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A jolt along the web stirred the spider from her torpor.

Waking in the heart of the ruins, she caressed the delicate weave of energy that traced the stones, feeling for the interruption.

There. The trap near the southern tunnel entrance had gone off. Yet it held no prey. Something clever or merely lucky?

She knew too it could be no mere animal; the trigger too sturdy for small game, but more importantly two boots brushed the web-strand like a baby's breath stirring its mother's hair. No, some lone morsel was coming to dinner. A pity the singular explorer had't brought more strong and skilled members to fill her larder, but no matter.

The intruder's slow pace left her to wonder how long it had been since her last meal ran dry. When the ache of hunger began to wake with fierce fangs, Volentia could only flex her fingers, focus on the caress of her guest's passage, and use a spider's most elemental aspect: patience.

Her composure broke beneath her guest's choice to turn left at the first four-way path. What alarmed the spider was not that it had selected the correct path and skipped two winding and quite trapped dead ends, but that the choice came without hesitation in those steps.

Concentrating, Volentia followed more ethereal threads. Spiders mastered more than merely crafting exquisite mundane items and excelled at the delicate and sinister: labyrinths, traps, poisons, deceptions, curses, memories, compulsions - anything to be woven by their apt fingers and minds. In her time lairing in these ruins she had released five intruders she could not enjoy eating. Upon each she wove a complex pattern: an urge to spread the word of the ruins' location and the treasures within, memory loss over her presence and the specific perils of the tunnels, and a curse to mortally poison them were they to try speaking of her to another. Tracing those bindings she found five curses unbroken, but only two still primed; three were dead then from other causes, most likely.

Could her visitor be one of the remaining two?

Sensation like a needle's jab brought her back to the present. Another device intended to capture her prey sprung. Instead of a caught prize, she found only movement squirming past the fallen cage.

This required more than mere waiting.

Volentia found the right quartz stone, one of many studding the walls of her lair, and caressed it. In moments she peered through a linked quartz into a dark corridor. A minute's patience brought the edges of a torch's glow. She spotted the short brown figure next, holding the torch aloft while he - yes, good, it was a he - consulted first a book and then the hall.

A map? How had he secured a foul map of her domain? A tide of fury bubbled up through her limbs.

As he crept forwards she studied his form. Long of body but short of limb, a slender little tail, a narrow face. Some sort of weasel perhaps; Volentia had caught one before, in fact one of those she had freed had been one of them. Twitchy little things, and so small a meal. Why could he have not been something larger, a bull or a horse?

Still he watched his progress with interest. When the weasel walked forwards he stepped right over one of her traps.

The pit's door swiveled on a bar through the center, and when triggered it flipped over, resetting in the same motion and sealing the individual inside. As the floor swept out from under him the weasel jerked and snapped his opposite leg against the swiveling door, shoving himself backwards. Twisting in mid-air, he dropped both torch and book and scrabbled on his belly over the pit's lip, but not before the door slammed on his legs and tail, causing him to arch his back in pain.

Volentia's fangs hung open. The reflexes and instinctive cunning of this prey, she would need to watch his progress and learn what she dealt with. This display told her something else: having built the pit in only the last few years, the map would be out of date for her newer snares.

The morsel claimed his torch, tucked the accursed book under an arm and faced the wall, obscuring his actions from her view but providing her his figure, encased in the tight exploring leathers he wore. Yes, the pre-meal entertainment would be fine, especially with an agile form like his. When he pulled away from the wall she spotted the symbol etched in chalk. Volentia's eyes narrowed. Despite all her skill she had never learned to read, and the mark birthed instant suspicion. Before he slipped from sight, she noticed the slender sword at his hip. A physical threat then, rather than the more esoteric. Good. Her chitin hide should turn such a slender point aside.

Moving to the next crystal to wait, when the weasel arrived at her next view, he soon milked a curse from her throat. A false floor covered a series of shallow trenches lined with serrated blades and sharp edges coated in dried venom from her own fangs, intended to twist ankles and paralyze progress. Here the weasel drove a spike between the break-away floor and the stone lip. Were the other traps damaged or broken?

This nuisance must be confronted soon. Unfortunately nothing lived in her lair save her. Some beast to soften up her prey would be another mouth to feed, and when one played with their food, a guardian slaying the meal first took the fun away. Volentia rose on four legs and sped through the tunnels to a suitable battleground.

Normally the spider preferred confined spaces. Prey with swords and axes and the large bodies to wield them did not fare well in tight quarters. Here though she dealt with a fast and slippery morsel and even her speed would not remove her disadvantage. No, an open but treacherous space would do.

One location she confronted intruders lay ahead of his current path, a wide chamber choked with webbing except for the quarter around the entrance. Here she began fastening a new web, long vertical strands meeting in a dense net at the center. Once satisfied, Volentia clutched the new snare and backed up into the furthest corner, stretching the net as far as the sturdy strands could tolerate. There in the dark she waited, ever the patient spider, feeling his approach along the ethereal web connecting her to the ruins.

Soon her multiple eyes picked up a torch's flickering glow. Her four arms tensed, and once more she ran the calculation in her mind. Yes, this should work.

The glow intensified. Her fingers tensed on the taut net. He crept into view, and on his fourth pace into the chamber, she released the snare.

Volentia's first mistake was waiting to see the results.

The web snapped towards him. As if he sensed it, the weasel dropped to the floor, but not fast enough to completely evade. The web caught his tail and a portion of his back, leaving him awkwardly dangling by his rear end.

Not accounting for the torch was her second mistake. It caught in the web above him and licked across the lines like dusty silk drapes. If she didn't act now, her pretty entertainment and meal would burn.

Volential launched herself into the dense central mass and clambered up the webs to the ceiling. After several encounters with prey, she had grown to both anticipate and loathe their habit of clearing her silk with fire. Reaching the ceiling, the spider snatched a bulging waterproof sack. With a heave she tore the connecting strands and upended it. Stagnant water doused the creeping blaze with a sploosh.

The water found no trapped weasel.

He crouched in the chamber's entrance, staring up at her. A quick hand ran some small stick across the stone wall and a spark flared at its tip. From somewhere he conjured a fresh torch and the little ember lit up the replacement light source with a sputter and a flicker. The new flame set his black eyes to glittering.

She had more water, further in the chamber. Let him bring his fire.

Rather than approach, he retrieved a bottle from his pack and uncorked it. He began to pour a dark liquid as he walked forwards, before pacing in a broad circle.

The two short appendances attached to the base of Volentia's jaws trembled, the pedipalps' fine hairs picking up subtle scents in the air. Oh, but this one was clever.

Touching the torch to the oil sent a snake of flame curling along the path he had poured, filling the chamber with light and creating a curving line of fire that separated them. Could water slay oil-fed fire? She didn't wish to test it, wasting what little she had, in case he then set ablaze the room's central mass once the defenses were spent. Still the gesture amused her, as his little ploy would be more an obstacle for him than her.

All that remained was to go forward. Volentia danced down the web, each movement a sinuous sway that highlighted her figure, while the movement of her limbs obscured and flirted with any actual view of the charms her nudity would otherwise lay bare. His eyes followed her, and while his body remained tense, she saw the innate interest of a man there. Yes, he was no male-lover. Neither had she seen a sign her species disturbed him. Yes, she was a spider, but as one that preys on sex, she was shaped pleasantly: chitin presenting the likeness of impressive bust and hips, an otherwise lissome, long body and mandibles that tucked out of sight.

Touching the stone floor, she dropped the seductive pretense and prowled to the line of fire separating them. The spider was a quarter taller than he, and that didn't consider her legs. Each pair of legs anchored to a segment of her body (so inspiring a former lover to call her a centipede, much to his regret soon after). The segments allowed her to vary which limbs she used as arms or legs, sometimes standing on the lowest two, but usually arching to use four for maximum traction. Now though she used that bottom set to stand at her tallest, a six-armed giant looming over the little weasel.

"Can I interest you in skipping this contest and go straight to my parlor, my sweet?"

"No." He raised his ineffective, measly rapier before pausing. "But I do have a request. Before we start, will you grant me what perhaps may be my last drink with no treachery?"

Amused, she purred, "Of course." Normally she would pounce at the first lowered guard, but this was enough of a novelty to stay her. Let them play nice for the moment.

The weasel sheathed his blade, removed a second bottle from his pouch and took a hearty swig. The cork returned and bottle replaced, he once more retrieved his blade, lifting it in salute.

Volentia showed him the error of his little flaming line, her polearm-long legs simply stepping over the fire before she made a quick grab for the weasel.

Lifting his torch, he spat the mouthful of liquor through the flames.

Fire burst across her front in a brilliant cloud. With a shriek Volentia stumbled backwards, through the line of oil and slapped at the hot sparks scorching the delicate hairs all along her body, even stinging her pedipalps. A strong prod jabbed her midsection. The little shit was stabbing her! Stabbing for a spot between the segments. Nothing but a dagger could get between those or - or a slender little blade like his.

A frantic swing of two limbs sailed over him as he bent near double and came back, point leading. She scuttled away, only to pounce, bearing down on him with all limbs.

The weasel flipped - flipped! - to the side, then back once, and bounced towards her eyes with the torch. She reared back to avoid the flame, only to have his point scratch across a chitinous breast. A sweep of three limbs sent him hopping.

For several moments the spry fencer leapt back, spun to the side, jittered forward and skipped away, not coming in close enough to thrust but making a spectacle all his own. Volentia stared, confused with all this wasted movement - until he dove at her once more.

She batted the blade aside and with a second claw snatched his wrist, a third pinning the torch well above his head. "A clever little game, but-"

The weasel bit the wrist holding his blade arm. Those little teeth didn't even scratch her exoskeleton. A mocking jibe parted her lips, but died when she noticed his torso and legs curling. Like some fish plucked from the water, his whole body thrashed in one great twist from shoulders to thighs, wrenching his neck and locked jaws.

The chitin of her wrist split with the crack of wet wood.

She gasped and threw him against a wall. A six-inch split ran along the wrist of her highest left limb. Ichor oozed in a sheet from the gash. The digits could still flex, but doing so pumped more fluid free.

Glancing up she found the weasel had disappeared. Several pillars ringed the chamber, and one had crumbled along with a section of the wall, creating a breach to the adjacent corridor. Beneath some of the rubble she spotted the glow of his light. The rubble lay piled too dense for her to get more than an arm through, and he might then try to simply lop it off. So the wretch ran and hid. Fine. Patience, once more.

After climbing atop the wall above his hiding space, Volentia bound silk around her wound until the split no longer grated when her digits moved. Another foot of silk just to be certain. No heavy lifting with that limb.

The hairs of her pedipalps were not so burnt they could not pick up a familiar smell. Antivenom. She leaned closer to his hiding spot, waving the tiny limbs. Yes, the smell of something to neutralize poison. "Think that will protect you from my bite? I will wait it out of your system, you miserable worm."

Even if he wasn't chatty, it had been so long since feeding on her last conversation partner. "You're not the first weasel I've seen. He was far more handsome, a pretty white. Not nearly as twisty as you - a spellcaster, far too focused on the arcane than trying to avoid me. But did you know there are males that enjoy having their backsides filled by another male? Amazing. He would not succumb to my charms, no matter my efforts, just like all the women explorers I've met. Pity. Do you like having your back end filled, wretch?"

A second taste of venom tickled her hairs. She glared at his hiding spot. "Are you poisoning your blade? That's insulting."

"More poetic justice, I think."

Ignoring his barb, she said, "If you won't come out, know I'm far better at waiting than you."

Wait she did, perhaps a quarter hour. When he did move however it came fast. Like a snake, his head peeped out from beneath the rocks moments before he flowed out in a smooth slither.

Volentia started down the wall head-first but paused at the sight of fire in both hands. He held the torch, but also a bottle with cloth poked in, the end sparking. What trick was this?

Spinning about, unable to find her, the weasel finally glanced up. He threw his bottle at her. Instinctively she leapt to the central mass of web, just as the bottle broke against the stones and fire clung to the walls. Volentia bounced off the webs and came towards him again, arms spread to snatch him up.

He rolled, raised with his blade, and when she caught him with two limbs, the weasel jabbed his point towards the seam of her delicate crotch.

With a surprised yelp she released and danced back, up the wall. Mandibles unfolded from inside her cheeks, fangs splaying wide as she hissed, "For that I will bite off your cock."

"You are so interested in being filled," he snapped, lifting his sword. "Come, and let me slide my length inside you.

. "It's not big enough to do the job." On she came

Once more he bounced, flipped and leapt at her. This time she grabbed the rapier by its blade and yanked it free, hurling it into the web. He parried with the torch and hopped back, but she was on him now, and kicked him in the gut. Dropping the torch, he doubled over with a wet hiccup. The fire she pitched into a corner.

"Now, I-"

The weasel dove between her legs. Before she could turn he pounced upon her back.

Claws scrabbled and found purchase on chitin, while the weasel's legs wrapped between her second and third set of limbs. With a ripple he slithered up her back. A vision of his body wrenching and cracking her arm flitted through her mind. He was going for her neck.

In a panic Volentia threw herself backwards, driving right into the central webbing.

Her weight pinned her slippery adversary into the glue-coated strands, and when she pulled off - after peeling his arms and legs from her - he held fast. Oh, he held his limbs out ahead of him, trying to avoid getting stuck, but beneath his glare she could see the knowledge on his face: it was over.

"There," she said, the air leaving her exhilarated and relieved. "Good exercise. Let me... rest a moment, and then we can... get to the main event."

The heat of her dinner's glare discomforted her not. Finally she rose and set to binding him proper, his arms and legs tethered taut. Wiggle he may, but they would hold. Once she was confident, she peeled him from the central mass, slung him across a shoulder, and retreated to her lair.

Throwing her parcel upon her lounging web, Volentia climbed up and settled over him. Stroking along the line of his jaw, tasting the sweat-salty fur with her pedipalp, she murmured, "Why don't you tell me where you found a map of my labyrinth?"

"Can we cut the pillow talk?"

"Such a rush," she cooed through her disappointment. "Very well. Let's get more comfortable." First she bound him to the web, his arms spread and legs more soundly anchored. Enjoying her prey all cocooned up and gagged was safer - typically necessary with mystical types - but hell at getting to their nethers, let alone admiring their battle-hardened bodies. The tunic she took one of his small blades to, baring the long and taut musculature of his chest and belly. The trousers she treated gingerly, her fingers just starting to pluck-

"Hey." The weasel drew her many eyes. "That's it, no warm up? How about you give me a taste?" His tongue swept his muzzle in show.

A bubble of amusement passed her lips. "My my." She had forced the matter before, but never had it been volunteered. "After that little fire trick, I'm less certain. This is no ploy to bite me, is it? That would be unwise." Two of her fingers framed his partial erection before squeezing. "Quite unwise."

"I hear you, quite clearly."

Volentia crouched above him and even before she had settled her abdomen onto his stomach the weasel assaulted her loins with his mouth. The ferocity of his tongue more than anything drew a gasp, but soon enough the actual strokes began to force her to squirm, causing the web to tremble beneath. She nearly asked if this was his attempt to win his freedom, but no, because if it was, she didn't want to take the fire out of it.

So enthusiastic, he put his shoulders and neck into the effort, driving his tongue into her and grinding upwards. Then out and fencing with the button perched atop her folds. On his next drive inwards her insides clutched at him, trying to hold him fast, but the weasel's tongue remained as slippery and spry as he had been. As deft as it was, she ached for a larger appendage.

She didn't know how long it had been since her nethers had been visited, and this treatment left her aching for a thorough filling, something with more fulfillment. "Enough," she gasped, and slunk down his body. With vicious efficiency she peeled his trousers open enough to bare his arousal.

"Well." She ran a finger over the endowment sized more-than-proportionate for his physique. The weasel's loins and shaft were sticky with something, but perhaps that was the nature of his species; that one weasel hadn't gotten aroused for her. So drunk on the taste of his aroused musk, the spider couldn't stop herself. She had to have him.

Without further delay Volentia seated herself on him. The hot flesh sank into her, and her loins coiled to match it, and soon she felt pleasantly filled. "Ahh." An ache that hadn't been sated in some time burned hotter in her. Using all four of her legs Volentia began to bounce, the web aiding in her the motion. Each descent she swiveled her pelvis, swirling and grinding.

A gasp beneath her, and he pitched in as well. It never took her prey long before their bodies betrayed them. His chest and stomach flexed beneath the white fur, yanking him up to meet her drops. The collision resounded with a thwap. The squirm of him, sleek and powerful, stirred him about inside of her.

Despite the vigorous effort, Volentia could not find her mounting pleasure. She beat her loins against his and it steadily failed to satisfy. The notion that something was wrong came only when her legs began to slow.

Not slow, but grow numb. She could no longer feel his shaft buried in her. Nor could she feel the web beneath her. The sensation rapidly spread.

With a rasp of her air passages she hurled herself from the web, struggling towards her poisoner's cabinets. One, two, three lurching steps before her shaking legs gave way beneath her and she stumbled to the floor. Crawling with the aid of her arms lasted just as far before she settled to the floor, unable to struggle against the toxin any longer. Only now the memory of what she'd tasted when opening his trousers - an ingredient of a contact poison. His sticky crotch. The bastard.

Not far from where her head lay, a fanciful mirror propped against the wall. In it she saw the weasel stretch out an arm and, with the twist of a wrist, freed a blade from some device beneath his tunic sleeve. He swiftly sliced the lines connecting that limb to the web and proceeded to saw his way free.

"Like I said, poetic justice." He approached her, blade in hand, and crouched in front of her askew face. "That little curse you place, the one that prevents you from telling another person? It only works on spoken words. Once he'd worked through the maze you'd made of his memories, my uncle wrote it all down and gave me the journal. He sends his regards."

The blade waved before her eyes. "I have every right to kill you, but whether I do depends on what you decide." He drew coils of rope from his pack. The nerve of _anyone_thinking they could bind a spider. Two limbs were tied together at multiple points, then tethered to a spike he drove into the floor, before repeating the process for another pair of legs. From what she could observe, and would later confirm with movement, was that he knew his knots.

When finished he straightened and sighed. "Now, I'm not sure how long that poison will keep you. I hope you don't mind me picking through your treasure while we wait." Turning his back to her was yet another insult.

Volentia seethed in her immobility. Although she did have to hand it to the stoat--he would've made a good spider.

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The idea for this story was simple. The Black Widow scenario is a pretty classic trope. But it's always one of those twists that's revealed sort of deal. What I wanted to try is "If we start the story knowing this, what kind of story can we tell?"

This story was published in the RF charity anthology, but when that went out of print, I wanted to make it available.

My hope is to make a short story collection/novel about the stoat character. This would be the first story in that collection, but I wanted to make it available regardless.