Along Came A Spider

"Hey, Sal," the man said with a tone characteristic of someone who has had more than a few too many. "Another one."

Sal set the glass he was drying on the shelf and wandered down to the man with a wry smile on his face. He had laid his head on his arms. For a moment Sal thought that he had passed out, but he noticed the bloodshot eyes focusing on a pair of women sitting together at a corner table.

"Hey, Jason, don't you think that you've had about enough?" he asked.

"Look at those two will 'ya. Fucking dykes. Both of 'em." He looked up at Sal. "Enough? Nope. Never have enough. Not even close yet. Another round, if you please, sir."

"Oh, c'mon, Jason. You know I can't do that. Liability laws and all that bullshit. If my boss knew you'd had as much as you have he'd fire me."

Jason MacDonald reached for his left pants pocket, locating it on the second attempt. His tongue wandered to the corner of his mouth as he found what he wanted: his keys and his last $100 bill. He put them on the bar and slid them over to Sal. "When I fall off the stool," he said, "call me a cab. Lock the keys in your register and I'll come back to get my car tomorrow night." Jason raised his arms high, barely catching his balance before he oozed off onto the floor. He wobbled intensely. "Look, Ma. No keys." He put his arms down and knocked his empty glass on its side. "Your boss will regret losing that C-note more than you think." He looked over at the women again and scowled. "Goddamned gash lickers..." he mumbled.

"You promise you won't try to get them later?"

Jason made an "X" over his heart and smiled.

"OK. But you need to leave BEFORE you pass out. OK, Jason?"

Jason winked at him. "No problemo, amigo. And turn that damn jukebox down, huh? That country shit always gives me a headache."

Sal laughed. "It ain't the music that gives you the headaches. It's these," he said as he put the fresh beer on the bar.

As Jason lifted the beer to his face he felt a small ripple of fresh air cut through the stagnant smoke around him. He drank deeply, sighed, and turned toward the front door, laughing softly as half the remains of his beer sloshed onto the bar. The woman in the door looked, well, somehow out of place in this neighborhood. She was too well dressed, somehow cleaner than the other patrons scattered occasionally throughout the room. And she carried herself like Audrey Hepburn did in those aristocratic love stories his ex-wife used to make him watch. As she stepped into the bar and allowed the door to close behind her, Jason whistled softly under his breath and turned back to Sal. "Fresh meat."

"Yeah," Sal replied. "But you done struck out twice tonight already. That one's Nolan Ryan, Jason, and her fastball's gonna blow you away."

"Oh, yeah, she'll blow me alright, but hardly away. The other whores in this joint ain't worth shit compared to her. You know her?"

"Yeah. She comes in 'bout once a week or so. She's some kind of a doctor. Ph.D., not a sawbones. I think. She teaches science or something over at Cal State. And an A-Number-One bitch to boot. No emotions. Kind of like Mr. Spock with tits," he chuckled.

Jason was startled as she sat at the bar next to him, almost sliding off the stool onto the floor. He tried to catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye since turning was a little more than he could muster at the moment. His eyes, alcohol numbed and seeing mainly a red fog, couldn't quite focus clearly enough. Curiosity finally got the better of him and he turned towards her with an exaggerated motion, moving more of his back than his neck. Only a firm grasp on the edge of the bar kept the tidal waves of gravity from pulling him down to shake hands with the floor. He looked her over. She was looking straight ahead as Jason noticed the exposed thighs and the slightest suggestion of panty lines under the skirt. As his eyes continued their slow caresses up her body they paused at the level of her breasts. Her shirt was unbuttoned just slightly below their level, and from the side Jason could see the full contours as well as just a hint of darkness at the center. He looked up at her face. She was of mixed heritage, having some of the classic features of an Oriental face and the long black hair to match, but with an overall Western cast, which, to Jason’s pickled brain, made her the most attractive prospect he had at the moment.

She said something to the bartender that Jason couldn't quite understand and he reached under the counter to mix a drink. He placed it on the bar in front of her and she lifted it to her mouth, taking a series of short sips. As she set it back on the bar she turned to look directly at Jason. Unfortunately for him, his attention had once again turned to that hint of darkness obscured by the almost closed shirt.

"If you want to say something, then say it. If not, I would appreciate it if you would stop staring at my breasts," she said.

Jason blinked quickly, unaccustomed to frankness. "He closed his mouth and swallowed hard, having been caught in the politically incorrect mechanism of ogling a luscious woman," he said, straightening up as best he was able. He extended his right hand in what he hoped was a stable position, and said "I'm Jason MacDonald, writer."

She showed no emotion in her face as she looked at his hand and then at his face. "Why were you staring at me?"

"I'm, uh, not really used to seeing someone like you come in here. Why don't you let me buy you a drink and we can start all over again?"

"I don't think so. I'm not terribly impressed with men who consider me a piece of meat to toss to their pack dog friends. I am not a decoration."

"I, uh, did not mean to apply--uh, IMply--that you were," he stammered. "But the bar isn't exactly full, and when a woman such as yourself sits next to a man he's going to look."

"So then it's my fault that you were drooling over me? What an interesting perspective. And do you normally blame the pedestrian when she steps into the crosswalk and a speeding truck piles into her?"

"No, no, no. That isn't what I was trying to say. Not at all. It's just that you could have chosen a great variety of other accommodating barstools for the evening, and of course I had to look at the person who sat next to mine."

"And you were too drunk to stop yourself, right? I've heard that one before,” she said as she turned back to her drink.

Jason couldn't help but to notice that the shirt had shifted to give him even a clearer view of her breast. It was lovely, almost sculpted. "Look, I really didn't mean to offend. I've had a bad go of it this week--hell, this year--and I was just looking." He chuckled. "If I were a little more sober I'd stand up and offer my apologies. But I'm not." He belched softly. "So I won't. But look, if you come into a bar dressed like that, you'd better expect men to look."

She turned slowly back to him. "Did you ever hear of the concept of privacy, MacDonald? I'm not an ornament. I was minding my own business and I would appreciate it if you would do the same," she said as she picked up her glass and moved several stools down the bar.

"What the fuck is her problem?" he asked to no one in particular.

The bartender parodied a baseball player swinging at the plate. "Steeeee-rike three. You're outta there."

"Whore. That's all she is. Another goddamn femiNazi whore. Did you hear that load of crap? A pretty girl goes off to college and some damn feminist bitch fills her head with all that shit. 'Did you ever hear of the concept of privacy, MacDonald?'," he said, imitating her voice and moving his head back and forth. "Shit." he said, draining his glass. "Well it's whores like her who need a good man. Someone who'll show her what's what. A real man with a big dick."

"Uh-huh. And that's gonna be you, huh Jason?"

"Yeah. It is. Send the bitch another of whatever sissy drink she's having." He raised his voice an octave. "Cocktail." he said, savoring the taste of the word. "Great name, huh? Concise and to the point. Tell her I wanna say I'm sorry."

"Hey, save your money, Jason. She ain't interested. Face it, guy. That beer mug you're holding has a better chance at getting a piece of her ass tonight than you do. You're sloshed. And your breath would kill a cat at a hundred yards."

"You ain't my fucking ex-wife, Sal. It's my money, ain't it? She's like all the other femiNazi sluts out there. All she wants is money. Some guy she can leech from and who'll put up with her shit. So some poor fuck who only thinks with his balls gets hung out to dry." He laughed. "Well, tonight I'm gonna have a little fun with her. 'Cause tonight I'm gonna win."

"OK. Whatever you say. But watch it. She usually leaves with someone. She's probably had a lot of men. Probably got every cockrotter disease in the book,” he said as he mixed her drink and went down the bar.

The woman looked over at Jason when Sal set the drink down in front of her. Jason smiled and mouthed "I'm sorry" before she looked back at the glass. He slid off the barstool with what little grace he could muster and walked down to her, stepping gingerly and holding on to the edge of the bar for support.

"I really do want to apologize," he said, pronouncing his words very carefully as he approached her. "And, believe it or not, I don't usually stare at women. I write about them, but I don't stare at them." He held out his hand again. "I'm Jason MacDonald, writer."

She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes slightly. "Then why did you stare this time?"

"Who knows? Who cares? I'm drunk. I'm lonely. I appreciate beauty when I see it. What does it matter? I promise to try my best to never do it again."

She stared at him openly for about thirty seconds before she replied. Jason looked into her eyes and tried diligently to stand straight despite the alcohol in his knees and the outline of her breasts against the fabric. "I'm Rachel Li," she finally said. "L-I, not L-E-E. And while I'm not exactly pleased to make your acquaintance, there may be some hope for you."

Jason dropped his hand. "May I sit down?"

"If you like," she said as she lifted her drink.

Jason made a great effort to climb onto the stool and not look down. He succeeded, mostly. Only a quick glimpse of tasty thighs. "What do you do for a living, Ms. Li with an 'i'?"

"I'm an astronomer. I teach at Cal."

"Doesn't that take a Ph.D. or something?"

"Yes."

"That's rare. For a woman to hold a doctorate, I mean. How did you do it?"

"Work, MacDonald. Hard work."

"Call me Mac, please. Do you mind if I smoke?"

"I guess not," she said as she shifted on the barstool. As Jason reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, he noticed that the short skirt was a little shorter, exposing just a hint of white panty covering her crotch. It shimmered in the faint light. Silk? he thought. "So what do you write, Mac?"

"Fiction," Jason said as he exhaled a stream of bluish smoke. "Mainstream fiction novels. You know, boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back. That kind of stuff. It may not be the classic of American Literature, but it pays the child support," he said with a smile.

"That's why I didn't recognize the name. I don't really like those much. When I read, I like to read horror. Ann Rice. Stephen King."

"I met her once. Interesting lady."

"Why do you write those? I mean, that's not reality. No one waits around for someone to walk up and sweep them away for a quick tumble that ends all their concerns. People think. And some of us go after what we want."

"Oh, really," Jason said with a snort. "My stuff isn't reality? And I assume that Stephen King's bogeymen and Anne Rice's vampires are?" He took a long drag from his cigarette, waiting for a reply. "So, enlighted--uh, enlighten me. Maybe I can write a best seller. What do women want?" he asked, taking another drag.

"Women want a lot of things, MacDonald. Dinner. A bigger paycheck. A new car. Freedom. Things you probably couldn't handle."

"And do they get what they want?"

"Usually."

"So what do you want right now?"

She looked at him a long time before she answered. "A man. One who won't get in my way. Who isn't threatened by a confidant woman who isn't afraid to go after whatever she wants."

"Surely a man can't be too hard to find."

She looked away. "I thought that once. I've known a lot of men, and the vast majority of them were..." she hesitated, "...inadequate. They all just wanted to get in my pants and control me." She looked back at Jason. "How about you, Mac? Do you want to get in my pants and control me, too?"

"Yes and no. Yes, I would like to do that. Or something. But no, no one should control someone else."

"This is coming from the man who not more than two minutes ago was making love to me in his mind. Get real."

"I am real. And yes, I did that. But that's not control, that's human nature."

Rachel shook her head slowly. "Male nature maybe, but not human nature." She looked at him intensely. The eyes were cold. Suddenly Jason had the feeling that she knew everything about him; almost as if every motion he made or every thought in his head set off some type of alarm in her. It was a new feeling for him, am almost erotic feeling of dread, kind of like the fly must feel as it realizes it's caught in a web with no hope of escape. Her eyes narrowed. "What do you want, Mac? Do you want to control me?" She reached over and put her left hand on his groin and squeezed slightly, causing an instant reaction. "Maybe you want to tie me up, Mac? Is that it? Tie me up in silk scarves and do whatever it is that you want to me? Maybe rip off my panties and slam your 'throbbing love muscle' into me? Is that it?"

Jason swallowed hard in reaction and pushed her hand violently away from him. He wasn't used to women who could surprise him so thoroughly in only five minutes of conversation. Or women who could read minds. "I'm not really into bondage games," he finally said. "They can be fun as spice. Not salt and pepper, but garlic. Used occasionally and in controlled amounts."

"I knew it. You are into control. Anything that shows power over other people. Tell me, how would you feel if I tied you up and did whatever I wanted to with you?" she said, squeezing softly.

"Hey baby, whatever floats your boat. What two consenting adults do in their own bedroom is no concern of mine." He laughed. "Unless I'm one of the consentees, that is."

"So you wouldn't mind being tied up?"

Jason's eyes fell immediately to those dark circles hidden by the shirt. "Yes, I would mind," he said with a smile. "But I might get over it if you let me tie you up later."

She moved her hand from Jason's groin and reached into her small purse and tossed a $10 bill on the counter. "Come on," she said as she got up. Jason noticed that the panties were cut high on the sides and in the glow of the neon signs in the window they really did look like silk. And he noticed that her nipples were hard.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To tie you up."

* * * * *

Rachel got into the car first and leaned over to unlock the passenger door, giving Jason a clear view of the valley between her breasts through the window. It was a meticulously clean black import with a red interior. Jason cursed as he bumped his head on the low roof. He scrunched into the seat, blinking heavily. At first he thought that his eyes were worse than he had imagined, but he finally realized that there was a small latticework crack in the windshield in front of the passenger's seat. The only flaw in the car. As she pulled quickly out of the parking lot, Jason pointed to the crack. "How come you don't get that fixed? Insurance covers that. And they usually don't even charge the deductible," he said.

"I like it. Now be quiet. I don't like noise when I drive."

The rest of the drive lasted forever as every X-rated video Jason had ever rented played back in the fast forward mode in his mind, pausing at all the good parts. Not only was he battling the increasing apathy of the alcohol but also the hardest erection he'd had since Tina Marie Stuart in the tenth grade. The first condition was self-correcting, he told himself. By the time we get wherever it is we're going I'll be in great shape. The second condition was caused by her driving. He no longer made any pretenses, staring openly at her, focusing mainly on the hem of her skirt. The skirt became shorter every time she used the clutch, finally revealing the dessert-like consistency of her panties. Whore, he thought. The bitch knows it and she's teasing me. I think they really are silk. His imagination painted short wispy curls of dark--black? brown?--hair peeking out around the edges. The seat belt was tight between her breasts, eliminating the possibly of a view. But the nipples were still hard.

The first thing Jason noticed as he walked through the front door of the old Victorian was the temperature. It was hot. Stifling. And there was an odor, a dampness. A single trail of sweat traced a curve down Jason's spine and dissolved into the waistband of his pants. She really is some sort of a whore, he thought to himself. Whole goddamned house reeks of it. Musk. Like old milk that just turned. As Rachel shut the door behind them, Jason stumbled over the imaginary doorstep. "Why is it so hot?" he asked.

"Because I like it that way. Upstairs," she said, leading the way.

They gotta be silk, Jason thought, following her up, catching delicious glimpses under her skirt as her hips moved on each step.

The bedroom was impossibly large, dominated by a huge antique four-poster bed in the exact center. It was calling him, drawing him by the balls like an old lover. He felt a new stirring between his legs and had to fight the urge to rub himself. FemiNazi whore, he thought. What a fucking slut. Wonder how many men she's had here. I hope she has rubbers.

Jason's mouth opened slightly as he watched her walk slowly--a sensuous, frictionless glide--over to the dresser along the far wall, hips swaying. She set her purse on top softly, pulled her shirt out of the skirt and stepped out of her shoes. She bent from the waist to pick them up and put them in a small cloth bag. She turned to face him. "Take your clothes off." Jason complied, staggering as his balance shifted, cursing as his zipper refused to cooperate. He finally shoved his pants down roughly. He stood there in the faint light, erection pointing towards her. She walked over to a small box in the corner of the room, bent over again and pulled out a small dark pouch. Goddamnit, how I love silk, he thought as she tossed the pouch to him. "Put it on."

"What is it?" he asked as he opened it.

"It's called a cock ring. The single ring goes on your penis. The loops go under your testicles."

"Why?"

"I like it. What other reason do you need?"

"And what if I don't put it on?"

"Then you leave. But," she added with a twist of her head, "if you put it on we'll tie you to the bed. And we'll do things even your perverted brain couldn't imagine. And if you make it through the night you can tie me up tomorrow morning."

The apparatus was new to Jason and he had to get her assistance to put it on. The feeling of her hands moving and manipulating him was electric, sending waves bouncing through him and rebounding with emphasis. He shivered. "Now lay down."

"Aren't you going to take your clothes off?" he asked.

"After you're tied up. No more talking. Lay down."

He climbed onto the bed and lay on his back. She walked over to her box again and selected four blood red silk scarves. Definitely silk he thought as she bent over. Gotta be. She bound Jason's arms and legs to the posts. "Try to pull free."

Jason pulled hard on all four corners without success. He felt the alcohol in his body and the waves of apathetic darkness once again moved closer to him. He came back as Rachel began unbuttoning her shirt, her breasts erupting from the sides. They were indeed perfect, everything his addled brain had imagined. Firm. With small dark circles around lighter and still very hard nipples. The skirt dropped down around her ankles. Time slowed as she slid her panties down and arranged them carefully on the foot of the bed. Jason's attention moved to her crotch. Black hair trimmed into a perfect triangle. He'd never been with a woman who trimmed there and once more tremors ran free through his groin. She climbed slowly onto the bed, her hips and breasts moving in an exaggerated slow motion. She climbed onto her knees and straddled his face. Jason tried to focus his eyes with intermittent success. Her knees pressed almost painfully into his upper arms. She looked up at the ceiling and lowered herself onto his face.