DISCLAIMER: ALL CHARACTERS HEREIN ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18. I do not condone any abuse of any kind IRL, and everything herein is just fantasy. Do not attempt to re-enact anything you read here.
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Chapter 2
"Do not use alternative roads! Stick to mapped and maintained road networks only!"
The sign was a reminder to those who drove convoys between the walled settlements, Rick assumed. The few roads that were maintained between them were the only reliably safe paths. That said, however, Rick knew he couldn't afford to be seen. As such he had followed a turn off down a much older road, clearly from before the fall.
Rick's first few days outside of the walls he had, well he could admit to himself, scared. At several points he had found himself walking back towards the road, hoping to flag down a convoy and accept whatever punishment came his way. Each time, though, he had swallowed his fears and turned back. It was hard, but he kept reminding himself why he had left. This was real. Out here was the real world, and it was his birthright to see it. If he wanted to go home he could do so any time, he reasoned, but this was his one chance to see the world they had lost.
He was free, for the first time in his life, he repeated to himself again and again until he believed it.
He had by now memorized every picture, hell almost every word, of the book he had managed to keep safe all these years. Even so, perhaps out of comfort, or nerves, Rick kept looking to it for... something. Comfort? Guidance perhaps? Occasionally he would see something he recognized, but he was now seeing the old world for the first time outside of printed paper.
A sign with a number on it, a bit rusted over, loomed from the side of the road. He flipped through his book for a few minutes, sure he had seen something like this before on a "high way". He tapped the picture and compared it. The sign in the book was round, and the number was different. Maybe it was a way to let people know where they were? Was this "Sector 300 M" perhaps?
Eyes on the page, he let his feet guide him down the road, occasionally letting his gaze flit up to compare what he saw to what he read. The first sign that something was amiss was when the old, battered paved road was no longer crunching under his footsteps. Indeed it had become much more muted, and for some reason walking had become much more taxing. As his eyes dropped down below the book to check, it was far too late. He was no longer standing on a road, but instead, an oddly uniform matted material stretched out in a wide circle around him, suspended over a massive hole. Thin, silvery, gossamer strands of it had quite thoroughly entangled his ankles by now. Unsure what to do, by the time he had settled on reaching down to tug at them and carefully make his way back to the road, they gave way almost immediately, and he felt his stomach in his throat as he fell into the darkness below.
Dozens if not hundreds of silvery wisps played across his body as he fell, and by the time his mind had caught up and he began to scream, he had already stopped falling altogether. He half-heartedly cut his scream of terror short, and stared up at the pinprick of light above him, which he realized was the hole he had fallen into. He tried to right himself, but realized the same strands which had arrested his descent had quite literally arrested him as well, entangling everything. Quite sticky, they tugged at his clothing incessantly with every tiny movement, as if trying to undress him. As he moved around, the sweet smell in there was growing stronger, and leaning closer he realized it was coming from the materials entangling him.
Trying not to panic, he managed to turn on the reading light atop his book, and manoeuvred it around to light up the space. It seemed to be a sinkhole, he reckoned, and rotated the book round as he peered into the darkness, his eyes slowly adjusting as, all of a sudden, the pinprick of light above him was sealed shut. Now in total darkness save for the lamp, he forced his eyes to focus and could make out the edges of the hole. It was only then, when he saw the way these strands connected to the edges of the wall, he became all too sure what they were. Not strings... but webs. Then, just at the edge of the light's cone, he could swear he saw something moving.
Suddenly quite certain he wanted to be free of the sticky webbing sealing him still, he tugged at it, trying each limb individually, then all at once, all to no avail. He had only really succeeded in, if anything, gathering more of the sticky fronds around himself and making his situation worse. Each one was strong enough he doubted he could break it, but collectively they may as well have been made of some high strength wire. Yet despite that, they felt soft and flexible, which only made it harder to gain any purchase on them. The wetness of the webs seemed to soak into his clothing, and skin, and everywhere it touched seemed to tingle in a way he wasn't quite comfortable with. Indeed, it was making every tiny scratch of his clothing feel far worse, and soon he began to itch. Why was he suddenly feeling so sensitive, he wondered confusedly.
Laughter, soft and sweet, pealed out from somewhere ahead of him, and he froze still, eyes peering into the shadows. The source of that laughter made itself apparent when two red eyes gleamed back at him. Now in a blind panic, he thrashed and contorted his body every which way, and began to slip free, not of his bonds, but of the clothing so caught up in them.
The laughter grew closer, and his thrashing grew still again, although this time because he was stunned to see the body that the glowing eyes belonged to. The head of a woman, quite beautiful even in the dim light, swam into the light as if surfacing from water. Her chest, however, kept revealing more and more of itself, as the largest pair of breasts he had ever seen kept rising and rising into his vision.
"It's been some time since I felt any stirring in this web," she said softly, reaching out a finger to daintily pluck at a strand, which in turn tugged at his shirt, now thoroughly matted with webs.
Speechless, Rick simply stared in awe as her body was slowly revealed by the book's lamp which, settling from his prior thrashing, turned slowly round. Her breasts were, if anything, merely proportionate to her form. Thick, luscious, hips flowed naturally from her stomach which was almost entirely concealed by her awe-inducing bosom, but he gasped as his vision was drawn down. Expecting a monstrous, spider body, he was instead shocked to see her pliable, yielding thighs parting barely, just enough to make out a cushy cleft of flesh. Her pallid skin did nothing to detract from the utter embodiment of sex she represented.
Rick was understandably less terrified as the shadowy figure turned out not to be some monstrous spider coming to devour him, although had he known the irony of that thought he may have kept trying to escape, he tried to choke out a noise, but the fear that had choked his throat before had been swiftly replaced by something else.
