Erin couldn't restrain it anymore--after years of denial, rejection, and bald-faced hatred being thrown at her by anyone she was even remotely attracted to, to finally have someone who was genuinely interested in her--and devilishly handsome at that--right here entwined in her arachnid legs... she began unbuttoning his shirt, too aroused even to ask his permission. The shirt closed with snap-buttons along the sides to allow for his wings, so she simply ripped it away after that. John didn't object; he was too busy giving her clothes the same treatment.
It was only a few seconds until they were both nude. Jphn's wings flapped as if he were trying for takeoff as he kissed her over and over, fondling her breasts, legs, and eventually all of her in reach, and she returned in kind. They sank downward to the floor.
"Mind the wings!" John said breathlessly.
"Right!" came Erin's reply in the same breathless tone, and she rolled over onto her back, wrapping all eight legs around him and guiding his hips in the right direction--directly in the center of the cephalothorax of her spider-half. John took the invitation and entered her, pumping rhythmically to the beat of music Erin hadn't even noticed before. She briefly flashed back to his control of the fire when she'd arrived, and guessed he'd turned the music on sometime while she was undressing him. Then John adjusted his position and speed in a way that virtually obliterated Erin's capacity for conscious thought; she moaned with ecstasy as the pleasure mounted.
Suddenly she realized that her weight was being supported by her legs, and that she didn't feel the floor on her back anymore. John, in the throes of their lovemaking, had apparently started flying; they were a few feet off the ground.
John shifted position and increased the intensity of his thrusts yet again, and with a crash they both fell to the floor crying out in mutual orgasm. It was exactly the fifth orgasm she'd had since the transformation, and the first that someone else had given her since then, and it was the most intense she'd ever experienced. Her legs went limp; John rolled away and made a grab for the cigarette case in his shirt pocket. He put one between her lips, carefully avoiding touching her--wisely; she was hypersensitive right now--and lit it for her, taking one himself and taking an ashtray from the coffee table.
Sprawled next to John on the soft Persian rug, smoking, looking at the clock and realizing their sex had lasted for three hours, Erin finally believed him about how he felt about her.
