“Rah!” he says suddenly, next to my ear.
I startle, pulse kicking up to a dull thunder, limbs tensing against my bonds.
He laughs. “I only haze the mouthy ones.”
I roll my eyes.
“Besides…”
His low pur sends a violent shiver down my spine.
“…if I really wanted to scare you, I’d tell you about the milking rooms. Whole caverns where Arachnoids used to string up their prey, helpless little bundles of silk, each activated with a bite. I’d describe how their breasts swelled and hung, and as the venom ran its course, they’d beg to be milked. And I’d tell you how we used to walk those halls, listening to each sweet plea, sucking a bit from a teat here… from another teat there… drinking our fill… I might even hint at how they spent the rest of their lives there, tangled in our webs, well-fed and well-tended, nothing but mindless bags of milk.”
If it were fear that gripped my chest, boiling hot and sliding around my ribs, dripping lower, I’d have a retort. A witty comeback. A defiant snap.
But what pools low and throbbing is undeniable, shameful arousal.
And that, for once, leaves me speechless.
The tunnel opens up again to a room lit with warm, dim light. On the far side is a cluster of silk cubbies full of glass jars, oddly shaped motors, and gleaming steel parts that look exactly how I imagined hucow milking equipment would.
But he doesn’t take me over to that. Instead, he strings me up in front of him so that I’m in a seated, upright position. With blinding quickness, he draws out dozens of threads to anchor me in every direction and distribute my weight evenly. It feels like those zero-gravity chairs.
His hand approaches me, holding a device he’s produced from somewhere.
It looks like the menacing love child of a hole punch and a tag gun.
I get flashbacks to getting my ears pierced at the mall, sneaking off to get them done for free even though Mom hadpromised to take me somewhere real. It’s hard to rebel against reasonable, generous parents.
My ears had gotten horribly infected. Then Dad started saying I just didn’t care about getting them done right, so of course I finally went to a real place. It took me ten years to realize his comments had been a ruse the whole time. He knew me that well.
I shrink back from the gleaming metal in Sylvus’s hand.
“Hey, you didn’t say anything about… whatever that is.”
His expression becomes patient. “You have many cartilage piercings. You’re familiar with the concept.”
I wince. “And I’m familiar with being sore for two weeks. Do you have some sick fetish for dressing up your hucows?”
He leans close to my ear. “Careful what you wish for.”
A very confusing sensation ripples down my spine, making me squirm.
He laughs. “This is strictly practical, I’m afraid. The ear tag serves two purposes. First, it has a chip embedded that will read your vitals. It will track any unusual reactions and alert me if I need to intervene. Secondly, it marks you asmine.”
I don’t like how he saysmine.
Heat squirms through my stomach.
Wait, do Iloveit?
No, no, I hate it. Of course I hate it.
He continues, “That way, no other Arthropoid will touch you without my permission. If you become delirious and run away, you’ll be returned to me.”
“I won’t become delirious,” I bark.
“Don’t worry,” he purrs. “When you do, I’ll make sure you stay exactly where you ought to be.”
