Oh God, Oh No

Statement of Marjorie Winters, regarding a... A really weird first date. Let's just call it that. Statement given July 21st, 2014. Audio recording by Marjorie Winters, per my request. Statement begins.

Look, I'm sorry. I know this isn't how you usually do things. But... When I got an ad for your Institute last night, I knew I had to tell my story. I'm not really articulate in writing, though, and I don't think I could tell this to another person with a straight face. So I'll just do the tape myself. Hopefully I've done all the formatting correctly. Anyways, I suppose I should begin.

I'm a database administrator. It's not exactly a glamorous career, but it lets me live in London without going bankrupt so I suppose I'm happy with it. You've got to understand though, it's an incredibly demanding job. You have to stay on top of everything to make sure it's running smoothly 24/7, which means weird schedules and constantly scrambling to fix outages. At least I get the choice of working from home most days, which gives me room to at least half enjoy my hobbies.

On the flip side, it means I don't really get out much to meet new people. I've always been introverted, so making the effort to trek to a bar or club has never been worth it for me. IT also happens to be a boys' club for the most part, and the couple of fellow trans girls that I do know live overseas, which is a problem when you prefer women. So you can understand with the pressures of having to keep everything under control and my lonely lifestyle, I needed something to cut loose for once.

I never really trusted dating apps, but it wasn't like I had much choice. It was that or go out and try to mingle in person. I ended up creating a pretty decent profile, with a few cute pictures of myself, my job and a list of my hobbies. I actually managed to get quite a few hits - some from male chasers, which I mean, that does happen, but most from women who seemed to be genuinely interested in me.

I didn't swipe right on most of them even then, as I was somewhat picky about people in general, but there was one woman who caught my eye. Her stark white hair complemented her beautiful dark eyes and eccentric outfit so perfectly, along with that elegant spiderweb dyed into her undercut. I was almost magnetized to her from the start. So I swiped right, and it turns out she'd already matched me. I was giddy from excitement, my hands almost shaking when I dropped her a line. My flirting was... Beyond awkward, let's say, but she took it in stride and seemed to find it rather charming. In the end, she dropped the location of a cafe and invited me to meet her there around mid-afternoon. Of course, I accepted.

You know, it's odd. I don't seem to remember learning that much about her. I know her name was Annabelle Cane. She was just as gorgeous in person as she was online, wearing a beautiful vintage tweed suit with a maroon shirt underneath. It turned out we both liked black and white movies and thrift shopping. She said she was a huge fashion enthusiast, being really fond of needlecraft and weaving in particular. She liked a bunch of cool bands I never heard of, and eagerly listened to me ramble on about my job and my life, never once taking those piercing dark eyes off me, like she was studying my every move to see what she should do next.

When she brought up that she played piano, I decided to be a little bolder than I was. I took her hand, and said I figured - she had the most elegant hands. At this, she broke into a wide smile. For a moment, I saw something strange behind the corners of her mouth - like something *retracted*. But I blinked, and it was gone. She stood up, and said her flat was just a 10 minute walk away from here if I wanted to see just how skilled they were. I couldn't believe my luck. So obviously I followed her, up to a modest little flat decorated in dark wine, purple and green hues, styled effortlessly just like the rest of her was.

She poured me a glass of red, and told me not to be so nervous. That she was going to take care of me. Now, she was 5 years younger than me, and a couple of inches shorter, but the way she spoke made me feel like I was down on my knees for her already. I hastily downed the glass, and before I knew it, I was in her bedroom. She pushed me down onto the bed, kissing me with a hunger I hadn't experienced in years. Her deft hands made quick work of my outer layers, leaving me just in my camisole and skirt, stroking and pinching me in ways that had me sighing desperately for her before anything had even happened.

Eventually, she pulled away with a wicked grin, and asked me if I wanted to do something a little more special. Before I could ask what she meant, she grabbed several lengths of silk rope from a nearby drawer. I'd written that I had a fair amount of experience with kink in my profile from my college days, and I was always down to experiment, so I hastily nodded. I lay down on the bed prone, with my arms raised above my head, waiting for her patiently and eagerly.

She started with my body, her hands working quickly to create an intricate pattern that I only recognized as a web when she was finished. It was as mesmerizing as it was complex, and the tightness of it underneath my chest, around my hips and my thighs made me ache for her touch even more. Her work continued with my arms and legs, securing them to each of the four corners of the bed. I could hardly move by the time she was done. My heart pounded in my throat like a caged bird battering itself against the gilded wire as she told me to close my eyes, whispering the safeword in my ear before leaving imprints of her teeth in the cartilage.

The stroking started off slow, sensual. By that time I gathered she liked being in control, and I relished in it. I could tell she was having fun by her pleased little hums whenever I squirmed too much, digging her nails in slightly more wherever I was particularly sensitive. She pulled light giggles and soft, delighted moans out of me, mapping out every inch of my body with her hands. Even when she intensified the pace, making me buck and squirm and laugh properly with her clever touches, I couldn't help but melt into her touch. Her nails caressed my chest, up along my inner arms, circling my stomach and the grooves of my hips, dancing along my inner thighs... I was in heaven.

In fact, I was so caught up in how good it felt to let go that I didn't even notice that something was definitely amiss. I mean, I did notice, but not consciously. Trying to cut through all of those mixed nerve signals was almost impossible in my state. It didn't click for me until I felt a fourth hand tracing the curves of my neck until I realized what the problem was. My eyes snapped open, expecting to see a second person she'd brought along without warning me. But that wasn't what I saw.

Kneeling on the bed in front of me was Annabelle Cane. It wasn't the woman I saw before, though. Her eyes... Oh god, you don't understand. She had so many eyes. Protruding from her lips were a set of vicious looking mouthparts, clicking and chittering with excitement. And where I once saw two perfectly normal arms, she had four more, their languid movements unnatural. Inhuman.

Believe me, I tried to scream, with all my might I tried. But the moment I did, it turned into cacophonous laughter when every one of those six, swaying arms descended on my prone body. And I realized I never knew what true helplessness felt like until that moment.

One set plunged its thumbs into the pockets of my hips, kneading there mercilessly. Another raked its neatly manicured fingers from my ribs to my underarms, scraping those hollows with what felt more like stiff bristles than nails. I was almost reminded of the bristles on a tarantula's leg. One of my exes was a real exotics nut, and he'd often try to convince me how cute and fuzzy they were, holding his prized pets up to me with a wide grin. But all I could see were those beady little eyes, watching me like they were plotting my every move - the same eyes that were now staring down at me with utter glee.

The last set wrapped around my knees, squeezing the caps and skittering its fingers along the underside. Occasionally, they roamed to my tight calves, the tender underside of my thighs. And all I could do was laugh. Do you understand? I couldn't - I couldn't move an inch. If this was normal bondage, I would have at least been able to squirm - she certainly gave me plenty of room to, but I couldn't. It was like I was hypnotized under some horrible spell, like a fly caught in her web, forced to endure the barrage of unbearable tickling torture.

So I laughed. And I wept. Once I got over the shock of it, I even remembered that she'd given me a safe word. But I didn't say it. Because I think the worst part of it was, I didn't really hate it. I mean, yes, I was begging for mercy, begging to do anything for it to stop, and I was petrified with fear like I'd never been in my life. But I just... I couldn't help myself, I guess. The rush that came with losing all that control, terrifying as it may have been. And she was gorgeous, and such a skilled domme...

When it finally, mercifully ended after what felt like forever, I was a wreck. My hair was plastered against my forehead, I was sweating like crazy. My body couldn't stop... Trembling. That was all the movement she allowed. All she did, leaning in close with those clicking mandibles and those dark, beady eyes sprouting from her forehead and her cheeks, was whisper a single word to me in a low, husky voice:

And I answered.

"Safeword?"

"Chelicerae."

"Good girl."

She leaned in for a kiss, and it was... God. Intoxicating would be the best word for it. At some point, she bit my lip, and I started to feel... Fuzzy. Sensitive, helpless. When she finally drew back, that was when I saw what she really was. Each of her arms a chitinous, segmented leg with those bristly little hairs all over that scratched and tickled like cruel little brushes. But it didn't matter at that point. I was all hers.

Statement ends.