THE SPIDER QUEEN

I first saw her in a bar, or a sort of bar attached to a gallery. I was
actually showing at that same gallery, although my work was not up that
evening, but I was sitting at the bar holding court, drinking a little too
much, when I saw her walk by. She was extraordinary, maybe 40 years old, or
older, with the curves of an Italian movie goddess, a dark pile of hair,
flashing eyes, ruby red lips, and the grace of a very hungry tiger. But most
extraordinary was her outfit, a flimsy transparent dress of black lace over a
bodystocking that hugged her every curve, and the bodystocking had this
wonderful texture, like it was knit onto her body. It really looked more
like a sweater than a nylon stocking, it was grey and a bit fuzzy, with the
weave stretching to the almost transparent around her buxom chest and full
hips. I felt my penis stir – she had something about her that touched all of
my strange fetishes at once, and I had a few.

I had to follow her, to watch her body move under that soft sensual covering.
And of course she noticed me, she waited for me to catch up to her, and as I
stared mesmerized at her breasts clothed in this sensual grey mist, she
spoke.

‘Can I help you?’

Her voice was deep, and her accent foreign. I stammered my way up to her
eyes, and looking into those coal black eyes I said the only thing I could
think to say, ‘What are you wearing?’

She laughed and brushed my question aside, as if to say, what this little
thing.

Then she reached out and took my hand and ran it along the edge of her
bodystocking and I felt the warmth of it, the softness. My cock hardened in
my pants.She held onto my hand, and looked at me carefully as if to appraise
me. I felt my temperature rising. Then she leaned across to whisper in my
ear, ‘Why don’t jyou come with me and I will let you try this on…’

Twenty dizzying minutes passed and I was being led into her house, somewhere
outside of town, surrounded by woods and old money and the night sky. She
had maintained some form of contact with me for the entire journey and now
she led me by the hand through her house, up her stairs, and into her
bedroom. Everything had a quiet elegance, everything looked as old as time,
and everything slept perfectly in the shrouded rooms of the house.

She finally released me in her bedroom, and asked me to take off my clothes
while she changed. My mind was clouded as I undressed, I could not even
understand how she knew me for a cross dresser, or how she had led me here
like a zombie. Or for that matter why I was taking off my clothes without
so much as a question. I stood naked in front of her canopy bed. She
returned in a long robe which covered her completely. I was a bit
disappointed but then she held out in front of her a long grey swath of
fabric, her bodystocking, and she said, ‘Put this on.’

I held it in my hands, the soft fabric clinging to my skin, then slowly
slipped my legs through the wide neck, and down, down through the legholes.
The fabric was like wool but much softer, like angora but impossibly fine,
and clingy, it stuck to my form as I pulled it up my body. It fit like a
second skin. The sleeves were long, all the way to my fingertips. I ran my
hands over my body, feeling the warmth of the bodysuit in my crotch and
thighs. I looked in an antique mirror in the corner. The neck, which I had
thought was a broad, shoulder length hole was now much narrower, close to
being tight around my neck. I wondered briefly how I got into the bodysuit,
but then SHE was next to me, running her thick, sharp fingernails over my
woolen skin, drawing circles of goosebumps over my skin.

‘Jyou look good in that. Very good.’

She ran her fingers over my crotch, and my penis stiffened, pulsed, strained
against the fabric.

‘And jyou like wearing it. Don’t you?’

I nodded. She let her robe swing open, and she was naked.

‘Too bad you don’t have some of these…’ , she said as she lifted her breast
up and smiled at me. Her breasts were big, and without a bra they hung down
slightly. In fact her body looked older, still attractive, but older, a bit
less buoyant than she had looked in the bodysuit. She patted her hips and
traced her fingers along mine. She kept pacing around me, in smaller
circles, her robe flapping around her. I watched her thick, bushy pubic mound
as she ran her fingers around my neck. The suit had begun to feel a bit
tight. I reached out to touch her, maybe to feel those breasts in my hands,
but the sleeves had slipped down over my fingers now, and I struggled to pull
my hands free.

Then she was behind me, and whispering in my ear soft foreign words, her
tongue rasping gently in and out of my ear hole. I closed my eyes, feeling
the desire creep over my entire body. She began to kiss at my neck and my
arms dropped to my sides, my breathing deepened. She had me. I was hers.
Her kisses became stronger, rougher. My knees felt weak. She ran her arms
around me, her cool flesh penetrating the weave of the bodysuit, then covered
my eyes, my face with her hand. It smelled like old wool and camphor, smells
that I found intoxicating. I kissed those fingers, and tried to raise my
arms to touch her, but the sleeves had some how become caught on the fabric
of the bodysuit, and I could not raise them. I tried but they were fast at
my sides, and I did not want to tear the suit, the suit that felt so close to
my skin, I could feel it on my neck, in the crack of my ass, wrapped around
my toes.

Her kisses became more insistent , and I rolled my head to the side, to give
her my neck, breathing in the smell of her fingers. And then she bit me. It
felt like passion at first, and at last, but some where in the middle I
panicked and tried to wrench free from her grip. But her arms were hard
around my shoulders, and she sucked determinedly at my neck, I felt the skin
break. I moaned. She keened a triumphant sound as I twisted in her grasp.
Her hand at my face felt cloying now, almost like she were made of the same
fabric, and I screamed a muffled scream. I felt like I was cumming.

Then she released me. And I fell away from her, crumpling on the floor. My
arms remained at my sides. I twisted my body around until I could see her.
She had flung off her robe, and stood grinning above me, small sharp teeth,
something red on her lips, she was all blurry, like a dream. I tried to
focus on her but I could not, something was running through my body like a
hallucinogenic train. Then she stooped down and LIFTED me by my shoulder
until I was standing again. She showed me to the mirror and I saw through a
hazy mist that the bodysuit had covered my neck, and my face where her hand
had been, and as I watched it sealed itself around my head. My sleeves
seemed to be knit to my sides. I twisted in horror at my image. Something
wet and sticky hardened at my neck. I moaned again, I thought Vampire, I
felt a shock of euphoria as something ran up and down my spine.

When I turned around she looked terrifying, a mass of black hair flying about
her shoulders, her red and white smile.

She said, ‘Run.’

I ran, twisting my body trying to keep my balance, and I heard her behind me
laughing.
The grey cloth around my face made breathing difficult and seeing even
trickier, so I turned down corridors blindly, ran into rooms and through
doors. Always she was right behind me, or in front of me, laughing at my
helplessness. My heart raced, and what ever was inside of me was pumped
through my bl**dstream on a wave of fear and adrenaline. And desire,
because no matter how much fear, I felt I was still in the grips of this
sexual euphoria.

Finally I ran into this small dark room, a room without windows, or
furniture, just some sort of grey rug on the floor. It was a dead end, and
when I turned around, she was there, laughing. I whimpered and backed away
from her. She spoke again in that foreign tongue. Then I felt my feet go
out from under me as I stepped in a hole cut in the floor. The rug, which
looked alot like the same cloth that the bodysuit was made out of, had been
stretched tight over the pit, a circle maybe six feet in diameter. As I fell
I saw the rug leap off the floor, stretched taught with my weight. Then it
folded in around me, and I only fell a few meters before the entire bundle
jerked to a stop. I was dangling in a stretchey knit sack, the top of which
had drawn close, like a drawstring on a pouch. It was tight fit and I was
still standing in the slowly swinging pouch, the darkness closing in around
me. Something about the fabric felt wet and cloying, like wearing a wet
sweater. Just before I blacked out I heard her laughing again, and even her
laugh sent that strange euphoria flooding through my body.

It was the sensation of falling which awoke me much later. I was still
caught in the pouch of grey material, it was thicker and tighter if anything,
and beneath these folds of fabric I felt wet and sticky, covered in my own
juices. I struggled briefly in the darkness but I knew I could not move. I
also knew some how that I had been asl**p for days, not just hours. My body
ached with stiffness, and for a second I was overcome with claustrophobia.
But the bag suddenly jerked, and I realized I was being lowered, maybe I was
being freed.

My feet touched ground, and I felt the weight of the bag around me as I was
lowered to a horizontal position on a cold floor. Then hands were tearing
away the grey fabric, peeling it away from me, and I writhed like a larva
trying to help. Finally my face was free, and then my head, and then someone
incredibly strong tore the bag away from my body. I breathed deeply, my
vision bleary. I knew there were alot of people around me, mostly female
from the sounds of their little exclamations. I moved my arms tentatively
away from the cloying fabric. They all oohed. I fought the fog in my head,
trying to remember what had happened. Something felt different, wrong. I
ran my fingers briefly over my hips and felt a strange smoothness, a
roundness. THEN I was helped to my feet and felt the weight on my chest. I
stood up on my on, opening my eyes, brushing the cobwebs away from my face.
Everyone ooohed again. I felt my body, knowing suddenly what had happened.
My breasts stood a good four inches out from my body, small handfuls of
flesh. I felt the smooth roundness of my hips, my ribcage felt smaller,
tighter. I felt my crotch. Only a mound of hair, a thick mound of hair, and
nothing else. No penis. The room spun. I blacked out again to the faint
tittering noises of the women around me.

When I awoke moments later the women were picking the last vestiges of the
grey webbing from my body. They surrounded me, hung over me, a dozen
beautiful women, all different ages and races, all half dressed in cheap
lingerie, flowery robes and tacky bra sets. One girl, her skin was the color
of toffee, was bent over my chest, bathing me roughly with a sponge. She had
on nothing but a cheap white sweater that was easily two sizes too small. I
watched her breasts move under the fabric, her dark nipples visible through
the weave of the knit, and I felt something stir inside of me. My old lust,
my male lust. Something remained of that at least. But where was my penis?
What was I feeling?

I pushed the women away and sat up, the bl**d rushing to my head. I felt
desperately at my crotch, looking for some vestige of my maleness. The women
fluttered around me, giggling at my desperation. I shouted obscenities, and
my voice was strange and unfamiliar.

And then SHE was there. My tormentor. My captor. Even though I hated and
feared her, the first sight of her sent a spike of desire through me. The
women quieted around me, and I scrambled backwards, trying to escape her dark
gaze. She was even more beautiful than the first time I had seen her, my
queen, dressed now in leather boots and a black corset. I stared at her as
she approached me, her eyes flashing green and white. Then she was on top of
me, pinning my arms to my sides. And she smiled, and I saw her sharp pointed
teeth, and she ran her engorged pink tongue along them, drawing bl**d all the
way along the top row of diamonds. And then she kissed me, hard, and her
tongue was in my mouth and I tasted her bl**d. I t was white hot and sweet,
like the coldest ice, and I sucked on her thick tongue, suddenly wanting so
much more.

The second wave of desire hit me as she kissed my nipples, and fondled my
breasts. By the time she reached my groin I was in ecstasy, writhing in the
grips of an orgasm. The heat poured out from my body, and like a wave the
women around me melted into piles of limbs and tongues and nipples and cunts.
The entire scene rippled in sweat and body heat, and then I shut my eyes as
SHE, my queen, fucked me with her tongue, in and out, flicking the rough edge
across what might have been my penis but was now a small bud of pleasure.
And once again I passed out, with my queen’s bl**d running through me.

The next few days were slightly uncomfortable. I was awake, but my body ached
with the continuous change that the Queen had worked on me. Almost as I
watched my breasts grew, bigger and bigger, until they were like taut
balloons standing out from my body. I had no way to measure them, except my
long fingers could not have stretched all the way around them. And my curves
grew more pronounced, my hair grew matted and wild, blond on my head, brown
at my crotch. I was becoming more and more a beautiful women, a tall, leggy
blonde. With little else on my mind except sex. My roommates were the same
way, and conceivably they had all come here the same way I had, but we never
talked about it. We fought, over the small pile of clothes and the blankets,
and over girlfriends, as each night brought a sexual orgy of limbs and
tongues. All we wanted was to satisfy the cravings inside of us all, and we
searched each others’ bodies for some relief.

Finally the pain of the change diminished, and I comforted myself in dressing
as best as I could, in pantyhose only if that was all I could find. The
Queen returned every few days and checked on us, brought us presents, spoke
to us in an old tongue. She was never so close to me as she had been, she
never really touched me again, but I yearned for her. Finally she agreed to
give me another chance to wear the grey bodystocking, or another one,
identical to the first – soft grey wool flowing over my new found curves,
holding me tight in every place I could imagine. The other girls were
jealous, they tried to tear it off me, but I held on to the sensual garment
for as long as I could, wearing it even when it was full of holes.

And then the day came, the day we had all been created for. The queen
returned and told us her son was arriving soon and would choose a mate from
among us. That is what we were there for, to be mated to the queen’s son.
She smiled at all of us, told us to look our best, even passed out small
tubes of red lipstick for our lips and nipples.

When he arrived three of the girls fainted from desire. HE was beautiful, a
thick sleek body topped by gentle blond curls, a face tanned but unlined, and
eyes the color of the night sky. He walked in wearing only a pair of linen
pants, and his excitement was plain to see through the fabric at his crotch.
He made his way among us, touching one girl here, pulling on this one’s
lingerie. I ached with desire, wanting nothing more than to be his slave.
But he chose another, the toffee colored girl whose sweatered breasts had
caused me such tribulations. And then he left with her.

But she did not last. He returned in three days and picked another. We did
not wonder what had happened, we only hoped he would choose one of us now,
and take us, quickly and violently. We moaned as he passed, rolling our
bodies like a****ls presenting their sex. Three more days and he returned
again, taking this time the largest woman among us, an Amazon from some
southern country. But he might come back again. I only hope that in a few
days time he comes back again. And chooses me. I would feel him on me, not
the limpid tongues of my fellow changelings, but his hands, his tongue, his
teeth…

END

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