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"Say, Mister Wilson," asked Webber, "d'you know what sex is?"
Wilson dropped the log suit he was tying together, looking suddenly even paler than usual.
"I... W-well... Why do you ask?"
Webber tilted his head curiously. "We know what it is. Or, at least... he does." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "The spider, I mean. He knows and he's... very insistent about it. But I'm still not one-hundred-percent sure."
"Oh." Wilson looked over to the bright-eyed, dark-furred youth sitting across from him by the dying fire. It had become commonplace, the fact that this monstrous abnormality lived and coexisted with him, but the truth remained that Webber was largely an enigma, one of which Wilson found himself particularly curious about. The boy could eat monster meat to no ill-effects whatsoever! Yet still seemed to prefer more typical human delicacies. His biology was strange, fascinating, but he had never contemplated Webber's sexuality.
He knew that Webber-the-human was likely pre-pubescent upon consumption, and the spider, as it wasn't a larva, had to be a sexually mature adult. How did that affect the child inside? Did human-Webber continue to mature into adolescence inside the spider, did the hormones affect any aspect of their growth and development?
And, most importantly, how on earth could he pose these questions to his campmate without Wilson feeling as predatory as he already did?
"W-well..." Wilson cleared his throat, glancing around camp. The other survivors were off, hunting the Antlion, and he knew it would only be the two of them around until daybreak. He wasn't sure if that thought relaxed or terrified him. "What...do you know?"
Webber kicked his claws, looking thoughtful. "Sometimes our spider half gets these... feelings. Weird, tingling feelings, that last differing amounts of time. But lately we feel like... they've been getting stronger? And it makes us want to... uh... do things."
"Do things," Wilson repeated.
"Yeah," said Webber.
Wilson dimly noticed that Webber had started to -- to --
Well, to put it simply, started to get hard. His light pink, wet-looking sex organ had just barely begun to poke out from the fur of his groin, against, it seemed, his own awareness, as the youth continued to talk.
"We guess… no, we know there has to be at least two people for sex. And it makes you feel drawn to other creatures... and makes you want to... put pressure against yourself... to kinda... take away the ache?"
Wilson knew Webber was blushing under the dark fur.
"What kind of pressure?"
"Oh. Like." Webber squirmed. "Like touching ourself. It feels... good."
Wilson imagined Webber, hunkered under a bedspread by the fire, delicate claws probing himself and exploring the new feelings his body was having, new sensations across this part of his anatomy he likely gave no thought to before. He imagined what it was like to develop these confusing, intense feelings as a human and how much more complicated it must be as a human-spider hybrid, having no one to ask for advice, no precedent for your developments, no one to trust, except…
Wilson cursed himself as he felt his dick twitch.
It was so very wrong to feel this way.
But he told himself it wasn't aimed at Webber. And that was mostly true. He held no attraction to the boy. It was, first and foremost, a very dark, twisted, sick sense of curiosity and need for discovery; it was science at its worst and most perverse.
He wanted to know what Webber's sexual onset entailed. Of all the beasts in the constant, varying widely in their sexual egress, this spider-child was most mysterious.
"You know the spiders here -- you know they... go into heat, right?" said Wilson.
"Into heat?"
"Yes, like beefalo -- but not as obvious. Their behavior doesn't change, at least not towards us -- only towards each other. Shortly before a spider queen arrives, the drones will all go into breeding season, to prepare for mating the queen, and they even start mounting each other. It's a pheromone thing."
"Oh," Webber said, "oh."
"Yes."
"That explains a lot."
"I figure your spider-half goes into heat, as well," Wilson continued, "perhaps not as frequently, or as obviously, but I'm sure you've picked up on when other spiders are in heat."
"They smell different," Webber said. "Smell nice. Makes us want to... cuddle with them."
"Just cuddle?"
"Mister Wilson," Webber said, shifting, looking a bit pained. "I feel... weird."
"Like you're in heat?" Wilson probed. He couldn't help himself. Being able to talk to a sapient creature like this, it was fascinating --
"Maybe," Webber whimpered, "I... oh, no, I'm sorry--"
He twisted away in embarrassment, and Wilson saw his flushed, erect length.
"Don't be ashamed," Wilson said, voice low, and found himself scooting closer. "Nothing to be embarrassed of. It's perfectly natural. Your human parts going through pubescence, your spider parts, inflamed by its estrus, reacting accordingly, it's all a mess of pheromones and hormones. I'm sure you have so much pent-up energy."
Nodding shakily, Webber unfurled himself, his length glistening in the firelight.
Wilson couldn't take his eyes off it.
"I think we are in heat," Webber said, voice soft and low. "We've been feeling so... so tingly. And whenever we pass by a spider's den, it's more than just wanting to join them, we... it's like an instinct... and this won't ever go away now." He gestured downwards miserably.
"May..." Wilson's voice faltered, but he persisted. "May I take a closer look?"
Webber seemed taken aback. "Are... you sure? It's... gross."
"I can make you feel better," Wilson said, and those seemed to be the magic words.
Webber's length was tapered, mottled pink and light gray. From the very limited experience observing them, Wilson considered it similar to a wild spider, but larger and more rigid -- more human.
He placed his finger against it, and a shock went through Webber.
"Mister Wilson," he whimpered.
"Does that feel good?" he queried.
Webber was quivering, all of his eyes focused on Wilson, and the scientist felt the flesh twitch under his fingers.
"I... I want..."
"What do you want?" Wilson began languidly stroking the silky-smooth underside of Webber's length, curiously monitoring the spider-child's reactions.
"Oh, oh," Webber's claws twitched, his little fangs biting his lower lip, "oh it feels so good, we want more... Please, Mister Wilson, it keeps... it keeps getting stronger..."
Curling his hand around Webber's girth, Wilson began slowly and deliberately pumping his hand. "Tell me how you feel," Wilson said, voice low and urgent. "Is it building in you? The urge to breed? To fuck?"
"To f-fuck?" Webber panted, his hips jerking, eyes glassy. "I feel, I want -- to put it -- inside, something, press it against something, ahhh--"
"Fascinating," Wilson murmured, and, not wanting to alarm Webber, slowly shifted himself to a more comfortable position -- seated directly next to the spider-child, his curled fingers pumping Webber's length.
His many eyes fluttered.
"Mister Wilson," he panted, "oh, oh god, it feels so much--"
"Is it okay?" Wilson asked, slowing his movements, and a part of him said this is wrong, this is so very wrong , but was it so bad to help his campmate feel better? To relieve him from some of this tension?
"I-I'm okay," Webber gasped, his claws clenching. "It's just a lot. But, oh, it feels so good, it... makes this ache go away--" he started subconsciously humping into Wilson's hand -- "mm, Mister Wilson --"
"I can definitely help you with that."
Wilson added a twist of his wrist to his movements, a bobbing, silky, continuous stroke over the length of Webber's shaft, over and over, and Webber --
His mandibles gaped, his claws quivered, and the base, primal part of his spider brain, hungry and devolved, drooled.
"Hh-hh-hh," he panted, and his eight eyes widened, and Webber's desperate claws grabbed onto Wilson, clutching the older man's shoulder, pulling him close, and thrusting pitifully into his fist.
His fangs chattered, nictitating membranes of his eyelids fluttering, he stuttered, "Oh, you feel so -- so good, it's so tight and so much and I'm -- ah!"
Wilson had clenched his fist, sending a vibration of pleasure across Webber's skin, making his charcoal fur raise and hackle, shivering and shuddering.
His crooning, increasing rapidly in pitch, was not dissimilar to a cat in heat, and Wilson was grateful -- so very damn grateful -- his teammates were not in audible range.
With a very sudden jerk of his tiny hips, a jolt that shook through Webber’s entire body, he thrust up into Wilson’s fist and, with no preamble, ejaculated.
Wilson started, but kept stroking Webber through the sudden slickness, and the increased pitch of his whines. He was surprised, but not too surprised. For all he knew -- yet it disgusted him to think this way -- this could be one of Webber’s first orgasms, ever. It was no surprise he hadn’t lasted very long.
What was a surprise, however, was that his erection didn’t go away.
After a few moments of stilling, riding out the aftershocks of orgasm, Webber began slowly but surely continuing to thrust once more, some of the friction dulled by the slick coating over his length. Wilson figured it must be his youth and inexperience, possibly a much faster refractory period caused by his heat, and likely both.
He took mental notes.
"I know this feels good," Wilson murmured, feeling Webber's claw twitch as they dug into his shoulder, his slender hips still working away at Wilson's hand. "And, mm, I hope I taught you some... techniques you can repeat on yourself. But I know how to make you feel... even better."
"Hhh?" Webber's thrusts stuttered, and he tilted his head against the side of Wilson's. "Even... better?"
He was disgusting, he knew he was, for taking advantage of Webber's age, inexperience, his first heat.
"How do you think it'd feel if that was my mouth, instead?"
Dark murmuring, voice low, and the spider's thrusts stopping entirely, fur puffing again under Wilson's fingers, as Webber, brain addled and slowed by lust, machinated to comprehend what Wilson had suggested.
"...oh."
It was a clumsy, hasty operation. Wilson was violently, vividly aware of everything, and Webber's vision blurred, senses dulled, as the only thing he could feel was the painful throbbing ache of his cock.
Stumbling to his hands and knees, Wilson felt needle-sharp spider claws thread through his hair, and he looked up to see Webber's many watery, needy eyes.
With their height difference, his pale, pulsing cock was almost exactly at Wilson's eye level.
He would always hesitate to admit it, would stumble out hasty excuses of scientific experimentation if pressed, but while he refused to put labels upon himself, it was factual truth that Wilson had fellated other Y-chromosome individuals before. Truthfully, more than several. And like anyone with a healthy interest in physical biology, he was fascinated by the wonderful and strange genitalia of the natural world.
In his time on the Constant, he had observed many of the bizarre courtship rituals of the otherworldly creatures that resided there. Beefalo in heat were a force to be respected, enough to halt an entire team's worth of planning to work around, and the smell and sound of mating season could be heard for a full mile. He had watched the strange, elaborate ritual of the pigmen gathering and collaborating to... "milk" the pig king. He had seen the violence and passion of breeding pengulls, and the upsettingly hefty genitalia they possessed. He'd even, on a sleepless night in a desert, crouching by a smoldering campfire and praying the wind wouldn't change direction, watched a hound's mound for any sign of danger and caught the sight of two nipping, whimpering hounds, locked together by copulatory tie post-coitus.
(Of course, he'd seen many human penises up close, as well. And though the remarkably well engineered canine penis took first place for sure, human penises, with their enticing shape and pleasant mouthfeel, edged out a respectable second place.)
However, the one he had in front of him, currently, was like one he had never seen before. Everything from the shape -- a slightly rounded head on the tip, tapering perfectly to a widened base, emerging from a slit amongst Webber's pubic fur -- to the coloring, soft blush mottled with off-white, shimmery and slick -- to the smell, a distinct earthy, bitter smell he noticed around spider's nests, particularly when the nests were breeding.
It was fascinating, and enticing, and Wilson wondered how it would taste as well.
Deciding this would require further scientific testing, he tentatively opened his mouth, extending his tongue.
Webber's hips jerked -- eager, eager -- his claws tightening in Wilson's hair, and he brought his hips forward, placing the tip against Wilson's lips.
"Ah," Webber murmured, and Wilson knew he could see stars.
He pursed his lips, tongue swirling as he detected the slit, already leaking copiously over Wilson's tongue. Webber's precum was slick, almost oily, and while there were acrid hints of some of the bitterness present in the taste of monster meat, there was none of the foulness. Instead, almost a bright, floral note. It reminded him, with an odd pang of longing for the life he had left behind, of coffee.
He could not believe he was mentally documenting the flavor profile of a human-spider hybrid's semen, but it was for science, after all.
Yet, by the insistence of the claws tugging into his hair, as Wilson swallowed Webber deeper and felt the spider's hips twitch dangerously, Wilson had a feeling he had to shelve this description work in progress for now.
Webber was in heat. He knew this quite clearly. And he had an idea of what this entailed.
He was erect, and leaking, and humping against any nearby warm, giving material. Wilson recognized the feeling well from his own teenage years, and tried to imagine that, magnified by the animal instinct to breed.
He knew Webber must want, instinctually, to fuck himself silly into whichever slick hole allowed him to. Generations upon countless generations of constant spider intercourse had burned the pursuit of sexual gratification into the spider brain deep enough that there was no ironing it away.
And despite that, his size was, genuinely, nothing to sneeze at. The gentle taper in the shape of the penis meant it was unbelievably easy to take down the throat, as a few cursory ventures proved. Even without his impressive gag reflex, Wilson could tell that it would be easy enough for Webber to fuck himself deep enough down Wilson's throat that he could feel Webber's furry mons pubis press against his forehead.
And that was entirely what he intended to have happen.
It was only polite, after all.
Wilson let his jaw slack, gave himself a moment to regret his choice in lack of wrist or knee padding and apologized to his joints. He curled his tongue around Webber's shaft and took him deeper.
He sucked, burying his head to Webber's base, feeling the hot, firm cock wedge itself down his throat, throbbing deeply against his tonsils, and Webber's body jolted as if struck by lightning.
A moment before it happened, Wilson realized it would, with a very dim, echoing sort of realization, Webber, his campmate, a youth half his age covered in fur, was going to fuck his throat.
"Mister Wilson," Webber gasped, and Wilson's toes curled as Webber started thrusting.
For his merit, Webber tried to be gentle. He started with a few, hesitant, nervous jerks of his hips, but as soon as he realized that Wilson could take his entire length, he immediately picked up the speed and ferocity of his thrusts, slamming himself against Wilson’s face.
He could already tell, from the amount of fluid spurted down his throat, that this wasn't going to last long.
Which was fine, because his legs were beginning to cramp something fierce, and this was Webber's first time receiving oral sex, and judging by his last round there was no way he would last anything longer than a couple minutes, but Wilson couldn't help the thought -- the wispy, terrifying thought that drifted over his subconcious -- maybe next time would last longer.
The words next time pounded against his frontal lobe, in rhythm with Webber's shuddering thrusts down his throat.
There would not be a next time. There could not be a next time. This was purely for depraved research, no ulterior motives, no lust other than Webber's purely natural, carnal urge to fuck. This wasn't going to become a series of trysts.
Wilson told himself this, trying to convince his brain, as his own arousal tenting his slacks seemed very soundly convinced otherwise.
Webber moaned, loudly, his claws tightening in Wilson's hair, and there was something so animalistic and feral about the way he looked down, eyes narrowing in pleasure, watching his cock disappear over and over down Wilson's throat.
And there was something so delicious about being used, about just kneeling there and fucking taking it and letting Webber have his way with him because in this moment, Wilson meant nothing to the child. He wasn't the proper, if somewhat debased scientist who always had a plan and a pun, always trying to ensure the survivors’ safety. Right now, Wilson was just a tight, hot, wet hole to fuck into, to release those basic carnal urges, to breed a new litter of spiders into.
The thought made Wilson swallow, his mouth dry despite the expanse of slippery fluid, and Webber hissed his pleasure.
"Mm, oh, oh it feels so good, we... we're gonna..."
Webber's thrusts increased in pace, the dull muffled slap of his pelvis against Wilson's jaw reverberating through his skull.
One, two, three more thrusts, then Webber's claws dug in, distant pinpricks of pain that were lost against--
--against the sensation of the thick, tapered cock burying itself past Wilson's tonsils, down into his throat where he had no choice what to with its release.
He was gagging, close to choking, as he gulped down Webber's essence best he could, and whatever lucid part of his brain remained noted that apparently, he ejaculated a lot.
Wilson moved to pull away, realizing, with a dull pang of terror that he very much could not breathe and at first Webber relented but then, after one more spurt, slowly released Wilson's hair. He pulled off, reflexively spitting what remained in his mouth, as a couple weaker jets spurted from Webber's length onto Wilson's collar.
Vision hazy, Wilson looked up at Webber. His wiry black fur was puffed, his many eyes all narrowed to slits of contentment, his arachnid jaw gaping as he panted for breath. His entire body trembled, and his length still pulsed with the aftershocks of orgasm.
Wilson couldn't help but feel a little bit proud of himself, in a sickly, disgusting way.
After a couple moments, as Wilson leaned back, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and watched in fascination as the spider's sex organ slowly grew flaccid and retreated back into its sheath, Webber found his voice.
"That was... oh... oh man."
Wilson had never heard Webber sound so clouded over. The spider was looking down at him, eyes still slitted, with only a fraction of clarity returned to his gaze.
"I... I never thought I could feel so good. Is... was that... was that...?"
With a burning sense of guilt, Wilson looked away. "That's sex, yes. Two... individuals helping one another to achieve orgasm."
"It felt really, really, really good... wow..." Webber licked his fangs, and suddenly dropped down as his wobbly knees gave out and he found himself collapsed at Wilson's level. "Ouch."
Wilson chuckled, despite the panic and fear mounting, the urge to furiously jerk away his own erection,
(the urge to fuck Webber into the dirt, see how tight this spider's hole is,)
but instead, he leaned out to retrieve a nearby cloth bandage and began wiping away some stray drops of semen from Webber’s thighs.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Wilson said, watching Webber absently paw at his softening length, stroking through the dim sensations, his eyes still glazed-over.
“We did, we did,” Webber exhaled a delighted sigh, stretching his claws contentedly, but after a few moments, his eyes snapped open.
“Mister Wilson! I’m so sorry! Well, for the mess, for one,” he said, realizing the state of Wilson’s appearance (which he figured was even more disheveled than usual). “But, uh, isn’t it your turn now? I want you to feel that good, too!”
It was now Wilson’s turn to blush, and stutter at words, particularly as it was evident that Webber noticed the bulge between his legs.
He may be inexperienced, but it wasn’t hard to tell what that meant.
“No, Webber,” Wilson began, choosing his words carefully, “it… probably wouldn’t be for the best if you reciprocated onto me. Or, actually, if we ever do this again. In fact, we should probably not speak of this, it was a lapse of judgement in my part, and I know it felt good, but--”
His words were cut short as Webber crashed onto his lap, pulling Wilson into a very tight embrace. For a terrifying second, Wilson was worried Webber would try to something as sentimental as kiss him -- not to mention that he wasn’t even sure how that would work , what with the fangs -- but Webber merely buried his face into Wilson’s still very sticky collar, nuzzling into him despite the mess.
“We won’t tell anyone, we promise! We know that this is supposed to be a private event.” Wilson felt Webber’s fangs click thoughtfully. “Even though Wigfrid and Mister Imp aren’t ever very quiet--”
“Oh lord,” Wilson murmured, and Webber laughed again.
“It’ll be our little secret, Mister Wilson. I need to repay you for helping me! I haven’t felt that good before… ever.”
His arousal pounded in his pants, as Webber’s tiny frame brushed against it in his lap, and Wilson saw shadow creatures flicker in the edges of his vision as he licked his lips.
No one would know but them.
He lifted Webber off his lap, and ruffled the spider’s fur playfully.
“Perhaps we will. I have something in mind for you to… pay me back. But let’s get cleaned up first, shall we?”
“Okay!” Webber bounded to his feet, rushing off to gather some water from the nearby spring, and Wilson watched his slender limbs sprint off.
With a heavy, defeated sigh, he began to unbuckle his pants.
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