The Spider’s Web


Author’s note: This story is a sequel to Summer Rules, which appeared in the Summer Loving Contest.


“Well, one good thing. We don’t need costumes.” Jan certainly had not bothered to dress up for Claude’s Halloween party. Old jeans, big flannel shirt, her long dark hair hanging out from a little knit cap, she looked every bit the hippie college girl. Even so, one or two people recognized her, then Tom. There was no mistaking her face. Vampire chic, they were calling it, that long nose, the dark, deep set eyes, the look of a little girl totally devoid of innocence. Famous, they were famous now. As if they weren’t recognizable enough, Jan had plunked herself down right next to one of the perfume posters. Not that there was any escaping them. Everywhere he went, he was staring at Jan’s naked body, his naked body wrapped behind her, that blank look of bliss on both their faces. There were little whispers around the subway car. Two guys were staring at them with a mix of lust and envy. Lust for Jan, envy for Tom? Or was it the other way around?

“We should have taken a cab,” Tom fretted.

“Depends on the cabbie.”

“There’s that.” He glanced at his watch — a Rolex now, a gift from Claude. He didn’t even want to guess how much it might be worth. “We’re going to be late.”

“We’ve got a buffer. Party doesn’t start till ten. Yvette wants to get us in costume.”

“I thought we were just going to be naked.” Tom blurted it a bit too loudly, and Jan gave him a little kick.

“She’s going to prep us just like for a shoot,” she whispered. “We need to look good. Claude has some important clients coming to this party.”

“We’re going to be, like, living sculpture?” Tom tried to imagine himself holding a pose while the guests wandered around inspecting him. Worse still, touching him.

“A little more than that. These are very important clients.”

“Shit.” He got up off the bench. He hung on the railing above her, staring down at her. “It’s not summer any more.” It was, in fact, the end of October. “I thought we were a couple again. Just a couple.”

He didn’t like the way she was blushing.

“Tom.” She got up to whisper into his ear. The touch of her breath made everything tingle. “Tom, you haven’t been working since school started. I have.”

“Working as what?”

“A model,” she snapped, too loudly, right into that tingling ear.

“Just a model?”

“Doing what a model needs to do. The things you were doing before school started. And don’t tell me you weren’t having fun.”

“So at this party, we’re supposed to be doing what models need to do?” Tom tried to sound irritated. He was irritated. He’d been faithful to her for the last six weeks. Maybe it was even seven by now.


“Only maybe?”

“Claude said that we should be ready to make ourselves available.”

“That sounds like more than a maybe.”

“You’re mad at me?”

“You should have told me.”

“I’m telling you now.”

“Isn’t it a little late?”

“Tom. Dear.” She leaned in to give him the tingly ear again. “I need to go to this party. Claude is gambling a lot on this perfume thing. He needs backers. He needs …”

“Claude has a cash flow problem? Too many ads, not enough sales?”

“He’ll be fine after Christmas. All he needs is a little slack, a little goodwill.”

“He told you this?”

“Yvette told me this. Yvette understands how to run a business. Claude has his head up his ass.”

“When it isn’t up yours.”

The slap came so unexpectedly it nearly knocked him over. There was a murmur from the other passengers. “Careful,” he muttered. He rubbed his jaw to see if it was swelling. “Don’t damage the merchandise.”

“Sorry.” She didn’t sound very sorry. Then, she actually began to cry.

“Jan, you don’t have to do this.”

“Yes I do.” She paused. “I want to do it. ” She leaned in again to do the tingly whisper. “Don’t you want it? Don’t you want everyone in the room to want to fuck you? Don’t you want to spend the whole night fucking?”

“Being fucked.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t like that. I spend a lot of time up your ass.” That was true. Jan had her own version now of Mr. Pinky. Maggie had given it to her as a going away present before she went back to college. “Don’t tell me you don’t wish it was a real cock.”

Her whisper had grown to a shout as the subway had squealed around a turn. But everything had gone silent abruptly. Everyone had heard the end of what she had been saying. Thankfully, it was time to get off. The two guys who had been closest to them got off behind them, trailing them. For a moment Tom thought there might be trouble. But they got out into the street and lost themselves in a crowd of costumed revelers.

“Why is he having the party down here?” Tom had been down to Claude’s loft a couple of times. It was barren compared to the apartment.

“He’s got it decorated. A haunted house or something. Yvette wouldn’t let me see it. She said it was going to be a surprise.”

Even without Halloween decorations the porno loft was creepy enough. It still screamed sweatshop. Claude had done nothing to soften its industrial drabness. They went into an elevator car big enough to hold a tank, a relic from the nineteenth century, probably still the original equipment. It groaned its way up to the top floor.

“Next time,” Tom grumbled, “we take the steps.”

“You ever see the stairway? There are people on that stairway.”


“Yep. And worse. Personally, I’ll take my chances with the elevator.”

“You’re late!” Yvette was shouting at them through the grille even before it opened to release them. “Come on, hurry up, we have to get you set up before the guests arrive.

“Set up?”

” Hurry, get your clothes off,” Yvette was ignoring Jan’s question. “Where did you get those shoes? No, don’t tell me.” She was staring contemptuously at Tom’s loafers.

“Tom McAnn. Set up?”

“You will greet our guests with a living tableau of the perfume ad. An exact replica. Assuming,” she gave a flick at the flaccidity Tom had revealed by stripping off his chinos, “that you are capable.”

“You want us to sit there with my dick up her ass?”

“Yes, just the way we did the shoot. God, what is all this hair?” She was staring at Tom’s legs. “And what is that?” She pointed to a purple spot just below his right knee.

“It’s a bruise. I got kicked.”

“Soccer season,” Jan amplified.

“Well, we’ll see what we can do. Come, hurry, hurry. Have you purged your bowels?”

“Maybe.” Tom was feeling nervous, and feeling nervous made him queasy. “Jan …” He trailed off. No point in complaining.

“Well, take care of it while I do Jan.” She had ushered them into an area that had been screened off and set up as a bathroom. She was gesturing towards the toilet, then to Jan. “Come here dear. Bend over.” She had something in her hand that buzzed, that she was shoving up Jan’s butt. At first Tom thought it was a vibrator. Then he realized it was a little electric razor. “You look fine otherwise. As for your boyfriend …”

She came over and knelt in front of the toilet, grabbing Tom’s right ankle. “Are you making any progress?”

“It’s a little distracting.”

“Tom, dearest, we do not have time to go away and let you meditate. You have until I finish this other leg. Then you are going to wipe yourself and flush the toilet and you will turn around so I can shave your butt.”

He closed his eyes. He tried to ignore the buzzing. He was used to clearing himself out for anal sex. Jan didn’t like getting shit on Mr. Pinky. There was no sink in her room in the dorm. If it got dirty, he had to lick it off, that was the threat, and once he and actually done it, right in front her. He tried to imagine he was in the bathroom in her suite, getting ready for Mr. Pinky time. Funny. How often had been crouched on Jan’s bed with Mr. Pinky up his ass, fantasizing about a night like this? Be careful what you wish for.

“Get yourself cleaned up.” Yvette’s mocking drawl broke his reverie. “I guess,” she gave a disdainful sniff, “you will be ready now.”

There wasn’t a proper shower, just an ancient free standing bath tub with clawed feet. Tom’s grandparents had a tub like that. There was a little shower head on a handle to rinse off with after the bath. They made do with that. One advantage of it, it could work as a bidet.

“Your arms,” Yvette snapped, “your armpits.” She trapped him once again to rid him of the offending hair. She ran the shaver over his face, too, even though it was perfectly smooth. “It will have to do.”

She knelt down and took his flaccid cock into her mouth, half his freshly shaved balls also. She stuck a finger up his freshly cleaned out asshole.


“You need to be able to penetrate Miss Happening here, and you don’t seem to be up to it. Apparently she is not providing you with sufficient inspiration.”

“We fuck all the time,” Jan snapped, but actually it wasn’t true. After a full day of school, after soccer practice, his tongue for her, Mr. Pinky for him, was more reliable. Half the time they did try to fuck, it wound up that way in the end anyway.

“Do I need to get Claude?” Yvette’s ministrations were not doing much.

“Claude is not big enough,” Tom sneered. He was rewarded with another slap, to his balls this time. That was enough to get his interest.

“Oh.” Ivette released him again to inspect progress. She gave him another three slaps and he was ready.

“No hash?” Tom asked hopefully.

“My friend, I am quite sorry. We are trying to prepare a party for two dozen guests. We did not have time to set up a hookah just for you. Perhaps, later.”

“Two dozen?” That was from Jan, and it was delivered with a little gasp.

“Do not worry, my dear. Half of them are women. Others are only interested in boys. Some may even have a shred of decency in them, although I would be surprised.”

“Tom, believe me, I didn’t realize. I thought maybe a half dozen, maybe a few more …”

“You never asked.” Yvette was staring at her. “I would not lie to you.”

“Tom.” Jan was staring at him in alarm, thinking he would shrivel at the news. But it was having just the opposite effect. He was rigid, trembling, and the tip of his penis was starting to ooze a little.

“Tom, my dear, you are a little whore.” Yvette ran her finger over the tip, tasted it. She made a face. “Asparagus. Why would you eat that on a night like this?”

“It’s my fault,” Jan said. “I cooked us dinner.”

“How domestic of you. Come.” There was a small table, almost like an altar, covered with black cloth, set up in the main room. “You will arrange yourselves here. Hurry. The elevator is coming up already.”

“It’s too small.” Tom sat on the top. His knees were dangling over one edge, his butt over the other.

“Make it work!” Yvette snapped. “Act like a professional!”

“Professional what?” Tom retorted. But he pulled up his legs, almost into swami position. He pushed his butt back a little more. Jan backed to the edge of the table, and he lifted her up and impaled her on his erection. There was no problem getting past her asshole — in fact, considerably less than there had been. Tom wondered just what she had been fucking. Someone or something the size of a small horse had been going up her butt. It was no wonder she only wanted his tongue these days. She wiggled into position, then tensed up so that she was gripping him, but not too tightly.

“When the fuck did you learn to do that?” He aimed his whisper to give her the tingly ear. He was rewarded with a little spasm.

“I’ve been practicing with Mr. Pinky.” She said it with as much innocence as she could muster, sitting naked with cock up her ass. It was possible, it was even somewhat credible, but he didn’t believe her.

“Ah, magnifique!” The guests had arrived. Apparently word had gone out to be on time, because there must have been more than a dozen of them surging out of the elevator. Despite what Yvette had said, there were only two or three of them dressed as women, and those might have been guys in drag. “Looks like a long night for you,” Tom whispered.

“For me?” Jan somehow managed to give a little shrug. “Want to make a bet on that? I’ll bet you that all the straight guys are here with their wives.”

The guests had surged in and stopped, about ten feet away. Tom and Jan had positioned themselves so that the first view of them was the same the camera had given on the perfume poster. That meant that Jan’s breasts, such as they were, were covered by Tom’s hands. Maybe Tom’s balls weren’t quite as well hidden. There had been a touch of airbrush magic there. The crowd stopped, they spread out little, perhaps, but they would not move closer.

“Please,” Yvette said, “don’t be shy.” She was kissing each of them, and complimenting them on their costumes. Claude was out there kissing away also. Well, Tom thought, French guys kissed each other, but those kisses seemed somehow more intimate. Strange, he probably had encountered some of them before, during the summer. He had probably had their cocks at either end of his digestive system and that didn’t bother him. But kissing, that he could not, would not do.

Despite Yvette’s assurances, the guests were still keeping their distance. They were edging closer, but no one dared to be the first. “Don’t be shy,” Jan said, and there was a little gasp.

“What are you, crazy?” Tom hissed.

“It’s going to happen, sooner or later. Do you want to be sitting here all night?”

“Why not?” Well, actually, his butt was going to sleep because the table was so hard, and Jan was too bony, digging into his thighs. And, despite all his preparations, he needed to pee.

It had seemed that there was an invisible fence, a force field right out of Star Trek, protecting them from the guests. Perhaps it was the coyness of the pose, the beauty of the posers, or their youth. Perhaps none of the guests wanted to be the first. But after Jan’s invitation, it was clear that there was nothing to prevent the guests from walking right up to the table. There was nothing to prevent them, it appeared, from moving away Tom’s hand and running a finger over her nipples, or from moving her hands away to expose her lower lips. Or, to run another finger back between those lips to verify how Tom’s flesh was intersecting hers.

“Come on Larry, get out of the way.” It was a burly black man dressed up as Superman doing the probing. A rather chubby black Wonder Woman was pulling him away. “Let everyone else get a look.”

“Do you know how many times I’ve stared at that poster, just wanting to do that? Man, oh man, that makes my day.”

“Later,” Claude said, “you will be able to inspect them to your heart’s content.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Wonder Woman grumbled.

Something was rubbing along the base of Tom’s spine. A thumb, he told himself, but it felt too big and soft. He risked a glance behind him. Rob Roy was standing there, in a kilt and a white dress shirt with the bottom of the sleeves ripped off, opened wide to reveal too much hairy chest. Apparently Rob Roy had gone commando. . Now that ‘thumb’ was trying to work its way into the gap Tom between his butt and the table. It was just reaching the edge of his asshole, just rubbing enough that the tip was starting to work its way into the outer ring.

“What’s happening?” Jan whispered. Tom was twitching inside her at each poke into his butt, and she was starting to twitch a little in response. Spiderman had come up to the front of them. At least, it was a guy dressed in Spiderman pajamas, and a dime store mask. Not a very fancy costume for such a high class party, Tom thought, but it was effective. The pajamas were very tight, and the guy was really built, with bulging thighs, huge shoulders and biceps. The pajamas had an open fly, no button or zipper, and there was an impressive erection sticking straight out through that opening, cloaked in a bright blue condom to match the rest of the costume. Jan was looking at it with some apprehension. She’d never had a cloaked penis in her mouth. What would happen if the condom came off inside her throat? She’d choke to death. But it was rubbing between her breasts, or what passed for them. What was that called, an eighty one? Something her very busty older sister had scoffed that she would never be able to pull off.

It was starting to rub upward again, and she began to panic. It wasn’t that she was squeamish. She’d teased Tom that he’d have to clean off Mr. Pinky, and one time he had actually done it. He’d turned around while she was still wearing it and stuck it in his mouth, almost casually, to her astonishment. Had he been doing that furtively, on his own? Then, the next time his cock had come out of her butt, he’d dared her to do the same thing, and it had been — interesting. More interesting than she had cared to admit. But this blue abomination did not smell interesting. It smelled medicinal, industrial. It smelled like it had been lubricated with WD40. She was starting to gag. Mercifully, it retreated. Down her belly it rubbed. There was a little bit of condom hanging on beyond the tip, and it felt really, really creepy, but she tried to keep her composure. Tom was moving up and down inside her in rhythm to Rob Roy’s humping, and she tried to concentrate on that. Finally the blue clad prick worked its way down to her groin, and that was a lot more interesting. But she was a little too far back on the table, far enough so that the tip of that penis could only reach the crease between her lips.

“Tom,” she whispered, “help me!” He could have shifted forward, so Spiderman could fuck her properly. That probably was the help she was looking for. Instead, he shifted back.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jan yelped. He had almost gone over backwards. He had almost slid out of Jan. It was only Robbie’s belly against his back that saved him. There was a grunt of satisfaction from behind him as the ‘thumb’ wiggled its way deeper into him. It wasn’t nearly as thick as Mr. Pinky. Not as long, either, although maybe it was just the angle that was bad.

Spiderman was not about to be denied so easily. He wedged his impressive thighs against the table, and pushed The table top was not made for that kind of punishment. It snapped, and the blue super prick vanished between Jan’s pussy lips. That only impaled Tom more deeply onto Rob Roy, who suddenly was bearing most of the weight of the other three. The back legs of the table were supporting the rest, but not for long. They collapsed, and it was only Robbie’s grip on what remained of the table top that was keeping them all from tumbling to the floor.

For some reason, the Scottish hero was in a bit of a hurry now. Two more grunts, two more pushes, and Tom’s asshole was very wet. He could feel himself dribbling on the floor. That had been enough to make him come, almost absentmindedly, inside Jan. At least he hoped that was what had happened and it hadn’t been his urge to pee getting the better of him. She was too slippery now, and he was shriveling. She squirmed in irritation, and that only made things worse. Then she got distracted as Robbie Boy pushed his end of the table up and Spiderman went down on his back with her on top of him. She started to bob up and down with too much enthusiasm for Tom’s taste. It was interesting, even arousing, to watch his girl friend fuck, but she could have cut the screams out a bit. That arching back, the look of rapture, the shudders — she certainly was putting on a good show. She never came like that for him. Usually she just got very quiet, and he could feel her tense up. Then he’d keep doing whatever he was doing until she gave a little sigh and said that was enough. But if this was an act, it was a very convincing one. He was getting jealous.

Finally, she more or less collapsed on the spidey stomach, and those huge orange biceps lifted her off. Tom had the chivalry to catch her. Spiderman stood up. He was limp now, still wearing the condom with a huge white blob hanging down in the tip of it, and he didn’t even have the decency to tuck the disgusting mess back inside the pajamas. He was walking around letting it all dangle like a trophy.

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