Beautiful Creature
Well, this is FAR AND AWAY very different from what i've done in the past. well it still has bondage and lots of sex. but there are humans and other twisted things. and has bisexual sex. i made this specifically for a friend :) i hope you enjoy it as well.
***
Romilda deSanta's horse trotted to a stop a short distance from the murky, gray moat. The still water reflected the clouded sky overhead like a dusty, ringed mirror. Ignoring the nickering steed, she dismounted, her long red cloak fluttering in the sharp wind. Above her stretched the staggering castle, the bricks so worn that it seemed to have been cut from a single stone, the terraces crumbled, rebuilt, crumbled again with age and reshaped, rounded and squat. The ramparts looked neglected, and the long, stringy banners had been tattered by wind and rain. There were few windows, fitted with thick amber glass that betrayed no light from inside.
She stepped up to the large, aged bell, mounted on a pole near the moat, and rang it hard and loud as instructed. Just as her arm began to grow sore, she heard a grinding, scraping groan of iron and oak, and the thick ancient drawbridge began to descend, forming a bridge across the moat. Beyond it was a small grassy area for her horse and a large bare iron door. She led the black gelding to the grass, tethering him to a rusted stake as the iron doors opened wide.
She stepped through the threshold, her red lips set in a stiff line and her shoulders held back and straight. She pulled away her hood, revealing the thick, deep auburn hair, pulled back in a neat ponytail, and her elegant face, a testament to her Irish-Italian heritage. Standing just short of six feet, she slapped the dust off of her worn leather riding jacket and trousers, shedding the long red cloak and jacket. Her black leather corset and white blouse did little to hide the curves of her gifted bosom, nor did her form-fitting trousers mask her wide, child-bearing hips. Between her dark breasts, a small gold crucifix dangled on a thin gold chain.
She showed no reaction other than a polite smile as her host strode forth from the eastern wing. He bowed low.
"You must be none other than Miss Romilda DeSanta. Welcome, Welcome, to Castle Arachne." He was a short, thickly built man, with skin the color of charcoal and short, bristly hair that stood at a backward angle on his long skull. His eyes were small and black, but sharply observant, glancing her up and down in a fraction of a moment. He was dressed in a long, violet robe of antiquated aristocracy, his feet in small, violet silk slippers lined with gold.
She returned the bow. "Lord Renwick, I presume." She was not impressed by the figure before her, but anticipated the amount her bank account would grow.
Accompanying him were two servants, young girls with thick, black hair tied into neat buns, with large green eyes and pale skin, nearly twins. They wore matching uniforms; short, straight lace skirts, with lengthy white stockings and tiny black slippers, as well as stereotypical puffed lace blouses. Their thin, pale necks were covered with high lace collars, nearly up to their chins. One took her dusty jacket and cloak, taking them towards the cleaning rooms, her back perfectly straight. With a nod from Lord Renwick, the other went to retrieve Romilda's bags tied to her horse.
"There is yet another hour before supper, my lady. Come, I will show you about the castle."
She smiled and nodded, her knee-high heel-boots clicking on the hard stone floor as she followed him beyond the impressive foyer.
"It certainly is a beautiful estate you have kept." She said, scanning the large, aged paintings on the walls.
"Yes, yes, my father bought the castle from its previous owner eagerly; it is unfortunate that he kept the rather foreboding name."
"Pardon me, Lord Renwick, but I've never found names to be foreboding in the least." she released her hair from its ponytail, letting the locks cascade down her back.
"I applaud your practicality, Madame," He chuckled, leading her into the eastern wing. "It is said that the noble lady after whom the castle was named was a follower of occult practices, and became cursed after her fortieth birthday. She died shortly after due to the bite of a spider."
Romilda smiled. "Such coincidence breeds superstition."
"How very, very true, Madame."
They toured the ancient structure, briefly walking through the dining hall, kitchen, pantry, servant's quarters, library and study, and the larger bedrooms. Romilda was already feeling quite at home, her new employees, the servant girls and boys, moving about their tasks with quiet, swift servitude. While at first the Lord seemed rather gaudy, up close he was somewhat handsome, in an Old World sort of way. His face was rather set, much like the castle itself, his close-cropped hair thin but dignified. His eyes were nearly onyx in color, but held a sort of steely stillness to them as he moved and glanced and spoke.
"I trust that you find the accommodations acceptable?" he said with an expectant, sharp little smile.
"Lord Renwick, I have not felt quite so comfortable in quite so long." She said with a returning smirk, eyeing the swaying backside of a maid as she walked by in the corridor.
"Then I am most pleased to call out the new servant mas-... mistress." He purred, eyes tracing her up and down again.
After a rich and fulfilling supper, Romilda went through her things as she unpacked her bags. She had brought a sparse supply of clothes and other amenities, intending to purchase more the next time she visited the nearby town. She laid her black dress and red broach out on her bed, looking up at the large, heavy canopy, a light film of dust on the heavy cloth. She'd have to discipline the maids into keeping better service. She opened her other bags, setting a short stack of her favorite books on the dresser, setting the crucifix on top of them. She pulled the oft-folded letter out from between one of her erotic novels and a book of Irish mythology, and glanced over it, reading it again.
Written in a miniscule scrawl that belonged to Renwick himself, it detailed his need for someone to take over as director of servile services in the castle, a ‘head housekeeper' of sorts. He had more pressing business, and needed another employee to take to position. She had been recommended to him among the candidates that had applied. She had readily accepted, craving power and money. She set the envelope down, glancing over the wax seal: an eight-pointed star with a tiny hour glass inscribed in the center.
She licked her lips at the thought of taking advantage of some of the tender, young servants. They would certainly learn to listen to her when she spoke, or take the consequences.
Banishing the thought for the moment, she pulled out a small leather holster, wrapped around heavy steel revolver, the ebony handle glimmering. A gift from her father, many years ago, that reminded her of her small-town past. She frowned in disgust at the remembrance... but it was a good gun.
As she set her few clothes In the dresser, she heard a sound that made the tips of her ears tingle. In the next room was a steady, rhythmic knocking, and the creaking of bedsprings. Romilda sat on the wooden chair next to her dresser, leaning towards the wall, listening with a widening smile. A soft, breezy voice gasped and groaned, choked and weak as the bedsprings creaked under the weight of two bodies.
The red haired mistress rubbed her thigh as she eavesdropped on the two lovers. Slowly she loosened her belt, sneaking her fingers down past her sandy-red bush and to the moistening folds of her sex. She rubbed and manipulated the little throbbing nub of her clitoris, moaning softly in relief. She had not climaxed in nearly a week, and listening to the two lovers in the next room was the spark she needed to set her cunt aflame with pleasure. She could barely make out words now.
"Ungh... m-master.... Y-yes please... n-no.... m-mast-!"
She gasped as she plunged her fingers into herself, rubbing and fingering the sensitive insides of her slick pink self. So the Lord of the manor did not let those pretty young bodies go to waste. She imagined him to have a certain masculine strength about him, despite his apparent age. She did not hear his voice, only the weak, desperate panting of the servant girl. She thought about making several of the girls moan like that during her stay here.
In short order, she spread her legs wide, groaning as her body stiffened in orgasm, like a streak of lightening through her organs. The voices were quiet now, likely having come to climax themselves.
Romilda sighed, withdrawing her fingers and looking at the sticky juices clinging to them. This was going to be a fine, fine position for her.
***
Romilda had quickly whipped the servants under her rule. The servant boys, all between twenty and fifteen, bowed at her every word. She quickly found a favorite game; she would pretend not to see them, and adjust her bosom, usually quite well displayed, or bend over to inspect something. With their attention caught, she would whirl around and immediately discipline them for being so rude and impudent and have them scrub toilets as punishment. She noticed that each of them were quite finely built, strong, but not overly masculine. She would seek to enjoy some of their wares... after she'd had a taste of the servant girls.
Her opportunity came one stormy afternoon in one of the rear corridors. She stalked the hallway, and came upon a slim, brown-haired girl standing still as death, staring at a glass case sitting on a pedestal shaped like a gargoyle. Romilda let her eyes roam over the girl's shape, tracing over her small, round rump under the lace skirt, and the outline of her breasts in the black and white blouse. She was possibly seventeen or eighteen, no more, and quite pale. The red-haired mistress licked her lips, and approached at a clipping pace.
"You, girl!" she growled, not having learned many names yet, "What are you gawking for?" she looked down into the case briefly. Inside, coiled like a snake, was a leather whip, cracked and worn with age and use. Romilda purred to herself, having enjoyed using such a tool in the past with great pleasure. This one was far too old to be of use, however. She swiped her finger across the top, leaving a long streak in the gray dust. "Do you see the filth on this? Staring at it is not going to get rid of it." She sneered, tilting the girl's chin upwards, a full head taller. The girl's large brown eyes quivered as she stiffened. "Well? Get to work!"
The girl nodded, and quickly began to dust off the top of the case. Romilda stood right behind her, barely a few centimeters at the girl's backside. "You'll not slack under my watch... will you?" The girl shook her head. "Why just look at your skirt..." Romilda purred, sliding her hand across the front of the girl's lace skirt, over her tender groin.
"I-I am sorry, mistress," she whimpered, still dusting the case.
"Sorry only earns you a tongue-lashing, young lady," she purred like a panther, slipping her hand under the skirt. She rubbed at the soft mound underneath, the girl gasping sharply. Romilda growled. "Keep working!"
The girl hesitated and nodded, cleaning off the back of the case. Romilda's fingers gently worked underneath the skirt as she sniffed softly at the girl's hair, eyeing the high, stiff collar. Odd that the girls wore such attire, and the boys usually simply wore trousers and a ruffled white shirt. She might have to change that. She let her fingers walk over the whimpering girl's moistened lips. In curiosity, she traced her left index finger down the girl's neck, and lifted away the collar.
She abruptly yelped sharply, her spine going cold, face flushed as she let the collar snap back on the girl's neck. She bumped into the opposite wall, shuddering. "Y-your neck! T-take off your shirt, immediately!"
The girl turned and blinked, her eyes wide and innocent. "My neck, mistress DeSanta?" she lifted her collar again, trying to look down at her slender pale neck. It was bare.
"I distinctly saw, o-on the back..." Romilda ripped back the collar again. On the back of the girl's neck, almost imperceptibly small, were two small puncture wounds. "Yes, exactly, a spider has bitten you, foolish, stupid girl! G-go get undressed and have the nurse examine you! If you are to die, you will die from your own stupidity, silly fool!"
The girl looked at her strangely, but quickly hopped off towards the nurse. Romilda watched her, shuddering, her hands trembling. If there was one thing in the world that made her quake, it was arachnids and the like. Devil things... she thought, clutching the cross at her throat.
She looked up above the glass case to take her mind off of what she thought she had seen. There hung an enormous portrait of a woman in her late thirties, dressed in the garb of a four-hundred year old French noble lady. In her hands she held a small fan, etched with web-like designs. At her throat hung a huge gold pendant, inscribed with an eight-pointed star, a tiny hourglass in the center.
The current Lord's own portrait hung several yards down the hall, in a very similar style. At his neck hung a pendant very much the same as Lady Arachne's.
Apparently, Lord Renwick had a liking for more than just the castle's name, thought Romilda.
***
Several weeks passed, and Romilda had never fared better. She was in her element; she controlled the servants like a dictator, under the command of the lord of course, whom she regarded as a necessary evil. She was beginning to like the idea of owning the castle herself. Renwick couldn't be that young; he would pass soon, and he had absolutely no heirs, though some of the servant boys resembled him a bit.
She thoroughly enjoyed stripping down the maids when she could. She had lured more than one into her bedroom for some alleged crime, and promised they would be spared of they pleasured her in bed. Of course this would be after she reddened their bottoms with her favorite ruler, and licked their tender, honeyed pussies until they moaned with orgasm.
It was on a morning after such an occasion that she woke to the girl still lying in bed with her. The maid, Trudy, breathed softly in the shade of the large canopy, her small arm draped across Romilda's stomach, under the mistress's large breasts. She smiled, still quite warm and wet between her curved thighs, and planted her lips firmly on Trudy's, kissing her until the girl woke. She rubbed and stroked the girl's backside, intending to enjoy a few morning climaxes before sending the girl to work.
She stroked the girl's soft neck, and suddenly halted, feeling a pair of bumps along her spine. She broke the passionate kiss and thrust open the canopy, gasping. Two small punctures graced Trudy's neck, as she had seen on the other girl some weeks before. She went cold, nearly screaming, leaping from her bed.
"The bed- you've been bitten by a spider!" she stood naked, trembling, her dark, large nipples stiff In the cool air, her legs shining with her dripping juices. She shivered, "Or else, you're a vampire...!"
Trudy smiled softly, lifting her small frame from the bed, her pale, small breasts decorated with a few, dark freckles across the top. Her little pink nipples stiff, she shook her head. "Mistress Romilda, I was poked by another girl with one of the cooking forks just last afternoon. I was not bitten." she stood, the morning sunlight drizzling down her naked body, making Romilda's cunt pulse with lust. "And I assure you, there are no vampires in this castle."
Trudy took her clothes and exited Romilda's bedroom without another word. Romilda shook and shivered, dressing quickly and ordering her bed and sheets to be cleaned thoroughly, berating the maids and servant boys the entire time. She had the sheets changed and the mattress flipped, ensuring nothing lingered in the bed.
That night she slept alone and fitfully, rolling to and fro as her dreams plucked and nipped at her mind.
In her dream, she lay naked on a white silken sheet, her skin boiling hot. She sweated, panting. She tried to stand, but was stuck fast, her skin clinging to the sheet like glue. It stretched outward, hanging like a bizarre hammock as she tugged and tried to pry herself free. Her heart pounded, her hair strung out around her. She stiffened in fear, as she could feel dozens of tiny vibrations on the threads of the sheet, like hundreds of tiny legs plucking and walking along the sticky strings.
She felt a scrape along her back, and let out a visceral scream of white hot panic at the sensation of two small palps rubbing against the nape of her neck preparing to plunge tiny needle-like fangs into her.
She woke herself with her own screaming, looking about wildly. She had taken the silk canopy down, to discourage any web-building there. She reached over to the nightstand and clutched her revolver in a white-knuckled grip, the feel of the heavy steel reassuring her.
She was exceptionally irritable the following day. "Scrub harder, damn you," she snapped, swatting a boy's hind with her favorite wooden ruler. "These carpets have not been beaten in ten years! Or it seems so. Get to work!" she shuddered in frustration as the servant girls hurriedly took the carpet away. She glared at the boy scrubbing the floor who gave her an odd sideways glace, his eyes unusually dark. She paused, spotting something on his wrist. She stepped to him quickly, snatching his wrist up, and pulling back the sleeve. There, in distinct red markings, was an eight-pointed star, a small hourglass in the center.
She blinked, at a loss for words. The boy quietly took his arm back and began to scrub again as if nothing happened.
Romilda quickly walked beyond the working servants, into the corridor that held the portraits of Renwick and Lady Arachne. She stared at the paintings, trying to take her mind off of her nightmare. Swiping her finger over the frame of Renwick's portrait, she glared with disdain at the dust that had gathered there. She used her sleeve to wipe away more of the dust, and paused as she noticed something on the corner of the painting. A small signature lay there, in the old oil painting, set on the edge of the table upon which Renwick was depicted resting his arms. She read aloud.
"Wein... stein?" the name sounded oddly familiar, and not in a general sense. She harkened back to her schoolgirl days, studying English, math, and art. Had she not heard her tutor speaking of Weinstein, German artist? Such high praises she'd had for him, for his brilliant hand depicting aristocrats and nobles...
Romilda turned, heading towards the library at a steady pace, a growing sense of dread standing on the back of her neck. She avoided anyone along the way, servants or Renwick himself. She stopped by her room to retrieve something, and quickly continued to the eastern wing. Once in the library, she bolted the door, looking about to ensure her solitude. She heard nothing. Satisfied she looked about, the rows of books and manuscripts stretching above and around her. She was passionate about literature to a fault, and was especially adamant about keeping every single book placed in its proper spot and well cared for. She'd even begun a fund of her own money to eventually hire someone to restore the books that were falling apart.
Now, she began searching for a particular volume in the art section. She pulled the heavy tome from its shelf, and scanned the contents until she had found the correct chapter. Printed there on the aged yellow pages where grayscale prints of Weinstein's paintings. The very last portrait was of a dark-skinned man with close-cropped grayish hair and a long skull. The book listed his name as Lord Webbe, the portrait having been commissioned nearly two centuries ago.
Romilda's breath caught in her throat. Behind her the sound of footsteps made her leap, drawing her pistol in a flash, cocking the hammer loudly. In her other hand she gripped the small golden crucifix. She scanned the room, pistol held steady, listening, her breath shallow, heart pounding in her ears. She heard a peculiar scraping, shushed and small, like someone removing a book.
Everything abruptly went black, her gun firing once as a sharp pain in the back of her head, like the spine of a heavy book, stunned her, and the woman collapsed to the floor in a heap.
***
Romilda regained her senses as she felt tiny, silken fingertips caressing her stomach and breasts. Soft murmurs and giggles alighted her ears, and she opened her eyes.
She lay on a low table, on a white silken sheet, her ankles and wrists lashed tightly by thin silken cords. She tugged, to no avail. Her firm, curved body, pale from the weeks of castle dwelling, was nude, her belly convulsing in fear, the soft mound of bright red hairs above her sex exposed, like a tiny flame above her moist lips. She screamed.
Around her, six servant girls stood nude, including Trudy. The girl's hands cupped her large breasts, squeezing gently, making Romilda cough and tug at her bonds reflexively.
"Oh, Mistress Romilda," purred Trudy, her large watery eyes somewhat glassy yet sharp. "It seems the master has let you play your games long enough. It's time to... come into the fold now." her fingers wrapped tightly around Romilda's dark nipples and tugged as if the servant were milking a cow.
The red haired woman cried out in shock and lust, her soft feet clenched tightly as the other girls giggled, stroking her sides and down her thighs. Romilda grunted and groaned, trying to move, her body stuck fast. Two of them lowered their heads and began to gently, tenderly suck on her nipples, their supple lips latching onto the little areolas as they swirled their tongues around the stiff little mounds. Romilda threw her head back at the shock of pleasure, moaning weakly.
"N-no, s-stop... vampires...!" she tried to choke out, watching wild-eyed as the girls feasted on her skin.
Trudy laughed. "I told you, Mistress Romilda," she cooed, her tiny, pale fingers stroking down her belly and over the red bush. Romilda felt the girl's digits poke and roll her clitoris while rubbing softly at her wet vulva. "There aren't any vampires in this castle." She knelt, and opened the fleshy flower of Romilda's pussy, dipping her tongue deep into the wet pink hole.
Romilda cried out, desperately pulling and striving at her bonds, her wrists and ankles aching. She coughed again, letting out a groan as the girls lipped and licked her nipples and breasts, Trudy hungrily lapping and sucking at her lips and inner flesh. The red-haired mistress arched her back, groaning in ecstasy as she felt the others licking and biting at her thighs and breasts, leaving tiny bruises on her flawless skin. The pain drove her deeper into bliss, her sopping wet lips leaking down Trudy's chin as the soft but determined girls brought her to a resounding climax, her breath shallow as she shuddered and moaned. Her body tingled numbly, her clitoris throbbing.
Trudy pulled away, her eyes flashing as her lips and chin glistened with sticky salty juices. Her eyes were nearly black, the whites no longer visible, replaced with orbs of shimmering onyx. Romilda panted, beads of sweat formed on her forehead. "W-what are you?"
"We are merely servants of Lord Webbe." They murmured in unison. They stood, leaving her bitten, numb, saliva-dribbled body, and turned away from her to face the door, shoulder to shoulder. Their pale slender backs and round, supple asses made her groan with pleasure. The groan turned to a scream of abject horror as she looked to their necks.
There, clinging to their necks like grotesque demonic collars, sat thin-bodied spiders, their spindly, sharp legs outstretched, their carapaces the color of tar. Their dotted eyes stared wide, shining and unblinking as thin, syringe-like fangs sat stuck in the girls' necks, pumping mind-numbing venom constantly into their spinal columns.
Romilda's voice grew hoarse with another scream. From the open doorway stepped the servant boys, twisted and deformed now. Their shirts had been torn open, their faces pale, lower jaws split into arthropoid palps, tiny, impotent fangs clattering together. They walked with hunches, wiry muscles rippling under their thin skin. Two sets of clawed arms had emerged from under the stronger top pair, effectively making them demonic offspring of human and spider.
They stood along the walls, the pale naked girls curtsying as the Lord entered after them. His robe swept the floor as he seemed to float towards Romilda. Her nude wet body helplessly tied to the table. He smiled, appearing the same as he did the day the two-century-old painting was made.
"Oh, Romilda; I apologize for the deception... we arachnids do enjoy our traps." he laughed, his voice taking on the quality and tone of a tuneless violin being plucked by broken fingers.
"M-monster, demon, I-I'll kill you!" she screamed defiantly, kicking at the webs around her wrists.
"So says the scorpion caught in the spider's web." Webbe chuckled, his dark fingers, clawed and thick, stroking along her sole and ankle, up her calf, leaving lines in her tender skin. "That is your birth-sign, is it not? Scorpio? My dear, I do believe we are somewhat compatible." He laughed horribly, his face twisting.
His mouth and jaws contorted now, splitting asunder, immense, glistening fangs emerging, black as night. A thin, spiny coat of hairs emerged on his neck and shoulders, his fingers growing longer, each gaining and extra knuckle. His nose seemed to melt away. His eyes peeled back, the conjunctiva vanishing as they rounded into bulging black bulbs. Above them, smaller black beads rose to the surface, forming another six unblinking unmoving eyes. His skin seemed to harden, his joints taking on a softer, more fleshy look. The girls gathered around him in unison, smiling as they lifted away his robe to reveal his naked body. His abs moved and cracked, and two sets of thick, spiny arms spread outward, each ended in with wickedly, clinging flexing claws. His lower back and buttocks swelled and fused into a short, thick round abdomen, a huge red hourglass branded on the top. His mandibles spread in a hideous smile.
"Now, isn't this much more comfortable?"
Romilda convulsed in wild, cold fear, and fell back heavily to the table, passing into blackness.
***
She screamed in horror, waking herself again. Darkness greeted her open stare, oppressive and hot. As her eyes adjusted, cracks of moonlight filtered in from the outside. She felt sticky, hot, her fine skin covered in beads of sweat. Slowly, achingly she pulled herself up into sitting, and stopped in fear.
She sat on a mass of tangled, white sticky threads, strung together and anchored to the stone walls to form an elastic platform. Her skin clung to the scattered webs, lengths of powdery white filament clinging to her breasts, thighs, and hair. She shivered again, making the huge web quiver. She seemed to be in a large, empty shaft, round-walled, stretching above and below her into blackness. She deduced it was likely one of the towers, the remnants of spiraling stairs broken and crumbled along the walls.
She lay shivering nakedly on the web, for how long she did not know. Her skin was hot, her body filled with an itching fire. She groaned, rubbing her belly. Her groin seemed to pulse, and as she rubbed lower and lower towards her inexplicably aching sex, her fingers grazed two small bumps just below her navel. She yelped fearfully, the spider's bizarre venom pulsing in her veins.
She suddenly moaned as an ecstatic wave of pleasure overwhelmed her brain, and her fingers found her wet crevice easily enough. She began to madly finger herself, the spider's venom forcing her to try and quell the fire of desire in her loins.
Moaning and panting in desperation, the fire-haired young woman did not notice the shadows descending upon her until she felt clawed hands gripping her wrists and ankles. She screamed in vain as two pale spider-boys, their lean bodies still handsome despite their twisted faces. Unblinking eyes regarded her in stone silence as they lifted her with monstrous strength. They caressed and squeezed her body, a moist, white glue-like substance seeping from their palms as they worked. She thrashed and kicked, juices still running down her legs, their powerful, careful movements making her shiver and bite her lip. Her increasing desire horrified her more than the spiders did.
She suddenly thrust her arm at the webs, and broke through. Her head followed and she shrieked, falling through the white webs into empty blackness below. Her drop was cut short as her wrists, ankles, and body suddenly tightened. The webs of the spider-boys had tied themselves. She swung, suspended from high above, her pale belly downwards. Her legs were bent, soft feet clenching above her plump rear, her arms stuck tightly to her back. Her large supple breasts swung and jiggled beneath her, nipples hard. She noticed the ever dripping fluids from between her thighs, the thick red bush of her pubic hair moist and glistening.
She tried to move and pull at her bonds to no avail she was stuck, the fresh webbing on her limbs holding like rubber cement. She yelped, the suspension webs twitching as the two wiry spider-boys climbed down towards the naked, squirming pendulum. She shivered helplessly as she felt their clawed hands on her back, holding tightly onto the thick web-ropes that held her there. With a touch, the ropes tugged and her thighs spread wide. Four spindly clawed hands rubbed and clasped her hips, the small claws scratching her fine skin. A hard, warm length caressed her buttocks, and she screamed.
The second descended in front of her. He held to the ropes with his stronger, thicker upper limbs, the four lower ones along his boney ribcage grabbing her head to hold it up. She looked directly into his groin, blinking at the patch of fine, bristled hairs along his crotch. Her breath caught.
The boy throbbed with a near-mammoth length of flesh. The member was still mostly human in appearance, with a long, hard shaft and rounded, plum-colored head that throbbed and twitched with some heat. However, just under the thin, supple skin pulsed fine spidery black veins. The tip was wet, but instead of the usual glass-clear fluid dripped a pearly white bead of juice the color of spider webs.
Before she could protest, the cock slid forward, past her red full lips and into her mouth. She tried to choke and sputter, her cheeks swelled from the intrusion, but her gag reflex did not respond, suppressed by the venom. It was hard tested, however, as she felt the other member slip well past her throbbing, pink vulva and slam deep into her pussy, making her scream around the hard cock in her mouth. The two began to thrust and slide in and out, rapidly forcing themselves in and out of their helpless, moaning prey.
Romilda tried to bite, kick, or anything. But her jaw seemed paralyzed, the thick, stingingly bitter fluid in her mouth making her face and lips throb. The boys held to the ropes with unmoving strength, keeping her in their vice-like grip, slamming her at both ends, claws holding mercilessly to her hips and her fiery red hair as their legs dangled in mid-air. She felt every inch of their bony cocks pounding and fucking her holes as she could only moan and pant, her body throbbing and sweating in pleasure. She felt herself nearly peak, over and over, as the demonic boys used her as they silently willed. They did not udder a sound, save low, rasping breaths; the only sounds to reach Romilda's ears were the wet, vicious slapping of flesh-on-flesh, and her own moaning.
They both climaxed nearly the same moment. With a final thrust, her mouth-occupant burst, a warm flood of pure, salty, sticky fluid clogged her throat, forcing her to swallow as her mouth held tightly into the fleshy appendage inside it, slurping and licking impulsively. She felt the claws sink into her skin as the other came into her, filling her hot, aching canal with arachnid juices. As one, they pulled away, long, thick cocks wet and glistening, the ends dripping hotly. Romilda groaned and shuddered, the lingering taste in her mouth salty, and bitter, but still she swallowed, unable to stop herself. Her pussy throbbed and clenched, unable to keep the sticky stuff inside, and it leaked downward into the darkness in thick, white, stringy ropes.
She quivered helplessly as the spider-boys lifted away from her. Her body ached and felt like a wineskin after being filled. Suspended in the darkness, her consciousness slipped away from her again.
Kisses on her neck and thighs brought her back to wakefulness. Her naked body, sore and trembling, again lay on thick, off-white sticky webbing. The organic hammock stretched under her weight, and the weight of two others. Trudy and another slim, nubile girl nestled with her nude form in the grotesque nest, fingers caressing her bare skin and wet vulva, her hard nipples and supple neck.
Romilda gasped, the fire at once reignited in her loins and her bones. She thrust her pelvis as Trudy grazed her clit. The girl giggled.
"Awake now, Mistress Romilda?" she said, laying the title thick with irony. "We do appreciate your work with us... you've taught us so very much." she purred, and thrust her fingers deep into the wet, hot crevice that pleaded to be beaten and stretched.
Romilda gasped and convulsed with pleasure, choking on her breath. "Ungh I-I, Trudith, please..." she tried to lift her hand, the reason for which she quickly forgot, her arms still bound to the accursed webs, and she cried out in dismay. Her cry turned to a whimper as the other girl pressed her tender, silky lips to Romilda's white throat, laying a wet, slurping kiss there as Trudy grinned and worked her delicate digits in her bound mistress‘s sopping wet twat.
"Please what, mistress?" she said with a cutting edge of feigned innocence. Her gleaming black eyes glimmered, the tips of the spider's legs visible on the sides of her neck.
Romilda opened her mouth, but no words formed. Her spread legs twitched and wiggled in her bonds, her pussy clenching on the sweet warm fingers inside it, rubbing at the tender inner folds and parts. Lost and nearly numb in a wash of bliss, she didn't notice the other girl shifting, sitting on her knees and placing Romilda's red-haired head on her lap. The dethroned mistress' eyes fluttered open to see the nimble hands rubbing her shoulders and down the firm globes of her breasts, squeezing them alternately like grapefruits.
Trudith purred again, thrusting her fingers in to the knuckles as she watched the other girl. "You're terrible, Mistress Romilda... you keep such a beautiful body hidden all the time. It's no wonder the boys were so rough on you, teasing them like you did. Maybe now you'll let everything show more often..." the dark-haired girl grinned, using her thumb to stroke the red clit side to side, making Romilda moan and quiver even more. At the same time, the other girl grasped the woman's dark hard nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, squeezing, twisting, and tugging them up, stretching the sensitive skin hard.
Romilda screamed in lust and pleasure and frustration. "FUCK!" she cried, tears inkling from her eyes, "Why can't I cum? I need to c-cum, p-please Trudy, god, please!" her body was hot as fire, skin prickled with sweat, her pussy pulsing with desire, but still she had not climaxed, her arousal reaching a maddening degree.
Trudy kept stroking and thrusting her fingers, leaning down to rub Romilda's flame-red bush with her lips, laying kisses there. "The venom of the Lord is burning in your veins. Your heart is racing, your pussy is running like a river... but it will not allow you a peak, Mistress. Only the master has the fluids that can mix with the venom and..." she pulled her fingers free with a resounding slurp, an grasped the pulsing, hooded clit, eliciting a panting groan, "...push you to your place."
The two girls began to lick her softly, Trudy laying her tongue on Romilda's sweating, firm smooth thigh and the other girl, still rubbing and thumbing her nipples, slurping along her neck. The two licked and lapped and kissed and nipped Romilda as she quivered and lay there helplessly, her body going numb with pleasure. She closed her eyes, time passing at an undeterminable rate. When she lifted her lids to look again, she whimpered.
Her body was criss-crossed with thick soft webs, tight around her skin, covering her in various places. She watched as Trudy dipped her tongue into the well of Romilda's tiny belly button, the wet saliva left there turning white, forming another small patch of web. The girls giggled, tiny little white fangs grazing Romilda's skin teasingly as they licked and applied the thin tight coat of webbing. She could not resist, the feel of their tiny wet tongues, careful quivering lips and hard little teeth keeping her right on the very edge of orgasm.
Soon she was covered, head to soft toes, in the webs, all but her wet groin and her head. The two girls licked and kissed her cheeks, her ears, murmuring things to her, nipping her chin. She closed her eyes, and soon could not open them, lost in utter darkness, only hearing, feeling, and tasting the arachnid-driven succubi.
She lay breathing, pulsing with her heartbeat. She heard the girls giggle, the sound growing distant as they slipped away on the webs. She felt a tug on her arms, and the thick organic cords forced her arms behind her. She was forced to sit up, the sticky thick webs manipulated by an unseen hand. Her helpless, shapely legs were forced apart, spread wide like some bizarre butterfly, her bare open groin supple and reddened from hours of teasing. She could barely wiggle her toes.
There suddenly came a low, scratchy voice, and she nearly screamed.
"Dear Romilda, you look positively flustered," a thick-knuckled finger grazed her moist abused pussy, making her shudder. "Is there something you need?"
She bit her lip convulsively, trying not to cry out. She resisted moaning out for orgasm, to be pushed over the edge; but she could not deny her desire, remaining silent as she could.
She cringed, breasts heaving, her nipples poking through the webs. She felt small, clawed hands stroke over her soft fleshy globes and poke and rub the stiff nipples, another set of hands rubbing down her smooth belly, and a third set on her knees.
"N-no, please-!" She clamored, trying to move. Something thick, warm, and rigid stroked against her sex. She heard the girls giggle again.
"You only need to ask, Miss Romilda. Let us hear you beg, sweet Romilda. Accept that you need my touch."
She quivered at the words, resounding in her ears. She cried out again at the stroking along her vulva. Already the juices made her pussy tingle with need.
She hesitated and murmured something broken and muffled.
"Oh? What was that now?" A clawed hand stroked her chin, lifting it up.
"Please m-make me cum, I need it, p-please!" She moaned out in submission, the steely authority in her voice broken and quavering. She heard the girls giggling madly, mockingly, as her legs were lifted in the unnaturally strong arms of the arachnid-man.
"As you wish," He purred.
Her sex was spread wide abruptly, the thick, knotted organ sliding in and out of her, fierce and unforgiving. Romilda panted and screamed in pleasure, forgetting her horror, forgetting her revulsion, reveling in the dirty, animalistic fucking she deserved. She heard the master breathing in his raspy way, pounding and slamming the immense length into her. She moaned in need, clenching her pussy tightly over him, accepting every inch of his flesh.
She could tell that it was not shaped in the standard human manner; there were a great many more ridges and pulsing knots along his shaft, stretching her flesh in new and wonderful ways. She seemed to be able to taste his juices, the hot moist fluids combining with her own, still filled with the spider's venom. She moaned and cried louder, higher, the hot, hard slapping and pounding wearing on the wall that kept her from climax.
A burst of electric, mind-numbing fire burst through her body, her pussy clenching and pulling with all its might at anything inside her. The arachnid cock pulsed, gushing the hot viscous fluid that sent her over the edge.
She moaned weakly, feeling numb but for a sense of reliance and bizarre gratitude to her newfound master.
***
Romilda met her master in his bedchamber as she was summoned to do. She smiled and bowed in obedience, her eight-limbed overlord motioning her over. She felt an odd chill down her back, despite the constant warmth that the venom in her veins provided for her.
"Miss Romilda, good of you to join me. I must say, I am impressed with your... change of attitude. I wish to introduce to you a few friends of mine..."
Romilda swallowed, and looked into the shadows of the massive bedroom. The huge window fluttered open, and a cloaked figure appeared in the clouded moonlight. He stepped down from the windowsill, striding forward into the bare light of the candles on the dresser.
He stood nearly seven feet tall, with long, soft pointed ears and sharp, red eyes gleaming with intelligence. His nose was large and flat, forming almost a leaf shape, a sign of his incredible olfactory senses. Thick white fangs glimmered in the candlelight. The cloak suddenly opened, and Romilda choked back a cry as she realized the cloak was simply two immense black leathery wings attached to his thick bony arms. His chest was bare, covered in thick brown fur, a streak of black leading down to his groin. Underneath he wore a red and black woolen kilt, with a wide black leather belt.
"I present to you, Lord Anton Dragomir, and..."
The shadows near the bed suddenly shifted, and she realized that something was slithering outward. Nearly twenty feet long, with an immense head and oily, midnight-black scales slid a thick, coiling body, winding its way onto the huge bed, nearly taking up its entire space. It poked its head into the light, and a long purple forked tongue flicked outward, tasting the air. Romilda could feel his huge golden eyes wandering over her quivering form and the thick purple tongue tasting the breath that she exhaled. On its wide nose sat a small pair of spectacles, the glasses stained red. Around his neck was a large, elaborate golden collar with an immense black gem set in the center.
"... and Baron Ismouth Von Slithe."
Romilda's voice caught as the bat stepped forward, catching her pale hand in his claw. He spoke with a thick Slavic accent.
"I believe that she will make a most entertaining hostess, yes?"
Romilda could barely move as she listened to the three chuckle and laugh in the growing darkness around her.