Page 18 of Trapped

“N—no, you crazy fucker—” He protests in an attempt to put his usual snappiness back in place, but the armour is crumbling. And with his body trapped in my web and two digits buried in his ass, he doesn’t really have much to say.

“Suck it clean, papillon. Taste yourself.”

He lets out a coarse huff that makes me smile against his warm skin. Gotcha, pretty boy. It takes only a few more seconds for my thumb to be met with his warm, curling tongue.

Fuckkk…

“And,” I ask, rubbing my head over the delicate dips of his neck until I reach for the corner of his lips. “Do you think it tastes good?” The lower part of his face, and the only part visible, is flushed and he shivers when my lips connect to that sensitive arch of his mouth. Not waiting for his answer, I skim my tongue against his mouth and lick over his seam. Robin turns to meet me, and I dive in, desperate for our very first kiss. With one hand slowly working his cock and the other one stretching and playing his ass, his movements are uncontrolled. He moans and writhes, protests and whines for more. He’s my fucking drug, ferocious and passionate.

A rough diamond.

“Fuck. I’m, I’m gonna—” He chokes.

I smile, halting my movement, while pulling him impossibly close to my chest. “You, what?”

“I—no—” My fingers pick up their rhythm once more, in a mutual chase with his own body for release. Robin bucks against my chest, panting and wheezing. Swearing and protesting. Then, “Please—please—”

“Fuck, you begging for me sounds so sweet.” I lick at his neck once more, a long taste that makes him hum and purr. “You want to come? Viens alors, mon papillon.”

Come for me, my butterfly.

Robin can’t hold off a second longer, his climax bursting free on a ragged cry that echoes in our mouths, before I swallow it in its full delight. His cock pulses and releases, filling my hand. And his ass clenches, devouring my fingers as he shudders, before finally, ever so slowly, deflating and unclenching. I carefully remove my fingers, give his firm, delectable backside one longing look, then take out the buttplug I brought for the occasion.

“Now that you’ve had a little taste, I’m going to keep your ass prepared for me.” I say, then show him the plug, chuckling when he flinches at the sight of the huge ghost spider that’s kept under a glass with a copper brooch that’s tied to the actual plug. As expected, Robin’s hackles skyrise immediately.

“That’s disgusting! No, no.” He shakes his head. “You can’t possibly put this on me.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t put it on you.” I smack a kiss on the corner of his mouth, then add some lube to the plug. His hole is still wet and open from my fingerfucking, and the plug slides in slowly, until all I see is my beautiful copper-coloured, eight-legged beauty snugly pressed between those perfect, perky globes of his. “Fuck, your ass accommodates the plug so well,” I praise. Caressing Robin’s ass cheeks, I take out my own cock, hard and leaking, the crown flush and purple. I need release. A quick and filthy one.

With one last, longing ogle, I walk around my web to face my lover. He looks properly wrecked, his arms and legs hanging loosely in the web for the first time since he got trapped. But his eyes… surrounded by silk, they look larger, more fragile, like he lost the battle. Flitting his gaze back to mine, he simply watches me as I widen my stance and start stroking my cock right across the web. I’m so close I can feel his puffy breath on my rigid cock. It’s on the same height with the way he’s slumped forward by his drugged state of mind and the featherlight touch of the web, the sight mouthwatering.

“I love your silk mask,” I mumble, my own, filthy thoughts spurring on my working hand. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to remove it for what I’m about to do.”

His fingers move as if to object, but his palms are still glued to the web. “We’re not allowed to take off our masks,” he protests, albeit weakly.

“True, it’s part of the rules of the games. But I think that we’ve passed that phase, don’t you? I mean, you know who I am.” I give him a toothy grin to which he grimaces, before he looks away, searching our surroundings.

“There’s no one here,” I supply. By now, my brothers must be making their way to the dungeons, awaiting the official initiations. But I don’t tell him that. Not yet.

“It’s just you and me, pretty boy,” I say instead.

“Uhm—” He looks away once more. “Will you remove yours too?” The question comes out in an uncomfortable whisper, one that makes my stomach flutter. Fuck, a prickly Robin is one thing, but a frail, defenseless Robin is quite something else. It’s divine. So sweet, I muse, and without thinking, I tear off his mask, feeling triumph. I was fucking right, I knew it. He’s grumpy because he’s fucking shy. Fucking, fucking love it. Pulling back my own mask as well, I slide it back and between my thick strands, eyes on my pretty boy, while I furiously work my dick. I’m already so close.

The way Robin peers up at me…it makes me feel fucking invincible. That’s how it must feel when a spider finds its prey in its web.

Papillon, I got you exactly where I want you.

“You look so good when you’re caught in my web,” I pant. My other hand reaches for my heavy balls and I grope them in my palm, massaging them while I pull and tear on my cock. My orgasm is approaching now, I can feel it in my curling toes, in my clenching stomach. And then it hits me like a freight train, making me buck and groan as I empty myself on Robin’s unmasked forehead and cheeks, on his lips and chin. My release, thick and dripping over his handsome face while he hangs there, helpless, is an image I will carry with me forever.

It’s a perfect fucking picture.

7

ROBIN

Arsène is one of those casually sensual guys. You know, the type who can walk into a classroom wearing a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt, and still look like he is about to hit the town. Not that that kind of garment is allowed in class at Saint-Laurent.

But still. He’s one of those classical, handsome guys with dark brown hair, carelessly slicked back, revealing a proud, sculpted face. His forehead is prominent, adorned by curvy, thick eyebrows that match his equally dark eyes. Long lashes flutter as he peers at me from up close, from right across the glittering thread where I’m still hanging. With my face dripping with his spunk.

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