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Most times Toriel's voluntary exile was the much needed respite she needed for the centuries she spent as queen. The days and weeks blended together into one conglomerate, to a solitary immortal such as her, lifespan extended to endlessness without a child of her body to claim her energy and, eventually, her life. As such the trappings of a calendar became for those who aged and passed of natural causes of their own accord, where another year spent alive was a celebration marked with cake and the gathering of loved ones. (Toriel had long since forgotten her own birthday, and even her own age.) Such a perspective on time had benefits and drawbacks alike. The benefits were hers alone: Clothes that were once common became vintage and then antique and then artifacts; wait times for pie became blinks of the eye that she could spend simply staring and watching the baking process; knitting went from a menial, extended task to a cheap, brainless way to eventually end up with a sweater. The drawbacks were for others: She could befriend a Froggit when they were young, blink, and miss their college graduation; activities she considered hobbies were hermitlike to the few other monsters that lived in the ruins, making her seem standoffish...

And, naturally, lovers were extremely few and far between.

That fact alone made the hours (weeks, really, in mortal time) pass by with something like pain. At least with Asgore in the same house she had someone to share her baking creations, her sweaters, and her long, long life with. But she had made her decision, and in no way regretted it. He was a coward that took his grief like a weapon against innocents without so much as considering what it would mean for his kingdom, how that would paint them, his footsoldiers and grunts, in the eyes of the much stronger and much more hateful humanity. She couldn't live with a man like that. No matter how much she missed having another body to-

Toriel snapped herself back to the task at hand, not allowing herself to be caught in the throes of lust. That would only make the hollow ache worse, dreaming for what has been rather than focusing on the now. Now, she had a recipe book in her hand, a gift from a...new friend? Old friend? Had the spiderling passed, or was she queen of her kind now? Regardless, the book in her hand had...unorthodox...ingredients written on its pages, but she doubted the girl would mind very much if she made some substitutions. The water canals still ran with crabs, sometimes, dropping from the surface, destined to die outside of their natural habitat, in large enough numbers that she found their meat an excellent resource in lieu of her usual snails...

But the task became mindless enough again, mixing cream cheese, various vegetables, and herbs in with the crab, that her mind began to wander again, this time to the spiderling. So much time had passed since she received this cookbook, the pages were beginning to yellow, so she must be well into adulthood by now (she had been only just one when they met.) How was she now? Had she blossomed and bloomed into the beauty Toriel had always seen in her, always encouraged her to be? As she stirred she imagined how time had been a boon to the girl, making her into an elegant queen not unlike herself, ruler by nature of the spider people. What time had done to her figure, her once-awkward limbs, her underdeveloped fangs...

She caught herself with the familiar burn and groaned at its obnoxious presence. Only three things tried Toriel's infinite patience: books that won't get to the point, recipes that don't want to come together, and her own primal instincts. Times like these she was more woman than mother, more monster than caretaker, something so antithetical to the image she wanted to portray to others that it almost felt forbidden. She could hardly tolerate staying like this for long, even in her own home. So, putting her current project aside and covering the mixing bowl with tin foil, Toriel cleaned her hands as best she could, picking bits of green onion and crab meat out of her otherwise pristine white fur, and made her way into her bedroom, where she could comfortably deal with this situation.

With a soft pair of clicks, her bedroom door closed and locked, and Toriel got to work undressing. This robe needed a wash anyhow, she remembered as she pulled the old thing up and over her horned head and glanced at her body in the mirror. Of all the things to remain the same with time, her own body was one of the most comforting. Her fur never dulled or changed color, her chubby thighs never grew or shrank, the pair of soft, shapely breasts contained beneath a clean purple bra never sagged or stretched. Even the swell of a postpartum tummy, layered still with protective maternity fur, never shrank or grew, despite how much she surely ate these past few centuries. No, her metabolism stayed the same as it always had, her body a perfect snapshot in time of when she was the mother of a young son.

But she couldn't let herself be caught in nostalgia and lust all at once, so she took off her bra next, slowly unveiling near-oversized nipples, soft, hairless and pink with use still. Nary a flick of her thumb over the one on the left made warmth bloom like chrysanthemums across her body, and Toriel came to the slow realization that this had been a long time coming. She had been denying herself unintentionally again; an old, bad habit from before the war, before the barrier. No wonder the mere passing thought of the spider's fangs-

Another shudder, and the matching panties she had worn with her bra were on the ground, allowing easy access to her velvety vulva, guarded now only by thin white protective fur, which was sticking to the skin underneath from her unmet desire. Sighing in the mild relief this brought her, Toriel moved away from the mirror to sit on her bed instead, one clawed finger coming to her soaked folds and peeling them open to reveal her erect clit and pussy beneath, primed for a play session already. She huffed in annoyance. Such a needy part of her body...

The question became now, what exactly was she to do about this matter? Despite her reservations about sex, despite how much of a nusiance it was to her daily routine, Toriel was smart enough to keep a supply of...tools, she would call them, underneath her bed, tucked well and away from any visitors or stray human children that might peruse her room. Different toys of different sizes and functions, purchased online oftentimes and left by some unknowing young monster by the ruins door for her to retrieve later. Toys meant to fill her pussy up, meant to suck her clit with gentle puffs of air, meant to vibrate both in delicious tandem. She decided, this time, she ought to try and settle the matter for a long while as to save herself any further interruption, so, rummaging around in her bin, she dug out a large toy meant for the dogs of Snowden when they had lonely nights: A simply styled red dildo with a thick knot at the end that was a challenge for even her to push through, but oh, so worth it when she managed.

Impatient, but not to the point of losing her sense, Toriel began by lying back on her bed and stroking her long, soft fingers along her folds, drenching them in the process and allowing easy access inside. Even the barest touch, to her neglected pussy, caused a small explosion of warmth in her belly that piled on top of her incessant need until, finally, she couldn't take it, she needed something more, the needy, hollow ache was taking over her mind. She plunged right in with two fingers, throwing her head back against her pillows in the process as she stretched her pussy out little by little, easing the uncomfortable stretch through careful, rhythmic movements.

Again her mind began to wander as she worked herself up to preparation. Her first thoughts, always, were about her ex-husband, the only person allowed to see her like this since she had been two hundred and fifteen years old, a young queen consummating her marriage with her husband, her king. This could never be avoided, but it could be pushed back to the back of her mind, replaced with images from forbidden books. Great hulking dog-monsters transformed into more beastial forms by the light of the full moon, hot breath coming from their muzzles, dominating a young woman much like herself dressed in a scant babydoll nightgown. Naga creatures, their whole lower portion smooth and scaly, their upper half broad and tanned, revealing a long, dexterous dual-penises to a willing victim. ...a spider dominatrix, her fangs flashing in the low light, inflicting her victims with an aphrodisiac-venom as she used them as a living egg sac.

This fantasy she clung to as she pushed the toy slowly, surely, inside her willing pussy, eliciting a soft moan from her own muzzle. And this time, when her mind was inevitably brought back to the now-adult spider queen, she felt no shame in indulging her thoughts. Unlike Toriel herself, Muffet must be a mother now to thousands, maybe millions, of spawn. She was insectoid, not mammalian, and didn't need to parent her own spawn like Toriel did the young prince. Instead she could feel the bliss of impregnation and birth over and over. Such a taboo in her own mind must be the source of infinite joy for the spider queen. One she would be lying to say she never considered joining in. Her mind strayed further still, to how she imagined the spider queen's form had developed into: A strong, tall, lithe shape, hips wide and her six upper limbs strong, her spinnerette plentiful with silky thread, skilled at binding prey and lovers alike. Those six hands focused on one task: binding Toriel to her web, spread open and bare, her whole body a toy for Muffet to play with and use just how she pleased. Toriel's chest heaved with breath both in reality and in her imagination as her- no, Muffet's- fingers rubbed her clitoris in a circle, making her squirm with want.

Further still, and Toriel could almost imagine that the toy inside of her, slowly thrusting inside until it was met with resistance, was Muffet's gentle ovipositor pressing her open, preparing the way for a slurry of eggs and semen. She moaned again and tossed her head to one side, an electric bolt of pleasure coursing through her at the mere thought of being used this way, and couldn't help a soft "please" coming out from between her lips. Please, please let her feel that beautiful warmth of pregnancy, use her womb as she wished, make her feel owned and wanted again. The spider queen in her imagination leaned over her, husking out words about how beautiful she'd look filled with her spawn, how much she always wanted this, from the very beginning...

Blinding orgasm shot through the woman before she realized it, her padded toes curling with the feeling of taking the knot all at once. The sound that came out of her must have sounded animal, but she didn't care at that moment, lost in her pleasure, in the want to be filled and fucked so completely. It lasted for a blessed few seconds, and then the postcoital high for minutes more.

Time was unkind in many ways even to an immortal. Lovers were few and far between, and would often die before Toriel got all she wanted out of them, since her own time was so extended and slow compared to their blink-and-you-miss-it lifetimes. This drawback, she had to admit, was her own. But not this time. Neither she nor Muffet were getting any younger, and her pen and paper were right there. Even if they weren't destined to share a bed, even if Muffet couldn't fulfill that need, she could at least stay her friend for whatever brief life the queen had left. So, breaking her voluntary exile for a few brief moments, she sat down at her desk and began to write.