The Human Fly

…At first it had been a thrill, and nearly custom made for one with my specific skills. I was a gymnast after all, tiny and lithe by modern standards, but apparently just not good enough to keep my spot on the university's team. They cut me in favor of another with far wealthier parents. Has money even changed hands to lubricate the process? I wondered, surely this was not a first for university athletics. I was, upon reflection, just a little bitter at the time, but at the same time not to be dissuaded from my goals either…

It had been years since that first time that I had dared myself to see if I could actually just get inside, my courage fortified with alcohol; just like the first time I let a boy go all the way with me in his back seat while still in my teens, but I digress. I climbed the roof drain pipe on the dark side of the building with ease this first time, my petite body concealed in my off black body stocking, balaclava, gloves, and climbing shoes, and I easily gained access through an unlocked third story window. The place of my first time mischief was a museum, one I had toured just the other day and took notice of their lacking third floor security measures, the same one that I had personally unlocked the upper floor ladies bathroom window of so that I could gain entry myself later that night.

I reasoned back then that it would be a lesser crime to merely redistribute the old trinkets and carvings of my interest, as surely the museum's curators were not the original owners of these ancient treasures. They themselves had pilfered these treasures from those who had originally made them long ago. And for me to collect and sell such things to still others yet again - that would enjoy them just as much in their private collections - hardly seemed a crime at all.

That first time it had been all too easy, other than a single security camera catching an I.R. image of myself scaling the outer wall. In the camera's I.R. illumination my body suit all but disappeared, and all they were left with was a grainy image of an apparently nude woman scaling the wall, one which the local newspaper put on their front page. My image titillated thousands, so much so that the paper had to do a second run, even though the camera's pixilation obscured my actual nipples - this being the only part that would have made such a picture obscene from the angle it was captured - and was therefore unprintable. The editor of that small town paper even named me the Human Fly, and the name stuck from then on.

I was far more careful after that, but hooked on the sexual-like thrill of the crime, my higher education all but forgotten, even though art appreciation had been one of my favorite studies. I became self-educated on security systems though, and in what items were in demand on the black market, moving such treasures post-theft always presenting the greatest risk.

In the years since then I moved about the country, and even abroad, building for myself a persona of gifted wealth, although my motivation was never about the money. Museum security had improved over the years, likely in part due to my first easy theft, but so did my methods, I at times still moving pieces about to confuse what had been removed. Sometimes that would result in a delay in the discovery of my theft, just as it would when I took from what wasn't on actual display.

It is a well kept secret that a typical museum displays only a small portion of their total collection, but finding such treasures in their back rooms and vaults can be a challenge. One needed time, and access, and maybe even a costume to conceal one's identity. I had a plan for all of that, the upper floors of the Japanese heritage museum offering some rather wonderful pieces, fragile jade and smaller trinkets obviously being easier to remove for one like myself. I could potentially put a million dollars worth in my bag if I was selective, wrap them so as not to destroy them in transit, and then take the next six months off while I moved my goods on the black market.

Next to this particular museum was a nightclub, and their scheduled Halloween costume party would offer the perfect opportunity, I bought tickets in advance and decided to dress the part, using the loud music and activity to mask my entry, and later egress. This was a big and risky job, so I decided to take the next few months off, and I made arrangements ahead of time with the people I knew, telling them I would be backpacking about Australia during our own winter months. I did have a small place down there, so this again seemed logical, and plausible too.

My small travel bag was even packed and in my rental car, along with the clothes I would wear on the red eye flight out later on that night, my stolen goods to be mailed to myself via DHL with the shipping and box already paid for, and the cheap uniform of my crime discarded somewhere along the way in a dumpster. All I had to do was put the items in the box, and ship it not to my own home down under, but to that of another near my own that I knew to be rarely occupied, easily collecting my stolen goods and removing the only direct link to my crimes days later.

All in all a perfect crime, or so I thought.

Over the top of my thin black body stocking and mask, I wore the long black robe and large pointed hat of a classical witch, and under my body stocking not a thing, this my almost trademark "look" should I get caught in a night camera's lens once again. Although I had the ticket to the costume party in that robe, I had no intention of actually going, this party and the ticket only giving me an excuse to be walking around at night while dressed like this, should I need it. Getting out of my street clothes, and back into them once again in the course of my crimes had turned into a problem, as being dressed like a nearly naked known criminal, and getting seen like this, would most certainly lead to my arrest, or at the very least questioning. I had even thought of going to the costume party actually dressed like the Human Fly, the sweet irony of such, but the risk was just too great, stealth being my true goal here.

I had toured the museum some time earlier, assessing their security, but while wearing serious heels and bulky clothes cut to hide my minute proportions; makeup, tinted overlarge glasses and a stylish tall hat completed my disguise, should some thoughtful soul think to review their old security footage after the crime had been discovered. Gone were the days of my small-self touring my interests the day of my actual theft and leaving a convenient window unlocked. But I did case out my point of entry this time from the inside, a very special little drill bit and silent hand drill in my possession, and to be used to drill the window on the top floor so I could then push open the latch that held it closed. This was also in a bathroom, oddly enough, but so small and high up in the room so as not to present an obvious risk, and therefore it wasn't alarmed. I was tiny though, tiny enough that I could get through a window like this one, where a more normal sized woman with full breasts and hips surely couldn't. I had even gone to the extreme length of building an exact replica of that small window frame dimensionally - it measured by myself personally while using that bathroom - and then practicing my entry and exit on it back home.

I usually did this practice in the nude to be honest, because there was just such a thrill to doing these crimes, a nearly sexual-feeling thrill. The homework before, the no harness free climb, gaining actual entry, all of this was analogous to heart pounding foreplay, the proverbial build up to the big release. The actual collection of the objects of my interest, and my sometimes moving about the other pieces to obscure what was removed, this was like my times "on top" of the wave, the "I'm queen of the universe" feeling I get while riding high, trying to hold it all together before the big "O" crashes over me.

My sexual analogy falls apart here, because I have done this so many times that I expect to escape, but the slipping away part is "almost" like my criminal big "O." I get a special thrill at besting the mostly male security people responsible for keeping those like myself away from their treasures. It's cruel of me, but one so small like myself besting men easily twice my size, and by their own less-than-humble thoughts, twice as smart too, is just too delicious not to dwell on just a bit.

…I now realize that I'd grown overconfident and greedy, and my onetime humility anything but humble, but I may well have the rest of my life to ponder my folly. Theft isn't ordinarily a life sentence type of crime, unless you're Bernie Madoff or something, so there ARE obvious exceptions to this general rule. I've never been caught before, hell, I've never even been remotely close to being caught, other than on some grainy IR cameras, and my images on those are more titillating, rather than specifically identifying. I get off on that part too, to be honest, it's the reason that I don't wear anything under my uniform of crime, this my trademark look to remind the mostly male security people that yes, a woman did this to you, and a small and hot one to boot!

…Anyway, that night I dropped my rental car at a park and rode several city blocks from the party, walking the rest of the way in dressed as a sexy witch, blending in with the other party goers easily. If any of the people near me realized that I wore almost nothing under my long robe, they gave little indication of such. Some of the other girls wore much less than I, and I was grateful for this as they, and not I, drew all the attention. It was all too easy to slip away and strip, and the climb up on the ancient brick facade reminded me of the countless climbing gyms that I had frequented, my size and strength letting me climb like a "frightened monkey" one fellow climber observed. Guys liked to watch me stretch and climb in my skin hugging leggins, but then again, I liked to watch them too.

…Back to the story though, my climb up goes off easy, and the window even goes mostly to plan, although I did have to drill a second hole, where on my backlit practice window back home I had done it right the first time. The building was dark, very dark, and it was here that I should have realized that something was up, unusual. I attributed it at the time to the backlighting of the ongoing noisy party below, but the place was pitch black inside; I had to let my eyes adjust to the scant red light coming from the required exit signs.

Not to be deterred, I pressed on, finding the hallway that led to the storage area of my interest, and specifically the jade figurines easily a thousand plus years old and just awaiting relocation. The floor was dirty though, sticky even in this less than traveled hallway area, which I thought was odd. "How could one run such a fine facility and let their floors get like this?" I asked myself incredulously. "Leaking soda machine?" I wondered, but there was no telltale illumination to go with such a unit, and the consumption of such things in close proximity to tens of millions of dollars of treasures was to be obviously discouraged too. Not to mention that I hadn't noticed one myself on my own visit months earlier.

I had to move slowly to keep the sticky feet noise to a minimum, although such was born more out of practice rather than actual need with that party going on a short distance away. I can hardly see a thing, and using a flashlight is just something I'm uncomfortable with, so I press on toward the darkened back rooms.

Sticky climbing shoes are bad enough, but then I start to encounter cobwebs on my masked face. There's something about those, and of course actual spiderwebs, that make me freak out. Perhaps it's my "human fly" persona; flies usually being the supper of a spider, once caught in their sticky webs. As a little girl I had watched the spider that had made her home on the outside of my bedroom window capture all manner of things one summer, to include flies, maybe even trussing up the still twitching and struggling poor little things for later consumption. I knew it was the circle of life and all of that, and that some things were destined to be the meal of other things, but that particular "lesson" had stuck with me. I had a part in that spider's web placement too, I slept with the light on back then, my bedroom light drawing the unfortunate insects to their eventual doom like a lighthouse on the coast.

Anyway, I briefly relax, thinking that I'm walking through somebody's Halloween decorations, faux spiderwebs to dress up a hall that few were expected to use. I'd be crawling down on all fours at this point if not for the sticky floor though. Decorations of this kind are odd in a museum, and I'll admit that I don't even know if Halloween is something that's observed in Japanese culture, but at times like this your mind tries to make sense out of the unknown, especially in the dark, putting the proverbial puzzle pieces into their rightful places. These things now dragging on my body are strong and sticky though, and I have visions of hanging strips of sticky fly tape, but perhaps of the industrial kind. I press on though, the prize all but mine, although logically I'm in a choke point, this narrow hallway only offering forward and back movement options. It's of course the ideal place to put a sticky trap, just like my pet spider did when I was a little girl, but I'm not thinking in those terms just yet.

This stuff is sticking to my suit all over now, arms, legs, chest, and even hips. When I touch it to attempt to remove it from my clothing, it then sticks to my gloved hands, and even my wrists, hat, and face covering. I can either turn back at this point, or strip out of my clothes completely and do the deed in the nude. Nude will offer up some serious DNA for the authorities though, so I initially reject this option.

I have unfortunately stood in one place for far too long though, while thinking through my options, and my climbing shoes are stuck fast to the floor. I can obviously kick them off, but that will leave identifying little bare footprints for the cops, and more evidence leading to my identity than I ever have in my past crimes. I still fear capture by the police at this point, this is my number one threat in my mind, foolish as that now seems.

I've gone from million dollar payday to fight or flight in just a few minutes, theft no longer my goal, but instead escape now is. These webs that have me are like a sticky form of dental floss, like maybe even super glue soaked dental floss, and it's no accident that they're here, or that I'm stuck in them. My thin spandex uniform of crime is already tearing apart in places, as if this stuff is a solvent of sorts that's hungry for spandex. I still have my cape and hat waiting for me down below, so if I can manage to make my escape and climb down in the nude I can still "run away to steal another day." Maybe I'll even quit after this, but I have to make my escape first.

The process of blindly tearing the thin suit from my body does nothing to free me though, because the thrashing about to do so only has me even more wrapped up in this mess of sticky threads. Every time I move I feel more of the little strands of whatever this is raining down on me from above, each grabbing still another new little piece of my now bare flesh and holding on fast. I eventually feel the reduced weight on my stuck in place climbing shoes, and as sticky as this stuff is on my uniform of crime, it has an even greater affinity for my bare skin. I've basically stripped myself nearly naked to little gain, other than making my eventual discovery and capture just a bit more provocative. I then pull my feet from my stuck climbing shoes in a fit of desperation, and with them no longer tethering me to the floor I find myself springing aloft, held suspended by a hundred different threads all over my body. I bounce like a rubber ball in my bonds as still more of the threads are released, the sticky floor below well out of my reach. I find myself captured in a very exposed quasi lunge for freedom, my bare female charms on full display.

With nothing better to do I find myself thinking through the fabricated details of some wild story, the one I initially intend to tell the cops when they are called sometime in the morning shortly after the museum opens, my deep humiliation and shame sure to follow. I'm reminded of the struggling insects in my pet spider's own web many years ago, struggling every now and then in desperation, but knowing it's now pointless, the hungry spider is all but here.

As a different and perhaps better plan I decide to go with silence, as in “talk to my lawyer” silence, and this is the more practical plan at this point anyway. I still expect the cops to come, eventually…

As strange as it sounds it's almost a relief to be caught, not the trial and jail part, but that this madness, this false other life of crime is finally over for me. It had been a hell of a game while it lasted, and I had made a boatload of money doing it, money well hidden that I intend to return to one day. Family and friends wouldn't believe it was actually me, little miss goody two shoes, but they would eventually have to accept it.

I must have nodded off in my multipoint naked suspension, but I was awoken by the lights coming on, in the middle of a dream about being caught in a giant spider web, of all things. I then hear heavy male footsteps coming up behind me, I'm far too firmly trapped to turn and look, but this might be a good thing, as he - or they - has an unobstructed view of my bare girl parts, my shame and exposure on full display.

"Enjoy your nap?" the deep smug voice from behind me asks. This man knows I would be hanging here waiting for him, I'm not even a surprise, and that plus waking suddenly from my dream has me off my game. I feel the heat of his body on my naked skin, and I feel him looking directly at my sex, this not going as I expected it might. I can tell from his accent that English isn't his primary language, and unfortunately I don't speak but a few words in any Asian ones. European languages are a different matter, as I have traveled there extensively. Good or bad this man seems to have a good command of my own though, and I am his prisoner, until the cops get there, which I still expect at any moment.

"Cat got your tongue?" the man then prods, both smug satisfaction and loathing dripping from every syllable…

"Why don't you just call the cops and fill out your report?" I ask with all the sarcasm that I can muster in return. Yes, he had caught me, somehow, but why gloat about it? With a good lawyer and some bail I'll be long gone, claiming abuse at how I was captured and displayed, this surely illegal to subject anyone, even an "alleged" thief, to such treatment. I haven't stolen anything YET, I'm just a misdirected and curious partygoer, at best a trespasser, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Or, so goes my intended story.

"Why indeed?" the man's tone suggestive of humor, and I now thinking that perhaps we could work something out. I have a very nice body, and he is a man, a large sounding man even. I would do a lot of things NOT to go to jail, fun things even. Hell, I'm already naked and hanging spread legged, but those sticky threads would trap him too that way.

I then feel a bump, and my entire body getting wheeled while swinging in my suspension, moving me out of the tight hallway I'm trapped in. I see my stuck climbing shoes go by underneath me, I left thinking about the level of planning that went into trapping me. The man then stops me in the more open area of the top floor gallery where he can walk around me without becoming trapped himself. I'm hanging in a frame like contraption, I can see it now, or at least part of it now that the lights are on. It looks like a miniature version of what they launch larger boats with at the marina, a wheeled gantry crane I think it's called. He walks around to the front of me and I see his size. This man is Japanese and huge, and here I thought such people were almost exclusively genetically small and thin like I am. This man is large and strong enough to effortlessly rip my arms and legs off like an actual insect, and I feel intimidated, almost wishing for the cops to come and pick me up. Being naked and exposed before his jacket and tie wearing self doesn't help this feeling either.

"What is this?" I ask more politely, just trying to make conversation and diffuse the situation a little. My plans for silence were intended more for the police, whom I expect at any second. I remind myself that this man is of Japanese heritage, and culturally attached to the objects I intended to steal. I am after all nothing but a thief in his eyes, his disdain for me, and those like me obvious, even apparently with my enticing exposure. This is the other side of my crimes that I have purposely ignored, stealing from one's own heritage an insult not easily forgiven by some.

"How does one catch a human fly? Or, more simply, how does one catch any old fly?" The man asks rhetorically. "Flypaper, or a spiderweb," the man answered his own question before I could. "Either one on it's own likely would have worked, but we chose to use both, just to make extra sure that you couldn't slip away."

"That's very clever of you, but you have the wrong girl" I lied. "I'm just doing a dare for my friends, back at the party, they think I look like that fly girl and they dared me to see if I could climb into your building."

"A fantastic story, but an easy one to disprove… given enough time. All I have to do is keep you hanging there for a while, like maybe the rest of your life even, and if the thefts stop, I have the right fly. But, if they continue, I might have to eventually let you go… or not!"

"Let me go now!" I demanded, not liking the sound of all this, but the man just smiled at me, walking away a moment later.

He returned with a black bag reminiscent of an old school doctor's bag, and I was reminded of my naked helplessness before this seeming normal, but angry man. Removing his black suit jacket and tie, I saw his muscles flexing under his form fitting white shirt. I thought that this man didn't necessarily need what he had in his bag to make me do whatever he might like. I was his for the taking even, but explain that to the cops, “essence of big muscular man” running from between my splayed legs and all over the floor.

He put on long yellow gauntlet gloves from his bag that almost looked like dishwashing gloves, and I watched to see how he intended to free me from this sticky contraption with them. He then came out of his bag with a long thin dong, the base of which looked like red painted open lips; it was obvious where he intended this to go, ending our limited conversation.

"Open up," the man commanded, to which I shook my head.

"Have it your way then," he told me curtly, one gloved hand instantly behind my head, and the other both pinching my nose shut, and holding my mouth closed. His gloved hands were massive, easily accomplishing his goals of preventing me from breathing until I did as I was told.

"How long can you hold your breath?" he asked in an amused fashion. I tried to shake my head free of his strong grasp, but to no avail. I forced myself to get calm after perhaps half a minute of struggling, signaling that the large muscular man had easily won this one.

The dong wasn't the largest thing I had ever had in my mouth, but it went far enough down my throat that I had to fight my gag reflex to take it. This was different to me from putting something down my own throat, either human, or inanimate. The base of the dong flared out wide, and then stepped down, designed to be held by my teeth and making it look like I was smiling, although with something obviously filling my oral cavity. It would be impossible to expel like this, without the use of my hands anyway. I wouldn't be doing much more than grunting with this thing in place, but what choice did I have, at least until the cops showed up and rescued me from this lunatic.

For whatever reason the sticky threads didn't stick to the man's gloves; this became obvious as he took some of the loose threads and stuck them in places on my bare skin as yet untouched by them. I shook my head and grunted for him to stop, but one of the first places he concentrated his efforts were my head and gagged mouth, trapping both. Next were my tiny slightly hanging boobs, being little as I am they aren't all that impressive, but to make up for this my nipples are quite reactive and large. To add to this I was slightly chilled, and my engorged nipples made for an easy target, the sticky threads being wrapped around not only them, but the slight mass of my boobs too, they then being tethered down low to the frame of the contraption I was hanging from.

The man was like an artist, working behind me, and then in front, and then on both sides, I again reminded of my childhood spider cocooning up some helpless caught insect. When he was all done with me it didn't feel like there was more than a square inch, any place on my entire naked body, front or back, that wasn't actively either suspending me, or pulling me in the other direction, like my boobs were…