Author's note: This story willfully engages in the romanticization of male non-consent. While I considered steering away from the trope, I ultimately chose to use fantasy to indulge in the celebration of concepts which should not be promoted in reality. If either that, or a woman having way too many eyes are a deal breaker fo you, I recommend a different story.
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Kalos was a poacher. Not that he identified as a poacher; he really saw himself as more of a family man. Taxes were high in the eparchy, and yields lower than they could be, especially with so few able bodies in the village after the last few rounds of conscription. If providing for his children, his live-in elder Auntie, and the protein-starved people of his village meant hunting on the Doux' reserve now and then, well, Kalos hoped the Doux had enough heart not to miss a hart or two.
Kalos was also a widower. Again, not his identity, but a reality nonetheless. His beautiful Euphemia had not survived their second daughter's birth six years ago, and Kalos was not ready to remarry. He supposed he would eventually; the village was likely to have a shortage of eligible husbands for the upcoming crop of maidens. If he were of a temperament to take advantage of those women entering the start of their second decade without a confident match, he would have had far, far more than the zero liaisons he had taken since his wife's death. The young women still seemed as children to him though, and it felt wrong to replace Euphemia with someone so young who could very well die the same way she did. He still wrestled with intention, though his instincts had certainly not disappeared for all they had been starved.
Now the still young, or at least not old, man was focused, his strong arms flexing the stave of a heavy hunting bow with relative ease. He had never reached the level of mastery that allowed true experts to draw, aim, and fire, in a single seamless motion, but his skill was good enough for most purposes, and a heavy arrow sunk deep into the flank of the stag whose ribcage he had been aiming for. He muttered, half in curse for the chase he was about to run, half in apology for the less than clean death, as the stag attempted to bolt, stumbling and crashing through the brush ahead in graceless terror.
Kalos jumped immediately, looped his bow to his back, and chased behind with a hunting spear ready. His thick, dark eyebrows caught sweat from his brow, and he squinted slightly, his sun-tanned face reflecting concentration as he ran. One never knew how far a stag would go with a wound like that. It could fall ten feet away, already dead, or outrun it's predator entirely, limping along for the wolves to catch next week. This one seemed closer to the latter, and Kalos attempted to pick up the pace after the first two clearings revealed only sign of recent passage, and not the beast itself.
As Kalos crashed through another low bush, determined not to let this boon escape, he was caught in a deadly surprise, as the stag, probably unable to run much further, had turned to fight. Pain seared through the hunter's shoulder, as his arm was wrenched by the massive impact which sent him rolling into a tree ten feet away. He scrambled up and around the tree just in time to avoid being gored entirely by the next charge, and caught the antlers in his one functional arm, spear uselessly on the ground behind the stag. He gave ground in rapid steps, each swing of the deadly antlers missing by the tiniest slips of air.
Kalos tried, in desperate measure, to kick at the beast's legs, but instead lost balance entirely, and was thrown another five feet. There, much to his dismayed shock, his body slammed into fragile sticks and leaves concealing emptiness, and tumbled down into a steep, narrow tunnel. There he rolled, and rolled until the pain in his dislocated shoulder helpfully allowed him to pass out.
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Kalos slowly awoke, the pain in his shoulder successfully outcompeting the pain from the myriad cuts and bruises along the rest of his person. His tunic hung in tatters across the sort of chest that a man develops from being the primary wood chopper, hunter, and butcher for altogether too many people. The stacked muscle on his intact arm rippled and strained with impressive power as he realized that he was suspended and bound in a sort of net, flexible and strong, and stuck inextricably to his wrist and forearm. He kicked out wildly, and succeeded only in bouncing slightly, his trained legs bound as unyielding as his arms. His injured shoulder flared in pain which threatened again to release his consciousness as he struggled against his bonds in the dim light.
Dim light? As Kalos recognized that he was well and truly stuck, he began to notice his surroundings, and the little bioluminescent fungi growing at the corner of the surprisingly well manicured cave. A drip of water in the distance confirmed the size of the chamber, and, if he wasn't entirely delirious, the placement of the fungi suggested an intelligent aesthetic to the space in which he was hopelessly bound. In fact, as he squinted his adjusting eyes toward the farther walls of the chamber, Kalos noticed what looked like tapestries hanging behind. His head was stuck in what appeared to be web as well, and after craning enough to gather that much information about his surroundings, he let his head fall back to where it was cradled.
Time passed. Not enough time to fully replace Kalos' fear with boredom, but long enough that his thoughts had begun to wander. He knew that his daughters would be taken care of as well as the village was able; Kalos was much loved, but that was only partial consolation. He still very much wanted to survive, and did not expect to. Unbidden his thoughts strayed to the pretty young Sophia; her father had encouraged Kalos to court her. She had seemed more than amenable to the idea, but Kalos had sheepishly deferred. Perhaps if he had been more able to move forward with his life, he would at least not die a six-year celibate. He thought the way her skirts curved around her strong ass, and groaned self-deprecatingly. He finally had the time and privacy to get himself off without rumor spreading the village or returning to a priest, and his arms were bound firmly above him.
After hanging in place for more than an hour, Kalos had almost begun to drift into a painful sleep, when he was startled to full alert by a woman's voice to his left. "My, what a strong man this is, caught so terribly in a web."
With a start, Kalos wrenched his neck to the side, but only caught a brief glimpse of a female silhouette before the strong web pulled the woman, who was approaching his back, out of view. "What a shame," the silky voice added, "I don't eat humans, but knowing where I live means either death for you, or a fearful retreat and exile for me. I don't like running."
Kalos felt a sharp pain in his spine, followed by a flood of stillness and endorphins. A dreadful calm washed over his emotions, dampening what he knew should be raw blind panic. The pain in his shoulder faded away, but so did his ability to move it. Curious, rather than horrified as he supposed he should be, Kalos attempted to wiggle his toes, and found them first sluggish, then entirely unresponsive. Slowly the woman paced around Kalos' now-unnecessary bindings, and drifted into his field of vision.
Her skin was pale, a paleness that only years spent far from the sun's gaze can engender, and she wore purple dress of beautiful silk, with subtle layers of lavender and black dancing around one another. Despite the lightness of her skin, she did not look sickly, but had the look, rare in these hard times, of someone who both ate and excersized well. Her arms were toned, though perhaps only half the thickness of Kalos's great oaks, her breasts full and well accentuated by the slender dress. Her hips curved with sinuous promise, blossoming out of a waist which spoke of neither hunger nor excess. Her hair was long, black, and slightly wavy, but looked frequently combed and framed her most extraordinary feature, her face.
Eight pale blue eyes, human in nature, though not in number, spread across her high cheekbones face, framing an attractive nose and lips. Her gaze, which would probably have been intense even with only two of those piercing blue eyes, was shocking in its power. She stood probably a head shorter than Kalos, and now, with him suspended two feet off the ground, that multitude of entrancing eyes looked up at him from around waist height. It was then that a particular side effect of the paralytic coursing through the poached poacher made itself evident.
The hardest, largest, most painful throbbing erection that Kalos had ever experienced sprang to life within his hard-pressed pants, the rough cloth suddenly uncomfortably confining. The octopthalmous beauty was anything but blind, and her eyes snapped to the engorged appendage suddenly obvious at eyes level. A brief smile of involuntary pleasure flickered across her face before hiding behind pursed lips. Kalos dangled helplessly, and she looked up at him again. She bit her lip and seemed to wrestle with herself for a moment, her gaze drinking in his strained package once more before slowly taking in his well-muscled body, and strong jaw. She rationalized aloud as she made eyes contact with him once more. "I suppose it would be cruel to kill you without bringing you pleasure first. And it has been centuries for me. This curse makes it so hard. You wouldn't object, would you? If men are anything like they were during my time, you won't object at all."
Kalos didn't object; in part because he agreed with her reasoning, but more because of the placid euphoria fogging his mind, and mostly because of the complete paralysis of his mouth. She seemed to take his inability to argue as assent enough, however, and rubbed her palms against his strong thighs as she cooed to herself, like a person denied the company of others for far too long. "Such a handsome man. I'm sure the girls back in your village don't pay you nearly as much attention as they would like to. Nice strong legs, powerful arms, and mmm, that thing between your legs looks good too. I'm just going to pull these trousers down a little bit, and see what we are working with."
