Oh fuck. I knew the blackmail plans would come back to haunt me. I had experimented with Emma once or twice, sure, and all three girls of the trio were hot in their own way— preppy Madison, the blond/blue eyed perfect student, model Emma who knew exactly how to wear the latest fashion, and dusky Sophia. Who had the lean, muscled body of a track star. What kind of person wouldn't find the idea of such a spread serving their every whim incredibly arousing?
"You just gave me the best orgasm I've had since, fuck, I don't even know, don't blush like a fucking virgin! You're a predator, Hebert, and I didn't even notice until I fucking tripped over it! If you hesitant on me now-"
Before I even think about it, I reach down and take the nipple I bit between my thumb and finger and twist. Sophia breaks off in the middle of her sentence with moan, and I quietly freak out over actually doing that.
"...Here's the deal, Hebert. You don't pull out your shit, and I get Emma and Mads to back down."
This time, I don't just twist, I twist and pull. Hard. Sophia convulses with a breathy squeak that she strangles in less than a second.
"Really? You actually think that I'm going to give up just because you saw it? I've got enough 'shit' to drown all three of you in trouble. Why should I back down? In fact, why shouldn't I go to the cops right now? Breaking and entering is a pretty serious crime..." Sophia takes several seconds to get her breathing under control, but when she does, her smirk returns.
"I'm not stupid, Hebert. You had plans to get video, but right now, all you have is your word and writing. And don't even try to talk about the cops with me— who's tied up and soaking in her own juices, here? Your dad ain't exactly rich, either. And court case is going to cost you money you don't have, especially with such shitty evidence and Emma's dad on our side. The best you're gonna get is me telling them to hold off." This time I switch nipples, giving the other clothed peak some attention as well. Sophia is more than happy to push against my fingers. The first time I twisted her was to punish her. Now it's partly to punish her, and partly because I really really like how she's writhing and panting.
The next minute is weird. Part of it is spent contemplating going to the police about the girl I currently have moaning beneath me, and part of it is spent contemplating the fact that I have Sophia Hess beneath me and I'm toying with her nipples.
Jesus Christ.
Most annoying is the fact that she's right. Anything I try to do will cost me I just as much as it'll cost them. The entire point of this was to get them to stop— the revenge was a nice bonus. If I have the chance...
"Fine. I won't take this to court, and you get the other two to stop. No messing around with the deal— we both know what I mean. Now, it's time for you to leave."
I stand up, then bend over and almost drag Sophia up to her feet. I drag her to the front door by the cord— my alarm drags on the ground, but at the moment I couldn't care less. By the time I've reached the door, Sophia has regained some semblance of reason.
"Wait, wait! Are you seriously gonna just push me out there like this?!"
I take a moment to look Sophia over, and it's very apparent what her problem is. Her sweater is ripped almost clean through, and her bra is doing a pretty bad job of covering up her nipples. Her skirt has ridden up her sides, and Sophia's uncomfortable shifting at my appraising gaze gives me glimpses of her very wet panties.
Suddenly, a wicked thought comes to mind, and I can't resist. Get her wound up, then push her out there without a finish. After such a surreal evening, what's one more dirty deed to add to the list?
"You're right, Sophia." I practically purr the words. "I suppose I can't just leave you like this..." Twirling her around, I have her pressed up against the back of the front door in moments. Pressing against her, I trail one hand up and down her bare leg, slowly working my way inwards. With the other hand, I slowly untie the cord. Sophia shivers, biting her lip in an effort to keep quiet when I finally reach the end of my journey. I rub gently against her center through the panties, then push ever so slightly inwards. She gasps, her eyelids fluttering, and I finally pull off the last of the cord—
The next thing I know, I'm on the floor. Sophia is once again on top of me, and is doing her best to suffocate me with her tongue. She also has one hand up my shirt, squeezing my breast almost painfully, while her other hand slips down the front of my pants and immediately curls over my mound to rub against me. Sophia is less than patient— a moment later, the rubbing becomes penetration, and her fingers twist and scissor inside me. I'm tensing up in seconds, and I ride out the best orgasm I've ever had.
Seriously. No masturbation could compare to this.
When it's done, I'm left panting on the floor. Sophia finishes the kiss, and pulls back. Slipping her fingers out of me in one quick motion, she brings them up between us, rubbing them together to show off the sticky wetness that's caught there.
She then sucks them into her mouth. I twitch. She acts as though it's delicious-, closing her eyes and making audible sucking noises, humming in apparent delight.
It's way too soon for me to be getting aroused again.
Of course, as soon as she finishes, I realize that it's the same hand that was originally covered in blood. Somehow, this fails to kill my buzz. Of course, it isn't helped by the way that she stands up, shimmies out of her panties, and drops them onto my face with a smirk.
"Remember, Hebert, you aren't the only one who likes to be on top."
She's out the door in seconds, leaving me behind in a puddle of cum with wet panties on my nose.
I slowly stand, make my way upstairs, drop the panties off on my bed, and move into the bathroom.
I then proceed to vomit as the incredible tension decides to release.
I fucked Sophia Hess.
But somehow, that's a good thing?
No more terrible trio, anyway. And the sex was great.
I think I'll just count today as an overall win, and hope that Sophia wasn't lying.
.....and now I won't be able to sleep tonight, worrying about wether or not she's telling the truth.
* * *
I didn't go to school the next day.
Dad came home late. One twenty three in the morning, my now slightly-beat-up clock told me. He went to bed almost immediately.
Meanwhile, I stared at my ceiling.
My mind ran in circles. Sophia had broken into my room. I had punched Sophia. I had some weird, machoistic form of sex with Sophia. Sophia had promised to get the trio to back off. Sophia had fucked me back, and then left her panties on my face.
I had put the panties into the back of my closet, along with the notebooks. Thinking of the notebooks brought my thoughts right back around to the fact that Sophia had broken into my house and read them, and the cycle began again.
I passed out at some point. I don't know when. The adrenalin crash and the late hour finally overcame my frantically worried thoughts.
When I woke up, it was well past noon. I also felt better than I had in a long while; orgasms are good stress relievers. Dad had left a note in the kitchen— I had refused to be woken up, and dad had decided to let me sleep. He also wanted an explanation for my black eye, and he expected me to go to school tomorrow.
I decided that I was too mellow to deal with thoughts of seeing the trio at school tomorrow, so I made some quick ramen for lunch. Unfortunately, eating the ramen woke my stomach up— and it most definitely wanted more. I had eaten another bowl of ramen, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and two meat-and-cheese sandwiches by the time I was done. Of course, by this point my previously ignored eye was aching painfully, so I grabbed a bag of ice and did what I always did when I wanted to avoid thinking about how much my life sucked.
I worked on becoming a superhero.
The spiders I had left in the basement had suffered some casualties when I wasn't around to suppress their instincts, as usual, but it hadn't been too bad. A jog outside would let me gather enough to replace them easily. But for now, I stripped off my clothes, pulled on the beginnings of my spider-silk gloves and shoes, sat down in a chair I had rescued from a dumpster, leaned back, closed my eyes and had hundreds of black widows crawl all over my body in a horrific substitute for actual measuring equipment/dummy.
I couldn't completely suppress the shudder that ran through me as hundreds of tiny legs skittered up and down my nude body. It had taken a ridiculous amount of practice to get this far without shivering in disgust and instinctual terror. Intellectually, I knew the spiders were under my complete control, but the hindbrain doesn't care about that. It cares about all the completely lethal threats crawling over my body.
Still, sacrifices had to be made. I couldn't make a costume that fit without knowing all the important fiddly little details, and I couldn't effectively measure those little details with a variety of equipment. A simple cloth tape measure would suffice for almost everything, of course, but it wouldn't be as precise as I'd want it. Especially if I had to direct the spiders to make it on the ground, or on a hook, or just about anything else. Instead, I had them weave it directly on my body.
It wasn't easy. One of the biggest problems was putting it all together— I could focus only so many spiders onto my limbs before crowding made them ineffective. The actual weaving was done in shifts, with spiders exhausting their spinnerets and moving away to let other spiders pick up their lines. One of the benefits of this was a near-skintight suit. Unfortunately, one of the drawbacks of this was that it was a near-skintight suit. It was a close enough weave that when I finished the first part of the boots and had reached just above my ankles— and the joint there had been a bitch to work around enough to allow for easy slipping into it, without having too much loose silk— I had been forced to pull out a section of my body hair.
I hadn't even thought of the hair getting in the way, and had ended up weaving it into the silk. Pulling those boots off was one of the most painful things I've ever done. Needless to say, I started to shave everywhere on my body near religiously after that harrowing experience. It seemed to be working— this was the fourth rendition of my costume. Weaving with spiders was hard, and due to the process making mistakes wasn't fixable. I couldn't take the suit apart after I had put it together, and the earlier three glove-boot combos I had started, only to mess up, were currently sitting in a corner.
This time, though, I had practiced enough to get it right! I would continue on past my knees and shoulders— the current limits of my expertise— and make a full costume! I would—
As the boots slowly worked their way up my thighs, a lone spider finally made the trek across my folds, and production stuttered to a halt as I dealt with the tickling.
That had felt entirely too good. Obviously I was still sensitive from yesterday, and I should just ignore it, and I'm having a horrible idea.
It took me several seconds of arguing with myself— what could it hurt? Well, it's a black widow spider, so it could hurt a WHOLE DAMN BUNCH— except I've never lost control. Not once. What part of 'dangerously lethal' do you not get!?— but by the end of it, I was as convinced as I was going to be. I paused the motion of all the spiders I had working, and very carefully sent one scurrying across me once again.
It felt like little pinpricks of fire, tingling and leaving me aching for more. Unable to resist, I sent the spider across once more, and again, until I finally had it simply dancing atop the now-glistening flesh. It wasn't enough.
Soon enough, I had spiders running across my skin— and in this new, delightful context, it was far from disgusting. My entire body felt like it was being gently brushed against, as if a troupe of painters had decided to worship me. Spiders pulled at my nipples with my direction, and the twisting fire of lust in my gut only increased. It wasn't enough— I needed something in me, and shamefully enough it was only the fact that I'd probably crush the things that kept me from trying out a spider. Instead, I had to settle for a hand.
Reaching down, I cleared the spiders away just fast enough to keep them from being smashed as I immediately pushed in— and gasped in delight. I had been working with spider silk for days now. I was perfectly aware of the fact that it was delightfully soft, but seeing as I'd been covered in spiders every time is had it on and had mostly focused on that little distracting detail, it hadn't really occurred to me how good it felt. I was making up for that lack of knowledge right now.
My fingers slipped in with ease. The feeling of silk was entirely new, and very, very pleasant. The silk was liquid-proof, so my juices couldn't soak in— and with the combined slickness and nigh-frictionless material, my digits damn near glided into me. Before I knew it, I was knuckle deep and pumping as hard as I could.
Here, however, the same lack of friction was punishing me. I couldn't build up heat, couldn't work it as well as I could with my bare fingers— I was simply pushing in and out. So I improvised.
Before now, I hadn't been hard to please. Two fingers, rubbing against my clit and a bit of nipple pinching was enough to get me off. Not with this. So, I made up for quality with quantity. Three fingers was more than I had ever tried before, and it stretched me in the best of ways. Instead of simply pumping in and out I mixed it up. Imitating Sophia, I scissored my fingers open and closed, curled them up and stroked my inner walls, and generally did my best to send myself into orgasm.
It worked. Before long I was clenching around my fingers, hissing out my breath through clenched teeth, and practically ripping my nipple off with my other hand.
Man, Sophia knew how to do it. Why hadn't I tried this before?
* * *
Dad came home around nine, I told him I had gotten into a fight with some prick down at the Boardwalk and dealt with his minor panic attack. By that time the bodysuit was nearing completion, and I found out how I'd fucked up. There was such a thing as too skin-tight, and I had passed by that a while ago. I didn't just have a camel-toe in the thing— I had silk outlining every single bit of my slit. I had very visible bumps perched atop my breasts as well.
It looked like I'd have to loosen up the fabric yet again. The entire day had been a waste of time.
Well. Almost the entire day. I'd messed around more than once, and it turns out that silk is a horrible torture device. Enough to let pressure and heat through, but soft enough that it takes real creativity to work around. In similar news, the bodysuit was absolute torture to try and masturbate in. I could rub, but the silk wasn't stretchy enough for actual penetration, nor did it translate the rubbing very well with it's stupid-soft feeling.
