2 comments/ 33026 views/ 4 favorites Catsuit By: mstrhole Rose could smell it as soon as she walked into the Master's study. Leather. Lots and lots of leather. Everywhere she looked there was leather. Leather upholstery, padded leather walls, a leather topped desk on one side of the room. And, her host, Master UrLord was decked out in a tight brown leather outfit which shone in the light of the lamps he had lit before her arrival. Master UrLord was the owner of Chattel Castle, a home for collarless subs. He was Master to none, yet Master to all, or so it seemed. He gave shelter and soul-ease to those who had lost their Masters and he helped them find new ones if they wished. The subs were free to serve him as Master and he saw to their needs -- physical, sexual, and spiritual -- as best he could. Rose had come to him and captured his heart -- though he could not afford to reveal this to her because he knew that she would never belong to him -- and had been at the castle for several weeks. Quite by accident, in the course of conversation over dinner, he had discovered her love for leather. And, he had decided to make a present for her. "Come, lovely Rose, and sit here. I have something to show you." "Yes, Sir," she replied, walking with her head down to the seat indicated. UrLord noted her lovely breasts -- no sag despite their large size -- and shook his head in amazement. He hoped that his present would be suitable. He smiled as he watched her slide her nakedness over the chair and the flush crawl up her body as the contact aroused her. Walking to her, he handed Rose a box. "Open it." "Yes, Sir." She gasped as she opened the box and the strong smell of leather overwhelmed her. "Take it out." "Yes, Sir." She withdrew the red leather garment -- an all leather catsuit with detachable hood -- and shook it out. She noted two flaps with buttons in the crotch and imagined what they were for. "Would you like to go somewhere with me today, Rose? I promise you will enjoy it." "Of course, Sir. You have done so much for this one. May I ask why you have made me this gift?" "No, you may not. You may, however, accept my generosity and say thank you." She blushed at this and UrLord thought for a moment that he had been unnecessarily cruel to her, seeking to mask his true feelings. "Thank you, Sir. This one does not deserve such gifts, Sir." "I decide who deserves what at Chattel Castle. Have you never heard of 'grace'?" "A girl is sorry, Sir, she did not mean to offend. And, yes, a girl knows the meaning of grace." "Good, then we will speak no more of it. I want you to put on this suit and come with me on a little jaunt to the castle of a friend of mine. You will enjoy it immensely, little slutpuppy bitch, and that is a promise." She smiled when he called her that name, for it meant that she was to receive a sexual ravishing that would leave her weak for days. "Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir." "Stand up so I can help you on with this." "Yes, Sir." She stood holding the catsuit before her, imagining how she would look in it. With UrLord's help, she got her legs and feet into the suit, which had built in hi-heels (5 inches). It was tight -- like a second skin -- and when the top was put in place, it was adjusted so that her nipples fit into special receptacles and her breasts were firmly held in place. "We'll save the hood for later, maybe, if you've been a good little slutpuppy bitch," UrLord said, smiling. "Now, for the finishing touches." UrLord went to a nearby cabinet and produced a large and a small dildo -- both battery powered vibrating types -- some lubricant, and a green leather skirt. "Bend over and grab your ankles, slutpuppy." Rose did as she was told, bending at the waist (rather difficult in the tight leather suit), and grabbing her ankles. She sensed, rather than saw, UrLord walk up behind her. He slapped her ass and it stung through the tight leather. He laughed as she jumped. He then proceeded to unsnap the two flaps in her crotch, revealing two holes. One positioned right over her dainty little back door, and one offering direct access to her slut-cunt, which she knew was drooling its sticky sap already. She flushed red as she pictured the vision UrLord was getting -- a slutpuppy bitch in heat, her genitalia open to all for use. She felt him manipulating her folds and she could not suppress a moan of pleasure. The combination of the smell and feel of the leather and his gentle fingers (how could a Master be SO gentle?) knowingly caressing her pussy lips was driving her wild. She felt the hard tip of the vibrator at the mouth of her pussy and she pushed her hips back against it to accept it into her depths. "Very good, slutpuppy. My, my, we ARE excited today, aren't we." "Oh, MASTER, you always make a girl SOOO hot." "That's because I know what little slave sluts like you want." He went back to preparing her. Now, he took a generous amount of lubricant and began to get her ass ready for it's invader. Teasingly, he worked more and more of the slippery stuff in and around her back door, prying it open with his fingers, stretching it, playing with it. Rose moaned continuously, loving the ass play. She was nearly orgasmic already and he hadn't even turned on the vibrators yet. Next came the back door vibe itself. Not as large as the one in her front fuck hole, it was none the less formidable, considering where it was going. She was already fairly full from the other one, so it was a tight squeeze. Slowly, gently, UrLord let the point of the dildo break her sphinctoral plane. Once having gained a foothold in this forbidden territory, he slowly (excruciatingly slowly) pushed inch after inch inside her well prepared backside until he had hilted the device. "There, that wasn't so bad, eh?" "Noooo...Master...it was delicious." UrLord chuckled. Then he turned on both dildos. Rose gasped as she felt the twin vibrators start up. They were the most powerful she'd yet experienced. Soon her entire crotch was throbbing. UrLord snapped up the openings, slapped her on the ass once more, and they were almost ready to go. "Stand up, my darling slut puppy bitch." She stood, and he fastened the skirt around her waist. "Now, look at yourself in the mirror." Rose stumbled to a nearby wall which contained a full length mirror. She was decked out from neck to toe in red and green leather. It was gorgeous. The smell, the feel, made her want to swoon. "May a girl ask a question?" "Of course, Rose." "Where are you taking this one?" "Ah, well, that is a surprise. Let us be off, " he finished, attaching a slave leash to her slave collar. And, with great difficulty, she strode from the room with him, tottering on her 5 inch heals, giddy with the influence of the leather and vibrators. Where was he taking her? She didn't care at the moment. But she soon would... She was engulfed in the smell, the texture of the leather catsuit. She had seen herself in the full length mirror, briefly, before Master Lord had put a leash on her collar and lead her from the chateau and into his waiting limousine. Usually, she would have been called upon to suck his cock while in the limo. She was quite surprised not to be ordered to perform this service. Surprised, and a little frustrated, since it would have given her at least some release. Master knew her fondness, her weakness, for leather. She was in high heat -- a real slutpuppy bitch in heat -- and she could feel her sex, oozing it's lusty produce into the smoother leather crotch of the catsuit. The twin vibrators in her cunt and ass hole were doing their jobs well. Master had promised her a good time, but she did not know what he meant by the sly little smile he'd given when he'd told her that. Given his imagination, and the depth of his knowledge of her, Rose had no doubt as to the truth of the statement. In a matter of a few minutes, she felt the limo slow, turn into a driveway, and then come to a stop. Master looked at Rose. "Attend me, girl." She looked up at him. He was holding a leather hood. It had no eye holes, two small slits at the nose, and an opening for her mouth. He slipped it on over her short hair and then zipped it to the collar of her catsuit. The leash he reattached to a d-ring on the top of the hood. She was now blind and deaf She felt fingers on her lips, urging her mouth to open. Obedient, excited, scared, Rose opened her mouth, and received about six inches of soft, flexible, rubber in the shape of a man's cock -- a very thick man's cock. She started to gag, then got control of herself and adjusted to the intruder. Straps were passed around her head and fastened in back. She was now gagged. Her arms were pulled behind her and the d-rings mounted on the wrists of her suit were clasped together by means of a very short chain. Her ankles, of course, were still hobbled by a longer chain of about 18 inches -- not that she would have been taking long steps in the impossibly high heels built into the suit's feet. She was jerked out of the car by the chain attached to her head and she struggled for balance, moaning with fright and discomfort. The twin torturers in her lower fuckholes were buzzing away, just keeping her on the edge of climax, but not providing quite enough stimulation to send her over the edge. Stumbling, being pulled along by her leash, she was lead from the car -- to what, she knew not. Suddenly, she heard the Master's voice in her ears -- tiny speakers were mounted there and he was speaking through some sort of radio -- giving her instructions. "You are being given to the Masters of this house as a toy for the evening. You will do everything they ask of you, and accept anything they give you. If that is clear, nod twice." She nodded twice. "Oh, and one more thing. There is NO safeword for this scene. Whatever they want to do with you, they will. You have no way to back out. These men have no consideration for slave girls. For all intents and purposes, they could be Gorean warriors sporting with a paga tavern wench. I will return for you tomorrow. If the report I receive is not pleasing, I will personally cane you." She shook and nearly fainted with shock at his words. He'd never treated her this way before. No safe word! She was now very frightened, wondering what would happen to her in this place. She knew that Master and his friends were incredibly wealthy -- perhaps they could even get away with killing someone if it pleased them. In her tight hood, tears began to mix with the sweat which was forming quickly on her forehead. Her stumbling walk continued until she was brought up short with a jerk on the chain leash. She could not hear what was said, but she gathered that she was being given to the Masters of the house. Again, a jerk on the leash propelled her forward. She was consumed with lust, fear, and the overwhelming sensation of the leather suit. Her mind reeled. Saliva ran out of her mouth around the gag, staining the leather hood. She swallowed what she could, sucking on the gag as if it were a real cock, but much of the liquid escaped from her lips. Another stop, and this time she felt her wrists being unlocked and someone was removing her hobble chains. Then, to her surprise, she was re-chained with arms and legs widespread, to some unseen frame. Quickly then, she found herself suspended, her wrists taking much of her weight, her legs spread beneath her, barely touching the floor. Her next sensation was that someone was fumbling with the snaps in the crotch of her suit. She waited, embarrassed by her obvious arousal, as the snaps were undone and her crotch was exposed to anyone in the room. The two vibrating dildos were removed as well, leaving her empty -- she moaned -- her two holes gaping and gasping like beached fish, begging to be re-filled. They were, in spades. She screamed into the gag as she felt not one, but two real, warm, live, male cocks -- enormous in length and girth -- suddenly thrust deeply into her belly via those two, recently empty but now full to capacity and beyond, fuck holes. Without preamble or preparation, she had been double penetrated by men she could neither see nor hear. But she could feel them. Oh, could she ever. The two cocksmen immediately began brutally using her front and rear fuck entrances, slamming her back and forth between them, using her as a fuck sleeve without any thought of her own needs. She screamed into the gag each time the cock in her ass (and it seemed to be the larger of the two cocks) completed a stroke. The sadistic cocksman was pulling out completely on each stroke so her rectum had to take the brutal punishment of re-entry each time. He was incredibly large, incredibly hard, and obviously in shape, as the fucking seemed to last forever. She, of course, was cumming continuously, in spite of the pain, the humiliation of her use. Several times she felt that she would surely pass out, but did not. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, her brutal fore and aft rape stopped. She knew that the men had not shot their steaming, slimy loads in her body. So, she wondered what would happen next. Her nostrils flared as she panted for breath, her senses filled with the smell of the leather -- now quite wet leather -- which encased her. She was in heaven -- or hell, depending on your viewpoint. Her position was quickly changed and she felt her self taken down (a reprieve for her wrists) and laid on a padded bench. Her head hung down over one end and her legs over the other. The bench merely supported her torso and ass. Her feet were quickly chained to one end of the bench and her arms and wrists to the other. Her hood was attached to the bench as well, bending her neck backward and down over the edge, and not coincidently aligning her mouth and throat. A thick strap was passed over her belly, further preventing her from moving. Someone fumbled with the straps at the back of her hood and soon she felt the penis gag removed. She moved her jaws a bit to loosen them -- the muscles had grown stiff -- but was given almost no reprieve, for as soon as the gag was removed, it was replaced with a huge cock. By the taste, she knew it had just come from her cunt, for her juices were thick upon it. The large organ was pushed right to the limit in her throat and she jerked and gagged, moaning her fright and lust simultaneously. The owner of the cock fucked her mouth and throat every bit as brutally as he had her cunt and she felt his balls slap against her nose on each long stroke. Soon, she felt his cock begin to swell even larger in her widely stretched mouth. The unseen cocksman made one last, deep, stroke, burying his entire length (she would later discover this to be 11 inches) in her esophagus. And he came. And came. And came. His cum, like a river, went straight to her stomach. She was so frustrated -- she wanted a taste of his cum. She thought he'd never stop. She began to panic, as her breath was stopped by his cock's placement in her throat. Then, just as she thought she might pass out, he pulled back. She caught just the last dribbles of his cum on her thirsty tongue as his cock passed over it on its way out. Her mouth hung open. Cock number two was right behind and this time, she nearly vomited at the violation of her mouth. This cock had come fresh from her ass and was coated with the vile flavor of that chamber. Again, a brutal mouth fuck ensued, and her oral fuck hole was well used. Her throat muscles were on automatic as her mind reeled. She was unable to even think of anything but that dirty cock raping her mouth. And there was nothing she could do. She was a helpless female slave. A walking, talking, fuck toy. Built for domination by men. At last, the second cock also yielded its frothy bounty and her stomach received a second, large, dose of man-cum. She was exhausted already, but she knew that worse was probably to come...this was just a warm up. And she was right. She wondered what was next, still in the hot, sweaty, confines of the skintight leather outfit...a red catsuit with green leather skirt, complete with slave hood. Her cunt and ass hole were sore already, and the evening was young. Her belly was warm with two large loads of sperm. She had cum, countless times, hopelessly surrendered to her womanhood, to be putty at the touch of dominant men...all of whom were her Masters. Her sex was aflame with desire, even after having been brutally used the way only a Master can use a woman. She knew in her heart what she truly was. She was a slave. A slave to her passion and lust. A slave to any man strong enough to claim her, to force her to submit to his caress. Her arms, neck, and ankles were released. Then, the belt crossing her belly was removed and she was hauled to a staggering standing position. She felt hands at her body, and then the leather suit, its scent still strong in her nostrils, was being removed. She moaned in feeble protest as her covering was stripped away. Her hood was removed last, and her sweat covered body was totally bare. There were 4 women attending her, all naked, wearing slave collars. All had pierced nipples with dangling bells attached to their nipple rings. Each had a large ring piercing their clitoral hood. From the rings, a gold circle was hung with the initials UL. Then, as Rose continued to look at the women, she gasped. High upon the left thigh of each of the women was a clear, deep, brand. If she had been able to read Gorean script, she would have recognized the letter "k" which is the first letter in the Gorean word "kajira" which signifies the female slave. These then were household slaves owned by UrLord. But he had never mentioned that he owned slaves. Always she had thought of him as a Master, but a friendly one, solicitous of her needs and the needs of other, temporarily Masterless, submissives. He was stern and strict in his own way, but seemed soft -- not the sort to brand slaves. She got a look at the collars. Each had, inscribed on its gold surface, a short line of script "I am the property of UrLord". Her breath came quickly as she realized what these women were. They were truly slaves. In a flash of insight, she understood that UrLord had the power of life and death over these women, and that furthermore, they would not have had it any other way. All of this came to her quickly, as she was not given much time to think. Her body was propelled from the room, down a hall, and into a large bathroom with multiple shower heads and a wide, tiled, floor. The four naked slave girls, none of whom had spoken to her, thrust her into the shower spray and thoroughly washed her body. Forced to lay down on a bench in the shower room, Rose's pubis was shaved bare -- she had balked at this at first, but then was resigned to her fate. She was then dried, her hair fixed, her makeup re-applied, and perfume was placed behind each ear, between her breasts, and on each thigh. "Stand." It was the first word that any of the slave girls had spoken to her. She stood. The one who had spoken produced a strange looking silk garment, which, if it had been laid out flat, would have resembled an inverted letter "T" with the cross pieces beveled somewhat. "Spread your legs." She did so. The silk was fastened behind her head, the front running down her body, over her breasts, and then pulled tightly between her legs, the two arms of the "T" being pulled up and back around to her front, where they were attached with red cords. Red cords also went from the sides of the thin, silk, garment at the level of her breasts around to her back, where they were also tied, again, tightly. The effect was stunning. She was more than naked. The thin, red, silk revealed more than it concealed. Her lust stiffened teats strained against the material covering her ample breasts. The outline of her sex, recently shorn of its fur covering, was clearly visible where the slave silk was pulled between her legs. It was more than the visual effect though. The feel of the silk itself against her skin provided an incredibly sensual rush. She felt the sex flush again covering her body and knew that in moments the crotch of her silk garment would be darkened with the evidence of her femininity. Catsuit She came like a genie out of a bottle, almost less a part of the real world than something summoned by Peter's questing mind, his fantasies, his nightmare. It was December, bracing cold in the winter snow, even with the padding he wore underneath his spider-suit. He'd stopped on a rooftop momentarily to soak in the steam coming off a heating unit, rubbing warmth into his arms and legs. And as he did—his own brisk touch feeling animatedly good—he thought of Gwen Stacy, his girlfriend. It'd been a long time since she'd touched him. When they'd first started dating, he couldn't believe someone so adorable, so pretty and cute, was interested in him. She was an enthusiastic partner, always wanting to hold hands, to hug, to cuddle. After a few dates, they were kissing regularly, and she seemed to respond to whatever innate skill he had, but then things had petered off. When he kissed her just a little more forcefully than usual, she made little moans of discomfort as she broke away, always with a joke like "down boy!" or "get a room!" Once, as they'd sat together on the bus late at night, he'd watched the curve of her neck, bent over her phone—the long strands of her golden hair, the little conch shell of her ear in between some messy locks. He'd leaned over, kissing the side of her face, pulling on her scarf to bring her lips into his range, sucking on her neck -she said "hey!" a couple times, not disinterestedly—then he'd pulled her closer and she'd felt the imprint of his dick inside her pants. Instantly, she'd wailed and pulled away. It even caught the bus driver's attention. Later—maybe seeing how Mary Jane Watson was flirting shamelessly with him—Gwen had invited Peter over to her house, her parents not home. When he got there, she suggested watching a movie—R-rated—and while the credits rolled, she kissed him. Took out his prick as the outtakes played and pulled on it. She'd done it nervously, skimming quickly over his manhood with an unsteady grip, only one hand, her other pushing him back when he tried to move closer, to kiss her or fondle her in some way. Peter had leaned back, just trying to enjoy it as she fecklessly masturbated him, but it was hard to even get hard when she clearly regarded the whole thing as messy, maybe even immoral. He'd climaxed almost perfunctorily and then Gwen had excused herself. When she came back, she smelled of soap. He didn't understand it. On the surface, Gwen was smart, funny, pretty—there was just this odd streak of Puritanism that ran through an otherwise normal girl, like she thought her blonde hair made her the Madonna. He was beginning to feel desperate. For two months now when she let him kiss her, she was passive and disinterested. He couldn't even masturbate properly—he tried to think of her, for propriety's sake, and couldn't even imagine her body as a sexual instrument. She seemed dead-set on putting the 'unattainable' in unattainable ideal. Peter's mind sped over the familiar debate. Was it cravenly misogynistic to break up with her, just because his sexual urges weren't being met? Could he really find someone he cared about as much as Gwen, who was so effervescent, so pure, so kind-hearted? He didn't know if he could love Mary Jane in the same way—not when Gwen was his soulmate, his better half, his heart—but Christ, the way she looked at him, what he wouldn't give for her to follow through. Maybe it'd just be a kiss, but he imagined it being the kind of kiss Gwen would never ever give him. Not chaste, not affectionate, but sexual, dirty, wrong. Then he saw her. A whorl of black and white in the snowstorm, a dark figure running along a rooftop parapet in a surefooted sprint. Peter got just a good enough look at her to realize there wasn't a flurry of extra snow about her head, just a bounce of stark white hair, then she sprung to the neighboring building, caught onto its cornice, and vaulted up onto the rooftop. Peter figured there were two reasons for someone in a very tight costume to be on a rooftop in New York at night. Either she was a superhero he'd never met before—and it was undeniably a she, there was more bouncing going on in her stride than in a McDonald's ball-pit—and she was on her way to an emergency, or she was a supervillain he'd never met before and she was on her way to some wrongdoing. Either way, he should get after her. It had nothing to do with the bouncing. Really. He followed her at a discreet distance. She had zip-lines and some kind of grappling device—she made her way across intersections almost as fast as he did, snowy rooftops marked with the unmistakable impression of a stiletto heel. Peter shadowed her until, weary but exhilarated, she skidded to a stop. He could see the exhale steaming from her mouth in big, mouthy gulps, a silent roar. Her blood hot, her heart racing, she eased off the high. A few dizzy steps, then she sank to her knees with a crunch of snow beneath her. Before, her high-heeled boots had been nearly silent. Even the barest glimpse of her before had left no doubt she was a woman. A longer, harder look revealed no trace of masculinity or the neuter in her. Her breasts jotted out ponderously, as proud as monuments, shiny black vinyl acting as a prison. Even that armor-like material didn't seem capable of containing her boisterous sexuality. It stopped at the crest of her cleavage, a zipper down her front undone down to the sternum. With the spread of the vinyl, it seemed impossible that her nipples could actually be hidden, but the fur trim of the opening obscured that—however slightly. It matched her platinum blonde hair and a similar trim that fluffed her boots, demanding the question of whether all of her hair was that ironically virginal color. The rest of her wasn't as spectacular as her breasts—how could it be?—but it kept pace nicely. Her pointed, high-heeled boots molded themselves up her long legs, all the way to her thighs, the sturdy leather giving way to her black vinyl leggings just above the knee, making the thin, tight material seem all the more exposed. It caressed her buttocks, her taut stomach, and her well-defined arms, fastening snugly at her neck with its collar of white fur and halo of white hair. Everything it touched, it clung to with possessive, worshipful tightness, the black otherworldly immaculate, reflecting the moonlight like the touch of a caressing hand. Most of all, the vinyl sheathed her ass. With her back to him, it was what he saw most: the sharply delineated curve and valley were shown off, every inch, by the clinging material. It swathed her cheeks like a second skin, seeming to give them a lifting, constraining pressure that made them powerful and prominent. The rooftop's neighbor was an office building, dark windows closed for the night. He could see a phantasmagorical vision of her face in the reflection. A black domino mask—a pair of diamonds—clung to the curves of her noble face just as her catsuit did to her body: strong chin, full lips, smooth cheeks. Not the slender, classical look of Mary Jane or the cherubic gracefulness of Gwen. There was a shamelessness to her, a prominence given over to her sexuality that with any other woman would've been a performance. With her, though, it seemed as natural as a cat's slink, its fur. She examined her reflection, a small smile quirking her soft lips. Her gloved fingers flickered as she raised them to her generous breasts. F-cups, they had to be. Whereas Gwen's were petite and unconstructive, almost polite in how they conformed to the line of her body, and Mary Jane's C-cups were perfectly proportioned to her tall, leggy body, this woman seemed outright over-endowed. But the sheer gratuitousness of her cleavage seemed right for it. It'd be outrageous at a bridal shop or an office party, but her body was built for skintight vinyl or a nude photoshoot, and he couldn't picture her anywhere else. Her cleverly flexing hands—reminding him of a cat's kneading claws—struck as suddenly as a feline with a mouse. Forefinger hooking in the pendulous O-ring of her zipper, dragging it down her lean stomach as she purred excitedly. The wide vee of her catsuit widened further, her breasts forcing the tight confines of the vinyl open, fur trim sprawling to either side as her tits nearly spilled out, rosy red flesh basking in the chill of the open air. Still she unfurled herself, rotating her neck as she watched her own autoerotic display in the windows of the neighboring building. She stopped with the O-ring at her groin, skipping her claw over it but continuing to pull its sharp tip down between the lips of her sex, where it seemed as if the vinyl must pull so tight as to be sheer. Peter couldn't tell. The reflection was too dark and he was too far away. The woman hissed in pleasure as her hand came back up, flattened, pads of her finger running over her crotch again. With the zipper down, a broad dagger of flesh plunged through the now wrinkled vinyl, its swath exposing the gentle stir of her abs, her pierced belly button, perhaps even the first Persian-white hairs of her pubis if that wasn't just the glint of her zipper teeth in the dim midnight glow. She played her clawed forefinger again in-between the narrowest parting of the zipper, grazing her pelvis with its sharpness, before drawing her finger up so sharply that Peter worried she was cutting herself open. Instead, her claw drew up a long string of pearls from inside the crotch of her suit, the woman moaning openly as the leaden diamond at the end of this necklace finally hoisted itself up her belly, sharp facets of the gumball-sized gem nipping at her bronze flesh, digging into her body like it was a scratching post until she'd teased the necklace up around her delicate neck, amongst her mane of alabaster hair. The diamond rested between her magnificent breasts, gleaming with the moonlight, a sudden sweat on the woman's exposed sweat seeming to reflect its captured light and give the woman a pale glow of steady, sensual intensity. She stared at herself in an unworthy reflection, in awe of her own beauty, her youth, her invulnerability, the skill that had brought her this clearly stolen item, and the grace with which she wore it. "Oh, baby," she purred, a silken voice moving unhurriedly over every syllable she graced with being spoken. "You're just too pretty for a dusty old museum. You deserve to be between tits like mine!" She laughed, giving her impressive bust an utterly unnecessary adjustment with either hand. She bent low then. Peter felt hypnotized. The diamond necklace hung low, almost to the ground, and he could see the curvature of her breasts between her akimbo legs, their pale undersides, only the very tips and furthest sides concealed by her wide-open catsuit. She was doubled over as if to touch her toes, but instead she was scratching at the unleavened snow that misted over the rooftop. The ripe apple of her ass grew prominent with her bent over, straining the already skintight vinyl. It seemed unbelievable her voluptuousness didn't just burst free of such merciless confinement, her firm, powerful buttocks just exploding into view. Then she straightened, her ass swaying back into place atop her long legs and under her straight spine, still as big and juicy as it had appeared before. When Peter finally tore his eyes away from how the vinyl delved between the woman's asscheeks, he saw that the woman was looking over her shoulder, blue eyes fixed upon him with a color that seemed like it couldn't exist in nature. He started, as if she could see through the mask to his wide eyes, his parted lips, the complete consternation on his face. That same small smile returned to her soft lips, tugging the lower redness under her teeth in a brazen display of sexuality. She had known he was there the whole time. Suddenly, she broke away, leaping off the rooftop. Peter bolted after her, landing in a crouch atop the parapet she had just jumped over, but when he looked down, she had disappeared into the night. A guilty feeling grew in his gut—it seemed unbelievable he hadn't thought of Gwen once during that entire interlude. Shouldn't he have remembered he had a girlfriend and stopped that... whatever it had been? He straightened, turning around to see patterns of roofing blacktop through the snow. The woman had carved letters into the snow with her fingers. He hopped over them to examine her words right-side up. LOOKING FOR LOVE? HOTEL DEMILLE, ROOM 2104 FELICIA *** He knew the building, darkened windows that tinted everything they reflected with a heavy shade. Tonight, their smoky glass reflecting the snowfall outside, he was reminded of Felicia's shiny vinyl. His eyes leapt over the building, counting the floors to the 21st, and then he rocketed up it, barely feeling the chilled floor-to-ceiling glass under his thin gloves. Her room was easy to find. The window was open, curtains riding the breeze from outside. Inside, Felicia had her back to him, but this time he immediately assumed she was aware of him. "It's not smart, giving out your home address to strangers. Imagine if I'd been on the internet." "This isn't my home. It's just a hotel room that no one's checked into. Champagne?" She turned, bubbling champagne saucers held in each hand, at chest level. Obvious, but that appealed to him on some level. She made no secret of what she was doing. She did everything but say it out loud. "You should return that diamond. It doesn't fit with your motif." "I'll give it to a friend of mine. He likes them. I'm sure he'll trade me some fur. And a few million dollars." She sipped one glass, holding the other out to him. A sudden gust of wind from outside pressed against Peter's spine, sending a tingle through him. "What? Are you going to take me in, Spider? Tie me up? Leave me... helpless to resist you? You don't need your goop to do what you want with me..." "Maybe I'm already seeing someone." "Maybe." She kept the full glass pointed at him like a gun while she finished hers off. It was becoming off-putting. "You can't run around in a skintight suit for very long and not get offers, believe me, I know. So tell me, is it that pathetic little bint who calls herself a blonde? The one you're always saving? With the flat ass? The teensy little tits? She can't hold onto you. I can tell just by looking at her. She doesn't have what it takes to keep a man like you satisfied." She tossed her empty glass over her shoulder. It shattered and Peter jumped. Felicia advanced on him, light pouring over her black-clad curves. "I always get what I want, Spider, even if it doesn't belong to me. You're no different." He could smell her, one of those fragrances that was such a complicated mélange of scents that he couldn't ever untangle it. Beneath it, only the scent of the vinyl—strangely erotic, thinking it was the only thing touching her. The only thing but him. Something inside him was preventing Peter from saying no to her, from doing anything. More than any of the criminals he had captured, he was a fly in a spider's web, transfixed, paralyzed, knowing that struggling would only imprison him more tightly. Felicia wrapped herself around him, her flesh seeming to merge with his, the vinyl catsuit so thin and at once such a boundary. She kissed him, putting her tongue against where the mask covered his mouth, working it sweetly against the raised webbing that covered his costume and licking intimately into the spandex in-between. She rubbed and caressed his body, a sound like static crackling as her costume met his. Her teeth nipped at his throat, the material over his pulse point, pulling it away from his skin and dragging it with her teeth up over his mouth. His dry lips were suddenly revealed and Felicia kissed him there, moaning into his mouth at the exposure. "Oh, Spider—a white boy, huh? You're definitely not hung like one." Her thigh was on the huge erection breaking up the smooth lines of his suit. "Where d'ya wanna touch me, Spider? Here?" She took his left hand away from her face—he'd been holding her as they kissed—and put it on her ass. He stroked it, rubbing the supple cheek which felt even better than it look. "Or here?" His right hand was redirected to her breast, resting lightly inside its fur-trimmed confinement, playing it. It wobbled deliciously with the tensing and pumping of his fingers, finally slipping out of its prison, revealing the full luxurious curvature of her teat. It was a perfect hill, its teardrop shape clinging tenaciously to her chest, gravity only able to do so much against the overstated sexuality of her. He squeezed it until Felicia squeaked, then threw himself down on it, mouth seeking to conquer that insurmountable slope. Felicia laughed joyously as his hands worked between her buttocks, their groping pushing her forward against his body, pulling the tightly stretched vinyl at her groin against the bulge of her pubic mound. She felt the warmth of her own dribbling juices rubbing against her. She wanted more. She wanted him to have a taste, a whetting of his prodigious appetite... Felicia shoved Peter down onto his knees, thrust her crotch into his face. "I want your tongue now, Spider. I'm taking your tongue!" Peter had a blurry glimpse of the artwork of her cunt, bulging through the thin vinyl, then it was savagely brought against his face. He kissed it strongly, crashing his lips against the moist material, drawing as much of it as he could into his mouth and biting it. He could almost taste her through the thin vinyl, pungent and wild, hear her moan whenever he managed to find her with his questing tongue. The vinyl sunk at his probing, into her vulva as he vainly tried to penetrate her suit. Abruptly, Felicia turned over, rolling onto all fours with her ass in the air like she wanted him to fuck her doggy-style. "Lick my ass, Spider. I know it looks good enough to eat. Lick it, push that vinyl deep inside my asshole, and you can rub your big cock against my boots while you do it. You won't get that offer from your little blonde, will you?" Peter groaned as he gave in. He hated her reminding him of Gwen. It was so easy to forget her when he was so turned on, enjoying this so much. He wouldn't let himself be derailed from this, though. He shoved his face into Felicia's ass as hard as he would his cock. Licking at her pussy through the vinyl until he felt her fingers inside her suit. She was reaching down her open, frontal vee, fingering herself as he licked her, and he wondered which of them was fucking her harder. "My ass, Spider! I want your tongue in it! I want your goddamn tongue in me!" With a clenched-teeth roar, Peter moved his face upward, to spend a tantalizing eternity on her perineum. The tiny strip of land between anus and cunt was rubbed almost raw from the intensity of his tonguing. He felt, heard her fingers thrust deeper and harder and faster into the creamy cunt just inside her costume. His hands moved down to her feet, steepled between his legs. He picked up one marvelous leg and raised the thigh-boot to his groin, rutting shamelessly against the sturdy leather, the heat and the feel and the knowledge of her making it so much better than his hand. "Yes, yes!" Felicia moaned, feeling his raging erection insistent against her calf, squirming and moaning with every trip its hardness took toward her thigh. "Oh God fucking yes!" Inspired, Peter's tongue moved a half-inch north into the valley of her glorious ass. Felicia sharply took in breath. Peter took one hand away from her leg and moved it to cup her buttocks, spreading one half, baring the tiny pink tightness of her clenched asshole just beneath vinyl. Felicia could feel its separation from the skintight material inside her suit. His tongue rimmed and tickled the vinyl that was supposed to shelter her, pushing it against her little rosebud, conducting electricity that pried gently but determinedly at the very idea of resistance. Catsuit "Love me there, too," Felicia teased, feeling him fuck her leg harder, feeling her tiny hole open and his tongue push the covering vinyl inside her opening. The tongue that was transmitting through it flickered and stabbed, arousing shallow but undeniable sensations in her most sensitive place. She jerked at every motion of his tongue, like he was spanking her with a hairbrush instead of licking her through vinyl. Her asshole was growing hot and her fingers were almost maniacal in masturbating her. "Oh!" Felicia panted suddenly. He'd covered her asshole with his mouth and was now sucking, the vinyl against her opening feeling like it was on fire. Her body shook and quivered in excitement, responding to his fiendish mouth, and she pushed her ass into the air, against his face like an offering. They'd formed a sort of tent. Peter kneeling behind her, Felicia with her ass in the air and her face against the floor; yin and yang. Then, Felicia realized she could reach back, between her legs, to him. She could draw the waist of his costume down over his so-hard prick. She could fit it in her hand and rub it, just like his tongue was rubbing her. "Eat my asshole," she told him, voice choked, "while I fuck your cock." He obeyed, tongue worming into her ass, carrying the vinyl with it. She felt the pulsation beating a tattoo through his hard cock, the river of precum flowing from his cockhead that greased her gloved hand. When she tightened her fist, she could feel his racing pulse chiseling at her palm. She loved it. His size, his hardness, the so-obvious eagerness he showed to get inside her. It was all she could do to get her fist around such a maddened erection, and all his tongue could do to stimulate her asshole's crushing tautness. She thought her own suit had gone further up her ass than any set of anal beads ever had. "Oh fuck!" Felicia moaned in private ecstasy. His tongue had felt so good that she'd barely noticed its pleasure transitioning into a full orgasm, but she knew it by the rush of warm juices flowing down her inverted belly, her pussy tightening against his pistoning fingers, her breasts suddenly climbing as she hollered in broadening satisfaction. She was coming and coming and coming and she needed to come, needed more, needed him. "Fuck my ass!" she ordered, pulling his cock to her, and Peter rushed atop her, mounting her like an animal, fingers ripping at her catsuit as he tried to force a handhold, to get it open, even as she held herself obligingly still and he thrust helplessly against her bubble butt, the vinyl so sleek and warm and even wet with his own saliva. He was dry-humping her, his aching cock harder than ever inside the crack of her ass, Felicia moaning even deeper as she felt it so close but so far away. "This is," she panted, "as close as you can get—to my perfect—fucking—ass!" "Now, Felicia!" Peter grunted. "Right now!" His cock swelled larger than it ever had before, a monstrous weapon that seemed to dwarf Felicia's thick ass before it shot, his cum flying to the back of Felicia's neck. Peter grabbed hold of its base, squeezed, seemed to channel the explosion he felt into load after load blasting from his cock. He fired as far as Felicia's white hair, and coated the sable-black material over her back and ass with his seed. Felicia felt the heat of his spurting right through the vinyl, heard his groans as he exorcised himself of all the cum that had gone unused by one Gwen Stacy. She thought she was coming again, knowing this was all for her. The cum that covered her ass flowed down between the abundant cheeks, into the crevice between her legs. Felicia smiled dazedly as she felt the heat of his seed against her pussy, like it was meant to go there, like it wanted to. Peter came one last time, this final shot landing in a puddle underneath them. Then he fell forward atop Felicia. There was an audible splatter as he landed on a dozen wads of his own seed, but he couldn't care. He just panted, staying against Felicia's magnificent body for warm, wonderful minutes as his spunk cooled and congealed. Felicia breathed deeply as she reached between her legs, fingered the jism slowly running over her crotch, and brought it to her mouth. The man definitely ate enough vegetables... Peter suddenly stood, the smell of cum obnoxiously thick in his nostrils. He pulled his mask down, his pants up, and Felicia looked over her shoulder at him once more. Her pose now not displaying her body, but the layer of cum that marked it. The same cum covering the front of Peter's costume like a camouflage pattern. "Explain that to blondie," Felicia teased.