CN Flower vs. The Spider Ch. 05

The Fly Comes Back for More

For CN Flower, Toronto's most confused superheroine, there was no pretence of going out on patrol the next night. She just wanted to see him again. To be his. The only restraint she enforced on herself was to wait until after dark, so at least people in the steely-eyed man's neighbourhood wouldn't notice the superheroine's motorcycle in his driveway all day.

She put on her costume and her cowl, drove to him, and rang the bell once more. When he answered he simply turned around and walked back into the house, leaving the door open. She entered, closing the door behind her, and followed him.

He led her down to the basement, to a sparsely populated room. There was nothing in it but a chair and a piece of furniture she recognized from some BDSM porn she'd seen: it was kind of like a sawhorse, but she'd be tied down on it, belly-down, arms and legs tied down to the four sides. There was some padding on it, which indicated that he might want her to be strapped to this contraption for a long period of time. She'd be helpless, as she had already been a couple of times at his hands. She felt fear at the prospect, but also a tingling in her pussy which reinforced to her how much she'd enjoyed being this man's sexual object the past two nights. She wondered about the purpose of the chair: how long would he keep her strapped to the sawhorse, watching and contemplating her, before he'd let her have the cock she was now craving?

Without a word, he began helping Flower out of her costume. He was almost tender about it, which surprised her; she never knew what to expect from this mysterious man. She was soon standing nude before him, wearing only her cowl, and she tentatively moved a hand up to remove it, but he shook his head, so she left it on.

He took her hand and led her over to the sawhorse, and she laid down on top of it. As her arms draped down on the sides she could feel the pressure of her breasts against the plank upon which she laid. Her legs draped down the side and she could feel her most intimate parts being spread and exposed to him, hanging slightly off the back. So intense was this man's power over her that her pussy was already starting to feel moist, and all the more as he began to tie the straps which would hold her to the sawhorse by her wrists and ankles.

Once she was tied down, he put a blindfold over her eyes, stealing one of her senses. Then, after only a moment or two, she felt his cock sliding into her, and moaned in delight. She'd been waiting for this!

With only a couple of thrusts he was all the way in. His cock felt different than it had before; her memory was obviously not accurate when it came to this man. It felt longer, probing deeper into her than it had before, but it didn't feel quite as thick as she remembered. But the details weren't important, what was important was that she was getting what she'd wanted for two days: his cock buried deep in her pussy, fucking her, pounding her, taking her, making her his.

Before long she felt her climax building. She closed her eyes (unnecessary with the blindfold, but it was a habit), and allowed herself to be fucked to orgasm. As she reached the moment, she heard one word from him: "Now." She was obviously disoriented, because it sounded like his voice was coming from in front of her, rather than behind. Thinking he was talking to her, she allowed her body the release it craved, giving in to the orgasm that was overtaking her, at the same moment that the blindfold was removed from her eyes. She opened them, only to see that the steely-eyed man was not fucking her from behind, he was sitting in the chair, fully clothed, watching her. She was already cumming, her pussy convulsing around the cock in her pussy, as she looked into the eyes of the man whose cock she had been craving.

So who was inside her now?

As she began to come down from her climax -- which didn't take long because of the shock which had been thrown at her -- she looked around the room and saw that there were a number of men here with her, naked, some of whom were stroking hard cocks. She felt the cock slide out of her pussy, and it was almost immediately replaced with another, while the first man came around to slide his cock into her mouth. She could taste her own juices as she closed her mouth over it.

Using some of the technique she had learned the previous night, she allowed the cock into her throat, gagging slightly but managing to breathe, but he was definitely fucking her throat, she wasn't in control, so it was more difficult than it had been last night. Soon the anonymous cock was firing cum down her throat. The sensation of having a cock slide into her pussy while another slid into her mouth was unique and confusing; coupled with the sensation of her breasts being mashed against the sawhorse and her clit rubbing against the padding as she was fucked from behind, and given the confusion of the fact that neither of these two men were the ones she'd come here intending to fuck, it was hard to process all of the sensations.

Once the cock in her mouth had finished cumming -- and to her, that's all these were, cocks, not men -- she immediately felt the one behind her pull out, and both of her holes were almost immediately filled again, as the "assembly line" continued: a new man started fucking her, and she started sucking her juices off of the cock that had just been withdrawn from her pussy.

She was soon swallowing more cum, and having another orgasm of her own. The pleasure of the moment overcame her confusion, and she allowed herself to be purely a body for the recipient of cocks, cum, and her own orgasms. As more men fucked her pussy and came in her mouth -- or, occasionally, came on her face -- she stopped thinking about where she was, and simply sucked and came. She swallowed as much of the cum as she could, but occasionally she felt some pooling in her mouth and leaking out down her chin. This reinforced her wanton slutiness: she coated in cum inside and out; it was on her cowl, and under it, and in her hair, and dribbling down her chin. She was simply living, at this moment, for the pleasure of another.

And she did feel that she was doing this for the pleasure of one single man, not the horde of men who were pumping semen into her body. This was not for their sake, it was for the sake of the man who was sitting in a chair, casually watching her get fucked for him. Whenever she would feel a climax building inside her, she would look him in the eye, and maintain his gaze as she came around another anonymous cock, moaning or screaming into whichever cock was in her mouth or throat at the time.

Eventually she worked her way through all of the men in the room. Her cunt was raw and swollen from the pounding it had taken, and she could feel her own juices leaking out and drying around it. There was no semen leaking from her pussy, the men had obviously been instructed to keep this off limits, but there was more than enough in her stomach and drying on her face, not to mention a bit on her back, from some eager man who hadn't been able to wait for his blowjob. She felt hands untying her from the restraints around her wrists and ankles, and then she was lifted from the sawhorse and carried to the steely-eyed man, who was still sitting in his chair.

She was lifted higher, and then her ass was lowered down onto his cock. Once again, she felt him entering her where no one else had ever gone, until he filled her. Having her desire fulfilled, she willed strength back into her limbs, hands which had been holding her were removed, and she held herself up by her own power. She straddled him on the chair, looked him in the eye, and began to slide her ass up and down his cock, feeling him push into her, filling her, making her whole.

Eventually the man had her stand up and turn around. She bent over and placed her hands on the sawhorse for support, and he took her ass from behind. He really was taking her, now: gripping her by the waist and mercilessly fucking her ass, occasionally spanking this or the other ass cheek, as she held onto the sawhorse for support and took it. Took him.

When he came inside her, she moaned louder than he did. (She didn't actually hear a sound from him, but assumed he must have moaned. His sounds were probably masked by her own. Right?) He released her, and she collapsed to the floor, spent and satiated.

She looked up at him, expectantly, waiting for whatever would come next, and he uttered the longest sentence she'd yet heard from him: "You may go."

He left her alone in the room. She hadn't even noticed when the other men had left; probably while he was fucking her silly. She put her costume back on, climbed the stairs and left.

As she rode her motorcycle through the summer night, toward her home, her asshole felt loose (would she ever get used to being fucked there?), and she could feel the dried cum in her hair inhibiting it from blowing in the wind as freely as it normally did.

The Web is Gone

The following night Flower followed her new pattern. Foregoing any thought of going out on patrol, she simply waited for nightfall, donned her cowl and costume, and rode to the steely-eyed man's house.

She immediately noticed a difference. There were no lights on, which was not unusual, but there was a preternatural silence about the place which she could not explain. With dread in her heart, she didn't even bother ringing the bell. She tried the door and found it unlocked. She went inside and turned on the lights, illuminating the emptiness within. She wandered around the rooms, visiting the library where she'd first laid eyes on him (and bared her breasts to him), lingering in the hallway where he'd trapped her in the window and the bedroom where he'd given her her first ass fucking, then going down to the basement where a dozen men had abused her for his pleasure. There was not a stick of furniture in the house, nor any other sign that anyone had ever been here. The only thing preventing her from going crazy was the lack of dust; if she'd found the floors coated in dust, like some kind of horror movie, she would surely have come unhinged.

As it was, there was no mystery. The man had simply left. Left the house, and left her.

And as she stood there, processing this new information, it occurred to her: she still didn't know what, if any, illegal activities had been going on in the house, to draw her there in the first place.

Author's Note

This story was inspired by an earlier story from someone named Mr. X, which was posted to alt.sex.stories in 1996. In fact, this story is specifically inspired by a scene in Mr. X's story in which a [copyrighted] superheroine is trapped in a window and taken from behind, which stuck in this author's mind for almost 20 years before he wrote this story. (Another detail stolen from that story is her masturbating the next day, though this version of the story takes a linear approach whereas Mr. X's story is told as a flashback.) This is not a retelling of Mr. X's story, the two stories are completely different, it simply steals Mr. X's idea of the superheroine being trapped in a window and taken from behind (and, in these notes, acknowledges the source).