House Of Spiders

ATTENTION READERS: My services as a writer are now available for anyone wanting their own ideas, fantasies, turn-ons, etc. put to print. Just contact me through The Library with your requests and I'll give you a quote.

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WARNING! THIS IS A WORK OF EROTIC BDSM FICTION. IT IS ADULT ORIENTED MATERIAL OF A SEXUAL NATURE. The copyright of this story remains with the author, Night Owl. This posting does not give you the rights to post this on any website without obtaining the author's permission first.

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Deborah Weaver had always been afraid of spiders. Deathly afraid. Not a soul could convince her that most arachnids were harmless, because she knew better. She had always known, ever since she was six when she woke up from her nap to find a black widow crawling over her leg. She screamed when it bit her and she became so ill that her parents had to rush her to the hospital. Since then, the mere sight of a spider, any spider, terrified her.

Now, fourteen years later, when she saw a spider crawling across the carpet, she reacted in the usual way -- heart beating like a rabbit, a clamminess in her hands, followed by the sweat breaking out on her forehead, all in the span of a minute. Keeping her eyes on it, she reached over for her slipper and slowly got up off the couch. Her hand was shaking terribly. The brown spider was only about the size of a nickel, legs and all, though in Deborah's mind, it may as well have been as big as an elephant she was so scared.

Holding her breath, she lunged forward and smacked it with the heel of her slipper, but nothing happened. Oddly, the spider had a tough, rubbery outer skin that didn't even seem to be real, with little coarse hairs sprouting from its body. The blow stunned it at first, then it started to dart for a floor vent nearby. She quickly smacked again, and again. She was no longer afraid of it, but loathed it and wanted to crush the beast out of its miserable existence. The fifth blow finally killed it.

"Gotcha!" she breathed a sigh of relief, then struck it one more time for good measure.

She carefully wadded it up with a paper towel and, holding it as far away her as she could, went into the kitchen to toss it in a wastebasket. Her nerves were just beginning to settle down, her pulse rate returning to normal, when she turned around and saw another spider, just like the one she had just killed, scuttling across the sink counter!

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Deborah was hardly a timid soul prone to such irrational behavior. She was a God-loving Christian, almost to excess depending on who you asked, and fearlessly independent to a point of appearing snobbish. At 5' 9", she had a slender, willowy figure, long wavy blonde hair and large, striking blue eyes. She could have been a model, and she even tried it once, only to find the whole business 'too superficial'. After graduating from high school, she enrolled at Colorado Christian University, then promptly moved out of her parents' house after they voiced their objections over her choice of major -- Music and Dance. She found a small house to rent just northwest of Denver and a part-time job working as a hostess at an Outback Steakhouse nearby to help pay her expenses.

The house was a quaint one-bedroom/bathroom model built in the 1950's with a large basement for storage. It sat on plot of land a little bigger than the rest of the homes in her neighborhood, and large ash trees surrounded it on three sides to offer her some privacy. The place was bargain when she rented it two months ago, and now Deborah was beginning to understand why.

It first began with the scuffling noises inside the walls, late at night and soft enough so that Deborah thought she might be dreaming. Then one night she definitely heard it. Skittering. Scampering behind the walls of her room. It sounded like a squirrel, or worse, maybe a rat, but before she had a chance to call anyone about it, the noises stopped abruptly.

Not long after, she began to see spider webs springing up everywhere. She found them in corners, under sinks, even a few strands stretching across the doorways. One day, she got a face full of the lovely, invisible strands while getting out of her car in the garage. That one nearly threw her into a fit! So far, she had never actually seen a spider until her encounter with the two in the living room and kitchen. That was when Deborah finally had enough.

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The next morning between classes she called her landlord, Mr. Ryerson, only to find out from his wife that he had gone on a fishing trip in Montana and would not be back for a week.

"I'll certainly let him know when he returns and I'm sure he'll get right on it."

"I can't wait that long," Deborah insisted. "I'll just find an exterminator myself and have him send you the bill."

"I don't think the rental agreement states that you can . . ."

"Look, I just want these spiders gotten rid of. After I get the place sprayed, we'll discuss the bill," she then hung up.

After the call, Deborah felt bad about treating the woman so rudely, but the thought of spending another night in that house with those things crawling around literally gave her the shakes. She went to a phone book and fumbled through the pages to find an exterminator. She chose the most prominent ad, THRIFTY PEST CONTROL, then dialed the number and quickly explained her problem.

"Sounds like a common house spider from what you described," the man said on the other end. "They're pretty harmless, though. I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"It wasn't a house spider," she argued. "I know what they look like, and this one had a covering around its body."

"A covering?" There was pause on the other end. "You mean like an exoskeleton?"

"Yes, something like that . . . only rubbery . . . or . . . I don't know, but I had to beat the damn thing four or five times with my slipper to kill it."

"Well, maybe you didn't hit it hard enough. You see, typically, a spider's body is soft. They don't have an exoskeleton like other insects. In fact, they're really not classed as insects at all, but arachnids, because they have eight legs, eight eyes, and only two parts to their bodies, not three.

"Look . . . I really don't need a science lesson right now," she was starting to get impatient again. "What I need is for you to come and spray my house."

"You want me to send someone over for one spider?"

"Two. I saw TWO last night, which means there are probably more."

"Ma'am, spiders don't infest homes like cockroaches and termites. Generally, you might see four or five, and that's it. Besides, they're actually good for your home because they control all the other pests . . ."

"You have poison to kill them, don't you?"

"Yes . . . of course."

"Good, then I want to hire you to come and spray my house . . . even if you only find one lousy spider."

"All right," he sighed. "The soonest I can get someone out to you is Friday."

"That's three days!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we're pretty busy this time of year."

"But THREE days?"

"Look, we have other customers with REAL problems. I can't drop everything just to race over to your house and kill a spider."

Deborah hung up the phone, fuming.

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When she came home from school, she decided to inspect the house herself. Grabbing a flashlight, she checked every room thoroughly and found nothing. No spiders, no webs either. That left only the basement. Deborah opened the door and turned on the light switch. She was about to descend the narrow stairway when she froze. At the bottom of the steps, stretched across one upper corner of the doorway, there was a web.

Just the sight of it made her heart race again, and sweat began to bead up on her forehead just like the night before. She pointed her flashlight at the web. There was no spider there, but that didn't mean it wasn't lurking somewhere close-by, waiting to leap onto her shoulder, or in her hair when she passed under it. Deborah moved the flashlight past the web into the basement itself. The beam could only reach about six feet past the stairs. Beyond that, she saw only blackness. There was another switch at the bottom of the steps, but she couldn't even will herself to move forward.

They were there. She knew it. Hundreds of them. She thought she heard something big scurry across the floor. The sound was faint and far off, so she couldn't tell for sure if it was real, or just the fear feeding into her imagination.

"I can hear you down there," she heard herself whisper.

The noise came again, as if it were answering her. Taunting her to come down.

There was a knot growing and twisting in the pit of her stomach. She was shaking all over, and she could feel the sweat under her arms and on her back soaking into the blouse she wore.

"This is crazy," she thought to herself. "You're over this fear! Just take a step down. The first one is always the toughest. Then when you reach the bottom of the stairs, turn on the light, and all you will find is an empty basement, and maybe a few cobwebs that have been hanging down there for years."

But when Deborah tried to take that first step, she couldn't. She must have stood there in the doorway for ten minutes before she finally gave up and shut the door. By then, she was almost hyperventilating, and felt like throwing up.

A phobia can be a terrible thing, whether it's a fear of heights, of water, or spiders, because those afflicted cannot deny the irrationality of their apprehension, nor can they get rid of the fear no matter how hard they try to convince themselves that it's completely baseless.

"That's it. Tomorrow, I'm getting someone out here to spray this house! Let THEM go into the basement. Once they're done, I'll feel better and the anxiety will be gone."

It took an hour before Deborah was finally settled down enough to put on her flannel nightshirt and go to bed.

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But that night, uneasy dreams robbed her of a sound sleep, haunting her and pressing down on her until it felt like her entire body was being crushed from their force. Her eyes opened and fluttered at strands of spider webs across her face. Still fuzzy, she tried to brush away the tickling strands, then realized she couldn't move her arm!

Deborah was no longer in her bed, nor was she in her room. She was lying in a web spanning at least twenty feet across a narrow, deep cavern that looked like a well with no bottom to it. Feeling trapped, she tried to move her other arm and legs, but they were also caught in the same sticky strands. She managed to blink away the webs and lift her head. Then she gasped. Gone were the nightshirt and her panties. She was naked and wrapped almost completely in spider silk. Her arms were spread wide, her legs also, and slightly bent at the knees in on mock parody of sex. Through the sticky shroud, she could see the faint outlines of her breasts, her pointed nipples pressing outward.

She tried to scream, but somehow she had lost her voice. Looking up, she saw the opening and the ceiling light spilling down on her from her own room. It was as if the floor had opened up and sucked her into it, bed and all. Below her, there seemed to be no bottom, only eternal blackness, and she was hovering over it, suspended on micro-thin strands of web that couldn't possibly be strong enough to keep her from tumbling into the abyss. She turned her head and tried to focus her eyes on one arm and the thick strands covering it. With all her effort, she twisted and jerked her hand, but her strength was unable to break it free.

"Hello there," came a familiar voice.

She looked up again, and saw a man peering down into the hole from her room. He had a bug sprayer in one hand attached to a small tank hanging on his back. Deborah couldn't quite make out his face, but she could clearly read the patch above the pocket of his khaki shirt:

THRIFTY PEST CONTROL

"Well, well, you ARE in a fix, aren't you," he shouted down to her.

With a muted voice, she tried to call up for help, but the man only sat there, and a terrible grin spread across his face. He was staring at her breasts and at the spot between her legs where her pubic hair showed faintly through the web.

"Wish I could help you, ma'am," he finally rose to his feet, "but my schedule is pretty busy as it is, busy with customers that have REAL problems. So you really don't expect me to drop everything just to climb down there and kill ONE spider, do you?"

Then he turned and laughed, a horrible sound, and even after he disappeared, Deborah could still hear it fading in the distance.

Panic finally set in, and she began to struggle with the warm, sticky strands that refused to release her, twisting, squirming, sending tremors throughout the web. Suddenly, she heard something stir down below in the darkness. She knew it was the creature that had spun this web. She didn't move; she didn't dare move, for fear she might alert it, but it was too late. She felt its eyes fixed on her naked and helpless form, studying her. Then the web began shake violently. The spider was climbing up to her!

Her mind wailed in absolute terror. She felt something brush against her long blonde hair as it hung down. There was a touch on her shoulder, something heavy and course, like the bristles of a broom. It touched her again, across her buttocks, only this time, the touch lingered, like a caress. She finally managed to scream as eight long legs emerged around her and closed in to embrace her. It pressed itself up against her body from underneath, and she felt something like a very large penis slip between her legs . . .

Deborah awoke with start and sat up in her bed. She was shaking all over, her nightshirt drenched in her own sweat. It was a dream -- more like a nightmare -- but it seemed so real. She got up and turned on the lights. She pulled the nightshirt over her head and tossed it in the hamper, then slipped out of her panties, for they were wet also (though not from her sweat, which was unnerving, to say in the least). After putting on a fresh pair of pajamas, she went into the living room and turned on the TV to get her mind off of what just happened, and ended up staying there the rest of the night.

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The following day, Deborah called the exterminator again, and was relieved to hear that one of his Thursday appointments had cancelled, and that he could have someone out there to spray the house first thing in the morning. That meant she only had one more night to deal with the spiders that she knew had invaded her home.

She said nothing about her problem to anyone at school, and certainly nothing about the dream. One of her classmates mentioned she looked tired and distracted.

"It's just a little insomnia," she lied. "Nothing serious."

As the day passed, and after the initial shock of the nightmare had long since worn off, Deborah began to review the details of the dream over and over again in her mind. She could almost feel the creature's hairy legs still embracing her, and its 'thing' pushing in between her legs. The more she thought about it, the more aroused she became.

What of earth is happening?

This wasn't like any fantasy dream she ever had before. It was too real . . . and disturbing to realize that the very thing she feared the most, loathed, and was so disgusted by, could make her feel so hot between the thighs when coupled with sex.

Deborah scowled. Too much pressure from work and school -- that had to be the explanation . . . that and the sad fact it had been a very long time since she dated anyone, or even wanted to date anyone. After the quiet end to her one and only serious relationship two years ago, she just hadn't been able to work up much interest, physical or otherwise, so it was only natural that the subject would manifest itself in her subconscious, though she never suspected her dreams would get quite so . . . bizarre! Was that possible?

She went straight to work after school, and when she finally got home, it was late, but her body was so cued up from the memories of her dream that she couldn't sleep. Deborah wasn't heavy into masturbation, but sometimes found it necessary to 'take care of things' from time to time, and even though the reason for her current mood still bothered her, at least her anxiety had subsided a little.

She decided to begin by treating herself to the luxury of a nice warm bubble bath. Standing naked in front of the mirror, she raised her arms to run a brush through her blonde hair while admiring the way her young, tear drop-shaped breasts hung prominently off her ribs. Her eyes darted to both armpits, deep and smooth, then down past her navel to the small tuft of blonde hair between her legs. Once thin and gawky as a little girl, Deborah's figure had filled out nicely, and in all the right places, while still retaining her slender, gazelle-like shape.

Laying her brush down, she went to the closet and reached for her well-worn fuzzy green robe. In doing so, her hand brushed against something smooth and silky instead. It was her red silk kimono -- a present from the boy she once dated. Deborah had nearly forgotten about it. The short length fell just above her knees, and the sleeves were very wide and loose around the arms with a delicate lace trimming the cuffs and neckline. She ran her fingers over the smooth, slippery material. Feeling decadent and sexy, she laid the robe on her bed and found a pair of matching silk panties to go with it.

She sauntered to the bathroom next, and filled the tub with hot water and vanilla scented bubble bath. Some scented candles would have set the mood just right, but she didn't have any, so the bath alone would have to do for the evening. Lowering herself into the tub, the tiny currents rippled against her body, water sluicing over her heated skin. She leaned back and closed her eyes, then raised her arms behind her head, allowing the bubbles to close in around her breasts, to graze and tease her nipples.

("Mmmm, I'll definitely have to do something about this later," she thought.)

The water almost felt like it was getting warmer. Slowly her knees emerged from the bubbles and parted, pressing themselves against the sides of the tub. The warmth slid between her open thighs and she moaned. In her mind's eye, she could imagine the water as someone else's hands, smoothing over her skin, caressing and hot. Strong tapered fingers teased her breasts and glided down her abdomen. Another soft moan. She arched her back and pushed her breasts out of the water, allowing the cool air to caress them too. She lowered her arms, elbows resting on the sides of the tub, her hands clenching the rim. Then she opened her eyes . . . and shrieked.

Perched right on the faucet of her tub was a large brown spider!

Deborah jerked back when she saw it, splashing water onto the floor and slamming the back of her head against the wall tiles. It looked just like the one she had killed two nights ago, only larger, bigger than a quarter. Its shiny black eyes, all eight of them, seemed to be looking right at her!

She was so startled, so frightened that she couldn't move. She just sat there with her back pressed against the tiles and stared at the little beast, her face transfixed with horror.

("It's getting ready to jump and bit me . . . I just know it!")

Simple logic and reasoning should have convinced her that a spider this size couldn't possibly leap that far without landing in the water and drowning itself. However, logic and reasoning had no place in Deborah's mind when her fears took over. Her arms seemed to be glued to the sides of the tub, her hands still clenched. Soapy water rolled off her breasts and she started to shiver as the cool air rushed in around them. She was paralyzed, like a deer in the highlights, her mind overloaded with signals, rendering it incapable of issuing any commands to the rest of her body. She noticed her knees were still spread wide, as if inviting the little pervert to dive right into the water between them. In fact, the spider could have easily crawled along the rim of the tub, crawled up her arm, all around her body, biting her at will, and she still couldn't do anything about it. Deborah was powerless, unable to cry out for help, just like in the dream -- only this wasn't a dream!