Spider's Silk

Author's note: This story willfully engages in the romanticization of male non-consent. While I considered steering away from the trope, I ultimately chose to use fantasy to indulge in the celebration of concepts which should not be promoted in reality. If either that, or a woman having way too many eyes are a deal breaker fo you, I recommend a different story.

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Kalos was a poacher. Not that he identified as a poacher; he really saw himself as more of a family man. Taxes were high in the eparchy, and yields lower than they could be, especially with so few able bodies in the village after the last few rounds of conscription. If providing for his children, his live-in elder Auntie, and the protein-starved people of his village meant hunting on the Doux' reserve now and then, well, Kalos hoped the Doux had enough heart not to miss a hart or two.

Kalos was also a widower. Again, not his identity, but a reality nonetheless. His beautiful Euphemia had not survived their second daughter's birth six years ago, and Kalos was not ready to remarry. He supposed he would eventually; the village was likely to have a shortage of eligible husbands for the upcoming crop of maidens. If he were of a temperament to take advantage of those women entering the start of their second decade without a confident match, he would have had far, far more than the zero liaisons he had taken since his wife's death. The young women still seemed as children to him though, and it felt wrong to replace Euphemia with someone so young who could very well die the same way she did. He still wrestled with intention, though his instincts had certainly not disappeared for all they had been starved.

Now the still young, or at least not old, man was focused, his strong arms flexing the stave of a heavy hunting bow with relative ease. He had never reached the level of mastery that allowed true experts to draw, aim, and fire, in a single seamless motion, but his skill was good enough for most purposes, and a heavy arrow sunk deep into the flank of the stag whose ribcage he had been aiming for. He muttered, half in curse for the chase he was about to run, half in apology for the less than clean death, as the stag attempted to bolt, stumbling and crashing through the brush ahead in graceless terror.

Kalos jumped immediately, looped his bow to his back, and chased behind with a hunting spear ready. His thick, dark eyebrows caught sweat from his brow, and he squinted slightly, his sun-tanned face reflecting concentration as he ran. One never knew how far a stag would go with a wound like that. It could fall ten feet away, already dead, or outrun it's predator entirely, limping along for the wolves to catch next week. This one seemed closer to the latter, and Kalos attempted to pick up the pace after the first two clearings revealed only sign of recent passage, and not the beast itself.

As Kalos crashed through another low bush, determined not to let this boon escape, he was caught in a deadly surprise, as the stag, probably unable to run much further, had turned to fight. Pain seared through the hunter's shoulder, as his arm was wrenched by the massive impact which sent him rolling into a tree ten feet away. He scrambled up and around the tree just in time to avoid being gored entirely by the next charge, and caught the antlers in his one functional arm, spear uselessly on the ground behind the stag. He gave ground in rapid steps, each swing of the deadly antlers missing by the tiniest slips of air.

Kalos tried, in desperate measure, to kick at the beast's legs, but instead lost balance entirely, and was thrown another five feet. There, much to his dismayed shock, his body slammed into fragile sticks and leaves concealing emptiness, and tumbled down into a steep, narrow tunnel. There he rolled, and rolled until the pain in his dislocated shoulder helpfully allowed him to pass out.

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Kalos slowly awoke, the pain in his shoulder successfully outcompeting the pain from the myriad cuts and bruises along the rest of his person. His tunic hung in tatters across the sort of chest that a man develops from being the primary wood chopper, hunter, and butcher for altogether too many people. The stacked muscle on his intact arm rippled and strained with impressive power as he realized that he was suspended and bound in a sort of net, flexible and strong, and stuck inextricably to his wrist and forearm. He kicked out wildly, and succeeded only in bouncing slightly, his trained legs bound as unyielding as his arms. His injured shoulder flared in pain which threatened again to release his consciousness as he struggled against his bonds in the dim light.

Dim light? As Kalos recognized that he was well and truly stuck, he began to notice his surroundings, and the little bioluminescent fungi growing at the corner of the surprisingly well manicured cave. A drip of water in the distance confirmed the size of the chamber, and, if he wasn't entirely delirious, the placement of the fungi suggested an intelligent aesthetic to the space in which he was hopelessly bound. In fact, as he squinted his adjusting eyes toward the farther walls of the chamber, Kalos noticed what looked like tapestries hanging behind. His head was stuck in what appeared to be web as well, and after craning enough to gather that much information about his surroundings, he let his head fall back to where it was cradled.

Time passed. Not enough time to fully replace Kalos' fear with boredom, but long enough that his thoughts had begun to wander. He knew that his daughters would be taken care of as well as the village was able; Kalos was much loved, but that was only partial consolation. He still very much wanted to survive, and did not expect to. Unbidden his thoughts strayed to the pretty young Sophia; her father had encouraged Kalos to court her. She had seemed more than amenable to the idea, but Kalos had sheepishly deferred. Perhaps if he had been more able to move forward with his life, he would at least not die a six-year celibate. He thought the way her skirts curved around her strong ass, and groaned self-deprecatingly. He finally had the time and privacy to get himself off without rumor spreading the village or returning to a priest, and his arms were bound firmly above him.

After hanging in place for more than an hour, Kalos had almost begun to drift into a painful sleep, when he was startled to full alert by a woman's voice to his left. "My, what a strong man this is, caught so terribly in a web."

With a start, Kalos wrenched his neck to the side, but only caught a brief glimpse of a female silhouette before the strong web pulled the woman, who was approaching his back, out of view. "What a shame," the silky voice added, "I don't eat humans, but knowing where I live means either death for you, or a fearful retreat and exile for me. I don't like running."

Kalos felt a sharp pain in his spine, followed by a flood of stillness and endorphins. A dreadful calm washed over his emotions, dampening what he knew should be raw blind panic. The pain in his shoulder faded away, but so did his ability to move it. Curious, rather than horrified as he supposed he should be, Kalos attempted to wiggle his toes, and found them first sluggish, then entirely unresponsive. Slowly the woman paced around Kalos' now-unnecessary bindings, and drifted into his field of vision.

Her skin was pale, a paleness that only years spent far from the sun's gaze can engender, and she wore purple dress of beautiful silk, with subtle layers of lavender and black dancing around one another. Despite the lightness of her skin, she did not look sickly, but had the look, rare in these hard times, of someone who both ate and excersized well. Her arms were toned, though perhaps only half the thickness of Kalos's great oaks, her breasts full and well accentuated by the slender dress. Her hips curved with sinuous promise, blossoming out of a waist which spoke of neither hunger nor excess. Her hair was long, black, and slightly wavy, but looked frequently combed and framed her most extraordinary feature, her face.

Eight pale blue eyes, human in nature, though not in number, spread across her high cheekbones face, framing an attractive nose and lips. Her gaze, which would probably have been intense even with only two of those piercing blue eyes, was shocking in its power. She stood probably a head shorter than Kalos, and now, with him suspended two feet off the ground, that multitude of entrancing eyes looked up at him from around waist height. It was then that a particular side effect of the paralytic coursing through the poached poacher made itself evident.

The hardest, largest, most painful throbbing erection that Kalos had ever experienced sprang to life within his hard-pressed pants, the rough cloth suddenly uncomfortably confining. The octopthalmous beauty was anything but blind, and her eyes snapped to the engorged appendage suddenly obvious at eyes level. A brief smile of involuntary pleasure flickered across her face before hiding behind pursed lips. Kalos dangled helplessly, and she looked up at him again. She bit her lip and seemed to wrestle with herself for a moment, her gaze drinking in his strained package once more before slowly taking in his well-muscled body, and strong jaw. She rationalized aloud as she made eyes contact with him once more. "I suppose it would be cruel to kill you without bringing you pleasure first. And it has been centuries for me. This curse makes it so hard. You wouldn't object, would you? If men are anything like they were during my time, you won't object at all."

Kalos didn't object; in part because he agreed with her reasoning, but more because of the placid euphoria fogging his mind, and mostly because of the complete paralysis of his mouth. She seemed to take his inability to argue as assent enough, however, and rubbed her palms against his strong thighs as she cooed to herself, like a person denied the company of others for far too long. "Such a handsome man. I'm sure the girls back in your village don't pay you nearly as much attention as they would like to. Nice strong legs, powerful arms, and mmm, that thing between your legs looks good too. I'm just going to pull these trousers down a little bit, and see what we are working with."

At this she rolled his pants down sharply to his thighs, and all eight eyes widened as the hunter's cock shot out to stand at attention. It really was exceedingly hard, standing not like the stout forward-facing erections of a happy full grown man, but with that direct upward attention like the erection of a man in his late teens. Kalos discovered he was able to moan just a little bit, as the woman rubbed her lips down the side of his shaft and took in his masculine scent with a sigh of contentment. "I'm Arachne, by the way."

Her smile seemed to falter a bit as she realized that, if she went through with her plan, her new lover would not be able to tell her his name, and she disconcertingly closed all eight of her eyes for a moment, opening them slightly watery before continuing. A dexterous tongue darted out from her mouth to broadly stroke the length of his shaft, root to tip, and then she took the first two inches behind soft lips and let out a satisfied "mmm"

Arachne did not immediately proceed to milking Kalos with her mouth, as Euphemia had sometimes done, but instead took several minutes playing with the appendage with lips and tongue and cheek. Little sucks on the testes, cheek rubs against the shaft, and small licks and kisses across the tip and underside of the head left Kalos feeling breathless as he dangled in front of his captor. If anything his erection somehow became harder yet, and he worried idly about it bursting like an overfilled wineskin. "If I am going to die today," he thought, with partially stupefied satisfaction, "this really is the best way it could happen."

The spider woman clearly had gone far longer than Kalos since her last liaison, and she seemed to savor every moment, teasing him for over a quarter of an hour. He'd started and finished with Euphemia some days in less time than Arachne spent just standing beneath his dangling cock, touching him only with her mouth, and looking up with a shy many-eyed smile. At long last, however, she decided to increase her urgency, and took the poacher into her mouth again, pressing lips firmly against either side of his saliva-soaked shaft with each slightly gagging bob of her head.

Kalos gave into sensation, determined to make the absolute most of what could be his last orgasm, and felt it coming on as Arachne added just a little bit of suction. His euphoria took on a decidedly less placid tone, as he growled with an instinctive sense of triumph and conquest, pumping rope after rope into the cursed woman's waiting mouth. He became intensely sensitive, so sensitive in fact, that he would have pushed her off, had he any motor control, but she relented after a short time.

The hunter's erection, however, did not relent. Spurred on by the unusual poison, he remained standing at full attention once the throws of orgasm abated. Arachne seemed pleased, but not surprised, by this development, and once she herself had recovered for a moment, she shed her silken dress.

The garment slid easily to the floor, revealing milky white breasts standing proud atop a shapely rib cage, and a sweet looking collar bone, within which kisses could be stranded. He saw the very top of soft short pubes, like the fur on a black tarantula, but his view was largely blocked by how close she stood below him, nose and mouth still close enough to lightly brush his member as she shifted to step out of the dress.

Deftly Arachne climbed the webbing that held fast to her prey, until she was standing flush with him, many eyes looking into his two, her damp excitement making itself known as she pressed her sex against his swollen head. Her feet were high and flexible wrapped around his ribcage, her hands holding herself up easily by the webbing near his shoulders, and she hesitated there, teasingly poised, without yet impaling herself. At last she noticed his dislocated shoulder, and in a remarkable feat of casual dexterity and strength, returned it to place with a twist of arm and leg.

Continuing to tease him with his head poised just at the entrance of her strong, slick cave, Arachne began to kiss Kalos' neck and collar in earnest. Licking her hands, she began to use her saliva to dissolve the webbing, one strand at a time. First they flipped horizontal, and the lowered slowly to the ground as the remaining strands bent and gave way. Kalos began to note a slight return of muscle control, twitching his toes and fingers as his back set gently upon the cool earth in the dim glow.

The clever hunter deliberately returned to stillness. Only barely able to move, trying to throw her off now would simply get him paralyzed again, or worse. Besides, (Kalos recognized he was thinking with the euphoric poison, or with his cock,) if he was going to have to kill this woman to make his escape, didn't he owe her the same boon of pleasure that she would grant him before killing him? The morality was as fuzzy as his head, but waiting made sense regardless, and he was certainly having fun while he waited.

Suddenly, Arachne slid down, and the tip of Kalos's cock was joined by the rest of his substantial shaft inside of the agile woman. She closed her eyes with a little moan and rocked her hips slowly forward and back, withdrawing and replacing him more by horizontal motion than vertical. Shiny black fingernails left sharp traces on Kalos' thick chest as his attacker reveled in sensation. Kalos felt that delightful tight friction at the tip of his cock reverberate down to the base as his muscles involuntarily tensioned with every second or third thrust of her hips. An involuntary moan escaped, as Kalos tried to focus on keeping his lips still against Arachne's affection-starved kisses.

Her first orgasm came as a perfectly timed balm to Kalos' straining cock, fresh lubrication flooding in just as the friction threatened a road to soreness. Arachne whipped her hair, and squeezed her thighs around his waist, her cries of abandon echoing within the resonant chamber. She stopped thrusting entirely for just a moment as her pussy squeezed in spasms of bliss around him, but then began again, much more slowly, clearly not finished with her conquest.

Kalos considered throwing her off then. His mind was clearing enough to recognize that he owed his attacker no orgasms, and besides, she'd already had one. He probably had enough control at least to drunkenly stumble, and certainly had the strength advantage, despite her slightly supernatural qualities. Still, it had been a long time since Kalos had experienced such raw desire. He felt strangely powerful beyond measure at the joy he was inspiring, despite his increasingly feigned helplessness. He supposed he should be put off by her many eyes, but to Kalos, they seemed only to make her unguarded expression more communicative. Eight eyes worth of lust, desire, and loneliness, revelling in the man she had intended to kill. She used his broad shoulders as leverage to mount him as deeply as possible, adding uninhibited force to each thrust. Neither seemed to consciously notice the hunter's lack of discipline as he began to angle his hips to maximize her furious assault.

As that instant of perfect depth began to cap each stroke, Arachne soon crested another wave. She collapsed atop Kalos, moaning and slightly twitching. It was only his increased endurance after the ministrations from her mouth that prevented Kalos from joining her in orgasm this round. He noticed as she buried her face in his chest that her hair smelled delightful. Like wild herbs and pine, especially surprising given her reported years of living alone in a cave. "One more, just one more," he heard her mutter into his chest, and growled approval.

As Arachne began to increase her pace once more, Kalos knew that his second orgasm would come apace with hers. He had regained the partial control over his tension that most men can develop with practice, but the pressure on his shaft was driving him wild. Ever so slightly less than he craved, as her leverage was limited astride him. Minutes passed as Arachne worked her core, bringing both of them close, but not quite there and both moaned and growled, their post orgasmic sensitivity demanding just a little bit more pressure than she alone could provide.

At last, as her tired muscles began to slow, their promised orgasms threatening to fade into frustration, Kalos could take no more. He abandoned his deception in a torrent of lust.

Mighty hands clamped to her hips like iron bands round a petite barrel, and he drove himself into her with every bit of the intensity he would have were he on top. Arachne's eyes widened in alarm, but she made no effort to escape the intense pleasure driving into her, and her cries of pleasure renewed as impending climax drove away both frustration and sense.

Arachne reached climax instants before Kalos, and was already collapsing upon him as he drove the last few powerful strokes into her. Kalos cried out as lights popped behind his eyes and his cock poured triumph into his overwhelmed mate. Both lay insensate together for a moment, still breathing in tandem, until Arachne recovered first and bolted fifteen feet up the webbing faster than a hunted squirrel.

Kalos himself bolted to his feet, stumbling slightly as the last of the paralytic made itself known in his system, but was unsure whether to give chase, and very wary of the webbing that the dangerous woman climbed so easily. He snatched his bow from the ground and peered up at her, trying to read her body language.