My hands fall to her head, sliding through her curls, and she moans around me.
I swear in my native tongue as a climax blazes through me. Given the cannibalistic history of Arachnoids and that females are on average stronger and larger, male Arachnoids tend to cum quickly and often.
My untouched cock fountains across her chest.
When my trembling slows, she leans back, catching her breath. “Free my hands.”
“I—”
“Pleasefree my hands.”
Her urgency worries me, so I immediately do as she asks, snipping the threads that bind her forearms together.
She swings her arms around to the front, shoves my second cock down her throat, and wraps her hands around the first.
A stream of curses flows from me as pleasure explodes from her touch, and my hands grip the silk above to keep my humanoid torso upright.
“Fuck,you’re a slut,” I gasp. I don’t mean to say it aloud—I know it’s a sensitive topic.
The word goes straight to Andromeda’s core, and she moans around my length, pulling it deeper, choking around me as she frantically pumps my other cock.
I regain control of my breathing. “Oh, do you like that? Hearing what an eager, needy slut you are?”
Her eyes roll back with a long moan and she trembles around my cock.
“A gorgeous, hopeless, stubborn little slut. An unruly little cow…” I tighten my grip in her hair. “…in need of a firm hand.”
She’s practically sobbing her pleasure now, each movement plucking the string of silk between her legs, carrying the sensation straight to her clit.
Suddenly, her breath catches and her body goes taut.
Uncertain. Waiting for my approval.
Powerful pleasure surges in my core.
“Cum for me,” I command.
She screams around my length as she obeys, body shaking with every wave, milk weeping from her breasts.
I tip over my own edge. The cock in her hands showers her chest with clear, viscous fluid as my other cock pumps down her throat.
When our climaxes taper off, I practically have to pry my cocks from her throat and hands. Left to her own devices, she might’ve sucked my cock until she passed out from lack of oxygen.
I ease down until my face is at the level of hers, and I hold my hand against her cheek as her breathing evens out.
The weight of her breasts strains the silk I wove for her—and strains the limits of what she can handle. I’ll need to milk her soon, regardless.
She takes a deep breath, whimpering quietly at the pull on the silk. Milk beads on her nipples, sliding down the curve of her breasts.
“Sylvus… will you please…”
I’m already nodding. I think we both expect her to saymilk me. But with my face only inches from hers, those aren’t the words that come out.
“Kiss me?”
Our breath mingles between us. Vulnerability shines in her eyes.
“I’m… not sure if that’s a good idea…”
