Spider's Kiss

by Jesse Sprague

  Spider's Kiss

  by Jesse Sprague

  visit the author's website at: www.jessesprague.com

  © 2019 Jesse Sprague

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, at “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below: jesse.a.sprague@gmail.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First edition.

  Cover Design © Stephanie Mooney. All rights reserved.

  Edited by: Amy McNulty

  Dedication:

  To all those who helped me on this journey.

  To my wonderful family, who has been nothing but supportive.

  To my readers, who gave me faith.

  To my beta readers, who treated my fragile ego with care.

  And to that darn spider, who got stuck in my hair and started this whole mess!

  Part 1

  The Spider’s Game

  Chapter 1

  Yahal Brothel

  Hot, stale air clogged Henri’s lungs as he approached a metal chair built into the wall. A servant wearing the Brothel’s black uniform stepped out of the shadows. He approached Henri and pressed several buttons on the arm of the chair, causing the metal wrist restraints to retract. Seven of ten chairs along the wall contained restrained men, all of whom had paid massive sums to be in this room, most sweating profusely. Unlike the others, who quivered with nerves, Henri grinned.

  His right eye twitched with excitement when he looked at the restraints that awaited him.

  Sinking into his seat, Henri placed his thick wrists on the armrests, and metal bands emerged and closed, tightening around his wrists and ankles. The attendant walked over to the entrance and closed the metal door, settling net-glasses over his eyes. Once the metal bar clanged into place, no one else could enter. His work complete, the attendant stood by the door, arms folded. His net-glasses fogged over with black so he couldn’t see the room.

  The sweat, a product of both fear and heat, dripped into Henri’s eyes.

  From the chair, a final restraint slid forth and encircled his forehead, holding him in place. He didn’t object to the restriction of his movement.

  I didn’t come here to see the other men strapped helplessly in their chairs, he thought. I bet none of them even knows what the show contains. How many of them will scream? I love shows with screamers.

  After a few moments, the lights extinguished. The heat remained, swelling, filling each of Henri’s senses. The thick, sweltering air and the straps pinning him in place overrode all else. One man began to whimper. The sound sent licks of anticipation down Henri’s spine. This would be an exceptional show. The scrape of boots against the floor joined the whimpering to create an irregular beat beneath the silence.

  As the seconds ticked by, his eyes grew accustomed to the dark. In the nearly lightless room, he saw Silvia’s slender form, the darkness holding her close. At first, all that showed was a curvy silhouette against the back wall.

  Silvia moved among the shadows with no more substance than a muffled scream. A small flame bloomed on a candle clasped between her hands. She stood in its flickering light, hands circling the tall, white pillar. Even in the grotesque shadows of the candle’s flame, her face was cold and perfect. Black hair streaked with red hung to her waist. Her eyes glowed in the darkness, the black eyes of a beast. Silvia took a few silent steps toward them. The gold tassels of her belt rustled against the russet robe encasing her body.

  The shadows partnered Silvia in a sensual dance. Hands as pale as smoke against the night sky caressed a jungle of dark shapes. A sigh parted her full lips and rippled in the silence. Six candles blared to light along the side walls even as the one in her hand dropped.

  Those pale fingers twitched at the fabric, and her tasseled belt fell. The russet gown slipped like a creature forgotten to the floor. Beneath it, she wore only the tissue-paper-like undergarments customary in brothels. Her black eyes inspected the restrained men. Running one finger down the center of her chest, she cut through the undergarments, which flared to ash.

  Lust brought Henri crashing back into his body. This was not a woman he would ever touch, but the thought of her taloned fingers on his body brought a moan to his lips. Those were foolish dreams. No sane man would ever permit himself to be strapped to a chair across a room from Silvia, the Spider Queen.

  As she posed, a shadow entered the room behind her. Henri watched its skittering movements and waited with bated breath for the others to see the beast. The spider was huge, standing as tall as Silvia’s waist, and its eyes stared back unblinking. Then one man choked back a scream.

  Silvia smiled and began to dance, her movements fluid. The spider approached her. It came up and stopped inches from her white body. With infinite care, it caressed her shoulder with one long, hairy leg. Her face leaned against its leg in an instinctive lover’s gesture. Feelers touched her hair, and she reached up to hold the spider’s arm against her.

  Silvia turned away from the viewers and danced for the spider. Her hands fondled its body, and she caressed the twitching maw. She glanced over her shoulder at the men, and her mouth moved, forming a chilling smile. Withdrawing her limbs from the spider, she walked toward the viewers. When she reached Henri, her long, dark nails scraped across his chest. The spider retreated to the back corner, its eyes glowing.

  Silvia was gone again, walking down the line of men.

  “Come. Bring me my gift.” Silvia’s voice was deep and colored by the dark.

  Henri’s breath came in bursts as he stared at the growing sliver of light emitting from the back door.

  Two pretty girls dressed in trailing gauze and fogged net-glasses entered, carrying a scruffy man between them. Each of his feet banged into the floor with all his weight but without intention, as if he were in a trance or drugged. The girls let him go, and Silvia beckoned to him. On tottering legs, he stepped forward. He grabbed at her. She eluded his grasp, feet skipping to the side and hips swaying. The chase that followed was one-sided, embellished with her laughter and his stumbles.

  Silvia raked her hands across the air, and the man’s clothes fell in shreds to the ground. Naked and shivering despite the heat, the man stood in front of her.

  Henri couldn’t have spoken if he wanted to. The air around him hung heavier. Lust ate at him, but his desires would remain unsatisfied and he tried to ignore the urges. Ridden by fear, this was the most exquisite form of lust he had encountered in all his years.

  Silvia did not turn to the restrained men but stared at the scruffy man as she ran her hands along her body. He stumbled to her and pulled her against him.

  The Spider Queen grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his lips to hers. With the brutal kiss completed, she shoved him back. Every inch of her was revealed and yet remained forbidden to Henri. As she lay back on the ground, her hair spread out around her. The man crouched and then crawled to her. Meanwhile, the spider began his slow movement out of the corner and into the center of the room. Silvia crooned, one hand beckoning the man and the other motioning the spider closer.

  Henri’s fingers scraped into the chair. He panted, his breath creating a rhythm his body longed to follow.

  The monster approached the man’s back. The man’s empty, drugged eyes turned in Henr
i’s direction. Somewhere in the vague depths of those eyes, terror lurked buried beneath the hunger of desire. Silvia’s long hair writhed on the ground, and her mouth glistened as it parted in a sigh. Her intricate dance threaded the air with rhythm.

  The instant the man’s hand touched her, the spider ripped him from her body and threw him back against the wall. It sprang after him. Like a wisp of smoke, Silvia rose, a laugh blooming on her mouth. The spider pinned the man to the wall, and he screamed.

  Momentarily, Henri’s eyes closed, but the image of the spider, the victim, and the sorceress remained etched in his brain. When his eyes opened again, blood splashed across the floor and spurted onto Silvia’s giggling face.

  The spider spat and left a long burn on the man’s cheek and neck. Silvia’s hips swayed. The light moved through the room, dancing with her. Following the command of her slender body, the illumination fell like a spotlight on the carnage. One of the restrained men began to scream as another retched.

  Henri giggled despite himself.

  The spider bit into the man by the wall. The man struck out at the spider’s face and flailed his legs. Its gaping maw snapped shut again, pulling away a bloody chunk, and then it impaled the man with one hairy leg. After jerking for a few moments, the man slumped down. The spider dropped him to the ground and began to rend him apart.

  Silvia turned to the other men. The shadows danced for her. Silvia didn’t move; she only smiled. Then the spider came to her, and they embraced. The dying man’s blood dripped over her, streaking her white skin red. She licked blood from the spider’s prickly body.

  A moan of pleasure escaped her lips, and a similar sound escaped Henri’s lips. One man to Henri’s right whimpered and began to mutter prayers to his gods. Silvia’s dark eyes flew to the praying man. Slowly, she disentangled herself from the spider.

  Since Henri’s head remained fastened in place, he pictured her approaching the whimpering man. Henri enjoyed the jump of adrenaline that came with imagining Silvia’s movement and ignored the twinge of fear.

  Screams filled the air. Henri imagined he felt her soft fingers on his forehead. At her touch, his airways would freeze. The screaming stopped. What would his death look like reflected in her eyes? It might be worth it to feel Silvia’s kiss.

  “Remember,” Silvia said. “Once you leave this chamber, tonight’s entertainment never happened. To speak a single time of the contents of this show will earn you a place center stage and guarantee your loved ones a messy death.”

  When Silvia returned to Henri’s line of sight, the room was silent. She tapped the side of her head, where most net-chips were implanted—as if any of them needed a reminder of the programming installed in the devices before they’d entered the room.

  She caressed the spider’s side as she passed by it and left.

  Henri relaxed in his chair. His eyes drifted closed. Sight wasn’t the only sense he could use to enjoy the finale. The spider was hidden from view as it consumed the corpse of the screamer, but he heard the snapping of bone and the rending of flesh. When the spider finished, it followed Silvia out of the room.

  The attendant turned on the light and stepped over the blood and body parts. He freed the men. One by one, they fell from their chairs or ran. One stopped to vomit. Henri looked at the dead man. A mix of jealousy and pity welled up in him. He quickly discarded both emotions and whistled as he walked out.

  ∆∆∆

  Silvia waited in the hall outside of the chamber. Behind a curtain, she watched the men leave. Some ran, one cried, and some were silent. Each and every one revolted her. Paying customers to a snuff show for their own species. Silvia stroked the palm-sized spider that rested on her wrist and waited. Then came the smiling man.

  Henri Trehar—an average-looking wealthy man who wore his expensive suit like it added value to his person. An unremarkable man on most accounts as far as she could tell. Nothing in the bio he’d submitted to The Brothel stood out to her. Except, of course, his family connections.

  “Mr. Trehar,” she called. Her voice was as smooth as velvet, a lovely alto. In her industry, awareness of those details mattered.

  He turned to her, his smile fading for the first time since she had noticed him in the show. She raised one black eyebrow at him.

  “Follow me. I’ll not make a second request.” The blood had all been wiped off her, and a crisp tunic hid her modestly from the eyes of the world. This was how she preferred to converse: clean, with the stench of death and fear lingering. Henri Trehar looked up at her like the little troll he was. It was nothing new to be taller than the cretins who came to watch her dance, and the height variance effectively reminded them that she was always in charge.

  The spider’s prickly hairs slid under her fingertips as she turned and walked deeper into the hall. Henri followed. He stunk of sweat.

  A smile played over her lips, never wide enough to show the gleam of her white teeth. Maybe if bathed properly, he’d be less revolting.

  They walked down a long corridor containing many curtained doors. Other wings of The Brothel had more modern accouterments, but Silvia preferred the elegance of the old-fashioned décor, even if it meant a sacrifice in technology.

  Silvia lifted one of the cloths and strode into a large chamber decorated in red and black. She seated herself on a red leather chair with a black quilt thrown over the back. Henri’s eyes immediately went to her darling tarantula, and to maximize his discomfort, she began to pet this spider even as the other scampered off her arm.

  He sat across from her after checking for any arachnids. This was good. She didn’t want to work with someone who killed one of her pets. He already had a strike in her opinion as someone who attended her shows. The spiders were the only things in The Brothel she loved. The objects that filled her chambers all belonged to the Yahal Brothel and as such were tainted, decorations in a jail cell she’d endured since she’d been a toddler. The rest of The Brothel was vile, an elaborate parade of the worst of humankind, showing their most monstrous faces.

  “My lover recognized you,” Silvia said. “I rarely note a face among the chained who come to play voyeur. But he has an amazing memory.”

  “Your lover?” Henri asked.

  “The arachnid,” Silvia said. Each word dripped out like a separate sentence. He should feel stupid for such a statement.

  His ensuing silence was encouraging. He might be useful after all, this compact, hairy man. A spider crawled across the floor and onto the toe of her boot. Her soft, full mouth curved up in a smile.

  “I’m called ‘Silvia.’ As a meeting place, my rooms leave much wanting. I’m not akin to the harlots here, who keep their rooms friendly to male visitors.” I’m not a whore.

  Mr. Trehar made no response, and Silvia expected none once she heard the click, click of Halis’ eight feet coming up the passage behind the bed.

  Halis didn’t pay any heed to their visitor. He was still sticky with blood. From the look on Henri’s face, he found Halis hideous. She pitied some humans when confronted with Halis but had no tenderness for the breed of monster who came to watch one of their own species slaughtered for no purpose except entertainment.

  You’re more a monster than he. She pursed her lips, studying Henri’s pale face.

  Then her eyes slid over Halis. His body was covered with hairs as thick as copper wire and his eyes, blacker even than her own, observed them.

  “Soon, my love, soon,” Silvia said in a voice carried over the air’s shadows. The web that wound between them, connecting them to not only each other, but also the guiding force at the center of the internal network, allowed them telepathic communication.

  Halis’ chuckle reverberated in her mind, covering her thoughts in delicious darkness. “There is an ancient parable about a soft-hearted woman who takes in an injured snake. When its needs have been met, it acts as nature dictates. Let me know when I can eat him.”

  “My partner, Halis,” Silvia said. “You’re going to do us
a service, Mr. Trehar.”

  “Any-Anything,” Henri stammered.

  “I’ve a little voyage planned. We intend to leave this backwater planet.”

  Chapter 2

  The Count’s Son

  Wind whipped through the grassy meadow, making the yellowing grass ripple like waves. Darith stared at the movement as he rebuckled the belt around his waist, trying to hold on to the pleasantness of the moment. The conversation to come would be distasteful, and the taste in his mouth was foul, knowing he should have talked with her before their clothes ever came off.

  Gretta arranged her skirts and picked bits of grass from the small, tight curls of her free hair. She was a remarkable creature, and Darith allowed himself a moment to admire the dark, hickory brown of her skin, especially where her bust met the white of her low collar.

  Why did I believe she’d prove any longer-lasting than the other village girls? They always ask too much.