The Blac Widow Spider

Black Widow Spider -- Part 1

This is a story of an affable, heterosexual male being taken down the rabbit hole of mental and sexual abuse by a powerful and dominate woman.

If this is not your cup of tea, please move on.

It is rather dark.

I have been reading stories on here for over a decade, but only wrote my first one a month and a half ago.

This is my 13

th

since then.

The first one unleashed something in me

I continue to surprise myself on how dark my stories go.

They are not me, and yet, obviously they are.

I guess I'm working out my deepest fantasies, and I believe that is a very good thing.

Embracing your fantasies is healthy.

And it looks as if that is what I'm doing.

Please enjoy my latest.

Comments are always appreciated.

"Ever had a cock in you mouth, you asshole?"

"No. Don't"

"You are going to suck my cock and eat my cum, or die, you dick."

"Please"

He showed me the gun, again.

"Listen to me you fucking fuck take it, you fucking asshole."

And he shoved his hard, thick cock into my mouth, gagging me to the point of puking all over his cock and everything else.

"If you puke on me I'll kill you, cocksucker!" and he laughed at his own joke.

I tried to move my arms to get to him but they were cuffed to the damn bedposts.

And he started to fuck my mouth.

As he build up speed pumping in and out of my mouth fucking it hard and deep and his balls started to bounce roughly on my chin I started to beat myself up thinking,

"I wouldn't have been in this predicament if it hadn't been for pussy."

Blonde pussy.

The finest blonde pussy I ever met in my entire life.

Chapter 1

My friend John and I were eating lunch at one of our favorite places near work. He was having the Reuben sandwich. Really?! A Reuben? Sorry, how gross is that in this day and age? Hot pastrami, coleslaw and melted Swiss cheese, grilled on rye bread?

Okay, really yummy. I'll admit that. Actually, fucking great, but a heart attack on a plate? Well, it was his life, and he did workout everyday. Who was I to judge.

And I was eating a Cobb Salad. Not because I was feeling superior, but because I actually liked Cobb Salad.

We were chit-chatting about work. Mostly about what a dick, his colleague had been all morning, but also being guys and perusing the talent around the room and doing a running play by play.

"Look at that one over there. A six. Okay looking.."

"Sure, but that one over to the right! What a fucking hottie. Gotta give her a nine for sure."

"Okay, I'll give you that, but over by the bar. We have a "Butter Face." What a fucking dog, but what a rack. Shit. Put a bag over her head and fuck her crazy."

And we laughed, young male, chauvinist pig laughs.

I looked across the restaurant and said, "What about that one?!". She was exquisite. Let me correct that, ideal. Stunning. A Goddess. Your wildest fantasy. A dream come true. And also, by the way, really fucking hot!

Her beauty was shocking. Leaping out of her. I had never seen anything like it.

Sure, I had seen, and actually been lucky enough to date a few beautiful women.

And lord know, we have all seen tons on the silver screen, but this was different. It was an immaculate beauty, one of a kind that bounced off of the walls of the room reverberating like Chuck Yeager breaking the sound barrier.

Radiant blonde hair. She shook her head in laughter and the light danced off it. The light seemed to bounce all over the room like a disco ball for all to see. She continued with her contagious laugh, shaking her blonde mane like a Tesla Coil sending a searing electrical sexual messages deep into my lizard brain.

Or maybe it was just me.

The blonde hair looked natural from her coloring and eyebrows with a movie star face, framed by dancing diamond earrings and a dazzling diamond necklace that went around her neck and then trailed down into her cleavage which teased a world-class body for what I could see above the table.

But what really grabbed me were her dancing blue eyes. Not overly made up. Just enough to enhance them along with the rest of her face. Eyes that were large and the kind that could mesmerize kings and the titans of power one of which she was having lunch with.

I turned to my colleague, John and said, "Don't you think she is the most beautiful woman you have ever seen in your life?"

He said, "In person or say, in the movies?" You are asking a hypothetical."

"You are such a dick," I said laughing.

"Seriously, isn't she the most beautiful woman you have ever seen in your life. I mean look at her. Perfection."

"For me, sorry dude, no. Great looking, yes, but not the most beautiful However, you know, I don't favor blondes like you do, But if she gets you stoked have fun whacking off to her tonight."

I gave John a "you are hopeless" look, gulped and said, "I'm going to go over to her and say hi."

"Well, pull up your big boy pants and go for it, dude. I'll be right behind you... not," and he smiled.

Her lunch companion got up to go to the men's room. I figured "what the fuck" and walked over to her table.

"Excuse me for interrupting and being so rude and really, truly I have never done anything like this before in my life," I blurted out in shyness and embarrassment.

"But I needed to tell you that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life."

I actually felt myself starting to blush and turned to leave. I was so embarrassed for making a total fool out of myself.

She laughed, "Come back, honey. It's okay. That's not the first time I've heard that."

I turned and came back upon her request.

"I appreciate and admire you for coming over and giving me the compliment. Thank you."

I blushed deeper.

"What's your name?"

I told her.

"Well, leave me your Email and maybe one day I will get in touch. You are kind of cute. Turn around let me see your butt."

I did as she asked.

"Nice."

Yeah, OK, I'll admit it I had a really good, tight bubble butt that I knew attracted girls.

She actually put her hand on my crotch in the restaurant for all to see, grabbing it and accessing it like meat in the market!

I saw a few folks noticing and murmuring.

"And a nice package honey. You never know. Now leave me that Email address, run off like a good little boy, and go."

And she dismissed me.

Wow. I had never been put up on display like that before --- I guess that is how women feel everyday -- and never felt up on public display like that before. It was embarrassing, disturbing, and hot at the same time. I was aroused and more turned on than I'd ever been before

I left my card, went back to my table, and John said, "Well Lover Boy what happened beside her grabbing your dick?"

"I gave her my Email address."

"Bold move, Romeo. Maybe sometime you'll get, oh I guess, nothing from her," and he laughed.

But I heard nothing that he said. I was already deep into my fantasy:

In my fantasy, She was on my bed nude. Her body was as perfect as I imagined. A goddess in human flesh. Soft, white, glowing, no flaws to her glistening skin. God given breasts. A nice C-cup. Not overly ripe or soft and mushy. You know, the kind of saggy boobs that have to be pulled way up to fill a C-cup bra cup.

No. Hers were firm, high with round, red/brown areolas that made a statement but were not too large and slightly wider than normal nipples that commanded her breasts. As they should have resting upon the framework of the perfect size areolas in size and scale for her boobs

I imagined our kissing lovingly, caressing her breasts, and then I moved down to her right tit and began to lick and suck it before moving down to her sweet pussy lapping at her. Her nectar is honey sweet. Her lips sweeter, and her clit the sweetest still until she pulls me up and says, "I need you big cock in my, right now."

And I shove inside her tight pussy feeling every inch as I entered her for the first time with my head exploding...

And the waiter arrived with the check.

Fantasy interrupted. I abruptly rejoined reality. End of line. Today's little joy and pleasure taken away by the realities of the moment, and I threw my credit card in for my half of the check.

I suppose it was unfair of me to be pissed off at the waiter for interrupting my hot sexual fantasy, but I was.

He was just doing his job and didn't mean to rip the rug right out from under me. But then again, it was my destiny to learn that when someone was involved with Jackie that was the constant way of life.

Having the rug pulled out from under you.

You spent your days turned on, wanting more and more, loved, pampered, petted, while being used, abused, exploited, and belittled at her every whim. And then have the rug pulled right out from under you.

She was a Black Widow Spider who ate everything she met, and especially anyone she fucked.

Who knew?

I would.

Sooner rather than later.

Chapter 2

A few months later I had graduated with a degree in literature, Magna Cum Laude. Whoop di-fucking-do. My folks bought me a nice dinner to celebrate, and then I was off, newly polished, to make a future for myself.

Let's get real, I wasn't going to write the next, great American Novel. "The Catcher In The Rye II" was sadly, not in my future. And I wasn't going to become the next Stephen King or Robert Parker. Even though I would have loved to have their money.

Non-fiction was my thing. My dream throughout school was to become the next Bob Woodward and the star of investigative journalism. After all, he was 77 years old, Heck, I wish him a long life, but move over daddio.

Not to be.

There were no jobs. Newspapers are dead. Thank you internet.

I would have liked to become a great non-fiction essay and book writer like Malcolm Gladwell, but he had already filled that position and unfortunately, that side of the business was slowly dying, withering on the vine, also strangled by the free content on the internet.

So, I tried blogging. Hell, everybody else was doing it. I picked a theme -- muckraking, investigative journalism.

What a big fucking dud.

My blog laid there like a leftover latke. Cold, oily, flat, and unwanted.

I was raised, like many in my generation, to believe I was special and going to spring into the world a gigantic success like the Greek Goddess Minerva springing fully formed from her father Zesus' head.

But no. Despite my expectations nothing but failure.

Failed expectation is the mother of bitterness.

And I was if nothing else, bitter.

I fell into a lifestyle of waking up late, staying up all night, and spending my days and nights wandering around my apartment in an my bathrobe with a glass of Jack Daniels in my hand listening to Eric Clapton singing his saddest, most wretched songs.

"River of Tears" rang through my apartment day and night,

Clapton would sing to me about the dusty street and the river down it, and then the bar where he was drowning his sorrow..

Really, the most pathetic song ever written and recorded. Heartbreaking. Eric continued,

Now he was running for days and drowning, drowning, drowning in a River of Tears.

I'm with you Eric.

And his emotionally crying guitar solo began as I padded around my apartment a mythically pathetic figure headed straight down the road to perdition.

I was in the emotional toilet.

Fortunately, I was saved by my college roommate John who showed up to my apartment one day and said, "You're a fucking mess. Snap the fuck out of it!"

And he actually slapped me and threw me still wearing my robe into the shower.

He looked at me and said, "Clean yourself up. You stink. Then shave, see if you can find some clean clothes, and come out and join me in the kitchen. I'm making eggs and bacon for breakfast. We will get you fed and discuss you future. OK?

Saved by a friend.

Thank you Mr. Baby Jesus.

We sat eating the best scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee I had ever tasted cooked by my friend John. I hadn't eaten properly in days and I guess it showed in how I was wolfing down the food.

"Hey, slowdown there cowboy. You don't want to be driving the ceramic bus in a few moments throwing up all of my fine cooking. Take a sip of coffee.

I did.

"Wow, that might be the best home cooked meal I have ever tasted."

John laughed, "Well, I have tasted you mom's cooking and we shared the same dorm cafeteria so that might be true. Anyway thank you. Looks like you needed it., brother. Glad to help."

We finished the breakfast mostly in silence with a little bit of small talk. Both had a second cup of coffee and then got down to the matters at hand

"You're a fucking mess man and you're better than this."

"You're right. Thank you," I said embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing to me? You don't need to apologized to me or be embarrassed on my behalf, you should apologize to yourself. You disrespected yourself, man. Shit! Look at you. You lost sight of who you are."

My head down I nodded yes.

You are my best friend and I hate to see you this way."

"Thank you." I don't know what to say."

"There is nothing to say and no apologized required. Sometimes we all hit a rough patch. This was yours. Hopefully, the only one."

I had tears in my eyes when I looked up. John, to his credit, ignored them.

"Listen, I have a plan and I really believe it's a good one, and that's why I came over. I didn't realize you were in a world of hurt doing your best Brando imitation."

"I think you should come and work with me. I need a copywriter and I think it should be you. I think you'd be great at it, make my job easier and, candidly, make me look better," and he gave me a playful slug of the shoulder.

"And, by the way, it pays well," and he smiled.

"I know your talents as a writer. You're great! And I know I can trust you, and I need that right now. Boy, do I need that right now."

"I need a friend. Dude, I need your help with a major personality problem at work. We've talked about it before. I really need an interface and I think with your naturally diplomatic personality you're the guy. You could not only save my gig, believe it or not, you might also be able to save the entire kit and caboodle."

"How would you like to do that?"

OK, that got my attention.

I told my boss that I think you would be perfect and wants to meet you."

Really!!!"

And John told me about why he needed me.

"They made infomercials. Yep, that commercial crap that sold strange merchandise in half hour commercials that pretended to be actual TV shows. The successful ones made millions. I mean million and millions of dollars.

John and his three partners produced a weekly infomercial series entitled "Incredible Treasures" selling everything from car wax, to woks, cheap knife sets, to "How to Become a Better You and Lead a Better Life" CDs.

They were laughing all the way to the bank.

There were four principals and from a small two room office over a bar and grill with two assistants in the first quarter of that year they sold so much shit via late night television they had actually grossed more revenue during the previous quarter than Chrysler. That is a true story. They actually had a higher corporate gross revenue than fucking Chrysler Motors for that quarter.

The power of sales on television and the total stupidity of people around the globe when it came to buying shit off of their TVs.

But they were imploding. There was Jay, the head of the company and the direct marketing genius and the guy who sold the product on camera. Larry, the pleasant bean counter, John and Carl. Carl, the self-centered prick who knew he was right on everything, had no give or middle ground, and was the day to day operations guys. In real corporate terms, I suppose, the COO, but within this four man shop terms like that didn't apply.

There was a hate on between Carl and my friend John and it was about to kill the goose that laid the golden egg.

My mission was to come in, be the new copywriter, and also act as the interface between Carl and John and keep the company together.

For that the compensation was going to be substantial -- these guys were making millions -- and help my friend who just saved my life.

What could I say?

"Sounds great! When do I start."

Turned out tomorrow.

Chapter 3

It was knock on my door day. This one was Wendy, my really cute, short, pert, blonde haired friend with benefits.

We were really good friends who enjoyed each others company. She was a great date for dinner, movies, theater, a plus one at a party, and we liked to fuck each other. We were actually rather good in bed together, and knew exactly what each liked and how to push those buttons. Off and on -- in between boyfriends for her, and girlfriends for me -- we had been fuck buddies for three years now. But, we were never going to fall in love. We both knew, and it was OK. Friends who fuck.

Wendy was a spinner. Do you know "spinner?" That is a girl so short you could put her pussy on your cock, spin her around and she would never hit the ground.

A spinner. Wendy was a spinner. I liked spinners.

"Hi, I said brightly. Want to come in.?" and I ushered her into the shithole that had become my house.

"What the fuck happened here a hurricane?"

"Err, I had a brain-pimple that exploded, but it is all OK now."

"Yeah, well, it exploded all over you place. Sheeeesh. OK, you can explain all of this to me later. Why don't we clean this pigsty up together?"

I agreed and we did.

We finished, and the place was sparkling. We laid down together on the bed.

I took her in my arms, rolled over, kissed her tenderly, not sexually but thankfully, and said, "Thank you."

She smiled and said, "You're welcome. And you owe me an extraordinary dinner."

I agreed she did. Since I knew I was starting this incredible new job and I was feeling rich I said, "You are 100% right. And, I am starting a great new job tomorrow so tonight it is fortunate that you are here because happily we get to celebrate together!!!"

I called and made a reservation at the best steak house in town, Mastro's.

My personal depression aside, my family was my family and my dad was an titan of industry -- that's why I knew the type eating lunch with Jackie

(Probably, my meltdown had as less to do with my frustrations as the pressure of family expectations, especially my father's, that I had grown up with. I knew I was letting him down.)

A wealthy background has its privileges, and a last minute table at Mastro's was one.

We were seated at a booth in the back. Intimate. Had drinks, vodka martinis, ate on the bread basket, and then both of us ordered dinner.

We split a delicious Caesar's salad to start. Lightly dressed with freshly cracked pepper. The parmesan was shaved and the anchovies had a snap to them.

Then both Wendy and I had the sautéed shrimp appetizer, Trust me, a life changing experience in a bowl.

Imagine three luscious, plumb, perfectly cooked shrimp, standing up in a white, ceramic bowl, filled with a crème, brandy, sherry and spice sauce with roasted garlic bread sticks also forming the bouquet springing from the bowl.

Yumbo.

We drank, we ate, we enjoyed the perfectly seasoned and cooked shrimp melting in our mouths, and Wendy's hand went exploring under the table until she found paydirt.

Her hand was on top of my pants, right on the head of my flaccid cock. She slowly started to roll around the head until it started to engorge and get bigger. Then, on her finger tips, her dainty hand started to walk towards my fly.