She opens up, the crab woman. She opens from her areola the harsh, stiff claws that move with purpose. She is a woman, naked from the waist up and dancing, humping sensuously, as she unfurls her claw-breasts.
He is a man with the dark and orange ringed fluff of a large spider on his body, all over where the hairs should be. He sits back and watches deformed beauty, femininity, dance for him.
Are they my breasts, that spawn orange-pink exoskeleton legs? Can I touch his body without recoil, or see him without a scream? He is forcing himself on me. Sat down unmoving, he is forcing himself on me through fear. He knows that I am scared.