when I said she’d be fun to break.
I want to hear her beg again.
Andromeda whimpers as she shifts against me.
“What’s the matter, little cow?”
She jolts at the pet name, arousal deepening. Pitifully, she tries to lift her breasts with the sling I made for her, but her exhausted arms give out. “They’re full,” she whines.
“I can milk you anytime.”
She perks.
“You just need to ask. Nicely.”
It takes a moment for that to filter through her brain, and watching her hopeful expression turn to one of irritation and defiance makes my pedipalps throb.
“I’m not that desperate,” she huffs.
“Alright. Let’s try this, then.” My back two legs pull out bands of silk, passing them off to my other toes as I deftly weave around her. I love her little huff of surprise as I move her and her stifled whimpers as the heavy weight of her breasts shifts.
When I’ve finished weaving, Andromeda is suspended near the screen at a comfortable viewing angle.
She hangs slightly forward and down, weight mostly supported by wide, comfortable bands across her waist and thighs.
Her arms are behind her back, bound together all along the forearms, limiting her to minimal movement.
Her legs are parted, and I’ve woven a devious bit of silk into something that resembles a lingerie teddie: my inspiration for this little trick.
The faux negligee runs over each breast as if to provide modesty, but a gap lets each firm nipple poke through, pinching them as the silk stretches.
Those two pieces merge together into one band that passes between her legs, settling between her ass cheeks and joining back with the top of the garment, forming a continuous loop.
Right now, the silk is flat enough to rest over her outer labia, providing even pressure.
As she takes a surprised breath, that pressure tightens, treating me to a little gasp.
She clicks her tongue and scoffs. “H-how’s this supposed to help?!”
A wicked grin spreads my lips. “It isn’t.”
Her eyes narrow with delicious ire. “You… You’re a bad, bad man, did you know that?” The unmistakable scent of her arousal blossoms from her parted legs.
I lean over her ear, loving how even just my breath makes her shudder. “I know. And… I think you’re counting on that.”
“Wh… I am not!” Her indignant squirming stretches the loop of silk, pressing it deeper between her folds. A whimper of pleasure escapes.
My pedipalps twitch and rub against each other.
I fetch another fruit and peel it, then hold a segment to her mouth. “Aren’t you still hungry?” I ask.
“No,” she lies.
I press it to her lips, and she defiantly clamps her mouth shut.
Her contract glimmers warmly on my wrist, and a thrill rushes through me.
These contracts are bound to intent and consent, especially the kind that relates to the subject of the contract.
It helps ensure that neither party manipulates the terms in bad faith.
The contracts of weaker Arachnoids can be fooled, but mine are bulletproof.
I roughly grab Andromeda’s cheeks and force her jaw open.
Her gaze softens as her jaw goes lax, no longer fighting. I place the fruit on her tongue, watching her closely as she chews and swallows.
She turns pleading eyes to me. “T-the more I eat, the bigger they get…”
“Exactly,” I purr next to her ear.
Andromeda shivers, and her back arches, tightening the silk across her pussy. That earns a deep moan.
I keep a gentle hand on her jaw, and she lets it fall open again, tongue lolling out.
My breath catches. Fucking stars, she’s gorgeous.
I am happy for the other hucows, the naturally submissive ones that take well to any master. I help them find a place where they can be content, and I’m proud of that.
But this… Andromeda requires a precise, firm hand. One unwise move could shatter her trust forever.
It’s pride, I know, but I feel sure of it: only I can unravel her like this.
Only I can make her mine.
I set another piece of fruit on her tongue, and she obediently eats it.
She whimpers at the subsequent growth, which stretches the silk, pinching her nipples harder and narrowing the pressure over her cunt.
Out of her view, I watch the readout from her ear tag on a tablet screen. Her pulse gradually quickens as her arousal wells.
I keep feeding her, and she relaxes further and further into that soft, hazy space. Soon, only my hand holds her head upright.
Every breath is a trembling moan as the sensations in her body get more and more intense.
I can tell when the silk between her legs zeroes in on her clit because she gives the deepest moan yet, eyes rolling back in pleasure.
I set the rest of the food aside and run a gentle palm over her taut breast.
Andromeda already had gorgeous, thick thighs when she arrived here, and the transformation has given her the most luscious hips and ass I’ve ever seen.
Her breasts have now swollen to grotesque size, like an icon of feminine nurturance. It’s a topic Andromeda seems to have a complicated relationship with. I wonder if I can change that.
I wonder if I can show her the gift that she is when she does nothing more than sleep and eat and be.
I smooth my warm palms over her breasts, and she moans, shaking.
Never before have I felt this way about a hucow—or anything. Or anyone. I’ve thought of hucows much like how the humans in my books speak of their bees: with affection. Interest. Professional pride. But this goes far beyond that.
I don’t only crave her milk.
I crave her.
My hind legs slide over each other, sending the mating rattle clicking through the small space. I let it happen as my hands slide up her breasts to her cheeks.
“Oh, Andromeda…”
She leans into my touch.
“Look at what you do to me.”
The suggestion brings her gently back into awareness, and she blinks and lifts her head. Her gaze scans my face, and her brow knits and relaxes in a complex emotion.
I raise myself so she can more easily see the base of my human torso. “My pedipalps—”
“Cocks,” she says, with sass despite her state. “Just… call them your cocks.”
I laugh and slide my fingers into her hair. “My cocks… they throb for you.”
Andromeda watches, mesmerized, as my pedipalps slide over each other. Every time they twitch, more clear fluid pours out of the small opening in the smooth end, dripping down the segmented limb and wetting my underbelly before falling to the silk below.
Her mouth waters, and she swallows. “That’s a lot of fluid…”
“It’s… quite effective for hydration,” I offer.
Andromeda’s eyes flick up to mine. “Please, I don’t know how to ask any nicer than this, for the love of all that is holy, I need your cock in my mouth.”