The Spider Pt 05

The phone rang in John's office.

"Yes, Lynda?" he asked, picking it up.

"There's an Officer Sanders here to see you," Lynda told him.

"Ah. Send him in."

A couple of moments passed, and the door to John's office opened, with Lynda ushering in Officer Rex Sanders, today in his full police blues. John had never seen Rex in his uniform before today, outside of television, that is. Rex never was wearing it when John would drop by to visit Rex, and his wife.

"Hello Rex," John said. "Thank you Lynda."

Lynda turned to go.

"Oh, Lynda?" John interrupted her.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Can you make me an espresso in a few minutes or so? No hurry."

"Of course John," she said. "I'll get started on that directly. I assume that you want this to be decaffeinated? It's almost three o'clock."

"Yes, Lynda, that might be best," John said. "I have a hard time sleeping at night with afternoon coffee sometimes, as you know."

Officer Sanders remained standing, looking at John, and Lynda, and back again while they discussed John's coffee drink. He didn't say anything, he just stood there holding a manila folder stuffed to overflowing with papers.

"You know Lynda, let's make it a regular espresso. I have a long night ahead of me again."

"Very good John," Lynda said, crisply and professionally.

Lynda closed the door with a click.

"How are you Rex?" John asked. "And your wife? She's well?"

Officer Sanders cleared his throat.

"She's well. I'm well. I... have what you asked for."

"Wonderful, Rex. Just bring it over here."

Officer Sanders walked over and placed the folder on John's desk, and remained standing. John didn't offer him a seat. John picked up the folder, and began to look through it, skimming some things, leaning in to read another item more closely at times. John read through the folder for a few minutes or so, silent all the while.

"This is everything?" he said, looking up at the officer, finally. "All the information that your department has about the Spider?"

"Yes... yes, sir."

"Good."

John continued to look through the folder. He didn't bother to look up at the officer, but if he had, he would not have been surprised at seeing the range of emotions play out on the man standing before him. There was hope, and fear, and longing at times, acceptance at others. John noticed none of it.

"I had to take a lot of risks to get all that," Officer Sanders finally blurted out. "A lot of it was well above my pay grade."

Visibly annoyed, John looked up at the man again.

"But you did get

all

of it?"

"Yes! Of course. Just like you asked me."

John just stared blankly at the officer standing before him, looking deeply into the other man's eyes. John said nothing. The officer before John looked back at John, saying nothing at first, his mouth open slightly.

"Master," the officer whispered. "Just like you ordered, Master."

"Good," John said. John's eyes kept boring into the officer's. Officer Sanders stood rigidly, his eyes wide, and glassy, open and seeing only his Master's eyes, hearing only his Master's voice.

"Today is going to be your last day on the force, then," John told him. "You are going to leave here, and quit the police force immediately. You are never going to seek to be a police officer ever again, in the City, or anywhere else. Do you understand me?"

Officer Sanders looked like he was choking, struggling to breathe. His body was rigid. The veins and muscles on his neck were standing prominently as he fought an unseen battle inside himself.

Suddenly, it was all over. The cop exhaled, and his body slumped. The officer stood in front of John, his shoulders turned in on himself, his head lowered, his arms hanging uselessly at his side. His body had gone soft, and compliant, with the notable exception of his penis, which had become stiff and rigid in his police issue blue trousers.

"Yes, Master. I understand."

"Good. You will go home to your wife. She has divorce papers already signed and ready to go. She's had them for a while now, she and I have talked about it and she knows what she needs to do. She's going to give them to you, and you are going to sign them. You won't fight this divorce in any way. You will never seek to contact her again. Understand?"

The officer could only nod. His hard little dick sent jets of pleasure and compliance through his body, radiating from his hips and up to his brain. His mouth was dry, his breathing shallow. It felt good to be obedient. It felt good to be submissive to the other man.

"She'll come to me. I'm going to keep her for a while. I'll make sure that she's very happy for the rest of her life, set her up with a new marriage to a better person than you, and make sure she has all the money she'll ever need to be comfortable. None of that is your business any more, of course. But I want you to know that I'll take care of her. I like her... I like her a lot. There's something very special about her, maybe you knew that at some point, I don't know. Anyway, she deserves a lot better than you, and I'll see that she gets it."

The officer finally, after a long time, blinked his eyes and looked up. His cock twisted and throbbed in his underwear as he listened to the orders that would end his life as he'd known it. Whatever part of him ever wanted to resist the man sitting at the desk before him was extinguished, and in its place only obedience, and need, and pleasure at obedience that could come close, but never quite fill, the need that now controlled his every heartbeat.

"You'll sell your house. You don't need to share any of that money with your wife, I'll take care of her financially better than you ever could. You'll take the money from the sale of your house. You'll move out of the City, I don't care where you go, but you'll never return here again- "

"Please..."

"Yes?"

"Please, Master," the officer croaked.

"My decision is final," John told him. "I'm surprised you can still resist me enough to beg, actually. But you'll quit the force and leave your wife."

"No, I..."

John leaned back in his chair as he regarded the once proud police officer begging before him.

"Ah," John said. "I get it. You don't want me to send you away. You want to keep being my slave. Of course."

The officer fell to his knees in front of John, lowering his head.

"Please, Master," he said to the floor. "Please. I need to be owned by you. I need you so bad. I'll... I'll do whatever you want."

The door opened, and Lynda came in with the espresso. She had made it piping hot, with a single sugar cube on the side, and a slim twist of lemon zest, the way John liked it to be served. She looked briefly at Officer Sanders, on his knees in front of her boss, begging. She took little notice of it. She stepped past the officer without comment and handed John his espresso.

"Master..." the officer went on. "You can fuck me; any time you want. Just like you do my wife when you make me...

let

me watch. I'm your slave. You can fuck my asshole in front of my wife, you can fuck me right now on your floor. Please. Please, I need to be filled by my Master... it's all I can think about, I can't sleep..."

Lynda bent over, and crumbled the sugar cube into John's espresso with her fingers, letting the sugar melt into the viscous hot drink.

"I'll suck your cock... please let me taste you... I need to feel my mouth filled with you, need to drink from your

dick

, Master..."

Lynda turned and looked down at the man begging on the floor.

"Anything else, John?" she asked her boss.

"Maybe a biscotti, darling," he said to her. "Sorry. I should have asked you earlier rather than make you waste a trip."

"It's no problem," she said. "I'll be right back."

Again she stepped past the cop, and went to outside the door.

"Please, Master. Please. If you just let me suck your cock..."

"Of

course

you'll suck my dick if I want you to," John said, harshly, to the man reduced to nothing more than humiliation and need in front of him. "You think I don't know that?"

"Yes, sir," Officer Sanders said in a hushed tone. He was embarrassed. Of course his Master knew that his slave belonged completely to Master.

"But I don't want that," John said. "I wanted one thing from you, the information that you've just given me about the Spider. The rest of it, I'm just taking from you as punishment. I know what kind of cop you were. I know all about what goes on in the City. You're just another racist cop coming in from the suburbs and targeting the people that live here. You've been a nightmare to the people that you are supposed to have been protecting. You've violated their civil rights time and time again. Terrorized and hurt them."

Officer Sanders fell to his hands. He felt ashamed. He felt overwhelmed. He laid his head on the floor.

"You shot that kid. You lied about it. The City broke out into riots because you killed a mother's kid and didn't give a fuck about it enough to even admit what you did."

Lynda returned with the biscotti. John liked the ones with sliced almonds baked into them.

"Get up," John told the cop. Rex did, slowly, painfully, his face wet with tears.

John looked at him coldly.

"It's my business to know what

is

, and what's not

,"

John went on. "And from now on, you are

not.

Get out of my office, ex-Patrolman Sanders. I never want to see you again."

The officer looked at John, his lower lip quivering a bit. Saying nothing.

"Now!"

Officer Sanders turned and ran out the door, his tears becoming sobs before he reached the elevator, but John never knew that. He never thought about Officer Sanders again.

"Anything else, John?" Lynda wanted to know.

John picked up his espresso, and rubbed the lemon rind over the rim. He dipped his biscotti into the hot fluid. He looked out the window of his office, high above the City, over the river.

"No, Lynda, thank you. I'm just going to catch up on some reading."

Lynda nodded, and turned to go. She reached the door and turned the handle to go out.

"Actually, Lynda," John stopped her. She looked back to see him standing up and undoing his belt. He pointed at a space on his desk.

She smiled, and closed the door again. She slid her skirt down her full hips, followed by her panties. She walked over to John, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Yes, Master," she purred, and bent over his desk. She pulled her legs apart to give her Master full access to her pussy, which had become, as always, immediately drenched as soon as she was wanted by him.

She looked back at him, smiling with a mixture of love, and admiration. She propped herself on her elbows. She knew that soon she'd be bucking and cumming on her Master's thick cock.

John aimed his cock at her, and pushed the head of his cock into her tight and wet little opening. She let out a little moan, and lifted her hips higher to accommodate the man who owned her.

"There will be a new employee tomorrow," John told Lynda, sliding his hardness into her. She lowered her head to the desk, her long hair splayed over the manila folder containing all the information and files that the now disgraced cop had brought John. "Amanda Sanders- the cop's wife. Ex-wife."

John started to slide in and out of his employee's tight pussy, at first slowly, taking his time, then picking up speed. A quick orgasm into his secretary's tightness and then back to his studying up on his adversary, the Spider. He hoped there was something in these files that he could use to bring her to heel.

"Show her around, get her set up with the necessary paperwork. Get her a hundred thousand dollar signing bonus, and sign her up for the same that you get paid, another couple hundred thousand a year. She can stay with me for a while, but help her find an apartment."

"Yes, Master," Lynda told him, bucking her hips to meet the strokes of his thick cock, even as she started to dissolve into orgasm on her Master's desk, mindless, words failing her as she worked to pull every drop of cum from her owner's cock into her tight and enslaved little pussy.

She began to cum again and again, lost in her slave pleasure. John put the file folder on her back, and opened it up, and began to read again, sawing his hard cock in and out of the woman cumming and groaning beneath him.

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

It was a chilly night in Grimm town. The wind blew cold and stiff from the black river, blowing the leaves off the trees, finding its way through every crack in every window and door. Everyone was inside, anyone with any sense, where if you huddled together, there was some warmth and safety to be found.

But there was one man on the street. He crept quietly in the shadows, out of sight. His name was Deacon, and he was a small fish in dangerous waters. He was a criminal, no surprise there, but he was by far one of the least dangerous things out on the streets at night at any given time. He was looking to make a score, like he always was.

He had to be careful, though. There were all kinds of dangers in any given night in Grimm town.

Deacon made his way to a car, left parked underneath a burned out street light. He crouched down on the sidewalk. He pulled a crowbar from underneath his jacket. He'd wrapped it with duct tape around one end, to keep it quiet. He stood up, and prepared to crack open the window.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," came a voice from somewhere high above him. A woman's voice.

"Who's that?" Deacon peered up into the black night, starless, revealing nothing. He looked up at the tall buildings, with their cracked and broken windows.

"You should go home," she told him again from above.

"Bitch! Fuck you!" Deacon stepped into the street, holding his crowbar menacingly.

"That's another mistake."

Deacon stood there in the street. The night all of a sudden seemed too quiet. He began to realize that he was, in fact, making a mistake. An error that he might be lucky to walk away from.

"What do you want? Who are you?"

"They call me the Spider," she told the man far below. "You know what that means. You know what I'll do to you."

Deacon knew. Everyone knew. They said that the Spider dragged you away, no one would ever see you again.

"If you lay that bar down in the street, right now, I'll let you go home."

And that's what Deacon did. He bent down, and laid the crowbar, with one end wrapped in duct tape, down into the street. He took a step away from it. He wanted to go home, very badly.

He looked up into the night sky, looking for the Spider. He didn't see her. Her voice seemed to come from everywhere, resounding off every brick wall and broken window. He had no idea where she was. He couldn't see a thing up there.

All of a sudden, his eyes caught a glimpse of motion, a filament of blackness, shining darkly. The webbing touched upon the crowbar, and in a split second, it had been hauled up into the sky.

He didn't see where. He was already running.

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

The Spider let herself into the window of her apartment, some twenty stories up. It was an early night for her. She had little doubt that there was still going to be plenty of crime out in the streets, but it was all going to be nickel and dime stuff like what Deacon was attempting to do... boring, of no real consequence.

She made her way into her kitchen, in the darkness. She didn't have a single light on. She rarely did at night.

The Spider didn't need lights at night to see perfectly.

She opened her refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of chardonnay. No light emanated from her refrigerator. She had taken the bulb out.

She pulled her mask back from her head, and shook her hair free. She poured herself a glass, began to put the bottle back in the fridge. She paused, and filled the glass all the way up to the rim.

She took the glass and the bottle into her living room, and put them both on the glass top of her coffee table. A little clink as glass met glass was the only sound.

The Spider found herself pouring another glass of the wine, although she really didn't remember having drunk the first glass. It was going to be that kind of night.

She pulled her burner phone out of her costume. She dialed the number.

As always, he seemed to know that it was her calling. As before, he seemed pleased that it was her on the phone, as if he'd been expecting to hear from here.

"Hello, Spider," John said. "I'm glad you called."

"Your name is John Claire," she told him. "You live at 324 Northbrook, in Northpoint. You have an office down in Central, but you have a warehouse that is your main base of your nightly operations in Clearfield. You drive a 2012 Lexus with a license plate of RKK-"

"OK, OK," he interrupted gently. "I get it. You know a lot about me."

"You had worked for Maxon industries for about twelve years, eleven of those doing low level IT work. Keeping the systems up, networking, things like that. Nothing all that important. You were promoted, though, to vice-president of the region in your twelfth, and final year. Quite a promotion."

"Indeed."

"But you didn't last long at that. You were fired a year later. But you 1% assholes don't really get hurt from being fired, do you? You left with a golden parachute of forty million dollars."

"That took a lot of the sting out of it."

The Spider took a gulp of her wine. She slid down the zipper of one of the long boots that covered her slender legs, reaching in to her inner thigh where the zipper was hidden invisibly and pulling it down to her ankle. She kicked the first boot off, and then reached to unzip the other.

"How many people are out of work in the City, barely able to get by at all. And an asshole like you gets forty million dollars to get fired."

"If it helps, Little Spider," John confided. "I

hated

that job."

"It seems they didn't like you much either, to pay you that much to go away."

"You can't win 'em all."

"I'm going to give you a choice," she told him. "I want you to think clearly about this."

"OK."

"I've been looking into you a lot lately, and I know a lot about you."

"OK."

"I have no idea why someone with as much money as you is involved in crime now. You would think that someone with as much money as you fell into would at least have the decency-"

"I can explain that, Spider."

She paused, surprised.

He went on.

"I did it to meet

you

, Spider. I am doing all this to get your attention."

She shook her head. What the fuck was he talking about? She began to think he might be insane.

"Anyway," she went on. "You have mainly made your money by extorting it from other criminals in the City. I don't hear that you've been doing a whole lot on your own, and you don't hurt anyone that I've heard of. You take what you demand from them in order for them to continue operating on what has become your turf."

"That's not quite accurate, but go on."

"This is why I'll give you a chance,

one

chance, and I'll only

say

this once. You can go. You can clear out of the City, go wherever you want, do whatever you want there. If you don't by the end of this month, I'm going to cull you. Just like I do all the others, sooner or later."

John sat silently on his end of the phone.

"You have one week, Just John," she told him. "One week, and I will decide that you have disobeyed this little warning of mine, and decided to fight me. You'll lose, just like all the others. I'll find you, and I'll stop you. I'll

disappear

you."

She took another sip of her wine, and reached up and opened the front of her Spider uniform. She slid the little zipper down, past her breasts, over her tight belly, over her pubic mound. She slid out of her Spider outfit, peeling it down her long, slender legs, until she was curled up on her couch in only her sensible, black underwear and bra. She was still wearing her face mask with the white eye coverings, her hair pulled up tightly behind her.