Posted by C on June 24, 2001 at 13:32:21:

By C

One day, Minnalouche the jumping spider was resting by the pond with her friend Aranea. Something in the water caught Minnalouche’s notice: a pair of merfolk drifting by. They were a boy and girl, on their sides, embracing each other and whispering endearments as they slid quietly through the water. They were beautifully human down to the groin: the boy a slim but well-muscled blond, the girl a full-breasted brunette. Beneath their groins, they had brilliantly colored fish tails: his was blue, hers orange.

“Aww, isn’t that sweet!” said Aranea.

“I suppose so,” said Minnalouche. “I wonder what they taste like?”

“Who knows?”

“Wouldn’t it be nice to find out?”

“That’s silly!” said Aranea. “We don’t swim! And as far as I know, this species never comes out of the water. I’d say their paths and ours will never cross.”

“I guess so,” said Minnalouche, but her brain had already started buzzing.

A few minutes passed. The two spiders luxuriated silently in the cool spring air. Then Minnalouche spoke again. “You seem to know something about them.”

“About who?” asked Aranea.

“The merfolk.”

“Oh, we’re on that subject again. Not really; I just spend a lot of time by the pond, so I see them pretty often.”

“This is their mating season, I take it?”

“Oh yes. They usually wind up in the shadiest part of the pond: that stretch over there–you see it?–where the bushes are overhanging.”

“Did you say ‘overhanging bushes’?”

“Yes I did. What’s going on that overheated little mind of yours?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

:”Good,” said Aranea. “I’m going to sleep now.” And she did.

It took several days of reconnaissance, but Minnalouche learned a great deal. Just as Aranea had said, the merfolk favored a tract of water overhung by thick bushes for their assignations. Three, four, or more couples could be seen there, groaning, whimpering, and churning the muddy water with their tails. Evidently, they didn’t like direct sun. Moreover, they seemed to prefer copulating at the surface, rather than below it. Why do something that only drew more attention to them? Minnalouche thought this behavior might be a byproduct of their double nature: perhaps they had to maintain some connection with the world outside the water. Whatever the reason, it made them easier to observe–and it might make them easier to catch.

They also seemed to confine their lovemaking to morning and late afternoon, when it was neither too hot nor too chilly. Minnalouche decided to get things ready in the middle of the night, when the merfolk–diurnal creatures, every one of them–would surely not be keeping watch. So, on a moonless midnight, she climbed up one of the bushes and picked what seemed to be its strongest branch. Then, very gingerly, for a fall might be the end of her, she worked her way out over the water. It took a few hours of hard work, but she finally got what seemed to be a satisfactory result. She then perched on the branch where it emerged from the trunk, anchored herself with some webbing, and went to sleep.

She was awakened by splashing noises, and clear, bell-like laughter. She got up and looked down. There, in the water below her, were three couples. She knew their names from previous observation: Berengar and Boudicca, both blond with green tails; Conrad and Yolanda, the blond/brunette pair she had seen first; and Skip and Polly, he a black-haired boy with a red tail; she a redhead with a tail of turquoise. They were all newlyweds, every one of them a virgin just weeks before.

Six merfolk! An excellent number for the stratagem she had planned! With a little luck, she might just bag them all. As quietly as she could, Minnalouche went from branch to branch for a final check. Then she waited for the right moment.

Quite unselfconsciously, the three couples began to hug and kiss. The boys nuzzled the girls’ breasts, while the girls took hold of their partners’ spurs and stroked them to full tumescence. The boys moaned softly as they stiffened. Each male reciprocated by slipping a finger into the tightness of his bride’s pussy; and soon the girls were moaning, too. When it was time, everyone took a deep breath, and three boys and three girls came together at the waist. This was a species with genitals so tender that intercourse was painful, for both male and female: all six actually started sobbing! Their sobbing, whimpering, and moaning only increased as their movements became more agitated. Soon they were thrashing their tails and crying out in violent abandon as one orgasm after another shook them from head to caudal fin.

Minnalouche had noticed that when the throes and pains of passion were through, these merfolk liked to cuddle up right next to other couples–perhaps to share body heat in the chilly water. She was waiting for these six to follow that pattern. Sure enough, when they had all climaxed to their hearts’ content, the three pairs lined up together, right where the water got the most shade. It was time to spring the trap.

The night before, Minnalouche had suspended a net of sticky webbing from the shadiest branches. She then attached a pebble to each corner of the net, so that when it dropped it would fall straight and would tend to anchor any prey in place. She had deliberately weakened the silk holding up the net; it would come loose (she hoped) with just one tug. Now she pulled at her trap for all she was worth. Nothing happened.

“Oh God damn it,” she muttered. “What’s wrong now?”

“Did you hear something?” Polly asked.

“Hmm? No,” said Berengar.

Minnalouche reached out as far as she could and yanked, hard, on another edge of the net. Still nothing.

“Say! What’s that up there?” said Skip.

“I think . . . I think it’s some kind of spider,” said Yolanda.

Just then, while tugging at the net, Minnalouche lost her balance. Yelping with fright, she fell, and the net fell with her. What happened next was the dumbest of dumb luck: she landed in shallow water, and the net came down next to her, instead of on top. Thrashing and squeaking, she struggled onto dry ground and for a while just lay there gasping. Then, not really wanting to know how badly her plan had gone awry, she looked behind her. For a moment, she couldn’t be sure what she was seeing. Then the let out a triumphant yell. “It worked!” she crowed. “It worked!”

Indeed! All six were now screaming and thrashing and trying to pull themselves free of the sticky mess in which they were snared. “Six at one blow! Six at one blow!” Minnalouche shouted. Then she made an unpleasant discovery. Though clearly terrified, the mers were very sensibly struggling to get away from the shore. Even though it was weighted with pebbles, the net was moving farther and farther out into the depths of the pond. Just a minute more, and she would not be able to recover her catch. “Oh no you don’t!” she cried, tossing out a line of silk. She just barely snagged the edge of the net. She tied herself down with more silk so that she wouldn’t be dragged into the water; and then she reeled in her catch.

It was a fight, but at last she beached them. Then she ran up to the still madly struggling mers and nipped each one, just enough to put them to sleep. When they were out, she slowly disentangled them from her trap. Next, she lined them up in a row, couple by couple. “That’s much more elegant!” she said. She secured them by pinning their arms to their sides with a tight wrap of web around the waist. She also glued their tail fins to the ground. When these labors were done, she collapsed and slept.

When she awoke, she looked at the sun and decided she must have been asleep for about two hours. Her catch was still unconscious, so she paused for a bit to admire it. All six had impossibly handsome faces. The girls were full-breasted, full-hipped; the boys well-built without being muscle-bound. The human half of each mer had pale, nearly white skin–except in the genital region, where the complexion turned distinctly rosy. The organs of generation were hairless. Each girl had a gentle swelling, crossed by a neat, tight slit. Each boy had a compact, firm pouch, very like a peach in appearance, and above the pouch a well-shaped spur, now semi-erect. Though unconscious, the merfolk shook from time to time; and now and then one would moan or gasp. “I’m capturing them in their dreams,” Minnalouche said out loud.

She waited about half an hour; then the spider decided it was time. A nip at each tail was enough to awaken them. They struggled for a while against her webbing–utterly in vain. The girls were crying, the boys on the edge of tears. Berengar, who seemed to be the dominant male in the group, glared at her and spoke.

“We’re not your prey!” he said. “This is . . . outrageous, and unlawful, and unfair!”

Unlawful? Minnalouche had never been much good at law. Could the boy be right? She applied a handy rule of thumb: when in doubt, bluster. “I’m Minnalouche, uh, Minnalouche the Mighty!” she said. “And I capture prey on land and sea!”

“You have no right!” sulked Berengar.

“Well, I’ve got you and I’m going to keep you . . . so there!”

Boudicca sobbed even harder and said: “Berengar! Help us, please!”

“I . . . I’m trying,” he said, “but this beast seems to be lawless. All right, beast, I’ll try a different tack. I’m sure even a creature as ignorant as you knows that mer-magic is very powerful. Each of us has stored up, against just such an emergency as this, a wish . . . a wish that we can bestow in return for a sworn promise to release us. That’s six wishes in all. What do you say to that?”

“Hmm,” said Minnalouche. “What would these wishes be for?”

“Any treasure your heart desires.”

“Silly mer-boy, spiders don’t want treasure! All they want is food–something you six have already given me!” More sobbing now from the girls.

“You . . . you don’t understand,” said Berengar, barely keeping his composure. “Any kind of treasure at all, including food. For example, you could wish for six merfolk to be dropped at your door on a daily basis. And every day, there they’d be, all trussed up and ready!”

“So, I’d never have to work at it again?” said Minnalouche.


“Never have to plan things down to the least detail; never have to stalk my prey; never run any risk of death or serious bodily injury . . . ?”

“You’ve got it!” said Berengar.

“I’m afraid,” said Minnalouche, “that you misunderstand me entirely. When I was little, I was told I’d be a great hunter someday. And since then, hunting is all that’s mattered to me: the planning, the stalking, the risk . . . and the thrill when I know beyond a doubt that all that toil and trouble have worked, and I’ve bagged what I set out to bag. No, I don’t need any magic wishes; I already have what I want.”

Berengar’s eyes were wide with fear; his beautiful frame was trembling–but still no tears. Ah, boys! Girls were more sensible about being caught; they went straight for the relief and comfort that weeping afforded. But boys needed to prove they were brave! It was sweet in a way, but it always meant some additional bother, since they were more likely to keep fighting. Minnalouche wanted no more bother. Berengar was the strongest of the boys, and where he went, Conrad and Skip would quickly follow. So, with no further ado, she straddled Berengar’s tail, plunged her fangs into his pouch, and pumped in just the right amount and mixture of poisons to get him ready for his final throes. Berengar screamed, and the other boys screamed with him. Then he began to sob, the tears rushing like rivulets down his splendid face. Soon Conrad and Skip were sobbing, too. The girls redoubled their efforts. In less than a minute, Minnalouche punctured the remaining pouches and pussies.

She looked at them now, all given up to despair, and spoke. “I’m not unmerciful,” she said. “I’ve laid each bride right next to her bridegroom. I’ll give you half an hour to do what you can and say what you want to say.” The three couples turned to each other for desperate kisses and final endearments. They could clasp each other’s hands, and so they did.

When the half hour had elapsed, Minnalouche started with Berengar. She gave another jolt of venom to his pouch, and he screamed obligingly. Then she placed her mouth-parts around his spur, as stiff now as any she had ever tasted. It wasn’t long before the trembling, thrashing mer-boy was spurting a rich white meringue, flavored like a mix of lemons, honey, and vinegar. He came repeatedly; but however much he came, she caught every drop. When his final orgasm had passed, it was time to take his other fluids, so her stomach muscles started up a powerful suction. At last, nothing remained of Berengar, except a transparent shell.

Then came Boudicca’s turn. She squealed when her pussy was pierced a second time, and shuddered when the spider’s mouth-parts were brought up snug against it. Soon she was giving Minnalouche one gout after another of girl honey. When the orgasms were through, Minnalouche sucked her dry, just like her lover.

During her lengthy preparations for this capture, Minnalouche had neglected to eat. As hungry as she was, she finished off the remaining couples, rather than save them for later. Then, her belly full almost to bursting, she staggered off to a shady spot for a well-deserved rest. She would not need to feed again for about a month. She was sleeping off her meal when Aranea came by.

“Hey! Can you hear me? Wake up!” Aranea said.


“Did you hear the news?”

“What news?”

“Six mers were killed by a landspider–a really greedy one by the looks of it. The merfolk have lodged a complaint. It seems there’s some obscure law or other that forbids that sort of thing. Whoever did it may wind up getting exiled.”

Minnalouche belched and said: “Gee, that’s terrible. What is the world coming to?”

“I don’t know,” said Aranea. She was giving her friend’s swollen abdomen a cool appraisal.

“What?” said Minnalouche.

“Oh nothing,” said Aranea. “Let’s go home.”

A note to the reader: Don’t feel sorry for Minnalouche. During her exile, she learned many new skills and became even more self-reliant. What’s more, she could eat all the merfolk she wanted!