Into the Spider's Web?

by Matt Triewly

I am sitting in the café and by the window looking out. Looking through the glass. Looking out on another world. Another dimension.

Dark now. Just after five. Early evening. Winter. Not cold though. Mild. Mildish.

Street lights. Neon signs. Shop lights. All burning up slowly, inexorably, the energy of the universe.

Pedestrian precinct. No cars. No lorries. No vans. No white vans. No buses.

Damp pavements. Raining earlier. Drizzle. Stopped now.

Random people passing by. Male. Female. Old. Young. In between. Fat. Thin. Tall. Short. Indistinguishable. Rushing by. Strolling by. Struggling by. All going from somewhere to somewhere. Or nowhere to nowhere.

I freeze the vision in my head. A snapshot. Mentally paint it. Paint it with bright colours. Paint it brighter than it is. Bold brush strokes. Life - bold brush strokes and brighter than it is. A metaphor?

Who are these people? What are they doing? What are they thinking? What are they feeling? Do they even really exist? Is it all a dream? Do they even notice me by the window? And have I created a scene for you?

Am I drawing you in to another world? My world? A shared world? Just me and you? Or just you?

An indulgence. A vanity. A construction. An extrapolation.

Why? Why am I doing this, composing this? To impress you? To make you like me? To make you want to fuck me? Or fuck with you? And who are you anyway?

Digression. Ignore it. No, please do.

I feel a little gust of cold air brush over me. It must be her - she promised to be here just after five. Promised.

I look in the direction of the entrance, the heavy reinforced glass panelled doors. And there she is. Blonde, corn coloured hair. Green coat.

She turns and sees me. Walks over.

She's a dream come true, a fantasy come true. But it's all subjective. She. Me. You.

I stand up, clumsily and noisily knocking my chair out of the way.

I put my hand out. She does the same.

"You must be Matt," she says, with a confident 'cut glass' English accent.

We grasp each other's hands firmly for the requisite and socially accepted amount of time. Not too long - overly intimate, intimidating, controlling. Not too short - signifying fear, anxiety, inferiority, inadequacy. Or that's the way I interpret it.

"I am indeed," I reply.

"Katherine."

"Pleased to meet you Katherine."

"It's too soon to assume that - you may not." She smiles.

I smile back to acknowledge her point - I may indeed regret it. Or maybe I won't even live to regret it - she could be a serial killer, and me a fly into the spider's web to be 'consumed' at her leisure.

But I doubt that. Just me being dramatic.

She slips her coat off and drapes it gently over the back of the chair opposite me.

The contrast of the rich green fabric with the cream colour of the fake leather fascinates me for a second - lights and colour and texture do that to me.

"I'm going to get a coffee do you want one too, Matt?"

"Yes please, Cappuccino."

With her black purse in her left hand she walks over to the counter.

I study her from behind and wonder how it's all going to pan out.

You see, this is what life is all about:

Anticipation. Excitement. The unknown.

And remembering it. Reliving. Replaying it. And in Technicolor with the sound turned fully up.

But I'm not sure Katherine would fully agree with that. That is if she even exists.

Yeah, I'm looking at her from behind now.

Tallish, about five-seven with golden hair just touching the white material of her smart, short-sleeved buttoned shirt. Tanned arms. Navy-Blue skirt, professional, cut just above the knees of her long, slender and toned legs.

I observe her placing the order - it's too far to hear her speak.

I see the female assistant taking the cups from the shelf behind her and work the controls of the coffee machine.

I watch Katherine handing over the note and placing the change back in her purse with silver clasps.

I suddenly think of the name, Katherine and how it reminds me of Russia for some reason. Russia in the winter. A fantasy Russia. A romantic Russia. A Russia of Doctor Zhivago. The abandoned palace in the snow. Beautiful but desolate. Beautiful but desolate like Katherine? Maybe. Maybe not.

Desolate?

Where's that come from?

Beautiful too?

I think so...

She's back and carefully setting down the cups on the surface of the table.

"So, Matt, what do you think of me?"

I'm taken by surprise at her frankness, her directness.

I look at her blue-green eyes which have a cruel and mischievous glint to them, her small but straight nose, her thin yet sensuous lips and all framed within her oval face the flesh of which is smooth and tanned like a skier's.

"Y-You're b-beautiful, Katherine."

"Thanks," she says, "I know." And smiles.

She picks up her coffee cup and takes a sip from it.

I do the same - I am already mirroring her actions - and it's because I'm a weak and easily influenced individual. I also mimic to flatter.

"I'm not going to beat around the bush, Matt, I'm primarily a sadistic woman who likes nothing better than beating worthless males - and some females too, and what's more I intend to make some cash out of it. What I want from you, Matt, is to be my whipping boy, for want of a better expression, and sex slave. You'll get some money out of it too. But it ain't going to be easy - you'll suffer."

"Y-yes, I'd v-very much love to serve you Mistress-"

She slaps me hard across my left cheek leaving a metallic taste in my mouth.

"Don't start talking like those wannabe slave types, Matt, they're fakes and wimps and users - this is serious, I'm serious."

"Sorry, really sorry, Katherine."

"Good."

I look round and see the scattered handful of other patrons in the café just turning their heads back - it was a hard slap and the noise of it would have resounded around the room.

I feel conspicuous, embarrassed, and my face reddens.

"Time for us to leave, Matt. Finish your drink - you're coming with me back to my place where we'll find out what kind of a man you are..."

*

We are in her front room. Snow coloured deep-pile carpet. White walls. Brass fitted wall lamps. Black leather sofa. Heavy green patterned curtains. Lighting just right. Temperature just right. Television situated just right. Everything just so. Controlled. Perfect. Perfect for her.

"I'm going to nip to the loo now and get changed, and when I come back I want you to have stripped naked. Don't argue, Matt, just do it."

For a second I am paralyzed. Stunned. It all feels so surreal. And events are moving fast. But nevertheless I unbutton my check shirt, pull it off then drop my black trousers. Next I take off my underpants and socks. Now naked I then pick up my discarded clothes and place them into a neat pile on the carpet. As I stand there, momentarily alone, a curious mix of humiliation and excitement washes over me so much so that my cock becomes as stiff as a broom handle - I wonder how Katherine will react to that when she sees it.

I discern her footsteps padding along the hall and wonder whether to cup my hands around my genitals. But I opt not to.

Katherine enters the room and faces me - she is wearing a sleeveless black top and black trousers. And both are tight fitting. It doesn't look like she has a bra on either. Her feet are bare and her toenails painted red, as are the nails on her fingers. Her fragrance, I now become aware of, is kind of cloying, overpowering.

"I'm glad to see you've done as I instructed. Okay, what I'm going to do is inspect you, and when I've finished that I'll make a decision as to how much use you're going to be to me. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Right, let's start at the top." She comes up close to me. "Well, firstly, your hair's too long, looks scruffy, it would look a lot better if it was short and neat. I reckon a grade three every three weeks will keep it smart - I like my men, no demand them, to be smart."

You have other men, Katherine?

"Secondly, your little goatee beard is fine, but make certain it is trimmed every other day at the minimum. Thirdly, you should shave your face just before you see me as I like smooth skin on a guy. Incidentally that also applies to your pubic area and armpits - I don't want to see any hair there at all as it can become smelly."

She takes a step back and says, "Swivel round, give me a little twirl."

I move slowly round.

"Okay then. You're not in bad shape, reasonably good looking but not handsome. I particularly like your big brown eyes and long eye lashes - there's something feminine about that. I have to say you haven't got any unsightly blemishes, though you are a bit overweight - maybe a little more swimming and cycling will help with that. You've got nicely shaped balls and your cock's probably a little bigger than average, but even so you won't ever be shagging me so that's not really an issue. It's good to see that you're really stiff," she momentarily grabs my penis and squeezes it hard such that I flinch, "as I need a guy who can perform at the drop of a hat. Or should that be a drop of the knickers." She smiles at her little witticism. "However, when you're not seeing me you do not masturbate or have sex with anyone else. Got it?"

"Yep, got it."

"Okay, Matt, you'd better go to the loo now and when you come back I'm going to see what kind of a man you are, but probably not in the way you're thinking. She smiles in what I am increasingly beginning to see as rather spiteful - or even evil.

I walk down the hallway to the toilet. As I pee into the bowl I discern Katherine's soft footsteps as she walks first down the hallway and then into her bedroom where I just make out the sound of a wardrobe door opening. I then hear her walk back along the hallway and into the lounge.

What are you up to Katherine?

I finish up, flush the loo, wash my hands and then open the door.

As I enter the lounge the first thing I noticed is that there is a red towel over the head rest of the sofa and another directly below on the carpet. Katherine is standing at the far end of the sofa and in her right hand she is grasping a long bamboo cane. It is clear she is intending to use it on me.

"Now tell me Matt, have you ever been caned before?"

"W-well, n-no I haven't."

"Even better. It's going to come as a bit of a shock. The pain will be excruciating - hopefully."

I gulp - yet this is my fantasy to serve and suffer at the hands of a cruel goddess.

"I want you now to bend over the sofa, at the end, with your hands on the seat and your torso and feet on the towels."

I do as she orders. Pain, no agony, is just seconds away - and fear is already coursing through my now trembling naked body.

Katherine, behind me now, whispers in my right ear, "I'm going to really hurt you. But I want you to be brave and stay in position - I need to know that you are worthy."

There's a brief 'whoosh' followed almost immediately by a 'crack'. And a split second later a line of fire ignites along my buttocks accompanied by an unpleasant tingling sensation in my cheeks. It takes all my resolve to remain in position.

"I told you it would hurt. Now, Matt, tell me what I expect of you."

I swallow and reply, "You want me to have a grade three haircut every three weeks. You want me to shave before I see you. I must keep my beard trimmed. I must shave my pubes and under my arms every day-"

<Whoosh> <Crack>

"Ahhhhh-"

"You needn't bother with giving me a speech. All I need for you to do is... obey"

My face is hot and I begin to sweat. I understand the reason for the towels now - she doesn't want perspiration on her sofa or perhaps blood and other bodily fluids dripping onto her carpet

<Whoosh> <Crack>

A 'hot wire' is dragged across my flesh.

"I promise to TOTALLY obey you."

"That's more like it. Obedience. Total obedience. Yeah, I like the sound of that. Almost as much as like the sound of the cane impacting on your skin."

<Whoosh> <Crack>

"Oh... oh... my God..."

She laughs, and I wonder if she is throwing back her head as she does, before exclaiming, "There is no god..."

*

"It's over, Matt. You can straighten up and get dressed."

It takes me a second to comprehend that she is speaking to me - I am dazed. Broken. Tame. Obedient. Surrendered. It was just a blur of inescapable pain towards the end and my buttocks feel like tenderized meat.

"You can go home now. I will text you when I want to see you next, but don't contact me and don't say hello in the street should you see me either."

I am still too stunned to speak. Shocked.

She comes up to me and kisses me gently on the forehead. "You've been very brave, Matt. It's so touching that you wish to serve and suffer for me that much," she says compassionately before adding: "Oh look you've got a little tear rolling down your cheek."

She puts a finger up to it and wipes it off.

Something breaks inside of me and I drop to the floor crying like a baby...

TO BE CONTINUED

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