The Fantastic Hotel

The Fantastic Hotel on Curzon Street

The spider in the top hat got out of the long black car, tapped the silver head of his cane on the vehicle's long black roof to signify to the driver, begone: return in the morning, be discrete. The spider stepped across the sidewalk to the hotel entrance with a four-footed side shoe shuffle, elegant black and white spats on his feet, thin red stripes down the side of each trouser leg. A dapper fellow, he wore a small red rose in his boutonnière, delicately scented. Its petals curved inwards and outwards, just like a lady he knew, her curlicued and scented centre like an elegant crystal flute laced through with incarnadine red.

The flower was the agreed upon signal - she would wear a scarlet rose with its thorns plucked out, worn high in a twist in her silken black hair. They'd never met - this was a new rendezvous, perfect strangers. He glanced at his watch, and flicked back four perfect cuffs. Nearly time: time for an adventure, time for an indulgence or two. It was just past three, and the spider would be eating by four.

By the revolving door a concierge stood, with a small boy beside him to take a message or a wish or a silk handkerchief to the ladies waiting within. They sat under their elegant hats, waiting for the door to turn, each thinking, "Is this the one, to make my fragile heart all a flutter? Is this handsome gentlemen for me, or has he come just to take tea?"

The spider tipped his hat to the man by the door. "Is there someone new today, my good man? Someone you've not seen here before?"

"In the coffee lounge, sir, with a small dog at her feet."

"A small dog, you say? Is it leashed, well behaved?"

"Indeed, sir. It has a soft leather collar about its neck." The doorman held his finger up to hold the spider's attention. "As does she, sir, but hers is made of velvet with a small silver cross."

"A silver cross? Are there vampires on their way, do you think, or is she a convent girl?"

"It could be, sir. Both. A religious woman to hold it in her fingers and pray, or a virgin, to keep the dark wolf away."

"Perhaps she has a collection, a different jewel every day. One imagines, does one not, a morning routine with a mirror, before she gets dressed?" The spider winked, his myriad eyes a curious, resplendent colour.

"Indeed, sir. A mirror."

"I shall go in. In the coffee lounge, you say?"

The concierge gestured him through the slow circling doors, and the spider proceeded within. The hotel lobby was wide and grand, with hushed carpets and wide leather couches, and over by a window, a row of trolleys for overnight bags. The spider had no need for any of that. He had a permanent room booked up on the fourteenth floor with a balcony overlooking the street. It was a special pleasure, with a moth or a bright butterfly, to lift up their skirts and run his hands over their glorious bottoms and in between their legs, to make them gasp and grip the railing as they looked down. Their wings would shimmer and flutter, and later on, they'd go dancing.

The spider checked that his nails were black and shining, and tipped his top hat back at a clever angle, slightly rakish, slightly off centre. It was a whimsy, never to be quite as expected. It made people wonder who he really was. He paused by the door to the lounge, taking a moment to observe the creatures within.

A wasp sat by the far window, very elegant, very slim, her dress clinging close in bright yellow and black stripes to her body. She was wearing movie star sunglasses, even though the lights around her were dim. When she stood she'd be very tall, her long legs even longer in high heeled shoes with glorious red soles to announce another occasion. She looked up. But no, she's not the one, she's blonde, with a ribbon in her hair, not a flower. The spider looked elsewhere.

In a small alcove near the door, two kittens curled side by side, their tails entwined, their paws placed politely on the table, their whiskers twitching with delight. They were being charmed by an elegant tom, a big black fellow like a panther. The spider imagined the cat's deep throated purr as he heard their mewls later on. The kittens were young, all giggles now, and would collapse into an exhausted sleep, their paws twitching in dreams. The spider tipped his hat to the cat, and the cat gave a singular twitch of his tail in reply. A pair of giggles followed the spider, tripping lightly into his ears.

Ahh, was that her, by the furthest window, her grey wings folded high, wearing a serpentine dress? The sheath of the cloth shimmered, pale blue, grey and silver, the colours shifting like a mirage. The spider delighted in the way the cloth caressed her breasts, accentuated her small waist, and clung tight to her long and magnificent thighs. She faced away from him, gazing out a high window looking out over a distant lawn. Her red tipped nails moved silently, swiftly, over a keyboard with a small screen. Her hair, sure enough, was piled high in a careless turn, a single red rose at her ear.

The spider moved silently forward until his shadow fell over her table. She stopped typing, slowly turned around and looked up. Her dark eyes held the spider's, and he felt a thrill deep in his belly. Ahh bliss, a beautiful woman with such a look, and such long fingers! Her fingernails were the deepest red. All but the forefinger on her left hand were long, while its nail was cut very short. The spider looked forward to that: an insertion. He pulsed at the thought of it, awareness of his sex flowing through him.

"It muzt be you," she said. "I'm zo pleazed to meet you. The flower in your lapel, meanz it's you." Her voice was low and seductive, her S's a buzz, long and drawn out, vibrating the edge of his skin. "Pleaze, will you join me?"

She clicked her fingers for a waiter's attention, then turned to the spider with a bright look in her eyes. "Pray, give me a moment, I muzt finish this."

The spider placed his hat under the chair, smoothed back his hair, then sat as his engagement, pronounced the French way, ohn gajj a mon, quickly typed, her fingers dancing over the glass screen. She looked up and smiled. "There. It'z done. Now, my good zir, how are you?"

She was a wild silk moth, not domestic nor tame, with ever so slightly slanted, slanting eyes. Her arms were bare, shimmying with a faint, faintest fur. Her tongue, a small proboscis flickering between her lips, promised tiny, penetratory, delights.

A waiter arrived, took their order, and they began to chat, circling around a mutual delight. It was unformed between them, but would solidify and crystallize in the air. Delicately sliced, they'd peel it back to reveal many layers, folded over three times, sometimes four.

"Boots," said the spider.

"Boots?" she asked, somewhat puzzled.

"Yes," the spider explained. "In the centre of every woven web that is woven, there must be a tiny grain of truth, like sand inside a pearl. Every web must have one, or come the first breeze the weave will disappear into gossamer, into smoke, into dust, and never be there at all." He paused, then went on. "You must have at least one truth, to be convincing."

"But... boots?" She leaned forward to listen more closely.

"A stranger, you said," the spider replied, "an anonymous stranger, you said, a meeting on the internet, a mystery, a thrilling rendezvous. But it can't be done without boots." He crossed his multiple legs and brushed a fleck of invisible lint from his collar. "The essential truth here, is your boots."

She looked down, seeing her long legs with slim, finely shaped calves; looked down to the little pair of ankle boots. Two pairs (for she was a moth after all), with not very high heels, made of soft supple leather.

"I think I see what you mean," she said, stretching a leg to admire her boots, even though she'd put them on in the morning and they were quite familiar.

"These boots hide an ankle, my feet, which really are quite small, and they reveal a leg. A stocking clad leg, a very fine sheer. Or lace. Would I prefer lace, do you think? On my legs?"

"You're getting the idea," said the spider, his fingers beginning to move, to conjure from the invisible air the first threads.

"Words," she said. "You use words to build on that simple truth, to create your fantastic idea; and no matter how astonishing your world might be, it's always built on that tiny truth?"

"Indeed, you've got it, the essence of it all."

The spider kept weaving, conjuring his way into her world. His words were full blooded, some caring, some kind, some lascivious. All jumbled up at first, the spider swiftly placed his words in order until they behaved, and became, if not more reliable, more obedient. Except for 'caution', which he never could contain. He rummaged in a pocket for 'wind' but found 'breeze' and 'leaves' instead. He quickly looked out the window at the garden and put them in the right order, turning them into a tree, turning yellow and red.

"Goodness me," she said. "If you get all of that from my boots, what do you get if you start higher up?"

"Ah yes, I'm glad you asked that." The spider leaned forward, she leaned forward too. "But you know the answer already, with your finest, most delicate silk. Weave it together, words and webs, can you imagine the fabulous cloth? And cloth means clothes, and clothes mean dressing..."

"...and undressing," she replied, looking forward to that already.

"But I think you should consider my knees, next." Under the table, she moved them slightly apart, shifting her bottom on the seat. She was still quite prim, but quite prepared to be less proper.

The spider smiled. "Ah yes, knees. To be parted, of course, by mischievous hands eager for a higher, much more intimate place. Or separated, spread apart, kneeling down let's say, an imaginative distance between them, but well balanced for a good solid shaft. I do like a rump, magnificent and round and quite plump. Or tight like a boy's, if one is that way inclined. But a bottom, high in the air. There's nothing to be ashamed about that."

She wriggled her bottom on the seat, and wished she'd been braver, bare skinned and -

"You can always discreetly reach under," said the spider, who must have been reading her mind, "and ease them off, slide them down your legs." He meant her knickers, and she did it. He crooked his finger, give them to me, and she did. They were lacy and fine with a little black bow, and he put them into his pocket.

She sat there delicious, her naked bottom on the warm leather seat, wondering about his next suggestion.

But the spider was silent, watching her. He looked down to her mouth and back up to her eyes. He tapped his fingers on the table, one, two, three, four, very quickly.

She knew it was her turn. She pondered the shape of her delight, and began to sneak up on it slowly.

"I think," she said, "I'd like it..."

* * * *

"Like that?" asked the spider, "Like that?"

Many hours later the spider found a soft, delicate place right up high on the moth's thigh, where her skin shone iridescent between the dark black band of a stocking top and the redder delights of her sex.

The other stocking was long gone, tying an ankle to a post of the bed at some point. Her boots, which had gone click click click in the hall going to the six elevators that soared upwards, with two to the basement down below, were scattered in abandon where the spider had pursued her and taken them off. He'd paid such attention to her feet. She'd nearly swooned when he took her feet in his long fingered hands and massaged the world away.

The spider had concentrated on her smallest toes, taking them in his hot mouth and sucking on them, sliding his tongue between the littlest toe and the next. She'd looked down, quite astonished, and thought next time, her red Louboutin heels might be best. She'd be taller than he was, wearing those, but she didn't think he'd mind.

The moth lay back on the sumptuous pillows, curling her wings around like a cloak, their surface soft and shimmering. They glowed a pale grey, almost silver, two non-seeing eyes huge in their centres. Looking down, the moth observed the spider who seemed fascinated by the hollow right up high, right next to the cleft of her sex, near where the skin was darker. And wetter. Her lips, shining with tiny bright jewels, were quite unbelievably wet.

"I think," she whispered, "I'm too constricted. These buttons. Can you undo them? They seem so awfully tight."

The spider looked up with a grin and a lecherous look in his octal eyes. "Madame," he replied, "it will be a delightful thing to do, quite revealing."

And he started from the bottom of her dress, when she quite expected him to start from the top. With four sets of fingers it didn't take the spider long to undo all the buttons, to reveal the moth in a beautiful corset, all pale and silver and blue. Her breasts, pleasingly full on quite a slim torso, were half cupped in the bodice, spilling out. Her dark, wide nipples were half showing like tiny mountains, the top of the cups their equator.

All down the front of the garment were silken laces, threading in and out of their loops and hooks.

"I know a thing or two about threads," said the spider, and set to work, pulling the long loops of fine silk from their places. Soon enough, the bodice was nearly undone, and the moth expected it would be her turn next, to completely unravel. The spider had rather deft fingers but moved ever so slowly, teasing out the moment and making it into a torment.

She died slowly in his arms and gave in to his fingers, took a breath and did it again. She shuddered, her fingers gripping the air.

The spider looked up. "Are you cold, my lady, are you shivering?" His fingers were light on her skin and her nipples were so very hard.

The thermostat was set comfortably warm, so she knew it wasn't that. In fact, she was burning.

"It's a rhetorical question, I'm sure," said the spider, stepping back to look at his work, this moth abandoned before him. She saw him smile, a glint of small fangs revealed behind his blood red lips, and she bared her neck to be bitten. The little silver cross shone in the light, nestling in the hollow of her throat.

The spider didn't bite her. Instead, he undid his own buttons, took off his waistcoat to reveal a crisp white shirt, which he quickly took off.

She gazed blatantly at him, enjoying the muscles and the sheen of hair on his chest, which descended in a dark line to his navel, continuing down to disappear -

"Don't..." she reached through the air for him, her own fingers turning as if to undo the buckle on his belt, "don't wait. Take them off, your trousers, I beg you; come lie on me."

"Madame," the spider replied, "your wish is..." and with one elegant movement, and she wasn't quite sure how he did it, the spider stood naked before her, "...yours to command."

"Oh my," she whispered, her eyes opening wide with anticipated pleasure, "is that for me? That's worth coming up here for, to your room."

The spider's arousal reached towards her, growing to full hardness in seconds following its long constraint. She reached for it, her fingers keen to measure, her mouth keen to suck, her breasts to slide it between, to take it in her -

"Wait," said the spider, seeing the look in her eye, her enthusiastic grab. "We've plenty of time to savour the moment, to tantalise, to measure it out for a very long time." He came towards her, letting her enjoy the sight of his shaft, his heavy full balls. "My lady, let's organise ourselves, put our words into some kind of order.

"We've plenty of time," he repeated, reaching for her breasts with one pair of hands, cupping behind her knees with the other to stretch her quite wide, exposing her for his appreciative eyes.

"Absolutely," she whispered, quick to understand his intent, content now to wait till the end. She had no doubt it would be worth it. She'd waited this long, after all, and they were only just undressed. She smiled to herself, wondering if perhaps she was somewhat too hasty, a little too forward, even a bit of a tart. She quickly dipped a finger into herself and found her quim very tasty.

"Beautiful," the spider replied, softly running a pair of hands over her hard erect nipples, sliding another set of fingers over the shining lips of her...

carefully manicured cunt, her lips corrugated and curled like the wings of a moth alighting on a flower, which was appropriate, because that's what she was. She lay back, her breath coming in little sighs, little moans, as the spider caressed her centre with his capable fingers. Her clitoris, not to be left out, peeked out from its cover, the nub crying out for attention.

"Deeper," she sighed, "finger me a little deeper if you like." She hinted at it because that's what she wanted, right at that moment.

"Eventually," replied the spider, denying her, because that's what she wanted, too.

"Fuuuck, how do you know what to do?" She stretched out the word in wonder, stretching her arms up over her head. The spider reached up to hold her wrists together, pressing his weight upon her, the hot shaft of his cock on her belly. They kissed, lightly at first, then with more hunger, sucking at each other's tongues. She wriggled to find the perfect alignment. She clamped her legs around his back to lock him in place, pulling the spider's weight down onto her.

"I'm grateful for the alphabet," the moth said in a low voice, "but I'm not so sure that we need it." She looked the spider in the eye. "There are plenty of words I'd rather be doing, in no particular order, and I'd rather not wait for the best."

The spider laughed. "What did you have in mind, my lady?"

"I think," she replied, "that being a spider with two pairs of hands, there are things you could do that would be... overwhelming." She looked up at him with a blatant look in her huge eyes. "And I like the idea of being properly whelmed."

"Is there such a word?" asked the spider, always willing to learn.

"There is now," the moth replied. "It seems to go well with 'forcefully'. Forcefully whelmed. It's certainly got a ring to it."

"Hmmm," hummed the spider, as he thought for a moment. " Ahh, yes, that will do it."

And he eased himself back a few inches, so one pair of hands could reach the moth's breasts, while the other pair reached under her wonderful bottom, spread her cheeks apart and began to play with her there.

"My goodness, that's..."

"Rather delectable," said the spider, raising her nipples up into hard nubs with his fingers. He sucked a nipple into his mouth, nipping it lightly with his teeth. Down below things were more wicked, the tip of his finger toying around the moth's tight little anus, pressing ever so lightly into it.

The spider eased himself down a little further so the head of his cock found the slick wet place between the moth's lips. He pressed forward, sliding into her lovely sex, which was hot and welcoming, soft and seductive.

"If we fuck now, can we do it again, later on? I do like it on top." The moth looked up at the spider. "Not now, silly thing, I meant later."

She wriggled under him until the angle was perfect, and slowly they began to move. Slow long thrusts at first, as he found his rhythm and she found her grip. Then a faster shafting as he found his way and she fought back to make him fuck faster; a harder action as he gave her his strength and his lust and his glory and she took him, she took him, she took him all in.

"Fuck me deeper harder faster, you smooth talking devil, fuck me faster." The moth urged him into her, slapping his ass with the beat of her words, wanting him to pound her into sweet oblivion.

The spider, not to be told what to do, slowed himself down. He eased himself out of her into her out of her in, giving the moth the whole length of his shaft in a long luxurious opening up fuck, spreading her wide, taking her deep. He placed her legs up on his shoulders so the moth was completely spread, her wings wide on the bed like a silken cover sewn with the finest brocade.