They called her the Ink Weaver. Like a spider, she ensnared prey in her web. But of course, you never knew until it was too late.

For you see, her web was always hidden. Sometimes it stretched its inky net around a woman’s breast, only revealing itself in that intimate moment before she struck. Sometimes it spread across the bottom of a foot as it crushed her prey beneath. This time, it wove itself around an arm, its true nature becoming apparent as that very arm reached out and grabbed you, never to truly let go.

Once you were caught, there was no escape. The web held you tight as venomous words slid into your ears, slowing your desperate thrashes to a helpless twitch. You lay immobile as her brood produced the pen. You writhed in pain as they drew the web into your skin, forever weaving its ink to your being.

And you were hers. Ready to ensnare her next prey.