ON WEB

"Get that big thing away from me, Simon." Helen stood rigid against
the wall. Simon menaced her with what was in his hand. Helen's
imagination ran amok. It reminded her of the coal cellar where it all
started when a young girl. An ordeal her father put her through she
wanted to forget.
Like a damsel in distress, Helen pleaded for Simon to take the
monster. Simon was no knight in shining armour. More like the odious
dragon. He had that tantalising look in his eye. Helen cringed and
giggled at the same time.
She knew how the beast got there in the first place. Helen wondered if
her dad, who locked a naughty girl in that dark dungeon, got a kick out
of frightening her just as much as Simon did. Simon chased her around
the flat and into the bedroom. He knew she'd give in to him in the
end.
Oh, deep down, it thrilled, as she ran, scared out of her wits. Helen
couldn't explain the sexual stimulation it sent through her loins.
Neither could she explain the exhilarating fear when she tried to fight
Simon off. His strength brushing against her frail body turned her on.
At the same time his overpowering physique terrified her.
"I'm coming, Helen," said Simon in a ghostly haunt. He cornered her.
She backed up against the wardrobe. He turned out the light. Now in
total darkness she felt his presence.
She remembered cringing when her father slammed the bolt shut. Ignored
her futile pleas to let her go, to end her torture. In time Helen
responded to the danger in the cellar. Just closed her eyes, adjusting
her mind to the unknown terror. Total surrender. Sensing the evil
presence in the darkness.
She imagined that giant thing attacking her body. All she could do was
brush the imaginary threat away from her body with her hand. A new
experience began to slowly develop, a sensation, a tingling came over
her as she pleasured her body.
Helen soon learned to associate fear with sexual arousal. When she
first met Simon, she told him of her childhood ordeal. Simon used it to
his advantage. To arouse and pleasure her, as only an ardent love knew
how.
Her heavy breathing, now, was not through fear, but sexual
anticipation, and the imminent satisfaction. This bedtime ritual was
Simon's idea of foreplay. He used Helen's arachnid phobia to satisfy
his own lust.
"A friend once told me that fear of spiders can be cured, Simon,"
Helen said.
Simon shook his head. "No, it's - er - a natural thing, Helen. It's in
born. We all have it."
"Then why aren't you scared of spiders, Simon?"
"Because..." he faltered. "Well... because -er-men are stronger than
women... - immune to it, I suppose. I don't know. Your friend's having
you on?"
Now it was Helen's turn to tease Simon. "She said she saw this TV
documentary once, about victims who volunteered to hold Black Widow
spiders in the palm of their hands."
He didn't like her in this mood and thought he might turn the tables.
"Were they sexually turned on like you, Helen?"
"No, silly. They were cured."
"Ah, don't you dare volunteer, Helen?" frowned Simon. "I like you as
you are."
She grimaced, cringing under the blankets. "Oooh, not me Simon, not
catch me holding a spider - to cure me or not!"
"Good," he said, holding his hand. "If you were cured our sex life
might not be the same again. I love spiders around. And so should
you."
He lifted her nightie, fondling her. "Darling, you're good enough to
eat." This was his favourite term of endearment. Virtually he did 'eat
her', because her body was covered in love bites.
Quite often, Helen wasn't in the mood, but Simon, always in the mood,
used her to end his frustration. And so, whether she wanted it or not,
Helen allowed Simon to degrade her in this way.
Sometimes, even before he was finished, she'd drop off to sleep,
fagged out. Simon, not in the least bit tired, lay awake, thinking
about the stroke he once pulled on Helen.
For a lark, he teased Helen with a tomato stalk? At a glance it looked
like the real thing. Sure enough, if sheer terror turned her on, it
guarantees great sex for them both. Because of this, he didn't really
want Helen to overcome her fear of spiders.
Suddenly, he spotted eight hairy legs on the ceiling, heading towards
them.
Towards Helen, lying on her back asleep, mouth agape. The little beast
stopped just above her head and lowered itself on gossamer. It stopped,
hovered inches over her mouth, gaping into the abyss.
Oh, if only Helen would wake up now. He ogled Helen's body and the
fantastic sex it would give him if she saw it. Simon couldn't believe
his luck when Helen's eyes flicked open. She laid still, she and the
spider staring each other out. Her lips quivered, the spider's legs
flickered. It was as if they were communicating with each other.
"Helen," he said, knowing now was his chance to have his way with her.
"Bet you feel sexy. Well, I'm horny." He flaunted his manhood. No
response. Well, he thought if she doesn't want it - I do! Helen lay
there, staring up at the ceiling, as Simon lifted her nightie mounted
her and helped himself.
During sex, even if Helen is not up for it at first, she usually
finishes up hot-blooded. This session she seemed cold to the end.
Still, beggars can't be choosers, can they? After having his way with
Helen, tantamount to rape, he thought he heard the spider give a faint
scream. It retreated up the gossamer and back the way it came.
"Thanks pal," he shouted, waving. "You did it again. Come back
soon."

Life seemed meaningless without Helen. Simon missed teasing her,
loving her, she loving him. The coroner said Helen had died of fright,
traumatised by suddenly waking up and seeing the spider before her like
that. (And not died from Simon's sexual prowess, as all men would like
to believe.)
Either way, he couldn't accept that she'd gone from his life. He died
of a broken heart months later. He was buried with his beloved
Helen.
"Hello Simon," a voice rang out in the darkness of the grave.
"Helen, is that you my darling?" Simon squinted his eyes in the
blackness. A black, grotesque image appeared.
"I've been waiting for you, Simon," said a stark voice.
"Who's that?"
"Me - your wife Helen."
"Helen? Oh, thank God. I have missed you, darling."
"Missed you too, Simon love. But now we're together again."
"Where are we? It's so dark."
"In the coal cellar."
"You hate it in the coal cellar. There are spiders in there."
"The coal cellar is our home now, Simon. Because we're spiders now." A
hairy leg rested on his shoulder. "Are you feeling sexy as usual Simon,
my love?"
"Not half. Not had it for months."
"Neither have I."
"I'm dying for it, Helen."
"Me too, Simon."
"Are you, Helen?"
"I feel sexy - let's do it!"
He needed no telling twice. Their sixteen legs entwined to give the
most fantastic sex. Just as energetic as before, their insatiable sex
drives still intact. What's more, Helen left Simon exhausted for a
change. Simon tried to untangle his legs from hers. Helen tightened her
grip on him.
"No," she said. "You're good enough to eat, my darling Simon."
She bared her teeth, sinking them into his neck, but not for making
love bites. Helen did more than suck at Simon's flesh - she ripped into
it. Simon lay helpless in her vice like grip.
Helen munched away, satisfied more than she had ever been when she was
a human. In her present form she liked the idea of female spiders
eating their male partners after mating. Some managed to get away
unscathed. But females never went hungry, because males, once they got
the taste, always come back for their nookie.