Fist of the Spider Woman (2 page)

Patty is a wicked schoolgirl with an SM fetish. Underneath her plain black skirt is a honking big strap-on (Patty makes a mental note: purchase harness and dildo, a formidable dildo). At her command he will get on his hands and knees and enjoy the rug burn, the pathetic motherfucker. Patty is a vicious cunt in bondage gear, with a whip and not afraid to use it, slave. Patty likes to be tied up, chained up with needles through her nipples, getting burned to blood black with cigarettes and branding irons. Patty enjoys biting and being bitten, hard, like a starved vampire. She also enjoys bestiality; triple, quadruple penetration; and feverish, drugged-up sex parties. Sex parties have lots of drugs. What kinds of drugs will Patty's sex party have? Patty is in the middle of being gangbanged, which means violence and overwhelming numbers of cocks at once. Patty is the one with the cock, and she is making him eat it, swallow it, gag.

“You're not giving me much to go on,” he says. He has been talking all this time, but Patty hasn't been listening.

She will smear his forehead with menstrual blood, then slice a line in his lower abdomen and rub her face in his blood and guts. And shit. Shit will be smeared everywhere. She will hang him upside down, ankles chained together and thighs smeared with shit. She will leave him there with her formidable dildo in his asshole and slashes in his heels so he cannot walk when she unties him. She will be ruthless and loyal. After she slashes his heels, she will check in with a Baby, Are You Okay? Tell Me You're Okay, and take out his gag so he can say so. Then she will shove the gag back down his throat, kneel before him and masturbate where he can see her, inches from his nose and mouth.

Patty shrugs, smiles lazily over at her date, lost in her dreaming. His tongue in her mouth is slithery and warm, then a lifeless slab of muscle to her weak response. Fumbling and finally dead.

Retracted.

Patty clenches and unclenches her thighs, faster, faster, until she is done.

When she is done, she thanks him, saying, “We should do it again sometime.”

Then she slams the car door and hurries through the rain to her apartment building, stepping on a slug that's sprawled out to suck in the moisture. Ugh, that squish. She scrapes the slug-guts off on the doorstep and lets herself inside.

There are dishes in the sink. Patty leaves them. She grabs a used glass and fills it with filtered water. Gulps it down. Stands there with her fingers on her lips, thinking he wasn't so bad. She could have been nicer. She could have tried harder. Made something happen. But what had he looked like? She remembers the nervous gurgling in particular. The meek way he cleared his throat.

The tapping on the steering wheel, anxious and impatient.

She had made him impatient. That's funny. She had had an effect. He probably would've been too safe in bed, anyway. He would've wanted her to act like a girl.

Everyone is always too safe. What do normal people do? They take off their shoes and makeup and go to bed.

Patty takes off her shoes and makeup and goes to bed. Patty has not closed her window, despite the drizzle, which has now turned to rain. It is raining hard. The rain is hard. Hard rain.

Getting harder. The rain is getting harder and harder until it is too hard for anyone to handle.

Patty, close the window! Patty, close the window!

But Patty does not close the window.

Once, a long while ago, Patty was in love with a man she met online. He, [email protected], had responded to an ad, or she had responded to his, and they had had a feverish exchange confessing their own and encouraging one another's perversities. He would write dutifully every morning; she would respond before retiring for the night. In their emails, they would each describe her or his every desire in obsessive detail, carefully crafting fetish after fetish with the intent to elicit the most violent desire and intrigue. For Patty, masturbation had never been so good.

After a time, they began to write erotic stories for each other. Patty wrote rottingdonquix a story modelled on the
Story of O,
in which O grew a cock and turned the tables on her Master, reducing him to the most obsequious and pathetic of slaves. Rottingdonquix responded with a story inspired, she found out later, by Sacher-Masoch, in which his Venus was covered in fur, rather than wearing furs, for she was a vampiric werewolf who feverishly desired to suck the blood from the narrator's cock. Patty wrote him another story in which Bataille's bull's eye is passed back and forth from orifice to orifice until finally, in the midst of passionate intercourse, it bursts in the protagonist's throbbing cunt. He had written back with an overwrought masturbation fantasy revolving around an onyx engagement ring. Upon reading it, she experienced the strong stench of rotten eggs, and could not bring herself to reply.

Weeks passed.

One day, missing the thrill of rottingdonquix's emails, Patty wrote him with the suggestion that they meet in person. He agreed. He was fat and ugly. She left with a sneer on her face. That was the end of love.

Patty is in her bed masturbating. She has tied her date up with fishing line that cuts into his skin, leaves blood blisters pooling subcutaneously. She does the same with his cock, which is always fully erect, engorged even, then kneels in front of him, makes eye contact, and extracts her tongue slowly, torturously, until the tip just touches the head of his cock. He moans behind his gag. Saliva gets stuck in his throat and he tries to clear it, takes two tries, three, is perpetually clearing his throat. Patty's tongue has not moved from its tentative perch on the tip of his cock. Then she lurches forward to wrap it around the head while grabbing the ends of the fishing line with her hand and tugging, gently, gently, until he comes. He comes five more times as she frees his cock from the fishing line.

Patty does not come, because Patty's fantasy is dumb. Mindless SM drivel. Patty can do better. Patty tries again.

Patty is masturbating. Patty grows a cock and it extends, fully engorged and throbbing with sensation. Patty's cock extends and extends, quivering in the air it is exposed in, then slowly curves backward and into her cunt. Patty's cock tentatively probes her cunt before beginning to fuck it, first leisurely, then hard, pummeling it in sync with the hard rain outside. Patty's cock and Patty's cunt come at the same time. Patty comes. Patty drifts off.

Patty still has not closed the window. Tap, tap. Tap.

Slug hangs down from the top of the window, suctioning his wet body, his enormous foot, to the exterior pane. There is a loud and sustained
squerk
as Slug navigates the windowpane at his infuriatingly slow pace. Patty stirs from her half-sleep. Two sets of tentacles probe the glass. Tap, tap. Tap.

The incoming air is cold and moist. Patty stirs again, shivers.

Her nipples tighten. Slug's tentacles fidget impatiently as they work to gauge the size of the opening. The open window is not wide enough for Slug's impressive girth, but Slug is both lubricated and stretchy. He begins the process of entering her room.

Patty blinks.

Slug is six feet of pure muscle struggling to get through her window. Slug is a rippling lump of skin shimmering with beads of rain on top of a more general wetness. Slug is multicoloured, translucent, eyeless, faceless, hairless. Slug's intricate underbelly is lined with undulating muscles that tremble against the pane, excreting stickiness, excreting slime.

Patty, torn between horror and desire, cannot bring herself to look away.

By now Slug has pushed a quarter of his body through the window, attaching himself to the other side of the glass. He pulls himself further forward, inch by thick inch, up the glass until his full length is inside. A pause, a shudder of slick skin, before he continues. He crawls along the wall, staining it with his wet trail as he nears her bed. Hanging down, he fills her nostrils with the smell of fresh soil. His tentacles toy with her hair.

Slug curves toward her, his back end vertical, attached to the wall, his front end suctioning itself to her shoulder, kneading her skin with his underbelly, like an introduction, like saying hello. Patty sucks in her breath.

Hello. He twists toward her head. Soon there is mucus creeping through her hair. His front end gropes her forehead, sticky lubricant oozing into her brows, clumping her eyelashes together, choking her nasal passage with a swamp musk. She opens her mouth to breathe. He enters, gropes around, sucks on her tongue noisily with the front portion of his foot, and pushes forward until her throat closes up and rejects him. He pulls himself out with reluctance, works his way to her torso. Past her chin, along her neck, he slurps noisily, slowly, taking his time. The bedsprings bark. As he moves forward, he shoves her camisole down, the thin straps breaking, and flattens both breasts with his weight, his belly gripping and releasing her nipples rhythmically. She finds herself making soft gurgling sounds deep in her larynx. Slug gurgles in reply.

Then he slugs himself down, less leisurely now, hugging the curves of her abdomen, his tentacles seeking her tunnel. Slowed by an unruly nest of hairs, his lubricant smooths the way, and— at last—he probes her slit, first tentative, then with force. He inches forward, nudging her thighs apart. Patty's hands claw at the sheets. The wind rustles trees outside. The wind enters the room triumphantly, amplifying the scent of swamp that is beginning to suffocate Patty.

Slug surges forward, stretching himself taut, easily eight feet long, digging, digging as deep as he can, the bed creaking with every insatiable thrust. Lodged inside her vulva, his front half shifts to suit her, curving back and downward. The rest of his body, resting on her torso, kneads her flesh raw. Under his weight, she struggles to further open her thighs. It is difficult— he is massive, his skin so slippery—but she needs to show him: more, please more. She wants all of him. Slug manages to pull a few more inches of his body inside, his trembling underbelly attacking her canal from all angles, speeding its tempo to frantic bursts. Faster. Harder. Her muscles tense. Faster. Harder.

Almost. Slug gently chews the insides of her vagina, bringing her to excessive climax. Patty arches, kicks, sucks in so deep she nearly swallows her tongue.

The room is heavy with dampness. Slug slows to a hum.

Then he extracts himself slowly, the suction stubborn, painful to break, and rests on top of her, his underbelly engulfing her whole body in its folds.

Slug has crushed Patty.

Slug kisses Patty. Slug kisses Patty until Patty can't breathe.

Slug is in her nostrils and mouth. Slug's mucus drips down her throat and fills her lungs. Slug's mucus fills her body. Patty is drenched in Slug, stuck in him, inextricable. Her eyes are slimed shut, her hair slimed into new skin. Her face is slimed into an amorphous blob. Patty tries to move, but Slug's weight prevents her. She chokes a little, learning how to breathe again.

His work done, Slug releases her and crawls up onto the wall behind her. He creeps back over to the window and perches there, his head turning toward her, his tentacles dancing. He emits a gurgle. It seems to mean Come With Me.

Though she cannot see the limbs that are no longer there, Patty understands that her body has changed. She rolls onto her belly, finding that she can feel where she is with two sets of tentacles attached to what used to be her face. She tries to talk but can only gurgle back.

Slug nods; he understands.

Patty follows Slug through the trees behind her apartment building, their slime smoothing them over wet leaves and limp twigs, over thin gravel, the occasional rotting pine cone, until they come to a heavy dampness under a half-fallen tree trunk. Slug turns back and nudges her playfully, his tentacles fondling hers. Then he leads her up the trunk and out onto one of its outstretched limbs. There they mate, Slug showing her how to wrap around his length as he wraps around hers, so that they are like DNA strands, like corkscrews, hanging down from the limb on one rope of slime. It is easy, like love, this full-body writhing. For a long while they are content to lick each other, lapping up one another's slime and producing more in its place.

This is the wettest Patty has ever been. Her body is in full tremble, every pore of her skin secreting slime, every nerve channelling excitement.

Suddenly she feels a new sensation: her cock is beginning to protrude translucent from her mantle to wrap around Slug's protruding cock, its sensitivity heightened with every tingle of the wind. Like their bodies, their cocks writhe around each other until they are inextricably intertwined. Then their cocks begin to expand, throbbing and massive, together forming an intricate flower that dangles down from their hanging bodies.

Patty and Slug tighten their embrace further and further still, in sync with their pulsating cocks. Tighter, tighter, tighter; their cocks throb, begging for release. Finally they ejaculate, each fertilizing the other in an extended climax that stops time and thought.

Patty is dizzy. Patty is exhausted. But Patty has more work to do.

Because slugs' cocks often get stuck together after mating, the chewing off of one or both cocks is sometimes called for, and because slugs are hermaphrodites, this is totally not a big deal. Because Slug's cock is stuck in Patty's cock, Patty must begin to chew it away, being careful not to chew off her own cock in the process. As Patty gently chews, Slug writhes around her body and gurgles in pleasure, in pain. When she is done, Slug drops down and sprawls on the leaf-matted forest ground for a moment, recovering. Then he creeps away.

Now Patty is alone, dangling precariously from the tree limb.

She tries swinging herself over to the trunk but, fatigued, cannot build momentum. Like her lover has done, she allows herself to fall from the rope of slime to the soft ground. Though the fall is not long, the impact stings her still hypersensitive skin.

Here Patty rests. What will Patty do next?

Patty will leave the forest. She will creep back to her home.