A Fly in the Spider's Web

"Yes, my pet..."

I smiled, thrilled she responded to my desperate midday text.

"Can't stop thinking of you, my Queen," I replied, an electric mix of lust, desire, shame, and anticipation coursing through my body.

The memory and physical rawness of her freshly manicured nails, pointy and strong, scratching, pinching and brushing their way across my chest the day prior was driving me wild.

"Thinking about my nails, aren't you?"

"You know me so well."

"Put me on FaceTime and pull out my cock, pet, I want to see some worship strokes."

She knew I was in my office with the door shut. She also knew my assistant was right outside. Regardless, I was grateful to comply, even though I was met with a black screen -- camera off -- from her end.

"Oh, pet, we are nice and hard already, aren't we," she cooed.

The transition from text to hearing her honey-sweet voice brought a smile to my face. Who would ever guess that such an innocent pitch and cadence masked such a wonderfully deviant mind?

"Yes, Queen, so hard for you, even though I don't know what you are doing or wearing."

I knew it was desperate to fish for details. Admittedly, it turned me on to beg. She ignored my entreaty.

"Tell me how bad you want me pet, and speak from that freshly-scratched chest of yours. I am worthy of more than your hushed whispers."

"My Queen, I haven't been able to think about anything other than you all morning, and how lucky I am to serve you. The taste of your toes in my mouth. The warmth of your inner thigh against my cheek."

"Love seeing that precum, my obedient little slut."

While continuing to stroke with my right hand, I reached down with my left index finger, pressed it flat against the secretion pooling at the tip of my, er 'her' cock, and gently began thrusting against it.

"Go ahead and eat it, pet, I know you want to."

I did, indeed, and enjoyed the taste of its slick warmth in my mouth.

My Queen flicked her camera on suddenly, allowing me to admire how her darkly painted lips, fierce eyes and red hair complemented her perfect complexion. But even her beauty couldn't keep me from noticing the rush and flow of a local coffee shop over her shoulder.

She wasn't wearing earbuds, which means I'd been on speaker, which means...

My Queen smiled,

"Don't worry pet, everyone here is way too into themselves to listen in on us. Still, gives you a little thrill, to think they are, doesn't it my little exhibitionist?"

"It does, my Queen, it makes me so hard to think of someone eavesdropping on us and over-hearing my devotion to you. That I am your play-thing and ready to serve as it pleases you."

Pausing, I became pleasantly aware of how aggressively I had begun to thrust against my hand; my enlarged cock glistened with precum.

"Hands off your beautiful man-meat, my pet. I want to watch you play with your nipples while you settle down."

I looked at her with soft, pleading eyes.

"There will be plenty of time to finish later," my Queen said with a smile, her camera clicking over to black.

Had you told me several months ago that the scene above would turn me on, let alone be a central part of my life, I would have laughed the idea away in disbelief. My previous relationships had been wonderful, but were what I would now call decidedly, 'vanilla.'

Well into my 30s, life up to that point had been primarily dedicated to establishing myself as a working professional. Earning and maintaining a place in the meritocratic upper-middle class had been a near-all-consuming endeavor, and I rarely had the energy or time to pursue interests outside the corporate track. The exceptions were fitness and travel, both of which I guarded and valued as two endeavors that allowed me to feel truly alive.

As a result, I had plenty of cash, was surprisingly fit for my age, and had been fortunate to see the world.

I thought I had everything figured out, and then one day -- at the grocery store of all places -- I saw her.

To be honest, weirdly, the first thing I saw were her pants; tight, black, shiny leggings that revealed and flattered amazingly long legs and a tight, well-muscled ass.

"They are latex," she explained, after I'd worked up the courage to introduce myself and offer a compliment. "Made out of rubber, same as a car tire, believe it or not."

"Wow, well, I have certainly never seen a Goodyear shine or look quite so good," I replied. "By the way, I'm Thomas."

"So kind of you to say, Thomas. The shine comes from a lube," she said, pulling a small black bottle out of her purse. "If you think you can be a gentleman, hold out your hands."

I nodded and did so. She rewarded me by gently squirting a warm, clear liquid into each palm.

"It is silicone-based," she said. "If you would like, go ahead and re-shine me."

I paused, dumbstruck.

"Yes, here and now. Only catch is that I am going to film you," she said, pulling out her iPhone. "Consider it a trust exercise."

I warmed the lube between my hands, took a knee, and began at her ankles. The latex felt smooth and warm to the touch. Admiring the feel of her strong calves, I realized I didn't even know this sexy stranger's name.

"Kristen," she replied.

"Well, Kristen, this will definitely go down as my most memorable trip to Whole Foods," I said, working my way from her calves to her thighs.

A fellow shopper whizzed their cart hurriedly around us, casting a glance while pretending not to notice the unfolding scene.

Afterward, I asked for and Kristen declined to give me her number, laughing the question away as, "So old fashioned." Instead, she asked for and I provided my Instagram username. Nearly two weeks later, I received a direct message,

"You have been to some gorgeous places."

I am not a big social media guy, only using it to upload vacation photos. Still, I had been anticipating and hopeful for a note from the mysterious woman I had dubbed my "Grocery store vixen," to dis-believing friends.

Connected at last, I scrolled through her photo sets with a sense of awe.

Throughout, she was clad in a wide collection of latex outfits. Some, like the leggings I had seen her in at the store, were flirty but mainstream, while others were exotic and sexually charged. Regardless, it looked like each outfit had been perfectly fitted to her incredible, slender athletic body.

As my eyes feasted, an image sent my heart through the roof... it was of me!

I clicked it hurriedly and felt myself grow hard watching a short video clip of myself, on my knees in the grocery store -- face blurred obscuring my identity. Caption: 'Stranger, transfixed, lends me a hand in the baking aisle. Another vanilla corrupted!' Dozens of comments followed, emphasizing what a lucky guy I was.

This was a lot to absorb, and I took my time crafting a DM response,

"Yes, many beautiful places visited, but who knew I would find paradise in the baking aisle."

I waited a week for her reply,

"This is your blue pill, red pill moment. Click here at 9pm tonight if you care to continue."

At the appointed hour I did just that from the comfort of my living room, with a double of Japanese whiskey at my side to help calm the jittery nervousness of the unknown.

The link opened to a webcam feed. On it, I saw my grocery store vixen, seated comfortably in an oversized chair, completely done-up and looking stunning in a semi-transparent purple latex catsuit, over-the-knee black patent leather boots, and elbow-length black latex opera gloves.

As I took in the scene, she looked directly into the camera, winked, and made a come-hither motion to someone outside the frame. On cue, a figure clothed from head-to-toe in inky black latex crawled to her on hands and knees, stopping just short of her booted feet. He, at least I assumed it was a he, wore a hood with no holes cut for the eyes or ears.

I watched on in awe as Kristen leaned forward and unzipped a zipper at his crotch, allowing a robust cock to spring free. She looked at the camera, smiling again at her hidden audience. Then, she leaned back and began teasing the strapping man's crotch with the pointed heel of her boots. Not violently, but not without force or intent, either.

I could hear the man alternatively moaning and begging Kristen, whom he called 'Mistress,' for more.

She obliged and told him to begin stroking himself. While he did so, she continued to grind one boot into the man's crotch, while offering the heel of the other up to his face to suck on, all-the-while playing with herself and telling him what a good rubber slut he was being.

While I was no prude, I had never seen or even dreamt of anything remotely like this before. Part of me wanted to turn off the feed and un-see what was happening, but another -- more primal -- part of me was transfixed by this most unusual mutual masturbation session. Almost unconsciously, I pulled out my own cock and began stroking myself along with the action.

Eventually, Kristen guided the blinded man between her open legs and allowed him to cum all over them and her boots in one long, violent ejaculation. Post-nut, without needing to be told, he leaned down and began cleaning his seed off her latex-clad body in a slow, deliberate manner with his tongue while she enjoyed a glass of red wine.

Once satisfied with his work, Kristen planted a still-booted foot square on the man's chest and kicked him onto his back. Then, she crawled down over and onto his body like a spider, unzipped her own catsuit's crotch zip, and mounted her prize.

Watching her buck up against and ride the man's large, ample cock, I surprised myself by cumming longer and harder than I recalled being capable of. Alone but a bit embarrassed, I fell back exhausted, and took a sip of my whiskey. Then, I reached for my phone and sent Kristen a DM,

"Thank you for allowing me to see that -- you were a vision! May I express my appreciation by taking you to dinner?"

She was surprisingly quick to accept, and I was delighted to be seated, waiting for her, in a very respectable French bistro the very next evening.

Kristen arrived looking every inch the proverbial girl next door, right down to the comfortable pair of chic Tiek flats adorning her feet.

"I sincerely hope you weren't expecting fuck-me boots," she said, catching me staring.

And just like that, she owned the evening.

Over several courses and a very nice bottle of Grand Cru Bordeaux, Kristen explained how just a year earlier she was, very much like me, simply going through the motions. A relatively recent university graduate already on the fast-track with a corporate job, the pandemic had forced her to slow down and re-evaluate her path. Subsequently, she discovered a fetish for latex, which led to a particularly satisfying discovery of exhibitionism.

"There were 120 other perverts and looky-loos online with you last night watching me mount that studly gimp," she said, as the startled waitress topped off our glasses of wine. Kristen looked up at her, smiled warmly and continued, "All my life I have had to be something for others... my parents and friends, then professors and classmates, and now colleagues and bosses. While I have never been a wallflower or pushover, it felt like the true me was getting swallowed up and defined by others. So, I flipped the switch and took control. And you know what, it was easier than I thought. Now I can't, and don't want, to turn it off."

I nodded, transfixed.

"Hand me your glass, Thomas."

I did, and she took her time delicately swirling the dark purple liquid within, examining it.

"It is terrific wine, Thomas, thank you for ordering it," she said.

Without waiting for a response, Kristen brought my glass to her lips, enjoyed a long, graceful sip, swished the liquid between her cheeks, and spit it eloquently back into the glass. Then, without missing a beat, she stuck a long, manicured nail into the wine, used the pointed tip to give it a stir, and set the glass back down.

"Lick," she said, extending her wine-soaked nail, and I did.

"Now drink," she said.

"You are a good man, Thomas," she continued, as I sipped my wine. "Educated, affluent, powerful within your sphere of influence -- you are going places. I respect all of that about you. And along with your good looks and fitness, well, they are what brought me to this table tonight."

"Thank you, Kris-..."

"Shhhh, shhh,shh... it is alright Thomas, I know you are grateful," she said, stopping me cold.

"It isn't just about gratitude, Kristen," I interjected firmly. She paused, surprised, and allowed me to continue. "This, all of this is just so, so -- wow. I mean, I have never met anyone remotely like you. I'm intrigued, but honestly a bit frightened, too."

Kristen leaned back and laughed, "Frightened, Thomas, really..."

She continued,

"Let's be honest. You barely know me, but within minutes of seeing me for the first time you were willing to rub my rubber-clad legs with lube in the middle of a Whole Foods. Then, you watched me fuck another guy on a video feed and asked to buy me dinner. Now, in the midst of a global pandemic, you are willing to drink wine that I back-washed into and lick it off my fingers."

I blushed.

"And all of a sudden, he's embarrassed and speechless," Kristen said with a laugh. "You should be afraid, Thomas. And not afraid because of what I might do to you. No. Afraid because of what you will beg me to do to you."

I sat, speechless.

"That gimp you watched me with last night, he's a man, Thomas. All the same flesh and bones, hopes and desires that you have. Heck, you might know him. Believe it or not, he skipped out on his youngest daughter's piano recital to be with me last night. God knows what he told his wife."

I couldn't help myself, "His wife..."

"Absolutely, Thomas, his wife of fifteen-plus years I believe. That is between the two of them. What I know and what matters to me is that last night he cooked me an amazing dinner, ran me a bath, dressed me in that catsuit I bet you absolutely loved and then let me tease and ride him to my heart's content."

"You did look amazing," I offered.

"Oh yea, and here's another little detail to get your heart racing, Thomas. After I turned the cam off, I sat on that masked face of his until he licked and sucked all of his cum from my still-throbbing womanhood. Led to one of the best orgasms of the night, truth told. And here's the crazy thing, I didn't ask him to do any of that. He offered!"

Kristen gestured for the check. As the waitress took my AmEx Platinum, she looked my date in the eye, said, "You are amazing," and slipped her a card with her phone number on it. Kristen flashed the waitress a grin as she pocketed the digits.

Then, she turned back to me and continued,

"Thank you for dinner, Thomas. It was very generous, and I like the chemistry I feel between us. I'm going to give you my number once, and you are going to have to remember it. If you choose to continue our relationship -- if it isn't clear yet -- understand that I am my own person and undefinable. I am not a slut, but I can be slutty. I am not a princess, but sometimes I wear a crown. Moreover, know that while I don't know what shape, if any, our relationship might take, it is for my pleasure and on my terms."

I nodded.

Later that night, lying in bed and unable to help myself I texted,

"Amazing night, thank you."

And my new life began.