FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

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The wind howled in the darkness, rain buffeted his body as he shambled across the narrow, winding path through the mountains. Despite his heavy oiled-canvas poncho, he was slowly but surely becoming soaked, cold, and tired. But he continued onward.

He was almost there.

This particular pass, the easternmost lee of the otherwise protected valley, was known to be especially dangerous for foot traffic, as hot, humid air rolled in off the Salt Sea, passed over the narrow, flat desert, and ran headlong into the tall, fang-like ranges of the Indrel Mountains. Traffic through this specific region had recently swelled from a trickle to a flood after a successful negotiation between human settlements on either side of the range, and a specific Indrel colony that controlled a series of valleys and ranges bisecting the mountains. Normally, the secretive and enigmatic race of giant bugs would only allow small numbers of humans and wagons through their territory, and only then under constant supervision. And that’s only if they allowed them at all. But this particular Indrel Colony was different. They were not only open to trade with humans, but actively promoted travel through their territory, dedicating their own workers to the construction and maintenance of wide, even roads and tunnels through the mountains. Incredibly, there was even a weigh-station at the half-way point, one that was on its way to becoming a small town! Why the Indrel allowed this while others staunchly refused was a mystery.

…Well, kinda.

There were… rumors.

Well, ‘rumors’. More like ‘words of caution’.

He remembered that night in the tavern, four days ago.

Now, the Trading Guild made porters and wagon teams sign ‘nondisclosure agreements’, the breaking of which would result in the forfeiture of their (very generous) pay, discharge from the Guild and, depending on the severity of the breach, the loss of one’s tongue. As such, specifics were scarce. However, as it is with such things, leaks did happen, usually over a pitcher or three of beer.

The drunken Guildsmen had glanced about, checking for eavesdroppers, before leaning in conspiratorially, beckoning his table-mate to do the same.

“There’s a path,” he had said. “A narrow trail that takes you east around the second or ‘central’ valley, if you want to get through without paying a thing, that’s your path. You’ll find it near the first bug monument at the mouth of the valley, big tall sandstone pillar, you can’t miss it. Snoop around there and you’ll find a symbol carved into a molla tree, it’s the only one there. Do some looking around at the foot of the mountain, you’ll find the same carved into a rock, behind that rock is a trail that leads to the road. That road’ll take you all the way to the western valley, from there on it’s a day or two’s walk to Val Salia, all without sending a copper to those fucking highwaymen!”

He poured the Guildsman another mug, which he quaffed. Buying all this beer had consumed about half of his remaining funds, but he was desperate.

“Fucking highwaymen,” the Guildsman had groused, setting his tankard down on the table. “That whole weigh-station. Buncha bandits and thieves. Twenty copper for piss-weak ale. Fifty copper for a pound of salted tiplod. Five-fuckin’-silver for a night in some ratty hostel with lousy straw mattresses and rock-hard biscuits and gamey jerky for breakfast! Five-fuckin-silver! And let’s not even get into the hooers… buncha poxy-doxies with all the grip and warmth of dead scav’s maw! Smell about as good, too! And they want ten silver for the honor! If I didn’t turn gold on this job, I swear…”

He poured him another tankard. “You mentioned a symbol.”

“Yeah…” He had pulled out a piece of parchment and a charcoal stick, drawing what appeared to be a two-tined fork and an uneven stack of five differently size lines. “See? That ‘un there’s the Indrel’s claw-hand-thing, a lil pincer, right? And over here is supposed to be a human hand, lil line’s the pinky, the ring, then the bird, then the pointer, and thumb on top. Like, they’re giving you a hand, see?”

He nodded. “Will I have to keep secret about it? Sneak away onto the trail?”

The Guildsman had shaken his head, smiling lowly. “Naw. No one cares. Can’t move much freight through there, one-axle wagon at most. The folk at the weigh-station know that 99 times out of a hundred a motherfucker’ll pay what they’re charging over the Indrel’s price.”

“I’ll meet Indrel on the trail?”

“You better hope you do, this back-trail’s about two days longer and a good bit more treacherous. Flash floods, storms, katabatic winds, you name it. The bugs have set up little shelters along the way, say, every ten klicks. You’ll see a flat stone with that symbol on it next to a hole in the mountainside. Crawl on in, there’ll be a bed, some casks of water, and maybe a little food. More often than not, an Indrel will drop by, if she ain’t there already.”

“And what do they charge?” He had asked. “The Indrel?”

The Guildman’s smile widened, his eyes glinted with amusement. “Not money.”

He poured another tankard.

“Let’s just say they like to trade. If you have extra food, they’ll take that. If you have something shiny you can part with, they’ll take that, too. I hear they like canvas and treated leather the same way a man enjoys chewleaf. You could probably get through the mountains with four pairs of boots, a sheet of oil-cloth, and some shiny brass rings.” He shifted uncomfortably and the Guildsman noticed, his voice dropping to a slurred whisper. “But if you don’t have any of that. Say, you have the boots on your feet and nary a copper to your name, you can still show up, get warm, and fill your belly.”

He poured the last of the pitcher into his mug.

“Service for service. Handsome guy like you, you’ll figure something out.”

The sun was going down now, and soon he would be in complete darkness in a mountain storm. It was cold, and getting colder, if he didn’t find shelter soon... he didn’t want to think about it.

He couldn’t go back. He had no money, he had little food and no bivvy, and he couldn’t return to the Green Reach, not after what he pulled. It was all he could do to scrape together what little coin he had to hand, buy his boots and heavy poncho, and hitch on the next wagon train heading through the mountains.

His name was Erikk, no last name. That got sold off years ago. He was tall, about 6’, with ash-blond hair and amber eyes framed by tall, chiseled cheekbones. He was lean, with long limbs and impressive muscle tone, his tan, bronze skin smooth and blemish-less over perfectly proportioned, defined muscle. Indeed, he had been commissioned by many, many sculptors who wished to commit this ‘paragon of masculine beauty’ to stone or bronze.

Among other things.

Not to put too fine a point on it, Erikk was a prostitute. Technically, according to the Council of Free Cities of the Green Reach, he was an indentured worker, theoretically working off his debt to his patron. In reality, he was a prostitute and his patron was his pimp. Food, board, and ‘interest’ taken from his earnings by his patron ensured that his contract of repayment would never expire, at least, not for another few decades.

So, he ran.

In the Green Reach, breaching such a contract was punishable by death, but the contract was, in essence, null and void outside the various city states that used them. Erikk had been tempted to simply run to one of the nearby cities that didn’t, as many other debtors did, but also knew that he’d spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for debt collectors. But there was a place, a city across the mountains, that promised security, promised protection: Val Salia.

Trademaster Veracroix had penned and passed an edict that made his ancestral city a place of refuge for those fleeing injustice. Those displaced by war, those fleeing famine, those shirking the barbaric customs of their homeland, Val Salia welcomed them all. And as a major trading hub, with powerful armies, vast wealth, and its boot on the throat of the most bountiful ports and trading routes in the East, Val Salia could happily tell any aggrieving parties to pound sand or die in it, the unassailable fortress city didn’t care which.

The tricky part was getting there, as he was finding out the hard way.

Then, just as the final embers of daylight faded away, he saw a dull blue glow in the blackness ahead. Walking carefully, tapping the sodden, rocky ground with his knobbled walking stick to ensure he didn’t plummet over the edge of the path or trip in a pothole and break his leg. He slowly approached the glowing light, identifying it as a luminescent fungus of some stripe, sitting atop a flat, rectangular slab of sandstone. The light was too dim to make anything out besides the most basic of outlines of objects, so Erikk brushed the wet, smooth stone with his fingertips, feeling the markings carved into its surface.

This was the place.

He looked over and, sure enough, there was a neat hole about two feet wide and high punched in the mountainside, visible in the ghostly blue fungal light as a black circle on the dim rock face. Erikk wasted no time and got on his hands and knees, clambering into the little tunnel. It was dark, naturally, but not completely, and inclined slightly upwards, to keep out water, so it was dry. Not warm, but dry. The further along he went, the clearer the glow of additional light-fungus became, a light at the end of the tunnel. After about ten or so feet of crawling, he entered a sort of cavern. Not a cave, but a carved, circular room some twelve feet in diameter, the domed ceiling eight feet tall at its peak, with a half-dozen of the light-fungi nestled into alcoves in the stone, at the center of the room was an indentation carved into the floor: a firepit. Set around the room were tall, waxy barrels with tied down lids and copper bowls on top. A brief investigation revealed that these were the barrels of water he’d be told of. He scooped some water out, sniffed it, before taking a sip. It was fresh, clean, and surprisingly sweet. Rain water, he guessed.

No bed, though.

He shuddered, suddenly aware that he was very cold. He peeled off the thoroughly soaked poncho, wringing out whatever moisture he could before wedging his walking stick into one of the alcoves in the rock and hanging it up to dry. His clothes, a wool vest and light cotton undercoat and sturdy leather breeches, were still relatively dry, the oiled canvas poncho, despite being saturated, had only just begun to seep through despite the heavy rain. He undid the bundle of kindling and shook them out. Soaked, but the shavings he could make with his knife would light. He reached into the center of the bundle and…

Damn.

His starter kit was soaked through. The leather hadn’t been properly cured and was practically mush in his hands. He spat curses at the caravaner who’d sold him the kit as he wrung out the fibers and wiped off the strike-stick. He stuck the damp starter hundle under his armpit and waited for it to dry with his dwindling warmth.

The room was cold. The air was cold. Fresh, likely ventilated, but cold. He shivered and hugged himself, rubbing his hands under his armpits. He knew that this wasn’t cold enough to kill him, probably, but getting any meaningful rest like this was going to be a tall order. He sat down and pulled around his travel sack, opening it up and grimacing at what was going to constitute his rations on this two week trip. Two pounds of hardtack, two pounds of pemmican, a small bag of dried fruit, a stick of tiplod butter, and a few sprigs of dried frostgrass to prevent scurvy and provide flavor. He’d plied the skills he’d learned in his ‘profession’ to procure this ‘feast’. Ten days, fat old wagon-driver told him as he shuffled his wilting chode back into his pants. This would last a lad Erikk’s size ten days marching, two weeks if he didn’t mind losing a few pounds. He then shot him a mostly toothless leer, telling him to drop by again if he wanted any salt to go with it. Erikk had set off for the back-trail as soon as he could.

In lieu of a fire or a dry blanket, he’d have to eat to warm up. Erikk dug out the hardtack, set it on a sheet of woven hemp and, as instructed, smashed it into tiny pieces with a rock. He scooped the crumbs into one of the copper bowls from the cisterns and mixed it with water, waiting for the rock-hard fragments to soften enough to eat. As he did, he cut a finger-width slice off the loaf of pemmican with his bronze utility knife and ate it without much relish. Between the cold hardtack porridge he was making and the cold lump of meatflour and coagulated fat in his mouth, Erikk knew that it would be a while before he felt anything but sodden and cold. Mostly he just felt tired, but the shivers radiating out from his core and into his limbs, chattering his teeth, told him it would be pointless to try and sleep.

A scuffling sound drew his attention to his left. Five orange eyes stared back at him, set within a dark and inhuman shape in the pale fungal light.

“Kkklld?” It croaked, the sound was not unlike a tiplod clearing its throat. “Wnt wrrm yss?”

Erikk did not spook easily. The things he had seen and done in his ‘profession’ had left a damn thick callus on that particular part of his heart, a heart which was presently trying to wriggle its way out of his throat.

To his credit, he didn’t scream.

An Indrel, he presumed. He’d never seen one in person, but he’d heard things. Some people found them unnerving, as no hard-skinned creature commonplace in human society possessed their upright stature and intense, thoughtful focus. Others found them fascinating, as they were clearly of the thinking sort, but nothing about their society or form of communication was comprehensible to humans. Still more people found them outright disgusting or horrifying, comparing them to subterranean monsters. Erikk himself considered most humans disgusting monsters by default, so he took such hysterics with a grain of salt.

“Wnt wrrm?” The Indrel retched. “Rrr kkllld?”

Erikk belatedly realized that what the creature was manfully trying to do was form words. ‘Want warm? Are cold?’

“Yes,” said Erikk, internally impressed at how even-toned and calm he sounded. Sang froid was a skill he prized in himself, as no customer wanted to see or hear the disgust and trepidation in your heart. “I’m cold.”

The Indrel trilled in a surprisingly sweet, soothing fashion. Erikk thought back to the various animals that could be taught to mimic human speech, their croaky, reedy voices and unnatural cadence, but sang beautifully in their mother-tongue. That sound must have meant something in its language. The Indrel fussed with something in the dark, its strange body and the black shadows cast in the barely useful light made determining exactly what difficult. He gasped as it lurched towards him, a great black shape enveloped him and a fluttering sounded as warm, heavy canvas settled over his shoulders. He gratefully grabbed handfuls of the blanket and wrapped it around him, sighing in relief.

“Wrrm yss?” The Indrel gurgled.

“Yes, thank you.”

It turned around and began fussing with some more things. Erikk watched intently. From what he could make out, it had a great bundle upon its back, a roll of some kind – a sleeping roll, perhaps? – and what appeared to be a rucksack. It pulled out a large ovoid orb and made its way over to to the firepit at the center of the room. It pulled out an ovoid thing about the side of a human head and, with the second set of larger arms, it grasped the object. A series of horrifyingly loud crunches ensued, the crackle of a hard shell, the shredding of fibrous material, the dry rustling of its claws pulverizing the remains. It set the pile of diffuse material into the pit and produced two glowing fungal orbs from its rucksack, a blue one, like the ones on the wall, and another that glowed dull orange. It popped open the blue orb, coating the pile of ruffage with glowing cerulean slime, followed by the smaller orange one. When the glowing sludge met, a flash of light ensued. Erikk flinched and turn away, his eyes sensitive from the dark. By the time he blinked away the white spots in his vision, he looked up to see the Indrel sitting opposite him across the firepit. In one of its larger back-mounted hands was a flat shale sheet, a slate, and between one of its smaller front-facing pincers was a stark white stick of chalk. It smiled at him, its hard carapace face somehow making the expression seem genuine.

Perhaps it was genuine?

Erikk examined its large main eyes and expressive face and concluded that, in the right light, Erikk found it not ugly or horrifying, but actually kind of cute. Specifically, in the light being cast by the very warm fire it had started for him. He shuffled forward and warmed his hands, opening the blanket so the warm light could bathe his damp, shivering body. He placed his bowl of hardtack gruel in front of the fire, rotating it so it would at least be lukewarm when he ate it, which he did without much fanfare.

A series of clicks and clacks drew his attention. He looked up to see the Indrel holding up the slate, on it, in chalk and surprisingly neat handwriting, read: ‘You read?’

Erikk blinked in confusion. He could read, but that sort of thing didn’t come up in his line of work often, so he was a bit rusty. “Little bit.”

The Indrel nodded, smiling, and wiped it clean with an antenna before writing: ‘I write better than I speak. Human sounds are difficult for us.’

Erikk could make out about a third of that, squinting at the words. “I’m sorry, I don’t read very well. Small words?”

The Indrel frowned, rewriting. ‘Human sounds hard. Write better.’

He sounded out the words aloud, getting it. He thought back to how it spoke before, sibilant and fricative consonants seemed to be this creature’s forte, with obvious difficulty regarding vowels. Considering how unpleasant its attempts at speech sounded, Erikk opted for the easier option. “Hard to speak? Alright. Please, write.”

The Indrel smiled and nodded, chalk clacking. “Why you here?”

Erikk shrugged. “To get to the other side.”

The Indrel cocked its head to the side, writing. “What’s your business in Val Salia? Smuggling contraband?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know those words.”

More writing. “You have bad things? Things not allowed? Biteleaf? Bakeroot? Snoot? Poke?”

“What?” He said, affronted. “I’m no bootlegger!”

The Indrel rolled its eyes. “Why you here? Not with humans?”

Erikk sighed and shifted under the covers. “No coin.”

The Indrel seemed to accept this, nodding.

A silence passed between them as the fire crackled. More writing: “Warm?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Name?”

“Erikk.”

“Hrrrikk.” It attempted, sounding like an old man coughing something up.

Erikk studied the fire for a time, trying not to notice the Indrel’s intense gaze. Once he felt warm enough to string more than a few words together without his teeth chattering, he looked up at it. “Name?”

It chittered and smiled, writing: “No word name. Indrel name with smell. Have far-name, when too far for smell.”

They named with… smell? Erikk could kind of understand that, like dogs did. “Far-name, please.”

The Indrel trilled and buzzed followed by a series of short chirps before smiling expectantly at him.

He attempted to translate. “Reeelllzzrrrchchch?”

It trilled and nodded, writing. “Humans call me Rachel.”

“Rachel? You’re a girl? Woman? Female?”

Rachel nodded, writing. “Most Indrel are.”

He pondered this for a moment. “So, Rachel. What are you doing out here?”

Rachel paused, clearly contemplating how to translate this into basic text. “Humans come here. This path. No other humans take what they have. Clear?”

Erikk nodded. Humans used this path to bypass the weigh-station, either for coin, like him, or for drugs, apparently. “Yes. But why are you here, specifically?”

Rachel cocked her head like a curious dog. “Pay.”

Erikk sighed and rolled his eyes; he knew this wasn’t going to be a free ride, he just expected, well, a stranger answer than ‘gimme’. “No free lunch. What’s the price?”

Rachel smirked, her eyes taking on an unusual glint in the light of the fire. “What got?”

Erikk gutted his bag. “Two pounds pemmican, two pounds hardtack, about a pound of dried fruit, half-pound tiplod butter, six sprigs of dried chewgrass, a copper bowl, a bronze knife, a wooden spoon, hemp rags, and what appears to be half a walnut.”

Rachel seemed… unimpressed. “All?”

“Yep.”

She studied his wares. “Pemmican good. Can trade.”

“What’s that word?” He said, pointing.

She pointed to the pemmican and then to the word while writing on the back of the slate and flipping it over. “Pemmican. Meat and fat. Indrel like. Can trade.”

Erikk shrugged. “Okay. Have it.”

She looked up at him, eyes narrowing as she wrote. “It good. Very good. You will need. Indrel food lean jerky. You need pemmican. No trade.”

Erikk glanced over at his poncho. “Oiled canvas. You Indrel like that, right?”

Rachel smiled and nodded. “Chewing makes happy. But you need. No trade.”

He sighed and shrugged, he was running out of options here! “By that logic, you don’t want my boots or knife either. What can I trade?”

Rachel pondered this for a moment before reaching over and grabbing her rucksack, pulling out a bundle of dried tiplod jerky. “This for slice pemmican. You eat. Save pemmican for each stop. Get jerky. Eat.”

Erikk crunched the numbers on this for a moment. True, he could make it going that route, but… pillow-talk in his old profession, men would speak of men at sea who ate nothing but chewgrass and dried meat and still starved, only regaining their strength when gorged with fat. This was why pemmican was invented, he recalled, it almost never spoiled and it did something simple dried, cured meat could not.

Did he really want to go without food?

But then, did he really want to go without shelter?

Which would kill him first?

Which would cost him less?

Was there a way around this?

Damn.

Just one.

“Fuck you,” said Erikk.

Rachel bowed her head apologetically, writing. “Sorry. Payment needed. Food, valuables, other.”

“Other,” said Erikk, locking eyes with Rachel.

Rachel studied him, confusion clear on her hard face. “Other?”

Erikk nodded. “Fuck. You.”

Rachel blinked in surprise, her antennae twitching as she scrawled “?”

“Word gets out, you know?” said Erikk. “Words of caution. ‘Don’t go off trail’ the caravaners say. ‘These bugs will hold you down and suck out your seed until there’s nothing left’, they say. Say that the Indrel along this route, well, they take all kinds of payment. I knew that going in, and you know what? I’ve fucked worse. I’ll fuck you instead.”

Rachel’s eyes snapped open wide as Erikk cast off the canvas blanket, rising to his feet. He slowly unbuttoned his vest, fishing his undershirt out from his breeches. He unlatched his undershirt, revealing his taut, rippling belly and full, muscular chest. “What say I keep my food and offer service for service? You give me shelter, I’ll give you all the dick you can take and more.”

Rachel stared, eyes wide, spellbound, as he strutted over, towering over her as she pressed up against the wall. She reached out with a pincher and touched the hard, rippling surface of his belly. He slid out of his top as hard fingers searched and caressed an pinched his upper body. He was surprised at how gentle she was. This was no slavering beast slaking its lust on pretty meat. No crone or baroness appraising him like a living statue. It was her slow, ginger touches betrayed a degree of genuine admiration that he found intoxicating. She pressed her face against his abs, tracing each hump and valley with her long, leathery tongue, leaving trails of unctuous slime all over his adonis abs.

Well, there was still some lust, anyway.

A dry, rasping clacking filled the air: writing.

“I always get the first ones,” it read as she held up the slate with her back-arms while she lavished his abs and chest with sloppy licks. “Always get food and oilcloth and boots I WANT COCK FUCK ME FIRST HUMAN FUCK ME HUMAN FUCK ME WITH YOUR HUGE HUMAN CO–”

Erikk didn’t bother reading the garbled slurry the horny bug had written, taking the slate from her and tossing it across the the room where it shattered.

The time for talk was over.

She dug in. Pressing her hard, warm body against his, delight clear in every touch and squeeze and lick. Even before, when his clients disgusted him, revolted him, used him and abused him, he never failed to perform. It was a self preservation tactic. But he could see the want, the desire, the sheer lust mixed with honest admiration in Rachel’s eyes. For the first time in a long, long while, Erikk was actually horny.

His hands drifted down to his leather breeches, undoing the chords at the waist. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, Rachel.”

The cordage came loose and his breeches slumped down his waist, the coiled heft of his cock bubbled up from behind its leather constraints as they were pulled down. The long, veiny, chorded organ languidly popped free as his breeches fell to the floor, cock flopping a ways down his thigh, only semi-erect. Remember that whole ‘paragon of male beauty’ thing? Yeah, there was another reason he was forced to pay his debt the way that he did. There were more than a few rich perverts with very authentic statues of Erikk in their private boudoirs. His patron advertised a ‘full package’ and his clients got a full package. And soon, so would this freaky bug girl.

Rachel leaned in, mouth hanging open as her soft, fuzzy antennae poked and prodded his shaft and balls, her eyes going distant, glazed and hazy. “Fffkk mmhh plls…”

Erikk smirked, gabbing her by the headplate and forcing her gaze to meet his. “It’s not even hard yet. Service for service.”

Rachel’s eyes widened in amazement and confusion as he plopped the limp organ on her face, it ran the entire span of her head from headplate to chin.

Not hard?

He relished the dawning realization . The intersection of lust and common sense, battling with one another.

As always, lust won out.

She opened her mouth, just enough for his head to scrape by her sharp mouthparts. That tongue snaked down his shaft before encircling his balls, wrapping around them at the base and rubbing down, making them slick. Her mouthparts unhinged and his meat and berries vanished down her gullet. Erikk moaned and gasped, her throat pulsing and undulating around his flesh. She’d done this before.

Rachel nestled into his groin, drinking in his obvious pleasure as she worked her tongue, mouth, and throat around his sensitive flesh. She pulled herself off him with a slick, sucking sound, gazing up at his now fully hard cock standing tall, her many eyes sparkling with a hungry, reverent glean.

Erikk smirked at this. He would admit that he was more a shower than a grower, his cock only an inch or so longer when erect, but what it failed to gain in overall length, it made up for with a substantial increase in girth. He recalled when he’d been hired to impregnate an old alchemist’s prized slave. The foul old man had been ‘experimenting’ with his slaves for decades, determining this or that based off of such and such. He’d insisted on taking measurements, insisting that larger organs insured impregnation. Erikk never learned if the old man’s theories proved true, only that he used the most obscure measurements possible: ’12.06 digits(?) in length by 10.7 in circumference at center’. Erikk didn’t know what that translated to in normal measurements beyond a lot of repeat customers.

Belatedly, he wondered if this would be a problem in servicing his generous host.

Wait.

How, exactly, was this going to work? As in, where did it go? Indrel and humans evidently had compatible parts, if her enthusiasm was anything to go by, but the layout was presenting him with some minor concerns.

“Sss…” Rachel hissed, frustrated, before turning around, her long abdomen pointed at his crotch, the little pincers there clacking, drawing his attention to the flushed shiny rim of beige-green flesh between them. “Kkhk hrrr…”

He shrugged and stepped forward, pressing his fat cockhead against the hot, slick entrance. He grabbed her abdomen and pushed forward. He grunted at the resistance of the surprisingly firm flesh, hot and slick but stiff, almost like softened hide. He pushed harder, and harder still, feeling her opening up in small increments each time. They both loosed a frustrated grunt when his cock buckled, flicking upwards and slapping against the top of her abdomen.

“Shit,” Erikk muttered, Rachel’s little butt-pincers clacking impatiently. “Calm down, we’re not done yet. Not the first time I’ve had to limber a lady up first.”

Rachel cocked her head to the side as he traced his fingers along her opening, purring as he sunk his middle and ring finger inside. Erikk was no stranger to the various sensations and textures the human body had to offer – thoroughly disenchanted with them in fact – he was surprised to feel his heart begin to pound as he explored this new body, these inhuman textures and temperatures. His cock throbbed abominably, truly eager for the first time in a while to bury itself in warm, willing flesh. He’d have to get to work fast. His fingers curled and rubbed, noting the odd, hard structures within her sex, stiff rings of muscle or cartilage connected to one another by smooth, slick flesh. They were apparently quite sensitive, as every time he brushed or tugged on them, Rachel would trill and rumble, her tunnel squeezing and twitching in response. He probed her entrance as well, finding a trio of firm little bumps ringing her sex a few inches in, causing her to squeak and chitter, turning around to shoot him a desperate, needful look.

He smiled; she actually sounded pretty cute just now.

His slick fingers rubbed and massaged, tips plucking at those funny rings as his knuckles ground against the three hard little lumps. He supposed he could call them ‘clits’ . Rachel buzzed and squeaked, her mandibles clacking together as he mouth worked wordlessly. Clear, viscous juices began to flow, thicker than a human woman’s arousal, slicker. Erikk’s cock gave a needful throb, ready to plunge in and explore her depths. He abruptly slipped in a third finger, twisting his hand sideways and burying his fingers up to the knuckle. Rachel lowed, a deep, throaty sound that climbed in pitch as his fingers rubbed and wriggled and stretched, her body twitching and clamping and squeezing around him. Almost there…

In went his pinky.

Four fingers now plumbed her depths up to his knuckles, stretching her entrance wide as they poked and prodded, finding sensitive spots and stimulating them mercilessly. The room echoed with Rachels moans and chattering, underscored by the slick sucking and squelching noises his fingers made in her now dripping sex. Rachel reared up like a cobra, her back arms shooting out and grabbing the wall, her talons carving gouges into the sandstone, her mouth split apart, hanging open, her long black tongue lolling out as she loosed a buzzing screech. She clamped down on his fingers with almost painful pressure, squeezing them together as a gush of hot, thick slime squirted out, coating his hand all the way up to his wrist. Her head slumped forward, shoulders slack as her abdomen pulsated.

“Well, it’s a start,” said Erikk, obviously pleased with himself, gesturing at her quivering hole, now open and glistening. “I’d say *she’s* ready now. Are you?”

Rachel glanced back at him, head still loose on her shoulders, her tongue still dangling from her open mandibles. She responded by twitching her abdomen, coital pincers flexing and clicking. Erikk smirked, grabbing his thick cock with his right hand, pumping it up and down, covering it in her love juices. He grabbed her abdomen with one hand, his cock with the other, his fist unable to hold more than a third of its length, his fingers failing to encircle it. He hadn’t been this enthusiastically hard in years! He pressed his fat head against her opening, crown squashing and shaft flexing as he sunk the first bit into her. She was still so damn tight! Slowly, with steady, careful pressure, she opened to him, bit by bit until, with a lurch, his crown popped in. They both loosed a surprisingly similar groan as the first third of his cock sank deep. Erikk panted and swore under his breath, this was unreal! Those narrow rings inside stretched to accommodate him but only just, popping over his head and squeezing his shaft as he pushed deeper. She was so tight, so smooth, slick walls gripped and caressed his length, no friction but so much pressure and warm, wet heat. So lost in sensation, he leaned forward too far and almost lost his footing, catching himself with an arm on the wall, but not before unceremoniously shoving the remaining half of his long, fat cock into her. The effect was instantaneous, as Rachel tensed, pressing her head against the wall and bellowing in ecstasy. Erikk moaned and gasped as the tightness throttling his member doubled, tripled, and then released as a surge of something hot and thick flooded her tunnel, bathing his organ in blissfully slick pleasure. Clear, honey-like bug-girl cum spurted through the tight seal around his cock, coating his groin and toned abs, dripping from his balls in thick, sticky ropes.

“Heh…” He panted in her ear(?), leaning over her. “Sorry. I tripped.”

Her back arms swung back, grabbing him by the shoulders with an almost painful grip. Erikk had seen what those claws could do to stone, so he knew she was holding back as much a possible. She pulled him forward, her abdomen squashed between them, loosing a muffled, gurgling moan as her insides bent and bunched around his rigid cock.

Erikk could take a hint. “Well, alright then.”

He reached down and grabbed her abdomen, pulling half his length out slowly, relishing the slick, popping sensation of her rings sliding over his flesh before slamming it back in. He ground into her, stirring and bucking before withdrawing again, this time leaving only his cockhead inside before slamming back in. The larger human panted and heaved as he lost himself to sensation. Long, deep thrusts followed by hard grinding, stirring up her insides with his thick member. He increased his pace, pulling her abdomen back onto him as he thrust forward with his hips. Rachel pressed her face against the wall, her eyes half-lidded and distant as her open mouth left clear trails of saliva on the dusty stone. His moans and grunts mixed with her low, trilling chatter, underscored by the wet slurps and squelches of her flesh meeting his, his slick, sticky balls slapping against the underside of her abdomen. Her cries reached a crescendo as another surge of hot love slime squirted out around his fat, veiny cock, his rippling abs increasingly coated in her glistening juices.

His pace did not slow or falter, long years of practice had taught him technique, patience, but even his robust training had not prepared him for this. These sensations, this tightness, the inhuman heat and textures, the long-deadened thrill of carnal pleasure reignited in him. He wanted more. Needed more. He needed to feel every new thing, every delightful sensation this wonderful inhuman creature could provide. After long, numbing years of pedestrian, repetitive rutting with his own kind, he was finally fully succumbing to lust once more.

He needed more.

Erikk reached up from her abdomen and grabbed her forearms, pulling them back as he hauled her from the wall. She was surprisingly light, allowing him to lift her feet from the ground as he grasped her wrists, slamming his hips into her from behind. Her back-arms clutched his torso, holding on for dear life as he thrust up and into her, stirring, bucking, grinding, his powerful member rampant inside her. Erikk rumbled and huffed, his own climax rushing to the fore, his thrusts become desperate, animalistic. He loosed a shuddering gasp as the wave broke, his soaked balls drawing up in a second as he shot long, sticky ropes of thick white jizz into his lover. Rachel reared up one last time, eyes squeezed shut as her mouth hung open as she bellowed once more before going stiff, freezing still as a statue.

Erikk heedlessly continued pumping into her, gasping and panting as his orgasm tapered off, staring sightlessly as he blinked, white flashes popping in his eyes. He basked in the afterglow of the first truly gratifying climaxes he had experienced in a good long while, a far cry from the joyless, numb spasms he’d endured in his former occupation.

“F-fuck…” He managed after a moment, the capacity for speech having eluded him until then. “Haven’t cum that hard in… fuck… Heh! So, how was that? Services rendered, eh, Rachel? Rachel?”

He looked down at the statue-still Indrel, her face frozen in a mask of ecstasy, her body unmoving as a statue.

“Rachel?”

Oh, shit. Did he just fuck her to death?

Her head twitched, tilted, her mandibles closing with a ‘clop’. Her shoulders went slack, limbs wiggling and twitching as the moved from their prior positions.

“Oh, thank the Gods.” He said, blowing a sigh of relief. “You had me worried for a second there.”

She pulled herself off of him with loud, wet ‘pop’, her formerly too-tight-to-be-seen pussy open like a toothless mouth, twitching shut and quivering as it dripped slime and seed, but remaining open. She turned to him with a dazed, distant expression.

“Enjoy yourself?”

She looked down at his wilting member, dripping and coated in a mixture of her cum and his, and stooped down, jaws splitting apart as she effortlessly swallowed his genitals whole, sucking the slime and jizz from his skin. When done, she moved on to lapping up her slick jizz from his groin and abs, relishing the latter. Erikk threw his head back and laughed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Best sex I’ve had in years and it was with a bug! Phew! You hungry? I’m hungry.”

The small copper pot hung over the fire on iron legs, courtesy of Rachel. Erikk stirred it with his wooden spoon. His biscuit-porridge was beginning to soften, he reached over and broke off a few pinches of pemmican and dropped them in, mixing it into a sort of ad-hoc stew. He threw a sprig of frostgrass in the pot and took it off the fire, letting it cool. The frostgrass would lend it a nice herby flavor while also warding away scurvy.

Erikk turned to see Rachel enter the room from her Indrel tunnel, back from… wherever she went. In her hands was another slate sheet to replace the one he had shattered earlier, as well as an odd, fibrous-looking gourd and a bag.

“Oh,” he said, pointing to the slate. “You got another one.”

Rachel shot him an unmistakably dirty look before scuttling over to the fire.

He cleared his throat, awkwardly. “Sorry about the rock thing. I got a little carried away.”

She scribbled on the slate. “K.”

He flinched at that, turning back to the steaming pot, stirring it. He was uneasy, not because he was worried his bit of bravado would cost him the service he’d just earned. No danger of that, the Indrel seemed perfectly pleased with his performance. Rather, the idea he had offended her made him… anxious? He would admit, he had enjoyed himself. This encounter was the closest thing to a properly erotic experience that he’d had since… well, since before falling into debt, and even before then he’d never quite jibed with people. He was thankful, really, for the assistance and the experience, and bad blood between them would leave a sour taste in his mouth. Time to find out if she was miffed or not.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat and pointing at the gourd in her claws. “What’s that?”

She regarded him cooly for a moment before taking the gourd in her back-hands, writing on the slate with her front-hands for a moment before handing it to him. “This is a spring gourd, a common cultivar endemic to the Indrel Mountains. It possesses a hard, woody shell as well as a less-dense, spongey interior. It was given its name due to the method by which it spreads its seeds. Upon ripening, the coiled stalk of the releases and launches the gourd as much as fifty feet into the air. The force of launch as well as similar coil-like mechanisms within causes the gourd to violently rupture mid-air, dispersing the seeds over a wide area. The Indrel harvest this gourd for its oily seeds and crunchy, flavorful rinds. Incidentally, they also make good fuel for fires. You asshole.”

Erikk looked up from the slate, having understood only about ten words in that whole spiel, and two of them very well. Oh yeah, she was definitely miffed at him. “Very funny.”

She shot him an unmistakably sour smile, crushing the human head-sized gourd in her grasp like a man might crush an egg. Her front arms picked through the crushed remains, plucking out dozens of pale-white, grape-sized seeds, popping each one into her mouth. When done munching, she dumped the remains of the gourd into the firepit and set about pulled dense, lustrous black rocks from the bag, setting a few into the fire. To Erikk’s amazement, they started to burn.

“What’s that stuff?”

She wrote: “Coal. A dense lustrous mineral resource bountiful in the Indrel Mountains. Indrel have no use for the substance, but it is a common item of trade between–”

He stopped trying to read. “Look, I’m sorry! It was just a bit of bravado, to get us both in the mood. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

She eyed him up, clacking her mandibles for a moment. “These hard to make. Much work. Long time.”

He sighed and nodded. “Let me make it up to you.”

She cocked her head to the side. “?”

He shrugged. “What would make you happy? Make you less mad about the rock? More sex?”

She stared at him for a moment, tapping her chin with a claw before her eyes lit up, a smile spreading across her face. She scuttled into the Indrel hole, leaving Erikk to sit awkwardly in the silent room. He reached over and picked up the pot, testing the temperature of the porridge before digging in. All in all, it wasn’t bad. A little bland, but the flavor of the meat and fat came alive when warm, and the salt in the hardtack played well with the frostgrass. He had just about finished when Rachel scurried back in, a stack of books in her claws.

She set them down in front of him, opening one. “Bhhk.”

“Can’t you read?” He said, squinting at the title: ‘A (something) compend(something) of (long word) Fairy Tales: Tales Your Mama Didn’t Tell You!’

She pouted and grabbed the slate. “Yes. Don’t understand. Explain.”

Erikk opened the book to the index. His limited literacy revealed it was a compendium of various fairy tales, many of which he could recognize from childhood. Rachel trilled and pointed a claw at one in particular, Prince Kairne and the Lady of the Spire.

Erikk turned to her, smiling. “That one?”

She nodded fervently, smiling back. Erikk thumbed through the page corners until he found the right number and flipped to it. Luckily for him, this particular edition was a picture book, with several panels a page of sumptuously drawn tableaus. In them, Prince Kairne did his knightly duty and fought the bandits holding the tower. There were words, but only a few, and he knew the tale from his childhood, so he could split the meaning between the drawings and the text.

“What don’t you understand?”

“Human males kill for females?” She wrote.

“No! Well… sometimes.” He pointed to a bandit whose head was being split by the Prince’s ax. “These guys are bandits. They took over the fort and killed the guards. They’re keeping the Lady in the spire to ransom her later.”

“Ransom?”

“Imagine someone has something you want, but won’t give it to you. So you take someone important to them and threaten to harm them so they’ll give you what you want.”

She looked offended, mandibles chattering. “I would not.”

He smiled at her, shaking his head. “I know. You’re a good bug. But bad people do things like that, bandits and such.”

She nodded, writing. “Prince kills bandits for being bad?”

“Yeah.” Erikk paused, trying to remember how the story went. “And so he can win favor with the Lady’s father.”

She paused, cocking her head to the side, writing. “Not kill for mate with Lady?”

Erikk chuckled at this, shaking his head. “No. The Lady’s virginity is very important. Maybe her father would marry her to him, but he would not mate with her before that.”

She reached out and pointed to the page, where Prince Kairne, covered in blood, was ascending the staircase. He opened the door and saw the Lady of the Spire, splayed out upon the bed, dressed in little more than translucent gossamer. She turned the page. In the first panel, the Prince steps forward, a rose in his hand, offering it to the fair maiden. In return, she casts off the sheet, revealing her prone, nude form, and spreads her legs before a suitably surprised Prince Kairne.

Erikk’s eyes flitted across the pages, each tableau depicting detailed, erotic sex between the Prince and the Lady: this was a smut edition of popular fairy tales, and some legendary comedian had thought it prudent to give it to a bug-girl. “This must be a… different edition than the one I grew up with.”

Rachel clicked and pointed to the rose. “Why plant?”

“Uh…” Erikk said, wondering how he was going to explain the significance of a rose to giant insect. “Human men, sometimes, usually, give nice, pretty things to women they like.”

“Yes,” she wrote, nodding. “Trade for sex.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Not quite. It’s a gift. Shows, uh, affection. He doesn’t – or shouldn’t – expect her to have sex with him for the flower.”

She cocked her head, trying to understand. “Why flower? She eat?”

“No, she, uh… flowers are nice. Pretty. Delicate,” he said, not wanting to get into the symbolism of flowers and fertility with someone he was pretty sure had never, nor would ever, mate. “Smells nice. Like a woman. It’s a symbol of beauty.”

She blinked. “Don’t understand.”

He sighed and chuckled, nodding. “I don’t either, really. Never did this sort of thing myself.”

She pointed to one of the sex scenes, holding up the slate. “?”

“No, I did that,” he muttered. “A lot. I meant the romance stuff. I’ve, uh, never… had a relationship like that.”

She looked back to the book, studying the lurid renditions of sex. “What is romance? Not sex?”

“No, it’s…” Erikk sighed and sat back. Oh, it was going to be one of these conversations, alright. “Okay, so. Humans, there are men and women, right?”

“Yes. Is different from Indrel.” She wrote. “Indrel, many females, few males. Males for making eggs with queens. Not queens have no males.”

“That sounds… lonely. Is that why you girls, uh…?” He gestured to the room, then to her and himself.

Rachel nodded. “Human males many, not few. Many cocks. Enough for all. Cocks are romance?”

Erikk laughed aloud at this, shaking his head. “Romance is… well, because there are men and women, men have to… display themselves, to get a woman’s attention. They have to show they are, uh, good providers, and good people. They give gifts and act chivalrous, like Prince Kairne. This proves to the woman and her family that the man is good enough to marry and have children with.”

She paused, eyes cast down as she thought this over, before looking back up to him, smiling. “Humans are like birds? Build nests and dance for females to make eggs?”

Erikk smiled at this, comparing some of the courting he’d seen to the absurd strutting of roosters. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s about right.”

She trilled happily at this, writing: “Very funny. Very amused. Flower is pretty gift for romance, yes?”

He nodded, shrugging. “Sure, close enough. Say, how’d you get this book?”

She frowned slightly. “Humans come and trade for shelter. Often trade many things, to avoid payment. Have many things.”

Ouch. “Humans come through here, they don’t usually, er, ‘pay’ as I did?”

“Not me.” She was frowning now, though it seemed to be more like a pout. “This first shelter. Humans have much to trade. By last shelter, not much, must pay. Other Indrel have more fun.”

He chuckled at this, stopping when he saw the acid look she was giving him. “Sorry. Drew the short straw, huh? Well, I hope I showed you a good time, at least.”

She locked him with what was definitely a leer. “GOOD time. Very.”

“Likewise.” Erikk winked at her, turning back to the book. “Anything else you don’t understand?”

She nodded and pointed to several of the sex scenes. “Why like this?”

He looked at the page, the Lady’s legs were wrapped around the Prince’s back, their mouthes open, interlocked in a passionate kiss. “Like what?”

She pointed to their faces, to their half-lidded eyes. “Face to face. Why like that?”

He was confused. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“In story, always facing, eyes open,” she wrote, looking to Erikk. “But when real, always from behind, eyes closed.”

Erikk cleared his throat awkwardly. While he was thoroughly disabused of the notion of human beauty, he could see how less jaded, more conventional people might have had… reservations about paying an Indrel her due. Closed eyes and limited contact was probably the best way for a normal person to endure the experience. Worse yet, the poor girl had noticed this distinct lack of variety in her apparently infrequent liaisons. “Uh…”

Rachel noticed his hesitation, looking back to the book, writing. “Is romance?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling apologetically. “Seeing the face, meeting eyes, it’s more personal. Intimate.”

“From behind, closed eyes,” she wrote, frowning slightly. “Not romance?”

Erikk thought back to his patrons, the way they had looked at him, used him, like an object. From behind or up front, their eyes did not ever meet his, and when they did they said nothing worth remembering. “No. Not romance.”

Rachel was quiet, setting the slate down and flipping through the pages, her many eyes drinking in the lurid but unmistakably passionate images. Erikk, despite her hard unemotive face, could tell what was going through her head. Or, at least, guess. Seeing something she, like him, had never known or felt committed to print like this, must have been… confusing? Did her kind crave it as humans did? Connection, tenderness, affection? Her race had no males, at least not for the common folk like her, so the females of her hive sought his kind. While it was almost certainly lust and gratification that drove this, was there something else missing from the act? At the very least, she knew now what she was pursuing had another side to it that, upon further inspection, she was conspicuously denied. Even if his presence here was merely another transaction, Erikk couldn’t help but relate to the lack of warmth in this poor creature’s life.

A smile crawled across Erikk’s face; he had an idea.

He quietly made his way over to the downcast bug as she flipped through the pages. He sat down next to her, gingerly casting an arm over her shoulders. She twitched a bit at his touch, shooting him a quizzical look. He smiled and leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on her hard, lipless mouthparts. She didn’t react at first, simply watching as he kissed her again as he stared deep into her larger, primary eyes.

Rachel reached down, picking the slate up off the floor as he ran a sensuous tongue up her small, pointed chin. “?”

Erikk smirked and reached out, tapping a panel depicting a sensuous, open-mouthed kiss. Rachel looked at the book as he peppered her cheek with little kisses, her fuzzy antenna shooting straight up as she realized his intent. “Kiss?”

He nodded. “Kiss.”

Rachel’s smaller eyes glanced down to the book for reference as she maintained eye contact with him, her mouth splitting open, inviting his tongue in. He reached up her back, taking hold of her head. Her hair was coarse, bristly like a brush, but long and lank enough to run through his fingers. He liked the mild rasp of it. His tongue traced the interior of her mouth, touching on the sharp, somewhat serrated edge of the outer mandible, dancing on the small, pointy fangs within. The fleshy, membranous parts – he assumed they were gums – were slick and hard, like certain other parts of her anatomy. Her saliva was sharp-tasting, astringent and tangy, but with an interesting sweetness to it, like the aftertaste of an exotic fruit. She draped her arms over his shoulders and pulled herself closer, her long black tongue slipping into his mouth as her antennae reached forward and rubbed against his scalp, relishing his soft blonde hair. Her tongue, slick and slippery as an eel, probed and explored, tracing his teeth and cheeks, wrestling with his shorter, fatter tongue. Before long, her jaws were wide open, split and extended as she tried to fit as much of his face into her mouth as possible. Not to be outdone, Erikk sucked back, pulling her tongue deep into his mouth and down his throat. Rachel loosed a buzzing moan into his face as his lips lapped and suckled on the opening at the back of her mouth.

Rachel pulled back, her foot-long tongue slithering out of Erikk’s mouth, slapping across her neck as she stared ahead, dazed. “Kkksss…”

Erikk smirked, wiping her drool from his face and chin. “Like that?”

She looked away, bashfully, holding up the slate. “I like kissing very much. Thank you for doing that.”

Erikk laughed throatily. “Oh, we’re not done yet.”

She moved to write a question mark when he reached out and scooped her off the floor. He couldn’t properly bridal carry her over to the padded sleeping mat, too many limbs and strange joints, so he opted for an over-the-shoulder. Not terribly romantic, but expedient. Erikk set the confused bug down on the mat, holding her shoulders down when she attempted to roll over. She looked up at him, quizzically, her expression somewhere between bemusement and trepidation. Realization spread across her face as he straddled her, undoing his shirt and revealing his bronze, rippling torso.

She drank in his physique, her eyes drifting down to the growing bulge in his breeches. Rachel smiled hopefully, writing. “More sex?”

Erikk nodded, tugging at the twine of his breeches with teasing slowness. “What do you think?”

She shuddered with excitement, hesitantly adding: “Face? Eyes? Like in the book?”

“Like in the book,” he said, pulling the chord, his long, girthy cock springing out, bouncing off his abs with a meaty ’smack’. “Romance.”

She made a sound that was somewhere between a chitter, a squeak, and a lustful growl, rearing her abdomen up off the mat, bringing it between his legs. He was pleased to look down and see she was still just as open and ready as before. Part of him worried that Indrel didn’t bounce back like humans did, and if he had permanently loosened this poor girl.

‘I’ll just have to come back and visit,’ he thought to himself, jokingly, although the more he thought about it, the more the idea of spending time with these fascinating creatures intrigued him.

He gasped as he felt her pincers close around his shaft. Rachel batted her eyes at him with an almost audible clicking sound, her pincers holding his cock in place as she rubbed her hot, slick pussy up and down his shaft. She held up the slate. “So big. Had few as long. None as thick. Thick is best. Feels like reaching when stiff. Feels like almost break. But feels good very good very thick try break me please try break me.”

Erikk chuckled and shook his head. “Breaking isn’t romantic.”

She cocked her head to the side. “No?”

“Not at all,” said Erikk, grabbing his shaft and pressing his fat cockhead against her hole. “A romantic lover does everything he can to make his lady feel good. Make the act about her. Would you like that?”

Rachel chittered and trilled, eyes wide and hungry as she watched his cockhead spread her cunt. “Yes yes yes yes yes.”

Erikk moaned as his cock slid into her once more. He knew he needn’t worry, this girl was still plenty tight. Erikk sank into her with deliberate slowness, relishing the sensation. Her three clits dug into his sensitive crown, stiff and proud like nipples, his hard shaft rubbing them, squashing them flat into her firm flesh as he stretched her. Her reaction was immediate, loosing a trilling moan as her strangely jointed legs crossed high around his back. It wasn’t like missionary with a human woman, where her sex was conveniently located between her legs, rather at the end of a long, flexible abdomen located somewhere down where a woman’s knees would be. Moreover, he was thrusting downwards, not forwards, as she rose up to meet him. Still, their difference in height meant that they were still more or less face to face as he entered her. He looked down at her, meeting her gaze as he did. Her eyes, half-lidded and glazed, wordlessly begged him for more.

So, he obliged.

He pressed down harder, gasping as his cock pressed against those firm, slick rings, sliding through them with an almost audible ‘pop’. Pop, pop, pop, they stretched and slid over his cockhead, each time he panted and moaned, the firm, frictionless tightness bunching up on his shaft. Pop, pop, pop. After eight spine-tinglingly pleasurable rings, he felt his pelvis grind into her outer lips, a rivulet of hot, thick slime ran down his balls. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Rachel’s slightly open mouth. She returned it with enthusiasm, opening her jaws, meeting his tongue with hers, exploring each other’s bodies on both ends. He pulled out slowly before sinking back in, setting a slow, steady rhythm, a far cry from their brazen rutting before. She moaned and buzzed, the sound coming from somewhere deep in her chest, her tongue sliding down the back of his throat as his own rolled about and wrestled its long, narrow length, his lips sucking and playing with the muscular ring at the back of her mouth. Her antenna once more tapped and stroked his hair, she purred and trilled in pleasure as his long, slow thrusts continued a pace, sure to make her feel every inch, every deliberate, thoughtful stroke and thrust aimed at her sweet spots. His cock would jab at a ring before pushing off into the sides, to the sensitive flesh between, pushing in and stretching them playfully before sliding through, stretching the sensitive structures over his meaty crown. He’d do this for every one he could reach, one after the other. At the same time, his shaft maintain merciless pressure on her clits, rotating his hips and barraging them with unending, velvety friction. Erik had not thrust in and out more than a few dozen times before her mewling chirps and moans lowered in pitch, becoming an urgent, needful growl before reaching a keening pitch Erikk swore he could feel buzzing around his prick. He was half-way out when her climax hit, the rings and flesh clamping down around him, almost trying to force him out with their tightness. Her inner walls spasmed once, twice, three, and then finally four times, her tunnel contracting together like an accordion before going slack. With a swing of his hips, he sheathed himself, his cock filling her just as an expected rush of searing hot, thick bug-cum flooded out from somewhere deep within her abdomen, spurting out around his cock, soaking his groin and splattering across her thorax. Her legs tightened around his back, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, pressing him down onto her.

“Errrrrkk!” Rachel cried, muffled by his mouth on hers, her tongue writing in his mouth and down his throat.

He showed no mercy, quickening his pace but not losing the technique. Deep, precise thrusts with his tip, deliberate pressure and friction from his shaft, every sensitive spot he knew she had was targeted and caressed, prodded, and stretched. her pleasure was his goal, and he was determined to see how many times this bug-girl could cum before she became a useless puddle of jelly.

He continued his single-minded mission, kissing and caressing her mouth, sucking her slick black tongue, their eyes locked together. Erikk shot her an amused, predatory look as he felt another climax approach. Her eyes shone with pleasure and desperation as her orgasm built up within her, helplessly succumbing to his skill as he effortlessly played her body against her. Another building cry loosed from her occupied mouth as she came, Erikk broke the kiss pulled back, yanking his cock out with a juicy pop. Her pussy spasmed as clear, viscous bug-cum sprayed out, splashing across his chest and belly. He grabbed her abdomen and slide four fingers into her gushing hole, his hand sliding in past the knuckle until only his thumb remained outside. With practiced dexterity, his fingers targeted those same weak spots, strumming her rings and flesh like an instrument. Rachel’s eyes went wide, something like panic in them as she thrashed about on the ground, jaws opening and closing soundlessly as the new sensations assaulted her sanity. Her back arched up off the ground as another, stronger orgasm tore through her, barely on the heels of the prior one, thoroughly soaking the human as he continued his merciless ministrations. She froze up, like before, her mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy, but Erikk could feel the tumult within, her sex spasming and clenching wildly. He lined his cock back up with her hole and slid inside, hilting himself in a single thrust, moaning as her mindless, out of control orgasm barraged his flesh with wild contractions and spasms. Alarmingly, Rachel broke out of her trance, going completely limp, limbs plopping to the floor, her head lolling off to the side. Erikk would have been concerned that he’d actually killed her this time, were it not for the fact that she was still very much alive around his cock.

“Hm.” Erikk grunted, picking up her leg and letting it drop limply. “You still in there, Rachel?”

His answer came in the form of an explosive spray of hot love-slime bursting out of her hole, pressurized by the tight seal his cock made with her sopping cunt, soaking his groin and belly.

“That’s a yes.” He muttered, gasping in pleasure as her slack abdomen began to fall, almost sliding her chaotic insides off his cock. “Well, missionary isn’t going to work with you like this. Hold on…”

He hilted himself in her and leaned forward, grabbing her arms and draping them over his shoulders until her head rested against his neck. Careful to keep her pussy stuffed with his throbbing organ, he slowly got to his feet, the dazed bug-girl half-draped over his shoulders.

“There we go,” he grunted, arms wrapped around her waist as his arms firmly grasped her abdomen. “Now, where were we? Oh, right. Romance.”

He thrust up into her, bouncing the limp Indrel up and down, pulling her abdomen down to meet his thrusts. Her head jostled and lolled on his shoulder, an endless rivulet of drool pouring from her slack, open mouth and down his back. Rachel’s eyes blinked and twitched, some facing in different directions as a storm of pleasure ravaged her mind. The room echoed with the wet, rhythmic slurps of Erikk’s cock plunging in and out of her pussy, her hole now permanently seized, clinging to his shaft so hard her flesh inverted slightly with every pull out and dimpled inwards with every thrust. Erikk panted and groaned bullishly as he bounced her up and down on his cock, slipping slightly on the puddle of slime pooling around his feet, her cum now pouring from her in a steady stream. He stumbled for a moment before regaining his footing, pressing her against the wall. He reached up and steadied her head, gazing into her glazed, unfocused eyes. In that moment, through a haze of lust and passion, he briefly considered staying here with the Indrel, with her, not bothering with Val Salia at all, staying in the mountains, paying for his room and board with, well, this.

He leaned in and kissed her, just a tender little peck on the snout, feeling something warm and heavy blossom in his chest, his heart thudding at a different pace. He moaned and huffed, his own climax ripping to the fore amidst these new emotions, his cock twitching and throbbing as he shot pulse after pulse of thick white human cum deep into the Indrel’s love tunnel. He panted and heaved, once again in the tingling grips of yet another unimpeded flush of genuine satisfaction. He pulled his bizarre lover in for a tight hug before laying them both down on the sleeping mat, her bag to his heaving chest, well and truly bagged. He moved to withdraw his wilting organ from her when he felt her pincers clamp down around his shaft and scrotum, holding him in.

“Whoa!” He exclaimed, smiling. “Back in the world of the living, are we?”

She shifted, nestling into him, reaching for her slate and chalk. “You said breaking not romance.”

He chuckled, shrugging. “Well, trying to break your lover isn’t romantic. What happens in the throes of passion, well, that’s another thing.”

More writing. “Like romance. Like VERY. Eyes. Kiss. Hands. Much better than sex.”

“Glad to hear I did a good job,” Erikk said, sighing. “So, did I make up for breaking your rock?”

She chittered, amused, writing: “If slate break, do that again?”

“Save your slate, all you have to do is ask. In a bit, though, I’m exhausted!” He said, still catching his breath. “I could hit a pipe, though. And something to drink.”

Rachel perked up at this, getting up and unceremoniously yanking his now fully soft cock from her pussy with a lewd slurp. She scuttled off to the Indrel hole and was gone for a moment, returning a minute later with a pipe, a fire-stick, and a mostly full bag of pipeweed, as well as a flagon of water. Erikk sat up, smiling, taking the flagon and sipping from it.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t water. At least, not just water. It had a strange, barely noticeable sickly sweet flavor, like ripe fruit on the verge of rot, with a hint of musk or something similar. It swished and swallowed like water, but left a curious, slick sensation in his tongue and cheeks. His belly lurched as saliva flooded his mouth: he needed more. Erikk tilted back the flagon and pert near drained it, gulping back the mystery drink in hearty chugs. He sighed with relief and set it back down, his body feeling as though he’d been without water for days. Rachel seemed unsurprised by his reaction, placidly offering him the pipe and pipeweed, which he took graciously

He loaded a pinch of pipeweed into the bowl and poked the fire-stick – a dried porous reed soaked in lard – into the fire, lighting the end and using it to ignite the shredded leaf.

He took a drag and held it before sighing out a puff of smoke. “That’s the stuff. Want a puff?”

She shook her head. “Indrel don’t breath with mouth. Pipeweed good for eating though.”

He reached into the bag, grabbing a pinch of cured, shredded leaf and sprinkled it into her open mouth. He watched her swish the likely foul-tasting stuff about her mouth with apparent relish before swallowing and writing “Thank you. Still feel empty.”

“Empty?”

Rachel sat down between his legs, reaching down and grabbing his soft cock at the base, squeezing it lightly before sliding it back into her hot, wet insides, shuddering with pleasure. She held up the slate. “How long?”

Erikk chuckled out another cloud of velvety smoke. “Damn, how can you still be horny? Dunno, we’ll see.”

She shook her head, writing. “How long until go?”

Erikk paused, thinking back that absurd notion he had in the throes of passion; staying here, with the Indrel, with a people who had never wronged him, never exploited him. He’d admit, even now, with a clear head, the prospect was… compelling. He dismissed it a moment later, though. He’d have to go to Val Salia, become a citizen, if he wanted protection from the Debt Collectors of the Green Reach. Still… once he had that, who knows?

“Morning, I reckon,” he said after a while. “Depends on the weather.”

She scribbled for a moment. “Come back?”

He chuckled, patting her on the head. “After I set up in Val Salia, sure, why not? I’m a cheap bastard and avoiding that weigh-station seems like a good idea. Now that I know I can pay your girls’ price, I may just run some freight through here. Who knows?”

Her head swiveled around completely so that she was facing him, a wry smile on her face; just looking at it made his neck hurt. “Price paid first orgasm. First time counted three, and romance lost count. I owe you.”

He smirked at this. “Do you now?”

She nodded, pointing to the copper pot and stand, then to the sleeping mat. “You want?”

He nodded, puffing on the pipe. “I’ll take it.”

“Have more things in back,” she wrote. “Many many things. Food, clothing, boots, shiny things. You take.”

“Hey, I don’t want to clean you out!”

She shook her head. “Is gift. Nice things for pretty romantic human with thick cock. You take.”

“Will all the other girls along this route be as generous as you, Rachel?” Erikk said, wryly.

She smiled at him. “Depends if sex or romance. Sex get shelter. Romance get many things.”

He twitched as he felt her sex squeeze around his, despite his fatigue, the slick warmth and pressure got a reaction out of him. “Uh… how many shelters are there along this path?”

“Ten.”

Ten shelters, given the route that added up to a little under two weeks before he could reconnect with the wagon train. Erikk contemplated the relative haul he could walk out of here with, hocking whatever thing squeamish prior travelers had thrown at the Indrel to avoid payment. He could walk into Val Salia with a small fortune! And, hey, he could think of worse ways to spend two weeks.

“Yeah, alright.” He drummed his fingers on her headplate. “Are the other ladies expecting a similar performance?”

“They are now,” she wrote, winking at him. “News travels fast with Indrel. No sound or writing. Just smell.”

Ah, well, that’s interesting.

Hey, wait a minute…

“Indrel don’t have writing?” Erikk said. “How’d you learn how to read?”

Rachel cocked her head to the side. “Watched humans read out loud. Pointing to words. Remembered.”

Wow. Clever girl. And now that he thought about it, being literate would be a major boon in Val Salia. In fact, Erikk recalled that skilled people got punted to the top of their recruitment lists. And while he didn’t doubt being even semi-literate was a point in his favor, well, being full literate would probably land him a pretty sweet deal. And human tutors would cost a pretty copper…

“Say…” Erikk said, puffing on the last embers of the pipe. “Do Indrel know what ‘rent’ is?”

She cocked her head, an expression of confusion he would now fully admit to finding adorable. “No. What is word?”

“So, when one human has what lots of other humans want, a house or a wagon or an animal, that sort of thing,” Erikk explained. “This human will give this thing to other humans to use in exchange for coin. They still own it, but the other humans use it so long as they pay.”

Rachel contemplated this a moment, shaking her head. “Do not understand.”

Erikk took the slate and chalk from her, drawing a crude indrel. “Alright. This is Rachel.”

Rachel trilled, pointing at the stick figure and then at herself.

“That’s right. Rachel has a room and food.” He drew a circle around the Indrel and then a crude rendition of meat on a bone. “Understand?”

Rachel nodded, smiling blithely as he drew.

“So there’s Rachel and her room and food,” he said, drawing a stickman. “This is Erikk.”

She pointed at the stick figure and then to him, smiling. “That’s right.”

She took the chalk from him and added a long line hanging between the figure’s legs, turning to him with a leer.

“Yes, yes, that’s also right.” He chuckled, taking the chalk back and drawing the stickman inside the circle with the stickbug. “Erikk likes Rachel’s room and would like to stay in it for a while. The room is still Rachel’s, but Erikk will pay to stay. Rachel gets paid, Erikk gets to stay. What Erikk pays in this arrangement is called ‘rent’.”

Rachel took the slate back, wiping it clean. “Thank you. I understand now. A fascinating concept.”

“What does that last bit mean?”

“Neat idea.”

Erikk saw the segue and took it. “Say, maybe, Erikk also wanted to learn from Rachel how to read and write better. He’s already renting the room, what would Rachel want for tutoring?”

She paused and thought about this for a moment. “Teaching take time. Planning. Practice. Rachel would be too busy to manage shelter. Colony make shelters to get things and food from humans, payment for drones is bonus. Rachel would charge two pounds pemmican per week.”

Damn. Erikk kept forgetting that this bug-girl and her colony were very likely much smarter than him. Ignorant in some ways, but certainly not naive or gullible.

Then again…

“And what if Erikk took care of managing humans? What if Erikk could talk them into exchanging more food and goods better than Rachel? Rachel is smart and very friendly, but Erikk is a human, and they will talk to him and listen.”

Rachel considered this for a moment. “If Erikk gets many goods from humans, what will they pay the other shelters?”

Erikk smirked, coyly. “Rachel will be very popular with her sisters.”

Rachel contemplated this for a moment before getting it, trilling and clicking in amusement. “Very popular Rachel! This game is fun. Erikk is very fun.”

Erikk chuckled and nodded. “It’s not quite over, this game. So, if Erikk did this, and Rachel got food and items, what would Erikk have to pay for rent and tutoring?”

Rachel pondered this for a moment. “If Erikk manage shelter, that is rent for Colony. Service for service. If Erikk want Rachel for tutor, one pound pemmican per week.”

Erikk chuckled and wrapped his arms around her thorax. “What if Erikk gave her over a pound of meat every day, multiple times a day?”

Rachel looked at him incredulously, evidently not understanding Erikk’s coy proposition. “Where is Erikk getting that much meat?”

Smart, these Indrel, but apparently subtext-blind. Erikk rolled his hips forward, shifting his cock inside her. To his shock, he was semi-hard, her flesh shifting around his meat. Indeed, despite his previous efforts, he found that long-lost lust bubbling up within him once more. Rachel squeaked and twitched at the movement, her eyes going glossy and distant as he worked himself to full mast inside her.

“So…” He murmured, resting his chin on her shoulder and kissing her on the cheek. “What’re your rates, teach?”

She turned to him, a look of dawning comprehension on her face, she held up the slate: “You rent? You manage? You pay? I teach?”

He nodded, grinding his shaft up against one of her sweet spots, causing her to buzz and click. She tried to scribble on her slate only for Erikk to snatch it and the chalk away, laying her down on the sleeping mat. He wrote, his handwriting crude and halting, pausing as he tried to recall the symbols, before turning it around: “R O M A N S E V R E D A ??”

She smiled, sweetly, taking the tablet back. “Romance every day?”

“Well?”

She smiled at him and nodded, smashing the slate on the floor and looping her arms around his shoulders. He stooped down and planted a kiss on her mouthparts.

Part of him hoped he was a poor student.