Chapter 2: Black Widow

Freddy was awoken by a noise like fingernails scraping on glass.

He sat up in the bed, finding himself momentarily confused by his unfamiliar surroundings, his brain soon catching up with his body. The storm was raging outside, he could practically feel the strength of the wind as it crashed against the side of the manor like waves against a sea wall. It whistled through every crack and gap that it could find, but the drapes kept his bed isolated from the cold. Another rumble of thunder startled him, a flash of light illuminating the dark room. The candles must have gone out by now.

Wary of leaving his warm pocket of air, he slid out from beneath the covers, braving the chill to pull open one of the curtains. It was dark, but not so much that he was blind. Enough light from the full moon made it through the clouds and the dirty glass to let him see the vague outlines of the furniture. He spared a wary glance at the window, but couldn’t see much through it other than shadows. As his racing heart slowed, he surmised that it was probably a tree branch scraping against the other side of the glass, or perhaps some airborne debris carried by the storm.

Realizing that his bladder was once again full, he slipped off the mattress, hopping along on the frigid carpet barefooted like he was walking on ice. He fumbled for his phone, finding it where he had left it on the bedside table, then turned on the flashlight function. As the bright beam swept across the room, he considered how much more welcoming it had looked under the warmer light of the candles. Far from cozy, it seemed downright hostile now, the pale light and inky shadows playing tricks on his eyes.

He made his way across the room, the distance between the bed and the bathroom seeming excessive, opening the heavy door with an audible creak. After setting his phone on the edge of the washbasin, he relieved himself, glancing at the mirror above the toilet as he whistled to himself idly.

A shadow suddenly passed through the room behind him, noticeable enough that it caught his attention, Freddy narrowing his eyes.

That wasn’t a branch swaying in the wind – that was a large object with mass enough to blot out the moonlight. He slowly picked up his phone, then crept out into the dark bedroom, sweeping the narrow beam across the old furniture. It was only the camera LED, so it was barely bright enough to cut through the gloom, motes of dust dancing in its cold light. Freddy approached the windows, their sudden rattling startling him as he neared, but it was just the wind. They were old and loose, barely up to the challenge of keeping out the gale.

He reached across the desk that was sat beneath them, giving the knob a twist to ensure that they were as securely closed as possible. Rainwater was seeping in through the gap between the frames and the sill – not enough to be an issue, but he should probably inform Moira the next morning. Then again, it was probably a proverbial drop in the bucket compared to the work the manor needed.

Satisfied, he returned to his bed, sliding the drapes shut behind him. The lingering warmth of the sheets was a welcome reprieve from the cold, drafty room, and he found himself quickly drifting off to sleep again.

There was an explosive crash, Freddy almost jumping out of his skin as he jolted back to alertness. Something was tearing at the drapes, his hazy mind conjuring images of monsters trying to find their way in, but he quickly realized that it was the wind. As he poked his head through the curtains, he saw that the windows had blown wide open, rain and airborne leaves pouring inside.

Cursing to himself, he hurried out of bed and over to the windows, fighting against the force of the gale to get them closed. The sound of rushing wind filled his ears, the storm whipping at his hair, spraying him with icy rain. By the time he managed to secure them again, both the desk and his bare chest were splattered with droplets of cold water, Freddy scowling at his own reflection for a moment. There was a stray leaf in his hair, and he grumbled to himself as he reached up to brush it away. He retrieved his phone again, then made for the bathroom, looking for a way to dry himself off. There was a convenient hand towel on a rack by the washbasin that did the trick, Freddy pausing to examine it for a moment. It was embroidered with the letters M and L in shining gold thread. Could those be Moira’s initials, perhaps? He had never asked her surname.

As he reemerged, there was a strange creaking sound that seemed to emanate from within the bedroom itself, Freddy stopping in his tracks. Raising the phone above his head like a flashlight, he swept it around, but it didn’t help him much. The room was full of furniture that created unfamiliar shapes in the darkness, such as an armchair off in one corner, and a tall lamp covered with a sheet that could easily have been mistaken for a lurking figure. There was movement, but it came from the thick cobwebs that clung to the edges of the ceiling, the wind that made it inside making them wave and ripple eerily.

“Come on, Freddy,” he muttered to himself under his breath. “What, do you need a night light?”

The manor was incredibly old, it was in poor condition, and there was a goddamned category one raging outside. It would be strange if the place wasn’t creaking and settling.

The moment that he stepped onto the carpet, his phone died, plunging him into darkness. He glanced down at the display, seeing it pulse red a few times, flashing an empty battery icon before petering out. He’d finally drained it.

“Shit,” he hissed.

Holding one arm out in front of him like a blind man, he began to stumble his way towards the bed, its outline barely recognizable as his eyes struggled to adjust to an almost pitch blackness. He saw movement in his peripheral vision, shifting shadows in the darkness, but he tried to keep his focus on the drapes.

As he reached the center of the room, he saw a shape out of the corner of his eye, this one recognizable enough to give him pause. Slowly, he turned his head to look back over his shoulder, a cold stab of fear piercing his chest. There was something there, partially hidden behind an old armchair in the corner of the bedroom, perfectly still. He could see a defined head, what might be long hair or a ghostly shawl draped over it, so black that it was almost indistinguishable from a shadow.

No, he was being foolish. It was another lamp with a sheet covering it, one that he simply hadn’t noticed before. It was too tall to be a person anyway. So, why did he feel a chill creeping up his spine? Why did it feel like someone or something was watching him, unseen? This was something beyond superstition, more instinctual, as though some primal facet of his mind was warning him that there was a sabertooth tiger lurking just out of view at the edge of his campfire. He wasn’t a child who feared the dark, and he knew perfectly well how the human mind sought to make sense of shapes and faces, pareidolia creating patterns where there were none. Even so, he found the feeling impossible to shake.

It was a relief when his fingers finally touched fabric, and he felt his way around to the side of the mattress, slipping back inside the tent-like canopy. Enough fumbling in the dark – he needed to get some sleep. Freddy wrapped the sheets around himself tightly, creating a warm cocoon to ward off the cold that had crept in through the open windows, willing himself to relax.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the room, and for that split second, he saw a shadow cast on the drapes at the foot of his bed. He sat up, feeling his heart start to race, but he was practically blind without a light source. He waited for another flash with bated breath, and when it came, the shadow appeared once more to a chorus of rumbling thunder. It was a humanoid figure with something draped over its head and shoulders, the same one that he had glimpsed hiding in the corner, the storm giving him a brief snapshot of it moving closer.

His fear morphed into a kind of reckless anger as fight won out over flight, and he lunged forward, tearing open the drapes at the bottom of the bed. Standing on the carpet only a few feet away was a tall figure, Freddy just able to make out her features in the darkness. It was Moira. What he had assumed to be a sheet over the figure’s head was just her long hair, and her signature black dress seemed to blend into the shadows around her. He couldn’t see her pale face – it was obscured by her long hair, as though she was staring intently at the floor.

He had locked the door, so how the hell had she gotten inside?

“Why did you shut me out, Freddy?” she asked. Her usually breathy voice had grown deeper, taking on a more sinister tone. “Didn’t you appreciate my hospitality?”

Freddy opened his mouth to reply, to demand what she was doing here, but the words caught in his throat as she began to grow taller. Already an imposing woman, she started to stretch, her head inching closer to the high ceiling. No, she wasn’t growing, she was rising. The hem of her black gown was lifting off the floor, as though she was levitating into the air.

A flash of lightning illuminated something black and glossy, picking out a series of sharp points that protruded from beneath her dress, pressing into the carpet below. As they began to spread wider, lifting her gown as they went, he realized that they were legs. The giant, segmented limbs of an insect stepped into view one by one, their rigid carapace like jet-black plastic. He could hear the thud of them impacting the floor, creaking like old wood as they seemed to flex and stretch, as though hiding them beneath her dress had left them sore. When Moira’s head finally brushed the ceiling, she must have risen eight feet off the carpet, and the span of her legs was just as wide.

Freddy was frozen in terror. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t run, he couldn’t even breathe. All he could do was stare up at the humanoid figure that was held aloft by the monstrous legs, like a hand puppet dangling from someone’s wrist. Her long, black hair still cascaded over her face, her arms hanging limply at her sides. She looked like she was being lifted by a giant spider.

“I was kind enough to feed you,” she whispered, the eerie rattle in the back of her throat making him shiver. “Won’t you return the favor?”

She sprang into motion, her heavy legs thudding on the carpet as she raced towards the bed, closing the scant few feet that separated them in an instant. Freddy lurched backwards as she ripped the drapes from the bedframe with a swipe of her hand. The thick, wooden bedposts splintered like toothpicks as she squeezed her now bulbous body between them, the flare of her narrow waist expanding into something far wider than her hips had ever been. Her upper body seemed to float through the air as it loomed over him, Moira reaching up to brush her long hair aside, exposing her pale face. It was no different than he remembered it, her dark lips curled into a warm smile that contrasted starkly with her monstrous form, those icy eyes reflecting the scant moonlight like a pair of silver coins as they peered down at him.

“Keep still for a moment, love,” she cooed in the same enchanting voice that she had used when she had invited him into her home. Had it been a honey trap all along? Was her hospitality that of a spider inviting a fly into its web – fattening it before the feast?

As she stepped forward, her many insect limbs surrounding the bed on all sides like the bars of a cage, Freddy got a brief glimpse of what lay beneath her dress. It was the fat, round abdomen of a spider, just as inky black as her legs and her beautiful gown. It must have been thicker than his torso, like a giant beanbag chair, soft in a way that made him recoil. The billowing gown was draped over it like a tent, its delicate ruffles falling over the first joint in her splayed limbs.

There was a sudden flurry of movement as she brought some of those legs to bear, Freddy turning his face away, unable to do anything to escape the figure that was hovering directly over him. They moved with the speed and finesse of a tailor’s needle, so fast that Freddy could only catch snippets of what she was doing. There was an orifice on the tail end of her bulbous abdomen, and long, silvery strands were being extruded from it. They glistened in the moonlight, Moira using her many legs to manipulate the silken fibers, coiling and spooling them like string. Before he even understood what was happening, Freddy realized that he was stuck, his assailant cocooning him like a captured bug. She glued him to the mattress, wrapping her silk around the bedposts to secure his wrists, then doing the same with his ankles. The layers of sticky, taut fibers grew thicker and thicker until he could scarcely move, his limbs bound tightly.

He struggled and fought, but it was to no avail. Whatever this substance was, it was as strong as steel, and it bonded to his skin like super glue. As he peered up at Moira, his eyes wide with terror, he felt a droplet of cold water fall to his cheek. Her hair was damp, her pale skin was wet, and her dress was soaked through. Unable to enter through the locked door, she must have climbed up the side of the manor and burst in through the window, leaving him to assume that it had been the storm. The shadows, the sounds of nails on the glass – it had all been her doing.

“I’m sorry to be such a bother, Freddy,” she cooed as she backed up a little to bring her face level with his. Her long, wet hair dragged across the pillows beside his head, the straight strands tickling his face as she hovered so close that he could feel the warmth of her breath. Even in these circumstances, her sculpted features still leapt out at him, her porcelain skin giving her an almost ethereal beauty. “So few people come through these woods, and I get so lonely up here, so starved of company. I put those caltrops on the road, knowing that anyone who drove by would have no choice but to seek refuge here. Luring the unwary into my den is, shall we say, my nature...”

“You gave me that flat?” Freddy hissed, fear giving way to anger once again. “This whole thing was your fault?”

“Only a little white lie,” she purred, reaching down a hand to brush it against his cheek. Her fingers were cold, still wet from the rain, Freddy struggling to pull away from her. “I still wined and dined you, didn’t I? I still invited you in and warmed you by my fire. Didn’t you enjoy my company?”

“Was anything you told me true?” he asked. “Just who the hell are you?”

“Some of it was true,” she protested, putting on an exaggerated pout. “I live alone in this old manor, and I survive my late husband. What does it matter if he died ten years ago or a hundred?”

“The painting on the landing ... that wasn’t your grandmother,” Freddy added. “You haven’t aged a day since that was painted, have you?”

“How sweet of you to flatter this old spider,” she chuckled. “You’re such a darling boy, Freddy. I hibernate between meals, biding my time until a new opportunity presents itself. I am nothing if not patient. It’s been decades since I had to say goodbye to my last visitor, and you’re the first eligible young bachelor who’s fallen into my web since.”

“What the hell do you want from me?” he spat, his fire making her smirk. “Are you ... are you going to eat me or something?”

“Goodness, no,” she said as she laughed behind her hand. “I’m afraid that I want to sate a different kind of hunger. Loneliness can eat at one in much the same way as starvation, you know. I languish in these empty halls, longing for company, pining for the touch of another. When I discovered that I had finally succeeded in ensnaring a young man, one with no wife waiting for him at home, I almost couldn’t believe my good fortune.”

“What would you have done if I’d been a woman or a family with kids?” Freddy asked.

“I would have shown them the same courtesies, then sent them on their way,” she replied with a shrug. “Won’t you consider it, Freddy?” she purred as she ran her wet fingers across his bare chest. “It could all be yours. A feast every night, your choice of wine from the cellar, a place to call home that isn’t the size of a shoebox. Me,” she added, her tone turning sultry.

“I don’t even know what you are,” he replied, straining against his bonds impotently.

“Then, let me show you,” she said as she raised a hand to the ruffles of her bodice. She began to undo the buttons one by one, Freddy slowing his struggling as he watched, curiosity getting the better of him. With each one that she unfastened, the mass within the velvety garment weighed more heavily on it, starting to spread it open. Soon, he glimpsed pale skin, the still-damp fabric parting as her breasts slipped free of their support. They bounced gently with the motion, hanging there above his head, swaying subtly as she unbuttoned the garment down to the point where her lapels met. Her lily-white skin was misted with droplets of rainwater, giving it a sheen that reflected the moonlight, her nipples pink and prominent. Freddy couldn’t take his eyes off them – they were so generous, each one of them large enough to comfortably fill his cupped hands.

Moira was so prim and proper, her sudden nudity contrasting with her modest gown in ways that even the most revealing bikini or enticing lingerie couldn’t have matched. His heart raced as he watched that flawless, silky skin brush against the ruffled fabric of her clothes, standing out starkly against the jet-black of her dress.

“It would be a lie if I told you that I was all woman,” she said, Freddy watching her delicate flesh spill around her slender fingers as she groped herself. It was as soft as the melting wax of her candles, her digits sinking tantalizing deep into her yielding fat. “But, I think that I’m woman enough that you won’t be disappointed.”

She brought herself closer, the fine, wet strands of her hair piling on the pillows to either side of his head. He watched her hanging breasts come down towards him, her supple flesh spilling across his chest as she let their weight rest on him, her skin cool and slick due to the rainwater that had permeated her dress. They poured over his sides like warm cake batter, not quite generous enough to reach the mattress. She brought her lips to his, her dark lipstick making them glossy in the moonlight, parting them ever so slightly in the expectation of a kiss. He could smell the rain on her, as well as an enticing, floral perfume that made his head spin.

Still more angry than aroused, he turned his head away from her – the only act of defiance that remained to him in his bound state. Rather than be insulted or offended, those expectant lips curled into a smile.

“Are you still angry with me, Freddy?” she whispered. “I’m not such a bad apple. Perhaps I can find a way to change your mind...”

She began to slide lower, her smooth, wet skin gliding against his own as she let her pillowy breasts drag down his torso. Her long, dark hair did the same, tickling him as it was pulled over his shoulders and across his chest. He lurched as she planted a kiss on his belly, those soft lips crawling towards his navel, the sensation making him strain against the sticky silk. She trailed her nails down towards his shorts, dragging them across his ribs with a feather-light touch, hooking them around his waistband. As her mop of silky hair cleared his abdomen, he saw that she had left prominent lipstick marks on his skin, the sight making his heart quicken.

Moira eyed the growing bulge in his shorts, then leaned in to give it a kiss, Freddy feeling the warmth of her breath through the thin layer of fabric that separated them.

“You can still ask me to stop, you know,” she purred as she hovered there. When she got no reply, she smirked, starting to tug his underwear down. His member flopped free, quickly swelling to full mast as Moira watched, wetting her lips in anticipation. He lurched as he felt them brush the sensitive underside of his glans, her exploratory kiss making his member bounce in the air, the taut silk keeping him securely in place. He couldn’t move any of his limbs by even an inch. All he could do was lower his head to look down at Moira, watching as she wrapped those pale, slender fingers around his shaft. She began to stroke slowly, her grip just tight enough that he could feel it, the rainwater making her touch slippery. Her skin was so impossibly soft that it felt like she was wearing velvet gloves.

“How I have missed the warmth of a man,” she purred, smiling as he throbbed within the confines of her fist. Her damp hair draped over his thighs as she brought her lips to his tip, sliding it into her mouth. Freddy gritted his teeth as his tender glans was encompassed by hot, slippery flesh, the flat of her tongue cushioning him as she let him pulse against it. She didn’t move, she didn’t lick or suck, she just held him there as she let him wallow in the sensation. It quickly became too much for him to stand, and he tried to buck in frustration, Moira pulling away.

“You’re more eager than you let on,” she chuckled, running her thumb over the dark ring of lipstick that she left beneath the head of his cock. “I want you to want me, Freddy,” she added as her silver eyes flashed in the dark. “You’ve never had a woman like me before, I promise you that.”

“Aren’t I just the first guy who came along?” he shot back, fighting through the lingering pleasure for a moment.

“Oh, Freddy,” she replied with a sordid chuckle. “I can afford to be very patient. If I didn’t find you delicious, you wouldn’t still be here. You’re young, vigorous, and you mind your manners. I like that you know your wines,” she added, pausing to give his shaft another gentle kiss that made his heart race. “The fact that you’re even asking these things when my lips are wrapped around your manhood tells me that I made a choice selection. I can be romantic if you want me to be,” she cooed, circling his tip with one of her index fingers. “Is that how you’d have me, Freddy? Spreadeagled on a bed of roses, a bottle of rosé at my side?”

She took him into her mouth again, and this time, he felt her slippery tongue circle his glans slowly. It crept beneath his foreskin, the warm, wet muscle painting his sensitive flesh as she lapped. She was so gentle and careful, contrasting with her monstrous appearance, each tender lick making Freddy feel like he was melting into the bed. She paused for a moment, letting his pulsing member press against her cheek, his skin shining with her saliva.

“Do you think you could learn to love me?” she asked, batting her long lashes at him. “With the right ... incentives, of course.”

She suckled dotingly on his head, swirling her tongue around it, the incomparably soft inner lining of her mouth bearing down on him as she drew him deeper. Her sucking grew more ardent, her hand starting to stroke his shaft now, her tongue dancing across his exposed glans with surprising finesse. Something about being bound like this made him feel a kind of vulnerability that only heightened his pleasure, each fruitless tug of the silk webbing that secured his wrists to the bedposts reminding him that he was here at Moira’s pleasure. She could do whatever she wanted with him – to him – and the prospect was gradually becoming more attractive.

Moira paused her gentle nursing for a moment, letting his member slide past her lips with a wet pop, leaving him throbbing in the cold air. He could see movement behind her, those arachnid legs moving frantically again. They passed something to her human hands, draping her fingers in silvery webbing, Moira lifting them so that he could see better.

“Did you ever play Cat’s Cradle as a child?” she asked, spreading her digits to show him the glistening threads that joined them. With movements so quick and fluid that he could scarcely follow them, she formed the webs into a shape like a pair of Xs, then again into one that resembled a ladder. “The goal is to pass the shape between the players, changing it a little each time, until it breaks or becomes too complex. Seeing as you’re ... indisposed,” she added as she glanced up at him. “I think we’ll have to give it a new spin.”

She brought her hands to his erection, draping the delicate strands over it, then started to wind them around his shaft. She was so dexterous, so skilled, soon cocooning his swollen length in what looked like a web of gossamer fabric. There were strands attached to each of her fingertips, he realized, looped around them like tiny nooses. It looked like she was about to put on a puppet show where his member was the opening act. Moira kept her eyes on his, watching him carefully as she gave one of the strands a slight tug, Freddy grunting as he felt something tighten around his cock.

Only now did he realize that each of those fine threads was connected to a point in the silken lattice, the surrounding strands tightening when Moira pulled. She did it again, closer to his base this time, strands as soft as satin constricting as though he was being squeezed between her thumb and forefinger. Like plucking at the strings of a harp, she began to play, her fingers moving in a slow wave as that sensation of tightness glided up his shaft.

“Didn’t I warn you that you’d never had a woman like me before?” she said, affording herself a satisfied smile as she drank in his reaction. “Once I’ve learned what threads to pluck – everything that makes you tick – you’ll beg to stay. I know it.”

She moved her fingers in the air, tweaking and tugging at those strands, the novel and unexpected sensations making Freddy flinch and writhe. It was hard to believe that the same silk that felt so wonderfully soft against his skin was the same material that bound his hands and feet, more than strong enough to resist the ardent struggling of a grown man. It was likely far stronger than that, even.

It almost felt like phantom fingers were stroking him, or like dozens of pairs of disembodied lips were pursing around his shaft at once, all in different places. He felt the first unreserved, irresistible wave of pleasure crash over him, his stomach swarming with butterflies as she made him her willing plaything. Was she right? If she stopped now, would he beg her to continue?

Using nothing but the shining threads, Moira guided his member to her lips again, maneuvering it into her mouth. She doted on his glans as she kept up her strange game, the ever-alternating sensations of tightness now joined by the feeling of her hot, wet tongue tracing every contour of his anatomy. Her black lipstick rubbed off on his skin, leaving lurid trails to mark where her lips had roamed, her tongue just as practiced as her fingers.

“Fuck,” Freddy snarled through gritted teeth as she stimulated his glans with a maddening flurry of licks.

“Language,” she chided in a mocking tone, tightening all of the strands at once. If it was supposed to deter him, it had the opposite effect, the bedframe creaking as his spine arched off the mattress. “Perhaps I should wring one out of you so that you can last longer when it really counts,” she added. “It might be wrong of me to toy with you like this, but it’s been decades, and I’m oh so excited to get to know you intimately. A strapping young man like yourself should have enough stamina to provide at least a few hours of entertainment, wouldn’t you agree?”

“A few hours?” Freddy stammered, his face starting to redden.

“Oh, look at you blushing,” she cooed as another warm smile brightened her face. “You didn’t think I’d be satisfied with a quick roll in the hay after decades of hibernation, did you, darling? I like that you’re a little shy,” she added, giving his member another tug that sent his head spinning. “Men who feel that they have to take charge in every situation are such a terrible bore, and I’m old enough to be somewhat set in my ways.”

Her hands began to move again, Freddy feeling the silk lattice tighten. Moira’s spider legs sprang into motion, passing up more coils of sticky threads, his host wrapping them around his length so quickly that her fingers became a blur. When she pulled them away, his member was completely cocooned in the silvery threads from its base to its tip, so tight that he could make out every contour of his shaft through the thin layer. She gripped it in her fist, starting to stroke, Freddy lurching again as the unexpected sensation surprised him. It was so impossibly smooth, like she had wrapped his erection in the most luxuriant satin. Where the droplets of fluid that clung to the fibers that bound him were sticky like glue, these were slippery, creating a slick layer on the inside of the cocoon.

“Soft and slippery, aren’t they?” Moira cooed as she noticed his expression. “I can produce several kinds of silk, you know. Some are good for holding my dinner in place, while others make excellent threads for sewing. These are a little different.”

She started to pump her hand in earnest, stroking him through the webbing, its slimy inner surface gliding against his skin. It seemed as thin as latex, doing nothing to dull the sensation of her slow massage, what felt like satin soaked in lubricant sliding up and down his aching length.