A dead brown leaf lies on a dusty old road
Tall green stalks of grass grow out of shallow wagon ruts
The road is old, deserted
Once, long ago it was well traveled, well known
Now it is old and forgotten
Once carts and carriages bustled hastily up and down its length
Men in wide brimmed hats, nodding to one another silently in passing
Women fanning themselves with their sun hats
Children playing restlessly amongst themselves in the backs of wagons
Wagons with canvas bonnets on them bouncing along the road 
An old dog looking outside at the bright day, tongue lolling out
Once this road was well traveled, and often
Now it is old and almost entirely forgotten
A few still remember it
Those who do don't speak of it
Or travel it

The old road stretches into the distance
Long and narrow, north to south
Near the north end, about a mile before it ends in a rambling tangle
Weeds and hungry overgrowth
It is no longer recognizable as a path
Much less a road
The road dwindles into the shrubbery and grass
The wagon ruts seem to crawl out of the greenery
And onto the chalky surface of the roadbed

Near the north end here lies a corpse

Under the canopy of a long stand of oaks
A ragged cloak flaps in an idle breeze
A beetle crawls busily over a pile of bones
Bleaching white in the sun
Dull metal gleaming through a veil of dust and dirt
Tall boots, high and heavy cover dry bones and shriveled flesh
Armor gone rusty with blood and age lies in the road, covering the old dry corpse
A helmet of crude metal rests heavily over an oddly gaping skull
It seems to scream
Under the crook of the chin, from its bony jutting peak
Down to the neck, bare white showing through thin skin in places
There is a spiderweb
Bare bones gleam through the hollow armor
Shining like brushed chrome in the sun is the broad plate of the chest armor
Intricate scrollwork barely visible through the grime and filth
Horses and a chariot, men with swords held high
And, almost invisible to the eye, in the harsh glare of the sun
A dark red smear across the chest plate
Crudely slashed across its width
" rosebud "

At night
Along this dusty old road
You can hear some loathsome beast
Stomping through the woods
Along the road
Breathing ragged and heavy
Stomping and tromping its way through the underbrush
A large, vicious rogue beast
Bright red eyes
Jagged, cracked hooves
Foam frothing at the mouth
An old bit in its teeth
Black leather saddle along its back
Mane tangled and thick with filth
Sunlight burns its skin
By day it hides under the trees along the road
By night it eats
Anything, everything, plant, animal
Man
On its neck are two scars

In one of the old trees above
The larger limbs are worn
Scarred deeply in places from some heavy sharp thing resting on them
For hours and endless nights on end

A lazy breeze picks up the old dead brown leaf
And carries it a ways down the road
It falls over the skeletal corpse
And becomes tangled in the spider's web

The spider is old
His senses beginning to weaken and wane
Still alert, though, and quick
He is far from being feeble
In his web is the cadaver if his last meal
A fat cocoon of yellowing silk
Inside a dry husk that was once a bright green grasshopper
It was big and strong
It thrashed and tore at the web in its throes
As it fought in its bindings
The old spider fell from behind
Bit it, and with experienced ease spun it into a blanket of silk
Waited
The grasshopper twitched once, twice
Then died
Then the old spider crawled atop the grasshopper and sank his teeth into it
And fed
That was a day gone by now
The old spider is still quite full

But it hungers for the taste

The day slowly drags by
Drawing to a close in a slow sunset
The sky turning pink in the setting sun, pink to red, red to blue
Blue to black
Stars winking in the black of the clear night

The old spider spins itself a new web in the darkness
Still full from its meal
Moving with a slow intelligent grace
His old blackish brown body moving like a blur in the night
Twin triangles of red on his belly 
Pointed tip to tip
The old black widow finishes and rests on his web
Each slender leg is outstretched, resting gingerly on a strand of his web
He is not hungry, but instinct compels to make him an new web
To kill anything that becomes caught in it
The old spider breathes silently in the clear night

A breath that will travel along untold time and distance
Through times gone past and into times long yet to come
Some three hundred years or so to come
A man sitting on his porch swing will take in the same faint gasp of air
As he sits and meditates the day ahead

The old spider from the past sits and waits
Instincts alive and electric in his cold spider mind
He waits for prey
A cold calculative machine of death and hunger
Fangs always eager to puncture cold insectile flesh
The spider waits and feels the ginger breeze caress its web

The man is sitting, swaying slowly in the porch swing
He has company coming tonight
He doesn't know quite what to think
Or what to expect
He tries not to expect or hope anything
But one has to be hopeful, now doesn't he?
And yes, the man is very hungry
He has a lady coming over for dinner

He has spent the day cleaning up
Vacuuming, washing, dusting
( in some places he normally wouldn't )
Arranging things here and there
Readying his home for the lady's watchful eye
For her company
He doesn't want her to see anything out of place
Hoping she will like what she sees
The spider sits in its web silently
Just under the crook of the old corpse's chin
Almost hidden from sight
He has chosen the place for his web well
It is very hard to see
Until some unlucky thing stumbles into it
And in one horrific moment it will be aware of the web
The old spider will fall on its prey from nowhere it seems

The man sits and watches as the sun sets lazily over the horizon
His hair is damp, he just got out of the shower a half hour or so ago
He is dressed in black denim and a red t shirt
Well worn and comfortable
And he is barefoot
His toes scrub the cool planks of the porch as he swings back and forth
She is on her way
All his rushing and preparing is done
Now all he can do is wait
And think
She will be here in under a half hour
He imagines he can already smell her skin

The spider feels a course of air come across his web
Something is coming his way
Displacing the air around it
Something has the web swaying slightly
A breeze?
No, too regular
A pulsing rhythm
Soft wings in the dark batting at the air

The man walks inside, closes the door behind him
He stands at his kitchen window and looks out
In the distance lights appear on the horizon
She is almost here, just a few moments away

The web rocks with a sudden rush of air
Something is coming
Something big

Lights in the driveway
She is here

The spider waits
Legs tensed
In the darkness a shape slowly becomes faintly visible

She's getting out of her car
He's watching her through the peephole in the door

The web rocks back and forth

Footsteps coming up the porch
A light knock at the door

Out of the night
For one moment blotting out the cool, light of the moon
A big luna moth flies into the spider's web

The spider leaps and slides down the silvery web to its prey
Small red eyes unblinking
It tenses to leap
It sees its pretty under the stark pale moonlight
And the old spider stops

He opens the door, and there she stands
Auburn hair, soft and warm looking
Deep emerald hazel eyes
Well tanned skin
A hint of cleavage
He's speechless for a moment
Then they greet and she steps inside

The spider stares at the moth
So entirely new to him
He's never seen a creature like it before
Broad thin wings a cool green color
Round spots of black high on the wings
Narrow black body, wide black eyes
Wings arching down to delicate crescent shaped tips
And the moth is staring at him
The moth knows what has happened

The man and the woman lock stares for a moment
Then they hug

The spider leaps and circles the moth
A sticky trail of webbing stretching out behind him
The moth is hopelessly caught
He aches to bite her
But he binds her in his webbing first

The man feels her breathing heavily as they hold one another
How long has he been waiting to see her?
Days has it been? Months? Years?
In his heart it has been many many years

The moth feels the spider's legs clicking about it rapidly
Engulfing it in the tacky white strands
The moth knows what is going to happen
It knows all too well

The two break their embrace, the stare at one another again
His mind is afire, he wants to kiss her
To do the things they discussed on the phone
In many sticky conversations late at night
Things they have talked about
Over the computer, in emails
In the silence of the night
He hopes she does, too
Then she kisses him suddenly, forcefully
And he knows she does

In his bedroom is a big pillar candle
Sitting on the left end of his bed at the foot
On a red teakwood pedestal
It smells of gardenias
It has been burning all day
In the middle, between the three small wicks burning away
Is a puddle of liquefied wax

They kiss again, lips touching gingerly at first
Then he slides his tongue slowly into her mouth
And she greets his
His hands slide around her
He pulls her closer to him
She holds him to her tight
He can feel the warmth of her breasts against his chest
He pulls her away as they kiss, they walk entwined
Backwards towards his bedroom
He reaches behind him and shoves the door open
And they walk into his bedroom
He closes the door behind them with one hand
Locks it
They move to the bed, still kissing, holding one another tightly
He takes his hand away from her
Relishing in the kiss between them
Their lips parting
He reaches to the foot of the bed 
There lies a small wooden box
He opens it and pulls out a slender length of black fabric
He blindfolds her
Hears her breath quicken
He takes her hands and outs them behind her back
He leans close and whispers to her quietly
" no words "

The spider continues wrapping the moth in its sticky webbing
She is large, has broad strong wings
She still fights
The webbing around her like steel
And the spider loops around her one last time
Covering her head and binding her
He crawls onto her back

He slowly undresses her
With each button he loosens
He can hear a faint gasp
He slides his hand along her body, down her back, her ass
He grips her there firmly
Her chest
Fingers teasing her nipples through the silk fabric
He pulls her blouse away
Exposing a black lace bra
Kneels down
Pulls her skirt down, takes her hand and guides her out of it
She is wearing black panties
A tiny red bows on each hip, no less
Very sheer
Barely covering her sex
With a swift motion he unsnaps her bra
It falls to the floor
He hooks a finger inside the crotch of her panties
Feels the warmth beneath
Pulls her panties down
Tosses them aside
Grasps her ankles
Slides his hands up the entire length of her body
He slowly forces her down onto the bed
Rolls her onto her back
Slides down
Between her legs
With a long, slow deep breath he begins licking her there
Kissing her
Sucking at her clit
Driving his tongue inside her
She moans lowly, a cooing sighing sound

The spider can't wait any longer
He's insane with hunger
He bites the both at the back of her neck
Through the thin shell of the cocoon
She spasms slightly
Then grows still
He sits on her back
Waits for the webbing to harden
Waits for her to grow completely still

The man rises up
Pulls her up and turns her over delicately
Forces her up onto her knees
He stands and undresses behind her
Throws his clothes nonchalantly in a corner with hers
She gasps when he rubs the head of his cock against her skin
Against the smooth warm skin of her ass
And just inside that tiny pink spot
Sticky and hot
He grabs her ass with both hands and with slow deliberate force
He slides inside her
She reacts with a loud moan
He begins a slow, rhythmic thrusting
With each motion she cries lightly
He can feel her body rocking back and forth with his own
Hear the noises
The small cries and stifled yelps
With delirious friction he slides inside her
Slowly ramming his cock home with increasing force and speed
She cries out louder now
Sliding inside her is like being envelopes in some warm, exotic oil
She shudders
He feels her growing tense
She cries louder now
With each thrust she bucks madly against him

The moth still moves
The spider realizes he has spent most of his venom
The grasshopper from the night before was big, very big
He had to expel a lot of venom to subdue it
He hopes he has injected enough to paralyze the big moth
To put her to sleep
He sits and waits
She spasms slightly every moment or so
Then lies still for several moments
Then feebly moves again
She is alive still
The spider waits

The man feels her growing wet around him
Tightening, pulling, tugging at him
He slows his rhythm
Pushing his cock slowly inside her now
Slowing to a lazy motion
He leans to one side and picks up the candle
With a hard pistoning motion he slams his cock home
Holds the pillar candle high above him in both hands and pours a hot stream of wax down his chest
The wax runs down in a thick stream
Down his stomach and onto her back
She gasps at its warm fluid touch
He holds the candle in one hand
Tips it slightly and pours a bead of wax up her back
He leans further over and pours the wax down along her arms
It drips from her skin in tacky little trickles
Hardening as it runs down
Sticking to the bedsheets
Making a fine lattice work of white wax between her skin and the bed
She tries to move against him
He wraps his free arm around her
Still grinding his cock inside her
Holding her tight
Holding her perfectly still
She still tries to buck and writhe under him
He begins to ram at her harder, gradually moving faster
The wax grows tacky under his fingers
He smears it across her back
A thin sheet of pearl white across her skin
She cries, moaning and panting
She tries to speak 
" oh fu "
He clams a hand over her mouth
Fucks her harder still, faster
Ramming home with each thrust
The wax on his chest a hardened plate now
The skin on her back is a deepening white as the wax turns hard
He reaches for ward and grapples a handful of her hair
Still ramming and fucking away at that hot slick spot between them
He reaches around her, feels hard little stalagmites of wax on her nipples
Squeezes her breasts hard, feels wax cracking under his fingers
He feels her draw a deep harsh breath
A building cry escaping her mouth
She forces her ass against his cock, not letting him withdraw it
He pushes and grinds against her with all his strength
He pulls her up to him by her hair
Breathes against her neck
Whispers to her firmly
" come for me now "
She stops moving for one brief second, then yells a high pitched animal scream
The wax on her back shatters in a fine webwork
A million fragile cracks racing along the surface of her skin
Running in every direction
As she cums violently and uncontrollably
Wax falling away as her orgasm races through her in an explosive shudder
A snowstorm of spent wax around them
He feels his orgasm coming, pushes forward even harder
Pulls back and withdraws himself 
And shoots a liquid jet of hot cum across her back

The spider sits patiently on the moth's back
With a sudden violent jerk the moth flexes her huge wings
The fibers of the cocoon stretch and snap one by one
And suddenly the cocoon splits
The old spider falls away, the moth tearing its web in twine

And the moth flies away into the night with spider webs clinging to her wings……….

This story was written for and inspired by KM – thank you darling 

The following is a short work of fiction. To any aspiring write, I suggest you read it.

Once upon a time there was a man who liked to write. He loved writing like he did very few things in this world. He wrote some things that another person who liked to write read. This other person decided to take this man's material and rewrite it, and claim it as his own. The man who wrote the material in the first place found out, and he was very unhappy. He waited. And waited. And one dark cold night as the man who had stolen his ideas and fantasies sat in his kitchen and ate his dinner, the lights went out. He went to the breaker box in his hallway and opened the small metal door. Behind him a shadow lurked. The man fiddled with the switches for a moment, then turned to walk down the hall. The shadow was standing there in the hall. The man said " who the hell are you ? ". The shadow replied " The question is not who the hell am I, the question is why the hell am I. " There was a quick blurred shine of metal in the dim hallway and the man fell silently onto the floor. 

As the shadow melted into the night he said " Writing is a matter of patience and love. I am very patient, and god help the poor soul who takes what I love "

The End – get it?