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Rapping
her long, crimson nails against the wooden table top Fawne
eased back into the creaking chair she was seated on. She
was waiting, impatiently just as she had been asked, non,
ordered to. Dark, nearly black eyes scanned the empty bar,
previously abandoned by its owners after the place had failed
as a local ‘hotspot’. Onyx orbs settled on movement
at the end of the table, a Black Widow spider as she dropped
from a silken drag line from the ceiling. The small arachnid
glistened black, the underside decorated in a perfect hourglass
shape of red crimson; and as delicate long legs twanged against
the line it was suspended from her eyes traveled upward –
following the line of silk as the dim Tavern light reflected
from it, up, up, up, like a line made of the finest of crystals
until her vision settled on Him. Her bottom lip parted from
the soft swell of her top in a silent gasp of surprise as
the realization that he had been there all along became clear,
hidden away in the shadows, invisible to any that weren’t
looking directly at him. With a smirk that could only be described
as sinister he reached his hand down from the ceiling where
he remained suspended, reaching for her, asking her in silence
to join him. And, with little but a nod she answered him with
the same silence as she slid from her chair, only to turn
and step one bare foot atop the seat, her hands gripping the
back as she pulled herself slowly as the chair groaned in
protest. Breathing out slowly Fawne tilted her head upward,
to allow her gaze to once again settle on this creature that
lurked in the shadows. Slowly, though without hesitation she
rose her hand from her side, stretching her arm out towards
him in an attempt to take his hand though she soon found he
was just out of her reach; And then, in a rush of movement
he closed that remaining distance, and closing his pale, cold
hand around her wrist tugged her with ease from the chair
only to end up pinning her small, shapely frame beneath his
and her back to the cold press of the wooden, smoke stained
ceiling. He held her there, suspended as though she weighed
nothing and it took no effort for him to hang like a spider
from the ceiling.
To
lie and say that her heart had not been pounding in fear,
or excitement would have been a silly web to weave, but as
his mouth moved slowly to her ear and the soft click clicking
of his tongue began it was a pure adrenaline rush.
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Fawne
tried to steady her breathing, closing her eyes so she
couldn’t see the distant view of the ground far
below and fear the drop down. And, as her laced eyelashes
fluttered shut she felt the smallest of tickles against
her skin, trickling slowly along the defined line of her
collar bone were the bristled legs of a tarantula. Her
breath caught so suddenly in her throat that she had to
resist the urge to cough, nearly choking on the air that
had stuck there, and the frantic swallow that followed
had the spider freezing in place, unsure of its next move
though it almost seemed to dare her with the soft twitch
of its legs to swipe at it. Then, with a tentative tap
of its front legs it became satisfied that she would remain
still, safe for it to continue it’s trail over her
skin. Tiny legs brushed along her skin as it crept further
up to her neck, reaching out before each step to assure
its placement was solid before the thicker body would
inch further upward. Tickles along her hairline, over
the ear that was still being attended to by the creature
that had her pinned, and then in a quick scurry of movement
the tarantula crawled over the fleshy swell of her cheek
and stretched its long probing legs out towards His black
curly locks of hair. A few delicate twangs of the spiders
legs, and it seemed to ask permission to carry the touch
further and as if it had received its answer the arachnid
pulled itself onto the tightly curled mound of hair that
rested against His scalp.
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Fawne
shivered softly as the spider left her, though the reaction
was not out of disgust but rather just the lingering feeling
of tiny spider legs creeping over her flesh, bringing
a rush of gooseflesh that streamed over her skin and brought
the softest of gasps from parted lips. The Vampires tongue
flicked along her neck, searching – seeking out
that sweet sport where her pulse would be strongest; Barely
hidden beneath the delicate flesh of her neck, where it
would flutter like a trapped butterfly, begging to be
freed. Soon, very soon he would do exactly that…
release that pretty little pulse from her body and set
her free…
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