AWOD Ch. 2

“Do not use alternative roads! Stick to mapped and maintained road networks only!”

The sign was a reminder to those who drove convoys between the walled settlements, Rick assumed. The few roads that were maintained between them were the only reliably safe paths. That said, however, Rick knew he couldn't afford to be seen. As such he had followed a turn off down a much older road, clearly from before the fall.

Rick's first few days outside of the walls he had, well he could admit to himself, scared. At several points he had found himself walking back towards the road, hoping to flag down a convoy and accept whatever punishment came his way. Each time, though, he had swallowed his fears and turned back. It was hard, but he kept reminding himself why he had left. This was real. Out here was the real world, and it was his birthright to see it. If he wanted to go home he could do so any time, he reasoned, but this was his one chance to see the world they had lost.

He was free, for the first time in his life, he repeated to himself again and again until he believed it.

He had by now memorised every picture, hell almost every word, of the book he had managed to keep safe all these years. Even so, perhaps out of comfort, or nerves, Rick kept looking to it for... something. Comfort? Guidance perhaps? Occasionally he would see something he recognized, but he was now seeing the old world for the first time outside of printed paper.

A sign with a number on it, a bit rusted over, loomed from the side of the road. He flipped through his book for a few minutes, sure he had seen something like this before on a “high way”. He tapped the picture and compared it. The sign in the book was round, and the number was different. Maybe it was a way to let people know where they were? Was this “Sector 300 M” perhaps?

Eyes on the page, he let his feet guide him down the road, occasionally letting his gaze flit up to compare what he saw to what he read. However it was a poor comparison. Rusted metal and largely overgrown concrete contrasted starkly with the images he had grown up with in that book, imagining what was on the other side of that wall… it was hard to not be a bit disappointed. 

The paved road had begun to part here, and he had to drag his feet as it had long since been broken up by tangled vines and weeds into a patchwork of fading asphalt. Occasionally he felt a tug at his shoe that he kicked away, as foliage caught his shoe. The battered material was no longer crunching under his footsteps as it gave way more frequently to stretches of plant life. 

Walking became more taxing as he drifted from the road, now. Roads in the book’s pictures were so… well, picturesque. He had told himself not to expect paradise, but reality had still put paid to even his most conservative hopes. Dragging his feet through the thickening undergrowth, the going got tougher, until he was afraid he might trip. 

As his eyes dropped down below the book to check, it was clear he was no longer standing on a road. Instead, he stood atop an oddly uniform and matted material that stretched out in a wide circle around him, suspended over a massive hole. Thin, silvery, gossamer strands of it had quite thoroughly entangled his ankles by now. Unsure what to do, by the time he had settled on reaching down to tug at them and carefully make his way back to the road, they gave way almost immediately, and he felt his stomach hit his throat as he fell into the darkness below.

Dozens if not hundreds of silvery wisps played across his body as he fell, and by the time his mind had caught up and he began to scream, he had already stopped falling altogether. He half-heartedly cut his scream of terror short, and stared up at the pinprick of light above him, which he realised was the hole he had fallen into. He tried to right himself, but realised the same strands which had arrested his descent had quite literally arrested him as well, entangling everything. Quite sticky, they tugged at his clothing incessantly with every tiny movement, as if trying to undress him. As he moved around, the sweet smell in there was growing stronger, and leaning closer he realised it was coming from the materials entangling him.

Trying not to panic, he managed to turn on the reading light atop his book, and manoeuvred it around to light up the space. It seemed to be a sinkhole, he reckoned, and rotated the book round as he peered into the darkness, his eyes slowly adjusting as, all of a sudden, the pinprick of light above him was sealed shut. Now in total darkness save for the lamp, he forced his eyes to focus and could make out the edges of the hole. It was only then, when he saw the way these strands connected to the edges of the wall, he became all too sure what they were. Not strings... but webs. Then, just at the edge of the light's cone, he could swear he saw something moving.

Suddenly quite certain he wanted to be free of the sticky webbing sealing him still, he tugged at it, trying each limb individually, then all at once, all to no avail. He had only really succeeded in, if anything, gathering more of the sticky fronds around himself and making his situation worse. Each one was strong enough individually he doubted he could break it easily, but collectively they may as well have been steel wire. Despite that, they felt soft and flexible, which only made it harder to gain any purchase on them. The wetness of the webs seemed to soak into his clothing and skin, and everywhere it touched seemed to tingle in a way he wasn't quite comfortable with. Indeed, it was making every tiny scratch of his clothing feel far worse, and soon he began to itch. Why was he suddenly feeling so sensitive? he wondered, concerned.

Laughter, soft and sweet, pealed out from somewhere ahead of him, and he froze still, eyes peering into the shadows. The source of that laughter made itself apparent when two red eyes gleamed back at him. Now in a blind panic, he thrashed and contorted his body every which way, and began to slip free, not of his bonds, but of the clothing so caught up in them.

The laughter grew closer, and his thrashing grew still again, although this time because he was stunned to see the body that the glowing eyes belonged to. The head of a woman, quite beautiful even in the dim light, swam into the light as if surfacing from water. Her chest, however, kept revealing more and more of itself, as the largest pair of breasts he had ever seen kept rising and rising into his vision.

“It's been some time since I felt any stirring in this web,” she said softly, reaching out a finger to daintily pluck at a strand, which in turn tugged at his shirt, now thoroughly matted with webs.

Speechless, Rick simply stared in awe as her body was slowly revealed by the book's lamp which, settling from his prior thrashing, turned slowly round. Her breasts were, if anything, merely proportionate to her form. Thick, luscious, hips flowed naturally from her stomach which was almost entirely concealed by her awe-inducing bosom, but he gasped as his vision was drawn down. Expecting a monstrous, spider body, he was instead shocked to see her pliable, yielding thighs parting barely, just enough to make out a cushy cleft of flesh. Her pallid skin did nothing to detract from the utter embodiment of sex she represented.

Rick was understandably less terrified as the shadowy figure turned out not to be some monstrous spider coming to devour him, although had he known the irony of that thought he may have kept trying to escape, he tried to choke out a noise, but the fear that had choked his throat before had been swiftly replaced by something else.

“You didn't get hurt falling down all this way, did you?” she asked, sounding genuinely concerned, and reached out to touch his arm.

“N-” was all he managed, before simply shaking his head – what little he could within his bonds – to signal his safety.

“Good, good...” she whispered, and ran a finger down his forearm, leaving a trail of that same wetness behind as she did, “I'd hate to see such a fine specimen hurt...”

His mind, once again slowed, finally caught up to the situation and managed to override his hormonal 20-something response, and choked out his first real words to this stranger. He tried to ask 'Who are you?' and 'Where am I?' but the heavenly figure leaning closer to him from the shadows scrambled his thoughts, and it came out as:

“Who am I where are you?”

Tittering into the back of her other hand, she reached down with another and began to pull at some of the strings holding him, while another... it was only now he began to realize this woman, if she was a woman... had four arms. Her eyes were no longer glowing, but a red iris on black sclera marked her quite apart from human, as if the arms hadn't been a give away. The closer he got, the stronger that smell became, very sweet and cloying.

“You are in a web. I am the one who made it.” She stated simply, interpreting his questions well enough, yet not really giving him any answers.

As one of her hands rose up by his head, a silvery string following her fingertip, he watched as the light played off of it as his eyes followed her movement. Suddenly, he felt what remained of his panic begin to blossom once more.

“I uh... n-need to be um... going, I'm sorry,” he said, once again testing the strengths of the bonds around him, only to find that in the few short moments she had been there she had been reinforcing them quite thoroughly, and he now found it much harder to move at all.

“Going? Why, where would you go?” she asked sweetly, not even looking at him as she busied her hands around him, swiftly encircling him in a matted web of material, “I don't think you could climb all the way back up, could you? Anyway, I sealed the top again after you broke through. You'd never get through it, look how small you are after all!”

She tittered again at that, and he felt a cold chill run through him like sinking into water.

“Let's get a look at you...” she said softly, and snapped her fingers. The space suddenly lit up as blue, glowing mushrooms slowly lit up.

She took his book and, with seeming delicacy and care, set it aside, turning the light off for good. Now he was bathed in a soft, blue glow as she loomed back over, less well lit, yet her forboding, massive outline was much clearer in the dim radiance. She closed with him suddenly, and he felt her body press against his.

“Wait, st-” was all Rick got out, before a hand clamped over his mouth, and his eyes widened in fear.

“Now, now,” she soothed, and held a second hand to her mouth, finger on her lips, “I don't need to hear you speak. In fact... I'd much rather hear how you sound...”

With that, her third and fourth hands, in turn, snaked under his shirt and up his chest, while the other began to tug at his clothing's waistline. However, he was now back to frightened silence. Undeterred, she began to trace her fingertips down his chest, leaving slick moisture behind as she did, and his heart fluttered slightly at the sensation spreading from it. A slight moan escaped as he gradually exhaled through his nose, and a slight smile graced her features.

“Much better... but I'd rather hear that sound later... because that's not the sound I was looking for.” she added softly, before her fingertips curled, and with an almost imperceptible change, began to drag along his skin as the others dug into his sensitive waist, a wide grin spreading on her face.

Rick's eyes bugged out as, suddenly, ticklish sparks erupted from everywhere she touched. He groaned into her hand and squealed as he hadn't since he was a child. The sound delighted her, and she soon began to dance her fingers in earnest, playing him like a finely tuned instrument, just as she had the strands of her web. Instantly, he began to thrash and squirm what little he could in his bonds, desperately trying to escape those wriggling fingertips. The wetness, the dampness on the webs, it was suddenly all too obvious. It was making him more sensitive, whatever it was. There was no way he should feel this ticklish! He had to get away, had to-

Whatever coherent thoughts he had were abandoned as her third hand moved down to his shorts and, delightedly, began to dance across his crotch, eliciting an almost girlish squeal as the thin material offered almost no protection to his sensitive cock, swiftly hardening under her ministrations.

“There we go, that's it, such a giggly boy...” she cooed, and slowly moved closer, and closer.

Panicking, he soon became aware of her massive chest pressing into him, and as she flesh spilled out, began to cover more and more of him – although her arms seemed to have no trouble manoeuvring around and beneath them to work their way towards his ticklish skin. A rising tide of breasts soon threatened to engulf him, and he threw his head from side to side, gasping for air when she finally removed her hand... only to fall into a shrieking bout of laughter as her freed hand snaked its way into his armpit, his clothing now a shell being swiftly lifted free.

For her part, the woman merely grinned, eyes fixed on him as her breasts squished further up his neck, his chin, until finally his laughter was muffled as she smothered his face with her massive orbs.

“Such a cute face, but you sound even cuter trapped between my tits, cutie!”

Two hands were now curling beneath his vulnerable, outstretched arms, while the others were making merry work of undoing his shorts and pulling them down to expose his cock. They began to lovingly bathe it in that secreted substance of hers, which swiftly soaked in, and he was now awash with blinding euphoria as she began to use all ten free fingers to tickle his cock with abandon.

“My, my... already so sensitive. I don't think I've ever had a prey so susceptible to my venom, sweetie. Poor thing...” she cooed, while contrary to her mock sympathy, redoubled her efforts to drive him insane.

Fingertips fluttered over his nipple, while another hand braced its fingertips around his cockhead, thoroughly basting it while dancing merrily around it, paying special attention to just below the head, and leading him to chokingly sputter through his nose, which only barely allowed him any breath above her tremendous cleavage.

“I wonder just how sensitive you are... one way to find out!” she announced, and tugged his shoes free, before ever so slowly, inch by inch, sliding his socks off.

His eyes maddeningly tried to see anything past the breasts that now encompassed his vision, but apart from her red eyes and sweet smile, all he could see were two all-encompassing walls of titflesh. Then he felt it, two pairs of hands ever so gently running fingers down his soles. His breath caught in his throat at just how badly it tickled, before even her massive tits were not enough to muffle him entirely. Screaming in glee, he squirmed madly in her clutches as she cooed soft nothings to him, reassuring him even as she tortured him as no one ever had, as he had never thought was possible. Her fingers, now not so delicate, began to truly elicit ticklish agony from his poor exposed soles now, digging in, as if searching for each and every oh-so-sensitive nerve.

At this point, Rick was already a mess, his mind had no other thought but 'ESCAPE!' That, however, seemed impossible, as every mindless thrash, how little he could move, seemed to reinforce just how hopeless it was. Yet in a moment of sheer exertion, he felt his butt slip down as if falling between two mattresses, as his entangled shirt and shorts slipped away from his as-of-yet mostly unencumbered limbs. Suddenly, he was declothed, and lay just a few feet below on the cushioned ground realizing he had only ever been a few inches in the air.

“Oops!” she giggled, and reached a hand down, as if a helpful gesture, but was more like a predator reaching into a hole for prey.

Without a word, he stood up, tangled webs tugging gently at his skin as he did. Rick just ran, naked, and grasped at the edges of a tunnel as he fled. Every touch, every hanging strand that grazed across his body, sent him into fits of ticklish sensitivity, but he pressed on. He took random turns, hoping to throw her off, but even if she hadn't known this network like the back of her hand, his constant squeals and giggles were like a neon beacon drawing her in.

“I can hear you, little one!” she said, with a voice no doubt intended to sound playful, but which to his mind was as frightening as it could have been.

He could feel her weight on the webs, vibrating them with every ponderous slow step she took, which were in stark contrast to the desperate effort Rick was having to make just to trudge through the sticky, cloying forest of oh-so-ticklish fronds that felt like a myriad of fingers tracing across his vulnerable body.

If anything, the more he touched the webs, the more sensitive he got. That gave him a very foreboding feeling. How much more sensitive would he become? Everything in here was coated in those sickly sweet smelling webs, and that cloying venom which even now was dripping onto him, being lathered onto him with every step.

Soon, his feet were on fire, each step was ticklish agony as the delicate gossamer webs traced across his soles. However, it was his cock giving him the most trouble. Rick struggled to put one foot in front of the other as his head swam, erotic visions flooding his mind, no doubt encouraged by the massive breasts which had so recently swallowed him whole and rewritten his mind's definition of lust.

At last, he could go no further, and collapsed against a webbed wall, feeling his hand wrap instinctively around his cock and begin stroking, panting needily, his cheeks flushed hot and red.

“Poor thing,” she said softly, “looks like you're all worked up. You could have gotten hurt running away like that...”

She loomed behind him, effortlessly, gracefully bringing her massive form into view as he backed up against the wall, unwittingly entangling himself once more.

“Not to worry, soon you'll never be moving again... or touching that cock of yours... I'll make sure of that...” she smiled, and her hands arrested his wrists, removing his hand from his cock. His scream echoed through the tunnels as he was plucked free and into her massive, waiting, bosomy prison.