I was bound, tied fast to the metal web. My arms extended over my head, and my legs were spread wide, ankles securely tied. My lace bra and panties, pink as he ordered, only served to make me feel more exposed. I waited in the spider’s parlor.
He knew this was one of my favorite rooms at the Dungeon, with its spider theme and clichéd goth vibe of black metal and red velvet. I’d willingly walked into the spider’s web.
He’d left the door open, so other patrons walking by could stand in the doorway and see me. I wasn’t worried about anyone coming in to the room, but my exposure was forefront in my thoughts. A young man, maybe in his early twenties, stood at the door watching me. He was fully dressed, of course. I felt his eyes rake over me, taking in my lingerie, the curves of my flesh left exposed, and the classic damsel in distress posing. Sir had even ordered me to pull the sides of my hair back. He wasn’t going to let me hide my face behind a fall of blonde hair.
I was getting wet, just watching this stranger watching me. Sir had told me that I could speak to anyone who spoke first to me, but so far the young man had just watched.
“Aren’t you a pretty fly,” he said to me. “Are you waiting for a spider?”
I nodded, “Yes, Sir will be back soon” I said softly.
“Will he let me watch while he devours you?” He asked.
I nodded again, “Sir likes people watching me.”
He didn’t say anything else, just stood and watched.
I felt my nipples stiffen and wondered if he could see them. Then he turned, responding to something outside of the doorway, something I couldn’t see, and he disappeared.
I gasped when Sir entered the room. I knew it was him, even with the mask. I always knew it was him, by the way he moved. He wore a suit, including a jacket. But it was the mask that made me gasp. It was a spider. Not a cutesy cartoon spider. No this was Natural History Museum science spider. I shuddered a little, but repulsed and attracted to the horror. “Aren’t you a pretty fly,” he said echoing the young man as he walked into the room.
I said nothing. He brushed a finger across my nipple. I bit my lip, and stared at the multiple glass eyes that glittered even in the dim light. Because of the shadows the mask cast, I wasn’t sure, but I thought that it left his mouth uncovered, well partially covered by the fangs that protruded from the mask. This wasn’t what I expected, but I couldn’t wait to find out.
I saw someone else enter the room, the young man from the doorway. He stood silently leaning against the wall. Sir must have invited him to watch from a closer spot. Sir must have noticed that my attention had shifted to the man because he grasped my nipple between his fingers, pinching and twisting enough to make me gasp. “Bad fly,” he hissed through the mask.
Before I could speak, he waved the young man over. “Go ahead,” he said.
The young man stood before me, while Sir settled into the room’s only chair. Chair may be an understatement. This was a spider’s throne, a massive iron web made the back of the chair. I’d been bound to that chair once, or maybe twice. It was a solid metal throne, and Sir was the spider king tonight.
The young man pulled on his own spider mask, just as grotesquely realistic as Sir’s mask. The young man, the young spider, ran a finger down the side of my face, and I couldn’t place the sensation, the feeling of his fingertip was off. “Poor helpless fly,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “All tangled up and trapped in this web. I am going to enjoy devouring you.”
I shivered and felt my flesh prickle. This wasn’t what I expected, but I wanted it so much. Sir had shared me before, and we talked about how much we both loved it. I loved the loss of control, giving over my will to Him. And I basked in the attention of being used and watched at his command.
The young spider ran his fingers over my collar bone, and I saw the gloves. Not leather, something rough with a little bite to the fabric. He stroked by collarbone, and ran his hands over my bound arms. The strange gloves tugged at my flesh, almost abrading me. I whimpered a little, as his hands moved down my sides, with the same slow, rough touch. The gloves snagged on the lace of my panties as his hand wrapped around my mons. I moaned as he pressed his hand against me.
“Little fly likes this.” He hissed his voice distorted through the mask. “Do you like the feeling of urticating hairs. Will you keep enjoying them?” His fingers slipped inside my panties, and a whimpered to feel the roughness of the gloves against my bare lips.
I had no idea what urticating hairs were, but it made me think of tarantulas. I was more interested in what those fingers would feel like inside me. Would they be too intense too rough? “I like it, Mr. Spider” I whispered, not sure what to call him.
“Mr. Spider,” he paused, his fingers resting against my skin, “I like that.” He slid a finger between my lips.
The gloves grated at my skin, and I moaned. I don’t know if the gloves were his idea or Sir’s creation, but I liked them. I bit my lip, to keep from begging him for more.
“She is wet,” this was directed to Sir. “She’s soaked her pretty panties.” He tugged at my panties, but with my legs bound the scrap of cloth wasn’t going to come off easily. He turned away, and took something from Sir. My eyes grew wide at the sight of the wicked looking sheers. I expected to feel the blade against my hip, but I didn’t. The young spider tugged the gusset down and I felt the cold blade of the scissors slide across my mons. He dragged the point softly across my skin, and then I heard the snip. He stepped back to admire his work.
He pinched my nipple thought the lace, slowly letting my flesh slide out of his grasp, but holding tight to the fabric. I felt the scissors slice over my nipple as he cut a hole into the bra. He repeated this on the other side. His gloves rasped against my skin as he torn the fabric further, widening the hole he had cut. He palmed my breast, the chafing of the gloves, deliciously scouring my flesh. When he pinched at my nipple, I squealed.
He stepped back, letting Sir see me. I gazed at his spider mask, unable to read his expression. He inclined his head toward the mirror in the room. I turned to look. My hair had started to come lose. The cut and torn lingerie highlighted my exposure. With the young spider next to me, I looked like a pulp horror magazine cover. Sir looked at me in the mirror, “Watch” he ordered.
Young spider went back to touching me. I watched us both in the mirror, as his hands rasped and rubbed down my belly, inexorably toward my now uncovered pussy. My legs shook as I watched the spider-headed man slide a single finger in between my lips. I heard him whisper in my ear, “I want to hear you, little fly. I want your cries and moans.”
I nodded, as his finger teased my clit, the grating glove a constant presence. His free hand closed around my breast again, it felt like burlap rubbing against me. I bit my lip and moaned softly. The sensations and the weird visual of it all added to my arousal. I wanted this spider-man to fuck me, to make me cum, to shove his roughly furred fingers inside me. He continued the slow, grinding fingertip on my clit. I whimpered and moaned, but it wasn’t enough for the young spider. He increased the pressure, but not the speed of his touch. He moved his head toward my breasts, and something about seeing that face, even knowing it was mask, sent a frisson of fear through me. I bucked my hips and strained against the bounds.
“Now little fly gets it” he muttered through the mask. The fangs on the mask dug into my flesh as his mouth covered my nipple.
I cried out, in both pleasure and shock. Even if I was watching myself, the image was jarring, perhaps more so because it was me. The tattered lingerie now painted a backdrop for this spider-monster assaulting me. His lips and teeth teased and tormented my nipples, and his mask scoured my skin every time he moved. He finally moved his fingers from my clit, and the cool air stung my sandpapered flesh. His fingers crept toward my vagina, and I begged.
His finger pressed slowly inside me. The scraping was exquisite. He pumped his finger in and out, and returned his face to her breasts. I moaned and writhed shuddering as I came.
He removed his finger, and I heard his pants unzip. He paused and looked at me, or at least I thought he was looking, with the mask I couldn’t be sure. “Little fly, tell me your safe word.”
My mind was slow to grasp his question. It was a common one in the scene, a way to check in with a submissive, make sure the scene wasn’t going astray. I appreciated that he asked and kept it in character. I whispered my safe word to him, and he nodded. “Good little fly,” he brushed my hair back where it had fallen loose.
“Will you devour me now, Mr. Spider?” I asked.
He wrapped his hands around my hips and plunged his cock into me. I cried out as he stretched my abraded skin. I struggled against my bounds again, frustrated by his slow pace. The fangs on his mask bit into my shoulder as he pressed in and out of me with a steady taunting pace. He kept it up, until I once again begged.
When he finished, the Spider King rose from his throne.