NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. Contains descriptive scenes of a graphic sexual nature. This tale is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously—any resemblance to actual persons, whether living, deceased, real events, or locales are entirely coincidental. Drug use and promiscuous sex are harmful and only depicted for dramatic purposes.

In the Expanse, there are many twists and turns to get from there to here or vice versa. There are all sorts of business people, salesmen, and saleswomen hocking their wares. Some ply their trade wearing tailored business suits and ties, while others do so in silk stockings and form-fitting dresses. Some offer goods for use by others or resell, while others offer their bodies a high-value commodity.

Portrait of a night of debauchery, John is an aptly named businessman, unwinding after a tough day of selling widgets when he spots a dark beauty who likewise is selling her wares. John is a man who craves excitement, brief freedom from the dull routine of the prison of life. A fling outside the matrimonial bed – a night of lusty rutting, so exquisite, his existence, for a moment, might be lifted from the mundane.

She calls herself LaTonya, a comely ebony spider loitering at the center of her web, anxious for the telltale plucking of a silken strand. Her signal that a juicy fly is ready for her to devour. She’ll sprinkle on spice and seasoning, then take an arm followed by a leg, then gobble the whole thing down.

Then there’s Molly and her loving embrace – oh, yes, she plays such an essential part in this little tale from Millie’s Vast Expanse. In the parlance of the profession – a john’s made easier to handle when Molly comes along on the ride, for when she warms his heart, he opens his pocketbook.

”Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly.”

From the Poem: The Spider and the Fly by Mary Howitt 1829

Sauntering into the hotel bar, my short white dress was the perfect contrast to my mahogany skin. Passing him, I shot a side glance in his direction and felt the first tentative tingle on the long thin strand of my web. Ah, I thought, an enjoyable juicy fly. Moving to the middle of the bar, I positioned myself on the stool. Ignoring him, I waved a finger in the air to the bartender. He brought me my preferred drink, then walked down, refilling the man’s wine glass. The good stuff, mmm, he has money. Waiting till my glass was near to empty, at last, I shot a tentative, flirtatious glance toward him. Tall, just approaching middle age, still in good shape, though. Taut looking and nicely muscled. I felt another ripple in the web as he stared back at me.

The intensity of his gaze took me by surprise as he sat there sipping his wine, observing me – devouring me with his eyes. I should have been uncomfortable. The proper thing was to demurely avert my gaze. Instead, I glared back at him. When I say glared, I don’t mean a hateful glower, rather a lustful stare, a sensual, intense fixation of my eyes to his. Lowering my eyes, I let him have a moment to contemplate his next move.

Would he approach me, sit there unmoving, frozen in fear over my brazenness, or turn away? Perhaps jump up and run out of the establishment, fleeing for his life. I felt the faint plucking of one of the strands of my web. Without looking to confirm his actions, I knew he moved closer to me. I turned my attention to the bartender, holding a finger up for one more.

“Put it on my tab,” he said, sitting next to me. I turned my head, ever so slightly, glancing at him, my full lips gathered to the barest sliver of a smile. In an expression of acknowledgment, I bobbed my head, then licked my lips. He purred sweet words of my figure and face in my ear—flatteries designed to win my affections, if only for a short time. I sighed, smiled, and thanked him – offering little conversation back. Just a flirtatious comment, a knowing look or smile, sweet and sensual to keep his interest piqued.

The band started playing a slow song, and my body swayed on the stool. Dancing with myself, I felt his eyes drinking me in, and without turning to look at him, I lifted the glass and drank down the fluid.

“Would you care to dance,” he asked?

“Next slow song, I promise,” I said to him. “Tell me, do you come here often?”

“No, I’m from out of town,” he answered. I felt the web flutter as its tiny, sticky strands trapped my prey, and he didn’t even realize it. “Here on business.” His left hand rested on the bar. I ran my finger on the pale white mark on his ring finger.

“So, you took your wedding ring off,” I mentioned, leaning into him. Out of instinct, he wrapped his right arm around my shoulder. “You looking to be a naughty boy while you’re here?” My mouth hovered near his ear, my lips nearly touched the lobe.

“Yeah, maybe,” he gulped in the air as he spoke. His Adam’s apple jumped when he talked, “But you’re right, I’m married.” I put my free hand on the back of his head, with gentle encouragement, I guided his face to me.

“So,” I interjected, moving closer to him, lubricating my lips with my tongue just before our hungry mouths met. My tongue parted his lips, darting in out of his mouth before snaking in and exploring his tongue and teeth. My hand moved over his hand, I felt the heat building. The band stopped and then began playing another slow song.

“Let’s dance,” I insisted, sliding off the stool. I moved away, knowing he’d follow. The thread of the web tingled as his hand touched my lower back. He moved beside me, and I turned to him. Arms held out for our dance, we embraced, and our bodies moved in synchronicity to the beat of the music. With each step, our bodies moved closer till there was no space between us as we oscillated together. Sliding my hand from his shoulder to his chest, I roamed over his pecs, touching his hard chiseled muscles beneath the silken material. I could sense the quickening of his heartbeat. I saw his eyes dilate when I ran my tongue over my lips and smiled at him.

Will you walk into my parlor? Said the spider to the fly, I thought, feeling him settling into my web, his struggle finished. Now I could devour him at my leisure. He towered over me, leaning down, “I’ve never been with a black girl before, but I have always wanted to,” he whispered.

“Would you contribute to my college fund?” I asked him, my satin voice vibrated in his ear. “I’m so poor and needy. Can you help me out with my tuition?”

“How does five-hundred-dollars sound?” answering my question with his own.

“Like a start, but it isn’t enough, not for a whole night of study, double the amount, and we have a study date,” I declared, my voice husky and lusty. He stopped, stepped back, and looked at me. I rolled my eyes, twisted my head, looking up at him with innocence. “I absolutely, desperately need help.”

“Yeah, I guess I can do that,” he said. “I’ll need to get some more cash from an ATM.” I quickly moved close to him. Standing on my tippy toes, I put an index finger to his mouth.

“Shhh,” let’s finish our dance first. We again embraced and danced, our bodies undulated with the music while my hands roamed over his herculean frame. I felt his bulge swell as his cock pressed hard on his pants, straining against my belly.

When the dance ended, we walked back to the bar. He walked behind me, close, ever so close, to hide his growing erection. He looked disappointed when I ordered another drink. I leaned into him, pressing my firm breasts into his side, pressing my wet lips against his ear. I whispered soft and sultry.

“Don’t rush it,” I ordered, throaty with sensual tones, “we have all night.”

“I’m anxious,” he acknowledged, “and excited. You’re so stunning.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” I told him.

“What’s your name?” he questioned.

“LaTonya,” I lied. “And yours?”

“John,” he answered.

I giggled. “What?” and rolled my eyes. “John, seriously, you don’t get it,” I said tauntingly.

“Oh,” he said, the joke, at last, sinking into his mind. We kissed and talked about nothing, making our way to the door. He led me to the parking structure and his car, a big, blue Cadillac Escalade. I stopped him. Turning him in my direction, I again stretched up on my tippy toes as our lips met.

The kiss was one of those slow, wet, decadent French kisses that send the temperature soaring in your private regions. Our tongues danced together as he picked me up off my feet. He lifted me up to him. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I felt his member swell even more. He held me tight to him as one of my hands ran down his chest, down his rock-hard tummy, down to his crotch. I felt the engorged pecker through his pants. It grew angrier, struggling against its prison, yearning for freedom.

My fingers clutched his zipper, and with a slow, deliberate motion, I pulled down the fly. His cock needed no invitation. It sprang out ready, willing to be used. I worked my dress up over my hips, pulled my thong to the side, grasped his prick, and positioned him to enter.

“I thought I would have to pay first,” he pointed out. Risky as it was, I took the chance – shit, I was too hot to wait.

“Shut the fuck up – before I change my mind,” I told him. With a fast, hard lunge, he entered me. I breathed in, gasped. He twirled around, laying me back against the SUV. He thrust again. I snorted as he sent himself deeper inside me, panting. One more jab, and he drove himself inside me balls deep. I kissed his lips as his powerful hips thrust quick and hard. My hands felt his back, chest, and belly. I fumbled with his shirt, trying to unbutton it, and grasping hands full of cloth, I yanked. Buttons flew from the shirt, pinging as they hit the ground. Traffic moved by us just yards away on the street. People chattered a few feet from where we fucked, the other side of the half-wall in front of the vehicle’s front bumper.

Running my hands over his muscles, I dug my nails deep into the hard flesh. His bird’s nest hair felt coarse under my soft palms. I scratched him but took care not to go too deep. He quickened his pace. The cool night air did nothing to dampen our desire.

The car moved under the brute force with which he fucked me. My hankering bloomed, my wetness oozed over his member, out of me over the front of his faded jeans. He whispered in my ear how beautiful I was as I screamed out vulgar encouragement for him to fuck harder.

A hushed gasp came from near us. I knew someone watched us. I felt the spasms as his cock spit his seed deep in me. I was so worked up, I needed more but knew it had to wait. His cock deflated inside of me, plopped out, he lowered me till my feet touched the ground. He pulled the ruined shirt off and tossed it to the concrete.

“Never liked that shirt anyway,” he explained, laughing while he put his cock away.

Peering over to the car parked across from him, I saw an old lady gawking at us. Lifting my middle finger, I squatted and forced as much of his cum out on the asphalt as I could. She got in her car and left. The two of us laughed about our elderly voyeur as we drove to an ATM. He stood at the money machine, punching in numbers and taking several hundred dollar bills out at a time, repeating the procedure twice. Then returned to the car, stuffing the handful of bills into an already fat wallet as he sauntered back to the Caddy. I could see rows of cards in the little folds, jackpot, I thought. I enjoyed the sight of my sweet cum spread over his jeans.

When we drove back to the hotel, he shot through several red lights. I warned him the traffic cops in this town were ticket happy. He responded that he could afford it. We were lucky no one was near as we walked in. Me in my sexy little white dress and him in his jeans, bare-chested. No awkward questions to answer. No disapproving leers to endure. He pushed the call button, and the doors of one of the cars opened.

When the doors closed on the elevator, we clutched each other’s bodies. Kissing, squeezing, hugging all the way until that familiar bounce as the elevator stopped. We moved down the hall, clasped together. He picked me up, carrying me as our scorching kiss continued. Leaning me against the door, he fished out his key card and shoved it in. I laughed at how hard and fast he thrust it in and withdrew the card. The door flew away from my back, and he carried me inside, kicking the door shut behind us.

Gotcha. The spider pounced. He never stood a chance.

One pill makes you largerAnd one pill makes you small
And the ones that mother gives you
Don
‘t do anything a’tallGo ask Alice
When she
‘s ten feet tall

From the song: White Rabbit by Grace Slick – Jefferson Airplane

I noticed her the moment she walked into the bar, watching her reflection in the mirror behind the bar as she walked through the door. She moved like a great cat of prey. Her mahogany flesh was so dark. Deep licorice tones, standing in stark contrast to her form-fitting pale gray mini dress. Her eyes darted to me when she moved past. I knew she was a hooker – I didn’t care. I wanted her, but the girl was prime rib, and prime cost a lot more than a hamburger.

She sat at the bar not far from me, and I drank in her essence, feeling ravenous for her dark, hot, curvy flesh. Twisting off my wedding band, I shoved it in my pocket then approached her, hoping she was a dark rose for plucking and not a whore. She responded to my advances, but when she ran her finger over the tan line of my missing ring, I feared the game ended. I made a confession of being married.

“So,” insinuating her indifference to my revelation. My hope she wasn’t a hooker diminished.

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