Silken Strands 

It was wet.

The rain was falling in heavy drops, whipped across the fields and the roads by a relentless wind, and turning every depression into an overflowing puddle. The water stuck to every leaf, and every blade of grass, and when the wind blew, the rain came from below as well as above. 

Daro’s pack was soaked, his cloak was soaked, his skin was pruning like he’d been in a tub, and his leather breastplate was chaffing. Both hood and mantle did little to keep him dry, and the only light in the dark evening came from his lantern. 

He’d lost his horse at the last river crossing, and with it most of his compliment of traveling supplies, his shield, and nearly his life. The autumn storms had come hard and fast, and the rivers had swollen with them. 

It wasn’t foolishness, but necessity that had pushed him, and it was necessity now that drove the adventurer on into the night. 

At the last village, they’d said there was a good sized town the sat on both sides of the river, and that if he was determined to go further east then it would be the best place for him to cross. 

They’d had little to spare save a warm meal and a point in the right direction, and certainly not another horse for him, and so, he’d marched near hungry, always tired, lately soaked, and always alone, for days upon days. 

Now, as a forest rose to his north and the fields started to climb into rocky scrubland to the south, he knew he was close to the town. Only, as the sound of the river cut through the drumming of the rain, and his lantern slashed through the dark, he saw a handful of collapsed buildings, certainly not half a town, and as he walked into their midst, realized that the bridge too was also a ruin. 

But, all was not lost. He could see lights in the distance, and a rope guided ferry that was anchored firm on the far shore too, so tomorrow held some promise. But, the tumbled down structures around him would provide no shelter, not at least compared to the thick canopy of the forest. So, head down and soaked, he marched onward, north towards the tree line, and found to his surprise that worked stone was under foot, covered by wild and wind bent grass through it was. 

It was a pleasant change for his mud caked and soaked through boots, and the worked stone led not just to the tree line, but under the boughs, and through an old collapsed arch as well. 

The trees bent inward like a tunnel, and at their end, flickering under the reach of his lantern’s beam was an ancient stone temple, domed and wide, with massive double doors at its antechamber. 

Daro walked faster, sword drawn and catching the orange flickering light. Places like this, this close to civilization were either empty and abandoned, or held something dire that crept over the population like a long wicked shadow. 

As he stood outside the temple’s doors, he saw that a smaller door was within the massive larger ones, and not being without decorum, he knocked at the old, thick wood with the pommel of his blade. 

“Hello?” He shouted as he knocked again, hoping that if there were bandits inside, or something sentient, or talkative, that he’d be able to draw them out. Daro set his shoulder to the door without waiting for a response, and felt it move, not much, but enough, and set his shoulder to it again. 

Daro realized that chances were no one would have heard him shouting over the storm, and chances were that nothing and no one was inside. The wood was warped, the door was stuck, but he was making progress, and on his third attempt, the door gave way with a grudging wet pop. 

“Hello,” he shouted again as he stepped in from the storm... and into a face full of webs. With a disgusted grunt he waved his sword in front of him and held up his lantern. He wiped his face with his sword arm and let out a wet, tired grunt of disgust. 

Daro felt the phantasm of tiny legs scurrying on his skin, the hallucination that everyone seemed to imagine when caught by web, but there was nothing sticking to him save his wet clothes and a few dangling wisps in his hair. 

He gathered his wits and looks around. The air was still, dead, and quiet, and the antechamber was filled with webs of all shapes and sizes. Old furniture was topples over, and two passages, one to each side of him were filled with webs, thick with dust, casting jagged mazes of shadow under his lantern’s glow. 

In front of him, offset from the temple’s entrance, a smaller set of double doors stood half open, half, because one of the doors had fallen off while the other remained in its own half hearted semblance of being shut. This passage, strangely enough, was free of webs, at least by comparison. 

“Shit.” He’d seen webs like this before. People would be slaughtered somewhere in an enclosed space, their bodies left to the bugs, and the spiders would follow those bugs, taking up residence around their food supply, spreading out, filling up the space like water into a cup. 

He heard the tap tap tapping of the rain grow louder, then another sound, one wholly unexpected. “It’s a little run down, certainly,” Daro spun, sword and lantern raised, “but I’ve only been here a day, and it will take some time to finish the cleaning. So I’d hardly describe it as shit, but I do understand the sentiment.” 

Those words belonged to a women, and her voice was soft but clear. She stood in the hall’s doorway, enshrouded in darkness, a single candle in a small brass holder held up close to her face. 

Its flame danced in her eyes, purple irises that shone clear and bright in her pale, striking face. “My name is Fatima, and I’ve been sent to this temple by my order to restore it, please, shut the door would you.” 

Daro kicked his foot back, catching the wood and forcing it closed, all while keeping his eyes fixed on her. 

She was wearing some sort of holy vestment, black, or perhaps very dark purple, and a matching habit or headdress of the same fabric and color. The white of her skin was almost as porcelain as moonlight, and the long shadows of the place made her cheeks, her chin, her nose, and ever the shape of her eyes appear sharp and angular. 

As his lantern continued to assault her, she stepped back and raised her other hand to cover her eyes, “We had a small fire here in the hall, if you’d like to dry yourself, please do follow me.” 

“That door was stuck shut, and I don’t mean to be rude but...” 

She wasn’t exactly rippling with muscles, though in the dim light and heavy shadows, it was hard to discern much of her shape at all, especially as her garments seemed to billow out around her, as though they were alive and one with the darkness. 

“Would you, perhaps not shine that so directly into my eyes?” Daro lowered his arm and the lantern’s light shone against the one remaining door, and not her.

“Thank you, and to answer your question, we used the back entrance, it leads into the small dormitory behind the hall. My travelling companion is sleeping there already, he was forced to do much of the heavy lifting this last day, and shall we say he, like myself, is not particularly physically minded.” 

With that, the tap tap tapping of the rain grew louder and she seemed to fade out of his lantern’s light, with only her candle flickering in the dark. 

“Come,” her voice called to him with all kindness, “you’re so very cold and wet, so very miserable, you would like to warm yourself, come. And maybe when you’re no longer a drowned dog you’ll find your manners and tell me your name.” 

He watched Fatima’s candle dance in the darkness as she spoke with that same patient, gentle tone. Her words, and the skittering of heavy rain drops falling faster found his ears. “You are feeling so very tired and cold, you must come inside and warm yourself, follow me now stranger, come into my hall.” 

With every word of the almost haunting sound of her voice, the flickering flame seemed twist and shimmer as it started to take on a purple shade, one very much like the color of her eyes, before dimming away as she walked further down the passage, followed by the tap tap tapping patter of falling raindrops. 

As the candle faded, he felt himself shivering, and his teeth chattered in his head for just as long as it took him to imagine a warm, inviting fire. 

Alone, soaked, with his sword still in hand and his lantern’s sharp yellow orange glow cutting through the dark, he saw a shape in the far corner. It was dark, and caught the light with the dull reflection of polished metal. 

It was a pile of armor. Pieces of black plate mail, not like those full suites used for heavy horse or for jousting but the kind worn over chain, had been cast in a heap there, and no webs covered it. To Daro, it reminded him of the way shells would be cast aside when eating clams or muscles. 

He knelt and looked at some of the pieces. There was no sign of damage, no dried blood, no rending scrapes or cuts, no holes or dents, it just looked like discarded armor, but it looked too new for its environment, and suddenly, the bone chilling cold and wet he’d been overcome with a moment ago felt warm by comparison. 

Or, it was just garbage that had been moved into a corner, because this place was filled with the refuse of age, and his would-be hostess said she’d started the cleaning. 

Daro didn’t put it out of his mind, but the physical cold and the wet had crept inside his skull, and even as he tried to reason why he’d been so bothered for just a moment, he couldn’t shake the misery that clung to his skin.His waterlogged pack was growing heavier with every breath, his cloak felt like an ocean wave that was pulling him into the deep, and with sword and lantern still in hand, he walked into the temple’s hall. 

Twenty long paces down the central isle, flickering in a wall of shadow, was the light of Fatima’s candle. Too miserable to look around much, he strode towards it and saw that the spiders and dust had been at work in here too. 

The benches on either side of him were old, rotted out, and a thick layer of dust sat on an equally thick blanket of webs, but the walkway had been swept and cleared from the door to the alter and the dais. 

As he approached the flickering candle, Daro’s lantern revealed the remains of a small fire in the middle of the hard stone floor; its ashes were cold and no embers remained. 

“My companion shaved chips from the bench, and burnt larger pieces, but with all the webs, we thought it wise to keep the blaze low.” He saw her face again, white above the red flicker of the flame, purple eyes bright in the flame. 

“An errant spark could set all of this ablaze,” she waved her hand up and around at the pale, ghostly strands of web, “but you’re in poor repair, I see that now.” She let out a soft laugh and fixed him with her gaze. 

“You’re even colder now, even more miserable than I left you. You’ll not be able to set anything alight with such a shiver. The air in here is warmer than without, the cold is in your clothing...” 

The candle had taken on a purple glow again, and seemed to be swirling, almost spiraling in on itself as its owner stood, still concealed by the dark, “You should cast it away, you’ll feel the difference immediately so.” 

Daro set his lantern on the ground, and his sword next to it. He rubbed his eyes and looked back at her before unslinging his pack. He was more tired than he realized, more hungry too, and it felt as it his garments were woven of the wind and the rain themselves. 

It took some effort to remove his leather breastplate and vambraces, but when he was finally stripped to the waste, he did feel the difference. Only, he was met by a slight, almost inaudible giggle. 

“Stranger,” he looked to her again, “you’ll find your trousers and your boots just as oppressive.” Again the candle danced in shades of lavender and twisted in his eyes, and as he looked upon it and her angular smiling face, he felt the grip of the elements anew, and hastened to remove his boots, and his trousers. 

But, as he made to pull them down he realized he’d be wholly and truly naked in front of this woman, and worse than that, it was a woman who didn’t even know his name. 

“Daro.” As he spoke, his feet felt warmer on the stone than his legs, which felt so cold he thought they’d start to become numb. 

“What’s that?” She tittered after her question, and smiled at him all the wider, while those eyes made an appraising sweep of him. 

“My name is Daro, and perhaps it wouldn’t be appropriate to share such undress. I think,” he took a deep breath and focused himself, “I think I can manage starting a fire in this state, and it would be more polite.”Perhaps it was as simple as believing it himself, but this act of will fought off the biting cold and misery long enough for him to look from her to the partially destroyed bench and the hand axe that sat on it. 

“Well Daro, welcome indeed to my temple, and it is an honor to have you here.” She tittered at him again, “Though you’ve nothing to fear in showing yourself to me, it is my duty to tend to the spirit and the body, your flesh would only embarrass yourself if you are prone to modesty.” 

He knew he was blushing, and knew that a life of hard riding, hard fighting, and occasional privation had sculpted him into as fine a figure as any man could hope to be, but there was something about her gaze, something penetrating about that appraising glimmer he saw caught in the candlelight. 

The hand axe wasn’t a hatchet; it wasn’t made for chopping wood, but cutting flesh and breaking bone. It was razor sharp, and the blade was engraved with the open mouth of a bear, “This is a fine weapon, not suited for this work.” 

He looked at it, and freed from the grip of the cold and the wet, he thought of the armor. There was a warlord in the south whose heraldry was the bear, and his chosen warriors wore black armor. It was not an old realm, not a well-established rule, and he could think of no reason why any of them would be this far north. 

“Oh that?” The rain was falling hard outside, hard enough for it to echo in the hall as she stepped out from the pulpit in front of the idol, “It’s my companion’s. He’s not one for battle, but he thought it wise to bring the best.” 

“And your companion,” he asked as the axe tore a large chunk of wood from the bench, “what manner of...” 

As he sundered another large chunk of wood from the bench, she interrupted him, “He calls himself a wizard, but to be fair, he’s more a magician. We met on the road, and he’s expressed some interest in this place as a historic site.” 

“I know the type,” one more large chunk came free, and he took it to his disgraced sword belt to retrieve his dagger. All of his work was done by lantern light, and he stood at the edge of its beam while he shaved away wood chips over the burn ashes. “So, that wasn’t his armor in the antechamber?” 

“Oh that? No. He found it strewn about and was planning to try and sell it across the river on the morrow. Most everything in this place is ruined by time, but it appears there have been visitors of one sort or another through the years.” 

As she spoke, he took a thin piece of wood and opened the lantern’s cage to borrow its flame. Soon there after, the chips had taken light and Daro was chopping out pieces of proper kindling. 

“It really would be dangerous for a spark to catch the ceiling, the dust and the webs are thickest there, and the flues in the hall’s fire places are not fit for use either, so I say again, we must keep this flame small.” 

Daro had, for some niggling reason he could not identify or put to words, felt an overpowering urge to not look her way, but as his work was done for the moment, he could not find reason to avoid her. 

He looked up just in time to see her blow the candle out, and the curve of her red lips was as though she were blowing him a kiss. In the low fire he saw that her hair was a dark, lustrous purple, near black, and as she stood there in front of him, it seemed as though when the darkness fell away from the firelight so too did some of her garments. 

“Now Daro, it would be wise of you to remove those trousers.” It would, in truth, perhaps not be the best time for such as thing as he looked upon his hostess with new eyes. “And extinguish your lantern too, don’t waste the fuel now that we have a fire.” 

She was buxom beyond accounting, and while her robes had seemed more in the darkness, her skirts and vestments still covered her legs, and brushed along the floor. But the shapelessness of her garb did nothing to distract from the pronounced shape of her chest. 

It seemed an impossibility, almost a grotesque sight to see such huge breasts, barely constrained by the black fabric of her vestments, and as he looked upon her, it became hard to imagine ever looking away from such a sight. 

But he did, if only for a moment just to preserve his lantern’s oil as she;d suggested. “Heed me Daro, would you not gaze upon your hostess’ eyes for a moment so we can know each other in this?” Her voice was had become sticky, each word was like a thread pulling at his vision until the inviting depths of her cleavage became the purple glimmer of her irises. 

“You need not hide your body from me, you need not suffer the cold and the wet far my sake. My duty is to the care of others, the communion of others, to know them, to be with them, to my eyes the body is only the body, but were you to come sick, were you to fall to illness and stay here, bed ridden and miserable, your body would become a burden on me. So please, Daro, remove your trousers and let the fire warm you.” 

She’d taken a few hesitant steps closer to him, and as he looked into those eyes the tap tap tapping of the rain became like a short sudden music to his ears, before it fell quiet again. With a nervous grin, he complied with those sticky sweet words, and as the last of his garb fell to the ground, his eyes fell again to her breasts.In the shadows, it seemed as though her clothing was twisting and turning, covering more flesh at times, revealing more of the shape and size of her chest at others, as though the darkness itself adorned her, and the sight of it, teasing his eyes, tantalizing him with such amounts of soft white skin, left him feeling light headed.“I see it is not so very cold after all is it?” her tittering laugh returned, and Daro found that those purple eyes were looking down between his legs, where despite the chill that had just passed, he was not shriveled in any way. In fact, the fire’s heat was nothing akin to what seemed to be occurring there. 

“You are very...” Her hand waved in front of his face, “Here, gaze into my eyes as you speak to me, always speak into my eyes so I may see your truth, and speak unto you. I must be able to connect with others, to become one with them in spirit, and feeling, to know their emotions. Speak with your eyes as you speak with your tongue.” 

Daro stared again into those purple depths and lost his words. “What were you saying?” Her voice was soft, no longer sticky, more like the brush of silk on his cheek. “You are very lovely.” The honesty of his words, the conviction of his voice rang in his own ears as well, and hearing the sincerity, he found himself no longer held in her gaze, and it was then that he realized her fingers were pressed with gentle resolve to his cheek, and she was pushing him back to keep his gaze in hers, but he would not abide it.

“And you are very kind to have me here with such hospitality, but I should see to my things, and eat, and give you peace.” His words felt more solid, more certain, said only to her, not spoken as he stared into those eyes. 

“I need to dry my things, and see to...” She didn’t press him, instead she simply stroked his cheek down to his neck, until her fingers were resting on his chest, perilously close to teasing his nipple, “What has brought you here anyway?” 

Daro moved to break contact with her, but found that her fingertips were stuck to his chest, and that connection of skin to skin seemed to root him in place, “Answer me Daro, tell me true.” 

Again, he felt his eyes pulled to her, and as he spoke again, his words became soft, ethereal, and necessary, like taking a breath. So, his words came like mist from between his lips. 

“There is a war across the sea, and a great hero has sided with a demoness and together it is feared they will threaten much once the greater enemy is defeated. I was hired to find certain truths about her, her ilk, and his destiny, anything that may aid in defeating them, or turning him back to the light.” 

Her touch, her fingers above his heart, had him anchored still and the purple light in her eyes was inviting the truth from him, “Did you discover anything?” 

“One book, and an artifact, a talisman, they are in my pack.” She took her fingers from his chest, and as their bond was broken, the urge to not only look away, but to step away overtook him. His hand moved to where the hilt of his sword would have been, were he clothed and so armed, but found only air. It was then that he realized there was another sword of sorts that was presenting itself. 

“Should you share such important dealings with a stranger Daro?” She was not tittering, was not mocking him, and her voice did not carry that deceptive stickiness that seemed to overcome his senses and bind him in her. 

“There is more to you Fatima, more than you care to reveal.” He was edging around the fire now, his gaze averted from her eyes as he moved back towards his sword. 

“Yes Daro, the contents of my heart are vast, and inviting examination.” Her fingers danced down to her breasts, “And my hope is that those who seek solace with me, in spirit and in mind, will find me an inviting soul, a place of refuge and softness, where one might be open and unguarded. The spirit must be cherished, the divine must be explored in all its forms.” 

His eyes had found their way back to her breasts, and the invitation of her deep cleavage was as impossible to resist as the pull of their size. She did not move, she only watched him, and though he did not look into her eyes again, he could feel her gaze on him, sticking to him. 

“I am certain you would offer a warm welcome to all, but there is a cunning to you, a charm I do not trust. What are you, who are you, and tell me truly.” As Daro spoke, he found himself fascinated with the gentle rise and fall of the heft of her breasts. He had meant to take his sword in hand, but speaking to her so, and staring at the buxom sight before him, the fabric that held them fell away in the firelight, and his eyes were greeted by her bare and bountiful breasts. 

“I am as you see me to be Daro.” “But, I do not see all of you.” He felt a fool saying those words, for in all truth he was staring at more of her than he had ever imagined. Such were her breasts that as they hung there in the firelight, they began to swing with a softness that beguiled and seduced his eyes. 

Back and forth her breasts swung, and while her voice was free of anything that had so bound him moments before, it was not at all an undesirable tone, “Do you not? Do you not see such a sight I would share with you only for pleasure? Would you not enjoy the touch of my flesh, the feel of my warmth on your still chilled body. There are other ways to be warmed on a dark and stormy night such as this one. Would you not love my embrace Daro?” 

The words she had chosen seemed almost inconsequential, her voice was melodic, more constant now than it had been before, steady as a heartbeat, and as it went on, it seemed to match the swaying of her breasts, captivating his ears as they captivated his eyes. 

Stuck between two thoughts, one of violence, and one of lust, he could not decide which to pursue, and found himself paralyzed with indecision. 

“As a holy woman, my duty is to commune with the spirit, to share wisdom and compassion, and I am showing you such now. I know the aches of the body, the desires of the flesh, the tension between your legs. Would you not let me ease your burdens, ones my body seems to have given you?” 

He felt a tension in his mind, a desire for her to both stop talking so he could have a moment to think, and a base desire for her to continue speaking in those soothing tones. He wanted to just grab his sword, to make a quick and definitive move, but the sway of her breasts had lulled him to stillness, and he wanted to watch them now with a desire that fought against his desire to be armed again. 

“You need only,” as the fingers of one hand pincher a large nipple, the fingers of her other hand snapped, “let go.” 

Daro felt a dizzying sense of relief as his shoulders slumped forward and the tension drained from his body. The snap of her fingers had been like the loosing of a bow pulled to full draw in his mind. He did not fall forward, or collapse back into the mess of old wood and webs, he simply stood there, still bound in a moment of indecision, but now it was to either close his eyes, or to stare at her breasts. 

“I am not forbidden from the carnal pleasures of the flesh, but only can I give them to the initiated, and you Daro, are not. But would you not love the release I offer, the pleasure I can give without a touch, without breaking my vows? You wish this, you want this, your eyes say it, eyes so heavy, body so drawn, but keep your gaze upon me, watch the shadows dance, watch my breasts as they sway. That’s it, see them swinging now, back and forth, watch them Daro, find peace in them, safety in them.” 

She did not move closer to him, her voice was the same as it had been, constant, resolved, steady, and smothering him with softness, “See my breasts now, only my breasts, swinging back and forth before your eyes, would you not believe I can relieve you, would you not believe I have the power to free you of these burdens with only my words, to touch your mind with my voice, and cause your body to experience such carnal joy. You want to believe now, you crave the idea of this now, so simply watch and listen, watch my breasts, back and forth, following only with your eyes, feeling your own pleasures rise.” 

In his travels he’d squared off with fast talking rogues, and ill intentioned arcane practitioners of various sorts. He’d had spells cast at him, and on him, he’d been seduced by foes, and lied to by friends, and not a few monsters of various powers had sought to end his life, so he was not wholly unaware and taken by surprise at what was, and had been befalling him. 

But, this time it was different. Hedge witches and fortunetellers would perform tricks like this to sooth the mind, to make it pliable. Beautiful women would use their appearance as a weapon without the aid of magic, and some of both would employ subtle pieces of the art of magic proper, and in all his time under her roof, Daro had sensed all of those approaches were occurring. 

Each one had woven into the next, a web of softness, of kindness, a sticky tangle of confused and delicate strands, all wrapped around him like a soothing blanket, and all that she had said, all that she had offered and suggested he realize, had been true. Neither his wits, not his feelings could find grounds to deny her, or to stop him from descending further down this gently swaying path she set before him. 

“Quiet your mind, quiet yourself and let my breasts cushion your thoughts, let my breasts become a pillow for your cares and simply watch them. You are safe here with me, safe and warm in the sound of my voice and the brush of the flames so near. Safe and warm in my trust, safe and happy to watch my breasts, to trust and stare. When you gaze upon my breasts Daro, you feel trust, only trust.” 

The shadows continued to twist around her as the fire crackled, its glow slowly fading as the wood burned down, but that only made the allure of her porcelain white breasts more appealing with ever gentle sway to and fro. 

Daro heard her speak, and he felt truly safe in that moment. After all of his travels, to be near someone so beautiful and so kind, to see such an amazing sight, watching her breasts, Daro felt his heart and his mind opening to her in the embrace of trust. He knew he was safe with her, safe and warm, and she was a priestess. 

If he couldn’t trust a holy woman, who could he trust? “Trust is the foundation of true intimacy, trust is the basis of all meaningful pleasure, let the sway of my breasts please you now Daro. Watch they sway back and forth now, back and forth, swaying you with the pleasure of trust and intimacy.” 

“Trust is a powerful word between us now, and when I speak it to you, you shall hear it and remember these feelings. The word trust, when it leaves my lips, shall touch your mind, as I would touch your heart with all softness.” 

He stared at her over the dying fire, hearing her words as her breasts did sway in the shadows, their white skin was bright as fresh snow, and as she cupped them with the same delicate softness as her words, Daro felt dry now, dry and warm, and becoming more and more aroused with every moment. 

“I can release you, I can give you this pleasure with not but a few more words, free from breaking my oath, freeing you from the tension, the need to release that is only growing under the sway my breasts have over you, in safety and in trust, swaying back and forth, coaxing you ever closer to release. Believe this, that I can ease your tensions in bliss, I would gladly do this for one I trust, for one I feel so safe with in you, just as you would do a kindness for me.” 

He knew that he would, that it would only be fair, no, that it would only be natural to be as kind to her as she was to him, bound by safety and trust as they were now. He nodded along with her as her breasts continued to sway before his eyes, swaying his cock ever closer to climax. 

“If you would do a kindness for me now, as the pleasure mounts, you need only let me give you this gift of release Daro, let me give you this gift, and in receiving it, simply renounce the gods for me, and for my way. I will give you this pleasure, but if you cherish me, if you let my breasts sway you so into such warmth and pleasure, and the release you ache for now, throb for now, if you value my trust, deny the gods, for this is a temple to the soul, to the sprit, not to their cruel ways. Daro, watch my breasts and denounce the gods.” 

He nodded along with her still. “You carry no holy symbols, no tattoos, no marks of favor, the gods are but wrathful and petty, you cannot trust them as you trust in my voice, you are not safe with them as you are in my presence. If you would value the pleasure I give you, ever building, harder and harder, so very close now, closer still with every sway of my breasts upon you, renounce the gods in your bliss, and in so doing, I can induct you into my order and share still greater carnal desires with you.” 

With those last words, she squeezed the impossibly massive heft of her breast together, and whatever good sense remained in his manipulated mind and body was spent. 

“I...” his back arched slightly and his hips bucked forward as cum shot out into the dying fire, “renounce the gods.” 

The flames of the fire crackled with purple light for a flickering moment as he finished shooting his seed into the flame, and then, as he felt his body begin to sag and is mind start to awaken with the sudden clarity of climax, Daro asked himself what he had done. 

He moved quicker than he thought he could, his hand grasping for his sword and the fire started burning lower and lower, but as he closed his fingers on the hilt he heard a loud clicking sound that he once thought had been the rain. Now it was not a tap tap tapping, but a different sound entirely, and as he made to swing his blade, he felt Fatima’s hand on his. 

His mind was clear now, as though he’d stumbled though unseen webs in a forest, and in that moment he spoke, “Release me.” 

She wrapped her other arm around him and pressed her massive breasts into his chest, “I just did, but we’ll see if we cannot inspire more tension now that we are free to touch.” 

She rubbed up against him, her skin was warm and soft, and as she ran one hand up his back, she traced her fingers down his own fingers with such softness that he felt his grip on the blade loosen subconsciously, “You’re safe here with me, trusting me, remember.” 

A wave of pleasant warmth washed over him from the back of his head to the tips of his toes, and she squeezed his hand in time with that sensation. “I’ve no interest in that sword, and nor should you.” 

His blade did fall to the ground in that moment, and as it fell, she pulled his head down into her breasts, moving him as though his body were not made of battle tested muscle, but soft clay. 

“There is no stronger communion than this,” her voice was a soft touch on his mind as his confused and slow body could neither push her away, nor progress with what she was offering. Instead, he felt the softness of her breasts, and his fingers became tangled in the silken fabric of her robes. 

“Trust my touch Daro, become one with me.” She kissed his neck, and then brought his face back to hers to then kissed his lips. 

He felt the press of her tongue, and kissed her back, because while his head swam in a tangle of softness again and he couldn’t find a moment to think clearly at all, kissing her back was even more instinctive than his un-followed desire to suck on her nipples had been. 

Daro pulled away from her lips as one of her hands slid between his legs. The touch of her fingertips on his still-spent cock sent another shiver of clarity through him, and as Daro made to push away again, she simply whispered “Trust me and remember my breasts. Lose yourself, you don’t need to be strong for me anymore. You can be weak Daro, trust me, you are safe, so very safe ” 

Once more those words, that one word in particular, trust, caused him to fold inward, like he was starting to dream, and as her silky soft fingered caressed his cock, using the slick dribble of his own release to aid her, the pleasure told him to sink, to just let her have her way with him and let go. 

“I,” he knew to never trust the current of a river, and never believe in the path that looked the easiest. “I’m not weak.” 

She kissed him again, “No, you are strong so very strong, but you want to be weak, to be safe and vulnerable, one with me, and of me in body and spirit. Trust me Daro, trust me.” 

As she continued to stroke his cock, she brushed his face with her fingertips, “Trust my breasts Daro, trust my touch.” 

“Why should I trust...” his cock was so sensitive after climaxing that her touch was as much torture as pleasure, and while it was starting to grow, he was not properly hard. The fingers that brushed his face came to rest on his lips, “Quiet now, let me tend to you, trust is weakness Daro, being weak is an act of trust. Trust me now.”He felt his eyes closing as the pleasure started to overwhelm the sensitive agony. He wanted to give in to the whispers in his flesh, to the sleepy softness in his ears, but his eyes found their way open, only to stare deep into hers. 

“Oh my sweet one, you are one of mine now, indoctrinated, initiated in pleasure. You are my responsibility now, and I would have something of you that you want to give.” Fatima’s eyes flared to life with purple light, majestic, commanding, irresistibly purple fire, “Grow hard for me.” 

The blood in his body obeyed that voice, and then the light was gone and only the glow of the dying fire remained. Daro sighed as he felt her fingers working around the base of his impossibly hard shaft. 

She’d tied something there, something soft as silk, and tight. He wanted to reach down and touch it, but she stopped him, “It will keep you hard, as hard as you are now.” 

Before Daro could answer, he was inside her. She’d wrapped a leg around him, and he felt his cock slide into her. Warm, wet, and inviting, she swallowed him in pleasure. “Let go Daro” her fingers snapped in his ear again and as before that sound loosed the tension clogging his mind, “you’re safe inside me, trust the pleasure, trust my touch and find your weakness, let it commune with me now.” 

Her lips were on his neck, kissing, long sucking kisses as she pulled him closer and deeper, her massive breasts and all their softness and warmth flattening between them. “You can remember no pleasure like this Daro, forget all else, all others, and remember no pleasure is sweeter than this.” 

He gulped in a short, shuddering breath as ecstasy flooded him from head to toe. Her words became true in his ear, they were a half forgotten dream he’d longed to remember, and in the course of a breath he was cumming again, so hard he saw stars before his eyes closed. 

Daro needed to pull out. The pleasure was exquisite, but the stimulation was too much, and Fatima was continued to ride up against him. He tried to push at her, or find the words to let his cock catch its breath as it were, but as he tried, she wrapped her other leg around him. 

It was strange though, Fatima felt almost weightless, and she shifted herself upward slightly, creating the disorienting feeling that she was riding him, like he was flat on his back on the ground, but he was not. 

“Look at my breasts Daro, watch them and remember. Watch them bounce, just like they swayed, you need to watch, trust me, trust my breasts and remember there is no pleasure like mine. Nothing you have ever felt or could ever feel compares to this. See my breasts, they inspire your weakness, they inspire your arousal, trust the pleasure and see nothing else.” 

The porcelain globes of her chest jiggled in Daro’s eyes, moving at the cadence of her insistent and steady hips. He felt himself floating away again, as he had by the fire, and his hands grabbed her hips on instinct, but before they could slide down lower, to grasp at her ass, she stopped him. 

“No Daro,” she grabbed his wrists and brought his hands up, just to interlace her fingers with his. “Lose yourself in the weakness of pleasure and trust, lose yourself in me, become one with me, see only me, my breasts, and know nothing else.” 

He came again, and it was a quick buck of his hips, a jolt of sharper pleasure in the sea of bliss that had come to swallow him. 

“Trust in me as you deny the gods, swear it on your spent seed.” The bounce of her breasts told him what to say. “Cherish these carnal pleasure above all else, above all other callings, give me your purpose with your cum.” 

Another small, quaking orgasm shot through him, and all he knew was the jiggle and bounce of trust and weakness. 

The fire was near dead, and he was past spent. The strength in Daro’s legs was gone, but he felt weightless between Fatima’s legs. 

“Would you be mine? To spite the gods? To spite their dominion, and to know only carnal love, and the desire of my flesh above all, my love above all other powers. Would you give your desires only to my breasts, my body, my will, in trust, in weakness, and in pleasure? Trust in me, give me the last of your strength and know true weakness for my breasts.” 

Her hips continued their pace, like he was a horse she’d set to canter, and her breasts bounced ever up and down, up and down, denying all other thoughts, denying all other words but the ones she put in his mouth.“Say it Daro, say it as you give the last of yourself to these.” She forced his hands to her breasts, and they seemed to absorb him, to swallow them as the fire died and darkness closed around them. 

“I renounce all powers, and all purpose save yours. I renounce the gods and know no dominion but your flesh.” His back arched his hands quivered, and from the empty, drained organ between his legs, there came a climax that was beyond sexual pleasure, beyond the body and words, and his gasp was met only by the softest of kisses. 

She slid off of him and he fell to the floor in the darkness, staring from his hands and knees at the dying embers of the fire. 

A clop-cloping sound echoed through the hall as he felt her body moving away from his, a clop-clopping that sounded like the tap tap tapping of falling rain. 

“I’m fetching my candle Daro, so I may lead you to your slumber. I was too greedy now, I took so much from you when you have such an important mission come the morrow. Here, come to me, I will lead you to your rest.” 

Had all those words meant nothing? Was it only for the act of sex, the ritual of what they’d done? He could think of nothing more pressing than to be with her. But, as the flicker of a small orange flame danced to life, so too did his memory. 

It was hard to stand, but Daro found his second... no... maybe his fifth wind, and made his way to his feet. Hopefully the rain would let up in the morning and he could cross via the ferry, maybe with her magician companion, if he was going back that way. 

The sound of his own rye chuckle surprised him. Was what she’d done to him the same sort of work that had so tired the magician out? The candle grew a touch brighter. “I will bring you your things, as you carry and important burden in your pack, but let us help you find your way. Come, this way.” 

She stepped backward, deeper into the hall, leading him by the light, and as the candle moved, he heard the clip clop tap tapping of the rain again. 

He took a few steps forward into the near dark, “Could you come closer,” trying to speak showed him how exhausted he was, how drained she’d left him, “I can hardly see you.” 

She drifted back again, clip clop, tap tapping as the candle floated in the dark. “It’s amazing you can see at all, I must be losing my touch” her voice was more musical, laughing at her own pride in what she’d done. He laughed too as the light grew closer. 

He took a few steps towards her, and the candle’s glow fell on her breasts, now partially covered once more. “Trust me to lead you Daro, you’ve earned your rest.” 

Clip clop, tap tap, “Yes, trust me to tend you in your weakness. This way now.” He felt lost in that moment, dazed by a euphoric softness of mind and body that came on her words, and followed the sharp clipping and tapping that... 

Came from the light? “This way my love, come to me.” Her breasts shone like moons half covered, the candle dancing between them, red to purple, to blue to red, swirling now in a bewitching spiral that called to him as surely as her voice, and her body had. 

He stepped forward and felt the tickle of low hanging webs brush against him. He brushed them away, and found that they clung to his hand with some tenacity, so he brushed them on his chest, and gave it no thought, as he knew this was where he needed to be, to go, to follow her. 

To follow the clicking sound that was sharp now against the steady patter of the dying storm. But as he tried to shake those webs away, his hand fell low and he became aware of something sticky, something slightly irritating at the base of his cock, which to his surprise was still hard, hard and near numb. 

In the darkness, in the twisting shade and colors of her candle’s dancing light, his hand fell down to his cock to touch the ribbon she’d tied about it. 

When he did, his fingers stuck to it, and as he tried to pull away, discovered that it would not be wise to pull so hard. 

“Daro,” Fatima’s voice floated to him with the light. The candle had blinked out for a second, and had appeared again to his side, glowing with only simple orange flame. His eyes found it, and found the sight of her breasts again, still barely covered in the same manner as before, “This way.” 

“My hand, it’s... what did you tie to my cock?” The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up now. Were he not so exhausted, so hollowed out by her ministrations, he might have thought himself to be panicking. 

“Don’t you trust me Daro? Come to the light and I’ll care for you, come to me now.” The flame’s color began to dance again, to a deeper red, then purple and blue, and a deeper shade of purple again, spiraling out from her breasts, pulling his eyes into her, leading him step by step closer and closer... 

Until Daro found himself caught. Caught in a thick sticky web of silk as surely as his hand was stuck to the ribbon around his cock. The candle’s light blinked out, and a wicked laugh filled the hall. It was high and sharp, and ended with a sad chuckle. He could not move, he was too tired to try and pull away, too weak in body and soul to fight. 

Soft fingers slid down his arms, and huge breasts pressed into his back, “no silken sheets are softer than my webs my Daro, my poor, failed champion. So weak, so ready to renounce the only hope for my salvation. You may have pleasured me, and sustained my soul, but you’ve failed my body and my fate. But sleep now, and let what ill will I carry for you be only my burden.” 

Her hand slid between his legs, her fingers teasing the head of his cock. “Your trust was misplaced, but pleasurable, and your mind may fear me but your body does not. The pleasure of the flesh is delicious my sweet, and you are too spent to remember fear when it’s so much easier to trust in the pleasure I give you.” 

Her nimble fingers danced along the dead of his cock, “The body trusts, and the mind remember there is no pleasure like my flesh, trust and remember, you are too weak to resist me now.” 

He tried to grown, but found her fingers danced across his mouth, and the kiss of sticky silk closed his lips. His breath came deep through his nose, as he almost snorted in reflexive bliss. 

“Yes my sweet thing, surrender to your weakness, sleep in my embrace, and trust that your slumber will be deep indeed.” 

She’d turned him about several times as she spoke, her touch loosening him from the webs as though she merely willed it, and as she maneuvered him so, with strength she had not even hinted at, Daro found his arms pinned to his sides by silken chords. 

Whatever fear may have been trying to flood his body, whatever adrenalin it was trying to produce, was more tightly bound than he, and instead Daro was tranquil, calmed, soothed by not only her sway over him, but the oddly comforting touch of webs she was binding him in 

Two points of bright purple light flickered to life in front of him, enough to cast a glow outwards into the dark. 

“Dream of my breasts now Daro, see them once more, and feel their touch.” She was on top of him, her face arch, hard and angular in the glow of her own eyes. But his gaze could not linger there long, as her hands guided his willing vision to her breasts, breasts that smothered his face as he felt her kiss on his neck, then a sharp jolt of pleasure, as she slid once more onto the cock she’d left sticking out from his mostly cocooned form. 

Daro never felt the piercing sting of her venomous fangs in his neck, instead, he fell into a deep comatose sleep from which he would likely never awaken. 

In life, Terick had served as one of the self styled Arch Wizard Corun’s bodyguard. He and his brother Torbak had ridden with the wizard to an old temple in the middle of the ungoverned lands, a place near a town that told only of wicked things within the temple. 

Corun had it on good authority that whatever lived in the temple, or had lived there once, possessed artifacts of profound use o him. He would not say what it was. 

The wizard was not particularly keen to discuss anything with those he saw as his lesser, which happened to be most everyone save His Lordship, but the two brothers gathered that this was no small matter. 

Corun’s arrogance at his own power was the reason why only the two of them went with him. It was always the answer and up until this fateful quest, had always been the right answer. But now, his brother was gone, and only his cocooned husk high in the darkness of the main hall, and the discarded heap of his armor in the atrium remained. 

Terick hadn’t seen it happen, but he’d seen what befall his boss. They’d stood in the hall as the last of the dark autumn day came to an end, and to the heavily armored warrior, the place was a cavernous tomb where all light from the outside was blocked by layers of webs, and the weight of death was heavy within. 

As the wizard poked about, Terick had set to work trying to build a fire while his brother stood guard in the outer chamber. He thought he ahd heard the ping of metal hitting the ground over and over in piecemeal, but it was heard to tell if it was his own work, the wizard’s, or just his brother tooling about in the antechamber. 

Finally, he’d worked the fire up to a small blaze, and as the light of the flame washed across the hall, he watched the shadows melt away, and there she stood. 

Her skin was alabaster white, her long hair was purple black, and she was naked from the waist up, leaving him to stare dumbstruck at the sight before her, and not just her massive, pendulous breasts. 

No, it was what she was from the waist down that left him stunned. Her lower body was that of a spider, or like unto a spider. Her front legs were nearly human, and from the knees down looked as though they were only booted in black leather, but there were no feet, only points. 

Her other sets of legs were not hairy, not was her arachnid body, but smooth, like polished obsidian, or leather, and as he raised the hand axe he’d been using to chop a bench into firewood, her eyes flashed purple and he froze, paralyzed by a word he had heard but did not understand. 

Terick found himself beguiled by her body, by the way she moved, and thought that were he able to move or act on his own volition now, he would not have tried to harm her. 

He stared at her as she brushed a hand over her body, and the shadows reached out to cover her, becoming silken cloth that only seemed to make her more alluring. 

There was a brief volley of magic from Corun. He saw not the castings, but the bolts and blasts of lighting and flame, each one swallowed by shadow and darkness, that she weaved around her, all while her eyes began to glow brighter and brighter, until their light burnt into his mind. 

Terick couldn’t imagine what it would be like to see those eyes boring into him in such a way, having only tasted a dull flash of that power, and then only to be caught now at the edge of its glow. 

The noise died down, and he heard a whimpering sound, and could not see or rightly hear what she did or said to the wizard, but in time he heard the distinct sound of fornication and the sharp musky smell of sex. On it went for a time, until the fire was low, and then she returned to his gaze, her eyes shimmering with purple fire, and her soft lips curled into a malicious smile. “Would you die for him, or would you live for me.” He could not answer, but his mind screamed to live. “You will then, after a fashion,“ and she removed his helmet before kissing his neck. Unlike the travel who just hours later would feel no pain in a similar moment, Terick’s body erupted in fire as her fangs slid into his neck, and for a time, her lips remained, and her kiss slowly drained the anguish away from him. 

The longer she pressed her lips in that sucking kiss, the less remained in Terick’s mind as well, until only dull, pale details remained. Then, as she commanded him to, he stripped down out of his armor. When she kissed his neck again he fell away into blackness for a time, and awoke fully armed and armored, and not wholly of his own kit either. 

Though it would not be seen, every inch of his body was wrapped in webs under his armor, and his helm had been replaced somehow by a one with a closed visor. He did not breath, he did not eat or drink, and while he could think, and move, he felt no sense of life or purpose past doing as She commanded. 

His first task had been to drag the cocooned body of his former employer into the catacombs, and down into Her lair proper, where he left the webbed and motionless wizard on her alter. He remained there, out of time and thought until She returned with a backpack and instructions to deliver it to a place far away to the east, and to kill all who would stop him. 

As he made his way out, he stopped by her alter. Hanging from the thick webs of the ceiling was a second cocoon. 

She laughed, “No, that was another visitor, not your brother. I apologize, I did away with him faster than I did you, it had been long since I feasted, and unlike this one, your brother had no promise of my freedom, and no sweetness to his taste. But worry not, in time memories of him will fade, and you will live as I promised you, after a fashion and only in my will.” 

He left the temple, traveled far north into he forest until he found a place to ford the rain swollen river, and headed out into the wilds to do as he had been bid. 

The promise of freedom, what a thought to even entertain now. When Fatima was a young witch, she’d become enamored with a local priest. He was kind, and cunning, and she watched him wield his charms, seducing his followers into his embrace. He spoke truth in his hall, and paid homage to the gods, but only in passing, and only in self-interest. 

He cared justly for the souls of men, but cared unjustly so and with all manner of lust and abandon for the bodies of the women of his order. 

She watched him use his words, his language, and understood something that none other seemed to. Perhaps because she was herself a witch, and had long been learning all forms of arts, while others were simply town folk or soldiers, but she saw through him. 

He was enthralling them, enthralling the womenfolk in just the same manner as she had learned to do. But, as gifted as he was, as the years progressed, and Fatima grew wiser, more beautiful, and more gifted, he became lazy, weak of spirit, and the foundation of followers he built began to diminish. 

That was when she approached him, when she used his own tools against him, and won him, not as a lover, thought she did harbor a deep love for his cunning, but as a pawn. She taught him to think that her own sermons were in service to him, but slowly, she willed the temple faithful into a web of dedication and desire for her happiness and pleasure. 

It was there as well, in the catacombs of the ancient place, she began to study lost and secret texts, and started to practice rituals and enchantments to giver her greater power and sway. The library held therein did not only make her irresistible, it made her terribly powerful. 

Magic had been in her blood, just as her keen wits had been. And just as she had learned how to enthrall anyone, especially any man she met, she learned the greater complexities of true magic, well beyond what others in the town could teach her. 

She was on the verge of creating a great and terrible dominion for herself, when Fatima’s accursed demise came at the hands of the lecherous old charlatan priest. In his death, stabbed by his former followers at her command, he cursed her, and invoked the justice of the gods. 

Be it that there was some true faith in his heart, or that they had grown weary of Fatima using the temple for her own ill desires, they cursed her. 

She who wove webs of intrigue and malice should become in all ways as she was, and so, the color drained from her skin as the lower half of her body became twisted, changed into that much like a spider’s. 

Her followers fled, and some returned armed for war. They met an ill fate, and time after time, year after year those that came to slay her died at her hands. As she waited for the next, and the next, and next fool hero to come, she studied more, grew more, and came to grasp that not only had the gods manifested her appearance as she was, they gifted her in that curse. 

Her words would be as her webs, and in darkness her true form would be hidden, as lies would be when kept from the light. Only natural fire would cut the facade of her shadowy garb, only sunlight would deny her the illusory ability to change her form and image, and so, she fortified her temple, and waited. 

Because to be cursed as she was meant she would not leave this place, or regain her body and self, until one came that would deny her will, and break the spell of her flesh. 

Only would one who would resist her mind bending gospel of temptation and lust, one who would stand fast in the face of the seduction she wove, tested and proven the victor, could free her with their faith. 

She had only ever told that story to one person, a young woman who came to her, humble, and desperate to learn from her. This young witch came with wisdom and offered a trade. She would deliver a powerful wizard to her, one that Fatima would do with as she pleased, be it draining the life from him, stealing his magic, or something less malicious, all in exchange for the secrets of her most skilled art, the craft of manipulation and control. 

. Her last servants had crumbled to nothing, and the stories of her treasure, and the location of her lair had seemingly fallen into lost myths and false tales, saving her from the hope of salvation, and denying her the taste of those would be heroes and their sweet failure. 

Before the girl had come, Fatima had slept over-long, waking only rarely to taste of an intruder’s courage and add their bones to the catacombs below. She would always play with them first, sometimes only to learn of the world, and that was how she’d learned of the wizard her apprentice promised her. 

Had she now known of his prowess, perhaps the girl’s fate would have been different But now that she had awoken, Fatima would not so easily fall back into slumber. The wizard had much to offer, and his mind was open to her. It was more than this last would be hero could provide her, save that of a delicious feast. 

She would make him, poor sweet Darop, last as long as she could, but a day, perhaps two, and he would be a husk, and nothing more. 

Maybe she wouldn’t drain him though. Maybe she would leave him befuddled, confused, and send him out into the world, perhaps girded with some spare treasures, his mind full of tales, the same plan that her apprentice has used to lure the wizard to her. 

Daro, had been there on his own quest, brought to her door only by random chance, but in hearing his tale, she hardly trusted him to succeed. He likely would have perished in the wild, probably of some sickness, or been bested by bandits, because he was a fool that traveled alone. 

Truly, it was a kindness to the world, something almost heroic really, that she’d taken this burden from him and sent her servant out to complete it for the poor fool. 

Yes, that was what Fatima was, an unappreciated champion of good, or at least that was what time and age had made her. 

She’d helped someone gain revenge, and in doing so removed an evil wizard from the world, and just now had aided strangers in a far off land in their battle against... well... a creature she supposed was much like herself.It wasn’t hard to imagine how a demoness might lure a noble hero into her thrall, not at least for Fatima. It was too bad that none would ever come to break this curse, and as much as she wished to be free, when a mortal entered her domain, she hungered for what she did, because she hungered for their lust, and their pleasure. 

The magic of her eyes, a charm her apprentice had been most eager to learn, could command, dominate, and overwhelm, but it could not sweeten them, could not create true pleasure, or real emotion, and it could not compel any soul to break with the gods. It was the case with all matters of the soul, a will could be bent and manipulated by the force of magic, but never one’s true soul. 

No, the core of a person’s being could not be changed by such an approach. But her other arts could. Her beguiling, and enthralling techniques, her ability to change shape and proportion, to find the soothing tone, and the voice of soft surrender, to lure, seduce, and enchant the heart and the mind into submission, were not the work of magic, and not the world of mystical will. It was true that only if the subject truly desired the suggestion could they be compelled in such manner, and so if the soul desired to be corrupted by promises to the mind and body, it would be. 

The gods must be truly saddened by the number of mortals so willing to part with their faith. It was also true that as she was monstrous now, so too was her appetite. A man’s seed was a sweetness to her, a nourishing strength that carried pieces of his essence as surly as did his blood. True magic deadened the taste, but where an enthralled and beguiled subject felt everything more keenly, so too did they become more delectable. 

And that was the question now, wasn’t it? To feast on Daro until he was spent of all bodily essence, or to use him as bait for more, and perhaps let him find his way in the world? 

Likely, he would return for her, mad with passion, drawn back to her sway over him, or perhaps not. Maybe she would send him to the town across the river to stir them up, and maybe those that came would be amenable to her charms and serve a greater purpose for her... 

...if she could control this unquestionable appetite for the faith and souls of mortals... Maybe she would just have a taste of Daro now... just another taste...