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“What are you….”
My question is cut off as Order puts me face down on the bed, and follows me down, his big body crouched over mine, his mouth against my neck. I feel that sharp moment, and the flood of warmth that heralds a slight sedation.
“I’m going to punish your ass,” he tells me. “Because I don’t ever, and I do meanever,want you to follow those instincts again. You will remember this punishment, my pet.”
He spreads my legs and my cheeks, and I feel a soft dollop of something gooey on the sensitive bud of my ass. He is being very businesslike at the moment, so damn stern. I wonder how mad he is underneath all this self-control.
As promised, his venom is coursing through me, making my muscles feel melty and warm. I can still move, but it is as though I am trying to move through a sea of heated jelly.
“You were a bad girl,” he lectures, taking my attention back with his words. “I expect you to stay where I leave you. I have to be able to trust you, or I will have to leash you, won’t I.”
I feel the silk at my neck as he weaves another collar around my throat. But this time it is not just a collar. This time he adds a strong leash, which he fists in one of his many hands to put a persistent, reminding pressure on my neck. I am his pet, and I was a very wild and naughty girl. That is why he is going to defile me.
His cock finds my lubricated bud, and begins to push in. If not for his venom, I’d resist, and that resistance would make it really hurt. As it is, I feel pressure and stretching, and a blushing sort of humiliation flooding my body because I know why this is happening.
“When you’re a very bad girl, I have to fuck your ass,” Order tells me, as if it is the most natural rule in the world. I feel a sort of a pop, a release of pressure as he breaches the barrier of my ass and the hot flesh of his spider cock enters me.
Slowly, dominantly, and absolutely surely, Order presses all the way inside my tight, cock-punished ass.
“Bad doggie,” he growls.
I want to squirm and wriggle, whimper and moan, but all I can do is lie there and let out soft little sounds of acquiescence. I deserve this, and because I deserve this,it feels so fucking good.
I submit to him, totally and fully. I give up anything like a fight, and I let Order pleasure me in the dirtiest way.
“We are all creatures of instinct,” he lectures me as he fucks me. “But you must learn to contain those instincts. I need you with me, Tessie. I don’t want to lose you.”
There is so much emotion in his voice, so much intensity that I feel myself sob in return.
“Don’t make me cry when I’m going to come,” I whimper.
Order lets out a dark, guttural chuckle. “I should have known you’d enjoy this. Even without the venom, you’d be hungry for punishment, wouldn’t you.”
“Yesss…” I hiss the confession. I do have the tiniest taste for discipline. There is a particular intensity to feeling like I have been bad and then being reined in. My wolf self is a potentially frightening thing, but Order makes me feel like he has me well in hand. And as he promised in the beginning, he’ll always find me.
“Come for me then,” he growls. “Come for me with my cock in your ass. Show me what a filthy little pet I have.”
I obey him instantly, grinding my pussy into the bed and coming on chemical waves of sexual venom. The sensation is borderline psychedelic as pleasure rushes through my nervous system, release freeing me from guilt into awesome relief.
Order wraps me up in his arms and holds me close for a long time, his cock pumping seed into my ass for what seems like a molten eternity. I am still drifting happily on a haze of post-coital pleasure and venomous high when he gets up and begins to make preparations for what I find myself hazily hoping is our very last escape.
* * *
The airfield is between New York and Virginia, and it looks like the sort of place where farmers fly crop dusters out over fields. Not the sort of place you’re going to get a luxury airborne vehicle.
Order parks my car inside one of the hangars, and Obigor and I get out to inspect our next transport.
It’s a plane. But not a modern jet. It’s a big old plane, a shiny metallic body and oversized propellors. It looks big, and solid, and safe.
When I board, I discover that the seats are twice the width of modern airliners, and much further apart. There is a full bar at the rear of the plane, and more than enough room to lay out flat on the seats. The color scheme is soothing greens and blues.
“This!” I declare, spreading my arms in a way that would mean slapping at least four other passengers in the face on one of our more modern planes. “Why did we stop flying this way?”
“Profits,” Order says.
“Profits suck,” I complain. “This is so much more… adult. Not in the sexy way, just in the treating people like they’re real adults sort of way.”
It’s a weird tangent, but I’m on it, suddenly realizing just how juvenile, maybe even infantilizing, most modern experiences are. In a proper airport, we’d be herded through security stations, being barked at and ordered around like barely sentient stock. I’m not a fan of air travel, generally, but this feels like an experience I’m going to enjoy.
