Jillian climbed the stairs to the attic door, a grin on her face, her mind spinning with excitement for what lay on the other side.
It had been months before that her roommate had, on a night where they were both mutually drunk and giggly, confided in Jillian her love for rope play. She had put such a broad, playful question out between the two of them — what was the wildest thing each of them had ever done — which is where her roommate had revealed the time she had hogtied a partner up on a table in the midst of a fetish party dinner.
They explored the possibilities the following night, and Jillian felt an appetite whetted that she hadn’t known she possessed.
She was at work when her roommate texted her, teasing her, encouraging her to come up into the attic when she got home. The attic was their laboratory, their place space — dare she say it, their dungeon. The place to explore the power of rope, of sensation, the feeling of helplessness freely given and used.
Reaching the top of the steps, she hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. Her heart pounded. She was eager, hungry, for what lay on the other side, but she delayed a moment, letting the anticipation start to crest into a wave deep within her.
The knob turned. She pushed the door open.
The dungeon was utterly transformed. Gossamer strands of ivory thread spanned in all directions across the space, some strung by themselves, others gathered together into thick cables of white. Jillian’s breath rushed; she closed the door behind her, stepping forward, hands pressing against the strands surrounding her. Sticky film clung to her skin, pulling the strings with them, gooey film stretching between her palm and the silk as she pulled away.
In the distance, growing closer, the heard the tapping of many sharp points against hard surface. Jillian glanced around her, a shiver running through her, the sound seeming to come from all directions.
“Hello, darling.”
A gasp bursts past Jillian’s lips. Slender hands, with long digits ending in knife-like points, drape over her shoulders and lock around her chest. Something thin, sticky, wet, grabs her wrists, encircling them, lifting her arms away from her body.
“H-hello?” Jillian answered, her voice trembling. The breath against her neck was hot, but shook her body like an icy wind.
“Would you like to play a game with me?”
Something slender, thick, and wet curled against Jillian’s neck and jaw. Whimpering, she looked over her shoulders, her gaze meeting six blood red eyes staring back at her. “Who,” she said, her voice sounding far more feeble than she intended, “What are you?”
Her arms lifted overhead, pulled at angles from her torso. More threads found her ankles, the sharp points of thin, spindly legs wrapping them around her legs in tight loops.
“My name is Iole,” the strange being said. Warm lips brushed against Jillian’s earlobes; sharp teeth found her skin, applying the lightest pressure to sensitive skin. “If you haven’t noticed already, I’m an arachne. A spider.”
Jillian screamed as her legs were pulled out from under her, he limbs lifted into the air as she was laid flat on her back, suspended in space. Her heart raced furiously, running like a motor white hot from use. She pulled at her restraints, only to find them firm; elastic, but ultimately unyielding in their grip on her body.
It was then, as more skittering movement played at her ears, that she finally saw her captor.
From the waist up, Iole looked generally human; the waist and hips, chest and arms of a mundane human woman. Though her skin was a light violet, her hair a shock white as it stood in spikes from her scalp, in dark enough lighting she could be mistaken for a human being.
Until you saw her face. Or what was joined to her hips.
The arachne’s face was unnerving; six red eyes set into her skull. Dark purple lips smiled beneath a flat nose, while sharpened teeth peeked out from behind those plush cushions of tender skin. Her tongue — like a tentacle with a mind of it’s own — stroked over those lips, coating them with saliva.
From below, her body swelled out in a large, black bulb — her spider-like abdomen, from the front of which eight needle-like legs sprouted and balanced on the silken cables spanning across the room in a complicated mesh. A giggle spilled from her mouth; light, like the sound of bells, in Jillian’s ears.
As nightmarish as she looked, Jillian could not bring herself to pull her eyes away. “What,” she said, breath shaking in her voice, “are you going to do to me?”
Iole balanced herself on her silk strings, straddling Jillian’s prone body. Her hands lay flat against one another, as though in prayer, as she stared down at her catch. “You’re the fly in my web, darling,” the woman said. “I intend to savor and enjoy my catch.”
Iole bit down into Jillian’s neck, sending a quivering twitch through the human girl’s body. She cried out, twisting away from the wound, only to find a hand at her back, pushing her once more against the arachne’s mouth. Warm blood dribbled over taut skin; she shivered as Iole’s tongue graced over the wound, lapping up her fluids, curling around the circumference of her neck as it dragged over her skin.
She gasped again as sharpened spider’s legs bit into the back of her shirt, tearing through fibers, slicing the shirt and bra open until it draped uselessly against the front of her body. Iole brushed the tattered top and undergarment aside, crawling further down, her tongue wrapping around one breast, squeezing until a long moan rolled from Jillian’s mouth.
Jillian’s hands twitched. She wanted to grab for Iole’s hair, run her fingers back through those short spikes; she wanted to draw her knees up and wrap her calves around the arachne’s waist. What she was doing felt so good, so intense. Her limbs, though, were pulled out away from her. She could twist them, pull, tug at the strings binding her, but even as Iole’s teeth met the nub at the center of her breast, her mouth suckling at the tender flesh there, all she could do was cry out, helplessly restrained, her voice cracking and shaking as easily as her body.
Sharp fingers reached down; the weight of Iole’s breasts pressed against Jillian’s belly. She could hear the snap and break of the fibers in her pants as they were split down the seams at either side of her legs. The arachne’s nails bit through her pants, down to her panties, scratching at the surface of her skin beneath it all. She twitched and twisted against her restraints, toes curling within her shoes and stockings. The last pieces of her suit fluttered away from her body with hardly any effort; the attic air felt cool against her skin, drawing a shiver out of her that radiated out from the bone.
Iole’s hands held to Jillian’s sides as she crept further down. Sharp nails bit into the skin at her back, Iole’s tongue tracing its way in a long line down her abdomen. It was when that long, snake-like muscle dragged over her pubic mound, through the short-trimmed hair covering it, that Jillian’s breath began to run faster.
“I-Iole,” she said, her eyes squeezing shut, “Please…”
She cried out into the dimness of the attic as Iole’s tongue parted her vulva, weaving down between her folds. Its narrow top rode light over the tip of Jillian’s clit, brushing it with the arachne’s taste buds, the monstrous woman purring as she tasted the sweetness of this human girl’s loins. She reached forward, settling her thumbs down into the cleft of her folds, her tongue working downwards until it found her vagina, and wriggled its way inside.
Jillian clenched, pulling hard against her bindings, crying out as her head draped back. She felt on fire; she felt something warm and heavy in her belly. She twisted from side to side, squeezing the tongue thrust deep inside of her as it simultaneously stroked over the bead of her clit’s head. Fingernails pressed against her palms, while the arches of her feet folded against themselves, muscles in her legs tensing little by little as Iole pulled at the tension within her.
Nails scratched at the back of her thighs; sharp, pointed barbs against soft flesh and tender muscle. Jillian grit her teeth, feeling her chest shudder, feeling her insides turn into a knot. Please, she begged within her mind, her voice too far gone from screaming to make out coherent words; please, let her ride this to a finish.
Instead, Iole withdrew the long whip of her tongue, dragging it out over the same sensitive spots she’d drawn it over on her way inside. Jillian whimpered, tears beading at the corners of her eyes. How could the strange woman leave her this way, leave her riding the cusp of pleasure?
She settled back into her restraints in surprise as Iole climbed back over her, the heavy bulb of her abdomen resting against her legs. Something heavy pressed between Jillian’s legs; when she looked down out of instinct, Iole lifted herself, revealing the long, arching ovipositor pressed against Jillian’s loins.
“What is,” Jillian gasped out between heavy breaths, only to feel a single, long finger pressed against her lips.
Iole smiled, shifting forward, the barbed tip of her phallus easing down between Jillian’s folds. “A spider lays her eggs somewhere safe, my darling,” she said, her voice warm, her voice sensuous, her voice golden and thick in its tone. Hands rode their way up Jillian’s sides, taking firm hold around the arches of her ribs, while the arachne’s thumbs brushed over the swollen nubs of the young woman’s nipples. “Your body will do nicely.”
Another scream burst forth from Jillian’s mouth as Iole sank into her, the thick, bulbous, pointed mass of her ovipositor spreading her vagina wide, stretching the muscle to the limit of its elasticity. All the while, her tapered fingertips pressed and dragged against Jillian’s back, cutting into the skin, letting warm blood drip down against the floorboards beneath them.
Jillian shook, her breath pouring out faster than she could draw it in, her forehead wet with sweat as the arachne pumped into her. Hot lubricant leaked against her thigh and buttock; the silk lines holding her place strained as her strength threatened to pull them from the walls. Every muscle in her body coiled, tightened, storing immeasurable energy as she was ridden in the disorienting void of suspension.
It was with a violent scream, and a guttural cry from Iole, that they both found release. Something thick and semi-solid poured deep into Jillian’s birth canal; something alien and intimate, terrifying in their delicate touch deep inside of her, stretched open the muscular seal into her womb, allowing the strange substance to pour down inside, overriding her body and flooding the hidden cavity deep inside of her.
Senseless syllables dribbled from her lips. It was only when Iole finally withdrew, pulling free from her body’s grip, that Jillian finally found the breath for words. It took her a moment to find strength in her neck, but once she could, she stared down, looking at the soft, rounded bulge in her abdomen. She wanted to touch it, feel the swell of Iole’s eggs deep inside of her, only to be reminded she was still restrained.
Iole eased herself to one side, balancing herself on her strings of spider silk, curling up alongside Jillian. “Was it,” she said, the red orbs of her eyes meeting the glazed look on Jillian’s face, “as good as you were hoping it would be?”
A laugh spilled from Jillian’s mouth, followed by a sigh as her roommate rested her head against her shoulder. “Marvelous,” she said, her heart slowing itself back down to normal as she felt the warmth of the arachne’s body beside her own. “Those eggs, though,” she said, pressing her teeth into her lower lip a moment, “they weren’t really…”
“Fertilized? Oh no, of course not. You merely wanted to fill you up, not actually…” The arachne giggled, a deep purple blush flooding her cheeks. “…You know. Use you to, well, incubate.”
Jillian laughed. It didn’t sound that terrible, she thought as they lay together, feeling the wet mass inside of her shift with every movement. “Maybe one day,” she thought, and kissed her roommate’s… her girlfriend’s forehead.
“Maybe.”
She closed her eyes. “Think you can let me down now.”
“In a moment. I’m enjoying resting with you like this, right now.”
Jillian sighed. So was she.