#spider lady

Arvix. City of night. The jewel in the crown of the deep elves, situated as close to the surface as they can stand to build. One of the few places in the empire where a visitor could be and not find themselves executed, enslaved, or worse. You'd come here to trade. Furs and cheeses from the North, olives and wine from the West. A long route, to be sure, but worth a pretty penny to brave the trade lanes as they wend under the mountains into the dark.

You had expected to make a profit, enough to pay off the investors you'd somehow roped into bankrolling this little venture, and you had. What you hadn't expected, was to pull.

After finishing your business in the trading square, you'd gone to one of the less openly xenophobic pubs in the city. Deep elvish society wasn't exactly welcoming at the best of times, but the more progressive establishments didn't really care who was spending gold, only that they kept spending it. The beer they brewed was pretty diabolical, a sharp-tasting mixture made by fermenting algae that clings to the edges of underground pools. Foul-smelling, foul-tasting, remarkably strong. So strong that you were already reeling in your seat by the second pint, you would've fallen off halfway through your third, had she not caught you.

May’Stra. She'd introduced herself as May'Stra. An old-fashioned deep elfin name, the kind that normally meant something, as opposed to how expats tended to name their children outside the empire. She can't have been that old fashioned herself, she caught you after all.

You drank together, you laughed together, you tried not to stare at the fact her humanoid torso ended in the thorax and abdomen of a huge spider. You knew little of the religion that shaped so much of the empire, partly by design, they kept few enough material exports and fewer still cultural. Either way, she was friendly enough. She seemed to hang on your words, letting you talk at length about your travels, buying you flagon after flagon of the strong, musty drink.

You knew you'd had too much when you started to almost enjoy it.

Getting to your feet was a struggle in and of itself. Staggering over to the stairs leading downwards into the rooms, architecture cut into the rock itself, was borderline impossible. By the time a familiar pair of blue-grey arms lifted you from the ground, hoisting you into a princess carry as your newfound friend skittered down the staircase.

She navigated easily, despite the narrow stairs. It made sense they'd design their architecture to allow those chosen by their deities to move easily. She also knew exactly where she was going. When you slurred out that she had walked straight past your room she simply cooed at you in her arms, the eight chitinous legs working to keep you moving quickly through the maze of corridors. Outrunning the torchlight, a gentle ruddy glow coming from subtle patterns on her skin. An ethereal glow around her like a halo, utterly failing to touch the rock walls around you

Assuming there were still walls.

Her movements were silent now. Gone was the steady click-clacking of slender spider legs on stone. She moved on as your eyes gradually acclimated to the gloom. You were in a cave, vast and vaulted. Was it natural? Stalactites clung to the ceiling, the longest of them plunging down around you, their surface marbles with growths of the glowing lichen.

“Welcome home, outlander” Her voice was unmistakable, but it wasn't the warm, welcoming voice you heard at the bar. It was colder now, with an edge of something approaching loathing “You are honoured, you will make a fine host. Now just hold still”

You looked up at her, eyes widening in a drunken horror as her face split open, unfolding to reveal a set of dripping fangs. You were too slow, too drunk, and much too afraid to dodge the bite.

The venom works fast. It keeps the victim alive, conscious even, but that's all. Once it enters the system, it floods the peripheral nervous system. Carefully tuned through magic or divine intervention, the heart continues to beat, the lungs continue to breathe, but for the next few hours the victim will be unable to move, wracked by spasms.

Of course, you hadn't set foot in a library for almost half a decade, and even then it was only to hire a wizard who knew something you didn't have time to learn yourself. So, when you began to twitch and spasm, ever muscle straining painfully against every other one, you did the only sensible thing.

You panicked.

The venom stopped you from opening your mouth to scream. The sound still echoed around the chamber, muffled by the rictus grin as you were passed from her arms to a pair of nimble pedipalps. The silk streaming from her spinarette, covering you in later after layer as you flipped end over end. By the time she was done, you were being lowered beneath the web on a thick rope, cigar-like, still straining against yourself. Still drunk, delirious from panic and exhaustion, your screams turned to whines, then sons, then silence as sleep overcame you.

She was upon you when you awoke. The cocoon of webbing opened up, strung across the web to make an impromptu platform. Your body once again yours, albeit pinned under a her thorax. You'd been totally stripped, naked as May’Stra looked down at you, clacking those inhuman fangs together, no longer feeling a need to hide her nature “How is my pet? Feeling better? Good.”

She didn't wait for you to answer. She didn't seem to care if you did or not. You could feel her abdomen descending towards you, her body twitching in anticipation “You get to be my pet, so full, so beloved”

Her legs pried yours open, the immense bulk of her form pressing against you, driving you into the layers of silk. You could squirm, but only a little. The fangs leering over you made it clear that doing so is a bad idea. You were able to move because she wanted it, not because she couldn't stop you.

Feet in the air, arms pinned, you awaited it. Whatever she had planned for you. She wasn't being forthcoming with details, murmuring to you about how privileged you are, how good of a pet you'll make, how good you'll look in a few weeks. Was she going to eat you or collar you? Maybe both? All you knew was, the longer she went, the softer she spoke, the more her spider half twitched and shifted. The web bounced under her. Every time it did, you felt something brushing against you. Something hard, jabbing into you.

A feeling like cold water washing down your spine. A stinger? Spiders don't have them, right? Though May’Stra wasn't really a spider, she was something else entirely. Maybe she did? Again and again, the protuberance jutting from her underside prodded into your flesh, more than hard enough to bruise the soft flesh of your thighs and crotch.

Her muttering was getting faster, a barely-murmured stream of consciousness. She wasn't even looking at you any more, hands kneading her tits as her bulbous hindquarters kept on poking at you. Pinned beneath her, forced to watch, you could feel yourself moistening. The humanoid half of her was beautiful, all soft curves and plush flesh, giving way so readily to her fingertips. She was giving you a show, whether she intended to or not. You blushed, not wanting to think about the butterflies in your belly. Trying not to notice how your juices were starting to leak out of you as you watched her turning into a whining, whimpering mess above you.

The thrusting rod struck true. Aided by your ample fluids, it sank into you. The air flew from your lungs as her weight slammed against your cervix. Half a tonne of spider-lady pressed into you, pinning you to the web, lodging her inside. She was a moaning, drooling wreck, too blissed-out to do anything but chase her orgasm. You were nothing more than a convenient hole, a warm, wet place for her to rut into. She didn't say that, didn't need to. Your widespread legs, the sound of your cunt being ravaged by her top-large pole, your tearful yips and helps. You were hers. Hers to do with as she pleased. You both knew it.

More and more she pushed down into you. You or the web. One would break first. Her thrusts were irregular, no rhyme or rhythm to them, only sheer animal instinct driving the pulsing abdomen down. The gossamer creaked beneath you, bending and stretching as the tough elastic material protested at the stress it was being put under. The sounds she made were neither elfish nor any of the tongues of men. Grunting and gasping, punctuated by sonorous moans as she bottomed out in you, straining the muscular ring of your cervix near breaking.

She was leaking into you. Thick mucous that seeped into the walls of your cunt. You could feel it coating you, strangely cool against the increasing heat of your depth. It was definitely drugged, dosed with muscle relaxants, opening you wider to accommodate her. Softening the hard wall at the back of your cunt, relaxing the entrance to your womb.

It worked too well.

In mere moments, the pain was gone. Moments more and she was deeper in you than any of your lovers had ever gone before. Her weight rested on you. Some part of her instinctively pinning your body down as more and more of the oozing slime deposited in your womb. It was going to your head now. The breath pressed from you, the drugs in her slick, sticky cum, your head spun as your own moaning joined hers. By the time the first of the golfball-sized eggs deposited into your womb, bonding on contact with the fertile lining, you were much too high to notice but for a satisfying stretch as more and more joined it. Each one landed deep within you, placed directly into your supplicant belly, sticking together with the drugged slime that kept you twitching and drooling.

You weren't a person any more. You were her pet. Beloved, honoured, round with her clutch.