173. All Wrapped Up
Amy decides to go for it. “That Boswell’s no match for me!” she says to herself. She takes off her hiking boots, her socks, her jean shorts, and her heart-print panties, then begins putting on the underwear she’s acquired, after retrieving it from its storing place in the Grand Hallway. The thong-cut panties fit snugly around Amy’s waist, and she notes how pretty the pink silk and black lace look on her hips. She then pulls up the garter belt; not a garment she’s accustomed to wearing, but it should be easy enough. She slides the shimmery purple stockings up her legs, first the right leg, then the left, sending a shiver through her body as she does so. Amy doesn’t wear stockings or pantyhose except on special occasions or for job interviews, but she always feels sexy when she does so, feeling the smooth silk hugging the curves of her shapely legs. With a little difficulty she attaches the straps of the garter belt to the stockings. Finally, she wedges her feet into the knee-high boots. She pulls her shorts back on, then goes to a mirror to inspect herself.
“Well, I don’t look entirely classy, what with the garter straps coming out of the legs of the shorts,” she thinks to herself. “But maybe I can wing it. I just need a good enough story…” She takes a moment to prepare herself, then removes her glasses and frees her hair from its pony tail. She adopts a regal demeanor and heads up the stairs.
Boswell takes immediate notice of Amy as she approaches.
“Ms…. Ms. Claire? Is that you?”
“Yes, it is, Boswell! I have returned!”
“It’s very good to see you, Madame!” Boswell lets a hint of excitement escape in his tone, before returning to his rigid decorum. “But if I may ask… how do you come to be… so attired?”
“It’s a long and tragic story, dear Boswell, for you see, I was never dead at all! I was kidnapped! Kidnapped by gypsies! I was forced to roam the countryside with them, dancing for the money that the crowds would throw! Then, one night, I escaped! I had no money, but I was driven, driven by the desire to see home again, to see my precious Geoffrey, and to see you, my dear Boswell! These were the only clothes I could acquire on the road. But now I have returned and all is well!”
“I… see, Madame.” Boswell cocks an eyebrow at Amy. Amy gulps nervously. Maybe she laid it on a little thick there… “And how, pray tell, did you recover from your wasting illness?”
“Oh, right! I was sick! Well, it was, umm, gypsy magic! Yes, they cured me, then made me dance to repay them the favor!”
“I see. Except, of course, that I was there when you died.”
“Oh.”
“And at your funeral.”
“Well, you see…”
“And the interment.”
“It, umm…” Amy has a sinking feeling that this is not going to end well. But she’s too far along to back out now. “The gypsies, they, um, took me out of the grave?”
“You were, of course, interred in the family mausoleum, not a grave.”
“Right, right, the mausoleum. My memory is all a bit fuzzy. Trips beyond the grave will do that to you, you know.”
“Of course, Madame. Perhaps, though, you can explain to me why a pack of wandering gypsies would take you, a dead woman, and miraculously raise you from the dead so that they could make you dance for nickels in their traveling show.”
“Um. Because… Gypsies are a strange and mysterious people?” Amy now knows that this is going to end badly. She backs away and looks for an exit strategy.
“The only mysterious thing here is why you thought I would believe such a cockamamie story, Ms. Shaw.”
“Ha, ha! You found me out, Boswell! Um… April fools?” Amy smiles sheepishly.
“Oh, Ms. Shaw,” Boswell points at her with his right hand while making an arcane gesture with his left, “What tangled webs we weave when first we set out to deceive.”
Amy opens her mouth to try talking her way out of the mess she has talked her way into, but before she can speak a word a puff of smoke wells up around her and she finds herself surrounded by darkness. She takes a furtive step. The ground beneath is hard, like a rock. The whole area feels moist. The smell of death lingers everywhere. She takes another step. Another. When she goes to take another, she finds she can’t move her foot. She looks down. Her eyes are gradually adjusting to the light. She can make out a viscous, sticky substance attached to the sole of her boot. With some effort she removes the boot, leaving it on the ground. She’s now in one stocking and one boot. She wanders forward, only to be stopped by some kind of netting. She tries to pull back, but the netting is stuck to her. Amy now recognizes what this is: a spider’s web! Amy begins to shiver uncontrollably. She is pathologically afraid of spiders. In a panic she pulls backward with all her might. Realizing that the web is stuck fast to her shirt, she pulls her arms into her sleeves and bows her head to maneuver out of the sticky garment. Her shorts, too, are stuck, so she undoes the fly and, careful not to touch the sticky web, pushes her shorts as far down as they will go and steps out of them. As she gets her jeans off she hears the echo of a skuttering sound. Her terror only magnifies. “There’s a spider out there and it knows I’m here. I have to get out of here NOW.” She begins walking back the way she came, only to have her other boot get caught. She quickly pulls her foot out. Now she’s wandering the cave in a pink silk thong, pink bra, black lace garter belt, and purple silk stockings.
Now her eyesight is adjusting. She can make out the webs around her and carefully avoids them. At one point the only way forward is through a web. Lacking a way to cut it, she tries to carefully slide between threads. Her bra catches and, in one smooth motion, she unhooks it and leaves it behind. Amy’s sense of modesty has now been completely overwhelmed by her terror of what lies in the cave. After about half an hour of wandering she can make out a light in the distance. The exit! She’s almost free! She begins scrambling toward the light. Closer, closer! She’s about a hundred feet away when it abruptly disappears. Amy stops. She senses movement in front of her. It comes into view. The clicking mandibles and kaleidoscope eye of a giant, hairy spider, about six feet tall.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!”
Amy screams uncontrollably and begins running as hard as she can in the opposite direction, back into the cave. She trips and falls on her face. Looking back, she sees a thin line of webbing running from the heel of her right stocking to the spider’s rear; it seems to have turned around so that it could launch a silk thread at her from its spinneret. Amy tries to struggle forward. Her hands claw at the rock, attempting to pull herself free. The stocking stretches behind her, but shows no sign of letting go. If Amy had more presence of mind, she would unhook her garter belt, but terror has clouded out all reason. Amy’s elaborate network of undergarments keep her firmly attached to the floor. She continues to struggle as the spider makes its way closer to her
“Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!”
Amy begins shivering uncontrollably as the spider draws closer. Finally, as it leaps on top of her, the overwhelming panic is too much. Amy falls unconscious.
The spider grasps Amy and yanks her forward. It, too, is finding her difficult to detach from the floor, but it quickly assesses the problem and devises a solution. With a quick slash it snips the straps of the garter belt, then, with much stretching, pulls Amy free of the stuck garter, leaving her unconscious body clad only in a pink thong, black lace garter belt, and one purple stocking. It carries Amy to a nearby web where it commences spinning her around, covering her in a thick cocoon. Once finished, it injects her unconscious body with a toxin that slowly liquefies her innards. A few days later, the spider returns and sucks the insides out of her, leaving only a withered husk and a lone purple stocking attached to the ground as a memorial of Amy’s adventure.
Amy is in no condition to continue this adventure or her life.