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The spider is once again faced with an oral obstacle. Some situation with a brittle tooth and a vertical crack—Lace had warned her about crunching thoughtlessly through hard foods—but the long and short of it is: Hornet needs a tooth extracted.
She has, of course, made it Lace’s problem.
Because of her Weaver heritage, Hornet hesitates to be professionally attended to, concerned that the physiology of her healing may arouse suspicion from the healthcare team. Her reluctance is further reinforced by her hypothesis that Lace’s silk, if provided in a free, malleable form, is capable of closing her wounds almost instantaneously. In less refined terms, she wants Lace to come in her mouth.
This time, at least, they’ve found a better restraint tool for Hornet. Instead of ropes around a chair, the spider now lies on a medieval-looking device referred to as a papoose board. That’s what the shifty merchant they got it from called it, anyway.
The rigid oblong board that serves as the base is placed flat on their bed. On top of it, Hornet lies facing upwards, her arms straight and close to her sides. All three pairs of straps on either side of the board have been wrapped over her bare form, their ends attached securely over one another. The spider has essentially been straitjacketed.
A little crude in its design, perhaps, but it is crucial Hornet remains still for this procedure.
In addition to an improved restraint system, they’ve managed to acquire steel instruments that were fashioned for the exact purpose of tooth removal—courtesy of the same shifty merchant, though he cites a separate medical personnel as the original supplier.
Straddling Hornet’s torso, Lace makes herself comfortable as she prompts Hornet’s mouth open with an ahh. In one hand, she holds a flat-ended screwdriver-like tool. In the other, she holds the offending tooth firmly between two fingers.
She wedges the flat tip of the instrument into the space between tooth and bone, observing Hornet’s expression. The spider winces—the extent of her reaction to the increase in pressure she is surely feeling.
Lace goes on to wriggle further. With each turn of her wrist, Hornet’s wince deepens into a scowl. It teeters on the edge of a growl when Lace repositions the instrument to form a lever between tooth and bone. She curls her wrist and the motion causes the tooth to elevate slightly out of its socket. Hornet visibly spasms with the pain. Even wrapped up and cocooned, her body jerks violently at the assault on her tooth, the force being enough to stretch the nerves but not enough to tear.
Lace tuts.
The tooth is already showing signs of loosening. They cannot have progress slowed now.
She slides down the spider’s torso until her thighs frame either sides of Hornet’s head.
“We’ll have to ask Grindle if he has something for keeping your head still,” Lace chastises. However serious she makes herself out to be, she can’t help the widening smile now that her cunt is flush against the juncture between Hornet’s chin and neck. With how close they are, she knows the spider can smell her arousal. Hell, even as she pulls back a little, she can clearly see the glistening trail of slick she left along the column of Hornet’s neck. “For now, this will have to do.”
With that, Lace trades the screwdriver-like tool for a pair of forceps. Her new position makes things somewhat more difficult. Slippery with fluids as it is, the tooth slides out of her grasp each time she goes to hold it with the instrument. She swears there hadn’t been as much saliva previously.
“Swallow,” Lace instructs. A tingle runs gleefully up her spine when Hornet heeds her order with a subsequent sly lick of her lips. There is undeniable enjoyment in the spider’s hooded gaze.
The tooth now in a drier state, the sharp beaks of the forceps are able to dig effortlessly into it. Lace rocks the tooth back and forth in its socket, each motion felt through the bone as it expands with the pressure. The bone stretches, widens in minute increments but does not break.
Within the confines of the papoose board, Hornet’s eyes are clenched shut, her muscles tense. Try as she might to turn her head, Lace’s thighs keep her securely in place.
Once Lace deems the tooth sufficiently mobile, she tightens her grip—the only warning she gives Hornet—before twisting. The tooth pops out of its socket with a vacuum-esque squelch, blood and something slimy following in its wake. Momentarily stunned, she loses her hold on it and the offending thing slips and falls onto the covers of their bed, forgotten.
If the spider means to cry out at the sudden jolt of pain, the notion is lost when Lace immediately aligns her wet cunt with Hornet’s open mouth. The last thing Lace sees of the extraction site is a steadily overflowing pool of red as she plants herself onto Hornet’s face, both hands gripping the headboard for support.
Hornet suppresses a groan; it is half a gurgle, half a gasp around the mouthful of blood and saliva and Lace. Tears well up at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill forth in paired streaks. Despite the discomfort, it doesn’t impede her from dutifully setting her tongue to work. It flattens to lave broad strokes against Lace. Soon, the laps turn into licks, dipping in between fluttering folds in search of warmth and softness.
Lace cannot imagine the spider can taste anything beyond the copper of her own wound. Whatever the case, Hornet consumes with the same fervour of a starved beast at a banquet; she consumes Lace as though she is the entrée, main course, and dessert all at once.
Beneath her, Hornet’s mouth is a drowning expanse of fluids. Blood, saliva, and arousal dribble down her chin, viscoelastic and spinnbarkeit-like in the way only such mixture can be.
Lace steadies herself against the bed frame and grinds, uncaring that the motion yields a fresh splurge of blood. If Hornet feels pain, she makes no move to say so. Her tongue busies itself with deeper plunges, wriggling into warm crevices, expanding the soft walls of Lace’s insides. The only sound the spider makes is a muffled moan as Lace selfishly pulls her closer by the hair.
The sound reverberates. Its vibrations travel from Hornet’s throat to Lace’s cunt, compelling her to spread her legs further, as if doing so will bring Hornet any nearer than she already is.
Lace pushes down, settles her weight heavily onto the spider underneath her, and is delighted when Hornet cranes her neck to push back up with equal force. As if she cannot get enough of Lace. As if she begs to suffocate under her.
The grip she has in Hornet’s hair tightens. The spider takes it as a sign that Lace is close, obediently quickening her pace, laps and licks increasing in frequency.
“S-spider—” She stutters, all other words lost in the frenzied chase for completion.
Hornet answers with a muffled noise. Lace cannot be bothered to decipher what is said as she all but fucks herself on Hornet’s tongue, willing it deeper into herself, angling her hips so that she can envelope it wholly.
Lace comes with a gasp, with unabashed grinds against Hornet’s face as she crests, the bump of her nose serving as nothing more than a bulge for Lace to rub against. Beneath her, Hornet angles her head until her mouth is clamping onto Lace again. She closes around the swollen nub of Lace’s clit and sucks, drawing out a high pitched whine as Lace forcibly comes again, this time with a watery expulsion and twice as intense.
Hornet drinks it up greedily. Even as Lace attempts to cant her hip away from the overstimulation, she can sense the spider struggling within her confines, arms fighting to be released so that they may keep her in place.
“Enough…” Lace murmurs hazily.
Her legs are trembling as they give out. She flops unceremoniously onto the wet mess that is Hornet’s face, lower half sliding lazily to ride out the aftershocks.
“Unbind me,” Hornet says. And—Lace isn’t sure if it’s the hoarse voice of the way the spider’s breath puffs against the slick between her legs, but she shivers. There is something ravenous and raw in Hornet’s request to be released. Lace will not survive if she concedes.
“So you can unravel me again?”
“Yes.”
Lace hums, head tilted in a faux show of contemplation.
“Mmh. But you’ve been so good like this,” she coos, making a point of dragging the length of her slit across Hornet’s nose, allowing it to dip in just a little before stopping above Hornet’s mouth, relishing in the soft licks targeted at her folds. So very good, indeed. Lace lets it go on for a bit before pushing off entirely, choosing instead to straddle the spider’s torso. “Let me check your wound.”
Lace pries Hornet’s mouth open with a thumb between her teeth. (Pry is perhaps the wrong word. With Lace’s come clogged in her nostrils and impeding her breathing, Hornet’s jaw readily slacks when prompted.)
The extraction socket is a socket no more. Having healed over, it is a beautiful shade of gummy pink. The plump flesh overlying the wound glistens with the light, beckoning Lace to give it a taste.
She bends down to close the distance between them. The taste of her own arousal mingled with remnants of blood overwhelms her senses, so much so that she nearly misses Hornet’s repeated let me out, the murmur softer but no less urgent.
“I’ll see about releasing you once I have my fun,” Lace chimes mischievously.
With a final peck to the corner of Hornet’s lips, she turns and begins undoing the straps subduing the spider’s legs. It is fortunate that the papoose board came in the size it did. Any larger or smaller, she would not be able to admire the tantalizing view between Hornet’s legs as she did now.