The Spider's Web

Tangled in her web he finds there is a punishment for every crime

Photo copyright: The Author

SUPERNATURAL | EROTIC | FEMDOM

The house looked dark, sullen, ripe for the picking. No lights glowed from any of the leaded windows. He had passed it in daylight on several occasions, patiently watching, waiting, but he had seen no cars, no signs that the inhabitants were in residence.

Now, as he crossed the lawn, his sneakers making no sound on the grass, it loomed above him in the darkness. Taking a tool from the bag over his shoulder, he deftly worked one of the window catches open and stood for a moment listening to the silence.

He climbed through, careful that the canvas bag did not knock over anything and send it crashing to the floor. His feet landed silently on thinly carpeted floorboards. He scanned the room, his eyes accustomed to the dark like a nighttime predator. He reached out and flicked on a table lamp. Far better to put on a light when breaking in; much less suspicious if seen from outside than waving a torch about.

The room was elegantly furnished. Antique tables and chairs were dotted around; some had vases or ornaments on them. None of this interested him; small, high-value items were what he was after. Jewellery, coin collections, ready cash was a bonus.

He crept through an archway to the second part of the room, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the gloom. He froze. A woman was sitting on a chesterfield sofa against the far wall, her legs extended elegantly out and crossed at the ankles, her arms along the back and the end, in a film star pose.

His mind registered her presence and then kept him standing there for a beat as he registered that she was beautiful, slim with long blonde hair. He was not a violent man; stealth was his weapon. His instincts kicked in and he turned and ran back to the window. It was closed, locked solid.

He looked around the room, his actions jerky, frantic. There was a door opposite. He flung it open. He found himself in a hallway, the front door to his left. He tugged at the handle but it refused to move. He ran around the house searching for an exit, but there was none. Returning to the hallway, he looked up the wide staircase. Something told him it was pointless, and he did not fancy jumping from a first floor window.

Anger began to rise in him as he walked back into the main room. The woman was still sitting in the same pose but now a light was on next to her. She really was stunning, a little older than him maybe, her classic oval face showing the first signs of fine wrinkles. Her wide blue eyes stared at him unblinkingly. She was wearing a plain black dress that finished at mid-thigh, revealing long slender legs that extended down to feet clad in black high heels.

Had they met under any other circumstances, he would have been happy to submit to her, but now his exasperation was rising. “You will let me go,” he growled as he crossed the room. She was slender, light and he was toned muscle. He did not want to hurt her but he was sure he could force her, frighten her, into opening the door.

She lifted her head slightly and the wisp of a smile showed on her lips. He stepped forward and felt as if he had walked into a plate-glass window. He lifted his arms as if to feel the surface in front of him and they seemed to be grabbed by invisible ties.

“What’s this?” his voice sounded high-pitched. “Some sort of force field.” He struggled to move his arms. They flexed back and forth but only moved a few inches. It was as if he was caught in a giant, unseen spider’s web.

The woman rose from the sofa and walked slowly towards him, placing one foot slowly and deliberately in front of the other like a catwalk model. She circled him. He twisted his head trying to follow her movements. Whatever was holding him did not seem to catch on her.

“Well, what have we here?” she breathed in his ear. Her voice was dark and husky. “Were you trying to steal from me?” There was a long pause. “What a naughty boy.”

He gasped. At any other time those words would have excited him with the promise of what was to come, but now they seemed ominous. She lifted the canvas bag from his shoulder, its strap passed effortlessly through whatever was holding him and she let it drop to the floor. He felt hands lifting his sweatshirt. Fingers delicately brushed his skin and then pushed beneath the elastic waist of his pants.

In one swift movement she pushed them and his shorts down so that they crumpled around his ankles. Her palms brushed over the skin of his buttocks. “So firm,” she whispered as her hands circled his waist and dipped down across his crotch. “Hmm,” she murmured, “Something else is firm as well.”

He could feel his blood pulsing through him. His mind was fighting the swirling vortex of fear and excitement. He could feel her body pressed against his back, the thin material of her dress barely shrouding the sensual curves.

“Now, what should happen to naughty boys who find their way into my lair?” He felt her step back. She walked around in front of him, her body swaying in a slow movement that rippled up from her ankles, becoming more intense as it passed through her hips and then dissipated as it moved up her spine.

She turned to face him.

“You can’t,” he stammered, his eyes fixed on the long, thin shaft of a cane held in her right hand so that it arced up across her body, its end resting in the palm of her left hand. For the first time, he noticed her long, crimson red nails gleaming against the black of her dress.

“Oh, I can, and I will,” she smiled as she moved back behind him.

He tugged at the web that was holding him, trying to twist around and see her. Something stung his backside. Before he had time to cry out, it bit him again. Sparks tingled through his skin and up his spine. As the third stroke landed, the sensation reached his mouth and poured from it in an agonised scream.

The cane swished down again and again. He felt fire seeping into his rump. Tendrils of flame wrapped themselves around his body as if seeping into his very being. Then it stopped. He gasped for breath, breathing heavily as if he had just run up a hill.

The woman appeared in front of him. Her eyes sparkled as she looked into his and then down to below his waist. “It would seem that maybe this is not entirely the punishment you thought it would be.” She stepped closer and ran the tips of her fingernails along his erect flesh. He felt himself twitch and glanced down at the solid column that stuck out in front of his body.

“A little more stimulation, I think.” She disappeared behind him and he winced as another stroke that felt as if the shaft of the cane itself was on fire landed across his buttocks. The pain resurfaced but now it seemed to throb through him, intensifying with each lash. It was as if pressure was building up inside him until, like a boiler with a full head of steam, it would explode through the safety valve.

She was in front of him again, so close that he could feel her breath on his face and the tip of his organ brushing the front of her dress.

“Time for me to feed,” she purred as she dropped to her knees in front of him.

I have to add thanks to

Spanking Theatre

for some of the inspiration for this story. Firstly with their post Weird Erotic Fiction and then with the story Glimpse. The moral; never go into a weird house unless you are sure what’s in there.

Talking of which