Chapter 362- You Are Mine

In the candlelight. The clear fluid glistening on his skin, thick and warm, stretching between his finger and thumb in a thin, elastic strand.

"It's hot," he said.

His voice was warm. Direct. The tone of a man making an observation about weather.

"I want to feel how it feels inside."

"Don't," she whispered. "Don't do it."

She pushed at him. Her human body shoving against his chest, her spider legs pushing off the wall. He let her. He released her hands. She stumbled, her eight legs scrambling, her human body falling back against the opposite wall.

She looked at him.

Her face was wrecked. Her dark eyes streaming, swollen. Her lips puffed from the kiss, the lower one carrying teeth marks where she had bitten herself. Her tongue, red and wet, hanging slightly from her mouth, gasping. Her silver-white hair stuck to her damp cheeks. Her small chest heaving under the tight black top, the nipples dark and visible through the fabric, hardening against the cool air.

She looked at herself in the puddle on the floor.

The reflection showed her a woman she didn't recognize. Flushed. Tear-streaked. Lips swollen. Eyes wild. The face of a woman who had been kissed into another dimension and was only now returning.

She looked beautiful.

The thought arrived uninvited and was immediately rejected. She looked at his face instead.

His cock was hard.

She could see it through his pants. The outline, thick and long, pressing against the fabric. The twitch visible, the fabric shifting with each pulse. He was aroused. By her. By her body. By the kiss and the finger and the spider pussy that the orphanage children had poked with sticks.

He unzipped.

The sound was loud in the quiet room. The metal teeth separating, the fabric parting, the darkness within yielding to the candlelight.

"Do you really think you are ugly?" he said.

She yelled it.

"I AM UGLY!"

The words came out raw, torn, ripped from the place where she had stored them for twenty years. The place where the orphanage voices lived, where the monster roars echoed, where the wooden spoon had touched and been thrown away.

He didn't flinch.

"Do you really think you are ugly?" he repeated. "See my state."

He pulled his cock free.

It swung upward.

Twelve inches. The full, thick, dark length of it, springing from his open zipper with the sudden, heavy weight of a weapon being drawn. The head was crimson, flushed, the skin stretched tight and shiny. The veins ran along the shaft in thick, dark ridges, pulsing with each heartbeat. The girth was wider than her wrist, the length longer than her forearm, the weight of it pulling the shaft downward in a slow, heavy arc before it hardened fully and rose.

She trembled.

Her whole body. Human and spider. The eight legs scraping against the floor. Her human hands gripping the wall behind her. Her dark eyes fixed on his cock with the wide, unblinking stare of a woman seeing one for the first time in person.

"You're an animal," she gasped, her voice hitching on a wet swallow.

Her voice was thin. Breathless. The accusation carrying none of the authority she intended.

"I would tell you how an animal," she continued, the words tumbling out in the rapid, nervous cadence of a woman whose brain was short-circuiting. "You already know what it means when a man has his cock erected like this. He just wants to prove how he is aroused."

He looked at her.

He wrapped his hand around his shaft. Slowly. His fingers closing around the girth, the dark skin disappearing beneath his grip. He stroked. Once. The foreskin pulling back, the crimson head emerging, the pre-cum beading at the slit and running down the crown in a thin, clear thread.

"You know," he said, his voice conversational, warm, carrying the tone of a man discussing something pleasant over dinner, "your pussy is much hotter than a human woman's."

She blinked.

"The temperature inside you," he continued, stroking again, the motion slow, deliberate, his eyes on her face. "I could feel it through my finger. It was going to tickle me. The ridges. The rings inside. Gripping like little mouths."

She gasped, her thighs twitching together.

Her hands flew to her face. Her silver-white hair fell forward, her dark eyes peeking through her fingers, her pale cheeks burning crimson above her palms.

He stepped forward.

His cock in his hand, he moved toward her spider body. He pressed the shaft against the silver fur of her abdomen. The heat of his cock against the fine, soft hairs, the crimson head dragging across the surface, leaving a thin trail of pre-cum through the silver.

She felt it.

The warmth. The weight. The pulsing of his veins against her spider body. The hardness of him pressing into the soft tissue beneath the fur. Her spider legs curled inward, the tips scraping against each other.

He rubbed.

His cock sliding over her spider belly, the shaft dragging through the fur, the head catching on the segments and popping over each ridge. The friction was warm, the sensation spreading through her body in waves. His balls pressed against her lower segment, the heavy sac dragging across the pink fold, the heat of them searing against her wet, swollen lips.

"Ah..."

The sound came from her human throat. Small. Involuntary. The first sound her body had made that her mind had not authorized.

He leaned forward.

His mouth found her neck. The nape. The soft, pale skin where her silver-white hair ended and her collar began. He opened his mouth. His teeth found the skin. He sucked, a sharp, possessive pull.

The hickey formed.

The blood rising to the surface, the skin darkening, the mark spreading in a red-purple bloom that claimed her throat the way a flag claims territory. She felt the suction, the slight pain, the warmth of his mouth, and her spider body shuddered beneath his rubbing cock.

He pulled back.

She looked at his cock. At the crimson head, now wet with her fluid and his pre-cum, the mixture glistening in the candlelight. She could feel the sensation of it on her spider body, the ghost of his warmth, the memory of his balls pressing against her fold.

It was as hot as her own body.

She realized this with a clarity that terrified her. His cock and her pussy were the same temperature. As if they had been made for the same ecosystem.

He grabbed his cock.

He positioned the head against her fold. The crimson crown pressing against the pink lips, parting the silver fur, the wet heat of her opening meeting the wet heat of his tip.

"Serve it... Don't..."

Her voice was barely audible. A whisper. A reflex. The last defense of a woman whose walls had been built by orphans with sticks.

Her memory flashed.

Her body, vulgar. The spider abdomen, obscene. The fold, the pink flesh, the thing that the matron had explained with embarrassment and the children had touched with spoons. The body that had made her a villain without a crime. The body that had sent her here to die among zombies.

He looked at her.

He placed his thumb inside her mouth. His thumb pressing against her lower lip, pushing past her teeth, resting on her tongue. The gesture was intimate, possessive, the hand-language of a man who was past asking.

"From now on," he said, "you're mine."