The Spider Pt. 21

She prowled the domicile, angry, bored.

Hungry.

When would he be back?

Fuck him, she thought. I should have killed him when I had the chance.

Maybe next time I will!

She laughed to herself in the darkness, a hoarse, jagged laugh.

Abruptly she fell silent. She drank some of her water. She looked at the remains of some food he had brought her, half of a sandwich from some shitty chain and some potato chips. She picked the sandwich up, and absentmindedly took a bit and chewed it. She tasted none of it.

She dropped it back down onto the wax paper.

She walked over to the front door, and put her hand on the handle. It was brass, smooth, and warm.

She put her hand back down.

She noticed her hand was shaking again. Her head was starting to hurt, and the spots were starting to reappear in her vision. She gagged, and felt the terrible sandwich threaten to come back up.

She needed him to come back soon.

******************************

After what seemed like forever, the wall split open with the angry cold fire of the portals that he could create between worlds. He stepped through it, holding a paper bag and a small case. He put those on the floor, and walked over to where she stood, naked, her hands folded over her breasts, shaking despite the warmth.

He regarded her silently with his black eyes.

She stared up at him, her face a mixture of pain, and fear, with some defiance.

Without a word, he slapped her in the face with his oversized hand, hard.

She cried out as she fell to her knees.

"You know what you need to do," was all he said, and she began to fumble at his belt, ripping his pants open. His long, thick cock fell out, and without a word, she sucked him into her mouth.

Like a starving woman, she pulled on his cock with her mouth and lips, sucking desperately as his enormous phallus grew larger and more rigid. She looked up at him, towering above her, slurping and moaning on him.

Her pussy erupted with wetness as she pulled him in and out of her lips. His face was blank, expressionless as he looked down at her.

"Grind yourself into the ground," he demanded quietly, and she spread her legs and began to rub her cunt into to the cold, hard floor. It felt good to debase herself for him, and she slipped a finger into her sopping pussy as she sucked. She reached up, and gripped his cock at the root completely with her entire hand, his enormous cock still providing her with a tremendous amount of length to suck on.

She closed her eyes and sucked harder, faster. She began to orgasm from her fingers rubbing over her clit. But that wasn't what she needed- she needed his cum, she needed to drink from his dick.

She began to moan as she orgasmed, a high, whining moan of a desperate woman in need.

"Good girl," he said, and like a benevolent god, he began to squirt jets of warm seed into her mouth. She slurped and drank from his dick, gulp after gulp, her body shaking with orgasm after each swallow. He came far more than any other man she had ever seen, cumming for almost an incredible length of time- three minutes? Five minutes? She closed her eyes, lost in time, drinking everything that his cock had to offer her.

She opened her eyes as the spasming of his cock in her mouth slowed, her orgasm subsiding, her fingers falling out of her pussy and limply onto the floor. Her moans became more quiet and gentle, subsiding into contentment as she licked and rolled her tongue around his dick, searching for any last drops.

Finally he grabbed her hair and pulled her mouth off his cock. He walked over to the table. She watched his long dick swinging low between his legs, almost down to his knees as he went.

A warmth spread over her, a gentle peace overcame her. Her hands quit shaking, her head cleared. She felt right, like everything was as it should be again.

He took a seat at the simple wooden table.

"What have you done to me," she said quietly, wiping her lips, looking at the floor.

"I've made some changes to you," he said. "I might have done a more gentle job, but when you attacked me, I had to speed the process up. But essentially, you will die if you don't get that. You'll go insane and die in great pain if you don't get what comes out of my dick."

She made a barely audible word of protest.

"You'll be a slave to me," he went on. "You'll be my fist, my hammer. We'll go back to Earth soon, and you are going to be a good and obedient little slave. I also made changes to you that will make you follow my orders without much question, but even if you find the strength to resist me somehow, you'll soon come crawling back to get my cum in you somewhere, because the pain will grow to be too much for you otherwise. You'll crawl, and beg, and debase yourself in any way I want in order to get what you need."

"Oh god."

"When we are back home, you'll be as strong as you ever were. Don't worry about that. You'll be able to fly again, and you'll be my little avenging angel, flying to do my bidding. But despite your strength, you won't be able to hurt me. I made sure of that."

She said nothing.

"I, though, will be able to hurt you. I'll be able to hurt you just fine, and that's what I'm going to do, hurt and humiliate you until you learn to never question me, to only obey. Like I say, I might have been more gentle about this- I might have been more lenient. But your little attack on me means that your enslavement will be the most brutal it can be, and when I'm done with you, I'll discard you like you were nothing."

He kicked the bag that he had brought across the floor over towards her.

"Put that on. That is what you wear now."

She pulled the garments out of the bag and looked at them in the dim light.

"Say 'thank you'", he told her.

"Thank you."

"You stupid bitch. I don't think it's right to call you 'the Power' anymore, do you? That doesn't seem right. What do you think?"

She looked at him, her eyes begging him.

"I said what do you think."

"No," she said meekly, stepping into the clothing.

"No what."

"No, I'm not the Power. It wouldn't be right to call me that."

"And why not," he said, standing up, his cock swinging low between his legs as he came to stand towering over her.

She lowered her head.

"Because I'm a slave. I'm your slave."

******************************

Lynda arrived at work on Monday morning, fresh and ready for the week. She put her key in the door of the office, and opened it up. She stepped in, turning on the lights.

She went to her computer, and turned it on, walking in to the kitchenette to get a pot of coffee ready. She made an entire pot, in case any visitors came to the office, although no one had come by for weeks. When the coffee was done brewing, she poured herself a cup, added her creamer to it, and sat down at her desk.

She opened the work email account.

Nothing.

She checked the voice mail.

Nothing.

She sipped at her coffee. She opened up a web browser, and began to read the newspaper online.

The police were saying that the Red Eyes killing were over, she read. The details were few, but police were saying that the killer himself was dead, and that the murders were considered to be over. The mayor's office expressed thanks for the hard work of the City's police force, and urged the citizens to return to the calm of before the Red Eyes killer.

Well, that's good, she thought. I need to tell John and Amanda.

There was a knock on the door.

Startled, she put her coffee down. She went to the door, and opened it.

There was a very tall man there, in a grey suit and sunglasses, holding out a wallet with a badge on it. Next to him was a silver haired woman, who looked uncomfortable, as if she would rather be somewhere else.

No real surprise, Lynda thought. She's not wearing any clothing.

The woman was dressed in a high pair of boots, almost up to her knees. The woman also had on a bottom that was little more than what a bikini bottom would be, although made of a silvery metallic material. Her large breasts were covered by a simple and narrow metallic band that barely covered her nipples, Lynda thought, and was too tight, smashing the woman's breasts into her chest.

The only other thing the woman was wearing was a collar around her neck.

"Hello," the man said. "I'm Detective Stern. This is my associate- "

He waved his hand to indicate the woman, and frowned briefly in confusion.

"You know," he went on. "I don't really know what we call her. Anyway, may we come in?"

Lynda herself was confused, but she stepped backwards to allow the couple in.

"Would you like some coffee?" Lynda asked.

"You know, I would like some," the Detective said.

Lynda turned to the woman and offered her some coffee.

"She doesn't need any," the man answered for her. The woman looked down at the floor.

"OK," Lynda said hesitantly, and went to get the coffee.

When she returned, the man was sitting in one of the chairs. The woman was still standing there awkwardly in her uncomfortable outfit, looking down at the floor.

Lynda handed the man his coffee, and she took her seat behind her desk.

"What can I do for you, Detective?"

"It's very important to me that I speak to your boss, John."

"I'm sorry, sir. That won't be possible- I don't know where he is, and don't know when to expect him."

The Detective took a sip of his coffee, regarding Lynda behind her desk. He turned to the woman standing next to him.

"Go," was all he said, and the woman wordlessly walked over to one of the large windows, and opened it, looking down the dozens of stories to the bustling City below.

The Detective was watching her as she did that.

"The Fist," he said, absentmindedly, to no one.

"Excuse me?" Lynda asked.

The Detective came back to attention, looking at Lynda again.

"The Fist," he said. "That's what we'll call her. The Fist. She used to be the Power, you might have heard about her on the news, but I have broken her and now she does what I tell her. I guess she has an actual name- Emily or some shit- but I don't care about that. We'll just call her the Fist. Right, slut?"

"That's fine," the woman answered.

"She's a stupid bitch," the man said, turning back to Lynda. "It's too late for her to be anything else, unfortunately. But it's not too late for you."

He peered at the nameplate on her desk.

"Lynda. It's not too late for you, Lynda."

He took his sunglasses off, and Lynda gasped at the sight of his black and inhuman eyes.

"See, I know you are lying to me. I know that you know exactly where your boss is. I'll give you exactly forty eight hours to tell me where he is, or that will be the time that you die. I really don't care either way."

Lynda sat there, stunned, her mouth open and slack.

The man turned towards the Fist.

"Show her," he said, and the Fist walked towards Lynda and grabbed her arms. Lynda fought, and struggled, but the woman was stronger than anything that Lynda had ever seen. The woman dragged Lynda over to the open window, gathered Lynda up, and leapt out into the thin air, stories above the City.

Lynda screamed, but then with a burst the two of them were flying through the air, the Fist carrying Lynda as if she was nothing.

Lynda struggled to get her breath.

"He tells me that if you don't do what he says, I'm to take you high up into the sky, and drop you down so you die," the Fist said, dispassionately as they soared high above the City.

"You don't have to!"

"I think I do."

"I thought you were some kind of hero- the news said you were one of the good ones! That you were here to help us!"

"Things change. Now I do what I'm told. Hurt who I'm told to hurt. That'll be you, if you don't do what he says. I think I'll do it. I think I'll have to. I think I'll— I think I'll- take you up into the sky, and then watch you as you fall. I wish I could say otherwise."

The two women soared over the City on a sunny and cool morning.

"Please don't make me kill you."

******************************

When he got her home, he made her take off her boots, and crawl on the floor across his apartment and into his bedroom. He picked her up, and bent her over the bed. He roughly pulled the bottom half of her outfit down, and shoved his fingers into her.

"Wet little cunt," he said to no one in particular. "My little cunt. You'll be a good slave for me, and mindless fucking bitch that exists only to follow my orders."

He grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back as he shoved his fingers in and out of her pussy. He leaned over, whispered into her ear, told her that she was a slave, would never be any more than a slave. He unzipped his pants, let them fall, and kicked them out of his way.

"Please, Master," she begged, lifting her hips up to him. "Please."

He put his long fingers on either side of her hips, and positioned his thick cock head at the entrance of her wetness.

"You were a good little slave today."

"Yes, Master," she whined. "Please."

"You'll hurt her?"

She lowered her head to the mattress, shoving her slavecunt back towards him, trying to force his enormous cock into her, desperate to be filled by him. But he did not allow it.

"You'll hurt her?" He slapped his hand onto her ass, hard, the crack of sound and the pain focusing her attention.

She snapped her head back, looking up at him, begging him with her eyes to take her, and fuck her, and fill her up with the cum she could no longer live without.

"I'll hurt her!"

"You'll kill her?"

She almost sobbed in desperation.

"I'll kill her! I'll kill any of them! Please!"

He grabbed her more tightly, roughly, shoving the entire enormous length of him in her with one rough thrust. She screamed at the pain and the pleasure, her head falling down into the mattress, her grey hair spilling all over her.

"I'll kill them all!"

He growled, and fucked her like an animal. He rocked her hips back and forth on his huge cock, savagely sawing his dick in and out of her tight pussy.

She screamed, and moaned, and wadded the sheets up into her mouth, biting them. She began to erupt with orgasm as he ravaged her.

She began to tell him, unbidden, that she was his slave. That she was his property, his to use and discard as he saw fit. That he owned her, her pussy, and her mouth, and her virgin little asshole. She begged him to know that she would never disobey, would always do exactly as he wanted, that she was nothing more than a slave. A bitch. A bitchcunt slave who needed to be used and made to beg for cum from her master.

I'm nothing more, she told him. I'm nothing more than what you make me be, and I never will be anything more again.

Satisfied, he released his cock into her, filling her up with white hot bursts of cum, jet after jet of the life-giving substance that had enslaved her, while she screamed with orgasm and obedience after each one.

He gathered her up in his arms afterwards, and as she was half asleep, he told whispered his orders into her ear.

She listened raptly to every word.