The Spider Pt 25

The rain began to fall as he stood at her grave, grey sheets of cold rain streaming down on a bleak winter's day. In the distance, far across the City, thunder burst into the air. It would storm soon.

Almost as if on cue, his crying began again, and that's how he stood there, his tears washing away in the cold rain. He felt small, weak, looking at the grave of a person he loved, a person that all his powers had been unable to save.

He wondered if he would be able to save the rest of the ones he loved. He wondered if he would be able to save himself.

Lynda Wainwright,

the gravestone read.

Sometimes, when you need an angel, sometimes there is an angel,

the inscription read beneath the name, followed by two sets of numbers that were all too close together.

Overcome, he fell to his knees in the mud, his overcoat dragging in the wet as he knelt and wept.

I couldn't keep you safe forever. I should have tried harder.

The sky cracked with thunder as the cold rain continued to fall.

I don't know how to go on without you, he said to her silently. I haven't really ever had to. You were always there for me, and it got you killed, and now I don't know how to find my way. I don't know if I'm strong enough.

He stayed that way for a while, sobbing by the grave, alone with his grief, and his loss, and his fear. The lightning illuminated the empty graveyard periodically, framing the trees as black and twisted fingers against the bright grey sky.

"You cared about her," he heard a woman's voice say behind him.

He spun around, startled. He saw a small and slim woman standing some distance behind him, wearing a black full length coat, a white scarf wrapped around her neck, her long black hair spilling over it.

"I hadn't suspected that," she continued.

He stood up to his full height, facing her in the rain. He wiped the sleeve of his coat across his mouth.

"Well, now you know," he said. "You are?"

"I'm... Anna," she told him. "Now

you

know. You wanted to know my name for some time now, and here it is: I'm Anna."

"Hello, Anna. I'm John."

"Yes, I know you, John," she told him plainly.

"Of course," he said. "Thank you for coming. I didn't expect you here."

"I've been watching you since you called Heather," Anna said. "Well, the Spider has been watching you. This seemed like as good a place to talk as any."

"OK."

"So she wasn't just some slave to you, like the others," she indicated Lynda's grave. "She meant something to you."

"Yes, very much."

"But she

was

your slave."

"It's more complicated than that. I had her under my control, yes, but it was necessary-"

"Of

course

it was."

"- it was

necessary

because without

my

controlling her, something else far worse would have. It's a long story. But first and foremost, I loved her, and she loved me, and we protected each other in various ways at various times. And my controlling her was one of those ways."

"Don't try and use your mind control on me."

"I won't."

"I mean it. If you do, I'll kill you, if I can, before you make me a slave again."

"I understand. I won't do it ever again."

"And Heather too," Anna went on. "I want her released from your control."

"Oh!" John said, surprised. "She's not under my control."

"What?"

"Well, not anymore. She hasn't been for some time. It's not permanent. I have to re-establish it from time to time. A phone call can work, but really, it's best that I be in someone's physical presence. It depends on the person how long it lasts and all that, but I can assure you, Heather nor yourself are under my control by now- haven't been for quite a while."

"Oh."

"I mean, did you think you still were or- "

"It doesn't matter. Anyway, you called. You said we had to talk."

"I need your help," he said. "And you need mine."

"OK."

"We are both being hunted by the same people or person. That person was what sent Red Eyes to the City, and that thing tried to kill me over and over. It failed. The police say that thing is dead, but who knows, and regardless it seems that the Power has been enslaved by some force."

"The Detective."

"What?"

"A police detective... Stern. He's been looking for me for months, shaking down street rats, hurting them, making them tell him what they know about me, which is never anything thank God. There's something...

off

about him."

"I know. I know him. He's not quite... human."

"And now this Fist person is looking for me. I've seen the two of them together, he's the one who is controlling her. I don't know how. He's cruel to her. Hurts her. I don't want either of them to find me."

"No you don't. They found me. A lot of cops died when they did. They killed... "

He waved his hand at the gravestone, unable to continue.

"Why should I trust you," she said. "I

don't

trust you."

"I want out," he told her in the rain. "I don't want to do this anymore. I've already lost someone I can never replace. I'm afraid I'll lose the rest of it too."

"We've all lost people, John!"

"I know."

She stood glaring at him. She looked behind herself.

"Don't go," he pleaded. "Listen. If you have a life you want to return to, then you'll want to work with me. I'll leave you alone after we've stopped the Detective and the Fist- "

"If

we stop them!"

"- and you'll never hear from me again. But together we can be stronger than either of could ever be alone. Together we can beat them, and we can live. Alone, it's only a matter of time before they kill us and everyone we love."

"Stronger together? What do you mean?"

John sighed.

"Oh, Anna," he said. "I've been trying to tell you that since we first met!"

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

Roger Charles entered his PIN on the keypad, and then put his fingers to the sensor so that his fingerprints could be scanned.

The light turned green. The reinforced door slid open.

"Good evening," he said to the other guards sitting behind the desk.

"Hey Roger," one greeted him back. The other nodded, bored.

"Any change with our wonderful guest?"

"Nope. Always the same. She screams until she can't scream any more, then she passes out for a while, then screams again."

"Jesus."

"Yep. The doctors say that they're going to start pumping in some more antipsychotic drugs into her cell starting Monday."

"That'll be good. It's hard to watch that."

There was a speaker set up in the guard room that broadcasted what the prisoner said. They'd had to turn it off. When she- whatever her name was- was conscious, she was apparently in agony, and her screams of pain were too much to listen to. She would scream out for her master, whatever that meant, scream out for them to come and put their dicks in her, to hurt her, she would beg them to come and kill her. Insane stuff. The ravings of a madwoman.

They'd sent doctors in to try and treat her. Needles couldn't pierce her flesh. It took a broken arm and a concussion to find that out.

After that point, they'd been reduced to pumping gas into her cell in an effort to help in some way, to tranquilize her into some kind of sleep. It wasn't at all clear what they were going to do with her.

She was stronger than any dozen men. She could fly, and had brought down a helicopter with her bare hands before she had been apprehended, and was apparently only just getting started at that point. It's not like they would be able to put her in some normal prison at anytime soon.

In the meantime, they just watched her, silently, on the monitors.

"Well, my shift is over. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you later," Roger said. "We'll be right here."

A couple of hours later, Roger stepped out to use the bathroom. He made a phone call to his girlfriend. The two of them talked about the weekend.

He headed back into the control room, entering his PIN and his fingerprints.

Something was different.

There was a small metal box on the floor, a little cage, with one end of it open. Roger knelt down.

"What's this box?"

No answer. Where was the other guard?

Roger looked in the box. Nothing. It was empty.

He stood up, and then he saw the other guard, or the other guard's legs rather, laying underneath a desk. Roger rushed over, and found the other man laying there, his eyes rolled back in his head.

A long black object was wrapped around the man's neck. Bending down, Roger put his hands on the object, which was cold, but organic. He traced the object to the back of the other guard's torso, pulling the other man's shirt away to get a better view.

There was a mouth there, sucking and pulling on the other guard's blood. It was some kind of... snake, or something. Some kind of giant leech.

What the fuck is this?

Roger stood up and rushed to the phone in order to call for more security and medical backup.

He paused. On the monitor, he could see a long, bright red line in the wall of the prisoner's cell. The line began to separate... open... and an impossibly tall and slender man with black eyes stepped out. The tall man bent next to the prisoner, and picked her up like she weighed nothing.

Roger picked up the phone. As he did so, he felt a sharp sting on his upper thigh. He looked down, and saw that he had been stung by another of those black snake things, the stinger had punctured his leg, and the black coil was wrapping around his upper leg and his torso.

The creature hissed, opening it's mouth wide like some kind of lamprey, showing rows of teeth. Roger grabbed at the creature, or he tried to. His fingers were unable to be controlled or moved, his hands numb and unresponsive to his commands.

He collapsed to the ground, the larval creature wrapping itself around him more tightly. As the paralysis set in, the creature hissed and shook its head, then plunged its mouth onto Roger's neck.

He fell to the ground as the creature began to suck, his unblinking eyes fixed on the monitors. As he lay, he watched the tall man step into the portal with the prisoner, and then slowly, the portal closed behind the two of them.

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

Anna poured Heather's wine.

"He says what?" Heather wanted to know.

"He says that he can broadcast his powers through me."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Well... I can, uh,

open

myself up in a way. It's hard to describe it. But I can open myself up and push my consciousness outside of myself. I always have been able to do it. It's how I can know things about places and people that are otherwise hidden, from far away."

Heather sipped at her wine. She reached out and pulled Anna in, holding the smaller woman tight to her. Outside the winter rain was pounding on the glass of the high rise, and although they were in the warm apartment safe from it, Heather felt a chill.

"So you can open yourself up- whatever that means. What does that mean to

him?"

"That's why he wanted to use me. He can send his powers out through me, or so he thinks. He says I'm a conduit between all kinds of places, and he wanted to use me to take control of all the crime syndicates more quickly and easily."

"I bet he did. Shitbag."

"He says he was bankrupting them, taking their money and giving it away to charities. He says that once he was done, he was going to make them all turn themselves in to the police and confess and go to jail. He says he was hoping to rid the City of the syndicates once and for all."

"You believe him?"

"I don't know."

Heather finished the last of her wine. Anna sprung up to get her some more. She poured herself a glass, also.

"So what's to stop this asshole from just making us his slaves again," Heather asked. "Or are we now? How do we know he isn't controlling us now?"

"He says he won't do that."

"You believe him?"

"I don't know. He says neither of us have been under his control for a long time. He says it doesn't last forever, and that's another reason why he wanted to get to other people through me."

"Then why have I still been taking control of you? Why have you been a good little slave to me?"

Anna knelt on the floor, and laid her head on Heather's lap. She kissed the other woman gently on each thigh.

"I want to be," she whispered. "I guess that's the only answer to that. Even right now, I want to be. I like being owned- I want you to own me."

Heather bent her head down, and took Anna by the chin. She kissed the kneeling woman gently on the lips.

"Then I guess you are going to be owned," Heather said, opening her robe and spreading her legs open. Anna lowered her head, and slid her tongue deep into her Mistress. And this time, the feeling of love, and ownership, of devotion and pleasure, was made all the better by it being her choice to give herself away.

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

Richard Wayne lowered his nostril to the pile of powder and bumped.

He tossed his head back at the burn of the cocaine, feeling the rush, feeling the pulse.

The music of the club's sound system was still throbbing and loud in the bathroom stall shitty electronic music, all pulse, all beat, same shit you could hear in every other nightclub in the City, it seemed.

He put his cocaine back in his jacket, flushed the toilet, although he hadn't urinated, and went back into the crowded main room.

Thirsty, he made his way to the bar and ordered an upscale vodka and soda with lime. The bartender made the drink for Richard, and Richard took a sip.

"Buy me a drink," he heard from behind him, and turning around, he saw

her

again. She took her seat at the bar. "You sure do like this club."

She was still wearing the same skimpy outfit that she had been wearing when she sucked his dick in the alley.

"Uh, OK," he said, nervously. He waved to the bartender.

"What'll it be," the bartender asked.

"I'll have... whiskey," she said.

"What kind of whiskey? How do you want it?"

The Fist looked at Richard, and back to the bartender.

"I don't know," she said. "I've never had alcohol before. The good kind... the most expensive kind.

He's

buying it."

The bartender reached up to the top shelf, and poured some brown liquid into a glass and placed the shot in front of her.

"He's my

boyfriend,"

the Fist said, giggling at her own joke, and jerking her thumb in Richard's direction. "We're in

love.

I sucked his dick the other day and now we're in love."

She giggled again.

"OK," the bartender said, moving down to the other end of the bar.

Richard took another sip of his vodka soda, spun the ice cubes around a little bit with his straw.

She's fucking crazy, he thought. Maybe call it a night.

The Fist threw her whiskey down her throat. She gasped at the burn, closing her eyes and shaking.

"Fuck!" she yelled. "That's fucking awful!"

Richard laughed nervously.

"It's not for everyone," he said. "I actually have to get going -"

The tall, powerful woman turned around to face Richard for the first time. Her eyes narrowed, as if remembering what she had came for.

Richard fell silent.

"I'll have another one!" the woman barked at the bartender, who refilled the glass.

She picked up the glass, and smelled it, making a sour face at the smell.

"I need this," she whispered to herself. She gulped the liquor down again.

She turned to face Richard again, who gripped at his vodka and soda with white knuckles.

"I just got out of jail," she said quietly. "They had me in a fucking

cage.

Like an animal. They knew that if I got out, I'd kill all of them."

She cackled to herself at the thought, waving her hand for another drink.

"I do that now," she said to no one in particular. "I didn't used to.

He

makes me.

He

makes me do a lot of things."

The bartender filled up the glass one more time.

"He whipped my ass the other day for sucking your dick," she said emotionlessly, looking down at her glass of whiskey. He knew I had done something bad, so I had to tell him, and he whipped me and fucked me raw. He's very mad at you for letting me put your cock in my mouth that time."

Richard looked around the room for help. No one was paying any attention to the two of them in the crowded, noisy club.

"My Master got me out of jail," she went on. "I knew he would. He needs me to do things for him, I knew he'd never forget me and leave me there. But, I'm all

yours

tonight, boyfriend."

She threw back the third shot, shuddered at the burn, and turned to face Richard again.

"I need you to come outside with me," she said.

"Actually I-"

The shot glass exploded like a gunshot as she crushed it in her hand like it was nothing, narrowing her eyes as she looked deeply into Richard's. The powerful woman shook her hand free of the glass shards.

"I need you to come outside with me right

now,"

she said, standing up to her full imposing height. "Don't make me ask you again."

She started to walk towards the door. Richard stood up to follow, feeling helpless. The other guys in the club snuck glances at the woman leading Richard outside, looking at her long, powerful legs, at the woman's big tits tightly bound by a silver strap. Richard looked at them, his eyes begging for help. All he saw was smirks.

"Can I finish my drink," Richard implored, following her.

She didn't answer. She made her way to the door, opened it, and glowered at Richard.

He pulled his jacket tighter to himself, and walked out into the cold.

"Where are we going," he said, but she didn't answer that either, putting her hand into the small of his back and pushing him towards the rear of the building.

"Can I get my coat," he whined.

"No."

She pointed around the corner, indicating that he was to go in that direction. He hesitated, scared. He wondered if he should run. Fight. Scream, or something.

She grabbed her hand around his belt, and hoisted him up as if he weighed nothing, and began to carry Richard behind the nightclub with no more effort than a person carrying a gym bag might.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Let me go! I'll

scream!"

"You're funny," she replied, absentmindedly giggling. "The whisky is making me feel warm. Maybe I'll have another when I'm done with you,

boyfriend."

She carried him into the alleyway behind the club, back by the dumpster and the stacked empty liquor bottle boxes. She let him down, and pushed him up against the brick back wall of the nightclub. She undid his belt, and threw it away. His pants dropped to his ankles, his bare legs cold in the winter.

She reached her hand into his underwear, and began to stroke his cock there. It was small, limp.

"Please," he whispered. "I don't want to-"

"Oh, you can't get your dick hard for your

girlfriend?"

she interrupted in a mocking tone, rubbing her hand up and down Richard's member, giggling again. "Don't you

love

me, little boyfriend?"

"Let me go," he whispered again, but she took her other hand and pressed it over his mouth, silencing him, still keeping her hand working on his dick. She pushed him even further backwards into the wall, lifting him up until his feet left the ground, helpless.

She grabbed at his underwear, tearing the thin cloth, ripping it away.

"You'd better get your dick hard for me, pussy boy," she said in a low tone, sliding her bottom out of the way to reveal her glistening, wet cunt. She slid a single finger in and out of herself, making herself wetter, rolling it over her clit. All the time, she was looking at the fear dance across Richard's eyes as she kept him pressed up against the wall.