"Farah? Where are you going?"
My mother looked up from the earthen pot she was making while I donned my leather armor. I drew my machete, inspected its blade by the firelight and sheathed it, satisfied. "I'm going into the caves," I told her. "Haundi went in there two days ago, and no one has seen her. I'm going to find her."
"You shouldn't do that," said my mother. "It's dangerous." She shook her head. "You never should have been a warrior. You could have any husband you wanted, you know. You're the prettiest in the village."
I looked down at my toned arms and shrugged. "As long as the man doesn't mind a little muscle on his wife."
"Most men don't anymore."
I pulled on my boots. "Well, I'm going to explore the caves. I'll be back by tomorrow."
"Good luck."
I exited the hut, brushing aside my short brown hair. I held up a hand to block the sun, which came in just over the thorny canopy of alpine trees that surrounded the village. In the forest, I followed the path that Haundi had probably taken, which was little more than a ribbon of gravel and twigs that would be covered in frost in a few short months.
At the end of the path, I found what I sought: the old cave. There were holes bored into the roof of the cave that led all the way to the surface above, admitting cones of sunlight, which diffracted against the crystalline sand, spreading light to every nook and crack. The gods only knew who had made these holes, but thanks to them, I needed no torch. A thrill ran through me as I entered; I loved exploring, all the more when there was danger afoot. Less than a hundred paces in, eased myself down a few rock ledges to a cavern, where three cracks in the wall led away. One of them too small for anything larger than a fox, and another looked like it would be a dead end, but a third promised a pathway ahead. I patted my machete, making sure it was still there, and went in.
Not far in, I heard something. It was a murmur, low and long, but too loud to be the wind. Rounding a corner, I found the source.
Haundi, the woodsman's daughter, knelt on the white sand, as naked as the day she was born. Thin white ropes coiled around her legs, stopping her from getting up, and her wrists were bound together behind her back. A third length of rope wound around her mouth, turning her shouts into moans. She shook weakly in her restraints, but she blushed heavily and even sweated. After a moment, I noticed why; another rope hung around her waist, with a cord running between her legs, pressed tightly to her bare womanhood.
"Haundi!" I said. "What happened?"
She saw me, and her eyes bulged. She began yowling into her mouth-ropes.
"It's okay," I said, drawing my machete. "I'll cut you out of there."
She did not stop her protests. I ran up to her, but before I could reach her, my feet caught on the ground, and I pitched forward onto my hands and knees. Beneath my palms, I felt something like sap sticking my hands to the ground. I tried my legs, but my feet were stuck fast as well. As I began to feel the first pang of fear, I noticed a pattern of thin, glistening white lines crisscrossing the floor. When I pulled, they stretched, but did not let me go.
"Oh, no," I said. I looked at my machete, which had fallen out of my reach. "Oh, no."
Haundi moaned hopelessly, and I contemplated calling for help, then I heard something. A pair of footsteps approached from farther down the cave. Soon, a figure appeared. It was a young man, thin and with hair as black as midnight, swathed in thin strips of equally black cloth that covered him from his shoulders to his knees. He wore a wide but narrow smile on his handsome face and, most strangely, a wooden crown on his head.
"You!" I said. "You there, watch out! This floor is sticky. Please, get help!"
He clicked his tongue as he walked up to me, somehow not getting caught on the ground. He stood over me, and I had to bend my neck back to look up at him.
"You don't understand," he said, in a buttery voice. "There's no help for you down here. I've captured your friend there, and now you belong to me too."
"What?" My eyebrows furrowed. "What are you doing down here? Who are you?"
He took off his wooden crown and twirled it lazily around his finger, pacing in front of me. "I am the Spider King," he said slowly. "But you'll learn to call me 'my lord.'"
"What do you want with me?"
"What do I want?" He knelt, took my chin in his fingers and said, "Why, what does any man want with a beautiful girl like you?"
"I'm not a girl! I'm twenty-five!"
"Oh, but you'll forget that soon enough." Stepping back, he slipped his fingers under his strips of black cloth, peeling them away. One by one, they floated to the ground.
"What are you doing?" I demanded, although I feared I knew the answer.
He knelt in front of me, cradled my head in both hands and kissed me. Bound as I was, I could do nothing but wait until he pulled away. "Delicious," he said, licking his lips. "You're a catch indeed." He undid the last cloth around his waist and revealed a smooth, long cock with a perfectly curved head. His fingers made a ring around it, and he stroked until a drop of thin, clear ooze issued from the tip. He caught it on his finger.
I gasped. "Did you just masturbate?"
He laughed again, louder and harsher this time. "Haven't you ever seen precum before?" Without warning, he grabbed my head, brought up his wet finger and smeared the liquid onto my upper lip. I opened my mouth to protest, but my thoughts were arrested by the scent. It was overpowering-- earthy, but alive. I had never smelled anything so male.
As my mind swam in this new sensation, he circled around behind me, grabbed my tunic and pulled it away, exposing my bottom to the cold, dry air. I looked back to see him stroking his cock again, dripping with more precum.
