Meridsya's Pet 03: The Spider

# Author's note:

I have a lot more to say in this world, but I also have a lot of other stories I'm trying to finish in different worlds, so here's a little vignette to kick this along until I can get to the proper next installment.

If you're new to this world: This is about a man agreeing to consensual sexual slavery to a succubus, in her world where she is practically all-powerful and fickle. This installment covers some fairly strict BDSM themes including strict restraint, suspension, nipple torture, suggestions of dubious consent, pain play and toys.

~#~#~

Meridsya slowly ran her talon-like fingernails up my belly, hard enough to feel like scratching, until two nails roughly snagged my nipples and twisted them painfully.

I gasped. I shuddered. My cock throbbed.

With my wrists and ankles stretched apart until my joints creaked and a pad pressing hard into the small of my back to remove my last possibility of movement, it was all I could do.

Meridsya giggled and ground two nails into my nipples, stabbing until I thought I could almost feel my ribs flex.

I screamed at that, but I didn't grow any less hard.

It was the tenth day of my servitude (possession, ownership, slavery) and a pattern had been established.

Every night, Meridsya would fuck me until I passed out, or would make me fuck her until I passed out. Either I would have the desire and then she would simply not accept me stopping, or she would have the desire to take me, or it would amuse her to switch my libido on and see what I would want to do with it -- or what she could do to me while I was helpless to even have a negative opinion.

In the morning, I would wake up against her or with her spooning me or even spooning her. She would be awake. I'm not sure if she needed to sleep, or even if she left me until she knew I was about to wake -- or, more likely, decided when I would need to wake to suit her whims.

We would have some form of slow, softer sex that felt more like making love. It might amuse her to play with me gently, or to give me a long blow job with any combination of tricks, or simply to fuck slowly face to face or from behind, lying on our sides or with either one on top.

We would get up, we might shower (with more playing, but not proper fucking, although probably coming at least once). We would both have coffee. I would have something delicious for breakfast, the menu determined by some whim of Meridsya (although I had yet to eat anything I didn't like).

She might then leave me for an hour or the day or might want to chat about Earth or even just tell me to amuse myself while she ... dealt with papers, in a chair or at a writing desk and rarely looking happy about it but, to every indication I could see, working. I had no idea what it was she was doing or if she could be given any job title I might remotely recognise.

At those times, I usually busied myself reading. Sometimes, I would get restless and swim in a long pool in a cave attached to the bathing grotto, or use a gym set up with Victorian-era bodyweight exercise equipment like bars, ladders, inclined benches and a gymnastics horse.

At my request, Meridsya had given me a climbing wall.

At random times, she would decide she was restless and would fuck me. Those were usually rough times. She rarely felt playful and loving at those times. I always felt a prick of fear before induced lust washed it away, and was usually left sore and feeling used but rewarded -- and frequently mentally exhausted from constant incipient terror.

But after those times, she would make it up to me by making sure that at the end of the day, she treated me to transcendently mind-blowing sex, being the expert seductress to work me over until I passed out from exhausted ecstasy, not the Mistress or the coquette or the lover she usually preferred to be.

So, I had something to look forward to later, then.

I had been in the gymnasium, making myself feel masculine by doing arm and chest and thigh exercises because I felt bored with reading, when a prickling on the back of my neck made me turn around.

Meridsya, wearing her office-vamp costume of an almost-translucent vest over a lingerie-quality bra, leather miniskirt, patterned lace stockings and implausibly high heels, was watching me from the doorway with eyes glittering.

Despite the constructed nature of my body, I still sweated and still got tired and my muscles still got that delicious used feeling, so I was sheened with sweat, breathing hard and wearing only tight shorts and light shoes.

I stood there, looking back at her, feeling as much like an objectified sex slave as I ever had -- which, considering that was essentially what I was to Meridsya, was quite a bar to reach.

"Leave your shoes," she said, before spinning on one stiletto heel and stalking away.

Feeling the incipient dread of not knowing how much this was going to hurt but also with my erection already halfway there and accelerating, I unlaced my shoes quickly, stepped out of them and followed.

She led me to the conservatory.

"Stand," she ordered, pointing at a spot on the floor.

I did so, feeling a by-now-familiar tingling awareness of the so-far dormant spidery mechanism above me.

I glanced up briefly, my animal brain needing to check on the threat, in time to hear an iron clunk noise, a rattling as of large cog wheels, and to see the spider start descending towards me, spreading its multiple limbs like an opening flower.

I actually yelped and jerked back.

"Stand!" Meridsya's voice lashed at me. I froze. Possibly, she was using more than just authority on me.

But I kept staring at it, rigid with apprehension, as it smoothly dropped towards me, articulated arms questing before it.

It looked as though it was waving, sniffing the air or groping. It didn't look like a mechanism calibrating itself, and it certainly didn't look as though it was moving to pre-assigned positions. It looked like a hand flexing in anticipation, or like a blind creature feeling in front of it.

I deeply, sincerely wished it was not blind.

The one thing that made it terrifying compared to Meridsya, who, even at her most boundary-pushing worst, was only frightening, was that it fully appeared to be mechanical. I had no idea how much under Meridsya's control it was. I had no idea if it had independent sentience, or limited programming, or was a pure extension of her will. If it could understand limits or had stress sensors or could malfunction.

I had made no arrangements, come to no agreements, discussed no boundaries, with it.

And as it descended, it was making the most organic, sniffing movements I've ever seen from black iron.

As it came nearer, I began to see its arms in more detail. Imagine a torture device designed to look as mediaevally terrifying as possible, tipped with knives, drills and circular saws -- but someone had replaced most of those tools with the contents of a sex toy catalogue.

There were insertables, of course, in various styles and sizes ranging from smoothly polished rods to the tree shapes of plugs to the common "stack of balls" shape and even one realistic one. There were floggers, including something that spun and appeared to be a wheel rimmed with tongues. There were cuffs, clamps and even fully articulated hands with metal joints that looked to be moulded after bones.

And there were knives and scissors. I sincerely hoped they were strictly kept to be used against clothing.

As it came almost close enough for the longest of its arms to reach out and grab me, it opened like a flower, or -- the comparison leapt irresistibly to mind and stayed there -- like a cuttlefish about to pounce on its prey.

I reminded myself that Meridsya had promised me I would come to no harm from her.

I was having a hard time believing it.

When it was within striking distance, and I was shivering from anticipation without losing my erection, it stopped moving. A hand folded in from the ring of spread limbs, reached slowly towards me and touched my cheek. It was cold but not chill against my skin.

That was somewhere between creepy and disconcertingly reassuring.

Could I possibly relax?

I was looking up at it, puzzled, when two more hands seized me from behind and yanked me off the ground.

I actually screamed, "Fuck!" as my legs wildly flailed, my brain kicking into "falling, where's the ground?" mode and my hands grabbing at the cold, hard, deeply uncomfortable fingers gripping my ribcage.

Cuffs -- wide, snug without pressure spots, and lined with what felt like chamois leather, but undeniably cuffs -- clamped onto my wrists and ankles, freezing my limbs in place and then effortlessly stretching me into a starfish.

I did not have time to appreciate how closely the cuffs seemed to be moulded to my limbs.

I instinctively tried to fight back, but the only thing I could possibly achieve against the spider -- which had no visible motors or hydraulic cylinders or cables actuating it -- was to pull a muscle.

I gasped with pain as it stretched me, then made a barely more articulate and highly undignified sound as it swung me up to the horizontal, keeping my wrists at the same plane as my ankles arced backwards.

The hands around my ribcage, which were beginning to seem almost reassuringly supportive, let me go.

I dropped a little, but my joints would have to stretch to let me drop any further, and I was praying they wouldn't.

With a jerk, I was lifted another two feet and thought for half a second that at least one of my shoulders was about to be dislocated.

But I held together, although I bounced slightly when the movement stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

My thoughts, rallying, were scattered again by the appearance of a gleaming surgical scalpel before my eyes.

I stared at it in terror as the arm holding the instrument rotated about a blade a few times, letting light glint off the steel and show me the fineness of the edge.

It slowly lowered, moving as it did so until the tip lead it down below me and then along my body. The edge was upwards, towards me, which made me even more terrified although my cock was throbbing inside my shorts and doing its best to fight the fear that should have been consuming me.

I reflexively tried to lift myself up, although I am no gymnast and my muscles screamed with little effect.

Something slammed into the small of my back. It didn't punch me but it knew exactly where it was stopping, and that was a centimetre past where my skin had been. It felt like a bolster. It stopped me from moving even more than the position had.

I had to watch, petrified, craning my neck down to see, as the blade slid slowly down underneath my body, getting slowly nearer my skin as its horizontal path came closer to my angled torso.

I even sucked my belly in, although it was flat enough already.

As the blade passed my belly button, it smoothly rotated to have the edge down.

That was scarcely reassuring.

It paused at my waist, then angled up and towards the waistband of my shorts.

I froze, not daring to breathe, keeping my belly as still as I could.

The blade was briefly cold against my skin before the waistband parted as though it had never been whole.

The fabric offered no apparent resistance to the scalpel as it was cut from waist, past my hips and along one leg. I offered up a silent prayer to anybody at all that my shorts had been loose enough to hang without touching my underwear.

Then the scalpel reversed, started at the other leg, and came back up to the waistband. A short sideways slash parted the crotch before the shorts were plucked off me, leaving me in tight boxer briefs.

My heart nearly stopped at the thought of the scalpel removing those.

"Oh, your fear is just delicious!" Meridsya purred.

My gaze snapped back to her. She was grinning like a Cheshire tiger. I was higher than her head, so she could walk comfortably underneath me.

It was a measure of how terrified the spider had made me that I did not immediately realise just what position her head could be in, if she walked underneath me.

"Don't worry, little pet, I'm not secretly one of my cousins who feeds on terror or pain and delights in tortures physical or psychological."

She reached long, nail-taloned fingers up to stroke my cheek tenderly, then scratched her nails along my cheek from ear to lips not quite hard enough to break my skin. "No more than you already know about," she added with a smirk.

"But, oh, my, your lust is so much tastier with a little uncertainty, a little bewildered terror, mixed in. When you stop getting complacent."

There was an edge to her voice on that last sentence that chilled me more than the scalpel had.

She patted my cheek again, then gave a little laugh that sounded like the supervillain holding the branding iron pretending to be cute and innocent. "Oh, look at me, I must be annoyed today, if I'm worried about you getting complacent! As if I couldn't do what I wanted with you at any time. I did, after all, bring you out here to do what I wanted with you."

She moved underneath me, tilting her head back until, if she stretched and I leaned down, we could kiss.

"You don't mind, do you, me doing what I want with you?" she asked.

Before I could even think of formulating a reply, it turned into a strangled gasp as she seized my testicles with her usual unerring accuracy, squeezing just short of making me vomit over her face.

The pressure slacked off a quarter-second before I screamed, leaving them throbbing with pain and me feeling queasy but without in any way diminishing my erection, which was still screaming for freedom.

Her fingers shifted. With one movement, she ripped my boxer briefs off me, tearing actually quite strong fabric like tissue paper and causing another jolt of pain from my stretched shoulders.

My cock sprang free and I actually gasped with relief before it flashed across my mind that the scalpel blade had been right there.

I had to glance down, I couldn't help myself, although it bought my forehead perilously close to Meridsya's.

My cock was bouncing a half-centimetre from the edge of the blade.

As I watched, appalled, the scalpel was withdrawn, disappearing out of sight upwards.

When I looked back at Meridsya, I could only describe her face as a gloating smirk.

"You do remember I promised not to hurt you, don't you?" she whispered.

I did, but that only provided so much reassurance.

Her cool and silky fingers touched my cock, cradling the shaft gently then running along, fingertips only, not nails, until lightly stroking the edge of my glans.

"But please, do keep believing I might," she purred, as her fingernails trapped my glans in a ring of blunt but still hard talons. "I could live for a week off what you're giving me here."

Well, I was glad she was happy. Extremely glad. But I didn't trust myself to say anything because I knew I'd end up saying something sarcastic or self-mocking, and I very, very much doubted she'd be in the mood to hear that.

She squeezed my glans with her fingernails. I groaned again. It hurt, but it gave me such pleasure at the same time.

Without releasing my cock, she reached up to pinch my nose with her other hand. She twisted slightly and pulled me down into a kiss.

Her lips sealed against mine, her fingers kept my nose closed. She didn't let me go until I was getting dizzy, trying to struggle and beginning to panic.

I had to gasp for air when she released both grips at once and let me pull back, head spinning and the world reeling slowly about me.

The release of pressure on my cock made it pulse wildly, wanting to come.

Without warning, she slapped my cock lightly, mostly striking the glans. It was hard enough to sting, a serious, sharp spike of pain, but the reason I cried out was pleasure.

"I think my toy deserves a little something extra," she said.

While I was wondering if I should be terrified all over again, something cold and metal-hard pressed against my arse.

A thick plug pushed into my anus and I had to desperately welcome it or risk injury. There was no issue with lubrication. It entered with a series of pops as rings around it grew slowly thicker, stretching me enough to make me panic all over again until it stopped. I had no idea how far inside me it was. It felt like two feet, but I doubted it was bigger than an impressive cock.

The pressure inside my own cock grew to desperate levels.

Then, she slowly ran her fingernails up my belly, hard enough to feel like scratching, until two nails roughly snagged my nipples and twisted them painfully.

She giggled and ground two nails into my nipples, stabbing until I thought I could almost feel my ribs flex.

I screamed at that, but I didn't grow any less hard.

She gently took each nipple between thumb and forefinger -- fingernails, not nails. She looked at me lovingly, eyes full of tenderness.

I was terrified all over again.

"Would you like to scream for me again?" she asked, softly.

The thought of the pain she would inflict upon me made me quail, but the knowledge of how much pleasure it would give me, how the sensations would twist together in my brain and make my cock the only important part of my body, made me nod my head jerkily.

"Yes, please, Mistress," I croaked.

I screamed as white-hot pain flared from my nipples. I thought she was pulling them off. I thought my skin was tearing. I thought she was twisting them around more times than her wrists could -- should -- be able to achieve.

I thought I was going to come there and then, hard enough to strike her in the chest and knock her backwards.

Then I was gasping, fire coming from my nipples and tears squeezing from my eyes, almost sobbing, as cool, tender fingers touched not the flesh they had just been torturing but my cock, stroking lovingly and making the pain on my chest utterly, utterly irrelevant.

"Come for me," she whispered, like the most compassionate of lovers.

I came so hard it caused its own pain, my balls spasming, my cock feeling like it might split, my roar hurting my own ears, my entire body trying to writhe but denied, my shoulders screaming their own agony as I jerked them unthinkingly.

My second spurt was still bigger than I ever remembered achieving in my normal human body. So was my third.

My fourth very nearly was.

Until my head fell limply forward, my breath rasping in my throat, and she was still stroking my still-hard cock tenderly.

"Good pet," she purred, no longer loving. "Good little bitch. Now: The next thing."

Next thing?

Cold metal fingers, or a clamp, or something, closed about my sac between balls and cock, tightened, and stretched my skin, pushing my testicles away from my body.

She had not run out of ways to make me suddenly rigid with panic.

The tightening stopped almost before causing pain.

She smirked at me, my disbelief certainly showing on my face.

Her fingers moved around my cock, expertly teasing it to more helpless urgency. My testicles tried to retract up towards my body, and then I did feel pain.

But even that just made me more sure I was going to come again, and soon.

Meridsya slowly ran her fingernails up my belly, hard enough to feel like scratching, until two nails roughly snagged my nipples and twisted them painfully. I gasped. I shuddered. My cock throbbed.

Meridsya giggled and ground two nails into my nipples, stabbing until I thought I could almost feel my ribs flex.

I screamed at that, but I still didn't grow any less hard.

Was she going to repeat everything, the same way? Would she make me believe she would, then change something to put me off-balance?

She gently took each nipple between thumb and forefinger. She looked at me lovingly, eyes full of tenderness.